A Real Piece of Work In Progress

I have published two different poetry chapbooks, Spilled Milk and Heartroots and am currently putting together a small book of odes called Things I Used to Love and a Senior project that won't be complete until two years from now that will either be a nonfiction or a fiction novel, and another chapbook, currently untitled (a real literary no-no in the land of all things planned out efficiently). Another small selfish point of this blog is to organize myself in putting together a thorough and complete manuscript while at the same time coming up with different ideas for how to approach these separate projects in a timely manner. Sometimes I have to remind myself why it is that I write, what story I am telling, and (more importantly if it's my own story) what kind of story do I need it to be. So far I find blogging comforting. My thought process is a natural disaster because I can never quite get it to flow until its written down and I have time to piece them together into something that doesn't sound like rambling. Not that rambling is a bad thing; it's human nature. I find that even our President stumbles over his words. It's a wonderful thing, being human, constantly getting from one place to another in jagged lines because as Mayaeni ("mah-yay-knee") an artist I am currently obsessed with says, "the wrong way is the right direction someday if you pay attention. You'll wake up in the right place, 'cause the wrong way was the right direction."