Another View of the Republican Convention

From the perspective of a bartender in a NYC strip club. My favorite quote: "The man later told someone in the club he was a Washington lobbyist. I wondered if he would try to add a clause allowing 'two girls at once' into the Republican Party's plan for a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage."

Home Again

I've been home for a while actually. I got back to Texas last Sunday night. It's taken me a few days to get back into my routine at home and sort of absorb the whole writing conference experience. Vermont was very intense. There seemed to be readings, lectures, classes, workshops, or some writing-related thing every hour. For someone who is used to spending the majority of her day in a room by herself, it was overwhelming. I met a lot of great people, and heard a lot of incredible writers. And I had the great fortune of being in the workshop led by this woman, one of my heroes. She said some very complimentary things about my novel and writing and those words are going to carry me through the end of the draft.

I think this writers' conference, like MFA programs in general and almost any writing endeavor, is not for everyone. I got a lot out of the conference, personally. I was in a workshop led by a writer I admire, I got introduced to a lot of great writing I might not have heard otherwise, and I was in craft classes taught by writers who have many more years of experience than I do and have given a lot of thought to the topics they chose. However, there is still a hierarchy present. I've heard it's much better than past years and that the current administration has tried to downplay it. The hierarchy wasn't overwhelming but it was there. And I'm not sure that it could ever disappear. After all, you have people there who have published many books to critical and financial acclaim. And other people who have published ... nothing. Writing is celebrated there, writing for writing's sake, but in the end, what do you have to go on but someone's track record? That's what creates most of the hierarchy, in my opinion, and how can that be gotten rid of? So that aspect of the conference didn't bother me too much.

The constant socializing sort of did. I'm just not used to talking to so many people all the time. Every aspect of the day had a social element. I had a (wonderful) roommate, a communal bath, and every meal was shared with many other individuals. It was exhausting to make so much small talk all the time and conversations with strangers are more taxing than those with old friends. However, I did have some great conversations with many writers at different stages in their careers. Some were in MFA programs, some were considering them, others were writing on their own. In the end, the work is what mattered.

One very valuable thing I learned at the conference: There's a lot of good, competent work. There isn't a lot of very good or great work. Of course, we all like to think that the writing we are making is of the very good or great variety, but most people tend to think more highly of their work than is warranted (I include myself in this group). So often, when editors are faced with a lot of competent work, they pick the manuscripts that speak to them in some way. So much of this business--from the writing to the representing to the publishing to the selling (and then from the reader's end) to the buying--is based on personal taste. Nothing more. That was an interesting lesson to learn.

So now I'm back in Texas, looking for a job, trying to finish my book. One other thing that's good about the conferences is that I met editors and agents, and each person I met with was interested in my work and said the same thing: Send it to me when you're done. Don't rush it, make sure you're done. So I have some contacts and some nice words from a writer I admire and now it's time to keep making piles of pages.

Writing Update

I am at a good stopping point with the novel (perhaps break is a better term). So I feel less superstitious telling you about my progress. Since we got to Dallas at the beginning of July and settled in, I've been writing almost every day. I've written 176 pages since we've been here. The novel is currently divided into four sections or "acts" and now I have a draft of the first three. I'm going to Vermont tomorrow and after the conference, I'm hoping to finish a draft of the final section. That's what my summer's been like: a lot of writing, not much reading, very little web surfing. After the conference, my job search will kick into a higher gear. I'm hoping I'll be able to get the final section of the novel done before I start working. Then the revision will begin.

Nate and I were both a little worried that we might not be able to handle the Texas heat after Chicago. But the summer weather has been temperate, until recently. Even the heat isn't so bad. But the mosquitos are horrible. I had forgotten all about them! Hopefully the skeeters won't be too bad in VT.

Personal Lexicon

"You're an Onarga."

"You're an Onarga Oneida."

"At least I'm not a Pupusa head."

On our relocation drive down to Dallas from Chicago, Nate and I noticed unusual names. Onarga, Oneida, and Pupusa were all cities, exits, or restaurants we saw along the way through Illinois, Kentucky, Arkansas, or Texas. Those words are now part of our permanent vocabulary, especially when we're calling each other names.

We also have a couple of stories we picked up on our travels. Back in November 2001, Nate took a flight to Austin to help me drive a U-haul for my move to Chicago (he had moved to Illinois six months before I did). Near Rolla, Missouri, we had a fuel stop. We both went into the station/store to get drinks and pay for the gas. There was a fairly long line, and the woman at the front was exasperated with her husband, who was still picking something out.

"Hurry up," she said. "There are all these people waiting on you."

"Woman, I'm checking the damn expiration dates on the Dr. Pepper."

Needless to say, we started giggling. We were a little giddy. We had been driving for hours, the guy made his pronoucement in a great Southern drawl, and we didn't even know Dr. Pepper had expiration dates. The rest of the trip, whenever I made a request, Nate would turn to me and say, "Woman," in that same tone of self-righteous exasperation. He still says it from time to time.

On our recent return drive to Texas, we were just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas, when we stopped at a McDonald's. We were hoping to order breakfast. They stopped serving breakfast at 10. It was 10:02. We stared at the menu, trying to pick the most innocuous food, neither of us wanting anything fried so early in the morning. There was a crew of giggly teenagers working behind the counter. We walked up to one of them.

"I'd like to order--" I started.

"My ankle just popped," the guy behind the counter interrupted.

Nate and I looked at each other. I didn't know how to respond.

"Are you OK?" Nate asked.

"Yeah. I'm OK. My ankle just popped."

We ordered our food and went on our merry way.

Are these incidents and words actually funny? Or is it just the circumstances we found them in--tired, bored, and suffering cabin fever after a cross-country drive? I'm not sure. But what that teenager didn't know was that "my ankle just popped" entered our lexicon forever.