If it hasn’t been totally clear, I’ve been on a bit of a poetry hiatus for the past few weeks because

work is very busy and very taxing
everything I’m writing lately is crap
I’ve been wondering why I even continue to do this

It may come off a bit more dramatic than it actually is: poetry has occupied about .098098234% of my brain lately, although I desperately want it to mean more to me. It’s difficult for me to accept that in the ebb and flow of “having a job,” certain things must be sacrificed.

I took time away from reading recently; I took time away from writing. I let myself be and worked on keeping my mind in a healthy, unstressed place. I started an exercise regimen that—despite taking me away from my laptop—is fueling me in other ways that are equally beneficial.

And in all of this, I located a new potential project for myself, which is exciting and like dating. Like, I want to know all about my new project, where it came from, where it sees itself in five years, etc.

And happily, there has been a bounty of chapbooks arrived recently in my life: Hanson, Greenhouse, Frischkorn, Mohring, Gailey, (and soon) Snyder. Thank you, friends, for sharing your work with me. I’m eager to dive in.

The hiatus and deluge of inane-yet-endearing posts will likely continue until after AWP when—based on past precedent—I will find myself back in a poetry state of mind.

Until then, enjoy the silence (or inanity, whichever it becomes).

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