Hello there.
I am writing the entrance essays for a creative writing grad program.
It's horrifically dull, what with all these absurd word count limits and page edits and whatnot, but I suppose that's what the joys of academia are all about, finding your own method to exploit the cage.
Publishing in general...I think.
Red wine helps.
Bret Easton Ellis revisiting helps.
Remembering what you are grateful for, and where you find inspiration, also helps.
I am reading What the Dickens by Gregory Maguire right now.
Gregory and I have a long standing relationship. Half my life actually.
I got Wicked (The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West) for Christmas my freshman year of high school. I was fourteen.
I also got a best of Enya cd.
I read Wicked in four days flat. Which is a bit of an achievement for me considering I am a very slow reader. There are still Enya songs that call to mind very specific scenes. Watermark. Look it up. It's heartbreaking, and every time I listen to it I mourn Fiyero and Elphaba and Nor. It's totally dorky. I know.
Anyway...
I hadn't read anything by Maguire in a while, and somebody passed me along this YA book of his which is supposedly a re-imagining of the tooth fairy legend. I'm digging it, but it's got me feeling very ethereal, and faerie close, and I've got all kinds of pent up writerly type energy that simply does not coincide with structured essays examining the style of prose I write.
So I go bananas about magical realism, and I write a whole bunch about Neil Gaiman and Audrey Niffenegger, and then I paw open an old copy of The Informers by BEE, and I'm lost to the world, all turquoise fingernail polish and cheap red wine for at least twenty minutes.
Disappear Here.
I am.
Again.
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