First, Reading.
Those of you who have been reading here for a while may remember that I always post a list of books read in each year. Although I have lower than usual confidence in my record-keeping for the wild and crazy 2011, here's the list (and please forgive me for not properly formatting titles):
At Home: A Brief History of Private Life by Bill Bryson
Adam and Eve a novel by Sena Jeter Naslund
A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson
Blood Almanac poems by Sandy Longhorn
Threshold poems by Jennifer Richter
Rookery poems by Traci Brimhall
The First Four Books poems by Louise Gluck
Gilead a novel by Marilynne Robinson
Housekeeping a novel by Marilynne Robinson
The Forgotten Garden a novel by Kate Morton
Wuthering Heights a novel by Emily Bronte
A Room with a View a novel by E.M. Forster
Pearl of China a novel by Anchee Min
Rebecca a novel by Daphne duMaurier
The House at Riverton a novel by Kate Morton
Sacred Hearts a novel by Sarah Dunant
A Gate at the Stair a novel by Lorrie Moore
Private Life a novel by Jane Smiley
Queen Bee Moms and King Pin Dads by Rosalind Wiseman
Heart's West: True Stories of Mail-Order Brides on the Frontier by Chris Enss
The Beekeeper's Apprentice a novel by Laurie King
Today's Special Dish poems by Nina Lindsay
A Reliable Wife a novel by Robert Goolrick
The Price of Privilege by Madeline Levine
WAIT poems by Alison Stine
The Everything Tween Book by Linda Sonna
Selected Poems by H.D.
Colosseum poems by Katie Ford
When Will There Be Good News? a novel by Kate Atkinson
The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields
up next:
No Eden poems by Sally Rosen Kindred, and
Death Comes to Pemberley a novel by P.D. James
And now, Retrospective.
Reader, Both Fires is almost three years old. My how time flies.
In those three years of my life as mother, we've gone from little ones, to big-ish ones; from the bird theater to exclamations of "Epic fail!" and "Whatever." (Oh, how I detest 'whatever.').
In those three years of my life as writer, we've gone from the fledgling poet just trying to connect to the world of poetry a bit, to the still-fledgling poet who is now sending out her work on a regular basis and sometimes even getting acceptances; from the mom who felt guilty taking time off to write, to the writer who knows her children will be better and stronger because she pursues her own creative life without apology.
In those three years of my life as person, we've gone from the teeny tiny woman (who, I'm glad to tell you, doesn't live here anymore) to a gal who, yes, has a chronic illness but who now has the right meds and a clearer diagnosis, and who can see her illness more as a sculpting life force than an invisible box.
I've enjoyed writing here, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading.
Starting tomorrow, I invite you to join me at the stanza, where the story of mother, of writer, of person, poet and pilgrim, will continue. I hope to see you there.
Reader, I wish you peace, joy, and everything wonderful in 2012 and beyond.
Showing posts with label news and events. Show all posts
Showing posts with label news and events. Show all posts
12.31.2011
12.08.2011
Takin' This Show on the Road
 |
| at our friendly neighborhood CalTrain station |
Lately, I've been putting some feelers out into the Bay Area poetry scene, hoping to find other poets and make some connections. Because I'm naturally shy, and thanks to the librarian voice in my head that keeps saying, 'but you're not a REAL poet,' I have had to put on my brave heart in order to enter these waters.
But, gladly, my efforts have panned out.
The first connection I made was with Laura E. Davis who blogs at Dear Outer Space. I first crossed paths (virtually speaking) with Laura when I came across Weave Magazine, the literary journal she founded (how cool is that, by the way!? She started her own journal!). I bought an issue or two of Weave, and really liked what I read there. Then, last summer, I was reading through Adanna where one of my poems had landed, and came across another poem I really liked, noted that the author's name sounded familiar, but I wasn't sure why. Enter the rabbit hole of poetry blogs..... a month later, I came across a link to Laura's blog on another poetry blog, and finally put the puzzle together: this was the Laura E. Davis of Weave, and she had just moved to the Bay Area, too! Coincidence? I'd like to think not. Anyway, long story longer, Laura and I exchanged e-mails and decided to work together, exchanging poems and information, etc. Our first meeting was last month; our second will be this Sunday. We meet at The Creamery near the CalTrain station in San Francisco. I'm thrilled to have found a poetry pal, and excited to work with Laura, whose writing is beautiful and exciting, and whose journal you should read.
Another connection came to me through a class I'm taking from Molly Fisk (the class, by the way, is called "Getting Your Work Out" and it has really helped me to commit to a more regular practice of submitting my work to journals). Molly forwarded me an e-mail that had been circulating through poetry circles about a group in Berkeley that was looking for a new member. I decided to send my work to the group to see if I might have a shot at joining them. Last week, they invited me to come to the next meeting to see if we're a good fit (me for them and them for me). Berkeley is a bit of a hike from our little peninsula town, but I'm hoping it will all work out, and if not, at least I've made a tentative connection with a few more Bay Area poets.
And speaking of taking the show on the road, I wanted to let you in on a little secret: For the past few months I've been working on building a new blog -- one that's a bit more dedicated to poetry, out of respect for my kids' growing sense of self and privacy. I'll be making the transition in the next few weeks, and will definitely let you know when my new blog is live. Meanwhile, the Mom Trying to Write still has a few things to say about motherhood, so I'll be blogging here for at least a little while longer. I hope that you'll follow me over to the stanza: a little room for poetry & the writing life when I make the switch. Feel free to take a sneak peek now, if you like (not that there's much to peek at).
And now, I must take another show on the road. There is a "Cultural Heritage Luncheon" for Sister's Kinder class today (gripemumblemumblegripemumblemumble). When I asked her what kind of food she wanted me to bring, I was filled with fear. We are Scottish and Irish. Would I have to learn how to cook haggis or mutton stew? You just have to love a little girl whose answer was, "Hot dogs and beans, Mama! Hot dogs and beans!" That, I can handle. In less than an hour, I'll be pulling the hot dogs and beans down the block in our little red wagon.
Happy trails to you today, Reader.
9.28.2011
Public Service Announcement: The Poet Jane Hirshfield on KQED
Michael Krasny will interview the poet Jane Hirshfield this morning on KQED, 10 o'clock Pacific time. Click on this link for more information. Click on this link to listen live at 10:00 PDT.
9.13.2011
Come, Thief
Last night I went to Kepler's to hear the poet Jane Hirshfield read from her newest collection, Come, Thief (buy this fantastic book here or ask for it at your friendly neighborhood bookseller).
As any mother knows, if a mother wants to leave the house any time after 4:00 p.m., she practically needs the Jaws of Life to get her out of there. Between homework help and a late start on the spaghetti sauce, and a Husband who left work later than expected, I just about bailed on my little outing. But there was a voice inside of me that was clear and indignant: "What!? Not go!? Forget it. You ARE going, missy, come hell or high water." I wasn't going to argue with that particular voice. She sounded pissed. So, I left the three bears in care of each other for five minutes, and scooted up the peninsula.
(Don't tell Judge Amy on me. They were fine.).
And here I would like to pause to give thanks to the gods of traffic, who allowed me to get well into Palo Alto before hitting a red light: **O, traffic gods, I thank you. I realize I have now had my one lucky day in California traffic and that it will never happen again. Amen.**
This was the first time I'd gone to a reading given by a rock star poet and I wasn't sure what to expect (btw, you know a poet is a rock star if her/his book comes out in hardcover). I was kind of hoping for a mob scene -- you know, hundreds of people lined up on the street to get in. Instead, there were about forty people in a quiet room, every one of them (including me) wearing comfortable shoes. I took comfort in this pairing of poetry and gentle footwear.
One of my favorite moments of the evening was when the poet came in unassumingly from the back of the room and sat down as part of the audience a few minutes before being introduced. After a moment, people noticed her and she said something along the lines of "Oh, people actually know who I am!?" I suppose she may have been in doubt since the placard for the event had her picture above the name Jan Hirshfield. Um, oops.
Anyway, on to the poetry.
Well, what to say? The poems were beautiful and she read them beautifully and with reverence for the process of reading poems out loud to those listening, that sweet poetry transaction, the way poems are meant to be enjoyed. The "thief" in the title is Time itself, and many of the poems are moments of careful witness and attention to all things fleeting -- nature, friends, solitude, empires, species, days and weeks and years, this very life. Her language is simple (but not simplistic) and inviting: you want to walk right in to the room of her poems and make yourself at home, even though you are sometimes startled at what you find there: some new truth or beauty that you should've noticed by now, but never had.
Probably my favorite poem from the reading was "For the Lobaria, Usnea, Witches Hair, Map Lichen, Beard Lichen, Ground Lichen, Shield Lichen," which I took as a case for making art. She told a great story about how she came to the poem after learning that the lichens, though small, do the essential work of bringing nitrogen to the forest canopy (by the way, she also said that all of her poems are fact-checked so the science is sound). Here are some bits of it:
~
"Marriage of fungi and algae,
chemists of air,
changers of nitrogen-unusable into nitrogen-usable.
Like those nameless ones
who kept painting, shaping, engraving
unseen, unread, unremembered.
.
.
.
Cell by cell, word by word, making a world they could live in."
~
She talked about her interest in what she called malleability -- the idea that objective reality, when brought into a poem, can be "suppled" (her word) and made elastic; that what's real can shift and change in a poem. This really resonated with me, and I think it's probably why I'm so drawn to magical realism in poetry -- to let that shape-shifting reality, that suppling of the rules, take us somewhere we'd never have gone if not for the poem.
I was also interested to hear her "read" her line breaks, which she did, subtly. She later talked about line breaks as a "musical notation" -- echoes of Denise Levertov, who wrote that "the most obvious function of the line break is rhythmic: it can record the slight (but meaningful) hesitations between word and word that are characteristic of the mind's dance between perceptions but which are not noted by grammatical punctuation." Let the people say, Amen! Line breaks feel so important to me, but I've often heard poems read as if the line breaks were not there at all, rather than giving the half comma D-Lev, and Jane Hirshfield, grant to them.
(Okay, okay, all the non-poets in the readership are probably bored now, but I promise you don't have to care about malleability or line breaks to enjoy these poems).
After the reading, she sat to sign books. Here is where I became terribly shy, almost too shy to get in line to have my book signed. What am I, in junior high again? I got in line and mustered the courage to tell her how much this poem has meant to me, and she was kind and genuine and gracious. And it's kind of cool to have a signed copy of the book.
Reader, all in all I'm glad I made the effort to leave the house, leave the children unattended, and get me some live poetry. Wish you could've been there. In your most comfortable shoes.
4.18.2011
In Which Led Zeppelin Plays on Loop in My Head
In the soundtrack of my life, Led Zeppelin looms large. They were hugely popular when I was a child, and their music filtered down into my world via babysitters and uncles and Tommy Stevens down the street. I left them behind for a while in the late 80s; Depeche Mode, New Order, big hair, and tuck-n-roll jeans seemed so ultra-cool then. On behalf of all the 80s kids, I would like to say: we see now that we were wrong about that.
The best music sticks, and in college and grad school I made my way back to the oldies but goodies, including Led Zeppelin. When I hear certain of their songs, I am transported to a country road heading north in Michigan with my brothers, on the way to the Lake. Or to a tiny, dark, and steaming hot apartment in New York City, where I lived with my dear friend, A., during graduate school.
Fast forward to now. I have this song playing in my head nonstop, and here's why:
Last week, we learned that he who is known as Husband is being transferred to the Silicon Valley office of his company. It came as a complete surprise to me, although now that I look back I see that it shouldn't have: the company's headquarters are there, and Husband is a go-getter.
My brain is still catching up with this development, and I suddenly have a very long list of things to do. I am comforted and excited by the fact that I have a brother and sister-in-law, and a nephew and a nephew-to-be, an uncle and aunt and two cousins just my kids' ages, and a dear friend, A., (the same A. I mentioned above) who all live in the Bay Area. We will have People there, thank goodness!
And we will NOT have winter. Dear winter, hasta luego. Don't miss me too much because I won't miss you.
On the other hand, I am sad to think of leaving my friends here, nervous about finding a school for the kids and a house and community for all of us, and overwhelmed by my long to-do list. I trust that all will be well, but there are a million question marks between here and there. My goal is to go one day at a time, one thing at a time. Wish me luck.
The best music sticks, and in college and grad school I made my way back to the oldies but goodies, including Led Zeppelin. When I hear certain of their songs, I am transported to a country road heading north in Michigan with my brothers, on the way to the Lake. Or to a tiny, dark, and steaming hot apartment in New York City, where I lived with my dear friend, A., during graduate school.
Fast forward to now. I have this song playing in my head nonstop, and here's why:
Last week, we learned that he who is known as Husband is being transferred to the Silicon Valley office of his company. It came as a complete surprise to me, although now that I look back I see that it shouldn't have: the company's headquarters are there, and Husband is a go-getter.
My brain is still catching up with this development, and I suddenly have a very long list of things to do. I am comforted and excited by the fact that I have a brother and sister-in-law, and a nephew and a nephew-to-be, an uncle and aunt and two cousins just my kids' ages, and a dear friend, A., (the same A. I mentioned above) who all live in the Bay Area. We will have People there, thank goodness!
And we will NOT have winter. Dear winter, hasta luego. Don't miss me too much because I won't miss you.
On the other hand, I am sad to think of leaving my friends here, nervous about finding a school for the kids and a house and community for all of us, and overwhelmed by my long to-do list. I trust that all will be well, but there are a million question marks between here and there. My goal is to go one day at a time, one thing at a time. Wish me luck.
3.18.2011
Gratitude Journal, In the Face of Unspeakable Suffering
It's hard not to puzzle over the problem of suffering as we watch the events in Japan unfolding. It's hard not to wonder why such horrible things have to happen, what good could ever come of it.
About three years into my life of chronic pain, I was in a phase of really wanting an answer to the problem of suffering. I would never compare living with pain to the immense suffering of those in Japan right now -- after all, I always had food, water, medicine, and a roof over my head -- but when you are in pain all the time, you do sometimes begin to wonder what the purpose of it is. You want there to be a purpose.
I did a lot of reading about the problem of suffering (you know, the usuals, Job, Prometheus, the Church Fathers). None of it helped, although I did feel a kinship to Prometheus who never stopped speaking out about the injustice of his punishment. None of the theological arguments worked for me. For example, that suffering entered the world because of the Fall, that it was our share in the mystery of the Cross. I needed an answer that would fit for everyone on Earth, not just people who believed certain things.
Over time, I realized there was no answer to the problem of suffering that would satisfy me on an intellectual level. I came to my own uneasy peace with suffering by letting it teach me. And here's what it taught me (some of which I already knew, but now know in a much deeper way):
1. Be ever grateful -- See all the miracles. Know that they are miracles. Say thank you when you turn the faucet on and water comes out, when you zip up your coat against a cold wind, when your lover walks through the door, when the furnace clicks on, when you can buy groceries and not think twice about it, when the sunset is so beautiful your heart skips a beat.
3. Live with compassion -- Compassion from the Latin for "to suffer together." Understand that others suffer, though you may not see it. Hold the suffering close in mind and heart. When you can, tell someone who's suffering that you are thinking of them, that you care.
2. Understand what's important -- It's far too simplistic to say, "Live every day as if it's your last." We all know the chicken for tomorrow's dinner must be thawed today. But didn't all our worries seem small once we heard the news of Japan (or of Haiti, or Katrina, or the Indian Ocean tsunami, or September 11th)? So, have your small worries; you're only human after all. But don't put them in a 5x7 frame and hang them on your wall. Let them be part of a large landscape. Keep them perspective.
I no longer demand an answer to the problem of suffering. I see that the answer is a way of life, and I do my best to live it. This is my only comfort in the days following the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, and it's my only comfort when pain is getting the better of me. But it's comfort enough.
About three years into my life of chronic pain, I was in a phase of really wanting an answer to the problem of suffering. I would never compare living with pain to the immense suffering of those in Japan right now -- after all, I always had food, water, medicine, and a roof over my head -- but when you are in pain all the time, you do sometimes begin to wonder what the purpose of it is. You want there to be a purpose.
I did a lot of reading about the problem of suffering (you know, the usuals, Job, Prometheus, the Church Fathers). None of it helped, although I did feel a kinship to Prometheus who never stopped speaking out about the injustice of his punishment. None of the theological arguments worked for me. For example, that suffering entered the world because of the Fall, that it was our share in the mystery of the Cross. I needed an answer that would fit for everyone on Earth, not just people who believed certain things.
Over time, I realized there was no answer to the problem of suffering that would satisfy me on an intellectual level. I came to my own uneasy peace with suffering by letting it teach me. And here's what it taught me (some of which I already knew, but now know in a much deeper way):
1. Be ever grateful -- See all the miracles. Know that they are miracles. Say thank you when you turn the faucet on and water comes out, when you zip up your coat against a cold wind, when your lover walks through the door, when the furnace clicks on, when you can buy groceries and not think twice about it, when the sunset is so beautiful your heart skips a beat.
3. Live with compassion -- Compassion from the Latin for "to suffer together." Understand that others suffer, though you may not see it. Hold the suffering close in mind and heart. When you can, tell someone who's suffering that you are thinking of them, that you care.
2. Understand what's important -- It's far too simplistic to say, "Live every day as if it's your last." We all know the chicken for tomorrow's dinner must be thawed today. But didn't all our worries seem small once we heard the news of Japan (or of Haiti, or Katrina, or the Indian Ocean tsunami, or September 11th)? So, have your small worries; you're only human after all. But don't put them in a 5x7 frame and hang them on your wall. Let them be part of a large landscape. Keep them perspective.
I no longer demand an answer to the problem of suffering. I see that the answer is a way of life, and I do my best to live it. This is my only comfort in the days following the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, and it's my only comfort when pain is getting the better of me. But it's comfort enough.
2.15.2011
A Sucker for Love Letters, and My "Who Knew?" Moment
Reader,
I'm a sucker for any kind of letter, especially the kind that arrive in my very own mailbox. And I'm a sucker for love letters, usually love letters that arrived in other people's mailboxes as Husband is not much one to pick up a pen but often comes home with chocolate and ice cream (a fair swap in my book). Anyway, somewhere in the infinity that is the Internet, I came across this online exhibit at the UK's National Army Museum. It's a collection of letters between soldiers and sweethearts and I got lost in love letters last night reading through the exhibit. It's all there from heartwarming to heartbreaking. Take a look if you're a letter lover, too. (Edited to say: I realized the place I found the link to this exhibit is at the Motherlode blog of the New York Times. I am not going to link to Motherlode because, I confess, I fear Motherlode and want to remain in total obscurity vis-a-vis Motherlode; but if you want to find it just google "motherlode new york times").
And now for the Who Knew Moment. I've lost sleep over this one. I had the most excellent typing teacher in high school, Mrs. J. (she also happened to be the mom of a friend of mine). She put our nose to the grindstone gently but firmly and we learned that keyboard faster than fast. I still use her proofreading trick: read it backwards. I can still hear her voice in my head: "A space AA space..." Well, anyway, of course I learned to put two spaces after a period like we all did. And I have just learned that since the dawning of computers I've been doing it wrong. From what I can tell, it has something to do with the fact that typewriters could allow only for the same amount of whitespace around each letter, but computers, with true type fonts, can allow for different amounts of whitespace around different letters (e.g, capitals). Therefore the double-space after a period is not needed when keyboarding on a computer. (BTW, I'm sure I'm simplifying this and using all the wrong terminology, but you get the idea. Learn more here.).
I'm sure Mrs. J. already knows about this and maybe you do, too, but I did not get the memo on this one! And I have a bazillion poems with a gillion-bazillion ". "s in them. Can you say Find and Replace? Husband assures me he can write a script to find the .double-spaces and change them into .single-spaces in one push of the go button. I think I'm just shocked to know that I, lover of all things written, typed, and keyboarded, had absolutely no idea about this.
Happy letter reading and writing, and remember: one space after the period (unless you're still using your trusty old typewriter).
I'm a sucker for any kind of letter, especially the kind that arrive in my very own mailbox. And I'm a sucker for love letters, usually love letters that arrived in other people's mailboxes as Husband is not much one to pick up a pen but often comes home with chocolate and ice cream (a fair swap in my book). Anyway, somewhere in the infinity that is the Internet, I came across this online exhibit at the UK's National Army Museum. It's a collection of letters between soldiers and sweethearts and I got lost in love letters last night reading through the exhibit. It's all there from heartwarming to heartbreaking. Take a look if you're a letter lover, too. (Edited to say: I realized the place I found the link to this exhibit is at the Motherlode blog of the New York Times. I am not going to link to Motherlode because, I confess, I fear Motherlode and want to remain in total obscurity vis-a-vis Motherlode; but if you want to find it just google "motherlode new york times").
And now for the Who Knew Moment. I've lost sleep over this one. I had the most excellent typing teacher in high school, Mrs. J. (she also happened to be the mom of a friend of mine). She put our nose to the grindstone gently but firmly and we learned that keyboard faster than fast. I still use her proofreading trick: read it backwards. I can still hear her voice in my head: "A space AA space..." Well, anyway, of course I learned to put two spaces after a period like we all did. And I have just learned that since the dawning of computers I've been doing it wrong. From what I can tell, it has something to do with the fact that typewriters could allow only for the same amount of whitespace around each letter, but computers, with true type fonts, can allow for different amounts of whitespace around different letters (e.g, capitals). Therefore the double-space after a period is not needed when keyboarding on a computer. (BTW, I'm sure I'm simplifying this and using all the wrong terminology, but you get the idea. Learn more here.).
I'm sure Mrs. J. already knows about this and maybe you do, too, but I did not get the memo on this one! And I have a bazillion poems with a gillion-bazillion ". "s in them. Can you say Find and Replace? Husband assures me he can write a script to find the .double-spaces and change them into .single-spaces in one push of the go button. I think I'm just shocked to know that I, lover of all things written, typed, and keyboarded, had absolutely no idea about this.
Happy letter reading and writing, and remember: one space after the period (unless you're still using your trusty old typewriter).
1.09.2011
Okay, Scratch That
When I complained about January yesterday, I had not yet heard the terrible news about the shootings in Arizona.
I never know what to say when terrible things happen. I go straight to Wendell Berry's The Peace of Wild Things, and let other, wiser people say things.
Gerry did a nice job of it. She comments here from time to time, and has the greatest stories. She says: "That is not how we have agreed to do things in this country." She says: "Resist fear."
Since I can't say anything better or wiser, I won't. But here's a link to the rest of what Gerry said if you'd like to read it.
I wish you all peace.
I never know what to say when terrible things happen. I go straight to Wendell Berry's The Peace of Wild Things, and let other, wiser people say things.
Gerry did a nice job of it. She comments here from time to time, and has the greatest stories. She says: "That is not how we have agreed to do things in this country." She says: "Resist fear."
Since I can't say anything better or wiser, I won't. But here's a link to the rest of what Gerry said if you'd like to read it.
I wish you all peace.
10.02.2010
Confession Saturday -- Holed Up
I confess:
~ I love Saturdays because they are my "day off" from being a Mom Trying to Write, and my "day on" for being a Writer Raising Kids. Usually, I am by now holed up in one of the study carrels at the library, but today a headache keeps me home and I am holed up with a card table and a cup of tea in my bedroom. Husband and the three lovelies are Elsewhere.
~I require things to be just-so before I can settle into writing. Therefore, I confess, I had to move all the piles of clean-but-not-put-away laundry out into the hallway before I sat down to write. Did you know piles of clean laundry can actually sneer?
~I confess, I just got up to see if my bedroom door is closed. It is.
~I confess, I always feel like I should apologize when I write about my illness, as I did yesterday. I feel compelled to say this: I would choose my life, including my chronic illness, over a million other fates. I feel compelled to say: I am one of the luckiest people on the planet. Amen.
~I am taking a class in memoir at the friendly neighborhood literary center. I confess, I have no desire to write two journal pages a day about my nose, as the instructor has asked us to do. I confess, I will only do it because I have learned over and over again that Just Writing (even about your nose) can get you places you never thought you'd go in your writing.
~I confess, I feel sad about the world this week. Sad about a world in which someone can be humiliated and bullied with devices, and for all the world to see. Sad about a world in which one young man kills another young man over a stolen cell phone because "it had to be done." Sad when the cell phone is found on the floor a few hours later, never stolen at all. Sad about a world in which girls attending school in Afghanistan are gassed, probably because they are girls. Attending school. Sad about my church, which sometimes seems bent on exclusion and intolerance. Sad about all the hungry people, and many, many other things. I confess, I don't know whether to dwell in the sadness or hide from the news.
Sigh.
I think I'll go write about my nose now.
~ I love Saturdays because they are my "day off" from being a Mom Trying to Write, and my "day on" for being a Writer Raising Kids. Usually, I am by now holed up in one of the study carrels at the library, but today a headache keeps me home and I am holed up with a card table and a cup of tea in my bedroom. Husband and the three lovelies are Elsewhere.
~I require things to be just-so before I can settle into writing. Therefore, I confess, I had to move all the piles of clean-but-not-put-away laundry out into the hallway before I sat down to write. Did you know piles of clean laundry can actually sneer?
~I confess, I just got up to see if my bedroom door is closed. It is.
~I confess, I always feel like I should apologize when I write about my illness, as I did yesterday. I feel compelled to say this: I would choose my life, including my chronic illness, over a million other fates. I feel compelled to say: I am one of the luckiest people on the planet. Amen.
~I am taking a class in memoir at the friendly neighborhood literary center. I confess, I have no desire to write two journal pages a day about my nose, as the instructor has asked us to do. I confess, I will only do it because I have learned over and over again that Just Writing (even about your nose) can get you places you never thought you'd go in your writing.
~I confess, I feel sad about the world this week. Sad about a world in which someone can be humiliated and bullied with devices, and for all the world to see. Sad about a world in which one young man kills another young man over a stolen cell phone because "it had to be done." Sad when the cell phone is found on the floor a few hours later, never stolen at all. Sad about a world in which girls attending school in Afghanistan are gassed, probably because they are girls. Attending school. Sad about my church, which sometimes seems bent on exclusion and intolerance. Sad about all the hungry people, and many, many other things. I confess, I don't know whether to dwell in the sadness or hide from the news.
Sigh.
I think I'll go write about my nose now.
9.24.2010
Art Feeds Art
My experience as a writer is that experiencing other forms of art feeds my writing. Perhaps it's a painting, a photograph, or the name of a piece of music that triggers something deep inside and the there's-a-poem-in-that voice speaks up. Or maybe it's a line in a novel or in another poem that calls up the muse with a new line whispering itself into my ear. Sometimes just the act of Doing Art will loosen me up and carry me into a creative space where words can enter in, unbidden, and coalesce into a poem.
Don't get me wrong -- I am not a painter, photographer, sketcher, sculptor, or any other form of visual artist in any sense of the word. But I do like to dabble in visual art, and especially in drawing and watercolors. Said dabbling is always done in secret, except for the time I made a really awesome Yoda valentine and surprised the heck out of the Bean and AJ, not to mention Husband. But last week, I saw a flyer for a visual journaling workshop and decided to go. It was held last night at my friendly neighborhood art supply store, Wet Paint (by the way, public service announcement for paper lovers in and around South-of-the-River: all pads and notebooks are 20% off through the end of this month. My favorite kind of white sale!).
Visual journaling is just what it sounds like: keeping a journal of things you can see, rather than a journal made exclusively of words. The artist who led the workshop has several different visual journals going: her "life" book (which contains sketches and paintings of things from her everyday life, like the shoes she wore that day or a person she talked to), her buildings book (filled with sketches of buildings, or elements of buildings), her travel book, etc. As an avid journaler (pretty much words-only up to now) and occasional art-dabbler, I found the idea intriguing. Here is a link to some visual journals if you're interested; click on one of the links under "Recent Journals" and you'll be able to click through a visual journal page by page.
While I was at the workshop, I learned about a series currently unfolding on The New York Times called Line By Line. Here's how the Times describes it: "A series on learning the basics of drawing, presented by the artist and author James McMullan. Line By Line begins with installments on line, perspective, proportion and structure, and continues from there, using examples from art history to illuminate specific issues. Pencil and paper recommended." There's a new installment every Thursday; yesterday was the second installment so it's not too late to grab your pencil and paper, play a little catch up, and begin. Free drawing lessons, folks. I'm in. Here's the link if you want in, too.
Don't get me wrong -- I am not a painter, photographer, sketcher, sculptor, or any other form of visual artist in any sense of the word. But I do like to dabble in visual art, and especially in drawing and watercolors. Said dabbling is always done in secret, except for the time I made a really awesome Yoda valentine and surprised the heck out of the Bean and AJ, not to mention Husband. But last week, I saw a flyer for a visual journaling workshop and decided to go. It was held last night at my friendly neighborhood art supply store, Wet Paint (by the way, public service announcement for paper lovers in and around South-of-the-River: all pads and notebooks are 20% off through the end of this month. My favorite kind of white sale!).
Visual journaling is just what it sounds like: keeping a journal of things you can see, rather than a journal made exclusively of words. The artist who led the workshop has several different visual journals going: her "life" book (which contains sketches and paintings of things from her everyday life, like the shoes she wore that day or a person she talked to), her buildings book (filled with sketches of buildings, or elements of buildings), her travel book, etc. As an avid journaler (pretty much words-only up to now) and occasional art-dabbler, I found the idea intriguing. Here is a link to some visual journals if you're interested; click on one of the links under "Recent Journals" and you'll be able to click through a visual journal page by page.
While I was at the workshop, I learned about a series currently unfolding on The New York Times called Line By Line. Here's how the Times describes it: "A series on learning the basics of drawing, presented by the artist and author James McMullan. Line By Line begins with installments on line, perspective, proportion and structure, and continues from there, using examples from art history to illuminate specific issues. Pencil and paper recommended." There's a new installment every Thursday; yesterday was the second installment so it's not too late to grab your pencil and paper, play a little catch up, and begin. Free drawing lessons, folks. I'm in. Here's the link if you want in, too.
9.22.2010
Wordless Wednesday: Public Service Announcement: Dont' Forget to Get a Flu Shot!
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| Poster from city of Chicago during 1918 flu outbreak. Source: U.S. Department of Health Humans Services; public domain; copyright expired. |
9.11.2010
September Eleventh: Words and Numbers
And yet, there are some striking numbers from that day nine years ago. Here is a list from New York Magazine.
Remember to hug all your dear ones today, and to say a little prayer for peace and other miracles.
7.29.2010
Rejection Collection
Dear Reader, I have been a bit scattered lately. I've begun several blog posts that seem to have coasted into the mid-summer doldrums and are now becalmed (perhaps, I muse as I write this, that is because there is SO MUCH LAND and NO WATER here in South-of-the-River. Forgive me; I am still going through my northern Michigan withdrawal symptoms).
But now I have some news to share. At first take, it may seem like bad news, but I am surprisingly excited to tell you that I received the most rejections ever in my life as a poet during the month of July. I was rejected by several print journals, an online journal, and also found out I did not win a spot in the 2010 Mentor Series, as I had hoped I would after being named a finalist in June.
I think I'm excited because getting the rejections means at least I'm submitting. This is a step forward for me. I sent out about 25 poems from January to May, plus my Mentor Series manuscript (which is not a lot, but there's only so much the Mom Trying to Write can do). I feel good just to take the step of sending my work out into the world.
I also received two of the best kind of rejections. These are the rejections that say something along the lines of "We liked your work, but it didn't quite fit with the issue we're working on now. We hope you'll send us more of your work in the future." This tells me that, at least for some journals, I'm moving in the right direction. It makes me want to keep trying.
Even the news from the Mentor Series, while disappointing, feels okay. I love it when people reject you with kindness and encouragement. The note, which I'm sure was the same for all rejectees, said: All of the mentors commented on the strength of the manuscripts they reviewed and the difficulty in narrowing down to just four writers in their genre. Several of this year's winners have been finalists in the program, some of them for a number of years. I encourage you to keep applying and wish you all the best with your writing.
My writing desk has been lonely the last few weeks. First, our vacation. Then the first week back here, which involved lots of night-waking from the Three Lovelies, and therefore, lots of sleeping in for me. Now I feel refreshed and ready to return to the act of putting pen to paper, to dipping my ladle into the well of words. Ironically, the July rejection collection feels more like encouragement than anything else.
But now I have some news to share. At first take, it may seem like bad news, but I am surprisingly excited to tell you that I received the most rejections ever in my life as a poet during the month of July. I was rejected by several print journals, an online journal, and also found out I did not win a spot in the 2010 Mentor Series, as I had hoped I would after being named a finalist in June.
I think I'm excited because getting the rejections means at least I'm submitting. This is a step forward for me. I sent out about 25 poems from January to May, plus my Mentor Series manuscript (which is not a lot, but there's only so much the Mom Trying to Write can do). I feel good just to take the step of sending my work out into the world.
I also received two of the best kind of rejections. These are the rejections that say something along the lines of "We liked your work, but it didn't quite fit with the issue we're working on now. We hope you'll send us more of your work in the future." This tells me that, at least for some journals, I'm moving in the right direction. It makes me want to keep trying.
Even the news from the Mentor Series, while disappointing, feels okay. I love it when people reject you with kindness and encouragement. The note, which I'm sure was the same for all rejectees, said: All of the mentors commented on the strength of the manuscripts they reviewed and the difficulty in narrowing down to just four writers in their genre. Several of this year's winners have been finalists in the program, some of them for a number of years. I encourage you to keep applying and wish you all the best with your writing.
My writing desk has been lonely the last few weeks. First, our vacation. Then the first week back here, which involved lots of night-waking from the Three Lovelies, and therefore, lots of sleeping in for me. Now I feel refreshed and ready to return to the act of putting pen to paper, to dipping my ladle into the well of words. Ironically, the July rejection collection feels more like encouragement than anything else.
6.10.2010
Wordy Thursday: This Manuscript Has Made the First Cut
Rilke tells us that the writer can't look to others, can't look outside herself, for certification or validation that she should keep on writing. On the other hand, it's sometimes nice to receive encouragement from the world outside the little corner of my living room where I write. And for today, I am savoring this small sign from the universe that whispers: keep at it, girl, keep at it.
P.S. The Mentor Series, sponsored by our friendly neighborhood literary center, is a chance to study and work closely with working poets (sometime referred to on this blog as Grown-up Poets) over the course of the year, with the goal of the mentee improving his/her writing craft and becoming more a part of the local literary community in the process.
5.01.2010
Confession Saturday: April Is Poetry Month Wrap-up Edition
I confess:
~ I am happy to announce the two winners of the Poetry Book Giveaway here at Both Fires. My friend and fellow South-of-the-River resident, Sarah K, will receive a copy of Denise Levertov's Selected Poems; and Sam will receive a trio of three books from the Laurel Poetry Collective: Tom Ruud's Unable For the World to Sleep, Deborah Keenan's Kingdoms, and Su Smallen's Weight of Light. Congratulations to Sarah and Sam, and thanks to everyone who participated in the giveaway.
~ I used the random number generator at random.org to select the winning comment numbers, but can't for the life of me figure out how to embed a screenshot of the winning numbers in this blog post. Sorry, I'm just a Powit, not a computer whiz.
~ I did not write a poem a day for NaPoWriMo, but I did write sixteen poems during the month of April. That's more than my usual productivity level by far.
~ Submitting to two contests this month (both with 4/30 deadlines) just about did me in. I confess, I no longer have the stamina I had at 18 or 25 (I would say "or at 30" but, sadly, my stamina was long gone by then). Then again, I didn't have nearly as many children then as I do now. The exercise of pulling poems together and sending them out was enough of a win for me. I really enjoyed it.
~ Even though I'm poetry-exhausted and thought I wouldn't write another poem for at least a week and maybe six months, another draft made its way onto paper this morning. I confess, I love the Muse.
~ I'm also happy to announce that my source at Laurel Poetry Collective gave me some of their overstock, so I have several consolation prizes to send out to people that are not Sarah K or Sam. I'll be continuing to draw names over the next few weeks and will send the additional books out as I go. So, good luck, again!
~ I confess, I almost hate to tell you this but......... May is --wait for it-- Arthritis Month. What do you think, should I try for an ache a day? I confess, if I weren't laughing about this, I'd be crying.
~ I confess, I have spent entirely too much time inside writing poems lately. I'm going outside to play with my kids. Happy May Day, all.
~ I am happy to announce the two winners of the Poetry Book Giveaway here at Both Fires. My friend and fellow South-of-the-River resident, Sarah K, will receive a copy of Denise Levertov's Selected Poems; and Sam will receive a trio of three books from the Laurel Poetry Collective: Tom Ruud's Unable For the World to Sleep, Deborah Keenan's Kingdoms, and Su Smallen's Weight of Light. Congratulations to Sarah and Sam, and thanks to everyone who participated in the giveaway.
~ I used the random number generator at random.org to select the winning comment numbers, but can't for the life of me figure out how to embed a screenshot of the winning numbers in this blog post. Sorry, I'm just a Powit, not a computer whiz.
~ I did not write a poem a day for NaPoWriMo, but I did write sixteen poems during the month of April. That's more than my usual productivity level by far.
~ Submitting to two contests this month (both with 4/30 deadlines) just about did me in. I confess, I no longer have the stamina I had at 18 or 25 (I would say "or at 30" but, sadly, my stamina was long gone by then). Then again, I didn't have nearly as many children then as I do now. The exercise of pulling poems together and sending them out was enough of a win for me. I really enjoyed it.
~ Even though I'm poetry-exhausted and thought I wouldn't write another poem for at least a week and maybe six months, another draft made its way onto paper this morning. I confess, I love the Muse.
~ I'm also happy to announce that my source at Laurel Poetry Collective gave me some of their overstock, so I have several consolation prizes to send out to people that are not Sarah K or Sam. I'll be continuing to draw names over the next few weeks and will send the additional books out as I go. So, good luck, again!
~ I confess, I almost hate to tell you this but......... May is --wait for it-- Arthritis Month. What do you think, should I try for an ache a day? I confess, if I weren't laughing about this, I'd be crying.
~ I confess, I have spent entirely too much time inside writing poems lately. I'm going outside to play with my kids. Happy May Day, all.
3.31.2010
April Is Poetry Month
There's a lot to love about April: the gentle beginnings of spring, daffodils, that wet-earth smell, the end of flu season, and spreadable butter. But the thing I love most about April is that April is Poetry Month.
And just in case you're thinking that Poetry Month is just for poets, I'm here to tell you that Poetry Month is for you, too. Here are some ways to join in:
Click here to receive a poem-a-day e-mail from The Academy of American Poets.
Click here to learn more about the Poem Flow app for iPhone and iPod Touch.
Click here and here (scroll down the left-hand margin) to enter poetry book giveaways.
Click here to learn about Poem In Your Pocket Day on April 29th (never hurts to plan ahead).
Click here if you are a teacher and want ideas and resources for teaching poetry in your classroom.
And, here's the best one of all:
Click here and/or here to find daily poetry prompts* for the month of April and become a poet yourself. Aside from being National Poetry Month, April is also NaPoWriMo (National Poetry WRITING Month) and the whole country is invited to write a poem a day. So consider yourself invited! If you've always wanted to try poetry, or if you just need something quick and creative to shake up your usual routine, give NaPoWriMo a try.
I wish you a happy Poetry Month from the bottom of my poet heart.
(*First link contains 30 ready-to-go prompts; second link will be updated with a new prompt every day for the month of April).
3.29.2010
Spread the Poems: A Giveaway
THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSEDI'm joining the group of poet-bloggers over at Book of Kells who are giving away free books of poems to celebrate National Poetry Month in April. To have a chance at winning one or more books of good poems, just comment on this post before April 30 letting me know you want 'in' (or - for those of you who don't want to comment in a public forum, feel free to send me an e-mail to say you want 'in'). Regardless of how you throw your hat in the ring, make sure I have a way to contact you in case you are the lucky winner of the books I'm giving away, which are:
1. (this will surprise no one who has been reading this blog lately) Selected Poems by Denise Levertov, who I know doesn't really need any more fame than she earned for herself during her lifetime, but who wrote stunning poems and is an important poetry Foremother. Jacket text:
"... I have read her poems for their subtle music, for their imagination, for their author's dignity and integrity and grace; and most of all, for the indomitable and humble spirit that hungers there." - Sam Hammill, The American Poetry Review
And one of my favorites:
To Speak
To speak of sorrow
works upon it
moves it from its
crouched place barring
the way to and from the soul's hall --
out in the light it
shows clear, whether
shrunken or known as
a giant wrath--
discrete
at least, where before
its great shadow joined
the walls and roof and seemed
to uphold the hall like a beam.
2. A suite of three books from The Laurel Poetry Collective. The Laurels are a group of local poets and artists, some of whom have reached regional and even national audiences, who joined together in 2002 to create "beautiful, affordable books chapbooks and broadsides" (I quote from their website). For the last five years, I've had the pleasure of studying with Tom Ruud, a member of the Laurels, in his Monday night poetry group. Tom's book, Unable For the World to Sleep, along with two volumes yet to be chosen (depending on what I can get my hands on) will comprise the suite of books for the giveaway. Here's what other poets have said about Tom's work:
"This is a poet who reveres language, and loves our beautiful, broken world." - Deborah Keenan, author of Willow Room, Green Door
"It seems impossible for Tom Ruud to write a line of poetry that doesn't sing with intelligence." - Jim Moore, author of Lightning At Dinner
Here are some of Tom's singing lines:
Who Knew
for Sylvia
I'm sure the park bench knew,
feeling our heat
on cool evening planks;
and the darkening bushes, too,
I'm sure they knew,
joining their hands in their secret way,
feeling quite protective, in fact,
now they had a job to do;
and the grass knew everything,
as the wise dusk crept in
to cup the flame
without a word.
On May 1, I will randomly choose two entries and, shortly after, will send the books to the lucky winners. Full disclosure: Winners may receive a used copy of the book(s) above, but in that case, the book will be very gently used. Chances are, all books will be new, but I haven't done the shopping yet.
Spread the word to anyone you know who might enjoy reading some new (or old favorite) poems this spring. April is poetry month, and this is my little effort to spread some poems around. Good luck and thanks for playing. (And for a longer list of poetry book giveaways that you can enter, visit Book of Kells; the list is in the left-hand margin).
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