For the past several weeks, my daily grind has been consumed with preparing for the launch of my debut poetry collection – final tweaks to the manuscript, meeting with the publisher, approving printed proofs, resolving technical issues at the printers, organising the launch, issuing invites, contacting media and interest groups, making a promo film poem, and plugging the book / launch on social media… It’s been non-stop, and all the while the butterflies jittering away – will the book look good, what poems will I read on the night, what if no-one comes?
It has all been about the energy and force of will required to put the book out into the world. Then, yesterday, I had a moment of pause and realised:
I’m not just putting a book out, I am letting the world in.
Years of work, of scribbling away in quiet moments, with no idea the words I write might someday be read, felt and understood. My feelings, my observations, my ideas, my experience – as of now, they no longer belong to me.
I bring the words to the page and let them go. It is someone else’s turn to claim them.
(Image via BBC News)
a dreaming skin 