August 31, 2009

crunch time

tomorrow is the first of september, and according to the brightly colored reminders that decorate my google calendar, that means: one month and three weeks until the GREs, and three months and one week until MFA applications are due.

it is crunch time.

it's hard to look back at a summer and deem it either successful or unsuccessful in terms of accomplishing all that one needs to accomplish to feel fully prepared for this marathon application period. will i ever feel that my manuscript is perfectly up to snuff? can i ever guarantee that i am applying to the right mix of top tier and higher odds schools? is this the year every twenty-something queer memoirist from new york applies to mfa programs? is this going to be a waste of several hundred dollars? am i really, really, really, really, really a writer?

let's not even try to answer these, save for the last one: i'm a writer. there, i said it. i still feel selfish, guilty, insane, grandiose when i say this. (this probably means i'm due back for some time with julia cameron). a writer writes, and to the best of my ability, while also sailing through these months with rock camp, dancing, brunches, shows, bike rides, ice cream, and a few sweet dates, i've written. i have about five finished first draft new stories, and about five half-finished first draft stories. i've also cobbled together a handful of blog posts and interviews for various publications. as far as my manuscript goes: i'm expected to submit two short stories (more or less). one of these stories will be the story i had published in the full spectrum. and the second story? i'm on the fence, and will be soliciting the advice/revisions/tough love of any and all writer friends who are willing and able in the next week or two.

as the reality of applying to mfa programs truly sinks on (i'm doing this! i'm really, truly doing this!), i need to take a long, hard look at the schools i'm applying to. i am 95% sure that these are the thirteen (omg, thirteen) places i want to apply to. part of me thinks i should whittle this list down to ten or twelve schools; part of me is also still taking everything seth ambramson says as bible (such as his recent answer to an inquiry about iowa's non fiction program as being 'top' for non fiction) and alternately doubting/loving my choices.

for those who haven't already heard my rationale: i'd like to apply to three year programs, so i can maximize my time to write/develop relationships with faculty. i'm most comfortable writing memoir/essays, so am mostly applying to non-fiction programs, but also would love to attend for fiction (and just take all those memoirs, change some names, places, times, and call it fiction, right?). i'm definitely in need of full funding (or at least decent funding)--but really, who isn't?

these schools are the ones i've researched, read about, perused, and can see myself at. most of this info comes from the creative writing mfa handbook (thank you, tom kealey et al), but also is what i've gleaned from the school's websites and other's experiences. it very may well have false information here and there, so for the love of god, don't quote me.

the hopeful thirteen choices:

1.) UT Austin (Austin, TX)
*3 year program; fiction (with a minor in screenwriting, play writing, or poetry)
*full funding ($25 grand stipend; no TAs)
*2% acceptance rate

2.) Syracuse University (Syracuse, NY)
*3 year program; fiction
*partial funding (some fellowships and TAs; prizes and awards for consideration)
*5% acceptance rate

3.) University of Alabama (Tuscaloosa, AL)
*3 year program (4th year optional); fiction (with memoir minor)
*full funding (TAs; some fellowships)
*less than 3% acceptance rate

4.) University of Houston (Houston, TX)
*3 year program; creative non-fiction
*partial funding (TAs; fellowships)
*acceptance rate N/A (although it's more of a top tier school than not)

5.) Indiana University (Bloomington, IN)
*3 year program; fiction
*full funding
*less than 3% acceptance rate

6.) University of Florida (Gainesville, FL)
*3 year program; fiction
*full funding (fellowships)
*7.5% acceptance rate

7.) University of Minnesota (Minneapolis, MN)
*3 year program; non-fiction
*full funding (tuition waiver; fellowships; TAs)
*5% acceptance rate

8.) Purdue University (West Lafayette, IN)
*3 year program; fiction
*full funding (TAs)
*4% acceptance rate


9.) University of Arkansas (Fayetteville, AR)
* 3 year program; fiction (with non-fiction courses available)
* full funding (tuition waiver; TAs; GAs)
* 4% acceptance rate

10.) UNC Wilimington (Wilmington, NC)
* 3 year program; creative non fiction (with cross genre requirements!)
* partial funding (no fellowships; 40% receive TAs)
* 8.4% acceptance rate

11.) University of Colorado (Boulder, CO)
* 3 year program; fiction (cross genres encouraged)
* partial funding (TAs; 70% receive funding)
* "higher odds" acceptance rate

12.) University of Memphis (Memphis, TN)
* 3 year program; non fiction (interdisciplinary program!)
* partial funding (TAs; GAs; some fellowships)
* "higher odds" acceptance rate

13.) University of Kansas (Lawrence, KS)
* 3 year program; non fiction
* partial funding (GAs; some awards for consideration)
* "higher odds" acceptance rate

i'm never quite sure who's reading these haphazard blog posts (dear friends? strangers? the twitterverse? my mother?), but i'm here to ask your honest advice. about my choices, my research, my writing, my manuscript, my anything. just tell me. what do you think?

August 26, 2009

notes from home

on monday i got the call that my pappy had died, and four hours later i was on an amtrak train, going home. we have one saying in my family about death, and that is death is weird. it's weird. what else can you say about it?

i've been here in the suburbs of pennsylvania all week, waiting for the funeral to take place. it is one thing to plan a trip home; it is another to be yanked from your brooklyn summer and thrown here, among family turmoil and drive thrus and the sound of lawn mowers everywhere you go. below is a photo i took from the car window when my brother and i drove to the mall. the town i grew up in is a mash up of farm land and parking lots, shopping centers and tractor crossing. i may only be one state south, but new york couldn't feel more far away.


on tuesday, i tried to find a good cup of coffee. while the regional chain wawa offers something decent, i was otherwise at a total loss. i wanted a cappucino. i wanted a macchiato. i wanted to hear the sounds of an espresso machine, to watch the barista pull shots on it. there are few vices i depend on; coffee is one of them. the one independent coffeeshop i found in my mother's town (also drive-thru) only invoked macchiatos in something called a carmel macchiato, and this came in small, medium, and large. it wasn't the same.

pressed for time that morning, i had to settle on a dunkin donuts, and nearly had a panic attack as i entered the drive thru. i've never had to make a decision at a drive thru. you'd think it wouldn't be much different than stepping up to a cash register and gazing at the menu above, but it is. they didn't even list beverages on the giant board that accompanied the speaker box i leaned toward. it was just egg and cheese croissant things, flatbread specials, combos 1 2 3 4 5 6. 
'welcome to dunkin donuts,' someone intoned from the box, 'how can i help you?'
'um,' i said. 'um.' it was hot outside, but the air was on in the car. what did people in cars drink in the summertime?
'can i have an iced? latte?'
'what flavor?'
i cringed. 'vanilla?'
'one french vanilla iced latte,' he repeated, my coffee now a four word monstrosity. i spit out my order for a chocolate sprinkle donut and pulled along to the pick up window. my latte came with a dome lid, a dollop of whipped cream on top of it. it looked like a milkshake. i found a cup holder and drove back to my mother's house, discontent.

i always feel like a stranger when i come home. i even have trouble calling it 'home.' when i was 18, my parents were planning on a divorce, and going to sell the house. so when i packed for college, i packed everything--i dismantled the bedroom of my formative teenage years, kissed everything goodbye, and vowed to never live at home again. aside from these week long visits, i haven't. i love my life in brooklyn. in brooklyn, i have terrific friends, a swell apartment; i have coffeeshops, bookstores, places i like to go and where i'm known; i have a bicycle, i have an awesome cat; i'm known as the queer, funny, creative person i am. here, though? it all feels less dimensional. 

August 13, 2009

calendars are for suckers

two weeks into my vacation, and i have lost all sense of time. is it tuesday or friday? when did i go to bed last night? can i still order a bagel at 3pm? i feel like i have eleven months of pent up young urban night owl lifestyle coming through.

here is a small comic about it. for the record, my french press does not usually resemble an eagle wearing a beret, and my head is not that big.

xo, c