Queen of the Bondo

Here are some things that have happened to me lately:

1. I was extremely fortunate to be the recipient of a Creative Workforce Fellowship offered by Cuyahoga Arts and Culture, the third largest public arts funding agency in the country (after New York state and Minnesota). Along with 19 other talented individuals, I have been awarded a tidy sum of $20,000 to finish my novel, Coming Home to Die: How Robbie Brennan Gave Up His Dreams and Slunk Back to the Rust Belt, which I workshopped with Karen Shepard at the Tin House Summer Writers Conference last summer. I am humbled and honored at the vote of confidence in my work, which has been on hold for nearly two years as I attempted the unenviable feat of working 60 hours a week at two jobs.

As a former public employee, I take the use of such funds very seriously and as such I intend to document my activities on a regular basis. Here. On the internet!

2. I gave my blog a name. Yes, it’s a line from a Camper Van Beethoven song:

and it used to be my nickname, back when I drove this rusted out 1992 Corolla that fell apart under my feet while I was negotiating my way through a traffic circle on the Jersey Shore. I dumped it at the mechanic and when he called me the next morning he was like, what happened to this car? Has it been underwater at some point? And I sighed and said, no, it was just Cleveland that happened to it. Anyway. Camper Van Beethoven. If it makes me a poseur, I’m sorry.

3. I fucked up the CSS when I installed this new-to-me WordPress template, so if this site looks like it’s been awkwardly pawed at by someone whose web design skills are ten years out of date, it has. It’s on my agenda. I’ll fix it! Just after I singlehandedly fix everything about Cleveland.

4. I’m really excited at the possibility of using my fellowship year to nurture and develop the Cleveland Review, to which we’ve had an overwhelming response from Buffalo to Detroit to St. Louis and beyond*. I came back to Cleveland in 2007 with foolheaded ideas and good intentions, and I’ve wandered through the dark junkyards of doubt and regret, coming to the conclusion that if I want to stay here, I just am not going to have the kind of life or job I could have in another city. It’s different here, and if I have to cobble together bits and pieces of part time jobs with my own pursuits, then that’s what has to happen. For this realization I am immensely grateful to my boss, Harriett Logan, proprietor of Loganberry Books. Harriett took a chance on hiring me after I’d been laid off for nine months, despite probable misgivings that I’d bolt the second a full-time job opened up. Her support has made a world of difference to me.

*Well, just Canada.