Anthology as appetizer

When you are away, most of what happens to me happens in the supermarket. I like it. I wouldn't like it all the time, but sometimes I love to let myself go to seed, live unwashed, uncombed. I read in the sun on our unmade bed, eavesdrop, go to the Grand Union several times a day.

— Martha Bergland, from An Embarrassment of Ordinary Riches, a story appearing in the anthology Love Stories for the Rest of Us. 

I've grown to love anthologies — collections of essays, stories or poems by a variety of writers, typically organized around a theme.  I like to taste the flavors of many writers in one place without the commitment to just one. An anthology is an appetizer.

For example, in  Bad Girls: 26 Writers Misbehave I found Caroline Leavitt and Kaui Hart Hemmings. I liked their short stories so much, I raced to find their novels. The Descendants, by Hemmings, turned out  to be one of my favorite books.

 And The Pacific Northwest Reader is a wonderful surprise of essays about the upper left corner of the United States. The collection is reminscent of the Federal Writers' Project of the 1930s, and each essay is crafted not by professional writers but by independent booksellers and librarians. As a bonus, a portion of book sales go to the American Booksellers Foundation for Free Expression. The Great Lakes Reader is also available now, and other regional volumes are in the works.

In Feed Me: Writers Dish About Food, Eating, Weight, and Body Image, I discovered Lisa Romeo. I now faithfully read her blog each week.  

Poetry, too, produces some great anthologies. I'm loving The Poets Guide to the  Birds, both for its unique theme and for its breadth of writers. The collection includes work from 137 poets, and includes big names (Ted Kooser, Naomi Shihab Nye) and lesser known but no  less talented poets (Linda Zimmerman, Keith Ratzlaff).

Anthologies are the first taste of a reader's feast.  In fact, while reading Winter Wren by Sally Green, I wondered, before I had even finished the poem, how I could get more.

Winner's Circle

Attention! Attention! I'm very happy to announce the winners of the
one-of-a-kind book journals created by Ex Libris Anonymous. 

And the winners are . . . 

Lisa Carter

Julia F.

Molly 

Cosmos Cami 

Kelli Russull Agodon 

Tara 

Is this you? If so, zip me an email with your mailing address. Reach me at dcm@drewmyron.com. 

This was a fun giveaway, and I enjoyed visited the websites and blogs of so many interesting writers and artists. Thanks for reading, writing and participating in this creative life with me.

And many thanks to Jacob Deatherage, the mastermind giving old books second life. He generously donated six journals to give-away. Give him a gander at www.bookjournals.com

 Write on! 

Wine, flowers, and a book?

On the rare occasion in which I am invited to dinner, I always take a bottle of wine. Sometimes flowers. (I've read that you should never take flowers as it creates more work for the host. I disagree. I love to get flowers. And really, how hard is it to fill a vase with water and plop 'em in?)

As much as I like wine, I like to shake routine.  And so, I've been giving books! 

I enjoy the process of considering my favorite books and then matching those to what I think my host may enjoy — Do I choose funny? thoughtful? irreverent? mainstream? I'm not sure I hit the mark — or that my hosts wouldn't rather have wine — but it's fun to try. 

A few of my favorite hostess book-gifts are: 

• How Not to Act Old by Pamela Redmond Satran

• Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner

• Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott

• Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

I'd like to expand my offerings (I once took my own book, a painting/poetry collaboration, but that felt self-promoting and weird). What books do you suggest? If I was invited to your home for dinner, what book would you like me to bring? 

The road in

It is not what you write or what you produce as you write that is important.

It is what happens to you while you are writing that is important.

It is who you become while you are writing that is important.

— Louise DeSalvo
 

Well, that takes some pressure off.

After last week's writing retreat, I'm picking through the ruins of my journal, searching for nuggets of promise. This is the mix of hope and dread; I felt so 'in-the-moment' while writing and later, upon rereading, time and distance diminish the heat and my words seem flat and routine. Does this happen to you, too? 

I am heartened by DeSalvo's sentiment of process over results. I also find perspective from Candice Crossley, whom I met at the retreat. Using Lonesome Pine Special, a poem by Charles Wright, as our prompt, we lifted his line: 

The road in is always longer than the road out, 
Even if it's the same road. . .

As I dig through the muck of my journal, Candice's response offers me much-needed perspective:

There is no arriving
There is only the going

You can fashion a beautiful writing
And drop it on the side
You have not come to the end
Of that small perfect poem
You will find another . . . 

That is not the last dark stand of trees
Or burst of flowers
Or glorious vista
The horizon is always there in front of you
And you will never reach it
You will only move towards it

— Candice Crossley
excerpted from The road in is always longer than the road out. 

Update on Thursday, August 26, 2010 at 8:30AM by Drew

This post prompted some great feedback. I'd like to share the following response from Linnea Harper. It's not a poem, she says, but a poetical thought. I think it is both, and speaks to the dreaded critic that resides too often in my head (and yours, too?).


when we write--  a wonderful question!

Who we become after we write
is also important and you say
you get doubtful if you don't like the
product

the problem with which is that
(in my humble opinion)
the critic has undermined you
which is neither good for Poetry (especially yours)
nor good for You  

But what if this doubt is a necessary
part of the process that drives you
to go further--   then aren't you back to
sadness driving the art
at least part of the way home?

So dear dear Drew, could you be
just a bit more Drew-id about all of this
and let the healing beauty of the place
(I too have been embraced by Menucha)
preside at the table of your inner debate?

Unseat the critic!
On the right hand seat the gatekeeper
the handmaiden of healings
who infringes on underminings
and whispers you a new script;

on the left hand seat your best scavenger,
the bargain hunter
who can always pluck
the one notion, word, line, or feeling
with the juiciest juice
out of any old pile of words

and report on the findings.  Now
you may offer one more time
your scrawling scribbles
up to the assembled company
for dessert;  It's a healing!
Enjoy!  En-joy!

Thankful Thursday: Writing at Menucha

It's Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause of appreciation. Because gratitude begets appreciation begets joy, I offer thanks.

This week I am thankful for Creative Arts Community. CAC offers residential art workshops at Menucha, a historic estate located 20 minutes east of Portland,  in the beautiful Columbia River Gorge. 

With the good fortune of time and opportunity, I recently spent a week in the company of painters, potters, sculptures — and seven writers enrolled in a workshop led by poet Ann Staley.

"Refuge" was our theme, and Staley, a kind and generous instructor, led an intense dive into essays, poems, words and ideas. We were equal parts saturated and invigorated as our group was quickly knitted together in laughter, tears, wine and encouragement. With a focus on generating new work, we spent day and night reading and writing and writing and writing. Nestled among wooded trails and soft rolling grass, we were at play in an adult version of summer camp. 

After a week immersed in creative community, I am grateful to feel awash with words, and to swim again in possibility.

This poem (inspired by a line from workshop colleague Tom Tucker, in a phrase exchange) served as both prayer and praise — and is best read aloud:  

Make Alive Again the Magic of Art and Word 

An Invocation
 

Bring back the joy 

Make words easy, effortless

Let them float across the page

Let sadness cease 

as the vehicle for art 

Let art rise as a 

messenger of joy

Let the music of the day 

be heard

and called

and cooed

Let my steps be light

an invocation

a benediction

a psalm 

Let me hear again

Let me here

Make me

Wake me

Help me set aside 

tricks and cues

clever plays

tricks of phrase

Make alive again

words 

placed together

strung along

passed and pleased

Make the magic 

rise and slip

sleight of hand

graceful steps

Let the mystery

of art   stutter

stop

start again

like a child 

dressed in shoes too big

a wand in hand

Let the magic of art

fill every blank page 

- Drew Myron