what's the deal with publishing poetry?

I know I tend to get ahead of myself sometimes, cart before horse and all that jazz.

This is definitely one of those times.

BUT.

What are the rules around publishing poetry and prose on a blog? Sometimes, when you enter a contest or submit a piece to a magazine the regulations state it must be unpublished material. Does my blog count as a something?

According to the CBC Literary Awards it does.

Uggh. So that means that I can't post my poems on here if I want to submit them to something like the CBC LAs. Of course that's just one contest, but such regulations are of concern to me.

Why? Let's introspect, shall we.

Reason 1 - Up until now my creative output has been an inconsequential, unenviable mess, so when I actually do finish something it takes on far more significance than it should. Each finished piece is a symbol, something to signify ALL the potential I'm convinced rattles around in my brain.

Reason 2 - Stemming from 1, if I consider each finished piece a master-work I'm instantly convinced of its dearness and value. Something of great worth of course needs to be cherished and only launched into the world at an appropriate moment, an instant where all eyes are watching and all mouths are ready to shout its praises.

Those moments don't come around too often. In fact, if one thought for about three seconds they would realize that such convoluted logic sound more like excuse making. A way to avoid ever finding out if what I'm doing is actually good, and so...

Reason 3 - This reason is a bit of a mess, bear with me, but we can generally say the third reason I am writing this inane post is confidence.

a - As mentioned above, if I talk about publishing something or submitting something it takes attention away from the act of publishing or submitting (or the lack of action) and my untalented deceit is never revealed!

b - Stemming from 2 is another facet of confidence; FEAR! On some level I'm afraid that I won't be able to rally my creative forces ever again. This one can be overcome, simply by doing something. Then doing something new. Then following that second something with another, and a fourth, and a thirty-second (after a 29th) and so on.

To be a creative individual you need to create all the time. Do, do, do, do and do. Not think, suggest and maybe next week. Take artistry seriously. As Canadian poet David W. McFadden ( a fella I've mentioned before) said, "From Grade 11 till now I've been writing poems every day, or thinking about it a lot on the occasional day I'd miss. To me an artist had to work every day, it had to be his entire life, or he was a fake."

A fake eh? Sounds familiar. So all I need to do is write a poem a day for the next 40 years? Well, maybe I should just take the meaning of his words and apply them personally.

And reason number...I don't even know. Am I onto italicized sub-sub-headings by this stage? My next point doesn't necessarily follow from the others, I just want to include it somehow, so...

Reason 3bi - I've mentioned this before, but thinking in terms of a best sellers and smash hits is wrong-headed. Chasing the latest trend and not being true to personal creative instincts results in shallow, unformed pieces. Mere shadows of what other original people were doing weeks, months and years before.

Stick with what you love and find hilarious, however, and at the end of the day you get something that you at least find enjoyable. If it finds fans in other like-minded souls that's great, but if it doesn't, who cares?

And so I struggle. Wanting to create something that receives recognition, worrying that personal notions of grandeur might be pin-pricked and deflated (not necessarily a bad thing), and simply wanting to create and push things out there regardless of the venue. Maybe even get to a point where I'm comfortable enough with myself that I know there will be other poems after this one and that I'll have another short story idea.

And I think I'm getting there, becoming more willing to release things into the world. Able to set aside all the above mentioned concerns. And if it does turn out I have created the greatest thing ever I'm sure it will take care of itself.

What set all this off?

I'm working on a poem entitled my bedroom floor on a Wednesday just after 8 in the evening (or sweat as communication). With a name like that how can it NOT be the greatest thing ever?

I was actually thinking about not posting it on here, but after writing everything I've just written I don't think that's possible.

Now you all have something to look forward to!

Trampoline Hall

Went to Trampoline Hall for the first time last night and enjoyed myself thoroughly. All the speakers were great and I walked away feeling depressed! What more could you want in an evening out? Depressed, but only because there are so many amazing people out there doing cool things and I continue being me. I think it's a good sadness to have, one that will inspire. OR crush my very soul and encourage me in more lawerly pursuits.

The speakers were:

Mary Albino - The Mean Problem

Instead of a diatribe about the film Mean Girls we received a lesson on the dangers of averages, what can be lost in the morass of numbers and summation.

Christine Pountney - Lot's Wife and the Art of Looking Back

Starting with an action many people do when leaving a building, looking over their shoulder in the direction they aren't going, launched us on a discussion of paths not taken, nostalgia and dementia, memory and the joys of living if not in, at least with the past.

For her a life gains stability and relevance only so far as all the experiences leading to you-now are remembered and cherished. Even/especially the bad ones.

Kristy Willow - Transitioning

Coming from the personal experience of discovering her dual-sexed nature following a heart attack and 28 minute death at the age of 50 plus, the talk focused on finding doors and going through. Choices can be good or bad, but if it turns out being the latter there's always the next door to try.

After the show Daydream and I walked down Ossington, contemplating all that had passed our ears and falling into our traditional staccato banter about where we are going, what we are doing and how we should get there.

As I say above, I don't know if what I saw at the event scares or inspires. Maybe both. But it's certainly better than the stare at the computer screen, indecisive, nothingness that seems to fill too much of my downtime. I still have no idea about anything except now I know I need to keep pushing myself. Out there. I need to see people do what I want to do, but more amazingly.

Maybe I'll just get a pleasant evening out of the deal, but the hope is it will push me toward something significant of my own.

Daydream reminded me I need to get away from the endless end result speculation that haunts my being. Instead of creating to create, doing things because I love them, there's a hint of doing things because it will bring me success. Money-whore and attention seeker. A man without confidence who needs the constant reassurance and praise of those around him, and if only the whole world could see his majesty, then they too would throw up their arms and lose their minds in rhapsodic praise.

Too often I miss the now, focusing instead on the awaiting future or perhaps fester upon the past I've let slip me by.

Oh you. Coming at things all wrong. If I'm going to write, I need to write without goals for a little while, create without direction and see what comes. Answer some big questions; If I'm not doing this stuff, is it because I see it as a chore? Do I even have the passion I claim? Do my passions lie elsewhere?

Questions I've asked and answers I've known, leading nowhere for years. Let's see what I can do with them this time round. Remember, getting nowhere can take forever and I'd do well not to waste eternity.

The mental anguish and joy of an evening well spent, summed up in a wee Twitter poem, re-posted here because not everyone reads the sidebar and what's the internet if not an echo chamber to reconfirm existence on a regular basis?

I need to find a crack to pull myself through WORDS need actions or die BUT the streetcar thrums and the city speaks of nothing but choice

(I even maintained the silly caps on instead of punctuation format!)

As Daydream said, Heh, it's a very nice bit of self expression via high tech communications.

For the time being that will have to do.

moving

Slippers and TOMson are both pretty much vacated from their park pad and yesterday Daydream was finally kicking things into gear, so I went over to help him move. It was brief, as I had to scamper off to improv, but it got me thinking (surprise!).

Moving. It might be the thing that makes me crack. Makes me grow up.

The idea of going through my things, having to decide what to keep and what to toss, then sweatily stuffing it all in a vehicle lacks a certain appeal.

Don't get me wrong. Moves can be okay; I enjoy some sorting, tetrissing a vehicle to its absolute limits brings a smile, and there's always pleasure in finishing a task. I even have fond memories of moving myself and my sister after my first year at grad school. In that instance my life had been all brain and my body, feeling ignored, was happy to sweat it out.

BUT...

there's so much to loathe as well.

Finding a new place can be a pain, and until you know where you're going there's a fog of uncertainty perturbing life.

Then, when time syncs wonkily and you need to be out of your old the same day you're into your new, stress levels balloon.

Recruiting friends, securing vehicles then getting it all done. Limited muscle and space means choices must be made, and who likes to make those?

And this is all in terms of the relatively light life I currently lead. Half my stuff sits in my mum's basement but I still dread the thought of packing what's on hand. I'll eventually want to live in my own place (rented or owned) and that means more stuff even.

I like to imagine myself living lightly, but the reality of my room reveals my true nature. I've come into more than a few maps since arriving in Toronto, there are pieces of a child's bed and a three-legged chair across the room, and look at what I happily took off Slippers' hands in the last few days.

(If anyone wants to play board games...talk to me quick because I am turning some of these things into things. And by second things, I mean stuff for a wall [art?]. Bocce will remain bocce however - call me if you want to play. Anytime. I'm think a winter tourney...)

So... Moving and growing up.

I'm lost.

The premise of this post, now that it's written, seems to be growing up means getting lazy and rich - being able to collect stuff, wanting a place to keep the stuff and being able to arrange said stuff in a particular fashion.

I don't think I know what growing up means.

Let's try this.

Someday I want to live somewhere I know will be my home (base) for an extended period of years. And if I have to focus, find a career and make some money to do it, so be it.

Someday. If I have to.

Resolved!

Sleep

Oh me oh my this big city life is keeping me up late.

Maybe it's the excitement and possibility that permeates urban living getting inside my brain and rattling about so forcefully that I am unable to turn off my brain until the excitement dies down or exhaustion simply becomes greater and overcomes?

Tonight it might be in part that my room is bleeding hot. (more on this in the next post)

Certain intoxicants enter my system from time to time and they might have some sway in the way things go towards bed time.

But most of all, I've fallen into a bad pattern. I'm waking up towards 11 every day and that just won't cut it. So tonight I have the alarm set for 9. I'll get up. I'll actually do it and I'll get on with my day. And what might that day (this day) entail? Let's find out:

-Air Canada Centre job posts that expire tomorrow (check 'em and submit as needed)

-investigate a (discounted) membership at the YMCA (so far I've been running and push-upping and hanging about off tree branches but I'm investigating all my options)

-see about a TPL book bag. I've been told the old ones have been discontinued and I want to get one before they disappear forever.

And that's it. Hopefully get some reading and writing done as well...without falling asleep.