I have a spiral bound writing book that I have picked up and put down since about 2002. It is rich and rife with writing exercises, like this alphabetical paragraph

Aching bareness creates desolate edges. For going half in jeopardy kills love, moaning nonsense on queer, pallid roads. Singing the unrest, very willing Xanadu – you zoom.

You should try it. It comes courtesy of Kate Grenville’s Writing Book.

The genesis of the name of my blog is written near the beginning, just a scrap of poetry about shifting sand.

My 19 year old letter from Richard Flanagan is folded inside, and a story of my sister’s about two sisters writing letters to each other from different states. The book is precarious with loose scraps of tissue paper with words scrawled on them. My memoir piece Wide Brown Land began in this book. I wrote a poem about the night train in here, years ago. My husband wrote a poem about my naked body within the pages, long before he was my husband, before I moved to Sydney in 2005.

Talk about cardboard suitcases full of reflections – this was it for years, for me.

I rediscovered an attempt to emulate the style of poetry from Pablo Neruda’s Book of Questions, and I kind of like it. I am going to begin writing fragments of poetry again – it is all that I wrote for years, and then I stopped.

Did the seawater baulk
When first it met the tide?

What lyrics do the waves sing
When they meet the shore again?

Do seashells cry for mercy
In their metamorphosis to fragments?

And does the water wish for peace
In the midst of it’s violence?

Do you have a book, or books like this? Is it what you would grab from a burning house? I use the notes app on my iPhone now, which is such an un hallowed place for words. It holds none of the magic of this book of mine.

 

linking up with #IBOT over at Essentially Jess today