Blog — Elisa L. Bozmarova
Elisa Bozmarova
News &amp; Ponderings
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Elisa L. Bozmarova
No clear career path, no assurances, no internships providing a livable wage, debt you will likely pay with a “real” job unrelated to art* or writing, the near-daily kick-in-the-gut sensation when you did not write, nor read, at all, the fundamental necessity for other people to like your work if you want to make enough money for a sandwich… is it worth it?

When I was a freshman at Berkeley, I got into a poetry workshop led by a poet who’d graduated from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. I asked her if she’d recommend the MFA route. She said no. And I mean, it was a bitter no. It was a half-dead no. It was a “I wasted my time” no. I was surprised. I expected that she would recommend it, especially since she came from Iowa, or at least recommend looking into it, or at least compliment me on my budding talents. She did none of these things.

When I was a sophomore at Berkeley, I got into an upper div poetry workshop led by John Shoptaw. I hung out in his office and asked him questions about poetry. I noticed he had a giant dictionary propped open on his desk at all times. He said he reads a little every day. He told me to read the classics. Read. Read. Read poetry. Get the fundamentals down. Get the references. I knew he hadn’t gotten an MFA. I asked him anyway. I can’t quite remember his answer, but it wasn’t a, “Yes, it’s the future, Ellie. You MUST have an MFA.”

When I was a senior at Berkeley, I followed Lyn Hejinian around. I took her incredible class Theory of the Poet which she CO-TAUGHT with Emily Thornberry and it was incredible. I asked Lyn if I should get an MFA. I want to be a writer, I told her. Not sure about strictly poet, but a writer.

She said that I need to try really hard

to do anything other

than be a writer.

If I could find anything other than being a writer and if I could be happy doing it, I should do that. Whatever it was, it would probably be more financially stable than the alternative. If I couldn’t, she said, well, that was it. Then I had to be a writer.

I sold ads at Yelp. I taught English in Thailand. I sold saas software in SOMA (the most depressing alliteration of all). I do communications now, which is cool because I get to tell people, “Ha, see? You CAN do something with an English degree!”

But, as it goes, everything inside me points to my dream of one day sitting in my very own writing hut, writing something good, something well-crafted, but ultimately something from my heart. Not because someone wants me to do it. Just because I want to do it. If the writing hut must be part of a side-job, sure. Such is life, little babies. One thing I’ve learned from being part of freelancing groups on Facebook is that I don’t want to make my income from freelancing. Elizabeth Gilbert (in Big Magic) says, “But to yell at your creativity, saying, ‘You must earn money for me!’ is sort of like yelling at a cat; it has no idea what you’re talking about, and all you’re doing is scaring it away …” It’s a hard pill to swallow in a world that measures financial success and fame as success. But, like, do whatever you want. I know folks who have been freelancing for years and they’re great at it and they earn a living.

Anyway, a couple of years after I graduated, I reached back out to John and Lyn. I asked for letters of recommendation. I was applying to an MFA program. They were both kind and encouraging. Suddenly I felt like not listening to all that advice about not getting an MFA, trying not to be a writer, was actually what someone who really wants to be a writer would do. Like suffering through that 400-person freshman chem class intended to weed out people like me who would do better at something else. (What a GPA-killer trying to become a doctor was!)

Lyn gave me good advice on how to think about MFA programs. I took none of this advice. I am in debt from my MFA program. For some reason I thought that wasn’t that big of a deal, until I realized that in June, I will start owing that money. Womp! And when I went to AWP this year, for significantly less money, I realized a lot of writer advice is the same thing over and over: learn the craft, revise your work, don’t write and edit at the same time, don’t respond to criticism immediately. The feedback to your work can be heard in a writing workshop (though I’ve yet to find a post-MFA one :( ) The end. The not-end: I only went to AWP because I got the student rate and I only knew about certain writers because of Goucher.

So, it’s up to you. You don’t need an MFA to be a writer. I know writers who got their MFA and promptly did nothing with it. But if you really want to be a writer, to get better at it, to keep honing your craft, to meet other writers, you’ll need to find a way to do that. How is up to you. I chose this way and I do not regret it.

And seriously, please keep playing and having fun and making a mess of things in your writing. This morning I wrote 671 words about last night’s dream, where I met these birds who had people faces and they were spectacular but they didn’t seem to be attached to my opinion of their flight. It was just what they were made to do.

Hmm.

*I got my MFA in nonfiction writing, so I can’t speak as much to art and artists

Sometimes writers have hobbies, you know. Like discovering new kinds of self-torture. Here’s (one of) mine!

Bikram yoga is a 90-minute series of twenty six postures. The temperature in the studio is typically 104°F with 40% humidity. The studio I go to heats the room (a very brightly lit, carpeted, glass and mirror-encrusted chamber of doom) to at least 109°F. I see that thermostat at 114°F more often than I’d like to tell you. Don’t worry! Sometimes the teacher walks to the door (to which I cling, sucking cold air through the sill) and opens it for a second, and a fan recirculates the air with some cold mixed in. By cold I mean whatever normal-temperature air is in the hallway. Or they might go over to one of the large windows leading to the lobby and crack it—I kid you not—maybe half an inch.

The Script

The yoga teacher is also not your typical yoga teacher. Through Bikram* training, the teacher has memorized a 90-minute script and every teacher everywhere says the same words. I like it. It’s comforting. They say things like:

“Last chance, lock your knees, lock your knees, LOCK YOUR KNEES!”

“Stretch beyond your flexibility.” (I know, right?)

“You must touch your forehead to your knee.”

“Empty. Your lungs.”

“One leg, lamppost, unbroken.”

“…like a flower petal blooming.”

And, my absolute favorite, “Throat choke.”

I went to my first class about a year ago. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. These commands were insane. Toweling my sweating face, I even felt angry that they would expect anyone could touch their elbows behind their locked knees as their upper body folded completely over their legs while standing. (p.s. some people can) (p.p.s. being able to kiss your knees is an awesome feeling).

The Postures

Here are the yoga moves I can’t do perfectly (other than all of them): Dandayamana Janusirsana, or Standing Head-to-Knee Pose; Standing Separate Leg Head to Knee Pose, Dandayamana Bibhaktapada Janushirasana; Sit Up ( Pada-Hasthasana); Rabbit Pose, or Sasangasana.

Here are the yoga moves where I have a nice time! Utkatasana, or Awkaward Pose; Garudasana, or Eagle Pose; Dandayamana-Dhanurasana, or Standing Bow-Pulling Pose (I used to not be able to balance at all and now I can almost hold on for the whole time. It’s just so hard, I whine.); Toe Stand, or Padangustasana; Camel Pose, or Ustrasana; and obviously, Corpse Pose or Savasana.

Savasana is an important one, and some classes my chief focus is staying still in savasana and between poses. It keeps me focused on what’s important, which sounds cheesy but I’m talking about breathing.

I go to yoga between zero and three times per week. It’s expensive, so I castigate myself frequently for not going, as is normal. In fact, it’s 6 am right now and classes started twelve minutes ago, but I’m writing this instead! Ha!

The Secret to Bikram Yoga (and Life!)

After twenty classes or so, I found the secret to Bikram yoga. It’s in the trying and the trusting. I have to believe that if I try my absolute best in this posture, that in the next one I’ll be taken care of because different muscles will get to !!!burn!!!. So I try to do what the instructor says, but I know for some poses I can’t and I probably never will.

For example, since I had scoliosis surgery at thirteen, I have been a super-fly woman with two titanium rods and eighteen screws running along my spine and a dope scar on top. There’s nothing I haven’t been able to do! Except round my spine. It’s physically impossible for me to do that. Basically, I think I’m rounding my back as I do Separate Leg Head To Knee pose, but I look over to the mirror and realize a family could eat dinner on it with zero spillage. I talked with a teacher about this and she said to just do my best. “There are no alternative postures,” she said with a laugh that sounded exactly like Emperor Palpatine’s.

Here are some first-timer tips for Bikram yoga

The most important thing in bikram yoga is going again after your first time. If you don’t do this, you’ll never go again, because by definition you never went again. But seriously, your chances of enjoying and growing and doing this practice do not depend on your first class, they depend on you going to your second. Not like, in a row. Although, some people do do that because drugs.

DO NOT WIPE YOUR SWEAT OFF. DO NOT. DO YOU HEAR ME? Unless you’re doing it to increase your grip until your fingers get stronger (Bikram yoga is so weird), DO NOT WIPE OFF YOUR SWEAT. Do not wipe your face, your arms, your legs, your ass, your stomach, your chest, your armpits, your head. I’ve had friends tell me they’re too sweaty for Bikram yoga but I say GOOD. Sweat is GOOD. You are sweating because your body is getting hot. Your sweat keeps your body cool. If you wipe your sweat off, you are allowing your body to overheat. I wiped my sweat off my first class (while accidentally placing my mat in the hottest part of the room) and I was red as a beet. I also left during rabbit pose, a pose I find annoying because I can’t really do it (see list above) and it messes up my hair, and I thought I would die. There were only ten minutes left in class.

Lean into the recommendation that you not leave the room. This means that you can lie there crying instead of doing the poses, or focusing on your breath, or whatever. I used to walk out whenever I couldn’t take it anymore, but now I try staying and going easy on myself. The result is I feel good about taking care of me (in a weird messed up way) and I end up jumping back in and doing more than I thought possible.

Don’t beat yourself up for not being able to do what the instructors are saying. Pretend they’re wearing clown noses and just try your best. It’s crazy but just try. They’re telling you to do something impossible and the point is to try, to aim for it with all your might. This is the same message as Zen Buddhism, my other non-writerly hobby.

Oh yeah, you’re probably wondering about water. Drink a lot of water in the days leading up to and the day of class. That way, you’re hydrated before class. I like putting lemon “liquid IV” in my water during class. Chugging water during class will do very little unless your water is cold. If you’re actively thirsty, you’re probably dehydrated. Maybe sit down. If you’re drinking water to avoid getting into camel pose, good on ya!

*While many people associate Bikram Choudry, the founder of this type of yoga, with sexual assault (as is right), it is conscience-appeasing to know that when he and his wife divorced, she came away with the Bikram Yoga empire. So, when you go to BY, she’s getting your cash (30for30 podcast). (Please note: I’m in the process of fact-checking this more thoroughly)