The third time is not charming

Where have I been?

I've been spending time with the sequestered kitty, the cone-of-shame kitty, the "I ate a watch band and had my third major surgery" kitty, the "I'm lonely" kitty, the kitty who wants to be carried around the house, the kitty who must stay in the basement bathroom shower stall (complete with little basket, litter box, and food bowls) until his stitches come out.

Sorry, no photos. But you get the picture.

Last night, a terrifically fun reading at Bookworm Exchange.

Today, crushing about a ton of Merlot grapes. I hope the rain stops before we start. And I'll try to have pictures.

Another health-care reform bill

Tired of all the scare ads, I think I've come up with a health-care bill solution. It isn't reform. It's just a baby step to appease those elected officials who oppose a public option.

Let's take away their public options.

Let's pass a bill that takes away the insurance coverage currently available to Congress. They're public officials, so that plan is on some level tax-payer funded and public. Let them shop for, purchase, and pay for the private insurance that they so loudly tout.

And the bill will take away their Medicare, now and in the future. That's a public option, too.

I think it's time for the esteemed members of Congress to put their money where their mouths are.

Poems in a series

Over on Jeannine Blogs, Jeannine Hall Gailey talks about, and asks about, writing poems in a series.

This is a favorite subject of mine, and here is the response that I posted:

Thanks for bringing this up. (I sent my essay on it in to P&W, although that's a long shot.)

I've realized that most of my poems that I'm working on right now are thematic but not actually a series (no necessary ordering). And right now I'm having trouble finding a solid rhythm in any of my projects, which is uncomfortable for me. Even when I'm coming up with some intriguing one-off ideas, it's still uncomfortable.

For fitting those one-offs into a collection, I've heard a few ideas to try: Find the thread that holds them together (chances are there is some overarching abstract idea that each of these poems is expressing in a different way). Then you can retitle the poems to fit your theme, or you can divide the poems into sections and use the section titles to bring in the theme. Okay, I'm out of ideas for now.

Finally, I proposed a session on writing poems in a series to Winter Wheat, and the response was positive. So this is even more on my mind than usual.

Ready? Set!

Set type?

Set line spacing?

Coming soon: A new video, shot at the Montford Press, showing you how to get the line-spacing you want (for poems) in Microsoft Word 2007.

There is so much fun stuff to look at.

It's type candy.

Ack! Narrative anxiety

I am struggling with this idea of narrative poetry—or narration in a poem—or just writing a poem.

After taking Karen Finnefrock's class and reading Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones, I'm doing a lot of generative writing. I love the generative writing, but I end up with this long, rambling mess of images and memories. That's the point, to go and see where it takes me and hopefully end up with some new, surprising stuff.

But it's the long, rambling aspect of it that worries me. It doesn't feel like a poem.

Yes, this is before any revising—and yes, any of this work will most likely see much revising. But I can't shake this feeling that I'm really just telling a story in a very linear way. Maybe that's okay, but I don't think it's the poem I want to write.

How do you tell a story in a poem?

But does it come with a matching handbag?

Lately, I've been reading poems by Katrina Roberts. Although her tone or her voice or her approach shift and evolve between her books, she manages to be cerebral and tactile at the same time--and a little surreal, with a lot of depth. It's wonderful.

Because I am me, I'm doubting my own work and thinking my poems are too simple, too plain. At the same time, I'm reading Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. And she is telling me not to doubt, and I am telling myself that my voice is my voice. (Doubts, like gnats or mosquitoes.)

But isn't it fun to experiment with other people's voices? Like trying on the scarlet dress with the slit all the way up the thigh and matching stiletto heels? Or spending the weekend in different town and imagining that you really live there?

It's good to stretch, see how else my words can sound, what other words I can find, how I can evolve. It's also a little bit scary (although it isn't like I need to show anyone my attempts).

How do you stretch? And how do you swat those doubts away?

And what is the cat eating now?

The price of strategy

Who knew?

I had three poems that were medical in nature, and I wanted to send them to the Bellevue Literary Review. Their website indicated that although they read year-round, they began reading in earnest in September. So I thought I'd wait until September, or almost then.

Not such a good move. Today, their website indicates that they now have a huge backlog of submissions and are closed to new submissions until further notice.

Dang it!

Every submission is a long-shot, sure. But this is where my good thinking got me. Back to the drawing board, or the Poet's Market. (I already have work under consideration or pending at the other three medicine-related venues I know of, so why am I complaining?)

A few days ago, while watching a rerun of Deadwood, I heard Al Swearengen say, "Whenever we announce our intentions, God begins to laugh." Or something close to that.Knowing the show, I'm betting it's a quotation from somewhere (Shakespeare? the Bible?). Either way, it's been a good reminder for me to stay loose. Plan, but don't count on anything.

How do you strategize? (Or do you?)

How do you adapt when plans have to change?