Anniversaries, Anxieties (with Mini Book Review) about Writing and Adjuncting, Plus Pacific Northwest Summer

Celebrating 32 Years at sunset at the Lavender Farm

Celebrating our (ahem) 32nd Wedding Anniversary

Greetings and welcome to summer in the Pacific Northwest. Temperatures are in the seventies, birds fly through the air, deer wonder through the garden.

This year we had a low-key celebration of our 32nd year of marriage. Isn’t that crazy? We walked around the lavender garden, we had cocktails and dessert at Willows Lodge. No trips to Paris or Italy and Hawaii, just a low key night in our own neighborhood, but that’s okay. It made me think about how we like to celebrate, especially when we don’t have a lot of spare cash lying around. We listened to a little live music and observed a beautiful sunset (and some delicious ice cream) and that seems like a night to be thankful for.

Anxieties (in the World and in Me and in the Poetry World) and a Mini Book Review

There seems to be a lot of anxiety in the world these days. I mean, I’m having a lot of anxiety, and I’ve had terrible trouble sleeping the last few weeks. In the poetry world and the writing world, there are anxieties about publishing and AI. In the regular world, the Iran war goes on, inflation continues to rise while wages stagnate. Every television show I watch is about something to be afraid of, and the news is exactly the same. Glenn’s parents have had crisis after crisis the last couple of months, and my own mom (who is dad’s sole caretaker) ended up in the hospital this week. My own health insists on getting in the way of doing the things I love.

How do you alleviate your anxiety, if you do? Or as the therapists and kids say, “Regulate” your anxiety?

I was talking to a writer friend about both of our different levels of feelings of failure, worry about money (or lack thereof), lack of reviews/teaching jobs/grants/awards, and talking about what truly brings writers satisfaction. I know I’m happier when I’m writing, and I haven’t been writing enough. My friend was saying (after doing a bunch of readings) that she’d just like to spend some time by herself. The balance between promotion and spending time reading and writing is hard for all writers all the time, but it seems harder lately.

This brings me to my mini-book review of The Adjunct by Maria Adelmann. A sort-of-satire of the universe of Creative Writing and English major adjuncts, a young woman who’s gotten her PhD is trapped in a cycle of trying to earn a living as an adjunct, her reputation smeared by a professor who slept with her when she was his student, doing gig work on the side. This English PhD did not 1) come from money or 2) go to the fanciest school and is always in the process of writing the book that will help her hopefully break out of adjuncting hell, except the book is always on Post-It notes in a cramped and unheated borrowed office space. In the end (spoiler alert, but not really), she ends up unable to support herself, living out of her car when she gets carjacked and then she is homeless, turned down for multiple fast-food jobs, and becomes what basically is a prostitute. Overwrought? Melodramatic to the point of Dickens? Maybe, but now that universities are using adjuncts for 75 percent of teaching and not giving benefits or paying a living wage, and stories of adjuncts dying in their offices not even being uncommon, this is probably more realistic than I’d like to admit. Here’s a quote from the first page of the book:

I’m writing at two a.m. from the adjunct office in the literature wing…The ideal setting for an Agatha Christie novel in which the ensemble cast gets knocked off one by one. The disappointing big reveal is that, actually, capitalism did it, and suddenly you realize that you aren’t in a mystery novel at all but just another Jacobin article…there’s a twist beyond the twist: It’s just real life.”

The speaker of this novel is very much like me—except I never slept with a professor, and I never got my PhD (just an MA and an MFA) and I’ve never been car-jacked. But I do have MS, several genetic health issues that are expensive to treat, and I did adjunct for four years, with a boss who was male, younger and less accomplished than I was, making less money (if it can be believed) than I make on the regular as a freelance writing poet, far less than minimum wage. Now, I worked as a technical writer for ten years–that’s how I got to Seattle, recruited by Microsoft–but if I hadn’t chosen that path and gone into literature studies instead, I could be as helpless and penniless, no savings account, no home, no health insurance. I became too sick to work the hours that Microsoft did (and still does) require when I became an adjunct. If I hadn’t had a husband–what would have been my future?  And I thought about the “Gifted Child” syndrome and the “Rory Gilmore Failure” syndrome–if girls who are praised as intelligent and gifted since they were young are told to get their PhDs and there will be jobs waiting for them–well, we’ve been sold a sack of goods. Becoming a writer for money is tough–especially without backup money and connections, which let’s face it, almost all the famous poets you know came with as a package. Journalism, poetry–heck, people (according to the Atlantic) don’t even read any more. Am I a failure because capitalism doesn’t reward the work I love? I have published eight books total, six of poetry. I’ve had good reviews and good publishers and made friends along the way that I treasure. Have I gotten an NEA grant or a Guggenheim or Whiting Award? Even made the long list for a Pulitzer. Nope. And I have to face that fact that at my age, that may never happen. And earning a living writing? Is that a pipe dream I should let go of? Maybe so.

Mt Rainier, yellow wildflowers

Summertime in the Pacific Northwest

After my anxiety post, you may be surprised to see me waxing on about the beauties of my backyard, the Pacific Northwest summers in general, the birds and flowers and mild weather that make living here the rest of the year worth it. We’re having a cool summer so far, thank goodness. Having MS makes summertime less fun, usually, because MS people tend to be sensitive to heat. But it’s wonderful to be able to walk every evening, to see all the beautiful flowers and trees in the garden I take care of all year finally in bloom, to be able to make grilled watermelon on the grill (really good if you haven’t tried it.) Yes, I’ve had insomnia, and not the fun kind where you write a lot more, the unfun kind where your body is just not listening to your signals correctly. But outdoor concerts and movies, gathering with friends – our winery book club had its entire meeting outdoors last time, with only one yellowjacket threateningly near – and the longer days all seem to give the world a more golden, carefree glow. Wishing you perfect summer weather and a chance to get into nature this week. And may your anxiety lessen. (Now to try to get to sleep!)