I only have time for a short post today (famous last words, I hear you mumble) because I am supposed to be studying for the GRE, which I am preparing to take next week in my never-ending quest to be admitted back into a graduate writing program. (I said “admitted”, not “allowed”; a slight but important distinction.) In my weeks studying for the test, I have learned some very illuminating things about myself, the test, and other people:

• When my Geometry teacher asked me to promise never to take another Math class again as long as I lived, I should have listened.
• People who write questions for the  GRE are the worst sorts of sadists.
• People who write self-help books for others to use to prepare for the GRE are the second-worst sorts of sadists.
• I am not nearly as smart as I thought I was, though I have discovered I’m nearly twice as literate, so perhaps that will even out on my scores.
• I would rather have my second mammogram this year than ever do this again.
• I should have taken the GRE immediately after completing my undergraduate degree, long before approaching middle age, motherhood, and a generally complete indifference to all topics mathematical or scientific robbed me of any remaining memory of having studied those topics.
• I am definitely not smarter than a 5th grader, which I can say with confidence, since I now live with one.
• People who have not taken the GRE do not understand when you say “No, I can’t go out to lunch today, I have to study”; or “No, I can’t serve on any committees right now”; or “What do you mean, ‘What’s for dinner tonight?'”(With all the fast food I’m subjecting them to this week, we’re becoming a walking ad for Lipitor.)

So there. Any additional GRE-related information I will have to share with you sometime next week, if I am still able to put together a coherent sentence after completing the non-Verbal portion of the test (I refer to it as “Nonverbal”, because I have a feeling that that is precisely how I will be after completing it: a gibbering, shaking, wreck of a human being who has lost the ability to speak.) Wish me luck…not that it will do any good, but at this point, I’d almost consider live animal sacrifices, if I thought it would help (PETA: I’m just kidding…)

It has been several days since my last posting, so I can share that I am doubly Back-to-School-Excited, as now my children have gone back to school as well. I have to say, the house seemed more uncomfortably quiet yesterday morning after the bus left than I had anticipated–guess I like my little buggers a lot more than I realized…

It was definitely odd to walk back in from the bus stop and know that I now had the time at my disposal to do all the writing and revising and drafting and editing I’d been complaining about not having the time to do all summer. So–how did I spend my first day with the children back to school? Nose to the keyboard, butt to the chair? Nah. I went to lunch and a movie with some friends–there’s discipline for you.

In all fairness, it was at least a movie about writers (Julia & Julia)–well, sort of. There was a lot of familiarity to the various writing-related scenes sprinkled throughout the movie; like the one where Julie Powell starts ranting about blogs in general just being people blabbing on incessantly about themselves (I swear, I don’t know what she was getting at); there was also the dream sequence toward the end of the movie,when Ms. Powell comes back to her apartment to find 65 voicemails from various agents, editors, and publishers, all wanting her.

I say “dream sequence” because for most writers, a moment like that would have to be a dream. I identified much more closely with Julia Child’s path to publication, one of slogging it out through the writing, the revising, the rejections, and then the one single acceptance letter that made her heart leap for joy–that seems closer to what I’ve been experiencing, anyway. It’s like the excitement you feel as a kid when you first light a sparkler on the 4th of July: it burns so brightly but is over so fast. (I speak of brief joy here because yes, it’s official: I have an article in The Writer magazine this month, and I did, in fact, leap for joy myself when my copy arrived in my mailbox. And then it was over and I was obsessing  once more about my lack of publishing credits.)

You know, as I’m sitting and reading back to myself what I’ve written, does anyone else find it sort of circular that Julie Powell shot to fame because of a blog she was writing, about which I’m now blogging myself? Hm…I thought so.

Anyway, it was a good movie, (and a good lunch, I might add) but not a very good excuse not to be writing yesterday. I did do some editing, however, so the day wasn’t a total loss. (I refuse to say “waste”, because I think friends are one of the important things in life and well worth losing a little bit of productivity for.) I’m currently “auditioning” for a job, so technically, I did do some work yesterday–I got the audition completed and sent it in this morning, which I thought was pretty good for someone who was playing hookey all afternoon (see what I can do with a whole day at my disposal? I can have fun and get some work done, which makes Julia a much happier camper, indeed.)

Today, however, I am truly back to work. I’m spending the morning polishing another piece; working on an article for a newsletter; updating this blog; finishing my homework for my Graphic Design class later this week (quick: How many picas to an inch? How many points to a pica? You don’t know? Ha–now I do!); and shortly, I will be taking a break from writing to work on my GRE prep. I have to go pick up The GRE for Dummies t0day from the library–I hope that title will turn out to be an oxymoron in my case. I have no fears when it comes to the Writing portion of the test, but fear I may be somewhat of an idiot savant when it comes to the rest of the exam. Will keep you posted…

So, that’s what’s happening in my life, which I can write about here because it’s my blog,  and since blogs are just about people blabbing on incessantly about themselves, then it’s all about me, me, me…if you don’t like it, you’ll just have to get your own space.

It’s September, which can only mean one thing: It’s Back-to-School Time! Do I hear strains of Handel soaring in the background?

Those of you who know me may suspect that my excitement [denoted by use of exclamation point above] comes from having my kids head back to class and out of my hair after a delightful–yes, delightful, she snapped–but very long summer.

Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re wrong. I’ve really enjoyed having this time with my children this summer. No, really. Stop laughing. Now.

Okay, maybe you’re a little bit right, I can’t deny that it has, indeed, been a loooooooong summer. But a chance to regain some of my lost sanity [please tell me it comes back] is not the primary reason for my excitement. I’m not excited because they’re going back to school; I’m excited because I’m  going back to school.

After having my plans for graduate school this fall derailed, I decided that there were still some things I could do to keep moving forward; one of those things was to start coursework in the Graphic Design field. I felt there was a knowledge gap for me in that area on a couple of freelance projects I’ve done this year, so thought it’d be a good way to close that gap. I’m also keeping one eye on the self-publishing industry (though there’s a  stubborn, elitist part of me that still views that as a decision of last resort). Should I decide to head down that path, being able to do my own layout would mean more freedom for me (and less money, since I wouldn’t have to pay someone else to do it.)

So it was that I found myself in my first Graphic Design class bright and early last Thursday morning. I was ridiculously excited, taking my seat in the front row of a packed classroom. Before you assume that I’m some sort of teacher’s pet, let me point out that the room was packed, and the only seat left was in the front row. (Just between you and me, I probably would have sat in the front row anyway, even if the room was empty, because I am a teacher’s pet. I just didn’t want you to be making baseless assumptions.) And the ridiculous excitement? That stemmed from having spent ten hours in the car with my family the day before. Need I say more on that subject?

I grinned like an idiot when the instructor entered the room. I was so ready to soak up some knowledge, that I found it really disappointing to spend so much time going around the room introducing ourselves, but it’s probably a good thing we did, because it forced me to turn around and look at the faces of the people in the room behind me. God, they were so young! This class is being held at a technical college, so the class is full of very young, very fresh, very…bored? late teens and early twenty-somethings.

I studied their faces as the instructor went around the room. “Hi, I’m Jane. I’m here because my mom told me I had to get out of bed this morning or move out.” “Hi, I’m John. What class is this again?” “Hi, I’m Mary. What’s the minimum grade I have to earn in this class to graduate?” “Hi, I’m Matt. I’m not in this class, actually–does anyone have a set of jumper cables? Dude, I left my lights on and now my car won’t start.” And on almost every face, boredom, apathy, and irritation. There were, to be fair, precisely 3 exceptions: two exchange students, and an older–read, older than me–woman who was heading back to school after having lost her job. And then there was me.

How could this be? How could the rest of the class not be filled with the same anticipation and eagerness to learn that was making me quiver like a chihuaua? How could they possibly be bored? Have I grown so old that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be stuck in a windowless classroom listening to a boring teacher talk about rules and grades on a beautiful late-summer day? Yes, apparently I have.

I could hear their idle chatter in the back of the room throughout the professor’s opening speech; I could hear their irritated sighs as she went over her grading policies (and I understood with sad clarity why she felt had to spell things out so carefully); and when the professor announced that we were going to be watching a video, I could just make out a communal “Yes!” sounding from the room as a whole. Myself, I was disappointed that our first day was to be spent watching a video–but not for long.

The video turned out to be a history of…Print! Yes! You heard me correctly: from the cave paintings of Lascaux, France, all the way up to the technologically advanced and marvelously modern…1970s. Fascinating.

I could hear the eyeballs of my fellow classmates plunking on the floor behind me, they were rolling so far back in their heads.

The professor warned us that it was a foreign film and the narrator had a very strong accent, so we might have a hard time understanding some of it. I watched the opening credits and prepared myself for a voiceover by the Swedish Chef, but was pleasantly surprised when the video was opened by the dulcet tones of …Sir Alec Guinness? When did he find time around the Star Wars videos? It probably wasn’t him, but it certainly sounded like him. I snuck a peak around me to see if anyone was having trouble understanding his “heavy accent”, but everyone else was sleeping, so I couldn’t tell.

At that point, enjoying the quiet unbroken save for the occasional plink of drool droplets landing on a desk or an unexpected snore, I settled in to watch the rest of the video, which I, personally, found to be quite interesting. Did you know that Bodoni, Garamond, and Baskerville were actually real people before they were fonts? Fascinating.

I can’t wait until next week.

If you read my post a couple of days ago, then you already know of my sympathetic feelings toward Hillary Clinton in regards to the long shadow her husband continues to cast.

Way back in November, according to an article by Tom Brune for the Newsday Web site, the concern about “the Bill question” was already rearing its ugly (read, having a bad hair day) head. Brune quoted University of Southern California law and international relations professor Edwin Smith as having cautioned that “Appearances of impropriety or awkward political moments could arise, as happened while Hillary Clinton was running for president.”

“An awkward political moment” is certainly one way to describe Hillary’s loss of cool last week. It is understandable that she would be a little reactionary to questions that seem to cast doubt on her independence from Bill. It might even have irked her slightly that while she was holding court at a press conference Tuesday morning with Colombian Foreign Minister Jaime Bermudez, what people really wanted to know about was Bill’s meeting with the President at the White House to share with him the information garnered from his trip to North Korea.  This time, Hillary kept her comments about Bill-related issues to a bare minimum. Bill’s information was “extremely helpful,” she replied. ‘Nuff said.

But just when it seems Hillary should be able to move past last week’s “Bill-ious” episode, yet another Bill pokes his head out into the arena of U.S.-North Korea relations: current New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson. Good grief–another Bill stepping into the ring? And just what exactly would have prompted the North Korean diplomats to approach Bill #2 now?

According to MSNBC, Richardson (the former U.S. Ambassador to the U.N. during the Clinton Administration as well as Clinton’s Energy Secretary [Bill’s, not Hillary’s, in case you’re confused]) stated that the “visiting diplomats spoke positively of the meeting with [you guessed it] Bill Clinton and seem to want to engage.” Ah. Bill. Again. Apparently Bill #1 and Bill #2 are on speaking terms again after Bill #1’s own Bad Hair Day (and you know I mean that figuratively, not literally) back in April ’08. Too bad for Hillary–this is starting to feel like one Bill too many.

To someone like me, who’s only a casual observer of politics, Hillary’s upstaging on North Korea this week by the two Bills makes it look like she’s becoming the Rodney Dangerfield of the diplomatic set. Having one Bill rattling around undermining her presence on the world stage was bad enough, but adding a second one into the mix makes it seem like the President, the Bills, and the North Koreans are attempting an end-run around the Secretary of State, rather than engaging with her directly. Edwin Smith is looking pretty prescient at the moment.

Hillary must be so tired of hearing the name Bill by now (I know I reached my own saturation point long ago.) I imagine her doing her best Jan Brady impression : “Bill, Bill, Bill!” , and now, “Bill Richardson! Bill Richardson! Bill Richardson!” I am only surprised that it took so long for her to finally lose her composure over yet another reference to “that sacred name”.

For her sake, I truly hope she avoids turning on the Weather Channel for the rest of the week…

This past Sunday, Garrison Keillor’s column presented an interesting take (his are always interesting takes, let’s face it) on the state of (newspaper) writers in the age of “new media”. When I read the following, I felt like cheering out loud:

“I’m an old media guy and I love newspapers, but they were brought down by a long period of gluttonous profits when they were run as monopolies by large, phlegmatic, semiliterate men who endowed schools of journalism that labored mightily to stamp out any style or originality and to create a cadre of reliable transcribers. That was their role, crushing writers and rolling them into cookie dough. Nobody who compares newspaper writing to the swashbuckling world of blogging can have any doubt where the future lies. Bloggers are writers who’ve been liberated from editors, and some of them take you back to the thrilling days of frontier journalism, before the colleges squashed the profession.”

Woo-hoo! Semiliterate gluttons! Writer-crushing editors! Profession-squashing journalism professors! I felt like standing up and cheering–still do, actually, so excuse me for a moment…there! I’m back, and I feel refreshed, although my neighbors across the street are hurriedly gathering their young children back into the house. Sorry.

“Crushed” is a term I believe applies to most of us poor souls afflicted by the profession of writing. We are crushed by insecurity, crushed by rejection letters, crushed by editors, crushed by readers who don’t “get” us, crushed by the plots barreling around in our minds, trying to escape (the inside of my head, at this moment, resembles nothing more than a demolition derby. I keep waiting for the short story I’m working on to collide with the novel and article I’m trying to finish in a terrible, mental Malachi Crunch. I think, if you start seeing steam spouting from my ears, it’s too late to save me.) It begs the honest question, to be sure–why do it then? Honest answer: I must. There’s too much in there that needs to come out. Just what would that be, you ask?

A fellow blogger (who also happens to be my brother and the person responsible for infecting me with this condition-johnchagerwrt.blogspot.com) asked his readers what they want to read. For me, I guess, the answer would be inextricable from what I want to write–they would be one and the same.

I want to read something that surprises me, catches me off guard, whether it’s a plot twist, an ending, or the unusual twist of a character’s development.

I want to read something that teaches me something I didn’t know before, whether it’s a bit of history, biology, geography, or something more complicated, like the intricacies of the human spirit. Anything calculus-related, however, need not apply.

I want to read something that makes me think (but not too hard–see above.)

I want to read something that moves me emotionally. I don’t care if it makes me angry, makes me squirm, makes me cry, or scares the living daylights out of me–just move me, damn it.

I want to read something that transports me, makes me ignore my family and forget to eat, drink, or sleep. (The family’s not too happy when I stumble across those rare books, but I am ecstatic–plus, I lose weight.)

I want to read something that, when I turn the last page, I feel bereft, at a loss for what to do with myself now that I’ve finished it.

In a nutshell, that’s what I want to read.

Now to set to work writing it…