Saturday, October 17, 2020

There are still two open spaces available for my November 14-15 virtual writing retreat, "New England Bards." The session I led in early October went very well, and I'm excited to reprise it. Please consider joining us, as I think you will find it both engaging and restful--that's specifically how I've designed it. Cost is only $150, there will be plenty of off-screen time for writing and reflection, and you can be working at any level--from experimenting newcomer to established poet. If you've been longing for a community of open-hearted colleagues, I'm here to welcome you.

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Today, in my small northern city by the sea, the rain is pouring, pouring, and doughty Paul is getting ready to embark on a four-day wilderness canoe trip with a friend from high school. I admire their undaunted glee, but personally I am very glad I'm not going along. Cold wet canoe-camping doesn't sound so alluring to me. I will be happy to stay under cover, drinking an extra cup of coffee and watching water-trails sluice down the windows and hanging around in my bathrobe till mid-morning. I ought to be cleaning the basement on this wet day, getting it ready for firewood storage, and maybe I will, eventually. Who knows? I'm happy to be indecisive.

Yesterday was busy: I spent a chunk of the early morning working on plans for possible future Frost Place programs--some extension activities that could be available year-round to interested participants. The faculty for 2021 will be stellar . . . and I dearly hope we'll be able to meet in person next summer. Nonetheless, being forced to figure out virtual teaching approaches has had a silver lining: off-site meetings are so much easier, and Zoom gives me a whole lot of flexibility in creating distance-learning options . . . these writing retreats, for example, as well as professional development sessions or structured reading groups.

So that's been exciting. I do love trying to figure out how to do my job; and as far as poetry teaching goes, my job is to guide writers into self-confident self-questioning. That's what Baron Wormser did for me, when I first began working with him . . . as an apprentice poet weeping at his kitchen table because I would never be Keats. He was patient, he was inexorable, he was convinced of my worthiness, and he helped me see my powers--and to trust them, while also questioning them, constantly. 


nancy said...

Here in Frost country, the ground is covered in snow, and it is still coming down like crazy.

Ruth said...

yes just north of me...about 2"

I so well know that feeling about my writing of "I don't measure up", "I can't write like...." perhaps we all do.

Wish you a lovely day💜🙋🏼‍♀️