here's the gist

I’m writing a novel, inspired by my previous blog post and Doug Paul Case’s summer project. It may not be socially or culturally enriching or important, but I intend for it to be enjoyable. If I can write something, and have someone connect with it, then I will be happy. I am writing a novel that will be categorized as a beach read, and I am all right with that. It is my summer project, part two.

I have set a deadline for myself. I plan on moving back to Boston on the 29th of August, so I have a week before classes start to find a job so I won’t be poor for the remainder of my tenure at Emerson. I have until the 28th to complete my novel, of roughly 180 pages, at 300 words per page (the Prometheus standard page). That is a very short novel, of approximately 54,000 words, or about 4 pages a day.

In similar, yet unrelated news: I’m reading Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. I’m really enjoying it. It is a book I wouldn’t normally have picked up, but I thought a trip back to the New York Times Bestseller’s List would help me find an enjoyable piece of fiction for the summer. After spending too much time in Barnes & Noble, I went home with the book and it has definitely been worth it. It’s a fresh story told in an interesting way, not geared toward women, and I highly recommend it.

friday morning traffic

I don't know where this story came from, but I think it is the beginning to a longer piece, but I might already hate the character. Oh well...

It might be dangerous to drive across four lanes of traffic to the sixth tollbooth. Twenty minutes into my commute I race to fit in the lines leading up to number six, regardless of the traffic coming at me. It’s 7:30am and I’m already late.

My head is pounding. Tequila Thursdays were a favorite in college. Six shots before we even left for the night. Tequila Thirties doesn’t quite have the same ring, unless you count the ringing in my ears and the throbbing pain in my neck.

A blue Jetta cuts me off as I merge onto I90 and I scream a nice, fuck you, knowing the middle-aged man talking into the Bluetooth piece in his ear is completely oblivious to my car and my existence.

The BBC World Service blares through the radio: the only thing that calms me in the morning. Ironic, how endless reports of bad news can put my own little life in perspective. A new government in some Stan country I’ve never heard of, and a senator from West Virginia just died and the balance of power in the Senate is cause for concern. Every morning I wait to hear the world is coming to an end, and I’m rarely disappointed.

By time I’ve reached the tolls my caffeine addiction has been satisfied and I can feel the wrinkle in my forehead relaxing to the permanent crease that has been there since college. An audible sigh escapes my mouth and I rifle through my change to collect the $1.25 I need, and hand it to Eddie.

Eddie is the elderly man who has worked in the sixth tollbooth since I started my 9-to-5, maybe before but I wouldn’t know. He knows me now, at least by recognition. He asks me how my morning is going, takes my money, careful not to drop the quarter, and smiles. He never raises the bar before he tells me a joke, something to “brighten my morning” as he always says.

It might be dangerous to cut across four lanes of traffic to get to Eddie’s tollbooth, but I do it anyway; every morning, at roughly 7:52, after my coffee and after the world news.

This morning Eddie asks me if I’d ever though how rough driving could be if cows could fly like bugs. I don’t know where he comes up with these thoughts.

I laugh, and drive away, thankful that my windshield wipers push away mosquitoes, and not cows.

puppy love

When you have a dog you take her for a walk. You take her for a walk everyday around the same time and you might even take the same route. Habit.

Other people have dogs and they take them for walks everyday around the same time and they take the same route.

By simple exposure, these dog-owner couples become your friends. They stop and pet your dog and you pet theirs. You say things like “oh, she’s so cute, what’s her name?” You say that because of her bowlegs she must be part basset, or that her playful energy means she’s absolutely part lab or retriever. You make dog-talk with these strangers, and then carry on your walk, to see them again tomorrow.

Ellie brought up the point tonight that you can’t just go up to a stranger and say, “oh, you’re so cute, what’s your name?” You can’t say, “such a long nose. You must be Italian.” These are things you don’t say to complete strangers, and part of society that would be completely lost on a puppy.

Puppies walk up and sniff another dog’s butt and they’re instantly friends or foes. Sounds easier. Try it and let me know how that goes.

fiction

This is the worst scenario I can think of at present:

Getting excited for something that you know isn’t worth it, and then being disappointed when it doesn’t happen, an outcome that is safer and right.

Fight between logic and impulse. Play things safe, following your head and doing what you know is the best decision. Even when things flop, rest assured because you followed what you, reasonably, thought was the right thing to do/way to go. When you act on impulse and things fall apart, it’s harder to justify your actions because you have nothing feasible to back them up. You can’t do things because of a “feeling”. Feelings are impossible to measure.

The only problem is when you play it safe your situation will only yield safe, predictable outcomes. It’s simple math.

Try to follow your “heart” and use feelings to support actions, but it will blow up in your face, or at least your head. That’s the risk.

Gibberish.

open road

I went home to Albany for the weekend to take a little break from Buffalo and sleeping on a futon. I left my brother and his fiancé with the new puppy and drove 300 miles across the state with an iced coffee and a freshly burned Ingrid Michaelson CD.

I love driving and road trips. There is something so relaxing about just driving fast on an open road, with so much to look forward to. I love the time to myself to just think or belt music that no other human ears should be subjected to.

The weekend was just what I needed to lift my spirits and feel a dose of Albany-summer. I spent time with good friends, saw an excellent Italian film at the Spectrum, went to Grafton Lake to get sunburns and went shopping. With a trip to the diner and a night of Gilmore Girls the weekend was complete.

Being home was great but it makes me miss everyone that much more. I miss friends from home because this summer was supposed to be time spent with them and I miss friends from school, after being with them all year. I’ve been video-chatting with Lee Doran and Greg Turner tonight, as well as Alex Castillo (these are shameless shout-outs). I love what I’m doing this summer with the publishing company and spending time with Jon, Ellie, and the recent addition of Audrey, but I will be excited to go back to Albany in August and Boston in September.

So much to do and so many places to be. It’s not always easy floating between three cities.

on bringing home Audrey

We were nervous today as we sat in the car at the red light. We didn’t think about the drive to the shelter. We thought about meeting for the first time and then the life together. We found you online, you were surrendered only two days ago. You have sad eyes and a long nose and a perfectly wagging tail. With your ballerina bowlegs and your floppy ears, you are perfect. We didn’t know this as we sat in the car at the red light.

We were scared you had been through trauma that would make you difficult to train. Scared that you hadn’t been treated well before. We were scared you would use the carpet in the apartment as your personal bathroom, as it turns out you have. We were afraid that you wouldn’t be a good fit, and we were afraid of what your existence would do to ours.

There was something so surreal about sitting in the car at that red light. We could have made a dangerous U-turn and gone back to where we had come from, sure that someone else would have adopted you. We didn’t.

Ellie got her baby today: a beagle-basset hound-lab mix, nine months old and not yet housebroken. She has waited so long and hasn’t been disappointed. She fell in love the moment she saw those sad eyes on the screen. She couldn’t wait for that puppy, but still, we hesitated at the light, thinking that even when you’re unfailingly sure of something, it can still be scary and cause you to take a second to stop and think before you continue on your way.

cancelled

Netflix is one of the greatest services ever. It now has the capacity to stream through the Wii. Ellie and I have been taking advantage of instant Netflix for the past week or so. I won’t speak for her, but I have become quite addicted. Actually, I’ll throw her in this too, as the third season of Angel speaks for itself.

I don’t know why good shows get cancelled and shows like Bridezilla (which I’ve never seen but just recently heard of) or Millionaire Matchmaker are thriving. With the new Wii-Netflix connection, I watched the Arrested Development series, which was cancelled after it’s third season. I never watched it when it was on the air. I had only seen it a few times at the end of this past semester when a good friend of mine was watching it. It is one of the funniest shows I have ever seen. It’s so well written. I foolishly laugh aloud while I’m watching it by myself, which always makes me mildly uncomfortable for no reason. I watched the three seasons of it in the past week and am now really sad that it’s over.

This is kind of just a rant that TV is terrible and ratings only reflect the stupidity of our nation as a whole. I might just be bitter that I won’t get to see what happens to Lucille or between George-Michael and Maebey, or if that seal is going to take Buster’s other hand.

I should probably get a more productive hobby.

sick

I hate being sick, but especially when I’m not home. I wasn’t feeling well and I spent most of today feeling gross and wishing I were home, where I could hide under my covers and not be in the way of anyone or anything that was going on. It’s sometimes difficult living without a place to go and be alone. I feel like I am usually in the way.

I’m so grateful to my brother and soon-to-be-sister-in-law for letting me crash on their futon for the greater part of a summer. I hope they don’t hate me for doing so and I hope they are not silently building their resentments. Perhaps I will go home this weekend and give them some space and time to themselves.

I am tired.

slacker

I suppose I took a little break from my blog. With the move to Buffalo and the new job, I could say I have been too busy. That would be a lie. Here are a few, brief, updates.

I am absolutely loving my internship with Prometheus. I am learning a lot, most importantly that my career aspirations aren’t unfounded.

I am being published in August in Wigleaf’s online magazine: a flash fiction story, originally published on this blog! I’m very excited about it, to say the least.

My cousin, Michelle, married her fiancé Nathaniel this past weekend in Rochester. It was a beautiful wedding and I had a wonderful time with my family. With a day in Utica afterwards, the weekend was complete.

not within our publishing parameters

31 rejections letters. 12 were sent out via email and 19 were sent in self-addressed envelopes.

I wrote rejection letters today. I tried to view it simply as clerical work. Papers get stacked up and sometimes you need to just sit and get caught up on correspondence. I enjoyed reading all of the proposed titles and glancing through manuscripts and inquiries. Publishing houses, obviously, receive more submissions than they could ever possibly publish. I have a feeling rejection letters will be part of my daily to-do.

The writer in me couldn’t help but feel a bit disheartened. I know how challenging it is to be chosen for publication, but something about seeing people’s names and the hard work they put into their piece I was rejecting on behalf of the editor-in-chief made it so real. I typed the emails that sent bad news to smart and deserving people. I know, as I have a lot of work currently pending for decision at literary magazines, waiting for that email is excruciating. It hurts even more when it’s a rejection.

It’s all part of the process, and honestly, the likelihood of rejection makes the field that much more challenging and rewarding. Writing wouldn’t be worth it if anyone and their brother could throw some words together and see it on the shelf at Barnes & Noble.

Writing those rejections reassured me, in a selfish way, that personally, I am on the appropriate side of the publishing process. I want to help those whose ideas and execution are worth putting into print to share and connect with the world. If I can’t produce them myself (not saying I can’t), I at least want to assist others, because that is something I know I can do.

so much to learn

I bought the Chicago Manual of Style. The editor-in-chief at Prometheus named it as the standard they use in their publishing process and requested that I have it for my time there. After emptying my pitiful bank account to buy it, I sat down and read through the table of contents. I have so much to learn.

I start my internship at Prometheus tomorrow morning. I am nervous and excited and a couple other emotions that I’ve hinted at in previous entries of this blog. In reference to my first post, when I thought I was going to be pouring coffee for the summer in Albany, lets see what I can do.

Ready, go.