When I started this post.
Its been two months.
I want to contribute to the expanding web of literature poetry prose and opinion on the internet, in print.
But I cant keep up! Queue hands in the air!
I’m still catching up with everything that led up to this point!
Words are pouring out of me at all times!
I’ve got to take some time to write them down.
Its been….two months? since I last touched this blog. This is why.
How do artists find the time to blog? Read everything? See everything?
The internet is like a library, packed with people reading in every section, but everyone has the option to see through everyone else’s eyes, read what any/every given person is reading/thinking, one at a time, a few at a time, all at once, as much as one can handle. Also, the books in the library are multiplying by the thousands everyday.
The internet makes me feel nervous, excited, inadequate, creative. But I can’t keep up.
The days that I don’t go to use the internet at some coffee shop or bar, I feel calm. I read a book, feel inspired, close the book and pick up my notebook. I pick up newspapers off of the seat next to me on the bus. I listen to the radio. The transcripts of thousands thinking outloud speak only when spoken to.
These are symptoms of life in a closed system, a white dome. A beautiful white dome, thick with moss and light, but a dome. I am not made aware of what others are doing, printing, drawing, singing. There are countless literary magazines where little freaks like me are finding their audiences. Who tells them where to submit? Who tells them who to read? How do they all find each other?
I have no shortage of reading material/authors to worship. The flow of material from my head is a raging spring. I follow my own path without issue until I start exploring the net and see every-thing/one that I’m not reading, all the places that I could be submitting.
But I cannot read everything at once, nor do I have any idea what kinds of publications would accept my writing. Hell, I don’t even have any real writers reading my stuff to tell me if its any good. I pass it out to my family and friends and they either tell me that its great or that they dont know how to read poetry. The random times I’ve sent my stuff to another poet/artist, I didnt get any response.
I don’t mean to complain, I am really more confused that anything else. Thus, my answer is school and patience. To keep doing what I am doing, deep breaths while researching, and expose myself to events that will force me into rooms with other writers/artists.
Everyone had good intentions.
