Sometimes poets run out of steam or words or ideas or whatever. The Muse departs. There seem to be two main reactions to this. Some people accept the verdict (of their own subconscious?) and are relaxed about it. They may still appreciate poetry, hang out with poets, go to open mics. But as for writing, they're done with it and they accept that. They may hope the spark comes back but they don't go out of their way to force it. For some, this is because there is an appreciation that they've said everything they want to say, while others have different reasons for their quiescence.

The other reaction is to anxiously try and do something about it. Workshops, courses, reading lots of poetry as a stimulus. Inevitably, something is produced. To me, it generally seems strained and forced. The fact that the writer is trying too hard is difficult to disguise.

Why do people bother? Why try so hard to produce work that they must know deep down is not as good as what once flowed relatively freely? Ego is one driver, obviously. The addiction to affirmation. But another is perhaps the desire to continue as part of the warm network of friendship and contacts which is one's poetic community. Having fresh work may be experienced as a kind of admission ticket to this world. To have none can leave people feeling excluded.

I suppose I'm pleading for a little more understanding and kindness towards those who never have anything new to read. They may be making a better choice than forcing it.

I have always been notoriously slow to get something on paper/screen.

I have a notebook that (should it be discovered if I should die suddenly) if read would possible place me in an asylum, such are the wierd and wonderful scribblings.

Like a painter I do have a muse but I have to embroider scenarios that could not possibly exist without serious consequences or loss of friendship etc etc.

I also think that to post trivia is as much as a sin as not writing at all.

An old girlfriend's dad said one time, as I noted:

It’s Thursday, where are you muse?
I’ve got a poetry reading tonight
And you choose to fly to Bosnia,
Now I’m high and dry without you.

Like you guys, I think work that strikes the listener as laboured fails poetry, like anything carelessly off the cuff: but if the words don't come we have to keep tempting them. I am pretty convinced word-exercise finally plugs back into the golden times... those rare occasions when it is easy, and the partnership is back on.

> How do you get to Carnegie Hall?
>> Practice, practice.

I thought that what we all did when we can't write poetry is to write about poetry, often about not being able to write poetry.
"Oh Muse, why hast thou deserted me so..." blah-di-blah-di-blah.
This is therapeutic literary masturbation. When this fails...well, it's the real thing for me.

Interesting comments. And fun, thanks John. Particularly interesting that no one seems to have agreed that stopping writing can be a good choice, the more positive option than trying to force it when the well really is dry.

How easily your muse departs you might have something to do with how you got your muse in the first place.

It strikes me that many people get into writing poetry through some kind of crisis in their lives. They then enjoy the creative aspects and any affirmation they get of their ability. Once that crisis is resolved, thrashed out and all the issues it created expunged through the writing process, it can become harder to write though.

A lot also depends on available time. Speaking for myself, that's something I'm increasingly short of due to some life changes I've made. Much as I love writing poetry, there are times when something has to give - and eating and socialising are pretty important too :)

It is hard not writing poetry if being part of the performance poetry scene depends on it. It's just not as enjoyable going to venues where you have nothing new to perform. I suppose life is full of choices, none of them easy - and poetry is just one thread in everyone's lives.

I'm not of the ilk that can write tosh just for the sake of writing something. I'd rather write nothing than write something I wasn't happy with. I can appreciate what others say about keeping your hand in though and the usefulness of exercises. That's why I've always liked the informal competitions we've done on here - they've inspired me to write poetry I wouldn't otherwise have conceived.

IMO, if the niblet of a really invasive idea hits you, so time will allow you to jot it down, on any near surface (although toilet paper is really the pits.)

For me, the creative urge relies on constant alertness and a far-spreading net of free associations. I don't think that 'habit' ever leaves a poet. The mind and heart are just refreshing their resources. I take basic crafting skill as a given.

IMO, read, read, read poetry of all types and periods - for pleasure. Surely, if you write poetry, you do appreciate the works of others. Poetry boomerangs.

I have heard many repetitions of poems on Poetry Nights. It's no big deal. So don't read, just go. Encourage others.

Late last summer I met at a poetry launch a short-story writer. Particularly in the winter, she came home from work, did what was needed at home then sat down and wrote (I summarise). Over twice her age - and retired, I thought it time to acquire the 'creative habit'.

What I've been doing is this. Each morning first thing, I make a pot of tea, brush my hair, find a poetry book, sit in my conservatory with note book, find a quote from the book that gets me started, and write a poem.

Took a couple of weeks before habit stuck.

When in writing mode, probably do this 6 mornings out of 7. Don't do this when I revising/submitting mode; as now.

Some of the work is so-so; some of the work surprised me; I'm writing better.

The South African golfer, Gary Player, used to say 'It's funny, the more I practice the luckier I get'.

Although ‘tis said that Muses nine
Place words on poet’s tongues,
And warbling minstrels echo thine;
To crown their mundane songs.
There lies no surrogate, no substitute
On Earth or Heaven above
In brass and drum or stringéd lute
For persistant application.

In our club last night the act played what he called a `one hit wonder`.

Think of it !...wouldn`t it be worth plugging on in the hope of eventually writing a poetical `one hit wonder`? The thing about a good poem is that – like a good tune – a good poem (and its poet) are long remembered. It stands out from `the rest`. It`s always worth while to keep plugging on.... even if we`re only ever going to write a `One Hit
Wonder`.