Oh god. It just really hit me tonight that I have less than two weeks to pick out the (at least) three poems in draft stage I want to take to Provincetown with me, eleven copies each. On the one hand, I will admit that 'cause I'm only human, I want to take in poems that are already pretty strong because I want to impress the guy. So I don't want to take poems that are a total mess. On the other hand, if I'm going to get the most out of the workshop, I really need to take in poems that I'm willing to completely tear apart and work on a lot. So what I need is strong poems that are a total mess. Yeah, I can do that.... EEK!
Maybe I'll write one or two new ones between now and then. Yeah, 'cause I'm writing so much these days. NOT. (And I have to work five hours on Sunday, so I don't even have a whole entire weekend available between now and the time I leave.)
This momentary moment of workshop-related freakout has been brought to you by the letters D.A. Powell and by the number eleven copies of each.