tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-226616562024-03-19T00:36:43.344-04:00Write Here, Write Now"Read books, fall in love, dream a lot." -Clayton Hudnall @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.comBlogger166125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-74919886536601770742014-12-03T22:58:00.001-05:002014-12-03T22:58:37.521-05:00Same Air<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I wrote this poem in 1993...</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Same Air<br /><br />The same air.<br />We're all,<br />breathing,<br />the same air.<br /><br />Is it choking you too?<br />Is it making you so sick<br />that you have to<br />blame me,<br />hate me,<br />say that it's my "kind"<br />that's fouling up your breathing?<br /><br />Do I have to<br />get out of<br />your way,<br />your face,<br />so that you can breathe,<br />a little easier?<br /><br />So that you don't feel<br />like I'm taking<br />all the air,<br />and you are left<br />with nothing,<br />gasping.<br /><br />Do you want me<br />to apologize for<br />getting in your<br />breathing,<br />space?<br /><br />I won't do that.<br /><br />It's all<br />the same,<br />air,<br />and there's<br />plenty of it,<br />and it's free.<br /><br />Daisy C. Abreu</span></span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-60305978144465186362014-07-28T13:47:00.000-04:002014-07-28T13:47:56.845-04:00Saying No<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s Saturday night and you are on your way to meet friends
for an evening out. You are catching up with one friend as you wait for the
final member of your group to join you. You are laughing about something. You
forget now what it was.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A man approaches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
is a stranger and not necessarily menacing, but…you can sense it coming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A grin breaks his face open and there is a hint of swagger
in his walk. Maybe he is thinking he is about to make your day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He speaks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Can I just say...?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You say no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You say
no with a straight spine, a straight face, and an even tone in your voice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No, you may not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Please leave us alone. Really.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His face darkens. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Really?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, really. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You say no, and in saying no you stop him from what he thought
was going to be the highlight of your day. You are firm. You won’t allow
yourself to be “complimented,” objectified, verbally assaulted. He is shocked,
then enraged. He sends a stream of expletives and insults your way. Now you are
a “dyke” because you didn’t succumb to his charms. Now you are “ugly” and
“dumb” because you weren’t grateful that he deemed you worthy of his attention.
He leaves your friend alone, maybe because she didn’t turn around when he
approached. Maybe you were his only target. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You aren’t scared of him. You are furious and fearless, even
in the face of his threats. He is now your target, the way you were his. He is
every man you backed away from, every man who filled you with fear and shame.
You stand on the corner, looking him in the eye, never averting your gaze as he
showers you with invectives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Remember my face!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shouts as he crosses the street. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No,” you think. “Remember mine.”</span></div>
@DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-17518894723908971982014-07-06T18:05:00.001-04:002014-07-06T18:08:16.187-04:00Feeling it. <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Activation</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a rhythm <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a beat making me believe <br />
this is the way<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still right <br />
to write <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the things bubbling under my skin <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">making me tingle <br />
feeling the goosebumps <br />
without the chill<br />
without the fear<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A hand guiding me <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">stroking my shoulder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Embracing who I was always supposed to be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">pushing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">reassuring<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">arousing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It comes at night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">stays until <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 2 3 am<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">excitement <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">uncertainty <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">knowing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The opposite <br />
of my quiet epiphany <br />
at 29 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At 42<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am <br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stiffening sinews<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">summoning up blood<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a greyhound in the slip
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">straining against the
start</i>*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">let’s go <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">*<i>From</i> <i>Shakespeare’s Henry V</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
@DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-83096865603131375972014-05-28T22:32:00.000-04:002014-05-28T22:45:40.557-04:00#YesAllWomen<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I find
myself thinking about all of the times I have tried to make myself forget.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
about that time at a friend’s quinceñera when an older boy moving through the
crowd squeezed by me, his hand brushing my crotch. No, not brushing. His hand
didn’t slip; he pushed his palm against the peach taffeta of my dress and
between my legs. I was two weeks shy of turning thirteen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my
father’s friends told me I was beautiful after he forced his tongue into my
mouth as we stood in the entryway of his home. He was in pajama pants and an
undershirt. I was in jeans and an oversized men’s shirt. It was my first day of
high school. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“She’s
fuckable.” That’s what a boy said about me when he heard I had a crush on him.
I was sixteen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
of how when I spoke of my assault at 14—because I know now that it was an
assault—I was silenced by some of the women and girls in my life. “No one wants
to hear about that…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A
colleague, someone I considered a mentor, tells me over dinner about how he met
his wife. When I say I hope for that kind of longevity in my own life, he tells
me that my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">problem </i>is that I am too
independent. Then he tells me that there is something about me he cannot shake
and that he is all caught up in it. I spend the next hours, weeks, and months, feeling
anxious whenever I encounter him, wondering what I did to provoke him, rather
than wondering why he thought it was OK to say that to me in that moment. Or
ever. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I get
ready to leave the house every day, I check the mirror. I think I look nice,
but I also know that somewhere along my walk across town a man will make a
comment that I am supposed to take as a compliment. It is not vanity; it is
fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
of the time a man asked me my ethnicity as I passed him on the street. And when
I apologized (!) and said I could not speak to him because I was late for an
appointment, he followed me down the crowded city street, berating me for half
a block. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ignore
a catcall on my way home from work and am followed, my “admirer’s” words
escalating. I have to seal myself off, steel myself, and hope that the light
does not turn red before I can get to the intersection. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
about all the times I walked home alone after a night out with friends and made
it safely to my apartment. I think about how my girlfriends and I text each
other to say we are on our way to the meeting place or that we have made it
home from the meeting place safely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
about how I make a point of meeting dates at a restaurant or bar where I know
the staff. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think about
the night I sat at the opposite end of a bar from another single woman during
happy hour, both of us waiting for friends who were running late. I think about
how the man who sat between us is the reason she and I became friends that
night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think about
how the women I am closest to all have stories like these.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think about how we recognized that silence
in each other for months or years before we were brave enough to share our
experiences. I think about how those friendships have been deepened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
about the guilt and the shame that comes with the silence and how this movement
has brought all of that noise back to my surface; how it has allowed me to
reevaluate and remind myself that none of it was my fault. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
about how thinking about all of these things tonight makes me frightened of
trying to date again because although all men are not “like that,” all women
have experiences like these.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think
about believing that I can still be fearless with my heart while protecting my
body, my being.</span></div>
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@DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-81388634400626786732014-04-01T19:52:00.002-04:002014-04-01T19:52:45.261-04:00End of the First Quarter
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Today was a rough writing day. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I opened three different word documents and tried to make sense of things I typed up in October. I opened my notebook and wrote for all of six minutes before writing "This is shit," closing the notebook, and going to the kitchen for tea and Oreos. Then I took a nap. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It happens. I expect there to be more rough writing days as I figure out my rhythm in this new life. I also expect there to be plenty of good writing days. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Armed with tea and Oreos, I opened my notebook to the first entry of the year. Here's what it said. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">January 1, 2014</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Resolutions? No. Affirmations?
Maybe. More like promises to myself. Gifts to my own heart and soul. A vision
for the next twelve months.This is hard because while I am great at planning
for others, I find it challenging to put myself first.
But I need to try for my own happiness and strength and security. What are
these things I can do for myself in the second half of my 41<sup>st</sup> year? </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Push my own limits emotionally
and mentally. Find a new place in the world. Make room for myself in it. Learn
new things. Be braver, be gentler, be more open, be more protective of myself, trust myself more. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love more deeply – not just others but myself. </span></span>Find my center. Protect
it. Make it count.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What about tangible things? What
will I do?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Get paid for writing</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Make good contacts with other
writers</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Apply for writing jobs and get one</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Write in a notebook a minimum of
three times a week (it’s a start)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Have more solo dance parties</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Purge the unnecessary physical
items</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Write more letters,
put more love into the world.</span></span> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Read more of the unread books on my
bookshelf</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Up yoga to two times a week</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Be: brave, scrupulous, fearless,
loving, calm, centered, active, considerate, animated, balanced, generous,
thoughtful, kind, intense, ambitious, understanding, patient, fabulous, chic,
empowered, enriched, enamored, fruitful, voracious, prolific, unencumbered,
believing, rhythmic, engaged, rapt, ridiculous, game, open, cautious,
concerned, discerning, romantic, free, freeing, freed, subtle, outrageous,
enigmatic, enthusiastic. Be. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, yeah. That's a lot. But, you know what? I'm getting some of it done (especially the yoga and the solo dance parties). And I'll keep working on the rest. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-31645448097171570252014-01-04T21:34:00.000-05:002014-01-05T14:05:14.291-05:00Reflections on a month at the Vermont Studio Center<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I received a grant to spend the
month of October living and working alongside fifty international artists at
the <a href="http://vermontstudiocenter.org/" target="_blank">Vermont Studio Center</a>, an artists’ residency and retreat in Johnson,
Vermont. Here is my take on my time there. (originally published in the January/February 2014 issue of the <a href="http://www.newhavenarts.org/" target="_blank">Arts Council of Greater New Haven's Arts Paper</a>)</span></i></i></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">_____________________________________</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Everything is still outside the
studio buildings. The Guhon River gurgles outside my studio window and an
occasional car drives down Pearl Street, but the town is quiet. Inside the studios,
painters, sculptors, and writers from all over the world are working on
drawings, paintings, installations, essays, and stories. The Vermont Studio
Center provides artists with the opportunity to work in residence for two to
twelve weeks at a time. We live together, eat all of our meals together and
share our work, whether it is in the casual setting of the Red Mill Dining
Hall, during open studios events, slide talks and readings, or over a drink at
one of the two pubs on Main Street. We have everything we need to be
productive—time, space in which to work and live, plenty of coffee, meals, and
a community to support and encourage us. We also have access to visiting
artists who meet with and mentor us in one on one sessions. I am amazed to have
four weeks to work in a studio of my own, as free from the distractions of my
“regular” life as I want to be, and that I get to share the experience with a
group of people with a similar goal: to create. </span></span></div>
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</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8msaE2SrPKhVS3m-weQ0kRhEX-RMeGHXVhHzzU9tV_Aq7zBGjSTlvV5n-uVqxgfOFGVDJcKW2v_KesQvor8S7yPVHdDAkbG88CzIZ-pusGshzFsWIhgCgJgf7kvJrevzBeux/s1600/Johnson-20131019-00363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8msaE2SrPKhVS3m-weQ0kRhEX-RMeGHXVhHzzU9tV_Aq7zBGjSTlvV5n-uVqxgfOFGVDJcKW2v_KesQvor8S7yPVHdDAkbG88CzIZ-pusGshzFsWIhgCgJgf7kvJrevzBeux/s320/Johnson-20131019-00363.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Maverick Studio</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I go to my studio in the Maverick
Building every morning after breakfast with a thermos of coffee and some fruit.
It is warm for October in Vermont, so I open my window and set up my easy chair
close enough to set my bare feet on the windowsill. I write a prompt at the top
of the blank notebook page, set a timer, put my headphones in, and write in
longhand for sixty minutes, unedited and uncensored. My intention is to expand
on some of the themes I began working on in my graduate thesis, but the free
writing exercises take me in a different direction. <span> </span>I follow. When the timer goes off, I unfold
myself from the chair, reach for one of the books I brought with me, and read
for another hour. I take a walk to get more coffee around 11:30am and sit on my
favorite bench by the river before lunch. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I find my friends in the dining
hall, some of whom have come to the Vermont Studio Center from as near as
Boston and as far as Alaska, and we debrief about our mornings. There is
excitement for the painter who has sold three paintings from her MFA show at
<a href="http://www.jsc.edu/" target="_blank">Johnson State College</a> up the road. I ask a fellow writer about the progress she
is making on an essay she asked me to look at the day before.<span> </span>She says she’s figured out how to finish it. I
hear snippets of conversation in English, Spanish, French, and Chinese coming
from nearby tables as I clear my dishes away. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I return to the studio to type up
the morning’s work after lunch. I don’t look at what I’ve written too closely
in an effort to keep myself from editing as I go. I wait until the end of the
week to print out pages and mark them up with notes and rewrites. I am able to
get my routine and rhythm to a place where I am averaging fifteen hundred to
two thousand words per day. Is it all great work? Only in the sense that for
the first time since I completed graduate school in January I am writing every
day. I was afraid when I arrived at Vermont Studio Center that I wouldn’t have
anything to write about. I realize during these weeks away from my life in New
Haven that what is most important is to write every day; to create a habit and
maintain it every day no matter where I am. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3yUMR-VBViOOcWk6cZfwz5uAEgld1vyJurnOdyuIN_ubvW1k_PBR12zcBycmIpm3JQViaWCHJRt9fTw_9qm6d63hzo8V88jSWvapvP77SXxVXoZ43W0MqxvsoXwHuFX0hPsU/s1600/Johnson-20131003-00312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3yUMR-VBViOOcWk6cZfwz5uAEgld1vyJurnOdyuIN_ubvW1k_PBR12zcBycmIpm3JQViaWCHJRt9fTw_9qm6d63hzo8V88jSWvapvP77SXxVXoZ43W0MqxvsoXwHuFX0hPsU/s320/Johnson-20131003-00312.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
@DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-69835913668338599692013-07-16T18:40:00.001-04:002014-05-30T23:38:35.817-04:00Enough.<style>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To the men I encountered on my way to and from work today:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I assume you think you are complimenting me when you share
your opinions about my hair, clothes, legs, etc.; I assure you that you are only succeeding
in making me angry. Twice today, men not only referred to me as
“delicious” as I walked by, but they followed me for a few steps. How
is that supposed to make me feel anything other than objectified, unsafe, and
more than a little creeped out? Gentlemen,
I PROMISE you that the approach you seem to be so fond of will NEVER result in
my saying, “and <i>that’s </i>how I met your
father.” </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If you heard a man speaking this way toward your wife,
girlfriend, sister, mother, niece, or daughter, you would want to take action, right? This is my action, my response to your disrespecting
me and all the women in your life with your catcalls, leering,muttering and following.
It’s not even WHAT you are saying at this point, it is HOW. The power is in the
tone you use when you speak to me—at me—as I walk by. When you use that tone to say I look "delicious," I am no longer a woman; I am a thing.<br /><br /> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You know what would be better (and by better I mean, more respectful)?
If you acknowledged me as a person, and not as an object, by smiling or nodding
in my direction, then I would reply in kind. If you feel compelled to speak to me, then try wishing me a good morning, good afternoon, or good evening. Again, I will respond in kind. I don’t find
it amusing, charming, or endearing when you say and do the things you said and
did today. You like my haircut? I don’t care. You think I have nice legs? Keep it
to yourself. You think I should smile? You don’t know me, you don’t know what
kind of day I’m having, but you should know that your encouragement is not
going to turn my frown upside down.<br /><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Let’s review: </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">1.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>You don’t know me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">2.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>Your behavior is not going to create a situation
in which you get to know me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">3.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>Next time you are tempted to engage me, think of
the women in your life </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">4.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>Stop it. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">5.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>These are the most words you are ever going to
receive in response to your behavior toward me. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-41693177553866973632013-02-25T20:08:00.001-05:002014-01-05T13:55:27.779-05:00Oscars 2013<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yA0RqZqbSBIiOl-B1unf5RTqvgxnfkRi6VGVqwBgN8W3a9-eoWkk_wEXvy_HstxystLFQaP5ECeQ5-_DYMBOrQXRhnDnjQuTekr_7k7lNQCUhPXwZpnECZU2hS9ystwnYCvx/s1600/540815_10151520892680775_508560905_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yA0RqZqbSBIiOl-B1unf5RTqvgxnfkRi6VGVqwBgN8W3a9-eoWkk_wEXvy_HstxystLFQaP5ECeQ5-_DYMBOrQXRhnDnjQuTekr_7k7lNQCUhPXwZpnECZU2hS9ystwnYCvx/s400/540815_10151520892680775_508560905_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three-peat! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">That's out of the way...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes, I'm still excited about it. <span style="font-size: small;">I'll have more later in the week, once I've processed everything. </span></span></span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-46782485914359771112013-01-10T21:21:00.003-05:002014-01-05T13:58:46.710-05:00DCA/MFA<style>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPndRTu2sQNAC5QRLa32lr0NMUYtjEJim-18vVoOIvU3zDzI_7zV140aX6FQ8FSXrMJzA9mXjRWHgYMKfK0wvXiJaHls_-p-6k8RgBIXd8GN2C8NpbipdOpnf9c5eorTvXe4SZ/s1600/728655_4586903944923_1189534428_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPndRTu2sQNAC5QRLa32lr0NMUYtjEJim-18vVoOIvU3zDzI_7zV140aX6FQ8FSXrMJzA9mXjRWHgYMKfK0wvXiJaHls_-p-6k8RgBIXd8GN2C8NpbipdOpnf9c5eorTvXe4SZ/s320/728655_4586903944923_1189534428_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Daisy Christina Abreu, MFA </span></span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">On January 4, 2013, I graduated from<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.fairfield.edu/cas/mfa_index.html" target="_blank">Fairfield University's </a></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><i>MFA in creative writing program<span style="font-size: small;"> and</span> was honored to be chosen by my fellow graduates to deliver the student address. The text from my speech is below. </i> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dr.
White, Dr. Crabtree, fellow students, faculty,<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>family,<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>friends, and my beloved
Cohort 5<b>.</b> It is an honor to be here<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>speaking on behalf
of my fellow graduates as we celebrate this huge accomplishment. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">December
2010. It was a dark and snowy night. We arrived on Enders island, <b>OUR</b> island, not knowing what to expect
of the program or of each other. The only thing we knew was that we wanted to
be writers. Better writers.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every
six months we gather in this sacred place to commune with words and with each
other. Summer and winter, we come together to check in, to encourage, to
workshop, to be around other writers. We ask the hard questions:</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What
the <i>hell</i><b> </b>is a craft essay?”<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>“Do I have time for a nap before the next
seminar?” </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Has <i>anyone
</i>seen Chuck Johnson?” </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTza4V-W8Z27ooHXjxOwvsQOWNYgmsFBfieL7YdyvROo2_Jxt68pAVcPuL-C8cr-dQgnFm5rELCYOJKsSeV1j1YK1xOelhpuArJprs3Z3AGLhymus1IFjWox8jmBK8Soy5XWT8/s1600/DSCN2138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTza4V-W8Z27ooHXjxOwvsQOWNYgmsFBfieL7YdyvROo2_Jxt68pAVcPuL-C8cr-dQgnFm5rELCYOJKsSeV1j1YK1xOelhpuArJprs3Z3AGLhymus1IFjWox8jmBK8Soy5XWT8/s320/DSCN2138.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Enders Island in Winter</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We
commiserate over a lack of sleep and a<span style="font-size: small;">n </span>abundance of salad. Most importantly we
talk</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">about<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>writing. Not just in workshops and in seminars, but in this chapel
and in the gazebo,<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>and over those ever-present salads and over more than one
glass of Crane Lake. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fiction…nonfiction…poetry…screenplays.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Fitzgerald…Hemingway…Didion…Baldwin…Neruda…
Whitman. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We
cannot get enough.</span></span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5g3EWrzyv89AQT6nLPAT1IOdo1BdojHbNDDePT0RlUOrPRwIo7Nk9kWgKJY_UcnnswLKsi0TI4qPVFdrBRbckHPFKAHz5i5hXLUn1-Q-DK2QdclI7akLn4olRBIYM1L9sAtOz/s1600/224504_10150339212000775_6694640_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5g3EWrzyv89AQT6nLPAT1IOdo1BdojHbNDDePT0RlUOrPRwIo7Nk9kWgKJY_UcnnswLKsi0TI4qPVFdrBRbckHPFKAHz5i5hXLUn1-Q-DK2QdclI7akLn4olRBIYM1L9sAtOz/s320/224504_10150339212000775_6694640_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Second semester reading</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We
learn the craft from the best professors we<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>could ever hope for; teachers who
give us pages of notes, direct us to readings that inform our own work, and
reassure us when we think we are the WORST writers in the world. They urge us onward,
reminding us that the only way to get better is to keep reading. And keep
writing.</span></span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There
were times when we thought: I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to do the
work, to be<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>better than I was last semester…last residency…last year. There
were times when we thought: What am I doing here? This is crazy. I don’t think
I can do this. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
admit that there was a night or two…or ten…that first residency when I sat in
my room and wept. I was nervous and I was scared, but I was also excited. I
knew I was where I belonged. Nothing scarier than the first few days of a new
life, acknowledging that it is all I ever wanted, and realizing that <i>this</i> is only the beginning. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
fear passed, then returned and stayed for a while…looking at you, third
semester projects…but we knew it was all going to be fine. Tough, but fine.
Whether sitting under a tent talking about literary heartthrobs, or standing up
in a chapel in front of what is probably the most receptive audience any of us
may ever have, we realized: We <i>are</i> here
to make friends.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujqBm_be2NVr-ssRcuZ3J7TrXeuV1HrLQPwczyq1g5SY8QY9-f0JzxTCUwdBmZyPNoAGvUt9keEOTfNbS1qqXxIlZB-U5KXMVyj9JSzmin13ZfP_k9vzxi7SGygIrcIjyPQoX/s1600/386342_10150546658326703_500206702_10730854_1844482701_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujqBm_be2NVr-ssRcuZ3J7TrXeuV1HrLQPwczyq1g5SY8QY9-f0JzxTCUwdBmZyPNoAGvUt9keEOTfNbS1qqXxIlZB-U5KXMVyj9JSzmin13ZfP_k9vzxi7SGygIrcIjyPQoX/s320/386342_10150546658326703_500206702_10730854_1844482701_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Friends and writers forever</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This
is not a competition. While we are competing with ourselves to be better, we
are not necessarily competing with each other. That is evident on our Facebook
page, where every new student is welcomed <b>“</b>to
the family,<b>”</b> every success is
cheered, and every setback is received with support and words of encouragement. And
that support is not limited to Enders Island or the Internet. And it does <i>not </i>end when we graduate.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>We
will continue to show up for each other at readings whether at the Fairfield University bookstore, the public library, or some random coffee shop. We will
return to Enders for alumni day and support the new cohorts of students. And we
will break sales records on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Good-Things-Nick-Knittel/dp/0898232627/ref=pd_sim_b_1" target="_blank">amazon.com</a> whenever one of us publishes a book. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ten
years ago, my dear friend and mentor, Clayton Hudnall, gave me this advice when
I asked what I should do with my life: “Know
what you want. Do not go anywhere for
creative writing, unless you are obsessed by it.<i>” </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It
wasn’t until recently that I understood what he meant. Everyone in this chapel
knows how obsessed my fellow classmates and I are with this program and with
writing. On behalf of my fellow graduates, I want to thank all of you for
supporting and allowing us to indulge in our obsession for two solid years. The
good news is, we did it. The bad news is, we’re still obsessed. That’s not
going to change. <i>Ever.</i> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We
are writers. Writers who teach, who parent, who care for ailing parents, who
work for nonprofits, who freelance, who search for Bigfoot.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>We
were writers when we arrived on that snowy night and we are better writers as
we prepare to leave this place.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">No
matter what we do, we write. We can’t help it. In the shower, in the car, at
our desks, as we drift off to sleep. Writing…always writing.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>We. Can’t. Help it. It makes our loved ones crazy. It distracts us during the day.
It keeps us up at night. We are constantly searching for the right word, the
right line, the best way to express ourselves. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poems…novels…essays…messays. We
make lists and outlines, on notecards and on napkins. They are in our pockets
and in our pocketbooks. </span><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This<b> </b>is a messy business. But we won’t stop. We <i>can’t </i>stop. This isn’t the end of our
work; it is the beginning, the next chapter. We are prepared, even when we feel
unprepared. Don’t misunderstand me. We are scared to death, but we are at our
most fearless when we are writing. Don’t
try and stop us. We’re writers.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe
I’m sentimental, basking in the glow of graduation, enjoying a last wistful lap
around the Island. December does bring
much reflection; there is a lot of flipping through the old notebooks and
reviewing first, second and third drafts.
But <i>January</i>. January is a
clean sheet of paper, a new page. White as the snow that fell on this island
the night we arrived. </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My
friends, this—tonight—this is <i>our </i>new
year. Let us go forth and write up a
storm. </span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Blizzard Cohort for life. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTg86QIKo3At_rg1ZvwpD_Siyn7dkp4TTyVHAZ77rtu5bFjZHjKkExHWkiOjdsOUiELhG7Hkm0a8388HDuusnjkjeuIDYmefvyzK1_TC3NQLRB9D1slmRUaWgGYG0nZRMeyVLV/s1600/Stonington-20121230-00037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTg86QIKo3At_rg1ZvwpD_Siyn7dkp4TTyVHAZ77rtu5bFjZHjKkExHWkiOjdsOUiELhG7Hkm0a8388HDuusnjkjeuIDYmefvyzK1_TC3NQLRB9D1slmRUaWgGYG0nZRMeyVLV/s320/Stonington-20121230-00037.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Blizzard Cohort for life</span></span></span></td></tr>
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@DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-22249856917607215032011-11-19T16:44:00.000-05:002014-01-05T13:58:46.704-05:00Forgetting Myself<style type="text/css">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm at a party or in a bar, and the question comes up. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">"What do you do?"</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I'm a deputy director at a business improvement district." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Right, what does<i> that</i> mean?</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm part of a team that works to make downtown a better, more livable place. I talk about how the organization helps support local business owners. I talk about the Downtown Ambassadors, the visitor center, special events and advocacy. I talk about how I like making a difference in my community. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of my friends will say, "AND?" </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh, right. I'm in graduate school. I'm working toward an MFA in Creative Writing at Fairfield University. I'm writing a book. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Why do I forget to mention that part? It's not that I don't think it's important. It is important. It might be the most important thing I've ever done for myself. But sometimes I forget I'm doing it. It's a lot of work, but it doesn't <i>feel </i>like work. I'm doing something I love and pursuing a dream. One that seems more attainable than, say, dancing with Gene Kelly. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe I don't mention it because it is kind of private. As private as writing a memoir can be. I'm shy about it. Yes, me. </span></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Maybe I think people won't care, or won't get it. I have to get over it. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's what I do and who I am. I'm a writer. </span></div> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-85655180070886907952011-11-07T23:45:00.000-05:002014-01-05T13:58:46.733-05:00Midway<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">By Thanksgiving weekend, my last packet for this semester will be in the mail. Another thirty plus pages of original work and three critical essays on the books I'm reading are all due by November 20th. This means I am (almost) halfway to completing my MFA. Holy. Crap. I am actually doing this. It still amazes me. A year ago I was getting ready to leave for my very first residency. I was a wreck. I didn't know if I could really do this or how I would manage. Balance my full-time job and the MFA and all my community work (yeah, I took on two board positions AFTER I started the program. I know.)? How? </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Guess what. I'm doing it. Not brilliantly, but I'm not half-assing it either. I'm learning how to manage my time, how to focus when I need to and how to say no to things. That's the tricky part. Saying no means sometimes feeling like I'm letting people down. But saying yes to too many things means my work (and my health, mental and physical) suffer. </span><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> If anything has "suffered" it's been my social life. My friends are not only understanding about the "New Haven Maven" becoming "Daisy the Disappeared", they are supportive and encouraging and loving. Even when I don't show up to Trivia for weeks at a time. Even when I ask if we can meet for coffee on a weekday afternoon instead of dinner and drinks on Saturday night. They want me to succeed, they believe in me. I love them for it. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">So, two semesters down and two to go. A third semester project and my thesis are down the road a piece. And somewhere in there are holidays with my family, residencies on Enders Island, work events in the Have, board meetings and...my fortieth birthday. Yikes! And, hooray! </span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-28476844937917829232011-09-28T00:08:00.000-04:002011-09-28T00:08:26.147-04:00Senses of LossThere is not a day he is not in my thoughts. Nat King Cole singing Mona Lisa on my music player, someone whistling to a friend on the street, a change in the air stirring up a man's cologne as he brushes by me. He's there, reminding me. I'm fine. And then I'm not.<br />
<br />
It is the muscle memory of that last week. My arms remember the weight of his body as I steadied him on his side while my mother and brother changed the sheets on the hospital bed we set up in the back bedroom. I smell the peppermint lotion I rubbed into his legs and feet every day to soothe him and myself, the coolness of his skin under my hands. I hear what they call the death rattle shaking his insides on the last morning of his life. I knew what it meant. We were losing. We lost. <br />
<br />
And today, almost eight years later, I am reminded again. My mood shifts and there's a change in me I cannot shake. A sadness I pretend not to understand, that I try to ignore until I realize there's no fighting it. It's not work or school or other obligations getting me down. I know what it is. I remember. And I grieve. Still. @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-71252515671757954972011-09-17T21:42:00.000-04:002011-09-17T21:42:41.606-04:00D Essentials: Family MattersI've got family on the brain. Makes sense since my school work is focused on learning and writing about my family. Between thinking about (and doing) the writing, reading, my full time job and other obligations (<a href="http://www.masonsroad.com/"><i>Mason's Road,</i></a> two different community boards and two City committees), it's no wonder I've been a bit sleepless. You know what helps? Lists. <br />
<br />
Instead of counting sheep, I make alphabetical lists (authors, actors, books) to quiet my mind. The last time I did this, I started with actors. Astaire, Bridges, Cooper, Day-Lewis...you get the idea. That got me thinking about acting families (or dynasties, depending on how you look at it). Then I started thinking about signature films for each family member. I know, how can this possibly help me sleep? It does. So here's a list of great film families and my favorite movie(s) from each member. <br />
<br />
<i>Note: There is nothing even remotely scientific or sanctioned by any Academy or Institute here. These are based on my personal (and occasionally cheesy) taste. Feel free to disagree with me.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Fonda</b><br />
Henry Fonda<i> </i><i><br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0063829/">Yours, Mine and Ours. </a></i>He's got ten kids, Lucille Ball is his love interest and she has eight kids. Comedy ensues!<br />
<br />
<i>On Golden Pond. </i>"You're my knight in shining armor. Don't you forget it." Tears. Every time. <br />
<i> </i> <br />
Jane Fonda:<br />
<i>Nine to Five</i>. "Judy Bernly, please hold. Judy Bernly, please hold. This is Judy Bernly." <br />
<br />
Peter Fonda:<br />
<i>Easy Rider. </i>Badass. And he wrote it. <br />
<br />
Bridget Fonda:<br />
<i>Singles. "</i>Somewhere around 25, bizarre becomes immature." Oh, the 90s.<br />
<br />
<b>Bridges</b><br />
Lloyd Bridges: <i> </i><br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0097116/"><i>Cousins</i>. </a> "You've got only one life to live. You can either make it chickenshit or chicken salad." <br />
<br />
<i>Airplane. "</i>Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines" <br />
<br />
Beau Bridges: <i> </i><br />
<i>The Fabulous Baker Boys. </i>Down on his luck, playing piano and sparring with his brother. <br />
<br />
Jeff Bridges:<br />
<i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/video/screenplay/vi3096838425/">The Contender. </a>The Dude</i> plays the President.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/video/screenplay/vi2750742809/"><i>The Last Unicorn</i>.</a> Watched it every time it was on TV. Come on, she's the LAST one!<br />
<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>Leigh/Curtis</b><br />
Tony Curtis:<i> </i><br />
<i>Some Like it Hot</i>. Still can't decide if I like him better in lady drag or Cary Grant drag. <br />
<br />
Janet Leigh: <i> </i><br />
<i>Bye, Bye Birdie</i>. Because watching her dance with Dick Van Dyke is infinitely less scary than watching her get stabbed to death by Tony Perkins. <br />
<br />
Jamie Lee Curtis: <i> </i><br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092545/"><i>Amazing Grace & Chuck. </i></a>I know you've never heard of it. It's an 80s movie about a kid who gives up baseball in order to stop the threat of nuclear was. Yes, really. <br />
<i> </i><b> </b><br />
<b>Garland/Minelli</b><br />
Judy Garland: <i> </i><br />
<i>The Wizard of Oz. </i>Was there ever any doubt on this one?<br />
<br />
Vincente Minnelli: <i> </i><br />
<i>An American in Paris. </i>Kelly, Caron, Gershwin, Paris. Perfect. <br />
<br />
Liza Minnelli: <i> </i><br />
<i>Arthur. </i>When she steals the tie from Bergdorf's and goes off on Chester the store detective? Brilliant. <br />
<br />
I know I've got more of these in me. Favorite ensemble pieces, dynamic duos, bad movies I can't stop watching...suggestions are welcome. Making lists plus thinking about movies equals enough brain unscrambling to allow me to get back to the big project feeling somewhat relaxed. <br />
<br />
Now...back to work! I've got a packet to finish! <br />
<b><br />
</b> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-64349296821494369202011-09-15T22:34:00.001-04:002011-09-15T23:05:14.444-04:00Wedding Belles<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fQp4fIwSi0NzsR6M6nXqqBaiLelfkqd5TUUousmi5WtTLjcNV4Mv8_6knwqX5UTbPw1ZXY5-CJCcRvsJz4G0EdDM_kD85EOkX5OgzZgu2j5icRHfJRAdLoMOKiSrTIJwxOnR/s1600/DSCN2238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fQp4fIwSi0NzsR6M6nXqqBaiLelfkqd5TUUousmi5WtTLjcNV4Mv8_6knwqX5UTbPw1ZXY5-CJCcRvsJz4G0EdDM_kD85EOkX5OgzZgu2j5icRHfJRAdLoMOKiSrTIJwxOnR/s320/DSCN2238.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Kate & Nicole Gorton</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">My</span> <a href="http://www.fairfield.edu/cas/mfa_index.html">Fairfield MFA</a> roomie got married last Saturday. Kate is hilarious, super-smart, gorgeous, up for anything and so generous. She is, as <a href="http://ajoconnell.wordpress.com/">AJ</a> once said, the American Hermione Granger.<br />
<br />
Her wife, Nicole, is equally fantastic.<br />
<br />
Kate's siblings and Nicole's brother joked in their toasts about the brides' constant public displays of affection, the pet names and the giggling they do, but they also agreed these two people are meant to be together. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvM04bwTXFSlAZ7OMMZE_yQ3esPOwEJ0DY4dM3hmDcRbkgbjxNFEPpfgK860DjctTnvghlp0BTrnj5ZKgwI5ANEZDHv1ClzGrRrpgXf6kx-AQ34CVz16MZC3tP16moUVMhQUY0/s1600/321136_10150384313810775_731915774_10528315_528174060_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvM04bwTXFSlAZ7OMMZE_yQ3esPOwEJ0DY4dM3hmDcRbkgbjxNFEPpfgK860DjctTnvghlp0BTrnj5ZKgwI5ANEZDHv1ClzGrRrpgXf6kx-AQ34CVz16MZC3tP16moUVMhQUY0/s200/321136_10150384313810775_731915774_10528315_528174060_n.jpg" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Kate and I werqing the dancefloor. </span><br />
<i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/kateaxford?sk=wall"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo by Kate Taylor</span></a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Watching Kate and Nicole take this step, surrounded by people who love and support them, gave me hope and renewed my faith in a lot of things. I cried through the ceremony, the toasts, the first dance. I'm a soft touch anyway, but this was one of those times where my main line was busted. Good thing I brought my hankie. Once I dried my eyes, raised my glass and ate a wedding cupcake, I joined the bridal party, family members and friends on the dance floor and rocked out all night long. <br />
<br />
One of the catering staff said it was the happiest wedding she had ever seen. No doubt.<br />
<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtF1K-utm-xqaKXf-jBUKjvZnQhwMPpgR2NbGu4Up7DzPI89oO_v_ZpYYck72wIUdAPBqAF7-jYgJ-7WR2Zu8pyy0FblAaq7cthIGg6Ue7E6vnGumR5f9us31WKZdHNtlKPCei/s1600/DSCN2241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtF1K-utm-xqaKXf-jBUKjvZnQhwMPpgR2NbGu4Up7DzPI89oO_v_ZpYYck72wIUdAPBqAF7-jYgJ-7WR2Zu8pyy0FblAaq7cthIGg6Ue7E6vnGumR5f9us31WKZdHNtlKPCei/s320/DSCN2241.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Married! </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Love is love. And seeing it in action is so awesome. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-52220299887051557272011-07-26T01:05:00.000-04:002014-01-05T13:58:46.719-05:00MFA Residency II: Summer Writing Boogaloo<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxB8BZtmqg021grXm8Frm8JPeABqbbEtYI460c9jeNaiJqfT5NwE9iJpDvbgtBtYbAT5tbRoffTfhZEfDzG3fwdugMgiGelDaRAkFb6KhqD5oOYGCdwyGv_j97FV6O4YAxW0IP/s1600/DSCN2193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxB8BZtmqg021grXm8Frm8JPeABqbbEtYI460c9jeNaiJqfT5NwE9iJpDvbgtBtYbAT5tbRoffTfhZEfDzG3fwdugMgiGelDaRAkFb6KhqD5oOYGCdwyGv_j97FV6O4YAxW0IP/s320/DSCN2193.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I just got home from my MFA program's summer residency on Enders Island in Mystic, Connecticut. My days were spent learning about the craft of writing in morning workshops, attending seminars on everything from the poems of <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/336">Zbigniew Herbert</a> to what to do after I receive my degree (the short answer: keep writing) and sitting in the chapel after dinner, listening to my professors read from their work. And, yeah, there was some downtime. Bonfires and s'mores, swimming and wiffle ball, fellowship under the stars and a talent show. You know what they say about all work and no play...<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJO4iprd0wRisipRzOn-M1cil4URb_O_sql1WAcGmy35KnitMyYURbL-f49-6K82qn8SYq6SyGU5tc3TUmT-SnICGEYKsGFnau5TG_Y73AeD44BRrsUNhLSx5Wzo3QCm0AqIEs/s1600/DSCN2236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJO4iprd0wRisipRzOn-M1cil4URb_O_sql1WAcGmy35KnitMyYURbL-f49-6K82qn8SYq6SyGU5tc3TUmT-SnICGEYKsGFnau5TG_Y73AeD44BRrsUNhLSx5Wzo3QCm0AqIEs/s320/DSCN2236.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Brian Hoover swings for the gazebo</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><br />
Some notes from my Isle of Write:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1yM2Oqh9B7toTdgG183wiGl3NmYu2GRsdm1SZBwmiXJ7L4OtatU1XImv4_PVUGsWaX8DUc3HmrQrLoFjwSHBMg0Tj1pHJ45bpeArvjRzeGNB_9fLzAk-iNp9PyLpsk9k0gDu2/s1600/DSCN2218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1yM2Oqh9B7toTdgG183wiGl3NmYu2GRsdm1SZBwmiXJ7L4OtatU1XImv4_PVUGsWaX8DUc3HmrQrLoFjwSHBMg0Tj1pHJ45bpeArvjRzeGNB_9fLzAk-iNp9PyLpsk9k0gDu2/s200/DSCN2218.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Kate, me and the dread pirate Cisco aboard the Argia</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The right roommate makes all the difference. Kate, thanks for bringing the fan, the fun and the fierceness. You are my Jiminy Cricket. <br />
<br />
Don't be afraid to ask for you want or need. Whether it's a meal, a mentor or a chance to do something new, don't hesitate. Or, as Kate said to me: "just f'ing take it!" <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No matter how much bug spray you use, mosquitoes will get you.<br />
<br />
No sign of Chuck Johnson this time around. He's probably going to the Galway residency.<br />
<br />
Let your word nerd flag fly. Instead of playing f*%k, kill or marry, think about which literary character you don't want to wake up next to, which fictional party you want to attend and which movie villain you want to kill you...well, not <i>want </i>to kill you. <br />
<br />
Gregor from Kafka's <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Metamorphosis">Metamorphosis</a>,</i> Holly Golightly's party in <i>Breakfast at Tiffany's</i>, Leon from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0110413/"><i>The Professional</i>.</a> What? Who would <i>you</i> pick?<br />
<br />
Sit in the tent for "fellowship" long enough and you'll find out which literary character is the most desirable mate. Mine? Atticus Finch, <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i>.<br />
<br />
You can learn a lot about a person by asking about literary crushes.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><br />
Honor the traditions of those who came before you. <a href="http://sitdownopenavein.blogspot.com/">Kate </a>and I co-wrote a parody song in honor of the graduating cohort and performed it with <a href="http://ajoconnell.wordpress.com/">A.J. </a>and <a href="http://www.reinventingerin.com/">Erin</a> at the talent show. <i>Writing Queen</i> (yes, as in Dancing Queen by ABBA) was whistled or hummed for the rest of the residency. That is, when people weren't whistling or humming <a href="http://philloverse.blogspot.com/">Phil's </a>and Linsey's awesome <i>Mason's Road</i>, the Fairfield University MFA program's version of John Denver's <i>Country Road</i>. Pat O'Connor, we tip our hats to you. <br />
<br />
The only way to get more comfortable with public speaking is to do it every chance you get. Not only did I read some of my work in front of my classmates, I had the honor of introducing three of my fellow students at a reading. Brian, Sam B. and Erin, I meant every word I said.<br />
<br />
It's back to the day job in the morning, but as I drift off tonight, I'll be thinking of my classmates and the words Phil borrowed from John Denver to make the song his own, our own. <br />
<br />
<i>Mason's Road, take me home to the place I belong. Enders Island, Mystic Mama. Take me home, Mason's Road. </i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-17060004051124668432011-06-13T22:49:00.000-04:002011-06-13T22:49:05.882-04:00Digging Deep<span style="font-size: small;">"What did it feel like to go back to work after Daddy died?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
I sat on my front stoop on Saturday night, shielded from a light rain and working by streetlight as I tried to remember. <br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I've written twenty-one pages about losing my father; his illness, deterioration and death, diagnosis to funeral. There's still more to write, more details to include, memories coming back slowly. What I haven't explored is what happened afterward. How I grieved and tried to find my way back.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I sat outside for an hour conjuring those feelings. I wrote in broad strokes all the things that came to mind. Re-reading every sympathy card. Going to the cemetery on the first Father's Day after he died (which, like this coming Father's Day, also falls on my birthday). Sitting in a ladies room stall at work and crying over something that reminded me of him. Telling people who didn't know what had happened that he was gone. The first time I went to a wedding and realized I would never have the father-daughter dance I'd imagined. Five pages in longhand.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> I finished, came upstairs and went to bed. I woke up early and went to my neighborhood coffee shop to type it all up, adding these new pages to the previous twenty-one. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> I haven't looked at those pages since I came home late Sunday morning. I know I have to go back and fill in some blanks. The editing, adding detail, taking things out, shifting paragraphs, unpacking the work and trying to make it all fit together is the part I enjoy -- well, not <i>enjoy</i> -- but it's the thing I'm learning and when I think I've hit it right, that's enjoyable. What I did over these last two days--remembering and grieving all over again is what got me and I still haven't shaken it. I shouldn't be surprised. I'm glad I was able to start this next section. I know there is going to be some crying and writing along the way, but I do feel good about it, even if it means feeling bad for a couple of days. </span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-10129433163748201452011-05-24T00:00:00.000-04:002011-05-24T00:00:11.545-04:00I am not my hairI'm in my own world when I walk to work. Headphones in, listening to some dance track that causes me to do what I still call the "Hudson County Strut," even though I haven't lived in New Jersey in twenty years. I can't help it, especially if it's nice out and I'm wearing heels. On one of these days, I smiled good morning at an older gentleman as we passed each other. He smiled back and said, "Gorgeous." Felt nice. <br />
<br />
On the next block, I walked by some fresh-faced, peaches and cream blond straight out of a shampoo commercial, her hair bouncing and behaving in the sunlight. My moment of gorgeous slipped away. <br />
<br />
"Right, <i>that's</i> what beauty is."<br />
<br />
I know what you're going to say. That's not what beauty is anymore. Eye of the beholder and all that. But it still stops me when I see a woman with long, flowy perfect hair, no matter the color. And it's not a "poor ugly me" thing. I think I'm cute. It's being reminded no matter what I do, I'm never going to be Olivia Newton John<i>, </i>the ideal beauty to my six year-old self.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElOI738Y9meVmzneyaLlYjwyDQTViW7q_XivICIRKqZ7BNfrO6HRh37cjVfd3oGwQHyuNszN4pPldgRNN9NYrT75unOzg3I-FNP8H74EVk682AK_zQdg-XVlXeepDGxM1mWfs/s1600/Olivia%252BNewtonJohn%252BSandy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElOI738Y9meVmzneyaLlYjwyDQTViW7q_XivICIRKqZ7BNfrO6HRh37cjVfd3oGwQHyuNszN4pPldgRNN9NYrT75unOzg3I-FNP8H74EVk682AK_zQdg-XVlXeepDGxM1mWfs/s200/Olivia%252BNewtonJohn%252BSandy.jpg" width="134" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Olivia as Bad Sandy</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
My friends and I used to take turns performing the role of Sandy in our marathon sessions of singing and dancing to the <i>Grease</i> soundtrack. Good Sandy, blond hair swinging as she does the hand jive with Danny in the high school gym. Bad Sandy, working that mass of blond curls as she struts around in those red Candie's and leather jacket. I wanted to be Sandy, a pretty girl with the long blond hair that all the boys wanted to be around. I wasn't. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8ckbKG9KmKCDJrAQVKTfznjbzHbdgEx2yLEY6TqDkCXSo1WNFWxoYJwwcrAcR3dI-NYZndmN6h1kiEnG2vjjKvlhhYTxp45xDBbd1Nvi_bLnJ1fgFeK_QFhGwJEb4KAOS8hJ/s1600/braids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8ckbKG9KmKCDJrAQVKTfznjbzHbdgEx2yLEY6TqDkCXSo1WNFWxoYJwwcrAcR3dI-NYZndmN6h1kiEnG2vjjKvlhhYTxp45xDBbd1Nvi_bLnJ1fgFeK_QFhGwJEb4KAOS8hJ/s200/braids.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ia and me with our long hai</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
My mother had long wavy hair; "good hair." I used to sit behind her on the couch and brush it with a pink handled bristle brush from Avon. I loved parting it down the middle and seeing all the white hair that was coming in underneath the dark waves. My sister was a master with hair. She had Fawcett waves, could do any kind of braid or twist. Her friends would come over on Saturdays and she would do their hair before they all went out. Me? I never got the hang of it. I learned to braid my hair, but I suspect my braids were always crooked. I had bangs in the 80s. You know what I'm talking about, the kind of bangs that look like a claw on the front of your head. Of course, all of this was achieved through the burning magic of relaxer. Every few weeks, that plastic of tub of lye and whatever other chemicals were in there was purchased, cracked open and applied to my shoulder length hair in sections. I knew it was working when my scalp started to burn. Then the chemical was rinsed out, my hair set in giant, purple rollers and I sat under the dryer for hours.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvdXWOY72YELImg8_jECH6vySyDu3XZh9og-MIOoQTbm8AAPuH0INQBKMieyo8A0_-RNJaJ7AOydVC_kX2mM4Zipu7ZcN85UjjLD-cWYbTjPx-QE0NrhpWR5JgCUPJwETPKhyphenhyphen/s1600/18655_284963030774_731915774_5080764_1283878_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvdXWOY72YELImg8_jECH6vySyDu3XZh9og-MIOoQTbm8AAPuH0INQBKMieyo8A0_-RNJaJ7AOydVC_kX2mM4Zipu7ZcN85UjjLD-cWYbTjPx-QE0NrhpWR5JgCUPJwETPKhyphenhyphen/s320/18655_284963030774_731915774_5080764_1283878_n.jpg" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Thirteen years old with a long bob, a blob</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The result was straight, soft, silky hair and a scalp covered in itchy scabs. It stayed "nice" until I washed my hair again, then it went to shit.<br />
<br />
I cut my hair short before I graduated high school and never went back. In the intervening years, I have had many lengths of short hair, I even had bangs again in the mid 90s, but the back of my neck has not felt a ponytail or braid against it in two decades. Sometimes I dream about brushing my long, dark hair or putting it up in a French twist, but I don't really miss it. OK, I don't miss the hassle. I won't ever have long hair like Sandy or that woman on the street and, most days, I'm OK with it. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-4bgu3dvIjBUjq8MdYjn4GjyLll0yp-gIOIyMPl2sWsm2eo7n5iyLUxOthT5bUdgB_wVs6gfnNvO7d_tN1LeuMXbAU0Bd5kVePLGEiHgRKnVETK8oiiIOw6sAK2GMyFT79hi/s1600/6260_137190205774_731915774_3685782_3437868_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-4bgu3dvIjBUjq8MdYjn4GjyLll0yp-gIOIyMPl2sWsm2eo7n5iyLUxOthT5bUdgB_wVs6gfnNvO7d_tN1LeuMXbAU0Bd5kVePLGEiHgRKnVETK8oiiIOw6sAK2GMyFT79hi/s200/6260_137190205774_731915774_3685782_3437868_n.jpg" width="163" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">short and sassy, like my momma. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've grown to love my haircut. It suits me. People say I "have the face for it," whatever that means. And they comment on how easy it must be to manage. I go to the barber when my hair starts to feel heavy or when the gray (it's coming!) starts to show more than I would like it to; about every three weeks. Danny sets the clippers at 1.5 and does my entire head. Takes about 20 minutes, costs less than 20 dollars and puts the strut back in my walk. <br />
<br />
The next time I see that blond Breck girl walking down the street, I'll remind myself that we're both gorgeous, but I got to sleep in while she was blow drying her hair. @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-856958781455449172011-03-17T17:17:00.002-04:002011-06-04T12:48:15.502-04:00Spring Cleaning Mix<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've been letting the piles in my apartment get a little out of control lately. I come home from work at night and just toss stuff around. The chair in the bedroom is covered in the outfits I wear to work, the recycling is piling up (hey, at least I'm recycling) and my "sleeping companion" is made of </span><span style="font-size: small;">books, notepads and magazines. </span><span style="font-size: small;">Everything is out of order, not so much dirty, just really disheveled. Every night I get home and end up on the couch or at my desk.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"No one is coming over, who cares what the place looks like?" </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh. right. I LIVE here It shouldn't look like hell, especially now that I</span><span style="font-size: small;">'m spending more time here than anywhere else.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> The clutter makes me crazy and it distracts me from the work I need to be doing. I needed to suck it up and get it done before I wrote or read another word. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All I wanted to do </span><span style="font-size: small;">when I got home last night</span><span style="font-size: small;"> was take a big nap before I dinner and the MFA portion of my evening, but I knew if I did that, a twenty minute power nap would turn into an hour and a half dream session and I'd wake up too groggy to read or write (or that's what I would tell myself). The place needed a speed cleaning before I did <i>anything</i>. I didn't even switch my boots for slippers. What I did do was grab my ipod and set it to the dance mix. Here are the choicest cuts from last night's Grooves over Grime session. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHuXpWSNa-8"><span style="font-size: small;">Big Time Sensuality, Bjork</span></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "I can sense it / something important /is about to happen / it's coming up"</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh Bjork, I didn't even know what this song was about until a few years ago. I just like the beat and the fact that it reminds me of dancing with Douglas at BAR. Oh, the 90s. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vimZj8HW0Kg"><span style="font-size: small;">Mama Said Knock You Out, LL Cool J</span></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I'm gonna take this itty bitty world by storm / And I'm just gettin warm"</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Badass: the man, the song and how the song makes me feel. That is all. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twkh0YiInPM"><span style="font-size: small;">Mo Money Mo Problems, Mase/Puff Daddy/Notorious BIG </span></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Ten years from now we'll still be on top / Yo, I thought I told you that we won't stop"</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Any song with a Diana Ross sample is OK by me! Yes, I know all the words to Biggie's verse.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xpugp6DIb3I"><span style="font-size: small;">My Lovin (Never Gonna Get It), En Vogue</span></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "What makes you think you can just walk back into her life/ Without a good fight?"</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Memories of dancing and drinking with my best girls at UofH. CBs forever. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npStWtyeORs">Back to Life, Soul to Soul</a> <br />
"No more room for trouble and fuss / Need a change, a positive change / Look it's me writing on the wall"</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of those tracks that puts me in the zone on the dancefloor. Also works while scrubbing kitchen counters. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">An hour later, my place was in order and my mind was clear of clutter. I still had time to shower, eat dinner, and catch up on Glee before I settled in to study! </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Aw yeah! </span><span style="font-size: small;">Works every time. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-69793360769563892592011-03-08T22:27:00.002-05:002014-01-05T13:58:46.721-05:00How I'm Learning to Stop Worrying & Love the MFA<span style="font-size: small;">I'm trying to balance a full-time job with what amounts to another full-time job. Deputy Director of a Business Improvement District/Fairfield MFA Candidate. How's it going? Well...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm at the office from 9am-5pm. Emails, phone calls, meetings, event planning. I'm home by 6pm and allow myself two hours to unwind (reading non-school stuff, a hot shower, a real dinner) before I'm in pajama pants and working at my other job until midnight. Writing, reading, revising. Sometimes I'm just THINKING about writing, reading and revising. Yes, thinking about the writing, reading and revising is a huge part of the process, but I must be careful not to do too much thinking or I freeze up. I'm learning this one slowly. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Thinking about writing has begun to overlap with thinking about work. Here's a sample:<br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"Don't forget to bring the packets for the board meeting. Remember what Elizabeth said about slowing down when you're working on that scene. Call Brad about that meeting tomorrow. Did I put the office husband's birthday card in my datebook or in my purse? How many pages is too much for submission to a publication? Who gives a shit about what I'm writing?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Yep, all that before 7:30am. I'm not a morning person and having that much going on in my head before I've had coffee is especially annoying. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm exhausted and irritable. So much so that I said I hated the writing and the reading and the revising. OK, what I said was: </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>"I do hate this whole process, because most days I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but I love it more because I know what it is doing for me. Stupid character building."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">As my dear old (best friend's) Dad says, "No one ever said it was going to be easy." I know it. I knew this would be hard, maybe the hardest thing I've ever done for myself. And that's my real struggle. I'm doing this for myself. I'm doing this because it's what I've always wanted. I love writing. I love reading. I love thinking, talking and learning about writing and reading. And this MFA program is the way to get more of that in my life. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Only took 38 years to figure that one out. I always was a late bloomer. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-61922672602262960782011-02-24T21:29:00.000-05:002011-02-24T21:29:45.206-05:00Issue of Diminishing Return<span style="font-size: small;">I received the 2011 <i>Vanity Fair</i> Hollywood issue. Based on what I've seen in this magazine, I'm surprised <i>Vanity Fair</i> bothers to call it <i>"The one and only Hollywood issue."</i> I have purchased every Hollywood Issue since 1995. I've saved them all and still enjoy looking at them. I refer to this collection as "the archives." I'm sorry, but this is no Hollywood issue. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Cover</span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NOQ0lp35OwOKj5cu8uzb1alrdTOoz5dgQv7iih43NFju67ykGcGe1fkf_aD59eQxL7SZFAIpMEH6Jqw7PBgxT3-lNEH8bzjPuSfpKtwjbCoXRYhuxEPPBalMufWJ87PqaaNV/s1600/1995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NOQ0lp35OwOKj5cu8uzb1alrdTOoz5dgQv7iih43NFju67ykGcGe1fkf_aD59eQxL7SZFAIpMEH6Jqw7PBgxT3-lNEH8bzjPuSfpKtwjbCoXRYhuxEPPBalMufWJ87PqaaNV/s320/1995.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">From left: Jennifer Jason Leigh, Uma Thurman, Nicole Kidman, Patricia Arquette, Linda Fiorentino, Gwyneth Paltrow, <br />
Sarah Jessica Parker, Julianne Moore, Angela Bassett, Sandra Bullock. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo by Annie Leibovitz.</span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">The cover of the first Vanity Fair </span><span style="font-size: small;">Hollywood Issue (1995) featured a group of <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/ohnotheydidnt/43632556.html">up-and-coming actresses </a> photographed against a white backdrop and referred to as the Class of 2000. Yes, Gwyneth is the only one fully dressed here, and that caused a stir, but VF hit the mark on calling these ladies actors on the rise. All of them have since been nominated and/or won the Golden Globe, Oscar, Emmy, Tony, Screen Actor's Guild and Independent Spirit Award. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Vanity Fair continued to put rising stars (some rising higher than others) on the cover of the Hollywood issue until 2000, when it was time for a Master Class. </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggA9WVmrezJQU9hbpC8MLNg5zVuE4YpceHeI_dKRrPoAMFEMPo_zbxaKg9vLcgB9ghLGc4HbuGXwy3up2ypjHcGXJCS8raKP6cGJxdUQ39bc5phHcd6DfuYuQwTW5jtRdrGqAV/s1600/vanity-fair-hollywood-issue-2001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggA9WVmrezJQU9hbpC8MLNg5zVuE4YpceHeI_dKRrPoAMFEMPo_zbxaKg9vLcgB9ghLGc4HbuGXwy3up2ypjHcGXJCS8raKP6cGJxdUQ39bc5phHcd6DfuYuQwTW5jtRdrGqAV/s320/vanity-fair-hollywood-issue-2001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">from left: Nicole Kidman, Catherine Deneuve, Gwyneth Paltrow, Meryl Streep, <br />
Cate Blanchett, Vanessa Redgrave, Kate Winslet, Chloe Sevigny, Sophia Loren, Penelope Cruz. Photo by Annie Leibovitz. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">It's a gorgeous cover and all but one of the four women who didn't have an Oscar at the time the photo was taken now have one. Chloe Sevigny, the pressure's on now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">This year's cover? It's fine</span>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8xvMUgc7zTQWEBfB3QFyV7g00e9vLd0wLJHgM0_m76i9bWVoshXrdNGolD_VClpcgyUG63eS-JBPPhadbhzs3pW-PoLoZhbQkgcude7lwN966ltgEHepsWRnCmSEFvk8WUWA/s1600/vanity-fair-hollywood-issue_530x248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8xvMUgc7zTQWEBfB3QFyV7g00e9vLd0wLJHgM0_m76i9bWVoshXrdNGolD_VClpcgyUG63eS-JBPPhadbhzs3pW-PoLoZhbQkgcude7lwN966ltgEHepsWRnCmSEFvk8WUWA/s320/vanity-fair-hollywood-issue_530x248.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">A promising group of Young Hollywood stars looking glamorous in an old Hollywood way? Yep. The four most famous of the group under the masthead to get you looking and hopefully buying? Yes. A little skin showing in fold out panel two? Sure. Robert Duvall behind the bar? Wait. What? Why is Robert Duvall behind the bar? The "behind the scenes of the photo shoot" page reveals nothing. </span> <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Portfolio</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBT6DkKWfMuu0QVnXA41WB_ZtpHRZdCAKs-nCjg69TB6_vAY5kaiXbCJBElSfpvgIzT_6YEDpUth9wb4f4zmAhLHGrOJQiInzZziPiz6qsNu0syXKGrZeYhJ4wFK4a1J4nfRRn/s1600/vanity-fair-hollywood-issue-2008-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBT6DkKWfMuu0QVnXA41WB_ZtpHRZdCAKs-nCjg69TB6_vAY5kaiXbCJBElSfpvgIzT_6YEDpUth9wb4f4zmAhLHGrOJQiInzZziPiz6qsNu0syXKGrZeYhJ4wFK4a1J4nfRRn/s320/vanity-fair-hollywood-issue-2008-11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Scarlett Johannson & Javier Bardem recreating a scene from <i>Rear Window</i>. Photo by Norman Jean Roy</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;">Early Hollywood Issues feature portraits of everyone from George Burns to Johnny Depp, group shots of writers, directors, producers and a closing reunion shot, a tip of the hat to a classic film <i>(To Kill a Mockingbird, American Graffiti, Fast Times at Ridgemont High</i>). The 1995 spread includes Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in full drag makeup reliving the <i>Some Like it Hot </i>days. Oh, speaking of hot:</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGQuXXnbrvwnpwui1-cvX7RRo1iACXPoJrrzcH1h-IMw87Qx8inwksPizw16FShVTzK05_YymD81CCTaJM79IeR-DZAn05LE-hvEPP_sC0umbGfLjBZCHr79Lg-RlY5yGOe2m/s1600/x1li53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGQuXXnbrvwnpwui1-cvX7RRo1iACXPoJrrzcH1h-IMw87Qx8inwksPizw16FShVTzK05_YymD81CCTaJM79IeR-DZAn05LE-hvEPP_sC0umbGfLjBZCHr79Lg-RlY5yGOe2m/s320/x1li53.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Daniel Day-Lewis. Photo by Annie Leibovitz.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">Yeah. I went there. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Follow up issues were a mixed bag, but there were still some standouts. The 2006 salute to film noir, entitled <i>Killers Kill and Dead Men Die, </i>and the 2008 tribute to Hitchcock with recreations of scenes from <i>Psycho, North by Northwest </i>and<i> Rear Window.</i>(see photo above) gave the photographers and actors a bit more room to play.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> In 2010, the scope was smaller and the focus was on collaborators, directors and actors. Penelope Cruz and Pedro Almodovar, Lee Daniels with Mo'Nique and Gabourey Sidibe. They were trying something new. </span><span style="font-size: small;">This year, I feel like VF didn't try. </span><span style="font-size: small;">The 2011 portfolio is <i>much</i> smaller. How small? The 1995 issue had thirty portraits. The 2011 issue has twelve. Twelve. You're telling me Vanity Fair couldn't find enough actors and filmmakers to fill an issue? </span><span style="font-size: small;">If you're only going to focus on nominees, fine, but how about ALL of the nominees. The acting categories alone give you twenty people to photograph. Throw in the directors, producers and screenwriters and you easily clear thirty. Something to consider for the 2012 Hollywood Issue. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Oh, and the picture of Christian Bale? Obviously from a red carpet event. Don't you have some of the best photographers in the world on the payroll? You couldn't get Christian Bale in a room with Annie Leibovitz or Bruce Weber? OK. </span><br />
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</span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-49291015124576961162011-02-11T22:23:00.000-05:002011-02-11T22:23:42.983-05:00Trying Times<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Not the best week. I'd call it a trying one. I've been trying to</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">find my balance</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">do my best</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">be braver</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">not feel isolated</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> stay focused</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">not take it personally</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">remember to eat</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">remember everything</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">get enough rest </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">not lose my mind</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">improve myself</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">improve my work</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">sleep</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yeah. I'm frustrated and a little blue. It happens. It won't last. A cup of tea, a slice of my friend Heather's awesome lemon curd pound cake and a new episode of Law and Order: UK are making things a bit better right now. Tomorrow, this girl gets back on her feet. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-73204132005677004722011-01-26T19:20:00.001-05:002014-01-05T13:58:46.724-05:00Things I Learned at my First MFA ResidencyTen days on an island with one hundred writers? Yeah, I learned some things.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LtSYTw6jMGXwq0AQq5gGyvF6S8kLlgH1neefvJq7afnVBvRZIvqaCQxpD5xV64npK1DLUKukxF77hyphenhypheniV7iTRkval7BFowJargsU7vHtB_tnwDjQoZtyIMhDAqQ_BxyD3ht47/s1600/DSCN2138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LtSYTw6jMGXwq0AQq5gGyvF6S8kLlgH1neefvJq7afnVBvRZIvqaCQxpD5xV64npK1DLUKukxF77hyphenhypheniV7iTRkval7BFowJargsU7vHtB_tnwDjQoZtyIMhDAqQ_BxyD3ht47/s320/DSCN2138.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Name, semester and genre are the equivalent of name, rank and serial number. Meet, greet, repeat. <br />
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Daisy, first semester, non-fiction. <br />
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Big siblings are the best. Even when they break a foot, they still look out for you.<br />
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You have to get up pretty early in the morning to get a hot shower in before breakfast. <br />
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Do NOT go near the sea wall. <br />
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Chuck Johnson is not who you think he is.<br />
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If you have a question, best to ask Mother Hastings. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbYdxrCOyBBlpWh1yYq0lB4GVlkjxk6zvktAFL7iMXARlkiP6jneUmaGMRHF7WOb_Qy0JZ7G_jK4vyQJJvIK-Mdfsq3QvvVYQOgMZOyfG7UjmjAFZUWntE-qikC6ELNm8J_7K/s1600/DSCN2145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbYdxrCOyBBlpWh1yYq0lB4GVlkjxk6zvktAFL7iMXARlkiP6jneUmaGMRHF7WOb_Qy0JZ7G_jK4vyQJJvIK-Mdfsq3QvvVYQOgMZOyfG7UjmjAFZUWntE-qikC6ELNm8J_7K/s320/DSCN2145.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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You can get up at 10:00am to jump in the water on New Year's Day, or you can get up at 10:30am and run down to the water in time to watch your classmates do it. <br />
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It is possible to get a nap in somewhere between meals, seminars, workshops and readings.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_Jifshrvuygh0onxpdXPakdVhC1xJM9Vase3FAv9DcYN1J1eX5AoujVepuITWgYdms6s6b_ig90-iG-bR6zF40_659oEqw4qNTOeDYSgbBD8qcOTJGKTED9bds9MuU2reh3Y/s1600/2011+jan+reading+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_Jifshrvuygh0onxpdXPakdVhC1xJM9Vase3FAv9DcYN1J1eX5AoujVepuITWgYdms6s6b_ig90-iG-bR6zF40_659oEqw4qNTOeDYSgbBD8qcOTJGKTED9bds9MuU2reh3Y/s320/2011+jan+reading+cropped.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Erin Corriveau</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Getting up in front of a large group of writers to read my work is still scary, but not impossible. <br />
<br />
Writing is a solitary act, but being in an MFA program is not. There is always someone to talk with, confide in, ask questions of and receive answers from, beginning at breakfast and lasting well into the evening social time. When the residency is over and everyone has gone home, we're still encouraging each other.<br />
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I'm a writer. @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-25866556047360093582011-01-20T23:13:00.000-05:002014-01-05T13:58:46.707-05:00Facing the Page<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I started a new piece this week as part of my first packet for school. It came out of a writing prompt in one of my seminars, and it's been floating around in my head since I got back from the residency, so I decided to go with it. I spent three days on it, one for each page I ended up with before sending it to E for some initial feedback. She reminded me that I was doing that thing again. I was glossing over a lot of things, leaving out details that end up being questions in the reader's mind in order to get the scene over with quickly. I'll spend the next few days fleshing it out and turn these three pages into at least five. I've got to really go back to that moment and get it all down. I'm afraid. This isn't a funny story about my mother or sweet memory about my father. This one is mostly me and it's not pretty. But I can do it. I have to do it. I will do it. </span></div> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-77098902267717846652011-01-03T22:27:00.001-05:002014-01-05T13:58:46.728-05:00A Change in Me<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"1/9/10. A new year, a new decade, a fresh start. A chance to believe in myself, believe in what other people see in me. I don't think I've ever been stronger, and yet there is that little bit in the back of my mind that doubts. It may never go away, especially not late at night when it is just me and my thoughts. I imagine it would be worse if not for the medicine. I still can't believe I waited so long to begin that process. I was afraid of the change it would bring. Who am I if not that weak, scared girl I've been for so long? Who am I to try something that might actually work, might make it easier to get through the tough days and the easy days? I was afraid to be even remotely happy. But I am getting there. I am learning."</span></span> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"1/24/10. Change is good when you know what the change is going to be. I still don't know what my big change is going to be, but I sense it coming."<br /><br />The change I sensed a year ago? It came. It's here. I'm writing this piece from my dorm room at the MFA residency I started seven days ago. Me. In an MFA program. For writing.<br /><br />I didn't even know I wanted this until E sent me a link to the program on facebook. She gave me the information, answered my questions, arranged for a campus visit. She nudged me as only very few people can nudge me.<br /><br />I knew I wanted this before I arrived at Enders Island. I submitted my application and transcripts the night before I visited the program in July. Spending a day on the island meeting people and sitting in on classes only made me want it more. I gave myself a month to get recommendations and a portfolio together.<br /><br />I was scared. The last thing I wanted (or thought I wanted) this badly didn't happen. And it took a long time to get over it. If I failed at this...I didn't want to think about it. But I got it.<br /><br />The first couple of days were overwhelming. There are all these people. All these </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>writers</i></span><span style="font-size:100%;">. I felt like a phony. At least I had my big sis and E. After some seminars and workshops I began to feel better. I've made some friends. I've started to participate. I've read some of my work in front of faculty and students. Here's the most important thing I've learned so far: I'm a writer.</span> <span style="font-size:100%;">I'm part of a community of writers. I'm not alone.<br /><br />The residency ends on Thursday, but this is my beginning. I'm ready to do the work.</span></span><br /></p> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22661656.post-87900879127230723072010-11-29T22:52:00.005-05:002011-01-20T22:50:47.337-05:00Interview<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Dear Daddy,<br /><br />I'm working on this thing, the grad school/MFA thing and I have so many questions for you, but you aren't here to help me on this one. Well, you're not <span style="font-style: italic;">here</span> here, but you're around. I know you are. I don't know for sure what my project is going to be, but I have an inkling. I want to tell my story, our story, the story of how I got here. I'm beginning to realize that I can't tell my side without knowing some of yours, even if I don't end up sharing that part with the world, because you're part of me, a big part. You and Mami and Pete and Ia. My story begins with all of you. The fact that you left Cuba and came here, to the states. That I was born here instead of there. My story begins in 1968, even though I was born in 1972. Maybe it begins even earlier.<br /><br />So, I have some questions and I'm putting them out there to you, wherever you are, instead of Mami because I have a feeling you'll send me the answers in your own way. And, about Mami, in the seven years since you've gone, she's barely said a peep about the time before you all came here. Oh, she's still talking, telling it like it is and letting us know what she really thinks all the time. But unless we give her a drink or two...well, that one Thanksgiving she mentioned something about you hiding people in the house and not telling her, but other than that, she's been as tight-lipped about your life, her life back there as you were.<br /><br />You never talked about it. You were born and raised in another country, got married (twice), had kids (three before me) and left that country (under some duress from what I understand) and I only know what I know because Ia told me some things when I was in my twenties. She was only seven or eight when you all left, so I still don't have the full picture. I know I didn't ask. All those times we were together in the car, at the lab, in the hospital and at home, I never asked. That's my fault. I was too caught up in being a kid - playing with my Barbies, reading my books, growing up, planning my escape - to even consider that I had everything because you gave up so much.<br /><br />But that's the thing. I don't even know exactly what you gave up. I know now that you left our extended family behind knowing you might never see them again, but I didn't understand what it meant when I was a kid because no one talked about it. Everybody drank about it, (El an</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >o que viene, estamos en Cuba, next year we'll be in Cuba), and told stories about this relative (mi primo Fulanito, cousin whathisname) or that neighbor (Menganito de la esquina, whathisname from the corner) from back home, but I never heard "The night I left Cuba..."<br /><br />I want to know. I want to know what it was like before the revolution. I want to know how you met my mother. Legend says you were fixing her teeth, she says you met at a dance before that happened. How long before you married? What was it like in those few months before everything changed? What was it like for you those nine years before you left? How did you and Mami make that choice? How did you tell your kids? How did you say goodbye to your mother?<br /><br />Whenever I'm at Ia's, I look at those photos of you - at thirteen posing with your parents and siblings, as a newlywed smiling and sipping champagne, as a young father standing with your wife and children - and I miss you even more. I wish I could have a drink with you, turn on the tape recorder and listen to every story you kept tucked away. </span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br />You always told a great story. With your help, I'm hoping I can tell one too. </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Maybe we can work on Mami together?</span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span> @DaisyCAbreuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03253877170785328749noreply@blogger.com2