In Honor of National Poetry Month, William Wordsworth

I can’t honor poetry without giving mad props to my man Wordsworth, William Wordsworth. *said in manner of 007 with improvised British accent*

During my undergrad I primarily studied British Literature. When it came time to write my senior thesis-like-ginormous paper I knew I’d be writing about my swoony men with delicious accents.

Why did I pick Wordsworth? Well, because his body of work is extensive. And by that I mean awe-inspiringly huge.

Even now when I’m writing this blog it’s hard for me to find just one poem to share. I love so many.

I have a palm-sized collection of Wordsworth poems that I keep in my nightstand next to my palm-sized Keats and Declaration of Independence and Constitution of the United States.

It is a Beauteous Evening – William Wordsworth

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquility;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder - everlastingly.
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year,
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

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Learn more about Wordsworth here. Check out his work here.



What poetry, or orther art, do you love enough to keep in your nightstand?

Writefully Shamed: Interview failure

A few weeks ago I started a project of self reflection, see the details here. And my first installment in the Writefully Shamed series is here: My embarrassingly true interview failure story.

A lot of people say you never get 'the call' with your first novel. And that could be true. But is it necessarily true for Day Jobs as well?

I was desperate for a job after I graduated. I had nearly 60,000 dollars in student loans holding me down and I needed real money to pay those down. Not the sorta money you make working three crap jobs. I worked my ass off to get my college education and I wanted to put it to good use. So when I got my first interview request for an entry level position at a really-real corporate job I was thrilled.

So all that remained was getting ready for the big event. I'd been out in the real world for 2 years and had gained the real-world-thirty. Pounds, that is. I was able to find one skirt that could still zip and one of my husbands button-downs that I could still button.

I curled my hair and put on makeup for the first time in months. I looked about as Corporate America as Chris Farely in a little coat:




Anyway, we only had one car so my hubby had to take off work to drive me to the interview. I wish it could go without saying that I was sweaty but I'm not a normal sweat-er. I sweat like this guy:




I got a plastic 'Visitors' badge at reception before using the restroom where I stuffed scratchy toilet paper into my pits. It's a tried and true method of keeping my pits dry for a short period of time.

I was as ready as ever when they brought into the interview room: dressed in the only professional-ish clothing that fit, face painted and hair curled, with wads of toilet tissue in my pits. Let's do this!

After what felt like a full day of questions everyone had smiles on their faces. It seemed like I had wow'd them with my dazzling wit. I pitched the TP and did a happy dance all the way back to the car:




Just before I got in the car I felt a breeze across my chest. I looked down and saw my shirt button had come undone. There was a giant gaping opening in my shirt. I was more shocked than this kitty:




Stunned, I opened the car door with a trembling hand. When I lifted my leg to step into the car I felt a breeze on my hip. The zipper on my skirt had come open during the interview.

First the shirt and now the skirt.............

I burst into sobs that would make Britney proud:




My hubby tried to comfort me for days after the interview. "I bet the button didn't come undone until after the interview," He said. "They didn't see anything," He said. "I'm sure you did fine. At least they didn't see the TP up your selves," He said.

But all I could think about was how I ruined my one chance. My one and only chance to get a really-real job. The one thing that my entire childhood had been leading to. All that school. All that debt. All those expectations and hard work were for nothing. All because of a some shitty weight gain and ill fitting clothes.

Weeks later I got the call. They wanted to offer me the job! *cue more happy dancing*

I worked there for several years and I even asked my interviewers if they noticed my shirt or skirt coming open-that would not easily be forgotten-but none of them knew what I was talking about.

In the end, we are always our own worst critics. And we are the cruelest critics when we are the most vulnerable.

Have you ever lost it over reacted like this? Share your stories here.

In Honor of National Poetry Month, John Keats

My first literary crush might have been on John Keats. I can’t be sure because I did an aweful lot of swooning over poets when I was younger. That’s not to say my love of Keats is simple and fleeting. Rather, that I was head over heals in love with the rhythm of poetry. Period. Full stop.

As I got older some of my literary crushes fell to the side but never Keats. In fact, I have a tiny, palm-sized, collection of Keat’s poetry that I keep in my nightstand.

He had a sad, short life filled with illness and heartache. His story fascinates me almost as much as his work.

Here is my favorite:

Bright Star – John Keats

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death.

Learn more about his life here. Check out his collections of his work here.



Who’s is your favorite poet?