Clinging to the Castle: Writing as Work or Play?

When I scoop my laptop from the breakfast table, fix another cup of tea, and tell my husband I’m going to work on some poems, sometimes it feels like that. A chore. A job. Hard.

But these days I have a lot of words to work with, which makes writing seem a little more like play. I might say there’s a skeleton, but that sounds creepy, or a map with roughed-out roads, but that makes it sound more structured than it is. I’m thinking of it as a kid who’s piled up a lot of sand for a castle. Some sand will turn into turrets. Some will be pushed down or collapse on its own. Some will be shaped into windows.

Lots of lots of attention must still be paid to details, but right now it’s more like play than work, even if, well, already wearing sweatpants, baggy sweater, and red wristlets to keep out the cold, I don’t look as serious as I’d like (the chance to wear better clothes is why some of us like to teach.) But I’m moving in and out of windows, exploring, tearing down, trying out the look of another balcony or level.

This is perhaps my favorite part of the writing process. I don’t have to wear blinders against the glare of the blank page. The copy editor in me can keep quiet, instead of staying vigilant for typos, puffy phrases, and too-wandering sentences.

Or wondering if I’ve left too many or not enough windows open, if they’re shuttered to just the right angle. So readers can get in but not get lost.