Thoughts for breakfast

Woke up thinking that I haven't started writing poetry yet, that everything that had gone before, everything that I had written thus far (and especially of late) are only finger exercises: How does one cut a line? What does one do with metaphor? How does one manipulate syntax? Voice? Play with a multitude of voices? With points of view?

And I felt this a beautiful, liberating thing: The thought that I had never before written poetry, the feeling that it is possible that the true poems will come, and that they are coming soon (hopefully; parang sine).

I suppose I always knew this, which is why I am putting myself through school at this stage in my life--school, being, not an institution, but the time and space to listen and read and think, to consider the thoughts of those who have gone before you, and those with whom you find yourself on this, well, journey.

Likewise, I think I now see how much more can be demanded from fiction, and what needs to be done to create not just stories, but great stories--none of which I have been able to do as yet. (Hopefully, I persevere and learn enough to do just that one day.)

And that, too, is a wonderful realization. 

To be at the beginning, and knowing this. To be at the beginning and finally getting a view of what you're up against. 

To be ready, at last, to begin, without ever having stop the writing that has been and is already taking place.

In other words: I am such a nerd.