tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67893959550595623302024-02-20T04:58:36.581-05:00MFA at 40What to say, I'm 40 and getting and MFA in Writing for Young People. Way back when, I worked as an IT manager until motherhood pulled me out of my fancy suits and Jimmy Choos. I live in Bangkok Thailand with my husband, two kids and seventy-eight year old father. But me and Lesley University's low res MFA program, it was meant to be, Its given me a community of creative coolness that feels so much like a long lost home.Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-28598028221108653892011-07-07T18:26:00.000-04:002011-07-07T18:26:38.665-04:00FogAll this clean California air... my lungs don't know what to do with it. It makes me want to nap and drink 75 cups of tea. Not at the same time of course.<br />
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I left my 2nd MFA residency and headed to Washington DC. I went to visit a good friend of mine in a rough place. I don't think she even invited me to stay. I told her I was planning a visit, I needed to pay her a visit, just to see where she was mentally and if I could offer her any words of understanding.<br />
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My friend, let's call her Donna, was preforming an incredible feat of selflessness. She opened up her home to a dying friend. A friend with terminal cancer. People who know me well are familiar with my story and my family history. I watched two people close to me, my mother and sister, die of cancer. My mom went first followed by my sister two and half years later.<br />
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My mother never acted sick. She was in a clinical trial for small cell lung cancer and attended undergraduate college part time. One day she was in class, the next day she had difficulty breathing, went to the ER and never came out. She died at 11:30pm on September 10, 2001. I took the last flight out of Houston that night (and luckily I did b/c we all know what happened the next day) hoping to say goodbye to her. When my plane touched down at BWI, she was already gone.<br />
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My sister had undiagnosed pain for a year. When the source of the pain was discovered, she was told she had stage 4 cancer. That was April 2003. She went into out patient hospice December 2003 and died within 6 weeks. My sister held on for nearly two weeks after the death rattle began, she held on through all the medical predictions of "within hours", and she held on for a week without a traceable blood pressure. She died on a during an ice storm on a Monday. She was 46 years old.<br />
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My heart went out to my friend Donna when she told me she was caring for her terminal ill friend. I am a writer but I do not have the words to express what happens when a person dies slowly and painfully in front of you. You want your loved one to end their suffering, to go peacefully into the after life. But you selfishly do not want them to go, to leave you in the wake of grief - the fog that envelops you then dissipates over time, therapy, and a lot of cupcakes.<br />
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Donna was a good shape though. In much better shape that I had anticipated. Her friend had left to be with family and decided to live our her final days there. The day after I left Donna's house, her friend died. She sent me a text and a I cried like it was yesterday my niece called me to tell me my sister finally let go. <br />
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Whether you get to say goodbye to a terminally ill loved one or you make peace with their eventual demise, I think it's important to reach out people may need your help. That's what I did for Donna and doing so, I helped myself.<br />
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WOW! What a totally depressing post...<br />
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I missed two Igpay Atinlay posts. I owe you 2 and then some.<br />
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Peace Out,<br />
EPJElley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-32068454062282150252011-06-22T10:57:00.000-04:002011-06-22T10:57:45.882-04:00Igpay Atinlay Uesdaystay Elayedday noay Ccountaay foay EtlagjayElcomeway otay Igpay Atinlay Uesdaystays.<br />
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Etlaggedjay inway Illmay Alleyvay ACAY. Eatingway armfay eshfray organicway awberriesstray andway allonsgay ofway offeecay.Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-68083986522413089212011-06-14T21:01:00.000-04:002011-06-14T21:01:55.251-04:00Igpay Atinlay UesdaystaysElcomeway otay Igpay Atinlay Uesdaystays. Ouya ancay evernay peaksay nougheay Igpay Atinlay. Omesay aysay tsiay aay ostlay anguagelay. Iay aysay tiay ustjay eedsnay otay ebay ekindledray niay hildhoodcay indsmay.<br />
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Idday ouyay nowkay Homastay Effersonjay roteway etterslay niat Igpay Atinlay? Ehay uresay idday. Tiay asway lsoay idelyway umoredray hattay ehay roteway boutaay ishay excapadessay niay ishay ournaljay singusay Igpay Atinlay. Histay sisay aay idkay riendlyfay logbay osay hattay siay notheraay torysay ntirelyeay.<br />
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Iay ubmittedsay ymay wotay anuscriptsmay orfay ymay Unejay esidencyray. Ighsay. Ladgay hattay sisay veroay ithway. Iay maay ookinglay orwardfay otay eeingsay riendsfay nday amilyfay noay ymay riptay nday foay oursecay ritingway ymay ummbay ffoay!<br />
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Iay opehay ouyay avehay njoyedeay ymay eryvay irstfay Igpay Atinlay Uesdaystay ostpay. Ntiluay extnay eekway...Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-33456632222211423842011-05-28T03:27:00.001-04:002011-05-28T03:28:34.410-04:00After You - A Short Film by Noah Debonis<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;">Noah Dubonis, the son of my friend and mentor Laurie Kuntz directed this short during his first year of grad school. After You won Best Cinematography at the University of Miami's Cane Film Festival. This short was one of nine films that represented U of Miami in a Paramount Studios Los Angeles Screening!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCrRCmvsl5Y">After You - YouTube</a></span>Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-19095858630284768252011-05-28T02:47:00.001-04:002011-05-28T02:47:56.283-04:00Grammar ChallengedI'm a grammar fucktard.Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-55778001038097982712011-05-26T23:08:00.000-04:002011-05-26T23:08:32.697-04:00Counting day the days...'til my next Writer's Residency. My first semester at Lesley was probably the hardest thing I have ever done, next to child birth and motherhood. Everything I thought I knew about writing, I didn't. Writing is a process, creativity a gift. I learned I must work my process to reap the rewards of my gifts even if it's just a shitty first draft. <div><br />
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</div>Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-31202887028145112772011-01-25T20:36:00.000-05:002011-01-25T20:36:59.033-05:00Back in Bangkok... Where there will be a chance of sleep and Pad Thai Prayers...You know that feeling you get after a long boat ride, the feeling that you are still moving. What's it called? Sea legs? Well, after 32 hours of travel, I have some serious air legs. I wish I could sleep it off. With the jet lag and my bursting excitement at seeing my kids again, there will be no chance of sleep in my near future. Maybe tomorrow, I'll sleep.<br />
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In the meantime, I 'll head down to my favorite mom and pop thai place, carb -load up on the best Pad Thai, EVER. I'll say quite prayers to the sleep Gods in between breathless gulps of noodles, my glasses fogging up from dish an the afternoon sun, sweat dripping down my face. I may even wash down my noodles with a Singha. Who knows? I'm an MFA candidate at 40, I'm all over some crazy shit like beers at 10am and no sleep for days!!<br />
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I'll let you know how it turns out.Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-44800614040686718042011-01-23T17:54:00.000-05:002011-01-23T17:54:04.142-05:00Post Residency... Part II<div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Post residency travel - </div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm in DC with my <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1295822537_1" style="color: #366388;">niece and nephew</span> (in law) until next week which is good. I'll be easing into my life without the community of writers. I'm a bit lost. I don't know what to do with myself. I should be writing but I not there yet. I should be reading but again, not there yet. I'm antsy. </div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And I need coffee. </div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Lost on the coffee thing here at my niece's Her coffee maker is an all in one, grind and brew. It probably can perform minor surgery. I have no idea how to work it. </div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm out of clean clothes too. </div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I arrived at my niece's with one clean underwear, if I can call it underwear. More like affixing-eye- bulgers that "shrink the waist and gut" by 2 - 10 inches depending on the peddler. I call them my magic pants. I typically only wear these babies on special occasions like anniversary dinners with my hubs. I have no idea why I do this because getting out of the magic pants is one of the most exhausting and completely unsexy to witness. </div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So today is all about finding some coffee, doing laundry and changing my magic pants which of then I'll be totally exhausted to get any real work done. Tomorrow is another day so tomorrow, I will release the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1295822537_2" style="color: #366388;">Kraken</span>!</div><div><br />
</div>Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-44248617635781507372011-01-23T17:43:00.000-05:002011-01-23T17:43:10.335-05:00Four Days Post Residency...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">Laundry done, sorta. Books hunted and purchased, mostly. Time to destroy that blank page. RELEASE THE KRAKEN, hopefully.</span>Elley P Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00290835149038164999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789395955059562330.post-38722993006072041962010-11-22T20:42:00.001-05:002011-01-23T17:41:39.891-05:00Deciphering (Random Word Pick From Poetry by Pablo Neruda<div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Word Trigger Exercises.<br />
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<b><u>Deciphering.</u></b> </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Southern Comforts, deciphering the code. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Skills for deciphering your southern spouse.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">There is always a catch when trying to decipher what a southerner says. Whatever they say, it's never what they are saying. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">"he does not know shit from shinola". That's a great one. I asked my MIL what it meant. She replied "I have no idea" and giggling, presuablely at me, for not knowing how to speak southern. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">The catch is that underneath the saying, there could possibly be an insult waiting for me. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">"She could scare a cat off a gut wagon" - that's pretty self explanatory. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Starting a sentence with "Bless her/his heart..." is never good. It usually always followed by something negative, in southern code speak. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">For example 'bless her heart, she could scare a cat off a gut wagon'. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">See? Not good. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Deciphering Part II</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">His look was impossible to deciper. In one way he looked focuused, determined but with wrinkled forehead and his eye brow touching like that, he could very well be pissed off. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Then of course his bag as by the door. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">He was due home today but that was hours ago. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Why was the bag still packed, and by the door. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">Decipehring Part III</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">If I were a boy of say ten or eleven, I would save all my proof of purchase and mail in for that secret decoder ring advertized in almost all of the popular comic books. Then in 4 to 6 weeks, I would use that ring to to decipher all the big mysteries of guys. I wonder though if a tool from the behind the magic curtain of men could be used on men themeselvles. Surely they would have a loop-hole to counter it affects. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 12.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px;">On second thought, probalby not. </div><div><br />
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