It’s Out of My Hands

Voting begins at midnight.  At the same time, coincidently, that this blog post is due.

I’m feeling rather peaceful, sitting in my apartment with a blanket around my shoulders (because darn it, I just don’t want to get up and shut the window).

My running mate and I have done everything we could think of.  We’ve gone to dorms, we’ve spammed Facebook, we’ve had dozens of face-to-face meetings with dozens of students.  We’ve put up posters, we’ve made videos, we’ve debated, we’ve brainstormed.

The time has come, I think, for the students to decide who they want leading their student government next year.

Democracy is officially at work, and in the meantime, I’m going to do some statistics and go to bed.

And because I’ve taken to ending each day with a poetry reading from my new books, I’ll let you in on some too.  Here’s Ilya reading from “Dancing in Odessa” (the book I have).  I have to say, he is the most unique reader I’ve ever heard, and not just because of his accent.  You’ll see:

In Which I Meet More Writers

I’ve been so caught up in the looming elections that I forgot to tell you about Saturday!

Saturday was the last day of the Second Annual Prairie Gate Literary Festival.  It’s funny, but I had only intended to go to one Festival event, knowing I would have a lot to accomplish over the weekend.

I ended up attending four events.

One of which happened to be the finale of Prairie Gate: the Saturday night poetry reading.

The poets were Simone Muench and Ilya Kaminsky.  Both are published, both are award-winning, and both teach classes on the side (hence, they are my new idols).

Truthfully, it was the first poetry reading I remember attending.  I wasn’t sure I would like it; I generally hate having things read aloud to me.  But I loved it, of course.  What I love about poetry is not necessarily the dissection of it, but the way it sounds.  I love the way words can trip or spill or ooze off one’s tongue.  I wanted to close my eyes and just listen without any visual distraction, but I also didn’t want the poet to think I was asleep.

When the readings were over, I immediately elbowed my way back to the book sales table, and bought both poets’ books.  Then I bashfully walked up to each poet and asked them to sign my book.

And Ilya said I have a beautiful name (thanks, Mom and Dad), and Simone, having found out I that I primarily write fiction, wrote a note saying that poetry kicks fiction’s ass.

It was heavenly.