Neile Graham (neile) wrote,
Neile Graham

Neile's late again Week 4 Clarion West Write-a-thon Report

This went out today to those who either emotionally or financially sponsor my Clarion West write-a-thon commitment. If you want to see the full poem, please send me a message here or through facebook or my email to let me know you want to support me, or you can sponsor my efforts financially through my write-a-thon page by donating to Clarion West there.


Hey, all--

Thank you once again for your support here at the time-delayed version of the Clarion West Write-a-thon.

The fourth week of the workshop continued to be wonderful. Margo Lanagan is a sharp reader and teaches by example. She taught the students all kinds of subtleties about showing character through action and continued the lovely routine of reading the students bedtime stories, which made me jealous but I did get to hear one of them.

Oh, and we finally played Thing! One of the students died the Best Death Ever.

I've realized that for some reason (time, tiredness, and being over-committed mostly, I think) I'm not getting down to fiction the way I normally manage to during the workshop. There's stuff going on in my head about my novels but I'm not engaging well with the actual words. I've been doing this long enough to know that sometimes that's just how it works for me; however, I'm just disappointed that it's happening now during the Write-a-thon.

Still, I do have a poem for this week. It's a little didactic, so forgive me for that. I hope you like it anyway--especially since it means I did produce some words this week. It comes from this amazing place I saw years ago on the Orkneys, Tomb of the Eagles, and from thinking about mortuary poles, a kind of totem pole with elevated burials. It made me all philosophical. Ah well.

Thank you again for supporting my writing and for supporting the Clarion West Writing Workshop, without which I might be able to produce timely reports, but not the actual writing.




On the Excarnations of the Gods

The rush of water pushes time, eating the shore
and exposing it, tugging the bodies of stones
back and forth across unmarked lines
of life and death, time and tide. Sometimes
they gasp in the air and sometimes lie
under clear and peaceful blankets
measured in fathoms
measured in beats
of hearts


If you want to see the rest of the poem, please let me know by email, messaging, or Write-a-thon sponsorship (see link at the top of this message).
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