—Walter Bagehot
A blot on my horizon over the weekend appeared. A minor drama. Really, it was an episode from a soap opera. But it affirmed the reason for my reluctance to state the details of my residency, reasons which, prior to this event, made me think I was being silly, but now I know I was just being cautious.
Those people whom I've told are now changed by how they perceive me, thinking I might've changed in receiving this award. Post-award, my goals are still pretty simple. I'm sure other changes will now eventuate, but if I've changed, it would only be that I am now setting my sights a little higher, in terms of what journals I feel I can now be confident of approaching.
Yet even then, I am reluctant to mention 'it' in a revised bio [apart from what I've sent to the publishers, of course]. Would I want an editor to be swayed into accepting something of mine if they knew of 'it'? What if the poems were crap? I'd have to trust that a good editor can spot a crap poem.
It is out of self-protection from Tall Poppy Syndrome, where the tallest poppy gets cut down to size. I don't want to be shot down in flames because of this. As far as I'm concerned this is a happy thing. In some ways, I feel I've worked hard for it. I also acknowledge it's luck that I have excellent referees who believed in me. It's enough for me that it's a residency. A month away to write poetry is a gift. That people believed in my poetry enough to say, here, go write some more—that's amazing.
I don't want friends to think I've got tickets on myself, that I'm feeling smug about this. Far from it. I felt sad over this friend's reaction. But I guess I'll get over it.
Thank you, Didi Menendez, for my amazing portrait! Looks ace to me. This picture will be used for my bio in a forthcoming issue of MiPOesias. Pretty cool.
Oh, and before I forget, I'm reading on Sunday, 12th December, 12 pm at Bookamore, 16 Mathers Lane, Hobart, Tasmania, Australia. That's less than one month away, if you'd care to mark it in your diary. My Masters supervisor said she'd be there. Now what'll I read?
I'm thinking of reading the poems I sent in with my residency application. I hope somebody in the audience will think, hey, I can write better than that, and then they can apply, too.
I must sound naïve right now.
