Thursday, March 17, 2016

A writer writes

Sent off my Shakespeare poem this morning for Project 154, and it was acknowledged a few hours later. Quite pleased with it. It will be printed opposite sonnet XIX in the anthology. My poem is focused on the person Shakespeare wants to preserve in the verse. It finishes with 'Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,/My love shall in my verse ever live young.' My poem is in the voice of the lover haunting the sonnet, saying he didn't want to be live forever locked in the poem and is called 'Locked in the Lines', and will be printed between the lines of the Sonnet XIX. Future Kenny scholars will observe that this is a typical Kenny move, the sort of thing that was behind This Concert Will Fall In Love With You.

Having sent this off as Cactus the next door cat was taking his morning toilet in our bushes, I then had the best morning's writing of poems that I have had in a very long time. Rather chuffed by all this. Then off to the gym, where I had a slightly less mild-mannered workout. Home and got various bits done, chatted on the phone to Betty about theatrical business, before a small woman came to collect some chairs Lorraine had put on ebay.

Listening to Kipling's Plain Tales from the Hills as an audiobook. Very accomplished short stories, but I found one of them, His chance in life is vilely racist by today's standards. Made a stew with copious mash, in a wife-pleasing move this evening, as Lorraine always forks down mashed potatoes with glee. Spoke to Mason who sounded fine. Heard that Toby is being eaten alive by mosquitoes in Panama and that neither Toby or Romy are on top health form. Mum is having a good time with Joan and Dick.

I had a really nice day, but I heard sad news at the end of it as Lorraine and Dawn's pal Jan died this morning surrounded by friends and family. A mercifully short illness, but everyone sad.

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