I’m sitting on a Continental Airlines flight from Newark to Seattle as I write this, on my way to accomplish two things, one business and the other personal.   For business, I will be meeting up with my fellow poetry editors at LA Review, Tanya and Kelly, so we can go through the pile of poems we’ve been holding until the end of the submission period, and choose the best to fill up the final 10 or so pages we have open.  Do other journals do it this way?  These are all poems that one of the three of us put forward as good enough to publish, and the other two concurred but not strongly enough to take them right then and there.  Although, I have to say, having gone through and read them all on the plane tonight, there are five that I would have taken on the spot.  I’m sure Kelly and Tanya feel the same way about some of them.  The trick will be to choose the ones that we all can agree are the best.  This is where having a lot of respect for the opinions of your fellow editors comes in very handy.  So far we haven’t had a single conflict.  Fingers crossed.

The other reason for my trip is much more complex.  I’m traveling to visit my mother, who is suffering from a truly horrible neurological disease called Progressive Supranuclear Palsey.  It’s robbing her of the muscle control throughout her body, including her eyes, mouth, and throat.  She’s in a wheelchair now and lives in an adult family home where she receives round-the-clock care.  As much as I look forward to spending time with her, I am also filled with angst about her illness.  It is a terrible thing to see how much she’s hurting and how unhappy she is, and to know that there is no cure.  I don’t know how many more times I will see her.  Sometimes I really don’t know what to say to her.  I’m sure no one reading this will be surprised to know that I’ve written a great many poems about her.  I keep trying to write about other things, and I succeed if I’m writing something humorous, but the second I get serious when I’m writing, she somehow finds her way in.

Anyway.  Here’s to going back to my old stomping grounds, getting some good work done, seeing friends, and perhaps finding a tiny bit of emotional closure with mom.

The spring reading period for LA Review is nearly here, which means I can spend a few intense days reading the remaining submissions with my fellow editors, then take a breather for a couple of weeks until we start actually putting the issue together. Oh, and there’s a tribute to Wanda Coleman to write and other work to do, but surely I can get a little time off, right? I intend to spend that time writing. I got a wild hair last week and cranked out three relatively good poems in 48 hours. That is serious speed writing for me.

One thing that, I think, helped me produce the work so quickly is that I was writing in my natural voice instead of the “serious poetry” voice. I have a much easier time writing poetry that contains humor than poetry about nature or angst or whatever everyone else is writing about. I am working on a whole collection of poems with humor, and they all have long titles. Two I wrote last week: “Upon Nearly Being Run Down in a Crosswalk by Vladimir Putin in a Range Rover” and “Shroedinger’s Cat.” Ok, the title on that second one isn’t long or particularly humorous, but the poem itself does fit into the collection. I have about another 25 titles at this point to compose poems for. New ones are always coming up. In fact, just yesterday I added the title “My Father Friends Me on Facebook and Discovers I’m Not the Paragon of Virtue He Always Thought I Was” to my table of contents. I don’t know if the world is ready for these poems, but they’re a hell of a lot of fun to write.

Am getting on the train in a few minutes to head into the city for drinks at the Soho Grand with Kate Gale and Mark Cull of Red Hen Press (aka The Big Bosses) and Nancy Boutin, Editor of LA Review (aka The Direct Boss.) They are a very fun group of people, so I’m very much looking forward to seeing them. I don’t think it’s possible that we won’t have a good time.

It seems that I’ve been so wrapped up in the relatively short reading period for LA Review that I have let my own writing and submitting fall by the wayside.  It’s been weighing heavily on me, especially given that I have an idea for revamping my manuscript that I’m really excited about.  Yet, each time I’ve had a few minutes to sit down and work on it, I’ve found myself overwhelmed, stuck, and unsure how to begin.  Classic blockage.  And because I have so many other things competing for my time, and no hard deadline, it’s too easy to just put the writing aside for another week or three when it feels challenging.

Submitting has been a similar story.  I’ve had a few acceptances and a few rejections trickle in the past month or so, but I haven’t been sending things back out.  So now I find myself with one submission out there (not counting full book manuscript submissions) and a long list of poems that still need a home.  Despite the fact that I get great satisfaction from having a long list of journals I’m waiting to hear from, getting them out there is time consuming and, admittedly, boring.

This week a new PANK came out online with three of my weirder pieces in it, and the summer issue of Rattle also dropped, in which I also have a poem.  I feel great seeing my work out there.  I don’t think “euphoric” is even too strong of a word.  But I know I can’t keep the euphoria going without more journals publishing more of my poems, and that won’t happen if they’re not out there being read by editors.  So with that in mind, I have promised myself that I will push everything else aside today, lock myself in my 3rd-floor turret room office (a Victorian is a good kind of house for a poet, I think), and not emerge until every worthwhile poem is out in the world. Call it “submitapalooza” if you will.

Not only that, but the reading period for the next issue of LA Review closes in a couple of weeks, and at that point, I think I will have no excuse for putting off my own writing.  Time to generate some new work.  Time to remember that I am a writer first and foremost, and that means actually writing.

Check out this interview of my homegirl and fellow poetry editor, Tanya Chernov.  My reaction?  MORE! MORE!

I fear that I’m beginning to sound like a big Red Hen Press cheerleader, but given that I’m an employee of sorts and a friend of the owners, I guess that’s ok.  (Plus RHP pretty much all around rocks.)

This past weekend, they were in New York for a series of readings and their joint anniversary party with Rattle.  I was able to go to the events both Friday and Saturday night, and had a great time.  Friday night was a reading at the very dark, very red, and very fabulous KGB Bar in the East Village.  The four readers included Ernest Hilbert, Elise Paschen, Tim Green, and Greg Sanders.  It was a crush - standing room only - and the reading lived up to its promise.  It was one of those readings that really lights a fire under my…uh, that inspires me to write.  I had something of a breakthrough as I was listening, with regard to my own manuscript and what it needs to be what I want it to be.  Am going to be working like a fiend for the summer with the goal of having it as close to the vision in my head as I can get it by fall.

Saturday was the Red Hen/Rattle party at the Telephone Bar, and the highlight of that was having a long conversation with Rattle editor Tim Green, who likes physics as much as I do.  I personally think poetry and science make perfect sense together.  Like peanut butter and jelly.  Plus, I rather admire Tim’s new book American Fractal.

After the party, we dragged Red Hen Editor in Chief, Kate Gale, out for dinner and drinks.  A good, raucous time was had, and we were out until the last train back to Jersey, so I’m calling it a success.  How Kate felt on her early flight the next morning, I have no idea.  Heh.

Work for LA Review is going swimmingly.  Thanks to all of you who have submitted.  We are highly impressed with the quality of the work coming in.  You’re making it very easy to put together something special.

Not only did I receive the good news from PANK while I was in Las Vegas last weekend, but this week I got word that Spillway 14 will be publishing two of the three poems I sent them.  My fingers are crossed that this indicates a long series of acceptances in the coming weeks.  A girl can hope, can’t she?

I have been sending out some new submissions, but have saved the strongest two for the Best New Poets anthology, for which I was nominated by the very kind poetry professors in my MFA program.  Fingers crossed very, very hard.

Please forgive the dearth of posts — I’ve been consumed with wading through the slush pile.  I must say, I am very impressed with the overall quality of submissions we’re getting at LA Review. I would have thought there’d be a lot more amateur poetry.

All that slush has, unfortunately, affected my writing time as well, and I’ve done very little.  In fact, I’ve been remiss in getting submissions out, too.  Have had many come back that need to go right back out again (long dry spell), but am lacking the time to sit down and do it.  Nothing makes me want to submit more than an acceptance, though, and I finally got my first one in a couple of months — from PANK.  Hooray!

Next week is shaping up to be a good one in terms of literary events: Tim Green is coming to NYC to do a reading with a few other Red Hen writers.  His new book American Fractal is outstanding, and I’m very much looking forward to hearing him read.  Then there’s a Red Hen anniversary party a few nights later.  Should be a most excellent time.

My friend Peter sent me a link today to a Telegraph article on how the Internet is actually making poetry more popular and more accessible to the everyday Joe.  What great news!  How long has it been since poetry has actually increased in popularity and accessibility?  Perhaps the Internet isn’t the literature-killing monster that some claim.

Read the full article here:  Internet is Causing Poetry Boom

(Incidentally, my 13-year-old son tells me the title of this post is grammatically incorrect and, in fact, makes no sense.  He’s taking Spanish at school and is a stickler for accuracy.)

I haven’t updated lately because, frankly, I’ve had quite the string of rejections and it has been getting me down.  I had a period of about six months where it seemed like I got two acceptances out of every three submission responses, and I think it made me a little cocky.  The six or seven rejections I’ve had in a row this last month or so have certainly undone any cockiness I might have been feeling, though.  I realize I need to suck it up and send it all back out again, but what I really want to do is spend some significant time writing better stuff.  A lot of these are older poems from my first MFA year, and quite honestly I think I can do better.

Of course, I may not have so much time to write better poems because…(drumroll)…I have recently been appointed to the overwhelming yet incredibly exciting position of Managing Poetry Editor of Los Angeles Review!  [*throws confetti* *sprays champagne*]  This is not only an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me, but I am so thrilled and lucky to be working with the other editors there.  Everyone on the staff is really top-notch and we’re going to put out an amazing issue.  I’ve had to hit the ground running, but there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing right now.  And I will find time to write those better poems, too.  I might have to actually schedule my writing time instead of just doing it whenever.  Gasp!

Anyway, I’d like to put out a call to my fellow poets.  Send me some work that will knock my socks off, will you?  Here are the guidelines for poetry submissions:

LA Review welcomes submissions of previously unpublished poems by both well-known and up-and-coming writers.  Please submit to lareview.poetry@gmail.com 3-5 poems in a single .doc or .rtf attachment that includes your name and contact information.  Also include a cover letter and bio in the body of your email.  Simultaneous submissions are accepted if noted in the cover letter.  Kindly do not send multiple submissions.  Response time is 2-3 months.

I look forward to hearing from you!

Quite honestly, I’m overwhelmed by the thought of writing about AWP.  There was just so much to it.  Where does one even begin?

This was my first AWP, and I could not believe how many people there were.  And events.  And parties.  It is utterly impossible to do it all, so I did what I could.  I was there with my good friend and fellow MFA grad, Tanya, and half the fun was just hanging with her for four days.  We live on opposite sides of the country and only get to see one another a couple times a year.

The first night, we ran into Carolyne Wright, who was my thesis advisor and Tanya’s second reader.  I’m glad we did, too, because we didn’t see her again the whole rest of the conference until just before she left.  Went to the hotel bar with her and her publisher, Christine Holbert of Lost Horse Press, for a drink.  Eventually ran into Kate Gale of Red Hen Press, as well, who we later also saw at the Red Hen/Rattle party on Friday.   That first evening ended up being my only night of partying, though, as I came down with a hideous cold the next day and was in bed by 10:00 every night thereafter.  I heard that most participants partied into the wee hours, though.

The panels were generally pretty good.  I did a lot of picking and choosing and got some nugget out of all of them.  Some were definitely better than others.  One thing I have to mention is Kim Addonizio’s performance during the West Chester Writing Conference reading.  She is an amazing reader, is hilariously funny, and can play a mean harmonica.

We made it through most of the bookfair, and getting to meet editors who’ve taken my work was a highlight.  I especially enjoyed meeting Tim Green of Rattle, and the Poet Lore folks, who had me sign my page in the current issue for their archives.  Does that sort of thing ever get old?  I also discovered a new (to me) poet, whose work I love: Lynnell Edwards.  I had the pleasure of meeting her, as well, both at the Red Hen table and later at their party.

By the end of the conference, I was overflowing with writing inspiration, hopefulness about an opportunity I was presented with and am crossing my fingers for, and exhaustion from all the schmoozing.   I will definitely be returning next year, but I may need the entire 12 months to recover from this one.