In my last posts, I discussed how Professor K influenced my plans for the following spring semester of my “limbo year.” During the break between fall and spring semesters, I did not go on vacation from Joe.
At the end of the semester, I found out I got promoted to assistant editor. I had been doing the work all fall but signing my name on replies and rejection forms as SE, editorial assistant. Joe wanted me on board for the spring to typeset, although he could not promise me a living wage. Even though I was happy to declare the decade-long grocery career finished, there was still the issue of money.
I called a community college in the east county because their English department needed tutors for their writing center. I played phone tag with the professor in charge, but I was finally able to speak with her on the phone and get an interview. I took a few buses out to the college and met her. She was lovely and graceful, two qualities that are rare in Southern California. The interview went well and I had a job for the spring.
The university’s fall semester ended December 15. That same date was given as the deadline for submissions to the journal. After that ominous date, I took home some second-read submissions and checked the mailroom a few days later for any last-minute entries. I vaguely remember Christmas, but I remember taking the manuscripts to the beach to read and going to Joe’s house for a couple of meetings.
When I first showed Joe the first three pages of my hybrid work, he was encouraging. There were drawings of a glamorous figure surrounded by scribbling that filled the entire page. It grew into a short story and during the winter break, Joe gave me the name and e-mail address of an editor who just accepted one of his stories. I quickly e-mailed him the Word file of the story and mailed him photocopies of the drawings to scan. A week later, my work was accepted for publication.
That was not my only work that got published at the time. Joe wanted some artistic formatting done for one writer’s work, which was a series of one word stories, and he solicited me to do it. I took the writer’s words and played with them on Adobe Illustrator by twisting them into their shapes. I also decided to make a collage. I typed several word in a column in one page and I made a sheet by filling a word-processed page with “Plenty of White Space.” With a red Prismacolor pencil, I made bubbles for words on the white space page and cut them out, and pasted the two papers together. It was a bit disrespectful to the writer, but I experimented, seeing what could come out of it. I showed these renderings to Joe. He rejected all of the Illustrator generated submissions and accepted the collage. I was horrified. What if the writer took offense to it? These thoughts went through my mind, but I never objected. I was surprised by what Joe did next – he would credit me as a contributor to the journal. In addition to being a published writer, I would also be a published artist.
I housesat for Joe twice. The first time was during the winter break during one weekend when Joe and his girlfriend drove out to spend a weekend in the desert. I was delighted. I lived at home at the time and it would give me an opportunity to get away from my family. Joe had a ranch style home near the university with an extensive library of books and a living room that was a comfortable place to read with a view of the canyon. My only responsibility was to make sure the bird feeders were filled. Joe was an avid bird watcher and, inside the living room, he would sweetly greet the finches and jays that flew in to the back yard to feed. Making sure the birds were taken care of was no problem. It did not take me long to put the seeds and nuts where they should go and I was able to get on with what I needed to do that day.
The second time I housesat for Joe, he was gone for a few lectures on the East Coast for a week early in the spring semester. I knew the routine from the last time. I fed the birds every morning and I started my day. I took the bus to work and I got to walk to the university for my classes. Since both my classes were with Joe, he appointed Tomas, my predecessor as assistant editor, to proctor them. I made myself very much at home. I did not leave clothes or books strewn all over the place, but I took the vodka he kept in the freezer and tried to make homemade martinis. While I went through his refrigerator looking to for a snack, I found some cookies wrapped in foil hidden in the back. I pulled them out to eat one, but I couldn’t just have one. Though the taste was bitter and suspiciously familiar, I ate them until there were no more and then I had to keep eating. I wasn’t hungry, but I just wanted to continually chew on something. I chewed on pretzel sticks and carrots without taking a break. I sat down to read a book, but couldn’t because the living room started to spin like a dryer. I got up and went to Joe’s bedroom and looked at myself in the mirrored closet door, and my reflection looked like an image from high resolution TV. I then laughed, passed out, and slept for many hours. The hangover lasted for a couple of days. When Joe returned from his trip, his girlfriend called me to make sure I was ok because she was afraid something bad could have happened to me, considering how many cookies I ate. When I asked her what was in the cookies, she said it contained “special ingredients.” Though I had my suspicions of what it was (and I knew later), her answer was good enough for the time. And, dear reader, that answer has to be good enough for you.
When I created my hybrid story, I thought it would be a one-time thing only. In the first one, the narrator is sexually abused by his psychiatrist and he retreats further into fantasy, especially with his glamorous heroine. At the beginning of the spring semester, I created a sequel. The young man would be avenged by the glamorous woman coming down from Los Angeles and kicking the psychiatrist’s ass. This too had both words and images, and Joe allowed me to amend my MFA application portfolio by submitting it to the English Department. Even though my portfolio met the required 30 pages, Joe felt this piece would strengthen it. It certainly must have.
To be continued…
