Work/Break

When I originally applied for MFA programs, I applied in fiction. Fiction seemed more practical; there are at least a few fiction writers who can survive off book sales or the occasional movie adaptation. There are no poets for whom that can be said. This was a downside. Anyway, I rushed the applications, didn’t get in anywhere, and by the time the next application cycle rolled around, I realized I was writing a lot more poetry than stories. Stories seemed like work; poetry was something I was going to do anyway, so I may as well get good at it. I finally decided to stop fighting it, and here I am.

Break provided confirmation for that decision, as I managed to spend quite a bit of time working on new poems and wished I could have done even more. It was (and is) a lot of fun and felt very free.  I’m excited about where my work ended up last semester and have continued on in a similar vein in the intervening weeks. It will be interesting to get back in a classroom environment again to see how people respond.

Useful Christmas Present(s)

It was also interesting to be with my parents in light of all the identity talk I’ve been posting here the past few months. I was at their house for almost a full month (they love me), and by the time I got back to Chicago it kind of felt strange. This was aided by the fact that I left a relatively balmy winter and came back to a snow storm. The boots pictured are the first boots I’ve worn in something like five years, even living in Michigan. I was an idiot to not have boots for so long. Thanks mom!

I also turned 25. My birthday celebration was fairly subdued; at dinner that night my mother said to me that my year of being 24 was pretty good. I had to agree, Getting into graduate school and then starting was a good year. It reminds me of my first time at my local bar when I was talking to the bartender, who was celebrating her birthday. In what I thought was a charming comment, I asked her if she was set up to have a good year. For once I may have said something interesting because she smiled and said she found herself in a good place in her life and she really thought it would be a good year. I wonder if I should think of my life more in those terms: a succession of good years.