Well, maybe not all the time.

Despite–or perhaps because of the nightmare of our country falling in half and over the edge of the possible–I decided yesterday morning that I would 1) draft the final chapter of my second mystery novel (working title: Piano for Beginners), and 2) finish printing out…the…whole…damn…thing.

Early that morning I had told my husband that I was going to. I felt confident that it was all under my control. Then, distractions.

Some of these, I manufactured for myself. (YouTube videos about impeachment. A very important article on the New Yorker website. I suddenly HAD TO HAVE a new lamp. Also, I read an entire–short–novel by Ann Cleeves.) Some distractions, I argued, were actually “on task”: I found myself going back to early chapters and making notes for what has to be added, what might be changed, the cool epigraph that I really must look up and add to the others.

Some distractions dropped in out of the clear blue sky. (My daughter Emma, switched to day shift, dropped by at 3:00 to … just hang out, I guess. A phone call with an old friend. A phone call with a poet friend.)

It’s all good. I can finish tomorrow, I told myself.

After dinner, my husband said, “Did you print it out?”

I explained.

Then, I went to my desk, drafted the final chapter (a shitty first draft, but even so) and printed out the remaining pages.

It felt great.

Today I have choices to make.

• Do I take a few days off?
• Should I take a whole month off?
• What should I do instead while I’m taking this break?

Meanwhile, I started today by reading this great post by Stephen Pressfield. As he always, uncannily, seems to do, he taught me something about my own resistance (I mean, really, I read a whole novel?), alongside offering a major lesson on the world “out there.” I think you should read it, too.

So, after thinking about my own resistance, I decided, yes, take time off (a week).

For a week my morning writing time (at least) will be all poetry, all the time. And instead of continuing my mystery-novel reading binge, I admit, I’m also planning to reread Sandra Scofield’s The Last Draft.  

But you can expect a poetry blogpost here in the next few days. I promise.

 

I have no idea what just happened, but it kind of sums up my blogging year. (With the exception of April,when I did manage to post every day.) I wrote a whole post, and now it looks like I need to rewrite it. So here goes.

Earlier this year I decided to submit every poem, every essay, and every short story I had. Somewhere. With the result that, amid a hailstorm of rejections (ouch!) I also have a few very nice acceptances to brag about.

One is at Fresh Ink, an on-line journal that reprints short stories. They picked up my story, “Corinne, at Floodtime,” which had previously been published on-line by Calyx, when it was a runner-up for the Margarita Donnelly Prize for Prose Writing. Corinne is “live” just today, and I’d love it if you took a look.

Another publication is at One Sentence Poems. This on-line journal and their sister site (or parent?), Right Hand Pointing, first came to my attention when I read a book recommended to me by Christopher Howell: One for the Money: The Sentence as a Poetic Form. If you search my name or the poem title, “What She Memorized for the Test,” you’ll find me.

Finally, take a look at my last post to see my other recent publications. I should add, that my poetry books are also available from Edmonds Bookshop and Village Books.

If you have recommendations for where next we should be sending our work, please share in the comments!