Confession

I broke down and cried tears of relief and gratitude today upon receiving encouragement and support from yet another poet whom I respect as a writer, a teacher and an all-around good human being.

I hadn't realized how much I'd been holding my breath, hoping she'd find my work of some worth, until I had the confirmation that there is something to what I'm trying to do, and I am moving along the right path.

I've come a long, long way on the road to self-assurance and self-actualization, but obviously, I'm still loitering a little more around the curves and forks of the road than I might have realized.

And Up Some More

I have now sent the manuscript, cover art, author's photo, endorsements to date, etc. off to Finishing Line Press for the work of putting Before Noon in print. (check!)

Pre-order sales will start shortly, then if all goes well and there are sufficient orders, they'll print it and distribute it before the end of the year.

I hope to launch a website for myself shortly that will take the place of the Practical Poet blog and will provide links to publications.

In the meantime, I have extremely supportive friends assisting me with the application process for Pacific University's MFA program. In the next week I'll complete my work for the Sept. 1st deadline and send everything off to them. Even deciding which poem to critique for the application has been an educational process. Shall I write of the use of Welsh cynghanedd in Dylan Thomas or Gerard Manly Hopkins? Or of the pithy wisdom of Kay Ryan? Or the philosophy in Richard Wilbur? I think a piece by W. S. Merwin has captured my interest the most for this critique, so that's probably the way I'll go.

So my embracing of my identity as a Writer is progressing well. If I were to base my image of myself on what Rhys Bowen generously wrote in my letter of recommendation, I'd quit my day job and simply write, submit, publish, tour, repeat for the rest of my days!

As it stands, I will stick to the regular paycheck and health benefits a bit longer, I think, while the kids finish growing up enough to support themselves and while I develop my writing muscle and skills, my body of work and my reputation a bit further.

Stepping Up

I've frequently thought that I would be well served in embracing my identity as a writer if I were to post blog entries more frequently. Blogging regularly would be a means to more than one end. I'd be writing more than just a little poetry each day, therefore putting in the time with the scales and finger exercises that improves one's work. I'd be documenting my journey. And for those in my life who keep up not by seeing me or by Facebook (which I frequent only infrequently, after all), more regular posts would give them a way to stay up-to-date a bit.

I think the two primary reasons I feel discouraged about blogging are the thought that nothing I have to say is all that important and the feeling that there is already so much noise out there in the world - so many voices, beautiful and clumsy, on the internet and elsewhere, scrabbling to be heard. Do we really need one more? And that takes me right to an insecurity about my poetry, as well. Does the world really need one more mediocre poet?

The answer, perhaps, is that while no one is clamoring for a half-assed poet, what the world does need more of, what we all need, are people who are consciously living with integrity and compassion, speaking their truth "quietly and clearly" as the Desiderata prescribes. And I feel that writing is how I relate to the world most deeply, how I exist most fully. How I get to the best iteration of myself, as it were. It doesn't feed the hungry, and it may not feed the world, but it feeds and replenishes me, which gives me the energy to act kindly and generously to others.

There's my morning "thinking on screen," then. Happy Saturday.