2024.144

For the last two years, I've been developing a writing practice. And each May, around the middle of it, I celebrate the end of my calendar writing year and the beginning of a new one. I do this in May and not in January because this is not a New Years tradition. Nothing new is happening. This marker in time is merely symbolic, mostly to remind me how I've changed my own life for the better.

And to remind myself, and maybe you, that yes—you can change your life.

In the beginning, and even two years later, it may not feel like anything has changed. You have to take notice of the small things. How much better your heart and mind feel after reading and writing for an hour every morning. How many words you can write with just an hour every day (27,132). And even learning that the hour you give is important. The hour after work is no good. The hour before bed is trash. You have to give it your best hour, when you wake up.

Taking notice, I've written 144 poems since May 15, 2023. That's very close to an average pace of three poems per week. The pace isn't important and it's not indicative of anything. Most of these poems aren't good (maybe slightly less than half), but it is symbolic of how my life revolves around poetry. And that's wonderful.

I've had more rejections this year than I've kept track of. But I know of five acceptances or publications. A larger body of work, the Demonic Sonnets, which I wrote at the end of the first calendar year, have had two personal notes: one from Ploughshares and most recently from the Minnesota Review. They're close, but something needs to be tweaked. I really love them, so I need to figure out how to get them across the finish line.

I got into Kenyon Writers Workshop this year, which happens next month and feels like big milestone for me. AWP was last month and went exactly like I wanted it to—meeting poets and seeing my name in print.