Musings on Rejection and Dejection or Drejection

I'm a week and a half away from leaving for three weeks, and I feel as if I'm wandering around in circles. I'm not complaining. I just don't know what to do first. My legs are leaden and my head filled with cotton. I feel strangely dejected despite all the good fortune coming my way.

I pulled a card out of my Poet Tarot deck this morning to see what I had in store this week. I got the Five of Mentors. I consulted the guidebook and learned that key phrases for this card are: disagreement within creative groups, being flexible in my artistic vision, choosing battles wisely.

Here's my advice to you, if you're a writer. Submit your work widely and then chill out. Chill out when you get rejections because you'll probably get a lot. For every ten things I've sent out over the years, I get about eight or nine rejections. Years ago, a literary agent sent a manuscript back to me with the words too sad written on the cover sheet. That was it. Sometimes rejections are wildly entertaining, like the one I got over the weekend from a literary journal named after a body of land with some amount of water around it. This is what it said:

Dear Elizabeth, 

Thank you for sending your work. Unfortunately, "Dreaming of Sex During Acupuncture" is not for us. Good luck with your writing and thank you for your interest in [name of journal]. 

Sincerely, 
the editors 

Doesn't that tickle you? I imagine you're wondering about the title of the piece I sent in, and hopefully you'll read the whole thing one day because I'm sending it back out. I'll keep you posted.




While vacuuming my car this morning, I pulled Frank O'Hara's little Lunch Poems out of the door pocket and opened it up, even as I scraped the dead leaves and grit from the floor. My heart is in my pocket, I read from the poem A Step Away from Them. How perfect is that? My other advice to writers is to read all the time and stash small poetry books in weird places.


Have I told you about my obsession with the Annunciation? Given my estrangement from the Roman Catholic faith, I'm not sure why I find it so compelling, but there's something about a big old angel leaning down to softly tell a virginal woman that she'll be carrying the son of God that knocks me flat. There's all this grace inherent in the gesture, I think. My favorite painting is Fra Angelico's Annunciation, and after visiting Italy for the second time and seeing it, after which I had a disturbing encounter with an epileptic young woman, its significance became all the greater. You honestly can't make that shit up, and I didn't. I did write an essay, though, that was accepted for publication by Slow Trains years and years ago. It was rejected at least five times before being accepted. You can read it if you like.

Anyhoo.



Mary Szybist wrote an entire book of poems about the Annunciation. It's called Incarnadine. Here's one of the poems:

Annunciation Overheard from the Kitchen

I could hear them from the kitchen, speaking as if
something important had happened.

I was washing the pears in cool water, cutting the bruises from them.
From my place at the sink, I could hear

a jet buzz hazily overhead, a vacuum
start up next door, the click,
click between shots.

"Mary, step back from the camera."

There was a softness to his voice
but no fondness, no hurry in it.

There were faint sounds
like walnuts being dropped by crows onto the street,
almost a brush
of windchime from the porch -----

Windows around me everywhere half-open ----

My skin alive with the pitch.

Mary Szybist



Maybe I'm weird, but that just blows my tiny little mother mind.™

Illumination

Those who've been reading here for a while know that my favorite painting is Fra Angelico's Annunciation, hanging at San Marco, a monastery in Florence, Italy, and that I wrote an essay years ago about it that was published online at Slow Trains. Tonight, I was sitting in Sophie's room with her at the most brilliant part of the day when the sun shines through her window and illuminates everything. I took a series of photos of Sophie that, to me, caught her luminous beauty perfectly.

Then I sat on the floor in front of her, and she reached over and touched my hair, played with it, tentatively. I sat in shadow, held my breath.

The poet Mary Szybist has a collection called Incarnadine whose poems are inspired by the Annunciation -- which for those of you who don't know, is when the Angel Gabriel descends from heaven and approaches the virgin Mary to tell her that she will bear the son of God. The back of the book describes the collection like this:

Through the lens of an iconic moment, the Annunciation of an unsettling angel to a bodily young woman, Szybist describes the confusion and even terror of moments in which our longing for the spiritual may also be a longing for what is most fundamentally alien to us. 

I don't know why this book, that painting came to mind when I sat with Sophie in the sunlight and shadows. Perhaps it was because of the great silence that is Sophie, her tentative grace, the way she is bathed in light yet at once so dark and mysterious, my own longing for the numinous, to bestow meaning and light despite that darkness and mystery.



Heroine as She Turns to Face Me

Just before the curtain closes, she turns
toward, me, loosening
her gauzy veil & bright hair --

This, she seems to say, this
to create scene, the pure sweep of it,
this to give in, feel the lushness,
this & just a little theatrical lighting
& you, too, can be happy,
she's sure of it --

It's as if I cut her heart-whole from the sky,
rag & twist & tongue & the now terrible speed
of her turning

toward me like the spirit
I meant to portray, indefatigable --

see how bravely she turns, how exactly true to the turning,
& in the turning
most herself,
as she arranges herself for the exit

withholding nothing, unraveling
the light in her hair as her face

her bright, unapproachable face
says only that
whatever the next scene is
she will fill it.

Mary Szybist
from Incarnadine

Jesus! and the Benzo Wean

The Annunciation

Fra Angelico

Florence, Italy

I've never gotten any comfort from praying to any of the gods, including Jesus. Oh, I take that back. There was a time when I got down regularly on my knees in the middle of the night and plead for mercy. And, yes, I'm aware that faith has little to do with appeals and entreaties being granted or denied. I was raised a Catholic, loved the saints as some little girls love horses. I saw dancing spots in church multiple times, was just about to faint before boredom crept in. I read Simone Weil in college. How many of ye with little faith or a lot of it have read her? I saw the world in a grain of sand or something like that one night about six weeks into my first year in college, lost myself in eternity and bliss, and no, I didn't do drugs. I had a near Stendhal Syndrome-like reaction to the frescoes at San Marco in Florence, Italy, including the several Annunciations of Fra Angelico. That being said, I'm not so much an unbeliever as someone who doesn't believe. In that way.

All of this is to say that I sat by Sophie on her bed tonight and looked out the window as the sun went down. It's day fourteen of a benzo wean, and things are hard. Not as hard as they were in the past, before the cannabis, but they're still hard. Sophie is drooling a lot, and she doesn't want to eat very much. When she does eat, she chews so slowly, if at all, that I feel a frisson of fear that she's developing another round of ESES (and because I don't want to exacerbate this fear, I'm not going to type it as you can do a search on the internets or this old blog and find out plenty). Then I decide that it's the benzo wean, and I feel rage. I've read all the bad things happening to good people stuff, God is beside you, with you, around you, within you. If prayer is breath, the in and the out can tamp down rage, but it's my experience that Jesus doesn't come and take it. So, ye of faith, I don't feel like a good person when I feed Sophie during these times. She holds food in her mouth and slowly, agonizingly moves it around. She lets it fall out. I have to pour liquid down her throat. I am impatient and maybe even mean in my thoughts. There's despair and ruination, and I'm certain Sophie knows this. Maybe not certain, but there's that air that I'm breathing out. It can't be good for her.

Mercy.







Here are the symptoms of withdrawal of benzodiazepines that I took from the website of the NYU Comprehensive Medical Center last night:

An important concern when people with epilepsy take clobazam or other benzodiazepines is the risk of “withdrawal seizures” or increased, repetitive or more severe seizures if the medicine is reduced or stopped. Withdrawal symptoms usually begin upon stopping the medicine and can last for up to 8 to 10 days. Early symptoms might be agitation, anxiety, restlessness or even fast heart rate, though seizures might begin immediately as well. The longer the person has been taking clobazam and the higher the dose, the greater the tolerance and therefore the higher the risk of withdrawal seizures. Even small, gradual dose reductions can temporarily increase seizure activity, but your doctor may suggest these changes since the long-term decrease in effects like drowsiness and depression often makes this worthwhile.

Besides increased seizure activity, other symptoms of withdrawal include:

• drowsiness
• dizziness
• poor coordination
• drooling
• restlessness, aggression, anxiety or agitation

Tell your doctor if you notice any of these symptoms when your dosage is being reduced.

Are there long-term side effects of taking clobazam ?

Clobazam and other benzodiazepines are the medicines that are most likely to cause psychological dependence. When someone takes a benzodiazepine at a certain dosage for more than 2 to 4 weeks, the body (or specifically, the brain's receptors for the neurotransmitter GABA) becomes accustomed to it. Then if a dose is missed or reduced, a withdrawal process starts, characterized by:

• anxiety
• increased heart rate
• tremor
• generally feeling unwell

Taking another pill relieves all of these symptoms, confirming the person's belief that he or she "needs" the medication. This is a very dangerous cycle, since long-term use can cause long-lasting changes in the brain's GABA receptors that lead to significant problems such as impaired cognition, decreased motivation, and depression. In this setting, rapid dose reduction can cause severe symptoms of anxiety, insomnia, and illness, as well as seizures.

In many of these cases, very gradual reduction of the benzodiazepine (often over many months or years) can lead to a dramatic improvement in attention, concentration, memory, and mood without worsening the seizures, insomnia, or anxiety for which the medication was originally prescribed. This gradual reduction must be performed under the guidance of a doctor.

- See more at: http://epilepsy.med.nyu.edu/treatment/medications/clobazam#sthash.MEK6WErd.dpuf