As a creature of habit, I must confess that I go through phases with the poets I read. Last year I was obsessed with Mr. Neruda (and rightfully so. he is quite amazing). But this year I’m going back to my roots a little and loving Anne Sexton.

When I was in the eleventh grade, my teacher made me choose an author to write a research paper on. I had to read a book, write a brief report on that and how it seemed to correspond to the writer’s life. I chose The Bell Jar. Needless to say, the connection to the writer’s life part was pretty self explanatory.

But when I read this book, this book that was confessional and true yet fiction at the same time, I became obsessed with Plath. I wanted to go to Cambridge, Smith College, marry a poet. But it was not these things that made this book, and then any of her poetry that I could get my hands on, stick with me.

I love that Plath could blend the fiction and the nonfiction, that she could talk about real issues that were plaguing her. I think it was also in this time that my teacher made me write a research paper on something that was plaguing modern culture–and I chose depression (I was reading Wurtzel’s Prozac Nation in the tenth grade).

Now how does this connect with Anne Sexton? Well, Sexton is also known for being a confessional poet. But when I asked for the collection for Christmas, what I really wanted was her Transformations collection. It refers to the Grimms Fairy Tales, which I was also obsessed with in high school. Really, Sexton is the perfect blend of confessional and fictional in this poetry collection. Instead of just getting the collection I desired, I got The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton.

Simply put, I’m loving it. and her.

So my advice for the week: look up some Plath or Sexton and get steeped in the knowledge of how it became possible for women to write on whatever topics suited their fancy.

One of those things that helps me push past the loneliness that this season envokes for me is to think ahead to my New Year’s Resolutions. You know, those things that no one ends up sticking to.

My mistake in the past has been making plans. And as Carell said in Dan in Real Life, it is better to plan to be surprised. So, instead, I am making a couple of New Year’s Resolutions that I can be helped with.

1. Be less of a hermit. This goes against all of my intuition, but if I’m going to be moving to a different place by myself come August, then it just has to be done. I have to at least learn to not feel so awkward in social situations.

2. Dress more age appropriate. I dress the exact same now as I did when I was… 15. Maybe younger. If I don’t get into grad school (which is always a very real possibility), then I’ll be going out into the big, scary workforce. Hopefully in publishing. That means I’ve got to get a bit more fashion in my look and a little less tee-shirts.

3. Be open to possibilities. Right now, it’s up in the air what I will be doing after I graduate (on my birthday, by the way). I could be going living at home for the summer, working in my hometown. I could bunk with my dad, work in the bigger city, maybe score an internship. I could be moving to a brand new place entirely and beginning to work. I could be spending the entire summer writing a novel and freaking out about going to grad school. There’s just no telling.

The good news is that this year I’ve got a friend who is already dedicated to helping me with the first two. I’ll be going on a shopping trip in her honor on Wednesday and I’ll hopefully get a start on making Number 2 happen. And starting literally on Number 1 on New Year’s Eve. My mom’s helping with Number 3 since she’s pretty much in the same unknown boat.

Right now, I’m just hoping this sad little rowboat stays afloat. And I’m not just saying that so that I have an excuse to put this song at the end of my post : )

My mom tried to make us take pictures for a Christmas card. This is what she got. Poor lady. But I will probably gush about how much I love my family after Christmas. Today, I am going to do something different.

First, I should tell you that any holiday involving fireworks makes me feel lonely and nostalgic. I’m not sure what I feel nostalgic for, exactly, maybe it just makes me wistful. But the point is that Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve make me want to read a book, watch a sappy movie, and cry for awhile.

And I am well aware that this is not a normal reaction.

But, since I was in the tenth grade, Christmas Eve has made me feel exactly the same way. I got my first real boyfriend on Christmas Eve and my first bouquet of flowers from someone outside my family. In fact, I can’t think of anything truly bad that has happened on Christmas Eve (except maybe the year that I got strep throat while vacationing in California). Well, this year my house is flooding, so I suppose I can’t really say that anymore. The point is, I’m always around family, my mom’s or my step mom’s depending on the year, and I always feel isolated.

It’s like there is a gap that I am somehow unaware of the rest of the year. This sort of down mood lingers until New Year’s Eve, but when I wake up in the new year, I always feel better.

Of course, I am normally sick during the holidays, which helps this feeling, I’m sure. But the fact remains that on this Christmas Eve, I am dreading the inevitable feeling of ennui. But, I am also looking forward to Christmas Day. I’ll go to 5 different houses before coming back to my mom’s and collapsing from exhaustion.

Well, as long as the weather permits those plans.

So, if you see me and I seem out of it, snap your fingers and get me into the spirit of things. I’d rather be singing the song below and smiling tomorrow than singing I Hate Christmas Parties with real conviction.

Happy Holidays, everyone! and, as always, Happy Writing!

Lately, I seem to be surrounded by talented poets. It makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy. I love the idea of thinking in images, colors, and sounds. As a fiction writer, I am interested in scenes, in the deeper thoughts being conveyed by action and dialogue. But poets are a breed of their own. Or at least the poets I know. They’re a little crazy, the lot of them, but I’ve yet to meet one I don’t like.

Anyway, the point is that I am always in awe of how they phrase things. They convey more in a line than I can convey in pages, it seems to me. Just ask and I can give you a link to a couple of amazing blogs (where my friends slam poems out every few days or so). Or, if you’re interested in reading an MFA poetry gal, I’ve got her site to the side (Disheveled).

I’m off track again. I wanted to dedicate this post to the awesome-ness of poets everywhere. They never seem to get the recognition they deserve, and I just wanted to thank you for having the ability to write poems that can make me laugh, cry, think, and be still for a little while.

With that, I will leave you with some Neruda translated by W S Merwin.

“Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines”

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

This week is a breakthrough of sorts, for me. I had a conversation that finally eased some guilt and created closure from my last relationship. I felt free when I woke up on Saturday, and it was a great feeling.

I finished my last fall semester of undergrad with good grades. I was social three nights in a row (and it wasn’t even painful). I also, and I know this will sound unbelievable, but I plucked my own eyebrows. for the first time. Yeah, yeah, you can snicker.

But do you want to know why I plucked those eyebrows? Because on Friday, I have to be a family-friendly-version of a vixen. for the office Christmas party. The idea is to play with the idea of the reindeer names. Dasher, for example, is a little boy dressed in the Incredibles uniform who runs into the room. Antlers and a jingle-bell necklace are a required part of the costume.

The purple boa is for my costume only, if you can picture that.

The problem is that I am a shy, cute girl. In other words, vixen I am not. I am Iris from The Holiday, but I am not yet to the point where I am “knockout” at the end of the movie (or to the point where I have an adorable Jack Black asking me out on a date).

Except, Kate Winslet is always gorgeous. But you get the point.

When I think of a woman that is sexy, seductive, basically the epitome of vixen, well, I think of the six women in the picture up there. Gorgeous hair, lovely figure, clear face, and perfect makeup. Definitely not me. I don’t even wear makeup most of the time and I have a lot of work ahead of me to make that lovely figure happen.

But, today I made a decision. I am going to wear my pretty red dress (empire waist does wonders to create a great shape) and maybe learn to walk in heels. I’ll do my hair (straight or curly, who knows?) and get up early enough to put on some makeup. Maybe I can fool myself into thinking that I am like one of those women who gets called beautiful for a few hours.

Either way, I am going to walk with a spring in my step and remember that, like Iris, it is time to get some gumption.

Advice for the week: have a sit down with Lisa Hannigan and a glass of tea with cream and sugar.

I decided today, when I should have been studying, that if I had to sit and have a conversation with a celebrity, I would want it to be with David Crowder.

Not only does he have amazing hair, he is a quirky musician with a nice sense of musical style. His music never fails to make me think of high school days. Back when I was oblivious and happy to just jump around to goofy music for hours on end. Wait, has that changed?

Plus, David Crowder has never been apart from his wife, not one night the entire time they’ve been married. He absolutely loves her, which makes him even more adorable in my eyes. And, Mr. Crowder has written a couple of hilarious books that make me feel a bit envious (writing style wise). Maybe I’ll re-read the one I own over the break.

Oh, that’s right, I forgot I’M ON BREAK!

And what am I doing on my first night of freedom, you ask? Well, I had dinner with my roommates at our favorite mexican dive, ate too much, drank some cherry root beer, and now I am sitting in my living room watching cheesy lifetime movies. with my cat.

can anyone see a spinster in the making?

anyway, here is a song that used to make me goofy happy. I hope you enjoy it.

In honor of my Shakespeare final that begins in.. roughly thirty minutes, I have decided to do something that I haven’t done, ever. I’m sharing a bit of poetry that I wrote.

Now, before you get worried, I slammed this out in about fifteen minutes and had a certain form I wanted to follow/create. In other words, if it stinks, I’m already aware. But, hey, now you’ll feel better about your own poetry, yes?

—

A Meeting

The steam is rising from
Coffee cups that never empty.
And those nights and hours
Fade into silence, but you can grow
Flowers where dirt used to be.
A microphone, a metronome,
Anything to fill the hole
In conversation.

Maybe not speaking is best.

See the snow, the cold wind
As it beats against the window,
The girls who smile at you and
You smile back.
A lady in red gloves struts, gaining
Nothing but your attention.

The coffee is lukewarm.

Droning about philosophy,
About how you made a mistake.
This is not a country music song;
Stop that.

Hath smoothed his wrinkled front.

And I thought meeting in the
Coffee shop was best.

—-

I’ll give credit to Kate Nash for the “you can grow flowers where dirt used to be” reference, and Shakespeare for the “hath smoothed his wrinkled front.” Always up for a better title, for sure.

Feel free to comment!

a lovely engagement photo, not taken by me

In the craziness that is finals, and the even crazier week before for English and writing people, I have managed to find the impossible–peace.

I’m not talking about sitting in the park and feeling at one with the universe. Or sitting in the library and finding peace from all the noise at home (my apartment really isn’t that noisy). And, although I do kind of wish that I was talking about how I managed to solve world peace, I’m not talking about that either.

This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous, but today, for the first time, I felt like an English major. It’s my last literature class in my entire undergrad career, and now is the first time that I feel like I’m actually going in the right direction.

I have a tendency to feel extremely intimidated, especially in literature courses. The people around me are intelligent, analytical, outspoken, opinionated, and well-spoken. And, they have great vocabularies. As you can guess, I am none of these things.

Okay, I will hesitantly admit that I’m kind of smart. And in the right moment, I can be witty in conversation. But those are the only similarities.

I’ve always felt much safer in writing courses, and definitely more at home. I still feel like I have more to contribute there, even as I am learning bucket-loads about revision, writing, and critiquing.

Today in class, we had to read our introductions aloud to the class. Mine was, by far, the weakest. That’s not why I feel so… peaceful right now. The teacher commented on my journals that I have grown as a thinker in the class. I can’t remember getting positive feedback at the end of a literature course. Ever. She liked the ideas and thoughts that I brought up in my journals, even if I didn’t always say them aloud.

I’m not sure that I’ve had so gratifying a parting comment from a professor. Except when Dr. V told me I was a writer at the end of my intro to creative writing course. I still have that on my fridge.

But also, within the class itself, one of the girls wrote a paper on a theme that sprung up within the first story that I wrote in workshop this semester. It wasn’t the reason I wrote the piece, or even what I expected anyone to get from it, but I realized that it was worth having a class discuss.

I am actually doing something right, even if no one ever tells me that. I can connect my love of literature, of reading and analyzing it, and my love of writing it. I am writing stories that are worth having someone outside of my workshop class read.

Even if I don’t get into grad school, which I know is a very real possibility, I finally know (instead of just feeling) that I am going in the right direction.

So, thank you Women’s Literature and finals week, you’ve brought me unmeasurable amounts of hope and peace.

Growing up, my mom was a big Meg Ryan and Sandra Bullock fan. I’ve seen Sleepless in Seattle at least a dozen times, and my mom literally wore out her VHS copy of You’ve Got Mail. I bought it for her on DVD a few years ago, and I think it is running on its last leg.

But, it was on television last night and since I was feeling shaky after turning in my first Grad school application, I decided to take my container of sugar cookie dough and watch it again. I have always found the movie adorable, and I see myself in Miss Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan’s character) through her love of books and daisies, and her uncertainty.

I should admit here that during commercial breaks in movies or shows, I change the channel. I simultaneously watch two shows at once. Well, imagine my surprise when I turn the channel and I glimpse Mr. Jimmy Stewart. Around the holidays, he’s a regular figure, but I knew at once that this was not It’s a Wonderful Life.

It was The Shop Around the Corner. Basically, the original You’ve Got Mail. I loved seeing how they kept the original feel in the dialogue in the coffee shop scene, and even in the scene where the woman is sick. I absolutely loved seeing the translation between the two films.

And it helps that I used to dream that Jimmy Stewart would come sweep me off my feet, lasso the moon for me.

The point is that I want to convince every person out there to rent (or netflix) this movie. It’s wonderful, and definitely great for the Christmas spirit floating around this time of year. Watch these movies, curl up with some hot cocoa and sugar cookies, and leave the evening feeling warm and fuzzy.

As a side note: I think A Cinderella Story played with this idea, using text messages and instant messaging. So, my question is what would be used now?

thanks to Laura Berbusse for this colorful drawing!

In honor of Thanksgiving, I would like to introduce you to an icon that I became familiar with while I was in Ireland–Dustin the Turkey.

Now, I didn’t just run across this interesting looking bird. Our bus driver, and friend, Niall told the entire group I was with about it. Of course, he only mentioned it because we had a guy named Dustin with us.

I wonder if that is an uncommon name in Ireland…

Anyway, Dustin had a tendency to be boisterous and friendly, much like the Irish icon. Except, I think Dustin the turkey has some best-selling albums out… and he has a heavy Dublin accent.

But when you’re sitting around, trying to think of the little things in life that you should be thankful for (hint: family, friends, love, etc.), add Dustin the Turkey to the list. I know I will.

Here is a clip of Dustin the Turkey performing at Ireland Eurovision; he didn’t make it to the finals. I’m not quite sure what to make of it, but it definitely made me smile.

Happy Thanksgiving!

p.s. here are some Thanksgiving carol ideas to make you smile.