I’ve been writing poetry pretty steadily during this pandemic. I find it’s a good way to channel my grief, depression and frustration. Also, since I’m still having migraines more than half of the days, it’s pretty hit-or-miss whether I’ll be able to function on any given day. Sometimes, my ability to do anything other than lie in bed comes in short bursts.
I write when I can. If I have to spend time curled up in bed dealing with pain, then I do that. If I can submit something for publishing, great. However, living from day to day with chronic pain can leave a person feeling rather fragile and a bit closer to discouraged than most of us would like to admit. When you add to the constant uncertainty of chronic pain the possibility of rejection that comes when you submit your artwork, you open yourself up to quite a bit of vulnerability. It’s one thing to write; it’s another thing entirely to submit it for someone to accept or reject, (to say nothing of critique).
I’d begun submitting my work to various publications at the beginning of the year. I’d had a couple of acceptances. I’d had many more rejections. This, I’m told, is par for the course. Nonetheless, the constant stream of “Not good enough” begins to wear on you and you eventually begin to wonder.
I applied for a Zoom workshop on Poetry and Protest that was happening in NYC, hoping that I’d enjoy it as much as the memoir course I attended last year through the New York Writer’s Workshop. The Zoom course really intrigued me because of the theme. Not only have I always been interested in social justice and protest for change, but the George Floyd murder had recently occurred and the BLM protests are taking place worldwide. A lot of my writing has been about these topics lately anyway. In order to be accepted, you had to send in some of your poetry. When I was accepted to the workshop, it felt nearly as great as if I had gotten a piece published!
I was so excited in the days leading up to the workshop. In many ways the experience was good. The other people in the class seemed great. There were a lot – a full Zoom screen of maybe 20. The course was only for one day, which unfortunately meant there wouldn’t be much one-to-one time with the instructor, with our pieces, or getting to know the other writers. We’d sent in a poem to workshop ahead of time, and I’d expected that we’d spend time, I don’t know, workshopping our own individual poems. Instead, we got some good writing prompts and worked on those. Then, a few people read their work and the teacher and classmates discussed it. That was good, but I was surprised we didn’t workshop the pieces.
I volunteered to have one of my pieces dissected. I don’t know if it was a great idea. The response wasn’t great. Although I received some positive feedback, I somehow left the course feeling pretty downcast about my writing abilities. Perhaps it was because I went into the class a bit fragile. Perhaps I was in a place where I heard the negatives more loudly than the positives. Maybe I’d been primed for it with my slew of rejections. Maybe I was in a course surrounded by other poets who were simply amazing and I paled in comparison.
Regardless, I spent a several weeks afterwards wondering whether any of the poems I wrote were decent. And the rejections continued to pour in, it seemed. Each one felt monumental. I was beginning to doubt my ability to write.
In a burst of positivity one day, I decided to write to Karol Nielsen, my memoir course instructor from last December to touch base and let her know I’d been having some success, much of which I felt could be attributed to her encouragement. I also confided a bit of my struggle with rejections and lack of self confidence. She’s amazing. Not only was she supportive of my publications, but she was also understanding about the rejections. She’s written two memoirs herself, which are fantastic. In addition, she her second book of poetry is coming out later this year. Although I met her through a memoir class, I had been happy when I heard she was a poet, and it felt right to tell her about my poetry publications. Check out Karol’s website or follow her on Twitter.
Karol told me about a site she curates called 140Max Magazine. She said she was getting read to publish again and wondered if I had any pieces to submit. Her magazine publishes micro poems, that stick to the original Twitter limit of 140 characters max. Although she’d said she liked the poems I’d had published, I wasn’t sure if she was just throwing me a bone, but I was quite honored that she asked me.
I liked the micropoem concept, and I did have several that fit the criteria, including some haiku I’d recently been experimenting with. I sent her a few poems, hoping one would work. I was thrilled and flattered when she said she liked three! They can be found at 140Max Magazine.
I think Karol was my good luck charm/turning point, because the very next day, I received my next acceptance from Writing for Peace – 3 poems to be published in August and in print in December! And then another one came the very next day from The Silent World in Her Vase – 2 poems at the end of July!
A few days later, I heard that Karol was going to be teaching another creative nonfiction class by Zoom this year. I was thrilled, as I’d been quite sad when the class ended last year. I’d left NYC to return to Colorado the day after it ended and was certain I wouldn’t be able to attend again. The pandemic made Zoom a way of life, and made attending Karol’s class a possibility. I suppose there have to be some positive sides to this pandemic!