Dreams of Poetry.
For years I have been urging my sister to start working towards putting her poems in a book, and publishing it. I honestly think that she has an instinctive talent for placing words together, and deserves a shot out there with the rest of the spontaneous poets.
She finally succumbed to my incessant nagging, and prepared a draft, that she intends to send to a couple of editors she contacted. She got her copyrights all sorted out, printed out a few copies, and is now getting ready to confide it to the red metallic mailbox, on the corner of a random street in Montreal... the city she mostly loves.
Before she does that however, she entrusted me the monumental responsibility to proof read and edit the draft copy, before she sends it out to "strangers".
This a most difficult task for me, not only because I have never written poetry, but also because I haven't been able to write anything substantial or remotely smart for the past few months; I am absolutely lacking any kind of inspiration these days.
(I am only playing with Holga, but this will come in another post).
I think it is working out pretty well though. I am taking my time, working on only about three poems a day (a bus ride), while trying to be efficient, and non-judgmental.
Since I have no proper training in doing what I am asked to do, I am mostly relying on common sense and musicality, to modify, suggest and critique, whatever doesn't sound or ring so well.
Of course she thinks that the progress is too slow, as she was ready to send it last week, but I think I convinced her to be patient, and to give it, and me, some time.
I hope I do a good job, and give the manuscript its worth, and I wish her all the luck in the world for her ambitious endeavor.
She finally succumbed to my incessant nagging, and prepared a draft, that she intends to send to a couple of editors she contacted. She got her copyrights all sorted out, printed out a few copies, and is now getting ready to confide it to the red metallic mailbox, on the corner of a random street in Montreal... the city she mostly loves.
Before she does that however, she entrusted me the monumental responsibility to proof read and edit the draft copy, before she sends it out to "strangers".
This a most difficult task for me, not only because I have never written poetry, but also because I haven't been able to write anything substantial or remotely smart for the past few months; I am absolutely lacking any kind of inspiration these days.
(I am only playing with Holga, but this will come in another post).
I think it is working out pretty well though. I am taking my time, working on only about three poems a day (a bus ride), while trying to be efficient, and non-judgmental.
Since I have no proper training in doing what I am asked to do, I am mostly relying on common sense and musicality, to modify, suggest and critique, whatever doesn't sound or ring so well.
Of course she thinks that the progress is too slow, as she was ready to send it last week, but I think I convinced her to be patient, and to give it, and me, some time.
I hope I do a good job, and give the manuscript its worth, and I wish her all the luck in the world for her ambitious endeavor.
Labels: everyday life, ramblings
posted by _z. @ 9:59 PM
6 comments
