I have never lied about writing. Everybody knows how much I love it. Everybody knows I started early and it never occured to me to stop. Most people know about that awful romance story I wrote when I was eight.

Not everybody knows that I write poetry. Correction; I try to write poetry.

I have stepped out of the poetry closet. Why was I in it in the first place? Good question.

Aside from certain family members and some close friends - who will always be in my life because, quite frankly, they know too much and it would be dangerous to cut them loose now - nobody has seen my poems. There is a very simple reason; they are awful. This is not false modesty, but a statement of fact. I am learning from past mistakes, attempting to wrap my mind around form and structure and steering clear of anything that could be described as 'angst-ridden'. I am getting better but I have a lot to learn.

A few weeks ago, I decided to experiment with Haiku. Hai-what now? Haiku. A short form of Japanese poetry. There is a lot to consider in terms of syllables and the architecture of the sentences, where the line breaks fall and how one idea contrasts with the next. I wanted a challenge and that is precisely what I got.

The resulting pieces will feature in the Delight issue of When Women Waken, published online on November 5th. It is incredibly exciting news and I will be posting a link on the site as soon as the pieces are available for you to view.

Of course, on agreeing to publication, I realised that people would know and that they would think things. Let them. I didn't keep my poetry a secret because I was ashamed of it; I kept it to myself because I am no Emily Dickinson and anything less seemed to me to be a waste of the reader's time. There is a lesson in this. Sometimes, you are not the best judge of your own work. Sometimes, in hunting for perfection, you fail to spot that which has merit. Sometimes, the world is kinder to your work than you are.

That said, I read a quote online this week that had been attributed to Harlan Coben. It said that only bad writers think they're any good. With that comforting thought nestled in my brain, I'm off to write more garbage.

See you soon!

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