Announcements May 9, 2008

First off, I have new real estate on the internet, and I will blogging primarily here now: http://emilyabenton.com

 

 

Yes, that’s my real name, and I’m sorry for keeping it hidden for the most part here. And I know it’s a real pain in the rear to edit your Blogroll or RSS feeds once more, but please, if you will, add that address to it. I’ve already added most of your links there. However, you don’t have to erase Reality Writes, as I may be back here from time to time (especially next fall…see below). But the other blog will now be my main locale. It’s slightly different, although a more cohesive version of my self(selves), I think.

 

I’ve spent the majority of Reality Writes talking about my MFA application experience, and I’m thankful to have had that outlet. Some of you may be relieved to find that my new blog will not include any of that. But for those who have been following, here’s my other major announcement:

 

I’m not going to school this fall.

 

I heard from the director at UNCG on Monday and he said they won’t have any openings for me to move up from the waiting list. They will, however, help me defer my application to next year so I can avoid resending paperwork and fees and already be, theoretically, at the top of the stack. The director also kindly offered to help me pick a list of other schools to apply to that will better match my portfolio and are more likely to give me funding.

 

I know some of you are scratching your heads as to why I have not taken one of my other acceptances, because they certainly were good ones – great ones, even. But I learned through gut instinct and long, hard (ow! It hurts!) thinking that they were not the right places for me. Some of the factors leading up to that decision include the lack of funding and an overall feeling that I would be too distracted or too isolated in the communities hosting these programs. On the other hand, when I visited UNCG, I felt overwhelmingly comfortable around the people I met there (for reasons of similarity and also diversity), with the low-pressure lifestyle of Greensboro, and also with what the funding situation would have been for me had I gotten off the waitlist. Had I not visited Greensboro, I could have very well ended up taking another offer and probably done OK in a program, although I think it would have been really hard for me to get by financially – or at least without a heavy burden and lots of stress – and I also don’t think I would have fully “fit in” with those programs. That isn’t to diss anyone at these schools – they certainly were welcoming and I’m grateful to everyone who gave me a glimpse into their MFA experience. It was only by comparison of those programs with UNCG’s that I gained a lot of perspective about what my needs were for an MFA – some things I couldn’t have known from merely filling out applications and researching websites, although I do think I put more time into that than most people.

 

I’ve run into many friends lately – the ones who’ve heard me decline offers to hang out because I was working on applications, or have heard my voice shakey with the excitement of the possibly studying with X writer at X school – and when I tell them my news, they tilt their heads and ask, “Are you OK?”

 

It’s a perfectly valid question to ask considering how passionate I’ve been about every step of this process, and how much I felt was at stake when I put those fat envelopes in the mail. But my answer is Yes, I’m OK. I don’t feel defeated. Maybe I would feel that way had I not been accepted anywhere. But considering the places that did accept me, I feel a little empowered. I know now that I am good enough to do this. I know that I can be competitive with my art, even though I’m young and not as experienced as many other writers out there. I know I have more choice in the process.

 

And although I’m not going to school this year, I’m left in a good place. I don’t hate my job; it gives me enough cushion to get by and not have a miserable life full of worry. (In other words, it’s not like I’m being kicked out of a dorm room without a clue what to do. I’ve been on my own for a few years now, and I’ve got this independence thing down.) I’ve also in the past month or so met some writers who are giving me the feedback and exchange I’ve needed. I can now workshop with them and warm up those muscles that were getting pretty tense and out of shape a year ago. I also lost my professional freelance blog, which at first was a slap in the face because I wasn’t expecting it to end so early, but I now see it as a “blessing in disguise,” to quote my mother. It’s the kick in the head I needed, and it’s freed up a lot of time in my schedule to work on poetry or other forms of writing. I’m going to focus now on spreading my byline wider, while also pushing myself to write poems I was saving for the MFA experience. (I know, that was a completely stupid way to approach my writing. But I was letting fear, recognition, and other commitments get the best of me.)

 

So, at this point, I will be applying for MFA programs again in the fall, but I’m going to take my time getting back to the paperwork. I spent way too much of last year obsessing over the details before the clock was even ticking to turn stuff in. Not to mention, I already have half of the work done, right? I may re-apply to a few schools, but there will be a lot of new players in this year. I’m certainly not going to settle for just applying to UNCG. I’m going to throw my net wider, but I also may not apply to as many places. I won’t have fallback schools. This round will be more of a poker game, rather than throwing paper at the wind.

 

So yeah, I’ll be coming back here to write about the whole MFA process again, because – and this is really important – I can’t talk about it on my other website. That means you can’t talk about it there either, and I’ll delete any comments that bring it up. The reason is that my boss and other coworkers may read that blog since it’s easier to find (by name) and I’m promoting it more, and I don’t want them to get the idea that I’m on my way out and fire me for it. And as far as I know, I could end up not going to school next year either, or dropping the whole plan to live a “normal” life without a graduate degree. So I don’t want to raise any red flags. Capiche?

 

But thank you for reading this incredibly self-indulgent blog post – and all of Reality Writes – and for reading my new website if you so choose to subject yourself to more me. I could try to leggo my ego and chill for a bit, but that wouldn’t be Reality, would it?

quick update April 16, 2008

sorry I’ve been M.I.A.

I’m sick. Nasty cold aggrivated by allergies. I got it before getting on the airplane Saturday morning. As in, I got it the night before, then overslept, and had to run to the gate at 5:45 a.m. and try not to get even sicker as we rode through turbulance and some kid puked in the aisle in front of me. Lovely.

Sarah Lawrence was cool but the amount of money I spent in just my 3 days in New York was a real eye opener to the reality I would be facing if I went to school up there, even if I lived near campus and got some meaningless job to support myself.

I took yesterday off of work to try to recover a little bit, and then grabbed Scott and jumped in my car and drove up to UNC Greensboro to meet the director and students up there. I’m on the waiting list – waiting for one person to drop their offer and I can get in. If I get in, I’m pretty much guaranteed some sort of Graduate Assistantship my first year, and then I can try to get on the staff of the Greensboro Review my second year. I’d probably still have to pay in-state tuition but my oh my is that cheap.

After meeting with the director and students, I got this swelling good feeling inside that I would totally fit in there and also be working with some of the smartest writers. Everyone has a different background – rocket scientist (aerospace engineer), playwrights, journalists (like me!), musicians – hardly any of their students come from an English degree. Greensboro is a bore but Scott and I both kind of sighed of relief at the idea of slowing down for a bit, spending only about $700 for a 3-bedroom house, and also being only an hour or so from the music scene in Chapel Hill.

So cross your fingers for me that I get into UNCG. It’s my top choice now and I can’t even consider the others anymore. As in, I may defer if I don’t get into UNCG this year.

More thoughts to come and I have a bunch of pictures from NY to post, too.

xo

i have not been writing April 4, 2008

unless you count all the emails back and forth, back and forth between people I will be visiting in the coming weeks. oh and I wrote a silly thing for the magazine at work about what albums I’ve been listening to. by the way, get the new R.E.M. album (out as of last Tuesday). and Jamie Lidell (out April 29). everything else I think is already noted on my sidebar.

Last week though I did have a great time meeting with my neighbor Coleen to go over poems and her short story. this was our first time hanging out without other neighbors around. we decided on the neutral place of Common Market. before we had been thinking of coffee or just sitting on one of our couches, but we were like, wait a minute. there are places with beer. places where the beer is endless – rows upon rows of imported beer in a refrigerated section. and this is where you should go on first dates. or first dates with writers. or women. and so we sat out on the patio at CM and commenced with the beer, cigarettes, and writing talk. guys, I must tell you - I am such a lightweight when it comes to beer. liquor and wine are better friends to me. they are like old cousins. but I tell you that the excitement of workshopping for the first time in four years brought out the Irish in me and I drank five beers on an empty stomach. and close to 2 packs of cigarettes. we were ON FIRE. and people kept calling us or sitting with us and we kept blowing them off and then Scott showed up with his friends and ordered a pitcher. one look at me and he started laughing, and had to point out to everyone what a rarity it was to find his girlfriend drunk on a Wednesday, much less out in public. it was 11:30 p.m. by this point. usually when I am whining to brush our teeth. that’s when I realized that I had not eaten since noon. Coleen hadn’t either. so she called the Penguin on speed dial and we ordered grease takeout. then brought it back to the market and chowed down before trolloping home. I am writing about this a week later because that’s how much fun I had. on a Wednesday.

and then last night I also went out with people for Linnea’s birthday. I ate a veggie plate and had a Baker & Ginger and smoked 3 cigarettes and went to bed at midnight.  Wednesday is becoming my new Thursday, and Thursday is becoming my new Friday. except for that whole getting up early the next day.

so I guess this is to say that I have been socializing. more is better.

and my free cable TV went out last month and it’s become one of the best things. I do not pay for cable, just network TV. but I had become hooked on the free cable that showed up when I rearranged my furniture 6 months ago. I watched Bravo almost every day, folks. and Food Network. it became a ritual to me, for no good reason. Sure I love Top Chef and I hate that I’m missing this new season but really this is all preparing me for grad school and perhaps a lifetime of better media consumption so I am thankful. I’m still on with network TV, though. the only thing I care to watch on network TV is Jeopardy!, Saturday morning PBS cooking shows, and Wednesday night Top Model, the latter which I’ve missed the past two weeks so I guess it doesn’t matter that much.

oh, and I started painting again. for the first time in four years. this is my new painting (in progress):

I am trying to operate like a normal human being March 25, 2008

Back to work after the weekend of good news and partying has been one slow, tough journey. Spreadsheets are blurry to my googly eyes, and I search 5 websites for every 1 task I complete. It’s only Tuesday.

Yesterday I was invited to speak for the second time to an advanced feature writing class at UNCC. The students this semester were not nearly as interested/interesting as they were the last semester, which doesn’t help when I’m standing up there rambling about how I don’t have any idea how I came to this point in my life, but here is maybe how you can get here. My face was red the entire time per usual, even though I stripped down to a T-shirt on a 55-degree weather day. A few eager Beavers in the class talked to me afterward about music journalism and marketing and writing for money. One sweet girl begged with her eyes on how to be a creative writer full-time. I don’t know? I told her I wished I could tell her she could get a job at a newspaper and find fulfillment that way, but I wasn’t sure since no one is hiring and I left that position with things burning. I wish I had told her NO YOU CAN’T but what you should do is just get a job that has the most to do with writing without having anything to do with writing so you can come home and write comfortably because you haven’t written anything all day. But I’m trying not to crush souls, you know? The rest of the class, on the other hand, were PR majors so I’m sure they’ll be just fine lying to the public on a regular basis. They were checking their emails and texting while I talked anyway.

I’m looking at plane tickets to go to NY and visit SLC on April 11-13. My friend Lindsey, an alumnus of the MFA program, said she wants to go visit with me but I’m waiting to get the OK from her before I order my ticket(s). Tickets to Newburgh via Skybus in Greensboro are ONLY $150-$170 ROUND TRIP (plus cost of gas/bus) so if someone else wants to tour with me raise your hand!

I received my rejection – via email – from UNCW yesterday. I know a few UNCW folk lurk here so I’m sorry to say that I won’t be joining you in the Publishing Lab. It really was one of my top choices for a while there.

So now we’re down to UNCG, VCU and UVA for answers. Anyone, anyone? I like to imagine they’ve taken my manuscript on vacation and are getting a foot massage while sipping umbrella drinks on the beach. One of them is absolutely blinded by the glare from the paper reflecting the sun that she can’t even read the middle stanza on page 8. The other professor leans over from his beach chair to give her some lotion. The squirt lands right in the middle of my poem, and she uses the extra off the paper to cover a mole on her left knee, thereby saving herself from harmful UV rays destined to start skin cancer on that very spot. She sits the stack of paper down for a second to squirt some more lime in her drink when my poems blow away with a gust of wind and land somewhere in the mid Atlantic, giving a lost Haitian refugee on a deflating raft the last, final opportunity he will ever have to hold a piece of literature in his dry, salt scrubbed hands. The end.

questions March 13, 2008

Do you ever find someone who writes/paints/looks/(enter your art form here) like you – but you’ve never heard of them? (or you haven’t studied their work?) Or even had someone say, have you studied so-and-so because you sound a lot like them? Does it weird you out? I’ve had this happen A LOT in the past year.

Maybe I’ve been living under a rock for too long, and I’ve never had my hands in just one discipline long enough to cover all the bases. I started writing poetry only a few years ago, and even after I started writing it took me a while to realize, HEY you should READ MORE POETRY. (duh!) So now that I read more (continuously catching up), I’m finding which camp I’m in (but let’s not get too segregated) and then finding people who either have strong similarities in subject matter or strong similarities in style to the way I’ve been writing. Yet it’s all new to me.

I believe that we all have a subconscious where things get dumped in and at some point it all comes together like Fright Night and that’s how we make wonderful casseroles. But don’t you have to already have the food in your fridge for this to happen? What if you never picked up celery at the grocery store but someone eats your casserole and swears that it has celery in it? This analogy is falling apart so I’ll just put it this way… 

I can’t figure out if this is a good thing – that my instincts are putting me in the same boat as other people (respected, talented, accomplished people,) and that maybe we’re all onto something – or that this is a bad thing, as in I shouldn’t be in this boat, or that people will think that I purposely tried to copy these people even though I’ve never heard of them before, or that it’s all been said and done and GET OUT. And then I’m like, OK, should I start taking in what they are doing and learn from it? or should I stay as far away from it as I can so I can continue to follow my natural discourse? Or should I study them until I can make myself different? I don’t know. I’m even too embarrassed to name names. And I should say that I rarely try to write like anyone, and usually my favorite writers have a very different style or context than my own. I just write, and try to follow universal or instinctual rules of thumb about craft, and come out with what I’ve got.

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.

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. …”

this link is for Scott February 6, 2008

Poet David Lehman was recently included on the NY Times Paper Cuts blog’s Living With Music feature. And he’s got a great tribute to Frank Sinatra’s music there, which he calls the “Young Blue Eyes” playlist.

Aside: I ordered the “Best American Erotic Poems” anthology Lehman edited way back in October when someone kindly dropped off the Winter/Spring book catalogues on my desk at work. I cannot wait to see the look the product dept. lady will give me when she hands me my employee discounted book order next month.

the waiting period begins January 29, 2008

So, I am officially done with sending out grad school applications. (Well, there may still be some mailing to be done as inevitably things I mailed or requested to be mailed by others have disappeared into the ether or been intercepted by pterodactyls or what have you.) Other than feeling like I lost a kidney in this process, I’m a relieved that I now have 3-6 months to do other things with my late nights and weekend afternoons than remain scrunched over inarticulate essays trying to explain why and how I came to write poetry while I am actually not writing poetry because I am stressing too much over how to explain how I write poetry in order to get into a program that will give me more time to write and study poetry. SIGH.

I am now in that dreaded waiting period, where I wake up in the middle of the night heart-pounding over potential typos or blank lines on forms or writing sample wrong moves. And Lord help the person who keeps me from checking my mail six days a week. For some reason – I checked all 5 calendars in my possession for noted holidays, and there were NONE – my pothead mailman did not pick up my bills yesterday so I had to leave a mean note “MAIL NOT PICKED UP OR DELIVERED ON MONDAY JAN. 28″ on this post-it my mother gave me that also reads “NO OUTFIT IS COMPLETE WITHOUT CAT HAIR” so I’m sure he’ll peg me as crazy cat lady and add some extra grease to my Real Simple magazine when it arrives. (Sometimes just flipping through Real Simple makes me think my life is Real Simple.)

I’ll also be checking here on a 100 x a day basis, and using this as a back-up.

But anyway, to keep my mind off all this nonsense and to use my time wisely, I have formulated a mental and now written list of things to accomplish without guilt in the coming weeks, months, days. They are:

• Write/read more poetry, yada yada yada
• Clean out guest room and host more out of town guests (you know who you are!)
• Vacuum every living/nonliving surface in my apartment with my new vacuum cleaner (I must say this is very therapeutic)
• Tear up gardening bed that has now turned into a litter box for the feral outdoor cats
• Plant new seeds in pots ONLY
• Watch more movies
• Sell some CDs/buy more LPs
• Yard sale
• Start new drawings and/or paintings project (it would be really nice to sell some work on etsy or perhaps have a gallery show but right now that sounds a little too ambitious)
• Write more letters to out of town folks
• Keep up with my 4x a week gym thing
• Spend more one-on-one time with my broads
• Learn how to make bread (and do it)
• Take at least one extravagant trip out of town to somewhere I’ve never been (we’ll see.)
• Not take life too seriously

Coverage of women in poetry (and poetry in general) January 22, 2008

Jilly @ Poetry Hut brought up an important conversation the other day:

So what’s the deal? Why do the mainstream media hardly ever do articles or reviews about women poets? It is often hard to find ANY article to link to.

Are there more men poets than women poets? (When I got my MFA, the poetry students were mostly women.) Are men poets simply better poets than women poets? More interesting? Better at self-promotion maybe? Do articles in which the subject has a penis make for increased sales or something? Are men poets more likely to get published by a large press? What? Is? The? Deal? Here?

and again today.

My response:

As someone who used to work for the MSM, I must say that in some ways, yes, they are responsible for our lack of information. But at the same time, a lot of reporters (I’m talking about your average newspaper reporter here, not the books editor, which we all know is a dying position) just don’t always have the time to go & seek out the news and profile stories. (They’re put on breaking news and PR releases instead.) Often are not in the know about who they SHOULD be covering. The best thing we can do as people in the poetry/writing community is to send word about local poets (especially women!) who win prizes/have interesting lives/work with local organizations/publish books/run local presses, etc. to the media and tell them we’d like to see them written about. So much of what goes into the news comes from tips from readers. I hope this adds some perspective to the debate. However, I do agree that there is an overall lack of women in the media (as makers of media and subjects in media), and that this is a problem.

Seriously, the only way I would go back to being a staff writer for a newspaper again is if I could cover books, authors, artists, films, and/or musicians ONLY. Every once in a while, I got to squeeze in a cool Q&A with a local poet, or an art review of a big gallery show (that the other arts reporters were not already covering.) But most of the time it was what church has had another fire and where should we direct traffic for NASCAR week and what new homeowners association was popping up, etc., etc. The true reason I left my job was not just the crappy pay, but the realization that it would take another 30 years of crappy reporting to ever get to cover what I really wanted to do full-time. This is why freelancing is so much better – if you can balance it with your other work life. But then again, I think I have put myself in a corner as far as that goes, too. Maybe when I move I will tackle the magazine article ideas floating in my head and stop settling for the absolute least amount of creative energy (although it is informative) for my pay.