The Ghost of St. Bernard

Jabber stalks the Christmas tree in search of puppy treats. And a good time was had by all!

We Heart Your Holiday Greetings

As the Poem Turns, and Other Randomness

Four stanzas and one line in, I'm stuck. Up to the hip in muddy language, how will I ever get myself out of this one? Drafting can be so damned dirty at times...

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K. and I spent Saturday and Sunday painting the master bathroom. This marks the house's final transformation. Gone, the ugly floral wallpaper and teal bedroom carpet. The sun room's industrial carpet is finito, too. The entire upstairs has a fresh coat of paint, as do the dining room and den. Two and a half years of work = bye bye Pepto Pink walls and Lighthouse Theme. Now that we've finally made this place our home, it's almost time to move...

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In 2010, I may up my four-book-per-month reads by one. This year, I especially loved (off the top of my head):

FICTION: Anna Karenina & Les Miserables (how and why did I wait so long for these?), The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Out Stealing Horses, March

NONFICTION: The Meadow, This Boy's Life, The Year of Magical Thinking

POETRY: Poetry & the Age, The Mansion of Happiness, Temper, Ultima Thule, Ohio Violence, Self-Portrait with Crayon, Sediment (wow, just realized most of these are first books!)

POETRY BOOKS REVIEWED: Quiver, Drift Ice, Interpretative Work (essay forthcoming in West Branch); Taste of Cherry (forthcoming, Gulf Coast), and assorted work by Milton (tongue-in-cheek essay for The Rumpus -- don't even get me started on "lustral waters").

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

Question: How many inches have fallen in Danger, Ohio?

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On our trees the ice sings, "fa, la-la, there is no snow."

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(A., are you there? -- forgive me for misnaming your beauteous debut one last time...damn, after all these years I love your poems more and more...)

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Rain, rain, and lots of it.

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Perfectionism insists a present is not a present unless wrapped with a handmade bow.

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Sadly, I'm not kidding.

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I spent three and a half hours on Friday wrapping nine gifts while watching Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange do their best "Little Edie" and "Big Edie."

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Answer: an ash covered in snow is just "a tree."

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Hint: the original Grey Gardens would make a fantastic holiday gift...

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And what of it?

Happy Birthday!

...to my wonderful husband. I love you so!

Happenings

The tree, still undecorated, is in the house.

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Look who's hanging at Verse Daily!

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Mom goes in for a quick shoulder surgery this morning. Even though the procedure is minor, I hate being this far away...

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D. gets her first acceptance in nonfiction -- The Iowa Review has good taste.

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Anybody know of upcoming deadlines for spring residencies, or have the slots already been filled?

And the Subscriptions Go To...

Eduardo and Leslie. Happy Holidays -- will be in touch!

Free Goodies!

Dear Friends-for-Years & Friends-I've-Yet-To-Meet,

In yesterday's mail:

1. Poets & Writers resubscribe early = 6 free issues for a friend

2. New England Review calls for support via donations and gift subscriptions -- it's old news by now that if the journal doesn't raise enough cash, then so long-farewell-goodbye!

If you'd like a subscription to either of the above, send me your contact info via the comment section (I won't publish your address). I'll sign up the first two people who respond. My treat. All you have to do is enjoy the contents of each publication!

Happy reading,
S.

Now That's Fashion!

B. tells me this season hipsters in the city are "sporting" (wouldn't they LOVE that word) black skinny jeans and flannels. Flannels? Really? Let's leave the 90s out of this... And I thought the resurfacing 80s were ugly enough!

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For good or bad, there's not a hipster round these parts as far as the cotton fields grow. Based on a very scientific study conducted from my front porch, for local coolies the best accessories are:

1. Big Trucks -- raised high-up and with big wheels (preferably American made), over-sized antenna, occasional chrome front bumper fishing pole attachments, loud engine and new(ish). It doesn't matter what you're wearing inside, so long as you know how to cruise.

OR

2. Bling(ed) out sweatshirts with the hood up, dark denim, baseball caps turned slightly to the side as if to deter its wearer from tripping over an upcoming break in the sidewalk. Backpacks with both straps strapped onto the shoulders (wish this would've been fashion during my high school days -- the one-shoulder look is sassy but risks post-school hunchback syndrome)

Thankfully, the popped collars missed this small town.

My favorite fashion moments are those in which I spy a member of the Big Truck Club wearing a bedazzled sweatshirt and baseball cap askew. Now, that's awesome.

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You couldn't pay me to wear skinny jeans. Or layers of popped collars. Back in the day, however, and of my own choosing, I dressed myself in Guess Jeans (zippers at the bottom, of course), teal cowboy boots with a matching plaid sweater/jacket and -- wait for it -- shoulder pads!

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My glass house just shattered.

Sometimes...

...and on days like these when I can't even summon the gusto to be proactive, K. makes a stiff batch of cocktails and we call it.

Eyes on the Prize

From the beginning, my attitude about rejection has been the same -- it's part of the process. For me, the best way of dealing with disappointment is becoming more proactive. Because this fall I've been focused on circulating Two-Headed Nightingale (AKA: the manuscript), I've decreased the amount of energy I typically dedicate to pursuing magazines and journals. In response to yesterday's mailings -- two publishers passed on the bird -- I assembled four submission packets of individual poems and sent them to Ploughshares, Tin House, The Paris Review, and Indiana Review. We'll see how that goes...

Although I can't control the first-book publication process, I can manage my own. Until Christmas, I've decided to conduct an experiment to kick things up a notch. In addition to daily free-writes geared toward poetry, I'm completing assignments from two nonfiction texts -- Tell It Slant (Brenda Miller & Suzanne Paola) and Writing Creative Nonfiction (ed. Carolyn Forche and Phillip Gerard). My hope is that such exercises will keep the muscles warm, while distracting me from the manuscript. I've also decided (and this may sound strange) to track my work hours on weekly time sheets purchased at the office supply store.

With the past-due review in the can (finished Thanksgiving, thank you very much) and one more to complete, things will be busy in the best sense. Just need to pace myself and remember to enjoy the work! Speaking of pacing, Michaela is probably coming around the bend toward the finish line. Today, she completes her first marathon. Congrats, Tine! You continue to amaze me!

The Postman Rings Twice

Two-headed rejections this afternoon:

1. Manuscript = denied

2. Congrats! "You were a Finalist!" Manuscript = denied

Publisher II helps ease the sting of Publisher I.

In happier news: I'm starting to put weight on my foot again, and easing off the crutches. I also finished Randall Jarrell's terrific POETRY AND THE AGE.

Back to work.

Happy Saturday!

Rock On!

Looks like she's gone public:

Congrats to Rachel Richardson, whose first collection of poetry will be published by Carnegie Mellon in 2011!!

Yippy!

Rooms With a View

Lowell and Sexton and Plath, oh my! Caleb Daniloff explores the myth behind RM 222. The article reminds me of what I felt during workshops in the Jones Room at Stanford. Thinking about the company of previous Stegner fellows -- not to mention the talented bunch with whom I was lucky enough to work -- was overwhelming to say the least. I hear the Creative Writing Department moved to another floor in the building. Though it shouldn't,this change saddens me...

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Because Masterpiece Theater dedicated its 2009 Classic series to Dickens, I decided to give him another try. As a teenager, I hated Dickens. Refusal to finish David Copperfield cost me an "A" in A.P. English. Even at 16, my aversion was Dickens-specific. I loved The Mayor of Casterbridge, but loathed (and still do) A Christmas Carol. Now finished with Oliver Twist and more than half way through A Tale of Two Cities, I have the same response. What's the deal? What am I missing?

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Spoke last night with D. who reveals that she's completed her second poetry manuscript. She's also managed to write half of a memoir. How is this possible, given her teaching load and obligations as a Ph.D. student? I'd like to know where, exactly, she works so I can break into that room and set up shop. Perhaps if I swallowed some of its dust, I'd cough up a draft or two...

Meditations on Glass

I dreamed of wearing Grace Kelly's dresses, but woke to Jimmy Stewart's cast...

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A stanza from Larkin's "High Windows" (for the pervy part, follow the link):


...Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

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So certain the Nightstalker's next destination was our house, as a kid I stared at my bedroom window until my eyes watered and the screen appeared to peel back.

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My favorite Rear Window character is "Miss Torso."

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Rumor had it yellow houses were targets. Ours was a nice shade of lemon.

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I've tried to write about Hitchcock. The poems flat out suck.

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Do people who grew up outside California even know about the Nightstalker?

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These days, no window in our house goes unlocked.

Being Green: Not Easy

Airport wheelchair access is a godsend.

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The 10-day trip to California -- AKA, "Baby Tour 2009" -- was fantastic. We met and visited with Brooke, Enzo, Annabelle, Rhys, and Luke, ranging in age from 3 months to almost 2 years. Did I miss anyone? If so, I blame the pain meds...

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Thankfully, my trip to the emergency walk-in didn't happen until day 9.

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Two full Thanksgiving dinners = tofurky, pork medallions, mashed potatoes, orange-glazed shrimp, stuffing, pasta with cream mushroom sauce, asparagus hummus, artichoke hearts filled with crab, stuffed mushrooms, roasted green beans, etc. etc.

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My right foot is a nice shade of green. A mass of bruising crawls up the ankle.

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Los Angeles, Orange County, Visalia, Tulare, Atwater, Hanford -- so many loved ones, never enough time.

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With the exception of few little shakes and trembles, Jabber was fantastic! She only barked once during the four flights.

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Crutches prevent today's post office visit. Alice James will have to hold its annual contest without me.

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Currently reading:

Randall Jarrell, Poetry and the Age
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Jason Shinder, Stupid Hope

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Carrying a suitcase too many and the dog darting underfoot, I missed a step and fell off my dad's front porch. For a good five minutes I stayed face-down on the sidewalk in an attempt to avoid the the great pass-out or pukage...

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Fun as it is, California isn't home anymore. I've lived in so many places, where is home anyway??

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K. is amazing. Thank you, husband, for your patience and mad ice skills.

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So much fun playing with my niece and nephew. We had a slumber party, built a fort and made the rounds on a Monopoly board (Star Wars version).

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The x-rays show an "unlikely" but possible fracture.

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My heart is in so many places.

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K. wants a second opinion.