Like One of Those Victorian Fainting Women

There was nothing romantic about this February. Usually I enjoy writing V-Day posts, usually cataloging all the fun, single things I do in order to make the most out of the lace-and-chocolate holiday, but this year was different.

On February 14th, I was writhing in agony on the couch, suffering from food poisoning turned stomach virus. I had to call in sick, miss the conference panel I was supposed to be on, and ate nothing but saltines and toast. I couldn't even read!

Me, calling into work at 5:00 am: 

"Hey _______, it's me again. I'm still not better. In fact, I've somehow taken on a fever overnight and the stomach pains are getting worse. Clearly, I have no shame talking about this. But I'll make it quick. If I were to come into work today, I'd either slump into a pile of goo on the floor, like one of those Victorian fainting women, or excuse myself multiple times each hour. Don't worry, though. I'm going to the doctor today..." 

Through the haze of pain, I daydreamed about the travel writing panel I was missing and the stack of handouts that were now all but useless since no one could hear me speak about my experiences in England and my travel writing tips. Booooooo. I also wished for many things: a new stomach made of steel and stocked with an ancient Greek army, chocolate cake, a book that wouldn't make me woozy while trying to read, and a nap.

"No naps," my intestines said, contorting into the shape of a rubber band ball. "Sleep is for the healthy."

The awesome poster in question.

But it's been about a week since then and I'm almost recovered. It is so good to be back at school, to say hello, laugh, and look at a computer screen without feeling faint. I have great friends in the program too, including the incredibly talented and frilly Namie of the blog "Good Morning Lovely." (We're BFF office mates at school, haha). She gave me, like, the best get well soon present ever when I returned to school: a Doctor Who poster that has a very witty saying on it that makes me think - well heck, maybe time traveling would have been a better cure for me than antibiotics.

Grad school takes no prisoners and my thesis is no exception. I'll be working on my last set of revisions this weekend before starting another ream of paperwork and getting the poor thing formatted. In other story news, I've been starting to get chunks of free time that, thankfully, have allowed me to write more of the current Figment stories I have up. I want to continue posting chapters in a timely fashion and I feel as if my characters, long dormant under the wild Thesis Sea, are starting to rise again to the surface.

A tiny story of mine called "Her Body Was Map" has recently been published at Lightning Cake, a brand-new lit journal started by Figment's very own, Linna Lee. Linna even illustrates the stories that get published and I can't convey how ecstatic I am with the one Linna made for my story. It. Is. Brilliant.

So happy belated V-Day. As I sit here, sifting through the chocolate that had to wait, I guess I can't complain. It feels amazing to be well again - or, at least, to be able to dash up a staircase, eat a whole sandwich, and laugh until it hurts while watching crazy-fantastic Food Network shows.

How has your February been?

On Death and Workshopping

"That's okay. It's the end of the semester, after all."

I think I said the above phrase at least twenty times last week. It's one of those things you say to soothe the people around you - kind of like saying "I'm sorry" when someone dies.

The act of speaking these words means that you've already let your shoulders sag.

This is the end of the semester and we're moving steadily to its final breath.

Tug on your seat beat. Hold onto the safety bar.

A windy afternoon

On Thursday, my professor decided that we'd spend the entirety of our three-hour class workshopping in small groups. We all brought our tentative final projects in, printing enough copies for everyone in our respective groups. 

The class I'm taking is called Illness Narrative. As you might guess from the title, we learn about all things that fall under the loose term of "illness." I've read poetry, essays, and fiction on topics ranging from the common cold to cancer, ranging from tear-jerking sadness to snorting laughter. The nice part about the class is that all of us, regardless of genre, are able to experiment with different forms and topics - something that is, for the most part, rare to do at the graduate level since you always want to put forth your best. 

I've written some weird stuff for this class. A small piece about eyelashes that, amazingly, had been published in the same semester, and two essays where I wrote about my harrowing experience at Disney with sugar-free dessert and my lifelong, though recently ending, battle with my giant pores, haha. And lastly, the short story I workshopped on Thursday. 

It's a humorous story inspired by the unit we did on the five senses. I gave my main character a heightened sense of taste, a cape-wearing nemesis, and three hairless cats. But I didn't know how to end the story. 

"I don't care where we go," said one of my group mates, "just so long as we're outside. I'm done." 

That's the end-of-the-semester-weariness talking, but we all agreed that some fresh air would be a nice change from the arctic classroom we all usually sat in. The groups all split up and we found a table in the new park, right behind the campus library. 

The park is pretty nice (though, to be honest, the space would have made a better extra row of parking - we need more parking on campus. Gads). There's a fountain that sprayed us with mist whenever the wind picked up. A girl passed out on the only swing set and fell asleep to the music pounding through her ear buds and the gentle motion of the swing. The wind found every little hole in my knit sweater. 

For the first twenty minutes, I used my hands as paperweights as we talked about our other classes, funny teaching stories, and complaining about the usual writing stuff (like lack of sleep and abundance of rejections).

Our stories were riddled with fatigue. 

"Your characters need to talk more here. Add some good puns to stick with your theme."

"Okay," I said. A pause. "Wait. Can you give me an example?"

Maybe it was the wind, or the fresh air, that made my mind so slow. I gave my group mates a drowsy smile and scratched down a few notes.

The Grand Tour 

While taking this class, I'm constantly reminded of the Death and Dying class I took back in college. At the time, I thought it was a great class to take as one of my final electives. If I wanted to be a writer, I'd only benefit from facing death head on - or, at least, in the form of a few multiple choice tests throughout a semester. 

So I took Death and Dying.  

The class was full of all different majors, people with tragic lives and people, like me, who are relatively cheerful. There were tears in during certain lessons. Every Tuesday, our professor started class with by reading us Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. During our "Death and the Media" unit, I (unsuccessfully) tried to convince the class that The Hush Sound's "Medicine Man" music video had to do with death.... and I say unsuccessful, because, for some reason, the deep and complicated story line of the video somehow went over their heads. I don't know. You tell me.

Next came the field trips. 

There was the funeral home: the tissue boxes were beautifully designed (that's how you know they were probably expensive), eagles were a common decoration for the caskets and urns, and the building was furnished, yes, with dark-wood, vintage furniture.

On the day we visited the local cemetery, a downpour of thick, blinding Florida ran ruined the trip - but we drove over there anyway, finding our professor standing in the rain under an umbrella. He told us to drive through the cemetery instead - and the only way to do that was to take the funeral procession route. Yep. Awkward.

Lastly, we got lost looking for the giant church seen from the highway that was hosting a guest speaker, talking about the stages of grief. We arrived late and had to be escorted by stern, suited men to our seats. It was strange and I felt happy that I'd never been in a place like that before then (or ever since). Whew.

It was a strange semester, haha. And yet another semester is just about to end, another one that held the theme of another bittersweet topic.

I went home after workshop, watched some Food Network shows, and dreamed about banana cream pies and bacon.  

Publication News:

There's a tiny bit of death in this piece. It's more than wonderful to start the new month off with a publication. Luna Station Quarterly released their annual drabble issue today and my drabble, "Octopus Girls," can be found inside!

For those of you who don't know, a drabble is an extremely small work of fiction, usually ranging in the 100-150 word area. I guess you could say it's like reading little pieces of candy. Whether it's bitter, sour, spicy, or comfortably sweet, the story stays on your tongue for only a moment before evaporating.

You might like this story if you:

• Only have a few seconds to read something
• Have unruly hair
• Daydream about a love affair with a handsome sailor 

By the way, for the Figgies out there: Linna Lee also had her drabble "Hold Fast" published here. It's a brilliant little piece!

As winter gets darker and colder (yay!), what are you feeling nostalgic about? If you're still in school, how are you preparing to finish out the semester? And if you have crazy hair like me and those octopus girls, whatever do you do to tame it? :)