Today – I'm reconsidering applying for grad school.
Tuesday – I’m about to give a reading at Action Adventure Theatre as part of the Fertile Ground festival. I was a last minute addition to the program, but I got a warm introduction from my friends who talk me up despite not being published in a few years. The room is small, but full. All the nervousness I felt all day stops as I stand up to take the stage. I remember that I’m not just a writer, I’m a performer, I’ve been standing up in front of people and telling stories for years. I can’t imagine doing anything else.
Sunday – I just finished my first yoga class in over a year. Yoga is the closest I get spirituality because you can make the practice individual, it doesn’t require anything belief in anything outside of yourself. It can just be turning your attention to your body, calming your mind, and accepting your limits. I might have pushed myself past my limits in an attempt to impress the teacher. Everyone else has gone, the teacher is talking to me about dharma, which is a very complicated word, but can mean the right path for person.
Friday – I’m having lunch with my adviser for the IPRC certificate program. He’s looking over a second draft of a short story I wrote. He asks me to explain my revision process and as I do I realize how much thought actually goes into writing something and it just feels like instincts. He asks me if I’ve considered applying for an MFA program. I tell him I actually got rejected from one last year and I kinda stopped thinking about it. I ask him how he feels about having gotten an MFA and he says, “I can’t imagine doing anything else."