I don’t care what anyone says (especially my second-oldest sister), I love this theme. Happy Halloween!
Yesterday I wrote, went to work, spent my dinner break in a writing group, continued to work, came home, and was entirely incoherent. I think there was some important sporting event. And it went well?
I was reminded just how one-dimensional my life is when, in the middle of yesterday’s writing/tutoring/talking about writing extravaganza, I had ten minutes to spare and suddenly was in my colleague’s office talking about writing again. You’d think I’d be checking sports scores or something. (I mean, you wouldn’t think that if you actually knew me, but I feel that is what other people would do.)
Publication-wise, I am a little bit farther down the road than my colleague, and so we were talking through submissions and larger projects. In college he worked at a press that I very dearly want to publish my poetry manuscript. We idly tried to figure out if he had actually read my poetry manuscript back in the day.
“I’m kind of giving up on my manuscript,” I said.
“Why? I’ve read some of your poems, and they’re good.”
“I know,” I said. This may sound arrogant, but I haven’t gotten to the age of thirty-mumble without knowing that I am capable of writing a few good poems. “But I’ve been sending out my manuscript for years and have gotten nothing but rejections. There has to be something about the book that doesn’t work, and I don’t know what that is. Anyway, my focus is on the memoir now.”
And it occurred to me that while it does bother me that my poetry manuscript may be a drawer manuscript, I have transferred my focus to the memoir. It turns out I just want a book. Don’t much care which it is.
What ghosts haunt you today?