tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52507513594757368102024-03-19T02:28:46.064-07:00The CowationJordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comBlogger666125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-39331740398241160732019-09-15T10:31:00.000-07:002019-09-15T10:32:00.585-07:00Visit My Updated Website!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>This blog is no longer being updated. For new posts, please visit my professional website at <a href="http://www.jordanalam.com/">www.jordanalam.com</a> and click 'Journal.'</b><br />
<br />
I have finally integrated my websites into one space! Please visit there for any updates and new work.<b> </b></div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-63220467124194572992018-02-01T10:47:00.001-08:002018-02-01T10:47:14.681-08:00A New Short Story and My ~Fancy~ Presskit!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This week is just a short post because the past few weeks have been a hectic time! But I wanted to celebrate the accomplishments that have happened in that time.<br />
<br />
First, I (finally) put together a presskit! It's been a long time in coming and it was actually an enjoyable experience to reflect on all the cool shows and projects I've been a part of. <a href="http://www.jordanalam.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/JordanAlam_PressKit1.pdf" target="_blank">You can see that presskit here.</a><br />
<br />
And second, <a href="http://www.tayoliterarymag.com/jordan-alam" target="_blank">my short story "To Whom We Return,"</a> has come out in TAYO Magazine! It's a little fright, and sitting alongside some of my favorite talented friends in poetry and prose, so be sure to check out <a href="http://www.tayoliterarymag.com/issue-seven" target="_blank">the whole issue.</a><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRL32cDMwzfRsIlw0bATMmh6dj7TDonPTZP1HHMLOUIS-TKioPm4Dp4W0KQIxuS6f0fHg3fWN5xXO0ooUWA3dCCGCqF9AFPaA-GIDGKHjHJDnXDdPWFHETJnoCuvYdvtm8zrzSFp_J4u8/s1600/TAYO+Screengrab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="1035" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRL32cDMwzfRsIlw0bATMmh6dj7TDonPTZP1HHMLOUIS-TKioPm4Dp4W0KQIxuS6f0fHg3fWN5xXO0ooUWA3dCCGCqF9AFPaA-GIDGKHjHJDnXDdPWFHETJnoCuvYdvtm8zrzSFp_J4u8/s400/TAYO+Screengrab.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TAYO Issue Seven cover page with artwork of three light-skinned Asian people whose upper bodies are made of building materials.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />More to come!</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-18377823410822747422018-01-17T06:00:00.000-08:002018-01-17T06:01:06.363-08:00The Week in Bodily Experiences<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rpJLSMWb68VdlBcYE_nhahl8geEn_YPzjucLRfO5Bzy-mfF4-2ywmBaMLIauhrOzkB8cFUq3dTXjvhQ-BlipVKELM5vs8czeLbQ3Gfk1eh5usFVyjuhvl1D-QoXjq0AkdL19vGT3jBk/s1600/DSC_1279.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rpJLSMWb68VdlBcYE_nhahl8geEn_YPzjucLRfO5Bzy-mfF4-2ywmBaMLIauhrOzkB8cFUq3dTXjvhQ-BlipVKELM5vs8czeLbQ3Gfk1eh5usFVyjuhvl1D-QoXjq0AkdL19vGT3jBk/s320/DSC_1279.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>[Image description: summer time at Alki beach with me walking away from the camera into the water in a blue checkered dress and my hands up in my hair -- I'm missing warm weather!]</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<i>1. Kicking my heels down against the ground and feeling where my (short) hamstrings actually are while under the guidance of a weight training coach.</i><br /><i>2. Exhaling up into downward dog and feeling the tip of my tailbone aching from a chronic injury I’ve had for the past year.</i><br /><i>3. Pulling on a jumpsuit in front of the mirror and seeing that the waist seam is uneven – did my body change or was it the clothes?</i><br /><i>4. Swimming with my head underwater, I feel the burn in your chest when I’ve pushed out all the air but haven’t yet come up for another breath.</i><br /><i>5. Feeling my hair lift up off my shoulders as it shrinks back because of the chlorine.</i><br /><i>6. Digging into food with my hands and feeling all of the textures – smooth, gritty, rubbery, firm, mushy, hot.</i><br /><i>7. Laughing as I stutter step on skates for the first time after months of being bound to my computer and essentially inert.</i><br /><br />Can you tell that I went back to exercising this week? I offer you this list as a little exercise in observation, for you to then use as writing prompts or just to be aware of as you go about your week. If you remember to, take a moment to <b>write down a small detail of your bodily experience</b> this week. I would be curious to read what you found.<br /><br />Earlier this January, I shared a pastiche piece on stage that collected excerpts of the writing I have done over the past year (alongside the brilliant artist and my middle school friend <a href="http://jessxsnow.com/" target="_blank">Jess X Snow</a>!). When I was putting it together, I was worried that two things would happen: I would not have enough writing to put together the set and, even if I did, that they would be totally disjointed.<br /><br />The first worry turned out to not be a thing – and it’s a super gratifying experience to go through your writer’s notebook months later and think “hey, this doesn’t suck as much as I thought it did” – but I was surprised to find that my second worry also unwound itself fairly quickly. It turns out that my work has revolved more and more around the literal human body and how it holds everything from emotions and trauma to memory and joy. I’m primarily a narrative writer, and so it was interesting to see that those details stood out even when I was reading pieces that were more story or creative nonfiction than performance style.<br /><br />Since that reading, I have been thinking about “dreaming bigger” with my work – both on stage and off. It feels like I’ve stumbled upon the thread that ties all these pieces together. In the past, when I have had to answer that dreaded question “what is your writing about?” I have gone into long clumsy paragraphs about what this particular project is about and what I’m working on this afternoon. Of course, that will still happen. But I feel like curating these pieces gave me a telescope lens view of what connects all those little scraps. Which is definitely helpful as I look towards tackling the monster beast that is editing my novel draft in the coming months.<br /><br />But that’s a little later. For now, cheers to figuring out a little tiny (but absurdly important) thing.<br /><br /><b>I’m also really grateful to announce this week that I have received the <a href="https://townhallseattle.org/in-residence/" target="_blank">Inside/Out Residency</a> with <a href="https://townhallseattle.org/" target="_blank">Town Hall Seattle</a>! This means that I’ll be developing performance pieces – also exploring how the body holds trauma and emotional experiences – for the next six months. I’m excited to share that work with you and hope that you will come out and see it!</b><br /></div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-46444610931847116182018-01-03T06:00:00.000-08:002018-01-03T06:00:03.954-08:00In 2018, Dedication over Discipline<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<b>If you live in the Seattle area, I’ll
be performing a pastiche piece of works that I’ve written this year at
<a href="http://amplifier.org/" target="_blank">Amplifier Art Lab</a> on Thursday, January 4<sup>th</sup> at 6pm, alongside my friend and fabulous artist <a href="http://jessxsnow.com/" target="_blank">Jess X Snow</a>. Tell us you’re
going on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/159066714714372/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and I hope to see you there!</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2iYO283Tb94bi2WpTVQ5mztBZNBFIeghYluAGjiyDVUJ_R5RhF7xG-p8Tc3TXRnhXps8dJZubcWeRSHOVGrryY_gQc3llmn5jgo208wiHD4dc5S2U80ru8qjFTvAIIort61SheduudU/s1600/IMG_20171228_150200_974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1424" data-original-width="1600" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2iYO283Tb94bi2WpTVQ5mztBZNBFIeghYluAGjiyDVUJ_R5RhF7xG-p8Tc3TXRnhXps8dJZubcWeRSHOVGrryY_gQc3llmn5jgo208wiHD4dc5S2U80ru8qjFTvAIIort61SheduudU/s320/IMG_20171228_150200_974.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Image description: cross-hatched pen drawing on December planner pages of a person with red earrings, wearing a blue headscarf, with eyes closed]</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This year, I’m dedicated to:</i><br />
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Returning to good
body practices and rituals (such as exercise and meal planning)</i></div>
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Re-forming a
relationship to my interests outside of work (Bangla, tabla, derby, yoga,
crafts, etc.)</i></div>
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Reconnecting to
long distance friends</i></div>
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Continuing to
pursue all my creative projects, including editing a novel, writing a show,
making a new zine, blogging, and drafting new short stories</i></div>
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keep delving deep
into vulnerability</i></div>
<br />
The end of 2017 came up fast for me, much faster than I expected. I have a
pretty regular seasonal practice of going through my things and clearing out
what no longer serves me. It’s always a tug of war between my inner archivist
and the part of myself seduced by minimalism. The first one has saved every
paper journal since I was 4 years old, and has no plans on changing that. The
second – with that first taste of fresh blood – wants to get rid of entire rows
of unread books and whole segments of my closet.<br />
<br />
As I was assessing things to give away, I also looked back in my notebooks
from the course of the year. I was mentally building my list of intentions and
guiding lights, which are my preferred terms for “resolutions.” If you look
back in my planner for 2017, you’ll see that I made goals and guiding lights
every month, right below my accomplishments and celebrations. This year, I saw
note after note mentioning “a return to [xyz].” A return to exercise practices.
A return to taking vitamins daily. Return to cooking at home and waking up
earlier in the morning. Return to playing tabla and having dedicated empty
time. All of these things that I had at one point been doing and stopped, for a
short time or a long one, and that I hoped to make happen again.<br />
<br />
With the coming of the New Year, I sometimes get excited to start doing New
Things. Let me just excise all the bad habits and mistakes of the last year and
start anew. And particularly in what was a shitty year politically, it is easy for
me to be seduced by the idea that if I just get this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one little thing right </i>I’ll feel better again and more motivated to
take on the world. But most of what I found is that I have already learned what
is nourishing to me and there’s nothing really “new” about it. So, if I already
knew what I needed, why did 2017 feel so draining?<br />
<br />
Because I treated everything on my to-do list with equal weight and worry. Because
I had cascading to-do lists that filled up every minute of my time. Because I
let perfection be the enemy of good. And when I couldn’t live up to this
impossible standard, I felt bad about the things I was leaving aside.<br />
There was another section I found in my planner that I liked a great deal, a
note to self that said: “You want to recommit to your practices, but I feel
like you’re using routine as a stick to beat yourself with. What are the things
that [actually] feed your passion?” Yeah, what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i> I doing? Is it the carrot or the stick? When does “a discipline”
transfer over into <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">discipline</i>?<br />
<br />
I completed a lot of material goals in 2017, but that productivity hastened
me into burnout and new physical pain. In 2018, my goals have shifted only
slightly, but I want to work instead on my mentality towards them. I want to
find ways to dedicate myself rather than discipline. To “refill the cup” as
they say, and to practice more self-care than I talk about it. <br />
<br />
The theme of my year ahead is: get out of your own way. If there’s anything
for the minimalist in me to pare down, it should be that old attitude.<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let me know what you are dedicating
yourself to this year. And kindly subscribe to my email newsletter below! It will
feature updates on my work and life, as well as little goodies every once in a
while.</i><br />
<br />
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Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-83226689160993215372017-09-15T04:00:00.000-07:002017-09-15T04:00:04.057-07:00Help Me Take the Lamaze Childbirth Educator Exam!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe frameborder="0" height="398" src="https://www.youcaring.com/fundraiser-widget.aspx?frid=947103" width="260"></iframe>
</div>
<div class="profile-description js-section--details current active">
<div class="profile-description--content js-description">
<br />
<div data-contents="true">
<div class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D RichTextEditor__paragraph___3NTf9" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="ed0g-0-0">
<div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="ed0g-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ed0g-0-0"><span data-text="true">This past May, I opened my independent doula business. My birth work is invested in ensuring that </span></span><span data-offset-key="ed0g-0-1" style="font-style: italic;"><span data-text="true">all</span></span><span data-offset-key="ed0g-0-2"><span data-text="true"> people have access to quality birth support - I offer my doula services on sliding scale and hope to create free/reduced cost classes in the future. </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D RichTextEditor__paragraph___3NTf9" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="8mn59-0-0">
<div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="8mn59-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8mn59-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D RichTextEditor__paragraph___3NTf9" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="3nbsv-0-0">
<div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="3nbsv-0-0">
<a href="http://www.jordanalam.com/doula-services/"><span data-offset-key="3nbsv-0-0" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span data-text="true">You can read more about my birth work philosophy and services here.</span></span></a></div>
</div>
<div class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D RichTextEditor__paragraph___3NTf9" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="1ovvu-0-0">
<div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="1ovvu-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1ovvu-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D RichTextEditor__paragraph___3NTf9" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="668ds-0-0">
<div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="668ds-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="668ds-0-0"><span data-text="true">To expand my supportive services, in June I took a Lamaze course to become a childbirth educator. </span></span><span data-offset-key="668ds-0-1" style="font-weight: bold;"><span data-text="true">The Lamaze certification exams are coming up in November, and I am raising money to be able to afford the exam costs. Please donate at my <a href="https://www.youcaring.com/jordanalam-947103" target="_blank">YouCaring page</a>. </span></span><span data-offset-key="668ds-0-2"><span data-text="true">Here is what you'll be contributing to:</span></span></div>
</div>
<ul class="public-DraftStyleDefault-ul" data-offset-key="mkh0-0-0">
<li class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D public-DraftStyleDefault-unorderedListItem public-DraftStyleDefault-reset public-DraftStyleDefault-depth0 public-DraftStyleDefault-listLTR" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="mkh0-0-0"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="mkh0-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="mkh0-0-0"><span data-text="true">$225 dollars (plus fees) for the Lamaze childbirth educator study guide</span></span></div>
</li>
<li class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D public-DraftStyleDefault-unorderedListItem public-DraftStyleDefault-depth0 public-DraftStyleDefault-listLTR" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="cicu2-0-0"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="cicu2-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="cicu2-0-0"><span data-text="true">$380 dollars (plus fees) for registration to the November Lamaze childbirth educator exam</span></span></div>
</li>
<li class="RichTextEditor__block___2Vs_D public-DraftStyleDefault-unorderedListItem public-DraftStyleDefault-depth0 public-DraftStyleDefault-listLTR" data-block="true" data-editor="8jg3l" data-offset-key="8gvj5-0-0"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="8gvj5-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8gvj5-0-0"><span data-text="true">$700 dollars to offset my living costs as I study - for that month, I am working with only 1 birth client so I can focus on getting prepared for the exam, which covers 1/2 of my expenses</span></span></div>
</li>
</ul>
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Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-45277457632594347492017-09-06T06:00:00.000-07:002017-09-06T06:00:18.080-07:00Protecting My Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
A weekend ago, I pulled out my folding table and declared it a
"weekend of silence." I wanted to focus on my writing and have some
introvert time, which is hard to come by in my life. Particularly as
someone who is often caregiving for others to the max -- I mean, do you <i>know </i>what
it means to be on call and go to a client at 4am after being awake
until 2am? -- carving out space for myself sometimes feels impossible.
And yet I still think I have it easy in comparison to my clients with
their new babies and people I work with who have to hustle even harder
than I do. There are always people who have to do more with less and are
routinely more badass than I am about it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
But those comparisons just remind me that protecting my time is <i>immensely valuable. </i>And I wanted to write about the topic because I am genuinely so bad at it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkmT6kfrOw60G9GUmJdjLwLYD_WFMFx78VvWnplQlVhbxOXzXVj-nljpTFxPr3ED1XdRfpdbDGSfai5zoPmo9W5Ff7mZ8_m_XV0u9jctZ1OdSjDs5zYtqjYICSbNiEqFYllnjr1PdloI/s1600/20170818_230638_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkmT6kfrOw60G9GUmJdjLwLYD_WFMFx78VvWnplQlVhbxOXzXVj-nljpTFxPr3ED1XdRfpdbDGSfai5zoPmo9W5Ff7mZ8_m_XV0u9jctZ1OdSjDs5zYtqjYICSbNiEqFYllnjr1PdloI/s320/20170818_230638_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div>
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<div>
This
post less an "if you just do these 5 things, you'll have all the time
you need" and more of a "here's a firm reminder that you need to protect
your time" no matter what you use it for. I tend to think that we all
bow to the pressures around us, fall off the horse and then get back on
it, wiggle around a little, fall off, get back, etc. And in some ways I
think that is really beautiful - it is a true opportunity to push
ourselves further.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know that I have found a
process that works for me, after so many experiments. This past weekend,
I chose to listen to it fully (and that truly was a choice that had to
be made!)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the first night, I revamped my
white board (really a green board). It used to just be a long long
laundry list of tasks that were very vague and most of the details were
kept in my head. So the first thing I did was get very specific. I gave
tasks a rating scale of how much effort they would need, and I put even
little things like 'email this person' up next to 'write an essay
draft'. It's now organized in 'To Do', 'Doing', and 'Done.' And it gives
my nerd heart a little thrill to watch as things move progressively
over to the right.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
And then I just forgot about it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmq_xgfRZIUYcB5qQy9BW0jCbPY5E8prDcLyDJjCie2nav-99KCcvbWlNFDNQZYlvlXvrB95pNfPa46QQadY7Cn4UkvBOEZIFjrjgs6g4M0XyC-T3LEV1SVmcUox51nsEPXjieDyMCpcU/s1600/20170820_171924_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmq_xgfRZIUYcB5qQy9BW0jCbPY5E8prDcLyDJjCie2nav-99KCcvbWlNFDNQZYlvlXvrB95pNfPa46QQadY7Cn4UkvBOEZIFjrjgs6g4M0XyC-T3LEV1SVmcUox51nsEPXjieDyMCpcU/s320/20170820_171924_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a> </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I
tend to be that person who has to dump everything out of my head before
I can let go and make space for the real work to be done. If it is in
my head, it's buzzing. On the board, I can go sit at my folding table
and paint until the words come (and yes, I paint and knit and consider
it all part of my writing practice; doing something tactile really
settles me into that work).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The second morning,
I woke up without feeling anxious. Because I really did give myself
permission for whatever needed to happen to make my writing process feel
grounded. Intuition guided me to nap or to break out the sticky notes
or to change locations so I could focus better. I made sure that the
dishes were done and that all my materials were laid out in advance.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On
the third day, it was the eclipse. I chose to go be with people I care
about and watch it happen - historical event, you know? - but I also
drew the energy I needed. Social interactions for me can be draining or
they can refill my cup, the difference being the choice I made to
participate.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the final night, my client
called me and that marked the end of my self-focused time. Back to the
world. But back to the world with the confidence that I could always
create that space again. Next weekend, next month - preferably not next
year! My next big step will be to take some concentrated time away to
take what I learned about my novel this weekend and flesh it way out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For now, here was my board at the end of the weekend:</div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqKQcd6U8lQ_JaevIIlwzkCXV49Txas69Rzuc4asQjRTUWQsj_Su4IPCGtkV1sRCpKZS2i76-3Ii6wwnqR7ckRApU44fQf79Lun74pgjK6pmkWv75miQpk3fwKvqBphs82TPLHmYa9KQ/s1600/20170823_082409_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqKQcd6U8lQ_JaevIIlwzkCXV49Txas69Rzuc4asQjRTUWQsj_Su4IPCGtkV1sRCpKZS2i76-3Ii6wwnqR7ckRApU44fQf79Lun74pgjK6pmkWv75miQpk3fwKvqBphs82TPLHmYa9KQ/s320/20170823_082409_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div>
<b>If
you'd like to read a snippet of some of the things I worked on,
consider <a href="https://www.patreon.com/jordan_alam" target="_blank">subscribing to my Patreon</a> to gain access to a newsletter with
extra little goodies (and sometimes drafts of my work!)</b></div>
</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-42146048952591750252017-08-02T06:00:00.000-07:002017-08-02T08:36:21.058-07:00I'm Back! And Launching my Patreon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm back! The last you heard of me, in late February, I was setting out my goals for the coming months and trying to strategize how to use my limited time/resources. I thought that I would be able to get a blog post up monthly and planned for my next one to be in late March - March and August are about the same, right?</div>
<br />
2017 has been a year to shake things up. I've started my own <a href="http://www.jordanalam.com/doula-services">independent doula business</a> and am coming out of the woods with my novel project. I committed to training for roller derby and actually feel (sort of) confident on skates. I've got a lot going on, but that also means I've got a lot to share! So, in hopes of returning to that goal I set out months ago, I'm returning to a regular writing practice at this space.<br />
<br />
I'm also launching my <a href="http://www.patreon.com/jordan_alam">Patreon campaign</a> today! Many of you may already know what I do, but in case you're new here or just want to hear my voice, I've made a little video for you. Bonus: you get to see my cat photobomb me at the end. Enjoy the video and watch this space for more words to come.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.patreon.com/jordan_alam" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.patreon.com/jordan_alam" border="0" data-original-height="153" data-original-width="651" height="46" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmMkpC85HZO0B7HWdYO3Ql2vl9BC4Z3wJbWRwOYs-qOP5GObrDvY1zojWiwE-wXWcFTSCIFRUPLogNbulxGk7yfgKA60nC9lb2TjCGdPnSbZoSjqWMM6svcykN7mZmUyqhbsoEaCob1Nw/s200/Patreon+Button.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-86703971178788871452017-02-20T08:30:00.000-08:002017-02-20T08:30:11.617-08:00'We Are Irreplaceable' Collaboration & Writing Elsewhere<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been dead silent around here for the past couple of months; I've been working on a couple projects that have taken me further away from my messy blog. I've also gone through two bouts of illness this winter (remarkable for someone who doesn't get sick often!), seen two babies born in my doula work, and transitioned out of one job and into another. Someday I'll get around to recapping everything in its full rich detail, but for now I'll put down a roundup of the collaborations and writing I've been doing elsewhere around the internet:<br />
<br />
My long-time friend, the brilliant artist <a href="http://jessxchen.com/">Jess X. Chen </a>created these two posters using my face as a model and collaborated with me on the caption text. They are for the #nobannowall protests that occurred after the immigration ban earlier this month. They are available for download at <a href="http://justseeds.org/irreplaceable/">justseeds</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTog1bKICi-zoFZqoSn62KK5XghpiOfi0AQJJs-bWHHLA30jY9s1aMZzMy0Qju3ven760nRTffu6aQ9EqbuOOThM8hFG7ilM9PqCLDZMvYK0LgW25L09N48jlG71-5JK3qEjKS3xHabsQ/s1600/WeAreIrreplaceable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTog1bKICi-zoFZqoSn62KK5XghpiOfi0AQJJs-bWHHLA30jY9s1aMZzMy0Qju3ven760nRTffu6aQ9EqbuOOThM8hFG7ilM9PqCLDZMvYK0LgW25L09N48jlG71-5JK3qEjKS3xHabsQ/s400/WeAreIrreplaceable.jpg" width="278" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhna3iy-Td5Gkot_3iNX8MXc1qcpKtjsA3NJLiyDdg9Tazc3DB0CJkk-yfs0ZIc_-k8lrcqx-tPgtP1bG_i-wmOgY-wASzH65UwGK1LPvcDtEv2YTmbI883DztkJV0TGflBYt0eNmJHjz8/s1600/OurAncestorsDreamedofUs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhna3iy-Td5Gkot_3iNX8MXc1qcpKtjsA3NJLiyDdg9Tazc3DB0CJkk-yfs0ZIc_-k8lrcqx-tPgtP1bG_i-wmOgY-wASzH65UwGK1LPvcDtEv2YTmbI883DztkJV0TGflBYt0eNmJHjz8/s400/OurAncestorsDreamedofUs.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>'To Allah we belong and to Allah we return’ is a rough translation of the dua said at someone’s death. Blessed is this temporary cycle. We are part of a long lineage, a history of others who have dreamed us into being (as Walidah Imarisha puts it in the introduction to Octavia’s Brood). We are ourselves complete and also part of this larger whole and while we are impermanent, we are irreplaceable. Remember that you have the hands of ancestors at your back, and the duty to dream of the generations ahead of you.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
I've written a piece called <a href="http://fragmentsmagazine.com/2017/01/07/life-after/">'Life After'</a> about the Tr**p election and what it means for us as vulnerable populations. Check that out at Fragments Magazine.<br />
<br />
The Theo Westenberger Estate blog is featuring a piece about my experiential research process from my time in Bangladesh -- it's called <a href="http://theo-westenberger.tumblr.com/post/156979328579/the-accordion-exercise-experiencing-research-in">'The Accordion Exercise'</a> and talks about some of my novel-writing process.<br />
<br />
Finally, next month I will be in NYC working yet again on the lovely <a href="https://feministzinefestnyc.wordpress.com/">Feminist Zine Fest</a>! If you're in the city, please come through and support independent writers and art-makers from across North America. More info at <a href="https://feministzinefestnyc.wordpress.com/">our website</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NYC-Feminist-Zinefest-213270105413650/">Facebook page</a>.<br />
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Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-34275776168746382722016-12-10T10:56:00.000-08:002016-12-10T10:56:11.248-08:00A Couple Failures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGXwfDn1gV0w-70I09z06fm1Koneu1dIKR1ui3Ez7I6zck7c40jR9hUrebVpala3D-gaiZh4cGMEcz3U2HWjQ4C59l7YzgbJjJIfOtczmt7F1cYL4NeL3n5A0EtHAf_ovjA6jGz_iLC0/s1600/20161023_092011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGXwfDn1gV0w-70I09z06fm1Koneu1dIKR1ui3Ez7I6zck7c40jR9hUrebVpala3D-gaiZh4cGMEcz3U2HWjQ4C59l7YzgbJjJIfOtczmt7F1cYL4NeL3n5A0EtHAf_ovjA6jGz_iLC0/s320/20161023_092011.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A terrifying red mushroom that appeared in my yard and collapsed partially under its own weight.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Allow for me to give a detailed account of the things I didn't do this past month:<br />
<br />
<i>I didn't make it to 50,000 words this NaNoWriMo;</i><br />
<i>I didn't meet my personal fundraising goal for Project As[I]Am to put out another issue;</i><br />
<i>I got a dramatic injury and didn't go to my first derby practice league meetup;</i><br />
<i>Due to the same dramatic injury, I did nothing for Thanksgiving other than binge watch TV shows;</i><br />
<i>Much of my work felt like it got away from me.</i><br />
<br />
All this... and nothing major happened. There was no fiery explosion. My airbags didn't even inflate.<br />
<br />
Too often I hold on to a lot of self-judgment about not meeting my own (admittedly very high) expectations. For a few months now, I have been skidding along on my own efficiency - I am incredibly good at working and getting things in on deadline, even if it means that I'm working up to the last minute. But this month was riddled with more than the usual ebbs and flows in productivity. I first got a cold, then another one. I got a tailbone injury which had me unable to easily sit upright. And, of course, you know what else happened last month. The secondary trauma response that fired up in me post-election was as searing as the tailbone pain, radiating outward in waves. There's a reflection to be written about that sometime - I'll add it to my already tall stack of deadlines.<br />
<br />
I got particularly anxious this month when I started feeling like the things on my plate were piling ever higher. I would have a day when I could get back to my usual productivity and then crashed completely the next. I started using a goal-setting calendar app that gives you reminders and there would be 5-7 sitting on my home screen all day everyday. What a guilt trap.<br />
<br />
But I also found myself relying on the oft-repeated advice to be gentle and kind to oneself. No one is clamoring to read my book. No one needs me to speak on a panel or facilitate a workshop (though I'd gladly take the gig). No one is blowing up my social media about when my next piece is coming out. Though it may sound like a cold comfort, I was reminded that there is a kind of luxury in not having a completely public life. <br />
<br />
Instead I've been relishing smaller behind-the-scenes victories like working with my first doula client in over a year. I've been doing the #100RejectionsChallenge and submitting far more often than ever before. I have been truly absorbed by good literature and lectures, particularly <a href="https://youtu.be/D1yZszUqDJU">this one by Sheila Heti</a>. Paradoxically, all those reminders on my phone are helping me remember what I really <i>want</i> to be doing rather than just moving from task to task like an automaton. In that way, I am setting a solid foundation for myself while the world around me is shifting in so many perceptible and imperceptible ways. It's time to be safe and take the best care that we can.</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-22438166989818647952016-11-02T00:02:00.001-07:002016-11-02T00:10:27.243-07:00Support Project As[I]Am & Keep Me Accountable this NaNoWriMo!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A widget of my NaNo completion stats; if you want more details, check out <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/participants/thecowation/novels/the-big-one-1173771/stats">this link.</a></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<br />
<b>To donate, you can <a href="https://www.patreon.com/project_as_i_am">subscribe to our Patreon</a> and become a monthly donor <i>or</i>, for one-time donors, go <a href="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=W9NUE3NTH93BG">through our PayPal</a>.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's the start of National Novel Writing Month
and I'm
going to dedicate my messy 50,000 words towards completing a draft of
the novel draft I have been working on concertedly for the past year.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I also devised a way that you can keep me
accountable to that goal while also supporting <a href="http://www.project-as-i-am.com/">Project As[I]Am</a>, the
online Asian American arts and activism publication that I work on (see the silly video with my cat in it above -- forgive me for not looking fully into the camera!). </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>For every day that I complet</b><span class="text_exposed_show"><b>e
my NaNo benchmark goal of 1,667 words, I am asking for your support in
donating $3 (or more) to As[I]Am.</b> You can check the widget up top to see my progress. By the end of the month, I will not
only have made my word count goal, but I will have also earned enough to
produce the next issue and podcast. Check out the one we've got up,
<a href="http://project-as-i-am.com/our-greatest-resource-letter/">"Our Greatest Resource,"</a> in case you haven't already.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If you don't have the funds to donate at this time but want to support
us with a skill and/or promote to your friends, that is more than enough
as well -- get in touch with me <a href="https://twitter.com/thecowation">on Twitter</a> or <a href="mailto:jordanalam7201@gmail.com">via email.</a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b> </b> </div>
</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-37084657381972342032016-10-25T15:31:00.000-07:002016-10-25T15:31:02.495-07:00A Year Ahead; A Year Behind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>If you haven't already done so, I highly encourage you to check out the <a href="http://project-as-i-am.com/our-greatest-resource-letter/">"Our Greatest Resource"</a> issue just released at Project As[I]Am. It features love letters, poetry, visual and audio art about the world we want to create. You can also hear our editors speak on the issue in our <a href="http://project-as-i-am.com/our-greatest-resource-letter/">audio letter</a> -- edited and hosted by me!</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7oe314Q82fOPtvmPHK-jxoLdDn1_6hpKn7hh0CZHlfhXx2sx4PkHKhAyX19VC1OgnsFuvJTNcTbgktVR8j1yMrZzXU6ZtoMBz8rEoDN5tfFk4YqjC8HzzoT98jnUrKDde7dBI0E8a2so/s1600/20161006_154436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7oe314Q82fOPtvmPHK-jxoLdDn1_6hpKn7hh0CZHlfhXx2sx4PkHKhAyX19VC1OgnsFuvJTNcTbgktVR8j1yMrZzXU6ZtoMBz8rEoDN5tfFk4YqjC8HzzoT98jnUrKDde7dBI0E8a2so/s320/20161006_154436.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A quote I saw on the wall of a 5th grade classroom - "It's about progress, not perfection" in a loopy calligraphy script.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was my 25th birthday yesterday and I had a bad cold (of course). It turned my brain foggy at work; it was a relief when finally I got to my three days off and could sleep in.<br />
<br />
<br />
In my last post, I talked about creative drought. Somehow, while I was in the middle of it, a few public readings fell
into my lap. I performed at <a href="http://subdrift.com/">Subdrift</a> (a South Asian open mic that has
come to Seattle) and read a piece
of the novel draft for the first time in a public forum. It was fairly low stakes since it was an open mic,
but the positive feedback really enlivened me. I read another draft
piece as part of the <a href="http://artactivistnia.bigcartel.com/product/art-school-is-hell">QTPOC Artists of Color (volume 2!)</a> book launch
reading last night.<br />
<br />
There's an
effect called response-shift bias that I've learned while doing
evaluation work. People come into a training feeling relatively
confident that they know the material, but by the end they realize how
much they <i>don't</i> know. So they rate themselves as having <i>less </i>knowledge than when they walked in the door. That's the place that I've gotten to in my research -- I've been anxious to begin new parts of the draft because it feels like there's a wealth more to do. What kind of bats would be in that tree? What is the archetypal trickster animal in that region? Where can I put in this detail without disrupting the flow? Elena Rose (who also read last night and co-edited the volume), described this process as "cat-vacuuming"-- when you're looking for more things to do to put off the actual project.<br />
<br />
The past several years I've spent hopping from thing to thing, collecting
experiences and research and deciding where to focus my energies. Years of discovery. I feel like this year, however, is one of depth rather than breadth. Not
to say that discovery is over forever, but for now my desires have shifted away from
acquiring a bunch of new skills to tunneling deep into the behind-the-scenes work. You may not see me a lot this year -- I'll be poking around at a few invisible behemoths, trying to see how big they are by feel -- but I'm sure that you'll hear a great deal about how it's all going. For now, I'm going back to my ginger tea and ruminating.</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-52783914898452756602016-09-10T09:00:00.000-07:002016-09-10T09:00:11.852-07:00Mental Drought<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> </i>I am very excited to announce that I have bought my name as a domain name and have a professional website! Check out <a href="http://www.jordanalam.com/">jordanalam.com</a> to have a more in-depth look at my creative and professional work.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>*** </i></div>
<i>I woke up and it was loud in my head.</i><br />
<i>I woke and the heaviness that sat on my chest prevented me from rising.</i><br />
<i>I woke and it was silent as a grave -</i><br />
<i>The smoke curling upward from a fire recently extinguished.</i><br />
<i>I woke to find myself on a bed of rustling papers, covered in tiny handwriting;</i><br />
<i>When I looked closer, it was just an endless list of names.</i><br />
<i> The heaviness sat on my chest and prevented me from rising.</i><br />
<i>I woke and I woke and when I woke again,</i><br />
<i>It was night.</i><br />
<i> (a poem of mine, inspired after days of mental drought) </i><br />
<br />
Everyday for the past two months, I feel like I have been fighting fires.<br />
<br />
The creative drought I have been in is pretty unsurprising, given the amount of hours I have been putting in to my day jobs and recuperating in between. I've been trying to be more gentle with myself and yet more disciplined, which is a tightrope act in itself. I struggled to eke out a short story in time for a deadline in August and I have been teaching some writing workshops in the interim, but it doesn't feel quite the same to steal these moments. Compared to last year when I was running around on my own creative journey, I feel like I'm not devoting "enough" to the craft. It was comforting to recently hear from other writers about their own experiences with this. They reminded me that it's a fiction in itself (one meant for people with immense privilege) to have the time to write without any of these other nagging thoughts about paying the bills and feeding the cat. But it's easier to be up in your head with anxiety about the work you're not getting done when there's so much other life keeping you away.<br />
<br />
A few days ago, I picked up a collection of Wislawa Szymborska poems. I admired her work in college though I learned about her only after she had passed away. It was on a day when I was playing hooky from all my responsibilities -- technically it was a day off, but one filled with the self-filling task list that overwhelmed me until I just had to escape the house. Sitting in a nearby pizza shop, I read her <a href="http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1996/szymborska-lecture.html">Nobel speech</a> and teared up at the part about inspiration:<br />
<br />
<i>"<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">When I'm asked about this on occasion, I
hedge the question too. But my answer is this: inspiration is not
the exclusive privilege of poets or artists generally. There is,
has been, and will always be a certain group of people whom
inspiration visits. It's made up of all those who've consciously
chosen their calling and do their job with love and imagination.
It may include doctors, teachers, gardeners - and I could list a
hundred more professions. <b>Their work becomes one continuous
adventure as long as they manage to keep discovering new
challenges in it. Difficulties and setbacks never quell their
curiosity. A swarm of new questions emerges from every problem
they solve. Whatever inspiration is, it's born from a continuous
"I don't know."</b></span></i><br />
<br />
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">Though I may not have a lot of words to show for these past few months, I have been exploring that curiosity. I've been learning about cheese making with Harold McGee, playing tabla, getting trained on evaluation tools and drug rehab referrals, swimming at the local pool... Nothing is too large or too small. It's all too easy for me to forget that this is an essential part of my creative process -- a fallow season before the buds come up. In the meantime, I must cultivate gratitude even when it's uncomfortable or hard to see.</span><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><br /></span></div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-67818451501357233772016-07-10T09:00:00.000-07:002016-07-10T10:25:04.214-07:00Convulsions, Premonitions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I feel like I have had a certain conversation on repeat for the past few weeks, but I can’t stop myself. The words are there right under my skin.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>“it is this time<br /> that matters</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /> it is this history<br /> I care about</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /> the one we make together<br /> awkward<br /> inconsistent<br /> as a lame cat on the loose<br /> or quick as kids freed by the bell<br /> or else as strictly<br /> once<br /> as only life must mean<br /> a once upon a time”<br /> -- June Jordan, <a href="http://wonderingminstrels.blogspot.com/2002/10/on-new-year-eve-june-jordan.html">“On A New Year’s Eve”</a></i></div>
<br />
I have sunk deep into this text. There is an awful but necessary type of witnessing that happens there. In June Jordan’s poetry, we hear clearly the continuity of violence and the preciousness of human life. In <a href="http://ajccenter.wfu.edu/2016/07/08/my-walden-melissa-harris-perry/">Melissa Harris Perry’s note</a>, we read raw grief. I’ve curated myself away from Facebook posts, away from mainstream news, and have instead immersed myself in artistic responses and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNKu1uNBVkU">music</a>. I have been reading aloud poetry by friends and strangers to my empty room, finding myself too often in tears. I want to have the energy to organize and make meaning but the part of me on loop keeps circling around and asking the same unanswerable questions. Why? What is the point of continuing forward?<br />
<br />
The majority of my work is intangible. It’s about making connections between people and resources, people and ideas, people and other people. Even my writing work, the most concrete and visible part of the process, requires so much connective energy that I often feel overwhelmed by its weight. It’s very easy for me to feel too much – whatever that means – and yet at the same time desire to compress it all into a short period of time and space.<br />
<br />
I took great time for myself last year to process burnout. I took great time for myself to travel and make space for my writing practices. I took great time, and now I feel like it has disappeared. Dried up. Just a few weeks ago, visibility took prime focus in my life. Now there is an impulse to fold in on myself and hibernate till the long winter is over. But really, when is it ever over?<br />
<br />
Outside there are new plants reaching towards the sun. My immediate safety is not under threat -- a significant privilege. I’ve come off a month of extra shifts and moving at high speeds; what once felt productive now feels unsustainable. So I have been hardcore nesting and making my space as comfortable as possible, being selfish with the ways I use my time outside of work. I am consoled by my own gratitude for this life, for the reminder that we return to Allah’s light at the end of the journey, whenever that may be. It is our time to bear witness to those who have died and not turn away from the reality and the ritual of it. Orlando, Istanbul, Dhaka, Baghdad, Medina, and further. Philando Castile and Alton Sterling and…</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-75437699594324980712016-06-25T09:30:00.000-07:002016-06-25T09:30:11.011-07:00Flooded<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Project As[I]Am has re-opened its <a href="http://project-as-i-am.com/call-for-submissions-for-summer-issue-our-greatest-resource/">call for submissions</a>! Submit your work by <b>July 5th </b>for a chance to be included in our issue, themed "Our Greatest Resource," on emotional labor and solidarity through love.</i><br />
<br />
This week, I wanted to write about something completely mundane. I moved into my new apartment this week, putting everyone who helped me through hell. I started working on a bunch of fantastic spreadsheets this week. I interviewed young people about their experiences with arts programs...<br />
<br />
But all of that got overshadowed by the obvious, by the tragedy that Orlando and hit our communities at large. I wrote a very personal piece about <a href="http://www.culturestrike.org/magazine/after-orlando-healing-and-ramadan">the experience of grief and media management</a> over at CultureStrike, and I did <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/skarlan/here-is-what-lgbt-muslims-want-you-to-know-after-the-orlando?utm_term=.rdGMJqZlm#.vbQMj8kxb">two</a> <a href="http://www.vice.com/read/what-its-like-to-be-gay-and-muslim-in-america">interviews</a> about the incident as well. It was the only way that I felt useful, offering my words in place of anything more material. It still doesn't feel like enough. I mention it only briefly here because I have felt spent; it's worrying to me that on one level we are carving up every conceivable angle of the thing, but on the other the news cycle has already moved past it. It's a weird time to celebrate Pride. It's a weird time to forecast any sort of future...<br />
<br />
In the past week, I also flew out to New York and attended the <a href="http://kundiman.org/">Kundiman</a> writing retreat for Asian American writers -- perhaps because I was going through so many life transitions in the past month, it didn't fully register that I was going until I arrived in Newark off the red-eye and had to navigate my way into the city (hint: don't get stuck going the wrong direction on the AirTrain, it takes <i>forever</i> to get back). Little did I know that the retreat would be such a gift. It was so vital to me to bond with Asian Americans doing creative work and who have been doing creative work far longer than I have. Too often you have to hunt down Asian American literature in bookstores, and rarely do I feel connected to any sort of legacy. I walked away with not only a community of incredibly generous writing folk, but a long list of books to read all through the rest of the summer -- when I'm not furiously typing out my own additions to that canon, that is.<br />
<br />
I'm leaving off this post with a few examples of my outlet writing for these past few weeks; though the form I wrestle with most is prose, I've been doing a poetry-a-day group for Ramadan as an outlet. Here are a few of my favorites from the month thus far:<br />
<br />
<i>Pantoum #1 </i><br />
Bloodstained sheets, early morning,<br />Bound volume of poems,<br />Yellowed at the edge.<br />She carries it all with her.<br /><br />Bound volumes of poems,<br />She never opens,<br />She carries it with her, always;<br />Reminding her of bloodied things.<br /><br />She never opens,<br />Never tells the stories,<br />That remind her of bloodied things.<br />Instead, she carried them tightly bound.<br /><br />She never does tell the stories,<br />Preferring to wash,<br />The things she carried tightly bound,<br />Bloodstained sheets, each early morning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><i>Water</i><br />
Red snake headwrap,<br />Blue round headphones,<br />Tongue perched on the edge of her mouth --<br />Nearly silent laughter.<br />Public places,<br />Work meetings;<br />She speaks volumes with her eyes.<br />At night, she performs ojhu alone at the sink,<br />In shorts with unshaved legs exposed,<br />Water on the tongue passing dangerously close,<br />To her throat.<br />
<br />
<i>Makorsha</i><br />He lived in a broken down house,<br />With peeling paint and shredded carpet,<br />Magazines and old newspapers taped up over the windows.<br /><br />they come here to die, he said, and then repeated it.<br />I took a seat and listened.<br /><br />at the end of their lives, he said,<br />they come here.<br />pale translucent skin,<br />running clumsily on broken legs.<br /><br />Do they go quietly? I asked.<br />He didn’t seem to hear, or didn’t want to.<br />i just can’t ever put them out of their misery…<br /><br />I watched one trail down the drain as he was speaking,<br />Turning, quivering, pausing,<br />The mere suggestion of an animal more than its flesh.<br /></div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-51022891633959850362016-06-03T09:02:00.002-07:002016-06-03T09:04:10.113-07:00The Dramatic Everyday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><a href="http://project-as-i-am.com/">Project As[I]Am</a> has a <a href="http://project-as-i-am.com/call-for-submissions-for-summer-issue-our-greatest-resource/">call for submissions</a> out right now! The topic is "Our Greatest Resource," on emotional labor, care, and love letters to yourself and others united for a more socially just world. Get your submissions in by <b>June 4th</b> -- we'd love to see your work!</i><br />
<i> </i> <br />
These past few weeks have been a marriage of opposites. I’ve been trying to
climb into a steady routine, but each time it’s been interrupted. Some things
were expected, like feeling too tired to move after a full 8 days of work.
Others were needlessly difficult, like my recent apartment search which ate up
all the time I would have used playing with creative energy. And then along came
loss.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuq7nyIgZBeQDUWwFn_0J_xsWAA0hLGW1by-gRckRJSy8gnBb-uirVl3u5SqHA77TMV37eDjXVCg2htcoxH_eZaXzBN2zNBpl823I6quIHgnzCGZZ5pdb7AiOzniB8YHXu7NvAqasBD8/s1600/20160520_192444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuq7nyIgZBeQDUWwFn_0J_xsWAA0hLGW1by-gRckRJSy8gnBb-uirVl3u5SqHA77TMV37eDjXVCg2htcoxH_eZaXzBN2zNBpl823I6quIHgnzCGZZ5pdb7AiOzniB8YHXu7NvAqasBD8/s320/20160520_192444.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
I saw the closing of the old Hugo House, where I got my start as a
14-year-old writer. My own emotionality caught me off guard. During the last
event, I wandered the halls and took pictures of the messages folks had put up.
Tearful ones and frustrated ones, silly nonsense rhymes in the mix with
professional artists sending the place off. I was reminded of all the years
that I spent volunteering and taking classes there. Taking down the track
lighting in the ceiling while standing on a wobbly ladder; being too timid to
approach the mic during a performance class; people chuckling as my phone went
off during a quiet writing exercise (at the time, the ring tone was my friend
screaming “JORDAN, PICK UP THE PHONEEE!”). So, so many memories wrapped up in
that space.<br />
<br />
Then the last of my family’s cats died. Abby, the one whose kitten face is
immortalized in a dusty photo on our fridge. Compared to the prognosis given a
little over a year ago – that she would live only 3 more months with this
kidney blockage, and in pain at that – she’s hung on for a good long time. She
made a cross-state move to California, where my dad held her paws as she took
her last breaths. The last cat that died is buried out in the backyard; though this cat's body is not here, the house feels even more full of ghosts.<br />
<br />
It’s the mundane that unites it all. The dishes that must be washed, the
laundry put away. The car driven, the apartment seen, the phone calls made –
the spreadsheets too. The schedules updated and the to-do lists lengthened. This
weekend, my best friend and I went through boxes of my old journals and got
wrapped up in the nostalgia of letters sent as small children. What started out
as a requisite task of moving turned into something more like a commemoration
of the places and people who have been meaningful in my life.<br />
<br />
It’s been therapeutic to shed what needs to be shed and to mourn what
deserves to be mourned. I’m still losing a lot of sleep worrying about projects
and next steps - but that, I suppose, is the complex blessing of being alive.</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-19006550326026007512016-05-05T10:37:00.002-07:002016-05-05T10:38:10.973-07:00Lingering Images from NYC and Boston<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On the butter-yellow staircase at <a href="http://www.poetshouse.org/">Poet’s House</a>, I always take a moment to
pause. The staircase leads on to a room I wish I had discovered earlier, with
book nooks and wide tables overlooking the water. The building is in an
unlikely spot down by Wall Street, and I got a chance to revisit only on my
final day in NYC. At the tail end of two weeks of traveling, I was fried and
needed somewhere to set down my overstuffed bags. There’s not much romance in
NYC for me anymore, definitely not as much as when I left the Pacific Northwest
6 years ago. The energy tires me out rather than excites me. But the people who
carve out space there still serve me a big helping of homesickness. I slept on
their couches and took up their time, huffing through the grey labyrinth of
city streets to meet for coffee, dinner, an event, or a stroll.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDP71PlQ1k2vl61HuPzXsODMFaM1QDTt6Sst3l6DC3sSjQBzY_hSiJqxFWmvrCSwR6dIfsq5iLyuCIAmFmpVv0uTVLB3hvGr-XVg5QAUFXe9Jwr3gd65tk96ccsw5YtvsmjQqXC1q8DIw/s1600/20160422_230115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDP71PlQ1k2vl61HuPzXsODMFaM1QDTt6Sst3l6DC3sSjQBzY_hSiJqxFWmvrCSwR6dIfsq5iLyuCIAmFmpVv0uTVLB3hvGr-XVg5QAUFXe9Jwr3gd65tk96ccsw5YtvsmjQqXC1q8DIw/s320/20160422_230115.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snickerdoodles meant to be shaped like bears (from a cookie cutter courtesy of the Barnard Library!) ended up as balloons.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I got to Boston by pure luck. The bus manager let me get on the bus
departing earlier and during the ride, by text message, I found out that my
original bus broke down before leaving NYC. Boston is a place where folks I
dearly love call home, and I regularly have to make a pilgrimage there. My
clearest memories of my time spent there are very different than in bustling
NYC. Rolling around on a black and white carpet well after programming hours,
telling a close friend my abridged travel narrative. Making balloon bear
cookies in my host’s well-equip kitchen (see photo above!).<br />
<br />
You like to think you have some continuity in your decision-making, that it
follows a thread which can be traced back. I think most of us make narratives
of our experiences, not just the writers, and mine was that I left the Pacific
Northwest – and this sounds bad – because it had little to offer me. I wanted
to get far away so that I could find something “else out there,” and I don’t
regret having done that. Even this return doesn’t feel prodigal. If I resonated
with somewhere else, I would probably be living there. But what my younger self
couldn’t see about Washington is now in view; I now feel like there are too
many opportunities rather than too few. I am excited to put down roots and grow
tall branches here. I am also excited to clear out old spaces and make a new
home here. I’m just at the very beginning, but the path feels right.</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-3728149385256281222016-04-14T20:32:00.000-07:002016-04-15T11:52:35.828-07:00Where in the World Is...?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcSoVwSWAWmfK6EiyQ69CW62cnAWlJLmU5IurVh7QhkXHm-4f_U0NN68IPvjYxgDus4j6n9byi6IzBMB7WIxDGfysdf0-LmwvzfgMlydWAEYLU5QMXmjp2mCykWg0HRyilgRi0XIaIiU/s1600/shaka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcSoVwSWAWmfK6EiyQ69CW62cnAWlJLmU5IurVh7QhkXHm-4f_U0NN68IPvjYxgDus4j6n9byi6IzBMB7WIxDGfysdf0-LmwvzfgMlydWAEYLU5QMXmjp2mCykWg0HRyilgRi0XIaIiU/s320/shaka.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Shaka</i> - bracelets made out of shells, here shown in different stages of the cutting and carving process.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Currently, I’m in transit. I’m headed to New York to speak at the <a href="http://2016.muslimprotagonist.com/">Muslim Protagonist conference</a> at Columbia University. Just three weeks ago, I was in Dhaka living an entirely separate life. And for the interim it’s felt as if all of that melted away as soon as I left the landing strip.<br />
<br />
Flying that long of a distance is really strange – your time perception gets messed up no matter how regularly they dim the lights and project a starscape up on the overhead bins. When I hit the airport in Dubai, the past 8 months already felt like an elaborate dream. And Dubai airport is not the place you go to get a grip on reality. I forced myself to sleep for the majority of the flight time – my special skill – but there was a painful few hours at the end of it where I couldn’t go into vampire mode. I sat there trying to imagine what going back to my childhood home would feel like after all these months (and even years) of being away.<br />
<br />
I think the only thing that taught me is that it’s impossible to envision how you will feel in the future. I could easily picture the big kitchen island, but I couldn’t know how surreal it would feel to be there without my dad. How frustrated I would get when I didn’t know how to change the light fixtures; how many ghosts would creak up and down the hallways, making it impossible for me to go downstairs. The friends who I grew up with remarked on it instantly when they visited – the creeping emptiness now that my dad (and the cat) have moved south.<br />
<br />
But that wasn’t apparent at first. When I landed at Seatac, it was just as if I had come home for another brief vacation. I still haven’t fully accepted that I will be living in Seattle full-time after coming back from NYC. I have barely processed how fast things have moved. In the past two weeks, I’ve accepted 2 part-time jobs, submitted several pieces, and hosted <a href="https://hugohouse.org/event/reflections-writing-complex-characters-color/">a writing workshop at Hugo House</a> on writing complex characters of color. All while getting through the physical effects of too-rapidly moving through time and space.<br />
<br />
I'm in transit, but looking forward to putting down roots. I'm here, but I don't yet own it. Ringing in my ears is the sound of the Homeland Security agent's voice as I entered the country: “Welcome home.”</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-52749709540771034452016-02-18T11:00:00.000-08:002016-02-18T11:00:00.161-08:00(Slowly) Letting My Hair Down & Some Images of Dhaka<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This week, I was reading a series of Tweets called <a href="https://storify.com/creatrixtiara/let-s-be-messy-on-the-internet-together">"Let's Be Messy on the Internet Together"</a> by Creatrix Tiara, and I really resonated with the pressures of 'being an expert' and 'building a brand' influencing what one posts on their blog/social media. It's what has kept me from posting more deeply personal and not-quite-there-yet material on this blog -- I'm not really a blogger, per se, but I like to play with ideas and put them out somewhere. I'm also a recovering perfectionist and putting out lower-grade material freaks me out a little bit. Yet I am drawn to it still. There are several articles that talk about the less professionalized internet (oh Xanga, my first home) and I want to harken back to those days at least every so often, when I'm not sharing my obviously fabulous life stories and pitch perfect advice.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2qqseNqiGVOM5cXxcIilE0BZTeh4jsQJ_vpbWqm8j3uYvvNvBVFloMcR4yacjZ7yicotZpsGzE6DWLM0m7WIvJbVRtiZ-BTD5MMwTV0Zjrkb3X3MOUod24aWwCeV1e1jWfUtfxk8qCU/s1600/20160110_131510.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2qqseNqiGVOM5cXxcIilE0BZTeh4jsQJ_vpbWqm8j3uYvvNvBVFloMcR4yacjZ7yicotZpsGzE6DWLM0m7WIvJbVRtiZ-BTD5MMwTV0Zjrkb3X3MOUod24aWwCeV1e1jWfUtfxk8qCU/s320/20160110_131510.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A photo of my bed in disarray -- a.k.a my creative process.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I realize that I haven't been talking a lot about Dhaka in terms of its images. Part of that is because I am still living here and it's hard for me to both experience and reflect at the same time. But another part is that I've been feeling a little bit protective of the experiences I've had living here, for fear that they'll be misinterpreted or that I'll be judged for certain things. People don't have a good understanding of what it's like to live in this city, and sometimes neither do I. The pinhole vision I've got is so based on my class and language access and spaces I inhabit. Yet the things that have now become common to me were not common at all before; the histories that I've been reaching back into just open up new questions about what life looked like in the time period I've chosen to focus on -- the late 80s and early 90s.<br />
<br />
I think giving a long view of the city would be too much to do in these types of posts, though I long to do it justice in my fiction. But I have been collecting images here -- for the first several months I would write down 10 images a day (an exercise adapted from the advice of the great Lynda Barry). Here are several I want to share for now:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The crashing sound of a transformer bursting creates a momentary silence, then a sprig of yelling voices after</div>
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<br /></div>
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Punctuating our conversations about social space with the sound of killing <i>moshas</i> (mosquitoes)</div>
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A corner stall selling hardwares -- no wider than one man -- with its shopkeep napping like a little boy on his folded arms</div>
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Sitting on a rickshaw caught in traffic, the inexplicable joy of seeing a fruit tree filled with large bats swooping overhead</div>
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<br /></div>
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Recording the hum of the CNG as it accelerates onto a flyover</div>
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<br /></div>
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Painstakingly sounding out the words to a chapter book with my father over Skype</div>
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<br /></div>
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The moment after the lights cut out, a thunderclap</div>
</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-71850557584829081402016-01-30T07:23:00.001-08:002016-01-30T07:23:29.992-08:00An Open Mouth: A List of Up and Coming Inspirations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A recent milestone: I fleshed out a complete plot line for my novel!<br />
<br />
And it's awesome and messy and written by hand (don't worry, I immediately took photos of the curling pages so that it'd be preserved somewhere). It'll probably all change around in another month or so, when I'm frustrated by the middle scenes and need to file down the edges. But my thought process is that if I have an outline, I can start writing 1-page scenes for each of the segments and inch my way towards having a working draft. Not a completed draft, but a working one.<br />
<br />
In the spirit of plot outlines (and my own neurotic list making), this post is a list of works and resources that have really resonated with me lately. As I wrote recently, I'm in the middle of a lot of things - otherwise known as the slog - and have been seeking works that make me inspired to keep moving.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://vimeo.com/14790926">"Kindness Over Genius" written and performed by Kelly Zen-Yie Tsai </a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00FH28GL6/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?ie=UTF8&btkr=1">The novel <i>Chowringhee </i>by Mani Shankar Mukherji</a> </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B0UUYL6kaNeBTDBRbkJkeUtabEk/view?pref=2&pli=1">This whole amazing MetaFilter document on emotional labor</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Buffalo-Gals-Other-Animal-Presences/dp/0451450493">Ursula K. Le Guin's<i> </i>short stories from <i>Buffalo Gals and Other Animal Presences</i></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://richard-blanco.com/2016/01/to-what-do-we-owe-this-pleasure-on-the-value-of-not-writing/">"To What Do We Owe This Pleasure: On The Value of Not Writing"</a><i><a href="http://richard-blanco.com/2016/01/to-what-do-we-owe-this-pleasure-on-the-value-of-not-writing/"> </a></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&ved=0ahUKEwioyp_g6NHKAhXBkywKHYGdCUkQFggkMAE&url=http%3A%2F%2Fengl210-picetti.wikispaces.umb.edu%2Ffile%2Fview%2FLamott_Bird%2Bby%2BBird.pdf&usg=AFQjCNH1XVfxxazGRm56KrtbjrdhCA3t_g&sig2=TG2jjfA3V-8J2yNHhM5sug&cad=rja"> Anne Lamott's suggestions from the classic <i>Bird by Bird </i></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And, of course, the allure of learning something completely new and out of my comfort zone: tabla!<i> </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpImhJnhbYfdpfBdxtyD2Py9TVQrj87FfRKFBELQL9CLJpsbCeToE6z2Lw9uSr_RVZ8wbonzGuCDZDLEyhwMwKvX5MlNgV_Pxy8g5LU6zbT0kMWIA-d9iQK5icUQ5W4WLUpNMz32BCuH4/s1600/20160111_132901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpImhJnhbYfdpfBdxtyD2Py9TVQrj87FfRKFBELQL9CLJpsbCeToE6z2Lw9uSr_RVZ8wbonzGuCDZDLEyhwMwKvX5MlNgV_Pxy8g5LU6zbT0kMWIA-d9iQK5icUQ5W4WLUpNMz32BCuH4/s320/20160111_132901.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A set of tabla and my notebook full of beats sitting on a printed orna on the floor.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
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Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-62725470550890207282016-01-11T09:17:00.000-08:002016-01-12T23:59:30.511-08:00Places to Leave<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This week, I have <a href="http://www.culturestrike.org/magazine/legitimacy-issues">a piece out in CultureStrike</a> on transnational adoption. It’s a very personal piece and it took
</i>a lot <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">of work to put together
(thanks, Michelle!) so please give it a read. Now, back to the action.</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIZ-TxX2OaQFCaarPSSFumH8e4AaNimn7Gj33G7kgtgXV65wtUYkx4zK47TJ3uikZ0eHMFxSzbwtEsmgDed1HkYXEkqB9hs8uJ8cyRlNOpGpVtHFj7QisQ11718_FXxYl5_gEIER5A-M/s1600/20151227_162930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIZ-TxX2OaQFCaarPSSFumH8e4AaNimn7Gj33G7kgtgXV65wtUYkx4zK47TJ3uikZ0eHMFxSzbwtEsmgDed1HkYXEkqB9hs8uJ8cyRlNOpGpVtHFj7QisQ11718_FXxYl5_gEIER5A-M/s320/20151227_162930.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A mala (floral necklace) made of red roses, orange and yellow accent flowers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I’ve left a lot of places this month. Since I last wrote here, I’ve been
living out of suitcases traveling to different family homes across Dhaka and
across Bangladesh. New Year’s came and went. My father came and went. While he
was here, we knit together his partner’s family and ours through a series of
dinners and celebrations. Car ride after car ride after car ride – no wonder my
stomach got upset and took me out of commission for a few days at the end! <br />
<br />
It’s been a real honor to meet with so many new faces and travel to places I
have not yet seen, but adjusting back to the quiet of everyday life has been
its own delicious treat. I’ve been thinking (<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B0UUYL6kaNeBTDBRbkJkeUtabEk/view?pref=2&pli=1">and reading</a>) a lot about emotional
labor and am working on a much larger piece chronicling some of those thoughts
and feelings. But that’s all for later. For now, I leave you with some selected
photos and images from my various trips.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0uQAGDHmr0YtIkTfUojfLmhTPdBWTCuEDNisAPuOBzbCNWyJZRZg5AOsAa52ZS3CBb1icgCW3HwPGugTXZ_neAAOl386mp459WPyTaMJVrq1ohVjKQqp8bAy53idnLA6_V48F7xqeJQ/s1600/20151225_195654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0uQAGDHmr0YtIkTfUojfLmhTPdBWTCuEDNisAPuOBzbCNWyJZRZg5AOsAa52ZS3CBb1icgCW3HwPGugTXZ_neAAOl386mp459WPyTaMJVrq1ohVjKQqp8bAy53idnLA6_V48F7xqeJQ/s320/20151225_195654.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My father (in a suit) and Raina (in a bright pink sari) seated and smiling with red and white malas.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubHWckLs-9oxSVF-aG5ZiYKn0BTCgxlA9CDj-1MhiCa9nLf9_zJvwzWmVFL5CQBaI5rvHhadSyoSaslaTrL6dob88zcB9F8t0V7OkOL_dS4hZyO1cwItehIHwzr5vPhumdna2vOBtnEw/s1600/20151225_230856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubHWckLs-9oxSVF-aG5ZiYKn0BTCgxlA9CDj-1MhiCa9nLf9_zJvwzWmVFL5CQBaI5rvHhadSyoSaslaTrL6dob88zcB9F8t0V7OkOL_dS4hZyO1cwItehIHwzr5vPhumdna2vOBtnEw/s320/20151225_230856.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and two friends laughing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXP7GSoYLIxAkY3P5Bp9qjb9bTVpnZh4LJES4zwYILUGMRHsi4qatzQZ8nHpw72wb2bmboMTH0sxIWuuabRQUj9RUZjVZapecjGgg6JTuUK9JYFnMyp0kfAfT1FzPhMFJ7yGsDq7exyYo/s1600/20151227_162121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXP7GSoYLIxAkY3P5Bp9qjb9bTVpnZh4LJES4zwYILUGMRHsi4qatzQZ8nHpw72wb2bmboMTH0sxIWuuabRQUj9RUZjVZapecjGgg6JTuUK9JYFnMyp0kfAfT1FzPhMFJ7yGsDq7exyYo/s320/20151227_162121.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting everyone in our Kushtia village - many people and children gathered around plastic chairs in our courtyard.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq6Uhv6rvYt18XxOgjsl1r_DE8bLvOLTIalb6KUkSq9oSDKZSK9g74KqOnWNhwsgGxse61cVbTzK9EH62y8Ph0OqZzkBgf3lUqMZOsj6pyMWb2tX_mTcx0cS4cG8mKvlkyILwCoeSmQdg/s1600/20151229_130325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq6Uhv6rvYt18XxOgjsl1r_DE8bLvOLTIalb6KUkSq9oSDKZSK9g74KqOnWNhwsgGxse61cVbTzK9EH62y8Ph0OqZzkBgf3lUqMZOsj6pyMWb2tX_mTcx0cS4cG8mKvlkyILwCoeSmQdg/s320/20151229_130325.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bunch of mohish (water buffalo) on the shores of the Padma at Raita Ghat (a landing spot made by the British for boats to dock)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDz2bj-lYxnftPdc1OUF_Um2WaMVO8eUa-1dUsQa-JRm-MGcP9yJOxHnBBWpu-g0tw4o6JYPquJeeD2iHA7A71okNjaOn41rBwW6KCGcgSFc2mdIavPvbz5POBCqdr7IUWcVwHbkniwXY/s1600/20160105_173016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDz2bj-lYxnftPdc1OUF_Um2WaMVO8eUa-1dUsQa-JRm-MGcP9yJOxHnBBWpu-g0tw4o6JYPquJeeD2iHA7A71okNjaOn41rBwW6KCGcgSFc2mdIavPvbz5POBCqdr7IUWcVwHbkniwXY/s320/20160105_173016.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A kukur (dog) looking back at my camera as I take a picture of rice paddies in Noakhali.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pFjUE7BKvf8rgVw9Y413MHyG4HBT83Mi3t_Crnv_hFS2ZwSK0UI8NDMAEL9ZrEPNbUJ3e3sXyviMMKGYgFM7Ze9vosgFrpp6RdJbIvNJTurkNkAJ7HHYvXyZF6CNDaQ0snkUN5tuXjg/s1600/20160106_100454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pFjUE7BKvf8rgVw9Y413MHyG4HBT83Mi3t_Crnv_hFS2ZwSK0UI8NDMAEL9ZrEPNbUJ3e3sXyviMMKGYgFM7Ze9vosgFrpp6RdJbIvNJTurkNkAJ7HHYvXyZF6CNDaQ0snkUN5tuXjg/s320/20160106_100454.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plants in red pots lined up against a wall at Noakhali Science and Technology University.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbr3UnWH6iWIenrn7SBApuG5TZuzGS5uiPTy_CJqU_-yPKPDEeCuSiHqqUfoLdxFKCyjnHNA1ZCyjAYUt4hYFBgwmFME170a1c03q2VGa4myEX59-T-q78HF5vX9ghA_SILHlScEhkzM/s1600/20160106_115209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbr3UnWH6iWIenrn7SBApuG5TZuzGS5uiPTy_CJqU_-yPKPDEeCuSiHqqUfoLdxFKCyjnHNA1ZCyjAYUt4hYFBgwmFME170a1c03q2VGa4myEX59-T-q78HF5vX9ghA_SILHlScEhkzM/s320/20160106_115209.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two young children on stools looking deep in thought as they sit next to a pukur (pond) in Noakhali.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-43593672501026139532015-12-13T07:46:00.001-08:002015-12-13T07:47:31.986-08:00"You Sure About That?": Where I've Been Since November<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIm5DFpZVRx6NF-blcPO-8sdcjjIC1zGM79L3XKgdfY0jrOdap8gvhFC6m-xKrdzqDUEbXZ6Dl_4ehOKleUr8LhrvPwlgnUYRVUAtXDYz-_cZx0ggc2VZs8TF_BKUnK6w8TeG6UszX3c/s1600/20151107_141147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIm5DFpZVRx6NF-blcPO-8sdcjjIC1zGM79L3XKgdfY0jrOdap8gvhFC6m-xKrdzqDUEbXZ6Dl_4ehOKleUr8LhrvPwlgnUYRVUAtXDYz-_cZx0ggc2VZs8TF_BKUnK6w8TeG6UszX3c/s320/20151107_141147.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A builder working on the <i>ranna ghor </i>(kitchen) at our village home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I set out at the beginning of November <a href="http://thecowation.blogspot.com/2015/10/dont-leave-yourself-behind.html">with the intention</a> to prioritize myself over my worries, and the universe replied: “you sure about that?” A few weeks ago, I made a chart of what has been pulling at my attention. It takes up the full 8.5x11” sheet and I’m pretty sure that it could take up even more if I let it.<br />
<br />
The whole month, I felt very scattered. I had to concede defeat to <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a> at around 20,000 words. I went to my family’s village for a few days. I took a 10 day trip to Kolkata for my first time in India. <a href="http://project-as-i-am.com/unpalatable-letter-from-the-editors/">Project As[I]Am released its fall issue, Unpalatable</a>, and submitted a grant application (fingers crossed on that!). I’ve felt alternately drained and guilty that I haven’t been doing enough. If you took a look at my internet history, you’d see a slew of bookmarks for self-care interspersed with those for productivity tips. I’m not quite sure what I’ve been looking for, but I’m devouring advice.<br />
<br />
Once I had made up my chart, I started putting things into categories: creating, absorbing, reacting, practicing, and completing. I started noticing some things. For instance, it’s hard to ‘practice’ personal rituals when you’re heavily focusing on ‘completing’ tasks. A lot of my energy this past month has been spent ‘reacting’ to personal circumstances – these events can be positive or negative, but they take up energy nonetheless. Hoping that Kolkata would be something like a reset button, I took some much needed time away.<br />
<br />
While there, I started turning on my audio recorder as I walked around the streets. I picked up the sounds of fireworks and drums for puja, people chatting outside of parks, rustling papers in an archival library. And street traffic, endless street traffic.<br />
<br />
I’m adding these recordings to the stockpile of bits and bobs that I’ve got lying around. Chronologically, I’m at the halfway point in my stay overseas and my creative output really reflects that. When writing for NaNoWriMo, the middle is the biggest slog for me. Beginnings and endings are deliciously dramatic by comparison. In the middle, I make lists of things that need to happen, but won’t for quite a while. I’ve been sleeping more during the daytime and staying awake at nights. All of it has been gathering and more gathering, as I try to condense my focus into a few larger projects rather than spreading myself thin.<br />
<br />
So, if you haven't heard from me in the past month (or several...), then know that this is part of my re-commitment process. There may not be leaves on this tree now, but wait for summer and you'll see!
</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-73004368718752292702015-10-31T12:25:00.002-07:002015-10-31T12:25:39.322-07:00Don't Leave Yourself Behind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>I have <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2015/10/queer-muslim-american-prayer/412747/">a piece out in The Atlantic today</a>! For me, this is a huge milestone and also a very important piece, so give it a read.</i><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigT3xWhOMzP7i8tdCQJwRD1CaKZufmz4-VGHCkN5h7aEljwwrRWWyzRLljvnzPAxZQ-oIfwADRHmlLAw5274laCvqCLmhMg1XWEnZcR55Ha74ZfyMb4aKGvvMcWS7R6Z4z4EnfeE-fUx8/s1600/cake2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigT3xWhOMzP7i8tdCQJwRD1CaKZufmz4-VGHCkN5h7aEljwwrRWWyzRLljvnzPAxZQ-oIfwADRHmlLAw5274laCvqCLmhMg1XWEnZcR55Ha74ZfyMb4aKGvvMcWS7R6Z4z4EnfeE-fUx8/s320/cake2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A chocolate cake with red jello balls on top.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It’s the day before <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/">NaNo</a> and all through the house… I’m throwing around
drafts and outlines trying to get settled in.<br />
<br />
As usual, my writing mind is exhilarated by the constraint and the mad fury
that is writing 50,000 words in a single month. I’ve been working on a lot of
shorter projects and have tried to build my discipline with research, writing,
pitching, etc. But I am drawn to staying in a character’s head for a longer
period of time, testing worldview and characteristics for pages and pages
rather than paragraphs – even if much of it gets chopped later on.<br />
<br />
Armed with a few earlier draft pages, I’ll be growing my story during quick
timed exercises. I tend to work better with an overly formulaic structure that
pushes me to think creatively within it. I also tend to work better under the
cover of night with a bright screen in my face. We’ll see how annoyed my family
members become with the cranky, somewhat sleep-deprived version of me that will
undoubtedly show up by the end of the month.<br />
<br />
I turned 24 this past week. It was a silly sort of day. Here in Dhaka, my
family doesn’t really do birthdays. A cake was delivered; a biryani was cooked;
several truly terrible jokes about age were told. In the evening, I started a
new small notebook and wrote down a birthday intention for the upcoming year.
This year: don’t leave yourself behind.<br />
<br />
I spent a lot of age 23 in boom-bust cycles. I moved three and a half times
– across NYC, across the country, across the ocean. I changed jobs four to five
times. I attended births, organized events, grew a magazine, survived yet
another long winter… And although I did a lot of great healing work for myself
during that time, I also felt like a large part of it was spent worrying.<br />
<br />
The challenges of living abroad are simply different challenges. I still
worry, of course. But I am blessed to have more time and energy to invest in
myself and my own work. Though I don’t have the expectation of returning to the
US an entirely changed woman (I will certainly still be a workaholic and a chronic
list-maker), I hope that I can return with the skills to hold space for myself
no matter how intense the world around me.<br />
<br />
With that in mind, let's take a deep breath and start novel-ing! <br />
</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-91826793623510879302015-10-19T13:00:00.000-07:002015-10-19T13:00:01.647-07:00Hesitation, Authority, and Building the World As You See It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYDRB2qwDvl9czpPINsJpFg9mBIa9fQjoaY5vAhDQV39xX0qKwEbDEqBByo77A7-7nhtplGMrLKELBSjQmmKo6Jt_HCsAcMZVAtOstAkp7H7Wwv2cFiKCOCgvs3fLjCKqemtik9M_6Pw/s1600/boatwallgraffitti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYDRB2qwDvl9czpPINsJpFg9mBIa9fQjoaY5vAhDQV39xX0qKwEbDEqBByo77A7-7nhtplGMrLKELBSjQmmKo6Jt_HCsAcMZVAtOstAkp7H7Wwv2cFiKCOCgvs3fLjCKqemtik9M_6Pw/s320/boatwallgraffitti.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graffiti of a wooden rowboat in black on a wall.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This week I learned about Bengali magicians working to preserve their
mentor’s home. I’ve been reading folktales about jealous queens and urban
studies papers about the development of Dhaka high rises. Photographs, art
pieces, old magazine ads -- I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of research.<br />
<br />
Research is actually a very exciting part (says the eternal nerd). Like
research for an academic paper, I am starting wide and then narrowing my focus
based on what calls to me. Unlike research for an academic paper, I don’t
actually know what I’m looking for or how much any one thing will influence the
end result. Tabla music could teach me how to set the tone and pace of the
novel. I could write my characters into the black and white photographs I’ve
been looking at. Or both, or neither.<br />
<br />
You can probably already see how easy it is to get overwhelmed.<br />
<br />
I have a huge set of possibilities – and responsibilities. I agree with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wonderbook </i>author Jeff Vandermeer:
sometimes fantasy worlds are easier to construct than real ones. In the real
world, I feel clogged with my assumptions and reactions. I’ve read empathetic
and complex depictions of Bangladesh and the United States by now, but I’ve
also read a lot of generic national histories, a lot of savior narratives, and a
lot of just factually inaccurate pieces (several travel guides come to mind). And
sometimes instead of absorbing the research, I get seduced by the image that I
have for my characters, based on whatever approximation that I’ve read in other
novels. There’s a difference between a pastiche of techniques and Frankenstein’s
monster.<br />
<br />
I needed a way to systematically think about the way I was creating worlds
and the characters that inhabit them. Someone online suggested a series of
essays called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Writing the Other</i>, and
I inhaled them. They gave me the much-needed structure for how to go about
research; they offered ways to re-evaluate and interrogate myself as I am
drafting. Most importantly, they gave me back some confidence in my process.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>One can never absorb all aspects of a
society. Our social position – class, gender, race/ethnicity, to name a few –
changes our access to materials and experiences. There’s no such thing as an
impartial observer. I hold that tension in my head all the time as I write, hoping of course that it pushes me as I write my wriggling first draft.</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-80800399026583072142015-10-11T07:53:00.002-07:002015-10-11T07:57:49.613-07:00Got Ourselves a Bleeder<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1UootNGiHXeNG0OArjGKHAhZm7rpETIyKN-uHBXaPt6CKWNNxD2iu9xyXQp-dhfIOC8SMwRrE6USTRWf1mBjr1S_goPlhzHh-rFUJsOZ3kD_EIHFkJ7hzY-wJk7UvwEfGETfAVYqGw0/s1600/20150718_180955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1UootNGiHXeNG0OArjGKHAhZm7rpETIyKN-uHBXaPt6CKWNNxD2iu9xyXQp-dhfIOC8SMwRrE6USTRWf1mBjr1S_goPlhzHh-rFUJsOZ3kD_EIHFkJ7hzY-wJk7UvwEfGETfAVYqGw0/s320/20150718_180955.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Street art on a closed sliding door; a painting of a monocle-wearing man's face whose beard is made of letters.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</i><br />
<i>And now, a personal anecdote from my travel in Spain.</i><br />
<br />
In Madrid, the streets are narrow and sidewalks accommodate one person, maybe two, at a time. It’s hot and you’re ill and wandering around. The perfect way to spend a vacation. For a moment, you stop to consult your GPS and that’s when it comes on. The nosebleed actually announces itself. <br />
<br />
You can feel the blood sluice down your nasal passage, thick and warm. You turn your head skyward but it’s a little too late – several drops of blood escape onto your arm and the pavement. It’s fortunate that you’re wearing a rust-colored dress. You close your eyes and with one hand pinch your nose. With the other, you fumble for your bag. No tissues. Not even a crappy napkin from the coffee shop you’d just left. You don’t know any Spanish and can barely walk two steps without shooting blood out of your face. You resolve to pace back and forth ineffectually.<br />
<br />
Someone taps your shoulder. “I saw you!” Suddenly there are a stack of paper towels in your hand. The shop across the street has a glass storefront window and the very kind woman inside has run across the street to help you. You can’t thank her enough, smiling through a mound of reddening paper.<br />
<br />
You soak through all the towels in minutes.<br />
<br />
Hurrying along the curling streets, you pass an older couple who tells you (in Spanish, with gestures) to go to a church nearby. She adds a lot of explanation that you can’t understand. You wander off in the direction of the church, but when you get there it is closed. A couple is standing in the doorway, looking a bit concerned as you approach. They point towards a bar across the square, but it also looks closed. Then you see the water spigot at the edge of a nearby playground.<br />
<br />
The little kid who holds the lever for you is your new best friend. He gives you enough time to wash the blood off your arms and face before bounding away. You thank him with a thumbs up sign. You’ve never used the thumbs up as often as you have off of US soil. It’s not a universal symbol – not by a long shot – but people can deduce a lot from it. That you’re American, that you’re content with something, that you probably don’t speak their language… You have to throw away the towels you’ve been holding, but that means you’re back to square one. As you calculate the distance between your location and the metro, you’re worried the blood will come back.<br />
<br />
Someone makes a noise and you turn around. The bearded man from the couple has come up to you with a half empty packet of tissues. You give another thumbs up sign. <br />
<br />
“Broken?” he asks.<br />
<br />
You smile, wondering if you should make up a story. “No, just dry.”<br />
<br />
<i>I’ve been processing some of the images and experiences I’ve had while traveling, and I’ve come to realize that I’m most inspired by the small moments. I’ve been dying to tell this story of my Epic Nosebleed, otherwise known as the day I made many temporary friends. I’ve been struggling with a less image-based piece of writing for a few days now and so it’s nice to return to something that’s a little more concrete.</i><br />
<br /></div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5250751359475736810.post-1452908321071376732015-09-24T07:00:00.000-07:002015-09-24T07:00:02.652-07:00The Car Window<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcKbK8CUfoT0TNeivHsgaKHfT0LmJb80ZrFbKezQGODvGVhFIIEcYDCoUONrUQ85HK-7qXt0GFyx_W7v5zqWkEfYEVUxP7yQx6LUXw_D9d1AYFEK991-Q4JYfW4MnQ33ufKpGQt-jht8/s1600/handalone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcKbK8CUfoT0TNeivHsgaKHfT0LmJb80ZrFbKezQGODvGVhFIIEcYDCoUONrUQ85HK-7qXt0GFyx_W7v5zqWkEfYEVUxP7yQx6LUXw_D9d1AYFEK991-Q4JYfW4MnQ33ufKpGQt-jht8/s320/handalone.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In the backseat of Aj’s mother’s green
truck, we looped our way back around California hills in the pitch dark,
studded only with the stray lights of houses in the distance. This was before
her mom’s hips and knees started aching too bad, before the injury and the
swelling stopped her from getting out entirely. I was a little kid by anyone
else’s standards – but Aj and I held on to the word ‘preteen.’</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What if there was a guy on the road?”</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What if there was someone tailing
us?”</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What if a hand came out of nowhere
and pressed up against the window?”</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I grabbed Aj’s shoulder hard and we
both turned to look. I could see the paper-white hand reaching out of the
darkness. It was worse than the horror movies that I couldn’t bear to watch
because my imagination didn’t know when to stop embellishing.</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What if—”</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My shoulder collided with the hard
front seat. I heard Aj squeal and her mother let out a breath like a pressure
cooker. Then the slow crunch of gravel as the truck rolled gently forward
again.</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Did you see it?” Aj’s mother asked.</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What?” Aj said, her voice hushed.</i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"That little raccoon! Damn near sent
us over the side.” </i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She whistled and snorted with laughter
and we couldn’t help but join her. I glanced out the back window, but by then
the dark was complete.</i><br />
<br />
In the past few months, I’ve been writing a lot of creative non-fiction.
It’s been refreshing to return to fiction as a different type of storytelling, but it
requires so much more follow-through. Generating material is always the
exciting part, but then I have to add in transitions. By the time the rewrites
and edits roll around, I’ve already bitten my nails down as far as they’ll go. <br />
<br />
With my novel project, I’ve become more and more interested in the
effect that place/space has on social practices, and on the way that’s changed
over time. Specifically here in Dhaka, things like transport and access to
public facilities (restrooms being a big one, but also parks and places to sit
for extended periods of time) really change the way that people interact with
the city. Though that’s only from my limited observation, I’m excited to start
investigating what other folks have to say on the matter. Research can sometimes overshadow my drafting process, but right now it's leading me down corridors that I haven't yet explored -- I'm enjoying the thrill of it.</div>
Jordan A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/00993037473185954724noreply@blogger.com