write a book of poetry

Despite all odds I was traveling with my manuscript, not sure if I could/would part with it. I was up in the mountains of Vail with my family for my cousin’s wedding. I had the manuscript in my purse, waiting. The forms, all filled out, waiting to be sent. And I did yoga with my mom that Saturday morning and then I thought, “well, I’d better just send it in.” I went to the front desk of the condo project we were staying at, they post-marked it for November 14th, and then I found a snowy mail box on the walk over to my cousin’s house to mail off my book on November 14th. The book needed to be postmarked on November 15th to be included in the contest. The last pickup for that snowy mail box was 2:15 p.m. It was then 1:00 p.m. My book of poetry is on it’s way to the Academy of American Poets right now. I never thought I’d make this goal a realty. I never thought I’d have the guts to let go of my work. But I did. And my book is traveling to New York right now. I’m pretty thrilled with myself right now.

I’m starting to doubt my prowess. I’m staying to flake out on my book. Forgettaboutit, my inner editor says. You’ll never be published, my inner doubting self yells. I’m trying to make my inner editor shush up and my doubts cool down so I can just submit my work to this contest and be done with it! This step is proving more and more difficult. I feel as if I can’t let go of my book of poetry. I’m scared. I know it’s lame. I know that if I never submit I’ll never get anywhere. I’m in this terrible bind. I’m running out of time to edit. The draft is due November 15th.

I am just disgusting myself right now. I can’t let me do this to me. I can’t let myself down like this. I just need to TRY. Ok, ok ok …This is it. Right now, I’ve decided to open up my book and really read it. I am giving myself until Friday to get this book out of my hands. It needs to just go. Bye bye book of poetry, have a fun trip in the mail to be seen by the eyes of those judging the Walt Whitman poetry contest.

Here goes trying. I’m at a turning point. I’m not going to let myself give up. That is NOT an option. I will send this book in. It’s ready to go. It’s good. I’m good.

I did some editing today to the poems that E and I talked about. It was helpful to have E’s input. I just wish I could trust another person with their input. Or rather I wish I wouldn’t feel like I was putting people out by asking them to read my work.

The editing I did today was minor. I will do more tomorrow morning. Hopefully I will be less tired tomorrow.

I’m really working on making sure all the punctuation is crisp in my poems. This is a big deal to me. It helps me feel that they are “done” and “polished.”

Though I wonder sometimes if poems don’t need punctuation to work. Some don’t. I think it depends on the poem. I wonder if my style is such that I can change from poem to poem. We’ll see how all this pans out.

November 15th is the deadline. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll make it all ready by the 15th. I’m starting to doubt myself.

I am currently working on compiling the poems into a book. My goal is 50 pages, or 50 poems. At this point, I feel I need someone to critique it. I don’t know who to ask, who would help me with that. Who could help me choose what to leave out and what to put into it.

Right now I have 26 pages. Some days I think my poetry is good and other days I think it is completely terrible. How will I ever know what the world thinks of it if I don’t share it, though? That is the writer/poet’s conundrum. I’m determined to come out from under this. The book of poetry is due in 30 days…can I pull it off and mail it off by then? I hope so, because that would mean some progress has been made in this goal.

I’m really struggling with letting go. I know it will feel good when I do let go, I just need to keep cutting the strings that I am grasping so tightly to and release.

What is inside me is beautiful.
I have wonderful things to say.
What is inside me is beautiful.
I have wonderful things to say.
I am an accomplished poet.
I am an accomplished poet.
I am an accomplished poet.

I’m like Walt. Hello there, Walt!

Since I was about 12 years old I have been known to write and never share my poetry. Over the past year or two, I’ve been able to share a few and the people who read them say that they are good. I believe they are good but recently I began reading a book by Rainer Maria Rilke called “Letters to a Young Poet” and it discouraged me more than inspired me. I really thought it would inspire me, but in one of the first letters Rilke writes to his young poet friend he says that love poetry is for the masters and should not be breached by anyone other than a master. I’ve found that over the years about 60% of my poetry has been about love and someone I loved. So naturally this comment by Rilke discourages me. I know I’m making excuses. The real problem here with keeping me from reaching this goal is that I don’t know how to go about publishing my works or getting them reviewed. My dad suggested to me that I submit some of my poetry to literary magazines. I know I should but I can’t seem to find the time to do it. I can’t seem to be able to choose something that is quality enough to go into a literary magazine. Part of me is still scared to share that deep part of myself with the world.