Eleven years ago I went on a weekend residential course called "Starting to Write". This is the effect it had on me:
The fever’s still raging inside my poor head :
acrostics and haikus, a new A to Z ;
some rhymes that are concrete, internal ones too ;
and here a whole renga is strung out to view.
How can I go back to my usual job,
with eyes that look inward and temples that throb?
There’s so much excitement still churning around,
a brand-new direction will have to be found.
Is poetry the answer, to fill up my time ;
or stories or articles, romance or crime?
Perhaps if I work at a journal each day,
I’ll get in the habit - and then make it pay!
And all the bewitchment of starting to write
will not fade away like a dream of the night ;
and I shall say ‘thankyou’ to Wes(ley?) Magee,
who knew how to bring out the writer in me.
But as for a night’s rest, I very much doubt
that ever again I shall sleep the night out!
© Judith Taylor 1994