Quick brain dump before I go get the knots worked out of my shoulders.
How can poetry thrive in an age when poetry is marginal at best? You can make all the ebooks you want, but they won’t necessarily move any better than print. Twitter seems like an interesting format in which to play with poetry, but what guarantees do you get of followers there? Why does modern poetry seem so dull to me? I spent some time this afternoon browsing a few things in consideration of contest submissions, and it just didn’t work for me. Why not? What was missing? What was there that I couldn’t relate to? If I can’t relate to modern poetry and don’t write for that audience, how can I expect to get published? What am I missing here?
After last year’s NaNoWriMo, I owned up to the fact that I’m not much of a novelist, and yet novels are where the money is. So how am I to cultivate a career as a writer of poetry and short(ish) stories? This is sort of why I want an MFA and want to teach writing. The problem has been trying to fit that ambition into real life. I had a dream last night that I was forced to move to Alaska and forgo my final year of grad school and pretty much anything else I had wanted to do. What I could not fathom was why, if I were an adult in the dream, I didn’t just tell everyone to fuck off and start making my way back. I think in the end, that’s what I was doing, but everyone was against me. I don’t put that much stock in dreams as signs and portents, but I do think my subconscious influences dreams like that. Dreams like that are stress related. It’s not hard to extrapolate what’s going on in my head from even that brief description.
Some time on Tuesday, I think it was, I said to myself, “I wanna be a poet.” Quickly followed by, “Well, fuck, I already am. So now what?”
Yeah. So now what?