I’m trying to write a review of Angela Readman’s poetry collection, Strip. It’s all about girls in the porn industry and it’s so fucking amazing that I just don’t know what to say about it. The more I like something, the harder it is to review.
I have an opinion piece in the Sunday Herald today. It’s the first bit of newspaper journalism I’ve ever written and I’ll be disappointed if I don’t get any angry hatemail or letter-bombs or people shouting at me in the street. Even some nasty disagreeing comments would be good. I like to know that people are paying attention.
I have a flash fiction that has now been rejected 18 times. I wrote it about two years ago while I was at uni and my creative writing tutor practically creamed his pants over it, which was fun because I don’t think he’s ever liked anything else I’ve ever written. It was incredibly difficult for me to write and I live in fear that someone will realise that it’s a true story. Usually if something had been rejected 18 times I would give up on it, but I genuinely think it’s a good piece of work. I’ve tried to edit it but it’s finished, it’s done. I just need to find an editor that likes it. It’s out at a couple of places just now, so maybe soon the rejections will be up to 20. And still I’ll keep sending it out.