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Pneumonia.

3/12/2017

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Tobias, my trusty hound, ready to spend a sick night with me. (And yes, he is named after an Animorph)
So let's talk about where I've been for the last two months.

Here's a tip: If your mom is sick, don't go to her birthday party. I know, she'll be mad, but guess what, you won't lose out on two months of your life.

I did that thing. And halfway through Disney, I felt like I may die.

A week later, I was bedridden with a fever and chills.

Four days later, I had bronchitis.

Six days later, I had pneumonia.

Now it is mid-March, and I finally had a day where I could be out of bed. Yesterday was the first day I could really edit something. Today, I actually hit my deadlines.

I am not one to stop working because I'm sick, which turns out, makes you sicker. My first pro-rate story launched on Mothership Zeta, and I couldn't even promote it because as soon as I started writing the blog entry, I started coughing up a lung. I tried to hit page 50 on my WIP, and no luck there either. Everything was a failure. Weeks went by with my critique group asking me if I'd hit my goals, and me weeping, "Nooooo, why do I suuuuck?"

"Well," someone finally said, "because you were sick with a thing that literally kills people."

But people work through worse things than pneumonia. And I am never one to let myself be lazy.

But tonight? I made my deadline. That's what is important. I wrote today. I will write tomorrow. And I got better.

I'm not exactly sure what I learned from this experience except that steroids do give you headaches (Dr. Liar) and sometimes there are circumstances you can't just grit your teeth through. I am grateful I can go outside again. I am grateful it cleared up. I am grateful I can string words together somewhat coherently again. I am grateful I hit that deadline.

Now onwards and upwards, Tobias! We fly!
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Disney and Courage.

1/27/2017

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To my left is a picture of my writing room for the last week.

That's right. I took my work to Disney World and converted my fancy room at Alligator Bayou number 37 Port Orleans Riverside into a writing studio.

I would do something scary, like submit something, and then I would run away and take a boat to Disney Springs or a bus to Epcot. I structured it this way because I knew that it would be a lot more fun and productive to do all the scary stuff from Disney.

It is an exciting time in my writing life. I was just named one of the CSArtists for 2017 at the Omaha Creative Institute, for one. I'm actively submitting stories. My writing group is the best writing group I could ask for. My writer friends and I are planning a writers' retreat for April. And did I mention my writing studio was a Disney World room for five days?

Things are looking up for ol' Jen.

But with great opportunity comes great responsibility. In the last year and a half, I've learned how to conduct myself via email. I've learned how to brag without being braggadocios. I've learned how to walk through the fire and write from the heart all those things that are scary to write.

But I'm finding that as this week rolls on, even Disney can't give us all the courage we may need in the coming years.

But I also know that I'm capable of holding my own and standing up to keep walking. I am capable of advocating for myself and for my dreams. And there is no better motivation to get things done than deserving another Disney vacation.

That's what this all is for, really. Disney vacations.

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We're Gonna be All Right.

12/30/2016

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Copyright 2016 by Columbia Pictures
Well. This has been a year.

Did you know someone made 2016 into a horror movie trailer, and it made sense?

"Do you know who died??"

This damn year.

But now that we're sitting at December 30, and Tom Hanks still hasn't been taken by the '16 Reaper, we have a choice. We can either step forward into the next chapter with fear, or we can step forward with conviction and hope. And really, do you think Carrie Fisher would want us to be afraid and only afraid and not do anything else?

So through the fear, here are my goals. Some of them may be stupid. Some of them will look small and trite. But here we are.

. I'm going to find an agent.
. I'm going to make 100 submissions.
. I'm going to continue to not to hold my tongue when someone says something bigoted in a conversation.
. I'm going to continue to learn how to be a better ally. And I'm going to educate myself.
. I will not hide who I am.
. I will watch Galavant again. Because it's a damn good show.
. I will recycle.
. I will teach my dog how to sit still for his brushing, because all of my clothes look like a Yeti tried to eat me.
. I'm going to find a way to save more money and send it to places who need it. We did a couple of donations this year, but it wasn't enough.
. I will keep up with friends, even the ones not on social media.
. I will lose weight. But I will lose weight to feel better. I won't lose weight so I can put a number to my worth.
. I will learn how to listen.
. I will apply for grants and residencies.
. I will try to be a good force in the world. And I will teach children they are empowered. And I will signal boost other good forces.
. I will be as badass as Kate McKinnon.

I really hope you are safe in the New Year. I hope you find even a sliver of happiness. I hope you know you're not alone.

No one is alone.
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The world hurts. Do good.

7/23/2016

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So what the hell is going on with 2016?

In the last week, I've lost a friend to violence. We lost a favorite rescue dog to sickness. The world has lost its damn mind at the RNC. People have been taken in numerous cities. And I don't know if it's ever going to let up.

Every day, I try to get on Facebook and find good things happening in the world, and instead I find things that are screwed up. A Latino Stanford-bound student from Chicago getting a lesson about reverse discrimination from his dentist. A woman in Indiana getting racial slurs written all over her trucks. A friend supporting and defending a presidential candidate who genuinely terrifies me. And honestly, those are just a couple of the things I've seen in the past 48 hours.

I have this idea that if we put out good in the world, we'll have more good. And I just wonder why we can't just put more good out there. I said to a friend at residency, "I like to think people just do evil out of ignorance."

And she, being a veteran, said, "That's a nice way of thinking about it, but no."

So is there really evil out there? Are there people who want this world?

In the meantime, I'm going to ask you to do something good.

There's a Walk for a Dog app for your phone. If you download it and turn it on when you walk, and if you put your settings to benefit Basset and Beagle Rescue of the Heartland, then you can raise money for rescued dogs. It's the place where we got Toby. It's also where our friend Reuben was living before he died this week.

You don't have to pay money. You don't have to do anything more than what you already do. But just by walking and exercising yourself, you can help them raise money and they can help more dogs.

Here is their website:

www.bassetandbeagle.org

Here is more information on Reuben:


Reuben's Facebook page

Do good.
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Our puppy, Toby.
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Dear Stonecoast, a Goodbye Letter

7/22/2016

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Dear Stonecoast,
Thank you.
You might not know this, but I first heard of you in Kansas City. My boyfriend, Alex, he said, "You know, you don't have to be unhappy. We can figure something out."
I said, "No, we tried MFA programs. None of them fit. This is my lot in life."
He said, "Stop being dramatic. Here, listen to this podcast. This is Mur Lafferty. She won the Campbell Award. She went to a place called Stonecoast."
He said, "There's a big house on the peninsula and you'd love it there. So I'll pay your application fee. You write your stories. You blow them away."
So I did. And a month later, Nancy Holder called me. And you know Nancy, she's the kindest, nicest most accomplished person of all time. So she told me to come, and how the hell do you say no to Nancy Holder?
I still remember in great detail the first time I saw Stone House. I'd spent so much time on oil-stained streets and broken buildings and being sick and waiting for biopsies and taking the same route to work every day in a run-down car and when I complained, my father just said, "This is what adulthood is."
Because in the Midwest, we learn to be miserable. We all are permitted to dream until the age of twenty-three (sometimes we don't even get that long), and then we learn dreaming was just an exercise to make sure we would know that inside of ourselves we hold multitudes, but we are the children of cornfields and hobbits don't go on adventures.
Stone House was my Gandalf.
I spoke to people for the first time in years. David Anthony Durham read my first chapter and he took me under his wing. I had worth. I could still sing, although I hadn't sang since high school.
My second semester, I broke down in tears. It was stupid, I'm sorry I did that. But the snow was falling, and everyone had been so nice. I was learning people didn't have to be sad all the time, people weren't mean, people could in fact be quite enjoyable to be around.
A few of you sat down with me at Johnny Rocket's one night in the freezing winter cold and we ate burgers and that was the first time I had gotten to do that in so long.
So I cried and I shouldn't have.
Then you, Stonecoast, sent me off to Ireland.
My whole life, I had dreamed of going overseas, and there I was with a new foreign land under the plane's wingtips and I rushed out into the new world ... sleepily and delusionally, albeit, but still.
And a month before my wedding, I saw Ted and Annie deeply in love. They took me to a pub and I told them about all of my hobbit stories. They called me brave and smart, and I started to believe them.
Winter came and Jim took me on as his mentee. I had a good workshop after all this time. I went to conferences, I met new writers, I traveled all over the country and presented.
I grew up.
And this last month? I landed in Maine one more time to say goodbye to you.
You are made of beautiful women and men who want to believe in the best of people.
You are made of songs and ukeleles and guitars and flutes and bad bar jokes.
You are early breakfasts at Comfort Inn and long van rides with a tour guide that says, "There's the biggest globe in the world."
You are good friends in a rental car driving on a rickety bridge at low tide.
You are Rockin' Robin and Whoopie Pies and lobster rolls and naan sprinkled with spices.
You are hot dorm rooms and warm study halls where we congregate to talk craft and Ghostbusters.
You are friends who stay up late, who hug you, who rally when your first partner dies unexpectedly with four bullets in his back.
You are graduate presentations with corpses, psycho detectives, Luke Skywalker, and brave Black women.
You are acceptance. You are courage. You are way too freaking expensive for community theatre Evita tickets.
You are friends who calm you down at 3 in the morning, who walk back with you three blocks when you forget your purse, who offer to buy you gelato when you run out of money.
You are my graduation cap that read, "I wrote my way out," because I did. Through my hurricane, and here is the eye before it really begins.
You are Hermione hair, you are bobby pins on the floor, you are Kelly's books saying goodbye, you are gross. So gross. Stay gross.
But mostly.
You are Alex.
You are me and him sitting in a car driving through the pitch black darkness of southern Maine forest.
You are a perfect song on our radio.
You are the two years where we've sacrificed, where we've tried to hold onto each other.
You are the cocoon of the dark sky and the tree's shadows that keep us shielded from the realities of our situation. We're poor. We have a new house that's still bloated with unpacked boxes. We have a puppy who doesn't like it when we leave a room and does like it when he pees all over our clothes.
We don't know if we're happy. We don't know each other underneath the writing deadlines and the teaching artist contracts and the twelve-plus hours a day at work for both of us.
We were married ten months ago, and we hit the ground running. I wonder if we even held hands while we ran.
But here, in the dark, we hear, "we're gonna get it together," and my degree is sitting in the backseat. MFA in Creative Writing. In my slip-on flats, I still feel sand. I graduated with Land's End in between my toes.
It's why I was late for graduation, rushing in with my gown and hood every which way like a tornado hit me.
I was out in the ocean, holding my husband, thinking about the magic of the Atlantic Ocean.
Anything is possible.
"I love you," I say.
"I love you," he says.
"Let's do this," I say.
So Stonecoast, you taught me how to write. You gave me great tools. But mostly, you showed me I could be happy. You brought good people into my life. And we need good people when so many bad people rule the world.
Thank you for teaching me how to be a person. Thank you for blessing me with your friendship and your compassion and your patience.
I won't let you down.
Don't let yourself down.
Be happy.

I love you all,
Hermione

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I'm Leaving to Graduate 

7/6/2016

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I'm getting ready to leave. I'm going to Maine one more time. I'm going to graduate in a week and a half.

This week is the anniversary of my friend's death. It is also the two-year anniversary of me starting the program at Stonecoast. It's been two years since I started this blog for real. It's been two years since I looked around and said, "I'm going to make this life look the way I want it."

I've been putting off thinking about Stonecoast and graduation since April. I went to a bunch of conferences this past semester, and I had convinced myself that everything was going to be great after graduation. I busied myself with the new house and the new puppy and the new Avengers movie. I'd convinced myself I was ready.

I'm not ready.

I don't know if any writer is ever done learning.

But I know I've learned this much:

- It's possible to see something you want and to go after it, and furthermore, to actually obtain it.
- Workshops can take place outside under a big tree with a fancy dude who writes fancy things and you can watch the ocean while you explain your critique notes to your workshop mate.
- Pork and beef definitely make me super sick.
- Even when you've been plugging away at something for years, it's still going to suck in workshop.
- You should go to seminars that have nothing to do with popular fiction. One of the best seminars I went to was on Wendell Berry and Medicine and Poetry.
- Just because you don't get what you want doesn't mean you don't get what you absolutely need.
- Gelato is best with nice people.
- There are people who will understand your craziness. And you will understand theirs.
- There are people who are better than you, who are worse than you, and the answers as to who those people are will change depending on who you ask. It's all subjective. It's not about competition.
- It's okay to suck your first semester.
- It's okay to break down crying.
- It's okay to be cold all the time, because Maine is cold all the time.
- A Hawaiian and a Texan building a snowman for the first time is right next to puppies tumbling down grassy hills on the Adorably Pure Happiness Scale.
- Stone House was important, even though we try to forget it was.
- But Stone House wasn't handicapped-accessible.
- Don't give up on a project if it's important to you, even if it sucks and no one else believes in it.
- Read. Read. READ. REAAAAD.
- Be prepared for your residencies ahead of time.
- Book that plane ticket overseas early.
- Do not underestimate the brilliance of Stonecoast in Ireland. It is the best damn thing you'll ever do.
- Say "thank you" to Ted and Annie every chance you get.
- Look out the window as much as you can while overseas, especially on airplanes.
- Don't just go for the residency when going to Ireland. Go for the world. Plan and save for a month or longer excursion.
- Don't forget you can do internships and a bunch of other cool stuff that isn't on the syllabus.
- Find a space to write with a door.
- Don't allow anyone to tell you that what you're doing is stupid.
- Connect with other MFA candidates in other programs. Swap stories. Help each other out. No one else is going to get you the way they do.
- Save your money. That last residency is not paid for.
- Apply for scholarships, even though you'll want to just push delete on what you think is spam from the school. There's money in those hills.
- Don't waste one day. Unless you're sick or someone died or you're on your honeymoon. Then make up that wasted day the next day.
- Find your voice. It's harder than it sounds, but a lot easier than you think.
- Make a friend in the program that holds you accountable. Hold them accountable.
- Be honest with your mentor.
- Advocate.
- Act professional at conferences.
- Go to conferences.
- Invest in some cheap, good-looking slacks.
- Love yourself, even on the hard days.
- Bring a fan in the summer, there is no air-conditioning.
- Eat lobster.
- Start early on your thesis. Start earlier on your graduate presentation.
- Don't pack the day before.
- Don't freak out when you haven't packed the day before.
- Take a moment to look back two years ago. See yourself at twenty-six packing for the first residency. Look through all those moments you lived, all the places you went, all the people you met. Look at who you've become.
- You're not perfect by any means. But you're a lot more equipped. You're a lot closer to getting what you want.

Happy graduation, cohort.







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Day 366: The Year of Writing Challenge Has Finished

5/29/2016

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One year ago, I stepped away from my job and I started writing full-time.

I set the challenge for myself to write all year, make major progress with my work, and find a way to make it permanent.

I didn't know how I was going to do this journal entry today. I don't want to go into my successes and my failures, and I really don't want to spend the entire day reminiscing on this last year.

Because things have changed since last year.

I'm no longer given just one year to write. We've figured out a way to keep it going. I've met so many people this year, I've learned so much, and we all agree it's best to keep giving me a shot.

I've learned that I write diligently, but some days are harder than others. I've learned that if I read in the morning and write in the afternoon, I'll do much better work. And I've learned a lot of sillier lessons that I should have known before that I won't share here in fear someone fancy will see my ignorance.

There were definite failures. I didn't write a blog post every single day. By the end, I was so caught up in querying and writing and reading and researching that I didn't always get to my blog.

But there were also victories. I wrote six out of seven days a week. I finished my book and now am querying my book. I finished my thesis and mailed it in. I have a bunch of short stories sitting in my revision garage (I like to imagine my revision as a big car wash, with 90's music playing over the loudspeakers). I was accepted to Kimmel.

Today, I will finish reading my book. Then I will go plant a peony bush at Gramma's grave. Then I will come home and work on my new ghost story. And then I have a couple of grants to look into.

And then of course there's the next book.

Here's to the first year. Onto the second.

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Day 349: Thoughts on Leaving my Apartment. 

5/5/2016

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Two years ago, I dragged all of my stuff from an apartment on the other side of this complex. I literally put my mattress on my head and marched down the parking lot. I threw it up on the deck of a new unit, a one-bedroom. I looked at that little mattress poised on the dirty deck it should not be touching. I looked at the trees surrounding the little space.

I walked in. There was more room than I needed. I put my magnets on the fridge. I arranged my stuffed animals. I was free of my awful roommates. I was free of the mold that was all over my Chicago abodes. It was quiet.

But most of all, it was where Alex and I would first live together.

When we met in 2010, he lived an hour and a half with a crazy dude who threatened to throw him off the balcony a few times. I accidentally dirtied his new dishtowels once, and it ended with me huddled in Alex's bunk crying. Dishtowels.

Then Alex moved to law school in KC. That meant more roommates, more spaces full of mold and no heat. I started a job in Omaha and moved in with two people, one who was actually paying rent. The next three years was full of being told what to do, what not to touch, getting trapped in my room, and one time "accidentally" hit.

So now I dragged my mattress off the porch and threw it in the big bedroom. Eight weeks later, Alex would graduate and move in with me.

We put whatever the hell we wanted on the walls. We turned the dining room into a writing room. We made a shrine for my grandmother above the fireplace. We pinned up our tapestry from 2010 on the main wall, next to a signed poster of Comic Book Men. And then we went to Disney World for the first time.

Usually it's sad to come home from a trip, but that time, when we got back, we opened the door and I smiled. "This is our space," I thought.

We have lived here for two years. It was here where I screwed up my leg and ended up spending time in a chair, crutches, braces, PT, everything. It was here I had my welcome phone call with Nancy Holder and signed up for Stonecoast. It's here where I heard that my friend had died, and in a fit of tears, Alex and I built a fort in their memory in the living room.

It was here where I wrote my short stories and my book. I discovered Hamilton over at the dining table. I learned how to cook really good cheeseburgers in the kitchen with my mother.

It's also where I decided to quit my day job. This is the couch where I have written all of these blog entries (except for the ones I wrote from out of the country). This is where I bought my tickets for Europe.

We planned our wedding from all over this apartment, pacing back and forth. We put together our reception decorations on the floor in front of the new TV. It's where we returned after we got married. It's where I slammed the door and rushed off as soon as it got hard. And it's where we both returned when we realized we couldn't go rushing off anymore.

It's where we fell in love. Like really fell in love. Where he realized how cluttered I am, how messy I am. Where I discovered that if things weren't clean, he would get grumpy. It's where we argued over whether or not to spend that much for a shredder, and I finally caved. It's where we were cased by some burglars and we spent way more for a safe.

I rubbed his back when he got scared. He held me when I got sad. We held each other when things got uncertain.

And it's where I said, "Do you want to get a house?"

In three weeks, we will move from here. Our closing date is May 20th. In a month, this place will be a memory. Just another place I lived. I'll take pictures, just like all of the other places I've lived. The setting I've known as my constant will slip away to history. And hopefully, by getting a house, we will have someplace a little more permanent. A little more ours.

In the last ten years, I've lived at eight different addresses. He's lived at six. It's time to have walls that belong to us.

One more thought.

This is the last little thread I have to my old life. This is where I was a teacher. This is where I graded papers. This is where I got up at six in the morning to get to work by seven. I still have permission slips for field trips I've forgotten about.

I'll shed that skin when I step into the new home. My life will be a new chapter, of being married and being a writer.

Here's to new adventures.
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Day 329: Where Did April Go?

4/25/2016

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Last residency, Liz Hand gave a seminar on the Sublime. And that word has fit this month so perfectly.

Just because I haven't been keeping up with the blog does not mean I've not been doing anything. I've been writing every day, going to conferences, meeting new amazing people, and traveling as much as our pocketbook can allow us. Yesterday morning, we drove up into Rocky Mountain National Park and watched the sun rise through a blizzard. It was a sublime experience, for sure.

I'm also starting to see all this hard work pay off. I guess at the end of a project, you don't remember all the cookies you consumed, all the long walks you took, all the nights tossing and turning in bed. It's just like one day you wake up, and boom. There is a finished manuscript and you wonder how it got there.

Maybe it's like labor. We writers forget how painful it was so it won't be the only one we create.

This year was supposed to be an experiment. We were supposed to see if I could make it as a writer, if I was any good, and if we could survive on a diminished budget. I think the answer is yes. I think we're going to be okay.

And the thesis is mostly done! Here I come, Graduation!
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Day 312: Hill hiking, house hunting.

4/8/2016

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So since ICFA, three things have happened.

One: I started working more at a part-time job that I love.

Two: I started cranking out short stories like no one's business. I've got one that I really love. I printed it off and decided to try to revise it by hand. So far, it's making me slow down and really think about the way that I'm shaping my words.

Three: We went house hunting. We found a house. We're in the middle of closing on that house. It has consumed my life.

Most days have been me running from one gig to another for work, stealing revision time in deli shops during lunch breaks. Then after work, I drive into the country to hike or see the trees coming into green, and I try to find some sort of inspiration for another short story. Iowa can be a beautiful place once you give it a chance, like this hiking trail I found on the side of the Loess Hills. Look at how small Omaha looks from a cliff.

But then the house thing happened. We got a realtor. We got approved. We got a house that we're working on finalizing. And this past week has been a barrage of different nonsensical chores that need to get done. I come home tired and sweaty and just absolutely exasperated, and I have time to poke at a short story before going to bed.

I also have Pikes Peak Writers Conference coming up in less than a week. I'm looking forward to what adventures await out in Colorado, and I hope to see some of you there. It shall be a blast.

I have to say, I'm absolutely terrified of getting a house. I also have to say, I'm absolutely terrified I'm not working full time. And I am also incredibly, completely, and fully paralyzed with fear when I think about what I need to do for my writing. But we move along. We take leaps of faith that things are going to work out. We follow our hearts. So here we are, following our hearts to edges of Iowan cliffs and deep into the northern woods to find a home we'll love. Here I am, digging deep into my guts to find the stories. Let's hope we keep staying strong.
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