where we stand February 27, 2008

For anyone stopping by this site from the MFA forums & blogs, here’s a quick long summary of my situation.

1. NO, I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM ANY SCHOOLS YET! BOOO!

2. You can see any and all blogs I’ve written about the MFA application process by clicking on the “MFA Prep” category, listed to the right. The list of 10 schools I applied to is in there, too. I applied for poetry. I’ve also been running a link tab of MFA resources under “MFA Prep” on my Blogroll, although you are probably already familiar with these.

3. My educational background is this: I graduated in 2004 from a Liberal Arts school with majors in Communication-Journalism & Studio Art. I minored in Creative Writing, which means I’ve been in only 4 writing workshops, all administered by the same professor.

4. My professional background is this: I worked as a staff writer for a newspaper for 2 years, and I continue to freelance for them. So, I have more experience in nonfiction/journalism writing. I now work in music marketing as a copyeditor – both for text & design.

5. I chose my schools based on the following criteria, in order: place, additional opportunities (lit mag, travel, teaching, etc.), reputation/faculty/alumni, affordability, overall gut feeling/accessibility.

6. My feeling on things right now: Yes, I’m freaking out, but I also have the feeling of calm-before-the-storm. I know most letters go out in March. I know if I don’t get into a school that I’m still a writer, but because I have a strong need for affirmation and a ticket ride out of here, you better darn bet that I want it so badly. But it took me a while (four years) to come to this decision – that I was ready to take this step, that I wanted to do it in an institution, that I needed to get away, that I was willing to pay for this, that I could handle and in fact I needed all the criticism and whoop-ass training I can get – and I’m glad that I’ve put all this effort & money (OK, not the money) into my applications, even if it doesn’t work for me this time around. And on that note, I also hope that if/wherever I go, it’s not a place where inexperienced writers as a whole meddle in their own inexperience and wallow in their inadequacies and use academia as a banner for everything. (Although I do hope we are all humble and support each other.) In fact, I really dread if I have to live/work with a bunch of people straight out of undergrad. I would much rather be in a group full of retirees and host potlucks and garden parties on the weekends. But as someone who’s been called an “old soul,” I understand that other “old souls” are out there and stuck with an early birth, so don’t call me ageist. I hope you know what I mean. I want to party, I want to rub elbows, I want to blister, I want my heart ripped out and shoved back in with X-shaped patches. But a giggle party, no. And maybe some of this comes from my own obsession/hysteria with reading the MFA forums, which yes I (hypocritically) check nonstop throughout the day. But I keep getting the haunting idea that people in there are either high on sugar or very young. Is this wrong of me? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the demographics of the web anyway. (Maybe this paranoia/doubt is a side effect of reading these blogs/forums!) We all want to know what’s going on here, there, when, how but some of it is downright LOONEY and I wonder if anyone has a life outside of this madness! (Do I? Yes, somewhat.) And that’s what it is – madness – all of it. But at least now that we’ve sent our applications out, it’s madness to the wind. Out of our hands. And with that, I say carry the calm, life is more than this, and good luck to us all!

Neighbors February 25, 2008

I live in a one-story apartment that is one of many apartments made to look like little gingerbread houses all in a row. I have called this home for two years now, and during this time I have had the same immediate neighbors 1 and 2 doors down on either side. People tend to stick around for awhile here because the rent is affordable and you can enjoy the luxuries of a front and back yard with trees and bunnies and squirrels and rabid cats and opossums and sidewalks and garbage pickup. The man who lived in my apartment before me lived there for 13 years, and left for “medical reasons” according to the leasing agent. I figured this meant that he died here, since I was also told that my apt had to be completely redone after he left it, and his medical bills and AARP notices still arrive in my box at least twice a week. I found out last month that he was an alcoholic and drug user, and this made me believe that maybe he isn’t dead. I wouldn’t put a curse of craziness on my house out of the question, though. Sometimes the dishwasher speaks to me.

To the left of my apartment once lived another crazy, a girl named Nicole. This girl was so crazy that she let the hands down most craziest person everyone knows in Charlotte live with her for three months. She was so crazy that after kicking him out, she started dating another crazy boy who lived across the street and was my friend’s neighbor. They both had dogs, which is all fine and dandy and we all break the in-house pet rules, but both of them would leave their dogs (and hers was a puppy) alone for 8-12 hours each day, usually during the hours I was either trying to write or sleep. Eventually all the complaints from neighbors – even people who did not share walls with them – piled up and she got rid of her dog and he was evicted (he also was not paying rent.) And things calmed down for about 8 months and I was awakened in the night only by her screaming obscenities to who new crazy boyfriend who also shared the same hobby as the last one of slamming doors/cabinets/drawers/walls.

This girl and her posse moved out last month and her apartment has now been filled with two women. I think they may be ghosts or people of magic because I am yet to see their face or make any contact with them. I will see a figure moving across the lawn to or from their apartment and before I can walk out the door to say hello they have already disappeared into the darkness. I did not even know that two women lived there – I thought it was just girl who lived there by herself and screamed to herself or into her phone. But last week as I was carrying up groceries to my apartment I saw two figures in her doorway – both that disappeared when I walked over there.

Instead, I got into a conversation with the neighbor on their other side, Colleen. Colleen has lived in her place as long as I’ve been in mine, but we haven’t done much investigating of each other or our neighbors until that night. Colleen told me our new neighbors are a couple, so that would explain the screaming I thought was coming from a single female voice (it was actually two), and that she has only seen them/talked to them once. Colleen asked me about the newspaper, and what else I was up to when I mentioned applying to MFAs. I had forgotten that when Colleen and I met through a mutual friend/neighbor (I call where we live Melrose Place) that she was introduced to me as a writer. Colleen writes fiction, and lots of it (she sounds more productive than me,) and she also has taught college level classes. She told me that she, too, applied to get her MFA last year – to 8 schools, some on my list – and didn’t get into any of them. We talked about what an overall crapshoot it is. She said she is going to reapply for next fall. Then she invited me to join her writing group (which consists of her and her friend who writes both fiction and poetry) if I was interested/have the time. I was delighted to find out someone is equally obsessed as I have been about these things – even more so since she’s been practically living under my nose – and moreover that she has a writing group going and that I could possibly partake, although they do meet at a time I cannot. I got her number and I’m probably going to pull something out of my portfolio first, although it is newish, and give it to her next week, and test the waters, and then maybe jump in with something brand new. And I look forward to reading new fiction, too. This group is so small that it might work for everyone, and we all sound intermediate if not full on real writers with talent. (I hope I do this and not just say I’m going to do this; I am horrible at calling people.)

There is more to this story of neighbors but I will have to continue at another time as I made the mistake of starting this at work, after eating chocolate, and on a Monday nonetheless.

Published February 19, 2008

After all that high art discussion in my last post (pfft!), I’m proud to present my first poem available in an online publication!

My poem “Cankerworms” is in the newly updated issue of storySouth.

And while you’re there, also check out six poems by and an interview with my former writing teacher and mentor, Cathy Smith Bowers.

Lots of other good stuff – poetry, fiction, and nonfiction - in there, too! 

My romantic Valentine’s Day dinner February 19, 2008

I know it’s a little late, but I had to share my wonderful Valentine’s evening with you. It all started out somewhere very romantic.

You see, Scott and I had this great idea that we could avoid all the Valentine’s Day crowds by eating somewhere NO ONE would take their date. OK, since it does advertize “gourmet burgers,” we figured a few 16-year-old couples would be in the mix.

Funny, that wasn’t the case at all.

This is where Scott and I discovered that there would be a 20 minute wait because the place was packed with about 100 families, each with about 6 children screaming for milkshakes:

After some hard liquor, we were seated in a lovely single-seater booth, right next to the kitchen. Our waiter addressed us as he was in moved in between filling glasses at larger tables. He really needed roller skates. And perhaps the desire to listen. Especially when someone is ordering more drinks.

But we were able to make the executive decision to order a fancy appetizer while we waited on our entrees:

At this point, we also exchanged Valentine’s gifts. I received a very appropriate present from my boyfriend: a book written by my boyfriend!

I think Tony would have had a lot to say about our meal, on top of admonishing me on why he was not invited.

We, however, were pretty much ready to chow on our own legs by the time our meal came out, so we weren’t all too picky.

In fact, we think the burgers may have been drugged with some sort of narcotic.

…or I was REALLY in the mood by this point!

We ended our Red holiday at the Red Robin where we ate Red meat by going to the movie theatre where we sat in Red seats and saw There Will Be Blood. I promise you this was not planned at all.

ps: you can’t tell from these pictures, but I actually have my hair pulled back in a ponytail. that’s not a comeover.

welcome to my world February 18, 2008

From the Guardian Unlimited books blog and Ben Meyers:

Copywriting is still writing
Lots of writers have resorted to advertising for a living. Just how different are the disciplines?

“…struggling writers have often turned to what is often perceived as the last resort of creative authorship: advertising copywriting. …

…Coming up with a 10-word slogan to lure customers to spend is little different from writing a short poem about love. …” 

…Further research reveals many more authors who have been closeted copywriters and/or advertising executives – Joseph Heller (whose phrase Catch-22 has like the most effective slogans entered the language), Meg Rosoff of this parish, Don DeLillo, William Burroughs, Dorothy L Sayers, Ogden Nash, Victor Pelevin, Dashiell Hammett, Antonia White, Augusten Burroughs and – pleasingly – Frank Zappa. …”

Lovely… February 17, 2008

I just filed my taxes and I owe the gov’t – fed & state combined - $647. (grrr#$*@&!)

That’s 20% of my freelance writing income. (Why did I sign up for this?) And before you ask: yes, I tried deducting home office expenses, etc., but it wasn’t enough to balance out with my other income nor did it amount to anything substancial, and I cannot say that I use my office supplies 100% for freelance work. (I think there’s a lot of myth out there about how much you can write off for your home business anyway if 1. it’s not your only source of income and 2. you do not own a home.)

I also just filed my FAFSA, but considering my moderate gross income this year, my (responsible) substantial savings, and my baby-free lifestyle, I doubt that I’m going to get any aid.

I kind of feel shafted for being the type of person who invests well, balances her checkbook, maintains good credit, remains employed, and uses her skills to increase her monthly earnings. I guess the “rewards system” (or financial karma) doesn’t kick in until you’re ready to buy a home. Which, for me, probably won’t be for another 5-10 years. Hmph.

oh for suck’s sake February 14, 2008

 

My day started yesterday with me standing in line at Starbucks, ordering two drinks – one for me, one for my boss (because I’m a suck-up who feels guilty for surfing the Internet all day) – and then realizing that I did not have my wallet on me. I told the barista to “scratch that” (where do we pick up these sayings?) but she gave me a smile and said “don’t worry about it.” I think she could read through my morning eyes that I once worked at Starbucks, too, and that at the heart of it all, everyone needs a little free crack now and again.

Anyway, leaving your wallet at home makes for an interesting day in which you can’t buy gas, get in or out of your office building without an escort, or buy yourself lunch. It makes you really feel for the homeless.*

But what you can do without your wallet is still go to the dentist! And for the first time in way too long (8 years), I drug my feet into my new dentist’s office, also considered one of the many places in the Coalition of Acceptable Torture for Your Health (CATYH). The first things I noticed were 1) Instead of a real fish tank, which I consider a staple for any private medical practice, they had one of those children’s nursery lamps that projects an image in a circle so that it looks like it’s a fish tank. This ruins all my Finding Nemo fantasies. 2) There was no music. Not even rainforest sounds to make you not think about there not being music. No music. At all. I could hear people’s gums being sucked down tubes three patient rooms down the hall.

The last time I went to a dentist, I was 17. I went to the same dentist for all my childhood. He was an old man who was very gentle and never pulled my teeth out. I had to go to an oral surgeon for that, twice, because most my teeth would not come out naturally. I had about 10 teeth pulled through surgery, along with gum incisions and braces, by the time I was 15. This is why I have avoided the dentist for so long. But really, it wasn’t the dentist so much as the vulnerability of sitting in a chair with your mouth open for someone to pick through. It’s common to ape behavior. Honestly, I would rather get a pap smear any day than have someone use a metal tool to scrape my teeth.

At my old dentist, he would do the scraping while a very attractive dental assistant stood nearby to hand him tools and hold the suction tube into my mouth. At my new dental office, the dental assistant does all of this, on her own, with a plastic face mask over her head. I was impressed with how many tricks she could do with just two hands in someone’s mouth. It only became a problem when I started to taste the blood dripping from my gums and she left the suction tube against my lip. It made that noise your vacuum cleaner makes when it sucks up a sock under the couch.

After all of this, and about a dozen X-rays, my “official” dentist came in to look at my teeth. I expected a verdict of gum disease or cavity, and perhaps a slapping for not flossing every day. Instead, I was told I have “beautiful teeth” and that I don’t need a mouth guard yet for my TMJ and that I can, only if I’m ready, get my wisdom teeth taken out in the next 5 years, but there’s no emergency. In fact, I learned that what I thought were my wisdom teeth are actually my second molars. I just didn’t get them until I was 19. I’m a late teeth bloomer.

I left with a goodie bag full of a water bottle, a toothbrush and floss. The end.
–

*Sorry, Sarah Silverman moment.

remember the Twilight Zone where the guy buys a love potion? February 14, 2008

Some great Valentine sonnets by Dan Pinkerton up this week at No Tell Motel.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

General update February 12, 2008

MFA: I’m still waiting to hear from schools, but the good news is that all my materials have been received (from what I can tell.) Also, it turns out that Sarah Lawrence extended their deadline to Feb. 1 for old fashioned paper mailers like me. That was a big relief to know that my application is open and being read, even though my acceptance is still up in the air.

However, I have been completely in the dark about how to handle/prepare for financial aid. Supposedly, some of this financial aid stuff is due pronto, which doesn’t make any sense to me whatsoever. Why should I have to apply for financial aid when I don’t even know if/where I’m going to school? But being the good citizen that I am, I will be making a rushed tax return and FAFSA application this weekend. I can only hope that the government will find some favor in me.

Home: I’m making major progress on the home front. Christmas is dead and in the process of burial. The Valentine’s Ziggy is out. I’ve still got some major closet organizations ahead of me, but I’m actually looking forward to them. The only thing is that by the time I get everything thrown out and sorted out and beautified, it will probably be time for me to start packing to move. C’est la vie.

Work: As I tell most people, I love my job. But lately the daily grind has been getting to me. Maybe it has something to do with my 1 year anniversary with the company last month? I am never complacent. And our VP has been adding more tasks for us to do as he tries to impress the new CEO. I am not a person who likes quick changes – I like change, but only as I can prepare and ease into it. Giving me 5 new tasks unrelated to my previous training within a 2-week period will not make me like my job. And on top of this, my intern, who has helped lessen the work load a lot, has been in the office maybe a total of 16 hours in the past 3 ½ weeks. He’s like a walking petry dish for the common cold.

Health: I have my first dentist appointment in 8 years tomorrow. They’re going to rip me apart, I just know it.

Floating February 8, 2008

I have really been enjoying the break from the excess of paperwork I’ve endured over the past few months. I haven’t fleshed out any poems, but I’ve mostly been freewriting and making word association lists for some poem ideas I’ve been sitting on for a while. In fact, I have a pretty large mental list of poems I want to write and this is a rare and good thing. I keep returning to “A Poet’s Companion” and “Michelangelo’s Seizure” and can’t get past them. I read and reread and reread because it’s so good and it’s like waking up that little poet inside me that knows these things but forgets them when she becomes intimidated by the big scary poetry world. But anyway, I’m almost ready to jump in.  That first dive is always the scariest when you’re making art. Diving in and coming out of the water. I am much better at dwelling, sitting on the edge and floating inside the pool.

And all this water talk reminds me how much I want to go here again before I potentially move states/lose all income. Floating in mineral pools inside a cave (I don’t even care if parts of it are manmade) all day is quite possibly one of the most divine experiences one can receive or give to oneself. (You really forget about the few hundred dollars it takes for you to get in there and wallow around in pools and steam all day and have old Austrians or young, clean-shaven mountain men rub your back into a warm mush…Somehow I feel that I’m not describing this properly but hopefully you get the point.)