The Wicked Ingénue

If you follow my blogs here on The Wicked Ingénue or if you follow me on Facebook and/or Twitter, you’re probably aware that I’m four months away from earning my B.A. in English (with an emphasis in Creative Writing and Shakespeare. I get credentials and everything for these specialties. Now I can really claim to be a Shakespeare scholar without getting the ol’ eye-roll).

This may not seem like a big deal to some people. People graduate from high school, they go on to college, they earn a degree in something, they enter the job market, they get married, they have kids, they live the American Dream. This systematic process has become less of a hope parents (and society, for that matter) have for their children and more of an expectation.

But, as you may well know already, I didn’t follow this process (click here for a detailed explanation of my six-year detour in Las Vegas). Ironically, I dropped out of high school four months before graduation. Exactly ten years ago this month, I officially left high school and followed my heart’s desire to the middle of the desert.

I’ll never forget my last day as a high school student. For the first time in months, I attended every single class (I’d ditched class so much that I’d been sentenced to Saturday detention every day until graduation), participated in the discussions, ate lunch with my friends, poked around in the library, flirted with the guys hanging out in the auto shop garage. I thought this day was going to be my last day ever as a student, and I wanted to savor it. I never hated school or being a student – quite the contrary. I just hated everything else about my life. Mostly, I hated myself.

I remember it being unseasonably warm that day. You could smell the honeysuckle in the air, the warm asphalt, the freshly mowed grass, the promise of spring. I walked to my car, got in, and sat there in the parking lot for a long time. Until everyone else was gone. Later that night, I snuck out of the house, hid in my friend’s closet, and she drove me to Las Vegas the following morning.

It goes without saying that the rest is history, and I thought my days as a student were history, too. I mean, college? Ha! Not in the cards for Kristen. I was the rebel, the person who wanted to prove she could make something of herself without the input of authority. No more pencils, no more books. School quickly became a distant memory.

* * *

Fast-forward to last November. It’s my senior year of college, and I’m applying to graduate school. I considered several PhD programs, but ultimately decided that none of them had the writing emphasis I was looking for. A straight-up MFA program – Master of Fine Arts – seemed to be the best fit for my needs. A Shakespeare/Creative Nonfiction PhD would’ve been right up my alley, but hey, a girl can’t have it all.

For various reasons, I decided that I wanted to stay in California. There aren’t many MFA programs here at the UC (University of California) level – only three, to be exact – and only one of them offers an emphasis in Creative Nonfiction, which is my main area of interest and the genre of writing I excel in most, I think. So the very short list included UCSD (San Diego), UCI (Irvine, which is where I am now), and UCR (Riverside). Riverside is the only program of the three that has the Creative Nonfiction emphasis, and for this reason it became my top choice. That and the fact that they offer an excellent financial aid package.

The applications went out last fall, and for the past three months I’ve been waiting and wondering and hoping and wishing and praying and contemplating Plan B. I’ve been stuck in limbo, essentially. Then about three weeks ago, I received a rejection letter from UCSD. It was my last choice, but still – rejection stings. It got me thinking, “Dang, if I didn’t get into my last choice, what’re the chances I’ll get into my first and second choice?”

So yeah. I’ve been worried.

Fast-forward even further to yesterday. I’m sitting there watching “Notorious” (I give it three out of five stars) when my Blackberry lets me know I have an email. I ignore it until the movie’s over. Then I check. It’s from the director of the program at UCR:

Dear Kristen,

Congratulations!  You have been recommended for admission to the MFA in Creative Writing and Writing for the Performing Arts Program here at the University of California, Riverside.  We would like to thank you for choosing our program.  It would be our pleasure to have you here.

And the letter goes on. I must admit I read it several times and verified the email address and sender’s name and whatnot just to make sure I was correct in acknowledging that I’ve been accepted into my first MFA program of choice. I’ve been trying to catch my breath every since.

* * *

If I had to pick a starting point for my memoir – the Prologue, if you will – I’d say it was that last day of high school when I wrote off any inclination I had to pursue higher education and, more importantly, my inclination to write. Back then, the idea of graduate school was laughable. The idea of my writing a memoir and publishing said memoir was laughable. The stuff pipe dreams are made of. No one believed I could get through my undergraduate studies, let alone go to graduate school, and how could I blame them? I didn’t even get through high school.

But now the moment of accumulation is finally here. I’ve always wanted to end my memoir – the Epilogue – with an anecdote about graduate school, but wasn’t sure things would fall into place the way I hoped they would. Securing a spot in a program that accepts ten students a year – ten out of thousands – what were the chances? Reflecting on my B.A. degree at the end of the memoir probably would’ve sufficed, but the MFA degree – the mother of all writing degrees – this, I feel, is the moment I’ve been pointing toward since the day I left Vegas.

I think the years I’m going to spend at UCR will be an invaluable experience for my memoir and for my future as a writer, and I thank you all so much for supporting and encouraging me along the way.

About three weeks ago, I started my senior year of college. In case you didn’t know or forgot, I’m working on a B.A. in English. English with an emphasis in creative writing, to be exact.

I knew college would end eventually, but the end has closed in more swiftly than I imagined. I can almost see the “Welcome to The Rest of Your Life” banner at the end of the track. There’s also some balloons, a bottle of champagne, applause, and the ever-present student loan lenders waiting to collect. I can see them standing at the finish line holding a silver platter with a bill on it. The bill is resting on a ruffle of cheerful green lettuce. Lettuce the color of all that money I’m obligated to pay back.

(On a side note, did you hear that the U.S. dollar will most likely be replaced as the world currency? That’ll be an interesting transition)

Four years seems like a long time when you’re starting out, but to be honest, it goes by fast. Too fast, maybe. But I’m happy to say I’ve taken the time to enjoy every minute of it. The fun isn’t quite over yet, though. Because the finale of my academic endeavors is right around the corner: graduate school. Hopefully.

Originally, I was going to apply to ten MFA (Master of Fine Arts) programs. A couple of them were in Southern California, which is where I live, but most of them were back east. I’ve always had this romantic idea of going to the heart of the world to study writing: New York City. I thought about it all summer and asked myself if it was realistic. I mean, $50,000 a year? Finding an inexpensive place to live that isn’t in the ghetto? Learning to live without a car? Being 3,000 miles away from my family and friends? $50,000 a year? Seriously.

In the end, I decided that I’m going to stay in L.A. Going to New York is too expensive, too far away from my support system, and too far away from Hollywood, which is where I want to start my career. I’ve already begun applying for internships at all the big television and movie studios in town. I think it’ll be a good experience to have while I continue work on my memoir.

And then there’s Las Vegas. There’s always Las Vegas. I know this sounds funny, but I don’t like the idea of being so far away from my city. I like the freedom of being able to go there whenever I want. I like that I can drive there in the middle of the night, watch the sun rise from Red Rock Canyon, visit a couple of my best friends, do research for my book, and have a $5.99 prime rib meal all within 24 hours.

If I could live in Las Vegas, I would. But we all know what happens when Kristen lives in Las Vegas. And if you don’t, click “The Vegas Diaries” tab up there on the right.

Anyway, I’ve started the application process and I’m taking the GRE next month (it’s like the college equivalent of the SAT), so wish me luck. My list of ten has been cropped to four, and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do if I’m universally rejected. Just be a peon at a movie studio for a while, I suppose. And sell my memoir. Hopefully.

I know some of you might be interested in hearing about the progress of my book, so I’ll post something about that in the near future.

For now, back to writing.

You may or may not be wondering at this point why I decided to name my blog “The Wicked Ingénue” (in fact, it was pointed out to me that some readers may not know what an ingénue is). In addition to making me sound cool and badass (even though I’m really quite the nerd), there’s actually a more poignant meaning behind the title.

Let’s start off by looking at the definitions of the key words:

Wicked*: In this case, I’m using wicked as a slang term: clever, trendsetting, innovative, hip, wise, etc.

Example: “You know that scene in ‘James Bond’ where Daniel Craig gets out of the water and he’s wearing those short, butt-hugging swim trunks? That was wicked!”

*I considered using “experienced”, “conditioned”, “worldly”, and “seasoned”, but those words sound way too academic essay-ish. Besides, I think there’s something sexy about the word “wicked”.

Ingénue*: The term “ingénue” is used in regard to writing and acting, and it refers to a character who’s wholesome, innocent, naive, and uncorrupted.

Example: Pretty much every female Disney character ever created.

*I love any excuse to use a word with a cool accent symbol. Woot!

Okay. With the technicalities out of the way, we can move on with the story.

So a couple weeks ago, I went to my writing mentor’s house (let’s call her The Mentor). We were discussing my memoir (tentatively titled The Vegas Diaries), and I was telling her about how I ended up in Vegas and what I did while I was there. The Mentor sort of marveled at everything I told her, then remarked:

“You know, it’s funny – you come across as being so wholesome, do-gooding, responsible, and conscientious, but your past (dropping out of high school, running away from home, becoming a showgirl, getting involved in various vices, putting up with an abusive relationship, etc.) seems to contradict all of those qualities”.

I’d never really thought about it before, but after considering what she said, I was like, “Sheyeah. Totally. I’m a living, breathing contradiction.”

And that’s how The Wicked Ingénue came into being. And they all lived hap—

Wait a minute. Hold up. It wasn’t as simple as that. There were some excruciating labor pains along the way, believe you me. No pain = no precious bundle of joy, after all.

My first idea was to call the blog – don’t laugh – “Life Is A Highway” (okay, go ahead). I was never happy with that title, though. To me, it was like one of those plastic babies they give you to practice on in Home Ec. You try to love, nurture, and tend to Plastic Baby, but your heart’s not in it because you know it’s not the real thing. For me, “Life Is a Highway” was the equivalent of Plastic Baby (not to mention I was sick of having that friggin song stuck in my head 24/7. Sorry, Rascal Flatts).

I’ve been anxious to launch this website for a while, and my unhappiness with the blog title was one of the main things holding me back. So I sat at my desk the other night and vowed not to get up until I settled on a name. I asked myself questions like, “How do I want to be perceived? What’s going to intrigue and excite my readers? What do I want out of this website? What do I want out of life? Who am I, anyway? What am I doing here? Do I really even exist? What’s my purpose? Are you there, God? It’s me, KB.”

Heh. I’ve actually never read about Margaret, but that’s neither here nor there.

Those self-directed questions would be difficult to answer, and I think that’s because, like The Mentor said, my qualities are contradictory. Extremely contradictory. I’m a walking, breathing contradiction. A walking, breathing contradiction. That’s it!

I am The Wicked Ingénue. Hear me roar.

—pily ever after.

So, um . . . yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, hasn’t it? Almost nine months, in fact. I didn’t realize it’d been that long until I counted the time on my fingers just now.

Tee-hee. Adults who finger-count are awesome.

Many of you reading this probably know me from Myspace. I was a frequent blogger over there for a few years, although never a “top blogger”. I didn’t like the games, drama, and politics that saturated the Myspace blogging scene, and to be honest, I didn’t think the popular bloggers’ writing was very good. Sure, there were a few diamonds in the rough, but you really had to dig. This is one of the reasons why I began to drift away. I know I’m not alone in said drifting – basically all of my favorite Myspacers left to blog on different sites and/or start their own site, which is a really smart move. It just took me a while to follow suit, mostly because I wasn’t sure I had the desire to keep blogging.

When you’ve been off the radar for a while, it’s difficult to come back and start at square one. It reminds me of when I was new to Myspace and I posted about fifteen blogs before I finally got some responses. It’s like, why am I doing this again? Seriously. But when you finally do establish a loyal audience, it makes all those early days of nothingness worth it.

On a side note, I’m not surprised that my early blogs got no response. They were awful. I mean, one of my first blogs was about buying cleaning supplies at the drugstore (and has since been deleted). Totally rad and stimulating . . . not!

Anyway, the thing I’ve missed most about blogging is the interaction with my readers, and that’s why I decided to get serious and launch my own site. I’ve been rather lethargic in getting the ball rolling with it, but you’ll be happy to know I haven’t been slacking in other areas. I’m going into my last year as an undergraduate, I’m applying for graduate school, I’m working on several writing projects, and, of course, I’ve been continuing to work on “The Vegas Diaries”. I’m going to expand on what’s going on with the memoir in a future blog, but if you need a refresher or if you’re a new reader, check out “The Vegas Diaries” link at the top of the page.

Running my own site is totally new to me, so I might make a few changes here and there. I haven’t just poked my head out of the birth canal, but I’m not walking yet, either, so feel free to make suggestions or let me know what you want to see more of. My goal is to post at least one blog per week (and I’ll try to make them shorter – I promise! Those of you who’re familiar with my blogs know that I can be rather loquacious), so make sure you subscribe by clicking on the lovely custom-made button up there on the right. And if you’d like to check me out on Facebook and Twitter, there’re buttons for that, too.

I think that’s about it for now. It feels great to be back, and it feels great to finally have a place to call home sweet virtual home. I totally need one of those little knitted pillows to put on my keyboard.

Acknowledgement: Kerry: I have to publicly thank you for helping me with this site. If you hadn’t put this together and encouraged me to start blogging again, I’d probably still be dragging my heels. Thanks for being so awesome.