Loch Raven Review

The fall 2007 issue of Loch Raven Review is live. Two poems of mine, Havdalah and Unveiling are in the issue along with a wealth of other poetic goodness: poetry, essays, translations, an interview, fiction, and reviews.

It's a beautifully designed site chock full of high quality work. I'm honored to be in this fine publication.

If you're in the neighborhood, drop on by. . .

if you'd like to hear me read some of my work, poetry and fiction. I met January (poet mom) initially online via "Poetry Thursday." She and Erin have spearheaded the NEWS series.


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Spread the word...

IT'S TIME FOR THE LATEST N•E•W•S READING SERIES!

Join us as we present the New & Emerging Writers Series

MIXED BAG: FICTION, NONFICTION & POETRY EVENT

Sunday, September 30 at 4pm

Where: The Regent Theatre
Basement screening room
7 Medford Street, Arlington

Shindig immediately following:
The Book Rack
13 Medford Street, Arlington

Readers:

• Kevin Carey--a Pushcart Prize nominee for his poem, "Shredding Me;" his work has appeared in several collections including the Paterson Literary Review and Still Waters: A New England Anthology of Mystery Writers

• Lisa Cohen--head moderator at Wild Poetry Forum, her publications include the Loch Raven Review, Stirring--A Literary Collection, and others

• Catherine Hathaway--local poet, UMass Amherst alum


Hope to see you there!

(Medford St is off Mass Ave in Arlington • Parking is available on-street or in lots off Medford Street • www.mapquest.com for directions)

Contact news_readings@yahoo.com for more information or visit our web site at newsreadings.wordpress.com


* * * *
NEWS is coordinated by

Erin Dionne (www.erindionne.com)and January G.O'Neil (http://poetmom.blogspot.com)


and sponsored by The Book Rack and the Regent Theatre in Arlington, MA

Future readings:
October 21 Poetry
November 11 Focus on Fiction

My brush with fame: I actually know a MacArthur fellow

Ah, one step away from 'genius.' :)

In all seriousness, I love the concept of the MacArthur Fellow grants--that interesting, creative, and or brilliant individuals are given $100,000 a year for 5 years, no strings attached, to support them as they pursue their work and dreams.

In this morning's paper, I saw a familiar face: Jonathan Shay is a Boston area psychiatrist I met several years ago. Because of my interest in the physical effects of trauma, (when I'm not writing poetry or fiction, I'm a physical therapist, specializing in the treatment of chronic pain) Jonathan let me read a draft of his book Odysseus in America: Combat Trauma and the Trials of Homecoming .

Although I don't read much in the non-fiction realm, I found Shay's parallels of the returning veteran's experiences with Odysseus from Homer's epic work to be astonishing and instructive. I quickly bought the earlier book comparing the experience of war to the Iliad. Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character is as gripping and compelling a read as its sequel. While Shay was researching, treating, and writing about Viet Nam vets in these books, his texts have as much to tell us about the current generation of men and women serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.

No matter your position of the war and its politics, read these two books. They should be required reading for any politician or general who puts soldiers in harm's way as well as for family members, friends, co-workers, and employers who will be dealing with the aftermath of combat related trauma.

Congratulations, Jonathan. I am so pleased that you and your work have been recognized in this way.

Giving Back Challenge

I live in one of the more prosperous nations in the world and I was born with a host of advantage I didn't earn. I grew up with the gifts of security, sufficiency, and education. That alone makes me fortunate beyond measure.

I was raised with the understanding that my good fortune came with a price: a moral obligation to give back to the society and the world. My parents always gave generously to charitable causes and my husband and I now support several charities that are involved in the issues that matter most to us: the environment, social activism, and enabling economic independence world wide.

Charitable giving is all well and good, but our debt to the world is still larger than can be paid off with signing a check. I believe that it is our responsibility to be an active participant in our communities. Without that invisible and intangible web of volunteering and active involvement, there is no community.

I know all the excuses: we're busy, it doesn't make that much of a difference, someone else will show up, I don't have anything to offer. I've used each of these excuses myself at various times in my life. I don't anymore. I've seen the power of a single volunteer, combined with lots of other single volunteers: it's a force to be reckoned with.

So, here is a list of some of the ways in which I give back. Some are more visible than others. Some are small things, like shoveling a neighbor's walkway since I have the shovel out anyway. Others larger and more tangible: I still smile, remembering all the concrete I helped mix for the local playground build.

Caring Canines -- My dog takes me along to visit at local hospitals, day programs, and nursing homes. She is the star here: I just provide the chauffeur services and the dog treats. :) It's an all volunteer organizations, tirelessly run by dedicated and caring folks with a passion for dogs and the healing they can bring.

Newton Community Farm -- I manage the website and developed a wiki for our local community supported agriculture project. Since I have a 'brown' thumb, it's safer to keep me away from the growing plants.

Poetry Workshops for elementary school children -- I love writing with children. They are so honest and direct in expressing their emotions and the poetry they create is vibrant. Every year for at least the past 5, I've gone into our local elementary school and run workshops for children ranging from grades 2 through 6.

Save a Dog -- we adopted our dog through this wonderful all-volunteer organization. My son designated them his Bar Mitzvah charity and donated 10% of his gift money to them, in addition to volunteering to help with their 'meet and greets' in which dogs are matched to potential adopters. We are also in process to become a foster family for temporary foster care for adoptable dogs.

Online Poetry workshop -- As the head moderator, I probably spend the equivalent to a half-time job in hours each week reading and critiquing for our members and making sure the environment is a safe and open one for poets to share their work. It is a labor of love, pure and simple.

Community Playground fund raising and build -- I helped manage the website for our local community playground. And when the money was raised, I took part in two weekends of playground build days in which we got our hands dirty. I now know how to mix concrete. :)

Local volunteer day -- one day a year, our town hosts a volunteer day in which teams of volunteers work on a community service project. I've done these for years, typically helping clean up the playground we built. This year, I was co-captain for the project to clean up the brook that runs past our house and empties into the Charles River.

Behind the scenes in our schools -- created a database for the elementary school PTO to organize the work of creating the parent directory, sat on school councils for elementary and middle schools, took over the website and PTO database for the high school, was the parent editor of 2 elementary school yearbooks.

So here's the challenge: how do you give back? Not with your checkbook, but with your hands and your heart.

Join the 'Giving Back Challenge'. Blog about how you volunteer in your community and drop a comment here to let me know about it. It is my belief that involvement is what matters. Not politics, not government policy, but people to people contact. This is the best way I know to celebrate The International Day of Peace.

Poetry Thursday: Uncorked

This week's prompt was offered by Polka Dot Witchy and is hosted by jillypoet.

The prompt asked us to look at what we are holding back and how we would feel to uncork whatever that was. I started thinking of the literal cork--wine, champagne, things under pressure and that led me to water in a creek and to this poem of casting away.

Tashlich is a tradition that is associated with Rosh Hashonnah, the Jewish New Year, in which we are invited to symbolically throw away anything that we have been holding onto that doesn't serve us.

Our family often does a private Taschlich using the little creek that runs past our house. It empties into the Charles River and during heavy rains, becomes a raging torrent.

Navigate over to Jillypoet's blog and to the comments section of this week's post to find links to other poetry thursday 'uncorked' poems along with the url for next week's poetry thursday host.

Tashlich at Cheesecake Brook

A month without rain; fish and turtles
retreat, swallowed by the wider mouth
of the Charles where even the snowy

egret is mired in mud. Still we gather
here, pockets filled with week-old bread
and year-old sins, eager for the current

to scour the banks clean. There is more silt
than flow. I hurl hunks of stale baguette
and green-tinged sub rolls. This is impatience,

this jealousy. I keep missing the narrow thread
of moving water. The sky is relentless
blue. It would be sacrilege to pray

for clouds, for the rush and spill of storm
grates to empty into this tiny culvert
just for the benefit of my failings.

--LJCohen, 2007

The Silver Lining: "Heal Thyself" at 58.5K

First, the good news from seeing the orthopedist today: I can be partial weight bearing, as long as I am careful and let pain be my guide. However, it's about a 6-8 week healing process. Me and my crutches will be good friends.

So the silver lining from breaking my ankle: More writing time. I've been able to write every day on "Heal Thyself." I'm just approaching the beginning of the novel's climax and the events that drive the rest of the story. I think I can see how all the story thread will get untangled and I have an ending that will give closure to *this* story, while leaving room for another novel.



A snippet from today's pages:

Her quarters were utterly silent. She paced the perimeter of the sitting room, her hand brushing the soft nap of the wall hangings. As cages went, this one was far more pleasant than she'd expected. In her bedroom, she found her medical kit hanging from an enameled hook fashioned in the shape of a dragonfly. She wondered where the Abul had obtained it. Surely dragonflies didn't live in this harsh desert climate. It was a reminder of home, along with the colors of the ocean surrounding her. Lilliane slipped the leather satchel from its hook and hugged it to her chest. Once she used up many of the dried herbs and flower essences, she wouldn't be able to replace them.

She sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. The leather and the powdered medicinals smelled like healer's hall. She wondered who Torrin was apprenticed to. In her mind's eye, he was a chubby fisted toddler who was always bringing home injured stray animals for her to heal. Tears burned in her eyes and squeezed between her sealed lids.

A rustle of fabric startled her. Kirith was standing in the door flap to her bedroom.

“I am sorry to intrude, Hass Abul, but you have been called on to see Hal Maresh.”

Lilliane frowned. “What did you call me?”

“Hass Abul. Daughter of--”

“I know what it means, Kirith.” Lilliane's tone was sharper than she'd intended. “Regardless of what honors your Abul has bestowed upon me, I am Lilliane Tor of Rimland.”

“Hass Abul, it would not be proper for me to call you by your given name.”

“Then Healer Tor will do.”

Kirith hesitated before nodding. “In these quarters, I may call you Healer Tor. Outside, you are Hass Abul or Tisreen Hass Lilliane. To insist on any other name would be to show discourtesy to the Abul.”

Lilliane sighed, her anger giving way to irritation. It wasn't Kirith's fault.

“Is there anything you require before you are escorted to the Hal-Ab's home?”

If Kirith flinched at all mentioning her abuser's name, Lilliane couldn't tell.

“No, thank you. This is all I need.” She hefted her kit and buckled it around her waist. It bunched up her tunic, but it couldn't be helped.

Kirith handed her a gauzy robe in a pale yellow, it's hem edged with a blue and gold design.

“It's beautiful.”

Kirith pointed to the trim. “This marks you as a member of the Abul's household. You will be afforded safe conduct anywhere in Tisreen wearing this.”

Anywhere except alone with Maresh, she thought.

Stupid, Stupid Me

So I was on my way to work friday morning. Did my usual slurp a few sips of coffee before grabbing the backpack (with laptop), purse, and car keys. As usual, I was thinking of a thousand things at once--my patient schedule for the day, the items on my 'to do' list, which phone calls were priorities for returning. I stepped from my front door to the front stoop and twisted my right foot. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the stoop, my right foot trapped beneath me. Just before the pain hit me, I processed the terrible crunch/grind noise my foot made as I collapsed.

Not good.

Bad.

But shock is a wonderfully protective thing. I corralled the pain into a little box and lurched back into my house. Into the kitchen for ibuprofin, up the stairs for the ankle air cast and the emergency ice packs (squeeze and shake) I knew we had in the medicine closet. No cane or crutches, but I knew I had a pair of them in my office.

See--I'm a physical therapist. I know all about how to treat injury. I know that what I *should* have done was get myself right to the Emergency room. But I had a patient waiting for me in my office and no way to reach her.

So I stumbled to the car, drove to the office, praying all the while no one would stop short in front of me. If I had to stomp on the breaks, I'd be in big trouble. Luckily, it's only a 2 mile commute.

Walking from my car to my office was interesting. Every step reignited the agony and it was funny--I was surprised by it every time.

Got to my office, my initially annoyed patient (by now I'm about 20 minutes late for her appointment) took one look at me and offered to drive me to the hospital. I guess my face was quite pale.

She helped me get settled in my office. I grabbed the crutches and propped my now swelling ankle up on a chair and plopped the ice pack on it. I figured I could sit to do the kind of treatment I offer. No problem.

Wise patient told me to reschedule and go to the ER.

Long story short: What I (wishful thing alert) figured was an inversion ankle sprain is a lovely fracture. Physical Therapist heal thyself. Now I get to be non weight bearing on crutches for the short term future.

While I'm cranky and ticked off at my own stupidity, I do realize it could have been far worse. In the grand scheme of things, just an annoyance. And the silver lining--more writing time.

When life gives you bananas, don't slip on the peels.

Poetry Thursday: "I can show you fear in a handful of dust"

The Poetry Thursday: Traveling Edition is up at The Polka Dot Witch Blog. Last week, we were asked to think about fear and follow the prompt deep into our subconcious. This line from TS Elliot spoke to me, and so my poem about fear:

"I can show you fear in a handful of dust" --ts elliot

The sky is bell jar still. Absent
air stalls the toll of bells. The last vibration
dies but the ear clamors for the next
and the next. Fear waits in that space, trips
you at night, one shoe left in the hallway,
a coffee table placed just so to catch

the jut of hip. The bruise a temporary
birthmark to blemish this new infancy.
You screw your eyes shut and wail
but this is no comfortable helplessness
soothed with full breast and warm
blanket. In your first childhood,
you once knew how the tide swelled,
swallowed the day's labor on the sand.

--LJCohen, 2007

Follow the breadcrumbs back to Polka Dot Witch to find a link to next week's Poetry Thursday host, and while you're there, check in with the scary offerings of other PT participants.

Food for thought for the aspiring novelist

If you are trying to become a published novelist, one of the (depressing) things you hear over and over is how hard it is to actually make a living from your writing. "Don't quit your day job" is advice given to nearly all aspiring and new writers.

Several interesting posts counteract that gloom and doom forecast.

Nephele Tempest of the Knight Agency talks about 'best-sellers' versus best sellers.

From there, Nephele links to the blog of the national book critics circle board of directors in which they talk about 'secret sellers--books that just keep going.' I've actually read several of these, and have meant to read several more.

From the comments in Nephele's post comes a link to a post from 2006 at Making Light called 'Conventional Unwisdom in Publishing' in which Teresa Nielsen Hayden dispels the myth of 172,000 books published each year.

Writing is still a chancy gamble in a casino where the writer doesn't set the odds, but it's not the hopeless, impossible dream some of the statistics would have you believe.

In the immortal words of Miss Snark, I like to believe that 'good writing trumps all.' So the one thing an aspiring novelist can do is to write as well as possible and continue to hone the craft.

It is only the rare few who make a living from art. Perhaps a rail and a rant about why this is so is a blog post for another day. (We can all lament being part of a culture that raises fast food to its art form and worships the immortal sitcom. And reality shows? Need I say more?)

Go keep writing and keep the faith.

In Memoriam: Madeleine L'Engle

Today the world is a little duller, stories a little flatter, and stars a little more distant. Madeleine L'Engle has died.

When I was a young girl and a lonely, voracious reader, I discovered Meg Murray and "A Wrinkle in Time." Here was a protagonist who didn't fit in and who more often than not was irritable and frustrated. She was smart, stubborn, intense, and utterly my hero.

"A Wrinkle in Time" was published the year I was born. By the time I read it, L'Engle had already published other books--both 'fantasy' books and more 'realistic' fiction. I read everything she wrote.

Her voice and her vision ignited my imagination and my passion for storytelling. One of my dreams was to meet her and tell her how much her work meant to me, then and now. A few years ago, I was thrilled to introduce my older son and then my younger son to the Time Quintet. Watching them read L'Engle's seminal works allowed me to relive my own discovery of her worlds.

I am saddened by her passing. Not just for me, but for the world of stories and storytelling.

Rest in Peace, Madeleine L'Engle. You will be missed.

(Traveling) Poetry Thursday

Although the formal Poetry Thursday project is closed, many of the "PT" poets want to continue the love. This week, 'Left-Handed Trees' posted an optional prompt from TS Eliot's "The Wasteland". "I can show you fear in a handful of dust"

I think that quote is a very apt one for a writer. Fear. I've blogged about it before, here, and here.

Writing, and especially writing poetry, is a leap of faith. You write something and place the words in a little basket at a reader's doorstep. You can't even ring the bell. No, you just have to leave and hope the reader will open the door and take your creation inside and care for it.

I don't have a poem to share this week, but do check out the poetry Thursday diaspora through the links posted on the Left-Handed Trees site.

Edited for 'oops': The Eliot line is the prompt for next week's Poetry Thursday: The Diaspora Edition. Phew. A week to work on a new poem.

Back to Work, Back to School, Back to Writing

I had been concerned about having difficulty getting back to work on "Heal Thyself" after taking a 4 week hiatus to edit "The House of Many Doors." I'm a fairly linear worker--I like to start a story at the beginning and stay with it until I reach the end. No breaks, no shifting attention. I know there are non-linear writers out there, but I can't understand how they do it. My brain just isn't patterned that way. I'm hopeless at reading maps too. :)

So after a month of leaving poor Lilliane and Zev in limbo, I started writing their story again. I feel a little 'rusty' and the writing was slow and jerky, but I got the scene going in a direction that helps ratchet up the story tension and gives me a better direction for the scenes that follow this one.

So far, so good.

Now it's time for me to go to my 'day job'. A full day of patients in clinic today after the holiday weekend and after the typical slowdown of summer's end. Work, errands, dinner, then writing will be the order of the day.

And more beginings. . .

Thursday is back to school for the kids in these parts. The lovely unstructured days of summer are over and my boys are mourning the end of laziness and the start of homework. I am not sad to see the school year start up again--for one thing, my own writing schedule gets upended during the summer. However, this summer has been one of the loveliest I can remember in many, many years.

Since I became a responsible adult, (okay, quiet down in the peanut gallery. Yes, you!) summer has been less about vacation and leisure than about dealing with altered childcare schedules and it has seemed to me that the 10 weeks of summer simply evaporate.

This year, I made a conscious decision to stay in the present. Whenever I would get disturbed by how fast the weeks were passing, I took a deep breath and focused on what I was doing in the here and now. Sometimes that was taking the dog on long walks, other times it was being fully present at work, others, sitting on the back deck watching the tomato plants grow.

And I have really enjoyed this summer. It had a lazy quality to it that summers in my childhood held. Now with the slightest hint of approaching fall in the air, I am not sad.

However, I can't speak for the boys. :)

And today, I delved back into "Heal Thyself" after a 4 week hiatus. The draft is at 54.5K and I am easing back into writing goals for the month. I'm hoping to end September with the manuscript at 65K.