Today was the day that I was supposed to take a break from my labors and work on a humorous essay that I could sell/publish/give to a journal. Or any publication, really.

I was looking forward to this task, because I like writing funny, because I needed a break from revising some decidedly unfunny parts of my novel, and because August is trickling away to nothing and if I don’t write now, I’ll be up to here in class prep work and nothing will get done.

So I sat down, hellbent on being funny. And you know what happened? I pulled a Fozzie Bear.

Nothing I write today is funny. Oh sure, I managed a funnyish status on Facebook and a moderately amusing tweet this afternoon, but really? Everything else is so much wocka, wocka.

This is not a problem I often have. Normally, I can find the funny in my writing, but I think the trouble today is that I’m trying to be funny. Writing humor is like writing love or writing scary. It only works (for me) when I sneak up on it.  I do best at writing humor when I’m concentrating on some other aspect of the piece.

Photo courtesy of Roger H. Goun, licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License on Flickr.

It’s like hunting. Actually, no. My  only knowledge of hunting comes from watching Elmer Fudd in Warner Bros. cartoons, so let me relate it to something I’ve actually done.

Writing humor is like being a jilted education reporter on deadline. You see the school board member who hasn’t been calling you back at a press conference for something else at City Hall. You know she sees you. You need her quote, but you can’t head straight for her or she’ll bolt. So you pretend you don’t even see her, and you sidle up to the Superintendent of Schools and the Teacher of the Year because they’re standing between her and the door, and hell, you could use a quote from them as well, why not? And then, just when she thinks you haven’t even seen her and she can make a quiet escape back to her Suburban in the parking lot, you step right out in front of her and BAM! That slippery vixen is trapped. What’s she gonna do? Vault over the Teacher of the Year and make a break for it? I think not. “So sorry your phone doesn’t seem to be working, ma’am. Lucky we happened to both be here at this fine event. I might have never gotten your comment.”*

And that’s how I think humor ought to be written.

 

*This specific situation is fictional, but the tactics are real.

I should probably admit this up front: I’m a world-class ignorer of appeals. I hate them. Just ask my diocese or my undergrad alumni association. Ask my National Public Radio affiliate.

So what I’m doing here, I know, is hypocritical. I’m posting an appeal. But it’s not for me. It’s for an author who needs some help right now.

Let me present Porochista Khakpour. She is a novelist, and a former instructor at my MFA program.*
Porochista has been ill for quite some time. I don’t know all the details, but she’s recently been diagnosed with late-stage Lyme Disease.  As you well know, writers don’t generally have health insurance (unless they’ve got another job that provides it) and except for the most successful of us (King, Patterson and Rowling, I’m looking at you),  writers also don’t make a lot of money, even when their work is recognized and well-received and even when they sell a lot of books.

Porochista needs help paying her medical bills, and as a fellow writer I feel the need to pass her appeal along to other people in the writing community.

You can read more, in her own words,  here. You can also donate at that site, if you’re so moved.**
That’s it really. I’ll be posting more about writing and revision soon. I just wanted to get this out there quickly.  I’d want someone to do the same for me.

*Full disclosure: I never studied with Porochista. We’re almost the exact same age and as a staunch ageist, I might have had a hard time studying under someone born in the same year. Call me weird, but I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any of the nuggets of wisdom she dropped on  me because  my mind would keep wandering to the shared experiences we might have had – an interest in grunge in sophomore year of high school, maybe, or a love of Clarissa Explains It All, or memories of that Romeo + Juliet movie that Claire Danes was in during the first year of college, or perhaps a shared dorkiness in middle school that happened at the exact same time. I get obsessed with these timeline things. It would have all been too much for me.

** I should also mention that I’m not just making an appeal here. I did put my money where my mouth is. I have more mouth than money, but I did donate. I don’t ask people to do things I wouldn’t do myself, because I adhere to the Aragorn School of Management. But that’s a whole other nerdy ball of wax.

Just a quick post to say that the event in Stamford last night went swimmingly.

I got to hear some poets whose work was new to me and I read from Beware the Hawk, which is always nerve-wracking yet fun. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. I’m pretty much always terrified whenever I get up to read, but by the time I leave the podium, I’m fine. I think it’s probably the same for everyone who reads. In fact, I think all authors who read from their work should wear a tee shirt that says “I’m  terrified” on the front. (Although on the back maybe it could say it “Now I’m fine,” or maybe the front of the tee shirt could change, like a mood ring or something, mid-reading. Unfortunately this is not technology that has been made available to me by Zazzle.)

Some old friends (including a former student and someone who reads this blog!) came out, and I met some new friends in the Stamford poetry community. I’ve been told that I simply must go to Curley’s Diner in Stamford for the poetry. Which is news to me. Previously, I went there for the fries. So that might be a cool field trip for me to make.

There are some photos of the event, if you’re interested, on my Facebook Author Page. Please, go over there and “like” me, even if you don’t actually like me.

Also, please vote to name the protagonist in Beware the Hawk. Voting will be over on Sunday, but I could be persuaded to keep the polls open for longer.

Oh and a correction. Remember how I said a few days ago that the Stamford Barnes & Noble used to be on a much-debated hole in the ground  downtown? I was mistaken. The hole in the ground is still there. it’s across the street from the B&N. I guess Stamford politicians are still talking about that hole in the ground.

 

Hey kid, got a case of the Mondays?

Let me see if I can help with that. Come down to Stamford, CT tonight. Why? I will be reading from Beware the Hawk at Barnes & Noble at the Stamford Town Center as part of the store’s monthly poetry night. The event begins at 8 p.m.

There will be other folks reading as well. Hey… there’s an idea. You could sign up to read too.

So come read with me tonight at 8 p.m. in Stamford. Together, we will read your Monday blues away.

Photo courtesy of Jspatchwork on Flickr.
Actually, I can’t believe how many pictures there are of mac and cheese on Flickr. People love it so much that they’re taking photos of it. Gross.

I cannot say it loud enough: I hate mac and cheese.

Hate it. Detest it. Loathe it in the way some people shy away from rats or snakes or spiders. I don’t like spiders either but give me a choice between a house spider and a bowl of Kraft and I’ll take the spider every time.

I realize this places me in a very small subset of humanity. Most people not only like mac and cheese, they adore it. That’s weird to me. How can you like ingesting a bowl of slimy, orange-yellow noodles covered in fake-cheese?

As a child, I honestly thought that it was only my brother who loved mac and cheese, because he was my brother and therefore a weirdo. Anyhow, as my  brother, I expected that he’d love all the things I hated, just to be difficult.

But then I went away to college.

Lo and behold, everyone there was stocking up on mac and cheese , eating it on rainy days and singing its damn praises. I’d done a pretty good job of avoiding mac and cheese  up until that point, but it was  everywhere in my dorm. In my room. In the hall garbage can. Dishes caked with the orange residue of mac and cheese clogged the bathroom sinks. Microwaves smelled of it. It was like being in a Kraft horror movie. All of a sudden I realized that my brother was not the weird one. I was the freak show. It became clear that I was The Only Mac & Cheese Hater in The World.

Oh come off it, you might be saying. So you didn’t like a food and a lot of other people like it. Get over yourself.

Am I being a big baby about this one particular food? Oh yes. Completely. I choose to be stoic about other things I don’t like: violence, chicken soup, traffic, fires. But the smell of macaroni and cheese? It makes my gorge rise.

My hatred of mac and cheese was so bad when I was a kid that my mother, an Irish-Italian matriarch of the Clean Your Plate vintage, wouldn’t make me eat it if she was serving it for dinner.

This isn’t to say that the poor woman didn’t try to overcome my mac and cheese aversions. At first she took my dislike as a challenge. She and my dad figured okay, I hated Kraft Mac and Cheese, let’s make this kid some real macaroni and cheese from scratch before she develops a phobia. (If you’ve read this far, you know that approach didn’t work.)

They made scores of recipes. Some had meat in them. Some had vegetables. All of them had cheeses I liked in different dishes. Some were baked. Some not.  I remember thinking that one dish in particular was tolerable, so my mother made it again, but the second time I had a very hard time choking it down.

My father tried to reason with me, based on my love of Italian food. “Ann,” he said, “you like lazy lasagna.* Lazy lasagna has both macaroni and cheese in it.”

I chose not to hear this, but even so, it made me suspicious of any noodle not covered in tomato sauce.

In the end, my parents gave up, and I was allowed not to eat mac and cheese at dinner, which was a great relief.
I guessed that as I grew up  and moved out into the world, I’d meet other mac and cheese haters and we’d form our own little mac and cheese haters’ club, but that was not the case. Because apparently the rest of humanity loves it some Kraft.

By the time I was out of school, I was afraid that I’d be turning down mac and cheese for the rest of my life, trying to suppress the awful faces my inner child wants to make at the site of the dish, when I was served a big piece of luck: when I was 25, I was diagnosed as being intolerant to both gluten and lactose. Hallelujah! I sure missed eating pizza, but it was worth it, because now no one would expect me to eat mac and cheese.

But recently, gluten-free technology caught up with me.

Right now, there are a bunch of mac and cheese restaurants out there. Some entrepreneurial hipsters thought that would be a great recession idea, I guess – comfort food during a time of need. A mac and cheese bar would be like the seventh ring of gastronomical hell to me, but fine, I’m allergic to everything in those places, so no worries.

But no. Because the considerate proprietors of these restaurants have created gluten free menus. And even worse? Kraft has also changed its ways. The awful orange cheese sauce? It’s gluten free. And people are cooking it over brown rice pasta.

Terrifying.

In conclusion, I will not come to your birthday party if you have it at one of these restaurants. Please don’t be mad at me; it’s really better if I’m not there. And if you show up at my house with a packet of GF Kraft sauce, I won’t be there. I will be hiding under a rock with a bunch of spiders.

*Lazy lasagna is a casserole made with tomato sauce, a lot of cheeses and ziti. It is nothing like mac and cheese.

Is it August already? Lord. I thought the summer had just started. I’d better get working on this Irish tan. The summer’s practically over and I’m not nearly red enough.

Anyhow, it’s time (past time, actually) for the update on my resolutions for 2012. Not interested? Who could blame you? Click below for this month’s distraction. (Last month it was Beauty and the Beat. This month, the same folks put together a very different but equally cool video, Cinderfella.  And bonus: It’s got Glozell and Shangela.)

Anyhow, I’ve been MIA due to vacations, weddings, funerals and then a lot of work. But I did manage to make some progress on my goals in July. Part of this is due to an agreement I made with another writer – we’ve sent one another contracts with our goals and weekly, we send updates, telling one another what progress we have (or haven’t) made. The accountability has been very helpful to me.

Here’s my progress.

Finish the second draft of my novel by April (September.)  I’m pushing this back again, but I don’t feel too bad about it, because I’ve been making  progress on it, revising a chapter every week. It won’t happen before September because there are more than four chapters in my novel, but it might happen in the forseeable future.

Get it sent to agents before summer. This is looking like it actually might happen at some point.

Send out at least three short stories. Let’s pretend that I never put this down as a goal, ‘kay? Just for this month?

Read one two novels a month in 2012. It’s either feast or famine when it comes to me and reading. It took me months to finish Swamplandia! by Karen Russell, but I did it. Then, encouraged by finishing a novel, I threw myself into my bookshelf with abandon. Since the beginning of the month, I’ve read The Bad Girl by Mario Vargas Llosa, all three Hunger Games novels (pro tip: Avoid that last book unless you enjoy being in Bella Swan’s head in the Twilight books), Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins and now I’m in the middle of True Story of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey. And after I finish with all that Booker Prize goodness, I’m going to need some more genre junk food, so I’m planning to finally read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Of course, I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. For all I know, my reading bender might be coming to an end any day now.

Make at least $20 off a piece of fiction. Done in March. I got my first royalties this month. I am by no means independently wealthy, but I did make more than $20.

Other goals: I also set to work on two of my big conflicts this year: My feelings about my faith and my issues with anxiety.

I did nothing with either one of those. Because it’s summer and I don’t feel like being anxious or thinking too hard about existential questions.

That’s it. If you need me, I’ll be doing my damndest to do all my work on the beach.  Pass the red pen and the sunblock, please.

Hello everybody!

This is a reminder that I am going to be appearing at a bookstore near you. Well, if you live in Stamford, Connecticut, that is. And I sincerely hope you do, because next Monday, at 8 p.m., I will be the featured reader at poetry night at the Barnes & Noble in the Stamford Town Center.* I will be reading from Beware the Hawk. 
This is a big deal for me, because I used to report the news in Stamford and I was there all the time. I covered the schools there. I spent a lot of time in municipal meetings. I remember when that Barnes & Noble was a hole in the ground. Literally. It (and most of the  recent downtown development) was a hole, and there was a lot of argument in city meetings about it. That Barnes & Noble and I go way back.

Anyhow, I’m really looking forward to being in Stamford next week. I will have a bunch of books for sale as well. I’m also working on some other appearances in Connecticut and one in Massachusetts as well. I will keep you all posted on those.
Hope to see you next week.

I’d also like to encourage you all to keep voting on the name of the protagonist in Beware the Hawk. Voting is open until August 19, so vote as often as you’d like.

I have to apologize for being MIA lately, but I’ve been running crazy this month. I will be back soon with more announcements and posts.

* Much thanks to poet and fellow MFAer Nicholas Miele, who helped me set this up.