A Faithful Friend Retires

The past year has been an extraordinarily prolific time for me as a poet.

In the Days of Sappho
by John William Godward

Indeed, I never really would have used that word to describe myself before. Technically, since I've written poems from time to time since I was about 14, I guess it is accurate, but in my mind, poets are people who have done something with their work, published poetry and established a name for themselves thereby, even crafted at least one poem that has touched the souls of and been beloved by many, many readers. I haven't done any of that, but in March, I did submit a completed manuscript of poems to a competition for first-time authors. And throughout this spate of creativity, I have had one devoted companion.

This little friend, produced by Peter Pauper Press, has received each poem I hammered out for nearly a year. It has suffered for my art almost as much as I did, poor thing. The scribbles, the wicking, the blotches! Each one tells a tale of the exhilarating journey we've taken together, as the small journal bounced around in my book bag, my crochet satchel, and on a few memorable occasions, any pocket available.

See what I mean?!

And now, only one blank page remains between its reliable old covers. I'm proud of us both, this journal and I, but I will miss its cheerful little face. Of course, I still have to finish that last page, right? Once I have, though, a successor is already waiting in the wings. Sentiment is all very well, but there are more poems to write, and I must be ready to chase them down to the page. I think any writing worth producing is worth wrapping in the breathtaking art of Gustav Klimt.

Wish us luck!

An Insecure Writer Keeps Writing

It's time once again for all of us insecure writers to band together and, through our solidarity, get some writing done. I must say, February was the most prolific writing month that I've had in years, and that is no exaggeration. I wrote an entire poetry chapbook in February. When true inspiration roams back into your life, it is the writer's high par excellence.

Still, there is no escaping doubt. No matter what I'm writing, how easily the words are flowing, or how excited I am about a WIP (work-in-progress), at some point in the process of creating the first draft, the niggling voice of self-defeat will creep in. Great authors have commented on the fact that it is blissfully easy to create a first chapter, especially if you feel really confident that it's good, and murderous torture to write a second. The better the first chapter was, the harder it is to live up to throughout the work, and it is at about the time that you finish that first installment that the Greek chorus grinds into its opening chords: "Who is going to read this, anyway? It'll never get published, no matter how good it is, so why should I bother finishing it?"

In those moments, I find that nothing helps but the work itself. As many famous writers have insisted to aspirants, Write! For the love of God, write! Take questions like readership and particularly publishers out of the equation, or you are doomed before you begin. And when you feel discouraged, write more and write harder. If I type myself through that "slough of despond," I come out the other side feeling productive and refreshed. If, on the other hand, I give in to those voices for one second, I can look forward to at least a week of inertia, unable to write so much as a phone message and sinking ever deeper into a well of self-loathing.

There's a sidebar on this blog that is my public accountability, naked and utterly exposed before the world, of whether or not I have been writing and therefore mentally thriving. Every day that one of the page or word counts on that bar jumps has officially been a good day. The second that I hear my self-talk become laden with thoughts such as, "Oh, what's the point?" I immediately scream out my mantra in my head.

For the love of God, write! Now!

Week in Review Omnibus

This post is a double-whammy, in which I will report recent progress on my latest writing goals, and announce the event from the week just past that I'm celebrating. First off, let's glance back at the goal I stated for myself at the beginning of February, and see how close to the target my aim carried me.

At the blog entitled The Five-Year Project, where author Misha Gericke recounts her publishing trials and triumphs, she also graciously hosts a monthly meme designed to encourage other aspirants, despairing or victorious. We announce our current ambition on the sign-up list for "Do You Have Goals?," and report back on our struggles to attain it. I listed for myself, "Get my first poetry chapbook published," and while that hasn't occurred yet, the first major hurdle is crossed, because I actually did finish writing it this month. The final count was 40 poems covering a total of 45 pages, including dedication page and similar materials. Sending it out to publishers is the next step, and I am currently awaiting the beginning of March and the arrival of my small monthly living stipend, out of which I will painfully scratch the $18 reading fee to submit the manuscript to Omnidawn Press' 2014 Chapbook Poetry Contest. Updates will be flying your way as events unfold, I assure you.

The other steps I have taken toward getting published may seem less obviously connected to that dream, but are a very necessary part of it, and constitute my celebration for the week. Thanks to the incredible generosity of a very dear friend, I once again have a roof over my head for the foreseeable future. I am still homeless, still sleeping in a friend's basement and therefore in more precarious circumstances than would allow me to be reunited with my daughter as yet, but she continues safe and happy with her grandparents, and I have a bit more stability in which to write, publish, and diligently seek permanent housing that will bring us back together. All of which I did full tilt this week; I am on a waiting list for subsidized rental housing, and I wrote roughly 10,000 words on a new prose manuscript (which muse has taken up where the muse of poetry has currently left off). As a fellow creative type advised me to recently, I will keep going until I succeed or die trying.

Celebration of Achieving Failure

Last week, I e-mailed three poems to an on-line poetry magazine for their consideration, hoping they would publish one or all of them. This week, I got a rejection letter--actually, a rejection e-mail; it is the way of our digital world. And you may be thinking to yourself, "If this is a celebratory post, why are we talking about a rejection letter? Are you really celebrating getting turned down?"

Weekly meme hosted by VikLit

I can honestly reply, "Yes, I am." The battle wasn't in writing the poems, and it wasn't in being told "no." My battle was against a "Send" button. I showed up. I ventured; only time will reveal all that I have gained. Meanwhile, tomorrow we hit "Send" again. Just another day at the office.

Time for a Hodge-Podge

Yes, my faithful band of readers, another Hodge-Podge post is in order, as I have a few things about which to update you at the same time that are unconnected, except in the fact that they are all happening in my life. I admit this post is a long one, but I hope you will come with me for the whole adventure. As you will see shortly, the day I've had so far makes the title of this semi-regular feature particularly apt. But first, a writing update.

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A Finished Manuscript!

Ah, how those words roll trippingly off the tongue (or keyboard) of any aspiring author! The sense of pride, of accomplishment, increased self-worth, is boundless--for about 12 hours. Then the doubts set in. "These poems seem inexperienced. I sound childish and infantile! They're all too much alike, in both form and content. I KNOW that if they're combined into a single book, they should have a unifying theme, BUT..." and on and on it goes. So, I'm into the doubtful phase now, but ultimately, my opinion is no longer the one that matters; a publisher will accept it or not. My view of it is already set--I love my "little book" (nod to Louisa May Alcott, a heroine of mine), or I would not have bothered to keep going with it. I will always love it, for all the things it represents in my growth as a person and the memories it will always evoke for me. The only questions now are the subjective--Will anyone else be able to identify with my words and love them?--and the mundane--Will my efforts help me in the world of filthy lucre? I have no control over the answers to either, so I will simply send it out to see what, if anything, happens next.

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Even for a woman who owns a blog called The Beauty of Eclecticism, I have had a particularly diverse day. It started--as journeys down rabbit holes so often do these days--with a link that a friend posted on Facebook. NPR conducted an interview with the prioress and choir-mistress of a group on nuns who have been taken on a whirlwind tour of secular popularity with their sacred music in the past few years. The Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles, are a cloistered order, which means that they live their lives in community together but in near-total seclusion from the outside world. A common misconception about cloistered monastics is that they separate themselves from the rest of us because they fear we will contaminate them with our sinful ways. On the contrary, the best monastics gaze permanently and unflinchingly into the chasm of their own sinfulness, leaving no time to judge anyone else. They hide themselves away (as Christ instructed all of us to do during our prayer time) in order to devote as much time as they possibly can to praying for all of us, the entire rest of the world, as they know that not everyone can be cloistered, but we all need prayer, just the same. The sisters of Mary, Queen of Apostles, are dedicated to that mission.

The rise of the digiverse has been a God-send (if you'll pardon the pun) for secluded religious orders, because it allows them to have limited contact with the outside world on their own terms. They communicate with the rest of us through e-mail, websites, and in the case of orders such as this one, recordings of their beautiful liturgical music, which they also use to support and maintain their priory in Missouri. Videos about the sisters and their work, as well as other similar religious orders who produce music for the wider world, are available on YouTube, and if you are in need of a moment of heavenly peace right now, I cannot recommend strongly enough that you check them out.

From the sublime to the earthy we go. Somehow, my Facebook wanderings then led me to the home of fellow bloggers Amy and Kate, a mother-daughter pairing who have produced the enormously popular Homestead Revival. This blog chronicles the on-going journey of a family who chose the periodically fashionable path of "self-sustained living," "returning to the land," that sort of thing, and they are staunchly traditional Christians, talking frequently about homemaking and the Apostle Paul's injunction that wives should be submissive to their husbands. I think you'll agree that such a blog would not be my obvious choice of hang-out spot; I recently came out as a lesbian and divorced my husband, after leaving the ultra-conservative Eastern Orthodox church for the markedly liberal Episcopal Church.

That has been the theme of my day, what has made it eclectic and interesting--in short, a hodge-podge. I have been reminded that I don't have to agree with those I encounter to enjoy our common humanity, to learn from them and be spiritually nourished by their wisdom, and hopefully to be able to offer something in return in that exchange when given the opportunity. Moreover, I am officially an author with a manuscript soon to be under consideration by publishers; I have added to the sum total of artistic and emotional expression in human history. My life is little short of terrifying right now in a number of aspects, and these are interludes of peace at the center of my storms.

Finding Security as a Writer

Join us here!

As those of you who've read recent posts will know, it's been a profoundly and unexpectedly productive fortnight for me as an author, in this case limited almost exclusively to poetry. In the past two weeks, the journal I devoted to poetry back in July 2013 has gone from having about six occupants, to being a nearly finished chapbook. This truly descended on me out of nowhere. Moreover, I only vaguely knew what a chapbook was last week; serendipitously, I met a fellow struggling poet who clued me in, I began doing some digging on-line, I found several independent publishing houses that look like a promising fit, and I'm now shaping this poetry journal with an eye to publication. I submitted one poem to a magazine a few days ago, just dipping my toe back into the waters of potential rejection letters, and I don't know if my little chapbook will find a home once it's finished, but I'm going to put it out there and see if a firm claims it for their own. It feels so good to be writing again!

P.S. A few of the poems from my growing chapbook can be found on my new poetry blog, Trapped Outside the Body. Please go check them out and leave me comments on what you think!

When the Words Write You

Erato,
Muse of Lyric Poetry

The last few days have been an extraordinary experience for me, an effusion of creativity that has exhausted my mind and barely allowed me a few precious hours of sleep each night. Wherever the Muse of Poetry has been in my life in recent years, she has suddenly returned, and is seriously determined to make up for lost time. I would imagine that every writer has experienced the feeling, at one time or another, that the pen grips the hand, bends the fingers around itself, and moves the author with a force over which she has no control. This flow of words is no guarantee that the output will be of high quality; the poems I've been producing recently may seem flat, or trite, or entirely overblown, to the eyes of another reader. In Anne of Avonlea, our beloved heroine describes the characters in a short story she is crafting as willful, unpredictable creatures, who continually escape her control and wreck the story in ways that she must excise or correct heavily within a few pages. Still, there is no denying that when the words are writing you, it's some of the easiest writing you'll ever do in your life, and every author yearns for this state to descend upon her from time to time. Editing will wait until tomorrow; there is no muse of proofing, and rarely any ecstasy involved, either.

16th-century depiction
of Chaos

If the chaos and difficulties of recent months have been the slough through which I must wade to capture a single sentence on paper, the rediscovery of a self that had dreams, and confidence, and an ability simply to let the words flow as they would, in the past few weeks has been the force capable of navigating me safely out of my slump. No writer gets to enjoy the sensation of the words writing her for very long, but while it's happening, I keep my pen and dedicated poetry journal ever handy, my synapses crafting lines even as I'm drifting off at unholy hours of the morning. The reality is that no one but my dearest friends and my older self may ever be interested in perusing these lines again, but the feeling that I am capable of such output bolsters me through a time of cruel uncertainty in so many others areas of existence.