writing skills/profession

Rejection


I received my first rejection email  the other night. It was from an online poetry magazine called Blue Skies. I believe that it is run by a member or former member of the Fort writing group. I had gotten word of an open call for submissions from the leader of the Fort group and submitted three poems before the first of the year. They were about Alberta places: the Fort, Edmonton and a range road near our home. The rejection was short and to the point, which was “sorry, but I don’t like your poems”. At least that is how I read it. 

Poetry, in my own opinion, is one of the most subjective forms of written expression, and for the most part I don’t enjoy reading others poetry or even listening to them read it. I think that is because many poets are pretty ordinary writers and it shows in their choice of topic, theme, word choice, comparisons and structure. By far the most common has to do with emotional upset, particularly of the romantic variety, and consequently it reads like the bad poetry of a heartbroken 15 year old. Plaintive and cliche. Of course there are those poets who write about things – like their cats – or are “landscape” artists who drone on about flowers and meadows and the brilliant blue sky.

I didn’t really love the poems I submitted because I was tied to writing about Alberta as a place. That was the theme. The work was a forced and I guess it showed too much. Oh well, I am not a poet by nature though I can write it and an ever inspired to do so spontaneously on occasion, but I really just consider poetry a writing exercise more than something to do on purpose day in and day out.

Since I haven’t much invested in these poems, I am going to publish them myself here and on my Anniegirl1138 site. 

Prairie Canopy

Sitting atop the earth like a crown

A canopy covering

Cloudy or crisply stark 

Close enough to touch

Where far off rains occasionally drape its horizon

And the moon might hold a mid-day chat with the sun

A clean blue awning over all I can see

That darkens gradually from the prairie to become a backdrop for the clouds

Range Road 213

East past the tracks in Josephburg

Right at the gymkhana field

Forest lined but for acreage drives, canola fields and ponies grazing

Rolling and narrow it leads to the Yellowhead

From there, anywhere

Edmonton Skyline

Just past the Camrose exit 

Heading west on Yellowhead Trail

And nearer than it looks 

Sits Edmonton

So much like a cutout, 

A child’s toy,

Waiting to be reached for 

Scooped and carried

Away from refineries 

Hazy obscurity

That the problem with writing to order. It’s soulless.

Subjoint


Rob and I frequently meet for lunch at a little place on 100Ave called Subjoint. A woman named Tara who is one of those impossibly thin beautiful women that I always wanted to be when I was young runs it. When I asked her today if she would mind if I took a photo of her at work for this blog article, she assented readily, but I could see in her eyes she was far to practical a person to think being featured on a blog was any kind of big deal. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I hadn’t confirmed my middle-aged geekiness to her for sure today.

Tara is usually the only person behind the counter at lunch though I have seen another employee there on occasion. Rob and I frequent often enough now that she nearly knows our order by rote. Today as she confirmed that I do not take tomatoes or onions, I admitted that I am allergic to them. Another customer, a friend of Tara’s it seemed, was nearby still collecting her order and chatting a bit overheard and was horrified. How could one live one’s life without tomatoes? Well, it’s not as easy as it sounds. More foodstuffs than most people realize contain tomato in one from or another. So I explained that while I loved tomatoes, I suffered from Oral Allergy Syndrome (totally self-diagnosed by the way because I couldn’t get even my usually open-minded doctor to take my symptoms seriously – but when you mouth feels as though it is burned all the time and your lips are tingling – anyone will be motivated to sleuth.) I explained that while it wasn’t life-threatening (that I have been able to find out). It could/did make eating very painful. So, I avoid tomatoes and all citrus and peanuts – don’t know what to do about freshly mowed lawns – and amazingly my chronic heartburn, gastic upsets and sore mouth are gone. The friend continued to be horror-struck as she as she exited.

 Subjoint is just a block over from the library where I meet with the Fort writing group on the first Wednesday of every month and just two doors down from Soulitude Spa where I get my hair done while discussing American politics and world events with the Canadian/Lebanese stylist, Fredrique, who despite what Rob thinks isn’t the tiniest bit gay. The café is really just a sandwich only place though they offer a limited chip selection at times, and there is an assortment of drinks. Rob and I usually have the veggie wraps anymore, but you can have any manner of sub and of course the ever popular donairs, which as nearly as I can figure out consists of shaved lamb on bread with the diner’s choice of accoutrements.

There are only four tiny tables, the kind you might find in a Starbucks, upfront for dining in. Now that it is winter, we dine in, but back in the fall we would take our sandwiches and drinks down to the picnic area by the river. From there you can see the trail that runs the length of the Fort and a tiny white church across the river that I found quite picturesque when the colors were turning from the summer greens to the mulit-coloreds of autumn.

I was the one who was early that doesn’t happen often. I dropped Katy off at school just before and her teacher was letting the kids into the classroom about five minutes earlier than usual. Probably on account of the weather. You just don’t appreciate the gift of five minutes until it’s just handed to you out of the blue when you least expect it. I had been thinking for a while that I wanted to shift the focus of my blog just a bit and start writing about the things, places and people I am finding here in Alberta and in Canada. After all, I have been given this great gift of another country to explore and take note of and what I have done with it really? So from now on I am going to include entries on the many things and people around me, starting with Subjoint.

If you are ever in the neighborhood of Fort Saskatchewan and in need of a quick and tasty lunch, I heartily recommend that you look up Tara and her café. It’s cozy and smells wonderful and is the perfect place for a mid-day break from the hustle. Not that life moves swiftly in the Fort. Around it perhaps would be more accurate. This is Canada remember, where my own dad noted that “the dogs even move slowly”, but I think you might find this place and the food a nice alternative to the fast and the processed of say a McDonald’s or a Tim Horton’s.

 

What I did on My Vacation (from blogging)


I wrote. Mostly that is what I did. Poetry for the Poetry Federation of Canada’s all call for submissions for nine new anthologies. The titles of these anthologies have me a bit stumped because they came with no content direction what so ever. The poetry of birth. The poetry of seasons. The poetry of relationships. A wide berth for interpretation could mean just about anything. I chose the pedestrian path and took the titles literally, but alas, it turned out that I had missed the deadline (I think I got the email informing me about it a couple of days prior), so I ended up just picking the best three and sending them to the magazine sponsoring the anthologies.

            I also polished another piece for The Daily Globe and Mail on the recent lice saga (which we appear to have recovered from – thank the lord/universe). I am struggling with a piece for Canadian Living magazine. 500 words on My Canada. I am not sure that any part of Canada is “mine” yet, but I don’t know that I can call any place I have ever been “mine” in the way that some people refer to homes or favorite haunts. I feel that the place I will call mine I have yet to step foot on.

I found out that one of my short stories didn’t make the cut for a rather avante garde literary magazine out of Calgary, so I turned around and submitted it to a Sci-fi/Fantasy mag here in Edmonton. Probably a better fit.

            And finally, I began scouring my blog for a piece that I might enter in a memoir-writing contest. This in addition to attending a writer’s group meeting where another member supplied me with three more contests that are possibilities.

            Oh, and I wrote my first cover letter. Next is the query.

            And you know what I discovered about this? That it is fun. More fun than blogging and reading blogs and mindless message board voyeurism. Hmmmm. Rob started a blog the other day on his “net” history and conclusions he has come to concerning it. I still like blogging. It’s not the same as my writing for contests and submissions. It fulfills something different but I suspect that I will not be an everyday blogger once I start to get the hang of how this getting published thing really works. I still like reading blogs but I am down to a certain select few that I read consistently. I really need to start using the RSS.

            One thing I did not do was return to my novel. By the rules, I should have begun my read through and second draft about a month ago, but the topic matter is so depressing. I find that even a fictional account of my widowhood too heavy for my soul at the moment. I also did not finish my cat lover story because I want to make it a part of my sci-fi short story series and haven’t found the bridge between what I started and where I want it to come out. Patience. Patience.

            I did work on the links to my wordpress blog. I did finally get the ball rolling on getting all the beneficiary stuff changed on my existing pensions. I did find and semi-organize (they are all in one folder) my tax info for 2007.

            And…..drum roll……..I got Rob to help me purge and organize the cabinets in the kitchen.

            What?! That sounds like a non-important agenda item to you, dear readers? Au contraire, mes amis. The cabinets (like the refrigerator) have been harboring out of date (by years) foodstuffs and all manner of non-used and non-essential items that, if not taken care of now, will simply demand attention when the move to Texas is glaring us in the face or worse, will be waiting for us next summer when we are back to finish getting the house ready for sale.

            I have been wanting to do this for a while, believe it or not, but the problem is that I am not always certain when my cleaning and purging help is needed, wanted and/or helpful because much of what there is doesn’t belong to me.

            I tread a very delicate line when it comes to rearranging or packing away or pitching. I don’t want to push. I don’t want to dredge up memories or be the cause of hurt feelings where Shelley’s things are concerned. It’s hard for the girls to visit and see so much change. It’s hard for Rob to go through things all the time. And it’s hard for me because I am torn between wanting to help, protect and at the same time start carving out areas that reflect me. Shelley had a distinct décor style that is evident in the plants and wall hangings and color scheme and the way that all space is occupied by something. But for me, plants get dusty and the die when not watered and aren’t all that great for an asthmatic to have around. I like my walls sparse to totally bare. My favorite colors change too often to slap them on a wall, so I usually go with light colors that are barely colors at all. And I like room. I love room. Room to walk around or dance around or sit on the floor with newspapers or writing papers or books spread out all around me. It could just be my lazy Sagittarian side but stuff just invites dirt to settle on it and then it needs to be cleaned. Not much stuff equals way less cleaning. And, I like the freedom that space provides.

            Rob and I talked about the cleaning and the impact of Shelley’s things on us both. He had worried about how I felt and honestly aside from one small teary breakdown this last summer, I haven’t been bothered. I worry more about the impact of change and paring down and giving away and tossing on him and the girls than I think about the impact on me. He reminded thought that what I see is a reflection of a lifestyle that he and Shelley were transitioning away from around the time she became ill and that had that not occurred at that time, things would be much different.

            It was nice though to clean out spaces. I am beginning to like the downsizing and the lack of stuff. I think now about what I truly need in terms of the material to feel satisfied once we get to Houston, and I realize that it is not an extensive list.

            So now it is Friday again. Katy has the day off because of the teacher convention and we are heading into Sherwood Park for the morning. First stop is Beaners, a hair salon for little girls. She was promised a visit during the lice escapade (of which the saga is far from over as a new lice alert pamphlet came home with her from school the other night). Then it’s off to the mall because she is growing like a weed and needs new tights and has Christmas money to spend. I need to browse the magazine rack at the Chapters and perhaps grab a chai at the Starbucks (okay, not perhaps – definitely). Afterwards I need to hit the gym and there is ballet today too.

            Whew. A lot done and a bunch still do to do