Oh the shame
For
many years I hid the fact I wrote poetry, even from fellow writers. Why? My
shame stemmed from the thought I wasn’t doing it right: my iambic pentameter
was bound to be all wrong, my rhythm none existent, my rhyme cliché. I quivered
in fear of collective poetic outrage. Instead I secretly sent work off to
collections and quietly attended readings. No-one was more surprised than I was
when my writing got accepted several times. But still, I refrained from openly
mentioning my habit to all but a select few I felt would keep my secret safely
stashed.
The evidence
Whatever…
Then I
turned 50 and suddenly I didn’t care. Older friends told me this would be so
but I doubted their wisdom. I realised I truly didn’t care. About a whole list of
things.
E.g.
Grey
hair
Hairy
legs
Nail
polish
Perfectly
arched brows
Voicing
my opinion freely
See
how I snuck that one in there. The very day I turned 50 I began to sound
remarkably like my mother. I waited for this thought to horrify me and discovered
I felt rather pleased instead. I have some family scowling and muttering at
this point: “Do we really need another know-it-all familial advisor?” But there
are also a great deal of friends who knew my mum who are clapping, whooping and
wolf whistling at this point. So I thought #*%k it. I’m going to come out of
the closet about my poetry habit too.
Never
one to hesitate once I’ve made a decision, I instantly posted some of my poetry
on my blog and even took some to my writing group. I’ll admit I was nervous
about the second thing. Not because they’d sneer at my effort but because
there’s a truly exceptional poet in the group and I was terrified she’d think
my writing awful. Any writing. But thankfully she’s the kind of writer who says
it like it is but is also all about encouragement. These are the types I value
most. I don’t always want to be told my work is great. I mean SOMETIMES, but
not ALWAYS. I want to know what’s working but crucially, what isn’t. Then I can
go away and do that thing I love so very much; the refining.
For me
this is slightly different to the edit. It’s the final bit when I think
everything is almost perfect. Well, okay, nothing is ever perfect for this
writer. Or probably any other writer come to think of it. But it’s that ‘on the
precipice of being oh so right thing’. You probably know what I mean. Where you
nit-pick about a word or phrase. Where you move a paragraph or line up or down.
Where you remove all the punctuation. Then put it all back again 5 seconds
later. Yeah, you know what I mean.
Publishing that Poesy
The
long and the short of it is, I decided to Poesy, Publish and be Damned. Or not.
So far I’ve yet to be struck down by lightening or urged to abandon my verse
vulgarity. Well, there’s still time.
And in other news…
Jinx
now has his own Instagram page. For those who’ve read his particular
brand of obnoxious in Memoirs of a Feline Familiar, you may want more. Why I don’t quite know, but there it is.
The
final edit of the poetry collaboration is coming on quite nicely. Thank you for
asking. We hope to have the e-book out to you some time in May. The paperback will follow once we are out of Lockdown and can commit to a launch or two. A % of the
proceeds will go towards local animal charities. More on this soon.
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. It's much appreciated as is the time you take to write a comment.