Panickingly slow is how it’s going. I don’t know if panickingly is a real word but I’m using poetic license.
So far: 6 poems that are actually in a full rough draft form. About 7 where I have a line or more.
November sucks for doing any of these kinds of things. Especially this November for some reason. I realized that I work seven days straight right before Thanksgiving–one of those being a holiday meeting in which I have to work about 12 hours.
I do a lot of my writing on Thursdays because I don’t have to work until later and the kids are both in school. However, today (Thursday) Owen has a play so I switched my hours to work earlier–and I won’t be able to really write tonight because, well, Owen has a play. Then Thanksgiving is on a Thursday, so there goes another one.
And who the hell can think up 120 different subjects for poems? I’m hitting a wall. (I’m trying to stay positive, and think about all those great times when you push yourself and get the really creative ideas…but the positivity isn’t sticking.)
Jenny writes dark fiction that her mother hates. Her stories and essays have appeared in Across the Margin, Pantheon, Shimmer, Black Denim Lit, Skive, and others. When she’s not writing her own stuff, she’s reading mysteries for Criminal Element. When she’s not writing fiction or reviews, she’s writing/directing/performing/designing plays at Springs Ensemble Theatre.