psalm_onethirtyone | "And I'll Carry it With Me Like My Daddy Did..."

This post is rather gratuitous and meant for musing. But--'tis poetical.

For Soujin thinks she may put out feelers and try to submit some of her work for publication in magazines and things. Perhaps she may even be successful, though of course no high expectations to cause trouble.

So.

Cursum Perficio, or, for those who do not wish to click the link, the story of Alexander the mad boy and Stella the old woman, is one I still like, and I wrote it long ago enough that I shouldn't, so I feel it's fairly safe.

Ja Nei Bless, the story of Phillipa the in debt girl and Geir the eccentric Icelandic bloke, is a funny one. It's rather awkward and start-stoppish in spots, but it does hold together decently. It's also the right length; Cursum Perficio is quite long. Also, there is no moral or any decent ending spot at all. So. Points for that. ^_~

Hourglass, in which Death takes a little girl, I adore. It is weird and pretty-creepy, but the last time I submitted it somewhere it was disqualified for having 'no discernible plot', which 'is essential in a short story'.

La Viel Homme de la Mer, where an old man falls in love, is pretentious, if very prettily worded. It's also fairly inaccurate. Its only value is purely aesthetic; but it is definitely very aesthetic. Still in the running.

My Little Girl, the mad Russian Zayka and family, is only a character sketch. It's not bad for a character sketch, but, again, there's no plot whatsoever. However,

kateorman liked it. Points. Also, it kind of Works, as far as character sketches go; but. No plot, and it's sketchy, because it is a sketch. Welcome to the department of redundancy department. *is so conflicted on this one*

The Billionaire, the story of Mr. O. Knox, a man who never misses an opportunity (*FACEPALM*) and is absolutely evil, is completely ridiculous. Er. I'm not even sure why it's on this list. It loses at storyhood, and Father did not think it was funny enough or dramatic enough. Right. Skip this one.

Lastly for stories, there's Bloom Small, the story of Gregor who speaks bad English and James who is an emo angstwhore. This is my most recent story and of debatable quality. Mum didn't like it: it didn't hold together for her. Da' loved it: I get the feeling I put something in accidentally. Maybe it was the load of research that went into it. I rather like it, enough; nobody outside the family has ever read it (when I posted it here, I got no feedback), so I'm not very sure of it. It's a decision requiring thought.

Now, poesie.

Story Night, the Icelandic-themed legend with really nifty hidden significance. It's epically long and--not as long as I thought. All right. It's little more than an excuse to show off my leet Icelandic skillz, but it does have a plot, which is advantageous.

Eyes, the war poem. Pro: War poem. Con: Not forceful enough.

What is Man?, the musing one inspired by reading Orlando. I like it far more than I have any right, because it is Teh Pretteh. Also, I heart Orlando.

The Tragedy of the Young Composer, the boy who ran away from home. The huge thing in favour of and yet entirely against this one is that

erinpuff set it to music; so on the one hand it's good enough to be set to music that is utterly brilliant, and on the other hand it's not as good without the music. H'm.

On the Cathedral-Pines Day-Trip, an entirely fictional account of a real place that I went to once and hated.

memise liked it; Waen hated it. I remain conflicted: they're both good authorities on poetry. This one does, however, play with an idea that comes out and is much more experimented with in:

Afterlife, the one about the poet who dies. I cannot pretend to be modest about this one. I love it. I love it I love it. I still think it's gorgeous and I wrote it last year. Heart heart heart. *dies* I lose.

Ecology scores points because it has a moral: it's the pro-environment one about the girl who fails at nature. I'm not certain, though, that I like it.

The Wisest Man in the World, about a son who realises how important his father is. Despite the misleading summary and title, it is not cheesy, as far as I know. It is angsty. But old. And I wrote it at three in the morning. Who knows, really.

The Painter, which belongs to

nurikohime and which Waen loves, about the mad painter and the little American girl watching him. Against it are the facts that it is longish, has injokes, and I wrote it a long time ago. That Waen loves it is in its favour.

Make Believe, about writing faerie-tales.

snowyofthenight likes it; also, the formatting and style is good. Also, it's short, which is a distinct advantage. Poetry for submission should be short: I can be as long as the hell I want in an anthology; but publication in magazines means fits-on-one-page.

Yellow Love-Note. Short, bittersweet, sad. This could work. It was never one of my favourites, though. Too quick.

Michaela,

eponinenkind's Botticelli-winged butterfly poem. It has nice flow. And there is no angst, for the plot is pretty and concise: a girl is waiting for summer, and it comes. H'm. Something to think about.

Under the Bridge (Nobody's House), where a room may or may not exist. This is another one regarding which I received no feedback, which makes me nervous to play with it; in addition, it's revoltingly long. However, there is some clever use of repetition and words, and I rather like it. It's Anna's, and she rather liked it. There's a story. I'm thoughtful.

Lastly, The Tragic Tale of Violet, about she whose imaginary friend has just killed someone but not-really-because-he's-imaginary. It's hard to understand without the plot summary, which is very much against it; but the wording and imagery are some of my better. It's also most recent of my poems, which is in its favour. On the other hand, it loses, because it is even longer than Under the Bridge. In all likelihood it's off.

So. There are my poems and stories which could be considered possible candidates. Now that they're all nice and shiny and posted up here in a handy index with thoughts, I shall think about them. And if any of you happen to have time and incentive to spare reading and offering advice, I will love you for-ever.

This post's picture (because after all that word linkage, one needs an image) is the view from the bottom of the Canyon de Chelly in Arizona. On horseback. Whee! ^___^