I’m getting schooled quite a bit during this journey into poetry. It’s probably no surprise that I was rooting for e.e.cummings in the Poetry Society ‘Romantic Poetry’ World Cup: his work is pretty straightforward in my mind when it comes to style and approach. All this stuff about metrical feet and disyllables does my brain in: there is just no way it all sticks. Haiku I can manage, my own takes on micro-poetry is about the limit of experimentation. One new thing, every few days, is likely to at least be recalled at a later date.

Thanks to Killing Eve, villanelle is pretty well embedded now.

I’m getting a bit grumpy about having to wait for people to tell me poems have not been successful: it’s understandable, on reflection, considering the amount of things entered for. There’s likely to be a bit of a meltdown at the start of March because at least two things that matter quite a lot are going to get thrown out and then, not gonna lie, probably gonna be a bit of a cry and some stuff thrown about in frustration. At least I know its coming.

To future proof myself, there are two alternate paths to greatness being laid: fairly impossible bursary, slightly more possible but no less bonkers residency. Both involve stepping WAY out of comfort zones and, quite frankly, this is what is needed right now. Not just the same throwing words at places and hope some of them will stick. This involves me making a CV, and coming up with serious, believable proposals and not just vague possibilities. It’s already making my head hurt.

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The key, of course, is not to give up. Every experience gives a different end result: some stuff sticks, other things don’t, and the cycle of life continues. If I want it badly enough, then that is the path going forward.

If it matters, you find a way.