I went through and reorganized the files on my computer, and in order to do this I naturally opened some documents with enigmatic titles, the contents of which I didn't know. And I was really pretty impressed with my writing. Though most of it was prose.
As I mentioned before I've been writing a fair amount of prose, fiction and non, which is fine in and of itself except that I can't workshop it. It's stupid of me to think I can't actually show it to my friends and get their feedback because they are poets, of course. But I also feel generally less secure about writing prose fiction, due to my comparative lack of workshop and upper-level thinkin'-bout-craft experience. There are probably well-known ideas and issues that I am oblivious to except on the dimly-sensed instinctual level.
Wrangling with a piece written a few months ago. I am trying to get stuff in shape for a contest, a contest with money.
I am submitting a fiction piece, but one problem is that the minimum page requirements are 15 pages. And mine is not fifteen pages, it's like eleven. How strict are they about that, I have to wonder? Because otherwise I might be compelled to do some
Been reading Wordsworth and Coleridge, as I'm taking a class on them. I'm very fond of Coleridge. But I just have to say, those dead sailors in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner are up and down like marionettes. Not that it's all about RoAM, of course. His notebooks alone are worth reading.
It is fucking cold here, and I don't like that. But I do like ice and snow.
I may begin updating this with not-directly-about-writing-poetry posts, BTW.
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