Retrospective

I've been in a weird place the last few days. Working the normal 8-5 shift is not sitting well with me and my internal clock. I know for sure now that I can never go back to the corporate world full time. I didn't know how bad it was for me back then because it was all I knew, but now, having been on a much more flexible schedule for the last year and a half, I know that I am not fully functional during the day. Going to bed at 10:00 wastes my most productive and creative part of the day (late nights). Also, leaving my house before the sun is up and getting home after sunset is really not good for my mood. I've been sad and weepy all week. Thank goodness today is the last day.

I'm anxious for New Years Eve (even though big party holidays are always a let down) because I haven't seen some of my friends since school ended. I'm also cautiously excited about 2007 and a little sad/nostalgic for 2006 already. It was a great year. I taught my first class, finally got to visit the west coast (although I didn't get to see the ocean), made some great new friends and reconnected with some old ones, got my first acceptance letter (although I have to wait til February to say I've been published), had an awesome, debaucherous weekend at Put-In-Bay, and spent the whole summer relaxing and writing instead of getting some crappy part-time job. Even though most of these adventures were expensive and have left me quite broke, the end result is that I am a happier, more well adjusted person now...and things are still looking up.

In 2007, I am going to send out crap-loads (that's the technical term) of poems, finish my thesis and get my degree, and make a decision about PhDs. Somewhere in there, I hope to have time (and money) to spend with my family and friends...maybe a road trip over the summer since I'm sure I can't afford to go to Europe like I'd hoped. I'm excited to see how things turn out.

Well, there's a Nora Roberts novel calling me. Yes, I read romance novels between semesters. Leave me alone.

Funny Bunny

I used to have a pet bunny (about a year ago, not when I was a kid), and this bunny was mean. He attacked me every time I tried to feed him. Later found out he was blind and didn't know that I was trying to feed him, but that didn't make me like him any better. Anyhow, I found a picture of him today. Made me laugh out loud.

Third time's the charm

Lots of blogging today...turns out I have a hard time focusing on one thing for 8 hours straight. Go figure.

I've also realized today that I prefer to revise poems on paper. Didn't know that before. I suppose usually my revision process entails fixing line breaks and changing a word here or there, but the poems I'm working on right now require major surgery, which is easier to do on paper for some reason. Sadly, this means that I haven't gotten too much done. (Because I don't have access to a printer here)

Also sad is the fact that I've decided about 12 of my rough poems will never be anything more than they are right now. So much for 100 poems. Between combining rough drafts that were too similar or dealing with the same subject and junking some others, I'm down to 81 lines on my spreadsheet. : (

And finally, a random question. How come I get a temp job the same week that all my friends and family are in from out of town, and how come they all want to see me on the same day?

Wait, that wasn't final. I also want to know, is "how come" an Ohio thing? or worse, a Tracey thing? I was picking on my mom the other day for asking me to "go down the basement." Not "go downstairs," or "go down to the basement." This is another linguistic picadillo that I can't identify. I'm okay with regional things (unlike Bailey, who seems to be offended by her own Ohio-ness) but I don't like it when my family butchers the English language and rubs off on me.

Yep, I like this one better.

Blog roll and stuff

I've decided to add a blog roll to my blog this morning. I don't know how long it will last--I'll have to try it from my laptop before I know if I really like it.

I don't know if there's some kind of blogger etiquette about adding people to blogrolls, but if you find yourself here, it's b/c I enjoy your blog. Hope that's okay.

I want a new template, too...I really don't like the font or the layout of the headers and titles on the old one, and I don't know enough about HTML to fix just the parts I don't like. We'll see what happens. Hopefully I don't ruin anything in the process.

The benefits of staying home on a Friday night

I just got news that I will have a poem in the inaugural issue of Hobble Creek Review. I am considering this my first Christmas present. Merry Christmas to me.

I also found out today that my temp job for next week is going to provide me with much time for writing and research, as everyone who works for the company is on vacation next week. It's like getting paid to write poetry. Merry Christmas to me, again.

I hope everyone else's holiday is as fruitful as mine.

I'm serious about that metaphor thing

I find it really difficult to think of fresh, unique metaphors. I'm okay with similies, but you take out like or as and all of a sudden, I'm on a bike without training wheels for the first time. Wait, is that a metaphor? Crap. I guess I can do it when I'm not trying. Well, maybe that isn't fresh and unique, which is really the goal.

Once, in a workshop, someone said, "I know you're not really a metaphor kinda person, but this poem could really use a few." That's when I realized I had a problem.

My other problem: sometimes I write prose with line breaks. Which begs the question, why don't I just write creative non-fiction? I'm not quite sure.

Changing the subject.

I have this kernel of an idea for a manuscript, and about two poems that might be the beginnings of that manuscript. It will be called Trailer Park Debutante and said debutante is a stripper. She's not the main character, at least not now, but she's pretty important. What I'm trying to figure out right now is her signature song. I want it to be a little bit cliched, but a little bit edgy, if that's possible, and I am dying for suggestions. I'm thinking either classic-rock, 80's-hair band, or southern rock a-la-Lynyrd Skynyrd, but right now the only song coming to my mind is "Cherry Pie" and that's just too obvious. Please help!

Getting back on track or I Love Excel Spreadsheets

Well, enough talk about smoking and dress shopping. Back to the real topic of my blog. Poems!

Last night, I organized my word files and updated my submission records in Excel. I added a worksheet titled "all poems" so that I could track every draft that I have in progress and what stage it is in. Granted, I will be as likely to keep this spreadsheet up-to-date as I am to suddenly sprout wings and fly, but the dorky admin in me loved every minute of compiling my data. And, even better, it turns out I have almost 100 poems in some form. Only about 15 that I think are ready for public consumption, but 100 to work with. Theoretically, I don't have to write any new poems for my thesis, I just have to revise the ones I've got. Theoretically, I say. In reality, probably 20-30 of these "poems" are nothing more than rants or laments and they may have a line or two worthy of keeping. I'm still pretty psyched that there are 100 lines of data on my spreadsheet, regardless.

The other thing I'm proud of about all this Excel business? I realized that I have 12 poems out in submission land being considered. That's the most I've ever had out at one time! (I know, small potatoes for you professional submitters, but a big deal for this rookie.)

Next on my poetry to do list...learn how to use metaphors!

Totally off topic

This post will have nothing to do with poetry or teaching. It's my blog, so I have a right to do that, don't I?

I try to avoid shopping at times when other people go shopping. Saturdays and Sundays being the most important days to avoid (although I also try to avoid the after-work rush on weekdays). This is especially important during Christmas shopping season, since I have a short temper, and even more important this year since I'm trying to quit smoking and am shorter tempered than usual. Crowds make me twitchy.

I broke that rule today because my best friend since 5th grade is getting married and we had to go dress shopping today. I picked out a dress (left) that is disturbingly similar to the dress I wore to my sister's wedding a year ago. The only difference is the color and little bit of sequins. Really, who needs 2 floor length, strapless ballgowns? Sadly, it seems there is only one style of dress that is flattering on my less-than-perfect body, and my best friend didn't want me to wear red.

I love my sister, and I love my best friend, but god save me from ever having to be in another wedding that isn't my own! I'm going to start wearing ball gowns to school. Otherwise, I'm just not getting my money's worth.

The worst part about the whole day...I didn't finish my Christmas shopping, which means I have to face those crowds again! I assure you, the next time, it will not be on a Saturday afternoon.

Excuse me while I rant for a moment

I'm trying to quit smoking. For those of you who don't know me, I do this several times a year. Each time, I believe it will stick. I don't intend to drive my friends, family and coworkers crazy with my rapid-fire mood swings and random bitchieness, only to start smoking again two weeks later. I really believe I can do it, every time. This time is no different. The thing is, I have a lot of pet peeves, and when I'm nicotine deprived, those pet peeves become, well, things that really get me going.

Here are just some of the things that have annoyed me today:

1. Rosie O'Donnell and this little incident. I don't think Rosie was using all her brain cells during that segment, but I think the offended parties may be going a little overboard.

2. Payment Books. When I was leasing my car, I got a bill in the mail every month. Now that I have refinanced that same car, I have a payment book, which means a) I have to remember when it is time to write the stupid check and b) I have to use my own envelope. I don't know why they can't just continue mailing me the damn bill.

3. Mailmen (I'm sorry, Mail Carriers) not coming at their regularly scheduled time, which means that above mentioned bill did not get picked up when it should have, because the mailman (person) came two hours early today.

4. Wonky Ohio Weather. I thought it was supposed to be warm today, but apparantly, only unitl noon. Now it is cold, very cold, and windy. But wait. Tomorrow, it's supposed to be 58!

5. Christmas shopper traffic. 'nuf said.

6. The Christmas/Holiday Tree, Chrismakah, Chrismakwanzakah, debate. Celebrate what you want to celebrate. Call it what you want to call it. And in the spirit of the season, be forgiving when someone wishes you a happy fill-in-the-blank and you don't celebrate fill-in-the-blank. Its like this. They are wishing you happiness, not trying to convert you.

Alas, I can't think of anything else to whine about. On the upside, I've already saved $8. I will do my best to make this my last craving-induced blog post.

I'm standing at the edge

Well, I wrapped up fall semester yesterday. Turned in my last minute projects, student grades, and held office hours from 12-2 so my students could pick up their portfolios. I am done.

This should make me very happy, as I've been anticipating it for days, no, weeks. But this is what happens when I find myself with a multitude of free-time. I become paralyzed with the possibilities. What to do first? What to put off? Where do I begin? Should I start off being practical--catch up on laundry, go to the grocery store? or should I start with the good stuff--bury my head in a book, write five new poems that have absolutely no point and no place in my thesis? I can't decide, and so I find myself piddling around doing nothing... which is very, very dangerous.

Anyone else feel like this at the end of a semester?

The end is in sight

Well, I spent all day Friday commenting on Intro to Poetry portfolios, all day Saturday grading English Comp portfolios, and I am now done grading for the semester. All that's left on my to-do list is to write my teaching philosophy, which I have clearly been putting off.

I did take a little time to go through some of my old Comp stuff (remember, I did a year in the comp program before I switched over to the MFA) and I'm really struggling to put it all together. I wish I'd had an assistantship that first year. It was so hard to take comp classes without any teaching experience, and now it's really difficult to write a philosophy, using comp theory to back it up, when it has been 2 years since I took a class. I mean, there was practicum, but my prof for practicum is a social constructionist/social epistemic/critical pedagogist (I'm not really sure which label is exactly right, but he does a little of them all, I guess) and I am definitely not. Hence, the reading we've done this semester is kind of off.

Don't get me wrong. There's some stuff from these camps that makes sense: democratic classroom, sharing authority, etc. But I don't want my class to become a political forum, and I don't want any unneccesary conflict in my class--the kids are already set up to be competing against each other and testing my authority. Let's not help them out.

I fall in more with the Expressivists (Dr. Svehla always calls me a writer teaching writing, which I love the sound of) and maybe a little of the pragmatists. I think personal narrative is the best way to learn to write because it allows beginning writers to focus on craft, rather than on complex subject matter. I think if you learn to write well about your own experiences, learn to use examples from your own life to support your opinions, then it is easy to transfer those skills to a more academic topic. I don't think my class was all fluffy bunnies, but I do think my students excelled when I asked them to analyze themselves, their lives, and their beliefs rather than some arbitrary topic.

But who can I quote to back this opinion up? Probably Murray, Elbow...who else? It's been so long I'm already forgetting the names. Which means I have a lot of reading to do (rather, skimming and reading what I highlighted two years ago) to get to where I'm ready to write this philosophy paper. My goal is to have it done on Tuesday, so that break can officially start on Tuesday night, but maybe that goal is too lofty. Maybe I should take my time and turn it in on Thursday or Friday, after I've had some time to incubate my thoughts.

At any rate, blogging about it isn't going to help, so I guess I should sign off. The next time you hear from me, I'll be on Christmas break. Hallelujah.

I'm going to miss these little heathens

Today was the last day of my first ever English Comp class. I collected portfolios, took pictures, and sent them on their way. Two of them hugged me while they walked out. I almost cried. I thought I'd be happy to see them go...it's been a stressful semester...but I was sad. I'm so sentimental. I'll always look back on this semester fondly, and this bunch of kids was a good initiation into the teaching world. I know not every class is going to be this good, but I hope that next semester comes close. Oh, and I'm finally on RateMyProfessor.com. I got a chili pepper!

diversion

Trying to catch up on some reading responses I've been putting off all semester...and I need a break, so here I am.

I went to Borders today. Had a $50 gift certificate and managed to spend $50.90...how good am I? I bought Louise Gluck's Wild Iris, and two books that I'm hoping will help me put a new spin on my family poems: Don't Know Much about Mythology, and Grimms' Tales for Young and Old. I'm hoping to find some stuff about sisters in the mythology book--since I have 4, I've always thought something with the fates or the muses in a sister poem would be cool--and who knows what in the Grimms' fairy tales. So much cool stuff about family, gender roles, coming of age etc. in those fairy tales...especially before they were watered down for Disney. Now I just need to find the time to read them.

But back to the more pressing work...right now I'm writing a response on Philip Levine's "What Work Is".

Sunday Morning Coming Down

This has been a weird weekend. Instead of grading, working on my final projects, or putting together submissions, I read a romance novel. (I'm a slow reader, so this really did take most of the weekend up to this point.) Romance used to be all I read, until grad school came along and took away all my time for "pleasure reading." Not that I don't enjoy what I'm reading for school, but it's not the same as picking up 300 pages of fluff and getting lost in a cliche. Now, most of the time, I try to read more "literary" fiction and contemporary poetry in my free time, but I needed a break (actually, I couldn't sleep on Friday night, so I picked up an old book thinking it would lull me to sleep. I was up til 6a.m.). The sad thing is, I can't fully enjoy a romance novel any more because I can see how bad the writing is (not to mention the editing...I found a "to" where a "too" should have been). Sometimes I think I'll still write one of my own, though, get a contract with Harlequin and a pen-name, and make myself a few bucks.

On Friday, I admitted to my students that they were the first class I ever taught. They were surprised, which was pleasantly surprising for me. I'm anxious to start my syllabus for next semester--I was assigned two new text books so I want to figure out how I'm going to use them (they're so much better than the one I had this semester!), but I can't justify working on next semester when there's still so much to do for this one. And I just wasted two days on bodice-ripping nonsense.

There's only one week of classes left, then exam week, which is just grading and finishing up my practicum project. I can't believe how fast this semester went. I never even had time to think "God, is this ever going to end?"

A year from now, I'm going to graduate with my MFA. I don't have a thesis committee tied down yet (yikes! What if they don't agree on such short notice?) and I have virtually no publications. Time to get my ass in gear (as my mother would say).

Do I have writer's block...

or just an overactive internal critic? There's two weeks left in my workshop, so I want to turn in two new poems (I'm a week behind) tomorrow. I've been working on rough drafts for a week and can't come up with anything cohesive. I'm afraid of writing something cliched, or prosey (my most frequent workshop comment), and in turn, I'm not writing anything. As a result, my brain is about to explode and I'm smoking like a fiend...neither of which are helping. Maybe I need to get raging drunk and see what my subconscious wants to write about.

Horse feet are heavy

I learned a new skill last night. How to use a hoof-pick.

As the title suggests, this is not so easy. I admit, I'm not a strong girl. I spend a lot of time with my nose in a book, which doesn't build strong muscles. Well, when my new best friend Banjo doesn't want his hooves picked, he'll let me pick up his feet, but then he'll just hang them there, letting me hold all the weight of his massive leg in one arm. I. Am. So. Sore.

I almost slept through my alarm this morning because I was so tired from my horse-play last night, then when I got home, I took a 3 hour nap (after taking a couple extra-strength pain relievers) and I still feel like I just ran a triathalon. I guess poetry isn't good for your health.

Karla, the owner of Banjo and friends, told me last night to make sure that my helping her in the barn wasn't interfering with my school work. I told her not to worry, that it was good for me to "get out of my head" every once in a while. Anyone else feel like this...like good hard labor is the only way to get your brain to slow down for a minute? Maybe there's a better strategy--one that won't leave me bow-legged for the next three days?

Is that rocket science? No, it's just MLA format

Why, oh why, can't my students properly use in-text citations? Must I flunk them all before they take the time to flip open a handbook and look something up?

Seven papers graded, nine to go. But for now, it's off to ride horses in Salem. Hooray!

Muse-ings

I found myself wandering this morning to some blogs I don't usually read, and found this: cafe cafe's December Poetry Challenge. I've decided to play along, although not all the way, since I'm posting here instead of there, but whatever. This is what I know about my muse.

She doesn't have a name--at least not one that she tells me--and she is a hopeless romantic, a lonely girl obsessed with tears and broken hearts, and I think she may be a little bipolar. She first crawled out of the pages of Little House on the Prairie and whispered that I could be like Laura Ingalls if I tried. She made me notice that equal parts of snow and afternoon sunlight made diamonds, and my first poem was born. She was with me when there was no one else to play with, when Mom was busy, and Dad was at work or sleeping off 3rd shift, and my older sister was away at school. My muse and I would play in the back yard. She would tell me stories that I never thought to write down, but still linger in the sleepy parts of my mind.

As teenagers, my muse and I would sit in my bedroom with the door shut, and she would hold my hand to paper until my wrists ached. No one understood us except the paper, so we stayed shut away from the world as often and as long as we could. Later, when I thought I was a grown up but didn't understand what that meant, she helped me to learn. She told me when it was time to leave the guy I thought I'd love forever, and helped me put myself back together.

For the next few years, my muse and I didn't spend much time together. I was in college and working full time and I only made time for her when she insisted that I listen, when she noticed something that I didn't, or figured out the answer I was seeking before I was even aware of the question. When we started grad school, we were both a little rusty.

My muse is a little miffed that I went looking for help. We'd always gotten along fine just the two of us, she said, and why was I asking all these outsiders to read my work? She took an unscheduled vacation for a few weeks and left me floundering for something to say. She was pretty upset when my first workshop poem got torn to shreds. We had worked on that poem for hours. Eventually, she cooled down and came back to me, realizing that the poems that had held us together during all those lonely times weren't the kind of poems I needed to be writing.

Still, my muse is happiest when I am at my worst. When I'm sad, or feeling sorry for myself, or so stressed out that I can't sleep, then she is there, standing behind me, or sitting on the edge of the bed, whispering "isn't there a poem here?" She still makes me write about broken hearts and lonliness, but these poems I tuck away. When I try to write something else, something outside of my own experience, or at least a little more universal, she still sneaks tears into most first drafts. We fight a lot these days. I keep asking her why she won't move on, and she keeps telling me I'm not ready to leave behind the themes that forced me to write in the first place. The problem is, neither of us knows how to write a poem about tears that hasn't already been written.

In the meantime, she's come to accept the plan that I created...the one where I flesh out family secrets and childhood memories...and sometimes decides to help. She whispers in my ear at readings, so that I stop listening and start jotting things down in my notebook. She makes connections that I would miss, puts two unlike memories in the same poem and makes it work. But she's lazy, and most of the time, I do this on my own. When she's around, poems feel organic and first drafts don't usually change much during the revison process. When she's not, I work hard to put words together. I make plans, take notes, and force the pieces to fit. She sits in the corner, smoking a cigarette and shaking her head. She says she can't help me if I won't listen.

A few more random thoughts

The reading last night was wonderful. Craig's goat man never ceases to amuse me, and Doug Rice is freaking hilarious. I have never laughed so hard at a reading. He read a section from one of his books (I think it was Skin Prayer) and then a section from his memoir in progress. I'm not usually a fan of prose readings (short attention span, perhaps), but Doug makes every word count and does a lot of great things with language.

After the reading, a few MFAers and I had a depressing conversation about the job market and PhD's. For some reason, I am only mildly concerned. I guess that's because I am not doing this for a job. I had a job before I started, and I quit. I know I can get another. It might not be a tenure track job, it might not even be in academia, but I know I'll never be without work.

The thing is, when I started grad school I was about to turn 24 and felt like my entire (albeit short) adult life was spent living by default. I did what I was expected to do, or what was easiest, and never made any tough decisions. And I wasn't happy. In fact, I was really unhappy. The people in my life didn't challenge me, my work didn't challenge me, and I wasn't doing anything that I was passionate about. Today, I'm surrounded by people who encourage and inspire me, I'm doing something that I love, and I'm writing. Maybe not as much as I would like to be, but more than I ever have in the past. This degree is not a means to an end. It is an experience that I'm thankful for and enjoying every stress and anxiety filled minute of.

A couple of weeks ago, a prof that I've known since I was an undergrad told me that I looked happy, that poetry did good things for me, and that he could tell I had been lost when I came back for my masters, but that I'm not anymore. These are all things I know, but it was nice to hear it from someone else, someone who is virtually an outsider in my life. I feel like I'm about to start singing "Amazing Grace" or something, and I know it sounds cliched, but I really do feel like I am finally exactly where I'm meant to be. That's what I'm going to be thinking of this Thanksgiving. And I can worry about job hunting and student loans next year. Right now, it's all about the experience.

Life is good.

I cannot stop talking about this poem and the awesome anthology that I found it in. Kim Addonizio is my idol of the month.

a lull, a blessed lull

With my first essay of the semester out of the way, my winter wheat presentation in the past, and a week before my students turn in their fourth essay of the semester, I find myself looking at a week with very little going on. I have two days of English comp this week, one day of intro to poetry, and everything else is cancelled. I can't explain how happy this makes me.

Of course, there is plenty I could be doing to get ahead, but I can do it at a nice, slow pace, stress-free. Plus, there's lots of fun stuff going on this week--family in from out of town, good food, late-night card playing with my mom and sisters. Also, tomorrow, Doug Rice and Craig Paulenich will be reading at Mona's Open Mic. This should be interesting! Hopefully I will take the time tonight to revise a couple of my newer poems so that I can read something fresh. I've gotten into the habit of reading the same poems at every open mic, but I have to break the pattern! Anybody else get stuck in ruts with go-to poems at readings?

Week 12 slump

I'm not sure if it is always week 12, but there is a point in every semester when I can see the end, but I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get there. I am at that point right now. Academically, this semester is probably the easiest since I've been in grad school. No lit courses, no heavy theory courses, just a workshop, an internship, and practicum. I have two short essays (one on my internship experience and one on my teaching philosophy) and two portfolios (a poetry portfolio for my workshop and a teaching portfolio to go with my philosphy essay), but no research papers or annotated bibliographies. This feels nice. Yet I can't get myself motivated to do it. The internship essay is due Saturday. I have a feeling I can crank out a good one Friday night, but I'd like myself better if I spent a few days on it. The other stuff is going to have to wait until after Thanksgiving, when hopefully the good home cooking and four days off will refresh my brain enough to get motivated.

The thing that is really dragging me down is teaching. I spent three hours yesterday trying to decide what to teach today. I feel like it is too late in the semester to start anything new (I only have 8 actual class sessions left, and four of them are dedicated to a movie and an in-class essay about the movie) so I decided that today I will explain the final portfolio to them, and the rest of my class time will be spent workshopping their revisions. Is this cheating? Because I now have no other class prep to do for the rest of the semester. Just grading. I feel like I'm short changing my students. Then again, they're probably getting short-changed anyway since I'm cranky and exhausted most days. Well, next semester will be better, right?

Today is going to be a very long, exhausting day, but I'm looking forward to it. After I teach, I will be conferencing with my students for a couple hours, then there's a round table about PhD programs (with the always enthusiastic and insightful Mary B), and after that, I'm driving an hour out into the country to help another prof's wife work her horses. I cannot even describe how excited about that I am. I used to ride when I was a kid and have been dying to start doing it again. I hate traditional exercise (treadmills, spin classes, no thank you) and riding is a great workout. Maybe doing something physical and mindless will kick-start my brain.

After today, I plan to spend the rest of the week on that internship essay and some submissions--there's a contest deadline Friday and hopefully I can put some regular submissions in the mail on Saturday. I've gotten rejection letters from everyone I sent to over the summer, so I'm getting nervous about not having anything (except my chapbook) out there. Makes me feel like I'm not putting out the effort that I should be.

skinny envelopes

I hate skinny envelopes. They never contain good news. For those who've been keeping up, this means I got my rejection from RHINO today. I can't say I'm terribly surprised (just a little) and a little more disappointed, but on the up side, they did write a very nice note on the slip. I guess this is the kick in the pants I've been waiting for to send out my next round of submissions. Hopefully there will be good news in the mail someday soon.

Winter Wheat was good...not as good as last year, but good. My presentation went better than I expected--I had some BGSU MFAers in the session and they were--I hate to admit this--slightly more prepared than I was. They had recently read Olds, Plath, and Lee in one of their classes, so had lots of insightful things to say about the poems I brought in as examples. It was great to talk with a group of people who are excited about the topic though. This is not what I'm used to considering I teach apathetic freshman.

So, to sum things up, I finally have something to put under "Conference Presentations" on my CV, but my "Publications" section is still quite sparse. I think I have a lot of work to do these next two semseters.

It's early

Last night, an Indian woman who I take classes with told me she wanted to dress me up in a sari and make me an Indian bride. I wonder, does she want to arrange a husband for me, too? Hopefully not her skinny 17-year-0ld son.

It's almost 9 a.m., and it feels very early, although I know that I have only six hours left to clean, do laundry, and finish preparing my presentation for Winter Wheat tomorrow. Oh, and pack. It should be more than enough time, but I'm tired and not a morning person. I'm afraid I'm probably going to be sitting at the computer pretending to be productive for another hour or so. Then I will have to rush for the rest of the day.

Tomorrow, those who are lucky enough to attend my session will get to read "Aspic & Buttermilk" by Sharon Olds, "The Gift" by Li-Young Lee, and "Daddy" by Sylvia Plath. (I figured you can't talk about family poems without Sylvia, can you?) I haven't decided if I'm going to share any of my own poems yet. It feels sorta cocky to say "If you want to write a poem about your family, do it like I do" when I haven't gotten anything published yet. On the other hand, I'm afraid it will be suspicious if I don't share my own work.

I am very, very nervous. I shouldn't be. I know WW is a friendly place, and no one is going to boo me, but I am still terrified about this presentation. Hopefully I can shake that feeling with a little more preparation.

since I'm in the blogging mood

what am I going to do when I grow up? This teaching thing...I enjoy it a great deal. But in all likelyhood, if I'm going to teach soon (say, after I graduate next year), I'm going to be an adjunct, making about $1600 a month. Now, I have always said that money isn't that important to me, but financial security is. At last estimate, my student loan payments when I graduate will be around $400 a month. My car is $250. I may be bad at math, but I know that leaves me less than $1000 to pay rent, insurance, phone bills, etc., let alone eat, wash my hair, or put gas in my car. Shall I be a teacher/waitress? Go for a PhD in hopes that it helps my chances of getting a tenure track job by, what, 2%? Or get a day job and be a weekend poet. Before grad school, I was on my way up the ranks (slowly) in Organizational Development (a branch of HR) and could probably go back and make 30-35K to start. But...ugh. How important is that financial security?

I don't know why I'm worrying about this today. I have much more pressing things to deal with: a class plan for tomorrow, my winter wheat presentation, a stack of poems begging to be put in the mail. Who cares where my money comes from in 2008, right?

where's my muse, damn it?

I've written six, maybe seven poems since school started. Out of these six or seven poems, one is working, two I'm still too close to revise, and the rest are just brain farts. They might work as filler in a manuscript, but I don't think they'll ever stand on their own.

I want nothing more than to be prolific. I want this even more than I want to be published or have an audience outside my program. I want to write piles and piles of poems...good poems. Yet, I have not felt the urge to write, the need to write, these past few months like I'm used to. Over the summer, in a mere ten weeks, I cranked out thirteen poems that worked. They might not be great poems, but I think they did what I wanted them to. Why can't I keep that kind of streak going now?

I can't help wondering if teaching is what is holding me back. It's the only variable that's different. Maybe I'm spending too much creative energy trying to be a good teacher, to inspire others to write good stuff (whether it be intro to poetry or English comp), and I'm left with too little to write my own. It isn't writer's block--I think writer's block happens when you have the urge to write but nothing works--right now I just don't have the urge. Sometimes I force myself to sit down and write because I have to turn something in to workshop, but I can only think of one time since the end of August when I felt compelled to sit down in front of the computer and create something.

Holy crap...writing poetry is becoming a job. Not a chore because it is still something I enjoy, but it is turning into something that I have to do rather than something I long to do. I suppose that was my plan when I decided to go to grad school--to block off time in my schedule when writing was a priority rather than something extra--but is the plan back-firing? Does having deadlines and pressures make the creative process less exciting, less organic? Does being a professional/full time writer take the passion out of it? Maybe I need to go back to HR, so that stealing fifteen minutes of company time to write that poem that's been floating around in my head feels exhilirating and fresh. Alas, then the only good part of my day would be those fifteen minutes and I'd hate the rest of my life again. I suppose I'll keep teaching and hope that I learn to balance my craft with my career just a little bit better.

Integrating Research

Last year, I discovered that my grandfather (who had a shady past of bank robbing and possible mob connections) and the rest of my family were great fodder for poetry. I come from immigrants--I don't think anyone I'm related to was in the US before 1900--and I think there's a great wealth of poetic "stuff" (for lack of a better word) in my poor, old-world, non-English speaking ancestors trying to make a life in Pittsburg and Cleveland for the last 100 years. However, as I started trying to write these poems, I realized I just don't know enough. My family is pretty tight-lipped about our history, so I'm going on bits of stories and rumors. So, it seems research is the next logical step.

Unfortunately, I find myself caught up in other things--really tough classes last spring, trying to be a good teacher now--that have prohibited me from doing that research. So I've turned my family series into a series of childhood poems. I like the childhood poems, but I want very badly to go back to my original impetus.

Earlier this week, I decided to do a search on the Ohio State Penitentiary, where my grandfather lived from 1946-1956. Holy crap, does that place have a sordid and sad history! Riots, over crowding and deplorable conditions...most during the time when my grandfather was there (at it's worst, the prison held somewhere around 5000 inmates, and this was in 1955). Also, in the 1860's, it was a POW camp, and in 1930, there was a fire that killed hundreds of inmates and guards. Ghosts, perhaps? This is exactly what I was hoping to find. Yet, now, as I try to put a poem together in my head (I haven't gotten to paper/keyboard yet) I have no idea how I will combine what I've read with what I know and remember about my grandfather. I'd have no problem writing a research paper...but how does one go about writing a research poem?

Birthday Horoscope

Just what I needed to read today:

You always get what you want eventually, but right now you have to pay a few dues. Fortunately, you have the strength of mind and the physical stamina to deal with way more than this. Have faith and you'll come through fine.

Leave it to Yahoo Horoscopes to set the right tone for my birthday.

a little teaching freak out

Last night, I sat down and tried to plan out the next/last five weeks of my first semester of English Comp. I realized that I have been slacking. I haven't done a single lesson on language choice (connotation/denotation, concrete vs. abstract, etc.) which was supposed to be one of the main focal points of the course. I've also only done one class about audience awareness and haven't taught them how to write good conclusions (which is so evident in their essays!). If I try to do all the stuff that I meant to do earlier, then I won't get to do the stuff I thought I'd do at the end. Decisions, decisions.

During my training for this course, we were told not to try to plan things too far ahead of time, but now I wish I would have. Then I'd know that fifteen weeks is not as long as it seems. Well, I guess I know for next semester. Hopefully none of my students flunk out of English Comp 2 next semester.

Slacker?

Hm. A half hour ago, I proudly posted that I was ready to send out my first chapbook. After that, I started browsing around on some blogs of other MFA students and started feeling like a slacker.

I submit stuff...but in small doses. 2 journals over the summer, only one last winter. I'm planning a bigger pile for this fall, but I know I'm already getting close to deadlines and have probably missed a few. I only plan to submit my chapbook to one contest. But now I'm thinking that's probably not wise. I'm bad at time management. I get stressed out easily and deal with it by watching lots of TV. I need time to turn my brain off. Perhaps I should turn my cable off instead. Then I would be forced to read, write, and get some work done. Maybe wash the dishes.

Part of the reason I'm so lax in sending my poems out is because I hate writing cover letters. They feel so cheesy. I have a formula, but I still hate it. The other reason is because I freak out about simultaneous submissions and the places that don't accept them. Do I have enough good poems to send to those journals? Or should I focus on those because I'll hear back quickly? Oh, and that "enough good poems" stuff? Seriously, someone might like the ones that I'm not crazy about, right? So shouldn't I just get everything out there? What do I have to lose? A few bucks in postage. Oy Vey. I need someone to light a fire under my ass.

Oh, and I still haven't heard from RHINO, which is making me cautiously optimistic. But I don't want to jinx myself.

finish chapbook...check

Well, I've done it. I picked some poems, put them in order, and decided to call it The Secret Prophecy of Thumbs. Tomorrow morning, it goes in the mail for my very first chapbook contest.

I have this weird feeling--like a sense of accomplishment mixed with fear of forgetting something. Like accidentally turning in the rough draft of a term paper instead of the revision. I can't explain it. I guess it comes from knowing that I've come a long way since I've been working on my MFA, but not quite sure if I'm ready to be calling a group of my poems a chapbook. There are some poems that clearly go together, and some themes threaded through all (or most) of the poems, but I'm not sure they work in a cohesive group just yet. And there are two or three poems that I wanted to include, but they just aren't ready, and won't be before the deadline for this competition.

The good thing is that I can now cross this off my to-do list and focus on other things. I need to write my class plan for next week and start really focusing on my Winter Wheat presentation. I've been thinking about it and planning it in my head, but I have yet to put anything on paper. I can't believe it's just two weeks away! When that's over, it's term paper time, then my first time grading freshmen portfolios, then Christmas break. After that...thesis. Holy cow. There's just not enough time!

To "ing" or not to "ing" and other stylistic concerns

In a workshop the other day, I mentioned that I didn't like verbs ending in "ing" in poetry. Mary says, "Oh, you're one of those," or something along those lines, and I get to thinking. Why don't I like "ing" words? At first, I think it is because other verb tenses are more direct, more impactful, but as I continue thinking about it, I realize that I only believe it because I have heard it over and over from a friend of mine who has always given me good feedback on my poems.

Needless to say, this got me thinking about all the other stlyistic choices I thought I had made about poetry, and realized they all come from someone else. I know it is impossible to spend a year and a half in various poetry workshops and not come away with some ideas that are influenced by others, but now I'm wondering if I even know what I like. (Anyone see the episode of Gilmore Girls when Lorelai worries that she likes everything she likes because her mother doesn't? That's how I feel.)

Now, with my chapbook nearly ready to send out and my thesis looming heavily on the horizon, I find myself asking: Did I write these poems, or did my workshops? This semester is probably the last time during my MFA that I'll take any workshops, so what is going to happen to my poetry and myself as a writer when I have to start making these decisions myself?

The Line Break Conundrum

There was an open mic last night in Youngstown, with Steve Reese as the featured reader. Nice crowd, some good poetry, some bad poetry (as always with open mics). I wasn't nervous prior to reading, since I've read in front of this crowd a couple times before, but when I got up to the podium--rather, the music stand stolen from the YSU Music department--my heart started pounding. I hate that! You think you're prepared and ready to go, and then your body decides something else entirely.

Well, getting to the line break conundrum. After I read, my friend Jay (whose opinion I trust quite a bit) told me that my poems have a much greater impact when read out loud than when he reads them on paper. The only possible reason for this is that I don't read my line breaks. I spend a lot of time revising my line breaks, looking for good enjambment potential and natural pauses, and I even practice reading the poem how it looks on the page. But when it is time to read for an audience, I just read the sentences, and line breaks be damned.

This goes back to tenth grade English, when Mr. Bordine told us that if a line ended without punctuation, there was no pause. So I learned to read poems without pauses. Which is fine, except that those editors out there that I'm trying to impress don't get to hear me read out loud, and are therefore forced to read the line breaks I type in. And what if they aren't working?

Getting There

In my attempts to become a visible part of the literary/poetry community, I sent out a seminar proposal to the BGSU Winter Wheat Literary Festival. I've been anxiously awaiting the day when people can sign up for my session, and that day is finally here! Check out the Winter Wheat seminars and workshops schedule to see my session (I'm in the 1:00 section).

Now, if I could just start getting good news in those SASEs...

And now, my first official mindful rambling:

I've been thinking a lot today about academia and my place within it. When I first started my MFA, I thought that I would want to go on for a PhD, then, for a while, I convinced myself I didn't. Over the weekend, I started thinking about it again, and now I'm not so sure what I will do come December '07, when I have a completed thesis and a diploma in my hand.

Before I started the NEOMFA, I did a year in the U of Akron's comp MA program. I had just lost my first "grown up" job at an insurance company and decided instead of looking for another job, I would apply to grad school. Unfortuantely, this happened in May, and I had missed most of the deadlines already, except for Akron's, which is where I got my BA. I knew I didn't want to study lit for two more years, especially with the same professors that I had studied under before (not that they weren't wonderful, but I thought I might end up studying the same stuff over again), so I signed up for the comp track, not exactly knowing what I was getting into.

For the next nine months, my brain was overloaded with Berlin, Foucault, Shaughnessy, and the like. I had a lot of trouble doing well in my comp classes and was even brought to tears one night while trying to prepare a presentation on "Power/Knowledge". You can imagine my relief and excitement when I found out that Akron was about to become part of the NEOMFA. I immediately applied, waited for my acceptace letter, and signed up for two workshops and a lit course for my first semester in the program.

Since then, I've had some minor encounters with deconstruction, new criticism, etc., and have found myself twitching all over again. I write pretty straight-forward, narrative poetry and sometimes struggle with finding the relevance of this heavy, intellectual stuff in my own writing. Which is why I decided a PhD wasn't in my future.

Nevertheless, the possibility has returned to my thoughts and won't let go. I once had a professor tell me I was intellectually lazy, and I think he may have been right. I have friends working on PhD's and I've heard the horror stories: massive amounts of reading, seemingly impossible amounts of writing, zero social life or down time. Do I want to make that kind of commitment? Will my creative writing have to take a back-burner to my academic writing? Can I handle the pressure?

On the other hand, I'm envious of people who can carry on a thoughtful conversation about lit crit or rhetoric as easily as they can talk about the weather. I would love to be one of those people. I want to spend more time immersing myself in the books I haven't read yet, I want to understand why people are obsessed with Nietzsche and Derrida, I want to be able to deconstruct a text and not make a mess out of it. Hopefully, these would all be aspects of my life as a PhD candidate. And I won't deny that the prestige and respect of being Dr. Tracey would be pretty darn nice.

It all boils down to this: will I be ready in 14 months to take on the job market? I have found over the last two months that I love teaching and hopefully will continue to love teaching. I'm aware that the market is not good for PhD's or MFA's, so wouldn't it be better if I spent more time reading, writing, and learning before I put myself out there? Or will I be setting myself up for failure (or, possibly, some success at the cost of my sanity)?

I'm curious how folks out there with MFA's and PhD's made the decision to do both. Any thoughts?

First Timer

I've been thinking about starting a blog for a while now and practicing on MySpace, and I believe I'm finally ready to play with the big dogs. Besides, I think my high school friends are getting tired of reading about my academic and poetic woes, so I've decided to reach out to a wider audience--and hopefully an audience that will appreciate my ramblings.

I'm getting close to thesis-writing time and frantically trying to get some publications under my belt, so I imagine most of my posts will be related, although I can't deny that once in a while I'm likely to complain about grading papers or a failed sentence structure exercise in my freshman composition class. Either way, welcome to my brain.