Drew Myron's Blog

photo by Jean Rosenbaum

— Kate Gray

Welcome to Fast Five, an occasional series in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Kate Gray is author of the novel, What We Carry; as well as two poetry chapbooks and two full-length collections: For Every Girl, published in 2019, and Another Sunset We Survive, a finalist for the Oregon Book Award.

For 25 years she worked as a writing instructor at Clackamas Community College in Oregon. She continues to encourage writers in individual and group settings — from correctional facilities to online writing salons where she serves as volunteer, collaborator, and coach.

She and her partner live in Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.

“What do I love to do? Write. Talk about writing. Dive into writing with others,” says Kate. “I’ve witnessed writing transform people, open them like time-lapse photographs of blossoms.”

1.
Why write?

Writing is resistance. At a young age a teacher gave me a journal with the following quote in it:

“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.” 

I believe fiercely in this e.e. cummings quote, and for me, writing has always been my way to discover myself, grow, connect with others, create healing, community, and grace. Now, perhaps more than ever, we need to write and to resist the silencing, lies, denial, and destruction. We need the voices of love, joy, memory, the voiceless, the ones who sing in wind and water. We must write a new world.

2.
What do you enjoy about writing in community? How does this fill you?

Writing in community is my kind of church. I experience a collective effervescence, a communion with the sacred, and a sense of powers beyond ourselves. I’ve written in many, many different environments, from American Legion Posts to burlesque halls to Oxford University to monasteries.

When volunteering for Write Around Portland in Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, I heard the writers tell me they experienced the only quiet time they had in their week while we were writing. Think about that . . . They heard a clock tick only eight minutes a week.

During the time we had together over eight weeks, they also experienced a trust some had never had before, because we didn’t criticize or shame. We held up to the light what was good even if they couldn’t see it. They learned to see and value other women’s stories, and some learned to value their own. Being a part of their gaining empathy, trust, and confidence was so powerful for me that it was a big reason I decided to retire from academia.

3.
What’s the best — or worst — writing advice you’ve received?

One of the worst things a coach once did was monetize what she thought my unfinished manuscript would sell for. My dreams became tied to money rather than good storytelling.

One of the best lessons came from Ron Carlson, the fiction writer, who described his sons climbing one of the bunkers in a state park on the Oregon Coast. One son lifted up a hatch and shouted, “Dad, don’t you just love not knowing where you’re going to go?” and he jumped into the dark (and didn’t hurt himself).

If you let it, writing is like that, an adventure, a path you can follow with endless surprise and delight.

From For Every Girl: New & Selected Poems by Kate Gray

4.
What book (or poem) do you return to again and again?

I return to Robert Frost’s poem, The Star-splitter, to learn to be a good neighbor;

Jimmy Santiago Baca’s I am offering you this poem, to learn gratitude and generosity;

Danez Smith’s a note on the body to learn new ways to love;

Lucille Clifton to know joy,

Joy Harjo to know patience,

Li-Young Lee to know family,

Sharon Hashimoto to understand patriotism,

Brionne Janae to tiptoe toward forgiveness,

and so many others.

5. 
I’m a word collector, and keeping a running list of favorites? What are yours? 

Some favorite words:

murmuration

inchoate

hallelujah

boom.

Excerpt from For Every Girl: New & Selected Poems by Kate Gray

For over a week, I’ve been studying the same image every day and seeing the same thing in new ways.

As in life, the more you see the more you see there is to see. And the more you know the more you realize you do not know.

The above image forms a writing prompt that I’ve returned to day and again.

The first days were pleasant postcard stops: 

Redwoods

If I touch the tree

that touches sky

that touches god,

does that place

sky & tree & god

in me?

_____

And then I looked closer and saw a forest on fire, a world of rot. The poems got dark and worried:

See America —

In its glory

In its gore

In stars & stripes & rally calls

In parched earth and oven heat

In hurricane wind and drowning cities

See America arrested   beaten   deported

In orchards and farms       in fear

In high prices and homeless living

See America in denial      despair

undecided     immobile    on fire

See fever     See futility     See me

Stop. See how the redwood stretches

to reach an endless sky. Can we, though small —

stand tall with this conviction?  

_____

Because every day is a new crisis, the latest poem came unbidden but not unexpected. Chaos is calculated. But voices are rising. Even our local weather reporter is chiming in:

“We are seriously like the frog in the pot of warming water here. Kinda like we are in this nation — the water just gets hotter and hotter,” writes Temira Amelia Lital.

“First we have masked goons refusing to show identification and picking up people (documented and not) off the streets and at the borders and locking them up. Next we have unarmed military in the streets. Next we have armed military in the streets.”

“You might not be noticing this because it's happening bit by bit and isn’t happening to YOU specifically. THIS IS NOT NORMAL. We do not have military in the streets in this country. You should be concerned, whatever political affiliation you hold.”

_____

As the pot boils, political leaders are speaking out:

“I want to speak plainly about the moment that we are in and the actual crisis, not the manufactured one, that we are facing in the city and as a state and as a country,” said Illinois Governor JB Pritzker this week in response to news that Donald Trump is planning to deploy armed military personnel to the streets of Chicago, just as he has in Los Angeles and Washington D.C.

“If it sounds to you like I am alarmist, that is because I am ringing an alarm, one that I hope every person listening will heed, both here in Illinois and across the country.”

“This is exactly the type of overreach that our country’s founders warned against. And it’s the reason that they established a federal system with a separation of powers built on checks and balances. What President Trump is doing is unprecedented and unwarranted. It is illegal, it is unconstitutional. It is un-American.”

_____

Writers (even quiet poets) are urging action:

“Writing is resistance,” says Kate Gray, a novelist/poet.

“Now, perhaps more than ever, we need to write and to resist the silencing, lies, denial, and destruction. We need the voices of love, joy, memory, the voiceless . . . We must write a new world.”

_____

What to do? What to do? I feel the futility.

But awareness is action, and we can read, learn, listen, act.

Start here:

Letters from an American: Heather Cox Richardson
Through daily letters, an historian provides thorough insight of the past that shapes and forms the political present.

Five Things You Can Do: Robert Reich
A professor, writer, and former U.S. Secretary of Labor provides political overviews and practical actions.

The Christian Left: Faith & Social Justice
Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, 
you did not do for me.

_____

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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Dear Reader,

First, thank you. Whether you’ve been reading since the early days — since 2008! — or recently subscribed, I’m grateful for your time, attention, and encouragement over the years.

After nearly two decades of blogging, I’ve decided to share my writing on Substack too.

If blogs are so 2005, Substack is very 2025. Well, really, more like 2020; but that’s me — never a diver, always a wader.

Substack is a platform that allows writers to publish and distribute newsletters to subscribers, with free and paid subscription options. 

My newsletter will always be free.

Why Substack?  It’s simple: I want to make it easier for more people to discover my work, and for longtime readers to more easily comment on and share posts.

You can continue reading my blog here as you always have. Nothing changes here.

But if you’d prefer to get my writing delivered in an easy-to-read format, or if you’d like to help me reach new readers, you can subscribe here:

• Subscribe on Substack

As always, I’ll publish regularly here on the blog, so please stay here if you’re comfy. I'm simply adding Substack as another access point.

Thank you for reading & writing & making with me.

With respect & appreciation,

Drew

The elegant sweep. A shaky scrawl. Postmark squiggles and fancy stamps.

Getting real mail from a real person is such a treat.

“Send mail to someone you like, miss, admire, appreciate, etc,” says Rob Walker, author of The Art of Noticing. “I am here to tell you that getting fun physical mail is a source of outright joy.”

Yes, yes, yes. I’m nodding in excessive agreement.

I love a long missive spanning pages. Or a spare message squeezed into a tight space.

I’m deep into a postcard exchange. Poetry Postcard Fest is an annual effort that involves sending a postcard every day for one month. It’s a great writing exercise, but evenmore, it’s a delight to send & receive old-fashioned, human-made correspondence.

Consider the humble postcard. It does not lecture or linger, does not stay too long or ask too much. Its beauty is brevity.

This is the promise of a postcard: To see and share, to notice a moment, a thought, idea, a want and wish. To reach out while reaching in. To write by hand, by heart.

Thinking of you.

Wish you were here.

Missing you.

Each day I walk to my mailbox and open joy.

Want to change the world, or just brighten it a bit? Do one small thing that makes a difference: send mail.

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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Steady rain on the river today

and we paddle through the pour.

Calm waters quiet the mind

and I finally feel the glide.

Hush, muted, muffled, tranquil, peaceful . . . I’ve run out of words for quietude, but I never stop looking — for the moment and the telling. This week I am thankful for light rain, a shift in perspective, a gentle river, steady love, and this poem:

Haiku (for you)

love between us is
speech and breath. loving you is
a long river running.

— Sonia Sanchez

It’s Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to express appreciation for people, places, things, and more. Attention attracts gratitude, and gratitude expands joy. Please join me.

What are you thankful for today?

 * * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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What did Clarissa figure out — so many years ago — that I still can’t grasp? I want to feel the shake of joy. I abandon myself to joy. That’s a worthy aspiration.

This week, I abandoned myself to rest.

Not by choice, but by sickness. Nothing serious, though in the throes of minor malaise everything feels serious. Ravaged, wracked and aching, I moped through fatigue, despondence, sadness, and sloth.

I slept for days, the body commanding pace. And lazed on the couch, consuming movie after movie. Swedish! Spanish! German! All the foreign films that usually feel like too much work. But reading subtitles, I’ve found, is an excellent distraction from your aches and pains.

Some favorites:

Familia is set in Baja, Mexico’s wine valley and features a full-bodied, tender depiction of family bonds. Light on action and heavy on dialogue, this 2023 film feels emotionally real. I loved it!

Adolescence is “harrowing but heartfelt” four-part series that follows a family ripped apart when a 13-year-old student is arrested for killing a classmate. The fictionalized story is brought to life by telling details, taut acting, and tight camerawork. It’s intense and captivating.

The Breakthrough is a clever and sensitive Swedish four-part drama based on a book by a journalist and genealogist. Unlike many in the true-crime genre, this taut series avoids exploitation and instead aims the focus on police procedure, technology advances, and humanity.

Any Day Now — I loved this television series when it aired in the late 1990s. The show centers on the friendship of two women, black and white, who grew up in the 1960s. Lorraine Toussaint and Annie Potts star as the lifelong friends who openly explore race in their lives and community. While this show is not available on any streaming platform, a super-fan has uploaded every episode to YouTube, where you can watch for free.

I also caught up on popular culture, watching every season of Hacks (seasoned comedian paired with young writer — loved it!) and White Lotus (I get the appeal; it’s an elevated soap opera in a pampered setting).

In my hazy retreat, I also continued my pursuit of reading every single thing written by Roxana Robinson.

And then, quick as a wink (or a few days slumber) the illness lifted.

I showered, dressed, and returned to the world. My restoration complete.

How about you? How do you rest and restore?

* * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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Small Things: Summer

help me remember

the smell of dewy mornings,

the pull of a distant train,

the air as it turns from

stillness to breeze —

all this longing just

out of reach.

• • •

At the Funeral

in summer heat

old friends gather —

the buzz of history

• • •

Cherries

in the orchard

limbs laden with fruit

we pick joy

— Drew Myron

In the Canoe

Set blade,

pull water,

open heart.

In each breath

I find my self.

Paddles up, paddles ready, set, pull.

All together — timing, timing, timing.

I miss a stroke, and then another.

Too long, too short, too fast, too slow.

Set, pull, open — again, again.

Feel your feet, knees,

thighs, abs, lats, arms.

Chest open, eyes ahead,

and breathe,

and breathe,

don’t forget

to breathe.

I am one of six in an outrigger canoe.

Blood pumps, mind races.

A roar in my head, though the boat is silent.

A rush in the body, though the canoe is calm.

I huff and puff, lungs against wind,

against current, against body and mind.

Morning light,

clouds to the west,

easy water turn to waves,

white caps coming. And yet,

and yet, there’s a quiet on

this river I can almost reach.

Reach, the caller commands

and my body grows longer.

I am all arms. The mind cuts

chatter to three small words:

reach and pull

reach and pull

reach and pull.

This river is my metaphor and making.

The canoe, too.

Physically exhausted,

mentally full, emotionally spent.

And yet — like writing and love —

I keep trying.

As if repetition is mastery.

As if desire is skill.

The canoe is now confessional:

The body is willing but wanting.

Too old, too slow.

Able but not athletic.

Still, here I am,

pulling, reaching,

tired and trying.

This body

holds secrets

in every breath.

* * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

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1.
I’m thinking of change.

How it moves through time but sometimes stops and returns not to what is best but to what it knows. The rotten familiar.

Nearly 100 years ago, Langston Hughes wrote I, Too. The poem appeared in his first book of poetry, The Weary Blues, published in 1926.

We think we have traveled, have leaned away from prejudice, have softened our hate. And yet, here we are. Back again, and still, to racial oppression and degradation.

We never left our ugly past.

2.
I love this country and loathe its descent.

Some of us — hopefully many of us —feel what poet James Crews calls an ache “for all the cruelty of this world.”

As the holiday nears, I brace myself for rockets and glare, for the boastful pride that can turn our flag to menace.

3.
“Find your own patriotism,” says writer Rex Huppke. “Speak loudly. Stand strong. And believe you have it in you to make a change.”

When I stand in protest.
When I champion and defend.
When I write these words to you.

I am saying: This is what democracy looks like.

This is the freedom I will celebrate and protect.

Quietly, steadily, without shame.

Gratitude by Anna Kamieńska, from Astonishments: Selected Poems

I wasn’t looking for gratitude but — like keys, reading glasses, the name of your best friend’s cousin — I found it while searching for something else. I was on the hunt for a book: The Book of Questions by Pablo Neruda.

I searched my shelves and all the drawers jammed with misfits things. Deep in the darkness of paperclips, chapstick and old magazines, I found Astonishments by Anna Kamieńska. In a quick flip, the page opened easily to Gratitude.

This is life unfolding at its best: small random discoveries of pleasure.

I was full of thanks like a Sunday alms-box.

I read this poem and rushed into my own list:

Thank you for the cherry orchard laden with sweet globes of joy. Thank you for the lavender bending to the bee. Thank you for good books on long flights. Thank you for headphones that muffle the world. Thank you for asking me anything, everything, nothing at all. Thank you lungs and legs and dogged determination. . .

Gratitude is a scattered homeless love

Yes, exactly. Thank you, Anna.

I never found the Neruda book. I’ve bought and given away this book so many times I’ve lost track. But now I have the chance to buy it again, and fall in love and discovery once more.

Also, don’t you love these titles — Astonishments, The Book of Questions — ? My gratitude grows!

It’s Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to express appreciation for people, places, things, and more. Attention attracts gratitude, and gratitude expands joy. Please join me.

 What are you thankful for today?

 * * *

The world turns on words. Thank you for reading & writing.

• If you know someone who might enjoy this blog — please share.

• If you want posts delivered to your inbox — subscribe for free.

• If you are here, reading this now — thank you!