My name is Ann Fine. Some who are very close to me, call me Amy. I live (with my love) between cities and homes right now, which may account for the cityless and homeless-feeling writings on the blog. All writing you will find on this blog (unless otherwise noted) is my own (this is one recurring problem).
Call it: what you want.
In the realm of distraction I teach, writing/english, in various modes, for a living. I am not that teacher on this blog, though I may be the very same earner of money. In writing there are three problems for me which recur endlessly. The act or effort of sensual movement of writing is for saving my (the) life, and for making it to heaven (and for making it.) Which might all mean the same thing. All means the same thing is one of the three recurring problems. I think much faster than I write, or talk, or relate to others which is why this blog is not a public diary.
I “compose” my poems/writings on the “blog” because it is an almost irrelevant force (but it does have kinetics). In other words (which are all the words I live in search of) I write here because it is possible someone may read it, so one must take care to write it as though someone may read it. The whole thing is possible and impossible at once. All I have to do is hold still. Of course I also keep journals, my notebooks, but those are another kind of writing, an obviously more private working-writing, where I’ll scribble off my feelings about the day or of the condition of my view from the front porch on which I write. But “the blog” and “the journal” are very different animals. That there are very different animals is one of the three recurring problems.
Over the past several years “the blog” has slowly become an integral part of my writing process. Here, I build my sketches for later buildings–cute–(which just made me realize something else). Blogs are for me as book projects are to others. I like to build them and tear them down. I like that it is temporary, that I have no idea where this information is stored, no concept, it comes and goes here here and here. What is that?! Really wonderful. Also, if you were to watch closely, you would see that it changes, all parts of it change over time. No part of the blog is not part of the project. It’s ongoing and live, not hidden in a dusty drawer. Nothing to shuffle through…
So, if you find yourself reading this, you too have become part of my creative process. Thank you. You need not say a word, unless you are absolutely compelled to. That you are here or there is essential.
I have several old blogs which still float around web space: Epistle Whipped and What an Errand Knave are the two most recent. I still post “fun stuff” on What an Errand Knave.
This blog may disappear suddenly one day. It is part of my aim.
Thank you for visiting, I hope you are safe where you are, so you can think clearly.
I hope you are loved where you are, so you can live clearly.
Details: B.A. from the University of Tampa in English and Writing and an M.F.A. from Bennington College, Vermont (2002) in Writing/Poetry. Poetry/writings (at or) in Diner, Nocturnes Review of Literary Arts, For the Gathering, Sonora Review,The Drunken Boat, NoTell Motel, La Fovea, Cue, and elsewhere. First full-length book of poetry, A Nest This Size, forthcoming from Shearsman Books (November 09). Events Coordinator for the University of Arizona Poetry Center one year before quitting to become the full-time director of Casa Libre en la Solana, a writing center in Tucson, Arizona that I co-founded. In 2007 resigned from Casa Libre and became executive director for the community writing center Inktank World Headquarters in Cincinnati, Ohio…until it ran out of money and could no longer afford myself and other staff…now…
Leaving 2008, another home and another state…I row row row. Working on second manuscript hompefully cum book with working title: (C)leaving Home.
