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

Pumpkins at McMurtrey’s Farm

A Book Announcement!!

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

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

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

Glenn and I at the pumpkin farm

Good and Bad Art Friends

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

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

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

Field of sunflowers

A New Poem in Image Journal

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

Rose Petals Burned, Image Journal

Kubota Gardens, fall color

A Rough Week with Fall Colors

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

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

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

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

Me with fallen leaves

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

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

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

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

Sylvia poses with my Open Books haul plus The Equivalents

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

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

Pumpkins on a fence at dusk, Woodinville

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

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

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

From Adrienne Rich, in the book:

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

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

Mt Rainier at Sunset, October

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

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

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

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

Me with pumpkins and barn

Poems This Week in The Rumpus and Allium

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

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

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

A field of Sunflowers in Woodinville

Trying to Bring Joy to Fall Days

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

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

Hummer perched on planter

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

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

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

Late multi-colored sunflowers

Fall Arrives Early in Seattle

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

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

A field of cosmos in Woodinville – late blooms

Applying for a Big Grant

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

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

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

Visiting with a Nephew

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

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

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

Considering Changes in the Air

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

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

Peach flower field

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

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

Anyway, change isn’t always a bad thing.

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

Sunset from the ferry, leaving the San Juan Islands behind

The End of the Residency

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

Re-Entry Can Be Tough

Underwater harbor seal

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

Prepping for Surgery and Our Welcome Committee

Glenn and I at Cattle Point, American Camp

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

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