Thus the Club would not receive a man simply because he chose to pass his days collecting broken sardine tins, unless he could drive a roaring trade in them. Professor Chick made that quite clear. And when one remembers what Professor Chick's own new trade was, one doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. - The Club of Queer Trades / G. K. Chesterton
I tried my utmost to listen to an audiobook of The Club of Queer Trades, but, as with most books absorbed at bedtime, it lasted about twenty minutes before I started falling hopelessly asleep. Oh well...I'll keep trying.
In other news...my poetry book is finally finished. Words don't describe (haha, no pun intended) how happy this makes me feel. It's the kind of happiness that eclipses emotion. Because I've been ready for it to be finished for so long--the last poem to be finished was begun in August 2011, which feels ridiculously recent even though it isn't. The book as a whole was started in 2008 or 2009. It's high time for it to exit the 'work-in-progress' stage...
Now I've just got to finish up the title, cover, and format details before submitting it to FastPencil. I'm taking a good deal of time with this, but hey, if I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer to do it right! Also, I can move on to finishing up my other projects. And more poetry, of course.
Poetry is so point-blank. It go straight to the heart of the matter, delves right into the message of the words, no stopping or detours. I remember meeting a violin teacher who said that the "Tchaikovsky (violin concerto) goes straight to the heart. But Brahms (violin concerto) takes a detour to your heart." It's an apt illustration, and I find the same applies to novels and poems. My biggest failure as a novel-writer (and greatest attribute as a math student?) is an impatience to get to the root of the problem.
copyright: Jason Mrachina
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