Adhere

Let's call it accidental memoir. I wish I spoke French because the French probably have a really cool, worldly-sounding phrase for it. Le memoir accidental. Something like that. Because today's post was not something I really intended to write, as I've written it elsewhere. But those damn shoes got me running. Thanks to everyone who has responded so positively to it. It's encouraging. If I knew it was something I could get published, if I knew I wouldn't have to lose my mind over placing it like I've had to do with this second collection of poems, I'd probably write it with an acceptably minimal level of complaining. But I fear the great cosmic joke would be to write this book, this form, that I'm so dodgy about, and nobody want it. I would laugh. Then cry. Then laugh some more, in a repetitive cycle that would soon become scary.

If I knew an agent or publisher wanted it, I'd write it. But that's not how it works, I know.

Anyway, thanks everyone. I'll keep thinking about it.