Last week I spent some transformative time with my poems. They're becoming a book. The publisher sent the galleys, I printed them out and saw my poems as they will appear in my book. It's a very strange feeling to see them that way for the first time. They aren't just intensely personal things I've worked on and loved and kept on my computer for years anymore. They're expanding and connecting with their neighbors, becoming something larger than themselves. That's a fairly astonishing thing to experience, I'd say.
The actual book should exist in less than a month now, and I keep trying to imagine that moment: finding the package, opening it, pulling the books out... then maybe I'll scream in delight or be stunned into silence or not be able to stop crying for weeks. I just don't know, but I can't wait to find out!
Friday, January 21, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Exhilarating
that would describe my recent experiences.
The conference I attended was fabulous beyond words. Really, even coming from a word person. I drove down with two women I'd only met briefly before. We left before sun rise and were all artists of some kind, so that gave us something in common. We were teachers also, so that gave us even more in common. After our two-plus hours' drive, I felt very anxious as we went in to breakfast and to meet the other participants. All together we were about 30 "Teaching Artists," a relatively recent phrase, from many backgrounds and levels of experience. I mean a really wide range of backgrounds: one born in Uganda, another in England, another in Brazil, there were residents of New York, Connecticut, California, one teacher of circus arts, song writers, West African drummers and dancers, a jewelery maker, actors, a playwright, and yours truly, the lone poet. And all this diversity comes without even checking my list of participants.
Anyway, my initial anxiety quickly gave way to joy as we shared our art forms and discussed ways to teach important skills through art. We didn't know each other but communicated clearly, even non-verbally, and thoroughly, and 3 days later I came away wishing I could bring all these people home with me so I could keep dancing and soaring the way we did together.
Yesterday I started a poetry writing residency with a fourth grade and found myself mentally checking off items we discussed a few days ago. So I have brought them with me. And luckily I will see them again in a few weeks to share more art and teaching strategies. And I can't wait to see more of their talents and lose that anxious self in their beats and be part of a human sculpture even if I don't know whose hand I might be holding. Because that's the point of life. Not to worry so much about whose hand, but to jump in and hold the hand nearest you and celebrate being alive together.
The conference I attended was fabulous beyond words. Really, even coming from a word person. I drove down with two women I'd only met briefly before. We left before sun rise and were all artists of some kind, so that gave us something in common. We were teachers also, so that gave us even more in common. After our two-plus hours' drive, I felt very anxious as we went in to breakfast and to meet the other participants. All together we were about 30 "Teaching Artists," a relatively recent phrase, from many backgrounds and levels of experience. I mean a really wide range of backgrounds: one born in Uganda, another in England, another in Brazil, there were residents of New York, Connecticut, California, one teacher of circus arts, song writers, West African drummers and dancers, a jewelery maker, actors, a playwright, and yours truly, the lone poet. And all this diversity comes without even checking my list of participants.
Anyway, my initial anxiety quickly gave way to joy as we shared our art forms and discussed ways to teach important skills through art. We didn't know each other but communicated clearly, even non-verbally, and thoroughly, and 3 days later I came away wishing I could bring all these people home with me so I could keep dancing and soaring the way we did together.
Yesterday I started a poetry writing residency with a fourth grade and found myself mentally checking off items we discussed a few days ago. So I have brought them with me. And luckily I will see them again in a few weeks to share more art and teaching strategies. And I can't wait to see more of their talents and lose that anxious self in their beats and be part of a human sculpture even if I don't know whose hand I might be holding. Because that's the point of life. Not to worry so much about whose hand, but to jump in and hold the hand nearest you and celebrate being alive together.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Update
Happy New Year! (Now get busy!)
After a few crazy weeks arranging my son's birthday party, decorating (both for his party and the holidays), baking (again for his birthday and the holidays), sending queries to agents, taking a huge trip to Oregon to visit family, suffering a debilitating not-quite-finished bout of travel-induced sciatica, I'm looking at a few more very busy weeks.
Thursday (really early) I leave for a conference? retreat? still don't know what to call it, on MD's Eastern Shore with the Teaching Artist Institute, returning late Saturday night. Then I'll give a reading in York, PA on Sunday, and start a poetry residency with one of my favorite schools in Baltimore County on Monday. (Perhaps I should take a few additional vitamins.) I can't remember what I'm doing after that. Oh, there's another reading on January 22nd. I remember that much. And this does not even take us to the end of January.
I had been hoping to accomplish a few things around the house and dig in to writing my next novel and continue looking for an agent, and... but, ummm...
I'm going to the kitchen to find my vitamins.
After a few crazy weeks arranging my son's birthday party, decorating (both for his party and the holidays), baking (again for his birthday and the holidays), sending queries to agents, taking a huge trip to Oregon to visit family, suffering a debilitating not-quite-finished bout of travel-induced sciatica, I'm looking at a few more very busy weeks.
Thursday (really early) I leave for a conference? retreat? still don't know what to call it, on MD's Eastern Shore with the Teaching Artist Institute, returning late Saturday night. Then I'll give a reading in York, PA on Sunday, and start a poetry residency with one of my favorite schools in Baltimore County on Monday. (Perhaps I should take a few additional vitamins.) I can't remember what I'm doing after that. Oh, there's another reading on January 22nd. I remember that much. And this does not even take us to the end of January.
I had been hoping to accomplish a few things around the house and dig in to writing my next novel and continue looking for an agent, and... but, ummm...
I'm going to the kitchen to find my vitamins.
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