It’s been a strange week. Another rejection, two submissions and a poetry crit from the lovely Wendy Pratt. I am making a concerted effort to submit more frequently this year, following Stephanie Arsoska’s advice that ‘if you throw enough shit, some of it will stick.’ Well, I have made the effort to fling some of it around and remain
deluded hopeful that somebody might forget to duck.
The anthology for my poetry course has arrived, ‘The Line is Not for Turning’ and so I plan to dive into that this weekend and have a go at writing my first prose poem. The course doesn’t start until May, so I hope to get a few practice drafts under my belt before then. It’s all very well reading it and loving it, but replicating it is a whole different matter.
In a couple of weeks I am going to the Oxford Literary Festival for the weekend where I plan to meet with a fellow writer and drink gin. There are a couple of venues I want to check out for Paper Swans, so it should be fun. I love Oxford; I studied there and someday I plan to get old and cantankerous there.
And that’s me. Never enough time, but not giving up.