MFA Bitch

Dear Jessica,

Don’t buy stock in MTV Books yet, my agent has suggested I finish my f-ing second book already- my words not hers- and stop focusing on getting the first one published.
GREAT so the book I actually like doesn’t matter anymore. Finish the one I am writing not for art, or because it is everything I have ever wanted to say, but because I have been informed if I write it this way, in this genre and without as much bitchiness as the last one it has a 50% probability of getting it published. Well 50% is high- let’s just say it has a chance of getting published.

As desperate as that sounds- I have taken those odds.

I have had to buy bigger jeans- and as much as it hurts in the end sometimes you have to take comfort above vanity. Not that I am opposed to butt crack as a political statement. You might consider a tattoo on your lower back that says Equal Pay for Equal Crack.

I am still planning my, read- my mother’s wedding. Apparently accordingly to some motherly wedding wisdom book I haven’t gotten yet, maybe you have a copy, “you cannot expect people to travel across the country to see a DJ.”

Oh, ok, well of course people would rather see a shitty cover band. That should probably be at the top of our invitations. If you weren’t considering making the trek all the way to Portland, Johnny’s Hit Explosion will be butchering ubiquitous dance music all night. Not that they will have far to go.

This wisdom has been brought up throughout the whole process, “you can’t serve chicken, It’s too average”; “you need to have place cards, how would people know where to sit” and “decoration on an invitation looks Polish”; which I guess she is allowed to say because my father is.

The thing is I don’t have the energy to get pissed about any of it, because I am trying to finish my f-ing second book. Maybe I should just have a reading of it at the reception so people can know what I was doing while my wedding got hijacked by a woman who is closer in sensibility to Joan Rivers than to Martha Stewart. That is if it’s finished by then.

Write On,
Lisa