This year, CPR's Book Award is being judged by David St. John, a poet whose work, to me, inspires patience and ferocity, simultaneously. (Yeah, I said it.) Anyway, this is the first time I'll be submitting this kind of manuscript (unless you count my borderline-comical attempt at a chapbook back in 2003) (which I don't count) (because it was terrible) (no, you can't read it). I like to think that David's instruction thus far through Pacific University is what's making me confident enough to submit. For some reason, the idea of having him at the helm of a contest isn't as nerve-wracking as any other poet. I just can't picture him shredding manuscripts and cackling over the flames that consume my About the Author page. He's so damn nice.
I don't have a whole lot to report, other than the growth of my short collection of poems mocking poetry. I've got a working title (thanks, Sarah) but I'm still adding to its content.I'm considering reducing it from 50 poems to 30... or so. I'm at 21 right now, and although it's still coming easily, I don't want to get to, you know, 43, and just start eeking them out for no reason other than bulk. I spent my office hours today writing poems that make fun of the I'm-A-Woman-Let-Me-Prove-It-Then-You-Can-Fear-Me poems, the I'm-A-Man-Let-Me-Prove-It-Then-You-Can-Respect-Me poems, the Poets-Are-Fascinated-By-Birds poems, and the Look-How-I-Can-Write-About-The-Seasons poems. So far so good.
Thanks to every one for reading! Oh, hey, and thanks to Charish for tell me how to put photos and links up on this thing. I'm making slow advances toward becoming almost-tech-savvy. Slow, I say!