Dear Reader,
One of Word Raccoon’s favorite poems has been published by Hare’s Paw Literary Journal. You can read “Stephen King at Midnight” here. (And if Mr. King ever reads it, I hope he will see it’s written with affection.) This poem was on our list to find a good home for this year. Mission accomplished.
(I feel like I say all of my poems are my favorite. They’re not, but I have many, which is a nice feeling.)
Interestingly, I added a line and changed the spacing just a bit on the poem recently. I was happier with it, and maybe that’s what it needed because presto publisho! (It was accepted and published the same day, which made WR beam.)
What I’d like to understand about my revision process is how come sometimes I can look at a poem and know I need to take a necklace off it, or add a belt, but at other times I think it’s perfect just the way it is until I re-read it (usually right after having submitted it), and then I want to take away WR’s poetry writing privileges. I know I’ve talked about this recently, but I just don’t understand it. Same eyes, same mind, different mood produces different results? Sigh.
Maybe it’s the heat. I tried to beat it by getting outdoors early to water the flowers this morning, and as I was turning on the hose, a beautiful birb said hello. Maybe that’s where the sensible birds have been. I haven’t even seen a squirrel today, so I think everyone’s gotten the weather report: it’s hot out, friends!
In other news, Word Raccoon says down with steamer cleaners! This is the second one she’s had recalled, two different brands. Then when she sent in the required photo with the cord of the item cut off to get her refund yesterday, they asked for a better photo. She sent another and finally received word that it was accepted and that the refund is on its way.
She’s grateful to have her wheels back, to be writing on the café porch today. But what will she write? She doesn’t know. Probably poetry. Where she is sitting she can see the window of what used to be her bedroom for a brief time when she was a teen in a house cattycorner to the spot where we’re writing.
It was a basement apartment, so even that small window was a welcome glimpse of light. She can also see the porch where she’d read sometimes, though I don’t think she wrote much on it.
Currently, WR and I are reading a book we picked up a month ago at our favorite thrift shop near the dunes. We assumed it would be a beach read, but now it’s a heatwave read, I suppose. For a minute we thought it might be something more, since it’s translated from French, but no, no. It’s truly a beach read and we’re on the fence about finishing it. We’d skim, but it’s a mystery, and you don’t want to skim a mystery. Still, this thing is over 500 pages!
WR says she is ready to write something, if I’d just finish up already. Fine, fine, you impatient creature. Let’s find a draft to drink.
Stay cool, dear reader.
Drema