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PerPoWriMo. The various wrimos are getting a little ridiculous, which means I must join in.

How did it become March already? Something something, time moves in mysterious ways, something something.

Mom and I are doing PerPoWriMo this month. WTF is PerPoWriMo, you ask?

Personal Poetry Writing Month. Not personal poetry, just our own personal poetry writing month.

April is NaPoWriMo (or Na/GloPoWriMo I guess), but we wanted to write poems this month. One per day. I have the added goal of submitting 15 of the poems I write to contests and literary mags.

I thought about calling it KaWPoWriMo, for Kat-and-Wolff Poetry Writing Month, but I think PerPoWriMo has more legs. Also it kind of sounds like “purple rhino” if you say it fast enough.

winning even though it’s not a race

So far, I’m winning. I’ve penned a poem each day this month (save today; it’s not over yet).

"Hey mom, how many poems have you written this month?"
"Uh...1.8. Bad, eh?"
"I'm winning!"
"You bitch."

All in jest. It’s not a competition. Well, it’s a healthy one. And mom often calls me a bitch. It’s a term of endearment in our family. (We are a wolf pack, after all.)

For me, this is partially a way to catch up with my goals of poetry this year. I wanted to do 1/week, or a total of 52, poems in 2020. Doing 31 in a month will help me get ahead of that number.

And then if I end up surpassing the 52? Awesome. Another book in the offing.

I don’t want y’all to think this means I’m eschewing fiction, however. I’m not. I’m just so busy with the drudgery of life right now that poetry is often all I have time for. (And it’s a struggle, most days.)

I still have lofty goals for writing novels this year. I’m not letting little things like mom’s broken ankle, her two post-op complications, my back going out at all hours of the night like a rebellious teenager, or a global pandemic get in my way.

If I did, I wouldn’t be Katje van Loon, Baroness of Fucking Watch Me (also Duchess of Bitch, I Might Be).

And hopefully, I’ll find even more time in the near future, as I’ve finally left Twitter. (About time.)

Loonily yours,