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I sat down to work on a poem the way I did every day, thought of suspenders guy, and started to cry.I thought in grad school I could at least find out whether or not I sucked.It was a man wearing rainbow suspenders and reading from his unpublished science-fiction manuscript in a fake Scottish accent at an open mic that finally motivated me to apply to grad schools.It had been about a year since I got a BA in poetry.hen I was a kid, I wanted to be a pirate, an entomologist, or a writer.I don't remember when I lost interest in the first two (either of which would probably have been more practical), but I remember when I realized if I don't write I'm not happy.You're told as a kid how important it is to have passions, but not usually about the difficult passage you must make in order for these passions to be seen as a worthwhile use of time in adulthood (if they don't generate money).
I decided I wanted to know the thing I love most as well as I possibly could.
The day of my admittance to UW's poetry MFA program, with its champagne and delighted relatives, was followed by a week of anxiety.
There were only two TA positions (which provide a tuition waiver and stipend), and despite deferring the previous year in hopes an improved portfolio would land me one of the jobs, I didn't get one.
I especially like writing poetry, which currently, in America, is about the least lucrative form of writing there is.
Very, very few people can support themselves doing it.
I was working at a movie theater, making about ,000 a year.