She came back.

In the “real world,” that is, the world that is not in Europe and therefore contains my PEOPLE and my THINGS (distractions) I do not blog because I am busy/distracted/don’t believe there are things worth updating the world about. Which is a bummer because, of course, it is not true and in reality my life since Denmark has been very full of fun and things-worth-mentioning.

However, as I don’t really see the point in backtracking to June and filling all “you” (the perceived and invisible audience) on every little thing, I’ll start again from this very second. 11:00 on a Friday night in Missoula, MT while I lay on my stomach on my way too soft bed and listen to The Grateful Dead.

My new goals:

Post art and writing for all youse to enjoy.
Talk about fun adventures I have out in wild Montana.
(including, but not limited to, hikes/biking/trips/concerts/shows/movies/books)
Show off cool stuff the bookstore I work at is doing.
And anything else.

This has been the first semester I’ve had with my actual major being the focal point. Two workshops – fiction and poetry. As we near the end of the semester (JUST A FEW MORE WEEKS) we are compiling what we’ve written in both classes in order to submit portfolios. And, as if they want to be shared on this blog, clippings have been spilling out of every folder, notebook and journal.

Some better than others, for sure. This bitter tasting poem revealed itself to me today on a journal pages dated months ago.

[book boiled rum]

the book boiled rum out its creases
steaming hot over, wild enough
to burn any page turned a hot little leaf
may tumble out

Don’t hold your breath;
tumble out.


A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan

My class on 20th Century Literature ended with a sad anti-climax of the professor reading aloud a list of authors from her powerpoint as a half-assed commentary on “Po-Mo” literature (is it okay to hate that abbreviation? Like Postcolonial – “Po-Co” – blech). Egan was mentioned, and since I’ve had Hemingway draped across my mind for weeks, I grabbed this book by the new, female author.
Reading Egan reminded me of the discovery of the YA section in my hometown library when I was ten. Books like this are the reason I didn’t fall asleep until sunrise for years. The quick but seamless jumping between the new narrator in each chapter kept me interested, trying to guess what was next and always failing, always surprised.
I found it hard to not think about age and dying, about holding on to people you love and working hard every day to be as alive as possible. The stories dealt with change and the kind of life kids my age want but one that fades until you’re nothing but droopy tattoos, hollow eyes and a nicotine addiction.
Pushing aside what was assigned for school and the giant writing project I’m supposed to be working on, I read this and don’t regret it. I too easily forget to read for enjoyment, only working my way through the “classics,” which I assign myself in an attempt to achieve a self-education when the university doesn’t seem enough.
But Egan has been a happy reminder that I don’t know everything and neither did the prominent authors from history. This new writer has been a relief for me, and I’ll be looking for more.