I’m a known sucker for writing prompts and packaging and all things campy/kitschy. The online advent calendar of poetry prompts from Two Sylvias Press saw me coming a mile away.
the 30/30 challenge was tapping into an energy i’d enjoyed when i was writing most feverishly, a part of me that i thought had left the building.
something interesting: in writing today’s poem i felt a natural energy and momentum that i haven’t felt with my writing for at least 2 or 3 years. they’re all still first drafts, of course, but that feeling — it’s how a writer knows she’s alive.
as you can see, divorce crept into one of the poems, but it was a fun one, kinda campy, so i give myself a pass. (and who doesn’t enjoy watching t. rex enjoy himself at the feast?)
wow — it’s day 11 for the tupelo 30/30 poetry project? it’s all a blur! i have no idea what i’ve written so far, and i’m guessing that’s a good thing: write ’em and let ’em go ’til the month’s over!
i really sweated it out today trying to get a poem for day 10 of tupelo press’ 30/30 poetry project. oy. i definitely bit off more than i could chew.
“here i am bringing the smut to day 09!” and while i mean it, i hope there’s also at least a couple redeeming qualities to it beyond its subject matter. there’s word play. there’s mortality… and escaping it. or trying to.