A busy week.
For those who like to know what other writers are up to, this was last week.
Sunday: Wrote a flash to the prompt of an encaustic collage done by Beverley Jackson, one of The Workhouse writers. Decided to do a group submission when we feel all work is ready to send.
Monday: received final proofs of Words from a Glass Bubble. Same proofs have gone to an agent who asked to see the collection.
Tuesday: Received The Drowned Book from Amazon. Read several poems, and was stunned by how bloody fantastic they are. They SAY so much. Proofreading. Drove over to see Sara from The Workhouse, talked writing, novels, fab time.
Wednesday: To London, to meet poet, novelist and short story writer David Grubb at The South Bank Centre. David is mentoring me as I grapple with poetry. He introduced me to the Arts Council poetry library (wow!) and we talked through the outline of the mentoring scheme we agreed on. Proofread a story on the train.
Thursday am: More proofreading.
Met writing friend for lunch, discussing her radio work, agents, collections, strategies, writing journeys...
pm: Wrote a short story to the encaustic collage image.
Saturday: Morning spent at Gateway Academy, Tilbury, where I am running a series of Creative Writing sessions and acting as a sort of writer in residence for most of the term.
Watched film with family ('The 3.10 to Yuma'... fab.)
Sunday am:(today) rewrote the short story, adding at least another third. Finishing proofreading this afternoon.
running The Workhouse
writing bits of novel notes
planning a couple of workshops I'm taking in the next week or two.
rewriting a short story for a competition, final polishing.
This post was prompted by some silly bugger on Zoetrope who asserted that no one could call themselves a writer unless they made a living at it.