An explanation of sorts:

I’ve got this belief that if I throw enough words at a problem maybe I can fix it. Words are a salve. Words are the way I put my finger in the dike to keep the flood from overflowing.

Virginia Woolf said that she wrote to make things whole.

I am no Virginia Woolf, but I think I understand where she was coming from. If I can throw enough words at a problem, something will stick, a solution will be found, understanding gained.

This makes me sound altruistic as a writer. Which, I can assure you is not the case.

A good friend of mine wrote a piece once for our dorm literary magazine about creating art. He said it was like a drug, he was both the dealer and the junkie and he couldn’t produce it fast enough to feed his addiction.

That was how I felt about the saxophone. It is how I feel about writing. The challenge of producing one good sentence, one that will be remembered after the newspaper’s been thrown in the trash is what I enjoy. Still, I don’t write for immortality or fame; I write because everyday I need the high and because I think some good can come of it.

I have the drug on one hand and on the other hand I see that there are a lot of problems in the community, in the world, that are threatening to overflow the embankment. I am compelled to try and make these things better where I can.

A drug and a compulsive behavior ... words are how I try to fix things, for myself and for others.

Rollerskate Skinny

I can't find the moon. Ten till 11 and I can't find the moon. I just want to look at Mars friends. Is the moon not up yet? I don't know. I will be checking again in a half hour or so, providing that I am not asleep.

First week of classes down. Something like 16 weeks till I'm done with college. I told my Mom that it was like the biggest "choose your own adventure" book ever.

Quoting:

"And the world's got me dizzy again. You'd think after 22 years I'd be used to the spin. And it only feels worse when I stay in one place, so I'm always pacing around or walking away." Landlocked Blues, Bright Eyes

"Every writer obsessed with depressing realities knows we are totally draining type to have around. Most of us are rational people - we know ten dollars, or even 3,500 words, is not going to change anybody's life. But until we can supply some meaning to what we are witnessing, we are doomed to reel from the resonances." Red, White and Oh So Blue, Mary Kay Blakely

Strange happenings:

Had my ipod on shuffle today. As it selected melodies from 1,002 options it made a very interesting decision: after playing Bright Eyes', Landlocked Blues it chose to play Emmylou Harris' Boulder to Birmingham. This is only interesting because Harris makes a guest apperance with Connor Oberst on Landlocked Blues - how did the ipod know?

And now a actual discussion that is occurring in the office of whether the magazine will run a controversial cover featuring the confederate flag. Oh yes, I'm serious.

Backstory: The cover feature next week is one that is supposed to be examining the existence of confederate Missouri, looking at the lives and reasons for modern day citizens who support the confederacy, or consider themselves confederates. This could have been a really beautiful narrative piece examing the reasons people need to hang on to causes and purposes, or looking at how people twist history and flags to suit their own ends. As it is, it looks as though it will simply be a piece offering the information that some people in Missouri identify as confederate soldiers.

The debate: This feature will be going on the cover, the most obvious visual image is the confederate flag, and yes people are seriously considering running it big on the cover.

Point: Those in the pro-camp feel we shouldn't shy away from controversy before we've given it a try.
Counterpoint: Those in the opposing camp feel that the story - the narrative, point and writing should be strong enough to justify selling controversy on the cover. At this point the story looks as though it will be an embarrassingly weak effort, barely addressing the amount of conflict surrounding new and old supporters of the confederacy.

My feelings: I hope that I don't have to waste words here reassuring people that I have no problem confronting controversial subjects. However, I see absolutely know point in running the stars and bars on the cover. Though I haven't read the story yet, my understanding is that it is not strong or compelling narrative. Secondly, I don't see a point to riling people up by putting such a controversial image on the cover without a strong justification. Thirdly, I really have a serious problem placing a symbol that is so associated with racism on the cover of a community magazine, particularly one that sells itself as more pithy than serious, more fun and offbeat than concerned with social issues. Whether the flag originally represented racism is moot, as the symbol is now associated with racists groups and sentiments. Fourth, controversy for controversy's sake is always a distasteful and uncouth choice in journalism.

Stay tuned for Monday when we find out what the ones in charge have decided.

What I want (is it really so much to ask?)
1) The student editor who is doing the second read on my feature to finish reading the galleys instead of leaving them for long intervals to handle issues in her department. She could tell her other editor, "If you'll just let me finish this galley, I'll be glad to give you my opinion."
2) A pony
3) For editors to understand the difference between proofreading and trying to over edit the text.
4) For TA's to do it right the first time rather than finding two more things they don't like and wish to change on each new clean draft.
5) Mexican food.
6) For writers to make the changes I have asked them to make before turning in a second draft.
7) To be home at Bag End.
8) For the schedule that says editors are done at 7:30 p.m. on Tuesdays to be taken as a literal deman and not a figuarative suggestion.
9) Clean laundry
10) For people to put two ounces of effort and thought into what they're doing.

Surely I'm not the only one who hates staying here late. This staff needs a union and some brains.

True Story:

Dreading your work place will not make it go away, nor will it diminish the amount of stuff you have to do.

I'll bet you that I'm here until midnight tonight.

I know I haven't written in a bit ... and that's all right.

What I really wanted to say is that though I lose sight of it sometimes, I know that there is truly an astounding amount of goodness in my life.

Not due to any fault of mine. I'm just blessed to be surrounded by good people.

I look at the people in my life, the artists and dancers, the lovers and writers, those who know exactly what they want and those who are still looking.

I thought of my people today as I walked up the steps to a job that I don't fancy where I work with several people for whom I have little admiration or warmth.

I thought of us - the whole ragtag bunch - I do not know where we are headed, but I'm sure we are going with smiles on our faces.

So though I get caught up in work, frustrated by things I can't change and people who can't see past their opportunistic noses, I know that at the end of the day there is still an anchoring point for my life. That the things I hold true and dear, remain, even if I am not always the best keeper of them.

At the end of the day, I will try and remember to say thank you.

The post what I wrote:

These are the words that came to me as I waited in Lee Hills Hall for my friends to call to meet up at the twilight festival.

Picture perfect view in a quiet room with no lights and just my fingers tapping. Peace park, and folks walking and knowing that 9th street is buzzing.

Warm outside, hot and I like it. Windows rolled down, sun roof open and music sounds better in summer. Who was the bassist for Led Zeppelin?

How many thoughts can come and go before the phone rings? Before life calls me from my reverie, here - if a reverie could be had in Lee Hills Hall. And there goes someone with a sizable bare midriff - side to side that is.

Leaving was the hardest thing I had to do, even while driving over the Missouri River in Boonville, I wanted to turn around and go back. As though going back over the miles were going back over time as well.

These are the thoughts what I wrote. Because I haven't written in a month, only edited, tried to direct other writers.

And 22 feels like a lot suddenly, but only cause I'll never go back to the place where I learned to tie my shoes.

And Stevie Wonder just called, so I am off. But this is the post what I wrote on Thursday afternoon.

Time's not getting any shorter, so I guess I better get on down the road.

Remember that time...
This morning I was pulling images off the web for Vox, I needed to get a movie poster from Lord of the Rings from an upcoming article. Scrolling through the various images, I saw Ian McKellan.

And of course, I remembered seeing him in the Christmas Pantomime, “Aladdin,” at the Old Vic in London. Playing on the story of Aladdin, in which the boy finds an enchanted ring, McKellan stepped to the front of the stage to deliver the aside, “One ring to rule them all,” to which the audience burst into applause.

Rainy here and there...
Before I left for London, I told people that I was sure there would be some point at which the novelty wore off and it would simply be a rainy, cold day in a big city. And there was, there were only so many days that you could walk in the drizzle with your collar turned up and think, “Gee, I'm walking in the rain in London.”

So looking out the window at the rain falling in Columbia, I compare it to London. I didn't hear it thunder the entire time I was in Europe. The summer rainstorms are one of my favorite things here. I'm glad to have a porch to watch the storms from before I head off into the world.

Also...
Remind me never to watch an adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, they are all horribly sad.

And so...
I sit in the Vox office and look forward to the day ahead.

"Nothing’s gonna change my world, nothing’s gonna change my world."

We sang along to Rufus Wainwright covering the Beatles’ song. Neither of us looking at each other, both bad at goodbyes. It was nighttime; the Columbia streets were quiet. Across I-70 and into downtown and nothing’s gonna change my world.

A statement and a prayer. Our lives shifting and changing even as we clung to them.

But still, nothing’s gonna change my world.

Speaking of Magnolia Trees:

The one in front of Neff Hall, that valiant Southerner far from home, is still waiting for its blossoms.

Missouri is just at the edge of where magnolia trees can grow. In the South, these trees tower and shade and the white flowers dangle among the dark green leaves. In front of Neff Hall the magnolia tree is shorter, it looks stooped, like it is trying to make the best out of its lot in life.

Speaking of transplanted Southerners:

It’s 74° in Dallas, Texas. I picture that a warm breathy breeze is blowing across the North Texas plains. The stars are out and lights are glowing in the open windows.

There is warmth and the very beginning of the idea of a Texas summer, which is hot, filled with bright sunlight and evening thunder and lightening, but perhaps no rain.

And I want to be in Texas so bad I can taste it. There is something there that centers and grounds me. More than the familiarity of home, more than the place where I grew up. There is space there, room to think and breathe.

Maybe it’s the fact that a day’s drive can lead to the Piney Woods, tall and green, to the rolling hill country with its scrubby trees, could lead to the coast painted in sea greens and blues, could lead to the Davis Mountains. The fact that in all those different places you would still be in Texas, still be home.

Speaking of Summer:

Right now it’s 59° in Columbia and maybe all my longing for Texas is just coming from the fact that I am cold. It really galls me to be able to wear long sleeves in the middle of May. I’m hoping that the heat will get here soon. But until then, I’m going to snuggle in under my blankets and read.

Sitting today we asked each other the same question:

What happens if the sky falls?

And in our own ways we answered.

If the sky falls, we will rebuild it. If the sky falls, we will build a new sky of the jagged pieces. But whether the sky falls, we will continue to dance. Continue to dream. Continue to move always forward.

Here is the edge of earth and sky. It is all changing. Here we stand to meet it.

New centuries tremble with questions, always the same questions. What changes and how shall we help and how shall we be better than those who came before?

In that century, we stood through the War to end all Wars and through the wars that followed. Here we stand in another. And still there are people hungry, people thirsty, people dying because they have no medicine. Against the screaming harpies Hunger, Thirst, Sickness and Poverty, we must stand together. Against those who will not lend able hands to help a brother-sister, we must stand and dance.

This century, five years old, feels tenuous, feels tender and those who follow us ask already in not yet spoken voices what changes and how did you help and how were you better than those who came before?

We who write, those who sew, those who sing, all who build must stand. The scientists, the doctors, the mechanics and the farmers, the actors, the cooks, the legislators and the taxi drivers, nurses and painters, all must stand on the edge of earth and sky and dance.

Move feet, snap fingers, bop heads, shake limbs dance on the edge to spin forward and change. When the changes are terrible and great, those who hope must step forward to dance; when the changes are difficult and good those who entertain, who cook, who comfort must step forward while others rest. Where there is need let us step to meet it.

There are still tyrants, kings and empires willing to steal the ocean’s freely given salt from the people; rulers who would put laws around a birthright.

We will dance to the ocean and take the salt; we will dance through fields and sow a harvest. We will not sell our birthright and we will seek our blessing. Most of all, we will teach those not yet spoken voices to stand on the edge of earth and sky unafraid.

Here on the edge we are dancers.
We who are about to die, dance. We who dance change the world.

1. Pop Quiz:
   
   While loading your two chosen washing machines in the basement laundry room, one of your neighbors comes down and starts loading the third. You and your neighbor’s laundry starts at the same time and thus will be finished at the same time. Ordinarily, this would not be a problem as there are three washers and three dryers to accommodate them; however, on this day, one of the dryers is out of order. Because there are three loads of clean, though wet clothes and two dryers you and your neighbor now have a problem. You decide to:
   
   a) Just take the two dryers and leave the poor sucker to fend for herself when she arrives in the laundry room minutes after you have left.
   b) Consolidate your two loads into one by removing items that you can hang to dry, thus considerately leaving a dryer for your neighbor.
   c) I don’t do laundry and this quiz is irrelevant to me.
   
   If you chose a, then you are my neighbor, who apparently is a thoughtless boob.
   If you chose b, then you are me and are currently sitting in room surrounded by wet T-shirts on hangers and jeans hung over doors because your neighbor, the thoughtless boob, took the only available dryers for her clothes.
   If you chose c, then you are gross and I can do little to help you.

So much cooler than you:

So I’m at Shakespeare’s today with a couple friends and who should be in front of us but the one and only, Jacqui Bana-what, otherwise known as the Pulitzer Prize winner and general writing guru at the J-school.
These are the pearls of wisdom she imparted to us:

1) She danced while ordering her pizza. She danced while paying for her pizza. We should all dance more often.
2) She said that veggie pizza was “all-girl pizza.”
3) She also said that we should just get beers and dance.

Clearly a woman after my own heart.

The fates are smiling:

Kids, I got an e-mail today that made me squeal. No really, squeal. Grupo Fantasma is playing a concert in Columbia. April 15. Music Café.

I covered this band last year for Adelante. They will rock your face off, even if you don’t speak Spanish. 12 piece band, wicked percussion and horns. This band grooves constantly. It is not to be missed. I expect to see all of you there.

Second, Klezmerica at Mojos this Friday and the Decembrists on Monday at the Blue Note. And Of Montreal will be at Mojos on April 22.

Could life get better? Clearly not.

I’m out. I’ve got some tunes on the stereo and I’ve got to dance.

G.T.T. Y'all.

Looking for a few laughs?

To good not to share, if you have a few moments follow the link and click on "Loose Lion":

http://nbc17.feedroom.com/iframeset.jsp?ord=581053

Apparently, this zoo in Japan wants to be ready should an animal ever escape. After watching the drill it's clear that their zoo staff is top notch.

It made me laugh. A lot.

What you probably didn’t know...

1) When trying to decide on my name my Mother really loved the name Ellen, but my Dad said that Ellen Alsup had too many l’s. They also really liked the name Jennifer and were pretty set on it until the doctor told them that everyone in Houston was naming their daughters Jennifer. So they went with Sara and liked how Elizabeth sounded with it.

2) I actually do answer to the name Elizabeth because that’s what my Dad has always called me.

3) I have a little scar under my chin from when I slipped on the blacktop while playing ring-around-the-rosy. I had to have stitches. When we got to the doctor’s office the nurse/receptionist person said that I sure must have hurt the pavement when I fell. I still think this is a rather stupid statement and not really what any child wants to hear.

4) I’ve wanted to be a writer since Mrs. Brumet’s second-grade class. I decided that if reading were so much fun then writing would have to be even better. My poem, “Tea with the Dragons,” was published in the second-grade anthology. I illustrated it myself. Copies available upon request.

5) About the time I was in middle-school, I decided that writing was too personal a medium and so I focused on music.

6) The first chapter book I read was, “The Boxcar Children.” I can remember laying on our tan and brown couch in our house in Houston and being almost too excited to open the book. I felt incredibly accomplished when I was done.

7) In second-grade, Gaston called me monkey-face. I am still a little ticked off about this. And I hate the name Gaston.

8) In about fourth grade I got really mad at my parents for something (probably for asking me to do my chores) and told them, “Fine. I’ll be my own woman when I’m 18 and then I can do what I want.” (This was because I had learned that the government considers you an adult with rights at 18) The morning of my 18th birthday, when my Mom heard me coming down the stairs, she put the song “I am Woman hear me Roar, in numbers to big to be ignored,” on the stereo and then cooked me breakfast. It’s one of my best mornings.

9) For most of my childhood I was extremely allergic to cats. If I got anywhere near a cat my nose would start to run, I would start to itch and my eyes would swell up. I still get nervous around cats.

This is the most excited I've ever been about an article in the Missourian:

http://www.digmo.com/news/story.php?ID=11981

Honestly Ridiculous

This morning I woke up and hated everything in my closet. Not a single thing to wear. None of it.

I spent around 30 minutes trying on clothes, different tops with different pants, occasionally perusing my shoe options only to end up in the same sweater I started off in, albeit, with a different pair of jeans.

When I wore a uniform to school, this never happened. I had two choices of shirts, one skirt, two pants. Aside from the fact that I can never learned to coordinate anything that wasn't white, blue, khaki or gray plaid, I've gotta say that the uniforms were much easier.

Ridiculous.

Okay, well. I lied. There was one thing in my closet that I wanted to wear. My lovely summer dress with a lovely summer sandal. (The green dress with a robin-egg blue floral print and lining. It's sleeveless, with a high waist. And looks like it came straight from the 1950s...oh it just makes my heart flutter. Ooo, and if I could just find a delicate blue shoe, I would simply be the cat's meow.) But I just didn't think that would be pratical. I did, at least, resist the urge to try it on. Perhaps this afternoon...

I think I will wear my Methodist coat to make up for this morning's wardrobe woes.