I have been away - busy, in fact, working on another kind of poem that takes nine months to write. In the way of writing, I have been out of the literary loop for a few months, and am slowly emerging back out of my sleep-induced, sickly days. Still, I am continuing to write meditative couplets, creating a small book of poetry dedicated to my unborn. I have also been thankfully receiving my annual copyright entitlement cheques from Access Copyright and the Public Lending Rights Commission, which has been nice recognition for my work and validation as a poet, albeit widely unknown.
My Friday nights of reading poetry have gone to the wayside for the time being, as my work week seems to suck me dry by day five. I will get back into my old footing... just takes a little fire being lit under my butt.
I am struggling with the google books situation, wondering how to approach the fact that nearly my entire book is available for free online, and a measly one-time compensation of $60US from Google to keep it that way. What to do?
I am still working on my novel, Turnstiles, which becomes more and more like a beast that demands feeding. I am thinking of adding the background to another secondary character, but their back story is the length of a novella on its own. I'm still in the thinking, sketching, note-taking stage: I try to remind myself that the words are there, and that this isn't writer's block. It is an irrational fear... like walking into a disgustingly dirty kitchen and knowing it has to be cleaned -- and you are the only one who can clean it.
So, if any of you thought I was dead, I am not... although some days I am a little brain-fried and immobile. I am here, I am writing, and I will come back.