Yesterday was a long editing day, followed by mowing and trimming, followed by an evening meeting of my poetry group. I brought a batch of work from the new manuscript--the first of its four weekly sections--and the response was cheering. Really, the response from all of the early readers has been so extremely positive that I am nonplussed, giddy, and embarrassed, all at the same time. Apparently I've somehow managed to not only write an entire manuscript in a little over a month but also to have finished it. This seems illegal, in the world of art.

The looming issue now is submission. Contest fees hover around $30 a pop, and I can't afford too many entries at that price. So far I've only brought myself to pay for one. I wish there were another way, but the contest model has taken over independent poetry publishing. And spending money on a gamble makes me extremely anxious.

Anyway, enough of this dither. I've got another long editing day, followed by something or other--gardening, housework, Frost Place prep. . . . The sun is shining, and the wind has died away, and the lilacs are blooming, and the tulips are fading. Here's to being alive.