Have Words Will Travel

Wow, what a lineup.  Due to a traveling spouse and small children at home, I will probably only make it to Friday and Sunday’s readings, but I’m guessing they’ll all be fantastic.

Today’s a big day — I will be officially graduating and becoming a Master of Fine Arts.  I feel a little like when someone asks you on your birthday “How does it feel to be ___ ?”  It doesn’t feel any different.  I mean, I feel much differently than I did when I first started this program and needed so much guidance and teaching, but I don’t feel any different than I did yesterday, and I doubt there will be any difference tomorrow, either.  Well, maybe a little relief.  And sadness.

Our commencement speaker is Marvin Bell, which is terrific.  He’s been teaching during the afternoon sessions during the residency (as he has every summer residency since I’ve been around) and he’s so funny and very kind and smart.  Also, I’ve made a complete ass out of myself in front of him twice now, at previous residencies when forced to read the humiliatingly painful results of a writing exercise, but yesterday I vindicated myself by writing a decent poem from this year’s exercise and reading it.  A nice way to end the teacher/student relationship.  The first time it happened, though, he very kindly sent me an email that said, “I don’t think of them so much as bad poems as poems that are on their way to something.  Besides, you should see some of the crap I’ve written.”  I will admit, I printed that one out and it lives on the bulletin board above my desk.  More encouraging words were never spoken (or written), I don’t think.

Once again, I have gone way too long without posting. This blog is relatively new, but I’ve blogged elsewhere for several years and believe me when I say it’s unusual for me to post so infrequently. I do want to keep this blog writing-oriented, but I will admit I’ve been dealing with some parental illness issues and it has really taken all my energy for several months. However, that is finally getting sorted out, and school will be starting soon (meaning my children will be entertained by someone other than myself), and I am now on day 3 of my final MFA residency before my graduation on Saturday, so I’m very much getting back into the rhythm of my writing life.

So far, the residency has been fantastic. The highlight thus far is Kate Gale, the Managing Editor of Red Hen Press, Editor of Los Angeles Review, and accomplished poet in her own right, who has been guiding us graduating poets through the process of actually getting a book published instead of just single poems here and there. Of course, we will continue to do that as well, but it’s so great to have some guidance in terms of an actual plan. I’m nothing if not a girl who likes a plan. She’s been very inspiring to all of us, particularly in her argument that we should become players in the publishing world, not just people who want to be published but never give anything back to the community. It makes so much sense that I wonder at the fact that I haven’t been offered that advice before.

Last night was the first of two faculty readings and not only was Kate’s reading amazing (the woman can write, I’m just sayin’), but also the reading of another visiting faculty, Marc Acito, also known as “The Gay Dave Barry.” Holy crap, that man is funny. He had us in hysterics during his lecture the other day, and last night reading from his two books, How I Paid for College: A Novel of Sex, Theft, Friendship, and Musical Theater, and Attack of the Theater People did not disappoint. I bought both books based on his performance (and performance it was, including singing, which brought the audience to its feet) and am very much looking forward to reading them. The downside? My suitcase is going to be so heavy from all the books I’ve been buying, I’m not going to be able to lift it.

More to come.

Well hey, I seemed to get a bug up my…uh…I mean I got all motivated after that last post and not only sent out three new submissions yesterday, but also wrote a new poem today. Go me! The only thing is, it’s been two months since I’ve even attempted to write a poem, and I swear I could hear the creaking and moaning of the gears in my brain as they attempted to rev up again. Must keep that machinery oiled, even if I’m just jotting a line here or there. Better to just keep writing a poem a week like I did during school. Keeps the mental bits lubed up, even if it’s not all usable. It is so unbelievably easy to fall out of the habit of producing work regularly, especially when there are no deadlines. I’ve gone a whole year without writing a word of poetry before, and that’s not a place to which I’d like to return. Especially knowing how amazing it feels when I get into a groove. That groove is worth working for!

Special thanks to my homegirl Tanya for inspiring me with her dead bird poem. Maybe not the most transcendent of poetic subjects, but take inspiration where you can find it, I always say. Anyway, dead birds are so much more interesting than, say, love. Or sunsets.

It’s been a bit of a dry spell with my poetry since the end of the semester.  I think summer is a difficult time for me and poetry because of the kids.  They’re home and wanting to be entertained, and I have a hard time being in work mode when I’m doing the mommy thing all day.  Especially when there is so much to do outside.

Submissions, of course, are a little off that schedule because they vary so much in terms of response time and typically take months from the time the submission is sent.  However, I have ten-or-so submissions out there, several of which I should have heard from a month or two ago and haven’t yet.  I’ve been compulsively checking the mail every day, but no SASE’s to be found.  Dry spell, indeed.

Finally, last night I heard via email from Alehouse Press that one of the poems I entered in their Happy Hour Poetry Award contest was chosen for their 2009 issue (coming out in November 2008) and is in the group that will be judged for the finals.  The prize money is really good, so I’ve got my fingers crossed.  The poem was one of those magical ones that comes out almost perfect in the first draft (which hardly ever happens for me) so just maybe…

I was worried that when I finished my MFA, I would no longer have anyone to critique my work, and I imagined myself falling into a dark, cobwebby hole of unpublishable poems that I didn’t know how to fix.  Since then, some of my fellow student poets and I have made a pact to stick together and continue sharing and commenting on work, even though they all live in Washington and I’m here in New Jersey.  The Internet makes virtual critique groups easy.

My current issue, however, is that I have this manuscript that my virtual critique group have already seen and commented extensively on and, while their comments were helpful as always, they’ve seen many of the poems so many times and in so many drafts that it’s become hard to be objective.  I need a fresh pair of eyes to help me turn “thesis” into “publishable manuscript that will leave contest judges sockless all over the country.”  Luckily, such a person has come along.  A long-time reader of my other (anonymous, non-poetry) blog and I have been chatting via email for a few months and playing the odd game of Word Twist on Facebook.   She’s a poet, too, a few years ahead of me in her writing career, but (I think) we’re more or less peers.  We’ve both got manuscripts we want to publish, so she suggested we trade and comment.  I am ridiculously happy to have someone to swap with.  And if the quality of her comments is as high as the quality of the poems I’ve read so far in her manuscript, I’ll be in good shape.  (No pressure, though, LC.  Ha.)

Not only that, but yet another blog-reader poet friend has offered information on workshops that specifically address getting a manuscript into the best possible shape for publication.  I think I will look into that.  Has anyone ever been to one?  If so, I’d love to hear your impressions.

Meanwhile, today I bought my ticket to the Academy of American Poets’ 2008 Poets Forum in NYC.  This is one of the reasons I love living near New York.  I don’t know how I’m going to wait until November.

It seems that my little hiatus is over.  I woke up this morning raring to go, and the minute I got back from dropping my daughter at camp, I launched myself into preparing submissions.  I’ve been getting a lot of contest notifications, so I ended up preparing three contest submissions: one for single poems, one for a chapbook manuscript, and one for a full book-length manuscript.  I have several more to do.  The reading fees may kill me, though, which  I suppose is why so many poets object to the whole contest dealio.   Still, I’m encouraged by the Nimrod placement, and it seems like contests are the only way to get a book deal anymore, so as long as I have the lettuce, I’ll keep submitting.

The thing that is so hard to believe is that it took me two hours to prepare three submissions.  Obviously I need to streamline my process.

I reckon I’ll spend the afternoon doing some non-contest submissions, since I haven’t sent any since May, and then I’ve got poems to respond to for my fellow students.  It feels good to jump back in.

Apologies for the dearth of posting here.  The semester ended and Stuff happened in my life and I had to take a few weeks to deal and also recover from all the hard work, assignments, and the thesis.  I admit I spent a lot of time sitting around playing word games on my computer, too.  My brain needed the break.

Writing is back on my radar, though, because a chapbook contest I intend to enter has a fast-approaching deadline.  I spent most of the day yesterday ordering the manuscript, writing the cover letter, doing the formatting, and so on.  It’s all ready to go — so now I will procrastinate for another week before actually taking it to the post office to mail.  I really need to do some submitting, too.  I haven’t submitted a thing for two or three months and have lots of work to send out.  I dislike the administrative parts of submitting, but if I don’t submit I can’t get published, so I must force myself to set aside a couple of hours and just do it.

Also, my fellow poetry students have been exchanging new work for feedback, and not only do I need to respond to them, but it’s lighting a fire under my tush to write some new work of my own.  Which is exactly why we pledged to stick together even after graduation.  Otherwise, we’d all probably slip into a fugue state wherein we’d spend hours a day watching soap operas and generally doing everything but write.  We know our weaknesses.

This morning, with his customary clatter, my mailman flung our post through the door slot and onto the floor of our entryway.  It consisted of a Macy’s bill and sale catalog, along with a letter from Nimrod.  Imagine my surprise when I opened it up to find I’d been named a semi-finalist for the 2008 Pablo Neruda Poetry Prize.  Wow!  They were already going to publish the poem I’d submitted (titled “Upon Cutting My Thumb While Reading Ariel“), but now I can tell my parents I’m a “prize-winning poet.”  Or maybe not, since I only made it to the semi-finals.  Hm.  Either way, it’s encouragement and validation, which in this business is priceless.

Alrighty, then.  My one commenter [*cough cough*] encouraged me to go ahead and submit to the contest because a chapbook is a Good and Holy thing, and since she kicked my butt in Word Twist on Facebook, and is therefore smarter than I (or less paralyzed under pressure), I decided to take her advice. (Shout out to LC!) Chapbook-manuscript-assemblage has commenced.  It is exciting.  And daunting.  I’ve spent the entire semester studying the various ways that poets organize their manuscripts, as well as what effect said organization has on the flow, arc, and/or emotional impact of the aforementioned manuscripts, and I managed to apply the knowledge gleaned to my thesis, but a chapbook is a whole other monster.  (It must be run-on sentence day.)

In other news, today I got a copyright agreement from Poet Lore, as well as a galley proof.  My first ever galley proof!  Does it make me utterly green and dorky that I was completely thrilled and did a little dance?  (And once again — don’t answer that.  Ha.)