One down, nine to go

My first MFA application is a lot warmer than I am. It's sitting somewhere (geez, I hope, anyway, for the $21 I paid to Fedex it) at the University of Arizona's Creative Writing Department. The version of my writing sample I sent them is so-so, but my personal statement was God-awful. I have no idea what to expect.

Today was a happy day at Creative Nonfiction. One of our journal issues was recently published as a book. Before the printing we added an additional essay from a pediatrician turned doctor. We had class together when I was an undergrad, and now she's getting her MFA and we have workshop together. She came by the office to pick up her copy and she was simply thrilled to see her name in the table of contents and essay printed in the book. She's a fun person-- she writes notes to me in class like "Go to New York" whenever I mention my MFA plans. She also tells me not to get an MFA, as she did again today in the office.

"I just don't think it's a good idea for you," she says. "You already have talent and such a strong voice, you're not going to learn that getting an MFA. Work for a publishing company. Go to New York. Keep editing."

All very kind words, however, this was after she saw her essay in print and probably would have told me she'd marry me or hand over her kids to me had I asked. Then she drove me to Work II in a snazzy Mercedes and we talked more about to MFA or not MFA. She accepted my decision when I told her I want to practice my writing and study the writing of others so I can be a better editor in the publishing world. But she also suggested that I get my Masters in Psychology if I get into that program. With that I agree.

Oh, here's the book in which she is a contributing writer: Rage And Reconciliation: Inspiring a Health Care Revolution.

In other book news, I read Kathryn Harrison's The Kiss yesterday. It's a memoir about the author and the sexual relationship between her and her father. Despite the subject (or perhaps because of the subject) it's an excellent read. Great writing. Every word matters. I finished it quickly, at first I thought it was because it was such a page-turner, but then I realized I skimmed most of it for the sex scenes. (There really aren't any, certainly not any explicit ones.) Ah, I am so age 14.

Personal updates: The Bills make my heart sad, the Steelers annoy me, and it's so, so cold. Last weekend I met up with a friend of a friend who lived in NYC but recently moved back to the 'burgh. He was very friendly and good-looking. Rare in these parts.

Amanda, I hope this gave you something to read. Sorry for not updating.

I'm off to explain to the University of Minnesota how I will contribute to their diversity. Rrrriiiiiiight.