Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Memory
On the eight anniversary of 9/11, I wanted to share this excerpt from an essay called "Leap" by Brian Doyle. The link to read the full essay is here.
A couple leaped from the South Tower, hand in hand. They reached for each other and their hands met and they jumped. So many people saw this as a scar burned onto our brains. But a man reached for a woman's hand and she reached for his hand, and they jumped out the window holding hands. I try to whisper prayers for the sudden dead and the harrowed families of the dead and the screaming souls of the murderers, but I keep coming back to his hand in her hand, nestled in each other with such extraordinary, ordinary, naked love. It is the most powerful prayer I can imagine, the most eloquent, the most graceful. It is everything that we are capable of against horror and loss and tragedy. It is what makes me believe that we are not fools to believe in God, to believe that human beings have greatness and holiness within them like seeds that open only under great fire, to believe that who we are persists past what we were, to believe against evil evidenced hourly that love is why we are here.
A couple leaped from the South Tower, hand in hand. They reached for each other and their hands met and they jumped. So many people saw this as a scar burned onto our brains. But a man reached for a woman's hand and she reached for his hand, and they jumped out the window holding hands. I try to whisper prayers for the sudden dead and the harrowed families of the dead and the screaming souls of the murderers, but I keep coming back to his hand in her hand, nestled in each other with such extraordinary, ordinary, naked love. It is the most powerful prayer I can imagine, the most eloquent, the most graceful. It is everything that we are capable of against horror and loss and tragedy. It is what makes me believe that we are not fools to believe in God, to believe that human beings have greatness and holiness within them like seeds that open only under great fire, to believe that who we are persists past what we were, to believe against evil evidenced hourly that love is why we are here.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Along Came Venus
It's back-to-school time, and I'm crunched: prepping classes, creating last-minute syllabi for classes I haven't taught before, trying to find the office decoration balance between what's appropriate for students to see and what I want to spend my time looking at. Which means the Radiohead poster is in, but the holographic album cover from Their Satanic Majesties Request? Not so much.
And in the midst of all of this, when I don't have a single moment to spare, along comes a review copy of Collin Kelley's Conquering Venus. I pick it up. I read the blurbs. And suddenly, I find myself taking "just a minute" I don't really have to read just the Prologue. Okay, just the first chapter or two. Or five. (I think you see where this is going.)
Flash forward a few days. I still haven't finished my syllabus for tomorrow's class, but I somehow found the time to go to Borders and buy an Itty Bitty Book Light so that I can keep reading Conquering Venus late at night without waking anyone up. Addictive? Yeah. Pretty much. Poetic? Yes. Compelling? Absolutely. But I'm not going to give out any plot details or spoilers. One of my pet peeves is knowing too much about a book or movie going in and having preconceived notions or expectations either way. What I will do is tell you the five things that will happen when you read this book:
1) You will remember the differences between poetry and fiction and be grateful for an author who can write both--and who blurs the genres in such a satisfying way.
2) You will want to travel. Again. Or still. Or all of a sudden.
3) About 1/4 of the way in, you will start imagining which actors would play which characters in the movie version of the book. Thinking about the movie version, and imagining these actors smooching, will get you more than a little hot.
4) You will buy an Itty Bitty Book Light if you don't already have one so that you can keep reading. Or, if you have the time to devote to it all at once, you will devote that time. Happily.
5) You will be grateful for the fact that this is part of a trilogy, but at the same time, you'll find yourself a little foot-stampy and impatient to know what happens next. And that's a really good thing.
It's just too bad I can't assign it on my syllabus.
And in the midst of all of this, when I don't have a single moment to spare, along comes a review copy of Collin Kelley's Conquering Venus. I pick it up. I read the blurbs. And suddenly, I find myself taking "just a minute" I don't really have to read just the Prologue. Okay, just the first chapter or two. Or five. (I think you see where this is going.)
Flash forward a few days. I still haven't finished my syllabus for tomorrow's class, but I somehow found the time to go to Borders and buy an Itty Bitty Book Light so that I can keep reading Conquering Venus late at night without waking anyone up. Addictive? Yeah. Pretty much. Poetic? Yes. Compelling? Absolutely. But I'm not going to give out any plot details or spoilers. One of my pet peeves is knowing too much about a book or movie going in and having preconceived notions or expectations either way. What I will do is tell you the five things that will happen when you read this book:
1) You will remember the differences between poetry and fiction and be grateful for an author who can write both--and who blurs the genres in such a satisfying way.
2) You will want to travel. Again. Or still. Or all of a sudden.
3) About 1/4 of the way in, you will start imagining which actors would play which characters in the movie version of the book. Thinking about the movie version, and imagining these actors smooching, will get you more than a little hot.
4) You will buy an Itty Bitty Book Light if you don't already have one so that you can keep reading. Or, if you have the time to devote to it all at once, you will devote that time. Happily.
5) You will be grateful for the fact that this is part of a trilogy, but at the same time, you'll find yourself a little foot-stampy and impatient to know what happens next. And that's a really good thing.
It's just too bad I can't assign it on my syllabus.
Monday, June 29, 2009
For My Next Trick
I finally started working on The Next Thing. It's taken me a long time to come around to it, for a variety of reasons. For one thing, the production of a book, from start to finish, is quite a daunting thing--the seedling ideas, the writing of poems that may or may not work, the visions and revisions, the contest gamut (or the equivalent: open reading periods, queries, publishing on demand, whatever you may choose), the rejections, the acceptance, the changes and edits, the final proofs, the waiting, worrying, and fretting about the final product, the final product itself. I went through it at almost exactly the same time that my husband was going through it, with our books coming out 4 months apart. (The experience was very different for each of us, but that's a different post.) And when I was in the midst of all of that, the last thing on my mind was writing what came next.
But apparently, that's something I was supposed to be thinking about. When my book first won a prize, I got a call from my dear friend Rodney Jones, who said, "That's wonderful. Now you're free to move on to the next thing."
The next thing? What next thing?! I was just getting started with this thing! For me, getting the book taken and slated for publication meant that the serious work on that book was just beginning. Getting it ready. Making the changes that needed to be made to make it right. Marketing. Drumming up readings. Finding ways to get the word out about the book (which, I realize, is an ongoing process). And all of that work left me little time to think about what came next, much less actually engage in it.
But apparently, it's something you're supposed to be thinking about.
After my husband's first book came out, he was tapped by the Poetry Society of America as one of the upcoming poets to watch. We flew to New York for the reading and celebration. He and the other twelve poets took the stage one at a time, with each one reading from--and talking a little about--their Next Things. It seemed a rite of passage almost to create something tangible to hold on to and work on and toward--regardless of whether or not that specific project ever came to fruition.
But I was stymied. I was languishing in the space between books and between projects. Instead of picking up a pen, I put on my philosophical hat and started thinking about how we navigate our second book. For some authors, it seems like the second book is a logical extension of the first, both in terms of content and stylistic approach. But for others, the second book marks a radical departure from the aesthetics of the first. Hmmm, I thought. Why is that? And where will my second book position itself? Will it be an extension or a departure? Hmmm.
One thing I've learned about myself is that if I spend too much time thinking around something, it always means there's something there, smack dab in the middle, that I'm not letting myself think about.
And once I looked at it, really looked at it, I realized that I knew what my next project would be all along. It was there, gestating, accumulating, gathering momentum and words and images. It was just that the subject is really close, and difficult, and more than a little painful, and so I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to dive into it. I wrote a couple of children's books. I negotiated some nonfiction work. But always, the poems were there, just beneath the surface.
That's how poetry works, isn't it? Even when we're not working on it, it's working on us--feeding itself, fueling its own fire, readying for the moment when we come to it, open our arms, and embrace it, welcomed back.
And so my arms are open. My pen is finally uncapped. The poems are falling into place in my mind and in my ears and on my page. I'm letting the games begin, again. And I couldn't be happier. I've got a project!
But apparently, that's something I was supposed to be thinking about. When my book first won a prize, I got a call from my dear friend Rodney Jones, who said, "That's wonderful. Now you're free to move on to the next thing."
The next thing? What next thing?! I was just getting started with this thing! For me, getting the book taken and slated for publication meant that the serious work on that book was just beginning. Getting it ready. Making the changes that needed to be made to make it right. Marketing. Drumming up readings. Finding ways to get the word out about the book (which, I realize, is an ongoing process). And all of that work left me little time to think about what came next, much less actually engage in it.
But apparently, it's something you're supposed to be thinking about.
After my husband's first book came out, he was tapped by the Poetry Society of America as one of the upcoming poets to watch. We flew to New York for the reading and celebration. He and the other twelve poets took the stage one at a time, with each one reading from--and talking a little about--their Next Things. It seemed a rite of passage almost to create something tangible to hold on to and work on and toward--regardless of whether or not that specific project ever came to fruition.
But I was stymied. I was languishing in the space between books and between projects. Instead of picking up a pen, I put on my philosophical hat and started thinking about how we navigate our second book. For some authors, it seems like the second book is a logical extension of the first, both in terms of content and stylistic approach. But for others, the second book marks a radical departure from the aesthetics of the first. Hmmm, I thought. Why is that? And where will my second book position itself? Will it be an extension or a departure? Hmmm.
One thing I've learned about myself is that if I spend too much time thinking around something, it always means there's something there, smack dab in the middle, that I'm not letting myself think about.
And once I looked at it, really looked at it, I realized that I knew what my next project would be all along. It was there, gestating, accumulating, gathering momentum and words and images. It was just that the subject is really close, and difficult, and more than a little painful, and so I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to dive into it. I wrote a couple of children's books. I negotiated some nonfiction work. But always, the poems were there, just beneath the surface.
That's how poetry works, isn't it? Even when we're not working on it, it's working on us--feeding itself, fueling its own fire, readying for the moment when we come to it, open our arms, and embrace it, welcomed back.
And so my arms are open. My pen is finally uncapped. The poems are falling into place in my mind and in my ears and on my page. I'm letting the games begin, again. And I couldn't be happier. I've got a project!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Loss
Bird-Understander
by Craig Arnold
Of many reasons I love you here is one
the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright
so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death
it makes you terribly terribly sad
You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird
All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless
but you are wrong
You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song
These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt
you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back
if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not
by Craig Arnold
Of many reasons I love you here is one
the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright
so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death
it makes you terribly terribly sad
You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird
All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless
but you are wrong
You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song
These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt
you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back
if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not
Monday, May 4, 2009
Blinking in the Spotlight
Many, many thanks to the wonderful and talented Rigoberto González for choosing Cradle Song for the Small Press Spotlight on the National Book Critics Circle blog. His questions were incredibly thoughtful and thought provoking, and I am honored and grateful to be included in this series.
In other news, my website is almost up and running. Amber Smith of Lostlogo Design has worked with me to create a site that captures the feel of the South and the sentiment of the things I write about. I'll post the link when it's all done.
Later this week, I'll be reading with three other poets (Gabrielle Calvocoressi, Gabriel Fried, and Adrian Matejka) as part of the St. Louis celebration of the publication of From the Fishouse: An Anthology of Poems that Sing, Rhyme, Resound, Syncopate, Alliterate, and Just Plain Sound Great. It's part of the Observable Reading Series, sponsored by the St. Louis Poetry Center, and it's at the Schlafly Bottleworks at 8 pm on Thursday May 7th. If you're in the area, come on by!
In other news, my website is almost up and running. Amber Smith of Lostlogo Design has worked with me to create a site that captures the feel of the South and the sentiment of the things I write about. I'll post the link when it's all done.
Later this week, I'll be reading with three other poets (Gabrielle Calvocoressi, Gabriel Fried, and Adrian Matejka) as part of the St. Louis celebration of the publication of From the Fishouse: An Anthology of Poems that Sing, Rhyme, Resound, Syncopate, Alliterate, and Just Plain Sound Great. It's part of the Observable Reading Series, sponsored by the St. Louis Poetry Center, and it's at the Schlafly Bottleworks at 8 pm on Thursday May 7th. If you're in the area, come on by!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Gobsmacked
I woke up on this gray and leftover-wintry day, only to find that the kind folks at Poetry Daily had posted not one but three of the poems from Cradle Song!
I was gobsmacked. Not only because it was Poetry Daily, which thrills me like a schoolgirl whose crush smiled back at her, but also because of the individual poems they chose. The first one I'm down with and might have seen coming, but the other two are sections that never really see the light of day with me. It's not that I don't like them. They do their job in the poem of building pillars and holding up ideas and furthering the overall missive of the collection, but they aren't counted among my pretties, or favorites, and so I don't ever really think about them much.
Until today. Now, I'm thinking about them a lot. And I'm thinking about subjectivity and why it is that we like what we like. I've taught literature for a number of years now, and always, some student asks me, "Who decides which poems/poets/stories/writers are 'good enough' to be canonized, anthologized, reproduced, and referenced?" This leads to a larger discussion of the included and the excluded, how we know what we know, and why we as individuals are drawn to certain texts more than others.
A text is important to me when it does one of two things: it either 1) tells me something I didn't already know, schools me, as it were or 2) articulates something I know or recognize to be true but hadn't ever articulated or wrapped my head around, and it does so in a profound or resonant way that makes me say, "Exactly! I totally know what you're talking about!"
I don't know what kinds of reactions my poems created in the editors at Poetry Daily, or in anyone who might have read the book. But the machinations behind such things intrigue me. They keep me guessing--and keep me writing. And I'm thrilled to be up there on that website today, thrilled that these previously closeted sections are getting their moment in the sun. I'm happy to be forced to reconsider them. And who knows? Maybe I'll even air them out in the next reading that I give.
I was gobsmacked. Not only because it was Poetry Daily, which thrills me like a schoolgirl whose crush smiled back at her, but also because of the individual poems they chose. The first one I'm down with and might have seen coming, but the other two are sections that never really see the light of day with me. It's not that I don't like them. They do their job in the poem of building pillars and holding up ideas and furthering the overall missive of the collection, but they aren't counted among my pretties, or favorites, and so I don't ever really think about them much.
Until today. Now, I'm thinking about them a lot. And I'm thinking about subjectivity and why it is that we like what we like. I've taught literature for a number of years now, and always, some student asks me, "Who decides which poems/poets/stories/writers are 'good enough' to be canonized, anthologized, reproduced, and referenced?" This leads to a larger discussion of the included and the excluded, how we know what we know, and why we as individuals are drawn to certain texts more than others.
A text is important to me when it does one of two things: it either 1) tells me something I didn't already know, schools me, as it were or 2) articulates something I know or recognize to be true but hadn't ever articulated or wrapped my head around, and it does so in a profound or resonant way that makes me say, "Exactly! I totally know what you're talking about!"
I don't know what kinds of reactions my poems created in the editors at Poetry Daily, or in anyone who might have read the book. But the machinations behind such things intrigue me. They keep me guessing--and keep me writing. And I'm thrilled to be up there on that website today, thrilled that these previously closeted sections are getting their moment in the sun. I'm happy to be forced to reconsider them. And who knows? Maybe I'll even air them out in the next reading that I give.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Westward, Ho
I'm going to be taking a little trip soon, a little poetry trip. I say it's a poetry trip only because I plan to claim it on my next year's taxes. It's actually a trip back to Oregon, back to the green and verdant landscape that I miss so much. Back to the people I love and the little ones who have, no doubt, grown as much as mine has. Back to Market of Choice and Bambini and The Laughing Planet and the very best little Mexican cafe in the world--Fond Rosa in Portland.
But there will be poetry. I'll be reading at The Press Club in Portland on Monday the 16th at 7 pm. Apparently, it's the bee's knees. It has crepes and booze and magazines and, at least this one night, me, reading poems. The next day, St. Paddy's, I'll be reading at the Eugene Library at 7 pm as part of the Windfall Reading Series with Miriam Gershow. If you're in the area, come by and see me. Meet the little one. Buy me a crepe. And I'll sing you song, and I'll try not to sing out of key.
But there will be poetry. I'll be reading at The Press Club in Portland on Monday the 16th at 7 pm. Apparently, it's the bee's knees. It has crepes and booze and magazines and, at least this one night, me, reading poems. The next day, St. Paddy's, I'll be reading at the Eugene Library at 7 pm as part of the Windfall Reading Series with Miriam Gershow. If you're in the area, come by and see me. Meet the little one. Buy me a crepe. And I'll sing you song, and I'll try not to sing out of key.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Live Nude Girl in the Devil's Territory Sings a Cradle Song
I didn't post an AWP recap because it was a really disjointed experience for me. I guess I'm old school now because I'm still clinging to those AWPs of yore, when there was only one bookfair, and I actually could count on running into the folks I wait all year to see. This year, I didn't make it to a single panel, not even the ones on Saturday that I really, really wanted to see. But I did have a wonderful book release party at The Woman Made Gallery (an excellent space in Chicago for women artists), featuring my fellow C&R Press ladies Michelle Bitting and Allison Funk.
The company--and the cupcakes--rocked. And I got to meet my excellent editors, including the fabulous Chad Prevost
and sold some books and met some folks, so overall, it was a success. If you didn't get a copy of the book, please email me, and I'll send it to you--autographed and eveything.
Meanwhile, I'm gearing up for more readings (see sidebar for a full list). I'll be heading out to Oregon to read in the middle of March, and I'll be down in Carbondale at the end of it. But before I hit the road for my little tour, THE road tour is coming to me, and I'm thrilled to be part of it:
If you're in the area, roll on by. It promises to be an amazing night.
The company--and the cupcakes--rocked. And I got to meet my excellent editors, including the fabulous Chad Prevost
and sold some books and met some folks, so overall, it was a success. If you didn't get a copy of the book, please email me, and I'll send it to you--autographed and eveything.
Meanwhile, I'm gearing up for more readings (see sidebar for a full list). I'll be heading out to Oregon to read in the middle of March, and I'll be down in Carbondale at the end of it. But before I hit the road for my little tour, THE road tour is coming to me, and I'm thrilled to be part of it:
If you're in the area, roll on by. It promises to be an amazing night.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Up, Up, and Away
It's crazy to me that it's that time of year again. Even though we didn't make it there last year, it always feels like it's impossibly soon for AWP to be happening. (Maybe that's because it's an impossibly cold time of year to have it in an impossible cold, wintry, and windy city.)
Regardless, today is the last day of running around maniacally ahead of flying out. Luggage? Check. Extra copies of the book to give away, sell, and trade? Husband? Check. Preschooler? Check. Mother flying in to meet us there to take care of said preschooler? Check.
I'll be giving a reading on Friday night and a book-signing on Saturday morning. If you're free from the maddening crush on Friday from, say, 6 to 8 pm, shoot me an email, and I'll fill you in. And if you're still there on Saturday, please stop by the C&R Press table (Table 663, Lower Level, Southwest Hall) sometime between 10 and 11 am to say hello and chit chat. I promise to hide you from the person you hooked up with the night before when he or she comes looking for you.
***
In non-AWP-related news, I'm the featured poet over at Anti-.
***
Here's hoping our paths cross in Chicago. Safe travels, everyone.
Regardless, today is the last day of running around maniacally ahead of flying out. Luggage? Check. Extra copies of the book to give away, sell, and trade? Husband? Check. Preschooler? Check. Mother flying in to meet us there to take care of said preschooler? Check.
I'll be giving a reading on Friday night and a book-signing on Saturday morning. If you're free from the maddening crush on Friday from, say, 6 to 8 pm, shoot me an email, and I'll fill you in. And if you're still there on Saturday, please stop by the C&R Press table (Table 663, Lower Level, Southwest Hall) sometime between 10 and 11 am to say hello and chit chat. I promise to hide you from the person you hooked up with the night before when he or she comes looking for you.
***
In non-AWP-related news, I'm the featured poet over at Anti-.
***
Here's hoping our paths cross in Chicago. Safe travels, everyone.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A Cottage Industry
I'm leaving in a few hours to head to Atlanta for my first reading from the book as a book. It feels very fitting that this debut is happening in Atlanta, my hometown and the locus of most of the narrative in these poems. If you're nearby, swing over to Wordsmiths Books in Decatur on Saturday at 2 and check out the Poetry Atlanta reading I'll be doing with Karen Head and Chad Prevost, hosted by the fabulous Collin Kelley.
Also, I've gotten a lot of requests about how to order signed copies of the book (thank you, kind people). The easiest thing to do is to send me a check, and I'll send you the signed book. Shoot me an email, and we'll work out the details: stacebro@gmail.com. And it's also now available on Amazon as well as the C&R Press website.
See you in Atlanta!
Also, I've gotten a lot of requests about how to order signed copies of the book (thank you, kind people). The easiest thing to do is to send me a check, and I'll send you the signed book. Shoot me an email, and we'll work out the details: stacebro@gmail.com. And it's also now available on Amazon as well as the C&R Press website.
See you in Atlanta!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Blossom on the Tree, You Know How I Feel
My box of books arrived this weekend, and while I've been waiting and waiting for this moment for what seemed like a lifetime, I didn't dive right into them. Instead, I went to Disney on Ice with my daughter. I had lunch. I did some work. I waited until the champagne was chilled and night had fallen. And then we opened them.
And they were beautiful.
Thanks, C&R Press!!
Friday, January 2, 2009
Cradle Song
It's here! At long last, Cradle Song is available for order.
For all of you who sent your empathy, your sympathy, and your support during that whole fiasco this summer, thank you. It was well worth it to find the book's true home at C&R Press, and I couldn't be more pleased.
(And if you want a signed copy, back channel me.)
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
2008: A Recap
With one day officially left in 2008, I've been looking back on this year. It's been a momentous one on many, many fronts: the highest highs and some of the most devastating lows. Here are some of the highlights:
January: Celebrated my third anniversary.
February: Found out that Cradle Song had won its prize.
March: Father, suffering.
April-June: Editing book, working on layout, getting it ready for press.
July: Lost book award. Fallout. Tailspin. Amazing support in the blogsphere.
August: Book picked up by the wonderful C&R Press. Fabulous husband wins National Poetry Series.
September: My little one and I start (co-op)preschool.
October: Little one turns 3.
November: Final edits for Cradle Song. OBAMA!!!!
December: Cradle Song gets sent to press. I win the Caption Contest, get nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and accept a tenure-track job as a poet at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville.
All in all, an amazing year. I'm anxiously awaiting my box of books, which should be arriving on my doorstep soon. For all of you out there who were so supportive throughout the fiasco with the Apple Dumpling Gang and all the way through to the book finding its true home with C&R, thank you. Find me at AWP, and I'll buy you a drink.
Meanwhile, here's hoping you all have a safe and happy new year.
And tell me: What's your New Year's resolution for '09?
January: Celebrated my third anniversary.
February: Found out that Cradle Song had won its prize.
March: Father, suffering.
April-June: Editing book, working on layout, getting it ready for press.
July: Lost book award. Fallout. Tailspin. Amazing support in the blogsphere.
August: Book picked up by the wonderful C&R Press. Fabulous husband wins National Poetry Series.
September: My little one and I start (co-op)preschool.
October: Little one turns 3.
November: Final edits for Cradle Song. OBAMA!!!!
December: Cradle Song gets sent to press. I win the Caption Contest, get nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and accept a tenure-track job as a poet at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville.
All in all, an amazing year. I'm anxiously awaiting my box of books, which should be arriving on my doorstep soon. For all of you out there who were so supportive throughout the fiasco with the Apple Dumpling Gang and all the way through to the book finding its true home with C&R, thank you. Find me at AWP, and I'll buy you a drink.
Meanwhile, here's hoping you all have a safe and happy new year.
And tell me: What's your New Year's resolution for '09?
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Second Most Important Vote of 2008
A vote for my captions is a vote for change. And for Obama--again. And for bringing the troops home.
Stacey Lynn Brown: Captions you can believe in.
Stacey Lynn Brown: Captions you can believe in.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Give Me Moe
One thing I've figured out about myself is that I'm a sparse blogger. An intermittent one. A random, "Sure, I read other people's blogs every day, and oh, yeah, I have one, too. Wow. I should actually post something new on it sometime soon" kind of gal.
Happily, I've been busy doing book-related things, the most recent of which happened this morning, when I had the pleasure of reading for the Moe Green Poetry Hour. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, Moe Green is a Blog Talk Radio show created and hosted by Rafael F.J. Alvarado. He's had a slew of excellent writers on the show, and I was very excited to be part of it.
Radio, as a format, is an unknown for me, and I was a little unsure of what to expect. On some level, I thought it would be like giving a poetry reading behind one-way glass, where I would just be sending poems blindly out into the ether, but Rafael was an engaged and charming host, and it turned into a true dialogue about the poems and the forthcoming book. I really enjoyed the whole experience.
Here's the link for the show. I read first, and my part lasts about half an hour. And the very talented Margaret Randall shines in the second half.
Enjoy! And thanks again to Rafael for asking me to join him.
Happily, I've been busy doing book-related things, the most recent of which happened this morning, when I had the pleasure of reading for the Moe Green Poetry Hour. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, Moe Green is a Blog Talk Radio show created and hosted by Rafael F.J. Alvarado. He's had a slew of excellent writers on the show, and I was very excited to be part of it.
Radio, as a format, is an unknown for me, and I was a little unsure of what to expect. On some level, I thought it would be like giving a poetry reading behind one-way glass, where I would just be sending poems blindly out into the ether, but Rafael was an engaged and charming host, and it turned into a true dialogue about the poems and the forthcoming book. I really enjoyed the whole experience.
Here's the link for the show. I read first, and my part lasts about half an hour. And the very talented Margaret Randall shines in the second half.
Enjoy! And thanks again to Rafael for asking me to join him.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Fear of a Gay Planet
Now that we've made epic, historical strides toward equality on the racial front by electing an African-American President, a lot of people feel complacent and sated. As if racism has been eradicated. As if magically America has become the true land of (equal) opportunity. As if civil rights and human rights and equal rights weren't dealt a devastating blow and trounced on the same night that we all felt so overjoyed by how far we've come.
As you all know by now, the hatemongering Prop 8 passed in California. The Mormon Church emptied its collection plates to fight against letting two people who love each other get married (because Mormons have such a noble approach to marriage? Because heterosexuals do such a stellar job of upholding its sanctity?), and a preliminary petition has been created to strip it of its tax-exempt status. You can find out more about helping with that cause here.
In Arizona, a measure was passed that prevents couples who aren't married from adopting or fostering children. The real losers and victims in this scenario are not just the people who are openly being discriminated against, but the ones they would take in and love: the children whose chances of getting adopted or helped or loved have now been drastically diminished. Statistically, gay couples have the highest rates of taking in children with physical and emotional disabilites, so it's a double blow to those who need love the most. Is the Mormon Church going to adopt and foster these kids? Are the people who voted for it going to? If not, then they should butt the f**k out.
I'm a straight, married parent who wants nothing more for her child than for her to inherit a world that is better off than the one I inherited. This isn't happening on so many fronts--the deficit, global warming, starvation and genocide and rape and torture and exile and hate crimes and wars have consumed our country, our reserves, our economy. There are so many things we can't change, but there are some that we can. Our right to vote is still one of the most important tools we have--that and the ways in which we choose to spend our money. The people of California let everyone down in terms of not getting out the vote, but now that we're here, we have to turn our attention to what can be done next.
Complacency is the real enemy. Yes, we can imagine a better future and believe in our leader(s) once again. But we must also believe in ourselves and our own abilities to make a difference in the lives of others and in creating a better collective story for our nation. Remember what Martin Luther King said: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
The path to change is through action, not inaction. It's through daring to hope and then working to change.
Sign a petition to overturn prop 8. Donate what you can. Do what you can. Do more than you can. Go to overturnprop8.com or noonprop8.com to find out what you can do to help.
If my daughter turns to me in 15 years and tells me she's a lesbian, I don't want to have to get out a map and direct her to a state where she can be free to love whoever she loves. I want to give her the map of the United States and say, "Pick a state. Any state. This is America. You will be respected."
As you all know by now, the hatemongering Prop 8 passed in California. The Mormon Church emptied its collection plates to fight against letting two people who love each other get married (because Mormons have such a noble approach to marriage? Because heterosexuals do such a stellar job of upholding its sanctity?), and a preliminary petition has been created to strip it of its tax-exempt status. You can find out more about helping with that cause here.
In Arizona, a measure was passed that prevents couples who aren't married from adopting or fostering children. The real losers and victims in this scenario are not just the people who are openly being discriminated against, but the ones they would take in and love: the children whose chances of getting adopted or helped or loved have now been drastically diminished. Statistically, gay couples have the highest rates of taking in children with physical and emotional disabilites, so it's a double blow to those who need love the most. Is the Mormon Church going to adopt and foster these kids? Are the people who voted for it going to? If not, then they should butt the f**k out.
I'm a straight, married parent who wants nothing more for her child than for her to inherit a world that is better off than the one I inherited. This isn't happening on so many fronts--the deficit, global warming, starvation and genocide and rape and torture and exile and hate crimes and wars have consumed our country, our reserves, our economy. There are so many things we can't change, but there are some that we can. Our right to vote is still one of the most important tools we have--that and the ways in which we choose to spend our money. The people of California let everyone down in terms of not getting out the vote, but now that we're here, we have to turn our attention to what can be done next.
Complacency is the real enemy. Yes, we can imagine a better future and believe in our leader(s) once again. But we must also believe in ourselves and our own abilities to make a difference in the lives of others and in creating a better collective story for our nation. Remember what Martin Luther King said: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
The path to change is through action, not inaction. It's through daring to hope and then working to change.
Sign a petition to overturn prop 8. Donate what you can. Do what you can. Do more than you can. Go to overturnprop8.com or noonprop8.com to find out what you can do to help.
If my daughter turns to me in 15 years and tells me she's a lesbian, I don't want to have to get out a map and direct her to a state where she can be free to love whoever she loves. I want to give her the map of the United States and say, "Pick a state. Any state. This is America. You will be respected."
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Editors and Publishers
As many of you know, I had a horrible experience this summer with Cider Press Review. And as you also may know by now, Kevin Larimer, the deputy editor of Poets and Writers, wrote an article about this debacle for the November/December issue.
I've debated responding to this article for a number of reasons. For one, I'm just plain tired of the whole thing. It took up most of my summer and cast a pall over my household--and over the incredibly happy prospect of my book coming out. And given the nature of this article, and the ways in which I've been painted as a poet who just "complains" about things, I felt that offering my critique would just be playing into that portrait and prolonging this whole thing. But to remain silent is to play into his "moral of the story," which is that poets should either allow editors to do whatever they want or "self-publish." So I'll make my comment anyway.
When he approached me about writing this article, I embraced it. I don't have anything to hide. I've disclosed what happened between me and the press, and since I knew that they couldn't deny what they did, I expected that they would badmouth me and blame me and try to justify their actions, which is exactly what they did.
I knew that as a reporter Mr. Larimer would have, at his disposal, the transcript of what happened between the press and me. I knew that he would inevitably make choices about what to include and how to shape the story. And while I'm glad that the story got out to a larger audience, the ways in which he shaped it, and the way he focused it, truly surprised me.
I didn't expect him to frame this as "who has the final editorial say--author or editor?" because in our case, as in most cases for poets, it was a non-issue. According to the contract they created and we all signed, they did. Period. So they weren't obligated to do a damn thing I asked. But when it came down to it, they chose to break that contract instead of honoring it, and apparently, that's okay, as long as your "feelings are hurt" by said layout disagreement.
I was also surprised by the way in which he chose to (not) present the legal aspects of this situation--and the fact that he never touched on any of the ethical ones.
He casually mentioned that if I paid them back the money they gave me (as well as money they didn't give me), I would "get my rights back," but he never mentioned the fact that they didn't actually own my rights. Once a contract has been broken, neither party is entitled to the fruits of that contract--a little legal detail that got overlooked. And the way the discussion was framed, I just hired a lawyer to avoid having to repay prize money (and their cover art expenses). In reality, the fact that they were withholding my rights meant I had to spend almost all of that prize money just to get my own book back.
But all of this got glossed over on the way to the "real meat" of this story--the gossipy he said/she said about a back cover disagreement. The thrust of this was editorially sensationalized, with various quotes parsed so that they were taken out of context, leaving out the elements (and the facts) that made them fair and reasonable requests and leaving only the most contentious, foot-stamping stuff.
For example, Mr. Larimer chose not to include the fact that the full contest guidelines already appeared in a full-page ad for the book contest on the last page of the book. That fact made the repeated ad on the back cover redundant and unnecessary, which was the point I made to the editors at the time. Oddly, that fact never made it into the story.
If I were going to be cynical about it, I could point out his position as "Deputy Editor" at the magazine. I could focus my critique on the issue of editorialization as a whole, and on the fact that this article is a metaphor for its inevitable conclusion: poets should just be quiet and be grateful for whatever they get and however it turns out for them because in the end, the editors are the ones who get to shape and control both the text at hand as well as the ways in which this information gets presented to the larger world.
Don't get me wrong. A good editor is a blessing. The wonderful editors at my new press gave me pages of notes, comments, and suggestions within days of acquiring my manuscript, and I was incredibly grateful for their input. In the olden days of poetry, editors and poets worked closely together to create a better text. But creating those relationships now is a hard thing to do, and you're damned lucky if you find yourself matched up with people who can not only understand what you're doing but can also help you to do it more effectively.
But what about a bad editor? Or an ineffectual one? Or one who believes that because she runs a contest out of her basement, she knows more about the poet's work than the poet does (even though she never actually read my book until she was putting into layout form)? And who believes she gets to change that poet's work without her consent?
And what about the journalist who knowingly includes, in a "researched" article, a quotation that was never actually said? As noted, Mr. Larimer had the entire transcript of the four-day dispute over the back cover, and as he noted in his article, no other conversations took place.
So he knew for a fact that I NEVER wrote that going back to the blurb authors would be "horribly unprofessional." And while he covered himself by noting that Robert Wynne "claimed" that I said it, this claim was undocumented because I never did. And yet, for some reason, he included it anyway. And I wanted to know why.
I emailed Mr. Larimer the day after I read this article and asked him the following:
"If you knew there was no documentation for this quote, why did you include it? Especially when you had, at your disposal, all of the things that I did say?"
His response? "We invite you to write a letter to the editor."
I have to admit that I'm surprised because I want(ed) to believe that Poets and Writers took its job as being an advocate for writers at least halfway seriously. To me, that means don't include anything, in either direction, that isn't true. To this end, I did not mention anything in my correspondence with Mr. Larimer that I could not provide evidence for. And I tried my best to represent the tenor and tone of communications honestly without augmenting or omitting important details.
But the editorial decision in this article that really left a bad taste in my mouth was the way Mr. Larimer "outed" last year's contest winner. Not only did he broadcast her name and the title of her book, which were supposed to be kept under wraps as part of the settlement between her and Cider Press, but he also betrayed her as a "source."
When he asked for her comment on the situation, she wrote him an email explaining that she couldn't comment on it because of the gag order and the settlement they had reached. And instead of honoring that, he QUOTED from her email.
Let me do a Joe Biden here and say that again. He quoted from an email in which she said she couldn't comment on the situation. He created a comment from her "no comment."
All of these "choices" seem to shape this article in a very specific direction. Even though it was about the dynamics between authors and editors, no authors were interviewed for the piece. He didn't ask any poets or fiction writers for their take on having their work edited without their consent (which was, to me, the biggest issue--not the author photo BS). Instead, he asked a fellow editor for his opinion, and his take on it was not at all surprising.
What disappoints me most about this article is that it does little to further the conversations that should be happening--about the relationships between writers and publishers, about the ethics and the contest system as a whole, about alternatives to the current publishing paradigms. Instead, it just reifies the belief that the publishers are the kings of the kingdom, and poets are just peasants who should happily lap and snap up any crumbs that might get tossed our way--a dynamic that is faulty and dangerous to poetry.
While this article could and should have focused on preventing this kind of thing from happening to another poet, the main subtext is that the only way to prevent this scenario is for poets to just shut up and "be grateful" for whatever they get--and for however their book turns out. Even if the books are full of typos. Even if the editors change your language without your consent.
So I stand by everything that I wrote in that original blog post, and then some. My aim in all of this was to let poets know the facts about Cider Press Review. They believe it is acceptable to enter into contracts with poets and break them without legal cause. They'll do it and then try to get money out of those poets in exchange for "rights" they don't actually own. And after they do it, they'll badmouth the poet they dropped and blame her and lie about what she did and didn't say. And apparently, they'll get away with it.
If you want to enter into a contract with people like that, have at it. Just remember that thanks to my $750 lawyer, they now have a "new contract," and one of the clauses mandates that the communication between the poet and the editors belongs to the press and can't be shared, which amounts to a pre-emptive gag order. So if they do to you what they did to me, you won't be able to talk about it.
Me? I'm brushing the dirt off my shoulder and moving on. Again.
I've debated responding to this article for a number of reasons. For one, I'm just plain tired of the whole thing. It took up most of my summer and cast a pall over my household--and over the incredibly happy prospect of my book coming out. And given the nature of this article, and the ways in which I've been painted as a poet who just "complains" about things, I felt that offering my critique would just be playing into that portrait and prolonging this whole thing. But to remain silent is to play into his "moral of the story," which is that poets should either allow editors to do whatever they want or "self-publish." So I'll make my comment anyway.
When he approached me about writing this article, I embraced it. I don't have anything to hide. I've disclosed what happened between me and the press, and since I knew that they couldn't deny what they did, I expected that they would badmouth me and blame me and try to justify their actions, which is exactly what they did.
I knew that as a reporter Mr. Larimer would have, at his disposal, the transcript of what happened between the press and me. I knew that he would inevitably make choices about what to include and how to shape the story. And while I'm glad that the story got out to a larger audience, the ways in which he shaped it, and the way he focused it, truly surprised me.
I didn't expect him to frame this as "who has the final editorial say--author or editor?" because in our case, as in most cases for poets, it was a non-issue. According to the contract they created and we all signed, they did. Period. So they weren't obligated to do a damn thing I asked. But when it came down to it, they chose to break that contract instead of honoring it, and apparently, that's okay, as long as your "feelings are hurt" by said layout disagreement.
I was also surprised by the way in which he chose to (not) present the legal aspects of this situation--and the fact that he never touched on any of the ethical ones.
He casually mentioned that if I paid them back the money they gave me (as well as money they didn't give me), I would "get my rights back," but he never mentioned the fact that they didn't actually own my rights. Once a contract has been broken, neither party is entitled to the fruits of that contract--a little legal detail that got overlooked. And the way the discussion was framed, I just hired a lawyer to avoid having to repay prize money (and their cover art expenses). In reality, the fact that they were withholding my rights meant I had to spend almost all of that prize money just to get my own book back.
But all of this got glossed over on the way to the "real meat" of this story--the gossipy he said/she said about a back cover disagreement. The thrust of this was editorially sensationalized, with various quotes parsed so that they were taken out of context, leaving out the elements (and the facts) that made them fair and reasonable requests and leaving only the most contentious, foot-stamping stuff.
For example, Mr. Larimer chose not to include the fact that the full contest guidelines already appeared in a full-page ad for the book contest on the last page of the book. That fact made the repeated ad on the back cover redundant and unnecessary, which was the point I made to the editors at the time. Oddly, that fact never made it into the story.
If I were going to be cynical about it, I could point out his position as "Deputy Editor" at the magazine. I could focus my critique on the issue of editorialization as a whole, and on the fact that this article is a metaphor for its inevitable conclusion: poets should just be quiet and be grateful for whatever they get and however it turns out for them because in the end, the editors are the ones who get to shape and control both the text at hand as well as the ways in which this information gets presented to the larger world.
Don't get me wrong. A good editor is a blessing. The wonderful editors at my new press gave me pages of notes, comments, and suggestions within days of acquiring my manuscript, and I was incredibly grateful for their input. In the olden days of poetry, editors and poets worked closely together to create a better text. But creating those relationships now is a hard thing to do, and you're damned lucky if you find yourself matched up with people who can not only understand what you're doing but can also help you to do it more effectively.
But what about a bad editor? Or an ineffectual one? Or one who believes that because she runs a contest out of her basement, she knows more about the poet's work than the poet does (even though she never actually read my book until she was putting into layout form)? And who believes she gets to change that poet's work without her consent?
And what about the journalist who knowingly includes, in a "researched" article, a quotation that was never actually said? As noted, Mr. Larimer had the entire transcript of the four-day dispute over the back cover, and as he noted in his article, no other conversations took place.
So he knew for a fact that I NEVER wrote that going back to the blurb authors would be "horribly unprofessional." And while he covered himself by noting that Robert Wynne "claimed" that I said it, this claim was undocumented because I never did. And yet, for some reason, he included it anyway. And I wanted to know why.
I emailed Mr. Larimer the day after I read this article and asked him the following:
"If you knew there was no documentation for this quote, why did you include it? Especially when you had, at your disposal, all of the things that I did say?"
His response? "We invite you to write a letter to the editor."
I have to admit that I'm surprised because I want(ed) to believe that Poets and Writers took its job as being an advocate for writers at least halfway seriously. To me, that means don't include anything, in either direction, that isn't true. To this end, I did not mention anything in my correspondence with Mr. Larimer that I could not provide evidence for. And I tried my best to represent the tenor and tone of communications honestly without augmenting or omitting important details.
But the editorial decision in this article that really left a bad taste in my mouth was the way Mr. Larimer "outed" last year's contest winner. Not only did he broadcast her name and the title of her book, which were supposed to be kept under wraps as part of the settlement between her and Cider Press, but he also betrayed her as a "source."
When he asked for her comment on the situation, she wrote him an email explaining that she couldn't comment on it because of the gag order and the settlement they had reached. And instead of honoring that, he QUOTED from her email.
Let me do a Joe Biden here and say that again. He quoted from an email in which she said she couldn't comment on the situation. He created a comment from her "no comment."
All of these "choices" seem to shape this article in a very specific direction. Even though it was about the dynamics between authors and editors, no authors were interviewed for the piece. He didn't ask any poets or fiction writers for their take on having their work edited without their consent (which was, to me, the biggest issue--not the author photo BS). Instead, he asked a fellow editor for his opinion, and his take on it was not at all surprising.
What disappoints me most about this article is that it does little to further the conversations that should be happening--about the relationships between writers and publishers, about the ethics and the contest system as a whole, about alternatives to the current publishing paradigms. Instead, it just reifies the belief that the publishers are the kings of the kingdom, and poets are just peasants who should happily lap and snap up any crumbs that might get tossed our way--a dynamic that is faulty and dangerous to poetry.
While this article could and should have focused on preventing this kind of thing from happening to another poet, the main subtext is that the only way to prevent this scenario is for poets to just shut up and "be grateful" for whatever they get--and for however their book turns out. Even if the books are full of typos. Even if the editors change your language without your consent.
So I stand by everything that I wrote in that original blog post, and then some. My aim in all of this was to let poets know the facts about Cider Press Review. They believe it is acceptable to enter into contracts with poets and break them without legal cause. They'll do it and then try to get money out of those poets in exchange for "rights" they don't actually own. And after they do it, they'll badmouth the poet they dropped and blame her and lie about what she did and didn't say. And apparently, they'll get away with it.
If you want to enter into a contract with people like that, have at it. Just remember that thanks to my $750 lawyer, they now have a "new contract," and one of the clauses mandates that the communication between the poet and the editors belongs to the press and can't be shared, which amounts to a pre-emptive gag order. So if they do to you what they did to me, you won't be able to talk about it.
Me? I'm brushing the dirt off my shoulder and moving on. Again.
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