Why write if not for publication?

I am torn between the need to have my work published and feeling compelled to write irrespective of publication which is why I’m embarking on my third poetry collection with the second collection unpublished.  Indeed it seems bizarre to admit that I’m embarking on another collection because poems are written as individuals even when they are being created with a view to a narrative sequence.  This latest sequence (at least I can say that) is based on the story of Persephone but has Demeter centre stage.  I am increasingly fascinated by the idea of Mother in poetry.  I’ve read a lot of reputable poets claiming to be working towards things – eschewing the very idea of writing about something.  Perhaps it’s my limited intellect or industrial background or summat but I’m always trying to write about  something – if loss and love can be said to be something.  It was only as recently as June that  I sent part of collection 2 out for consideration.  And there’s no word yet.  Indeed, I’ll be astonished if it’s accepted.  Yet I believe in my work.  It is the truest part of me in some ways and so I continue to write without an audience, without a publisher, without a great deal of hope really.  Strange business and looks fearfully solipsistic which I find hateful.  I suppose I’ve lost some discipline and order especially since having the baby in 2010.  She’s thriving and needs care and while the domestic duties do not stop me from writing they force me to be realistic about my aspirations.  These are the following projects I have in mind at the moment:  Demeter sequence (4 poems completed – of upto 20, I think), How Men Really Love Each Other (completed second poetry collection), The Confessions of a Mad Woman (rewriting this when I can – and just become part of a novel-writing group to help with this), The Cat in the Wardrobe (a radio play – need a clear month to finish this), Geraldine’s Summer (a children’s novel – need about 6 weeks to finish this), The Tolerance Zone (crime novel – 1 of 4 planned), Rocky Road – short stories based on a fictional Liverpool community. Also have mental health projects coming up (which I’m doing just now as a volunteer because John is claiming benefits since his redundancy and I don’t want to put us in a worse financial position than we are already) and the organising work and editing for North End Writers (which can be very demanding – and again takes up my time).  I’m also trying to get paid work which makes everything feel precarious – as well as about to start a Diploma course which will mean commitment of 1 day a week for 2 years but which will give me qualified teacher status.  I never wanted to be a teacher but it’s a necessary qualification with the creative writing work now so I need it for employment purposes.  And of course my 6 children depend on me so trying to get paid work is essential (and it’s 5 months since my husband lost his job).  I don’t want to lose the house, obviously yet I continue to write even if it’s just for a few hours a week just now.  I must be mad.  I have some talent, I know but no entitlement.  I am underqualified for Uni posts and seem to be overqualified for everything else I try to get.  Some days, some middle of the night, it all seems a bit too tricky.  I need a Fairy Godagent or a miracle just now.

Advertisement

---