Rejection

When I was little, my social studies textbooks used to define culture as “the way of life of a group of people.” It was one of the only defintions that didn’t really change from year to year, from textbook to textbook.

If this definition is correct, I’d say that rejection is the common thread through the community of artists, specifically writers for the content of this post. In other words the “culture” of writers is defined by rejection.

We’re always warned, going in, that we’re going to get more rejections than acceptances (if we ever get an acceptance). Yet still we perservere. We continue to write even though there doesn’t seem to be one solitary reason to continue–except for our personal passion.

In high school, just the idea of being a writer was rejected. What a silly goal. Even now, when I sit in a literature class, I get pointed out as the one with crazy career goals. Not because I want to be an editor, but because I want to be a writer. It’s too difficult to explain that I already am one.

A writer is not made by publication.

Which is a good thing, since the majority of those who want to be “writers” will most likely never see that lovely acceptance to publication.

We have to have confidence and hope when there doesn’t seem to be any reason to. It’s nearly heroic.

That’s what the MFA applicants are doing–having hope when it seems to be dashed. My phone is on–I’m waiting for that call that never seems to be coming. I’m wishing that I was one of those lucky people who got to hear an acceptance before discovering a rejection.

I’m hoping that even though it seems as if I am already rejected to two schools, that I will get in somewhere, eventually.  If it’s not this year, I’ll just brush myself off and try again. After a good long whine/cry jag.

I hope I have the strength to do that. Because it takes strength to dig up more confidence and more hope and to keep it. And I hope that my family and friends don’t see me as a failure. Because I’m not. What is it that Hugh Grant says in Music and Lyrics? “Don’t write me off just yet.”

That’s my new motto. So no matter what rejections lie ahead, I’m going to take it in stride. And if that means continuing to work a 9-5 job until then, so be it.

I won’t be left behind for long.

Resolutions Update

New Year’s Resolutions never stick. I am actually thinking of the resolutions to “exercise everyday,” “eat healthy,” or the vague “exercise more.”

For the past few months, I’ve been working on trying to eat healthier, at least for a good portion of my meals during the week. I’ve become an even bigger fan of salad and soup, for example, and only eat wheat bread.

What I didn’t add to my not-spoken-goals was working out. There are a few reasons for this. One, I actually have a good amount of muscle in my legs and arms anyway, and working out only increases the muscles in those areas, as opposed to helping me get say, abdominal muscles. Two, I’ve got the knees of an arthritic 32 year-old. Meaning, I can run/dance/work-out and be fine, but the next day I feel achy. Three, I hate running. I’d rather ride those stupid bicycle machines for forty five minutes than run for five. But it always seems so much more convenient to run.

However, I have started working out. It wasn’t really intentional. My friend, Samantha, decided that she wanted to try Zumba (and going alone is always strange), so I went with her. I’d been before, and I like it; it made perfect sense. And then we decided to take another dance-y class—insert belly dancing class here. And now, after we finish Zumba on Wednesday, we don’t feel properly challenged (I’d love to rant on the differences between the T/Th instructor and the MW instructor, but I’ll refrain), so we ended up walking and/or jogging around the track afterwards.

Then I somehow ended up in a winterguard ensemble, insert more dancing and working out the arms here. And I’m having to run around campus all the time to get everything done—insert more running. And quite frankly, I have less time to eat, so when I do, I eat something that will be filling and filled with some sort of nutritional value (otherwise I turn sleepy in a few hours).

I guess I find it strange that the one year when I don’t list exercise on my New Year’s Resolutions is the year that I end up working-out the most often, voluntarily.

Also, this is one of those years when I didn’t think “also, I need to make more friends.” I did think I needed to be more social, which I guess would give me more acquaintances. Anyway, the point is that I am finding myself with more friends than I thought I had. It’s pretty great.

I guess when I said that I wasn’t going to make plans, just try towards being a better people person—in both appearance and action—it was the right thing to do. By trying towards those abstract goals (who can really say whether I’ve accomplished these things, or ever will?), I am finding other things are falling into place.

Now, I just need to keep my optimistic view of the future as a blank notebook to be written on—and not as a large cliff that I’m standing on the end of—and I’ll be doing good.

The entire concept of still trying to abide by these “resolutions” in the month of February puts me above the curve of previous years. I’m a bit excited by the concept.

So, for now, I am going to eat some soup with vegetables and whole-wheat pasta and watch my favorite scene from Singing in the Rain. I hope you all have a lovely weekend!

February

This month always feels like a blip to me. It’s a couple more weeks of wintery goodness, and then it starts climbing to the perpetual humidity that is Arkansas weather.

Trust me, it doesn’t take long for that climb from 30-70 and then it jumps straight into 90. with scattered bouts of rain to keep the humidity at an all-time high.

But February is a month that I like to treasure for its brevity. This February began in snow and ice. It began with a mountain of work on the horizon, graduation rejections looming, workout routines being put into place, and social occasions being planned.

But now that I am settled into February (can you be settled in on the second day?), I have had a moment of clarity.

It’s alright to be lonely. It’s alright to be a little childish, occasionally. It’s alright to be afraid. It’s alright to be hopeful. It’s alright to get rejected, to fail. It’s alright to express. It’s more than alright to be ridiculous. It’s alright to just be.

For some reason this reminds me so strongly of Elizabethtown that it makes my heart ache a little. Maybe I’ll go watch it after I finish writing this (you should too! lovely movie, amazing soundtrack).

For right now, I’m going to quote The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen (the most recent in my novel reading adventures for Writing for Children) and hope that she can convey this feeling better than me.

Forever was so many different things. It was always changing, it was what everything was really all about. It was twenty minutes, or a hundred years, or just this instant, or any instant I wished would last and last. But there was only one truth about forever that really mattered, and that was this: it was happening. Right then… and every moment afterwards. Look, there. Now. Now. Now.

Bright Star

This movie has made it onto my top ten favorite’s list. The story, based on the love affair of John Keats and Fannie Brawne, is heartbreaking and breathtaking and incredibly passionate. It is a quiet movie, much in the style of Pride and Prejudice, and lets the countryside weave its own melody, creating the main focus on the words being read/spoken.

It’s hard to be an English literature major and not be a a Keats fan, so I will happily admit that I’ve had a bit of a fangirl crush on him for years. I can’t say that I always understand what he’s saying, but it’s so lyrically beautiful that I could care less.

But back to the movie: the true historical facts are skewed a bit (though not much, I’m proud to say) but it only serves to create a deeper connection between John and Fannie. The images created in this movie are splendid, gorgeous. And the audience gets to hear Keats’ poetry read throughout the story, creating a sort of context for when/why it was written.

Now that I have given you a sufficient review of the movie (hint: go see it. it’s amazing.), I would like to geek out a bit. You have been warned to ignore the latter part of this post.

In the movie, Keats is a poet, a group of people I have already admitted that I adore. Plus, he is a goofball who manages to balance his love and his work (especially crazy for a writer since the work never ends). He’s a romantic, in every sense of the word.

He gets along well with children, families, and stayed by his brother’s side until the moment he died of TB. He’s a great friend. He is adorable, of course, and has a conscience.   He was steadfast and true.

And man, oh man, he was a great letter writer. I’m a sucker for a letter writer.

I smiled all the way through the movie (until the end when I wanted to cry) and had lovely dreams of finding my own quirky poet who wears 17th Century clothes. That’s completely normal, right?

So, my advice for this week is this: snack on some Keats’ poetry, then spend an afternoon with a cup of tea and Bright Star. The world will suddenly be full of hope.

Precipitation

my mom's front lawn, taken by me a few years ago

We’re getting prepared for the first snow of the year. It did snow back in December (one friend even had a white Christmas! I was jealous.) but it certainly didn’t snow in all of Arkansas.

The concept of having wintery precipitation in Arkansas means that everyone plans to miss work/school and for the highways to be shut down. If this sort of thing doesn’t include a snow day, something just isn’t right in the world.

I may eventually live somewhere where this is not the case. It almost makes me sad.

I associate snow with hot chocolate and fires and free time with friends and family. Well, everytime that I’ve been snowed in so far has been around family (it’s only happened a few times in my life), but I can imagine being snowed in with friends.

Snow, I mean to say, is a wonderfully beautiful, irregular occurence. It gives us all warm fuzzy feelings and makes us want to have snowball fights and make snowmen (even though there’s never enough snow here for that).

Or maybe that’s just me.

Even though I am normally literally isolated from the world when it snows, I don’t feel cut off. I feel at one with the world around me.

I don’t know what that means about me. I feel at one with nature when everything is covered in ice; it’s all absolutely chilling and freezing and beautiful.

Of course, I also like misty spring days that create green leaves and fields.

I’d like to live somewhere with seasons, someday. But if I don’t get into grad school this time around, maybe I’ll stick around Arkansas where snow is like a magical present.

Crazy, right? I used to think that I wanted out of this state as soon as possible. But I’m liking Conway much more now that I’m actually participating in its social environment (well, a little); it probably also helps to have friends interested in the same things that I am.

Of course, everything is speculation. That’s all I have. Speculation.

And instead of letting it drive me crazy, I am going to focus on this possible precipitation. And hopefully go play in the white fluffy stuff if it lands tomorrow.

Stagecoach

This semester, I am taking Film and Literature. It explores short stories and how they are adapted into movies. I have been guilty in the past of saying that the movie “wasn’t as good as the book.” But the truth is that they’re nothing alike. One uses images to tell a story, and the other manipulates words.

But back to my original reason for this post: on Monday night I had to watch Stagecoach (1939). It’s a Western in black and white, starring John Wayne. In that last sentence, only the concept of it being a black and white film appeals to me; not only are they classy films, but I love how they play with light to get a certain message across.

Anyway, I loved it. No, seriously. As in, I would like to own this movie. And not just because John Wayne was adorable as a young man (I may have a bit of a crush), or because his relationship with Dallas makes me smile.

The director, John Ford, was amazing. The amount of photograph-worthy shots makes me absolutely giddy to think about. The way the shots were framed, the way that Ringo (Wayne) was in light when we first glimpsed him, while Plummer was in darkness… even the location and how he used the landscape around him to enhance his movie, all of it was amazing.

I feel a like a geeky film student when I’m really a sort-of literature student and a wannabe writer.

I read the short story first, a big no-no if I want to really enjoy a movie based on literature, and still fell in love with it. I liked the things that they changed to make it a more dramatic film, and I especially like how they changed the ending.

I guess my point is that even if you hate Westerns (or they bore you, or whatever), I think viewing this movie at least once is a good idea. You may be surprised. You may even enjoy it. I did.

p.s. sense I’m feeling all film geeky, leave me a movie recommendation and I’ll definitely get around to watching it.

Infinite

Unfortunately, I had a lot of time to think this weekend. I spent all day Saturday listening to music that brings about that feeling of connection to the world and looking at the stars and using one candle as a source of light.

I tried to distract myself yesterday by having an 80s movie marathon (Say Anything, Some Kind of Wonderful, Pretty in Pink) and doing homework. In Forms of Fiction this week we’re studying the epistolary form (writing short stories/novels via letter writing). And as I was reading the short stories for that class, I automatically thought of one of my favorite novels—The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Perks is a young adult novel written in a set of letters from the view of Charlie. Or, well, we know him as Charlie. Anyway, the novel shows the world according to this increasingly passive boy. He makes friends, experiences high school, but he does it all from the sidelines—thus the wallflower bit in the title.

I related to this book so strongly in high school for a few reasons. One was for this connection to passivity and what push it took to make him into an active participant. In case you haven’t guessed from previous posts, I am the wallflower-y, passive-aggressive, shy sort. Two, Charlie reads a lot of books and has great taste in music. And in high school, I liked to pretend that I did both of those things too. Plus, he was really into Rocky Horror and my hometown has a film festival every year where the audience dresses up as character from RHPS. Number Three is the ending. I completely understood his need to repress that sort of memory (don’t know what I’m talking about? Read the book) and how much that can affect everything you do.

My copy of Perks is highlighted and battered from over-use (like this one), but in the past couple of years, when I open it back up I always read one specific passage. It’s a short section where Charlie is riding in a truck with his friends and listening to music. They are heading to Charlie’s first “real” party and it starts to rain. Just as they are about to drive through a tunnel, they turn the music up loud. With the music blaring and the wind whipping through his hair, Charlie feels something that can only be described as infinite.

This Saturday was like one continuous infinite feeling for me. My heart felt too big for my chest—not in a Grinch sort of way—and it felt like everything I did affected the universe. When I smiled, the world was smiling; when I cried, the world wept. It’s almost painful, but beautiful at the same time. It’s strange to feel like the center of the universe and yet a speck at the same time.

Yes, I am aware that I am actually a blip on the world-radar.

Normally, this feeling lasts for about fifteen minutes and I smile for the next week without pause. But after an entire day, I was exhausted. Which is why I spent yesterday trying to distract myself (ha! And you thought I couldn’t connect these three things, didn’t you?).

I’ve never tried to describe this feeling to anyone before, never checked to make sure that I’m not incredibly weird and therefore the only one that feels it; so, I’m curious, dear reader, if you know what feeling I’m talking about. Have you ever experienced it? What was the situation? Were there other people involved? (Mine are always solitary, but Charlie’s involved his friends.) What about music/books/movies?

[hint: comment. also, click on the picture up above. that song by the Smiths is the tone of the entire book.]

Walking on Sunshine

If you couldn’t tell from the title of this post, I’m back to normal. But more on that in a bit.

I decided over the Christmas break to make my eating habits official. I’ve never been fond of the taste of red meat, which I know is a weird thing to say. I’ve just never found steak or pork to be appetizing. And bacon is ranked with popcorn (it always smells better than it tastes). Except for the occasional cheeseburger, I wasn’t eating much red meat anyway.

I can already hear my family poking fun at me for this. I’ve got a couple of cousins that make fun of me already for my lack-of-meat-eating. Don’t believe me? Let me tell you a little story.

I’ve been anti-deer meat for as long as I can remember. By that I mean, I was against eating it myself. I always pictured the deer as Bambi. I’ve got an uncle (and his two sons are the cousins mentioned above) who used to like to try and trick me into eating it, but my mom always warned me. One time, I did eat it. And when I found out I had eaten deer, I cried.

That’s right, I cried over eating deer, and he laughed and shook his head.  I’m not ashamed. Poultry has never really bothered me, except for eggs (eating eggs often makes me queasy). Turkeys are mean and chickens are strange. But eating fish bothers me if I think too hard about it. I picture the poor things as Dory and Nemo.

Basically, I have an overactive imagination that has stopped me from eating red meat. I wish I was more like my friend Tim and had some very well thought out reasons for it instead.

However, since I’ve cut red meat out of my life completely, I have to find other ways to get protein. I’m a big trail mix fan, so I’m going to start carrying that around more for snacking purposes. What I’m trying to say is that my sugar level has been out of whack for a little over a week (yay for hypoglycemia), therefore making me more moody than usual.

Also, I guess it was just a phase of some sort of melodrama that I created in my head.

But, do you want to know what cheered me up? Friends, especially the unexpected ones, Glee Cast radio on Pandora, and an invigorating workout last night.

So, my advice for the week: go for a drive and turn the radio up. If you really need some cheering up, listen to Jump by Van Halen (I’m convinced it is the perfect driving song). Something more mellow? Grizzly Bear. I like what I’ve heard from them so far, and I’ve got a friend that loves them (and Tim seems to have good taste).

In the meantime, take a deep breath and recite “Hakuna Matata.”

Rainy Days

rainy day in my hometown

I’m the kind of person that gets excited when the sky turns gray. The ground gets slick; the air smells fresh; the grass is squishy; the puddles invite children to play, and make Gene Kelly sing. It normally cheers me up, then eventually makes me sleepy.

For the past couple of days, however, the rain has made me pensive, and therefore gloomy. And I’m talking Eeyore gloomy.

The homework is already piling up. The tension is mounting while I wait on grad school application results. I’m being given more hours of work, more responsibilities. I’ve been given the task of talking my family members out of stupid decisions (man, I don’t like being a responsible adult). I’m broke. I’m single and the school seems to be erupting with people getting engaged. My fellow proofreader got his own desk and 24-inch monitor while I work on a folding table and have plastic drawers. My roommates are not-so-slowly fazing me out. And this semester is going to be way more work than I anticipated.

I’m on campus on Tuesdays (either class or work or meetings) for 12 hours. So all day Tuesday I was groggy and exhausted. Of course, it didn’t help that my roommates played monopoly and sang to musicals while I was trying to sleep Monday night. But, hey, at least they were having fun.

Normally, I would blame this surly-cynical mood on the rain and move on. But I was feeling like this on Monday too. I even got in a stupid argument with my roommate for the first time (and we’ve been rooming together for 3 years) on that evening; to put this simply, I was being an over-sensitive twit.

Instead of making me want to splash around in rain boots, the rain has made me feel lonely and isolated. It’s like being back in my freshman year all over again (which means I hate it).

I want so badly to reminisce about a time when I felt secure, but I can’t remember any. Hopefully, I’ll be back to my normal annoying-yet-cheery self soon, because I am starting to irritate myself.

MLK Day

Martin Luther King Day reminds me of high school, two specific and not related events.

In the tenth grade, I spent my Spring Break in Birmingham, Alabama. We scraped, primed, and painted two houses in the week we were there. I remember sleeping on the concrete floor of a church with a bullet hole in the window above my head. There was even a crack house a couple blocks down. Needless to say, we weren’t allowed out at night. We visited the Piggly Wiggly daily to fulfill our junk food needs and dragged a garden gnome with us everywhere we went. Plus, we went to an amazing gospel church down the street. Probably the best music I have ever heard in a church. Ever.

We spent one afternoon at the Civil Rights Museum in Birmingham. I remember feeling incredibly heartbroken and guilty after I left. I know how ridiculous that seems (after all, I didn’t do anything and wouldn’t have, I hope), but I did. I bought a tee shirt and wore it often to humble myself. And to remind others around me that it wasn’t so long ago that even the thought of civil rights was a dream.

Of course, I’m a scrawny white girl, so I’m sure they all thought I was trying to make myself feel better.

The other event that comes to mind was in my senior year of high school. It was actually the three-day weekend of Martin Luther King Day. We went to Little Rock and helped to clean up and restore a church. And serve in their soup kitchen on Sunday. When Monday rolled around, we marched in the Martin Luther King parade. I believe I was wearing my Civil Rights Museum shirt.

We were the only group of white kids in the parade. Or on the street watching the parade, for that matter. Talk about an eye opening experience. But you know, they were just happy that we were there. It was a wonderful celebration, with great music.

I guess I’m feeling more on-time this year with my thank you to Mr. King and all of those who fought for equal rights for African Americans. I know you changed my life for the better, and I bet hundreds of others would say the same thing.