in Life's name and for Life's sake

There are many things I don't want to be
in this wide world, but above all I loathe
the idea that I might belong
to the category
of the unpublished. Those aspiring writers
who finish the manuscript, sent it
in and then the reply comes: NO. We don't
want you, or this, not here, not now, NOT.
It's not you, it's us? The poetry
no longer drips from my tongue, my words
have lost their honeyed sweetness. Then
what shall I do now about it, how shall
this fix itself -- shall it?

Sometimes it's best to think and
then to writer, other times to
write and then thing, but
the abitrary pressing of
the "enter" key does not
make a poem out of words sprinkled across the wasteland
of the page. Eliot must have known
that it was hard; I don't know how
he did it. Painful
as Prufrock's last lurching breaths, before
he drowns in a sea of uncertainty
as the sirens sing on the shore.

POETRYPOETRYPOETRYPOETRYPOETRYPOETRYOMGYESIT'SPOETRYPOETRYPOETRYPOETRY

Well, you see, it's kind of like
our molecules for a moment mingle
and we're not two separate people,
there's just the "we."

--But that can't happen, you see;
you are you and I am me and
as much as I'd like to be
with you like that, it's not possible.

Why do you say this, dear? I know
that you're the smart one here,
but I like to think that, in love,
you don't have to be a rocket scientist.

--Yes, my love, I understand,
but please be more precise: you see,
on the basic molecular level, there
can never be zero space between particles.

I beg your pardon, but for all
those years of schooling, you're quite dull
to still believe that science has
anything to do with love.

POETRYPOETRYOMYGOSHICAN'TBELIEVEI'MTHISBOREDOFPOETRYPOETRYPOETRYPOETRY

Once upon a midnight dreary,
little Edgar Allen Poe
must've spouted off the theory
that the world would come to know

As his signature suggestion.
But what still amazes me
is that no one has sought to question
that a raven, flying free

Would drop in on Edgar Allen
in the darkness of the night,
making a show of feather and talon,
only to disappear from sight.

(Things like this show you how much I am SEVERELY LACKING IN GOOD IDEAS!!!)

I am now going to fall over and moan...after I get snack. Maybe I just need to come back to this whole poetry thing later, when my mind has been freed of its cliches.

Somteims, a poem is
best seen without sight, so that
now as Iwrite this I colse my eyes
and open others, so that
I don't have to see the page, the words, and
I can just feel it under my fingers,
like something more tangible, more necessary, more
alive. Something
that moves beneath my feet, something that quivers
like a living sidewalk
and takes me down roads unexpected. But
I wouldn't want to go anywhere old, to go
somewhere I have gone before -- there's
no learning in that, no experience, no
change, and that's what I crave from this life, that's
what most of the time I live for...

The words, the words, they spin away into
the space where lost words go, the ones
I cannot say, not here, not now, not because
I'm afriad at all, not because they are wrong or right, but
just because here they aren't meant to be, and
maybe later
mabye when I know better
they'll pop up and scream out, Use me, Use me! and
then I'll have to oblige. Then, when the words fall to the page
like ink-soaked meteors, when
everything flows and goes and happens as it should,
then and only then will I be satisfied.

I suppose that not all poets work like this,
spinning tales off the tips of their tongues,
throwing words out at the wall
and waiting for the right ones to stick;
producing, producing, producing (the first draft
of anything is shit, you gotta keep at it, you gotta
get past it) until out of a thousand words you find
the right three to say
what you really meant.

Like an archaeologis, I dig out the meaning,
dissecting the pieces
that I find, going over
every last indentation in the skeleton
of the piece,
stripped of flesh,
waiting for someone to come along
and reliably begin
the reconstruction...

!@#$%^&*&^%$#@! --- !@#$%^&*&^%$#@!

(This isn't me.)

The novel I haven't written
is really wonderful, you see -- there are
so many levels to it, such depth,
and I just can't get over
all that there is to it -- you must
understand, when I say I haven't
written it, I mean
that I haven't been able to write it, yet, because
really, it deserves more time than I have
to give it; it deserves my life, it demands
the utmost devotion. But I can guarantee
that once it's out there, man, it'll
blow the market away, I'll have people
begging me for autographs, movie deals,
man, it'll be sweet. You know I can do it, too -- I just
hope that no one'll get jealous, you know
how that can be, you're so great and then
those people you knew, they just can't
handle knowing
something that wonderful, so you get problems with
keeping those close friends, you know? I mean,
I don't want that to happen, but
it's bound to, right? I mean,
you know,
I'm just that good.

!@#$%^&*&^%$#@! --- !@#$%^&*&^%$#@!

Brevity is not
all there is to writing
or to life,
but some things deserve
imagery
and others deserve
silence.

!@#$%^&*&^%$#@! --- !@#$%^&*&^%$#@!

Produce a pound of shit and you're sure
to find at least an ounce of good,
something that's right, a line that's pure.

Sometimes they hide themselves away
and the search goes on and drains your strength --
you waste the best part of your day.

Don't let this be misunderstood --
there are things to be said for length --

But if you are to spill your blood
upon the page in a manic fit,
don't make others sift through your mud.
Please, I beg: CLEAN UP YOUR SHIT!

!@#$%^&*&^%$#@! --- !@#$%^&*&^%$#@!

We've started upon a poetry unit for the writing class, so I just had to "spill some blood" upon the page and see what happened. Well, I have. Now I think I can go and write some real poetry.

So today's field trip was monstruosly better than the last trip. We went to this little beach town near Santa Cruz that was the awesomest thing ever! I really loved the town, it was adorable. There were definitely awesome things about it. I didn't go there to go to the beach, so I hung out with friends and shopped. Which was amazing. Now, for a homework assignment for class, I will proceed to journal the most interesting portions of my trip.

When we got there we ambled around at first looking for a movie theater because we had a vague desire to see Pirates and we knew there was a movie theater somewhere in town. But when we realized we didn't have much time we decided to just walk and have fun instead, which was (from what I hear) a much better choice.

(Just so ya know, "we" refers to me, Paula, Katherine, and at times Luke, Sam, Saalika, and Katie. Not that any of you know those people, but I do.)

Anyway, having pitched the lunches provided by EPGY since we'd discovered last weekend that they were not really food, and merely masquerading as such, we found a place to eat real food. And it was a good place that we found. It was this little pizza place called "Pizza My Heart," and it was all beach themed -- their cups showed a bunch of surfers silhouetted against the sunset, carrying drinks and pizzas! The restaurant was small but the pizza was really good thin crust that came in giant slices and reminded me of Italian pizza. The environment was cool, too -- they had a little stand-up counter at the back where you could eat and watch them make other pizzas. I wanted to buy a shirt they were selling but I didn't, because I knew I didn't need one. It was close enough to the beach that I could smell the salt in the air and I was almost cold due to the breeze.

After pizza, we went shopping. Yes, the magical word! We wandered for a while without finding anything but then we hit the first jackpot store. It had this really cool designer-ish clothing that was quite unique. I really took a liking to this amazing pair of olive green pants. They were cotton and spandex, with fancy embroidery on the pocket and leg that said "Dream your dreams." I tried on a pair and they fit amazingly, but they were $45 and being the spendthrift that I am, I didn't buy them. I also tried on this cute red shirt with white polka dots that would've looked awesome (and which I would've bought) had it come in the right size. But Katherine found a cute sundress, and Paula got a shirt that makes her look like an anime character.

Then we browsed through a couple more stores and we found one that was unimpressive except for the fact that it sold jewelery which had sea glass in it. I really wanted to buy it, but the chains that the charms were on were really puny and I knew that I was mostly paying for the chains. So I didn't buy them, but still...the sea glass, encased in twined silver, hanging pendant against the air...the sea suspended.

That same shop also had pendulums that would draw in the sand if you nudged them, spinning out patterns that all looked the same until they weren't anymore.

Then we went to a small craft store, where I bought two pins: one, which I'm wearing now, says "will work for world peace" and another which I bought for Rick has a picture of the two Bushes and has the line "Dumb & Dumber" inscribed across it. There were some other good slogans. One that sticks out in my mind is "I found Jesus -- he was under the couch cushion the whole time!"

From there we went to a store called Avalon Visions, which in my head I call Avalon rising for some reason. It was really odd, and it was selling all of these things that were vaguely connected to alternative religions of all sorts. There were Tibetan Singing Bowls, which make an oddly eerie but captivating noise if you hit them and then stroke them in the right way -- I didn't try to use one, but Katherine got it on her first try, and Luke made it work eventually. We asked a lot of questions about what things were and what they did, and the people who ran the store were happy to answer questions. For instance, there was this sign over the door that was two entertwined rings, and we wanted to know what it meant. So Paula asked a lady who worked there and she went off onto this explanation that must've taken into account at least three different religious traditions. But I never felt like she was telling us that any single interpretation was correct, or at least that no one was more correct than any other. I think that was the cool thing -- we didn't have to believe in the alternative religious aspects of any of the things she said but she still respected us and answered our questions.

Katherine and I were talking about what we thought of it, and we both agreed that we didn't believe in the things the woman was talking about...but the store was still really fun to browse, and it was a great place to find little trinkets that I'll save up in my mind for when I need to write a story with that certain touch. I dunno exactly why, but I really liked it.

Oh, I forgot to mention that before that we went and got ice cream, and my ice cream was amazing and came in a waffle cone that I watched them make. How cool is that?

After Avalon Visions, we went to another place suggested by Luke -- this kid is good at picking out interesting stores! It was called Rainbow City something-or-other (can't remember the last word) and it was a hippie haven. I definitely saw a bumper sticker that said "War is not good for small children and other living things," just like Vargish had told us about! I really wanted to buy it, but I didn't, because I'd already gotten my hippie pin for the day. I am seriously considering becoming a green bohemian hippie writer. Not that I'll write about being green, bohemian, or a hippie -- writer is just what I want to be. But the drug aspects of hippie culture and the poverty aspects of bohemian culture are altoghter unappealing. But if I can wear tie-dye, be anti-establishment, and save the trees...I think that wouldn't be the worst way to spend some of my time.

When we were done in there we went to walk back to where the bus was going to pick us up, down by a river that flowed into the ocean at that point. The riverbanks were covered in trees and, along one side, houses. An old railroad bridge ran across it, rusty and unreliable looking, but I hear that trains still run across it. We walked down the path by the river for a while, looking at the sights and waiting for an adventure. In those moments that was what I wanted most: something to happen, something to be interesting, something to make me feel like my life mattered. I know now that it does matter whether or not I've been on an adventure but I still wish sometimes that I could do more things with my life. And being by that river, for one reason or another, brought out that side in me. I don't think I could live there...but I do think I could write a novel there.

Speaking of writing...I have things that I need to do, namely, I have a short story that I have to finish. But that description needed to be done. I had a wonderful time in Capitola, and I really want to someday go back.

Oh, so I forgot to say, but I got an e-mail yesterday from Jana Paniccia, who's helping Julie Czerneda with the anthology thing and who's had stories of hers published in some of Julie's anthologies before. So the e-mail basically said that they'd know which stories were going to be in by the middle of this month! I'm really nervous, really anxious, and full of apprehension and anticipation. There's so much that I imagine could happen, if only Julie likes my work and if only I can get published here, now, by her. I've got to start somewhere, and in my head, this particular story really ought to be the start.

Intoxicating is the idea that what starts must then continue...and I think that there is nothing I would love more than to see a continued writing career blossom from this single story.

I haven't been doing much lately, mostly working on my story, going to class, hanging out. I've more or less got it down to a system, though not quite a routine. But I'm having fun. It's so weird to think that I'm already done with more than half of my stay here--it's gone by so fast! But at least I know that I really want to go here; at least I know that, at Stanford, and even more specifically in a workshop environment, I feel like I can thrive. Living with these kids who are mostly as in to writing as I am has been so wonderful--I can only wait to have another similar experience.

Hugs to all back home, and I hope you're doing well.

So I hate writers, again, because I want to be one so damn much.

There are so many thoughts that go through my head, all the time, constantly and consistently, but those are all that they are: ideas. It takes a helluva lot of work to turn them into stories, and I'm not sure I have that kind of patience. I mean, I get too easily bored of stuff like that.

But I think also my ambition is one of my worst enemies because it makes me feel like I should be spectacular NOW, that I can't wait until I'm grown up and have seen the world to write -- that I have to do it all NOW, because I CAN, because I WANT to, and because that's what I said I'd do, dammit! I said to myself a long time ago that I'd write a book and have it published before I was out of high school. I think it's not going to happen but every now and then I catch back onto that dream as a crazy fantasy that just might come true.

I'm young. Who knows what I'll do with my life? Except there's the thing -- I might not know what I *am* going to do with my life but I know what I *want* to do with my life. It comes in a pretty simple, one word sentence: WRITE. Write, and keep going, and never have to stop. I want to be that one author in a million who gets to write for a living. I don't know if I can do it; I don't know if I have it in me to do it. I always question myself.

But I think, someteims, that the questioning makes me stronger because it allows me to reaffirm the fact that YES, I want to write, and I'm not going to be stopped. I want to be the girl who gets into Stanford because she published a novel...and while that may not happen, I'm still *going* to publish a novel. That's how I have to think about it; any other way of looking at it makes me feel like I can't do it. But I *can* do it, I *know* I can...

...so I will. I'll talk to ya later, folks -- I've got a story to write.

I'm bored again. I don't want to take a shower but I really should so that my hair will dry.

Tomorrow is the fourth of July, and I don't really care too much. Apparently they're having fireworks here tonight for some reason. Might go see those, but probably won't.

I think that having to write my story has emptied me of words.

I'm going to go take the shower now and see afterwards if I'm good for anything.

So I came away from the laundry okay. A few things probably shrunk, but I don't think they shrunk beyond the point of me being able to wear them.

I'm working on my story but it's confusing me a little and I feel like taking a break...

I'm just gonna come out and say it: I think I'm bored.

Yes, bored. I haven't been to anywhere interesting outside of Terra in ages. Sure we went to the De Young Museum yesterday but it wasn't really that interesting. I want to *go* somewhere...somewheore interesting. I might go to the Stanford Shopping Center later today, and there's supposed to be a movie marathon going on somewhere on campus, but I don't know where. I'm also definitely going to go for a run at some point, but I figure I'll do it after lunch...

Actually, before lunch might make more sense. I don't know when lunch starts but it's not too far to the track. I could run there, run a lap, run back...sounds kind of fun.

And apparently (because I've forgotten) they start serving lunch in about five minutes. Oh well. I'm set on the "run" idea. I'm gonna go do it.

See you all later--hope you're having a fun time with your summer!

So I was re-reading my previous entry and I realized how high I sounded. I promise, the only thing I was high on was the power of the written word. Sometimes I get into this literary moment where I'm absorbed into the magnitude of writing and the writer's life and just being a writer, saying I'm a writer -- it puts me in the company of so many amazing people who have changed the world in the craziest ways and I don't know if I'm fit to be a Writer (with the capital w) but I sure as hell know I'm doing everything in my power to be one.

Didn't do too much today, or really I did, but I don't feel like I've got the energy to discuss it all. We're going on a field trip tomorrow to the De Young Museum of Modern Art in San Fran, which should be fun mostly because it's in San Fran. I feel bad because I haven't written to any of the friends (or family!) I said I would write to. It's just that this is so crazy, and I love being here...it's a great feeling. I am high on life. What could be better?

People are weird.

Today I have gotten to know some really insane characters. Even worse -- I think I have helped in the creation of some of them. It has taken so much out of me that I feel like doing nothing but sleeping. Even on a bag of gummy worms and a caramel frappucino I am tired.

It's always so noisy here, so noisy that I can't think, or that my thoughts wind off in different directions.

I had trouble waking up this morning. I think it's probably because I was up until eleven thirty or so last night.

I don't really feel like going into the details of what I did with my day, so I'm stopping here and going and doing other stuff. But I have a story that I'm proud of...and that's good.

So I just finished running about a mile and walking probably another mile. They haven't structured anything for our activity time so decided I wanted to do something active. Well, I figured running would be cool. So I was torn between whether or not I really wanted to and one of our TAs, Sarah, asked me what I was up to. I told her I was thinking of running but didn't know where to run to. She offered to run with me to the track. So we jogged from here to the Stanford track, then I ran two laps around the track, walked a lap, ran a lap, walked a lap, and walked back here.

Urg...tired. Very tired. And hot and sticky too. But at the same time it feels good to have done something. My legs are going to kill me tomorrow and I'll have problems walking to class...but that's for tomorrow. Today, I feel good about myself.

I also really enjoyed class today. Since I didn't get to share yesterday, I volunteered first today and so the group workshopped my three opening paragraphs. It was really interesting to hear what they had to say about what I'd written; for some reason I wasn't as afraid of the criticism as others were. I think it's because I'm really here to improve myself, and I don't mind the criticism if I end up with a better story.

I'm torn between two different stories which I want to write. I think I'll end up writing the one that's more my style, because I feel like I can make that one longer, but I'm definitely going to write the second one, too.

Well, I've got a few things to do before dinner at six, so I'm gonna go. Hope you're all having great summers.