Signs of Spring in a Time of Turmoil, Accessibility and Travel, and Reimagining Your Creative Process

Pink Rhododendrons, Kirkland

Signs of Spring in a Time of Turmoil

There are some signs of spring in the neighborhoods around us, if not quite in my own garden yet – flowers starting to bloom, despite a heavy cold rain that keeps pushing us indoors here in the Pacific Northwest. I am still not able to stay in my home much as the house renovations continue on, slowly, and the house is full of fumes, but I keep trying – going to tidy up, spend time petting and combing the cats, do laundry, rearrange and vacuum things.

The politics of the country do not seem to have improved in the last week, but the shift to Daylight Savings Time better matches my sleep patterns, and longer days seem to help my mood. I am trying to find the joy in small things that I can. I visited a cat cafe in Kirkland, walked along the water (despite cold wind,) visited the dermatologist (no skin cancer, yay, but the doctor was puzzled by apparent allergic reactions to almost nothings that were pretty severe) after my father had melanoma surgery this week (he is recovering just fine.) Self-care during this time feels off. I keep dreaming about packing and repacking suitcases – on the titanic, on a doomed flight, before earthquakes – signaling my body is feeling the stress. So, this week I have some major dental work I’m nervous about – two front crowns, no novocaine, as usual. I hope my body can handle it without major MS flareups. In the meantime, I am waiting for flowers. I hope AWP will be good, despite my usual trepidation about flying (made worse by recent airplane mishaps) and finding a way to navigate LA as a disabled person.

First cherry blossoms, Kirkland

Disability and Travel – Is It Feasible?

So let’s talk about accessibility and travel. Selma Blair was on the cover of Travel & Leisure this month, talking about the difficulties of traveling with MS, which is a strange disease that acts up under stress, illness, and change in routine – which travel pretty much comes with. She is a celebrity with money, and still runs into many challenges. As I have been staying in hotels around the town, I have found “accessible” rooms mean one thing in one hotel, and a completely different thing in another. I booked an accessible room in one hotel, only to find it was “hearing-impaired accessible,” not wheelchair accessible. I booked a different accessible room in another hotel, only to find it had a deep tub/shower combo – I think that would be considered inaccessible to almost anyone, not just me, who was short or didn’t have great balance. So this week I spent a lot of time explaining my disability over the phone and at hotel desks, only to be met by mostly blank stares by people who have never had to deal with this kind of difficulty in their lives. (I have mentioned that valets who tend to be young men are the most empathetic – usually because they’ve had action-oriented accidents that rendered them immobile for a period of time – a broken leg, arm, back, or collarbone from football, or driving, or skiing.) But it was a reminder that the world really does not design for accessibility – even in hotels that tout accessibility and accessible rooms may not have any idea what that means. I’m not even in a wheelchair,  as a reminder – I use a cane but have balance problems that make tubs and stairs difficult. If I was in a wheelchair, some minor inconveniences for me might render a trip impossible. And what about food allergies? Well, some restaurants could easily accommodate no wheat – some could not. Other allergies – for me, garlic, citrus, and tomatoes – were harder to avoid. Some hotels don’t have room service for some meals, and when they do, there are limited options. We can wish for a world that better accommodated disability and food allergies – but I’ve made sure to mention to hotel managers where things are good and where things are not so good, hopefully to help others. (One “accessible shower” had a crazy slippery floor, for instance, and not big enough for a bench.) I have been wanting to go on a big adventure, but doing a little travel around my own neighborhood has shown me the pitfalls of expecting things to be easy for disability, food allergies, etc.

Sunset

Reimagining Your Creative Process

As I’ve been doing this, I’ve been hacking around at my latest book manuscript to get it ready to send out to publishers. I’m trying to integrate the frustrations with politics and disability and being a woman in a non-woman-friendly universe into it without making it unfun to read. I’m trying to come up with working metaphors for the barriers in my life that could be universal, if that makes sense. I’m trying to re-think the way I write a poem, what a poem might look or sound like, for me. Something beyond growing into your own voice, but creating your own vehicles, vessels, forms. I haven’t had much mental space for this, but I feel it is important even in the midst of chaos and uncertainty to continue trying to create. The process of trying to explain my disability over the last few weeks to people over and over triggered a poem about monsterism and disability, the way that the world will make you feel monstrous for not fitting into norms. Not to mention a government that’s suppressing free speech, disappearing pictures of women in government and even pictures of the Enola Gay (because it has the word “gay” in it – these guys are not the sharpest tools in the shed, either.) How do we reshape our creative process in a country that doesn’t even want you to exist, that wants to erase your existence – because you’re a woman who’s not a trad wife, gay, an immigrant, disabled, or even just inconvenient to their narrative? Art is one way to keep people’s ears and eyes open to the cognitive dissonance in the news and in the mouths of politicians. Americans have lost science literacy, math skills, reading skills, over the past few years, so when they encounter lies, how will they even know the difference? Don’t expect journalism to save us – it can be muzzled too easily, see: Gulf of Mexico, Ukraine – but maybe art can. Subversion, irony, the art of observation even when you’re told something doesn’t exist or isn’t there – can help keep reality more survivable for everyone during an oppressive regime. I hope you are surviving and even thriving, that you can find your place to make art and keep your eyes clear.

New Poems at Villain Era, Losing a Writer Friend, A Few Bright Days, and America, the Ukraine, and Appeasing Bullies

New Poems Up at the Villain Era

Charles Jensen has a new online lit mag called Villain Era, and since there’s never been a better time to be in your villain(ess) era, I have two poems up at the venue. Check them out at this link! Sneak peek of one of the poems below.

A Few Bright Days of False Spring

We had a few bright days of “false spring” here during the last week while Glenn painted the bedroom and bathroom (saving us literally thousands of dollars) and here we are out in a well-deserved break at J. Bookwalter’s and Willows Lodge.

We’re still immersed in renovation dust, paint, and unfinished electrical and plumbing. This kind of project is not for the faint of heart. Making a house accessible in incredibly time-consuming and expensive – it would be so much better if homes were designed with accessibility in mind. Chaos is not good for me – I keep having asthma attacks and allergic reactions. Part of this might be other stress related to the news (see: later in this blog post) and just bad news in general. I am ready for more hope and light and good news and health.

Losing a Writer Friend and Honoring Her Voice

My friend and fellow Pacific MFA alum Susan DeFreitas died after a year-long struggle with cancer just a few days ago. After losing several friends in the first few months of 2025, this one hit me hard, especially as her story, described in the essay below, echoes so much of my own experience – not being able to have kids, going back to an MFA at 32 (the same age as me!), expecting to be read earlier and more than she was. Women writers with ambition tend to be talked down to, often discouraged, as students, as emerging writer, even by family and friends, and even more so as their careers advance and as they age. I hope that the essay encourages you to read more of Susan’s work.

Fighting to Be Heard as an Emerging Woman Writer

Sunflowers, blue sky

America and the Ukraine

I was so upset by what Trump/Vance did to Zelensky this week (the shameful Putin-groveling, bullying, the gaslighting) that I have to reiterate my position here and say I stand firmly with Ukraine, and I know I am not the only American to do so. Trump/Vance have sided with Putin and North Korea against all of our allies, including most of Europe – they are on the side of evil, not good. What can we do about it?

Again, we can give to Ukrainian charities, we can write to our representatives and tell them to speak up on Ukraine’s behalf. Have people forgotten what happens when you try to appease a dictator? Appeasement never works. See: WWII, Hitler.

So I am praying for the people of the Ukraine in their brave fight against Putin. And I will encourage Americans to stand up against the despot in charge of our government. Protest, speak out, vote with your dollars. Do not shut up. Do not give in. Do not pretend everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.

I wish all of you a safe and happy week ahead, but also a week of letting your friends know how much they mean to you, not letting discouragement get in the way of doing good work both in art and life.

Supporting Each Other in Difficult Times, and Recommendations for Young Poetry Fans

Charlotte in a basket

Supporting Each Other in Difficult Times

Hello there, readers! I hope you are all doing as well as possible. Last week, as you might have noticed, I was feeling somewhat distressed. But this week, my perspective is a bit changed, mostly by the interactions I’ve had with other people, old friends, new friends, and even almost-strangers. Charlotte is a basket is a picture I hope will give you some comfort, too.

I had a long talk with a super intelligent writer a little older than myself, full of incredible stories and incredible ambition. I got in touch with two old friends who are both going through hard times through no fault of their own, but it was so good to hear from them. All of these peoples’ stories put my own worries in perspective, and the news in perspective as well.

The conversations have also made me think about my own goals in writing. Should I only be writing poetry? Should I try memoir, or fiction, which would surely get bigger audiences? I had a dream that was such a fully realized YA novel that I actually wrote down the details, though as to next steps, I’m a big baffled.

But though this week was filled with the chaos of a house full of cardboard and plastic and shuttling between the house and a hotel, and then having an allergic reaction to the hotel food (after specifically telling them I was allergic to wheat, sigh.) I’ve had a minor head cold. The news, I’m sorry to say, has not gotten any better, but my feeling about the ability to make a difference is perhaps a bit more bolstered? The courts – and even stranger, popular opinion – may change the course of Trump and Musk’s destructive ideas. Perhaps connecting with others is more important than I imagined. Getting out of your own head. Seeing that there may be others who need your help.

Recommendations for Young Poetry Fans

Someone wrote me a question about what her young daughter should read, if she enjoys my poetry, but couldn’t find other poetry like mine. I thought hard about the poets that had inspired and influenced me when I was a young girl, although I was certainly a somewhat unusual reader – Edna St. Vincent Millay, Emily Dickinson, Carl Sandburg, E.E. Cummings, and Louis Simpson as a ten year old. I was reading my mom’s college poetry textbooks and encountering T.S. Eliot and Yeats and Robert Frost. In college, definitely inspired by Rita Dove, Louise Gluck, Margaret Atwood, and of course, Sylvia Plath. If my own work seems somewhat unusual, it could be because it was the kind of poetry I wanted to read and couldn’t find – funny and pop culture-y and dark and not afraid. Of course, besides poetry, I was very influenced by mythology and fairy tales, prose like A.S. Byatt and Margaret Atwood and Terri Windling’s collection “The Armless Maiden” and later on, Kelly Link. I read a lot of male science fiction writers as a kid, from Isaac Asimov to Ray Bradbury, but also read female science fiction writers, like Andre Norton and Anne McCaffrey and Madeleine L’Engle. What recommendations would I make to a young person today? There are so many more young women writing and getting published than when I was a kid.  Who would you recommend?

Happy Valentine’s Day But Did You Notice We’re All in Hell?, Lesley Wheeler’s Newest Book Mycocosmic, the Full Snow Moon

Glenn and me on Valentine’s Day

Happy Valentine’s Day (But Did You Notice We’re All in Hell?)

Has it been Valentine’s Day already? I have to admit I was not feeling very romantic this particular Valentine’s Day, what with the world burning down all around us, and how we must live not only with it, but act against it.

I posted this poem on Valentine’s Day, originally published in Poets and Artists Magazine and part of my new manuscript. I hope you enjoy it.

Lesley Wheeler’s New Book, Mycocosmic, from Tupelo Press

A book that you should own immediately—I promise, it will make you feel better, even as it tears itself apart—is Lesley Wheeler’s Mycocosmic, which explores the family, the world, and the body in metaphors of mushroom, is her most direct and moving piece yet. I loved her fiction, Unbecoming, and I think this book will actually finally get her into the light where she belongs. Some of the poems, like “Sex Talk” and “Smart” (the ultimate poem for all smart girls, I mean it should be an anthem.)

Mycocosmic with mushrooms

Just a fragment from “Map Projections:”

When my father died,
I said to my sister
I’m sorry I let
him do that to you.

My sister said: No,
I wasn’t even on his radar. 
He didn’t think I 
was worth it.
He aimed for you. 

The whole book, like the mycological systems it describes, has an underpoem that runs underneath the individual poems. It’s such a unique and moving book, whimsical and witty. It’s ecological in a way that makes you believe again in the superpowers of nature and feminist in a way that makes you examine your own behaviors and shames. It’s hard to explain, but you should get yourself a copy. Lesley is the kind of writer that you must respect, one whose work ethic puts others to shame, and the kind of friend who tells you that you can get through anything. Not just a great writer, but an exemplary kind of human.

Full Snow Moon

An ominous full snow moon

Meanwhile, the bath renovation drags on and on, costing more and more money, and keeping me unsettled and unhomed while waiting for the dust and toxins to abate. I am a creature of routine—maybe that is more because of my chronic illness and disability than my actual personality, which I might describe as more adventurous and outgoing. But right now, I’m hardly able to get any work done, although I have written three poems in the last week and had a poetry acceptance at a new journal that I think is very promising. My plans for Ireland and France aren’t exactly on the back burner, but I’m taking my time with research.

In my own neighborhood, I’m looking forward to a new reading series at J. Bookwalter’s winery, maybe widening my circle of friends in a time when it seems enemies and paranoia are everywhere. It pays to be kind, always, but you know, smart and kind. Wise as serpents, as the prophet said, innocent as doves.

Valentine’s picture in which I look like I might hit someone with a lot of tulips

In case you’re not already doing this, update your driver’s license, your passport, get a passport if you don’t have one, keep a copy of your passport (card sized) in your wallet. Keep your papers in a safe at home—your birth certificate, your social security card. Show your papers is a new American pastime for the new Nazi regime. Yes, urge your representatives to actively work against prejudice, sexism, destruction of American constitutional rights, the environment, protections from corporate corruption. But also, protect yourself. As the seventies song For What It’s Worth tells us…well, just listen to the song. I have had bad dreams almost every night since Trump’s re-election, some about the destruction of women’s rights, some about the destruction of the American economy, some about the extreme isolationism. Oh, and bird flu. Anyone who tells you it’s not that bad is not paying enough attention.  Cassandra is rarely listened to, but remember, she was always right.

A grim time, indeed, my friends, but don’t lose hope. Joy and hope can radiate a little light, and who knows who needs that light right now?

Snow Snow Snow, and Part II of a Desert Residency in a Grim Time Plus Writing Insecurity

Snow in Woodinville

Snow Snow Snow (Plus Demo Updates and Thoughts of Writing Insecurity)

We have been socked in with snow and cold, while the house is being demo’d and we’re a bit discombobulated, shuttling here and there while we can’t stay in our home while some of the work is done. I’ve also been sick (tested for covid, flu, and strep, all negative) and heard the details of the changes to the NEA grant requirements and the destruction of the government at the hands of Trump/Elon. I have been reading about writers writing under truly terrible governments – the Nazis, terrible Roman emperors etc – and studying exactly how they tried to write about their lives and their times. Ovid, of course, and Catallus, but also existenialist poets from France. I wrote quite a bit about Ovid in my first book, Becoming the Villainess because at that time I felt the echoes of the violence and helplessness in my own life. I had no idea what was ahead for my country. I had so much optimism, then, that things would get better for women. Unfortunately, that has not been the case. Like this camellia in my yard that bloomed before our week of snow, I had unreasonable optimism, it seems.

Glenn and I with mural at Desert Rat residency

Part II of a Desert Writing Residency in a Grim Time (and Writing Insecurity)

See how warm and sunny we look! Did we see the snow coming in our weeks ahead? The residency helped me clear my head for a bit about some things that have been bothering me in the writing world, but my writing insecurities have been brought up again. A friend (a really good writer) told me that last year she had no acceptances, only rejections. I told her my last year had not been much better. I read through some of my earlier work (a friend was asking about a previous book) and I felt that my earlier work was better than what I’m writing now. Maybe just different, but it felt like the strength, energy, and optimism in the poetry (and in my own body) has waned. I am feeling less and less wanted in the writing world, like my voice is no longer important or unique or anything. Is this common after a rough year of rejections and not many encouragements?

Westerm Bluebird

I was very lucky to have this five days in the desert, the sunshine and higher than freezing temperatures, and to catch up with Jeff Walt, the wonderful poet and person responsible for the Desert Rat Residency. I was lucky to see bluebirds and hummingbirds, finches and sparrows. No roadrunners, but ospreys, pelicans, and other sea birds. I tried to focus on this new manuscript, but my discouragement is strong – and the feeling that the manuscript is as finished as it’s going to get is strong as well.

I am also, I have mentioned on this blog, feeling, well, older, less listened-to, as louder influences take over social media and the poetry world, after many years of dues-paying and free labor, maybe a tiny bit more bitter than I should. If I want to do good in the writing world, I need to free myself from that. And I want to do some good. It might be the only thing I can do in the time, with this particularly oppressive government, that might last longer than a bad presidency. After all, we are still reading Ovid, but few people remember Emperor Augustus with much affection. Writers making art can last longer than a government that oppresses. We can make a difference. I have to keep believing this. My friend Jeff is making a difference by offering a place for writers (even disabled ones!) to write. My friend who received a year of rejection will surely publish her work to great acclaim, because it is funny and smart and deserved attention. My younger writer friends deserve support and encouragement. Perhaps this is how we create our sunshine in the middle of snow, in a Narnia where it is always winter and never Christmas.

Hummingbird with disco ball

I think about writers who lived in far harsher environments than I do, with far less encouragement. I owe it to them to keep going. Many women writers I admire did not live to be my age, and so I shouldn’t just take it as an impediment, but perhaps an opportunity to write from the perspective of an over-fifty woman. I have survived this long for a reason, when some of my friends have not. I am still here, for now, writing on a blog I’m not sure anyone reads in a time where writing at all seems perilous, even foolish. I remember Sappho’s poetry fragments being pulled recently from a trash pile, poems that have survived across the years, against the odds. Let’s be this hummingbird with a disco ball – unexpected, maybe unasked for, but extraordinary. Oh, I should also say I finally got the stickers for my Washington State Book Award finalist – and here’s a picture. Wishing you all a week filled with unexpected wonders.