Envisioning Better Things

Corvid, not covid

Envisioning Better Things – A Practice of Hope, During a Plague Year

So, things have been rough this week. It’s been dreary, rainy, and too cold to go outside much. America hit the 450,000 mark in people that have been lost to covid, as variants with higher contagion rates and seemingly slightly more dangerous consequences are spreading around the world.

Washington State has still got a shortage of vaccines, and they don’t seem to prioritizing the chronically ill or the disabled. I’ve been struggling with anxiety about that and at the same time, trying to get better from a sinus thing and a stomach thing (not covid, just the result of my normally crappy immune system.)

Meanwhile, a literary magazine I’ve respected and longed to get into for twenty years, about ten months after my work appeared in it for the first time, decided to publish a former professor-pedophile who abused students and kept a gigantic collection of child rape films. This triggered a lot of sadness and anger from a lot of abuse survivors, including me (I was raped when I was six years old). The literary magazine then published a non-apology. The whole thing left me feeling sick and disappointed in the poetryworld. Meanwhile, I’m sending my manuscripts out into the world, hoping for a good press to pick them up. Have we decided what a “good press” means to us?  What are we even hoping for?

Pink Tulips

So, What Next?

Most pandemics in history have not lasted forever, even with a lack of soap, vaccines, or N95 masks. So we know that this will not last forever, no matter what we do. The vaccines may help squash the numbers of the dead, and help propel the economy back to health, if they can actually be gotten out fast enough to do any good.

Washington State’s lack of prioritization of the chronically ill and disabled may mean a wait for me of some months, but in the meantime, they’re probably going to approve the third vaccine for the US – the Johnson and Johnson vaccine, which might be slightly safer for people like me with a history of anaphylactic reactions to shots. The earliest we can hope to get the shots from them is April, I’ve read. But every person that gets the vaccine now helps slow the steady growth of the virus, slow the ability to mutate safely within each person, and makes the entire planet a little safer.

So, I have reason to think things will get better, gradually, for us in terms of what feels for people like me like an endless quarantine, and for us all in general. Things will get better. Pandemics do not last forever. However, this pandemic has changed the world in ways that might not be reversible. Will we ever feel the same about screaming at a concert, or even singing in a choir?

Resting deer

And as Far as the PoetryWorld

PoetryWorld can feel like a strange and mysterious planet. Like a world of science fiction, with secret languages and disguises and scary monsters.  Sometimes this can be overwhelming. You can make friends with other poets, you can help support other younger poets, and you can try in your own way to support journals and presses by buying their books or subscribing or sending in your work. You can review the books of poetry you respect and admire, poets who might not get as much of the limelight as they deserve. But how do we work to make things better for, say, child rape victims, or any victims of sexual abuse in a Poetryworld that seems like it’s still (Still!) run by people either abusing or making apologies and excuses for abusers? Is there a way forward in that goal?  Can we just make the poetryworld a better place by staying in it, or staying apart from it? I do not have an answer for this. I wish I did. The truth is, you and I are part of the Poetryworld. We may not run things, but if we stick around and make our voices heard, eventually things might get better. Someone tell me so.

Learning from Women Writers, Under a Wolf Moon, Looking at Book Publishers During Submission Season, and Waiting (and Waiting) for the Vaccine

Cold Wolf Moon

Under a Cold Wolf Moon

Many people have been talking to me lately about feeling stressed, having insomnia, feeling anxious about getting the vaccine (welcome to the club on that one!) and general angst. Just consider that we are about to hit the one-year mark on the pandemic taking over our lives. That is a long time to live in fear, uncertainty, maybe losing jobs and family members, your hobbies and friends, your sense of normalcy. 2020 – and 2021, probably – have been traumatic years. It is normal to feel a little lost, a little frazzled, a little at the end of your rope. Also, this full moon of the past few days has always been a weird one for me – the day I was hospitalized and diagnosed with MS with a full Wolf Moon night, for instance.  The moon messes with people’s mood and sleep – a known thing. And it is hard to sustain hope during a worldwide pandemic. The plague years – 1918’s killer flu, the bubonic plague, the years tuberculosis swept Seattle – are bitter, hard years for everyone, almost like war years. We’ve lost 425,000 people in less than a year, and many more have long term damage, and we’re still not 100 percent sure how to treat it now, though we’re doing better than we were last February. And four vaccines within a year (only two have been approved in the US, but hopefully AstraZenaca and Johnson and Johnson will be approved soon) is pretty incredible, even if our rollout has been chaotic and too sporadic as of yet. Anyway, just like the photo – there’s light at the end of the tunnel, even if the light is obscured by clouds of uncertainty.

Downy Woodpecker Watching Flicker

Learning from Women Writers

My goal to keep learning about women writers and their lives continues, this week with the second season of Dickinson, the Apple series on Emily Dickinson, reading Red Comet, the latest biography of Sylvia Plath, and also research on Stella Gibbons, a curiously undercelebrated early-twentieth century English novelist and poet, who wrote Cold Comfort Farm, the satiric novel she’s best known for, but also 22 other books, including a couple of books of poetry and many short stories and the book I’m reading now, My American. Stella was, like me,  a journalist before she was a poet and fiction writer. Many of her books are out of print and unavailable in America, but she won a bunch of awards in her day, and held literary salons into the 1970s. When I read about the lives of successful women writers, I’m always curious about their similarities – for instance, women writers like Atwood, Gluck, and Plath (and me) were all the daughters of scientists – Gibbons’ father was a doctor (“a good doctor,” his daughter would say, “but a terrible father” – he was often violent at home but charitable at work). Otto Plath was one of the leading experts on bumblebees in his time – he began his PhD at Harvard at age 40 before he met Plath’s mother, so he was a very old father – but not, by all accounts, much fun to be around. (Coincidentally, Plath’s son, Nicholas, kind of followed in his grandfather’s footsteps – became a leading expert in the Northwest on salmon and orca patterns, before taking his own life in his early forties.)  Sylvia had a kind of extreme ambition and broke 50s modes by being a woman who wanted to work and have children at the same time (gasp), while Stella Gibbons poked fun at the literary community and often refused to follow convention of what women writers were supposed to be like. Being different – standing out – and rebelling against current modes.

Camellia flowers

Dickinson, the show, besides having a really fun contemporary music thing going on in the background, revels in pointing out Emily’s early ambitions and successes, before her near complete retreat into solitude later in life. In season 2, through her best friend/sometimes girlfriend/sister-in-law Susan, she meets the editor of her local newspaper, who may – or may not – publish her poetry. She complains that she feels unable to write, like “a daisy that needs the sun” of the editor’s approval to shine on her. Another character turns to her and says, “You are not the daisy. You are the sun. Be the sun.” I thought this was very profound, flipping on its head the way that writers often feel – desperately waiting for some publisher or editor to notice us – and instead insisting that the artist is the important source of what the editor or publishers do, the creative force on which they feed. Empowering writers who suffer from the cycle of constant rejection and even worse, inattention of the literary world, seems important for our mental health, and productivity. Remember, you are not the daisy, you are the sun.

Doe in the Rain

Looking at Book Publishers During Submission Season

This brings me to something I don’t think enough writers talk about during submission season – as many first book contests open up and open submissions periods open – which is, deciding which book publishers to send your book manuscript to. They are not all going to be perfect fits. This year’s judge may be looking for certain things which you can never be. They may not be interested in your subject matter, or your point of view, or the publisher just doesn’t publish the kind of thing you write – they’re extremely conservative and publish formal verse, and you’re experimental, or they’re interested in ecological issues, and you’re interested in exploring mythology. So how do we decide?

You would think I would know more about this as I am sending out my sixth and seventh books-in-progress. There are actually fewer opportunities for people like me than you would think – there are many more opportunities for people publishing a first or second book. This time around, a little older and perhaps wiser, I’m looking for a publisher that has good distribution and more than one person running the press, maybe some press with an actual person just dedicated to publicity and marketing. I’d like a press that I could stay with for more than one book, who might be interested in helping support my career down the road, who might consider, for instance, eventually doing a Selected Work or Collected Work. Are these crazy dreams? Maybe…

The process of sending out manuscripts is so expensive that I have to be pretty selective, especially if I want to send out multiple manuscripts. Sometimes it takes a long time to hear back from presses or contests, which is frustrating. The plague year hasn’t made things easier for those in the poetry publishing business, I’m sure, or for us as writers. It’s like targeted gambling, in a way, in that you choose which presses seem most likely to welcome your style, your content, your kind of work. So, that’s the work I have to do this month and next month…

Waiting for the Vaccine

Speaking of frustration, wait times, and gambling, waiting for the vaccine as a chronically-ill, immune-suppressed person who has not been allowed to get the vaccine yet by her state is pretty terrifying and frustrating. Why people with chronic illnesses (or teachers, for that matter) haven’t been prioritized is confusing to me. I see states who are doing a much better job than Washington State is in getting their shots into people’s arms. There’s not much I can do about this except stay Zen, stay aware of any changes in policy and places I might be able to get access a vaccine, and advocate for my vulnerable group with politicians like Jay Inslee. My father has had the shot, in Ohio, and my older brother and sister in law who are health care workers in Tennessee have gotten the shot, but that is it in my family. You would expect Seattle with all its money and hospitals to be doing a much better job. Sigh. Well, I’ll let you know when anything changes. I hope you also get your vaccine sooner rather than later.

More January Birds and Blooms, A Week Under the Weather, and Zooming with Poet Friends

Tulips in sun

More January Birds and Blooms

We have snow in the forecast in the next day or so, but I wanted to highlight these beautiful tulips in a brief moment of sunlight, and a few of my bird visitors, to cheer you up during this dark and dreary time of year. January can be a tough time, especially as we wait the interminable wait for the vaccine, as we wait for the days to get a little longer and warmer, we wait for things to start to bloom.

For those of us who are writers, we are also waiting for responses from publishers and literary magazine – I have a submission I’m still waiting on from February 2019, for instance – and looking at places to send out our work as the new year begins. Something about the new year makes us feel like there’s a clean slate for our work – even if you have, say, 60 submissions sitting out there. I’m trying to get my courage up to take a look at my two manuscripts-in-progress and see if they need tweaking, which let’s face it, they almost always do.

Northern Flicker in sunbeam

A Week Under the Weather

I’m sorry to report I’ve been very under the weather the last week. Had to go back into a medical lab for the first time since last March for a bunch of lab work. Besides being sick, I’m super anemic, so I’m gonna have to figure out how to up my iron or they’re threatening to send me in for IV iron. Boo.

But this means I’ve got lots of reading done. I tried to get outside in my yard whenever we had brief moments of very chilly sunshine (high today: 39!) But mostly I’ve been reading – one book on audiobook, one out-of-print book that’s only available-barely-in print.

I did attend a Hugo House event remotely on collaboration between poets and visual artists, which made me wonder: why aren’t more publishers doing this? I would love to collaborate with more artists with my books. I am sort of attracted to eccentric, vibrant, visual art – Rene Lynch, say, Yumiko Kayukawa, and Michaela Eaves. (Two of those artist have graciously allowed me to use their art on my book covers.) I know it is more expensive, but wouldn’t it make a poetry book more dynamic – and more valuable – to have art that help stretched the boundaries of how poetry could be understood? Also, be sure to check out Hugo House’s offerings, which are very cool, and online classes from the Kahini Programs  (I’m going to take a class there with Dorianne Laux next month, after being too sick for one this weekend.)

Steller’s jay, laughing (or scolding)

Zooming with Poet Friends

I also had the chance to Zoom with a few poet friends, which really raised my spirits – we talked about literary magazines and publishing opportunities, but also laughed a lot. Hey, laughter is good for the immune system. While I miss in person visits – and it’ll probably be a few more months, realistically, before we can see each other in person – it was nice to see friends virtually and catch up. There is something incredible bolstering about being with other writers, especially when you yourself are feeling discouraged about writing. You get to share stories about hilarious mishaps and crushing disappointments, as well as celebrate our little victories.  Just like the birds in my garden, we tend to find strength in numbers. I know no one wants more Zoom in their life, but for the right reason – a great lecture, a chance to see friends – it’s worth it.

My father got his first dose of vaccine in Ohio, but my mother still hasn’t, and here in Washington, it looks like it’ll be a while for chronically ill folks – longer than I was hoping, so in the meantime, I’ll try to get well from this stomach bug. Hoping you all stay safe and warm and get your vaccines soon!

First Blooms, New Poems in Gargoyle, Hoping for Better Days Ahead

First Camellia Bloom of 2021

First Blooms of 2021

How has your week been? I got to visit (outdoors, distanced, with masks) with my little brother and sister in law, which was nice, to exchange Christmas presents late, my uncle was in the ICU with carbon monoxide poisoning, which was very worrying although he is getting better, and I’m slowly healing from my latest boxing match with a stomach superbug, which involves strong antibioics, lots of rest and fluids.

I’ve been trying to keep my mind off troubling FBI reports of white nationalist terrorist threats leading up the the inauguration, and focusing on the cheerful fact that the youngest poet ever chosen will be reading at the inauguration, and soon Trump won’t be able to hurt us anymore. One hopes. I’ve been noticing strangely unseasonable things, like the first bloom on my camellia, long before it should be blooming. We’ve been having wet, cold winter, so it’s very odd but I will take an out-of-season flower where I can.

Sylvia poses with the latest Gargoyle

New Poems in Gargoyle

I had a nice reminder that oh yes, I’m a writer and I have a life outside of worrying about covid and terrorism – a contributor’s copy of the latest issue of Gargoyle, which contained two poems, “I Worry I’m Falling Into” and “Honestly I Should Be a Lot More Paranoid.” Here’s a sneak peek at the second poem:

Hoping for Better Days Ahead

With the change in leadership for our country, a newly reinvigorated plan for getting us vaccinated (hopefully sooner rather than later,) and hopefully lessening rates of covid, I’m hoping for better days ahead in 2021 that what we’ve seen so far, which just seemed like 2020, the much worse sequel. I hope the terrorism will soon be a distant memory and the terrorists in jail for a long time. I hope covid will stop being a deadly threat to our country and the world. I don’t know if we’re heading for that hoped-for “normalcy” soon, but at least there will be…an improvement? I am cautiously optimistic.

As far as the writing stuff…I’ve been trying to work on a third manuscript, writing a poem a day in January, reading new books (My American by Stella Gibbons, currently, a re-telling of the Snow Queen in early 1900’s England,) and I’ve ordered four new books of poetry from Open Books. Not as good as going there in person and browsing myself, but at least I’ll get a chance to read some new work, some by friends, some by poets I’ve never read before. I’ve been watching film noirs on TCM in the evening – yes, I find them very relaxing, strangely, in the same way that I read murder mysteries when I’m in the hospital. The real world has seemed like a very grim noir or futuristic dystopia for the last four years and especially the last eleven months. I hope I’ll be posting sunnier posts – with sunnier news – in the near future. Until then, stay safe and take care of yourselves.

A Week to Make Us Think, Is 2021 Going to Be Worse? Attack on America from Domestic Terrorists, and Poetry as Solace

Double Pileated Woodpeckers

A Week that Made Us Think, Is 2021 Going to Be Worse?

A week that started out for me, optimistically, with Georgia wins in the Senate, and trying to keep my intentions of staying off of social media and write more. Vaccinations for coronavirus had started being rolled out, albeit slowly, as deaths went up due to Christmas travel and visits. I felt something like hope.

And then Wednesday happened. The last time I felt this communal trauma was 9/11, but this time the attack was coming from American people. Traitorous, violent, ignorant, cult-crazed – Trump’s people. He had whipped them into a frenzy and told them to March on the Capitol, telling them he’d go with them – and then went back on his room and watched the violence unfold with glee. Bookshelves with books about women in politics were smashed, the Capitol was urinated and defecated on, congresspeople feared for their lives as the crowd chanted “Where’s Nancy” and erected a noose, and murdered a policeman (who voted for Trump as it turned out) who was just doing his duty. Trump is the ugliest, stupidest and maybe the most evil cult leader I have ever seen. I don’t understand anyone who believes his lies.

All I can hope is swift repercussion for Trump, the Republicans who egged the crowd on, including Hawley and Cruz, and the people who perpetrated violence and destruction with no worries to going to prison or being shot, because they were white, because some police were on their side, giving them high fives and taking selfies. The most disgusting display of treason I have seen in my lifetime.

There are indeed two Americas – those brainwashed by Fox News and Infowars, and those who are not. How can America come together after this? I’m not sure it’s over, either. I’m worried Trump and his ilk are planning even more violence, especially on the inauguration. It’s not enough that Trump has been banned from social media (too little, too late, Facebook and Twitter) but that he needs severe punishment. He needs to be put in prison for treason. Then there was an attach on our governor’s home, where a Trump mobbed got almost into his house while he was there. We need more defense against these traitors, against domestic terrorist. There must be swift, serious, public repercussions.

So, personally, I lay in bed shaking with fear, anger, and anxiety, considered how to escape my own fucked-up country during a pandemic. The next day I woke up sick enough that I almost had to be hospitalized (and I managed to stabilize over the weekend, I might still need surgery or very serious antibiotics to get better, so think good thoughts for me.) My immune system can’t fight back against germs – I have a primary immune deficiency, among other problems – especially when I get stressed, it makes everything worse. I rested during the weekend, the doctor called in tests and antibiotics. I tried to focus on my writing (and someone else’s manuscript, as well, which helped – and it was a really fun manuscript) but I was thinking, “Oh my God: is 2021 actually going to be worse than 2020?

Triple hummingbirds

Poetry as Solace

It’s a few days later, Sunday. I have talked to my little brother, who actually lived through a coup attempt when he live in Thailand. I tried to tell myself I was safe, I drank liquids and slept at irregular hours. I’ve tried to write some poems about America, but they weren’t any good. I sent out a sample from my pandemic manuscript (yes, I’m probably not the only person who wrote a book of poems during the last year – we certainly had the time on our hands) and sent one of my other manuscripts to a publisher. I tried to take pictures of my birds. January is a cold, wet month typically, but we’ve had colder, rainier weather than usual, resulting in landslides and giant trees coming down around my neighborhood. Talk about pathetic fallacies.

So I’ve been reading poems – old poems, that I loved as a kid. Fragment 68 by H.D., sonnets by Edna St Vincent Millay. Does poetry fix anything? No. Does my furious doomscrolling or tweeting at Mike Pence or the GOP congresspeople to impeach or invoke the 25th amendment do anything? Maybe not, either. Being a poet sometimes means being an observer. Being an observer sometimes makes you feel powerless. I’m in bed right now, looking at the rain, feeling tired and anxious.  I know there will be better days ahead. Sending love and hope out to you, my friends.

Happy 2021! Off to a rainy, windy, book-filled beginning..

Starting the New Year right with typewriter and thirties-style robe (inspired by Myrna Loy in The Thin Man.)

Happy 2021! A Rainy, Windy, Book-Filled Beginning

Hello, my friends! If you’re reading this, you’ve made it safely into 2021, a year which I hope will give us more health, hope, peace, and comfort than 2020 did. Welcome!

We’ve had crazy weather here in the Seattle area, so mostly I’ve been staying inside, writing poems,  trying to read several books at a time, and looking at online classes for creative non-fiction and fiction. I made a list of the books I read last year and wanted to start out the new year getting reading (and writing) in during these days that force us to hibernate with flooding rains, high winds, and generally unpleasant to venture out into weather.

Here’s a list of the books I’m starting out with: The Last Neanderthal – Claire Cameron (with my mom), She Should Have Known – Jean Hanff Korelitz, The Red Comet – Heather Clark , The Colossus and Other Poems – Sylvia Plath (I’ve read her collected, but wanted to see how she put this book together),  and Margaret Atwood’s Dearly. A mix of genre fiction, poetry, and biography). Last year I started with a lot of Virginia Woolf and Joan Didion, so I’m taking a little easier this year (with the exception of the thousand-page Plath bio). (Here’s an article with a little bit about what I read last year during quarantine for Salon.)

Last Full Cold Moon of 2020

We also got a new printer after our old one (20 years old!) finally conked out, and I immediately printed out the two manuscripts I’ve been circulating. I also realized when I printed out my Excel spreadsheet of poems that I had written a ton of new work last year, so I’m thinking of incorporating some of it into the two manuscripts or starting a new one entirely.

I don’t make resolutions per se – but I do want to take some chances – apply for jobs I want that I might not get, stretch a little bit and apply for fellowships and grants more broadly, try to write some more personal essays and a little fiction along with my poetry, think about how to stretch my writer’s brain by taking classes outside my comfort zone. Once you have your degrees, you don’t need to stop learning – I’m trying to find opportunities that work for post-MA-and-MFA writers who perhaps want to experiment with a different genre or try an advanced class in a different subject, like, for me, folklore and mythology.  In general, I’m looking for: abundance, joy, wellness, good magic, love, friendship, beauty, and peace. Less: anxiety, stress, feelings of failure.

Glenn and I dressed up on New Year’s Eve for our stay-in celebration

Celebrating Saying Goodbye to 2020

And what are the things you want to leave behind from 2020 (besides Trump and coronavirus)? I’m going to try to spend less time on social media and the news (not original, I know) and more on things that make me happier and healthier, like playing music on the guitar, memorizing poems, and being outside when I can. I hope that after the vaccine I can also see other people again, and visit bookstores in person, but I won’t waste as much time and money on things I learned I could do without this year. I hope to keep up with old friends in other states and countries (a benefit of 2020) and remember that taking some time out once in a while, not running somewhere constantly, can be a good thing.

I lost a lot of family in the last two years (both my maternal grandparents this year, my cousin, a close Aunt and Uncle last year), so I hope to make time to let people know I care about them while I can. Making health a priority is on my list too – this year, I’ve learned that I was never being as careful as I thought, and as someone with a primary immune deficiency, I’ve learned that taking care of myself often involves more rest – and effort – than I thought.

Another thing we’re doing at the start of 2021 is putting together a box of food for the food banks (ours are seriously empty, we’ve heard, yours might be too) and a box of clothing to donate. We’re making an effort to get the house in order before Glenn starts his classes. I probably should do a box of books and magazines as well – my bookshelves and bedside areas are overflowing. I also want to continue the practice of giving even small amounts to charities, causes, and businesses I want to support, consciously – something I became aware of in 2020 was how each dollar that goes to a worthy cause or a business on the edge is a way to make the world a better place. So, yes, I’m going to try to remember to buy that book from the publisher or an indie bookstore or from the author, to subscribe to that art or literary magazine I like to keep it alive, get a membership to a museum that’s important to you, to give to environmental or other causes when I can. Write a note to someone who’s made a difference to me. I like the idea that we can help make 2021 a kinder, better year, even with small efforts – small efforts by a lot of people can do great things. Happy 2021!

Post Christmas Haze, Looking to the New Year

Sleeping Sylvia with wrappings on Boxing Day

Post-Christmas Haze, Looking to the New Year

Hope everyone who celebrated had as good a Christmas as possible. We Facetimed and Zoomed and Google-meeting-ed with family in Ohio, Tennessee, even Bainbridge Island, watched the new Wonder Woman movie and exchanged gifts. On Boxing day, as you can tell, Sylvia enjoyed playing with the boxes, and we tried to recover. I know this Christmas was hard on a lot of us, not being with loved ones, not being able to enjoy some of our traditions, and some of us mourning loved ones no longer with us. For most of us, it was not the holiday season we might have hoped for. On the side of good news, my sister in law, a nurse who works the covid floor, got her vaccine, as did many of my doctor friends from Cincinnati to Alaska. That’s a good present, right?

I had a little surprise good news on Christmas Eve (see previous post) that one of my personal essays that I published this year – the first year I’ve tried to publish personal essays, really – was chosen as one of Salon’s “Best of 2020.” “Marriage in the Time of Coronavirus” was the first that I wrote and sent out, and Salon was the second place I queried. It felt like a little encouragement from the universe to continue to try genres outside of poetry, especially as I am still trying to place my two poetry manuscripts in the new year. This is also a good time to remind you that even if you are in middle age (say, ahem, 47) it’s not too late to try out new forms and experiment a little.

Looking to the New Year

It can be hard, after the sort of year we’ve had in 2020, to make sense of it, much less process it enough to think about next year. It’s hard to make goals or set intentions knowing that even our biggest hopes might be thwarted by unforeseen intervention from a sometimes chaotic universe. Maybe we need to heal a bit before jumping into the next thing. We need to mourn losses, acknowledge hard facts, come to terms with the fact that sometimes things are out of our control.

But I’m actually feeling mildly optimistic when I look at 2021. I think a new President will not, realistically, suddenly solve all our problems – coronavirus, environmental, racial injustice, economic hardship, undoing the wrongs 45 has done to us. But it will be a little better to have someone at the control’s who not out to actively do evil. The vaccine will not come to me for months – and as someone with anaphalaxis issues, maybe not for a long time – but any amount of people at risk getting the vaccine will lower our numbers of deaths, help the overflowing hospitals, allow some amount of normalcy to return at some point.  I’m hoping for antivirals and tests for monoclonal antibodies. So there are reasonable reasons for hope – not for everything to magically become good on January 1, but for a gradual improvement to our quality of life as teachers get vaccinated so kids can get back to school, as nurses and doctors don’t have to be afraid of dying if they spend too much time with covid patients, as nursing homes might be able to receive visitors and front-line workers won’t be risking their lives selling flowers or cleaning teeth or putting out fires. I’m hoping people will prioritize the arts and reading after this tough year, that we can return to museums and concerts and readings, book release parties and casual celebrations of all sorts.

For myself, this has still been a tough year health-wise – I spent almost the whole year on antibiotics for a tricky infection, not covid – and my mental health, for the first time in a long time, took a dive. I hope that I’ve built in some life-supporting lessons that I won’t forget in 2021. I also hope, maybe it’s silly, to try for a new job, to try to make new friends, to find new opportunities. Anyway, I am no collage artist, but I think the exercise of building a vision board both relaxing and helpful in thinking about what our true goals are when we think about how we are leading our lives. Here’s mine for the coming year. I am wishing us all a healthier and happier 2021, and I hope you all achieve your dreams.

Vision Board for 2021

Happy Christmas Eve…and a little Writing Good News – a Best of 2020 Essay on Salon!

Christmas Ornaments

Happy Christmas Eve! A Little Early Christmas Present/Writing Good News for me – a Best of 2020 Essay on Salon!

Hello my friends! Happy Christmas Eve to all who celebrate.

I had a little piece of good news to celebrate today that I wanted to share, because I know I’ve talked on here about how discouraged I’ve been with my writing life lately, so here you go…

Though I have written journalism articles, tech writing, and book reviews for years, it’s only this year that I’ve attempted publishing personal essays. (Of course, I’ve been writing versions of personal essays on my blog for years, but not trying to publish them elsewhere.)

So, it was a huge deal to find out that Salon.com had chosen my essay, “Marriage in the Time of Coronavirus,” as one of the “Best of 2020” picks. It felt like a huge honor and I am truly grateful. (And this will definitely encourage me to try more personal essays in the future!) A huge thank you to Salon.com and to their editor Erin Keane!

Best of 2020 Salon – Marriage in the Time of Coronavirus

Merry Solstice/Christmas Week to All, and to All…A Good Riddance to 2020, plus Setting Intentions for 2021

Sylvia, looking nonplussed in laundry hamper, with Santa hat

Merry Christmas/Solstice Week to All Who Celebrate

It’s the solstice today, a day for retreating and rest, and for resetting. I know I could use a reset, A little bit more cheer, a little less gloom.

Maybe the vaccine and the new President will help this country reset itself. I hope so. It’s grey and groggy with rain here in Seattle, though I’ve been hoping to get a glimpse of the planetary convergence of Saturn and Jupiter, which they sometimes call “the Christmas star.”

Glenn and I with Michaela’s fox painting and white Solstice/Christmas tree

I’ve been practicing meditation exercises every day, and started a creativity journal (practicing any kind of creativity seems almost impossible right now, doesn’t it? But it is supposed to be good for depression, anxiety, and even pain management.) I did some crafting yesterday (making homemade Totoro ornaments) and writing exercises. I have still been pummeled by rejections, and my MS symptoms have been acting up – muscle spasms, fatigue and vertigo with nausea. I was in so much pain this week I actually almost cried from it (my MS isn’t always that bad, but this week, it was.) I’ve been sleeping like crap. I’m sure some of you can relate. One thing that makes this time of year so hard is we are supposed to be aggressively cheerful, but this year that seems like an unrealistic expectation. So many of us are dealing with loss – lost loved ones, lost jobs, lost health. lost opportunities. This year has seemed to take it out of the best of us. We are trying to practice our Christmastime rituals in the hopes that they might help bring a little bit of brightness.

Seeking the Light Where You Can, Saying Good Riddance to 2020

Space Needle with Christmas Tree lights

Some scenes of December Seattle that are my attempt to find the beauty and the light during the darkest time of year here – in our neighborhood, sunset comes in around 3:30 PM. So I drive around looking for different perspectives.

To the left, the Christmas tree lights on top of the Space Needle at twilight (about 4:30 PM.) Below, a few shots from the winter Lantern Lights at the Zoo, shots of sunset at the Space Needle, a Double Rainbow shot from a Floating Bride, and a Sparkly Reindeer at a Woodinville Winery.

I know we are all saying “get out and good riddance” to 2020, I try to remember the good things that came from this year, too. I spent a lot of this year sick (not with covid, just other weird stuff) so I became acquainted with weighted blankets, the Queen’s Gambit and the Mandalorian, I started a novel (still not very far,) applied for jobs in poetry publishing, and applied for grants I normally would avoid. (I even got two small grants this year, which seems miraculous.) I did a lot of bird watching. I got published in a few “dream” journals, including Poetry and Ploughshares. I tried to find as many inspiring things close to home as possible, since we couldn’t travel or do our usual about-town entertainments.

I am certainly hoping that with the vaccine, it will be a little safer to visit friends, the doctor and dentist, and generally go about the business of living. I have been sheltering in place since February since I am high risk, and here are some things I’m looking forward to at some point next year: visiting my favorite bookstores, hanging out in person with a few friends and family members (maybe still outdoors, but better than nothing,) and not feeling afraid on my short walks in nature when I see other people.

Holiday Ornaments at a local wintery

Setting Intentions for the New Year

This year, I am thinking harder than usual about setting intentions for 2021. What am I hoping for? Thinking about health, work, relationships, the whole shebang. Quality of life. Maybe a new home, a few new friends, a new publisher, a new job? Better health, and I’ve got to get a handle on managing my health problems without getting angry or resentful of my body (after all, it’s gotten me this far, if not perfectly.) Mental health wise, trying to tackle depression (mild) and anxiety (more acute) head on with all the resources I have.

If I want, say, a new place to work or walk, or to find more friends who are supportive of my writing, or to find a publisher for my next two manuscripts, how do we set that intention?

You can imagine things in your mind. You can say mantras, or pray. You can make a vision board, which involves trying your hand at collage (another creative exercise that’s really good for those of us who aren’t visual artists, necessarily.)

At any rate, set a little bit of quiet time tonight to let go of the old year, and think about what you’d like to see in the year to come.

Discouragement During the Holidays, 2020 Edition

Ornament Closeup

Discouragement, Depression, and Disappointment: Holidays 2020 Edition

I try to be honest here on this blog, and so, in the name of honesty, I’m talking about something I’m sure a lot of you are feeling this year around the holidays – discouragement, depression, and disappointment. And of course, writers live in a world of constant rejection, it seems – so they are more prone to this than others.

So, in the name of honesty, this week, I received some really crushing rejections – of book manuscripts, of jobs I applied for, and you know if you read this blog, this last month has brought its share of losses and stresses, including my grandmother. One of my publishers – New Binary Press – is closing, sadly.  I feel like the universe says been saying a lot of “no” to me lately, and not a lot of yes. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I think this year has really taken it out of me. Even thinking about the new year feels exhausting. Like, yes, it might be better, but it’s going to be a while before the vaccine gets distributed and the economy recovers and Biden can right the many wrongs of Trump’s last four nightmare years. I don’t know, as an immune-compromised person, when I’m going to feel “safe” seeing friends and family again, besides outdoors and socially distanced (which is easier here in the summer than the winter). I’ve struggled with my health this year – mostly from long, serious complications from my first two root canals ever – even without seeing people, I ended up in the hospital a couple of times, which seems unfair – like, I’m shielding, I never do anything, and my body still manages to find a way to get sick? Gah.

I’ve written a lot this year, so it hasn’t been a lack of writing. I’m even a little proud of some of this year’s accomplishments, such as they are. But searching for a part-time job, trying to get these two manuscripts I’ve been shopping around a home, even just sending out individual packet of work – all feel like they have ended in despair, not celebration. I even tried to write a novel for NaPoWriMo – I’ve never done that before – and tried for a couple of grants that were difficult and daunting ot even apply for. I’ve been trying, is what I think I’m trying to say, but not getting exactly a ringing sound of endorsement from said universe.

I think about giving up on my dream of being a writer, sometimes, honestly. This year especially. I was good at my job as a tech writing manager, I liked advertising writing and working in publishing as an acquisitions editor for technical books. I liked getting a steady paycheck and the nice feeling of people praising you for a job well done – very absent in the poetry world, you may notice, except for a chosen few. I liked feeling useful instead of useless. When I was healthier and younger, I spent almost as much time volunteering as I did working – and I was sort of a workaholic. I miss being able to “do things” for people, physically, that I used to be able to do. I resent my disability, honestly, my immune system’s weakness and the symptoms of MS – vertigo, nausea, muscle weakness at odd times – and the feeling of a shrinking life those things can bring. I love my husband, who has always been very supportive of my writing career, and I’m happy he’s embarking on his own adventure, getting his first Master’s Degree, but I wonder: what’s next for me?

Anyway, I apologize for this downbeat post. All writers feel discouraged at some point. I hope your holiday will have a lot of joy, comfort, and light in it.