the Robotto-Mulatto

4 of my poems published at Small Doggies

2011-01-11T02:11:00.000-05:00

Four of my poems (listed below) have been published at Small Doggies.

There's sort of a story to this collection of poems, which I'll paste and change a little around from an email sent to the Affrilachian Poets:

When I was in Washington D.C. for Split This Rock I began this writing project.

I was thinking back to my first and only poetry professor, Frank X himself--specifically when he told us to come up with descriptions of objects in the classroom. The room was pretty damn bare, so you ended up getting lots of people describing the same pencil sharpener. What was interesting to me is that regardless of the quality, these were very different descriptions.

So it only made sense to me that no matter how mundane the object, a poet should be able to write a classroom's worth of poems about it. I don't have 30 different minds, but I can inhabit that many. Or many more.

I decided to write what I thought "13 ways of looking at a blackbird" was going to be about before I read it, that first time. That is, I wrote 13 poems about the most boring object I could find: a single set of nail clippers, which sit here beside me even now. As you'd probably guess, this became increasingly difficult, and by the end, it sort of taught me about how I think, because none of these poems were about the nail clippers, or at least, none of them were just about nail clippers.

Anyway, the poems are "Chapel Carter is the Inventor of the Nail Clipper," ""Clippers, as Tends to Happen, Lost in Modernism," "What Does a Nail Clipper do in Meeting a Mole?," and "Mortality and Nail Clippers."

Now I gotta find a home for the other 9. haha

On the liberation of Lawn Jockies

2011-01-10T17:59:00.000-05:00

I'm a little late at linking to this but my Affrilachian-sister Bianca Spriggs has one of my favorite blog posts of 2010 about her 're-purposing' of a lawn jockey (rechristened Rocko) in Lexington, KY.

A poem I wrote about lawn jockies appears on the blog as well, but honestly, check out the story and the photos first.

And spread the word! Seriously, I love this.

I've been published in Tidal Basin Review

2011-01-09T19:30:00.000-05:00

My poem, The Lost Quatrain of the Ballad of a Red Field has been published in the 2010 Fall-Winter issue of Tidal Basin Review.

And in a related note; probably the most beautiful cover of anything I've ever been published in. Check it out.

New Year's Resolution: Finish Last Year's Resolutions

2011-01-08T22:01:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned in my latest (and only, for a while now) post at We Who Are About to Die, I didn't exactly succeed in last year's New Year's Resolution to write a short story a week. I failed miserably. So this year, it's that, plus one. Two short stories a week. But I also failed at a great number of other things. I didn't finish NaNoWriMo, which I plan on doing. I haven't applied to grad school or sent in my Cave Canem check to go again this year (long stories which end with no money).

But this isn't half the drag that it sounds to be. I'm not downtrodden at all, just refocusing. As a matter of fact, some of my poetry is coming out in a number of publications. More on that on a later post.

For now, happy New Year's, and here's to failing as many times as it takes to get it right.

Christmas is nigh, and the mall sucks more than ever

2010-12-19T21:45:00.000-05:00

I actually completed all of my Christmas shopping months ago. Which is great, because this last week I worked 70 something hours, and was not about to want to go out to shop for two and a half families. As a matter of fact, I was so busy that this marks the first time since I decided to write two blogs a week that I was unable to write two entries. Which is upsetting to me, actually, but maybe twice as much time on a single, multiple-line update is better after all?

But I didn't shop for Regan's stocking stuff(ers), so I decided to go to the mall. A huge mistake, and a waste of a good chunk of the day--my only day off.

Speaking of which, I am considering quitting one of my jobs. It's a complicated decision; they're both seasonal jobs, but the higher paying one is likely going to end very much sooner than the lower paying one, so to quit either seems a terrible idea. But I haven't been able to do very much at all with my graduate school applications, my writing seems to be suffering in quality, and my reading has dropped off to power-reading.

I've long been a proponent of writing in spite of work, but I'm beginning to wonder if my special ridiculous amount of time spent at work might be an exception to that rule. More updates to come, I suppose.

Also, very good poetry news to come soon as I'm allowed to tell it!

P.S.S. Congrats to Bianca for her grant, Ricardo for his book, Frank X. for the newest issue of Pluck! and to everyone else in the Affrilachian Poets and who are pushing back!

I have a poem in the newest Anti-

2010-12-12T19:29:00.000-05:00

This is a special poem for me because it's that rare poem that not only got published, but which I regularly read. Plus, it's the poem which I named this blog for (I seriously just noticed that). Check out the Robotto-Mulatto's own, at Anti-.

Tax season approaches like a dark specter

2010-12-11T22:51:00.000-05:00

So all that time I was freelancing? I didn't really think about it at the time, but I didn't pay any taxes. Not sure what this is going to mean in the near future, but I'm pretty sure I'm screwed.

Oh, the life of a writer.

You can count on a how-to (or how-not-to?) about freelancing in the near future. Sometimes I wish I could travel back in time and tell young me some things. Okay. So if I could time travel, that's the very last thing I'd be doing. But you know what I mean.

Voyage of the Dawn Treader

2010-12-05T20:58:00.005-05:00

I'm not gonna lie. I'm excited as hell about this. My favorite book of the series, right under A Horse and His Boy.

NaNoWriMo post-poned again. Also, a creationist theme park

2010-12-03T21:36:00.002-05:00

This month is going to be ridiculous so I'm already throwing in the towel, so-to-speak. That is, I'm going to make January my NaNoWriMo, because I am working 80 hour weeks this month, as well as trying to write grad school applications. That takes priority, for the moment. On the plus side, I've carved out time to read and write.

In other news, Kentucky is gearing up to build a huge creationism theme-park:

Ark Encounter, which will feature a 500-foot-long wooden replica of Noah’s Ark containing live animals such as juvenile giraffes, is projected to cost $150 million and create 900 jobs, Beshear announced at a Capitol press conference.

“Make no mistake about it, this is a huge deal,” he said.

Governor Steve Beshear is spearheading this one, and it's going to include Noah's Ark, and way more animals than I find necessary. Man people love their ark. What about some of David's songs; small-world-after-all-style? Or some of those badass judges? Remember when Deborah drove a tent pole through Sisera's head? Good times.

You know, I ought not care about this half as much as I do. Really, I think my problem with it is two-fold. One: Why is Kentucky suddenly the headquarters for Creationism (current home of the Creationism Museum). It makes me feel more cut off from my own state than some of the other alienating aspects have ever made me feel. Two: Separation of religion and state doesn't come into play here, according to everyone involved. But please. Please someone propose an Islamic-themed amusement park.

Really. I've got my fingers crossed here.

On poetry in spite of work

2010-11-27T00:29:00.000-05:00

Photo by Brooks Elliott

This is going to be a very brief message: I have two jobs now, one involves stocking at Kohl's and the other walking (literally) miles and miles every hour at an Amazon.com warehouse. I just got finished with 16 hours of combined work, all 16 of which involved me walking. My feet are throbbing, and I've been up since almost this same time yesterday, and I have to wake up in 5 hours and go work another 10 hours at Amazon.

This is to say, I still wrote my poem for the day, and I'll write another tomorrow. So no excuses, people.

Happy holidays (and writing)!

Those Thanksgiving Blues

2010-11-25T20:50:00.000-05:00

Don't get me wrong; there are few holidays less corrupted than Thanksgiving (I don't count the whole slaughtering of Native Americans thing because if the holiday is really about thanks, which I think it is, it's not about any of that. That's not to say that what happened isn't wrong, or doesn't deserve its own day of recognition, but I don't celebrate Christmas because of what happened in a manger--nor do I celebrate Thanksgiving as anything more or less than a holiday of thanks).

And I actually just ate with more family than I've ever eaten with. An all around wonderful day.

But this marks the holiday season, which means dangerous weather, and suddenly, two jobs which will add up to be something close to 70 hours of work a week, on slow weeks. Plus I need to be writing my letters of intent for school, and job searching (because a better idea than having to work 70 hours a week to make ends meet is to find a 40 hour job to make them meet). So yeah, mixed feelings right now.

I'm thankful that I decided to postpone NaNoWriMo, at least. I can only handle so much.

I've been nominated for a Pushcart Prize!

2010-11-20T20:45:00.000-05:00

Muzzle Magazine has nominated me for a Pushcart Prize for my recent poem Blackberry Harvest. It pretty much has made my entire month.

Where has November (or October, for that matter) gone?

2010-11-20T02:41:00.000-05:00

I haven't written almost anything for National Novel Writing Month, which is essentially a failure. I have my excuses, but like most things, it was my own decision of what to prioritize that lead me down this road. I lost my long-time job writing from home, and that threw me a lot, and without any sort of constant, looming, money-based deadline, I felt like I was on a vacation I haven't had in a long, long time. In my defense, I think I'm just going to move NaNoWriMo to December.

That said, I'm starting to worry with what I'm doing with all my responsibilities. I'm considering changing my blog format, slightly. For instance, while I always write two blog entries a week, I'm not sure what a numeric goal necessarily serves, especially when I often don't seem to have time to read as many other people's blogs as I'd like. What I'm considering is having one blog entry a week as I do now, which is write about anything I'd like. The other will be a discussion of a poem, book of poems, or essay I've read.

Essentially, what I'd like to do here is discuss essays and poems much more often, but that will only take more time, not less. I'd like to raise the quality of everything that I'm doing, not cease doing them.

Anymore, fall just feels like unemployment

2010-11-13T22:08:00.000-05:00

I've been reading some of the letters sent between poets, as well as between them and their family. Besides the schadenfreude associated with hearing dirt on what are, essentially, celebrities (Robert Frost calls Ezra Pound his "sometimes friend." Ice cold.) there's a certain humanizing element to it as well. A solidarity in reading that T.S. Elliott struggled greatly with his finances when he moved to England. Especially now, that I am once again looking for work.

Really, at this point, it's more of the same. Just frustrating that so much of time time is spent just looking for work. Also, somewhat of a set back when a potential employer found this blog and rescinded a job interview. Now, I can see their post on Craigslist. Maybe that's something like seeing an ex at the grocery store, soon after the break up.

In any case, if there's writing that needs to be done, and you're not offended by my blog (which I personally find fairly tame), then give me a shout out. I write everything.

My new favorite thing - Underwater art

2010-11-11T23:05:00.000-05:00

There's not a whole lot that I can say about this that Two Four Flinching hasn't already said or which Jason de Caires Taylor, the artist behind these underwater sculptures, doesn't express in his own website. But his life-size pieces astound and thrill me like nothing I've seen in quite some time.

I think a part of me has always been tangled in seaweed.

Because there's not enough good, Kentucky rap

2010-11-07T00:26:00.003-04:00

CunninLynguists member Deacon the Villain and Kentucky rapper and honorary Affrilachian Poet (he's married to Bianca!) Sheisty Khrist are bringing it November 30th.

In Sheisty Khrist's words:

"if you are easily offended and don't understand off-hand humor and political commentary please do not watch. parental advisory. other than that be prepared to buy this album when it comes out this month. it is an amazing piece of work."

Couldn't agree more:

Also, if you're not already in the know, check out QN5 music, post-haste.

NaNoWriMo is off to a slooooow start

2010-11-04T21:47:00.000-04:00

Last year, when I was working third-shift, 50 hours a week at Amazon, I was able to write my 1666.66 words a day with hardly a stutter. This year, ironically enough, the looming threat of perpetual unemployment has me at a very sad state writing. I've written 800 words in 4 days. It should be noted, however, that I've continued to write my poem day, ever since National Poetry Month, in April of 2009. So I'm still writing.

A little disappointing though. I'm not discouraged, as I know I'll be able to get back on track. As a reminder, I'm writing 50,000 words of short stories, along with Bianca, instead of a novel. I imagine it should end like that first National Poetry Month ended for me, with a new sense of what writing is, and the ability to get it done even in the worst of times.

My two favorite characters.

In an unrelated note, last night I took a break from the insanity that has been this week (I won't go into it, but it includes the demise of my laptop's ability to ever connect to the internet again and an utter lack of money) I watched Spirited Away. One of the best movies I've ever seen. It's difficult to describe the sensation exactly, but I felt at all times as if anything could happen, and yet everything that happened followed its own internal set of rules. That is, the merging of the fantasies of C.S. Lewis' Wonderland books (where anything can happen, but there are no rules) with Tolkien's Lord of the Rings (where rules abound, so that you never truly feel that ANYTHING can happen).

I immediately went online to look at reviews, which is a strange thing I do, and saw that IMDB had the movie rated at 4 stars. It tells you something about a movie when are shocked and a little angry that it only got four out of five stars.

Technically, it's Halloween

2010-10-31T02:21:00.000-04:00

And I sort of want to be the Dummies guy.

Nanowrimo: Is it that time of the year already?

2010-10-28T23:53:00.000-04:00

Last year, I participated in National Novel Writing Month and for 30 days, blogged like I a middle school kid on his first livejournal. This year, with blogging having been under my belt for quite some time, and now even a novel written, I'm less apt to share the journey's every step. But a huge portion of my time is going to be devoted to fiction writing, so I'm sure something or another will make an appearance here.

I'm doing something else a little different this year as well. Having written that novel (essentially. I hit the word count and sort of stopped writing that last chapter because I knew it was ending badly) I am fully aware that I'm capable of cranking out a book. My goal, then, is to write a good one, and that's unlikely to happen in just 30 days.

Instead, fellow Affrilachian Poet Bianca Spriggs and I are going to be writing 30 short stories in 30 days. Basically, we're using the guidelines for word counts and writing the equivalent of a novel, broken down into short-story-sized bites.

The idea (for me) is to get as comfortable writing short fiction as I am in writing poetry. Wish us luck!

(By the way, the photo above is from 101 Reasons to Stop Writing, a hilariously cynical approach to writing. Or, I suppose, not writing.)

A photo of yours truly

2010-10-23T22:33:00.000-04:00

I'll just share one for now, but my friend Ashley Ross has taken some photos of me. Isn't she great?

Keith S. Wilson in Eden Park, Cincinnati. Photo by Ashley Ross

For Colored Girls book discussion at Evelyn N. Alfred's blog

2010-10-18T23:48:00.000-04:00

I won't lie; I love book discussions. I would participate in them all the time if I could find one that read things other than best sellers or summer (that is, easy) reads. So I jumped at the chance to participate in the book discussion Evelyn N. Alfred is leading at her blog and Twitter account.

Okay, jump is the wrong word, since I ended up 10 days behind. But I went out and bought the book for the discussion (tip: it's not in the poetry section, it's in the theatre section). Anyway, now I'm caught up, loving the book, and loving that someone's tackling poetry in book discussion.

Keep an eye on Evelyn's blog; she does stuff like this all the time. I think I've linked to her before, but this merits a second mention. Please join the discussion.

Book review: Introducing Kant by Christopher Kul-Want and Andrzej Klimowski

2010-10-17T02:25:00.001-04:00

I haven't done a book review in some time, and I suppose this isn't a full one but more of a warning. Do not buy Introducing Kant. Yeah, I know, surprise of all surprises, a book with so inspired a name isn't any good. But I've honestly never read a more misleading title in my life, and I'll give you a hint: the misleading part is not the word 'Kant.'

Rather than complain too much, let me show you a section of the text, with this in mind: None of this is explained in the pages before or after they appear.

The Faculty of imagination, in tandem with sensible intuition, engages in a "synthesis" of the "manifold" (or data).

"I understand by synthesis the act of arranging different representations together."

Form, as space and time, is reproduced in order to attain this synthesis. This is achieved through two operations of imagination: apprehension and reproduction.

Oh. A SYNTHESIS of the manifold. SYNTHESIS.

This book is absolutely worthless as an introductory text. And to top it all off, I have the Rousseau version of this series too.

My poem "How Like a Potato" has been published in the Fall 2010 issue of Poetrybay.

2010-10-14T15:41:00.000-04:00

My poem "How Like a Potato" has been published in the Fall 2010 issue of Poetrybay.

I've been trying to make an effort of announcing my publications here. I hate doing it almost as much as I hate writing or sharing my bio, but Bianca has been on me about it, and she's kind of right.

Also, I'm not entirely sure when it became available, but one of my poems, "Punch Line" has been printed in the AIDS anthology Spaces Between Us. This was a particularly proud moment in my poetry career; the poem means a lot to me, as does the intent of the collection itself. Check it out.

For the young that suffer

2010-10-14T13:50:00.002-04:00

I hated high school, and that's from someone who isn't gay and wasn't teased much at all. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to others.

The ever-elusive poet in the workforce

2010-10-09T19:01:00.001-04:00

I suggest you read the full post, entitled "Poetic Marketing":

Fellow Affrilachian Poet Crystal Good wrote this particular blog post a while back talking about the role of a poet in a business environment:

Today’s marketing world is built on two-way conversations and third-party endorsements. There is no room for pomp and cliché. If you are stumbling on how to tell your brand story think about the honesty of a poet and then ask yourself if you honestly understand your brand and your customer?

It's interesting that there is such a stigma between business and art. I understand the philosophy behind it. But ignoring businesses entirely is no more helpful of a poet than writing nothing but poetry that never makes it out of your notebook. If there is wrong, do something.

In any case, I love what Crystal is doing not only as it pertains to legitimizing poetic force in the workplace, but also for what she does for the community in general, especially in West Virginia. Let's recognize that poets exist outside the coffee houses and classrooms.

The Affrilachian Poets hit Frostburg State University Part III of III

2010-10-07T00:29:00.004-04:00

Sorry for the huge delay between this and the last Frostburg video set. I essentially lost, for a week, the ability to get the videos off my computer. But here are the final two videos. Affrilachian Poets Crystal Good and Ricardo Nazario-Colón.

Be sure to check out Part I and Part II for a selection of the whole Affrilachian performance, which included the poets Bianca Spriggs, Norman Jordan, Ricardo Nizaro-Colon, Mitchell L. H. Douglas, Ricardo Nazario-Colón, Crystal Good, and Keith S. Wilson.

Ricardo Nazario-Colón performing "Witness."

Crystal Good (wearing headgear bought at the festival) performing "Mountain Dulcimer."

Evelyn N. Alfred is giving away a free signed copy of Elizabeth Alexander's American Sublime

2010-10-02T23:49:00.000-04:00

Evelyn N. Alfred is running a contest to win a signed copy of Elizabeth Alexander's American Sublime.

I'm all over this contest. But I also love Evelyn's blog, and her commitment to the writing/poetry community, so here's to getting the word out there. Subscribe to her!

10 Modern Rules of Business

2010-09-30T23:26:00.001-04:00

I'm in Gatlinburg Tennessee. The hotel my family, my girlfriend and I are staying in (Family Inns) advertised that they have wireless internet. Turns out that the wireless internet only works in the lobby, which shares a wall with the jacuzzi, which makes this room an uncomfortable sweat lodge.

I had counted on spending the evenings working from my room working, and in between, updating my blogs. Instead, I have to come down here and power search, then do all my work from the room with no internet.

Which has me thinking about a few ridiculous inconveniences that I can't believe we are still putting up with in 2010:

Every business ought to accept, in some form, the credit card. This includes parking garages and toll bridges.
Wireless means free roaming. Don't play around with the definition. If you can't make it reach the rooms that people sleep in, either don't advertise wireless, or make it patently clear that it's not what you think it is.
If you have a website with over more than 20 pages (most offenders have considerably more) than you absolutely have no excuse not having a search function.
Pay toilets. Inexcusable.
Any transaction that you and I both know is automatic and digital should cost me, the person giving money to you, the bank, absolutely nothing. Period. That means ATMs, that means paying with a debit card, that means automatic transfers of savings to your checking account.
Vending machines. Why don't these accept credit cards?
Hotel room television sets without the plugins for outside devices (such as DVD players or gaming systems) are clearly made solely to screw you into paying for their service. Screwing people into paying exorbitant prices only fosters a deep seeded hatred for the service. Ask the movie industry how their anti-piracy commercials are working out for them as they charge 8 dollars for something that costs them 10 cents to make.
Every cell phone needs to use the same charger. Another purposeful screwing over of the customer.
If you're going to put ads in online videos, have more than one video that you can cycle through. If I spend a day catching up on a show, I will literally end up seeing the same bleach commercial over 30 times. Does this really get people to buy things?
There is no reason that commercials and TV shows can't be the exact same volume. Commercials that suddenly blast out of the television set just forces me to mute the television every time the show starts to fade out.

Bonus pet peeve: Why do people still use checks to pay for 2 items in a grocery store?

Applying for grad school is not nearly as fun as it sounds

2010-09-24T19:45:00.004-04:00

I spent most of yesterday researching exactly what is required of me to send with the applications of all 13 of the universities I wish to apply to. What a nightmarish process. There isn't the slightest bit of uniformity between where the websites store information.

And so many of these schools require online submissions, which seems easier than paper applications, but it isn't. Not if you have 13 schools you want to apply to, and have to tell each of your recommenders to go to 13 different websites.

And finally, the application fee itself is pretty upsetting. And knowing that in addition to that, I have to pay to take the GRE, then pay for copies of that, and then potentially pay my school to send copies of my transcript (not sure if I can even send as many as I need to yet. Sigh). It will cost me 610 dollars in application fees alone, in a field that gaurentees little financial security. I'm honestly considering taking a second job to pay for these application fees. Which could actually be my only job soon as I lose my current one. More information on that later, I guess.

At the same time, this cost is paltry in comparison to what I stand to save by having multiple options of schools to attend. You know. Assuming I get in to any of them. A little bleak, maybe, but it's a little difficult to get excited about a 600+ dollar hole in my pocket.

The Affrilachian Poets hit Frostburg State University Part II of III

2010-09-22T22:40:00.001-04:00

Part two of a three part video series of the Affrilachian Poets' performance at Frostburg State University, in Maryland, for their Appalachian Festival last Saturday. Readers included Bianca Spriggs, Norman Jordan, Ricardo Nizaro-Colon, Mitchell L. H. Douglas, Ricardo Nazario-Colón, Crystal Good, and Keith S. Wilson.

Bianca Spriggs performing "The Afro That Ate Kentucky."

Mitchell L. H. Douglas performing "What Stars are For."

The Affrilachian Poets hit Frostburg State University Part I of III

2010-09-19T23:57:00.006-04:00

The Affrilachian Poets performed at Marlyand's Frostburg State University for their Appalachian Festival this Saturday. Bianca Spriggs, Norman Jordan, Ricardo Nizaro-Colon, Mitchell L. H. Douglas, Ricardo Nazario-Colón, Crystal Good, and I were in attendance.

I'll refrain from speaking about it, and instead give you some of our performances. Without ado:

Norman Jordan performing "Hometown Boy."

Keith S. Wilson performing "Those First Last Days in Kentucky."

I haven't read that poem in quite some time. Not, I think, since during the tour that really started this blog. Anyway, more videos upcoming.

Gypsy Poetry Slam and the Kentucky Women Writers Conference Part II

2010-09-14T17:49:00.002-04:00

I had intended on posting this the day of, or perhaps the day after the last day of Gypsy Slam, but everything was such a whirlwind for me that I ended up getting 10 minutes of sleep in two days and sort of running through Monday in a haze. Which says something about Gypsy Slam and the KWWC, doesn't it?

I'd never actually been to the KWWC, but after spending a late night out for Gypsy Slam, I woke up very late, finished some of my work, and drove the hour and a half drive back to Lexington to see Diane Ackerman's reading/dialog. From conversations before the event, it sounded like most of the people there were had read (or had come to see her because of) her book The Zookeeper's Wife, but she read one of her essays. It was on writing and nature (and many other things), and at one point she read "School Prayer," the first poem from her collection of poetry I Praise my Destroyer:

After the reading and dialogue, Laura Yes Yes asked Patricia Smith if I could come to the second workshop. Who would have thought that just asking, I could sit in on a workshop lead by the estimable Patricia Smith. The catch, though, was that I had missed the first workshop and had to write two poems before the following day. So I went home, ate, worked, and then wrote, and wrote and wrote and drove back for the workshop the next day. Maybe you missed it, but I didn't: there was no sleep between those two events.

The workshop, though, was interesting. "Confronting the Poem That Strikes You Silent" was a lot of opening up to one another, which of course involved trust and respect, and if I do say so myself, some amazing writing. Patricia Smith is observant and if not shrewd, astute, workshop leader, and I think everyone left with more than they came in with.

Gypsy Poetry Slam and the Kentucky Women Writers Conference Part I

2010-09-12T05:01:00.003-04:00

Some of the Affrilachian Poets hang out after Gypsy Slam.

I have attended only a small portion of the Kentucky Women Writers Conference these last two days, but even so, it's all sort of a whirlwind of creative energy and feminine-power. For anyone who doesn't know, the Kentucky Women Writers Conference is the longest running event of its kind in America, and this year features Diane Ackerman and (one of my personal heroes) Patricia Smith. Plus, my Affrilachian Poet sister Bianca Spriggs runs the Gypsy Slam (an all female slam poetry event).

Yes, you can attend most the events if you're a guy, and yes, if you're within driving distance or in any way able to come to next year's event, you probably should. It's been amazing so far.

I'm going to be completely honest though. This is more a two part blog entry out of necessity than convenience; I need sleep.

The Gypsy Slam actually happened last night, but I want to talk about it real quick while it's fresh on my mind. Before sleep. Fellow NKY poet Lisa Marie Carbert did her thing. She's really getting awesome, and it's great to see some of us represent from time to time. Northern Kentucky rarely gets any love. And I got to see a lot of the Lexingtonians I've come to know and love too, it was an all-around amazing event.

Afterwards, though, I got to sit down for a little while tonight with Lauren Zuniga, who won the competition (I won't even begin to talk about how breathless her second poem left me), and Laura Yes Yes, who all around rocks as a person and a poet (Cave Canem Group A what!) and we talked a little bit about how slam poetry is perceived. That is, as something lesser than poetry. Patrica Smith hasn't done slam in some years, but Lauren noted that a reviewer explained that Patricia Smith had transcended her slam roots. As if slam is the first step to writing real poetry. Poetry-as-training-bra.

And in a conversation with Laura Yes Yes, I realized that referring to the downfalls of slam without looking also at the downfalls of 'academic' poetry is a lot like looking at the poor members of a particular race suddenly deemed problematic. The problem has never been the poorness of others, the problem is poverty. I actually love slam poetry. I feel like the divide between the two sides does a great disservice to both spoken word and what might be called literary. But at the same time I feel like I may have fallen into the same close-minded, dogmatic trap from time to time.

Semi-random aside. Here's Laura Yes Yes on her first set, tearing it up, and captured with a camera that has strangely rendered her as some sort of poetic spirit-warrior:

Hell, it was only earlier this week I was telling my friend and fellow poet Megan Scharff, that I believe that there are academic poets who purposely read poorly because the only people who they care about impressing are poets, publishers, and professors who are used to that kind of reading, or who are already enamored with their previously published work. Perhaps it's the cynic in me, but I have been to too many horrendous academic readings to believe that all those poets happen to be naturally terrible readers who have never gotten any better. There's an idea in academic poetry that alienating the audience is fine, because it weeds out those who are not serious about the blessed miracle that is the written word.

I've never believed that poetry is dying, but if it was, it would be because of academic poetry, and those who support the idea that letting the audience in is a crime. That's not to say that all poetry need be 'easy' to understand: narrative, straight-forward, and simply-worded, though some of my favorite poetry is. It means that when a human being is standing on stage, they can at least give the other human beings in the room the common courtesy of caring.

Should I take that online class?

2010-09-09T23:50:00.001-04:00

I recently completed an online grant writing class, but since the initial sign-up, I've read some people's opinions on online learning in general. I've seen abject disgust at the entire idea of a digital classroom. The enterprise, they say, cheapens higher education by introducing lower standard learning as if it is college-worthy. They are usually educators themselves.

I don't know that I agree with that. Not entirely. I went to college. And I'm proud of the education I received. But there are problems in higher education that run deep, and an overwhelming number of students in it for the paper instead of the education itself. The point of taking a class is to learn, isn't it? If you manage to do that without throwing money at a university, the only person who doesn't benefit is the university.

I realized, though, that I went into this whole thing pretty blind. So I've put together some questions I probably should have asked.

What do you want out of it?

The main thing you should be considering before you take an online course is what, exactly, you want out of the program. If it's accreditation toward something, you definitely need to do your homework beforehand. Just because a course says that you'll get a certificate, or that you'll be trained to perform a certain job doesn't mean that anybody will count the course as real training.

You wouldn't go to a law school that couldn't lead you to a law degree, no matter how nice the teachers were. That is, unless you weren't going to become a lawyer, but to learn a little about law.

The same goes for online courses. In my case, I wanted to learn to write grants. And I did. Mission accomplished, for a fraction of the cost of taking a class at the University of Cincinnati itself.

Are you prepared for online learning?

Taking a class online is a different sort of animal than going to a classroom. Technically, I could have probably learned everything I learned from my class by reading a grant writing book.

But I didn't. I wouldn't. Grant writing is not so joyous an experience that I ever felt like cracking open a book and reading it for hours on end. And more than that, if something doesn't make sense on my own, I'm screwed. There's no professor to ask for clarification. So taking an online course, for me, accomplished three things that studying by myself did not:

I had an instructor who I could (and did) ask questions of.
I had a time frame I needed to get work done within, which meant I actually did it.
Strange as it may sound, paying money for the course made me take it seriously.

There are things, of course, that I missed: Having a portion of the day specifically set aside for class. The atmosphere itself (my living room is not conducive to learning). The ability to listen to a lesson instead of only having the option to read. And mostly, the interaction (between students, the professor, and the lesson itself) that you get in a classroom is just not available in an online course.

Would I do it again?

Probably. The price is right, and if I'm finding myself for some reason unmotivated toward something I'd like to learn, it seems an agreeable enough solution.

My writing process

2010-09-05T20:53:00.000-04:00

Evelyn N. Alfred wonders:

I'm very curious about how writers - especially published ones - write. I'd like to know their whole writing process, from the brainstorm, first draft, second draft, seventy-elevnth draft, all the way up to publishing. It would be nice to know these things, to see if their advice could help me with my own writing.

I write every day. I don't have a set amount of words, or time, that I need to write, just so long as I write one poem. That's anything from an epic (well, for me) 3-pager to a haiku, though I almost never write anything so short, since I consider it cheating. Cheating, that is, myself. From time spent writing. I mean, there's nothing wrong with a good haiku.

The process can take anywhere from half an hour to probably around an two hours, depending on my mood and the poem, though the poem depends so heavily on my mood that these qualifiers might be one in the same.

With that in mind, I tell myself I won't go to bed until the poem is done. This means that most nights, it's the last thing I do before I go to bed. Possibly not the best state of mind for a lot of people to write, but I've always been a night person, and poetry is exciting to me and keeps me active enough that I rarely feel tired until the poem is written. Writing has always been exciting to me. Reading can be. Depends on the artist.

So it's 2 in the morning, and I've decided I need to write my poem for the day. What do I write about? I have three methods for topics. The first, and most common approach I take is that I basically free write. I start writing about whatever pops in my head, or something that I see in the room, or something that happened that day. Method two has me write a poem specifically in response to a contest. If there's a contest that's looking for poems for an AIDS anthology (and there was) I write to that. And the last method is that I read a poem, and write a 'response' to it. Either a direct answer to some question the poem asked, or what I think about when I read that poem. Pretty much anything.

From there, it's all instinct for the greater part of it, if there is such a thing. If I like what I've written, I'll try to do more of it, whatever it is. Alliteration, or in-rhyme, or a theme, or whatever. But I basically try to keep writing until I feel an end coming on, and end it when it feels right.

That's how I write the majority of the time. I edit heavily that first night, and put it away until some undetermined time in the future, when I look through a lot of my poems at once and edit them again. Throughout the week, I read the last three or four poems I wrote to see how I feel about them, and a lot of times, I edit those as well.

Form poems are a little different, but I still mostly do this free-write approach. I almost never plan everything that I'm going to write before I write it. I maybe have never done it. I don't know that I believe that poetry can't be organic when it's planned, or can't seem it anyway. All I know is that when a trained singer goes out on stage, the one thing that nobody can teach them is to be in that right state of mind to really hit every note the way it needs to be hit. After a while, they just learn the place they need to be, and for me, the place that I've needed to be for as long as I can remember is fluid, and unplanned and free as I can.

Frank X. Walker said, in the first writing class that I ever took, that there's no such thing as writer's block. And I believe in that. Writer's block isn't a literal inability to pen a word to paper, it's a fear or feeling that anything you have to say isn't worth saying. Or else, you don't feel as if you know what to say. But if you sit down and just write, you'll have something. If you learned how to spell, and you can speak, you can write.

Every single time I sit down to write, I'm not crafting something spectacular. I'm just crafting, and that's enough.

Most nights.

On living like an artist

2010-09-04T06:06:00.000-04:00

I think there may surround me a certain amount of romanticism which is expected, but nevertheless present. But there's also that purely logical part of me that sat in Calculus, in high school, half-ashamed of the sick fun there was in solving puzzles and being logical.

It's in this way that I can say that living paycheck to paycheck, sleeping on nothing more than a mattress, driving to any place that would have me perform... all these are romantic, I guess, in their own way. And make for some interesting poems. But they're also incredibly stupid, especially the older you get. That is, unless you temper them with some responsibility, which never sounds half as cool to say as it does to have in your back pocket when you need to eat, or go to the doctor.

That said, I have two things to say today, because the last few days have been a sort of spring cleaning of the loose ends of my frazzled life.

First, I've come to realize that if you're an artist who doesn't keep a regular 9-5, you need to get yourself some health insurance. Go to aetna.com, or whoever else will cover you, and just get yourself covered. If you believe you're good enough, or lucky enough, to survive paycheck to paycheck, then push it that one extra step and make sure that when you fall down the steps during a snowstorm, or a tooth breaks while you're eating, that you're suddenly not curled like a shrimp in the back of your car, wondering what to do in between writhing in pain.

Second, I'll admit that I have always hated the idea of a budget. Seems sort of invasive, and stifling. Plus, when you have as many jobs as I do, and jobs which don't have set amounts of hours that you work every week, it becomes a huge (and pointless) hassle to create a budget.

But I figured it out, and last month, I spent more money on books than any other single expense, other than rent, bills, and groceries. More than gas, than eating out, than clothes or savings. And that might be fine, if I'd have realized I was doing it. But I didn't know just how much I was spending, here and there. And that's a problem.

Mint.com is what saved me. It's free, which is the most important thing, and you link it to your checking account. It then figures out what you've been spending your money on, makes you a pie chart, and lets you create a budget. Best part is, since it's all automated, there's not a lot you need to do when you quickly switch to a new job. I mean, going from one job to another is never going to be easy on your wallet. But this way, you're keeping track of your money in some way.

Final Friday with the InkTank and CincyVoices.com

2010-08-28T21:03:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I read some of my poetry at InkTank, an organization in Cincinnati I've been getting more involved with lately. InkTank is concerned with matters of the community and the arts, and in celebration of Final Friday, Lisa Howe, the new director, set up a reading of work by the participants of the InkTank writer's salon which happens there every other week. I had a blast. Plus, there was good food, and lots of talk with writers of prose, poetry, and other kinds of writing.

I actually brought my camera, but forgot to use it. I'm a miserable blogger sometimes.

One of my favorite moments of the night, though, involved Julie Stockman reading a moving blog entry from a blog she contributes to called CincyVoices. Well, it was technically a blog entry, but I'd probably call it a memoir if she had not stated it as such. Julie walked me around the Final Friday event and shared an impressive knowledge (and love) of Over-The-Rhine and Cincinnati in general. Check out the site, especially if you live in or around Cincinnati; it's absolutely fantastic.

I'd also like to commend Julie's involvement in Price Hill's Cultural Heritage Festival. I'm pretty damn upset I wasn't able to make it today.

And speaking of that... This is a formal announcement of thus-far-failure of Vizionheiry's tips for working from home. They are excellent tips; I plan on trying them again next week. But it's good to face the facts, sometimes, and the facts are, I didn't do too well at managing my time this week. Which leaves me with a very narrow amount of time to do this blog, and then the rest of the day spent working. More updates as they come as to whether I am able to balance all this mess.

Press Release: Welcome the three newest members of the Affrilachian Poets!

2010-08-26T04:04:00.000-04:00

Welcome family! You all look out for these three:

For Immediate Release August 25, 2010 Images & Information:info@affrilachianpoets.com

The Affrilachian Poets Welcome Three New Members

Lexington, KY— Randall Horton, Kamilah Aisha Moon, and Jeremy Paden comprise the fifth induction of members to the Affrilachian Poets. This marks the opening event celebrating the group’s twentieth anniversary which includes the the first Affrilachian conference and writing retreat in 2011.

The Affrilachian Poets have been writing and thriving in Appalachia and beyond since 1991. The term, “Affrilachia,” was coined by Walker as testament to the cultural and physical connection to the Appalachian Region from writers of color. A group of friends and colleagues who eventually called themselves the Affrilachian Poets initially met in the Martin King, Jr. Cultural Center at the University of Kentucky. Ten years later, the AP’s were the subject of “Coal Black Voices” broadcast on PBS, and the word “Affrilachia” is now an entry in the Oxford American Dictionary.

Known for work that pays homage to family, social struggle and relationships to rural and urban landscapes, among the Affrilachian Poets are award-winning authors, academics, and activists. Group members have edited the anthologies America! What’s My Name?, The Ringing Ear: Black Poets Lean South, founded the literary journalsTorch: poetry, prose, and short stories by African-American women, Pluck!: the Affrilachian Journal of Arts and Culture, and the independent publishing houses,Mythium and Blacoetry Press. Collectively the AP’s have published a total of twenty-five titles, with six collections set to be released between 2010-2011.To learn more about the history of the Affrilachian Poets and individual members, please log on to www.affrilachianpoets.com.

Upcoming Dates for the Affrilachian Poets:

Frostburg State University; Frostburg, MD (Sept. 18, 2010) “Born and Bred”; Lexington, KY (Sept. 28, 2010) Association of Writers and Writing Programs Conference; Washington, D.C. (Feb. 4-5, 2011)

Guest Blog: 8 Tips for working from home

2010-08-21T22:58:00.001-04:00

Working from home is a mixed blessing. On one hand, I can sleep until noon. On the other hand, I do. The other day, I was complaining about my poor time management on Twitter--how much more I should be getting done relative to how much I do get done. And fellow poet-on-the-grind Vizionheiry sent me an email with tips for being productive when working from home. Here is that email, with only some slight changes of format.

Vizionheiry runs a blog called Yesterday's Poem, is an avid (and more importantly, interesting) Twitter-er, and has a tumblr called A Fertile Mind.

1. Develop a morning routine that works for you.

I found out that it takes me generally 2 hours to shower, dress, cook breakfast, and clean up without feeling rushed.

2. Work in 2 hour blocks.

Don't try to work in 4 hour shifts or 8 hour all nighters. It won't work. You know it, your body knows it. Do things in 2 hour shifts. After the shift, do something you need for your personal life, pay bills, cook, call a friend, play a game, etc.

3. Have a set and begin time for your day.

I work from 9 am to 9pm with frequent breaks. If there is something that I haven't completed by 9pm, it will have to be scheduled in for the next day. I will not stay up all night b/c it will affect my health and mental acuity. I also try not to work more than 8 hours in this period of time.

4. Write and edit by hand.

This is the most troubling for our generation. Yes, you will kill many trees (buy recycled paper). You will be surprised at your ability to write an article on a legal pad, blank pad, composition notebook, whatever, rather than staring at the white space on the screen. Your speed will increase. Trust me on this one. Try it out.

5. Have an off day.

I worked 7 days a week and it was killing me. Since I am Christian, I actually started honoring the Sabbath and don't work on Sundays.

6. Buy headphones.

If you live with others who may come into your work zone at any time, they may not understand your need for silence or no distractions. Headphones are a great way to stay in your own world, write, edit and read.

7. Leave the house each day.

Not just to pick up the paper. I'm lucky enough to have a park a couple of miles down the street and I sometimes just swing. You're getting your Vitamin D by being in the sunlight.

8. Schedule dates ahead of time.

Make sure your significant other knows he/she'll have quality time on a weekly basis. A date just for the two of you to check out of yr job and just be human.

I could go on and on but let me say this - the brain is still a muscle. It needs rest just like any other muscle. So give it tons of that! I hope one tip helps you! It took me about 6 months..scratch that, a year to get a rhythm down..and now that I'm in a routine I'm going back into the classroom. But that's b/c of finances. You can make it work!

Comments are the lifeblood of blogging as a community

2010-08-15T01:10:00.000-04:00

Daniel Nester's Round Up at We Who Are About to Die alerted me to two articles, both of which basically express opinions about why Silliman's Blog recently decided to disable comments.

It became in many ways a discussion on the importance of comments in blogs. Or else, the lack thereof. Samizdat Blog explains that in an age which is inundated with poets, poetry, and critique of poetry, many have decided to garner attention by any means necessary. Which means, a lot of the time, logging into your favorite blog platform, finding the comment section of your favorite blog, and being a jerk.

I suppose, in the end, what we have is a failure to adjust our expectations to the new conditions under which we write poetry, and write about poetry. When the dissemination of poems and commentary was limited by the technology of print, relatively few people were able to disseminate their work, and they could imagine that the audience for what they had to say was larger than the number of other publishing writers. Now everyone with a laptop can get their work out there, but getting it noticed amid the crowd is an issue.

Lemon Hound explains that perhaps the medium demands a different sort of call and response:

A little space between digestion and response. I said earlier that I thought the right response to a great poem is probably another great poem--I think the same might be true for a post.

I tend to agree with both these statements. There are a lot of people out there just trying to get a word in edge-wise, to the detriment of the community (depending, of course, on the person and their intent). And yes, the best response to a good blog post is another post, just as a the best response to an outstanding poem is another poem.

But these aren't the only responses, or nobody would read poems but other poets.

Every blog, of course, is free to do what they feel necessary to function as whatever it is they function as. But I think that at its core, no blog can ever enter the world, truly as part of the community, without comments. Granted, this is not the goal of every site or person. And a blog may be big enough or important enough to directly affect the community anyway. But only in the oblique way that forces take on groups of people, instead of the organic way that communities actually thrive.

I really want to read slush. Also, updates.

2010-08-12T22:53:00.001-04:00

I'm unreasonably eager to find a job with a poetry journal or magazine. Reading the slush pile. For free, probably. I know, I should see a doctor. But I'm not sure where to start looking. So if you guys know of any place that's in the market, especially one near Northern Kentucky/Southern Ohio/Eastern Tennessee, hook a brother up.

Updates:

Still doing my thing at Public-Republic.
Writing for, and generally thinking about We Who Are About to Die. Check it out. Great stuff.
Beginning to start the application process for grad school (which means, so far, that I've cleaned off my desk so I have room to work).
Taking an online grant writing course with ed2go (consensus? Cheap, and I'm learning. Might have been cheaper to get Grant Writing for Dummies, but having deadlines and assignments is helpful, as well as a person to ask questions of).
Beginning to sort of help the Ink Tank write grants.
Working on lesson plans, or whatever I need to work on, to start leading workshops on poetry for the InkTank.

This means that a lot of things I'd like to do, such as read all my email, or read a lot more, are getting pushed back.

It's times like these where I want to bemoan the fast paced nature of the modern world, and watch a commercial about how busy being a mom is and nod my head emphatically (ignoring that I am not a woman, nor have a child), and generally just, you know, sigh a lot.

But I think the reality is that none of us are half as busy as we think. I'm up-to-date with True Blood, for instance. And Mad Men. Pretty much every day, I see reruns of court shows (which means I've already seen them all once). I lay on my couch a lot.

There are people in the world who know busy. I don't know busy, and even when I do, it's really not so bad.

I've been made a co-editor of We Who Are About To Die

2010-08-06T15:14:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure I've ever directly mentioned We Who Are About To Die on this blog, but I've been blogging there for a while now, at least as often as I blog here at my personal blog. I tend to write more about literature on WWAATD and much, much less about my personal life or poetry.

If you haven't already, you ought to check it out.

Technology and Poetry: Visuwords

2010-08-05T05:24:00.000-04:00

I'm going to be all kinds of hypocritical in this post. I can already feel it.

But I know poets who won't, or can't, write without a pen or a pencil in their hand. They've got to feel the scrawl of ink against paper, and that's fine. But at the same time, I suspect that a sizable portion of these writers avoid the computer screen less of pragmatism and more of some romantic notion of a poet with their pen.

I know. Never this from a poet, right?

It's just that I can't stand how slowly a pencil gets the ideas from my mind to the blue line, and I'm quick to point out that the OGs of poetry couldn't afford paper, assuming someone had invented it yet in their part of the world. I've no qualms with technology as a medium of creation; today's cutting edge is tomorrows romanticized.

That said, check out Visuwords. Basically, it's something like a high-tech thesaurus. You type in a word, and it populates a group of bubbles that are related to that word, complete with color coordinated lines showing how the new words relate to the original.

I've got mixed feelings about this site. On one hand, it's kind of awesome jiggling those bubbles around. Sort of like choking an octopus. More than that, it actually seems like it could be useful. Often, when I am stuck on a poem, or am just trying to start writing, I will write (type) a word down and begin writing other words that I think are vaguely connected to it in some way.

But I've known about this site for a while and still never use it, even as I defend my 6-year-old laptop against the Classic Pen Defensive.

In my own defense, I think that part of what makes my personal method of thought bubbles work is the process itself. Seeing words is an entirely different experience from coming up with them yourself.

Which makes Visuwords something like a very pretty thesaurus.

But then, some people think better visually. Some need the tactile feel of a pen in their hands. And some of us just like throttling things as we put off writing today's poem.

Cincinnati's Full Art Spectrum Jazz Collaborative

2010-08-01T02:03:00.001-04:00

An Ohio artist named Roy Jones has been running the Full Art Spectrum for some time, but I was only recently able to finally make it. Essentially, FAS is a meeting of artists of all disciplines: visual, written, and performance. I've never been to anything quite like it.

The artists stand in front of the crowd, present their work, whatever that entails, and give an extremely brief explanation if they feel that the piece needs it. So a photographer has their photo on an easel, or I will stand in front of everyone and read. Then, rather than critique, or just clap, the audience asks questions or make comments on the work. It becomes a discussion, something like an interactive gallery.

Yesterday was a special event for Full Art Spectrum: a show of collaborative works based on the sort of dialogue and interplay that jazz is so well known for. Pieces hung which were the work of groups of three different artists who traded partially completed canvases and spun it their own way (a visual riff, I suppose). It was kind of awesome, especially to someone with little to no visual artistry in his blood.

The second sort of art that was on display was interdisciplinary. Poets worked with visual artists in some way. In my case, I worked with a painter named Anna Willoughby; I wrote a poem based in some small part on a discussion we had beforehand, and she painted it.

Here is the poem and Anna's fantastic painting, which frankly, I did a shitty job capturing with my point-and-shoot camera:

Place
-based on a true story

I lost my place in conversation,
but nobody seemed to sense
the loss. Their crowded chests
were encroached with belief.
I lifted hot and light as a balloon,
bit my tongue desperately, tried to
save face, but I watched my-
self drift away into the upward
sea, and I held my friends, my-
self mute, righted my family.

I actually performed the piece as well, and recorded it, but it's not the greatest sound quality, so instead, I will upload the only marginally better second poem that I read. I was accompanied by the jazz band that played throughout the night (the only member of the band whose name I recall is Liz Wu). And while I'm thinking about it, why are poetry readings done in any place that has something that needs to grind in order to operate?

Too, no.

2010-07-27T15:50:00.000-04:00

You can't start a sentence with 'too.'

Or maybe you can. But I absolutely hate it. I always want to stop someone right in the middle of a sentence and tell them to start over.

Or make a snide comment via email in response to just one sentence: "Too, there are more problems surrounding the site revamp."

RE: Too

"I hate you, Nancy. I think you know why."

I suppose people figure it's the same word as also. But I have always felt it was more like "as well" which is an awkward way to begin a sentence. Maybe it's that too is a homonym of two, which makes it sound, for an instant, that you began a list with the wrong number.

In any case, please stop doing it. That is all.

Degrees of otherness

2010-07-24T22:16:00.003-04:00

One of the things I find myself constantly exploring through my poetry, especially recently, is the idea of otherness. This has to do with race, of course, but it has to do with much more than that. Class, appearance, age, gender, nature, the list goes on.

Today I saw 'Fur.' It's a difficult movie to explain. It's sort of the re-imagined biography of iconic photographer Diane Arbus (Nicole Kidman) and her relationship with a former circus performer named Lionel Sweeney (Robert Downey Jr), a man who suffers from hypertrichosis (more commonly referred to as "werewolf syndrome"). Through Arbus' relationship with Sweeney, she enters an underworld of those living on the fringes--transvestites, dwarves, and conjoined twins among them.

What struck me was how, in the midst of working on a collection based on otherness, this sort of explicit otherness hardly crosses my mind. True, no work is all-encompassing, but a part of me always wishes to be. While I'm happy with my focus--on more ‘traditional' (or should I say common?) forms of exclusion--I still find myself wanting to in some way include differences so profound that a person is unlikely to find any other person sharing their otherness.

I don't currently intend on changing my collection. Poetry is all about focus. But it's an interesting direction to go in, some day. But at the same time, Arbus herself received very mixed reactions not only from critics, but from the subjects of her photos themselves. In what ways, when we look at otherness, are we making a spectacle of them?

In other news, I spent the better part of yesterday applying for a literary job. I both hate and love having so many faces. I guess it makes sense to have mixed feelings in those regards, huh? (and in regards to otherness. Look how this all ties together). But the resume I use to get paying jobs is completely worthless when it comes to poetry. I had to update my CV. It took hours. I'm not even sure it would have been possible without Google Calendar.

How do you guys keep track of your literary conquests?

Do I really need to LOOK for a poetry subscription?

2010-07-22T16:33:00.002-04:00

A little while ago, I half-decided that I was going to start paying for a couple of subscriptions. To literary journals or magazines. Something with essays in it. Maybe interviews with authors I'd never heard of. I even asked on Twitter which I should go with.

I just got back from Borders, empty-handed. I had picked up a handful of journals and magazines (among them the Paris Review which I've heard nothing but drama about lately) and began sifting through them, trying to decide which was worth a long term commitment. It was a little bit like Love Connection, minus Chuck Woolery.

And really, what is Love Connection, without Chuck Woolery?

I don't know what it is about the business of poetry (PoBiz. God I hate that word) that has me feeling guilty, every so often, for not doing enough. It's one thing to feel guilty about not writing enough (if you profess to be a poet), or even not reading enough. But not paying enough?

I mean, I haven't had health insurance since I was a child. One of the windows to my car is taped up (although that might have more to do with how tired I am of fixing it). And this isn't to say I won't pay money for poetry. The floors in front of my already burgeoning bookshelves are proof enough that I'm deep in the market. But why go looking for something to spend money on?

Is it the little subscription papers that they stuff inside my rejection letters? That vague and ever-present sense of loyalty that we're supposed to have for the craft which invariably translates to money? Or is this just me--the same person who dropped a hundred bucks on a sewing machine thinking it'd ultimately save, perhaps make, me money?

Someone write an article about it.

On Racism: "Why I stalk a sexy black woman" on Gizmodo

2010-07-14T15:09:00.002-04:00

For a blog with Mulatto right there in the title, I have as of late spoken very little about race. And I'm not entirely sure why that is; my poetry, as well, seems to have strayed from the topic, not that I ever intended on being THE mulatto-themed poet, or even a poet which might be known as one who consistently writes about his blackness, or the lack thereof.

I wonder if it has to do with the nature of a blog, which is more of a conversation, as opposed to the poem, which might be seen as a conversation starter, but tends instead to ignite conversations in someone's living room, later, or in the car ride home, and not necessarily with me. Does that make me cowardly, in that I can make statements on a stage that I don't bring up even in the safety of my own personal blog? Or is it more about the fact that when there is a roomful of people, I have them trapped, and can say the things that will scare off anyone from reading my blog?

It's a topic worth my consideration.

But what is more important at this moment is for anyone and everyone to read this Gizmodo article entitled "Why I Stalk a Sexy Black Woman on Twitter (And Why You Should, Too)":

Sometimes I find her faith charming; other times it is frustratingly childish. "Thanks Lord for letting me see another day!" can be followed by a retweeted "God is THE MAN!" All that can be followed by jokes about someone being a "squirter" in bed. I try not to extrapolate about her culture from just one person's Twitter stream, but that's also sort of exactly what makes following a random person so interesting. Are black Christians more open about their sexuality? Young people? Northern people? I've just got this single data point, but it's more than I had before.

I'm kind of shocked in a way I didn't think a person could, at least not one who reads and writes about race fairly often, and who grew up on the internet and was at one time a child actively seeking out the horrific. I mean, there's nothing overtly scandalous about this except by how much I feel the author has missed the point, even if he's trying to be humorous.

I'm all about comedy. I wish I had a job writing it, sometimes, and I spend a lot of time reading it, watching it, and in many ways, studying it. But I'm not sure this is funny enough to skirt the fine line of comedy. Or perhaps the problem is that I'm not sure that it's supposed to be funny to begin with. Title removed, would I have assumed he was joking?

What do you guys think?

Update: Well, more of a related link. Giantmag's Elon James White has responded to Gizmodo's post, and I think I agree with almost everything he has to say. Thanks to my friend and fellow CC Fellow Kateema Lee for the link!

Photo blog - 3rd annual Jane Austen Festival

2010-07-13T13:48:00.000-04:00

My girlfriend (blogger and Twitter-er Regan Coomer) and I went for our third anniversary to the Jane Austen Festival, at historic Locust Field, Louisville, KY. I'm not going to lie, it was fantastic. Here are some of the highlights, with the 'bonus' of getting to see me in a top hat:

Check out my festival-inspired piece about Jane Austen's style of writing at We Who Are About to Die.

5 things I believe that make me a jerk

2010-07-11T00:31:00.000-04:00

Without ado:

1. I hate quotes. A little strange, perhaps, of a poet. But my reasoning is that I've never been much for false affirmation. More importantly I feel like most quotes, even really good ones--or perhaps especially the really good ones--are people's way of hiding behind someone else's good idea.

2. I am similarly unimpressed with song lyrics and quotations of them. You know how people say that what's playing on the radio, or their iPod, or the TV is their song? I don't identify with that. It's usually the case that either the lyrics to those songs are so general that they're everyone's song, ("I got You Babe") or they're so idealized that it's hard to argue with the sentiment. ("When a Man Loves a Woman")

3. I keep trying. Lord, do I keep trying. But I think MASH might be one of the worst shows that has ever existed.

4. Saying grace before every meal is a little like saying bless you after someone sneezes. Yeah, it's polite, but it's pretty much a waste of everybody's time.

5. (This one automatically revokes my Black card, but at least I've got something to fall back on...) Michael Jackson's music is the shit. Diana Ross? Same. But I felt the same way after watching The Wiz as I did about Rent. Strangely, and yet unsatisfactorily, depressed.

A Kentuckian pleads guilty for a "Sniper" poem aimed at Obama

2010-07-07T02:12:00.003-04:00

Oh Kentucky. I know it's been over two years since the effigy at the University of Kentucky, but I can't help but think about it now, with news that a Louisville native has just plead guilty to writing a poem:

Johnny Logan Spencer Jr., had said he would contest the charge on free-speech grounds. But appearing in U.S. District Court in Louisville, he entered a guilty plea to a single count of threatening to inflict bodily harm on the president through a poem titled "The Sniper," which he posted on the Internet earlier this year.

Spencer, who admitted the offense without a plea bargain, will be sentenced Nov. 2 by Judge Joseph H. McKinley Jr. The charge carries a maximum penalty of five years in prison and a $250,000 fine.

The poem, which was posted on a white supremacist website, describes a sniper killing the president and includes the language "DIE negro DIE."

While I'm able to find other people writing about this, I can't find any that are reliable, and I'm not sure I have the desire to sift through white supremacist websites in search of the original poem.

I do want to note two things, however. I find it difficult to believe that this judgement was made in error, and not because the president's (half) black. I thought it was dangerous and stupid to call for the assassination of Bush too, although at the time I thought it was much less likely to happen. Which, in fact, might have made it more dangerous, and more stupid.

But on the other hand, it seems that the qualifying measure of this case is that the poem sucked. What a strange way to judge the gray area of what constitutes freedom of speech and art: by the quality of the form. If it had been a well-crafted poem, that could have been a defense, right? Assassination as art?

I suppose Spence Jr. is going to have to read himself up on some Etheridge Knight before he writes his next poem. Maybe workshop it with some skinheads. Try a form.

I'd go with The Bop.

Down with the How-To's

2010-07-02T17:14:00.000-04:00

The Atlantic has an article written by Richard Bausch entitled "How to Write in 700 Easy Lessons" which disparages the writing manual:

Finally, a word about this kind of instruction: it is always less effective than actually reading the books of the writers who precede you, and who are contemporary with you. There are too many “how-to” books on the market, and too many would-be writers are reading these books in the mistaken idea that this will teach them to write. I never read such a book in my life, and I never will.

Now, I'll be honest. Unlike Bausch, I have read some of these books, and own more. Yet I agree: they are almost completely worthless. What is interesting is how much I agree with this article, and yet how little I seem to practice what I preach.

Okay, so maybe I don't preach this at all. But you know. Practice what I vaguely affirm to be true.

I think that I feel let down by my education. I am proud of my BA in English. It has been a conversation starter in many a back-room-meat-department/kitchen/fast-food-joint since graduating.

But seriously, I can't imagine having gone to school for anything else, and I did learn quite a bit. More importantly, I met the people who would shape the trajectory of my life from that point on. But when it comes to the solid facts about writing, I'm not sure what I left with. Granted, my school's English program had an option to focus on creative writing, but didn't really have a fully fledged program. And perhaps I am expecting from a general education what an MFA is designed to do.

That doesn't change anything, though. Nearly everything I know about writing I learned on my own. So maybe it's that I've spent 19 years of my life regularly attending classrooms, so when I feel less than capable with any particular subject, I retreat toward a book.

But I was an avid reader long before I ever wanted to write. I wonder. Is there something wrong with this?

Cave Canem in retrospect, and my 100th post

2010-06-28T20:03:00.008-04:00

This post won't be sprawling, can't be. A ton has happened, but I feel like trying to grocery-list it is like trying to explain in a blog post the music of family, food, or soul. I don't know. Amazing. But I don't know.

And I met so many amazing people who kept me on my toes in ways college never did. But to list some is to slight more. But they know who they are, and so will you, soon. In books, and in classrooms.

And how I remember the precise moment in school when I realized my vocabulary was a burden. This was a place of brothers and sisters who knew that feeling. The feeling of being different, of being other. Of being a poet, against all odds. There were workshops in the corners of parties, spirited (in every sense of the word) philosophical debates, and so much love.

I can't list everything that happened. I am a poet. As I always say, if I knew how to say something better than with a poem, I wouldn't write poetry. So maybe this, a poem I wrote for, then read at, the Sunrise Poetry reading, which itself is very telling about CC. The last day, it was suggested that we stay awake until the sun came out, and read poetry as night transitioned to day.

Cave

Most things are bigger than me
but not all have their affect.
Not in the ways we mean
by affection, ignoring the strange
tilt of the universe, exploding
stars in my heart
the first time someone
let me be black.

It was a drug,
a motion I never stopped moaning for.
Exploiting my difference—
fed my elephant pocket change
when looking in the mirror
should have been enough.

This is how earthquakes are made:
in the chest, a faultline your
cousin split, best friend, coworker,
and it demanded family.

Family came with its own chain
dangling from the neck.
The dirt of its original birth
trailed behind, as if to say "Yes,
I have been shackled, yes I've been slave
to my own humanity but I am human.
Which means I am more than my image
even when I cling to it, even when
with it, my stomach is full. I am free,
and I am dangerous, and I've come back.
Not for your chain, because that
is yours, but to ensure that you
are dangerous too.

Cave Canem in 3 days, and I hurt my back

2010-06-17T14:30:00.001-04:00

I'll be at Cave Canem in just three days, and just my luck; I've hurt my back. I suppose it isn't entirely a surprise, since I hurt it every so often (years unloading trucks, and slouching, I guess) but damned if that doesn't piss me off.

It reminds me, in a labyrinthine sort of way, of how as a child I used to hope for injuries and sicknesses which would save me from school so I could play video games or read. You wouldn't believe how much I loved the chicken pox. A sign, right there from the start, that I was either going to grow up to be a writer, or a perpetually unemployed mooch.

***

Change of scene. I don't think that I've mentioned it at all on this blog, but I write for We Who Are About to Die. I'm loving it; there's a special kind of joy in laughing at a joke that nobody you know is going to appreciate because nobody else reads contemporary poetry. I call it the Frasier Effect.

Anyway, I wrote a recent blog at WWAATD entitled Is Kipling Racist? Check it out.

Oh, and a shout out to Elisa Gabbert, of The French-Exit, for suggesting them when I Twitter-asked which blogs might be looking for contributors.

Touchdown Jesus has burned to the ground

2010-06-15T09:48:00.000-04:00

When I was still working in a meat department (which, I swear, I'll affectionately be referring to as the good-ol-days before too long) I worked with someone who was new to the area. He had just moved to Northern Kentucky, and he pulled me aside at the end of the night like he had a secret to tell. He said, in a hushed voice "Keith... How do you deal with how religious it is out here?"

Honestly, sometimes I manage to forget what part of the country I'm seated in. You know. Until we build a Creation Museum. Or until Touch Down Jesus burns to the ground.

In honor (?) of the passing of the most ridiculous sculpture I have personally witnessed, I bring to you both the original poem I wrote about the statue last year, and now, its update:

Touchdown Jesus

If you make anything big enough,
use enough styrofoam & plexiglass
or whatever other strange man-made
compound (words) you can find,
if you slam it down close enough
to a major highway, give it long enough
arms, make it just the right blend of
expensive and blatant, it will show
your devotion and spirit. Just ask
Touchdown Jesus, and slap him
4 high fives, one for each part
of the trinity. And one for me.

AD

So Touchdown Jesus is aflame,
lightning licked his mighty hands
as he reached toward heaven.

A part of me wonders how long
it'll be before the pious
pay the way back up to the sky

and the other imagines the look
on God's face when he turned
His infinite eyes to Monroe, Ohio,

and saw His own son, 62 feet high,
reaching like a babe. Big, Christian
face (made in His own image), puppy dog

eyes, skin white as most devious sin.
It must've scared the bejeebus out of him.
Enough that lightning arced and broke the sky.

Link: Alice in Wonderland Turntable Mouse-Wheel Game

2010-06-10T17:34:00.000-04:00

A game that marries the mouse wheel, classic literature, and turntables? Throw in a bag of Doritos and this may be my dream game.

PBS makes me desperate to see a video game orchestra

2010-06-08T13:48:00.001-04:00

I would pay great amounts of money to see this. You know. If I had great amounts of money:

I must admit it bothers me like it bothers everyone to see something that has positively affected my life from a very early time suddenly validated because of its connection to something that is either more mainstream or which has been accepted as more culturally enlightened.

You want all the naysayers to admit that your culture (and for a large part of my generation, video games and the visual and musical art forms which sprung from it ARE a part of our culture) has worth because they have experienced it, and see its worth. Not because somebody bent it so that one of its streams flowed through their city, or because your culture grew so large that theirs sits at the cusp of the ocean of it.

But even still--even having a fraction of the time for video games, or at times even the interest--I can't help but smile when I hear some of these songs. Just a little.

How much do you need to understand of a written work to be enlightened by it? I've been wondering this lately, because I'm inclined to believe that the answer is almost nothing at all, but just saying that aloud feels wrong.

I've just started reading Rudyard Kipling's Kim, a book I borrowed from my grandma all the way back in high school.

How Twitter surprised me, and became worth my time

2010-06-04T12:10:00.001-04:00

I just didn't get Twitter when it first came out, and in a lot of ways, I still don't. There are people who live their lives in 140 character bites, and sometimes, I just don't understand the intense level of love (idolatry?) for any website which is, in many ways, nothing more than the reincarnation of ICQ, a piece of software which was falling out of favor over 15 years ago.

Although I sure do miss the typewriter noises when I type. I've compensated by typing harder on my regular keyboard.

But I think what makes me enjoy Twitter now is that I actually have real commonalities with what is appearing on my wall. A lot of times, Facebook is a compilation of the people who share a single thing in common with you, which is usually event or location based.

For instance, people you met at school. People you worked with. People you are related to (okay, so you share slightly more with these people, usually).

Point is that as open as I feel I am to meeting new people online, even I won't add people willy-nilly. Every so often, someone tries to add me and I find myself asking "Who is this creep? Why are they trying to friend me?"

Twitter, on the other hand, reveals so little about yourself and your followers that I find myself more inclined to be inclusive. And because my bio has been necessarily distilled into a short sentence, these people are following me not because I'm a sexy beast (which let me tell you. Happens ALL the time on Facebook. Cough) or because I like the first Ninja Turtle movie but not the third, but because I am directly connected to a thread of discussion they want to have.

So I'm enjoying myself more, now. Even if Twitter is sort of like a really huge, really slow, circa-1990 AOL chat room.

Digital Chapbooks - The intersection of teaching, technology, and art.

2010-06-03T15:36:00.001-04:00

If you haven't heard of augmented reality, you will. And soon.

Augmented reality is a technology which modifies your environment (usually through a video screen) in some way. It's much harder to try to explain than to see in action, but it's being developed all over. XBox's Project Natal, smart phone compatible Polar Rose, and even a virtual box simulator courtesy of the USPS all take advantage of this new, sometimes creepy technology (looking at you Polar Rose).

But as the above video suggests, this isn't all about technology. It's about poetry. Or it's half about poetry.

Between Page and Screen

Between Page and Screen is doing what humans love constantly to do, which is blur the lines between anything we possibly can. It's an experiment (or is it a work of art?) in technology and poetry, and their website has this to say:

This chapbook, written by Amaranth Borsuk and programmed by Brad Bouse, integrates the artist's book and e-poetry traditions to examine the conventions by which we know an object as a book.

I think it's cool as hell to see, but artist statements are always a hair's breadth away from being an afterthought to justify spending hours making something. So what's the real benefit of this project?

Exposing Poetry in New Ways

The first thing I thought of was the potential something like this has in the classroom. It's showy, it's cheap (more on that later) and it has to do with poetry. 'Nuff said.

And a part of me truly believes this. I would have freaked the F out in elementary school if someone had brought this into the classroom. I'd have been excited that day, and potentially excited about the next day of school, because, let's face it, if the teacher does something that's actually fun, there's always the chance it will happen again.

But a part of me thinks this is in some ways, smoke and mirrors as it pertains to children and young adults. Watch the video again. What are the poems about. Which was your favorite?

Yes, I'm being a little facetious; it's a video. Am I expecting some freeze frames to allow me, for 5 or 6 minutes, to read each individual poem? Of course not. But at the same time, what is impressive, and novel, and interesting about this is not (at first glance) the poetry. Don't get me wrong, I think it's awesome. And I'd actually read the poetry if I had a chance to.

But would children?

Conclusion: Who cares? It's cool.

On a certain level, teaching is about engagement. Between Page and Screen is no better at this than any tool, on its own. It's up to a teacher to tie it in with real lessons, or get the kids to read.

Essentially, this IS just smoke and mirrors, but it can be a cheap way to do something interesting, too. The demo on the website (which was easy for me to set up with my web cam and a printer) only gives you one poem, but maybe this is enough to get some freeware software development out there. Or maybe there already is.

As a poet, I'm not terribly excited about new mediums for poetry. I'm in love with language first, and kind of lamely crushing on technology second. Sound systems and holograms and lasers do nothing to change what I do, or what I love. But it is sort of nice to see that as we move forward with technology, someone is constantly finding new ways to insert what is human about us back into what can often be a creepy (looking at you again, Polar Rose) foray into the unknown.

My top three favorite poetry blogs

2010-06-01T16:58:00.003-04:00

I'm currently working on a topic requested via Twitter. As I get that done, I think now's the perfect opportunity to share a few of my favorite blogs. These people are either doing what I do better than I'm doing it, or they're doing more.

Without further ado:

The French Exit

I think, really, the best way to describe this blog is that it's something akin to walking in on a smart dinner party where poetry or any other topic might happen to come up. It's smart, funny, but not always about poetry.

And I'm cool with that. Because if you're smart or funny enough, you can make me interested even in the topics I can't join in on (today's topic? A review of smells. My nose has three receptors. Good. Bad. And Food).

Plus, from the background of the blog to the manner of discussion itself, things are about as unpretentious as it gets. This is a great risk of dinner parties where poetry might come up.

Yesterday's Poem

I love being around people who are always dreaming. Dreaming is the wrong word. Because for all the positive connotations it has, it also implies a sort of otherworldly, unachievable destination. Vizionheiry isn't dreaming, she's setting things up, and planning. And fostering community.

I actually think that her blog is in some ways ancillary to her Twitter account, because so much of the fun is happening there. But Twitter is like riding in cars and waving at one another. And a blog is a place to rest your feet, so here it is.

The Storialist

A blog purely of poetry, The Storialist finds a photo every day, and writes inspired by that photo. I don't know exactly what it is about this idea which I love, but every time I read in on what's new, I can't decide if I'd rather read the poem first, and guess at the photo, or look at the photo and see what has been done with it.

One thing I'd like to add is that I write a poem every single day. I've been doing it for over a year now, and yeah, sometimes it sucks and you don't want to write anything. But what makes this even more impressive a venture is that Hannah isn't hiding anything (or if she is, she's showing more than she's hiding).

And of course, this wouldn't be anything more but a good idea if the writing didn't back it up.

Does anyone out there have any blogs they check regularly because of how damn good they are? Link me! I apparently am underrepresented my own gender here, as well as the span of blogging platforms.

4 poems in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature

2010-05-27T21:08:00.000-04:00

I'm making more of an effort, from now on, of letting people know where they can read my poetry. Four of my poems are in last month's issue of The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature:

http://www.deadmule.com/poetry/2010/04/keith-wilson-–-four-poems/

The Decline of Liberal Arts - Working Without Hope

2010-05-27T11:33:00.001-04:00

I've seen the best minds of my generation caught about their necks by minimum wage jobs. I've seen an alarming predisposition to reject the liberal arts in times of relative economic turmoil. To reject the liberal. And I'm taken by how unnecessary that is. There is no one so poor as the unread and inexperienced. More than that, a poor American is more rich than most the world. Except when he is destitute of mind. Then he is poorer.

There is nothing so dangerous as the stupidly rich.

But my fears are not of losing a foothold held so long that I have convinced myself that I'm entitled to it. Poetry never had a foothold in my lifetime, and if it did, I never held it. It certainly never had a financial one.

No, I'm not experiencing 1070-syndrome. I'm not metaphorically white in Arizona, afraid of losing my culture (which, might I add, somehow pervades, with great strength, every part of the world but Arizona itself).

Instead, I'm waxing poetic in reflection of how many times, since graduating high school, and then college, I have seen someone who ought to be a college professor, or a teacher, or a writer, or anything at all besides the barista filling up the chrome coffee dispenser as I pick up more books I can hardly afford. Or the waitress serving me lunch. And I'm no better; it was a little over a month ago that I was scrubbing flecks of dried meat from the bone saw in Kroger's backroom meat department, and before that, sorting through thousands of packages each 11 hour shift, and before that scrubbing grease from an industrial fryer. And it's likely that it won't be long before I return.

Sure, these are not the sort jobs that writers of times past, and even doctors or lawyers, weren't themselves grinding their way through to support themselves and their families. And they are worthy enough jobs. If everyone got to do precisely what they wanted, how many janitors would there be? Not enough.

But I never sense any real feeling of hope. Or enjoyment of the jobs done, instead. And let's face it, someone who detests their job is hard pressed to do as well as someone who loves it. Would you let a surgeon operate on you after hearing her explain what a mistake it was going into medicine? Choose an equally qualified teacher for your child over another if he hated children? Even economically, it's a problem to have a Master's Degree unloading the back of a truck if it makes him so unhappy to do so.

And where is the hope in that? I don't know. I am an island, sometimes, because whatever my tone, my hope exceeds my boundaries. I'm a born-again poet, maybe. Someone who abandoned computer science for their pen. Or maybe this is a outlier born of Greater Cincinnati. Never the greatest tolerance for poetry, or art.

I can only hope we're so isolated. Or that I'm merely venting from having had to wake up extra early for a job I am both grateful for, and vexed by. Because every hour I spend writing someone else's copy is an hour missed writing my own. Maybe I dread the moment when finally, and selfishly, I abandon responsibility yet again for my dreams.

What do you think? Are liberal arts in decline? What can we do to stay hopeful when our degree doesn't offer a marketable product?

Poem: Stream or Shiver

2010-05-25T01:38:00.001-04:00

Haven't posted anything here in a while, I think partially from a lot of talk between the Affrilachian Poets of the fact that a poem posted to a blog counts as published to many publishers.

Well, I write over 365 poems a year. I can spare some. Tonight:

Stream or Shiver

The moment you decide to forget

is the flashbulb

that ashes the image

to your mind.

It's a game your body plays

on the weekend

and regrets on Monday,

when knees ache, and the mind

is free to wallow

in recess.

How bright the sun was

only yesterday.

Grim, do you recall

how it warmed your skin?

It was humming, thrum

of chowder. How your mother

dumped in the clams

when the storm clouds

were nascent

and the sidewalk smelled,

newborn and strong.

And in this shock of clarity,

when poetry runs down your face

in streams, and seems never

able to dry, it will wear you away

like a canyon or favorite shirt

In this moment

when you've caught beauty

by the throat,

and ready yourself to throw it

safe to the waters,

but shake it first,

still, for just a moment

to memorize the shuddering

curves of it, the steely eyes,

imagine the contours

of its red undertows

In this fraction of a heartbeat,

between the ripples

of an onward reflection.

You will know only the weight

of it, breathing in your hands,

and not the face,

or the body,

or all the stories

written in the folds

of its fingers.

But what happened the day before,

you so decided to forget

by wrenching

the whitest wings you could find from the sky,

and it can never be forgotten.

Not the faintest of its whimpers.

Not the wet paper rustles

at the nape of its neck.

Not a single of its tongues

of eyelash. They are with you,

forever,

like a child

you refused to name.

I did something good. With my poetry. And now's your cue to be happy

2010-05-24T11:42:00.003-04:00

Actors have it rough. I mean, no matter how great an actor you are, a casting director is looking for a specific type of person, so sorry Denzel Washington, you're not a thin nerdy white man, and sorry David Spade, you're not precisely the kind of nerd we're looking for. Only, an actor may never know why they got rejected. I can't imagine how tough it is to improve your craft when you're given absolutely no direction.

Or I guess, in some ways, I can. Because mostly, rejection letters for poetry are printed 8 to a sheet of colored paper, cut to size, and stuffed in an envelope--usually with no more of a personal comment than "Thanks!" But I still feel for actors. They're putting themselves out there all the time, and sacrificing their 'real jobs' in doing so. And okay, so I do that too, but there's comfort in having time, distance and a sheet of A4 computer paper between me and rejection.

But actors have one big thing on us poets. Their friends and family understand their careers, and to some extent, their successes.

This is something I've been thinking about having been accepted in Cave Canem. My family doesn't read poetry that isn't written by yours truly, and are naturally not going to grasp how big a deal it is for me, except because they see that it's a big deal to me.

And that's fine, on one level. Everyone deals with this in some way. I'm sure I never show proper respect when my brother shows the opposing volleyball team what's what. But just once I wish that when a coworker at my 'real job' asked me what I wrote, I could respond with "Poetry," and get some sort of recognition from them. You know. Instead of the flat-faced, "Oh. Cool. So did you see last night's American Idol?"

Cave Canem, and the Kaffir Lilly book release party.

2010-05-21T11:39:00.001-04:00

So much to say. First, I've been accepted into Cave Canem. I'm ecstatic. I tried not to think about it back when I applied, but some of my favorite poets are involved; on the faculty, or on board in some way. Claudia Rankine comes to mind, especially. And Walter Mosely. You know what, I'm going to stop myself before I start rambling. I'm this close to being a graduated fellow. Well. You know. Minimum of three years, quite a bit of work, and some traveling and random expenses. That close.

Tuesday was the Bianca Spriggs Kaffir Lily book release party, and it was tight. Elizabeth Beck did the event planning, and it was held at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning in Lexington, KY. Elizabeth did a great job. It screamed of Bianca. There were mermaids, and bling, and henna, and chocolate, and damn good poetry. More on the poetry in a later post, but let me just say that if you have the money, stop wasting your time and just buy Kaffir Lilly. Seriously.

Lastly, anyone who has a good memory or actively visits my blog or website will notice the changes. I've made both easier on the eyes. This blog now supports much bigger videos and pictures, which is good for everyone, and encourages me to post those things. And finally, my website has an updated bio and list of some of my publication credits, which makes it really the only place you can currently go to see where I've been published.

Even more to come. I'm always on some kinda grind.

Covington City Lights Poetry Slam and INKY Series in Louisville

2010-05-18T13:31:00.011-04:00

I've had a busy week. And on top of it all, I'll be making a lot of changes to this blog. I'll be changing the physical layout a bit to make it easier to read, begin changing the format for similar reasons, and most importantly, I'll be updating, from now on, twice a week. On a regular schedule.

The beginning of this week, I attended the second Covington City Lights Poetry Slam event that my friend Samuel Phillips (BOK) runs. This year it was at Molly Malones, in Covington. Speaking of which, my old poetry stomping grounds, The BeanHaus in Covington, has been shut down. Damn this economy.

Anyway, the whole thing was pretty fun. I got knocked out the first round, but there were some good poets in the house. Black Falcon won the event, and the trophy, but there were some poets from the Greenwich who represented Cincinnati. Truth Be Told, I'm looking at you. And let me just say how great it is to watch everyone grow. Lisa Carbert, last year's winner, performed earlier last year at the Gypsy Poetry Slam in Lexington and her performances just keep getting better, and Sam's events are growing every day.

Afterwards, Lisa performed. And I got to see a performance which Lisa and my brother have been talking about since last year's CCL performance; Listener. Which is one of my new favorite bands. And the lead (singer? rapper? talker?) is hilarious, and an all around awesome guy.

On Thursday, I drove down to Louisville to read at the INKY series. Erin Keane hosted and really sort of complimented me by reading a bio she had researched herself. I don't know, bragging about myself always makes me feel awkward and self conscious, but having someone else do it, especially when you're not expecting it... It sort of made my day. Also, Erin is hilarious; I wish I lived closer to Louisville so I could come down all the time.

Steven D. Schroeder, editor of one of my favorite online journals ever (Anti-) read as well. I was excited as hell when I first found this out, and bought a copy of his book first chance I got. And my badass sister-poet Bianca Spriggs came, and my editor and friend Katerina Stoykova-Klemer came, and Lynnell Edwards (I read with her at the Holler Poetry Series in Lexington) came. The house was full of some poets.

I had a blast, but I won't lie. I'm a little glad it's over. I can stop stressing. I stress less than I used to. But I still stress.

Oh, one last thing now that the long name drop session is over (I'm grateful, is all!). I ordered a Flip Camera with the money I made at INKY. So expect for some poetry in the near future.

Prizes for Your Answers: What do I do with this blog?

2010-05-03T23:28:00.006-04:00

That kind of title always, with little exception, is the internet knell of someone deciding finally that they don't really 'get' blogs, social media, or what they were thinking jumping into the slick pool that is the internet.

It's not the case for me, however.

Explanations are in order. National poetry month was rough for me. I wrote a grand total of 30 sonnets, culminating in an iambic pentameter sonnet crown retelling what I think the problem is with Hip-Hop through the framework of Homer's Odyssey. Yeah. But what's more, I read, throughout the month, 5 of Shakespeare's sonnets a day, and that's rough, because there are a lot of turns of phrase that you have to read about on their own, since they don't exist anymore and therefore make zero sense.

But I also got a freelance job, and it being the first real job, as well as the only full time paying writing gig I've ever even been offered, I decided to take the horrific plunge and outright quit my former, steady job in favor of something I wasn't sure about.

It's working out, so far. But this job has me learning all sorts of things about SEO, how valuable search traffic is (and I don't only mean monetarily) and so forth.

So it has me thinking. What am I even doing with this blog? With my twitter account? Not as much as I could be, that's for sure. I don't know necessarily that I intend or need to be able to make any money at all from either of them, but there is so much untapped potential. I need to push my game, in all things, at all times, if at all possible.

Trust me, I'm thick-skinned (sometimes -headed, but that's another story) when it comes to my craft and those things related to it.

So... Questions:

What do you guys want to see here? Videos? Recordings?
What about the format? Do you guys like shorter posts? What about headings? I don't use them very often. Should I?
Do you want more links? What kind?
If you regularly read blogs, which are your absolute favorites? Why?
What topics do you like to read about? If you read my blog frequently (or... as frequently as I post them, which isn't always so very frequent) what have your favorite posts been?
Assuming that you are not close enough to get to see me read, what makes a poetry/writing blog interesting to you when it's from someone you can't properly meet?
Sometimes I begin my post with a picture. What do you think about discontinuing this? Continuing it?
I am usually loathe to mention places in which I have been published, awards I receive, or other forms of 'bragging.' Now, I fully realize that this can be done in such a way as not to brag, but the point is, how much do you care? Should I be letting you all know when I am published, and when?
Guest bloggers. What do you think? Should I have other people blog here sometimes?
Interviews, book reviews, essays, my thoughts on things. Any of these at all interesting to you?
What about prizes/contests, like this one. Do you like them?
What are the top 5 things you want to see out of this blog?

Anyone who emails an answer to me at somethingcleverwastaken@gmail.com will get their choice of a prize, and if I get 20 responses or more, I'll randomly select one of the responders to send a much better prize (it's too expensive for me to send if I only get one response. Sorry...). But anyone who responds is guaranteed both a personalized poem (by that, I mean you give me a topic and I'll write about it and sign it) as well as a chapbook of some sort from yours truly, signed.

So what do you guys think?

National Poetry Month...is... killing me.

2010-04-24T23:20:00.002-04:00

Not really, but close.

I love it, of course, but a sonnet a day? Plus a decision I made to read all of Shakespeare's sonnets within the month? Yeah, I have very little free time.

But I am learning a great deal about poetry by trying out form in this way. I'm going to have a lot to say about it when the time finally comes where I have free time again.

I was published in the latest edition of Hazard Community and Technical College's literary journal, Kudzu. And I was invited to read at a special poetry reading for those who were published within the journal. Plus, Bianca was their guest of honor, and a work shop leader at the Spring Writer's Conference the very next day (I attended last year's, where fellow Affrilachian Poet Mitch Douglas ran a workshop. And I got to attend my first, and thus far only, class with Gurney Poet, our poet laureate and my hero).

But let me tell you how this day went. I need it on record.

Hazard is about a three hour drive for me. So I leave at 2. Gives me an extra hour, right? Well, I go to Kroger, get some water, some strawberries and kiwis which have been pre-cut, and some dried fruit (which I eventually found out had sugar added. WTF) since it was my first day post fast. And lemme tell you, I enjoyed the hell out of that fruit.

But before I left, I decided I'd just write the address down. I've been stressing about the job interview the next day (more on that at a later date, I promise you) and the reading itself, and so on, so I just saved myself the trouble of clearing my interview clothes off my printer, and just wrote the address down, to enter into my GPS.

10 minutes, at Kroger: I realize that it doesn't have the address IN my GPS, but I've wasted a good amount of my extra time already, so I call Regan, ask her to enter it into mapquest, and tell her to read me the second to last direction. I'm essentially going to go as far as my GPS knows to get, and then turn onto the last road, which I'm hoping I can see as I'm driving up the SECOND to last road... Done and done.

2 hours: An accident on the part of 75 south of Lexington which becomes a two lane highway. A semi has crossed over into the opposite traffic and slammed into the hill to the right of us. 30 minute to 45 minute delay.

4.5 hours: That second to last road that Regan told me about? It's a gravel road that goes about 45 degrees uphill. I almost get stuck going up it, to find a trailer, and a dog. Not a college. I've figured out by now, there must be two roads with this name. I have no reception, so I drive around aimlessly until I do, stop in the middle of the road, and hurriedly try to explain to a sleeping Regan that I need new directions. Regan gives them to me (all the roads, and there are 6 of them, are numbers and not names. Argh), and I realize I am half an hour away. The event has started.

5 hours: No reception, phone is dying, but I've been somewhat in contact with Bianca. I am close, I tell her. Driving up and down one of the last roads, looking for a road that I can not find. I see a sign that says Hazard Technical. I am there, I tell her. I go to the visitor's center. Don't see a library. Talk to the people in the parking lot. They say this is the Technical campus. I want the other campus. They give me directions. Go down the road (to 65? I can't recall anymore) and keep going until you see the restaurants. You'll see a turn there.

5 hours, 15 minutes: The road they told me to get to? When I get to it, it splits. One way is directly forward, the other way is slightly to the left. I decide that, given that they didn't tell me about this, they meant for me to go straight. Straight is always the unsaid direction. No reception, so I just drive. And drive. And drive.

5 hours, 30 minutes: This must be the opposite way. I'll give it 5 more minutes, because I can't afford to turn around, then turn around again. Almost out of gas.

6 hours: I've turned around by now. And here is the college. I park immediately, run around campus until I see the library, and come inside, where Bianca is reading her poetry, near the end of the event. Bianca sees me, and in one of the most gracious acts I have ever experienced, finished her poem, pointed me out to the crowd as a poet who still needed to read, and asked if I could perform after her.

This is from the feature poet, a woman who has a new book, and deserves the final spotlight.

I go up to read two poems, and sit down, panting.

We went to a country club, afterwards, a bunch of us, faculty and poets from all over mid-to-central Kentucky. I got a very salty, but by this time, delicious salad, and I got to enjoy yet another awesome meal with fellow AP Bianca, and my second with Gurney.

I really want to express how thankful I am for Bianca (who, by the way, mentioned me in her book, and gave me an awesome signed copy) and the APs.

But for now, I have quite a lot of work to do, and quite a little time to do it.

It's national poetry month!

2010-04-02T02:20:00.003-04:00

There is a kind of universal ritual that takes place this month among a lot of poets, which is the 30 poems in 30 days challenge. Oftentimes, we share many, if not all, of the poems we write during this oh-so-holy time for poetry.

Last year, I was unemployed during national poetry month, and partially because of this, and partially because I was feeling particularly inspired, I decided to write 2 poems every day. 60 poems in 30 days. It was one of my more ridiculous (and yet still, to me, good) ideas.

But I continued writing a poem a day from that point until today, and so I can't really participate in the 30 poems in 30 days challenge, and 2 poems a day seems almost pointless when I've written over 365 in the last year. So I decided to up the ante in a different manner this year.

That's right, I'm writing 30 form poems in 30 days. I'm thinking sonnets.

Additionally, a lot of the other Affrilachian Poets are participating in a juice fast for 21 days of the month. So I went out, bought a juicer and a bunch of fruit and veggies, and am participating in that as well. As a form of meditation. I have never meditated before. It's kind of distracting and painful, in an empty-stomach kind of way. Plus I have a headache that is un-fast related.

But my first fruit drink was delicious. 1 inch if ginger, 6 apples, and half a lemon. Had a kick to it, because I think I might be unable to tell the difference between 1 and 2 inches of ginger. And let me tell you, after a long day of work, knowing you have to write a sonnet afterwards, and being hungrier than hell, it is NOT fun having to go to Walmart, buy all the stuff you need to get nutrients, and then figure out how to use the damn thing.

But without further ado, my very first sonnet:

Sonnet 1

How I detested her food. My mother's

soft broccoli, lima beans. Liver and greens.

Encaged by hated vegetables. Others

ate quickly, were off, unshackled and free.

Hunger was master. I'd beg and then swill

tears from the yard concerning my next meal.

Metal cup banging badly for its fill,

I clasped her hands to drag her by her heals

Because unthankful as I was before,

I've dragged around that tinny busted cup.

With work, had little time or soup to pour.

Appeared, before, and expected her love.

Arrested—brimming now at kitchen floor,

I spill words, to her hands, when they serve more.

Should I release my own poetry as an eBook?

2010-03-27T03:29:00.006-04:00

A good book of poetry, I think, does one of two things. Puts your own poetry in perspective, or to shame.

I've just started reading Cornelius Eady's "You Don't Miss Your Water," and it's reminded me, just as every time I read Langston Hughes or certain poems by William Carlos Williams, that the least inclined among us have all the words they need to create.

What I mean is that after a long night staring at a white computer screen pouring over the words that are pouring themselves from my mind's tongue, it's a little bit inspiring and defeating both to read a poem that makes you gasp which uses only those words that you'd hear every day. Not even a spark of the esoteric. Not even the spark the word esoteric gives itself.

In actual news, while I was involved in Split This Rock, and just before it, in fact, I had commissioned for myself a series of poems as a sort of test. I will not go too deeply into it just yet, because I'm not sure what I want to do with these poems. But more or less, intrigued by the idea that a roomful of gifted writers could all write about the same subject and never once even remotely cross paths, I chose an object, and in some ways tried to mimic that phenomenon myself.

A little like a one man barber's quartet. One man and a tape player.

I was considering sending it out for publication, but I'm working on what feels like a more promising chapbook collection, and so I'm now mulling over releasing the whole thing as eBook, something I've never done before.

Lemme know what you guys think?

Know the tools of the poet's craft: Printer Edition

2010-03-19T14:58:00.010-04:00

It goes without saying that any venture you're going to invest a considerable amount of money in deserves the same kind of special attention you give your car, or your home. But I never hear writers talk about these kinds of things; it's always about art, or the struggle, or even the business (that is, trying to land gigs or teaching jobs), but rarely the more technical side.

I'm talking about the things that can save us a ton of money, like management of resources on road trips, or filing for taxes as an artist, or in this case, getting a printer.

A while back, when I had some cash burning a hole in my pocket, I made the somewhat drastic decision to buy a new printer. Don't let this precursor dissuade you from doing the same, because it turned out to be an excellent decision, but I'm not going to act as if a ton of planning went into this; I had an old printer I hated, and I wanted a new one.

But my inability to look before I leaped is to your benefit. First things first.

Should I buy a new printer?

Good question, self. The answer to this depends entirely on what you plan on using your printer for. If you are only going to print black and white (or all text), I'd say yes, definitely. Even if you print photos or other color documents, if you are serious about printing out copies for submissions to literary journals, or copies of your novel or poetry for work shopping, I'd get a second printer just for that purpose.

See, I had a color ink jet printer. And for much the same reason that a lot of people get cell phone cameras; it was listed as a cool option, and I wanted that cool option without thinking for a second what I'd use it for.

What ended up happening was that in a 2 year period, I only needed about 2 color copies of anything. Ink jet ink dries out, so at about 45 dollars a pop for ink, those two copies cost me 90 dollars. I don't think I need a chart to explain why it's better for me to take my color documents to Kinkos, even if they DO charge far too much considering what it costs them.

What are my options?

Simply put, there are only about three options you're going to want to look into unless you have very specific (or unique) printing needs.

Ink Jet Printer

These are popular because they run so cheap. A quick Google shows me that Walmart is selling one right now for less than 30 dollars.

An ink jet printer essentially operates by spraying tiny droplets of ink on the paper, which allows for crisp and colorful options. If you're doing anything creative, this is the choice for you, because you can't do those printer-friendly iron on t-shirt transfers, color documents, or photo-quality pictures any other way.

But the downsides are many. Ink jet ink costs from 17-25 dollars, and you'll need both a black and a color if you want to take advantage of printing text for your writing, and the photo options.

What's more, ink jets dry out. If you have that color cartridge in your printer, and wait a few months before you print something in color, it is as good as dead, and it's off to the store to buy another 16 dollars worth of ink.

It literally may be cheaper just to buy a new printer every time you need to refill your ink, which is making mother earth cry as I type this, or to try to refill your cartridges (and void your warranty) yourself, which sounds like such a messy nightmare that I don't know why anyone would do it.

Laser

A laser printer operates by laying ink on a paper and using heat to burn the ink to the paper. A laser printer, which is more expensive than an ink jet uses an ink drum, which is usually more expensive than ink jet ink. But not by much. On Amazon.com, right now, I can buy ink for my printer, a Brother HL-2140, for 35 dollars.

So how long does it last?

Well, more on this later, but while I used to swap ink in my ink jet every 1 to 2 months (and this is before I REALLY began to print things out), I haven't had to change my drum since I bought my printer, and that was a year ago. If I'm conservative, and say that I ONLY changed my ink jet ink every two months, and that I also ONLY changed the black ink cartridge and not both, I save over 96 dollars a year in ink. Assuming that I run out of ink right this second.

And while I don't keep great track of how much paper I run through, I think it's safe to say that I run through around 20-50 sheets on an average month, and many more depending on what I am submitting or how much I'm work shopping. And for you environmentalists, I use both sides of the paper when I can. I wish our neighborhood offered recycling, and I'm not sure I actually help the environment by driving all the way down to the plant.

Multi-Function Printer

I will leave it to you, gentle reader, as to whether this is another feasible option for your needs.

A multi-function printer offers two or more services a 'normal' printer doesn't offer, such as a scanner/printer or scanner/fax/printer. This can save you money and room if you're in need of these gadgets, but on a personal level, I've always hated multi-function anythings. You know what happened when, back in the day, you bought a TV with a video cassette slot in it? When the VHS broke, you had to go out and buy a new VHS and sit it on top of your huge, ugly television set.

The same thing can happen with a multi-function printer. If the scanner breaks, you will either have to buy a completely new multi-function printer(and they're more expensive than any other kind of printer, as you might imagine), or buy a separate scanner and sit it next to your giant scanner printer which only prints.

And I know that times have changed, and the multi-function printers are actually sometimes smaller than other single-function printers. But I stand by my opinion that it's silly to have an item with extra, unworking parts for any reason. Plus, any engineer will tell you that the more moving parts a machine has, the more likely it is for something to go wrong.

So what next?

Next, familiarize yourself with the product, either before (suggested) or after you buy it. Google it, find out if people are having problems on Amazon's comment system. Really, spend about a day at this before you make an expensive investment.

When, after about 5 months, my printer said it was out of ink, I Googled it. It had lasted me more than twice as long as my old printer's ink, but I was curious about whether this was a normal period of time before replacement was necessary.

Turns out that the sensor for my brand of printer goes off way early. This is kind of shifty of Brother; I suspect that the company will claim it only wants the 'absolute best printing quality' and therefore tells you to change early. But there's not even an option to print anyway. It's flashing red light, and out to buy a new cartridge.

That is, unless you read up on it. Turns out, if I taped over the censor (which I promptly did), the printer would continue to print, oblivious to the fact that it was 'out of ink.' 7 months later, and I finally begin to see some wear and tear. The paper is splotchy with ink. So I open it up, study the parts some, and figure out what to clean, and voila. Good as new.

What's more, my printer offers a 'high-yield' ink. Whether or not this is worth the extra money, I don't know. But you can bet that when this ink finally runs out, I'll do my research.

Oh, and one last thing: both ink jets and laser printers often have an option to 'print quickly' or a 'low quality' option. This uses much less ink, and a lot of times, doesn't obviously detract from the quality of the print.

What kind of poems do you write?

2010-03-18T23:48:00.003-04:00

There are few things I dread more than this question; What kind of poems do you write?

Admittedly, some of what makes me cringe about this is the fact that a part of me doesn't care about the classifications of poetry. For now.

As it is, I'm busy enough writing and thinking about my own writing, and reading all the poetry I have stockpiled about my apartment to care whether a poet writes lyrically or not.

Is it good?

That's what I'm about as it stands.

And I'm sure that as time goes on, my interest will be piqued, and I'll more seriously consider classifications and styles. I mean, anyone who reads enough of anything has a portion of their subconcious that just 'knows' what they like and hate, and why, and a lot of the time, that has to do with those same aesthetic that I am presently not worrying about.

I actually have been working on a project which has opened my eyes to what it is that I write. But that's going to be saved for another day--perhaps after its completion. More on that to come.

But is anyone else in this same anti-classification boat? I'd love for someone else to just tell me what it is that I write, and I'll just spout that off every time it comes up, but I'm not wasting any time trying to figure it out.

Split this Rock Finale

2010-03-13T23:52:00.003-05:00

This day is a blur. I woke up incredibly early (7 is incredibly early to me on a regular day, but today, that meant like 3-4 hours of sleep. Who's counting?). Plus, it was raining.

First workshop. Write from the Source: Breath, Gesture, Word. Janet E. Aalfs lead this workshop, and as I told the class, I chose to attend precisely because I didn't know anything about the topic. It turned out to be sort of a writing workshop meets eastern/martial arts philosophy meets exercise in breathing and motion awareness. It was illuminating, and as someone mentioned at the end of the class, Janet's ability to make the class comfortable enough to freely try the large gestures and movements that we practiced is worth special mention. She noted that at one time in her life, before martial arts, she would have ran scared to think she'd have to speak in front of people. This was my story as well, so I'm glad that coupled with the workshop yesterday in which I performed, I was able to get behind me a few instances of my ability to, for just a moment, to completely forget my past inhibitions with the stage.

Problems happen, and the second workshop I was awaiting was canceled due to the instructor never showing up. I won't name any names, but yeah, that kinda sucked. But I moved to another workshop I had starred in my giant book of things to do, and ended up at a large panel about the Poet as a Historian. Martha Collins didn't even read her poetry, but it was so interesting a discussion on the history behind it that I was almost willing to buy her book sight unseen, and Kim Roberts' poetry has me hooked as well.

For the rest of the day, Regan and I power-sight-saw (see how tired I am?) and went to the Folger Shakespeare Library (I got to see a first folio up close and personal! It was a religious experience), the African Art branch of the Smithsonian, and.... the mall.

At the end of the night, I attended the last official literary event of the festival, a reading featuring poets Sinan Antoon, Chris Abani, Toni Asante Lightfoot (what a speaking voice!), and Martha Collins. And yes. I am definitely going to buy her book at some point. Not tonight. Ran out of money.

All in all, I greatly enjoyed Split This Rock. I attended more a lot of workshops that surprised and informed me in ways I'd never experienced. A lot of cross disciplinary things which I normally wouldn't have attended, but which I decided to give a try given the nature of the event and the suggestion of Co-Director Sarah Browning. Plus, I got to go to a ton of workshops even in the time between sight seeing. Which, by the way, was its own source of illumination. I never knew how little I knew about DC until I lived here for a few days.

I'm sure there's more to say, but perhaps in some kind of recap tomorrow. Because tonight? Nothing but sleep.

Well. After I write something, and then read.

But THEN. Sleep.

Split this Rock, the Affrilachian panels

2010-03-13T01:08:00.003-05:00

First, let me get this out of the way. So many things went wrong today that I sorta wished more than a few times that I could just throw in the towel. I'm gonna quickly list them:

1. Woke up late due to tiredness, and therefore missed the early panels I wanted to attend.
2. Thought I could just catch the first Affrilachian panel (which I wasn't formally a part of) by driving into Washington. Long story short. Nope.
3. Driving to Washington in the early morning was horrific. And later, driving back was just as bad.
4. I forgot some not quite necessary random items back at the hotel, which nevertheless sorta threw me off my game.
5. All in all, tons of schedule conflicts, and me carrying a big stack of chapbooks etc because I don't have anything to carry them in.

But the reading itself went pretty well. It was in the Thurgood Marshall Center (which houses the former brief living quarters of Langston Hughes, which I took photos of). It was a cozy, living room style room that was filled to capacity by the end of our set. It was Ellen Hagan, Frank X. Walker, Mitch Douglas, and me performing, and I think that after all was said and done, and we had answered everyone's questions, we actually went a little over our time. I read a lot of my more overtly political stuff, which I haven't done in quite some time. Plus, I got Ellen's new book.

Oh, and I got to participate in Ellen's workshop Poetic Exploration, which was about crossing the boundaries of art. There were three groups which connected themselves to poetry; dance, theatre, and visual mediums, and I ended up in the theatre group. It was pretty awesome, actually, we each wrote some free writing from a quote or picture, then chose from that writing one or two lines. We then decided, by switching around in line, which lines would create a good poem, then created a performance based on that, using a blanket which could represent any one thing. I've never really been into the acting part of theatre, so it was a drastically new experience for me.

Oh, and I got to eat Ethiopian food for the first time. Lamb Wot. It was fantastic.

Finally, at the end of the night, I got a book signed by Patricia Smith, who I caught as she was walking out of the building where a poetry reading done by Jeffrey McDaniel, Natalie E. Illu, Jan Beatty, and Quincy Troupe was happening. I especially loved Jeffrey McDaniel's poems, and Jan Beatty.

My favorite thing about this all, besides my rapidly expanding collection of signed books, is the sheer number of performances I get to see. It's introducing me to whole new worlds of poetry and expression. Well worth the entry price.

Split this Rock day... whatever it is.

2010-03-12T01:00:00.002-05:00

I am, in some ways, inspired by passion more than anything else, and so it's of little surprise that I was invigorated and motivated to start teaching by Adriana Sanchez and Xelena Gonzalez's Workshop: "Let Us Work Together - A Practical Guide and Discussion on Creating Community-based Writing Projects." I chose it based on a suggestion I got yesterday to attend an event I would never normally attend. I do this with food all the time; order something new. But rarely with workshops. So I tried it.

There was so much information, and so much real impact that these two women were doing in their communities that yes, I sorta feel like a tool by not doing much at all. And they handed out just about the nicest book of workshop ideas I think I've ever seen. It's so nice that I feel bad for having not paid for it.

I decided to skip the next round of workshops for the guided tour of the Capitol building which Regan had set up. It was amazing. Got about 6 poem ideas.

From there, I had intended on going to the demonstration. But anyone who knows me knows I am terrible with directions, and while my navigation has been splendid so far, I got very confused with a set of street names, and ended up wandering around for about an hour before I gave up and went to the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. I hadn't been since I was a pre-teen. More poems.

And I wrapped the night up, exhausted, at a reading featuring Francisco Aragon, Lillian Allen, Nancy Morejon, and Mark Nowak. I enjoyed it, and even bought Lillian Allen's book (and it's awesome. I'm so happy I did, because I enjoyed the hell out of the Metro ride back to the hotel reading it). But I was so tired that the further into the two hours the reading got, the harder it was for me to focus properly. Next time, I'm napping before a 2 hour long poetry reading. haha.

Tomorrow, I meet up with the Affrilachian Poets. And then, it's my turn.

First day of Split This Rock

2010-03-11T00:49:00.004-05:00

I know that I said that I'd go into much more detail about my role in Split This Rock today, but first, I'm not sure that there IS much more to say; I'm going to be reading as a part of a festival which was born out of, I think, a feeling of despair during the Bush administration and which still feels a certain sense of loss at the continuing war. In any case, I'm not sure how political I want to get when it's my turn to read, but tonight's not the night for that. I am far too tired.

I spent the day running about the Metro and D.C. in general with Regan and her sister, who are half accompanying me, and half having their own vacation (they don't do the poetry specific things). We spent a lot of the day at the zoo. It's been forever since I've been to any zoo, so it was fun. We also visited China Town, and Busboys and Poets for me to pick up my registration information. I was totally excited, and the venue itself was awesome. It had a giant wall of books (the old fashioned kind with the rolling ladders), a cafe, a bar, and a stage. The kind of place I'd love to hang out around, if I lived in the area.

When 8 o' clock rolled around, and we went or separate ways. I went to the first official performance of the festival. Long story short, after hearing them read, I bought Cornelius Eady's "You Don't Miss Your Water," and Andrea Gibson's "Pole Dancing to Gospel Hymns." Got them both signed. And spent a lot of money I shouldn't be spending.

Two small notes, however. First, I am glad to have finally met Cornelius, even if it was only for a moment. Many of the Affrilachian Poets are Cave Canem fellows, so they speak highly of him, and often. Second, Andrea Gibson's book is a Write Bloody book, at least the second, or possibly third, book by that publisher which I have read. Just a strange coincidence, although I KNOW I have heard her perform before, though I've never seen her. I think from one of the poetry journals I read online.

Anyway, I have some reading to finish before I go to sleep for a few hours before I get out there and attend some workshops. I foresee some serious tiredness.

In Washington D.C. - Split this Rock

2010-03-10T02:33:00.003-05:00

I will go into this in much more detail tomorrow. But I'm here in Washington D.C. after what amounted to 12 hours on the road. Of course, some of those hours were spent napping at a gas station. But in my defense, I worked from 3 to 11 p.m. and left without so much as a nap after I had gathered my things.

But to tide everyone over, here's the rundown of what's about to go down. The Affrilachian Poets are representing at two different events within Split this Rock; both at a workshop called "Raising Radical Poets," and at a reading. I will only be performing at the reading, but I'm excited about it nevertheless. Especially since I wrote the initial proposal. For the poetry reading, that is.

There's more details at the Split This Rock 2010 page. For now, I gotta get my stuff done so I can sleep. Got some sight seeing to do.

American Idol; almost as good as a poetry workshop

2010-03-03T23:16:00.005-05:00

I can see it even in the worst of my bad poems. A marked improvement. Even the poems I wouldn't expect anyone to ever read unless they were being forced have something moving below the foggy glass, something more than most of my old poems.

It's been nearly a year now of writing at least a poem a day, and that kind of constant grind (how many days did I once write when I wasn't forcing myself? Not enough) is sometimes patently obvious.

And yet are certain old poems, not particularly well written by my standards today, which have something special. How does one explain that? How can I confidently write a poem today, one which I know is better than most my other poems, and still be unsatisfied with the result? The answer came to me tonight, watching American Idol. Not an epiphany. An instant blaze of light. But slow and warm like a hamburger.

Some of these kids have amazing voices, and yet you can half fall asleep listening to them sing. They're not in that moment, that inspirational someplace else that just happens sometimes, even when it doesn't entirely feel like it. There's some kind of 'It' factor that the judges love so much to squawk about, and it's true. It works not just on people, but on frames of mind. On works of art.

I think writing--any art really--is a process of rediscovery, and this is a discovery I feel I'll make over and over again.

But the key, right now, when I am not just writing to sharpen my own edge, is to learn the frame of mind, the process, or whatever, that leads me to know when and where to swing it.

Stop sharpening only for sharpness' sake.

I think I may be at around Step 2

2010-02-23T20:00:00.000-05:00

The Five Steps of Publishing

From podium to grind

2010-02-19T02:13:00.003-05:00

Back from a gig in at Macon State College in Georgia. I went with Ricardo and Bianca, and it was very much what I didn't know that I needed. A little like living alone in a cave, enshrouded by darkness, and then having someone enter with a flashlight. I was fine, before, but now reminded of the light.

The reading itself went well. I wish I could go on a tour again like last year, because I definitely see a change in the whole process. In my choice of what to read, in the responses I get from the audience, in my performance itself.

We talked, as we drove, about all sorts of things, but two important things as they pertain to this blog were our discussion of Blackbone, which is approaching its inception, and Ricardo and Bianca's urging that I create a vita of all the places I have read, which I did today, on my day off.

And speaking of having a day off, the disappointment of having to return to a menial job that has absolutely nothing to do with my field is sort of crushing. I mean, I'm not depressed at work, or even leading up to it (not so when I worked at White Castle) but there is the distinct knell of missed opportunities ringing at all times.

It is time to redouble my efforts on getting a new job. Not necessarily a job I will love (I'll be in grad school before to long) but at least a job that will afford me the money I need to pay the bills, save money, and apply to writing contests.

Hook me up if you know of anything in the Cincinnati area. haha.

5 Methods for Poetry Submission Beginners (or Veterans)

2010-02-06T02:49:00.004-05:00

A poet recently asked me for tips on submission; I was in this same boat not too long ago, wondering where to begin, and I wish I had learned some of this earlier. In any case, here are 5 of my methods for poetry submission.

Method 1 "Sneak a Peek at Page 1"

If you have a book of poetry that you love or identify with, especially if you think it's in any way similar to your work, look within the first few pages. They often list the magazines and journals that published those poems originally. Steal them.

Method 2 "The Internet!!1"

If you don't already read online journals spend some time just reading through them. Basically, you're more likely to be accepted by a journal which publishes poems you enjoy reading. Finding online journals in the first place can be tough, find more of them, a lot of times, in the link sections of places you've already looked at.

Method 3 "Find Someone Who Sucks"

Find a poet, any poet who you think, in any capacity, you are either AS good as or better than in an online journal. Don't worry, it's bound to happen eventually, and depending on your ego, maybe sooner than later. Now. Find the poet's bio on that site. Copy down the places he has submitted to. Because hell, if they'll accept that crap, they'll accept your awesome work, right?

Method 4 "Tried and True"

Poet's Market. Just open it up and randomly choose some journals. This is hit or miss, because sometimes they don't want work like you write (they want love poems, or they don't like poems with your style of metaphors, etc) and you really should read their stuff to see if you fit in with their vibe. But it's also my personal opinion that you should only stop yourself from submitting to a journal if it's blatantly obvious they would never want your work; you never know what someone will or won't like.

Method 5 "The Internet Part Deux!!!1"

Duotrope.com. Go to the poem section, and enter your criteria.

The World is Round

2010-02-01T20:40:00.004-05:00

I've got some big things coming up; hope that I have both the energy and the forethought to blog about them as they show up. Blackbone (have I mentioned Blackbone yet? It's an in-the-works publishing group being planned up and created by Bianca Spriggs, Ricardo Nazari-Colon, and myself) is about to go read on a mini-road trip, among other things.

But no matter how busy I've been, I refuse to cut either writing or reading from my schedule. So I've read quite a few books of poetry, even since the last review. This won't, however, be a review as such, just a recommendation:

Go out and buy The World is Round, by Nikky Finny. Right now.

It's a little bit heavier than some of the rest of my recent fair, but as I was telling Bianca, I think, Nikky has an almost prose sensibility with her revelations; there is a certain command of what is being revealed to you that refuses to allow you to be lost (and let's face it, poetry is often about getting lost) for too long, or at least, in such a hopeless state that no part of you wishes to spend the time to find your way back.

I'd read this book again just for the exhilarating joy of it, but I feel like there's so much to learn about writing (and story telling) as well.

It's officially one of my 'text books.'

Mini Reviews

2009-12-28T06:11:00.004-05:00

I just completed a book of poetry, and realized that as the year draws near, I find myself steeped more in reflection than is usual. Okay, maybe that isn't true, but you notice it when another year has passed you. So I got to thinking about the last couple of months and what I've read. I give you my mini reviews.

Claudia Rankine - Don't Let Me Be Lonely - Possibly the best book I've read this year, definitely within the top two of poetry. It's an experimental work, with poems that aren't titled, or even broken into traditional stanzas. It's sometimes stream of conscious, often evocative, and the symbols and images that aren't of Rankine's own creation (that is, those images she twists out of the air of her own accord like the intimate relationships between death, reflection, and loneliness) are heavily influenced by popular American imagery, such as prescription drug names (Botox) or politics. It's hard for me to explain how much I loved this book.

Sherwin Bitsui - Shapeshift - Not an easy read. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, just something which makes it difficult to know where I stand. There is startling imagery, and I feel like if I can tap a fraction of that in the way Bitsui does, that I'll have become a more mature writer, but I almost feel as if my lack of knowledge of Native American spirituality has severely handicapped me in this read in some way, in the way that I feel handicapped by my lack of musical knowledge in Langston Hughes poems. It is, at times, hard for me to grasp any solid narrative or idea in any one poem, other than the play between the modern world and Native American sensibilities or the circle of life and death. I feel like this is a perfect book to read with an experienced group of poets for discussion, but as an individual read, for me, it often left me gasping for air. Worth multiple reads.

Mike McGee - In Search of Midnight - What to say about this book... On one hand, it's kind of awesome. I love that a poet can write a poem with the pure intention of just being funny, and there are some really interesting (lest I say, profound?) poems as well. There's a poem about lady bugs that I want to cut out and hang somewhere. Get this if you're in the mood to laugh.

Jeff Fleming - The Bones of Saints Under Glass - Best chapbook I've ever read, bar none. The images were stark and the poems often so short as to leave me with my (imaginary) jaw hanging, forcing me to read it over again. A few times. I will read this book over and over again, I know it. Also, the cover art, especially for a chapbook, gets me every time. I have a thing for silhouettes and bird bones, I guess.

A Van Jordan - Macnolia - Ever read something that leaves you disheartened about your own work? THAT'S how good it is? This is the only contender, this year, with Rankine's book for me. There were stretches of poems that were interesting, but not heart wrenching (though I begin to wonder is that what I even want for a whole collection of poems?) but every so often, there was a poem doing things with form, with words, with emotion, and with imagery that just floored me. If you are the type of person who gets tired of the experimentation with poetic form, get this book, because you'll read at least a few poems that will show you how it's done. I promise you.

Leah Angstman - Next Exit - I enjoyed the photos in the book, which lent themselves to the sort of road trip that you take during the work, and some of the works were interesting, though, for some reason, I found parts of the book a bit lewd. I'd have to read it again to know for certain why, because I've read a million books that cuss more often, and it was never explicit in any way. Perhaps that is the intent, that sort of uncomfortable shifting in your chair as you read.

That's it, for the last two months. We'll see what the next few bring about.

Neglected

2009-12-21T04:29:00.002-05:00

I have a lot to say, lately, but very little time to say it. It's saddening to think about; I have had little time (17 days since the last update? Geeze) to read or write blogs. Now, a lot of times, this sort of introduction ends with someone's explanation as to why they are going to stop blogging altogether, or a solemn promise to post like crazy in the coming weeks along with a renewed sense of purpose. I have neither of those, however. I will continue to blog when I have the time about the things that I hope are interesting.

It's just that last year I worked very little, and it has hit me hard, along with a number of other unexpected bills. Things will get better, or I will get used to them being worse. And this blog will pick up again. Let's face it; as slow as I've been at updating, I'm still better than some folks out there. hahaha.

Right now, though, I am starting the process of exploring my options for MFA program, with the niggling suspicion, tugging in the back of my mind, just as all through college, that formal education in the arts is a waste of time and money.

But I think what I'm ultimately deciding is that while I am more than motivated enough to read all the 'right' books (the ones I believe are right, that is) and to write like hell, and generally do all the things an artist needs to do to improve their craft, there are things that a college education did for me that are invaluable, and I will never be able to rest until I see it through. It's sort of a situation where I climbed a neighboring hill and saw further into the sky than I ever had, and now I can't get out of my mind that I've never even tried to climb a mountain. And I can stare into the sky, or find 'easier' ways to see so far, but a part of me just truly need to get on that mountain so I can say for myself that it was a waste or transcendental. Or anything between.

In college, for instance, I learned that poetry was what I wanted to write. I had always assumed it was prose, and I can't say with absolute certainty that I would be writing poetry today if I had never gone to college. Or that given more years and more writing, that I ever would find myself a poet. College made poetry a feasible future for me, even if it never pays the bills. Plus, I met a number of people who have so greatly affected my life and writing that I can't imagine having never gone, or having focused in something more safe, like accounting. Blech.

So on to graduate school. It may leave me only with a degree, something that may allow me a job in teaching. But I think, for now, that may be enough.

I just need to figure out what, precisely, I am looking for besides that. There are so many poets that I have a hard time believing that anyone is able to go to a college based entirely on the faculty teaching there; does anyone ever know all the professor's works? Before, that is, looking them up? And choosing a college based on one professor is a fool's chance, I think. Money is an issue, but an easy one, at least in weeding out schools.

I really, at this point, have no idea what I will do. About anything.

Other than continue to write.

Rejection

2009-12-04T07:03:00.004-05:00

My very first night free of the shackles of my novel (see NaNoWriMo), I sat down at my computer and had no idea what to do. Of course, once my routine breaks back down, I won't have that problem, but I've devoted 2-4 hours every night, for a month, to writing a novel, and suddenly, a hole opened up in my day.

So as little as I wanted to, I spent the entire night submitting to publications. My poetry, that is. It's been a long time in coming.

Long story short, I submitted to a particular publication, which I will not currently name because I am angry, and it's difficult for me to tell how logical I am being when I'm angry. But Publication X responded immediately.

Anyone who has ever submitted a poem to a magazine/journal knows how strange this is.

It read as follows:

"Sorry, but negro is not a word we use; we are unable to offer you publication in Publication X."

Huh.

Okay, I get rejected all the time. We all do (I hope. It's not just me, is it? hahaha) and it's never any skin off my back. Most of the time, it's just a form letter. And sometimes it's a little note, and either way, I understand. It happens.

But is it me, or is this message a little judgemental? I mean... I sent 5 poems. And it sounds as if they were all rejected because of the content of one of them. I mean, their policy would immediately disallow Langston Hughes from ever being published.

I am no Langston Hughes.

But there is a difference between 'We can not accept your poem because we view it to be vulgar/course/offensive" and "We can not accept your poem because we don't like one of the words."

Three things before I go:

1. Negro, as it was used in the poem, wasn't justifying its use as a derogatory category, or even trying to justify its use in a non-derogatory way.

2. The magazine is based in England. Does this make a difference? I don't know.

3. Hell, here it is, for you to enjoy, or else, agree with Publication X's decision:

The Negro and the Jew Lose their Loves

"I threw away a pearl richer than all my tribe." -Othello
“My daughter! O, my ducats! O, my daughter!” -Shylock

I stand at Stratford-upon-Avon, and watch tourists,
their skins shaded as Shakespearean villains.

The serfs nod, smile holy-white,
kneel, snap photos, speak tongues.

I wish to grab one about the passport,
throttle him like a limp chicken,

until he squawks as Shylock over his mint,
Othello, his white idol, his tar-brushed skin. I’ll yell:

“393 years, it's been. Where is your Shakespeare?
And if you haven't found him, where is your pen?

(A quick note: Both the quotes from Shakespeare are in reference to lines in their respective plays which are considered by many scholars to be racist. In the first, Othello bemoans the loss of his white wife, claiming that her 'pearl' is worth more than all of his race. In the second, Shylock, a merchant and Jew, believes that he has lost his daughter and money, and seems confused as to which to cry out for.)

A quickie, on poetry submissions.

2009-12-03T08:04:00.002-05:00

A little while ago, I read a suggestion from a magazine stating something like "every poet should read for an hour for every 20 minutes they write."

Now, I don't know what my ratio is: I definitely read more POEMS than I write, but I don't know about the time. I can spend hours on a poem, or minutes, depending on my mood. So I'm certain some days I'm writing more than I'm reading, while at other times, it's reversed.

But is anyone, other than me, wondering about this idea to begin with? I mean, did Tyson spend more time watching boxing than boxing itself? Did Da Vinci spend more time watching painters than painting?

As important as learning from the greats is, should we really devote more time toward studying them than ourselves? Is that what they did?

Seriously. I'm wondering.

NaNoWriMo 28, 29, and 30 [I won!]

2009-12-03T07:51:00.005-05:00

A little late in coming. And fear not, I'm back to the regularly scheduled blog from here on out. Even if I choose to write another novel next year, I will only post about it intermitedly. This was fun. But... Exhausting. Poetry, and poetry videos, to come soon. And checking out my long neglected favorite blogs. You all know who you are.

NaNoWriMo, Day 28 - 44082
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Sunday, November 29, 2009 at 9:44am | Edit Note | Delete
3489 words. I wasn't tired at all tonight, and I still am not so tired that I can't continue to write, but I feel as if I ought to get some sleep so that I don't completely lose all the daylight hours.

What made those 3000+ words more impressive, for me, was the fact that a good portion of them were in a chapter that was really killing me to write. There are just some chapters like that. There is, maybe, a particular part that you can't quite get right, and even if you force yourself past it, you've sort of been thrown out of your rhythm, so the rest of the chapter is just torture to get through. This was one of those chapters, and I've actually been working on it for a few days. It turned out, I think, much better than I had expected. Which just goes to show. Something.

I am only 6000 words away from my goal. It's sort of exciting, but mostly a relief. I can't wait until I no longer feel guilty for only writing my single poem a day. Really. It's going to be a huge load off my shoulders. Although a part of me thinks that this much writing can only be helping. Even with my poetry.

Interesting fact. Word says I have spent 5089 minutes working on this novel. Which is about 85 hours. Which is about 3 hours a day. Which is about right, in the long run. Probably closer to 2 hours most days, and more some others, with a few hours where Word is open, and counting my time, but I'm doing something else like watching youtube videos or wasting time on Facebook.

You know how that goes.

NaNoWriMo, Day 29 - 48110

4028 words. That is officially a new record for one day. Hot damn. It was a combination of not wanting to have to write thousands and thousands of words on the very last day, after a full day at work, and partially because the last chapter I wrote was kind of interesting in its own way, even if I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the way I told it. It might be better served scattered throughout. But I digress.

I am one chapter away from the conclusion to my novel. There may be a prologue, but there needn't be. So at the end of this month (it'll technically be at the start of this next month, due to the way time works for me because of working third shift), that is tomorrow, I will have a novel that were someone to pick up and read, would have plot points, characters, and a conclusion. It's not especially amazing to me, but still something I'm proud of. At this point, that person who picks up this novel would notice a ton of glaring mistakes, such as my lack of inclusion of any sense of where the events are taking place (I didn't feel like figuring out where on the map things were happening, when they happened.) as well as the mention in opening chapters of a couple of characters who change or are dropped altogether.

Note to self. Have a reason to put characters in a story. Don't just include them because you sort of feel like two characters aren't enough to tell a story with. The story ends with three humans and about 8 or 9 supernaturals, so it wasn't a problem.

I'm not going to lie, though. I am going to be so happy to get home from work, and be able to just go straight to bed. I have had this job about a month now, and I haven't been able to do it. Not once. Those are 10-11 hour shifts.

Congrats to everyone else who completed their novels, among them my poetry/novel-ing (not a word) buddy, Bianca, who finished a few days early. Well, she hit the word limit. Her book seems to be substantially longer than mine, and good for her. A part of me wishes mine was longer, but at this current point in time, I can't imagine it being any longer without me just throwing in filler. Somehow I managed to write a novel that was almost exactly 50000 words. I'm sure it will change time over the editing process (though it can't shrink much, or else it will no longer be a novel).

Can you guys tell I'm excited? Hahaha

NaNoWriMo, Day 30 -50536

I hit the word goal. That is not to say the novel is finished. I actually just had to type up a summary of the final chapter, because it became clear to me that it's going to be a monster, and that as excited as I am about all this, that I'm not in the right frame of mind to write all the details that scene will require. There is a ton of action, and dialogue, and hopefully, some kind of emotion. haha.

It's a little disappointing knowing that I have to still keep writing to finish this thing, but at the same time, very cool to know that what I have is novel length.

Thanks anyone and everyone who read along with me this month. It was fun at times, exhausting most times, and honestly, I am glad that I only have to write a couple hundred words a day, instead of a few thousand.

By the way. The thing is practically written, and still no title. This does not bode well. haha

NaNoWriMo, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, and 27

2009-11-29T05:52:00.003-05:00

Wow, I can't believe it's been a week since I posted anything here. This new job alone would be enough to kill me, but NaNoWriMo is making it damn near impossible to keep up. Well, without further ado:

NaNoWriMo, Day 21 - 35957

1885 words. That's almost exactly at the goal for words per day, if you write 1/30th of 50000 words, every single day. If that even makes sense. It's nice to at least hit that goal, even if I don't write quite as much as I'd like.

I was reading the NaNoWriMo book, which I apparently already owned, and there was a part that mentioned how for many of those participating in this third week, this is the most you've ever written in one story. And that's a strange thing to admit to myself. I have never written so much about one group of characters, about one situation.

And it's interesting to think how little time this took. I mean, I spend a lot of time writing, no doubt. That was part of the point of this challenge. But spread this over two months, over four, over half a year. Over a year. How many years have I spent thinking about things, and never spending half an hour every so often just putting them to action? How many novels would I have under my belt if I did?

In any case, I will soon enough have a fully written novel. Good enough to publish? Only time will tell.

Time, or a second novel. The one I start next. It's going to be historical fiction. More word on that when the research is done for it.

NaNoWriMo, Day 22 - 38215

2288 words. And let me just say outright they they were excruciating to get out there. I just was not in the zone tonight, and what's more, I hit a point in the story where people were talking abut so many things that had happened before, that I found myself confusing myself about all sorts of things. I have taken very few notes during this little experiment, and I wrote nothing down preceding it, as far as characters and plot go.

And now I can see why it's done. My next time, I will have much more written down beforehand, I think, at least to try it out.

As I said before, I don't know that my novel will be finished at 50000 words. It may be closer to 70000. But things are starting to draw closed, and that means having to figure out why I did things 25,000 words ago, and remembering characters I haven't thought about in a week or more. It's getting hectic.

But I'm getting there.

NaNoWriMo, Day 23 - 38215

It's interesting. Today at work, I had a series of ideas that basically tied the novel up, completely. Every single dead end, every single "I caused this to happen, but don't know why," every single loose thread that I have wondered about or typed a whole chapter out without quite knowing how I was going to tie it up, I figured out.

It sounds like I experienced some grand epiphany, but in fact, we literally had no work to do, so I was just standing there day dreaming.

But when I got home, I had 0 effort to write. So I didn't.

Maybe I've 'written myself out,' by thinking so much about this all, tonight.

But with this knowledge in hand, there is a good chance that within the next few days, I'm going to blaze through a few thousand words.

NaNoWriMo, Day 24 - 39172

A lot of stuff happening, and it is far too late, and I am far too tired, to write any more than that paltry 957 words I've written. But on the plus side, I am getting a bill collector off my back. By paying the bill, that is.

On the novel writing front, at work, during the lulls, I find myself thinking over the ideas I have to come, and revising them slightly, but also finding faults in the fledgling novel that I just happen to remember or realize. "This character doesn't really say anything at all in this chapter, does he?" It is working because of how fresh in my mind practically every scene is. Since I just wrote them, I am able to remember a lot of the events within them.

And I'm also thinking of extra (non-essential) scenes as well. Part of doing this NaNoWriMo thing is just typing, but part of it is trying to actually complete a novel. So what you end up doing, a lot of the time, is getting the bare essentials down. Now, it turns out that I get on these kicks where I insert something kind of major into an earlier chapter I've written, so I end up not just having barebones, but a more fully fleshed out narrative. But it still happens a little, and at work, I keep coming up with these side stories I think sound cool.

I just need the oppurtunity to write them.

NaNoWriMo, Day 25 - 39172

Wrote nothing. Very tired.

These last few days (and the next one or two as well) have been very difficult to write during. Things will pick up after those days. They'll have to, because the month is almost over. But then, so is my novel. At least, the 50000 word goal is.

Dunno if I will write tonight after work or not. I doubt it, because I will be working even later than usual. Only time will tell, I suppose.

NaNoWriMo, Day 26 - 40593

Quite a ways from 50000, and with only 4 days left (I'm operating on a different schedule, because of the fact that I began writing after work, and so I write into a new day...) Even if I were to fail, though, I'd be happy with the great stretch of writing I got done during this month. I can't say I didn't think it was possible, but it's still interesting to think how it took a challenge like this to finally get myself around to doing it.

So I wrote 1421 words, which isn't enough, even, to close the chapter I've been working on for so long, inserted in between two other chapters. It's looking to become my longest chapter. I dunno how I feel about that. I may break it up, I may not. But it's clear, whatever the case may be, that this is not going to end at 50000 words.

I go to bed now, not because I'm tired, not because I can think of nothing more to write. But because the Cluttered Mess: Even Messier, a giant writer's salon/artist of all kinds showcase/runway fashion show starring some of the jewelry creations of my girlfriend/party is happening tonight. And if I don't get some rest, I will not be ready to perform there.

So I'm off.

NaNoWriMo, Day 27 - 40593

I wrote nothing last night. Far too tired. And with so few days left, and so many words to write, you'd think I'd be on my A game.

Sometimes, I think, your A game is just dragging yourself through the day.

Which is not to say that the past few days weren't awesome in their own right. But some of us have to drag ourselves even through those days. That's how tired we are.

Decorated the Christmas tree at my parents', and Regan had her first show; her jewelry decorated the runway models at my friend Sam's party. She did awesome, and even sold a couple things. But as much fun as we were having, we had to leave after the show to get some sleep.

A point on writing, while I'm thinking on it:

I don't think it will ever matter how long I have been writing for. I think I will always have days where I question my ability to write anything at all. And those days directly opposite this feeling where everything I write feels as if it belongs emblazoned across the sky. It doesn't matter that I tell myself every day that neither of these feelings is true. It happens nevertheless, in cycles unending.

NaNoWriMo, 17, 18, 19, and 20

2009-11-21T09:02:00.003-05:00

NaNoWriMo, Day 17 - 28413

I got very little sleep last night. I was staring at the screen for 5 minutes, in a kind of haze, trying to decide if I was going to write tonight, because I really feel like I ought to.

But that haze.

It decided for me.

Tomorrow I'm working overtime (10 more hours, so this is going to be a 50 hour paycheck. Wooo!), but I think with the extra rest I get tonight, I should be good to go.

NaNoWriMo, Day 18 - 31008

2595 words! I worked 10 hours today (on what is supposed to be my day off) and what's more, it was by far the most exhausting job that there is to do at Amazon. Library picking, which involves 10 horrible hours of walking. Additionally, the fastest way to do it involves keeping a few numbers in your head at all times, which means it's very hard to daydream about your novel. I'm sure everyone has that problem.

But I got home, cooked some salisbury steak TV dinner things, made some corn, wrote my poem, and got to writing my novel. And 2595 words. That's not bad. Especially considering I wrote 800 and was ready to go to bed, and then shamed myself into going on since I skipped yesterday.

I went back again and inserted a chapter. It was an attempt at fixing the flow of the novel. Not the flow of the mood, which is one thing I try to think about, but the flow of the narrative itself: I needed something not so action-packed to take place between action scenes. But I turned that moment, which started off as a brilliant single shot idea at work ("What if they meet this new character I just thought up in my head?") ended up fleshing out a character which, also at work, I had begun to fear hadn't had enough direct impact to the story.

I'm gonna end with something that I've learned from this whole experience, about the way I personally need to write a novel. I have taken a class on novel writing, and read some books, and I've seen a lot of different suggestions, which makes sense, since everyone writes differently. But one of those suggestions is to make an outline, or figure out what your characters are all about; where they're from, what they'd do in given situations.

I always felt as if this was very constricting. A part of me wants the absolute freedom to do what I please. Which is not to say that in Chapter 1, my main character is cripplingly (is that a word?) shy, and in chapter 2 they're swinging from a chandelier at a strip club. Instead, I want to have a general idea of a character in my head, and situation, in my head, and see where it takes me as I write.

But in practice, that can easily become a nightmare, especially given the more characters you have. So in the future, I think what I need to do is have a fairly good idea of a number of 'core' characters. Not necessarily the main characters, but characters which I know are important to the story at some point (okay, so maybe that is a main character, but I just mean to say not main in the sense that they will be the focus of the novel).

For me, having just a vague idea of where the novel is going is great, and freeing, and fun. But having that same sense of freedom for every character can become a little overwhelming. I feel like I have discovered who certain characters are in chapter 16, and that when I go back over the book from start to finish, I will endlessly be inserting that 'character' into their earlier appearances.

But perhaps that's as natural as anything else.

NaNoWriMo, Day 19 - 31789

I typed a modest 781 words. I had to make the decision to pull the plug and go to sleep after I found myself dragging parts onto different nerf guns on nerf's flash website. I could not possibly have been less productive.

But I worked 11 hours last night, and a total so far of 41 hours. After tomorrow's shift, that will be 52 hours in a week. It doesn't sap my creativity. Just my energy. haha.

I want to officially note, by the way, that I am no closer today than I was at the start of having even a working title for my novel. It's currently saved as "A Shift 6," which just happens to be the first two words of the novel, followed by the number six, which is how many times I've saved it as a new file just in case something horrible happens to it.

This part of the book is so boring to write, but I've got to pull through. It can't be all explosions and chase scenes. Trust me. I have read that novel excerpt in college. It was not enjoyable.

NaNoWriMo, Day 20 - 34072

I just got done working my 52nd hour of standing or walking on concrete at my job. My legs hurt, but surprisingly less than they did that first week. And needless to say, I was not feeling like writing when I got home, despite all my day dreaming about it at work. I had forgotten to take my stuff to work (do poetry things on my lunch break so I don't have to do them when I get home) so I still have to do those things before I sleep, so I will try to make this short.

But I wrote 2283 words, which is much less than it felt like. I had some fun with my characters in a chapter that hopefully relieves some of the intense pressure of the preceding chapters.

At work, I was thinking about my story, and I'm not certain it will end in 50000 words. Which, of course, is not a requirement of NaNoWriMo, but something that I would have liked to have some amount of closure in. I'll keep writing 'til it's done, though.

During my day dreaming, I envisioned almost all the events that I want to take place before the ending. It's strange being so far along that I know almost everything that will happen. There are things I need to figure out how I'm going to tie them up, but all in all, I think I know how I want it to end.

Which would leave me with the giant task of revision, fact checking (I just make crap up, currently. No city names or anything of that nature), and thinking up a title. Blah.

NaNoWriMo, Days 13, 14, 15 and 16

2009-11-17T15:12:00.002-05:00

NaNoWriMo, Day 13 - 22610

Work was a little rough today. Not physically, but mentally, because it was my first night outside of my training group. I'm more or less an official regular employee, in that nobody much cares anymore about helping me along. And I had to sort at one of the worst stations, because I was too stupid to grab a good one early.

Which means I didn't spend too much time thinking about where my novel was going. I did spend a little though.

And as is always the case, when I got home to get to it, I didn't write any of that. Instead, I inserted 923 lines into the second chapter, in a moment of clarity that simultaneously makes that chapter a hell of a lot more interesting (if you go back and read my first couple of days of blogging, I was worried that those chapters were boring) and also characterized two characters I was worried I had not characterized enough.

PLUS, all this builds up the current chapter, the one I ended up not writing, so that it doesn't seem to come out of no where, and therefore, have no emotional connection with the reader at all.

This is one of the best parts of prose writing. Poetry, for me at least, is often all about finding the perfect sentences, and sounds. It's about ideas too, definitely, but a lot of the time I spend is purely about the language itself. It's what I love most about writing.

But prose has be focus on something else. I can spend all night working on the language of my novel. And I'm sure I will, over many weeks of revision. But there's something like a puzzle at play as well. Trying to figure out what is it, structurally, that elicits emotion. The timing, chapter breaks, knowing just how much information to give at any given time.

Lord knows if I am tapping that spring at all or not. But I'm definitely glad I'm trying to. That I'm thinking about it.

NaNoWriMo, Day 14 - 25237

I hit the halfway mark! This is the first real marker for my success at finishing a novel, because I could never be certain, before now, if I had ever written as much as I've already written. But I've never gotten as far as halfway, that is for sure. (Note: The internet was messing up last night when I was trying to post this, and so I just went to bed. Hahaha)

It's strange to think that I may have a finished work, some day. The novel doesn't quite feel half finished, though, so it may go on to be more than 50000 words long. We'll see.

I wrote one of the more difficult chapters last night. And I'm not certain I actually got over the difficult part, rather than just skip over it in the interest of typing the rest of the story up, but the second draft, in this case, is the time to do the research and fix the inconsistencies. 2627 words for one chapter; not only are my chapters becoming more complex, but they're growing in length as well. I don't know what that means, exactly.

It's strange, though. The entire time I am writing this novel, I am thinking about the next. What I'll do differently, and how much better it will be. haha. That's not to say that I believe this one is a lost cause, but it's almost like working on a table, and being nearly done when you learn how to use an electric sander, or a level. This table might end up being decent, or even great. But you're already looking forward to the next to try out your new tools.

NaNoWriMo, Day 15 - 27020

1783 words, and I would have sworn it was something closer to 4000. Man it's hard to judge word counts by the time it takes to write them.

I just got done with a really fun chapter. There's one character in particular who I love to write about much more than the main characters. All the writing books suggest that if you find that this happens, consider making the 'main' characters supporting characters, and follow this much more interesting character, but I disagree entirely. There are some characters who are interesting BECAUSE you rarely see them. Gandalf was awesome in Lord of the Rings, but I honestly think that the story would have lost a lot of its magic (lol) if it had been about Gandalf, or even Strider or Legolas, instead of the incredibly average hobbits.

Likewise, the original Star Wars gave us the perfect dose of Darth Vader. Then they gave us the prequels all about Darth Vader. All Vader, all of the time. And it was a terrible idea.

Some people are best left as enigmas. Must I really be forced to see Darth Vader pod-racing as a 7 year old kid?

NaNoWriMo, Day 16 - 28413

Augh. It was a rough night, especially at work. I got home and after 3 and a half hours, I've only written 1393 words. I mean, I wasn't typing that entire time. But that's part of the problem. haha.

All things considered, I wrote much more than I might have expected, but that doesn't count for much when it's still well short of the night's goal.

Look. You can tell how strung up and unable to write I am by this entry. hahaha.

More to come tomorrow. I promise.

NaNoWriMo, Days 10, 11, and 12

2009-11-13T06:28:00.002-05:00

NaNoWriMo, Day 10 - 19222

I hurt my neck, somehow, right before I went into to work, so the first half of the night was pretty terrible. They time us on our sorting, and I screwed up a ton of times and was starting to get a little down, because I have no backup plan to this job, so I'm banking (sort of) on trying to get hired on instead of laid off at the end of this season. But by the end of the night, I had turned things around, and my rate was faster than many of the people who had been there for months.

I wonder sometimes, about how much effort if given to these things that mean nothing, really, to us. And about how few people at any job I have ever had, know that I write at all.

Anyway, I got home and wrote 1749 words. Sometimes when it gets real slow at work, I start daydreaming about what I will write about next in the story, and invariably, when I get home, I never write about any of it. This time, I thought about the big "Fellowship of the Ring" conversation that was about to happen in my story (that is, the moment where everything is explained. You know how Frodo and the gang just wandered/fled about for the first part of that book? And then finally he gets to the meeting and finds out what the big deal is? That moment).

But then the action part that immediately precedes that moment ended up taking 1749 words to explain, when in my head, it was like 3 sentences. And having typed it all, I don't know that I have it in me to do the next section. Tomorrow is a day off of work, and while I'll be reading poetry at the Running Word, I'm sure I'll have time to get in 2000+ words at least. I hope.

NaNoWriMo, Day 11 - 19222

I wrote nothing today. I'm just gonna be honest. It's not in me at the moment. haha.

I wrote my poem for the day, but I just need to sleep at the moment. The next chapter will be fun, so hopefully that will spin into two or three chapters.

Although that has never happened before.

NaNoWriMo, Day 12 - 21687

Wrote 2465 words tonight. I've officially broken 20000 words!

That's the plus side. The downside is that at the moment, I've got no idea where the plot is going. But that's not so bad a downside, yet, because I'm done writing for the night, and I have a chance to dream, and then work a 10 hour shift tomorrow, thinking about it.

If I am at 25000 words in 3 days, I will be exactly where I ought to be. But I hope to write enough that by that time I'm slightly ahead of the curve.

A little note about the craft: I have read many different takes on a ton of different points of writing. And when you read these things, they are almost invariably about novel or short story writing, which was wholly unhelpful toward what I usually write (poetry). But it was also pointless, because as with most things, learning theory without being in practice, or having practiced something extensively to base that on, is pretty pointless. I sort of remember the tips or ideas as I write, but it's mostly lost knowledge by now. But having written so much, I feel as if I can pick up one of these books and really appreciate and learn from what they have to say.

And during the time that I start revising, I'll have actual chapters and instances of mistakes to turn to.

It's pretty much the only thing I have to look forward to, that has to do with revision.

NaNoWriMo, Days 8 and 9

2009-11-10T08:13:00.002-05:00

NaNoWriMo, Day 8 - 16468

At first, I didn't write as much as I'd have liked to (isn't this always the case?) but tonight marks a different kind of milestone. I have officially caught up/overtaken my original manuscript. That is, after all the chapter rearrangements and rewrites, I have chronologically exceeded the latest point in the story I had ever gotten to. Tonight I deleted the last chapter of the original manuscript, and therefore while I started with about 10000 words of already written material, I have deleted or rewritten the vast majority of it. I'd say 90%, if not more.

Tonight, my net increase in word count is began as 636 words, due to the entire deleted chapter. But from here on out, there will be no deleted chapters, it's all increasing from now on. And right before bed, I typed up a storm, increasing the count to a decent 2627 words.

So a little bit about the novel itself. I've been kinda secretive about it, because unlike poems, people actually steal novels and their ideas. haha.

My novel is somewhat of a fantasy, and it's based in part around the mythology of angels. I remember when I explained this in my novel writing class, one woman told me that this was a terrible idea, because it would be offensive to certain religions. Not only do I not really care (people will be offended over just about anything, and I'm not claiming any of this is true in the first place), but I am specifically basing it on the LEGENDS that surround angels, which is what I've always been interested in. That is, their portrayal as white winged humans, as warriors and protectors as opposed to messengers. There are a few parts of the Bible with mention of angels in these ways (or that can be taken in these ways) but for the most part, a lot of what we think about when we envision angels isn't directly from the bible, but from works like Milton's Paradise Lost, or renaissance paintings, or popular myth.

So with that said, about 50%, at this point, of the novel's characters are human, and 50% angelic. I have reached a point where I think that each of the three perspectives I am telling the story from are equally engaging. Of course, it's my responsibility to ensure that this is the case for the entire novel, but I only have 30 days. I don't have time for that.

For now, I just type what strikes me, and I'll worry next year about revising it.

March, or some month, should be National Novel Revision and Editing Month.

NaNoWriMo, Day 9 - 17473

That's a 1005 words I typed tonight. And I just heard Regan's alarm go off. The light is out. Working the night shift means two things. First, that I get to write in absolute silence. I know Regan would let me write in peace; she always does. But having someone around, even when they let you write, is a distraction in itself, because if you like the person at all, you have a desire to speak with them. Honestly, I welcome the distraction most the time. But I have to write a whole lot of words to get this novel done. haha.

Second, sleep is difficult. I mean, I have never had any problem sleeping, really. But even though I am sleeping at least 8 hours, it's not very satisfying, with the kids playing outside, the sun beating in, and the knowledge that I'm wasting daylight hours sleeping.

On the plus side, tonight went pretty quickly, at work.

Can't say the same about the writing.

But my feet don't hurt very badly, so that's good.

NaNoWriMo, Days 5, 6, 7

2009-11-09T17:36:00.004-05:00

NaNoWriMo, Day 5 - 10358

I'll make this real quick. I have to be up in like 6 hours, and therefore I am foregoing writing entirely tonight. I have the day after tomorrow off, so I will make up for it then.

I think the important thing about goals is to understand why you have them. I write a poem every day not to have more poems, but to ensure that I am consistently working on my writing skills. But I am doing NaNoWriMo not necessarily to improve my writing ability (which of course, I hope is happening), because I think spreading the novel out over a longer period of time will help with a lot of that. Instead, I am doing this to get a novel written. To have that under my belt. So that I know, in the future, when I want to write a novel, that it's possible because I've done it.

And so if I skip days, I am not upset with myself, like I would be if I skipped writing my poetry.

Anyway, the reason I have to be up so early is that I will be reading a poem on Accents, 88.1 FM, Lexington Kentucky (http://wrfl.fm).

I'm stoked! So 0 words written today. Let's see what happens tomorrow.

NaNoWriMo, Day 6 - 11403

I woke up after only 5 hours of sleep and drove to UK, braved the ridiculous parking and fought my own inability at finding my way around and miraculously found myself at the radio station just in time to read my poem. The recording is not up quite yet, but it may be up by the time you guys read this (http://www.katerinaklemer.com/radio).

I drove immediately back home, tried to check mail and whatnot, and took a nap, then went to work. Let me tell you. Two days in a row of 10 hours of standing on my feet is killing my legs. I get home and I'm not tired in the way you need to be to sleep, just unable to walk around and get anything to eat, get dressed. Anything.

Anyway, I had what felt at the time like a burst of inspiration at work, and got home and it was mostly gone. I did write 1045 words, which I inserted into an old chapter to introduce a new character. But no new chapters, and I'm still well below where I need to be. But now I really am the kind of tired that you need to be to sleep, so it will have to wait until tomorrow. 11403 words is not so shabby.

NaNoWriMo, Day 6 - 13841

The thing about days off is that when that have been preceded by especially busy days, you want more than ever just to rest, and not to finish all the things you either chose to or had to put off. So I didn't do much of anything productive until very very late in the night.

But I wrote 2438 words when I finally got to it, one of the longest chapters I've yet written, and one of the more fun ones as well, I think.

Some things I've learned about my writing, as it pertains to novels:

I thrive on the unknown, on organic writing. I can't write with an outline, because nothing ever ends up happening that way when I sit down to write.

Conversely (and this is what I'm only just now learning) a part of me needs to create a few, or perhaps many, characters beforehand. They don't need, at first, to be fully fleshed out, but I need them to exist before I put them into situations. I love dialogue, and situations that arise from conflicting emotions and viewpoints, but those don't come about very easily when I haven't decided on any characters beforehand. It can happen, but what seems to happen instead is I try to think of ways to get what I think must happen to happen that way with the people I already have, and that just doesn't always work out.

See yesterday's entry, where I had to go back and insert a character in an already finished chapter. And that risks messing up much more than the chapter itself. I had to rewrite huge sections of that chapter, and parts of any chapter that followed it as well. That's a lot of wasted time.

Anyway, tomorrow I hope to write even more. On the 15th I need to be at 25000 or more, and I'm not nearly as close to that as I'd like to be.

NaNoWriMo, Days 3 and 4

2009-11-07T07:56:00.002-05:00

NaNoWriMo, Day 4 - 10358

In case any of you are wondering about my days being slightly off, I work third shift, and write after I get off of work, so my days are slightly longer than they should be.

Today was my day off, the day I promised myself I'd do some catching up on my novel, since I wrote less than a hundred words yesterday. And I wasted the whole day, as it pertains to writing (except for the part where I attending a poetry reading of Katerina Stoykova-Klemer, from her new book "The Air Around the Butterfly.").

And while I have been incredibly tired all day, I made the decision to stay up as if I am working, in order to try to keep my sleep schedule consistent, even if it's consistently sucky. So at around 4 in the morning, I began typing, and it was incredibly slow going for a while, until I got to a new chapter, which exploded forth in a burst of (what I hope is) creativity. The issue here, for me, is that my main character's chapters are much harder for me to keep interesting, his being a regular person, while the chapters about angels are fun for me to write because I have no frame of reference, really, to have to be loyal to, and because, as angels, they are by their very nature sort of interesting creatures to think about. If this wasn't NaNoWriMo, I would probably think this over for weeks or months without writing anything at all, but instead, I just keep churning on.

3143 words typed tonight. And I could probably go on, but I'm pretty tired, and I hit the end of a chapter, which seems as good a point as any to leave off. And I'm officially back to the point I started, though with a story that, however imperfect, is much more clearly directed then it ever was before.

Work tomorrow, then more typing. Augh.

NaNoWriMo, Day 5 - 10358

I'll make this real quick. I have to be up in like 6 hours, and therefore I am foregoing writing entirely tonight. I have the day after tomorrow off, so I will make up for it then.

I think the important thing about goals is to understand why you have them. I write a poem every day not to have more poems, but to ensure that I am consistently working on my writing skills. But I am doing NaNoWriMo not necessarily to improve my writing ability (which of course, I hope is happening), because I think spreading the novel out over a longer period of time will help with a lot of that. Instead, I am doing this to get a novel written. To have that under my belt. So that I know, in the future, when I want to write a novel, that it's possible because I've done it.

And so if I skip days, I am not upset with myself, like I would be if I skipped writing my poetry.

Anyway, the reason I have to be up so early is that I will be reading a poem on Accents, 88.1 FM, Lexington Kentucky (http://wrfl.fm).

I'm stoked! So 0 words written today. Let's see what happens tomorrow.

NaNoWriMo, Days 1 and 2

2009-11-03T16:17:00.009-05:00

It is day three, but I haven't written anything yet, and I'd like to share what I have so far. I was sharing this on Facebook, and didn't even realize that I should be posting them onto here as well, since I have so little time to do both. I've started my job at Amazon. It's a little rough already, even though the first day all we did was watch videos and demonstrate competence with machinery so simple that everyone felt stupid using it. That's not to say there were some tremendous failures from some of the people, but I think that goes without saying.

I'm still writing my poetry every single day and reading as well, so yeah, I don't have a lot of time right now.

Anyway, I think I'm going to post every day's journal, if I write one, but post them in twos or threes. So without further ado, Days 1 and 2 of my NaNoWriPo (ad)venture:

Day 1:

I've decided to take this challenge on, partially because of the enthusiasm Bianca has for it, and partially because I am apparently down for every free writing challenge known to man.

It's a little different for me, though. I am starting a new job (in 12 hours, or so, actually) and will be continuing to write my poem a day, something which I started during National Poetry Month in April, and haven't missed a day of yet. So it's going to be a little Hellish. Which is apparently how I like writing.

But what makes this even more different is that I actually have about 10000 words already typed up from a novel idea I had during college, which I wrote for Novel Writing I. So because I had always intended on finishing it (it's technically fantasy, for those of you wondering, and it's more fun than literary, which sort of bothers me), and because I already see the difficulty of finishing this with my other obligations, I'm going at this with a bit of a head start.

Except that it doesn't feel that way. I spent the last few hours re-reading over the first 5 or 6 chapters, and heavily rewriting one of them, heavily editing/deleting another, and moving around the order of two of them. So at the end of the day, my word count actually went down a little.

In any case, I now have 9350 words toward my 50000 word goal. Until I start writing material that I have not written in some form before, my word count may stay steady, or may even drop. But hopefully at the end of this month, I will have a considerable portion of a novel done. I am setting the goal at the traditional word limit, and not at a finished manuscript. Because who knows how far that will get me into the actual story?

Day 2:

Before I get into the actual writing portion of this note, let me just explain my first day of work real quick.

Anyone who knows me knows how terrible I am about getting lost. It happens a lot. A whole lot. Even with directions, even to places I have driven a million times before. So I intended on leaving very early for my first day, and just sit in the parking lot with a book on the off chance that I find it easily.

Well, this is a third-shift job, so I took a nap before my shift, and ended up over-sleeping some. Which meant I left late, and surprise-surprise, I can not find the place. I have 10 minutes to find it, and I'm driving up and down this road when I come up with the ingenious idea of following the next car that comes, because it's 7 at night; how many cars could be driving down this road?

Well, long story short, I get lost, and I'm frantically texting my girlfriend to ask her to ask her sister (who worked at Amazon last year) for directions. My text message inbox is full, the road is pitch black and winding, I'm trying to type things, and I'm also pulling out my GPS to try to type in an address, all the while wondering if I should just quit my job. The first day. I end up calling (the number was in my phone's memory) and finding out the road I had was wrong, so I entered that into the GPS and make it to the job about 15 minutes late. Turns out that the line to sign in is so long, that no one could ever have guessed I was late.

So I got home, and wrote. I am at 10,410 words. Which means I wrote 1060, which is well short of my goal of 1600 to 1700 words a day. But I'm counting it as a success. Some days are like this.

As for the writing itself, I realized yesterday that I have not a single female character. So I guess I am Tolkien-ing it up. I'll fix this, I'm sure, but it's interesting writing your first novel, and finding the natural things you do which suck.

Oh. I have re-written large portions of the original 10000 words I had written, which means that events have gone in different directions, which means later chapters can't happen the way they've happened. So I look forward to tomorrow, when I will likely cut 3-4000 words from my manuscript.

Isn't the point of this month to GAIN a word count? haha

Mental exhaustion

2009-10-28T23:12:00.006-04:00

Next month is National Novel Writing Month, and since my new job was pushed back until next Monday, I have given twice the effort toward getting my shit done so that next month, in the time between working, I can finish an entire novel (PLUS write my poem a day). And it's left me, every day, completely exhausted. Well, that and the fact that the job is third shift, so I've tried to change my sleep schedule, which isn't fully working out.

But enough of that. I want anyone who has any free time at all to check out a fellow blogging poet's website, Yesterday's Poem. The blog's owner, Vizionheiry, constantly fosters an intelligent and active blogging community, but what's more, she's a damn good poet, and she knows her stuff. And I mean stuff in the broadest sense of the word (a broader sense than STUFF already conveys?!).

Wow. I think maybe I need to go to bed.

I don't know, I just love any poet who proves that we aren't just bleeding on our pages, that we are more than emotional open windows who speak our hearts. Some of us do that, and think, too.

What I'm reading...

2009-10-24T16:31:00.004-04:00

I seem perpetually incapable of finishing what it is I'm reading. I have about 20 partially read books laying about my apartment, and what's more is that they are extremely good books. I have always had problem with distraction, but I think also that the more excited I am during something, the more I want to leave it. Whether this is because I don't want to be disappointed, because I want some sort of subconscious reflective period to let everything sink in, or something altogether strange and individual, I have no idea.

Does anyone else have a hard time finishing books?

It's especially strange given the fact that were I to enumerate the page counts of what I have partially read, I believe I'd probably be considered considerably well-read by most accounts.

But what I'm reading now. Absent Magazine, which has a series of poems by Matthew Klane which I have been taken by. Their sense of rhyme and rhythm is very interesting to me. I lately have been focusing very much on the rhythm of my poems. I've experimented with a number of different things, including occasional internal rhyme, and I have a feeling Klane's poems hold some answers for me.

Additionally, I have been reading both Native Son and The Invisible Man for lord knows how long. They are both potentially life changing reads for me. I can't know yet, since I haven't lived much life since having started them. haha.

And finally, Bill Bryson's The Mother Tongue, which has the greatest chance, currently, of being completed. I love the English language, and this book makes me think about and love it so much more, that it seems actually to have the potential to inspire my poetry, despite being a book of non-fiction.

My new job starts in 2 days. We'll see how drastically that affects my writing, my blogging, and my ability to afford (hopefully non-junk)food for the pantry.

I am a walking stereotype

2009-10-22T15:59:00.005-04:00

Today I interviewed at Borders for a position. A poet who works at a bookstore/coffee shop. I can't wait to hear back from them. Cough.

But money has never been more tight, I don't think. Which is a shame, because this will be my second job, if I get it (my first starts the 26th) and next month is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), something I'd like very much to participate in. And I may still, but man that's going to be one hell of a month. I already have a little bit of a novel written, and some outline done, so maybe it won't be so bad. Yeah.

But even the prospect of writing a novel brings about a certain amount of unease which poetry doesn't bring me. For instance, what I have written is potentially humorous, and would probably be classified in fantasy, though not high fantasy. And I'm already wondering, were I to sell the book to a publisher, would I want to use a pen name. There's that kind of a prejudice for genre fiction. I know it's stupid, and stupider (ha!) to worry about what I'm going to do when I break big on the novel I plan on writing in 30 days. But poets are daydreamers, when they aren't around a pen, aren't they?

In other news, I went to a reading by Frank X. Walker yesterday, and had to stand in the hallway to listen in. There is something very heart-warming even in seeing someone else get that kind of reception for poetry. At one point, someone asked Frank what kind of prejudice had he received as an African-American poet (people love that question, don't they? I think everyone revels, a little, in our struggle. haha) and he answered something along the lines that he didn't get a lot of prejudice for being black, but sometimes quite a bit from fiction writers. Anyone who is a poet will know why I think that's hilarious.

Onward, into more writing, more reading, more studying, more working, more applying for jobs. Always more, and seemingly, always for less money.

Memorable poems

2009-10-20T13:01:00.003-04:00

I feel simultaneously well-read, and lacking in that department, and it's because I spend so much of my time reading literary journals and so little time reading poetry books. I rarely get to read a full collection. But I have been reading "Don't Let me Be Lonely" by Claudia Rankine and so far (about halfway through) it's one of the best books of poetry I've ever read. I don't even know why I bought it. There was a time where I would buy books on a whim, and this book was born of that.

I'll maybe give it a book review when I'm done, but for now, I want to talk about a blog entry from one of my favorite online purveyors of poetry, Linebreak. In this blog, Carolyn Guinzio notes that "“Memorable” is a quality that may have nothing to do with greatness." And she's right. I have read classics that while impressive upon reading them, I have since wholly forgotten, and banal songs from commercials that will sleep with me in my grave. So what makes a poem memorable? Or better, what makes a poem both great, and memorable (since a sufficiently terrible poem might become memorable in itself)?

It's the sort of question I imagine does more harm to poetry than good, if it is sought after. It's the sort of thing which I imagine musicians are thinking about when they write their next bubblegum hit. But I recognize that this may be some sort of inherent bias I have: that greatness can't be manufactured, it must be organic. And perhaps that isn't true.

It is a frightening thing to imagine that one might go his entire life writing only one or the other type of poem, the great poem which doesn't stick with us, or the memorable so-so poem.

Or can a poem truly be great if it can be forgotten?