Ally Malinenko's Blog, page 8

“I don’t want to be king, I want to be real.” – John Lennon ‪

 

35 years today.

This poem was originally published at Dead Snakes.

 

The Day after the Anniversary of Your Death

 

We walked through the freezing cold,

that blew up 75th street,

straight from the estuary

and through the fabric of our jackets,

 

your music blasting from

an ear bud one in each of our ears

the way young lovers do

not old lovers like we are now.

 

There was caterwauling

and I thought to myself,

we are going to wake up

all the old people on the street

 

because I can’t carry a tune.

You were doing great though, you always do,

 

but you weren’t worried about the others.

We always have to hear them, you remind me,

 

and besides, it was thirty years ago,

thirty years and one day

since Lennon was killed.

 

Tomorrow we’ll walk past the gates of the Dakota,

not really stopping by the guard,

but lingering just a bit to look down that driveway.

You will tell me that John asked to walk in. He stopped the driver.

 

There will be no singing tomorrow.

But tonight, we are still on this street,

with music in our ears

his music

and the hope of warmth

if we can ever make it out of this cold

and to the front door.

Flying Monkeys, Books and the Cold Unfeeling Universe

Where the flying monkeys did this year go?

I mean honestly. I distinctly remember whole days in January 2015 and there is no way way they were 12 months ago.

Anyway I wanted to do a whole book blog about what I read this year but that’s going to wait till next time because we got some other things to talk about. Good? Good.

 

First and foremost How to Be An American is out in the wild and for sale!

Here’s proof:

That handsome devil up in the right hand corner is none other than Oscar Varona, the amazing artist who created the cover collage. And that sly fox on the right is Aida.

Aida is a phenomenal artist. Here’s a bit of her work:

Those are from a series she did on women who influence her. Incredible.

As for my book, someone needs to give a copy for Christmas to their super Team USA relative so they can write a scathing review on amazon calling me communist and telling me to love it or leave it. Seriously. Can we make this happen?

Until then, here’s what Jessica Fenlon had to say:

drawcloseGot @AllyMalinenko‘s “How to Be an American” today – so happy to read these ‘rejected’ poems! The tough kind to write – and to read – thin clear slices of moments, the good part of Bukowski, walking a line leaning to one side and then another but never falling down, never tangling really. So clear when we hit the drop-lines in the poems they sink into you. Sometimes there isn’t a drop, sometimes it’s a slow eddy, a dance with an idea I myself have considered. I like the steps Ms. Malinenko takes . . .

How To Be An American is Now Available

So it’s time. Previous snafu is fixed and my new poetry book,

How to Be An American

is on Amazon and Goodreads.

That said, rumor has it that I’ll be getting my greedy little hands on a few more copies so if you want to order it directly from me (for cheaper) hit me up at ally dot malinenko @ gmail dot com.

I’m also thinking about doing a goodreads giveaway because why not?

So here’s a bit about what’s been said so far about How To Be An American:

The poems in How to Be an American strike the chords of conversations we should be having, should have already had and resolved, or conversations that should be irrelevant. In this generation’s remake of democracy, Malinenko’s book is an incendiary device.

—Jason Baldinger, author of The Lower Forty-Eight

Ally Malinenko is the embodiment of what E.L. Doctorow meant when he said we need writers because we need witnesses to this terrifying century. In How to Be an American, she dissects the American dream and breaks it down to its petri-dish truths. Malinenko’s America is a country that exports ignorance and consumerism, where the greatest embarrassment is to be poor, vulnerable, and in need. In a voice as direct and unstoppable as an ambulance, Malinenko paints a raw, visceral, and essential portrait of a country without pity, without compassion, and makes the need for change feel like the emergency it is.

—Lori Jakiela, author of Belief Is Its Own Kind of Truth, Maybe

Ally Malinenko has an exceptional ability to observe life and write honestly. She is an absolute treasure.

—Moriah LaChapell, editor of The Blue Hour

This is a devastating book that reads as the polar opposite of Walt Whitman—here, the speaker does not see herself of them, these demented Americans. Here, the speaker rises up and says to the Bible and all its believers, to the box stores and all their consumers, to the patriots and all their patriotism, “Absolutely not.” The country inside these pages is lit up like a Walmart commercial and packed with the same ugliness that makes minimum wage unlivable and bargain shoppers unbearable. The loudest voices are all dressed up in stars-and-stripes bikinis, shouting about how great it is to be red-white-and-blue, while the rest of us rape and kill and need a drink to stand the sights. Here are poems that say, “Enough,” that say, “Quit insulting the world.” Watch out, America. Ally Malinenko’s poems are dodgeballs and she’s throwing them at your head.

—Dave Newman, author of The Poem Factory

How to Be an American is a how-to guide without instructions. This book is brave, bold, and honest—a fucking atom bomb to the political and personal poetry scenes.

—Ben John Smith, editor of Horror Sleaze and Trash

It ain’t pretty and it ain’t poesy, at least the way most Americans think of poesy, thank you, Jesus. And it ain’t political, except in the larger sense of human-ness, of flaming outrage, and of deeply longed for compassion. Simply put, this is Ally Malinenko’s incisive deconstruction of many a fetid cranny and nook of the collective American psyche. Pilgrim, save yourself: read it now.

—Don Wentworth, editor of Lilliput Review

And this review from Jessica:

Got @AllyMalinenko’s “How to Be an American” today – so happy to read these ‘rejected’ poems! The tough kind to write – and to read – thin clear slices of moments, the good part of Bukowski, walking a line leaning to one side and then another but never falling down, never tangling really. So clear when we hit the drop-lines in the poems they sink into you. Sometimes there isn’t a drop, sometimes it’s a slow eddy, a dance with an idea I myself have considered. I like the steps Ms. Malinenko takes . . .

HOW TO BE AN AMERICAN, the New Poetry Book Is Almost Out!

How To Be An American, my second book of poetry from Six Gallery Press is out November 7th! Want to know what people are saying? Funny you should ask:

That’s a real rejection notice that I received so extra special thank you to all the journals that did publish the poems in this book. I’m talking about The Blue Hour, Boyslut, Burlesque Press, Camel Saloon, Clockwise Cat, Crisis Chronicle, Dead Snakes, Dissident Voices, Eleventh Transmission, Fuck Art, Let’s Dance, Horror Sleaze and Trash, Ink Sweat and Tears, Mas Tequila Review, Red Fez, Regardless of Authority, Underground Books, Unlikely Stories, This Is Poetry, This Zine Will Change Your Life, and Zygote in My Coffee

And here’s what people are really saying:

The poems in How to Be an American strike the chords of conversations we should be having, should have already had and resolved, or conversations that should be irrelevant. In this generation’s remake of democracy, Malinenko’s book is an incendiary device.

—Jason Baldinger, author of The Lower Forty-Eight

Ally Malinenko is the embodiment of what E.L. Doctorow meant when he said we need writers because we need witnesses to this terrifying century. In How to Be an American, she dissects the American dream and breaks it down to its petri-dish truths. Malinenko’s America is a country that exports ignorance and consumerism, where the greatest embarrassment is to be poor, vulnerable, and in need. In a voice as direct and unstoppable as an ambulance, Malinenko paints a raw, visceral, and essential portrait of a country without pity, without compassion, and makes the need for change feel like the emergency it is.

—Lori Jakiela, author of Belief Is Its Own Kind of Truth, Maybe

Ally Malinenko has an exceptional ability to observe life and write honestly. She is an absolute treasure.

—Moriah LaChapell, editor of The Blue Hour

This is a devastating book that reads as the polar opposite of Walt Whitman—here, the speaker does not see herself of them, these demented Americans. Here, the speaker rises up and says to the Bible and all its believers, to the box stores and all their consumers, to the patriots and all their patriotism, “Absolutely not.” The country inside these pages is lit up like a Walmart commercial and packed with the same ugliness that makes minimum wage unlivable and bargain shoppers unbearable. The loudest voices are all dressed up in stars-and-stripes bikinis, shouting about how great it is to be red-white-and-blue, while the rest of us rape and kill and need a drink to stand the sights. Here are poems that say, “Enough,” that say, “Quit insulting the world.” Watch out, America. Ally Malinenko’s poems are dodgeballs and she’s throwing them at your head.

—Dave Newman, author of The Poem Factory

It ain’t pretty and it ain’t poesy, at least the way most Americans think of poesy, thank you, Jesus. And it ain’t political, except in the larger sense of human-ness, of flaming outrage, and of deeply longed for compassion. Simply put, this is Ally Malinenko’s incisive deconstruction of many a fetid cranny and nook of the collective American psyche. Pilgrim, save yourself: read it now.

—Don Wentworth, editor of Lilliput Review

How to Be an American is a how-to guide without instructions. This book is brave, bold, and honest—a fucking atom bomb to the political and personal poetry scenes.

—Ben John Smith, author of White White White

And an extra special thank you to Oscar Varona for the cover art, which you can buy as a t-shirt! How cool is that!

To celebrate the launch, I’ll be heading to Pittsburgh for a reading on November 7th at 8pm at Modern Formations – sadly one of the last as they are closing. If you’re in town, please come by. There will be beer and laughter. I promise.

It’s a great line-up including Adam Matcho, who has a new book out with LowGhost Press, Lori Jakiela, Dave Newman, John Grochalski, Jason Irwin and John Korn.

In the meantime, here’s the conversation I had with my mother regarding the book’s launch:

Mom: I’m worried. Someone is going to put a brick through your window. Look what happened to Snowden.

Me: O_o

Mom: Russia.

Me: Mom. Please. Stop.

I love you, Mom.

And finally, this book is dedicated with love to my fellow Americans – let’s all be better shall we?

And the rest of Dublin

Lest one should think that a trip to Dublin is 100% Ulysses-based, rest assured one can see quite a few other things if one is so inclined.

Like The Gresham Hotel where the ending of Joyce’s ‘The Dead’ takes place with that incredible last line (sorry, about the spoilers)

Yes, the news­pa­pers were right: snow was gen­eral all over Ire­land. It was falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, fur­ther west­wards, softly falling into the dark muti­nous Shan­non waves. It was falling too upon every part of the lonely church­yard where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and head­stones, on the spears of the lit­tle gate, on the bar­ren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the uni­verse and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the liv­ing and the dead.

Best last line of a short story ever – also, my favorite story ever (apologies to Carver and his cathedrals).

And while we’re talking about The Dead, here’s the location of the party that Gabriel attends:

which is right across from the James Joyce bridge!

Hmmm I did say this wasn’t going to be all about Joyce didn’t I?

Okay so one of the other really cool things that Dublin has is a recreation of Francis Bacon’s studio at Reece Mews in London. I saw the outside of the studio when I was in London but what can only be described as “the mess” of the studio is pretty famous. So I was delighted to find out that the Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin (which is FREE!) has reassembled said “mess”

Amazing, right?

Dublin also has some great monuments, like the infamous Spire of Dublin (local nicknames include the “Stiletto in the Ghetto” and the “Erection at the Intersection” – cheeky Irish!)

And the James Joyce statue (there he is again!) lovingly known as The Prick with the Stick

Of course the infamous Molly Malone – The Tart with the Cart

And the wonderfully sarcastic Oscar Wilde statue – The Queer with the Leer

Wait you can’t really see his leer there – this one is better

Dublin also has really fantastic museums, like the Charles Beatty Library where I saw a piece of the Book of the Dead and some gospel that were written on parchment oh a mere 60 years after Jaysus Christ.  We also went to Marsh’s Library where they have a table that Joyce wrote at AND actual cages where they used to lock people in with the books. That’s a rather inventive way to combat theft. We also headed out to Trinity College, home of the famous Book of Kells and the Long Library

Long Library is LONG

This is a facsimile as you couldn’t photograph the Book of Kells.

And no trip to Dublin would be complete without taking a little time out to relax in St. Stephen’s Green

We even managed to get out of the city to see Sandycove, where Ulysses begins. The Irish Sea is beautiful

And I got to see Jonathan Swift’s skull (and death mask). Seriously.

And mummies at St. Michans!

And finally finally finally, because they are so grand THE PUBS!

Oldest pub in Dublin!

My Favorite!

Cheers Dublin! I hope to see you again someday!

James Joyce’s Dublin – a pictorial recreation of Ulysses

I want to give a picture of Dublin so complete that if the city suddenly disappeared from the earth it could be reconstructed out of my book. – James Joyce

TELEMACHUS

“Stately plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of later on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.”

Martello Tower, home of Joyce for 6 days in 1904 and the opening scene in Ulysses

“In the gloomy domed living room of the tower Buck Mulligan’s gowned form moved briskly about the hearth to and fro, hiding and revealing it’s yellow glow.”

“They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale.”

“He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by this side.”

PROTEUS

“Come out of them, Stephen. Beauty is not there. Nor in the stagnant bay, of Marsh’s library, where you read the fading prophesies of Joachim Abbas.”

CALYPSO

“The belfry of St. George’s Church sent out constant peals….”

LOTUS EATERS

“From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the door of the post office. Too late box. Post here. No-one. In.”

“Better get that lotion made up. Where is this? Ah yes, the last time. Sweny’s in Lincoln Place. Chemists rarely move.”

“Mr. Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax.”

It is also where I bought my lemon soap

AEOLUS

Mr. Bloom turned and saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as a stately figure entered between the newsboards of the Weekly Freeman and National Press….”

One of the many plaques throughout the city this one located on Prince’s Street North

“I’m just running around to Bachelor’s Walk, Mr. Bloom said, abou this ad of Keyes’s. Want to fix it up.”

LESTRYGONIANS

“As he set foot on O’Connell Bridge, a puffball of smoke plummed up from the parapet….He halted again and bought from the old applewoman two Ban bury cakes for a penny and brook the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into the Liffey.”

Jay: Go stand by the sign.  Me: Should I kneel down? Jay: No you’re short enough. Me: *pulls face*

“He entered Davy Byrne’s. Moral pub. He doesn’t chat. Stands a drink now and then. I’ll take a glass of burgundy and let me see…have you a cheese sandwich?”

“A blind strippling stood tapping the curbstone with his slender cane. No trams in sight. Wants to cross….I”ll see you across. Do you want to go to Molesworth Street?”

SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS

“Mr. Bloom came to Kildare Street. First I must. Library….Urbane to comfort them, the Quaker librarian purred: And we have, have we not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister?

Not actually my photo since you couldn’t photograph the round room at the Dublin National Library

THE WANDERING ROCKS

“They looked from Trinity to the blind columned porch of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocooocooed.”

Trinity College

Mr Kernan turned and walked down the slope of Watling street by the corner of Guinness’s visitors’ waitingroom”

SIRENS

“Bronze by gold, Miss Douce’s head by Miss Kennedy’s head, over the crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel.”

The now vacant and soon to be demolished Ormond Hotel and Bar

CYCLOPS

“So we turned into Barney Kiernan’s and there sure enough was the citizen up in the corner having a great big confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink.”

The pub that was once known as Barney Kiernan’s

OXEN OF THE SUN

“In recent public controversy, with Mr. L. Bloom (Pubb. Canv.) which took place in the Commons Hall of the National Maternity Hospital 29, 30 and 31 Holles Street of which, as is well known, Dr. A Horne (Lic. in Midw., F. K. Q. C. P. I) is the able and popular master, he is reported by eyewitnesses as having stated that once a woman has let the cat into the bag (an esthetic allusion, presumably, to one of the most complicated and marvelous of all of nature’s processes, the act of sexual congress) she must let it out again or give it life, as he phrased it, to save her own.”

ITHACA

“At the housesteps of the 4th Of the equidifferent uneven numbers, number 7 Eccles street, he inserted his hand mechanically into the back pocket of his trousers to obtain his latchkey..”

The original door from 7 Eccles Street at the James Joyce Cultural Center

PENELOPE

“I saw him a few times in the Bleeding Horse in Camden Street with Boylan the Billsticker.”

Engraved in stone before the Bleeding Horse Pub

************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Thanks James.

James’ Death Mask at Martello Tower

.

Pink is a Color Not a Cure

It’s that time again.

Welcome to Pinktober where every dime you spend will go towards breast cancer research. Yeah! Huzzah! Excitement!

Except maybe it doesn’t.

You guys know that I love you all. And when you email me, as some of you have, and tell me that you’re doing X Y or Z for my behalf I am honored and flattered and humbled and showered in love and feeling ALL THE FEELINGS!

So that’s why I want YOU to put your money into something that will actually help women like me. Not all charities are build the same. So let’s take a look at some of the problem ones and some of the good ones, okay? That way we can make informed decisions.

Let’s all think before we pink.

Young Survivors Collation

I love YSC. The Young Survivors Collation is specifically for women under the age of 40 who were diagnosed with breast cancer. After my diagnosis I leaned on them a lot. It mattered that I had women that I could talk to – share stories with – share fear and laughter with. Supporting YSC is a great thing. No it doesn’t go towards physical health or research but it goes toward MENTAL health which is super important.

That said…..and I’m doing this in full disclosure. Revlon is sponsoring this fundraiser and according to the Environmental Working Group’s Skin Deep site, Revlon doesn’t have the best track record in terms of making products that don’t contribute to diseases. They are low for cancer but higher for immunotoxology. So this is your call.

2. Susan G. Komen

Ugh. Where do I start. Susan G. Komen has had its share of bad press – bullying other charities and for partnering with unhealthy business. Businesses like KFC (who serve hormone infused deep-fried animal protein which I promise you was not on the list of things my oncologist suggested I eat) and Baker Hughes (a leading drill bit company for fracking materials. Yes, fracking. The process that “injects possible and known carcinogens, including benzene, formaldehyde, and sulfuric acid, into the ground and surrounding environment.”)

But Ally, you say, business is business. Isn’t it more important that the money I donate to Susan G. Komen goes towards research? Yes. It is. Unfortunately 80% of the money they raise goes toward advocacy – towards spreading their message (what they call program expenses). So basically they raise money to keep talking about breast cancer. Last time I checked, with a 1 in 8 diagnosis statistics, women are pretty much well aware that breast cancer exists. What they weren’t getting was a cure – the thing Komen claimed to be working towards (though less than 5% of donations go towards research.) The thing they sued to have naming rights for.

3. Avon Walk to End Breast Cancer

Back in 2001, when my mother was diagnosed, my sisters and I did this walk. It felt good. I had hoped I was making a difference. I was wrong. Amy Lubitow and Mia Davis summed it up nicely here:

One of the most poignant instances of pinkwashing is the cosmetics giant Avon. The company launched the ‘‘Kiss Goodbye to Breast Cancer’’ campaign in 2001 with a fundraising lipstick in six shades (Courageous Spirit, Crusade Pink, Faithful Heart, Inspirational Life, Strength, and Triumph). Those lipsticks may have contained ingredients that disrupt hormone functions (which is in turn linked to breast cancer). The use of hormone disruptors is not uncommon in the cosmetics industry, and is not currently prohibited by U.S. law. Avon is one of the most recognizable corporate entities participating in the breast cancer awareness industry and according to the Massachusetts Breast Cancer Coalition (MBCC), more than 250 of Avon’s products listed in a database assessing the health risks of cosmetic products are listed in the ‘‘highest concern’’ category due to the presence of hormone disruptors, neurotoxins, and possible carcinogens. Avon and many other companies fall back on the claim that ‘‘it’s just a little bit’’ of carcinogen or hormone disruptor in a given product, despite the fact that we are all exposed to more than one product and to thousands of chemicals daily, and that low doses of these chemicals are very concerning.

Read the entire amazing paper here.

Just a little bit of carcinogen? Great. Cause I got just a little bit of cancer.

Pinkwashing is very real. It’s what Barbara Ehrenreich referred to as “bright-siding” – our culture’s obsession with positivity even during hardships. It’s the warrior attitude. And it’s pushed on cancer patients nonstop.

Story: When I was first seeing oncologists one in particular really pushed for me to get ACT (a very aggressive form of chemotherapy whose side effects include heart toxicity and leukemia). Lobular cancer, unlike ductal, doesn’t respond as well to chemotherapy. When I challenged this doctor he said  “You’re young. You can take it.” (here’s the poem I wrote about it). Basically he was saying, “You’re a warrior now Ally. Act like it”

I reject that.

I know that it is absolutely terrifying to sit next to a loved one who has been plagued with this terrible disease. I have done it with my own family. I have watched the havoc it has cause for my husband. But knee jerk donations to events that only perpetuate more events helps no one.

Pink ribbons don’t do shit. And Pinkwashing just wipes out whatever conversation we could be having about disease causation and treatment. It stops us from really learning how to end this. Buying a ribbon or a pink t-shirt or walking around Manhattan isn’t going to save the next person.

But research and science can.

I’m not saying don’t donate. I’m just saying donate towards something that IS searching for a cure though immunotheraphy (therapy that drive the body to recognize that cancer is there and problematic) and towards metastatic cancer. Only 5% of funding dollars goes towards trying to cure metastatic cancer. But it is the direct cause of 90% of all cancer deaths. You know what that means? If your cancer spreads from it’s primary location – like from the breast to the ribs – there’s nothing to be done other than management. Very few people live longer than 5 years with metastatic cancer.

There is so much work to be done – work that IS being done – and work that needs to be funded. So please instead of collecting ribbons, just give to science. Point being just don’t buy things full of cancer causing agents cause they’ve got a ribbon on it. They’re just looking for your money.

And finally if you want to know where I’m donating, it’s here. I think they have a real chance: The Breast Cancer Deadline.

2020 is our year. I know it.

I love you all. Have a wonderful beautiful October.

Peace love and starbursts

Ally

A Day in the Life of an Ally

…….A woman’s whole life in a single day. Just one day. And in that day her whole life…..

Tuesday September 8, 2015

5:08 am

7:07 am – 5 mile run

9:45 am

10:20 am

10:45 am

11:15 am

12:33 pm

1:45 pm

2:37 pm

4:17 pm

7:33 pm

8:02 pm

8:50 pm

9:45 pm

10:02 pm

We Contain Multitudes. With or Without the Little Dudes

First as always – the thanks yous:

Thanks to Your One Phone Call for giving this poem, Universe, a home and to Commonline Journal for accepting this one about waking up in the middle of surgery….cause that was all kinds of “awesome”.

************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Gustav Klimt’s Mother and Child painting

So I read this piece the other day by Amanda Palmer (musician, living statue, author, shit stirrer and soon to be new mother) a response to a fan who was displeased with her (Amanda’s) decision to procreate and it really struck a nerve which, considering I don’t have children, I found sort of odd.

A little background on that whole childless/free thing. My husband and I are both writers who keep full time jobs. That means that in order to get the real work done, we need to make sacrifices. The main sacrifice we have made for the last decade is sleep. We both get up at 4:30 in the morning, five days a week, in order to get some writing done. On the whole it’s been a fair trade. Prior to doing this I barely got anything done. Since then I’ve written 3 novels and 2 books of poetry almost all of which has been accepted for publication or already published. So though I’m dead in the water by 10 pm, I still do it.

That said, we have at different periods in our life both causally and seriously debated having children. I know lots of people that are and have been decidedly in one camp or the other but for me, I feel as though the uncertainty about this choice is how I knew I was taking it seriously.

Like if I was 100% YES KIDS or 100% NO FOOKING WAY then maybe I wasn’t really thinking the whole thing through. There’s good and bad to everything when you put it on the scales.

So we waffled for awhile and then, over time, as our lives changed and we traveled more, we slid down the shoot into the No Thanks Camp.

And then I got cancer.

The first oncologist I saw, rather condescendingly, told me to save my eggs because even if I *think* I don’t want kids, he’s seen loads of women regret that choice and you’re only 37 blah blah blah. Needless to say, this guy isn’t my doctor. Once treatment actually started another doctor posed the same question and when we told him no, we weren’t having kids, he mimed wiping sweat off his brow and said, “Oh good. That makes my job way easier.”

And there it was. Crystalized and sharp, like a knife cut.

The thing that I had always been empowered by, the CHOICE that I had made and subsequently re-made was magically no  longer a choice.

It went from being a thing that I did, to a thing that was done to me.

In case you don’t understand, these are very very different things.

And my feelings about it were a surprise even to me.

I wrote a poem about this exact thing in which I said this:

And right there everything comes together

Needlepoint sharp.

I see the split in the road and it is permanent.

There is a cold hard difference

between setting down something precious

and having it pulled from your hands

still wet with afterbirth.

And in that moment I learned that we contain more multitudes than we even realize.

So when Amanda responded to a fan who proposed that now that she was going to have a kid that she would be incapable of making good art, or art at all, it got me thinking….if this disease hadn’t happened to me, if my husband and I had changed our minds, how we would manage to make art with a child?

I believe in my commitment to writing. Even though it’s hard, I pull myself out of the bed, I stare at that empty screen every morning and try to cobble together some record of what it’s been like to live in this world, in this life. And I believe that if the desire was strong enough, we would have a kid and find a way to make it work. I have no idea how but I believe in us enough to know that we would. It might have been messy and it might have been hard but we would have done it.

Like Amanda says, “Jump and the net shall appear.”

To say that mothers can’t be artists or artists can’t be mothers is to, once again, limit the potential that women have. To tell them that with their one beautiful life, the only one they will ever have, they can only choose to be one thing.

I reject that.

Did anyone send Amanda’s husband a similar letter? I can see it now:

Dear Neil Gaiman,

Now that you’re a father, I guess all the award winning books and stories are going to turn into sentimental schlock because that’s what fathers do, right?

Signed,

A Disappointed Fan

No. Of course not. That sounds ludicrous. Because the American dream, i.e. I Can Be/Have/Do Anything I Want As Long As I Work Hard Enough isn’t applied across the board evenly.

Or maybe it’s because America doesn’t consider art-making “real work.”

The same way it doesn’t consider motherhood to be “real work.”

Every time we limit ourselves to one signifying descriptor, we lose the chance to find something amazing in ourselves, our lives and the people around us.

These terms are just terms. They don’t have to have power. Women have always made art. And they have always been mothers. Men have always made art and they have always been fathers.

And business men

And we have always been sons and daughters.

And leaders and liars.

And thieves and lovers

and kings and queens.

The point is we all contain multitudes with or without the little dudes.

Peace, love and starbursts,

Ally

P.S. – here’s a great list of books that address this whole motherhood and art thing. And this movie!

How to write about writing when you’re not writing

The dreaded blue cancer folder

Hi.

So I took the week off writing thinking that I would get this new book in order (in my head at least) and of course that hasn’t happened.

But here’s a few cool things that did happen:

I got a piece published by xojane.com. It’s my first foray into nonfiction and the fact that it’s Jane Pratt, of Jane and Sassy magazine fame is pretty exciting. Sixteen year old me is basically convinced that I have reached the highest possible publishing high imaginable. You can read it here.
Many thanks to Stephen at Dead Snakes for taking these poems.
And to Dissident Voices for publishing this How To Be An American poem.
And speaking of the How To Be An American book, my publisher sent me some pdfs and the proofs are on their way and guys, seriously, the cover is by the amazing Oscar Varona (here’s some of his work!) and I just love it. I’m really excited about this book. It’s been a really interesting experiment in privilege (assumed and real) and paying attention and really listening to how people perceive the way Americans think and act. The good and especially the bad. The book should be out soon and I’m interested in putting together a reading so my fellow NYC poets, CALL ME! We can do this together. It’ll be a party!
And finally, now that I have dipped my toe into nonfiction writing I’ve got another idea brewing and I need your help!

Here’s what I posted on facebook, twitter and the YSC (Young Survivors Coalition website – which is an amazing group of women, under 40, with breast cancer)

I NEED SOME HELP!

So I want to write a “thing” (article? blog post? I don’t know yet) on the cancer self-blame/other-blame thing.

Things I’m looking for from you guys would be stories that you personally experienced as a caregiver or a patient, or a family member, or a friend etc. Nearly everyone I know has in some way been touched by cancer so I know you’ve got some good stories.

For example that knee jerk reaction that most people have when they hear that someone got lung cancer to ask if they were a smoker.

Or comments about eating the wrong things, not using suntan lotion, not having kids, drinking, smoking, oral sex (looking at your Michael Douglas), whatever you’ve got.

My story: When I saw my surgeon for the first time, I had to fill out an intake form. One of the questions was how much did I drink. My surgeon immediately latched onto this. At a very vulnerable time, 2 days after diagnosis, the seed was planted that this was my fault. That I caused my cancer. A year and 2 months out, I’m still trying to dig that out my head.

Share your stories with me. Cancer has a wicked blame stigma (much like HIV) because it’s this boogeyman that everyone grew up with. I want to talk about this stigma.

If you don’t feel comfortable leaving comments, then message me or email: ally dot malinenko at gmail dot com

And please SHARE this with anyone you think might have a story to tell. Let’s change things.

Thanks guys!

So there you go. Susan Sontag wrote about this blame/shame/game in Illness as Metaphor. If you’ve got a story or experience please let me know. So far people have shared really amazing bits – comments nurses have made about organic eating…patients who have demonized their past and convinced themselves that they have thrown off the trajectory of the life they were supposed to have…. a patient being told that her husband’s smoking caused her cancer, etc. And it’s not that people do this because they are mean or judgmental, it’s just that cancer is scary and so very misunderstood. When people hear that someone has been diagnosed, especially someone young, they immediately need to draw the line between them. What did person X do that I’m doing? How can I save myself?

The line of thinking is somewhere along this: “Oh you smoked, That’s why you got lung cancer. Oh your eating was bad? That’s why you got (fill in the blank) cancer.” But that discounts all the healthy people who get cancer – the ones who never smoked or drank or ate bad food or got fat. It can’t always be explained away so easily. In fact more evidence is pointing towards bad luck. I think the car analogy in that piece is especially telling.

Anyway, I want to talk about this. So if you’ve got a story (even if it’s about another illness) then please share. You can comment or email me (in the about page) whatever works.

In the meantime, remember, a little empathy goes a long way.

Peace, Love and Starbursts,

Ally