The Room to Write and the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield teamed up for a second time in 2024 to bring words and art together in one exhibit. Writers don't often get the opportunity to publicly display their words on a wall as art, so TRtW jumped at the chance to be part of a second exhibit. The first time around, artists made art available, then writers selected a piece of art to inspire their words. This exhibit flipped the order and writers offered their writing for artists to select from as inspiration for creating their artwork.

A poem that I wrote this past summer, had the privilege of acting as inspiration for and being displayed alongside a piece of art by Kendall Inglese as part of the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield's October Exhibit & Sale: Elements: Earth, Water, Air, Fire. Of course, being the overachiever that I am--I wanted to weave all four of the elements into my poem, rather than pick just one, though I do love me some wind (aka: air:). Perhaps not picking just one element was to the poem's detriment? I'll let you decide.

Either way, my poem was inspired by the partial quote, "Where flowers bloom, so does hope." I am a passionate gardener and absolutely love that image, which is carved into a bird bath behind the summer cottage we stay in. That optimism was displayed by a lone Balloon Flower (Platycodon grandiflorus) bloom, pictured, that was showing off its purple hue for all to enjoy in an area where it was not planted and had no business surviving, let alone blooming.

The hope exuded by that singular flower so struck me that I took a photo and wrote a poem titled, "Where Flowers Bloom, So Does Hope." The writer and artist pairings from the October 2024 exhibit will begin posting to view on the North of Boston Writers Network blog in December 2024. The prior exhibit, "Tell Me a Story," pairings were featured on the NBWN blog from April to August 2024, if you'd like to look back at those. Read more about the October exhibit by clicking here.

Where Flowers Bloom
​by Colleen Getty

After the fire.
Flood waters retreat.
Embers cool.
Soil dries solid beneath feet.
Winds bring respite,
not fuel for flames.
Earth slowly shrinks and sleeps, but
world unrecognizable remains.
Give time.
Take heart.
The End
simply must precede
The Start.
Life insists on living
below the surface of
her skin, its shell, his eyes—that dirt.
A cell, an egg, the idea—one seed
can soothe our hurt.
Have patience.
Imagination.
Alpine Asters survive on the steepest slope,
And where flowers bloom
–so does hope.*

* Quote from Lady Bird Johnson’s at the Annual Convention of the Associated Press Managing Editors Association, Oct. 1, 1965.
“When I go into the poorest neighborhoods, I look for the flash of color - a geranium in a coffee can, a window box set against the scaling side of a tenement, a border of roses struggling in a tiny patch of open ground. Where flowers bloom, so does hope - and hope is the precious, indispensable ingredient without which the war on poverty can never be won.”

Have I mentioned my belief that the key to happiness is low expectations?

So, adjust your expectations and you may just enjoy this poetry. For me, a polished piece of poetry has the potential to be something to fear from the writer's point of view--because I'm saying, "This is perfect! There is nothing more I can do with it, so don't bother to look. Just sit back and enjoy this symphony of sounds." [Chef's kiss into the air . . . mwuuaahhh]

It's so much less intimidating to open up my rough and tumble sketchbook (no, I don't often--ever?--sketch, unless doodling counts. But, taking a break from writing and making time for art of the more visual sense was the intent of the workshop where I received my sketchbook and, like that prized pair of jeans in the closet fitting a little too snugly, I am leaving the sketchbook open to the possibility of being sketched in at some point in the future.

Ok--the poems. That was what this blog post was all about before my sketchy sketchbook swooped in and distracted me, but I have to admit digression are such fun! So--how did these unpolished poems come about? Well, long story short: this past summer: two adults three teens and a tween = 6, plus cat = 6.25, two weeks later: minus three, subtract another one unexpectedly = 2.25 (a mom, her boy & a cat:) = the ability to hear myself think. Combine this with a collaboration between The Room to Write and Arts Collaborative of Wakefield special art exhibit requiring 12 writers to pair with 12 artists + one summer slumber for all + deadline = 9 writers + me = 10.
So, I had to write. 

At one optimistic point, I told myself that I would write a poem a day. No big whoop! But, I also had a cottage to paint, a garden to rehab, an uncharacteristically angsty teen, and a boy to spend the tail end of summer with. I started with the poem that ended up being paired with a piece of art for the exhibit. Next day a revision of that first poem. Then two poems, rough and ready. Then two more poems with two different pens. That was a challenging day, which is reflected within the poems. The next day, one poem while life simplified. Five days in a row: nothing. I was too busy kayaking, bike riding, beaching, painting, reading and allowing my mind a rest. Then one last poem on the last day of vacation. And, as Pa Ingalls always said, "All's well that ends well." And it did. There was a lot to love about our family's summer vacation, but that last week was a slice of serenity that was something to be savored.

April was such a busy month! Everything that was usually quarterly and staggered so that each quarterly happening doesn't fall within the same month--all fell on the same month: April.

I'm still trying to catch my breath. Something I'm so glad I said "yes" to was the collaboration between The Room to Write, the non-profit that I founded and direct, and the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield, a local arts organization. So, in addition to all the quarterly things, TRtW also had a month of art programming to plan, get the word out about, and carry out. Artists and Writers featured together. Yay!

I always say how nobody goes out to a gallery to look at 8x11 white pieces of paper with words on them, but this time they did because the pieces of writing were accompanied by colorful, unique art. The writing was also colorful and unique in its language and format, but it helps to have some eye candy to draw a reader into words on a wall.

There were so many other things that happened--regular programming at the Senior Centers--a great lineup ending with Stephen Puleo this afternoon--as well as two local author interviews at WCAT Studios and the usual critique group meetings: Multi-genre, Kid Lit and the Senior Group. There was a board meeting, a Writers and Illustrators Meet & Greet as well as six local authors visiting the art exhibit to read the books they authored aloud to kids and parents, there were exhibit evenings and afternoons and various discussions here, there and seemingly everywhere. More about that and photos can be found here:)

May is usually very busy, but I think compared to April it may be calmer. I'm looking forward to that. After spending three and a half hours of one day this month trying to bunny-proof my back yard by blocking all entrances, I am looking forward to some uninterrupted garden time. And some Z-zz-z-z--z-z-z-z-z-zzzzzzzzzzz . . . 

As part of The Room to Write's Senior and Veterans programming, we have writing days that are more casual and unstructured. We call those writing days: Gather & Write. It's a way to make time for writing during the week that is less structured. An instructor shows up and offers a writing prompt or two, or whatever, to the group--something to get the wheels turning and the pen writing.

Being the only "poet" in the group has propelled me to utilize the time I am at the writing prompt helm to offer up something poetic. Not everybody in the group that gathers is necessarily interested in writing poetry--per se--but, really, poems are simply words that sometimes appear in a flowing sundress, sometimes in a polo shirt, and other times squeezed into a tuxedo and bowtie. 
​
For Valentine's Day, I decided to give the group a glimpse of a well-dressed poem. What form stood out to me as appropriate for the special day? The Sonnet, of course. When you think Sonnet, you often think Shakespeare. That might make you nervous, but it shouldn't. Shakespeare was in love with words. That's it. Sometimes passion can cause a person to get carried away, and so that is all that was--a man who got carried away with words. He was truly in love with words and so am I.

Now, do I sit at home crafting sonnets all day or even once a week? 
No. 

​I am more of a free-verse poet, but I do enjoy a challenge every now and then. Think of a sonnet as a word puzzle. Puzzles aren't always meant to be easy. They are meant to get your mind churning and working until: voila! You have solved it--or you come close to solving it. There is a satisfaction in that. Sonnets can be wonderful exercise for our brains!

I printed out some background, information and examples of the sonnet using a very helpful website, which you can access at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sonnet 
​
Keeping with the clothing theme, I told participants to think of a sonnet as a Corsette. Sonnets are a very tight poetic format. There are rules--strict ones. The sonnet forces you in place. It can be painful, but we persevered. 

You know what? Some participants actually enjoyed it. Others scoffed and at least one or two outright refused to conform to the format, which is perfectly fine. Still many surprised themselves with what they produced. 

I was one of them. Having been the person to force this poetic form upon the group, I was stumped when it came to sitting and writing until I simply decided to write about having to write a sonnet itself and the difficulty it posed for me. 

I just did something for myself. Well--not counting the KitKat bar I just asked my second born for. She obliged willingly taking it out of her sibling's bag. I shouldn't have accepted or condoned or whatever crime it was to allow my second born to take a chocolate from one of the other born's bag for my own craving--but it's Friday, so I did. 

Anyway, that was not what I did for myself. What I just did was participate in a poetry workshop. On Zoom, which I'm a bit sick of . . . but it was free, and I needed something. Like the KitKat, but for my creative spirit. I needed somebody to feed me creatively and force me to produce something creative. The workshop was sponsored by International Women's Writing Guild (IWWG) and facilitated by Warrior Poet Kai Coggin. She'll be offering a poetry intensive workshop if you are looking to get creative. Find out about that here.

Here is the poem the workshop helped me produce. It's a draft--as everything is:)

Joy
-----
She sat there
in our ordinary kitchen.
My cup of tea, still hot,
perfectly sweet and splash of milk.
Ordinary black. Stringless bag. Sinking. Steeping.
She sat there
circling us--taunting
knowing she wouldn't stay.
She couldn't --
-- wear out her welcome
-- be taken for granted.
Expected.
Sitting there--as if always.
In our kitchen
every ordinary, sleepy Saturday.
Tea and talk, dancing.
So simple until she slipped away
to another kitchen,
somebody else's unassuming moment.

This is where this weekend's workshop on Acrostic Poetry comes in. Acrostic Poetry is quite possibly the perfect ambassador between people and poetry. It provides the suggestion of structure but does not slap you across the knuckles with its rules as some forms have a habit of doing. It simply provides a very entry-level chain link fence where you can see outside, but you are asked to play within its boundaries. What you play is up to you. 

Some may see the fence and find it, well--offensive (pardon the wordplay:). It seems too elementary. In fact, you may remember writing an acrostic poem in elementary school. What an insult to your intelligence, because while you may not be up for the snobbery of a Shakespearean Sonnet, you will not be subjected to the ABCs of an Acrostic! Pfft!!

Well, I must admit to you, my attitude was quite the same. It had been years--decades--since I'd laid eyes, let alone my own pen, onto an acrostic poem. And yet, I played along.
I was brought over to the fenced in area.
The rules were simple and clear--refreshingly so.
So, I played.
And . . . 

Just when a person thinks she has, perhaps, created something--invented a thing--one internet search proves that she is not so original after all. But, ignoring the fact that the "word," Prosetry, already exists and that there are some scattered definitions of what it is supposed to mean or represent, I present to you my intention of the word. 

PrOsETRY: a genre that mixes the use of Prose and Poetry for the length of the novel.

Recently I finished my latest whole-manuscript revision of my Young Adult Contemporary Coming-of-age novel complete at approximately 63,000 words. It is a milestone for me having written the first draft at the beginning of 2018, revised that draft aloud, sent it through my critique group, queried, received feedback, decided to change the point of view of the narrative from 3rd person to 1st person, made that change and then embarked on this latest pass through which took several months. This latest revision was a word-by-word, read through out loud in my basement (my husband is working from home still, but luckily my kids are in school part of the day). It involved major rewording and of course the disbelief that I thought it was good enough to send out previously.

So--now for the part where prosetry is invented!

In a one-on-one critique I was fortunate to participate in through NESCBWI's 2020 conference, agent Alex Slater's last piece of advice on his critique form was: "-Think about the power of the 'white space.'" So, though at first I was busy with homeschooling during a pandemic and other such things leaving little time to "think," when I made it to September I finally had time to focus and think. That's when the long task of reading my manuscript out loud and making serious revisions began. This time, though, I thought about the power of the white space which gave birth to PrOsETRY: a mix of Prose and Poetry. After all, this novel has poetry running through its veins. It makes perfect sense in this case!

Considering the appeal of Graphic Novels, which is simply a long form of a comic book that combines narrative and illustration, there's no reason why a book has to be all prose (standard fiction) or all poetry (novel in verse). Why can't we blend both and create another hybrid--something like a graphic novel? Instead of visual illustrations to pair with the narration, poetic form is sprinkled along the length of the novel in a way that illuminates (perhaps illustrates) the narrative prose.

So, that is the genre of my YA novel: prosetry. It is not all straight prose in paragraph format, nor is it a full-length novel in verse only. It is a novel where prose and poetry dance together the entire time and allow the white space to exert its power where the reader would benefit from slowing down, soaking in what is being said or seeing a scene more visually--like an illustration would invite a reader to do.

So, I don't care what the internet claims already has been invented. This feels like is a fresh new genre format that is something writers and readers will embrace--celebrate even! It feels like the writer's answer to graphic novel form and I have to say--as someone who has just written a whole novel in the form--it feels so liberating to dance along the page as I see fit.

Prosetry is the perfect rhythm for a young adult novel to dance to.