About Me — Adelia Ritchie. How It All Began — An unexpected…
By: Adelia Ritchie
Tags: Poetry, Travel, Introduction, Life, About Me

About Me — Adelia Ritchie

How It All Began — An unexpected eruption of poetry

Eyjafjallajökull volcano. Photo by Marc Szeglat on Unsplash

Around ten years ago — it was the month of April, National Poetry Month — one of my Seattle buddies sent out a Facebook challenge to all her friends, relatives, coworkers, and marginal acquaintances: “Let’s each write a poem every day for thirty days and share them!”

As I’ve confessed elsewhere, I’m a recovering technical writer and systems engineer –– quite the opposite of a poet. During those years, I was working internationally, finding myself in countries I had never dreamed of visiting, like Jordan, Bulgaria, Colombia, Albania, the Philippines, and many more.

The “Adelia Bar,” Vilnius, Lithuania. Photo by author.

That particular April of 2010, I found myself in Vilnius, Lithuania, staying in a beautiful downtown hotel with a lounge bar named “Adelia.” I knew immediately that I was in a good place. The weather was clear and crisp, my teammates were fun and fabulous, and there was much to explore once our work was done.

Normally, those international trips were one week long, where we’d arrive on a Saturday and by Monday morning we’d have conquered jet lag and were ready to report for duty. The following weekend would be for souvenir shopping and exploring places we’d not likely ever get back to again –– and then on to the next gig.

I had written a quick few poems in the week leading up to my trip — mostly limericks or silly schoolgirl rhymes. Not being a poet, I felt pressured — every day a new idea, inspiration, or story had to bubble up in language other than my tech writer’s third-person, past-tense, dry, scientific expositions.

Me, my co-worker, two irritable Segways, and King Mindaugas. Photo by Author.

Luckily, after spraining my ankle during a foolish engagement with an irritable Segway, there was still something to do while I recovered in my hotel room –– write a poem each day and post it to Facebook. It was also helpful that the “Adelia Bar” downstairs accommodated my injury with frequent room service.

And then, on April 14, on a Wednesday, the Iceland volcano unpronounceably named Eyjafjallajökull blew its top and sent a cataclysmic plume of ash into the stratosphere, grounding all air traffic into and out of Europe for nearly two weeks. So there we were, stranded in a country whose language is impossible, for who knew how long.

Over the next 10 days or so, I spent a lot of time alone with my namesake Adelia, whose refreshing European beers lubricated my thoughts and my poetic pipeline. And out popped the poems, one after another! Long ones, short ones, ekphrastic ones (although it would be years until I learned that term), rhymes, and even a few essays.

By the time I got back to the States, I had written more than 30 little poems, each one paired up with one of my own photos, sketches, or paintings. I eventually collected these into a self-published chapbook unoriginally entitled Leaves of Glass, and gleefully sent them as holiday gifts to everyone I knew. I was beginning to enjoy this!

But the one event that changed the course of the rest of my life (so far) was when I entered one of those poems into “Poetry Corners,” a competitive event held every year on Bainbridge Island, WA. All the local poets submitted their best poems, and those chosen were printed as posters and displayed during National Poetry Month for all the locals to enjoy in the shop and restaurant windows that line the main street of town.

At the end of the month, there was a grand reception and poetry reading event at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art (BIMA). My poem had been accepted, and I was invited to read it aloud in front of a lively and receptive audience. There I met Nancy Rekow, a “Bainbridge Island Treasure” and hostess of the Poetry Corners event.

Although I still hesitate to call myself a real poet, under Nancy’s caring tutelage in her weekly writing workshops, my confidence grew and I began to find my own poetic voice.

Yes, there’s more to poetry than rhymes and limericks. Now, when I write, sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh out loud, and sometimes I just feel better than I felt before. Sometimes I throw a handful of words into the air and listen to the sounds they make as they land on the page. Sometimes a photograph writes its own story through my hand.

And every time I pick up my pen or my laptop, I marvel at how a single Facebook challenge could alter the rotation of my universe and provide a cure to the insidious “tech writer’s disorder” that I didn’t even know I was suffering from.

Destiny? Perhaps. Perhaps I’ll write a poem about it.

Adelia Ritchie 2020