A quick note on paper poems and writing

I've tried to like e-book poetry, but I don't think it's my jam, which is rather a shame since that's how I self-published. I'm contemplating different ways to do a second edition. If I reserved all rights to Amazon, I could just have the book go through them. This would be very convenient but a very snobby, elitest part of me feels that would simply be feeding the beast.

But to make this artisan, I would have to get down and dirty with some book binding, which is not something I ever learned to do. I'm not sure how that would end.

I'm contemplating many things right now. Back in the day of Chaucer and other folks, they would have a single book that would be passed from noble to noble. Books were precious and printing them was a pain in the arse. This is a distinct possibility.

I'm also considering an idea, of about 5 seconds age. What about a book that grows old? I kind of like the idea of this... I've known I would never, ever, make a living off of poetry. No poet does. It's a fraking shame. What if I made a book that grew in perpetuity? I wonder what that would look like. Worth contemplation.

I'm also thinking about pinterest-ifying my poems. That's a thing? What about pinterest books of poems. What would that look like? Too kitschy?

In other news, workshop related...Want to write a poem a day? Join us. Resistance is futile. Us wylde, Wilde, wild writers are gearing up to start a week of poetry prompts. We've been doing it monthly. We're prepping ourselves for NaPoWriMo. Come to think of it- it would be kind of fun to do some stuff here? I'll post the prompts and y'all can use 'em if you want. We'll get something going, yeah? Moar poetry! Poems poem poems poems. Write.

It's nice to see y'all in 2014. Hibernating is bad, this time of the year. All of the trees are barren. The ground is made of cold, green spikes. The air is difficult to breathe. I tend to hibernate and eat as much as possible. Winter is a hard business and hopefully next weeks poem-a-day will help me grasp that flame. I'm really cold, right now. That's not a metaphor. My office is freezing and I wish that I could be warm for five whole minutes.