Fame

That’s my poem IN THE SUNDAY FUCKING TELEGRAPH, that is. I’d assumed, when they did the interview, that all that mattered was the serious stuff. I’d fully expected anything contentious to be edited out (as it appears was the case with the other poet they spoke to) and to have my mental health shout out left in was, it has to be said, quite satisfying.

For a poem I don’t really like that much, this is already FAR more traction than could have been reasonably expected. This morning, something else I’m not that particularly enamoured with either has unexpectedly picked up a consent form request. At some point however it might be useful to get some payment somewhere, because this stuff doesn’t feed anybody.

The attention however is, it must be said, worth the effort.

It’s odd, how certain things move on their own. My concern about diversifying too much is still niggling, but as I’ve already got video ready to roll with imagery for a poem this week after trying to do this since March, it is apparent that that wasn’t the real issue. Once the work’s attacked, it gets done. The real issue is planning effectively to get to that stage.

Looking back on previous disasters, planning was always the weak link. It would support me when creativity flagged, and would propel me forward when things got emotionally fraught. Now it’s shit hot, and happens before ANYTHING else takes place, the difference to just about everything is not only noticeable but reassuring. Why did it take me so long?

Well that’s a stupid question, you didn’t believe you could do it.

Belief is undoubtedly the key. Knowing there is nothing to prove at this stage also helps enormously… what, I’m gonna fail at this by the time I’m 30? I should be sitting at home drinking wine and watching daytime TV at my age: no woman 50 is any kop for anything, unless you’re a Hollywood actress with a skincare contract and an expensive wardrobe. Fuck all your preconceptions, and screw anyone who thinks they get to tell me I’m wasting my time.

Trust me, I did pull a shirt over my head and run around the room when that poem got chosen for publication, and every time I succeed it will be celebrated with a similar level of joyous enthusiasm because honestly, truthfully, I never expected to get here at all. It was all just possibility. Now I am here, you’ll have to extract my existence from cold, dead hands before I’ll be prepared to give it up.

Welcome to the New Routine.

Think

Saying nothing, until you are capable of formulating a rational answer. It is a lost art, especially amongst the political. They would rather grasp the immediacy of the visual metaphor. It’s cleaner, easier and only requires your military to tear-gas a couple of blocks and not shut down the whole damn Capitol. Except, of course sometimes that’s the unintended visual metaphor everybody else will make the best capital from.

When we all look back on the last week, properly grasping that ridiculous is defined by the last thing that made us think we’d seen everything but clearly haven’t the visual will be what defines this year. It was when companies finally grasped that just sticking up a black block then pretending to care wasn’t actually enough any more.

The bigger truth is that the lies are now so much more apparent when there’s no other shit to cloud people’s minds. By being stuck inside, many have had epiphanies the like of which never really took place when the fascists were voted into power. It has become the perfect storm of information + comprehension = understanding.

As the scales fall from an awful lot of people’s eyes, will you just decide it’s all too much and walk away, or will you understand this is an opportunity that comes around once in a lifetime. Are you about to grasp the opportunity presented, or simply return to the vacuous life you had before because, in the end, all you really care about is yourself.

You are seen, in every connotation of the Urban Dictionary definition.

Time to make the difficult decisions.

Titanium

Yesterday was really hard, but at the same time extremely helpful. The one poem that had not been sitting right in my collection submission got re-written at the hairdressers. It’s now at least 500% better than it was, and the whole thing, as discussed, is now done and dusted. It doesn’t get fiddled with again, either, that’s it. For the first time in my adult life here’s something that needs to remain untouched.

The next time anything happens is publication.

computerwork

What happens now? That’s an extremely good question. There’ll be some yoga this morning, plus the arrangement of my PT schedule and exercise classes for March (gotta love some planning.) I need to work on channeling anger into more productive avenues. There needs to be an apology on the writing site about overreaching before I was really ready (looking at you, video content.) There’s stuff to do.

I need to relax a bit as well. The stress of holding onto something for three months, after a pretty emotional re-editing period, needs to be let go. It’s why last night’s exercise session was less than optimal, because honestly what is needed right now is not more of the same stuff. It might be the moment to re-organise things completely. My PT is on holiday at the end of next month and here’s a good place to switch things about.

Taking March ‘off’ looks like a very good idea.

Back to White

It also gives me time to play with poetry and photography and templates, which is the side hustle that appears to be working out really well right now. Graphic design skills are becoming the ability I didn’t realise was needed but which really is sticking me front and centre. However, I’ve managed only two follows this month. Nobody said this would be either instant or easy. Time to reassess the hashtags and reboot.

Everything is in a continuous state of flux…