I'm the featured poet on Thursday night at Space Bar in La Mesa at 7pm. Come on down.
Last week was a week of 12+ hour work days. I was working for my favorite interior designer; she is a visionary but also very demanding. I love working for her because I'm always challenged but also well rewarded for my work.
I spent this last weekend in LA with La Creep and had a great time. La Creep and I laughed harder than we have in a very long time. We went to the Homeboy Industries Gala on Saturday night. What a beautiful, beautiful event. I was inspired. It made me want to volunteer even more with those who have hard time finding their voice.
Writing, not so much. I've been so busy that all I want to do at the end of the day is sleep or read. I read three great YA books this last weekend. I think when I'm finished with the fantasy book I'll try my hand at a contemporary YA novel, possibly, probably paranormal. I LOVED the two books in the Unearthly series by Cynthia Hand, despite cheesy as all fuck covers and crappy description. Well-written, nuanced, phenomenal characters. Happy making. Her gun over the mantle is wonderful, a dark character I can't help having hope for.
I have such a busy few months ahead of me but they are going to be punctuated by some joy that I can't even begin to describe.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
I'm happy to announce my poetry manuscript has been selected as a finalist for the Andres Montoya Poetry Prize. Pretty thrilled, and in good company with the other finalists.
Lots going on but much of it beneath the surface. These next couple of months are jammed packed, I think I have every weekend between now and the middle of June booked. Of course I'll still take plenty of time for myself, little moments or days tucked away into the insanity. April is always a strange month for me. Spring is my favorite season and this Spring is no different.
Monday, April 9, 2012
So much going on, crazy, scary, strange. I have been neglecting both this blog and my personal writing a bit. Upheaval, annoyance, change.
I had an argument with an aunt last night. She was giving me a world of shit, telling me no one will ever take me seriously because I don't have a degree. She says that to be respected by academia and intellectuals I need a degree. I told her over and over again that validation from my peers and/or alleged superiors has never been a priority. I love my life, I love my experiences and most of all I love who I am. As they say in Spanish Me vale madre, I don't give a fuck. Still, it was annoying at least to stand there and be told over and over again that what I have to say in my writing isn't relevant because I don't have a degree.
Shit. I live a great life. I have my own business. I travel. I have had adventures enough to fill a book. I have had great love and bullshit love. I work with my hands and body and am familiar with the physicality of work, most people have lost that physical awareness. I am connected to the culture and land where my ancestors were from and I visit regularly and collect stories. I hate sitting in classrooms. Perhaps I don't have a clear grasp of theory and all that other shit but I don't live my live in theory, I live it in practice, in experience, in fuck-ups and celebration. Do you know how many miserable academics I know? How many times people have told me they wish they hadn't gone to school? Rant rant rant. As much as I say I don't care it obviously rankled me a bit. To say I'm not worthy of respect because I chose to live my life in experiences rather than in classrooms is bullshit. The world is my library.
Monday, April 2, 2012
March was hard. I lost the thread of consistency in my writing practice, meditation and exercise. From the beginning old monsters reared up and demanded to be dealt with. I'm tired. In my body and my mind. I know this is a phase, part of the cycle but still, I'm tired. I've had little solitude the last couple of weeks, social obligations and house guests and I'm screaming inside for alone time.
I wrote my first poem for National Poetry Month last night ten minutes before midnight. I wrote a poem about beginnings, since it is the beginning of National Poetry Month. I look forward to having this daily goal of writing. Writing the poem felt good, a tiny bit of pressure released from the valve, an ease.
My sister's bridal shower was this weekend and it was lovely. I love seeing how happy she is, how much love she and her fiancee have for each other. That being said, I don't like bridal showers, or baby showers, or even weddings. I'm not a fan of traditional rites of passage. I wonder if it is because my primary belief system as a child was one which eschewed tradition for a sense of autonomy. All cults require a certain autonomy and that need for autonomy is the guiding hand in my life.
I think I wont go to work today, or just work for a couple of hours in the afternoon. My home is a disaster right now, from travel, house guests, laziness. I dislike living in a mess and will organize today, cull and clean. I have correspondences to consider, work to edit, more than this.