Self-imposed restrictions

And so... NaPoWriMo was a no-go for me, mostly because of time and considerations of where to post these things. It's a terrible thing, getting more 'discerning' with your poetry. I dislike myself sometimes, as it feels like I'm being a tad snooty with my own work, but with the burgeoning internet (accidental) self-publication possibilities, and a diminishing market for real-world publication (and some pamphlet competitions specifying that included poems not be freely available anywhere on the internet) it seems more worthwhile a consideration. And so, and so. I find myself with these self-imposed restrictions and a mild self-disgust for following them.

So, no NaPoWriMo, and still not a huge amount of writing, but things are looking up a bit as I've enrolled in The Poetry School's online poetry course 'Adventures in Form' (which is inspired by that book over there, published by Penned in the Margins), and this requires a poem a week. I like the online course format, with friendly forums and loose deadlines, and no tutor to answer to for posting late (which I've done with every poem so far...) And it's good to be writing regularly again, even if it is in strange N+7 or Poemixtape forms - there's those self-imposed restrictions again.

AND, I'm running regularly again (hoorah!), and looking after a Herman, and learning to drive soon, and still Poet Shadowing for Shake the Dust, and customising cardigans with horse faces, and the rats are lovely - so really life is full and interesting without a poem a day to think about.

Pegasuses, and taking flight.

I feel a poetry reboot coming along. Pegasuses have been plaguing my mind... and I feel the need for a load more work and a load more poems to send out and a general increase in poetic energy. And poetic focus.

All this, and I am still in training, with my first race (10K) on Sunday. It turns out, too, that I am not the only poet doing the Great North Run this year! (Not that I thought I was, but it's nice to find some other self-identified poet-types also taking on the physical task). Kate Fox, Sheree Mack and Scott Tyrell are all running, too, and probably much faster than me. I sense a most poetical exertion, and wonder how many other writers will be in the midst, without even realising that they are not alone!

Running, running.

I'm doing two runs this summer, then, it turns out. The Great North 10K and the Great North Run. Yikes.

Having just spent a Friday at the Great North Swim witnessing C complete a 2 mile open water slog in lake Windermere, I am actually looking forward to the sheer event of a 'Great North [something]' and being involved in the collective effort. I am very nervous, though, about both - but especially the half marathon. The furthest I've run so far is about 11K, and I need to at least double that distance in three months. And in my barefoot running shoes, which my poor achey foot bones are still adjusting to, really. Cripes.

Does anyone have any tips for avoiding blood blisters on the bottoms of toes?

Anyway, in the meantime, I'd really appreciate if you'd sponsor my efforts. I know running two may seem a bit greedy, but they are for two very good and deserving causes, quite apart from my suffering feet: Scope (for all the times, as a kid, I used the horrendous words 'spaz' or 'spacker' as an insult, without realising where they came from) and the Alzheimer's Society (because so many people are affected by this ravaging disease - and I loved the recent drama Exile). Perhaps you could split the usual amount you'd sponsor between the two? Every penny counts.

Great North 10K
Great North Run

Thank you! xx

Ah, Summer.

I miss very much the convenience of being able to run in the cloak of darkness at a reasonable hour, whilst the temperature is maintained at a very agreeable level of coolness to prevent such redness of cheek as to stop traffic.

In other news, I am enjoying poetry quite a lot at the moment, though not necessarily writing very much of it. It's proving much fun working with Well Versed (via New Writing North) and with teachers and children in schools. It feels very worthwhile getting involved in the teaching of poetry without sweeping into a school and delivering a workshop - and then invariably sweeping away again, leaving teachers with their classroom objectives and no relevant outcome to apply to the curriculum in a lasting way. Really getting involved in how teachers teach the writing of poetry feels like a longer-lasting, and confidence-building, exercise, for all involved. Including me.

There's definitely something to be said for professionalising poetry. I was discussing this the other day with the teacher I am working with: that sitting down to write a poem, especially when you have a full time job, feels self-indulgent and as if you're slacking off something much more important. Doing a course has given the teachers that sense of professionalisation, and my MA did that too, at the time. Taking part in some professional development like this is having the same effect on me now. I like it.

Sometimes I wonder if the self-doubt and debilitating over-thinking that accompanies being a poet ever goes away, or diminishes with an increasing output of published work. Having attended the Poetry Society annual lecture on 'On Being Old' delivered by CK Williams (author of 14 collections, a 'Selected' and a 'Collected'), it seems that this is not the case. Even he often wonders if he is really a poet at all, or can claim to be called one, when he's not writing. Though mildly alarming, this is also somewhat comforting.

He also had this brilliant advice: "Wisdom is basically poop, except for patience." Indeed.

Rejected.

But only by one publisher so far. I still have my fingers crossed. (And I'm okay with it. Honest.)

Not long now until Craig and I depart for Japan. We booked before the recent events, of course, but have decided to go anyway as a kind of show of support and solidarity and trust. We're flying into Kansai airport near Osaka (which has been changed from Narita, Tokyo) and this is an airport built on created land in the sea, which may be an experience in itself. As well as Osaka, we're visiting Kyoto, Nara (for my birthday) and (hopefully) Tokyo. I can't even begin to imagine what it's going to be like over there, so mostly, at the moment, I am excited about the flight. I think this is my brain's way of making sense of the trip, but I'm embracing it anyway. Craig doesn't think I'll be able to sleep (I think he's wrong..) and so will be exhausted upon arrival and will need much rest before embarking on adventures (...but he may be right). But at least, by then, I will have experienced the screens.... in the BACKS OF THE SEATS! (perhaps a nap upon arrival will do).

As well as an exciting trip to write about, I have also been inspired today by a friend at a writing project I'm involved in (Well Versed - working with teachers to aid their teaching of creative writing to children) suggesting that I try translating German poetry into English. I'm not sure about this suggestion, as I find it hard enough to fit English poetry-writing into my everday routine at the moment, but maybe there's something in it. Durs Grünbein, who I heard reading at StAnza (where I was also reading this year!), is an amazing German poet that struck a chord with me, but I had never heard of him until I saw him read (and Don Paterson read the English translations). How do you find out about foreign authors not published in the UK? Durs Grünbein is, in translation, and I hadn't even heard of him. What about those who aren't? A puzzle.

I have taken to walking everywhere in Vibram Five Fingers. My feet feel stronger. I feel like it makes me more atuned to what's going on around me, more attentive to the detail of things. Always good for writing, I think, to have that extra sensory thing going on. There is a lot of broken glass around; the other day I ran underneath a flitting bat at dusk; my core needs more strength. I have also signed up for the Great North 10k and the Great North Run, and will be doing both barefoot style. Perhaps this, or more particularly, the physical slog of training for this, will inspire some running poems - I don't think I've written one yet..

I am here. I am writing. I have run.

So things are going pretty well, really. I've had my first meeting with Polly and it seems like my work has enough going for it to carry on... and that I've already been doing all of the usefully organised things like entering competitions (Picador Poetry Prize... fingers crossed) and sending work to magazines and collating work into pamphlet as well as collection form. I'm still not sure how to progress in approaching publishers, but I think it means being very selective and reading their back catalogues (more than I already do) in order to find a place where I think I might fit in, should they choose to take me on (fingers crossed). This is opposed to the scattergun approach to submissions, which I think can work against you.

There are just so many other super-dooper poets out there. It is a little alarming to think of all the other people doing scarily similar things to me and keeping their fingers similarly crossed for exactly the same things. It's a wonder any of us gets anywhere, really.

The cube is a super place to sit and work, anyway, and highland cows keep wandering past my window, drinking at the pond or ripping up great mouthfuls of grass with their surprisingly powerful tongues. A duck had a little fishing expedition on the water this morning, too, and I'm sure I can see frog noses or something popping out every now and then. There are a couple of beautiful jays flying about as well. Just enough excitement to keep me from going mad with isolation, but not enough to distract me from the creative pursuits which brought me here in the first place. Excellent.

My first frost of the year was experienced this morning, and I made myself run out in it in order to get the full experience of being present in my surroundings. I think it worked. Today has been my most productive so far, though I have a niggling feeling that I'm coming down with some sort of chesty cough. More fingers crossed for that one, though they're crossed for the negative rather than the positive this time.

Contemplation.

Hello!

Here I am again, full of apologies again, but this time for a much bigger gap. I have been contemplating what to do with this blog, as it has recently come to my attention that some competitions and publications see previous publication of poems on a personal blog as disqualifying them from consideration. This is a problem, as I'm sure you can imagine, as there's no point in writing a load of poems and then not being able to send them anywhere (not that success and acceptance is usual, but you can't live your life so pessimistically that you don't take these things into consideration!)

So. What to do with a creative blog that I can't really post poems on any more? Yes. Well. This is the question. As you can probably tell, I haven't actually come up with an answer to this dilemma, so here the blog remains.

I am going on a retreat at The Fielding Programme in a week or so, so perhaps I could blog about the process of trying to put a collection together whilst staying in the beautiful surroundings of Cove Park?

Perhaps you would be interested in hearing of my new barefoot running addiction? No? Can't say I blame you. (My new shoes are the coolest though. Really.)

How about I ditch it all and you follow me on Twitter? (@sophiefbaker). Hm, I don't like that idea. 

I think the creative process could be interesting for me to write about - mostly because I struggle with it a lot - and really, that's what this is about, isn't it. Self indulgence. So that's what I'm probably going to descend into, with the occasional poem or notes. I hope that's okay.