dulcetly...notes on a bookish life

 

So, another week and another to-do list.  Another set of awesome new poems for wicked alice.  Another batch of cover designs, involving things like moon jellies and maritime schematics.  Maybe some submissions to go out, of which I have made up a list of (mostly web) journals I'd like to send to.  I've also re-assembled major characters in minor films after having disassembled it and am plotting places to mail to off to.  I feel out of the game in submitting full-length projects from scratch, or submitting manuscript projects at all I guess . It feels good to have it all neatly printed out and so large and solid and substantial (it's a whole 61 pages, which feels heavy by poetry book standards, or my poetry book standards). I feel like I've finished something. Something big (or at least a big collection of small things.)  I plan on giving it a final comb through this evening at home.  

Of course, futzing with that manuscript is making me feel less anxious about the ghost landscapes poems, the  project I am not finishing that I hoped I would be done with by the time November rolled around.  I keep pushing quality time with them til the end of the day when my brain is fried and should be doing just the exact opposite.  I rarely use my mornings for writing since it seems the best time of day to get more practical things don e, but perhaps writing would, in fact, be the most practical and sound thing I could be doing then.