Children, Literacy, parenting, Weekend Write-Off, Writing

The Scar

The title drew me in.

The way the red background swallowed the illustration of the small boy on the cover.

I was in tears by the time I was partway through the book.

The Scar, by Charlotte Moundlic, is the story of a young boy preparing for, experiencing, and ultimately surviving the death of his mother.

This leaves a metaphorical and literal scar on him. When he falls and scrapes his knee after his mother’s death, he remembers how she used to soothe him. When the scrape starts to heal before he does, the boy keeps scraping at it to keep the comfort of his mother alive.

It was around this point that I really started crying.

Death, loss, self-mutilation – what kind of children’s book was this?

For the child who’s lost a parent, exactly the kind that needs to be written.

There’s no shielding those children from the pain, the hurt, the ugly truth. They live the nightmare.

I was reminded of a man in a writer’s intensive that I took who told the story of student with special needs who found nearly every task throughout his day difficult. He wanted students like him to read a story about them. Even though it might be a difficult story to tell, a difficult story to read, there were children who needed a narrative to which they could relate, a way to know they weren’t the only ones to have experienced this. They were not alone in the universe. Maybe there were even people who overcame their difficult obstacle.

And while extremely poignant and slightly heartbreaking, The Scar does end on a positive note. The boy, though always sure to miss his mother, allows the scar to begin to heal.

So what on the surface once seemed revolting, is now something we can look at without cringing – and, for some children, is absolutely essential.

Children, Literacy, Weekend Write-Off, Writing

An Unexpected Beaver

A dancing dragon and a firefly met on a moonlit night. They began to talk and play when suddenly out popped a beaver. They jumped, then laughed and laughed. Their unexpected visitor added fun and excitement to their meeting.

The above scene transpired in the puppet theatre at the library yesterday. My three year-old, in the guise of the beaver, taught me an important lesson about humor in story.

While the dancing dragon and firefly were compelling enough in their budding friendship and moonlight dance, the beaver’s unexpected entrance added another layer of depth that hadn’t been there.

Even the dragon and firefly, as played by her sisters, laughed – not just me in the audience.

It is the unexpected or turning of conventions on their heads that makes the best humor. It also makes for fresh, unpredictable plots.

Novel, indeed.

Identity, Writing

Three Liebs to the Sun

When you write about depressing stuff most of the time it’s hard to fathom anyone accusing you of doing a service to humankind. But two fellow bloggers have not only done that, but awarded me for it!

Shannon from Mommy Has Issues has gifted me with a Liebster Award. Count ’em – 1, 2, 3! Thank you so much.

Cate at Infinite Sadness . . . or Hope? nominated me for another Sunshine Award. I know at times I’m one hot mess like the sun, but didn’t know I had that much light to spread! Thank you kindly.

Both of these writers obliterate the idea of perfection before it can even get its feet under it. Bravo! Shannon does so for motherhood. Cate does so for mental health. And both do it smashingly for surviving this wild ride known as life.

As I’m a repeat offender with these awards, I will complete only the ‘interview’ portion of the process.

Inquiries from Mommy Has Issues:

If I could haunt someone who would it be and why? I can think of someone I’d love to torment, but I really don’t like this person and don’t think I’d want to spend so much of my afterlife with her!
If I could go back in time, what era would I visit? The 50s for sure. I would follow Jack Kerouac around like a little lost puppy dog.
What 3 things would you take on a deserted island (excluding husband and children)? A stack of books (yes, that counts as ONE of the things and yes, I’m cheating), a Swiss Army knife, and I know I should say a honking bottle of water, but probably some sort of chocolate/peanut butter combination. (By the way, I’m glad husband and children were excluded so it doesn’t look bad when I leave them out)
What is my favorite color? Purple. And it warms my cockles that my kindergartner has chosen this for hers as well.
Wine or beer? I have to choose? That really is unfair. Depends on what I’m eating. Salty = beer. Robust = red wine. Cheese/seafood = white. Just call me the Michelangelo of imbibing.
If I were to write a memoir, what title would I give it? In the spirit of a second-grader, I can’t tell you for fear you’ll steal it. It’s in the works.
If I were a Superhero, what power would I have? Definitely flying.
If I could ask my future self one question, what would it be? Tempting. But you know what? In surprise to myself and probably all of you reading, nothing. I’m gonna see where it takes me. Wow. Did I just have a moment?
Do I want to go where everyone knows my name? Is this a trick question? I grew up about 60 miles from where Cheers took place. We still all yell if we meet someone named Norm. But me – no, I prefer anonymity – unless of course you know a solicitous editor.
Do I like birds? Heck, yes. Want to be one. Any one – EXCEPT mockingbirds. Me and mockingbirds, we don’t play well together.
Who is my guilty pleasure music artist? I can hear my friend, Chris, laughing at me right now. The Black Eyed Peas. So out of my realm. But it’s got a funky beat and I can dance to it 😉 (And Shannon, NIN and Nirvana are not guilty pleasures!)

Many thanks, Mommy, for your nomination! I am honored. I love reading your posts of truth and triumph – and often, hilarity!

Questions from Cate:

Favorite color: purple
Favorite animal: Red-breasted robin
Favorite number: Three. I know, ironic, right?
Favorite non-alcoholic drink: green tea with pomegranate juice and seltzer. Makes me feel fancy.
Favorite alcoholic drink: Again, with the choosing. Right now, some sort of ale.
Facebook or Twitter: Facebook.
My passions: obsessing – ha. Writing. Reading. Enjoying nature. Searching. Photography. Creative endeavors (vague, I know. Think where home decor, collage, scrapbooking . . . intersect).
Giving or Receiving Gifts: Giving. Though free stuff is always good.

Cate, I have so enjoyed reading your thoughtful and thought-provoking writing on your blog. Thank you for doing it and thank you for sharing. And thanks for thinking of me . . . 🙂

The blogosphere is often a lot more hospitable than the actual one in which we live. Thanks to Shannon and Cate for making it so!

Weekend Write-Off, Writing

Beg, Borrow, or Steal

What is not up for dibs for a writer?

The conversations, the witty remark, the anecdote.

The errant animal who roamed not your village.

The marbles you did not collect.

The talking-to you should have given.

How much is artistic license and how much is misrepresentation?

Anything marked as fiction can be deemed coincidental.

There is also the power of taking something pedestrian and elevating it,

making the commonplace extraordinary, making what should have been become alive.

If it’s all for the sake of art, anything goes.

Isn’t that what Cole Porter would say?

Image from Mary DeMuth

May is Mental Health Month, Mental Health, Writing

Knitting, Needling, and Never Saying Never

I’d heard Ann Hood speak at an ASTAL event at Rhode Island College and loved her humor as much as her ability to spin words. But I still hadn’t read any of her work. I was excited when I obtained a copy of her book, The Knitting Circle, finally able to experience her written words. I usually try not to get too much information about a title before I read it myself, even forgoing the author bio on the book jacket until after I’ve finished, because I don’t want to form any preconceived notions. I want a totally fresh, unexpectant perspective. I had heard this particular title was heartbreaking, but only whispers.

Really, I figured I had been so low already, why not scratch the bottom of the barrel? Couldn’t get any lower, right?

“When she opened [her eyes], Scarlet was standing in the center of the living room, looking around, horrified. Yarn, empty bags of microwave popcorn, scattered mail covered the floor. And there was Mary herself, in those overalls, wrapped in that blanket.”

This description of the culmination of depression for Mary, who lost her young daughter to a sudden illness, hit a little too close to home. I never reached a period where I’d stayed like that for more than an afternoon or day, but would I have if I didn’t have three little sets of hands and one big set pulling at me? Would I skip the shower one more day if I wasn’t going to actually see someone when I left the house? Would I make dinner if there weren’t four other mouths to feed?

Isn’t everyone who suffers from depression really just a step away from this threshold? What keeps one from crossing over? Obligations, yes, but that doesn’t make life any more fulfilling. Love, yes, but it still hurts even amidst it. A flippant attitude that it can’t surely can’t get any worse? That only goes so far; one either ends up being bitter or it does indeed get worse.

And having experienced it once does not make one immune. I stupidly read this book with some of that flippant attitude and it knocked me back on my keister, which I’d only gotten up off recently. I read it in the midst of an already tough, low, hormonal spot – right before upping meds. Good times; perfect timing.

Which makes a question my aunt asked me even more pertinent.

When I floated the idea of using my postpartum experience to develop a writing program to help women suffering from it, she worried whether hearing and vicariously living through participants’ experiences would plunge me back into my own depths. I guess there’s always that possibly, that threat, if you will. But, alas, that is a human frailty; being attuned to the feelings and woes of those around us (or a strength – depending on the situation and one’s perspective). And most certainly an Achilles heel for me, the ubersensitive introspective individual that I am.

But the fact that I have and would feel their suffering so acutely may make me uniquely qualified for such an endeavor.

Only time will tell.

In the meantime, I’ve been looking for a knitting class to take. Ann Hood was truly inspirational.

Quoted text taken from:

Hood, Ann. The Knitting Circle. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2007. Page 246

Writing

It’s Gonna Be a Bright, Sunshiny Day

A View from My Summerhouse.

Doesn’t get any more peaceful and relaxing than that. Just the words themselves evoke images of light, bright spaces. It stands to reason, then, that it is the woman behind this blog, Sherri Matthews, who nominated me for a Sunshine Award (which she writes is “awarded for writing positive and inspiring articles and so bringing some ‘sunshine’ into the lives of others”.)

Sherri, my doppelganger (a fellow Virgo, mother of three, and plodding through the writers’ life) across an ocean and continent, writes beautiful reflections on life – as we wish it to be and how it actually is and how the two intersect. And she said my blog was ‘exquisitely written’! Well! Thank you so much, Sherri, for the honor and for sharing your sunshine with the world.

Here’s how the award works:

Rule 1. Post the Sunshine Award logo on your blog.

Rule 2. Nominate 10 fellow bloggers

Rule 3. Announce their nomination in their blog’s comment section

Rule 4. Mention links back to their blog, including a link to the person who nominated you.

Rule 5. Answer the questions. This is designed to help people get to know you better.

Ten other bloggers spreading sunshine into the dark corners of our world are:

Jardin Luxembourg – It was through Tieshka’s Liebster Award that I ‘met’ Sherri Matthews. So glad to have the ‘introduction’! And to read her refreshing, carpe diem take on life.
A Canvas of the Minds – Spreading awareness, acceptance, and knowledge about mental illness.
Free Little Words – Spreading love and positive energy with her positive world view and words.
DENY – because they showcase beautiful design and give me way too many ideas for the new home I’m supposed to be decorating.
Mamacravings – Such a positive, inclusive atmosphere to support mothers in finding the joy in it.
2 Guys Photo – Gorgeous photos, unique in their perspective, accompanied by thoughtful written commentary – plus practical help if needed.
Vox Nova – Thoughtful dialogue on spiritual matters.
Motherhood is an Art – A great mix of the personal and professional aspects of motherhood (in other words what it means to us and what we need to be to our kids).
Reluctant Mom – There is beauty in her honesty and in others’ seeing they are not the only non-PollyAnna momma.
Blue Bicicletta – An inspiring intersection of graphic art and reflections on life.

And now for the interview portion of the show:

1. Favourite Colour:

Purple has always been my go-to answer, but lately I’ve been leaning toward persimmon reds and orange – trying to be bold in this phase of life, I guess.

2. Favourite Animal

Birds? I’ve had many dreams where I fly; I love watching robins put their heads down and run; they also have metaphorical meaning for my husband and me.

3. Favourite Number

Three (also the # of this question – should I play it in the lotto?)

4. Favourite Non-Alcoholic Drink:

Lemonade and iced tea combination at the Vietnamese restaurant at which my writing group meets.

5. Favourite Alcoholic Drink

Bellini (champagne and peach nectar – of the gods!) – and perhaps another reason you and I are doppelgangers, Sherri?

6. Facebook or Twitter?

As I am one of the three remaining people on earth who does not have a Smartphone (and feel Twitter is pointless without one) – Facebook

7. My Passions

Uh, no pressure. Loving my husband. Loving my children. Writing. Burning a hole in my corner of the universe.

8. Giving or Receiving Gifts?

Giving, definitely.

9. Favourite City

Roma or New York City

10. Favourite TV Show

In a disturbingly, Kramer-it’s-hideously-scary-yet-I-cannot-look-away sort of way, Hunted, which I am so sad to say will not continue in a collaboration between the BBC and Cinemax. Still waiting anxiously for its next incarnation, though.

Now it’s your turn to go blow sunshine up someone else’s @$#, 😉

Identity, Uncategorized, Writing

Fresh (fresh), Exciting

Just call me Kool and the Gang!

WordPress editors deemed my latest post ‘press-worthy’; that is, good enough to be featured on the ‘Freshly Pressed’ page. Woo Hoo!

Insert video of Wayne and Garth bowing in unworthiness here.

I am so pleased and honored and grateful to the folks at WordPress for sharing my work. And to all of you who came to read it and hang on for the ride! A thousand thank yous!

Identity, Literacy, Writing

Be the Book

I think all frustrated writers, those in the fits and starts, the various stages of creation and denial, dream of becoming the next great American novel. Like the bedraggled outcasts wandering around in the flickering firelight murmuring lines from books at the end of the Fahrenheit 451 film, we imagine our stories and us as one, words burgeoning forth from our being.

When I first started to take my dream seriously, I mentioned it to a close friend. As we discussed the perils of the publishing world (read: nearly impossible to enter), she suggested, that since I taught middle level ELA and studied that literature extensively, I write young adult literature: an up-and-coming worthy field and one not as constricted by that impermeable culture (at least at the time).

I had the workings of a character already, her life – or at least neurosis – already well on its way. And her neurosis, while certainly presenting itself in an adult way then, could easily be adapted to any stage of the human condition. So I imagined Kathryn as a high school senior, about to embark on the most significant journey of her life thus far – with no freakin’ clue where to go.

I drafted her all the way through her preparation for graduation, her stretching and breaking, hitting rock bottom, and starting to put the pieces back together, shedding her sarcastic armor in favor of some spiritual guidance. She hasn’t reached her destination at the end of the draft, but she’s got her suitcase packed and some of the itinerary fleshed out.

Only one problem: my YA novel wasn’t exactly YA. It straddled the line between adolescence and that liminal space beyond. Transitional, I believe they’d call it. And when I looked back over what I’d done, it was the time after she’d left high school that I liked the most. Broken into two parts, the second was longer, stronger, and more developed. Had I written Part One to satisfy the YA gods before I got to the meat of what I really wanted?

Kathryn was born in one of the first depressive periods of my life – even though I didn’t necessarily know it at the time. Not to say that I didn’t feel the movings of it in high school (particularly at the end where I chose to place the beginning of Kathryn’s story), but it’s been a definitive part of my adult experience. And I know what Kathryn grows into, in this alternate universe where a spiritual awakening didn’t occur in post-graduate studies. Not to say she’s not an amazing person as a young woman, but holding her to the fire longer strengthens her mettle even more.

And now the true question: would this novel be stronger and serve the world better by seeing a woman through her darkest days of mental illness and how she somehow comes out the other side? Is that what this story is meant to be and I was trying to cram it into some other mold? Yes, I could make it work – and well – in its other incarnation, but would I be ignoring what it’s been trying to tell me from the beginning?

Have you ever known the answer before you’ve asked the question, but need to go through this circuitous route before you trust yourself? Or not even trust, but just listen to that little voice that’s been there all along?

Peter Johnson told me you have to write the story the way it’s meant to be written. You can’t worry about convention or trend or even length.

Maybe I’ve finally learned that all you need to worry about is being true to yourself and your characters. Maybe now I can be the book.

Identity, Uncategorized, Writing

Long Live the Lieb!

So I’ve been slacking this Lent and on week second-to-last made a half-hearted attempt at giving up something. Actually, my schedule made it for me. I’d noticed that the last few Sundays I hadn’t been logging on / checking in on my blog, Facebook, e-mail – all that fun stuff that sucks up inordinate amounts of time. I’d been filling my time with family, house stuff, etc. And since this occurred on the day of rest, I saw it as a sign that perhaps I should leave that time untouched by multi-media’s dirty little mitts. Yes, it is a bit rationalization. No, I didn’t put it to particularly good use in praying or praising the Lord. (Though my husband and I did take up watching Mark Burnett’s interpretation of the Bible – ha!) I did, however, want to check my stats and inane Facebook updates more than ever. Has my soul grown by fighting that temptation?

Perhaps.

Perhaps the Lord has rewarded me! This past Sunday afternoon, I was speaking on the phone with my mother. She mentioned reading my latest posts and excitedly announced that I’d gotten an award. What? You have to go on and check, she exclaimed. But it’s Sunday . . .

Waiting until Monday morning to read the exciting news made my nomination for The Liebster Award that much sweeter. Who deemed me worthy enough? Which of my readers enjoyed my writing enough to choose me amongst all those out there?

Tieshka, that’s who!

Many, many thanks to Tieshka for awarding me with The Liebster Award. I found her blog, Jardin Luxembourg, by way of her post about a micro-brewery tour with friends. A weekend getaway tasting small batch, hand-crafted beer? Sign me up. And she even hiked the next day and managed to think about cleaning her house. She may be my hero.

She shared the rules of The Liebster Award with me:

Proudly display The Liebster badge!
Thank the person who nominated you.
Share eleven random things about yourself.
Nominate eleven blogs/bloggers worthy of the award (who also happen to have less than 200 followers).
Answer the eleven questions asked of you.
Pose eleven questions to your nominees.

So, on to the sharing of eleven random things about myself . . .

1. I’m thinking right now that random is easier said than done.

2. I wear orthotics (which is a fun word to say).

3. I really don’t like Justin Bieber but thought those with Bieber fever might appreciate my play on words in the title.

4. Plus, I love alliteration!

5. I am a word geek, in case you couldn’t tell.

6. I apparently intimidated a waitress last night when she tried to take away my half-eaten dessert thinking I was done. I was not.

7. I just bought a bird cage, but do not, nor plan to, own any birds.

8. I have been in a writers’ group for nearly two years now.

9. My new favorite driving music is The Lion’s Roar by First Aid Kit (Thanks, D!)

10. I want a chain saw.

11. I am not a psycho-killer, Qu’est-ce que c’est

And in the event that they still want to associate with me after that, I’d like to nominate the following blogs for The Liebster Award:

The eleven questions Tieshka offered for me to answer:

1. How many siblings do you have, or are you an only child? I am an only child.

2. What is your favorite vacation spot? Alone with my husband, preferably with a bottle of wine.

3. Are you afraid of heights? The edges of them!

4. Can you swim for at least half a mile? Um, no.

5. Which blog have you enjoyed writing most (topic)? Chopping Potatoes.

6. What two foods do you detest? Vegamite (sorry to my Australian friends) and anything so spicy it makes my nose run.

7. What is your favorite sport? To play? Basketball.

8. Would you rather wash dishes or take out the trash? Surprisingly, wash dishes, though you wouldn’t be able to tell looking at my kitchen sink!

9. Have you ever traveled outside of the country you live in? Yes.

10. What is your favorite cartoon (or used to be when you were a child)? Garfield.

11. Do you prefer to use a PC or Mac computer? I am a Mac convert.

Hmmm . . . now what do I wish to know about you? I feel like I have to channel my former self circa grade eleven/sixteen years old. It is fun, though!

1. Why did you start your blog?

2. What’s your grandest dream?

3. What’s your favorite color?

4. Name the favorite room in your home and why.

5. What’s your favorite word? Okay, two – I know it’s hard to choose.

6. What do you put off in order to write?

7. What do you do instead of writing?

8. Where’s your favorite spot to write?

9. Have you ever been to Spain?

10. What’s the last meal you cooked?

11. What’s the last song that got stuck in your head?

Thank you to all the bloggers whose writing inspires and thoughts provoke. I hope you accept and share the blog love. For, I love reading.

Long Live the Lieb!

anxiety, Identity, Living, Writing

Ironic Tosh of Fate

Irony.

When I titled yesterday’s blog entry, I had a song from the early career of Bob Marley and the Wailers in my head. I searched in vain for a recording or video of it, finding only a much slower version. The version I remembered had more of a rock-steady beat than rolling reggae one. A few comments online reminded me that it was Peter Tosh singing that version (with the Wailers) anyway.

I gave up the hunt, but got the ironic twist that, though the universe was handing me a slower beat, I still wanted the frenetic one.

And I remembered that a character I’d written – if whom bares any resemblance to her author is purely coincidental – blasted that song in her car as she tried to outrun her problems.

After muddling her way through study hall and forcing concentration in the rest of her classes, Kathryn finally flopped into the front seat of her car. She stared out the front window. She put the keys in the ignition, but did not turn them. She just sat. She sat and thought about nothing and everything all at once. She took vague notice of the cars moving and leaving around her, but only when they moved directly across her line of sight did her eyes actually focus. When she finally noticed that there had been no movement around her for quite some time, she looked around to see hers was the only car left in the parking lot. She reached her feet towards the clutch and brake pedal and her hand towards the keys. Peter Tosh’s voice suddenly flooded the insides of the car and ran down her eardrums and into her brain. She was awake now. Maybe the rock-steady would steady her nerves and take her out of this funk. She moved the gearshift into first and grasped the steering wheel.

Kathryn left the parking lot without having any idea of where she was going. It was as if her car was on autopilot and eventually she found herself on the highway. All the while, she bounced in time to the music and occasionally would break into song, but all of this was secondary. It was as if her body and car were simply performing a routine; her consciousness really wasn’t along for the ride. As she moved on, off, and around the major arteries surrounding the city, moving in one big loop, she had no destination. She let the CD loop continuously as the steering wheel slid loosely between her fingers.

The sun finally dipped so low it angled itself right into her windshield and her eyes. She realized it was probably time to go home. She put on her left blinker to signal her way into the passing lane. Just as she edged her way around the car in front of her, she saw the two stripes of black rubber on the road. They started right where her front tires were now and arced away from her in a gentle curve until they ended at the Jersey barrier and a broad metallic smudge and gouges began. She almost wanted the car to follow them the way her eyes had – but why? Because it was a natural progression? Because she felt she was already set up on that path? Because it was easier to continue on an established path than to start a new one not even forged yet?

Suddenly the deep bass line of another Peter Tosh song resounded through the car speakers and she jerked the car back into line with the others. She shook her head and took a deep breath. She gripped the steering wheel, her fingers resting in the grooves meant to keep her hands in place, in control, and began to sing along:

“Stop the train, I’m leavin’, stop the train, I’m leavin’ believe me when I say, stop the train, I’m leavin’, said it won’t be too long whether I’m right or wrong, won’t be too long whether I’m right or wrong.”

Personal resemblance to our characters – especially when they do things we don’t like – is a whole ‘nother discussion. But there it was. Stop the train, I’m leavin’. Maybe I can shut my mind off long enough to disembark and get back to center.

In the meantime, I can at least listen to some kick ass music.

Editorial note: Thank you for respecting my intellectual property and not sharing my work with others without my permission – unless of course you know an editor who needs new talent ; )

Chopping Potatoes

and other metaphors for motherhood

Category Archives: Writing

The Scar

An Unexpected Beaver

Three Liebs to the Sun

Beg, Borrow, or Steal

Knitting, Needling, and Never Saying Never

It’s Gonna Be a Bright, Sunshiny Day

Fresh (fresh), Exciting

Be the Book

Long Live the Lieb!

Long Live the Lieb!

Ironic Tosh of Fate