Thanks for your advice Katie, Kim, and Tom. I decided to drop the class. I'm sure it would have been great and all but I also realized something else: I love my job. And a 28-year-old with as much work experience as me (but a masters from the Kennedy School) is shaping up to be my new boss. So, instead of a fun writing class, I will be learning how to manage non-profit organizations (financially no less) so that I can keep my new boss in line (and some day give Harvard a reason to make me my own boss).
Creatively, I'm a disappointment, I know. For once, practicality wins.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I second that emotion
There's something to be said for letting the story stand on its own. So I guess in that way I agree with Shana's fancy Hahvuhd teachuh. I know in my writing I have a hard time keeping hands off-- seems like I'm always judging my characters or inserting my emotion into the scenery and language instead of just letting it be. But no emotion, period? Then why tell the story at all? Maybe your instructor just means the old show-don't-tell: choose the right story, tell it simply and honestly, and it will affect your readers personally without you having to beat them over the head with it. I've been reading Lawrence Wechler (a seminal Kim fave), and he does non-fiction unbelievably well, just by noticing how different pieces of the world fit together. Maybe check him out.
In other news, I got an interview at Harvard for this Friday! ...hopefully I'm not jinxing anything. So as you may have guessed, I'll be in Boston this weekend, and so excited to be back so soon after graduation. Maybe we should have a meeting of the Midnight Society, um, I mean, The Attic Office...a little tea, a little 'I Remember'? Also, can I invite Sara Rice to join? She's BC 08, former president of the English Association, and actively writing. (It's true, she just sent me a poem the other day.)
In other news, I got an interview at Harvard for this Friday! ...hopefully I'm not jinxing anything. So as you may have guessed, I'll be in Boston this weekend, and so excited to be back so soon after graduation. Maybe we should have a meeting of the Midnight Society, um, I mean, The Attic Office...a little tea, a little 'I Remember'? Also, can I invite Sara Rice to join? She's BC 08, former president of the English Association, and actively writing. (It's true, she just sent me a poem the other day.)
Monday, June 23, 2008
after reading google docs, a long p.s.
So, I'm reading these gorgeous poems and pieces on google.docs and feeling something between the lines, something like when does this all add up to something? or how do I go on doing this and why? I don't have answers to these questions (sometimes they aren't even questions. They're like a constant pressure.), but I thought before I left I'd remind you of some things I've found helpful as you start moving (and we're always returning to this place--between projects, when we change jobs or geographical location, etc.) between being a sprinter to being a marathon runner. So, some thoughts:
Remember that everything you do to empower a clear, gentle internal voice/presence/self inside yourself is helpful.
Everyone comes with one of these, it's just that some of us (and although I don't know the details of each of your histories, generally speaking writers share a little trauma, a little outsiderness) have very loud and painful contradictory voices that drown it out. Sometimes it's tempting to think that we need to build up an inner cheerleader to counteract the inner critic. In my experience it doesn't work. It feels false. A little cheerleading is good, but you don't basically trust it. What you do trust (because it's deeper than trust. It doesn't ask for your acknowledgment) is that part of yourself that can look on your worst qualities without getting panicky and angry and your best qualities without trying to cling to them or wear them like a little good-person outfit. You might have become aware of this part of yourself when you've finished sobbing yourself into silence or been in extreme physical pain (childbirth comes to my mind) or that strangely clear moment when you get great news, just before you start grasping it. In any case, it's important to remember that it's there.
Commentary and feelings that come from this place share a tone that you can learn to recognize--there is usually a quality of clarity or simplicity (like a glass of fresh water, a single leaf) and a tone of gentleness.
You can pretty much count on the fact that anything that sounds angry, funny but slightly hating, desperate, depressed, etc. is not from this place. Nothing wrong with those emotions--that's the materials you get with this incarnation. It's your party package. It's what you are destined to create with. It's all good from the creative's perspective--but don't let those voices have the final say. Don't make decisions about your writing from that place, and try to keep one hand on the truest part of yourself at all times.
A note: you may notice that when the writing has taken you under its wings, and you are just watching that ink, that you feel something akin to being written through. People feel inspired, that is--in spirited. Depending on your spiritual orientation you might say with a Christian, "I let the divine in me speak," or with a Buddhist "I wrote from a state of luminous emptiness" or with a more secular mind, "I was in the zone." All valid. It is a wonderful state--usually brief and totally involving. We can be writing about the most gut-wrenching things and the most exhausting pitch, but what is carrying us is that calm, kind watching part of ourselves saying, "Go ahead. Yes. And yes. Yes."
The question is how to empower this part of yourself that allows you to stretch out into larger projects, to do the deep spelunking that helps you discover the subject matter, etc. There are no tricks here. Some people find that stretches of repetitive motion is a helpful way to quiet all those other freaked out voices (grasping, aversion, and passivity are the usual categories)--swimming, long walks (get off the bus early. Drive your car to a different lot.). Some of you may have found long car trips do something similar. After a while you're going to get bored of your usual mental loops and deeper clarity arises.
Sometimes it helps to read a book or be with a person who embodies that voice. What's important here is to remember that they are only a reflection of what is already inside you. In fact, that's my biggest hint about this--the most important thing, the most stabilizing thing you can remember as you sit down to write and every section of your ego starts dancing the hootchie kootchie around your worst fears is that there is a clear and gentle part of yourself under that noise. Sometimes we've had things happen in our lives or been so poorly parented (or worse) that we can think that we simply don't have that quality, that we have to find it outside ourselves. For writers this can lead to needing to get some reinforcement from outside--and if you're a beginning writer, there will be precious little of that. You can spend a long, long time and loads of energy trying to get reinforcement that won't feel nearly as good as that quiet place in yourself. (Hemingway said that the worst thing that happened to him was the Nobel Prize.)
So remember that it's there, that no one can or every could take it from you. Even if you can only feel it .001 percent of your time at the table, you can trust that it is there in you, and when all the ego freakout ends, it will be lying there at the bottom of the pool like a gold coin.
And no, there are no exceptions. It came with you from the factory. Everything else is story--wonderful, terrible, vivid story. And when you can see that, it's so much easier to tell them.
Love to you and the work that's inside you,
Kim
Remember that everything you do to empower a clear, gentle internal voice/presence/self inside yourself is helpful.
Everyone comes with one of these, it's just that some of us (and although I don't know the details of each of your histories, generally speaking writers share a little trauma, a little outsiderness) have very loud and painful contradictory voices that drown it out. Sometimes it's tempting to think that we need to build up an inner cheerleader to counteract the inner critic. In my experience it doesn't work. It feels false. A little cheerleading is good, but you don't basically trust it. What you do trust (because it's deeper than trust. It doesn't ask for your acknowledgment) is that part of yourself that can look on your worst qualities without getting panicky and angry and your best qualities without trying to cling to them or wear them like a little good-person outfit. You might have become aware of this part of yourself when you've finished sobbing yourself into silence or been in extreme physical pain (childbirth comes to my mind) or that strangely clear moment when you get great news, just before you start grasping it. In any case, it's important to remember that it's there.
Commentary and feelings that come from this place share a tone that you can learn to recognize--there is usually a quality of clarity or simplicity (like a glass of fresh water, a single leaf) and a tone of gentleness.
You can pretty much count on the fact that anything that sounds angry, funny but slightly hating, desperate, depressed, etc. is not from this place. Nothing wrong with those emotions--that's the materials you get with this incarnation. It's your party package. It's what you are destined to create with. It's all good from the creative's perspective--but don't let those voices have the final say. Don't make decisions about your writing from that place, and try to keep one hand on the truest part of yourself at all times.
A note: you may notice that when the writing has taken you under its wings, and you are just watching that ink, that you feel something akin to being written through. People feel inspired, that is--in spirited. Depending on your spiritual orientation you might say with a Christian, "I let the divine in me speak," or with a Buddhist "I wrote from a state of luminous emptiness" or with a more secular mind, "I was in the zone." All valid. It is a wonderful state--usually brief and totally involving. We can be writing about the most gut-wrenching things and the most exhausting pitch, but what is carrying us is that calm, kind watching part of ourselves saying, "Go ahead. Yes. And yes. Yes."
The question is how to empower this part of yourself that allows you to stretch out into larger projects, to do the deep spelunking that helps you discover the subject matter, etc. There are no tricks here. Some people find that stretches of repetitive motion is a helpful way to quiet all those other freaked out voices (grasping, aversion, and passivity are the usual categories)--swimming, long walks (get off the bus early. Drive your car to a different lot.). Some of you may have found long car trips do something similar. After a while you're going to get bored of your usual mental loops and deeper clarity arises.
Sometimes it helps to read a book or be with a person who embodies that voice. What's important here is to remember that they are only a reflection of what is already inside you. In fact, that's my biggest hint about this--the most important thing, the most stabilizing thing you can remember as you sit down to write and every section of your ego starts dancing the hootchie kootchie around your worst fears is that there is a clear and gentle part of yourself under that noise. Sometimes we've had things happen in our lives or been so poorly parented (or worse) that we can think that we simply don't have that quality, that we have to find it outside ourselves. For writers this can lead to needing to get some reinforcement from outside--and if you're a beginning writer, there will be precious little of that. You can spend a long, long time and loads of energy trying to get reinforcement that won't feel nearly as good as that quiet place in yourself. (Hemingway said that the worst thing that happened to him was the Nobel Prize.)
So remember that it's there, that no one can or every could take it from you. Even if you can only feel it .001 percent of your time at the table, you can trust that it is there in you, and when all the ego freakout ends, it will be lying there at the bottom of the pool like a gold coin.
And no, there are no exceptions. It came with you from the factory. Everything else is story--wonderful, terrible, vivid story. And when you can see that, it's so much easier to tell them.
Love to you and the work that's inside you,
Kim
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Whale Cove
Hey Attica Officini,
I'm off to Whale Cove this week, so I wanted to say goodbye and surf around the office and admire. All sorts of wonderful things going on everywhere. Don't think I'm not wishing you well when you don't hear from me or that I don't like what I'm reading. Remember I'm supposed to disappear. That's my Cheshire cat-like job. Then you go on adventuring, hopefully with a sense of my smile encouraging you from somewhere over your left shoulder blade.
No, a little lower. Farther to the right. Yeah. Right there.
Keep doing what you're doing, and even a little weirder. A little strangeness is a very good thing. And I'll be admiring.
Go ahead and write without judging. Follow those little painful places where the pulse is. I've got your back.
Love,
Kim
I'm off to Whale Cove this week, so I wanted to say goodbye and surf around the office and admire. All sorts of wonderful things going on everywhere. Don't think I'm not wishing you well when you don't hear from me or that I don't like what I'm reading. Remember I'm supposed to disappear. That's my Cheshire cat-like job. Then you go on adventuring, hopefully with a sense of my smile encouraging you from somewhere over your left shoulder blade.
No, a little lower. Farther to the right. Yeah. Right there.
Keep doing what you're doing, and even a little weirder. A little strangeness is a very good thing. And I'll be admiring.
Go ahead and write without judging. Follow those little painful places where the pulse is. I've got your back.
Love,
Kim
Friday, June 20, 2008
So I got angry at Rolling Stone for being so cool...
and I just sent a song, 'boom,' to "Theatticoffice" Gmail account, so you can all access/ download it. Let that count for my submission, and maybe I'll dig up something else. The song is new, hasn't been revised, and I kind of like it as an opener for this ep project I'm doing with a former student of Kim's (Dan Viafore -- BC grad a few years ago: anyone know him?). Any ideas would be great - whether it coheres, what it's saying, I'm not sure. I think it needs to find its form still. I have an idea for a new ending already. [technology wise -- it was originally a .wav file, but I converted it to .mp3 (I think)].
I second the welcome, Caitlin. And I'm working towards the comments, it's been a busy week. By sunday.
Let me also recommend Luke Oleksa for admittance to the Finer Things Club. He's an interesting guy; it's not like we roomed together in Bath, England for a semester. Something tells me Katie had Luke in mind too. I read minds, I'm just that mis-styxal.
I second the welcome, Caitlin. And I'm working towards the comments, it's been a busy week. By sunday.
Let me also recommend Luke Oleksa for admittance to the Finer Things Club. He's an interesting guy; it's not like we roomed together in Bath, England for a semester. Something tells me Katie had Luke in mind too. I read minds, I'm just that mis-styxal.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Two posts in one day...
I need a life. Or a job.
Welcome to the blog, Caitlin!
And to everybody: can we invite more people to join this, if we know they're writing and have an interest? Or should we keep it to writers who are connected through the wonderful Kim?
Do we vote?
Welcome to the blog, Caitlin!
And to everybody: can we invite more people to join this, if we know they're writing and have an interest? Or should we keep it to writers who are connected through the wonderful Kim?
Do we vote?
I am really quite hopeless at this sort of thing...
I've been trying to think of a creative/funny way to start this, but since everything pithy and relevant is escaping me at the moment, I'm just going to dive into it and hope my awkwardness is mistaken for wit (or at least a kind of grinning, hapless charm). I'm going to be a sophomore at BC this fall and I had the pleasure of being in Kim's Creative Writing class last semester. To help me make some writing-minded friends (and keep me out of trouble this summer), Kim hooked me up with this blog, which I have been faithfully stalking for the past few weeks. I've decided that it's time for me to reveal myself, a la Phantom of the Opera except without all of the terrified screaming and falsetto, and therefore have published this perfunctory embarrassed introduction born of my writerly terror of being rejected and simultaneous need for companionship. So yes, let the wincing begin.
Tom, thanks for taking a leap of faith that I wasn't deranged or something similar and inviting me to join this blog. I think this is going to be great and I'm excited to join.
Tom, thanks for taking a leap of faith that I wasn't deranged or something similar and inviting me to join this blog. I think this is going to be great and I'm excited to join.
Misadventures and Mis-styx
Sometimes I like to multi-task. For example, I like to eat and read at the same time. Sometimes, I even eat and read and listen to the tv/my mother talking in the background. It's stimulating.
I can't always multi-task though. For example, I am not capable of carrying on two conversations at the same time. Not even two IM conversations. Just can't do it. Sometimes, multi-tasking is physically impossible. And sometimes, multi-tasking is illegal. Sometimes, multi-tasking calls into question the integrity of an entire literary publication and its staff.
Here's the long story: I decided to volunteer as a slush-pile reader at a local lit journal in St. Louis: River Styx. I also submitted to the journal's international poetry contest. I never thought this was a problem, but, alas, I am an idiot.
Yesterday, I'm sitting in the office with another staffmember (I think she actually might get paid), and we're a little dismayed over the quality of some of the submissions, and she says, "Yeah, this is the only poem I've liked today," and hands me an envelope. It's my submission. And she actually marked "yes"-- yes that it should get considered, sent on, read by other people! It's very exciting, and I stammer, "Oh my gosh, that's my poem," and everyone in the tiny office turns to stare... After much confusion as to what I had actually done ("staff members don't generally submit to their own contests"), and a lot of laughing at me ("now I know the journal is rigged, I'm submitting every time!"), I had to make the choice: did I want to be considered for the contest or did I want to stay on at River Styx and actually have friends who are into writing?
I chose friends. I am a sucker. And that is the Writer Lesson du jour.
I can't always multi-task though. For example, I am not capable of carrying on two conversations at the same time. Not even two IM conversations. Just can't do it. Sometimes, multi-tasking is physically impossible. And sometimes, multi-tasking is illegal. Sometimes, multi-tasking calls into question the integrity of an entire literary publication and its staff.
Here's the long story: I decided to volunteer as a slush-pile reader at a local lit journal in St. Louis: River Styx. I also submitted to the journal's international poetry contest. I never thought this was a problem, but, alas, I am an idiot.
Yesterday, I'm sitting in the office with another staffmember (I think she actually might get paid), and we're a little dismayed over the quality of some of the submissions, and she says, "Yeah, this is the only poem I've liked today," and hands me an envelope. It's my submission. And she actually marked "yes"-- yes that it should get considered, sent on, read by other people! It's very exciting, and I stammer, "Oh my gosh, that's my poem," and everyone in the tiny office turns to stare... After much confusion as to what I had actually done ("staff members don't generally submit to their own contests"), and a lot of laughing at me ("now I know the journal is rigged, I'm submitting every time!"), I had to make the choice: did I want to be considered for the contest or did I want to stay on at River Styx and actually have friends who are into writing?
I chose friends. I am a sucker. And that is the Writer Lesson du jour.
I feel threatened....ok, more like 'helpfully pressured'
My brief internet hiatus has left me out of this lovely loop, and for that I apologize. The Friday deadlines sound good, and I'm going to read through all that I have missed since my travels. From Cali to DC, NYC and beyond, I'm gathering 'things' (how descriptive) and enjoying it. I'll check back tomorrow, and will hopefully have some 'stuff' (English teachers love this one) to share!
Celtics parade tomorrow. Perhaps I can write a story about a man in a testosterone-induced state who swears 'a wicked lot' whilst donning a lightweight Northface atop a Garnett jersey and meticulously ripped AE jeans, promising that he knew from the beginning Boston was 'going all the way.'
Celtics parade tomorrow. Perhaps I can write a story about a man in a testosterone-induced state who swears 'a wicked lot' whilst donning a lightweight Northface atop a Garnett jersey and meticulously ripped AE jeans, promising that he knew from the beginning Boston was 'going all the way.'
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
I've been threatened...
And it worked. Tom said he would post about an embarrassing childhood story if I didn't blog today by 10PM. I don't think it's embarrassing---it's actually ingenious, except that I probably killed the grass in my backyard. But I'm posting now, so he can't write about it anymore. +2 writer points for me!
I have a hunch he'll still write about it anyway if I don't write something better than that. Hmm. I've spent a lot of my day stalking people. I also accidentally emailed faithgod@gmail.com and it did not bounce back to me. So God may have gotten a request from International Security today to review an article about the spread of military power. Yeah, I italicized the journal. +half-a-writer-point.
The pilot wings on my keyboard are making me want to climb a waterfall in Yosemite. In the meantime, I'll write about a poem that Tom showed me last night in an issue of Boston College Magazine. It was about mannequins. Turns out that's almost as versatile to use in poetry as mayonnaise.
I have a hunch he'll still write about it anyway if I don't write something better than that. Hmm. I've spent a lot of my day stalking people. I also accidentally emailed faithgod@gmail.com and it did not bounce back to me. So God may have gotten a request from International Security today to review an article about the spread of military power. Yeah, I italicized the journal. +half-a-writer-point.
The pilot wings on my keyboard are making me want to climb a waterfall in Yosemite. In the meantime, I'll write about a poem that Tom showed me last night in an issue of Boston College Magazine. It was about mannequins. Turns out that's almost as versatile to use in poetry as mayonnaise.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Margaret Atwood Sleeps in a Bed
Writers should not sleep on futons. This wisdom I have gleaned over the past several nights. The stuffing is made of hideous synthetic materials that emit (paradoxical) invisible, yellow fumes that form clouds around the writer's most important writing muscles, rendering them useless for at least 48 hours. This, among other excuses, is why I have not been writing.
I have, however, been valiantly thinking about writing. One of the perks of disliking music in it's entirety and being forced to own an iPod is listening to podcasts. I have been listening to Writers on Writing with host Barbara Demarco-Barrett and Book Lust with Nancy Pearl. They interview writers and other writer-type people. It is vaguely magnificent.
I have also been reading Margaret Atwood, causing one person, seeing it on my shelf, to exclaim with glee, "Wow, you are reading Margaret Atwood? I love her!" My literary vanity bolstered, I have read three of her short stories. I have been made to think alternately "This is
easy; I can be a short story writer" and "Oh crap, what am I thinking?" Luckily I have learned not to pay attention to my mind's reaction to most things and am instead led by the invisible, yellow idea that I am a writer.
And I will be writing again soon. (Does this count?) I like Friday deadlines, but I like most deadlines. Of course, I will also be a good reader and read everything on Google Docs. I mean, I
have read everything on Google Docs and have had thoughts and reactions. I will soon give these things an exit strategy from my brain into the real world where they may be of use or of vague amusement/nausea/confusion.
(I must also work on my intense use of commas and my not-so-vague overuse of the word "vague.")
I have, however, been valiantly thinking about writing. One of the perks of disliking music in it's entirety and being forced to own an iPod is listening to podcasts. I have been listening to Writers on Writing with host Barbara Demarco-Barrett and Book Lust with Nancy Pearl. They interview writers and other writer-type people. It is vaguely magnificent.
I have also been reading Margaret Atwood, causing one person, seeing it on my shelf, to exclaim with glee, "Wow, you are reading Margaret Atwood? I love her!" My literary vanity bolstered, I have read three of her short stories. I have been made to think alternately "This is
easy; I can be a short story writer" and "Oh crap, what am I thinking?" Luckily I have learned not to pay attention to my mind's reaction to most things and am instead led by the invisible, yellow idea that I am a writer.
And I will be writing again soon. (Does this count?) I like Friday deadlines, but I like most deadlines. Of course, I will also be a good reader and read everything on Google Docs. I mean, I
have read everything on Google Docs and have had thoughts and reactions. I will soon give these things an exit strategy from my brain into the real world where they may be of use or of vague amusement/nausea/confusion.
(I must also work on my intense use of commas and my not-so-vague overuse of the word "vague.")
Sunday, June 15, 2008
New Stuff
Hi all,
A quick development: by Kim's request, I set up a google calendar in our Attic account. Just a place where we can post deadlines and other such things. Katie and I had talked about trying to post something every Friday, and so far it seems like Fridays would be good for me. It's added incentive and seems like it could become a rhythm. Whatever works for everyone, I know we all have very different schedules.
A quick development: by Kim's request, I set up a google calendar in our Attic account. Just a place where we can post deadlines and other such things. Katie and I had talked about trying to post something every Friday, and so far it seems like Fridays would be good for me. It's added incentive and seems like it could become a rhythm. Whatever works for everyone, I know we all have very different schedules.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Yes. I like sports.
Katie, didn't you know I was a veritable man without qualities? I don't memorize Sports Center casts and I hope Jim Rome falls down a deep crevasse and burns, but I enjoy sports. And hating on Boston sports is such a safe, fashionable thing. Just because the Patriots have worked themselves into the best dynasty of the past thirty years, the Red Sox are better (and yes, much more lovable: Manny could make the transfer from bad-ass outfielder to pull-string plush-toy quite seamlessly) than the Yankees, and the Bruins... nevermind. How is it that you spare the Celtics? The lovable losers (pretty non-threatening: I understand why you'd be afraid of the Sox in St. Louis)? Only for our generation I guess. But that's all about to change.
In a more general address to the blog community, I figured out the way to comment on work, so I'll go back and comment on those pieces (Tom, I owe you some I know) that I've read and didn't mark up.
In a more general address to the blog community, I figured out the way to comment on work, so I'll go back and comment on those pieces (Tom, I owe you some I know) that I've read and didn't mark up.
JK and CR
I have discovered that unless I am required to do something, I have a quite a bit of trouble mustering the motivation to do it. Good thing there is Tom who harasses me until I post on this blog. Otherwise, I would just sit at work and see who is on Facebook right now until it hits 5pm (or really anytime between now and 5pm when I intend to leave and get 30% off a lot of Ann Taylor clothes).
So I have done little writing since my last post. I think I wrote a paragraph about my map (perhaps I'll post this once I get home). Tom and Katie, you will be glad/annoyed to know that it is, yet again, written in the second person. But I have admired one writer and her awesomeness and went on my first family vacation in 10 years. We went to Costa Rica. I would say it was a lot of fun but I seem to forget it happened (today I told Katie that this is my first year without international travel).
I'd love to read what y'all have posted on the googledocs so I hope that will happen this weekend.
Oh, and Tom, I've been to Emily Dickinson's grave. I have a grave rubbing in my 5th grade report to prove it. I got an A. And that is why I was an English major.
So I have done little writing since my last post. I think I wrote a paragraph about my map (perhaps I'll post this once I get home). Tom and Katie, you will be glad/annoyed to know that it is, yet again, written in the second person. But I have admired one writer and her awesomeness and went on my first family vacation in 10 years. We went to Costa Rica. I would say it was a lot of fun but I seem to forget it happened (today I told Katie that this is my first year without international travel).
I'd love to read what y'all have posted on the googledocs so I hope that will happen this weekend.
Oh, and Tom, I've been to Emily Dickinson's grave. I have a grave rubbing in my 5th grade report to prove it. I got an A. And that is why I was an English major.
You like sports, Liam?
Celtics are the only Boston sports team I can stomach...mostly because of Larry's legacy and his French Lick, Indiana roots. The Patriots cheat. The Red Sox can go [do something I'm too polite to post on a blog, so in its place I will substitute:] stick it.
Will comment on your play (hopefully more favorably) soon.
Will comment on your play (hopefully more favorably) soon.
[post (post post)]
Allow me to rescind my previous blog-title. But really, did anyone else expect that? The capacity of Boston teams to work themselves out of playoff deficits and win the largest comebacks in history never stops amazing me (i.e. Red Sox, what was it, three or four years ago?). I won't even ask if they deserved it.
Also, let me take a quick moment to deter anyone from believing I'm too much of a cynic (that is, for leaving the game early). No, it wasn't pessimism that drove me away, but my enthusiasm for POETRY (or in this case, playwriting) that brought me towards the blog. Any way, I'm late for my job.
Also, let me take a quick moment to deter anyone from believing I'm too much of a cynic (that is, for leaving the game early). No, it wasn't pessimism that drove me away, but my enthusiasm for POETRY (or in this case, playwriting) that brought me towards the blog. Any way, I'm late for my job.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
For those of you Boston fans also too depressed to watch a twenty point spread after the first quarter...
I'm working on getting a pic of my desk. Not like it's anything you haven't seen before -- standard BC ignacio issue, I've fixed so many of these things on the job that I wake up and check my own drawers for loose screws. On an order in the mods today I found a digital camera (thanks again to hungover and exorbitantly wealthy seniors abandoning everything that's not in their pockets on graduation day). It doesn't have a wire, so as soon as I can buy one I'll post pictures (I know, I know, you're all waiting).
In the meantime, I'm offering a play. It's relatively short, a one-act. I wrote it in Scott Cummings' Playwriting II last semester, and I think Katie's the only one who may have seen it. Let me know what you think, I'd like to send it out to have it read sometime soon. It's a first draft, so I'm especially interested in hearing what needs teasing out.
Thanks,
Liam
[post post]
the draft will be on my google-doc thing (through theatticoffice) soon
In the meantime, I'm offering a play. It's relatively short, a one-act. I wrote it in Scott Cummings' Playwriting II last semester, and I think Katie's the only one who may have seen it. Let me know what you think, I'd like to send it out to have it read sometime soon. It's a first draft, so I'm especially interested in hearing what needs teasing out.
Thanks,
Liam
[post post]
the draft will be on my google-doc thing (through theatticoffice) soon
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
River
...aka, What I Do Instead of Looking for a Job. Rain = Flooded Meremac. Usually, people live in that bus. And, I guess I found another desk option.
Also, Kyra: love the story ideas! Tom: really enjoyed the start of your story, I commented on it on docs. Can't wait to see more from everyone!
Desks
...aka, What I Do Instead of Writing. I have three desk options. Some might call me an over-achiever, some might call me indecisive. I call me master procrastinator, and I will post the options here.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Secrets are Hard to Title
There’s this secret I have. It’s an ugly secret, an ugly black secret with yellow teeth and bloodstained claws. I would never dare speak it in a room filled with writers. They would gasp and faint, dig up the bones of Emily Dickenson and stab me with them.
You are all writers, but luckily you are also all at a safe distance. And I bet few of you know the location of Emily’s grave. That is why I feel safe in admitting: rhythm and meter are not my friends.
There now. The worst is over. Let me explain. Many sonnets ago, in an iambic pentameter far removed from my present ill-formed free verse, I was a student at Boston College. As such, I was required to take an art class. I chose music; I am a fool.
“Wait,” you say, “music class is the easy way out. Professor McGrann plays you some CDs, you tap your foot along to a couple of jazzy numbers, and you get an A.”
Wrong, my writer friends. When I tap my foot, I look like a lunatic. I can not find a beat to save my life or my GPA. I am deaf to rhythm and meter.
So there, now you know the whole unsanitary business. It will be no surprise, therefore, when you read my latest attempt at a poem. If it helps, picture me rapidly and randomly tapping my foot when you read it. Because I certainly did when I wrote it.
P.S. Kim, I love everything I write and I am awesome. Yeah, I’m great at poems and making them sound good. I also play the piano well and am considering attending Julliard. [+10 writer points]
You are all writers, but luckily you are also all at a safe distance. And I bet few of you know the location of Emily’s grave. That is why I feel safe in admitting: rhythm and meter are not my friends.
There now. The worst is over. Let me explain. Many sonnets ago, in an iambic pentameter far removed from my present ill-formed free verse, I was a student at Boston College. As such, I was required to take an art class. I chose music; I am a fool.
“Wait,” you say, “music class is the easy way out. Professor McGrann plays you some CDs, you tap your foot along to a couple of jazzy numbers, and you get an A.”
Wrong, my writer friends. When I tap my foot, I look like a lunatic. I can not find a beat to save my life or my GPA. I am deaf to rhythm and meter.
So there, now you know the whole unsanitary business. It will be no surprise, therefore, when you read my latest attempt at a poem. If it helps, picture me rapidly and randomly tapping my foot when you read it. Because I certainly did when I wrote it.
P.S. Kim, I love everything I write and I am awesome. Yeah, I’m great at poems and making them sound good. I also play the piano well and am considering attending Julliard. [+10 writer points]
Friday, June 6, 2008
filling up blog space just to contribute
Hey everyone -
Sorry I'm dead weight. I've decided that the apropriate way to deal with my structure-less existance is to flee - to my friends' beach houses and then new york (tough life, I know). So I haven't been excessively productive.
However, something about the Amtrak route between Providence and New York (I dont even live in Providence. I don't get it either) made me feel very existential and literary, and so I wrote down story ideas (but then I took a nap before elaborating on any of these story ideas). I thought I'd share them with you, since I have no other content for a post, and I like the sound of my own typing:
1. (this is inspired by a sub-plot of atonement and is a little dark/twisted): A victim of sexual abuse from her southern neighborhood ends up growing up and marying the guy.
2. you know how the nephews of hitler all made that pact to never reproduce? Imagine the next hitler has a kid. He makes the same pact with himself. and then he falls for some chick he meets on a train.
(... ok theyre both a little weird so far, and, now that I look at it, are combining love and sex with something dark and sinister. Huh. Don't read into that).
So now that Im posting this, maybe I'll feel obligated to follow through. Good work, everyone!
PS. Im still trying to figure out how to access google docs. I'm easily baffled.
Sorry I'm dead weight. I've decided that the apropriate way to deal with my structure-less existance is to flee - to my friends' beach houses and then new york (tough life, I know). So I haven't been excessively productive.
However, something about the Amtrak route between Providence and New York (I dont even live in Providence. I don't get it either) made me feel very existential and literary, and so I wrote down story ideas (but then I took a nap before elaborating on any of these story ideas). I thought I'd share them with you, since I have no other content for a post, and I like the sound of my own typing:
1. (this is inspired by a sub-plot of atonement and is a little dark/twisted): A victim of sexual abuse from her southern neighborhood ends up growing up and marying the guy.
2. you know how the nephews of hitler all made that pact to never reproduce? Imagine the next hitler has a kid. He makes the same pact with himself. and then he falls for some chick he meets on a train.
(... ok theyre both a little weird so far, and, now that I look at it, are combining love and sex with something dark and sinister. Huh. Don't read into that).
So now that Im posting this, maybe I'll feel obligated to follow through. Good work, everyone!
PS. Im still trying to figure out how to access google docs. I'm easily baffled.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
almost back in action
Hey y'all, figured out that you probably couldn't access the docs I had put up before so I have now glutted my folder on our shared Google Docs. Have to run right now, but I'll update soon. It's been a bit of a hostage situation over here (think: 95 degrees, no AC, no internet (at all), no phone, no alarm system, no mail service, and barred from physically leaving the house waiting for AC repairman...vicious cycle).
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