Guess what I’m doing tonight. Don’t wanna guess? Aw, yer no fun.

I’m writing a new poem. I think I’ll call it Toward Water and Home, which reminds me of Like Water for Chocolate. That was a good book.

I haven’t been writing as much poetry as I used to, my creative time having been claimed by short fiction and the novel. The latter hangs on like the metaphorical equivalent of a bad dictator. Maybe a snarly, misanthropic wizard who lives in a ruined tower on a hill.

Progress is like slogging through a bog, is my point.

I believe I like the new poem. I’ll let it jell-o for a couple of days, then post it here.

Here’s something I have been pondering for a long time:

How large a role can the unconscious mind play in creative writing which is not overtly symbolic?

We all recognize that nonverbal communication, such as painting or sculpture, are used to express the nonverbal world. But how close can verbal communication come to being part of our verbally inexpressible reality?

Stated differently, can words be used to express that which is inexpressible with words? I think so; it’s sort of what I do. Maybe you do too.

I propose that the unconscious mind is always on the job, and we are well served by allowing it equal time at the desk.