Alright blog family. It is officially on. I shackled myself to a chair in my local bookshop / cafe this morning and got stuck into Poetry: Volume 2.

As our daily readers are already up on from my rants along the way, I don’t usually re-read my poetry. I write it down. I nod. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes I cry. And then I move onto the next thing.

The fact that this collection is presented chronologically makes it a spin out to read. I am literally traveling through the last twelve months of my life… front to back. It’s intimidating and confronting, it’s exciting and amazing. This is the first time that I have ever put work together this way.

During the rare instances that I actually put poetry forward for publisher consideration, the rejection letter usually mentions something about my work being a bit too surreal – which is a friendly way of saying “we seriously have no idea what you’re on about…”

I don’t mind feedback like this at all. I’d prefer that someone say they can’t understand my writing instead of saying something like “this sounds like every other piece of poetry we’ve read…”

It occurred to me today that not a single person has ever questioned one of my poems. I’ve been blessed with contact from readers about how they love what I do and relate to what I say… but no one has ever asked anything like, “What is this about?” or “What was happening in your life when you wrote this?”

I don’t mind this at all. The idea simply drifted through my thoughts as I settled into exploring the last twelve months of my life, in order, thinking “Ouch. I remember that.” or “Sigh. That was such an amazing time.”

It’s really starting to take shape. And I’m actually starting to feel good about that…