On April 10, 2025, I was officially named the 2025 Muse of The Writers Place here in Kansas City. In the meantime, I’ve had many extra duties. I apologize for taking my time to get back to you, but I’m delighted to share some favorite newer books.

First up is my friend and former coworker, Stephen Roth, with his second fast-paced, zany, but also scary redneck novel. He will be reading an excerpt from his book at The Writers Place this coming Friday, October 17, starting at 7:00 p.m. at Nonprofit Village, 31 West 31st Street.

Here is the short review I posted on Goodreads. I hope you’ll pick up Roth’s book for yourself or as a gift for friends.

“At a time when Americans seem more divided than ever, bringing together people of different backgrounds and beliefs could be the only way to unite our country.

It might also be a really bad idea.

An American Gig is a bitingly humorous tale of three middle-aged buddies who escape their conventional lives in suburban Charlotte by taking their garage band on a week-long tour, culminating with a wedding party in Miami. When they reach the small Georgia town of LaFarge, however, the three friends encounter the IHOP Five, a cadre of retirees who, fueled by cable news conspiracies and artery-busting breakfasts, are ready to fight for the soul of the country. The collision between these two distinct bands of people leads to a wild drama filled with firearms, forbidden love, and fierce debates about, among other things, the cultural merit of psychedelic rock.

Timely and satirical, An American Gig captures the anger of today’s generational and political divisions while exploring whether it is still possible for people who have opposing views to find a little bit of common ground.”

I met poet Rick Christiansen about two years ago, first on Zoom poetry readings, and was impressed by his writing as well as by what a good friend he is to other writers. I now run into him regularly at The Writers Place events.

Bone Fragments is a stunning collection. This is the blurb I wrote for it:

Whether or not we know if Christiansen’s poems tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth is immaterial. He bares the emotional truth without flinching. The title, Bone Fragments, warns us we will get pricked and scarred. Yet, if we can learn to face down life, we come out the better for it. Hence, a boy of fourteen admits, “I stopped your swinging / stinging slap…./ I dropped your hand./ I was not your sin eater….” In adulthood he can add, “We spend the first half of our lives accumulating…./ The debt will be repaid./ I will pay my debt with words….” Readers, please open your hands and receive his gifts.

Many seemingly bright adults don’t grasp what they want out of life. I’m grateful to have more self-understanding, perhaps because I am a writer. I was trying to control the book’s characters as they manoeuvred the tricky land mine of a family wedding. An added bonus for me was visiting the part of the country where I grew up and being introduced to a sweet cat in need of a home.

A poet myself, I attend a lot of poetry readings and was delighted to purchase James E. Cherry’s book at The Writers Place, here in Kansas City.

Just a few minutes into Cherry’s reading told me he was my sort of poet.

I can’t say that my trials to gain equal rights and pay for women have been nearly as frightening as what the African-American population confronts, but I had enough anger and fear to become a champion for my Black friends and coworkers. As a pioneer coed at The University of Virginia in 1970, shy Alarie learned she had to stand up for herself.

James Cherry wants to make sure he gives a voice and living memory to the Black men killed without a trial at the hands of police or of mobs. Cherry is one of many writers making sure the world will not forget them.

You may find it difficult to read these poems, but I see them as eulogies. He blends warmth and even humor into his book to give us some breathing room. Cherry also softens the horror of murder poems by including a first poem and last poem from authors who thanked him for leading them through their own writing journeys. Wanda Coleman added a note to her new poem, “Cherry, Cherry:”

Dear Mr. James, This is the first poem I’ve written in a year since my world fell away. The credit is all yours. Thank you.

Cherry also balances the pain of violence with lighter moments. In “After the Storm,” he and a red-tailed hawk share a moment of communion:

“… a feather drifts,

my outstretched hands
a hallelujah to receive it…”

Cherry goes another step farther in balancing the poems about violence and mayhem with a marvelously amusing poem, “I Want a UFO.”

“I want a UFO
to crash land in my backyard
at 3 o’clock
in the morning.”

(You’ll have to buy his book to see for yourself where this poem leads.)

Most of you who read this book will recognize the many names that Cherry wants you to keep alive. These poems are not easy to read, but essential to waking up those who need to be WOKE. For starters, it’s painful to be reminded of all those killed without any trial, like Trayvon, only 17 years old, like “A Survey of American history in 7 Minutes & 46 Seconds (after George Floyd)”, and “I Can’t Breathe (for Eric Gardner)” with its powerful ending:

“…I have learned
from its austere lessons that eternity exists
between inhaling and the act of letting go.”

These poems of murder and hatred are too potent to spoil them with long quotations.
I urge you to read this book yourself.

Until the next time we chat, please take some reading breaks with a cup of tea or glass of wine and let go of some of the tension we’ve been facing this year.

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]]>The Muse Finally Gets Back to WorkAlarie TennilleMon, 28 Apr 2025 03:59:00 +0000https://www.alariepoet.com/blog/alarie-named-2025-muse-by-the-writers-place65019d4c00c22c31b48650ac:65019f8261246a6c23c72f77:678497397487182a6f02e40fOn April 10, 2025, I was officially named the 2025 Muse of The Writers Place here in Kansas City. Before Christmas they asked if I’d accept the role . (You didn’t think I’d turn that down, did you?) I had a mighty hard time keeping the secret, but it wouldn’t have been very polished or goddess-worthy of me to blurt out the good news in advance. There was plenty of advanced planning to take care of.

We don’t name a Muse every year, and we certainly didn’t risk having the big celebration when COVID plowed through. Thank goodness we learned to host Zooms to keep our members from forgetting us.

Of course, I’m a mere mortal, which is why I’m only the Muse for one year. It’s a challenge to stay up here in the clouds.

How Did Alarie Become a Writer?

Slowly. Before I flood you with more photos from my Muse celebration, I should mention how I became a writer and editor. When I was in elementary school, Mama taught me scansion, for the fun of it. I mainly used rhymed verse for humor and song parodies. Like many creative people, I loved to sing, dance, and paint. Writing was my third choice of art, but I was such an avid reader that I breezed through my English papers in college. I also took art history classes and wrote papers interpreting art. It was little surprise to me that I became a mostly ekphrastic poet, writing about art.

Gradually writing became more important to me, and writing workshops truly inspired me. It wasn’t long before I gathered enough poems from my workshops to start publishing. Without that progress, I suspect I wouldn’t have been invited to serve on the Board of Directors of The Writers Place. After several years my term was finished, and I became a member of the Emeritus Board and the programming committee. I helped out at events, emceed at the Rose Garden for ten years (aside from COVID’s interference), taught workshops, and invited poets to read or teach. In other words, I was grateful for all the ways The Writers Place expanded my poetry world. So why was I surprised they chose me to be the 2025 Muse? Because everything I did was a labor of love.

If you’ve viewed my books on my blog or on Amazon, you’ll see that I have a chapbook and three poetry books. Becoming a Muse may jump start me to finishing another book.

Because a Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

I wanted to add a few more pix, but my computer says it is tired, so I’ll wrap up with my poet’s version of an Emmy or Grammy: my Poetry Award – Erato.

Why Settle for One Night of Champagne?

We have a lot to celebrate at the end of December. Chris’s birthday, then New Year’s Eve, then New Year’s Day. Two of those three meals are traditional. Chris makes linguini with clams on NY eve, and I make the Southern meal of Hoppin’ John (black-eyed peas over rice) and Southern greens the following day. I made a New Orleans style recipe of shrimp with okra, tomatoes, onion, and celery with a dash of brown sugar and hot sauce for his birthday.

But our BIG celebration was reading. I still haven’t finished my 2024 books, since we keep adding new ones and reading each other’s books as we go. “Boring!” says Rimsky, our two-year-old cat. He decided to spice things up.

WHAM!

Thank goodness we installed thick, plush carpeting right before Rimsky joined our home! I didn’t have the strength to set the table back on its legs, so had to wake Chris (1:00 a.m.). Fortunately, the lamp, vase, and bookends were undamaged. Rimsky immediately slipped under the Christmas tree and pretended he’d been asleep the whole time. His dad was not fooled one bit!

Then Came the Blizzard! Brrrrrrrrrr!

Some of Alarie’s Recommended Reading List from 2024

The Madstone — Elizabeth Crook      

First I want to repeat part of my praise for Crook’s first Texas frontier novel, The Which Way Tree: “Crook, like many a good Southern writer, mixes violence, danger, crazy characters, and catastrophe. She also softens the gore and misery with the hilarity, warmth, and charm of a child narrator.”

 Of course, I hoped this book would be as good, but I’ve seen many a good novelist never again reach the level of his/her first book, sometimes never even attempting it. What I didn’t expect was for The Madstone to pick up two years after the first book left off. Our former child narrator, Benjamin Shreve, was 17 at the end of that book and is now 19, a wise and kind-hearted young man. But a three-year-old boy, called “Tot,” fills in the innocence and sweetness we’d otherwise miss from the earlier novel. I think I slightly preferred this book. I hope Crook keeps writing fiction this engaging. The pages fly by.

The Diamond Eye ­– Kate Quinn

I think this may be my favorite of all Quinn’s WWII novels, primarily because I knew little about Germany’s attack on Russia. The protagonist was a Ukrainian, but Ukraine was under Russia at the time. She called herself a Russian, perhaps to save herself from political hassles. Mila Pavlichenka was a brilliant college student when the Nazis invaded her homeland. She already had sharp-shooter credentials from rifle target practice in school, and decided she needed to volunteer for the war effort. Other countries at that time did not allow women into combat other than a few pilots or nurses. As you’d expect, a woman had to be better than the men to be allowed to serve, much less to gain an officer’s rank.

 Quinn is always terrific at throwing you right into another place, time, and culture and giving so much detail that you feel like you’re right there. Beyond the talent and practice it takes to be a sharp shooter, there are far more tricks to learn: where to locate your human target, how to stay well camouflaged, to be impossibly still for hours on end no matter what the weather, and being sharp enough at math to instantly calculate wind speed, angle of your shot, etc. in order to take out your enemy before you became the target. She soon gained the nickname “Lady Death.”

I won’t spoil the rest of the plot that takes so many turns you really need to stay right at Mila’s heels. The photos and Author’s Note at the end are almost as engrossing as the fast-paced novel itself.

How about something a wee bit lighter?

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore ­– Robin Sloan

Quirky, original, entertaining, magical realism full of mystery – there’s not much I can tell you without spoiling your reading pleasure. You’ll find yourself peeking around the next corner, trying to make sense of nonsense and get to ancient secrets. You’ll want to rush, but that’s the worst thing you can do or you’ll miss important clues. Mr. Penumbra oozes old-fashioned charm, and his new employee Clay, the protagonist, is having a hard time breaking into a decent job, one that will keep a roof over his head and spare him from complete boredom. Surely a bookstore that is lucky to sell even a single book every night can’t make an exciting career…or can it?

I’ll end with one more book as a thank you to George Bilgere, who recently published one of my poems on his blog. You can check that out at https://georgebilgere.com/so/23PGulgS_?languageTag=en&cid=2c50e72e-73da-4bea-bef5-a117c25b80a2

Cheap Motels of My Youth

(Rattle Chapbook Prize) ­– George Bilgere

This is my seventh book by George Bilgere, what more can I possibly say? (My friends already know he’s my favorite poet, and it’s not an insult to them since I have a long list of poets I regard as 5-star.) If the hotel stays of his youth had been 5 star, I dare say he wouldn’t be half as good a poet. He carries his wounds proudly and can juggle nostalgia, worry, tenderness, and laugh-out-loud moments in a single poem. I began my Bilgere readings before he had two little boys, who have made his writing more tender and him more worried about age.

I never quote much from a chapbook, but the first poem, “Nine,” is the perfect set up for all that follows. He is hanging out by the pop machine at a gas station and thinks, 

“….Actually I feel sorry

for grown-ups, with their neckties,

their dark jackets, and serious talk….

How am I supposed to know

that an old, white-haired guy,

a grown-up, is watching me

from his desk in the future…”

I’ll send more books suggestions soon.

Rimsky Wishes You Long Naps on Warm Laps

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]]>Happy 2025!Alarie TennilleSun, 13 Oct 2024 01:45:15 +0000https://www.alariepoet.com/blog/dcxn5td6vcwobi9p1f65avm5yn4s9i65019d4c00c22c31b48650ac:65019f8261246a6c23c72f77:670b26144e0a232ab50b4644InspirationAlarie TennilleSat, 12 Oct 2024 19:24:22 +0000https://www.alariepoet.com/blog/channeling-poe65019d4c00c22c31b48650ac:65019f8261246a6c23c72f77:65f2bfe65b4c6a7190faf7a5

It’s fitting that I’d be a fan of Poe. After all, we both went to the University of Virginia. Thanks to my mother, who read “The Raven” to me when I was little. I was soon hooked on his stories, too. While in college, I couldn’t resist stopping by Poe’s old dorm room (or one very like it), preserved as a proud memorial of his brief time there. I doubt he was actually in Room 13.

I wrote this poem inspired by a lively new statue of Poe with a raven titled “Poe Returning to Boston.” Artist Steff Rocknak created the bronze sculpture to be (5’8”), Poe’s precise height.

Poe in Purgatory 

Eternity is lasting way too long. I tire 
of these modern humans, their lewd 
profanity, their murder of grammar. 

This must be Purgatory. I’ve already lived
through Hell. If it were Heaven, my dear
Virginia would be in my arms. Instead,

this blasted bird insists on being by my side every long minute of the day and night.  We need no sleep or food, so I read to him. 

About a century ago, Raven stopped repeating the one cursèd word I gave him after I agreed  not to call him Damned Raven. My biographer

is the one who should be damned. I realize  that I owe much of my growing literary stature  to Raven, but made the mistake of saying so. 

Now he puffs himself up, stays a step ahead  of me, puts me in his shadow. Do these changes  mean we’re moving closer to judgment? 

Or maybe reincarnation? I’d like to be  a writer again if I could but know
the secrets I know now.

Alarie Tennille

First published by The Ekphrastic Review

This next bizarre poem was based on a true story I found in the newspaper. I wrote it as a personna poem about the old woman, since the doctor, paramedics, daughter, police— everyone but her got to have their say.

Waking in the Morgue

Ostrow Lubelski, Poland

Voices. Echoes. Stench of antiseptics. Not my room at home. I push, pull, find myself

inside a soft sac. Dear God, no. Don’t let me be back in the womb. I don’t want to start again.

I’m 91 years used to Janina. Am I still female? Still Polish? I thrash, try to use my own weak

contractions to get this over. I hear a zip, squint into the light, tell the man peering in I want a cup of tea.

© 2015 Alarie Tennille

First published in Ofi Press Magazine

(First published in 2021)

The year of the COVID quarantine was particularly bad for finding solitary entertainment, especially on Halloween. Only tricks, no treats, so I’m passing along this great offer to you, dear friends. It’s really pretty easy to transform into a werewolf. Easy and quick – compared to how long it took me to grow out of shy Alarie and terrified of public speaking Alarie. 

How to Become a Werewolf

Do you ever have insomnia?  Experience disturbing dreams at the full moon? Then you may be

ready for an exciting change! It’s easier than you think. That’s  right, for just $39.95 plus shipping

you can get our glow-in-the dark  instructional booklet and DVD (for rainy night viewing). Sure, you could

search for a werewolf to bite you, but just think how many ways that can go wrong! Like violent death, duh.

Our patented DYI process has proved safe and effective for a smooth transition. Why wait to explore your

wild side? You can start tonight!  That’s right, warm-up nocturnal exercises will accelerate your training.

Stay up till 1:00,  2:00, even better 3:00 a.m. (You don’t want anyone around to ask what you’re doing, do you?)

Keep it a surprise! Your improved night vision will be a plus in step 8: Learning to Stalk through Dead

Leaves. Call NOW... Operators are standing by during the hours of darkness in every time zone.

Warning: Avoid watching horror films. They’ll only confuse you. You must find your own darkness. 

Listen to those strange voices you don’t think are you. They really are. We all have good reasons to sing

at the moon,  to excavate the caverns of our minds. Progress is remarkable. 

By week six, most report accelerated hair growth, a break in the voice, a craving for rare meat. Consult your

doctor if you develop persistent  homicidal thoughts. Symptoms may vary. So how will you know you’re a

werewolf? Like falling in love, you’ll just know.

Alarie Tennille © 2021

Thanks to Silver Birch Press where this How To Guide first appeared. It’s also in my latest poetry collection, Three A.M. at the Museum.

(First published in 2019)

In earlier blogs, I’ve talked about writing late at night. I love the witching hour when I channel my inner Poe. I’ve written poems about dancing with death and waking in the morgue. I even admitted to being asked the slightly embarrassing question, “Who are you mentoring in the dark poetic arts?” I blamed that question on this photo: my Halloween profile picture on Facebook.

Anyone experiencing deja vu? A version of this blog first appeared in 2019, but I didn’t want to darken your holiday spirits last year when my new blog came out. Now you’ll have several spooky treats to enjoy and share with friends (please).

Go ahead and grab a mug of hot cider, some chocolate, or a slice of pumpkin bread. Curl up in a cozy chair, and I’ll try to bewitch you. 

Witch trials were society’s way to vent their misogyny by murdering women who were innocent of anything other than inspiring jealousy and vengeance. They were only guilty of knowing more than their accusers about herbal medicine and midwifery. One of my favorite spooky poems is “Half-Hanged Mary” by Margaret Atwood. If you’ve read her novel The Handmaid’s Tale, you know she can cast a spell of terror with her words.

Here’s a link to that poem.   https://genius.com/Margaret-atwood-half-hanged-mary-annotated

In my witch poem, I imagined how satisfying it would have been if the poor accused witches and all victimized women had real magic power. Any man stalking them would live to regret it.

The Witch Turns 

Go back!  You think I can’t hear  you swishing through the grass  for the fierce wind – the very wind 

I conjured from screams of women left broken by your kind. Sarah  Good, Rebecca Nurse, Susannah Martin – 

those poor innocents proved by death they were not witches. Never will I stand trial. Never. 

Your stench stalks me like a shadow.  So be it. Even without trees or ravines for cover, we’re secluded. I, too, 

am counting on that. Closer, closer,  closer you come, never guessing  this very ground is under my spell. 

Nothing can touch me here. Nothing. You’ll learn soon enough.  I half turn, cast my one-eyed curse. 

You smirk just like the others.  I say nothing, for your kind cannot hear. One step closer – a shriek of wind your last memory.

Alarie Tennille © 2018

First published in Night Garden Journal

I have no explanation for where this next poem came from except to say it was late at night and near Halloween.  My cats were likely sitting at the window, staring at the moon, reminding me that they see things I don’t see…

A Vampire Takes My Bus

I sit on one of those side-facing seats  just behind the driver – good feng shui for a woman who works nights. I catch the 57 at 6:12 p.m. heading downtown. Vlad, well okay, I don’t actually know

his name, gets on two blocks later – only in winter. He works on sunset’s schedule. I’m curious what seasonal job supports him all year. I’d like to apply.

I wouldn’t call him handsome, but charismatic, mesmerizing. You  should see that black cashmere coat worthy of Cirque du Soleil. He sweeps past  me in a one-man cold front. Sits near the rear. His eyes shoot gold flares from passing headlights.

Know what really creeps me out? The nights he rides, no one else gets on.

Alarie Tennille © 2016

First published in I-70 Review

In my last blog, I told you about attending my 50th class reunion for the first coed class at the University of Virginia. I was recharged by seeing old friends, revisiting the most beautiful place I’ve ever lived, and sharing my poetry. Doctor Dickie McMullan, an eye surgeon, was so moved my my poems that she unofficially declared me Poet Laureate of the Class of ’74. Saying I was touched is an understatement.

I arrived back home eager to jump back into writing. Looking through my work of the last year, I realized how little I’d published. Isn’t it time for a new book? Trying to learn blogging skills took most of my time.

Fortunately, The Ekphrastic Review and whirlwind Editor, Lorette C. Luzajic, were ready to get me working again. This was the third year to celebrate her journal anniversary with a writing marathon for regular and aspiring authors at the review. Happy 9th anniversary, Lorette!

Having just watched much of the 2024 Olympics on TV (alas, not in Paris myself), I felt all the more challenged to join the 9 Lives Marathon. I was amazed that most of the women Olympic marathoners finished their race in about 2.5 hours. Timewise, we writers had a more grueling run: eight hours to write first drafts for fourteen pieces of art. We were allowed one hour to take a brake or several short ones (in other words, half an hour per poem). Luckily, we weren’t required to finish a poem that quickly. Some of us seniors like me, or those who had a time conflict, were granted mercy: two days to write seven poems each day. We got to choose the art that most spoke to us. It took me a few weeks to polish my submissions.

Today (8/22/24) her website paraded a poem from each writer who submitted. (We were allowed up to five entries. More than that and we would have worn out our judges. Poems are arranged alphabetically by author…so please scroll way down to find “In the Mirror” by me. (Sorry, my hot link didn’t work so I’ll post it here: https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-review/nine-lives-marathon-poetry-responses )

But wait, there’s more! Once I committed to picking up my writing pace (not so easy with Olympics and Democratic National Convention to tie me to the TV), I didn’t stop with the marathon project. Before leaving for my class reunion, I’d arranged for Lorette C. Luzajic to teach a Zoom Ekphrastic Workshop for The Writers Place, where I serve on the Emeritus Board of Directors and Planning Committee.

One look at lovely, charismatic Lorette and you can tell she’ll deliver an engaging workshop. I’ve worked with her for almost nine years and have read enough of her prose poetry and flash fiction to appreciate her gift for turning art into storytelling that keeps you on the page.

I was fortunate to meet Lorette in Toronto two years ago and wish she lived closer. Notice the collage behind her, one of her many creations.

I generally lose track of time when I write, as I have tonight. A first draft is never going to reach the public. I come back to it many times to see what I can improve. Thanks to my critique group, Tina and Pamela, for helping me see when I should let go of a poem and ship it off to see the world.

Stay tuned for more! I’ll be sharing some book reviews with you soon.

Please subscribe (FREE) to my blog and share it with others you know who might enjoy it. THANK YOU!

Being one of the first 350 coeds admitted to UVA was one of the most surprising, exciting, and challenging events of my life. At poetry readings, I like to say that I graduated with a BA in English, Phi Beta Kappa Key, and Black Belt in Feminism.

To commemorate our class anniversary, Gail Gerry, one of those first women attending the school, decided we needed a book to pass down our history. A few years ago, she sent out emails to most of the women in the class of 1974 with a questionnaire. She stressed that it wouldn’t take but a few minutes of our time. But, of course, Alarie the writer had lots and lots to say. I was touched and honored when Gail selected me as one of the featured women in the book.  

Unfortunately, the University Press did not publish it in time for our reunion. Ms. Gerry (we were addressed by last name in classes, part of the school’s tradition) was able to pull together a lovely presentation about the book, complete with slide show. She also asked me to read this poem as an intro to the event with another poem, “Home Coming,” to close the program. 

Summer 1970, The University of Virginia

Opens to Women in the Fall 

Mama calls me a pioneer. I call

me a student - tagging along

after my older brother like always,

ignoring his taunts. You can’t

come here. Somehow I knew I would. 

At thirteen, I fell in love

with Thomas Jefferson’s Rotunda

and vistas of the Blue Ridge.

I’m not trying to make history,

just taking my place in it.

Brave? No, timid and half blind.

Every stranger and new school

scares me. That’s life.

I don’t know I’ll need extra

courage. That will come later.

© 2015 Alarie Tennille

First published in Southern Women’s Review

I’ll alert subscribers at alariepoet.com when the book is released. Be on the lookout for  

Here To Stay: The Story of the First Class of Women That Coeducated the University of Virginia

I read my poems on Friday morning. From then until our final evening meal on Saturday, women I didn’t know at all came up to me to say how much they’d loved my poems, even got weepy over them. I’ve never felt so much like a celebrity. Dickie McMullan (an eye surgeon), who interviewed Gail Gerry the day before, saw me again on Saturday and gave me the unofficial title of “Poet Laureate of the Class of ’74.” That was all the more touching to hear since Dr. McMullan was one of six highly successful alumnae to speak at a panel discussion that afternoon. The panel also included my first roommate, Claudia Russell, a successful architect, despite the architecture school trying to keep her out of their degree program:

Rotunda, Dome Room

A panel of 1974 alumnae will reflect on their unique journeys, the ways they forged community and created space for women on Grounds, and the lessons they’ve carried with them as alumnae. Panelists include: 

 ·       Susan Pfiester Anders (Col ’74)

·       Diane Kirchner Knetzger (Col ’74)

·       Barbara Golden Lynn (Col ’74)

·       Dickie McMullan (Col ’74)

·       Claudia Russell (Arch ’74) 

·       Barbara Savage (Col ’74)

My roommate for three years, Carolyn, has moved back to Charlottesville, so we’ve seen her a few times since we’ve retired. We were also able to share a meal with other friends, many years ahead of us, who still live there. I’ve been happy to see Fred a few more times since retiring, too. He introduced me at my first (so far only) hometown poetry reading and escorted me to our fiftieth high school reunion a year late due to Covid. Actually, Charlottesville was my second hometown. I love it so much that I tried to stay there after college. Unfortunately, between a recession and Charlottesville’s challenging job market, I had no choice but to move for a better job.

 We all agreed we hadn’t known very many fellows students in Charlottesville. I guess we were mostly a serious, studious group. But we soon discovered it was easy to talk to other classmates we didn’t know and compare notes about what we studied and what we’d done out in the world. The time went by way too fast.

When we weren’t at programs, meals, or parties, we spent most of our time tiring out our old legs on the steep hills and drinking in the beauty of UVA and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Even if I could visit Charlottesville every year, we’d want to walk around the University’s grounds. It was astounding how many more grand buildings have fit into place. I barely knew my way around.

Remembering President Shannon and All We Owe Him

My most impressive class in college was also my smallest class with seven students. (Fred was one of them.) I guess most students were intimidated by sitting at a table with Mr. Shannon (another UVA tradition: professors are not addressed as Doctor) to study the poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson and Robert Browning. We not only got close attention from both President Shannon and a grad instructor, but Shannon also invited us to dinner at the President’s home, Carr’s Hill. (We sat in chairs, balancing dinner plates on our laps. President Shannon sat on the floor beside my chair. He knew he needed to pull me out of my shell.)

When my parents came up for graduation, they insisted on going to Carr’s Hill to shake President Shannon’s hand. We stood in a long line. A Provost or some such would lean in to catch the graduate’s name. I’m sure I cringed about that, because few people can hear “Alarie Tennille” and repeat it correctly. Fortunately, President Shannon, spoke up, saying, “I KNOW Ms. Tennille. She was my star pupil.” I’ve never seen my mother glow so much as she did at that moment.

What Happened Between UVA and the Real World

At this 50th Coed Reunion, we women were truly celebrated, almost to the point I felt sorry for the men attending, but my husband assured me we deserved it. We were NOT celebrated then. In fact, many of the discussions at the reunion brought up schools that tried to persuade coeds to take a different major, that their field would not suit women. One of my best friends rushed to finish an architectural history degree in three years so she could move to London and get her architecture degree there.

It wasn’t just the student population that was overwhelmingly white male either. There were few nonwhite men or any women teaching classes. There were a few token female instructors, mostly in introductory classes for writing, literature, and some psychology. I think I had one French class, one introductory writing class, and one women’s lit class taught by women.

On that score, I had it luckier than some because majoring in English was considered suitable for women, too. But then came efforts to attend job placement interviews. The vast majority of well-paid jobs were in engineering. I don’t believe I saw a single visit listed for publishing or advertising, jobs I’d have relished. My only job interview through the placement office was horribly sexist: a banker looking for Management Training positions.

 “Wouldn’t you rather stay home, take care of your house, and have babies?” he asked. I assured him I would not. He seemed to appreciate my spunk and invited me to come to Richmond for a job interview: bus trip paid for by me. When I got there, they pulled a bait and switch. Not Management Training, I’d be in Personnel. Only I wasn’t that either. The young woman who interviewed me had every intention of taking that job herself. I rode a second bus back for the verdict, “No.” I told her to please never, ever do that again to a job applicant. It was bad enough to not get the position, but unprofessional to make an applicant spend money and time for the disappointment.

I guess I expected a degree with Phi Beta Kappa key would open doors, but real life didn’t work that way. After two years in a hated job, I got my first break by being the only technical editor for the Old Dominion University Research Foundation. The reading was mostly dull for an English major: pages upon pages of equations for NASA reports. But the pay was an improvement, I got a small private office with a water view, and I was treated fairly well, aside from the “Hello, Alarie, I’m Dr. So-and-So.”

Eventually I got the sort of creative job I relished that didn’t keep me counting every penny that came in. This leads me back to the marvelous celebration at this reunion. After 50 years, we got celebrated for the trailblazers we were. We were not given counseling, advice, or any real encouragement except to go fit in with the crowd of men. We did have the usual week of orientation always offered to students. This included a welcoming reception. Immediately, tiny Alarie had two young men towering over me, but there was no welcome. One was an upperclassman, the other a graduate instructor (even worse news), both saying, “We don’t want you here. We voted against women coming to our school.”

In terms of class interaction and manners of our male classmates, things got better year by year. I think they just wanted to see how we’d fit in.

The Writers Place shared a table at the 2024 AWP Conference Book Fair.

Please join me as I wander through memories of my first AWP (Association of Writers and Writing Programs) Conference in Kansas City (Feb. 8-10).

My friends, mostly writers, artists, musicians, and book lovers, love to compare notes. Yet we must cultivate time alone to create our art. Scattered poetry readings, Zooms, and workshops recharge us.

In 2020, I was overjoyed that Kansas City would finally host the AWP Conference (Association of Writers and Writing Programs). I’d been getting jealous hearing other poets talk about how wonderful it was. I was planning to meet virtual poet friends from opposite coasts, one I knew through a Goodreads community and another I’d met a few times for the briefest of intros. Thank goodness for email! But you remember what happened that year, don’t you? Yep, cancelled.

This year the AWP came back to Kansas City! Sadly, those friends I hoped to meet did not come, but there were still a few small-world surprises. Stay tuned, but first I want to highlight my favorite AWP moments. I’ll save my one rant for the end.

Favorite Moments

 Jericho Brown!  

Before I registered for AWP, I was pretty sure that hearing Jericho Brown as the Keynote Speaker would be my favorite event. Just a few pages into my first reading, he became one of my favorite poets. In case you’ve never heard of him, he won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 2020 for The Tradition. If you ever read poetry reviews on Amazon or Goodreads Reviews, you’ll know that it’s rare to get more than 20 reviews for a poetry book. The current count for Mr. Brown is 961 reviews on Amazon and 8,959 on Goodreads. 

I’d heard Brown speak on a Zoom years before with my friend Jo McDougall, so I already knew he’s funnier than most stand-up comics. I haven’t had that good a laugh in a while. 

Books, Readings, and Discussions

The number of topic choices was downright overwhelming. It was probably a good thing for me that I wasn’t a novice writer, baffled about how to publish my work, or in a minority group that felt it needed specific support.

I mainly wanted to hear other poets read and speak about their process. I even skipped a few sessions (there were about 15-20 options available at the same time, divided into 75-minute sessions). It was wonderful to trade some of the sit-still-and-listen events with the long hikes needed around the convention center.

The massive gallery space was filled with aisle upon aisle of book tables: both journal and book publishers. My organization, The Writers Place, shared a table to promote our activities and offer some of our local journals for sale (I-70 Review and Pleiades). Only my avalanche of books at home kept me from running up my credit card bill. I did buy one book and just missed the last copy of a book about poetry revision that I was able to order from Bloomsbury Press as soon as I got home. The reps staffing the many tables were interesting to talk to. Some looked like they might have been college students helping out their university presses, but anyone under 35 looks like a kid to me.

I’d swear I walked miles and miles each day, likely because I’m terrible at navigating ­– round and round and round I go! I don’t always see signage either.  I was not too sore on Day 2, but by Day 3 I was quite stiff. Especially for my first 20 steps after sitting.

I took few notes, preferring to bask in the moment. Since I’m an ekphrastic poet, I was drawn to a discussion of book collaborations between artists and writers. It was also great to hear poems by poets who have died, whose work would have faded from public notice if a few professors and grad students hadn’t worked together to compile an anthology of unsung heroes.

They were unsung or rarely published because they were women, a minority race, or homosexual back before people not considered mainstream got much notice. (Don’t get me started on what it was like for me to find a good editing position after college.)

I was thrilled to attend two sessions about the revision process. It’s gratifying to hear that despite our differences in race, nationality, religion, sex or sexual orientation, many of us approach our work in similar ways. In session two, I was pleased to hear three poets, including a male African and female member of the Nez Perce tribe, say the same things about craft. I could have answered their questions for them, which made me realize we poets are a tribe all our own.

Those writers do what I do. I write my first draft in longhand, which looks more like drafts 1-6 or more until I can barely read it. Then I type it while I can sort of make out what I said. Next step: I wait, sometimes just minutes, sometimes for another day or two before revising again, and again, and again. I would never take a first draft to my critique group.

The poet from Nigeria, Abayomi Animashaun, now my Facebook friend, especially charmed me with his opinion that one’s angel (or Muse, if you prefer) cannot be hurried. Between 3:00 and 6:00 a.m., angels stand outside the gates of Heaven, proclaiming the secrets of the universe. We must show up then or miss our opportunity and have to come back another day to receive enlightenment. I almost laughed out loud, because my next door neighbor, who happened to come to the same discussion, often comments on seeing me at my computer in the middle of the night.

In a similar vein, I have wild dreams, with a leaning toward clairvoyance that scares me. Beth Piatote, the Native American writer, mentioned dreams as an important piece of her creativity. (She’s also a new Facebook friend.) My vivid dreams were passed down from mother to daughter from my Cherokee ancestor (mid-18th century). So I guess it’s good to tap into the creativity that comes to us no matter how we are inspired.

The Joy of Sharing Our Craft

Before my final rant I want to emphasize again how warm, welcoming, and encouraging most writers are toward each other. I even heard one poet say that when a fellow passenger on a plane asks what he does, he tells them he’s a poet. End of conversation; he can read his book in silence. Poets are the opposite. We love to talk to each other, share tips, and compare books we love.

Our conference topic sessions didn’t afford much time to chat, yet we still often asked a stranger, “Where are you from? What do you write?” Most remarkable of all, a woman sitting behind me asked if I would turn around and show her the front of my necklace. She said that she loved all my bold colors, snatched a handmade bracelet off her wrist (with multicolor beads, the colors in my necklace) and insisted I wear it.  

The Party Continued

My AWP experience continued after hours on Saturday night at the Milwaukee Deli, where a group of us met to share our poetry. My Kansas City friend, Rick Christiansen, invited me to the reading, and I was again impressed how poets join together despite geography, through the journals that regularly publish us, through Facebook and Goodreads, and through Zooms. I was familiar with a few of the people from other states, mostly through SpoFest. But I was even more surprised to find Alana Dagenhart there. In 2016, she and I both read at a poetry reading in Hickory, NC, which you probably know is a long way from KC.

Here Comes the Rant!

Some of you know I’ve been called Miss Manners, more power to her! I’ve written a booklet on how to write thank-you notes, and I’m often asked questions about etiquette. (Honestly, I was not a debutante in 1920.) However, I see no excuse for openly insulting anyone, all the more so when you’re in front of a large crowd and the people and place you’re slamming are your HOSTS!

Instead of expressing any sympathy that Kansas City had to wait four years to get back on the AWP schedule, the announcer for the keynote address couldn’t resist poking fun at our city. Worst than a joke, this was pure ridicule. She baited the audience, asking didn’t we wish we were in Honolulu, Miami, LA, anywhere but here? She clearly dismissed us as Cowtown without doing her homework on all the wonders that await tourists. Our local writing community is considerable (many colleges around), and we put in a lot of effort to welcome the visitors.

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]]>Write & WrongA Poet's LifeInspirationAlarie TennilleThu, 18 Jan 2024 09:49:11 +0000https://www.alariepoet.com/blog/happy-202465019d4c00c22c31b48650ac:65019f8261246a6c23c72f77:659d0760cf96e8027e7a733a

Wishing you a happy, healthy year of good reading.

Snow is falling this very minute, so the next day or two will be perfect for staying inside with a big pot of Russian cabbage soup, warm kitties, and new books to read. I planned ahead.

The new year is ushering in my FIRST totally new blog. Other blogs were imported from an earlier web site. Now that my host is Square Space, I can mostly manage the site myself, thanks to Kristine Larsen, the patient, wise, and probably worn out mentor. Let me know (use CONTACT button) if you’d like to consult her.

Now relax and enjoy. Pull up a cozy reading chair, pour your favorite beverage. I won’t tell if you indulge in cookies, too. Please sample my reviews of a few favorite books I read in 2023. I hope you’ll be intrigued enough to read them. I have many more reviews where these came from so please drop by to read more.

***** Reviews from Alarie

Poet Warrior: A Memoir – by Joy Harjo

Two hundred years before my birth, a Native American joined my family. She was largely myth and wishfulness with no name or tribe passed along, but we could see her trace in our faces. Then, thanks to some genealogical research and DNA testing, I found out the rumors were true. Although I carry a very small fraction of her DNA, I’ve begun suspecting that the women in her line have passed along to their daughters a tendency to have colorful, often frightening, and sometimes clairvoyant dreams. Hence, I was soon caught up in Harjo’s accounts about dreams, messages, and the history and beliefs of her people. Some of them were Cherokee like my own.

I’ve enjoyed reading a lot of indigenous poetry, but this collection that merges poems with Harjo’s memoir was more impactful than an earlier book of hers that I read.

Here are a few early passages from poems, from a section titled “Ancestral Roots,” that captivated me.

“….Because you are Girl Warrior you have chosen

A path of many tests. You will learn how to make

Right decisions by making wrong ones.

Those whom you love most will abandon you.

You will find yourself again…”

In a later poem, the Old Ones speak to Girl Warrior.

“....We are sending you, they said,

To learn how to listen.

There is good in this world.

There is evil.

There is no story without one and the other.

You will be gravity.

You will be feather….”

Of course I love the title of the book. I think most poets probably feel a bit like warriors.

Bird Brain – by Guy Kennaway

This book is a wee bit murder mystery, though we know who dunnit from the outset. Mostly, it’s one of the funniest novels I’ve read. It will appeal in particular to dog lovers, since the dogs are in many ways smarter than their owners. There are parts where I think the book drags a bit, but for great originality, laugh aloud moments, and the satisfaction of both bad guys and good guys getting their due, this is an entertaining book.

V Is for Victory – by Lissa Evans

I’ve greatly enjoyed all four novels by Lissa Evans that I’ve read since last July. My only complaint is that she can’t possibly write quickly enough to meet my desire for more. Three of the four books are connected by some overlap of characters and memory. I just happened to read them in the correct order for plotting: Old Baggage (set between the World Wars), Crooked Heart, then V for Victory. The last two are set in WWII. If you’ve read one of the later ones first, it shouldn’t matter. Evans knows how to engage readers and give us a few reminders of the people she mentions without boring us. (The fourth book, Their Finest, (another WWII story, has been made into a movie and was a successful adaptation. It’s independent of the other three books.

I’ve read a lot of WWII novels, and I always learn something new about the circumstances of the times. Both my parents served in that war, which makes me even more interested. My father was even stationed in England. I like how Evans captures the hardships, especially those faced in London during the Blitz, yet keeps the warm human interest stories moving, too. Staging much of the background story in a boarding house is a great way to bring in a varied group of people, all misfits in some way, and see how they come to appreciate each other. There’s a lot of warmth, humanity, and wry humor to keep us engaged through the rougher moments.

Everything Comes Next (Collected and New Poems) – by Naomi Shihab Nye

It took me 10 days to read and delight in these poems after hearing Nye again at a poetry reading here in Kansas City. I took my time to savor and reread favorites. Few authors engage me quite as much as she. For one thing, I owe her a debt. Around 20 years ago, I took her poetry workshop. I so enjoyed it, and was amazed how she could inspire me to write a poem I actually liked in 15-20 minutes. It still took another 5 or 6 poets to convince me I should proudly claim my title and send off my writing. But it wasn’t just her love of teaching that inspired me, it was her worldview and bubbly enthusiasm. You really don’t hear a lot of that in most poet’s books. Even though her own life and family suffered as a result of the Middle East turmoil, which she does discuss with a remarkably balanced point of view, she is warm and joyful, even more so since becoming a grandmother. Many of her most charming poems are about young children. She read a delightful found poem, a compilation of her five-year-old grandson’s comments during a museum tour. When I got home and raved on Facebook, I learned that most of the poets I know have taken her workshops. What a legacy that is!

As for the book, the cheerful, fanciful cover captures the mood. Nye’s hand is holding a pencil that sprouts a small bouquet of different flowers. Perfect! With over 200 poems, most highlighted in some way, I really can’t cite many examples for you. I’ll give you a few excerpts later, but first I want to highlight “Slim Thoughts,” an afterword of only 4 pages that is more effective than many a book about writing poetry, complete with a good list of idea starters.

For years, my favorite Nye poem has been “Wedding Cake,” about the baby girl dressed like guess what, who was left in her lap on a plane while the mom freshened up. We all want that baby on our lap, just as Nye admits, “I did not want / to give her back.” That’s the great thing about blending new and collected poems, you keep bumping into old friends.

Aside from the insight and positivism of her poems, it’s the metaphors that most excite me. Her writing is wonderfully vivid and surprising. You don’t have to wait for huge moments if you have Nye’s tool kit.

Here are a few sections that wowed me.

Remember, I call her a joyful poet, but she is not a Pollyanna. From “The House Made of Rain”:

"In my house tears welled up from underground pools,
shadowy streams we rode from room to room,
paddling….
A girl in my class said she had never
seen her parents sad. I wanted to drown in her life.”

And sometimes you just have to laugh – from “So There.”

“Because I would not let one four-year-old son
eat frosted mini-wheat cereal
fifteen minutes before supper
he wrote a giant note
and held it up

LOVE HAS FAILED”

How’s this for a leap of imagination? From “Famous,”

“I want to be famous
in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole,
not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.”

And to leave you with a laugh, there’s this, from “The Art of Disappearing.”

“When they say, Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party,
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply….”

[Archived from New Year 2020]

To speak in metaphors, as poets like to do, do your thoughts obediently follow you about (dog/conscious/analytical)? Or do they to turn their backs, wonder off, lie down on your face or book, and do whatever THEY want to do (cat/subconscious/creative)?

You’ve generally heard this division expressed as Left Brain vs. Right Brain, but we all share some portion of both, only I can never remember which is which (probably proof that I lean toward Right Brain). According to both the Myers-Briggs personality indicator and college board scores, I’m almost half and half, like a few of the half-dog cats who’ve owned me. However, my M-B profile has changed over time. When I worked as a technical editor, I was more math and judgment oriented. After years of being a creative writer, my dreamy/perceptive/creative side took over.

A Poet’s Dilemma

My main philosophy of writing poetry is that I must surprise myself before I can surprise readers. Why bother to read any literature that doesn’t surprise us in some way, even if it’s to wonder, “How did the author climb inside MY head?” However, surprising yourself isn’t that easy. You can’t yell, “Boo!” or tickle yourself because you know what’s coming. To surprise yourself, you must slip into some level of subconscious – like sleepwalking on paper. For me, that’s easiest to do late at night.

This is the Right Brain, cat participation. When my brain feels like writing, it’s a joy. When it does not, it is frustrating. Writing also requires the obedient dog of analytical thinking. Sometimes, letting it run on its own across the page is enough to make the jealous cat yell, “I’ll show YOU!”

The dilemma is complex. From experience, I’d say most poets are introverts. A very large portion of them are also teachers, so they got over much of their inhibition about public speaking in the classroom. I did not, so it took me about five years of nervousness and the resolve to train myself past stage fright. (Two of my early blogs from 2018 cover overcoming my phobia.)

To further test a poet’s determination, the two beginning phases for poets, submitting poems to journals and compiling a book for publication, require the Left Brain: paying attention to detail and having courage to face rejection without taking it personally.

Herding Poems into a Book

So how do you herd the gossamer dream-stuff you’ve written over a year or, in my case, about seven years, into a book?  A poet on Facebook asked me if I’d share my strategy for organizing my newest poetry book, almost ready to send off for publication, and I decided to put my response in this blog.

I recommend that poets working on first books google other articles on how it is done. There are many similarities in the guidelines, but if you read poetry books, you’ll see variations, too. I relied on a lot of advice to get started. After publishing a chapbook and two previous collections of poetry (see BOOKS), I’ve learned what works for me.

Don’t rush! You need to publish a lot of your poems in journals (a long, tiring process) before you put them in your book. There’s no specific percentage, but I’d say 20-80% should be previously published. If you’ve published a lot of books already and established a name for yourself, the percentage can be on the lower end. (If you self -publish, you can do whatever you want, but that isn’t the best way to impress the poetry establishment, who can be your best friends if you’ll let them.) Having a publisher to handle book distribution frees you from a lot of tedious work and expense.

I’m not disclosing the name of my forthcoming book until I land a contract. I’m superstitious about that, but here are the basic steps I underwent to organize the new book. [It’s now 2023, so I can tell you the book published in 2021 was Three A.M. at the Museum, go back to the Book tab at the top of my homepage to see it.]

Steps to Putting Your Book Together

1. Immediately after publishing my last book, I started a new file, titled NEXT BOOK, and put newly published poems that I felt strongly about there. As I saw the volume increasing (30 or more), I analyzed what themes were emerging. Because most of the poems were ekphrastic (inspired by art), I decided to come up with a name for my future collection and to write a title poem to put first in the book. Some people put it last, but in this case, I thought it set up my rationale for the collection, tying in art and my late-night working hours. (A title poem is optional. This is my first book to have one.)

2. I directed more effort to writing new poems that fit the main themes.

3. Once I had enough poems to fill an entire collection, I went through them all again, pulling pithy quotes from individual poems that I felt could possibly work as section headings. 

4. Then I proofread and judged which poems I thought would go into the book. I printed them all out, because I can’t sort them effectively on the computer screen.

5. I decided which quotes worked the best as section headings: quotes that were thought provoking, but also quotes that contained an umbrella theme that could apply to almost all the poems in the section.

6. Next I laid the title section pages out on the floor. The first poem after contained the quote. This automatically placed stronger poems throughout the book. Pacing is important. I also chose one of my favorite poems to end the book. If readers agree with my decision, they’ll feel satisfied rather than dropped off a cliff.

7. Then I sorted the remaining poems, placing them in sections where they somewhat fit the quote. Some became companion poems that naturally followed the one before. Others were mood shifters. I try to add humor or at least hope after grouping several poems about death or sadness.

8. The poet should always keep good records of where poems were submitted and where they were first published. First publication rights need to be cited with gratitude in Acknowledgments.

That is not the end of the process. The author still needs to submit the MS, being careful to follow each publisher’s guidelines. Find one or two good proofreaders to check your work. Locate people to write blurbs for your book cover, and think about what you want the cover art to be. Not all publishers will allow you to direct the cover, but there’s nothing wrong with locating free-use art, or photos, or art that you own to use as suggestions to your publisher. Just stay flexible to talk through any difference of opinion.

Please and Thank you!

Feel free to offer questions or suggestions for future blurbs by clicking on CONTACT. Please subscribe to my blog (FREE!) and share my book blurbs with friends. Thank you!

The best thing about self-quarantine – there’s plenty of time to read.

I can’t believe it has been almost a year since I filled a blog with book reviews. But I have a good excuse! I’ve been time traveling, visiting magical dimensions, places I wouldn’t dare to go, events that happened before I was born, and places I just plain can’t go during the pandemic. I hope you all share my thrill at getting lost inside books during this otherwise slow-moving time. Today I’m sharing favorite books I’ve read very recently: five with five Alarie stars for excellence — two memoirs and three novels.

Most of my Goodreads friends share 80 to almost 90 percent of my tastes, but that is only on books we have both chosen to read. I can’t be sure YOU will love these books as much as I did, so please read the reviews before deciding. If you are lucky and can borrow them from your library, by all means, try them all.

Five Books That Earned Five Alarie Stars in 2020

Young writers are always advised, “Write what you know.” Big duh – writers know about books, so their novels often contain characters who are authors, librarians, or who are such avid readers that they can’t help bringing books into the conversations of their characters. Memoirs give us an insider’s opportunity to spy on a writer’s life. Avid readers are equally fascinated by book talk, so it’s a win-win solution. 

1.Watching as the Book Is Written

My first recommendation is a memoir, so Lisa Stewart is living this book (and taking notes) even as we’re following her and Chief down a country road. She also talks about her life as a writer and her husband’s literary career

The Big Quiet - One Woman's Horseback Ride Home

by Lisa D. Stewart

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53490708-the-big-quiet---one-woman-s-horseback-ride-home

It was a lifelong dream of the author to take a long trip around Missouri, alone on horseback, sleeping in her tent at night, enjoying “the big quiet.” At age 54, Stewart decided it was now or never and set off. She did find the quiet, the chance to examine her own life. There are also hardships and obstacles to overcome. Most of us women would let our fear stand in the way of trying this; but, because she grew up in the country, riding horses and learning to shoot, Stewart was far better equipped to undertake the rigors of this adventure. Since she combines contemplation, memoir, nature writing, and her horse Chief (both a champion and a royal pain), this is an entertaining read almost anyone would enjoy. Yet the main reason this is a five-star book is Stewart’s writing skill.

I knew I wanted to buy this book because I’d heard her read excerpts. I read very little nonfiction, but if all nonfiction writers were as gifted as Stewart, that would change. Her secret is using the full array of writing tools employed by good fiction writers. Some of her metaphors and descriptions are even poetic. One of my favorites was “We had Etch-a-sketched our way north and west from the Kents’ that morning through gloriously cool six o’clock and seven o’clock hours.” I often flipped back to the front of the book to see her travel route and appreciate how whimsically true that is.

Stewart also understands pacing, the importance of varying the text and finding the dramatic moments to bring us both laughter and tears. She can explain the crops, farmers’ lives, and breeds of cattle and horses because she knows all about them and is a practiced commercial writer — you can’t get a grant or sell a product if you bore the reader.

For an introvert, spending so much time alone in the quiet countryside with her writing notebook is a dream come true. But having to constantly look for water, safe pasturing for Chief, and permission to pitch her tent on a stranger’s land each night is a nightmare. The result: dramatic tension and surprises. Horses are skittish and don’t like surprises, so Stewart observes how the trip enriches them both: “Like me, so many things that scared [Chief] once, now redeemed him.” Stewart intended to ride east, but the search for safer roads changed her path, taking her back to a new understanding of her past.

2.The CIA and Dr. Zhivago

I was eager to read this book because I’m interest in women’s struggles to get good jobs before the 1980s. And who isn’t fascinated by looking behind the scenes at the CIA? It’s also a plus if you have read Dr. Zhivago or seen the movie.

The Secrets We Kept 

by Laura Prescott

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3369822829?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1

The novel begins in 1949, with flashbacks to show how much more respect and responsibility were given to women serving in the military during WWII, only to find themselves stuck back in the typing pool in post-war civilian life. They definitely had important secrets to keep, because they were working for the CIA.

I loved this for the usual excitement of learning about how spies operate. The main plot involves Boris Pasternak and his attempts to get Dr. Zhivago published, the reprisals against him and his mistress by the Russian government, and how the CIA got involved. I also loved the book for its feminism and the close bond of the typists, but I loved it most on a more personal level. It gave me more perspective on my mother (a Wave stationed in D.C. during WWII) and on some people I know who worked at the Agency during the Cold War.

3.Shades of Anne Frank

Like Anne Frank, Hélène Berr was recording her journal during the Holocaust. The main differences are that Berr was in Paris and older, studying at the Sorbonne. She initially had fewer restrictions than Frank, was able to get out into the world and continue life almost as normal for a surprising amount of time. Like our other memoir above, we are watching her life unfold. Classical music and her favorite literary works provide some happier moments in the narrative.

The Journal of Hélène Berr

by  Hélène Berr

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3383922124?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1

This memoir by a Jewish student at the Sorbonne in Paris during the German occupation of WWII can’t help but recall The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. We get to know the author’s intimate life, dreams, and heart during a time when it was difficult to believe anything good could be possible. There are obvious differences due to the young women’s ages, countries, and circumstances, but readers will still find themselves holding their breath, hoping “not today.”

In many ways Berr had things easier. She retained much of her freedom, went to school, went shopping, worked for a children’s relief organization, saw her friends. She even seems to have eaten well enough. She was also a gifted student of literature and music. Much of her social life was spent listening to classical records or playing her violin in duets or trios with friends. It was surprising how long she avoided being deported by the Nazis, yet all the more sad that she got through most of the war only to be trapped. Because she is smart and has witnessed the murders and roundups of so many, the fear and foreboding grow stronger and stronger throughout her diary. She is an accomplished writer and has fascinating things to say about books, music, human nature, nationalism, and Christianity. Her discussion of the teachings of Jesus versus the hate carried out in His name bring the point home. It’s surprising that this book wasn’t published until 2008. It’s an important insider’s view of the price of bigotry and hate.

4.More Horses, More Books

It makes sense that both books and horses are a good means of escape, especially if you just emigrated from England in the 1930’s to rural Kentucky, where your new husband and living in rural Kentucky give you almost no choice about how to live your life.

The Giver of Stars

by Jojo Moyes

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3341762572?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1

Frankly, I’m tired of spin offs from You Before Me and thrilled by this departure to a historical novel. I don’t know which came first, the idea for the book or Moyes’ trip to Eastern Kentucky, but it seemed an amazing leap for a British author to write about the WPA’s Packhorse Librarians of Kentucky Program, initiated by Eleanor Roosevelt. The program lasted from 1935-1943, recruiting women to ride horses or mules up into the mountains in all sorts of harsh weather. They had few paths to reach dirt poor residents tucked away from outsiders, which was how many of them wanted it to stay. But these daring librarians coaxed and tutored the reluctant country folk and brought them a steady stream of books, comic books, and magazines to read. They became far more vital to the community and each other than their job descriptions.

This is not the quiet story you’d expect of librarians in town. The pace and drama will sweep you along. It’s an action-packed story, full of life and death situations and a group of feisty women who are fed up with being told what they can or cannot do by fathers, husbands, church, society, and government. I often worry that younger people don’t fully realize how few rights women had less than a hundred years ago. This story is so rich in character and plot, romance, danger, and friendship that it would make an excellent movie or Masterpiece Theatre series. It also touches on other hot buttons: corrupt government, employers out for profit at all costs, mob mentality, and racism. Sound like a soap opera? That’s just how things were in that time and place. Aspects of this novel reminded me of The Help by Katherine Stockett.

5.Harry Potter for Adults Who Wish They Could Live in Books

If you read and adored The Midnight Circus, all I need to do is mention the author’s name and you’ll run for this book. Morgenstern again creates a different world or dimension tucked inside our own everyday world. Only a true book lover will learn all its secrets. It helps if you love cats, too.

The Starless Sea

by Erin Morgenstern

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3335200420?book_show_action=false&from_review_page=1

Morgenstern is a sorceress who enchants us with her writing. It must be like hypnosis: her magic works best on those who are suggestible – avid readers who welcome stories that take us to faraway places and other dimensions. In this novel, she uses story and fable both as writing technique and as message. She creates a paradise for readers. Of course, any paradise is threatened by those who think they need to take over and choose who gets to stay in their realm. But no good story exists without complications, dangers, and…well, you must see for yourself.

For me, this was perfect reading during the COVID quarantine. I didn’t really need a reminder that reading is a refuge, but she did transport me to a place I’d rather be. There are many reasons to want to stay by the starless sea, but I don’t want to spoil the surprises. I’ll just say Morgenstern had good reason to reference Rowling’s Harry Potter books. (Don’t worry, this is not a spin off.) Rowling is undoubtedly an idol of hers, for she uses a similar technique. She adds so much unique detail to improbable events that they become real to you. If you’re a Potter fan, you never think of yourself as a Muggle. You’re a great wizard yourself, either a student or advanced to faculty status. Many an adult buys a wand. Fess up! Don’t mistake this for a children’s book, however, there is some adult content. Thankfully, wonder is timeless.

I promised you a blog with book recommendations, but 2020 continues to hold surprise after surprise. For example, the eye patch I’m wearing is the result of a surgery gone wrong, but I’d rather focus on the good news of 2020. Never fear, book reviews are still on the way!

First, a recap of reasons 2020 should have been a banner year for me. The Writers Place announced its closing for the pandemic just a week before my poetry reading on March 20. Every reading cancellation is sad, but this one meant more than usual to me. I had just received a 2020 Fantastic Ekphrastic Award from The Ekphrastic Review, and saw that as an opportunity to begin a whole round of ekphrastic (based on art) readings, moving on to a salon in April and a fall lineup at libraries. For the first time, I would be reading only ekphrastic poems and showing the art that inspired them.

On top of that, I met co-reader Mike James through Shawn Pavey’s new poetry book, Survival Tips for the Pending Apocalypse. (See, I did manage to slip in a book recommendation.) Shawn asked me to write a blurb, and I was delighted to be a part of his 5-star book. I immediately wanted to know more about Mike James, based on the amazing Introduction he wrote for Sean’s book. (Mike has published 14 books of poetry, so head to Amazon and check him out.) Mike and I became Facebook friends, book swappers, and correspondents. I was looking forward to meeting him, then…wham! Friends from Virginia were also coming. Goodbye, plans!

But here’s good news for those of you not attending our live reading. Shawn still has copies of the signed and numbered limited first edition of Survival Tips for the Pending Apocalypse available through his site. https://squareup.com/store/shawn-pavey-poet

Free shipping on all orders!!!

Zoom to the Rescue!

A big thank you to The Writers Place for finding several new ways to celebrate literature and allow our shows to go on. Like other arts organizations, The Writers Place still has bills rolling in for employees, rent, supplies, yada, yada, whether we can meet or not. We don’t charge for Zoom attendance, so any help you can give now will help us make a comeback in 2021. Donations accepted here

 https://thewritersplace.wildapricot.org/Donate

When we chose July 23 as the make-up date for our Zoom poetry reading, I didn’t expect to need a pirate’s patch. If you don’t believe my pirate story, host Maryfrances Wagner offers an alternative explanation. Just keep in mind that she also offers me the use of one of her foils for pirate training. Believe what you want.

It’s particularly delightful to hear when an audience laughs during my readings. It still surprises me how different gatherings will find different phrases amusing. It also tells me to pause a few seconds or they won’t hear the beginning of the next line. Zoom readings are eerily silent. But Zoom does have advantages, in addition to being “the best we can manage.” My friends from Virginia who were planning to come in March could still attend. Posting the video to YouTube allows friends outside the U.S. or those who simply couldn’t make the real-time session to enjoy it. I’m up first, followed by Shawn Pavey and Mike James. Please sit back and enjoy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ecizc-1ODME&t=20s

As always, I invite you to share my blog and subscribe.

Stay safe and well and read, read, read!

[Archived from spring 2020]

Nov. 2023 Update, as we prepare for Thanksgiving.

I debated whether to put readers through the awful COVID quarantine again, but decided that looking back on bleak times and on how we coped might make us appreciate our blessings all the more. There are even a few laughs here. I especially enjoyed some of the more creative quarantine song parodies. Enjoy if you can, and move to the next blog if you can’t.

I hope you’re staying safe and well and finding creative ways to cope with 2020. We are all in this together – that thought makes me feel better than watching the news.

The initial closings hit me hard. I was just crawling out from winter depression and about to launch my biggest lineup of poetry readings ever. I was also expecting three rounds of out-of-state guests. Bummer. I wallowed in my disappointment for a couple of days, then moved on to Plan B: Making the Best of It. 

Even at my grumpiest, I knew I was more fortunate than most. When I moved to Kansas City, leaving everyone I knew on the East Coast, I understood the importance of looking on the bright side and trying to adapt. In some ways, that move was like a quarantine, since I didn’t know anyone to visit and had no job. I felt stranded. Now I really appreciate how email and social media make isolation easier to bear. Of course, “focus on the positive” is easy for me to say: being stranded with the World’s Best Husband is no hardship. In fact, he makes the quarantine way more fun. The cats aren’t sure why we’re ALWAYS here, but they seem to like it.

Musical Chairs is a favorite game. He who leaves a warm seat may not find it free when he returns. Watson left with head up. Darby on right.

Other big advantages for us: (1) we’re retired and (2) we’re introverts whose favorite pastimes are dining, reading, theater, movies, music, art, and reading. I haven’t written as much as I’d like, since my Muse slipped off one of those stranded cruise ships and is drinking piña coladas on a beach somewhere, but I’m reading more than ever.

I didn’t take a single souvenir photo of my 11-week old haircut, but put it into a poem, inspired by art on The Ekphrastic Review.

Self-Portrait in Quarantine

Day 20-something: can you believe
I’m growing paler? The raised-by-wolves
hairdo isn’t helping either, so I’m avoiding
mirrors. Instead, I’ll look inward, paint
a self-portrait.

I try cubism: no need to change
out of jammies or examine my face.
Replace my head with an open book –
a nod to realism. No arms or legs since
I’m frozen in time.

My heart flattened into a greeting card,
my torso a dressmaker’s form, parts of me
wired together with coat hangers.
My third eye wanders to my gut
and stares back without blinking.

© 2020 Alarie Tennille

Click to see the art.

Knowing people who contracted Covid-19 brought home the importance of being careful. Although disappointing cancellations keep happening, they’re no longer shocking me. We even survived the death of our water heater. I wouldn’t have done a staycation last year if I’d had any idea… Fortunately, the quarantine has also brought some happy surprises.

New Skills

Chris and I were supposed to give four more workshops on how to write thank-you notes at Amethyst Place. It wasn’t nearly as much fun to make a video, but I’m glad I figured out how. It’s a skill I expect to use again.

I’ve also learned how to Zoom. It was NOT easy for me, but I’m delighted to be seeing poetry readings again. Better yet, I was pleasantly surprised by an invitation to star in a Zoom meeting with the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Host Jimmy Pappas invited me to talk about my experience as a pioneer coed at the University of Virginia and then read a few of my ekphrastic poems.  

[2023 update: I now know how to operate Zoom and have my own Zoom subscription, which allowed us to welcome a new member to our critique group who lives half way across the country.]

Food Adventures

Chocolate Ganache with Bourbon-Caramel:

Curbside Pickup from The Belfry

You probably know that Chris and I are foodies. I love to cook, and he has also been whipping up some new dishes. That doesn’t mean we don’t miss our favorite restaurants, too. I had a birthday recently and would have preferred dining at Story, but Chris picked up my favorite dishes for me. We’ve also enjoyed meals from Summit Grill, The French Market, Café Provence, and Governor Stumpy. 

I miss going to the grocery store myself, but we appreciate the convenience of home delivery. Thanks to Eating Well, I made the best egg salad I’ve ever had this week. I use most recipes as suggestions and ad lib, so I added minced red onion and a few slices of smoked salmon. Using avocado in lieu of mayo makes the dish both healthier and tastier.

Entertainment

Just as Zoom is allowing some poetry events to happen (B.Y.O.B.), there has been an explosion of movies online, ballets, concerts, song parodies, etc. to pass the hours. Over the past few years, we’ve seen stage productions from the National Theatre in London at the Tivoli. We had tickets to see James Corden in One Man Two Guvnors (sniff!), but learned we could still see it on YouTube. It’s no longer online, but you should check to see if other shows might interest you. A lot of ballet companies are also sharing performances online.

Have you caught any of the quarantine song parodies? Here are a few of my favorites. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygdB-ZE0daY&fbclid=IwAR13FbSoirSUGyYzsQghsSt3NRe05XzOmGPTVBA9UY_cxCMPfUJCLnJ_eX8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wdcS0Nbo7Ng

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5azNpTwVk8

John Krasinski, whom you may recognize from his roll on The Office, has launched a YouTube Channel/Program called Some Good News. He shares feel good stories from around the globe. In this episode, he gives students a mini 2020 graduation ceremony where they get to ask advice from favorite celebrity role models: Oprah Winfrey, Steven Spielberg, Malala Yousafzai, and Jon Stewart.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IweS2CPSnbI&fbclid=IwAR2I_7rrvckqdYXiA9QtQgwixB_7PcDU-TcK1TT_gJ59Dph-IewfGw9c88A

Books, Books, Books, Books, Books!

It was unfortunate that the libraries shut down, but my Christmas and birthday gift books have kept me well supplied with reading. Another nice surprise was picking up face masks made by a friend and getting an extra bag of books on loan. We share her love for WWII literature. You see this blog is about to end, so please stay tuned for my next installment with book recommendations.

[Archived from spring 2020]

What started? You think I’m going to say my love of reading or my wish to write. Yes and yes, but this blog is about my early love for art. “The Owl and the Pussycat” and “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod” were fun to listen to, but it was the pictures that I went back to again and again, both before and after I could read the words. Naturally I loved reading from the start, but I was also a bit disappointed to leave storybooks behind. Weren’t you? (Of course, I didn’t really abandon them. I still love both them and animated movies, and I don’t have children as an excuse.) 

When I began reading very long books, I missed the pictures so much that I sought out the Illustrated Classics from the library. Mama taught me to love books, but she had little use for art. I wore out the section on Painting in the World Book, because we had no art books. During high school, art books began appearing on my Christmas and birthday lists. This meant sacrificing clothes! This was serious!

 From My Daddy to the Father of Impressionism, Claude Monet

When I began publishing poetry, most of it was about childhood memories. Both my parents died near the time I moved to Kansas City. I left everyone I knew, except my beloved husband and cat, behind. Poems are a way of keeping my parents close and introducing new friends to my past. I wrote a new family poem this week, but the flow of those has slowed. Now, when I’m stumped for a topic, I most often turn to art.

Even though Monet gets more mention than any other painter, I’ve discovered that stranger, less figurative art, abstracts, surrealism, and even ancient artifacts capture my writing imagination more than portraits or scenes that already tell their story on the canvas. No rule is 100%, so I have written poems about John the Baptist and Salome, but what excites me most is looking at the art, probably several times over several days, and wondering, “What could I possibly say to THAT?” Even better is when I tell myself, “No, no, that one is beyond my reach,” only to find my Muse saying, “Think again!” In my 20s, I learned that spending more time with avant garde music leads to deeper appreciation. The same goes for art.

EKPHRASTIC – an Adjective Meaning Inspired by Art

Here’s another perfect time to thank The Ekphrastic Review, an online journal that pairs art and the writing it inspires. Editor Lorette C. Luzajic, star of my last blog, awarded me a 2020 Fantastic Ekphrastic Award. I was not only honored and inspired by the award, but felt encouraged I was on the right track.  

http://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic/the-fantastic-ekphrastic-awards-2020

When Angels and Friends Collaborate

Because I spent the holidays cooking, overeating, and diving into my Christmas books, my writing wasn’t getting the attention it deserved. An angel to the rescue! My friend R.E.D., Richard Eric Disney (Eric to me) has been sharing his host of angels on Facebook since he retired from Hallmark Cards. I knew that someday I’d find myself writing to one of them.

This angel, quirky enough to jumpstart my holiday brain, called. I answered, then asked Eric’s permission to submit his art with my words to The Ekphrastic Review. Hallelujah, he said yes!

Ink and watercolor by R.E.D., Richard Eric Disney. To see the full backstory and Eric’s biography, click here. 

https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-review/angel-of-showing-up-by-alarie-tennille

Angel of Showing Up

Titles matter too much in your world.

Go ahead – laugh. I’ve had other positions. 

Miracle Worker – now there’s a title to impress.

Everyone loves a miracle. (Just so you know, 

lottery money is not a miracle.)

Putting one foot in front of the other 

can turn into a miracle. Everyone suffers

through days when they don’t want 

to get out of bed or leave the house, times 

when they feel family or friends slipping away 

and can’t see that they are the ones 

backing out the door. 

Can’t you remember when you moved 

to a new school in third grade? How the kids 

said you talked funny and had cooties? 

How many times did you pretend you had

a stomach ache? 

When did you last sit down to dinner 

with your whole family?

The thing is. Some people ask for help

and some don’t understand that they need it.

I just show up to observe and listen first.

I’ve got a blue bird on one shoulder and bunny

on the other. People seem to sense their vibes 

before they see them.

Since you’re talking to me, I know Bun

and Blue will materialize soon. Tell me 

if you see something different. I may need 

to call for backup.

© 2020 Alarie Tennille. First published by The Ekphrastic Review

I can’t tell you how excited I was to discover The Ekphrastic Review soon after it launched in July 2015. Finally, I could publish my poems along with the art that inspired them! The editor and founder, Lorette Luzajic, is both an artist and writer: perfect credentials for the Queen of Ekphrastic Poetry. We hit it off immediately, because we share the same philosophy. 

Behind the Mask of a Personna Poem

[Archived from June 15, 2019]

Poets do talk about themselves a lot. I admit I do. Our childhoods, vacations, and life dilemmas give us a lot of material, but variety is the spice of poetry. It’s fun to imagine other lives, to dress in masquerade and play a role. Then the speaker of the poem becomes a persona. 

Writing in a different voice can liberate you. It allows you to say things that might be embarrassing, shameful, or simply inappropriate if you spoke them yourself. In my case, the persona often adds humor. It also lets me live in a different time, be a man, a pencil, a seagull, or the character in a painting. Notice the speaker doesn’t need to be human. If the poet speaks as an animal or inanimate object, the persona poem does double duty as personification (giving the speaker human characteristics and insights).

A persona poem heightens drama, it can be very much like a dramatic monologue without the play surrounding it. Say you pick up the newspaper and see yet another story of a shooting. You could write it the way a reporter does, just laying out the facts, trying to avoid bias. BUT, if you write from the view of the shooter, the corpse, or the victim’s mother or new bride, your reader is not likely to wander away from your page.

A Few Favorite Persona Poems

One of the first persona poems we all learn is the nursery rhyme, “I’m a Little Teapot” (also personification). A few years later, my tastes veered to the darker side. You likely know these next two. In the interest of saving space, I’ll let you look them up on the internet. “My Last Duchess” by Robert Browning is deliciously sinister. The envoy from a Count visits a widowed Duke to make arrangements for his next marriage. If I were that envoy, I’d have my horse saddled, ready to escape the Count as quickly as I could get away without having my throat slit.

What about one of the most famous dark poems, “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe? One might argue it is NOT a persona poem because the speaker, lamenting the death of his lost Lenore, is very much like Poe. At the time of publication (January 1845), Poe’s wife Virginia had already suffered through three years of tuberculosis. He knew she’d never recover. Is the speaker Poe himself with typically Poe macabre embellishment? Was it his way of coping with his own heartbreak?  Possibly, but one of the first rules in poetry is not to assume the speaker is the poet. Hence, “The Raven” is a persona poem: a different man, but perhaps Poe is the Raven? 

Ventriloquist Writer

I write the words, but they come out of someone else’s mouth. Isn’t that a great solution for writer’s block? You don’t have any ideas today? Borrow them from another head! I’ve shared three persona poems in earlier blogs. In I Interview My Pencil (May 9, 2018), I speak as a pencil, and in I Write by Night (February 25, 2019) I speak for an actual 92-year-old Polish woman who wakes up in the morgue, precisely because the newspaper account did not interview her. In A License to Lie (October 29, 1918), I left you guessing as to which of two poems from a child narrator is a persona poem and which is true. Will the real Alarie please stand up? No, it’s 1:00 a.m. as I’m writing this, so I’m going to stay seated and silent. I’ll just say goodnight with another persona poem.

A Seagull Vaguely Remembers

I wake. For a second, 

I wonder

what I have to do today –

the last vestige of being human melting 

away too slowly. I remember a feeling – Monday, 

no longer understand what that is. I dive 

and leave dread behind. My time comes 

in tides of night or day, rest or fly.

I hang upon an updraft, look down 

at the people plodding the beach.

I wonder

how I was ever such a one.

© 2015 Alarie Tennille.  First published by Silver Birch Press.

Thank you for reading. Please subscribe to my blog and share with friends.

Grateful hearts always make friends.

EnCompass

EnCompass is a mentoring program for the resident moms. Each month a mom shares dinner with her pair of mentors, two women friends who model a healthy, helpful friendship while teaching life skills. We were invited to present our Gratitude Program to their group, and I can’t wait to go back for the other two sessions. 

Our audience was so incredibly welcoming and grateful that they made us feel grateful, too. They also shared their catered meal with us, which let us get acquainted with the people at our table.

After Dinner Thanks

Before we began our presentation, the moms were invited to name any Joys or Challenges they’d like to share with the group. You could feel the pride and gratitude

each woman felt for blessings as well as the enthusiasm of everyone around her as we cheered the news.  We applauded an important commendation for a training program, a new baby, new job, achievements of children, etc. I was teary eyed before I got up to speak, but glad to know that these women would have no problem pouring their hearts out. 

Julie Carmichael, Director of Programs, then introduced Chris as a supporter who often came by with donations. She said his frequent and quick drop offs made her want to ask, “Who was that masked man?” To explain why I was the chief instructor, Chris told the group that, when we got married, friends of his mother began phoning her. “You’ve got to hear this wonderful thank-you note I just got from Alarie!” Truly, I was as surprised as she was that my notes were making that big an impact. Any day we can impress our new mother-in-law is a good day.

My presentation was short, only about 5 minutes, because we wanted everyone to start writing while they had mentors available to help. We learned that the AP staff already encourages a lot of thank-you writing, so everyone was ready to jump in. 

My biggest advice for writing thank-you notes was to talk in the same sincere, chatty way they speak. They don’t need to impress anyone with big words. They’re not writing a job application letter. They just need to let their gratitude shine through. They’d already shown they were good at that.

I held up the small booklet on writing thank-you notes that I wrote for Hallmark in the ‘80s. It was sold with their stationery line. One of the mentors said she had a copy!  I told the group that my booklet had a sample letter for a man to thank friends for a golf shirt. Because they have more personal reasons to give thanks: for mentoring, counseling, encouragement, help getting a job, groceries, etc., I told them I’d written a new guide “just for you.” I was stunned by the squeals of glee and applause. I felt so grateful to be there that I decided to devote this blog to Amethyst Place as my thank you.

Heart-Warming Words

Along with the mentors, we got to hear some of the letters. Just look at the photos. Would you expect a thank-you writing party to look like so much fun? We were touched to receive two notes ourselves. I could say I’m proud they listened to my direction, but I know Amethyst Place deserves the credit for showing them how to live with gratitude.

Dear Chris and Alarie,

Thank you very much for this Gratitude Presentation.

I appreciate that y’all took your time to come to Amethyst

and show us how to write thank you notes. Please

come back and visit all of us. 

Sincerely, 

Emily

Dear Chris and Alarie,

I would like to say thank you for 

taking the time to come teach me a skill 

that will be very useful in my life.

Having the knowledge that you gave us

can be the defining moment in career

opportunities and set me apart from others.

I very much enjoyed meeting you and 

appreciate your generosity.

                       Sincerely,

                       Amber

[Archived from April 1, 2019]

Last fall my husband, Chris, discovered Amethyst Place. After reading about them in the newspaper, he went by in person to learn more about this wonderful facility and its program. He came away impressed as much by the vibes of the center as by its mission to help women put their lives back together, break the cycle of addiction, learn job and life skills, and have a safe place to raise their kids. Residents and staff alike wore smiles and looked thankful to be there.

Chris began donating home goods and groceries, but wanted to get more involved by teaching. He asked if the two of us could give a workshop on writing thank-you notes. If you’ve read my earlier blog, “Mama Made Me Lie,” you know I have long experience in writing thank-you notes. I was happy to write guidelines while he was busy buying scratch pads, pens, stationery, stamps, and making the arrangements. Amethyst Place said, “Sure, you can give a workshop, but how about presenting it THREE times?”

Grateful hearts always make friends.

EnCompass

EnCompass is a mentoring program for the resident moms. Each month a mom shares dinner with her pair of mentors, two women friends who model a healthy, helpful friendship while teaching life skills. We were invited to present our Gratitude Program to their group, and I can’t wait to go back for the other two sessions. 

Our audience was so incredibly welcoming and grateful that they made us feel grateful, too. They also shared their catered meal with us, which let us get acquainted with the people at our table.

After Dinner Thanks

Before we began our presentation, the moms were invited to name any Joys or Challenges they’d like to share with the group. You could feel the pride and gratitude

each woman felt for blessings as well as the enthusiasm of everyone around her as we cheered the news.  We applauded an important commendation for a training program, a new baby, new job, achievements of children, etc. I was teary eyed before I got up to speak, but glad to know that these women would have no problem pouring their hearts out. 

Julie Carmichael, Director of Programs, then introduced Chris as a supporter who often came by with donations. She said his frequent and quick drop offs made her want to ask, “Who was that masked man?” To explain why I was the chief instructor, Chris told the group that, when we got married, friends of his mother began phoning her. “You’ve got to hear this wonderful thank-you note I just got from Alarie!” Truly, I was as surprised as she was that my notes were making that big an impact. Any day we can impress our new mother-in-law is a good day.

My presentation was short, only about 5 minutes, because we wanted everyone to start writing while they had mentors available to help. We learned that the AP staff already encourages a lot of thank-you writing, so everyone was ready to jump in. 

My biggest advice for writing thank-you notes was to talk in the same sincere, chatty way they speak. They don’t need to impress anyone with big words. They’re not writing a job application letter. They just need to let their gratitude shine through. They’d already shown they were good at that.

I held up the small booklet on writing thank-you notes that I wrote for Hallmark in the ‘80s. It was sold with their stationery line. One of the mentors said she had a copy!  I told the group that my booklet had a sample letter for a man to thank friends for a golf shirt. Because they have more personal reasons to give thanks: for mentoring, counseling, encouragement, help getting a job, groceries, etc., I told them I’d written a new guide “just for you.” I was stunned by the squeals of glee and applause. I felt so grateful to be there that I decided to devote this blog to Amethyst Place as my thank you.

Heart-Warming Words

Along with the mentors, we got to hear some of the letters. Just look at the photos. Would you expect a thank-you writing party to look like so much fun? We were touched to receive two notes ourselves. I could say I’m proud they listened to my direction, but I know Amethyst Place deserves the credit for showing them how to live with gratitude.

Dear Chris and Alarie,

Thank you very much for this Gratitude Presentation.

I appreciate that y’all took your time to come to Amethyst

and show us how to write thank you notes. Please

come back and visit all of us. 

Sincerely, 

Emily

Dear Chris and Alarie,

I would like to say thank you for 

taking the time to come teach me a skill 

that will be very useful in my life.

Having the knowledge that you gave us

can be the defining moment in career

opportunities and set me apart from others.

I very much enjoyed meeting you and 

appreciate your generosity.

                       Sincerely,

                       Amber

I’ve always been a night owl, a terrible frustration for a child. In college, I indulged myself by signing up for mostly afternoon classes. Then adulthood came with its annoying, early office hours. Now that I’m retired, I do most of my writing while you are asleep.

It’s not that I prefer the dark. I’m nervous of things that go bump in the night and prefer being alert for them. I also like to read and write when the quiet world feels like it’s all mine. Even when I was working, my energy slumped around 3:00 or 4:00 p.m., then picked up until I was fully re-energized by 10:00.

A Facebook follower, noticing the crazy times of my posts, asked,

“How has restlessness and wee-hour waking changed your pov, your work? Are your muses kind when there are fewer conscious poets?”

First, there are a few misconceptions in these questions. I’m not especially restless. My DNA results tell me I’m meant to be a couch potato (for real). I don’t wake up in the wee-hours, I stay up through them. Sometimes I take a nap at 9:00, 10:00, even 11:00 p.m. to refresh my thinking. Finally, many poets are night owls with our headlights turned on high beam. Maybe our collective consciousness is a plus. One friend regularly exchanges emails with me around 3:00 a.m., and I often hear from journal editors after midnight. 

 Luna Is My Muse

This should have been obvious, but it took a while for me to catch on. The full moon has long played havoc with my dreams. A few years ago, I was passing through the living room and saw both cats sitting on the stereo cabinet, staring up at the sky. I stopped to see what had captivated them: the full moon. I joined them in their meditation.

Luna

The moon a golden gong

suspended on night’s thread,

swaying just above the rooftops.

At the window, my cats stand sentry,

eyes and ears locked on Luna,

awaiting her command.

Transfixed, ready to shed

their bodies and prowl the sky.

© Alarie Tennille. From Waking on the Moon 

You can click on BOOKS at the top of my home page to learn more about my books, available on Amazon.

In the spring of 2016, I realized that my book, Running Counterclockwise, was already two years old. My “next book” file was still somewhat skimpy, so I went through poems I already had to look for trends. That was when I discovered Luna had been pushing me along. In addition to many poems that mentioned the moon or night, I had several of those wonderful poems that fall from the sky into my lap: darker poems that wouldn’t stop by on a sunny afternoon, like “A Vampire Takes My Bus” and “Poets in the Sleep Lab.” The sleep lab poem inspired the title for my book: Waking on the Moon. 

My title inspired my husband to design two book covers, and his covers in turn inspired me to speed up my work. Once I had the moon as a unifying theme, I began collecting moon quotes to organize the book’s sections and began writing more moon poems. Luna was obviously pleased by this decision and kept supplying me with new ideas. It took less than a year to get from naming the book to holding it in my hands, thanks to Kelsay Books.

In case you’re wondering, I’ve been working on this blog this afternoon. It’s now only 6:00 p.m. Poetry writing and blog writing live in different rooms of my mind.

My recent book is darker than the first, but that isn’t wholly because of my late hours or Luna’s influence. We all have a darker side, and I love the chilling writing of Edgar Allan Poe and Margaret Atwood, and the dark humor in poems by Thomas Lux. I’m going to leave you with a poem based on a quirky news story I found on the internet. Not only was the situation ripe with drama, but I was bothered that they interviewed the doctor and the paramedics who took the body to the hospital, but didn’t ask the old woman how she felt. That was my invitation to speak for her.

Waking in the Morgue

Ostrow Lubelski, Poland

Voices. Echoes. Stench 

of antiseptics. Not my room 

at home. I push, pull, find myself

inside a soft sac. Dear God, no.

Don’t let me be back in the womb.

I don’t want to start again.

I’m 91 years used to Janina.

Am I still female? Still Polish?

I thrash, try to use my own weak

contractions to get this over.

I hear a zip, squint into the light,

tell the man peering in

I want a cup of tea.

© 2015 Alarie Tennille. First published by Ofi Press.