Since dawn it’s become foggy. Or maybe I’m rising into the clouds. But the background trees–and they aren’t that far away–are beginning to look like an artist’s cheat.
I’ve been in a slump lately. Not that I’m not working (she insists) I went on a submitting spree. (first of five rejections is already back). Trying to do things with old poems. Moving ten years worth of rough drafts out of my computer’s various document stash areas and into a purpose-built, multiply backed-up Scrivener project. I read one now and then and send it into a re-write folder. And I’m trying–still–to put together a chapbook.
I haven’t been writing.
But this gray morning I looked up the Iowa writers archived 2015 MOOC. (If you’re interested they’ve packaged most of their recent online workshops, very nicely). I wasn’t particularly interested in the first video, on journalling. Kept drifting. Looking at the woman’s hair, the microphone cord, and the bookshelves behind her.
Tuesday’s Twiglet gave me a slant for a poem. Still rough.