It’s been a long time since I’ve written writing life dispatches. It was a part of my life that burrowed its way under the carpet when I started working on the book project. Now it is burrowing back outside the carpet.

Today was a day like the days I used to call my own. The writing day began with my working on the Rasmuson Individual Artist grant proposal. I revised two sections while Pete edited the rest. Then I checked out his editing suggestions, most of which were okay.

I feel like the answers to the questions have thematic unity – if anything, my responses may be too similar.

Here’s the catch. I have a difficult time writing grants or proposals or grant proposals. I get impatient because I feel as though working on such things takes time away from working on the real thing, which in this case is a book length work. I also get impatient because I get mired in revising the document. It has to be good, better than the rough draft of a work-in-progress. It also can’t be overly narrative.

I also find myself thinking – just give me the money. I’m a hard worker and I’ll spend it well. I promise.

This time I did pretty well at getting into the zone and keeping the impatience at bay.

I feel like I now stand a good chance of the individual artist award. And if I don’t – I will this time move on quickly and get back to work at whatever I am working on.

Pete presumed that in the budget section that I could just write down $10,000, living expenses. I emailed a friend, Jessie Cherry, and she said to itemize the expenses. So I wrote down what I believe the expenses will be, and Pete’s now doing some additional math and will format the final tally. I have some time to think about it, perhaps one of the questions that I am to answer will complement my budget request.

I have to have this done by tomorrow night before Pete leaves so I can send it to the Rasmuson people who presumably will provide me with feedback.

It’s close to done.

After, I got Tyra and Hrimmi out. Then I had Pete print up a chapter from my book, now entitled Shelf Life: A Book about an Abundance of Books. I looked carefully at it, and realized it was a mess, so I revised it and then printed it up again. I would not have done this but there was a reading tonight in town.

I realized once I was sitting in front of the microphone that I’d made a serious mistake in having decided to read five pages of creative nonfiction. The half-dozen or so poets seemed uninterested, and almost pitying. I noticed this when I got to page three. And, I thought, I have two pages to go. I should have stopped and said, “I’ll spare you and stop reading now,” but no, I just kept on going.

I still think that someday, the tide will turn, and I’ll have a larger, more appreciative audience for my work.

If I don’t, I’ll still say that it was a good ride.

Next: 44. 2/13/23: Snow, snow, and more Snow