Things That Piss Me Off

Forgive me, I'm coming off a 10-day stint of nonstop on-campus immersion. But I am in a literary state of mind and thinking in general about some of my favorite authors.

Jane Austen. Some love her, others hate her. Some adore swooning to film adaptations depicting handsome men and beautiful women finding their happy ending. Others think it's all drivel and pre-chick-lit. Fluffy, these people (often dudes) say! Completely trivial novels about marriage-obsessed women. Why bother reading this shit, when there's important Literature (with a capital "L") to read! This Literature, not incidentally, will very likely be written by men.

The thing, however, is that Austen wrote some exceedingly clever books exposing the hypocrisies and injustice of her society. All of these happy frothy weddings and marriage-obsessed ladies? Note, if you will, that if you were a lady of a certain station living at that time, it really wasn't an option to forge your own career path. A Jane Austen could become a governess, if she were very lucky. Or she could hope her male relatives or kind friends were generous in supporting her, her like-wise unmarried sister, and their mother (as was the case). Or, she could marry an appropriate man, of suitable birth and some means. Marriage, very frequently, was a matter of economic survival.

Through the lens of Pride and Prejudice, you could say that Elizabeth's exceedingly silly and vapid mother is the only one with some apprehension of consequence and a semblance of a plan. Mr. Bennet, amiable as he is, doesn't really see the totality of his mistakes and squandered opportunities until Lydia runs away. (Thus endangering the family's reputation and threatening the other four girls' chances of getting married--how are they supposed to live, exactly, when their father dies?)

Austen is enjoyable and fun to read, but no one should miss that she knew the stakes for the women she wrote about.

Still Living in Dude Nation

Anthony Weiner is really just a scamp who wants to be able to be his own man, find willing partners to enjoy some harmless online flirting, and generally enjoy his dudeness without all the moral scolds harshing his buzz. Let the person who has not accidentally emailed a picture of their dude bits or lady bits to the wrong business clients be the judge! Next, they'll be telling me that it's inappropriate to surf porn at work or something.

For my part, I find it more than a bit depressing that, should I be moved to do some political ranting or chatting with congress via their official communication channels, I can expect that potential for sexxyfun (only if I'm into it, of course! we're all adults here!) just by virtue of the fact that I'm a lady. Complaining to my representative, looking cute on a miniskirt on the bus, hanging out in a singles bar, it's all the same.

Also, can you identify which of these two images fails to adequately illustrate the concept being advertised?

A bad night of sleep always leaves me extra busty. I don't know about you.

My Project Has Officially Launched

As part of my MFA program, I have to do a project of my own design. What kind of project, you ask? Does it seem odd, you may further inquire, that someone getting a degree in writing has to do more than just, um, write, and maybe read?

I'm glad you asked! In point of fact, I have to design and execute a project in which I engage in a community, develop/nurture/work with artists, and work toward social justice. It has to last for about 4 months. I am starting later than most people and later than I should. I have heard horror stories in which folks had their projects fall apart or completely fail the parameters of the timeframe, thus they had to start over the next term. That in itself wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't for the fact that I am now merely two terms away from completing the whole program. Do I want to be attempting round 2 of my field study when I am working on polishing my final manuscript? I do not.

It was scary getting this thing off the ground. I waited forever to get feedback and approval from the powers that be in the program. Then I got a vague thumbs up and was left to ponder how to make this unformed idea a concrete reality.

Somehow, though, and without realizing it, I've made incremental progress. It was amazingly easy to get the pieces in place: my IT friend offered up her website hosting and tech skills; another friend busily tapped her entire network for participants. And the initial response and enthusiasm for it has been stellar. My mentors have all been enthusiastic and responsive, eager to pay it forward and work with teens. I had hoped that I would draw in aspiring writers who would be excited to be mentored, and I did!

In the back of my head, I always think of myself, growing up in that cornfield and pondering all the things I could do with my life. If I had gotten some prodding earlier from an actual writer, I wonder how much I would have done sooner. I don't regret not having that, mind you. I'm happy with my more roundabout path; I think sometimes people need to be in the right head state/maturity level to do good work. But I sincerely hope that at least one of these kids is inspired and empowered to further pursue writing as a result of this program.

These Are Lovely

Vintage travel posters.

Because We Love Some Good Navel Gazing on Process

Daily routines of writers and other creative sorts. I'm partial to Collette's approach of physical fitness and blood transfusions via a young donor (one step removed from Helen Mirren's bathing in the blood of virgins).

But, oh! Am I feeling Kafka's pain:

It is rare that writers of fiction sit behind their desks, actually writing, for more than a few hours a day. Had Kafka been able to use his time efficiently, the work schedule at the Institute would have left him with enough free time for writing. As he recognized, the truth was that he wasted time.

The truth was that he wasted time! The writer's equivalent of the dater's revelation: He's just not that into you. "Having the Institute and the conditions at his parents' apartment to blame for the long fallow periods when he couldn't write gave Kafka cover: it enabled him to preserve some of his self-esteem."

Well, That Was Actually Kind of Genius

I left two-and-a-half hours before my networking event . . . and got there five minutes before the shindig started. Dear god, that was the most horrifying commute ever (by contrast: the ride home took 45 minutes).

But it was worth it, I think. It's actually kind of brilliant to set up an event whose sole purpose is professional networking. We all hit the ground running, equally new to one another, and passed out a flurry of business cards. The only down side for me was that, although I thought I had registered, I actually hadn't. So my experience was way more random than everyone else's (who got placed at tables, by courses, according to their industries, undergrad majors, and graduation year). It would have been helpful to corral all the publications-related people in one location.

The amusing thing was, the other accidentally unregistered person was also a writer, freelance. So he had some good tips as we bounced, randomly, from table to table and begged and bartered for meal tickets. I'll be following up.

Meanwhile, I've got a sense of the county's job market (13 percent unemployment!!), thanks to the speaker. I've also got a stack of cards, some vaguely promised work, and new Facebook and Linked In contacts.

I'm a Networking Fool

I'm heading out in a bit to go mingle with some fellow undergrad alums at a dinner geared toward NETWORKING! It should be all kinds of fun (she said, while gnawing her fingernails down to the quick). I'm especially looking forward to the 2-hour drive, north of the city, in rush-hour traffic. I told B where it was, and what time, and his eyes got huge. That's not a good sign.

The Beauty of the Weekend Project

We have accomplished the following in home renovations/updates:

1. Replaced the cracked, stained, and old plastic panels covering the kitchen lights. In conjunction, the dead light has been replaced, and while the kitchen isn't something that you want to see in the full glare of light, you really have that full glare, from which nothing--animal, vegetable, or dirt-related--can hide. Incremental steps. And now I can really see what I'm cooking.

2. Actually chosen paint colors for a bathroom redo and conceived some easy updates to tone some of the seventies fabulousness of it all and get incrementally more storage.

I'm kind of psyched to get painting.

Here's a Dude Who's a Keeper

Quick, snap him up before someone else does:

If you’re reasonably tall (5’6-6’, no more than that because, while I don’t mind being eye to eye with you, I won’t ever be looking up to you), you’re passionate and intelligent so as to be good company, sexually liberated, and attractive - really attractive, fat chics need not apply (hehe, I’m so self-amusing). Capable of holding a steady job but without making it your #1 priority - since it could interfere with our sexual activities. Family oriented but not anytime soon, rather when you are 30+ at least, open to spontaneous sexual activities (you know, outdoors sex, the odd 3-some with a cutie we pick up somewhere or one of your girlfriends), likes the outdoors (nudity optional), and doesn’t complain when I go fishing with the guys.

And it goes on from there. In case he didn't mention it four or five times, no fatties need apply.

I'm Here To Tell You, We Get Spring Here Too

Let me go on record to say how amazed I am that there are actual weather fluctuations here in paradise. I expected it to be an even seventy degrees all year round. That's somewhat the case, but also in the mix are stretches of HOT (summer) and stretches of cold, overcast, and rainy (winter, with "cold" being redefined here to resemble the cusp of Midwestern winter, where you haven't quite turned on your heater but you probably should since you're running out of blankets).

So now it is gorgeous, sunny, and warm. And I and the other eighty billion people discovering that it's spring are out on the path, running like maniacs in our t-shirts and shorts. Nice.

It's Awesome That I Made It to the Final Four, Right?

Got the official notice that I did not, in fact, get the job I interviewed for last weekend. Sigh. The good news is, I made it to the last round of 4 candidates, out of 200. And the other good news is that it seems like a recipe for failure for whoever does have the job.

I tell you what, it is a crazy competitive market out there. You can be sure that for every job you're tossing your hat in for, there are--I'm just estimating here--approximately one zillion others in the mix who are more qualified than you.

In Case You Were Wondering (And Maybe You Were and Maybe You Weren't)

So, I managed to make it through the second-round interview on Saturday. How did it go, you ask? I felt pretty confident once I left that I really nailed it. Strangely (for me), I was in a good conversational groove and teeing off questions and observations. I even had them laughing at one point as I told them the gripping tale of errant authors and a process I had to mediate and problem solve. And it ended happily, on time, and on budget! In short, I think I had a narrative that I reinforced and that was compelling.

I'm not sure I had good answers to specific questions, though. I wish I could go back and re-do/re-frame/re-address. I think I missed a couple of really easy lobs that would have underscored my broader skill set. It's much easier to give a litany of accomplishments that directly transfer to the job in question, rather than having to elide gaps and contextualize things in ways not immediately obvious. I think it will come down to the mix of skills and traits that they value for this--I have a sneaking suspicion that all the candidates involve trade-offs and that none of us are an exact 100 percent fit.

It's funny. I went into it fairly ambivalent. It seemed, in many ways, like a recipe for failure for the person in the job (you better show concrete results), as well as for the organization (hey! we'll save money by getting a person who will learn as they go!). But I got really excited after meeting the people and thinking about the challenges involved in such a new direction. God help me if I'm not a wee bit energized by people, sometimes. It could be a fascinating to have to be persuasive.

We'll see. The decision is out of my hands.

These Are Quite Funny

Damn you auto correct, indeed.

Pssst. You're Not Supposed to Notice These Things, People

On Saturday, I have a second-round job interview (horrifyingly, I have to give a presentation on my development plans for this nonprofit; yes, they are clearly trying to ensure minimal salary requirements by getting candidates who don't have much experience in development).

And, allegedly, I will be volunteering this week for a couple of PR events. It's a quasi-internship, you see, wherein I will work, observe, see how things are done, and ascertain whether PR is something I might want to do. (Preliminary thought: I think I can do it; I have spent most of my professional career cajoling, soothing, and otherwise dealing with people, but the very thought of having my entire job be about being friendly friendly friendly makes me exhausted). There are connections to be made, and for that, I am very grateful.

Since all of this came up suddenly, I started panicking about my presentation; that is, one who spends lots of time alone and/or shuffling to various errands in workout gear tends to be in a constant state of, um, un-poshness. Of course the degree to which one has gone to seed can be rationalized: "Well, the first event is no big deal, I'll just wear my hair back. Who notices gray roots except me?"

Alas, having a random dork on your run shout out how you're Rogue will puncture any rationalizations. I should learn from the restaurant guy, who kindly offered up, unsolicited, that I was too young to be gray. Or from my classmate: "Oh, you're letting your gray grow out too?" Yeah. Clearly, I'm past the point of fooling anyone.

Too Much Reality Television

Cordelia: "You're really campaigning for bitch-of-the-year, aren't you?"
Buffy: "As defending champion, you nervous?"
Cordelia: "I can hold my own. You know, we've never really been close, which is nice 'cause I don't really like you that much, but you have on occasion saved the world and stuff, so I'm gonna do you a favor."
Buffy: "And this great favor is?"
Cordelia: "I'm gonna give you some advice. Get over it."
Buffy: "Excuse me?"
Cordelia: "Whatever is causing the Joan Collins 'tude, deal with it. Embrace the pain, spank your inner moppet, whatever, but get over it.'Cause pretty soon you're not even gonna have the loser friends you've got now."

I Think There's Wisdom We Can All Learn From Here

Don't complain to the cops if your cocaine dealer shorts you.

How Did I Miss This?

I guess I haven't been cynical and paranoid enough. Shock doctrine, indeed.

Risotto: Very Tasty. That Is All.

I made this stuff. And it was delicious and, if I do say so myself, perfectly done. The tougher vegetable critics in the place even gave the asparagus a thumbs up.

Tonight, however, we have reservations at our favorite splurgy restaurant. Accordingly, we have been scouring their wine list, feverishly refreshing their online menu, and calling for the daily specials.

Where We Tenderly Worry About the Children, Until They're Born

Fetuses are sacred. But once the kidlets are sturdy and able to work, they should work, damnit. None of this mollycoddling. We look toward Missouri to lead the way in repealing those ridiculous child labor laws.

I don't know about you, but I personally know some elementary schoolers with a little too much time on their hands.

I sometimes wonder if folks are sincerely mistaken about the past, or if they are hellbent on repeating it, secure in the knowledge that they, personally, will be among the haves, as opposed to the have nots. I guess if your worldview is that what you have is directly a result of virtue (as opposed to luck and the privilege of being born where, when, and to whom you were born), it's all cool. People get what they deserve, see.

Well. This Discussion Could Be Awkward

I've read my novels for this month! I'm prepped and ready for discussion, notes, and everything else I need to document to show that I'm on top of things, synthesizing, and doing the work.

This month, however, the novel that we're reading and discussing is . . . by our teacher. AWKward. Further awkwardness: Said novel stars a Mary Sue. Yes, friends, a Mary Sue. By the end of the book, I was smacking my head against the back of the couch (in lieu of smacking the character) and thinking to myself, "Of course she won the Grammy and started a fund for children! She's just that perfect. Her only flaw is being loved too much."

I love me my female characters: I write them all the time. Mine are generally flawed specimens, but I like heroic: Buffy rocks! And it is entirely possible that my perceptions of commercial fiction are skewed. I'm a pretty omnivorous reader, but it's been a while since I've read your basic plot-driven page turner. I realize it's all about what happens and getting bogged down with the finer notes of character development on this locomotive is somewhat beside the point.

But I submit that when your central character is beloved by all--even by violent people who have reason to be pissed off by said character--and all your other characters exist to revolve around, tend to, talk about, and rescue your central character, you have a Mary Sue on your hands.