Interview on Blog Talk Radio

Mende Smith interviewed me today on her Blog Talk Radio show Writing on Demand. LISTEN HERE: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/btrplayer.swf Listen to internet radio with World Wide Word on Blog Talk Radio OR DOWNLOAD HERE Books mentioned in the interview are all available through en theos...

More Her Red Book, Too

I’ve continued my Her Red Book, Too Ritual almost every day since I gave the assignment as a weekend workout. I don’t know how long I’ll continue. Perhaps until my book tour. Perhaps until I have enough material for a whole new book! All I know is that the results have been pleasantly surprising considering my whole life right now is working from home on my book marketing/touring strategies. I mean there’s not a lot of drama going on other than in my head, so I have to make use of the mundane. Like writing about the crows daily migration east to west and back again. = On the Morning of the Crow Migration She does not recall when began her fascination with birds Prehistoric miracles   defying the mundane It could have been when she settled...

Monday Potes (on Tuesday, of course!): On the Day of the Bicycle Mammogram

A few weeks ago I gave a weekend workout assignment that I enjoyed so much I haven’t stopped. It was a writing ritual I had created for myself 9 years ago that became the manuscript for my chapbook Her Red Book. Once I got back into the ritual (very basically: writing in 3rd person early in the morning and just before going to bed, and always titling it FIRST with On the Day of, On the Night of, On the Morning of. . . etc) I quickly realized what a gem it was and couldn’t believe it had taken me so many years to try it again. I’ve wracked up several of them that I’m already editing and have decided to post a few, even though they still feel a bit precious. On the Day of the Bicycle Mammogram She rides on an uneven day west a straight shot...

Weekend Workout: On the Night of Recreating a Ritual

(UPDATE (Feb 5) – I just started this workout and I have to say I am amazed and loving it. I think the combination of the ritual of writing first thing and last thing each day, introducing the piece through the “title” ritual, and writing 3rd person about oneself somehow draws deeper meaning from what could be seen as very ordinary experiences) A big thank you to Gautami Tripathy for reminding me about Marvin Bell, who I hadn’t read in a long while. She was experiencing some writer’s block and Big Tent Poetry suggested their readers write versions of Bell’s Dead Man Poems (click on links for examples). Dead man poems come out of an old Zen admonition that says, “Live as if you were already dead.” But you needn’t feel remorse....

Monday Potes – Dropped Pages

“Dropped Pages” is a series of poems that were, for whatever reason, left out of my books. I can never really finish tweaking them or being totally satisfied with the results. This one was left out of Her Red Book On the Night of the Flood of Ghosts For M.L. He says we’re those kind of friends some day one of us will be at the other’s funeral She pulls the death card scythe and burning vardo in Texas flooding takes their friend’s home away and homes in Russia and the streets of Prague as Nigerian women sit on the dock at Texaco and threaten to remove their clothing from around themselves everything breaks She taps the deck the further we get from heartache the more we can love the ghost of it recalling the decree of separation that left her a Toyota...

Spider Relocation Project – Casualties to Date: 1

There was bound to be a casualty sooner or later. Spider relocation is risky business. I didn’t mean to do it, but I wasn’t exactly looking out for the little guys as I caulked the room. I was just caulking along and ZOOP, accidentally caulked a spider into a crack. Egad! Condolences to the wee beast’s family and a tribute – an oldie but a goodie from my chapbook Her Red Book. Days After the Spider was Dead She knew that time of year when trees invent new colors and the sunset from a pacific Northwest train is an angelic hole in an otherwise clouded sky She’d been waiting for some appropriate memorial for the dead spider Big-as-Your-Hand leg span tennis-shoed into a basement carpet as 40-year-old schoolboys revisit songs they’d written...