Monday, April 19, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
New Approach to Life
Yesterday I finished my last class.
Wesley woke up and made me biscuits saying, "This could be your last last day of class for twenty years or more!" Weird--since I've been going to school for almost twenty years (seventeen). School has been my hobby and skill for a long time; I'm still a student, but I guess it's time for new hobbies and skills!
As I reflected on this today, I almost burst with gratitude for the opportunities I've had, but also for the gift I have to appreciate staying home for my family. I still have so much to learn.
Book Capsules
"Fisica sublime has the necessary rhythm, the dreaming tone of the unending, ever-approximated, never-known." --Patrick Madden, "Finity," Quotidiana
The whole purpose of starting this blog was not to blab about myself and my life and all that--I never meant it to become a public journal entry or even a photo album of my decidedly darling boys. My intent was (and still is) to keep a log of the things I read. A commonplace entry of the snippets I devoured and my thoughts on them. Alas--I am once again behind. I will probably not spend time on the small essays or poems I've enjoyed. I will probably not tell you about Elizabeth Bishop's formal movements or Czeslaw Milosz's endearing politics or even Lynn Kilpatrick's surprising short stories in the shape of poetry. But, to pretend I can catch up, I'll offer a few book capsules of my recent reading.
Quotidiana by Patrick Madden. Delightful, tangential, poignant. Somehow he can tie Rush into anything (including grapes) offer a calculation for even literary concepts, and provide quotes from so many varied sources that you wonder how he discovers all of them (because he doesn't just Google search for those). These essays stray, meander, trollop--they are not quick snapshots, they are maps searching the universe. Reaching an essay's conclusion always surprises me: how do you pause infinity? I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend the essays. As a collection there is an obvious/loose connection (the author) but the pieces could be enjoyed on their own. If you're a bedtime reader, especially if you read for an hour or so before, this would be great. I read most of the book standing in line; although I had to interrupt some of the pieces, it is easy to dive right back into them (in part because they are written in fragments). Uplifting, humorous, but not snarky or cheesy in any way. I appreciate that he can write the way that he does. Read it.
Words for Empty and Words for Full by Bob Hicok. Awesome: something unexpected in every turn. Hicok does not shy away from sentimentality and I think he's rewarded for it. Revise that: sentiment as in emotion--not in the connotations of "sentimentality." This book's organization seems to be a deliberate focus of certain ideas, but I think it is better if each poem is enjoyed on its own. As usual, Hicok's day-to-day process appeals to me. Love his work--still, if you plan to read him, note that he uses some sexual and vulgar language .
This is Not a Novel by David Markson. I really wish I could appreciate this book more. It's an interesting project, but I wanted more substance to the text. Not bad, but lacking the weight that it purports to have.
The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory by Brian Greene. I gobbled this book--and I'm no physics person. Greene wrote it for the intrigued un-experts. He uses interesting metaphors to explain the history and theories that inform our contemporary perspective of how the universe works. I've been looking at the world around me in a significantly different way as a result. This is definitely worth reading, but not for those who want a quick read. I listened to it on 13 discs. Took a while.
The Meaning of Everything: The Story of the OED by Simon Winchestor. Leave it to a geologists to research the 71 year saga of the Oxford English Dictionary's creation. I leaped around the kitchen as I told Wesley about this book. I'll probably even buy it. I'm a word nerd anyway, but this makes you appreciate the language and the constantly changing symbols we cling to even more.
Crash's Law by Karen Volkman. Gorgeous. Balances music and meaning well (more so than her later, also interesting, collections). It is a book to read for pleasure and also study. Very useful for writers, but also lovely for people who just want to read. (she has a European style of reading, which some appreciate more than others. She just read at BYU--here's a taste of a rather interesting experience http://ers.byu.edu/play.php?filepath=2010-KarenVolkman).
Halls of Fame by John D'Agata. Intelligent, quirky, creative. It didn't really resonate as a whole for me though. I know he's great, I recognize the pieces are well crafted, but I felt pushed away more than invited in. As a commentary on form and how people seek to create meaning for/out of themselves though, it's worthwhile. Especially when compared to Ander Monson's Neck Deep and Other Predicaments.
There are others, but I think that will suffice. Perhaps in my nonstudent life I will start reviewing books seriously instead of offering meager summaries!
The whole purpose of starting this blog was not to blab about myself and my life and all that--I never meant it to become a public journal entry or even a photo album of my decidedly darling boys. My intent was (and still is) to keep a log of the things I read. A commonplace entry of the snippets I devoured and my thoughts on them. Alas--I am once again behind. I will probably not spend time on the small essays or poems I've enjoyed. I will probably not tell you about Elizabeth Bishop's formal movements or Czeslaw Milosz's endearing politics or even Lynn Kilpatrick's surprising short stories in the shape of poetry. But, to pretend I can catch up, I'll offer a few book capsules of my recent reading.
Quotidiana by Patrick Madden. Delightful, tangential, poignant. Somehow he can tie Rush into anything (including grapes) offer a calculation for even literary concepts, and provide quotes from so many varied sources that you wonder how he discovers all of them (because he doesn't just Google search for those). These essays stray, meander, trollop--they are not quick snapshots, they are maps searching the universe. Reaching an essay's conclusion always surprises me: how do you pause infinity? I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend the essays. As a collection there is an obvious/loose connection (the author) but the pieces could be enjoyed on their own. If you're a bedtime reader, especially if you read for an hour or so before, this would be great. I read most of the book standing in line; although I had to interrupt some of the pieces, it is easy to dive right back into them (in part because they are written in fragments). Uplifting, humorous, but not snarky or cheesy in any way. I appreciate that he can write the way that he does. Read it.
Words for Empty and Words for Full by Bob Hicok. Awesome: something unexpected in every turn. Hicok does not shy away from sentimentality and I think he's rewarded for it. Revise that: sentiment as in emotion--not in the connotations of "sentimentality." This book's organization seems to be a deliberate focus of certain ideas, but I think it is better if each poem is enjoyed on its own. As usual, Hicok's day-to-day process appeals to me. Love his work--still, if you plan to read him, note that he uses some sexual and vulgar language .
This is Not a Novel by David Markson. I really wish I could appreciate this book more. It's an interesting project, but I wanted more substance to the text. Not bad, but lacking the weight that it purports to have.
The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory by Brian Greene. I gobbled this book--and I'm no physics person. Greene wrote it for the intrigued un-experts. He uses interesting metaphors to explain the history and theories that inform our contemporary perspective of how the universe works. I've been looking at the world around me in a significantly different way as a result. This is definitely worth reading, but not for those who want a quick read. I listened to it on 13 discs. Took a while.
The Meaning of Everything: The Story of the OED by Simon Winchestor. Leave it to a geologists to research the 71 year saga of the Oxford English Dictionary's creation. I leaped around the kitchen as I told Wesley about this book. I'll probably even buy it. I'm a word nerd anyway, but this makes you appreciate the language and the constantly changing symbols we cling to even more.
Crash's Law by Karen Volkman. Gorgeous. Balances music and meaning well (more so than her later, also interesting, collections). It is a book to read for pleasure and also study. Very useful for writers, but also lovely for people who just want to read. (she has a European style of reading, which some appreciate more than others. She just read at BYU--here's a taste of a rather interesting experience http://ers.byu.edu/play.php?filepath=2010-KarenVolkman).
Halls of Fame by John D'Agata. Intelligent, quirky, creative. It didn't really resonate as a whole for me though. I know he's great, I recognize the pieces are well crafted, but I felt pushed away more than invited in. As a commentary on form and how people seek to create meaning for/out of themselves though, it's worthwhile. Especially when compared to Ander Monson's Neck Deep and Other Predicaments.
There are others, but I think that will suffice. Perhaps in my nonstudent life I will start reviewing books seriously instead of offering meager summaries!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
AWP: Days two and three (continued)
I realized a few important things about myself that I've denied for about twenty-three years:
1. I need food pretty regularly
2. I can function without sleep, but I do need some
Without these two things, I start losing my sanity and emotional stability. Now that more is required of me (I love being a mom!), I need to get a grip and move forward. This is another one of those DUH moments. I know.
I loved the conference. I learned more about book presses, which is interesting and good. I saw Philip Lopate up close and appreciated his kindness. I enjoyed Kim Dana Kupperman and need to research her more.
At the temple.
After morning pillow fights. Levi's a ham.
The last session I went to was "Never Enough Naptime: Writing with Small Children." Hm. I anticipated this one a lot. Not that I expected some great secret to be revealed. Not anything really, but I was disappointed. I'm a mom first. And I want to be a good mom. Yes kids are resilient, but that doesn't mean they should be left on their own. While sitting there I realized that I have to let go of my old perfectionist standards. People forget things. They miss appointments. They run late. They can't write for hours a day. They wonder if they're losing it. And, shockingly enough, I'm part of "people"! Another thing I've denied for twenty-three years. I don't know how I'm going to make this shift, but it needs to be done.
In between not sleeping and the conference, Wesley, Levi and I walked around Denver (because we're at a security code orange we couldn't go to the Mint or capital building. Bummer). We enjoyed the mile long mall and watching people there (we're not shoppers). We drove north through lovely neighborhoods and the university and saw the temple. We drove a bit more so we could see the temple and the city from higher up. (Tried to take a picture: failed). Although we've redefined "family vacation" to "sleep deprivation," we enjoyed being together. We bought a box of granola bars to give to people asking for money (Wesley's idea). We went to a cute grocery store in a parking garage and made tacos. We opened and closed cupboards with Levi. In short, we had a marvelous time--we're so glad to be home.
AWP: Days two and three (or Mishaps and Miracles)
We all slept in today. Mostly because Levi let us. Over our trip he rarely slept longer than three hours at a time at night and his average nap time was a half hour. (You can tell our hopes are deflating. At one point we believed we would sleep through the night again. We even imagined two hour naps. Now we're just hoping for sleep. Sometime). He screamed and screamed and screamed. He woke up screaming. He loved the hotel room, but hated sleeping. He loved Denver, but hated sleeping. His parents love him, but need sleeping. Wes drove him around in the middle of the night every night, which made us grateful for the rental car, despite the fact that we had to pay more for it than anticipated.
More Near-Mishaps:
1. On Friday we went to dinner with a bunch of BYU people. There weren't enough seats, but we squished in with the kindness of our friends. Levi was okay for a bit. Until he started choking on his Cheerios and started turning slightly blue and I almost passed out I was so scared--but he survived and few people really noticed the dilemma. There was an awesome jazzy band which probably helped Levi--he was dancing so hard the wooden high chair moved. Should have had the presence of mind to record it. Alas. But when you shake your little body that much, nothing can lodge in your throat. PHEW!
2. Because of a grumpy boy (not Wes), we ran late Saturday morning and I missed the majority of the book fair--so I didn't talk to journals and book presses. Not the end of the world.
3. We rushed from the conference to the airport. While returning the rental car (over a half hour away from our hotel) we realized that we left Levi's birth certificate in the hotel room. I'm crazy enough to double check under the bed, but not in the desk shelves. I feel particularly dumb since I took it out of the folder in my purse in the rare case that it might be stolen at the conference. And yes--this was the original. We didn't know until we got to the airport that we could take a copy of it.
4. So, we didn't know if Levi would be able to fly home. The guy who checked us in panicked when we told him the predicament and said, "Well you have to go back. Tell you what. Your wife and the baby can fly home, but you (Wesley) have to go get that certificate if it's original!" Problem: he would have to fly stand-by. Problem: Southwest overbooks flights so there is no such thing as stand-by. Problem: Levi is all over the place--could I take him and all of our luggage by myself? Thankfully, another worker said, "They'll never get home on stand-by. We don't need the birth certificate. Call the hotel; get on your plane." Hallelujah!
5. We thought they gave us our boarding passes at the desk. After we called the hotel, changed diapers, and found the gate, we noticed that people were lined up to board. We looked at our tickets: "Pick up boarding pass at desk." So we ran up to the desk and they said, "I don't think we have room for you. Sorry." At this point I can feel my blood pressure sinking and my heart rate rising (because I'm cool like that). Then, "Here." We held the last two seats on board. How that happened, I'm not sure. Because we flew with our baby we boarded after the A line and we all sat together. Miracle.
6. Then Levi fell asleep (and so did his mother) most of the flight home. Bumpy ride, but we're home.
All these near-mishaps makes me more grateful for the many many many times everything goes smoothly and I don't even notice. It makes me realize that so much more could have gone wrong. And I need to get a grip and sing praises that we're so watched over all of the time. As we were at the desk figuring out the birth certificate a girl in her thirties was trying to figure out the best way to get a ticket because her brother had unexpectedly died the day before. Come on, Cassie, stop being so self-absorbed and start appreciating the legions of angels that surround you.
So we arrived home, amazed, humbled, grateful.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
AWP: Day One
Denver, though mountain country, feels flat after living basically on a mountain for the past five years. Whatever will I do in Texas? (oh, yes--be warm) The natural mountains are far away, the primary mountains seem to be the Qwest building and the Wells Fargo Theater (large enough that a busy, windy street goes through it).
I have also never been to an Association of Writers and Writing Programs Conference. But here I am. I'm torn. Perhaps because Levi didn't nap yesterday. Perhaps because we only got about four hours of sleep last night. Perhaps because tonight we've been trying to help him sleep for the last three hours but he screamed and screamed and screamed and...we finally broke down and Wesley decided to take him out for a nice ride in our rental car (that we are paying more for because...well, that's a completely separate story on my obsessive desire to save money and the deficiencies of technology to organize our lives). Perhaps because one of the sessions I was most excited for on form and prose poetry was this morning at nine and when I arrived (early) to pick up my preregistration, I had to bounce between three lines because of my last name only for them to realize that I wasn't in the system at all and that even though I preregistered in January something fell through. So I spent another two or more hours in another line to pay (again?). And I missed the session on form. Which made me want to cry. And it made me wonder why in the world we thought a family vacation in conjunction with this conference was a good idea.
Then again, I did walk around the city, enjoying the one-way streets, the gold domed capital building, the library banner that reads: "Commitment issues? No problem! Check it out! Bring it back!" I realized, again, that I've become too comfortable in my little world since shorter skirts, tattoos, and multiple piercings startle me slightly. We went to a cute little grocery store inside a parking garage (King Sooper) and tonight we made delicious tacos and tried Ben and Jerry's ice cream--yes, for the first time.
And I saw my old friends, which is great--especially since they are obviously thriving.
I went briefly to the book fair, but it overwhelmed me with rows and rows of booths filled with books and flyers and pens and people who were all writers or wanted to be writers and I thought--are these journals that much different than my personal journal? Who reads these if we're all trying to be published in them. Oh--duh--we do.
I did catch three forums this afternoon. I love Rebecca McClanahan. Can I say that again? I love Rebecca McClanahan. I read Riddlesong about a year ago and relished it. Today she read advice to young/new writers in the forum, "Re:writing Rilke: Advice to young writers." Lia Purpura was also on the panel; I wanted to be impressed with her--really I did--she was okay. But Rebecca McClanahan with her sweet mannerisms, sincerity, honesty, and artistry combined to just wow me. Add Fleda Brown--and I've got some books to buy. I loitered around in hopes of talking to them, but they were swarmed. Maybe tomorrow? Maybe next time? Maybe--?
Desirae Matherly also blew me out of the water. I can't believe she's publishing one of my essays on purpose. You mature as you write, according to Matherly. You come of age with every sentence. And then you start over. Love her.
The most surprising panel I heard was made up of primarily fiction writers. They discussed "The Limit--or Light--of Spiritual Belief" based on Flannery O'Connor's Mystery and Manners. Awesome! We went over time because so many people had questions. I appreciated Josh Allen and Nicole Mazzarella who discussed how spirituality does not equal religious propaganda and religious propaganda does not bring anyone closer to God because it cheapens the real complexity of faith. I'm still processing everything. Particularly in light of my next project which I think will be spiritually based. I've spent so much time pushing against the Mormon writer idea ("Mormon" should not be a modifier and neither should "writer") that I think I've in many ways failed to embrace the need and responsibility I have to write from a faithful perspective--not proselytizing, but honest. In the last few months I've concluded that art and spirituality should mix; at least, they should be an obvious blend in my work.
So, while we may be forever sleep deprived--we're happy (another complex emotion/response). Call that familial, supportive, living.
I have also never been to an Association of Writers and Writing Programs Conference. But here I am. I'm torn. Perhaps because Levi didn't nap yesterday. Perhaps because we only got about four hours of sleep last night. Perhaps because tonight we've been trying to help him sleep for the last three hours but he screamed and screamed and screamed and...we finally broke down and Wesley decided to take him out for a nice ride in our rental car (that we are paying more for because...well, that's a completely separate story on my obsessive desire to save money and the deficiencies of technology to organize our lives). Perhaps because one of the sessions I was most excited for on form and prose poetry was this morning at nine and when I arrived (early) to pick up my preregistration, I had to bounce between three lines because of my last name only for them to realize that I wasn't in the system at all and that even though I preregistered in January something fell through. So I spent another two or more hours in another line to pay (again?). And I missed the session on form. Which made me want to cry. And it made me wonder why in the world we thought a family vacation in conjunction with this conference was a good idea.
Then again, I did walk around the city, enjoying the one-way streets, the gold domed capital building, the library banner that reads: "Commitment issues? No problem! Check it out! Bring it back!" I realized, again, that I've become too comfortable in my little world since shorter skirts, tattoos, and multiple piercings startle me slightly. We went to a cute little grocery store inside a parking garage (King Sooper) and tonight we made delicious tacos and tried Ben and Jerry's ice cream--yes, for the first time.
And I saw my old friends, which is great--especially since they are obviously thriving.
I went briefly to the book fair, but it overwhelmed me with rows and rows of booths filled with books and flyers and pens and people who were all writers or wanted to be writers and I thought--are these journals that much different than my personal journal? Who reads these if we're all trying to be published in them. Oh--duh--we do.
I did catch three forums this afternoon. I love Rebecca McClanahan. Can I say that again? I love Rebecca McClanahan. I read Riddlesong about a year ago and relished it. Today she read advice to young/new writers in the forum, "Re:writing Rilke: Advice to young writers." Lia Purpura was also on the panel; I wanted to be impressed with her--really I did--she was okay. But Rebecca McClanahan with her sweet mannerisms, sincerity, honesty, and artistry combined to just wow me. Add Fleda Brown--and I've got some books to buy. I loitered around in hopes of talking to them, but they were swarmed. Maybe tomorrow? Maybe next time? Maybe--?
Desirae Matherly also blew me out of the water. I can't believe she's publishing one of my essays on purpose. You mature as you write, according to Matherly. You come of age with every sentence. And then you start over. Love her.
The most surprising panel I heard was made up of primarily fiction writers. They discussed "The Limit--or Light--of Spiritual Belief" based on Flannery O'Connor's Mystery and Manners. Awesome! We went over time because so many people had questions. I appreciated Josh Allen and Nicole Mazzarella who discussed how spirituality does not equal religious propaganda and religious propaganda does not bring anyone closer to God because it cheapens the real complexity of faith. I'm still processing everything. Particularly in light of my next project which I think will be spiritually based. I've spent so much time pushing against the Mormon writer idea ("Mormon" should not be a modifier and neither should "writer") that I think I've in many ways failed to embrace the need and responsibility I have to write from a faithful perspective--not proselytizing, but honest. In the last few months I've concluded that art and spirituality should mix; at least, they should be an obvious blend in my work.
So, while we may be forever sleep deprived--we're happy (another complex emotion/response). Call that familial, supportive, living.
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