Mary

Cancer. Fuck. Fuck you, cancer. You took my friend Mary. You took her last night and she’s gone. Gone from this world, off to another, and I can’t see her again. It’s been almost a year of fighting for her life, a private battle, one for her and Stacy and their family. There was nothing that I could do, not really, knowing chemo was wearing away her reserves, yet when we’d meet up, every few months for lunch, Mary still shone, laughed, and told stories. That’s just how she was, a positive creative strong feisty funny friend who stayed in my world even as I drove off, drove back, we’d meet, the three of us and we’d laugh, tell stories over a beer and burger at Blue Corn, together the three of us, twenty years of us coming together. This morning the news came saying that Mary had passed on, a beautiful goodbye, said Stacy, reassuring their friends, reassuring me. There’s magic in having the chance to say goodbye, knowing you are loved. This is the paradox, even as I walk and cry in the rain. Mary is with us in my stories, in me, she lives inside me. Mary is with me still. In some way. She is. Mary. Mary.

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What Will You Give Up To Write?

It’s a great question to ask yourself. What will you give up? What will you sacrifice? Are you hungry enough? Hungry enough to be a writer?

It’s a question we’re asked in the MFA program. Are we hungry enough? Do we care enough? There’s a spark, a flame in us, there has to be. We all moved to Montpelier for this graduate school, for the chance to study in a Writing and Publishing MFA at Vermont College of Fine Arts. But can we maintain it? Keep going? We’re adults here, it’s up to us. No one else cares as much as we do about our own writing. It’s as simple as that. No one else cares as much as we do about our own writing.

Literary citizenship comes up to, how we interact within the writing community. At clown school, I remember being reminded that it was more important to be consistent, to show up than it was to be a genius. If we were difficult, if we just took without giving back, our reputation took us down regardless of what we created.

I see it here too. Who cares and is generous with the other students. Who goes out of their way to help, give thoughtful feedback when asked, in short, who shows up for others. Seeing how we are (mostly) being there for each other is incredible, we’re in this together. We all want to become better writers. We need each other. We learn from each other. This community is ours for the rest of our writing lives. It’s important.

Yet, the truth is we are alone. No one makes me get up early to write. No one demands me that I edit and revise my prose. No one stands in the corner, tut-tutting when I stare out the window or look at Facebook or drift off.

No one but me. I’m here. I moved 2400 miles. My friends and family are far away. I’m here at my desk. It’s eleven on a Sunday morning and I’ve written a new sketch/ prose poem, revised three others, edited a book review, and started editing a travel essay someone has sent for publication on Wanderlust. I might go for a walk again soon but not yet, I’m caught up in the daily focus of writing. Reading is later in the day, not yet, not now, I’ll get to that later on.

So what did I give up to be here? To live as I have for years? Especially for the last 18 months with no income but what comes from writing and editing. It was a good question from Sean Prentiss, a good lecture from Julianna Baggott. It’s lingered in me this week. In no particular order, this is a list of what I’ve given up, so far.

  • new clothes
  • routines
  • netflix
  • new music
  • new books
  • boots that fit properly
  • organic food
  • going out to restaurants
  • furniture
  • a new car
  • going to movies
  • heating
  • home upgrades
  • hairstyles
  • motels and hotels
  • a full pantry
  • my home in Bromsgrove
  • my home in Madrid
  • family
  • friends
  • lovers
  • kids
  • and boredom

You see, it’s time to live up to my potential. I’m hungry. I want to claim my place in the writers’ community. Let me know how I can help. I’ll be there. One way or another, I want to give back. I am here. I’m not giving up, not now.

Call For Submissions

 

Wanderlust Journal is looking for travel narratives and stories from the road, all those explorations in landscape and environment.  Wanderlust Journal  has an ongoing curiosity into how travel changes us, the reasons we leave home, and what we experience. We’re looking for new voices and emerging writers to publish. Why? There is a shortage of quality places focused on these travel essays.

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Do you have something to say? Well written and evocative of something more than just a personal experience that takes the reader to see the world in new ways? We’d love to hear you.

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Unfortunately, we are currently unable to provide payment for publication in Wanderlust Journal. One of our long term goals is to reach that point. We have no university funding, grants, scholarships, subscriptions, or memberships. The $5 submission fees only cover the Submittable website and our own. We are volunteers, the readers, editors, publishers. This is a work of love for a good story.

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Wanderlust Journal – click here for more information. Thanks!

Stay Hungry. Stay Human.

GRAB LIFE.

Grab your beloveds and tell them. Go after your dreams. Be hungry. Act on your hopes, on your ideals, stop making the same bloody excuses. This is it. This is your life. Please grab it. Be hungry. Stay awake. There are no guarantees, we don’t know how long we have. We don’t know what our friends and loves are going through. We don’t know when our own clocks will go silent. GRAB YOUR LIFE and claim it. Every fucking day.
Too many friends have lost people the last few weeks. Four people in my world died. So please stop fucking around. This is it. This is your life. Stay hungry. Stay human. Unless you’re a dog, then just be a dog. Running full out.

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Fiction: The Arc of the Plot

As Julianna Baggott said in class:

  1. Breathe in.
  2. Hold it.
  3. Hold it.
  4. Just a little longer.
  5. Release.

Funny, yes? But oh my, so true. I look at the stories and sketches I’m writing these days and they each have that basic arc. It’s such a simple lesson. One worth sharing.