I never thought all the selfies and self-portraits and faces were about looking at you. It is about you looking at me. And what I do with that.

My only post about teaching and the MFA

I don't talk much about my MFA (Master of Fine Arts program in creative writing) experience or my teaching. Teaching is my work. I take it seriously. I entered an MFA program with hopes of having some time off working (I was a grant writer) to concentrate on being creative and writing. During my time, I met some wonderful teachers who became friends and collaborators. I learned a lot about myself, and about writing. For me, it was essential in setting up who I was as a writer and creative. It was a community--and we all need a community to love us and to check us. We are not alone in this world. During my time in the MFA, I never for a moment thought I would graduate and become a teacher. I thought I would go back to grant writing or non-profit work. My path was different though and I did go into academia. I have written a lot, read a lot, and grown a lot. I love teaching. It is a gift for me. I take it seriously and value my students. I now have a lot of things to love in my life--that does not mean I am not faced with challenges. I am reading hooks this afternoon; in that work, I am reminded of all this and that we all (especially our students) have knowledge we bring to not just the classroom, but to life. Significant and important personal knowledge. Let's build on and with that knowledge. What we can do. I am still building. I hope you are, too.


No pictures here today. I am finally committing to have my full-length collection (no title yet) edited. I can’t wait to see what happens. It has a lot of stuff in it. I just call it a WORD DOC now. My recent chapbook, THESE BURNING FIELDS came from this book. It is so close to my heart. It is filled with pain. Here is some writing below:

The truth is I am a hag. And not the witchy GAME OF THRONES kind, but the boring everyday mom that no one wants, I have it all, they say. I am really sick, they say. And the beauty of misery is so skeptical of me. How can you be miserable, they say? And, right, the truth is, I am not. I do everything right, I suppose. And, that too, is not right. I am a hag, boring, petulant in my happiness, The beauty of stations of caterwauling. I am no poet, they say. That is fine. The truth is, I don’t want your poetry. And the French men tell me that misery condemns us to platitudes. And they tell me I have too much this, and too much that. There is no paucity in my future. The truth is that is not the truth. I am poverty now. If I told you so many things about me, you might blush, or you might say I am a hag. Older, I guess, but lack of perpetual and factual. I make things up. I think. No, I am too honest.

Pillow books

A series of four asemics on Japanese calligraphy paper. 7.5" x 5". Thinking of Sei Shonagon's The Pillow-Book. 


Cover art!

My art is on the cover of Virgil Suarez's new chap. Cool beans.



One of 4 in this series by me and Bluejay. I love the black paper.