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June 25, 2009
Chicago AWP
June 19, 2009
Addicted to Now
Several times a day I pick up the pen, well poise at the keyboard, to write something for tomorrow.
As a journalist, I write with a sense of immediacy. As a writer, I write with a sense of timelessness. Writing forward takes practice, patience and more practice and more patience.
And so, I’m training myself to write and curbing my addiction to instant gratification somewhat disguised behind two blogs, a Facebook, LinkedIn, and a Twitter. I’m writing pieces for tomorrow. At least, I try to. I find myself writing with the best of intentions and instead of saving it, I post it and link it and tweet about posting and linking it.
June 17, 2009
Seasons of Graduation: Part III: Middle School
The following night we are shopping for my daughter’s graduation dress, a summer dress she picks out. While I worry that it is not quite dressy enough, I keep my concerns somewhat to myself.
The morning of her graduation, Amira is a princess. Her light-blue summer dress is simplistic; the aura of royalty is within her.
Noah is distracted many times during the first hour of his sister’s graduation. He is distracted by sitting on a metal chair, perching on my knees, pretending to listen to the speaker. All he wants to do is see his big sister walk across the stage. Well, honestly, all my four year old wants to do is leave, but I tell him we can’t leave until his big sister walks across the stage.
Many awards are given to many of the same children who storm, stroll or saunter up to the stage again, and again. My daughter’s name is not called. High School will be different, I think. While she is in advanced classes now, she really has to work harder to be involved in sports, arts, after school events.
Practices, games, meetings, fundraisers. High school will be exhausting, for her too.
But today, she is an 8th grader.
Her principal reminds the students, during her speech, to strive for success though others may not wish it on you and to aim for excellence though many do not want you to reach it. I hope the children are listening. I hope my daughter is listening.
“The children’s names will be called in random order,” one of the announcers says. Briefly, I wonder whose idea that was.
A room of parents, grand parents, brothers, sisters, and student who really just want to see one child—maybe two—walk across the stage, accept a diploma, smile for the camera, and sit back down, is now expected to sit quietly while please holding all applause til the end.
Randomness is too chaotic.
Most manage to hold their applause, at least until their child’s name is called.
We are reminded, often, to wait until all names are called but because the program has no names on it, it is a fruitless endeavor. The children are restless. The adults are restless. Still, the list of names drones on until finally, my child’s name is called.
I hear no names after hers.
Seasons of Graduation: Part II--Elementary School
For my son’s graduation, I purchase—the night before—dress pants, a dress shirt. The morning of, I purchase his dress shoes and his father comes over to cut his hair.
My baby is growing up.
This year has been challenging for Sylvester, and for his teachers. He is learning self expression and experimenting with limits. Through diligent research, my son is testing the hearing of adults to see just how low he can speak with or without being heard. He has mastered the art of repetition by doing things over and over and over to see if he will get the same response.
He’s ten and next year he’ll be a middle schooler.
In my family, we appreciate everything; we celebrate birthdays, holidays, report cards, good days, dry nights, fight-free days, grades, teeth that finally fall out and of course, graduations.
I am proud of Sylvester for getting through fifth grade not painlessly, but with all of the pains, challenges, and struggles getting through fifth grade means.
And yet, I am not one of the parents in the back of the recreation center shouting “Woo-Hoo!” or “Mrs. Howard!” or even, “Woodlawn High School, that’s us right here!” during Mrs. Maryland’s commencement speech.
I am not one of the parents in awe of little girls in prom dresses clunking around in heels teetering dangerously on tippy toes while they rush to keep up with boys in three-piece suits, or short sets, or dress slacks.
I am not one of the parents who after lunch whisk my child away in a stretch Hummer limousine.
I am one of the parents with tears in my eyes as I look up and see my baby standing on the stage, one of three, to sing for his graduation.
The one with the big smile, yes, that’s me.
Seasons of Graduation: Part I
The 2008/2009 Master’s candidates of Johns Hopkins University Zanvyl Krieger School of Arts and Sciences is filled with parents, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, employers, employees, writers, scientists, researchers, investigators, dreamers, doers, achievers, and thinkers in various phases of career, achievement, life, goals.
The crowd is a blur of family, friends, colleagues, alumni, faculty, police. The ceremony, despite applause, cheers, a few ‘I love yous!” and even fewer, “You made its!” is orderly, subdued, Hopkins.
We are changed, and yet unchanged.
For many of us, a Master’s degree marks the end of an education but surely not the end of learning. We are now tasked with applying our education to obtain knowledge. We are challenged to reach for new goals and as Hopkins Graduates, to achieve them.
Surrounded by fellow graduates, it is an indescribable feeling, this task to use knowledge to achieve knowledge. As a Hopkins grad, I am armed with the confidence that the Dean; the speaker, John Astin; the faculty; my family; my friends; and that I hold within. I am prepared to reach for the next success, and to achieve it.
I plan to celebrate with a small lunch with my children and maybe with a tattoo—a small Blue Jay holding a fountain pen.
I settle for lunch.
June 10, 2009
Complication Doesn't Pay the Bills
I have a complicated relationship with money.
I value it. I respect it. I like it.
At varying times I have it or need it or want it.
I earn it through work. I ask for it through grants.
I just don’t write for it.
I usually don’t write about it.
It is, as I’ve said, a complicated relationship.
I want to make a living as a writer. The implication is that I want to be paid for writing, not paid to write (a slight difference making me feel less wordishly whorish). Still, there is the implication of a financial interaction, not the cumbersome actuality of it.
I write because I have a fascination with the way words sound on the page. Not, because of a fascination with money. And yet, I want to make a living as a writer: The implication being a writer who eats.
A few days ago, I updated my blog to include a section about me. In it, I don’t imply that I will write for money. I say it.
I will write articles, blog posts, short stories, newsletters, features and interviews. I will write to inspire action. I will write to support a cause. I will write for money…
Well, maybe not for money.
I will write with and without the expectation of compensation in the form of something of value.
It is, after all, a complicated relationship.
June 07, 2009
About Yvonne Battle-Felton
Yvonne Battle-Felton writes literary fiction and creative nonfiction that explores the psychology of characters and shows how characters influence their own plots.
Last year, she attended fiction workshops at Iowa Writers' Workshop and Bread Loaf. This year, Yvonne was accepted to Iowa Writers' Workshop, Bread Loaf and Sewanee writers' conferences.
December 2008, Yvonne completed her Master's in Writing (Dual concentration Fiction and Nonfiction) at Johns Hopkins University.
Yvonne engages in the community of writers and seeks to expand the writer's community of Johns Hopkins through attending workshops and conferences, participating in organizations and through indulging in the pursuit of writing.
A writer of personal essays, features, interviews, newsletters, press releases, and short stories, Yvonne submits pieces for publication and is available to write informational, engaging fiction and nonfiction freelance pieces for magazines, websites, newsletters, and books at standard industry rates.
Currently, Yvonne contributes regularly to Open Salon, has published in the Chesapeake Reader, updates Twitter @NemesisInk semi-religiously, appears online in various capacities, writes pieces for the web and for publishing consideration, and answers calls for submissions for fiction and nonfiction pieces.
To propose a freelance project, submission or blog post, please email Yvonne at battlefelton@nemesis-ink.com
June 03, 2009
Leveling the Personality Playing Field
I am an INTP.
According to my recent Myer’s Briggs personality assessment, and according to my life, I am socially challenged when it comes to socializing.
I find off line networking, socializing, and interacting somewhat exhausting. This is not a confession. Those who know me already know I cherish silence. This is not an expose. When I need to be alone I don’t hide it nearly as well as I think I do. It just simply is.
But, I do it.
I make time to spend with friends, colleagues, and intimate strangers to share experiences, opportunities, and information. I sparingly attend networking events. Perhaps you’ve seen me; I was the person indulging in multiple conversations for about twenty minutes or so. Twenty minutes later, I was the person engaging in a few select interactions. One hour later, I was the person gone.
Online, I am not as reclusive, or I am but people don’t notice.
I have Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn. I update, post, read, share, learn, network, friend and follow. Online where everyone has something to say, every connection is an interaction that I control. If I feel crowded, I can choose to not log in, to log out, ignore, or put off. But more importantly, I can engage when I want to as often or as little as I want to and no one has to know that our connections are in fact stronger because of, not in spite of, the e-distance between us.
