You can tell I'm gearing up for a holiday full of writing because I've posted more in the last five days than I did the entire month of November.
To be honest, I have no idea why I'm even posting this but I feel the need to get something off my (considerable) chest:
My Netflix queue makes me feel bad about myself. Like, all the time. Like every other Netflix user in North AMerica, I browse through the titles of movies and television shows and add them to the list of things I'd like to watch. My queue, more often than not, is full of Indie films that get lots of praise and foreign films both classics and contemporary. All films that are supposed to be excellent but....I never watch them. They never make it to my house. I haven't made a dent in my queue in nearly 6 months. that's close to $115 in fees for movies I could have had sent to me but didn't. But the thing that kills me is this: all those movies, the kind of cinema that good people with small school liberal arts degrees and literary MFAs holders should watch, is all lost on me.
I want to watch dance movies, Battlestar Galactica, and movies from the 90s I've seen a million times. So because my queue is a reminder of my baser interests, I deleted 40 movies. Gone is the Italian cinema, the Senagalese about race and class, the BBC Robin Hood series, and the artsy indie films everyone raves about. I'm gonna watch School Ties and Percy Jackson and the Lightening Thief and The League of Extraordinary Dancers.
As long as I live, I'll never be shamed by my Netflix queue again.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Gifting
Every year since I started knitting I've sworn that I would get started early and knit all my holiday gifts. Evey year this has not happened. In fact, the only people who are likely to get hand knit anything are my sisters and grandfather (I have a 24 hour emergency fingerless glove recipe (yes I wrote recipe and yes I meant pattern...I'm multi-tasking, badly) and lots and lots of yarn).
Initially I thought I would just buy books for everyone, but then it occurred to me that maybe everyone doesn't want to read my favorite books (I was either going to give copies of The Four Agreement or Drinking Coffee Elsewhere, two very different but excellent books). But I have nine aunties and because I really like the idea of homemade gifts, I was really excited when a little lightbulb went off in my head.
This weekend, I'm going turn my kitchen into a laboratory. For my mother's sisters who like the suace ( i get it honestly) I'll be making fruit infused vodka! I'm thinking, pear, raspberry, and blackberry. And for my dad's sisters who don't really drink, I'll be making spice infused olive oil reminiscent of the kind they used to serve at Il Sapore back in the day.
Gifting success!
Initially I thought I would just buy books for everyone, but then it occurred to me that maybe everyone doesn't want to read my favorite books (I was either going to give copies of The Four Agreement or Drinking Coffee Elsewhere, two very different but excellent books). But I have nine aunties and because I really like the idea of homemade gifts, I was really excited when a little lightbulb went off in my head.
This weekend, I'm going turn my kitchen into a laboratory. For my mother's sisters who like the suace ( i get it honestly) I'll be making fruit infused vodka! I'm thinking, pear, raspberry, and blackberry. And for my dad's sisters who don't really drink, I'll be making spice infused olive oil reminiscent of the kind they used to serve at Il Sapore back in the day.
Gifting success!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Can a Year Disappear?
I'm supposed to be grading essays on Macbeth, but, whenI feel the urge to write I need to take advantage.
Today I received a gift from one of the young women on my roster of students I counsel through the college admission process. It was my first gift as a teacher and the gesture overwhelmed me in a way I wasn't expecting. I'm doing my job and, while I was warned (not really the right word) that I would receive gifts from my students, I felt something more than I had expected. For one, there's the student invloved; a young lady I have become fond of even though we interact less and less now that most of her applications are done. She's intelligent and creative in the same way that the women I call my closest friends are, and I admire her for being so at such a young age (listen to the Grandma over here). Then, there was the card, a note from her mother, somthing simple, that said thank you for doing your job and being suppoirtive of us. And that, well, that put me over the edge of sentimentalitiy. I told the student and her accompanying friend how much I love receiving cards, and it's absolutely true. A psychiatrist would probably diagnose me as a hoarder of some kind if he or she took a look at the hundreds of cards and envelops I have kept over the year. Birthday cards, Christmas cards (Grinch that I am), graduation cards, thank you cards, postcards that I have received and postcards I wrote but never mailed, envelopes the cards came in,and envelopes that match cards that I will never send. I have boxes of them.
So now I wonder: What would happen if I threw them all away?
It's not just the cards. I have pictures (okay, fairly normal), maps of foreign cities, tickets from museaums I've visited, and subway and bus tickets from Italy, France, Austria and England. There are notes my host brother wrote for me, scraps of paper from journals I've since thrown away, and guide books that are nearing ten years old. Despite my (few and far between) organizing benders, they still make a mess. And looking through them always leads to me finding a Parisian Metro ticket in the oddest of places.
So what would happen if I threw it all away?
Would I forget graduating from high school or college?
If I didn't have the journal page dated 10/17/10 would I forget that days after leaving my parents behind at an airport gate in Philadelphia my Great aunt passed away while I was settling into a new life in Florence?
Without the torn map of that same city, would I forge that my school was located at 10 Borgo Santa Croce and that I lived on via Masaccio with two Americans, three teenagers from Mexico, and a Japanese woman named Mayumi?
Could I find Shot Cafe? And Pino's? And Gelateria dei Neri?
Would I remember my first trip to Amsterdam without that useless map from the Bulldog? Does that map remind me of how cold that city was in November, days of my family celebrated Thanksgiving in the United States? Do those postcards from the van Gogh museaum remind me of how fast my heart beat the first time I stood in front of van Gogh's portrait of his bedroom (still my favorite).
If I got rid of all the memories of Paris, would I forget the second time I had my heart broken by a boy and the first time I had my heart broken by a friend?
If I get rid of all those things do I forget that glorious, heartbraking, self-affirming, joyous year?
And what about the years that followed?
There are memories of those years in these boxes as well. Do I really need to keep the momentos of friendships I no longer maintain? Empty boxes that once contained brand new pairs of earrings that no longer have mates, do I need those? What about the blank immigration forms from South Korea and Thailand? And the hotel room key from Osaka? What purpose do they serve?'s
When I think of the time in between those trips, life in New York and three years in Iowa. The memories are countless, they are of books and late nights writing and conversations with friends, author's signatures,a and, tears. Lots of tears.
If I divest myself of all the small things, do those years disappear? What am I saving them for? Who am I saving them for? The children I may never have, the old woman I am going to become? Why would they mean anything to anyone other who I am, at this moment, or who I was ten, nine years ago?
It occurs to me that I have written all this without once looking at a journal, card, or any other piece of paper. My attachment to these piles of fiber, while very real, is perhaps unnecessary and yet, I can't see life without them. It's my way of holding onto all those years.
Today I received a gift from one of the young women on my roster of students I counsel through the college admission process. It was my first gift as a teacher and the gesture overwhelmed me in a way I wasn't expecting. I'm doing my job and, while I was warned (not really the right word) that I would receive gifts from my students, I felt something more than I had expected. For one, there's the student invloved; a young lady I have become fond of even though we interact less and less now that most of her applications are done. She's intelligent and creative in the same way that the women I call my closest friends are, and I admire her for being so at such a young age (listen to the Grandma over here). Then, there was the card, a note from her mother, somthing simple, that said thank you for doing your job and being suppoirtive of us. And that, well, that put me over the edge of sentimentalitiy. I told the student and her accompanying friend how much I love receiving cards, and it's absolutely true. A psychiatrist would probably diagnose me as a hoarder of some kind if he or she took a look at the hundreds of cards and envelops I have kept over the year. Birthday cards, Christmas cards (Grinch that I am), graduation cards, thank you cards, postcards that I have received and postcards I wrote but never mailed, envelopes the cards came in,and envelopes that match cards that I will never send. I have boxes of them.
So now I wonder: What would happen if I threw them all away?
It's not just the cards. I have pictures (okay, fairly normal), maps of foreign cities, tickets from museaums I've visited, and subway and bus tickets from Italy, France, Austria and England. There are notes my host brother wrote for me, scraps of paper from journals I've since thrown away, and guide books that are nearing ten years old. Despite my (few and far between) organizing benders, they still make a mess. And looking through them always leads to me finding a Parisian Metro ticket in the oddest of places.
So what would happen if I threw it all away?
Would I forget graduating from high school or college?
If I didn't have the journal page dated 10/17/10 would I forget that days after leaving my parents behind at an airport gate in Philadelphia my Great aunt passed away while I was settling into a new life in Florence?
Without the torn map of that same city, would I forge that my school was located at 10 Borgo Santa Croce and that I lived on via Masaccio with two Americans, three teenagers from Mexico, and a Japanese woman named Mayumi?
Could I find Shot Cafe? And Pino's? And Gelateria dei Neri?
Would I remember my first trip to Amsterdam without that useless map from the Bulldog? Does that map remind me of how cold that city was in November, days of my family celebrated Thanksgiving in the United States? Do those postcards from the van Gogh museaum remind me of how fast my heart beat the first time I stood in front of van Gogh's portrait of his bedroom (still my favorite).
If I got rid of all the memories of Paris, would I forget the second time I had my heart broken by a boy and the first time I had my heart broken by a friend?
If I get rid of all those things do I forget that glorious, heartbraking, self-affirming, joyous year?
And what about the years that followed?
There are memories of those years in these boxes as well. Do I really need to keep the momentos of friendships I no longer maintain? Empty boxes that once contained brand new pairs of earrings that no longer have mates, do I need those? What about the blank immigration forms from South Korea and Thailand? And the hotel room key from Osaka? What purpose do they serve?'s
When I think of the time in between those trips, life in New York and three years in Iowa. The memories are countless, they are of books and late nights writing and conversations with friends, author's signatures,a and, tears. Lots of tears.
If I divest myself of all the small things, do those years disappear? What am I saving them for? Who am I saving them for? The children I may never have, the old woman I am going to become? Why would they mean anything to anyone other who I am, at this moment, or who I was ten, nine years ago?
It occurs to me that I have written all this without once looking at a journal, card, or any other piece of paper. My attachment to these piles of fiber, while very real, is perhaps unnecessary and yet, I can't see life without them. It's my way of holding onto all those years.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
A conversation with myself on writing.
Oh, hello there. What? Oh, right, well what had happened was...I mean, I've been a little entangled in the new job--what? I know, I know, yeah I had some time, but not a lot and it made more sense to--Yes, this is important to me. No, I don't want it to look like I don't care. I do care. I care a lot actually. I did do some writing, there was that---yes, it counts, I mean it was fiction. Some people call it flash fiction. How many words? I don't know, 100, 150 maybe. Since when is it about the word count? I have a lot of respect for deadline, just ask my co-workers. That deadline? I'm going to do my best to make it, I have a full month, and two weeks of vacation! Well, that's not very nice. I think I can do it. have a little faith in me. I swear, I'm doing my best. I'm doing mostly my best. I could do better.
Monday, November 1, 2010
National Blog Post Something or other.
I think I will make an attempt at blogging every day in the month of November. I will absolutely NOT make an attempt to write a novel this month. The more I think about it, the more it makes my head hurt. I care about my novel-in-progress. I want to spend time with it, crafting each sentence like it's the most important one in the book. What would I gain by trying to speed through it? I spent much of my grad school years speeding through story drafts, and yes, I had some good results, but mostly I just ended up revising for months and months....Although I guess, every 1st draft I write is pretty quick...I'm much better in the revising stage...but still....no novel in a month for me folks. But blogs posts, that I can try to do.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sharing my words
If I get to spend anytime here in the next week it will be amazing. These are the last few days of the quarter and there's a lot of work to be done. Grading, writing letters of recommendation--finding time for sleep (which I'm pretty sure is not going to happen for the next week) are priority. As much as I complain (mostly to myself and occasionally to the other new teacher) I really don't mind work. What I dislike is that I haven't had a minute to write--well, maybe a few minutes here and there, but sadly, I don't write that way. I need hours, I need focus, I need to get my space organized.
Whatever readers I have out there (I know there are a couple...at least I hope there are a couple) might be happy to know that my story "Until the Heart Stops Beating" will be published in Issue 5 of the Hawaii Women's Journal--I think sometime in January? Not sure. But I am really excited. It's the first time my work will be read outside of a school or friend setting.It's also encouraging. I'm not very good about sending my work out into the world. There are a couple of reasons for this.
1. I'm not sure I'm good enough. What writer ever is? I'm often not even sure why I spend my time writing short stories or putting together my novel. There's always a lot of doubt when you spend your time "making shit up" as I like to say.
2. I don't always know if I want to keep my writing for myself or if I even want to share it with the outside world. Even though it's fiction, some of my writing is intensely personal and it's strange to think of other people (says the girl with the blog) reading my work. Judging.
Well enough of my insecurity. It's happening. I'm getting out there. And I kind of like it.
Whatever readers I have out there (I know there are a couple...at least I hope there are a couple) might be happy to know that my story "Until the Heart Stops Beating" will be published in Issue 5 of the Hawaii Women's Journal--I think sometime in January? Not sure. But I am really excited. It's the first time my work will be read outside of a school or friend setting.It's also encouraging. I'm not very good about sending my work out into the world. There are a couple of reasons for this.
1. I'm not sure I'm good enough. What writer ever is? I'm often not even sure why I spend my time writing short stories or putting together my novel. There's always a lot of doubt when you spend your time "making shit up" as I like to say.
2. I don't always know if I want to keep my writing for myself or if I even want to share it with the outside world. Even though it's fiction, some of my writing is intensely personal and it's strange to think of other people (says the girl with the blog) reading my work. Judging.
Well enough of my insecurity. It's happening. I'm getting out there. And I kind of like it.
Book List
I'm kind of obsessed with this list of books I created a long time ago for an unclear reason. Perhaps it was before Goodreads came out with place for me to keep track of the things I'm reading but here is a list of things I've read and enjoyed over the years. I know there are a bunch of things left off and some things that are repeats from the previous post....but here it is anyhow.
*--short story collection
**--Iowa Writers
Bold---favorite
1. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
2. Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
3. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
4. Middlesex, Jefferey Eugenedies
5. Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi
6. Interesting Women, Andrea Lee*
7. Lost Hearts in Italy, Andrea Lee
8. Drinking Coffee Elsewhere, ZZ Packer*/**
9. One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
10. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
11. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen
12. Freedom, Jonathan Franzen
13. How To Be Alone: Essays, Jonathan Franzen
14. The Twenty-Seventh City, Jonathan Franzen
15. Arranged Marriage, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni*
16. Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri*
17. The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri
18. Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri*
19. The Boat, Nam Le*/**
20. Persepolis Part 1, Marjane Satrapi
21. Persepolis Part 2, Marjane Satrapi
22. White Teeth, Zadie Smith
23. The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
24. Mary and O’Neill, Justin Cronin*/**
25. The Passage, Justin Cronin**
26. The Stranger, Albert Camus
27. Sacrificing Isaac, Neil Gordon
28. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold
29. Atonement, Ian McEwan
30. The Littlest Hitler, Ryan Boudinot*
31. Elbow Room, James Alan McPherson*
32. The Known World, Edward P. Jones
33. Jesus’ Son, Denis Johnson*/**
34. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert
35. A Blind Man Can See How Much I Love You, Amy Bloom*
36. Drown, Juno Diaz*
37. Exit A, Anthony Swofford**
38. Jarhead, Anthony Swofford**
39. Septembers of Shiraz, Dalia Sofer
40. Kentucky Straight, Chris Offutt*/**
41. St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves, Karen Russell*
42. Giovanni’s Room, James Baldwin
43. The Purple Hibiscus, Chimanmanda N. Adichi
44. War by Candlelight, Daniel Alarcon*/**
45. Lost City Radio, Daniel Alarcon**
46. Drown, Junot Diaz*
47. Here’s Your Hat What’s Your Hurry, Elizabeth McCracken*/**
48. The Safety of Objects, A.M. Homes
49. The Seamstress: A Novel, Frances des Pontes Peebles**
50. The Vagrants, Yiyun Li**
51. The Palace Thief, Ethan Canin**
52. Housekeeping, Marilynne Robinson**
53. Hunger, Lan Samantha Chang*/**
54. Come to Me, Amy Bloom*
55. Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion
56. The White Album, Joan Didion
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