How to Find or Start a F2F Writing Workshop

Overhead shot of writers working. Photo by Emre Gencer on Unsplash

Writing doesn’t always have to be a solo gig. And it probably shouldn’t be if your goal is getting published. Feedback from other writers and readers is a time-tested way to improve your own work, whether you write poetry, fiction, or nonfiction. Community-based workshops provide free feedback, and they can help writers grow. So how can you find or start one?

Some people prefer to meet in face-to-face groups, and others prefer an online format. Both have their advantages, but my post for The Writing Cooperative spells out four strategies for the F2F world.

Strategy #1: Take a writing class at your local college or recreation center and meet other writers.

These classes are usually quite inexpensive; since we’re zeroing in on free here, though, it’s what comes after the class that’s of interest. You may find kindred spirits in the class who want to continue meeting after the class is over.

The first writing group I belonged to was with a group of women I met in a poetry writing class at a state college. We’d all had such a good time in the class that we didn’t want it to end, so someone — maybe me — suggested that we meet twice a month after the class ended. One of the members had young children, so for several years we met at her home.

That group continued to meet for about ten years, and the professor from our original class ended up joining us. Two of the things that made it work logistically were having a regular time to meet, and a regular place to meet. That predictability made it possible for members to occasionally miss a meeting without losing track of the group.

Strategy #2: Attend a public reading and talk with other attendees. Many people who attend readings are writers. Ask if there are any writing groups in your area looking for new members.

Want to keep reading? This article continues at The Writing Cooperative

Two new poems at WTP

Two new poems are up at The Woven Tale Press, a lovely online magazine that features stunning visual art in addition to poetry. One of the new poems is actually a few years old, written while I was participating in the Unity College hemlock project.

forest moon

The other poem, copied below from the issue, came from a nighttime walk in the woods in late spring. The moon shone through tree branches onto the path, making chiaroscuro patterns.

Walking in the woods at night, I’m sometimes startled by sudden noises or shadows — usually my neighborhood’s astonishingly voracious deer herd.

Still, it’s easy to startle at night, alone. But maybe we aren’t alone.



Image may contain: text

Displaced Homemakers: Then and Now

Tish Sommers and Laurie Shields
Laurie Shields (left) and Tish Sommers

In the 1970’s, as the American divorce rate rose, women who performed unpaid work in the home and who relied on husbands for economic security increasingly found themselves displaced. With limited paid work histories, many ended up living in poverty and confusion, struggling to achieve independence in a culture that had dismissed them.

Two extraordinary women, Laurie Shields and Tish Sommers had experienced the “displaced” phenomenon themselves. They put together a national coalition of activists and successfully lobbied 39 states and the federal government to create programs to train and counsel women.

Tish Sommers came up with the term “displaced homemaker” because she saw parallels between the experiences of women who were ousted from the homemaker role they expected to play for life, and the experiences of people who are forcibly exiled from their homes through political upheaval. Women who were displaced as homemakers by death, divorce, desertion, or disablement of a husband could find themselves ineligible for Social Security benefits, for unemployment benefits, and for welfare benefits. With little paid work experience, they could appear unemployable. As Laurie Shields notes in her 1981 book, Displaced Homemakers: Organizing for a new life, “homemakers assumed that retirement benefits, health insurance, and economic security flowed from their marriage.” When marriage ended, or a husband became unable to work, the safety net of marriage came unstrung.

How widespread was this phenomenon? In 1976, the Department of Labor estimated there were 4 million displaced homemakers in America, and that 3 million of those were between the ages of 40 and 64. Statistics like these, and the personal stories of women who’d been displaced, created a public outcry and support for programming. Columnist Ellen Goodman noted that women in these circumstances were caught “between the expectations of one decade and the reality of another.”

The first displaced homemakers program was authorized by the California legislature in 1975. By 1979, approximately 300 programs operated nationwide, but opposition among anti-feminists was strong.

Phyllis Schlafly promotion for defeat of the E.R.A.

Phyllis Schlafly, perhaps the most well-known anti-feminist of the time, and, ironically, a “career woman,” was especially suspicious of displaced homemaker programs, calling them “nothing but indoctrination and training centers for women’s lib. The feminists who run such centers use them to push ERA, abortion, federal child care, lesbian privileges, etc.”

Sommers and Shields were puzzled by the level of outrage against displaced homemaker programs. They wondered if some of it was age bias. Nevertheless, they persisted through years of drafting legislation and lobbying in Congress and at the state level. In 1978, President Jimmy Carter signed the revised Comprehensive Employment and Training Act (CETA), which included provisions related specifically to the employment needs of women, providing a method for funding programs for displaced homemakers. In 1984, passage of the Perkins Act, which provided career-development funds for women’s training, further ensured the viability of displaced homemaker programs.

The Displaced Homemakers Network formed by Sommers and Shields evolved into a national organization that hosted annual conferences where program staff from across the country met to exchange strategies for helping displaced women. Some of the challenges faced by women at that time included a high rate of unemployment ascribed to age and a lack of paid work experience, along with limited opportunities for assistance from social security, unemployment compensation, medicaid, and benefit or pension plans arising from the husband’s employment.

Displaced Homemaker Programs (DHPs) provided services across the nation through the end of the twentieth century. With support from state, federal, and private foundation grants, the programs helped women achieve economic independence and personal confidence. The first challenge to their funding arose in 1998 when the Perkins Act was stripped of its gender-equity provisions. In the past ten years, there have also been funding cuts on the state level.

For example, in Florida, Displaced Homemaker Programs drew on a state trust account that was funded by state marriage and divorce fees. The trust was dissolved in 2017 by Governor Rick Scott. Of the seven programs active at that time, only one remains: a program at Santa Fe College where I was lucky enough to collaborate with the DHP staff as part of my work with the Women’s Economic Stability Initiative.

DHP pantsuits

Here we are (at left) in a photograph taken shortly before the 2016 presidential election. The poster image is of the program’s patron saint — Rosie the Riveter. The Santa Fe program survived budget cuts thanks to college president Jackson Sasser’s commitment to the program.

My experience on the fringes of Santa Fe’s DHP proved to me without question that there is still a deep need for programs that help women navigate changes brought on by the loss of financial and emotional support. But who is today’s homemaker, and how likely is it that she will experience some version of being “displaced”?

Although more women today have college degrees than ever before, younger women opting to stay at home to care for children still suffer serious impairment to their overall earning capacity. And as health care costs increase, many older women choose to care for elderly family members at home, giving up or reducing their employment income.

Disagreement exists about the current American divorce rate. Some academics see the divorce rate going down, while others argue it’s holding steady at about 50%. Interestingly, though, at least one group of researchers claims the divorce rate for people aged 55 to 64 “has quadrupled over the past three decades.”

In the ever-changing culture of America, disruption and displacement seems more likely than not. Women, and men, will continue to lose the security of marriage and family. They will need programs like Santa Fe’s that support their employment goals and personal goals. “I’m living proof the program works,” said one participant in an interview with local media. “I can smile again. I have self-confidence. They’re my family.”

Menopausal Moments: One Reason Teachers Don’t Need Guns

woman beside wall by Ursula Madariaga via PexelsStudents often want to write papers about the same old topics. Abortion. Legalizing weed. The death penalty. Gun control.

Read a few dozen of those papers, and you’ll want to stick a knife right in your own damn head. I banned papers on these often-plagiarized topics. But I did sometimes allow class discussion.

If the topic of gun control came up in my classroom, I’d ask my students to imagine I’d come to class in a menopausal rage.

“If I had a knife, and I threw it at John there in the back row, and it stuck right in his head, what would y’all do?” I’d ask.

Students would laugh, scream, squeal, or pick at their fingernails, but one would finally say “We’d jump on you.”

“Exactly,” I’d say. “Now imagine I came into class with a semi-automatic weapon and started mowing y’all down in one magnificent menopausal moment. What would you do then?”

I wouldn’t make that argument in a classroom today; in fact, I never made it again after Sandy Hook. But there’s another reason teachers shouldn’t have guns besides being driven mad by menopause or by having read too many crappy essays.

Teachers are human beings, and human beings fuck up.

In all the talk about the right to bear arms and the Constitution, this simple fact never seems to come up — that human beings are fallible. We do things we don’t intend to do. We lose our tempers, and we lose our minds. All of us.

Yesterday, a teacher and off-duty police officer accidentally fired a gun while teaching a public safety class. As far as I can tell, he isn’t menopausal. Thankfully, there were only minor injuries. . .

You can read the rest of this post (minus the f-word), if you like, on Medium


person Michele Leavitt, three poems

Three new poems up on isacoustic*. Thanks to poet/editor Barton D. Smock and poet/literary citizen Trish Hopkinson.

The first poem in this group is partly a found poem, with lines taken from a scientific paper on rocky beaches, like the one where I grew up.


Michele Leavitt, a poet and essayist, is also a high school dropout, hepatitis C survivor, adoptee, and former trial attorney. Her essays appear in venues including The Rumpus, Guernica, Catapult, and The Sycamore Review. Recent poems can be found in Poet Lore, North American Review, Stirring, and Baltimore Review.


Draft for the End of an Age

Bored with pornography
and other self-evidences,
like In sea-ice occurrences, duality is distinguishable
only by presence or absence of perennial ice,
we crave
complexity, the fractal coastline intricacies
that play a vital function
in regime shifts.
We already knew
sediment composition of raised gravel beaches shows a high degree of uniformity.
Although the dominant
clast shape is oblate,
rock outcroppings

still project seaward, and this suggests
some kind of threshold crossing
beyond a groom carrying a bride
over a doorstep.
Stop writing about us. Listen – do
you hear the grating…

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Don’t Give Guns to Teachers

Teacher at front of classroom looking frustrated.
As a former college English teacher, I can tell you there are certain topics students always want to write about. Abortion. Legalizing weed. The death penalty. Gun control.

Teachers who have read a few dozen papers on the same topic often want to stick knives right in their own damn heads. Knowing this, and fearing for my life, I forbade my students from writing on these often-plagiarized topics. But we did sometimes discuss those topics in class.

Whenever the topic of gun control came up in my classroom, I’d ask my students to imagine that I had come to class in a homicidal menopause-induced rage.

“If I had a knife, and I threw it at John there in the back row, and it stuck right in his head, what would y’all do?” I’d ask.

Students would laugh, scream, squeal, or pick at their fingernails, but one would finally say “We’d jump on you.”

“Exactly,” I’d say. “Now imagine I came into class with a semi-automatic weapon and started mowing y’all down in a menopausal moment. What would you do then?”

I wouldn’t make that argument in a classroom today; in fact, I never made it again after Sandy Hook. But there’s another reason teachers shouldn’t have guns besides being driven mad by menopause or by having read too many crappy essays.

Teachers are human beings, and human beings fuck up.

In all the talk about the right to bear arms and the Constitution, this simple fact never seems to come up — that human beings are fallible. We do things we don’t intend to do. We lose our tempers, and we lose our minds. All of us.

If lives weren’t on the line, it would be humorous to watch gun-lovers fuck up. So many of them seem to think they, and other gun-lovers, are free of human fallibility, that their “training” will insure safety, that their “good moral character” will insure that that they use guns responsibly.

They need to read Greek mythology, or modern psychology, or the holy books of all religions, or statistics, or biology. Human beings are fallible.

Should we entrust fallible individuals with killing machines in environments where killing is not the goal? In environments full of vulnerable children? I think not.

Also, most teachers don’t want to carry guns in the classroom. They want to teach our children stuff like Greek mythology, or modern psychology, or the holy books of all religions, or statistics, or biology.

Is having armed guards in schools the answer? It wasn’t in Parkland, where the armed guard — a fallible human being like you and me — got scared and ran away. Most of us would. Self-preservation is deeply embedded in human biology.

I used to be a teacher, so I’m biased. But it seems logical that education about how to identify and talk to kids who are acting weird could help preventshootings. I can’t think of a single school shooting that happened out of the blue, without any hint that the perpetrator was behaving in a threatening manner or losing his grip (pardon the pun) on reality.

We need to work on preventing school shootings before they get started, and before we get all gung-ho about reacting to them with more violence. All the talk I hear about “adept shooters” is just making me want to stick a knife right in my head.

I must miss teaching . . .

In the works – a series of articles with practical, concrete tips on getting your work published in literary journals and magazines. I’ll share them here and on Medium  I’m excited about this project, and just realized why – I must miss teaching!

Teaching has a been a part of my life since 1990 when I taught my first college composition class for Salem State College (now University). Then in 1995, I gave up my law practice and started teaching full-time. Up until January, I was engaged in teaching in one form or another so that’s more than 20 years of my life. No wonder I miss it!

Teaching is a very happy job because you get to be around people who are reaching for knowledge and striving to improve themselves. Although I took a leap in January to devote myself full-time to writing, I think it’s okay for me for me to indulge my love for teaching as long as I do it in writing. So here’s my first stab at that. Click on the image to read the full article.

A Sample Cover Letter to Help Get You Published

The cover letter strategies here have worked for me with literary journals including North American Review and Catapult, and with more general interest publications including O, the Oprah Magazine, and Guernica. Feel free to adapt the sample for your purposes, or use the outline method explained below.

While it’s important to observe publishing etiquette, you don’t want anxiety over submitting your work to get in the way of why you write in the first place — to express your creativity. I’ve found it best to automate the submission process as much as possible so I can spend more time on creative writing than on administrative writing. Once you have a solid cover letter drafted, you can recycle or adapt it again and again.

Editors are busy folks, too, and in the world of literary journals, many work as volunteers. They will appreciate you making their lives easier with a concise cover letter, and it doesn’t hurt to have an editor read your work while you’ve put them in a good mood. Some things most editors want to know:

Where you heard about their publication

A little about you

Where you’ve been published before

IMHO, one sentence for each of these does the trick. There are exceptions, of course. A few publications don’t want a cover letter at all, and a few want specific information about you. For example, some publications ask about your demographics to help them keep track of how well they are doing with their outreach to writers who aren’t young, hetereosexual cis white men with MFA degrees. My demographic statement is “I’m an old, 97% white lady.” Always read submission guidelines carefully to make sure you are giving the editors what they have asked for.

So, how do you write that “a little about you”?

Click here for the full article. And happy writing!

On the Custom of Child Sacrifice ­in America

[Image Description: Moloc, the Canaan god of child sacrifice]
School shootings seem like a 21st century phenomenon, but they are a continuation of the American custom of child sacrifice.

If we Americans think of child sacrifice as the fiery and bloody practice of other, more primitive civilizations, that must be because we don’t know our own history. America has been in the business of sacrificing children’s lives on the altar of capitalism for hundreds of years, blood and fire included. And like those more “primitive” culture, we rationalize those deaths.

Let’s start with poor white children. In the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, 146 people, most of them teenage girls, died on March 25, 1911. That factory was known to also illegally employ children under 14, and although several young children were among the counted dead, speculation continues that other children perished in that fire, too.

In the textile mills of the late 19th and twentieth centuries, death and dismemberment were commonplace. And yet, some rationalized that life in the mills was an improvement for poor white children. One would-be reformer commented that “that to most of these unfortunate people, factory life is a distinct improvement over the log cabin, salt pork, and peach brandy, white-trash and Georgia-cracker type of life from which many of them were sifted out when the mills came.”

White children died working in the coal industry, too; studies found that children under age 16 who worked in the mines were three times more likely to die than adult workers and that about 75 percent of slate pickers who were killed were children under 16.

The sacrifice of children to capitalist greed was not, of course, limited to white children. Half of all infants of African descent who were born into American slavery died before their first birthdays. The mortality rate for enslaved African-American children was more than twice that of white children in the same time and place. These deaths were often rationalized according to the same faulty logic as the deaths of poor white children — that enslaved children were “better off” in slavery. Similar rationalizations excused the deaths and tortures of Native American children forced into boarding schools, which were often poorly-disguised forced labor camps.

Public outrage at the suffering of poor white children prompted laws to protect children from exploitation and dangerous working conditions, just as public outrage at the suffering of enslaved Africans prompted laws to end slavery. But in spite of these efforts, child sacrifice continues to flourish in America.

By some estimates, there are still 100 work-related deaths of children under 18 each year in America. This number does not include children who die in the sex trade, which is a complex topic for another article. But work-related deaths of children are now eclipsed by gun deaths. In recent years, the average number of children and teens who die by gunshot each year is 2,647.

School shootings and other mass killings with guns are carried out by the capitalists’ minions: white men who worship military-grade weapons that are manufactured to kill people. The god’s name changes, but it’s the same old god: Moloch, the Canaanite god mentioned in the Old Testament, demanded child sacrifice. So has King Cotton. And Free Trade. And Porn. In the twenty-first century, when politicians and others make obeisance to their current god of death, they call their god the N.R.A., and the N.R.A god promises what all gods have promised: prosperity and freedom from harm. Like all gods, the N.R.A. demands a price for that prosperity and freedom: the lives of children and other innocent victims whose flesh is ripped by gun fire, who bleed out in our schools, our streets, our homes.

We are a country that eats its young, and we rationalize that away, as we always have, by appealing to humanities’ basest instincts: greed, fear, and racism. To effect change, we must vote out every elected official who has taken donations from the N.R.A.

A three-page list of federal elected officials who’ve taken that blood money is here.