Nine o’clock and the next six hours belong to me. Julia is safely delivered to work, the computer is on and I have a cup of tea steaming by my side. I had a few comments to read and am now going to check my emails.
Imagine one of those calendar pictures that shows time passing in black and white films…
Big news from the emails is that gamekeepers are no longer allowed to kill crows to protect pheasants and red-legged partridges which are being reared for shooting. It probably won’t make a lot of practical difference, but it’s part of the battle to stop the irresponsible keepers who kill birds of prey.
Drifting Sands Haibun has a new guest editor and submissions are open for this month.
Last night I sent two sets of submissions off. Today I want to send a couple more, which is going to involve selection and editing. I will now finish this post and get on with that. IT always seems that life is better when I have plenty of submissions in. It is a bit like lottery tickets – life is better when you are in the game and, until the draw, you can believe you are a rich man. While I wait for an editor to respond, I am a poet. After the rejection I am a failure. Of course, after an acceptance I worry too. I worry that I will never be published again. I now know that this is Imposter Syndrome, though the ability to name it doesn’t make it go away.
List for the rest of the day –
Wash up breakfast pots (which will allow me to avoid work and feel good about it)
Make soup for lunch (ditto)
Sort out two submissions
Work on partially completed poems
Start two poems I have notes for
Research for article – Bomb Disposal
Research for article – RNLI
Pick Julia up
Cup of tea, TV, nap
Cook stir fry
Write post (500 words) about how hard I’ve been working today.