How Can You Know What You Want 'Til You Get What You Want and You See If You Like It?

I am rarely affected by the Libran disease of indecision. Ask my husband: my decisiveness about just about everything occasionally goes so far as to irritate him. (Not often; my husband is sooooo laid back with me that I could probably murder someone, and he would find a way to justify it: "Well, they needed killin'." )

Just now, however, I find myself deadlocked on the question of graduate school. Do I invest the money (somewhere in the neighborhood of $40,000) and the time (1 year classroom work, 1 year practicum, graduation followed by another 1000 of supervision -- about 2 years -- before I can sit for my license)?

Fortunately, there is only one degree in which I am interested: U of R's M.S. in Marriage and Family Therapy. It's an incredible program that focuses hard on preparing its graduates to become good family therapists. It is the only graduate program I have been excited about -- with the possible exception of Univ. of Iowa's Writer's Workshop, but I was never going to live in Iowa, so I never applied.

But there are so many variables. If I get in -- and I'm aiming for Fall 2011 so that I can get things in order at home before matriculating -- I have way too many questions floating around in my head to make this an easy decision:

Is it fair to my family to burden us with more student loans?

What will it mean to my household to commit that kind of time to school, studying, working, etc.?

What will going back to school mean for our writing?

How will pursuing this degree affect my marriage?

What happens if my dad gets sick?

What if I don't like it?

Some of these questions seem silly to me even as I write them, but they keep coming up, so I know I have to answer them for myself somehow.

As for the writing... well, it's not going so well right now. I have hardly written anything in more than a month. Oh, I 've gotten a couple of paragraphs in Bride that I will likely keep, and I've been re-reading Veil and making minor tweaks to it. And I started something new called Max, but it's only 3 pages right now; I won't know if it will be viable until it's around 50 pages. So this grand dream of being paid for what I write is not working out all that great at the moment.

It's not that becoming a therapist would stop me from writing, not at all -- I cannot say it's an all-or-nothing proposition. If I could do that, I would know I shouldn't be a therapist because it is a distant second to my first love. But am I up to the challenge of trying for both?

I keep coming back to the question: Is it worth it?

I just don't know.

(Just Like) Starting Over

The midnight to morning shift seems to be working, although I do have to take weekends off -- it pleases my husband. Since my husband is a truly wonderful, tolerant, encouraging man who never asks for much and probably deserves much more than I give to him, I am happy to oblige him on this point. Someday I hope to keep him in the style to which he should become accustomed.

So, counting last week Sunday through Thursday, and subtracting last night (long weekend in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King), I wrote 11 pages last week for The Pirate's Bride and 3 pages for our new screenplay, See You on the Other Side. And those page counts don't include editing for both pieces. Considering that I was hoping at one point to manage 8.33 pages a month, I am happy with the bottom line. Could always be better, of course, but for right now, good enough.

On to the agents' queries... I did send one earlier this morning; first one to a book agent since, wait, lemme look it up--holy frijoles!--last April! Wow. Well, that's one good reason we haven't gotten much response; if we don't contact them, I'm pretty sure they won't contact us.

Yikes. I know we got caught up in the Nicholl Fellowship and then moving house, not to mention moving my dad up here, followed by the responses generated by the fellowship, but still... Time for me to fix my lips and get my shit together. (That's what we tell the dog when his flappy lips get rolled up against his gums...)

All right, 3:30AM break is over, time to get to work.

Where Friendly Paths Intersect...Looks Like Home for a Time

That's Hermann Hesse paraphrased in the title of this post, just to give the author his due...

I've been thinking about home quite a bit lately. The one I came from, the one I went to, the one I have now.

The North Country haunts me; how could it not? The setting of The Long Black Veil reveals some of my ambiguity about where I grew up, though in the end, the fictional town (Ballantyne) is truly a composite of many towns small and large that institutionalize a quiet racism while pretending morality.

The setting for The Pirate's Bride is even further north, and colder, its desolation as much a part of the tale as the characters. That bleak winter landscape leaves its mark on the people who live there and who have witnessed its unique frozen beauty. It's a fascinating hell.

And though I lived there for eight endless years, it's highly unlikely that I would ever set a story in Oklahoma. I'm sure many people feel at home there, but I never did. The lessons I learned there brought me back East, though, so I am grateful for the knowledge gained.

Maybe someday I'll write about where I live now, though this place does not entirely feel like home either. Maybe I'll never have a true home, except perhaps in the pages of my stories. Or maybe home is less about place and more about a person in whom we find peace and understanding. My husband has given me that.

And maybe that's enough.

The Universe Works in Mysterious Ways

Three years ago today, I met for the second time the man who became my husband on October 6, 2007. At the time, our situations were complicated, and while I still wish that our beginning had come at no cost to anyone else, I wouldn't change the outcome. I never believed I could love someone as much as I love William. He is everything I wished for in a friend and partner, and I am so grateful to God and/or whomever/whatever else brought us together.

And I know now the Universe does listen to our most heartfelt requests. About 3 months before we met at a party in New Orleans that second time, I posted the following to a blog I used to write:

25 October 2005
Ask and... Well, Who Knows? Anything Might Happen

Wanted: 1 adult male (no children masquerading in an adult’s body). Age range: 28-50 (ish). Looks/race/religion not that important, and excessive vanity discouraged: no hair longer than mine (mid-back), and no one with more facial/skin/body products than I have (a good bit of wiggle room there.)

Must have: intelligence & common sense; a sense of humor; a job (no pimps or dealers); some financial responsibility (ie don’t borrow money on a weekly basis); some social responsibility (no litterbugs); some faith in something (your choice as to what); respect for (but not necessarily agreement with) my opinions; a liking (or at least tolerance) for cats & family; ability to entertain self while I’m writing; general understanding that all good things come from moderation.

Would prefer: kindness & patience; quick but gentle wit; someone not easily embarrassed (I am so easily embarrassed); talented hands; a good debater but reluctant arguer; an artistic soul; an appreciator of books & music; a good dancer; electrical and/or carpentry skills; a calm, pleasant voice; panache & gallantry.

Must like: quiet (at least sometimes); New Orleans; women only; monogamous sex

Must not: pursue strange or kinky sexual gratification; believe self or any family member is Messiah/Napoleon/Dracula/victim of alien kidnapping/a rock star (unless self or they actually are any of the above); consider fists/feet/additional weapons as the final arbiter to any argument; find constantly undermining others a sport/life calling

Dealbreakers: smoking, serious drugs, excessive drinking/gambling/other addictions; violence; serious lying; failure to support my writing (emotionally, not financially)

In exchange, I offer: reasonable intelligence; strong verbal, editing & writing skills; a willingness to fight fair; amazing massages; keen insight (usually); an appreciation for history/film/gallows humor/politics/Ireland/exercise/beauty; style & flair (at least I think so); some cooking ability; love, valor, compassion; a healthy distaste for real-life relationship drama; good legs & large breasts; warmth; stamina (when interested in task); charm; passion; loyalty; determined innocence; home ownership; occasional insanity & moments of despair; impatience for dithering; good phone voice; faith; hope; color & light Undecided on: marriage; children; place where I want to settle down. Convince me. References available upon request. References required. Serious candidates only need apply.

With the exception of electrical & carpentry skills, he's got it all, because even though he says he can't dance, I sure love to dance with him.