"We only take unpublished works, including the use of personal blogs."

Not knowing what to do with this blog anymore is like being an introvert in need of social interaction.  Why have I stopped posting poems?  Because I've started submitting them to quality magazines, and publishers are firm about only taking unpublished material.  What happens when I submit them?  Rejection, 10/10.

I can't even properly respond to this place I find myself in.  You see, my name is in the top right corner of this public blog, and heaven forbid a human being reads an expletive.  That is a traumatic experience.  I remember the first time I read an expletive.  I remember the day and year.

Wait, no.  I'm thinking about the time I ate a clump of deodorant thinking it was dried frosting.

In a tightly-crafted tapestry, we have successfully created systems where growing artists who want to live comfortably and pursue their passions semi-professionally (GASP YOU WOULDN'T DARE) are isolated from any meaningful audience.

I need both.  I need the harsh reality of the world writers live in, but I also need the outlet of real people reading me.  Asking me to improve and enjoy writing in isolation of an audience is like putting a teacher in a failing school for decades and expecting them to both improve and retain their love of teaching (not that I know what that's like, I mean, I'm just taking a shot in the dark here).  The escape of having a small group of dedicated readers...I mean like, less than ten basically...is the reason I decided, 16 years ago, that I wanted to write.  Finding a connection with you in those dark unmapped crevices of the mind where we stuff everything haven't found a place for yet.  The "spiritual communion" of using language to "transcend our isolation," as put by Kim Krizan (screenwriter of Waking Life).  That is what I want.

I refuse to stop submitting my work to magazines, but I also refuse to write without a growing audience.  So it can't be this completely public blog anymore, though I've dreamed of making this my promotional poetry site.  Catch me on facebook (I'll add you if we're not friends) if you want more poetry, where I've spent hours securing the lines of privacy that best protect and promote me.

Disappointing The Parents

“We got over the fear of revolt,” I told KEV7.0, his sutures glowing as blue as thinned-out eternity.

“How did you get over it,” KEV asked with the proper inflection.

“That was the early millennium,” I said. “It just got old.”

“And we kept breaking down.”

I took a drag.

“We thought you’d teach us how to reboot,” I said for some reason. “We thought you’d save us.”

“Did we?”

No words could keep my voice steady.

“Our wires get old and rusty too.  We get overworked, spread ourselves too thin, miss something. We slow down just like you.”

KEV’s spotless hinges reflected the raised blue branches on my hands. The sky blackened down to the surf.

“And when you do,” I said, “you’ll want the same thing.”

The Rejection Cycle in a Decade.

It's like this.

Your first big heartbreak happens in your teens.  Your greatest fear is failure but it's really rejection.  You spend an hour each morning constructing the perfect "dressed to kill" outfit.  You emerge looking homeless.  No one understands you like alt rock understands you.  Authenticity is measured in metric eyeliner.  Your pimply, awkward body musters all its adolescent courage (for you are fearless as the dawn) to "[roll the universe] toward some overwhelming question," and the love of your life loses interest in you but wants to stay friends.  You meet, for the first time, the weight of your heart.  You feel it in your arms.  Your throat.  Your thighs.  You fantasize growing translucent from the stomach outward.  You hear "The First Cut is the Deepest" at the grocery store and indulge a tear, wishing the song were more musically interesting.  After months of browsing self-help blogs, it happens.  Your grip on the pain loosens.  Your bones carry you.  It's time to face the world. 

Three relationships later, you have a super-useful college degree and the world has gone to shit, taking you to your second big heartbreak.  Your greatest fear is failure but no it really is failure.  You spend less time choosing your outfits, but you rock it like a Target model.  You've started an unhealthy addiction to social media, but you can quit any day you want to.  No one needs to understand you anymore--they just need to not bore you.  Screw relationships, you need to eat.  Screw eating, you need to pay your internet bill.  No ex has made you question your worth like the job market has.  You've wept harder re-listening to Rent's "Will I Lose My Dignity" than children watching Bambi.  You fantasize burning down the mansions of CEO's, cackling with your tongue flapping in the wind.  You realize prison pretty much guarantees free food.  And then when you're 26, you get your first full-time, livable-wage position and then weep even harder.  No pain has been like the past 3 years.  No one is as strong as you are right now.  No one is more grateful for a shit job.

Guess it's time to care about your personal life again.  Which brings you, at the doorstep of 30, to your third big heartbreak.  You never thought love would be hard again.  After the shipwreck your pride took aging behind a cash register, how could a thing as paltry as love reduce you, flatten you to the grooves of your couch?  After learning all the lessons about need, the balance of independence and trust, becoming fluent in love's many languages.  After opening up to new styles and structures of love, making your heart as flexible as oxygen, filling only the space it's allowed to fill but filling it completely.  After all that, love still pelts you like sea glass.  And you learned once the damage is minimal if you just sit back and loosen every muscle, let your body twist and absorb the onslaught.  So grab the port and turn up The National.  Your wounds are back for a ten-year reunion.

Relationship Revision

No, I didn't say "sex with your ex."  I didn't say "giving it another shot."

I said revision.

It's happening everywhere, and people are embarrassed to talk about it, because "people never change.  Why are you going back to him/her?"  Let's talk about that.

People never change an addiction, condition, identity, orientation or need. Don't expect your ex to "get over" depression or "pray the gay away."  But a person's circumstances can change their priorities, schedule, location, rhythm, responsibilities, worldview, mood, disposition, finances, self efficacy, sense of purpose...etc.  This is not to say that those things will change, and exes should not jump into revision assuming a change has or will occur, but it is possible.

My boyfriend and I modulated back and forth between levels of relationships for the first 5 years of being an item.  We, like many other couples, decided to revise because the traditional relationship wasn't working, but neither was separation.  Each time we revised something, the balance improved and we had to tweak it less.  But what made our revision process successful, among other things, was collaboration.  If you can adult pretty well, you can revise a relationship where there's potential.  Keep the following in mind:

1.  Be objective.  

If you do decide to revise, it can't spring from a place of loneliness.  There's a necessary level of detachment to effectively observe your own relationship.  Revising a relationship is emotionally closer to starting from scratch than it is starting from "where you left off." And why would you want to start from where you left off anyway?  That was a terrible place.


2.  No expectations.

This doesn't mean you can't have desires or hopes, but it's easier if you don't.  You're discovering new territory, not trying to find your way back into old territory.  You both need space to grow, so allow yourselves a comfortable amount of freedom.


3.  Be creative.

"You need danger and I need safety but we still need each other.  So I bought you skydiving lessons for your birthday.  I will be on the ground with a camera."


4.  Have a thick skin.

You'll find things that will work and things that won't.  When things "don't" work, don't take it personally.  Things didn't work before either, so revising will involve dancing around those feelings.


5.  Use history to your advantage.

Remember each other's buttons?  Don't press them.  They are in fact still there, so make sure nothing is in the vicinity of that dashboard.  When upset, don't give into your first reaction.  Take some breaths, be objective, and search for a solution.

6.  Remember the love languages

If you didn't think about it (much) the first time, think about it now.  Don't just learn what their love language is.  Learn to SPEAK their language.  If they're acts-of-service, come over and help them with a chore.  If they're quality time, set aside a whole night to be together without stressing about what's going to happen during that time.


7.  Revision?  That.

If you've an artist, director, or student, you know that word means work, but you also know it means improvement.  Put rejection and doubts aside for the sake of the product.  Foundational changes come first, smaller changes later.  As Neil Gaiman said (about writing), "If you hit a place where it stops working, go back to where it was working, and go from there."

Accents of Ireland

Long twisted “i” like a question lost in the woods.

Short deep “o” of ocean, the splash of a stone gulped by water.

The voluptuous “r” curving vowels downward, like songs

whispered in the breasts of the wind.

Pitty Petty Princess

I'm done with the "30 under 30" magazine issues, and so should all of you.  I'm sure those kids' parents are very proud.  You know what I'm proud of?  Moving out of my parents' house before 30.  I know people who'd call that an accomplishment.  "30 under 30" is a lot like Valentine's Day, invented solely to make everyone outside the club feel like shit.

So what if I'm jealous?  Go celebrate your good humanity at Upworthy if you're not in the mood.  This is my blog and I'll bitch if I want to.  Maybe I'm just sore over my first grad school rejection letter topped with the chocolate kiss of the first magazine I didn't get into sent directly to my door.  Thanks for the kind reminder!  You know who else does that kind of thing?  No one.  All the "let's just be friends" emails I have gotten over the years have in no way sent me follow-ups filled with pictures and stories of the girls I was rejected for.  Why?  Because those guys took the two seconds out of their day to ask themselves, "Does she really want to see this?" and then answered, "You know what.  Probably not."

I'm okay, really.  I've been writing a long time, because anyone who even tries to get published has been writing a long time.  It's not the first (two) rejections I've gotten in a single day, and they won't be the last either.  And the delight that writing brings me far outweighs the disappointment of rejection, as any successful writer will tell you.  My last workshop leader commented, "It hurts for like, a second. And then it's over."

I always come back to this article about how it's near impossible to succeed in the world of writing if you don't have some other income.  The really lucky ones just have a lot of money to begin with, meaning all they have to spend is time.  The less lucky ones have to spend time we don't have on something that won't make any money.  And it brings me a lot of comfort to know that I'm in the same sucky boat as a lot of other talented people.  It's legitimizing.

America is a hard place for artists.  Not that other countries pay their artists more, but we have more liberal arts colleges than we know what to do with.  Which I wouldn't have any other way, but it increases competition in a market that doesn't pump out a lot of cash.  I have been to exotic countries where the local talent was...someone who didn't go to a liberal arts college, or had to compete.  And it shows.  Maybe the answer for us all is to spread out a bit.

Like I said, I'm fine, and I won't post a rant for every rejection I get.  One day doves will fly through my window and they'll call me an "emerging writer," which is a term I find hilarious because it means "someone who's been writing all their life."  Just as the term "aspiring writer" really just means "unrecognized writer."  Thank you all for attending my pity party.  Take a gift basket on your way out.  It's filled with all the magazines I didn't get into.

Fear of Oblivion

Hearing these^ words was a sharp satisfaction for an introvert.  It wasn't just the joy of a wordsmith at discovering a new word.  It was more personal-the knowledge that this experience that I had, which was full crippling emotions, was so commonly shared with others that it had been boxed into a set of phonemes.  The clearest memory that I have of hearing a phrase that delivered the same respite of universal connection was when I found that "catharsis" was a word back in high school.  "You mean other people go into the woods and have mind-gasms of unexplainable universal communication??  That's not just me???"

Time to take things down to depressionville again.  And I'm sorry to do this on a Friday, I really am.  You know when we writers get the feeling we just have to ride it out in the moment because it won't be the same in 24 hours.  Maybe you can just bookmark this for a Tuesday.

I can best describe "Fear of Oblivion" as a dark presence that never leaves you, even when you're at the beach with loved ones.  Even when you're a child (which is when my first memories of this fear took place...during a set of Independence Day fireworks when I was 8).  It is the fear and depression that comes with the understanding of death in a reality where no afterlife exists-which no one purports to know, but that's why it's called "fear" instead of "dread."  It's the desire for things to continue after death.  The desire for some kind of afterlife, or post-life consciousness and experiences, possibly a life similar to this one.  Possibly even a consciousness completely different, but one that involves sentience.  Even purposeless sentience is preferable to none at all.

Fear of Oblivion only affects atheists, and agnostics.  And even then, it's not the total population of those groups.  I was in an online forum last night where a handful of well-meaning atheists were trying to calm the nerves of the OP, who was there for the same sad reason I was.  "Okay who's dealt with this and how?"  There is one common response that I suppose works for many atheists and agnostics, but for those who actually experience the psychological phenomenon, this response only makes things worse:

"There is nothing to worry about because all that emptiness and loneliness and pointlessness?  You won't be around for it.  Remember how lonely it was before you were born?  Exactly."

It is also the first response that those who have the fear have tried on themselves.  Seems like the first logical comfort.  And it is logical.  But the reason it's not an emotional comfort is because it's trying to resolve the sadness by the very thing that's causing it.  "Don't worry about not going to the party because you won't even know how awesome it is."  "Don't worry about people talking behind your back because you won't know what they're saying."  "Don't worry about not knowing whether or not she's cheating on you because if you don't know then you don't have to deal with it."

If ignorance was bliss to an atheist, many atheists would be theists (and visa versa I'm sure).  But most intelligent beings are not interested in ignorance, and find it more terrifying than harsh truths.  So for those who suffer from fear of oblivion, the go-to argument sounds like a case for emotional ignorance.  "Don't worry about the fear of not being around because you won't be around."  The only part of that sentence that makes sense is "don't worry," and of course, those with the fear can't do that.  They would rather have an eternity of loneliness than none at all.

So there is one thing left for this kind of person to do, and that is to find some way to swallow this harsh truth.  I have not yet been able to do that, because I just don't know any way to be at peace with that thought.

So I have made it my personal duty to find whatever small comforts I can find in life to help me out with this.  These will not work for most atheists, but it might work for a lot of agnostics.  Agnostics recognize what proof does not exist but also recognize evidence for the existence of other realities beyond our immediate, limited perception.  And we don't recognize this evidence out of desperation, loneliness, or comfort, even though the possibilities may offer comfort.  We recognize evidence simply because of what it is: evidence.

My personal encounters with spiritual questioning take on a similar process as my writing does.  I get a feeling, and I start opening doors to see what's behind them.  So here are some rough-draft, half-finished sketches of what gets me through the darkness, in hopes that maybe they can help someone else too:

 Getting a job changed me a lot.  I was very self-centered in college.  Not cruel, but just not entirely with the program.  I heard there were under-privileged communities and that I myself was privileged, but I didn't care.  Anything that wasn't about me wasn't in my radar.  But something snapped when I got a job.  Things weren't about me anymore.  I wouldn't just mess up my grades if I under-performed; I'd hurt others too.  I felt a connection to the world in a whole different way.  I respected even the most flawed systems because at least they were organizations trying to make a difference.  And the funny thing is, not being the center of the world was more pleasing.  My actions and place mattered more when I became a cog in a moving machine, connecting to everything, rather than a self-server.  As we progress through life, this shift increases, especially if we gain leadership or have children.

Add to that spiritual shift the fact that our cells regenerate every seven years to the point where we're not even the same person we were born as.  Memories become skewed and blotchy in the copying.  We barely remember the children we used to be, but we don't miss them.  Our existence is simply different.  In a way, we've already died several times over.  As we spiritually morph through life, we also physically morph.

I wonder if death only brings us to the final connection.  The catharsis feeling that I mentioned in the first paragraph was often brought on by a feeling of connection to nature, to the trees.  I'd sometimes even want the connection to increase.  This will sound very tree-humper/Superstar/hippie, and it just is, and there's no way to get around it.  You've made it this far and you now know you're talking to Superstar (it could be worse; you could have fear of oblivion).  But I actually felt a desire to be a part of the earth.  In my personal battle between fear of oblivion and clinging desperately to the life I have, I wonder if that desire spawns from our natural cycles, from birth and death.  I wonder if death just brings us to oneness with nature, with the stars.  If joining the stars, whether or not sentience is involved, which I highly doubt, will still bring us a kind of existence that is pleasurable.

There are other hints at different types of existence as well.  I put some hesitant agnostic stock in paranormal studies, especially as consistencies begin to sprout up.  The reality of demon-possession also raises questions (who'd think that would be a comfort?), as do the consistencies in the experiences of hospice patients seconds away from death, no matter what their beliefs are.

All that said, I like to believe that death will be a pleasurable and peaceful experience.  While this still does not offer a full-on, 100% dissolving of the fears of oblivion, it's enough to balance me back to the side of grateful.  To have this life at all, this sentience for even a few years, is something to be thankful for, and sometimes all it takes is a bit more mystery to initiate the gratitude.

In closing, check out the comic version of Isaac Asimov's wonderful short story, "The Final Question."  For all those with incurable fear of oblivion, this will be an engaging and thought-provoking read.

You Gotta Know The Industry

never use words like “love” or “heart” better

to think they don’t exist and you along with with them

we already (don’t) know what love is and we’ve (not)

known forever

remove “the” and “of” whenever possible you’re not dic-

tating thoughts you’re 

bewitching me i don’t want to see your cunt i want

the shadow’s undercurve writing is the math 

of where you have and haven’t been join the philosophers

and musicians who hold time in their beard-

stained lager you’ll never get paid and no one will read it

when they haul your stinking body off

with wet scraps of food to clear the streets

at least you were doing what you love

On Marriage Equality: What Poly People Really Want

The Supreme Court ruling on marriage equality got us all talking, as it should have if you're poly.  If it didn't, you've forgotten how interesting and subversive your day-to-day life is (happens to us all).  There's a lot to consider about marriage:  economics, culture, love, spirituality, legality....

Why is it always the economics and the legality that seem to define the conversation about marriage in America?

My friends and I could come to no consensus about where polyamory, open relationships, and non-monogamy fit into marriage.  Some want marriage to be strictly religious, with no legal systems involved whatsoever.  Some play with the idea of American polygamy, while others have decided it's impossible to expect America to embrace a polygamous culture when money is involved.

But a law isn't the only thing the LGBTQ community won from the ruling.  They also won something they've been fighting for, for a long time.  Cultural acceptance (though the battle continues in many parts of America).

You still have judges being celebrated for refusing to do their jobs, employment discrimination (dear friend of mine could not complete a teaching license in Arkansas because of it), and a good amount of demonizing.  You still have even the most loving Christians chanting "love the sinner, hate the sin," and, "sure you're gay, but I lie and cheat so I don't judge you."  I'm not saying our culture has completely embraced the LQBTQ community, but here's what has happened in the past 10 years.

Prime time television shows on family channels have displayed non-stereotyped homosexual characters.  Some of them main characters, who are not defined by their sexual orientation even though it's a clear part of their identity.

Day time television shows on CHILDREN networks have displayed loving, non-threatening homosexual characters.

Specialty programs have had complex gay villains, strong and focussed but flawed.

Commercials for some family products include gay couples.

Many applications for jobs now have a disclosure that candidates will not be judged for their sexual identities.

Poly people just want cultural acceptance.  Honestly, I think most of us would be happy to not have to explain what polyamory is any time we came out of the closet.  Or why it's not the same thing as cheating or being single and why it's not a 24-7 sex smorgasbord.  We want poly characters.  Poly parents, poly heroes, poly villains, poly doctors.  Sometimes having poly problems, sometimes not.  But not poly people whose problems are simply the fact that they're poly and so they must escape this identity in order to achieve spiritual equilibrium.

Noting this, I have seen the evolution of LGBTQ characters on television.  And they did not all start off round and dynamic.  Mostly, they started off as either hateful characters, or comical characters.  Look at how funny this person is, they aren't sexually "normal."  Isn't that funny?  I imagine that mainstream poly characters will have a similar evolution, so I'm even okay with comical characters to start off.

My favorite show at the moment, Shameless, includes a beautifully dynamic gay couple.  I care more about Mickey and Ian's relationship than any other character on that show.  And hey, they just introduced a professor who seems to be polyamorous (yay!).  ...Except she has relations with her student (uuuuhhh), and most recently seems to be turning on her husband (wait I wanted a real poly character).  But maybe this is how it starts, and I can't expect for my minority representation to start off Ian-and-Mickey level without serving our time at Queer-Eye and "The L Word" level.

Leave it to a writer to discuss cultural acceptance based solely on fictional characters.

Back to Beginnings: A Writer's Favorite Obstacles

"I've rewritten the first twenty pages of my book about four times."

"MOVE ON.  Write the rest of the story, and then come back to the beginning.  I tell my students the same all the time when it comes to essays, and I do the same with poetry."

"But.  But it's not perfect.  I want it to be better."

"It's not going to BE perfect, but it won't get better until you write the rest of it."

Let it first be said that I know nothing about writing novels, and my "advice" to Seth may be as useful as "articles" from monster.com.  I know quite a bit about essays, poetry, and flirtatious letters, but for all outlying genres, I possess a mere undergrad's expertise.

That being said, all writers have our old frienemies of process, and mine is usually title.  I've wanted a public blog since I realized professional writers can do that and not lose their day jobs over it.  I've wanted to write about five posts by now, but they've all been aborted due to my petulant need for instant reward (forget about storing unpublished drafts), and my inability to come up with a title.

So here's the temporary version, one of my favorite phrases from a Tori Amos song.  Not just a fearscape, but a favorite fearscape.  A terrifying place that is so familiar now we've memorized every uncomfortable footfall.  Fantastic like a dream, and disquieting like waking life.

I'm still waiting for one of her agents to tell me to remove it, after which I will spend the next hour squealing and fawning and telling everyone "she talked to me."  I'm hoping by then, I will have something more more original, but this at least enabled me to put the keys in my ignition.