Each present is an opportunity to top the previous one.  When tonight’s feat is done, I’ll post the results.

Rather than dedicate different blogs to specific purposes, I’m consolidating and letting this be my “home” blog for awhile. I’m feeling a bit mellow…and starting over.

Hold that thought. I don’t want to get into what’s happening right now, but a scanning of my early 2005 archives (and post list) should give you a pretty good idea of what I am, what I’m not, and what to expect when I’m back in a couple of weeks. 

I’ve been away awhile, mostly researching and doing everything possible NOT to go out and be distracted from the book. But I’ve found that returning to a weekly poetry reading keeps me focused and offers the structure and routine I thrive on.  Ironic, because the way I’ve always conceived my material is following whatever unpaved gravel path my mind takes me. 

I’ve also learned far too late the benefits of networking with writers and other sympatico people. When I was offered a small tuition fellowship to Summer Literary Seminars in St. Petersburg, Russia, I planned my journey down to the number of toilet paper rolls in my backpack. This was an investment; it was an oppportunity. It was the furthest from home I’d ever been and another chance at travel would be a long time in coming. I hit the Hermitage; I hit the Russian Museum, I went to every class and reading and event offered. The last thing on my list of priorities was socializing with people I’d never see again after the two weeks were up.  Yet some of us correspond occasionally by e-mail, and I’ve resorted to looking them up on Facebook and MySpace.

What I think I’m saying is that I want to make communication with other writers and artists part of my routine.

Yes, you read correctly.  Check out the “mock-up” at www.youtube.com/smidbeach and tell me what you think!

So why do this when I haven’t even started looking for an agent, let alone a publisher?

(1) Guerilla marketing to use as leverage when I query certain agents; (2) To build gradual interest among readers of the multiple blogs I write for (plus to update them); and (3) to get feedback ahead of time. The first one you see now is 4 minutes long…much longer than the final product. I’m working on a 60 second video right now.  But the interesting thing about this first version is that it’s comprised almost entirely of photos and still images…they just appear to be moving.   Creatively, it’s been an interesting project because I’ve struggled to boil my book down to a paragraph or a 30-second elevator speech. Even though I make a living doing this for other people, I am simply not my own best marketer. I remember in The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion said that though she had been a writer her entire life, she wished that for one time (her husband’s death) she wished that instead of recording her thoughts in word, she had a video editor on which she could show clips and “let you pick the takes”. 

Because I’m looking for an excuse not to write.

For several months now, a box in my home has held about a hundred addressed,stamped envelopes with folded self-addressed reply envelopes inside.  Done in a moment of writer’s block consternation, I was happy to be able to say that at least one task of the agent-hunting process would be ready when I was.  And just as I’m about to utilize those crisp Crane papers, guess what’s up?

Yep.  Postage.

If you’re a red-blooded American writer like I am, you’ll inevitably have many dates with the U.S. Postal Service in your lifetime.  If you can afford it, one excellent investment you can make is a book (or two or three) of the 41 cent Forever Stamp, valid for First-Class Mail, 1-ounce letters indefinitely — regardless of price increases.

Printed with permission of the Miami New Herald Times:

Miami Beach Renames Neighborhood for Current Cultural Arts Fellow

[Miami Beach, FL] – Welcome to Smid Beach?

That’s what the City of Miami Beach wants you to call the upper swathe of the island straddling South Beach and the upper island.

Today, the Department of Cartography and Cultural Development (CCD) has awarded a 12-month artist fellowship to a writer who intends to rename a local neighborhood after herself.

Lisa Smid, a Miami-born writer and visual artist, is the winner of the first annual CCD Prize for Excellence in Artistic and Civic Vision.

The CCD’s mission is to enrich the economic and cultural fabric of Miami Beach through the support of special projects fostering events and cultural arts programming. Now, the department wants to take this enrichment to a new level.

“We’ve been thinking all along that, once the local artist community comes into its own, both numerically and organizationally, we would make a concerted effort to cross-pollinate with artists from other communities,” said J.S. Poisson-D’Avril, CCD’s interim Liaisons Officer.

“With that notion in mind, we awarded a grant for someone with a more comprehensive vision of what the new Miami Beach could be.”

Smid’s proposal called to designate the neighborhood north of South Beach’s Art Deco District as a distinct cultural area in its own right. The newly incorporated Smid Beach will retain its historic legacy while developing its own identity as a modern artist-friendly living space. To this end, a CCD Fellow will be entitled to occupy living and studio space free of charge within designated geographic boundaries.

“So many Miami and Dade County thoroughfares and landmarks are named for entertainers of a bygone era,” Smid said recently in a telephone interview. “To build the Miami Beach of today, we need to recognize the living people who make it what it is – the artists, the writers, the little people. I fit all three categories.”

“We need to move beyond South Beach,” Smid added. “South Beach is a bastardized tourist mecca for interlopers. Smid Beach is the real Miami-Dade. Smid Beach not a monument to me. It’s a monument to the Everywoman inside us all.”

The name will double as an acronym for the two local neighborhoods the area borders. “Smid Beach” is the new nomenclature for the neighborhood bordering South Beach and what is known in the common local parlance as Mid-Beach. Beginning at the north border of Lincoln Road, its boundaries will run along the southern side of Dade Boulevard to its intersection with 23rd Street.

Smid Beach will encompass City Hall, the Miami Beach Convention Center, Jackie Gleason Theater, Bass Museum of Art, and the Miami Beach Branch of the Miami-DadePublic Library, which will serve as Smid’s office and residence for the 12-month Fellowship term.

The name will remain permanent on all official Metropolitan maps.

“When we viewed her grant application, something clicked,” said Poisson-D’Avril. “Why put a superficial sheen on our cultural image when we can effect change on a deeper level?”

“Any city can use artists to gentrify its neighborhoods. We’ve found one to improve our cartography. South Beach, Mid Beach, Smid Beach – you can’t argue with something so right.”

Smid, a Dade County native, was removed from the city limits against her will when she was seven months old. She hopes the publicly funded endowment will re-integrate her into her natural habitat and reintroduce her to her Floridian heritage.

The Fellowship funds a temporary housing in which Smid to live for the next fiscal year. She will occupy an open-air studio space in Collins Park and a dedicated study room in the Miami Beach Public Library. For the first year ever, the library’s arbored courtyard will be designated for the Fellow’s specific use according to the provisions of the CCD. A Fellow may permit local patrons use of the facilities with permission.

“We’re inclined to allow the public to continue using those library facilities,” Poisson-D’Avril conceded. “So long as they don’t disturb this young lady when she’s trying to write. That would be a waste of taxpayers’ money.”

With a rich history as a trend-setting arts center, Miami Beach’s identity is intrinsically linked to the arts. Today its entertainment, production and arts communities are stronger than ever. The new Smid Beach promises to rival its southern neighbor as a center for international entertainment and cultural destination.

“It’s a great spot where Miami Beach taxpayers can kick back, relax and watch hell freeze over together,” said April Fools, Director of Communications for the new Smid Beach Chamber of Commerce. LINK

Last night’s reading: Cafe Simcha at shul, a Beatnik evening a la 1950s Greenwich Village.  Brought art. Brought poetry.  Should have remembered it would be dimly lit; 10″ x 14″ pen-and-ink didn’t show up well and people tended to skip over it to look at the larger ones.  At the last moment, remembered that a poem I’d chosen bore a word not quite appropriate for synagogue.  What with all the alliteration and assonance therein, no way could I have subbed: “Like a clown/or a whore/on a lunch break, he/refused to perform/wouldn’t spread.”  A kindly matron grasped my hand and explained that she never understood poetry in high school…and as her monologue went on, it was clear that I was no exception, but she said she appreciated my bravery.

Northernmost reading: Plataforma, St. Petersburg, Russia.  The first of a long line of poets and writers from Summer Literary Seminars signed up to read in a smoke-enveloped club.  Travel list for next trip: surgical mask and hand-washable fine washables.

Southernmost reading: Rutherford County for the Performing Arts, Murfreesboro, TN.  A beautiful, clean little center, gracefully small crowd assembled mostly for Untitled’s visual art show in the adjoining room.  Acoustics good, audience polite, even if some watched entranced from the eaves. 

A reading series I miss: The decade-long monthly series at Bean Central that folded as suddenly as the coffeehouse did.  Was featured several times. 

A reading series I kinda miss: The Mad Poets reading at Cafe Coco, late 90s.  1997 was the year I officially declared myself allergic to smoke.

A reading series I wish existed: Bongo After Hours, at the original Bongo Java.  I suppose they can’t afford to let out the tiny theater space for free, but I do miss those few open mic nights of the mid-90s…so much that I rented it out for my farewell poetry reading in anticipation of leaving Nashville…although I’m still here almost three years later. 

Strangest gig: West End Middle School’s “Read Me” Day, 2005.  I waltzed into an 8th grade class and announced “I’m your new student”.  Teach didn’t bat an eyelid (hey, I’m under 5 feet, I could work as a narc, really I could!) but moved aside for me to assemble my stack of papers as the ASL instructor gestured for the deaf student front-row left.  As I spoke, she gestured.  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her signal my words as I read my poetry.  As I slowed down, she slowed down.  As I sped up, she sped up.  As I stopped to sip Aquafina, she stopped and took a swig of Coke.

Worst gig:  Any crowded room where people are assembled to watch something else other than poetry.  Trust me, a captive audience is more trouble than it’s worth.

Best gig: Any quiet venue where I can read up to 20 minutes.

Most logistically difficult gig: Untitled’s Glow Show (was it Glow Show 6 or 7?)  All the performers, including poets, read under black light with a flashlight.  I wore my white high school graduation gown with a hood, which somewhat distracted my peripheral vision.

The un-gig:  The middle of a converted garage where a mic was planted on a small platform in the middle of a crowded gallery space of partiers and revelers.  I rather prefer to be able to hear my own voice.

Growing up, I was always afraid to cross the street alone. Eventually I got over it and became a serious walker….but I have always been afraid of busy intersections. I’m also not much of a risk-taker, and have made it my business to know the ins and outs of my city — side streets, the safest place to cross in a neighborhood, and go out of my way to do just that. If I see someone on a cell phone about to cross, I wait till they’ve gone. If I’m not at the curb when the light changes, I wait till the next light cycle. I don’t walk during peak traffic hours (and time my walks meticulously). Not to mention that Nashville is one of the top 10 most dangerous cities for pedestrians.

Five years ago tomorrow, I was coming out of synagogue on a major local street. I’ve always been nervous about it and went about my usual hypervigilance — not just making sure the light read “Walk”, but that the lights on the cross-section were indeed red.

What I didn’t see was that a woman had run a yellow light and was blocking traffic. That must have been the reason her car appeared out of nowhere just as she was putting on the gas, then squealing on the breaks. All I had time to do was turn around slightly and, apparently all in a matter of seconds, tumble on and off the hood onto the concrete.

My first instinct was to get up and regain my bearings. Considering that I immediately felt a pain in my back, that could have been a very serious mistake. The long and the short of it is that I ended up going to the hospital on a spinal board that hurt like hell, lying on my back for what felt like an eternity, wondering if I was going to walk again, while I heard staff somewhere behind a curtain laughing and joking. I didn’t get anything softer until I was X-rayed.

And then, as quickly as my life flashed, it simmered down to an anticlimax.  Suddenly I was told I could get up and go home. Not only was it safe to move my spine, but it was also just fine to get off my ass and call my ride.  (Apparently the ER staff didn’t make good on their intention to inform my next of kin.  The aftermath that unfolded was this: soft tissue damage in the lower back and tailbone. It felt for a year like I was growing an iron tail, but luckily I only feel pain when it’s raining and I haven’t drunk much water.)

That scared the crap out of me. It could have been so much worse, combined with the fact that I spent years assiduously preventing an accident that happened anyway. A few days later was Thanksgiving, and the brother who spent all dinner long cross-examining me about the accident was himself killed in a car wreck almost exactly a year later. (That was the last time I saw him alive – when I was serving turkey on Lortab – me on Lortab, not the turkey – and the night was all about me, me, me. )

The one silver lining is that I was able to finish my much-prolonged education with the settlement money — although it wasn’t worth putting my life in danger. Anyway, tomorrow’s my, uh, Happy 5th Anniversary.

This afternoon’s mail: 

“Thank you for thinking of __ & __ in connection with your writing.  Your query has been read and reviewed.  But I’m afraid I am currently overwhelmed with commitments to my present clients and am able to take on very little if any new material.  I find your proposal quite interesting, but I’m afraid I just would not be able to give your work the time and attention it deserves.

Thank you again for giving me this opportunity.  I wish you the best of luck in placing your work elsewhere.  I’m so sorry I can’t help at this point.”

Okay…Get the point.  Taking very few new projects right now, unless it’s something completely up her alley…Totally appreciate the note and nicety…Expected the form letter and rejection…but how do I know if she finds my proposal “quite interesting” if it’s a form letter?  And why take the time to say my query’s been read and reviewed, let alone do it?

Am I wrong to be a little annoyed?  Am I wrong to feel guilty at being annoyed at a genuine extension of courtesy?  Have I finally become jaded – finally gotten in touch with my inner New Yorker (although this office is in NYC and I’m a dozen states off…) or am I just looking for a reason to complain?

Call it what you will.  I guess what bothers me is when people say anything they don’t really mean.  Maybe this is a “dedicated” form letter for ideas she thought promising, but I’d rather not hear what I don’t know how to interpret.

I can interpret “no”, however, which I guess should be enough for me.

This was the ninth of nine queries that I submitted in a last-ditch attempt to force myself to wrap up the last of my manuscript.  Later I realized that there were certain aspects of my pitch letter was not really the most effective approach.  So I don’t know if I’ve turned off agents who would otherwise be interested had I been more effective in summarizing my manuscript in those critical 2-3 paragraphs.

My current goal:  wrap the manuscript up by September 1.  We’ll see.