Why We Can’t Be Complacent, or What is My Responsibility as a Writer

I’m not going to lie, the last couple of days have been hard on me, and this post is a little heavier because of it. I’ve had the respiratory virus that’s going around, and that triggered my MS, and I sprained my back right before Valentine’s Day, so I’ve been kind of motionless. The school shooting on Valentine’s Day killed seventeen people, mostly kids. The passing of a bill in the mostly Republican House that would dismantle the ADA – protections for disabled people – people like me. I take that as a personal attack, not only on me, but on everyone a little different. I recall that the Nazis started by quietly killing off disabled people. A country that keeps saying that disabled veterans are a priority but taking away their benefits, even the ramps for their wheelchairs, is messed up. A country’s President that says he cares about mental illness and school safety but defunds both, and besides that, changes the law so that mentally ill people can buy guns more easily. The hypocrisy, and evil, that is taking place in front of our eyes if we keep them open – how can we respond?

But you might say, beyond voting, calling our reps, or donating money to a good cause, what can we really do? The lobbies of hotel corporations who do not want to have to build ramps for wheelchairs or the NRA who does not want the politicians it gives money to to vote against, say, a seventeen year old kid with a history of abusing his girlfriend and threatening to shoot classmates the ability to buy an assault rifle, then what can we regular folks, not politicians or lobbyists or people with big money, do about it?

Well, I am a writer. I can write about the things that make me angry, afraid, sad about how our country is acting. I can be (gasp) political, even if I do not feel especially comfortable writing political things. Here are some facts about me that influence my belief system and of course how I write. I was raised in Knoxville and Cincinnati, two bastions of conservative conservatives, but feel much more at home here in the artistic and more liberal Pacific Northwest. I learned how to shoot a rifle when I was seven years old, and I owned my own gun up until about ten years ago. I was six when I was raped. I became a Christian after reading the Bible when I was 12 and it helped me recover from a life-threatening suicidal anorexia. I have been in and out of wheelchairs for about nine years, and have been diagnosed with, among other things, a rare bleeding disorder, a bunch of odd and life-threatening allergies, a horseshoe kidney, liver tumors that may or may not be cancer (still doing tests), and a bunch of brain lesions from MS.

I tell you these things for a reason. They all impact what I choose to write, and how I write about it. All these things, these truths we can choose (or choose not to) tell, affect how we see the world. Are guns dangerous? Are all Christians intolerant? Should we build government buildings that include ramps, or protect the jobs of people with different abilities?  What should we do when a woman says she was raped by a man – do we believe her, or do we demand some kind of physical evidence, even if she’s a traumatized child, say. How about domestic abusers? Should they be allowed to have guns? What is our reaction to a school shooting – do we merely add our thoughts and prayers, or do we take action to stop them? Can we encourage politicians to change the laws to stop selling weapons to children with a history of violence?

Any writer cannot help but have a point of view. It will be determined by our race, our gender, our histories, our family, our sense of place, our faith, our biases. We have a sense of what is right and wrong, what is just or unjust. We are called upon to witness, yes. But are we called upon to try to make a better world just with our writing? Can we imagine our way to a better world? Can journalists, instead of glamorizing a shooter, tell us more about the lives of the victims? Can journalists not shove cameras in the faces of recently-traumatized children? Can we write poems that lead people to think differently about current events? Maybe. I am currently laid up, but I don’t believe I’m completely powerless.

I don’t have all the answers, but I know for sure the answer isn’t to give up, to shrug our shoulders and say “that’s just the way the world is.” That’s the opposite of making anything better. Poetry, visual art, fiction, non-fiction, journalism – all of these are forms that can influence people. We have a responsibility to try to be an influence for a better world.  Let’s make a little noise in a dark universe.

The Importance of Resilience (in the Poetry Game and in Life)

Sylvia poses with one of Jenny Diski’s books

Addendum: Thanks to Rattle for featuring my poem, “Self-Portrait as Escape Artist,” today. It seems to go with the post!

You might have seen a few articles around lately on the benefits of “resilience” which at best, seems like a boring sort of virtue, and at worst, just sounds like you become an object that gets beaten up a lot.

I may be thinking of this because I’m lying in bed after a bad virus, bad weather, and a series of dental and doctor appointments have made the last couple of months an exercise in resilience. A lot of my specialists have commented on my positive attitude and resilience in the amount of recovery I’ve made since my July attack of neural lesions from MS (although my comment is usually, “what is the alternative?”) I do not want to be defined by my illness(es,) or my age, or my disability, although all these things may play a part in my life, sometimes more than I’d like. But people I know who have been through worse and come through seemingly undamaged always display that virtue – resilience.

Lately I’ve observed some things that made me think of the importance of resilience in the poetry “game.” One friend got good news that a poem from her 2005 book – she has never published another book of poetry because she said the effort was too much and she was too busy and had switched to non-fiction – was going to be on NPR. Which was great news – and shows how odd the promotion of poetry is, and how sometimes as Emily D. said, “Victory comes late.” If a poet gets a lot of sales, or prizes, or gets on NPR or the Poetry web site or the PSA with a poem or whatever right out of the gate – she’s probably more likely to give the next book a go. I was talking to another friend who was also sort of discouraged – or not so much discouraged, but not encouraged enough – by not great numbers on his first book, and this guy’s a really good poet and I encouraged him to send out another book.   But it’s more rational for poets to be discouraged than not. These two friends are being 100 percent rational. They are spending time doing things that are more rewarding to them, and that is not a bad thing.

I’m now sending out a sixth (!!) manuscript. Am I insane? Because, does the world really need another book from me? Are they clamoring for more of my previous books? I mean, some of my books sold respectably, and some poorly. I got lucky with the first one, Becoming the Villainess, I think, that it struck a chord with enough people and it got taught, which I am very grateful for. The last two books (The Robot Scientist’s Daughter and Field Guide to the End of the World) had better distribution and therefore, I think, not unrelatedly, better sales. Also both books had sales from a very supportive, close-knit sci-fi-speculative poetry community (which I am also grateful for.) But I was telling my friend I’ve kind of followed the same promotion patterns with every book, with vastly different results. And I still haven’t got job offers or prizes or grants all over the place or anything. Why do I keep going?

You might have seen a few articles around lately on the benefits of “resilience” which at best, seems like a boring sort of virtue, and at worst, just sounds like you become an object that gets beaten up a lot.

I may be thinking of this because I’m lying in bed after a bad virus, bad weather, and a series of dental and doctor appointments have made the last couple of months an exercise in resilience. A lot of my specialists have commented on my positive attitude and resilience in the amount of recovery I’ve made since my July attack of neural lesions from MS (although my comment is usually, “what is the alternative?”) I do not want to be defined by my illness(es,) or my age, or my disability, although all these things may play a part in my life, sometimes more than I’d like. But people I know who have been through worse and come through seemingly undamaged always display that virtue – resilience.

Some people are so traumatized by a rejection – in a job interview, date, or, yes, a poetry rejection – that they turn away from a thing altogether. This can kill your career, your love life, or your poetry publishing – because one of the most important things to learn to is to weather these hard times. Yes, you’ll have terrible interviews where you’ll forget everything you know, or you think you did a great job at an interview but you don’t get the offer. We have all had our hearts broken when we extended ourselves to someone we loved who either didn’t love us at all or didn’t love us well. And in the life of a poet, there are bound to be at least a few rejection slips – or these days, rejection e-mails – that will pile up over your lifetime.

How does anyone build resilience in the face of rejection? In the face of what can feel like failure? Part of it is having the courage to go and put yourself out there again – either for the job, the loved one, or the prized publisher or journal – and try again. And again. So, experience. But experience just makes some bitter or angry, frustrated or again, to avoid the pain they just quit. What makes the difference between someone who thrives through terrible circumstances and those who do not?

There are several things the experts say help children, for instance, develop resilience after traumatic events. They include old clichés,  like trying to find silver linings, finding something to learn from the negative experience, or finding a way to help others in similar circumstances. Community is mentioned. Another talks about finding humor in your situation. I’m reading a book, In Gratitude, by Jenny Diski, kind of a poster child for resilience. She was abused by both parents, sent to foster homes and institutions, then taken in by prickly 60s literary star Doris Lessing, and managed to make a literary name for herself outside of that shadow. This particular book follows her journey after being diagnosed with terminal cancer in her late sixties. Her first instinct after her diagnosis is to make a joke about “Breaking Bad,” which her doctors fail to laugh at. But humor is a very strategic response to stress. When I received my own terminal cancer diagnosis (which, now, the terminal part has been postponed indefinitely given every six-month scans of my liver) I delved into episodes of comedies – Mystery Science 3000, 30 Rock, Community, Futurama. Humor makes pain lessen – it’s scientifically proven! And there’s a famous quote “Life is a comedy for those who think, and a tragedy for those who feel.” Which seems like it might be true, or at least, we empathetic types have to shut down our empathy sometimes because feelings can overwhelm us in a negative way. I’ve had to avoid Facebook sometimes and the news, um, pretty much since the Trump election. I’m convinced those are bad for my health, both mental and physical. Facebook can feel like a place of such negativity, and I prefer to talk about poets I love and support. I admit I like a kitten picture and some good news – and of course I want to help support those I know are sick, or who have lost a loved one. But social media can be as beneficial as you let it be.

So positive things we can do to increase our resilience in the face of bad news: nature, humor, a supportive community of some sort, a willingness to look for the positive or the learning experience in a situation. I think also a certain love of risk-taking – that’s something Jenny Diski kind of encapsulates over and over in her writing and her life. (PS Her book of short fairy-tale-esque stories, The Vanishing Princess, are like what I would write if I wrote short stories, except with way more bodily functions and sex.) Am I much of a risk-taker? I think maybe I felt more adventurous when I was younger and more confident. But one good thing about getting older is letting yourself do things you might not have thought about when you were younger. I am thinking that to survive a scary diagnosis like cancer or MS – or the poetry world – you need to not be afraid to confront the difficult truths, but not let them overwhelm you. To try things even though you may (or probably will) fail, maybe repeatedly. This may boil down to: how to keep hope alive in a dark world. Please leave your thoughts on how to keep up resilience – and hope. I don’t have my formula 100 percent down yet!

New poems in Gingerbread House and Rogue Agent, New Glasses, Supermoons, and Happy February

New Poems in Gingerbread House and Rogue Agent

Thanks to Gingerbread House literary magazine for publishing my fairy tale poem, “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” with the gorgeous art by Līga Kļaviņa: https://gingerbreadhouselitmag.com/2018/01/31/east-of-sun-west-of-the-moon/

And thank you to Rogue Agent for publishing my poem “In July, in the Garden, When I Feel Like Death:” http://www.rogueagentjournal.com/jgailey-3
(They also published my poem “Self-Portrait as Radioactive Girl” in their January issue if you want to check that action out: http://www.rogueagentjournal.com/jgailey-2)

Happy February

The super-blood-blue moon is past (it was cloudy here for the eclipse, but the supermoonrise was really pretty – pics above) and now we have finally made it to February. I’m not going to lie, this was a tough January to get through – wet windy cold weather, I had a cold almost the whole month that kept me cabin-fever-y, some anemia and dental work, but February is really the beginning of spring here – a few bulbs have poked up some green shoots, the camellias that we planted last fall have little buds on them. I’m soo ready for spring! I also went crazy and got a new pair of dark pink glasses – I thought they might be too much but I like them a lot – I seem to be having a thing for pink lately, pink hair, pink glasses, pink sweaters. Valentine’s Day must be coming soon! I’ve been feeling hopeful about my new book manuscript as I’ve gotten ten (!!) poems taken from the book (some in places I’ve been trying to get into for years) since the new year began! I hope that’s a good sign, but you never know. I’ve also gotten a lot of rejections – editors have been busy!

Next month is AWP in Tampa, which I won’t be attending this year, but I hope I hear lots of bloggers report on. I’ve been stuck at home a lot lately, and when I do get out, it’s for therapy for different MS symptoms, in specialists’ offices and dentists offices way too much to feel like I have much of a “real” life going on. With this weird flu season I’ve actually had doctors tell me to avoid parties and movie theaters, so basically all fun til flu season’s over. (Flu can bring about MS crises for some reason.) I’m trying to make an effort to put a fence around my life outside of being a patient of any kind, so that I still hold on to my sense of self outside of my body’s various problems. Spending time in nature is pretty hard when it’s 40 with hail and sideways rain outside, but that’s one of my main ways to connect with the world – trees, flowers, animals, etc. At least I have my entertaining Sylvia, who has learned how to open doorknobs and pick things up off the floor with her amazing opposable thumb (See the pic at the top of the page – I swear!) I’ve been spending less time on social media, particularly Facebook, and more time with books, and started an exercise program (such as it is) on my recumbent elliptical machine which has helped my mood, I think. Still, I’m hoping for more sunbreaks and more chances to socialize (and fewer dentist offices!) in the coming months. Wishing you all a happy February!

 

What is the Lifespan of a Poetry Book, Saying Goodbye to Ursula Le Guin, and the Value of Little Girls’ Voices

What is the Lifespan of a Poetry Book?

It’s January, traditionally a time you might hear from your publisher(s), possibly with royalty checks and reports of some sales numbers from your book(s) over the last year. When you first publish a book of poetry, you probably aren’t thinking about its longevity – how long it will stay in print, how many years the book will be taught in classes, or how it will perform in a decade. You’re all about the excitement of firsts– waiting for those first reviews anxiously, setting up readings and college visits. But poetry, unlike fiction, often has a long shelf life. And some of what gives a poetry book a longer shelf life may be out of our control. In a way that’s a relief – it takes some of the pressure off of us – and in a way it’s sad, because we don’t control which books catch an audience’s attention and keep it.

Many of my friends who published books ten years ago – and have gone on to publish several subsequent books – are still having their first books taught! Sometimes because their first books got the big push of publicity in the beginning, sometimes because of word of mouth, and sometimes because poetry books can take a little while to get to their readers.  I would say that for two of my books at least, the second year of sales was better than the first! (I talk a little bit about this subject in my upcoming book, PR for Poets, from Two Sylvias Press – in the section about our expectations for our books. I think we tend to burn ourselves out trying to do too much in the beginning of a book’s lifespan, not realizing it is definitely a marathon, not a sprint.)

If you’ve been following this blog, you know the last year has been remarkably tough – and the last week, I spent more time on the phone with pharmaceutical companies trying to get insurance approval for a very expensive MS drug and financial assistance, plus long doctor and dentist appointments that have left me in bad shape – physically drained (and recent blood work indicates yep, I’m sick and anemic and need to rest and heal more than I have been.) I have been feeling guilty about not being able to go do college visits or readings in the past six months dealing with the severe MS attack that put me in the hospital and left me re-learning how to walk and talk and text. I put in several hours yesterday with a rehab specialty neurologist, who will help me learn how to walk better, deal with the MS changes to my brain wiring, and memory  problems.  But weirdly, the little books I put out into the world kept going even when I couldn’t – they don’t need a cane to travel or take time off to heal – and I’m grateful for that. People still teach my book from 2006, twelve years ago, Becoming the Villainess! When I was writing the book, I definitely did not anticipate it being taught across the country years after its publication. Hopefully they will teach my newest book, Field Guide to the End of the World, twelve years from now – just imagine! One might anticipate that the future will be slightly less apocalyptic than the current time, what with the Doomsday Clock being two minutes to midnight and anxieties about nuclear war and environmental destruction and all that. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Speaking of which, if you’re interested in teaching any of my books, please let me know what I can do to support that choice! I can Skype in or e-mail with students or even provide a little background for students if you think they might be interested. I am so grateful for instructors and professors who decide to put my work in front of their students, for people who decided to buy my book out the blue, for those who recommend my book to others or choose to review it. There is a life for each of our books that is somewhat magical, and in a way more powerful and immortal than our human bodies, and I am thankful for that.

Goodbye Ursula Le Guin. We will miss you.

Speaking of people whose books will have a long life, I am very sad to note the death this week of Ursula Le Guin, whose books I read in high school and who was an inspiration for speculative writers everywhere. She demanded – I saw her speak a couple of times, most memorably on the Oregon Coast during a giant storm where the windows were rattling with wind and thunder – that speculative writing not be put in a separate and lesser category, that women’s writing get equal considerations as men’s, and that poetry be given equal attention as fiction. She didn’t act like any of those demands were unusual or impossible. I still hope to one day gain her bravery and refusal to put with nonsense as well as her ability to imagine a better world.

Here’s Margaret Atwood’s tribute to Ursula: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/jan/24/ursula-k-le-guin-margaret-atwood-tribute

Testify

Speaking of speaking out and being brave – one difficult thing going on this week has been the testimonies of so many brave gymnasts against the doctor that had molested over 100 little girls, among them US Olympic champions, many of whom had told someone – several someones – and been ignored. One of the things that has made our society so poisonous is how we discount and ignore little girls’ voices. If a little girl ever trusts you enough to tell you someone has done something bad to her, believe her and make some noise. Make a ruckus. Make sure that bad person – usually a man, let’s be real – never has the ability to do something bad to a little girl again. I was a six-year-old rape victim who was ignored. Teach little girls that their voices matter, that they can make a difference. I am so proud of those young women giving their testimonies, in public, which is difficult, and happy that they convicted the doctor, that he won’t be able to hurt little girls ever again. But consider how many people turned a blind eye over the years that these girls raised their voices. That is the illness in our society that the women’s march, the #metoo movement, and the #timesup are all trying to draw attention to, and change.

Getting the Most from January Doldrums, Spoon River Poetry Review Surprise, the Benefits of Downtime

What are Doldrums Good For?

Ah, January Doldrums – have you caught them yet? Like the cold that’s been dragging me around for a couple of weeks, like the resolutions you might already feel you’ve let yourselves down with, like the seemingly endless cold, short days – the doldrums can be tough to avoid and sap your energy. This is the time for extra self-care, from taking vitamin C to drinking hot chocolate by a fire to streaming something uplifting or finally cracking open that book you’ve had on your bedside table for a while. See? The doldrums can be good for some things. We humans like to be busy, but something about January – either a bout of the flu, or the bad weather – forces us to slow down and be quiet. It’s a good time to refocus, to cast aside clothes that no longer fit and goals that no longer fit, to look forward to spring (mulching never seemed so optimistic.)

January surprise – Spoon River Poetry Review

Glenn took me out to the local bookstore to cheer me up, and we decided to browse the literary magazine section. Glenn picked up a copy of Spoon River Poetry Review – which I’d never seen at this particular bookstore before, at random, and said, “Jeannine – your name is in here!” Spoon River Poetry Review published a long and interesting essay on apocalyptic poetry in its latest issue, which quoted quite a bit from a guest post I did on apocalypse poetry a while ago on Trish Hopskinson’s blog. And here’s Sylvia posing fetchingly with the issue, which is really very good. It was a reminder that I don’t necessarily know and read all the good journals out there, that I don’t really know what influences people when I write (is anybody out there? Is the usual feeling I get from writing blog posts, lol.) That surprises can find us in unexpected places and unexpected ways.

Cue: The Benefits of Downtime, or Why Not to be Productive ALL the Time

So the last several days I’ve been beaten into submission by the combo of the following: the aforementioned cold, a nasty root-cap – which averted a root canal – and my first full crown – sans novocaine as usual and ahem super painful even for me and my superhero-like dental pain tolerance, a little flare up of my MS symptoms, and short dark days with weather that could charitably be described at “sullen.” This has led me to 1. watch way more movies and listen to more audiobooks than usual (as reading has been impossible with a little double-vision/migraine 1-2 punch) 2. think about things to do to help myself be as healthy as possible (hello, vitamin D gummies and new soup recipes!) and 3. be still and breathe, which is something I resist automatically unless dramatically forced into it. I’m not a yoga person, I hate meditation. When I’m stuck in hospital beds or out in nature, I’m not silent – I typically sing! (I was even singing a little in the dentist’s chair, thanks to ativan and Aimee Mann and Beyonce.) I’m extroverted and a do-er, not a be-er. It’ s the opposite of all the spiritual advice I’ve ever read – and particularly un-useful for someone with chronic illness. I have several “get-er-done” overachieving friends with chronic illnesses that I constantly have to shut my mouth to keep from advising them to “do less” when they suffer side effects from overdoing even though I hate getting that advice myself. Getting comfortable with “doing nothing” is tough. But I’ve noticed it yields insights – into destructive behavior patterns, long-held beliefs that aren’t helpful, etc – that absolutely nothing else does. Outside right now – at 1 AM -thanks steroids! – the wind is making a lot of “look at me” noise in the trees, icy hail pellets are bouncing off the deck, and I’m pretty sure it got dark at 4 PM. But see those pictures at the top of the post? Even now, in January, surely not the time of year to visit the Northwest, there is beauty to be found – brief sunlight on the Anna’s hummingbirds and mysterious early pink blooms in a local garden path. I think it’s part of the pattern of normal human behavior to tend to hibernate during the dead of winter, but for writers, this hibernation can be put to use. We may not see its immediate rewards yet. Cleaning out our closets, reading books or browsing sections of the bookstore we don’t normally see, or taking on a regimen of vegetables we don’t normally eat, or deciding which friends we need to have more of in our lives, which are really rooting for us and which are not – these things will have lasting benefits down the road. Consider downtime as not so much of an obstacle, but a necessity that will help us – just like our garden – to produce better and lasting results. If we look at it that way, we’re less likely to be resentful of a day or two spent in bed, not wasted but rewarding.

Jeannine Hall Gailey

Jeannine Hall GaileyJeannine Hall Gailey served as the second Poet Laureate of Redmond, Washington and the author of Becoming the Villainess, She Returns to the Floating World, Unexplained Fevers, The Robot Scientist’s Daughter, and winner of the Moon City Press Book Prize and SFPA’s Elgin Award, Field Guide to the End of the World.  Her latest, Flare, Corona from BOA Editions, was a finalist for the Washington State Book Award. She’s also the author of PR for Poets, a Guidebook to Publicity and Marketing. Her work has been featured on NPR’s The Writer’s Almanac, Verse Daily and The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror. Her poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, Poetry, and JAMA.

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