Tag: poetry

On Novel Writing, Sobriety, and Virtual Events

~ Elliott

I’m not sure I wrote about this before, but I was selected for the Writers.com 2022 Novel Writing Intensive Program. It started this month! A few days ago we had a meet-and-greet with the students and instructors, and today we had a workshop on publishing and marketing strategy. Bottom line: no one is going to do it for you. The good news is, I already know quite a bit about self-publishing from my projects between 2011-2016. I’m working on building my platform. I want to use the name Dean, but for now, Elliott DeLine is the name I have established, so I will be using that.

Yesterday I went to a thing called “Palm of the Hand Memoir Workshop” with poet Michael Czarneki. I found it very valuable, as it validated for me that my current writing style for my novel in progress is a good one. The idea behind Palm of the Hand writing is basically flash fiction, but for memoir. I don’t know too much about flash fiction, but I would say I am writing it. Flash scenes, at least. And my fiction writing, as in the past, has a lot of memoir elements as well. So I found this style helpful to learn about.

Besides the novel writing intensive, I have some other things going on. I’m taking two workshops this winter with poet Susan Vespoli, also through Writers.com. I love Susan’s writing circles and have signed up for them consecutively since I discovered them. The first one is “Writing Poems for Gratitude and Hope” and the other I forget the name of, but we study 8 poets styles and incorporate it into our own work. I’m planning on including some poetry in my novel, and I’d like to publish it otherwise. A publication I’m especially interested in is Anti-Heroin Chic, because of my poetry about addiction.

Addiction recovery goes well. I’ve been sober from all substances for a little over 2 weeks. I’m happy to say I’m finally giving 12-Steps a real try. And it’s actually right for me this time. I have a sponsor, I’m going to an LGBTQ meeting everyday at noon, and I’m doing the work. As I said today at a meeting, the sky is starting to look beautiful to me again.

Other projects of mine:

The Pandemic Poetry Open Mic Featuring Susan Vespoli, January 16th. I’m very excited about this. It will be perfect timing for the release of her book Blame in on the Serpent. I really enjoy Susan’s work, especially her poem “Chicken” and her poetry about addiction in her family. It looks like over 100 people are interested on Facebook, so there should be a good turnout! I’m going to read as well, and I’m looking forward to hearing what other people bring. I plan to doit every month. In February we will feature Ithaca poet Nora Snyder. Stay tuned!

Queer Writers Meetup on Discord, meeting pretty much daily at this point. This has been a HUGE help to me, as I’ve made a few friends I write with regularly. We set a time for 30 minutes, write, then share if we want and give feedback. Then we do it a second time.. I was a little skeptical that this would be a good idea– don’t want to edit too much as you go — but it’s been such a motivation to write everyday. We also have free writes with prompts on Sundays.

I’ve written quite a beefy entry, so I think I’ll end here for now. I haven’t even gotten into life on our land, which is starting to come together again. This summer/fall was….a mess. But we’ve got this! Next spring we are going to get back to work on planting, building, and more. We have a couple, Rima and Kris, who will be moving to the land soon, and collaborating with us. All very exciting. I will write about that soon. In the meantime, here is their blog, Half Hectare Homestead.

I also started a Discord server for my partner Joey’s company GenderCat.com. That has been rewarding, interacting with the trans community.

If you’re interested in following my progress on my novel, please continue to follow me here, or add me on Facebook, or Instagram.

Oh and lastly, I will soon have an interview coming out on the blog Bitchin’ Chickens, about my poetry and our chicken saga. Stay tuned!

~ Elliott

Pandemic Poetry Open Mic!

The way it works:

-Show up at the Open Mic on Zoom (dates coming soon!)

-Sign up for a reading slot (3 poems or <5 minutes)

-Listen to the featured poet (and tip if you can!)

-Listen to all the other poets and share.

-Exchange contacts and build community!

Starting January 2022. Join the Facebook community to get updates: https://www.facebook.com/groups/406881367613620

Gina (a poem)

~ Elliott

Good morning friends,

This is my first poem in a series about ex-girlfriends. I love feedback, but no pressure. Feel free to send me something of yours as well! If you wanna join my poetry mailing list, shoot me an email at elliottdeline@gmail.com. Have a great day.

Gina

by Elliott DeLine

This morning I showed Christen 

Golden The Ponyboy,

A stuffed horse, made of maroon corduroy.

The outer skin is cut from women’s pants, the pocket seams visible on the right side of the pony’s bottom. 

The white stitching of the maroon pony is rough, done with an untrained hand.

The tail and mane are made of strips of fabric, the sort you’d find in a box outside for free in Ithaca, beside the local craft store. 

Brown plaid pattern and a white fabric adorned with little red flowers, green leaves, and ladybugs. 

Golden the Ponyboy’s legs do not hold his weight

So he sprawls with them spread in four directions, like a starfish, 

on the dark wood table 

where we sit. 

“Gina made him for me,” I say.

Christen laughs because I named a chicken after Gina because– well, forget it, it’s mean. 

Why be mean about ex-girlfriends anyway?

At 33, I’m only just realizing this.

I once brought Golden

To art school

Because I was proud of him.

I placed him on the table

Along with a drawing of him I had made.

That teacher told me

My work was immature

And asked wouldn’t I rather

Be a writer?

And now I sit with Golden

As I type this

And I wonder

Is Gina still alive?

I mean seriously.

She has no Facebook.

Seriously, Gina, are you out there?

Are you ok?

I heard a rumor that you 

Moved to Texas?

Really Gina, are you ok?

I really hope that you’re ok.

3 months later…

~ Elliott

Wow, I haven’t written on here since February.

I’m doing…okay. Right now I don’t really even know how to phrase the stuff I’m going thru.

I haven’t gotten the vaccine and I’m pretty down about it. I could go into all the reasons but it basically boils down to: 1.) I don’t trust how it would interact with my autoimmune disorder and 2.) We live in a place where we can isolate. I don’t go anywhere. So the whole family is waiting for now.

But that’s just the problem. I feel so fucking isolated.

I’m also struggling with gender confusion and dysphoria.

I wanted to say more but I don’t know what to say right now.

Maybe I could elaborate on feelings of isolation, or the gender stuff?

Isolation: meh.

Gender stuff: Sometimes/often/currently(?) I feel more like a demigirl than a guy but have no energy/confidence to present that way I want to look more feminine but I don’t know how right now in a way that would be comfortable. This makes me feel further invisible on top of the fact that I barely ever see anybody.

If anyone can recommend places I could find support online, that would be awesome. I’ve been trying to find nonbinary support groups this evening. Waiting for approval from some facebook ones. It feels super awkward to just write about my problems to strangers though. I don’t know.

My writing group also ends in a few weeks and I’m wanting to find a way to continue to be a part of a poetry community. It’s been really critical during this past year.

Anyway, blah blah blah. Maybe I’ll write more later or tomorrow or you know, 3 months from now.

Some blurbs from this week

~ Elliott

It should not matter what you think of me. And yet, it does. Today I asked Joey in the car, “Do you think I look androgynous?” I knew better.

“This feels like there isn’t a right answer,” he said. “Are you asking if I’d have trouble telling your gender?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You look nonbinary. Or like a feminine trans guy.”

I pouted silently. Why? Now I realize it was, “No, what would a cis person think I am?”

The answer: male.

“I’m feeling insecure in my femininity,” I said.

“Oh boy…” he said, and he reassured me. We laughed.

But what is it I want? This thinking gets insane. I fall into what I call the “gender hole.” Is it about clothes? Make-up? Postures? I don’t want to be a trans man, and I don’t want to be a cis woman…at least not today. I don’t think. But I take so much comfort in our, dare I say, butch and fem roles. I want to be a stereotypical girl in personality. Whatever that means. I love when we are gender stereotypes and we laugh at it.

Like 90% of the time only one person sees me because of Covid isolation. So I guess it makes sense that I started quizzing this person on my appearance. I have fear of coming across as a cis het dude. I worry about my voice, my inflections….It should not matter what you think of me. But it does.

I want to create some confusion and attraction from masculine straight and queer men. Whatever masculine means. Why? To everyone else I’d like to be platonically intriguing or go unnoticed. Either way. Why is this so embarrassing? I guess it fits easily for cis people. They have the same desires to be seen correctly and be attractive to those they find attractive. They just don’t feel the need to articulate it.

In the early January light. Yellow-white sun with an orange halo. The song of the cardinal. Blue shadows around snowy foot tracks, mostly human. But there is a trail of paw prints leading across the frozen pond to the island, where the fox beds down in the tall grasses.

There are spots where the snow is dug up by deer eating the grass. The frigid wind whistles low in my ears. I have cold hands, and the world seems just a little bit fuzzy.

There are tree-covered hills in the distance that are grey, while the trees in the foreground appear dark, almost black. Four black crows cut across between the black and grey expanse, beneath the white-yellow orb and the encroaching clouds.

The body is holding all that is mysterious to the mind. The truth is in your muscles’ memories. You know it in your bones. I know things that I do not know. I remember and then forget again. What I really want to say is, there is a poem I read recently by lucille clifton that says, “every day something had tried to kill me and has failed.” I’ve thought about that line all week.