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Jan. 21st, 2009 09:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yuuagoWho the hell would be calling me at three in the afternoon? Times like this I wish my phone logged numbers, not just time.
Don't feel so hot. Good thing I got the scrip. I want to nip this shit before it gets bad. I'm sort of okay right now, just kind of... ehhhh. But not bad. That's the important part. I'm not bad. Just not too great.
Got brick'd by another poem this afternoon. What the fuck. Well, the draft needs some reworking, and I'll get to that on the weekend maybe. I have a presentation on Friday that I'm a little bit freaked out about 'cause I don't have anything solid on it yet, so I can't do any editing until after that is over with. Plus, before I edit that damn poem I need to do some research on Warsaw - though details probably won't come into it, I do prefer to look through these things so that I don't end up including details that aren't correct. Like one time I was writing a poem and there was reference to chinook winds and jackpines. Which s fine, except that the winds that are actually called chinooks are a southern Alberta thing, and the winds we get in spring in McMurray aren't actually chinooks, they're something similar. And jackpines don't grow in southern Alberta. And you know, nobody would have noticed that, but I felt better after I fixed it and gave the winds another name.
And I was thinking today about poetry, and what is good and what isn't - and hell, I don't know the answer to that, I just know that sometimes I write something that turns out right, and sometimes I don't. And I was also thinking about how it almost, kind of, sometimes, it feels like a waste to write poetry at all, because so few people read it. I mean, even if I, say, wrote a ton of stuff and put together a collection and managed somehow to get a company to publish it - who cares? Nobody reads poetry. Only academics and intellectuals and people like that read poetry. There ain't no poetry section at Coles. Well, technically there is, but it's generally like one shelf and it usually has stuff like The Iliad and Paradise Lost and Beowulf on there. You ain't gonna find Scofield on there (I looked). Nobody reads the stuff. If I put something out, I want it to be read, so - what's the point?
Okay, in some ways there is a point, because when get brick'd by a poem I need to get it out otherwise I feel kind of deflated. But beyond that, I don't know, man.
You know, in my thesis, I wrote a poem about how I was pissed off that I don't know anything about my grandfather, and my mum didn't get it. Or if she did, she didn't say anything. But I really think that she didn't get it, 'cause there was some stuff in there that was really... angry. And at the same time, I can't see how she could possibly not get what and who it is referring to, because it seems so transparent to me. Whatever. She said she really liked it, which is why I'm so confused. If she understood it, she wouldn't like it.
I. Ah. I don't know where I'm going with this. Well, that's fine.
I feel so weird. Feeling feeling feeling... I don't know. Strange. Like I've been burying myself in other things. Like I was doing that for years. Like maybe that is the way I used to deal with all... this... everything. Find something - something - else. I ain't got no reason to be sad, so I'll read about something sad, and then it's okay, it's okay to feel this way, because then there's something to cry over. Or, I don't know, I can't articulate what I'm thinking. It's difficult.
Completely unrelated: This song gives me the chills. Dear gods.
Don't feel so hot. Good thing I got the scrip. I want to nip this shit before it gets bad. I'm sort of okay right now, just kind of... ehhhh. But not bad. That's the important part. I'm not bad. Just not too great.
Got brick'd by another poem this afternoon. What the fuck. Well, the draft needs some reworking, and I'll get to that on the weekend maybe. I have a presentation on Friday that I'm a little bit freaked out about 'cause I don't have anything solid on it yet, so I can't do any editing until after that is over with. Plus, before I edit that damn poem I need to do some research on Warsaw - though details probably won't come into it, I do prefer to look through these things so that I don't end up including details that aren't correct. Like one time I was writing a poem and there was reference to chinook winds and jackpines. Which s fine, except that the winds that are actually called chinooks are a southern Alberta thing, and the winds we get in spring in McMurray aren't actually chinooks, they're something similar. And jackpines don't grow in southern Alberta. And you know, nobody would have noticed that, but I felt better after I fixed it and gave the winds another name.
And I was thinking today about poetry, and what is good and what isn't - and hell, I don't know the answer to that, I just know that sometimes I write something that turns out right, and sometimes I don't. And I was also thinking about how it almost, kind of, sometimes, it feels like a waste to write poetry at all, because so few people read it. I mean, even if I, say, wrote a ton of stuff and put together a collection and managed somehow to get a company to publish it - who cares? Nobody reads poetry. Only academics and intellectuals and people like that read poetry. There ain't no poetry section at Coles. Well, technically there is, but it's generally like one shelf and it usually has stuff like The Iliad and Paradise Lost and Beowulf on there. You ain't gonna find Scofield on there (I looked). Nobody reads the stuff. If I put something out, I want it to be read, so - what's the point?
Okay, in some ways there is a point, because when get brick'd by a poem I need to get it out otherwise I feel kind of deflated. But beyond that, I don't know, man.
You know, in my thesis, I wrote a poem about how I was pissed off that I don't know anything about my grandfather, and my mum didn't get it. Or if she did, she didn't say anything. But I really think that she didn't get it, 'cause there was some stuff in there that was really... angry. And at the same time, I can't see how she could possibly not get what and who it is referring to, because it seems so transparent to me. Whatever. She said she really liked it, which is why I'm so confused. If she understood it, she wouldn't like it.
I. Ah. I don't know where I'm going with this. Well, that's fine.
I feel so weird. Feeling feeling feeling... I don't know. Strange. Like I've been burying myself in other things. Like I was doing that for years. Like maybe that is the way I used to deal with all... this... everything. Find something - something - else. I ain't got no reason to be sad, so I'll read about something sad, and then it's okay, it's okay to feel this way, because then there's something to cry over. Or, I don't know, I can't articulate what I'm thinking. It's difficult.
Completely unrelated: This song gives me the chills. Dear gods.
Yuu. Fic writer & book lover. M/Canada.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-22 05:20 am (UTC)I don't know why, either. XD
no subject
Date: 2009-01-22 06:18 pm (UTC)(And I love the stuff you post and I am so sorry that I do not comment as often as I should ;~; Forgive meeeeee)
Everything I draft is on paper, because that is how I do it now (a few years ago, I could only write on the computer). And sometimes I think that years from now someone will find my writing and think it's awesome and then, after I'm dead, it will all be published and academics will think it's wonderful. xD But because I would be dead, it'd be too late for me to appreciate it, oh well.
On the other hand, in my bibliography class I learned about all the cutting and pasting and chopping that goes into textual editing, and it kind of disturbs me, and sometimes I think that I don't want my texts posthumously published at all, and think that maybe I should burn my drafts before I die.
The medium conclusion I have come to, and the plan that I shall put into action eventually, is to write down all the edited versions (as the editing is done on the computer, you see) in well-bound manuscript books (rather than the crappy school scribblers I use for drafts). That way everything will be edited and legible with no cutting needed.
Whoooa, went off on a tangent there. Oh well. ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-01-22 11:17 pm (UTC)If I could write on metal I'd totally do that too. XD (Oh gods Latin paleography it is haaaaaaard STUPID ROMAN CURSIVE)