I would tell you that these poems are all painted from the lining of my soul, but that may not be true. What comes into my head during the fast-pitched SLAM contest is always as much a surprise to me, as it probably is to the reader. Where do the poems come from? Who was that stranger who wrote them? I hardly can remember their birth.
If you've never slammed, please try it! It usually occurs once a year. And what fun it is! That mad, mad hustle to discover what new, odd challenge has been given each time, then the mindbending stretch to write something -- anything--- accompanied by the need to live a normal life while berating the fates because an hour may be all the time life has given me to invent, to exhale, to post . . .
Oh, the pain and pleasure. . . in the crazy, zany rush of madness.
Yet, it's over too quickly. And all that is left then are the poems. I read them and ponder, sometimes asking, where on earth did they come from????
I must have been half-asleep (and believe me, many times they were actually born in the wee hours of the morn!)
Currently in its rough draft stage is my NaNo 2013 novel: The Downside of Solar Panels -- a young witch decides to install solar panels on the cottage where she lives. But how can she achieve her goal of financial independence when a warlock, werewolves, ghosts and a neighborhood vampire keep intruding?
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