So I had my second workshop with Lopate today. It was impromptu--no one had read the piece ahead of time; I read it aloud.
And got cut down to size. Lopate nailed all the problems I didn't even know the piece had. Damn. He's good. Brutal. But my ego's wounded. I know what I have to do, but I need to wallow in self pity for a little while first.
It's a perfect moment for feeling sorry for myself because I washed all my clothes this afternoon and then realized I have nothing to wear but my party dress. So, I'm sitting around naked, trapped in the flat, crying when Kiki sends me a text message: ("Marin, yr an excellent writer. U w-shopped a brand new piece. It wasn't ready. U didn't live with it long enuf. It isn't bad. Stop beating yrself up"), and finally, listening to Madonna, as I'm wont to do when I need to shake myself out of a funk.
I found a spot in my room where I can steal someone's wifi.
Good idea or bad: a boilermaker of Gambrinus with a shot of Absinthe? You decide. I imbibe. Or not.
Oh, and I'm reading Ivan Klima's Love and Garbage. It's not resonating with me. Anybody read it? He's giving a reading and a lecture as part of the program.
Today I tutored a Czech high school student--yet another unpaid job that landed in my life. But she's adorable, young, precocious, delightful. And she worships me. So we had a working lunch after my workshop. It was a good distraction for a little while.
I need to get out of town. Today I hate Prague. I hate writing. I hate the sun.
Tomorrow I'm going swimming. I feel so disconnected to the myriad parts of myself that make me feel like myself. Being focused and committed to writing is really scary when it's not going so well. I'm much more comfortable in a world in which I spread myself across lots of different activities. Here I'm just writing and walking and eating and drinking. I miss running and dancing and watching movies and mowing the lawn and wearing my beautiful shoes. It's tough to feel fabulous when you're wearing nothing but sensible shoes. And sweating all the time. And being told your writing is self-congratulatory and it needs work when you're used to applause for something you haven't worked that hard on. Damn it. I'm spoiled.
I've been dreaming about everything and everyone. Pointe shoes, broken teeth, embarking on unknown voyages.
I guess I'm still struggling to define and redefine myself in constantly changing circumstances and contexts. And asking myself, "What good am I?" It's hard to remember when you're separated from the things and people and routines and sensations and language that make you feel at home.
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5 comments:
Yes, yes. Thank you, Da. That's exactly what I needed to hear. That, and four beers with lunch have certainly helped. . . .
Real absinthe? Don't do it. The last time I had real absinthe, I don't recall what happened next.
Hugs and laughter and playfulness to you, kid. You sound like you need it.
Whilst it may hurt the ego a bit ("What do you mean this thing that I worked on for so long that I birthed is ugly and retarded?"), it was probably good for you in the long run.
I agree with Da -- rough landings are sometimes the most educational thing.
Besides, a good ass kicking is good for the soul. But I like pain.
I agree with everyone else. It hurts to have someone tell you something you worked on isn't up to snuf. But the whole point for being there is to grow and be better, and you don't get better if you hear the same perspective over and over again.
That still doesn't stop me from wanting to give you a big hug. :) It's a challenge, sure, but I have all the confidence in the world that you will learn, grow, and be a better writer for it. I'm really proud for not only doing this, but thankful that you're sharing your experiences with us. :)
Thanks all y'all for the hugs and lovin' from afar. I am learning all kinds of things from this experience. . . . and yes, that is indeed what it's all about.
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