This holiday season had the potential to be pretty depressing and lonely, as it's the first one I've spent alone. Most years, I went back and saw my family, and last year I was here with Mr. O and the doggie, and we barely acknowledged the existence of the holidays. And in the past, since I wasn't here, I never decorated or did anything for the holidays myself. This year, for some reason, I got it in my head that I needed a little Christmas.
It started with some garland I got at the drugstore, just some red sparkly thing that I put around my staircase banister outside my apartment. Then I found a tree skirt and some used ornaments at the Exchange, a local place where people drop off stuff they don't want and forage for new stuff. We were headed out, and I saw some purple ball ornaments, then some silver and green, and I got a box of each. While looking through the pile of boxes, I said to my friend, in a low voice, as we were talking about, here's some green balls and some silver balls, I go, "At least there's no blue balls," and the lady working there heard me and started laughing. Caught in the act of being perverted, what can I say? Anyway I had some ornament balls but no tree. Then a friend of mine went off-island and brought me back a little 4 ft artificial tree.
I was surprised how delighted the little tree made me. It was the weekend and I had all my presents I was going to mail that Monday sitting under the tree. I had fun wrapping them, writing cards, mailing the presents and just generally having a tree with little lights. I even listened to some Christmas music.
So, somewhere along the way I decided to celebrate the holiday, try to make my own traditions and my own Christmas, and the funny thing is, I've had a great Christmas season, I feel pretty happy with it, satisfied being on my own, a lot of the pressure's off, and it feels like yet another one of those "coming into my own as an adult" things. I even decided to get myself a few presents, just a few things I ordered online, that will make me happy. Plus for awhile there I was afraid I'd have nothing to open on Christmas and I wanted to have something.
A friend gave me some (real) holly which helped decorate the apartment some more, and I made the sugar cookies my family always makes. Later today I'll make more and bake some pumpkin bread. I'm going three different places tomorrow and had to turn down an invitation to go to a friend's parents' place off-island. So I'll have time with friends, my friends, people I want to spend the holiday with. I also went to a Christmas concert put on by an amazingly gifted island woman and some amazingly gifted island musicians.
Overall, I think this is like, my best Christmas season. I woke up super-early today so I'm going to go back to sleep for awhile, run some errands, mail some cards (yeah, they'll be late), and then plan my day so it's full of baking, maybe some reading, maybe a long walk, some episodes of House, and make it nice & cozy & fun.
Merry Christmas and everything else, everyone!
Currently Listening:
"Extraordinary Machine" - Fiona Apple
Monday, December 24, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
"Toast" by Tori Amos (and thoughts about Leaving)
TOAST
I thought it was Easter time
The way the light rose
Rose that morning
Lately you've been on my mind
You showed me the ropes
Ropes to climb
Over mountains, and to pull myself
Out of a landslide
Of a landslide
I thought it was harvest time
You always loved the
Smell of the wood burning
She with her honey hair
Dallhousie castle
She would meet you there
In the winter, butter yellow
The flames you stirred
Yes, you could stir
I raise a glass, make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh and beg me not to dance
Cuz on your right, standing by
Is Mr. Bojangles, with a toast
He's telling me it's time
To raise a glass, make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh and beg me not to dance
Cuz on your righ;t, standing by
is Mr. Bojangles, with a toast
He's telling me it's time
To let you go
Let you go
I thought I"d see you again
You say you might do
Maybe in a carving
In a cathedral
Somewhere
In Barcelona
Just now, surfing through iTunes, I was inspired to write about this song. Like all the songs I love, it has very layered and personal meanings to me. It's even in my book, I'll get to that.
The song is the last track on Tori's album The Beekeeper, which came out in early 2005. It was all I listened to for weeks on end. I loved it immediately. It had all these references to the divine feminine, a whole song structure based on a hexagon garden pattern, song titles like Goodbye to Pisces, Mother Revolution, Marys of the Sea, Martha's Foolish Ginger, Sleeps With Butterflies, and The Beekeeper and I had a huge crush on an author who was a beekeeper at one point. It was all perfect, and perfect timing, and I loved all the songs. A little softer than some of Tori's work, and still insightful and powerful.
Consequently, I think I should add that I love Tori's latest, American Doll Posse, for almost opposite reason. It's way more sassy, with the song Big Wheel, in which she calls herself a MILF, and other song titles such as Fat Slut and Teenage Hustling. I love it.
So, back on track here, that spring, I decided to quit my job at a camp, and move off the camp property and rent a room. Sometimes my life feels like a continuous process of moving somewhere a little less constrictive, until that new place feels a little constrictive, and moving on again. I'd done a l0ot of leaving at that point in my life. And this was yet another move, and it felt really big. I wasn't leaving one school for another, or moving cross country, in fact I was hardly moving two miles away, but mentally, it was a big jump, into real adulthood, rent bills, more independence.
At the time, I thought of this song Toast all the time. I loved the camp, loved living there, just knew it was time to move on. Sometimes, as they say, love just ain' enough. Actually, as cynical as this sounds, I've found that to be true a lot of times in my life, but maybe that's a post for another time. I thought of the camp as having given me ropes to climb, and definitely a place that helped me get on my feet, get o ut of a landslide. So, this song spoke to me.
The truth is though, this song applies to a lot of situations. I've felt the same way when leaving anywhere that's meant something to me, and with any significant departure. I get very attached to places, houses, weather and seasonal patterns in places I'ved lived. Sometimes I think I get more attached to place than I do to people, but I probably get equally attached to both. It feels like every place I go, I learn something from, have some sentimental attachment to and nostalgia for. Which gets hard, because the more places I go, the more places there are that I miss. One of the places I miss most is Chestertown, MD, where I spent my freshman year of college, the year my book is about. I have never fully stopped missing the people and the place. Again, I knew I had to move on to something else, I had my reasons. I don't know that I could have done it differently. And I still wonder, not as often as I used to, what might've happened if I'd stayed. I'll never kneow. When I think about leaving that place, it still makes me sad. I still can't read the chapter I wrote about leaving there (and I wrote said chapter three years ago) without crying. And I think that's okay. It means the place was meaningful, you know?
But anyway, since all my chapter titles are named after lyrics, I grabbed a lyric from this one for that chapter. I love, love, love things that are layered, have double entendres, hidden meanings, or reference other things. So one reason I especially chose a line from this song was because the song (though not the line I chose) references Mr. Bojangles. One of my favorite memories from that freshman year was an afternoon I spent with friends, playing in the snow and building a snoman who we named Mr. Bojangles, so the song always brought me back to that, which to me, made it an even better pick, sentimental-wise, for t he chapter about leaving the place. Probably no one who would read the book would ever pick up on that, it's too subtle I think, but it makes me smile.
That's Mr. Bojangles and friends above.
But the song itself is so perfect. That year was like the first time a place/experience gave me ropes to climb, and boy did it stir some flames, and it's also a place/experience I'll never see again, never in the same way. Even if I went back there, which wouldn't make sense for my life in any way, it wouldn't be the same place, the same people, the same experience.
It's part of what appeals to me about the song, that last verse. To me it says, there is no going back, no returning, just maybe some personal monument (that's what I get from the whole carving in a cathedral bit, some small reminder). I can relate to that.
They say that you can't step in the same river twice, and sometimes I think that's one of the thigns I have the hardest time grappling with. There are so many places and people and times I'd love to step back into, re-enter, experience again, even with the low points. Maybe that's part of why I love writing memoir, a way to go back, l live some things twice, with all their layered, complicated meanings, their vibrance, whether it's h eartache or relief or triumph. . Still it kills me that I can't return to things. I have a hard time really wrapping my mind around the fact that sometimes a person or a place can be in my life and be good, intense, a huge learning experience, give and share so much, and not be forever.
I'm looking futureward to the next eight or so months, getting ready to leave this place. Even though I've been in different houses, I've lived on this island for almost five years, and I wonder how I'll feel about it all as I leave. I have a feeling I'll be listening to Toast a lot.
I thought it was Easter time
The way the light rose
Rose that morning
Lately you've been on my mind
You showed me the ropes
Ropes to climb
Over mountains, and to pull myself
Out of a landslide
Of a landslide
I thought it was harvest time
You always loved the
Smell of the wood burning
She with her honey hair
Dallhousie castle
She would meet you there
In the winter, butter yellow
The flames you stirred
Yes, you could stir
I raise a glass, make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh and beg me not to dance
Cuz on your right, standing by
Is Mr. Bojangles, with a toast
He's telling me it's time
To raise a glass, make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh and beg me not to dance
Cuz on your righ;t, standing by
is Mr. Bojangles, with a toast
He's telling me it's time
To let you go
Let you go
I thought I"d see you again
You say you might do
Maybe in a carving
In a cathedral
Somewhere
In Barcelona
Just now, surfing through iTunes, I was inspired to write about this song. Like all the songs I love, it has very layered and personal meanings to me. It's even in my book, I'll get to that.
The song is the last track on Tori's album The Beekeeper, which came out in early 2005. It was all I listened to for weeks on end. I loved it immediately. It had all these references to the divine feminine, a whole song structure based on a hexagon garden pattern, song titles like Goodbye to Pisces, Mother Revolution, Marys of the Sea, Martha's Foolish Ginger, Sleeps With Butterflies, and The Beekeeper and I had a huge crush on an author who was a beekeeper at one point. It was all perfect, and perfect timing, and I loved all the songs. A little softer than some of Tori's work, and still insightful and powerful.
Consequently, I think I should add that I love Tori's latest, American Doll Posse, for almost opposite reason. It's way more sassy, with the song Big Wheel, in which she calls herself a MILF, and other song titles such as Fat Slut and Teenage Hustling. I love it.
So, back on track here, that spring, I decided to quit my job at a camp, and move off the camp property and rent a room. Sometimes my life feels like a continuous process of moving somewhere a little less constrictive, until that new place feels a little constrictive, and moving on again. I'd done a l0ot of leaving at that point in my life. And this was yet another move, and it felt really big. I wasn't leaving one school for another, or moving cross country, in fact I was hardly moving two miles away, but mentally, it was a big jump, into real adulthood, rent bills, more independence.
At the time, I thought of this song Toast all the time. I loved the camp, loved living there, just knew it was time to move on. Sometimes, as they say, love just ain' enough. Actually, as cynical as this sounds, I've found that to be true a lot of times in my life, but maybe that's a post for another time. I thought of the camp as having given me ropes to climb, and definitely a place that helped me get on my feet, get o ut of a landslide. So, this song spoke to me.
The truth is though, this song applies to a lot of situations. I've felt the same way when leaving anywhere that's meant something to me, and with any significant departure. I get very attached to places, houses, weather and seasonal patterns in places I'ved lived. Sometimes I think I get more attached to place than I do to people, but I probably get equally attached to both. It feels like every place I go, I learn something from, have some sentimental attachment to and nostalgia for. Which gets hard, because the more places I go, the more places there are that I miss. One of the places I miss most is Chestertown, MD, where I spent my freshman year of college, the year my book is about. I have never fully stopped missing the people and the place. Again, I knew I had to move on to something else, I had my reasons. I don't know that I could have done it differently. And I still wonder, not as often as I used to, what might've happened if I'd stayed. I'll never kneow. When I think about leaving that place, it still makes me sad. I still can't read the chapter I wrote about leaving there (and I wrote said chapter three years ago) without crying. And I think that's okay. It means the place was meaningful, you know?
But anyway, since all my chapter titles are named after lyrics, I grabbed a lyric from this one for that chapter. I love, love, love things that are layered, have double entendres, hidden meanings, or reference other things. So one reason I especially chose a line from this song was because the song (though not the line I chose) references Mr. Bojangles. One of my favorite memories from that freshman year was an afternoon I spent with friends, playing in the snow and building a snoman who we named Mr. Bojangles, so the song always brought me back to that, which to me, made it an even better pick, sentimental-wise, for t he chapter about leaving the place. Probably no one who would read the book would ever pick up on that, it's too subtle I think, but it makes me smile.
That's Mr. Bojangles and friends above.
But the song itself is so perfect. That year was like the first time a place/experience gave me ropes to climb, and boy did it stir some flames, and it's also a place/experience I'll never see again, never in the same way. Even if I went back there, which wouldn't make sense for my life in any way, it wouldn't be the same place, the same people, the same experience.
It's part of what appeals to me about the song, that last verse. To me it says, there is no going back, no returning, just maybe some personal monument (that's what I get from the whole carving in a cathedral bit, some small reminder). I can relate to that.
They say that you can't step in the same river twice, and sometimes I think that's one of the thigns I have the hardest time grappling with. There are so many places and people and times I'd love to step back into, re-enter, experience again, even with the low points. Maybe that's part of why I love writing memoir, a way to go back, l live some things twice, with all their layered, complicated meanings, their vibrance, whether it's h eartache or relief or triumph. . Still it kills me that I can't return to things. I have a hard time really wrapping my mind around the fact that sometimes a person or a place can be in my life and be good, intense, a huge learning experience, give and share so much, and not be forever.
I'm looking futureward to the next eight or so months, getting ready to leave this place. Even though I've been in different houses, I've lived on this island for almost five years, and I wonder how I'll feel about it all as I leave. I have a feeling I'll be listening to Toast a lot.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Home, Home Again
and I can definitely say, to quote another band, "what a loooooooong, strange trip it's been."
Three weeks and a day of traveling all over the east coast. I went from Philly to Allentown, PA, from there a quick trip up to Albany for a concert, then back to Allentown, then Boston, then Baltimore, then back to Allentown, then to NYC, then to Philly (with a trip from NYC out to Long Island to meet my ride back to Philly). Then yesterday morning, I left Philly for my trek back to Orcas Island, which, all told, took 18 hours.
In a way it was a rock star kind of trip, waking up in all these different cities. So many nights, I had the sensation of coming in or out of sleep and being disoriented, wondering where I was. It was great. Throughout the trip, I slept on couches, in two hotels, in a basement spare room, in a shared twin bed in a dorm room and on a pullout couch. I saw so many friends it was amazing. Not just the ones I stayed with, but friends I saw at concerts, friends who came to my reading in New York City, a friend who I rarely get to see and who is going to Iraq in January. We met for two hours, went out to eat at a brewery, it was the fourth time I've seen in the last seven years. I get a little choked up sometimes, just thinking about how precious it is to have these short encounters with people who matter.
The crazy part was how much of this trip and the people I saw centered around the internet. I met the aforementioned friend years ago online, as well as most of the people I stayed with. I hung out with Linda in Baltimore, and we met in an online writing class. We'd never met in real life before my trip. The connection was so there, it was incredible. It always amazes me how accurate the internet connections are. I met some online friends at shows, people I'd never met before, and felt instantly comfortable. Also met one friend while about to leave Philly, another great connection. The person I stayed with for the most amount of time was Diane. She's a photographer who does a lot of work at rock shows, including the Chris Cornell shows we saw. Her pictures rock, definitely click on that link and check her pics out. We also met online.
I also saw friends I've had forever, especially in NYC at my reading. Afterwards, a bunch of us went out to eat, and even though it was bringing together different groups of friends from varied locations, backgrounds, ages, and from different places or periods in my life, it all went smoothly.
Even more amazingly, so did all the transportation. The trip was like a marathon of getting up at god-awful early hours to travel from one city to another. I rode all kinds of buses, made all kinds of connections, took the T in Boston, the subway in NYC and the Baltimore metro (whatever they call it), the LIRR, Greyhound, shuttles, and probably modes of transportation I can't remember at this point. It's all sort of a blur. And somehow, I always made my connection and got where I was going. Really, if I think about it, it seems like a miracle. I can't believe it all fit, it all worked how it was supposed to. I didn't want to say it at thanksgiving because I was afraid I would jinx it, but man, I am so thankful for TIMING, above all. Even last night, my flight was a little late, and then on the shuttle to the ferry, there was traffic. I was really worried I wouldn't make the ferry, and I had to make that ferry because I was meeting a friend on the boat and we were riding home together. Somehow, the shuttle got there just in time, the ferry left the dock about five seconds after I stepped on board. We had to have someone else take my suitcase because it wouldn't fit in my friend's car, and just as she dropped me off at my apartment, the car with my suitcase arrived, like it had been choreographed or something. Really, I feel blessed in the timing department.
Basically what I'm trying to say is, my trip was incredibly awesome. Great timing, great friends, great food, great music, great shopping excursions, great wine, great conversations. Hugged some good-looking guys, too. I even got hit on during my trip home, and loved the ego boost. I couldn't have asked for a better trip, really. From start to finish, it was great. When I first landed in Philly, on a shuttle from there to my friend Leo's, (which got me to my stop just in time for Leo to take me to her house on her lunch break, like I said, timing was like, divinely ordained here or something), during the ride, as I gushed inside over the foliage, something clicked. It felt immediately and undeniably SO RIGHT to be on the east coast.
It's funny, when I first moved out to WA, I used to get really internally confused by the water. I'd see it on buses through Seattle out to my left and it felt like we were going South. I kept having to correct myself. It's strange b/c mosto f my time on the east coast, pretty much all of it, was spent without water in seeing distance, but I guess intrinsically, my sense of direction and where the ocean was, was instinctual. It used to mess me up constantly in Seattle, because I relied a lot on cardinal directions to determine where I was going. On the island, it's a bit irrelevant, since water's in every direction. On that shuttle ride from the airport to Leo's house, though, it was like that internal sense of direction and water fell back into place completely, even though, again, I couldn't see the water. Somehow though, I knew we were going North. I can't explain it, sort of like a biological compass had clicked back into place.
And the verdict about the college thing is....
I LOVED Emerson. To me, it's a done deal that I'll be going there this Fall. Before I went to my visit, I told myself, okay, don't expect too much, don't expect that any school will feel like the absolute and only school, basically, the most likely result would be that no one place would be the be-all end-all perfect place. I'd never felt that about any school I'd visited before, including Emerson the first time when I was seventeen, and I've visited a lot of schools over the years. Well, it totally did feel terribly, disgustingly, amazingly pefect. I have no doubt I'll go there. That's assuming I get in, I guess, but I do assume that.
So I've got about nine months to save up as much money as possible, look for scholarships every day, and get ready to move my life from one coast to another.
In the meantime, I gotta go make some pasta for dinner.
Currently listening:
"Peeping Tommi" - Tori Amos
Three weeks and a day of traveling all over the east coast. I went from Philly to Allentown, PA, from there a quick trip up to Albany for a concert, then back to Allentown, then Boston, then Baltimore, then back to Allentown, then to NYC, then to Philly (with a trip from NYC out to Long Island to meet my ride back to Philly). Then yesterday morning, I left Philly for my trek back to Orcas Island, which, all told, took 18 hours.
In a way it was a rock star kind of trip, waking up in all these different cities. So many nights, I had the sensation of coming in or out of sleep and being disoriented, wondering where I was. It was great. Throughout the trip, I slept on couches, in two hotels, in a basement spare room, in a shared twin bed in a dorm room and on a pullout couch. I saw so many friends it was amazing. Not just the ones I stayed with, but friends I saw at concerts, friends who came to my reading in New York City, a friend who I rarely get to see and who is going to Iraq in January. We met for two hours, went out to eat at a brewery, it was the fourth time I've seen in the last seven years. I get a little choked up sometimes, just thinking about how precious it is to have these short encounters with people who matter.
The crazy part was how much of this trip and the people I saw centered around the internet. I met the aforementioned friend years ago online, as well as most of the people I stayed with. I hung out with Linda in Baltimore, and we met in an online writing class. We'd never met in real life before my trip. The connection was so there, it was incredible. It always amazes me how accurate the internet connections are. I met some online friends at shows, people I'd never met before, and felt instantly comfortable. Also met one friend while about to leave Philly, another great connection. The person I stayed with for the most amount of time was Diane. She's a photographer who does a lot of work at rock shows, including the Chris Cornell shows we saw. Her pictures rock, definitely click on that link and check her pics out. We also met online.
I also saw friends I've had forever, especially in NYC at my reading. Afterwards, a bunch of us went out to eat, and even though it was bringing together different groups of friends from varied locations, backgrounds, ages, and from different places or periods in my life, it all went smoothly.
Even more amazingly, so did all the transportation. The trip was like a marathon of getting up at god-awful early hours to travel from one city to another. I rode all kinds of buses, made all kinds of connections, took the T in Boston, the subway in NYC and the Baltimore metro (whatever they call it), the LIRR, Greyhound, shuttles, and probably modes of transportation I can't remember at this point. It's all sort of a blur. And somehow, I always made my connection and got where I was going. Really, if I think about it, it seems like a miracle. I can't believe it all fit, it all worked how it was supposed to. I didn't want to say it at thanksgiving because I was afraid I would jinx it, but man, I am so thankful for TIMING, above all. Even last night, my flight was a little late, and then on the shuttle to the ferry, there was traffic. I was really worried I wouldn't make the ferry, and I had to make that ferry because I was meeting a friend on the boat and we were riding home together. Somehow, the shuttle got there just in time, the ferry left the dock about five seconds after I stepped on board. We had to have someone else take my suitcase because it wouldn't fit in my friend's car, and just as she dropped me off at my apartment, the car with my suitcase arrived, like it had been choreographed or something. Really, I feel blessed in the timing department.
Basically what I'm trying to say is, my trip was incredibly awesome. Great timing, great friends, great food, great music, great shopping excursions, great wine, great conversations. Hugged some good-looking guys, too. I even got hit on during my trip home, and loved the ego boost. I couldn't have asked for a better trip, really. From start to finish, it was great. When I first landed in Philly, on a shuttle from there to my friend Leo's, (which got me to my stop just in time for Leo to take me to her house on her lunch break, like I said, timing was like, divinely ordained here or something), during the ride, as I gushed inside over the foliage, something clicked. It felt immediately and undeniably SO RIGHT to be on the east coast.
It's funny, when I first moved out to WA, I used to get really internally confused by the water. I'd see it on buses through Seattle out to my left and it felt like we were going South. I kept having to correct myself. It's strange b/c mosto f my time on the east coast, pretty much all of it, was spent without water in seeing distance, but I guess intrinsically, my sense of direction and where the ocean was, was instinctual. It used to mess me up constantly in Seattle, because I relied a lot on cardinal directions to determine where I was going. On the island, it's a bit irrelevant, since water's in every direction. On that shuttle ride from the airport to Leo's house, though, it was like that internal sense of direction and water fell back into place completely, even though, again, I couldn't see the water. Somehow though, I knew we were going North. I can't explain it, sort of like a biological compass had clicked back into place.
And the verdict about the college thing is....
I LOVED Emerson. To me, it's a done deal that I'll be going there this Fall. Before I went to my visit, I told myself, okay, don't expect too much, don't expect that any school will feel like the absolute and only school, basically, the most likely result would be that no one place would be the be-all end-all perfect place. I'd never felt that about any school I'd visited before, including Emerson the first time when I was seventeen, and I've visited a lot of schools over the years. Well, it totally did feel terribly, disgustingly, amazingly pefect. I have no doubt I'll go there. That's assuming I get in, I guess, but I do assume that.
So I've got about nine months to save up as much money as possible, look for scholarships every day, and get ready to move my life from one coast to another.
In the meantime, I gotta go make some pasta for dinner.
Currently listening:
"Peeping Tommi" - Tori Amos
Monday, November 12, 2007
Writing from the road - Allentown, PA
It's been a long time since I wrote anything of substance here on my blog. No, I didn't fall off the face off th e face of the Earth, but let me tell you guys, the latest Mercury Retrograde hit hard. I can't blame it all on that though, as it started before, and lasted until after. I will be honest, I spent most of late September and October lounging around my hourse, cleaning, organizing and rearranging my house, and watching HOUSE.
I will digress to say, I've watched the entire series THREE TIMES. Yes, I'm sure that sounds pathetic to anyone who isn't me, and I'm sure it probably is, but here's the thing. First of all, I went through every part of my house - kitchen drawers, closets, the chest that the TV sits on, the shelves in my bedroom closet and the cabinets under my bathroom sink. I totally reorganized everything. When I first moved into my apartment, a year and a half ago, I was seeing Mr. O and he soon moved in with doggie, and it was all haphazard, with some organization as we went along (he was actually very clean and liked to arrange the house, which was great because at the time, I was pretty much a slob). For months I've felt like I wanted to re=organize, really make things mine, that sort of thing, but never got around to it. Until I downloaded all the seasons of House. I put on the pilot episode and wandered over to the kitchen.
The first day I watched nine episodes in a row, but watched is a very loose term. I turned the episodes on then got up and went into the kitchen. I cleared up all the dirty dishes and spent the whole day after doing the basic cleaning, sorting through the kitchen drawers. I decided clearly what each would be for. THe next day I watched nine more episodes, just as loosely, and completely reorganized all the kitchen cabinets. I had some new dishes and I put them in a new place and just loved the way th ey looked together and with my mugs. I made myself a tea shelf, easily reachable. I even organized my canned goods so that I liked the way they looked together, and they were also arranged with a scheme, a thought-out arrangement, soups with soups, that sort of thing.
Surprisingly, for being legally blind, I'm very visual. Call it my Venus in the Second House, or call it an artistic eye, whatever it is, I made every cabinet in my kitchen aesthetically pleasing to me, so that I felt satisfied looking at it, and also knew where everything was. I got rid of so much, huge amounts of food for the food bank, and trash. It works so much better now, thnough. The pots and pans all comfortably fit in one cabinet. Everything is just perfect. Along with that, I listened to shows about african sleeping sickness, leprosy, termite poisoning, rabies, and so on. Medical mysteries, weird diseases, I loved it.
As the weeks went on, I went through the every other orifice of my house, every nook and cranny. I got rid of so much old clothing, old papers. I put stuff I wanted to get rid of, and Mr. O's stuff, into my storage unit, always with House in the background. WHen I went through the whole series, I started at the beginning, and then again, and actually I was on my fourth round when I left for my trip.
As time went on though, I was less motivated. Instead of cleaning all the time, I spent a lot of episodes laying on the couch. Life had started to suck. There were three situations in my life that to me felt really unresolved - something with my family, stuff with Mr. O, and a situation with a friend that was bringing me down. In all three, I didn't know what to say, so I mostly didn't say anything. I finally said something to the friend, and it didn't go well. The other two are still semi up in the air, dont' know where I stand. All three just seemed to escalate at the same time, and I retreated into the world of medical mysteries and House. I am so attracted to him. Slower and slower I went through the house, still getting it done, but at about a tenth of the original pace.
There was so much on m y mind - saying goodbye to my doggie, getting ready to send her across the country to her dad, all the finagling that came along with that, trying to find a ride and a crate, dealing with all the airline regulations, I hardly even thought about packing or making my own travel arrangements. Right before I left, I re-cleaned the kitchen. Though I'd cleaned my house (and spent one Sunday afternoon and many House episodes painstakingly removing dog hair from the tubing of my vaccuum cleaner), dishes had piled up. By the time I got everything done, it was 2am. I was so tired, and it was my last night in the house with puppy, I never even made it to the bed, I crashed on my couch watching an episode of House about a woman with Munchasn's (sp?), one of the diseases or conditions that fascinates me most. THe dog fell asleep on the couch with me, then got down and slept on the floor next to the couch. WHen I woke up at 5 she was sleeping on her pillow in her crate, like a little angel dog that she was.
I left my house before 6am, my boss drove me to Seattle. We took so many stops, to get the crate, to eat, to let the dog go potty. We took her to a park near the airport and let her run around for a long time, gave her a meal, lots of water, time and space on a long leash. A few hours later, we finally dropped her off for her flight, which went off without a hitch. I met a friend for dinner, then went for my flight.
The next day I landed in Philly, mid morning Eastern time. I took a shuttle from the airport to a hotel where my friend picked me up. The whole ride from the airport ot htat hotel, it was like something clicked. I felt like myself again. Things were in place. I felt happier than I had in weeks, even with my situations still feeling unresolved, not knowing what my trip will bring, what I'll think of the colleges I'm visiting. It just felt in a way, like coming home.
It felt great. I have been in PA for five days. Tomorrow I leave for the next leg of my trip. Woo hoo!
Currently listening:
"All Night Thing" - Chris Cornell live, which btw, my next post has to be about. I just saw him twice, for the first time in years.
I will digress to say, I've watched the entire series THREE TIMES. Yes, I'm sure that sounds pathetic to anyone who isn't me, and I'm sure it probably is, but here's the thing. First of all, I went through every part of my house - kitchen drawers, closets, the chest that the TV sits on, the shelves in my bedroom closet and the cabinets under my bathroom sink. I totally reorganized everything. When I first moved into my apartment, a year and a half ago, I was seeing Mr. O and he soon moved in with doggie, and it was all haphazard, with some organization as we went along (he was actually very clean and liked to arrange the house, which was great because at the time, I was pretty much a slob). For months I've felt like I wanted to re=organize, really make things mine, that sort of thing, but never got around to it. Until I downloaded all the seasons of House. I put on the pilot episode and wandered over to the kitchen.
The first day I watched nine episodes in a row, but watched is a very loose term. I turned the episodes on then got up and went into the kitchen. I cleared up all the dirty dishes and spent the whole day after doing the basic cleaning, sorting through the kitchen drawers. I decided clearly what each would be for. THe next day I watched nine more episodes, just as loosely, and completely reorganized all the kitchen cabinets. I had some new dishes and I put them in a new place and just loved the way th ey looked together and with my mugs. I made myself a tea shelf, easily reachable. I even organized my canned goods so that I liked the way they looked together, and they were also arranged with a scheme, a thought-out arrangement, soups with soups, that sort of thing.
Surprisingly, for being legally blind, I'm very visual. Call it my Venus in the Second House, or call it an artistic eye, whatever it is, I made every cabinet in my kitchen aesthetically pleasing to me, so that I felt satisfied looking at it, and also knew where everything was. I got rid of so much, huge amounts of food for the food bank, and trash. It works so much better now, thnough. The pots and pans all comfortably fit in one cabinet. Everything is just perfect. Along with that, I listened to shows about african sleeping sickness, leprosy, termite poisoning, rabies, and so on. Medical mysteries, weird diseases, I loved it.
As the weeks went on, I went through the every other orifice of my house, every nook and cranny. I got rid of so much old clothing, old papers. I put stuff I wanted to get rid of, and Mr. O's stuff, into my storage unit, always with House in the background. WHen I went through the whole series, I started at the beginning, and then again, and actually I was on my fourth round when I left for my trip.
As time went on though, I was less motivated. Instead of cleaning all the time, I spent a lot of episodes laying on the couch. Life had started to suck. There were three situations in my life that to me felt really unresolved - something with my family, stuff with Mr. O, and a situation with a friend that was bringing me down. In all three, I didn't know what to say, so I mostly didn't say anything. I finally said something to the friend, and it didn't go well. The other two are still semi up in the air, dont' know where I stand. All three just seemed to escalate at the same time, and I retreated into the world of medical mysteries and House. I am so attracted to him. Slower and slower I went through the house, still getting it done, but at about a tenth of the original pace.
There was so much on m y mind - saying goodbye to my doggie, getting ready to send her across the country to her dad, all the finagling that came along with that, trying to find a ride and a crate, dealing with all the airline regulations, I hardly even thought about packing or making my own travel arrangements. Right before I left, I re-cleaned the kitchen. Though I'd cleaned my house (and spent one Sunday afternoon and many House episodes painstakingly removing dog hair from the tubing of my vaccuum cleaner), dishes had piled up. By the time I got everything done, it was 2am. I was so tired, and it was my last night in the house with puppy, I never even made it to the bed, I crashed on my couch watching an episode of House about a woman with Munchasn's (sp?), one of the diseases or conditions that fascinates me most. THe dog fell asleep on the couch with me, then got down and slept on the floor next to the couch. WHen I woke up at 5 she was sleeping on her pillow in her crate, like a little angel dog that she was.
I left my house before 6am, my boss drove me to Seattle. We took so many stops, to get the crate, to eat, to let the dog go potty. We took her to a park near the airport and let her run around for a long time, gave her a meal, lots of water, time and space on a long leash. A few hours later, we finally dropped her off for her flight, which went off without a hitch. I met a friend for dinner, then went for my flight.
The next day I landed in Philly, mid morning Eastern time. I took a shuttle from the airport to a hotel where my friend picked me up. The whole ride from the airport ot htat hotel, it was like something clicked. I felt like myself again. Things were in place. I felt happier than I had in weeks, even with my situations still feeling unresolved, not knowing what my trip will bring, what I'll think of the colleges I'm visiting. It just felt in a way, like coming home.
It felt great. I have been in PA for five days. Tomorrow I leave for the next leg of my trip. Woo hoo!
Currently listening:
"All Night Thing" - Chris Cornell live, which btw, my next post has to be about. I just saw him twice, for the first time in years.
Friday, October 19, 2007
I got accepted...
I just got word, via e-mail, that I've been accepted for the Artsmith Residency here on Orcas Island this coming March. It'll be a weeklong residency and I'll stay at a local B&B, with four to six other artists, writers and scholars. It'll be a week of retreat for me, going inward and writing something original, longhand, getting those creative juices flowing. The B&B is gorgeous, with a real old-fashioned, homey, feel. I'm really looking forward to it - a vacation without leaving my island. There's a public reading at the end, and I LOVE reading. I participated in the reading last year (as part of the public, not as a resident), so...
WOO HOO!
Currently listening:
"Big Wheel" - Tori Amos - I love this line, "I've been drinking down your pain/I'm gonna turn that whiskey into rain." This song is sassy.
WOO HOO!
Currently listening:
"Big Wheel" - Tori Amos - I love this line, "I've been drinking down your pain/I'm gonna turn that whiskey into rain." This song is sassy.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The Best Memoirists Pageant Ever
AKA Memoir Noir
I'll be reading from my memoir-in-progress, titled MOONCHILD. I've also read some of the work of my fellow memoirists who'll be reading and can assure with satisfaction-guaranteed certainty, that it'll be well worth it!
Save the date! See you there!
BEST MEMOIRISTS PAGEANT EVER
Saturday, November 24, 2007
3:00 PM
Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery
New York City
www.bowerypoetry.com
Featuring
Neil Cotter
Chrys Buckley
Heather Maidat
Kim Brittingham
...and more!
$5 at the door
Cash bar, plus cafe w/ fresh homemade soup, salads, sandwiches, coffee & soft drinks
Currently listening:
"Prison Sex" - Tool
(One of my all-time favorite songs ever, it really electrified my conviction that Tool is one of the best bands ever, with very layered meanings to their lyrics. I'm not really describing it right, but just listen to Maynard sing, "You look so precious now," and the juxtaposition of the sort of sweetness to it and the darness, the brooding aggression. And listen to the lyrics, this is a band of depth. A chapter in my book is very appropriately named after a lyric in this song).
I'll be reading from my memoir-in-progress, titled MOONCHILD. I've also read some of the work of my fellow memoirists who'll be reading and can assure with satisfaction-guaranteed certainty, that it'll be well worth it!
Save the date! See you there!
BEST MEMOIRISTS PAGEANT EVER
Saturday, November 24, 2007
3:00 PM
Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery
New York City
www.bowerypoetry.com
Featuring
Neil Cotter
Chrys Buckley
Heather Maidat
Kim Brittingham
...and more!
$5 at the door
Cash bar, plus cafe w/ fresh homemade soup, salads, sandwiches, coffee & soft drinks
Currently listening:
"Prison Sex" - Tool
(One of my all-time favorite songs ever, it really electrified my conviction that Tool is one of the best bands ever, with very layered meanings to their lyrics. I'm not really describing it right, but just listen to Maynard sing, "You look so precious now," and the juxtaposition of the sort of sweetness to it and the darness, the brooding aggression. And listen to the lyrics, this is a band of depth. A chapter in my book is very appropriately named after a lyric in this song).
Monday, October 1, 2007
Is finished ever really finished?
Yesterday was my target date. I was supposed to have the next draft of the book totally DONE.
Technically, I made it. Sometime Wednesday morning before work, I finished revising the last paragraph of the last chapter. I want to talk some about the process of writing this book.
It all started the first summer I lived on Orcas Island. I'd just made it out of hell and narrowly escaped homelessness in Seattle. I was offered a kitchen job at the camp that offered housing, which was my own room to myself, and food, and year-round work, sort of. I was staying somewhere, for the first time in years. I wasn't fully on my feet but for once I didn't have to worry about basic survival.
With that freedom I started to think about writing again. I had a wild story to tell - a legally blind girl strantded at bus stations and traveling to creepy and non-creepy organic farms, making it through those months in Seattle. I'd had real adventures and I knew, as a writer, I wanted to write about them. One day, on a day off, I sat down to write about my first day of college, when essentially, all of this began.
The next day, another day off, I walked into the local library and there was a flyer for Fall classes. One of them waas on memoir writing. It started that day. I don't know if that's synchronicity or what, but sometimes I think that when you take a step towards something, it comes to you, or something like that.
I loved the class. One of these days I'm going to post about that, what it was like taking that class. The word that comes to mind is watershed. For years I hadn't really been able to write, but by then, a lot had built up inside me and came pouring out of me. The class was great. I took it again over the winter and in the spring. I wrote and wrote and wrote about all aspects of life between the time I left for college and landing on Orcas. I even dipped further back into writing about some defining childhood moments. I had no idea what shape my book would take.
The next fall, 04, I took the class again, but this time aside from the class, a couple of us who were serious about writing books with our memoir pieces started meeting on Mondays for more in-depth work. Our assignment that season was to pick a season to write about. I chose the spring of my freshman year of college. There was so much in that season - that was when I started having adventures, really started moving outside my comfort zone and beyond my sheltered upbringing. It was also a season packed with emotional wallops and huge wantings. I was drawn to write about it. After that season ended, our Monday group continued to meet and I went on to write about other seasons for the next year or so.
Eventually I started to see that that first year of college had such dramatic personal changes for me that it would really constitute its own book. It all took place in the same place - a small town in Maryland - that I never lived in after that year. It was its own world, its own journey. During the fall of 05 I lived in a room in a very remote house. As it got deeper into fall, I wrote more and more and more, filling in the other parts of that freshman year. I mean sometimes writing for ten hours a day, or more. I almost drwned in writing. It was almost too much. I felt that when I was done, I wanted to LIVE, not just write in seclusion.
I moved at the beginning of December and within a week in the new house, with more people and closer to town, I had finished the last handwritten word of the last section I had to write about for this first book. Wouldn't ya know, that VERY night I began hanging out with Mr. O. In the next months I did my first major revision, finishing in the middle of March, a deadline I set for myself and met, easily.
That was over a year and a half ago. A few months later I realized it still needed wome work, but didn't exactly know WHAT it needed. I started to feel overwhelmed, like it was unfixable. I wasn't writing much, or even looking at my manuscript. My writing group wasn't meeting that often. Then one night while watching TV, somehow it came up that I'd never seen The Wall, and after months and months of Mr. O hearing me say that I never saw this or that TV show, didn't know this or that actor, ahd never heard such and such music in my youth, hadn't been allowed to watch this, that and a million other movies growing up, (which I may add, is something that eventually comes up with anyone I know hwo is close to my age - I don't have the same pop culture context - I think it's one of the reason I feel so comfortable having friends who are decades older than me, they sort of expect me not to get their references just because of my age), suggested that I should write about how I got so socially retarded. At first, I was pissed, it's a sore spot for me for sure, one more thing separating me from my peers.
By the next morning though, I was thinking of ways I could make it a really fun essay. I spent the next month writing and editing it. It was a blast. I loved sort of looking at my life that way, seeing where it touched on this theme. I felt like I really got to oexplore my own psyche too. After working on it for awhile I realized that some of this background information was important for the book, and I worked it into a long introduction/prologue.
Then I shipped my book out to an editor and a freind I met in a writing group, and in the next few months got feedback.
Then this last February, I started a different kind of rewriting, not just fixing commas and correcting typos, but really looking at the book as a whole and taking it where I wanted to go. I think it's a completely different book than it once was. A lot of the extraneous characters and situations got the axe, and a loto f the important events are deepened. I had to really dig deep, to to some unpleasant psychic territory, address albinism more, turn that summary prologue into actual vivid scenes, and so on. It's a totally different book. I think it's a lot better, a lot more of a book I'd want to read.
But since there's so much different, I do want to read through it one more time as a whole, before calling this draft officially DONE.
Currently Listening:
"Wooden Jesus" - Temple of the Dog
Technically, I made it. Sometime Wednesday morning before work, I finished revising the last paragraph of the last chapter. I want to talk some about the process of writing this book.
It all started the first summer I lived on Orcas Island. I'd just made it out of hell and narrowly escaped homelessness in Seattle. I was offered a kitchen job at the camp that offered housing, which was my own room to myself, and food, and year-round work, sort of. I was staying somewhere, for the first time in years. I wasn't fully on my feet but for once I didn't have to worry about basic survival.
With that freedom I started to think about writing again. I had a wild story to tell - a legally blind girl strantded at bus stations and traveling to creepy and non-creepy organic farms, making it through those months in Seattle. I'd had real adventures and I knew, as a writer, I wanted to write about them. One day, on a day off, I sat down to write about my first day of college, when essentially, all of this began.
The next day, another day off, I walked into the local library and there was a flyer for Fall classes. One of them waas on memoir writing. It started that day. I don't know if that's synchronicity or what, but sometimes I think that when you take a step towards something, it comes to you, or something like that.
I loved the class. One of these days I'm going to post about that, what it was like taking that class. The word that comes to mind is watershed. For years I hadn't really been able to write, but by then, a lot had built up inside me and came pouring out of me. The class was great. I took it again over the winter and in the spring. I wrote and wrote and wrote about all aspects of life between the time I left for college and landing on Orcas. I even dipped further back into writing about some defining childhood moments. I had no idea what shape my book would take.
The next fall, 04, I took the class again, but this time aside from the class, a couple of us who were serious about writing books with our memoir pieces started meeting on Mondays for more in-depth work. Our assignment that season was to pick a season to write about. I chose the spring of my freshman year of college. There was so much in that season - that was when I started having adventures, really started moving outside my comfort zone and beyond my sheltered upbringing. It was also a season packed with emotional wallops and huge wantings. I was drawn to write about it. After that season ended, our Monday group continued to meet and I went on to write about other seasons for the next year or so.
Eventually I started to see that that first year of college had such dramatic personal changes for me that it would really constitute its own book. It all took place in the same place - a small town in Maryland - that I never lived in after that year. It was its own world, its own journey. During the fall of 05 I lived in a room in a very remote house. As it got deeper into fall, I wrote more and more and more, filling in the other parts of that freshman year. I mean sometimes writing for ten hours a day, or more. I almost drwned in writing. It was almost too much. I felt that when I was done, I wanted to LIVE, not just write in seclusion.
I moved at the beginning of December and within a week in the new house, with more people and closer to town, I had finished the last handwritten word of the last section I had to write about for this first book. Wouldn't ya know, that VERY night I began hanging out with Mr. O. In the next months I did my first major revision, finishing in the middle of March, a deadline I set for myself and met, easily.
That was over a year and a half ago. A few months later I realized it still needed wome work, but didn't exactly know WHAT it needed. I started to feel overwhelmed, like it was unfixable. I wasn't writing much, or even looking at my manuscript. My writing group wasn't meeting that often. Then one night while watching TV, somehow it came up that I'd never seen The Wall, and after months and months of Mr. O hearing me say that I never saw this or that TV show, didn't know this or that actor, ahd never heard such and such music in my youth, hadn't been allowed to watch this, that and a million other movies growing up, (which I may add, is something that eventually comes up with anyone I know hwo is close to my age - I don't have the same pop culture context - I think it's one of the reason I feel so comfortable having friends who are decades older than me, they sort of expect me not to get their references just because of my age), suggested that I should write about how I got so socially retarded. At first, I was pissed, it's a sore spot for me for sure, one more thing separating me from my peers.
By the next morning though, I was thinking of ways I could make it a really fun essay. I spent the next month writing and editing it. It was a blast. I loved sort of looking at my life that way, seeing where it touched on this theme. I felt like I really got to oexplore my own psyche too. After working on it for awhile I realized that some of this background information was important for the book, and I worked it into a long introduction/prologue.
Then I shipped my book out to an editor and a freind I met in a writing group, and in the next few months got feedback.
Then this last February, I started a different kind of rewriting, not just fixing commas and correcting typos, but really looking at the book as a whole and taking it where I wanted to go. I think it's a completely different book than it once was. A lot of the extraneous characters and situations got the axe, and a loto f the important events are deepened. I had to really dig deep, to to some unpleasant psychic territory, address albinism more, turn that summary prologue into actual vivid scenes, and so on. It's a totally different book. I think it's a lot better, a lot more of a book I'd want to read.
But since there's so much different, I do want to read through it one more time as a whole, before calling this draft officially DONE.
Currently Listening:
"Wooden Jesus" - Temple of the Dog
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Coming Out of the Closet about College
I am nervous making this post, might as well get that out of the way from the very beginning.
As I've talked about in previous blogs, I'm planning on returning to school next fall to finish my undergrad degree. I'm looking at some WA state schools, and also, as described in I Can't Seem to Stop Stretching, widening my circles of where I'm looking. I'm not sure I want to stay in WA. I am sure it would be easier, especially financially, and that if I go somewhere else, everything will depend on financial aid. Still, that hasn't stopped me from looking. I dream big, always. And I'm determined as shit, so if I want to make something happen that's more of a stretch, I'll find a way. Of that, I have no doubt.
*
On a different note, up until April, I was living with this guy. He doesn't want to be written about (and almost definitely hasn't seen my blog), and I want to respect that, but also be able to give bare bones background stuff when necessary, so I'm taking a cue from Janna, (whose blog you should really read, btw - when I went to go retreive the addy to make the linkey, I got distracted by reading her latest post - she's great). She calls her husband "the dreadfully charming Mr. Right," or "Mr. R" for short. So, in that vein, I'm going to call this guy who was living with me, Mr. Orestes, b/c the song "Orestes" by A Perfect Circle reminds me of him. We'll make that Mr. O for short.
Wow, that's pretty weird, calling someone I lived with a nickname like that, but anyway, so yes, Mr. O and I were living together in my apartment with a big brown puppy. It was never really clear whether Mr. O and I were roommates, friends, or more than friends (and that ambiguity drove me absolutely batty). It definitely started as more than friends, and that's definitely what I wanted, but I can't say either of us would win any gold stars for communication (read: that is the understatement of the millenium) so, things were unclear. And then he had to return to Boston to take care of some things. Who knows what'll happen when he's done taking care of things, in the next month or two. It's been so long since April that I'm a little unsure what I want at this point, definitely unsure what he wants, but I am sure, definitely, that I love the guy. I promise you need to know this for the rest of the story to make sense, or at least for some of the dilemma to be clear.
*
Three weeks ago, I was talking to my friend Edie on the phone. Edie used to work at the YMCA camp with me and is now a grad student at Suffolk. We were having a grand discussion about schools I might look at, with the whole vast vista of the US open with possibility before me. We talked about schools out west, in the midwest, back east, schools we'd gone to, schools we visited, and so on. Then the following conversation ensued:
Edie: Chrys, you should look at schools in Boston.
Me: I can't. Mr. O's there. That'd be like, wrong, like invading his territory or something.
Edie: But there's so many schools here, and there's like 250,000 college studens here. You'd probably never even run into him.
Me: I don't know.
Edie: You can live in my tiny studio with me for free. Think about it.
Some idle daydreaming and joking about what it would be like to live in a small box together and rock the Northeast ensued.
Edie: Seriously, you should at least look into it. There's so many schools here. There's Suffolk, Boston College, Boston U... (she goes on to list a whole bunch and I brush them all off, having no particular inclination towards any) ... There's Emerson.
Emerson.
Oh, Emerson. I even love the name. But more importantly, I almost went there. Ten years ago, Emerson was THE school I wanted to go to. They have an amazingly awesome writing program. I met my high school boyfriend the summer before senior year at a blind kids' program, and that's how we started talking, we both wanted to go to Emerson. He went. I didn't. Oh, I got in. I even got accepted into their Honors program, which is highly competitive and hard to get into. But I didn't go. I didn't go partly because my parents had a lot of reservations about Emerson, and I won't go so far as to say they talked me out of it, but their concerns augmented my own.
And what concerns were those? I'm sure you're dying to know. First was that Emerson focuses mostly on communications, performing arts and writing. What if, as sure as I felt that writing was my passion, I decided I wanted to major in something else? Psychology, philosophy, a foreign language, science? I was a well-rounded student, generally doing well in and enjoying many different areas of academics. I even loved math (still do). It seemed a valid concern. The bigger concern, however, was that it was in a city. As my mom always liked to say, "It just worries me that there isn't any campus."
It scared the shit out of me. I'd always lived in suburbia. My life was extremely sheltered and overprotected, almost comically so. Even in my small NJ town, I had a very limited adolescent experience. The only places I ever felt like I'd been a real teenager were at blind camp, and among my neighbors, who stopped hanging out with me in my early years of high school. I was pretty socially retarded, partly because of being teased and ostracized by the other kids at school, and partly because I wasn't allowed to do anything. It seemed I was always in trouble, on some restriction for some report card indiscretion. My bedtime was earlier than anyone else's that I knew, and even my pop culture intake (movies and TV mostly) was very restricted. In a lot of ways, socially, I was a lot younger than my peers.
Even though I totally wanted to get out of high school and my house, the thought of going to college, anywhere, with kids who'd been real teenagers and who might party, drink, do drugs, have sex, go on dates, talk about all the pop culture things I'd missed and treat me like an alien for missing them, flirt, and so on, scared me, a lot. Then add in the city factor, and I was downright quivering with fear. I didn't know how to navigate a city. I'd never taken public transit alone in my life. I'd taken it a few times, with people who knew what they were doing, and it seemed confusing and scary and impossible to figure out. I was afraid of walking around my own hometown by myself b/c I'd been harassed while walking home from school before. I would never survive in a city.
So I didn't go to Emerson. I went to a small school with less than a thousand students in a tiny town with no public transit and felt suffocated by its smallness. Adventures to get to concerts made me take seriously the idea that I *could* possibly travel, fly, etc. I started to want something else, something far. I transferred to school in Flagstaff, which did give me some experience with travel, flying, taking buses from the airport to the school, but was still a small town. I still felt stifled. I wanted to really, truly, irrevocably be independent. So I left school and traveled to organic farms all over the west coast, by greyhound bus. I got straned twice in Portland, OR, where, by virtue of necessity, I took public buses. I almost slept on the floor in the bathroom of the greyhound station. I got asked for drugs (repeatedly, actually, that stands out as one of my largest Portland memories, the number of people who asked me for drugs). I even survived being asked for sex on a street corner by some guy who offered me $200 to come home with him, lol. And I had fun. I went to the Rose Festival, explored the city, spent a day in Powell's bookstore, stayed at hostels and generally made the most of my crazy circumstances. It was one of the most stressful times in my life, but I learned so much. In the end I had to go home (by Greyhound of course).
Four months later I moved to Seattle, and that was THE most stressful four months in my life, ever. I was poor as shit, so were my roommates, and we lived in a seedy section of south Seattle where people asked us if we wanted to buy crack. We were all jobless. Our house had no heat. We ate food from the Food Bank for months. And looked for work. I walked around Seattle all the time. I took the buses to get to job interviews or fill out applications, or to attempt to donate plasma for money. I learned the city fast. I took buses all over the neighborhoods. I remember walking around Seattle well after midnight, after a Pearl Jam concert (I got tix way before I realized how hard it would be to find a job). I walked from the Key Arena by the Space Needle, to my bus stop, which was so many blocks away I couldn't even count it. The whole walk through Seattle, I was alert but not afraid, and I realized I was really getting the hang of this city thing.
In time, I knew how to get just about anywhere on the metro system, knew how to orient myself if I was lost (which was somewhat common for me, at least in the beginning), and found myself telling strangers at bus stops how to get where and which bus to take. I got a seasonal job at Barnes and Noble and had to make a connecting bus under a bridge at First & Spokane, a lonely bus stop, often late at night. My bus only came once an hour, so I spent a large portion of time, waiting at that lonely stop, again alert but not afraid. By the time my four months were up and I was offered a job on this cozy island where I live now, I knew that I could handle urban survival.
But I learned that by doing, and didn't know that back then when I was deciding between schools, and probably honestly wasn't at all ready to handle soemthing like that at the time. But now, years later, I'm not so worried about any of those old concerns.
Suffice to say, Edie had piqued my interest.
Me: But I couldn't really go there. I mean, what if Mr. O thought I was doing it to chase him or something? My pride couldn't handle that.
Edie: I think you're thinking about that way too much. I mean why let it influence you one way or the other?
Me: Yeah.
Edie: But I do have to tell you, Chrys, (giggles), if you do meet up with Mr. O, and you do live in my tiny box with me (more giggles), you guys are not allowed to do it in my studio. I will not be sexiled!
We both laughed. Then we daydreamed some more about what fun we'd have going to school in the same city, revisited old inside jokes and memories from our days working together at camp, and talked about our futures. When we hung up, I told her I'd think about Emerson.
And I did. In fact, I haven't stopped thinking about it ever since. I went to the college's website, and nearly salivated over the writing classes. Fiction, poetry, non-fiction, screenwriting, magazine writing, humor writing, even writing for stand-up comedy (which sounds totally fun), book publishing, magazine publishing, layout and design classes. A lot of these classes are offered at all levels (intro, intermediate, advanced), which means there's even more of them. I have looked at a lot of schools' websites, and Emerson definitely offers the best-looking classes. They also talk about links with numerous for-credit internship possibilities in publishing, magazines, etc. Another plus is that one of the things I want to do with my writing is readings, spoken word performance, and Emerson is strong in the performing arts. I'm sure I could take a class or two to amp my abilities in that department and take part in some student readings. I also like that though its majors are in communication and the arts, the curriculum there includes a solid liberal arts base. I might even be able to take a math class if I really felt like it. So, yes, I have been thinking about Emerson.
But I don't want to admit it. What will my friends think? What will Mr. O think if he finds out? How nicely coincidental is it that the school I'm thinking the most about just happens to be in his city? It seems a little too convenient, doesn't it? It shouldn't matter, really. For all I know, I may never hear from Mr. O again. And there are hundreds of thousands of college students in Boston. And I was interested in this school before I knew Mr. O existed. And it's a great school with a program I'm looking for, a philosophy I can get behind, and a good rep, as far as if I want to go to grad school (which I strongly believe I do - If I could I'd go straight to grad school for writing). And if I do this, I won't be going there until almost a full year from now, at which point, the Mr. O issue could be completely null and void.
But still, there is a small but extremely strong-willed, prideful part of me that says no, I can't go there, on principle. I can't go anywhere that might, even in the slightest way, be motivated by a boy. I am afraid of him finding out I'm even considering this. I hate ever doing anything that could make it seem like I might want someone who might not want me back. I am an independent, strong woman and that would look pathetic. And there may be a small, tiny, miniscule iota of truth in it. I'm not even sure, so I say there may be. As much as intellectually I'm sort of distancing myself from him, because I'm unsure where things are with us, like I said, I love the guy and when I'm being disgustingly dreamy I sometimes do picture us together still and hope that things could end up that way for us, if I'm being completely honest. So maybe that is part of the motivation.
On the other hand, when I'm not in daydreamy land, I'm not even sure I want to be with Mr. O anyway, even if we were in the same place. Our relationship was stressed, and his impending departure put pressure on it that both of us (and I have to say I was probably worse here, or more openly displaying it) didn't handle it well. We very well may not be right for each other. I would like to work some things out and maintain the friendship we had at the least, b/c I thought that was always strong, but I think a lot would have to change, for both of us, for a real romantic relationship to even work between us. And I don't know that he wants that and a lot times I'm no longer sure myself. Plus, with everything up in the air for so long between us, I keep thinking, well, if opportunity knocked in boyland, I just might answer the door. Lately I've even thought about actually, like, dating, wherever I end up going to school. I've always just hung out with people and ended up interested in someone or whatever, but I keep thinking, maybe I'd like to sample the dating scene, try to get past some of my shyness. So, I'm ambivalent now about Mr. O myself, and that ambivalence is what makes me say that I'm not even sure that he does factor into this picture at all. I mean, when I was writing up there all the things that make Emerson so enticing to me, it's like the Mr. O issue felt so....well, like a non-issue.
Another more clear-cut motivation that might be just as daydreamy and not down-to-earth is my childhood love of the Northeast and how I long for harsh winters, humid summers, fireflies, thunderstorms and the idea of New England (I was born in CT).
So, how does a person sort all this out? Might it be just as pathetic to not go somewhere b/c I'm afraid of how it would look? I'm sure it would.
So, I'm still thinking about it. Things have neatly fallen in place for me to visit the school. I got invited to possibly be part of a memoirists reading in NYC in November. It just happens that the big November weekend where I work (which most years, would be the same weekend as this NYC event) is the weekend before, leaving me free to go back east. It just happens that Edie has an extra day off that weekend I'll be in NYC, and says we can go back up to her place that Monday, to check out the city, and so I can visit the school. It just happens that Emerson has an Open House a few days later. It's all close enough to Thanksgiving that I could combine the NYC event and the school visit with a holiday with the family. Oh and yesterday, my boss said it'd be absolutely fine if I took all that time off, as we have almost no work at all while I'll be gone. Plane tickets back east are even disgustingly reasonable.
This could all really happen. I would like it to. I just wish, for convenience sake, that Mr. O was somewhere like Florida or Chicago, so his location woudln't enter into the equation and I wouldn't have to worry about my pride.
*
Note: Emerson, to my utter, astonishingly great surprise, was not discussed at all in Choosing the RIght College. Go figure.
Note #2: For anyone hoping for something a little more juicy from the title of this blog, a little girls gone wild or something, just you wait! If I do get into Emerson, I'll have to finance it somehow! Hahahaha, kidding. Sometimes I think if I wasn't so freakin' socially retarted still, I'd be a total flirt. Someday, someday.
As Chef on South Park would say, there's a time for everything, and it's called college.
Currently Listening:
"Like A Prayer" - Tori Amos' version
As I've talked about in previous blogs, I'm planning on returning to school next fall to finish my undergrad degree. I'm looking at some WA state schools, and also, as described in I Can't Seem to Stop Stretching, widening my circles of where I'm looking. I'm not sure I want to stay in WA. I am sure it would be easier, especially financially, and that if I go somewhere else, everything will depend on financial aid. Still, that hasn't stopped me from looking. I dream big, always. And I'm determined as shit, so if I want to make something happen that's more of a stretch, I'll find a way. Of that, I have no doubt.
*
On a different note, up until April, I was living with this guy. He doesn't want to be written about (and almost definitely hasn't seen my blog), and I want to respect that, but also be able to give bare bones background stuff when necessary, so I'm taking a cue from Janna, (whose blog you should really read, btw - when I went to go retreive the addy to make the linkey, I got distracted by reading her latest post - she's great). She calls her husband "the dreadfully charming Mr. Right," or "Mr. R" for short. So, in that vein, I'm going to call this guy who was living with me, Mr. Orestes, b/c the song "Orestes" by A Perfect Circle reminds me of him. We'll make that Mr. O for short.
Wow, that's pretty weird, calling someone I lived with a nickname like that, but anyway, so yes, Mr. O and I were living together in my apartment with a big brown puppy. It was never really clear whether Mr. O and I were roommates, friends, or more than friends (and that ambiguity drove me absolutely batty). It definitely started as more than friends, and that's definitely what I wanted, but I can't say either of us would win any gold stars for communication (read: that is the understatement of the millenium) so, things were unclear. And then he had to return to Boston to take care of some things. Who knows what'll happen when he's done taking care of things, in the next month or two. It's been so long since April that I'm a little unsure what I want at this point, definitely unsure what he wants, but I am sure, definitely, that I love the guy. I promise you need to know this for the rest of the story to make sense, or at least for some of the dilemma to be clear.
*
Three weeks ago, I was talking to my friend Edie on the phone. Edie used to work at the YMCA camp with me and is now a grad student at Suffolk. We were having a grand discussion about schools I might look at, with the whole vast vista of the US open with possibility before me. We talked about schools out west, in the midwest, back east, schools we'd gone to, schools we visited, and so on. Then the following conversation ensued:
Edie: Chrys, you should look at schools in Boston.
Me: I can't. Mr. O's there. That'd be like, wrong, like invading his territory or something.
Edie: But there's so many schools here, and there's like 250,000 college studens here. You'd probably never even run into him.
Me: I don't know.
Edie: You can live in my tiny studio with me for free. Think about it.
Some idle daydreaming and joking about what it would be like to live in a small box together and rock the Northeast ensued.
Edie: Seriously, you should at least look into it. There's so many schools here. There's Suffolk, Boston College, Boston U... (she goes on to list a whole bunch and I brush them all off, having no particular inclination towards any) ... There's Emerson.
Emerson.
Oh, Emerson. I even love the name. But more importantly, I almost went there. Ten years ago, Emerson was THE school I wanted to go to. They have an amazingly awesome writing program. I met my high school boyfriend the summer before senior year at a blind kids' program, and that's how we started talking, we both wanted to go to Emerson. He went. I didn't. Oh, I got in. I even got accepted into their Honors program, which is highly competitive and hard to get into. But I didn't go. I didn't go partly because my parents had a lot of reservations about Emerson, and I won't go so far as to say they talked me out of it, but their concerns augmented my own.
And what concerns were those? I'm sure you're dying to know. First was that Emerson focuses mostly on communications, performing arts and writing. What if, as sure as I felt that writing was my passion, I decided I wanted to major in something else? Psychology, philosophy, a foreign language, science? I was a well-rounded student, generally doing well in and enjoying many different areas of academics. I even loved math (still do). It seemed a valid concern. The bigger concern, however, was that it was in a city. As my mom always liked to say, "It just worries me that there isn't any campus."
It scared the shit out of me. I'd always lived in suburbia. My life was extremely sheltered and overprotected, almost comically so. Even in my small NJ town, I had a very limited adolescent experience. The only places I ever felt like I'd been a real teenager were at blind camp, and among my neighbors, who stopped hanging out with me in my early years of high school. I was pretty socially retarded, partly because of being teased and ostracized by the other kids at school, and partly because I wasn't allowed to do anything. It seemed I was always in trouble, on some restriction for some report card indiscretion. My bedtime was earlier than anyone else's that I knew, and even my pop culture intake (movies and TV mostly) was very restricted. In a lot of ways, socially, I was a lot younger than my peers.
Even though I totally wanted to get out of high school and my house, the thought of going to college, anywhere, with kids who'd been real teenagers and who might party, drink, do drugs, have sex, go on dates, talk about all the pop culture things I'd missed and treat me like an alien for missing them, flirt, and so on, scared me, a lot. Then add in the city factor, and I was downright quivering with fear. I didn't know how to navigate a city. I'd never taken public transit alone in my life. I'd taken it a few times, with people who knew what they were doing, and it seemed confusing and scary and impossible to figure out. I was afraid of walking around my own hometown by myself b/c I'd been harassed while walking home from school before. I would never survive in a city.
So I didn't go to Emerson. I went to a small school with less than a thousand students in a tiny town with no public transit and felt suffocated by its smallness. Adventures to get to concerts made me take seriously the idea that I *could* possibly travel, fly, etc. I started to want something else, something far. I transferred to school in Flagstaff, which did give me some experience with travel, flying, taking buses from the airport to the school, but was still a small town. I still felt stifled. I wanted to really, truly, irrevocably be independent. So I left school and traveled to organic farms all over the west coast, by greyhound bus. I got straned twice in Portland, OR, where, by virtue of necessity, I took public buses. I almost slept on the floor in the bathroom of the greyhound station. I got asked for drugs (repeatedly, actually, that stands out as one of my largest Portland memories, the number of people who asked me for drugs). I even survived being asked for sex on a street corner by some guy who offered me $200 to come home with him, lol. And I had fun. I went to the Rose Festival, explored the city, spent a day in Powell's bookstore, stayed at hostels and generally made the most of my crazy circumstances. It was one of the most stressful times in my life, but I learned so much. In the end I had to go home (by Greyhound of course).
Four months later I moved to Seattle, and that was THE most stressful four months in my life, ever. I was poor as shit, so were my roommates, and we lived in a seedy section of south Seattle where people asked us if we wanted to buy crack. We were all jobless. Our house had no heat. We ate food from the Food Bank for months. And looked for work. I walked around Seattle all the time. I took the buses to get to job interviews or fill out applications, or to attempt to donate plasma for money. I learned the city fast. I took buses all over the neighborhoods. I remember walking around Seattle well after midnight, after a Pearl Jam concert (I got tix way before I realized how hard it would be to find a job). I walked from the Key Arena by the Space Needle, to my bus stop, which was so many blocks away I couldn't even count it. The whole walk through Seattle, I was alert but not afraid, and I realized I was really getting the hang of this city thing.
In time, I knew how to get just about anywhere on the metro system, knew how to orient myself if I was lost (which was somewhat common for me, at least in the beginning), and found myself telling strangers at bus stops how to get where and which bus to take. I got a seasonal job at Barnes and Noble and had to make a connecting bus under a bridge at First & Spokane, a lonely bus stop, often late at night. My bus only came once an hour, so I spent a large portion of time, waiting at that lonely stop, again alert but not afraid. By the time my four months were up and I was offered a job on this cozy island where I live now, I knew that I could handle urban survival.
But I learned that by doing, and didn't know that back then when I was deciding between schools, and probably honestly wasn't at all ready to handle soemthing like that at the time. But now, years later, I'm not so worried about any of those old concerns.
Suffice to say, Edie had piqued my interest.
Me: But I couldn't really go there. I mean, what if Mr. O thought I was doing it to chase him or something? My pride couldn't handle that.
Edie: I think you're thinking about that way too much. I mean why let it influence you one way or the other?
Me: Yeah.
Edie: But I do have to tell you, Chrys, (giggles), if you do meet up with Mr. O, and you do live in my tiny box with me (more giggles), you guys are not allowed to do it in my studio. I will not be sexiled!
We both laughed. Then we daydreamed some more about what fun we'd have going to school in the same city, revisited old inside jokes and memories from our days working together at camp, and talked about our futures. When we hung up, I told her I'd think about Emerson.
And I did. In fact, I haven't stopped thinking about it ever since. I went to the college's website, and nearly salivated over the writing classes. Fiction, poetry, non-fiction, screenwriting, magazine writing, humor writing, even writing for stand-up comedy (which sounds totally fun), book publishing, magazine publishing, layout and design classes. A lot of these classes are offered at all levels (intro, intermediate, advanced), which means there's even more of them. I have looked at a lot of schools' websites, and Emerson definitely offers the best-looking classes. They also talk about links with numerous for-credit internship possibilities in publishing, magazines, etc. Another plus is that one of the things I want to do with my writing is readings, spoken word performance, and Emerson is strong in the performing arts. I'm sure I could take a class or two to amp my abilities in that department and take part in some student readings. I also like that though its majors are in communication and the arts, the curriculum there includes a solid liberal arts base. I might even be able to take a math class if I really felt like it. So, yes, I have been thinking about Emerson.
But I don't want to admit it. What will my friends think? What will Mr. O think if he finds out? How nicely coincidental is it that the school I'm thinking the most about just happens to be in his city? It seems a little too convenient, doesn't it? It shouldn't matter, really. For all I know, I may never hear from Mr. O again. And there are hundreds of thousands of college students in Boston. And I was interested in this school before I knew Mr. O existed. And it's a great school with a program I'm looking for, a philosophy I can get behind, and a good rep, as far as if I want to go to grad school (which I strongly believe I do - If I could I'd go straight to grad school for writing). And if I do this, I won't be going there until almost a full year from now, at which point, the Mr. O issue could be completely null and void.
But still, there is a small but extremely strong-willed, prideful part of me that says no, I can't go there, on principle. I can't go anywhere that might, even in the slightest way, be motivated by a boy. I am afraid of him finding out I'm even considering this. I hate ever doing anything that could make it seem like I might want someone who might not want me back. I am an independent, strong woman and that would look pathetic. And there may be a small, tiny, miniscule iota of truth in it. I'm not even sure, so I say there may be. As much as intellectually I'm sort of distancing myself from him, because I'm unsure where things are with us, like I said, I love the guy and when I'm being disgustingly dreamy I sometimes do picture us together still and hope that things could end up that way for us, if I'm being completely honest. So maybe that is part of the motivation.
On the other hand, when I'm not in daydreamy land, I'm not even sure I want to be with Mr. O anyway, even if we were in the same place. Our relationship was stressed, and his impending departure put pressure on it that both of us (and I have to say I was probably worse here, or more openly displaying it) didn't handle it well. We very well may not be right for each other. I would like to work some things out and maintain the friendship we had at the least, b/c I thought that was always strong, but I think a lot would have to change, for both of us, for a real romantic relationship to even work between us. And I don't know that he wants that and a lot times I'm no longer sure myself. Plus, with everything up in the air for so long between us, I keep thinking, well, if opportunity knocked in boyland, I just might answer the door. Lately I've even thought about actually, like, dating, wherever I end up going to school. I've always just hung out with people and ended up interested in someone or whatever, but I keep thinking, maybe I'd like to sample the dating scene, try to get past some of my shyness. So, I'm ambivalent now about Mr. O myself, and that ambivalence is what makes me say that I'm not even sure that he does factor into this picture at all. I mean, when I was writing up there all the things that make Emerson so enticing to me, it's like the Mr. O issue felt so....well, like a non-issue.
Another more clear-cut motivation that might be just as daydreamy and not down-to-earth is my childhood love of the Northeast and how I long for harsh winters, humid summers, fireflies, thunderstorms and the idea of New England (I was born in CT).
So, how does a person sort all this out? Might it be just as pathetic to not go somewhere b/c I'm afraid of how it would look? I'm sure it would.
So, I'm still thinking about it. Things have neatly fallen in place for me to visit the school. I got invited to possibly be part of a memoirists reading in NYC in November. It just happens that the big November weekend where I work (which most years, would be the same weekend as this NYC event) is the weekend before, leaving me free to go back east. It just happens that Edie has an extra day off that weekend I'll be in NYC, and says we can go back up to her place that Monday, to check out the city, and so I can visit the school. It just happens that Emerson has an Open House a few days later. It's all close enough to Thanksgiving that I could combine the NYC event and the school visit with a holiday with the family. Oh and yesterday, my boss said it'd be absolutely fine if I took all that time off, as we have almost no work at all while I'll be gone. Plane tickets back east are even disgustingly reasonable.
This could all really happen. I would like it to. I just wish, for convenience sake, that Mr. O was somewhere like Florida or Chicago, so his location woudln't enter into the equation and I wouldn't have to worry about my pride.
*
Note: Emerson, to my utter, astonishingly great surprise, was not discussed at all in Choosing the RIght College. Go figure.
Note #2: For anyone hoping for something a little more juicy from the title of this blog, a little girls gone wild or something, just you wait! If I do get into Emerson, I'll have to finance it somehow! Hahahaha, kidding. Sometimes I think if I wasn't so freakin' socially retarted still, I'd be a total flirt. Someday, someday.
As Chef on South Park would say, there's a time for everything, and it's called college.
Currently Listening:
"Like A Prayer" - Tori Amos' version
Monday, September 17, 2007
A quickie - part of my book up at The Memoirists Collective
Heh, I said quickie.
Anyway, each Monday, The Memoirists Collective has an online workshop on their blog, where they post a section of someone's memoir for comment.
And this week, it's mine! It's the very first section of my book. Read it here and feel free to comment.
Currently Listening:
"Big Tall Man" - Liz Phair
Anyway, each Monday, The Memoirists Collective has an online workshop on their blog, where they post a section of someone's memoir for comment.
And this week, it's mine! It's the very first section of my book. Read it here and feel free to comment.
Currently Listening:
"Big Tall Man" - Liz Phair
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
My Artist Statement
(The artist statement is something I had to write for a grant I applied for. I railed against it, mainly by way of procrastination, but here's how it eventually, perhaps a bit too passionately, came out.)
ARTIST STATEMENT
Like most people I know, my childhood was regularly awful. I am albino, which means that my skin, hair and eyes are paler than pale and I'm legally blind. This condition complicated social matters, but with a messy home life, I often felt more different and alienated on the inside than I was in outward appearance. I survived my difficult times by reading books. Books entertained and deepened me. Reading took me to other worlds, which paradoxically helped me understand my own life and illuminated what it meant to be human.
Writing is a natural outgrowth of that love of books. I am fascinated with words and their power. In my mind, for as long as I can remember, I've associated letters with different colors, so writing feels a little like painting. What most drives my writing though, is my desire to create for other people what books once created for me, a deep connection and the sense that we aren't so terribly alone in the world. I write to come to terms with life and its fragile splendor, struggle, passion, love, loss, anguish, rage, lust, disappointment and small graces that happen almost accidentally in the midst.
When I was younger, I did this through science-fiction stories and used other world settings to illustrate human life. Occasionally instead of science-fiction I used satire for the same purpose. In college, my focus shifted to literary fiction and a deeper psychological exploration of characters in contemporary settings. In more recent years, that focus shifted again, this time to memoir writing, a passion that continues and grows stronger with age.
I write memoir because if I don't, experiences and feelings get stuck inside me. I write to understand my own psyche, to connect with other people and with my sense of a bigger, deeper spiritual dimension, to use the landscape of language to capture feelings that are beyond words. My only rule for myself in writing is to be real, raw and ruthless with truth.
Because I can't see well, I'm a keen observer. I have to hold things close to my eyes to see them, and I pay close attention to details and rely on other ways of seeing that aren't always tangible. In writing, I do the same kind of close examination of events and emotions, holding them up to the light to study in exquisite detail. I believe that writing and reading memoir is a way for people, collectively, to digest their own lives in a culture that rarely values the time and depth it takes to do that sort of digesting.
My favorite memoir teacher, Janet Thomas, talks about a speech Robert Redford once gave at a summit for filmmakers. He said to them that we are living in a dying world and it's their job to document that world, capture things before they disappear. I think of that as my job too.
ARTIST STATEMENT
Like most people I know, my childhood was regularly awful. I am albino, which means that my skin, hair and eyes are paler than pale and I'm legally blind. This condition complicated social matters, but with a messy home life, I often felt more different and alienated on the inside than I was in outward appearance. I survived my difficult times by reading books. Books entertained and deepened me. Reading took me to other worlds, which paradoxically helped me understand my own life and illuminated what it meant to be human.
Writing is a natural outgrowth of that love of books. I am fascinated with words and their power. In my mind, for as long as I can remember, I've associated letters with different colors, so writing feels a little like painting. What most drives my writing though, is my desire to create for other people what books once created for me, a deep connection and the sense that we aren't so terribly alone in the world. I write to come to terms with life and its fragile splendor, struggle, passion, love, loss, anguish, rage, lust, disappointment and small graces that happen almost accidentally in the midst.
When I was younger, I did this through science-fiction stories and used other world settings to illustrate human life. Occasionally instead of science-fiction I used satire for the same purpose. In college, my focus shifted to literary fiction and a deeper psychological exploration of characters in contemporary settings. In more recent years, that focus shifted again, this time to memoir writing, a passion that continues and grows stronger with age.
I write memoir because if I don't, experiences and feelings get stuck inside me. I write to understand my own psyche, to connect with other people and with my sense of a bigger, deeper spiritual dimension, to use the landscape of language to capture feelings that are beyond words. My only rule for myself in writing is to be real, raw and ruthless with truth.
Because I can't see well, I'm a keen observer. I have to hold things close to my eyes to see them, and I pay close attention to details and rely on other ways of seeing that aren't always tangible. In writing, I do the same kind of close examination of events and emotions, holding them up to the light to study in exquisite detail. I believe that writing and reading memoir is a way for people, collectively, to digest their own lives in a culture that rarely values the time and depth it takes to do that sort of digesting.
My favorite memoir teacher, Janet Thomas, talks about a speech Robert Redford once gave at a summit for filmmakers. He said to them that we are living in a dying world and it's their job to document that world, capture things before they disappear. I think of that as my job too.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Education
Currently Attending Portland State University, studying biology and pursuing writing on my own.
Went to Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, AZ. Studied astronomy and writing.
2000-2002
Attended Washington College in Chestertown, MD. Received the competitive Sophie Kerr Scholarship in Creative Writing, given to three incoming freshman.
1999-2000
Went to Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, AZ. Studied astronomy and writing.
2000-2002
Attended Washington College in Chestertown, MD. Received the competitive Sophie Kerr Scholarship in Creative Writing, given to three incoming freshman.
1999-2000
Awards and Honors
Chapter Three of memoir published in Shark Reef literary magazine - read me here.
2008
Selected for publication in the “Readers Write” section of The Sun magazine - read me here, on Parties.
2008
Chosen for the Orcas Artsmith weeklong writing residency.
2008
Named as a finalist during Week One and Week Two in MTV's “I'm From Rolling Stone” writing contest. During Week One, was one of five finalistss (out of over 500 submissions) to receive an honorable mention and praise by Rolling Stone editor, Joe Levy.
2007
Won two second-place ribbons at the San Juan County Fair's Written Word booth.
2005
Received Sophie Kerr scholarship in Creative Writing at Washington College, given to three incoming freshmen each year, based on writing portfolio. Read about the Sophie Kerr program here.
1999
Graduated Pequannock Township High School in Pompton Plains, NJ with the “Highest Honor” Award in Creative Writing.
1999
Won first place in school-wide short story and essay competitions in senior year of high school.
1999
Won first place in school-wide short story competition in junior year of high school.
1998
Nominated by high school for the New Jersey Governor's School of the Arts in Creative Writing.
1998
Named a National Merit Commended Scholar.
1998
Inducted into National Honor Society.
1998
Inducted into French Honor Society.
1997
2008
Selected for publication in the “Readers Write” section of The Sun magazine - read me here, on Parties.
2008
Chosen for the Orcas Artsmith weeklong writing residency.
2008
Named as a finalist during Week One and Week Two in MTV's “I'm From Rolling Stone” writing contest. During Week One, was one of five finalistss (out of over 500 submissions) to receive an honorable mention and praise by Rolling Stone editor, Joe Levy.
2007
Won two second-place ribbons at the San Juan County Fair's Written Word booth.
2005
Received Sophie Kerr scholarship in Creative Writing at Washington College, given to three incoming freshmen each year, based on writing portfolio. Read about the Sophie Kerr program here.
1999
Graduated Pequannock Township High School in Pompton Plains, NJ with the “Highest Honor” Award in Creative Writing.
1999
Won first place in school-wide short story and essay competitions in senior year of high school.
1999
Won first place in school-wide short story competition in junior year of high school.
1998
Nominated by high school for the New Jersey Governor's School of the Arts in Creative Writing.
1998
Named a National Merit Commended Scholar.
1998
Inducted into National Honor Society.
1998
Inducted into French Honor Society.
1997
Professional Work Experience in Writing
Wrote my own book manuscript, a memoir tentatively titled Moonchild, sent it out for critique and editing, most notably by Gillian Kendall, author of Mr. Ding's Chicken Feet, and manuscript reader for The Sun, and Linda Simoni-Wastila, novelist extraordinaire. Currently working on rewriting next draft and pursuing the path to publication.
2003-present
Hired yearly to write artist bios and press for the Opening Doors Art Show.
2005-present
Worked as a writing coach with individual clients.
2005-present
Copy-edited for the online music magazine The Scene LA.
1998-present
Gave book critique for Linda Simoni-Wastila (via the internet) on her novel.
2007
Taught fiction writing at Orcas Island Library
2006
Edited (for content and copy) Orcas writings, including memoirs, biographies and other family accounts.
2006
Sold chapbook chapters, stories, poems and CDs (of spoken word performance) at Orcas Island Farmer’s Market.
2006
Sold matted poem at art auction put on by Orcas Island Library.
2005
Copy-edited Naomi Aldort's Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves.
2005
2003-present
Hired yearly to write artist bios and press for the Opening Doors Art Show.
2005-present
Worked as a writing coach with individual clients.
2005-present
Copy-edited for the online music magazine The Scene LA.
1998-present
Gave book critique for Linda Simoni-Wastila (via the internet) on her novel.
2007
Taught fiction writing at Orcas Island Library
2006
Edited (for content and copy) Orcas writings, including memoirs, biographies and other family accounts.
2006
Sold chapbook chapters, stories, poems and CDs (of spoken word performance) at Orcas Island Farmer’s Market.
2006
Sold matted poem at art auction put on by Orcas Island Library.
2005
Copy-edited Naomi Aldort's Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves.
2005
Classes, Workshops and Groups
CLASSES
Took classes on Writing the Query Letter, Writing the Book Proposal and Advanced Memoir Writing through Writers Online Workshops.
2006-2007
Took memoir class taught by Janet Thomas, author of The Battle in Seattle and various articles, offered at Orcas Island Library through Skagit Valley College (not for credit) for five quarters.
2003-2005
Took JoEllen Moldoff's poetry class at Orcas Island Library.
2003
WORKSHOPS
Attended Pacific Northwest Writers Association Conference in Seattle and pitched it up.
2007
Attended The Sun magazine's weekend workshop on “The Power of Personal Stories” at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA.
2005
Attended weekend memoir workshop with Janet Thomas on Orcas Island.
2005
Attended weekend writing workshop on metaphor, symbolism and imagery with Susan Zwinger.
2003
GROUPS
Participated in weekly “Monday Writers” critique group on Orcas.
2004-present
Participated in monthly Writers' Roundtable at Orcas Library.
2003-present
Took classes on Writing the Query Letter, Writing the Book Proposal and Advanced Memoir Writing through Writers Online Workshops.
2006-2007
Took memoir class taught by Janet Thomas, author of The Battle in Seattle and various articles, offered at Orcas Island Library through Skagit Valley College (not for credit) for five quarters.
2003-2005
Took JoEllen Moldoff's poetry class at Orcas Island Library.
2003
WORKSHOPS
Attended Pacific Northwest Writers Association Conference in Seattle and pitched it up.
2007
Attended The Sun magazine's weekend workshop on “The Power of Personal Stories” at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA.
2005
Attended weekend memoir workshop with Janet Thomas on Orcas Island.
2005
Attended weekend writing workshop on metaphor, symbolism and imagery with Susan Zwinger.
2003
GROUPS
Participated in weekly “Monday Writers” critique group on Orcas.
2004-present
Participated in monthly Writers' Roundtable at Orcas Library.
2003-present
Readings
Read the first chapter of my book at The Best Memoirists Pageant Ever at the Bowery Poetry Club in New York City. Somewhere there is a recording of this and I will try to find a way to post it.
2007
Gave a reading of memoir work in a group spoken word reading at Kangaroo House on Orcas.
2007
Read work at Hugo House's Write-O-Rama in Seattle.
2007
Organized, advertized and held a two-hour live performance of my memoir chapters and poetry on Orcas.
2005
Read at the Island Women's Summit as a featured performer.
2005
2007
Gave a reading of memoir work in a group spoken word reading at Kangaroo House on Orcas.
2007
Read work at Hugo House's Write-O-Rama in Seattle.
2007
Organized, advertized and held a two-hour live performance of my memoir chapters and poetry on Orcas.
2005
Read at the Island Women's Summit as a featured performer.
2005
Friday, September 7, 2007
A Mishmosh of Other Notes
So, after further investigating UW's English department, I realized they really don't offer the array of writing classes I want. I'd spend most of my time there taking literature classes, which isn't necessarily terrible, but I want to be writing, and not just analytical, critical essays. I have three semesters left if all my credits transfer, and I don't want to have to put writing on hold for that long while I get my degree. What irks me to no end is that UW offers these "extension" programs aimed at the working adult, and they have extension classes in everything I want to take - memoir, creative non-fiction (as in articles and essays), screenwriting, genre fiction, literary fiction. Such a delectable selection! But of course, when I asked the English department, I found out that in no way can any of the extension classes be taken for credit.
The school isn't out of the question. I mean, they are well-respected academically, and tuition might be doable because I'm a state resident and I could get help from the Services for the Blind (for those unfamiliar, these blind-people agencies are state-run and vary considerably from state to state). It's also in a city, which is something I want, and to boot, a city I know pretty well. So, like I said, not out of the question, but I am looking elsewhere. I decided I'm going to aim to transfer next fall, which'll give me almost a year to thoroughly investigate schools, apply, save up money, prepare to move.
And the search continues. I think one of the best things is that I pretty clearly know what I want. I want to be somewhere with an array of writing classes in different styles and genres. I want to be somewhere with internship possibilities in publishing or teaching. I want to be somewhere urban. For one thing, living on my little island is making me a bit stir-crazy, emphasis on the crazy, but more importantly, since I don't drive, I want available public transit. I'm also way too old to live in a dorm (hated it when I was the right age), so somewhere where I can realistically commute to school. So, I'm continuing to look, do college searches, read up, and so on.
In the meantime, there's a screenwriting class being offered on the island. It runs from the end of Sept through the end of March, with a scene reading in April. The class is based on adapting Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods for the screen. I've never done screenwriting before, but have contemplated it for awhile. It scares me because it's so visual, and I'm visually-impaired, but then again, when I get story and book ideas, I always sort of see them like movies anyway. I think it could be challenging and great. It'll definitely be somethign to add to my writing resume, put on college applications, etc. This class is also supposed to be very rigorous, so it should give me a taste of what I'll be getting into with school.
All in all, my goals for the coming six-eight months or so:
-Write a screenplay based on A Walk in the Woods
-Research schools, apply, figure out where I want to be next year at this time
-Save money (I have about a grand now, which is about the most I've ever had, and this time I don't owe any outstanding phone bills or anything else I'm aware of). Gotta build on that as much as humanly possible, especially considering I live in a remote place that gets dead in the winter, and already my work hours are declining. Must brainstorm. Note to self: Topic for another blog.
-Finish revising my book and send it out to agents. Linda and I have changed our target date from the 15th of this month to the 30th. We each want to finish the next draft of our manuscripts by then, then exchange, read each other's, comment, return, make any changes (with some time in between there to get some fresh perspective), and then send out. I have those leads from the PNWA conference to start with.
And while I'm being ambitious, let me just say that this weekend I plan to:
-Clean my house
-Do laundry
-Make a big dinner (I often make big meals over the weekend, so I can heat 'em up quickly during the coming week when I'm working)
-Write up a proposal with different ideas for columns I could write for local newspapers
-Do a friend's astrological birthchart
As for today, I have a counseling appointment, a reunion with an old writing group that no longer meets, and work.
I'd better get going. I have a big chocolate lab who is going to be very pissed if I don't walk her soon!
Currently listening:
"The Song is Over" - The Who (God, I love this song, and the whole album, Who's Next?)
The school isn't out of the question. I mean, they are well-respected academically, and tuition might be doable because I'm a state resident and I could get help from the Services for the Blind (for those unfamiliar, these blind-people agencies are state-run and vary considerably from state to state). It's also in a city, which is something I want, and to boot, a city I know pretty well. So, like I said, not out of the question, but I am looking elsewhere. I decided I'm going to aim to transfer next fall, which'll give me almost a year to thoroughly investigate schools, apply, save up money, prepare to move.
And the search continues. I think one of the best things is that I pretty clearly know what I want. I want to be somewhere with an array of writing classes in different styles and genres. I want to be somewhere with internship possibilities in publishing or teaching. I want to be somewhere urban. For one thing, living on my little island is making me a bit stir-crazy, emphasis on the crazy, but more importantly, since I don't drive, I want available public transit. I'm also way too old to live in a dorm (hated it when I was the right age), so somewhere where I can realistically commute to school. So, I'm continuing to look, do college searches, read up, and so on.
In the meantime, there's a screenwriting class being offered on the island. It runs from the end of Sept through the end of March, with a scene reading in April. The class is based on adapting Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods for the screen. I've never done screenwriting before, but have contemplated it for awhile. It scares me because it's so visual, and I'm visually-impaired, but then again, when I get story and book ideas, I always sort of see them like movies anyway. I think it could be challenging and great. It'll definitely be somethign to add to my writing resume, put on college applications, etc. This class is also supposed to be very rigorous, so it should give me a taste of what I'll be getting into with school.
All in all, my goals for the coming six-eight months or so:
-Write a screenplay based on A Walk in the Woods
-Research schools, apply, figure out where I want to be next year at this time
-Save money (I have about a grand now, which is about the most I've ever had, and this time I don't owe any outstanding phone bills or anything else I'm aware of). Gotta build on that as much as humanly possible, especially considering I live in a remote place that gets dead in the winter, and already my work hours are declining. Must brainstorm. Note to self: Topic for another blog.
-Finish revising my book and send it out to agents. Linda and I have changed our target date from the 15th of this month to the 30th. We each want to finish the next draft of our manuscripts by then, then exchange, read each other's, comment, return, make any changes (with some time in between there to get some fresh perspective), and then send out. I have those leads from the PNWA conference to start with.
And while I'm being ambitious, let me just say that this weekend I plan to:
-Clean my house
-Do laundry
-Make a big dinner (I often make big meals over the weekend, so I can heat 'em up quickly during the coming week when I'm working)
-Write up a proposal with different ideas for columns I could write for local newspapers
-Do a friend's astrological birthchart
As for today, I have a counseling appointment, a reunion with an old writing group that no longer meets, and work.
I'd better get going. I have a big chocolate lab who is going to be very pissed if I don't walk her soon!
Currently listening:
"The Song is Over" - The Who (God, I love this song, and the whole album, Who's Next?)
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Choosing the Right College - Wrong for Me!
So, early this week I went to the local library to take out some books on colleges. I wanted books that had student perspectives. After all, you can only learn so much from a college's own website, where of course they only say all the good things about the school. I wanted something more in-depth and down to earth.
Well, there were only two college guides in the whole library and I checked them both out. One of them was Choosing the Right College. It was the 2006 edition, which has the word "Right" in red letters, which is apt.
I immediately flipped to the back of the book, expecting an index, so I could look up some of the schools I'm interested in. Instead of an index, there was a discussion of questions for students to ask while visiting colleges. At first it seemed inocuous - questions about what percent of classes are taught by TAs, and questions academic advising.
The next question struck me as a bit off. It was about asking whether there's a core curriculum - a list of courses that all students are required to take, or instead distribution requirements (meaning students must take, for example, two humanities classes, two social science classes, and so on, but are free to choose which classes within that area of study). In the explanation of the question, the book says, "Many colleges falsely state that they have a core curriculum when that is not at all the case. If [they say they do have a core curric], ask them how many choices exist within each disiplinary requirement. If the answer is more than one or two, there is no core curriculum worthy of the name."
That struck me as strange. I mean, why do they care? I'd much rather have the distribution requirements myself. I ALWAYS like choice. My thought was, well don't different approaches suit different students? I started to think the authors (not listed anywhere on the cover), might have some sort of agenda or slant.
I kept reading. There were questions about whether American history is a required class, because if not "it does reveal an administration lacking a commitment to foster in its students an understanding of our nation's past." Again, a bit here nor there. Maybe patriotic, but I think most people think American history is important.
Then I got to the section in this questions guide on "political atmosphere," which I thought was strange, to be included with much more typical, broader topics like Academics and Student Life. Here's where things got really wonky, and where I started to get pissed.
The first issue they bring up is, "Speech codes operating under the guise of sexual harassment codes." Now, let me tell you, I'm a pretty thorough person, there is a lot I want to know when looking into a school, but this is definitely NOT on the list! Never even ocurred to me. In the explanation of the issue, they talk about that in the 90s a lot of colleges instated "speech codes" to make sure people were politically correct. Then these codes were challenged, colleges lost court cases, so now may put these old speech codes into their sexual harassment policy, thus keeping the politically correct codes.
So, let's look at this a little bit. The FIRST issue in one of three major sections (political atmosphere) of inquiry into a college, is making sure it's okay to be politically incorrect? I mean, what the fuck? I just imagine prospective parents and teachers at an info session at a college, trying to make sure they can say "gaylord" and "bitch" or something, without getting in trouble. THAT's supposed to be a big concern?!
A sidenote here: I don't always agree with political correctness, because I think in a lot of cases, though it gives nicer phrases, a lot of times it shoves still-existing prejudices under the rug, and may not address those underlying prejudices. At the same time, it can give people a false sense that we are evolved and prejudice is taken care of, a thing of the past, and I don't believe that's true for a second. So, I think PC-ness can be a bandaid of sorts, but at least people are trying to be less hurtful, and aware of how words affect people. I think that is important. The fact that someone could think it's a major issue to make sure their kids don't have to be PC at college, is just completely absurd. What, they want to be sure it's okay for their kids to harass people, use racial slurs and commit hate crimes? I don't get it. And sorry, but I'd be a lot more concerned about what the actual policy is on sexual harassment (which if you ask me is a MUCH more serious issue than whether someone can open say faggot or something) and whether that is prevalent.
It got worse.
The next issue in this section was, "Ostracizing or punishing students for speakign their minds when they disagree with received acadmic opinion."
Now, in general, I'd agree that this is pretty important. I like to think for myself and think that, along with general critical thinking, are important skills students should develop in college. I think it's awesome when students learn to effectively communicate their viewpoint, even truly discover their viewpoint, watch it evolve, and assert themselves when necessary. So, on principle. I agree.
But then I read the explanation for thisi issue. Get a load of this: "Numerous examples exist of official harassment of students who voice dissenting opininions on matters ranging from the importance of feminist scholarship or the morality of affirmative action to questions of religious beliefs and sexual propriety. Beliefs associated with traditional virtues are sometimes ridiculed and even banned." Ehhhh, does that seem a little one-sided to anyone else? Again, it seems to me they want people to be free to speak their racist, sexist points of view. I guess college can be a pretty liberal place, and conservative students want to make sure they're not excluded, but I honestly think things at most schools are pretty moderate. When I went to school, there was a huge right-wing Christian influence, to the point where in one dorm, I felt ostracized for not being Christian - I got tricked into going to Campus Crusade for Christ open mic nights, had people at my door all the time, questions, confrontations. Anyway, my gripe with this whole part of the book is that it's so one-sided, there's no concern that students won't be ostracized for speaking their mind on the other side of these issues.
The next issue is about "literature courses that focus on topics other than great works of literature, such as...marginalized voices..."
Now that just outright pissed me off, because why do we always assume that the books by old, dead, white men are more important, and better, than those by women, blacks, asians, contemporary writers, and so on and so on and so on? Why should those old things have more literary value? I think that's bullshit. I went through and actually looked through the sections on some specific colleges and found even more of this kind of talk within discussions of particular schools. There were repetitious complaints about this and that school having classes on women writers, african-american lit, (referred to as "silly, grievance-inspired courses") and so on. There was one school I was reading about (and I wish I could remember the exact one so I could quote it here), and there was something about a tendency to focus on lower-quality minority literature and less on great works. Okay, author guy, your prejudice is really showing now.
For every school, there's a suggest core curriculum, because we all know now how horrible it is that schools don't have exact, choiceless core curricula anymore. A lot of them have things listed like, "No suitable course." The classes they do list usually include some greek philosophy, religion classes, and Bible as Literature/Bible as Scripture. Again, agenda showing, buddy! I think reading sacred texts is fine (honestly, I'd actually really like to take a Bible as Lit class, though I am not at all religious), but why ONLY the Bible? Why not the Koran? The Baghavad-Gita?
I guess even rigorous academics aren't great. Here's what they say about Princeton: "Academics at Princeton are quite rigorous. Talk to a student for ten minutes and he'll bore you with how many tests he has this week, how productive he was last night, and so forth." In other school descriptions, rigorous academics are applauded, so I sort of think this was just an attempt to make a dig at Princeton.
Another gem included this introduction to the part on NYU: "If going to a college nestled between gay bars and drug dealers bothers you, NYU is not your school." LOL!!! I mean, maybe it's true, the school IS in the Village, but really, that made me laugh. At another part in the NYU section, taking about its endowment and how other schools invested theirs in high-flying stocks in the 90s and NYU didn't, the book reads, "NYU followed a boring bond strategy..." Okay, like, what they did WORKED, and was successful, as the next sentence says, but they still have to put it down. THAT's what bothers me about this book, that everything is so slanted, that there are always qualifiers, opinions, derision, thrown in, instead of just the facts. Talk about Spin.
But here is my FAVORITE part. In that questions section in the back, there's a Student Life section, mostly full of questions about are bathrooms or dorm rooms coed, I found this question that people are supposed to ask prospective schools, "Is there any mandatory student orientation that exposes students to sexually explicit material or graphic explanations of sexual practices?" The explanation says that porn is "often shown" during orientation. WHAT?! I apparently missed out on the best part of orientation!!! Kidding, but seriously, I have NEVER heard of this. I think it's a scare tactic, another way to make students and parents think they're going to be marginalized for their so-called sexual propriety.
I mean, WHAT?!?!?! Were they at some frat party that they thought was orientation? Has ANYONE ever experienced this at mandatory orientation?! If on the off-chance this actually does happen somewhere, they can send me a list of these schools at...no, kidding again (sort of)! It's just toooooo absurd.
So, in conclusion, Choosing the Right (which I think they meant as opposed to left, instead of as opposed to wrong) College is totally wrong for me. I prefer much more straightforward information about schools, so I can make my own decisions. Luckily the other book they had at the library was The Insider's Guide to the Colleges, which is a lot more normal.
Currently Listening:
"The Grudge" - Tool
Well, there were only two college guides in the whole library and I checked them both out. One of them was Choosing the Right College. It was the 2006 edition, which has the word "Right" in red letters, which is apt.
I immediately flipped to the back of the book, expecting an index, so I could look up some of the schools I'm interested in. Instead of an index, there was a discussion of questions for students to ask while visiting colleges. At first it seemed inocuous - questions about what percent of classes are taught by TAs, and questions academic advising.
The next question struck me as a bit off. It was about asking whether there's a core curriculum - a list of courses that all students are required to take, or instead distribution requirements (meaning students must take, for example, two humanities classes, two social science classes, and so on, but are free to choose which classes within that area of study). In the explanation of the question, the book says, "Many colleges falsely state that they have a core curriculum when that is not at all the case. If [they say they do have a core curric], ask them how many choices exist within each disiplinary requirement. If the answer is more than one or two, there is no core curriculum worthy of the name."
That struck me as strange. I mean, why do they care? I'd much rather have the distribution requirements myself. I ALWAYS like choice. My thought was, well don't different approaches suit different students? I started to think the authors (not listed anywhere on the cover), might have some sort of agenda or slant.
I kept reading. There were questions about whether American history is a required class, because if not "it does reveal an administration lacking a commitment to foster in its students an understanding of our nation's past." Again, a bit here nor there. Maybe patriotic, but I think most people think American history is important.
Then I got to the section in this questions guide on "political atmosphere," which I thought was strange, to be included with much more typical, broader topics like Academics and Student Life. Here's where things got really wonky, and where I started to get pissed.
The first issue they bring up is, "Speech codes operating under the guise of sexual harassment codes." Now, let me tell you, I'm a pretty thorough person, there is a lot I want to know when looking into a school, but this is definitely NOT on the list! Never even ocurred to me. In the explanation of the issue, they talk about that in the 90s a lot of colleges instated "speech codes" to make sure people were politically correct. Then these codes were challenged, colleges lost court cases, so now may put these old speech codes into their sexual harassment policy, thus keeping the politically correct codes.
So, let's look at this a little bit. The FIRST issue in one of three major sections (political atmosphere) of inquiry into a college, is making sure it's okay to be politically incorrect? I mean, what the fuck? I just imagine prospective parents and teachers at an info session at a college, trying to make sure they can say "gaylord" and "bitch" or something, without getting in trouble. THAT's supposed to be a big concern?!
A sidenote here: I don't always agree with political correctness, because I think in a lot of cases, though it gives nicer phrases, a lot of times it shoves still-existing prejudices under the rug, and may not address those underlying prejudices. At the same time, it can give people a false sense that we are evolved and prejudice is taken care of, a thing of the past, and I don't believe that's true for a second. So, I think PC-ness can be a bandaid of sorts, but at least people are trying to be less hurtful, and aware of how words affect people. I think that is important. The fact that someone could think it's a major issue to make sure their kids don't have to be PC at college, is just completely absurd. What, they want to be sure it's okay for their kids to harass people, use racial slurs and commit hate crimes? I don't get it. And sorry, but I'd be a lot more concerned about what the actual policy is on sexual harassment (which if you ask me is a MUCH more serious issue than whether someone can open say faggot or something) and whether that is prevalent.
It got worse.
The next issue in this section was, "Ostracizing or punishing students for speakign their minds when they disagree with received acadmic opinion."
Now, in general, I'd agree that this is pretty important. I like to think for myself and think that, along with general critical thinking, are important skills students should develop in college. I think it's awesome when students learn to effectively communicate their viewpoint, even truly discover their viewpoint, watch it evolve, and assert themselves when necessary. So, on principle. I agree.
But then I read the explanation for thisi issue. Get a load of this: "Numerous examples exist of official harassment of students who voice dissenting opininions on matters ranging from the importance of feminist scholarship or the morality of affirmative action to questions of religious beliefs and sexual propriety. Beliefs associated with traditional virtues are sometimes ridiculed and even banned." Ehhhh, does that seem a little one-sided to anyone else? Again, it seems to me they want people to be free to speak their racist, sexist points of view. I guess college can be a pretty liberal place, and conservative students want to make sure they're not excluded, but I honestly think things at most schools are pretty moderate. When I went to school, there was a huge right-wing Christian influence, to the point where in one dorm, I felt ostracized for not being Christian - I got tricked into going to Campus Crusade for Christ open mic nights, had people at my door all the time, questions, confrontations. Anyway, my gripe with this whole part of the book is that it's so one-sided, there's no concern that students won't be ostracized for speaking their mind on the other side of these issues.
The next issue is about "literature courses that focus on topics other than great works of literature, such as...marginalized voices..."
Now that just outright pissed me off, because why do we always assume that the books by old, dead, white men are more important, and better, than those by women, blacks, asians, contemporary writers, and so on and so on and so on? Why should those old things have more literary value? I think that's bullshit. I went through and actually looked through the sections on some specific colleges and found even more of this kind of talk within discussions of particular schools. There were repetitious complaints about this and that school having classes on women writers, african-american lit, (referred to as "silly, grievance-inspired courses") and so on. There was one school I was reading about (and I wish I could remember the exact one so I could quote it here), and there was something about a tendency to focus on lower-quality minority literature and less on great works. Okay, author guy, your prejudice is really showing now.
For every school, there's a suggest core curriculum, because we all know now how horrible it is that schools don't have exact, choiceless core curricula anymore. A lot of them have things listed like, "No suitable course." The classes they do list usually include some greek philosophy, religion classes, and Bible as Literature/Bible as Scripture. Again, agenda showing, buddy! I think reading sacred texts is fine (honestly, I'd actually really like to take a Bible as Lit class, though I am not at all religious), but why ONLY the Bible? Why not the Koran? The Baghavad-Gita?
I guess even rigorous academics aren't great. Here's what they say about Princeton: "Academics at Princeton are quite rigorous. Talk to a student for ten minutes and he'll bore you with how many tests he has this week, how productive he was last night, and so forth." In other school descriptions, rigorous academics are applauded, so I sort of think this was just an attempt to make a dig at Princeton.
Another gem included this introduction to the part on NYU: "If going to a college nestled between gay bars and drug dealers bothers you, NYU is not your school." LOL!!! I mean, maybe it's true, the school IS in the Village, but really, that made me laugh. At another part in the NYU section, taking about its endowment and how other schools invested theirs in high-flying stocks in the 90s and NYU didn't, the book reads, "NYU followed a boring bond strategy..." Okay, like, what they did WORKED, and was successful, as the next sentence says, but they still have to put it down. THAT's what bothers me about this book, that everything is so slanted, that there are always qualifiers, opinions, derision, thrown in, instead of just the facts. Talk about Spin.
But here is my FAVORITE part. In that questions section in the back, there's a Student Life section, mostly full of questions about are bathrooms or dorm rooms coed, I found this question that people are supposed to ask prospective schools, "Is there any mandatory student orientation that exposes students to sexually explicit material or graphic explanations of sexual practices?" The explanation says that porn is "often shown" during orientation. WHAT?! I apparently missed out on the best part of orientation!!! Kidding, but seriously, I have NEVER heard of this. I think it's a scare tactic, another way to make students and parents think they're going to be marginalized for their so-called sexual propriety.
I mean, WHAT?!?!?! Were they at some frat party that they thought was orientation? Has ANYONE ever experienced this at mandatory orientation?! If on the off-chance this actually does happen somewhere, they can send me a list of these schools at...no, kidding again (sort of)! It's just toooooo absurd.
So, in conclusion, Choosing the Right (which I think they meant as opposed to left, instead of as opposed to wrong) College is totally wrong for me. I prefer much more straightforward information about schools, so I can make my own decisions. Luckily the other book they had at the library was The Insider's Guide to the Colleges, which is a lot more normal.
Currently Listening:
"The Grudge" - Tool
Saturday, September 1, 2007
I Can't Seem to Stop Stretching
This always happens.
It always seems that whenever I have an idea, a plan, something expansive, I put that in motion, and as soon as that's taken care of, more ideas for more expansive things come to mind. During the last semester that I attended college, instead of flying into Phoenix (I went to school in Flagstaff), I wanted to go to LA to spend time with my good friend Caren before going to school. In my house, it didn't matter that I was 21, I had to get this plan approved by my parents. The way I got any plan approved by my parents was to put it in writing.
It was one of those unspoken rules. I always felt I couldn 't talk to them, writing was safer. I could put all the information I had and all my persuasive points into an essay that they could digest. I didn't have to be worried about getting cut off by immediate rejection and anger. I didn't have to worry about getting short-circuited into expressing some strong emotion, something inherently outlawed in our house which would result in an immediate "NO." I discovered that I could use this writing tactic in ninth grade. I was taking a communications class which focused on public speaking, and one of our assignments was to write a persuasive speech. I always did better in that class when I wrote about something that mattered to me. Nothing mattered to me more than music, so I wrote a speech directed at my parents about why I should be allowed to watch MTV. This was 94, back when there was still a legitimate reason for the M in MTV. After doing the speech in class, I gave it to my parents to read, and they actually changed their policy!
In the years after, I used this approach whenever I wanted to do something that seemed far outside their realm of usual yes's. I wrote persuasive essays when I wanted to take trips, or mostly when I wanted to be allowed to go to a concert. Or when I wanted to drop out of college because I was unsure about my own path. Of course, there were times it didn't work. There was the time I wanted to visit schools far away (like in WA where I live now), and go to a party for an online forum I frequented. And there was the time I wanted soooo desperately badly, as if my life depended on it badly, to go to the Battle of the Bands at my high school, but had to go to some girl's birthday party instead. No amount of logic, reasoning, calm arguing, or anything not-so-calm approaches could change their minds on that one.
So asking to be able to go to LA to see my friend, who was actually from that same online forum - I now have a good group of real-life friends from that place - seemed pretty outlandish. So I gathered my information, stated my case in an essay, and to my utter surprise, they said it'd be okay.
Up until that point, all my energy went into preparing that essay and making my case. As soon as it was taken care of, I suddenly felt inspired to dream a little bigger, beyond just a visit to a faraway place. I started applying for internships all over, and that quest eventually led to some pretty wild travels, and eventually moving out west, which was a whole adventure in itself.
I'm reminded of this recently. It's not quite the same. My parents aren't much of a factor, but the same principle still stands. I just finished my application to UW, and now I find myself thinking all expansively, like well what about other schools, why limit myself to one? I could go anywhere. There are so many schools and programs out there. I really want something that offers a diverse array of writing classes - fiction, poetry, non-fiction, humor, screenwriting, personal essay, memoir, and so on and so on and so on. Oh, and somewhere in a city with connections and all that jazz, so I might be able to get internships or work experience with magazines, publishers, or even in teaching.
I'm sure this wishy-washy, deciding on one thing then immediately moving on to something bigger is probably infuriating to a lot of friends, and even oftentimes to me (I mean it's a lot of manic, excited energy, and sometimes I just wish I could settle and stick with one thing), but it sort of works for me. It's how I operate.
And so, the search continues. In the meantime, I'm still editing my book.
Currently Listening:
"Barons of Suburbia" - Tori Amos
It always seems that whenever I have an idea, a plan, something expansive, I put that in motion, and as soon as that's taken care of, more ideas for more expansive things come to mind. During the last semester that I attended college, instead of flying into Phoenix (I went to school in Flagstaff), I wanted to go to LA to spend time with my good friend Caren before going to school. In my house, it didn't matter that I was 21, I had to get this plan approved by my parents. The way I got any plan approved by my parents was to put it in writing.
It was one of those unspoken rules. I always felt I couldn 't talk to them, writing was safer. I could put all the information I had and all my persuasive points into an essay that they could digest. I didn't have to be worried about getting cut off by immediate rejection and anger. I didn't have to worry about getting short-circuited into expressing some strong emotion, something inherently outlawed in our house which would result in an immediate "NO." I discovered that I could use this writing tactic in ninth grade. I was taking a communications class which focused on public speaking, and one of our assignments was to write a persuasive speech. I always did better in that class when I wrote about something that mattered to me. Nothing mattered to me more than music, so I wrote a speech directed at my parents about why I should be allowed to watch MTV. This was 94, back when there was still a legitimate reason for the M in MTV. After doing the speech in class, I gave it to my parents to read, and they actually changed their policy!
In the years after, I used this approach whenever I wanted to do something that seemed far outside their realm of usual yes's. I wrote persuasive essays when I wanted to take trips, or mostly when I wanted to be allowed to go to a concert. Or when I wanted to drop out of college because I was unsure about my own path. Of course, there were times it didn't work. There was the time I wanted to visit schools far away (like in WA where I live now), and go to a party for an online forum I frequented. And there was the time I wanted soooo desperately badly, as if my life depended on it badly, to go to the Battle of the Bands at my high school, but had to go to some girl's birthday party instead. No amount of logic, reasoning, calm arguing, or anything not-so-calm approaches could change their minds on that one.
So asking to be able to go to LA to see my friend, who was actually from that same online forum - I now have a good group of real-life friends from that place - seemed pretty outlandish. So I gathered my information, stated my case in an essay, and to my utter surprise, they said it'd be okay.
Up until that point, all my energy went into preparing that essay and making my case. As soon as it was taken care of, I suddenly felt inspired to dream a little bigger, beyond just a visit to a faraway place. I started applying for internships all over, and that quest eventually led to some pretty wild travels, and eventually moving out west, which was a whole adventure in itself.
I'm reminded of this recently. It's not quite the same. My parents aren't much of a factor, but the same principle still stands. I just finished my application to UW, and now I find myself thinking all expansively, like well what about other schools, why limit myself to one? I could go anywhere. There are so many schools and programs out there. I really want something that offers a diverse array of writing classes - fiction, poetry, non-fiction, humor, screenwriting, personal essay, memoir, and so on and so on and so on. Oh, and somewhere in a city with connections and all that jazz, so I might be able to get internships or work experience with magazines, publishers, or even in teaching.
I'm sure this wishy-washy, deciding on one thing then immediately moving on to something bigger is probably infuriating to a lot of friends, and even oftentimes to me (I mean it's a lot of manic, excited energy, and sometimes I just wish I could settle and stick with one thing), but it sort of works for me. It's how I operate.
And so, the search continues. In the meantime, I'm still editing my book.
Currently Listening:
"Barons of Suburbia" - Tori Amos
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Unbidden Praise
is so awesome becomes it comes so unexpectedly.
Today I was walking through town on my way to get groceries. A friend who was in town to get mail saw me and we walked through the Farmer's Market to catch up quickly. She went over to the San Juan County Fair yesterday, on the "big island" and ran into our old writing teacher, and a man who once came over to talk to our class. This was over three years ago, during our last class in Spring '04. He gave a talk on self-publishing and then (apparently, I barely remember this) stayed to listen to us read our work. I've never seen him since.
So my friend ran into him yesterday at the fair, and told me that he said to her, "Oh I remember your class. There was this young, tall, blond girl. She was such a fabulous writer."
Since everyone in the class was older than me by decades (some of them by many decades) and no one was even close to blond, we assumed he meant me. When my friend told me this, I was blown away. I was really just starting then.
Not starting to write - I started that when I was in elemementary school, but I was just starting to get back to it after years of some crazy life experiences (stories for other days, for sure) and just starting to write memoir. Wow! That made my day.
I almost feel like I'm in a charmed moment in my writing life. After all the good things at the conference, with random people telling me they like my writing, and now this. If ever I wasn't certain that this is what I'm meant to do (well actually, I'm not sure I believe in that concept, or at least I enjoy questioning and exploring it), and I have had moments of doubt, I am more certain than ever now.
And it couldn't come at a more opportune time. I am seriously thinking, okay planning on returning to school to get my Bachelor's degree, and maybe go on to grad school after that. There are writers I'd soooo love to study with. I am hungry to improve my writing, to get feedback, to be CHALLENGED to write better, more vividly, more clearly, more honestly, more deeply, more rawly and more gorgeously. I am also excited about taking non-writing classes too. I always liked having a mix. Fuck, I'd be psyched to take math (I've always loved it) or something scientific here and there just to balance out my right brain/left brain split.
My one hang-up is that I blew off school my last semester, during one of those moments of doubt, to put it mildly, and during a time when a need for adventure and independence overtook any notion of going to class. So I'm worried my poor grades my last semester will deter me from getting accepted at school, and all this unasked-for praise, or comments on my writing ability really have me floored, in a good way, like, yes, I can do this.
I sketched out my admissions essay just now, and feel great about it. I am so ready for this new phase of life, wherever it might take me.
I just hope there's not another shoe, waiting in the wings to drop at some amazingly inopportune moment.
Currently listening:
My huge brown puppy rearranging herself on her doggie bed
Today I was walking through town on my way to get groceries. A friend who was in town to get mail saw me and we walked through the Farmer's Market to catch up quickly. She went over to the San Juan County Fair yesterday, on the "big island" and ran into our old writing teacher, and a man who once came over to talk to our class. This was over three years ago, during our last class in Spring '04. He gave a talk on self-publishing and then (apparently, I barely remember this) stayed to listen to us read our work. I've never seen him since.
So my friend ran into him yesterday at the fair, and told me that he said to her, "Oh I remember your class. There was this young, tall, blond girl. She was such a fabulous writer."
Since everyone in the class was older than me by decades (some of them by many decades) and no one was even close to blond, we assumed he meant me. When my friend told me this, I was blown away. I was really just starting then.
Not starting to write - I started that when I was in elemementary school, but I was just starting to get back to it after years of some crazy life experiences (stories for other days, for sure) and just starting to write memoir. Wow! That made my day.
I almost feel like I'm in a charmed moment in my writing life. After all the good things at the conference, with random people telling me they like my writing, and now this. If ever I wasn't certain that this is what I'm meant to do (well actually, I'm not sure I believe in that concept, or at least I enjoy questioning and exploring it), and I have had moments of doubt, I am more certain than ever now.
And it couldn't come at a more opportune time. I am seriously thinking, okay planning on returning to school to get my Bachelor's degree, and maybe go on to grad school after that. There are writers I'd soooo love to study with. I am hungry to improve my writing, to get feedback, to be CHALLENGED to write better, more vividly, more clearly, more honestly, more deeply, more rawly and more gorgeously. I am also excited about taking non-writing classes too. I always liked having a mix. Fuck, I'd be psyched to take math (I've always loved it) or something scientific here and there just to balance out my right brain/left brain split.
My one hang-up is that I blew off school my last semester, during one of those moments of doubt, to put it mildly, and during a time when a need for adventure and independence overtook any notion of going to class. So I'm worried my poor grades my last semester will deter me from getting accepted at school, and all this unasked-for praise, or comments on my writing ability really have me floored, in a good way, like, yes, I can do this.
I sketched out my admissions essay just now, and feel great about it. I am so ready for this new phase of life, wherever it might take me.
I just hope there's not another shoe, waiting in the wings to drop at some amazingly inopportune moment.
Currently listening:
My huge brown puppy rearranging herself on her doggie bed
Friday, August 17, 2007
I work so much better when I'm working
It's a proven fact in my life: I get more done creatively when I'm working. I work at a YMCA camp, doing dishes and prep cook stuff. The days when I'm scheduled to go in, I get up, put in some hours on my book, take care of errands, and go in for my evening shift.
On the days that I don't have work, I take napes, go on instant messager, do nothing, ell myself I'll get to my book later. I think the downtime is good for sure, and that my mind, heart, body and sirit need the rest and relaxation. I just find it a bit odd that I get my best creative work done when I'm also working.
I mean, ultimately, I'd love to make enough from my writing to be able to quit a day job. In fact I've had times in my life where I did quit day jobs in order to focus on writing. Sometimes it's been helpful and I've gotten tons done. Other times it hasn't. So maybe the correlation isn't so direct.
I am very strongly considering (I should probably say planning on) going back to school. I've never had great study habits. I worry a lot about how I'll balance school, work, schoolwork, writing, other fun things, and relaxation and time to breathe.
I guess for now, the point is to get as much done with my book as possible. Actually, it's one of my days off, and writing this post makes me itch to get back to revising my work. I'm on the chapter I was most afraid of. It's too long, too scattered, not held together by much, and it needs a lot of fixing. I think after this chapter, the book is mostly there, and done. That's not to say it doesn't need some re-working, it does, but I think it's more minor. Everyone who's read the manuscript really sailed through the last half and thought that was pretty complete. Just gotta get over the hump.
Currently Listening:
"Oh Well" - Fiona Apple
On the days that I don't have work, I take napes, go on instant messager, do nothing, ell myself I'll get to my book later. I think the downtime is good for sure, and that my mind, heart, body and sirit need the rest and relaxation. I just find it a bit odd that I get my best creative work done when I'm also working.
I mean, ultimately, I'd love to make enough from my writing to be able to quit a day job. In fact I've had times in my life where I did quit day jobs in order to focus on writing. Sometimes it's been helpful and I've gotten tons done. Other times it hasn't. So maybe the correlation isn't so direct.
I am very strongly considering (I should probably say planning on) going back to school. I've never had great study habits. I worry a lot about how I'll balance school, work, schoolwork, writing, other fun things, and relaxation and time to breathe.
I guess for now, the point is to get as much done with my book as possible. Actually, it's one of my days off, and writing this post makes me itch to get back to revising my work. I'm on the chapter I was most afraid of. It's too long, too scattered, not held together by much, and it needs a lot of fixing. I think after this chapter, the book is mostly there, and done. That's not to say it doesn't need some re-working, it does, but I think it's more minor. Everyone who's read the manuscript really sailed through the last half and thought that was pretty complete. Just gotta get over the hump.
Currently Listening:
"Oh Well" - Fiona Apple
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
"Orestes" by A Perfect Circle (Song of the Week)
(Again, a MySpace re-post)
Continuing this whole idea of writing about music and life and how they intersect by randomly choosing songs.
Orestes
Metaphor for a missing moment
Pull me into your perfect circle
One womb
One shape
One resolve
Liberate this will
To release us all
Gotta cut away, clear away
Snip away and sever this
Umbilical residue that's
Keeping me from killing you
And from pulling you down with me in here
I can almost hear you scream
Give me
One more medicated peaceful moment
One more medicated peaceful moment
And I don't wanna feel this overwhelming
Hostility
Because I don't wanna feel this overwhelming
Hostility
Gotta cut away Clear away
Snip away and sever this
Umbilical residue
Gotta cut away Clear away
Snip away and sever this
Umbilical residue that's
Keeping me from killing you
Keeping me from killing you
Funny, I turned on my iTunes, hit play, and had a feeling a second before it started that it would go to this song. I don't know if I want to write about it, this song has one of THE most personal, private meanings for me.
So let me start somewhere else. I see numbers and letters as different colors in my mind. It's somethng I've done since I was little, and never consciously. If I think of the word apple, I see red and green (A is red, P is green, and usually the first and most prominent letters in the word define the way I see it). If I think of a number, like 37, I see the same colors in opposite order. It's hard to explain, but it's like, if I set my alarm, it has to be to a number that goes well together. Sometimes the colors are more like vibrations, like it's very hard for me to describe the colors associated with 8s or 9s or 1s, but I feel them. Yes, I know this is strange, and is probably some form of synesthesia. It is what it is.
So, A Perfect Circle. My friend Adam sent me a burned CD in the summer of 2000 with all the APC songs, plus a few Tool songs mixed in there, so the track numbers were off. On this mix CD, Orestes was track 6, and 6 is a pale blue, one of my favorite colors. Whenever this song comes on, even though I know it's really the fifth song on the CD, I get that pale blue feeling. To me it feels soooo 6. So that gives me a warm fuzzy feeling from the beginning.
And Maynard's voice is velvet here. I've never actually read the words before posting them here, so it sorta changes my perception of the lyrics - I had never realized he was saying "umbilical residue" - and gives me lots to ponder. Before, I always thought the song was sorta ominous, with the whole "keeping me from killing you," bit, and the overwhelming hostility, but I also always felt this song was very sensual, what with the "pull me into your perfect circle," and just the way he sings it. There was an element of transformation too, with that whole, "One womb, one change..." I remember once walking home from an acupuncture session, maybe three years ago. I don't remember what happened in the session, maybe it was the time I finally let the acupuncturist put needles in my stomach (the thought still freaks me out), but I remember I felt there had been some profound change, and as I walked home, downhill down a looooooong dirt road, I could hardly keep from bursting into Orestes. It was the only way to take the big feeling I had inside into something intelligible. The whole walk, it was stuck in my head.
More recently, last winter, well let's just say there was a night. I was slightly drunk on cheap wine and slightly drunk on winning rummy, and I sang this song to someone, over and over (at their request, really), staring at the ceiling. I hit every note, or was at least drunk enough to think I did, and sang it from my core, and I felt awesome, like a rock star, like I could really SING. Then we went on and I sang Sleeping Beauty from the same album, a song that I always think of as track 9.
And that was just the beginning of a really incredible evening, I'll leave it at that, and that I will ALWAYS love this song, no matter what happens, because of that evening. Whenever it comes up on my iTunes, it's a good omen. The fact that it came up first today, is awesome. Outside, for the first time in awhile, it's clear and sunny and warm and all the birds are out. Spring is here, and I am happy.
Continuing this whole idea of writing about music and life and how they intersect by randomly choosing songs.
Orestes
Metaphor for a missing moment
Pull me into your perfect circle
One womb
One shape
One resolve
Liberate this will
To release us all
Gotta cut away, clear away
Snip away and sever this
Umbilical residue that's
Keeping me from killing you
And from pulling you down with me in here
I can almost hear you scream
Give me
One more medicated peaceful moment
One more medicated peaceful moment
And I don't wanna feel this overwhelming
Hostility
Because I don't wanna feel this overwhelming
Hostility
Gotta cut away Clear away
Snip away and sever this
Umbilical residue
Gotta cut away Clear away
Snip away and sever this
Umbilical residue that's
Keeping me from killing you
Keeping me from killing you
Funny, I turned on my iTunes, hit play, and had a feeling a second before it started that it would go to this song. I don't know if I want to write about it, this song has one of THE most personal, private meanings for me.
So let me start somewhere else. I see numbers and letters as different colors in my mind. It's somethng I've done since I was little, and never consciously. If I think of the word apple, I see red and green (A is red, P is green, and usually the first and most prominent letters in the word define the way I see it). If I think of a number, like 37, I see the same colors in opposite order. It's hard to explain, but it's like, if I set my alarm, it has to be to a number that goes well together. Sometimes the colors are more like vibrations, like it's very hard for me to describe the colors associated with 8s or 9s or 1s, but I feel them. Yes, I know this is strange, and is probably some form of synesthesia. It is what it is.
So, A Perfect Circle. My friend Adam sent me a burned CD in the summer of 2000 with all the APC songs, plus a few Tool songs mixed in there, so the track numbers were off. On this mix CD, Orestes was track 6, and 6 is a pale blue, one of my favorite colors. Whenever this song comes on, even though I know it's really the fifth song on the CD, I get that pale blue feeling. To me it feels soooo 6. So that gives me a warm fuzzy feeling from the beginning.
And Maynard's voice is velvet here. I've never actually read the words before posting them here, so it sorta changes my perception of the lyrics - I had never realized he was saying "umbilical residue" - and gives me lots to ponder. Before, I always thought the song was sorta ominous, with the whole "keeping me from killing you," bit, and the overwhelming hostility, but I also always felt this song was very sensual, what with the "pull me into your perfect circle," and just the way he sings it. There was an element of transformation too, with that whole, "One womb, one change..." I remember once walking home from an acupuncture session, maybe three years ago. I don't remember what happened in the session, maybe it was the time I finally let the acupuncturist put needles in my stomach (the thought still freaks me out), but I remember I felt there had been some profound change, and as I walked home, downhill down a looooooong dirt road, I could hardly keep from bursting into Orestes. It was the only way to take the big feeling I had inside into something intelligible. The whole walk, it was stuck in my head.
More recently, last winter, well let's just say there was a night. I was slightly drunk on cheap wine and slightly drunk on winning rummy, and I sang this song to someone, over and over (at their request, really), staring at the ceiling. I hit every note, or was at least drunk enough to think I did, and sang it from my core, and I felt awesome, like a rock star, like I could really SING. Then we went on and I sang Sleeping Beauty from the same album, a song that I always think of as track 9.
And that was just the beginning of a really incredible evening, I'll leave it at that, and that I will ALWAYS love this song, no matter what happens, because of that evening. Whenever it comes up on my iTunes, it's a good omen. The fact that it came up first today, is awesome. Outside, for the first time in awhile, it's clear and sunny and warm and all the birds are out. Spring is here, and I am happy.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
First Draft Writing Vs. Tweaking and Re-writing
I'm now about midway through the third draft of my first book, a memoir, tentatively titled Moonchild.
Well, that is, first book if you don't count the "book" I wrote in high school, a novel about a group of teenagers on a cabin trip who discover that they are vampires and struggle with how to deal with that. I wrote it all, and edited a lot, then sent it to a friend's English teacher (since I wanted the opinion of someone who didn't know me, who'd be unbiased), and edited some more. I looked back at it while in college and was mortified, and so glad I'd never done anything with it!
So, now here I am, ten years later, working on another book and right in the middle of the re-writing process.
Years ago, on a forum I used to frequent (which no longer exists), a friend posted one of Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology Horoscopes. I wish I could find it or remember it verbatim, or even which sign it was for. I can't though, so I'll just sum it up. It was about creativity and how advice in the arts goes from, "Whatever you put out first is the best, most true piece of work, don't edit," to people who suggest re-working a piece to the point of exhaustion. In the books I've read on writing and the classes I've taken, it's true that the philosophy teeters between the two.
Well, I have three planets in LIbra. Granted, they're distant, slow-moving planets, but still I feel a compulsion to try to balance the two extremes.
I love first-draft writing, sitting down in a chair and pouring my soul out onto paper, following the muse down any tangential wormhole. I love not knowing where I'll end up. I love the litle scenic detours into uncharted territory, the free associative, unconscious connections. That's not to say it's stream-of-consciousness writing, not really. It just happens that a lot of times I'll be writing about one story and get sidetracked into telling another, and another. I remember details I didn't consciously keep in mind or even have access to before I started writing. I love the raw writing, and I feel that sometimes there's ligtning in it, a quickness, connections and leaps I would never come to if I was in my editor's head and thinking too much about what I was doing. Sometimes the most unique, unedited, beautiful truth comes out.
But I have to say, just because something comes out raw and gorgeous and true, doesn't mean it comes out in finished form, or even readable. Sometimes I need to mold it into a more concrete story, taking out the tangents and extraneous characters who don't add to the narrative. Sometimes I realize the real juice is in the tangents and I have to draw them out, integrate them into the story, or make them their own separate short stories. Sometimes in trying to get at a feeling or mood in the first draft, I'll describe it in several different ways, and in re-working it I have to choose the description that is the most precise for what I want to convey, or craft that precise description out of the several different ways. Sometimes in first draft writing I've written something out of habit and I need to look underneath that habit to get at the core of something. Sometimes my first attempts have a lot of telling and summary and I need to go back and enter the stories more completely and tell them in their wholeness, as scenes. Sometimes I need to make it more alive. Sometimes I need to cut entire sections that I love because they're distractions. Sometimes I find that I only scratched the surface of something difficult and I need to go back and live inside the grit for a bit so I can bring that out and fully explore it in the story. Sometimes it's really hard work. Sometimes I read an original version of a chapter and want to throw a tantrum because it seems so unfixable.
But you know, I also look at it, even if it can be a ton of work and a pain in the ass at times, and think that the fact that I'm so frustrated by earlier work is a sign of growth as a writer. If I looked back at first versions and thought they were perfect as is and didnt' need any work, then I'd be in the same place as I was when I wrote it. It's probably good that I'm not, that I'm moving forward and improving my writing. I wonder sometimes if I'll ever get to the point where my first drafts come out a lot better, and in less need of work. I don't know what the answer to that wondering is, and if I ever find out, I'll let you know.
My point though, is that I think both processes are equally important, and sometimes (more and more), even equally enjoyable. I think of re-writing as sifting through words for gems of lightning and polishing them off so they shine more brilliantly.
Currently Listening:
"Suggestions" - System of a Down
Well, that is, first book if you don't count the "book" I wrote in high school, a novel about a group of teenagers on a cabin trip who discover that they are vampires and struggle with how to deal with that. I wrote it all, and edited a lot, then sent it to a friend's English teacher (since I wanted the opinion of someone who didn't know me, who'd be unbiased), and edited some more. I looked back at it while in college and was mortified, and so glad I'd never done anything with it!
So, now here I am, ten years later, working on another book and right in the middle of the re-writing process.
Years ago, on a forum I used to frequent (which no longer exists), a friend posted one of Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology Horoscopes. I wish I could find it or remember it verbatim, or even which sign it was for. I can't though, so I'll just sum it up. It was about creativity and how advice in the arts goes from, "Whatever you put out first is the best, most true piece of work, don't edit," to people who suggest re-working a piece to the point of exhaustion. In the books I've read on writing and the classes I've taken, it's true that the philosophy teeters between the two.
Well, I have three planets in LIbra. Granted, they're distant, slow-moving planets, but still I feel a compulsion to try to balance the two extremes.
I love first-draft writing, sitting down in a chair and pouring my soul out onto paper, following the muse down any tangential wormhole. I love not knowing where I'll end up. I love the litle scenic detours into uncharted territory, the free associative, unconscious connections. That's not to say it's stream-of-consciousness writing, not really. It just happens that a lot of times I'll be writing about one story and get sidetracked into telling another, and another. I remember details I didn't consciously keep in mind or even have access to before I started writing. I love the raw writing, and I feel that sometimes there's ligtning in it, a quickness, connections and leaps I would never come to if I was in my editor's head and thinking too much about what I was doing. Sometimes the most unique, unedited, beautiful truth comes out.
But I have to say, just because something comes out raw and gorgeous and true, doesn't mean it comes out in finished form, or even readable. Sometimes I need to mold it into a more concrete story, taking out the tangents and extraneous characters who don't add to the narrative. Sometimes I realize the real juice is in the tangents and I have to draw them out, integrate them into the story, or make them their own separate short stories. Sometimes in trying to get at a feeling or mood in the first draft, I'll describe it in several different ways, and in re-working it I have to choose the description that is the most precise for what I want to convey, or craft that precise description out of the several different ways. Sometimes in first draft writing I've written something out of habit and I need to look underneath that habit to get at the core of something. Sometimes my first attempts have a lot of telling and summary and I need to go back and enter the stories more completely and tell them in their wholeness, as scenes. Sometimes I need to make it more alive. Sometimes I need to cut entire sections that I love because they're distractions. Sometimes I find that I only scratched the surface of something difficult and I need to go back and live inside the grit for a bit so I can bring that out and fully explore it in the story. Sometimes it's really hard work. Sometimes I read an original version of a chapter and want to throw a tantrum because it seems so unfixable.
But you know, I also look at it, even if it can be a ton of work and a pain in the ass at times, and think that the fact that I'm so frustrated by earlier work is a sign of growth as a writer. If I looked back at first versions and thought they were perfect as is and didnt' need any work, then I'd be in the same place as I was when I wrote it. It's probably good that I'm not, that I'm moving forward and improving my writing. I wonder sometimes if I'll ever get to the point where my first drafts come out a lot better, and in less need of work. I don't know what the answer to that wondering is, and if I ever find out, I'll let you know.
My point though, is that I think both processes are equally important, and sometimes (more and more), even equally enjoyable. I think of re-writing as sifting through words for gems of lightning and polishing them off so they shine more brilliantly.
Currently Listening:
"Suggestions" - System of a Down
Friday, August 10, 2007
Another Rejection Letter
About a month ago, I sent out a short story of mine called "Dark As Roses" to Realms of Fantasy. The story isn't all that fantastical. It's mainly about regular people and events, but the main character has the ability to see colors around people depending on their moods, and the core of the story is her struggle to either run from her ability and the complications that come with it, or to embrace it and find a way to live with it. I guess the term for that kind of story is "magical realism," or at least, that's what I've heard.
Well, today I had it returned with a form rejection slip paper-clipped to the manuscript. It's frustrating, but it's so common in a way, to myself and to all writers at some point, that I don't even feel that disappointed. Or, at least not yet. Sometimes it's like I have a time-delay reaction to things.
One thing that gives me reassurance is yesterday I read an interview with Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander, probably my favorite book EVER, and she wrote about getting rejected for years, and how when she got accepted somewhere, she had a party and papered the walls with her old rejection letters. So, it happens to all of us.
As they say the only thing to do is to keep trying, so I think I'll go back to working on rewriting my book manuscript.
Currently listening:
"Angels of the Silences" - Counting Crows
Well, today I had it returned with a form rejection slip paper-clipped to the manuscript. It's frustrating, but it's so common in a way, to myself and to all writers at some point, that I don't even feel that disappointed. Or, at least not yet. Sometimes it's like I have a time-delay reaction to things.
One thing that gives me reassurance is yesterday I read an interview with Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander, probably my favorite book EVER, and she wrote about getting rejected for years, and how when she got accepted somewhere, she had a party and papered the walls with her old rejection letters. So, it happens to all of us.
As they say the only thing to do is to keep trying, so I think I'll go back to working on rewriting my book manuscript.
Currently listening:
"Angels of the Silences" - Counting Crows
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Cards, Signs and Numbers
As it says in my profile, along with being a writer and a music freak, I am also a tarot card reader, astrologer and numerologist, so I thought I'd take a little time and write about these things.
It's funny, I believe in these metaphysical sciences, and my own intuition when using them. I feel I have a pretty keen psychic sensibility (really, I think everyone does, to varying degrees), and have used these vehicles to harness that potential. There are times I know things beyond the basics of what a card or birth chart might indicate. In fact, especially with tarot, which I feel is my strongest of the three modes, I'd say that pretty much always happens. I get a sense of something beyond just the card, or because of the cards, I feel something in my own emotional field that is more than just the picture on the six of wands, for example. Also with tarot, the cards can be interpreted differently in different situations, so I feel there is something else at work there, some gut instinct, along with knowing the cards really wel.
Actually, one time, when "applying" to work at a metaphysical shop doing readings, the owner asked me to give her a reading using marbles, which I had never done before. So I was without my cards and signs and couldn't rely on their meanings, so I really had to go with absolute gut instinct, the images that came to mind and the feelings they evoked. And it worked. It was a great revelation to me, because the self-critical part of me always thinks that maybe there's no magic and no intuition, that all I'm really good at is memorizing meanings of cards. The marble experience pushed me to go beyond that, and I hope I will someday have more experiences to help further my intuition and my reliance on it.
That's the right-brain part of me. The left brain part of me is a complete skeptic that any of this works. In fact, I think my skepticism is why I like astrology. It's metaphysical, but it involves a lot of math, with degrees, angles, aspects. I always liked math. BUt yeah, I'm skeptical and cynical about the same thing, which makes it nice when I do readings and people tell me how much it fits their life, or when people come up to me months later and say that everything from their reading came true. It always surprises me because that more science-minded part of me just doesn't fully trust that cards and signs mean anything. But, I think they do.
I also think they don't preclude free will. I think all these things show tendencies, patterns, the way the wind is blowing, rather than inescapable absolutes. My personal beliefs lie somewhere between predestination and free will (a topic I love dissecting and discussing to no end), and that the two don't have to be mutually exclusive.
In all of these areas, though I have been working with them for awhile now, I am still learning. Every time I give a reading, I learn something new. And I love that. I feel like I'm constantly honing and deepening my skill and understanding. Then there are things in these disciplines that bug me or that I wonder about, and I'm sure I'll be blogging more about it all.
Anyone, on to a brief description of my own relationship to the the three tools (or toys, as I sometimes like to call them):
Currently Listening:
"Famous Blue Raincoat" - Tori Amos
(Leonard Cohen cover)
It's funny, I believe in these metaphysical sciences, and my own intuition when using them. I feel I have a pretty keen psychic sensibility (really, I think everyone does, to varying degrees), and have used these vehicles to harness that potential. There are times I know things beyond the basics of what a card or birth chart might indicate. In fact, especially with tarot, which I feel is my strongest of the three modes, I'd say that pretty much always happens. I get a sense of something beyond just the card, or because of the cards, I feel something in my own emotional field that is more than just the picture on the six of wands, for example. Also with tarot, the cards can be interpreted differently in different situations, so I feel there is something else at work there, some gut instinct, along with knowing the cards really wel.
Actually, one time, when "applying" to work at a metaphysical shop doing readings, the owner asked me to give her a reading using marbles, which I had never done before. So I was without my cards and signs and couldn't rely on their meanings, so I really had to go with absolute gut instinct, the images that came to mind and the feelings they evoked. And it worked. It was a great revelation to me, because the self-critical part of me always thinks that maybe there's no magic and no intuition, that all I'm really good at is memorizing meanings of cards. The marble experience pushed me to go beyond that, and I hope I will someday have more experiences to help further my intuition and my reliance on it.
That's the right-brain part of me. The left brain part of me is a complete skeptic that any of this works. In fact, I think my skepticism is why I like astrology. It's metaphysical, but it involves a lot of math, with degrees, angles, aspects. I always liked math. BUt yeah, I'm skeptical and cynical about the same thing, which makes it nice when I do readings and people tell me how much it fits their life, or when people come up to me months later and say that everything from their reading came true. It always surprises me because that more science-minded part of me just doesn't fully trust that cards and signs mean anything. But, I think they do.
I also think they don't preclude free will. I think all these things show tendencies, patterns, the way the wind is blowing, rather than inescapable absolutes. My personal beliefs lie somewhere between predestination and free will (a topic I love dissecting and discussing to no end), and that the two don't have to be mutually exclusive.
In all of these areas, though I have been working with them for awhile now, I am still learning. Every time I give a reading, I learn something new. And I love that. I feel like I'm constantly honing and deepening my skill and understanding. Then there are things in these disciplines that bug me or that I wonder about, and I'm sure I'll be blogging more about it all.
Anyone, on to a brief description of my own relationship to the the three tools (or toys, as I sometimes like to call them):
Currently Listening:
"Famous Blue Raincoat" - Tori Amos
(Leonard Cohen cover)
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