Michelle L. Smith

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

I recently read an Authors Guild post from a writer who received an offer for publication that was withdrawn after the publisher learned she had very few Facebook followers (at least for their purposes). She posted the Guild blog to ask the membership what it deemed a decent number of followers. Like many writers, I don't have an expansive exposure on social media platforms. However, I won a literary award a couple of years ago, which got me thinking that I might need to become more comfortable being in the spotlight. So I enrolled into Toastmasters International to sharpen my public-speaking skills, but I withdrew after a year due to a scheduling conflict with one of my classes. Though I've not yet rejoined, I recently dropped in on a meeting after several months of absence and was asked to participate. To my surprise, I was quite comfortable in front of a mixed crowd of old and new faces. While I'm still holding out on signing up for a Facebook account, it was a smart move to join Toastmasters.

Then last year, I broke down and opened an Instagram account, although I'm not sure how much this platform will increase my visibility among readers and writers. I subsequently won a poetry award, and I recently learned that one of my poems has been accepted for publication in the 2024-25 edition of the San Diego Poetry Annual. This got me thinking about how to promote myself on Instagram, particularly since the editors of the Annual invited me to participate in future poetry readings. I'm now slated to read at my first Open Mic next month at the San Diego Writers Festival.

But, wait—there's more! I'm collaborating with a choreographer who's developing a performance based on a monologue I wrote. Our joint effort will be presented on stage in May, and the producer/choreographer wants to promote my work and platform. I'm also being interviewed by San Diego Writers, Ink. So you see where I'm going with the networking and social media platform thing—I need to get the ball rolling!

As I attempt to leverage my writing successes, I'm expanding my horizons when it comes to self-promotion. I find that by putting greater effort into this venture, I'm generating more opportunities to parlay new and existing relationships into additional prospects. In the end, what excites me most, however, is my ongoing love affair with the written word.

In spite of multiple rejections, regularly producing and submitting work has heightened my confidence in myself as a writer—an award-winning writer at that! So for those of you who think success in this industry is tantamount to a crapshoot, I'm here to tell you that I happen to agree. But I also concur with Nike's famous slogan: "Just Do It".

In celebration of Black History Month and amid the ongoing assault against teaching African-American History, one of my writing societies posted a list of works from African-American authors, approximately half of which I've already read. In examining this list, I reflected upon discoveries I've made in my own ancestry, beginning with the advent of the Slave Triangle to Emancipation; from Jim Crow to the Civil Rights movement. Those discoveries have provided what amounts to an in-depth course on African-American History that I wish had been available when I was much younger.

Many of my ancestors' stories, some of which are profoundly astounding and heartbreaking, are grounded in the founding of our Nation. In today's divisive political climate, it's difficult to comprehend the growing backlash to whatever progress has been made to right an enormous wrong that was the institution of slavery. We've come so far since those early days of widespread oppression, and yet we see attempts to repeat the worst of our misdeeds.

To flourish as a democracy, our society maintains and enforces certain ethical and moral standards. We're a nation of laws, and our democracy hinges on the enforcement of those laws. Yet it seems that some who previously called upon this edict to justify the unequal dispensation of justice to certain demographics now want to abandon it to advance their distorted agendas. Civil Rights, Racial Equality, Social Justice, DEI, to name a few terms, have been refashioned into "dirty" trigger words because they serve as uncomfortable reminders that disparities endure.

No matter your personal views, we are all members of the same Human Race. For those who are uncomfortable with discussions about the marginalization of Blacks and other communities whose indelible achievements have been intentionally suppressed for decades, I say take a few moments to put yourself into the shoes of those disenfranchised folks and imagine the discomfort they've endured. Adversity builds character, but no group should be subjected to selective application of our Nation's laws. It is my hope that with ongoing dialogue, we'll eventually get to a place where we peacefully coexist in spite of our differences.

My, my, my. Apparently, karma was at play when I wrote my last year-end blog about gratitude for my 2023 writing accomplishments. I placed a positive spin on the realities of the writing business in which rejection is the norm by discussing the significance of validation beyond publication or contest wins. I expressed optimism that, despite the sea of rejections, one of my submissions would be accepted. And lo and behold, within two weeks of posting my blog, I received a congratulatory email for a poem I entered into the 2023 Writer's Digest annual poetry competition. It was selected as a top-20 winner out of nearly one thousand submissions from around the world.

Karma, karma, karma!

It took a little convincing on my part to realize that the email congratulating me on my win was not spam. Even after opening it and reading it a couple of times, I wasn't entirely certain until I noticed the citation of my poem's title. After digesting this great news, I thought about potential reasons the editors found my poem compelling. I wrote about the Middle Passage as an exercise for my poetry class after I learned disturbing information in my heritage that affiliated me with the start of the Transatlantic Slave Triangle. From the 16th through 19th centuries, European goods were transported to Africa (first leg of the triangle) in exchange for slaves who were then transported across the Atlantic to the Americas. This second leg, known as the Middle Passage, was especially heinous. The third leg consisted of the conveyance to Europe of goods produced on plantations.

As I delved deeper into this history, I developed an overwhelming sense of grief for those negatively impacted by the atrocities of the Middle Passage. The notion of my ancestors playing a significant role in its success disturbed me to the point that I felt compelled to write this poem. I'd recently learned of the Writer's Digest annual poetry contest, and I contemplated submitting my poem for consideration. But I wanted to first get feedback from my fellow students.

Because of the backlog of class submissions, along with the imminent contest deadline, I ended up turning in the original piece to Writer's Digest before it was critiqued. Eventually, I read my poem in class and received positive feedback. While I was not enamored with making the suggested changes, I revised it anyway and set it aside for possible submission elsewhere. Meanwhile, I learned I'd inadvertently submitted for Writer's Digest's early deadline. Had I realized this beforehand, I most likely would not have turned in the original piece and instead submitted the revised one for the later deadline. All this is to say, the stars were definitely aligned in my favor.

A recent online forum from one of my writing organizations discussed the merits of the well-known adage, "write what you know." If I were interviewed about my winning entry, I would say "write what you're passionate about" because this is exactly the mindset with which I wrote this poem. If you are enthusiastic about something, let others experience that enthusiasm through your writing. If your work moves you, there's a good chance it will move others.

In addition to publication, I'll also receive a small cash award, which makes the win even more special. I'll provide updates when I learn the details of publication (around late spring/early summer), but I cannot be more energized about my writing ventures for 2024!

I'm not big on New Year resolutions because I rarely call upon them throughout the year. But I do like to reflect upon my writing progress, or lack thereof. If I'm honest with myself, lack of progress is not an issue for me as I've done lots in the way of advancing my writing. Still, it sometimes feels like I haven't done enough. That sentiment stems from not having achieved any writing awards or publication outside of my monthly newsletter column and this blog. While I'm genuinely happy to see someone else achieve a contest win or an acceptance for publication, sometimes we need to fall back on something other than peer recognition of our work to remain motivated.

Fortunately, I enjoy the solitary practice of writing; however, this past year I set out to expand my writing community. I'm currently immersed in the final weeks of three fall classes, although I'd fully intended to drop one or two at the beginning of the semester. The poetry class I added at the last minute was the likely candidate to be cut as I've not been a hearty fan of poetry. However, I'm learning different literary and poetic tools and styles that can only enhance my prose writing, so I pat myself on the back for hanging in there with all three classes.

I'm impressed with the caliber of writing by fellow classmates, which further motivates me to improve my craft. I even submitted work, including poetry inspired by a few prompts, to several contests and anthologies. The submitted poems hadn't yet been critiqued by my classmates because of imminent deadlines that I wanted to meet. But when I finally received feedback, I realized where my work could stand improvement. Of the submissions I've sent thus far (not just poetry), I've heard back from about half (all declinations). However, during a demonstration of the school's curriculum platform, my instructor (an award-winning, Pushcart prize-nominated poet) who teaches all three classes referred to his list of prior submissions. When I saw his accumulated rejections (probably in the hundreds), I was heartened to see that rejection doesn't necessarily reflect one's aptitude for writing, which renewed my optimism and energy to keep chugging along. I remain hopeful that one or two of my remaining submissions will be accepted, and I give myself kudos for having the courage to send in my work.

Earlier in the year, I seized an opportunity to write a story to be set to a performance in collaboration with a choreographer. By design, the grant did not provide for the four teams of collaborators to see their projects to completion—although we presented our works-in-progress to a sold-out audience. From that effort, my choreographer-partner invited further collaboration with me, and he's currently producing a dance performance based on a new piece I wrote. Our project will be showcased at his studio's upcoming 15th anniversary celebration next spring.

Several months ago, I responded to a call for volunteer/mentorship applications with a Los Angeles based writing organization (WriteGirl) that supports, empowers, and mentors teen girls with their writing. The application process ended up being more rigorous than I anticipated. First, I submitted a bio in order to be considered for an invitation to apply. A few months later, I received the invitation and underwent a thorough vetting process, including an FBI/DOJ background check. I then attended two mandatory three-hour training sessions, and I discovered that award-winning writer and poet Amanda Gorman who read her work at the Biden-Harris inauguration is an alumnus of WriteGirl, which now has global outreach. I attended my welcome session just days ago and will have more to say about the organization in a future post.

So all this is to say I really don't have much to lament with respect to my writing accomplishments for 2023. In spite of multiple rejection letters, I actually feel more energized about the paths I've embarked upon this year, and I look forward to an even more fulfilling 2024.

No matter how small your accomplishments seem at times, and no matter how many of your manuscripts are rejected, there will always be a place and a need for your voice. I hope you realize a rewarding New Year full of wonderful writing!