Brought To You By JetBlue

The good thing about not blogging in ages is that there's plenty to say. The bad thing is that the big things overcome the little. (As you may guess, I love the little.)

You might learn then that my niece was born this summer, but perhaps not about the kickass conversation with the Peruvian boy on Canal Street at midnight (about scars and digital cameras and writing to your mother). Ah well. (write to your mother)

July 2009

My niece, the androgenously adorable Ilana Shanti Vesper WoodHoque, was born, looking like Mr. Burns and Yoda rolled into a pale hairy 7.5 pounds. 5 months later, she's twice her length and weight, and has cheeks to match. I lovelovelove her. I'm going to miss her something fierce when I leave the land of the free.

July was also when two of my oldest friends in the world, JimChae and Stokes, came to spend 2 debaucherous weeks with me in the Upper West Side. I've known them both since we were in the same freshman dorm at Penn, oh, 18 years ago. Every night, we feasted (and drank) like kings. Every afternoon, we woke up crying, dragged ourselves to the gym where we were scamming free trials, to sweat out the alcohol. Incidentally this gym was beside the fine wine and liquor store where we'd replenish supplies. And start all over again.

Speaking of freshman year, I also got to see my first love, the 7 year one, Glenn, and meet his two little girls, Alden and Olivia, for the first time. I hadn't seen Glenn or Sarah since their wedding 5 years ago and so it was about time. Of course, it didn't matter for a second how long it had been. It was exactly as funny and fun as it had ever been. What's perfect isn't forever. I'm in love with the memory of us and I don't ever have to fall out of that.

[small memory] the rickshaw boy artist with a nose ring who cycled me around Times Square at night for free and then drew a purple and gold lotus flower on the inside of my arm. [/small memory]

August 2009

I finished my rewrite of my first book, a memoir called Olive Witch, which had started out 6 years ago as my thesis for my MFA in writing. The rewrite took about a year longer than I expected (1.5 years total) and is a wholly different (hopefully better) animal.

Then I spent some weeks condensing 250 pages into one paragraph for my query letter to agents. This latter task was perhaps more painful than writing the 4 (count 'em) redrafts.

Then I sent this query letter out to 20 agents, 6 of whom were "warm" contacts, ie agents of friends. 5 wrote back asking to see the full manuscripts of both books (Olive Witch, and my novel-in-stories, The Lovers and the Leavers).

Then I clapped my hands, pulled out my credit card, and went to Edinburgh to drink scotch with JimChae and his banker friends. Since this was August (the month of festivals), we caught the Fringe Festival, the Book Festival, and the International Festival. It was FABULOUS. Among other things, I saw the brilliant Margaret Atwood, a ridiculous American comic, street performers aplenty, a clever English staging of Don Juan in Soho, and the most outrageous of all - a Malawian musical about Madonna adopting a baby where Madonna was played by a statuesque black man in a blonde wig. Naturally.

[small memory] In London, using Jim's pile of change to buy bottles of the cheapest white wine, packs of scones, and tubs of clotted cream. Consuming all of this myself. [/small memory]

September-October 2009

I bought JetBlue's fly-all-you-can-in-a-month pass, and I flew all I could in a month, which ended up being 6 cities, 3 on the east (Pittsburgh, Boston, New York), and 3 on the west (San Francisco, Portland, Los Angeles). Naturally I didn't do this in any geographically logical order, but then again, unlimited flights! [Click to see all my photo albums from this year, and my New York sets here.]

It was my first time in Portland and I got to see 2 friends I hadn't seen in years (Rory and Paul) and 3 others I only see in other places (Laura, Ola, and Jim Frost), and additionally wander a charming chill city.

My visit coincided with the winter migration of the Vaux's Swift, birds which rest in Oregon en route from Alaska to Central America. They stop to roost in this one chimney of an old school in Portland. Folks take their picnic baskets and kids, lie on the grassy hill beside the schoolyard at dusk, and watch as some 10,000 birds gather in the darkening, and then swirl down into the chimney for the night. Oh so worthy.

Also spectacular viewing - a hike in the wet woods with the lovely Laura. And of course, the book lover's wet dream of a bookstore: Powell's with its four floors, wall of manga, glass room of rare books, art gallery, and cafe. Litgasm.

In Los Angeles, I was hosted by the firecracker Ms. Rounsaville and ate fish tacos for every meal (it's true). In San Francisco, I got to see the uber-talented writer/musician couple, Neela and Robin tie the knot. My favourite bit: Neela's 16 year old cousin, Abhay, dancing at the talent show. Liquid dancer boy. I hope he keeps on it.

Back in New York, I saw Naeem Mohaiemen's brilliant solo show at Cue Arts: Live True Life or Die Trying - a meditation on protests, journalists, activists, photographers, in turn poetic reportage, crystalline aware, philosophical, pop cultural, wondering, provocative, and grounded.

The photographs and text pulled out, focused in, deliberate and deliberately casual, about his (your) role as observer, participant, in the event, in life. So fucking good.

[small memory] Walk of shame through the Mission in a sari. Poet in a suit beside me. Kisses in the cup of my hand. [/small memory]

November 2009

4 of the 5 agents wrote me back turning down representation. The only one who offered any feedback, minimal as it was, puzzled me. She found my Nigeria stories not for the adult reader and my voice indistinct. I know I have a lot to learn, writing-wise, but IMHO, my Nigeria stories and my voice are not my weak points. (Repeat to self, I don't want anyone who doesn't want me.) Round 2 of the agent hunt looms.

I launched my editing website, Abeer Prep. I'm hoping it's going to be my perfect job: part time (so I can write and take photographs with the rest of my time), able to be done remotely (I could live anywhere(s)), for a good cause (aiding school and scholarship). This particular career might even help me get to Bangladesh once a year, maybe during peak application season.

I'm singing again! I joined a choral group (the Bank Street Chorus). Our practices are only an hour long, but harmony (yay altos) and singing has always made me happy. This is good because the agent hunt is a tad demoralising, especially since I haven't written anything new in so long. It's like my entire body of work is up for judgment and I have nothing else to show. Time to write again (ergo). I also have ideas for my next book (about memory and chance), though calling it a book at this point is so premature as to be laughable.

[small memory] Tripping the light fantastic at the Ritz, a gay bar in Hells Kitchen. [/small memory]

December 2009

I leave New York next week. Over the next four months, I'm hoping to hit Paris, Dhaka, Fiji, Delhi, and London. I have no money past the airfare, and sometimes not even that (there's a reason I bought a one-way ticket to Dhaka). I have 3 cameras, 2 energy bars, and a head lamp. What more do you need? Love.

[small memory] on the D train to Manhattan, crying reading this line by the great Dr. A.R. Luria: "A man does not consist of memory alone. He has feeling, will, sensibilities, moral being — matters of which neuropsychology cannot speak." [/small memory]

Oh and write to your mother.