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Month: August 2023

Another August Survived

Almost, anyway. Two more days. I got this. Is it silly to say I’ll miss it? As busy and draining and wild as it is, I do love the rush of August. I wouldn’t mind doing it twice a year. No, that’s not true. That would throw me off so much. Like anything else, a school year has a rhythm, and each season brings its own challenges. August ends, we settle into September, and boom! It’s October. Fall break and the scramble to get things done while the classrooms are empty. Many of the great plans from the beginning of the year aren’t working, so rearranging and rethinking are in order. Not to mention fixing all the things we’ve been getting by with–new holes in the walls, old glitches in the heating in that one classroom…and then we’re back, and it’s second quarter, and holy CATS how is it nearly Thanksgiving break?? I certainly should be used to the rhythm of the school year by now. It’s hard for me to believe, but I’ve been working in schools for over twenty years. Many times I’ve said that I don’t know how people work in regular offices. How do you cope without regular incursions of the small and squirmy? Do you just…not have swearing teens stomp through your office demanding that their parent be called because that woman is traumatizing them? How do you manage week after week in which no parent shows up with a baby sibling to coo over??…

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So…how’s the Bad Poetry Project Going, Erin?

Well, I am glad you asked! Seems like a good time to give you all an update. But first, do you know that I started the Bad Poetry Project three years ago? Mama mia, where did the time go? I have been writing poetry like a mad thing. Yes. More than fiction, to be honest. (I’m up to 11,000 words of fiction this year, which isn’t too bad considering everything, but I was hoping for more. So I’ll be working on that, too.) Poetry is easier because it’s quick, it’s efficient, and there’s a set beginning and ending. Plus, I can sit here and pound out a poem while doing my work. So it lends itself to being squeezed into pockets of time better than fiction. Not that I like it better, per se. Just that it’s been easier as of late. So, yeah. More poems. I’ve also been using Instagram prompts, which have been so useful, because sometimes I’ll start with a nebulous idea of…something, but I’ll have no idea where or how to start. So I’ll just be like…spinning my wheels. Prompts give me a place to start it ….a leaping off point. I collect them every month from poets who regularly post them, then mine them for inspiration later. It’s very effective. I’m still writing in Esperanto, also, which has been a blast. But …drum roll please…I’ve started submitting my poems to literary magazines! Yes! I’ve taken the plunge! I haven’t done this in over twenty years,…

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Imposter Imposter Syndrome?

Hidey-ho, friends. Pay no attention to what day of the week it is. Let’s talk about Imposter Syndrome. The Oxford dictionary describes it as “the persistent inability to believe that one’s success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved as a result of one’s own efforts or skills.” Writers run into this periodically, even famous, best-selling authors. Not necessarily about works of the past, but current works. “Oh, sure,” one might say, “that book is great, but this new book is trash, I’m a hack, it was pure luck that I have gotten anywhere,” etc. But what I’ve found is…sometimes that feeling is justified? There have been times where I have written something that has felt like pulling teeth, that feels pedantic and repetitive and uninspired. It feels bad. Just bad. And while most stories do go through a “this is bad and I am a hack” phase (normally in the middle somewhere), sometimes something is truly bad, and when you give it to your betas or your critique group, they do come back and say “oh, no, you’re right, something’s missing, this isn’t working.” It’s not Imposter Syndrome if you’re right, and it actually is bad, right? So if you’d asked me last week if I was a good judge of whether my own writing was actually bad, or just me going through the tough phase of the story, I would had said I was pretty good at telling the difference. However, I spent the last weekend pulling apart…

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What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Last time, I mentioned an upcoming road trip and dance camp (summer camp for adults!). Well, I’m back, and have just wrapped up a week of staycation immediately following that. By the time you read this, I’ll be back at work, le sigh. Dance camp was…well. It was awesome, but it was also a lot. I spent much of the time trying to manage the heat and humidity (no AC!) and deal with all the peopling (lovely people, but…). I’ve gotten a lot more sensitive to both as I get older, for various reasons. I promised myself not to feel badly about skipping out as much I needed to, and it was interesting to notice myself developing strategies and finding a rhythm as the week went on. Some favourite memories: And I managed not to get heat stroke, sunburn, or *ahem* any sort of illness, thank lork. I got home a week ago Saturday and spent my staycation (in between long walks with my spouse) gradually unpacking and making baby steps towards getting the house in order. It doesn’t look much different, yet, but I’ve had the energy to push through mental blocks on a number of objectively minor things that have needed doing for a while. So I’d say the goal of R&R was a success. Now back to real life in 3…2…1…

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Across Worlds with You, Part 3 by Kit Campbell

Part 1 Part 2 Across Worlds with You, Part 3Kit Campbell When the light finally died down and Will could see again, he was in yet another new hall, though this one was made of a gray-ish stone, maybe marble, with a large terrace in front of him overlooking a green valley. He blinked once, rubbing his eyes. Then Destia and Theo barreled into him, and all three went down. “Shut it, shut it!” Destia scrambled to her feet, sword in hand. “It’s shut,” Theo answered, not bothering to right himself. “I built that into the spell. What we need to do now is lock the gate.” He finally sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “I have no idea how Deathcrawlers are managing to move between worlds, but I don’t like it. And we have enough Deathcrawlers here without having to worry about more coming in from elsewhere.” Will was half-pinned under Theo’s legs. “Where are we now?” “Beautiful Helstena,” Destia replied. “Or what’s left of it, anyway.” Will twisted so he could see over the terrace again. “Looks fine to me.” Theo’s eyes went blue and something unseen blew through, messing up everyone’s hair. Will had the strangest urge to straighten Theo’s. After a moment, Theo’s eyes faded back to normal and he extricated himself from Will, offering him a hand. “I’ve sent a report. They’ll take care of the gate.” Will accepted Theo’s help. The other man pulled him up with surprising strength, his grasp lingering…

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