How I deal with deadlines
With her next book propsal to hand in, poet and artist Frieda Hughes is feeling under pressure
BOOK OUTLINE AS UNDERWEAR
My owl-shaped book outline for Profile
Has a non-negotiable deadline; at the end of the month
My editor will read my efforts before giving birth to twins.
An extension will be out of the question.
I have been upholstering my intentions,
Adding padding and fabric in all the wrong places,
Being carried away with anecdotes and recollections
That should be strictly corseted, the drawstrings pulled tight
Between bra and knickers, to give an abbreviated version
Of a controlled narrative; an intake of breath beneath stays
Is cut shorter. I must produce chapter summaries, not diversions
Into thickets of lace trimming and elasticated petticoats.
I must take out the stuffing and scissor-snip the story to fit
Between feathered headings. The clock on the wall
Counts down my days as I try to decide
What can be stitched from the many scraps
Of sacking and silk that litter my brain, my study floor,
My stairs, in fact, every room in the house. I must
Construct an undergarment of an outline that will later grow legs
And become a ball gown of a book for the opening night.