Serene of the Oakland Serenes

Three more poems will go out in the mail in the morning. It's been a while since I did a paper submission, and there's something nostalgic and lovely about it.

I remember my first poetry class. At the end of the first lesson, he marched us down to the mailbox on campus and had us all send off poems. Mine was published, as were several others'. Good times.

I'm a little punchy. All these poetry submissions require short bios, and I got tired of sending the same couple out -- besides, if more than one place accepts me, I end up with the same bio in two publications, and that's just gauche.

Recent submissions:

Serene is an editor and writer in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she lives with her three partners in what she likes to call "our glamorous poly lifestyle". Her glamorous poly lifestyle actually consists of doing the laundry, working in her underwear, and practicing her experimental vegan cooking skills.

Serene is a writer and editor recently transplanted from San Diego to Oakland, where the fact that she's a queer, polyamorous atheist raises far fewer eyebrows.


If anyone feels like writing one of these for me, I'd love it.


Oh, and in paid-work news, I just got the offer for the job-with-benefits-working-from-home thing I've been alluding to, and I said yes. That's the last step toward becoming a professional homebody. If I weren't so sick, you'd be able to feel my elation from wherever you are, but you can just take it as read.


Oh, and I took three little incomplete-feeling poem snippets (probably oneword exercises or similar) and turned them into a poem about my breakup with cute-poet-chick that I really love. Sometimes I like this being-a-writer thing.

I kept trying to concentrate hard enough to do more paid work, but it's just not coming, and I can't stop coughing, so I may just hang it up for the night. That means this weekend and Monday will be a big push, but I can do it.

I did have enough brain power to clean up a few poems and submit eight of them. I'm happy with that.

Thanks to someotherguy and sogwife for the near-steady stream of lesbian sex.

I Freecycled my Poet's Market, as I do every year, and then couldn't afford a new one yet. Thanks to sistercoyote, I've found a really good free website that even has a free submission tracker. I'll post more as I see how it turns out, but so far, I'm getting good search results, and the site is easy to use.

Just spent all day planning September's womboink, and boy are my arms tired. Well, my brain is tired, anyway. I am so excited about seeing wombabes (especially certain ones), but just thinking about it can exhaust me sometimes.

Also, people have started to donate to the womboink helpful in an especially generous manner, and you can't beat that.

Cute-poet-chick and I have stopped going to poetry readings altogether, but I miss them, so I'm going tonight, even if she doesn't feel like it. This necessitates a nap when I get home. Let's hope I can force myself to do the nap thing; it's not my usual style.

Today, I am a writer. Just wanted to remind myself of that.

My unique interests are few:
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Having nothing at all to do at work is sometimes a blessing and sometimes not. I got over the guilt long ago -- the boss knows I'm usually idle and is fine with it, so it's not my problem if they're paying me for doing nothing -- but I try to at least look busy. And for some reason (lately, at least), I've been unable (unwilling?) to use this huge amount of downtime to get some writing done. I sit and stare. I can't read a book (looks unprofessional) and I'm not supposed to websurf, but that's what I end up doing all day. That and sitting in quiet contemplation. I'm not bored, but I'm a bit frustrated that I'm not writing.

It's a glorious day outside. Sun shining. White fluffy clouds. Boats on the bay. *happysigh*

After work, I'm going over my mom's to pick up my new (well, it's six months old, but they can't fit it in their new setup) mattress and boxspring. Yay! An actual queen-sized bed to hold the 600 pounds of dyke. We're fine in a full bed, but it'll be luxury to have a bigger one.

Got a rejection letter the other day. I don't mind them; they're reminders that at least I'm still sending stuff out. I've written more poems this year than last, so that's good, but I still feel like all this extra time at work could go to better use. What a whiner I am.

Very excited about the three-day weekend. My first paid holiday in years. Cute-poet-chick has to work on Saturday, so I'm even gonna get an alone-day in there. Yay.

Reading Isle of Dogs (Patricia Cornwell). So far, I'm not impressed.

There, bratman, are you happy? I posted every dull thought I could think of. Don't you wish you hadn't prodded me into coming back on LJ?