I need to arrange a launch for my poetry chapbook. This thought fills me with dread and the urge to vomit. I’m not a shy person, but I am someone who doesn’t seek out the lights and attention.
I’m considering two things -
1. Booking Morden Tower for the launch, in Newcastle. It’s a nice venue, and it’s small, so if no-one or next to no-one shows up, I would feel less conspicuous.
2. Having the launch on my birthday, that way people have to come, right?
Thoughts?
Amy Key tagged me in the next big thing project, where writers talk about their new projects. You can read her responses here.
What is the working title of your book?
Nonplaced
Where did the idea for the book come from?
It’s a poetry collection, and it’s centred on domestic spaces. I suppose it came in part from having been signed off work sick for six months last year - I spent so much time in our flat that it was cast a-new, and the most mundane of objects held new potential for narrative.
What genre does your book fall under?
Poetry
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Hm, I think I would say Claire Danes as my narrator. She does fragile very well. And my narrator is very fragile.
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Domestic spaces filled by emptiness, quiet contemplation.
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
It will be published by erbacce press.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Difficult to say - I had a rough draft that I put together in about a month, maybe six weeks, which then languished in my laptop for about five months. I had wanted to try and do something vispo related with it, but when I looked at it again, I realised it was best as it was - five line poems in a collection. So then I probably spent another month or two adding to it. Not that long, I suppose, but it’s thirty poems total, in a chapbook, rather than a full collection.
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
I’m going to be naughty, and go inside and outside of the genre (so there). Inside, I was influenced by Haibun Today, Mayfly, and inkscrawl - all online journals. Their archives are full of beautiful, small pieces of poetry, and I spent a lot of time trying to write something suitable for them. I was successful with two out of three, and I knew that I wanted this collection to be clean, small, little poetry nuggets, I suppose.
In terms of mood, however, I’m going outside the genre, and saying perhaps The Hours, for the quiet moments of sadness (I have read the book more than three times I’m sure, and watched the film many times, so I think it has to be ranked above all other influences, really). And if you’ve read any autobiographies of Woolf, I think you can recognise some of that sadness too.
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
I think I was trying to cast one kind of sadness as another - I was experiencing my own sadness and isolation being off work, and so even though my own relationship was and still is intact, I took on a narrator whose relationship had dissolved.
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
It’s compact. Each poem of five lines starts with the same phrase, which means that you really only have to read four lines. The last page is a full page poem, but other than that you only have to read 116 lines, and you get to say you’ve read a poetry collection and look all clever and that. Plus it will (hopefully) alter the view of your own domestic spaces, and I would hope that would spur on some creativity in the reader too.
I’m going to tag:
Amy Mackelden
Sarah Crewe
Andrew Taylor
Jo Langton
Mark Burnhope
Message for tagged authors: Rules of the Next Big Thing
***Use this format for your post
***Answer the ten questions about your current work in progress
***Tag five other writers/bloggers and add their links so we can hop over and meet them.
There’s a division in my drop-down.
Feminist favourites jostle for space
with American moms – organisation tips,
lunchbox ideas, and melamine plates.
Jesus’ name and the glory glory
emblazoned on every footer,
while humanists and atheism
rally on Facebook, on Twitter, here.
The cupboards are all categorised
with washi-tape reminders, but the notebooks
are gaping between the poems and
ink’s bleeding at the edges.
It’s a dichotomy – dissect me, unveil me
to the lab class in hot Virginia sun,
they’ll find I’m ribboned with opposition, a tree
with rings of PB and jelly, sticky with confusion.
—-
I spent yesterday afternoon reading LightenUp Online. Can you tell?
m58:
‘Pixels’ by Amy Ekins
I found these letters in a paperclip,
and so I’m pinging them to you,
in a less-than thought out email.
I find the curves reminiscent
of that bow above your lip, or
the curve of your shoulder, above
a solid bicep – you gun me down
with your relentless, female,
strength.
J is the predominant, the jutting
figure amongst the metal, jerking
your name in jelly-wobble cries –
Justine, O
is there too, opening its mouth,
waiting to drink you in, to sink
below your skin.
C is implied, a quiet crush of colour –
petals in creases, increasing my fervour
for you, in circular sentences
I turn in my mind, as though slipping a hoop
round and around, or a ring, worn thin
with worry – I misshape the clip until W is there too,
and M, and then U are split and spelled
a thousand times over
in shards of stationery.
(BBC 6 Music, 05/09/2012, 13:09-13:12,
Radcliffe and Maconie)
we’re sitting on a ruin
ability to torture small birds
toilet in a tray of grit
the usual response
cheerfully admitted
consumerist soci – the emptiness of consumerist society
I’ve never had a motorbike in my entire life
specifically, yeah, point that out to us
half-man half-biscuit
wonderful and Zoe I was thinking
have you ever had a motorbike?
28 minutes
well I started to spend a lot of time in Cumbria
farmer come-by come-by
last week’s show
Paul Simon sounded like Winnie the Pooh
gun club
email
mushed together there
wind in your hair
brilliant link
make-week make-weight
tenuously
matter of opinion
stuck on the currently flooded North-circular
less good today
—-
This poem is made from snippets of Radcliffe and Maconie’s 6 Music show in a four-minute period. The new line begins when the previous line has finished being typed.
m58:
‘un-valentine’ by amy ekins.
This is me!
Walk me out in the morning
and crack the eggs on the pavement –
it’s not hot yet, but it will be.
Walk me out in the morning
and dust the shivers of ice from my shoulders –
the sky is cracking above us, you see.
Walk me out in the morning
and tell me breakfast is below the underpass –
it’s in the gutters, I’m sure, acid yellow and steaming.
Walk me out in the morning
and press a note into my palm, cotton –
it’s money, and I like it, and I like you.
m58:
Ex-directory (Whitehall Jackal Endpaper #6) by Chris McCabe.
“A bird is not a pet”, they told her.
She slicked his wings
using her tongue
and told him to be still.
She had found him,
trapped in a box of salt,
starved and almost past.
His eyes were clear now
and he sang of smoke on hilltops
where women wore nothing but necklaces.
They didn’t believe what he had seen
and though badly in want of wives
brandished knives, threatening bird pie for supper.
He promised to carry her there one day
and gift her to the men
with names like rolls of thunder.
She plaited his feathers
into her hair, and promised back
that they would fly soon.
The weather’s improving, the skies are getting brighter, and I am getting my mojo back. I spent a week in Krakow, very cold but very wonderful, and have had a few more publications, lucky me!
Goddess - inkscrawl
Complimentary - Skylight 47
Stitch - ink sweat and tears
Grope - The Feminist Wire
Onwards and upwards!
My dress lifts in the breeze as I step off the bus –
two sizes too big, it’s yours,
and it gapes under the arms.
I’ve covered that with a cardigan –
black with ruffles, I can’t remember
whether It’s the one I wore to my father’s funeral
or to my job in Optical Express
(where they told me of his death, but that’s by-the-by).
The cardigan doesn’t fit either,
not in this piecing together –
it’s too thick, too English, against the pale
turquoise cotton printed with palm trees,
like those that line the suburban streets inSan Diego–
I hope that we’ll go there again one day.
The day is heavy, and there’s sweat collecting
in the crease at the top of my thigh,
where you kissed me in a camper van
spray-painted Kokopelli style.
It happens every year. The clocks go back, and I drop off the face of the earth. I can’t help it, and it is incredibly frustrating. So, I’ve not submitted anything in a while, but I have had a steady stream of previous submissions accepted, which has been wonderful.
Slight hiccup with my MRes, where I completely misinterpreted a paper, so I’m resitting that for January, and will graduate next year. Sigh!
Anyway, here are some publications I’ve been in of late:
Email moved to spam and Poetics spam - Poetandgeek
Sunday Afternoon and White - In Other Words: Merida
Flora - Establishment magazine
Eve and Flag - Quarter After
Mistake - Cherry Bomb Zine
Trumpets - Poet Band Company
First Date - Cadaverine
Petal - Red Fez
Egg - Noah Magazine
Burnt - The Longest Salmon
Six Kicks - Decades Review
Bob Dylan Misheard Three Times - Material Magazine (issue 3)
I’ve also had some mild competition success, which has been great -
Commended - Swale Life Poetry Competition
Shortlisted - Txt Lit Competition (September 2012)
Shortlisted - Ink Tears Flash Fiction Competition
Links to all of these can be found on my website - http://www.amyekins.co.uk/publications
Roll on the spring, hey?
I gave up dairy three years ago,
and so when you told me
it was cow milk’s in my tea, I cried.
I cried for the tea as a sign
that you don’t know me,
that you don’t care for cows,
and that three years of abstaining
have been upturned
by a single cup.
I play ‘spin the soy carton’,
arcing it between two pieces of paper
on which I’ve penned two answers –
You love me
You love me not
My stomach curdles with the realisation
it’s probably the latter.
Maybe that’s better,
but I can’t believe it’s not
you and I against the herd any more.
So here I sit, and pen poems
for a publication called Toasted Cheese.
I’m so happy to have been in quite a few publications lately. I’ve listed them below, with clicky links to the publications. I’m also very happy to say that I have been shortlisted for the InkTears flash fiction competition!
Last Friday, I attended the launch of the third issue of The Bleed Magazine. I was in the previous issue, and the lovely editor, Daniel, asked me to bring 25 copies of my MRes to hand out. I thought that was a somewhat over-ambitious figure, especially since they were A4 which isn’t the easiest to carry with you when drinking, but the majority went, which was great to see. It was a really fun evening - I look forward to the next one.
Tomorrow I’ll be attending the launch of Material Magazine issue 3 at the Lit & Phil. I would have read my work, but I have wisdom tooth issues, so unfortunately I can’t.
Oh, and as as final note before the list, I was very happy to see that my picture was one of those chosen for the cover of Catechism: Poems for Pussy Riot. I chose to use my hair as a balaclava and have the pin-up poster from our bedroom feature in the background as an interesting merging of images. Here it is -
Now, on to the list!
Six Kicks - Decades Review
Bob Dylan Misheard Three Times - Material Magazine (issue 3)
Pussy got the… - Catechism: Poems for Pussy Riot (e-book)
Butterfly - The Toucan
Pussy got the… - Poems for Pussy Riot
Washing up - Not So Poetry Journal
Margaret, Nun jar, and Home - Firestorm Literary Arts Journal
Sari - Flutter Poetry Journal
Spray and Paint - Like This Blog
Walker - StepAway Magazine
Sage - The Camel Saloon
Mother Africa - The Camel Saloon