Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

creep-ass swan

It's thinking about murder RIGHT NOW.

After exhaustive research, I have come to the following conclusion: swans are creep-ass.

I think swans are physically weird. This is a totally personal bias based on me being terrified of geese as a small child. My preschool had a farm right next to it, and geese (and once, a cow) would sometimes escape into the school grounds. Those fuckers were mean and as tall as I was; no way in hell I was gonna get near them. Besides, one bit my teacher, and they don’t even have real teeth, just burning ire. So, I still don’t like long-necked birds of any kind; the way their necks go is creepy. There’s a specific deformity of the finger called the Swan’s Neck.

Other than being physically weird, birds are connected with the souls of the dead, which heads us into questionable territory. Specifically, stories with swans in them tend to take weird, weird turns.

First up: Swan Lake. Swan-obsessed magician makes beautiful girl into swan. Okay, fine. There’s an imprisonment and/or necrophilia metaphor going on there, whatever. (Really: in the ending variation where the princess in condemned to be a swan forever…isn’t that a kind of death?) But the prince? I know he fell in love with the Swan Queen when she turned back into a human. But I think he was a bit of a swan fancier to begin with. Suspicious.

Speaking of swan fanciers, Jove. As in the rehashed Greek Ovid’s Metamorphoses version of Zeus. Now, to begin with, he was a weird dude. He liked to have sex, willing or not, with more or less anything that moved. He had some very weird sex brags (“one time I fucked a pregnant chick so hard she set on fire”; “one time I seduced some hot girl in the form of a cow”). He was like a more heterosexual and less classy version of Jesse Canon from Tominda Adkin’s series Vessel. Anyway, Jove gets his eyes on this girl, Leda. He seduces her (the nice term for “rape”, usually) in the form of a swan, which is weird even by hentai standards. Then apparently they have kids, and some parody of a family life. Family life with birds. Like you do.

leda swan children

Doesn't she look sick of it all?

That brings us to my third piece of Swan Creepass evidence: the tale with many variations known as the Six Swans, the Twelve Brothers, and other titles. It’s about a girl whose brothers are turned into swans for various reasons (Dad wants her to inherit the kingdom; the bros are turned into swans to escape actual death). Her job is to rescue them; the condition is that she must not speak or laugh for seven years, and also make shirts for her brothers out of some odd or unpleasant material (nettles, starwort, depends who you ask). Usually she succeeds, often with the sleeve of one shirt unfinished, so that one brother is left with an arm and a wing for the rest of his life.

I was thinking about this during a workshop about metamorphosis at the Richard Hugo House, and I wrote the following:

 Every Sunday, Laura would go to the shore of the lake to look for her brothers.
The swans at the lake had innate enough trust of her to swin right up, hop out of the water, and eat the chunks of bread she provided them out of a large plastic bag with a twist tie. Sometimes there would be a jogger or a dog and the swans would get spooked and flap out into the vast expanse of water, but most times they’d be bold enough to steal a piece of break right out of her hand.
She bided her time with the nettle shirts. You have to make sure a wild animal really trusts you before trying to wrestle a shirt meant for a human onto it. Besides, making cloth out of dried nettle was hard. The hippies down at the co-op must think she drank more nettle tea than any of several gods. They never said anything, even on weeks when her hands were still red and blotchy with stings. Baking soda was her #2 co-op purchase.
The day came when she had to put the shirts on or give up, be alone forever. The day marked by a red square on her calendar. She took the usual bag of bread and a backpack filled with the nettle shirts. She waited for the swans to come gliding over the water. She scattered bread and opened the sipper to the pack slowly, so as not to startle the birds.
The movement was quick, when she finally dared to do it. Woven nettle held in sweaty fingers, unable to feel the stings any more, a twist of the wrists, up and over the long struggling feathered neck. Wings beating, wind rushing past her face, her eyes, blinding her so that she never saw exactly what happened, if there was some moment that was half feathers and half skin, but in any case she was suddenly holding in her arms Richard, her eldest brother, naked except for the knit shirt made of strung-together dried leaves.
He was gasping for breath with a desperate look in his eyes, muscles under his skin still pulling against her, trying to escape. She released him, tried to not to glance down at his nakedness, and looked into his yees. For a moment her heart dropped; he wasn’t making eye contact and was breathing hard. What if he was still a swan inside his head? What if she’d revived him only to lose him to shock or insanity? She should have brought blankets. She should have brought real clothes. Richard knelt by the edge of the water and threw up noisily. The other swans had scattered.

And so. Swans. The ever-present reminder of death with weird-ass necks.

black swan murder

See? Murder. Told you so.

Here is an erasure poem I did in my writing group a while ago. I found it while cleaning up paperwork on my desk. It came from an article about football. Football is not where it ended up. Here’s the text if I were to format it like a poem:

Every shudder of injury for the usual reasons

adds a third layer of dread.

Conjecture about his eventual return.

The when. The what-if. The where does that leave you know who.

This is the act we’ve reached now

the breaking collarbone, the absence, the relief

elevated him to legend

Dear Internet,

I went to Vermont! It was strategic.

For those of you who do not know and/or are too lazy to look two posts back where I talked about it, I am a candidate for a Master’s of Fine Arts in Writing at Goddard College in Plainfield, VT. This means once a semester I go to Vermont for a week for to absorb arcane teachings and amazing people. Actually, I mostly hang out with the people and talk about books and stuff…there’s less absorption going on than with the teachings.

ANYWAY. I have proof that I’m doing Master’s Level Work…and by that I mean the following very silly play I wrote during residency…

Sherwood

Scene: Two desks and chairs sit on the stage, facing each other, each in their own pool of light. Each has a laptop on the desk. On the left sits ROBIN HOOD, wearing a green jerkin, skin-tight green leggings, boots, and his signature pointed green hat. On the right sits the SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM, a portly man wearing an unbuttoned navy collared shirt with a white undershirt beneath. The SHERIFF has a beer in hand and is reading a Men’s Health with a stony expression. ROBIN clicks aimlessly at his computer.

ROBIN

Next…Hi there, hotness, where are you from…oh. Really. What monastery? Yeah, that’s a little weird. No, it’s not you, there was this thing that happened when I was a kid. With a priest. Next… Maid who? You want to show me what? Oh my god, ew. Blocked.

The SHERIFF sighs and turns to the computer screen. He clicks something open.

ROBIN

Next…

ROBIN

Oh my god! Sheriff! I didn’t know you did Chatroulette!

He immediately sits up straighter and leans in.

SHERIFF

(crosses arms) Mr. Hood. I didn’t know there was internet service in the forest.

ROBIN

You only assume I’m in the forest. (raises eyebrows saucily) No, really, though, we get wireless. You don’t have any fancy tracking software, do you? You’re not going to storm the compound, guns ablaze?

He seems oddly excited at the prospect. The SHERIFF stares.

SHERIFF

I’m off duty.

ROBIN

Oh. Interesting. And who is the Sheriff of Nottingham, off duty?

SHERIFF

Same as I am on duty.

ROBIN

So single-minded, over-vigilant, and vicious, then? But not in uniform, which is a little unfortunate, I must say. I like seeing that big old ring of keys at your belt. Keys to the kingdom, and all that.

SHERIFF

You think I’m vicious?

ROBIN

Oh, I know it. (Beat.) So, no Mrs. Of Nottingham?

The SHERIFF takes a swig off his beer.

SHERIFF

No.

ROBIN

That sounds like some hurt feelings, if I’m any judge.

 

SHERIFF

You’re not.

ROBIN

(sighs) So, have you figured out where my secret forest lair is yet?

SHERIFF

You think I’d be sitting on my ass at home if I had?

ROBIN

You know, Sheriff, we used to play such devious little games, and now it seems like you hardly have the time for me. We never have fun anymore.

SHERIFF

Huh. You sound like my wife.

ROBIN

I thought there was no Mrs. Notty.

SHERIFF

She left me six months back.

ROBIN

No! Bitch.

The SHERIFF swigs his beer again and shrugs.

SHERIFF

It is what it is.

ROBIN

You know, Sheriff, I’ve never told you this, but I admire you very much.

The SHERIFF is taken by surprise. His beer freezes mid-swig.

SHERIFF

You do?

ROBIN

Kind of awkward, I know, us being enemies and all. But you just have this… animal magnetism, know what I mean?

SHERIFF

Animal? What do you mean, animal?

ROBIN

Like you’re some sort of…badger. A sexy badger.

SHERIFF

That’s dumb. Badgers don’t do shit. I think of myself as more of a wolf.

ROBIN

I could get behind that. (Beat.)

SHERIFF

Just what are you after, Mr. Hood?

ROBIN

I keep thinking how…satisfying it would be to meet an old enemy on equal ground.

SHERIFF

What, you think you could take me or something?

ROBIN

You have no idea what I could do to you.

The SHERIFF is silent and looks away from the computer for a beat. When he speaks, it’s quiet and furtive.

SHERIFF

There’s a motel on the edge of the forest.

ROBIN

Be there in twenty. It’s a duel.

Lights down on desks. There’s a brief sound of animalistic noises in the darkness as the scene changes: grunting, panting, and howling. Lights up on a bed. ROBIN is sitting in bed, on top of the sheets, wearing only his tights and smoking a cigarette. The SHERIFF is cuddled up next to him, wearing only novelty heart boxer shorts. The rest of their clothes are scattered all over the room. Next to the bed, a side table is covered in an oversized key ring loaded with keys, an ashtray, and a pack of cigarettes.

ROBIN checks to see if the SHERIFF is really asleep. He is. ROBIN grins. He carefully slides out of bed, grabs his shirt and boots, dons his cap, and slowly picks up the keys. He tiptoes to the exit, then pauses, turning back.

ROBIN

Catch you later, darling.

He blows a kiss as the sleeping SHERIFF and then leaves.

The sound of a truck roars from offstage. The SHERIFF wakes and discovers that Robin has gone. He spots the lack of keys on the bedside table. He tugs at his hair and lets out a howl of fury. He storms around the room, kicking at the bed, tearing at the sheets, ripping at his clothing. Finally he settles on the edge of the mattress and looks at the cigarette butt in the ashtray. He picks it up and twists it wistfully between thumb and forefinger.

SHERIFF

God damn it, old man. You’re such a fool.

Blackout.

 

***

 

Yep. I am totally getting an advanced degree. And using it for good. :P

Cheers,

Anne

Listening and transcribing these tapes is a trip, I tell you what. For one thing, one of the wonderful people whom I interviewed is now dead of cancer, which is a sobering thought.

For another, listening to myself at age twenty is fascinating. Six years ago, the summer I got the grant to do the Dante project, I was in a very strange place, literally and figuratively. I was living, squatting really, in one of the very few apartments that Evergreen, Colorado had to offer. That was part of the deal: I wanted to write and also not live with my parents. It was important to me to be independent like that. I needed to feel like an adult, and not living with my parents was tops for feeling like that. Somehow the situation also turned into an ill-advised cohabitation with my boyfriend at the time. So I lived in a little apartment, and paid all the rent. And I wasn’t happy there. I was grappling with emotions way bigger than me about the relationship I was in, my future, and my own relationship with my work.

It’s not like you can tell all of that from my questions on the tape. But the way I phrase them is still interesting. I don’t know what to make of it. For the purposes of this transcription, I left them out, mostly because I wanted to make each person’s story feel like a streamlined flow. But in the long run, I think my own hesitant narratorial voice is important. Here’s an example:

How did you get [to your current job]? Especially like as an about to graduate college and have no idea what I’m doing with my life sort of person, I wonder what sort of jobs people go through on their way to whatever they may end up in.

or

The next question is…I’m just interested to see how people will react to this, because being as I’m using these interviews as part of the third segment, the Paradiso segment…what, if anything, does the concept of Paradise mean to you, in terms of being in the place you want to be, or whatever other reaction to the word Paradise you might have.

I sound both confident and hesitant, if that’s possible. I think that’s what being twenty is about, really. Confidence about being an adult, hesitance and worry that there’s something you’re missing out there. I hope I’m more confident these days.

Since I couldn’t straight up ask the question at age twenty, I’ll ask my readers now: What does Paradise mean to you?

Part Two: Success

At twenty…oh god. At twenty, success meant that I could make it through the month on my budget of $150 and I wasn’t hungry. That’s what success was then. Budget was $150, it started at $120 and went up to $150 a month, for everything. For rent, food books, entertainment, you name it. It was a time in my life when I couldn’t even go to the dollar film on campus without a major debate. I used to eat beans five days in a row. I was putting myself through college, so it was a rough time financially.

Success meant that I was doing well at school, I mean it was just so exciting to find that I was smart. With my glasses, learning I could do well, I mean it was such a change from how I’d ever seen myself. It was really, really a nice time for me. I was really excited. I was involved in the women’s movement, trying to figure out what it meant to me. And success at that point too meant I was going to be financially independent, that I was never gonna have to beg for another $20 from Mom. That was also success. I was not gonna get tied down until I had my career firmly established and I never had to ask for money. That was really important to me.

I didn’t have a lavish lifestyle in mind, ‘cause I always enjoyed going to the thrift shop, and I still do to this day, going on a scavenger hunt for what I might like. You sometimes come out empty-handed, you sometimes come out with someone else’s treasures. So I’ve always enjoyed that aspect of success was going on a fun trip to St. Vinny dePaul’s or Goodwill on a Saturday when I spent two dollars and ended up coming out with treasures. So, success at that point was just continuing to learn and be financially independent person.

You know, in some ways the concept of success really hasn’t changed much over the years. I’ve added in that my goal in life is to be thought of as a mench. It’s a Yiddish word that used to primarily be geared towards men. A man was thought of as mench if he was a good person, if he was someone who you could turn to, if he was someone who was trustworthy and had integrity. I made up a word somewhere along the line—I got stoned many many years ago, I used to do that—called integrituitous that I wanted to live my life so that someone could look at it and say that I, I just displayed integrity and I had an integrituitous life. And also to have love in my life. To be a loving person and to be loved and to have people in my life who are loved and appreciated. That’s what success has meant.

…I happen to live in a house right now that’s bigger than my wildest dreams ever ever were, and we got that by moving from California, where we had an 1100  square foot house, two bedrooms, one bath, and we could not move out. It was on a lovely plot of land, a third of an acre… to here, where our house here was less expensive than our house there but it’s 3400 square feet. So I have my own office at home, which brings me back to twenty. I probably read A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf when I was about twenty for the first time. I reread it in the last couple of years and found out that it was different than I thought it was. I thought she said—my memory serves me—that every woman should have a room of her own. And she was just talking about a writer, or an artist. But I truly generalized that, and I have always wanted a room of my own, and actually have always had, not always but since I was in Ann Arbor, which was …when I was about 27, I’ve always had not just my bedroom—sometimes I share my bedroom with a man, but I’ve always had another room that was mine. And I’ve really cherished that, it’s been really important to me.  Until I had our son, I did have a room that was my own. When we had two-bedroom houses, it was kind of known, because I wrote, that would be my office. My husband just understood. Until we had our baby, and then there wasn’t any room, and then my office became parts of the den, parts of the living room, so that he could have his own room. There were those three years…

In terms of how my attitudes towards relationships have changed…I’m not willing now to accept some things that I had in the past. I realized that one of the things I made a mistake in my marriage, this process of ending, is after twenty years, something I gave a really good try. The realization for me is that I am very, very strong, and that somewhere along the twenty years, and I have to say we’ve had good years and he’s a good man, but…he’s very passive. And somewhere along the line what I realized I crossed over the line and that I didn’t realize I was doing it…was something around “yes I can handle it, but I shouldn’t.”

And that was because I’m so strong and because I’m so independent and I really don’t need a lot. Although I’m finding that without him in the house I’m much more relaxed and free and have enormously more energy in a different, non-hyper way than I had when he was there and I was being drained by trying to get something from someone who wasn’t capable of giving it. And so I’ve really learned more…I think my overriding philosophy for my own mental health from here is the how of AA applied to myself and relationships: the honesty, openness, willingness… I really need to keep honest about what’s happening around me and what I’m getting, and to be open to look at what is instead of what I want it to be and willing to make the necessary changes if what is isn’t what I want it to be.

In my 20s I was desperately seeking a mate. Desperately went from relationship to relationship, sometimes overlapped. Had very little in between relationships, could not handle being alone. Um, and now my husband moved out in mid-January and I love it! I have not had a lonely night. I have not had a lonely day. I have not had a date and not spent any time with a man. I have some good women friends, I have myself, I have reorganized my house, I am moving forward on my book that he discouraged me from the last few years is all kinds of really exciting things happening. I’m working out in a different way than I’ve ever worked out. I’m doing things for me. And I’m enjoying that a lot. But I’m not lonely. I’m not desperate. It’s really…it’s such a nice place to be at, versus single in my 20s, when there was truly a desperation and a dissatisfaction with an evening spent by myself. I just didn’t like it. Maybe I could handle one, but sure as hell didn’t want to stretch—you know, put two or three together. God forbid! I mean, and God forbid I should go out and eat and what would they think of me eating by myself? I mean, I can do any of that. You know, I went to a music festival by myself. I had a blast! I wanted to go, and some of the time women friends were there with me, but I bought the ticket on my own and I might go by myself, but I was not gonna miss it again, and I went for it. And I had a blast! And it was just—it was not only a blast doing it, it was a blast recognizing that I couldn’t have done that at a different point in my life. And here I could and I was really proud of myself for the change and I was pleased to have gotten here.

And there were other empowering things. At 27 I packed up everything that I owned, put it in storage, got in my car, moved from Michigan where I had a phenomenal job, had just written a couple of grants that got funded, would have been starting this institute on aging in Detroit, and hated my boss, hated the environment, hated Michigan, and I just said, I gotta get the hell out of here. And I moved out to California, without any leads on a job, without anything except I knew two people in the Bay Area. I had done some research on some places where I wanted to live, decided to go to the Bay Area, quit my job, moved out there, put my stuff in storage, and a couple of months later brought my stuff out…but I didn’t have a job and I didn’t have a job for nine months. I just had a settlement on a car accident so I had enough to live on very very frugally, but I was used to living frugally so that was a hot issue for me. And all my friends kept saying “Oh, God, that takes such courage, oh my God you’re so brave”—I didn’t see it as brave, I saw it as something I needed to do because I was unhappy with where I was and I wasn’t gonna stay. And that’s another thing in my life, that once I realize I’m unhappy, I don’t stay there. I don’t stay there.

But what I learned in my marriage is that I can be unhappy in a more insidious way and not know it, and deal with it. And the other thing about staying as long as I did was—I had contemplated many times leaving. But I was not willing, when my son was seven, and eight, and ten, and twelve, I was not willing to lose him at the time. And that his dad would want as much time as me. And I wasn’t willing to lose him, and so I couldn’t leave, and it wasn’t bad enough yet to leave. He’s fifteen…

I realized that I felt like I would get sick if I stayed, that I was taking too much. Plus we had been in counseling last year and I had drawn some very clear boundaries. And through the fall he had broken every single one of them. And when he broke the last one, the decision was made. He made the decision by breaking the last boundary, so when I found out he had broken it, ‘cause he lied to me…there was no question in my mind that I had to say “excuse me, I need to think this over while we separate.”

It was not difficult. At that point, it was so damn clear. I had known it the year before, when we were in therapy and were doing a last-ditch attempt, and he had done some stuff that was absolutely unacceptable to me, and I had outlined it in therapy in front of another person. She had said “what do you need for this marriage to work? What do you need, each one of you?” And I outlined it, I said, “If these are broken, this isn’t happening. I’m not willing to do another go-round of our cycle together. I’m not. Just that no is my last thing, I don’t have another go-round in me.” And I truly meant it, and she knew I meant it. She did. So when he broke it—you know, the final one, he lied to me about it, and then I caught the lie. The decision had been made the year before.

It was not hard at that point, at all. What I said to myself that night was that if I have any self-respect, the decision has been made for me. He made his choices, now it was my turn to make my choices and to live up to what I said I needed. And I knew I needed. I needed a certain amount of honor and respect in my life, in other words someone who can honor and respect my bottom-line boundaries when they’ve agreed to, and said it’s not too much to ask. …Then how could I disrespect myself enough to allow him to do that? Since then, I haven’t had one shoulda woulda coulda. Not one. Because I did a hell of a lot of work in that relationship. And uh, I haven’t had one look back. You missed out, you could’ve… He is a nice guy for someone else.

I don’t know [where I see myself going from here]. I know it’s going to get better. I am looking forward to, when my child is ready, moving out of what has been the family house and getting a fixer-upper and fixing up a house. I’m really looking forward to that project. And I love decorating, I like color, I like patterns, and I’m really looking forward to not just a room of my own, but a home of my own. Uh, and I really like that idea. It may be after he leaves for college, and I don’t know, you know, I always thought I’d stay in Evergreen. And I don’t know if I’ll stay in Evergreen. To me, the world’s an oyster. I like Portugal, I like Israel, I like Spain. I like a lot of places that I’ve seen that I hear I might like…I’d like to travel more and see where I want to be.

If this book thing goes, and if I get to write sequels, and I get to do more training, and I’m less in the office, and I’m more around the world or around the country…who knows? But I am so open to the possibilities of what may happen. You know, I’ve always been open to it—things the universe presented me, and, and I feel very very open to that. Because once my son’s out of high school and college, I’m not tied to anything or anybody, and if that continues, I can do anything—I can just follow dreams wherever they take me. And I’ve never been afraid of change or reassessing, and saying, Well, this didn’t work, let’s try this. Not in a manic way, but just what’s life presented, and so for me right now, because I’m so much more comfortable in my body, I can do whatever I want to do. So it’s like…it’s awesome. I have no idea. But it’s gonna be good and when it’s not good, I’m gonna change it.

And I think the other thing, someone said to me once when I was considering a job and I wasn’t sure that I would take it was, “Would you like this job for now? Don’t look at it as the job for the next 20 or 30 years. Do you want it for now? They don’t give out the gold watches too often any more for 30 years of services to a company. So if you would like it now and for a while and until it doesn’t feel comfortable anymore, and you can leave and you know go on to something else without leaving it in the lurch, be responsible, but don’t think of this as the next 30 years of your life.” And that was a really nice philosophy….I did that really with everything except when I got married. When I got married I got married to stay married and tried damn hard to stay married, which is why it lasted 20 years. But…everything else I do until I’m ready to do something else. Now, it’s been years on each thing, I don’t flip every three months or six months…

That’s how I was as a kid, too, and that’s how my parents thought I was the retarded one and my sister was the smart one. Things that kids do, like lanyards and things…I  would make two, three, five potholders, and I was ready for something else. My sister would make a hundred potholders, or whatever we did. I did it until I felt like I had mastered it enough for me, and then I moved on to something else. And I wanted to learn something else, do something else. And it was always around my sense that I had mastered it, or gotten enough out of it. I think in some ways I’ve brought that with me. I think that’s why I liked my PhD so much: I got to learn about womb to tomb education, and it had that whole idea, that you want to always be learning, to exercise your brain and your soul. And then spirituality came in…it’s fun to look at the world and your life as a continuingly blossoming flower or thing that will just keep going to the next stage and you won’t have to be afraid of it.

I am fifty-two years old—not sure how I got here. I am a therapist, and I also write, and I also do a lot of work for the courts as a special advocate, as a clinical evaluator, as a collaborative law divorce coach, as a child specialist.

I think I got my earliest training at the kitchen table, as my mother tended to have friends, a number of friends, really close friends, who tended to be widowed or divorced back in a time period when not many people were widowed or divorced, and she was their shoulder to talk to. And I was allowed, probably inappropriately so for my age, to sit at the table and listen if I was quiet and didn’t participate. So I learned how to listen, and I heard what my mom said to them to try to make them feel better.

It was a political time when I was in high school in the late 60s—and I did a lot of volunteer work. I worked at a fabulous place for someone who still had to commute by bus; it was special needs kids, who were severely profoundly emotionally disturbed, brain-damaged, and mentally retarded. They were approved by how they could function versus their age, so we had kids in our group from four to ten, because they were nonverbal. And every place I volunteered I loved the work, event though it was a little different at each place. And I asked people “what do you do to get paid to do this?” because it was so much fun working with these kids, these handicapped kids all over that, in a lower income kind of a community, grassroots stuff. Every place that I asked what degree do you need to do this to get paid they said social work. So I knew, I absolutely knew going in for my Bachelor’s that I was going for a Master’s Degree in Social Work. I didn’t know that I was going for a PhD. But I absolutely knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to spend my life working with brain-damaged kids, which is not what I have done. But that’s what I knew I was going to do going into college.

I think the switch happened with exposure to new things. And I started off my first field placement with emotionally disturbed/brain-damaged kids, and found out there that the master’s degree in social work people were low people on the totem pole…so it was there that I decided that I should go on to a higher degree if I could.

The other piece for me was that I got glasses right as I entered college. I had not done well in high school. All my friends were very bright, and I could certainly hold my own with them a discussion, but because of some things in my own family dynamic I didn’t have much confidence in my intellectual ability or capability. And when I got glasses, the first weekend that I got glasses, which allowed me to see easily, I had no idea it could be so easy to read. In one weekend I read two Herman Hesse novels, Narcissus and Golmund and Demien. Just could not believe that you could put these things on your face and zip through a sentence without the words jumping around and glaring out at you and making you dizzy and stuff, I mean, it was just a miracle to me. It was really nothing short of a miracle, and my first semester in college I got a 3.75 and to this day I do not know who was more surprised: me, my sister, or my parents, because I was the dumb one and my sister was the bright one, so it really screwed with my family dynamic.

But in any event, my second field placement was working in a variety of settings as a behavioral therapist and then I got introduced to this phenomenal doctor over in psychiatry. He worked with families. And one of the aspects of working with the retarded kids I used to love was the contact with the families, the families also had no concept that their kids could be learning because they had been told that they had the mental capacities of 21, 22 months, and when you work one to one with a kid like that and you don’t think that’s their end goal, you got a lot more.

I really liked the idea of bringing families in, and so I started going into family work in all aspects, and then I went into aging. I think I always had a flexibility about me, so once I learn a lot about something or do very well at it, I’m ready to learn something else. So I have always used my social work background, but I have done different populations over the years. I worked with kids, I worked with families, then I worked in aging and lifespan education. I taught at a university, then I went into substance abuse. I got into substance abuse because I was in San Francisco when I was down to my last $500 and if I didn’t get a job I didn’t know what I was going to do. Um, and I was offered a job at the Haight-Asbury detox clinic through a series of things and I said yes because I truly had no other choice. And then I was in substance abuse for twelve years.

And then I moved here and I did a series of things, I started writing parenting and family columns for the newspaper, so my practice here became much more general. Someone left town, I was doing her divorce work, I found it fascinating, I kind of always wanted to be a lawyer, but I didn’t have the confidence to, when I was young, to apply to law school. When she moved out of town, I moved in to that area. So it’s just things that have presented itself and have seemed interesting that I pursued, and I’ve been lucky enough, or privileged enough, or something to be successful. I mean, it wasn’t that I didn’t do well that I moved up; I did really well and I got a reputation and I gave papers at national conferences, and then something else presented itself and I switched gears a little, taking what I had learned and expanding on it. I’m always challenged and gratified with new experiences and new learning.

Dante's vision of the Afterlife

Dante’s concept of paradise is like a rose–earth in the center, with concentric heavenly spheres radiating outward like petals on a rose. All of the heavenly spheres have a planetary theme: the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun (yes, it was the 1300s and Dante was a poet), Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the “fixed stars”, i.e. the Zodiac, and the “Primum Mobile”. All of these spheres are sort of floating around in a concept of space called the Empyrean, a.k.a. God.

Many things have been said about Dante’s vision of heaven, with emotions ranging from reverence to rage. I agree with commentator Mary Campbell when she rages against the strict order of Paradiso.

“This narrator is an implacable taxonomist, who knows exactly how much heaven to dole out to whom, who can only imagine the sublime of transcendence as a set of gradations and promotions, of places we will know and keep.”*

I see her point, and to some extent brush it off on the grounds that the Dante narrator is pretty much a self-righteous jerk throughout the Commedia, putting his enemies in Hell and his benefactors in Heaven, that sort of thing.

What I appreciate about Paradiso is its contribution to Dante’s overall structure of the afterlife/otherworld. Hell is a concentric ring, too, but each ring gets deeper and more painful with more souls squashed in tighter together. At the centermost ring, the bottom of the pit of Hell, lies Satan, arguably the most tormented soul in the entirety of Hell. Dante’s Heaven is built in reverse: Still concentric circles, but the further out you get, the closer you get to God or Divine Revelation. In terms of structure, I think it’s a beautiful image, a constant cosmic expansion as a way to touch the divine.

***

On another note entirely, transcribing is hard. I salute the fine people who do it for a living. I have transcribed about 1.2 of the Paradiso interviews, and will post the first part of the first one tomorrow. In deference to Dante, I am choosing one of the planets to be the theme of each interview. In deference to my own schedule, I am not posting them in order of Dante’s rings. I am starting out with an interview that I decided most closely matches the theme of Justice, which Dante explores in the sphere of Jupiter.

And so! Tomorrow: Justice.

*from an essay by Campbell originally published in The Poet’s Dante; ed. Peter S. Hawkins and Rachel Jacoff; Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2001.

Let me tell you about a project I once did. I funded it with grant money, which means it must be good, right?

The original concept was grand and sweeping: A three-part graphic novel script based on Dante’s Divine Comedy (in my head I imagined all of the issues, bound together as one large and epic trade paperback with all three stories running parallel to each other). In reality I finished part one (Inferno) and drew out the first issue. Still! It’s a great concept, and I enjoy playing with it from time to time.

In the original Divine Comedy, Dante* writes himself walking through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, guided by various supernatural entities. The Dante character is quite fallible and affected by his spiritual journey and surroundings. For example, he becomes a total jerk as he descends farther into Hell, and saves face as he ascends the mountain of Purgatory.

In my version, I have a character called Annie, like to me in personality and hometown, but unlike me in family circumstance. (Somehow she sprouted a three-child catholic family. Her siblings are kind of like Jungian personality aspects of her. Don’t ask me, I just wrote it down.) I’m not the first one to think of a modernized Dante story. The illustration at the top is from a series by Sandow Birk, a radically modern translation with amazing illustrations that parody some of the original woodcuts.

The overall structure of my tale goes like this: Hell is childhood. Purgatory is young/middle adulthood. Paradise is age. Certainly as a young adult about to graduate college, I felt like I was standing at the base of Mt. Purgatory, getting ready to climb.

So I wrote what I knew: Conifer, Colorado. Childhood. Hell. I have a script for all of my version of Inferno. Who knows, I may get ’round to drawing the rest of it. I am afraid I’ll have to start over: I have the script but the drawings are in an archive in Colorado and I believe the original scans of the drawings disappeared in the Great Computer Theft of ’07. Serves me right for not backing them up, eh?

But in the meantime, I wanted to share excerpts of the research I did on Paradiso. What research, you ask? I interviewed various people over 50 about their take on the nature of Paradise, not the heavenly concept so much as the earthly one. I also asked them how their definition of success had changed since they were 20…that was a healthy thing for a 20 year old to be asking when she’d be plunged into the “real world” the next year…

So, over the rest of January, I am going to listen to and blog about these interviews. I will post selected edited transcripts as well; clearly, I’m not going to use the names of the people I interviewed, as my permission does not extend that far. Perhaps they can get names from Paradiso instead.

Until the next interview from Paradise….

*Note: Dante is one of the only literary figures who had a first and a last name, but GOES BY HIS FIRST NAME. We don’t even call Shakespeare “William”. But Dante is not “Alighieri”, he’s “Dante.” How cool is that? He’s like the Madonna of the 1300s.

When I was a kid, I was a ruiner of lunchboxes. I’d leave them full of tupperware containers for a day, then two…then I’d be afraid to open them because of the scary mold. Then I’d think after a week or so, oh CRAP I’d really better clean out my lunchbox…but the mold is probably stinky and funny colors by now, so I can’t possible touch it…

Anyway. Blogging is a little bit like that. *embarrassed cough*

So. I did, in fact, finish my NaNoWriMo novel. While I didn’t like the finished project as much as the one from last year, a.k.a. November Girls, I did meet a character whom I totally love, and there are a few snappy scenes that I can work with. So all in all, I’m glad I NaNo’ed again.

My current projects include continuing to revise November Girls and applying to various higher education thingies, i.e. various MFAs and the Clarion West writer’s workshop. I’m applying with a section from Freedomland; we’ll see what happens!

If you want small juicy morsels of creative writing, check out TypeTrigger. I mentioned it before, and I’ll mention it again. It’s like badass literary twitter. Why follow Snooki on twitter when you could follow me on TypeTrigger? Seriously. It’s in beta right now; the public site release date is January 20th. World: be prepared for amazingness.

NaNo Day 5: 500ish words before bedtime. Did the rest of my homework for class, too. Turns out all I want to do on a Friday night is sleep. Does that mean I’m a real adult now?

NaNo Day 6: Woke up to write. Wrote. Cleaned the kitchen. Talked to my roommate about fairies.  The ultra-rad Kat Vellos came and brought me delicious food. Wrote more. Freaked out and went outside for a while. Wrote more. Got distracted by writing revisions for my other piece. Got distracted by watching the entirety of The Guild. Ordered pizza. Wrote a tiny bit more, then gave up and went to bed. Total word count so far: 9,200ish.

So, my conversation with the roommate about fairies was pretty funny. I started talking about changeling stories and all the horrible things that people are supposed to do to a changeling child in order to get their own child back from the fairies: beating, exposure, burning, etc. My roommate commented how gruesome that was.

“I thought fairies were supposed to be nice,” he said. I talked about some choice bits from changeling tales, like how you’re supposed to stick hot pokers down a child’s throat if you suspect them to be a changeling, or else you can hang a pair of open iron scissors above their bed.

“I thought you were just supposed to clap,” he said. “I mean, Peter Pan’s nice, right?”

 ”Peter Pan is the spirit of an unbaptized crib death. That’s what all the Lost Boys really are. Ghosts of dead children.”

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m a little disillusioned about fairies. I was that kid that loved the Flower Fairy books and had a big crush on Legolas–from the book, I’ll have you know, even before Orlando Bloom. Then I started reading lots of actual fairy tales, plus a little Bruno Bettleheim, Neil Gaiman, and Terry Pratchett. I think my current thoughts on fairies can be well summed-up by a passage from Terry Pratchett’s Lords and Ladies:

“Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.
Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels.
Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.
Elves are glamorous. They project glamour.
Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.
Elves are terrific. They beget terror.
The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning.
No one ever said elves are nice.
Elves are bad.”

Here’s to writing more bad romance with fairies! Huzzah!