Being sick got the best of me these past few days. On Sunday, I wrote that I should do some chores and send some poems out for publication. I managed to find the dead mouse, throw some things away, and run the vacuum. By the time I was done, I was in a cold sweat and sore. On Monday, I felt as cliched as the bus that ran me over. I had chills and aches and a fever. None of the COVID tests showed a positive result. Today, while feeling better, but not 100%, I went to Rite Aid for a “legit” COVID test. We’ll see.
I really had no energy for anything on Monday. Just getting groceries left me tired and out of breath. I couldn’t write and barely felt like reading. The dog, being a dog, bugged me all day wanting to play. Unfortunately, the only game he likes is tug-of-war… I didn’t have the energy for it. I spent most of the day on the sofa trying to nap, trying to breath through congestion, trying to get comfortable, and scrolling twitter.
Fortunately, I’ve started following a few poetry accounts on twitter. The new content made my feed interesting while simultaneously motivating and de-motivating me. I saw lots of posts about rejections. I saw lots of mentions of journals I had never heard of. I saw lots of posts about perseverance. I read lots of different poems. What I’ve “learned” or come to recognize is that if I want a shot at getting published or whatever it is I hope to do (and I ask myself if that’s really my goal), I’m going to have to spend more time reading, writing, and submitting. Some of these poets talk about the start of a new month as being the opening of a new submission season for certain journals (I know nothing about these practices). Some of them seem to have dozens of poems circulating out there at all times. I don’t even have dozens of poems that I like. Many of them seem immersed in the art form. I read anywhere between 5 and 25 poems a day. I’m lucky if I write one every week or two. I submit to journals maybe once a year. I need to do better.
As much as I’m appreciating seeing and reading new voices, I’m also very much getting a sense of being an outsider looking in (a feeling which social media is expert in cultivating). I see the same people tweeting and sharing each other, and I’m unsure of whether I want to join that crowd or if I could even crack into the cacophony of voices. I have, at times, considered opening a second account just as my poetry persona account. It wouldn’t be all that different from my regular account other than I wouldn’t have friends or work colleagues following me or seeing my tweets about poetry (which as of now, there are none, because I don’t feel like sharing that side of myself in that forum with that group of people). I also don’t feel like trying to build an audience. So, much like this blog, I would have no followers or readers, and probably be perfectly happy with that.
I’ve avoided joining workshops or sharing with people… and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. A major point of writing in this particular space on this blog (sometimes very personal things) was to get over this fear of having an audience – which on the surface might seem like a fear of rejection… but as I dig, it feels more like a fear of being accepted. I can take the rejections (sorta). I almost expect them. What I struggle with is the praise or compliments – I don’t trust them, or more accurately I don’t trust myself not to seek validation in them.
I have a lot of days when I scribble a few notes, or steal a line from somewhere, but then think, “I don’t know how to do any of this.” How do I take this and make it into something more? Why break lines here or there? This feels too pedantic or sentimental… And then I read a good poem and feel as though I should be extrapolating something about the craft from it… How did they get there and where did they start? Or I’ll read a poem that doesn’t hit me and wonder what is it that I’m missing?
I sense I’m inching closer to something. A new type of community, a different intensity – though still watching the dancers from out here by the gymnasium wall.