Suck it, 2012.

Delayed by regular bouts of stress and anxiety, behold: my belated post about how 2012 can piss off.

Now, I'm not a negative person. Really. I love life. I love walking my dog in the park, even when glared at by the homeless guy sleeping on the bench. I donate to The Sierra Club to save the Gray Wolf pups in peril at Yellowstone National Park. I genuinely enjoy giving my friends and family presents I know they will love. I like talking others out of their funks. Babies still creep me out, but I'll still smile at one and I might even speak to it. In other words, I am a consistently positive and chipper gal.

But seriously: fuck you, 2012.  And 2013: you're kind of being a shithead, too.

I won't list the many reasons why 2012 has sucked for me personally, but I will offer some perspective on said reasons. The first is that while I am still frustrated over things that happened, I am not dense enough to be unthankful for some of the good things. Publications, awards, praise, teaching work that I love, fun times with good friends. I saw TDKR and The Hobbit (twice). I was the TARDIS for Halloween. I discovered the benefits of avocado oil. We finally got a Lush store in town (OMGOMGOMG). For all the shitfights endured last year, I do know that the amazing things in my life far outweigh the bad times. Nevertheless, as my second perspective, I am shocked at the behavior of certain people in my life and just people in general. I guess this goes without saying, but people--even those closest to you--can be so callous and cruel. That makes me sad.  Sincerely. Maybe I'm a sentimentalist. Maybe I should watch less TV, or incorporate more fiber in my diet, or volunteer at shelter. Maybe I shouldn't rehash the painful situations over and over in my head. Maybe I should try to care less. Maybe that would lessen the shock over how badly people can treat others. I doubt it.

So yeah, the overall  disappointment quotient of 2012 is way too high, comparing to other years. And what makes 2012 stand out most of all is that I tried really hard to do good work. Hell, I'll say it: I busted my ass last year trying to do the best work possible, both personally and professionally. And still, the shit storm raged. Yes, this is horrid whining. I've had a couple beers and I'm in histrionic mode. I don't care. Not to mention the general state of malaise in our country with maniac gun-toting assholes killing innocent people, inept politicians driving our country into the dark ages,  women's rights nearly being obliterated, and an economy wheezing an ominous death rattle. It makes a girl want to curl up in bed and watch 7th Heaven episodes until the zombies hoard the streets, or plagues and famine decimate the population.  BAH.

So 2013 started off horribly, which I will (positively) attribute to a stubborn 2012 and its residual malady. There's still good left in you, 2013. There are some good things which will be as amazing as I anticipate. AWP Boston is coming up in March, some summer holiday plans are in the works, my 211 students are absolute darlings, and next September is the beginning of my final year in my MFA program. It's all happening! I think.

Carver, "Cathedral," Cake

POP QUIZ! Which sometimes-blogger celebrated her 6th birthday on the same day (August 2nd 1988) that Raymond Carver died? 

I think that year my mother made a Muppet Babies cake for me. Or maybe My Little Pony? Anyway, I just realized this fact after doing some research on Carver for a lit class I'm TA-ing for this summer. I thought I'd post up my notes meant for the ENG 336 students to engage in critical discourse of the text (read: mild scholarship, a little dry). JUST 'SCUZ.

Inciting Incident

“Cathedral” is an example of Carver’s ostensibly simple story featuring characters from Middle America who exhibit the anxieties with either their work, their love lives, or their identity. The unnamed narrator in “Cathedral” and his wife anticipate the arrival of the wife’s old friend with whom she has kept in contact. The narrator is upset about Robert’s visit, namely because he is blind and he is prejudiced against blind people, while the wife is excited to have him visit. In the first paragraph, we establish that the narrator’s distain for blind people indicates an awareness of how he lacks intimacy, while the wife’s anticipation for his visit indicates her yearning for intimacy. Right from the start, we learn that there is this tension between husband and wife, and Robert’s visit is somehow going to exacerbate  or alleviate this tension.

Rising Action: Flashbacks

As you read in this week’s reading in The Art of the Short Story, the plot only takes place in the span of four or five hours, from suppertime until late at night. However, Carver intersperses this action with background from what his wife has told him. Starting on the second paragraph, the narrator tells the history of his wife’s friendship with the Robert. It’s no secret the narrator harbors a blunt dislike of him and of blind people in general: “And it bothered me that he was blind.” Note how he reveals his obtuse prejudice and disregard for the whole situation. He drinks constantly and glazes over seemingly important details which are meaningful to his wife:

“But she was in love with [her first husband], and he was in love with her, etc.” “So okay. I’m saying that at the end of the summer she let the blind man run his hands all over her face, said goodbye to him, married her childhood etc., who was now a commissioned officer, and she moved away from Seattle.”

We know these details mean the world to his wife because she writes poems about them—her life with her first husband, their divorce, the incident with Robert touching her face—while her husband simply brushes them off with “etc.” Through the narrator’s telling of his wife’s backstory, we understand his unwillingness to acknowledge the emotional impact of these details, we see his present nature as someone who is incapable of intimacy and emotionally detached, which adds tension and advances the plot of the story.

Rising Action: Reversals of Preconceptions

When we resume the plot about four pages into the story (starting with “Now this time the blind man was coming to sleep in my house”), we know that the narrator’s negativity is going to be challenged—he is ripe for change. The moment Robert visits, all of the narrator’s prejudices about blind people are proven wrong. Robert doesn’t move slowly, he doesn’t use a cane, he doesn’t wear glasses, he is affable and speaks confidently, and he even sports a beard—which the narrator’s finds unbelievable, probably because he finds no use in having facial hair if you can’t see it. Note how Robert consistently strokes his beard, dispelling another stereotype for the narrator—he sees is as a pointless thing to have a beard, while Robert is satisfied by touching his beard and even sniffing it. The narrator sees tangibility as only what one can see, but the blind man uses his other senses to find tangible meaning.

When the narrator invites Robert to drink and smoke marijuana and when Robert accepts, more of the narrator’s stereotypes are broken. During the cathedral documentary on  the television, the narrator’s need to explain the physical details of the cathedrals to Robert indicates his growing need to communicate with him. He is unable to properly describe the cathedrals and admits his spiritual deprivation:

“You’ll have to forgive me…But I can’t tell you what a cathedral looks like. It just isn’t in me to do it. I can’t do it any more than I’ve done…The truth is, cathedrals don’t mean anything special to me. Nothing. Cathedrals. They’re something to look at on late-night TV. That’s all they are.”

At this point, the narrator lacks the vitality that Robert, despite his “handicap,” assumes completely. The narrator is nervous, drinks constantly, smokes marijuana to mask his insecurities while Robert, on the other hand, is comfortable, knowledgeable, worldly and, most importantly, he is kind. This leaves the narrator completely unmoored.

We see this plot reversal take place after his inability to describe the cathedral and admits to being devoid of any spiritual meaning. Once he realizes that Robert, a man he once considered revolting, is humanized and actually a decent person, the narrator is ready for his revelation moment. The cathedral is the subject of their conversation, but it becomes much more than that. It serves as a way to reach the narrator and show him to see things differently.

Crisis Action as Epiphany

Like the final reversal and recognition with Gabriel Conroy in “The Dead,” the narrator’s epiphany comes after all his barriers are broken. The tension between the two men and the narrator’s wife comes to a head when Robert suggests holding his hand as he draws a cathedral. When the blind man puts his hands on the narrator’s, he is showing him that even without sight, he is capable of finding meaning in his life. Even when Robert tells him to open his eyes, the narrator doesn’t want to, and his not opening his eyes works as the external action of his mostly epiphanal crisis action. He has realized that clear sight is more than a visual experience. There is irony in the blind man helping the non-blind man “see” for the first time.

Conclusion

While most of Carver’s writing focuses on depressed, morally or emotionally bankrupt people facing harsh truths and disappointments in their lives, “Cathedral” seems to exhibit a character that changes for the best and grows from his own prejudices after his revelation.  It is a story of optimism and hope—as the narrator himself expresses sentimentally, “It’s really something.”

the peafowl

lately i've been thinking a lot about ambiguity. its uses, its flaws, its various applications throughout literature and history. cleopatra, for one, was famous for her impetuous femininity and impervious pride; the strength that trait this allowed her both politically and socially. queen elizabeth was famous as the virgin queen, but her the variety in her iconography is really her lasting legacy. she was, as most know, NOT a virgin, only branded so to perpetuate her loyalty to the english empire. elizabeth was also praised for her pageantry and coquetry, for example the "faerie queen" by spenser, to lure suitors to take over the throne, an act that would satisfy the patriarchal paradigm touted by the house of commons. when she remained unmarried and considered too old to marry, she assumed the chastity of the moon goddess Diana or Cynthia as symbol of a perpetually virginal "bride" to her "husband" england. what i'm getting at is that, over the years, women in power have been necessitated, as politically and socially repressed subjects, to rely on their ambiguous nature to survive.




which brings me to peacocks.



the peacock's symbolism is varied: renewal, pride, beauty, resurrection, "all seeing." researching the bird led me to an interesting quote about flannery o'connor and her fascination with peacocks:



"Among the many fascinating tales and lore of the peacock which P. Thankappan Nair includes in his article “The Peacock Cult in Asia” is the following quotation:It is an unfortunate tendency of the English mind to seize what seems to it grotesque or ungainly in an unfamiliar object; thus the elephant and the peacock have become almost impossible in English poetry because the one is associated with lumbering heaviness and the other with absurd strutting. The tendency of the Hindu mind on the other hand is to seize on what is pleasing and beautiful in all things and turn to see charm where the English mind sees a deformity and to extract poetry and grace from the ugly."

of course, i'm a huge flannery o'connor fan and i've always been curious about her predilection with peacocks. my only encounter with a peacock was in australia on a cattle farm, where they were mean and obnoxious and woke me up with this insufferable screeching early in the morning. but over the years, i've become more interested in the creature. as i've researched the feminine quality of ambiguity, i was reminded of the peacock. the quote above in how people perceive the unfamiliar, as either grotesque or beautiful. this nebulous divide between the absurdity and gracefulness reminds me of the ambiguous nature of anomalies, such as women in power. how they must be everything and nothing, constantly changing, in order to survive. and how the western patriarchal constructs have repeatedly misunderstood these multitude of meanings. kind of a "how do you solve a problem like maria" sentiment. well, i dig it. what was once an annoying creature has now become an object of fascination. while i'm not a bird person in the sense that i could walk among them and feel completely comfortable (at a young age, i was attacked by a goose that bit my ankles while at an amusement park--a harrowing ordeal), i love the symbolism attached to them. and i appreciate (from afar) their beauty and complexity.




so here's some cool-looking peacock tattoos. i've been thinking about adding some onto my arm with one of my favorite quotes by miss flannery, an homage to one of my favorite writers. and also something to commemorate a kind of big birthday coming up in august. or, it's supposed to be a big birthday or whatever. i don't care. i just want to dance, read books, and get peacock tattoos.

several arrows later

i loved it when i had time to do silly things.

three things in contemplation for the upcoming all hallows eve

1. Percy Bysshe Shelley knew what's up:

‘Thou taintest all thou lookest upon! -the stars,
Which on thy cradle beamed so brightly sweet,
Were gods to the distempered playfulness
Of thy untutored infancy; the trees,
The grass, the clouds, the mountains and the sea,
All living things that walk, swim, creep or fly,
Were gods...

Awhile thou stood’st
Baffled and gloomy; then thou didst sum up
The elements of all that thou didst know;
The changing seasons, winter’s leafless reign,
The budding of the heaven-breathing trees,
The eternal orbs that beautify the night,
The sunrise, and the setting of the moon,
Earthquakes and wars, and poisons and disease,
And all their causes, to an abstract point
Converging thou didst bend, and called it God!

-Shelley, Queen Mab


the language is sublime and i love how it exalts the mystery and beauty of nature, but also it is such an affront to monotheism. kind of badass for a 21-year-old kid in 1813.

2. luna lovegood, my unlikely literary crush.

my brother and his wife are throwing a harry potter halloween bash this year. it had been a while since i read the novels and i was a little hesitant but willing to participate because my brother and his wife are pretty rad people and boston is awesome this time of the year. i received a text from my brother that stated simply "we've decided you are luna lovegood." at first, i was anxious to research other HP characters to be for the party, but the more i researched luna and revisited her part in the novels, the more i became entranced. i've discovered how likely a candidate i am to portray her, and how much i like the character. when i tell people that's who i am for halloween, i've noticed people squint their eyes and smile and say, "yeah, you'd be a good luna." luna is quirky and dreamy and a little spacey, but always observant and intelligent.

"Mistletoe," said Luna dreamily, pointing at a large clump of white berries placed almost over Harry's head. He jumped out from under it. "Good thinking," said Luna seriously. "It's often infested with nargles."

3. all the amazing things coming up in november and december. i'm so excited to enjoy one of my favorite holidays with my awesome family (brother: remus lupin, sister-in-law: professor minerva mcgonagall, sister: pansy parkinson) and then get back to work. publications, finals, readings, interviews with famous people, and the holiday season. happy halloween everybody!

oh, and...

HAPPY SEPTEMBER! autumn, my favorite season, is nigh. and virginia about to become gorgeous.

for those who don't know: virginia is magical.

also, september is notorious for being the month that my brother and boyfriend celebrate their birthdays.  (coincidence that they are both virgos?) random fact for septemberists out there: september's birthstone is the sapphire, not only the moniker for author, but it also represents clear thinking. most excellent.

so for now, i will listen to matt pond pa (personal choice for back-to-school autumn music) and read my books because:

currently reading...

since there are several books on rotation, i'll make a list. 

1. The Italian, Anne Radcliffe. lots of unrequited love and phantasmal hooded monks. 

2. Romanticism, Sharon Ruston. lots of european post-enlightenment drama. 

pink highlighting=learning.

3. The Octopus, Frank Norris. for reasons beyond my control (hurricanes and shitty amazon shipping), i was unable to even procure this book and start reading this until today, even though i should have been reading it for a while now. so far, all i can say is it not about cephalopods (even though they are fascinating and i'd LOVE to read a book about them). but there are lots of upset farmers and greedy railroad owners.

an epitaph for summer 2011

okay, i do realize it's not quite the end of summer, but you know you're excited for fall. right? right?? here along the lovely shores of virginia, i can feel the crispness sneaking into the breeze and i want to sprint upstairs to my apartment, throw open the closet doors and unharness the legion of cardigans lurking within. also,  first semester of my MFA has officially commenced and weather notwithstanding, summer is O-VAH.

and so: i am writing an epitaph for my summer 2011 in efforts to both brief you, constant reader, on my whereabouts of late and also to commemorate a season that has been hectic, yet fortuitous and insightful.

in memory of summer 2011 (b. 31 may 2011 d. 30 august 2011) --

from the very beginning, you were a bustling, fussy little creature! when i was moving to my new apartment in norfolk during memorial day weekend (which was, previous to this time, a great idea), you had to bring the heat wave early. naughty little whippersnapper! me and my boyfriend thought we could surely transport our belongings to the second floor of our condo ourselves with a fair amount of effort. nothing we couldn't handle. bananas! thanks to your record humidity, we were dripping with sweat before we even began moiling. also, because we lacked the foresight to call the power company prior to the holiday weekend, we were entrenched in the sweltering second floor of a circa 1920s building for nearly a week.

ah, home!

and it wouldn't have been fun unless i got into a car accident the day before we were to move, ensued by insurance claims and chiropractors appointments for the next 3 months...

nevertheless! we settled into our new place nicely. tucked our jeans and leggings into the closets, donned the artwork on the walls, and (after a heated telephonic skirmish with ikea over botched deliveries) plopped cute pillows on our brand new 9-ft tranas light brown sofa. i find it quite fetching, and i'm pleased to inform you, adored reader, that reggie approves it on all accounts, mostly because it is exceptional for stretching out during afternoon puppy naps:

look at the cute puppy, ignore the greasy haired girl

but that's not all summer, that wily minx, had in store for me. i was fortunate enough to be associated with and newly employed by a phenomenal organization, The Muse Writers Center. I taught a teen writing workshop this summer past, and I couldn't be more thrilled at having such an experience. My students were purveyors of wild and imaginative and compelling stories, equally compassionate and salient writers, and just damn awesome pre-adults. i left each class feeling energetic and confident and, okay i'll say it, optimistic. for myself and for our collective future as a human society. i hope each of these kids is elected some form of public office, because i have full confidence that they will solve difficult problems and imagine a better world and make it happen. in short, i think i understood what it was like to be a teacher and feel as if you might have formed some modicum of a positive change in a young person's life.

yes, i realize that it's just my first class and i haven't even breached the tribulations of what it means to live the life of a full-time teacher. however, i'd be lying if i said i don't dream of growing old and quirky, tenured at a respectable institution, beloved by my students and admired by my colleagues. a female mr. chips, if you will. or:

it could happen.

summertime was also a fine time to traverse the great state of new york. namely: watkins glen. ny's gorgeous mountainous skyline makes you feel like doing cartwheels and the view of seneca lake along rte 414 is absolutely breathtaking, but watkins glen is also location of the finger lakes wine festival. i'm opportune enough to have family ties to this area, so me and the boyfriend packed up the pug and trekked north for a visit. thus, wine-drinking and some QT with the fam ensued:

behold, shopping carts of wine.

and since i'm a leo and i'm supposed to be some kind of proud feline beast, i also have to gloat that my birthday was a fantastic one (8/2/82...pretty neat, eh? i think so).

summer 2011, you brought me some awesome hangouts with friends, you brought my favorite band to a nearby venue, and you gave me the opportunity to explore the lovely city baltimore, wherein we drank great craft beer, visited an aquarium (an awfully brave act on my part), spent some QT with edgar allen poe, and caught an orioles game. 

IN A PHOTO MONTAGE:

i didn't swoon. but i was close.

heavy seas brewery. hit up the early morning tour for a healthy and delicious breakfast.

at the aquarium, anxiety level is low

this is not scary, just disturbing.

not pictured: empty liquor bottles scattering atop and behind the headstone.

birdland

lastly, summer bequeathed to me even more good fortune. i was the recipient of a scholarship for my MFA program (which will be used primarily for books and dark roast coffee). also,  one of my stories will be published in the future issue of a pretty neat literary magazine!  i won't include a link until they post the issue for sale (since they're biannual, it's slated to publish later in the year), but expect a link to it in future blogs!

and so, summer, upon your annual farewell to hibernate until next may, i want to say: "hey, thanks mamacita.  so...maybe if i'm good and i work really hard, next year you'll give me a polished book, ready to be devoured and loved by the publishing world. yeah?"

currently reading...

this weekend past, i attended a writing conference at christopher newport university (where "barmaiden of kulgera" placed in best nonfiction category!) and was lucky enough to cross paths with one robert day. i cannot stress this enough: the man, at 70 years old (he made sure to let us know this several times), had more passion and knowledge about the craft of writing than  most of my college english professors. he taught two workshops, one about first person fiction techniques and the other about third person techniques. both workshops were insightful and fun and inspiring, which should be the distinguishing features of any decent writing workshop. i learned about the genius of katherine anne porter's dueling POVs, the nature of a crooked cigarette, and essential tips for utilizing narration, exposition, and description in prose. also, mr. day has planted in me the desire to become a ranch hand in kansas. one day.

which brings me to his novel, the last cattle drive. i'm about a 1/3 of the way finished and it's a fantastic read. set in kansas, it centers on a recent college graduate who moves to a small town in the western part of the state to teach at the local school. come summertime, he takes a job helping on a local cattle ranch. day's characters are hilarious and flawed and deeply human, and i'm reading the book rather quickly because i love it so much. sadly, it's probably going to be one of those books that i plow through greedily and then slow down and savor the last chapter, not wanting it to end.

success!

this is the face of a future ODU creative writing MFA student

do your thing, petty.

the waiting is the hardest part. -tom petty.

things i like this week that have nothing to do with writing.

CRAFTS. especially this one:

now that i have time to spare, arts (and farts, for those who get the reference) and crafts are the pastimes i look forward to pursuing again. also, i once painted my room this exact same paint color (lemongrass) and my roommates made fun of me. now it's on re-nest. i do believe genevieve gorder would approve.


another thing i am loving right now is one that got me through the anxiety attack that i detailed in the previous post. that, my invisible friends, is better your body bootcamp. there's a version of it, i'm sure, in most areas. my own bootcamp varies in size and age and the amount of people that show up, but the core group we now have is awesome. our bootcamp instructor has right mix of tough-guy "summer's coming, ladies, ya'll need to keep reppin' squats if you want to look good in that bikini" attitude and also the quiet patience with the more stubborn bootcampers. although, he did kick out one nasty bird after she refused to do a squat thrust.  anyway, i always feel happy after i finish the hour workout and even though i've gained more muscle weight than i care to admit, i think it's good for me. once i get this 1200 calorie diet thing down, i might even be svelte enough to walk around on a beach without dashing for a coverup. hell, come july, i might even buy jeggings.

okay, jeggings won't happen. maybe pajama jeans?

sorry for the hiatus, imaginary interwebs folks, but i had some work to do...

i turned in my last application four days ago on a beautiful sunny afternoon in norfolk, va. i came home and checked my email, wondering if i'd gotten any good news yet. i looked like this:

except i'm a chick. and a little older (but not by much...yeah).

today i had a stressful experience which, to its credit, ended with a glimmer of optimism. a glimmer? maybe sliver of optimistic light. who knows. i won't go into the experience, but let's say my seemingly normal work day spiraled downward until i was crying in my car waiting outside my gynecologist's office for my upcoming yearly appointment (which i was so close to canceling, but decided to soldier on anyway). next thing i know i'm bawling and naked (draped only in that awful pastel XXL gown that opens only in the front) and they can't get a steady blood pressure reading and all i can do is blubber about how i'll never get into an mfa program. as if gynecologist appointments aren't embarrassing enough. so, that being said and out there in interwebs-land, i am faced with a conundrum i can't quite argue for or against. now i look like this:

only that doll is creepy and my teddy bear is a pug named reggie.

as some mfa applicants know, there's a blog for us. one of the options in the blog is to subscribe to this CW application responses database. once you subscribe, you are updated with all the responses other applicants have received from their respective programs. this also offers other applicants a peek into which schools have responded to whom and when, so that you might have an idea of what your own response might be, and when it might be coming. IOW, if a bunch of fiction applicants just got word of their acceptance to vanderbilt on february 11 and you haven't heard zilch come march, the chances of you getting an acceptance are slim to none.

now, knowing this resource is out there for me, i am wondering if i should subscribe. having subscribed to some posts on this blog, i realize that my gmail account will be exploding like an independence day bbq. but do i want these emails? do i really want to know who got in and when? do i really want to torture myself with daily--more accurately, on the minute--news on the acceptances from other applicants? won't i find out either way? yes, but somehow, i feel as if i know that one school is completely out of the picture for me, the blow will be less shocking. after all, seth abrams does argue this case in his introduction to the database, and it makes sense. but whether or not this will be of any help to me is a purely subjective thing. some people want to know as soon as humanly possible the grade on their term paper, or which person they will end up marrying, or, more sordidly, when they will die. others choose to live in intentional denial, and when such events happen, they happen. after all, those issues are out of one's hands once that letter is signed, sealed, and delivered.

you see, i'm now sitting in the waiting room. do i kick back with my ipod, leaf through a tattered in touch magazine, and find a comfortable spot? or should i pace a worn path around the room, jump every time the door opens, and keep bugging the receptionist about when i'll get to see the doctor?

shameless self-promotion

so, i got published!

for all those who want to read my story, check it out here.

it's also a part of anthology called bearing north, check that out here.

special thanks to the editors at midwest literary magazine!

GRE - DONE!

GRE: i'm so difficult and everyone's afraid of me. you'll never defeat me.

lauren: bump that. i haven't taken a math class in seven years and i still got a decent score. also, your analytical writing section is a joke. might as well have asked me to list the reasons why i like puppies. 

GRE: but you almost ran out of time on the verbal section! i could sense your fear and your score shall suffer!

lauren: whatevs. my verbal score is fine. also, your interface is straight busted. 
U G L Y. 

GRE: ...your mom!

lauren: good one.  

essays malaise

tomorrow is the day i'm finishing up the last 4 of my essays, and i can say with relative authority that writing the personal essay/statement of purpose/ goals assessment/ whatever the school wishes to call it is the most difficult part of the application. to me, they're all the same. that is to say, i am using the same method to write each essay. Vince Gotera's article has been a humongous influence on my method. consequently, i think i wrote a damn good essay because of it.

ay, but there are some of my schools that don't fit in this paradigm. they want specific questions addressed. they have word count limit. or a page limit. or they want me to write an essay on what graduate study means to me. which excludes part of the applicant pool who, like me, already have a graduate degree. what does it mean to me? it means i already got my graduate degree. (woo hoo?) but that's not what an MFA degree means to me.

what i want to write about is the passion i get from writing. putting words down on a page and change something. change myself? the reader? i don't care.

part of me wants to write something to make someone go, "what the hell? is this writer messing with me?" someone actually said this in a writing group recently. the workshopper wrote in the margin, "i wonder if you are messing with our heads." it was a fantastic compliment. if i can make you think twice about something i wrote, make you wonder whether the character is sexy or weird, tangible or a dream, trustworthy or a liar, then i think that's good. i've done what i want to do. that's where my passion is. getting better at messing with people's heads.

because i'm not a scientist or a philosopher or a filmmaker or a politician, this is my only platform to get people thinking. as much as i'd love to be the next jk rowling or charlaine harris or stephanie meyer (no offense to any of those writers),  i'd rather be the next amy hempel or raymond carver or shirley jackson. hell, shirley jackson had piles of hate mail sent to her when she published "the lottery" in the new yorker in 1948 (detailed in come along with me). i want that response. i spend way too much personal time attempting to please other people. writing allows me to piss them off. is that what shirley had in mind? i'd like to think so.

anyway, back to essays. 8 down, 4 to go.

tiny apology to the interwebs

...for the last post's mopey tone. i swear, the time i spend handwringing and fretting could be spent on more constructive things like, say, writing. nevertheless, i was in a dark mood for a few days. i try to keep the mood of this blog light because...well, i'm usually in a good mood. i suppose the stress of finalizing a book, perfecting my portfolio, entering submissions, working 10 hour work days, writing/editing essays, studying for the GRE, and organizing all the application materials for 12 highly selective writing programs had gotten to me.

but the dread fog has lifted after a great phone conversation with one of my old professors from JMU. he was writing the recommendation letter for my application to Vanderbilt and he remembered being impressed by a research paper i wrote for a film adaptations class he taught. it caught me off guard, and i mean that in the best way possible. it also made me feel so grateful and lucky to have people that support me in this insane endeavor of mine. my friends and family, my former and current instructors,  my fellow writers, and my coworkers have all been understanding and unbelievably generous in their efforts to help me follow my dream. complaining should be the last thing on my mind.

and so, it is. even if i don't get into any programs, i'll feel like i gave it my best shot. others think i am good enough of a writer for this opportunity,  and that's something i am proud of. 

you know what? screw it, i'm going to give myself a pat on the back. right now.

there, just did it. it worked in 1st grade and it still works 23 years later. 

what to do...

...when your home is not where your heart is? it's the typical writer's dilemma of a love/hate relationship with home. yeah, that old chestnut.

like a lot of unmarried 20-somethings, i am living at home (...to save money...in this economy..ugh...) it's semi-embarassing yet feels oddly comfortable. like a pair of jeans from high school that you can still fit into and you know they aren't fashionable but you wear them anyway because they're comfortable and you're hoping you might get some old school street cred for still sporting shit you wore in high school. you know what i'm talking about, right? right.

that being said, i need a new look. and by a new look, i need a new place to live. new town, new digs, new people. not to call out a group of people from an unnamed coastal urban area in eastern virginia, but i feel like the only people who are content here are the people who aren't from this area. who didn't spend every weekend being delinquents and wandering around in the city on skateboards and bikes getting into trouble, just because there wasn't anything better to do. who didn't watch every indie band and big rock show that came to the area in the 90s. who didn't sneak out of their house on a school night to watch their favorite band (L7 '96, best show ever) at venues that don't play shows anymore or have long since shut down. and yet it's in this same city where i feel isolated and unwelcome.

okay, so i left for a few years. 8 years, to be exact. but when i came back home, i expected the city to welcome one of its own with relative success and experience with open arms. yet all i seem to find are people from other places who have claimed the city as their own and a strong sense that i'm an outsider in the same town where i had the experiences that shaped the person who i am today. the more i am immersed in the events here, the more i find that it's changed and i've changed and maybe i should start writing my dear john letter.

let's be honest, i feel a little bitterness. but i also feel invigorated. something about the excitement in finding my new home. i'm actually looking forward to finding my tribe, as it were. pretty soon, it'll happen. until then, there's work to be done. here's to those out there who understand that places, like people, change. here's to hoping that others like me find their tribe, too.

things i like this week that have nothing to do with writing

1. sanity! 

2. dressing up as poe for halloween!

happy halloween everyone! 

some updates

since the last post, the following have happened:

i unintentionally got 1 kurt cobain haircut:

bringing back grunge style, minus the flannel

started 2 workshops @ the muse (fiction studio and open studio)

1 trip to boston to visit my brother.
(the must-visits included harpoon brewery:

cheers! we think

...and a trip to salem:

salem witch museum. creepy.

...and, of course, a whirlwind love affair with jason vorhees)

he's so dreamy

...not to mention the 7 recommenders i am consulting for MFA programs and providing them all the information they need, but also the 16 manuscripts i'm editing for my workshops, and 1 GRE test yet hanging over my head like the black angel of death. but i'm not complaining :)