November 16: Christmas Essay, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

I don't have much time tonight.  For five hours this afternoon, I was in a recording studio, putting together a Christmas album with my band.  It's the first time I've done a project like this.  I did learn one thing:  I am not meant to be a professional musician.  I can't stand the two hours of work for three minutes of music.

I am going to work on my Christmas essay after I'm done typing this post.  I've been really struggling with this essay.  I can't seem to get the right tone or format.  I know it will eventually fall together, but I'm at the panic phase right now.

I need to practice my deep breathing.  And relax.  And pray for a little Christmas inspiration.

Today's Classic Saint Marty first aired two years ago, and--no surprise--it's about writing my annual Christmas essay.

November 16, 2012: A Visitation, Bell Tolled One, P.O.E.T.S. Day

Scrooge lay in this state until the chimes had gone three quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one.  He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.

Scrooge is awaiting the appearance of the first of the yuletide spirits.  He's not sure what he's in for.  Marley's Ghost was not a pleasant apparition, wrapped in chains and bellowing at the top of his vapory lungs.  This second ghost could be anything, and Scrooge is a little terrified, I think.

Today is P.O.E.T.S Day.  Some time in these next 24 hours, I vow to post a new, original poem.  The problem is that I'm sort of like Scrooge right now.  I'm waiting for my poem to appear.  I have no idea what shape or form it's going to take.  It could be a sonnet or haiku.  It could be free verse or iambic pentameter.  It could come screaming into my head, fully formed, or it could approach like a mouse, nibbling away until it is revealed or trapped.

Scrooge isn't sure the next spirit is even going to show up.  I, on the other hand, will post whatever crap I'm able to get down on paper.  Even if it's a bad poem, it will appear on this blog.  It's that threat that keeps me focused.  I do not want to be embarrassed by whatever I come up with.

I have another writing project to complete this weekend, as well. It's my annual Christmas essay.  I've already got a strong start, but I haven't had a chance to return to it in the last day or so.  I have to record this essay for the local Public Radio station soon, so I must get it done.  The goal I have set for myself:  Sunday night it will be finished.

For now, though, Saint Marty is all about poetry.  He wonders if posting a poem by Robert Frost would be cheating.  Something obscure, not having to do with snowy woods or broken walls or forking roads.

I didn't write this.

Confessions of Saint Marty