Post-graduate landscaping

On July 21st 2012,  I made a leap.  I am officially a graduate from Fairfield University's MFA program. While it didn't hit me immediately, graduating from graduate school has helped to further cement the fact that I am now entrenched in this journey towards true adulthood.  Adulthood being this scary, mapless terrain filled with far less road signs and some rather intimidating groaning and screeching off in the distance.

What does this mean exactly?  Well, firstly, it means that now there are no assignments--I have no one grading me on my failures or successes.  I have no poetry packet deadlines to work towards,  no academic writing to achieve, no one championing me to keep on creating.  As a writer who has been coddled by the support of an academic community, it feels as if I've been set loose.  So, how do I begin?

In the last few weeks, I've been trying to wrack my brain for ways to keep myself active both intellectually and creatively.   A big portion of this is keeping myself an active reader as well as an active writer.    About a week ago, I stumbled upon a list of books, 30 Books Everyone Should Read Before Their 30th Birthday, and decided that, being nearly 25, I should attempt to read the books on the list that I have yet to read.  I'm beginning with Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita.

In the writing realm, I've decided to challenge myself by further exploring poetic forms.  Starting with the sestina, I hope to blog about my writing processes and develop a poetic arsenal of formal poetry.   Lovely readers, you can help me on this journey by giving me end words for my sestinas as well as suggesting funky poetics for me to explore.

More goodness later, loves.
R

Sandwich on the Brain

At this moment, somewhere in the universe, someone is eating a sandwich.

That sandwich is either:

a) mindblowingly amazing.  The sandwich of the Gods.  The mythical, the legendary, the epitome of all.

b) everything one would expect in a sandwich.  Adequate.  Everyday.  Good ol’ PBJ/Bologna/Ham/Fluffernutter.

or

c) contains liverwurst, pimento loaf, egg salad or other such unmentionables.

Sandwiches are the go-to lunch food of the collective  whether they be on whole-wheat, white or gluten-free rolls, I have never met an individual who has stood up and actively stood against the sandwich.

Today I ate two sandwiches.    Not at the same time, mind you, but within hours of one another.    I never once thought of myself as a two sandwich a day kind of gal.  There are days and weeks that go by before I put that heavenly combination of cheese, meat and bread in my mouth.   I can’t really even say that I actively miss the sandwich when I go on my unplanned sub sabbaticals–nothing in my life changes.

Yet, talking with a few others leads me to believe that the sandwich is an integral part of their lunchtime ritual.   They each have their cold-cut preference along with a penchant for specific condiments.  I have met  those who have specific guidelines regarding their mustard  and a good portion of people who actively despise mayonnaise.   I think diehard sandwich people are relatively trustworthy folk–after all, they have enough fidelity towards their lunchtime choices.

Sandwiches, man, sandwiches.

An appeal to the snark

Dear Denizens of the Universe,

As a breathing being with a sentient mind, I have been known to make observations.  The world turns, the birds chirp in the bushes, and people walk by and piss me off, make me giggle, make me cry.  This happens on a day to day basis.  

Don't get me wrong.   I am not a particularly angry or misanthropic individual.   You won't see me muttering frustrated gibberish around a grocery store like a disgruntled live-action Looney Tunes character.   Most of the time, I compose myself with a bit of a shrug--the universal expression of neutrality, of tolerance, and of nonchalance.

But:

 I am a people watcher.   I plop myself down in coffeeshops and in bars, in parks and in shopping malls and I amuse myself with social imaginings.   I am a terrible eavesdropper--I catch snippets of conversation and giggle or become infuriated.   I concern myself in matters that do not concern me necessarily.   I muse.  I simmer. I explode.

So, how does one with such tendencies compose herself in a way that others find socially acceptable?  Do I stifle my tittering? Resign myself to passive aggressive Facebook statuses?  ...should I reignite my passion for Twitter?  Where does the sarcastic line begin and end?   These are the questions that keep me up at night when I'm not pathetically reblogging Buffy gifs on my Tumblr.

-R

Hello.

Hello, Internet.

My time as a student draws to a near close and, once again, I would like to attempt this crazy charade of blogging.

A few things about myself:

My name is Robin.   I am currently 24 years old and I live in Connecticut.    As I hinted above, I'm nearly finished with pursing my Masters of Fine Arts in poetry from Fairfield University, having graduated with a BA in English from Southern Connecticut State University in 2010.

My interests are all over the place--obvious ones include literature--poetry, fiction, anything written I can get my hands on.   I also enjoy film--I'm a big fan of indie cinema and foreign films, mainly French and Italian.   As a teen, I took classical voice lessons, so I sing, occasionally.  My favorite musical artists include The Dresden Dolls, Regina Spektor, Amanda Palmer, The Decemberists, and Florence and the Machine.

This blog is an experiment in releasing some frustration, some bouncing energy, and to have some fun.

Cheers.

-R