Storm Interlude

Rabbit May 21

Tropical Storm Andrea’s rain passed over our area this morning, and now the wind has arrived. Reason enough to stay indoors and organize the archive. Here are a few photos that I’ve been saving for a rainy day.

Blue Jays June 3

Dragonfly May 28

Chickadee May 31

Unknown Bird May 17

The bird in the above photo moved through the yard too fast for me to get a good look at it. I would love some help with identification, if there is enough information in the photo.

Also with the next bird, which I believe is a brown thrasher?

New Bird June 6

I hope Andrea’s rain and wind prove to be nothing more than an inconvenience to everyone in its path…

2012 Hampton Roads Writers Conference, Part Two

One of the last things I did, before leaving for the conference, was bring in the mail. The top envelope in the box was one of my submission SASEs, which could only be a rejection. Since better than seventy percent of my submissions result in rejection, it was a safe assumption. The envelope contained my very first photography rejection.

As I drove to the conference, I mulled my usual regrets. Did I miss something in the submission guidelines? Did I choose wrong, as I selected what to send? (The photos in this post are some of the ones I considered, but decided against.) And, the biggest question of all, what was I thinking? Why did I ever imagine that my work was good enough for publication?

I’ve been submitting poetry since 2003. Nine years in, I’ve accumulated a drawer full of rejections and a folder’s worth of acceptances. My rejection-regret processing time is down to a little over an hour, so I reached the “it’s okay and I’ll try again” stage before check-in time at the conference. Even so, it wasn’t the best way to start my weekend.

The first night offered a choice between three sessions. I opted for “Mastering the ten-minute agent pitch” by Molly Jaffa of Folio Literary Management. Anyone who has ever considered submitting their work to an agent should hear this talk. Before, I had vague ideas of how I wanted to present my book. After, I had a firm outline and growing confidence that I was on the right track.

Friday and Saturday’s schedules included talks about poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. My favorite sessions focused on marketing and editing:

  • “A Day in the Life of a Literary Agent” by Molly Jaffa
  • “Getting Published … and Maybe Even Paid (for your poetry)” by editor and publisher Annmarie Lockhart
  • “Buffing and Polishing” by author John DeDakis

I learned from every speaker, but the daily first-ten-lines critique sessions were the most interesting part of the conference. The critique panel consisted of agents Molly Jaffa, Rachael Dugas, and Brooks Sherman, along with authors Rick Mofina and Patricia Hermes. Earlier in the summer, conference registrants had been invited to submit the first ten lines of their works-in-progress. These submissions were projected in the auditorium (with the authors’ information removed), read aloud, and discussed by the panel. Points of interest included formatting, character development, point of view, word choice, and placing your work within the proper genre. In each submission I recognized problems from my own work, and I left each session with new ideas about how to strengthen my writing.

By Saturday evening, my mind was full to overflowing. I was happy to come home and eager to start applying all that I had learned. Which brings me back to “what was I thinking?” I was thinking this: I prefer a drawer full of rejections to a computer hard drive packed with poems and stories and photos that I never bothered to edit and submit.

Now, it’s time to get back to work.

Blue Moon Friday (Arachnophobia Alert!)

The blue moon suits my mood. I’m tired and sluggish, ready to crawl off into some quiet corner and lose myself in a half-edited manuscript, one burdened with rambling paragraphs and boring verbs. It needs dragonflies.

A couple of spiders wouldn’t hurt, either.

Because spiders matter. Even the ones that eat butterflies. (I believe this was a Cloudless Sulfur butterfly.)

I want my story to feel real, so it can’t be all flutter and gleam. It needs sticky strands of web, for tension. And rough surfaces, for texture.

Now, if only I could find a way to add cicadas. Maybe just one. A late summer cicada, laying its eggs under the bark of a pear tree…

Changes

The days are definitely getting shorter, and the yard has changed accordingly. Tired leaves litter the grass. The roses bloom erratically, producing smaller and smaller flowers with less and less scent. Few dragonflies remain, only a handful of Blue Dashers.

Spiderwebs lend the yard an autumn feel, harbingers of Halloween and the brittle months to follow. And there’s a silence, under the muted cricket chorus, that sounds like an echo of winter.

No more robins, no more blue jays, no love-struck doves on the fence. Only an occasional mockingbird, and even they tend to hide from view, flitting through the wax myrtle as if they would rather not be noticed. Or photographed.

So the yard reflects summer’s dwindling hours, despite the lingering heat. And I’m torn between sorrow and anticipation, a permanent state in the last few years. Tomorrow is always exciting, mysterious and unwritten. But today is satisfying, too. As for yesterday? Well, yesterday wasn’t bad at all. In fact, I was kind of sorry to see it go…

Recently in the Yard (with another arachnophobia alert…)

A few recent images from the yard…

And finally, this last picture makes me a little sad. When she was a young dog, before the arthritis and hearing loss and vision loss, Indigo was a dedicated rabbit-chaser…