Transitions -This Title is Not for Your Algorithm

Sunrise behind the trees in East Machias, Maine.
East Machias Sunrise

Change is hard. They say. The great “THEY” say that it is even harder as you get older. When it comes to changing a physical location, you can say, I’m an expert at it. Only the physical move, though, everything else does seem to be getting harder.

In the past year my husband and I have moved from South Korea to Maine and then to Portland. It wasn’t that streamlined though. It went more like this: We moved from our place in Itaewon, Seoul in July of 2023, and spent two weeks driving around South Korea visiting places like Gyeongju, Namhae, and Incheon.

We had some confidence at this time. My husband had a job waiting for him in Maine, we had a savings, and I had my pension. The evidence of 7 years of teaching English in South Korea.

I am the reason we left South Korea. I had been ready to leave Korea since 2017. My first few months of teaching had been a bad experience with a bad company and a terrible school principle. The Korean staff was great, the other teachers were great, but the “boss” was terrible. A dishonest and manipulative person who treated her Korean staff far worse than the foreign staff. I heard she had finally been fired for embezzlement. It may have been a rumor how she was fired, but she was fired. However this was a few years after I had left. As a foreign teacher in South Korea you are housed which is part of the draw, but the type of housing you get has a lot to do with who employs you. My housing was abysmal, but I knew of people who had worse. I quit that job, breaking my contract within the first 90 days of my employment which was within my contract, but the “boss” requested I stay for at least 6 months claiming it was that difficult to find a replacement. I agreed, which I should not have done since later it stabbed me in the back. I wont go into the boring detail, but needless to say, I did not receive my final paycheck. Luckily, I did get the coveted Letter of Release allowing me to find work elsewhere. My next job and the job’s after were better, but I had a bitter taste in my mouth. Months before meeting Eun, I had already decided to leave Korea.

Seven Years Later

Things change. You meet people. You fall in love. You get married. You have a pandemic. Your parent gets sick. Your dog almost dies. Things happen.

Once things began to reach a base level once again, Eun and I decided to leave South Korea. Again, a lot of it was me. I never did pick up the language, and my chance of finding a job outside of teaching was low. I did manage to get a writing gig for about two months, but they stopped accepting contract writers. I was disappointed, but that is how it goes. I had hoped maybe to find another writing gig, but nothing so far has panned out. My idea was, “let’s go to Portland, OR. I have friends there.” Yet, Eun didn’t feel comfortable with that. He needed a job first. After all, that’s how normal people do it. Job first. Move second. I never worked that way. Move then figure it out. My way is more difficult and scarier.

He got the job in Maine. So we left Itaewon and did our road trip. Flew to Washington state on July 17. Spent two days in Seattle. Two weeks in Portland. Got a car loan. Bought a car using the loan and some of my pension money. We took a trip to California to see my dad. Then back up to Oregon to visit the gravesite of Sue and then we drove across the country passing through Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Minnesota, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, and finally Maine. We even stayed the night in some of those states.

For ten months we lived in a dorm with international students. We lived in downeast Maine in a rural little town named East Machias. Eun worked as a Health and Wellness teacher, a Freshman Basketball coach, and a dorm parent while I tried to reinvent myself. I took online courses through coursera trying to learn UX design. I went back to my novel that I wrote over 10 years ago, but never published. I looked for remote work online. No one wanted to hire me except online tutors. I had no transferable skills. I started teaching in 2013 as a means to travel, but it now identified me as a teacher with no other career potential. If I were younger would it be better? I don’t know. The nearest grocery store was always hiring, but it was 5 miles away. I didn’t have a license, Eun worked full time, and there was no public transportation. It took me 8 months to get my license due to logistics. I loved the beauty and nature of Maine, but I wanted to leave for a similar reason as to why I wanted to leave South Korea. I wanted opportunity to grow.

An arrow sign nailed to a tree.

Why is it that I couldn’t find some way to be creative while I had all that freedom and time?

Poor mentality. I wasn’t lazy. I worked daily. Keeping the apartment clean. Making every meal. Laundry- the daily duties. I was writing, drawing, learning, reading and attempting to educate myself in every way possible. I was also looking for remote jobs. I even restarted my YouTube channel (which has grown a bit) but I have a poor mentality. I was never fully able to just do art or learn or be committed to being creative because I wasn’t contributing financially. I never sent my work out (writing) because I never believed I could be paid as a writer. I could never be paid for anything creative. It wasn’t for me. I was not meant for that world.

I still suffer from this thinking. I assume I will die with this mentality. It is tough to unlearn.

10 Months Later

We left East Machias on June 18th, not even a full year since we left South Korea. We packed our life into the car once again only this time we had no savings, no jobs, no home, no prospects. Eun trusted me this time, but this time I felt unsure. Very unsure. Once again we drove across America. We passed through many of the same states minus Indiana, Illinois and Iowa, and we added Michigan and Wisconsin. We had less money and more time. You could say we were foolish. If things fail you can say, “you deserve it.” If we succeed you could say we were adventurous. It is all determined by the outcome even though it shouldn’t be.

Eun is a basketball player and a coach and he found an opportunity to grow as a player and a trainer, so we spent a week in Michigan so that he could participate in this program. While in Michigan a violent windstorm passed through and a large branch broke from a tree and flew into our car damaging the passenger side. I was distraught since we hadn’t even paid for the car yet. Eun, who is more positive, reminded me that we have insurance. Still, the cost of the program, the cost of staying a week in Michigan and now the cost of the car was weighing on me. If things fail it’s my fault. That’s what played through my mind. Still we continued to make what some people may call bad choices. We kept moving forward with our travels. Staying in South Dakota to visit the Badlands and Deadwood. You can watch our journey on Youtube if you are so inclined.

We moved forward with our plan to stay in Cody, Wyoming as we visited Yellowstone, and then stayed in Montana to see Yellowstone for a few more days. We lost money having to change places to stay. One we had to change because of floods that hit Minnesota and South Dakota. We had to cancel camping stays that were meant to save money because we finally accepted the fact that our dog can’t camp. We spent more money on airbnbs because our dog needs space away from strangers and other dogs. We continued on to stay in La Grande so I could once again visit the grave of my friend Sue and to see her sister whom I hadn’t seen since the funeral 16 years ago.

Portland, OR

At the moment of writing this we have been in America for 1 year and 1 week. We have been in Portland for nearly 3 weeks. We don’t have jobs. We don’t have much money. Our car is in the shop. We have a place to stay for about two more weeks, and Eun has two more paychecks before we have nothing. We are in debt, too. We began applying for jobs our first full day in Portland. The first week was silent. Then the second week rejection e-mails and automatic rejection responses came in. Then at the end of the second week, we began to get phone interviews. Eun had some in person interviews. Our emotions which are tied to our fears and anxieties ebb and flow like the ocean tides. We celebrate an interview, we try to shrug away the rejections, and we try to ignore the silence. Eun is applying for jobs as a teacher. He is moving forward with this career. Digging into his role as a P.E. teacher and a basketball coach. This next job is going to be the one for the next few years. We want it to be a good place. As for me, it is more difficult. I am trying to transition out of being a teacher. I want to work in an office with benefits. I want to create content. To be what the digital age calls “a creative.” But, it is difficult. I am having trouble breaking in and proving I can be worthy. The place I had volunteered for 7 years didn’t give me an interview after hanging onto my resume and communicating with me for a month, and I got rejected by Barnes & Nobles. Both, writing adjacent jobs.

Will this be a story of throw caution-to-the wind-adventure with a happy ending or will it be a cautionary tale? Only time will tell. Time will tell soon as the clock is ticking. As I line this final paragraph with cliches, I want to return to the introduction that change is hard. It is very difficult to change your career especially in a rapidly changing world. 10 years ago I worked in an office, I was an office administrator, but today I am no longer an ideal candidate. It is hard not to feel dejected when you have a poor mentality. This blog drips with pathos, but it is also held together with a tenacious web of hope and perseverance. I am making progress. Pages have been written. They may not fit the timeline of the meta masses but they fit my time line which is the duration of my life. So, we will see where this path takes me.

I haven’t forgotten part three of the Huashan hike it will be posted. One day. Till then enjoy these mushrooms. They are pretty, but not the kind to open your mind. You have to do that yourself. Advise to me from me. You can use it too if you want.

Four beautiful mushrooms growing in Maine.

Writing For Online Travel Mags

October

Back in October, around the time that I wrote my last post on here, I applied for a freelance writing gig with an online travel/tourism magazine Korea By Me. I sent in an example post of something that I had been writing for my personal blog. They liked it and I got the gig.

Link to article on Korea By Me
My first published article about Korean poet Jeong Ho-Seung and four of his books of poetry. Photo from Korea By Me website

Writing For Others

Link to Korea By Me article

Between working part-time at a kindergarten, and commuting back and forth across the Han River to go to tutoring gigs, I’ve been trying to spend all my free-time (not home time, but free-time) writing articles for the website. It’s not much of a mystery to figure out that I don’t want to be a teacher. One huge sign is that I never write about teaching on this blog. It has become a job that barely pays the bills and allows me to stay in Korea with Eun. I like the kids. They are cute, but it’s exhausting with very little monetary reward, and oddly, or maybe not oddly, the pay never increases. I’ve been teaching for 8 years, but my pay has either stayed the same or gone down. Anyway, not important.

I’m tired, my body hurts, I’m burnt out, and we barely have any money. We realized after our dog got sick, and we had to pay thousands of dollars to save her life, that we were living paycheck to paycheck; not much different from the U.S.. The big difference of course is that my options are limited due to lack of language and citizenship. So, of course once this opportunity opened up I wanted to go all in. Unfortunately, it isn’t enough money to allow me to only focus on writing, but I’m hoping that it is a small stepping stone toward something bigger.

I had at one time, maybe 14 years ago when I first started this blog, that I would be turning this blog, and the others I have, into some “Writing Empire”. I see plenty of success stories. However, I’m inconsistent. That’s all I really need to write. Inconsistent. Inconsistent in the content, in the posting, in the research to keep on top of the latest technology, and in my physical energy to write. My excuses were/are that I’m never be able to find the time and feel too tired. I would sit at the computer to write, and then suddenly feel overwhelmed with an exhaustion so heavy that I could not lift my fingers. My eyes got tired. I swear I felt like I could barely breath. I had thought something was physically wrong with me.

In truth, there is something wrong with me. I’ve been going to doctors, but so far there is no clear answer. I have constant pain throughout my entire body. It’s been going on for some years now. Chronic pain is of course exhausting, so I figured that the two just went together. Feeling constant pain equals too tired to write. Yet, as I sit here writing now, it has dawned on me that my exhaustion from the effort to write is far more psychological than physical.

The physical is there, but when I write articles for Korea By Me, I don’t actually feel my pain. It’s there, but no where near intense as it can be. My mind becomes distracted from the pain. If this is the case then why wasn’t I writing all the time? Because it was my blog. My unpaid, unvalued blog. I have put in many hours to Korea By Me, and gladly. I made a submission tracker. I write down all my ideas; the day I started an article; what’s in progress; what’s submitted. I take it seriously. Since I got the gig on November 11th, I have written and submitted eight articles, and have had four of them published. Five of the articles involved some research and reading since five of them were book reviews. In a little over a month, I completed eight articles, even though I’m working a part-time job, and have four separate tutoring jobs that meet twice a week each. I am commuting at least three to four hours a day back and forth plus I have my home chores like cooking and cleaning.

Yet, I write a post for this blog, once every three months, maybe. I now know that I do have energy, and I can make energy even while busy, and feeling pain, but only when I do it for other people. I don’t value myself as a writer. It’s abundantly clear to me that if I am doing something for me, for my personal joy or gain, if it doesn’t have a paycheck its worthless. I physically respond to this so much that I sabotage my work by getting exhausted. That’s pretty sad. And, pretty amazing what our brains in states of low self-worth can do to our body. At least it is finally clear to me.

What Now

I’ve had some good feedback with Korea By Me. Getting published feels a bit like a drug hit. I feel an actual surge of adrenaline. I like to go to the site and see my writings on the page. I know my work isn’t perfect. When I read it, I can see mistakes I’ve made; things that myself and the editor missed. I’d like to be better. I want to work on it. Yet, the content is good.

In November I was chosen as having the best article of the month. I felt really good about that. It is self inspiring. I’d like to leave the teaching jobs. My current contract is up in March. It would be so nice if I could find something writing wise that would supplement that income. It would be nice if I put as much effort into my own blog and really did build my “Writing Empire” instead of not giving myself the value I deserve. These are what I’m working on now.

The winning article about Korean photographer Atta Kim Photo from Korea By Me website

Although my blog is focused on travel, what I write for Korea By Me wont be the same articles obviously, so if you’re interested in reading my stuff at Korea By Me please check it out. If you are planning on visiting South Korea it is a great source of information and stories on Korea. My focus here is to build up my literary travel writing style. I’m not giving up. I’m tenacious.

Best Article, Photo from Korea By Me

China Diaries: Why am I Struggling to Write About Life in China?

Daylight in Zhengzhou, China. Multiple scooters, cars and electric cargo trikes bottle-neck into crowds of pedestrians.
Crowded streets near the Zhengzhou train station

I have been in China for a little over a month. In fact, I am one week shy of two months, and I don’t know what to say about it.

There are plenty of topics from which I can choose to write a story. I could write about the air pollution. I could write about the traffic and the driving. I could talk about the cultural differences in ideas surrounding education. I could write about visiting Shaolin and what it felt like to have my picture taken as many times as some of the stunningly rebuilt temples. I could talk about what it is like to be a teacher in a program filled with China’s second generation of wealth. There is the food, the water, the toilets, the westerners there are many topics.

Erqi Memorial Tower at night in Erqi Square, Zhengzhou, China.
Erqi ( pronounced Archie) Memorial Tower in Erqi Square

Yet, when I face this computer screen and this blank page or when I hold a pen in my hand and stare down onto the blank sheets of paper in my journal, my mind is empty. I am unable to communicate into written word my experiences thus far. I’m certain I have been experiencing culture shock. There were days in my first week when I couldn’t go outside. I was like an agoraphobic unable to leave my apartment. It wasn’t only about how different it was, but how different I was in a crowd of thousands. I’ve never experienced these feelings before, and I am struggling to find the words to describe what I have been feeling, especially in the moments of paralysis.

Writing is the moment when I, an author, can be like the painter. When words translate impressions, observations, and feelings into verbal expressions. It is the time to recreate inner thoughts and experiences through figurative language in a way that guides others toward understanding those thoughts. Written words allow others to share in those experiences, maybe even pretend that they are the ones living vicariously through the words on the page. This is a particular type of writing. It is the type of writing I want to do. I have these words. I know I have these words. They are in my brain. I know it. I can feel them bubbling and rising to the surface of my mind, resting on the frontal lobe, and like water they soak in between the ropes of my brain. I sit up and grab a pen to write, but when I go to the desk they vanish.

I am left with a feeling of a wanting and an emptiness.

The Zhengzhou international conventaion center lit up at night with glowing purple, pink and blue colored lights.
Zhengzhou International Convention Center at night

“Use your English words.” I say this a lot in my classes.

“What does that mean?” I ask a student that is making a gesture with their hands. I think I know what they mean, by the gesture. I could easily say, “Yes, you are right that is the definition,” and let it go, but instead I say, “Use words. What do you mean by that gesture.” I push them because I have overestimated my understanding before, and communication has been lost. The point of our languages is to communicate. The student looks at me with a pensive look, “ummm… it is very hard. I do not know the words.”

My Chinese students are very good a memorizing. They are very good at taking tests. They are able to read a passage in English out loud, but when I ask them to explain what they have just read, they do not know. Reading skills are strong, but comprehension is low. The tests are not about comprehension, but recognition. They know the words in English, but they do not understand the words.

A class photograph of teachers at a school in China.
Year Book Photo, Teachers at Middle School #47

Language is complicated. It has four parts like a clover, yet within each part of learning a language there are deeper more complex units of understanding. It is beautiful. Multilingual people have a valuable gift. The gift of communication across nations. I don’t have this gift.

Use your English words”. I suppose that is where I need to begin. I can follow the advice of Raymond Carver and write a word, and then another word until I have a sentence, and then when I finish that sentence I will write another one. It’s like walking Carver said, “you put one foot in front of the other.”

And so, I can begin at the beginning.

I moved to Zhengzhou, pronounced Jengjo, China on the 25th of August. It is a large city in the largest province, in China; the Henan province. There are 80 million people living in Henan. There are 9 million people living in Zhengzhou. Those numbers are not exact, but they are close. There are 600 registered westerners living in Zhengzhou. I am one of those 600 westerners. 9 million Chinese citizens and 600 registered foreigners.

In my part of the city, the Central Business District, I have only seen foreigners who work at my school. Most days, I am the only non-Chinese. The only white person, and people stare and point, following me with their eyes. I am a foreigner. I can not hide this. Growing up white in a predominantly white town, and moving to a predominantly white city, I have never stood out. No, that isn’t right. Standing out can be fun, and positive, this is different. I am seen, yet invisible. All eyes are on me, but when I reach out for help eyes either turn away or turn blank, and some eyes scan me from head to toe, but somehow I am not seen, and my words are foreign.

I know other people have experienced this. People of color experience this even in their own country which must add another layer of otherness. You should be a part of the community because you were born there, but you are not, you are an outsider. The thought of that on top of what I currently am feeling wells up within me. I feel an empathy for others that I once only held as a sympathy. It’s lonely. It is a lonely feeling.

Few people speak English in my neighborhood. I do not speak Chinese. I do not even know the words. I am an alien in China. I am different. I am isolated. I am surrounded but alone. I don’t know the words. I don’t understand. I am alone without the language. My students they know my language, but they do not understand my language. So much is lost in the translation of gestures. It is just memorization without comprehension.

I am wrong. It is not lost in translation because there is no translation. I do not have the language to express to English readers these feelings of isolation within crowds. Yet, I teach English. My English fails me. What I wrote here today is the best I have to offer.

How I Wrote My First Novel and Earned a Mastery of Writing Certification

A group of people smiling for a group photo.
2011 the first graduating class of The Attic Atheneum

The weekend of June 3rd and 4th was the Atheneum’s final retreat. An educational ending to the year program. There was plenty of wine and amazing food. Each teacher/mentor spoke on something that they felt was important for us to take away with us, now that we would be embarking on a post-writing school life.

I proudly walked away with a Certificate in the Mastery of Writing, thank you very much, and I had a nice glass of champagne thanks to Paulann Peterson. Paulann had invited Berry Sanders and his wife to speak to us on our last day. Then we all said, good-bye and good luck.

One of the things that we were requested to do was to present a project as a sort of team effort (our teams were, fiction, poetry, and non-fiction) as a part of the fiction group I was asked to write a memoir. I decided to write about what it was like to finish my first novel, and since my first love is theatre, I couldn’t help but to compare the two in the world of endings.

A group of four men and two women posing for a group photo on an outdoor staircase.
Team Fiction Writing

Although I had wanted to be a writer I never consider myself a writer, because I didn’t feel like a writer. So, I journaled. I journaled from the time I was 16, sometimes daily sometimes with an absence of many months. When I turned 26, I moved to Europe, and I took a journal along with me. I spent two years living abroad sometimes journaling sometimes not, but it was during my short life in Prague that I had faithfully journaled, recording every moment daily. I had captured nuances and conversations, in fact, it may have been the first time I wrote my observations versus my inner feelings.

Prague's old town viewed from the Vltava river.

When I reluctantly returned to the states, I found myself sitting on my aunt’s bed in her one bedroom apartment hiding out from a hot Colorado summer storm, flipping through the pages of my journaled history in Prague, longingly reading over the transcripts, and it was at that moment (eleven years ago) that I realized I had a story. It wasn’t an amazing story. It wasn’t going to save lives or change the way people felt about the world. It was in the words of Sylvia Plath: a potboiler. Yet, to me, it was a necessary story and it wanted to be told. Right then and there on my aunt’s computer in two to three days I wrote the entire first draft except for the end. I didn’t want it to end how it really ended. But how did I turn fact into fiction?

I traveled across the western United States with a man, his dog, his depressed mother and her bottle of vodka, and ended up in Oregon, but that is another story. I carried a printed copy of my endless manuscript along for the ride. The electronic copy had been lost. I shoved my novel in a folder and ignored it.

Two years later, I decided to return to school. I applied to a community college to focus on mathematics, but while there I decided to take a fiction writing class for fun. It rekindled my interest in my previous novel attempt. I thought about finishing it, but it took me another three years before I sat down and retyped the entire thing out again, and still with out the needed ending.

I had an incredible love hate relationship with my work. There were moments when I wanted to burn the thing and moments when I thought it was brilliant, but ultimately it was the characters that kept talking to me. They would interrupt my dreams and daily thoughts living out their lives as if I were still writing them.

In 2007, seven years after I got my initial idea to write the book that I was now calling Žižkov, I started working at  a corporate office. It was the most secure job I had ever had in my life. I had actually made payments on my student loans, I could buy clothes, I could save money, but I during my time there I didn’t write. I felt my dreams of living a creative life into a nostalgic past.

a table with chairs in an office meeting room.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Around this time my grandmother passed away and I received a small inheritance. I used my inheritance and a small savings; I had saved enough money to quit my job for 3 months and still live comfortably. Once and for all I was going to write this damn book. I was confident I would complete it in three months and then find another corporate job as a receptionist. I would feel accomplished and be safe and secure and sound. September 15th, 2008 was my first day as a full-time writer and it was also the day the stock market plummeted into the sea like a mobster in cement shoes.

I kept writing.

A close up of a hand with black finger nails writing in a note book, and the other hand holding a cup of coffee.
Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

I rewrote the entire novel in 3rd person. I created charts and back stories for all the characters. I did research on Prague and read Czech writers in order to refresh my memories of the city. I fantasized about the money my book would make me once it was turned into a movie. I rewrote it again in first person (not recommended). I wrote the first half at least in six different drafts, but never found my way to the true ending. Simultaneously, I was sending out my resume. I sent out many applications. Resume after resume with no response, not even a rejection, till I ran out of all my savings. I lost the room I was renting, and I had to rely on the generosity of my friends to house me until I could find work.

When I auditioned for Inviting Desire, I was literally auditioning for my life. It was a miracle of fate that the one job that would save me from homelessness would be theatre. It was almost ironic.

While on tour I wrote a rough draft of an ending for Žižkov. When we ended the tour and talked about future projects I swore up and down that I would complete this book because although it had an ending it was not finished.

A man walking onto a stage with three sitting women. The curtain behind them is burnt orange and slightly open.
Inviting Desire, Calgary, Alberta performance

Another year passed. I returned to retail, and various side hustles before I could really commit to working daily on my manuscript. On a whim I applied to the Attic Atheneum. At first I was rejected, but due to a drop out and me being next in line, I was accepted. My goal was to complete my novel.

On May 27th, eleven years after I knew I had a story, I finished the book, but it was not like theatre. There was no applause, no one to clink pint glasses with, and no one to drown in the amazement that it was finally completed. There had been people to support me along the way, encouraging friends; friends who helped finance my schooling; my peers and teachers in the atheneum, but at the end of the experience I was alone.

A book cover of a novel titled Zizkov. In the foreground are two strips of pictures of a black man and a white woman from a photo booth. In the background is a photo from Old Town square in Prague.
My Book Cover Idea

It was my idea to take the journey alone and I ended it alone. Sitting in front of my computer typing the last words I whispered a “holy shit it’s done” and felt a whoop rise up inside me like we just won the world cup, but then I looked around the room, and there was no ‘we’. There was only me. I felt empty, weird, almost apathetic toward my work. All those years of fighting and this was it? And that was it in its entirety: who cares but me? I was a writer. I didn’t need an audience to finish the book. I didn’t need anything but me, and what did I really want? What did I expect?

My sketch copy of Jacob Lawrence’s 1940 Painting Harriet Tubman Series Panel #4 celebrating

When you create a play, when you perform you perform for an audience. Everything is for the play itself and the audience. I can write for an audience and a publisher, after all I did dream about the movie, but in the end that isn’t what it’s all about. It doesn’t take an audience to write a book. I can put that manuscript in a drawer or erase it because it’s finished already. No one else needs to read it in order for it to be complete. A play just isn’t a play without the audience, but a book is a book even if it isn’t read. Though, it should be published to complete the job. Working toward publishing is something completely different.

So why did I write it? Did I write it to have my voice heard or was it that I wanted to return to Prague? Was it that I wanted to be someone other than me, and be purely me simultaneously? Does it even matter? The answers were not there for me. So, I turned off the light, closed my laptop, and took a walk to shake off the feelings of loneliness. I had felt like I had just gone through a mutual break-up; we both knew it was over, but why, we had so much love? And still it was over.

As I wandered through the streets near my apartment I heard a voice inside my head. The voice of a young girl as she crouched on a rooftop:

I watched as J.P. threw the television from the roof of Jesse’s parent’s house. I don’t know why he does those things. He’s not even drunk. J.P. is straight edge, he just fucks shit up purely because he’s an asshole, but I don’t give a shit, I’m an asshole too.

And I knew I was listening to the voice of a new character, she was talking through me, and she was completely fiction —well—mostly.

My friend told me about a writing retreat with A Room of Her Own or AROHO a writing retreat for women. We decided to attend because you can never get enough writing support. I may have completed my novel without fan fair, but I don’t need to learn alone.

I didn’t try to publish Žižkov. I still have it. Perhaps one day it will be seen in print and have a book cover, I’m not sure. My program is over. My first book has been written and I have another story idea brewing in my head, but I still don’t feel like an author. Perhaps one day I will feel like one. As for today, I’ll keep writing. What is a writer supposed to feel like anyway? What a silly thing to want to feel. The saying is actions speak louder than words. If that is true I never need to hear someone tell me that I’m a writer because my actions prove I already am.

Two women posing in a kitchen.
Emily and I at AROHO writing retreat

Another Successful Fundraiser for Arts and Letters

Don’t Short Change the Muse II was a great success. If you are interested in reading about the first Don’t Short Change the Muse click on the link. I reached my goal and was able to pay for my final tuition payment. I’m pretty proud and amazed to be able to say my writing program was entirely paid for with money raised by art. Spectacular really.

A silhouette of a woman setting up a cafe at night.
Setting up for the show
Musicians setting up to perform.
Warming up before the doors open

We had a much larger turn out then we did the first time, and we had more performers and donations for the silent auction.

An audience looks on smiling at the performance.
The audience with some of the performers

We had a lot more music this time, and we also had the extra element of a short art film. We still had some sketch comedy along with me reading and performing pieces of my own writing, but the addition of more music really brightened and entertained the audience.

A violinist, cellist, concertinist and flautist performing on stage.
The Walking Guild performing Witching Well

 

A woman in black and grey clothes performing a monologue on stage in front of a beige curtain.
I’m performing my poem Remain Seated

At our new venue we had a balcony and Sarah performed Cole Porter’s, “The Tale of the Oyster” from above the audience.

A woman singing and playing the accordion.
Sarah Performing Cole Porters “The tale of the Oyster

 

A guitar player and cellist play music and a woman sits on a chair watching.
Anna Fritz and David Waingarten playing
A stage of musicians and singer performing as a woman peeks from behind a curtain to watch.
Performing the Witching Well

It wouldn’t be a vaudeville show without burlesque. Miss Fannie Fuller’s tantalizing “Dance of the Seven Veils” burlesque.

A woman dressed in a red scarf dance on a stage.
The Dance of the Seven Veils by Miss Fanny Fuller
red boots, and the legs of a woman in white fishnet stockings and cream high heels.
burlesque

Once I again, I am humbled and honored to have had so many artists share their talent and offer their time and work. That is two very successful fundraisers to put to rest.

A woman in a black top, grey skirt and bright red boots gives a speech on a stage.
Grand Thank yous

Fundraising Event for Don’t Short Change the Muse II

My friend Jen Smith created this drawing based on a poem I wrote awhile back.

I am setting up another fundraiser in order to help me pay for my tuition. This will be the second variety show that I produce. I am lucky that I happen to know some very talented performers. And this time I have the help of two friends.

Jen is drawing three pieces to go with one of my poems to sell at our silent auction. I have two other painters doing their own pieces. One piece that I haven’t seen yet is being done based on another of my poems. There will also be a short film, cello music, storytelling to music, burlesque, opera and an acting performance, and a reading. It is a great way to bring people together see some great art and to raise money.

The show is on the 14th of November so it is coming up soon. Hopefully I will raise enough to pay off my tuition. This fundraisers goal is higher than the last: $1,200.00 dollars. It will feel good to know I paid for this through art versus taking out a loan. Paid in full by my own hard work and the help of artists. How amazing is that?

This fundraiser has a lot more collaborative work allowing for cross-medium and genre performances. I am working with my friend video/film maker Francis and we are going to make a video to another one of my poems: This is the Power of Performance. Now Set the Poet Free. Poetry is not my main medium, but I am collaborating a lot with my poetry. I am also collaborating with visual artists, and musicians. The band the Waking Guild, has sent me one of their songs and I wrote a story to it, so instead of singing I will be performing a reading over the music.

The show is this Sunday, and I have some incredible people performing. I’m really amazed with the amount of talent. I hope I have a good turn out, not just to make the money I need for school, but also just so that there is an audience for these great performers.

Don’t Short Change the Muse II

Once again we will be having another fundraiser to help Adrienna pay her final tuition fees for The Attic Anthenum.

We’ve put together another fantastic night of music, dance, acting, and multimedia visual art. Come early to enjoy the hordourves, drinks, and fun ambience.

There will be a silent auction and this time we have even more incredible art, crafts, and services for you to bid upon.

November 14th 2011, 7:00 p.m.

Come join us in community and art.

This is the drawing used in the invitation is by Jen Smith and inspired by my poem Girl. I’m really thrilled with what she has created. The originals will be up for the auction on Sunday, and prints will also be available for purchase. It is strange to see one of my poems come alive in a drawing.

Opening Speech for the Tuition Fundraiser: Don’t Short Change the Muse

Terry O’Neil, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

William S. Burroughs once said, “Cheat your landlord if you can and must, but do not try to short change the muse. It cannot be done. You can’t fake quality anymore than you can fake a good meal”.

He meant to always be truthful in what you write and what you do, dirty or clean, as long as it is you and yours. I also take it to mean, “don’t cut corners when it comes to what you love”.

In any art form the artist needs to continue to grow. As every artist knows nothing is more detrimental than complacency and routine. As soon as you are comfortable: change. As soon as you are popular: give them a left hook. That is our exercise as artists. We need to keep learning no matter how old we get. The grey matter in our head is plastic and expands, but only with use. Practice does make perfect, and as soon as you are perfect it’s time to cut that shit up and take a risk.

This event was a very last-minute thing for me, setting up the auction and the fundraiser, I’m amazed it has actually all come together in so little time. I had not expected to be accepted into the  Atheneum program at the Attic and was not prepared with the tuition. Like most of us, I survive by tooth and nail, but when I received the acceptance letter something inside me said, don’t say no because of the money.

The Atheneum is about building a community of writers, it is about creating a circle of learning. I have had my share of community involvement through organizations like Write Around Portland and Playwrite Inc., In both organizations I have volunteered my time to help others, all through writing and performance. This is something I have always enjoyed, and for no other reason other than that I think Art Saves Lives. I believe art can touch and change people.

This is the first time I have ever asked for money for myself, and this is also the first time I have ever built a show. The first time I have ever showcased any of my work, and in a very short time I have learned a great deal about community. The reason I followed through with this event is because of all the names you see in the program. I was amazed at the sheer excitement, joy and support my friends have offered in putting this together, and that support and joy extended out. I never knew so many people had wanted to see me succeed in my dreams, and I am honored.

There is not one artist in the history of art that did not have some network. Even the most solitary and loneliest of us need support even Van Gogh had his brother Theo. Our society, our media projects the image that certain famous artists and writers were loners and climbed to the top on their own, but this is a falsehood, everyone has held the hand of at least one person. And that is what we are doing here tonight; holding hands. You are holding my hands as I ask you for help in making my dream of becoming a great American novelist come true, so that in turn I can hold the hand of another.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of you that have helped pull this together and to those of you for being here.

Thank you to Bar Carlo for the space, be sure to buy yourself some drinks and tip the bartender. Also don’t forget to check out the silent auction. The show is about to begin!

The show began…and ended beautifully.

A single red rose bud on a bush.

How to have a Successful Fundraiser for a Future Writer

Days later, and I still can’t believe that three weeks ago this fundraiser for me and created by me with the support of a friend (the amazing Alisa Peck), was just some random thought. I have random thoughts all the time. I am a talker, not often a doer. I’m an optimistic pessimist, do you know how hard that is? I’m still not sure this really happened, but there are pictures and I have a program that I created to prove it.

I emceed, and opened the show with my poem, “I am not your Sylvia.”

Bar Carlo was a fairly new establishment in SE Portland. My friend and current employer, recently opened a bar across the street, and she had become friends with the owners of Bar Carlo. It was due to the proximity to my friend’s bar and her relationship with the owners that I was able to have the fundraiser in their restaurant. This is the beauty of networking. Actually, I’d say deeper than networking, because networking is more about opportunistic pursuits. The word I’m thinking of is community. There is of course a reciprocal relationship between the fundraiser and the restaurant. I will bring people into their establishment and those people will order drinks, and maybe they’ll come back. However, the restaurant loses an immediate profit by hosting my fundraiser. They let me have it as a private party during a night that they are normally closed, but they did not charge me for the space. They donated their space to help a fundraiser for me to raise money for a writing program. They don’t know me personally, but they knew my friend, and that’s why they agreed. Community.

We didn’t have to pay for anything but the drinks. A friend brought the spread of awesome food, and another friend brought a red velvet cake (that her ten-year old son picked out). It was all a community event to help me pursue my dreams.

The front of a restaurant called Bar Carlo.
Bar Carlo, a great place for cocktails, brunch, and dinner.

I opened with a speech that I wrote. I went right into my first piece, a spoken word poem titled, “I Am Not Your Syliva“. A poem referencing the great Sylvia Plath, but also a poem about women taking back and holding their place in the poetry world.

A woman in a black dress is standing behind a music stand. She is reciting a poem.

Sarah of Carpe Vocum Singing, sang Ach Ich Fuhl’s, from Mozart’s The Magic Flute.

A woman singing and playing the accordion.

Miss Fannie Fuller danced an amazing burlesque piece to Le Hot Jazz

A female burlesque dancer beginning to unzip her costume.

A tribute Monty Python comedy troupe: Cirque De-cision, performed the sketch, “Army Protection Racket.

A young woman in a 1940's military uniform looks shocked as she speaks with a male officer whose face is turned away from the camera.

In the second act I opened with a monologue I wrote titled, “The Tragedy of Abigail Lockhart”.

The lights flashed and then in character, as Abagail, I waltzed onto the stage (the floor space). This drew people to their seats, and then in an exaggerated southern drawl, I began to speak. It is a comedic piece with a farcical performance. It was very fun to perform.

Sarah and Meghan sang an operatic duet, “The Flower,” ( Lakme), written by Leo Delibes. It was absolutely stunning. Jaw dropping. (I wish I could have recorded their voices, it was unforgettably beautiful.)

Two young women singing an operatic duet.

Cirque De-Cision performed “Children’s Stories.”

A white man in his mid twenties, sits on a chair looking at a program.

I read a piece from my novel Zizkov

A woman in a black dress is standing behind a music stand. She is reciting a poem.

And we ended with more Burlesque from Miss Fannie Fuller, who was also my friend, the wonderful Alisa Peck who inspired me to do this fundraiser in the first place. She guided me and held my hand through the entire process. I am forever grateful.

A close up of a woman's hand holding a large white feathered fan.

Aside from all the performers who volunteered their time and talent to my personal cause, I also had friends who donated their crafts, art and services for a silent auction.

As soon as people arrived we encouraged them to look over the gift cards, crafts, foods, and art, and starting bidding on what they wanted to take home with them. Quiet bidding went on during the duration of the performance. Another reminder of the silent auction was given during the intermission, and after the performance I gave patrons and guests five minutes to make their final bids. I announced the winners as a closing part of the night.

Artists and businesses had donated around $500.00 dollars worth of items and services to the auction including art, jewelry, a facial, acupuncture, hair cut, a dinner and journals.

Drawings of various art up for auction.
Donations from Friends and Friends of Friends

This felt like it was all done on the fly, but it wasn’t. It was just done in a very minute time frame. Three weeks to get it all organized and executed. I wasn’t able to do it alone. I pulled this together because so many people wanted to help and wanted to be involved, which was amazing. Honestly, I didn’t think it was possible to pull together an anachronistic variety show in a matter of two and a half weeks. Obviously you can, with the help of loving friends and community, anything is possible. And the level of performance was stunning, so surprising. I had never seen any of the performers perform before so it was all new to me, too. I really enjoyed emceeing, hosting and performing. The programing worked great, and that was amazing.

My hope, and my goal was to make at least enough to make my first payment. All I needed was $400.00 since I had already saved up $250.00 (The Attic has been kind enough to break my payments into four installments of $650.00) my first payment is due July 15th. I made $797.00 dollars that night. Beyond my expectations and hopes! I have already made my first payment and almost my second payment.

I’m still pinching myself that all this came together. But it did. It really did.

How to Fundraise Using Performance and Art

I was accepted into The Attic’s Antheneum program, but I don’t have the money to pay for it. It is an alternative to a MFA. It is still not an easy program to get accepted into, but it is a lot more affordable than a MFA program. However, I still don’t have the money to pay for it. After speaking with a friend, she suggested that I have a fundraiser. I felt a little uncomfortable at first asking people to give me money for a program that would only benefit me. It seemed too selfish a request, but my friend convinced me that I could do a fundraiser for myself. That it wasn’t an extraordinary thing to do. She also offered to help.

I am producing a variety show. A real vaudevillian callback. I have an opera singer, a burlesque dancer, some music, a comedian, and I will be performing three readings. I will be reading one spoken word, one monologue and a bit from my novel. I put together the program, the schedule, and found people to donate their talent and time. I also found a place that was willing to offer up their space.

Promoting is a huge part of the process and I am not the best at self promoting. Yet, I have to promote in order to get people to come to my fundraiser. How else do people know what you are doing ,and what it is they have the opportunity to see.

I have terrible imposter syndrome, so having this fundraiser and promoting it is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. If I wasn’t the main star and the subject and the needy, I could do it no problem. Since I am the star and it is about me, its more difficult for me to promote, because, and I’m sorry to admit this because it reveals the depths of my vulnerability, I just don’t think I’m worth much. I know, terrible to say, but I have a near zero level of self-esteem when it comes to my writing, art, photography– anything I create. Which I suppose is the definition of imposter syndrome. I’m trying though. I’m posting it all right here.

This is the first time I have ever done anything like this. A show about me for me. However, I have a lot of talented friends who will also be performing. Through all my insecurities, I believe the audiences is going to get a good show. For the promotion, I did a bunch of tongue in cheek promo pictures for my invite.

The name of the show is, Don’t Short Change the Muse. It comes from something William Burroughs once said. It is on the 22nd of June and will be happening here in Portland. I’m not sure how many Portland people read this post, but if you want to come you are invited. The info is at the bottom of this post.

In the end we decided to scrap the profile pictures and go with something else.