Poet, Writer, Instructor
Reflections on the day-to-day experiences of a working writer.
My bookshelves hold many more poets who have left us: Marvin Bell, Denise Levertov, Wanda Coleman, Seamus Heaney, Donald Hall, Wislawa Szymborska, Tomas Tranströmer, Sylvia Plath, Rainer Maria Rilke. I’ve found solace, insight, and inspiration in these pages. Their poems are so vital, so alive with imagery and emotion, that I must remind myself that while their work continues, the poets themselves are gone. No more will come from them.
As a woman I am expected to automatically display more empathy than my male counterparts, to be more understanding, to give in when I didn’t necessarily want to, to say “yes” when I wanted to say “no.”
"Take Your Pick" by John Frederick Peto, 1885 Does this sound familiar? You’re doing something boring and repetitive, maybe folding laundry, and an idea pops into your head. When this happens to me, I drop the shirt I was just hanging up, grab a pen, and write the idea down. I know this seems obvious;… Continue reading What happened when I stopped judging my ideas
Some mornings I wake to a golden, slanted light filtered through dense fog. It softens outlines, blurs the houses on my street, and mutes the noises of my neighborhood. This is when I feel my mother’s presence. I release my tears to the foggy air. I’ve learned some new things about grieving. For example, sudden… Continue reading Bubbles, bacon and rainbows: the hard work of grief
It’s been less than a week since my mother left this earth at the age of 87. It’s new, this kind of grief, at times sharp and fresh, then dull and distant. It’s too early to think of seeking any sort of solace. Solace from what, I ask myself. How will I ever recover? Is… Continue reading Since my mother died
Oh, that withering term, “dabble,” insinuating that a “dabbler” isn’t serious, flits about like a cabbage butterfly, and abandons things when they get difficult. It’s right up there with “dilettante,” “amateur,” and “superficial,” related, both in meaning and in sound, to “doodle,” another activity that sounds suspiciously frivolous. In spite of its bad reputation, dabbling… Continue reading It’s ok to dabble
“The Dark Garden” by Yves Tanguy On July 23 at 5:56 PM, I received an email from Broadstone Books which began: “Dear Erica, On behalf of the Broadstone Books acquisitions team, thank you for the opportunity to read your manuscript Landscape with Womb and Paradox, and for your patience with the time it has taken for us… Continue reading My New Book, Landscape with Womb and Paradox, to be published in 2025
I was rummaging around my kitchen the other day when an idea struck me: just like every pantry needs to be stocked with the basic foods most meals are built on, poets need a supply of staples they can use to create poetry. I thought it would be fun to compare food pantry staples to… Continue reading Poetry Staples
I believe in the magic of index cards. When I get stuck on a poem, essay or review, I will stop everything and revert to my trusty pack of unlined index cards. Just shuffling them for a few moments can give my brain the break it needs. Then I grab a pen and start writing things… Continue reading How I try to be a better writer
In early June, I attended a performance featuring comedian Paula Poundstone. I’ve been a fan of hers since the mid-80s, when the stand-up comedy scene was rising in the Bay Area. Poundstone was a regular at the clubs during those days, and my husband and I watched her career rise, along with those of Howie… Continue reading My Imaginary Conversation with Paula Poundstone