The last week or so, I’ve watched the minute hand making its course, trying to take the changes in my body in stride, writing poems and wasting away online, not quite able to tackle business with much gusto at all. That definitely changed a moment ago.
I just found out my press has nominated me for next year’s National Book Award. I’m stunned, and very happy.
I’m not, however, under any illusion that I will win. I’m not being self-deprecating, I promise. If you look at the list of poets who’ve won in past years, they tend to be writers in the middle of their careers (or later), who’ve already published many books (hence all the “new & selected” or “collected” titles), published poems in many journals, and spent a lot of time in the academy.
No illusions: me winning this particular award would be akin to Harold Bloom winning a national poetry slam (only I’m not as much of a hater).
I’m happy, though, because Write Bloody has that kind of faith in me, that they believe in my writing enough that they’d submit me for such an amazing prize. And you know what? It motivated me to get back to work: if they’re doing everything they can to help me to make a living as an artist, I need to be doing even more. And maybe one day I will be good enough for that li’l ole prize. 
Yo. you’re so supersauce dope. I skimmed some of your blog articles and they’re like… so greatly written. now im tryin to find yer poems. and your BOOK!
What lovely things you say.