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I don't want to move. The question is, how much do I want not to move?
(The continuing depressing job-hunt saga.)
(The continuing depressing job-hunt saga.)
I don't want to move. The question is, how much do I want not to move?
(The continuing depressing job-hunt saga.)
(The continuing depressing job-hunt saga.)
That's basically what NYRSF work weekend turns out to be: people sitting around David's living room, passing around manuscripts, marking them with everything from minor corrections (commas included) to "this was not the cause of the French Revolution", "too much of a reach", or "cut this paragraph." Discussions of topics spun off of the manuscripts, or other random conversation (mostly gossip).
Out of this come simple edits, more complex ones, and sometimes requests for major revisions. And a magazine.
All of this was punctuated by an enthusiastic four-year-old (who enthusiastically fell down a half-flight of stairs at one point) and a very patient long-haired cat.
And then, half-asleep, making my way home. (Kevin picked me up, and would have driven me home, but only if I was willing to stay until things were done, i.e. 3 a.m.) Metro-North to 125th, crosstown bus, and home on the A train. Where I live, getting home from the northern suburbs is a lot faster if I stay out of midtown: bus service is good enough that I can be at the A platform before the railroad train stops at Grand Central.
Out of this come simple edits, more complex ones, and sometimes requests for major revisions. And a magazine.
All of this was punctuated by an enthusiastic four-year-old (who enthusiastically fell down a half-flight of stairs at one point) and a very patient long-haired cat.
And then, half-asleep, making my way home. (Kevin picked me up, and would have driven me home, but only if I was willing to stay until things were done, i.e. 3 a.m.) Metro-North to 125th, crosstown bus, and home on the A train. Where I live, getting home from the northern suburbs is a lot faster if I stay out of midtown: bus service is good enough that I can be at the A platform before the railroad train stops at Grand Central.
That's basically what NYRSF work weekend turns out to be: people sitting around David's living room, passing around manuscripts, marking them with everything from minor corrections (commas included) to "this was not the cause of the French Revolution", "too much of a reach", or "cut this paragraph." Discussions of topics spun off of the manuscripts, or other random conversation (mostly gossip).
Out of this come simple edits, more complex ones, and sometimes requests for major revisions. And a magazine.
All of this was punctuated by an enthusiastic four-year-old (who enthusiastically fell down a half-flight of stairs at one point) and a very patient long-haired cat.
And then, half-asleep, making my way home. (Kevin picked me up, and would have driven me home, but only if I was willing to stay until things were done, i.e. 3 a.m.) Metro-North to 125th, crosstown bus, and home on the A train. Where I live, getting home from the northern suburbs is a lot faster if I stay out of midtown: bus service is good enough that I can be at the A platform before the railroad train stops at Grand Central.
Out of this come simple edits, more complex ones, and sometimes requests for major revisions. And a magazine.
All of this was punctuated by an enthusiastic four-year-old (who enthusiastically fell down a half-flight of stairs at one point) and a very patient long-haired cat.
And then, half-asleep, making my way home. (Kevin picked me up, and would have driven me home, but only if I was willing to stay until things were done, i.e. 3 a.m.) Metro-North to 125th, crosstown bus, and home on the A train. Where I live, getting home from the northern suburbs is a lot faster if I stay out of midtown: bus service is good enough that I can be at the A platform before the railroad train stops at Grand Central.
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elisem asked people to post their contributions to her haiku/earring not-exactly-contest to her journal. I wound up with two sets of earrings. For the second set, Twilight's Beacons (each has one large hollow bonebead, with star-shaped holes carved into it; two blue and one copper bead above, one blue below), I wasn't happy with my haiku. After thought and discussion, I wound up with this prose poem:
Twilight's Beacons
Emerging from the chaos and endless waiting of the terminal, we boarded a coach, over roads never seen before, but the birds are the same, the trees are the trees of home, and the sky on my planet is still blue, only a deep purple through the front window, above the same green world. Road names speak of other places--Harlem, Shattuck--as the twilight settles upon us.
Darkness ahead, of rain much beloved, but also feared. Lightning leaps for the clouds, leading us onward, and the sky on my world is a pale nameless not-quite-blue as the red setting sun shows me the place my people are calling home, for a little while.
Vicki Rosenzweig
Madison, 27 May 2001
elisem asked people to post their contributions to her haiku/earring not-exactly-contest to her journal. I wound up with two sets of earrings. For the second set, Twilight's Beacons (each has one large hollow bonebead, with star-shaped holes carved into it; two blue and one copper bead above, one blue below), I wasn't happy with my haiku. After thought and discussion, I wound up with this prose poem:
Twilight's Beacons
Emerging from the chaos and endless waiting of the terminal, we boarded a coach, over roads never seen before, but the birds are the same, the trees are the trees of home, and the sky on my planet is still blue, only a deep purple through the front window, above the same green world. Road names speak of other places--Harlem, Shattuck--as the twilight settles upon us.
Darkness ahead, of rain much beloved, but also feared. Lightning leaps for the clouds, leading us onward, and the sky on my world is a pale nameless not-quite-blue as the red setting sun shows me the place my people are calling home, for a little while.
Vicki Rosenzweig
Madison, 27 May 2001
At first try, I couldn't find the envelope marked "poetry", to transcribe the poem below.
So--finally, weeks after buying the hanging folders--I have organized the desk drawer it was in. For some loose value of "organized", anyhow: the largest single category is "miscellaneous". But it's a start.
I even found what I'd been looking for, making the whole thing seem worthwhile. (So much of what's in there is either stuff I use rarely, or duplicated on the computer, that the project was easy to put off; I needed a specific incentive to do it.)
So--finally, weeks after buying the hanging folders--I have organized the desk drawer it was in. For some loose value of "organized", anyhow: the largest single category is "miscellaneous". But it's a start.
I even found what I'd been looking for, making the whole thing seem worthwhile. (So much of what's in there is either stuff I use rarely, or duplicated on the computer, that the project was easy to put off; I needed a specific incentive to do it.)
At first try, I couldn't find the envelope marked "poetry", to transcribe the poem below.
So--finally, weeks after buying the hanging folders--I have organized the desk drawer it was in. For some loose value of "organized", anyhow: the largest single category is "miscellaneous". But it's a start.
I even found what I'd been looking for, making the whole thing seem worthwhile. (So much of what's in there is either stuff I use rarely, or duplicated on the computer, that the project was easy to put off; I needed a specific incentive to do it.)
So--finally, weeks after buying the hanging folders--I have organized the desk drawer it was in. For some loose value of "organized", anyhow: the largest single category is "miscellaneous". But it's a start.
I even found what I'd been looking for, making the whole thing seem worthwhile. (So much of what's in there is either stuff I use rarely, or duplicated on the computer, that the project was easy to put off; I needed a specific incentive to do it.)
.