I love a good political poem, done right. But the politics I’m writing about today are far more petty than that. You might remember a great outpouring of ire and foul language, as I talked about my complete exclusion from an event that I felt I should be part of. Whiney and self-serving? Yes. But you don’t come to this blog for great wisdom; this blog is more about suffering through the shit of our daily lives. And cursing, lots of cursing.
I was finally invited to attend the reading, which I called Creative Writing by Independent Clauses living in Independentclauseville, to show how suited I was to the reading. I accepted the invite on Facebook, which I don’t usually do, because I figure if anyone cares if I show up, I would have talked about it to them in person. I was invited by a second party rather than the organizer, whom I know. And then the organizer saw my name, remembered that I existed, and invited me to read.
The larger backstory is that I work at a place of higher learning, and I am pretty well published for a whiney hack. However, other people get all the teaching jobs and no one knows who I am. It’s not that I need angels to sing as I walk down the street. But, when staff is invited to read at a poetry reading, I feel as if I should be there, you know, reading. This writing thing? One of the few things I’m good at.
Let’s balance this with my inherent misanthropy. I could put myself out there, teach Intro to College and work my way up to some writing classes. I could. But I don’t. I don’t go to readings when I’m not already on campus. I don’t show my face at meetings I’m not invited to. I don’t put myself out there. And so no one outside my working sphere notices me.
Not this week, baby. I’m going to a talk today and then I’m reading my poetry in front of a jury of my peers. Fuck right.
Do you put yourself out there?