Tuesday, September 25, 2007

practise


I'm practising how to read my work, I bought a mic but it was so awful i had to return it (seriously gave me a really bad lisp and was very muffled.) I'm going to borrow a better one. I've been listening to Paul Mckenna every day, and trying to read a poem out loud in my kitchen most days, sometimes 2 or 3. To start with I've just been doing short poems, and then poems that are a little longer that I can't wait to read. I've found a good exercise is to think of some poets you know and how they read, then try to stand like them, and read your work like them. We guessed who each other was doing this, and most poets could be guessed in less than two lines- just by how they stood and how they pause between words. It was good fun, it was interesting to male poets who stand with a 'my testicles are too damn big' stride, interesting to see how the work becomes chatty with some poets tone, mystical with others. Just standing like someonelse feels alot better. The next stage of the exercise is I then tried to read my poems incorporating bits of the other poets into how I'd read it, and some bits of how I woulda done it- the tone definitely felt more upbeat, which is a lot better than my Wednesday Addams diary entries.

The book cover issue is still unsettled, so I'm thinking about making some crabapple jelly or lemon curd to keep myself happy (I've never made either, but the apples and lemons are piled high, and i like the idea of something i can make a label for :) Also I have fuzzy felts arriving in the post tomorrow (hopefully). I got to thinking about fuzzy felts of my youth, and had nothing but good memories of them. All those bright colours and rearranging, so I decided to buy a set to keep by my desk that I can rearrange in the same way men in the 80's used to play with metal balls and mini snooker (ah, primary colours, nice composition, now back to work.) I couldn't find circus fuzzy felts though, I remember them from the 70's- but there is no trace of them anywhere now, so I'm wondering if it is something I remember that didn't exist. These nice distractions and chutney envy are keeping the balance right :)

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Proof


Life has been a bit manuscript focused all in all. I've been working on getting the Strip manuscript in the right order, cutting things, and now proofing.

I'm onto my 4th proof from the publisher, and I keep reading it to find those little words some sort of formatting goblin takes out, sentences he stashes away, and the odd word he'll put in just to keep me on my toes. I'm trying to focus on that, and not the fact that I'm a bit worried. I'm not worried that I haven't done enough work on the text, I'm more at a funny stage of feeling a mixture of excitement and fear. The excitement comes from being able to see the book take shape more each day. The fear is what people will think of it, and if anyone will buy it.

None of this is helped by the fact that I've been on a waiting list at my GP's since Christmas, in order to see someone who will help me have less negative thoughts about myself. I don't want them, it is just a reflex. Part of me will think- a new book, you've worked at it to make the poems take shape- great, get it out there! Part of me thinks 'Oh no one likes you, it doesn't matter what you write because you are so unpopular and lacking confidence as a person that it just puts everyone off and no one will give the work a chance.' This is no good to me at all. It is making me wake up early each morning, just so I'll have longer to think pessimistic and unhelpful things about myself.

I wish I was a nice shiny girl, a sparkly one, who knows what to say to people, so I could service the work better. I wish I was funny, and had a nice accent. (Even these thoughts are unhelpful.) I'm trying to think of what I can do to become someone more appealing, but I'm a bit limited, still waiting on that list. (The answer of course is I need to stop thinking I'm so unappealing, and I'll feel a a lot happier and be allowed to enjoy things.) In the meantime, the poems themselves has really taken shape, and for the first time the cover is being thought about. (I didn't let myself think about this for a long time, because technically it's not my call, but I can't help thinking about it now. I dream of dolls and sparkly shoes...)

Covers are exciting, it's the bit that made me excited again. They sent me a very nice cover, but somehow it didn't look like the contents of the book, so inbetween proofs I've been trying to think about covers, and had fun dicking about with dolls. That, and blackberry picking , are keeping me sane :)

About Me

Poetry is like having an imaginary friend, who still forgets your birthday.