The Dog Days

Hot and bothered in the mid-Sierra

This happened. Back in April I had an email about applying for a grant, and I was just saying that I really wanted to go away on a writing retreat or win a fellowship or residency. But I so often feel invisible¹ in the writing world. I feel like no one outside of my hometown or the Bay Area news community has heard of me, and so I was unlikely to win anything. Joke’s on me: I have been invited on three writing retreats since then, and I won this fellowship, by virtue of a keenly worded artist statement of intention, a generous letter of rec, one award-winning essay, and a handful of grief poems². (Poem tax paid at the end.) So I am officially an Established Artist and UIA Fellow for a year.

Delighted to win? Absolutely gobsmacked. It comes with grant money to support my writing and everything. I’m working on a budget of how to use this money to achieve some writing goals. I will definitely hold a literary reading somewhere, to bring together some of the poet-fellows. I am looking at being able to make a real book tour next year and already have that mapping out—East Coast and West Coast. And I am soft-locked into a retreat next fall on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland for writing, Celtic wisdom and spirituality, and long walks on the moor. I will also be glad to take on some mentees who might need some hand-holding to take some brave steps of their own.

Excerpt from my artist statement:

In writing down my poems or stories, I feel I am breaking open narratives that are both sacred and forbidden. The consequences of shame, for instance, lie at that intersection: The names that should not be spoken, the truths universally unacknowledged. For example, researching the enslavers in my family history has been a personal quest of mine, and with countless hours of genealogical research, I was able to find the original plantations. I created a map which led to a 1300-mile roadtrip from Jasper, AL, to Hingham, MA, to find each former plantation, where I read aloud the names of the enslaved. Reparations are real; we give a voluntary monthly reparations "rent" to the Nisenan tribe whose land we live on. I have been writing a novel based on the enslaved and enslavers in my family tree. Telling these stories helps publicly reveal the depths of depravity hitherto unacknowledged in our privileged family. My whiteness has been my blessing, and I cannot forgive myself for it.

Thank you, good judges, and to the staff of the California Arts Council, the Upstate IAF, and Nevada County Arts & Culture.

This is the face of a killer. Photo by Sky on Unsplash

I have been picking vegetables in the garden, weeding and watering, and continuing to shovel mulch around the yard. I was doing so on Friday when a black insect literally flew straight at my face, landed on my upper lip and STUCK there, between my lip and gum. Yes, I freaked the fuck out. It bit me INSIDE MY MOUTH and not only did it burn like a red-hot poker, but it swelled up my lip, cheek, jaw, etc. I have been dosing myself with Benadryl, Claritin, ice packs, and self-pity since then, and TBH, that’s probably why I got this post out the door in a timely fashion today.

I am still puffy and look like someone punched me in the face, not a good look for a happily coupled woman to sport. I have stayed indoors and worked on my budget, folded laundry, and eaten only ice cream, popsicles, a milkshake, yogurt, and watermelon. My teeth even hurt from the swelling, and my lips were so fat, they split. So I’m also Chapstick Charlie right now. Even though I love my ice cream, this is not the way to indulge. I am making a rule called NO BITING JULIA from now on, and that goes for everyone.

I grew these. I am their god—and yet, they are mine.

It’s hard to believe that summer is leaning toward fall already. Sibylline Press is launching its fall 2026 season so I continue to produce book review videos on pub days (follow Sibylline Press on Instagram/Facebook/TikTok to see these regularly). I am continuing my work as acquisitions editor for now, but am aiming to retire from that job by the end of the year. I will still have a board/advisory role, but I would like to focus on my own writing after four years of helping start a company. Those videos? We shall see if they continue.

I don’t want to think about back to school or pumpkin spice season at all yet. It’s supposed to be an El Nino year, so it may be a rainy or snowy winter. I can bundle up with the best, but let me enjoy my sweaty, roasting, early outdoor coffee, late twilight gardening time. I like summer. Heck, I love summer!³

And you can peel it out of my sweaty hands when autumn comes.

Poetry Tax paid below:

Carrion

Mother raccoon, hunched roadside, where 
she’d dragged herself last night as the car sped away; her eyes 
now shut, her black gloves curled toward her face, head bowed. You 
might believe she died in prayer, so
solemn her mien. 
                              I know that face,
that feeling of air crushed from lung, blood from vein.
Met with sudden dazzling light and noise bearing down from 
afar, away, upon her now and she can’t move, can’t
anything but tuck and cover, roll with the blow,
take impact with her body as shield, her life for
theirs, if she could only spare her kits;
takes the impact even when the babies are already lost, gushes
her spent heart on the shoulder of the highway amid
crumbs of window glass.
                             I knew 
when I saw her face that she felt it, too—the 
rush and thunder of her child’s death more 
killing than black tires and rough pavement—
her hands two parentheses before her face as if
to take it in, to bear it, 
to know you couldn’t have stopped it, even
if you had read all the signs, had crossed elsewhere.

As always, thank you for reading—and please subscribe! It’ll make my work easier if I know someone’s reading. Grateful!

1. I am the middle child. Invisible is what we do best.

2. Grief at losing Austin by suicide.

3. And I’m going to get a second summer this year when we spend December in Australia with the eldest daughter and fam. White wine in the sun!