Writing process often reminds me of watching an accordion player at work.
Starting with some prose – a few paragraphs, then whittled down. Whittle down some more. Then squeeze in more words, then pull some away. Squeeze, expand, squeeze, expand. Now, restructure that as a poem. Break it into lines, rewrite the lines – let them flow. Edit down. Remove words, remove everything that is not essential to conveying your message. Soon, like skeletal remains, there is no flesh on it. No meat, no heft.
Then add, add some more – don’t embellish, just complete it, paint this picture more fully. Now, whittle some more. More than that. Now some more.
This ebb flow of addition and subtraction feels like I’m watching bellows of an accordion. Add, pull away, add, squeeze tighter, add, stretch, compress, rearrange.
In short order, rambling ideas because cogent thoughts, all flavours in the cupboard sort themselves into a blend which matches message of pure sweet or rough sour – savouring the savory, bitter overriding sweet. Like life sometimes …
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