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I started my writing life as a poet, published a few pieces in University reviews, and then embarked on my life as a professional liar -- which is to say, a writer of fiction.

Every so often, however, I have the same compulsion that used to drive me into the corners of crowded rooms, with scraps of paper and a pen I stole from some bewildered stranger, and I write poetry.

KP and I were discussing poetry tonight. Or rather, we were discussing a collection of poetry which I thought should have been severely edited before it saw print -- because had it been, I would have loved it. I know that poetry is hard to edit -- but oddly enough, while I would not touch a single word of the same writer's -prose- (or most prose, really, as I'm not a line-editor for other's work), I would fiddle all over the place with other's poetry, if allowed.

I'm not sure why. In fact, I'm not sure why I write the poetry, because there is not only no intent to have it published, there is an active intent to have it buried.

Anyone else?


Jun. 22nd, 2004 05:58 am (UTC)
It's me! (kith) Mostly I lurk in the background as well, until Tanya yells at me for not posting enough, then I ramble about stuff no one cares about. *g*

Welcome to LJ. :)
Jun. 22nd, 2004 08:33 am (UTC)

Tanya's just making sure that you keep in touch because she worries. She's actually pretty good at that...