Preparing for the New Semester

School starts in like 12 days and I'm both excited and apprehensive about it. September is not supposed to be a great month for me, according to my horoscope, and yes, I do take the stars seriously. So... we'll see how it goes. It's odd that I likely only have a year of classes left. I could stretch it out through December 2010, if I want, to work on my thesis, but I could be completely done with an MFA by May, if I push it. I doubt that will happen. I've been thinking lately that this has been probably one of the most emotionally draining years of my life. My writing has slowed down to a trickle, compared to what I was producing before I applied for MFA programs. So I guess that's what caused this uncomfortable writing block--MFA application deadlines of December 2007 and January 2008. That's a really long time to not have fun.

Anyway... I'm reading an awesome book right now. I've never seen the movie "Big Fish" adapted from the novel by Daniel Wallace and I only picked up his book "Mr. Sebastian and The Negro Magician" because it had a pretty sweet cover (see right) and the back synopsis sounded cool. Taking such a chance, and literally buying a book for it's cover, I'm happy to say that I'm in love with Wallace's writing style. He has completely captivated me and I'm only about 70 pages in. I even picked up his other novel "Ray in Reverse" today at a used book store. There's something really magical about this book and his writing--puts me in the mood to write, which is a good thing, considering all I've said above.

It's like 90 degrees outside--or 10,000 degrees in my bedroom. I can't stand not having (or using, cause the house I live in has A/C they just don't turn it on until AFTER the house is like 1,000,000 degrees hot) air conditioner. Perhaps I'm spoiled by my Texas ways, where A/C is as important as heating oil. Honestly though... it gets HOT up here. I'm just glad the whole summer isn't like this. I think I can manage a few uncomfortable days, not a whole summer.

To do list before school:

• Prepare "Jesus in a Confederate Flag" for round to submissions
• Prepare "Simple Requests" and possible "Safe Haven" for round one submissions
• Get my eyes checked.
• Buy some good winter boots.
• Write skeletons for two stories (for workshop)
• Plan out 5-6 essays for memoir
• Read, read, read
• Watch as many summer movies as possible
  

Ten Doors Closed

I cannot catch a break. I really can't. Where are the opened doors for those slamming in my face? Why does being nice get you no where? I need summer--like now.

:c/

A World Removed

So for the past seven days, I've been dreading and agonizing over one thing: my first workshop. I didn't realize how big a burden these feelings of worry and anxiety were, or how they had settled comfortably between my shoulder blades, until both floated away when I finally sat down in workshop class today. I don't know why, but the moment I was in the classroom I felt comfortable. The fear was magically gone. I felt lighter.

I have come to realize that I am in my head too much, which is not a new epiphany. This (workshop or MFA program, probably both) isn't as big a deal as I've been making it out to be. I think I've made myself sick (ie: my cold) over worrying about whether or not I'm in the right place (MFA program) or if I "deserve" to be here. I've been feeling so alone in my anxiety because no one else is talking about it. And who would? It would require a level of vulnerability and trust--and it takes me a bit to trust people, so I don't come right out and say "Hey, I'm feeling a bit unworthy." Of course anyone who reads this blog will know about my insecurities, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Part of me liked the idea of writing somewhat anonymously--it let me be more real. I'm worried that some of that will change now.

So, for the past few days, since classes started, I've felt myself shrinking--the weight on my back growing heavier and heavier. It sometimes felt like there were a million little Tanyas running around inside me screaming. Parts of this solitary confinement began to chip away as I talked with some of my peers and saw that they too may be feeling certain apprehensions about this whole process (or did when they started). I don't know why I've been operating under the assumption that people enter these programs knowing everything there is to know about writing, but I have and it's made things worse for me. Plus... everyone seems to be wearing their confident shoes. Confident in their writing and reading. My shoes are full of holes and have worn soles. Everyone seems so put together and knows so much more about literary fiction while I'm constantly jotting down authors and stories that I "should" have read a long time ago; feeling inept at communicating why something is good or bad. People either know what they're talking about, are good at B.S.ing, or are just as nervous as I am to stand so vulnerably before them. They just hide it better than me.

I don't know... I guess I need to process this more. All I know is that I feel a bit more secure after workshop today. I guess it's just me giving in to the idea that I am a beginning writer, although I've been writing stories since I was nine. I am a beginner--so I suppose it's okay that I don't know everything yet. I'm here to learn everything I can about writing. I just wish it wasn't so overwhelming at times.

Oh... and I volunteered to have a story ready to workshop in two weeks. It's due next Monday. I guess this will motivate me to start (and hopefully keep) writing. I have no stories to fall back on so I'll have to write something new--or use my application story, I suppose. I'm going to try to write something new though.

Tales from the Book Aisles ... and ... my biggest problem: Avoidance

So... work is great. I really enjoy working at Barnes and Noble, so it is likely that I'll stick with this job for a while. Today was fast paced, which is a huge change from the past few days. Tropical Storm Hanna is blowing our way, so that means rain, which drives people to shop here I suppose. It was busy.

I had a customer who was irate because I couldn't find his magazine in the computer system. He demanded to see a manager. He says in a grumpy and irritated voice: "Seems stupid to me that you have the magazine in your store but it's not in the computer. Get a manager. Find out what's wrong." Ummm... for real? I wanted to tell him to chill out, but I just called the manager as he asked. Then I figured out the computer system and managed to ring up his purchase. I told the guy to have a nice day. He just grunted. Then later, when things were hectic and people needed help left and right, this woman asked me to help her find a book about psychic attacks and how to protect yourself against them. She was a new medium and said that "psychic forces are constantly trying to attack new mediums." We had nothing in the store relating to this, but I did thumb through A Complete Idiot's Guide to Psychic Awareness for her. She was desperate for something about protection and seemed put out that we didn't have anything. Honestly though... isn't that something you buy online anyway? She was kind enough to point out that I was holding a book on meditation and not mediation (you know, communicating with the spirit world and all that jazz) at one point. I'll never judge a person because of what they read, but that was definitely an interesting one. Part of me wonders what the cashier next to me thought when a mature gentleman plopped down a copy of Playboy at her register. Kinky.

Changing topics... I have a problem.

I've been avoiding.

I wonder if there's an AA meeting for avoiders of life, of writing, of issues. Blah. I haven't written anything creatively in about two weeks. Why is it that when I feel overwhelmed with something, the first thing to suffer is the one thing I love the most. I'm avoiding writing this story that's been swimming around in my head. Why? I don't know. Fear has a lot to do with it.

I need a good kick in the ass.

Ehhh....

Remember that post a while back about feeling overwhelmed in regard to school and how unprepared I feel? Well, that consuming feeling returned with a vengeance today and it has yet to die hard. It probably won't go away until I'm in class, surrounded by all of the people that I'm going to work with in the next three years. Then I'll see if I'm in over my head or if there are a few people on the DL (in regard to reading) like me.

I'm falling back into "should" thinking. I should be this, I should be that, I should read this, I should read that. I want to throw up my hands and say "screw this", but I can't because that would be taking the easy road. This new chapter of my life is going to be about taking the hard road and I must preserver. And while my current plan is to reconnect with old classics that I read but didn't read in high school, a part of me wonders if I'm in a way selling out to the type of writing that really makes me happy just to save face or to be the proper MFA student. I feel like you should be at a certain level (in both reading and writing) when you apply and are accepted to an MFA program and currently I am below average. I don't like being below average. It's likely that I'm putting too much pressure on myself, because that's how I roll, but still, it's overwhelming.

So, to feel better about things, I went shopping and bought some shoes (black flats for work) and a book by Paulo Coelho called The Devil and Miss Prym. The summary looks pretty interesting. Maybe I'll read this tonight and attempt to feel like I'm reading something of substance. That or I'll crack open Francine Prose's book Reading Like a Writer or another book that I bought before moving called How to Read Novels Like a Professor by Thomas Foster. Maybe a little studying before classes start might help me feel less paranoid and will help me fake it 'til I make it.

I thought maybe this funky, overwhelming feeling was due to today's horoscopes, but nope. One (my Chinese Rooster horoscope) talked about my new B&N job: Financial good news does bring some challenges, like changes to schedules [for example, I can no longer stay up until 2am watching Olympics and sleep until 10:30 or 11 am] and additional workloads that have to be juggled [work - sleep - work -sleep]. If you accept some additional responsibilities and a leadership role, you could find yourself bringing home a lot more bacon [hmmm promoted to assistant manager after day one perhaps? It could happen.]. And my astronomical Virgo horoscope just talked about jumping on rare opportunities when offered. The Virgo horoscope ended with a sentence that I do hope to be truly prophetic: "You are an investment that can turn a handsome profit as you mature."

God willing. But does mature mean 27 years old (as I will be in a month exactly) or 67 years old?

"On Writing"

First off... happy belated birthday America!

I hope everyone had a great 4th of July weekend. I didn't do a lot really, just sorta lounged around and mixed in a few periodic cleaning bouts. While cleaning, I learned that I still have too much stuff to fit into my Rav-4. I could use another yard sale, probably. It'll work out in the end, I'm sure. Too bad I'm a pack rat. Getting rid of little things is like slicing up my skin sometimes.

Anyway, I spent most of Sunday reading Stephen King's memoir On Writing. I have about 80 pages left, I suppose. I've had this book sitting on my shelves for about 3-4 years now and I never opened it. The pages are even yellowing and it smells delicious. Library like. Love it. I'm sorta shocked that I never really got into it before this weekend. Sure I probably started paragraph one a few times in the past, but I never really sat down and just read and absorbed like I did yesterday. I picked it up after finishing one of those light-fluffy novels that I purchased last week. I was going to start on the second but really wasn't feeling it. So I went into my bedroom and opened the box of packed books--King's was on top so I pulled it out in hope that maybe it would give me a nugget of inspiration, motivation, and desire. Or perhaps pull me out of this self-inflicted funk.

Not sure that it's enticed my desire to create, but I did underline a few things that hit home. I will share them here:

"I was ashamed. I have spent a good many years since--too many, I think--being ashamed about what I write. I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction and poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent. If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that's all."

"Good writing is often about letting go of fear and affection. Affectation itself, beginning with the need to define some sorts of writing as 'good' and others sorts as 'bad,' is fearful behavior."

"What would be very wrong, I think, is to turn away from what you know and like (or love, the way I loved those old ECs and black-and-white horror flicks) in favor of things you believe will impress your friends, relatives, and writing-circle colleagues."

I think in a way each of these quotes explains my writer's block (aka: fear). It's all built up on anxiety for September 2 (when school starts). That may be the day that I either realize I'm making a smart choice in going to school for my MFA in fiction, or I've used school as an excuse to escape the hell I've willingly put myself in for the past several years and nothing more. I'm praying for the former, but part of me really believes in the latter. I ask myself: Tanya, if you hadn't gotten into school, would you have really tried to find a new job? Answer: I really don't know! Probably not. Complacency is easier sometimes.

Anyway, random bits:

• My lovely sister starts her new job in Washington D.C. today. She kicks ass.
• I really don't want to sell my TV and buy a new one (at around $500+ for a nice one). King writes about TV watching in his memoir. Basically, he says to get rid of it. Eeek! Maybe it's okay though, TV doesn't distract me too much when I'm writing.
• I've had a ding in my car door for the past year or so that's now rusted. Estimate to fix it: $400. Lesson learned: QUIT PUTTING THINGS OFF FOR TOMORROW!! Will get new estimates before making any kind of decision (that could be good new TV money!).
• I've been at work for 45 minutes already. It'll be a slow death today.
• 24 days in Texas left.
• Today's goal: write something. . . anything. . . just write.

Update: Wrote about 175 words. I guess it's a start.

Guilt

Guilt is anything you did and fear others to know about. ~Mohammad

Okay... I have this incredible pressure of guilt on my shoulders. Stupid conscious. I am 50-percent at fault for this guilt, whether it be that I wasn't proactive enough, vocal enough, communicative enough. I am at fault. But only 50-percent. But that's enough to make me feel sorta ashamed and very exposed. I wish I could slip away undetected and perhaps I will as I sometimes think very fatalistically. (ie: Oh my gosh, I have a mark on my foot. It's cancer!) Maybe I have nothing to worry about, but still, I am an empathetic person--I suck up emotions from others and care about a great deal. So I suppose you could say that I feel guilty for not caring in the slightest about my 8 to 5, which leads to an immense amount of guilt that I can't get rid of.

I don't know, I thought blogging might help out a bit, but I don't think that it has. I guess I'll just have to deal with the consequences (if there are any) and try to do better. Too bad I'm unmotivated, and to repeat, I just don't give a flying F anymore.

Other news: Here's another article about Chick Lit that was passed on to me (thanks again!).

Big Changes...

Are you good with change?

Some people are and some people aren't.

I like to think that I am, for the most part, adaptable. However, I was sort of slapped in the face by fear this weekend. Not fear of change really, but fear of the "unknown". That spooky place of possible successes and/or failures; a place you have no control over. A place that may be predestined, but probably isn't.

The place of unknown! (insert scary X-Files music here)

I guess it -- that I'm moving and heading off to a completely foreign place where my future is uncertain -- really hit me as I was typing a letter of resignation for work. You'd think the boxes of crap, overflowing with meaningless (yet once important) artifacts of my life, littering my apartment in preparation for a grand garage sale would remind me of my imminent move, but they haven't. Instead the boxes irritate me and make me feel somewhat dirty, as if I can't keep anything clean. Which is entirely possible--I'm not the best housekeeper in the world.

It wasn't the boxes. It was that letter--that date of termination--that did me in and made me freak out. It was a physiological response too--I gasped and my eyes bulged. Like a cartoon. And I said: "holy shit... I'm actually moving soon!" Thus commenced my freak out, which was accompanied by delicious strawberry cheesecake flavored frozen yogurt.

Moving is scary, but it's going to happen. I told my boss today that I was accepted to school and would be leaving at the end of July. I'll have to tell my "real" boss when he comes on July 1. Maybe I'll be nice and wait a few days so he doesn't get the sad news on his first day of work. I know it's going to happen, but I guess I have this "what if I don't leave" fear. I don't know, it's all confusing. I don't like it at all, but I will survive.

I'm leaving Texas in 82 days (51 work days). It'll be sad to leave my new friends.

I don't like that I'm constantly filled with worries right now. Blah.

Pins and Needles...

I've been waiting anxiously for rumored news from UNH that could lessen my financial worries considerably should it actually come to fruition. I'm still trying not to get my hopes up, but it's difficult not to feel jolts of excitement that something I was guaranteed not to have, might actually happen.

In other news... still hunting for jobs in New Hammie. I just received an email for a technical writer position in Manchester--seven month contract work. I can't handle the uncertainty of what happens during month eight. Besides, once I move up there I'm not going to city/town hop one job after another. I hate moving as it is, no way in hell am I going to leap around with my gato, boxes of books, and my bed (if I'm lucky enough to move it up there). I would like to find a place to live and root myself for the next three--or more--years.

I'm still "in progress" for two of the three jobs that I applied for at the university. I'm "no longer under consideration" for the third, which was a job similar to what I do now. I consider this a blessing. I'm not thrilled about my current work. (I'm undecided if my lack of enthusiasm is due to not having leadership or lack of challenge and mentorship.) I'm still trolling the job sites and I still have about 2.5 months left to find employment. Scary! I need a steady job that brings in enough money to be able to pay my bills. It'll happen.

Remaining obnoxiously optimistic.

So... I'm sitting on uncomfortable pins and needles, nervously watching the days tick by before I flee my hot little hell to a welcoming cold and colorful icebox of possibilities.

Update: So, finally heard about that rumored news, but not through any official channels--saw it on my financial aid status. I'm happy to report that I have received a small scholarship! Yay me. It helps a little--just a little. But that's a little less loans I'll have to take out this year. For that alone, I am grateful.

Update 2: It's amazing how someone's disappointed "oh" after good news can make the good news (although it's a small victory) seem minuscule. I know that the scholarship was small, but geez, some excitement would be nice! New worries are afresh in me. :( blahh to all Debbie Downers.

Money Hungry

I've learned something very important about money management: I have none.

I'm trying to figure out where I went wrong over the years, but pinpointing why exactly I think it's okay to buy all of these pointless and unnecessary things is a difficult task. I just like to shop, which is biting me in the ass currently as my May 1 paycheck will be gone in a matter of hours.

I need that extra government rebate check to come in already. I also need to sell my furniture, have a garage sale, and get a weekend job. I have a lot of planning to do this weekend. I need to find areas to cut back and save so that I don't crack open my piggy bank yet again and see my dreams and wishes of traveling float right out the window.

I'm extremely money hungry at the moment.

In other news...

After 2 years of searching for someone to replace the man who hired me (2.5 years ago), we've hired a Baylor Bear to take the helm of our department and dig us out of financial ruin. I have been without what I like to call a "real" boss almost the entire time I've been working here. Can you imagine that? Two years without any type of leadership or mentorship. I've been left to my own devices for so long that sometimes I feel like I've been cheated out of real professional growth. At the same time this job has made me a self starter and independent in the work place. It's also given me a slight reason not to care about my 8 to 5 as much as I should. This new guy starts July 1 and I may or may not be around to work with him.

Oh well... better things await for me on the North East tip--I just need to stay positive and frugal.

Update: It's strange how you can lose money in one area of your life and gain it in another. I receieved a letter from UNH today telling me that I'd been awarded at $1,500 fellowship! How cool is that. Very excited and happy!

Big pressures....

This past week has been sorta stressful for me. My dad had a pretty big health scare--a mini stroke. It should be "strokes" since he had more than one while at the hospital. The man will be 70 this year. (I'm adopted for those trying to do the math of how old he was when I was born, which was 44, which isn't too old to father/adopt a child now that I think about it.) Anyway... so he was going to San Antonio to have a treatment procedure for prostate cancer when the mini stroke hit. He was admitted to the hospital and several tests later they discovered a little hole in his heart, which they think had been releasing tiny blood clots that travel to his brain. We're blessed that these weren't major strokes that left him either physically or mentally altered. But still... the word "stroke" is laced with horrible "what if" thoughts.

Dad's been put on blood thinners and has a shiny new pacemaker to keep his heart rate no lower than 60 beats per minute. It was pumping at 44 beats before, which maybe normal for extreme athletes, but not my old man. I've always been concerned about that low rate--it's not normal. And no matter how many times he said "I'm fine" or "I feel fine" I still worried.

He was released from the hospital yesterday. My sister says that in his impatience to be free of his hospital bed he was really rude to people. I shudder to even imagine this as my dad can sometimes be the epitome of "grumpy old man" and loses his patience in a flash. But he's cheerful now that he's back home and I'm sure his nurses are glad not to have to put up with his crankiness.

Now that this health scare is over he's certain that he's on the cusp of death. Every time he calls me he asks if I've submitted my novel to publication. In March he told me that all he wanted for his birthday was for me to send my novel somewhere. Wish granted, I sent a query letter to HarperCollins last week only to be told my story wasn't right fit. I told my dad and he basically told me to try harder--that he doesn't have that much time left. What the hell?!? I told him not to talk like that, because honestly, the man is a beast and will probably live to be 120. He's not going to die any time soon. (We all say such things, don't we?)

Our most recent convo went like this:

Ring, ring.

"Hi Dad! How are you feeling?"

"Oh fine. So, have you sent your story to any other publishers?"

My non-verbal reaction went a little something like this: Roll eyes, put him on speaker phone, and open Dr. Phil's Ultimate Weight Loss Solution in full preparation to tune out the rest of our conversation.

"Um... yes, I've got a few written down."

This is a tiny lie... I have the Writer's Market sitting in front of me, but I haven't cracked the pages yet. I just don't want to hear a lecture. Besides, I'm going to send it off... I really am.

"Well, send it to more than just one this time!"

"Oh, I will... don't worry." My eyes move to the TV where I'm watching reruns of Discovery's Deadliest Catch. I'm big on multitasking.

"You've got to make sure there's action and suspense in it--or mystery. Those books sell. I know you like to read the romance ones, but you should write something with some suspense to it."

I smile. "Yup, it's got all of that."

He repeats what he last said about the suspense and mystery--he likes to repeat himself quite often. Could be old age. Could be a subconscious effort to really pound these tips into my brain. He does the same thing when he tries to tell me how to get out of credit card debt. The lectures get really old.

"You'll sell at least one copy--mom and I will buy one!"

We laugh.

"I want to read something you've written--I don't have much time."

What the hell?

"Ummmmm.... Ooooookkkkkkkaayyy. Let's talk more positively."

Dad doesn't elaborate and I suddenly have fears that he's not telling the whole truth about his condition. Suddenly I feel this immense pressure to find SOMEONE who will want to publish my popular novel. Anyone? I mean, I don't want to let him down. I want to be a "success" before he dies, which he makes it sound like it will be tomorrow or something. I am ever the optimist--Dad's gonna live forever.

That's a lot of pressure to put on your kid, which is not at all unfamiliar in my family. I guess I could tell him that it's not going to happen overnight, although I daydream that it will all the time. Maybe trying is all that matters. But we'll still talk about the same things whenever he calls me. The first words will out of his mouth will be: "Published yet?" Just like his first words to my sister are: "Found a job?" To my brother: "You really need to get off the drugs." To my little sister: "You need to finish high school or you'll never get a job." To my oldest brother: "Have you tried Nicorette?"

The pressures that parents put on us are intense most times. I suppose it's a good thing that I have one who cares about what I do and that I'm successful in it. He could not care at all, I guess. Still... I want to tell him to let up just a tad. And at the same time I think I need the pressure of him "not having time" (whatever that means) to motivate myself to do something FOR myself as much as it's for him. I want to be able to hand him my first novel and see the pride in his eyes. Although knowing my dad, he'd just ask how it was selling.

You can't win sometimes.

Writing Groove...

I feel like I've lost a little bit of my writing groove in this whole MFA application process. My mind has been consumed with thoughts and ideas of moving and what September will bring for my life. I've also been consumed with worry about my actual ability. Not my writing ability--but my reading ability. I'm starting to worry that I'm not a very good reader. I read a lot. A lot of popular fiction, but very few classics or more literary-like pieces. I've read for pleasure for so long, it seems like it may be hard to switch to a more analytical mind. It'll be hard to slow down too. I hope to strengthen that ability by buying books--mainly short story collections and the novels/collections by the two fiction faculty at UNH--and reading them--slowly. I started two books this weekend: "Reading Like a Writer" by Francine Prose and a collection of short stories by former students from top MFA programs. I can't remember the title or the author/editor, but it's nice to read snippets of what's out there.

The world is full of inspiring authors--and only a select few of us will make it. That's pretty daunting to think about.

Anyway, I can't find the writing groove that I had a few months ago. I need to finish the story I'm working on and start preparing my mind for more serious writing, but it's hard to get the story out when I've lost the little writing bug that pushes page after page, chapter after chapter out of my brain.

I feel a bit trapped down by this inability to get the words out.

The only good news is that this writing block has allowed bits and pieces of ideas for short stories to come to me. As a novel writer, I figured it may be hard to find ideas for short stories to write for the program. At least I'll have a small little arsenal of ideas to bank from. Accepting admission was supposed to chill me out a bit, but it only leaves more uncertainty--finding a job, moving, finding a job, moving. It's endless and tiring.

Very tiring. Oh well.

Trying to stay upbeat...

So... I'm trying to stay positive about the whole funding thing. I think the best game plan is not to imagine how I will be moving until I actually accept a school's offer. :) I think that's why this news came as such a blow to me. I was planning on writing a new chapter too and totally didn't do that because I was in boo-hoo land.

Anyway... thinking positive thoughts. What will be will be... and all that jazz.

*sighs*