End of year writing stats 2023

Is August too soon to think of end-of-year writing stats? Especially, since, come December 31, I will be more or less homeless. I need to vacate my lovely large room at Donna’s house in Sebastopol by January. And I have nowhere to go. My cabin that I’ve been paying rent on for 40 years, is kaput, the roof fell in during an epic rainstorm. The cave-in created havoc, as I had archives stored in the cabin including all my letters and news clippings.

Luckily, I had either boxed or removed most of my stuff before the roof fell in. I lost most of my teaching archives and CPITS poetry books to water damage. But I have back-ups of most of that stuff. Not the end of the world. The cabin will be remodeled. But I doubt if the landlady will let me move back in. We had some words—she’s toxic. Besides, people are renting hovels for $1000 a month. It’s crazy out there.

My Plan B is to live in a tent on my grandmother’s property. Hopefully we won’t have another epic wet winter. And then, my cousin Dave decided to move to Missouri with the cnt-wife and sell the Nicasio house where I had the bulk of my belongings stored. Because it was an epically wet winter, most of my stuff suffered severe water damage. The metal shed leaked. 

And we were given one weekend (no warning) in April to huck everything out of Dave’s Nicasio place within 48 hours, and then we had to move what we wanted to keep over to Sinead’s storage shed in Petaluma. So, sadly, this means all my books are in bad shape, and I was hoping to give them to a library. 

We had an epic yard sale where I re-homed and got rid of most of my old tchotchkes, and the rest went to strangers, or to the dump. We put some tasty stuff out by the side of the road and people went completely nuts over all the goodies we were giving away. Sinead gave away crates of of Sean’s Legos and matchbox toys. There was a massive traffic jam out front of the house. Those who scored goodies will never see that particular bend in the road the same way again.

So though it has been an eventful year, I don’t have much to report by way of publishing record. I’m starting this dinky retrospective early, during the dog days of summer, as I’m sure I won’t have the time to deal with it later. The 2017 Tubbs fire certainly brought it all home that I need to scan and document my stuff, and move on, because nothing is permanent. Not even this blog.

So, this blog will self publish on December 31, warts, and all, even if I don’t corporeally make it to the end of the year. A sodden thought. 

I pulled my leg in a stupid accident at the end of June and spent six weeks laid up, waiting for the sprain to heal. I thought I was a goner that time. I thought maybe it was a blood clot. Turns out I walked on my leg that was asleep from sitting too long while writing, then my femur rotated out of my hip socket, I stepped down wrong, and, instead of waiting for my leg to wake up, I dashed downstairs, got a charleyhorse in my calf, and the muscular contraction tore everything from the ball of my foot to my hip flexors. I’ve been hamstrung, literally.

But once again, I face moving all my stuff out of Donna‘s house, which means throwing away and consolidating most of my stuff. Talk about Swedish death cleaning. Since 2018 when I left Neil for good on Labor Day weekend, my whole life has been about throwing away my things. 

While writing a new blogpost on Bukowski, I did delve into some unpublished blog posts of the past. One of John Martin and his new bride, while we were watching the lunar eclipse in 1998. Watching the Eclipse with a Black Sparrow. It’s safe to say the reason why I never went back and finished that blogpost is because I just didn’t have the chops, or a way to search out the information I needed. I did find another lost poem in a newspaper clipping, no hard copy, of course. I will take whatever I can get. 

I had several poems published, and then the publisher took down the website, so I guess they got unpublished no sooner than they were published—which raises the question: does that mean every poem he has published is now virtually unpublished as the blog exists nowhere else on the Internet? 

The poems in PDF format or hardcopy are technically published. But what about these poems? OPEN-ENDED POEMS Spectrum 36  I guess the poem is not forthcoming, as the editor, Dan Campbell took down the blog, so now it is once again unpublished. I guess it also includes: Two poems forthcoming in Spectrum 34/35  A SENSE OF TASTE, and SALMON, two really old poems that date back to the very beginning of my apprenticeship as a poet in the latest double issue of Spectrum 34/35. One poem in each issue, p. 25, and p. 16 exist in a PDF sent solely to contributors. No hard copy, and now no web presence either. And what about my two pieces of art he published? Tulips pastels published on Spring Spectrum blog (art) are they now unpublished as well.

Here is a real hard copy of a poem published in a real book. Oh, Wind published in Fly Like the Clouds of Time, I have a poem I wrote in 2013, TRUE CHANTERELLES, in a mushroom anthology, Medicine for Minds and Hearts (Fungi Press, 2023), edited by Art Goodtimes. And several poems forthcoming in an anthology from our CPITS writing group, Write On! But that may be in 2024. The Press Democrat ran post some old photos of mine. Retro Russian River Poison Oak Festival photo redux. And I exhibited a pastel of hotdogs at the San Geronimo Valley Spring arts show. Michael Sykes of Floating Island Press used one of my old photos of him as an author photo.

I created a book length manuscript for a Gunpowder press contest—all new work from my writing groups to 2020. Didn’t even place. Redid my resume, and applied for the CAC Artist Fellowship. Didn’t get it either.

Other news: I got thrown in Facebook jail thrice for using a bad metaphor, and had numerous sanctions levied against me for my uppity ways. Got censored and reprimanded lots. The Facebook AI bots are constantly trolling me. They don’t get simile.

I wrote a boatload of poems in my myriad Zoom writing groups. Not counting prose poems, or individual haiku (lots of them), I have at least 52 solid poems, which is my minimum yearly quota. There will be more. I have dedicated this year for a maximum output of new writing. I turned 70 in November and my clock is ticking faster and faster. Somehow my blog slipped past that 970,000-mark to 1,003,369, and counting at the end of August, and I never caught the rollover screenshot. Oh, well. It’s all fake anyway, as it seems a Korean site was using bits of my blog as text to sell stuff.

Right now I have 172 posts, with at least 60 poems, not counting prose poems. Make that 175. Meanwhile I keep finding old Facebook posts, and gmails to plunder for my blog, bulking up the back years. I began keeping track with end-of-year stats in 2017, ten years after I began blogging.

END OF YEAR WRITING STATS 2022 I went from a paltry 125 posts to 181, now 200 posts. A dozen of them from Facebook.
End of year writing stats 2021 I went from 125 posts to 159, now 187 posts mostly via Facebook.
End of year writing stats 2020 I went from 196 posts to 250 posts. I started adding my fire journals. Score!

End of year writing stats 2019 I went from a meager 80 posts to 153 posts. Chuffed.

End of year writing stats 2018 I have no beginning, or end-of-year stats as I was homeless in August. 153 posts. Thanks to FB.

Curiously, I discovered several blogposts in the making on my Facebook memories stream. And my extensive fire journals bulked it up, as well as orange menace rants, and COVID stuff during 2020. But writing is writing. And documenting history in the making also has its place. And those numbers keep changing even as I write this. 

Not all the new/old posts were from Facebook. The weirdest place I picked up old posts was in my Gmail draft folder. (I’ve been deleting old gmails to make more storage room.) Apparently I parked stray info in that folder, including a lovely letter from Claire Roche's husband John for an AmieStreet review I wrote. And a cat whisperer job application letter to a cat lady in Greece. Didn't get the job. Horrors: I discovered I never credited poem and pix posted in Medusa's Kitchen in 2010-12. Rectified.

Certainly sequestration has amped up my writing output. You ask, why do I keep track like this? Because it’s all too easy to forget about your past accomplishments. Pffft! Gone on the winds of time. Consider it taking stock. And the whole point of end-of-year/New Year’s resolutions is to take stock in the accomplishments of the year before. And to plan for the future, such as it is.

After a long hiatus, I resumed my scan-fest activities. Mostly old newspaper articles this time around which bulked up some years. I found a box of clippings and tear sheets I thought were lost, destroyed by the rains. So I was able to flesh out more Paper stories, and RRWG readings with scans of actual tear sheets. I added them to the RRWG blog. I even found a few more Obligatory Hug newsletters. I still need to add photos of readers. But my work there is nearly done. Sadly, my West County Paper archives are incomplete. I have most of 1983, and a few issues dating from 82 to 89. It is what it is. Hopefully there’s another box of clippings somewhere.

I even found one printed poem from 1983, or at least that’s when it was published, no idea where, maybe the Russian River News or the Sebastopol Times. No hardcopy, of the original poem, of course. So I was glad to find it. CORNWALL and I found an early publication date for MOTHLIGHT, November 1983. Don’t know where or when it was written but I’m getting closer. I lumped all my short poems together in one file that spanned several years and then I didn’t always date my hard copy. I think because some of them were evolving, I didn’t know what date to save. I was still pretty new to poetry.

I found quite a few pieces of old art, mostly graphic design, like a poster for Country Joe and the Fish, now posted on my art blog. I now have 281+ posts. And many of the posts have multiple pieces of art. Lots of calligraphy. So it’s coming along nicely. Not that I’m proud of all my art. In fact, some of it’s pure doggerel—like some of my writing. But it’s my sole record. And it will survive, cybernetically speaking, until Blogger goes under. My readership is nearly 983,000 (since 2010—but I went a couple of years sans counter). My followers: 54. Gained 2.

I found lots of ceramics as I unburied a treasure trove of old pots embedded beneath the dead cypress tree where I had made a pottery garden in the mid 1970s, in Forest Knolls. Definitely an archaeological dig after 50 years. It began with finding my sculpture of Fat Kate. Some of the pots were buried 2 feet deep. Nearly everything was broken except the pots that were rejects. My old pottery teacher Thano Johnson, who was a big fan of smashing reject pots, was right, what survives is the stuff you don’t want. Added to my art blog.

As for those old photos, I finally cleaned up and delivered the photos I promised to print for Mark Naftalin way back in 1983. I posted them on the Facebook Blues page and they look great. Better late than never. Mississippi Johnny Waters, Chuck Berry, Lady Bianca, Frankie Lee, Charlie Musselwhite, Bo Diddley, and Little John Chrisley. I also posted some modern B&W photos (post 2000) on my photo blog, and uncovered a treasure trove of photos at my other Gmail photo site. I had forgotten that I used my main Gmail site for landscapes and the other for people. Last upload was 2016.

Really old stats from 1980 to 2006. Aka the dismal, or weak years. My goal was a minimum of 52 posts a year, later upgraded to 52 poems a year. I raided my old writing journals to bulk up several years, which was fruitful. I even posted artwork, news clippings from readings, and in 1999-2000, my Celtic Studies homework! I was that desperate. And writing is writing. Otherwise, I have met my minimum quota for most (14) of those weak years. 

Now it’s down to 6-7 years. It took some doing since I began this process in earnest in 2017. I may have more bits and dross to add, as I am still divesting and culling all my old papers, scanning news clippings, etc., so one can always hope. Even if the old poem isn’t any good, it’s always a thrill to find some old writing because it’s all part of the ongoing thinking process. And that’s what I’m really interested in.

(By right, 2007 should also have been on that scant post list. I began this blog on Aug 20, 2007, and backfilled it with myriad poems, letters, essays, etc., then I had to deconstruct the entire blog when I ran out of room for all my old poems filed by month, so there was very little new writing, about 30 posts in all with less than a dozen poems—and that’s with adding all the long lost Writers’ Group entries. There are now 98 ? Did I lose some? 94 posts, but about 40 of them are not from 2007!)

*2006 was 12 posts, now 21, make that 36! (I found my MIA Writers’ Group folder, in w/ CPITS)

*2005 was 8/10/20, now 41(added Writers’ Group—PLUS SOME UNDATED WORK)

*2004 was 33, now 67 (added Writers’ Group. MIA Florida journals! found 2 emails)

*2003 was 35, now 48 (I found a slew of writers group posts buried in my CPITS folder)

2002-2001 were not listed (which means I had about 52 posts) but I was also going to school.

*2000 was 39, now 56 (half of those posts were Celtic Studies homework.) Shockingly, I found two new pieces of work in my SFSU binder. 

*1999 was 4/19, now 27 (half of those posts were Celtic Studies homework). Another year that needs bulking up.

1998 was 10/13, now 56. I was laid up from a bad accident 6/18/97, so I didn’t write at all.

1997 to 1994 were not listed, (means I had at least 52 posts.)

1993 was 43, then 58/ now 71 (1993-96 were weak years) I found a lost Poetry International journal, gained a poem, FLYING OVER NORTH HOLLAND, and I still have Amsterdam journals to transcribe).

1992 was 34, now 76. Wow.

1991 was  33, now 73 (USSR, Amsterdam journals to transcribe).

1990 was 40, now 68 (USSR journals still to transcribe).

1989, 1988 (was 8) no listing, I had 52+ posts, despite a lost Ecuador/Peru notebook. Now 116.

I never finished my Napa State Hospital transcriptions. Many first drafts.

1987 was 46, now 142. Transcribing Guatemala journals, gold mine. 

1986 was 19/23, now 86. Raided Napa & Mexico journals.

1985 was not listed, I had plenty of work at 106 posts

1984 was 15, now 92. I added my Napa journals & found some new poems.

1983 was not listed (I found a few new poems, no hard copy, in a newspaper!)

1982 was 10, now 72. Despite a lost notebook…. (1980-82 Napa journals to transcribe)

1981 was not listed. I didn’t date poems, so # may change. I was laid up from a car accident in December. I found tear sheets of my poetry column for the Sonoma County Stump, and a lost poem, Blue Cup. Now at 92 posts and growing. It doesn’t help date those poems, other than they were written pre-1981. Also my first poetry columns, an interview with Katharine Harer, etc.

1980 was 36, now 69, I didn’t date many poems from this era. 

1979 no data, but it was low, now 85 that I can date.

*1978, when I began to write, 23 posts.  

Belay that factoid. I just found some rather weak poems from 1975, in a Native American Studies class with Mary Taylor. We made a chapbook so I never got a clean copy of revised poems and drawings. So they are very rough first drafts. But I did get a new memory piece, I’m over the moon. 

Remembering Mary Smith Taylor, & a backstory of The Birds, & Warm Springs Dam

Because I have to move by the end of December, I’ve been uncovering more old work and transcribing it whenever I can. I discovered sheaves of mediocre poems from 1977 to 1979 all hand-calligraphed, Including some from the Diane diPrima workshop. I will need to post them at one point but not now. 

An old paper on my family history opened up new vistas on an oral history project. Family history paper for History 495. It’s been a busy, productive year with plenty of new work, and some salvage jobs.