You say, here’s the thing.
The thing being that I can never say no to a good challenge, with a doubtlessly good opposition.
Phil and I met at Literary Deathmatch Dublin, Episode 5. We spoke briefly and intensely in the smoking area before staying very closely in touch: it was obvious that our climb through the jungle of the literary world was one that however different, alike in many, many ways.
He’s been journeying through this wildness with more success than I have, and has without fail encouraged me and helped me hugely since we met. Also, we’re both from the same long roads and housing estates of the Northside suburbs of Dublin City, so our humour and cheekiness is very much alike.
Phil mentioned below that poems aren’t what he does. I disagree from the get-go. Poems are just what happen in your brain poured through your wrists onto a page or into the keyboard of a laptop. You prune them, you nurse them, you leave them to incubate, you nurse them some more, then they’re done. If you can think, you can write poetry.
I hugely agree with some of his reasons for undertaking this project: this is a public and daring and scary way to get to know another literary minded person. We’re inviting everyone along for the ride. Oh, lucky you, dear internet.
So here’s 100 days over a year where our guts and anger and joys will be splayed through black pixels the shape of words all over this site.
Stay pure turned, it’s gonna get ugly.