The past two years, fall has been my most generative times. I wrote the bulk of my last ms during October and November. This year the writing sort of started in July but really took hold in August and September.
My new ms is almost finished. I'm in the last phase of writing it and concurrently beginning to edit what I already have. Right now I have 58 pages of good work.
While this hasn't been the hardest book to write in terms of actually writing it, the emotional toll on me has been considerable, part of my greater fear about this work. I'm clearly invested in this and it's something I'm worried about. Throughout the writing of these poems, I've been tired, irritable, depressed, drunk, lashing out, sulking, immobilized, or otherwise unbearable.
This is not a coincidence.
I have a new working title that I am very tied to. A single word that appears at least five times and is the title of one of the poems. It has two syllables, six letters. It sounds like a bird. It's a wonderful, beautiful tihng.
That it's nearly done is a wonderful, beautiful thing. I need to move on in all sorts of ways.