Dear Reader,
Word Raccoon has reached peak poetry fatigue.
It is, of course, National Poetry Month.
TBH, I think it’s that she doesn’t like the bossiness of the month.
Sure, fine she has signed up for ONE challenge! She has agreed to do something towards poetry every day this month. Which she probably would do, challenge or no.
But today there was the email with a poem and prompts.
Then another newsletter with same that also promoted a book of “fun” poetry forms to try.
WR begs to differ. Form is never fun.
Another dang newsletter had another challenge. By then WR was rolling her eyes. I clicked to continue reading. It was behind a wall that asked us to sign in.
WR refused.
“We probably already have an account. A free one.”
“No! Let’s write our damn poem of the day and be done.”
The attitude! The reduction of her heart’s delight to an obligation! Who even is she?
She is drinking coffee, wearing leggings (the “not it” outfit that declares you will not be the one running errands) and glaring at the inbox like it personally offended her.
Then…oh reader, she wrote a poem where she sold poetry to a circus and fed it nothing but peanuts.
I think that says it all.
Maybe tomorrow I should suggest she work on her (our) novel instead.
dremadrudge.com 