From the blog…

Over at StAnza, this guy Andrew started collecting poems. I have to say I wasn’t quite sure what it was all about, and skirted him politely. Then on the Sunday morning – after a late night of excellently greasy chips from one of St Andrews’ finest takeaways, an introduction to the weirdness that is The Mighty Boosh, and a line from one of Tiffany Atkinson‘s poems lodged in my mind – I wrote ‘Takeaway.’ In spite of the chips, the title came after the poem, and I laughed out loud, so the poem seemed good enough to hand over to Andrew for his collection.

And lo, the self-proclaimed Poemcatcher did in fact publish the anthology, titled Quake, and he donated 50 copies to be sold at a particular event to raise funds for SOS Children’s villages. So although I couldn’t attend the benefit concert, I stopped by the Usher Hall and bought a copy.

I have to say, when I made a new year’s resolution to have ten publications (or at least acceptances) this year, I hadn’t expected they would be quite so varied. And I only have five so far!

(Yes, five, in spite of today’s subject heading. Will post about the fifth anon.)

Meanwhile, I’ll be reading ‘Takeaway’ and two other poems at theForge of the Wordsmiths launch party. It’s nice to see a new initiative being launched at a time when the Herald glumly proclaims that Scottish publishing is with James Hogg, in the grave.

And finally, in case literature and the grave weren’t already inextricably linked, a Moscow metro station has images from Dostoevsky’s novels on the walls, and people wonder if this will cause commuters to commit suicide. Obviously, I hope not, but I agree with the artist. Not too many scenes of joyful dancing, as I recall….


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