2024.59
I'm so conscious of my backwoods origin when I'm in California. I know most people here don't see it, but that doesn't stop me from thinking they do. And when I'm Missouri, I feel like like the fanciest prick to ever walk Main Street.
Two changes I'm making to the newsletter this week.
- Post Titles now correspond to
year.first draft number. So for this post, the title represents the first draft of my 59th poem written for 2024-2025.- Post Images are now original photos to help bring back my photography habit.
I can imagine for a lot of you, it's the Post Title adjustment which is strange. There's an antiquated reason for this: some journals are real particular about whether you've "published" a poem on your website or social media, and their definition of what "published" means in the context of our digital age is rather frustrating.
I had thought I could circumvent these kinds of problems by pointing out the fact every poem on this site is a first draft and would not represent the version sent out to poetry journals—but alas, no. AGNI just gave me grief in a rejection email yesterday.
It should matter that I only show first drafts to newsletter subscribers. It should matter that these first drafts change substantially before I send them out. It should matter—but it doesn't, especially for established publications. In my opinion, and the opinion of many other poets, poetry journals should holistically shift to a "curated" model, like Rattle or OnlyPoems. In the meantime, I'll just reconsider sending to AGNI.
And since I like writing my little email every week, I'm simply going to make things harder for journals to figure out.
Happy Holidays, everyone. Merry Christmas. I hope it's been jolly.
During the Christmas season, I often find myself taking stock of my life—where I've come from and where I'm at. It's strange to think that a year ago, I was in Brugge, taking in the Christmas markets. Even stranger to think that a week later, I'd be on a beach in Sri Lanka with Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, and Japan ahead of me. Our trip around the world already seems like years ago, but we just returned last June.
And then I think how I've only become gainfully employed again since last October and before that, months of painfully applying and interviewing for jobs. I hate to admit how most of this already feels like a distant memory.
We forget how much the small things we do can weigh in aggregate. That little 10-minute morning walk you take can add up 180+ miles over the year. Writing 500 words a day can turn into a book. A couple of poems a week is over 100 poems per year, enough for a possible collection.
Great things start with doing small things, consistently over time. When I look at the aggregate of my life, it started by moving out on my own with nothing. First to a larger city in Missouri and then to Texas after college, and then to California for work. Applying for jobs I had no idea how to get. Being passionate about writing code. Just doing the next thing I had a gut feeling to do. Yes, privilege. Yes, luck. Yes, my wife always in my corner.
And now a home in Santa Barbara. A life full of travel. Writing poetry like I've always dreamed about. Sure, it's not perfect. There's the incoming administration. The promise of fascism. Christian Nationalists. I look back on my life because every time I take part in this exercise, I find myself profoundly grateful. And that keeps my heart from giving out.
