I’m working on a book. But it’s a secret.
Why is it a secret? I guess I’m not confident that I’ll be able to pull it off. After all, I’m no poet. Am I?
Either way, this project requires that I at least have a sense of rhythm and rhyme — enough to complete 100 short poems. This morning, I finished the 33rd, so I’m about one-third done (though, technically, I want to go a bit over 100 so that I can do some weeding).
It’s taken me, oh, probably over half a year to reach this point. I won’t be too upset if this project requires another year or so to complete. I’m very much out of my comfort zone, after all.
Prose fiction? Yeah, no problem. Stage or audio drama? Been there, done that.
Poetry? Even humorous poetry (which I’m hoping makes for a more forgiving reader)?
Uhm . . .