Literary Woes, I suppose

I am having a difficult time getting my hands on a copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I find this frustrating. I need more than the scant amazon.com preview, which begins with this fascinating line:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains. Never was this truth more plain that during the recent attacks at Netherfield Park.

And continues with such gems as:

“What an excellent father you have, girls!” said she, when the door was shut. “Such joys are scarce since the good Lord saw fit to shut the gates of Hell and doom the dead to walk amongst us. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”


I am also showing a ridiculous lack of progress in my writing goals, for which I can only partially blame a certain friend and co-author (this is meant to be a shout-out, not passive-agressive linkage). I will not have Liar revised by the end of April. I will not have my chapters in Ntn completed. I have started a new novel but that, in itself, seems counterproductive as well.

At least I've figured out Paul Delaney. That's one writing goal out of the way.

The Writer's Almanac posted an interesting poem by June Beisch today, who I've never heard of before. It's called The Titanic. I like the flow, the rhyme scheme, the word play.

"All life, it seems, is the morning after
and love is the most beautiful of absolute disasters."

I'd really like to start writing poetry again. In another poem, Beisch sums up why I can't. Or why I don't.

"And poems are made
of love not made."

I really want to get a copy of this woman's work.