Earlier this summer after the May residency, an email from my mentor said (paraphrase) that she felt I was on the verge of a breakthrough. That thought has been puttering around in my mind for the last month and I am feeling that edge more and more.

Today I spent a lot of time typing. I typed up the lastest edits for my chapbook work, the first edits on the 6 poems I want to send out this week and the first edits for my August distance workshop. Several of my poems are flowing in a completely new direction. I’m on that edge of something, of something.

Part of my hope for edges that may eventually turn into new paths, new lines is that I write, a lot, and I have produced a lot of poetry but my publication list is so short. I know publication shouldn’t be the goal but after you have been writing for a long time you really want someone else to read your poem and say something–ah, I get that, I want that. Thanks.

So I sit here tonight, finish my reading and a little bit of writing and hope, that little beyotch that Pandora left in her box, that haunts me. I don’t have monsters under my bed, I have hope.