We we we so excited. So excited. Part I

Admittedly, I've watched the Friday video one too many times. Don't worry, this has nothing to do with the video or the lack of a verb. It's all about the Hampden Writer's Workshop. Next week will be the very first planning meeting between my new partner and I and I can't wait to unveil who the writer signing on will be. I'm thinking two weeks from now, and you'll know!

In other writing related news I've been working on a draft of a story I wrote about two years ago. I recently submitted it to the Summer Literary Seminar contest and while I didn't win or place even, I received a very nice note from the Seminar's director about how much he liked the submission. Add to that a 5 day stay in Wellfleet where the story takes place, I'm feeling very close to the work and the characters and I think that in the next couple of days I will have a draft that I'm really proud of. Perhaps What the Bay Broke will find a home in 2011!

In novel writing news...Meh. I'm a little more than frustrated. After having made a significant amount of edits to the manuscript, the manuscript has gone missing. Frustrating isn't the right word. I'm ever so slightly devastated. I'm trying to get over it and start working again, but my momentum is off. Next week, I'll sit down with the edits I had the chance to transfer onto the computer and start again. I have a feeling that I won't have a completed draft at the end of August as I had hoped. End of 2011? Yes, please, maybe?

Good Grief

Let me tell you how I spent my weekend...Friday, boyfriend and I are reunited after nearly two weeks (really, really hard, like I didn't know it would be that hard to be away from him). I go straight to him. Make dinner (he requested Indian I made Indian from a jar--sue me). We watch lots of Mad Men (please note, Boyfriend waited TWO weeks for finish season 1 of Mad Men even though I've seen it all. I just happened to mention that my favorite episode of the series came at the end of season 1. That's all). We are happy. Saturday: We sleep until 3, have dinner with his sister and her family and then see Harry Potter. Boyfriend knows me well so after movie he takes me to Borders (close-out sale--amazon or half.com still cheaper). He knows me really well so after Borders he takes me for beer. He knows me really, really well so back at his place we watch lots of It's Always Sunny. Sunday: Boyfriend brings me Dunkin Donuts, a latte and champagne for breakfast. After many hours we finally leave the house. I get a pedicure, I convince boyfriend to let the Black guys at the barber shop down the street cut his hair. We grocery shop. At his place, I make lunch, then I make dinner. We watch a lot of The Wire. I make a chicken, shrimp, paella type dish for dinner. More of The Wire.

Happiest weekend EVER. I cooked/prepared all but two of our meals and I did dishes this afternoon.

Who am I!?!?!? (answer: a very happy lady)

It's in the Desk

Sometimes I sit in front of my computer just thinking about writing. This infuriates me. It feels like wasted time, though somewhere in that mass of matter science calls a brain, I know that it’s not, in fact wasted time. In Iowa, I wasted time. Mostly because of the in-s and un-s: insecurity, uncertainty and unrequited love. Those are things I am good at. And with one phone call on a February afternoon, I’m supposed to be good at writing too. Since I moved to Baltimore, I don’t write as often as I did in Iowa. Life here moves differently, I move differently. The in-s and un-s are still there but they mean different, more urgent things. I still teach for a living but not in the same way I taught in Iowa. That is, I take it seriously but when I speak to my students it feels different. When I stand in front of a room full of ninth graders I become painfully aware that I’m laying down the foundation for what we tell them will be a life of learning. I’m teaching them about comma splices, verbal phrases, and the past participle. Things I had to re-learn over the summer and still, I feel uncomfortable with them (to the point where I really pay them no attention). In Iowa, I taught ideas more than anything. I offered my version of “What fiction is,” that is, I told them what my fiction was as though it was the standard and they believed me. Took notes even, as though they were going to be test later. There never was. But teaching about writing made me want to write more. As if I had something to prove to my students. I suppose I did.

In my apartment in Iowa City, there was more of an affectation to my writing time. I spent an hour preparing breakfast, turkey bacon, two hard boiled eggs, and a homemade latte if I was feeling healthy. I watched podcasts of the previous night’s Rachel Maddow because, of course, I didn’t have a television. When that was done, I sat down at my desk my dingy white macbook in front of me and what was left of my coffee to my right. When I first came to look at the apartment, I fell in love almost immediately. I can write in this space I thought. I can finish here. There was a little open sun porch, just enough room for a desk and a bookshelf. When I moved in I put the desk underneath two windows that looked out onto a little grassy hill where my neighbors often sat sunning themselves when the weather was nice. I lined up my favorite novels and the collection of How-to books on writing and achieving inner peace so I could have easy access to them as I wrote. I even put en empty vase on the left corner of the desk in case someone bought me flowers or I felt the urge to buy some for myself. I received flowers twice, on my 29th birthday from my parents and then again from James Alan McPherson on the occasion of my Grandfather’s death. I never put the flowers in a vase. I liked to sit at that desk and drink coffee, smoke forbidden cigarettes and eat red berries when I felt rich, which was only once a month and always in the first week when paychecks arrived. I even placed the framed photograph of Tina Fey from the writer’s strike in the space just behind my computer. I’m still not sure why.

In Baltimore, I write in coffee shops, usually one in particular, on The Avenue in Hampden where I live. They make a good latte and it’s usually quiet, although today, as I write this, it is unusually noisy. But it’s not working quite like that desk did. For some reason, without it I feel less like a writer and more like a teacher. Not that that is a bad thing. It just is. I loved sitting behind that wooden desk handed down to me from another workshopper. When I left, I did the same. Perhaps that’s the missing link to writing in Baltimore. The desk is still in Iowa.

Publication Update

Well Kittens,
It feels like I have it all: Good friends. Awesome boyfriend. New computer on the way. And...my first published short story.

You can read mystory Until the Heart Stops Beating in the current issue of the Hawaii Women's Journal...now! I'm really honored and excited to be part of such an amazing publication which was created by some Phenomenal Women.

You can read it here

Is there Such a Thing as a Happy Writer?

I was recounting the holiday weekend for a co-worker today and apparently there was something in my voice that sounded like, I don't know...happiness? My boss ( with whom I have a big brother/little sister relationship--i.e. a lot of teasing) said, "This won't do! A happy writer? Is that even allowed?" He was kidding, of course. There has been a lot of Khaliah teasing of late, what with my singing in the hallways of the school, wearing colors other than black, and the perpetual smile on my face--I can't say I'm not obnoxiously happier these days and people have taken notice. But the question of whether or not I, or anyone for that matter, can be a happy writer has stuck with me all day.

Think about the subject matter of some of the greatest novels and stories ever written, they tend to be tales of death, lost loves, unrequited loves, war and other such sadness. My own work tends to take on the darker things in life, even my comedic writing involves dead goldfish and a break-up. Much of that work came about when I was in the throes of one failing love affair or another. Or I was dealing with a less than ideal work situation. Or someone had died. Basically, all the shitty things life serves up, I took and turn it into my art. That's natural. That's whatvwe do. I'm not saying that the introduction of this new element into my life has blocked out all the shit and dirt that makes up our existence. I'm not saying that I
no longer have feelings of self doubt, or that all of a sudden I'm loving life. I mean I am, but not any more or less than before. And because it's still new and somewhat undefined, there's a whole new element of anxiety that's latched itself onto my female brain (you can't
see it but I'm sticking my tongue out at this whole liking a boy thing).

So there's a slight chance I'm looking at things a little differently. And maybe that makes me nervous for my art. Just a little. My school year is ending in a few days. I mean, I'll still
have to work through the 17th and then I'll have two weeks of vacation before I start my new contract (y'all I'm back to working 12 months a year with only a month of summer vacay). I'm
planning on getting a new computer and putting myself to work. But should things continue as
they are, should I remain happy and excited about the prospects that lay before me where is
the pain going to come from? And how will it make it's way onto the page? Sure, I haven't
forgotten the last 15 years, but they seem so far away these days.

So, can a writer be happy and still create literature that is reflects the humsn condition (whatever that may be)? I suppose I'll find out soon.

Summertime

Well, today I taught my last official classes. Tomorrow I'll do an exam review session for 40 minutes per block but in terms of actual, teaching time--I'm done! Year one is down. And as soon as I catch up on all the grading I have to do and writing my exam, and grading that exam, and finishing the last of my family meetings, I will be free to work intermittedly throughout the summer (I made the possibly crazy decision to go full time college guidance next year, teach one English class and advise the yearbook).  So I only have four weeks of vacation as opposed to two months, but I'll spread it around so I feel good about the amount of time I spend in office. Plus, there won't be any kids, and I'll get to write most of my letters of recommendation. But most importantly, I'll write. I'm talking novel pages people. The current goal is to finish a draft before school starts on Spetember 7th. Considering I think I'm only 90 pages away, this feels more than doable.

The only possible stumbling block? My plans to be a summer vampire with the boy I'm dating.

That's right. This dating cynic is dating. Contrary to my previous beliefs and experiences, not all men suck. Just the majority.

Where have I been?

I'm not even sure how to answer that question. Life has been happening at a faster speed than I'm used to after my life in Iowa. I'm just going to go down the list.

Travel

Mostly I've been hanging around Baltimore but I did manage to have a busy spring break in March: Philadelphia, New York City, New Haven, New York, and back to Baltimore. In April I went to San Francisco for the wedding of a dear friend from Iowa (more on that later). And just last week I visited Jackson, Mississippi and Millsaps College--more on that too. So it's been an eventful travel season.

Writing

Um....okay truth be told not a lot of fresh work coming out except in revision form. But, I have revised about 80% of the first half of my novel. I'm rather proud of the changes.

Knitting
Finished some socks...bought some yarn....not really knitting. It looks like I'll be spending summer alternating between knitting and writing.

What else do I do?

Teaching? First year is ays away from being over!!!

Dating?

Yes.