Gilbert also tells the story of a poet she met who would physically run after poems when she was a child. The poet could feel them coming and would run home from working in the fields so that she could write them down. Sometimes she wasn't fast enough.
So, what does this have to do with me? Occasionally I have a poem pop into my head and I have no clue where it came from. The poem insists on being written down. The one below even insisted that it be named what it wanted to be named, not what I was going to name it.
This is it:
I am glad
that I was
the one along
with you on
the drive that
by a hard
that you said.
©2016 Kathryn Samuelson
This poem had nothing to do with my life at the time or even in the past. But, it was insistent that it be written down.
I have had ideas for novels show up, keep me awake and not want to leave. I now politely ask them to move along, and I will suggest an author if I know that story fits that author's genre. Sometimes I just have to explain that I will not be writing the story, that it can rest a bit, but that it needs to find a different home.
What shape does big magic take for you?