I hadn’t planned to take a summer break from blogging, but the days added up, and now it’s August. We managed to take a quick trip to Lummi Island, and otherwise it’s been work, driving, not doing my physical therapy, and breathing. Breathing is good. And writing.
I’ve spent months working on three poems–which leads me to ask: When is revising too much? When do you cross the line from generation and invention to plain old worry?
I now have two versions of a poem–one ends in spring, with the tulip fields. One ends in the fall, with the horse chestnut trees, and I’m trying to decide which to choose, which ending the poem chooses.
What do you do in your impasses? How do you breathe through them, write through them?