Good things must come to an end

Last night was the last chat night for Jen Hadfield's online poetry course. {Sniff}

I have to say Jen's course has been one of the most productive writing courses I've done in a long time. Out of the five exercises we've done over the ten week course, three or four of them have given me really good material to work with and the other one (or two) were certainly not a waste of time.

The feedback from 'classmates' has been useful too, but for me the best bit has been having quirky exercises to stretch my imagination and help me skirt around those inner police.

Deadlines are a Good Thing.

[For those interested Jen Hadfield's blog is here ]

My daytime poetry course will also finish at the end of this week. It's been wonderful to meet up with other poetry enthusiasts, with a wide range of interests and strengths, to discuss our work and get feedback. It's a shame I can't continue it after Christmas, but doing three courses this term was truly more than I could manage with everything else. Actually all term the everything else has just been left undone. Which, when you have kids and a job and you home educate, isn't ideal.

But I am signed up for another online poetry school course from January with Andrew Philip. Glutton for punishment, me. Ah well.

So, latest news. At the weekend I went to Nottingham. I received my merit prize for runner up in The Nottingham Open Poetry Competition 2011 and read my poem (scary, but at times like this I'm grateful I write short poems).

The poets there - winners and Nottingham Poetry Society members - were lovely, friendly, welcoming. I met Helena Nelson from Happenstance Press, who I've recently sent some work to for feedback. And I met a few other Happenstance poets at a Happenstance poetry reading in Nottingham on the same evening.

Thanks to my poem I will be forever known among Nottingham poets as 'The Radish'. I'm so glad my phallic worm poem didn't get shortlisted {blush}.

Not being known for my people skills, or my general tolerance of hob-nobbing - networking - I think I did ok. At least I didn't go hide under the table, or take a detour to the pub and stagger home drunk.

Someone alert the press. I think I may be turning into a grown up.

I should be...

...starting my assignment (long fiction). But I don't have a novel inside me.

Yes. Ok, ok. I am one of the few people I know who isn't bursting with novel-itis.

I wrote the 'first chapter' of my non-existent novel for a course homework a few weeks back. I confess it was enjoyable. But now, I simply don't know how to continue it. The bit I was interested in, has been written. Why would I want to write more?

But write I must.

I'm heading to Nottingham this weekend and hopefully I'll catch this Happenstance event. Maybe a long dull trip on a train and a spot of poetry listening will cure my lack of second chapter.

Synonyms for locust

It appears there aren't any. Apart from grasshopper and insect and cicada, none of which will do. I might check out the latin name, but I'm not convinced that will cut the mustard either.

What is this for, I hear you ask. It's for the latest exercise in my online poetry course with Jen Hadfield and The Poetry School

I am trying to 'negate' Robin Robertson's 'Drowning in Co Down' and somehow my negation of a poem about water and weight and drink has let me to locusts.

Some days I'm gobsmacked my brain works at all.