calliope

George Weaver thought I was in Mensa. Mensa’s that group where people with high IQs commiserate about explaining stuff to those of the dumb. I basked in the glory of being seen as somebody really really smart, but I don’t want to mislead anybody, so I immediately told George that I was dumb. My About page says that I’m published in Calliope, a journal printed by Mensa. That’s how she got the idea that I was a genius. This is her fabulous photography site.

I went to Columbia University and got an A minus average. I feel like I can tell you that because I was old (25) when I went back to school after a drunken stint at community college; and also because I dropped out after two years of credits. Once, I asked this girl what college she went to. Embarrassed, she cast her head down and said Yale. I gathered that it’s bad taste to brag about going to an Ivy League school. But only if you did it when you were supposed to do it. It’s okay if I tell you where I went to school since I’m one of those handicapped cases who goes back when they’re old.

Somebody said I probably got into CU because I was black and at that time black people were ‘in’. Maybe. Plus during my college interview, I had a platinum afro, a nose ring and my college essay was about being an alcoholic. They thought, Aw the freaky black chick’s trying to improve upon herself – let’s give her a chance. Besides, I’d give them diversity. They wanted to throw somebody freaky into the mix y’all!

I got a scholarship and took out a loan to pay tuition. After the second semester, I decided to work there because they offered tuition remission. This was 1988 when you could get jobs anywhere you wanted. For the youngins — back then, you could have three jobs, jobs coming out of your ass – nowadays, you can’t buy a fucking job. Anyway, after working there almost five years, I was laid off at the same time I was offered to be published in an anthology. I would get leverage in my field of interest. So my anti-establishment ass says, ‘Fuck it, I don’t need no degree to be no writer, plus, it’s more romantic to be a rogue writer. Why, I’m an auto-didact, I am!’ You see folks, why I could never have been in Mensa? These are the kinds of backass decisions that those of the dumb make daily.

I edited the hell out of my book of short stories, so I was surprised to spot a misplaced modifier a couple of days ago. A few friends read some of the stories before they were published but they were just proud that their lovely friend Sandee had written pretty stories. Grammatical errors and structural defects weren’t on their radar. They read it and said, “Yay! Sandee wrote a book!”

I’ve been a writer and editor at different jobs. While I know it’s hard to spot grammatical and structural errors in your own work, I thought I was up to the task. The editor at Calliope made just a couple of changes to my short story for the sake of clarity, so I was confident in my editing ability.

I fixed the error for the hard copy version of the book. If I hadn’t used all of my book budget money for advertising, I would have purchased an editor, a big, hunky 25 year old who wouldn’t mind working in my apartment sitting on my lap. I’m looking into it for my other book.