Whatever that means.
Sometimes the mood strikes me to write a poem. And sometimes I do, and it’s awful, and sometimes I do, and it’s “fair to middlin'” as my father would say, and sometimes it’s just what I wanted. Sometimes I hit all those perfect authorial high notes — lean, vivid, evocative, just the right combination of wit and punch.
I guess I have to realize that all my writing is like that — that hitting “publish” on this blog is going to mean that I put a lot of things out there that I’m not satisfied with, that I go back and read months later and cringe at. I’m no “First-Draft” Lewis, and I never will be (alas?). And I realize that part of the discipline of being a writer is just continuing to hit “publish” week after week even when I don’t have anything profound at the front of my mind. Because sometimes when I write a poem, it starts out as a sloppy ramble and ends up quite nicely summing up a thought filed away back in my brain. I reckon writing here won’t be any different.