In order to push the pen into my hand a little more often, I’ve signed up for a poetry workshop this semester with David Rivard. Who knows? I may even get a chunk of my book written. One of the two collections, at least, will benefit this winter/spring. It needs to happen.

It’s never easy to start writing again after a hiatus. Not that I’ve been completely neglectful. Once in a while I jot down a few lines, tweak an old poem I’d put away for a few months, or resubmit something that’s been rejected three times. But it has been a while since I’ve felt like a writer, a poet. That changes right now. After half a bottle of wine this evening, I tucked myself into the couch and stared at a blank Word document. That same file, two hours later, is no longer blank. It may be a couple of weeks before the full groove has returned. Right now the process feels forced and I’m looking forward to the days when soon the old hat will easily slip right on the moment I sit down to poem. We poets are creatures of habit, you know. It’s all about the ritual.

I’ll be taking two lit courses this term, as well (Beowulf and Early Modern Drama). And there’s the usual teaching bit, too. My plate will be full. And did I mention I’ve found a new yoga studio? I’m placing things back on track. Busy is better.