A Blustery Week, Ferry Foibles, Visiting Friends and Family Over the Water

Glenn and I at Pumpkin Patch (McMurtrey’s Farm)

A Blustery Week

It’s been a blustery week – the Pacific Northwest hit with “bomb cyclone” weather patterns – right now, I’m typing as my power is flickering on and off. We tried to make the best of the brief mornings and afternoons of slightly better weather whenever we could.

Blustery weather cannot be a surprise to us in the Pacific Northwest – we often get a windstorm so fierce it blows down the leaves before they even get a chance to turn. The one good thing about cold wet weather is it keeps you inside, so you get more writing, editing, and submitting work done. I was, however, darting out whenever there was sun to plant bulbs, even visiting pumpkin farms and farmer’s stands during relatively calm warm intervals between rain, cold, and wind. The hummingbirds and woodpeckers are still as active as ever. We only got to see the fuzzy waning Harvest moon one night, as the others were too cloudy to see anything, but we can feel the time change coming, and the temperatures dropping, and the days getting shorter – yes, fall has definitely arrived. We are eating more than our share of the beautiful apples out here, as well – favorite varieties include Cosmic Crisp, Candytime, and Pazazz.

Glenn and I with little brother Mike and sister-in-law Loree at their back deck

Ferry Troubles and Visiting Friends and Family Over the Water

We did finally make it across the water for our visit to see friends and family, despite the ferry foibles (sickouts, vaccine protests, staffing problems, etc., cutting service down to one boat on all the usual ferry routes) it just took a little longer and felt a little more stressful.

It reminded me that living across the water, thought beautiful and more affordable, was so stressful for me because you are always at the mercy of the ferry (and sometimes bridge) schedules. Never could be sure you’d make a doctor’s appointment or a friend’s reading on time. You have to cultivate more Zen than I think I have in me to live out there permanently.

The trip, though hampered by the aforementioned foibles, was worth it! As with all great journeys, this one took some careful planning and plotting, but we had some grand adventures, too.

Kelli and I in the gazebo overlooking the Puget Sound

First, we got a chance to visit with my poet friends (and Two Sylvias Press editors) Kelli Russell Agodon and Annette Spaulding-Convy, who came and met me at the ferry arrival area. We shared carrot apple ginger cupcakes in a gazebo overlooking the water and got caught up on writing news in the brisk outdoors. I also picked up a pack of the Two Sylvias Poet Tarot set. It was great seeing friends IN PERSON again. I forgot how great it is socializing in real life, especially with other writers!

Then we traveled on to see my little brother Mike and sister-in-law Loree at the new house they’re renting on the Hood Canal, stopping along the way at a local park to unpack a thermos of hot cider and snap a pic – only to see a sea lion fighting with seagulls right behind us. We had a good visit, sat out on their beautiful deck overlooking the Hood Canal, had a little dinner, then made the long trek back to Woodinville. Once again, great to see actual family in human form, instead of just over the phone or over a screen.

During our trek, we did see at least one heron, about ten otters, seals and sea lions, and lots of other things we don’t get as much of a chance to see in Woodinville, and mercifully, it was a little chilly out, but didn’t rain on us the whole trip! Some more pics from the trip, including the park where we saw the sea lion/seagull fight. I think if I lived where my brother does, I’d try to get out and paint that view of the water every day. It was so tranquil, except for the otters occasionally scurrying by. I was entranced by the cloud formations on the water. Anyway, a wonderful chance to see friends and family we haven’t gotten to see often enough over the past two years.

Me at Chateau Ste Michelle’s gates

Last Few Pictures of October in Seattle

So, before I go, a few more pictures of October around our neighborhood: wineries with fall decor, fairy tale mushrooms, and even more pumpkins. Those beautiful poisonous mushrooms were on the grounds of Columbia Winery, believe it or not. You never know when magical things will pop up around here. Fall can be a beautiful time here in the Northwest, if you know where to look (and don’t let the weather daunt you too much!)

A Week of Harvests (with Record Cold and Rain,) A Poem in Bellevue Literary Review, A Meditation on Boosters, Ferry Snafus and Shortages

Glenn and I at JB’s Pumpkin Farm, Redmond

A Week of Harvests (with Record Cold and Rain)

It’s been a dreary week with record cold days (with the records of cold going back to the 1800’s!) and record rain. To cheer ourselves up, we visited the local farm stands, so we had fresh corn to make salads with and sweet baby peppers and apples and squashes of all sorts. We made pear soup (don’t know if I’d recommend) and baked cranberry apple bread and generally tried to stay warm. Glenn also had a physical on Monday and his third Pfizer booster shot. By the end of the week, not just Pfizer, but all the boosters had been approved.

After our weekend plans to visit my little brother and a friend over the water were ruined by problems with the ferries, we decided to make the most of the warmer day and partial sunlight and visited a brand new but beautiful pumpkin farm near our house, JB’s Pumpkins in Redmond, and Kirkland’s Carillon Point to find roses on the water still blooming, and went grocery shopping in person (something we rarely do) at Metropolitan Market. Plentiful produce and flowers, but other shelves – frozen aisle, dry goods, paper goods – were empty. A little unnerving, like we were having a hurricane that we didn’t know about. But everyone was in a kind mood – even friendly – which seems like people responding to lowering covid levels and, of course, the nicer weather after a very dark cold week. Below is a trio of pics Glenn snapped of me frolicking in the Harvest scenery and sixty-degree day with pumpkin-colored hair and a pumpkin-hued dress. (I do not have a pumpkin-hued cane yet.)

Sylvia with Bellevue Literary review, a glass pumpkin, and a pink pillow

A New Poem, “Some Nerve: a Nocturne” in Bellevue Literary Review

Another piece of good news this week was receiving my contributor’s copy of Bellevue Literary Review’s 20th Anniversary Issue, which contained my poem about MS, “Some Nerve: A Nocturne.” This is a journal, like Image last week, that I have been sending to for over a dozen years, so the publication was definitely celebratory for me. You can see the whole issue here.

You can see a sneak peek of my poem here. (Click on it to enlarge.)

Pink mums from my yard

A Meditation on Boosters, Empty Shelves, and Ferry Troubles

So along with the wet, cold days this week, we had an onslaught of news about the vaccine boosters – which were approved, who was approved to get them, how long should we wait to get them. For Glenn, who already got his third Pfizer and his report (no big deal), it was easy. For me, it’s a little more complicated, with a bleeding disorder and a history of anaphylaxis from different kinds of shots, and since I got the J&J the first time, I’m going to have to hear from a couple of my specialists to help me decide what to do. The good news is we know I still have antibodies from my first dose of J&J, which makes it feel like less of an emergency. (None of my doctors expected me to even have antibodies this long after, so good news.) For Americans, it is a privilege to have access to third shots when people is some countries still don’t have their first one.

Wheelbarrow full of pumpkins – an image of abundance in the harvest

Since we’ve been shopping at Instacart and local farm stands, we’ve mostly missed what people have been telling us for a while: shelves are empty. Certain things that are pretty normal are in short supply, or just ungettable. My dentist cancelled my crown appointment because they couldn’t get their usual dental drugs at all. Americans are not used to doing without. The ugly scene of backed up shipping container ships is obvious if you get near Tacoma or downtown Seattle’s ports – which are strained to the point of failure. Not only that, the ferries are all understaffed, so four of the most common ferry runs – including the ones I’d used to get to my little brother or any of my Bainbridge, Kingston, or Hood Canal friends, the Bainbridge and Edmunds – were cut in half. That’s like blocking half the interstate for people who live over the water. We had been planning to visit, but Saturday morning, there were multiple hour backups on all the ferries we’d take. It was so frustrating after carefully making plans way in advance to see them ruined – but lots of people are feeling that this week, with cancelled flights, cancelled ferries, and other travel snafus. (Mercury is of course, still in Retrograde ’til tomorrow.)

Hot air balloons, October sky (rare sunshine)

It made me think about how isolated we could have been when we lived on Bainbridge or In Port Townsend – it’s the reason we don’t live there now. Because as beautiful (and more affordable) as those places were, if you can’t get to your specialist, or you want to visit friends or do some shopping off-island – it makes your quality of life less. I never liked being dependent on a drawbridge (Hood Canal) that could close at any time AND a ferry that might be unreliable even in better times. Shortages of workers – at the docks, at the ferries, at grocery stores – are visible. We don’t really go to restaurants, but I did notice a twenty-car line at our local McDonald’s for takeout and a huge “Help Wanted” poster wafting in front of the place. So the impacts of covid go beyond the deaths of people we know and love, wrecking the economy…now we’re seeing long-term problems with the supply chain, with employment, with the basics of how we used to do things. I say “used to” because clearly some things need to change. Workers are burned out and mostly underpaid. The “just-in-time” inventory models that worked pre-covid – show the dangers of running of margins of profit and supply. This really impacts people who take medicines that are hard to find – doctors in hospitals who can’t get their hands on common anti-nausea or pain drugs, and of course everyone who just can’t find their cereal/cat litter/cleanser/paper goods at the store.

On the poetry front, more literary magazines are closing for good (just heard from Foundry this week) and publishers are pushing back open submissions periods until 2022. (Oh yeah, books are also going to be in short supply – paper shortages, getting printings from overseas – all causing book supply chain problems.) And everything’s more expensive for publishers right now.

So things aren’t quite over yet. Will we need even more boosters before covid is officially considered “over?” How safe will the holidays be? Shipping container/warehouse/truck driver shortages according to the news may be backed up definitely until Christmas, and maybe for an entire year. When will I be able to get dental work or visit my brother? If you’re feeling stress and anxiety, you are probably not alone. Humans don’t operate that well with a ton of uncertainty. So I hope you’re doing your best to take care of yourselves and those around you. Get a pumpkin, take a walk on a sunny day, bake something with apples and ginger. If things are not going back to “normal” or as CNN put it  this week, “the before times” any time soon, we need to practice our deep breathing, make our plans flexible and appreciate any little joys we can find.

Book Announcement, Bad and Good Art Friends, a New Poem in Image, and a Rough Week (with Fall Colors!)

Pumpkins at McMurtrey’s Farm

A Book Announcement!!

Yes, finally, some good news! I’m happy to announce that my sixth poetry book, Fireproof, will be coming out next year with Alternating Current Press!

I’m nervous of course about setting up readings, since we still don’t know where things will be next year, but I’m hoping the pandemic will be on the wane and I can visit bookstores and see friends! I’ll post more information when I have it. It has been five years since Field Guide to the End of the World came out, so I am ready to have another book out there!

This has nothing to do with pumpkins, but I liked the cheery sunny mood of the pumpkin farm picture.

Glenn and I at the pumpkin farm

Good and Bad Art Friends

There was an article in the New York Times that had everyone buzzing, a mean-spirited article about writers being bad to each other. (If you want to read it, just google “bad art friend.” You’ll probably also get some hot takes on the article.)

But what I want to say is that in twenty years as a reviewer, volunteer, writer, editor, MFA student, and MFA instructor, I have experienced and witnessed so much kindness and generosity among writers. Maybe good art friends make for less scintillating reading, but I feel if you’re going to shine a light on a community in the art world, it should be on the wonderful, supportive, encouraging things they do for each other. I include artists and musicians in this because we all make so little money and work so hard but still what I’ve seen is artists helping each other, letting each other know about opportunities, writing blurbs, recommendations, giving each other advice…this, in my experience, has been more the norm than the opposite.

Are there mean, terrible, miserably-hearted people in the art world? Of course, like everywhere else. But I am so happy to say that most of the community supports each other. When a writer or artist gets sick, they send a care package or note; when they’re looking for work, people try to steer them towards open positions; when they’re feeling depressed about a rejection, they get encouragement; when they get good news, friends celebrate. Maybe I’m not cynical enough, or I’ve been surrounded by a lot of super-nice people by accident, but I think that good art friends are more the rule than bad art friends.

Field of sunflowers

A New Poem in Image Journal

I’m so happy to have a new poem in the latest issue 110 of Image Journal, “Rose Petals Burned”. The whole issue is terrific. I love the image they chose of the plague doctor mask at the top of the page.

Rose Petals Burned, Image Journal

Kubota Gardens, fall color

A Rough Week with Fall Colors

This week was kind of rough. I woke up sick on Sunday (lost six pounds in two days,) then woke up to identity fraud on Tuesday, which I had to report to the police and the small business association and all three credit reporting agencies, had to handle multiple problems with my cable (which provides my internet and phone too,) I also had a specialist appointment downtown and got stuck in an hour and a half of terrible traffic, missed the appointment because of the traffic, then ended up going with Glenn to a beautiful garden we never had a chance to visit before, Kubota Gardens, which is a sprawling, free Japanese garden near Renton which is open til 10 PM (a miracle in a town where everything closes early.)

We also stopped into a pumpkin farm in Redmond, called McMurtrey farm, and stopped by our favorite farm stand in Woodinville, Tonnemaker, to take in pumpkins and wildflowers.

So that’s how I deal with the bad days – I try to find the good to balance it. And sometimes that leads to new experiences that I would never have without the bad. I’m very thankful for a husband, family, and friends that try to cheer me up when I’m down. And I’m very grateful to be having a new book out soon, and for all my good art friends!

Fall Trips to the Arboretum and Open Books, Talking about Taboos: Money in Poetry, Poets and Self-Destruction, and the Importance of Community, and Submission Season

Me with fallen leaves

Fall Trips to the Arboretum and Open Books, and It’s Submission Season

I was feeling a little blue so we took advantage of one of the few non-raining afternoons this week to go out fall foliage hunting in the Seattle Arboretum (yes, they have “looking at trees!”) and also made a stop, in person, at my treasured bookstore, Open Books, and I came home with an armload of new reads, some of them inspired by the book I’ve just finished, The Equivalents.

When fall arrives here it’s easy to let the suddenly shorter days and lack of sun (we did need the rain) affect your mood, and I’m not immune to that. One thing my friends and I do to counteract a lack of motivation is give ourselves a month when we write a poem a day (um, not always great at that) and another month where we do a submission a day. It’s a reminder that summer is indeed over and writing season has begun, and always helps us actually get some work done. Those book deadlines can creep up on you if you don’t pay attention!

It is submission season, after all, that rare time when most poetry journals are open (and you’ll probably get some rejections you’ve been waiting a year for – and hopefully some acceptances as well!)

Sylvia poses with my Open Books haul plus The Equivalents

Talking About Taboos: Money in Poetry, Self-Destructive Tendencies and the Importance of Community

One thing I’ve been thinking about is something that is often taboo to talk about in the poetryworld: money. Here’s a quote from Maggie Doherty’s The Equivalents (which I finally finished) I posted on Facebook and Twitter that generated quite a bit of discussion:

Pumpkins on a fence at dusk, Woodinville

Some vehemently objected to Sexton’s quote, saying capitalism’s focus on money shouldn’t define success for poets, some talked about their own struggles with the lack of money as a marker of success, some defined success for themselves outside the realms of money. Some people rightly pointed out that in Sexton’s day there was more money and fewer poets. Some said it was a closed system – money is awarded by the privileged friends to privileged friends. It was very interesting.

I was very happy this week to see Don Mee Choi – whose work I truly have admired for years – win a MacArthur Genius grant – something that can truly alter the quality and nature of a poets’ life. Money, time, and a room of one’s own – as Virginia Woolf wrote a long time ago – go a long way towards making a writer’s life possible. But writers that are overlooked, denied grants, awards, prizes – what happens to them? How do they persevere, or even get in the public’s view? It is so easy to give up, to get lost.

Another two quotes I felt was worth putting up here was about poetry and women writer’s self-destruction and the importance of community, which is probably more true and less controversial.

From Adrienne Rich, in the book:

that the ‘room of one’s own’ is not enough; we must find community, collectivity…I believe profoundly that the woman artist, even if she can find the space and support herself in it, must not fall into the trap of working, or trying to work, in isolation. But even Woolf implies….that a female community must come into being.”

Here’s a longer quote (my hands don’t type as well as they used to…) about women writers and self-destruction from Adrienne Rich as well:

Mt Rainier at Sunset, October

So, when we think about success as poets, maybe money is a part of it, but also what we call our community, how we avoid self-destruction, how we help others. That we continue to write, to create as a kind of rebellion.

I encourage all of you to pick up The Equivalents and give it a read. It’s a fascinating account of a tiny community connected over the years, politics, art, friendship, feminism, failure, success.  I started reading it with my mom and could not put the book down. (I also got in on Audiobook so I could listen at night instead of watch tv – much better for my brain!) Sometimes it can feel hard to find a model of success we can follow without being born into money or privilege.

And remember, it’s still life during a plague, the changing seasons can be hard on people, so be extra kind to yourself. Give yourself time, seek out moments of joy where you can right now. It’s hard to build community when you can’t see each other in person, but we do have e-mail, the old-fashioned phone call, and yes, even social media.

Poems on the Rumpus and in Allium, and Trying to Bring Some Joy to Fall Days

Me with pumpkins and barn

Poems This Week in The Rumpus and Allium

This week I had some happy poetry news in the form of poems being published. The first was “Philomel at Midlife Confronts her Attacker” in The Rumpus, along with some other terrific poems in their Enough series.
Then I had two poems appear in the gorgeous new Allium, in their Fall 2021 issue, “Women on the Verge of an Atomic Breakdown” and “Spell for Conjuring a Better…: 

Follow the links to read the poems, and I will put a sneak peek at the poems at the end of the post as well.

It is officially fall. We’ve had our Harvest Moon and our Fall Equinox and Mercury is officially in retrograde. It is a little more melancholy than usual, what with our vaccinations maybe not being enough to keep us safe from every mutating versions of covid, waiting for information for those of us with crappy immune systems who didn’t get the Pfizer shot on when we can get the Boosters, and announcements of shortages (again) and mail slowdowns (again.) And the prospect of spending another set of holidays without being with family. I am trying, as you can see in the picture, to embrace the things I love about fall in the few sunny fall days the Seattle area offers. I am trying to bring as much joy as I can to life, which has been pretty depressing lately.

A field of Sunflowers in Woodinville

Trying to Bring Joy to Fall Days

So Glenn and I visited Bob’s Corn and Pumpkin Farm, we visited local farmer’s markets, we visited Molbak’s for their annual glass pumpkin display by the Tacoma Glassblowing Center. We have baskets of apples, corn, squashes of various sorts. We’re sipping hot cider like it’s going out of style.

Every bright and sunny day we’re making an effort to get outside. On the night of the Harvest Moon, we stayed outside as the moon rose, orange gold, above the trees. We don’t have many family fall rituals per se, but these activities might be as close as we get.

Hummer perched on planter

I think of the things that have kept me sane during the 21 months of pandemic: gardening, birdwatching, photography, reading and writing, reaching out to friends and family over the phone. Occasionally really good television and good books. I am reading (along with The Equivalents by Maggie Doherty, about midlife gifted artistic women in the sixties) Rita Dove’s Playlist for the Apocalypse, and watched an interview with her on PBS where she discusses her diagnoses of multiple sclerosis back in 1997. The book has a little nod to Joan Didion’s diagnosis with the same disease in one of the epigraphs at the last section. How little we see successful writers struggle in public, but might it be more helpful, more inspiring, for them to let us in on it? I certainly felt a certain reaffirmation of my love of Rita Dove’s work and feeling of kinship with her.

Anyway, here are the sneak peek poems I promised. I hope you enjoy them. The first poem, from The Rumpus, is pretty serious, and the last poem from Allium ends this blog note on a hopeful note.

Fall Arrives Early: A Failed Surgery, Visiting with my Nephew, and Applying for a Big Grant

Late multi-colored sunflowers

Fall Arrives Early in Seattle

Fall seemed to blow in early this week with colder temperatures and a bunch of thunder and wind storms. It was a bit of a rough week for us because Glenn’s vocal cord surgery was a failure, and he arrived home bruised and swollen.

The good news was the scope he had did detect some slight movement in his paralyzed vocal cord, so instead of more surgery they are recommending vocal therapy. Still the week began on a down note. I’m not used to being the caretaker – but I wasn’t a total failure at it – we had to eat soft food for a couple days while Glenn’s throat recovered and he had to ice his neck where a few needles bruised him (ouch!), but I did figure out the perfect recipe for mac and cheese without using a flour-based roux – the secret is combine cream cheese, American cheese, mozzarella, and goat cheese – and I grated veggies into it to make it healthier but still easy to swallow. Anyway, it turned out terrific! Glenn is usually the cook of the family but I guess we could survive a few days with just me cooking. (To be fair, we ate a lot of frozen yogurt and sorbet.)

A field of cosmos in Woodinville – late blooms

Applying for a Big Grant

While Glenn was recovering, I managed to apply for a Guggenheim grant, which is very difficult, demanding, and just generally harmful to my self-esteem. For instance, if you do not work for an “institution” they have approved by putting in their pre-made drop-down box in their form, it’s really hard to move forward from the first page of the application. Just as an FYI, approved institutions listed did not include Microsoft (where 100,000 people work, ahem) or the City of Redmond, where I worked as a Poet Laureate. So that’s fun.

There’s also the intimidating and humiliating fun of asking for four people to be your recommenders, and you need so much personal information about them – I mean, info I wouldn’t know about a good friend – that it’s ridiculous. You also have to write a narrative of your entire writing life – they want every grant, all your education, but make it succinct (!) and track down all your publications, but not a writing sample, which seems like it should be the most important component, right? Ah well. I don’t make the rules. It just seems to get harder every year applying for this bad boy.

Me and my little nephew (He’s 6 foot 5 now!) at Chateau Ste Michelle

Visiting with a Nephew

The good part of the week was that one of my nephews from Tennessee visited, with an eye towards possibly moving out here. I do not get to see my nieces and nephews enough, as they mainly live in faraway places like Cincinnati and Knoxville, so it was really nice to have some one-on-one time with Dustin.

Dustin and Glenn got along really well (of course Glenn couldn’t talk much, but they bonded over the grill) and my little brother also hosted him on the other side of the water so he got a chance to see all kinds of beautiful scenery. It’s a nice reminder that 1) my nephew is surprisingly not 10 anymore and 2) I really do like my family members! He seemed to really enjoy the Seattle area and we are hoping he finds a job out here so he can move out here for real. The more family here, the better, I say!  He’ll be visiting again in the spring, hopefully with his older brother, so that will be something to look forward to.

An unusual backyard visitor for us – a lovely Scrub Jay!

Considering Changes in the Air

Besides the changing temperatures and sudden deluge of rain, there’s change in the air metaphorically as well as physically. I am losing a lot of my mainstay doctors (another one quit – so much burnout in the industry, which I understand) and so I’m rethinking how I manage my health.  I’m also considering applying for more things – not just grants, but jobs and residencies that I might have thought before were too hard for me – energy and health-wise. Have I been setting myself too many boundaries, I wonder? Shutting down my own horizons? During the pandemic, I’ve had repeated dreams about traveling to Paris. I don’t know exactly what this symbolizes but I think I should pay attention since it keeps coming up. Paris could represent art, literature, a life of the mind, maybe?

Rita Dove just announced she was diagnosed in the late nineties with multiple sclerosis, which made me feel more hopeful about my own future – after all, she was the United States Poet Laureate and still does public readings. I just got ahold of her Playlist for the Apocalypse and am looking forward to reading it. Rita Dove has been one of my favorite poets since I first read “Parsley” in a Norton anthology when I was 19. She is an inspiration.

Peach flower field

I’m also reading a fascinating book about women in an experimental program for middle-aged “gifted” women in the sixties called The Equivalents by Maggie Doherty. The book focuses on how friendship, camaraderie and institutional support made a huge difference in the lives of five midlife women: Anne Sexton, Maxine Kumin, Barbara Swan, Marianna Pineda, and Tillie Olsen – in the 1960s. (They called themselves “The Equivalents” because the program required a PhD or “equivalent” artistic achievement.)

What do women need to succeed as artists now? Well, things haven’t changed all that much – we still struggle to get institutional support, to get paid and respected, to get our work reviewed and in the public eye – and to make friends with women who can inspire, support, and push us forward. I know a lot of men my age with fewer books/accomplishments than me who walked into tenure-track jobs without much effort. A lot of the people doing the hiring, the grant-giving, and the publishing are still men. How can we midlife women put change in the air in the literary and art worlds? Definitely something to think about.

Anyway, change isn’t always a bad thing.

The End of the Residency, Re-Entry, and Prepping for Surgery

Sunset from the ferry, leaving the San Juan Islands behind

The End of the Residency

Like all good things, the residency at the Whiteley Center on San Juan Island had to come to an end. This picture is a view of the sunset on the ferry home form the San Juan Islands, maybe the most beautiful sunset we experienced the whole time. The last few days included multiple seal sightings – and seal pups – and a visit to an alpaca farm where I was sneezed on by an overly excited alpaca, and an incident getting stranded at the bottom of a very steep gravel hill in a wheelchair at English Camp – which was getting ready to close for the year, unbeknownst to us – and a rescue by an elderly woman who was a volunteer park ranger from East Tennessee in an ATV. Also, many hours gazing at beautiful vistas, visits to farm stands, and writing on my latest manuscript. Do I have pictures of all that? No I do not. But I do have at least two pictures of the baby seal!

Re-Entry Can Be Tough

Underwater harbor seal

Just like this beautiful harbor seal represents a creature that lives both below water and above it, we writers have to re-enter regular life after spending a week just devoted to nature and writing, going to sleep when the sun goes down, no internet or television or social media to distract you…and then coming home. Not that I hate coming home – fluffy cats and hummingbirds awaited – but it does take a little while to shake off the glamour of small-town island life. Unpacking, getting ready for Glenn’s surgery on Monday, responding to a ton of e-mails, catching up on what’s been going on in the news – well, it’s not exactly the stuff of sparkles and rainbows. But in a way, being a writer during regular life is a more important practice than doing it under special circumstances, right? Because that’s most of life.

Prepping for Surgery and Our Welcome Committee

Glenn and I at Cattle Point, American Camp

So now we’re home and shopping for soft foods and trying to clean in advance as Glenn has to have soft foods and not lift anything heavy for three days (sorry, 17-pound Shakespeare!) after the surgery on his paralyzed vocal cords. We’re so used to me being the one going through these medical things and not Glenn, so it’s up to me to be the caretaker for a few days. I’m just glad Glenn had a week completely away from work (though he still managed to mostly attend his virtual grad school) to rest and recover before the surgery. That can only help a person’s immune system, right?

The cats and hummingbirds were both very glad to see us at home, which made the re-entry to regular life a little less painful. Also, I had the pleasant surprise of having a poem appear on Verse Daily a few days ago. And my nephew from Tennessee is visiting, with an eye to moving out here eventually this coming week. So we’ll hope for Glenn’s treatment to be successful so he can get his voice back, and things to get back to relative normalcy, I mean, plague years notwithstanding. (Month 20 of the pandemic, did you guys know that? I’m hoping that we mostly reach its end by Month 24…we’ll see. I hate making predictions of this sort anymore.)

New Poem “Meltdown” on Verse Daily Today

Thanks to Verse Daily for featuring my poem “Meltdown” from Sugar House Review today! (And which may be part of an upcoming collection to be announced soon…)

Here’s a sneak peek at the poem:

A Week Away at a Writing Retreat in the Pacific Northwest – with Foxes!

Lighthouse on San Juan Island, Cattle Point

Need to Get Away? To a Writer’s Retreat?

Some writers go to writer’s residencies and retreats frequently. I am not one of those writers. I haven’t been to a writer’s residency in six years. The last time I went, I was working on the manuscript that became Field Guide to the End of the World. I’m coming to this residency to write poems, yes, and send out poems, yes, but also to wrangle three (!) unruly poetry manuscripts that need to get out into the world. This takes more time and concentration than I usually can muster at home. I just finished a first last week – my first ever Virtual Breadloaf (TM) and now I’m taking time to be a writer at a retreat for a whole week!

So what to do? Well, you pack up, get in a car and drive for an hour and a half, then sit in parking lot for the ferry for another hour, then ride the ferry over for an hour, and then, bam! You’re there! Your little cabin in the middle of a university’s marine biology lab center on San Juan Island is ready and waiting to be aired-out and re-cleaned (covid days, of course) and then safely entered into. The skies are blue. The ocean is literally steps away. You can hear crickets. There’s no television. And though many young marine biologists and other scholars crowd the grounds you barely even see any of them except in a distance. You literally interact with no one except a friendly biologist who points you in the direction of the cabin key on arrival.

Typewriter in tree, with ocean

What Makes the Perfect Writer’s Retreat for You?

What each writer needs is different, and when you’re me, boy, you are asking for a handful. Some residencies cook for you and cost no money. Some have nominal fees and/or tough entry applications. There might be one near you that might be a perfect fit. I’m disabled, so that counts out most writer’s residencies across the United States, including some of the most prestigious, I’m sorry to say. And I have food allergies. And I need to be able to drive to it, because, well, right now, immune-compromised and covid. So even though it might not be perfect for everyone, Whiteley Center on San Juan Island – a residency open to scientists and artists alike with its one handicapped-accessible cabin and gorgeous and interesting marine surroundings – ended up being my perfect writer’s retreat. So far, I’ve drafted five new poems, sent out three submissions, edited one of three books and started on another. The internet and cell signals are not robust but enough to get my work done most days. It’s quiet, private, feels fairly safe, and gazes out through big picture windows at trees and ocean. I have a laptop I bring from the reading nook to the kitchen table to the bedroom, along with the stack of reading material I brought for diversion and inspiration. (My husband, importantly, is able to accompany me to be my disability assistant – which is not the case with most residencies. Because lugging trash out 500 feet or laundry a half a mile is tough for disabled folks to do alone. Plus he’s good company and a good cook.)

Red Fox, at South Beach

Plus, I’ve visited Lime Kiln Point, famous for whale-sightings (though not right now – our Orcas seem to be elsewhere these days), American Camp, famous for its foxes (those did not let me down) and quaint Friday Harbor, which, in non-covid times, would be very attractive for its cute restaurants, shops, and galleries. (I’ve only ventured into the co-op for groceries and the drug store for, well, drugs. Because, again, covid.) And I’ve even had a repeat fox visitor here at my very own cabin! This is on top of eagle and heron sightings, seals, and I hope before the end of the trip, otters.  If you bring a car with you – which I’d recommend if you’re disabled, because getting to everything is quite a trek if you’re in a wheelchair, on crutches, or a cane – you can even find the farmer’s market (check) and farms like the lavender farm and alpaca farm. Are all of these things requirements for a good writer’s retreat? No. But might they help inspire you, and even better, make you feel for a little while like you’re in the wild and can really breathe again? You do not have to wear the right clothes or even put on makeup (but maybe a little sunscreen and bug repellent.) It’s so dark and quiet that even I, notorious night owl that I am, have trouble not falling asleep by 11:30 PM.

Sunflowers on the Island

Finding Beauty, Finding Time

And usually I’m an extrovert who loves 1. her routines and 2. infinite forms of diversion so this forces me to rest, focus, and generally regain my sense of wonder and respect for the universe. This last few years have been so stressful, I admit I had lost a sense of how beautiful some parts of the world truly are, and how awe-inspiring mountains and oceans or even just an encounter with a fox can be. I believe this to be good not just for my writing but my soul. When I go home I’ll remember that a place like San Juan Island exists again, which sometimes, when you’re holed up in your house for quarantine for eighteen months, can be a little hard to believe. Magical.

Oh yes, and being away from the television, and social media (unreliable internet again) and all that is probably also good for my brain and soul. It is very hard for me to do an electronics fast at my house – here, I barely notice it. Some writers are able to take a month off from job or family responsibilities – for me, a week or two seems like more than enough time away to get some actual work done – and I mean reading, writing, and even filling out a form or two. (Hate forms!)

My cabin visiting fox friend

And whether or not a residency looks good on your CV or is required for finishing a book, it is certainly something for writers (even writers who think they can’t because of money or kids or disability) to think about. There may be a perfect residency out there for you that affords you exactly the time, space, and awe-inspiring wonder to help you through a difficult creative time. And don’t forget the foxes!

Don’t Do Their Job for Them – More Breadloaf Thoughts and Rejections, Recovery, Rest, and Dahlias

Painted Lady Butterfly, Dahlia

Don’t Do Their Job For Them – More Breadloaf Thoughts and Rejection

So, a day or so ago I got a “big” rejection. A beloved publisher who had had my manuscript for over a year wrote a nice rejection note saying my manuscript had made it through several rounds of readers but alas, they were not going to publish it. And I couldn’t help but be somewhat depressed and discouraged by it. You’d think by this point I’d be used to rejection. But still, sometimes, they hurt. They make me feel stopped at a stop sign of the universe.

This is after a week of getting two regular acceptances (one for a place I’ve wanted to get into a very long time) and a regular rejection. All within a week of still trying to digest the two week extravaganza of virtual Breadloaf.

Someone – or maybe more than one someone – told me during Breadloaf, “Editors and publishers get paid good money to reject your work. Don’t do their work for you.” (On seeing my notes, this was said by Brenda Shaughnessy in her lecture.) That is, don’t pre-reject yourself. Another person told me “It’s a tough time for us to get our work published. Publishers are struggling and overwhelmed with submissions. You have to just keep sending to presses you love. Believe in your work. Don’t give up.” These messages are essentially the same message.

It is work to write, and to write your best work, and it is a different kind of work to send that work out into the world, maybe to be rejected and forgotten. This all while trying not to worry about the world, dying of covid right outside your door, or how to pay your bills, or why you are writing in the first place and not doing something to fix all the problems of that world. And yet, a butterfly outside your door appears, and momentarily, help and hope. And you feel you can write, and send out your work, again.

Red and white dahlia

Recovery and Rest and Dahlias

This week I’ve been recovering (I got sick during virtual Breadloaf, I guess through Zoom? Just kidding. I seem to always catch something during August, somehow – and yes, I took a covid test and it was negative) and been trying to enjoy the clear, cooler days, the last days of summer, the blooming dahlias, the waning August light, the two new piglets at the farm down the street. I’m trying to believe in the good in the world, and making my body healthy and whole by resting and eating fresh vegetables and getting some fresh air and sunlight.

My husband is recovering from a paralyzed vocal cord, a fairly serious and maybe permanent problem. We are planning to take some time off and spend nearby in nature, unplugged from the internet and work and news. (I am also going to my first residency in a long time – I think six years? Too long…)

It is part of a life, a marriage, to being a good writer or a good employee, to take time off, to rest. Especially if you’re in the middle of year two of the plague, if you have immune system problems that make the plague more dangerous that it would be to others, if you feel that you are trembling on the verge of quitting something, if you have become depressed, hopeless, unable to sleep because of anxiety, short-tempered, too angry. It might be good to spend some time with trees in a forest, with waves of a sea bigger than you, to spend time noticing the end of summer blooms, and animal life, around you. In a whirlwind of tragedies, each tragedy might become less real to you, and we lose a bit of our humanity, our empathy, especially when we are stressed and tired and have already felt enough tragedy has happened. (Unfortunately we do not get to control this.) Does the world need you to fix it right this second? (And maybe it does! Heroic actions during tragedies are always welcome.)  Or do you need time to heal yourself before you can do any good in the world? Listen to your self – what do you truly need? And go spend some time listening to the hummingbirds, the dahlias, whatever they’re saying.