Another Marvelous Monday

Here is where you roll your eyes like I did.

I have another midterm looming in the horizon. Tomorrow night to be specific. I'm not sure I've spoken about this class. It's American Literature after the Civil War. I had looked forward to reading Hemingway, Twain and Fitzgerald. And not because I particularly love those authors, but in order to teach them, I wanted to learn more about them and their masterworks. But alas, it was not meant to be.

The professor specializes in poetry, so instead of classics, we are reading American Modern Poetry. I'm not a fan of poems. I am not a snob, but sometimes, I just can't stand a poem that is hard to understand, that takes way more time to read than fifteen pages of a book.

So here I am, the weekend before my midterm, trying to memorize who wrote which poem and make sure I am able to even identify the poem without the title and author. (Part of the test). Then I need to compose an essay to write during the test, comparing two poems. I really hope my head doesn't explode from this. It would be messy and I'm sure it won't feel very good.

But the light at the end of the tunnel is near. Not the semester end (which is my favorite date right now), but once I get past tests and papers and have about a month until the next wave of tests and papers.

Should I do Nanowrimo? I'm not quite sure yet. It's possible that I would find it relaxing, but it's also possible that it could put me over the edge. What about Nanoedimo? That, I might be able to handle...

Back to Blogging, Back to School

Thanks, Charlie, for reminding me about my blog. I didn't realize it had been so long since I last posted.

In May I applied to graduate school for secondary education in English. I got in! It's my alma mater, so it wasn't surprising. I'm about a month and a half into the semester and while both classes (I'm only taking two) are undergraduate, they are still challenging. The English certification is comprised mostly of undergraduate survey classes. And the hard part isn't what they cover, but finding time to do classwork. Because I'm still working full-time.

Then there's my writing. What writing you say? Exactly. I haven't worked on my novel since August, but I worked darn hard to edit it then. Maybe come Nano month, I will work on it or another project. Time will tell. But the one thing I've really learned so far?

Going back to school isn't as glamorous as it seemed this summer. 

It's a lot of sacrifice. Like last weekend. I spent the majority of it working on two papers and getting all my reading for Monday and Tuesday done. But I guess I can rest easy the rest of the week, seeing as how I edited both papers and finished even Wednesday's reading. The one thing that makes me smile? The majority of students in my class, as of last night, had not even written one word of their six-page paper that is due tomorrow. And me? Seven pages and printed. That counts as writing, doesn't it?

Rejections

I applied to nine grad schools. Here is my progression the past few weeks. Bear in mind that I'm being partially sarcastic and purposefully dramatic as it makes me feel better. There is no need to worry about my sanity (we writers have so little anyway, right?).


1st rejection:     Bummed. That school was my second choice. I'll admit it, I cried.

2nd rejection:    Bummed still, but the school wasn't high on my list. Oh well...seven more!

3rd rejection:    Oh man! That's 1/3 of my applications! I'm reluctant to give up hope yet.

4th rejection:    I'm worried there is a pattern emerging. Maybe my writing is too plain?

5th rejection:    Maybe I should have spent even more time on my applications. Like months instead of weeks?

6th rejection:    Maybe my writing sucks. Maybe I suck.

7th rejection:    Why don't they like me? Do I even like me? I'm almost completely convinced I'm not going to grad school, but darn that little bit of hope that's still alive.

8th rejection:    Wallowing in self-pity and doubt. That bottle of rum is looking mighty good right now.

9th rejection:    Well, there goes my savings, my self-esteem, and my will to live. It sucks to do something you love and no one else thinks you're good at it.

MFAs, Short Stories, and Crap No One Cares About

I just read a brilliant blog post. Seen here.

Sure, I agree with all of it, but at the same time, I don't agree with it. Literary short stories are studied again and again by creative writing students. They are lovely, but they are hard to get right. Trust me, I've been there in my undergrad. Never in my life would I want to try to publish a collection of my short stories. I think that they serve a different purpose. They provide support. If a story gets published in a magazine, they give my writing credibility. They show that I can write well, and I'm not the only one that thinks so. Writing any type of short story, literary or genre, helps a person as a writer. You have create a world in under 6,000 words. It hones your craft. So, I'm both for and against short stories in that respect. And honestly, I rarely ever consider reading a collection of short stories unless I've been told to by a professor. But seeing as how I won't be going to grad school this year*, I guess I'm off the hook.

* Waiting on one school. Expect a blog post soon.

I have returned

In more ways than one.

I am back from Chicago. It was beautiful there. The weather was calm and clear and the architecture was gorgeous. I didn't have much time to walk around, but I enjoyed what I could.

Now that I was back in Maryland (as of Sunday night), I decided I needed to get back to work (both real work and writing work). So, I made up my mind and moved out of the apartment I was staying in. I'm back home with my parents (hides head in shame), and what's left for me is to work on my grad applications and to get my butt working on my new novel. Oh, NANO how I've failed thee so far....