POETRY STUFF – Page 4 – Unsuitable Blog and HappenStance News

INTERNATIONAL WRAPPER-RHYME CHALLENGE (#HapWrap)

Poets and rhymers of the world, welcome to the International WrapperRhyme Challenge!

Our aim is to extend the reach of this enjoyable artform, culminating in a major exhibition/installation at StAnza, Scotland’s Poetry Festival, in 2020.

(If you can’t be bothered to read the rationale and the tips on best pens for the job — currently Artline Garden Marker — just go straight to the entry form).

Red Squirrel Press has just published some of my own WrapperRhymes. (I’m offering a unique, hand-written WrapperRhyme inside Branded sold via this website and — for those of you in or near Glasgow — there’s a WrapperRhyme launch event at the CCA on the 18th of this month).

But the WrapperRhyme challenge is really not about me.

As a poetry editor/publisher, I want to encourage people to rhyme, and rhyme well. It saddens me that rhyming is generally ‘out’ these days, despite the persuasive words of ace-rhymer A. E. Stallings, and the bizarre popularity of the villanelle. You may even have read that English is ‘rhyme-poor’, compared to French and Italian. Bollocks! All you need is practice and determination.

So what is a WrapperRhyme? Nick Asbury, together with Glasgow’s independent design studio Effektive, coined the term in 2011, after seeing an example by Ted Hughes written on the paper wrapping of a Tunnock’s Caramel Wafer. This inspired a WrapperRhyme Tumblr site, to which poets were invited to contribute: https://wrapperrhymes-blog.tumblr.com

Alas, that wonderful WrapperRhyme site is no longer accepting contributions. But I am.

I want to attract WrapperRhymes (your very best, please) on food/beverage product wrappers from all over the world. These will be used to create an exhibition/installation at StAnza, Scotland’s International Poetry Festival, in March 2020.

Is this just silliness? Emphatically not. Like any other bit of lightness, it can be done badly, or well. My own attempts vary, but I’m smug about the best of them.

There’s an educative benefit too. WrapperRhyming makes you really look at packaging. Lists of ingredients provide fascination/horror/inspiration. You compare different brand designs. You pick up on rhythmic/alliterative marketing text.Before you know it, you find yourself researching the history of chocolate bar wrapping.

And you begin to notice what can be written on, and what can’t. Potato snack packets are almost impossible. The flimsy plastic surrounding most chocolate bars is daunting. In Ted Hughes’s day most food wrapping had a paper component. Now it’s not so simple.

Any committed WrapperRhymer requires a suitable writing implement. I turned to Cultpens, who meet and exceed the promise of their strapline —’the widest range of pens on the planet’. So far, the only pen I have found which will write on almost anything is an Artline Garden Marker (a snip at £2.03). But you could choose to write on the packaging of Toblerone, or Terry’s Chocolate Orange. Cardboard — easypeasy.

To date, I have WrapperRhymed on the paper sleeves of tins of tomatoes, baked beans, the labels of jars of beetroot and chutney, the cardboard wrapping of ‘readymeals’, butter paper, stock cube wrappers, frozen pea packets, and instant pastry. I have read the marketing text on each with minute interest and occasional horror.

Entries to the WrapperRhyme challenge are warmly welcomed from all ages, locations, and languages (but if not English, please provide a translation). They must be accompanied by an entry form (so that you give permission for your rhyme to be used in the exhibition) and of course they have to comply with the rules. The closing date is 25.12.2019.

If you need more information, send an email (but read the entry form and rules first). No limit to number of submissions.

Please share this opportunity and any of your WrapperRhyme creations as widely as you possibly can (#HapWrap).

For International WrapperRhyme Entry form, click here.

Twelve Reasons Why Poets Should Write Reviews

Okay: here goes.

Poetry is a communication — a message in a bottle. A review is a reply.
There is no shortage of poets. But good poetry readers are rare. Reviewing helps you read well.
Reviewing is educative. You look up the references, you look up the poet, you pay attention. You learn things you never knew you didn’t know.
Reviewing poetry gives craft insight: you see new tricks to try, and also some to avoid.
Most poets like to have work reviewed. If you give reviews, you get reviews (not always in equal proportion).
Poets need to write well in prose too. Reviewing (with an editor and some constraints) strengthens prose style and confidence.
Poetry books are costly, especially if you read widely. But review copies are usually complimentary.
Reviews are an art form. Writing them is creative.
Reviewing strengthens your profile as a writer and extends your network.
People sometimes think reviews are about criticism or praise. Not necessarily. They are (or can be) about expressing interest and encouragement.
Reviewing is a way of paying respect to the community you’re part of, putting your money where your mouth is.
A book and its reviews are a conversation anyone can join, provided they use words carefully. Join the conversation!

Please take a look at sphinxreview.co.uk with its ongoing resource of OPOI reviews, and, if you can bear a few more emails in your inbox, subscribe to the list.

This will mean you get notifications about new material on the site, mainly new OPOI reviews. Such emails tend to come in little flurries when groups of reviews are posted. If it drives you nuts, you can unsubscribe at any time.

OPOIs are short reviews of poetry pamphlets which focus on only one point of interest (OPOI) in not more than 350 words.

Far more poets would like their pamphlets to be OPOI-ed than would like to write the OPOIs. Forty-three poetry pamphlets have been received for review this year so far, and only three new reviewers have offered their services. More are needed. Over 60 pamphlets are waiting hopefully.

Some poets don’t have the confidence to write reviews. They are nervous of this role, which they see as authoritative and judgmental. OPOI reviews are neither. They are edited before they go public. They are a good thing to do, and if you are reviewing for the first time, the ideal place to start.

What do Poetry Editors do?

What DO they do? I’m not always sure of the answer, but I know what I do. It’s a place to start. Oh but — health warning: this blog entry is quite boring.

It’s easier by far to talk about other kinds of editing. When you edit prose, you check for consistency of house style, regularise spelling and punctuation, remove stray spaces, sort out grammatical glitsches. It all makes complete sense.

But you can’t do that in a poem, or not necessarily. Many poets don’t have systematic punctuation. Some use punctuation in one poem but not the text. Or minimal punctuation in one, and then masses of dashes in another.

Quite often poets even withhold the full stop at the end of a poem, on purpose. They stick gaps between words. They throw ellipses all over the place ….

Frankly, poets are an editing nightmare!

So (when occupying the editor’s role) you do your best. You work out what seems to be the system in any one poem or set of poems and you make suggestions for change, if appropriate.

You work out whether anomalies are deliberate or accidental.

You work out whether ambiguities are intended or not.

I did a workshop recently which included ‘editing’ as its topic, so I drew up two lists for the participants.

List one is the ordinary things editors (and typesetters) check mostly without even thinking.

List two is the point where the editor (or it could be a critical and respectful friend) gets more challenging.

All these editors, when it comes to your own work, are you.

List A (simple):

Make all the dashes the same size (m dashes): many people are confused about this.

Reduce two spaces after full stops (or colons) to a single space.

Make sure ellipses have the correct number of dots.

Consider direct speech, how it is presented (speech marks or italics), whether it’s consistent, and whether it works.

Identify punctuation system (if there is one) and make it consistent if possible.

If poet uses gaps inside the lines work out what system/consistency is (if any) i.e. how many space-bar spaces makes up a gap.

Consider whether line length can be accommodated without doglegs or, if a dog has to break a leg, where it should do it.

Consider whether poem will fit inside an A5 page, or any page, advantageously.

Check for errors in capitalisation e.g. seasons.

Check spelling (US or English, practice or practise).

Check apostrophes.

Check for ‘dumb’ quote-marks and make them all curly.

Check references for accuracy – dates, places, people etc.

Simplify punctuation if it is over-complicated (eg unnecessary number of semi-colons and colons).

Italicise Latin/foreign words or botanical references.

Make heading styles consistent.

List B

Check for repetitions – if intended, do they work? If unintended, need to think again e.g. too many uses of ‘then’ or ‘as’.

If references are difficult, consider whether poem might need note or epigraph.

Consider effectiveness of line breaks. Do any of them seem to throw up barriers, or are any too obviously ‘clever’ e.g. fall over / a cliff; go round / the bend.

If the poem is ‘after’ somebody, decide what ‘after’ means in this case. May need to track down the source and see what is owed.

Consider title. What does it contribute? Does it replay a key phrase from later in the poem and thus steal some thunder? If so, suggest change.

Consider the form: does it work for the content? Would change of stanza groups or lineation be worth considering?

Consider shapes: is the poet doing much the same thing in several poems: e.g. generally long and thin, generally couplets, generally even-sized chunks. And if so, does this have a cumulatively dull effect?

Individual words: do any of them feel too ‘easy’ or even risk cliché?

Are there too many adjectives?

Point of view: ‘I’, ‘you’, ‘one’, ‘we’, ‘she’: is it mixed? Is it right?

Metaphor: does it work? If mixed, does the mix work?

If the first four lines are a little flat, decide at what point reader attention is captured. If parts seem to be unduly hard to follow (or a complete mystery), try to work out whether this is intentional and necessary, or whether simplification would be a good idea.

Sometimes there’s an obvious point where the energy kicks in, and that’s not always the first line. What happens if we start with stanza 2?

And that’s about it. I promise to be more entertaining next time and not so up my own ellipsis.

EILEEN ÒG

In the olden days, before there were radios in cars, folk travelling on long journeys used to sing. As a child, I always liked story songs best. Our family of four used to rattle out Clementine and Walzing Matilda with gusto. Walzing Matilda has a ghost in it and ghosts are always good. I think of Clementine as our mother’s song, Walzing Matilda as our dad’s — I never learned all the words to Walzing M. because they were so mysterious — jumbuck and tucker bag and swagman. But it was great hearing dad sing it and joining in the chorus..

At bedtime, sometimes an adult would sing to my sister and me to get us off to sleep, especially our grandmother on dad’s side (we called her ‘Nanny’). As I get older, her songs draw me back, and I wonder about the world they came out of — music hall, perhaps, or old 78 records. Where did she first hear them? Inside what kind of life? How did she know all the words — because she did know all the words, and once I did too, and so did my sister, who had a fabulous memory. As we grew up and were assailed by contemporary tunes, the words started to disappear.

It’s a very strange thing about being a granny-age yourself, though. You find yourself losing some bits of memory while other bits come back, like an onion unpeeling and rediscovering itself. Snatches of those old songs keep coming back to me in bits and pieces, phrases and flashbacks. Thanks to the wonder of the web, if I can remember even some of the words, I can find recordings, I can even find (what a joy!) all the words.

Here, for example, is one of Nanny’s favourites — ‘I wouldn’t leave my little wooden hut for you‘. And she often sang a lullaby — ‘Sweet and Low’, the words of which are by Tennyson (we were injected with poetry without knowing). I can hear her quavery voice now, and since I’m the age she would have been then, mine quavers too.

She liked strongly sentimental songs. Her repertoire included ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’ and ‘Sonny Boy’. And she particularly liked (and we did too) ‘If those lips could only speak’, which I’m betting she knew in the Peter Dawson version I’ve linked to. It’s a music hall song and she told us this song was based on a true story — that the woman in the beautiful picture in a beautiful golden frame was shot by her husband in a hunting accident. Did she invent this?

But the song I loved best was one I could never find, and mum sang it. I thought it was called ‘Eileen Orr’, and I always remembered, and loved, the tune, and some of the words — but with gaps. A few years ago I looked for it on the web and failed to find it.

But this week I looked harder and there it was, in several recordings on YouTube. Where did our young mother first learn this song? Lord knows. Her version, as I remember it, was not wholly true to the Percy French lyrics. I think she did sing ‘Eileen Orr’, not the proper name in the Irish song, which is Eileen Òg.

Eileen was the Pride of Petrovore, not (as I’m sure my mother sang and we sang with her) the Pride of Pethragar.

The villain of the story should be ‘the hardest featured man in Petravore’ — not, as we sang, ‘the ugliest looking man in Pethragar’ — but we would never have understood ‘hardest featured’ — maybe she changed it. I’m sure we sang: ‘Eileen Orr, sure that was what her name was, / Through the Blarney she was also famous’.

In fact, the official version goes:

Well Eileen Òg, that was what her name was
Through the Barony her features made her famous

In whatever mode you sing it, it’s a beautiful song, a cracking tune, and some of the lyrics are terrific. Boys oh boys, it’s where I first learned how cannily words can fit to a rhythm and how utterly satisfying it is when they do.

And ‘Eileen Òg’ is a story, sad and funny. To think that some of its words have been ringing in my head all my life and now — by some miracle — I find people still belting it out, making new recordings, passing it on. Cathy Jordan’s version is a delight. I’m singing along at this minute. Eileen Òg — sure that was what her name was!

POEMS ON TEA-TOWELS

The reading window here closed two weeks ago now, though it took a while to recover. There were 147 sets of poems in all. Thank you to all the poets who trusted me with their work. I know it must be scary to send them, especially for the first time.

I had more envelopes this time round than I could cope with. However, the process of reading and actively responding continues to interest me very much. What is this thing we are all absorbed in? What are people writing about, and why? One thing is clear to me: it is not done lightly. When people write something they call a ‘poem’, it matters to them, more than ordinarily.

At the same time, it is an unavoidable fact that editors have a love/hate relationship with poetic texts because of over-exposure. There is a point at which you think you can’t bear to look at another one – ever. And then a poem breaks through, because a few – always a few – are magical. Or sometimes it is just one line, or one stanza, that does the trick. This moment makes it all worthwhile.

In between, undiluted poetry can, after three weeks or so, make a person crabbit, as we say in Scotland. Particularly crabbit about ubiquitous semi-colons and certain recurring forms. Thankfully, nobody sends me villanelles or sestinas these days, but I’m afraid I have become allergic to instruction poems too. For example, here’s Neil Gaiman – he’s famous enough not to mind taking pot-shots from me. His ‘Instructions’ begin:

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never
saw before.
Say ‘please’ before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.

This has only one effect on me. I want to shout: No, I won’t!

Other recurring features are herons, allotments and migrants. I shift uncomfortably when I meet the words ‘heft’ and now (a new one) ‘atop’.

One interesting issue is the poem formatted for an A4 page. Most of us word-process and print our work on standard A4 pages, but books and magazines (with notable exceptions like Poetry London, Artemis and The Rialto) use something closer to A5. Sometimes poets design an extraordinary piece – visually designed rather like a poster, with some lines right-justified, some left, some dotted around in the middle. It might even be a concrete poem – something in the shape of a bee-hive, for example – and the shape takes up the whole A4 sheet. But because I publish books and pamphlets, what I see immediately is something that won’t fit on one of my pages. Whether or not it fits on one of ‘my’ pages does not, of course, matter in the greater scheme of things, but being aware of the factor does. It’s important to consider where and how these poems are designed to be read: are they hoping to find a home in an A4 magazine, or will they be posters, tea-towels – or what? I am really not being rude. I think poems on tea-towels are a great idea (depending on the poem).

I scribble a lot on people’s poems in pencil. During this ‘window’ I wrote many times: ‘Writing simply is the hardest thing’. Often it occurs to me that people are afraid to write plainly, in case it wouldn’t be a poem at all. But then, it might. And sometimes, it is.

OPEN THE WINDOW AND WHERE IS RUMPELSTILTZKIN?

The reading window is about to open. Look back, look out, look forward.

On HappenStance‘s sister website, Sphinx review, this year we OPOI-reviewed 92 pamphlets. They came in through the front door. But we received far more than we OPOI-ed.

The stated aim is to write about each and every one that’s sent in, but it’s an impossible aim.

Besides, who will read all the reviews? Let’s be honest. Reviews are not top of the reading list for most people, unless the review is of their own book.

Sometimes it occurs to me to offer authors an OPOI review of their publication provided they write one (of somebody else’s pamphlet). But then some of the authors might write thoughtlessly or carelessly because their hearts weren’t in it.

Still, a mammoth number of poetry pamphlets now appears every year. Of course the authors like critical notice. But how is it to be managed? We did 92. I have 68 more pamphlets sitting here right this minute unwritten-about. I need Rumpelstiltskin.

Besides, there are more, far more. We weren’t even sent copies of all the pamphlets that were produced. There must be 200-300 every year in the UK, at a guess. How would anybody ever know the real number? Many of them don’t have ISB numbers.

But the OPOI reviews are (yes, I am biassed) rather interesting to read, and writing reviews (especially OPOIs) is good for poets. I really think that. And if you’ve never done anything like this before, it’s good training. You have a couple of kindly hands-on editors here to help. They’re nice.

This one is also currently sharpening her pencils for another purpose.

The poetry reading window is open from January 2nd to January 29th. Yay!

The window for offering OPOI reviews is open all year round.

THE NEED FOR GRAVY

Christmas is not so O-come-all-ye-faith-filled these days. I note a great many llamas on the cards this year. Things change.

I don’t mind the llamas, even the ones in Santa hats.

Over half a century ago, I was one of a generation of children who spent quite a lot of time in a church around December 25th. But we were not as faith-filled as you might think.

Children have a way of getting round the hugeness of religion, side-tracking it with their own take on things. Irreverence is a great asset when it comes to staying sane—though irreverence, too, is learned.

My maternal grandmother, who died when I was three, used to say (I know because my mother told me) ‘There’s an end to everything. Two to sausages.’

And my maternal grandfather, not famous for wit, allegedly said to my father at his wedding (it may have been part of a speech): ‘This is the end to all your troubles, son. The front end.’

Then there was my close friend Jenny Green at school. She taught me a lot about subversion. At our school, everybody was issued with a hymn book. We had to make brown paper covers to keep them clean, and re-cover them annually. We carried those books dutifully to assembly each and every school-day morning. On the front cover most of us had written, as expected, HYMNS. But Jenny (oh how I admired her cleverness!) had written HERS.

Our favourite Christmas carols (all to be found inside HERS) were the ones we could subvert. Lord, how we need to subvert!

(It is one of my favourite features of poetry too: sending the reader off with one set of expectations only to find the poem has overturned every one.)

Our Father which art in heaven, Harold be thy name (one of my grandfathers was called Harold).

This very morning on the radio I heard a church choir singing one of our all-time favourites—’The angel Gabriel from Heaven came’. It has an undoubtedly beautiful tune, and lovely words too. But that’s not why we liked it. We liked it because of the gravy.

The best kind of subversion is liberating because it undermines everything but nobody knows you’re doing it. So shepherds washed their socks by night, and the Virgin Mary in that beautiful carol was not ‘most highly favoured lady’ but ‘most highly flavoured gravy’.

On Christmas Day, we even got the gravy.

What to buy for Sebastian? And Robin? And Uncle Jock?

There are four new HappenStance poetry pamphlets. Would your friends and relatives enjoy one of them as a seasonal gift? Which one? I don’t know. I love them all.

But ever helpful, I thought I’d offer some buying tips. (All are the same price – £5.00, or £3.75 to subscribers.)

Bookmarks, D.A. Prince

A set of poems inspired by the markers we leave in books. It would appeal to the sort of person who loves reading, and leaves piles of books lying around (it comes with its own bookmark so that’s a special touch). Poets should be inspired by it too: there’s food for thought here about poem-stimuli. All D.A. Prince’s poems have layers: you can read them for their surface meaning and immediate interest, and then go back many times over.

Honeycomb, M.R. Peacocke

This is a slender set, only 24 pages long. The poems inside are delicate, careful and emotive. The connecting theme may be age and ageing but the touch is light. It does make a good gift for the older reader, but I think those who love lyrical work would also take to it instantly, at any age. And for anyone who already knows M.R. Peacocke’s work, it’s a must.

The Lesser Mortal, Geoff Lander

This is a great gift for scientists —perhaps in particular scientists who don’t think of themselves as poetry readers (also a good gift for artists who don’t think of themselves as scientists) — or young folk planning on science degrees. The contents are beautifully formal (rhymed and metrical) and fun to read, though far from trivial in their preoccupations. Geoff Lander is meticulous in his footnotes too, added value and pleasure here.

Briar Mouth, Helen Nicholson

An unusual first collection by someone who hails from the west coast of Scotland —some of her more eccentric Scottish relatives feature here, as does her experience of growing up with a stammer. Helen Nicholson, (a founder member of Magma) writes with wit, subtlety and charm. An especially good gift for those with Scottish connections, or interested in communication (Helen is now afundraiser for a Dundee-based charity for children and young people with speech, language and communication difficulties).

And what about Now the Robin by Hamish Whyte, published earlier this year? There’s a seasonal bird on the front cover, and two festive robins on the last page too (see illustration below). One of the finest feats for a poet is to write simply: Hamish Whyte does it with bells on. Now the Robin will appeal to anyone who loves sitting in a garden. And of course people called Robin.

Last but not least, there’s a HappenStance poetry party next Saturday at the Scottish Poetry Library where you can see these publications and decide for yourself. Do come if you live near enough — but reserve a place because space is limited. There’ll be cakes from Alison Brackenbury’s Aunt Margaret’s Pudding, something festive to drink, and of course some poets and poems.

THAT PESKY READING WINDOW

So yes, for HappenStance subscribers, there really is an offer of detailed feedback on up to six poems twice a year. And the first window used to be December.

But look at the picture. I believe the window is shut. That’s because the reading window month has changed. It’s now January, which gives you all of December and the beginning of January to think about it.

Please don’t send poems early. The reading elf (see last week’s blog) is knackered.

Of course, January is a cold month for having the windows open, but never mind. I have a log stove, several really warm pullovers and super-thick socks.

THE POETRY ELF FAILS TO WRITE THE RIGHT SORT OF BLOG

They have switched the Christmas lights on in our town and the shops (those of them that are still in business) are full of tinsel and elves.

Here at HappenStance HQ, two elves are busy putting bits of paper into envelopes. Tomorrow a mailshot goes out to the 310 postal subscribers and 100 or so electronic ones.

We have four new pamphlets out (or will have by tomorrow) and are hoping that some people will want to buy some as seasonal gifts. Poetry needs all the help it can get to find its way into people’s houses. But assuming you buy one, the little folded, staple-stitched publication you will hold in your hand has weeks and weeks and weeks of activity behind it. It’s the claws of Art, which extend to many activities.

First there’s the acreage of time that the poet put into each line: the thought, the revision, the doubt, the risk. In some cases, this takes years. Well, you know about that.

Then there’s the discussion of the poems one by one with me, the fate of the semi-colons, the ones that didn’t make the cut, the titles that were changed, the order of contents — all of that business. Hours, rather than weeks, but then subsequent weeks of email exchanges about drafts (with four different poets at the same time).

There’s the image on the cover and the discussions with Gillian Rose who draws them between fighting off small children. There are the images she and I rejected, and the days spent in In-Design and Photoshop trying (and frequently failing) to make the jacket look like I want it to.

There’s the title registration and uploading of jacket images to Nielsen Bookdata, and then, after an interval to allow them to be processed, the giant Amazon (oops, I haven’t done Amazon yet — so add that to the list of things to do today, 21 and counting).

There’s the trip with the pamphlet pages to be printed to Robert and Liz at Dolphin Press in Glenrothes, about a mile from here. Yes, this is very old-fashioned. I print them and take them. There’s the review of what endpapers we have left or can use from Robert’s stock.

Then, for Robert at Dolphin, there’s the making of the lithographic plates, the printing, and this time round there’s the day the stapling machine broke and Robert spent three and a half hours fixing it (I think that was part way through D.A. Prince’s Bookmarks, but it could have been Geoff Lander’s The Lesser Mortal).

But before the stapling, there’s the collating of pages (usually Robert and Liz’s daughter Nicky does that), the filling of boxes. There’s me driving there to pick up boxes, and me and Matt staggering along to the house with them (the hall is full of cardboard boxes and we haven’t even picked up Meg Peacocke’s Honeycomb or Helen Nicholson’s Briar Mouth yet).

And the flyers. Each new pamphlet has a promotional flyer, so those take a while to design and make, and then they’re printed by Robert in time for the mailshot, into which (this time) goes not only four flyers but a bookmark, a postcard, a Bardcard, a newsletter and (if it applies) a subscription renewal slip. The postcard was printed by Moo (costs a fortune but they do a good job), the bookmark by Solopress (cheaper and not bad). Designing and uploading and ordering these – a day for each one.

The newsletters take an age to write. Each time I’m fearful of forgetting to mention something or someone essential and obvious. The brain gets too full. Some days I could forget my own name. And there has to be a product page in the online shop for each pamphlet, and an updated poet’s page for the poet, and an electronic version of everything in the right place at the right time for the online-only subscribers. All that stuff is ready now: I spent a couple of days on it last week, but it’s not yet visible. (Don’t publish the product till you’re ready to sell it!)

Besides, first I had to update the publications in print list, and the subscriber list, making sure as I can that the second of these is accurate and that the address labels correspond with the list (there are always anomalies because some people renew by cheque and some online, and the two systems need a human being to bring them together). That takes another half day. Then finally I print the address labels.

Matt collates all the bits and pieces for the mailshot, gets very grumpy, tells me whether we have enough envelopes of the right size, fills the envelopes and sticks on the labels, and checks them off on the list one by one, adding in reminders to those who are due to renew. He usually discovers (and brandishes) at least three mistakes I’ve made somewhere. The whole process takes him three days and quite a bit of backache, and I am not allowed to interrupt except with meals. Finally we put them in sacks and drive them in a pony and cart (not really – it’s a small red car) to the sorting office on the other side of the town. (NB We haven’t even sold one pamphlet yet.)

Then there are copies to be sent to the authors (they get twenty complimentary pamphlets), and copies sent to the copyright libraries, and Scottish poetry library, and Southbank Poetry library, and complimentary copies to old friends and supporters, and review copies hither and thither, and there’s the bemused expression on the face of the lady in the post office when I arrive to buy another three hundred quid’s worth of stamps. Yes, the cost is scary!

In fact, the cost in time and money and elves is all upfront. It takes faith. By this stage, the bank account is at rock bottom so we wait anxiously to see what will sell and when. New publications help to sell the ones that are already done and dusted (literally) and sitting hopefully.

Oh, I forgot to mention the publisher’s blog. That is this VERY document, which has failed miserably to do what promotional text should do – mention the most important thing first.

Well, let me see. What was the most important thing? Oh yes, the titles of the four new publications. Here I am talking about making them and the key fact of selling them and I haven’t even told you anything about them.

Nor have I mentioned the reading window NOT being in December, but in January now. That’s important too. Oh bum.

Watch this space. I have just spent four hours writing the wrong sort of blog. I’ll be back tomorrow.