33º ~ bright sun beginning to filter through the trees behind my left shoulder as morning enters its second hour ~ the tiniest of breezes that requires a moment of concentrated watching to discover

Next week classes begin for me, and this week has been filled with preparation.  I’m teaching a new class this time around: Intro to Poetry, and online at that.  So, my comp and world lit classes nearly prepped themselves after years and years of fine tuning.  Intro to Poetry, that’s a different story.  Lots of thinking and hesitation going on at the moment, and I have to remind myself that this will be a trial run, that I’ll find things in my plan that work and things that don’t, that I must be kind to myself about all of this.  I am proud, however, that I’ve still managed to do something with poetry every day and that I’m not quite as anxious as I’ve been in semesters past during this week of ramping up.

All that leads to today’s post, the title of which comes from Joshua Robbins’ post on Little Epic Against Oblivion today.  Josh and I have become poetry friends over the last year or so, ever since he published one of my poems in GRIST (a great journal…go out and get you a copy!).  I read LEAO religiously because the posts are honest and helpful, because the posts often include individual poems with comments that lead me to new poets or remind me of old favorites, and because I feel a kinship there.  Recently, because J. and I are going through the same contest submission emotions, I sent J. a gift in the mail, and he writes about that today, along with other gifts from the “online poetry communal pool.”

Some writers are lucky to live in major metropolitan areas or cities with lively MFA/PhD readings.  Others of us live in smaller cities/towns/rural areas and we have to make a writing life happen there if we want one at all.  I must admit that Little Rock has come a long way in hosting readings lately; however, when I first moved here I felt the absence of that lively presence (which could have been more my fault than the city’s).  Regardless, I began this blog as a place to explore the life of writing, to talk honestly about the emotions of rejection and acceptance, and to try and find a community of like-minded people.  Today, I can say that I’ve received all of that and more.  While connecting online isn’t the same as meeting face to face in the pool, it has been a life-saver for me.  Of Josh’s options at the end of his post, I choose ‘water wings’ to describe the role you all play, Dear Readers, in keeping me afloat.  For that I am grateful.

PS:  For readers old and new, when I began this blog, I vowed that I would not link/promote anyone/any book/any journal that I did not feel strongly about in the positive.  I am not a critic and I hope I am not a schmoozer in the worst sense.  In the end, I mean to be earnest each and every time I post.

31º ~ a cold night but bright sun and clear skies for the day, warming temps, very little breeze to speak of

Yes, Dear Readers, I just referenced Harry Potter in the title of this post.  I’ve spent the morning sorting poems in preparation for sending out some new submission packets.  As I look at the bundles of files now stacked on my desk, waiting for me to go through the long process of choosing journals to match with each bundle of poems, I suddenly had an image of JK Rowling’s sorting hat.  How great would that be?  Let the hat figure out the best journals for each group of poems and all I’d have to do is lick the stamps, be they real or electronic. 

I started the morning inspired by Erin’s post over at Being Poetry.  In the post she talks about revision this way:  “When I revise a poem, I look for the strongest image, the strongest moment, and try to pare away extraneous words and lines that lead away rather than towards this focal point.”  So nicely put.  And I needed that kind of clear direction to get back to the work of poetry.  Of course, we’ve all heard words like this about revision at one time or another; however, these were so nicely said and came across my screen at just the right moment.  Thanks, Erin!

Now, back to life, back to reality.  One sick cat must go to the vet and them I’m back on campus this afternoon.

33º ~ bright sun, blue skies, finally no clouds in sight ~ sometimes after a series of gray, rainy, soggy days, you forget about the sun, and then it comes back and you are awed

Today, I’m feeling good (and singing Levon Helm’s song “Feelin’ Good” in my head as I write this.  True confession: I have a crush on Levon Helm).  I’m feeling good because I seem to have shaken the head cold that threatened to become a sinus infection.  I’m also feeling good because all day yesterday and for a part of this morning, I thought my eyesight was dramatically becoming worse.  Turns out, it was just the fact that both my glasses and my computer screen were filthy.  With the sun and clean lenses/screen, I seem to be seeing just fine.  Whew!

Much love to blogger friend Kathleen Kirk, who posted a beautiful review of the Blood Almanac, on her blog Wait! I Have a Blog?!  If you don’t follow Kathleen yet, please check her out.  She works at a used bookstore in Normal, IL and offers all kinds of insight into the world of books.  She’s also a fine poet herself.  It was a delight to click on her blog this morning and see a copy of my own book shining out from the screen.

Last, I just have to link to Julianna Baggott’s most recent post: Dear Good Ole Boys of the Literary South.  While I encounters some of this psychology in my MFA program, this post is the extreme version of the Good Ole Boy Southern Writer.  I loved it!

42º ~ a cold rain does rain down, nothing but gray skies all around

Those folks in that picture can’t understand why I’ve ordered an early drop of the ball.  Due to some travel issues, we’ll be celebrating New Year’s Eve a bit early this year at the house of the Kangaroo.  We normally celebrate at the usual time with three other couples (and one toddler), plus whoever else happens to drift by.  Sometimes, if we’re lucky in football, the celebration might last several days.  This year, the plans got a bit sticky and the Razorbacks don’t play until the 4th, so we suggested doing the champagne pop a bit early…after all, it’s the spirit of the thing, right?

All in all, I’ve been more social this year than in past holiday breaks, and I’ve still got a few more things lined up before heading back to the office/classroom on the 3rd.  This does not bode well for poetry.  As faithful readers know, I love my habits, my schedule, and my routine.  The summer break is great for this, long unplanned days when I can read/write/imagine every day.  The winter break, not so much this year.  I’m resigned to this and plan to pick up my regular rhythm after the turn of the year.

I am thankful for all of my friends and family, both far and near, and I am not complaining about the socializing.  It’s just a fact of life that my writing thermostat is a temperamental, twitchy piece of machinery.

So be it, and Happy New Year’s a wee bit early!

37º ~ bright sun, although a few clouds clutter the sky, a cold, cold night behind us

Just a quick note that I have two new poems available for your reading pleasure.

The first is “What Devours Us Is Worth Devouring,” which appears in the latest issue of Spillway (#15).  This is the “All in the Family” issue.  My poem appears alongside my cousin Marta Ferguson’s poem “And Baby Makes Three.”  If you get a chance to pick up this issue, I highly recommend.  No text available online, so get yourself a copy, pronto!

The second poem is “When the Weather Forms a Holding Pattern,” which appears online in the latest issue of The Dirty Napkin (4.1).  This lovely journal features one of the poems from the issue presented in handwriting (as well as in print) on a napkin as written by the author.  Another great feature is that the poems are all available in audio form, some for free and some with a subscription.

As always, thanks so much for your support, Dear Readers.  I’d be doing this without you, but I wouldn’t be having nearly as much fun.

38º ~ finally back to some normal winter temps, a bright sun pushing through filtering clouds

These long, unplanned days are such a delight.  It always takes me a wile to get used to them again, but when I do, I revel.  However, I still know myself well enough to know that I need to start the day at my desk or any writing/reading work will remain undone.

Today, I started by reading the manuscript of a poetry friend.  She emailed last week, knowing I’d been struggling with mine, and suggested a swap.  Woo Hoo!  With Blood Almanac, I had my thesis comments, but the book grew and changed in the year or two after that, and I never thought to ask anyone else to read it.  Now that I’ve grown to know more poets and have grown in my own confidence, it seems a natural thing to share.

So, this morning began immersed in someone else’s writing.  This manuscript is powerful and brave and will soon find a home so I can brag on it.  The poet is a poet of place, so we have that in common; however, her place is vastly different than mine.  It was amazing to sink into someone else’s roots and now to have the chance to offer comments on strengthening the book.  How lucky am I?

After that, I returned to my drafts from the past two months with more vim and vigor.  Just reading my friend’s poems made me want to return to my own and make them better.  I love this about having a writing community that is non-threatening and as non-competitive as possible (of course, we’re all sending our books to the same general group of publishers, so there’s no way around that).

I was able to see several poems in ways I hadn’t seen them before.  I found new subtleties to exploit, new weaknesses to cull.  I have to confess, Dear Reader, the last few visits with these drafts have been dreary.  I’ve been afraid that they were all rotten to the core and had no hope of recovery.  Today, while I could see the changes I wanted to make, I didn’t feel so badly about the poems.  That was a good feeling.  I’ve learned, a bit, to simply close the folder when the negative voices encroach too far.  I’m glad I was able to stifle them today.

~~~~~

And now, I’ll wish you all a Happy Holiday!  C. and I will be spending time with family and friends for the next bit of time.  I hope you all are safe and sound and surrounded by love.  As ever, thank you for reading.

54º ~ bright sun, clear skies, the nearly full moon woke me up at 2:00 a.m….where’s the justice in that happening 24 hours too late to see the eclipse?

Three quotes have been haunting me these last few days.

~ “Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

(Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”)

~ “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open.”

(Muriel Rukeyser, Houdini)

~ “To be an artist means never to avert one’s eyes.”

(Akira Kurosawa, The Films of Akira Kurosawa)

60º ~ yep, 60º on the Winter Solstice, still the sky is nothing but clouds, clouds that prevented any view of the lunar eclipse last night ~ Booooooo to the clouds

With the cloud cover a sure thing, there was no need to set the alarm for a 2 a.m. viewing of the eclipse.  Because we couldn’t view it here, I give you this picture from Matthew Hinton at the Times Picayune in NOLA.  (Click on the image for the full story.)

Also, here’s a diagram of how a full lunar eclipse happens.  I’m glad to say that my high school science facts are still intact and I had figured it all out in my head before looking up the image.  Granted, I’d forgotten the words ‘umbra’ and ‘penumbra’ but wow! what cool words.

The eclipse is amazing of course, and this one a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence on the winter solstice, but I’m really celebrating the solstice as it means an end to shortening days and a beginning of lengthening ones.  As I’ve said before, I am a creature of light, easily brought low by too many cloudy/rainy/dim days.  This is perhaps one reason I could not remain in the Midwest, which seems to have drearier winter skies than the South.  So, I’m cheering today that with the return of more light there will also be a return of energy and wakefulness in body and mind.

Now, back to poetry.  This blog turned three with little notice on my part, back at the end of November, I think.  Given that milestone and the fact that this is the time of year when people tend to reflect, here’s my two cents worth.

I had an even 20 poems accepted in 2010.  Woo Hoo, that averages out to more than one per month, although some were accepted in groups.  Many thanks to those of you who read the poems in drafts, to those of you who edit the journals that accepted the poems, and to those of you who read and support my work.  Because balance is a necessity in my life and because I hope this blog will help emerging writers, I also want to stress that for every acceptance, there were at least, at least, five rejections.   This is a subjective game we play and often even the strongest poems don’t make it through the goal posts for any number of reasons.  So, to keep the odds in my favor, I tend to have poems out to at least 20 different journals at any given time (not the same poems, of course!).

In a World Made of Such Weather as This continues to make the rounds of book contests and open reading periods.  It’s been a semi-finalist about a half a dozen times and a finalist a few times.  As ever, I’m hopeful and despondent both at the same time.  Here I must give major, major thanks to a few named people:  Stephanie Kartalopoulos for her wonderful reading and suggestion for reordering of the book.  Angie Macri, Charlotte Pence, and Tara Bray for reading BOTH versions and making their suggestions.  THANK YOU!!!

As for books I’ve read and enjoyed this year, there were many.  I encourage anyone interested in the titles and my thoughts to use the search box above and enter ‘What I’m Reading.’  It’s wonderful to be surrounded by so many talented writers and to be able to return to their books whenever I need a bit of inspiration.

Last bit of thanks but certainly not the least:  for my mother and my husband, I am most grateful.  Their support is unconditional and unwavering.  I could not do what I do without their strong shoulders to lean on.

Looking to 2011, my resolutions are simple: to keep doing what I’m doing.

I want to write a draft a week.
I want to read a book a week and post a review of it.
I want to read as many journals as possible and contact each poet who moves me.
I want to submit my work to the journals I love.
I want to submit the book to publishers I love.

This is the work of a writer, and I am blessed to be able to do it.

So be it.