Seattle Womxn’s March

On Saturday, my family traveled to Seattle for my eleven-year-old’s Lego Robotics competition. It was the Washington State semifinals, for which my son’s team of fifth-graders had qualified at the local competition in December. The semifinals happened to be on the same day as the Women’s Marches, and because the competition required that kids have parental supervision all day, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to join in the march. But I did at least want to see it–to witness what I knew might be one of the most important collective actions of my lifetime–and to cheer on the marchers. I also hoped to be able to take my son to see what one form of nonviolent resistance looks like.

As it turned out, the only break parents had from the robotics competition was during the kids’ project presentations. So while our kids’ team was sequestered with the judges, several other parents and I dashed outside to try to find the march. For safety reasons, march organizers didn’t announce the exact route ahead of time, but we were guessing that it would pass through the north part of downtown on 4th Avenue, just a few blocks from the Amazon building where we were.

c2uqj9zuqaaebqrWe did indeed find the march. As we got to the intersection of 4th Avenue and Virginia, police were blocking off the cross-streets. A line of officers on motorcycles assembled across the lanes and slowly moved forward to clear the route for the marchers. Then twenty or more bicycle officers arranged themselves along the curbs. Finally, the leaders of the march, a group of Native American drummers, approached, quietly singing. We couldn’t hear them very well, because a news helicopter was hovering directly above, but the sight was stunning. As the front of the march got nearer, the bicycle cops began slowly pedaling along, making sure the way was clear.

Something unique about the Seattle march was its intentional silence. To me, this was one of its most moving features. The marchers acknowledged the cheers of those of us on the curb by bobbing their signs and sometimes waving to us. It was terrifically powerful, on several occasions, to make eye contact with a marcher and exchange a smile of solidarity.

Here’s a sampling of the photos I took showing some of my favorite signs:

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I was disappointed that my son couldn’t be present to see this demonstration of peaceful collective engagement. The participation of so many children, both in the march and as supporters, made a powerful statement of its own. But afterwards, when I showed him the video footage I took on my phone, he watched with fascination as the marchers approached and streamed by.

Soon the march stretched to the farthest visible points both up and down 4th Avenue. Two news helicopters continued to hover over the march, filming. Shortly after we tore ourselves away and hurried back to the Amazon building, local news reported that the front of the march was arriving at its destination near the Space Needle, and marchers were still leaving from the starting point in Judkins Park, 3.6 miles away. (Here’s a time-lapse video of the entire Seattle march from King 5 News.) Organizers had planned for 50,000-75,000 marchers to participate; the actual number swelled to some 130,000, or possibly as many as 175,000. In spite of this overwhelming turnout, the entire demonstration was peaceful and unmarred by violence.

Before witnessing the march, I confess that I’d been slowly losing ground to despair. Since the election, my thoughts about the state of the world have vacillated between “bleak” and “OMFG we’re in 1936 Germany, panic NOW.” I’ve even considered warning my son–a gentle and loving boy who adores his gentle and loving father, and who, though he has promising talents in golf, basketball, and robotics coding, wants most of all some day to be a dad–I’ve considered warning him that to protect himself from despair, to raise his chances of surviving an increasingly likely environmental apocalypse, and to safeguard his own heart, he probably should not have children.

The march turned me around. Just being close to it, experiencing it from the curb, electrified me, restarted my stalled courage. It gave me my hope back. Hope, you see, is one area I’ve always been deficient in. Hope is a nutrient I don’t seem to have been born with much of, or which I depleted very young, and no amount of research, theology, or reassuring news analysis has sufficiently supplemented it for me. But witnessing the march gave me a potent and energizing dose.

This isn’t to say that things aren’t going to get really bad. Clearly, things are bad already, and we’re only at Day 4. But I see, now, having glimpsed the power of our joining together, how we can resist.

Recent Publications

I’m dimly rousing myself after the election to express my gratitude that three poems of mine have been published this fall. My thanks to Christopher Nelson, editor of Green Linden Press, for today’s launch of Issue 2 of Green Linden, which until last spring specialized in poetry reviews and interviews, and is now a full-service poetry biannual. The inclusion of my poem among those by several of my poetry idols gives me a much-appreciated jolt of joy.

And my belated thanks are due to editors Jennifer Givhan and Molly Sutton Kiefer of Tinderbox Poetry Journal, who selected my prose poem “Amanda Bubble Composes a Fifty-Word, Third-Person Contributor Bio for an Anthology on the Theme of Vulnerability” to include in Issue 3.5. And to Caron Andregg and Ruth Foley, editors of Cider Press Review, for including my poem “I Anticipate a Metamorphosis” in Issue 18-4.

I’m grateful for the work and support of all these editors and for the vibrant, lovely journals they produce. Each issue creates a community with the writers and readers–including, I hope, you!–who join in. That community, and the writing itself, are solace and motivation.

Reporting In, Summer 2016

Hi there! It’s been months since I’ve last posted, and I thought I’d give you an update about what I’ve been doing in my writing. I’ve revised (again) my book-length manuscript of persona poems: weaving in newer, stronger pieces and pulling out weaker ones, as well as re-organizing them into a different sequence. You know, the usual. And sending off sets of poems in the manuscript to journals—lots of journals!

Since November 2015, I’ve been making a concerted effort to send out far more journal submissions, and to do so more systematically, than I have before. To get organized for that effort, I created a big chart of about 30 journals in which I’d love to see my work published. Using data from Duotrope, The Review Review, and NewPages, I assembled information about acceptance rates, reading periods, response times, and editorial preferences. As time went on, I added over 30 more journals to my chart, as well as recorded dates on which I’ve submitted poems and received responses, plus the comments I’ve received from several editors. Inspired by poets who post their submissions stats on Jessica Piazza’s Poetry Has Value blog, here are my numbers, after 9 months of this project, as they currently stand:

  • Sets of (3-5) poems submitted: 60
  • Individual poems submitted: 50
  • Total poems submitted: 296
  • Individual poems accepted for publication: 5 (by 3 journals)
  • Sets of poems rejected: 58
  • Rejection notices with encouraging notes like “these poems came close” or “we encourage you to send us more to consider”: 16
  • Presses to which I submitted my chapbook and full-length and manuscripts: 19 (rejections: 8–but my manuscript was a semifinalist in one contest)
  • Journals to which I’ve submitted two different nonfiction lyric essays:  9 (rejections received: 5)
  • Total rejections received: 71

This project yields only a 1.6% acceptance rate for my poems, but I’m glad I’m making this effort. I’m encouraged by the number of “send us more” rejections; these motivate me to sustain this push, which has resulted in my sending out more work in the past ¾ of a year than I’ve sent out in the past 15 years combined.

I’m motivated also by an article I read recently in LitHub by Kim Liao, who explains “Why You Should Aim for 100 Rejections a Year: Flipping Your Perspective on Rejections, and Failing Best.” By aiming for this many rejections, a writer is sure to score some acceptances along the way. Perhaps even more important, this approach helps take the sting out of receiving rejections, and reinforces the truth that rejections are just part of the business of being a writer, not a soul-crushing indictment of the quality of one’s writing. By Kim Liao’s method, I’m 71% of the way to reaching the goal of 100 for the year. (But my year began in mid-November 2015, so I’d better pick up my lackadaisical summer pace if I’m going to make it to 100 by mid-November 2016!)

Another benefit of sending out so many submissions is receiving encouragement from journal editors, even when that encouragement arrives in the context of a rejection notice. To hear from an editor that even though they don’t currently have space for my work, they really enjoyed it, or that my poem made it to their final round of consideration, and that they want to read more from me in the future, is terrifically affirming. To receive this kind of feedback from editors I deeply respect–including those at journals like Black Warrior Review, Copper Nickel, Gulf Coast, Pleiades, Puerto del Sol, and Water~Stone Review–is validation to continue aiming high as I submit my work to literary magazines. Yes, I do plan to broaden my approach to include publications that aren’t quite so keenly competitive, so that I’ll increase my chances for actually getting my work into print. But this “at first, aim high” approach has been very useful as an exercise in level-finding. Now that I know where my work almost gets accepted, I can focus on those journals, and on journals in the next tier down, as I make subsequent rounds of submissions.

So where did those 3 acceptances come from, you may ask?

One is from Tinderbox Poetry Journal, one of the literary magazines to which I submitted a set of poems last December and whose editors replied that one of them came close. So this spring I submitted another set, and they chose my prose poem “Amanda Bubble Composes a Fifty-Word, Third-Person Contributor Bio for an Anthology on the Theme of Vulnerability” to appear in the October 2016 issue.

Another acceptance was from Bellingham Review, whose previous editors included one of my poems in last fall’s online issue and featured me in a blog interview. Subsequently, the new editors have accepted two more poems, “Amanda Bubble Has Moments of Sublimity and Moments of Abjection” and “In Which I Apologize to Amanda Bubble.” These are slated to appear in the spring 2017 print issue.

The third acceptance is from Cider Press Review–another wonderful repeat acceptance. After publishing one of my poems this past winter, the editors accepted two more for this year–and one of them went live the very next day! You can read “Organize Your Home Using This Weird Old Trick” here, in Issue 18.3, and “I Anticipate a Metamorphosis” will appear in a later issue. Thank you to editors Ruth Foley and Caron Andregg for giving these poems such an excellent home!

 

Wonderful News for Susan J. Erickson

Congratulations to Bellingham poet Susan J. Erickson, who has won the 2015 Brick Road Poetry Press Contest for her manuscript Lauren Bacall Shares a Limousine!

You may remember Susan’s discussion of her persona poems in my interview with her last year. At that time, the manuscript was titled “Above Nerve,” after the Emily Dickinson lines “If your Nerve, deny you– | Go above your Nerve–”. The new title highlights the book’s identity as a collection of persona poems: a lively and powerful assortment of poems in the voices of women both well- and lesser-known, including Georgia O’Keeffe; Frida Kahlo; Lucy Audubon; Amelia Earhart; Kitty Wright; Mamah Borthwick Cheney, mistress of Frank Lloyd Wright; and Sarah Rosetta Wakeman, who disguised herself as a man and fought in the Union Army.

Go to Susan’s interview for links to enjoy several of these poems available online, and to the Brick Road Facebook announcement to read another poem from the collection, “Rapunzel Brings Her Women’s Studies Class to the Tower.” And for more of Susan’s thoughts about persona poems, check out the guest column she wrote for Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides blog at Writer’s Digest: “The Many Faces of Persona Poems.”

Susan’s book is slated for release in time for the AWP Convention in February 2017. I’ll share more exciting details as the book makes its way through the publication process. Congratulations, Susan, and we look forward to reading more!

New Publications and a Reading

Happy New Year to you! I have some happy poetry news to share: a new poem published in the current issue of Cider Press Review, and a poem from my chapbook included in the anthology Noisy Water: Poetry from Whatcom County, Washington. Published by Other Mind Press, and edited by Luther Allen and J. I. Kleinberg, Noisy Water contains poems by 101 poets connected to the damp, moss-covered county where I live.

On Tuesday, February 9, I’ll be participating in a reading with eight other Noisy Water poets–DeeDee Chapman, Paul Fisher, Susan Chase Foster, Dick Harris, J.I. Kleinberg, Rob Lewis, Dobbie Reese Norris, and Stan Tag–at the South Whatcom Library in Sudden Valley. Start time is 7:00!

New Poems Up at Bellingham Review and Pontoon

I’m honored to have two poems published this month! “Amanda Bubble Crafts a New Creation Story” appears in Issue 71 of Bellingham Review; my thanks to former Editor-in-Chief Brenda Miller, current Editor-in-Chief Suzanne Paola Antonetta, former Managing Editor Ellie A. Rogers, and current Managing Editor Louis McLaughlin for including my poem. When you visit, please check out the gorgeous essay “He Worked as an Electrician. He Enjoyed Television. (His Obituary Was Plain.)” by Spokane poet Maya Jewell Zeller!

In addition, my poem “What Was Good about Going to Church” has been selected for this year’s issue of Pontoon, the journal of poems by Washington-state poets who submitted chapbook manuscripts to Floating Bridge Press. My thanks to everyone on the editorial committee at FBP! For the first time, Pontoon is now online, allowing wider access to readers. Here’s my poem, and here’s the first page of the Table of Contents (be sure to click through all four pages to read the whole issue). I hope you enjoy!

Episode 3 of Thinking on My Feet: Doc Bullis’s Virtual-Radio Trail Report (Early August)

This episode of Thinking on My Feet: Doc Bullis’s Virtual Radio Trail Report is brought to you by The Drought. Already famous for its results in California and the Southwest, The Drought has recently expanded operations to the Pacific Northwest, where it has successfully reduced the mountain snowpack by 78%.

Though I normally lump The Drought in with bad actors like Halliburton* and Monsanto*, today I thank The Drought both for its sponsorship of this episode and for its opening up a new-to-me trail. I’ve walked past it dozens of times in the past, but today I was able to see it for the first time, because the foliage normally concealing the entrance to this trail is withering.

*Not actual persons.

This trail is near the far end of my usual route. Since its beginning consists of about 50 feet of small granite stones, I named it the Rocky Start Trail. It passes through a grove of alders down to a small stream bed (currently dry), proceeds up the opposite bank through a mixed stretch of cedars and firs, and leads to a branch off the North-South Trail that I’d previously thought was a dead end. What this means, friends, is a loop trail! Now I can hike a two-hour-and-fifteen minute route shaped like a lollipop, or a tennis racquet, or a half note—no longer a one-way, out-and-back, linear, or snake-shaped route.

Speaking of snakes, let’s get to today’s Trail Report. I did indeed see a snake: garter, two feet long, frozen still, head held up half a foot off the ground, smack in the middle of the Middle Loop Trail. After recovering from my zero-at-the-bone moment,* I backed away, not wanting to scare the snake worse than the snake had scared me. It didn’t move, so I walked closer, very slowly, looking for a way around it to the side of the trail. The snake still did not move at all, apparently focused on something in the underbrush on the left side of the trail. I stepped slowly around it, then walked slowly down the trail beyond it, turning several times to look. It never moved. I can’t wait to check tomorrow to see if it’s still there!

*Not an actual Emily Dickinson sighting.  But here is one of my favorite Emily poems:

A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him—did you not
His notice sudden is,
The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your feet,

And opens further on.
He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn,
But when a boy and barefoot,
I more than once at noon
Have passed, I thought, a whip lash,
Unbraiding in the sun,
When stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled and was gone.

Several of nature’s people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality.
But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.

–Emily Dickinson, #1096

 

Berry Report: Snowberries by the birdseed trunk are plumping. Rowan berries are drooping. Salal berries and huckleberries shriveled to nonexistent. Blackberries plentiful—ripening and sweetening nicely. Let’s hope the rain forecasted for two days from now will actually arrive (don’t tell today’s sponsor I said that) to plump the juice cells so that the berries will ripen before they shrivel in the heat.

Noises Heard: The quiet ticking sounds of GREEN HEMLOCK AND FIR NEEDLES FALLING TO THE GROUND. It’s dry out here, people. Scary dry.

Please stay tuned for Episode 4, in which I’ll go looking for that snake again!