I haven’t much to share today. But I have decided to make myself write a poem in 30-minute sessions. It may be a way to get my spicy brain to stop overthinking and just write.
Music (and, yes, I know, folks will raise in eyebrow at music during Ramadan, I still do it): “Glove Compartment,” Deathcab for Cutie. Perhaps it’s the state of the world, but I find myself gravitating towards the music that baby poet-Nadia was listening to, circa the 2010s. Perhaps I’m hoping to tap into the pre-MFA poet’s brain, when I wasn’t editing in real-time, backspace on a word before reaching the final letter.
The MFA program is a wonderful training ground for a writer. However, if I might suggest: only attend once you’ve found your voice and your ability to self-advocate. Because, side effect of the MFA is the terror of platform. The responsibility of platform. The memorabilia of platform.
I think I’ve healed, though. Just now.
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