thaw
It is amazing what a difference some fair weather makes in my mood. I feel like some other things have broken loose with the ice in my head the past couple of days, including a closing of sorts for the new prose poetry project, also, some trimming of the other manuscript. I made some preliminary decisions as to what to do with the whole lot of them, where to send them, etc. I've been waffling for two years and it's really time to stop it and get back to something like ambitiousness. When I'm trying to be low-key and just let things happen, pretty soon I'm climbing up the walls.
I am still waiting for news on something else that has been under consideration with a possible bit of interest expressed in the fall. I am hoping for the best, though I realize even if they are interested, it may be a long shot. I've seen the work out there that I am competing with (in journals, via submissions)and so much of it blows me damn straight out of the water. How anyone stands a chance amidst it all is beyond me. Still I am remaining optimistic and raising my hand, and waving wildly: "Pick me..Pick me.."
midweek update:
of course, my moods change from day to day. I sometimes really just want out of the game rather than to succeed in it. To just go about writing and making books and finding readers and not doing an endless round robin of contests and open submission periods. There are a few things that tether me to traditional modes of publishing and more than a few that make me want just want to be alone and do my own thing, things like the book submission bottleneck, my own sense of creative control, actually making money off of projects (as opposed to miniscule royalties and usually nothing while at the same time spending so much money/time on entry fees.) It all so seems to not have very much to do with the actual writing. Sometimes I just want to chuck ambition out the window and get on with enjoying other ways of being a poet and connecting with an audience, ie handing poems out on the street, writing them in skywriting, the sides of buildings. Or maybe just making my own little books and distributing them to whoever wants one. That might sound like the best thing ever.
I am still waiting for news on something else that has been under consideration with a possible bit of interest expressed in the fall. I am hoping for the best, though I realize even if they are interested, it may be a long shot. I've seen the work out there that I am competing with (in journals, via submissions)and so much of it blows me damn straight out of the water. How anyone stands a chance amidst it all is beyond me. Still I am remaining optimistic and raising my hand, and waving wildly: "Pick me..Pick me.."
midweek update:
of course, my moods change from day to day. I sometimes really just want out of the game rather than to succeed in it. To just go about writing and making books and finding readers and not doing an endless round robin of contests and open submission periods. There are a few things that tether me to traditional modes of publishing and more than a few that make me want just want to be alone and do my own thing, things like the book submission bottleneck, my own sense of creative control, actually making money off of projects (as opposed to miniscule royalties and usually nothing while at the same time spending so much money/time on entry fees.) It all so seems to not have very much to do with the actual writing. Sometimes I just want to chuck ambition out the window and get on with enjoying other ways of being a poet and connecting with an audience, ie handing poems out on the street, writing them in skywriting, the sides of buildings. Or maybe just making my own little books and distributing them to whoever wants one. That might sound like the best thing ever.
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