For my art, I prefer to be paid food first, then cash, then weed. So when a fellow poet and dear friend sent me this text, I was too happy to oblige:
In an ironically super useful way, this project aligned with a current project I’m doing for a horror anthology; the main character volunteers at a hospice! This commission would be good practice in translating my terror into fantasy, like I’m trying to do with Millie.
When I poet, I first deliver a freestyle, then I apply the technical aspects, and finish with honing and planing the poem to its essence. Well…the commissioner’s time schedule and mine weren’t in sync, so I hadn’t gotten to the technical phase when she asked for the poem. Guiltily, I scrambled to clean up the freestyle and submitted it. I emphasized it wasn’t my best work and, had I managed my time better, her patient would have his poem.
Deep down I was saddened, knowing that meant I was out a meal. You guys know how much food means to me; it felt like I was dumped by a wonderful potential mate.
But then I get a text saying, he loved it! She had read him my rough draft after all! For someone who doesn’t enjoy violence or darkness she enjoyed the story. I appreciated hearing that, especially because she’s an artist who fairly critiques. So, I got my commission in the form of a great lunch at Community Cafe on Central Ave and I have another satisfied customer. Huzzah!
Here’s the commissioned product, very rough and yes, I could do better:
And for a bonus, the song I used to get into the mood: