Hello All
I had a poem entered for the Forward prize a couple of years ago, by Michael Hulse of Warwick Review. I was pleased and flattered, but it didn't get anywhere - in fact, on reflection, couldn't quite see what I or anyone had ever seen in this poem of mine, whose only mainstream virtue was that it rhymed all the way through. And was slightly funny. I also applied for a grant from the Royal Literary Fund, which I saw advertised somewhere, for writers in poverty. They took it seriously. References were required. I had to send in all my books - there were rules, like you couldn't include things you'd edited, or books you'd only appeared in - and in due course someone came around to meet me and assess whether I was really poor or simply putting on the poor mouth (as Flann O'Brien called it - and which many poets seem to do). I cleaned up, of course, and a nice woman came around to assess me. She agreed I was in very difficult circumstances. There were a lot of questions about income and a few odd ones like did I know Barry MacSweeney - I said I'd once spoken to him on the phone - and it seemed I didn't have enough books, so I included a few children's books I'd written. A week or so later I received a call on my mobile - to say I hadn't been accepted for the award. It was a crushing defeat, even though I hadn't really expected it to come to anything. And it didn't.
best,
John Muckle
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