Sappy Endings

Once again, I have disappeared from my blog for an extended period of time. Since the last time I wrote, I have completed my MFA program and will walk in graduation at the end of the month. My final residency was at the beginning of June. It was so much fun, but also a little bittersweet. Here's the quick wrap-up of the culmination of two insanely busy and wonderful years.

On the first day of the residency (for the 5th semester students, everyone else had been there for several days already), I gave my reading. I wasn't really nervous about it, but still, it's never easy to follow the super-talented poet, Philip Belcher. Mostly, it was just a fun time, though. I got to share a selection from my thesis and listen to two of my ridiculously talented classmates read from theirs. Steve and Lucy Addison came, though Lucy Addison spent the reading hanging out in the lobby with Rick, the program director/founder.

After the student readings and dinner, I stayed for the faculty reading - Susan Tekulve and Robert Olmstead - both of whom were wonderful. Despite my determination to leave as soon as the reading was over, I ended up staying and chatting until much later than I should. As I drove home, the unsettling feeling that I had been trying to shake all day completely took over. The first student craft lectures (ever) were in the morning, and I was up first. Though I had been working on my craft lecture for ages, I still felt unprepared and unhappy with my lecture. I decided to rewrite/restructure my lecture no matter how long it took. (My lecture was scheduled for 9 in the morning!)

Sometime after 2 am, I declared my craft lecture done, and I felt about fifty pounds lighter. I may not have slept long, but at least it was untroubled sleep. I won't say I was nervous as I got up to give my lecture, but it was a weird feeling being first. Sure, there are fewer expectations if you're first, but still, if you're spectacularly bad and first, people are probably going to remember that.

Overall, I was pleased with how my lecture turned out. Certainly there were things that I wished I had said better or points I wish I had made (as soon as I sat down, they all flooded my brain.) But it could have been worse. I even held my own against a particularly persistent questioner, and at one point, one of my previous faculty mentors came to my rescue. The best part of going first, however, was that I then got to just sit back and enjoy the rest of the residency. I was done. I floated from event to event.

The remaining time was a blur of readings, lectures, and spending time with friends. The final night, we had a dinner to celebrate graduation followed by a party with the band, The Wheresville Project. There was much dancing (though not by me - I spared them that.) It was all fun and sad at the same time. There is something about the low-residency program that fosters relationships that are far closer than would be expected from such a short amount of time together. Maybe it's due to the intensity of the 9-day residencies. Whatever the cause of the closeness, it was sad to think that we won't be seeing each other anymore.

Since the end of the residency, my life has been a crazy blur. I've barely had time to process the end of six consecutive years of school. It all still seems a little unreal. Vacation Bible School began almost immediately after the residency and was followed closely by our annual pilgrimage to visit family in Maryland. Upon returning home, I received a package in the mail - my bound copy of my thesis. I didn't expect to be so excited to see my thesis bound, but there was something powerful about holding that book. I can't explain it, so I won't try.

Now begins the really hard part: keeping up with the writing life after school. It's easier to write regularly when you have deadlines that you have to meet. There are no deadlines anymore. Wait a minute. That's not true. My faculty mentor, Leslie Pietrzyk, has said that she expects me to finish my novel this year. So, I guess that's my deadline. Better get writing.

A Christian Fiction

As I trudge through pages and pages of fiction for my thesis, I am reminded daily of a huge division among Christian readers/writers - that of content/subject matter. There is no story without conflict, and there is no conflict without putting your protagonist in some kind of peril. There's just no getting around this fact. The division occurs, however, over what exactly that conflict should entail and how "worldly" the content should be.

I was raised in the church. I was also raised by people with very conservative views about literature, film, and television content. During my childhood/teenage years, I read tons of "Christian Fiction" and listened to "Christian Music." This blog entry is not intended as a slam against either of these genres, nor is it a slight against my upbringing. Rather, I write to question the distinction of "Christian" genres altogether. I am still a Christian, but now, at the age of 33, my tastes in books, movies, and music is drastically different (and perhaps more controversial in Christian circles.) This shift is not something I take lightly, however.

Let me preface my comments on Christian fiction with the following: If you enjoy Christian fiction, that's great. There is certainly nothing wrong with reading it. If you find it enjoyable, then by all means, pick up a stack of your favorites and read away.

As I mentioned before, I have read quite a bit of Christian fiction, and I have to say that after years of reading it, followed by years of reading more literary fiction, there really is no comparison, if you are looking for quality writing. It is by the very nature of Christian fiction's structure that it must be highly formulaic and predictable. There are only so many ways to present the story of once-I-was-lost-and-now-I'm-found, and I'm sure there is a place (particularly in the evangelistic arena) for that sort of story.

I am, however, working to write the best, truest fiction that I can, and these limits of storyline and content can be detrimental to realism. If my writing is art, and I am looking to represent "true" stories (not to be confused with things that actually happened), then I must look to the character for my direction, not the predetermined redemptive conclusion. Truly character-driven plots are rare in Christian fiction (in my opinion), and this fact alone, reduces its value to me as literature.

Arbitrary content restrictions are limiting to the artist, and I don't believe that they are something imposed on us by Scripture. Look to the Old Testament for your example. While I'm not in any way suggesting that it is fiction, I do submit to you that there are plenty of people doing and saying horrible things (as well many good ones, too), and not everyone recognizes the error of their ways, or is punished horribly for their sins (in this life, anyway.)

In Flannery O'Connor's essay on the Christian writer, she suggests that there can be a Christian who writes but not a Christian writer because someone who writes to make a point or to send a message is not, in fact, a real fiction writer. Certainly our religious and other perspectives color our writing, but to write a story to further a cause or belief is more like propaganda than thoughtful fiction.

Ultimately, I believe the distinction of "Christian Fition" is arbitrary and ridiculous. We don't have "Christian Plumbing" or "Christian Engineers," though certainly, there are many in those professions who are dedicated Christians. Real, good, well-written fiction is fiction, pure and simple. The fact that my main character is doing or saying despicable things does not devalue my work or make it sinful. I'm not reading a novel to determine how to live my life, and if an adult reader is so easily swayed, then, perhaps, they have bigger problems than their reading material.

I'm sure there are those who will find my stance offensive, or at the very least, vehemently disagree. That's okay. I won't make you read my novel. You might want to change your mind, however. You might show up in a story some day.

Less Tunnel, More Light

YIKES!!! I'm halfway through March, and I just realized I haven't posted since January. If it was my New Year's resolution to return to my faithful blogging habits (I can't remember if it was), then I totally blew it. I could defend myself a long list of distractions, but they're excuses. I'm sure I waste enough time every day that could be spent doing a little blogging.

I'm fingertip-nearly-touching close to completing my MFA. My FINAL, COMPLETE thesis is due the end of April, and I'm plugging away at revisions. On Facebook, I kept a detailed log of how many pages of revised thesis I'd completed during my most recent revisions. Imagine everyone's disappointment when they realized I would be revising my thesis yet again, and they would have to endure yet another countdown.

Actually, in addition to my completed thesis, I also need to have my craft lecture written and ready to go, my graduation forms filled out and submitted, all my reading completed, and some research done on a separate project that will for now remain nameless. Add to that, a new puppy, a now mobile toddler, and upcoming VBS dramas to plan, and I'm starting to sweat it just a little bit. Unfortunately, I'm going through that I-have-way-too-much-to-do paralysis that occasionally afflicts me. I haven't been using my little bit of downtime very wisely, and that's so unlike me, and it's driving me crazy. Here's hoping the adrenaline and characteristic Sarah-style organization kicks in soon.

Blogging is not the only thing I've been neglecting, however. My DVR is jam-packed with unwatched programs. I'm woefully behind on my New Yorker issues, and I'm just barely keeping my head above water with the housework. Must focus. Must prioritize.

Lest you start feeling too sorry for poor, put-upon Sarah. Please note that I've brought every single one of these things down on myself, and if I'd just get my act together, I would be able to plow through them without too much stress. Also there has been some fun interjected between the craziness.

Last week was the Holland Park Church ladies' retreat at Bonclarken, in Flat Rock, NC. The weekend was too wonderful to try to squeeze into a puny blog description. Suffice it to say that I got a desperately needed injection of fellowship, encouragement, and love. Have I mentioned how much I love, respect, and admire the amazing women at HPC? Plus, I got to eat an unhealthy amount of homemade desserts.

Also, we are now the proud (if somewhat harried) owners of a Komondor puppy. Sam is 14 weeks old and is a 35.5 pound bundle of energy and teeth. I can't wait to take him downtown and to the park this weekend for the very first time. It's going to be crazy, chaotic fun.

Enough with the catching up, I'd better get to bed, so I don't have yet another excuse for not getting things done (not enough sleep.) Maybe my next blog entry will be the zen musings of an MFA graduate.

Catching Up Is Hard To Do

So it's time for a monster mega catch up blog. This marks the first residency (January 2011) that I didn't dedicate at least one entry to all the great things that happened there. Of course, that is not a reflection on the quality of the residency. There were so many wonderful readings and lectures and so much fun time with friends, but life has just been a little crazy since then, and it just never happened. So, here's my life in summary since my last blog entry from a date too distant to mention.

Third Semester of my MFA? Check! I have completed my critical paper ("The Voice in the Walls: The Femininity of Alternative Narrative Structure in the Work of Lorrie Moore", and no the title's NOT longer than the paper.) I have also cranked out more than 100 pages toward my thesis. Yes, there was much panicking, crying, and more than a few late nights, but I am three quarters of the way through my Masters!

The first Christmas with The Queen of Everything was everything I'd hoped (and a little more.) There was present unwrapping and macaroni and cheese eating and lots of pictures and video. Christmas just got a whole lot more fun with the addition of Lucy Addison, and I can only imagine how big of a blast we'll have next year.

Residency #4? Survived. Yes, I have completed my final full-length residency. I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there. There are so many wonderful things I could say about this residency, but I'll limit myself to these. Workshop gets better every semester as the program adds more and more talented students, and I learn so much from my fellow students. It's always encouraging and humbling to see how talented your classmates are. Also I found out I get to work with the always amazing, Leslie Pietrzyk, for my final semester, and I am so excited. I know I'm good hands as I revise and rethink my thesis.

January Madness and the 1st birthday. Despite my hopes to the contrary, things have not exactly slowed down since the holidays and residency ended. My life has been a series of appointments, visiting relatives, party planning, and a blizzard (well, by Southern terms, anyway.) The Queen's first birthday was a smashing success, with a houseful of 30+ people wedged into our 1700 sq ft house, and I'm still managing to squeeze my writing and reading into my schedule (somewhere.)

Now that you're dizzied by my seriously abbreviated version of the last two months, I'll share some words of wisdom...okay, just words. I've learned a few things about myself over the past few months. They are as follows:

1. One year olds are far more fun and entertaining than little babies. They also serve as greater distractions from things like schoolwork.

2. After months of research for my critical paper, I've discovered that I LOVE reading articles on literary criticism (and feminist criticism, in particular.) I just can't get enough of it .

3. I'm always going to dress like a school librarian, so I need to give up wishing I could look like my friends who've mastered Bohemian chic. I got rid of masses of clothing and purchased quite a few new things. Here's a surprise, they look like my old stuff, just newer.

Okay, so enough with this disjointed mess of a blog entry. You've been officially caught up. Here's keeping our fingers crossed for a more consistent blogging schedule in 2011! Want a sneak peek at future blog topics (tentative)? Well, how about zombie theory, more movie reviews, and a progress update on my thesis? I know right now you're positively panting with excitement, right? Or not.

Moore Work (Pardon My Pun)

The work continues. I have had to give up on the whole writing-during-the day thing for a while. I've always worked better at night, but before the baby got here, I could make myself eek out a little work during the day. Now that Lucy Addison is here and demanding more and more of my daylight hours, I find that whatever daytime concentration I'd been able to muster in the past has now completely disappeared. After two weeks of trying to be the disciplined, dedicated writer who gets up and writes before her child is awake, I've had to resort to writing at night while she is asleep. The downside is that evenings are also the time when Steve is home. Oh well, I suppose we're must suffer for our art, right? And besides, it gives Steve a chance to play Red Dead Redemption, and, after all, we must have priorities. Video game banditos need love, too.

In addition to my creative work (I'm still plugging away on the old novella), I am also trying to finish up the books I'm reading for my critical paper this term. I believe I mentioned this before, but in case you're just tuning in, I am [planning on] writing my critical paper on non-linear narratives in twentieth century lit with female authors, and more specifically, Lorrie Moore. So far I have read, Self-Help, Anagrams, Like Life, Who Will Run the Frog Hospital, and I'm about half-way through Birds of America. After I finish it up, I will only have A Gate at the Stairs left to go.

So far, I am loving her work. Like Life was probably my least favorite thus far (and also the least related to my critical project), but I am IN LOVE with Self-Help and Anagrams. It is almost unfortunate that I am not writing my paper on her use of word play because, quite frankly, her word play is AMAZING! Not only does she do really subtle stuff in the narration, but her characters are very intelligent and witty, and they make hilarious puns and turns of phrase that resonate with so many layers of meaning. Wait a minute. Can layers resonate? So maybe the cold medicine is kicking in a bit...never mind me. Lorrie Moore's words, metaphors, connotations, and references are brilliant. I swear that if I went through her stuff with a flourescent highlighter marking every time she blew me away with her mastery of the English language, the books would glow in the dark.

Besides her word play, an aspect most impressive to me is her use of the second person in Self-Help. She manages to write successful second person stories that are also entertaining and moving - not just exercises in edginess. This is a feat I've rarely seen accomplished so elegantly - though Leslie Pietrzyk's "Ten Things" would also fall in that amazing second person story category.

Of course, all of these aspects, though very intriguing, have little to do with my paper, which is about non-linear narratives. She does do some pretty impressive things with her handling of time in her stories, and I look forward to exploring that in more depth. So thanks to Bob Olmstead for nudging me toward such an amazing writer.

Rambling [Wo]Man

I'm frantically trying to get my writing done for Monday's deadline, so, of course, I'm going to take some time to blog. Actually, I'm a little stuck, and I'm hoping this will shake something loose. Okay, that's kind of a disturbing metaphor, but I digress.

Lately, my days have been one long succession of baby, baby laundry, and feeling guilty/worried about my schoolwork. I can't seem to work for very long periods of times these days (for both practical and unknown reasons), so it's looking like I should have started this one-page-a-day installment plan a little sooner. I just need to get something on the page for this chapter so that I can start editing. The problem is that I keep editing in my head before I put anything down, and then I stall. Plus, I really wasn't planning on writing on one story for the entire semester, but I somehow got convinced that was the thing to do. Apparently, flattery will, in fact, get you everywhere, and telling me that you like my story and want to see more is enough to get me to agree to continue on with little, lost Michelle's adventures. What was I thinking?

So here I sit, knowing that the baby will wake up at any second from her nap and that we both have a cold and I still haven't eaten lunch and the dishes need to be put away and at some point I should probably wash my hair.

Okay, enough with the rant. Every semester I am convinced that this will be the time I don't get everything in by deadline, and every semester it all works out just fine. So I guess that means that this really will be the semester when I'm late and everyone realizes I'm a fraud and the health department really does declare my house unfit and we all run out of clean clothes.....and there she is, awake and ready for a bottle. Break over!

Coming Attractions

Once again I've been slack in the blogging department. I haven't written a new entry in over a month, and I am suitably ashamed. Truth is, I haven't been working on school writing like I should, and I feel guilty if I do "fun" writing for my blog when I should be chipping away at my novella. All kinds of blogging ideas flit through my head and then either wither away or get dismissed as I remind myself of all the schoolwork I should be contemplating instead.

So, I resolve to do better about both. I've been working on my schoolwork fairly faithfully this week, and tomorrow I intend to reward myself with some blogging time. I finally got to watch my most recent Netflix arrival, Alice in Wonderland, and I'm dying to review it. What will I say? Will I give it a thumbs up or say "Off with Tim Burton's head?" I guess you'll have to check back tomorrow to find out!

Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Metaphor

I had the weirdest dream the last night. Words that send even the most devoted listener running for cover. What could be more boring and irrelevant than hearing someone tell you a story that didn't happen? Not that I'm completely innocent of this conversational sin. I've had bizarre dreams that involved people I know and then felt the need to tell them about it the next day. It's a habit I'm working to break. If I ever do it to you, you have my permission to just walk away.

The only thing worse that telling me about a surreal, disjointed nightmare is writing about it. While I know that as soon as I say this, someone will give me an example of some brilliant writer who uses dream imagery expertly. But I am going to stand by my statement (and ignore the fact that I am about to do exactly what I am speaking against.) Dreams in fiction always feel like a device to me. How often in life do you have a dream that so perfectly reflects your inner thoughts/answers some deep question/reveals deeper truths? And yet, in fiction it happens all the time. A haunting visage or piercing incantation follows the dreamer into their waking hours chasing them into some life-changing realization. This shadowy image somehow becomes the hinge on which the entire story swings, and I, as the reader, can't swallow that the writer just stumbled onto that by accident. It had to be on purpose, and forcing an image just doesn't work.

Allow me to give an example.

The other night I had a dream. (Bear with me.) The dream started off as standard fare. I was being chased. Nothing new. That's when things got different and creepy. I came upon a towering mansion with doors that were a couple stories high. As I opened the doors, I stepped into a foyer area that was completely dark, except for a strip of light underneath two more doors in front of me. As the original doors went shut behind me, I somehow understood that they couldn't be reopened. I could only move forward. I opened the two doors in front of me and walked into yet another black foyer with two more doors with that same strip of light. Let me interject now that I am extremely claustrophobic. I desperately wanted to get out of the cramped, dark foyer, and I knew that the only way to get out was to keep moving forward, even though each new set of doors just led to another. This went on for awhile before I finally reached a marbled room complete with unlit chandelier. Then it was back to being chased.

I awoke shaken and temporarily afraid to move. Once I was awake enough to shake off the post-dream jitters, I couldn't stop thinking about the endless doors. It was one of the freakiest images I've had in a dream (that I can remember, anyway.) And at four o'clock in the morning, it seemed very original, very apt, very ripe for inserting into some story. I even considered writing it down so I wouldn't forget it. Fast forward to several days later. Sure the dream was scary, especially for somebody who won't even ride in the backseat of a two-door car. But original? Not so much. In fact, it seems like pretty standard horror movie schtick. So imagine, if I had decided to use this image in a story? I would either have to build a story around the image (can a dream be derivative?), or I would have to wait for just the right story to come along and then plug it in.

Of course, not every story or novel that uses the dream makes it central to the plot, and if you're going to use dreams, subtle is definitely the way to go. Just ask yourself, if it's really the only way to say what you want to say. If you're writing and completely lost in your story with the character acting seemingly of their own accord and he or she has a disturbing dream, go with it. Maybe. But ultimately, it's important to remember that you're already writing a story that didn't happen. Do you really want to include a fiction within a fiction? Will that create some sort of temporal disturbance causing your created world to spontaneously implode? Something to consider.

Wibbly Wobbly Time-y Wimey - MFA Summer Residency 2010

I logged onto my blog today to do my MFA Summer Residency entry and discovered that I haven't posted since April. While I knew I'd been laying low in blogland while I finished up my second semester work, I had no idea I'd been so negligent. I really must try to do better...especially since I met several people over the past month or two who actually read my blog....people I'd never met. At this residency, I got to have the completely unnerving experience of meeting someone and having them say, "Oh, I know you. I've read your blog." Talk about inequity. This total stranger knows all kinds of stuff about you, and you know absolutely nothing about them. I got over the weirdness, though, and it was pretty cool to know somebody reads this.

Back to the residency. For all those interested (and even if you're not), I am officially halfway through my Master's. Of course, the biggest chunk of work remains, but if I can get through a semester that included a newborn baby, I can survive anything. This term, in addition to my creative work, I will be completing a 25-page critical paper which will serve as the basis for the craft lecture I'll present at the fifth and final residency. After a lot of thinking and some consulting with my faculty mentor (more about him later), I have narrowed the subject matter of my paper (a bit) to an exploration of time and non-linear narratives in the work of fiction writer Lorrie Moore. I'm really excited about my topic since it's something I've been exploring in my smaller critical papers over the last two semesters.

With each semester, I am assigned a new faculty mentor. The first semester it was the amazing Leslie Pietrzyk, and last semester, I had RT Smith (also amazing.) This term I will be working with Robert Olmstead. In addition to meeting with him regarding our semester plans, he also ran the workshop for our half of the fiction group. Allow me to describe the Bob Olmstead fiction workshop experience...no wait, I can't. The man is, for lack of a better word, intense. His insights and advice were spot on, but you'd be hard pressed to find a more deep discussion of the ethics, morals, and philosphies of the characters, stories, etc. Between the laser precision of his story dissection and the hours-long novella (out loud!) readings we did, we all (Bob included) were wiped out every day at the end of our sessions. I feel like I learned so much that I need a little rest before I can really understand how much I learned. And yes, I realize that sentence doesn't make much sense...except maybe to the three other people from my workshop.

Residency isn't all work, however. We had readings every night, both faculty and student. Of particular note were Leslie's next installment of her novel in progress (hurry up and finish it so we can READ IT!), Dan Wakefield's touching reading of a chapter from his book-in-progress, and fellow student Kate's AMAZING reading the last night of residency. The great and powerful LUCY ADDISON also made her Converse College MFA program debut on the final night. Alas, she didn't give a reading.

The best part of residency is getting to see all my writing friends. As a writer, you are often isolated from others of similar interests, and so when we get together we all talk like mad to get all the literary fellowship stored up until next time. The process of workshop is intensely personal, and a special bond forms between fellow students as we dissect each other's creations, trying to be helpful while treading lightly on each other's feelings.

Now, it's the hard part - buckling down and doing the work....and maybe remembering to do a blog entry or two.

The Ten Commandments of Writing

I just finished reading John Dufresne's The Lie That Tells a Truth, and it has become my new favorite book on craft. It's full of mind-blowingly practical, and yet brilliant, suggestions, rules, and prompts. About a quarter of the way through, I came across his "Ten Commandments of Writing," and I decided I'm going to write them on a card and post them near my writing desk. As an MFA student, I hear these things all the time, but it's helpful to see them gathered together in one place. What are the Ten Commandments of Writing, you ask? They are as follows:

1. Sit Your Ass in the Chair.

2. Thou Shalt Not Bore the Reader.

3. Remember to Keep Holy Your Writing Time.

4. Honor the Lives of Your Characters.

5. Thou Shalt Not Be Obscure.

6. Thou Shalt Show and Not Tell.

7. Thou Shalt Steal. (No, that's not a typo.)

8. Thou Shalt Rewrite and Rewrite again. And again.

9. Thou Shalt Confront the Human Condition.

10.Be Sure That Every Death in a Story Means Something.

The Lie That Tells a Truth, John Dufresne, 2003

Tradition on Toast

The mad rush of Packet #4 continues. I have less than a week and a half to finish my mountain of assignments, but what a payoff - a month and a half of essentially no schoolwork! Just me and Lucy Addison hanging out and watching way too many movies. Of course, this mad dash to finish has cut into my cooking and housecleaning time (and blogging too.) So the dreaded question every night has become: What's for dinner? (Yes, that was a dreaded question before my schoolwork deadlines, but it's worse now, okay?)

So today as I contemplated (briefly) what to prepare for our dinner, my mind flipped past the usual quickie suspects. Leftover spaghetti? Had that Monday night. Tacos? The ground beef is still frozen, and anyway, tacos? Again? Steak and peppers. How many nights have we done that over the past couple of months? Then it hit me. I knew what we were having for dinner. I swear I could almost hear trumpets playing a fanfare as the revelation came to me.

Tonight will be a turning point in our relationship. Tonight, we will go where we have never gone before. Tonight, I will fix Steve Chipped Beef Gravy. Yes, dear reader, my husband has never tasted of that culinary delight so often enjoyed on toast or waffles, that creamy goodness that belies its oh-so-common name. Despite my family history, (I come from a long line of chipped beef gravy enthusiasts) I have never prepared this delicacy for Steve. I don't know why. I have no excuse. As a matter of fact, every time my cousin or aunt mentions chipped beef gravy in their Facebook status (yes, it's happened more than once. What can I say? We like to talk about food.), my mouth waters, and I vow that soon I will make chipped beef gravy for dinner. Alas, until tonight, I have never followed through.

I will not be documenting this occasion with step-by-step photographs as I did with the sugar cookie experiment. There's not really anything dramatic about the process...just a little fried meat, a little flour, a little milk, you get the idea. I do have high hopes for the evening, however. I may have struck out with the whole Slumgoyan thing, but I am determined to make Steve love chipped beef gravy. He doesn't care for waffles, and we're out of bread, so I'm flexible. I plan to serve it over a football sized baked potato. I can compromise. Too bad I didn't eat it while I was pregnant. Maybe then I could have at least guaranteed one future fan to eat my family favorite with me. If not, well, there's always my fried chicken gravy. I swear Steve would eat that poured over an old shoe. As a matter of fact, so would I.

Deadlines - with the operative word being...well, you know

I'm sitting at my desk in my upstairs study, and I feel the panic. Just over a week until I must get my next packet in the mail, and I have two pages of one story written, one book read, another half-read, and no exercies or papers written. So why am I writing this blog entry instead of pounding away on my laptop?

I'm stuck.

It seems that I have been rescued from the clutches of pregnancy brain, only to be delivered into the hands of some sort of postpartum mind mush that has no name. I have my story in my head. I know what I want to do. So why the heck can't I just sit down and do it? Even doing my reading has become a challenge. Of course, it probably doesn't help that the book I'm trying to wade my way through is Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. Seriously, I want to lay down and die (or at least sleep) every time I pick it up. The crazy POV shifts, wildy varying voices, and intermittent sections of stream-of-conciousness are making me crazy...that is, when I can stay awake long enough to read it.

I can't blame this on the baby.

She's a good girl. Most days, she sleeps like a little lamb between her feedings. So what is my problem? Why do I suddenly feel far more drawn to reading Dr. Seuss and Curious George? Why is every word I type on my story dredged up with great pain and deliberation? Why do people watch Lost? (Okay, that question isn't related. Just something I wonder about.)

I've tried the If-I-Get-Myself-Made-Up-In-The-Morning-I'll-Feel-More-Productive method. Didn't work. Today, I didn't even make the effort. I'm wearing a sweatshirt and black yoga pants that are covered in Abby Tabby hair. My hair is pulled back, and makeup is the farthest thing from my mind. I thought that maybe the I'm-Too-Wrapped-Up-In-My-Work-To-Wear-Makeup method might get me inspired. Instead, I'm just the grungy looking chick with only 2 crummy pages to her story, baby clothes that need to be put in the dryer, and raw chicken breasts lying in the sink and serving as a partially frozen reminder of the dinner I need to start.

Delicious Dishing

Tomorrow's the drop-dead mail date for my first 2nd semester packet. I still have so much to do between this afternoon and tomorrow that it's not even funny, but I wanted to take a minute to thank all the amazing people who have made it possible for me to get any schoolwork done while adjusting to life with a baby.

First there was the grandmothers. Sure they had ulterior motives, wanting to get their time in with the new grandbaby, but they were still a trememdous help once Lucy Addison came home. Not only did they do things like laundry and housework, but they were also real grown-ups to talk to during the day!

Then there have been all the lovely people who've called, written, and otherwise sent their best wishes. This can be a challenge for someone who's not particularly good on the phone (I break out in the same sweat as if I were standing there talking to the person), but it was still much appreciated.

The last group has been the most amazing help, however. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, we are consistenly overwhelmed by the kindness of generosity of our church family at Holland Park. So many amazing ladies have been providing us with meals, and let me tell you, we have eaten well. In addition to the generous culinary offerings, these food deliveries give me a welcome adult visitor with whom to converse, and despite my very tongue-in-cheek blog on friends' and visitors' dire warnings, I love these visits!

So now, it's back to work. I've still got papers to write on novels and short stories and a short story to edit. And baby laundry to wash. Maybe this time I'll remember to put the detergent in when I wash it (don't ask.)

Baby and Books Blog Break

As anyone who has been on my Facebook page is acutely aware, Lucy Addison has arrived...six weeks early. After a weeklong stay in the NICU, she is home and ruling from her throne...I mean, crib. Actually, she's a very good baby, and we're so grateful that she's healthy and easy going. Of course, her early arrival has played havoc with all my schoolwork plans (I had 2 deadlines scheduled before her predicted delivery date.) So, after a quick shuffle (thanks to my understanding professor), I have a new schedule and a new looming deadline. It's back to work now, baby or not. This means that my blogging will suffer for a while as it takes a backseat to my mounting pile of writing, reading, and laundry. Never fear, however, I will return...possibly a little sleep deprived and incoherent, but won't that be entertaining?

You Might Be A Writer If...

I've written before on the human need for identification with a specific group. Nerds love to be associated with their own kind, Jeff Foxworthy has made millions uniting rednecks, and we've all watched VH1's I Love the [insert decade] while nodding our heads and saying, "Yes, I remember the Monchhichi!" Well, writers have their own funny little ways, too, and after a week and a half of hanging out with my own kind, I have compiled a short list of "You know you're talking to a bunch of writers when..." (Jeff Foxworthy, eat your heart out.)

1. You correct someone's grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc., and they don't get mad.

If a writer is reading this blog entry, right now they are probably saying to themselves, "She really should have used angry since mad technically means crazy, and you know what? I'm okay with that. Nothing like a bunch of writers to keep you honest, at least from a language perspective.

2. You sit around discussing the finer points of your personal language/writing pet peeves.

Mine include people who say, "I could care less" instead of "I couldn't care less" and people who misuse the word "nauseous" (which includes almost everyone these days.) Nauseous means causing nausea, as in "these gas fumes are nauseous." It does not mean "to feel nausea." So when someone says, "I feel nauseous," I can only agree. Their abuse of the King's English is making me queasy.

On the final night of residency, several members of the fiction group (including some faculty) sat around a lovely dinner at Spartanburg's Inn on Main discussing their own language obsessions. One woman was on a personal vendetta against the use of "alright" in writing since technically it should be written as two words, all right. Another woman crawls out of her skin whenever someone says the non-word, irregardless. (I have to say, I'm right there with her on that one.) The best part of the evening? No one thought we were being nit-picky language snobs. Everyone at the table "got it." No judgements were made...except of those violating our grammatical code of conduct.

3. You make stupid writing puns, and everyone thinks they're hilarious.

There's always the classic, "Avoid cliches like the plague." (Yes, Martha, it's funny every time you say it.) Then there's the one I made up the other day, "She abuses adverbs horribly." (The best part? Steve, my non-writer husband, thought that one was amusing.) Basically, any play on words gets us chuckling. What can I say? We love the language.

4. You begin every shared anecdote with the phrase, "Okay, I'm going to tell you something, but you can't use this."

Writers are fiercely protective of their ideas for future work, and rightfully so. Writing is hard work, and you just can't make some things up. Cow-milking Dalmatians and possessed bedside lamps are like gold in the writing world, and a writer must store up these little gems like a squirrel storing nuts for winter. You never know when an idea draught is coming. And no, you can't steal either the lamp or the Dalmatian. They're all mine.

This list is, of course, not exhaustive. There are as many writerly tics as there are writers, and it is wonderful to be with a group of people who understand the shorthand that all us writing nerds speak. So if you're ever at a cocktail party and you walk into a small group scoffing at some author's multiple point of view shifts or debating the use of the frame story, you'll know you're in the company of writers. (And that you better watch what you say since they'll certainly be judging you by it.) You probably don't have much to worry about, though. We don't get invited to too many parties.

***Due to time constraints, there are probably typos in this blog. Feel free to alert the author to any mistakes you find, but beware: she is a writer, so be sure you know what you're talking about!

"When I Get A Little Money I Buy Books" Erasmus - Winter Residency Part II

Perhaps I should begin this the second installment on my winter residency with an explanation of the low-residency program. I had no idea when I entered this program how many times I would have to explain it to people. Sometimes the listener looks at me like I'm making it up. So allow me to assure you that these low-residency programs exist across the country and that we actually have several nearby (Queens College and Warren Wilson, both in NC.) The purpose of the low-residency program is to offer an MFA degree to the student who is unable to relocate to a city whose university or college offers a residential MFA program. It also allows the student to continue to hold down a real job. This is accomplished through two 10-day residencies that are held on campus, followed by a semester-long study and writing plan coordinated with a faculty mentor. Packets of the student's work are sent in to the faculty mentor throughout the semester. The workload is fairly extensive, but the student is free to schedule their semester work around their lives. Acceptance into these programs is based on the quality of the manuscript submitted. Because many potential MFAers are grown-ups with jobs and families, the low-residency program is increasing in popularity.

With that bit of housekeeping out of the way, I feel more free to share the rest of my week with you, the well-informed reader. As you can imagine, winter residency (and summer, too, for that matter) is an intense week of workshops, lectures, and writing with little time for sleeping or resting. As I mentioned in my previous blog entry, however, our benevolent leader did schedule a bit of a break for us on Wednesday that was much appreciated (especially by the 8 months pregnant lady with puffy feet!) Wednesday night I did return to school for a screening of the film, New York in the 50's, a documentary based on Dan Wakefield's book by the same name. Though the film did have the misfortune of being shown in the scorchingly overheated Hartness Auditorium, it managed to rise above the steamy circumstances to entertain and charm. The only downside was that Mr. Wakefield was ill and unable to be at the screening. So we're all saving our questions for the summer residency when we hope to see him again.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday went by in a haze of workshops, lectures, and vain attempts to find a comfortable chair and a place to prop up my feet. There were a few standouts, however. R.T. Smith's (yes, he's my mentor!) lecture on place in short fiction was amazing. Who else could read their lecture and still be so interesting and enlightening? Plus, he brought his Edgar Allen Poe action figure! Albert Goldbarth also made a last minute appearance in both a reading and lecture. On Thursday night he read with the always brilliant (and funny) Susan Tekulve, who read an essay on Scottish food and beverage. I also picked up a copy of her new book, Savage Pilgrims, which I can't wait to read. Albert Goldbarth's reading and lecture were both mind-blowing (and as always, entertaining.) My only regret was that the reading had to be held in Cleveland Hall, which managed to be both cold and uncomfortable. At least I got to sit next to the charming Peter Meinke and his wife during the reading. I can't remember the last time I met two kinder or more friendly people. (He's an amazing poet, too.) I can't wait to go to his reading at Converse at the end of the month (January 26.)

So, now it's all over. It's just me and my computer and a UPS guy loaded down with a massive book order. I have two deadlines before the baby gets here (let's hope she's not an early bird, which doesn't seem too likely considering her parents), not to mention the deadlines and work I'll have to do after she gets here. Here's hoping the muse does not forsake me. I've certainly been given more than enough practical advice and inspiring speeches to carry me through. I guess, now, it's up to me.

For those interested, here is a list of the books I purchased during Winter Residency and also my Reading List for the semester. Feel free to read along with any of these and let me know what you think!

Books I purchased:
Savage Pilgrims, Susan Tekulve (fiction)
Uke Rivers Delivers and The Calaboose Epistles, RT Smith (fiction)
To Be Read in 500 Years, Albert Goldbarth (poetry)

Winter 2010 Reading List:
Fiction 100 (anthology)
Lie That Tells The Truth, John Dufresne (craft book)
On Writing, Eudora Welty (craft book) *
Naming The World, Bret Anthony Johnston (craft book/exercises)
As I Lay Dying, William Faulkner (fiction)
The Member of the Wedding, Carson McCullers (fiction)
The Optimist's Daughter, Eudora Welty (fiction) *
I Hate to See That Evening Sun Go Down, William Gay (short fiction)
The Art of Fiction, John Gardner (craft book)

* It's like Rod read my mind! I was so wanting to reading some Eudora Welty this term. I mean, I did go Flannery O'Connor mad last term, so it's only fair.

Tight Schedules and Tighter Shoes: MFA Winter Residency Part One

I realized this morning that I have been missing from blogland for nearly a month, and what a month it has been. I went to Maryland for a week to visit family and just missed their record-breaking Christmas blizzard. I celebrated Christmas with Steve in a very quiet, laid-back way, and that was followed by a less than stellar new year as we lost our precious cat, Hobson to cancer and congestive heart failure. So while champagne was already off the menu for the New Year celebrations this year, it wasn't exactly with sparkling grape juice and noisemakers that we welcomed in 2010.

On a happier note, January 2nd meant the return to school as the Winter Residency began. Since Saturday (Jan 2), I haven't stopped. My life has been a whirlwind of lectures, readings, workshops, and traipsing across campus in the coldest weather Spartanburg has seen in a decade. A fine time to have ridiculously cold weather - when I'm too big to button my coat! The good news is that the program director has worked in a nice little break into the middle of all this craziness, so today I can (quite literally) put my feet up for a few hours, do some writing assignments, and just enjoy my home furnace and humidifier. I even have a nice, warm cat (Abby Tabby) cuddled beside me to keep me warm. Of course, I'll be back at school tonight for a showing of the film adaptation of Dan Wakefield's New York in the Fifties, but I'll be refreshed and ready to go by then. Besides, I'm really looking forward to the film, and Steve has promised to go with me.

Being pregnant during the residency has certainly made it more challenging, but I don't mean to imply that it's been 5 days of torture. The lectures have been great, and the faculty and fellow students are amazing. There have been plenty of highlights (or hi-lites, as I saw on a beauty shop sign near my house yesterday) to celebrate.

• RT Smith, editor of Shenandoah (and my mentor this semester!) gave a reading of his new fiction on Saturday night, including a Southern re-telling of Rumplestiltskin.


• Sarah Kennedy's lecture on the prosy poem. I will now think of her at every poetry reading I attend, wondering if the next poem will "outstrip" me or simply take me along for the ride. Here's hoping for the former rather than the latter.


• Leslie Pietrzyk's (my fantastic former mentor) lecture on finding the story in your novel or short story. I love the practical way in which Leslie approaches writing. She always has such amazing tips and tricks to suggest, and it's so comforting to know that a writer of her caliber has to work hard and use tips and tricks, too.


• Having a 3 hour gab session with my favorite fellow student at Jason's Deli. I think we solved the problems of the world and completely dissembled each other's workshop pieces. Good times!


• Peter Meinke's reading of his poem about the undercover poetry reader.


• Tim McKee's (editor of Sun Magazine) lecture on "Surfacing Pearls" where he actually gave us lists of what he looks for as an editor and what not to do in your stories. Way to be the first editor/speaker we've had that was willing to be that specific!


• C. Michael Curtis' reading of some of the crazy cover letters he's received as editor of the Atlantic Monthly.


• Looking at really, really old issues of Concept while taking a workshop break in the Coker Room.

Today, I enjoyed a bit of a lie-in and a little blogging time, and this afternoon I have lots of writing to do after my weekly doctor's appointment. Here's hoping I'm able to write my re-imagining of "Hills Like White Elephants" and my point-of-view switch exercises before heading to the movie. Tomorrow it's back to the insanity, and Friday I get workshopped. I better start psyching myself up now.

We Were Hollywood - A Veteran's Day Tribute

In honor of Veteran's Day, I am posting a couple of poems I wrote based on the Library of Congress Veteran's History Project interview of my grandmother's late husband, Scheller Garlock. Scheller served our country in both WWII and the Korean War and retired from the Army as Major. He was a wonderful and amazing man, and I am grateful for the years my family had with him.

The two poems I am including are from different parts of a poetic sequence that follows Scheller's military career. "We Were Hollywood" is about his time in the Army War Show, a traveling show that demonstrated the great warm machine and sold bonds to support the war effort. "Sons of Bitche" is in reference to a German practice of impersonating dead American soldiers in order to get behind enemy lines. Bitche is a town in France. After the Americans took it back, the men involved in the mission started calling themselves the Sons of Bitche. Scheller was proud to be among them.


We Were Hollywood

Picked for our looks, we played war
to earn money and recruit men - with out tanks
and guns loaded on trains, we occupied cities from
Baltimore to Milwaukee.

Stadiums shook with explosions
and applause while the Master of Ceremonies -
some famous guy I can't remember - announced
each act to the audience.

Dressed in starched uniforms, we fought
off the girls who thought
us famous - movie stars.

Plying our Uncle's trade,
in front of thousands, each night
we rehearsed the part we would soon play
and told them this was war.


Sons of Bitche

Stuffed in G.I. uniforms like a hand in a puppet,
they wore the dog tags of the dead
from further up the line. Pilfered identities
could not hide their butchered English,
and discovery always meant death.
An unforgivable blasphemy,
to wear the clothes of the dead,
they were punished for their heresy.
Stripping them of their American skin,
so we could kill the German heart.

A Room of One's Own

The final deadline for the final packet of semester is quickly approaching (I need to get it mailed by Wednesday...in 2 days.) I'm slowly plugging away at the work - slowly being the operative word. The new room/desk is helping. I may have waited 7 years to have my own desk again, but it was worth the wait (nevermind that I had to get pregnant in order to get it.) What's not helping? The large, purring cat dancing around in my lap, the doctor's appointments, the dinner that needs to be fixed, and that ongoing struggle to keep what's left of my brain from leaking out my ear. I think I know what I want to do with my story now (which helps), and I've gotten some more reading done while waiting at the doctor's office (so that's something.) Looks like a couple of days' cramming is now in order.

I am reading Best American Short Stories 2009 for part of my packet. I have to write 2 to 4 pages about current trends in short stories. So far I'm struggling to find a common thread/element between the stories I've read, but I still have one and a half more to go. That's not to say that the stories aren't wonderful. It was such a smart move on my part to take a break from Charles Baxter to read a few of the stories from this book. I was starting to get bogged down in writing theory. I have found, however, that when one is not running on all eight cylinders (is that how that saying goes? Not a car person...it is a car metaphor, right?), it can be paralyzing to your writing to read a lot of theory and rules. I'm not saying that Baxter isn't brilliant or that I don't love the book, just that my confidence is barely hanging on by a thread. I need to steer clear of sharp object, writers, and observations to avoid it being severed.

Hobson (my cat) must have sensed my need to buckle down and get things done. She came upstairs for moral support. Despite her brief attempts at distraction, she has now curled up happily on my lap and is purring loudly. Nothing quite so soothing (and potentially literary) as that!

Poetry Break - "A Ritual to Read to Each Other"

As I struggle through this last new story of the semester, I thought some inspiration might be in order. So here is a poem that I love. Every week before poetry workshop, Dr. Fisher would have us read this aloud, like a sort of prayer. It inspired me then as it does now. Plus looking it up to add to my blog, I got to read/re-read the poems around it. It's a good afternoon for some William Stafford.

A Ritual to Read to Each Other

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give - yes or no, or maybe -
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

William Stafford. The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems. Graywolf Press, 1998.