“Why are you posting all your poetry on the internet?” An Artist Statement
Hello Gentle Reader!
Perhaps you are thinking to yourself:
Why would I post my work on the internet?
How will I ever make millions of dollars or become world famous or have my work quoted by bored high school students for centuries to come if I just put it out there for free?
Shouldn’t I be saving it up for my big break, or constantly submitting to various literary magazines in small hope that an acceptance or two might arise out of the piles of form regret emails?
Here’s the thing. I’ve already done it.
I’ve complied and agonized. I’ve submitted. I’ve edited and edited and edited (Shout to Wil Gibson). I’ve published. I’ve been to and performed at open mics, slams, bookstores, and performance spaces, and I’ve run a couple for spurts of time. I’ve toured, hosted workshops and critique groups, and taught classes. I’ve spent money growing my ‘brand’ (whatever the hell that is). I’ve waited months for rejection letters that misspell my name. Submittable and Duotrope are bookmarked on my home computer…and my work computer. I’ve subscribe and organized, paid the fancy fees and bought the sample copies. I have poems I have been revising for over twenty years because they are not quite right.
I’m kinda done with the whole thing, but I am still a writer and I still want to share my work. I still want my work to have an audience, to inspire, and encourage. I still want my work to be shared, pondered, and discussed.
But let’s face it: there is no money in it, so I’ll just have to shoot for glory.
Despite previous publications, I have always retained the rights to my work, which is great because I can do whatever I want with it. All the work posted on this site has been previously published in at least one if not a couple of places over my first forty years on this planet, and all of it has been revised to the point of abandonment. It’s here. It’s posted. It will never be edited or submitted or published again. It’s abandoned.
These are not journal free writes or diary entries (sorry, creepy stalker types and Walter), these are pieces of art I have spent time and effort on. They are not whims; they are productions. They are not about me, but they are my creation and art. They are as polished as they will ever be and I am ready for them to flutter away.
I live a humble, ordinary life. I like my career and enjoy what I do to pay the rent. I have about five people out there who really like my work and a few others that read it or tolerate it now and again. Sometimes people I don’t know even say nice things about it and that tickles me pink.
I’m okay with it. I absolutely, positively am okay with it. If I ever did make it big, it would probably only lead to obligations, responsibilities, and disappointments. I mean, it would still be cool if it happened, but I’m perfectly okay with it. I swear. Really.
I’m ready to stop holding on to the piles and piles of work, the old notebooks and the secret diaries. The late night confessions and early morning regrets. I am ready to clean out my hard drive.
Perhaps this is not how fame and fortune are achieved. Perhaps my sweet words will never be tattooed on someone’s forearm, or taught to eager students hoping to learn how to write effective alliteration. Perhaps no one will ever read my words. But perhaps they will.
One thing is definite, my words will never be read sitting in a notebook or on a hard drive seen only be busy editors skimming through the first couple of lines before hitting the accept/reject button. (I don’t blame editors, by the way. I am one. It’s a lot of work and after a while all the poems sound the same.) If I died tomorrow, my words would die with me. Is that what I want? Maybe. I’m not sure.
Today I am sure that I want to share my work. I am sure that I want to do so consistently and for years to come. That is what this blog is: A collection of the abandoned poetry of Katrina K Guarascio, beginning in 2020 and lasting until I die, or change my mind, or get bored, or whatever. We’ll just see how it goes.
©Flower and Sun 2019
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