Writing About Writing: How Art Inspires Itself and Writinception

Writing About Reading About Writing About Writing


about writing

makes me want to write

about writing;

but now I’m writing

about reading about writing,

not writing

about writing

in the first place.

And that reading

about writing

made me want to

write about writing,

so here

I am: writing

yet not what I originally

intended. No, I wanted to write

about that flying feeling

of delving into the words,

that inexplicable


off all your thoughts


and spewing, like a

water balloon

with the neck

untied and unpinched.

The air is hot, heavy, and humid,

but with words, building

up like magic, growing more intense

with every moment,

silence shrouding

the world with words.


my pencil.

my notebook,

my bed-fa*, and dresser;

this very room

detaches from reality

and floats

half a step out of sync

with everything else.

It’s that whole void

where my fog is,

that place

where every event in every story



writing, I write

about writing about writing

right now,

not reading

about writing

and wanting to write–

no! To write

becomes a scribbled mess

of misspelling; I’ve written

“to write” and “writing” and “written”

too many times now;

my hand is yet cramped

with all this writing

about writing about writing.

Sever that thought thread

after alliteration and assonance,

tie the poem closed:

it is written.

And as of now,

it is read.


I’ve probably set a new record for me. That title to the poem above is not only one of the longest ones I’ve ever written, but I’m absolutely certain that it’s the most confusing one yet! Just in case you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the heck it says, here’s a rough translation of the title: “writing about the act of reading a piece of prose that was written about the act of writing.”

Now, this is a pretty interesting sequence. The author of the work that I was reading was inspired by the very act of writing, and wanted to write about it. Hence, she wrote about writing. Many poets and writers write about writing, so that part isn’t so much a surprise as what comes next. Then, a reader comes along who also happens to write (me, for example), and reads the writing about writing. This reader is inspired, finding something to relate to within thee text,  and thus wants to write a poem about writing, too. Except…when I write poetry, I often add the inspiration, too, meaning that I wrote about reading about what someone wrote about writing, and I was inspired to write about writing from reading about writing about writing.

Confused? Of course you are.

This is the same mind-swirling concept as a room within a room within a room, or the play within a play in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It also connects to the very interesting idea that art can inspire itself. How many times has a painting been made that was inspired by music? What about music that was inspired by a book or a movie or poetry? Artception, if you will. The concept is just so artable, too…! If you don’t believe me, listen to a song, look at a painting, or look at a sculpture and see if it makes you want to sing, dance, paint, or write poetry. What colors, what forms, what senses…captured through art through note, stroke, cut, or word. Arg! It makes me want to write…!


PS: This post is my 200th on Blue Girl, Blue World! Wow! 0.0


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