Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

At this point, I'm not sure what to think about the pieces I'm writing. I remind myself all the time, I mean All. The. Time., not to be emotionally attached. I keep in mind how writing, especially fiction and poetry it seems to me, is incredibly subjective. Both of these notes-to-self notwithstanding, I still wonder if I'll ever produce anything that will be deemed publish-worthy. If the feedback I'm getting from the readers at the site I joined is any indication, I won't ever make the cut. A more recent piece is one in which I'm exploring the juxtaposition between enjoying a life of exploration, being able to experience the feelings brought about through travel and being able to make the calls versus not having this kind of freedom. The title of the poem is "Rift," which I was hoping would help the reader see there is a line/break/hole/chasm/difference of opinion that separates the two. The way the poem is set up, I thought, also gets at this idea o

I wrote a poem the other day from an idea that I've been batting around for about two months. Whenever an idea occurs to me, I jot it down in one of my far too many journals scattered around the desk, or I open a Word doc and write down the basic idea. I returned to the idea a few days ago, set to work, and after several hours of what felt like slogging through ankle-deep mud, I had a draft in place. I tinkered with it, got up to take Ado for a walk, came back to tinker a bit more, then closed out the file. I felt like the poem was taking shape, but could feel something more needed to be done. Today I returned to the poem and the something more appeared to me as if it had been right in front of me all along. I slashed about six lines. I changed a word that made me stop every single time I read the poem. It's amazing to me how one little word can have such a huge impact on reading. At that point, I decided to post the work to the online site for feedback. After typing in the t

Today I moved between writing, reading, vet, landlord, more writing, and sitting in front of the fire just watching the flame while listening to the rain patter against the roof, accompanied by a favorite jazz album playing softly. It was truly the kind of day to stay inside, snuggle into comfy clothes, and sip on hot chocolate. Although, to be honest, my choice of beverage this evening was a very delicious warm and fuzzy apple cider. Just lovely to sip on. The toughest part of the day definitely had to be the writing. I have three new pieces going at the same time while trying to revise two pieces that are closer to being "finished." I had one of the pieces workshopped by members of the online site I recently joined, and the critiques have been mixed. Several readers weren't able to make the connection to the time element working, which I thought might be problematic. That being said, the last person to critique did pick up on the lapse in time. A couple of other issue

So I signed up to be a member of a writer's group online. One where I can read others' works and offer feedback. I can also put myself in the hot seat by uploading my work for feedback. I've become totally consumed by reading others' poems and offering critiques. Seriously, I could spend my entire day just sitting here reading not only the poems but also the critiques others are offering. Even though the critiques are not in response to anything I've submitted, I still find them extremely helpful when looking at my own writing. With this site, I have had to gain karma points before I can submit anything for a critique (since I'm tight with a nickel as Angel Baby is fond of saying, and went with the free version of this site). The karma points come from reading and critiquing poems submitted by other members. They also come from the writers of those poems responding to the feedback in a positive way. I earned enough karma points today to submit one of my more

Last week, I shared a write-up about Andrea Wilches, one of the cyclists on the Northern Tier ride, summer 2016. I had the pleasure of riding with Andrea again this summer, both of us completing the Pacific coast, and I was able to sit with Andrea to catch up, get some insight into how the rides have impacted her life. The Beautiful Face of Andrea, Part II “I think the ride last year almost changed me completely.” The ride Wilches refers to is being a cyclist for Bike the US for MS , an organization based in Blacksburg, VA. For Andrea Wilches, the change she experienced affected her view of having MS, of what it means to be strong, and about life in general. Though Wilches was four years beyond the diagnosis of MS the summer of 2016, she was still grappling with how it fit into her life. Right up to the point when her application to be a cyclist with the organization was accepted, she’d not told many friends and co-workers she has MS. The acceptance forced her hand. If she

Last year, during one of the final days of the Northern Tier ride, I sat down with Andrea Wilches, one of the cyclists with the Northern Tier group, and talked at length with her about how the ride impacted her life. Andrea joined the group when we reached Minneapolis, which is where we also enjoyed a rest day. During our stay there, we went to the Minneapolis MS Center to meet those who participated in the programs made possible in part because of the donation given by Bike the US for MS. My memories from that day I’ll always treasure; the people I met, both those with MS as well as those who care for them, the beautiful garden, and witnessing Andrea begin her journey to finding a way to accept that she, too, has MS. Each day until the end of the ride last summer, I was constantly amazed by Andrea’s perseverance. She went into the ride with very little experience cycling long distance, and on the first day of cycling, not being completely comfortable with clipping into her pedals

I've read many books about writing. How to get started and write until a full-length novel can be spit out from the printer. How to mine memories to find ideas that could be turned into either a poem, a short story, or even a novel. How to get past writer's block. How to craft beautiful sentences. How to. How to. How to. In the end, most of the books come to the same conclusion: write a lot, read a lot, and write even more.  Today, I found a bit of advice I'd never heard before, and I had to sit back to let the words digest. I then went to my desk, pulled out a neon-green index card and wrote the advice on it, propping the card next to my monitor so I can see it all the time. Write Into, Not About I'm so guilty of saying, "I'm writing about . . .." when someone asks me what my project or anything I may be working on at the moment is. Today, keeping in mind the idea of writing into rather than about the idea I have been chewing on the past few da

I am such a dork at times. I just sent three poems to a literary magazine, and almost as soon as I hit the submit button of the program I use, I realized I'd not put my last name as part of the closing. I just put my first. I guess I could plead my case, saying I only now go by my first name. Or I could tell the truth--I was mulling over the idea of typing my maiden name, and in the process of considering this, I went ahead and attached the file I wanted to submit. Once the file was attached, the very natural next step is to click on Submit. So that's exactly what I did. Hopefully, the editors won't hold my lack of a last name against me. I've been thinking a lot about returning to my maiden name. In a way, doing so will take me all the way back to the day I went to the DMV and the Social Security office to change my name after marrying my husband. I was angry that day. I didn't want to change my name. I resented having to go to these agencies and having to show d

Yet another rejection. At least this one only took just over two months to show up in my inbox. I have two other pieces out, one that's been hanging for over five months, the other almost at the year point now. To be honest, I'd forgotten about the one that's been out for a year, so I sent an inquiry email today, asking about its status. I'm figuring since I've not heard anything, the answer will be a no. When Funny Delightful Son came in and asked what I'd been doing all morning, I answered, "Crying in my coffee over being rejected again." He thought my comment funny. I was being serious. Well, just a little bit, anyway. But I just marked the submission off the list I've been keeping, made note of the pieces that are open to being sent somewhere else, and researched more possible publications. I read some more poetry, hoping to soak up what it is about them that got them published, but more often than not I found myself sitting back in my chair