Wolves at the Door

If you love me, go to Chiaroscuro and read "Werewolves and Princesses."

You don't have to go read it right now, actually. It'll be online there until March, and after that I'll probably archive it on my site. But Chiaroscuro has a really cool site, and I love the layout they did on the story, so for a more aesthetically pleasurable read, go there.

I'm sitting here on Saturday morning listening to one of Scott's Rockwell Church CDs. Meg is in the shower, and soon she'll come clamoring for breakfast, and I'll have to either cut this short, or pause and resume it later. But it's a good morning, and I'm very happy with life, right now. Which is interesting, because all last night and this morning (and through the night; the thoughts continued in my dreams) I've been thinking about my life, on a macro level. Thinking about big changes I could make to make myself happier.

Before I get into that, Meg wanted me to make a couple of clarifications on yesterday's entry. I tried to tell her that the writing was better with those things left vague, so that the reader could infer things about Meg's world. I told her about exposition around the edges. She didn't seem too delighted by that, though, so here's the clarification: Greta is one of Brenda's cats, and Meg was filling out an online application to the graduate Social Work program at the University of Washington. There. All boringly cleared up.

So, on to my life, specifically my Working Life. I don't like being an administrative assistant, or a secretary, or a receptionist. Some parts of the job I don’t mind, and some parts I actively loathe, but I can't be said to like any of it. Ergo, I should find another line of work, which entails becoming qualified for another line of work. So, what things do I like doing?

Advertising. Yes, I know, I left a job in advertising. It's true that I have moral qualms about the work as I was doing it, but I do enjoy it, especially the blend of creative writing and copy-editing I did at Lowe's. The problem with advertising is that, in order to succeed at it, you have to work hard, harder than I'm willing to work at anything that isn't fiction or poetry related. That's the real rub, you see; my job at best is a life-support system for my real work, writing.

I've come to realize, however, that there might be jobs I would enjoy that aren't writing, and that would still allow me to write. Why should one aspect of my professional life be horrible in order for another aspect to be good? That sounds horribly Puritanical to me...

I like editing. I wouldn't mind working for a publishing house as a copy-editor, but that doesn't pay very well. I don't need to make a Prince's ransom every month, but I gotta be able to keep that Student-Loan-Repayment monkey fed.

Tech writing? It pays well, and while I wouldn't enjoy it, I wouldn't mind-- it's independent work, mostly, and I wouldn't be bothered. The idea of doing various kinds of freelance work appeals to me, actually, but I get a little nervous when I think about doing that sort of thing-- which is silly, since my goal is to write fiction full-time, a fairly non-secure career choice. A more concrete reason is that I'm not really qualified to do tech writing at this point. I'd want to take a couple of more classes at least before I felt comfortable doing that. I get bored just thinking about taking such a class.

Anyway, I thought about all these different options, and decided that for various reasons none of them appeal. Then I had a dream.

I dreamed I went to grad school.

I've been debating this subject for a while. I like academia, and I love teaching. Should I go study English somewhere? I don't want to do a fiction MFA, because I know I'll encounter resistance to the kind of work I do, and I don't want that added difficulty in my life.

An MFA in poetry, though... that could be good for me in so many ways. I love poetry, and I'm good at it, and I neglect it in my life, and it's academically respectable. If I did a Master's in poetry, it would get me writing again. I have no doubt that I could put together an impressive portfolio for graduate applications, and that I could succeed in a graduate poetry program. I'd be challenged, and I would grow as a poet. I love teaching, too, and the combination of an MFA and some publications could lead to jobs I actually would enjoy. I realize I'd be teaching Freshman Comp. for a while, and that there's a glut of MFA's in the world, but I honestly believe I'm talented enough, dedicated enough, and courageous enough to stand out from the herd. The more I think about it, the more it appeals to me. The beatiful closed loop of the humanities...

This wouldn't happen anytime soon, of course. It's too late to apply for next fall, so I've got a while to think about this. But it appeals. God, it sounds so good, now. I know there's lots of politicking and micro-drama in the academic world, but I can deal with that. To be a professor, to have thinking and reading and writing and teaching be my job... what a wonderful notion.

And what's a few tens of thousands of more dollars in student loan debt, huh?

I’m off to see Orson Scott Card do a reading/signing on his Shadow of the Hegemon tour. He's in San Jose today. I may write again tonight, but don’t count on it. Meg flies away tomorrow night, so I might just spend every possible second with her...