• 30Nov
    Categories: Weblogs Comments: 0

    Here it is: the last post of NowBloMe,YO. I wanted to be funny. I wanted to be profound. Or maybe sentimental, in a sweet, by not cloying, sort of way. But I’m afraid that all I feel like doing tonight is showing up. Friday, you know? I’m tired by Friday, and I’m feeling it now.

    I’m not going to lie about it; I really enjoyed NoBloNoMo. I didn’t think it was that hard, and although I didn’t always feel like doing it I managed to get it done. Some days were better than others. The best part, of course, was connecting with so many cool people all over the world each and every day for a month. My little corner of the blogosphere has been humming, and I’ve been digging on that energy. I have made new connections, and deepened old ones, and I’ve seen bloggers that I’ve known and enjoyed over the last year — but that didn’t know each other — find each other, through me. That’s a charge.

    Also, the list of blogs I like to read daily has about tripled, and while that’s probably not great for my time-management goals, it’s fun. The thing about writing every day is that you never know what you’ll come up with. There are days that I’m sure I’ve got nothing, and so I started posting about how I had nothing, and while my fingers were tapping, I’d start thinking harder, and before I knew it I was off and running with something I actually liked. That’s the way with writing, right? You just do it. You just do it, and trust the process, and the words will come. Not always the words you expect, or maybe not the words you want, but if you show up to do the work, the words will meet you halfway.

    It’s like the camera. If you don’t bring it with you, you can’t take the picture. And if you don’t take the picture, well, you’ve got nothing. You have to begin. You have to look through the viewfinder, at least. You have to press the shutter.

    It’s a good lesson for me to keep in mind as I get ready to begin my MFA in January. Do the work and trust the process. It’s my expectations that paralyze me. Wanting a story to be something in particular. Wanting it to come out a certain way. Never even trying to write it for fear that it won’t be what I imagine. How stupid, right? Of course it won’t be what I imagine — I haven’t written it yet.

    It’s like the camera. I set out to make a certain image, and in my attempt to make it I discover an image I never imagined.

    It’s about showing up. Because if you don’t show up, you can’t do the work. And if you don’t do the work, you’ll never make anything. So here I am: showing up.

    Now, then. Where’s my motherfucking prize?

  • 29Nov
    Categories: Fictional Comments: 0

    More from the archives — my man has been at a conference or something every evening this week and I am spent. I have no original or enlightening thoughts for you. At the moment, my three chickens are running in circles around the living room ottoman to the sounds of Madonna’s “Material World.” I cannot think, and so I give you a little ditty I wrote for a writing assignment at the Kenyon Writers’ Workshop a few summers ago.

    The assignment was to write an epistolary story in which one of the parties was “The Pottery Enthusiast Newsletter”. And there was also a list of random words that we had to include at least two of for each story we wrote, and we wrote a story a day for five days. For this story I used “fountain pen” and “dictionary”.

    Anyway, it’s untitled, and it’s silly, but I like Mrs Parkinson. I may use her again someday.

    To: editor@potteryenthusiast.net
    From: mparkinson@laposada.com
    Subject: refund request
    Sent: Wed 5/27/2005 12:32pm

    Dear Editor:

    I picked up a recent copy of the Poettry Enthusiast Newsletter at Whole Foods Market and was dismayed to find only one poem in the entire newsletter! I have to question the title of your magazine, and find it terribly misleading that you call yourself a poettry “enthusiast,” and yet I found only a single poem in the issue, on the last page, by a Miss Patricia Raintree. While I certainly admire Miss Raintree’s effort, Flannery O’Connor she is not, to say the least.

    I write to request a refund of the $1.25 I paid for my copy. I am an old woman who was only recently released from the hospital for a serious condition involving parts too personal to mention, and I am on a very fixed income. It may not seem like a great deal of money to you, but on my budget, every penny counts.

    Sincerely,
    Millicent Parkinson
    1450 La Posada Rd. #22
    San Dimeon, CA 95031

    To: mparkinson@laposada.com
    From: editor@potteryenthusiast.net
    Subject: refund request
    Sent: Fri 5/29/2005 6:14am

    Dear Ms. Parkinson:

    I am sorry for your confusion regarding the newsletter, but perhaps you have by now realized that the newsletter is the POTTERY Enthusiast, not the Poettry Enthusiast. Poetry, by the way, is spelled with only one “t”.

    While I understand and am sympathetic to your disappointment, The Pottery Enthusiast is a small publication devoted to building community among ceramic artists in the area. Our subscriptions barely cover our printing expenses, and I am simply not in a position to refund your money. Since you purchased it there, perhaps the Whole Foods Market would be able to refund your money.

    Best,
    Stephen Johanssen
    Editor, PEN

    To: editor@potteryenthusiast.net
    From: mparkinson@laposada.com
    Subject: refund request
    Sent: Sat 5/30/2005 4:25pm

    Dear Mr. Johnson:

    I already tried to bring my copy of your newsletter back to Whole Foods but they would not take it as they claim to have some sort of store policy about refunding money for reading material. According to the manager there, the policy is irretrievable.

    I would expect that you have a great deal more independence and flexibility than a big corporation like Whole Foods, and could refund my money if you so chose. It is a small amount of money after all, and although I’m sure your newsletter is very important to the ceramical artists in the area, I hardly think it is more important than the health and well being of another human being, also in the community, who suffers from a rare and painful cancer, such as myself. I must ask that you reconsider my request.

    Sincerely,
    Mrs. Millicent Parkinson

    To: editor@potteryenthusiast.net
    From: mparkinson@laposada.com
    Subject: refund request
    Sent: Wed 6/4/2005 12:15pm

    Mr. Johnson:

    It has been almost a week and I have not heard from you regarding my refund. I do hope that you didn’t attempt to send cash through the mail. Even though the amount is small, it would probably be better to send a check. I am concerned now that the money may have been lost. In case you misplaced it, my address (again) is 1450 La Posada Rd., #22, San Dimeon, CA 95031.

    Please do write and let me know the date you sent my refund, so that I may track it down.

    Sincerely,
    Mrs. Millicent Parkinson

    To: mparkinson@laposada.com
    From: editor@potteryenthusiast.net
    Subject: refund request
    Sent: Thu 6/5/2005 7:06am

    Ms. Parkinson:

    The Pottery Enthusiast is really little more than a personal venture, a labor of love, if you will. There is no checking account attached to it, and therefore I cannot send you a check, for $1.25, or for any amount.

    Since you do not wish to receive cash through the mail, perhaps I could offer you one free issue and a reduced-rate subscription to the Pottery Enthusiast? Have you ever considered taking up pottery? It can be very therapeutic for those suffering long-term illness.

    Best,
    Stephen Johannsen
    Editor, PEN

    To: editor@potteryenthusiast.net
    From: mparkinson@laposada.com
    Subject: refund request
    Sent: Fri 6/6/2005 12:21pm

    Mr. Johnston:

    I find it terribly insensitive that you would offer a poor old woman, who suffers from severely dehabilitating arthritis, a subscription to your useless and misleading publication. I have made it abundantly clear that I do not have room in my budget for new hobbies. I wonder if Whole Foods would be interested to know about your very poor record of customer service, and your attempt to swindle me not only out of my $1.25, but also an additional subscription fee?

    May I also request that you cease addressing me as “Ms.” Parkinson. I have clearly written “Mrs.” on all our correspondence, but you apparently have not taken note. I was married for 37 years to Mr. Alfred J. Parkinson, and I would appreciate it if you would have the decency to honor his memory.

    Please send me my refund immediately. Cash will do fine, but perhaps you should send it certificated mail.

    Mrs. Millicent Parkinson

    Mrs. Millicent Parkinson VIA CERTIFIED MAIL
    1450 La Posada Rd. #22
    San Dimeon, CA 95031

    Monday June 9, 2005

    Mrs. Parkinson:

    Let me start by saying that I did not appreciate the threatening tone of your last email. I have an excellent record of customer service, and I have tried to be as accommodating with you as possible. Let me now attempt to make a couple of things “abundantly clear:”

    First, the Pottery Enthusiast is a newsletter serving the ceramic arts community in San Dimeon. It is not, and never has been, about poetry. You misread the title when you purchased the newsletter, which is not my fault.

    Second, I am not inclined to take money out of my own pocket for your mistake, particularly when you have threatened my reputation, accused me of trying to cheat you, and have addressed me by every conceivable variation of my name except the correct one.

    Finally, I have enclosed a recent issue of Marco Polo, which is a lovely poetry magazine I got from a friend. I hope this will meet your poetry-reading needs, and convince you of my good intentions. I have also enclosed a dictionary, which it is clear to me that you could use, and a fountain pen I found in an old desk in my garage.

    All the best,

    Stephen Johanssen
    Editor, PEN

    To: editor@marcopolo.org
    From: mparkinson@laposada.com
    Subject: refund request
    Sent: Fri 6/6/2005 12:21pm

    Dear Editor:

    I picked up a recent copy of Marco Polo magazine at Barnes & Noble and was dismayed to find within it no information whatsoever regarding Marco Polo. I have to question the title of your magazine, and find it terribly misleading that you choose to call it Marco Polo, and yet include within its pages no information about Marco Polo, or any other American explorer for that matter.

    Therefore, I write to request a refund of the $7.95 I paid for my copy. I am an old woman who was only recently released from the hospital for a serious condition involving parts too personal to mention, and I am on a very fixed income. It may not seem like a great deal of money to you, but on my budget, every penny counts.

    Sincerely,
    Millicent Parkinson
    1450 La Posada Rd. #22
    San Dimeon, CA 95031

  • 26Nov
    Categories: Weblogs Comments: 0

    Just lost a long and turning-out-to-be very cool post about what I want for Christmas. Now I am just about out of time for this today and can’t redo it — my gala event for English PEN is tonight, and I have to: print some photographs, get dressed, get the chickens from school, prepare a snack for them, and get Girlish, Boyish, and Baybish’s overnight bags ready for the babysitting that is about to ensue. Baybish won’t actually be spending the night (she needs her mama), but the other two will. It’s going to be a late night, but hopefully also a fun one.

    Tags:
  • 11Nov

    Or at least one is. The one I’m looking for. I was going to copy something out of it for you because I am at a loss for ideas that I can write without agonizing over for the next two hours. I don’t have that kind of time tonight.

    Because it’s NaBloPoMo I’m finding that my need to work and rework every sentence I write, and to crop, process, and worry over every detail in every photograph I put up is running up up against the time constraints of daily posting. And so I noted that one of my idols, the absolutely hilarious Alice over at finslippy, posted something yesterday from some old files on her computer, and it absolutely cracked me up. And reminded me of how it strange it feels when you come back to things you’ve written and forgotten about. So tonight I went digging through some old journals, and through some computer files.

    And came up realizing I must be missing one of the boxes from study.

    Although it doesn’t look like it now, my general practice is to spend most of my writing energy writing fiction. I’m beginning work on an MFA at Warren Wilson in January, and although it’s bloggy-style all November long, in January I will have to fully shift my attention back to my imaginary world. With that in mind, I decided to do a little limbering up here, starting with my habit of sometimes writing things down that happen to me as if I read them in a book. I do this particularly if I think there might be a seed of a character or a story for me there, or maybe something that might fit into something I’m working on.

    So, after all that, here’s one that’s stuck in my mind for some reason, an encounter with two characters in a bank in Sacramento, going on two years ago:

    “You need a bath,” the woman behind me said, shifting the baby to her other hip.

    At the front of the line, a short man with dark curls and a white blazer admired himself in the security monitor hanging directly over his head. He turned each cheek to the camera and stroked it, his eyes fixed on the monitor, inspecting his stubble. He grinned at himself, as if he were admiring his teeth in the privacy of his bathroom at home, and tugged his shirt collar open a bit wider, affording the camera a better shot of the tangle of black hair curling beneath his collarbone.

    “You need a bath,” the woman behind me said again — sniffing the baby’s neck as if he smelled bad, as if it was the baby’s fault he hadn’t been washed.