A Day in the Life
I finished Alias Grace
this week - what a strange tale. I didn't know until the very near end that it was based on a true murder, but that didn't detract at all from the reading. I'm finding myself terribly immersed in Atwood of late, which isn't a bad thing. I picked up some more of her at the library, as well as Fall on Your Knees
which already promises to be a good read. I'm doing more of that lately, as difficult as it can be, and am now utterly convinced that I don't know enough to write. Do you know how thoroughly humbling that is?
I need to write more. Prose and poetry. My prose is suffering highly because all I've focused on in the past years has been poetry. Seriously, over 270 poems in the last year alone. That, my friends, is a hell of a lot of poetry. And none of it polished. I can't seem to find time to read boards, comment /and/ hone my poetry. It sucks because I know I need something to move myself to the next level and I don't know what to do. I'm taking suggestions for reading lists if anyone has any. How do you all deal with it? Your lives have to be busier than mine and you seem to be able to cope?
John, bless his Zen socks, is sending me some used poetry books. I can't tell you how much this is tickling me pink. I like pressies!
Today was X.20. Ten more to go for this round. I suspect I should be hogtied and forced to edit instead of doing another round. The trouble is that my brain goes like this: I mod the forum, therefore need to comment; if I am commenting, I might as well produce; if I am producing, I am not editing; if I am not editing, I am not sending stuff out. Never mind if I am commenting in 30:30 I find it hard to comment in critique forums. /whine