|It’s the strangest thing.|
Before I begin a story, I usually think about what I’m going to write. I design a story in thought–the beginning at least, even if I don’t always know how it will end.
With poetry, though, I have no idea what is going to happen. I sit down, start typing, and the poem comes out of me. I don’t know what it will be about. I don’t know where it’s going. I don’t know how it will start. I don’t know how it will finish. It just happens. It’s an impromptu dance with language. It’s the darndest thing.