I went to the opening of Fiber| A Tribute to Black Femininity at the Orange Mound Gallery last night. It was a fantastic event and a great opportunity to see familiar faces again. It has been a while since I have done anything truly social–excluding the dating auction and we are definitely excluding the dating auction. Everyone asked what I’d been up to and all I could say was: “Writing. Working and writing.”
I’ve submitted a few poems for publication, but most of my writing is still in here with me—in my apartment. Chillin’ in journals and skipping around my laptop. My mom says they might as well still be in my head. That is a hard truth to accept, but she is right. Such effort and energy and it never goes anywhere.
At this point, I feel like Gollum roaming about my cave cradling my Precious. I write it. Rewrite it. Polish it. And hide it, protecting my precious words from exposure and criticism. Hissing at anyone who comes near.
But the irony is my writing will never improve until I do expose it the type of informed criticism that will hone and refine it.
So that is what I’m doing now, crawling out of my cave with my Precious in-hand. Squinting at the light.