Effusiveness and Mania and Other Qualities You've Come to Expect From This Blog

ERMAHGERD, you guys. I am so so so excited about M.S.'s latest art for our sketchbook project. (Which, by the way, we're still working on, even though the deadline passed.) I wrote a poem (which is, in itself, kind of exciting  . . . to me and no one else . . . but whatever) and then M.S. took the book and made this gorgeous drawing in response this morning and LOOKIT ISN'T IT AWESOME?

Text by Yours Truly, Art by Meredith Starr
It makes me so happy.

Welp, in other good news, after all of my griping and whinging and whining, the universe has thrown me a bone. I've been accepted into the Bread Loaf Sicily program for September 2018, which means that while I may not be doing a sabbatical or a true residency next semester, I will be granted five precious days at the end of the summer to concentrate on my writing.

In Sicily.

Thank you, Universe.

Obviously, it's been uplifting to receive good news. On the other hand, I am seriously veering into burnout.

But also trying to avoid that.

Had a long meeting with a few very good colleagues this morning about the future of the creative writing festival and it was a good one. Productive. We made some interesting decisions. I'm still scared about next year and what might happen. But maybe it'll turn out all right?

Also also I wrote a version of this post last week but somehow none of it saved in Blogger and when that happened I just got up and walked away from the computer before I had a meltdown. I'd written kind of extensively about the festival and the different readers and how great everyone was and how everything managed to go well after all -- and then I lost it to the dark recesses of the interwebs.

It was . . . discouraging.

I hate wasted time -- particularly because I'm about a bazillion years behind in grading but there's only ONE MORE FULL WEEK left to the semester so I'm going to pretend it's okay and that somehow everything's going to get done. My stress level must be palpable because last week a certain little someone left me this adorably formal (and overly punctuated) note in my lunch bag:

So really, if I've got this guy, what the hell am I complaining about, ammaright?


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