No Single Thing

I’m so excited to announce that my first book has been published by Minerva Rising! You can get a preview and order a copy here!

I got word that Lit Shark took 3 of my poems! McKenzie Tozan, the editor of the journal has been a joy to work with. You can see her beautiful new issue here. And then, to add icing to the cake, she told me that two of those poems would be included in their “Best of” Anthology for 2023. In any case, I’m so happy that I submitted to them– it’s been such a positive experience. I think I learned about them from the Facebook page Frank Modica introduced me to where everyone tries to get to 100 publication rejections (and hopefully, along the way, a few acceptances!). The group is very supportive and also the members share a lot of info about places that are taking submissions which helps me find places like Lit Shark.

Here’a photo of my from my last reading at John Palen’s home last month. We had a great turnout. So thankful for people in my community who are willing to open up their homes to host events, and also those that will come out– even in awful weather!– to attend readings.

I am so excited to share that my manuscript Twenty-One Farewells won Minerva Rising’s chapbook contest and will be published later this year! I am so pleased and relieved…and excited to have an actual book I can share with you!!!

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Many thanks to John Palen, who suggested I submit this to Sheila-Na-Gig, and lo and behold they accepted it! Hope you enjoy it.

https://sheilanagigblog.com/the-poets-volume-7-3-spring-2023/emily-kerlin/

I’ve also had a poem accepted by The MacGuffin which will be coming out in print form someday soon.

Also, more big news which I am not at liberty to share just yet!

Over the last months there have been a few fun poetry developments. For example, my daughter was walking through downtown Urbana with her boyfriend and his father and they stumbled upon my poem near the parking garage. She seemed pretty proud. I don’t know yet, but this may be the pinnacle of my success! Time will tell.

In all seriousness, I did take part in a great reading about Illinois Rivers hosted by our Poet Laureate emeritus, Will Reger, at the Channing Murray Foundation a few weeks ago. We had such a great turnout! The readers included the wonderfully talented Janelle Davenport-Pleasure who is our current Poet Laureate here in Urbana. She’s amazing! You can read more about her here.

Also, the Glass Room Poets got some love from our local magazine, Smile Politely. You can read the article here.

And finally, I was long-listed for Palette Poetry’s 2022 Chapbook competition for my manuscript Twenty-One Farewells. One day it’s going to get published! I just hope I live to see it.

A couple months ago a good friend and fellow poet asked me if I would do a reading in his home with another writer friend of his named John Griswold. John is, among other things, a staff writer at the Common Reader: A Journal of the Essay, at Washington University in St. Louis. He has just published a book entitled The Age of Clear Profit which he read from on the night of our reading. (A very interesting read, by the way!)

I was excited and flattered and feeling just a little but out of my league by the invitation (alas, my side of the book table was empty…) but despite my nervousness, I recognized the beauty of what was happening. Inside this home in Urbana, a large room full of people sat in an eclectic mix of chairs in rows before a grand piano, fully present and excited to hear the work of two local(ish) writers! It was a wonderful experience.

Not surprisingly, John wrote a piece about the evening . He dubbed the event a Salon, an old tradition of people gathering in homes for the purpose of discussing literature or politics or art. Although it wasn’t that exactly, we were encouraged to bring finger foods and/or drinks and to linger afterwards to talk and I would venture to say that most of the conversations were about writing. In any case, I’m in complete agreement with him. Bring back the Salons! I think it’s a tradition that would serve all of us well as we come out from our Covid shells craving community and intellectual/creative stimulation.

It’s happened. Another year has tipped over to the next and despite the fanfare and vast spreads of foods and other heraldry, we mostly find ourselves easing back into the same worn shoes, the same ill-fitting bra, the same car we never found the time to wash and the same work-dreams that made our nights fitful before the holiday season.

A friend posted this on their Facebook page, and I felt a wave of relief, or comfort, or perhaps of Wendell’s gentle arm across my shoulder. I love poems that do that. They don’t ask for much of our time. They only grip us tightly for a moment, like a hug, just to remind you of our shared humanity; that you are not alone, ever, in your journey.

Back in the days of cassettes and VHS movies, we were introduced to the world of fast-forwarding. It was tangible: you could hear the squeak of the magnetic tape as it hurried through the spools. In the case of the movie, you could see the action play out with comedic speed. This is how we got to the good stuff. This is how we bypassed the slow bits, the kissing scenes, the commercials…or just hurried toward our favorite part.

It’s been a loooong time since I posted anything here. I guess I was waiting for things to settle down. I was in a holding pattern like so many of you were, too, I’m sure. I was stuck in a feedback loop that centered fear and anxiety. Listen, I’m still harboring enough fear and anxiety to bring down Goliath, but it’s time to live again. So we fast forward to now: April 2022.

A few weeks ago we visited Chicago a saw this sign on the street. It’s good for a chuckle but it’s also a pretty good assessment of the world. Be careful. Anything can happen. In the meantime, I’m going to get out there and try to live—and write— again.

This year wasn’t a devastation to me. I didn’t lose my job. I didn’t get sick, nor did I lose anyone I love to Covid. The losses I suffered were different, smaller–my favorite restaurant, trips to Lake Michigan, a chance to see my in-laws in Norway, my dog of 15 years (very sad but very normal and expected). My daughter went through an excruciating ACL reconstruction surgery for the second damn time and afterwards I helped her purge her room of all things soccer (posters, cleats, jerseys, shin guards–enough stuff to fill two garbage bags) when she decided to retire from her beloved sport. I watched her spend her senior year in virtual isolation, only setting foot in her high school once to take the SAT, hardly seeing friends and certainly not doing all the things one would expect during their last year of high school.

This year expectations lived above board. They were there, in plain view–that I would watch my daughter play her final flute recital, that I could cheer on my son at his cross-country meets, that we could rent an airbnb on the beach in Michigan, that we would visit Chicago, that we would have friends over for dinner, and that I would (of course) write and publish some more poems. All knocked down like trees in the straightline wind of the Covid virus. Not a one left standing, save for walking and hiking. We still did that.

I recently discovered a poet that I really love. After watching a YouTube video of them* reading a poem, I looked them up. It appears as though I may be one of the last in the English-speaking world to discover them, since they’ve won nearly every British accolade there is to win. I’ve been watching lots of their videos, but this one resonates especially. And it seems like the mantra I need as I move forward into 2021:

(They have recently changed their name to Kae and use they/them pronouns.)

Hold your own, friends. See you in 2021.

This year the festival was virtual of course, so our readings were pre-recorded and posted on YouTube. You can see mine here. I’m about 7 minutes in.