What’s Your Morning Routine?

/5 Comments/in , , /by

My mother used to say, “I have no secrets.” In other words, if she thought it, she shared it.

So I want to share with you the secret of my morning routine.

As soon as I get up–well, pretty much as soon as I get up–I go out to the kitchen, flip on the Keurig, and then I go to the sink and pour myself 16 oz. of water.

While my coffee is making, I do some kind of exercise, maybe bending to touch my toes ten times.

I take my coffee to whatever spot I’m writing in these days and I pick up my journal. Now that we are almost empty-nesters, I write in a favorite chair inside the house; my dog appreciates it; besides, the cabin is really cold this time of year.

I write 2-3 pages in my big Everyman’s Journal, which I like to think of as my Everywoman’s Journal.

I have a couple of small assignments right now that I’m wrapping into my journal. I’ve written a very short entry every day since my mother has been on Hospice (today is day #52). It’s either a description of a visit with her, or a memory, or a reflection of some sort.

The other assignment began January 1. I came across a One-Bad-Poem notebook from 2007-2008, and it occurred to me that I could spend a few minutes each day revisiting a poem written 10 years ago. Here’s a sample:

Like Chalkboard Erasers

When I clump the old poems together
letters and phrases and whole lines shake loose
and drift over me in a chalky cloud.

Having this particular morning routine works for me, and it usually launches me into a day of getting writing done. Even if I have a day of driving ahead of me, appointments, or whatever, I move into my day knowing that I’ve accomplished something that matters to me, something that makes me feel alive. Writing.

So here’s my secret, that is not a secret at all if you’ve followed my blog for very long.

I don’t have to drink 16 oz. of water. I don’t have to write 3 pages in my journal. I don’t have to be brilliant in my mom diary. I don’t have to revise the poem, and it (still) doesn’t have to be good.

All I have to do is offer myself the opportunity. I pour the water. I pick up my pen. I think about my mom. I recopy the poem. Sometimes it’s a bit lame. But I’m not here to be wildly successful. It’s more like an experiment. I see what happens.

What It Looked Like

/6 Comments/in , , /by

I stayed up late New Year’s Eve — making a last-ditch, under-the-wire effort to meet my submission goals for 2017. “Getting my ducks in a row.” Or attempting to.

I believe my husband said goodnight and went to bed at 8:30. Daughter #3 (the only duckling still at home) disappeared into the night around the same time.  I am of two minds about this: 1) that this was a little pathetic of me; and 2) that hanging out with my poems and stories and various journal web-sites and submittable pages was a perfectly healthy way to spend the holiday.

Anywho, that’s what I did. And here’s a quick recap of the year’s send-out.

I submitted poems to 55 venues in 2017.

This was only 5 short of my goal of 60, and if I were better at counting, I would have had 60, so…I’m okay with that. Of the 212 (approximate) poems I submitted, 17 were accepted and one was a contest winner. The 12 submissions between 12/24 and 12/31 of course have not yet enjoyed a response, and 4 others from earlier in the year are still hanging fire.

In 2017, I submitted 12 short stories —

This met my goal – which was no small potatoes when you look back at my (abysmal) history of short story send outs. Moreover, one story was a runner-up in Calyx’s Margarita Donnelly contest and is published on-line (hurrah!). A BIG first for Bethany! I can’t report on the ratio of send-out to acceptances yet, as five just went out, but I’ll keep you posted.

On the south coast of Ireland, Sept. 30, 2017

What I learned from submission efforts is a topic that I need to revisit, and will revisit in future posts. I LEARNED SO MUCH, even (especially) from the missteps.

A recap of 2017 could include so many other important details — the blog overhaul (which is still on-going), the novel which is still not 100% finished with me but somehow made it to 4 contests (1: no; 3: awaiting response), plus into the hands of my film-school graduate friend. The new (“new”?) novel that is happily underway…

Oh, and family life (that!), trips (Ireland!), not to mention writing conferences (2!) poetry readings, new poems drafted, and books read…and so forth.

So what do I write about next?

Thanks to a challenge at Donna Vorreyer’s blog I have made a commitment to write a blogpost at least once each week in 2018, which will give me lots of wiggle room to get you caught up on well, moi, and the writing life.

If you have any goals (even baby step goals) in 2018, please share in the comments. If you think I can help, email me at bethany.alchemy@gmail.com — you can also leave your email on the sign-up form (whether or not you’d like to open the PDF of my 7-days-of writing encouragement) to receive my sporadic newsletter updates.

No matter what else 2018 holds for you, I hope you write.

 

 

 

A Franciscan Benediction

/2 Comments/in /by

Whatever 2017 has been — an adventure, a slog, a learning opportunity, a chance for healing — we’re coming to the junction where it will end and 2018 will roll out ahead of us.

I am working on getting caught up on my 2017 send-out of poems and stories (I’m determined to make my goal of 60 submissions of poetry, and 12 of short stories), and will SOON have an end-of year review for you here, as well. Probably my two biggest publication news items are these:

I have finally had a short story published — “Corinne, in Floodtime,” was a runner-up in Calyx Journal’s Margarita Donnelly Prize, judged by Northwest novelist Jean Hegland (all of whose novels I have read), and can be found on-line, here.

My poem, “The Last Time I Heard Her Play the Piano,” won  the Poet Hunt Contest at The MacGuffin of Schoolcraft College. It was selected by poet Naomi Shihab Nye, and to think of her liking a poem of mine  makes me so happy I could weep.

I will be back in a few days with a full recap. In the meantime, I’d like to share my favorite benediction to close out 2017.

A Franciscan Benediction

May God bless us with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that we may live deep within our hearts.

May God bless us with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that we may work for justice, freedom and peace.

May God bless us with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war, so that we may reach out our hands to comfort them and turn their pain into joy.

And may God bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in this world, so that we can do what others claim cannot be done.

Amen.

 

Baby Steps

/0 Comments/in /by

Just when I’m pretty sure I’m writing into the void. Just when I’m flinching at the echoing silence that greets each new post, I hear from an old friend:

I need to thank you for recommending One Small Step Can Change Your Life.  It’s about small steps, but it’s had a huge impact on me. I’ve given away I can’t tell you how many copies. 

I’ve been reading a lot of books about change this past year. I even took an on-line course all about changing one’s life. Changing-up my blog has been a similar endeavor, this “big” idea I had that was supposedly going to do something big for me.

Nothing ever delivers like small steps.

To get anything done, I have to break it down into little tiny itty-bitty steps. This has been true for everything I’ve ever done, from adopting my daughters to going to Ireland, whether I was landing my tenure-track teaching job, back in the day, or planning my daughters’ graduation party this past summer.

Playing the piano has been a series of micro-steps. Cooking up a new poetry manuscript is a series of micro-steps (which I’m kind of struggling with just now).

Sometimes that first step is the one that you most need to tackle. Brené Brown tells a story about her daughter feeling overwhelmed when her swim coach signed her up for a race that she didn’t feel qualified for. “Your job isn’t to win,” Brené  told her. “Your job is to get wet.”

When I am resisting practicing the piano, I tell myself that all I have to do is sit down on the piano bench.

When I’m really really dragging my feet about going to the gym, I know that putting on my gym clothes is a first step toward ending up there.

When I’m avoiding a writing project (which, really, why would I?), I tell myself that all I have to do is sit down with it for fifteen minutes.

If you still have some last-minute gifts to order, you could do worse that clicking on Robert Maurer’s little book.

It’s a first step.