Progress

I read a poem publically in June with the intention of submitting it to a journal run by the press that set up the reading. It’s the end of November. I just sent the submission (it’s not for the issue I initially intended, but that’s OK). So, now I have that “post-submission queasy” feeling that I get on the rare occasion that I submit work for publication. To make a writing career, one must write, and also publish. No one pays any money for poems in folders somewhere.

As for the novel, I’ve read through a few chapters, and have done some light editing. I feel like it needs to ferment a bit before a formal second draft. I don’t even know if I like the thing. This is all weird. It’s been a weird work in progress for so long that a finished draft feels almost wrong. It’s been 2 years.  Progress is progress.

We eat our elephants one bite at a time.