Ah, Christmas. Busy busy. I still haven’t made a nice door wreath but when it stops raining I’ll be up the garden gathering foliage and berries. Next week I’m Christmas-crafting with the granddaughters (cutout snowflakes? stars for the tree? I think the only no-no is glitter… not sure anyone uses that anymore anyway!)
A meet-up with old school friends tomorrow, and a big concert in Lewes Town Hall on Saturday Jostling for place on the programme we have Vivaldi Gloria and later on ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’, so something for everyone. As the years go by I do think Slade’s shopping-mall classic has weathered well. Can anyone argue with those lyrics? Nice one, Noddy and Jimmy.
Meanwhile Peter Kenny and I have been trying to get the latest Planet Poetry episode in the bag, but struggling with tech issues. I’m hoping it will be up by 4pm Thursday. It’s our Christmas episode so not to be missed!
Have I written anything lately? Not really, although I was inspired by the Marina Abramovic show at the Royal Academy. Challenging and thought-provoking. I feel something is coming of it, in terms of poetry…
On the same day as Abramovic I was at the Nutcracker reimagined, a dance performance as part of the South Bank Winter Festival. I’ve seen the Royal Ballet version and this wasn’t it – but it was equally brilliant. And I love performances where I’m so close I feel a part of the action. (Although I confess I did baulk at Abramovic’s ‘Imponderabilia’.) Lucy and I had front-row seats and narrowly missed being knocked out by a high kick and showered in confetti.
In the New Year both Peter and myself are reading at Needlewriters in Lewes, on January 11th. It’ll be my first reading in ages. I need to get back into the swing of things, and with a collection coming out next year I’ll need to start begging for opportunities, which I’ve never been great at. Please come to Needlewriters if you are anywhere near. Friendly faces very welcome!
The New Year also sees a renewed effort to get my novel out the door and into the slippery inboxes of lit agents. Let’s hope it hits them just as they’ve had a nice lunch and are feeling all is well with the world.
At the weekend we were in Rye, a little town that seems to have come on considerably since the pandemic. Many more interesting shops but still charming. At Lamb House, a National Trust place that has been the home to Henry James, E. F. Benson (who wrote the Mapp and Lucia books) and Rumer Godden, they have a ‘seventies’ themed Christmas going on. Perfect! Blue Peter annuals, paper chains, Angel Delight and – erm – Slade on the record player. Someone had a lovely time putting that together!
Just back from a short trip to the Netherlands where the weather was spectacularly mild and dry for late October. I can’t recall ever being at the seaside in just a T shirt and jeans on my birthday! And what a seaside.
From the pier at Scheveringen, a big popular resort with miles of gorgeous sandy beach
It was my first visit to the Netherlands (I don’t really count the trips to Hilversum and occasional foray into Amsterdam when I worked for Nike) and I loved the vibe where we stayed in The Hague and the small nearby towns of Delft and Leiden.
A community bookswap
We couldn’t resist climbing the 300-plus steps to the top of the tower in Delft. Fab views.
View from the tower of the New Church at Delft
And in The Hague, the museums we visited were intimate affairs and not too crowded. I wasn’t sure I was going to enjoy the Mauritshuis with its rooms of Rembrandts and Vermeers, but to my surprise I discovered a love of Dutch 17th century portraits, and particularly the still life paintings…
Still Life with Chinese Lidded Jar, Hazelnuts and Orange, Simon Luttichuys (1610 – 1661)
And the Escher museum was fascinating. I only know him for his famous woodcuts and etchings of ‘impossible’ views, but there was so much more to see.
View down into St Peter’s in Rome by MC Escher
I came home thinking about so many things – the sea (it has a special resonance for the Dutch), unusual viewpoints, shared public spaces (people, trams, bikes… it seems to all work smoothly whereas in this country we have to put up endless barriers, physical and psychological), and how to be still and look closely.
On poetry submissions and record-keeping
A recent sign-up to my mailing list is Shaun Belcher, a plenty-published poet who is just getting back into the subs game – and look what he sent me:
It’s a couple of pages from his poetry submissions record-keeping, back in the early 1990s! He gave me permission to share it with you. Some of the journals listed here are still in existence, some not. Look at the comments, some are pretty funny. Shaun tells me he had an acceptance rate of around 30% – not bad! I think keeping a record of where you send work and what the response is (if any – note the “over a year and no reply – written off”!) is so useful as well as motivational. Thanks, Shaun.
On online workshopping
It’s week 4 of Bill Greenwell’s online workshop and I think I’m just settling in. Everyone there knows one another, and are familiar with the set-up. The first week went well, I jumped in and read everyone’s poems and commented on them all, although there’s no requirement to do so. But I like to be sociable and not appear stand-offish.
But by week 2 I was already feeling overwhelmed – so many poems to read and comment on, and trying to produce a new poem each week was weighing heavy on me. However, I seem to have now set my own pace. I try to read other people’s poems, but not if they’ve already had loads of comments. I sometimes add my comments but I don’t feel bad if I don’t.
Although I could just bring an old unpublished poem for workshopping each week (goodness knows I have a ton) I’ve set myself the task of only bringing new work, as a way of getting myself to write more. Having been away last week, yesterday I allowed myself a bit of leeway and posted an old poem that needs reviving. But overall, the course is proving to be very good for me.
Writing inspiration comes in all shapes and sizes I suppose. I was recently at a Charleston Festival event (Sheila Hancock in conversation with Joan Bakewell – combined age 182 and a huge inspiration/advertisement for a good old age). But I digress. In the bookshop marquee I was casually browsing and came across a single copy of a book I decided I had to have.
Now I’m no huge Eliot fan but I do dip into the Four Quartets every now and then. I’ve never got to grips with The Waste Land, but I’m a sucker for manuscripts that show different versions, crossings out etc. It’s like getting into the poet’s head. And this edition shows every page, with annotations from both Ezra Pound and Valerie Eliot. It’s extraordinary. And I’m now enjoying going back to the poem armed with more insight into its genesis.
Meanwhile our Planet Poetry guests continue to challenge (and delight) me – in the last episode I talked with the effervescent Caleb Parkin and his excellent book This Fruiting Body, and my most recent interview was with Fiona Sampson. I admit I was nervous, interviewing a poet with such a formidable CV (29 books for starters). But Fiona was delightful and fascinating. I’m not sure yet when the interview will ‘air’ but it’ll be worth listening, I guarantee.
A few near-misses lately. I was pleasantly surprised to find I had two poems on the Plough Prize shortlist this year, judged by Roger McGough (one of my early heroes!). Incidentally, the winner was Di Slaney, a former Planet Poetry guest and an editor who deserves to be better known as A POET. Then, the other day I decided to query PN Review again, as it’s been so long since I submitted there, and this time I got a prompt reply that although ‘no’, was very encouraging.
All this is good grist to the mill and keeps me thinking about poetry, even if I’m not yet writing much new, but that will come. In the meantime it’s singing that’s my main concern, having signed up to take Grade 8 at the end of this month – gulp! Now excuse me as I go over the YouTube to watch yet more tutorials about ‘how to get rid of breathy tone’ etc. Nothing like a bit of last minute cramming to turn me from lowly choir member into Dame Felicity Lott, tee hee.
I’m feeling very uplifted by real-life in-person poetry events. Last week in Lewes was the launch of three Frogmore Press publications: The Naming by Jeremy Page, Marion Tracy’s Evidence of Love and Neil Gower’s Meet me in Palermo. Strong readings all round and a cautiously-convivial atmosphere. Fast on this comes tomorrow’s Needlewriters event, our first live readings since January 2020, featuring Jeremy Page and two prose writers Alice Owens and Anna Hayward.
Peter Kenny’s and my podcast Planet Poetry has restarted, the first episode of Season 2 featuring the wonderful American poet Kim Addonizio. There are several interviews currently in the bag, so it will be great to see how listeners respond. I was a bit sad not to see Planet Poetry in a recent round-up of poetry podcasts in Poetry News, and it was a kick up the bum to finish our new website and make sure it’s Google-friendly. Although having worked in online marketing for decades I find it hard to get enthusiastic about keywords and search terms any more. Anyway, those lovely folks at the Poetry Society offered to give our Season two opener a plug on Twitter, which was nice.
Although I’m on a year’s leave of absence from the University of York, I’m actually still plugged in to Dante and also Chaucer these days, and find myself referring to notes I was making on my core course module last year. I’m loving Mary Jo Bang’s translation of Purgatorio, incorporating characters and language from the present day, although I suspect it might be sniffed at in some scholarly circles!
As regards submissions to magazines, I’ve decided to step away from them for bit. I have half a dozen poems out at the moment, but I’m not sending any more for now. I have a few reasons for this.
Firstly, I don’t need to, in the sense that I have a track record of publication now, and I’ve nothing to prove to myself or anyone else. I think I’ve found my level. It would have been nice to be have published in The Poetry Review or Granta, but it’s OK to accept that it’s not going to happen. I could kill myself trying to write the ‘right’ sort of stuff, or I could write what I want to write, and enjoy honing it as best I can.
Secondly (related to the first point), I have a publisher for my first collection. I don’t have the collection yet, but I have the freedom to complete it, knowing it will have a home. This is a very privileged position to be in and I want to enjoy the moment, not fret about why Publication A, B or C don’t want any of the individual poems. Plenty of high profile poets have told about how the individual poems in their (successful) collections were consistently rejected by magazines. Or even that they never submitted them to magazines.
I can’t swear that I won’t submit the odd poem here and there, but I’ll be very happy not to be constantly putting my work up for possible rejection. I think the course at York has opened my eyes/mind to a lot of things. Perhaps a leave of absence makes the heart grow fonder – I’m starting to look forward to going back, which is quite a turnaround.
I’ve just been editing an interview I did with the wonderful Kim Addonizio recently, for Planet Poetry. I’m a huge fan of Kim’s and in my keenness not to sound like a goofy fangirl I’m slightly worried I wasn’t complimentary enough or warm enough. Which is probably silly. But there was something very reassuring about hearing her say (when asked what are you working on now) ‘I’m just trying to write the next poem’.
The other day I queried a magazine about a submission I made in March, only to be told the poems had been rejected months ago but for some reason I never got the memo – they were extremely apologetic, which makes it worse in that I couldn’t feel annoyed with them! So that led me back to my submissions record, and the realisation that I’ve had 31 poems rejected by magazines this year so far and only two accepted. In my defence, I’m not sending as many poems out as I used to, because I’m writing more of what I think of as ‘collection’ poems, which don’t necessarily stand alone. I know that placing poems gets harder all the time as the sheer number of poets submitting to mags keeps increasing (and hey! I’ve done my bit to help that! I must be mad!) but I also know that good (enough) quality will out. It’s just hitting that good enough sweet spot is all. And all a poet can do is just try to write the next damn poem.
Anyway, all this takes me back to poets like Kim – both her poetry and her wise words on the craft. Her Ordinary Genius is never far from my desk. When I find snippets that really speak to me I collect them and stick them on the wall: ‘the language we reach for first is the language we know’ (not a good thing, in case that wasn’t clear!)…’if a poem goes nowhere it’s dead’ …. ‘write colder’… And then there are her witty, eye-opening, multi-layered, highly original poems with all their many, many ‘I wish I’d written that’ moments.
Do subscribe to Planet Poetry if you’re interested in hearing the interview (and interviews with tons of other great poets). Look for it wherever you get your podcasts.
Ilya Kaminsky’s Deaf Republic came through the post from the Poetry Book Society, swathed in accolades. Looking at the title my first thought was of Raymond Antrobus’s The Perseverance, also a PBS Choice, but in fact the two books are very different animals. (I’m a bit sad I don’t have The Perseverance to hand as I gave it to a friend, so can only go on my memory of it.)
While The Perseverance struck me as intensely personal, focusing on the poet’s D/deaf experience and upbringing, Deaf Republic has the feel of a parable, or a Greek tragedy. It’s set during a war, in an occupied town, where the death of a child incites the townspeople to passive resistance which takes the form of feigned deafness. It’s met with brutal retaliation. We follow the fates of two protagonists as events escalate, while the townspeople grow increasingly divided. It’s a stark and bloody tale, made all the more sinister (for me anyway!) by the role of puppets. There’s a horrific dreamlike quality to much of the action. Reading the book felt like a similar experience to reading D M Thomas’s The White Hotel.
Right from the opening poem ‘We Lived Happily during the War’ the reader is invited to examine their own conscience. Is this happening now, in our own society? How are we responding?
[…] I was
in my bed, around my bed America
was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house–
I took a chair outside and watched the sun.
I found the closing poem ‘In a Time of Peace’ rather hammered home the point. But not enough to detract from the power of the book.
On another track entirely is my current ‘book at bedtime’, She-Merchants, Buccaneers and Gentlewomen: British Women in India by Katie Hickman. She tells the stories of women who left for a new life in India at a time when it must have been an absolutely extraordinary thing to do; the first accounts of such journeys date from as early as 1617. Clearly the sea journey alone must have tested the sturdiest resolve.
It is hard to imagine what resilience it must have taken to survive nineteen months at sea. […] Sea captains were reluctant to take female passengers at all and often confined them to the very lowest decks, where it was usual to house the terrified horses, dogs and other animals. Treated like so much livestock themselves, these early travellers were obliged to endure living conditions in which there was little or no fresh air or light, and ceilings so low they were never able to stand upright. … in a feeble attempt to allow the air to circulate, women were forbidden to hang up blankets or linen as screens during the day. […] Trips onto the deck to breath some sea air or take some exercise, were often seriously limited, even forbidden by some captains.
I’m completely gripped by these female pioneers. Many of their stories are so fantastical they read like fiction. However, Maya Jasanoff in The Guardian has pointed out that plenty more well-rounded and scholarly books have told these women’s stories before, and claims that ‘She-Merchants’ “for all its good intentions, does for imperial history a bit what a package tour does for travel: it lets readers glimpse an ‘exotic’ location without requiring them to think too much about the people who actually live there.” Ouch. I’m still enjoying the book, but it’s useful to bear this opinion in mind.
I’ve come rather late to the podcast party, although my good friend Lucy has often sung their praises. Before my longish train journey north I decided to finally download a free podcast app (Castbox, which works well on my Samsung Galaxy S6) and then went on the search for some interesting things to take with me and listen to.
It’s been quite a revelation. I’ve never found it easy to read on the train, but putting on headphones and listening, cutting out all the stupid conversations or noises around me, and still able to watch the countryside going by, was perfect. And back home I find it’s a fine companion in the kitchen when cooking. For someone who rarely finds radio output of any interest, it’s amazing how I’ve taken to this.
My all-out favourite is the New Yorker Poetry podcast, in which a guest poet discusses someone else’s poem, then reads it, followed by conversation and a reading of one of their own poems. The host until last October was Paul Muldoon who I find perfectly suited to the medium. His voice is wonderful to listen to and the conversations he has with guests are fascinating. He’s always careful not to either talk down to the listener nor to exclude us. Each monthly edition lasts about half an hour and they go back to 2013 so there’s a rich archive to enjoy. So far I’ve heard Andrew Motion reading Alice Oswald, Eileen Myles reading James Schuyler and Nick Laird reading Elizabeth Bishop. One funny thing is the odd advert – presumably added automatically by the software as they sometimes pop up in the middle of a sentence (but not, so far, a poem!) To be fair I’ve only noticed one or two per episode, and they’re very brief. We’re not talking commericial-radio-time-to-make-a three-course-meal-style ad breaks.
Then there’s the Poetry magazine podcast, co-hosted by Don Share and Lindsay Garbutt or other members of the editorial team. I’ve no idea why I’ve never explored this one before. When Poetry comes through the post I love the fact that you open and and you’re straight into the poems – no editorial or anything else forming a barrier between the cover art and the inside art. But I do sometimes think I’d like some sort of commentary, background or insight into the editors’ choices. The podcast description is ‘The editors go inside the pages of Poetry, talking to poets and critics, debating the issues, and sharing their poem selections with listeners.’ It’s short (under 10 minutes), frequent (weekly) and to the point. And again – great voices and high quality production. All of which makes it a pleasure to listen to, and most importantly allows the content to shine through.
There are other podcasts I haven’t yet really assessed yet but have subscribed to, such as the Scottish Poetry Library podcast which appears also to have been going for some years, each episode a conversation with an individual poet, incorporating them reading some of their work. The UK arts charity Poet in the City also puts out a podcast, albeit infrequently (two or three episodes a year) but an interesting mix of ‘performances, reflection and debate’. The Poetry Society podcast features ‘both readings by poets and the fascinating exchanges between editors of The Poetry Review and contributors, past and present, as they explore ideas and themes generated by the issue.’ One podcast I have listened to before occasionally is The Transatlantic Poetry Pondcast (sic) produced by Robert Peake, which brings together UK and US poets for live readings and debate – the live element is exciting.
There are tons more I’m sure, but I don’t want to enter overwhelm too soon. I’ll probably subscribe to loads of channels and end up just going back to a small number. I’m already getting a feel for differing production standards – sound quality for example. Just saying!
I’ve shortened ‘Currently Influenced By…’ to CIB in the titles of these posts, because there are ‘rules’ about optimum length of blog posts titles and only a small percentage of people will read past the first couple of words, etc etc. It’s one of the symptoms of the Age of Attention, and what Aldous Huxley called our ‘almost infinite appetite for distractions.’
Pay attention now
Being distracted by technology used to be something we’d joke about – how poems never quite got written because we spent too long watching cute kitten videos. I still sometimes have to actually say under my breath the things I pick up my phone to do – check weather, check train times to London – otherwise I get sucked into reading and responding to emails, or a ‘quick’ look at the news, or a review of the photos I took yesterday to share with Nick – ‘oh look at this one!’
But reading James Williams‘s piece in the RSA Journal was a sharp reminder of where we’re going with technology, and it’s worse than you think. Williams is design ethicist and a former Google strategist, as well as co-founder of Time Well Spent, a campaigning organisation aiming to ‘realign technology with humanity’s best interests’:
In the sort term, the externalities of the digital attention economical distract us from doing the things we want to do. In the longer term, they can distract us from living the lives we want to live, […] a primary effect of digital technologies is to undermine the operation and even the development of the human will.
Williams talks persuasively about this – how the ‘petty media environment defined by impulsiveness and zero-sum competition for our attention’ has created fertile ground for the success of Donald Trump, for example, and how technology has ‘crowded out opportunities for reflection and replaced leisure with entertainment.’
(As I read this I thought of a recent ‘Homes for Sale’ supplement in the local paper, and its photos of interiors designed to ease the sale. When I saw a photo of what appeared to be a vast living room containing nothing but a black TV on the wall and a sofa, I felt sad – even though there may be many interpretations of such a scenario – perhaps the person or people living here spend all their time at work or going for long walks or political protest marches or caring for their old mum. Maybe they never lived there. Or maybe they’re in the process of moving out. But the picture still made me feel sad.)
Steer for the deep waters only
A recent poetry mail shot contained a flyer for a new publication called The Analog Sea Review (an offline journal) – you may have seen it. Their manifesto:
Analog Sea is a small community of writers and artists wishing to maintain contemplative life in the digital age. […] We aim to spark conversations between those who find artistic expression, philosophical enquiry, and reverence for nature critical counterweights to the racket and fragmentation of modern life.
They don’t have a website nor an email address.
Technology. Attention. Distraction. What’s it doing to us?
These are big issues for me, having spent many years absorbed in and fascinated by the internet and online behaviour. Online enriched my life, especially in the early days (late twentieth/early twenty-first century) and I believed the good would outbalance the bad, but it’s not looking that way now.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog you’ll know that I gave up using Facebook in January 2017, initially for a month, as I was starting to feel an overwhelming sense of anxiety every time I opened it up. I haven’t gone back, and don’t regret the decision. Today on Cheryl Capaldo Traynor’s blog I read about her own trials with Facebook, when people who she believes to be her friends spread inflammatory material. She documents her difficulty in deciding how to deal with this. But leaving Facebook, with everything she enjoys about it, isn’t an option – ‘I’ve done enough cutting off my nose to spite my face in my lifetime.’
I’ve recently written a piece for Poetry News about social media and the ‘health’ of poetry, canvassing the opinions of a range of poets, which was in itself fascinating. It hasn’t been signed off yet, so I don’t know if or when it will appear, but I can tell you it was hard to cover everything I wanted to in 800 words, so I sense there will be more about it, not least of all on this blog.
I don’t really ‘do’ political poetry. Or do I?
I suppose it’s all got me thinking more about how the politics of technology and online behaviour intersect, and I can feel it oozing out in the form of poetry. Or at the point of oozing. I’ve been reading Peter Raynard’s new collection Precarious, and have been a bit overcome by its hugeness, it’s a tsunami of a collection where image piles upon image upon image as if all the injustices experienced over many years have been compressed and expressed with an intensity that’s relentless. (I realise that’s not a complete review, and not all the poems in the book fit that description, but more on this in another post.)
With this in mind I’ve recently found my way to some interesting US poetry publishers championing social and political causes, via Twitter. For example, the Rise Up Review and Glass Poetry Press… more on THIS in another post as well.
Which reminds me. My list of poetry magazine submissions windows is due an update, and I may start to add some US journals to the list. I feel my attention being split. Must focus.
This is the first of a new series of posts inspired by Anthony Wilson’s fascinating ‘notebook’ posts, in which he shares phrases, thoughts, links to things that have struck him as interesting, that have got him thinking and/or writing. Anthony’s posts are full of brief, throw-em out there lines and ideas, thinking points that jab you, that surprise – very much notebook-like, sometimes almost poems in themselves. This is my version – more verbose, perhaps, but with (I hope) the same sort of flavour – a window into who and what’s currently got me thinking (or feeling) over the last month.
Walt Whitman and the sea
I’m currently learning Vaughan Williams ‘A Sea Symphony’ with one of my choirs, the words for which are taken from Walt Whitman’s ‘Leaves of Grass’. Somehow the combination of the words and the music have really got under my skin. I’ve sung a lot of choral works but have rarely felt the emotion of a piece as I’m singing (as opposed to making sure I come in in the right place on the right note). I think only Britten’s ‘War Requiem’ has ever affected me quite this way.
The Sea Symphony has made me want to seek out more of the poems in ‘Leaves of Grass’ and find out more about Whitman, who I admit has only ever been ‘a famous American poet’ to me. Here are the opening lines of the symphony:
Behold! the sea itself!
And on its limitless, heaving breast, the ships:
See! where their white sails, bellying in the wind, speckle the green and blue!
See! thy steamers coming and going, steaming in or out of port!
See! dusky and undulating, their long pennants of smoke!
And look at this recent recording of the piece on YouTube – I challenge you not to be moved by the first three and a half minutes:
Ocean liners at the V & A
Vaughan Williams’s Sea Symphony was completed in 1909, and it’s funny how so many iconic pieces of music with sea themes were composed around that period (pre-first world war). The second half of the piece isn’t really about the sea at all, but Whitman’s use of it as a metaphor for life, the universe and everything.
I won’t milk the ‘being all at sea’ metaphors here but on the subject of (AHEM) the British economy and its current prospects, I couldn’t help be drawn to this short vid in which economist Ha-Joon Chang explains why economics is for everyone. The RSA hold regular public-access talks on a wide range of subjects affecting society, civil life, culture and education. They’re all available to view online if you can’t make it to London in person.
Some of the talks have been turned into animated shorts aimed at encapsulating the main points in a succinct, graphic and often humorous way. As someone who goes bleary-eyed at the combative, points-scoring speeches of our elected ministers, this was both informative and though-provoking.
Celebrating ‘doing nothing’
I don’t know if you’re familiar with Medium, but it’s a kind of open forum for the posting of (mostly) interesting opinion pieces. It’s kind of a blog platform, in that you can open an account, complete a profile, starting posting whatever you want, gather followers and follow other people’s posts. A very clean and simple interface where words are valued at least as much as visuals, it’s mostly a platform for creative tech/future thinking/society/personal development. In my limited experience of it, it feels a little like a safe haven for the Twitter early adopters and the ensuing intelligent discussion.
A couple of pieces caught my imagination recently – ‘I am not a productive person’ by Jon Westenberg, in which he argues that “I don’t want to define myself by my level of constructive output, because the number of things I tick off a to-do list is not a proxy for a personality.” As someone who needs time to mull things over, and which to onlookers can seem like time-wasting or doing nothing (a quality that never sat happily with my corporate employers), this short article really spoke to me.
A bit of personal growth
More in the ‘self-help’ camp but containing a couple of interesting nuggets is this piece by Benjamin P Hardy – with the unpromising title of ‘How to change your life in 30 days’. Hardy talks about what often happens when you achieve success at something: the success may be down to something you’ve done that was different, or more innovative, or it involved pushing yourself, taking risks etc – but instead of carrying on with those behaviours, you start playing safe – which means avoiding taking risks, no longer innovating, staying in your comfort zone. And in effect you slip backwards – even if only in your own mind – it’s like a loss of confidence. You’re trying to maintain your position but it feels a lot harder – like treading water in the sea rather than swimming, you’re letting the sea carry you wherever it wants – hey! see what I did there? A little sea-metaphor popped into my head!
Anyway, it did make me confront a tendency I see in myself – having ‘cracked’ something, for example getting a poem into a magazine I’ve been trying for ages, I then worry about sending anything there again, in case it’s never as good as the ‘magic’ poem. Or let’s say I have some success in a competition. I then convince myself that it would be awful to enter the same competition and get nowhere, or that it would be safer to enter small competitions because then if I’d have a better chance of getting somewhere, or if got nowhere it wouldn’t matter because it was a small competition – you see how stupid the whole thing gets? And the sum total of all this is that if I’m not careful I let the stupidity dictate what I write or prevent me from just thinking about the excitement of trying new things and taking a few risks. So I hereby pledge to do less of this, and thanks Benjamin P for the kick up the backside.
