Curiouser and Curiouser

Battery Acid and Bats

2010-02-21T06:32:00.000-08:00

I have been horribly negligent of this blog over the last two, well four, months. I could use the fact that I now live in a house with no energy or running water and that I have been battling a bat infestation and learning how to teach 4 classes of 50+ students who speak even less English than I speak Portuguese (I might, just might, have a vocabulary of 300 words). I’m sure none of those excuses would fly. So I’ll just ask for your patience and fill you in on our post-training adventures.

We finished training with a bang. Both of us passed our language exams, to the great excitement of our tutor who (rightfully so) took as much pride in our progress as we did. The swearing-in ceremony was at the US Chargé d'Affaires’ house, quite the luxurious venue compared to our humble little building behind the Cavel’s house. Despite our best hippy-tough efforts, there were few dry eyes when we swore in. We are only beginning our adventure, but it’s been a long road just to get this far. There was a strange weight to the words “Peace Corps volunteer” that day.

The next few days were a whirl of boxes and chappas (the small buses that cart people Mozambique). We arrived at the small village we will call home for the next two years and were greeted by our school director, our empregada (maid – a large portion of people in Mozambique have a maid. As uncomfortable as I am with it, it is a way to put money back into the local economy and is expected of us.), and two cats (one of them very pregnant). The director showed us around, the empregada swept the house out, and the cat promptly had a litter of kittens in our bedroom.

We were prepared for our house to be electricity free, but were under the impression that the school had solar power that we would be able to use to charge our essentials (cell phone and laptop). No such luck. We are without access to energy unless we hitchhike to Vilankulo, about 45 minutes away. So, we spent the first week negotiating bat-filled evenings with candles and wind-up flashlights. Bats: did I mention when we arrived, we were sharing our home with a healthy population of small bats. There is nothing quite like feeling your way down the hallway with a candle and reaching out to turn the bedroom doorknob only to find your fingers wrapped around the fuzzy backside of a bat.

We immediately set about remedying the electricity situation. We bought a beat-up generator off a kid on the street who had to disconnect it from his booming speakers in order to sell it to us. We found wire and a 12V battery in Vilankulo: the beginnings of a regular power station. Unfortunately, I had forgotten (if I ever knew to start with) the warning that car batteries should be transported upright. A few miles of hiking and an hour chappa ride after we purchased our battery, I was dismayed to find half of my backpack dissolved, the shirt on my back disintegrating and an acid burn spreading across my back. After a good dousing of water (the prescribed remedy for acid burns, in case you ever need to know), everything but my ego was relatively unscathed.

Fast forward two months. The bats are no longer sharing our airspace, we have graduated from candles to kerosene lamps, the generator/battery gig still isn’t quite working as we intended, but we can charge our phones and laptop at our house, and most importantly, we have begun our first trimester of school. It is a humbling and terrifying feeling to finally be putting into action the plan that has been almost 3 years in the making.
There have been challenges in the classroom. We have very few (practically no) resources. No textbooks (either for us or the students). No visual aids (unless we draw them ourselves). No electricity (and thus no light when it storms or is cloudy and dark). What we do have are some incredibly talented and motivated students who are, though they seem hardly to know it, the future of this country. I have to admit, I have a soft spot for my 12th graders, who are intelligent, funny, and more focused than most college students in the States. My 11th graders are a little more rambunctious, and there are a few trouble makers, but there are some serious students in those classes as well. I am sure a year of maturation will make all the difference.

The reason I have finally been able to write an update is that I am in Maputo for the weekend for a REDES (Raparigas em Desenvolvemento e Saúde) conference planning meeting. REDES is a girls’ empowerment organization started five years ago by a Peace Corps volunteer here in Mozambique. It has grown larger each year, and this year 55 students will attend the annual conference representing 31 local chapters. The project will be managed by the second-year volunteers this year, but those of us newly arrived in Mozambique are learning and helping in order to be prepared to take over leadership roles at the end of the year. I will be the official conference photographer and am shadowing the curriculum coordinator in the hopes of filling her shoes when her time here is up.

All in all, things are challenging but manageable. We miss everyone at home immensely, but are surrounded by an astounding group of Americans (otherwise known as our fellow PC volunteers) and are slowly making some Mozambican friends as well. I will try my best to update more often than every four months, but serious composition is difficult until we improve the power situation. Computer battery charge is too valuable to use for anything less than an emergency, so at home, I am restricted to the short messages I can send from our phone. We are loving all the e-mails and texts. We have undeniably the most dedicated friend and family on the planet! Until my fingers find their way onto a powered keyboard with an internet connection again, tchau meus amigos!

Xima

2009-10-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

We’re officially finished with week three of training. Things are good here; we’re starting to be more comfortable with our new routines. There is something new to learn every day, and every new thing I learn makes me love Mozambique more.

Yesterday, all of our host moms got together and taught us how to cook some traditional Mozambican dishes. I arrived sans capulana, but was quickly outfitted with all the appropriate cooking attire: lenço (scarf), capulana (traditional skirt), and apron. We pounded, ground, mixed, boiled, and oh yes, I killed my first chicken. Being here even a short time has grounded me in much the same way backpacking does. The women here are tough, and they understand the value of every resource. I aspire to become more like them.

The clip above is video of me making xima (a local dish very similar to grits). You start with corn and start smashing, add water, keep smashing, add water, keep smashing. An hour and half later, you have the beginnings of xima. Boil for another hour and it’s ready.

Dad has another clip with more pictures, but it contains video of me actually killing the chicken. If you’re not squeamish and are interested, drop him an e-mail.

We are in Mozambique.

2009-10-14T04:29:00.000-07:00

How can one statement encompass so many difficult-to-translate experiences? I guess I should start by saying AJ and I are both in one piece (obviously, since I’m writing this). There rest will just be hodgepodge of impressions.

It took us roughly 30 hours to travel from Philadelphia to Maputo. Once there, we had two days of vaccines and orientation in the city and then headed to Pre-Service Training(PST) on Saturday, Oct 3 (My 30th birthday!). We arrived in the afternoon and were greeted by a crowd of women singing traditional songs of welcome. I didn’t know voices could sound that thick. You felt it more than heard it: a blanket of sound.

All of our host mothers and sisters were holding signs taxi-driver style with our names on them. Of course, we don’t speak Portuguese, and our “irmá” (sister), doesn’t either, so we pointed and pantomimed our way home. Our host family’s home is luxurious. We definitely lucked out. We have some electricity and an indoor bathroom. (Note: In Mozambique, an indoor bathroom is a fifties-era bathroom with no running water. You flush the toilet by dumping a bucket of water in it and bathe with a bucket of water in the bathtub. Still, it’s better than the outdoor “latrina.”) We have our own (very small – maybe 10’ x 20’) building that is behind the main house, which gives us a little privacy.

The people here are incredibly friendly and welcoming, the countryside is beautiful, and the culture is, while still very foreign to us, appealing. The food is surprisingly reminiscent of deep southern cooking. One of my favorite dishes is xima. It is almost exactly like grits, just a little firmer. We had beef (another sign our family is well-off) in a peanut and coconut sauce last night. Delicious.

We are slowly picking up the Portuguese and figuring out how to function in this exciting new place. We are required to bathe twice a day (three if you count the bedroom bath required of married couples before, well, you know). You get two buckets in your bedroom – one for washing, one for “xi-xi” (urine). You can imagine our embarrassment when it was discovered a few days ago that we had been using the wrong bucket for the wrong thing. Our host father explained the proper usage of each bucket to AJ, sex pantomime included. Ah, cultural exchange.

Our days are crammed full for now. We have class from 7:30am to around 6pm M-F and 7:30 to noon on Saturdays. Because the family routines are much more regimented here than in the U.S. and because we have a long (45 minute) walk to class, we have to get up at 5:30am to make it to our first language session in the morning. By the time our second “banho” and dinner are over, it is often 9:30pm and time to sleep.

We have very limited internet access here. There are two functioning internet computers in town, 69 trainees, and 15 or so staff members. You get the idea. So, if you’ve e-mailed me and I haven’t gotten back to you, it means I haven’t gotten through my ginormous inbox of e-mail, not that I don’t want to talk to you. I know I’ve left out so much, but I could write fifty pages and still leave 90% of the last two week’s events out.

We are falling in love with our new home, but missing our old one. We LOVE e-mails, even if we only get to pick them up once every couple of weeks. So keep in touch! :)

Up, Up, and Away

2009-09-27T19:48:00.000-07:00

It seems that each time I approach a pivotal moment in my life, the lens blurs. The days beforehand have a fuzziness to them, and then when the moment itself arrives, it is as if a giant hand turns the focus ring and the world sharpens.

Tonight, my perspective is vivid.

At noon tomorrow, our flight leaves for staging in Philadelphia. Wednesday morning, we board a plane to Johannesburg, and our Peace Corps experience will begin. My friends and family keep asking how I feel, expecting I think, to hear the usual excited, nervous, etc. All of those descriptors would be apt, but the overriding emotion I feel tonight is how privileged we are to have this opportunity.

In three days, we will share another people's customs and cares; we will learn to think in another language; we will meet new families and friends. I hope to contribute in the small ways I am able, and I feel an overwhelming sense that I will receive much more than I will be able to give.

Whether you are family, friend, or stranger. I hope this blog will provide a window to our experience in Mozambique. We are sure to make hilarious mistakes and encounter intriguing situations. Comment to your heart's content and remember, a letter or e-mail goes a long way toward combating homesickness.

Tchau meus amigos!

Goodbye Sahara, Hello Mozambique

2009-07-03T10:37:00.001-07:00

When we sent in our Peace Corps applications a year and a half ago, we were told one thing over and over and over. Prepare to be flexible. They weren't kidding.

Four days before our scheduled departure for Mauritania, our bags were packed, our cell phones were canceled, and the going-away parties were over. We were ready to hit the road. And then the phone rang.

We were delayed.

Two weeks later, the phone rang again.

We were canceled.

A week later, an e-mail appeared.

We're now off to Mozambique in September.

As much as our hearts were set on Mauritania, I have to admit, Mozambique sounds like an incredible destination. A stable democracy for fifteen years, Mozambique is in the process of rebuilding from an extended civil war that ended in 1992. During the civil war, the educational system fell into disrepair, and there is still a shortage of trained teachers in the country.

AJ will be serving as a science teacher, and I will be an English teacher/teacher trainer. We are both excited about the prospect of participating in the rebuilding of the Mozambique education system.

On a more selfish note, the country is visually stunning: gorgeous beaches, lush mountains, unique flora and fauna. It is, to say the least, a photographer's paradise with plenty to keep a biologist buzzing as well.

The upside of three more months in the States? My chapbook, Barbed Wire and Bedclothes, should be coming out any minute. Also, check out these links to some of my work that has been published recently in Keyhole Magazine and Breadcrumb Scabs.

On a Longer Note

2009-05-01T09:44:00.001-07:00

I finally did it. I published something longer than 15 lines. I published an entire ESSAY. I know, I know, I swore I never would, but I couldn't help myself this time.

Check it out at Women's Voices for Change. And while you're in a literary mode, mark your calendars. I'll be reading at Nightbird Books on May 30th from my soon-to-be-released chapbook, Barbed Wire and Bedclothes.

Invitation: Le Republique Islamique de Mauritanie

2009-04-24T14:20:00.001-07:00

I've been imagining the moment for over a year. The tearing of the envelope. The rub of the letter between my fingers. The final sigh of suspense settling around me.

There was definitely tearing. And then the word, "Mauritania." It was nothing like I expected. Where I thought there would be closure, questions gaped. I was thrilled, and dizzy, and frantic to find a computer. I've been reading ever since.

Below are some basic facts about the Islamic Republic of Mauritania taken from the ever-thorough U.S. State Department website. What the statistics don't tell are the stories other Peace Corps volunteers share: the welcoming nature of the Mauritanian people, the shifting beauty of the sand dunes, the vivid colors of fishing boats on the Atlantic coast.

AJ and I applied to the Peace Corps in a large part to experience a culture wholly foreign to us. From afar, it appears we will do just that. I cannot wait to see what awaits us on the edge of the Sahara.

LOCATION:

Northern Africa, bordering the North Atlantic Ocean, between Senegal and Western Sahara

AREA:

Slightly larger than three times the size of New Mexico

CLIMATE:

Desert: constantly hot, dry, dusty

AGRICULTURE:

Dates, millet, sorghum, rice, corn; cattle, sheep

CAPITAL:

Nouakchott

Peace Corps

2009-04-10T09:32:00.000-07:00

The cat is officially out of the bag. One year, three months, and eight days ago, we applied for the Peace Corps. Yesterday, we found out our invitation (official assignment for those unfamiliar with the lingo) is in the mail. We're leaving June 16!

This morning I gave my 30-day notice, and the race to departure is on. We have no doubt this will be the most exciting, most rewarding, most difficult adventure we have ever embarked on. We are excited, terrified, and full of gusto for the challenges that lie ahead.

The idea of putting the events of the last year and a half into words is daunting (although I am attempting to do exactly that for womensvoicesforchange.org, where you can also find some of my poetry starting April 17th). So, for starters, I'll post our long, and sometimes hilarious, timeline below.

January 3, 2008 - AJ and I submit our Peace Corps applications (over 15 pages per person, including two essays)

January 4, 2008 - AJ and I submit our medical questionnaires (another 10 pages or so a piece)

January 4, 2008 - PC recruiter calls to talk to us about our application. They tells us, yes, we have actually applied too early for our availability date of June 2009. She promises to look into options and get back with us.

January 8, 2008 - Our recruiter calls to tell us they are not able to consider applications for June 2009 until April 1, 2008. She puts our applications on hold. The waiting begins.

March 28, 2008 - We receive our legal packets, including background check form, fingerprint forms, loan questionaire, and couples questionnaire, from our recruiter.

March 29, 2008 - We return both of our fingerpint forms, background check forms, marriage certificate, loan questionnaire, couple questionnaires, and my transcripts to our recruiter.

March 31, 2008 - Our recruiter calls to confirm that he has received all 6 of our recommendation letters (3 per person) and to tell us that he will schedule our interviews as soon as he received our legal documents and AJ's transcripts.

April 1, 2008 - AJ requests transcripts from the U of A.

April 3, 2008 - Our recruiter e-mails and tells us our interviews (one for me, one for AJ, and one for both of us together) are scheduled for April 8.

April 8, 2008 - We have our interviews. Our recruiter says he is highly recommending us and tells us our information will now be shipped to Washington where a placement officer will be assigned to us. The first evaluation period for couples begins April 17. Wait, wait, wait.

April 28, 2008 - Our recruiter calls to tell us that our placement officer decided not to evaluate our applications until the May evaluation period (starting May 16) so we could be matched against programs leaving in June, July, and August rather than just June. More waiting.

June 6, 2008 - Our recruiter calls to tell us that our placement officer was unable to match us to any assignments and that the next evaluation period is in August or late July at the earliest.

June 11, 2008 (Morning) - Surprise! Our recruiter calls to tell us our placement officer DID find a match for us and that we are being nominated (tentatively assigned) for a June 2009 program in French-speaking, sub-Saharan Africa. Our assignments will be Secondary Teacher Training (Alice) and Environmental Education and Awareness (AJ). More paperwork in the mail.

June 11, 2008 (Afternoon) - We call and officially accept our nomination.

June 12, 2008 - We fax additional legal documentation to our recruiter for AJ, and I receive notice I'm legally cleared.

June 16, 2008 - We receive notification that our medical packets are in the mail and should arrive shortly.

June 22, 2008 - Our medical packets and official letters of nomination arrive in the mail.

June 24, 2008 - It get my PC physical (10 vials of blood!!) and pick up medical records from the orthopedic clinic.

June 26, 2008 - Dentist does my PC exam and fills out my dental paperwork.

June 30, 2008 - My blood test results come back from doctor. Free of all known diseases.

July 1, 2008 - AJ and I get MMR and Polio boosters. Please, please, no more needles.

July 3, 2008 - I repeat two blood tests that were slightly abnormal and send completed medical packet to PC medical department.

July 9, 2008 - AJ gets his PC physical.

July 10, 2008 - Receive e-mail from PC legal department requesting more legal documentation on house, car, etc.

July 11, 2008 - I'm dentally cleared! We fax additional legal documents to PC legal.

July 30, 2008 - AJ goes to his last doctor's appointment.

July 31, 2008 - AJ sends his completed medical packet to PC medical. Waiting. Waiting.

August 30, 2008 - We receive a letter telling us AJ took the wrong HIV test (who knew there were two?) and requesting additional medical information from me.

September 2, 2008 - Another doctor's appointment for me.

September 4, 2008 - And another.

September 8, 2008 - AJ takes correct HIV test. Normal. Again. I fax my additional documentation to PC medical.

September 9, 2008 - My "medical hold" is removed from my application.

September 10, 2008 - AJ faxes test results to PC medical.

September 12, 2008 - Both of our toolkits (status pages on the Peace Corps website) update to read, "Medical review complete. Look for a letter in the mail."

September 16, 2008 - Both of us are medically and dentally cleared with no restrictions!!

September 17, 2008 - We decide to take the plunge and put the house on the market. Lots of house fixing up. Lots of waiting.

November 25, 2008 - Receive e-mail from the PC Africa desk saying they will begin reviewing June nominations in 4 to 8 weeks.

December 9, 2008 - Receive an offer on the house.

December 18, 2008 - Close on house and move in with incredibly generous friends. Waiting. Waiting.

February 12, 2009 - Our placement officer contacts us to schedule a second set of interviews and request an education addendum from me.

February 12, 2009 - I return completed education addendum to placement officer.

February 17, 2009 - AJ and I have phone interviews with our placement officer. She requests an updated resume emphasizing teaching experience from me.

February 18, 2009 - I e-mail updated resume to our placement officer.

February 19, 2009 - Both of our toolkits are updated to read, "Placement review complete."

March 11, 2009 - Our placement officer tells us she hopes to have news by the end of the week. Trying to be patient. Trying to be patient.

March 20, 2009 - We e-mail our placement officer who tells us to check back on March 27. We are now officially the annoying applicants. Trying to be patient. Trying to be patient.

March 27, 2009 -Receive an e-mail from our placement officer stating she intended to issue our invitation for June as soon as our host country decides if they want me to be a teacher trainer or an TEFL instructor. More patience. More patience.

April 9, 2009 - Our placement officer e-mails to tell us she's putting the invitation in the mail for Teacher Training and Environmental Ed departing June 16!!! If we've done our research right, that means MAURITANIA!

April 10, 2009 - I give my 30-day notice at work. My last day of work will be May 15.

More to come as we get closer to departure and have more information about our host country, job assignments, etc. I intend to update this blog as regularly as possible while we are away.

Let the adventure begin!

Barbed Wire and Bedclothes

2009-03-26T18:14:00.000-07:00

Spring has been good to me this year. I am pleased to announce that my poetry chapbook, Barbed Wire and Bedclothes, will be included in the inSPIREd chapbook series due out from Spire Press (New York) in June. I'm hoping do do a couple of pre-release readings (a talented artist friend of mine is working on limited-edition broadsides featuring one of the poems from the book), so stay tuned for details.

If that's not exciting enough, you can also find a selection of my poems in Nashville's Keyhole Magazine Issue 7 and the River Oak Review, both available later in the spring.

And did I mention the red buds are blooming? What more could I ask for?

Ice, Ice, and More Ice

2009-02-04T09:28:00.001-08:00

In case you missed the national news, everyone here has spent the last week living log cabin style and trying to dig out from under the massive mounds of demolished trees. All joking aside, the devastation was heart-wrenching. I fought my depression over the mangled trees (and entertained the neighbors) by crawling around the yard with my macro lens. Beauty hides even in the midst of destruction. Click here to see the entire album.

Secret Press USA Anthology

2009-01-26T08:57:00.000-08:00

I get a lot of raised eyebrows when I tell people I'm a poet and I live in Arkansas. I mean, aren't poets supposed to live in New York or, at the very least, somewhere within driving distance of the Atlantic? I've toyed with the thought of maintaining a PO box outside the state just to avoid the issue.

So, you can imagine how thrilled I was when I received a call for submissions specifically for poets living in Arkansas. Usually on Submission Sundays (we all pay our cosmic dues in different ways), I go through my stack of poems trying to find ones that won't rat me out as an Arkansan. This time, I chose ones that reeked of the mountain roads, run down barns, and colorful characters that, however hidden, are at the core of my work.

I guess it paid off. This spring, look for Secret Press USA's anthology featuring poetry from all 50 states. Turn to the Arkansas section and you'll find two of my poems: "Overheard at a Country Gas Station" and "Wearing Papaw's Peacoat." They are filled with the flavors of Arkansas. How freeing.

I Heart Couchsurfing

2009-01-16T11:52:00.000-08:00

A month ago, my evenings were filled with daydreams of the perfect home buyer: independently wealthy, enamored with our house, and in a hurry to close the deal. Who could have known that our imaginary house hero would appear just in time for the holidays? Loaded? Check. In love with out house? Enough to accept our counter-offer against the wishes of their realtor. In a hurry? A little too much–they wanted us out in twelve days. Believe me, the twelve days of Christmas took on a whole new meaning this year.

So, we boxed, and fixed, and hauled, and cleaned, and did everything but sleep for a week and half. We are now snugly installed in the basement of friends who were kind enough to take in the temporarily homeless. The new year has never looked brighter.

Bonus: My work is in the Fall 08 issue of The Connecticut Review. You can order a copy here.

First Snow of the Year

2008-12-01T07:44:00.000-08:00

Last night, the first snowflakes of the year settled on the pansies in our front garden. It was a fitting scene since juxtapositions have been on my mind.

Thanksgiving brings out our farthest flung friends and family, and in the process, it throws us into a maelstrom of divergent political, religious, and philosophical views. It never fails that this kaleidoscope environment illuminates new facets in people I have known most of my life. Every year it is a reminder of the complexities lurking beneath the surface of the people in our lives and the extent of our ability to love that which is unfamiliar.

This year, as we discussed the strengths (and weaknesses) of Obama's developing cabinet, the relationship (or lack of relationship) between religion and ethics, the ability (or inability) of an individual to make an impact on the world, I found myself thankful for the diversity surrounding me. How stale our thinking would become if it were never challenged.

Gross National Happiness

2008-11-07T13:31:00.001-08:00

In the aftermath of this year's historic election (my excuse for the lack of posts lately), the media has been groping about for other news. Yesterday, I stumbled upon an article about the crowning of Bhutan's (a constitutional monarchy as of two years ago) new 28-year-old king.

Amid the details of the coronation was buried a reference to Gross National Happiness (GNH).

Gross National Happiness? Surely this was a typo. An editor's head would roll. I was intrigued...Gross National Happiness....

Turns out it was no typo, but rather Bhutan's ingenious answer to criticism of it's economic status. While most countries measure their national success by Gross Domestic Product (an indicator of economic success), Bhutan measures it's success based on seven "happiness" factors that collectively define the GNH. These factors are tracked through surveys and statistical analysis.

1. Economic Wellness

Consumer debt, average income to consumer price index ratio, and income distribution

2. Environmental Wellness

Environmental issues such as pollution, noise, and traffic

3. Physical Wellness

Physical health

4. Mental Wellness

Mental health, such as usage of antidepressants and rise or decline of psychotherapy patients

5. Workplace Wellness

Jobless claims, job change, workplace complaints, and lawsuits

6. Social Wellness

Social issues such as discrimination, safety, divorce rates, complaints of domestic conflicts and family lawsuits, public lawsuits, and crime rates

7. Political Wellness

Political issues such as the quality of local democracy, individual freedom, and foreign conflicts.

What's even greater, is that the idea of Gross National Happiness has been independently examined by the University of Leicester, who named Bhutan 8th out of 178 countries in a study of subjective well-being.

There are of course, critics of Bhutan who posit the concept of Gross National Happiness is too subjective and that it is simply a way for the government to manipulate world perception of the country's success.

I know next to nothing about Bhutan, so I have no idea. They might have the most corrupt government on the face of the planet. What I do know, is that they've hit on a idea that is close to my heart:

Money does not equal happiness.

Case of the Missing Letter — SOLVED

2008-10-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

As of my last post, I was on the way to the post office to retrieve my mysterious letter.

Mysterious no more (although it did take me sometime to convince the guy at the desk to hand over the letter addressed to my maiden name.) I've been married for seven years.

Envelope: Addressed to wrong name with insufficient postage.

Contents: Birthday card, three weeks late.

From: My grandparents.

It's the thought that counts, right?

The Case of the Missing Letter

2008-10-19T07:37:00.000-07:00

Now that I've begun to find peace with the barrage of rejection slips nestled inside smudged, crumpled, sometimes-torn return envelopes, a new terror has inhabited my mailbox.

Thursday afternoon, I opened the mailbox and saw with mixed emotion the pink corner of a post office notice card sticking out from under the sundry catalogs and bill envelopes. I hadn't ordered anything I could remember. And then, the horror, the horror. Across the card was not the typical sender address for a package, but rather an ugly stamped "INSUFFICIENT POSTAGE." No sender. No clues.

I called the post office in a frenzy. Should I come in to pay and collect my letter, which surely was from an editor? Who else would hold a return envelope long enough to outlive the current postage rate? I was told I could simply attach my payment (a bank-breaking 17 cents) to the card and leave it in the mailbox for the mailman who would then deliver my letter.

This I did.

And waited. And waited. The 17 cents disappeared. The letter has yet to grace my mailbox. I am SURE the letter is from a prestigious press assuring me of the immediate publication of my book and offering a large advance.

Maybe mystery letters are nicer than plain ol' rejection slips after all.

A Handful of Stones

2008-10-14T06:50:00.000-07:00

If you look over in the sidebar, you'll notice Fiona Robyn's blog, A Small Stone. The blog is based on a great idea — each day Fiona posts an image or "stone" from the day. As she explains it, "a small stone helps me pay proper attention to at least one thing every day. I hope it will help you to do the same." It has.

Because the idea was such a good one and so many of us wanted to contribute our own stones, she started a similar blog to feature daily images from a diverse set of contributors — A Handful of Stones.

You can see my stone there today. While you're there take a look around; you'll find much to enjoy.

Miller Williams Reads at Nightbird Books

2008-10-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

Sunday we came back into Fayetteville for Miller Williams's reading at Nightbird Books.

His new book, Time and the Tilting Earth, was recently released by the LSU Press. I thought I was beyond being surprised by Williams's poetry; I was wrong.

Of course the book is a tremendously pleasurable (and thought-provoking) read. Williams's reading of it was an equal delight to the ear. I've blogged before about the lack of writers who both write great poetry and read it well. Williams could read a cereal box and make it sound meaningful, so you can imagine his prowess with his own poetry.

The venue was intimate, and the reading was short but meaningful. Time and the Tilting Earth is a comforting glimpse into the commonality of the questions asked by all of us: what is the meaning of life; what is my place in the universe; what is love; what is loss. The selection of poems Williams chose to read rode the undercurrents of the book.

Miller Williams has been called the Hank Williams of American poetry. Read Time and the Tilting Earth, and you will understand why. The questions Williams poses may be cosmic, but the answers are endearingly familiar. These are poems that tell us we are not alone in this world, that the questions may be daunting but are asked by us all.

As I sat in a folding chair just inside the door of Nightbird Books listening to the country sway of Williams's voice interspersing poetic instruction with his poems, it did seem for a moment that the universal questions weren't so intimidating after all and that it was possible to set them aside and tell the world "Excuse me. I shouldn't ask these questions here. / Please -- just go ahead and cut my hair."

Birthday Camping

2008-10-06T20:53:00.000-07:00

We couldn't have asked for a better birthday weekend this year. Friends drove and flew into town to celebrate AJ's graduation to a whole new decade of life. (Did I mention I'll still be 29 for an entire year while he's 30, hehe.)

We spent Friday and Saturday night under our tarp at White Rock. A storm blew through but behaved itself reasonably well. We felt the first few drops as we crawled into our sleeping bags, and it tapered off just as we were thinking of peeking our heads back out in the morning.

Being a Texas girl, I'm not accustomed to the thick fog we get in the Ozarks. I can't help but be giddy when the white rolls in. It was particularly eerie along the cliffs on Saturday morning after the storm let up; the trail that normally has a view out across the Arkansas River Valley was a blank.

Poly/Cotton Blend

2008-10-01T12:02:00.000-07:00

Yep, our country is going to hell in a hand basket. It looks like we might just be on the verge of putting a (read it and weep) POLY/COTTON BLEND in the White House. According to a hand-written yard sign posted by a Florida resident, "Obama Half-Breed Muslin [SIC]."

All joking aside, this sign is terrifying. Whatever our individual political leanings, I don't think anyone is looking forward to a future in which our leaders are chosen by illiterate, prejudiced voters.

Education anyone?

The Poisonwood Bible

2008-09-30T13:02:00.000-07:00

Possibly through sheer stubbornness, possibly due to a rampant aversion to the best-seller lists, I have avoided Barbara Kingsolver like the plague.

Turns out I dig the plague.

I just finished up The Poisonwood Bible, and I'm now busy recommending it to anyone who will listen. This book was 20 years in the making (according to the intriguing author's note at the back of the book). I believe it. Kingsolver set out to write the story of a world peppered with land mines (both cultural and mechanical); her literary approach was certainly no cake walk either.

Land Mine #1

Creating a character who speaks largely in palindromes and sentences read from right to left.

Dodge

Kingsolver's character, Adah, was so convincing, I found myself compulsively reading sentences right to left throughout the entire book just to make sure I wasn't missing anything interesting. I should probably note that in a fit of boredom during a summer class in grad school, I taught myself to mirror write (yes, like da Vinci). So, I may not be the most objective reader. That said, I still think she did a slippery smooth job of incorporating the concept into the book.

Land Mine #2

Telling a story from five distinct perspectives.

Dodge

You've read them. I've read them. Books written in this way are typically incomprehensible. Not so here. Each character's voice is unmistakable. The chapters are titled with the characters' names to provide differentiation, but not even once did I find myself turning back to a title page to figure out who was speaking.

Land Mine #3

Tackling foreign politics, religion, culture, and family without appearing to be an uniformed idiot.

Dodge

20 years of research. That simple. Oh, and she lived in the Belgian Congo as a child.

Well, I'm off to buy The Bean Trees. Some books deserve to be best sellers.

A Hollowed-Out Space

2008-09-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it's the fall cleaning gone to my head, but I have to ask the question: how much space does one person need? Better still, how much space could one person even want?

Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of people who would claim they need x,000 sq. ft. to even survive.

A bathroom for each person. A dining table big enough for opulent dinner parties.

I would throw a sizable wad of money on the table that most people hollow out a relatively small space among the chaos. Maybe that chaos is your four-story mansion, or maybe it's the street outside your house.

Bottom line is, by American standards, our house is quite reasonable, small even. We have three bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, living room, and bonus room (whatever that is).

I haven't been in the living room for weeks, maybe months, other than to walk through it on the way to the front door. One bedroom is (and has been since we moved in) a glorified storage building. I have a wonderful workshop (bonus room) that I use occasionally, but 80 percent of the time, it sits empty. I haven't cleaned the second shower in six months, it hasn't been used for nine. I only see the bedroom ten minutes before I go to sleep and ten minutes after I get up each day.

We live in two rooms -- the den and the kitchen.

So here's my question to you. If we were to tap our magic wands and disappear those forgotten rooms, would we miss their contents? Would we even notice they were gone?

Equilibrism?

2008-09-18T14:19:00.000-07:00

A couple of nights ago we were over at a friends house doing some porch drinking, and the subject of religion came up (after we had exhausted the topic of politics, of course).

My friends are a motley crew when it comes to religion or the lack thereof. I count Buddhists, Hindus, Christians, Muslims, Atheists, and Agnostics among the group of people I bounce ideas off of. Read that list again.

Hindus

Christians

Muslims

A theists

A gnostics

Anything stand out? How about this one:

Cows

Monkeys

Dogs

Non-parrots

Non-chipmunks

Anything yet?

I know; I know. I probably care more about the semantics of the thing than most people. As a non-religious person, I constantly find myself uncomfortable describing myself in terms of what I am NOT rather than in terms of what I AM.

I'm not the first to have this thought.

I didn't want to leave any group out simply because they slipped my mind, so I turned to Harvard University's page on Atheism and Non-Religious Philosophies: Definitions (incidentally, note the two terms in the title — see?) So, here's their list:

Agnosticism
"Agnosticism is the position of believing that knowledge of the existence or non-existence of God is impossible" - The Skeptics Dictionary

I already stated my objection to this particular label. There are a lot of things I know; I would prefer to not define myself by the things I do not.

Atheism
"The term atheism comes from the Greek word atheos, meaning godless. Atheos is derived from a, meaning "without," and theos, meaning "deity"." - The Atheist Empire

Once again, positive descriptions please?

Brights

"A bright is a person who has a naturalistic worldview. A bright's worldview is free of supernatural and mystical elements. The ethics and actions of a bright are based on a naturalistic worldview." - The Brights' Net

This one's more on the right track; in fact, this is the label my husband applies to himself. I just can't help it though; I have a real distaste for the word they chose. I would find it difficult to introduce myself as a Bright without feeling a little condescending.

Freethinkers
"free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth." - Freedom From Religion Foundation, Inc.

I swear I'm not trying to be redundant; I just want to be thorough. The Freethinkers at least have a title that speaks to what they DO instead of what that do NOT do. Then they lose me; they define themselves by how they form opinions of religion and by the characteristic of NOT conforming to a bible, creed, etc.

Universism
"Universism is the world's first rational religion...We celebrate faith in reason, inspiration in nature, and hope in progress...A Universist an individual who applies personal reason and experience to the fundamental questions of human existence, derives inspiration from the natural uncertainty of the human state, and denies the validity of revelation, faith and dogma." - United Universists

Sorry, just can't buy in. First, they call themselves a religion. Secondly, I balk at "personal reason and experience." Yes there are some things that are difficult to test scientifically, but I'm afraid of the idea of basing truth on personal perception alone. What if you perceive a giant pink cat floating in your bedroom? Is that real then?

Humanists, Naturalists, Rationalists, and Skeptics all do an admirable job of defining themselves, and I have no semantic scrap with them. I do not, however, fit neatly into their world views, and so I am again at a loss.

I can't be a humanist because I think life should be lived for the good of the entire earth, not just humanity.

I don't particularly disagree with any of the Naturalists' philosophies. I guess I could say I'm a naturalist (I do believe that all things in the universe can be explained through natural causes). The statement seems insufficient to cover the vastness of life's experiences, however. What of the meaning of life, human interaction, etc.?

Rationalists believe all knowledge stems from logic and reason....and art? Emotion? Once again, it seems that in an effort to excise the supernatural, acknowledgment of some of humanity's greatest accomplishments gets snipped as well.

Skeptics historically have believed the only thing one can know is that one knows nothing. Modern skeptics place their faith in the scientific method; once again, I agree in the validity of this to an extent, but I find it lacking in application to many of the things I care about deeply as an artist.

So, there we were, quickly nearing porch drunk and no title to slap on my forehead. We came up with Vivist, which I thought might just do the trick until I did some research and found out we'd already been scooped. Vivism is respect for all things living. Read: Do not kill anything living. I am confused how there are still living Vivists. What do they eat?

Upon much consideration and a few more drinks, I have decided that I am an Equilibrist. Yes, for those of you with dictionaries ingrained in your brains, I acknowledge that there is a preexisting definition for this word. An equilibrist is a tightrope walker. Exactly.

I think it's quite an appropriate term for one who trusts scientific inquiry but also values the arts and the intricacies of the human experience, one who respects all types of life but understands the unpleasant necessities of surviving among the other inhabitants of the earth, one who finds great spiritual satisfaction in the vast diversity of the earth but finds no spiritual satisfaction in the idea of an invisible, unverifiable being.

Equilibrism, that's as close as I've come so far. Any other Equilibrists out there?

Poets&Writers Meets Wordsplosion

2008-09-16T07:25:00.000-07:00

Forget publishing work in Poetry, The Paris Review, The Atlantic Monthly, or any of those other journals that inhabit my pipe dreams. I'm listed in the Poets&Writers Directory of Writers. Yep, I have arrived. Granted, they left off a couple of my pubs and for some reason I still can't edit my listing, but I'm there for all to see. A pro-fess-ion-al poet.

I'm sure you're still swooning over my directory-dwelling greatness, but there's more. And this link, you may want to actually follow.

My husband has finally succumbed and become a word nerd like me. Triumph at last! Yesterday he showed me wordsplosion.com, a hilarious collection of publicly displayed grammar mishaps.

If you're similarly inclined to word nerdiness, you'll laugh as hard as we did.

Rock Band Banished

2008-09-15T19:48:00.000-07:00

After wailing on my plastic, multi-colored guitar for months, I have finally decided to grow up and get a real instrument.

During my high school and early college days I played the keyboard in several bands and did (if I do say so myself) a passable job at growling out the Cranberries' "Zombie," No Doubt's "I'm just a girl," etc. etc. Before you cringe, do remember it was the nineties. I've kept up my classical piano over the years and have plunked away at some jazz now and again.

Lets face it though, a keyboard is hard to cart around. A piano is worse.

I'd gotten tired of sitting around twiddling my thumbs when people coalesce toting guitars, harmonicas, fiddles, maracas, drums, washboards (well, no one has ever actually shown up with a washboard, but I consider it a possibility) and other enviably portable instruments.

I am proud to say I am writing this entry solely with my right hand. My left is a bit sore from practicing for a slightly obsessive amount of time on my NEW ACOUSTIC BASS!

I never thought I'd be pleased about my "disproportionally long arms and legs" (lovely quote from my medical records), but this 5'3" gal can reach a long fretboard just fine. I can even hide behind my instrument if I get nervous. The amazing invisible bass player. Poetry may not pay the bills, but playing a musical instrument.....wait....well....er....maybe I'm doomed to poverty after all.

Guinea Pigs Needed

2008-09-12T13:22:00.001-07:00

For the last couple of weeks, I've been banging away at a website facelift for Haven Pottery.

So, this is where I shamelessly plug my mother's business (she is, by the way, the most talented potter I know) and ask for everyone's help testing out the website. I'm sure there are glitches I've missed and would be very appreciative of anyone willing to browse through the pages.

Plus, you'll get a chance to check out all of her incredible pottery games. Don't be fooled, they look too perfect to be handmade, but she carves these suckers by hand.

I have to say, her chess set is one of my favorites.

Advance thanks to my volunteer guinea pigs. Please feel free to let me know of both bugs and any comments you have about changes to the website that would improve usability, looks, etc.

The Literacy Center — Episode II

2008-09-11T07:13:00.000-07:00

Teaching ESL has its challenges and its own brand of hilarity. Ever watch a grown woman jump around pantomiming driving while making honking noises? And of course, there was the time I spent 45 minutes trying to figure out why no one was catching on to the U.S. monetary system before I realized none of the women in my class had ever used currency of ANY kind. Forget trying to explain that I am NOT 18, NOT in college, and no (amazing as it may seem) I am NOT being paid to teach this class. Oh, and YES, I have a real job.

Well, I stumbled on a novel problem yesterday. I have a new student who seems eager to learn, but her progress has been painfully slow. Honestly, I've been feeling more and more inadequate as the classes slip by without her progressing.

My class is supposed to be an immersion class. I have students with a wide variety of native languages, so I rarely attempt to translate (thus the crazy pantomime contortions and sound effects). I finally made an exception yesterday and conscripted one of my more advanced students to be a translator.

It turns out the struggling student isn't literate in her native language, which means all the native-language materials I've been handing her have been as indecipherable to her as the English I'm trying to teach.

SO, I'm open to suggestions both crazy and sane. The only thing I've come up with so far is the possibility of finding ESL materials meant for children that are based more on illustrations than on written language.

Thoughts?

Sneak Peek - Ibbetson Street Magazine

2008-09-08T13:33:00.000-07:00

Ibbetson Street Press just posted the table of contents for Ibbetson Street Magazine Issue 24, which will be coming out in November. Two poems by yours truly are slated for its pages.

I wasn't familiar with Mary Buchinger until I read through the list of my fellow contributors. Okay, I'm guilty. I googled them. Hey, you want to know who you're sharing pages with.

Anyway, I found "What Tolstoy and Paleopathologists Have in Common" on Agni online and loved it. This might in part have to do with the fact that I have a raging Tolstoy obsession that has persisted past grad school much longer than is respectable. It is in larger part due to the poem's images and resounding resolution. I can't wait to see what she has in Ibbetson Street Magazine in November.

Look for the update; I'm sure it will be good.

Itsy Bitsy Spider

2008-09-08T06:50:00.000-07:00

Spoils of my walk around town on Saturday --

Hooray for Fall

2008-09-05T14:35:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for fall. I know it's not really fall yet, but come on, it's close. When I dragged myself out of bed this morning for the farmers' market, opened the door, and stepped into a 63-degree breeze, I breathed in a gust of contentment.

Sometimes I think I have a bit of reptilian blood in my veins; the temperature has more effect on me than just about anything else. There's something about the smell of cool air that's better than a dirty martini; hell, it's damn near as good as morning sex.

Give me a crinkly fall day, and I'll conquer the world (or at least my little section of it). So enough blogging, I'm off with my new camera lens (yes, I broke down and bought that incredible Nikkor micro lens I've been coveting) to take it all in.

P.S.
Not very accurate, but good for a laugh:
Quiz: Which 20th Century Poet Are You?

Escape Goats

2008-08-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

Think I'm wrong about the degradation of language? Check out this story on wacky exam answers in The Daily Telegraph. Somewhere in the closet stuffed between my wedding dress and hiking gear, I have my own list of student bloopers. I'll see if I can unearth them and share.

Incidentally, what do you get if you cross Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale and Orwell's Animal Farm?

"The Handmaid's Tale shows how patriarchy treats women as escape goats."

Sorry, just couldn't help myself.

The Minnesota Review

2008-08-28T06:59:00.000-07:00

I've been perusing the Fall/Winter 2007 issue of The Minnesota Review this morning. There are some spectacular poems, and I intend to make my way back through all their back issues. This journal is well worth a look. I especially enjoyed

The Union Steward Tries to Quit Smoking

by Karen J. Weyant

Turning Seventeen (Muskegon, 1976)
by David Dodd Lee

The Best Summer

by David Salner

Imaginary Friends

2008-08-26T07:19:00.000-07:00

Odds are if you write, you have an imaginary friend. No, I'm not saying writers are unstable (not necessarily denying it either, though).

I'm referring to the imaginary reader sitting across the living room with the invisible journal in his or her hand. The one you think about when you wonder if word A or word B would be the better choice or if the protagonist really should go off to live in Kyrgyzstan at the end of Chapter 6. The one whose spectral headshake or nod can send you trotting down an entirely different path.

I had a perfectly fulfilling relationship with my imaginary reader at one point. I'm not sure when things started to disintegrate. It's not that he failed me in any way. I just started to realize I needed more than he could offer: a wider viewpoint, you could say.

So here I am with a living room full. My three invisible readers wander about in the evenings while I try to unknot my poems. Yep, three.

I finally decided there is no model reader. After all, if you write to just one type of reader, aren't you limiting your readership too severely? If you write to the lowest common denominator, you'll bore the bejeesus out of your savvy readers; if you write to the literary elite, you abandon everyone without a PhD and a penchant for book reviews. So, what's the solution?

For me, the solution is to strive for at least three layers in each of my poems:

1. a literal layer accessible to just about anyone with a working knowledge of the language
2. a metaphorical layer accessible to more-widely read, better-educated readers (think college grads in fields other than literature or writing)
3. a culturally and literarily allusive layer accessible to readers intimately familiar with literature and/or other writers

So, three imaginary friends it is. Plus, if I get tired of writing, I have enough people to start up a game of hearts.

To break or not to break...

2008-08-23T07:46:00.001-07:00

Line breaks have been on my mind for a long time. It seems almost every journal I pick up is full of horrific ones.

Now granted, I've had the fundamentals of line breaking ground into my brain by a certain ex-professor of mine, but it seems to me that the ability to break a line well should be a tool in any decent poet's belt.

I was reading through a set of sub guidelines a couple of days ago; included in the typical list of requirements was a blurb about the editor's preferences. She listed in particular an abhorrence for lines broken in grammatically expected places and accompanied her statement with some particularly disturbing examples.

I suddenly understood the misunderstanding behind the odd breaks I see all around me.

Of course a poem with lines broken only at punctuation would be boring, just as a pure line of iambic pentameter can be. That's why you throw in a trochee here and there.

The problem is this need for variety in a poem has been somehow misconstrued as a need for randomness in a poem. The results of this randomness have been (in my humble opinion) disastrous.

Think of it this way. When a great orator speaks, she doesn't necessarily pause only where there is a comma or a period. She pauses where there is a need for emphasis. Line breaks serve the same purpose. They make the reader slow down.

The obvious places this works are, of course, at punctuation points, but a line break can add gravity to any end word. Choose the wrong word, though, and you can wreck an entire poem.

Here's one of my favorite line breaks by E. E. Cummings (that infamous rule breaker); the lines are from his poem that begins "put off your faces,Death: for day is over."

(and worlds whirl beyond worlds:immortal yonder
collidingly absorbs eternal near)

I've always thought this line break was brilliant. As you come to the end of the first line, "immortal yonder" seems to be a descriptor of "worlds" introduced by the colon. Once you begin the next line, though, "immortal yonder" becomes the subject. The line break enables the double meaning and places the emphasis on the most important portion of the two lines: immortal yonder.

Consider what would happen if the lines broke at the punctuation.

(and worlds whirl beyond worlds:
immortal yonder collidingly absorbs eternal near)

Not horrible by any means, but the double meaning is lost. Consider this version.

(and worlds whirl beyond
worlds: immortal yonder collidingly
absorbs eternal near)

All the potential for useful emphasis is lost, and the meaning is obscured by the awkward pauses forced at the line breaks. I find myself asking at the end of the first line, "beyond what."

Whether you're a carpenter, musician, or poet. Tools allow you to manipulate your chosen medium. They are meant to assist you, not to restrain you.

The caveat is this: to use a tool, you must first understand it. A hammer swung wildly won't build a mansion any more than a clumsy line break will build a poem.

Steve Kowit

2008-08-20T17:43:00.000-07:00

This poem landed in my in-box yesterday. I loved it so much, I e-mailed Steve Kowit, and he gave me permission to post it here. Enjoy.

Memorial Day

Because our sons adore their plastic missile launchers,
electronic space bazookas, neutron death-ray guns,
a decade down the pike it won't prove difficult
to trick them out in combat boots
& camouflage fatigues,
rouse them with a frenzy of parades, the heady
rhetoric of country, camaraderie & God,
the drum & bugle & the sudden
thunder of the cannon as they march
into Hell singing.
Which is the order of things.
Obedient to a fault, the people will do as they are told.
However dispirited by grief at the graves
of their fallen, the mother returns at last to her loom,
the father to his lathe,
& the inconsolable widow home to raise sons
ardent for the next imperial bloodbath;
Ilium. Thermopylae. Verdun. Pork Chop Hill.

by Steve Kowit
from The First Noble Truth
(c) University of Tampa Press, 2007.
Reprinted with permission.

An Old Poem

2008-08-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

Grandparents are on my mind this week for obvious reasons. I thought I'd dig up an old poem to keep you guys busy until I have time to write a real post.

Eating Sardines

A boy sits watching
his grandfather watch TV.
He runs his fingers
through the old man’s hair,
shaping it into little mountains.
The old man likes his hair properly combed;
he smiles at the boy.
Later, they eat sardines together.
The boy tries to swallow the fish
without getting the taste on his tongue.
He eats exactly as many as his grandfather eats.

-Alice Pettway

The Mid-America Poetry Review, Summer 2003

Random Acts of Poetry — The Guantlet Has Been Thrown!

2008-08-18T19:49:00.000-07:00

White moths visit white
flowers beneath a half-moon:
frail ghosts in gray light.

- David Sanders

I asked for random acts of poetry, and I got one! Not only is this a great haiku, but jeez, who actually has a front door like that?

Hats off to David Sanders....and five minutes of fame to anyone who can one up him!

Poetry as Therapy? Hardly.

2008-08-18T06:21:00.001-07:00

My husband's grandmother passed away this morning. She was sometimes more like a character in a Mark Twain novel than a real-life grandmother; all her colors were saturated, her harmonies complicated. I admired her immensely.

In the of rush of emotions this morning, it occurred to me (as it has in other stark moments in my life) that it would be lovely if poetry actually were what many people think it is—therapy. I have been told on multiple occasions, "why don't you write about it, you'll feel better."

How do you explain that writing poetry is like working at the post office. You learn how to package everything up tightly. A little tape here, some Styrofoam there. The right size carton makes all the difference. Then, when you have the box just right, you can put the vase or ring or guitar or whatever in it and send it off into the world.

You wouldn't just stuff a ball gown with a couple of stamps on it into your mailbox, would you? The brilliance of poetry is its containment.

Sometimes a feeling is just too big in the beginning to fit.

Writer-centricity or common sense?

2008-08-16T07:12:00.000-07:00

I volunteer teach at our local literacy center once a week. The center's receptionist, a Korean woman, has become a friend of mine. Her English is quite good, but she is working to polish it even more.

Last week after class, she asked me to explain the usage of colons and semicolons. She said she had already asked more than TEN people, most of them English tutors, and none of them had been able to help her.

I won't go into it for fear this will become a grammar blog; needless to say, semicolons and colons do not serve the same function in the English language.

A couple of days later, I overheard her asking someone what the difference between "had" and "have had" was. The person's answer? No difference at all.

This lack of knowledge doesn't end at sentence-level grammar. I freelance edit; in the course of my work, I regularly see manuscripts written by professors at prominent universities. These essays often have no overall structure, unfocused paragraphs, and incomprehensibly constructed sentences.

Let me be clear—I'm not criticizing the people I've described. I AM criticizing our society, though.

Have we reached the point that we no longer need the ability to precisely convey information? Are we now so intelligent that an argument no longer needs to be organized logically for it to be understood?

Call me writer-centric, but I don't think so.

I'm not expecting anyone suddenly to be Shakespeare, but a society that can't communicate is bound for failure. From our most basic personal correspondence to intricate explanations of chemical phenomena, language is our best tool for sharing knowledge.

If we lose the precision of that tool, the consequences may be larger than we think.

Broadsided Press

2008-08-15T13:16:00.000-07:00

While we're on the topic of new and interesting ways to expose the public to poetry, check out Broadsided Press.

Alice Pettway, Broadsided Press, Vectors

Here's the basic idea. Broadsided takes poems, matches them with artists, and then posts the freshly illustrated poems as pdf files on their website. Okay, great. They're an e-zine.

Not so fast.

The whole point of this scheme is for readers to download and print the pdfs and then post them around town . If you commit to printing out and posting at least two copies of each "issue," then you become a vector (notice the clever geometry reference). There's already a vector in Fayetteville (although I have yet to see any poems around town).

Check out the map below or visit the Broadsided site to see if there's a vector in your area or to sign up.

View Larger Map

Soundzine

2008-08-14T07:48:00.000-07:00

It's easy to forget in the deluge of literary journals that poetry is intended to be spoken. I've learned the hard way that writing poetry well and reading poetry well are two very different skills. Go to any poetry reading, and you'll know what I mean.

So, where can you go for good poetry read well? Soundzine! At first glance, they appear to by a typical online journal, but then you realize that above each poem, there's a sound file. I particularly enjoyed the poems read by the poets who wrote them.

One of my favorites so far on the site: Whitfield's Resignation by Alex Gabriel. The poem is good. The reading is even better. I'd hire this guy to read my poems any day.

Normal Guy Edits Lit Paper for Normal People

2008-08-13T12:42:00.000-07:00

Imagine that! I know, I know. Difficult, but try.

I was absentmindedly clicking the "random poetry market" button on duotrope.com (yes, instead of staring out the window at the mailman) and up pops Whistling Shade.

I have sneaking suspicion that Joel Van Valin (the managing editor) is a time traveler. He must have read my Random Acts of Poetry post, jumped in his time machine, zipped back to 2001, and started Whistling Shade. Only explanation possible. Seriously. Here's the blurb from duotrope.

"Whistling Shade is a quarterly literary newspaper freely distributed to cafes, bookstores, libraries, and other locations in Minneapolis/St.Paul. We take a populist approach to literature, and our readers are the general public rather than the academics and literati targeted by most lit journals. Our hope is to keep literature, that whistling ghost at the back our social consciousness, enjoyable and accessible in the Twin Cities. "

Yep, ENJOYABLE AND ACCESSIBLE. They said it. They circulate free copies of Whistling Shade around the Minneapolis/St. Paul area and all the contents are available online as well. I have to say, I found the poetry ENJOYABLE AND ACCESSIBLE!

Of course, I immediately sent them something to consider for the upcoming winter issue, which will have a government theme. Editor@whistlingshade.com has now joined my infamous address-book E section. Whether they take it or not, my hat's off to them.

With a circulation of 2,500, Whistling Shade definitely qualifies as a SERIOUS random act of poetry.

Amber Coverdale Sumrall

2008-08-12T08:19:00.000-07:00

I love the imagery in this poem, and the turn is great. She has more sample poems on her webpage.

Grandpa's Cellar
By Amber Coverdale Sumrall

We climbed down steps narrow as the rungs
on his orchard ladder: Grandpa leading
with the lantern, me clutching the belt loops
of his wool tweed pants, down into darkness
thick as the molasses he spooned on his cereal.
Spiders scurried as the cellar pulsed with shadows,
their webs clinging to my hair like tiny veils.
Jars of sage honey, apricots and peaches floating
in syrup lined the rough splintered shelves.
Grandpa scooped wheat kernels from a wooden bin,
poured them into the grinder that gleamed
like the silver lady on the hood of his black Packard.
He lifted potatoes, beets, rutabagas,
from storage in the loose soil, the underpinnings of the house
dirt stretched out in every direction.
I wanted to bolt for Grandma's sunny kitchen
but stayed, fear rising like a flight of stairs
I could not see to the top of.
Years later, after he put the gun to his head
I remembered how comfortable he was in darkness,
wrapping himself up in it like a well-worn sweater,
teaching me to find my way through it,
trusting a light which did not yet reach me.

Random Acts of Poetry

2008-08-11T08:35:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was bemoaning the world's lack of poetry readers to my husband. He faces an equally sparse readership as a scientist.

It got us to thinking about ways to introduce people to literature they may be unfamiliar with or intimidated by. Of course, it really isn't fair...he's a teacher and thus has a captive audience he can preach to. How in the WORLD do you get everyday people to consider reading poetry?

I mean, how many people do you run across who fondly recall their high school English class or college freshman comp experience? Not many, which is sad in and of itself. Somewhere along the way, it has become NERDY to understand poetry and even NERDIER to enjoy it.

The best comment I've ever gotten on a review was from a student in my World Lit class. He said he had never thought of poetry as cool until he took my class. Wahoo!

So, back to the question at hand--how to infect the world at large with an appreciation for poetry.

I think the Victoria Read Society has the right idea. They fund an annual program called Random Acts of Poetry in which various poets wander around reading their work to strangers. I think it's a GREAT IDEA. Plus, the concept doesn't have to be confined to an annual event.

ANYONE can commit random acts of poetry. Do it at work. Do it at the grocery store. Don't feel comfortable reading your work to someone? Read someone else's poetry. Don't feel comfortable reading at all? Hand people a book of poetry; tell them to pass it on when they're finished .

The stark reality is, unless people READ poetry, there's really no point WRITING it. I think poetry has a lot to offer.

So nerdy or not, I'm going to spread the word.

Duotrope.com

2008-08-09T20:25:00.000-07:00

Poets don't make good secretaries, or at least this one doesn't.

So, when I realized that not only did I need to keep up with which poems were with which journals, which poems had been out for how long, which poems had already been to which journals, which poems had been rejected by said journals, which journals wouldn't be vaguely interested in my work, which editors might be infinitesimally interested in my work, which poems had been out so long they needed matching status query letters, and...... well you get the idea.

I nearly had a breakdown.

I have a five star notebook full of chicken scratch. Figuring out what in the hell all that chicken scratch means is almost as painful as writing it down in the first place.

Then I discovered....drum roll please.....DUOTROPE! Consider it the unorganized writer's lifeline. You tell them what the title of your poem (or short story) is and who you've sent it to.

That's it.

They track it. They remind you when you need to send a query letter.

Seriously.

Oh, and did I mention, it's free? Need I say more?

I'm sure everyone already knows about it. Probably old news. But just in case someone doesn't, I had to put it out there.

(And remember the whole mailbox mania thing? Well, you can check all the stats for journal response times, acceptance rates, etc. Way better distraction than peeking out the window all day long!)

Anyone hiring poets?

2008-08-09T13:54:00.000-07:00

Even better...anyone interested in supporting the arts (by that I mean paying my mortgage for me)? I'll even write a poem in your honor. No takers?

I am officially on hour six of editing today, 370 pages into a 1000-page book edit due in two weeks. Yikes! I've been contemplating how the publisher would take it if I were to insert some poetry into the manuscript. It would, of course, be on topic (who says you can't write verse about immigration legislation?)

All joking aside, I really have beat the odds. Get an M.F.A., and you might as well tattoo your forehead with the word "unemployable." Take that world. I'm writing AND getting paid for it.

Is nothing sacred anymore?

2008-08-08T11:41:00.001-07:00

I came to the realization today that a dangerous line has been crossed in the literary world.

I've resigned myself to the fact that the mailman is terrified of me (it's the plight of all writers, after all). Oh, don't get me wrong. I really do try to be normal about the mail. I make myself stay inside until the mail truck is at least past the driveway. I only check the mail once when I get home for lunch and once before I go back to the office (OKAY, sometimes I check once in between). All in all, though, I've been able to maintain a fairly normal lifestyle despite my mailbox mania.

My questionable sanity has been contingent on the safe haven of my in-box. Until recently, I could send and receive e-mails without a second thought. Aside from the occasional professional correspondence, my in-box was poetry free. I had no fear of rejections (or heaven forbid, ACCEPTANCES) flooding gmail, nor did I feel compelled to check my e-mail every 32 seconds.

Those simple times are now over, I fear. It appears that in our rush to save trees and expedite the editorial process, we have ushered in a new era in writer anxiety. The "E" category on my contact list has grown exponentially in the last six months:

editor@ObscurePoetryJournal.com,

editor@JournalWhoIsGoingToRejectMe.com, editor@WeWontAnswerYouForNineMonths.com.

Well, the faster the poems are rejected, the faster you can send them back out. At least there's no e-mailman to witness my obsession.

On a brighter note...

The current issue of the Mid-America Poetry Review has one of my poems in it. There's a lot of good work in this issue. Support starving writers everywhere, and order an issue. :-)

Crevices

When the Texas summer

had stretched our yards

until they brittled and cracked,

the boy next door

would place his ear

over the narrow crevice

running under the fence

from his dirt to mine

and listen for my dry voice

teasing through the clay.

Lost in our talk,

each of us mistook

the crumbling of soil

and the shifting

of our own bodies

for the words we needed to hear.

Alice Pettway

Mid-America Poetry Review, Summer 2008

Come on, people, it's the twenty-first century...

2008-08-07T14:51:00.001-07:00

Poets can't just hole up in an attic somewhere and expect to be published. At least that's what David Sanders told us in his first manuscripts workshop at the West Chester University Poetry Conference.

Okay, I get it. I don't necessarily LIKE it, but I get it.

So here goes. You want hilariously vague rejection slips? You got it. Record-breaking response times? I can tell you all about it. Illegibly scribbled acceptance letters? Yep, some of those too. The occasional moment of poetic lucidity. We can only hope.