A regular part of the writing life has little to do with creativity unless you just love dates and spread sheets. Common sense and polite communication demand that I keep track of poetry that has been offered to the editors of a publication. Said editors are busy people and the mail just flows in, either…

Recently I went to the office supply store although I didn’t need anything. But I shop there the way other people shop for clothes. It’s a silly addiction but comforting and legal. It reminds me of how far I’ve come since the days of my first computer and printer. I was available to help struggling…

Years ago, many years ago, I graduated with an MFA and at our last day, just before the faculty handed out diplomas, our class met for what was a conversation about “po biz.” We were urged to participate in all the poetry readings we could find, submit our work everywhere, and always apply for grants,…

May Day has come and gone without celebration in my part of the world. Time was that it was a big celebration with May Pole dancing, May baskets left on doorsteps, all gone now, overshadowed by a clogged calendar by which we are paid, billed, birthed, etc. The loss of May Day is barely noticed,…

A writer’s tools are personal. Some, like me, start with a pen on lined paper. I cannot explain why I have to use such archaic tools, but there’s some connection between my imagination and barely legible words on the lines in a notebook. I write early in the morning when there’s fresh coffee, instrumental music,…