2020 was an odd and awful year. Sure, my writing life went well, but what is that to every thing else we saw, experienced, learned and reckoned. I love Sagittarius A*, I’m proud of my little poetic meditation on the magnitude of existence and self, and I wish it had had a poem or two that were more…present/prescient. I dunno. I may feel differently in a few weeks.
So yeah. Happy new fucking year.
I’ve been writing fiction again. Very few new poems, even as I’ve begun a new chapbook project while I continue to submit/shop TWANG around to publishers and contests. I began about…5 fiction pieces, have finished one, but haven’t shared it with any beta readers yet. I need to sit on it, feel certain I want it to leave me. It covers familiar thematic ground, but in a way I don’t normally attempt. Who knows. Another piece has a strange, comic book inspired form and is fun to work on, but I’ve not been in the mood for a couple of weeks. T666p needs to go. I think after that we can all exhale, inhale, bust COVID, share some hugs and resume the work of fairness and social justice.