Would That I Might

This will be another short entry.  My leg is really hurting at present, and Melissa just got home, finally, so I don't want to work for too long.  I did my writing today, and again found that I had somehow written an extra poem.  Again, it seems likely that I will continue with that as a part of my daily work, as that seems a natural way to increase things, and I cannot help but imagine that an "accident" of this sort could just be a part of my own mind making that choice.  In any case, I had been considering the idea of moving up towards ten poems, especially, I will admit, because it is a nice round number, but hadn't yet committed to it.  Thus, when I found, looking back over my work this evening, that I had composed an extra poem, well, I felt it was probably for the best and embraced it, though I don't think I would have chosen to do so tonight.

No Halloween I have had no costume tonight, did not see a single trick-or-treater at my door.  It has barely been Halloween at all here, except for the feeling, unchanged today, that there is no need for costumes here, that everyone is already wearing one daily, though most have forgotten who is underneath.

Again, my leg pain kept me from ascending the stairs until tonight.  I have gotten all my poetry written for the evening, and I have some thoughts about a potential play.  I need to get to work on it, as the due date approaches rapidly, but I think I have a few thoughts that might be worth playing with.  Some of them seem a bit strange, but I often find following such ideas fruitful, and if I don't have anything else at present, it is probably worth just going for it.  If I had a bit more energy tonight, I would begin, but I am not sure that is in the cards.  Indeed, I think I am going to keep this rather short as well, so I can get my leg back on ice and elevated once more. 

Doesn't This Make You Feel A Little Better About Things? We expended an effort to provide you with help You should have seen it, we all worked hard.  I was on my hands and knees at one point.  It was a big effort.  Truly, it was a lot that we did, looking to help you.  We did not succeed, so we are leaving now, and I know that you are in the same situation, but we did work hard, even if it meant nothing, so perhaps you can feel a bit better knowing an effort was made, just like I do.

I am going to keep this short as my leg is rather unhappy at present and I would like to go ice it for a bit.  I am still apace with my poetry, but I need to get other work done as well.  I need to come up with an idea for my play.  I do have thoughts about this, including one or two that may be a bit odd but could be quite interesting and fun.  It really is important to me to think of something that I feel has meaning beyond just being a small bit of entertainment, but that is not always the easiest thing to do, and it may be that I must trust that to happen intrinsically through the process.  I don't know.  I am going to play around with it and see, but I have not yet done that, largely because I've not felt up to it with my ankle sprained.  The other work that needs to be done is really quite simple, and again is only delayed because of my lack of desire to go upstairs to my office in my current state.  It is mainly to make some minor corrections and title a few poems that I

Here In Spite of That It is not as though any of us wish to be here.  It is a nice day, good for being out in the sun, for the beach maybe, or a barbecue.  Some like baseball or golf.  Of course, even if it were not a nice day, this is not where we would want to be, no, it is not what any of us would do if we had the choice to be at the movies or sitting at home reading, even. None of that changes it, we are all here, unpleasant as it is, we are all here for you, to show support, to try to help, to be here for you, out of love, though it is quite clear how mad our presence makes you.

I am having a bit of a disheartening day.  I received a rejection for one of my chapbook manuscripts, and it was rather upsetting, as it is from a press whom I greatly admire, and one where a writer I am close with also publishes.  It is always a bit hard getting a rejection these days, as I have so few acceptances.  I am certain it never stops hurting, but for me, right now, I am looking at it with a certain negativity that comes from not having had any real success as of yet. To my mind, each rejection, right now, is not merely a single act, but part of a large wave.  When I get an acceptance, it is exciting, but unless it is part of a group of acceptances, it is only a blip.  The pattern at large of rejection feels bigger.  It is easy for the negative part of my mind to begin spinning up with things about how I will never get my work out there.  I mean, I believe in the work I am sending out, and to have it rejected feels like a sort of proclamation. Now, of course, I do not, ra

They All Came to Say Hello but you do not want to see them.  You did not ask them to come here, did not want any such nonsense, but now, they have come, uninvited they have arrived. You would have said, do not come, please, it is not needed or even what I want right now, but they are here, have come all the way here to say hello, have made it so you must let them in, if you do not wish to be judged rude or selfish.  No, you must let them in, though they were never invited.

I had another day where I did not make it to my office in the morning.  As I have said before, this is largely due to my not wanting to climb the stairs on my sprained ankle.  If I could, I would try going up backwards and seated, but it is a rather narrow spiral stairwell that does not permit that possibility, at least not for my physique.   As a result of this, I have again written all my poems (nine daily, at this point) in one go.  Now, that is a bit of a strain, in some ways, but I am glad to find I can do such a sustained amount of work in one go.  It may be that I would not have been capable of that in the recent past, or it may be that I merely need the conviction to force myself to do the work.  In either case, I am glad to see that I have the stamina to do that much work at a single time, especially as I do worry, at times, about how far I will push myself and whether I will get to a point where I just cannot keep up.  It is good to know that I am not close to that quite y

It Is Not A Fair Thing you ask for, but you already know it is not fair, that is too clear, just as you know he will agree, because it is you who is asking and he is too much of a fool to see past his love for you.

Recently, I was watching a video in which Adam Savage, the television personality and self-described, "maker", discussed cosplay.  To be honest, it was one of many videos on this subject, as this is one of Mr. Savage's passions.  In this video, and in others I have watched, he discussed his feeling, having built a costume, that the first time he wears it in public is the actual completion of the work.  That is to say, if I may extrapolate towards my own understanding, the costume is only an inert thing, but wearing it adds the final element that brings it to completion.  For it to sit around would mean it had not fulfilled the purpose for which it had been created, and thus would leave it incomplete, not physically, but in a conceptual or existential sense. As a writer, this is also true.  I recall one of my earliest experiences in a writing class.  One student handed in a piece that was essentially a journal entry, and the teacher commented that it would be impossible

Hello, I Cannot Help You I am sorry, but who was it you asked to speak with, because I am not certain I know that name, or it may be that they do not work here any longer, I have not been here long enough to be certain of that, but I am sure that they are not here, no one with that name is here.  I have been told that name is not the name of anyone who is here, which is the answer I must give you.  Do not call to ask for them again, please, it is better you do not.

I faced a small bout of procrastination today.  I've always had a bit of that in me, as I think most people, certainly most creative people, do.  I think that is one reason it is so integral for me to keep going.  It compels me forward in my work.  However, I still have times when I succumb, if only for a few hours, to these old habits.  In this case, I did none of my writing during the morning or day.  Partly, this was because I had no desire to climb the stairs with my bad ankle, and I am sure it is also in part because Melissa is not here, as I feel a bit unmoored without her, especially now that I don't have Ulysses around.  In particular, I refer to the fact that he needed medicine at regular intervals, which provided a need to be up and about at those times, including early in the morning.  I would often think, I am already up, so I might as well get to work.  In the end, I did finish all the work I had intended, writing nine poems and this blog entry.  I have other wor

Not for The Reasons You Think No, that is not why at all, for other reasons entirely, not for those reasons.  It is you who is assuming that is why.  I never even implied that was at all why it is things are as they are and not another way.  It is for other reasons, though I will not explain them, I do not need to explain myself to you, but don't think you are right, what you have said is not true, even if you think there is evidence, no it is not true, though I will not tell you what is.

I somehow seem to have messed up my ankle and it is hurting terribly today.  It was twinging yesterday, but it was by far worse today, and I am really aching at present.  I bring this up because I am probably going to keep tonight's entry short as a result.  In such times, of course, I am always buoyed to think that the work is continuing, in spite of everything, which is has an added dimension considering that my office, where I have my computer and do my work, is now located up a spiral stairwell in the house, which is not the easiest thing to navigate with a bum leg.  Yet, I am here, and I even seem to have added ninth poem to my writing tonight.  I had been thinking about it, as I've had such success increasing my output recently, and it felt, though still soon, as if it might be appropriate.  I haven't had any issues keeping up recently, in spite of increasing the number of poems I'm writing, if anything it has gotten me doing even more and better work.

What Do You Mean You Don't Like It? It seems like you just didn't get it.  I mean, you may think you don't like it, but I just think it is that you don't understand.  Let me explain it all to you, let me take and make certain that you know why each joke is actually funny, why you are wrong not to be laughing already. It is good, if you do not like it, that is your fault for not getting it.

Though, as I have said many times, I don't really feel that I can judge the merits of my poems, much of the time, and certainly not directly after writing them, that does not change the fact that I go through periods of feeling that my work is going well.  Often, this is a result of the ease of the work, but that is not the only factor.  Today, for example, I am feeling very good about my work largely because it feels as if I wrote poems of real variety.  Part of this is a fear that I have of falling into some sort of rut, especially since I am writing so many poems.  At times, it is easy to find myself stuck.  It is possible to write ten or twenty poems that are really different attempts to get one idea on the page, for example, or it could easily be that I fall into a place where I am repeating the same poetic structure or device in a way that feels repetitious. Today, though, I felt that each poem moved into a different space from those that came before it.  It was not always

A Warning from One Who Learned The Hard Way You know, you must not ask for the help, though you know you need it, will not arrive safely without it.  Better to hope for the best than ask for help, when you know asking itself is the very thing to mark you as a problem.

As I have mentioned before, I feel it is important for me to shift my attitude about submissions so that I feel less egotistical about the process.  I want to be able to consider each submission as my putting work in front of publishing professionals who I would like to work with.  It is not merely about whether they accept my work at that moment, but about showing my work to people of influence in my profession.  That attitude alters my focus from seeking the acceptance to the actual act of putting the work in front of an editor or agent.  I recognize the value of that attitude, and I think it is far more positive than just waiting to hear back with belief that acceptance is the only important, positive outcome.  At the same time, if I am to be honest, I know I am not there, and that a part of me is actively against this belief.  A part of me is invested in the notion that publication is the real arbiter of success, and I often feel that I have yet to fully start my professional car

Between Us It would be nice to make it clear to you, to explain the way I feel, what you have done, what I have done too.  Too often I say this and you are hurt, I see it as much as I feel the pain of what you have said too.  I admit I am not the good one, not a victim only, but have a part to play here.  Yet, when I try to speak, my words do not express what I mean to you, they mean what you want them to, not what I intend. Do your words mean to me what you would say?  I do not know: is this the chasm between us?  How can we speak so it is not noise but communication?

I've not mentioned it up to now, but my fiance had to leave town for a bit to deal with family health issues, and the situation is rather stressful.  She had intended to return tonight, but her plans changed and we are not certain when she will be back.  It seemed apparent yesterday that this was a probable eventuality, if I am honest, and I really wish that I could help her.  I have offered to go, but she does not feel that my presence would be helpful in the current climate.  I bring all this up because I had a rather rough morning for getting to work.  Indeed, I neglected to begin my poetry writing, which is usually done by ten at the latest, until the evening.  Some part of me was even contemplating whether I could get out of the work altogether.  It seems rather ironic considering that yesterday I was writing an acknowledgement of my need to keep going in this way, or maybe some part of me sensed that this was due and was guiding me in advance.  In any case, I had a lot of

About My Day Nothing much has happened here today.  Not much to tell about the things that have been happening.  I did not do all that much, stayed here at home, mostly, I went out to the market, I think, spoke to my mother on the phone. Mostly I stayed here, at home though it is lonely here when you are away, still, it is our home, I wait for you in our home.

I attended another of the playwright's masterclasses at FAU's Theatre Lab.  This one was led by Christopher Demos-Brown, author of the play American Son , which was on Broadway recently and has been adapted into a film for Netflix as well.  It was a very interesting class, and he offered an exercise, which I believe I may try again, as it did not go quite well for me in my thinking at that time.  I was too easily distracted and could not really focus into a single idea.  I do have some better thoughts now on how to tackle it, and I think it is worthwhile.  It may well lead me to create the work that I turn in as a submission for the festival this year.  My short play last year actually was an expansion from work that I had done in the masterclass, so it seems a likely way to start. In many ways, for me at least, that really is the biggest trick with most projects, as far as writing.  I am now writing poetry at a great clip, but it is because I have turned it into an ongoing p

Avoiding The Subject Why is no one talking about that?  We all saw it happen, didn't we all see what it was happened? It seems like a thing we should all be discussing now, but none of us are talking about it.  I wonder if anybody else is thinking about this, if they wonder why no one is talking about it too, wish as much as I for someone else to start, I do not want to be first, but I would join in, if someone else will start.

Often, the practical concerns of publishing become a preoccupation for me.  I am concerned about the organizational issues of keeping tabs on submissions,  which does not even touch upon my fears about screwing up an actual submission in one of a million minor ways.  I am certain I have blown numerous opportunities by not sending work in the proper format or with the exact subject line in an email.  The thing is, though, the big problem of keeping tabs on work, so that I don't make real mistakes, is a thing that does scare me, and is one thing that has probably slowed my submission of work. Because of the various learning disabilities which I have, many of the organizational tasks others take for granted are very difficult for me.  Attempting the processes that others use for keeping track of such data is often not a practical possibility for me, either, as it revolves around using spreadsheet type interfaces that I find cryptic to understand.  Processing those forms of visual d

Too Far For My Help You have gone too far this time, now it is too far.  I will not be able to help again, not any longer, because you have passed beyond a certain point, I will not go that far, it tempts me, but I will not.  Do not think I choose because I do not wish to help or have no more love, it is not that way, it is the opposite, in fact.

Tonight has been a difficult night for me.  My fiance, Melissa, had to go out of town to see her family, not under the best of circumstances, I am sad to say.  It is the first time I am alone in the new house, staying here myself, without Ulysses around to keep me company, and it is rather difficult.  I am not ashamed to admit how difficult I am finding it.  Indeed, a part of me almost shut off entirely and forgot about the work I had to do.  In the end, though, I am here,, writing, and I know I feel better for it, hard as it may be.  It is not always easy, and it may not always result in anything of merit to anyone else, but it is always important.

We Could Not Do More We did all that could be done, everything, all of it.  That it did not matter, that it ended like this anyway, that does not change how important it was to do everything, to be certain we had taken every step we could.

One of the areas that interests me as a writer, which I may well have touched upon briefly in previous entries, is an idea that I think of as "technical minimalism."  The concept, as I think of it, is about the question of what technical aspects of a piece of writing, what things that are normally taken for granted within a work as technical necessities, can be reduced or eliminated in some sense.  That is, instead of traditional notions about minimalism, in which the work uses as little as possible within the content of the work, perhaps in the language or in description, or within narrative choices, here the constraint is not on those aspects, but instead on the mechanical elements. To offer a more concrete concept of what I mean, one technique I've been exploring for some time now is the elimination of traditional narrative persons.  The work is constructed to avoid the use of various tags that would ground the narrative as coming from a first, second, or third perso

No, Don't Pay Any Attention to That, it does not matter.  Listen to me, I am telling you it does not matter, it is not important.  You might imagine it to matter, but if it did, I would say it was important.  Do not trust yourself to decide, I will tell you, you must trust me, not yourself.

The waiting game of submitting is often quite exhausting.  It is not about the actual rejection itself, but about the unknown aspect of the waiting.  In part, this is due to the potential for the piece to be turned away, but it is also largely about not knowing when a response will arrive.  Really, that, itself, is a rather brutal.  I've heard it said that torture is most effective, for example, when it is randomized, when one does not know when to expect it.  In the same way, a writer with a series of submissions out has no idea when they will get any word about the work.  A few weeks, perhaps a month by now, I received a few rejections, but other work I sent at the same time is still lingering, waiting for a response.  Each day, I wind up spending a bit of time looking for those responses.  Often, I will get other emails from a press or journal, many of which may not relate to the specific entry, but I will go through my old emails to see if I missed something important.  Of co

Now Is Not The Time for that, the time for that will come, it must come, if you keep towards it, that time must come, or maybe it will not ever come.  It is hard to promise it, that is not certain, but it will never come without keeping towards it, it will always be too far from here, it may be it will always be too far, but it will be closer with each step.

It seems that I am remaining at eight poems a day.  I feel quite good about this, honestly, and it seems to be largely making up for lost time, in some sense, as I had not increased output in quite a bit.  As well, I feel that the work I am doing remains consistent.  I mean by this not that it is all of the same quality, but rather that I am not finding myself stuck or lost, but am able to find inspiration for poems of a wide variety.  Of course, some are written quickly, and some are more studied, but in the end, I am not finding that by writing so much I lose anything, at least not at this moment.  Rather, it often feels that I get to a point where I have burned off all the excess and must just rely upon something pure. I think this is something I have attempted to express before, but it is not an easy thing for me to explain.  In many ways, it often feels that the ideas I come to the page with, while often good, are the easy ones.  I mean, they are ideas that float into my mind an

You Are Being Unfair Oh, yes it all ended quite badly, fires, I think, and floods too, and of course the war, the whole matter of the crops dying, whatever it was with the insects, or that matter about the babies, all of it was bad, yes, but it was such a beautiful dream, the idea, when we began, it was such a good idea, we knew it was a good idea.

I somehow wrote an extra poem this morning.  It was not my intent, but I looked up and realized I had four poems, not three, as I have been intending this week.  I am thinking that I will continue writing four poems in the morning.  I did not intend to progress at this point, but it has happened.  I will see, of course.  If tomorrow I don't write that extra poem, well, it is fine.  I am just thinking it happened so naturally, it is worth honoring that. But I will not worry if it was just a fluke. Anyhow, I am also thinking about the potential for a new short play. I wrote one last year for the New Play Festival at FAU and am in the position to submit another this year, so I am beginning to think about those possibilities.  I don't know what it will be. precisely, but I am considering what is possible. I have an idea. actually, that is forming, which I think I can develop, and which may work, but I need to think it through a bit more.  Funnily, as often happens, it is expandin

Too Much Luggage We haven't enough room to fit all of this in here. it will not fit, I have tried it this way and that, it will not go in. What do you want me to do?  I cannot make more space, can't shrink what needs to fit in just because this much needs to fit in that much space.  It will not fit, no, it will never fit.  Yes, I know it was all packed neatly in here just this morning.

In many ways, I feel that my poetry has recently made some interesting progress.  I do not know, if I am honest, whether the individual poems stand up, but I know that the work is going in new directions.  Experimentation is always important, and finding that I am exploring new ideas of how a poem can work is a very positive sign.  I have, of course, had periods in which I was writing a great many poems with similar qualities, and those periods can be quite important, especially in learning a particular lesson or discovering how one technique works.  But, I also have to admit that I am sometimes a bit stifled with that kind of focus.  I think I have mentioned this before, at times when I have been in a rut, commenting about how I would like to stop writing so much about one thing, or using one particular approach.  In such periods, I appreciate that I am making a specific kind of progress, but I often feel stuck or trapped at the same time.   At present, though, I am writing a lot o

I Feel for You That is so terrible, all of it is just horrendous to hear, and you did not deserve that, no one would deserve that, you have all of my sympathy, yes, it is too sad, the story you tell is too much for me not to be moved, see my tears, yes, you can see them, can't you, I do not cry for just anything, no, I have heard it all, but not anything like this, anything so sad as this, you poor dear, and you deserve better, need help, clearly you do, you need help.  Not from me, of course, though I feel for you, not from me.

I think of the pace of my writing at present in very positive terms, and I know it has been part of a positive transformation for me, in larger terms than just my writing life.  But, I also know that writing so much has many dimensions, and I think it can be worth considering, at times, the potential for this to go awry, or become in some way counterproductive for me. First, I do want to acknowledge the general danger of having an ego stake in writing so much.  It is likely that this is not going to be sustainable forever, when I miss a day or week for some reason, I don't want it to become a reason not to keep writing after, whether that is resuming my regiment or otherwise.  I've had times when I stopped writing for long periods, and I do not really want to go back to that, which is one reason for a regiment of this sort in the first place, though I know, ironically, it can help establish the type of all or nothing thinking that could cause me to become stalled in the futur

For Years They Dug to find the treasure, found it far beneath the surface after so long, they found it, but it was too deep, they had dug too deep, could not climb back out, though they had the treasure, had found what they had been seeking.

I did indeed make it to seven poems today.  It feels like a positive change.  As mentioned, I've not had much of an issue keeping up with my work, in terms of the volume.  Now, that may be in part a response to the stress I have been facing in other areas.  For one thing, that stress provides fuel many times.  Though griping and expressing frustration is not always a great tactic, it does seem to keep the muse wealthy in potential fodder.  As well, it is a good way to reconsider, vent, or otherwise mentally engage with an issue, and can be healthy in that regard.  Beyond all of that, though, I think the fact that I have been committed to the work but had so much else going on just put me into a sort of automatic response where I just kept going without allowing for any kind of issue to arise, as I was dealing with too many other things to allow such issues in my writing.   Now, though, I am at the other end of that, and so I am pushing myself.  If I have a problem, it is often just

The One Who Was Hurt came to us, said he was in pain, said he was mad. We were not pleased, told him he had wounded us with his pain, he was not fair to say that, not fair to tell us we had hurt him, that was not our intent, if he was hurt by our actions, he should know better than to make us feel bad about that.

It is quite late, so I am going to keep this short.  As mentioned yesterday, it was a rather grim day, in many regards.  I am still processing, though, so I don't really know what to say, let alone how to express it coherently at this point. I did my work, with six new poems for the day.  I am likely to move up to seven soon, to be honest.  I was writing five for a very long time, but I do feel this would be fast.  At the same time, I felt myself ready to do more work before I started this entry.  It is already well past 3 am, so I do not want to start at this moment, but I think it is likely I will consider this again tomorrow.

Origin Point It has not been my home for a long while now, has been there while I have had my life here, while I have lived one place or another, not there, not close to there, it has been there, I've been back there, many times have I gone back, visited, long visits, short visits, but I did not live there, I lived here, even when I was there, when I stayed for a long time, I knew I lived here, did not live there at all, but always, even though it is not my home, the home where I live, the place I would call my home, the place I would be when I came home, still it is always my home, forever, it will be that way.

I am thinking about Ulysses a great deal tonight.  First, it was Yom Kippur, and that involves a lot of reflection upon those who have passed, and Ulysses was the most recent to join that group.  It still is so fresh, I have yet to even accept it entirely.  Part of my mind thinks something will change, though that is not a possibility, is outside the bounds of the real world.  Beyond my reflections during today's services, tomorrow is also the day when Melissa and I plan to go to the vet to get Ulysses ashes so we can bring him home.  Thus, Ulysses is much in my mind tonight.  I'm not sure I have much to say about him at the moment, other than to acknowledge that I feel deeply wounded by the fact that he died so young.  I am certain I have expressed this before, but even though Ulysses had chronic medical issues, they were under control, and what killed him seemed so unrelated.  It is not easy to let such things rest, and I know that Melissa feels similarly robbed of his presen

Stuck It got stuck, though what is it and in what way is it stuck are questions worth asking, but which it is hard to answer. We know it is there, is stuck there, it is there, we can say that much, but beyond that it is only that it is stuck. To remove it seems the best course of action, but that is a guess, we know so little, only that it is stuck there. We may be able to get it unstuck, even not really being sure how or what, but other things can happen. No one can say, no one can answer what it is, but a choice is needed, we know a choice must be made.

In the past several days, I have finally been feeling as if I am back in my stride.  It is a strange thing to say, considering I did not slow down my writing, but I did feel a sense of disconnection from the work, though I was still writing. This week, though, since my time working with Freesia, I've been back in the zone once more.  The poems I've been writing are varied and exciting, and while I am still expressing, at times, the feelings and thoughts I have around recent events, particularly Ulysses's death, I am also writing other types of poems as well.  Beyond this, I have been finding my mind playing around with ideas in a way that had been absent for a bit.  It feels a bit strange, really, to be both in a positive creative place and still so raw with the feelings of loss, if I am honest.  That is not a bad thing though, and it may be a way of processing my grief, even if I am not yet fully cognizant of that.  In any case, I feel quite good about the direction of my

Within The Grief This pain, though it is too much, though it is too tough, baring it is not possible without breaking, at least breaking a little, though that is true, there is thanks that must be offered for all that came before, what has been lost was so precious, to have had it at all is still to be cherished.

While I have been writing my poetry this year, I have not done as much writing in other forms.  That is, generally, fine, but I am feeling an urge to get another novel written.  It seems to me reasonable that I should attempt to get a novel written each year, though it may be only a draft version.  I do have an idea for a book, though it is a bit odd and unformed at present, and I am not ready to really commit to it yet.  At the same time, it is an idea that has come up several times and feels stuck in my mind in the right way.  At the moment, though, I am still a bit torn, as I don't want to disrupt my other work.  I think I can probably keep myself going with what I am doing, even if I am working on a novel as well, but that is not based on anything but my own wishful thinking.  In the end, the only way to see would be to get to work on something and see what happens.  If I could think of a good idea for a short story, I would actually try my hand at that first, to try it witho

She Does Not Like Emotion won't put up with it in herself, the flagrant displays, hysterics, tears, it is not her way.  Even seeing it in another, why would she put up with that? She does not tolerate her own displays of emotion, other people should know better than to feel anything around her, it is just too gauche to consider.

Now that I am getting back into the swing with my writing, it also brings me to thinking, once more, about the question of publishing and building a career.  At this moment, I am sending out work, but have yet to get any real traction in the larger world.  I am a very good position, as I have so much work already, but that does not alter the fact that I still don't have a recognized name or major professional credentials outside my educational background.  I have, over the past few years, begun building some of these (the reading of my play at Theatre Lab, publishing in soflopojo, my reading), and these are not insignificant accomplishments, but I know that they are only a small start, if I am honest with myself. I am anxious to get my work in front of readers, and I am hopeful about that as a long term goal, but right now, I am still not seeing that happen.  In many ways, it is outside my power to make it actually happen, but I need to take steps to get there, and I am working

Too Many Questions You know where to go and how to get there, you know what to do, you know why it must be done, but still you are asking questions, not going, not doing, just asking, maybe you should look for answers about why that is, instead.

I feel more connected to my work today than I had in some time.  Over the past month, having so many different things coming up, and especially dealing with Ulysses illness and death, it took a great deal out of me, and I was really just pushing words around most of the time.  This does not mean that I might not have created good work, but I know that much of that time I wasn't mentally engaged with the work other than to push it out when I was writing.  Most of the time, I am doing much more to think about my writing, and today was the first day I truly felt that my mind was clicking back into place that way.  Keeping it short tonight, as I am quite exhausted, but I am truly excited to share some of the ideas that have begun to percolate.

Keep Going, They Say stay committed, be consistent, it will pay off in the end, it will not be unnoticed forever.  They say that, all the time they will talk about how fortitude is the thing, just stay the course, stay committed to the course you are on, keep going without stopping, it will be rewarded.  It may be that is true, though I  do not know, can only say that I have not yet since it for myself, but even so, there are better and deeper reasons for following a practice, staying with the work, even if no one else will ever notice, still, in the work itself, their are rewards that can only be found through such dedication.

As mentioned yesterday, I had the opportunity to spend most of my day with Freesia McKee.  In many of our past work days, we have done a great deal of hands on and practical work, but today was rather different, in ways that were, I think, necessarily and helpful for me at this juncture.  In many ways, we spent most of the time discussing the work we are doing, preparing plans for getting more of my work ready to send out, and making other plans around projects we are thinking of.  For example, we visited a potential venue in the area for a poetry reading which I had previously investigated.  We also discussed ideas for a collaborative project we are working on, and looked through some of my poems.  The most important thing, however, and the thing we did for the majority of the day, was discuss poetry.  I am sure that I am a bit of a bore, or at least was somewhat so today, and I really appreciated Freesia indulging me, because it was important that I get back to considering creativi

Oh, There Are Problems coming for you, yes, bad things are about, don't you sense it, all that energy, dark, thick clouds of just the worst kinds of luck, things that are coming down the pipe at you, hard to avoid all this, the bad things.  They are coming for you, that is what I can say, don't ask me how it is I know this, we may only just have met, yes, but don't you see, I can tell those things, and I can, of course, help you, yes, that is what I do, what I can do, only I can do it, you see how lucky you are we met, yes, you are lucky, even in bad luck you are lucky, especially since we met before you lost the last dollar to your name, you'll need something, after all, to pay me.

Though I have pushed myself to six poems daily in the past week, I am aware that, in many ways, I've just been treading water for some time.  The last month was extremely difficult, in a variety of ways, and it was not always easy to just do the basic work.  It became a matter of keeping going through that, not necessarily pushing further, but staying above water with it at the least.  I made it, and am glad to say that I did not miss any of my writing goals, though I did juggle work from the morning to later on a few days. Tomorrow, I expect to begin getting back into a more productive zone again, as I have my good friend Freesia McKee coming up from Miami for much of the day to work with me on my writing.  Much of the time we are able to accomplish a great deal in these sessions, and they have always sparked my creativity a great deal, so I am excited to see what happens this time.  I'm quite excited, and hoping that we might get some good work done, or at least in the pipe

Ritual Here again, alone at the end of a long night, after everyone has left or gone to bed, after it is all done with, no mere for the day, just the darkness and me, I sit at work, sit alone at my work again each night, though it may mean nothing tonight, it means everything to do it each night.

I am still thinking a lot about Ulysses, which may not be all that strange, it being only a week and a day since his passing.  It is intense in a way that the loss of a pet has never been for me, and I am aware that a large part of that is because of how much care we gave him, but I know that others feel a strong loss, even if they were not part of his care regiment, so I think it is something more than that.  I do not know, but I feel that I may not be able to just move away and not work through this in my writing.  I don't want to write a book of dead cat poems, really, though I suppose that is one way to do it.  I also don't want to write a straightforward book on the order of many others about a special pet, though I am sure I could do that, and likely in a way that might be successful. The issue with doing such a book, I think, is that I don't want it to become what I am expected to writer.  I have little interest in my career being totally dedicated to that form of

My Lesson No, that is not how I learned the lesson though it still hurt, still hurts now, it was not that way, it was another way, but I will never say how to you, you will think it silly, will call me crazy, you will think it belittles other experiences, or call me mad, say I am not right for how it has affected me, but this is how it is, it does not matter, we all must learn, it does not matter how small my teacher was besides your own.

It will again be a short entry tonight, as I am rather exhausted and emotionally drained at the moment.  What was to be Ulysses fourth birthday is instead exactly a week since his death, so you might imagine that it can be a bit difficult.  I am writing about things beyond Ulysses at this point, at least, but today has been hard.  Getting through this has not been a simple thing, but I am extremely glad to have kept working, for the reasons I've discussed before, as well as for the sense that it is a good thing for me to keep my mind working in this way, especially at such a time.  I'm not sure I am really explaining it properly; blame it on my being a bit worn out at the moment.

I Do Not Know Why It Is that whenever I say a thing which I am upset by or tell how I have been hurt, even if it is not to do with you, even if you know nothing of what I am saying, have not met the people, do not understand the issues, still, you must make it clear I am wrong in my response, you do not agree, must make it clear that whenever I feel wounded, it is because I am unreasonable.