INVISIBLE PROGRESS


"I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes to not expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. I am still pursued by a neurosis about work inherited from my father. A day where one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing we can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room, not try to be or do anything whatsoever."
------May Sarton, Journal of A Solitude

Not much work done on the novel this week. Kid #1 is on spring recess, so of course that means many, many distractions. But all is well because I've been catching up on some delicious reading and organizing/re-working some old poems and spinning a few new ones. Decision made to publish a chapbook. I've grown weary of looking for a home for my short fiction that I've been told by professional writer friends is good. Verygood. Problem is, most of the literary journals continue to only publish (or desire to publish) the OWGs (Old White Guys). Month after month the same names appear and it's tiring. Same is true of the OWW's (Old White Women). Pick up any prominent journal or a recent copy of the this, this or thisand you'll surely find an OWG or OWW. These journals are sorely lacking in diversity and that's being PC. Not just in the sense of the writer's ethnicity but in the theme of the stories. It's just the same old, same old. So in talking to my friend K, who balances life as a mother, writer, painter and traveler, I've decided that it's time to practice some serious Kujichagulia. Self-Determination. Spike Lee did it. Julie Dash did it. I am no different. The artist has to make their art. And the art has to be released into the Universe. It is both painful and humiliating to find one's nose up against a closed door month after month after month. So in the spirit of Kujichagulia, I am pulling together a manuscript which will be a mixture of poems, poetry and short prose which I hope to have to a printer by the end of the year.

On another note, Kid 1 and I planted a tree in the backyard today. She and her classmates planted acorns some time ago and now, the most adorable little oak "tree" sits in her styrofoam cup. She is amazed and the thought comes to me how spectacular it is to be a child. To greet everyday with excitement, wonder. To be amazed at nature. To be curious. To touch things with delicate, tender hands. To be unafraid of what troubles accompany the new day. To have the absolute blind faith that today I will be fed, clothed, hugged, loved, played with, etc. To have absolute blind faith.. And so I am reminded that this is what Jesus means when he talks about becoming as the little children. It's hard. Hard, hard, hard in the world we live in. Watching the shifting politics moment by moment that are so blatant and in-your-face; so anti-woman, anti-child, anti-old person, anti-poor. It's hard.

Anyhow, L'il Mama's tree is in the ground and a purple sign sits beside it, informing all that this is Her tree. I need to get over here sometime this week and pick up some more soil. Perhaps tomorrow Kid#1 and I will go. I have lavendar and tomato seeds that need planting and since we are in the spirit of planting and beginning life, there's no time like the present. Will get back to work on the novel next week. For now, I will let my eyes delight in the tasty treat of Spring: daffodils, tulips, 7:30 sunsets, green grass (finally! the piss-yellow is gone), the woods out back where there are trees, trees and more trees, slowly filling in.

Peace Always,
ANGEL