It's completely crazy around here. And I'm sleep deprived.
I've been referring to this week as The Eight Day Slog Through Hell and that was accurate ... until the slog got extended to ten days.
After The Ten Day Slog Through Hell is over, I will take a deep breath, a long nap, and then attempt to put together my first job application dossier.
I've talked with people who think my third year is my thesis year. There are programs that work that way. You do two years of coursework and then draft your thesis project on your own time away from the school. For me, yes, year three is thesis year, but I'm still doing course work. Lots and lots of coursework.
For me, year three is the year where I take all the extra hours over the "normal" amount because they wouldn't let me take them when I arrived -- back when I was bored because I had so much time on my hands. Now, when I am an editor and going on the job market, now I have to take extra classes. Yes. Brilliant people. Thanks for talking me into this wonderful set up. Not. Really. So. Much.
I'm sort of working on my thesis. Sort of. Mostly I'm just doing what I need to to get by. And I'm trying to write new stories for workshop that will fit in my thesis.
Official guidelines for writing your thesis project: completion of a book length work of publishable quality. That's all the guidelines say. ALL. Nine words to describe the project without which you cannot get your degree. Thx.
Popular student opinion on how you write a thesis project: take everything you've turned in for workshop, dust, polish, write a table of contents. Which I think is kind of lame. There were a lot of stories I wrote back in the beginning of this workshop that I have no intention of touching again, let alone polishing. Actually, Allison wrote a recent post on something like this.
For one, I'm a much better writer than I was back then. I can't do cosmetic surgery on those stories and expect them to be part of a publishable collection. They'd require surgery on the Dr. Frankenstein level.
For two, I have different interests now. I've written a bunch of disparate stuff over the past couple of years -- realism, fabalism, non-fiction, fantasy -- stuff that's only common thread is that I'm its author.
So I'm writing a bunch of new stuff. I've got two pieces that are done, edited, boom, ready to go. And another four short stories and one would-be-novella that are drafted and need major overhauls. So that's what I'm doing. I'm leaving out stories because they don't fit the collection.
And I want direction -- I plan on demanding direction -- from my advisors about how putting together a collection (and publishing it) works. That info is the kind of thing I've found you have to demand. Part of the art of paddling up river (to invoke the metaphor I started with the earlier State of the MFA posts).
I'm taking control now. I'm paddling. I'm threatening people with the paddle and I'll whack them with it if need be. I'm not waiting for the river to spit me out somewhere. In fact, I'm not entirely certain that I don't want to make my way to an entirely different river. That is, of course, if I don't pass out in my boat from exhaustion first.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The The Impotence of Proofreading
It's paper grading time. So I'm MIA from the blog as I try to conference with 22 students about 22 different projects in the space of 36ish hours.
For you (and them), I present "The The Impotence of Proofreading"
For you (and them), I present "The The Impotence of Proofreading"
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Pause
I said I was going to post a retrospective on the whole MFA to this point, but I paused after writing year two (yes, I wrote it but didn't post it) because I wanted to not let it be one of those overemotional dribbles.
Pausing, at the time being, is a bad idea.
I am in day two of what I am now calling The Eight Day Hellish Slog. Everything is due on or before October 1. Starting yesterday, I'm overwhelmed, overloaded, over programmed and probably under my quota for what would be considered sanity inducing activities and thoughts.
During the weekend, I must write a short story (it's due Oct. 1, of course). I must finish it this weekend because I have no further time to be creative. So, basically, I'm just stressing out about it and not writing it and not necessarily accomplishing any of the major things I have to do in the eight day slog. Bummer. More stress.
Don't worry, the house is well stocked with chocolate.
I'm also cleaning. Cleaning is a sanity inducing activity. It is small. It can be done quickly. It can be done by machines while I do other things. It has very satisfying and visible after effects. Yeah, I like cleaning.
I might be losing it.
Pausing, at the time being, is a bad idea.
I am in day two of what I am now calling The Eight Day Hellish Slog. Everything is due on or before October 1. Starting yesterday, I'm overwhelmed, overloaded, over programmed and probably under my quota for what would be considered sanity inducing activities and thoughts.
During the weekend, I must write a short story (it's due Oct. 1, of course). I must finish it this weekend because I have no further time to be creative. So, basically, I'm just stressing out about it and not writing it and not necessarily accomplishing any of the major things I have to do in the eight day slog. Bummer. More stress.
Don't worry, the house is well stocked with chocolate.
I'm also cleaning. Cleaning is a sanity inducing activity. It is small. It can be done quickly. It can be done by machines while I do other things. It has very satisfying and visible after effects. Yeah, I like cleaning.
I might be losing it.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
State of the MFA: Year Zero
State of the MFA: this week's retrospective on the grad school process and plans for the future.
I begin before the beginning. I begin with year zero.
I've posted in the past about how I finally came to the decision to apply to MFA programs. It was something that I'd greatly resisted when leaving college even though I majored in English writing -- my institution's degree that was half English lit, half writing classes. I thought that writers had to be starving artists because they earned so little.
I rather liked food, so I applied to law school.
In short, law school sucked. The parts of it that were cool, they told me I would not do as a practicing lawyer. The parts of it that were a akin to waterboarding while watching paint dry, were the ones they told me I would do daily for the first ten years I practiced until I could afford to pay someone else to do them for me. So I left.
Panic and whimsy hit me all at once. I was in love with Chicago and I hated it. I walked the South Loop and ground my teeth and hunched my shoulders against the wind and the drizzle. I walked the lake shore and wanted nothing more than to sit next to a young tree and watch the waves. I remember getting a copy of Poets & Writers mailed to me by my mother -- because for some reason you can't buy a newsstand copy of it in Chicago -- and going out to the marina during the last days of October. I sat on the cold cement and dangled my legs over the edge. Behind me, an occasional jogger or cyclist went by. There were no boats tethered except one; the rest were already in winter storage. One lone goose paddled up to me; he hung out with me the whole time I was there just in case I might feed him. The chill seeped through my jeans, and my butt and thighs went numb, I gave the finger to the law school homework I'd been assigned and read every MFA related article in Poets & Writers until I could not feel my fingers for the cold.
Deciding to apply to MFA programs on or around November 1, is a difficult proposition. I don't recommend it as a strategy. But I was desperate, unemployed, not in school, and had just moved back into my parent's house. It was a prove yourself by doing this situation. So I did.
I applied to six schools. Three were reach schools (fully funding all students), two were considered sleeper programs, and one was a safety school. I don't necessarily recommend "safety schools" when applying to MFAs. Wherever you apply to should be someplace you would actually move to and live there if you got in. However, I was in a bit of a strange situation, what with the whole dashing of one plan -- I had done nothing but plan to be a lawyer for the 24 months prior -- and the unemployment, and the when are you going to move out of my house questions ... I was willing to go someplace I didn't really want to go to just to be moving forward. I didn't get into the three schools that fully funded all students -- I later found out that they'd each had 2000-3000 applicants -- but I got into all of the other three, and went to one of the sleeper programs.
But in that dark period between Jan.1, when the last application was due and mid-March when they started letting people know, I did the smartest thing I could have done: I dedicated myself to writing the shitty first draft of a novel. I finished it and proved to myself that I was a finisher not a quitter (quitting law school had put me in danger of thinking that way). And I kept my mind off checking the MFAblog hourly.
At the time, the MFAblog was THE ONLY place to go. Since then it's gone downhill and the Poets&Writers online forums for this sort of thing have improved drastically. But don't post on either, or spend January and February checking either: it will only drive you crazy. And then, two or three years later, you'll realize that you sounded just as naive, pretentious, impatient and whiny when you posted as those people who are posting today.
I think, in an ideal world, I would have asked more questions. I would have taken my time applying. I would have considered low-res programs that fitted my creative needs, instead of looking only for schools that would provide me with an excuse not to take my bizarre skill set into the job market during what was not-yet-called-a-recession. Back then, my mindset was that if I showed up and applied myself, whatever teacher in whatever program could teach me to write well, and I could take that and use it as a foundation for whatever it was I wanted to do. Back then, I also didn't know what I wanted to "do" in terms of my own writing.
I waffle between saying I would have been more successful if I'd waited until I'd known myself better, and saying that I learned more about my writing because I was in the MFA. I think that if you're leaving nothing (like I was) to find yourself, then go and go boldly. If you're leaving a job or moving a spouse ... maybe you want to find yourself first.
I begin before the beginning. I begin with year zero.
I've posted in the past about how I finally came to the decision to apply to MFA programs. It was something that I'd greatly resisted when leaving college even though I majored in English writing -- my institution's degree that was half English lit, half writing classes. I thought that writers had to be starving artists because they earned so little.
I rather liked food, so I applied to law school.
In short, law school sucked. The parts of it that were cool, they told me I would not do as a practicing lawyer. The parts of it that were a akin to waterboarding while watching paint dry, were the ones they told me I would do daily for the first ten years I practiced until I could afford to pay someone else to do them for me. So I left.
Panic and whimsy hit me all at once. I was in love with Chicago and I hated it. I walked the South Loop and ground my teeth and hunched my shoulders against the wind and the drizzle. I walked the lake shore and wanted nothing more than to sit next to a young tree and watch the waves. I remember getting a copy of Poets & Writers mailed to me by my mother -- because for some reason you can't buy a newsstand copy of it in Chicago -- and going out to the marina during the last days of October. I sat on the cold cement and dangled my legs over the edge. Behind me, an occasional jogger or cyclist went by. There were no boats tethered except one; the rest were already in winter storage. One lone goose paddled up to me; he hung out with me the whole time I was there just in case I might feed him. The chill seeped through my jeans, and my butt and thighs went numb, I gave the finger to the law school homework I'd been assigned and read every MFA related article in Poets & Writers until I could not feel my fingers for the cold.
Deciding to apply to MFA programs on or around November 1, is a difficult proposition. I don't recommend it as a strategy. But I was desperate, unemployed, not in school, and had just moved back into my parent's house. It was a prove yourself by doing this situation. So I did.
I applied to six schools. Three were reach schools (fully funding all students), two were considered sleeper programs, and one was a safety school. I don't necessarily recommend "safety schools" when applying to MFAs. Wherever you apply to should be someplace you would actually move to and live there if you got in. However, I was in a bit of a strange situation, what with the whole dashing of one plan -- I had done nothing but plan to be a lawyer for the 24 months prior -- and the unemployment, and the when are you going to move out of my house questions ... I was willing to go someplace I didn't really want to go to just to be moving forward. I didn't get into the three schools that fully funded all students -- I later found out that they'd each had 2000-3000 applicants -- but I got into all of the other three, and went to one of the sleeper programs.
But in that dark period between Jan.1, when the last application was due and mid-March when they started letting people know, I did the smartest thing I could have done: I dedicated myself to writing the shitty first draft of a novel. I finished it and proved to myself that I was a finisher not a quitter (quitting law school had put me in danger of thinking that way). And I kept my mind off checking the MFAblog hourly.
At the time, the MFAblog was THE ONLY place to go. Since then it's gone downhill and the Poets&Writers online forums for this sort of thing have improved drastically. But don't post on either, or spend January and February checking either: it will only drive you crazy. And then, two or three years later, you'll realize that you sounded just as naive, pretentious, impatient and whiny when you posted as those people who are posting today.
I think, in an ideal world, I would have asked more questions. I would have taken my time applying. I would have considered low-res programs that fitted my creative needs, instead of looking only for schools that would provide me with an excuse not to take my bizarre skill set into the job market during what was not-yet-called-a-recession. Back then, my mindset was that if I showed up and applied myself, whatever teacher in whatever program could teach me to write well, and I could take that and use it as a foundation for whatever it was I wanted to do. Back then, I also didn't know what I wanted to "do" in terms of my own writing.
I waffle between saying I would have been more successful if I'd waited until I'd known myself better, and saying that I learned more about my writing because I was in the MFA. I think that if you're leaving nothing (like I was) to find yourself, then go and go boldly. If you're leaving a job or moving a spouse ... maybe you want to find yourself first.
Monday, September 20, 2010
MFA progress update
I recently got this lovely question from HeathcliffsGirl in the comment section:
Nope. Didn't get through it. Still going.
I'm somewhere in the soggy middle of it all. But approaching the bitter end. So at this point, things are both soggy and bitter. And kinda chewy to be honest. Actually, a lot of it is like a badly cooked roast, the kind where the meat tastes like the potatoes and the potatoes taste like the meat, and then your mother-in-law asks you a question and you can't for the life of you answer because you can't seem to chew enough to swallow anything you just put in your mouth no matter how small a piece you took.
I'm embarking on my third of three years in the program. That is, I'm taking a year-and-a-half's worth of classes in one year because they wouldn't let me front load classes. Nooooooo. You gotta overload yourself when you're on your way out. When you're reading for your thesis and trying to compose the thesis and attempting to get yourself ready to go on the job market, that's when no one curtly suggests that you only take 6 credit hours a semester.
A large chunk of the population is trying to figure out if they're going to apply to MFA programs right now. And if so, where and when. I'm trying to figure out what wisdom I've gained from this (opposed to knowledge) and how to succinctly put it.
This week, inspired by HeathcliffsGirl's comment, I'll be posting a "State of the MFA" series of posts, one covering each year. Posting will begin tomorrow morning.
Heathcliffs Girl said...Hey! i Read a couple of posts,mfa related! i guess a few years back?
i cant find what happened next? did you happen to get through?
Nope. Didn't get through it. Still going.
I'm somewhere in the soggy middle of it all. But approaching the bitter end. So at this point, things are both soggy and bitter. And kinda chewy to be honest. Actually, a lot of it is like a badly cooked roast, the kind where the meat tastes like the potatoes and the potatoes taste like the meat, and then your mother-in-law asks you a question and you can't for the life of you answer because you can't seem to chew enough to swallow anything you just put in your mouth no matter how small a piece you took.
I'm embarking on my third of three years in the program. That is, I'm taking a year-and-a-half's worth of classes in one year because they wouldn't let me front load classes. Nooooooo. You gotta overload yourself when you're on your way out. When you're reading for your thesis and trying to compose the thesis and attempting to get yourself ready to go on the job market, that's when no one curtly suggests that you only take 6 credit hours a semester.
A large chunk of the population is trying to figure out if they're going to apply to MFA programs right now. And if so, where and when. I'm trying to figure out what wisdom I've gained from this (opposed to knowledge) and how to succinctly put it.
This week, inspired by HeathcliffsGirl's comment, I'll be posting a "State of the MFA" series of posts, one covering each year. Posting will begin tomorrow morning.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Doh!
I forgot what? No matter how on top of things I seem to be, I sit down at my desk and something I hadn't realized I'd forgotten is placidly staring back up at me.
Oh. Yes. That. I was supposed to do that today. Too.
Meanwhile, my body rebels. It has taken to napping in the early afternoon without my say-so. I've got alarms set on every activity and class in my datebook. I put them there because I was terrified I'd forget ... now they're coming in handy because I'm just not keeping up.
Oh. Yes. That. I was supposed to do that today. Too.
Meanwhile, my body rebels. It has taken to napping in the early afternoon without my say-so. I've got alarms set on every activity and class in my datebook. I put them there because I was terrified I'd forget ... now they're coming in handy because I'm just not keeping up.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Just keep swimmin ... just keep swimmin
Some observations from a life that's been overwhelmed by grad school in less than a week.
(First)
For the local towing company, the fruit has ripened on the vine. The apartment complex switched over from 09-10 parking permits to 10-11 parking permits. They announced this by hanging signs in the club house and made no other efforts to contact residents. For management's lack of effort, McDonald's towing will reap the reward. The sound of their idling rig, strikes panic into me after my car was seized as low hanging fruit last fall. The clank of chains and the sound of the wench send me running to the window to make sure I don't have to run downstairs and save my car from a $150 trip across town without me before they clank the blocks into place behind my front tires and leave.
(Second)
Teachers battling technology distractions are more effective with carrots than sticks. Walking onto campus the other day, I heard a thin, blond, petulant teenager stating her displeasure with her professor's policy of taking away cell phones. She can't do that. We're not in high school, the teenager kept repeating, her phone cradled in her hand as she walked, like it needed attention and comfort from her after its close call.
Her professor's stick approach -- taking away the phones -- was obviously not causing feelings of goodwill and bettering the learning environment. My carrot approach, on the other hand, has been well received. If the students check in their phone and leave it turned off and on the front desk for each class all semester, they get a three percentage point grade bump.
Of course, carrots and sticks wouldn't be needed at all, if everyone -- teenagers and adults, alike -- could realize that using their cellphones to text, chat, surf or even just to check the time during class (or a meeting, or a dinner) is rude, annoying and distracting for everyone involved.
(Lastly)
I may be reciting lines from a fish named Dory, but really, I think I just want to be a cat. Curling up on my pillow with a paw over my nose and ignoring everything I have to do sounds ideal right about now.
(First)
For the local towing company, the fruit has ripened on the vine. The apartment complex switched over from 09-10 parking permits to 10-11 parking permits. They announced this by hanging signs in the club house and made no other efforts to contact residents. For management's lack of effort, McDonald's towing will reap the reward. The sound of their idling rig, strikes panic into me after my car was seized as low hanging fruit last fall. The clank of chains and the sound of the wench send me running to the window to make sure I don't have to run downstairs and save my car from a $150 trip across town without me before they clank the blocks into place behind my front tires and leave.
(Second)
Teachers battling technology distractions are more effective with carrots than sticks. Walking onto campus the other day, I heard a thin, blond, petulant teenager stating her displeasure with her professor's policy of taking away cell phones. She can't do that. We're not in high school, the teenager kept repeating, her phone cradled in her hand as she walked, like it needed attention and comfort from her after its close call.
Her professor's stick approach -- taking away the phones -- was obviously not causing feelings of goodwill and bettering the learning environment. My carrot approach, on the other hand, has been well received. If the students check in their phone and leave it turned off and on the front desk for each class all semester, they get a three percentage point grade bump.
Of course, carrots and sticks wouldn't be needed at all, if everyone -- teenagers and adults, alike -- could realize that using their cellphones to text, chat, surf or even just to check the time during class (or a meeting, or a dinner) is rude, annoying and distracting for everyone involved.
(Lastly)
I may be reciting lines from a fish named Dory, but really, I think I just want to be a cat. Curling up on my pillow with a paw over my nose and ignoring everything I have to do sounds ideal right about now.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Write like a motherfucker
The much delayed "on writing" review post.
Over Labor Day weekend I finished reading the first half of Tom Bird's boo
k The Call of the Writer's Craft
(which for some reason, Amazon.com sells but the posted picture is of the wrong book cover). The first half deals with getting you to get the writing done, and the second half of the book deals with getting you to get your work published. Make no mistake, Tom Bird wants you to be a working writer, not some namby-pamby artiste.
If Julia Cameron (The Artist's Way
) is the writing world's kind, caring therapist -- maybe a little too woo-woo spiritual to be a true Oprah, but not too far off either -- and Anne Lamott (Bird by Bird
) is the writer's Woody Allen, laughing and learning from her own neuroses, then Tom Bird is its Dr. Phil.
Tom Bird and Dr. Phil have the same no-nonsense approach. I get the sense that Tom Bird wants you to do better and be happier, but he's not gonna hold your hand through months of therapy, he's gonna tell it like it is. Namely: to write a book, you have to get in the raw word count. The first half of The Call of the Writer's Craft is tips and strategies for getting over yourself and getting words on the page.
Bird claims you can write a full length book in 3-5 weeks working two hours a day, six days a week. When I first heard this I thought it sounded too much like an infomercial for a fad diet. But the "real diet" science is being it. Real diet = burn more than you eat. Book in 3 weeks = getting several thousand words on the page every day. I still can't figure out why I was originally skeptical; I've done NaNoWriMo's before.
Also quite amusing are Bird's asides where he relays success stories from people who've taken his class. The best part of these tales is that Bird almost always describes each of these people as approaching him in a manner that he found awkward, annoying, off-putting or petulant. Then he snapped them out of their annoyingness and they succeeded! I have no idea how many writers the world can credit Tom Bird with helping (the number is likely written in the books somewhere), but it can credit him with making at least a dozen people less petulant.
Switching gears from tough love writing book to tough love writing essay, there's this fabulous essay ... or should I say letter to a young writer--although I have to say that Rilke 
was never quite this forthright or fresh. I like it. (Found via Margosita).
Both pieces encourage us to write like a motherfucker.
Over Labor Day weekend I finished reading the first half of Tom Bird's book The Call of the Writer's Craft (which for some reason, Amazon.com sells but the posted picture is of the wrong book cover). The first half deals with getting you to get the writing done, and the second half of the book deals with getting you to get your work published. Make no mistake, Tom Bird wants you to be a working writer, not some namby-pamby artiste.
If Julia Cameron (The Artist's Way
) is the writing world's kind, caring therapist -- maybe a little too woo-woo spiritual to be a true Oprah, but not too far off either -- and Anne Lamott (Bird by Bird) is the writer's Woody Allen, laughing and learning from her own neuroses, then Tom Bird is its Dr. Phil.
Tom Bird and Dr. Phil have the same no-nonsense approach. I get the sense that Tom Bird wants you to do better and be happier, but he's not gonna hold your hand through months of therapy, he's gonna tell it like it is. Namely: to write a book, you have to get in the raw word count. The first half of The Call of the Writer's Craft is tips and strategies for getting over yourself and getting words on the page.
Bird claims you can write a full length book in 3-5 weeks working two hours a day, six days a week. When I first heard this I thought it sounded too much like an infomercial for a fad diet. But the "real diet" science is being it. Real diet = burn more than you eat. Book in 3 weeks = getting several thousand words on the page every day. I still can't figure out why I was originally skeptical; I've done NaNoWriMo's before.
Also quite amusing are Bird's asides where he relays success stories from people who've taken his class. The best part of these tales is that Bird almost always describes each of these people as approaching him in a manner that he found awkward, annoying, off-putting or petulant. Then he snapped them out of their annoyingness and they succeeded! I have no idea how many writers the world can credit Tom Bird with helping (the number is likely written in the books somewhere), but it can credit him with making at least a dozen people less petulant.
Switching gears from tough love writing book to tough love writing essay, there's this fabulous essay ... or should I say letter to a young writer--although I have to say that Rilke was never quite this forthright or fresh. I like it. (Found via Margosita).
Both pieces encourage us to write like a motherfucker.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Link grab-bag: writers, self-promotion, and Goldilocks
There's bee some interesting noise on the internet over the past six months regarding writers who promote too soon -- a definite change in the previous idea of promote as soon as possible to grow your base! Sheesh. Conflicting advice. Fun. Anyway, the don't-promote-too-soon camp has some good points to make.
I'm fascinated by this.
I was rapt by this.
Then, things started getting tricky.
I paused.
I (mentally) shifted my weight back to my heels.
Then I felt vaugely wondrous and triumphant, even though it wasn't me doing the triumphing. Or the work.
I'm fascinated by this.
I was rapt by this.
Then, things started getting tricky.
I paused.
I (mentally) shifted my weight back to my heels.
Then I felt vaugely wondrous and triumphant, even though it wasn't me doing the triumphing. Or the work.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Sputter-choke
Sputter-choke is the WTF? cousin of the snort-laugh, happened to me yesterday when these two commercials aired back to back on cable TV.
Actually, it was the newer KFC Double Down commercial, the one with a bunch of 20-35 year old men saying today is the day I will... [do something inspiring] ... today is the day I will eat this sandwich with two chicken patties and two, yes two strips of bacon ... etc.
Yeah, that caught me off guard. I almost choked on my dinner. Thankfully, it was a dinner of green beans, tomatoes and a hamburger without the bun or dressing.
Actually, it was the newer KFC Double Down commercial, the one with a bunch of 20-35 year old men saying today is the day I will... [do something inspiring] ... today is the day I will eat this sandwich with two chicken patties and two, yes two strips of bacon ... etc.
Yeah, that caught me off guard. I almost choked on my dinner. Thankfully, it was a dinner of green beans, tomatoes and a hamburger without the bun or dressing.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Issue with "Follow" widget
For some reason that I cannot determine, my "follow" widget is only working when viewed in Internet Explorer. When I try to view it in Chrome, the widget does not appear. When viewed in Firefox, the widget is sporadically there. Oh fickle technology.
If you're still interested in following the blog -- and I appreciate it if you are -- you can add Speak Coffee to Me to your follow list manually by taking the following steps.
If you're still interested in following the blog -- and I appreciate it if you are -- you can add Speak Coffee to Me to your follow list manually by taking the following steps.
- Copy the blog URL: http://speakcoffeetome.blogspot.com
- Go to your Blogger.com Dashboard
- Scroll down to the middle white box under the header READING LIST, make sure the BLOGS I'M FOLLOWING tab is open (it should be the first one), and click on the blue button at the bottom of the box that says ADD.
- Then paste the blog URL into the provided box, and hit NEXT.
Ad of the Week
Ad of the Week is a break from blogging to showcase a creative, intriguing, or straight up bizarre commercial advertisement. I endorse no products, just the ads themselves.
This ad makes me want four wheel roller skates (not Rollerblades), and it makes me want to go to Disney. But I'd settle for roller skates.
This ad makes me want four wheel roller skates (not Rollerblades), and it makes me want to go to Disney. But I'd settle for roller skates.
Friday, September 03, 2010
End of week grab-bag o' links: odds, ends and social networking
I now have to read the Hunger Games
books because I suddenly noticed everyone on the internet flipping out about the release of Mockingjay
. (Okay, not everyone, but at least all the YA bloggers.) I did not know I was supposed to be waiting with bated breath for the release of the third book. My bad. So I will perform odd acts of anticipatory breathing while waiting for copies to become available from my local library. There's a wait list there as well, so it's almost the same thing, right?There's a blog party going on this weekend. Are you going? I am. And if you're here because of the labor day blog party: welcome!
On Speak Coffee to Me, the "About" page is now fully updated. Before there had been all that boring shit about education, etc. Now the education stuff is buried in an enchanting narrative. At least, it's meant to be enchanting. Or at least engaging. Anyway, it's a story not a CV, so hopefully it's interesting.
If you lurk, but do not follow, now would be a great time to click on the "Follow" button on the right-hand sidebar, just between the eileenwiedbrauk.com logo and the advertisements.
Funny and funny, corporate style.
Recent articles on the web about writers and social networking.
- From Writer Unboxed, how to use your facebook page to your advantage. Also from Writer Unboxed, why you don't need a facebook page.
- From Fine Printe Literary Management blog, "Social Networking 101" -- except all they really say is that you need a blog, then they discuss what to blog about. Answer: books! And be aware of your voice. Look! Now you don't even have to follow the link! As an example of voice they recommend the Bloggess. Sheesh. Talk about telling newbies to aim high.
- And lastly, a not-all-that-recent article from Writer's Digest on the subject of social networking. As always, Writer's Digest is only good for covering the basics in a bare fashion, but it's a good place to start if you don't know where to start.
- Next week I'll put up the semi-related links to thoughts regarding social networking and author promotion.
I'm not in possession of the black coffee mug at the moment; it's living at my father's house where it is sheltered by sentimentality surrounding it of which this blog is a symptom rather than a cause.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Jesus in goal for the Wings
Inspired by theLiz's post "Pet My Peeves," I'm sharing my top ten list of personal pet peeves. Perhaps it's appropriate that this is today's topic, because for the past 24 hours I've had "We Build This City" by Jefferson Starship (or were they just Starship by then?) stuck in my head. We built this city ... we built this city on ... rock ... and ... roll. Built this city. Sigh. Marcone plays the mamba, listen to the ra-di-o. Don't you remember, we built this city ... we built this city on ... rock ... and ... roll. Now, pet peeves:
(10) Weak hand shakers. Particularly people who don't actually grasp your hand, but sort of press your hand between their thumb and first few fingers. That's not a handshake, people, that's how you pick up a sandwich.
(9) Women who wear leggings as pants. They are not pants any more than panyhose are pants. Cover your crotch with an additional garment. See yesterday's post about the jegging for more more clarification.
(8) Men with excessive chest hair who go jogging shirtless. For you, I have one word: manscaping.
(7) People who ask what you're going to do with your degree. I'm willing to cut some slack to those who ask "What are you planning to do after graduation?" It's the ones who phrase it, "And what do you think you'll do with an English degree?" that I want to smack.
(6) Walking down the isle to Pacobel's Cannon. As "classy" as classical music is, and as "original" as you think you are to not walk down the isle to the Wedding March, you are still bordering on pretentious. Then again, not everyone can be as cool as these people:
(5) Close talkers and strangers who hug. If you grew up in Europe, maybe I'll cut you some slack, but otherwise, if I have to lean away from you to feel like we can have a conversation without necking, then I don't want to have a conversation with you, period. Also, I don't like hugging strangers. Awkward. If I hug, it's because I care about you. If I just met you, get the fuck out of my personal space.
(4) Overgrown toenails. And/or nasty toenails which are put on display via open toed shoes or sandals. If you're a dude, trim the nails down. There is no reason your toenail should be way, way out there overhanging your toe. Same goes for women. Except for women I'd like to add an extra step: if the world can see your toes, the toenails should be painted. Even if it's just a light shade, even if it's slightly chipped. It's amazing how much less gross you'll look for this small effort.
(3) People who, when speaking aloud, pronounce the letters OMG. "Oh-em-gee, guys!" Gag me. Come on peeps, it stands for Oh My God! Know that before you exclaim! Unless you're doing it for comic effect --which can be pretty hillarious, I admit-- just say the damn words. It won't take you any longer than pronouncing the letters.
(2) When the officiant at a wedding announces the new couple as something like Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Drundle. Take your husband's last name or don't -- I really don't care if you want to go through the hassle / paperwork nightmare of legally changing your name -- but for crying out loud, Mrs. Jacob? Five minutes ago that woman had a first name -- her own first name -- there was absolutely no need to make her borrow her husband's. You two may now be a couple in every respect that matters to the social, religious and governmental powers that be, but you are still two people. Your husband does not absorb you into his being when you say 'I do.' So, no. No, she's not chattel. She is not of Mr. Jacob Drundle; she is his partner. So do us all a favor, and announce the couple as Mr. and Mrs. Drundle.
(1) Graffiti (or bumperstickers) that say "Jesus Saves." There's proabably 30 miles of US-23 in Michigan where someone has spray painted "Jesus Saves" on a concrete pylon of each overpass. I also once got stuck behind a semi where someone had written the phrase in the dirt on the back of the truck. I have no problem with the expression of religious sentiment in this regard, what I take issue with is that "saves," in this usage, is a transitive verb and it needs to take a frickin object! Give Jesus something to save -- don't leave him hanging! Unless Jesus is in goal for the Red Wings, he can't just "save." The verb does not work like that, people! Jesus can misuse grammar however he likes, but you have no such excuse.
Care to leave a comment and share your pet peeves? Or, if you write your own post, leave a link in the comments section and let me know.
Meanwhile. I've still got that song stuck in my head.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Je-what?-ings
Here's something I never thought I'd say: I am now the proud owner of a pair of jeggings.
(Godhelpme)
That's right, jeggings. Jean-leggings. Stretchy denim that's cling-to-your-ass tight and (it gets worse) ends in an elastic waistband. None of the pocket / zipper detail is functional.
Jeggings are meant to be worn under those too-long-to-be-a-shirt but too-short-to-be-anything-but-a-skanky-dress tops. This means that pockets and button flies would make the look bulky and bumpy. So why the designers bothered with the pseudo-pocket and fly detail, I will never know.
Now, I will be the first to admit that the jegging is a questionable fashion trend. Also, I freely (and rationally) admit that I am not stick skinny. But the jegging is comfortable and has a sliming effect. I also think the jegging can be worked with less controversy than the legging as long as everyone remembers that the first rule of the legging applies to both skin-tight pants styles: cover your hooha -- cover it twice.
When you gad about town in a jegging you gotta roll like this shot of celeb Sienna Miller (no, I've never heard of Sienna Miller but she was the first real person to come up when I did an image search and someone else had heard of her so here she is). [edit: I guess she was some minor character in Stardust.] Notice how everything we don't really want to see is covered once with pants, and twice with that spiffy long top. As I mentioned before, it's all about the long top. Therefore I see the existence of the jegging as something that has grown out of the long top trend, and something that should not evolve and/or mutate into being worn in other ways.
(Godhelpme)
That's right, jeggings. Jean-leggings. Stretchy denim that's cling-to-your-ass tight and (it gets worse) ends in an elastic waistband. None of the pocket / zipper detail is functional.
Jeggings are meant to be worn under those too-long-to-be-a-shirt but too-short-to-be-anything-but-a-skanky-dress tops. This means that pockets and button flies would make the look bulky and bumpy. So why the designers bothered with the pseudo-pocket and fly detail, I will never know.
When you gad about town in a jegging you gotta roll like this shot of celeb Sienna Miller (no, I've never heard of Sienna Miller but she was the first real person to come up when I did an image search and someone else had heard of her so here she is). [edit: I guess she was some minor character in Stardust.] Notice how everything we don't really want to see is covered once with pants, and twice with that spiffy long top. As I mentioned before, it's all about the long top. Therefore I see the existence of the jegging as something that has grown out of the long top trend, and something that should not evolve and/or mutate into being worn in other ways.
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