The hottest day of the year, again

So I'm definetely starting to look like a clown now, in my spotty summery shorts, and my face i don't recognise in the mirror. I do Mr Benn changes, super quick, when anyone I know knocks at the door- an ey up, that poet is coming round, better not let them see the indignity of knees. The logical thing to do would be buy some more summer clothes, but the Englishman in me, with all its experience of weather, keeps telling me it will break soon,and I'll be glad of all the money i didn't spend on flowery skirts. The other day I started washing my arms because they were looking distinctly grubby, until i realised what i was actually scrubbing at was freckles. I am trying though, trying to get used to squinting, and the sudden urge to paint things and make them look clean (to use up every ounce of the sun.) I was thinking, I blame all this lets use the sun on Mam's and their twin tubs, draining the sun for every use its got. I feel guilty for not having a twin-tub, and enough whites for a load.

The poems are really shaping up, I've started to look at them as a collection in progress. What sounds silly is that I didn't before, but I was just writing, about certain things, and don't think of it all together until a shape is beginning to emerge. I won't have a title until later on though, almost last, and I wonder if with everyone this is the case.

I've also been doing things that I've been told are useful, setting up a thing on myspace, with a bit about being a poet and some of the poems with music on there. Myspace is a funny thing though, seems like a popularity contest, like being at school, and you have to ask people to be your friends. I felt strangely cheated that Morrissey had 44,000 friends (the same way there was a voice in me, going yeah right when i heard him sing I'll never be anybody's hero now on his new album, although I loved the song, I wanted him to stay a shy outcast forever. How will he ever understand me now!?!?) I have I think 3 friends on myspace, though I think they should indulge the less optimistic and call these people associates or something like it. I did end up with a very strange email from someone I havent spoken to in 10 years, saying I know you, I saw you at the Kenaz gig, which was a bit weird. I ended email contact when he said he had some sweeties in his pocket. The net makes things different somehow, we can make references to things we never would, joke about it, admit it is a haven for stalkers, call ourselves one, google everyone we meet. I still fell guilty when I google someone, like I am pinching their washing off the line and taking it home. How stupid is that? Know I need to get over this, get on board with the digital age, where our concept of privacy has become a very public one. (And yeah, I'm mentioning this on a blog, less guilt, since i'm not stalking anyone, i suppose its more like the verbal equivalent of a flasher though.)

I've been reading 101 ways to make your poems sell this week (by Chris Emery.) It seems like a necessary evil. That part of you that is a poet and just wants to make your poems good flinches at the reality that unless you engage with the p word no one is ever going to read your work (and this makes you less likely to finish it.) The book uses the p word alot, both p words, and talks a great deal about promoting your work, and building your profile as a poet. A few years ago I would have threw this book at the wall, in sheer frustration and denial of the reality of the need to get your work out there (and the hard work it entails). All I wanted to do is write poems. When rejection comes knocking, or even worse the letter box whistles in the wind, we have all consoled ourselves so many times with the names of poets who never made it till they were dead. A book like this makes that seem preposterous. (There is something passive agressive about even thinking this that pisses me off somehow.)You won't find such comforts in 101, but you will come away with ideas on how to get your work read, sell some copies of your books, and let people know you actually exist. At times the book is harsh, makes no bones of the fact that self promotion is a necessary evil, suggesting that those who are unwilling to attempt it, who merely want to see their work in print, are better off self publishing, and leaving it there (ouch!) Poetry is approached as a business, your business as well as the publishers, something that you are selling, that comes in the package of selling yourself. As a meak writer squirreling away in a back bedroom there will be lots of people who find this book terrifying; it is infact in many ways completely alien to my natural tendencies towards shyness and not speaking till you are spoken to. The facts are hard, but there are some practical suggestions on things you can do to help your career. Some of them aren't too painful, just require a little effort, and some of them might be scary, at first, it would be useful to start the slow process of visibility by doing some of the things suggested in the book that don't seem too outside your realm of experience, and build up to some of the ones that you haven't encoutered.

At times, by presenting reasons, Emery has even managed to convince me to see in a new light things I have always been opposed to.
For instance, I have always been in complete denial, and felt horror when publishers etc have requested a photo (yeah yeah, all the usual, hate seeing what I look like, want people to see the work and not be put off by me, etc etc) but there is actually a compelling argument about providing photo's of yourself in this book, which I may still hate the idea of, but am convinced by. The authors's suggestion of looking at photo's of musicians you admire and constructing a photograph or selection of images of yourself in the same way you would think about a poem, asking what is the photo saying, what drama or story does it tell etc, is a good one, and some how makes the fact of the photo easier to swallow. This is a book I will keep for reference to be jolted into a reminder of the painful truths of the poetry game (when I am deep into writing mode and begin to fantasise that the quality of work will somehow allow people to know about its' existence. How do I knwo the quality is there if no-one has seen it?!?) This book will be a wake-up call (not for those who want to sleep blissfully on.) One step at a time...