I am envious of the writing time of others. Yet, when faced with a significant amount of time in which to write - that is, alone time - I spend it doing other things. Sound familiar?
I tell myself it's okay when I'm photographing, because that's creative, and fills a need. I love photography, and especially close-up work and textures. Those are poems, in a way. But I miss writing a decent poem. I feel like it's been a long time.
And perhaps it feels that way because I haven't had an acceptance in what seems like months. Many near misses, please-send-more-work-our-way and thank-you-for-thinking-of-us. Seeing the poem "Rejection Letter From Gertrude Stein" by Marjorie Manwaring, on Martha Silano's blog Blue Positive, makes me feel that, at least I'm not alone.
So, this post is going to be short. I'm going to head up to bed, and write in my journal. No idea what will come of it, but something is better than nothing. Right?
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