In between tangents, playtime, and the occasional nervous breakdown… I’m trying to figure out what my deal is as a Writer. I’m busting out the novel but as I’m editing it at the moment… I’m asking myself if it’s where my energy should be going, ‘book writing’.
I’m enjoying it, however as my broken record chant declares… I enjoy every kind of creative writing (and the occasional technical stint here and there).
Truthfully, poetry has to be the one style I play with that I never really expected I’d try to publish. I think this is because I’m still adjusting/opening up to whole rejection thing, lol. Which is why, for the longest time I wouldn’t submit to publishers. When you love something, like I love words… throwing it out there to be knocked back and ridiculed isn’t exactly appealing.
Somehow (to me) writing and sending out books seems more like business, I think that’s how I can walk off the rejection.
Poetry is different.
I write poetry to cope. For example, when Penguin books told me they didn’t want the Aussie children’s book I sent them – I wrote a poem to deal with it. Or yesterday when I was feeling homesick for Australia and walking a tightrope of losing my shit again … my pen naturally spilt ink in the poetic form as a sort of a protection mechanism.
I guess since I’m basically a born poet, engaging on a mission to prove this via publishing seems odd.
But then again… so do most things on this planet…