m a r c h
the sun glints between the trees and the children of spring rise again from the ground and turn their faces towards the sun, mock sunflowers in staggered rows, ragged voices harmonizing with the wind.
march is the month in which i start taking long walks in the wissahickon and envision myself swallowed up by the mushrooms that have begun to appear. morbid? maybe a bit. but in another sense, this is the month in which my connection to nature returns in full force. i wander endless forest paths and daydream myself into a new reality, and the glow of the sun on my face warms me more than any space heater ever could. rebirth, but in the wildest and most untethered sense.
my semi-satirical short story, a botched exorcism and a failed home invasion, was picked up by Maudlin House and will be published on march 8th at maudlinhouse.net!
to rule the desert, my sapphic desert gothic novella reimagining the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, is very nearly print-ready for its release date on may 18th! keep your eyes peeled for details about the release party at The Spiral Bookcase.
we are just one day away from my intro to poetry workshop! tickets are still available here, with an option to purchase just the recording and the notes rather than attending live. i hope to see some familiar faces!
things i loved this month
I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself by Marisa Crane, a queer dystopian science fiction recent release in which the Department of Balance has adopted a radical new form of law enforcement: rather than incarceration, wrongdoers are given a second (and sometimes, third, fourth, and fifth) shadow as a reminder of their crimes, and as a warning to others. this novel examines grief & the power of queer resistance, and it definitely made me cry.
The Average Fourth Grader Is a Better Poet Than You (and Me Too) by Hannah Gamble for The Poetry Foundation, which is not a new article, but one that i stumbled upon while working on my intro to poetry workshop. i highly recommend this as a way to reconnect with your creativity!
Canvas – Wax – Moon by Ailbhe Pascal, part of the Afterglow: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors anthology published by Grist. the anthology the climate conversation and envisions a radically different climate future, and “Canvas—Wax—Moon” in particular tells the tale of a family who provides unconditional support to its witching-hour baby when they need it most.
the sun has returned so it’s time, yet again, for my 90s lesbian playlist, which i did not actually create, but which lives rent-free in my head from march to september.
At the Edge of the Woods by Kathryn Bromwich from Two Dollar Radio, one of my favorite small presses! they sent me an ARC of this one, but be sure to look for it when it debuts in june! this is an unsettling story that grapples with themes of illness, infertility, and femininity and examines how women have had to navigate or attempted to escape societal expectations both historically and today, and it has haunted me since i started it.
what comes to mind when you think of the landscape of your childhood, your physical surroundings, the things your senses observed?
email me with your poems, your prose, etc and let me know your thoughts!
the poet will be offering typewriter poems (and a prose reading!) for SORTES on april 2nd from 2pm-5pm at Dirty Frank’s, the legendary dive bar at 13th and Pine, which will host its first ever rite of spring sidewalk ceremony. i’ve been told to expect: “literary devotion, ecstatic performance, and human sacrifice”. more details to come!
The Spiral Bookcase has begun hosting a free storytime with books read by yours truly. storytime is every first wednesday, so if you need a free activity for the kiddos, you know where to find me!
i’ve moved to working on 4x4 liminal gothic-style paintings for knitting the red blanket, my proposed sister chap to peeling the yellow wallpaper. i’m really excited to show y’all what i’ve been creating!
ARC’s are still going out for review for to rule the desert. if you’d like to review a copy, please let me know! i’m also looking for bookstores that would be willing to carry the book, and other news/media outlets that would be interested in covering the release.
i’m still shopping around another full-length poetry manuscript, but hope to have some good news on that soon!
i’m also working on a secret poem and art piece for a secret zine that i cannot wait to share!
i hope it isn’t awful of me to say, but i’ve resolved that this is the year of being selfish with my time. i’m a chronic, textbook people-pleaser, and i hate turning down opportunities. but i’m also realizing that i’m running out of time to work on my own writing career which is, ultimately, the thing i want to be doing full-time, and i don’t feel like i’ll be able to achieve the goals i’ve set for myself if i’m constantly running on empty, if i reach the end of every day having spent all of my time working and none of it on my own things.
so here’s to being selfish with our time, but also to remembering to take time to wander the woods and daydream, because i’ve found that my projects would never have any inspiration to them if i didn’t do so every now and again.
and if you ever feel alone, unsupported, you can always pour out your thoughts in my inbox. i promise i won’t tell a soul.
some “light” reading to leave you with…
instructions, a conversation.
you must not track it into the house — the things that move through the fields are ancient and decaying and they will infect your home, sink into the carpet, dry rot, warp, mold. tramp through the cemetery without fear but leave your boots outside the door — do not dare bring that cursed ground into the safety of here. whatever moves through the fields must stay outside.
what are you so afraid of?
i am afraid i will do something drastic — like carving the skin from my bones and leaving it out to dry, when the itch becomes too much. i am afraid i will carry the sickness with me. i am afraid of the spoiled ground, the things we exile behind closed doors. i am afraid of my bones and the ache they feel to abandon my body. i am afraid that the rot is already in my lungs. i am afraid and still as i sit in it, unblinking, taking leave of my body and everything it asks of me.
we are still here, you see.
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