Now Morning from her orient chamber came...

And a happy new year to y'all!

[An ickle Sunrise picture - by me]

Now then, straight to it: if there is one thing I don't do, it's poetry!

If ever there a higher language be
whose obvious subtleties speak
of somethings and nothings
and flowers and loneliness
of war and of famine
of "unrequited love" and joy
then surely that impenetrable verbiage be
po - et - ry

Purposeless? Maybe! You'll have to forgive my own lame attempt - I stopped doing English Language at GCSE - that's poor show for a writer, I know, but my grade C (sigh) was deemed not good enough to attempt A-Level.

Oh this doesn't bode well, I hear you say... this whipper-snapper thinks himself a writer, be!

Well, let's ignore all that.

I don't make new year resolutions - because I don't believe in waiting to start a new year before changing my life - but, I've just been watching/listening to Agent Peter's video feedback to a couple of pitches over at Litopia
- if you didn't know, Litopia now has a pitch room where accepted members can pitch to the agent and receive a video response helping to diagnose where they're falling short (which is absolute bloody gold dust - and a masterclass far superior to any of been to on my course - bar, of course, Jim Crace's prose stripping [you'll have to check through my blog to find the results of that]).

Anyhoo, in one of his crits, Agent Peter recommended that one writer's clunky dialogue needs a bit of poetry to it, to smooth over the clunk. That she needs to get some poetry in her.

So, why not, I thought, do that myself. Tis a new year. I'm sure it's not too much effort to read one poem a day. How difficult can that be? Perhaps I could read more!

And in the process, I might learn something that infuses my own writing with better linguistic ability (than I am currently showing) - Solvejg, I can see you right this minute staving in your monitor with your forehead, screaming: "Why won't this idgit listen to me! How long ago did I say this?"

There's no rush, dear boy!

So, it's the 6th today - having read the first of Keats from the Penguin Classics edition, Imitation of Spenser, which was lovely, woolly and fully adjectivised, I'd better read at least 5 more.

Will this be my only post of the year? Who knows?