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Janie Braverman's avatar

A dear writing teacher/friend of mine hosts silent writing for an hour, 3 times a week. I almost never miss spending that quiet, sacred hour at my desk, doing some kind of writing 'work'. Once, when I was just too ... well, too tired or too sick ... to write, I spent the hour reading. It a multiple-times-a-week reinforcement of how much the writing matters. Sometimes there are two of us sitting at the table, sometimes three or more. Occasionally it will be one of us, intentionally holding space for the others.

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Celeste's avatar

To me, the table is a place with other versions of me who want to know the poet even if they aren't poets themselves, and not just a separate space next to the others. In other words, bringing my poet-self to the table is about interaction, inspiration, and incorporation. Does analyst-me or mother-me want to know poet-me, and invite poetry to their tables, their lives? I suspect I've treated my poet-self how I fear others will treat the poet they don't yet know or understand.

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