notes & things | 4/20/2026
April and National Poetry Month is flying along at a faster clip than I expected. I am a handful behind on my daily poems, especially given that I do not write on the weekends, but I will continue til I have 30 poems regardless, hell or high water. They are still going well, nevertheless, and I will continue posting the drafts as the month wears on (and then removing them as I edit them into better shape.) They may fit in well with a future book manuscript still in the formative stages at this point. In other writing news, I do have some pieces from WINGED up in the new issue of The Account, along with a little note on what inspired them. Those poems are part of the new book coming out later this year, MARRY-KISS-KILL, but they pop up as a little zine sooner than that if I get my ducks in a row. I've also started posting plays over at the New Play Exchange, the ones I've finished editing so far, and created some little covers for the pdf's for my amusement (see above, which will be helpful if I decided to issue them in print.) I am still feeling out the logistics of developing plays, and performances/staged readings locally, so we'll see how that goes. As I've been doing my research, I've read some guidance when it comes to more traditional publisher submission / lit agent queries, but like all things, I'm guessing a more indie approach is always better, especially when publishing and traditional presses are under duress as much as they are these days. Rights and such, when/if we come to / cross that bridge can be managed on a smaller level.
We have officially crossed into birthday week territory, especially since my actual birthday will be hindered by J working all day Saturday. But so far, we've kicked off this past Saturday with a ballet, The Curious Life of Edgar Allen Poe, which included some fun adaptations/renditions inspired by Poe's work, including text of the actual works read over the music and dancing, which was cool. Afterwards, we stayed downtown for J's usual karaoke night down along the river, though it was too chilly to spend much time out on their patio set-up. We have not just one, but two Broadway tours on tap for this week, including The Great Gatsby I bought tickets for and a second viewing of Hamilton (the tour was extended a couple weeks in Chicago and J got us more tickets as my B-day present.)
Turning 52, or for that matter, any age above 40 or so, still seems surreal. I feel like I am forever somewhere between mid-twenties and mid-thirties. Every once in a while, my body and my creaky knees tell me I am much older, but reconciling those facts is odd. I feel very young, but at the same time, very old. Like in that I have been around the sun so many times and even the last 10 years or so feel like many decades. I am nearing the point where I have lived in the city for 30 years (give or take that year and a half I was in Rockford after grad school.) It occurred to me as I was heading out that I have been locking this apartment door, taking this elevator downstairs for 26 years. In a building that is soon to be 100 years old, I have been present in it, part of its life as much as it was mine for a quarter of that. As if on cue, the next day I got the least renewal offer for another year, and while we've talked of moving into a larger space, it will probably be a couple years til we can really afford it comfortably (ideally a loft or multi-bedroom place that would have more room for both of us working at home --I'm good with the dining room/studio space, but J works mostly out of the bedroom now and needs some sort of space that doesn't require, ya know, sitting on the bed.)
As I get older, I find myself often thinking of my parents. Trying to picture what age I would have been when they were in this age, in this stage of life. When my father turned 52, I was in my first couple years of college. He had been laid off from a job the previous year, but had landed a part-time--that eventually became full-time-- at USPS, where he stayed until he retired. Six years later, when my mother was 52, I was finishing up grad school. They had intermittent health problems--my dad's seizures started around then. My mother, who usually had something or other amiss, was having gall bladder issues and other random pains. She would still be working for a couple more years, but would retire early when she, too, was laid off from a failing company. But then again, there lives were always very different from mine, not just their jobs, but having kids to support, mortgages, car payments, and other financial balancing issues (I have these obviously, but as a lifelong renter who has never owned a car myself, these feel much less heavy.) I own a business, of course, which they did not. Also, student loans and, up until a few years ago, a vastly underpaying 40 hour a week job. But even still, the trappings of my life feel lighter and freer somehow than theirs, especially now. They always talk about how millennials (though I am not one technically) are resentful that their lives will not be as secure and comfortable as their parents. As someone whose parents went through a lot of hard times and still managed to raise two kids successfully, I find myself still in a better situation. At least, as someone child free, when I was struggling I only had my own mouth and some cats to feed. I could make it work, but when other people depend on you, that gets so much harder.
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