number six

You’d think by now I’d have got the hang of the old self-promotion lark, wouldn’t you? But the truth is that it makes my bloody toes curl. I love writing, love the process of creating a story or a poem and surprising myself when I find what my own imagination comes up with, and I hope I always will. Old dog, new tricks, and all that.

I love performing, too. Engaging an audience. Entertaining them. Making them laugh, maybe, or bringing a tear to their eye. That’s all good. But promotion? I feel about that the way cats feel about a hot tin roof. It’s just not my natural territory, and – try as I might – I don’t really know how to get past that. Which is, it has to be said, less than ideal.

So all I can say is that I’ve a new book coming out. It’s officially published on May 1st, but I’m hoping the printers will be true to their word and deliver the copies on Monday. If any poets out there have suggestions about where I should send a copy for review, I’m all ears (this is hot tin roof territory again) and I’m always up for gigs.

All that’s left to do is tell you the book is on sale here. Oh, and it looks a lot like this. As my books do. And now it’s time for me to sidle off somewhere less tinny, less hot, less like a roof. The cat knows somewhere it swears is the absolute dog’s. I’m off to check it out.

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