I Want to Do Something Stupid...

A friend of mine wrote a poem that stuck in my brain.

I want to do something stupid
While I can still blame it on being young -

I want to go to New York to study literary translation.  I'm not good with strange places and strange people, I grew up in the suburban Midwest and went to school in a medium-sized town - I don't think I can handle New York.  I have been assured by my professors - as well as the program director at NY - that I will not be able to make a living with literary translation.  Not to mention that it is a dual program in Translation AND Creative Writing - and while last semester I proved to myself that I can handle a Creative Writing class, it's still not my favorite thing to contend with.

Really, I should just forget about that program as impractical in every way, and just go to Kent State, like my professor advised.  (I told her I wanted to get out of Wisconsin - believe it or not, there is a translation school in Milwaukee - and she gave me Ohio.  Well, perhaps I should have been more general.)  The program there is technical translation, legal and medical and computer, all sorts of things that people actually pay translators for, and while it's certainly not the best field, I will likely do as well as can be expected.

But that's the safe option.  I've always taken the safe option, and frankly, I'm sick of it.  Not many people know this, but I almost applied for UAA - the University of Alaska, Anchorage.  If I'd done that, I'd probably be looking at Applied Linguistics and native language preservation by now.  And I'd probably know how to dogsled.  It was a pleasant dream my junior year, but when I actually started applying, I thought of so many logistical and practical barriers, that in the end I never even applied.  I went to safe, 90-minutes away, whitewashed, Midwestern Eau Claire.  And I met so many wonderful people here, and have enjoyed myself immensely and grown so much, and I have pushed my boudaries, really.  But Eau Claire is not Alaska.

I almost went to Graz, Austria, for my semester abroad, instead of Marburg, Germany.  But no one else was going to Graz; besides, the Austrian dialect is so thick it's hardly even German.  There, it is a complete immersion experience, and you take classes with native speakers in the native language.  Marburg, on the other hand, gives you German-for-foreigners with other foreigners.  Safe.

That was a mistake.

Long story short I was bored out of my mind and depressed for about six months straight.  That's what comes of taking the safe option.

Granted, I haven't even applied, much less gotten in.  The New York program is very competitive, and I'm going up against people who are already professional translators and want to expand their horizons a bit.  There is, however, another translation school with a good reputation in Monterey, California.  Monterey, from what I can gather, is the Eau Claire of California - there's nothing to do, and you're only there if you're a student or retired.  Monterey is the compromise option.  Monterey is the Eau Claire between the U of M and Alaska (though it is a bit closer to Alaska than the U).  So I can safely go there without feeling like a coward.  And I think in typing this I just convinced myself to go there after all.

But I'm going to at least try for New York.  I have to.  If I don't get in and end up at Monterey, that's fine, but if I never even try...well, that's just pathetic.  And if I do get in, and end up going there, and it ends up being a horrible mistake, at least I made an interesting mistake instead of a boring one.

Responsibility

My life in isolation in Scheissburg drove me over the edge, but I think it is fair to say that I had been pushed to the edge by the previous semester.  Long story and confidential events shortened, I became Mark from the musical Rent.  I watched my best buddy Roger get his heart torn apart by Mimi (or perhaps he would be Benny by now), and dealt with Maureen's craziness on the side.  I watched my world and my friends sink into hell, and there was not a damn thing I could do about it, not even make a stupid movie.  Mark is a really sucky character to be.  He doesn't actually do anything.  Just stands around and mopes while everyone deals with crap.  He doesn't even affect anything.  He doesn't end up with a lover.  FML.

The play neglects to mention, however, just how much it hurts to be in that situation.  To simultaneously be certain there is nothing you can do and still have the urge to fix everything.  Torn apart, much?

In summary, my two resolutions for this year are:  1.  Stop being afraid of things that won't kill me (did I mention that already?) and 2.  Don't make things my problem that aren't.  Because I came to the realization that I can't take care of anyone else if I can't take care of myself.

So now that we're in the second act, Maureen is having trouble with Joanne, and I can tell him what we all know he needs to do.  I can assure him a thousand times over that yes, people are going to be upset with him, but we as his friends will never abandon him.  But when it comes right down to it, this is something he can only do himself.

Last fall got to the point where I wanted to confront Mimi/Benny and have a very frank conversation with him about my take on what was going on.  That did not happen until after it was essentially too late.  Now, I'm choking off the impulse to do the same with Joanne.  She barely knows me.  And yet...I know she's about to go through hell.  A part of me thinks I could say something, do something, to make it easier.  So where do I draw the line?  Is she my problem, or isn't she?  Do I keep from getting involved, or am I already involved?

What is going to happen is that I won't say anything unless she approaches me.  Then all bets are off.  This is a very delicate situation, and any direct interference from me could very easily swing things the wrong way.  So Mark, get thee behind thy camera where you belong.  The best thing I can do now is call encouragement as the actors play their parts.  For I am an actor too, and I have my own parts to play.

How did we get here?  How the hell - ?
Pan left.  Close on the steeple of the church...

Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor
Of memory?
When single frames from one magic night
Forever flicker in close up
Of the 3D Imax of my mind?...

Why am I the witness?
And when I capture it on film?
Will it mean that it's the end, and I'm alone?

Blah blah blah

First of all I feel that I owe my very best friend in the whole wide world an apology, because I've been avoiding him.  Why?  I just sent him the first draft of the aforementioned vampire story and asked him to critique it.  Then I spent the next few days convincing myself I was busy, when really I just wanted to convince myself that I had never written anything and no one had ever read it.

I think I need to give a name to this problem.  Presentation Anxiety, how about?  It's like stage fright, only with the written word, instead of spoken.

So right now, having finally worked up the nerve to check my email, I feel pretty wretched.  Nausea is my chief emotion at the moment, a side affect of the anxiety.  I also feel a crushing doubt in my abilities as a writer, and a voice in my head is trying to convince me that I am not up to the challenge, that I should just keep these stupid little attempts at stories to myself and not try to do anything with them.  See, I don't write for enjoyment or ambition.  I write to keep my sanity.  So all that matters is that I write, right?  I can handle the world of the writer, but the world of readers is too big for me.

I am now telling that stupid little voice to shut up, because I can get over this.  I've heard everything I knew made that story suck, but I also heard the things I might have forgotten that made it good.  Right now the vampire plot feels a bit off - and I'm thinking "Why did it have to be vampires?  Seriously, where did that come from?  I don't even like vampires." - and it needs complete overhaul.  I might even nix it completely and go for a mundane plot.  Okay, probably not that; I'd get bored, not to mention that thwe whole story sprang from the first line, in which a vampire is essential.  So some hardcore reimagining.  (But seriously, why vampires?) 

Not to mention that the only scene in the story that seems to work and that I actually like (and my beta-bestie agrees) is a scene that has no vampires...

Ah well.  Here, have a metaphor.  It's like (okay, simile) a massive home improvement project.  You have to rearrange all the furniture and completely gut a room, and then fix whatever is wrong, and then you find other things going wrong and have to fix them, and then you make a mistake and have to fix that, and it's just so much work, you don't even know if it's worth it anymore.

Is it worth it to me?  I'm not going to answer that yet.  I'm just going to say that if I should give up any sort of publication aspiration, I should have a better reason than fear.