November 2, 2006

we could call it BePoWriMo.

We dare you. Read all the way to the bottom and you'll see.

A little context first, though:

Day before yesterday, tens of thousands of ordinary people all over the world -- people just like you, with jobs and school and kids and everything -- started writing novels which they will break their necks to finish by midnight on November 30. Why? Because November is National Novel Writing Month. No joke. That's NaNoWriMo to the hip and groovy.

(No, we're not daring you to write a novel. Keep reading. Although, if you did, nobody would cheer you on with more gusto than your Beehive pals.)

Turns out, this NaNoWriMo thing is huge, a swelling grass-roots phenomenon started just a few years ago -- quite by accident -- by a twenty-something California dude who was just feeling a little lonely at his laptop. See, he always wanted to write a novel, but he knew he'd never do it without some camaraderie and a kick in the proverbial pants.

So... he challenged all his friends to write a novel in one month. Goal: 50, 000 words, 176 pages -- about 6 pages a day. To his surprise, his friends -- and what a fantastic pack of pals they must be -- took him up on it. Got way into it, even. Several of them even finished. They threw a big party and wore silly paper crowns.

The following year, this thing somehow caught a big gust of wind through yahoogroups and blogs, and it pretty much exploded. NPR did a story, and now it's just out of control. The party is now held in a warehouse and people fly in from all over for it, with their 176 pages in tow, to collect their silly coveted paper crowns.

Quality is not the issue here; finishing is. This is no-holds-barred writing with your hair on fire-- whatever comes to mind next is what you write.


Now, the thought of thousands of people freely writing at torpedo speed all around the world every day this month just lights my fire. I wish I were deranged enough to try it, but I just checked my schedule and wouldn't you know it, I already had plans to have fun this month.

But poetry... hey, that I could try. And still have fun.

I've always wondered what sort of poetry I would write if I just went at it wide open, breakneck speed, like a buffalo stampede. But I'm always too chicken to get out of my own way and just cut loose with the verbage in my head. I mean... yikes.

But I did it. Just now. Just to see what would happen, no other reason. Heh heh. I took the brakes off my brain and just wrote what flew through my head, no arguing, no negotiating. Wow. That was fun.

So I challenged Beatrice and Fa to try it. Being good sports, they hit the gas without checking their rear view mirrors. It took about four minutes.

Now we want to do it again. We might even do it every day this month, who knows? Would you join us if we did? I figure if we write 20-30 poems by December, a few of them might even turn out okay. Which is really not the point, but still. You just never know unless...

Come on, admit it. You want to try it. So open a new screen, and just start typing. If at least five people post their creations in the comments, we'll post ours.

Heheheh.

13 comments:

Mother Auma said...

She wrote it at ten
Daring us to begin
The lateness of hour
The clouds of thought low'r
And sink to the pen

(Or keyboard. But keyboard doesn't rhyme, now, does it?)

Dani said...

I am no poet, but I can't wait to see what ya'll end up with. Have much fun and good luck.

Ceridwen said...

One day I sat upon a hill
and looked upon an old, old mill.
I wondered what it used to do
and if the whole crew had the flu.
Today I want to eat a lot
and empty out that whole, big pot!

Tim said...

You must understand that this
Is not the way we write;
Not us.
Some of us are slower.
Do you know what it takes for us
To put words on paper?
For a slow, deep-dredging mind
To skim the surface of thought
And only write down the cream?

Tim's Mom said...

Just a poem,
That's all I wrote;
Not a novel,
Not a note.
It's not too brilliant,
But it's a start;
I wouldn't even
Call it art.


One more and it'll be your turn. :)

Table of Stone said...

Hard to believe I’m even attempting
to try and get this down
with everything that spins around
Its here its there, who knows where else
if only I can bear
and you could care

Your turn!

Setiago said...

The earth like a merry-go-round
Everything so busy and topsy turvy.
But the center like solid ground
Is that which keeps us afoot.
Foundations of sand, silver, and clay
All will soon vanish away.
The center, the rock is what we cling
And keeps us going and makes us sing.

~e said...

Ok. Well, you asked for a poem from a brain with no brakes. Here you go!

They wanted me to write a poem,
So I thought I’d try and show ‘em
Just how silly I can be
When they try to challenge me.

I never know just what to think.
Sometimes my brain is on the blink.
I sit and think about my friends
And look through a converging lens
Of thought.

OK. Show your stuff...

Anonymous said...

the moonlight
bathes your gentle face
and finds its heaven in your eyes;
Silver, clear, and lovely.
But in your hair,
the silver turns to Gold;
and whispers peace
like wheat fields steeped
in sunlight.

ok, so i have a one track mind now. shoot me. :)

Nardo said...

Mothers have the awesome work
Of growing babies. They cannot shirk.
It's such an honor and a pride
To think that there's a human inside.

I love the job of motherhood.
I'm tired, sick but doing good.
I'm so excited to see my baby
But sometimes I just think that maybe

It won't come out, despite my plea.
I'll look like this for eternity.
Why can't our waist line shrink instead
Of growing bigger, like an extra head?

Dani said...

Round and round,
my mind does swirl.
Pointless facts,
jumbled in a heap.

Muslim women
in far away places,
Ancient Greek men
natural philosopy,
The Supreme Court
opinions and decisions,
Foreign Policy:
Bush, Clinton, W.,
Shakespeare
homework, it never ends.

Round and Round,
my mind does swirl.
Fourty days
until graduation.

Calamity Jane said...

It's definitely late to be posting a poem, but it's been years since I've written one, and I thought I'd join the fun in the spirit of BeePoWriMo. Here goes nothing...

I.
Poem poesie hot
Poem poesie cold
Poem poesie in a blog
Nine days old

II.
The dark outside my window
Is darker because of the neighbors
- unknown, unspoken-to -
Who lurk ... no, that's not fair:
Who go in and out
At all hours of the day.
Embarrasing to always be at my post
The desk in front of the ocean of glass
And beyond of bricks and sky and the cigarette smoke of aliens
In their native land

III.
'Do you miss home?' she asked,
leaning towards me with a cigarette in one hand and a lipstick in the other.
'Do you miss home?'
'Where's home?' I answered.
How can I answer that home is where I'll never be again?
That sort of melodrama isn't right
even when it's almost true.
'That's right,' she said. 'You've traveled.'
They don't warn you that the space inside your mind for local language is limited.

Oh dear. I used to write poems about love. Now I see I've moved on to homesickness. Must go read some psalms, or call my mother, or something.

Y'all's poems are spiffy!

HHomeboy said...

Winters days of long lost years,
filled with my most recent fears.
Shall we live to see tomorrow,
Is it in the end worth the sorrow?
With friends and loved ones,
tall and short ones,
new and gone ones,
I am one
yet not alone.