the kick start forgot.
alas; blood on the pillow, the pillow stained through with mold leaked from the wet, cold khaki wall.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
december tidings
It turns out that studying literature doesn't actually intersect with having any inspiration or time to actually write anything non-research-y. Too bad.
But I did manage to get my manuscript in for the Whitman Award. I won't hear anything till Spring, so I'm contemplating shopping it around till then - I'm pretty pleased with it, and nearly 1/3 of the poems in it are revisions of poems I first posted to this very blog.
That said, it was incredibly gratifying to go back and edit myself, and really work on the pieces. The problem, as I've said before, with blogging, is that you get a dose of instant gratification - but I'm juuuuust sloppy enough that I'll slap something up and let it represent me, as it were; even knowing it could be better. So, my point being that I really am pleased with my manuscript, and tried very hard to craft it into something I would love. Yeah, I need to look into a publisher.
If only I didn't have so many darned papers to write - I'm in a weird paradox; I get to spend all day writing (8 hours today and still counting), but 7.45 of those hours are devoted to rather dreary literary criticism. Regurgitating things I don't believe in. It's tiresome. Not sure why I'm here. Hoping to get a job offer and walk away. Burned out. School bad. Miss writing. blaaaaaaaah
But I did manage to get my manuscript in for the Whitman Award. I won't hear anything till Spring, so I'm contemplating shopping it around till then - I'm pretty pleased with it, and nearly 1/3 of the poems in it are revisions of poems I first posted to this very blog.
That said, it was incredibly gratifying to go back and edit myself, and really work on the pieces. The problem, as I've said before, with blogging, is that you get a dose of instant gratification - but I'm juuuuust sloppy enough that I'll slap something up and let it represent me, as it were; even knowing it could be better. So, my point being that I really am pleased with my manuscript, and tried very hard to craft it into something I would love. Yeah, I need to look into a publisher.
If only I didn't have so many darned papers to write - I'm in a weird paradox; I get to spend all day writing (8 hours today and still counting), but 7.45 of those hours are devoted to rather dreary literary criticism. Regurgitating things I don't believe in. It's tiresome. Not sure why I'm here. Hoping to get a job offer and walk away. Burned out. School bad. Miss writing. blaaaaaaaah
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