Slowing Down

With another blog to maintain and stuff coming in for books and newsletters demanding my immediate attention + the usual bnm and mundane world crap, marathon blogging here might finally be a thing of the past. All together now, 1-2-3- SIGH OF RELIEF

You'll miss my posts, mark my words. In a few months you'll all be begging me to give something up and revive the 3 a.m. stream of consciousness Sunday anxiety rants. Oh I know, you think not now, but we'll see. Oh yeah, we'll see.

So tonight I went to my first Sackville Writers' Group meeting. The walk over was a lot further than the map would lead one to believe. I, of course, wore the wrong shoes for such a walk and now am nursing huge blisters on both heels. When will I learn you ask? Well, I've heard that some don't and I suspect when it comes to shoes I may be one of them.

The meeting went well. Five of us and I felt pretty comfortable. They had some really interesting commentary on my story and I got an idea about something that needs reworking. After discussing my story, we talked about writing for awhile. It was also really interesting to see how everyone goes about creating. I'm very free and easy with my writing, willing to try anything, boldly go without a plan, shift gears on a whim and just have fun with it. I hadn't imagined that others might be more tortured by the creation process, more comfortable in the editing/re-writing stage. Because for me it's the opposite. Once I head into full on editing mode I'm always in danger of slicing and dicing to the point where nothing remains. And that's the work part for me, though even then it's just business not something I dread or shy away from. Very interesting discussion for sure. I had a good time.

I agreed to take part in the Roving Poets for the Fall Fair. I may have to ply myself with vodka before the event, but I'm going nonetheless. I'M going to read poetry! In PUBLIC! How nuts is that?! Not my poetry, mind you. No, I haven't gone completely off the deep end. I have to look around and find a bunch of poems that might be appropriate in different venues throughout town. You know one about Pizza sauce to be read at Joey's for instance. Oh, and I have to find something to wear, a costume of sorts, something that says Roving Poet . . . if you were a roving poet, what would you wear?

This is so not something I would normally do. And my stomach is screaming from the discomfort of it all. Which of course is precisely why I must do it, push the boundaries of my comfort zone once again. If it makes me uncomfortable, I'm growing . . . so the big T is always saying. What's the worst that could happen?

Mood: sleepy
Drinking: gingerale
Listening To: a jet dry commercial
Hair: smoking hot (and I'm not even kidding, there are women all over the world struggling with curling irons and gels and sprays and who knows what kind of flammable materials in order to get this do that is just the way the locks wanted to fall today)