Build Me a Bridge

There are a lot of things I really need to get over, but one of the main ones is my self-consciousness when it comes to the things I write. I’ve always been rather apologetic about being a writer (a poet, no less), like I’m worried about being seen as pretentious, or useless, or a wannabe. Or maybe I’m worried I am those three things.

I won’t go on about that.

More than anything, I want to be a novelist. But I’m spending most of my writing time on poetry these days. Poetry, which nobody reads and doesn’t sell and will put me on the fast track to living in a cardboard box. Worse, I’m now turning my short stories into poems. Okay, just one, but that’s a pretty insufferable creative writing student thing to do, right? Maybe. But I am a student, if an oldish one, and I suppose university is the time to experiment.

There’s not enough time in the day. I feel rushed. The shortening days of autumn are the pathetic fallacy in the background of my life.

– H.

2 thoughts on “Build Me a Bridge

  1. Your comment about poetry reminds me of this quote from “Tiny Furniture” (and I share this with much love, not jest): “Poems are a very stupid thing to be good at. Poems are basically like dreams. Something everybody likes to tell other people but stuff that nobody actually cares about when its not their own.”

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