2006-11-14, 4:11 p.m.: My chapbook is now available at the Boulder Book Store, all you Boulderites and/or wannabes. So rush on over there - you know how these things, this poetry, sell like hotcakes. Can't keep that stuff on the shelves. Readings, w/ commentary to be added later, if we are all lucky: 1. The Living and the Dead, Sharon Olds 2. House Made of Silver, Elizabeth Robinson 3. Finished Naomi Shihab Nye's latest, the name of which I STILL cannot remember 4. Justin Evan's chapbook Gathering Up the Scattered Leaves 5. Nate Pritt's newest, Big Crisis 6. What Work Is, Phillip Levine (I've read this before but I don't think I *really* read it) I'm working on 26 poems concurrently. It's making me a little crazy and I don't mean ha-ha crazy. I'm not sure what to do with all of it. Also, it seems I spend half my so-called writing time just trying to get things printed out. Oh printer woe. Once, my friend Matt (ex-friend Matt) told me: You can't start a sentence with 'also' (which is something I have a great tendency to do). I STILL DISAGREE, Mr. Smarty Pants Technical Writer. I have a title for a new chapbook or possibly even a full-length and, surprisingly - surprisingly for me, though maybe not for anyone else doing this - this focuses me. The title coming to me helped me figure some things out. All chaos before. These little poems that seemed to have nothing to do with one another, falling from the sky the way hail never really does: in all shapes and sizes. I needed to see or believe in some sort of commonality. Maybe I have it now. I still thing at least half, AT LEAST HALF, the poems are laggards. They're just drafting off their teammates on the bicycle racing team. There is so much else to tell but I can't begin to tell it. Overwhelmed. Loath to send more things out - I'm feeling very protective right now, territorial. I just want to read read read. Re-read for what I may have missed. Form my own opinion of everything out there. That's all. And get some sleep. 3 comments
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