Surrogate

I stopped using his full title
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.

And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.




I don't want anyone to misunderstand me - I'm not unloved. My family is quite large. I've never wanted for anything, partly because I so rarely ask for anything that when I do it's such a novelty that I'm not often refused. But they don't really know I write. They know, but not really.

It's like when you're a kid and you make a crappy crayon drawing and show it to Mom and you get that not-really-there pat on the head and a "that's nice" because she's tired and has been working all day and your scribbles aren't really a priority, you know? It's not anyone's fault. I'm glad my family has never shown much interest in my writing. I would have censored myself. I would have been too careful. But at the same time, now that I have the proper lens to examine it by, I know that it would have been nice to have that support. And that's where Doc came in.

About this time last year I started getting these glimpses of humanity in a figure that had previously been very distant and it intrigued me. I wrote about it. I gave him the results. And Doc was the first person that ever asked to read more of my writing, not for a grade in a class, not as part of a writing group, not as part of an exchange, but just because he wanted to. Just because he thought it was something special.

I've talked about the relationship enough that I don't have to go into details, but I noticed this a few weeks ago when he told me how much he loved German chocolate cake because my dad loves German chocolate cake and it was like something in my head went click.

I don't know. I guess what baffles me about the whole thing is that I never realized I needed that support and approval until he waltzed in and just gave it to me without even thinking about it. I can't explain how fulfilling and satisfying it is to have someone like that in my life.

I kind of love my mentor.

Well, things since the last post have been... I don't want to say "eventful," so I guess I'll settle for "interesting." Nothing's really happened, but I feel like something has shifted.

I mentioned Doc and the shower of compliments he drowned me in not long ago, and those words are turning into something more concrete. On Tuesday, he sat me down and went into serious mode.

"I have decided your career path for you. You don't have a choice. You're going to be an editor."

There's a really good magazine based right here in Little Rock called the Oxford American. As in, one of the best literary magazines in the country. It's kind of a big deal for Southern writers. Doc has offered to pull whatever strings he can to see about getting me an internship there. He's friends with the publisher and is trying to get me an interview with him. He spent some ten, fifteen minutes just telling me how much I would enjoy it, that I deserved a break and someone to go up to bat for me.

I honestly never expected to really get anything out of helping him out, but Doc is convinced I would make a magnificent editor. Interning with the magazine would be a great way to test the waters while getting a foot in the door. He can't guarantee anything, but it means worlds that he would even bother to try <3

Meanwhile, today I finally got to see what the recording process is like for the radio scripts. I met Doc at the department and we walked over to the studio (I'd never been, so I really didn't know where I was going). It looks pretty much like you imagine from TV and movies: a panel full of buttons and those bendy microphones. We spent a little under an hour there, him reading and me just watching the process. Three scripts, including one I wrote, were more or less finished this morning.

On the way back, he starts telling me about a few other radio projects he's involved in and I think I may have been roped into that too XD One of the other English professors is doing a half-hour show on Shakespeare's birthday and he wants me to have a look at that script. All while encouraging me to think about interning and editing for the local radio station.

If he keeps praising me like this, I might actually start to believe it XD

Patience

I keep forgetting I have a blog. I do a weekly journal on dA already, so it seems odd to keep this one too I guess. Maybe one day I'll finally get into the swing of things and make it a real habit.

Been rather stuck lately with writing. Not writer's block - I don't get writer's block. Rather, I have long periods of time in which I simply don't feel like writing anything. I'm rarely at a loss for ideas or anything like that. I can make myself write if I need to, but I'd rather do it because I want to.

It'll come back. It always does.

Spring break is apparently next week. Huh.

Independent Study has gone rather quiet too. Poor Doc is just getting slammed with work. I really don't know how he keeps up. I just dropped a class because this semester was going to end up being too much otherwise.

Complimentary Baptism

I should start a list entitled "Nice Things Dr. Minnick has Said to Me."

Apparently I would make a phenomenal editor for my ability to both see bigger pictures and the things on the microscopic level. I've been reading over a story of his the last few weeks and I kinda really love it. The second half is still rather rough, but the first half is really wonderful. He kinda has this Winesburg, Ohio thing going on - it's a book of place and atmosphere and Minnick is really good at atmosphere. He has some really beautiful lines scattered all throughout the entire thing.

Anyway, I called him about this latest chapter and ended up getting baptized with compliments for being so helpful to him while doing my own thing and writing radio scripts and postcards and I'm just really pleased with myself at the moment because he's so sweet <3

In return, he's been helping me pick my way though this Fiction II assignment of mine. I need to submit something that's a minimum of eight pages on Monday, and length isn't something I do. I was trying to turn Escape Velocity into something longer, but that's just not going to fly. Anything I add to it is just going to be padding. Instead I'm going to see if I can't expand Feelings with no names instead - there's more substance to that one that I think I could make longer - it's just a matter of finding a way to tie them together into a larger picture.

And that's my life of late. Writing and reading a lot of stuff.

A Real Writer

"I know real writers and I know people that write for a living; they aren't the same thing."

In the hierarchy of amazing compliments gifted to me, being called a real writer is right up there with the time a librarian told me I had very brave taste in books.

Minnick just gets it. He knows what I'm trying to do with my writing and why I do it. He understands about giving your work away and I don't have to explain it. It's just so refreshing to talk to someone like that. I've been reading over a story of his the past few days, which is how I ended up in a two hour conversation with him in the computer lab. Things were kinda all over the place, but there are a few moments I want to keep.

One was him noting that I seemed happier. I didn't really notice, but, now that it's been pointed out, I am happier. A lot of it has been reflected in my postcards; several of them have been far more cheerful than my usual fare. And I know it's because I have someone IRL to go back and forth with the way we have been.

Two was being told that these cards of mine are something special. I already knew he felt that way, but it's nice to actually hear it.

Three was the line I started with up there - hearing that he thought I was a "real" writer, a person that writes for myself and because I want to, not someone that writes to be famous. I don't think I could write for a living. I don't want to write because I have to eat.

Now he has me listening to Springsteen's Born to Run and I'm going to send him a rock opera of my own in return XP I'm not sure how we got on to that topic, but whatever. It's been a good night.

Some Autumn and Lawrence Stuff

Just some scraps and pieces I've had lying around in my files for a while.

______

She felt an arm descend around her shoulders and jumped, whipping her head around to face the intruder. She blinked to see it was only Professor Bradley.

“Wh – “

“Bit late for a stroll isn’t it, dear?” he squeezed her shoulder gently, flicking his eyes somewhere behind her head. So he had noticed.

“Feel like a coffee?”

“Um, I don’t drink coffee actually…” She mentally palmed her forehead. It wasn’t about the coffee. He covered her tracks.

“Tea, then. Come on, I know a place nearby.”

He led her away briskly, and she let him tug her around a corner and out of sight. The man was still back there, but she felt safe enough without his eyes boring into her back to let out a sigh. Professor Bradley’s arm was still resting on her shoulders.

 ______

Somebody, I don't recall who now, requested a sort of "Bradley rescues Autumn" scene. I'll write an actual short with it sometime, but this has been sitting for a while now.

______

"You can't swim?"

"I can swim;" Bradley held up a finger. "It just makes me nervous. Nearly drowning will do that to you."

 ______

 Lawrence nearly drowned as a child. He never really got over the fear completely, but it's a distant enough memory that it doesn't bother him very often.

 ______

 "Here," he presented the bloom to her. "These grow all along the border of my fence at home. They're rather tall, so I have to cut them down every year." He smiled. "I thought you might like a few for your collection."

______

The first vaguely romantic thing Lawrence ever did for Autumn was give her a larkspur flower. It's meaning is "beautiful spirit." Autumn keeps books of pressed flowers.

Obligated

I've apparently been tagged by Qui est in literis.

The Rules:

1. Display the award logo on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. State 7 things about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 bloggers for this award and link to them.
5. Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements.

Since I don't know 15 bloggers, everyone who sees this has to do it until 15 people have done it. There.

Seven things though?

1. Stuff on my wall; a 2x3 whiteboard, a corkboard with photographs on it, a sticky note Mario, a hanging organizer stuffed with papers, a magnetic platypus, several fedoras, a Pikachu backpack, a Knite poster, my scarf collection, a bunch of necklaces. I use many wall hooks because my room is little.

2. I used to play violin. I was never very good. The only reason I played at all was because my Mom wouldn't let me play cello. Her excuse was that cellos were expensive. How this matters when the school provided instruments, I don't know. I stopped altogether two years later.

3. Lately, I've been using Netflix to get to sleep. Phineas and Ferb. For some reason, having something familiar playing that I can ignore makes it easier to sleep. I really do adore this show though, sleep aid qualities aside.

4. This is my last semester in college, barring a few summer credits. Most people are excited to get out of school; I don't know how to do anything else but be a student. The usual job-related Catch-22 has kept me from finding anything in the real world. And I'm going to miss my mentor.

5. I don't do diets, but ever since I put an exercise bike in my room to help me watch TV, I've lost 20 pounds. Without it, I end up playing on my laptop instead of watching my shows. The bike keeps me physically occupied while letting my mind go elsewhere. Space issues aside, it's a perfect solution.

6. I love Chinese food. The first thing I do with my paycheck is hit the Chinese place.

7. I spent fat too long trying to think up interesting things for this list and I'm pretty sure I failed >.>