Poetry and packages

I'm very pleased today (well, at last, we cry! - and what a week it's been ...) that two of my meditation poems are now published at Grey Sparrow Press, so that's been a nice boost. Talking of which, here's today's poem:

Meditation 216

The landscape
of contemplation

grows bleak
with the onslaught

of words.
They crowd the air

like lost birds
crying for home

and do not find
a resting place

with you.


Also today, I've managed to complete the more structural edit of Hallsfoot's Battle so that's very satisfying. Though it's meant that my word count is now below the "standard" fantasy novel expectations of 120,000 words at least. I'm at 117,500, if you're interested. Still, as the mainstream press are even now preparing to ignore the beast, why worry, eh? There are compensations for being unpopular, ho ho. So I'll give it a close read-through now before sending it off to the agent for his opinion. I doubt he'll be rushing to read it either as he still won't be able to sell it, poor chap. Ah well.

Anyway, bah to the standard press gods, bah we say. Because we are more than delighted with the kindnesses of the independents: the lovely Dreamspinner Press have totally unexpectedly sent me a huge parcel of The Bones of Summer goodies, which has really put a big smile on my face - so thank you, Elizabeth! So I now have a Bones of Summer t-shirt, countless Bones postcards and bookmarks, plus Dreamspinner pens and bookmarks. It's like Christmas here in the shires, you know. I intend to wear my t-shirt every day and put a big BUY THIS BOOK notice on my head, whilst parading round town until somebody takes pity on me. Or puts the shirt in the wash. I also need to sign some of the postcards and bookmarks (rather than just slobbering over them and crying with delight ...) and return them to Dreamspinner for use in book fairs etc. Sounds like a marketing plan for sure. I am already practising my very best signature.

I've also played golf with Marian this morning - which turned out to be a game of three thirds. As it were. I was okay to begin with, total rubbish in the middle, and then redeemed myself with two neat little pars (one from off the green even) at the end, hurrah. In fact, our state of play in the middle of the game was so distinctly odd that when we teed off from the fourth, we both ended up on the fairway of the third, so simply played the previous hole backwards, as it were. Well, there was nobody playing behind us, so it seemed reasonable. But probably not quite in the golf rules, I suspect.

This afternoon, I've straightened out my extremely stressed back (too much typing, not enough walking) and got in touch with my inner reality (scary ...) at my Alexander Technique lesson, so that's been very relaxing. I do prefer the table work - as standing properly is just so exhausting, my dears ...

And tonight we have a mammoth clean of the flat to face - which I really should be getting on with or Lord H will think I've given up tidying for Lent, or whatever season we're actually in now. Roll on that pizza & ice cream moment though.

Today's nice things:

1. Poetry publication
2. The continuing Hallsfoot edit
3. Bones of Summer goodies
4. Golf
5. Alexander Technique
6. Food, mmm ...

Anne Brooke - the new Tiger Woods, but backwards
The Bones of Summer - comes with its own t-shirt, you know ...