An interesting post over at Purple Motes about a street poet. Not a poet reciting his poetry on the street, but selling it sheet-by-sheet. Interesting.
Sometimes--depending on the occasion--when I'm asked, "What do you do?" I answer, "I'm a poet." Usually that gets a nice, blank stare. Then a response along the lines of, "No. Seriously." And then I chuckle and say, "Right. Seriously. I'm a poet." Which starts to get irritating; I admit this. I do it to remind people that we are not what we do from 9-5 (or 8-7). We are not the sum of our corporate selves. Sometimes. Some of us. Hopefully.
On a related note, I sold a poem. I've never sold one before (unless you could the 100 poems included in TaleWeaver). I've sold writing of mine, and have spent a decent chunk of my professional career being paid to write (ad copy, technical writing, brochure-ware, etc.). But that's different than someone specifically paying you for one poem.
What was the poem? I can't tell you. I can say it was a sonnet. I sold it off'n my Etsy store. The other things I've sold off there were two "Previous Life Bios for Your Cat."
Selling a poem like that was more meaningful, in many ways, than gigs I've made 100x the money off of.
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