Visiting with Seattle Poets, Welcome September, and Planning for March/April Next Year and Thinking about Post-Covid Book Launches and Book Marketing (In an Uncertain World)

Peppermint stripe roses

Welcome September!

I don’t know about you guys, but I was ready for September. I’m not a big summer girl (hey, I’m allergic to the sun and heat just flattens folks with MS), even though this summer was less brutal than last year’s, and I’m ready for cooler air, clear skies, the pumpkin farm opening down the street…and more time reading and writing.

In the last few days of August, I got a chance to see a few friends, and, oh yes, get three crowns with the last of my dental coverage – and was then told I needed a root canal under one of the crowns, oops. Then I spent a few days recuperating, mostly in my garden.

The last of our flowers – dahlias, roses, zinnias, and sunflowers – are starting to fade, and our farmer’s markets are full of corn and tomatoes, waiting for the first pumpkins and apples to come in. Here are a few pictures of September at the JB Family Growers Lavender and Flower Farm down the street.

Tonight, we visited and for the first time, I was hit by the smell of 10,000 lavender plants. It was a wonderful late summer/almost fall moment.

Me and Martha Silano on my deck

Visiting with Seattle Poets

Got a chance to visit with wonderful Seattle poet Martha Silano this week, catching up, trying out some new local Woodinville wines, and talking writing talk, which is always encouraging for me. I’m definitely taking a few more chances to socialize more, because two and a half (plus) years of living in my covid isolation bubble has been tough.

Martha and I both published books with Steel Toe Books way back in 2006 (her second and my first), so we’ve actually known each other for a long time. But sometimes it’s hard to figure out how to stay in touch with friends who live on the other side of town (or even on the other side of the water, or the country) especially during a pandemic. I’m so glad we had a few hours to catch up on a beautiful day!

Immature hummingbird with red sunflowers in foreground

Planning for March/April or, How to Start Getting Over the Pandemic and Learn to Promote Your New Book (Again)

Trying to plan ahead for Seattle’s AWP and my next book’s launch is a little tricky. I’m trying to plan to 1. stay healthy and 2. try to follow some of my own advice from PR for Poets, which includes starting early in terms of thinking about a book launch – like six months ahead of time – which is, almost, now. Yikes! Am I ready?

I don’t have cover art yet. I do have blurbs. I decided not to apply for a pretty punishing fellowship this year and wait ’til next year. I need to order new business cards; the last time I made business cards, I had a different e-mail address, which means it’s been at least a few years. Did the pandemic make us all a little unaware of the passage of time? I know I’m going through my closet saying, I literally have a wardrobe of yoga pants and cardigans, easy dresses, and slippers, after two and a half years of a pandemic. I’m sure I’m not the only one considering AWP and thinking: do I even have appropriate shoes for that?

Pileated Woodpecker

Another reality: this is the oldest I have ever been, and so maybe book promotion works very differently now than it did even five years ago. If covid changed workplace dynamics, it probably also changed book marketing and publishing. I will probably have to learn some new skill sets for this book launch.

But I’ll probably do some things I always do—send out postcards, e-mail friends and families (sorry, you’ve been warned in advance) when the book comes out, try to set up a fun book launch party around Woodinville (probably at the winery I’m doing the book club at, J. Bookwalters) and once again, make my health a priority for the months leading up to AWP and the official book launch.

I went to AWP in California—was that 2017 or 18? —while skipping out on liver cancer chemo thinking I had no chance of making past six months. (Fortunately, that doctor – and a few others – were wrong, and waiting on chemo and going for a third opinion ended up saving me a lot of pain and sorrow.) I went to AWP the last few times (well, the times before covid) with a broken arm, recovering from pneumonia, and dealing with MS flares, so it’s not like I don’t have a reason to be a little cautious. Having AWP in town does make it easier, and safer—after all, if something happens, I can retreat home without a plane flight and my medications and doctors will be easily available. But I’m hoping my body doesn’t choose that week in March to stage a revolt. I will act accordingly in terms of taking care of myself as best I can.

The two pictures of very different birds—the gigantic, dinosaur-esque pileated woodpecker with its bright head, and the tiny, fairy-like immature hummingbird—represent something about literature and book promotion that’s very true—it’s not always the biggest and brightest writer, flower, or bird that wins the evolutionary race—sometimes it’s the smallest, most camouflaged and flexible. My best assets as a writer now at 49 are different than they were at 32. My poems are different, my experience of the world, and my outlook. So, I guess it makes sense that I’m a little nervous this time around, sensing that my book—and my person—have been changed, that I’m a little less certain, less confident but quicker to shift gears and adapt. In most fairy tales and myths, the protagonist is often changed against his or her will be their journey—sometimes literally into birds or cats or white deer, sometimes by their actions, like Gretel’s quick dispatch of the witch that threatened her. No one comes out unscathed from their magical journeys, even if they disappear into the haze of a happy ending.

It’s the external world around us that changes as much as the internal—after all, in the last few years, we had an unsuccessful coup, we have a reversal of rights for women, we have an ex-President under scrutiny for treason and espionage, we have a once-every-hundred years pandemic that’s still happening. If we weren’t a little transformed by that, we wouldn’t be human. And our own personal dramas can only feel magnified by the constant barrage of war, destruction, and devastation in the news. It’s been a high stress time for me, and for the world, and probably for you, too. So, I guess we will have to forgive ourselves for not having exactly the right outfit, or remembering how to do small talk with strangers, or even trying to think about something relatively unimportant like “how do I do my best for this next poetry book to launch it into the world?”