Tag Archives: writing

Taking Action

So I don’t know yet how I feel about the weekend of writing/meditation. I haven’t looked back at the writing itself. At the end, I was very tired and drained. I didn’t have an epiphany like I was hoping I would. But I did come up with some action, some definitive action that I can take.

I wrote a lot about James, and a lot about God. The God thing is going to be ongoing, will take a lot of searching and seeking, and will probably take a long time to figure out, maybe the rest of my life. The James thing is easier. I need to spend more quality time with him. I need to see him, not as a burden, as I sometimes do (as I am sure any parent with a special needs child does), but as an opportunity, as a lesson. It never occurred to me before this weekend that I could learn things from James, from my twisted/weird/mixed-up love for him. So I will spend more time with him. I will ask him questions. I will play games with him, and I will try to make myself watch movies with him. I’m not saying that I’m going to hang out with him all the time, but I could take him out to eat once a week and just talk to him. And I can try not to dread our trips to Walmart so much. I can encourage him to take better care of himself. And once a week I can watch a movie of his choice, while gently nudging him to try new things. I can do all that. It’s doable. I can take action. If that’s all I get out of this weekend, then the weekend was worth it.

Now my knee is fucked up, my GOOD knee. It gave out at the grocery store. Dale and I took his mother out to lunch, then we did the shopping. The knee just popped, in and out, in and out. It doesn’t hurt. It just isn’t working correctly. I am icing it. I hope I can get around tomorrow. If I can’t, I suppose I’ll go to the doctor. If I can, then I’ll need to workout tomorrow. I think riding the bike would help. Of course, riding the bike hurts my backside, my bursitis, but that can’t be helped. I will just do the best that I can do. I see this new doctor again on Thursday morning. Maybe he will have a new plan for me, to lose weight, to lower cholesterol, to get things under control. I hope my knee will hold out until then.

Now I have to get ready for tomorrow’s classes. I have quite a bit of reading to do. I hope to make it to the gym tomorrow. I dwell in hope. If I hold on and keep holding on, God will work a dark miracle in me. That’s the kind of thing that came out in my writing this weekend, God and God-talk, all over the place. I sounded like a mystic, like a medieval nun.

~r.

“For all is blue and madly weary and someone drove a wedge into my brain…”

I wrote that in high school, part of a long, windy poem. I had dreamed of the gymnasium—it was blue and there were ladder back chairs suspended from the ceiling. They were blue, everything was blue, my brother’s blue bedroom in the old house, the seventh grade hallway on the bottom floor closing in on me–blue, blue, blue.

Yesterday I slept in the morning, until late. We didn’t make it to the gym. I felt normal. Then I went into work and taught my first class. I began to feel really good. I got a great rejection from Missouri Review:

Thanks so much for letting us read and consider “Give Your Best Mother A Kiss” for publication in The Missouri Review. While it doesn’t quite fit what we’re looking for right now, we really enjoyed the ominous tone in this story and the effortless sense of quick pacing. We appreciate your interest in our magazine and your commitment to quality writing.

We wish you the best of luck publishing your work and sincerely hope you’ll send us more in the future.

Sincerely,

The Editors

Then I started to feel even better. Then I went to poetry class and felt better and better until I was fairly bursting with betterness. Then I ate supper with a couple of my favorite students, basking in the great glory of my life, surely the luckiest person on the planet. Then I went to teach my evening class and could barely contain myself. I could hear myself laughing inside a bubble of laughter. This lasted all the way through to our break. Then I crashed, down and down, all the way to the bottom of the sea.

 

So far today I have not felt manic, nor anything near, though the internal monologue is sometimes loud, which is something I have to be so very, very careful of. This morning I went to hear Robert Pinsky, who is visiting our campus. It was a Q & A. All of his answers were very, very long. I wrote a poem. I went to pee. Then it was time to lunch, in one of the UC rooms, round tables with golden napkins. Somebody pushed three tables together. Pinsky sat down beside me. I felt as dumb as a post. I felt twelve and on my period. I felt ridiculous. I asked him a question about his Dante translation, comparing it to the Palma translation. I may have offended him. After a while, he turned away from me, turned to the woman on his left and talked to her. I turned to the man on my right and talked with him. Then Pinsky got up and left our table, no doubt in hope of better entertainment. I hate such gatherings. I have too many fat knees. They take up the whole room.

 

Now I am in my office and the hours without speaking to anyone loom large. The inside of me is a slab of granite, a slab of concrete with little black specks. I am full of smoke and words, full of jelly and god. Actually, I am full of grits and bagels. And potato chips. A couple of chunks of melon, which I hate, but ate anyway. A can of Coke. A stale croissant. I bypassed the brownie.

I don’t know if I’ve written about this here, but I’ve written a new piece, all about God and my brain on God. I wrote it in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep for all the words in my head. I was manic. Lucky for me, lucky for the world, my mania never lasts long, doesn’t become full blown. So far. No flying off the roof for me. I remain grounded. But if good feelings could make me fly, I would be in a planetary system far, far from here. I would live in a star. I would have a red belly and hot coals for hair. I would stare into the sun and never tire.

This Friday I am going on a writing retreat (just one day) to practice Proprioceptive writing. At least I think that’s how you spell it. It’s a form of meditation, or something like that. Write the Mind Alive—that’s the book. Who knows what will happen. This writing is supposed to get you in touch with your thoughts as they move through you. Well….I am full of words. Is that the same thing as being full of thoughts? I am scared of my thoughts. I don’t trust them. If I listen too much to myself I go a little crazy. So maybe this will be good for me. Maybe. We will see what we see.

Now I must move through the next few hours until my night class.

~r.

And the sun comes out

Don’t you hate it when you get a great idea for a piece of writing and then it starts to slip away? Maybe it’s because I’m out of focus right now, but the book idea that I mentioned a couple of weeks ago now seems impossible. I’m wondering if I could even write a short piece. It’s just so complicated and I can’t seem to get a grip on it. It’s one of those projects that I have to be inspired to write because otherwise it will just suck. At least I think that’s right. In any case, I wrote a bit on it yesterday and I think what I wrote isn’t good enough. I’ve lost track of the magic.

The good news is that I feel good this morning, not so dark. I drank a lot of wine and actually cried a bit last night, which was a very good thing. I also read the new piece to Dale and Annette, also a very good thing. I think the sun is actually coming out, which also helps. I lost weight this week, which is some kind of freaking miracle. But I’ll take it. I’ll take the sunshine and the good feelings and maybe a poem or two. I want to write about DNA, my DNA, my poor, tired, used up genes. I have an idea for a poem, which may be a bad thing. Often, starting with an idea leads to an artificial poem. We will see what we see.

In other writing news—I finally started the story that I’ve had on the back burner for months now. First I got a scene idea, then a general idea of the storyline, then I got the first line, and yesterday I finally wrote it down. It’s only the beginning, a couple hundred words, but at least I’ve got something down on paper. Now I just hope I can muster up the gumption to keep working on it.

But isn’t it funny that in the midst of everything that’s going on, I wrote a new piece? Just like that. That’s the thing that I mentioned the other day, how I like to snatch time for writing, writing in the in-between moments. The first half of this piece I wrote Tuesday night in class while my students worked together in pairs. It just poured right out of me. I wish that all writing could be like that all the time, just pouring out in a long, twisty stream. Alas and alack.

I think I’m going to go to the grocery store. I hope I can make a deal with myself—to only eat bagels on the weekend. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The only thing is, I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything. Hummmmmm.

~r.

Sunny Side Up

So, oddly enough, I slept without medical aid last night and woke up refreshed and not so angry. Of course the phone calls haven’t started, or it isn’t time for them to start, and I haven’t had time to get pissed off all over again, but I think I’ll be better today.

Got an excellent rejection this morning. Actually, it was an invitation to resubmit and so I did. Hopefully this batch will be more pleasing. Of course, I have probably overwhelmed this poor editor. I actually sent him 13 poems, lucky thirteen. Never ask me to dance cause I’ll expect you to marry me. Overboard is my first name. Anyhow, I feel certain they’ll take something at some point, I just hope it’s sooner rather than later. Got to get me some publications. I fully intend to blow it out of the water this year. I am most greedy and unsatisfied.

Today I am supposed to deliver my Malibu Pilates chair for sale to a woman who works at UTC. I just haven’t been using it. It’s too hard for me to really get into. Anyhow, I’m selling it. But it’s raining and is supposed to rain very heavily in the afternoon, so I may bail.

On the exercise/eating front, the exercise is going fine, though of course I didn’t make it to the gym yesterday. I rode the bike for 90 minutes instead. Dale said, “Just imagine how you’d feel if you hadn’t done that.” Seriously. The eating is still a little nutty. I have added the daily smoothie, so I’m getting more good things in there, but I’m still having the huge breakfast, now with grits instead of hash browns. This wouldn’t be a problem if I would eat less at my other meals, but. But I’m stressed out right now and the fact that I don’t have a feed bag tied under my chin is amazing. There, way to go. Instead of beating yourself up, point out the positive. Good for you, girl.

~r.

 

Criticism

I got a few rejections at the end of last week, and one of them was this:

 

Dear Rebecca,

Thank you for sending us “A Thin Piece of Skin.” We appreciate the chance to read it. Unfortunately, the piece is not for us.

We thought this had some great bits of imagery and description, but overall the plot was a little too melodramatic for our tastes. Because of this, we have decided to decline your piece for publication.

Thank you for allowing us to read your work and best of luck with your writing.

Sincerely

 

Not exactly a terrible rejection, but how dare these folks say my story is melodramatic? It’s not melodramatic, it’s brilliant, but they just couldn’t see it. It’s probably too disturbing for them to publish. Lots of my stories are too disturbing or too this or too that. Same with my poems. The sex is too dark or too sexy, the children are too disturbing, blah, blah. True, this is a horrible little story with awful sharp teeth, but still. I believe in it. But if there is one criticism that I do expect about my stories that I  generally haven’t gotten, it’s that they are “thin.” I know this as they are generally language-driven instead of plot-driven. But I don’t tend to get that sort of criticism, and, in truth, I don’t usually get criticized in rejections, which is a good thing because if I did I’d most likely be pissed, as I am about this rejection. But oh well.

Haven’t really written anything the last few days. Tried to write a bit last night, but there was nothing doing. When I go to sleep at night I have ideas and snippets of language, but in the light of day it’s just not there. Well, that’s not entirely true. I just haven’t made room for it. We’ve been watching tons of football, I had wine last night, and just could not sleep at all, so last night and yesterday were a bust and today has been a bust because of Seroquel and sleeping late, late, late and making many excuses. So no writing. But isn’t that always the way of it? I didn’t write because of this, because of that, because of something else I had to do, no matter how lame the excuse?

But I’ll not beat myself up about it. I am still not in focus. And James’ procedure is coming up next week and tomorrow is a school holiday and I have to get James into see his shrink this week and there are worries afloat and I am knee-deep in motherhood and football and, soon enough, American Idol. Always, always something. But I do well in this environment. I like to write in snatches, in in-between moments. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself today.

~r.

 

Devolution?

I just read a blog about making your blog a hit on the Internet and I’m thinking and wondering if I will be able to do that. Mostly what I write about is highly personal and most likely not very interesting to most people. So what I think I’ll start doing is this—I’ll start with something of general interest, or something about writing, and then when I’m done with that, I’ll get all my shit out in a more personal/venting piece.

So today I want to talk about an article that I read last night: “So You Say You Want A Devolution?” by Kurt Andersen which appeared in Vanity Fair. Andersen’s point is that over the past twenty years our culture has changed very little, other than the obvious technologic changes. His premise is interesting and when you think about it from one point of view, he has a point. Having been an adult the last twenty years, I would say that it’s true that things have changed very little as far as the look of things, which is so much of what Andersen bases his argument on—that cars, for example, haven’t changed very much, that the basic daily uniform of jeans and sneakers hasn’t changed very much, and that if you compare the fifties with the seventies, there was marked difference, or if you compare the sixties with the eighties, you find the same difference. Andersen uses his observations to ask the question—is western culture declining and he mentions the great civilizations of the past–Rome, Egypt, (even France!!)—to make the point that after their peak, they entered a stagnant middle age.

But if you think about it from another point of view, I think his argument is somewhat unfounded. I don’t think that we can dismiss the technological changes as an aside, as Andersen does. Maybe, precisely because our technologies are changing so fast, we hearken back to the past, and Andersen does speak of this, but there’s so much that he doesn’t consider. For instance, I think that, in the area of design, American designers (and other designers) spent the last century and a half discovering what works best for human beings. There was a lot of experimentation with, say, the chair (another thing Andersen alludes to). Of course there were some improvements as far as comfort goes, and there was some innovation as far as design goes (often silly, uncomfortable design), but really, how far can you take a chair? A chair is dictated by the human body’s design, as is most furniture that is functional. There’s just a limit on how far it can go, unless you imagine a chair that can give you orgasms or dreams a la Brave New World. I think the same is true for clothing. People wear jeans and sneakers because they are comfortable and one thing that has changed in the past sixty years is a loosening up of society, at least in this country. People just aren’t as formal anymore. The hat is now an accessory, or cold weather wear, not a necessary part of one’s day to day uniform. And as things have relaxed, things have opened up. You can certainly wear a hat if you want to. Now you have the choice. Women, to a large degree, can wear whatever they want. Just because low-rise jeans are in style(or were in style just a minute ago) doesn’t mean that you can’t find mom jeans and sport them on your trip to the mall. Just because platforms are in doesn’t mean that you can’t find a plain old pair of pumps and wear them anywhere you please. I wouldn’t say the same is true for men though. Men have only so many options, unless they want to be radical and wear skirts or, as I sometimes see on black men around my town, truly snappy suits of orange or green or powder blue(stellar). But the point here is, that while men generally have fewer “in-style” options for clothing, they have the choice to wear what they please. Of course none of this is true for the workplace. You wear what you are expected to wear, but even within that confine, there are options for women. My point is that society has relaxed over the past fifty years. Our attitudes toward sex and the personal life have changed so radically, at least on the surface, and our fashion reflects that. And I feel that as we push the boundaries of our day-to-day experience with technology, then much of what we do and experience becomes the prevue of the mind, of the interior. I think that the virtual, technological reality and all the innovations to be found there are what occupy us now, and will continue to occupy us. Maybe in fifty years we won’t care as much about how things look in the real world, only in the virtual world, but maybe Andersen would consider that the decline of western civilization. I consider that the future.

~r.

And now for musing about health and weight and smoothies:

So I’m up very early this morning. I’ve tried an herbal called “deep sleep” a few times and it seemed to work last night. I went to bed at about 10:45 and woke up at 5:00, feeling pretty fully rested. But now that I’ve eaten I’m beginning to feel drowsy again. This often happens when I’m up really early these days.

So, to continue the theme of not beating myself up and bemoaning my weight gain, I am adding new things to my diet. I am drinking a serving of Naked Green Machine every day and I bought some walnuts and plan on working in a serving every day. I also bought a green probiotic drink called KVASS which is pretty okay taste-wise, but I think I’m just going to start making green smoothies. On Dr. Oz yesterday there was a recipe for one that sounded really good. It’s made with green tea, so would be free on Weight Watchers. The point here is that I don’t always eat vegetables on a regular basis and I don’t see that really changing. I’m just not willing to cook every day. And then there’s the fact that it would still be really hard to get all the vegetables I SHOULD have every day, so a green smoothie, getting those greens in there, is a good place to start. And it’s easier for me to eat fruit every day than vegetables. I am wondering if my Ninja will grind up carrots enough to put them in a smoothie. I wish I liked raw tomatoes. Anyhow, I’m working on it. And I can still cook a pot of something weekly, something with lots of veggies in it. I love making stews.

The thing to do about the hash browns is to just not buy them, which breaks my heart, but seriously, I have begun to look so forward to them. Just now, I had breakfast and then a repeat of breakfast, which I’m ashamed to admit here, but that’s the power of these things. So, when I go to the store today, NO HASHBROWNS!! And another thing. Since the Xmas party, I’ve had wine in the house and I’ve been slowly drinking it up. That has to stop. I just don’t need the alcohol. It’s much better to have Miller Lite than to have a couple glasses (or two or three) of wine. So once it’s gone, and it almost is, I’m back to my light beer, and not too much of that.

As for the exercise, I hope to make it more regular. Maybe that way I won’t get so sore. Somehow, when Lanie and I worked out in the pool on Thursday, I managed to do something that bruised my tailbone. At least it FEELS bruised. I could barely sit on the bike yesterday for 30 minutes. It’s weird. Today I hope to get to the gym and just walk on the track, or do the elliptical. Or the treadmill. Something. I was so sore last night. It was awful. I soaked in a bath, but even with an ibuprofen it was really rough. So I just have to make it more regular. The plan is for Lanie and me to get to the gym three times a week, twice with machines and weights, once with the pool. If I can do that, I’ll feel like I’m getting my money’s worth. And I need to start back with a massage every week.

The hardest part of all these resolutions is staying out of bed. I just love to sleep so much, but there’s all this reading I’m wanting to do, and all this writing. But chances are good that I will get everything done, I generally do if I put my mind to it. I can get everything done AND get lots of sleep. And mentioning sleep, I think I’ll head back to bed right now.

~r.

Carbs

Today I feel much clearer and much more positive. So my eating is out of control right now. Well, it could be worse. I could be eating meat and cheese and terrible things but I’m not. I’m sticking to my vegan path and that’s something to be proud of. So I’m patting myself on the back for that. It’s winter and of course I’m wanting heavier foods. Who doesn’t? It’s okay if my eating is all out of whack. I’m not smoking, so that is another thing to be proud of. And at least I haven’t gained back all the weight I lost, and I lost weight last week, so things aren’t so terrible. And as for exercising, I didn’t work out this week until today, but last week I worked out six out of seven days. So I’m a little derailed, but I just started back to work and there’s always an adjustment period. And that’s okay. It’s all okay. There’s a lot of stress all around me and I’m holding my own. Good for me.

So I just have to cut myself all the slack I need right now. I didn’t write yesterday and that’s okay. I may write today and I may not and that’s okay as well. I’m not working under some looming deadline or something. I can do what I want. And I intend to. I will write when I write and I will live my life and all is well, everything is actually okay.

James has a cardiac MRI on Friday. I must simply breathe in and out. The procedure is on the 23rd. I must simply breathe in and out and keep it in the road. So far my classes have gone very well. I am a good teacher. I need to keep reminding myself of that just now. I can do this, I can do all this, I really, really can. All is well in this corner.

I just ate and had coffee and I’m in my workout clothes and I have some reading to do before class and it’s thundering outside and today it will hit sixty degrees but tomorrow it will be in the thirties by the afternoon with maybe a dusting of snow and what is a person supposed to wear in this crazy weather?

Now I will do some things.

~r.

Trapped

Today I have been useless and I don’t even care. It’s no wonder that I can’t sleep at night when I sleep so much during the day when I can, when I want to, though I wouldn’t really call it sleep. It’s more like hiding out in the bed with the covers pulled up hoping no one will find me. Of course people kept calling me, calling me, calling me. I had to schedule an MRI for James’ heart and that’s all I’ve done all day. I ate too much cereal and feel sickly. I never really got to enjoy my morning coffee what with being on the phone with hospitals. I am feeling a bit surly and do not want to go to class tonight. But I will and I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself, have a fine time, I always do.

So this new book, this new idea. I wrote some yesterday, but not today so far. If I can do it, if it’s even possible. I let Dale read what I had and he said it was lovely but wondered what I could possibly do with it, i.e. how would I ever sustain it for the long haul? That’s a very difficult question to answer because I certainly have no idea at this point. But I figure, if I can write one page, I can write another page. That seems like faith or some sort of twelve step program, one page at a time. But that’s all I know so far.

I hate SEROQUEL. That’s why I feel so stupid today. I had to take some last night and I am just dumb as a rock today. Of course, I wouldn’t feel this way if I had gotten up and got to it, if I had forced myself to move and get some energy going. But I was stubborn and unwilling to do that and now I’ve wasted the day, just because I could.

And the thing is, I’m in an eating nightmare. It feels like addiction. I can’t stop eating hash browns and bagels and grits and soft, bland foods. I am force feeding myself, just as I’ve done in the past. Why am I doing this? Why? Because I’m not smoking? That could be it but this was going on before I quit. Is it because I’m worried about James? That could be it, but once again, this was going on before I started worrying about James. Or was it? I’m just not sure. All I know is it would be easier to just not eat at all. This must be why folks go on systems like Jenny and Nutri System. The food is already made for you. Balls. I am having a really hard time and I swear I’ve been manic a couple of times, or at least been something that feels awfully like mania. I must be careful and maybe now is not the time to try to do everything at once—stop smoking, eat right, lose weight, exercise, write a book, work full time, take care of my family and pets and house and friends. Yes, it’s a lot. No wonder I’ve been hiding out. The thing to do now is get in the shower, change my state, and move forward. Just because I had a bad day doesn’t mean that the next day has to be bad. And that’s the hardest thing about food. Just because I blew with the cereal, doesn’t mean I should, SHOULD just blow the rest of the day. That’s the rub. I feel like I SHOULD eat shitty food because I just keep EATING shitty food. It’s a trap. I need to bust out of it. But how to do that? Effort.

So here’s to the shower and the hope that tomorrow will be a better day.

~r.

 

Bubbles

So I’ve started the new book and it’s going to be so difficult to write that I think I’ll settle for a page a day. Even if that’s all I write, I’ll still have many pages this time next year. And this book truly will be all about language and playing and hanging out with myself and listening to the words on the air. I thought that CLICK was about language, but now I realize that that was only partly true. This book, this book will be all about language. So maybe it will be a really long book of poems. Or maybe it will be a backwards memoir. I don’t know what it will be but it will blow many bubbles and swim on its back down a lazy river. It will sleep inside a fluffy cloud and float across the sky toward heaven. I am so excited.

Tomorrow I go back to work, back to school. As always, I have a new schedule to get used to. I will go in at 2:00 on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I will work until 8:00 on Monday and Tuesday nights and until 5:00 on Wednesday. That’s it, that’s my new schedule and I can’t wait. But I will have to get used to it, which usually takes at least a couple of weeks.

Tomorrow I will work out and get ready for classes and maybe blog at bit. I want to do interesting writing exercises in my classes. My brain is churning with ideas, but I don’t have a lot of time now. This semester I am giving my CNF students more time to work on small scenes. Learning to write scenes is the hardest thing for many of them to get, as it was for me, so this will be a good thing. Whatever happens, I need to calm down and get a good night’s sleep. I am getting more and more excited. Yesterday and today I spent hours and hours reading the poetry journals. I had no idea they would take so long to comment on. Now I know what to expect this semester.

Yesterday I got a rejection from Rattle, for poems. They are really funny. They go to great lengths to let you down easy:

 

 

This is a form letter–necessary with a tiny staff and all these submissions–but what I’m about to say is sincere: Unlike most literary magazines, we don’t solicit work from famous poets; we feel that practice isn’t fair, and doesn’t make for a good magazine. Every single poem we publish started out as a submission, and 90% of the submissions we receive are from people who’ve submitted before. If you add those two facts together, you’ll see how much we rely on your persistence and generosity. We really do hope you’ll keep sending new work as it’s ready.

Also, it should go without saying that our decision to return this submission doesn’t mean much. We’re just fans of poetry ourselves, and all tastes are subjective. Moreover, we’re always looking to make the magazine as eclectic as possible–often we end up turning down submissions that we enjoy, simply because they’re similar in tone or content to other pieces we’ve published.

 

 

Isn’t that awesome? And funny, I think. Sometimes I get the desire to start a literary magazine and I seriously doubt that I would have such a generous rejection letter.

Now I think I’ll write just a bit, on something, then I’ll go to sleep. Or maybe I’ll read, or blow pink bubbles.

~r.

Biography

So over at The Artist’s Road, I commented on a post about creative nonfiction and fractured storytelling. I really like the term “fractured” because when I know that a story that I’ve written needs an overhaul I usually “fracture” it, which is to say I disjoint the language, loosen it up, put more of my stamp on it. I basically make it more lyrical and poetic. But the thing about the post that really intrigued me was the author’s comment that the lyric essay is on one end of the CNF spectrum and biography is on the other end. Which is interesting because I haven’t considered biography, at least in its traditional sense, to be CNF at all. Now I am rethinking my stance on this. I would have to say that if the biography uses the techniques of fiction and/or poetry to tell the story of someone else, then it IS CNF. But there are so many biographies that are not CNF. It’s just difficult to say. Is an essay CNF? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. As I always tell my students, CNF is a slippery, new genre.

Even though yesterday was a seriously lazy day, I did get some things done. I took care of the flexible benefits forms and got them in the mail. I paid a bill. I watched Project Runway All Stars. And I suffered with a terrible sinus headache. This same thing happened to me the last time I quit smoking. My doctor told me that it’s not uncommon. Smoking keeps stuffed burned off and then when you quit, shit starts to grow. And how. I hope I don’t have to go to the doctor for this.

Today, or tomorrow, or Sunday, I have to get to the poetry portfolios, which is a little frustrating because how many students will even bother to get them back? But oh well. I also need to finish reading these Polish poets that Jackson wants me to read. He is on an ongoing mission to educate me on all things poetry. This process will take a long, long time.

I got a rejection for poems yesterday. It’s funny. I send poems to a place like the Cortland Review with no real hope of getting in, then I get an acceptance. I send poems to a small place like Sierra Nevada College Review and I get rejected. Funny. I felt the same way when I got rejected by Rosebud last week. I haven’t submitted to them in years and years, but I felt certain they would take something. But they didn’t, though the rejection was good. But that’s just now it goes. You never know what’s going to happen with submissions. I have a lot of hope right now because I have so many submissions out there—57. And the really good thing is that it has once again became a game to me, something fun that I can do for myself. Before the book contract there was such a sense of desperation. Plus it had been so LONG since I’d published anything except the translations of my work. Now, because I have a book coming out, and several other pieces of work, I’m back in my playful, it’s-just-a-game mood that I was in before the career bit raised its ugly head. This is the place to be.

So I’m not sure what I’ll do today. Maybe work out, maybe not. Maybe, maybe do something productive. The world is full of these maybes.

~r.