I said that I’d give an update on what’s going on with me and, for better or worse, I’m a girl of my word. It certainly helps that things are looking up at the time of this report, not that they were ever looking too far down.
College life is back on at full steam, complete with odd hours, poor dietary choices, and a few more books for snuggle buddies than I had really anticipated. I can dig it, though. The music site I was working for in the summer is back up and running, so I can get at my backlog of articles
and try to force my way into upcoming gigs for them. Being Librarian for the Literary Society’s been pretty great, thanks to a fantastic committee and an enthusiastic crop of new members. Gone are the days when we had to seduce people who got lost on their way to TFM to stick around for free tea: folks are braving the climb without any help from us. I’m also running two weekly creative writing workshops and, even though I’ve only taught one of each so far, I think they’re going well. I encourage anybody in the workshops who stumbles upon this blog to correct me in the most fiery language possible if I am wrong.
Classes are great, despite the occasional expletive-heavy rants my friends are subjected to–I have to work on that temper. I was (and still am) very excited about my Creative Writing class. Sure, it’s a little spooky that we’re the first round of guinea pigs after the college got rid of the old program fifteen years ago. Sure, sharing work with other people that early in the morning is a little bit stressful. Sure, the fact that such a large portion of my degree hangs on my ability to hunker down and not be a fail-bomb makes me want to fall asleep crying under my bed some nights.
Let’s stop right there.
I think it will be a really great time. We only meet once every two weeks, so it’s hard to gauge this early in the game. I will say, though, that something the tutor/teacher/class leader said to me in our first round of workshopping really inspired me. She volunteered me to read my piece out loud first and, naturally, I almost puked. Still, I muscled through it. When I was finished, she told me that it was a strong bit of writing, but that I had ruined it when I read it myself.
Ouch. But it was good that she did that because the residual anger at what I deemed a pretty useless comment met up with some Bulmer’s at our joint Speakeasy-Open Mic event last week and I read something of my own for the first time in four years. And I didn’t burst into flames on stage, so that was great.
In order to check just how flame-resistant I am, I’m starting a new blog project. Every now and again, I’ll make a video of me reading something. Might be my own, might be something a little more polished. I figure that it’ll help me to not be so freaked out by the sound of my own voice. Adventures in self-exploration and growth probably aren’t meant to be this reactionary, but I’m not at that high point in my development yet where I better myself to better myself.
Now, get your popcorn and eye-rolls ready for the first installment of Liz Gets Literary*. We’ll start this mess off with the song I performed at the Speakeasy. I say “performed” because we all know the truth about my singing. It’s worth it if you imagine this with done somebody talented singing it and a few kickass fiddles doing their thing.
*Edit: I recorded a new video because the electronic whining noise in the background was maddening.
Follower Love-Fest #24: Elisha Robinson
Elisha’s mom, contrary to popular belief, is not the infamous Mrs. Robinson. That minor detail does not dissuade this fair blogger from allowing people to serenade her, so long as they buy her a few drinks before and after. During, too. Her lovely locks turn into garden snakes every Tuesday night, when she stays in to watch M*A*S*H and feed strawberries to her hair. She doesn’t believe in dry shampoo.
*Somebody please think of something better.