My friend Nancye lives in Tacoma and she generously is putting me and several other people from my graduate program up at her house and her daughter’s house, which are on the same plot of land. It’s beautiful here, indoors and out, and I’m so happy to have a place to just relax after all the craziness of residency.
I will be home late tomorrow night. I guess my own house is a disaster of demolition and re-roofing and remodeling and framing-in.
This was my fourth and last residency at the Rainier Writing Workshop. And it was the first time here that I was missing my family and anxious to get home, actually; every other year, I’ve just enjoyed hanging out with my writer friends so much. But still, I’m sad, thinking that I don’t get to go to Hogwarts/Writing Camp anymore. Graduation is like being shown the door, in many ways.
I am super tired.
I have 20,000 words left on book #2 to finish and deliver by September 1. That is a new thing for me, a hard deadline. I hope I can get all my facetime in with Matilda and Adrian and re-route myself from travel to stasis rather quickly in order to get book #2 done. In a lot of ways, I kind of like that I don’t have a choice.
My fellow graduates? Are writing some amazing things, yall. Really. I was blown away by their skill. And the variety! We all created such different manuscripts. It just pleases me so much, having made these friends.
I think the point of an MFA program is making good friends.
I bought Matilda a toy and some other little things. I like coming home from places and busting stuff out of my suitcase for her. I couldn’t find anything for Adrian this time. Last time I bought him a t-shirt of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. A book I hate and a book he’ll never read. Though he wears the t-shirt regularly.
I haven’t run since I did the half-marathon. I didn’t even take the stairs if I could help it.
There was some Genre Snobbery this time around at residency and at first I felt both smug and offended but now I’m like, oh who fucking cares, already; where me and my newly-pressed MFA degree are going, that shit will not matter. Because, in my office, where I make things up about Fake People, nobody gives a shit about genre.