Eighteen years ago today commercial airplanes were hijacked and flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and a field in Pennsylvania. I remember exactly where I was while it was happening and how I ended up spending the rest of that day, which has been seared into into my memory along with the horrible images from it. You probably have the same vivid recollections.

The attack on 9/11 was a turning point for our country, where the trauma of terror (once something thought to happen only “over there”) became a real and present danger here at home. It marked a generation that has never known anything but the presence of terror, first caused by Al-Qaeda that sad September day, and now caused by mass shootings (which school children now drill for), persistent bullying (usually triggered by perpetrators’ deep insecurities), and other anxieties about things like the crisis of climate change. These things were not part of my childhood existence and it breaks my heart to know they are the norm for today’s children.

I know there is no going back to those seemingly innocent times–and in some ways that’s a good thing. Young people today seem much more inclusive of different people, because the importance of inclusion has been drilled into their heads even more than duck and cover. They get it that we are supposed to love and accept everyone, regardless of race or religion or cultural heritage or sexual orientation or gender identity or you name it.  They don’t understand why this concept is so hard for older generations to understand and live by. (Hey–that’s their perception. I’m merely reporting it!) Our youth are almost universally opposed to gun violence and the reckless ways our state and federal laws continue to allow people to own more guns than they need and to allow the purchase of guns and accoutrements designed more for the casualties of combat, than “for sport.” Their advocacy for a better, safer world gives me hope.

In these days of anxiety and chaos it is so hard to find calm or feel peace.  We continue search for it–many of us even pay good money for apps in the hope that the portals of our smart phones will provide it. When in reality, perhaps what we most need is less connection with technology and its impersonality and more connection with the physical voice and presence of another human being.

9/11 brought Americans together in a significant, powerful way that many of us remember as vividly as the terror itself. May we allow that communal connection (and our craving for it) to guide our actions today and in all the days to come.

Yes, I know. It’s been months and months since I posted anything. To be honest, I’ve been wrestling with several questions about my writing and where it is headed. Originally, I created this blog to provide a space to push out my poetry. Then I started worrying that posting it here might make it less likely to have it published elsewhere, such as literary journals or magazines, many of which require completely original never-before-published work. Then I started wondering if it was a good idea to make my poetry available for free when it’s possible to be compensated for it. While pondering these questions (and more), I decided to push “pause” on this blog for awhile.

At the end of April I traveled  to Taos, New Mexico to participate in a week-long, intensive women’s writing retreat led by the wonderful and talented Jennifer Louden. My original intention was to make good headway on a poetry collection. And I did write a few poems while I was there.

But something happened during my time in Taos. Maybe it was the powerful, spiritual energy that flows through the community, from the Pueblo to the mountains, and into the town itself. Maybe it was the enthusiastic encouragement of 20+ brilliant women writers, who were also extending beyond their creative comfort zones, supported by Jen’s and Lisa Jones‘ gentle coaching. Maybe it was the fantastic food at the Mabel Dodge Luhan home, where our retreat was located. Maybe it was the the vast New Mexican sky, the labyrinth gracing the property, the daily afternoon gentle yoga, or the rabbits and hummingbirds roaming around. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the intentional turning off of my cell phone and the deliberate avoidance of email and news.

Whatever the catalyst (perhaps all of the above?), my focus shifted in Taos. It shifted away from writing poetry and towards a new, creative project (“The Project,” I now call it), so magnetically compelling I can’t stay away from it for very long or else I start feeling unsettled.  The Project is a novel, a work of historical fiction based on the life of my husband’s grandmother, who at the age of 9, became a refugee during the 1915 Armenian genocide in Turkey. The Project requires a lot of my time and energy–the research alone is massively challenging. After years of mostly technical writing, I’m learning that the process of creating good, quality fiction is hard. Really hard.

Oh, I’m still an activist. And I’m still a poet. But my writing is starting to tell me I could be so much more. Stay tuned….