The New Year

Today, I stumbled upon my prompt box.  The one with the pretty strips of paper all folded up and full of interesting prompts upon which to write.  Well.  Things to think about writing about.  Because you know what, I'm going to end that sentence with a preposition...and everyone's going to like it.  So there.  Anyway, I pulled a prompt:

"Turn to an entry in your journal or diary from a year or more ago.  What has changed and what has stayed the same since then?"

Naturally, that brought me to look at this beauty from a little more than a year ago.  As far as attitudes go, I'm pretty much in the same place.  I relish the idea of growing old versus growing up because it makes my brain hurt in a not quite unpleasant way.  And I wholeheartedly agree with Past Brianna that I would much rather grow old.  There will be no growing up here.

As far as life goes, this time last year, I was living in Florida.  I was packing my bags to get ready to come back to Illinois.  I had no job prospects, and no idea what I was going to do with my life past move into my childhood bedroom in my parents' house.  I was newly single, I was irrationally bitter, and I knew that I was going to miss the support and friendship I found in my flatmates.  I had also just finished off a tiring week of work, and was excited to get to a more normal work schedule for my last week.  I was also writing angsty and/or conflicted poetry, some of which turned out well.

This year, I still (unfortunately) have no idea what I'm going to do with my life.  But today I'm at home in Illinois temporarily because come Saturday, I will be driving back out to Nebraska where work has taken me.  I have a job, I have my own place to live (rent-free), and I have excellent co-workers who I'm looking forward to getting to know even better during the next couple months of 2014.  I'm staying in touch with the majority of my flatmates, as well as classmates from college and high school.  I'm just finishing up a relaxing week of rejuvenating "at home time" and there's a part of me that's itching to get back to Nebraska.  Today I find myself irrationally optimistic when I'm not choked with terror, and making Shrinky Dinks, because that's what a 23 year old does with her free time in her childhood home before she gets back to her "big kid job."  Though I can't classify under a specific heading or genre...I'm still writing poetry that echoes way too much of my current life experiences.

My one conflict with my past "journal entry" is that though I agree with it and want to put it into practice, I'm currently in a job that requires me to act a mite bit older than my true age...because I manage college students.  And I'm no longer a college student, so I can't buddy-buddy with them.  So I find it more difficult to not grow up, or to do justice to my desire to never grow up.  I wouldn't say that I think my soul has died and I'm now an adult, but I will say that I can't run around coloring on walls with crayons or rolling around in the snow in front of my Nebraska home.  Frustrating, yes.  But I'm sure the universe has its reasons for putting me through this.  (Oh gosh, that sounded a lot...I don't know, but I'm leaving it because I'm too lazy to find a way to re-phrase.)

Onward to create more Shrinky Dinks!

Happy 2014, let's make this one a great one!

"When you grow up, your heart dies."

- The Breakfast Club

"There's a poem in that..."

I was thinking recently.  About poetry.  Specifically the writing of it.

I've been having difficulty coming up with new ideas for each day's poem, and it's been enough of a struggle that I'm pretty sure I've written about the carpet in my apartment at least twice, and cornfields more times than I can count.  This lack of variety strikes me as disturbing if only because in my first year of The Poem-A-Day Project, I stumbled upon some new topic every single day and that created some sort of variety in and of itself.  Maybe it's because my life has settled into some sort of routine that doesn't allow for exciting poem topics, so I have to make them up myself.

Or maybe I'm just not paying attention.

That first year of my poetry writing, I was surrounded by people who would stop mid-conversation and say, "There's a poem in that..."  Maybe not surrounded, but I definitely spent a good amount of time with the small number of people who would make that observation.  Of course there was a poem in that.  There was a poem in the epic battle between humans and zombies, there was a poem in the dining hall's lack of Sunday dinner, there was a poem in the sidewalk cracks between my dorm room and my first class of the morning.  Sure I revisited some of the same topics over and over again, but the images that showed up in each new poem were different because I was doing something different almost every day.

Now that I'm not physically around people who can make observations about finding poems for me, I'm coming to the slow realization that I have two options:
1.  I can go glue myself to the sides of the people who can find poems for me in conversations and daily life.
2.  I can start paying attention.
Part of my willingness to glue myself to the side of poem observers comes from missing them so much, but I think there's also a level of laziness there too.  So that leads me to conclude that paying attention is really my only option for writing some wonderful poem that isn't about how Nebraska isn't Chicago, because let's face it, that's been done about eighty times, and people are going to start to get bored if they ever read my Project from beginning to end (then again, won't they get bored with parking lot poems or "It's my senior year of college" poems?  Oh well.).

So here it goes, my mid-October resolution to pay attention in order to write more interesting poems.

Ready?  GO!

"Every day you play with the light of the universe."

- Pablo Neruda

Dependent

I'm having a problem.

I feel like I depend on other people far too much.  I have a couple examples, but the most glaring example is at work.  Yes, I'm learning how to do things and I'm getting into the groove of things, but I feel like I'm probably asking questions before trying to figure out the answer on my own because it's easier to ask the question first.

I spent a lot of my first semester of my senior year of college asking my boss what I should do in nearly every situation.  Having trouble with a desk aide?  I asked my boss what I should do.  Hearing RA gossip?  Talked to my boss, asked her what to do.  Not sure if it's a date?  Asked my boss.  I'm not kidding.  And every single time I came to her with a question, her answer was, "Brianna, what do you think you should do?"  I don't know if it's because she secretly didn't have the answer, but I like to believe that my boss knew exactly what should be done, but she wanted to see if I could figure it out for myself.  Because that question irritated me so much and because I got frustrated every time I had to tell her, "I don't know..." I started coming into meetings with my boss saying, "So I'm having this problem, I'm thinking of doing this, is that right, or am I missing something?"

This might have something to do with my need to have the right answer.  It's not that I need to be right, it's that I need to get an A on that paper, and get every quiz question right.  For some reason, I depend on the people around me to affirm my actions and pat me on the back.  I'm not sure if this is a normal thing or if it's some form of self-esteem issue, but I'd really like to pretend that I don't have self-esteem issues.

I'm not saying that I don't want people in my life, it's just that lately I'm starting to feel like I put a lot of stock into the opinions of others.

Which feels like a bad thing.

Right now, I have a Post-It stuck to my office computer monitor that asks me: "Brianna, what do YOU think you should do?"  I kinda feel like I'm starting from scratch again here, but I'm hoping that this Post-It and my awareness is going to help me figure things out.  And I know that sounds silly or trite, but there it is.

---------------------------------------------

I'm still doing my Poem-A-Day Project.  This should come as no surprise considering I've gotten into the habit of writing every day, and now it's a habit I haven't yet broken.  Strange enough, I wrote today's poem yesterday.  Which is almost virtually unheard of...but I still feel like I need to write right now, so there may be two October 1st poems.  Unfortunately I don't have a challenge for this month, but I'm sure I could tackle more Halloween poetry if the occasion calls for it.  So yeah.  Poetry.

Lame Brianna.  The end.

"You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy.  So let them go, let go of them.  I tie no weights to my ankles."

- C. JoyBell C.

The City Slicker

It was a while ago in the dining hall over plates of lukewarm chicken and waffles (mine with maple syrup but sans the hot sauce because I forgot and wouldn't have known where to find it anyway) that a student staff member asked me if I was writing a blog about myself being "a city slicker in Nebraska."  [This is where I remember that it's Friday and that I could totally do a Poetry Friday thing.]  I told her that I wasn't, thinking that I am writing a blog...kind of...and that was a kinda mishmosh personal blog mixed with poetic things and writing things, all of which no one reads.

So this leads me to the question "Should I start a new blog exclusively for my Nebraska adventures?"

But maybe I should rewind.

A long long time ago in June, I interviewed for and got a position at a college in Nebraska.

Things you should know:
1.  I'd never been to Nebraska.
2.  I'd never heard of this college.
3.  When I looked up the town on a map, there were two major roads that intersected in town and the rest was blank open space.  Presumably, cornfields.

I had three weeks to pack up my worldly belongings, load them into the rickety gray mini van that my brother and I grew up in, get my affairs in order, and voyage to small town Nebraska.  The stress of preparing for my voyage was more personal than it was professional--for instance, I discovered that the only dress pants that I owned no longer fit (because I lost weight).  I also discovered that a very small amount of my make-up was work appropriate.  I had a second stage break-up with the boy, and every single one of my friends made fun of me for moving into the middle of a cornfields.  In fact, my friends wrote a scavenger hunt for me of things that I need to find while I'm in Nebraska.  Unfortunately, I'm not doing very well keeping up with that.  Oops.

Anyway.

When I told people that I was moving to Nebraska, they asked me, "Oh yeah?  Omaha or Lincoln?"  My answer?  "Neither."  For people who don't live in Nebraska, Omaha and Lincoln are the only two names you'll probably know, and both of them are on the far east side of the state.  Everything else (just about) is small towns and cornfields.

So I've been here in small town Nebraska for a little over two months.  Based on my observation that I get restless weekly on Sundays, and the tendency for business establishments to be closed on Sundays, I have begun to learn that the pace of life is indeed slower here.  I'm not pretending to know everything about Chicago, especially since I only just started exploring and meeting the interesting people right before I left the city, but I do know that on a Sunday, it wasn't really a question of "Oh, is that place going to be open?" unless we were talking about Hobby Lobby or Chick-fil-a.  I'm not saying that being closed on Sundays is a bad thing, I'm saying it's different and it's an adjustment for me.

It also occurs to me that I don't really know what a "city slicker" is.  But thanks to Wikipedia, I now know the technical understanding of the term.  I like to think that I don't fit this type.  But that could just be me.

Small town life is interesting.  I'm not 100% enmeshed in the town life because I work at the college, but I do frequent the same grocery stores and coffee shop as the locals, and I like to think that maybe one day the checker at Pac 'n Save will recognize me as "the girl who buys SO MUCH TEA" or "the girl who buys plain yogurt and asks about jasmine rice because she's dumb."  I'll take what I can get, frankly.

For now, I'm still getting used to Nebraska life, but according to the welcome sign on the highway, Nebraska "...the good life."  (and it's also the home of Arbor Day)

"One of these days I'm going to leave Nebraska, cut all those strings and ties and travel to the other prairies of this earth.  I must know if the people who live on those other prairies feel the same way about their horizons as we do about ours."

- John Janovy Jr.

Les Croissants!

Tonight I was seized by the sudden urge to bake something.  Consulting my Pinterest board that tells me all about the things that I want to learn how to make, bake, and cook, I settled on chocolate croissants.

This necessitated a trip to the local grocery store, Quality Foods, to fetch crescent rolls, chocolate chips, and cheese and salsa.  Just kidding, the cheese and salsa are for something else, but who knows, chocolate and just about everything tastes good, so maybe chips, chocolate, and salsa might be kinda neat.  I also got to stop in at Shopko to get a cookie sheet because I should have one anyway.

I didn't quite follow all the instructions, but they did turn out!

Just look how pretty they are!

These are Brianna-made croissants!

This is really quite exciting because now I have something delicious to eat for breakfast for the next week.  Chocolate croissants and tea, it's going to be absolutely delightful, that's for sure!  And I'm so proud that I didn't burn the croissants or the building!  YEAH!

“Remember the days when you let your child have some chocolate if he finished his cereal? Now, chocolate is one of the cereals.” 

- Robert Orben

What's a Shiv?

"Don't worry, Anna will protect you in the dark across campus."

Anna looked up from her half-painted fingernail at the expectant face of one of the younger girls and the sarcasm traipsing across the face of her co-worker.  Being one of the shortest and scrawniest people on staff, Anna was probably the person least likely to be able to defend anyone much less herself, if the occasion called for it.

So she nodded solemnly.  "Oh yeah, of course!  I've got pepper spray.  And a shiv in my purse."

The girl asked, "What's a shiv?"

Anna laughed in that Pssh, you don't know? sort of way and explained that it was a makeshift knife that could be used as a weapon.  The girl's eyes widened while Anna's co-worker smirked.  Of course, if this were a real rather than fictional shiv, it probably wouldn't have been allowed.  Anywhere.  Outside of prison.

"Have you ever used it?" Anna's co-worker asked, feeding the story but interested to see where it went next.

"Of course I have, on my ex-boyfriend's car."

Anna's favorite part of the whole storytelling experience was to watch the faces on her audience.  She could tell that the younger girl immediately believed in the maiming of a car but wanted to figure out for sure if it was true.  And her co-worker was giving her a look that said, Okay, but seriously now.

"Did he have leather seats?"

"Not anymore he doesn't."

"Did you carve your name into them?"

"Of course," Anna said, grinning wickedly.  Her audience went quiet, a mixture of skepticism and respect floating in the air while Anna bent her head down to finish up painting the nails on her left hand.  It was a couple minutes before anyone spoke again, and by then the conversation revolving around Anna's destructive streak could have dissipated.

A pause.  Then, "Did you really do that to your ex-boyfriend's car?"  Not the younger girl, but Anna's co-worker.

Anna just smiled and shrugged.  So what if I did?

"And though she be but little, she is fierce."

- William Shakespeare

Painkillers

"I haven't seen one of those in forever," she said, smiling and pointing at the neon orange and cream bead gecko I had attached to my car keys.

I stopped fumbling in my purse for my wallet and the correct change for my Tylenol and looked up to smile back.  I explained that I just found the gecko buried in a closet, but I loved it, which was true.

"I used to make those all the time," she continued, taking the ten dollar bill, the only thing I had in my wallet under twenty and above one.  She was quick about ringing up the change and handing it over, not even glancing at my penguin boxer shorts or the pink and white socks I had chosen to wear with my black clicky flats.  "Have a good night!"

I pushed the door open and left the building, shaking my head.  At 1:30 in the morning, this woman was not only awake, but smiling as she worked the front counter of a gas station and served nacho creations to the night owls in town who made comments about how a "pog would really make my day right about now."  As I turned the key in the ignition of my beat up mini van, I shook my head, still awestruck that I hadn't been judged for my strange apparel, my appearance in a gas station well after daylight hours purchasing only painkillers, or the fact that I was quite clearly not from around here.  Pulling up to the parking spot labelled specifically for me, I thanked whatever guardian angel had chosen to watch over me on this not-so-great night, sending me someone cheerful, positive, and even a little nostalgic.  Because just as much as the Tylenol, that was something I needed.

More Things I've Learned at Home

Even when you're at home, out of school, you learn some things.  And seeing as I'm going to be leaving home for a job in Nebraska, it seems fitting to post this now.

1.  The people who go to free library or community events are typically the same age as your grandmother.
2.  If you knit for long periods of time, your fingers can seize up.
3.  Marshall Field's will always be Marshall Field's.  The walking tour guide said so, so it has to be true.
4.  You may follow your stomach down Epic Lane, and find yourself on an Epic adventure you didn't expect.
5.  Go to the House on the Rock in the summer.  Or go in the winter, freeze your toes off, and get a personalized tour.
6.  The creepy people will find you.  And they will talk to you.
7.  "Oh, you must have a teen at home.  Oh--oh, you just like reading...well keep reading..."
8.  The day you want to go to the library to get a movie, they will be closed.
9.  Sometimes you need to bring a bodyguard.
10.  There are significantly more interesting things to do around the city that aren't necessarily advertised or Google-able.
11.  Storytelling is beautiful.
12.  Pre-screening interview?
13.  They're your parents, so they're going to ask you where you're going and when you're going to get back.  You'll be lucky  if they don't ask who you're going with so you don't have to say, "Well...no one..."
14.  The days when you write a to do list and accomplish all of your tasks will be your more fulfilling days.  Make more of those.
15.  The cheese curds are good.  The service, not so great.
16.  "Don't mess with her, she doesn't have a pancreas!"
17.  Right hand turns on red lights are more important than the life of a pedestrian (she says after basically being hit by a car, thanks lady!).
18.  You've been to this building multiple times, you know that the elevator goes to the 8th floor, and yet you still insist on taking the stairs up to a locked door and getting lost.
19.  Not all people will understand your sense of humor and you need to be okay with this.
20.  Sugar does not alleviate caffeine jitters.
21.  Keep on writing your e-mails the way you do, because it's awesome.
22.  Sometimes being 22 is rough.  Other times it's great.  Find the in between.
23.  Demon wine.  Never again.
24.  Irrationality.  All over the place.  All the time.  And that's okay.
25.  I can't remember what I did for fun when I was 12, and I guess that's going to have to be okay.
26.  Trekking up and down all the stairs in my house is an ordeal.
27.  Interesting people are few and far between.
28.  If you bring someone to a party with you and share a drink with them, chances are the people around you will assume you're "together."
29.  NaPoWriMo exposes you to interesting poets and poetry sites if you're inclined to take a gander.
30.  Always be prepared to cry during a Doctor Who episode.
31.  Okay, so insufferable and cruel characters can turn out to be endearing and clever.  Thanks for proving me wrong, Logan Echolls.
32.  When given a number of songs to include in a playlist, you may exceed this number.  By a lot.
33.  Make change.  Yeah.  That's a pun.
34.  Carry cash.
35.  The El is awesome.  The end.
36.  Chances are there is parking where you're going.  Although 95% of the time it will be permit only parking or you'll have to pay.
37.  You'll remember the knot when you get there.
38.  You may expect to see a lot of slave Leias at the comic con, but chances are you'll only see one, and her boyfriend will be dressed as...himself.  Disappointing.
39.  Be careful who you're talking to when you joke about stealing something off a person's table.  That person just might be the writer.  Oops.
40.  Stairwells.
41.  Honesty and a lack of secrets bring you closer to a person you didn't think that was possible for.  If that makes any sense at all.
42.  "We deserve to be more than 'just' anything."
43.  Painting yellow over gray takes far more coats of paint than you originally anticipated.
44.  The thing you will miss most about college is the community.  Specifically the creative community, but also the school family.
45.  When you come home, you'll realize that having a roommate was really kinda nice.
46.  Sometimes there is an unspoken deadline.
47.  Poems sold from a gumball/vending machine are the best poems.  Well, best poems for the fifty cents you pay for them.
48.  That person you met once is now following you on all social media outlets, and you just want them to go away.
49.  There are some people who you really want to be friends with, so when you finally do make friends, this is a huge and worthwhile accomplishment.
50.  The opinions of some people matter more than the opinions of other people.
51.  Poetry readings in an apartment or a bookstore, infinitely better than poetry readings in large spaces.
52.  The poet recognized your face too, you don't have to feel dumb for not recognizing him at first.  Oops.
53.  "Are you sure you can live in a small town?  I mean, you are from Chicago..."
54.  My room will always get significantly worse before it's even close to being clean and straightened.
55.  Sometimes doing the right thing is more difficult and hurts more than doing what's easy, but in the long run, it'll all be okay.

"Puttin' on a cowboy hat and a pair of boots doesn't make you country; Like puttin' on a ball gown and heels won't make me Cinderella."

- Kellie Elmore

What Can I Do?!

Today I'm trying to clean my room and bring the rest of my things down into the dungeon, and I found this list folded up in one of my desk drawers.  This is the exact order of this list, and I haven't changed anything past the title.  I may have been on to something here...

What can I do?!
- actor
- writer
- librarian
- stage manager
- set designer (scale...)
- lighting designer (possibly science...)
- director (stage/screen)
- historical consultant
- dramaturg (I don't know what this is...)
- mime
- French translator
- teacher (eh?)
- playwright/screenplay writer
- pirate/sailor
- something GS related
- Creative Writing Teacher
- professor
- speech writer
- waitress
- book shop owner
- Disney worker (imagineer?)
- worker at the Renaissance Fair
- governess
- nanny (like Mary Poppins!)
- professional turtle tosser/letter writer/ (galactic) hitchhiker
- journalist (or not...)
- zoo keeper

You're Such a Doll

Last night I went to the Dollhouse Reading Series in Chicago because when I saw the name Matt Guenette on the list of people who would be reading, I geeked out.  Like a lot.  Because this is the type of person I am.  I love poetry.  I also really love this community that I've stumbled into, the community that gathers in an apartment and settles onto hardwood floor to listen to some fantastic poets read their work.  When my friend tells me, "You've tapped into the Chicago artistic community," I can no longer deny that that's probably true. Plus I now own an autographed copy of American Busboy.

Also last night, I realized that I'm getting a little behind in Poem-A-Day poems.  Again.  So...I tweeted about the poetry reading and received a challenge for a poem.

@BriannaKratz You should write a poem about this. #poemaboutapoetryreading
— Polly Yukevich (@PollyYuke) June 16, 2013

And I never really can back down from a challenge.  So here is a draft of a poem about a poetry reading for Polly Yukevich.

June 15, 2013

The dolls come to the dollhouse
where they gather in clusters
on the dusty hardwood.
All facing the same direction,
toward the empty picture frame
clinging to the plaster
with a determination rivaled
only by the doll in front of it.
Her painted on mouth smiles
at the gathered collectibles
as she clutches at her paper
with the left-aligned text
and no stanza breaks.
She speaks
into the silence,
a glassy-eyed attention trained
upon her.
The dolls are supportive,
welcoming of the new
with porcelain fingers snapping.
She exhales a sigh
after it's read
and settles down
with the teddy bears.

And tonight I'm going to the Poetry Made of Diamonds reading series, which I'm also really excited about.  I'm particularly interested to see how many people overlap between readings during this poetry packed weekend.

I think this just might be heaven.

"Dolls with no little girls around to mind them were sort of creepy under any conditions."

- Stephen King

Things I've Learned and Some Things I'm Grateful for...

There's a lot that's been going on in my life right now, which would be a pretty good reason why I haven't written a blog post in about a week.  I'd say that it was because I got a job, but unfortunately that would be a falsehood.  But really, lots of good things and lots of just things have been going on, and so it feels about time for another list.  I have a list of things I've learned at home...but I'm thinking I'll post that after I've been here for six months.  One more month to go.  Well, half a month.

Anyway.  Here's a list of things that I've learned recently, and a couple of things that I'm grateful for.

1.  Everyone in the Chicago artists community knows one another.  I'm convinced that if I mention the name of somebody artistic and based in Chicago, my boss at Here's the Story will know them.  (See: Robbie Q. Telfer)
2.  You really should drink that super tall glass of water and swallow some sort of painkiller after a night of drinking, and then your hangover will magically either not exist or be manageable.
3.  Superior is the name of an ambulance company and they like putting their name on the backs of their EMTs.
4.  You shouldn't be surprised if you make someone feel/look awkward if you ask them if you can write a poem about them.  This is not a normal question!
5.  The most actively energetic booth at a street festival will be the one that performs literary related things rather than the people selling books.  Go figure.
6.  "Where are all the college aged people?"  Oh wait.  It's summer.
7.  Knowing that someone (for example, your boss) appreciates your writing abilities is really awesome.
8.  Apparently Tuesday evening is a popular time for traveling by train.
9.  It doesn't matter what it's for, being asked for an autograph will always make me feel like a rock star.
10.  Oh, you want me to read the poem I wrote aloud?  Why yes, I will do that for you.
11.  Poetry dispensed from a gumball/vending machine will be the most popular poetry.
12.  "I read your poem yesterday, and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever read.  And I'm a librarian!"
13.  You will get hugs when your poetry is deemed good.
14.  The most terrifying experience is watching someone read your poem while you're standing right there.  ("Do I watch their face for a reaction?  Do I pretend I'm not here?  Do I ask them about it when they're done?")
15.  There are some people that you make friends with and you just want to punch your fist into the air over your head in triumph when you succeed.
16.  Third party outsiders are usually the best for relationship advice.  Even better when the asking for this advice or the venting doesn't make them feel awkward.
17.  Spontaneity.
18.  You have no idea how many different interpretations can result from the instructions of "eat lunch with a stranger."
19.  I am not hitting on you if I ask how old you are.
20.  When you manage to pack three days worth of clothes in your purse that can apparently eat the world...this will be a gigantic accomplishment, and you have full rights to gloat.

So Saturday and Sunday I participated in the Printers Row Lit Fest where I stood at the Here's the Story table and sold poems from my Poem-A-Day Project out of this gumball/vending machine that I'll have pictures of soon.  It was a really neat experience because so many people walked by and commented about how cute the idea was, and a TON of people stopped to buy poems.  Some of them asked me to read them aloud, so the performer in my obliged, and some asked me to sign them in case I ever get famous.  I was overwhelmed by the people who told me they were good or beautiful or fun or funny because, well, for some reason I didn't expect to get much except a couple quarters.  I set my expectations low so I don't get disappointed.  Another thing that came out of Lit Fest was the experience of hanging out with other people from Here's the Story, and talking to them really made me feel more a part of the Here's the Story family.  Strange how hours under the sun out on the street can bring you closer to people.  Shared experiences for the win.

One thing that disappointed me was a father tugging on his son's hand at Lit Fest and telling the little boy, "No, those aren't candy, they're poems.  You don't want those."  I'm not saying that because I wanted to sell a poem to a small child, I mean to say that I was disappointed because to me, being at a lit fest means exploring new literature, new ways of reading, or creating written work.  If an 8-year old kid wants to buy a poem out of a gumball machine, he should.  If he wants to read a poem at all, he should.  It's stuff like that comment, that tugging arm, that make me sad.  I was surrounded all weekend by people who love the written word and who love writing or reading, and so to stop someone from reading something feels like one of the worst and most violent actions you can take towards a person.  We're not really talking literally, so we're ignoring maim and torture.  I just kept thinking that if that kid had bought a poem, what would have happened?  Maybe he would have thrown it out at the next trash can (though I would hope he would recycle).  Maybe he would tear it up and use it as confetti.  But maybe he would have read it and it would have inspired him to write something, whether it be a poem, an essay, a story, or a grocery list.  Maybe, just maybe, that little kid was a writer in the making but he had a father telling him that he "doesn't want those" poems.

"My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody."

- Wilkie Collins

The Poem-A-Day Project

The Poem-A-Day Project started on a whim in September of 2011.

(BRIANNA and KATIE are two college students, walking back to their residence hall on September 1, 2011.  It's a beautiful day, and they're crossing a parking lot.)

KATIE:  Hey, you know that challenge where you write a poem every day for a month?

BRIANNA:  Yeah, that's crazy.  I don't know if I could do something like that, I'd probably give up the first week.

KATIE:  Yeah...

(pause)

BRIANNA:  Wait a minute...it's September 1st!  Wanna give it a try?

KATIE:  Yeah, okay!

On that day, it began.  Every day I put a poem in Katie's mailbox, and she became September's "Poem Keeper."

It didn't stop after September.

Each month I had a different Poem Keeper who I gave the month's poems to in order to keep myself from reading the poems and judging them in their rough and initially unpolished forms.  Poem Keepers could read the poems, but they couldn't talk to me about them until the end of the month when they returned the entire month's worth of poems and I read them from the perspective of never having read them before.

I thought I might stop after six months.  And then I thought maybe I would stop after I graduated from university.  Then I figured I might as well finish up the calendar year of 2012, but it didn't stop there either.

At this point, I've been writing one poem every day for almost two years, documenting my life and writing some really weird or fun things in a poetic form, and I have no idea if there's ever going to be a point at which I say that I'm done with this project.

What's in store for the Poem-A-Day Project now?  I'm looking for a way to bring my poems to the world.  At Printer's Row Lit Fest, I'll be at the table for Here's the Story with a gumball machine that'll dispense poems in little capsules.  And I'm working on putting together a manuscript of my favorite poems from the project.

Thanks for reading!  I'm always looking for tips, guidance, advice, or shouts of encouragement, so feel free to leave a comment, I will read them all!

"That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out."

- Andrea Gibson

Free Books!

Parts of this are true.  Can you spot the fictional parts?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just the other day I got a text message from a stranger: free books at my house.  As I was typing out my response, it occurred to me that clearly this person knew me...because this was the most perfect way to kidnap me.  But when I sent my response, it was: where do you live?

I hopped into the rickety gray mini van that my brother and I share, and I cruised around the block as I waited for an address.  It wasn't long before I got a response that sent me a couple blocks south of my home, and around the block to a garage sale.  It was the garage on the corner, and I figured I would just drive past and look to see if the books were any good because I didn't need to get out of the car and talk to the creeper who texted me.

When I drove past in the wheezing gray mini van, I took a good look at the garage, and at the people who were running the joint.

The garage was full of books.  I kid you not, I'm fairly certain that every inch of the shelving in that garage was covered in books.  And the people who were running the garage sale were this cute old couple, neither of whom were bent over a cell phone and texting like mad.  In fact, from that distance I could tell that this couple's thumbs were probably not quite nimble enough to text with the speed required to have gotten me here so soon.  I figured I was safe, so I parked the mini van around the corner and strolled up to the garage sale.

"Hi," I said, smiling timidly.  "I heard there were free books here?"

The man looked a little grumpy about this announcement, but the lady was cheerful as she smiled at me and gestured at the shelves stuffed with books.

"Of course, take as many as you'd like!" she said, the very picture of a grandmother presenting her grandchildren with a bowl full of fresh Halloween candy.

"Take 'em all," the man growled, crossing his arms over his chest like a toddler in time out.

"Just ignore him, he doesn't understand the romance of a good book," the lady said, waving her hand at her husband.  I nodded sagely and plunged into the garage in search of a good book.  Or five.

Now keep in mind that I had just gotten home from the library where I picked up three books that were on my list and one book because the title Alien Tango intrigued me in an absurd sort of way.  So I had plenty to read.  There was no reason for me to pick up a new couple of books.  But I kept finding books.  I had my arms full of books within fifteen minutes because I decided that my best tactic was to be picky.  I could probably have fit a garage full of books in the mini van, but the problem would be when I got all those books home.

Smirking that I hadn't fallen for the free books trap just to get kidnapped, I thanked the couple profusely and made my way back to the car where I examined my finds.  I was halfway through my stack when I found a book that I don't remember picking up.

"That's weird..." I mumbled, slumping in the backseat of the mini van and paging through the unrecognized book.  As I flipped through the pages, it felt like the pages were starting to stick to my fingers with a velcro kind of urgency.  By the time I got to the end of the book, I felt my fingers sticking to the pages, the very tips of my fingers disappearing into the paper.  "What the hell..."

And with a gigantic slurp, the book swallowed me whole.  It was in that moment that I realized that I had been kidnapped after all.

"Be awesome!  Be a book nut!"

- Dr. Seuss

Challenge Day 10

In the flurry of job applications and good news and bad news and no news and multiple rejections in the course of a couple days, I've kinda neglected my blog.  I feel not too bad about it though because there haven't been any verbally angry outcries missing the randomness that belongs here, so if there's anyone out there missing consistent blog posts here...speak now or forever hold your pieces.  If not, I'll just stick to my non-existent schedule.

After writing today's poem for my Poem-A-Day Project on the actual day to which it belongs, I've decided to tackle another prompt from the daily writing challenge.  I'm making such progress.

Day 10: Start a story with: "She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled..."

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled, running her fingertips along the edges and scratching at the hinge at the back of the box.  There was a certain amount of triumph to be felt when in possession of a box such as this, and it's true, Adelaide felt all the triumph and satisfaction that came with having a box just like this stowed away in her pocket.  In fact, as she walked away from her lunch break with Stan, she was downright smug.

Stan was a nice guy with calm brown eyes, he had a steady job and a nice apartment in a good neighborhood, and she enjoyed spending her weekends with him.  He'd even made a good impression on her parents, and he couldn't take his eyes off of Adelaide's little sister.  But he was always faithful.  A nice guy.

And Adelaide herself had a pretty decent job as a paralegal with the promise of advancement sometime in the near future.  Provided she keep smiling at the elderly boss who was always nice about complimenting her sweater set.  He tended to notice the best of everything.

Adelaide shifted the strap of her purse on her shoulder, and found herself drawing the box out of her pocket.  She couldn't help herself, she had to take another peek before she had to go back to work.  Slowing to a stop off to the side on the walkway up to her office, she held the box on one palm and carefully opened it with her other hand.  Nestled inside the box were two calm brown eyes that wouldn't get another chance to look at her sister again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I really hated the idea of going with the very obvious "engagement ring" here.  Maybe that's just where my mind goes, but that's where it went when there was a female touching a box that was pocket sized and smiling.  So if I'm the only one that thinks engagement ring when that happens, I'd like to know.  So there you go.  Hope you didn't lose your appetite.

"People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say."

- Kurt Vonnegut

A Common Household Scene

(It is a Tuesday afternoon, and BRIANNA returns home after spending time at the local library (not the one she planned on visiting), applying for a job.  Note, "a job" because the application for that one stinking job took an eternity to fill out.  When we find BRIANNA, she is laying on her back on the hardwood floor of her family's kitchen while her father passes by to get to the family's computer room.  DAD is not paying attention, but doesn't step on her because that would absolutely awful.  MOM is chopping onions on the counter nearby.)

BRIANNA:  (undisguisedly pleased with herself) I applied for a job today!

DAD:  And?

BRIANNA:  And...I applied for a job today!

DAD:  And?

BRIANNA:  ...um.  It's not--

DAD:  Did you get it?

BRIANNA:  It's not an instantaneous thing...

MOM:  Now's the waiting game, dear.

DAD:  Oh.

MOM:  You're starting to sound like a Millennial.

BRIANNA:  Ouch.  On behalf of my generation, I am injured that you would call him one...

MOM:  Isn't it the Millennials that want everything to happen right away?

BRIANNA:  Maybe?  Did you also know that the older generations think we're shitty?  Thanks...thanks a lot.

(BRIANNA lays back on the cool floor as DAD heads over to play on the computer and watch drum solos of Katy Perry songs.  MOM continues chopping onions.

Scene.)

If I told you that this is a common conversation in my house, you probably wouldn't be surprised.  Well, if you know myself and my parents at all.  Okay, maybe the Millennial comment is unusual, but the rest of it is right on.  I just thought it was important to include everything in the conversation if only to get a decent length for this post.  Yup.

I really wish that this wasn't a common conversation.  What can I say, I'd like to be lauded for my single job application because it was for Walgreens, and it took me two hours to do.

So...what am I really supposed to say to that single word question: "And?"  I guess I can think of a couple things:
-  "And I heard that the Blackhawks lost, that's a serious bummer, right?"
-  "And the weather's pretty nice, did you need me to pick up sticks in the backyard?  I'm just going to go do that..."
-  "And I actually heard back from them at the exact moment that I pressed the submit button, and good news, I'm moving out and I'll have a pay check that's six figures!"

Really?  This is going to be a recurring rant until about the time when I get a job, and by then, it's going to be a rant about how my parents hate my job because it makes me poor, or how I hate my job because it eats my soul.  So anyway, I understand that my father wants me to have a job.  At least, that's the only assumption that I can make from this single word question, because it doesn't really sound like he's saying, "Rah, rah, good job, Brianna!  Go you for applying for a job!"  I mean, I would know how to respond to that, I would just beam happily and preen.  Why yes, I did apply for a job, thanks for noticing, would you like my autograph too?  So...why exactly is my father demonstrating more impatience with my situation than I am?  Is he really that eager to get me out of his house?  Just curious.

On another note, I had a really awful dream about our house burning down, and my thought in my dream was "Shit, I only have one copy of every poem I've ever written for the Poem-A-Day Project."  Because part of me fears this is my seer potential tapping into prophecy that something terrible's going to happen to my hard copies, I'm typing up every single poem I've written and uploading them to Google Drive!  Who's excited to read all of these poems again and get them into some cohesive order?  THIS POET!  Yup.  That's the plan.

"What good has impatience ever brought?  It has only served as the mother of mistakes and the father of irritation."

- Steve Maraboli

Guest Post: Elizabeth vs. Miss Hudson

Ok, so, Brianna offered me the chance to do a guest post on her blog. Now, Brianna is epic, which makes her blog pretty epic, so really any posts on her blog should also be epic. I have to live up to transitive property.

(Am I off to an awesome start?)

In any case, I spent all day trying to figure out what I wanted to blog about. And while I was helping various students, I was struck by the realization that, while my friends know me as Elizabeth Hudson, they haven't met "Miss Hudson" -high school English teacher at Lowpoint-Washburn High School.  And just as my friends don't know Miss Hudson, my students don't know Elizabeth.

So who is Elizabeth, and who is Miss Hudson?

Elizabeth (n): 1). a reflective, introverted individual who opens up to people over an extended amount of time. 2) a middle child with a strange sense of humor but fantastic laugh. 3) a surprisingly morbid individual with more talents than what meets the eye. 4) an perceptive listener who weighs words wisely before offering advice. 5) a great lover of sleep, cats, books, and the color blue. 6) http://ehudson24.blogspot.com/ 7) me.

Miss Hudson (n): 1) first-year LWHS English teacher (10th-12th grade). 2) A supporter of dreams, artisan of intellect, and innovator of minds. 3) a weirdo with a creepy/awesome obsession with death, cats, and purple pens. 4) A beautiful individual in a skirt whom all the boys try to impress. See also: THE QUEEN. 5) A hilarious individual with a contagious laugh. 6) a stressed individual who tries to take everything in stride. 7) me.

And it's interesting to me to see the balance between the two.

(NOTE: I rarely if EVER refer to myself in the 3rd person, so don't judge me too harshly for the rest of this entry.)

I'm Elizabeth when I wake up and wish that I could still be sleeping. I stay in that mode while I put on make-up and dress professionally in preparation of being Miss Hudson (yes, I have purple and silver eye-shadow on, and hell DIDN'T freeze over. What. has. happened?!!??) The entire drive to school, I'm singing and waking up to my music, which brings me to the first clash of selves. Allow me to explain:

There is a male student who lives in Peoria with his mother, and has the same drive to school as I do. He's one of my favorites, but I'm fairly convinced that he has a crush on me (who tells their teacher that they "<3" them?). And since I'm still Elizabeth while driving to school, I find it really awkward to acknowledge his presence in any way. But since he's so used to Miss Hudson, capable of being beckoned simply by raising a hand, being ignored is totally weird...which is no doubt why he honked at me the other day. To get my attention. "I was waving like crazy but you were just singing away to your music with your little sunglasses on!" When he told me this, I smiled. What I didn't say was that I HAD noticed, but chose to speed up instead of wave back. (Which is why I also have to keep an eye out for cops as well as students).

This clash continues when I first get to school. The kids all stand in a line outside of the building before the bell rings at 7:50. They chat and mess around and whatnot...but they also have a tendency to STARE and maintain eye contact as you walk up towards the building. I find this to be especially true if I'm wearing a skirt or a dress. And, being an introvert, I like to have a little bit of time to mentally prepare for conversations. I can't tell you how many times a student has tried to greet me in the morning, only to get a half mumbled grunt back.

But the moment I enter my classroom, my domain, Miss Hudson is in control. Somehow I can make quick, witty comments on the fly. I can make small talk like none other. The boys try to impress me, the girls love talking to me, and they all try to make me laugh and smile (which, let's be honest, really isn't that hard). I make fun of myself, which they find fantastic. I'm patient and caring and genuinely concerned. They call me beautiful and a good teacher, and they truly believe it.


As of late,I believe it as well. It feels like my two selves are coming together as one. Maybe this is just what growing up and becoming an adult feels like. Teaching as Miss Hudson has done wonders for Elizabeth's self-esteem, which shouldn't surprise me as much as it does. My self and personality existed before I started teaching, so clearly it was in me all along.

I remember taking an education night class with a professor/high school teacher whom I wasn't too fond of during my time at IWU. What really destroyed my respect for her was a conversation in which she told me that she was surprised that I did so well in her class, since she thought I would be "too quiet" to become an effective teacher. And that's not the first time I've heard that comment. When I first applied to be a RA, I was put on the waiting list, because they didn't think that my personality was forceful enough to take control over a stressful situation.


If there's any point to my ramblings, I guess it's just this: don't underestimate the introvert. When they do finally speak, you'd best believe that they have something worth listening to.


And this introvert has had her voice all along.

Fowl Play

Remember that time when I told you that I was going to write a poem based on the prompt "foul play" for a writing group?  Remember also that I said I was going to write about theatrical chickens?  Well, I came through.  We're not going to talk about syllables and verb tense though...but if you really want to talk about it...send me an owl or something.

Fowl Play

By: Brianna

The chickens casted a comedy

to perform out in the yard.

The rooster wrote out the melody

(it really wasn’t quite hard).

Rehearsal was held in the henhouse

with hens dancing around eggs.

They were directed by the ruffed grouse

who told them to shake a leg.

Opening night, the cast was nervous

as they gathered out on stage

to do the author a disservice

would certainly cause outrage.

The field mice crept in for the curtain

and brought with them their fine cheese

twould be a good show, they were certain

as long as nobody sneezed.

When they fin’ly reached intermission

the play was going quite well

without a last minute addition

of anything that might smell.

Lovers kissed for the happiest end

and all came out for a bow

by then the poultry death blade descend…ed.

It’s chicken for dinner right now!

A Letter to Tan Lines

Dear Tan Lines,

You know me.  We're pretty close.  I mean, you're attached to me, and I'm a little attached to you by virtue of your being branded into my skin.  But in case you're not familiar with my name, I'm Brianna.  Hey, how you doing?

Back in Florida, I noticed you existed because when I wore tank tops, you were there marking our the sleeves that I wore for my costume.  That costume was adorable, but the sleeves were just too darn long due to the unisex nature of those yellow and white striped button downs that we weren't allowed to roll up.  And then there were the tan lines that reminded me I had to wear socks that covered my ankles, leaving the knobs of my ankles down to my toes a pale Elmer's glue white.  Luckily you didn't mark out my skort because my thighs are always pale anyway.

Well.  I noticed you yesterday.  I thought you'd faded away completely and that I was back to my usual pale and fairly even self, but when I donned that tank top and went out into the sun yesterday, there you were.  Yes, you had faded during the winter months when I covered you up in sweater sleeves and long pants, but you're still there.  I could tell you were still there when I bared my shoulders to the sunlight yesterday afternoon.

And don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that I got tan rather than burned in Florida, but I'd really like the evidence of my shirtsleeves to go away.

So basically, I love you...but please leave.

Love,
Brianna

-------------------------------------------------------

Brianna Life Update:

The job search continues.

My internship has me doing a lot of things, and I'm still really excited about it.  A bunch of stuff that I wrote for the site has even been posted, and you can read all that here: www.heresthestory.org.

I'm still doing my Poem-A-Day Project, but for some reason I keep leapfrogging.  I keep forgetting to write a poem every other day, leading me to write two poems in a day...multiple days "in a row."  I don't know what's up with this, but it's something that I'm going to have to figure out before next month, because it just can't go on like this.

I'm still working on revising poems that I'm sending out to people as part of an artistic pay it forward type deal from Facebook.  I actually wanted to commit to doing that, because I know lots of people post those statuses, collect things from people, and then never actually send out art.  So...I'm doing that, but I'm having difficulty picking poems for people and making sure that they're pretty.  The only reason I'm posting this on my blog is because I'm fairly certain that the people I'm talking about have either forgotten that I owe them a poem or they don't read this blog.  So...I win.

I'm reading too many books at once.  Right now I have bookmarks in Act of Will and Wonder Boys, and on the almost immediate line up after those are The Handmaid's Tale and Beautiful Creatures, both of which I've borrowed from friends.  Though one of them I'm going to hold hostage, so go ahead and try to stop me!

I haven't been on any adventures recently, but I did buy new jeans (whoohoo!) the other day, and they look awesome.  Mostly because I'm wearing them, and I always look awesome, but also because they're super comfy.

And that's about it.  Happy Thursday!

"I think you are wrong to want a heart.  It makes most people unhappy.  If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart."

- L. Frank Baum

Days Gone By

This evening I found myself thinking, "I should write a blog post" and then I promptly stared at the computer screen for a good ten minutes before remembering that I have a prompt box right next to me in a desk drawer that I can use at times like these.  I went through a good dozen slips of paper before I settled on this one.

Lots of things happening.  Internship #2 is over, and I'm sad that it's done, but you know what they say, "all good things come to an end."  Bright side, Internship #1 is now my only internship, and I'm doing lots of exciting things for that.  Like this: audition posting!  And then I have a phone interview for another internship on Thursday!  Fingers crossed!

Today's prompt: What can you do to recycle old calendars?

I spent a little bit of time puzzling this out recently because I had a stack of old calendars sitting in my closet.  On the floor.  Because that's where old things belong.  (I learned recently that I'm a "stacker."  I stack things.  Everywhere.  On everything.  Desks, the floor, countertops, tabletops, car seats, etc.  Why did I not know this before?!)

The first and most obvious answer is that you could make a collage of all the pictures!  Just think, a collage of all those wonderful Orlando Bloom faces all staring out at you at the same time rather than just one for every month!  A collage of Harry Potter characters pasted over landscapes from England and France.  (These are some of the calendars I have had, don't judge...)

What I did with a couple of my calendars, most notably a landscape one and an artsy dreamy one, was make envelopes.  That's right, folks, I made envelopes for sending letters in.  Granted, I haven't sent many letters out in them, but when I do...those letter receivers will have something special to tear open in their feverish haste to get to my profoundly awesome letter.  It's really easy to make envelopes too, you can just unglue an envelope you already have and use that as a template to trace and then glue up the homemade envelope and voila!  The only problem I've found with this is that you have to glue the envelope shut before you send it.  Or tape the hell out of it so your letter doesn't fall out.  On the bright side, that letter isn't going anywhere until the recipient opens up that envelope.

And that, my friends, is what you can do to recycle old calendars!

“Most modern calendars mar the sweet simplicity of our lives by reminding us that each day that passes is the anniversary of some perfectly uninteresting event.” 

- Oscar Wilde

Challenge Day 9

It has been a really rough week.  Lots of things happening, lots of people being seen, lots of hearts being broken, and lots of food being eaten at restaurants paid for with money that I don't actually have.  This is my life right now.  And this is why I'm writing a response to the daily writing challenge.

Though this is going to be difficult, because I don't really have one favorite city.  Oops?  And we're not going to talk about how these are probably not cohesive "stories," but whatever.  Anyone going to call me on it?  I should also mention that these are fictional.  Just sayin'.

Day 9: A story in 250 words or less about your favorite city.

Chicago

I’ve lived in this city for my entire life, I even went to school south of this city, and when people said they were from my city, I was allowed to get upset.  Because they were from the suburbs.  But I never really got to know Chicago for whatever reason.  I suspect it was fear.  Of muggers, gangs, tourists, everything.  This fear permeated my being even when you grabbed my hand and dragged me onto the El.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you said with the grin that always made me melt like cheese in the microwave.

“I don’t know…” I waffled, like I do.

“Trust me?” you said, raising your eyebrows and peering over the tops of your glasses.

“Never,” I joked.  But it was seeing the reflection of the skyline in your glasses that finally convinced me that everything could be okay.

Paris

“I don’t want to go with just Grandma, it’ll be a total drag.”

“Alright, I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

A six hour plane ride, and we landed in Paris, France, the place I had been dreaming of since I realized French was a foreign language.  The only problem being that I never imagined I would have to cart around my grandmother who doesn’t speak a syllable of French.

“Pare—lay vooz English?” she asked, prompting a groan from me and a sigh from my mother.  Then Grandma whips out a handful of Euros and promptly informs us that she will be paying for everything during our trip.  And suddenly I can see all of my frustrations just melting away…

"Yet once you've come to be part of this particular patch, you'll never love another.  Like loving a woman with a broken nose, you may well find lovelier lovelies.  But never a lovely so real."

- Nelson Algren, Chicago: City on the Make