For the past few weeks, I've been slowing down. Well, I've been busy with numerous things, but I've decided to let my poems do what they will and to let my manuscript breathe. For a while, I was reorganizing the manuscript every few weeks and becoming irritated that I couldn't find an order that told a story I wanted to listen to. I also knew that if I didn't like the sequence of the poems in the book, then an editor wouldn't, either.
Of course, there's no way to judge whether an editor will like a manuscript, but I don't want to send a book out into the world until I'm happy with it. And that's not to say I've done that. I've made mistakes.
Those mistakes led me to this: let the manuscript breathe. By leaving the manuscript alone and letting it live, I've let the poems have a life of their own instead of forcing them into a pattern where they feel trapped. They tell me where they need to go, what story they need to tell. All I need to do is listen.
On a similar subject, an article over at Publishing Perspectives that's well worth the read: http://publishingperspectives.com/2012/06/good-books-are-worth-the-wait/
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Seeking
I am writing poems that seek, that seem to go nowhere, even though seeking goes somewhere. I am writing poems about light, about the loss of human companionship, about how connected we should be to the living world.
Isn't that what poetry does? It seeks, it finds, and, as we move with it, as we follow where it leads, we end up in a different place, a place of clarity.
Isn't that what poetry does? It seeks, it finds, and, as we move with it, as we follow where it leads, we end up in a different place, a place of clarity.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
The World Opens Up Again
Spring has finally hit Northern Michigan. The lilacs are in full bloom, dandelions poke their heads out a few days after a grass cutting, and the air warms and brightens. We're only given four months of this glorious scene each year, and I always look forward to it.
Every spring, once the semester has ended and I've decompressed from the work of the academic year, once I'm comfortable with open ended days, as well as time to read, something happens to me. I slow down, no longer running at break-neck speed, trying to get everything done at once. I no longer have to multi-task. For a few weeks, I don't know how to handle this transition.
Then I write a new poem. And the world opens up again.
Every spring, once the semester has ended and I've decompressed from the work of the academic year, once I'm comfortable with open ended days, as well as time to read, something happens to me. I slow down, no longer running at break-neck speed, trying to get everything done at once. I no longer have to multi-task. For a few weeks, I don't know how to handle this transition.
Then I write a new poem. And the world opens up again.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
About An Artist
This post isn't just about any artist. It's about the artist who designed the cover art for my chapbook, Come To Me and Drink.
Amelia Grace Brooks' piece that appears on the cover of the chapbook is titled "First Flight" and was created with india ink and graphite. Click here to view the cover art.
To see a few samples of artwork from Ms. Brooks' collections, scroll down. A short bio appears below the pieces. I hope you enjoy her work as much as I do.
"Little Lamb II", 2009, Silver gelatin print, 16 in x 20 in.
"Murmuration", 2012, Color pencil, watercolor and mixed media, 12 in. x 12 in.
"Flight", 2012, Color pencil, watercolor and mixed media, 12 in. x 12 in.
Born in the foothills of North Carolina on a small dwindling cotton farm, Amelia Grace Brooks was always surrounded by animals, and from a very early age grew to hold a deep love for them. In 2000, Brooks graduated from North Carolina State University with a Bachelors degree in Animal Science. After graduating, she spent many years studying fine woodworking and furniture design at Savannah College of Art and Design, and Penland School of Craft. In 2010, Brooks finished her Bachelors in Fine Art at Augusta State University. She now combines her woodworking skills and passion for animals in her sculptures and other mediums. Her prints and sculptures draw from her childhood of freedom roaming the farm and all the animals she encountered through a world of reality and make believe. Her work continues to evolve and strongly relate to life experiences and change. Her current work explores a migration through those changes and the delicate balance of our present tense.
Ms. Brooks' current collection, Murmurations, can be seen at the Gertrude Herbert Institute of Art in the Creel-Harison Community Art Gallery from March 9 to May 25, 2012.
Amelia Grace Brooks' piece that appears on the cover of the chapbook is titled "First Flight" and was created with india ink and graphite. Click here to view the cover art.
To see a few samples of artwork from Ms. Brooks' collections, scroll down. A short bio appears below the pieces. I hope you enjoy her work as much as I do.
"Little Lamb II", 2009, Silver gelatin print, 16 in x 20 in.
"Murmuration", 2012, Color pencil, watercolor and mixed media, 12 in. x 12 in.
"Flight", 2012, Color pencil, watercolor and mixed media, 12 in. x 12 in.
Born in the foothills of North Carolina on a small dwindling cotton farm, Amelia Grace Brooks was always surrounded by animals, and from a very early age grew to hold a deep love for them. In 2000, Brooks graduated from North Carolina State University with a Bachelors degree in Animal Science. After graduating, she spent many years studying fine woodworking and furniture design at Savannah College of Art and Design, and Penland School of Craft. In 2010, Brooks finished her Bachelors in Fine Art at Augusta State University. She now combines her woodworking skills and passion for animals in her sculptures and other mediums. Her prints and sculptures draw from her childhood of freedom roaming the farm and all the animals she encountered through a world of reality and make believe. Her work continues to evolve and strongly relate to life experiences and change. Her current work explores a migration through those changes and the delicate balance of our present tense.
Ms. Brooks' current collection, Murmurations, can be seen at the Gertrude Herbert Institute of Art in the Creel-Harison Community Art Gallery from March 9 to May 25, 2012.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Numbers Game
Lately, I've been playing a game with rejection notices.
I've been counting them.
And I've been leaving their numbers on my Facebook feed.
Why?
Well, why not? Why take rejection seriously? I started taking it for what it is, a game, and decided to treat it like one. I started doing this at the beginning of the year. I count each notice and leave their numbers on Facebook (#1, #2, #3, etc.), and keep counting them until I get an acceptance. Once I get an acceptance, I start all over again. I clued my friends in to what I was doing, so they would know, but I stopped writing status updates that complained about rejection or made people tell me they were sorry it was happening to me. It happens to every writer and I wanted to stop making more of it than it was.
Since I've been playing this game, it's taken most of the sting out of getting a rejection, and helped me concentrate on sending work out and rejoicing when I get an acceptance. There's no rhyme or reason to this. One acceptance came after 8 rejection notices, another after 7. And in between, I just watch them do what they do, and file them away.
(Sooner or later, I'll probably stop these shenanigans, but for now, I'm enjoying myself.)
I've been counting them.
And I've been leaving their numbers on my Facebook feed.
Why?
Well, why not? Why take rejection seriously? I started taking it for what it is, a game, and decided to treat it like one. I started doing this at the beginning of the year. I count each notice and leave their numbers on Facebook (#1, #2, #3, etc.), and keep counting them until I get an acceptance. Once I get an acceptance, I start all over again. I clued my friends in to what I was doing, so they would know, but I stopped writing status updates that complained about rejection or made people tell me they were sorry it was happening to me. It happens to every writer and I wanted to stop making more of it than it was.
Since I've been playing this game, it's taken most of the sting out of getting a rejection, and helped me concentrate on sending work out and rejoicing when I get an acceptance. There's no rhyme or reason to this. One acceptance came after 8 rejection notices, another after 7. And in between, I just watch them do what they do, and file them away.
(Sooner or later, I'll probably stop these shenanigans, but for now, I'm enjoying myself.)
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
First and Foremost
In her blog post, "Confession Tuesday - the Yin and the Yang," Kelli Agodon discusses the struggles of writers, that our lives aren't always hunky-dory, that we spend a lot of time in self doubt, even when the writing is going well.
Most recently, I have spent time in the "where do I fit in?" chair after receiving a rejection claiming that the work I submitted was experimental, and then another saying that the editors liked my voice, but it wasn't what they were looking for. From submitting my first manuscript to contests and presses, to submitting poems to journals and contests, I have spent a lot of time lately wondering which editor will like my work and where I will fit in.
Is this important? After feeling this way for weeks, I came upon an interview with Nikky Finney, a poet whose advice I trust (she was the driving force behind my chapbook), in which she says:
"In that moment I knew what kind of writer I wanted to be in the world. Yes, I wanted to write about beautiful things, but I also wanted to hand something over to the reader that was more than beautiful words, something that might have the power and presence to make them stronger, better and wiser. I did not want to be the writer who was simply waiting for applause. I wanted to be smack dab in the middle—doing something foundational, something that might be helpful to another human being."
Isn't this why I've written about my experience as a mother, to shine a bit of light on someone who is going through the same experience? I wanted mothers to feel less alone, less trapped in the trade name of "mother," less prey to the chaos. I wanted to give voice to the complexity of that life and not sugarcoat it, not make it a relic. I wanted those things first and foremost, and somehow, my poems found a home. So I have to keep pushing. I have to keep writing what is true for me and reach out to those who feel as uncertain as I do.
Most recently, I have spent time in the "where do I fit in?" chair after receiving a rejection claiming that the work I submitted was experimental, and then another saying that the editors liked my voice, but it wasn't what they were looking for. From submitting my first manuscript to contests and presses, to submitting poems to journals and contests, I have spent a lot of time lately wondering which editor will like my work and where I will fit in.
Is this important? After feeling this way for weeks, I came upon an interview with Nikky Finney, a poet whose advice I trust (she was the driving force behind my chapbook), in which she says:
"In that moment I knew what kind of writer I wanted to be in the world. Yes, I wanted to write about beautiful things, but I also wanted to hand something over to the reader that was more than beautiful words, something that might have the power and presence to make them stronger, better and wiser. I did not want to be the writer who was simply waiting for applause. I wanted to be smack dab in the middle—doing something foundational, something that might be helpful to another human being."
Isn't this why I've written about my experience as a mother, to shine a bit of light on someone who is going through the same experience? I wanted mothers to feel less alone, less trapped in the trade name of "mother," less prey to the chaos. I wanted to give voice to the complexity of that life and not sugarcoat it, not make it a relic. I wanted those things first and foremost, and somehow, my poems found a home. So I have to keep pushing. I have to keep writing what is true for me and reach out to those who feel as uncertain as I do.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Doing the work
I've known for a long time that writers find solutions or answers to their writing problems by doing the work. By not stopping. I've shared this writing advice with my students and taken it when I've been stuck on a poem. If I don't stop writing, whatever problem I'm having is eventually resolved.
But I never thought this would be true for submissions.
I've been sending my first book to contests and presses for the past six months. Over Christmas Break, I began to get anxious. The university was on break so I had no schoolwork to keep me busy, so I started thinking about the presses I hadn't heard from yet, why I hadn't heard from them, and my close friends can attest to the fact that I got a little neurotic. Who wouldn't, but I was wondering when it would end.
It ended this morning.
You see, a week ago I had made a promise that I would not submit any work to magazines, journals, contests, or presses for an entire month. I needed a break from worrying about the response of editors and was sure that a break would help.
That was hogwash.
To be idle, for me, is to be anxious. This morning I prepared another copy of my manuscript to go out to a contest. Am I concerned about hearing a decision on my manuscript now? No, because I have it ready to go out. I have something to work toward, however small. I am doing the work of a writer.
And I am not going to stop doing this work. Why sit around and fret that the poems or the book aren't published yet? Why not be busy, be thinking toward something else? I have poems to revise, poems to send out, my manuscript to circulate. The real work is not in worrying or complaining, it is in doing.
But I never thought this would be true for submissions.
I've been sending my first book to contests and presses for the past six months. Over Christmas Break, I began to get anxious. The university was on break so I had no schoolwork to keep me busy, so I started thinking about the presses I hadn't heard from yet, why I hadn't heard from them, and my close friends can attest to the fact that I got a little neurotic. Who wouldn't, but I was wondering when it would end.
It ended this morning.
You see, a week ago I had made a promise that I would not submit any work to magazines, journals, contests, or presses for an entire month. I needed a break from worrying about the response of editors and was sure that a break would help.
That was hogwash.
To be idle, for me, is to be anxious. This morning I prepared another copy of my manuscript to go out to a contest. Am I concerned about hearing a decision on my manuscript now? No, because I have it ready to go out. I have something to work toward, however small. I am doing the work of a writer.
And I am not going to stop doing this work. Why sit around and fret that the poems or the book aren't published yet? Why not be busy, be thinking toward something else? I have poems to revise, poems to send out, my manuscript to circulate. The real work is not in worrying or complaining, it is in doing.
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