An aha moment for my latest work in progress.

When poetry clicks into place

I began this week with yet another “thank you but no thankyou” response to a pamphlet competition. It’s tough to keep “plugging away” at this, and to challenge the thought that I’m just not good enough. Then I remind myself that this group of poems has been longlisted in a major magazine, shortlisted by a respected publisher and highly commended in a well-regarded prize. There is something there – but it’s hiding.

Back to the drawing board I go. I read the book as a whole, rather than focusing on individual poems and allow my impulses to guide me as to which poems don’t quite fit. I cut them, read again and think about what is missing. This pamphlet is a story, a journey and as I’m cutting and reworking I realise I’ve been trying to cram two themes into one book. Rather than start at the beginning and consider what I want this book to be, I’ve started halfway through; I’ve taken a group of poems I like and tried to shoehorn them into a single concept. The end result was a group of poems that kind of fit, but unless you live in my head the thread is a bit jumbled. I’m confident in the poems (as much as one ever can be) and feel that I’ve made something that works as a whole and sent it back out into the somewhat narrow world of poetry. Apparently the average number of rejections for a book before publication is 15 so there is still plenty of hope. We will see.

I’m struggling to rediscover my poetry mojo – pojo if you like - and at the start of the week I felt incredibly sad and frustrated and looking back at how prolific I was a few years ago I felt as though I’d had so much promise that has somehow slipped from my grasp.

There are reasons of course – losing Dad meant I had to pour a lot of energy and brain space into caring for mum, particularly sorting finances and household maintenance. I also lost one of my dearest friends who happened to be my go-to poetry person – the person I sent my work to for feedback and the person who gave honest and intelligent insight into what could be better as well as giving encouragement that I could receive as being true. I’m struggling to find a poetry group too. Part of this is that the online community that was so strong during Covid has filtered back to real life, but the real issue is my perception that no one will like me, or want me to be part of their club, either on or off-line. I’m working on this, of course, and my medication is reducing the amount the amount of negative self-talk I inflict on myself but when it does come it’s as vicious as ever. Practicalities get in the way too – don’t drive and live in an area where public transport is minimal which means I have to rely on lifts so can’t guarantee the consistent attendance that some groups require.

I’ve had to accept that I’m probably not going to get as far as I dream of. It takes a huge amount of very hard work even rise to the middle of the competitive but small world of poetry. My work is good, and I get a good response when people read it, but to spread it further I have to put in the work behind the scenes, talk to other poets, become part of the scene and build my audience. A few years ago, I felt confident that I was part of a small circle of people who were interested in what I was making – this has gradually faded away. Growing unease about the changing nature of social media means I’ve reduced the amount of time I spend on it which in turn means I’m not in contact with the lovely souls I connected with a few years ago. Even the world of Substack, which I felt would bring so much hope, has tapped into dopamine addiction and subsequent lows when what I write falls into the ether with nary a “like” or comment. I’ve also become aware of an increasing desire to hide away, to creep back below the parapet. I’m not sure why, but I am very aware that this is not the most helpful way to connect with other people.

This all sounds like I’m giving up. I’m not, I’m just trying to reframe my attitude, trying to put the creation of the work at the forefront, rather than being seduced by the thrill of external approval. I say this almost every year (sometimes twice!) I say this every year and every year I lose focus which sends me down the inevitable track of disappointment. I care so much about what other people think and really want to prove that I’m good enough to have a book published, and good enough to be able to call myself a writer. The fact I keep going despite the perpetual disappointment has to count for something.

Until next time,

Kathryn

xx