When you are on a book deadline to try and concoct the end of a proposal, just to get it over the line, your universe becomes very small very quickly. It’s your own citadel - and time spent in your own head, without much of an outlet, can be… draining.
September has been extraordinarily busy for this reason; not many people realise book writing has to be done alongside your day job. All the revisions, the querying, the agenting, the process of rejection after rejection - sometimes I do wonder if it’ll all be worth it in the end. It’s why I’ve had to be a lot more organised than usual, too.
The work of other people - especially poets - is where I have found a lot of comfort this month.
London has a poetry pharmacy that has newly opened - the idea being to bring yourself ‘relief’ from whatever daily stressor or turbulence of experience. I was delighted by the emphasis on women writers across the spectrum of the emotion wheel - you choose, say, grief, and you can buy tiny bottles with verses in capsule form. Books are also on hand, too.
Along with
at , there’s also people such as of . I ended up with a pill bottle of distilled Sylvia Plath. You do not do, you do not do…October will look quite different. I have a magazine to file and two weeks recuperation from a scheduled surgery; everything on here has been scheduled in advance. I just won’t be online to interact at all. If you’d be open to supporting my work admist time off, you can buy me a coffee here - or share these posts with your social media network.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Disabled Feminist to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.