Free Hand and Responsibility

I love this work. I so admire the people who work here. I'm irrepressibly grateful they're letting me work/play with them for this time.

This is some of how I spent the morning. The Georgia Review receives many preview/review/advance copies of new books (solicited and unsolicited; some of the unsolicited bizarrely inappropriate). As well as the couple of lengthy review essays that come out in each issue, there are several short reviews, usually of three collections looked at together. The editor responsible for this asked me to go through the new books and make some logical threesomes (I did two 'fours' and one 'two' also). So, some neatly piled books with some notes on top of them. I did poetry and nonfiction. This was round three.

How much fun is that? How much fun that was for me, anyway. To read snatches of many books, snippets, pieces, and make determinations as to what would make good review material. You almost have to write the review in your head to do it! And maybe I will.

So far so good. Lots of fun, also the actual editing and critiquing I've gotten to do. But as I continue to question my ability to take responsibility, be appropriate, etc., I have this little nagging prodding spiky twig in my shoe reminding me that I have no real responsibility here. Sure, I'm helping out, but after this short stay I'll be gone and the regular people will continue.

On the other hand, I was given a stack of poetry submissions to look through on one of my first days. I picked two poems out of the pile and showed them to one of the assistant editors. We dismissed one of them, and I took the remaining one to the editor in chief. And it turns out he's probably going to accept it--the assistant editor and I get to work together on some of the reservations we had. !!! Isn't that cool?

But again, am I going to be able to do my best? Is my best as good as it used to be/as good as I thought it was? My MFA thesis is taking shape in one of the shadow lives paralleling this one, and it tells me that part of what's going on is a refinement in understanding of what I really want to do with my one rich and precious life. That this will help define what my best truly is, no matter my level of basket-case-ness. Perhaps that will help the responsibility come too.

For now, I'm grateful for precious friendship. I don't know how I could be here without my friend with whom I'm staying. I'd have spontaneously combusted by now. For great conversations, advice, shared experience. Let alone a comfortable place to stay. For now, I'm grateful for this so desired and so matching-the-desire experience at the Georgia Review.

I've taken up residence at the only window in the Georgia Review offices, right by the humming refrigerator, with my back to the business manager and her beautiful plants. A high view of a leafy campus. The familiarity of being back on a campus. Even some quilted blue sky this afternoon.