Thursday, September 21, 2006

First I ate about 100 dried cherries, then

What do you think about this as a title for my ultra-long new poem:

Post Moxie

Does it need a hyphen? Is it pretentious and lame? Is it just plain stupid? If you need to see the poem, let me know and I'll send you all eight pages of prose (and then say You Asked For It). I'll email it to you. And then you can also tell me how to lineate it or if maybe I should put it into prose blocks. I need to have something to send out, so I don't feel so depressed about all the rejections I'm going to get again from my book manuscript. I have nothing else but this monster. I don't think it's anywhere near finished. I thought maybe it could be a chapbook but now I think it's just going to be another full-length collection that no one will ever read.

I don't think I ever talk about writing here. Have I? I don't think about writing very much. Well, I guess I think about writing, I just don't think about publishing anymore. I'm forcing myself to do it now but I'm not really sure why.

I feel really, oh what's the word, puny. My dog's stomach is making really strange noises. I lied and quit my temp job because I can make three times as much subbing in a private school. I'll be teaching sixth graders about the French impressionists next week. My latent protestantism has kicked in big time and I feel miserably guilty about quitting any kind of job, even one that sucked as hard and paid as horribly as mine did. Lame things about city life make me happy, things such as Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, and IKEA. Cool things make me happy too, but I don't do those things. For example, number of times I have been to the amazing libraries/parks/museums: 0. Number of times I have been to Whole Foods: 9. Oh, but number of times I have been to the greatest used clothing store on earth: 1, and it was so choice.

Sorry this post sucks so much. I was going to write something witty and moving, but there's a ferret wedged between my brain and my eye sockets. I am definitely in hover-mode right now--not quite here. Not quite where I used to be. Purgatory. Purge-atory. Which is why I'm desperately trying to cuddle up with publishing thoughts again--it's familiar. It's an angst I can handle, because I've been stressing about it for nearly 10 years. It's an easy stress, because really who gives a crap. It's not a life or death thing, like finding a job. I probably won't die if I don't find a job, but eating will become increasingly more difficult.

I just pulled something out of my ear. I think it's a big piece of soap. I have no idea how long it's been there.

4 Comments:

Blogger LCALeasure said...

would be thrilled to see your new work, even if I'm not a poet, or know what "lineate" means.

Also, I'm hiring an editor for my new ms; you want the job? :) (i'll even pay big bucks...)
cheers,
yd.
my email is the first initial of my old first name, the initial of my new first name, and my last name at gmail. or to be less cryptic, ask nu.

12:55 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I don't find your title pretentious or lame.

6:46 AM  
Blogger Simeon Berry said...

Up with moxie! (And I'm not just sayin' it 'cause I've... drank... drunken it?)

Glad to see that someone else is essaying something longish. I'd love to see it.

5:17 AM  
Blogger Julia Story said...

It makes Mainers mighty.

Nix, I make you partly responsible for what I'm writing nowadays, as I was very taken with your ms. Will you help me? I know you have like 2 seconds of free time per week.

I'm serious now. I'm going to send it to both of you.

12:02 PM  

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