tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4689562912749353753.post3116121935086134294..comments2023-10-20T07:31:01.231-07:00Comments on musings of a melancholic: Autumn, the Muse, and Over-cooked Eggscandacemorrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13893739347394561554noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4689562912749353753.post-31113289696979360372012-10-14T11:34:53.383-07:002012-10-14T11:34:53.383-07:00Reading your comments about putting your thoughts ...Reading your comments about putting your thoughts and work out into the world reminds me of something one of my professors said in passing recently, "We must appreciate the utter courage it takes to publish something because even as we change and move, once our work is printed our role of shaping it is finished."<br />(or something like that)<br /><br />I never thought about how once our work is out there, we have very little control over how others receive, interpret it or use it. Sure, maybe we can revise or post more things to enlighten our original work, but there is something so concrete about saying "finished"--I think this is odd especially when I think of it in relation to art. For me, writing is SUCH an artistic act. And I think of art as a process, a journey. We start one place and often end up somewhere else, but is the journey really over? Of course not! <br /><br />Yet, we place pieces of this journey out in public and if we're not careful it's easy to stamp "finished" on them. I choose to say, not finished, rather an insight into my journey. This poem is one shaft of light, one color of paint--in the myriad of me, my thoughts and who I am becoming. <br /><br />Just thoughts.<br /><br />Today, I let the chickens out to graze. Sat on the porch and soaked in cool autumn sun. Drank delicious Market Spice. And got a thrill when I realized the tip of my nose was ice cold. FALL.Juliehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03015259976592279729noreply@blogger.com