Michelle L. Smith - The Ebony Quill, LLC

I find myself gravitating to political themes, particularly with my poetry. Given our nation's current state of political and racial divisiveness, you might say this slant is understandable for a woman of color. But when I dig deeper, my sense of social justice has been lurking since well before I was born.

Raised by a Black father who often complained about racial disparities, I was too young to comprehend the full nature of his malcontent. Whether it was his inability to take advantage of the GI Bill, being turned away by a landlord who then agreed to rent the same apartment to his Asian friend, or the significant gap in his pay compared to his white counterparts, it seemed Dad always had an injustice to lament. Because he fancied himself as an intellect, his writing often reflected his passion for equity.

Now that I'm much older, I frequently contemplate my decades of life as a Black woman, and I realize the extent to which my father's sense of inequality left a subtle yet indelible imprint upon me. I'd unwittingly embedded in my brain the dictum that folks like me shouldn't appear too vocal or angry or aggressive for the sake of mitigating the potential discomfort of others. I tiptoed around my emotions, trying my best to avoid appearing confrontational when all I wanted was speak up for myself.

I went through a phase of believing the naysayers might be correct in stating that I was overreacting when I brought up the issue of racial inequality. And I did so while minimizing the pain I felt in the face of perpetually recurring indignities. Recent escalating racial turmoil has, however, lifted a veil from my eyes that once filtered my sensibilities. I'm more aware of the ingrained habit of donning a coat of armor the moment I leave my home to defend against the daily barrage of implicit and explicit biases. I observe how those of privilege are emboldened with an expectation that the world was designed for them. I see how they demand service in a manner that would deem me quarrelsome.

As the suppressed truths about this country's founding and its determination to subdue the voices of its citizens of color seethe and surface, I feel compelled to write about the torrent of emotions that heave and thrust for release from my soul into the collective psyches of the readership.

I was estranged from my father, but I remain familiar with his yearnings to be seen as an equal who simply wants to coexist in peace. The more I write about our shared sentiments, the more I grapple with the notion that I might be some form of a "Daddy's girl" after all.

Last month I wrote about the presence of two voices in memoir writing—that of the present-day author narrator vs. that of the past narrator. As in my case, the younger protagonist becomes conflicted with emotions and thoughts while the more mature, more learned narrator has reconciled the elements that helped shape her into the person she is today.

I've covered a lot of territory in my memoir thus far, but I want to better understand how to balance the two narrative voices. I've learned that by unearthing the internal struggle between the child narrator who processed past events as they were happening and the present-day narrator who interpreted and reckoned with them decades later, the two voices can merge into one.

According to an essay posted online in 2019 by freelance editor and writing coach Sarah Chauncey (updated earlier this year), "Author POV creates the story; narrator POV tells the story. Sometimes the two are close together; at other times (more often) the two are separated by a period of years or decades….

"Even if your memoir covers an earlier part of your life, your current perspective (Author POV) informs the story you choose to tell, the scenes you select to bring that story to life, and the tone with which you tell it. However, within the story, your character—past-you—is the narrator. Your Narrator POV is limited to what you knew and experienced at the time of each scene."

Chauncey goes on to say that it's fine to insert commentary from your current understanding of past events, but one should do so only when necessary and never in the middle of a scene.

"While it's possible to write memoir from your Author POV (relative omniscience, because you know more today than you did then), the most engaging memoirs are ones in which the author sticks to their POV at the moment of events."

As I plow through this process, I find that more of those details that had been hardest to recall are coming to the fore. My goal is to poignantly portray events as I experienced them back in the day even though I may not recall them all.

"Storytelling is a misnomer," Chauncey says. "You're not telling a story to friends over beers; you're bringing the reader into your body so they can see what you saw, feel what you felt…Stick to the facts, describe events as evocatively as possible, and let the reader draw their own conclusion. If the writing is strong, the reader will feel what you felt."

The dog days of summer barked their way into my work ethic, making it more difficult than usual to maintain a regular writing schedule. But I needed some down time. I'd recently completed a manuscript of prose and poetry for a dance theatre performance staged this past June. I found a couple of potential publication venues for the hybrid chapbook I composed for the performance, and I also squeezed in a few poetry submissions.

When those items were ticked off my to-do list, I took on the challenge of completing a memoir that had been languishing for months not because I lacked motivation, but because writing it has necessitated a significant amount of emotional fortitude. With everything else I was involved in, I just didn't have the mental energy. Also on the back burner are several humor pieces I hope to assemble into another chapbook. Some are already published as individual pieces, a couple have won awards, and I plan to complete a few more.

The memoir is my priority, however, and I'm ready to get back to it. To prepare, I read a magical realism book by an author who based one of her characters on a family death that reminded me of a death I'd experienced as a teenager. Reading her novel inspired me to resume my memoir with a fresh voice so that rather than return to an old draft, I'm hammering out a new one. I've opened with a hint of the conflict to be resolved at the memoir's conclusion, and I'm doing a lot of telling to assist me in getting the various plot points down on the pages (I'm not big on outlines). In the next draft, I'll develop my scenes with additional sensory details and internal dialogue with the goal of doing more showing to help the reader experience events as the child protagonist realized them.

The protagonist's discovery and transformation are critical to a successful memoir. I want said transformation to organically evolve for the reader as it has for myself as I plow through past lived experiences. But I've encountered a conundrum. As I write the factual stuff from the perspective of the child protagonist, I find that I'm injecting moments of reflection through the voice of the here-and-now version of myself—the one who understands the truth behind what happened and has gained insight into how those truths shaped me into the person I am today.

The conundrum is figuring out how to intertwine the two voices residing side-by-side in my head for it appears that I'm writing from two different perspectives. I need to better understand how the voice of the younger protagonist interacts on the page with the older and wiser protagonist. Although it seems a little odd to search for someone else's definition of what voice I should write my memoir in, I hunkered down as if I were retreating to the parlor in the accompanying image (I wish!) and learned that my conundrum was justified.

To be continued next month…

Mirriam-Webster defines muse as a "source of inspiration," citing the example of a writer's beloved wife. I concur. While others think of their muse as an animate object, however, I tend to regard mine as intangible.

I recently posted on Instagram that I'd traveled to the Monterey Peninsula (Steinbeck country) and was awestruck by the magnitude of its raw coastal beauty. I commented that this stunning slice of natural splendor was sure to stoke my muse. And then I reflected upon what I really meant. Those squawking harbor seals and flirtatious seagulls didn't exactly provide new fodder for writing. I simply relished the ambience and enjoyed being in the moment.

I think of my muse as something metaphysical that I cannot name, smell, or see. Nor can I conjure it at a moment's notice. It strikes when it wants. Fortunately, my brain is in a perpetual state of percolation, filled with a myriad of thoughts (not good when I need focus for the task at hand). While I usually don't lack ideas for writing projects, my issue is more about corralling those thoughts into the distillate of a singular project. It's the act of putting pen to paper that needs a jolt from time to time.

Nothing jazzes me up more than reading another writer's work, especially if it belongs to one of the genres I tackle. The idea of an author's ruminations, emotions, and sensitivities (all nontactile stuff) informing the production of an inanimate but tangible book readily conjures my muse.

Admittedly, this blog post may not be one of my more fascinating reads; however, it came about after I struggled to summon my muse. Though I'd considered other topics, I just wasn't feeling them. Instead—in what might seem like a circular move—I called upon my lack of motivation to beckon my muse.

Some famous artists of yesteryear relied upon paramours to inspire their next great masterpiece, seemingly beholden to their human sources of inspiration and, thereby, rendered susceptible to inertia without them. Whether or not I've inspired you to go back to your workspace and put some words down, being at an impasse is nothing more than a temporary state of mind when it comes to the act of writing. An impasse wouldn't be a roadblock if there wasn't something on the other side worth seeking.

So, if you're feeling stuck, step back and reassess the direction you want to go. Then, when you're ready, get on with it!

I'm fortunate to have had several works from different genres find a home in reputable literary journals and anthologies; however, getting my writing published is no small feat. As the accompanying image indicates, I received notice last month that my personal essay earned a spot in the July 2025 issue of The Sun, a highly respected ad-free literary magazine that's been around for decades. While statistics vary, my research shows fewer than 0.4% of submissions make it past The Sun's rigorous vetting and editing stages.

With all the rejections I receive, seeing a work get published is cause to celebrate. Given that this is my second piece placed with The Sun, I've learned to accept that I'm a pretty decent writer, though it's not unusual for me to frantically polish a submission to meet a pending deadline, only to end up tweaking it when I come across another suitable submission venue. This additional round of tweaking sometimes causes me to cringe at having submitted the prior version.

This revision business is never-ending. Even when I think I've written a fantastic piece, the passage of time provides me with eyes fresh enough to find yet more to tweak. Poems are surprisingly onerous to revise, as every word and line must be as concise and impactful as possible. Determining the correct tense of an individual verb pesters me to no end—a struggle that might endure throughout several revisions given that, with each pass, the poem's rhythm changes in my head.

I do care about the quality of my work; and yet, I've learned from the rejection pile that one's best effort usually doesn't make the cut. A lot depends on the editor and what they like to read and/or write. It also depends on the theme editors are looking for—a criterion not always evident.

With one of my recent poem submissions, I faced an unsettling conundrum. The theme and writing style were left up to the writer. Despite familiarizing myself with the publication, the rejection letter stated that while my writing was appreciated, either its theme or style was not what the editors were looking for with their next issue. If only I'd had a better understanding of what they wanted!

I've likened the process of getting published to a crapshoot, which also means I've had work accepted for publication that I didn't think would see the light of day. Being in the right place at the right time is an elusive force that figures prominently in getting published. It can allude to an editor's mood or the current political climate or the workload piled on an editor's desk. Unfortunately, it's not always clear what some of those more cryptic guidelines are alluding to when the editors say they're open to all styles/genres/subjects, etc. The confusion is magnified when the feedback in a rejection letter says, "your piece is not quite what we're looking for."

In the end, numerous factors—some controllable, others not so much—go into seeing your work published. When I hit the jackpot, I need to accept a win as genuine and celebrate the effort that went into it. So, I plan to mark this latest achievement with a dinner out to reinforce that I can conquer in this game of chance. Lord knows, if I don't acknowledge my milestone achievements with a little bit of fanfare, no one else is going to do so on my behalf.

And as I've been wont to do, I'm going to dismiss any reluctance about patting myself on the back (I'll save this little issue of mine for another post). Instead, I will repurpose this celebration as an incentive to keep at it.

Here's to raising a glass—bon appetit!

The three-day run of Cautionary Tales: A Reflection on 2025 Through Words and Movement (a collaborative dance performance for which I wrote the script) was met with a sold-out audience on day two and an oversold audience on closing night. The performance consisted of prose and poetry paired with curated music selections and riveting dance performances presented by Spencer Powell, artistic director of Mounarath Powell Dance. The theme explored our current Administration's questionable policies and reflected upon how we arrived at this historical moment in our national discourse as well as where we seem to be headed, the latter rendered in dystopian Orwellian fashion.

Despite the decidedly dark tone of the subject matter, the audience was mesmerized. I received favorable feedback for my portion of the collaboration, including from an attendee who stated he'd initially been skeptical about merging prose with choreography. Another audience member who'd purchased my chapbook, Cautionary Tales: Evocative Prose and Poetry to Contemplate for 2025, which contains the unabridged text written for the production, commented that the dance performances added a balancing and uplifting component to the overall theme.

Unfortunately, online threats led Mr. Powell to scratch widespread publicity given that he also runs a children's dance theatre company. I'm certain supporters of the Administration's appalling agenda were not among the attendees (in essence, we were "preaching to the choir"). But I entertained the notion that the performance center might be met with protest.

And yet, I found myself largely at ease going forward with this project.

They say timing is everything. For me, the timing couldn't have been better to contribute my voice of dissent through the arts. In light of the fact that the performing arts are systematically coming under attack and losing much needed funding, our theme was even more apropos as opening night approached.

Another comment I repeatedly heard was that the venue was much too small for the quality and grand nature of this production. Less than 12 hours after the final curtain call, I received word of a potential opportunity to stage Cautionary Tales at a much larger venue.

With the evident dismantling of our democracy and the rise of authoritarianism, now is not the time to "go dark."

I'm collaborating for the second time with an award-winning choreographer to produce my latest project, Cautionary Tales: A Reflection on 2025 Through Words and Movement, slated for performance next month. Based on historical facts, the works include dystopian takes on dubious policies enacted by the current Administration.

I'm also developing a hybrid chapbook comprised of monologues, short stories, and poetry from the performance, including a revised edition of a poem that won a top finalist award in the 2023 Writer's Digest poetry competition. Dance theatre, defined as a theatrical performance that integrates movement with other theatrical elements like the spoken word, dialogue, and visual techniques, is a genre unto itself.

I've spent a lot of time on the learning curve formatting this chapbook, diving deep into book-fold page layouts and cover design. But it's not like I wasn't aware that the process can be tedious and time-consuming. While this chapbook is my first, it won't be my last. The effort I've put into it will prove handy for future publications like the collection of humor pieces I've been planning for some time now.

As the suppression of our First Amendment rights plays out in real-time, several creative industries have come under attack. Our dance studio is not immune. Sadly, the artistic director has received vicious slanderous accusations, causing him to cancel much-needed advertising.

Attempts to rescind our constitutional rights make this production even more relevant. Cautionary Tales is my contribution to shining a light on dangerous policies being implemented throughout this country. Nevertheless, I remain optimistic that we, as a Nation, will ultimately get through this saga with our democracy intact.

Note - Due to my travel schedule, I will not post a blog for the month of April.

As I considered my theme for this month's blog, I thought of a symposium I attended at the end of Black History Month where award-winning author Jesmyn Ward was interviewed (see my Events Page for images). I learned about her upbringing and her motivation for constructing the characters in her novels.

Jesmyn's (if I may be so informal) personal writing journey provided plenty of inspiration, as did the fact that she looks like me. I'm not referring to our striking resemblance (which I hadn't noticed until I examined photos taken of us at the book signing table). I'm referring to the fact that she is a woman author of color, and she's exceled in the daunting arena of traditional publication.

Speaking of inspiration, I'm always motivated by a good read. Even when the work isn't stellar, I'm still encouraged because I think I can do better. While I'm not often plagued with writer's block, I occasionally suffer from procrastination. I justify my procrastination by telling myself that I need a relatively clear and calm mind before sitting down for a good writing session, which means cleaning out my inbox so I don't feel as though I've got a million tasks hanging over me. Sometimes, though, it's hard to transition from dispensing with the bulk of my to-do list to putting pen to paper, or fingertips to keyboard. That's when I turn to reading to stimulate my writing mojo, whether it's my latest issue of Writer's Digest or Poets & Writers, or one of those dark memoirs stored on my e-reader.

But I digress a little—the point I'm making about Jesmyn's live interview is that it hearkens to the mantra representation matters. Our current Administration, along with corporations around the country, have vowed to do away with just about every aspect of diversity and inclusiveness, including MLK Day and Black History Month, whether by defunding or decree. Never mind the removal of African American History (aka American History) from teaching institutions. It seems a large portion of our population is uncomfortable with recognizing that much of this Nation's history has been whitewashed when it comes to the oppression Blacks and Native Americans have endured for centuries. Many also find the contributions these populations made to build and sustain this country incredulous. And yet folks like me often work twice as hard to get ahead through merit, determination, and a solid work ethic even in the face of significant headwinds.

Representation matters—if no one looks like me, it's hard to stay motivated in the face of adversity. Diversity is the basis on which our founding principles were generated; it's what makes this country strong.

While Artificial Intelligence (AI) has been around for decades, it's gaining notoriety for its negative implications in the writing industry. The use of human generated work to train AI without the knowledge or permission of an author is as problematic as copyright violation. There's also the issue of how to distinguish AI generated prose from prose written by humans. Thus far, it appears the former is woefully bereft of emotional connection and does not approximate the standards of decent prose.

However, not everyone in the writing industry bemoans AI. The technology has proved useful for brainstorming, plot and character development, and research. It may even serve as an antidote for writer's block. Nevertheless, I wonder whether AI generated writing will become refined enough to fool the average reader into believing the work was created by a human. Worse yet, will readers come to prefer prose constructed through artificial intelligence?

Whether or not AI is deployed, the final product should be our own creation. Of course, plagiarism is never acceptable. But we're still defining what constitutes undue use that disqualifies a work from being designated as human authored (a daunting task). Should we assume folks will adhere to a standard code of ethics in the interest of preservation of intellectual property rights? Given the breakneck speed of AI development, most members of the Authors Guild who've commented on the matter in our member forum agree that we need some method for reining in its potential for abuse.

You may have noticed the large "Human Authored" seal I recently placed on my biography page. The seal was developed by the Guild to allow members to register their individual works as human authored. I registered my company, The Ebony Quill, LLC, for this reason. Nevertheless, some Guild members think the new seal is useless and readily subject to counterfeit. But I see it as a start at combating a growing threat to copyright infringement that doesn't involve handing over thousands of dollars to a copyright attorney. Though I don't necessarily look for a mark of approval or commendation to help me decide whether to purchase something, I appreciate seeing one. So, I'm going with the seal for now.

Overall, I see AI as a plus if it's deployed in an ethical manner. Unfortunately, the concept of ethics seems more and more elusive these days. But that's another story to be continued…

When I see reports about efforts to ban books from our public and school libraries, it hearkens back to the time when I realized that much of my middle grade and high school American History lessons were misrepresented. More recently, I learned of an effort by the Archivist of the National Archives Museum to replace certain planned exhibits that reference untoward acts committed against historically disenfranchised communities with exhibits omitting such depictions.

An article in the Wall Street Journal reported last fall that the Archivist and her top advisors "have sought to de-emphasize negative parts of U.S. history." While she strongly disagreed with the Journal's perspective in an official statement last October, the exhibits she plans to remove represent Civil Rights icons, Native Americans, and Japanese-American incarceration camps, which she intends to replace with the likes of the disgraced former president Richard Nixon.

When a parent complains about what they perceive as inappropriate content in a book, the removal of that book from libraries dictates its appropriateness for everyone else's children. Over the last several years, banned books have skewed heavily toward those written by authors of color or those that depict historically marginalized populations. How would that same parent handle a brown-skinned mother's request to remove a long-favored fairytale from the school library because she disagrees, for example, with its inaccurate representation of indigenous people; or because the heroes and heroines are exclusively white-skinned, blue-eyed blonds, and the foes all have dark skin—representations this parent might interpret as hostile to her child's sense of self-worth?

These efforts to "sanitize" student readings is geared toward eliminating the possibility some children and/or their parents might be uncomfortable with them. If a parent finds a particular book offensive, they and their child have the right not to read it. But why should a personal decision be forced upon others who may not agree?

Instead of reflecting upon the past year as we near its conclusion, I'm looking ahead in this final blog of 2024. While I acknowledge that my last New Year's resolution to expand my writing community was successful, I hope to expand my social media presence in 2025. You may question whether our current political environment is the appropriate time given the plethora of "haters" out there; however, my motivation largely stems from the emergence of an alternative to Twitter/X, FB, Instagram, etc.

About a year ago, I closed my Twitter/X account and switched to Instagram. I understood Instagram to be image driven and that I'd need to put in a lot of effort to build a community dedicated to writing. But with all the projects I've undertaken this year, I've not had time to do so. Then I read posts on the Authors Guild (AG) forum about Bluesky, touted as promoting friendly community groups of like-minded individuals ("starter packs"). So, I investigated. Not long thereafter, I opened a Bluesky account before Bluesky turned into the popular platform it has rapidly become. Immediately, I felt the warmth.

The most reclusive among us might find Bluesky's socialization and camaraderie beneficial. Not only do I share my achievements and accolades with other accomplished writers, but I enjoy reading posts about their cherished fur babies, gardening, cooking, and more. This humanization is available through Instagram, but the field of followers can be tailored with Bluesky. I've received more followers with minimum effort in the first few days of membership than I received in one year on Instagram.

2025 is not all about social media presence. I'm diligently at work on a few projects, including another collaborative effort with an award-winning choreographer that is much larger than the collaboration I participated in earlier this year. As for my latest accomplishments, if you go to my "Books" page, you'll see that I won a top-10 finalist spot in a Halloween themed anthology contest. My poem "The Clock Tower" is one of 60 entries culled from hundreds of international submissions that made the publication (Midnight Masquerade). In addition, my poem "A Black Man's Eulogy" was published in Decolonial Passage. And my essays were published in Dreamers Creative Writing and The Sun.

I also want to enhance the look of this blog by incorporating an inspirational image with each monthly post, an idea generated by a fellow AG member who recently shared her website home page with the membership. That is how community works!

May you fulfill your aspirations and dream big for 2025. And may you find a safe and welcoming community in which to do so. Cheers!

No matter where you sit on the political spectrum, it's never been clearer that we're a divided Nation. I'm particularly troubled by the ultra-conservative platform of Project 2025, which seeks to rescind many of the freedoms and rights we've tirelessly fought to attain. My parents lived during the era when biracial marriages were illegal. My father was turned away from his veterans' benefits after fighting in the Korean War. And when my brother returned from fighting in Vietnam, he was marginalized as an "other" by his fellow Americans. I fear we're on a trajectory to propel us back to darker times.

The incremental gains in true freedom for all American citizens has been fraught with serious uphill battles. It took a tremendous amount of effort to deliver voting rights for White women, and then Black men. And it took the Voting Rights Act of 1965 (barely 60 years ago!) to bestow the right to vote upon Black women. But the current acrimony of our political discourse extends beyond the usual gender and racial divide. Whitewashing American history (essential to carrying off this divisive agenda); controlling women's bodies (as one well-known white supremacist stated shortly after the recent presidential election); bolstering a patriarchal culture; "purifying" or "cleansing" our society of its black- and brown-skin constituents; shuttering the free press; dismantling our justice system and abandoning the rule of law are all tenets inherent in Project 2025. Yet at least half of this Nation's population voted against their own interests.

While I've done no scientific research to back this up, I'm guessing there's some primordial programming of our brains that has not evolved as rapidly as other parts—programming that allows the human psyche to promote tribalism and tolerate inequality when it serves to elevate the stature of one group over another.

But what does all this have to do with writing, you ask? In my estimation, it has a lot to do with the use of the written word as an outlet to voice our thoughts in the setting of injustice. Thus far, we've enjoyed our First Amendment right of freedom of speech without the deployment of the military to squelch our voices. This safety net may end soon, but no one can silence our thoughts. And we must not allow disinformation to become the new norm.

While I'm not one to proselytize or quote Bible passages, I unearthed the following from Matthew 12:25: "Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand."

United we stand, divided we fall has never been more poignant. Let's hope there's still enough good will out there to keep this Nation—this Great American Experiment—upright.

My writing opportunities have expanded in recent months, and I need to prioritize. I have lots of ideas and too little time to pursue them. I've already reduced the number of online courses I'm taking from three to two. And I've just resigned from writing a monthly column I've been penning for 15 years. But at some point, I need to get back to my memoir; I also want to write more poems and attend more open mic sessions.

Earlier this month I read two poems at a new venue, but I need to produce more. I'm looking into different forms of poetry like ghazals, and I'd like to write more haiku. But I'm working on more than poetry. I just wrote and submitted a short horror piece to a horror competition—yes, it's that time of year! And I'm workshopping a magical realism story that I hope to have polished before the end of 2024.

I just learned of another acceptance of my work for publication (more on that in a subsequent post), and earlier this month, I won two awards. The first haiku I ever wrote won First Place in the 2024 SouthWest Writers annual anthology competition while my humor essay received an Honorable Mention. As finalists, both entries appear in the anthology Mosaic Voices.

My monologue "Ode to Jesse" was performed earlier this year as part of a larger collection of dance performances and earned me full membership status with the Dramatists Guild. It was also accepted into the Small Plates Choreography Festival in New York where next month choreographers and dance audiences will engage in "meaningful performance experiences."  I'm also honored to have been selected as the playwright for a new collaboration to be showcased next spring, pending finalization of contract negotiations.

Given the difficulty of getting published, let alone receiving an award, I'm grateful for the episodic success I've had. Being recognized by my compatriots in the writing industry tells me I'm doing good work. But never fear, the critics in my writing courses continue to inform and keep me grounded.

One might say I'm a prolific writer; however, the frequency with which I submit work to magazines, anthologies, and contests leaves me ripe for receiving multiple rejection letters, as has been the case lately. The best thing about my writing, however, is that I love what I'm doing. So, while I've decided to pare back my obligations, one thing I'm not going to abandon is this blog. See you next month!

In my April 2024 post I promised to revisit the topic of performance poetry in a future blog. I had stated that the tone with which my class instructor characterized my work as performative left a sour taste on my tongue. Now that I'm the playwright for an upcoming dance collaboration, performance is a central focus for me.

Merriam-Webster defines performative as "disapproving: made or done for show (as to bolster one's own image or make a positive impression on others)." However, an additional definition describes performative as "relating to or marked by public, often artistic performance." Given that my poem was well received by my classmates, I've come to believe my instructor's characterization of my work fits this second definition.

Performance poetry is a dynamic delivery of the spoken word that combines storytelling with performance. It's a special genus of poet who has the requisite on-stage comfort level to perform the written word. Not only have I been impressed by emphatic theatrical readings at live open mic sessions; but I've also been awestruck to see some poets recite their work without the assistance of notes. I've also listened to poets on Instagram who read their work with verve and emotion and deliver performances worthy of a talented actor.

We writers tend to be a shy, reclusive bunch, and there's a vulnerability inherent to a live reading. For some speakers, that vulnerability is magnified by the passion of the human spirit. The more poignant the poem, the more evident the humanity, which we all relate to in one form or another.

While I've increased my comfort level with being "on stage," I don't know if I'll ever be able to memorize and then recite a decent length poem in a forcefully captivating manner before a live audience without a set of crib notes. Fortunately, open mic sessions attract a welcoming audience of artists and supportive patrons who have an interest in hearing what poets have to say.

I've now gone from slightly intimidated by the label of "performative" to being inspired by the passion of the performance. I even look forward to my next open mic reading.

As I continue to delve into different writing genres, I'm finding there's not a genre I haven't warmed up to. As one who hadn't been fond of poetry, I now consider myself an award-winning poet. I'm even contemplating writing a ghazal or two and exploring traditional themes. Likewise, when I learned about haiku, I wrote several traditional 17-syllable (5, 7, 5) versions and even paired them with my own photographs to experiment with ekphrasis writing. I see free verse poetry as a mini version of the personal essay. And I've experimented with atypical spatial arrangements for stanzas. Currently, I'm working on a speculative fiction short story.

Recently, the artistic director of a dance studio with whom I collaborated earlier this year asked me to work with him on a larger project as the playwright. After an in-depth discussion, I agreed to participate. Right away, I researched the features that distinguish playwriting from other forms of writing and came across the concepts of devised writing and devised theater. While playwriting consists of writing scripts for plays or dramatic theater in which an established script informs the development of the performance, devised writing, considered by some as more difficult, entails the collaboration of several creatives in script development.

A little background on how this project came into being: About two years ago, I participated in a similar endeavor on a much smaller scale that was sponsored by a grant from San Diego Writers, Ink. The grant recipient, a performer who works with my partner's dance company, matched me with the company's artistic director. She also composed three other pairs of collaborators, and at the project's conclusion, we presented our working ideas to a live audience.

While our initial undertaking did not require a final product (the emphasis was on the collaborative process), my partner and I subsequently embarked upon a second project that we saw to conclusion. I wrote a monologue titled "Ode to Jesse," and he developed choreography that was showcased during his studio's 15th anniversary celebration. "Ode to Jesse" was one of several performances, but it was the only routine choreographed to the spoken word.  And it was well-received. A different studio director in attendance at one of the performances was impressed enough to request the piece be performed during an upcoming production at his own studio. "Ode to Jesse" has even been entered into a few dance festivals.

While my writing will form the impetus for my partner's role in producing choreography for our new venture, our collaboration doesn't appear to qualify as devised theater given that I'm the sole developer of the script. I'm honored to participate, and I plan to consult with a few playwright acquaintances to ensure I come up with a well-written script. This collaborative performance will be the sole presentation the entire time the show runs. Stay tuned for updates!

Although 2024 is a leap year, the title of this blog refers to my New Year's resolution to expand my writing community, which I achieved starting in 2023 by jumping in with both feet, two hands, and my keyboard. As one formerly not smitten with poetry, I chose to explore different poetic forms and tools to bolster my writing. Despite confusion about and frustration with the "rules" of poetry, I hung in there and even submitted poems to contests and publications. Not only was my work accepted for publication, I also won a prestigious poetry award as mentioned in an earlier blog or two. I remain elated about my Writer's Digest win, but not because I'm a narcissistic literary snob (see my last post about the imposter syndrome). It's because I had the temerity to dive into a genre I had little affinity for and discovered its suitability for much of my writing.

In furtherance of expanding my writing goals, I wrote and submitted additional poems to contests, anthologies, and literary magazines. I subscribed to at least two poetry newsletters, and I now ravenously devour poems-of-the-day that drop into my email inbox. Since the beginning of this year, I've also written more essays, fiction, and autofiction, some of which I've submitted for consideration. And I'm enrolled in online courses sponsored by my local community college.

On top of everything else, I wrote a monologue produced and choreographed this past spring by an award-winning director of choreography who plans to collaborate with me on a larger work. I joined two volunteer organizations, one of which supports teen girls who write. I read my poems at two open-mic sessions, and I reliably attend a monthly writing group started by my neighborhood library. In addition, several members of The Authors Guild formed a local branch to which I subscribed.

If your head is spinning with the volume of new undertakings, believe me, it's a chore to type fast enough to keep up with everything running through my head. And, yes, I feel a tad overwhelmed. Well aware of the need for balance, I'm ready to pare back a bit—much like going into editing mode to polish a manuscript. To that end, I just removed myself from one committee, and I plan to relinquish another position at the end of this year.

But I remain undaunted. Even submission rejections provide impetus to move me forward. As I "kill off one or two darlings," there's still plenty of exciting stuff worthy of my time and devotion to keep me fulfilled. Now that I've grown a more nurturing environment for myself, I look forward to pruning the overgrowth as I dig in with verve.

The first half of this year afforded more writing successes than I've seen in years. Granted, my writing has been a work in progress, and I'm in official student mode most of the time. I'm even applying for a months-long fellowship. But this year alone, I've won a prestigious poetry award; I've seen my work performed as a choreographed routine on a public stage; and I was published earlier this month in a fairly heady literary magazine (The Sun). While I've also received my share of rejections, one rejected piece is a short story contest entry that the contest sponsors asked to publish in their literary journal later this summer. Despite this apparent honor, I found myself questioning whether the offer was legitimate even though I'd already received payment into my PayPal account.

As the title of this blog indicates, I'm grappling with some form of the imposter syndrome, defined by Merriam-Webster dictionary as "persistent doubt concerning one's abilities or accomplishments accompanied by the fear of being exposed as a fraud despite evidence of one's ongoing success." While I'm not worried about being exposed as a fraud, I was a tad uncomfortable listing my accolades here because of this lingering sense of not being worthy, a sentiment I suspect is common among newly published writers.

In the classroom, fellow students and I are encouraged to share our successes. Such milestones provide inspiration for us to keep plugging away even when rejections pile up. Some students have commented on the relatively high rate of publication among our classmates, and I find that being asked to share my accomplishments mitigates any sense of being a braggart.

In spite of trafficking in something akin to the imposter syndrome, I still feel the sting of disappointment when the rejections roll in. As I continue to submit work for publication opportunities and to writing contests, my odds of getting an acceptance also grow. In a sense, it's a numbers game; but more importantly, I'm creating additional work to submit. I'm even exploring different genres—all of which can only improve my writing. "Putting myself out there" is, I believe, illustrative of a committed writer and not of an imposter.

My monologue titled "Ode to Jesse" was performed earlier this month along with several other acts in collaboration with Mounarath Powell Dance's artistic director, Spencer Powell, to celebrate the studio's 15th anniversary (see my events page). Accompanied by jazz instrumentals, my piece, loosely based on my half-brother Carlos whom I did not know well, was the only one set to words. Largely auto-fiction, the story centers around a Vietnam veteran who returns from combat only to find anti-Black racism is alive and well. Despondent, he joins the burgeoning Black Panther Party where he meets his soulmate, Cheryl. They have a son (Jesse); however, Carlos struggles with posttraumatic stress syndrome (PTSD) and resorts to self-medication with street drugs. The couple ultimately separate, but like any other father, Carlos wants a better life for his son. When he can, he attempts to instill in Jesse a sense of confidence and self-pride, though he senses Jesse's lack of regard for him as a role model. At the story's conclusion, we learn how Jesse really feels about his relationship with his father.

The performance for my monologue commenced with a trio of dancers, and then concluded with a riveting solo. Well-received by the audience, the dancers' enactment was quite moving. To my surprise, the soloist even thanked me for providing him inspiration through my words. In turn, I offered praise for his heartfelt interpretation.

After three days of performances in front of a full house, Spencer presented me with a beautiful floral bouquet (see photo on my event page). This collaborative effort was generated from an experimental project I participated in less than a year ago, and we're already talking about our next project to be showcased prior to the upcoming presidential election. So stay tuned!

It's National Poetry Month, and I've managed to survive my first Open Mic poetry reading, which took place during the 2024 annual San Diego Writers Festival earlier this month. I'd signed up in advance, so I was one of the earlier speakers to read after presentations by the featured poets. Truthfully, I wasn't all that nervous leading up to the event, and I wasn't nervous during the reading, even though the attendance reportedly was larger than usual.

In preparation for my reading, I did a little online research. Not much surprised me—it helps to have a compelling poem, of course, and one should read with passion. The day before the event, I received an email from a writers' newsletter containing, of all things, an expert's advice on how to work the crowd during a poetry reading. (As is often the case for me, karma and serendipity were at play once again.) A few salient tips in this interview stood out to me. The expert mentioned making eye contact with the audience, and he addressed how some speakers are reluctant to emote for fear of appearing full of one's self. His counterpoint to that reluctance was poignant: Folks are in the room because they want to hear what you have to say. Thus, the speaker should put some energy into their reading to approximate the fervor with which they wrote the piece. This advice resonated with me. As I stated in a recent blog post, the imposter syndrome has been finding its way into my psyche of late.

So check, check, and check for what I anticipated were necessary for a good reading.

The expert also talked about similarities between reading poetry and acting. He even recommended that poets consider taking a beginning acting class. Indeed, there were some amazing "performances" at this Open Mic event, including one gentleman who recited three poems from memory in a most animated fashion. But as the featured poets read their works, I looked for some of the dos and don'ts I'd learned. A couple of the speakers did not make much eye contact or vary the inflection in their voices, which actually heightened my confidence. I rationalized it was really the words folks wanted to hear, that the audience wasn't so interested in the performative element (I've since concluded the performative element enhances a poetry reading). Overall, I found the Open Mic speakers' readings to be on par with that of the featured speakers.

Speaking of performance, I'm reminded of a recent comment from my poetry class instructor who said one of my poems sounded "performative." He spoke in a tone that suggested a performative poem was less than desirable. I've since researched the distinction between performative poetry and "regular" poetry and have not found anything disparaging about the former. I'll delve deeper into that discussion in a future blog.

To summarize, the atmosphere at my first Open Mic was welcoming and inclusive. And I think most speakers fed off that energy. I even signed up last-minute to read at another annual event two days later, also one that also saw record attendance. The humanity on display at both events was exhilarating. I'm already looking forward to my next reading!

Identity and Social Justice in Writing: An interview with Michelle Smith