A Life For Itself

Category: thoughts

  • NaBloPoMo 2016 – Day 1 (Hopefully, this will be different)

    Doing NaNoWriMo again. Taking the rebel path, writing essays instead of a novel or memoir other long-form narrative. Some folks are writing poems just like the PAD contest over at Writers Digest. I think I even saw some folks planning on writing plays this month. I should do that, but I’m committed to this idea of writing a book. Perhaps next month.

    I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve started, but I’ve completed the novel once. That year, I “blogged” the novel by posting it piece by piece on my then-website. Since I didn’t give much thought about whether I was participating until about 9:30 last night, I haven’t thought about whether I’d post the book-in-progress here.

    Doing NaBloPoMo, too, which is why this post is showing up when I also need to be average 1,666 words per day to finish the “main” project. I figured, if anything, that I owed a blog post per day, I’d have to sit down and make sure I wrote enough words to reach 50,000 by the end of the month for the “main” project.

    This year, I have a huge advantage that I didn’t have in previous years — I have a desk. An honest-to-God desk where I do nothing but writing. In previous years, I’d fire up my laptop at 12:00 A.M. and get to it. But I’d be sitting at the dining room table or on the sofa with my laptop on my lap desk.

    I once read there’s some psychological advantage to having a dedicated writing space. That when you’re in your dining room, your mind goes into the space of it being time to eat. That when you’re sitting on your sofa, your mind gets ready to relax. Maybe it’s true and maybe it’s not, but I do know that for me, it was hard to be productive sitting on the sofa. The dining room table wasn’t comfortable aside from writing my morning pages.

    Now that I have a dedicated desk and a comfortable office chair, I don’t have environment as an excuse to not make a go of NaNoWriMo and complete. I want to win this year. And even if I don’t finish a complete, more or less, unified work, I’ll have much material to send out to places. Having fewer and fewer excuses is a good thing. And if there’s anything I want to change from my previous attempts, it’s that. I don’t want excuses and other BS to stop me from making what will hopefully be, some big gains this November.

    I did start last night, but not at 12:00. I started around 12:25, when I felt like I’d have enough energy to write at least half of the words I needed for the day. And after I got done watching a bunch of YouTube videos.

    I got there by 1:45. I’m going to write the last 800 or so, in an essay I’m liking so far, in the next couple of hours after I write this.

    One day almost down.

    (Update: 2418 words)

  • Dispatch from Home

    I sit in a plastic chair on the porch.

    A sweet scent. Maybe sausage on a grill. Beef. I smell fries and my mind tricks me into believing I can also smell the gravy about to be doused over them. The whole concoction will go into a box, fried wings in the next. There’s now a new carryout where the old banquet hall used to be. The Chinese food store is still there. I have my stories. About the store and gravy fries and cheese fries and wings and chicken boxes. Salt, pepper, and ketchup on my wings and fries.

    Ka-joom. Clack-a-lack.

    A trailer banging, tripped by the imperfections in the asphalt. The truck’s motor growls, yanking the still reverberating metal box up the road. And then another, probably headed South this time, maybe to Washington or somewhere in Virginia or North Carolina, maybe even to Florida or even somewhere out West. The road jabs and pitches these hulks all day and night. They always have, same as the #36 bus that stops across the street. The cars whose drivers, free of Downtown’s one-way-street grid, take liberty to fly towards the County line, a few corners away.

    There’s a soul food store at the gas station, now.

    Someone once shot at that gas station from the block, then ran. Altogether both stupid and smart.

    Kids run down the block. There’s a fight at the bus stop. I run in, open the back door and it’s spilled all the way across the parking lot. The alley between the shopping center and the apartments keeps the kids in their khakis and powder blue and navy blue uniforms from dribbling over to the #44 stop.

    In my day, fights transferred from line to line, line to neighborhood, line to block. I even got myself caught up in one once. But there was never more than that. We didn’t wear uniforms, either.

    As soon as it heated up, it died out. When the cheering stopped, I knew.

    Any out-of-towners driving by, perhaps hoping for a Wire-esque performance, complete with blood and the wailing of an ambulance and another brown-skinned mother, would have gone home disappointed. The police didn’t even show up. At night, they drive through the parking lot with lights flashing to show they’re there. Perhaps they want to own the night and have ceded the day to the kids.

    The two boys at the corner watch excitedly for a moment, then as they probably have more than once, leave.

    They’ve replaced me.

    The hide and seek places — the bushes and trees I’d try to hide my husky frame behind; the knoll on the side of the apartments around the corner where we played minimally organized football and baseball games, against other neighborhoods and each other, where we coached ourselves and each other, patted ourselves and each other on the back; the blocks in the street where we used to jump and bounce balls and throw water balloons, all belong to these kids now. They own the bus stop and the Chinese store.

    This is their time.

    I wasn’t sure I’d ever be back here. Not to live. Visit? For sure.

    I had finally found some peace with used to being from here, with someone else’s son or daughter taking the story over. I’d gone on to adventures elsewhere. Made some plays. Toured Harlem on foot. Driven the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

    I’m not settled, yet. I’m still learning the new, like the Qdoba on York Road, the building on 33rd Street that replaced the frat house with the shoe tree in front; remembering the old like the Giant on York Road, how to get to White Marsh. Harry Little’s sub shop became a frozen yogurt store and now it’s about to become a juice bar.

    It’s often slow going like when I first went to Jersey, but I learned it. Learned in some ways to love it.

    Still, I don’t know if I can ever stake the same claim I had before. How much of this city, this area, can be mine like it was. While I’m figuring it out, I’ll watch the trucks from the porch. Eat a few coddies. This city made me who I was, but being away, letting go, helped make me who I am now.

  • #30WriteNow – October 5

    I need to read more.

    Don’t get me wrong, I read every day. I have to read a lot for my day job, but that’s technical stuff, technology news. I read a lot when I get home, but these days, it’s mostly more tech news, other news, and general non-fiction type books. Cultural and social and political criticism, though I do try to limit my intake of the latter these days.

    I need to read some essays, good essays. I’m kidding myself I don’t think I should read some good fiction. It’s good for the brain, but I like getting my brain-improvement fix from reading nonfiction, so some good essays it is. Personal essays.

    I’m feeling kind of stuck in my own essay practice, so there’s that dual reason for wanting to get into some good essays. I want ideas and to get something from how whichever writer(s) I end up reading constructed their work.

    The good thing about being home more is I’ll have less time with the TV, so I’ll have more time to read and hopefully get the creative juices stirred more.

    I’ve been looking at places to take myself on artist dates. For one thing, there are more museums at home, so as I find the cash and time to take myself, I’m going to do that. I like that the Reginald Lewis Museum has a reading room on the top floor. I plan to take my Chromebook the next time I go there so I can write about what I see there, what I feel inspired by.

    Last time I was there, it was the general exhibit of Black Marylanders, both those of us born in Maryland those who became Marylanders by virtue of things like playing sports in the state. Like Lenny Moore of the Baltimore Colts. I also liked the Black Dandy exhibit and had the thought to dress sometimes like the folks in the exhibit. It hasn’t worked out that way yet, but there’s still time.

    I’m also looking forward to spending time in the library.

    I am going to miss the libraries in NJ. Mercer County has some fine libraries, especially the ones in Lawrenceville and Ewing and on the campus of Mercer County Community College. Even the central library in Trenton is a good library. Their meeting space is really good. It’s an older, historic building and I like those.

    My plan is to get myself into the main Enoch Pratt library on Cathedral Street in Baltimore at some point and a couple of the Howard County library branches. I’ll probably breeze through the Baltimore County Library in Towson one of these days too.

    For nostalgia’s sake, I’ll probably check out the Enoch Pratt library Roland Park branch until they kick me out of there or something. I remember it long before the renovation, when I was in elementary school; these days, I see the teachers with the little kids tethered together walking the streets of Trenton and I remember that being us walking down Roland Avenue and crossing Deepdene Road to go to the library.

    I’ll probably have to wait until and crash the next City College Alumni Association meeting to get into the library at the school. I am looking forward to that.

    I am going to miss being closer to the Schomburg Center in New York. I wish I’d visited there more. I wish I’d taken another walking tour of Harlem. When I get my money up more, I want to go with my auntie and the lady friend and go on a Harlem tour. My aunt probably wouldn’t be up for all the walking, so we’ll have to do the tour on a bus or something, but I do want to do that. I’ll definitely need to get my money way up so we can take the train up to New York and get a cab at Penn Station up to Harlem. Or an Uber. Whatever it is they’re doing up there these days. I’m used to getting the Subway out of Penn Station to wherever I need to go in New York these days.

    I wish I’d spent more time in New York. I still haven’t been to Grimaldi’s, either in Brooklyn or Hoboken. Haven’t been to Katz’s or 2nd Avenue Deli. Haven’t been to Yardbird or Red Rooster. Haven’t been to any of the other many soul food and other Black-owned restaurants around the City. The Harlem tour and then a nice dinner at Sylvia’s would be a great day for my auntie. I also want to take my little cousins to a basketball game at Barclay’s Center one of these days. Some deal — take the train, go to the game, come back home.

    And for myself, something related to working in a theatre there.

  • #30WriteNow – October 4

    O’s Fall

    I waited until the bitter end to write. I wanted to watch. I wanted to write about how the O’s had overcome, gone on to face the Rangers, looking to get back to the ALCS and then the Series.

    I was baffled by Buck’s reluctance to bring Britton in, but they lost because they got 4 hits all game and none after like the 7th. Ubaldo’s 5 pitch, 11th inning meltdown facilitated the ending, but as soon as the O’s bats got in the line to get back through customs, the game was done then.

    I talked to my boss earlier about all the logistics possibilities in the event that the O’s won the game. ALDS Game 3 will be played Sunday. Had the O’s won, they would have played the same afternoon as the Ravens, a prospect that freaks out Baltimore City government and the MTA. At least they won’t all have to worry about it.

    Still, MTA should look into how they can run weekend Camden Line trains. This week’s game is vs. Washington and I can’t think of a better time for weekend Camden Line trains.

    Mets still alive

    Probably the best thing about having more than one favorite team is when they’re both vying for playoff spots. I’m pretty numb about the O’s, but tomorrow night, I’ll get to see my other team take their own crack at getting to the Division Series. They’ll have to get through Madison Bumgartner, but it’s certainly not an impossible consideration.

    My boss and I also talked about the logistics of getting to Citi Field. Last couple of times I’ve gone to Mets games, I’ve either gone via car or taken New Jersey Transit to New York Penn Station, then taken the Subway to Times Square to get the 7. My boss went to a Mets home game a few weeks ago and they took New Jersey Transit and the Long Island Rail Road. Next time I get to a Mets game, that’s the way I want to go.

    New York Penn Station

    Speaking of Penn Station, renderings for the new Farley Amtrak/LIRR station are coming out. New York Times ran an article with a competing vision which would see the Garden move to the Farley annex, with the current building largely gutted and re-faced with glass, creating an open building with lots of natural light.

    I’ve been a fan of the Farley idea since it was proposed years ago. I’m glad to see it moving forward. It would also be interesting to reconstruct the Garden building so that the east end of the station is as impressive as the west, especially since it doesn’t look like New Jersey Transit is moving over to the Farley building with Amtrak and the LIRR.

    Luke Cage

    Haven’t watched it yet. It’s at the top of my list of things to watch. Then I need to finally finish this past season of Daredevil.

    Shooting

    According to my job’s COO, who walked around the neighborhood and talked to folks, there was a shooting up the block from the office. Nobody was hit, but apparently, a group of guys took some shots down the street our building is on, from the adjacent street before running.

    As he put it, tensions were high around the neighborhood right after it all went down. So folks around the office decided that it was a good time to go home –it was 5:30, which by itself meant it was a good time to go home– so the office pretty much cleared out. I got out of there, too. Wasn’t much point in staying much longer by then.

    Google Reveal

    Not much of interest. I was hoping they’d announce a successor to the Nexus 7 line of tablets, but nothing doing there. I’ve been looking to replace mine and with nVidia cancelling their X1, I was hoping Google would step up with a new 7 incher. Guess not. At least not yet. I may end up with a 7 or 7 inch Samsung or iPad at this point.

  • #30WriteNow – October 3

    It’s wonderful to have someone in your life who knows you in and out and when it’s time, will call you on all of your excuses you put up. This is especially helpful for a writer. Even with all of the great courses available to help you get over writer’s block, fake it out, avoid it, jump over it, whatever, it’s still sometimes hard to face the blank word processor.

    The problem is it can also be quite painful to have someone who knows you so well, they know all of your excuses and when you’re driving up the highway at 75 MPH and just feel the need to vent, can call you out and down to the carpet. Who will let you vent but make sure once you feel better, you’re up for some sort of action behind it.

    The kind of person who will tell you you’re trying to stay in your comfort zone.

    Feels good there. Nobody can criticize or hurt you there. You can be safe there. You don’t grow there, unfortunately, and you can atrophy and die there.

    I’m there.

    I couldn’t even tell you the year I stopped writing poems. One day I just did. When I was a teenager just beginning to write poems, there was a return of joy when I would write one. As I inched into adulthood, that joy lessened. Especially when I’d workshop a poem in the group I was involved in. Poetry was something I liked as an exercise when I was younger. As an adult, it just dragged me down.

    This is not a good place to be when you’re beginning to feel like you’re missing it and want to pick it back up but have lingering doubts that overshadow any feeling of joy you might feel for the simple pleasure of writing a poem again. In the comfort zone, you don’t have to overcome that and fight for that happiness and joy again. No, you have the TV and other interests to distract and even pacify you, somewhat.

    In the comfort zone, you can write plays and put them into drawers. Write essays and leave them in Google Drive or post them on your website that you don’t promote. No need to worry about people reading them there.

    That’s where I am and that’s what it’s come to. Not exactly how I envisioned my writing life at this age, but that’s where it is.

    The question posed to me yesterday as I balled down the highway was: will you bet on you?

    Damn.

    It’s one thing to ask whether you’ll try writing something and sending it out. Or will you perhaps begin again to work on a monologue and perhaps run down to a photographer and get a new headshot.

    Will you bet on yourself?

    Will you give yourself permission?

    Permission to take those evening hours and make something and share it. Permission to say, “here I am, yep, this is me.”

    It’s easy to make that weekly TV schedule, DVR your shows, and get ready to watch, when you haven’t taken a step towards the life you say you want but feel like you haven’t the foggiest how to get there. That’s being overwhelmed. It’s easy to curl up with a blanket at that point.

    Betting or permitting require more courage. Require you to dip that toe out, with the possibility there not that it’ll get bitten off by an alligator, but that your toe will get swept up in a wave, flinging your whole body into a larger, yet wonderful world that you don’t know. It’s always the not knowing that’s the “but.”

    Still, though, that’s where the life is. It’s not in here, it’s out there. The question is how long can you stand the pain of being stuck. Of perhaps wanting to be stuck.

    What is the point of staying, though?

    What do I have left to lose? More days? Is it an easier feeling to think I may one day check out of here without seeing my name on the spine of a book? I used to run into the Borders books in Downtown D.C. (I think it was at 14th and I, NW) and nurse a dream of seeing my name on the spine of a book. I think I left that dream outside of this bubble. It might not be out there waiting on me still, but I wonder if there are 10, 20, 50 more waiting there to take its place.

    I’m going to ask myself these questions during devotions tomorrow morning. Do I have it in me to bet on myself to succeed at this? And can I give myself permission to? Come back in 6 months and see if I have any new publications listed. You’ll know the answer then.

  • #30WriteNow – October 2

    My devotions time this morning was awesome again. Deciding to spend time each morning in quiet, meditation, affirmation, or whatever spiritual thing I decide to do, has yielded some great benefits. I’ve felt more balanced to start the day, happier, more able to deal with the messes and such that come my way.

    I’ve also received some great insights into myself, which I’ve needed. I’ve been cruising on autopilot for a very long time, much longer than I should estimate. I’d hate to say I’ve been going along without really thinking or feeling my way through things for at least the last 15 years since I came to New Jersey. In the beginning, I didn’t pay much attention to how I was feeling, except when things would become too overwhelming.

    A few years in, I became more attentive to myself, but still, the intention was more so to get myself and keep myself going well enough to get through the days. I was unemployed for a good while and had to prevent myself from falling completely into an abyss. Once I began working at my current job, the goal was to maintain my mental and emotional balance to get through the days. I’ve done that. One day a couple of weeks ago, one of my coworkers saw me becoming emotional because of changes coming in my life and she remarked that she’d never seen me off like that. My “behind the scenes” work did well.

    The blinds cracked open when I was in school while working. I’ve heard many times people talking about how the experience of working and going to school being a grind, the combination of the two being a sap of energy and time, some of which could be better spent perhaps cooking or eating or reading a book or something.

    My experience was far different. Probably because I was at school doing scenes from Chekhov and Lanford Wilson plays, making wacky performance art, and being as creative as I could in all of my classes. It fed me. I’m not a dancer, but doing plies and tendus and moving to Kylie Minogue and doing weird dancing routines in NYC Subway, that fed me. Going to the gym after class and work, that fed me. Acting on stage again fed me. Writing and directing my own work, that fed me.

    Once that was done and I was back to just working, I was back to running on auto again. Aside from the past couple of weeks, I’ve done morning pages pretty consistently for the last 15 years. I probably wasn’t doing them right because I still didn’t get the kind of light flashed into myself that I had this morning.

    I started out thinking about personal power and where I’m living that or not living that. Moreso not living that. And how I could live it more. Where I needed it more (largely everywhere). And just that little bit of chipping knocked down a huge wall that I didn’t even know was there. If I’d had the right kind of sight, I would have seen this, but I didn’t until today and that’s fine.

    I’m missing passion and desire in my life.

    What a lesson to get on a Sunday morning.

    Passion and desire.

    As we often do when confronted with a tough, terrible truth, I resisted. For a few minutes. But once I gave up and surrendered to what my mind and more importantly, my life, was showing me, everything became clear.

    Take my art, for example.

    I last felt passion and desire, in mostly small measure, while I was at school. When I was writing and directing and acting, I was there, in the zone. Even still, I wasn’t ever 100% in any particular moment, I can say. My mind was focused on things like whether I was doing whatever I was doing well. Whether I was developing myself enough to have “earned the right” to do the work publicly on campus or elsewhere. Whether I could make a career of it once I got out of school and escape the workaday life making the computers work.

    I might have been 99% there when doing speeches or such, but never 100. I never got fully back to passion and desire, at least the way I had them and felt them when I was younger. I was too focused on what would come from what I was doing, instead of just doing them, feeling them.

    And as I was taking out the trash this morning, I couldn’t escape the fact that the reason I ever started doing any of this art –writing, acting, whatever– was the passion of it. It felt wonderful and exhilarating to do. The desire of it. The wanting of more. To be better. To go deeper. To go beyond.

    And forget the rest of my life. I lost much of that passion years ago, much of that desire. It’s hard to capture that feeling when you have to get focused in on some of the things I’ve had to focus in on in my daily life. When you hear about the financial issues of your job. Or when you feel like you’re not on solid footing there. If you’re not otherwise financially or otherwise free, the worry can take a toll and the toll can be that passion. It doesn’t have to be, but it can be. And it often is, for a lot of people, as I understand.

    Still, I feel a call this morning. Not to preach. Not to run out in the streets and scream or create a Happening. Not even to act. Not even to write anything. At least not in the same way I’ve been doing them. It’s not even a call to go home, not in the physical sense, since I’m home in Baltimore this morning and I’ll be back in New Jersey later, which I consider to be a second home.

    No, the call is to come back home, inside, to the passion and desire I’ve lost, missed over these years. It’s a call to decide on, demand on, living passionately. Living with desire. Going for more. Getting out of autopilot and away from the excuses to do so. To live on a higher flying plane, which is where I’ve decidedly not been for a long time. And to believe that whatever changes I inevitably have to make in my life (and ones that will themselves be made and resolved), that, as Gabby Bernstein says, the Universe has my back.

    Quite a bit to take in before today’s Ravens game, yes.

  • #30WriteNow

    Last night on Twitter, I saw the hashtag #30WriteNow come down my timeline. I figured, why not do it? I’d planned on coming back to writing after October 1, from a hiatus. I missed Day 1, but October has 31 days, so that’s no problem.

    How it works: http://msmarymack.com/2013/10/02/octobers-still-fresh-time-for-30writenow/

    The rules were simple: Every day of October, you write something for 30 minutes or one full page. It could be for your blog, an essay, your novel — doesn’t matter — just write! It’s about commitment, consistency. And for 30 days,* you strive to get it done. No editing or second-guessing what’s on the page, just write. Write now.

    It’s a freewrite, so it’s the writing, with no, straight from the dome. If you don’t like reading such things, don’t. This material may also show up elsewhere later. I’ll be participating all October. It’ll be interesting as I have big changes happening in my life. Here goes.

  • Chesapeake Writers Conference – Day 5

    Day five, the final day, is in the books down here at the Chesapeake Writers Conference.

    Kids and Food

    The boys were present at lunch, dressed in their khakis, blue shirts, and ties. Highly presentable, very tasteful. As usual, they sung at dinner. I’m glad I was sitting in the back, since the baritones were back there again. I always enjoy hearing the baritone and bass parts in choral music.

    I haven’t mentioned what I’ve been eating during these forays into the dining hall, but at dinner, I had tilapia and a couple of burgers. I was the only person at the table not eating any salad, but I’ll be certainly doing so once I’m outta here. I have not kept keto this week, but I’ve done my best to go crazy on protein. When I get back home, I’ll add the fats back in, the coconut and MCT oil. I’ll be on track again quickly.

    Craft Talk

    Angela gave an awesome talk this morning with tips on revising your work. Some of them like reading your work out loud and taking some time away from your first draft, were things I’d heard before.

    But things like cutting the word “feel” from your writing, was one I hadn’t heard and I thought about it, it made perfect sense. Show how your character feels through description and verbs. You don’t have to say how your character feels.

    Also, her tip on cliche ideas was well worth the price of admission (LOL). Write towards something other than a resolution that everything is okay. She talked about the inner plot and the physical plot and all the lovely things I like about drama (we just use slightly different terms for the same thing; I use Richard Toscan’s terms “emotional plot” and “suspense plot”. I’m a playwright).

    She also talked about removing parentheticals (which I obviously love) as well as clauses inside of dashes –I love those, too–. I consider myself a dashmaster. I’ll go into the kitchen and get a canister of Mrs. Dash and sprinkle it in my notebook. I love dashes. It’s going to be hard to wean myself off of them.

    Great way to end a week of craft talks.

    Workshop

    Today was my essay’s day to be workshopped. I submitted a lyric essay. Without going into everything that was said –because I took several pages of notes I haven’t transcribed and don’t plan to post them anyway– the process was one of the best workshop processes I’ve ever been inside of.

    One of the issues I’ve had with workshops is people stating their critiques with the proviso, “if I were writing this.” I hate that. You’re not writing this. I’m writing this. I’m not interested in where you would take the story because it’s my story and I’m interested in where you think I should take it, given what you see and where I might think I want to take it.

    And what I got in this workshop was exactly what I wanted — people’s thoughts on what they read and where they thought I could take it to make it better. And most of my fellow participants’ comments were right on the money. I’d originally written the story during my Creative Nonfiction online class and I was on very strict word limits. The essay ended up being quite bare, even as far as lyric essays go, but Angela and my fellow participants gave me some great ideas for how to flesh it out and make it into something more full, especially now that I’m not on any particular word limit.

    One question I did have was this: in terms of narrative structure, I thought the lyric essay eschewed the normal structure. However, we did discuss the essay in those terms. However, Angela made the point that instead of following a strict arc, what might be desirable is to increase in detail so that the reader gets a broader view of what’s being discussed (and in terms of this essay, hopefully a raison d’etre). That’s something I’ve had issues with in my own lyric essay practice, so I’m grateful to have a specific answer from someone who is practicing the form professionally right now.

    Lecture

    Instead of straight lecture, Matt Hall sang some songs, read us a children’s book he wrote, and gave us a presentation on Dada. Since he mentioned the Neo-Dadaists, I told him I wish he’d do John Cage’s 4’33”; he told me he’d thought about it, but didn’t have the time.

    Patricia Henley read from one of her stories. I wish maybe she’d had a few folks read from her play. I know we were here for fiction, non-fiction, and poetry, but Matt Hall was up there singing songs. Why couldn’t have had a few pages or perhaps a whole scene of a play read?

    Other good stuff …

    Since craft talk started at 10:30, I had time to sleep in and write morning pages. I got some breakfast then sat outside of the Daily Grind and wrote several pages longhand. Yes.

    I’ve been typing all my freewrites and with all the typing for these blog posts, it felt good to get back to handwriting my thoughts and not just taking notes.

    #

    As I was walking very slowly on the path towards the dining hall for dinner, one of the student staff members working for the reunion stopped her Cub Cadet next to me on the path and asked me nicely if I was looking for something.

    Normally, my reaction to such a question is to get ornery because hell, I paid my money to be here like everybody else. However, I told her I wasn’t looking for anything, but I would take a ride the rest of the way to the dining hall if she was going in that direction. She was.

    Too bad she wasn’t going back and forth when we came out of lecture.

    #

    My co-participant’s 7 month old was in the dining hall at dinner. On the way to lecture, I took off my hat and showed it to him and asked him if he could say “Orioles.” He looked and grinned at the Oriole bird. Another converted, confirmed, passionate O’s fan. And while mommy was wearing a Nationals shirt. Sweet.

    Not so good stuff …

    During workshop, one of the participants, who’s also been acting as a student staff member, received a call from the conference director, looking for me. I’d been parked outside of DPC and the events staff was upset that a car was blocking the area behind the townhouses. They were trying to unload items needed for the setup for this evening’s concert on the townhouse greens.

    I wasn’t back there, but he asked me to move anyway. I go over to DPC and there are eight other cars over there, a few of which weren’t even inside of parking spots like I was. I figured it was some personal bullshit and just moved it because I wanted to get back to workshop and didn’t feel dealing with anybody who might have had some static.

    I noticed that there was indeed a car parked directly behind the townhouses.

    By the time I’d gotten back within sight of the building, I noticed that somebody had indeed parked in the spot that I’d just vacated and none of the other cars had moved. I noticed the car behind the townhouses was still there.

    I went back to workshop and cooled off, both inside and out. Then I finally got the email about the car that they were looking for and a text that it wasn’t me they needed to move. Right.

    After workshop, the same car blocking the rear of the townhouses was still there. A couple of spaces on the side of DPC had opened up, though. So I put my bags in the flat and walk up to Lot R to get the car and put it back on the side of DPC.

    However, Public Safety was blocking the road going back directly to DPC and were guiding people to Lot R to park for the concert. One lady tried talking to the officers for several minutes and she got turned away.

    I thought about going the other way around campus, but I didn’t know whether Public Safety would let me back on campus on the other side of DPC and if not, whether my good parking space where I was would be there. I let discretion win instead of emotion and just left the car there. It was a good spot and with people arriving for a reunion as well as some Boy Scout thing I saw signs for, leaving it right there was the better play. In the morning, I’ll just walk up and get it and put it right behind the townhouses to load up.

    I hope it’s not this complicated every year.

    Now that it’s over …

    I don’t want it to be. A few of us walking up the path from dinner agreed on this feeling. All of us would love to be able to wake up, write, learn about writing, write some more, etc. on a daily basis. This was a wonderful week and I do not want to go back home. I told our HR director at work I probably wouldn’t want to and I don’t. Tomorrow, I want to wake up, write morning pages, find some food, do more writing, go to a lecture, something. I don’t want to get back on the road and leave this place, doing these things. It’s probably going to take me some time to get back into my usual routine, such is the momentum that I built up here, momentum that I don’t want to lose.

    I’m so tired right now, but it’s that good tired. That tired when you not only know you worked hard, but you worked towards something that you really wanted. Accomplished something. I don’t know, though, if I’ll sleep well because I’m tired or if I’ll be excited and sleep fitfully because I’m so ready to get back up and write again.

    #

    I think I’m going to keep waking up at 6:30 daily and write, but I’m going to work on my projects much more than I do and not rely on that after-work time to complete them, as that hasn’t been working the best for me.

    Now that I have some better pointers for revision, I’m going to revise some old projects (perhaps I’ll reserve the evenings for blogging and revision) because I see now that I have to get more work out there, including a book. It’s a goal I’ve been working towards, but now I need to go even harder.

    These are my initial thoughts on the week now that it’s over, but I’ll still be writing a full postmortem, which I’ll begin on Saturday at some point.

  • Chesapeake Writers Workshop – Day 4, parts 2/3 and 3/3

    The rest of Day 4 here at the Chesapeake Writers Conference is in the books. Part 1/3 here.

    Workshop (2/3)

    Pretty fantastic. We discussed the publishing panel from this morning. As I said I would, I asked Angela about publishing longer creative nonfiction and she did give a more concrete answer, different from the morning. She said to treat it more like general nonfiction.

    I have now really three answers, but Angela’s the one with one such book published and one she’s working on, so she’s been through the process and is in it right now. And you know what they say about walking in the paths made by those who have done what you want to do. And if you don’t, brush up on your cliches.

    We also discussed the lyric essay, the first cousin of the prose poem, my favorite type of essay. The lyric essay’s definition and characteristics are quite tricky, but they’re fun to read and write. I wrote one as my start-of-workshop freewrite.

    All of us wrote some pretty good ones during the end-of-session writing time. And the best part is that as you’re gathering these ideas that comprise your lyric essay, there’s nothing that says you can’t take them individually and expand upon them.

    My workshop essay for tomorrow is one, too. We’ll see how that goes.

    Evening Lecture (3/3)

    First, Liz Arnold talked about Ezra Pound’s Cantos. Then we had a second participant reading. I should have read, but I was thinking I’d have to read an essay, since CNF is the workshop I’m in. However, I would read a few poems. Maybe next year. Maybe if I come back next year, I’ll go into the poetry workshop. We’ll see.

    Food and Kids

    No problems at lunch or dinner. I wasn’t there.

    Other good stuff …

    I took another trip off campus with another workshop participant, a guy who’s from here and was filling me in on a lot of St. Mary’s history –both the College and the County– that I’d missed and talking about the stuff I did remember. I enjoyed that a lot. Well worth the time spent. I’m very grateful.

    The Improv participant, also from the area, agreed to ask their folks about a particular location on Great Mills Road that I remember, but not totally. It closed down because of health code violations back in the day, but I’ve been trying to remember the name and possibly write about it or at least put the issue to bed so I can complete this remembrance and put it to bed.. And now, I’ve not only come back, but I’ve met folks who have been helping me. What a time.

    Whatever strong is, that’s how I’m going to finish tomorrow.

    There will be a postmortem for this, perhaps more than one.

  • Baltimore Needs Some Wins

    Resignation over Goodson verdict, and the larger problems raised by death of Freddie Gray

    Dominic Nell left work at a Baltimore summer camp Thursday afternoon, rode the subway home to West Baltimore to find a veritable skyline of satellite trucks, boom microphones and cameras.

    Source: www.baltimoresun.com/news/maryland/freddie-gray/bs-md-ci-goodson-reaction-20160623-story.html

     

    I texted my cousin shortly after the verdict was read. I asked him what the mood of the people was in the streets, how folks were feeling, was anything going on. He replied: “streets are quiet, we knew the verdicts last year.”

    Later, I read the article linked above. My cousin isn’t the only one who felt the same way. Everyday folks interviewed on WBAL Radio were saying the same thing.

    Regardless of how well or poorly the state made their case or how well or poorly the defense represented Officer Goodson, it’s likely a lot of people felt the fix was coming. A lot of people have given up on the notion that there’s going to be justice for themselves and people who look like them in Baltimore.

    It’s part of a larger notion of powerlessness. Check the election turnout numbers for years in Baltimore. Many just don’t participate. They feel like nothing’s going to happen for them through politics. You wonder why some would take things as far last year as they did? They don’t feel like they have any other voice.

    Whether the state whiffed completely, there are going to be people who want to know how Freddie Gray could be put into the police van and come out almost dead on the other end and nobody is going to be held responsible.

    The lawyers on the radio were explaining how there’s a difference between that which happened being a criminal matter vs. being a civil matter. All of that may be true and accurate, but most people around town aren’t lawyers. All they know is Freddie Gray went in and came out almost dead and nobody is so far being held responsible for this violence. Just like other times in the City’s recent history.

    Can anybody blame them for feeling like the criminal justice system overall, isn’t for them?

    When the City is about to essentially take out a half a billion dollar or more loan to build up Port Covington, but people don’t see any changes or development going on in their neighborhood, it’s easy to see why they would give up on participating in the system. What’s the point of calling up City Hall when you’re not a developer and they seem like the only ones who can get anything changed?

    Baltimore really needs some wins. Not ones that are going to cost $535M in taxpayer-backed money, but Baltimore needs some big, high profile wins. Outside of Downtown or Harbor East. In the “real” Baltimore.

    Not for outsiders who won’t think Baltimore’s anything anyway, but for the people there who you can maybe make give a damn or better, feel like they have some kind of ownership.

    The O’s are in first place with the All Star Break around the corner, but while an O’s World Series win would be big, that’s not what Baltimore needs. The Ravens have had two Super Bowl wins in the last 15 calendar years and while those were edifying to the community psyche, those weren’t enough and won’t be enough now. They’ll play a role if they happen, but more needs to happen.

    The Red Line could have played a part, but that’s gone now and besides, I’m not sure how well the powers-that-be made the case for how good the line could have been for communities along its flanks. MTA is about to begin holding community workshops about the replacement BaltimoreLink bus plan, but is that even a worthy substitute for everything the Red Line maybe could have done, had it been given the chance to succeed as light rail has done in other cities? Maybe it will. For the sake of the City, I hope it does because I don’t think they’ll ever build the Red Line or anything like it. Definitely not during my lifetime, if it does.

    Suffice it to say, this is the kind of thing Baltimore needs. And it needs a bunch of them.

    It needs the kind of things that don’t leave the majority of Baltimore residents out of the loop, out of the process, and out of the prosperity.

    Otherwise, people who don’t live or work or play in places like Harbor Point or Port Covington will continue to feel isolated and hurt and that at best, the city doesn’t care about them or that worst, the city is outright hostile to them.

    The city needs to show that it’s committed to justice and fairness for all of its residents. Catherine Pugh is going to be Mayor, everybody knows it. She needs to lead in that way or else years from now, we’ll be even more generations into the kind of apathy and disenfranchisement that’s helped to get Baltimore into the position that it’s in now.