On this Thankful Thursday, I am thankful for:

• Peckish, the word
peck·ish  (pksh)
adj.
1. Ill-tempered; irritable, surly.
2. Chiefly British: Somewhat hungry.

• This reminder:
"This corresponds to what I have learned as a writer about seeing 'dry spells' through: it helps considerably if one has developed writerly habits. People often remark that they would write, or paint, or sculpt, if only they had the time. But this is pure fantasy: the artist does whatever is necessary to arrange her life so that she will have the time to make her art." 

— Kathleen Norris
from Acedia & me: A Marriage, Monks, and A Writer's Life

• Mrs. Allison in the grocery store, smoking
When I was 12 years old,  I spotted my beloved teacher, Mrs Allison, shopping the frozen foods aisle at King Soopers. I was thrilled to see my teacher out of the classroom and in the real world but when I looked closer I was stunned: Mrs Allison was wearing jeans, and she was smoking a cigarette!

This week after a vigorous run, I dashed into the grocery store. Bare-faced, sweaty and clad in see-every-lump  spandex, I loaded up on the essentials: chips and wine. Just then two of my young students rushed with happiness to see me. I think I recognized the second look they took. Like Mrs. Allison, I am, sadly, human.

Thanks for the memory, Mrs. Allison.

To an old friend who understands the missing pieces.

To a young friend I write: I don't have answers but here, consider this, and this, and maybe this.

To a niece.

To a poet.

To a student.

To a mother-in-law.

To myself.

Letters let us wonder and search, and sometimes declare.

You like letters, too? Please join me in A Month of Letters, a challenge presented by novelist (and letter writer) Mary Robinette Kowal.

Elegy for the Personal Letter 

I miss the rumpled corners of correspondence,

the ink blots and crossouts that show

someone lives on the other end, a person

whose hands make errors, leave traces.

I miss fine stationary, its raised elegant

lettering prominent on creamy shades of ivory

or pearl grey. I even miss hasty notes

dashed off on notebook paper, edges

ragged as their scribbled messages—

can't much write now—thinking of you.

When letters come now, they are formatted

by some distant computer, addressed

to Occupant or To the family living at—

meager greetings at best,

salutations made by committee.

Among the glossy catalogs

and one time only offers

the bills and invoices,

letters arrive so rarely now that I drop

all other mail to the floor when

an envelope arrives and the handwriting

is actual handwriting, the return address

somewhere I can locate on any map.

So seldom is it that letters come

That I stop everything else

to identify the scrawl that has come this far—

the twist and the whirl of the letters,

the loops of the numerals. I open

those envelopes first, forgetting

the claim of any other mail,

hoping for news I could not read

in any other way but this.

— Allison Joseph

• Stretch! Expand Your Poem Possibilities
Friday, Feb 17 - Saturday, Feb 18, 2012
17th Annual South Coast Writers Conference
Gold Beach, Oregon

With an emphasis on poetry, this workshop will focus on fresh writing with prompts and practices designed to inspire and energize. Writers will explore the terrain of poem possibilities as they generate, and share, new work in a supportive, encouraging atmosphere. This workshop is open to writers of all skills and experience. More info here.

• Sticks, Stones, Shore:
Exploring Place through Poems & Prose
Sitka Center for Art & Ecology
Sunday, July 15, 2012
near Lincoln City, Oregon

Through walks, talks and nature-rich wanderings, writers will explore place — both emotional and physical. From poetry to prose, fact to fiction, the focus is on fresh writing with prompts and practices designed to inspire and energize. Participants will generate new work in an encouraging and serene setting. This workshop will serve as a creative springboard, providing writing practices, along with opportunity to meet other writers and share experiences that will help shape, shift and propel your own writing.

More info here.

"It was that poem, actually. I still remember the moment when I read it . . . 

"I think it changed my life. My parents wanted me to be an engineer, and I never really questioned it. It was practical. But I read the poem — I think it was just called 'Poems' — and then I read another, and then another. I think I spent the whole day in the poetry section, and everything seemed different by the time I left. I didn't think I was going to be a poet, but I knew I wasn't going to be an engineer."

- from Breakable You, a novel by Brian Morton

Breakthrough

last night

a frog serenade broke

                           melancholy’s long moan

we were punctuated with

a comma of unexpected joy

- Drew Myron

It's Thankful Thursday! Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise. Please join me in a weekly pause to appreciate the people, places & things that bring joy. What are you thankful for today?

I'm worried.

My friends and I — poets and writers — are sending mixed signals: We love you. We shun you.

We want to be in your pages, where the cool writers hang, laughing at inside jokes and rolling eyes at the hapless hopefuls. We pine for your validation, the stamp that says "real writer."

Our desire is deep. Each year we send you hundreds of poems and stories. Please like me, we plead. Take my words — and for free! We want you that much. And just like high school, we quickly turn to envy, the sour face of adoration. We compare ourselves to other writers, and then, frustrated with our limitations, deride those we emulate.

But here's the weird and creepy thing. Despite our desire, we don't really read you. Sure, we flip through your pages at AWP (the annual gathering of writers, this year a record 9,500 registered to attend). We'll smile and take free copies. We'll graze your website, but really, we're just looking for the submission guidelines.

We want to be in your circle, but we don't really wanna hang out, don't wanna commit past the first date. No need to lock into something permanent like a subscription.

Frankly, I don't know how you survive. With few of us reading, really reading, and even fewer paying our way, I'm not sure how you find the time, energy and financial means to produce the goods.

And I'm confused. With nearly 3,000 -- that's not a typo, that's three thousand! --  literary journals and magazines published in the U.S., it seems the industry is thriving (as evidenced here, and here). But with so few buying, you're widely unread. So, are you thriving or dying?

Whatever the case, you press on. Cranking out issue after issue, a small fire of hope burns for donations, subscribers, a way to hang on. How do you do it?

And how do we, as writers, want you but not support you? Love you but shun you?  How does this circle keep turning?

Sincerely,

Drew

Made, not born - by writer/illustrator Jessica Hagy, Indexed.

It's Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to appreciate the people, places (& poems) in our lives. Please join me. What are you thankful for today?

Ask - collage by Drew Myron

For weeks, I've heard the zealous plans of overachievers: This year I will write a book! I will write everyday! I will get published!

My head aches. My heart sinks. Big goals may be good for some but I can't take the pressure. Bite-size tasks work best for me. 

I take heart in knowing the race to accomplish is best achieved in small daily steps. Like an exercise routine, I'm aiming for consistent effort, not exhaustion. To that end, I've culled ideas from friends and colleagues to offer key ways to feed your writing life.

Three Ways to Re-Ignite

• Write in Short Bursts
A friend of mine writes in small slices. In line, at the grocery, in the waiting room. "I have written something poemish every day this week," she tells me. "I tend to want to wait until I have a length of time open before I dive in [to write]. This year I am writing in the short bursts as well."

• Make a Collage
My favorite kind of art project is one requiring limited artistic ability. Collage is the answer! Simply page through magazines and clip words and pictures that draw your eye. As you arrange images on a blank page you may be surprised to discover themes and ideas that will spur a poem, a story, or more.

• Pick a Word
At the start of every year, many writers take inventory of their lives and goals and choose one word to guide them through the year. This can be a fun and powerful process. Choosing a word forces you to focus while also providing powerful direction. Molly chose persist. Auburn picked certainty. Sage's word is, um, not printable. When you open yourself to possibilities you allow conscious and unconscious forces — some might say the muse — to direct your steps (and words).

How about you: What are you doing to feed your writing life?
How do you create and maintain a writing routine?

The Stafford Celebrations began 13 years ago. Now readings and events take place every January across the globe, and not just in Oregon (where he spent most of his life) but also in Japan, Malaysia, Scotland, Mexico and Sweden.

In a world of so many writers, why do we celebrate one man?

In part because William Stafford was one of America's most prolific writers. He wrote over 20,000 poems and more than 50 books — and his first book wasn't published until he was 46 years old. He taught at Lewis and Clark College for 30 years, served as Oregon Poet Laureate, and earned a National Book Award.

He was also a pacifist. During World War II, he was a conscientious objector. He spent the war in Civilian Public Service work camps in Arkansas and California, where he did work for the U.S. Forest Service.

After decades of writing, teaching and encouraging other writers, William Stafford died in 1993 at 79 years old.

He believed that treasures were to be found beneath your feet, and that searching for things that fit together was to follow the "golden thread." About his own work, he once said, "I have woven a parachute out of everything broken."

Today's event, and all the Stafford readings, celebrate the life and work of an accomplished poet, but just as importantly — maybe more importantly — these gatherings encourage creative expression and urge us to make beauty "out of everything broken."

You Reading This, Be Ready

Starting here, what do you want to remember?

How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?

What scent of old wood hovers, what softened

sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world

than the breathing respect that you carry

wherever you go right now? Are you waiting

for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this

new glimpse that you found; carry into evening

all that you want from this day. This interval you spent

reading or hearing this, keep it for life  —

What can anyone give you greater than now,

starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

- William Stafford