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.

Virtual Breadloaf, Some Writer Conference Takeaways, and End of Summer Musings

Red and Yellow Sunflower

Virtual Breadloaf

Today was the last day of the two week journey of this year’s Virtual version of Breadloaf. There were at least twenty lectures from amazing writers of all genres, including non-fiction and screenwriting, several long workshop sessions, pitching sessions, hanging out in a virtual Barn, and even Breadloaf readings on Zoom.

I am so tired it feels amazing that I never left my house for any of this conference! I think the interactions, the intensity of attention, and of course, a lot of hours online took their toll, but it was a wonderful opportunity for someone like me – for whom travel can be a barrier (food allergies, multiple sclerosis-related disability, the costs, etc.) I also enjoyed the fact that I got to meet writers from Japan, Australia and France as well as from all over the US. I got the feeling the attendees were a little more diverse than usual because of the lower barrier to entry (it was also less expensive than the usual full-residency Breadloaf as well.)

Me in a local garden after workshop

I noticed that for me it was important to spent time each day, especially after the intense two-hours at a pop workshop sessions, outside in the fresh air, sunlight, and around living things like flowers. It was like re-grounding after a whole day – from 8 AM my time til about 6 PM – spent in an online format. Glenn took this picture after my workshop day after I had shed jewelry and makeup, and enjoyed a stroll around the garden at Willows Lodge (as well as a visit with their new set of potbellied piglets!) I actually did get a little sick about halfway through the conference – which isn’t unusual for me for August, but because of Delta, the extra stress of “is it covid?” make what was probably just a summer bug more scary.

The last talk was by Jericho Brown, who is always lovely, but his and Brenda Shaughnessy’s talks this week probably had the most emotional resonance for me. Both went a little off-book, which is always a plus in my book, and both had wonderful energy, which really did come through even in the virtual world. Both talked about the importance of being your true self and finding your voice – a theme that came through in several of the talks during the two weeks. It will take me a while to digest everything that I took away – but besides the official talks, the things I picked up hanging out with other writers in the off time, the pitches, and the workshop.

Some Takeaways from Breadloaf

Me post-Breadloaf reading, Glenn shot this while I took my glasses off in my garden

I was nervous that Breadloaf was only for younger writers, but I met people of all ages and backgrounds, which was great. I thought my workshop was full of really talented writers, and I was impressed by the level of writing at the attendee readings as well. The atmosphere of one of the oldest and most prestigious writers conferences in the country was much less stuffy or pretentious than I imagined it would be – could the virtual aspect of it make it seem more accessible?

I got lots of advice on publishing and lots of encouragement as well. A lot of kindness from people. I think it will have been a worthwhile thing to have done looking back. Now I need to actually apply the advice from workshop and on publishing and get to revising and sending out my work. I hope I stay in touch with at least a few friends I made, and crossing fingers for the manuscript that was sent in from one of my pitch sessions. You never know!

In a year (and a half) characterized by so much lack of socialization, going to a virtual writers conference was a great way to feel like I wasn’t totally isolated and that I was part of a larger writing community. It was also fun getting advice from other people who had been to Breadloaf before me about how to get the most out of it.

Field of wildflowers, Woodinville, WA

End of Summer Musings

It’s getting cooler here and more overcast, though barely a sprinkling of rain to relieve our long drought. The last flowers are blooming now – cosmos, dahlias, sunflowers – and they’ll be done soon, and we’ll be in the middle of autumn before we know it.

I realize that the last two weeks were full of disaster – from rising Delta cases and deaths and hospital overflow, to the Afghanistan situation, to wildfires all around the West Coast – and even if you feel helpless with nearly all of those problems, it’s important to feel like you can take positive steps to help, like giving to a charity or just trying to do what you can for those around you who might be struggling.

Food banks are still having a hard time, hospital workers are overworked, people who are chronically ill, going through chemo, or otherwise immune-compromised, could use at the least a friendly check-in because they probably feel especially vulnerable right now. Be nice to your friends who are doctors and nurses, who may be struggling with depression and burnout. A good place to send some money, besides food banks, is the excellent, well-vetted charity, the Malala Fund, https://malala.org. 

Hummingbird with last penstemon

For those of you going back to teaching or sending kids to school this fall, I know you are stressed out. Things will eventually get better. As as me, I am thinking positive: people will get vaccinated or they will have antibodies from having caught a version of this virus, even if we might need a booster shot or continue to mask up for a little bit longer.

Do be kind to yourselves, as well as others. It’s been a really long eighteen or so months. Here’s hoping for a peaceful and healthier winter season. It would be nice to be able to visit friends and family for the the holidays…

A Week of Wildfire Smoke and the First Week of Breadloaf: Late Summer Edition, Plus, the Sealey Challenge Continues

Pink Dahlia

A Week of Wildfire Smoke And Heat Waves

So this last week we had temperatures in the nineties plus a wave of wildfire smoke came in, it seemed, from every direction – there are fires in Canada above, Eastern Washington, California, and Oregon – so for a few days I couldn’t even open a window or walk outside without getting dizzy and my eyes watering.

We’re hoping for some rain to come in, and looking further, I’m just really excited about fall happening again. I got news I’ll be eligible for a booster covid shot, due to my multiple immune system problems, so that’s something. I just recovered from my tetanus shot of last week! With Delta coming around, I haven’t been getting out and about too much. It’s a good thing I’ve had virtual Breadloaf this week to distract me from the heat, the smoke, and the virus (plus my sore arm from the TDAP shot – man, that was way worse than the covid shot, for those who were wondering!)

Immature Rufous in flight

The First Week of Breadloaf: Late Summer Edition

So, during the first week of Breadloaf, I mostly went to lectures, plus I had me editor/publisher “pitch” sessions, which are fifteen minute Zoom meetings with either lit mag editors or book publishing people. I got Graywolf and Four Way, which were both lovely, but I was so nervous about them! I can’t believe I was so nervous about pitching poetry! This was also my first time at any Breadloaf, because they offered a Virtual option. I wish all the big conferences offered this, because I got to meet writers from both coasts, but also France and Australia, which I think makes the whole conference more interesting. It also seemed that the conference faculty and attendees were more diverse than at least I was expecting.

In the pitches, I also asked some questions about the publishing world in general right now (hard! Libraries and bookstores are buying fewer books, and without readings it’s been tougher to sell books – but the good news was, people like me – disabled and unable to travel as much – may benefit in the long-term from the new structures in publishing – relying more on social media and Zoom readings.) So, interesting stuff. Now I wish I could just schedule fifteen minutes with all the publishers of my choice, because it’s much easier to get a handle on what a press is about this way. I also wish MFA programs included meetings like this – mine did not.

Apples on the tree

One thing that surprised me about the lectures – the ones with the “superstars” were only okay, and the ones with writers that were new to me were the most thought-and-poem inspiring. I wonder if expectation factored into this – or as another Breadloaf attendee observed, prose writers are just better at prose presentations, or less well-known writers work harder on their talks? Two of the best lectures this week so far at (Virtual) Breadloaf were by Jess Row and Tania James, two writers I didn’t know about before the conference. My loss! Jess talked about writing the political and economic within scenarios of apocalypses and Tania about writing surprise (including example short stories about transforming into a deer or eating children.) Both were brilliant.

I thought I’d be writing way more (I’ve only written one poem this week) but I feel like thinking about ways to write after each lecture was good and the pitches were good, but everything online seems to take way more energy than in person and I ended up napping way more than I expected (this could also be related to the heat.) All this staring at screens did motivate me last week to go get an overdue eye exam which resulted in two new pairs of glasses, including readers – prescriptions plus some magnification for computer reading. Both pairs were pink – one sparkly, one neon. It seems metaphorical – looking at life through literally a new lens. I’m looking forward to next week, when I’ll be really immersed with hours of workshop AND lectures. And then it will almost be September!

Prometeo by C. Dale Young with Red Sunflowers

The Sealey Challenge Continues

So, I have not been able to do a book of poetry a day in August, which is sort of the goal, but I haven’t totally abandoned it either. I ordered a bunch of books before Breadloaf started, which have sort of tricked in nicely, giving me time to appreciate each book.

New this week: C. Dale Young’s Prometeo from Four Way Books, about love/sex/death/identity/faith/palm trees (also it made me cry within 15 minutes.) Also, Sally Rosen Kindred’s When the Wolf from Diode Editions, and Kelly Cressio-Moeller’s Shade of Blue Trees from Two Sylvias Books.

Since I’m already reading a ton of books for Breadloaf, I’m only doing a little extra reading, but I figure the point of the Sealey Challenge is to get us to read a few more poetry books in August, and help us purchase some books during a notoriously slow time for poetry book sales. It’s been good for me to get so many different points of view at the conference and through reading so many poets, known and unknown, friends and strangers. Also, I can feel virtuous supporting small presses, indie bookstores and/or buying directly from poets! 100 percent recommend if you are feeling the August doldrums.

A Week of Too Much Drama, Sealey Challenges, Possible Good News, and Virtual Breadloaf Starting Tomorrow

Peach dahlias in a flower field, Woodinville

A Week of Too Much Drama – CT Scans, Tetanus Shots, and Other Adventures

I’m writing from a blessed weekend of rain after a 51-day drought here in the Seattle area. I took a long walk under the cloud cover and my garden is much happier. But it’s been a week – if you read last week’s post, you know that Glenn suddenly lost his voice and after many tests, found that the cause was a paralyzed vocal cord. This week he had a CT scan to rule out truly scary causes (ie cancer) but his CT scan was blessedly clean. On the day of his scan, I got some possible good literary news (will reveal more later) and got cut by a wicked pair of gardening shears, which resulted in my having to get my first tetanus shot in…wait for it…27 years. Yes, I know that’s older than some people. So today, slightly sore and cranky, but did not have an allergic reaction, which was good.

Today I celebrated our good news AND the pending beginning of virtual Breadloaf (see more on this later) by getting out and walking on the water in Kirkland, then getting a haircut and color (at a place that requires proof of vaccinating and only lets in a few clients at once) so I would look sparkly for my Zoom workshops and pitches. I am truly looking forward to focusing for two whole weeks on writing after two weeks of near sleeplessness, stress, and worry.

Craig Morgan Teicher’s The Trembling Answers

 Sealey Challenge

So, the month of August is often a good month to get in a dose (or 30) of poetry with The Sealey Challenge, with the goal of reading a book of poetry a day and posting about it. So far, I didn’t quite make it to that (lots going on, read above) but I did read two new books and revisited a few old favorites, plus ordered a few signed copies of new books from friends. I also plan a visit to Open Books in Seattle when I can get the time.

I notice all the reading inspired me to write a few new poems – something I rarely do in August unless pressed – and helped me stay calm during a time of great stress. Also, Sylvia really enjoys getting in on the Sealey Challenge by playing model cat.

I encourage you all to do a little poetry shopping and/or revisiting old favorites on your shelf if you get the time, and posting about it. The conversation about poetry couldn’t happen at a better time – we all need a positive distraction from the endless stress of the past year and a half.

Pink sunflower, my garden

Possible Good News and Virtual Breadloaf Starting Tomorrow!

So, sorry to be mysterious, but the day Glenn got his CT scan, I received some good news I might be able to share soon. So confusing for my poor stress hormones – ups and downs! And shots!

So, only mildly sore from my tetanus shot, I’m starting Virtual Breadloaf tomorrow and through week two (my workshops are week two, my pitches and some great talks are week one) so time to start thinking and talking coherently about poetry, I mean I hope. I also got my hair cut and colored for the conference (it’s all on Zoom, but still…) and I’m trying to decide to go pinker or stay natural. Please post opinions – and any wise advice about surviving a virtual Breadloaf – in the comments!

I’m excited and nervous and hoping my internet connection stays up for the whole time. Will report next week.