allisonbklyn

[allisonbklyn]

All we have is this

(^This used to be my bedroom)

A year ago, in south Louisiana, rain had been pouring for days and the rivers rose and nearly 150,000 homes were flooded.

My childhood home took on almost three feet of water.

I remember when we first moved into the house, in November of 1998, when I was 9. I remember the exact date, in fact, because it was Friday the 13th. Of course we noted the supposed unluckiness of the date (and I want to say I warned against it) and decided that superstitions aren’t real. I thought about that date again when the house flooded 18 years later. Surely, it had nothing to do with moving in on Friday the 13th. We weren’t the only house that flooded, after all. But it’s still weird to think about, you know?

More relevant than the superstitious moving day was that the house had a history of flooding. There was always going to be a risk. But tons of houses in Baton Rouge took on water in 2016 that had never flooded before. It was what they call a 1,000-year flood. The kind of disaster that statically happens only once in 1,000 years. But somehow, as we continue to wreak havoc on our planet, these 100- and 1,000-year events seem to be happening a little more frequently. 

The house we’d left behind, a smaller one but in the same neighborhood, did not flood in 2016. But you can drive yourself crazy by always thinking of “what if.” Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. There aren’t alternate timelines we can just switch over to and carry on with the world we think we were supposed to have. All we have is this.

Loss

“Ultimately all these man-made structures are destroyed by nature and only the birds remain.” —from the website for the Breton national wildlife refuge off the coast of Louisiana

My family had a day or two advance warning that the rivers would get high enough for our house to flood, so they were lucky to be able to save many of our possessions. But they were rushed, and many things were still destroyed. A lot of my childhood is gone. I don’t even know what survived and what didn’t; all of my stuff is still in storage.

I know it’s just a house. It’s just stuff. We all survived. I wasn’t even living there and hadn’t been, full-time at least, for 9 years. But … it was still my house. It was still my stuff.

Going back to see the house, all gutted, half of the walls taken out, was surreal. Have you ever thought about what your house would look like without any walls or doors? It feels smaller. You can stand in the corner and tell yourself, this used to be my bedroom, but you can barely imagine it actually being a room anymore.

(Can you even tell that was a kitchen?)

We’re not rebuilding it, at least for now. The goal is to sell it as is, to a developer who will flip it into some fancy home, I guess, even more unrecognizable. I’m OK with that; I would rather see my mom move into a house with, hopefully, less of a chance of flooding again. But it all costs money and time, and there’s not much I can do to help out from Brooklyn. I still feel guilty and helpless.

Recovery

It’s still a long road forward for my family and the rest of the community, even as the rest of the world has moved on.

When I first envisioned this inevitable blog post, when I toured our gutted house in December, the piece taking shape in my head was mostly about loss. How nothing lasts, how things and people go away, how they change. The quote above about the birds on the stupid wildlife refuge felt fucking perfect. Loss, change, passage of time, and more loss.

That’s why you should never write in your head. Because all of that seems futile and unnecessary now. Of course, things change and turn to shit. We’re all used to that by now. The question is, what is the path forward?

I’ve been thinking lately about what happened to south Louisiana last August, but I also can’t stop thinking about the events of this past weekend, in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2017. I feel a little guilty for writing about a tragedy that affected me and my family a whole year ago while there is more pressing pain and tragedy that threatens my black, Jewish, Muslim, immigrant, gay and transgender friends right now.

I don’t want to equate these two issues at all. But, in both of them, we as Americans have fucked up.

We’ve failed to take care of our planet and we’ve failed to take care of each other. Carbon dioxide has filled the atmosphere and the water has warmed and the ice is melting, and we’ve created such economic inequality that natural disasters take a much bigger toll on poor people, immigrants and minorities. Racism and misogyny that have been quietly simmering (or, loudly, but some of us just haven’t been listening) have now exploded into the public square because our head of state rode their support to victory and is fine with it. We elected a president who doesn’t care about climate change OR civil equality! Go us. We are really rocking at being humans.  

Yeah. We did this. It doesn’t just happen.

And, again, there’s no use pondering “what if.” Hillary Clinton supporters are writing on Twitter that they  tried to warn us against electing a fascist bigot. I feel that, and they’re right, but there’s no going back in time and fixing it. (I mean, if you’ve been hiding a time machine, this would probably be a good time to try it out…) This is the reality we live in. So what do we do now?

On one hand, I fear that trying to shout out the other side, to condemn their hateful actions as loudly as possible, will just egg them on and make them stronger. They think, because we’re fighting back, they must be in the right. But how can we negotiate with a side that believes that huge swaths of people are inferior and don’t deserve to be in this country? How are they ever going to listen?

I do feel my privilege. In Louisiana, there were other families who had it worse, who had no warning their homes were about to flood and lost everything. People with health problems who were left homeless, who didn’t have well-off family to take them in or help them rebuild. And I wasn’t even physically there, so I was able to carry on with my life without much disruption, while for others life has been a daily hell for an entire year now.

And in our current political climate, the danger is far worse for people who are black, Muslim, Jewish, gay, disabled, poor or undocumented.

So I’m going to stop with the comparison now. I don’t want to make this all about *me.* But I have a lot of feelings about both of these horrific events and I believe we all have a lot of work to do.

We’ve been doing this civilization thing for several thousand years now. There have been ups and downs, but we haven’t completely obliterated ourselves or our own planet yet. So let’s get our shit together and figure this out.

[allisonbklyn]

Contemplating life and death, 50 years after Anne Sexton’s Pulitzer-winning ‘Live or Die’: I WROTE A THING!

[allisonbklyn]

A year after chemo

I’ve started and stopped a draft of this blog post many times, but now the date has arrived, so I guess I have to actually say something.

Apparently today is the date they traveled to in Back to the Future Part 2.

LOL, that’s not what I want to talk about, though. It’s also been one year since I finished chemo.

And I’m having a hard time expressing my feelings on that, actually. It’s a positive thing, of course: I’m healthy and I’m doing well. I have many reasons to celebrate. But to celebrate a good thing, I also have to remember the really bad thing that led to it, and I don’t like doing that.

Because chemo sucked.

A lot of people have told me I should write more about my experience with cancer and chemo, but those are people who have never had cancer or chemo. If they’d had it, they’d understand that even a year out, I still feel sick when I just think about it. I’ve felt sick all day, actually, as I’ve tried to finally finish this post.

(Pic from my first day of chemo. My mom took a pic of my last day of chemo, but I was sleeping during it.)

And I don’t have a lot to say - no big life-changing revelations, except that life is way shittier than you thought in the way it throws things like major illness at you with no warning. That’s not very inspiring, is it? We expect cancer tales to be inspiring for some reason, but the experience is actually just terrible. So, adjust your expectations.

Mostly, I don’t think about it. I’m healthy, as far as I know, so that’s good. I remember before I started chemo and I was staring ahead at the daunting next six months of treatment, my doctor told me that after it’s over, I would look back at it like it was just a bad dream. And that’s true. It was a really, really bad dream, but it’s over now so it’s almost like it never happened.

Almost. It still affects me. There are things I can’t eat anymore and certain smells and sounds that remind me of chemo, and I immediately feel nauseated. I can’t eat at Brooklyn Mac, I can’t eat jolly ranchers and I can’t eat broccoli pizza because those are foods I remember having during or after chemo sessions. I didn’t eat pancakes for almost a year because there were a couple times I threw up when I ate pancakes a few days after chemo (It probably had nothing to do with the pancakes, and I’ve started to eat them again, because PANCAKES). And there’s an elevator at work that makes a weird clickety-clackety noise and it reminds me of the machine they use for the chemo drugs. Yeah, dumb stuff like that literally makes me feel sick. And it’s been a year.

(Still growing out the pixie cut.)

People do tell me I’m inspiring, and I’m not trying to be self-deprecating here, but I don’t really understand why. I didn’t do anything to cure myself of lymphoma. It was the medicine. And I was lucky that I had a very treatable, early stage disease, and the type of chemo drugs I got weren’t quite as intensely awful as some other kinds.  OK, I guess there’s some research that having a positive attitude, and support from loved ones and such, actually does contribute to better health outcomes. But, still, it’s mostly the medicine. If it were possible to fight cancer with a positive attitude instead of horrible, horrible chemo drugs, then I definitely would have tried that first. Because chemo is horrible.

And if someone else struggles with staying happy and positive or whatever, that’s totally OK. You should be allowed to deal with it in your own way; you are allowed to experience your own emotions. Someone telling you to chin up probably isn’t going to help. It doesn’t make you any less “inspiring” if you’re cranky during chemo and can’t go to work or hand out with your friends. It was a no-brainer for me that I was going to keep going to work and living my life, but that’s just who I am, and it’s not going to work for everyone.

Also, I was cranky and miserable too. I promise I’m not this eternal ray of sunshine you all seem to think I am. One of the potential memoir titles I came up with last year was “Crying in Central Park with Starbucks” because I would leave my appointments at Mount Sinai, get Starbucks, walk through Central Park and cry.

And I don’t really see why it’s “brave” to go through with chemo. Like, what else was I going to do? Refuse treatment and curl up and die in a few years? I didn’t really have a choice.

All right, on to the positive, because today is supposed to be about celebrating, not my melancholy contemplations.

The support you get from people around you really is crucial. It feels totally obvious and cliche to say that, but it also can’t be overstated. I received so much love from friends and family near and far last year: cards, care packages, visits, simple kind messages and financial support. My roommate who learned how to help give me the injections I needed. I’ll never forget how much you all cared.

I’m thoroughly thankful for modern medicine and my doctors and nurses at Mount Sinai who were all amazing, even when I was horrible to deal with because I was cooped up in a hospital bed for 4 days that one time. Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and other agencies who helped us pay for things. Barack Obama, for letting me stay on my mom’s health insurance at a time when I needed it. (Still, though, health care and especially cancer treatment are SO FREAKING EXPENSIVE.)

And of course I am grateful that I am healthy and that my treatment was relatively easy compared to what some people have to go through. But then again, I also feel a weird sense of survivor’s guilt for that very reason. I feel weird even writing about how well I’m going when I know people who are still suffering through it, or who lost the battle.

It’s just not fair. Cancer sucks. Other diseases suck. The chemo I went through sucked and has left me with lingering effects and risks and it would be great if there was a better option for treating Hodgkin’s and any other cancer. We should support all the efforts we can to find new treatments and cures.

Life and bodies are strange and frail and mysterious and I promise you we are all taking them for granted too much of the time.

OK, I didn’t expect this to get all philosophical at the end. But you guys wanted me to write about this. I will probably have more to say eventually - give me 10 years or so. Then maybe I’ll finally stop wanting to vomit.

[allisonbklyn]

Unlikely Pianos: poem (with photo and soundtrack!)

April is National Poetry Month, and I always neglect it until it’s almost too late. But my subway train is shut down on nights and weekends, and I happen to work at night and on the weekend, so I’ve had a bit of extra time while navigating a more complicated commute to tap away in the Notes app on my phone while other late-night passengers ask why I look like I’m lost or in pain (or try to hit on me or show me a magic trick, or whatever). 

Anyway, that’s how this poem began and it’s about a very brief memory but also kind of about the subway? It also has a soundtrack: this song followed by this song.

Unlikely Pianos

Soft piano fills my ears like hesitant footfalls and then I’m thinking of you — or really, of your fingers on the keys, how I picture them in my memory, though your back is turned and I’m across the room. And you sing

I get that faraway look that prompts subway strangers to ask if I’m all right

At least, I think you sing, and it takes me back further to basement dances, dry throats, sweaty palms, a girl crying in the corner as I twirl unaware, those three words we couldn’t whisper and it’s your clumsy fingertips again, only grazing mine.

I dwell on irrelevancies like recurrent syllables and people in states I’ve never been

The tempo changes and it’s rougher, frantic, jarring and I remember piano wasn’t your instrument, just as you were never mine. And your voice is drowned out, it’s just a figment now like the picture in my jewelry box and the patterns in the speckles on the train car floor. And I walk home in practiced step with the sound of things that never were.

[allisonbklyn]

Thoughts on being girly, pleasing society's double standards and female competition

(I just discovered this in my "notes" on my computer; apparently I wrote it in November. I'm not sure if it was intended to be part of a larger essay or what, but I still 100% agree with it, so here you go.)

You know, I used to spend a lot of time defending or downplaying my more stereotypically “girly” interests — pop music, the color pink, flavored vodka, hair accessories — because I was afraid they made me seem less smart, less ambitious, less worthy of being taken seriously. But that’s bullshit and anyone who tells you otherwise is a misogynist and you should stop talking to them.

We teach little girls from infancy that these are the things they should like (well, maybe not the flavored vodka, but you get what I'm saying), and then we ridicule and devalue girls and women because they like these things. WTF, world? 

And I used to internalize that hatred, saying things like, “yeah, I wear a lot of dresses and makeup but I’m not like those OTHER girls because I also read books.” But it’s not a competition! So I’m done with that shit. Women can have varied interests. I like politics, and I like nail polish. Sue me. Similarly, lots of women DON’T like all the stereotypically “feminine” stuff, and that’s totally OK too.

Like, is there no way we can win? And we don’t have to justify our interests to you. Because who are you anyway and why does your voice matter more than ours? The devaluing of the feminine — and the sidelining of women who’ve never accepted the narrative — is just a way to bring women down and it’s got to stop.

[allisonbklyn]

Dear 16-year-old me

This might not mean much to people who aren't me. But here it is, anyway.

Dear 16-year-old me,

Happy birthday. You’re 16 today.

I’m 10 years out from where you are, and for reasons I can’t fully explain, I’ve spent all week wanting to go back there. But I can’t do that, so maybe we can just talk instead.

You’re going through a rough time right now. I don’t have to tell you that. Everything is confusing, and dramatic, and you don’t know who to trust, and you can’t even trust your own feelings. I wish I could tell you it’s about to get better. But first, it’s going to get a lot worse. But then it gets better! I promise.

(This album just came out, didn't it?! Good job discovering Tori. One of the best decisions you've made. And one day, you'll see her live!)

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what advice I could give you -- what I wish I would have done differently. But I still don’t know. So just hang in there, OK?

I’m not mad at you, if you’re wondering. There was a point when I was, but that was a mistake. So when you get to that point, in just a couple years, when you’re angry at yourself and full of regret, try to go easy on yourself. You know you don’t deserve all that hate, especially from you. And for now, try to go easy on the people around you, even when you don’t agree with them. They’re just as confused and struggling as you are, really. Honestly, no one ever knows what the hell they’re doing or whether it’s the right thing. I don’t think that ever changes.

That’s all I can really say about that. But, oh, little girl. You’re still so young, even though it doesn’t feel like it right now. You have so much to look forward to. You’re going to change so much in the next 10 years.

(You remember this picture, because it was just a few days ago. Yes, I still have vivid memories of that night.)

Here’s the advice I do want to give you. Right now, you have all this angst and emotion that you barely know what to do with. That’s OK. But you also have such whimsy and imagination, and this sense of awe and energy, and all these questions and a will to explore. That’s what I miss most about you. So hold on to those things. It gets harder to be whimsical and random and inquisitive as the real world sets in. Keep looking for the beauty and truth.

(And you're going to see Third Eye Blind too!!)

Try not to give your heart away so easily. I know you’re eager to do that. And I can’t say I’m having much luck at being better, where I am. But it’s more fragile than you’d like to admit. I’m not saying you shouldn’t love, shouldn’t express your feelings. Do that. But love yourself, first. You’re valuable and you have so much to offer and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And don’t even think about letting a romantic partner try to hold you back from everything you want to become.

Don’t worry what other people think of you, and don’t rely on anyone else’s validation. Right now, you think you don’t give a damn, but you really do. Sure, you’re trying to be all countercultural and rebellious in your clothing choices and interests, but isn’t it all because you want to impress people? Do the things you love. Why in the world should you do anything else? And don’t ever be ashamed of who you are and the things you like. You’re weird as hell. That’s not going to change. The people who matter are going to love that about you.

You don't have to be ashamed of your love for Avril.

You’re smart, and you’re talented, and you’re interesting, and you’re a good person. That’s not to say that you’re perfect. There are always things to work on. But there are going to be people who will do their best to bring you down, so don’t forget who you are and what you’re worth.

You’re capable of so much more than you think. You’re going to be OK. I just want you to know that.

You might even know what final song I'm going to post, because some things never change. And it's OK if you want to cry a little bit, because I do, too.

Love always,

26-year-old you.

[allisonbklyn]

Mint Tea

(This is old, but I wanted to get something up for National Poetry Day and I don't have anything new that's polished yet.)

a poem by Allison N. Chopin

Inhale, deep and sigh. Indulge before you'’re ready to drink. Anticipate but wait. Silky, breathy peppermint-leaf scent is singeing.

Ready lips taste the heat, slow to make it last. Lingering sips thrill and soothe at once. Revel in luxury that fills the throat and being with a liquid glow.

[allisonbklyn]

Oh, we're halfway there: On three months with cancer

In March I went to the doctor with sharp, small chest pains. It turned out there were some unexplained masses of cells just hanging out in my chest; I had also lost some weight, but I didn't have any other symptoms. A few doctors spoke as if it couldn't be cancer – it had to be something benign that could just come out and we'd be done.

When I was diagnosed with stage II Hodgkin's lymphoma in late April, I wasn't devastated. Other people took it much harder than I did. Maybe it was because the doctors had immediately told me it was one of the most curable cancers, and I'm an optimist, or at least someone not prone to needless panic. Or maybe I'd had enough time to process it in the weeks it took to get a biopsy to confirm the diagnosis, and I had already resigned myself to it.

Here I am, three months later, having just received treatment six out of 12 planned chemo treatments. 

I still don't treat the halfway mark as celebratory; the thought of doing it six more times is just awful. But I guess there are things to be happy about: I still have some of my hair. I'm still going to my job that I enjoy, despite many peoples' fears that it wouldn't be possible. 

I hadn't seen quitting as an option. Why would I let a silly thing like cancer get in the way of my life? 

The lowest point so far was when I was hospitalized for four and a half days with a neutropenic fever after my second treatment. The chemo drugs pulverize the body's white blood cells, in particular neutrophils, which fight bacterial and fungal infections. My neutrophil count had hit zero. You can see why doctors might be worried about a high fever when my body has no way to fight off serious infections.

I was told I would have to give myself regular shots of a medication called neupogen to boost my white blood cells and keep that from happening again. For some reason, the shots felt like the lost straw. Not the nausea, the exhaustion, or the effects on my appearance and work performance. But regularly jabbing myself with a needle? I decided I would probably have to quit my job, move home and have my mother, a nurse, give me the shots.

My friends, there in the hospital, quickly convinced me that was ridiculous. My roommate and longtime dear friend, Christine, kindly volunteered to learn how to administer the injections. And after a few shots, I started doing it myself, and it's virtually painless. 

So now I feel like I can do anything.

I'm on a lot of drugs.

In addition to the four chemo drugs and the neupogen, I have two anti-nausea meds, Percocet for pain from the neuopogen and the terrible unanticipated jaw pain I was having, various other side-effect-fighting regimens, and most recently Ativan for anxiety.

I used to be afraid of medications when I was younger. It wasn't that I didn't trust doctors or pharma companies – but I was afraid of things like rare side effects or addiction to certain drugs. I also think I didn't like admitting that something was wrong with me, even if the medicine would help, like it would make me seem weak for not being able to handle it myself. I imagine that's common, though illogical. Meds exist for a reason.

For example, the anxiety was definitely making my nausea worse and I should have asked for a prescription weeks ago, but I didn't want to admit it because I've always billed myself as such a non-anxious person. Then yesterday I threw up in the sink in the treatment room before they had even started the chemo drugs. The nurse practitioner concluded I was having anticipatory nausea – dreading the chemo and getting preemptively sick over it. I could have told her that. But I hadn't.

Overall, things could certainly be worse. My lymphoma is responding very well to the chemo, and I'm tolerating it fairly well other than the symptoms I've mentioned. Other people with harder-to-treat diseases might have to go through several kinds of treatment before anything works. I haven't missed much work and I'm not bald yet! Though hats are my friend. Lots of people have sent me coloring books. 

My doctor, whom I adore, says soon I will look back on this as just a bad dream. I know that will be true. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself because I'm 25 and I live in NYC and it's summer and I'm supposed to be, like, having the time of my life. I miss staying out all night with the hipsters of my 'hood. But there's no rush, right? The time of my life can start next year. Mark your calendars.

Top image is a drawing by Aaron Pocock. It features the characters of the Crow Girls from some of my favorite books by Charles de Lint. There are scenes in "The Onion Girl" where the Crow Girls visit a bedridden Jilly in the hospital. They're hilarious and harsh and comforting.  http://aaronpocock.wordpress.com  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8185168.Charles_de_Lint

[allisonbklyn]

Window with a Lesser View

I hear it's National Poetry Month. Here's a poem I threw together this morning when I couldn't sleep (I'm a night-shift girl these days).

It’s just for a minute that I glance away from you and notice the view out the window from your lofted bed, but it’s cemented now — dizzy blurred lights above emboldened warehouse buildings and the impression of distance and sparseness in the dark.

And there’s an awkward calm while you listen, briefly, to my heartbeat or my stuttered voice,

but the thing is, you’re the sort I’d like to love if only I could mold you beneath my fingertips and hang you up on shelves around the house.

I’m enamored with light and ideas and now you, instead, will be off  with pretty people who say interesting things while I write sad love poems at 5 a.m. in my twin bed beside a broken window with a lesser view.

[allisonbklyn]

What I'm doing in November

Well, I'm doing lots of things in November, from traveling home to entertaining old friends. But the thing I'm most excited (and nervous) about is NaNoWriMo 2013! If you don't know what that is and don't feel like clicking the link I just provided for you, it's National Novel Writing Month, and it's when lots of people spend the month of November writing a 50,000-word novel.

If that sounds like a lot of words to write in one month, it is! But it's a fun and creative and inspiring project. I did it last year, and it was a whirlwind, and I had an amazing time spending a month getting to know my characters and attempting to tell a worthwhile story. 

Pictured above is me in the early morning hours of Nov. 1 last year, still wearing my Halloween costume as I started banging out the first words of my project.

This year, I've tried to spend a bit more time in NaNo "prep" mode -- researching, brainstorming, and outlining before actually putting words to the page -- in the hopes of writing something that actually has potential. I have an unfortunate habit of finishing a draft and then deciding it's trash and never looking at it again. I also have a problem with letting people read my work. (Yes, I know that is the opposite of what writing is for.) Whether or not my new novel turns into something I will be proud of, I'm hoping the month of noveling will restore my work ethic so I will keep writing and revising throughout the year -- maybe even revisiting some of my abandoned projects.

If you've always wanted to write a novel but have never tried, then I recommend participating this year! I've been writing fiction on and off since I was a kid, but it's always hard to find time and motivation to write when you have a billion other obligations. NaNo gives you an excuse to make writing a priority. You have to make time for it every day. And not only does it give you a goal to reach, but it provides you with a support network -- thousands of other eager writers across the country are cheering you on and commiserating. And really, the word count isn't as scary as it sounds. I'm proof that it is doable! You still have a whole week to get ready.

I'll try to blog more about my experience while I'm in the middle of it -- if I'm not too exhausting from all the noveling (and the rest of my life.) Maybe I'll have some insight into all the pains and joys that come along with creating a world from scratch. Maybe I'll just have some frustration to vent. Either way, I am ready for this adventure.

[allisonbklyn]

You're not the boss of me, Autumn.

This morning, it was 59 degrees outside when I left my Brooklyn apartment. That's a temperature that I refer to as cold. 

So I guess it's fall now.

I feel cheated. Winter seemed to last for an eternity this year, and summer started way too late. So it's just not fair that we ALREADY have to deal with cold weather.

I used to love fall. But I also used to live in southeastern Louisiana, where the summer was oppressively hot and never actually ended, so the long-awaited arrival of fall would be a nice relief. I also used to dress like a goth kid -- jeans and long-sleeved black t-shirts and jackets -- which was not well-suited to summer weather. I wear a lot more colors now, and ironically enough, the inhabitants of New York City prefer to don themselves perpetually in black and shades of charcoal. I am destined to never fit in.

I think I also used to get excited about going back to school. Now, nothing really changes when fall starts. 

Some people have been really looking forward to fall! Sweaters and tights and coats, they say! Pumpkin spice lattes, they say! Don't get me wrong, sweaters are among my favorite clothing items, but I can wear a light cardigan in spring too, so I still don't see the advantage of fall. And does anyone actually enjoy toting around a heavy coat and having to find a place to put it when you go inside? And getting it mixed up with everyone else's IDENTICAL BLACK PEA COAT? Coats suck. There, I said it.

DO NOT WANT. Except maybe the pink backpack. (c/o shefind.com)

I also enjoy the occasional pumpkin spice latte (pictured above, c/o Starbucks) but I would forego them forever if it meant summer could last a little longer. 

I want to keep wearing sun dresses! And sandals! And COLORS! I want to drink iced tea and lemonade and frozen margaritas! Don't take these things away from me, AUTUMN!

And there was stuff I was supposed to do in the summer! Go to the beach more, read in the park, have more parties, eat more peaches.

All right, I know it's stupid and pointless to complain about the seasonal changes that happen EVERY YEAR, but I'm not liking this, and you can't make me. I'm going to keep wearing short dresses and skirts and bright colors and sandals and NO PANTS until you forcibly make me stop. Also, you've reminded me that I need to get my coats cleaned and my boots repaired. Ugh. Stop it.

[allisonbklyn]

How to Have a Crush: Six Haiku

By Allison Chopin

Stay awake ‘til 4, click through five hundred photos on Facebook, and repeat.

Find any reason to talk to him, but you blush and shut up instead.

Pick out your cutest underwear and put on red lipstick, just in case.

Send a text message. Wait for a response. Throw your phone against the wall.

Buy bottle of wine for a date; cancel, and drink  half of it yourself.

Fall asleep, curled up among anxieties. Have the sweetest dreams tonight.

[allisonbklyn]

The ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: 50 pounds of pots rated an “A”, 40 pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work-and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

Art and Fear- David Bayles and Ted Orland

Perfection is intimidating.  I think most artists blocks come from the fear of creating something imperfect.

(via buttastic)

Is this a real story? It's a perfect justification for NaNoWriMo and other projects that get you to just MAKE ART instead of agonizing over it being perfect. Otherwise you'll never make anything at all.

[allisonbklyn]

Dating Tips from Shakespeare

Joss Whedon's film adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing came out recently, and I still haven't seen it, but I'm excited because I love Shakespeare and Joss Whedon. Also, I've always thought Much Ado is the Shakespeare play that lends itself most easily to a modern adaptation, since it basically has the plot of a modern romantic comedy. And like with most rom-coms, it's fun to imagine that the absurd shenanigans that result in true love could happen in real life. So, in hopes of encouraging you to live the romantic life of a Shakespearean hero or heroine, I've compiled a list of awesome dating tips from the bard himself. They are sure to work.

1. Start a rumor that he’s into you. Don’t underestimate the power of suggestion. In Much Ado About Nothing, Beatrice and Benedick are childhood friends, but they bicker with each other and claim they’ll never get married. Clearly, that means they’re meant to be, and so their friends decide to play matchmaker by convincing Benedick that Beatrice has secret feelings for him, and vice versa. The take-away here? Get your BFFs to start telling everyone that you and your crush are an item, and eventually he’ll come around to the idea.

2. Consider cross-dressing. Putting on the clothes of the opposite sex might sound counter-intuitive when you’re not even in first-date territory, but Shakespeare shows us it can totally work. In Twelfth Night, Viola disguises herself as a man and gains employment serving a Duke, whom she falls in love with. There are, of course, some mishaps along the way, and Viola accidentally attracts the attention of a woman at one point, but she wins the Duke’s heart in the end. It’s pretty much a foolproof plan.

3. Try changing your identity. If your man ditches you because he has eyes for another woman, you could always just pretend to be her. In Measure for Measure, Mariana’s fiancé, Angelo, casts her aside because her dowry was lost at sea (don’t you hate when that happens?). Meanwhile, he’s totally lusting after this other chick named Isabella. Unfortunately for Angelo, Isabella is a nun and she refuses to sleep with him. Easy solution! Isabella tells Angelo that they’re going to do the deed, but she sends Mariana in her place. Ta-da, that means they’re married, so now he’s stuck with her forever. Of course, in the modern world, sex isn’t a binding contract, but that’s no matter. All you need is to get him in bed and remind him what he’s missing, and he’ll be yours again.

4. Go after an intellectual guy, and make sure he’s devoted. In Love’s Labour’s Lost, the King and his dudebros decide to devote three years to scholarly study, and they’re going to stay away from women until that time is up. Obviously, that plan isn’t going to work, because they’re guys, and they immediately fall in love with the Princess and her girlfriends as soon as they show up. But the ladies are smart too, so they make the men wait a year and a day to prove their love is real. Good job, gals!

5. If you suspect your boyfriend went to Milan to cheat on you, you should totally chase after him. In The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Proteus promises to be faithful to Julia when he heads out on a bro trip with his pal Valentine. But soon he is smitten with Valentine’s girl, Silvia, and totally forgets his vow, until Julia comes after them. She teaches Proteus a lesson, and he feels guilty and comes back to her. Happy endings for both couples! This one seems a little dubious, actually, and Proteus kind of sucks. The next time your man says he’s jetting off to Milan to hang with the guys, maybe you should just dump him.

[allisonbklyn]

Farmers markets are in full swing in NYC! Today I got delicious-looking apples, zucchini, squash, onions and sweet potatoes, and I only spent six dollars. Now I'm just waiting for the peaches to debut and the tomatoes to hit their peak. Oh, and eggplant...

[allisonbklyn]

(via Instagram)

Look, I am already plotting.

[allisonbklyn]

A Novel Idea

I'm probably jumping the gun a little with making this a public announcement, but I want to discuss a tentative project of mine and maybe get some input. In addition to freelancing and my day job and everything else on my plate right now, I want to write an e-book for Harlequin. They're accepting submissions for short paranormal romance novels (yes, that genre is still all the rage), and I'm hoping to revise some of the work I did on my vampire-romance-themed NaNoWriMo novel and submit it. It's going to take on a completely new shape from what I originally wrote and will barely even be the same story, but hopefully I can use at least SOME of the groundwork from that project.

I definitely still have a lot of planning to do (and then the actual writing), but I'm hoping that blogging about it will make me actual do it. I was really happy when I was writing fiction every day during NaNoWriMo, so I feel that I have to try that again and make something out of all my hard work.