Salvation City

Well, I just finished Salvation City by Sigrid Nunez, who was a writing professor of mine at Barnard and continues to be a mentor of sorts. I spent my senior year in her class, and immediately felt both intimidated and embraced by her. Most creative writing professors, in my experience, tend toward the all-inclusive, "everyone has something important to say" teaching style. There's nothing inherently wrong with this, and I'm certainly not advocating professors tearing down students' stories and styles, most of which are exceedingly personal and intrinsically connected to our ever-fragile egos. However, one of the things I automatically appreciated about Sigrid and her class was her no-nonsense approach. Her criticism was constructive, helpful, never excessive, and her praise was reserved for that which truly deserved it. I feel so lucky not just to have been taught by her then, but the fact that we're still in touch and she's still giving me encouragement and advice.
Also, as I've just experienced, she's written an incredible book. Salvation City has affected me in a way that I haven't felt in a while. Though the themes it deals with are big ones, and it's poignant enough to make you stop and think about the world, it's subtle and compulsively readable (thank you, job in Publishing. I now read so many book reviews I'm starting to write like one). In all seriousness, I admire so much about the book from a technical standpoint, but it's easy to love it purely for the story and memorable characters - which is why you read novels in the first place. To not get into too many details, the book is set in the not so distant future after a great pandemic, much like the Flu of 1918, which has left the world reeling. The narrator is Cole, a 14 year old boy who has lost both his parents and come to live with a couple in the fundamentalist Christian community of Salvation City. What I admire most is the way Cole narrates the story, skipping through time before and after the Flu but never leaving the reader feeling jarred or left behind. It's less than 300 pages, but it's the kind of book that was truly satisfying and taught me a lot. I actually laid there hugging it for a moment after I turned the last page.
I'm currently listening to a stereotypical (for me) "Writing Mix." Lots of Billie Holiday, the Beatles, and Annie Lennox, but "(You Make Me Feel) Like A Natural Woman", sung by Aretha Franklin of course, just brought me way back to memories of driving to school in the morning, probably more than 10 years ago. Aretha was a big hit on the morning drives, as was Van Morrison. I guess this bears mentioning because, at this point, my two brothers would be strapped into seats in the back, swinging their legs to the music. Now, they're both taller than me and turning 16 this weekend. Pretty amazing. I'm trying not to focus on the fact that this means I'm getting older, too.
It's cold and rainy here now, but that's not the only reason I'm running around closing all the windows in the apartment. Last night, I slept with my window open. This wouldn't normally be anything noteworthy, except for the fact that my window shares an air shaft with the identical building next door. In my half-sleep, the conversation two floors down and one building away sounded so clear as to be coming from the living room. As I was mostly sleeping and not in my right mind, I automatically realized that my apartment had surely been broken into, and the culprits were calmly discussing their breaking and entering on the couch. After mustering up enough courage to go investigate and discover that there was, of course, no one there, it still took two hours before I had calmed down enough to go to sleep, only half sure I wouldn't wake up to find all my earthly possessions carried away by some nonexistent burglars.

New Fall's Resolutions

Hi everyone,

I took a bit of a blog sabbatical recently. I've been settling into Fall, which is my favorite transition of the year. I've been in the city much more consistently lately, and without all the weekend trips I've been able to get a more solid look at my life here.
In the literal sense, I've been cleaning my room and beginning the Herculean task of switching out summer for winter clothes. This wouldn't be a huge deal for a more normal person, but it's shocking, given how small my room is, how difficult it is to find things that I squirreled away six months ago. For example, two nights ago, I went to sleep positive that the huge shopping bag filled with all my pairs of boots had been stolen by someone who had a serious penchant for Fryes (hence the fact that only my boots were gone...not jewelry or money or anything that actually made sense). This illusion was shattered when I woke up with a start a few hours later, remembering the bag had been tossed into the very top part of my closet that I can only reach with a stepladder. It's been one of those kind of weeks - productive, but also a confirmation of my own craziness.
I've also been getting in touch with my inner child more than usual, thanks to a new babysitting job I've picked up. I babysat a lot in college, and I've learned that Manhattan children can be a mixed bag (although I've been very lucky overall). One thing that's certain is they all have differing levels of dependence on TV, Guitar Hero, various Apple products, and all sorts of Wii games - except for this new charge of mine. He would rather act out complicated battle sequences with Star Wars legos or listen to my stories about Timothy the Invincible Frog (trust me, that one's a winner) than watch some sort of offensive cartoon on Comedy Central. It's unbelievable refreshing. When I picked him up from school the other day, he went on and on about the alligator he'd made in Crafts class (and all the special powers he had) like it was an iPad or something. As someone whose childhood was dictated almost entirely by their own imagination, I feel such a strong sense of camaraderie when I hear him whispering dialogue between two Lego figures as he jumps from the bed to the floor.
So, there's been a lot going on lately, and I'm back to the blog, among other things. Since I should probably reference the title at some point in this post, I've never been someone who's put a lot of stock in New Year's Resolutions, but this year I am way into New Fall's resolutions. There's something about the change from Summer to Fall that feels much more transitional than Winter into more Winter (as it is at New Year's). Blogging regularly again is one of several New Fall's resolutions I've made. Where the job search fueled my blogging before, I'll have to figure out something to take its place - hopefully writing (of which there will be more up here later today - fingers crossed).
Anyway, even though it's 83 and humid in New York today, there is a slight breeze in the air that signals Fall's maybe-arrival. There are some brown leaves on that tree out there - is it the change of seasons or maybe some sort of arboreal disease? I'm choosing to think it's the start of something new.

BIG PARISIAN NEWS

So, instead of wistfully thinking of the day when I would be able to sit down and plan this trip, I have decided, along with my former Paris roommate and partner in crime, to plan a trip to Paris next Spring.
I am beyond excited. Just the prospect of booking flights and making this journey a reality is a thrill. I so crave the way I felt about my life when I spent those seven months in Paris, traveling every other weekend, and feeling so completely open to experiencing whatever I could. I didn't have to schedule time for myself to write or make a conscious effort to depart from my routine to pursue new cultural realms. Writing, being inspired, and constantly seeking out new things to do was my routine. Obviously, being in Paris for a limited amount of time and as a student allowed me to commit to the experience in a temporal way - sort of like a long intellectual and cultural vacation. In any event, at a time when I'm trying to (figuratively) slap myself awake and live in a way that makes me feel as if I'm accomplishing things and moving forward, it's nice to know I'll be able to revisit a time when I was surrounded by new experiences. Even though I certainly had my challenges while living abroad, and I'm surely looking back on it wistfully now, there was something about having a relationship with a place like Paris that made me feel particularly alive and appreciative of everything around me.
I've felt this way about New York, too. I used to get this great feeling every time I saw the skyline on the train or bus coming back to the city after being away. A sort of wistful familiarity, mixed with the excitement that there's always so much about New York that's hidden or just our of reach. It's an aspirational place, but I guess I've become a little disenchanted over the past year. I don't have those butterflies in my stomach anymore, and probably can't force myself into magically getting them back.
I'm staying in New York for Labor Day weekend (probably one of the 5-7 people doing so), and I'm having this movie-montage vision of me skipping down 5th avenue, going to MoMA, drinking coffee at Joe, shopping at the Brooklyn Flea, getting a tan on the Great Lawn-all these "I love New York, and I'm going to fall in love with this place again" type of activities. Even though I'm pretty positive I can't trick myself into having that old love for the city again, I want to make the most of my solitude. After this weekend, everyone flocks back from summer retreats and Fall will bring with it a different ambiance all together. I love Autumn in New York, don't get me wrong, but I feel like this weekend might be a certain moment in time before things quickly change. It's wishful thinking, maybe, but, like Paris, I'm trying to appreciate the places and times that take me out of my routine and let me truly experience what's around me.
More after Labor Day.x.

Hi?

Ugh, so incommunicado for the last...(yikes) 20 days. Apologies all around. I don't suppose it would help to say that I'm working on a story inspired by what may be the best title ever? Maybe? Okay.
So, basically, life has consisted of working and weekend trips to the homestead for the past two weeks. In theory, all of these things are good. But I'm looking forward to spending the foreseeable future in NYC to focus more on things both immediate (cleaning my room) and long-term (actually finishing a story). Plus, now that summer is winding down, my psychological need to get out of New York at every possible moment is decreasing also. A lot of people say they like New York in the summer because there's no one around. I fundamentally disagree with this. Even though there are fewer people, I think that everyone who is still in the city starts to inhabit their own personal sphere of heat, sweat, and all-around rage at everyday tasks, like simply waiting for the subway. The overwhelming discomfort and fact that the heat makes people twice as pissed off at their morning commute than they usually are definitely makes up for the fact that a fair amount of the population is sunning themselves elsewhere.
Ok, that rant felt good, but onwards. I'm also throwing myself upon the mercy of friends, family, and now the internet to start a freelance tutoring business. While working with wine would be amazing, I've had to accept that a second job like that just wouldn't make sense right now, especially with how much I'm working. So, if you know of any Manhattanite (or Brooklynite) children in need of some educational guidance, please let me know.
So, this weekend is supposed to be completely perfect, and I plan on spending it outside finishing this gloriously-titled (and hopefully well-written) story - to be continued!

"Your Dreams Will Go Higher Than Expectation Could Be"

I got that in a fortune cookie once, and saved it. Despite the semi-broken English, It's always given me a little bit of encouragement whenever I rediscover it.
Truth is, I have a lot of dreams for myself. As counter-intuitive as it may sound, I sometimes find myself avoiding looking them in the face, since it sometimes feels like I'm so far away from achieving even one of them. I know that I'm young in the ways of the real world, and I probably have years to work towards goals that I've set for myself. The honest truth is, though, that my impatience and disappointment compound and work against me - to the point where I feel stupidly paralyzed by my own inactivity. All of that sounds like a bunch of nonsense and self-pity, which it sort of is. This is just where I am this Monday night, I guess.
However, this was not mean to be a post where I just bitch at the abyss of the internet. This is actually supposed to be motivating! So, tonight I wrote a list of the short-term, tangible goals (dreams, if you're feeling wistful). By tangible, I mean things that are actually possible, like "always be reading something for pleasure, even if it sometimes feels like work" as opposed to "marry someone for his intelligence and charm only to find out that he's the secret crown-prince of Monaco." You get the idea.
The first, and the one I'll share here, is to publish something, even in the most obscure, only-to-be-read-by-my-immediate-family, type of online journal, by the end of this year. This means several things. The first being, I have to write something. The second, logically, is that I have to finish whatever it is that I write. This may seem deceptively simple, but it can be quite the opposite - especially finishing the things that I start. I've been starting different stories at a pretty good clip lately, so the trick will be making myself bring things to a swift and successful conclusion. So, I'm going to forge ahead. If I'm lucky, I may end up one little step closer to the things I want.

Deception/Devotion

As promised. I've been posting a lot of these initial attempts at stories, which, for me, is the most challenging part of the process. After I accrue enough with potential, they'll become more substantial and, hopefully, complete.

In the center of the very highest dome at the top of the church ceiling, there is a painted eye. I spend a lot of time looking at it when I'm at Mass with my mother, especially during the parts when we kneel on that cushion-thing that folds out. I hate it because it hurts my knees. I used to be able to get away with sitting during the kneeling parts, but I guess I'm too old to sit now. One Sunday, my mother suddenly started glaring at me when I stayed in the pew while everyone else moved to the floor. She whispered something at me, in a tone that she could barely use in church. Anyway, she meant business, and now I have to suffer through it like everyone else.
I told my mom that I saw the eye blink once, but of course I didn't. It's fun to see what I can get away with, and sometimes she pretends like she believes me, even though I know she doesn't. She loves my imagination, but I wonder if she knows how much I make up and how much is true. Sometimes, I forget that it's not true, and I walk around thinking that God's eye blinked at me, until I remember that I made it up. My parents make a big deal about lying, how it is "the one thing they don't tolerate", but I've been caught a bunch of times already and haven't really faced any consequences. I know it's bad for me to do, but sometimes it's fun to think about things like the eye in church and how amazing it would be if it moved and looked at just me, out of everyone in the room.
After Mass, I have Sunday School in the family center across the street. Some people call it CCD, but that bugs me because I don't know what those letters would even stand for. Anyway, we're split up into groups by which grade we're in, and we sit at round tables with nuns who teach us out of these workbooks. For the past few weeks, we've been learning about the ten commandments. I sit next to Peter, who goes to my school, and make illustrations of whichever commandment we're being taught that day in the back of my workbook. It's funny - in regular school, I would never talk to him during class and definitely wouldn't show him stupid drawings of "Thou Shall Not Steal" (a stick figure stealing a pile of money getting struck by lightning from a vengeful stick figured version of God). No matter how much I try to forget it, everyone in my grade seems to remember the Valentine I put in his desk last year. I thought it would be totally secret, since I only signed it with my first initial. Unfortunately, the only other girl whose first name starts with "B" was absent on Valentine's Day, so my foolproof plan fell through pretty quickly. Peter and I are the only two from our school in the group, so I can talk to him without everyone noticing.
Today, we had gotten to "Thou Shall Not Commit Adultery", which apparently has something to do with sex. I don't really know anything about what sex is, aside from things the boys whisper to each other at school and scenes in movies where my parents make me leave the room for 5 minutes. So, I just started to draw a bridal couple, the kind that they put on wedding cakes. Then, when Peter would look over (we sat next to each other), I would whisper the commandment under my breath and scribble through the couple as I said "adultery" - almost growling it so the nun wouldn't hear.

Live Every Week Like It's Shark Week

In honor of how totally cool/terrifying sharks are: