Capstone Do-over

I found that traveling is a lot like when my dad does the laundry. Things that used to fit shrink, some clothing gets lost, and you end up with a new and different wardrobe. And in case you were curious, those aren’t rose-colored glasses you’re looking through—the original is actually a whole new color: maybe a little brighter, maybe a little more dull.

I found that experience has the interesting habit of changing everything. Some people travel and come back with great stories and a new appreciation for what they have. Some come back with a reputation preceding their return—with viral social networking, what happens in Europe never stays in Europe. Some bring back dreamy stories about a place they hated while they were there, repainted in sepia tones by nostalgia. Others come back scrapping all previous plans, formulating whole new lives.

I found that I had both tried too hard and taken the easiest route when it came to my Capstone project. It was easy to settle for putting together a magazine, I had already done it and it was just a matter of changing the content. Convincing myself that this was what I wanted to do became the hard part (though I was realizing that I kind of didn’t). The problem with planning Capstone while I was abroad wasn’t that I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I wasn’t thrilled with the travel-writing-publication idea, but I was happy enough. No, it was a problem that I was in a state of extreme transition; I hardly knew who I was becoming, so how could I know what kind of project would encompass myself, my passions, and my skills? It was impossible to design a project meant to be a culmination of what I’m capable of, what I want to do, and who I am when it was becoming clear that I hadn’t the foggiest idea. The settling of this shift came as I left Ireland and moved back to Vermont, when I realized that one shade of green matches my eyes better than the other. And that I needed to get back. ASAP. Burlington shrunk in the wash. I’m trading in my Birkenstocks for a pair of runners.

The goal: Get back to Ireland as immediately as possible.

Me: Type A, get-it-done, go-forth-and-conquer, get-the-hell-out-of-my-way Capricorn.

The means, broken down into two options:

A)Any possible
B)Combining my people skills, my travel skills, my organizational skills, my writing skills, my editing skills, my managerial skills, my teaching and tour guide experience, and my entrepreneurial skills and starting a travel writing tour business in Ireland.

In a basic, vague, still barely formed nutshell, writing vacations in Ireland. Exploring, learning, writing. Workshopping. Editing. Blogging. Live chats online. Travelling with groups of writers, students, and bored middle-aged housewives.

So how does Capstone fit into this? Easy. My Capstone is going to be making this happen. Business plans. Media packages. PR. I’m going to have to learn the ins-and-outs of starting a business. Of economics. Of tourism. Of Irish laws, rules, and regulations. Of things I can’t even think of at the moment, things I can’t yet imagine. I’m going to have to talk to Bob Locke, travel agents, pre-established tour companies (VBT comes to mind). I’m going to have to read up on Irish immigration and work visa laws, and on starting my own business in a foreign country. Will I need to get myself an Irish partner just to legally get this off the ground? I’m going to need relationships with publications, blogs, videoblogs. Connections in Ireland. Employees. Ideas. And, oh yeah, tourists.

If I do everything right—even a clumsy, haphazard, halfway kind of right—this is the kind of thing that practically sells itself. And it’s perfect for me.

In the words of Tim Brookes: Anthony Bourdain, eat your feckin’* heart out.

Capstone. Boosh.

* Note: As Tim Brookes is very obviously British and “feckin’” is very obviously Irish, this is, very obviously, an inclusion of mine. Just sayin’.

Calling All Readers

So, one of the things I've been having trouble with this semester is that I don't have my usual expansive crew of writer friends readily available to help my workshop my work. I never realized how much I relied on that in my editing process until I didn't have it. A couple people have read this poem, which I wrote recently, and given me great feedback that I really appreciate. Right now, I figure that if nothing else, I can use this blog as the occasional workshopping corner. So, please: turn this post into a discussion board; rip it apart, argue with me about word choice and line breaks, tell me what works and what doesn't. Explain to me what images stick out to you and which ones don't, which ones shouldn't and do, which ones should and aren't. It's not titled yet.

We rowed across the night sky
sailing between islands
built on a seafloor of constellations
swinging around the course in Orion’s belt
playing with how tight
that longboat could turn
and it handled so smooth
when the tide came in on the milky way
carrying us into blue.
I leaned over the starboard side
when we passed over reefs
left by colors of a supernova
trailed my fingers in the air
pulling ripples
and rearranging stars.

We moored in the dipper
and we dipped
in the deep reservoir it made
swimming through the night,
diving down
pulling you under
so you could see what it looks like
to blow bubbles in midnight,
daring you to follow
when I balance beamed to the tip of the handle
we stood with our toes over the edge
dove off the deep end
and raced to the North Star.

We learned what light was
when our fingertips grazed bright white
in the same breath
stunned,
chests heaving
eyes locked
treading bottomless sky
no sound but endless galaxy
ringing in our ears
until you grinned
and I laughed.

We had a splash fight with the night
beads of air dripping
from the tips of our noses
you shook your head, spraying me
with drops from your wet hair
and the pitch of my shrieks and giggles
dissolving into the key of your chuckle
made the stars shiver and blink.

We backstroked to the boat
in lazy crooked lines, listening to the splashes
our skin made against the dark waves
and I bet you if we rode Pegasus
I could stay on longer
so we found wind
to fill our sails
and raced the burning tails of meteors
hoping we’d never reach daylight.

Capstone, Part Three: Bringing Core In.

I'm not entirely sure how this is going to work. My Capstone project is going to be assembling a travel writing publication. Let's see how this matches up to Champlain's interdisciplinary Core curriculum.

First semester, we looked at the self. We studied art and literature, psychology and neurobiology, and we theorized about why we do what we do and what makes us, us.

Second semester, we looked at community. This is the semester that had something to do with the Puritans and economics. I don't really think they knew what it was about, either.

Third semester was an art history class that wasn't supposed to be an art history class and a course on the history of science, and fourth semester we learned about capitalism, democracy, and the sacred vs the secular. Think more anthropology than theology.

Core 310 and 320 in the fifth semester were about globalization and human rights. We studied the benefits of and the challenges we are facing from a rapidly flattening world and human rights and responsibilities.

How does this fit into travel writing publications? Well, I suppose you need to know about yourself in order to write, at least on some level, and that gives you a good jumping-off point to make connections to new people and places. Knowing how to analyze communities would of course help with travel writing, and art, religion, rights, and economy are all part of that. Really, though, that's all pulling bullshit right out my hole.

If anything, Core is going to help with my Capstone project in more abstract ways. As a tour guide for Champlain, I get asked a lot why we don't give tests (mostly by the parents, the kids just sit there vibrating with excitement). I tell them that when it comes down to it, no one in the real world is really going to care if you know the date Napoleon invaded Iran. Although you're meant to walk away from Core with general well-rounded intelligence, Core is more about learning how to deal with things on your own. Core is about being able to figure out solutions to your own problems, communicate effectively, take creative initiative, and work well with people. So this, not self-portraits, not altars, not amendments, not solutions to the water crisis in the OPT, is what I'm bringing to my Capstone project.

None of that was likely what I was supposed to write. But honestly, Core has been heated discussions, weird projects, long papers, and "life skills." You tell me which of those will help in assembling a travel writing publication. If anyone has any idea how I can go about this assignment in a different way that might be more akin to what The Man wanted, please help me out. But if at the end of the project we have to write a reflection paper--as Betsy is so fond of requiring--on what we learned from Core and how we applied it to our projects and how we'll apply it to post-grad life, I'm confident that I could BS my way through that one (which is really what you learn how to do in Core).

Capstone, take two

I don't need to stop and collect $200 at Go. I knew what I wanted to do for my capstone project before I even finished my last post. You can tell by reading it--my "oh wait, I've already done that," my "but I was going to do that for another class," my noncommittal "oh right, I was supposed to have three." The only real option was the travel writing publication. Even though some of you who commented wanted to bring it back and I appreciate your support, Moss on the Moon is done, and trying to bring it back would be too much. It would be too much work to resurrect it--and a lot of that work would be spread out to other people who don't have the time--we'd only be able to get one, maybe two issues out, and then it would die again. Too much to bear, and not a viable option. So travel writing it is.

My Life, Planning Stages.

As the rest of my peers at Champlain College in the guinea pig class of 2011 sit worried or angry, or some combination thereof, about the dreaded, ambiguous Capstone Project that faces us in the coming year, my fellow writing majors and I sit back and smile to ourselves.

We hope.

Champlain has done a fabulous job of making everything up as they go, which means we students get updates on the fly on a need-to-know basis (not sure about you, but when my tuition money is funding you, I consider everything "need to know"). So while I'm supposed to be excited over the freedom allowed to Professional Writing majors in our capstone because we will be working on a project of our choosing, I'm wary. I'm waiting for that one loophole or forgotten detail that's going to throw a wrench in the gears and get all us writers up in arms. It'll be like finding out that Michael Collins signed a treaty giving us freedom, just to later find out we're still under the oppressive thumb of the British.

But I'm supposed to be brainstorming what I want to do for Capstone. Some proposed ideas have been a "coherent piece of text, such as a one-act play or the first four chapters of a novel," a collection of poetry or songs, an extended piece of investigative reporting, and an eBook or web project. But I'm a commitmiphobe, and the idea of tying myself down to one piece of writing for an extended period of time makes my chest tighten. I don't do the long haul. Poetry, though, that I could get into. And though the world is a better place when I don't sing, if I wake up one morning spewing lyrics, I could team up with April Payne. Investigative reporting makes me nauseous, and I'm still working on getting better with the Internet. We're in couples therapy.

I know! I'll start a small publication. It'll be perfect for Capstone, exactly what they want: I'll put together a staff of talented writers, get myself a graphic design team, recruit submissions from writers around the area, edit until it's flawless, publish in print and electronically on a kickass website, organize events, gather up a dedicated and enthusiastic following...oh, wait. I've done that already.

Seriously, though. It was something I loved while it lasted, and would have been a great capstone project if I hadn't started it my freshman year and if it hadn't already run its course. Combining two of my loves, though--editing and travel writing--maybe I'll put together an issue of a travel writing magazine. Really work with writers, rather than just a quick copyedit, to perfect their pieces. This way, I get another piece for my editing portfolio, a capstone project, and they get polished pieces for their portfolios--or to send out for publication.

I've also started writing a lot more poetry. That burning rush that you're supposed to get as a writer? The feeling that you'll combust unless you get the words down? Poetry is the only form of writing that has given me that. On the train to Howth, after rotting in the city and not writing more than two lines of a poem, I was hit again. I had to scramble and rip apart my backpack to get to my Moleskine. As I scrawled out the last two lines as quickly as I could, I couldn't stop a laugh from escaping my lips. I felt as if light was beaming from my pores as I reread what I had written. So maybe I will make a collection of poetry. Of course, I was kind of hoping to take Jim Ellefson's Advanced Poetry Seminar, and I'd do that in there. But it's an idea.

Hmmm. I'm supposed to have three things, aren't I? I really do love editing. One thing I learned from Kathy Johnson in my Copyediting class is that every word that's written--ever--needs to be looked at. Maybe I could find some freelance work and get myself a few copyediting clients/projects. That would be way cool.

So, that's my plan for now.

Lyr's Daughter

I've become liquid, sand dancing
swirling through me
current racing
down my back, through
the length of my spine, flowing
vertebrae to vertebrae
waves stringing my bones together;
I stretch shore to shore
every square inch of skin
settling on the sand, draping
over rocks, coral, galleons lost long ago;
the naked front of my watery body
exposed to the sky, rippled
by rain, swirled
by wind, speckled
by sun.
Cargo steamers, cabin cruisers, Catalinas
gliding down my thighs
between my breasts
harboring in my elbow's still crook
racing around my fingers
skipping over my toes' wake
turning course in my collar bone's dip,
weathered men in slick rubber
setting traps, rickety wood
lowered into the hollow of my shoulder
swimmers streaking laps through my veins
children splashing
in the full pools of my eyes
divers exploring my deep.

Spread tales of my Bermuda Triangle: time stopped
men lost;
I'll surround, envelop your body
salt your skin, waves
rocking you back
rolling along my whitecaps;
sometimes
you'll feel safe, others
you won't, but you'll dream
of me, longing
to dive in again.

Well Now--How in the Hell Did You Stumble into Here?

I try to avoid saying I’m from Connecticut at all costs. Growing up in Fairfield County taught me exactly what I didn’t want to be. When asked, I like to say I live in Vermont (and enough real, quality Vermonters have adopted me to make it acceptable). I plan to travel and move around a lot in my life—which confuses a whole score of people, since I hated change in any capacity as a child. I get antsy if I’m in one place too long. My feet get itchy, I get irritable. As much as I love VT, the countdown to leaving was equally a countdown to sanctuary. Maybe that’s why all my plants are in pots. Mobility. But I’ll use Vermont as my home-base, my “great place to be from,” the center of my United States.

More of a cursory introduction, now. I’m 5’4” on a good day, but I’m half an inch taller than my mother, which is all that matters. I’ve been riding and working with horses since I was seven, and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing at 6 AM on a Sunday than barn chores. I rock climb, I do yoga, I love hiking and kayaking and camping. Real camping. I love to cook, but only for other people. I also love dashes and semicolons. I prefer editing to writing, though I’ve recently been spewing poetry like a bashed in fire hydrant. My eyes change color from blue to green to grey. I love smiling at people. You can’t put me near water and expect me to not go in. I want a BIG dog that’ll go running and swimming and hiking with me. And a goat. Speaking of, I’m a Capricorn. And a recovering Catholic. I was raised in Sunday school, never believing a second of it—though that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in something else. Living in a city might damn near kill me, as there aren’t enough trees around, but I’m always looking to push my comfort zone.

I’m making 2010 the year of daring. Literally the first thing I did this year was getting on a plane and moving to Ireland alone, five days before anyone I knew would be in the country. It was the best decision I’ve made so far—and I’m eager to top it. If nothing else, I’ll have something to write about.

I'm studying writing at Champlain College. No, I don't want to write a novel. I don't want to be a journalist. I don't want to be a teacher, either. I want to be an editor. Preferably for a magazine involving yoga/rock climbing/backpacking/horses/etc. I love editing. I love helping authors perfect their work. Much more than I like writing.

And before you yell blaspheme and start petitioning to take away my degree, I do like writing most of the time. I've been having a lot of fun reviewing restaurants with my roommate. Those will likely make their way onto this blog. I've written some poetry that I'm decently fond of, which will also likely show up. And I’d like to dip into travel writing to see if it’s something I’m at all decent at, to see if it’s something I’m at all attracted to. I’d like to use my writing productively as I travel after graduation. I want to spend a year in Ireland, working in a pub, and meeting people. I want to spend a year in China, teaching English. I want to spend a year in Spain, giving guided horseback tours through the mountains. I want to spend a year in Italy, working on a farm or in a vineyard. Maybe I’ll spend a year in Portugal, working in a café. Maybe I’ll find something to do in Argentina. Or Mexico.

See? I have a plan. That's why I could never be a writer. Of course, a year is just a template. I might never leave Ireland.

Leaving out that I have two siblings, my dad was a professional cage fighter, and no, I probably don't know which movie you just quoted, you basically just went through all my first date material. Now comes the part where you decide if you want to keep at it or throw me back.