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Ask the Writer: Lisa Baron
Lisa Baron (LB): Often an idea comes to me for writing when I am outside on a walk, or sitting in a quiet moment. I don’t “look for it”, it seems to come to me. You write every genre, it seems! Is your process different for poetry and prose?
The process feels similar in terms of how ideas come to me. In some ways writing poetry is more challenging, as it is about getting to the true essence of meaning in fewer words.
JK: How has your profession impacted the way you approach creative work?
LB: As a psychotherapist for many years, I have seen my job helping people listen to their introspective voices. The process of writing for me is very similar, both in my own writing and in teaching creative writing.
JK: What is your favorite book/story?
LB: I love Ann Patchett and Abigail Thomas. Though Abigail Thomas is less known, her writing is very genuine, readable, and introspective.
JK: How long have you been writing? Can you speak to the origins of your writing vocation?
LB: I remember as a child of 12 years old I would ride my bicycle to a nearby park, take out a notebook, and write a poem. One of those poems is "Childhood," below, which is now a part of Unleash Lit! Writing is a big part of who I am.
JK: Lisa, we are honored to share your poem "Childhood" below. Can you tell us more about "Reflections," the short poem of yours above?
LB: A friend had passed away - a particularly kind person who was a friend of my husband's. After I heard the news I literally pulled my car over on the road near those cows and wrote that poem in my head. It went through some revisions- but not many. Raw and vulnerable at that moment.
JK: What are your writing goals this year?
LB: To continue this creative journey and see where it leads me. To work with like-minded creatives. To write and teach writing as I love both.
JK: Thanks for sharing insight and the follow short works with us, Lisa.
The child stood
squinting his eyes at an opal sun
with one foot on earth and one on stone
engaged in the movement of a nervous branch
diverted toward the siren of a passing car.
in a menagerie of building blocks and Tonka toys
wondering what am I having for dinner
The night you died,
the sky was smoky blue.
Cool air, a mix of still and breeze.
Cows lay down for rain.
The edge of loss is undefined
yet quiet, deafening, peaceful.