Anthology

Day before yesterday I tried to give myself a haircut. It didn't work out. I now look like I've contracted mange.

I did a reading ("Anthology") a few weeks ago at this place called PS2 here in Iowa City. It's the hot spot, the hip scene. And actually it was a lot of fun. Why does my mouth get all dry and feral whenever I do a reading, though? I'm guessing it's because I'm an introvert at heart. I can appear extroverted when my public persona is firmly intact like one of those shields on Space Invaders. But this is just isn't possible when I'm reading my own work, which is basically just terrifying. No one seems to notice, though.

The other folks reading were phenomenal. And after I read, a clique of poets from the Workshop told me, "Man, you're in the wrong program." And I said, "Maybe. Probably not. I can't do what you guys do," and meant it. But, yeah, I'm pretty firmly entrenched in the lunatic fringe of the fiction Workshop (which includes me and two other dudes). Nonetheless, I have officially received word that I have funding fer next year! (Huzzah!) I'll be teaching creative writing instead of rhetoric, so the gods have smiled on me a little bit. Naturally, I'm terrified.

I did two guest lectures a couple weeks ago (one with Janelle, which was really fun), about voice and prose and point of view and jazz and so on. And it was cool - I was really energized, but, again, same thing - there were parts (when I was reading my work) when I was freaked out and inwardly frenetic and tachycardia drymouthed. It's weird - there's such a dichotomy between writing (which is this private, fine affair) and reading (which is very public and exposing). I'd like to locate a grey area between those two poles that's not so intense. What would that look like?