Waiting for Fall to Arrive, Deer and Dahlias, a Week of Recovery and Reading, and a Giveaway

Me posing post-hospital with dahlias

Waiting for Fall to Arrive

So, thank you for all your kind messages, notes, and even a few gifts this week as I recovered from my hospital trips last week. I took some selfies to prove I was indeed alive and if not totally well, at least on a path to recovery. And I wanted to show off some of my garden dahlias – they are so spectacular in August, as everything else in the garden is starting to die down.

We’ve had rain, thunderstorms, and went from 95 degrees back to the seventies. It is starting to feel a little like fall is arriving soon. I always do better in the autumn than the summer. Of course, there is a lot of stress for the parents of children off to school or college – or the kids themselves – anxiety over what will happen with coronavirus and a ton of bodies together again.

There is anxiety over the election (yes, I watched the DNC, and if you want my recommendations, watch Michelle Obama’s speech, Kamala Harris’, Elizabeth Warren address healthcare, and Joe Biden make the speech of his career (and correctly quote poetry!)

There is wildfire all up and down the West coast, and hurricanes coming in the coast. It does seem like we’ve brought on a bunch of curses all at once. Oh, and they released genetically modified mosquitoes in Florida. I’m sure nothing will go wrong, especially once they’ve sucked the blood of some meth gators. (Just kidding, Florida.) In general, it’s an anxiety-producing world. It’s an apocalypse movie that goes too long.

Glenn and I with dahlias, post-hospital

Deer and Dahlias

Meanwhile, this week brought me a lot of late-August beauty, birds, deer with fawns, the dahlias bursting into fantastic bloom, the last of the late roses. I even have a bouquet of late lavender by the bed. I’ve been slowly getting my mental energy back, and yesterday I had enough write a poem and send my book manuscripts to some new places (for me.) I’m really hoping to have a book taken soon so I can direct my energy in a positive way as the fall comes, and opportunities to be outside dwindle. It’s good to have something to worry about besides coronavirus death rates, the post office being threatened by our evil would-be dictator, my own struggle to overcome threats to my own body, my family back in Ohio, etc, etc.

I hope you’ll enjoy this gallery of photos from my home for the week: dahlias, roses, black-tailed doe and fawn, Steller’s jay, goldfinch with phlox.

Sylvia posing with Anna Maria Hong’s Fablesque

Reading and Recovery

One of the kind gifts sent to me this week was Anna Maria Hong’s new book from Tupelo Press, Fablesque. If you enjoy fairy-tale-twisted poetry, mythology, experimental poetry, prose poetry, and harrowing tales of fathers escaping North Korea, this book is for you. I very much enjoyed it, and as you can see, Sylvia cuddled up to it right away.

I tried a bit of This is How You Lose the Time War, a sci-fi novel my little brother recommended, and finished Joan Didion’s White Album, thinking about starting the Year of Magical Thinking next. I’ve also been continuing my re-read of AS Byatt’s Possession, particularly as I go to sleep. In the heat, in my fatigue, reading is a way to make my mind and body work together, pass the time while I heal, while I hide out. Not so different, really, than my reasons for reading as a young kid.

PR for Poets

A Giveaway – PR for Poets

And speaking of reading as healing and escape, I’m going to do a series of giveaways on the blog, starting with my latest book, PR for Poets. If you have a book that’s just come out or have a book that’s about to come out, and you’re stressed about how the heck you’re going to sell books in today’s, erm, climate, this book might just be helpful.

So, I’m giving away one copy of PR for Poets to someone in the US who needs it! Just leave a comment on this blog post, with your e-mail so I can contact you if you win. If you want, you can also leave the name of your new book or upcoming book, so more people can see it! I’ll pick someone next Saturday with a random number generator, and then I’ll start a giveaway for Field Guide to the End of the World.

Detours – a Week In and Out of the Hospital, Dahlias, and Feeling a Little Down While Wishing on Stars

Dinner Plate Pink Dahlia, my own garden

Detours – A Week In and Out of the Hospital, and Dahlias

Hello my friends! Since I last wrote, I had several unplanned detours into the hospital. I lost ten pounds in two days, ran 102 temperature, and endured two separate hospitals who took blood, gave me fluids and electrolyte bags, and let me tell you – stay away from hospitals during Covid if you can. The nurses were so inattentive as to seem terrified and understaffed. No visitors are allowed back – you may have heard about this – but the hospitals seem even more gloomy and terrifying than usual (and as you know, I’m something of a hospital veteran – having volunteered for five years in various wards at hospitals, including end-of-life wards, before starting, at 20, to pay way too many visits for my own health. First they were fighting a superbug – and then a complication from the drugs that treat the superbug – and then unexplained mysterious symptoms no one could explain. Not covid though! Just a reminder – there are things out there that can still make you sick enough to hospitalize you that are not covid, though covid is getting all the attention.

Anyway, spending time at the hospital is never pleasant, and was less pleasant this time than any time in recent memory, perhaps because I was also suffering and a bit out of it, which always makes bad things loom larger.

My care team – Glenn and Sylvia

When I got back from the hospital, and I was well enough to walk around my house, this pink dinner plate dahlia greeted me, as if it had been waiting for me. My care team – pictured to the left – Glenn and Sylvia – barely left my side as they made sure I drank broth and Pedialyte, and watched movies and documentaries (including a great one on Joan Didion, who, it turns out, was diagnosed with MS!)

These unplanned detours – which often seem to occur to me in August – derail my writing, my meager (during the plague, especially) life plans. But today I talked to a poet friend, my little brother, and caught up with my parents – a nice way to re-enter the human world, not the suspended animation of the medical care world. The dream (or nightmare) world of IVs and fever, of blood work and doctor exams.

Like going to and fro from the underworld, we need companions to help us re-arrive in the land of the living in one piece, recovering our spirits and reviving our bodies.

The circle of life, in typewriters

Feeling a Little Down, While Wishing on Falling Stars

Have you been watching the falling stars each night at midnight? I’ve been standing on my back porch, drawn to the red glow of Mars on the horizon, once in a while catching the quick winking of a falling star, wishing and wondering if I should even bother wishing. Is it naïve or child-like for me to even make wishes?

It’s been a tough year, definitely because of the plague-related disruptions, the tearing away of my comfort zones (oh, my bookstores!) and my support networks. Watching Americans do stupid things under a stupid president. Maybe also because I have two finished – or mostly finished – manuscripts – still looking for homes, maybe because both times I returned home from the hospital there was a rejection waiting for me (both places having taken a year to get back to me).

Field of flowers in Woodinville, sunflowers and dahlias

I won’t deny feeling down when I read about Trump’s attack on the post office (though I was a little cheered by Biden’s choice of Kamala Harris as VP, for whom I voted for Presidential candidate). I feel down when I read about coronavirus deaths, and I couldn’t help but absorb a little fear from those gray-faced nurses at the hospital, curt and perfunctory in their fear. I feel, again, betrayed by my frail body that manages to be so sick I cannot control it. I feel that while all my writer friends are celebrating triumphs, I continue to fail. I know this may be temporary – perhaps a bit of gloom traced to the IV fluid in my veins, to my still sore arms (they couldn’t get a blood draw the third time, and my IV had to go in different places three different times). How to separate the physical from the mental and emotional?

I will quote here a bit from Joan Didion’s “The White Album,” her neurologist’s advice after her diagnosis (after many tests) of MS. “Lead a simple life,” the neurologist advised. “Not that it makes any difference we know about.” Ah, MS advice hasn’t changed a bit!

I try to find the beauty in the simple things around me – birds and the flowers of late August, sunflowers and dahlias. Tonight I will go out again after midnight, to watch for meteors flashing across the sky. I will probably still make a wish.

Down Days, Up Days, Dog Days, Poetry Manuscripts Going Out into the World, and the Magic of Selkies

Hot Air Balloon, August Morning

Down Days, Up Days, Dog Days

Hello my friends. How are you holding up? Yesterday I felt okay – well enough to go out in my neighborhood and photograph dahlias – and today I was sick enough to almost go to the emergency room. This is the same infection I’ve been fighting off for a month, by the way, that keeps rearing its ugly head. It is confusing, head-spinning, frustrating – I so want to be well, even well in a coroanvirus-based world.

It reminds me that August, for me, often has its up days (represented by this hot air balloon that descended across from our house this last week first thing in the morning) and its down days (represented by the waning Grain Moon.) The Dog days of August.

Waning Full Grain Moon

If I look back at previous Augusts, I’ve been in the hospital for various problems a lot – I mean, maybe it’s the heat, the waning summer, summer germ theory – so I can’t be shocked, though I’ve never had this particular kind of superbug infection before. The Dog Days indeed.

My coping mechanisms for previous illness-filled Augusts include trying to focus on the things I can do and enjoy – watching movies (recently, loved the quirky woman-writer-centered comedy “I Used to Go Here,” the first twenty minutes of which I swear was stolen from my own first book tour experiences), listening to audiobooks, dipping into poetry, photographing things when I get the chance. Not focusing on my lack of ability to do my normal things (even in these highly abnormal time) or focusing on my lack of productivity. Not focusing on possible mortality issues (this particular illness has a 6-8 percent mortality rate, higher than coronavirus!)

Red dahlias with a sunflower background

Finding Beauty – and Sending Poetry Manuscripts Out Into the World

So yesterday I went out into my neighborhood of Woodinville and found small u-pick gardens and took pictures of dahlias and sunflowers. I even took a picture in one small garden, because I want to be reminded that I live in a world surrounded by beauty.

Similarly, I’ve been taking a partial try at The Sealey Challenge (because not every day is an “up” day where I feel well enough to read, I’m not reading a poetry book every single day in August, which is the challenge, but I’m trying to pick up a book on the days when I can.) And one thing about reading more poetry, and reading widely, from lots of publishers, is being introduced to all types of writing, and voices, and you notice covers and fonts, and you start thinking about how what you read influences your own work, and how your voice fit with with other voices of your time.

Glenn and I in a u-pick garden in Woodinville, with dahlias and sunflowers

So how do we get the bravery, the gumption, to send out our own voices, our hard work, out into the world, knowing that most of the time we will be rejected despite the $25 fee, with barely a note, that even when our books come out, how much attention will they receive? Probably very little, probably not showered with awards or reviewed in the New York Times (like the writer in “I Used to Go Here” is – maybe the least realistic thing in the movie.) But we do it anyway.

Even on days that we don’t feel our best, when we don’t feel optimistic in the future at all, we take the chance, we make the effort.

Why do I take pictures of flowers? Because I want evidence of something, memories, visible ghosts. Maybe books are something similar. Our own living ghost pages, out there in the universe.

Baby Seal

The Magic of Selkies – Thanks to Terri Windling

A big thank you to Terri Windling for featuring my poem, “The Selkie Wife’s Daughter,” on her wonderful blog, Myth and Moor. That poem, by the way, was written in Sapphic lyrics, a form I love but don’t write in very often.

There is something magical about seals, isn’t there? I’ve always thought so. Otters and seals. The closest I ever live to them was in Port Townsend. I love foxes too, more of a woodsy animal. If I was a shape-shifter, I’d definitely choose one of those forms. Yes, it’s something I’ve given thought to. Maybe we need a little magical thinking right now. Hell, if not in the middle of a pandemic, when can we?

Finding Inspiration Where You Need It, Looming Messages from the Outside World

Typewriter in an Apple Tree

Finding Inspiration Where You Need It

Have you been finding yourself, amidst the stress of the news reports and quarantine and coronavirus and mask debates, exhausted, unable to even think about writing or even worse, sending out your writing? Because I have been right there with you this week, my friend. I have been depressed, anxious. I woke up crying one morning. I’ve been sick – nothing new, but this bug has been tough to shake, and the treatment for it is chock-full of unpleasant side effects. Not to complain – I’ve probably been sicker – but it has just been one of those weeks. And on Facebook, friends posting about surgeries, chemo, losing loved ones – it should put things in perspective, but it just feels like misery overload.

In isolation, in pain, in illness, in loss, in misery – are we capable of finding the inspiration where we need it?

This is why I took this incongruous picture of the typewriter in the apple tree – are we looking for the unexpected to jar us awake?

My back porch, in bloom: view from my bedroom

Where do you find inspiration? I often look to nature – though I’m not often thought of as a nature poet. Here’s the view from my bedroom, complete with birdfeeders, phlox, roses, sunflowers, dahlias, and probably some other flowers.

I sometimes find inspiration in conversations with friends and family, sometimes from books, sometimes from music or television. I also consider these forms of consolation, in times of need. Our routine and regular support systems have been disrupted. Previous sources of inspiration: going to galleries or museums, travel, concerts, get-togethers with friends – if you are immune compromised like me or someone in your family is, seem as infeasible as walks on the moon. So you, like me, may spend more time gardening, reading, watching movies, on the phone with your family and friends. I spend more time noticing small changes in the season, the different birds who visit with us. Photography for me is a way of noticing. This summer has been pretty mild, so I spend time sitting on my back porch, jut observing, watching bees on lavender, woodpeckers bobbing, hummingbirds buzzing around each other, the occasional hot air balloon. Those who are lucky enough to live close to water drive to the ocean, or the lake, some drive to the mountains. I’ve stayed close to home by necessity, but my home has plenty of opportunity for discover – a  tiny nanobunny when I go to water the lavender plants, an immature finch on the sunflowers.

Anna’s Hummingbird, seated

Messages from the Outside World Loom Larger

Don’t messages from the outside world loom larger these days? A Zoom meeting with a doctor, an e-mail rejection in your in-box, real-life physical mail? Though our current evil president and his goons are trying to throttle the post office right when most of us are relying on it more than usual, a surprise in the mail – or a surprise package from a loved one – can delight us more than usual. In Washington State, we even vote my mail. (And no, we do not have record problems with fraud.)

These little messages from the outside world can hold more portent than they might have a few months ago. This can mean a rejection has more impact, or that a postcard can carry more weight. I’m trying to avoid using Facebook (because of their ethical decisions and misinformation problems, along with thinking it might be detrimental for mental health in a way Instagram and Twitter are not) so I end up spending more time in the physical world.  Physical objects like books and magazines get more attention, and I want them to be beautiful and encouraging. I being in spring-scented sweet peas in a jar, cut dahlias in cases around the house, the occasional rose in a bud case. There is some mythology that hummingbirds were messengers from the gods. If so, I hope they bring good news. We could use it.

I’m also trying to support the businesses I love (and want to survive) with e-commerce as much as possible, whether that’s buying a dress or a book or a box of produce from my local farmer’s stands (here’s a link to 21 Acres, my favorite in  Woodinville, and Tonnemaker Farm stand, which also has a beautiful u-pick garden). I also want to support visual artists and other writers when I can. I’m not wealthy, but I feel like coughing up a few dollars for a literary magazine subscription or someone’s new book might help keep artists and publishers alive, and maybe deliver that hopeful or positive note that someone might need.

Because I am a writer with two poetry manuscripts circulating, waiting for good news on either one is a kind of excruciating hobby. I agonize over title and organization, whether to include new poems, whether to take out old ones. I feel like putting time towards writing and revising is at least a positive place to put some of my frustrated, homebound energies. I wish I had a big “yes” from the universe right now, from a dream publisher. I hope I get over this superbug soon so I can get a little way back to “normal.”

I hope you have good news in the e-mail inbox or the post office too. I hope your messengers from the universe will be kind.