Tag: the moth

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Ah! The business of poetry blogging

Oh no!

It’s been a few weeks since my last post, and yet Matthew Stewart has still generously kept me on his list of ‘Best UK Poetry Blogs of 2019’. Matthew observes that 2019 was ‘far from being a vintage year’ for blogging, and his suggestions of why this might be are interesting: keeping a blog going can be a chore at times, once you stop it’s hard to get going again, sometimes you can’t help wondering if you’re writing into a vacuum.

I’d rather be bog-snorkelling  bragging  blogging

In some ways, writing this blog is no more of a chore than writing actual poems, in that I prefer not to force either of them, but to let them happen when the inclination hits me. Having said that, I know it’s not good to leave a blog hanging for too long. I do from time to time give myself a goal, such as ‘write a blog post a week’ or ‘start a poem a day for a month’. I haven’t done either of those for a while, but I’ve been gee’d on by others lately. Heather Walker has been blogging every day recently and it’s been fascinating to read. Josephine Corcoran shared recently that she’d written twenty new poems. Lordy! That’s probably my annual output. And Mat Riches has been blogging every week for some time, AND he sent out 161 poems this year – BLIMEY.

Coming soon – the stats of shame

Actually Mat’s post reminded me that my annual roundup of subs/rejections/acceptances is due. I doubt I’ll be offering any natty graphs. Somewhat a visual feels like it might be a detail too far. But hey! Let’s see…

I do know that even if I’m not blogging, I’m reading other people’s blogs. They come at my inbox every Monday morning and I never cease to be amazed at how much thought, energy, creativity and generosity goes into blogs. And with the boot on the other foot, I’m eternally grateful to my readers, aka YOU, for taking the time to read this.

Current reading list

My poetry books-to-read pile currently includes the Winter issues of Rattle and The Moth, Clarissa Aykroyd’s Island of Towers (Broken Sleep Books), Hubert Moore’s The Feeding Station (Shoestring) which I’m reviewing for The Frogmore Papers, Katie Griffiths’ My Shrink Is Pregnant (one of my fellow Live Canon Pamphleteers) and Robert Hamberger’s Blue Wallpaper (Waterloo). Recently I received a copy of Sarah Windebank’s super first collection, Memories of a Swedish Grandmother (Myriad Editions). I was lucky enough to get a review copy, and wrote a short testimonial for the book.

And so this is Christmas…

I only got 6 out of 18 in the Guardian’s Christmas Number Ones quiz – although I think it was a swizz as there were only one or two questions about the seventies! Come on, Christmas was invented in the 70s! Can you do better??

Angst/

A dry month in Purgatory and book launch imminent

Day Four of No-booze-vember and I’m thinking of making an advent calendar to count down the days to when I’m allowed a glass of wine.  Last year it all made sense – nothing much happening in November, Christmas to look forward to…I certainly wouldn’t want to do this in January, the most dreary of months and impossible to get through without AT LEAST the odd hot toddy.

But this year November is alight with events: my first concert with a new choir, a friend’s birthday ceilidh, two book launches (one of which is my own – hell’s teeth can a girl not have a drink at her own launch?), a meal out with an American work-friend I haven’t seen in 7 or 8 years, a night at the Troubadour AND a reading in London with a host of starry poet-names. What was I thinking?

I’m trying to see it as a creative experiment-slash-meditative opportunity. It’s a happy coincidence that I’ve finished Dante’s Inferno and have moved on to Purgatorio, which is surprisingly, well, surprising. According to Dante (and I’ve only got as far as the introduction, so not yet immersed in the poetry) Purgatory is where most of us go when we die, to think about how we’ve lived our lives and how we might do better. The idea is that if we take responsibility for and (importantly) are penitent about this, then there’s a chance we’ll get to heaven. It does involve a bit of pain and much patience but compared to Hell (or living through this Brexit debacle) it’s not all that bad really. There’s no guarantee if or when you get to move on – some poor sods have been there for a thousand years – but the hope is always that when you get out it’ll be an upward not a downward move. So not drinking this month feels like a small kind of penance. Not that I imagine it’s anywhere near enough for all the bad behaviour I could be charged with when the time comes.

Meanwhile things are gearing up for the Live Canon pamphlet launch which is scheduled for Monday 25th November, at the Boulevard Theatre Bar in Soho – fancy! It used to be the Raymond Revue Bar apparently, so I just hope my poems are seedy enough to do justice to the place’s heritage. Still not sure what the title of the pamph will be, but a lot can happen in three weeks (I hope!) I’m looking forward to meeting & reading alongside fellow launchees Miranda Peake, Tania Hershman and Katie Griffiths, and toasting all of us with a glass of sparkling water…

A few bits and bobs on the submissions front – one poem on the Bridport shortlist (which is a lot longer than it sounds), two poems accepted for Stand magazine, although they may only want one of them as the other is in the forthcoming pamphlet, and one for The Moth, very exciting for me as I feel they are seriously good magazines and it’ll be a first appearance for me in both. And actually the poem that The Moth have taken is one that I’ve been trying with for ages – I started it six years ago, and it was in my ‘Business Class’ pamphlet (the one that nobody wanted as a collection). It’s had 12 iterations over the years and I’ve tried it on any number of journals. Then earlier this year I asked Catherine Smith for advice on a pamphlet submission and I was wailing about this one. She spotted the potential issues right away and suggested a bit of re-ordering, and as a result it’s now good enough for The Moth. This isn’t the first time Catherine has helped me on poems that aren’t quite ‘there’.  She’s the real deal, for sure.

On the other hand I wish I could say I had a bunch of poems out at the moment but I haven’t started anything new in weeks. Several poems in for competitions (actually pretty much the same poems in different comps) and of course you never know. Can you imagine winning the National and then having to withdraw the poem because it was commended in the Waltham Forest comp? TEE HEE. Not that I’m dissing the WT AT ALL (results not out yet!) but I know that Paul McGrane (being involved in both comps) would blow the whistle on such a thing, and *AHEM* quite rightly!

Getting back to reality, I’m fortunate to be going to Cumbria in December for Kim Moore’s Poetry Carousel, so four days on a poetry roundabout and I should have a few proto-poems in the pipeline (not if I don’t kick THAT sort of alliteration in the teeth though). The other Carousel tutors are Malika Booker, David Tait and (gulp) Clare Shaw (the subject of this mildly inappropriate post last year) … it’s gonna be hot stuff.

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On #100rejections … (and 2 subscriptions)

The other day on Twitter I saw Penny Shutt mention #100rejections. Intrigued, I followed the hashtag and felt I’d stumbled on some sort of masochistic cult…

“Heard the outcome of a GDC scholarship that I applied for…!
Didn’t get it! All good, another ✔️ for #100rejections.”

“Holy EFF I might make #100rejections in the first month at this rate. I’ve got 11 in two days. Go me?”

“This year was the first year I seriously submitted work to literary journals. My goal: #100rejections”

Can this be true? My first thought was along the lines of ‘duh? I’ve easily got a hundred bad poems right now which I could send to a cluster of fine mags and be guaranteed rejections’. But I guess that’s not the point.

I started thinking of the high octane telesales people who talk about how great it is to get knocked back, because every rejection means you’re closer to making a sale. I can’t really see the logic in it – just feels like statistics gone nuts. But then again there’s no logic in my preferring the word ‘declined’ to ‘rejected’ when poems don’t make the cut with an editor. As someone pointed out to me recently d’you mean as in ‘your credit card has been declined’? All-righty.

Louise Tondeur helpfully pointed me in the direction of this blog post from 2016, by Kim Liao. Here’s an extract:

My ego resists mustering up the courage to submit writing to literary magazines, pitch articles, and apply for grants, residencies, and fellowships. Yet these painful processes are necessary evils if we are ever to climb out of our safe but hermetic cocoons of isolation and share our writing with the world.

[…]

Perhaps aiming for rejection, a far more attainable goal, would take some of the sting out of this ego-bruising exercise—which so often feels like an exercise in futility.

I can see how we all have to play whatever mind games it takes in order to submit our work for outside scrutiny and still retain the confidence and/or determination to keep going. But aiming for rejections feels to me like an ‘exercise in futility’ in itself. I wonder if by trying to ‘protect’ the fragile ego in this way you’re just feeding the problem by elevating the status of a rejection – increasing its significance, rather than allowing yourself to move away and on from it.

There was a good recent discussion of #100rejections on Twitter, starting with this comment by Natalie Ann Holborow (@missholborow) which struck a chord with me:

“Not sure about this #100rejections thing. Surely it’s knocking yourself back before you’ve started? For me, it means more to aim high, work hard & use rejection as a valuable way to improve so that I can be my very best next time. Rejection happens, but I don’t need to seek it.”

Perhaps aiming for 100 submissions a year (on the basis that you may get some acceptances in among the rejections) is one thing, although personally I know my creative brain goes to sleep if I turn the business of writing poetry into a numbers game. I do berate myself for not sending work out, it’s true, but I’d rather not send at all than send for the sake of achieving some numerical goal.

It’s obvious I’ve come late to the #100rejections party – Kim has written about again here, three years later, on ‘What collecting 100 rejections taught me about creative failure‘, during which time various writers and artists have run with it.

I can see how the #100rejections meme works for some people – movements create camaraderie if not community, and Kim Liao’s assertion that ‘since I’ve started aiming for rejections, not acceptances, I no longer dread submitting’ clearly holds good for many. But it’s not really my bag.

 

In other news, as a couple of magazine subscriptions come to an end I’ve just subscribed to The Moth and Stand to take their places. Neither are journals I’m familiar with, but I know them by reputation and am looking forward to seeing what they hold.