This Poet's Life

So, I have failed at providing updates about the MFA process. As of now, I have one more semester until my MFA's completed. Wow, it is incredible how fast time flies when you have a writer-ly existential meltdown on a daily basis. If I could give anyone any advice on how to survive in a Creative Writing MFA, it would be not to take yourself, your work, your colleagues or life in that particular moment, so seriously. I came into my program expecting to be judged by others, but that is the worst mindset to have as an artist. I was afraid to make mistakes, and in turned, made mistakes, which is the point of going of perfecting your craft. The MFA program, when done right, is an apprentice program. You attend to be around, associate with and understand writers, which will at the end of the day help you understand yourself. And the most important advice you'll receive is from those who have attended your program before you, if those people are available. I found an atmosphere of acceptance in hanging out with alumni that were still attached to the program somehow. I heeded their warnings, and in turn had to grapple with my preconceived notion of what a writer ought to do. Now, I regard craft books with mild interest and listen to what feels right in my writing at the time. I mean, if I need to become a shut in to finish a chapter then I'll do that, or if I need to travel some place to conjure up former states of mind, to make good poetry, then that's what needs to be done. It's art, not a science, it (writing) can come off stiff if it is formulaic. 

But, even after saying all that, I will say that each artist has to find their way. What works for me, might be disastrous for others. I just want to one day feel the way I feel about my favorite books, with my work, or at least write to the level that some kid in a library somewhere will regard my work as special. Still, the first reader to please is yourself. I suppose that is the ultimate goal of MFA to understand what you like and don't like about writing, and how to deal with the pitfalls in an analytic and intuitive way. 

Anxiety in B Flat

Wonder what the Tramp was thinking?

I am filled with fear, more than anything, at this time. I have been manic in my approach to getting caught up on things like sentence structures and proper comma usage. And once again, I find myself maundering on Wikipedia, leering over webpages that belong to the greats such as: Steinback, Wallace and Nin. Nevertheless, I still can’t tackle my incomprehensible plot to my novel which part of me believe, I should throw away. There it is. I said it. I think I am working with a really, really bad engine, and my attempt to figure out its kinks, is futile. What a worthless feeling to have, of your first attempt at novel writing, but I don’t know what else to feel. I am wrecking my brain trying to revise a story, a tale that hasn’t been told. But, it has, numerous times, by the generations before me. The moment I think, “Aha, I have it!,” then I realize that I don’t. 

Maybe, I am not really convinced that my novel is utter, complete trash. Maybe, I am internalizing something else, perhaps, my fear of failure as a writer. Maybe, I am just scared of sitting in my first workshop as a graduate student, and being lampooned by my peers, and worst yet, my professor. I also feel that fears are further compounded by my recent layoff, my inability to find a meaningful job after graduating and my recent setbacks in achieving financial independence as well as my dire living situation. These things way heavy upon me and my psyche daily. My personal obstacles, color my dreams in various shades of gray. 

To be honest, I don’t know how I got into any MFA program, and I don’t know how I will survive in the one, I have admitted to. So, I have been searching and surfing MFA blogs, post-MFA blogs and writers personal blogs. I guess I am trying to interpret what I should be feeling at this moment, as oppose to the dread that is growing in my chest, as the days draw closer and closer to my first workshop. 

Is this the part, where I am supposed to just rely on faith? I am just supposed to take the plunge into the abyss? How can I? I am a product of the linear thinking when it comes to higher education. I was told if you receive your degree that life was sorta of easy sailing from there on out. Well, we all know that’s a bunch pre-2008 nonsense! Yet, some part of me is wondering if solely pursuing your dreams is cliche? 

But, I’ve made my bed. 

It’s bumpy, filled with crumbs and has a slight odor to it, but it’s mine. And because it is mine, I hold it dear. 

So, I guess, I am committed to seeing this out to its end. Despite, the anxiety it may cause, or the further pelts to my already damaged ego. Now, the story of my twenties will be tale of various blind jumps, swan dives and praying for a magical net or Manus Dei.

Franken-novel's Revenge

So, I will tell you a story about a novel. The novel, my novel, is a beastly thing and the thought of working on it frightens me, well it did for the last six months; yet, the novel, well at least the first draft of my novel, is also my reason for existing. I cannot explain it any clearer than that.
I began crafting my manuscript in the Fall of 2013. I pounded out 40,000 words that were loosely connected and somewhat comprehensible, but mostly importantly,every last word sucked. Yet, I didn't stop there, I began to sic my novel on various unsuspected friends, colleagues and even professors, who all  gave me lukewarm responses about my Franken-novel. I was defeated. My ego suffered completely and I tossed the manuscript in a drawer under my bed.



 To be honest, I believed I had something in that novel worth saving; yet, I just didn't know what it was or how to foster the novel's growth. Well, time went on, I graduated from college and got out into the workforce, then I realized that I would never be happy if I wasn't writing for a living.

Sooooo..., I am here at my computer facing my monster novel once again, a month before my first semester in Creative writing program. All I can think about now, is salvaging my story, in order to have something, anything that can be critiqued, workshopped and lastly, revised into something worth reading.