The Lively Spirit of Elizabeth Hand

It's November, and here I am, finally attempting to talk about week one of Clarion West. It's hard, I think, in a lot of ways, to talk about the experience. Mostly, because CW is 100% about the people you work beside, and I'm simply not willing to discuss my friendships with my classmates. But also because it's so big, and words are so small. I guess that's the problem in general.

But here I am, trying to write about it. Because I read CW blogs obsessively before I attended. And because, even if I can't share the experience, I can perhaps share a little about what I learned.

CW week one was Elizabeth Hand's week. She was to be our first instructor, the one to initiate us in the mysteries awaiting us.

Sunday afternoon, we gathered in the classroom for the first time. And there's Liz. Beautiful and cool, charming from first word to last.

She had us do an exercise, each of us using the same two lines of dialogue to write stories in randomly chosen genres. We turned them in anonymously, traded them around, and read them out loud to each other. All of us nervous. All of us laughing.

Few of us wrote quite so well again as we did on that first week with Liz, and her brilliant husband John Clute, at the helm. She had this magic way about her, this way of making us unself-conscious and eager, willing to go beyond our own capabilities and be amazing.

She taught us to dig deep, to take out our hearts and put them on paper. She taught us about fictionalizing pain, or pleasure, about the power of reading out loud and connecting. We wrote our fears or our loves or our weaknesses, and we read them to each other, terrified and giddy.

Liz set the tone for the whole six weeks, by urging us to be both honest and raw, by finding our strengths and letting us share them with each other.

John taught us a lot as well. That man is scary smart. I took notes until my hand fell off. He talked about looking to the root of things. About being aware of influence. And about the power and the danger of metaphor in fantasy.

What I learned in Week One:
Write with emotional sincerity.
My classmates are amazing.
Be a good physician.
Be careful with metaphor.

Post-Game Analysis

What I should be writing is a weekly account of my adventures in hopes that future classes, if they wish, can benefit from my experiences. And I will, I think. I took notes to make that possible. But as I've stated before, this blog exists primarily so that I can get my own head straight. Right now, I want to talk about big picture stuff.

Clarion West is over. I'm done. I survived. I wrote six stories. I read and critiqued the endless stream of brilliant words my classmates chose to share with me. Said classmates were excellent. A group of talented, funny, and very different individuals. Some wrote the sort of stuff I love to read. Others wrote stuff I never would have read on my own but which I was glad for the opportunity to experience. They were, in the end, my best teachers. I hope I was of some small use to them as well.

So, have I changed? Am I this stronger, faster, smarter version of my weak, slow and dumb pre-Clarion West self? Well, no. Of course not. Clarion West is not magic. It is, in fact, a very intense writing workshop. It changes you in the ways that very intense writing workshops change you. But yes. I've changed. In some ways I recognize and in others I think it will take me time to understand.

I am more optimistic and more driven about my writing than I was before CW. This is the biggest and most valuable change for me. It isn't enough, anymore, for me to write my stories and fiddle with my novel and occasionally, every six months or so, send something out to be rejected. I want more than that. I want to sell my book. I want to sell stories. I want to get rejections, as many as needed, so that people will look up and see me and notice what I'm doing and what I have to say.

This may seem insignificant to anyone who doesn't know me but let me assure you, optimism is not my mode. Hope is not something I do. Try is not a word in my vocabulary. Give up ahead of time is more my style. But I am going to change that, I'm going to make an effort and I'm going to push myself and it's going to be terrifying and people will probably hate me but I don't care. I have to do this. It's important.

As for the sort of changes future applicants are actually interested in, yes, I am a better writer after CW. Not in a huge way. Not necessarily in a way that would allow someone to look at a pre-CW piece and tell it from a post-CW piece, though I could. It's changed how I think about writing. Maybe it's allowed me to think about writing. There were things we discussed that I understood intuitively but which, once explained, I could consciously apply and check for in my stories. And there were things discussed that I never really thought about. My mind is now full of lovely writing metaphors that no one but myself and my classmates will ever understand.

Would I recommend it? Yes, with qualifications. Yes, if you can take that sort of pressure. Yes, if you are open to learning from writers who are at your level or only just above you in skill (your classmates are your main teachers). Yes, if you can be humble. Yes, if you can accept that there will be people in your class you disagree with, every week. Yes, if you can accept that not everyone is good at giving criticism gently and your feelings will get hurt. Yes, if you understand that CW is not magic, it is only very focused. Yes, if you have a sense of humor.

I will write about the individual weeks, soon. But it won't be particularly valuable. Clarion West is about the people, and I don't intend to blog about my classmates. Those experiences are ours and I don't feel comfortable giving them away. It was laughter and giddy excitement and self-doubt and tears. I made friends and I hope a few of those friendships will last. I am grateful for the opportunity.

Lockdown

I wanted to post tonight.

I wanted to post tonight because it's the last night.

It's the last night.

If tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life, does that mean tonight is the last day of my life as it is?

Is that a good thing?

I like my life.

I'm not good at wanting, at being excited. I've talked about that here. And sometimes, that means positive reinforcement sends me spiraling toward depression. And sometimes it means my emotions lock down. That's where I am now. Locked down. Too nervous to think or feel or want.

I'll probably start crying eventually. Out of joy and sadness and worry. But not yet. For now, I'm just doing. I'm packed. The muffins are done. There are, randomly, 64 bagels in the freezer. I may offer everyone some,   but, then again, they're frozen. So maybe that's a dumb idea.

I think, somewhere deep, my heart is shivering.

Muffins

Moving steadily into a state of quiet but enduring panic. Less Clarion and more the simple idea of leaving Sean behind.

Also Clarion, though.

I'm picking out muffins for him to bake next week. Muffins mean time apart, and him trying to see that I eat in that time. He used to make a batch of muffins every week for me to take back with me to college.

Yes. He did. He's that good.

Muffins make me want to cry.

Less than two weeks to go!

It's the ninth.

My last day of work is the 21st. I know a lot of my classmates are going nuts, trying to finish up work projects, get packed, and generally prepare to move to Seattle for six weeks. I don't have that problem. Work is as busy as it is. I'm too small a cog to have projects. There's the move, of course, but I have no control over when that happens. It was supposed to happen last week, but we're still in the same old digs. As for moving, well, I'm moving like, two miles. It's not a huge concern. If I need anything, I'll just have Sean run it over.

At this point, I have nine work days left, total. Three days off. Weds, Sun, Weds. Five days of listing. Two days of floating. Two days of mail.

I'm worried about dumb things now. I'm worried about not having read as many of the books on my 'before Clarion' list as I'd hoped. I still have a little time but not much. I'm worried about which of my stuffed animals to bring (probably all my squishables plus Wolfie, of course). I'm worried about how I'm going to find everyone at the airport. That last one is especially dumb. But, see, I understand the airport. Picking people up from the airport is an activity I have engaged in before.

Clarion is this big wall of mystery and OMG that starts right after the airport ends. So, airport worry it is.

In other news, I got a rejection from Clarkesworld the other day. Not even a good rejection from Clarkesworld. Ahh, well. Onward!

Lists

Math first (last weeks was a bit off): Four more mail days. Three more Boy days. Three more family Saturdays. Three more days as a Floater. Ten more days of listing. Twenty-three more days of panic (not counting today).

I've been thinking I should make a packing list, but I'm also sort of incapable of it. Sean'll be so close, I'll be able to get anything I need, so I can't bring myself to worry.

But, generally, I'll need:

A week's worth of clothes. (Include at least one fancier outfit, just because)
Stuffed Animals
Laptop and Charger
Headphones
MP3 Player
Meds
Notebook/pens/pencils
Paper? (I have no idea what the printing and such situation is, will have to check the packet again)
Headset
Muffins (Yes, muffins)
Instructors' Books
Sheets/blankets/pillow
Towel
PSP (I'm sure I'll have not time for it)
Idea Notebook
Toiletries (Toothbrush/paste, brush, bodywash, shampoo, facewash)
'Questions' book (dumb, but amusing, to me at least)
Phone
Wallet
Fan? Maybe... I don't usually like fans. In fact, I kind of hate them.


That's all I can think of just now. Maybe more will come to me over time. But, like I said, I can just have Sean drive down anything I'm missing, or pick it up in the U District.

One Month

It's the 22nd of March. Move in is in exactly one month. A month is such a reasonable, understandable section of time. I can break it down into segments, know what's going to be happening, week by week, day by day. Sunday, I get my hair done. Next week, I meet with my local critique group. The first two weeks of June is for moving at work. The third week of June is for panic. And then it's over. That's it. Four more days being a floater at work. Five more days doing mail. Fifteen days of listing. Four precious, fragile Sundays to drink Sean in as best I can. Four Saturday night dinners.

And then...

And then I don't know. I'm in the neutral zone right now. Neither excited nor scared. Clarion feels mythical, more of an idea than something that will actually happen. This is pretty common for me. To take something big and hide it from myself, so that I can still function as a human.

In exciting news, I just finished 'In Another Life' a story I'm at least hesitantly optimistic about. We'll see how it does in critique, but I think I finally got it on paper in a way that works. The story idea has been bugging me for awhile, so I'm pleased. And I'm proving to myself that I can complete stories on a more regular basis. Short fiction is still not my go to form, so I'm trying to get into the mindset.

Rules

I just finished Ellen Kushner's Swordspoint for the second time. I read it years ago and enjoyed it at the time.   A few weeks ago, I stumbled across a short story by Kushner and loved it. I spent a week hunting for Swordspoint in every bookstore in Seattle and finally had to give in and order it off the internet. Some books fall flat on a second reading. Not this one. This time, I didn't enjoy the book. I loved it.

I do wonder why that happens, why sometimes what seems merely good on a first reading shines the second time. Maybe it's just changing taste. Maybe it's reading as a writer and recognizing the talent.

Since finishing, I've been thinking about rules, and styles, and what they mean to me.

Generally, I write in close third for my longer fiction and first for my shorter pieces. I did write, and publish, a piece written in second, but that was an experiment that just happened to work. I'm proud of it, but I wouldn't say it's something I plan on repeating.

I never write in omniscient. If you had asked me before I settled into Swordspoint, I would have said I didn't like omniscient. I might even have described it as old-fashioned. I certainly would have said that current trends favored first-person in the YA market and close third in most speculative fiction.

But you know what? I'm an idiot. I'm an inexperienced, insecure writer who pays too much attention to the 'rules' more experienced writers talk about. I think about keeping my prose transparent even though some of my favorite prose is lush and visible. I worry about the fact that my most recent story is first-person present tense because I've been told that's amateur  Nevermind the fact that there are some short stories in the same style that I've loved. And I avoid omniscient.

Of course, maybe I'm just scared of it. Doing it right is hard. Doing it wrong is easy. But maybe I need to be willing to do more wrong things. The time to take chances is now.

Resigned to Bravery

Dear future self (and I've decided that, as this blog is for my use, I'll start treating it that way),

There are now fewer days to Clarion than the actual event of Clarion. I've been thinking of the lyrics of a Dar Williams song lately. The song is Spring Street, you know the one. And near the end of the song, she sings:

But I'll push myself up through the dirt
And shake my petals free
I'm resolved to being born
And so resigned to bravery

That's how I'm feeling now. I've applied. I've been chosen. I've decided to do this. And because I've decided, I have to be brave. I can't do this halfway. I can't hide, I can't be shy. I'm going to do it right. And I am excited. I know I talk a lot about fear in this blog, but I am so very excited. I wouldn't be counting down if I wasn't.

Today, my mind isn't so much on fear. It's on hope, and chance, and dreams. Right now, the Moth is auctioning off a chance to have tea with Neil Gaiman. It's something that's been auctioned off before and every time I see it, the part of me that I usually try to shut down, the part of me that wants wakes up. Because I do admire him, as a writer and as a person. But I've known, every year, that I simply can't afford to donate a few thousand dollars to the Moth, as much as I love what they do. I've known, deep down, that I'd never get a chance to talk to Neil, to thank him for Smoke and Mirrors, the book that helped me start to see myself as a writer instead of as someone who writes.

But now, I'll get to learn from him for a week. From him, from the brilliant Elizabeth Hand, the one-of-a-kind Samuel R. Delany, and the irreplaceable Ellen Datlow. I'll study the art of beautiful prose under Margo Lanagan, and struggle to face the darker elements of the craft with Joe Hill.

And then there's my collection of skilled, accomplished, and hilarious classmates.

My excitement shines right through the terror.

Admitting to Fear

Crises of confidence are normal, right?

Well, anyway, they're normal for me. Today is one of those days where I'm terrified. It's not merely that I'm afraid I might be the worst in the class. I think I could actually be okay with that. After all, if that's the case, I'll have plenty of space to grow.

But I am afraid that if I'm not at the level of the rest of the class, they might like me less. It's a silly thought, obviously. My friendships aren't based on how good at writing a given person is. But the thought is nagging at me today. What if I'm not good and they don't like me for it.

That, and I'm thinking about the expectations again. A story a week. I know it's possible, that, without the distractions of work and life, it's doable. But it still seems so overwhelming. Until today, I wasn't worried about running out of ideas. I've got a notebook full of them, just snippets I want to explore. But today, as I struggle to figure out how to end my current short story, I'm worried. If I can't end this, how can I hope to even start anything else.

What if I sit down and nothing comes?

They're boring, normal fears. I'm sure I'll get over them. But I want them down. I want to be able to look at this blog next year and be proud of having proven myself wrong.

I'm not as stressed as I sound, future self. I'm actually in an excellent mood as I write this. I had an amazing day, and I'm looking forward to the weeks ahead. But I do worry. Sean would say it's not productive and he'd be right. But I do it anyway.

Temporary Reprieve

Distraction is a problem for me right now. I've gotten accustomed to editing with something on in the background, and shutting everything down to just focus on the writing has become uncomfortable again. How spoiled of me. 

I think I've entered a temporary zen-like state. The anxiety has retreated again, but the impatience hasn't returned. I've been focusing on enjoying as much of my life now as I can. I want to go to the zoo, walk through the trees, spend some time cuddling and playing video games. 

Seattle is beautiful just now. It'll still be beautiful during CW but not quite as beautiful as it is now. Spring and autumn are our best seasons. Summer has too much light. 

I should be writing. I've got a new short story in the works. But I worry that after CW I'll be disappointed in any of the work that came before. Which gives me a great excuse to be lazy. But tonight, I'm going to write anyway.

A sense of time

I have a weird relationship with time. Everything is either far away or utterly immediate, with very little middle ground. Waiting for the call from Clarion, time was extended. Days were weeks, weeks were months. I knew the call would come by the end of March if it would come at all. But the end of March felt like an impossibility.

After the call, time stayed stretched. How on earth is a person supposed to contain over ninety days in their head? Impossible. I didn't even bother counting down, actively avoided thinking of how many days remained. 

Too many.

And then...

Suddenly, time collapsed in on itself. Two months.

Two months?

That's no time at all. Come May, which is only a handful of days away, it'll be a month away by one way of thinking. Because it's in June. When May is over, June happens.

Am I nervous? Of course I am. More than nervous. I was so excited. I am so excited. But the excitement is starting to take a back seat to the nerves. Hopefully I don't end up hiding under the tables on the first day.

I continue to read work by the instructors. But I've also switched my focus back to writing. After finishing rewrites, I deserved a little break. But my original plan, to not work on anything new until CW, was silly. I can't jump into the ocean after refusing to even sip at water for three months. 

On Insecurities

I'm a little down tonight. Part of it is everything that's gone on this week. And not even what has happened, but what I'm afraid will happen. The hysteria we're capable of as a country and the damage that does. That's what really scares me.

The rest is just... an old realization, I suppose. You should know I'm not actually very good with people. Friends are something I've been bad at in the past. I've fallen out of touch with nearly everyone I was once close to and sometimes that leaves me feeling isolated. I have Sean, of course. And Noz, though she's across the country. But they're the only people I talk to regularly. Really. That's not a joke. I talk to people at work, of course, but that's different. For regular companionship, it's my boyfriend, and a single friend on the internet.

Until...

Now. Clarion. Not even Clarion. Pre-Clarion. And suddenly, I'm part of this conversation with these people I genuinely want to know. But I worry. Will I be able to create a genuine connection with them once we meet? And just as importantly, can I maintain that connection, those friendships, after Clarion is over?

I've failed in the past.

But past failure doesn't mean eternal failure, right?

I want to hope it doesn't. But I am really, sincerely, deeply bad at this.

On the bright side, my reading is going well. I've finished Heart-Shaped Box and I've started reading Samuel R. Delany's short fiction. That means I've successfully read something by all of this years Clarion instructors. I'm not done yet, obviously. I need to read some of Hand's short fiction, and I've just picked up a collection by Datlow I hadn't read previously. I also have Tender Morsels, and Horns waiting for my attention. Lots yet to do!

I'm a little to worn down to do my usual thoughts on the texts I've been reading. I'll just say, for now, that reading Hill really made me think about my own writing. He goes so many places I avoid. I'm not sure I want to go to those exact places, but I definitely need to learn to push my boundaries. It's not that I'm into dark for dark's sake, but I could see the places where those images and ideas made the story work and helped it linger. The scene with snuff film... *shivers*

Countdowns

Being sick is a great way to get reading done. I left work early today, crawled into bed, and went back and forth between reading and napping. As I was home alone I didn't work on Heart-Shaped Box. Instead, I continued reading Black Juice. I can now add it to my list of finished Clarion books.

Margo Lanagan writes exactly the sort of short fiction I find most intimidating. Lush, disturbing, and difficult to pin down. My own writing tends to be fairly conventional, I think. Is that bad? When I read work like Lanagan's it feels bad. Some of the lines in Black Juice continue to linger with me. And I don't think I can do that yet. I want my writing to haunt people.

I continue to struggle with Heart-Shaped Box. Mind, I'm enjoying it. Even though it scares me and I can't read it much when I'm alone, I think it's incredibly well done. I want to know what happens to these characters. Georgia is becoming more and more multi-dimensional, as is Judas. And it's the sort of crisp, clear, well sculpted narrative I most enjoy. The problem is, I simply can't seem to read it critically. Everytime I pick it up, I get too involved in the story and I completely lose my critical eye. I think it would be easier if I was listening to it as an audio book. I'm much better at breaking down things I'm listening to. I've got Horns lined up to listen to, so maybe I'll do better at analyzing his style in that.

Still need to reread Fragile Things and work my way through the collection of Delany short stories I picked up. And that's just to start.

I'm counting down to CW and I hate that. I don't want to be. I want to live in the now. The now is limited. These perfect, sweet Sundays with Sean are limited. And I will have so little of him at CW. How stupid to count past such days, to care more for this grand event then these small moments of lizard happiness. I am trying to think about it differently. I want to make a list of all the things I need to do in my remaining Sundays. I want to treat them as precious, not disposable. Probably, I should extend that into the other days too. I enjoy my job. I shouldn't take it for granted either.

Ups and Downs

My to-do list for Clarion is getting longer as the days past. My work isn't granting me leave, which changes things a bit. There's still a good chance they'll rehire me, so it doesn't necessarily mean unemployment when the experience is over. Regardless, though, I'm losing insurance, and that's a big deal. I need to get into my doctor to get prescriptions renewed. I need a new pair of glasses (possibly too). I should probably even try to squeeze in a visit to the dentist if I can afford it. Nothing on that list is fun, but it all needs to be done.

It's a little surprising to discover I can still have bad days when my world is gleaming so brightly. But the day that I found out they wouldn't be able to give me leave wasn't one of my better ones.

In slightly more exciting news, I just got a new computer! The laptop I'm typing this on weighs about half-a-ton, is huge, and doesn't have a working battery. I have to stay plugged into a wall outlet at all times. It also lacks a camera. Sean was pretty adamant about wanting me to have something light-weight with a long battery life for Clarion. So he got me a bitsy little netbook. It's adorable! I want to eat it. And it weighs just a hair more than nothing. It'll be much more suited to my needs than my poor, beaten-up laptop. 

My reading list continues to expand. I now have a book of short stories by everyone but Elizabeth Hand, but I'll get hers soon. I've finished Radiant Days, which was lovely. It ended well and I'm always relieved when a novel doesn't botch the landing. 

On the other hand, I haven't made much progress with Heart-Shaped Box. It's just so creepy! I've only made it through the first hundred pages. I can't read it when I'm alone in the house, which makes it harder. I'm trying to figure out what exactly Hill does to make it scary but I get distracted by being scared and lose track of the craft elements. He is brilliant, though. His writing is so precise and clean. So fast, too. Not a word wasted.

I've also started reading Lanagan's Black Juice. I'm about halfway through the stories and they're all so delightful strange. I loved 'Singing my Sister Down'. Made my throat tighten as I read it. Like Hand, she's got a knack for truly lovely prose. Lush, but not in a distracting way. I may start reading with a highlighter, though I hate marking up my books.

Giving Myself Homework

Wednesday, I finished my novel revisions. This is great news for a number of reasons. Primarily, because it means I finished my novel revisions. That's two drafts done this year, each taking next time than the last. The next draft will be mostly small tweaks, I think. I still think I'll be able to start querying agents this year, even with the rather large distraction dropped right in the middle.

And by distraction, of course, I mean the wonder that is my acceptance to Clarion West. And CW is the second reason why it's wonderful that my current rounds of revisions are done. I finally have time to focus on my self-assigned homework.

Getting to know my instructors' work before I attend is important to me,  and it's embarrassing how poorly versed I am in most of them.

At work, I've been listening to Elizabeth Hand's Radiant Days. Short spurts while distracted is far from the best way to experience a book, I'll admit. But there are only so many hours in a day and I spend a lot of them at work. On the bright side, Elizabeth Hand's prose is perfect for listening to. It's so lush and descriptive, I want to eat it. I feel like I could bite into it, lick the juice off my fingers. I'm still not sure how I feel about the story, but I don't really care. I just want to keep hearing the way she combines words.

In addition, I've begun reading Joe Hill's Heart-Shaped Box. I'm a bit nervous about it, actually. I don't generally read horror, and I don't read horror for pretty solid reasons. When I was a kid, I had night terrors. The sort where you wake screaming and hallucinate. Mind, that was when I was three and four, but it made an impression on me. I learned to avoid feeding the part of my mind that makes monsters. I'm still prone to nightmares, though most of them are emotional not monsterish. Sean's always complaining that the version of him that exists in my head is an asshole. In the end, though, all that doesn't matter. I'm studying under Joe Hill. He writes horror. And some of my fellow students also write horror. If I'm going to be critiquing their stuff, I want to have a certain familiarity with the rhythms and tropes of the genre. Part of my homework for myself is to develop that familiarity before June. I'll be picking up some collections of horror short fiction next time I'm at the bookstore to help with that.

As to the book in question? I'm only a chapter in and I can already tell the man is brilliant. The voice in the piece is incredibly strong and believable, in only a few pages I already feel I have a solid grasp on what sort of person Jude is. That's something I want to learn. My novel's protagonist doesn't start shining fast enough. If I can pick up on some of Joe Hill's tricks for getting a character on the page fast, I'll be thrilled.

The Call

Tonight I am remembering just how much I hate blogging and why. It's hard enough opening up with personal experiences when someone is listening. But talking to the dark feels both pointless and strange. I have to remember that this blog is for me, for the future self who will wonder what it was like, to be getting ready for Clarion. There are so many events in my life for which I lack memories of a 'before' of the anticipation and eagerness. I don't want this to be one of them.

So, the call.

It's Wednesday. Wednesday is my day off, so I make plans to meet my Mom and younger brother for breakfast at a local place called Glo's. The three of us have an excellent time and I talk about how I'm doing much better with my anxiety than I was the week before. I've even developed a mantra. It's: "It's okay to hope. It's okay to be disappointed."

I have taken to muttering those words under my breath at least once an hour, frequently more often. After breakfast, we walk back to my Mom's apartment. My brother has an online final to finish and retreats to his room. Mom and I stay in the living room, where I continue to pat myself on the back for getting my anxiety back down to manageable levels.

My cell phone rings from across the room. I freeze, then force a smile. "It's probably Sean," I say. It doesn't matter that Sean's at work and would text if he needed anything. I don't want to look excited. If I look excited I will be that much more embarrassed when it's not what I want it to be. My much lauded control leaves me completely, and my pulse begins to race.

I get to the phone and check the number. Not Sean. A local area code. Clarion West is local. But that, of course, is impossible. Probably a telemarketer, I force myself to think. I keep smiling, keep my movements casual, and answer the phone.

And a voice asks me if I would be interested in joining this years Clarion West class. Our connection isn't the best, so for a second, I wonder if I might of misheard. I haven't. It's real. My throat closes up, and I almost start to cry, right there on the phone. I have to apologize and tell her I'm freaking out. It's embarrassing and I force myself to start breathing again while I pace the kitchen. She explains that it was a very competitive year, and it's an honor to be chosen. I say I know, that I feel incredibly honored, that I couldn't be more excited. This is all true. I'm also descending into complete panic, but she doesn't need to know that. We talk for a little while, and hang up. She promises more information will arrive by email soon.

At which point, I set down the phone and return to the living room. It should be noted, at this point, that I do not handle positive emotions well. Which is why I start sobbing and shaking. Huge, hysterical gasps. It takes a few minutes for me to get it under control.

And I still feel like that sometimes. It's not a bad feeling. It's just, this is so huge, for me. And it all bubbles up, and then my throat closes and my vision blurs. I haven't actually broken down since the first time, but I've been tempted. I'm doing better with it now. I think, as I take steps toward my destination like meeting my classmates, buying the books of the instructors, and getting my idea journal into shape, it becomes something real, something that can exist in this world, something I can cope with.

I Hold With Those That Favor Fire

I had intended to make this post about the second step in my journey to Clarion West, specifically the step where I went out in desperate search of discouragement and found only love and support. Really what sort of writer has a uniformly supportive family? It's embarrassing  None-the-less, that's what happened. All I needed was one no, from anyone, to break the spine of my fledgling ambition.

Without said discouragement, I was stuck with frantically revising a story for submission. Which is also not something I'm going to talk about, except to say that I spent the whole of February hacking away at the poor thing. In the end, I was very satisfied with the result, even happy. And there, my friends, lay the difficulty.

You see, at the end of February I scraped together my newly revised story, an older story I didn't feel needed revision, and my personal essay (which I might post later, even though I kinda hate it) and I sent them off to Clarion.

And then, I did something that I simply do not do. I started to hope. And it was, frankly, miserable.

Allow me to explain. I am not a person who wants things. Indeed, I make a point of not wanting things. Let us say, that when it comes to desire, I take the Buddhist view. Want=hurt. So, for the most part, I don't.

It's not hard. I have a wonderful life. A decent job, with bosses I like. An amazing boyfriend of almost ten years. The aforementioned frustratingly supportive family. A tiny apartment in the city I love most in the world. So I suppose it's no surprise to discover that I find it easy to be happy, to not want anything beyond what I already have.

And then, along comes Clarion. Clarion, like having a crush on my best friend's girl. Beautiful, clever, funny Clarion making eyes at me from across the room. She's expensive. She's high maintenance and demanding.  But man, she's the most talented girl I know.

And me, feeling guilty on just about every level possible. Guilty for applying when it would be such a burden on Sean and I if I got in. Guilty for being so arrogant as to think I even had a chance, when better applicants surely existed. Guilty simply for the act of wanting, which, let me reiterate, I try not to do. And guilty for the mood that all this guilt and and want put me in, a constant roiling anxiety that left me feeling like I might throw-up anytime I thought about it.

See? Want. Not a good emotion for me. And I had never wanted anything for myself this badly. Years back, wanting Sean to find a job in his field, yes, but that wasn't about me, wasn't in my control, and so felt less acute. This felt like drowning.

And it just went on and on.

But it was worth it. All that madness, all that wanting, and it was worth it. And yeah I still feel a little like I've set a date with my best friend's girl. There are so many people out there who I'm sure deserve this more than I do. But she says she's in to me. And I guess I'm not quite honorable enough to turn her down.

Impossibilities

The memory I have takes place in December, right around Christmas. It's a memory of one conversation among many, but it's the one that stands out the most to me. My boyfriend, Sean, and I go over to my Mom's place every Saturday for dinner. She is, I should note, an amazing cook.

After dinner, for whatever reason, I brought up Clarion West. I didn't bring it up in an 'I can't wait to apply' way. I think if anything, I was looking for sympathy. A 'look at this wonderful thing that I can never have' sort of moment. I wasn't newly aware of Clarion West, I lurked about the website wistfully every year. But this year, with Neil Gaiman teaching, my wistfulness had turned to something a bit more whiny.

And so, I told my mother, at length, how lucky the students who would be taking classes at Clarion were, and how impossible it was for me to ever do anything similar.

Sean, ever the logical one, isn't a fan of the word impossible. He quickly pointed out that there was no reason why I couldn't get in to Clarion.

Oh, but I was ready for him! I had a list of reasons why my dreams were impossible. (Never make lists of reasons why your dreams are impossible. Make lists of reasons why they aren't!)

The list was, basically, as follows:

1) It was six weeks long and I couldn't leave him for six weeks.
2) I also couldn't leave work for six weeks.
3) We couldn't hope to afford it.
4) I wouldn't ever be accepted in, so why waste the $40 dollars applying?
5) Who needs stupid old Clarion, anyway?
6) I suck.

Sean wasn't exactly impressed and pointed out:

1) Sure I could.
2) They would understand, and if they wouldn't it was worth it.
3) We could find the money, or borrow it if necessary.
4) Forty dollars was no big deal.
5) Nobody needed it. But it was a huge opportunity, and I should be afraid to try, if I was interested in it.
6) No I didn't.

Which wasn't much different from what he'd said the four previous times we'd had the exact same conversation. But I'm not entirely dense. It is possible to get through to me with repetition. I conceded that it might not be entirely impossible. I might, maybe, theoretically, be able to apply to Clarion. Not that they would ever want me.

But something in my thinking, shifted. I stopped resenting an impossibility and started trying to figure out, how, exactly, I might go about applying.

Mission Statement

I'm not good at blogging. I would go so far as to say I'm bad it. It's difficult, for someone as intensely private as I am, to imagine sharing anything personal with the world at large. None-the-less, I keep trying to blog. Keeping a journal is utterly beyond me, at least, with a blog, I can generally force myself into a regular update schedule.

With all that established, why am I sitting here typing this?

Put simply, because I want to remember the coming weeks and months. I want to hold onto this feeling, so very much like falling in love, long after the emotion itself has faded. I am anxious, excited, insecure, elated. 

Or, put more simply, I have been accepted into Clarion West's 2013 class. 

I'll be studying with Joe Hill, Margo Lanagan, Elizabeth Hand, Samuel R. Delany, Ellen Datlow, and with Neil Gaiman whose comments on his own work in Smoke and Mirrors helped me overcome many of my personal blocks around attempting to pursue a career as a writer. 

I have, as you can see, good reasons for all my joyous fear.

My intention is to use this blog to document the journey to Clarion West, to keep an eye on my emotional state as the event grows closer, and to track the ways in which I'm doing my best to prepare.

Besides, I need to put all this down somewhere. If I keep refusing to talk about anything but Clarion West with my family, I'm pretty sure they'll disown me.

Because I'm trying to chronicle this journey from start to finish (though I doubt my ability to blog while in attendance) the first few posts are going to be back in time a bit. I want to put down my thoughts from the moment I decided to apply.

I can't imagine this blog being of interest to anyone but myself. None-the-less, it exists for those who wish to see it.