I have just submitted three poems to Magma for their latest issue on the theme of loss. At first I thought I didn’t have anything suitable but then I had a flip through and found poems on climate change, Brexit and stillbirth, all of which fit the theme. I strongly suspect they won’t publish as Magma and I seem to inhabit different poetic universes, but hey – submitting is free, so what have I got to lose? Only my confidence and sense of self-worth…
A propos of this, I’m in the midst of writing a poem on surviving rejection which considers now-famous works which were previously rejected. I’ve blogged about this before so I won’t bore you with the details, but T S Eliot’s comment about Orwell’s Animal Farm, ‘you just need better-behaved pigs and all will be well,’ is a classic. I’m still in the midst of considering Leavis (and wondering why I bother) so I’ll update you on that as and when. In the meantime the novel progresses by fits and starts, but I’ve managed 7000 words of the final chapter, leaving only 28,000 to go, which means I’m a fifth of the way through that chapter and about two-thirds of the way through the novel as a whole. Not too shabby.
I was inspired after reading Hadley Freeman in the Guardian to share with you, my voracious readers, a day in my life.
I do not wake; I am woken, usually before 7 am by an overenthusiastic spouse who always thinks that unlocking the front door and making a pot of tea takes half an hour instead of five minutes. That’s on a good day. On a bad day (most days are bad days) I wake at between four-thirty and six-thirty; sometimes I go back to sleep and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I think I don’t sleep but I do – so OH tells me, anyway. If I’m awake around six-thirty I’ll sit up and meditate for ten or fifteen minutes while OH does the business; then begins our shared morning time. I check emails and Facebook, we tut and sigh over the news; I read my daily inspirational readings:
and begin the Guardian crossword. Around ten to eight after Thought for the Day I nip to the bathroom: if I leave it too late I will lose my yoga window downstairs (I aim for half an hour of yoga and usually miss.) Breakfast is either boiled egg and soldiers or muesli or toast and jam (are you still reading? Not asleep yet?) which I take upstairs and eat while finishing the crossword.
After that it’s writing: usually poetry in the mornings and prose in the afternoons. After lunch is often a dead time so I’ll do something else for a while; go for a walk, do some washing, dig the garden; read. Then it’s prose all the way to dinner-time around six (usually some combination of veg and carbs) followed by my treat of the day, chocolate biscuits dunked in roibos. Evenings are usually slumped in front of the iplayer unless I have a meeting or social event: last night it was the folk club (this featured songs from the First World War and was excellent.)
As I don’t sleep enough I’m usually tired by 9.30 and in bed by ten. And that’s my rock-n-roll life.
Inspirational, ain’t it?