I started my first novel in the fifth grade puple ink on lined notebook paper about the Twellingtons. There were 11 of them, including two sets of twins. The story was told from the viewpoint of the 11 year old twins, Abby and Amy. Eventually, maybe by summer, I gave them a brother Bruce and made them triplets. Who know why except I had a crush on a boy named Bruce. I wrote many many pages of that story mostly about ice skating. Abby was a speed skater and Amy did figure eights. Of course they hit thin ice, one almost dies, but that may have been as far as I got because I don't remember much else.
The novel wasn't a fluke. I have spent a life time writing. I have written with many different attitudes--I suck, I'm terrific, who do I think I am, slow and steady wins the race, I need to be committed, I can do this, Just Do it, Keep it imple stupid, give up, don't give, quit, stick it out--and turned out lots of lousy and sometimes evocative stuff, but never anything that anyone would look up at me and say, "Wow-w-wow!" So I kept working: six screenplays, two complete novels, 40 short stories in various stages of completeness and many many more unfinished pieces.
The reason I bring this up is that yesterday I celebrated my success twice. First at Vroman's reading a flash fiction piece and second at a party given by two dear friends.
The Vromans reading was a result of taking Kerry Madden's class. I don't need to explain much about that having dealt with in on more than one occasion in this space, but the party that followed for me at a friend's house to celebrate the publication of "Leaving Slackerland" in Landmarked for Murder was amazing. It was a simple Wine-and-Cheese and just a few friends, but it was so much fun because everyone was so happy for me. I've been writing for soooo long and they've all gone through the computer crises, the identity crises, the rejection crises, well, just about all those crises for almost twenty years and a few who knew me way way back, before that. So I want to thank Betsy and Gale for creating a time and place to celebrate and for supporting me all these years and to all my friends who are terrific people because, well, I picked them!
So although this is a milestone in my journey that started when I was 11, it hopefully won't be the last. I'm working hard to get What Came Before (do I dare keep my title now that the famous Elizabeth George has abscounded with it?) finished before Landmarked goes out of print.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Charming Tess
She IS charming. Trish and I drove down to the Torrance Borders to have coffee with her. It was fun to hear about her new book which is going to be an historical detective venture set in Boston in 1830. I don't know how much she wants in the ether, so I won't say any more but it sounds like a provocative story. Her lecture about her current release, The Mephisto Club, explored how she got the idea for the novel from an apocryphal text of the bible. The research she does seems exhaustive, but has led to some very provocative insights. I'm on chapter 7 and anxious to have time to read today.
Thanks, Tess, for taking the time for coffee and for the words of encouragement. May your new permanent address be The New York Times bestseller list.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Schmoozing with Tess Gerritsen
I can't believe how lucky I am, but then, I don't think it's really luck.
It's one of those universal truths that most of us don't understand until we're spending a lot of time in the Preference by L'Oreal section of Target: It's the little things one does everyday that often have a pay off way beyond our expectations. The key is to strive toward one's goal with focus and determination and no matter how bleak the path may seem, keep moving, keep striving, and suddenly something will happen that one doesn't expect. If I stick to the path metaphor: one will round the corner, the trees will part, and a golden meadow will appear. Yish. That was corny, but this is a blog. Remember what happened to Dorothy, her meadow was full of poppies.
Anway, to the point. Years ago, I asked a friend who had polio as a child to tell me what it was like. I had an idea for a story and wanted my character to have had polio and I wanted to get it right. She wrote me eight or nine pages of beautiful emotional prose. I was quite honestly blown away. I told her, "You should write this. You've got something to say." So she joined our writing group.
She's been a writing buddy ever since. Sensible, to the point, encouraging. We've gone to Iowa to write and learn about writing, to drink and kibbitz with other writers. From this, we've formed a group of writing friends from Chicago, Galesburg, Illinois, Milwaukee (Lakeport? I can't remember. Someplace in Wisconsin), St. Louis, Boston. Then she decided to defect one year for Maui.
Maui v. Iowa. I sure didn't get it, but it turned out terrific for her. She met Tess Gerritsen who happens to be a fabulously supportive teacher. My writing buddy came back with notes and praise for everything she learned and she kept in touch with Tess. She emails when Tess wins awards or writes a striking blog and Tess always writes back. (For more on TESS)
And my friend is generous. She's taking me with her to have coffee with Tess. I am very excited about this. I have no expectations other than meeting her. I am not going to thrust a manuscript on her. But it's magic to meet someone who has traveled the same path. (Trying hard not to mix metaphors here). She might happen to mention a ditch I won't see. Or a shortcut I would never know about. One never knows what each little thing we do will lead us to. If I hadn't encouraged my friend to write, I would have missed out on a years-long best-friend relationship that has helped me to be both a better writer and a better person. I would have missed out on Tess, too.
We have to be open and friendly and welcome those along the past. Most of all we should be humble. And not just humble at the feet of someone who is famous and respected like Tess Gerritsen, but humble with every person, in every experience.
It's one of those universal truths that most of us don't understand until we're spending a lot of time in the Preference by L'Oreal section of Target: It's the little things one does everyday that often have a pay off way beyond our expectations. The key is to strive toward one's goal with focus and determination and no matter how bleak the path may seem, keep moving, keep striving, and suddenly something will happen that one doesn't expect. If I stick to the path metaphor: one will round the corner, the trees will part, and a golden meadow will appear. Yish. That was corny, but this is a blog. Remember what happened to Dorothy, her meadow was full of poppies.
Anway, to the point. Years ago, I asked a friend who had polio as a child to tell me what it was like. I had an idea for a story and wanted my character to have had polio and I wanted to get it right. She wrote me eight or nine pages of beautiful emotional prose. I was quite honestly blown away. I told her, "You should write this. You've got something to say." So she joined our writing group.
She's been a writing buddy ever since. Sensible, to the point, encouraging. We've gone to Iowa to write and learn about writing, to drink and kibbitz with other writers. From this, we've formed a group of writing friends from Chicago, Galesburg, Illinois, Milwaukee (Lakeport? I can't remember. Someplace in Wisconsin), St. Louis, Boston. Then she decided to defect one year for Maui.
Maui v. Iowa. I sure didn't get it, but it turned out terrific for her. She met Tess Gerritsen who happens to be a fabulously supportive teacher. My writing buddy came back with notes and praise for everything she learned and she kept in touch with Tess. She emails when Tess wins awards or writes a striking blog and Tess always writes back. (For more on TESS)
And my friend is generous. She's taking me with her to have coffee with Tess. I am very excited about this. I have no expectations other than meeting her. I am not going to thrust a manuscript on her. But it's magic to meet someone who has traveled the same path. (Trying hard not to mix metaphors here). She might happen to mention a ditch I won't see. Or a shortcut I would never know about. One never knows what each little thing we do will lead us to. If I hadn't encouraged my friend to write, I would have missed out on a years-long best-friend relationship that has helped me to be both a better writer and a better person. I would have missed out on Tess, too.
We have to be open and friendly and welcome those along the past. Most of all we should be humble. And not just humble at the feet of someone who is famous and respected like Tess Gerritsen, but humble with every person, in every experience.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Last Kerry Class for this year
Sadly the class I'm taking with Kerry Madden is over. All that is left is the reading at Vroman's on Sunday at 3:00. The opportunity to read to an audience is rare for unpublished writers and it's essential for writers to read to see whether or not what a person is writing actually works. So after six weeks of learning from Kerry,, playing, typing away, getting to know the writers in the class, we get the added bonus of reading at a real book store in front of a real audience. I haven't decided yet what I'll read, but more about that later. First I want to talk a little about what this class have given me.
Having Monday evening deadlines has been a god-send during a time when there are so many distractions. It's fall already. That means HOLIDAY season. (Is XMAS a four-letter word to any one else out there?) There are the three holidays that prepare us for the big holiday: Labor day being the gunshot heard around the water cooler, Halloween being fun and fattening, reminding us that if we keep this up, by January we'll have gained another thirty pounds, Thanksgiving being the holiday where we realize we must now ask for a whole new wardrobe for Christmas because we've GAINED that thirty pounds, and then the DAY. More food, more family, more work...well, I can't stand to even type about it. The point is this is MAJOR DISTRACTION. Kerry's class has allowed me to remain in blessed denial about that four-letter word (no disrespect intended against the original meaning of Christmas. I'm bitching about the trappings!)
Second distraction: the remodel. Yes, it is a small remodel. Yes, we do need to stop the Hoover dam above our breakfast room from leaking, but the timing!!! I quit my job so I could write and wouldn't you know that after two years of searching for a contractor, he pops up NOW. I am grateful and Juan is so conscientious and reliable I want to clone him and turn him into doctor, lawyer, insurance salesman, etc. but I still have to listen to a daily cacophony of hammers and compressers. At least I think that's some kind of compresser on my back porch. Soooo Kerry. Monday deadline. No time to really worry about the two x fours blocking my back door. I have to get another chapter polished for my class.
But now it's over. And I have to rely on my own self-discipline to get my writing done. This could be trouble, but I don't think so. I have such a buzz from all the good writing I've seen in this class, the kindness and astute insights from Kerry, and the fun of getting back into my book that I should be okay. That's why I'm posting this so I can read and reread it to remind myself that I can do this thing.
And the whole experience ends with me having the opportunity to read for an audience! I have to admit, I love doing it. I love to read anything aloud, especially from great authors, but it's okay too when I read from me. It's a confidence thing because when you work on something, fret over it, rewrite every word, question every emotion, polish it until you're ready to barf, then put it out there, you are giving something back to the world. (Yes, you may be giving something bad to the world, but they can at least see you are striving toward good), you are opening yourself up to others and saying, "Look, I trust you. I hope you can feel some emotion that with give you a start, a tweak of hope, a little reaction that all's right with the world." If I can get that sense, then I'll keep doing it. And I want to keep doing it, so I'll work hard to create that emotion in others. One of those vicious cycles I guess. But the good kind. I need a name for that. Visceral cycle? Nah. Something will come to me.
So, Sunday at 3:00, I think I'll read "One Question."
Having Monday evening deadlines has been a god-send during a time when there are so many distractions. It's fall already. That means HOLIDAY season. (Is XMAS a four-letter word to any one else out there?) There are the three holidays that prepare us for the big holiday: Labor day being the gunshot heard around the water cooler, Halloween being fun and fattening, reminding us that if we keep this up, by January we'll have gained another thirty pounds, Thanksgiving being the holiday where we realize we must now ask for a whole new wardrobe for Christmas because we've GAINED that thirty pounds, and then the DAY. More food, more family, more work...well, I can't stand to even type about it. The point is this is MAJOR DISTRACTION. Kerry's class has allowed me to remain in blessed denial about that four-letter word (no disrespect intended against the original meaning of Christmas. I'm bitching about the trappings!)
Second distraction: the remodel. Yes, it is a small remodel. Yes, we do need to stop the Hoover dam above our breakfast room from leaking, but the timing!!! I quit my job so I could write and wouldn't you know that after two years of searching for a contractor, he pops up NOW. I am grateful and Juan is so conscientious and reliable I want to clone him and turn him into doctor, lawyer, insurance salesman, etc. but I still have to listen to a daily cacophony of hammers and compressers. At least I think that's some kind of compresser on my back porch. Soooo Kerry. Monday deadline. No time to really worry about the two x fours blocking my back door. I have to get another chapter polished for my class.
But now it's over. And I have to rely on my own self-discipline to get my writing done. This could be trouble, but I don't think so. I have such a buzz from all the good writing I've seen in this class, the kindness and astute insights from Kerry, and the fun of getting back into my book that I should be okay. That's why I'm posting this so I can read and reread it to remind myself that I can do this thing.
And the whole experience ends with me having the opportunity to read for an audience! I have to admit, I love doing it. I love to read anything aloud, especially from great authors, but it's okay too when I read from me. It's a confidence thing because when you work on something, fret over it, rewrite every word, question every emotion, polish it until you're ready to barf, then put it out there, you are giving something back to the world. (Yes, you may be giving something bad to the world, but they can at least see you are striving toward good), you are opening yourself up to others and saying, "Look, I trust you. I hope you can feel some emotion that with give you a start, a tweak of hope, a little reaction that all's right with the world." If I can get that sense, then I'll keep doing it. And I want to keep doing it, so I'll work hard to create that emotion in others. One of those vicious cycles I guess. But the good kind. I need a name for that. Visceral cycle? Nah. Something will come to me.
So, Sunday at 3:00, I think I'll read "One Question."
Monday, October 23, 2006
Behind the Eight Ball
Of course I put myself there on the pool table when the felt was brand new. Now it’s full of rips and bald spots. And I like hunkering down behind the eight ball, putting myself in situations that take time I really don’t have and if I did, I couldn’t manage.
After I COMMITTED myself to being more responsible, timely, Johnnie-on-the-spot, to “Words in Place” way back when. Maybe I should call this “Words NOT on Paper” or “Words Missing in Action?”
And that’s not all.
Writing Life: I finally have something in print after years of slumping over a typewriter, and I still don't have my novel finished to take advantage of the hype!
Real Life: I haven’t called to get the dead oak removed. Get the chimney repaired. I haven't cleaned up my email address book. Picked up the dry cleaning or the dog poops on the driveway or returned my lemon of a vacuum cleaner to Pasadena Vacuum!
And most of the month of October is gone.
But it's hard to blog when I have a novel to revise and a short story to promote. Yep that's what I said. PROMOTE which means it is published and amazingly enough available at Amazon.com. I'm playing with the big boys now. Here's the link Landmarked at Amazon.
Of course the only review out there I've seen doesn't mention MY story or even MY landmark, but maybe that's a good thing. I won't take it personal. It was some Valley newspaper and I don’t think it was MY valley. No press is good press? Any one of you (that’s what I said, Jane, any ONE) who reads this and is willing to submit an Amazon review, please bring me up?
Enough clichés. You see, my mind is slightly blown so bear with me. What this post is about is how I feel about this whole “getting something published” thing. Because I've been writing seriously since 1987. Strange how my first publication is 20 years after my high school reunion where people came up to me and said, "Are you still writing?" "Have you published?" I had to say “yes, I’ve dipped my pen” a few times over the previous years. But nothing came of it but two beautiful children, a terrific husband, and a nice little Victorian house. I hadn't published anything more than a couple of letters-to-the-editor in the LA Times about traffic. (I’m still writing about traffic. After all, they say “write what you know”). So back in ’87, I made a vow to get to work. I felt I had the raw skills and all I had to do was sit down at a desk and DO IT and all would be well.
Fast forward twenty years...almost. Is that possible? (Am I actually going to have a FORTY YEAR REUNION next year?) Has it taken me almost two decades to actually see my name on a published story?
Yes, I suppose it has. I guess what I saw happen was that a little talent doesn't really get you all that far, if indeed you have that talent you think you have. The real key, the real test, is fortitude, conscientiousness, stubbornness, occasional rudeness, focus, vulnerability, and determination. All that to get one twenty page short story about a twenty-something slacker/pot smoker set in type. (I know. They don't set type any more. Give me a break. I'm old.)
But I’m nothing if I’m not stubborn. I figure I’ve got a good twenty years left before my mind can’t get past my aching feet and I can still move my fingers to type, so I am committed both to this space and of course, to the forty or so novels and short stories that are floating around my head. If I believe in myself, and I accept the fact that I have to take each step one at a time, I’ll get somewhere. Life is like writing a novel. You may know what you want and you may strive for it, but that isn’t always what eventually comes to you. What comes, though, if you have worked hard, is enough. I am proud of that little twenty page short story. And it’s given me exactly what I need: confidence to write more.
After I COMMITTED myself to being more responsible, timely, Johnnie-on-the-spot, to “Words in Place” way back when. Maybe I should call this “Words NOT on Paper” or “Words Missing in Action?”
And that’s not all.
Writing Life: I finally have something in print after years of slumping over a typewriter, and I still don't have my novel finished to take advantage of the hype!
Real Life: I haven’t called to get the dead oak removed. Get the chimney repaired. I haven't cleaned up my email address book. Picked up the dry cleaning or the dog poops on the driveway or returned my lemon of a vacuum cleaner to Pasadena Vacuum!
And most of the month of October is gone.
But it's hard to blog when I have a novel to revise and a short story to promote. Yep that's what I said. PROMOTE which means it is published and amazingly enough available at Amazon.com. I'm playing with the big boys now. Here's the link Landmarked at Amazon.
Of course the only review out there I've seen doesn't mention MY story or even MY landmark, but maybe that's a good thing. I won't take it personal. It was some Valley newspaper and I don’t think it was MY valley. No press is good press? Any one of you (that’s what I said, Jane, any ONE) who reads this and is willing to submit an Amazon review, please bring me up?
Enough clichés. You see, my mind is slightly blown so bear with me. What this post is about is how I feel about this whole “getting something published” thing. Because I've been writing seriously since 1987. Strange how my first publication is 20 years after my high school reunion where people came up to me and said, "Are you still writing?" "Have you published?" I had to say “yes, I’ve dipped my pen” a few times over the previous years. But nothing came of it but two beautiful children, a terrific husband, and a nice little Victorian house. I hadn't published anything more than a couple of letters-to-the-editor in the LA Times about traffic. (I’m still writing about traffic. After all, they say “write what you know”). So back in ’87, I made a vow to get to work. I felt I had the raw skills and all I had to do was sit down at a desk and DO IT and all would be well.
Fast forward twenty years...almost. Is that possible? (Am I actually going to have a FORTY YEAR REUNION next year?) Has it taken me almost two decades to actually see my name on a published story?
Yes, I suppose it has. I guess what I saw happen was that a little talent doesn't really get you all that far, if indeed you have that talent you think you have. The real key, the real test, is fortitude, conscientiousness, stubbornness, occasional rudeness, focus, vulnerability, and determination. All that to get one twenty page short story about a twenty-something slacker/pot smoker set in type. (I know. They don't set type any more. Give me a break. I'm old.)
But I’m nothing if I’m not stubborn. I figure I’ve got a good twenty years left before my mind can’t get past my aching feet and I can still move my fingers to type, so I am committed both to this space and of course, to the forty or so novels and short stories that are floating around my head. If I believe in myself, and I accept the fact that I have to take each step one at a time, I’ll get somewhere. Life is like writing a novel. You may know what you want and you may strive for it, but that isn’t always what eventually comes to you. What comes, though, if you have worked hard, is enough. I am proud of that little twenty page short story. And it’s given me exactly what I need: confidence to write more.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Kerry's Class-Gremlin Protection
I did a very intelligent thing on the spur of the moment. I signed up for Kerry Madden's class at Vroman's Bookstore, "Intense Fiction Workshop" and it is really narrowing and controlling my focus to finish my book. Several reasons.
First, Kerry is a born teacher. She has her own talent which is profound and she is developing it with dedication, care, and passion. This passion for the written word spills out of her and motivates those around her. She has the most productive attitude for her students using encouragement, sound suggestions, and patience.
Second, the class level is high, filled with women who are passionate about taking the writing journey. Each one has a unique point-of-view (well, that's a no-duh statement), but what I mean is, they allow that POV to come through in honest language. I am pleased to be a student among such strong writers.
Third, I need the audience and the deadlines. I feel that now is the time for me to finish this project, but working in a void leaves me frustrated and blocked. That gremlin sits on my shoulder telling me any number of unprintable stories of my worthlessness. I have learned to ignore the gremlin, which is good, but I haven't been able to eradicate him. Yes, mine is a dude. I suppose no one ever really gets rid of gremlins, but we can shrink them down and step on them like cockroaches.
I guess that means that the class is my way of pounding the cockroach. Somehow that didn't come out right.
First, Kerry is a born teacher. She has her own talent which is profound and she is developing it with dedication, care, and passion. This passion for the written word spills out of her and motivates those around her. She has the most productive attitude for her students using encouragement, sound suggestions, and patience.
Second, the class level is high, filled with women who are passionate about taking the writing journey. Each one has a unique point-of-view (well, that's a no-duh statement), but what I mean is, they allow that POV to come through in honest language. I am pleased to be a student among such strong writers.
Third, I need the audience and the deadlines. I feel that now is the time for me to finish this project, but working in a void leaves me frustrated and blocked. That gremlin sits on my shoulder telling me any number of unprintable stories of my worthlessness. I have learned to ignore the gremlin, which is good, but I haven't been able to eradicate him. Yes, mine is a dude. I suppose no one ever really gets rid of gremlins, but we can shrink them down and step on them like cockroaches.
I guess that means that the class is my way of pounding the cockroach. Somehow that didn't come out right.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Schizophrenia
Among the one million things on my to-do list is working on my website and blog and getting them to go together. So that's why you get treated to something different each time. I am at a disadvantage because technology is swiftly leaving me behind. Building a website isn't what it used to be.
There was a time when slopping together a table with brightly colored squares that complemented each other was enough. There were so many "loving-hands-at-home" websites that anyone with an ounce of good taste could at least not embarrass themselves. In those days I used Netscape and Netscapte composer to produce simple websites that were not fancy (no flash, but I mastered the roll-over) but not unattractive and easy to use. Catherine the Great. Narcissa Whitman. The story of a roman wedding. Some are still up while others took a dive when Ancient Sites, my old stomping grounds, bit the dust. Others may still be out there in the ether. But now? Now you have to be a geek of the first order or open your wallet reeeeaaaallllll wide to have something up on the net that really pops.
I wanted my daughter to do my site. She has a design degree from UC Davis and gave herself a hip, together site so I figured, hey, hire her, pay her well, and she'll have pocket money for Australia where she currently is. But alas. $$$$ and working for mom wasn't enough to get her to sit down at the computer. Also, much to her chagrin, I didn't buy Dreamweaver, a program she knows, but GoLive, a program she doesn't. I get the I-don't-wanna-work-for-mom bit. I can do this myself.
I tried using a template...six templates. STinkY! So I've tried to learn GoLive, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to master that program. The tutorial doesn't even have matching icons! I need matching icons to follow what the heck is going on. I can't even master the creation of a GoLive "family tree" for the site, so I barreled ahead to just do a page. Nope. It ain't happening. I bought the book from amazon written by the Adobe staff for a whopping 40 bucks, but haven't had time to use it. I've been reduced to ...
TEMPLATES again!!! My website is built on the simplest, most-editible template that earthlink offers and I've spent days with photoshop trying backgrounds (oh, that awful cottonball on blue) and different customized pix for the few things I could do. Blue backgrounds, brown backgrounds, eggplant. Schizophrenia!!!
It's not great but at least today I've decided to give it a rest for a while. I settled for the usual ME look. Black and gray with a touch of red. At least it reflects my taste in clothes! Besides I have a book to write.
Now all I have to do is duplicate that here. There has to be a black/gray/red template I can use???
We'll see.
There was a time when slopping together a table with brightly colored squares that complemented each other was enough. There were so many "loving-hands-at-home" websites that anyone with an ounce of good taste could at least not embarrass themselves. In those days I used Netscape and Netscapte composer to produce simple websites that were not fancy (no flash, but I mastered the roll-over) but not unattractive and easy to use. Catherine the Great. Narcissa Whitman. The story of a roman wedding. Some are still up while others took a dive when Ancient Sites, my old stomping grounds, bit the dust. Others may still be out there in the ether. But now? Now you have to be a geek of the first order or open your wallet reeeeaaaallllll wide to have something up on the net that really pops.
I wanted my daughter to do my site. She has a design degree from UC Davis and gave herself a hip, together site so I figured, hey, hire her, pay her well, and she'll have pocket money for Australia where she currently is. But alas. $$$$ and working for mom wasn't enough to get her to sit down at the computer. Also, much to her chagrin, I didn't buy Dreamweaver, a program she knows, but GoLive, a program she doesn't. I get the I-don't-wanna-work-for-mom bit. I can do this myself.
I tried using a template...six templates. STinkY! So I've tried to learn GoLive, but there just aren't enough hours in the day to master that program. The tutorial doesn't even have matching icons! I need matching icons to follow what the heck is going on. I can't even master the creation of a GoLive "family tree" for the site, so I barreled ahead to just do a page. Nope. It ain't happening. I bought the book from amazon written by the Adobe staff for a whopping 40 bucks, but haven't had time to use it. I've been reduced to ...
TEMPLATES again!!! My website is built on the simplest, most-editible template that earthlink offers and I've spent days with photoshop trying backgrounds (oh, that awful cottonball on blue) and different customized pix for the few things I could do. Blue backgrounds, brown backgrounds, eggplant. Schizophrenia!!!
It's not great but at least today I've decided to give it a rest for a while. I settled for the usual ME look. Black and gray with a touch of red. At least it reflects my taste in clothes! Besides I have a book to write.
Now all I have to do is duplicate that here. There has to be a black/gray/red template I can use???
We'll see.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Okay So I Haven't Been Around
You wanna make something of it? Of course I'm assuming someone out there is reading this which, except for my sister Jane, is probably not happening. I'm embarrassed that I've neglected this spot, but I'm giving no excuses. It is what it is. Sooo....
Here's a life update.
My son has settled in to clerking for a judge in the sixth circuit. I think it's the sixth circuit, Ohio? And of course, I can't remember the judge's name . But I'm the mom and my focus has been to get him (Nick not the judge) to change his address so I can stop forwarding mail...from the Republican Party. He's got a nice apartment, he tells me, and no furniture, but he's looking for a bed.
I remember those first days of really being out on one's own. I lived in Garden Grove with a roommate while I attended Long Beach State and worked on my masters. She was at Sawyer, a secretarial school, in Anaheim. Garden Grove was in between. (Speaking of republicans, back there in 1971 I still wore jeans and love beads. My hair hit the middle of my back. I couldn't go into the post office without generating stares of disgust and fear).
We lived in one of those old 60s-70s garden apartments, a series of buildings surrounding a swath of grass. Balconies running the length of each building, stairs on both ends. Palm trees. Lawn chairs. I don't think we had a pool, but I can't really remember. Luckily for me I was close enough to home that I could use some furniture my folks had in the garage, a maple living room set, sofa, chairs, that my mom and I stripped and stained a dark mahogony and she reupholstered in a brown and orange plaid. It was actually quite attractive. My old bedroom set (also maple) I antiqued in yellow/brown. Antiquing was decorating trend so my apartment, with the help of my mother, was charming.
Unfortunately, Nick's two thousand miles away so I'm not helping him much. Just forwarding mail. Maybe I shouldn't have him change his address? Otherwise he might not blog about me thirty-five years from now.
My daughter is in Australia, currently at the Great Barrier Reef. She says its totally beautiful and the nightlife is good. At her age, that IS the primary consideration. She's been down under since September 2 and having a great time. Next will be New Zealand, then once she gets back, she's off to Mammoth for her second season on the mountain. She's gonna be a darn good snowboarder by the time she's done.
Tim's busy at work. I won't say much about him or me now because....
I need to quit blogging and hit the garage to write. I've set a deadline of December 15 for my revision. The kids seem to be functioning quite well without me and Tim's tucked away at work, so what excuses do I have? Oh, did I mention the remodeling?
Here's a life update.
My son has settled in to clerking for a judge in the sixth circuit. I think it's the sixth circuit, Ohio? And of course, I can't remember the judge's name . But I'm the mom and my focus has been to get him (Nick not the judge) to change his address so I can stop forwarding mail...from the Republican Party. He's got a nice apartment, he tells me, and no furniture, but he's looking for a bed.
I remember those first days of really being out on one's own. I lived in Garden Grove with a roommate while I attended Long Beach State and worked on my masters. She was at Sawyer, a secretarial school, in Anaheim. Garden Grove was in between. (Speaking of republicans, back there in 1971 I still wore jeans and love beads. My hair hit the middle of my back. I couldn't go into the post office without generating stares of disgust and fear).
We lived in one of those old 60s-70s garden apartments, a series of buildings surrounding a swath of grass. Balconies running the length of each building, stairs on both ends. Palm trees. Lawn chairs. I don't think we had a pool, but I can't really remember. Luckily for me I was close enough to home that I could use some furniture my folks had in the garage, a maple living room set, sofa, chairs, that my mom and I stripped and stained a dark mahogony and she reupholstered in a brown and orange plaid. It was actually quite attractive. My old bedroom set (also maple) I antiqued in yellow/brown. Antiquing was decorating trend so my apartment, with the help of my mother, was charming.
Unfortunately, Nick's two thousand miles away so I'm not helping him much. Just forwarding mail. Maybe I shouldn't have him change his address? Otherwise he might not blog about me thirty-five years from now.
My daughter is in Australia, currently at the Great Barrier Reef. She says its totally beautiful and the nightlife is good. At her age, that IS the primary consideration. She's been down under since September 2 and having a great time. Next will be New Zealand, then once she gets back, she's off to Mammoth for her second season on the mountain. She's gonna be a darn good snowboarder by the time she's done.
Tim's busy at work. I won't say much about him or me now because....
I need to quit blogging and hit the garage to write. I've set a deadline of December 15 for my revision. The kids seem to be functioning quite well without me and Tim's tucked away at work, so what excuses do I have? Oh, did I mention the remodeling?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
And the idle/Idol metaphor continues...
I woke up thinking about Idol. Actually thinking about what the judges were trying to tell the contestants at the end of their efforts. Mostly Simon, because as annoying as he is, he’s generally right. He isn't ULTIMATELY right about any particular person, but about the performance, oh yes, baby. And once again, I see how his words apply to me and other writers.
What resonated this morning was his comments to Ayla who, by the way, I really like. All three judges agreed that she is "better" than they thought she would be, and Simon attributes that to hard work and focus. Hmmmmmm, a little talent, hard work, focus, and it still feels forced? That last phrase, “feels forced,” the bane of my writing—no, my WHOLE life—is what woke me up.
Going to the Summer Iowa Writing Festival is like going on American Idol. The instructors are the judges. Our classmates, fellow contestants. There is no "America" yet because first, we have to get to the final 24: in this case, something published.
I’ve been “judged" through the years in Iowa. There have always been "bits of writing" that my peers have liked, but over all, "Where is it going?" "What does it mean?" "You're trying too hard" have been the essence of what I've heard. “Trying too hard?” Yikes. The world loves someone with "a little talent, hard work, focus," yet, god forbid, you "try too hard." Isn't trying hard just "passion?"
So here’s the question, does passion equal talent? An instructor once praised another student's work as an example of "effortless” writing while telling me my story was contrived, overworked, heavy. He wasn't trying to hurt my feelings, just to use an illustration of what to strive for. Can you strive for effortlessness?
I didn't get it then, but I'm beginning to get it now. Some people, like Lisa Jackson and Paris Bennett, who are young and have grown up singing, appear effortless. Some of this is because they have natural talent, but also because they’ve been doing it their whole lives. What did Lisa tell us last night? Something like two years on stage with “The Lion King?” And Paris? Growing up in a family of professional singers? How many times at ages 3, 6, 9, 11, 15, did they hear "You go, girl"?
Ayla hears those words too. While she’s running up and down the basketball court, I’m sure her folks are cheering her on. Her talent and her desire to sing have taken a back seat until now. Does that mean she can’t win American Idol? Can't move from the gym to the stage? Is it too late? What about Kinnick, Mandisa? Is it too late for them too? Should everyone who hasn’t lived for their dream their whole lives just give up?
Never. Not if they want to do it. There is a variable that must be taken into consideration here. That variable has to do with time and effort, and yes, striving. That variable is about the moment when, after practicing and practicing, you don’t even have to look at the basket to score. You don’t need to psyche up to sing. You don’t have to question whether or not you’re “good” when you sit down at the computer. That variable is the “when.”
When will your mind, body, and heart feel so comfortable on the basketball court that everything comes without thinking? You know when you're in the “paint” and how many seconds are still on the clock. In sports they call it “ball sense.” In singing, they say “You own the stage.” In writing, it’s when the reader finishes your stuff and says “Wow.” That “wow” happens when it happens, and it’s different for everyone.
“When” is the variable and, of course, each person must deal with that variable according to her own effort, her own talent, her own commitment. Just because Kinnick is 28 and hasn’t made it yet, doesn’t mean she should get a civil service job with the post office. It takes a long time to get to know yourself, to see what it is you have to offer, and know what to do with it. Some people give up. Some don’t. And when that moment comes that what you do is “effortless,” you win, and that’s all that really matters.
What resonated this morning was his comments to Ayla who, by the way, I really like. All three judges agreed that she is "better" than they thought she would be, and Simon attributes that to hard work and focus. Hmmmmmm, a little talent, hard work, focus, and it still feels forced? That last phrase, “feels forced,” the bane of my writing—no, my WHOLE life—is what woke me up.
Going to the Summer Iowa Writing Festival is like going on American Idol. The instructors are the judges. Our classmates, fellow contestants. There is no "America" yet because first, we have to get to the final 24: in this case, something published.
I’ve been “judged" through the years in Iowa. There have always been "bits of writing" that my peers have liked, but over all, "Where is it going?" "What does it mean?" "You're trying too hard" have been the essence of what I've heard. “Trying too hard?” Yikes. The world loves someone with "a little talent, hard work, focus," yet, god forbid, you "try too hard." Isn't trying hard just "passion?"
So here’s the question, does passion equal talent? An instructor once praised another student's work as an example of "effortless” writing while telling me my story was contrived, overworked, heavy. He wasn't trying to hurt my feelings, just to use an illustration of what to strive for. Can you strive for effortlessness?
I didn't get it then, but I'm beginning to get it now. Some people, like Lisa Jackson and Paris Bennett, who are young and have grown up singing, appear effortless. Some of this is because they have natural talent, but also because they’ve been doing it their whole lives. What did Lisa tell us last night? Something like two years on stage with “The Lion King?” And Paris? Growing up in a family of professional singers? How many times at ages 3, 6, 9, 11, 15, did they hear "You go, girl"?
Ayla hears those words too. While she’s running up and down the basketball court, I’m sure her folks are cheering her on. Her talent and her desire to sing have taken a back seat until now. Does that mean she can’t win American Idol? Can't move from the gym to the stage? Is it too late? What about Kinnick, Mandisa? Is it too late for them too? Should everyone who hasn’t lived for their dream their whole lives just give up?
Never. Not if they want to do it. There is a variable that must be taken into consideration here. That variable has to do with time and effort, and yes, striving. That variable is about the moment when, after practicing and practicing, you don’t even have to look at the basket to score. You don’t need to psyche up to sing. You don’t have to question whether or not you’re “good” when you sit down at the computer. That variable is the “when.”
When will your mind, body, and heart feel so comfortable on the basketball court that everything comes without thinking? You know when you're in the “paint” and how many seconds are still on the clock. In sports they call it “ball sense.” In singing, they say “You own the stage.” In writing, it’s when the reader finishes your stuff and says “Wow.” That “wow” happens when it happens, and it’s different for everyone.
“When” is the variable and, of course, each person must deal with that variable according to her own effort, her own talent, her own commitment. Just because Kinnick is 28 and hasn’t made it yet, doesn’t mean she should get a civil service job with the post office. It takes a long time to get to know yourself, to see what it is you have to offer, and know what to do with it. Some people give up. Some don’t. And when that moment comes that what you do is “effortless,” you win, and that’s all that really matters.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Why I Love Project Runway and American Idol
I'm learning a lot from watching Project Runway and American Idol about my own craft of writing. This is triggered by both Sharon and Jim-Boy's goal commentary this AM.
1) Deadlines. Absolutely necessary to push oneself to achieve. In our desperation, we allow our creative subconcious to come to our rescue, the switch tripped by the adrenaline rush we get when we're about to fail to meet a deadline.
2) Talent. We've got to have some basic inner spark to start with. I'm not sure what the right word is, but somewhere deep inside we must not be able to let go of the dream, no matter what we may think out loud to anyone who will listen. I don't know if this is talent, passion, desire, fear. It doesn't matter, but when we watch these shows, we can see who has it and who doesn't. I'm not really talking about Simon's X factor. That's really more about the audience. I'm talking about inner belief that whatever we have to do to get it, no matter how long it takes, we will not give up.
3) Confidence...even if you have to fake it. Don't give up and be careful who sees you might give up. The minute someone on this show begins to doubt they want it, they lose it. Look at Nick on Project Runway. "I just want to go home. Why did I stay long enough for this damn flower project" or words to that effect. After that, he was never the same. He gave into the idea of NOT doing it. And the same thing almost happened to Chloe. If she hadn't been so talented and hadn't won challenges, she would have been "out." She was lucky that Kara was off her game (if she ever had a game). Same thing for that Stevie girl on AI. She looked nervous and uncomfortable which made me say: AXE the wimp.
4) "Lighten up. It's only fashion!" Thank you Michael Kors. The people who win on these shows love what they do. They take risks. They risk failure and although they want to win, they aren't just doing it for the win. They are doing it because they understand that under pressure it is possible to leap to another level. And there is fun in that leap. That's actually why we do it. We do it because it's like playing house, or war, or Superman when we were kids. We love the charge of "making things up" and as Tim Gunn reminds us, "making things work."
1) Deadlines. Absolutely necessary to push oneself to achieve. In our desperation, we allow our creative subconcious to come to our rescue, the switch tripped by the adrenaline rush we get when we're about to fail to meet a deadline.
2) Talent. We've got to have some basic inner spark to start with. I'm not sure what the right word is, but somewhere deep inside we must not be able to let go of the dream, no matter what we may think out loud to anyone who will listen. I don't know if this is talent, passion, desire, fear. It doesn't matter, but when we watch these shows, we can see who has it and who doesn't. I'm not really talking about Simon's X factor. That's really more about the audience. I'm talking about inner belief that whatever we have to do to get it, no matter how long it takes, we will not give up.
3) Confidence...even if you have to fake it. Don't give up and be careful who sees you might give up. The minute someone on this show begins to doubt they want it, they lose it. Look at Nick on Project Runway. "I just want to go home. Why did I stay long enough for this damn flower project" or words to that effect. After that, he was never the same. He gave into the idea of NOT doing it. And the same thing almost happened to Chloe. If she hadn't been so talented and hadn't won challenges, she would have been "out." She was lucky that Kara was off her game (if she ever had a game). Same thing for that Stevie girl on AI. She looked nervous and uncomfortable which made me say: AXE the wimp.
4) "Lighten up. It's only fashion!" Thank you Michael Kors. The people who win on these shows love what they do. They take risks. They risk failure and although they want to win, they aren't just doing it for the win. They are doing it because they understand that under pressure it is possible to leap to another level. And there is fun in that leap. That's actually why we do it. We do it because it's like playing house, or war, or Superman when we were kids. We love the charge of "making things up" and as Tim Gunn reminds us, "making things work."
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Getting Old...and then Older
I'm learning these days about getting older. I don't like it one bit. And it's not even about me. It's about my father-in-law who is 88 and not well, and my mother-in-law (Mil) who is facing some serious decisions. She can no longer care for her husband alone. She wants to, but physically can't. Mil keeps hoping she'll wake up from this nightmare, but that's not going to happen. All we can hope for is a loving, humane and well-considered solution. We want a clean, attractive space for my father-in-law with conscientious care-giving, a healthy quality of life, good food, and physical and mental stimulation. So we visited some Board and Cares. A Board and Care is a house for assisted living in a residential area of single family homes. The idea is to eliminate the feeling of nursing home sterility and to have the residents and caregivers create a community. We'd heard good things about them, so Mil sought out referrals.
Our first experience with B&C last week was mixed. On a beautiful street in a nice neighborhood, the house was large, open, and clean, and the residents seemed happy. We liked the B&C, but the manager made us feel as if we were shopping for a used car. She was constantly chattering away about adhering to the law, how residents always improve under her care, what a wonderful alternative a B&C is, and how costly all other choices (private in-home care and assisted living facilities) would be. Unfortunately she exaggerated these costs. We knew because we'd done our research. We'd been told this B&C would cost around $2500, so when the saleswoman popped the price at $4500, we felt conned. It was like taking a spin in a new car, wanting to buy, then having the manager say you have to pay over sticker price. But she was willing to deal. Just make an offer. The dickering was a turnoff.
Yesterday we gave Board and Cares another shot, but it didn't start off well. I noticed how all B&C are behind iron fences with locked gates. I understand there's a good reason for this, but it felt off-putting, jail-like. Second, I've never seen so much cement landscaping in my life. At the first house, the entire lot was encased in concrete. And not necessarily safe concrete. The wheel chair ramp inclined toward the steps, but dropped off on either side to more cement with no railing. When Mil and I were leaving, she almost stumbled over the edge of the ramp. If she'd fallen, it would have been smack onto the concrete.
Inside, however, it was open, bright, and clean with leather or vinyl couches lining three walls, a big screen TV on the fourth. The two residents watching TV seemed comfortable and well-cared for, but the place was sterile. No knickknacks, no pillows, no personal touches, even in the bedrooms. When I asked the attendants, a young girl and guy who seemed personable and kind, where they stayed, they said they lived at the Board and Care, but had no rooms of their own. They are on duty 24/7 and take turns napping on a narrow bed in the office. This room had nothing personal in it either. How long can a person care for others if he has nothing for himself? Isn't this exploitation of the care-givers and wouldn't this at some point spill into resentment?
Something about it bugged me.
The second place was worse. It was in a questionable neighborhood where almost every house had a wrought iron or chain link fence. Inside, the house was dirty. The couches looked as if they'd been found on the curb. The rooms were spare and the kitchen remodeled sometime in 1975. Everything had a worn-out look to it. The residents were sleeping in their rooms, except for one who was on the deck with a family member. Only one attendant was on duty. When Mil sat down on the couch at the invitation of the caretaker, I hesitated. She has a more generous heart than I and couldn't hurt the caretaker's feelings by refusing to sit, but when we left, she said she wouldn't put a dog in that place. The private room here had a whopping $3000 per month price tag.
Lest you think it was all bad, the last two B&C were clean and homy. One had a white picket fence (no wrought-iron, thank goodness) and a large grassy back yard with fruit trees. It felt as if we were walking into grandma's house, warm and cozy with magazines tucked neatly away in magazine stands, figurines in a book case, and a stuffed toy Labrador alert under the coffee table. The residents sat contented in the family room watching reruns of "Wheel of Fortune."
The last place had some of the charm of the "grandma's" house, but was smaller and felt more crowded with the same number of residents. But it had large light bedrooms and a pretty backyard. A wife visiting her husband told us they loved the place and a resident grinned that the caretakers were the best. We liked the director (she manages the last two places we saw) and the caregivers. The prices were reasonable, but the distances far from both of our homes.
We added the last two B&Cs to our list of possibilities with that of larger assisted living choices. Since his fall on January 18, we've been searching for solutions and hopefully we'll be able to decide today. There's much to consider: quality of life, distance, peace of mind, cost. It is a nightmare as my mother-in-law says, but it's one most of us eventually have to deal with.
Our first experience with B&C last week was mixed. On a beautiful street in a nice neighborhood, the house was large, open, and clean, and the residents seemed happy. We liked the B&C, but the manager made us feel as if we were shopping for a used car. She was constantly chattering away about adhering to the law, how residents always improve under her care, what a wonderful alternative a B&C is, and how costly all other choices (private in-home care and assisted living facilities) would be. Unfortunately she exaggerated these costs. We knew because we'd done our research. We'd been told this B&C would cost around $2500, so when the saleswoman popped the price at $4500, we felt conned. It was like taking a spin in a new car, wanting to buy, then having the manager say you have to pay over sticker price. But she was willing to deal. Just make an offer. The dickering was a turnoff.
Yesterday we gave Board and Cares another shot, but it didn't start off well. I noticed how all B&C are behind iron fences with locked gates. I understand there's a good reason for this, but it felt off-putting, jail-like. Second, I've never seen so much cement landscaping in my life. At the first house, the entire lot was encased in concrete. And not necessarily safe concrete. The wheel chair ramp inclined toward the steps, but dropped off on either side to more cement with no railing. When Mil and I were leaving, she almost stumbled over the edge of the ramp. If she'd fallen, it would have been smack onto the concrete.
Inside, however, it was open, bright, and clean with leather or vinyl couches lining three walls, a big screen TV on the fourth. The two residents watching TV seemed comfortable and well-cared for, but the place was sterile. No knickknacks, no pillows, no personal touches, even in the bedrooms. When I asked the attendants, a young girl and guy who seemed personable and kind, where they stayed, they said they lived at the Board and Care, but had no rooms of their own. They are on duty 24/7 and take turns napping on a narrow bed in the office. This room had nothing personal in it either. How long can a person care for others if he has nothing for himself? Isn't this exploitation of the care-givers and wouldn't this at some point spill into resentment?
Something about it bugged me.
The second place was worse. It was in a questionable neighborhood where almost every house had a wrought iron or chain link fence. Inside, the house was dirty. The couches looked as if they'd been found on the curb. The rooms were spare and the kitchen remodeled sometime in 1975. Everything had a worn-out look to it. The residents were sleeping in their rooms, except for one who was on the deck with a family member. Only one attendant was on duty. When Mil sat down on the couch at the invitation of the caretaker, I hesitated. She has a more generous heart than I and couldn't hurt the caretaker's feelings by refusing to sit, but when we left, she said she wouldn't put a dog in that place. The private room here had a whopping $3000 per month price tag.
Lest you think it was all bad, the last two B&C were clean and homy. One had a white picket fence (no wrought-iron, thank goodness) and a large grassy back yard with fruit trees. It felt as if we were walking into grandma's house, warm and cozy with magazines tucked neatly away in magazine stands, figurines in a book case, and a stuffed toy Labrador alert under the coffee table. The residents sat contented in the family room watching reruns of "Wheel of Fortune."
The last place had some of the charm of the "grandma's" house, but was smaller and felt more crowded with the same number of residents. But it had large light bedrooms and a pretty backyard. A wife visiting her husband told us they loved the place and a resident grinned that the caretakers were the best. We liked the director (she manages the last two places we saw) and the caregivers. The prices were reasonable, but the distances far from both of our homes.
We added the last two B&Cs to our list of possibilities with that of larger assisted living choices. Since his fall on January 18, we've been searching for solutions and hopefully we'll be able to decide today. There's much to consider: quality of life, distance, peace of mind, cost. It is a nightmare as my mother-in-law says, but it's one most of us eventually have to deal with.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Monday
Every Monday is a good day for me. Starting over is what keeps me going, knowing that I have a second chance this week to make up for what I didn't accomplish last week. I've never understood the disdain most people have for Monday.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Second Thoughts
Maybe limiting the editing process isn't such a good idea, even in a blog. I read over yesterday's piece last night and was appalled by my overall emphasis: Save the Louisiana coast for the FOOD!!!! I particularly love crawfish etoufee being Cajun myself, but I see now that I wrote more about the food and not enough about the people, the culture, and the environment. The issue goes far beyond menu options, and I need to call attention to that.
Although sometimes whole essays or stories present themselves as full entities, these occasions are rare for me. I need to revisit a piece of work several times before putting it out for public consumption and it's still flawed.
But I'm looking forward to the rewrite process. It's both lure and reward. Writing is organic. It grows and I love to watch it grow. When I first sit down, I'm excited to see what happens. I throw words and ideas down, conscious of, but not worried about, clarity, connection, conciseness. At this point, I don't stress too much because I know there are forgotten angles, structural screw-ups, words misused, people offended. It's on the revisits that a piece develops and deepens, and for me, that's where the fun is. I am seduced by the promise of discovering something in my head I didn't know was there the first time around. Returning to the work leads into "epiphany."
This self-enlightenment can only come from setting aside a project and letting it percolate. That's trite, but it's dead-on accurate. While the first draft is locked in my subconscious (the brain's back burner) , I go about my life. It cooks. I forget about it. Then I come back. The act of moving it out to the front of the stove (the brain) is rewarding. What do I have here? I made this? Let me taste it. Has the flavor of the dish (story/essay) deepened? What spices (a sex scene, more conflict, a startling fact) will it need to be better? What in the world have I forgotten? The best and most gratifying part is, if it isn't just right, gumbo or essay, I can usually fix it!!!
Although sometimes whole essays or stories present themselves as full entities, these occasions are rare for me. I need to revisit a piece of work several times before putting it out for public consumption and it's still flawed.
But I'm looking forward to the rewrite process. It's both lure and reward. Writing is organic. It grows and I love to watch it grow. When I first sit down, I'm excited to see what happens. I throw words and ideas down, conscious of, but not worried about, clarity, connection, conciseness. At this point, I don't stress too much because I know there are forgotten angles, structural screw-ups, words misused, people offended. It's on the revisits that a piece develops and deepens, and for me, that's where the fun is. I am seduced by the promise of discovering something in my head I didn't know was there the first time around. Returning to the work leads into "epiphany."
This self-enlightenment can only come from setting aside a project and letting it percolate. That's trite, but it's dead-on accurate. While the first draft is locked in my subconscious (the brain's back burner) , I go about my life. It cooks. I forget about it. Then I come back. The act of moving it out to the front of the stove (the brain) is rewarding. What do I have here? I made this? Let me taste it. Has the flavor of the dish (story/essay) deepened? What spices (a sex scene, more conflict, a startling fact) will it need to be better? What in the world have I forgotten? The best and most gratifying part is, if it isn't just right, gumbo or essay, I can usually fix it!!!
Thursday, February 02, 2006
We May Not Have Bayou Country to Kick Around Much Longer
According to Michael Tidwell, in his book Bayou Farewell, twenty-five miles of Louisiana coastline disappear each year. That's 25. 2-5. And this statistic may be more dramatic in the wake of Katrina and Rita, yet most of us are unaware of what is happening in the estuaries of Southern Louisiana. The state's rich supply of wildlife, animal, marine, and avian, is threatened by the advance of the Gulf of Mexico into the wetlands. It's turning fresh water into salt, drowning native grasses, oak trees, cemeteries, and small towns. Changes in the fragile chemistry of the wetlands endangers oysters and crabs. Eventually the migration route for the white and brown shrimp will disappear. The people of this area are in retreat. Louisiana fishermen supply "an astonishing 30 percent of American's annual seafood harvest, measured by weight." When the wildlife is gone and the people are relocated to higher ground, we all lose.
In recent years, many of us have experienced the unique culture of "Sout' Loosiane" by traveling to New Orleans and perhaps cruising down Bayou Black or Lafourche. Many of us know Louisiana through movies like The Big Easy and books such as Heaven's Prisoners by James Lee Burke. And most of us have fallen in love with the food, the shrimp okra gumbo, the blackened red-fish, the crawfish etoufee. Would there be the BAM of Emeril without Cajun food? What's Cajun food without Louisiana shrimp, red-fish, oysters, and crabs? The state's plight is everyone's problem and Tidwell's book takes you deep into the heart of the swamp.
Writing before Katrina and Rita, Tidwell relates his journey through the wetlands via shrimp trawlers, crab boats, and oil-company supply ship. He hitch-hikes down bayous and canals, meeting and talking with Cajuns, the Houma tribe, Vietnamese settlers, and the environmentalists who are trying to wake up America to this continuing tragedy. Author and Louisianan Burke says Bayou Farewell is "The best book on Louisiana I have ever read...stunning, beautifully written," and I have to add that it's a jolting call to arms for the coastline along the Gulf of Mexico. It reminds me of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, a book length essay about man's responsibility to the planet and to ourselves. Silent Spring changed the way we think about our custodial duty to the environment and Bayou Farewell admonishes us as to how we have forgotten that duty.
Over thousands of years, the Mississippi has built the delta that makes up Southern Louisiana. The estuary and its wildlife developed because of the river's constant deposit of sediment at its mouth. This natural process has been interrupted by man and levee system which now takes that sediment and dumps it over the continental shelf and into the Gulf of Mexico. In other words, Louisiana wetlands are being starved of its nourishment of dirt, mud, silt, sand. As the sediment is denied into the area, the salty waters of the Gulf are filling the void, moving farther and farther inland. The end result is the disappearance of the land, the creatures that inhabit it, and a unique way of life.
There are solutions to help rebuild the coastline and estuaries, but Tidwell warns us to take action now. At the rate of twenty-five miles per year, that gives us maybe thirty years before it's all gone.
I urge you to read Bayou Farewell and tell others to read it. Send it to your congressman. Thanks for your attention and time.
In recent years, many of us have experienced the unique culture of "Sout' Loosiane" by traveling to New Orleans and perhaps cruising down Bayou Black or Lafourche. Many of us know Louisiana through movies like The Big Easy and books such as Heaven's Prisoners by James Lee Burke. And most of us have fallen in love with the food, the shrimp okra gumbo, the blackened red-fish, the crawfish etoufee. Would there be the BAM of Emeril without Cajun food? What's Cajun food without Louisiana shrimp, red-fish, oysters, and crabs? The state's plight is everyone's problem and Tidwell's book takes you deep into the heart of the swamp.
Writing before Katrina and Rita, Tidwell relates his journey through the wetlands via shrimp trawlers, crab boats, and oil-company supply ship. He hitch-hikes down bayous and canals, meeting and talking with Cajuns, the Houma tribe, Vietnamese settlers, and the environmentalists who are trying to wake up America to this continuing tragedy. Author and Louisianan Burke says Bayou Farewell is "The best book on Louisiana I have ever read...stunning, beautifully written," and I have to add that it's a jolting call to arms for the coastline along the Gulf of Mexico. It reminds me of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, a book length essay about man's responsibility to the planet and to ourselves. Silent Spring changed the way we think about our custodial duty to the environment and Bayou Farewell admonishes us as to how we have forgotten that duty.
Over thousands of years, the Mississippi has built the delta that makes up Southern Louisiana. The estuary and its wildlife developed because of the river's constant deposit of sediment at its mouth. This natural process has been interrupted by man and levee system which now takes that sediment and dumps it over the continental shelf and into the Gulf of Mexico. In other words, Louisiana wetlands are being starved of its nourishment of dirt, mud, silt, sand. As the sediment is denied into the area, the salty waters of the Gulf are filling the void, moving farther and farther inland. The end result is the disappearance of the land, the creatures that inhabit it, and a unique way of life.
There are solutions to help rebuild the coastline and estuaries, but Tidwell warns us to take action now. At the rate of twenty-five miles per year, that gives us maybe thirty years before it's all gone.
I urge you to read Bayou Farewell and tell others to read it. Send it to your congressman. Thanks for your attention and time.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Here's what I said to myself at the beginning of January:
"It's time to get serious."
It's taken me a month but I am finally in that "serious-state-of-mind."
"Goals: Work on What Came Before everyday...Minimum 2 hours."
Didn't meet this goal, but I THOUGHT about this goal every day. And I wrote many of those days, some for longer than two hours. I kept in touch. I made significant progress, and I am now in that "serious-state-of-mind!"
Here's an analogy from my fabulous exercise buddy, Estelle. She wants me to do side plank lifts. I'm not sure if that's what she calls them, but she asks me to lie (lay?) on my side, feet and legs stacked. Using my arm that's on the floor as a lever, I'm to lift my body up from my feet, all my core muscles tightened, and without the aide of my other arm or hand. This creates a nice effect when it works, one of those long low triangles that look like doorstops.
This is hard to do (I know, Jim, you can probably whip off a hundred of these with your eyes closed), but they are very challenging to me. When Estelle tells me that's what's next, I moan and groan and remind her that we COULD be on our way to a nice fat-free lunch instead. But she persists. What she tells me is this, "Even if you cannot lift your body off the ground at all, think about lifting. Concentrate. Focus the muscles. See the muscles lifting you up." Here's the point. After practicing doing this for a while, making a little progress at a time, I CAN LIFT MY BODY FAIRLY HIGH NOW for TWELVE reps. On BOTH sides each.
I won't explain the analogy because, you know, you get it, right?
"It's time to get serious."
It's taken me a month but I am finally in that "serious-state-of-mind."
"Goals: Work on What Came Before everyday...Minimum 2 hours."
Didn't meet this goal, but I THOUGHT about this goal every day. And I wrote many of those days, some for longer than two hours. I kept in touch. I made significant progress, and I am now in that "serious-state-of-mind!"
Here's an analogy from my fabulous exercise buddy, Estelle. She wants me to do side plank lifts. I'm not sure if that's what she calls them, but she asks me to lie (lay?) on my side, feet and legs stacked. Using my arm that's on the floor as a lever, I'm to lift my body up from my feet, all my core muscles tightened, and without the aide of my other arm or hand. This creates a nice effect when it works, one of those long low triangles that look like doorstops.
This is hard to do (I know, Jim, you can probably whip off a hundred of these with your eyes closed), but they are very challenging to me. When Estelle tells me that's what's next, I moan and groan and remind her that we COULD be on our way to a nice fat-free lunch instead. But she persists. What she tells me is this, "Even if you cannot lift your body off the ground at all, think about lifting. Concentrate. Focus the muscles. See the muscles lifting you up." Here's the point. After practicing doing this for a while, making a little progress at a time, I CAN LIFT MY BODY FAIRLY HIGH NOW for TWELVE reps. On BOTH sides each.
I won't explain the analogy because, you know, you get it, right?
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Bloggaphobia
Yes, I am suffering from "bloggaphobia." You might be familiar with this kind of dianosis. It's related to "novelphobia" and "essayphobia" as well as "short-storyphobia." Here are the symptoms: chills, fever, accompanied by persistent fear that I have nothing to say and a high degree of conviction that I should be working on something more productive for the world at large than blogging.
Then there are the gremlin questions: Who will I offend? What friends will I turn against me? What relative will delete me from his Christmas list? What enemy will I supply with enough evidence to prove I'm dumb, ditzy, off-base, off-color, off my block? Is what I say worth saying? Will it enlighten, inspire, amuse, provoke, tantalize, bore, freak-out, piss-off? Can I back up what I say? Have I done enough research, thinking, analyzing, weighing the pros and cons of what I want to say? Will I say it clearly, concisely, and with great insight? Have I spellchecked, grammar checked, scored high enough on the Flesch-Kincade grading scale? Will I get flamed, cursed out, condemned, put on somebody's hit list? Yikes!
So what should I do? I'm gonna take two Aleves, drink plenty of liquids, and go to bed; then when I wake up, I'll pretend my only audience is myself and just "GO!"
Actually that works. I haven't told anyone about my blog yet.
Oh, wait.
Well, maybe two people.
Dang.
Another symptom. The inability to keep a secret!!
Then there are the gremlin questions: Who will I offend? What friends will I turn against me? What relative will delete me from his Christmas list? What enemy will I supply with enough evidence to prove I'm dumb, ditzy, off-base, off-color, off my block? Is what I say worth saying? Will it enlighten, inspire, amuse, provoke, tantalize, bore, freak-out, piss-off? Can I back up what I say? Have I done enough research, thinking, analyzing, weighing the pros and cons of what I want to say? Will I say it clearly, concisely, and with great insight? Have I spellchecked, grammar checked, scored high enough on the Flesch-Kincade grading scale? Will I get flamed, cursed out, condemned, put on somebody's hit list? Yikes!
So what should I do? I'm gonna take two Aleves, drink plenty of liquids, and go to bed; then when I wake up, I'll pretend my only audience is myself and just "GO!"
Actually that works. I haven't told anyone about my blog yet.
Oh, wait.
Well, maybe two people.
Dang.
Another symptom. The inability to keep a secret!!
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