Mostly Downloads

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Downloads today:

Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus
Charlie Rouse, Takin' Care of Business
Ornette Coleman, Tomorrow is the Question
Sonny Rollins, Tenor Madness (Remastered)
Sonny Rollins, Way Out West
Sonny Rollins, Saxophone Colossus (Remastered)
Thelonious Monk and Sonny Rollins, Thelonious Monk / Sonny Rollins (Remastered)
Thelonious Monk, 5 By Monk By 5

So far my favorite is by far Charlie Rouse but Charles Mingus is right there as well. He's a great tenor saxophonist. And yes, I was in a little bit of a jazz mood this afternoon after eating Pizza Hut with the family over at Brandon and Debbie's, and talking jazz with Brandon for a little bit.

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The week in review: I was a featured reader at the Main Street Rage Poetry Showcase last Sunday which is held here, the boys had their first full week of school this week, Megan had her first full week of school as well, I had 4 more poems picked up by Epicenter on Friday, we ate at Oklahoma Joe's on Saturday which is one of the best BBQ spots in KC, and my parents stayed with us this weekend because my sister Cindy and her new baby Gabe were in town showing off.

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What I've been reading this week:

Matthea Harvey, Sad Little Breathing Machine
Matthea Harvey, Modern Life
Leslie Adrienne Miller, The Resurrection Trade

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Not exciting, but there you have it. Hopefully, I'll blog a little more often next week.

3 Nerds and a Calculator

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Megan was listening to Pearl Jam's "Love, Reign O'er Me" or "Last Kiss" on the radio. She told me kids Eddie Vedder sounded like a goat and changed the radio station. I love Pearl Jam so her comment was blasphemous but I wasn't in the car. She turned it to a station playing Billy Idol's "White Wedding." My oldest son, Elijah, asked "What is this?" My wife joyously responded: "This is Billy Idol...he's awesome." There was silence; then Elijah added sardonically (and I'm sure he didn't know he was being sardonic) that he would rather listen to 3 nerds sing about calculators then listen to Billy Idol. Wow!!! What an amazing sense of humor!!! My middle son, Gavin, chuckled to himself and repeated "nerds...calculators" and continued chuckling to himself.

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I'm reading at The Writer's Place tonight...hopefully all goes well. I'm reading some of my new poems, which are a little lighter, and of course some of my heavier "hyper realism" poems as BJ would put it. By the way BJ, if you read this post, I've thought about the question you asked me at AWP often and I believe the answer is absolutely...I would characterize some of my poetry as "hyper realism."

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Since I haven't posted this week I need to mention that Megan and I celebrated our 11th Anniversary on Friday. We've known each other for 15 years. We went to Genghis Khan for dinner; if you're ever in Kansas City definitely check it out, especially if you're a vegetarian. Afterwards we went to Tropic Thunder at the Cinemark in the Plaza. I thought it was hilarious but also wholeheartedly agree with Megan when she said: "it was so wrong." But nonetheless, we both thoroughly enjoyed the movie. Robert Downey Jr. is very, very funny. Ben Stiller is Ben Stiller.

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Now is the semi-narcissistic portion of this post. Toot, toot!!! That's me tooting my own horn. I had two poems accepted by Pennsylvania English on Thursday. This might be just what I needed to break out of my slump.

What a Weekend

I went to Iowa this weekend to visit my parents. We went to Taco John's: it was wonderful. We had Zeno's pizza. We watched the Olympics. But none of these were the highlight of my weekend. The highlight of my weekend came on Friday in the form of what I thought was a rejection letter. But I discovered it was more than a mere rejection letter. Although I may name the offender in a future post, I won't name the journal tonight.

The letter stated: "We're sorry but we do not accept poems generated by writer's submission services. We encourage you to purchase a copy of Journals Name to get a sense of the kind of work that interests us." The aforementioned statement was on the journal letterhead. I'm not sure if it was a standard form letter. At first, I wasn't sure what they were talking about. My thoughts were something like this: What the hell. What's a writer's submission service? Then it dawned on me that they were referring to those lame services that play on the hopes of aspiring writers by charging recurring fees to manage their submissions for them and I'm assuming the majority of said submissions are sent out blindly. Or at least this is my perception of writer's submission services as predatory organizations which may be wrong since I don't know much about them. I did a Google search using the key words Poetry Submission Service and there are quite a few services out there.

First of all, I have never used a submission service in my life. Secondly, I've read the journal in question and it has grown to be one of my favorite journals. It's newer, its run by a college with an MFA program which has multiple literary journals, the work is intelligent, edgy, fun, etc. I've read 4 of the 5 issues thus far and even re-read one of the issues. I've kept each issue I've purchased. This leads me to my third point, what was it about my submission that gave the editors the impression that I was using a submission service. I only have three thoughts:

1. The poems sucked and/or they (i.e., the poems) didn't suit the tastes of the editors, and subsequently, they thought to themselves, and perhaps joked back and forth with their colleagues over PBR and pretzels, "this fucking jerk has never read Journal Name...if he had he wouldn't have sent such shit." You know, I realize not every editor's going to like my poetry and a few editors might even think my poetry sucks ass. I also realize this is how it works. And I'm okay with that. But why send me a letter accusing me of using a submission service. Why not just send me a generic rejection slip.
2. Something in my cover letter gave the preliminary reader the impression that I didn't prepare the submission myself. Now, I have to admit that my cover letters can be a little bland: I work here, I'm married to so-and-so, I have three kids, I live in KC, my poetry has appeared in Names of 3-5 Journals, and recycle the damn poems if you think they suck. I don't always mention the stellar poems I read in the journals latest issue, and in this case, I didn't name the poems I appreciated but I had in fact read 4 of the 5 issues of the journal. But again, why send me a letter accusing me of using a submission service when you have absolutely no evidence to support such a claim. Just send me a generic rejection slip. I could use it as a book mark when I read your next issue.
3. They made a mistake: they grabbed the "We don't read poems from writer's submission services" pile instead of the "your poems weren't right for us" pile. It's an easy mistake to make.
   

Now, perhaps there's something I'm missing but these three reasons seem like the most logical reasons.

So, now to a more important aspect of this wonderful event, which by the way has really got my panties in a bunch, the reality is that I prepare all of my submissions. I painstakingly fill envelope after envelope. I keep a database so that every submission is thoroughly tracked so that I make inquiries at the proper times, give journals plenty of response time given that it's a known fact that most journals (not all) are behind in their production schedule by at least 3-12 months, withdraw any poems that are accepted which I have submitted out simultaneously (to journals that accept simultaneous submissions), etc. I even have a huge database of journals with their guidelines, addresses, submission preferences (mail or electronic), sample copy costs, subscription costs, poetry editor names. I also update this database on a regular basis.

I want to be clear about this though; I am not upset about being rejected. Getting rejected is par for the course. I have submitted 836 groups out. I have had 80 journals publish 95 of my poems. That's an acceptance rate of 9.569377%. That means I get rejected 90.4% of the time. I guess you could say I'm better at loosing than winning; better at getting rejected than accepted...but who isn't...it's just part of the process.

What angers me the most is that a journal that I really respect would presume that I use a submission service...that is, if it wasn't a harmless mistake. Not only this but I'm familiar with and respect the work of 2 out of the 4 poetry editors: I've read their books and/or chapbooks. Anybody who knows me, knows that I read and write tirelessly and I work hard at researching and reading almost every journal I submit to (which I will add to in a few days when I provide a synopsis of my read journal to non read journal ratios).

I will perhaps, per Megan's suggestion, write a letter and/or e-mail to Name of Journal in an attempt to clear up things.

This is all I can say right now. And I'm trying to NOT mention the name of the journal.

Saturday Afternoon

I'm at my parents in Marshalltown, Iowa. Megan, I, and the family decided to visit my parents before school starts for the boys. One thing is for certain thus far: I've seen way too many John McCain ads. I haven't seen any in Kansas City thus far but I've seen three so far today on NBC's local affiliate.

Tonight, we're having Zeno's Pizza. Travis and Hannah will be coming over. Megan and I might even catch a movie...probably Step Brothers (Will Ferrell rules). It will be a good night.

Happy Hour

I read some more Weil today and this is what I have to share (it's from her section on evil in Gravity and Grace):

"A certain inferior kind of virtue is good's degraded image, of which we have to repent, and of which it is more difficult to repent than it is of evil--The Pharisee and the Publican."

I think she meant "The Pharisee and the RePublican" but I'm not sure since she wrote this in the early 1940's. But I like to think she meant "The Pharisee and the RePublican."

I'm going to Room 39 for a little happy hour tonight. Some of the regulars from the Main Street Rag reading series (a monthly reading series and open mic night at the Writer's Place), including the host Shawn Pavey hang out there on Late Nite happy hour nights.

Mary Biddinger has a great post on writing prompts. I like prompts especially when I'm in a slump and need to stretch a little bit.

Food Eater

I was pondering my "creative conundrum" and figured out the problem: my fascination with NASCAR, Texas Roadhouse, WWE, etc. has morphed me into a mere "food eater." The only things that satisfy me are fast cars, meat, violence, and of course beer. I work only to consume. The literary arts no longer matter to me. Perhaps I should accept the inevitable. Of course this "thought train" is fairly prejudicial and maybe a tad guilty of stereotyping.

I honestly think the longer that I have been writing the less satisfied I am with my poetry. I'm not sure if this is a common experience but I don't think I'm entirely comfortable with my declining satisfaction. And I don't mean comfortable in the sit back, prop my feet up, sip a little single malt, and watch some Battlestar Galactica sense (although that's not all that bad) but in the sense that I'm willing to reconcile the "normal" evolution in any poets (or aspiring poets) creative life: namely that over time they become less and less satisfied with their work and have to make adjustments to their mental paradigms, writing habits, aesthetics, poetics, etc. to compensate for the evolution. Perhaps this is too rigid a view? Perhaps there is no such thing as the "normal evolution of less satisfaction" or perhaps I'm taking myself too seriously.

On a less serious note. First, I went to my office to write this morning. Megan was watching Project Runway and drinking coffee at 7:00 AM. The coffee was normal but Project Runway at 7:00 AM. I didn't write.

Secondly, my mere "food eater" comment reminded me of a story about one of my colleagues at the bank I "food eat" at. A few months ago he and I went out for sushi on pay day Friday: we call it pay day sushi. He told me over sushi that he was using he and his wife's stimulus check to buy his wife new boobs. He was serious. He added that if they got a divorce she would get one and he'd get one because he paid for them. He also added that the fact that he was buying his wife a boob job with their stimulus check gave a new meaning to the phrase stimulus package. I'm serious. She got the boob job. How does one respond especially while eating sushi.

Third, I'm going to be a featured reader at the Main Street Rag reading series which is hosted at The Writer's Place in KC every third Sunday of the month. So, Brandon if your reading this mark August 17th on your calendar. Otherwise...actually Brandon, you might be the only one who reads this blog.

Creative Conundrum

I didn't write again today. To be honest, since May 2007 I've written 27 rough drafts. Of those 27 rough drafts, I only like 5, which were all written in 2007. This means I don't like anything I've written this year.

Now my rough drafts are not complete drafts. I usually take 2 days-2 months to finish a rough draft. I put the poem aside for a few weeks and then begin the long, arduous task of revising the poem which can mean 6-10 drafts or more. I feel it's complete when I feel like I can't go an further textually and when I read the poem aloud it reads smoothly. So, I have to feel comfortable with it textually and orally. Once I reach this comfortability I usually will start submitting the poem, along with others of course, to literary journals. Of course, I have often come back to poems years later to continue minor tweaking and sometimes major overhauls. I'm obsessive like that.

So, back to my original thought: writing has sucked for the past 14 months. I don't feel comfortable with what I'm writing. I feel like I'm writing less and less. And I'm not sure what to do about. Oddly, enough my creative conundrum started when Megan and I bought our new home which leads me to a question: how does 'writing space' or 'creative space' affect a poet's productivity as a writer or to put it less capitalistically: does the space in which a poet creates poetry affect the quality of their poetry??? Hmmm...inquiring minds want to know...as do I.


I ordered 8 more 1:64 scale NASCAR cars tonight. I like to believe they're for my son Brayden.

Tid Bits

I suck at Farkle. My sons, Gavin and Elijah, essentially kick my ass every night in Farkle. Yes, every night we play games before bed except for Friday nights which is WWE Friday Night SmackDown and Saturday nights which is Naruto night.

I read a little more of Ben Lerner’s The Lichtenberg Figures (for the third time) at lunch as well as Simone Weil’s Gravity and Grace.

Recent downloads: The Moldy Peaches and Kimya Dawson. Yes, I downloaded them because of Juno, which is definitely a 4 out of 5 stars based on the Netflix rating scale, which is to say, I really like it. Michael Cera was…well…Michael Cera and he was brilliant as usual. Ellen Page was outstanding. I loved Jason Bateman. Even Jennifer Garner was pretty good.

FYI...I don't know what the fuck this blog is for.

Send/Receive

I got up this morning and attempted to write. I desperately wanted to break out of a creative slump. But I was so exhausted all I could do was stare at the ceiling in my office. Typically when I get up early, take a shower, and get a cup of coffee in The Blue Moose mug I’m energized enough to sit down, listen to some music, and write. But this morning my mind was still hitting the snooze button. After a while I just sat there hitting the Send/Receive button in Outlook completely unaware of what I was doing. So, no go this morning. I feel like my “creative battery” is running low on juice and that I either need a jump start or a new battery and I’m not really sure what a new battery looks like. Regardless, I feel like I’ve been in a slump for 1 ½ years. I think its because of the damn dust mites. Megan thinks it’s because I’m lazy. The dust mites thinks it's because I don't read enough Jorie Graham.

Sunday Afternoon

I’m watching NASCAR at Pocono on ESPN. Yes, I’m kind of dorky. And if watching racing wasn’t enough to reveal my “country” side, we went to Texas Roadhouse yesterday. I love their country fried sirloin and my kids love throwing peanut shells on the ground.

But I didn’t realize that the waitresses (and only the waitresses) were required line danced. No, it wasn’t anybody's birthday. There was no “happy birthday” song, cakes, etc. The waitresses cranked up Rednex’s “Cotton Eye Joe” and line danced in a front of dozens of patrons. They were very robotic and unsynchronized at first but by the time the song was done they were still robotic but much more synchronized.

It was surreal though; the waitresses had this “I didn’t sign up for those” look on their face that yielded the following internal monologue: “This is the ‘business is slow because the economy sucks’ line dance. Just keep grabbing your hips and twirling around. Look happy and dance, look happy and dance even though my tips are lower, profits are down 28.74%, and it costs me 19.32% more to drive to work because gas is going through the fucking roof. Just look happy and dance, just look happy and dance.” Of course, this is a very pessimistic monologue but I don’t care.

And that’s me on a Sunday afternoon: watching NASCAR with Ben Lerner’s The Lichtenberg Figures (I’m reading it for the third time…and I’m not sure why…probably because I like it) on my lap thinking about Texas Roadhouse while drinking Mountain Dew Code Red and occasionally flipping to Fox to check out a little Angels-Yankee’s action. What does this reveal about Jon Barrett?

Later, homemade macaroni and cheese with Brandon, Debbie, Paul, and Camilla, and of course my lovely family.