365 days of being a writer: day 196

Portland State University called. Remember when this happened? Wow. Just wow. You know? I mean, goddamn. So, I answered the phone, and he said it was Tom Bissell, and my mind screamed "From! Portland!" I had to walk around for several moments after the call just to compose myself. I wanted to climb up on my cube desk and yell to all of my coworkers. I wanted to laugh and cry and maybe even hoot out loud for a bit. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh my god. So strange, this last year.

And for chrissakes, if that weren't enough: The starlings are UP on The Diagram. YEAH!

Still waiting for word from University of Washington, Penn State and Kansas State. Still hoping to hear back from Wyoming.

I also pitched to my favorite non-industry magazine, Bust, to do a review of this book coming out in June. They pretty much said no, but offered to put the review up on the blog. Drag. Which would you rather do, make nothing on it, but have another review posted on the internets (on Bust.com) or try to find some other mag --where I will have no connections-- who might buy my review?

Who thinks I need more reviews before I can hope to charge for my services?
Who thinks I should take the sweet blog post on one of my favorite grrly sites?
(Hint, those are the same choice.)

Oh and hey, PORTLAND STATE THINKS I'M COOL! [swoon]

365 days of being a writer: day 195

I have officially begun Lightening the Load. I took a bunch of knitting books over to my sister, and confirmed that she would watch over my cds and bookcases. My folks will watch my records and turntable. I am bringing the giant-ass steamer trunk they've been watching. Probably sell the couch.

The only writing I mustered today was a critique for a fellow MFA drafter. I haven't heard back, but I hope it was helpful. I enjoyed her writing, but I think I can be too critical sometimes in my critiques. That reminds me of a funny story about the first time I went to a poetry slam... but I'm too tired to tell it. The punchline is that they made me judge, I gave the lowest scores by far, and got booed. Nobody told me it was a self-esteem building exercise. I thought I was supposed to assess skillz.

I have an advance copy of a book that comes out in June, I am planning on pitching a review to Bust. I would very MUCH like to get into that magazine... on that note, sweet dreams, dreamers.

365 days of being a writer: day 194

I went back to Rio Salado this afternoon for a long walk. There were a few new birds: a snowy egret and some Gambel's quail.

Later, I made some lunches for next week (Indian potatoes and black bean and pasta soup). I got another edit done on the Night essay. I am still trying to decide if I want to send it to a couple of places or wait on the two competitions its in.

Past that, I got a bit of knitting in while watching a terrible movie. It feels good to have most of the pressure off. Now I just need to find my own routine.

365 days of being a writer: day 193

It looks like I will not be "sweeping" this year--which, while I doubted, would have been REALLY FUCKING COOL. The administrative assistant at Penn State told me today that the first round of offers already went out for the nonfiction folks. Why am I not more sad? I feel like I am really supposed to want to go to Penn. But you know what? I really want to go to Wyoming. If you have any wishes left (I don't) wish for me to get off their waitinglist and onto the books.

Now that my application is in at Kansas State, I have no immediate deadlines until April, when a decision is due. I have a couple of trips planned for March, to visit TTU and U Arizona, but otherwise--I can exhale. And I really need to: my house is in shambles, I need to start re-decluttering, I am in the worst shape I've been in in the last three years... I think going forward I am going to focus on two things: a second edit of the Night essay, for a second round of submissions and a new draft of the blackbirds essay. I will still write book reviews for Xenith and (hopefully hopefully) one of the online mags I submitted my science column idea to will bite. But otherwise, I am not going to put any more pressure on myself for the next few months except to pay as much money as I can toward my debt.

If I am awesome (and I know I can be awesome) and live very frugally--a skill I need to improve anyway--I can pay off seven grand of my nine grand plus debt before school starts in the fall. That (plus aforementioned decluttering) is the best thing I could do right now. Have you ever lived in Lubbock? What are the seasons like? How many coats do I need? I know what Tucson is like, and I am trying hard not to daydream too much about what Wyoming is like. So, Lubbock. What's the skinny?

I know I didn't really write today (except at my job) but I am granting a mental health day to myself. I love each and every one of you. Have a great night.

365 days of being a writer: day 192

Final. App. for KSU. In. Mail.

So... TIRED.

365 days of being a writer: day 191

No word from either of the PSUs or from Washington yet. It's easy to get caught up in the freaking out happening on the threads devoted to the notification schedule, even if the pressure is off. Even if I already know where I am going, it would be nice to have more folks to ask questions of, more options to weigh.

I am crawling CRAWLING toward the finish line. My essay is almost done. I could probably power through the last page tonight, but I really need to sleep. Thus far I have finished the intro, outro and the sections on the biology poems and the geology poems. Just astronomy poems left. (I'm nothing but inconstant in my obsessions.) I will post the paper up here IF it gets me into KSU. Just like I will throw my SOP up once notification season is over. I don't want to jinx any chickens before they've come home to roost.

In other news, work: I haz it.

I remember how easy it is to come home from a long, busyful day and feel like the busy-ness was productive. How easy it is to ease onto the couch with some gentle knitting and stare at a screen while the bright pictures float across it. This is why I want to get into a program: so the hard work IS accomplishing something (my education and the education of others) and the writing at the end of the day is a balm, rather than a chore.

365 days of being a writer: day 190

Highway 1-90who knows.

That's a line from a long terrible poem that I wrote in high school.

I'm still banging away at this literary essay: up to a finished page three draft, and I will get a few more done before bed. But first: I just got all worked up over the equivalent of a forum thread and needed a breather.

Someone over on one of the MFA outlets made what I perceived to be an admonishing remark about how we should have more fun with this process, since we elected to participate in it and cut it with the "funny... nervous antics." There were smileys and extra exclamation points, which I'll admit, I find patronizing, especially when they accompany admonishments.

But it made me think about when I was here and here and here --this is where so many of the hopeful group sound like they are right now. And to hear [read] someone brush those feelings off as funny really pushed a button. It doesn't matter if you ELECT to join the fishies all trying to climb the ladder to spawn best sellers. It's still fucking hard. And if it's not a struggle, well then, you're doing it wrong.

Is the problem of graduate school acceptance a first-world problem--YES SIR. But does that make the gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, nerve-wracking process any less valid? Nope. People are judging your art, and all evidence points to the fact that they are finding it unworthy. It's not like someone returned the watermelon you sold them because it "wasn't sweet enough" or the passenger on the bus thought you were driving like a dick. Art comes from deep down. It's like someone saying your own kids are no good.

Now, that's not what they are saying.

That's not what a rejection from Brown or Iowa means. Not at all. I know that to be true with my BRAIN, but until I got that call from TTU, my MIND refused to believe. You stick your neck out as far as it will go with these applications, and then you wait, and swallow carefully, for months. The fretting and crying and wallowing aren't pointless or dumb, they're to be expected, just as nervous laughter, short tempers, and day drinking are.
/rant

Back to writing.

365 days of being a writer: day 189

After the buzz-worthy last few days, I have to admit that I was a little bummed that no one called me today to offer me a spot in their program. But I'm sure that greedy attitude was because of the fever and stomach cramps.

Wait, let me explain. (No, there is too much, let me sum up.) Food poisoning. Bedridden. Trying to write. All day.

Why this sudden run of sickness? Ha ha, pardon the pun. Ah god, I'm achy.

I spent most of my glorious paid President's Day off--how's that for being a lucky bastard?--curled up in a fetal position. I think it was an errant carne asada burrito from an otherwise respectable restaurant in the neighborhood. When I could sit up, I worked on my lit crit piece and hung out with the other MFA hopefuls in a private group that's been set up on a popular social networking site.

I had hoped to have a rough draft done by COB, but that is not to be. Instead, I managed to finish a draft of the intro and first section, blurbs on the second two sections, and nothing on the conclusion. I have notes, quotes, and works have been cited. Can I say I am over a third done? I hope so. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to curl back up.

Get your own food poisoning doll at GIANTmicrobes

365 days of being a writer: day 188

Cause he's the tax-man, tax-maaaaan.

After puttering around and working more on notes, I headed to my folks' to knock out the taxes and submit my FAFSA. After all of the fun from this last week, it was a let down, I'll tell you.

I am still not out from under my dumb house in Texas, so I have to pay extra just to learn it does me no good. Plus, the government even thinks I made money off the thing--which I soundly corrected. By the time I got to the FAFSA, my "index" number was pretty high. I am pretty pissed about that. I mean, I worked at a grocery store all year. I am supposed to support a college education on one year at a GROCERY STORE?

This likely means that even if Washington and Portland do call me, I will likely not be able to afford them. Man I want off that Wyoming waitlist. Now I am off to watch a cartoon before trying to knock a few more words out.

I also heard yesterday (and completely forgot to mention) that 5x5 magazine does not want my confessional poetry (frankly a relief). And I wrote to an editor who has had an essay for six months inquiring as to its status, which is always a horrifying SEND to click. Here's to another great week full of tech writing and getting a finished app to KSU!

365 days of being a writer: day 187

OK. Don't freak out.

University of Arizona called this morning to offer me a spot in their MFA program.

ARE YOU FREAKING OUT?!? or is it just me?

I rushed right out and bought a lottery ticket, just in case this crazy streak is a wide one.

***

First thing this morning I was out birding with some older people. While it's fair to say that your average birder (YAB) is "old," it is also fair to say that the gap between YAB and myself is narrowing. The wind was stronger than usual and the sky spit a few raindrops from time to time, so the birds weren't out much. It was still a nice walk through the new Rio Salado area. I'd like to go back when I can spend a day walking up and down it. I'd like to see the burrowing owls and the beavers, rather than just their traces.

I have an outline for my paper--it will be on Diane Ackerman and the ways that science informs her poetry (both form and content). I would have liked to get farther on it, but there was recovery from rejoicing to take care of, and then later more (though less ebullient) rejoicing to take part in.

I also submitted my bee essay to another new online lit mag and reviewed the galley for my Diagram piece. I am trying to decide if I want to submit the Night essay to another lit mag (with a short reading window), even though it is in two contests. They won't notify until April (when a school decision will be needed--how wild might April be?!) so I hate to have it effectively shelved for so long. But at what point am I crop dusting? The starlings were rejected six times before they found a home, so it doesn't seem too crazy to send it out to three at once, does it? If so, I'd love to send it to Orion, as well. Thoughts?

Verdict: Though hungover and giddy, it was a productive day.

365 days of being a writer: day 186

The University of Wyoming notified me that I am on their waitlist.

I had to get up and leave my desk and go call my mom so I wouldn't burst into tears. Even now, thinking about it again makes me want to sob big heaving, relieved, grateful sobs into my keyboard.

Isn't it funny how you aren't supposed to take the rejections personally, but it's perfectly acceptable to be stoked about the "not-rejected"s?

Amanda asked in yesterday's comments what would happen if any other schools said yes after my number one school. Truthfully, my list of priorities is fickle, like me.

I am a delicate flower, and especially after all the rejections last year, one of my priorities was probability. Funding is also a very key issue--as I just can't live in a house with five roommates anymore. I am too old for that. Plus, I have no benefactor to pay the phone bill so that I may tweet at odd hours. All this to say that I had secret hopes about who would say yes, and I had public hopes.

Wyoming has an amazing program. AMAZING. Plus, Wyoming? ALSO AMAZING. Tech has remarkable funding for an MA and a low cost of living (for a reason). I can't say what I would do if Wyoming offered me a slot, yet. I will be visiting Tech in a couple of weeks and want to keep an open mind.

But I will say that the warm note from the school was just so... Encouraging. They said my enthusiasm was evident and that I was on the list because my talent and promise were impressive.

Still trying to figure out how to write a paper about poetry. Still fighting Word and Adobe at a really engaging job. Wins all around this week.

365 days of being a writer: day 185

It seems like only yesterday I was wondering what would happen if all the schools said no again. Oh wait, it WAS yesterday.

Well, I can let that one go, because this year can NOT be a goose egg.

Texas Tech said yes, yes, yes! --including a GPTI (graduate part time instructor) Assistantship!

I'm over the moon. TTU was my first choice, but I am still not even done applying. There are six more schools to go, but what a relief: I can go to grad school, you guys.

And if that weren't enough, I got a new follower! That's right, only six months of daily writing and I have DOUBLED my followers. You two, you two are why I do this. I love you both.

Also, there was some tech writing, and a bit of poetry research. Now bed. YAWN.

365 days of being a writer: day 184

Day two of technical writing was a whirlwind.

At one point, after talking with some very knowledgeable engineers, I was washing my hands in the bathroom and I imagined that this were to be the rest of my life: drafting word docs in a decent office where I am respected and my judgment and skills are important. The money would be enough for one good trip a year. I could go back to getting my toes done and join a gym... It was tantalizing the way a cigarette can be during a really shitty day--though I am over 7 years quit--a temporary balm that can't get close to the beating pulse of what hurts. Why isn't the respectable life good enough for me, again? Just who the hell do I think I am, anyway?

Later, I went to the Desert Botanical Garden and learned about the reclamation of a stretch of what used to be known as the Salt River (but the city of Phoenix renamed it in 1967 to Rio Salado). At one point there were over 1000 tons of tires piled up in its dry bed, along with all of the other crap people throw out. Now, there are now over 500 acres and over 5 miles of trails through reclaimed desert riparian environment. On Saturday, I will be walking around the preserve, in the hopes of seeing burrowing day owls, black-necked stilts, and the rarest of the rare: a scarlet tanager. And then I remembered why it can't end in a cube for me.

The second half of the year will be more difficult than the first, I suspect. I'm actually using my brain more (starting almost exactly at 8 am, for example, I was tasked with localizing two manuals for electrical equipment (for Australia), proofing a 40 page project plan, and finishing up a release notes template--all for technology that is completely new to me) which means I am more tired when I get home. I plan on taking more vitamins and insinuating some exercise to try and combat that. Past that, we just do what we can, right? Try to be nice and get a little better each day.

My newest review is up at Xenith: Lost and Found: Adolescent Obsession. If it makes you think, leave a note for me on Xenith, will you? Goodnight, sweetest follower--whoever you are--and to anyone else reading.

365 days of being a writer: day 183

Technical writer Tuesday! The first day on the job had me wrestling with Word templates inside of an hour.

After work, thanks to the luxury of my abbreviated commute, I stopped at the library for some poetry. I have scoured what I brought home and am more confused than ever.

Ultimately, I am over-thinking. But I'm stuck! I have a week to write 8 pages! (I would get more riled up abiut it, but I'm beat to hell.)

Tomorrow after work there will be birding at the Desert Boranical Garden. And copious note taking.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

365 days of being a writer: day 182

Happy Valentine's Day, & happy halfway point!

I wrote another book review from my sick bed. It is pending editor approval.

In honor of this polarizing day, I have posted another "love" poem on Fictionaut. 

I also spoke at some length to a couple of folks at KSU and submitted the electronic portion of my application. All that's left is to write the damn lit-crit paper. Help!

Tomorrow is the first day of school new job, wish me luck!

PS, tonight at dinner I tried kangaroo for the first time. It wasn't the least bit like chicken.

365 days of being a writer: day 181

I'm beginning to wonder if I'm sick or hiding. Still having random violent coughing fits, so maybe not totally hiding.

I made some notes for my lit crit paper. I only have two pieces of evidence to discuss. The neurotic in me really wants three, but two should work better with my page count.

No progress on the book review. Just sweaty naps, cold pizza, and web surfing on my phone.



- Posted from bed using iPhone

365 days of being a writer: day 180

Almost halfway there. Can you see the top of the hill? Can you imagine what the view will look like at the top? Me neither.

Still bedridden. But not altogether unwillingly so. I finished a book and started notes on a review for it (The Fates Will Find Their Way by Hannah Pittard--thank you, indiespensable book club!) I watched a movie. I slept a lot. I feel awful, but have enjoyed just reading and sleeping and dreaming.

I was half sure (upon waking from a fever dream) that a college was going to notify today. But no such luck. Maybe I will be able to sit at the keyboard enough tomorrow to write up the review.



- Posted from my iPhone

365 days of being a writer: day 179

In bed. Coughing. Reading. Hibernating.



- Posted by iPhone

365 days of being a writer: day 178

So. Sick.

I read some Annie Dillard. Can't uncloud my head to write, but am loving The Writing Life. She and I have some habits in common--and that always feels good. Like: no, you are not crazy for thinking xyz.

It was also the night of my going away party at the day job. I was really glad that several people showed up to the bowling alley. We took over three lanes and had a pretty good time of it. There were enough terrible bowlers for solidarity and enough good bowlers for cheering. My voice is almost entirely gone.

365 days of being a writer: day 177

It's official. I am almost definitely sick. DAMNIT! There is a trip coming up and the new job on Tuesday. I do not want to be a sniffling sneezing stuffy head fever bot on my first day.

So, I can't think and feel all cotton-headed and like my eyes are on stalks waving in the wind. I'm going to let it ride and hope for the best, and for the vitamins to kick in.

Thanks to the rabbithole of the internet, I found this inspiring blog: Going the Distance... Three Credits at a Time. This woman is getting her BA in English, "three credits at a time." She has been working hard at it for six years, and is almost done. The blog is beautiful with snowy pictures of Maine and her thoughtful insights into her process. The opposite of this ranting and gnashing of teeth, surely!

It is also wonderful as a demonstration of option C. The one I pretend would be the worst possible outcome. I might not get into any school again this year. Then what? I have considered a BS in general science, but could also reasonably start MA/English classes online or in some far away and more interesting city. That wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, not really.

Here's something else I found on Colleen's blog... Never doubt the power of literature!



I've been trying to figure out the structure for this lit-crit, and I am really struggling. All I know is the literature I want to write about, but I can't quite figure out what I want to say about it. For now, I just want to say, "zzzzz."

365 days of being a writer: day 176

I'm trying to get used to the steady flow of rejections compared to the tiny rivulet of acceptances.

Today, Ninth Letter said no thank you.

Earlier today, I made a word cloud from the blog (over at Wordle). I couldn't wait to get home and try it on my Night essay...

It's interesting that "light" is bigger than "night." And, note to self, "like" shouldn't be visible from a galloping horse.

I also read a review of two nature themed books. The reviewer didn't finish one of them, and insinuated that those sorts of contemplative, lyrical, naturey kinds of things are pretty--but only in small doses. In art school, I was enamored of Joseph Cornell's boxes. So, I made my own, most of which were very dissimilar to his. But still they were "precious" and "charming" rather than interesting and engaging, so I gave up on art.

Why am I so intrigued by pretty, lovely, plotless things? The stories I loved when I was little were pretty. They were fantasies and romances--neither genre can lure me in any more. My essays stall for want of a point. An "arc." I can't be a poet, I don't understand poetry. I am tone-deaf when it comes to poems: if you tell me it's good, I will sing along to myself. Sometimes, I will read something and know it's good. But usually not.

Do I want to make a living, or do I want to make art? It is entirely likely that the bulk of what's in my head will remain uninteresting or unintelligible to all but a few crazy souls who follow me down my "merely romantic" rabbit holes...

Wait, that sounds dirty. Let me try again.

What if no one ever CARES? She wailed.

I posted a poem at Fictionaut, for the St. Valentine's Day Massacre group, called "untitled: #2." So far, it should have a different name, and possibly format. In other news, my throat is very scratchy. I'm hoping it's a symptom of the fruit fast I've been on and not some kind of illness. How great of a first impression is that, to be sick?

What's your point?

While cruising Twitter today, I "overheard" an exchange between two of my favorite writers-on-twitter.

@karriehiggins said to @JHammons : I love Wordle. Great tool with students, too! Helped some visualize the point they were really making (or not making).

Well, I figured I would make one for this here writing blog and see what came up. Here it is:

/via Wordle and thanks to @spitballarmy

Wow. I know I use "today" too much, but with a daily entry it's hard not to... but "going"? All of these things I am GOING to do? And how come "write" is only medium-sized? (I'm glad that "motherfucking" is so prominent. It is my favorite curse word, and is applied liberally to people, places, and things.)

It bears considering. And modifying. New Wordle to be posted again at the end of the month.

365 Days of Being a Writer: day 175

No writing today. I dealt with the bank, ran errands galore, and didn't win in Tweet Me A Story.

I don't think I'll participate in anymore NYC Midnight "competitions."

This last week at the day job is going to be hectic, I'm wondering if I should start bringing my notebook to work so I can write on my breaks.


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365 days of being a writer: day 174

There are a lot of pictures trapped on my camera. I need an hour to download, title, and upload them. Most are of the Botanical Garden.

This morning, an old friend showed up and I rattled off cacti facts and failed to find him a scone. He hugged me and bought me coffee and listened to me talk with my hands. My friends are few and far between, but worth their motherfucking weight in gold.

Then I went to a wildflower identification class. I gave it a good review, but later realized that it didn't meet my needs. Who has a wildflower identification class in February? But I gave it a good review because I heard so many amazing flower names: Owl's Clover, Desert Chicory, Bladderpods, Scorpion-weeds. Already I am wondering if there is a short something I could write about the wildflowers. I'll have to wait for them to come out, I suppose.

My day concluded in the misery of dressing rooms, trying on "business casual" clothes. It is such a remarkably different experience, trying on clothes after gaining a size, than it is after losing one. Even though the shape I am now was once something to cheer, now--it's pretty awful. Enough to ruin my whole month if I were to let it. I will try not to.

But now I have two bags of things that should keep me from being too mortified in my cubicle. Already, I find myself wanting to spend more money because I am "going to have it." How batshitcrazy is that? That money is going straight to my debt. And these fat clothes are going straight to a garage sale the minute I get my ass back in shape. 

365 days of being a writer: day 173

Research! That's what happened today, a little. Then I fought with my computer's taskbar for a while, mainly because I was feeling too good about getting research done and I needed a humility refresh.

I am trying to find some "naturalist" poets. Not just writers talking about Nature, but poets talking about specific biological topics--either environments or actual species. Any ideas? Basically, I want some writers to compare to Diane Ackerman.

Tomorrow I am going to a wildflower identification class. I am officially 87 years old!

365 days of being a writer: day 172

I wasn't able to write today because AGAIN I stayed up too late last night to be productive today. Exhausted, running for the damn bus, this weird kind of burned out at work--knowing it is coming to a close soon...

While I was able to read from Annie Dillard's Writing Life on the way in, I was falling asleep on the way home. Even Last Tango in Paris can't hold my attention, now. So, I'm going to bed. I will write in the morning.

I've moved some things around in the sidebar. There is now an "About Me" page, which may include a 100 things about me at some point. There is also a "published work" page--that needs a better name, but see also: too tired.

I received an email today letting me know that my Night essay has been received and is under consideration. I should know whether or not they like it by April.

365 days of being a writer: day 171

Nearly six months in, and today I can say that I accepted a job as a technical writer. This is both a relief and a consternation. It changes many possibilities, some for the good and some for the bad.

For example, what will become of the 365 days when I am spending perhaps ten hours a day on government contract reporting? Will that "count" as writing? Who knows. For now, or as of the fifteenth of February, I will be able to begin digging myself out of debt in earnest.

I have not yet heard back on any of the many things out there in the world. I posted a new review at Xenith. This time on Rumpus Women Volume 1: Personal Essays by Women.

Have you voted for your favorite piece of micro fiction yet? Hint: pick me, pick me!

365 days of being a writer: day 170

I spoke with a man today about my love of technical writing. I didn't lie.

It's the orderliness that gets me where my neuroses tick. I like organizing words into headings and columns. Finding the perfect chart makes me feel good. But like all jobs, there is the rest of it, to bring you down. And at the heart of it, what always really got me, was that my work wasn't doing anyone much good.

First, no one ever reads the instructions. Reports exist to be filed, not read. An operating manual has not ever been savored. So, then I spend my nights writing odes to echinopsis and honeybees.

Speaking of, I also submitted the science column idea to another online journal that was looking for columns. The bees may see the light of day after all.

I have too many things that require finger crossing, instead I am going to cross and uncross them over and over while I watch a movie and knit the rest of the night away.

365 days of being a writer: day 169

I wrote two blog posts at work today (and several tweets) and spent the rest of my evening preparing for a job interview.

• Bring writing samples - my printer is broken, got a loaner and printing only ended up taking an hour and a half total.
• Dress business casual - turns out that my lack of running and working out has SO altered my shape that none of my old clothes fit, not even the fat clothes. I haven't even gained that much weight. How this is possible is really only incidental to how much it has ruined my whole rest of the month and possibly year.
• Research the company - MY company made me go to a damn "Town Hall" meeting 30 mins away and kept us late after promising only to pay us through 9 pm.

But this tech writing job is perfect for me, and I am going to do what I can to get some sleep so I can be my best first thing in the morning. Wish me luck.