...in his August 19, 1851 journal, H. D. Thoreau wrote, "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live!"
...i've been meditating on these words for quite a while...i'd first heard them roughly translated by my writing instructors as "write what you know" and "you can't write if you haven't lived"...i used to wonder about what sort of "living" my mentors had in mind, exactly...did they expect all young writers to join the circus, drive ambulances in wars, ride with mexican renegades and send covert reports from the front...i wasn't sure...but by the time i was twenty, i'd felt as if i'd lived a few different lives and i could try to write about at least one of them...
...fifteen years later, i think i can finally do justice to my first life...
...still, i think about those fifteen years: have i "stood up"?
...Thoreau's journal entry continues, "The writing which consists with habitual sitting is mechanical wooden dull to read" and he insists writers need movement of the limbs to get the blood flowing, emphasizing the necessity for a walk to trigger the mind...
...for quite some time, i've been habitually sitting, putting words on paper again and again, and seemingly watching the world move on...i worry i've become pretty sedentary, that i won't be able to write about the years i've lived while trying to write about my first life...and while i'd like to take his words literally--and easily let myself off the hook by getting up from my desk and making a loop around the block--i have to look at them metaphorically too...a writer cannot sit in one place, in one time, continually occupying one identity, without running the risk of flat, boring work...we cannot allow ourselves to perpetually live with the mind of the person we used to be...hell, we can't even be the person we were last year (sorry, Gatsby)...we have to live, to grow, to see the world...if not by actually being there, then by at least allowing our actions to be shaped by what is going on around us...in short, Thoreau's reminding us that before we're writers, we're human beings...
...we're sentient..and without empathy we're working in vain...
...in an attempt to keep my writing relevant, my prose organic, and my thoughts new, i've composed the following resolutions...
2013 Resolutions
1. Give thanks for each sunrise, each sunset
2. Continue to feel empathy for those whose lives I've never known
3. Write a sentence everyday, no matter how small the thought
4. Never sit down in vain
12.31.2012
12.14.2012
In Case the Mayans Weren't Kidding
...this morning i thanked the universe for my family's fear of guns and sharp objects...seriously...if we'd been fearless we would've killed each other every time we had an argument...we're quick to anger, mistrust, and we give in to the overwhelming feeling that the world is waiting for us to fail...
...so i thought, in the spirit of perpetual hope, thankfulness, and the general feeling of guilt i have because of falling down on the blogging job--damned you, memoir manuscript--i'd write up a small list of things i'm thankful for in an effort to thwart my homicidal thoughts...
...and if george lucas is right we won't be here after next week and i figured i should get one more post under the wire since my mom hated the last one...she didn't even like my richie rich reference, which i'm very proud of, by the way...
things i'm thankful for as the year nears an end:
1. my grandfather is dead...if he could see how fat i am, it would kill him
2. my two sisters who i slap around for each other...thus vicariously living a passive aggressive life but still getting the pleasure of hurting someone head-on
3. my daughter, who can finally snap her fingers...now she can call the waiter to our table
4. my writer pals who continue to support my work
5. my grandmother, who taught me the values of hard-earned money and family--that you're not entitled to either, and both require plenty of work
6. my husband's virility and potency...and amazing patience and love
7. my friends, both new and tried and true...for a kid who grew up with no close friends, i sure am lucky to have so many of them now
7. also for toilet paper, my cats, Vans shoes, memory foam, and homemade laundry detergent
...in february, i preempted the crappy year that would be 2012 by posting an early year-in-review...though most of the year continued to head down crap highway, things have started to look up for 2013...i feel the need to share a few more moments here...
additional 2012 year-in-review moments:
1. finishing the the draft of Blood and Circumstance...not only did i meet some supportive and encouraging writers at SWWC, i left it knowing i was doing the right thing with my book, my writing, my life...so i was able to finish the book, then spend six weeks editing it...
2. quitting my job...this is a double-edged sword...on the one hand i was iced out by a sad woman so jealous of me she fed me lies to make me look bad, then denied them when the shit hit the fan (essay forthcoming)...on the other hand, not working full time allowed me to finally finish my memoir...
3. spending the mornings with my daughter...these moments are our quiet time together, our mommy-daughter talk sessions in her bed as she wipes the sleep from her eyes and smiles and tells me what she dreamed, what she hopes for the day...and every morning when i drop her off at school, she kisses me and gives me a "heart to heart" where she presses her little hand to my chest and i do the same to her...
4. young baby #2, due out in june...we were gun-shy after the miscarriage, but when those little pink lines showed up a few months ago, i was so excited i nearly fainted...and then, a few weeks later, i did faint...in class...while i was teaching...i was sure i'd lost the second one, the pain was so bad...but nope, it's holding on and we'll find out soon the exact due date...and whether or not i'm growing a penis inside or a second vagina...
5. (this is the one that had me dwelling on my hereditary homicidal thoughts) my little sister's impending divorce...it's hard to watch two people i love very much tear each other down...i go to bed thinking of them and wake with the same anxiety, and it seems that nothing i do or say helps either of them find a way to deal with their shitty situation peacefully...i find myself wishing often that i had a magic wand that could solve their problems--the problems of everyone i love, for that matter--so the anger and heartache will end...
6. my acceptance to, and winning a scholarship for, the Writers in Paradise Conference in January 2013...i won the Standiford Non-Fiction award and was selected to participate in Les Standiford's week-long workshop...this is a heavy-hitter and i can't wait to participate, hear some great writers (and Ole Miss pals), and spend a week in florida...
...happy holidays everyone...if you're not afraid to own a firearm or a large sharp implement, i hope you get through the remaining weeks of 2012 without killing anyone...
...so i thought, in the spirit of perpetual hope, thankfulness, and the general feeling of guilt i have because of falling down on the blogging job--damned you, memoir manuscript--i'd write up a small list of things i'm thankful for in an effort to thwart my homicidal thoughts...
...and if george lucas is right we won't be here after next week and i figured i should get one more post under the wire since my mom hated the last one...she didn't even like my richie rich reference, which i'm very proud of, by the way...
things i'm thankful for as the year nears an end:
1. my grandfather is dead...if he could see how fat i am, it would kill him
2. my two sisters who i slap around for each other...thus vicariously living a passive aggressive life but still getting the pleasure of hurting someone head-on
3. my daughter, who can finally snap her fingers...now she can call the waiter to our table
4. my writer pals who continue to support my work
5. my grandmother, who taught me the values of hard-earned money and family--that you're not entitled to either, and both require plenty of work
6. my husband's virility and potency...and amazing patience and love
7. my friends, both new and tried and true...for a kid who grew up with no close friends, i sure am lucky to have so many of them now
7. also for toilet paper, my cats, Vans shoes, memory foam, and homemade laundry detergent
...in february, i preempted the crappy year that would be 2012 by posting an early year-in-review...though most of the year continued to head down crap highway, things have started to look up for 2013...i feel the need to share a few more moments here...
additional 2012 year-in-review moments:
1. finishing the the draft of Blood and Circumstance...not only did i meet some supportive and encouraging writers at SWWC, i left it knowing i was doing the right thing with my book, my writing, my life...so i was able to finish the book, then spend six weeks editing it...
2. quitting my job...this is a double-edged sword...on the one hand i was iced out by a sad woman so jealous of me she fed me lies to make me look bad, then denied them when the shit hit the fan (essay forthcoming)...on the other hand, not working full time allowed me to finally finish my memoir...
3. spending the mornings with my daughter...these moments are our quiet time together, our mommy-daughter talk sessions in her bed as she wipes the sleep from her eyes and smiles and tells me what she dreamed, what she hopes for the day...and every morning when i drop her off at school, she kisses me and gives me a "heart to heart" where she presses her little hand to my chest and i do the same to her...
4. young baby #2, due out in june...we were gun-shy after the miscarriage, but when those little pink lines showed up a few months ago, i was so excited i nearly fainted...and then, a few weeks later, i did faint...in class...while i was teaching...i was sure i'd lost the second one, the pain was so bad...but nope, it's holding on and we'll find out soon the exact due date...and whether or not i'm growing a penis inside or a second vagina...
5. (this is the one that had me dwelling on my hereditary homicidal thoughts) my little sister's impending divorce...it's hard to watch two people i love very much tear each other down...i go to bed thinking of them and wake with the same anxiety, and it seems that nothing i do or say helps either of them find a way to deal with their shitty situation peacefully...i find myself wishing often that i had a magic wand that could solve their problems--the problems of everyone i love, for that matter--so the anger and heartache will end...
6. my acceptance to, and winning a scholarship for, the Writers in Paradise Conference in January 2013...i won the Standiford Non-Fiction award and was selected to participate in Les Standiford's week-long workshop...this is a heavy-hitter and i can't wait to participate, hear some great writers (and Ole Miss pals), and spend a week in florida...
...happy holidays everyone...if you're not afraid to own a firearm or a large sharp implement, i hope you get through the remaining weeks of 2012 without killing anyone...
12.03.2012
Strange Girls
...okay, i'm sure i'm late to this moral crisis, but i've spent the last few days on the couch watching TLC shows on netflix and i think it's made me dumber than when i started...apparently, the learning channel has become the opposite of actual learning...instead, it's the modern-day equivilant of the turn-of-the-century freak show...it's a televised stroll down the midway of the travelling circus...bearded fat ladies, conjoined twins, elephant men, tattooed women...all those taboos the farmhands came out of the woodwork to observe, we can watch from the safety of our own homes...no one there to see us go in and out of the seedy tents...
...anyone who knows me is aware of my obsession with little people...i'm not sure when it started, but each time a see a vertically challenged individual i want to pick him/her up and put them in my purse...i've never been one to play with dolls, but the allure of small people for me is like that of catnip to cats...not that i would ever rub myself against one, or lick one, or roll around on one...okay, that catnip metaphor was bad...
...i'm not willing to spend my time in hell in the hottest corner by remaining neutral on this topic...i'd rather party with the rest of the interesting sinners...so today i admit to watching children parade on stage in full glitz...my obsession with "strange girls" who sleep around, weigh 750 pounds, or love other girls...to thinking, when i see a man born with no legs but full genitalia, not "how can he live like that, pushing himself around on a skateboard?" but "how does he have sex?"
***
...adam read this post a few hours after it went live and his response was, "that's it?"
"of course," i said "were you expecting some great moral debate simply because i quoted dante?"
he shrugged and went back to his playstation
***
...so here's the great moral debate...dante and i have been friends for nearly a quarter of a century and while i understand that his words, specifically those in the inferno, were used as an attempt to call attention to the hypocrisy and closeted hedonism of the catholic church authority, i see many people in 21st century america using them to justify their own bigotry, ignorance, and hatred (see above paragraphs)...but it especially burns me when i learn of scholars doing this...or, at least people who've used daddy's dime to buy that english minor or phd in literature...they think because they've taken a dante class they're equipped to "teach" dante to their students by pulling out quotes like those above and attempting to apply them to the religion du juor...they define morality by the vague views thrust upon them in sunday school and perpetuated by a close-knit group of friends who've never challenged them to see otherwise...dante was many things, but a soothsayer time-traveler he was not...i'm sure he didn't mean to have his words support southern baptist evangelicals, some of whom spew hatred toward gays, condemn planned parenthood, and actually think jesus wants their daughters to win high-glitz beauty pageant titles...
...and here's another great moral debate...i'm finally, truly, fed up with living in a plutonomy...screw religion being the opiate of the masses...today every item made in china creates a richie rich high for the middle-class...if we can walk into a store and think to ourselves, "i can buy nearly everything in here and still afford dinner," of course we'll let the rich brainwash us into believing what matters and what doesn't...we'll continue to let them wield the power we give them, never thinking for a second that if we'd actually use the power a democracy assures us we have, we might actually begin to live in a society that values people rather than money, hard work over lineage, and--most importantly to me--truth, no matter how hard it is for us to take...
...and of course i think of this now, at the holidays, when so many people around me would have me simply answer the question, "what do you want for christmas?" rather than, "what does this holiday really mean to you?"...no discussion of perpetual hope, the realities of the pagan rituals, who saint nicholas might have been...no parsing of carols or answers to why we put up a tree and continue to wear tacky footwear...just: "tell me what you want so i don't have to think about you again until next year"
 |
| really? even turn-of-the-century carnies didn't know how to use punctuation correctly? |
...so perhaps this post is a call to myself, a challenge to shrug off the niceties and come out swinging...why?...because i was born...
11.12.2012
13.1? John 3:16? Who is John Galt?
...a few days ago, i was driving along the 75 freeway and noticed a significant number of SUVs sporting oval stickers reading "13.1"...at first i thought this was a way of bragging about MPG...as in, "my suv gets 13 miles per gallon and to hell with your hybrid, you hippie shit bird"
...but knowing no one in their right mind would brag about sucking natural resources, i scrutinized other stickers affixed to these gas-guzzlers--who were passing me right and left--in an attempt to make sense of something i was clearly missing: a sign of the fish, upward sports, stick families...
...i came home and asked adam, "what is 13.1?"
"what're you talking about?"
"is there a secret christian society of suv drivers with two children and three cats, who play football and follow chapter thirteen, verse one?"
"of what? how should i know?"
"aren't you my authority on this?"
...as usual, my recovering baptist husband scoffed and rolled his eyes, meaning "you're-correct-but-i'm-going-to-act-like-you're-delusional-because-i-don't-know-the-answer"
...maybe these stickers are distant cousins of the sporting event signs reading "john 3:16"...which doesn't make sense to me...why would a football game attendee reference "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that everyone believing in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life"?...is this some voodoo to assure the quarterback isn't sacked? from keeping the right tackle from being hit by lightning?...even for someone who studies metaphor for a living i don't see what everlasting life has to do with football...and how is excluding an entire group of people--those who've never read john 3:16--contribute to the game?...essentially these signs say "if you don't think the way i do, you'll die"...are these 13.1 SUV drivers threatening me in the same way?
...i'm a college-educated person who's read Atlas Shrugged and thinks most people communicate via codes...so i did what anyone in my shoes would do when faced with something they don't understand...i googled it...
...strangely enough, when i typed in "chapter 13 verse 1" i got a hit for the bhagavad gita that read "Arjuna said: O my dear Krishna, I wish to know about nature, the enjoyer, and the field and the knower of the field, and of knowledge and the object of knowledge"...which sounds to me something way more appropriate for football than john 3:16...
...so, of course, i decided to search for 13.1 in every other religious text except the bible...
...from the qu'ran: "These are the Verses of the Book, and that which has been revealed unto you from your Lord is truth, but most men believe not"...sounds very much like john 3:16, so i got stuck there for a while looking at similarities between the qu'ran and the bible...
...from the tipitaka: "And the Blessed One, after having kept the vassa residence, thus addressed the Bhikkus: By wise contemplation, O Bhikkus, and by wise firmness of exertion have I attained the highest emancipation, have I realized the highest emancipation. Attain ye, also, O Bhikkhus, the highest emancipation, realize the highest emancipation, by wise contemplation and by wise firmness of exertion"...again, sounds appropriate for a sporting event...
...from 1 nephi, book of mormon: "And it came to pass that the angel spake unto me, saying, 'Look!' And I looked and beheld many nations and kingdoms"...for a second, i was sad a man who believed in this verse didn't take the presidency...not really...
...apparently the communist manifesto has no thirteenth chapter...apologies to my faithful comrades...
...then i got bored and wandered back to the bible (wow, never thought i'd ever write that!)...this is the south after all, and the chances of someone celebrating a world religion are about the same as a baptist preaching at an al qaeda pep rally...
...i got tons of hits, obviously, because the bible--the new and old testaments--are broken into books with their own chapters, nearly each of which contains a thirteenth...ug...way too much to choose from, but here were some of my favorites...
...from 1 corinthians: "If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a tinkling symbol"...this might work at high school half-time shows...
...from revelation: "And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and I saw out of the sea a beast coming up, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon its horns ten diadems, and upon its heads a name of evil speaking"...really digging the sy-fy-ness of this part...and sometimes when an SUV honks, it sounds like ten horns...
...from romans: "Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God"...sounds southern, wanting the government to be ruled by a christian god, rather than having separation of church and state...which is something else i just don't understand...most southerners want the government out of their lives, but if they want god in government, and god is such a big part of their lives, then wouldn't government be integral to their lives?
...my brain was starting to bleed at this point, so i googled "13.1 bumper sticker" which is what i should've done in the first place...and lo and behold all of these SUV driving, upward playing, fish emblem sporting, stick figure bragging people are simply pointing out they've successfully run a half marathon...really, that's it...no secret society, no metaphoric reference, simply a group of people who're proud of their training and dedication...
...boring assholes...
...but knowing no one in their right mind would brag about sucking natural resources, i scrutinized other stickers affixed to these gas-guzzlers--who were passing me right and left--in an attempt to make sense of something i was clearly missing: a sign of the fish, upward sports, stick families...
...i came home and asked adam, "what is 13.1?"
"what're you talking about?"
"is there a secret christian society of suv drivers with two children and three cats, who play football and follow chapter thirteen, verse one?"
"of what? how should i know?"
"aren't you my authority on this?"
...as usual, my recovering baptist husband scoffed and rolled his eyes, meaning "you're-correct-but-i'm-going-to-act-like-you're-delusional-because-i-don't-know-the-answer"
...i'm a college-educated person who's read Atlas Shrugged and thinks most people communicate via codes...so i did what anyone in my shoes would do when faced with something they don't understand...i googled it...
...strangely enough, when i typed in "chapter 13 verse 1" i got a hit for the bhagavad gita that read "Arjuna said: O my dear Krishna, I wish to know about nature, the enjoyer, and the field and the knower of the field, and of knowledge and the object of knowledge"...which sounds to me something way more appropriate for football than john 3:16...
...so, of course, i decided to search for 13.1 in every other religious text except the bible...
...from the qu'ran: "These are the Verses of the Book, and that which has been revealed unto you from your Lord is truth, but most men believe not"...sounds very much like john 3:16, so i got stuck there for a while looking at similarities between the qu'ran and the bible...
...from the tipitaka: "And the Blessed One, after having kept the vassa residence, thus addressed the Bhikkus: By wise contemplation, O Bhikkus, and by wise firmness of exertion have I attained the highest emancipation, have I realized the highest emancipation. Attain ye, also, O Bhikkhus, the highest emancipation, realize the highest emancipation, by wise contemplation and by wise firmness of exertion"...again, sounds appropriate for a sporting event...
...from 1 nephi, book of mormon: "And it came to pass that the angel spake unto me, saying, 'Look!' And I looked and beheld many nations and kingdoms"...for a second, i was sad a man who believed in this verse didn't take the presidency...not really...
...apparently the communist manifesto has no thirteenth chapter...apologies to my faithful comrades...
...then i got bored and wandered back to the bible (wow, never thought i'd ever write that!)...this is the south after all, and the chances of someone celebrating a world religion are about the same as a baptist preaching at an al qaeda pep rally...
...i got tons of hits, obviously, because the bible--the new and old testaments--are broken into books with their own chapters, nearly each of which contains a thirteenth...ug...way too much to choose from, but here were some of my favorites...
...from 1 corinthians: "If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a tinkling symbol"...this might work at high school half-time shows...
...from revelation: "And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and I saw out of the sea a beast coming up, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon its horns ten diadems, and upon its heads a name of evil speaking"...really digging the sy-fy-ness of this part...and sometimes when an SUV honks, it sounds like ten horns...
...from romans: "Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God"...sounds southern, wanting the government to be ruled by a christian god, rather than having separation of church and state...which is something else i just don't understand...most southerners want the government out of their lives, but if they want god in government, and god is such a big part of their lives, then wouldn't government be integral to their lives?...my brain was starting to bleed at this point, so i googled "13.1 bumper sticker" which is what i should've done in the first place...and lo and behold all of these SUV driving, upward playing, fish emblem sporting, stick figure bragging people are simply pointing out they've successfully run a half marathon...really, that's it...no secret society, no metaphoric reference, simply a group of people who're proud of their training and dedication...
...boring assholes...
11.06.2012
Breaking Up with Craigslist
...it's you, not me...sure, we've had a good relationship...you've provided me with glorious items for my home--love the suede sleeper sofa--and you've allowed me the space to sell the used baby stuff...and i've never had a strange, bad, or awkward encounter...
...that is, craig, until i posted a "looking for" advertisement...which read:
...pretty innocuous...not a word about throbbing loins...
...yet you've spammed me with email responses containing self-photos of scantily-clad women, sporting fake nails and tans, holding up their iphone cameras in front of mirrors so i can see them in all their silicone glory...accompanying these photos are ridiculous pleas for attention akin to the worst dive-bar pickup lines...
...exhibit A, from Joswick Hegge:
Is your goods still on sale? Umm...this could be peculiar but you seem to be extremely hot in your listing. Would like to get together occasionally? I'm not a weirdo, just feeling naughty. If you're having thoughts, make contact with me on my private dating profile (it's like facebook for adults), at no cost to sign-up! My photos and my cell # are all on there. After you log on, Im going to send you a private message so you'll know it's me. There are too many fakes on here so if you're legit, text me and become buddies and maybe more? Don't be shy! Alright, I won't trouble you again!
...exhibit B from Bickley Hopgood:
Hiya, is your stuff still available? I don't usually do this but you sounded sizzling in your list and I'm intrigued in you. I live close by and up for anything. My only fear is that you might be a scammer as CL is full of them. So if you're indeed real, can we chat on my profile page? It's the safest way and super discreet. I'll message you as soon as I see you sign in! ;)
Only you'll be able to check out my photos and cell # on there so if you enjoy what you see, get hold of me. I apologize to hassle you...life is too short so I had to give this a try. I think you'll be astonished, see you!
...perhaps i haven't made it clear, craig, that i'm not a sizzling hot, horny, lonely man...or maybe i haven't explained that i'm not looking for naughty sex, a chat, or private dating...nor have i made it clear that i don't have any stuff for sale...i'm simply "looking for" a my little pony tea pot palace play set from a smoke-free home...it's not code for anything...and i shudder thinking what "my little pony" might mean in sex-talk...likewise "tea pot palace"...put them together and perhaps what i've asked for, without my knowledge, is a woman willing to let someone stick the nozzle of a tea pot up her who-ha while whinnying like a horse...
...i wonder who you thought might answer email like these, who wouldn't see right through them for the virus-carriers they really are...poor craig...i had no idea this was what you were into...
...so there's no more confusion, darling, here's a picture of what i was actually looking for...notice there's not a single naked picture of me, or anyone else, as part of this toy...it is a tiny tea pot with an actual toy pony...
...i've since found the tea pot on ebay...and unlike you, he's assured me he won't spam me...
...because your white page with blue links will forever be synonymous with half-naked, middle-aged women who speak in platitudes, i'm not coming back...and i have a feeling, darling, you won't even notice i'm gone...
...that is, craig, until i posted a "looking for" advertisement...which read:
Looking for MLP Tea Pot Palace play set from smoke-free home. This toy is no longer made, and my little girl really wants it for Christmas. Please email me if you have it. Thanks!
...pretty innocuous...not a word about throbbing loins...
...yet you've spammed me with email responses containing self-photos of scantily-clad women, sporting fake nails and tans, holding up their iphone cameras in front of mirrors so i can see them in all their silicone glory...accompanying these photos are ridiculous pleas for attention akin to the worst dive-bar pickup lines...
...exhibit A, from Joswick Hegge:
Is your goods still on sale? Umm...this could be peculiar but you seem to be extremely hot in your listing. Would like to get together occasionally? I'm not a weirdo, just feeling naughty. If you're having thoughts, make contact with me on my private dating profile (it's like facebook for adults), at no cost to sign-up! My photos and my cell # are all on there. After you log on, Im going to send you a private message so you'll know it's me. There are too many fakes on here so if you're legit, text me and become buddies and maybe more? Don't be shy! Alright, I won't trouble you again!
...exhibit B from Bickley Hopgood:
Hiya, is your stuff still available? I don't usually do this but you sounded sizzling in your list and I'm intrigued in you. I live close by and up for anything. My only fear is that you might be a scammer as CL is full of them. So if you're indeed real, can we chat on my profile page? It's the safest way and super discreet. I'll message you as soon as I see you sign in! ;)
Only you'll be able to check out my photos and cell # on there so if you enjoy what you see, get hold of me. I apologize to hassle you...life is too short so I had to give this a try. I think you'll be astonished, see you!
...perhaps i haven't made it clear, craig, that i'm not a sizzling hot, horny, lonely man...or maybe i haven't explained that i'm not looking for naughty sex, a chat, or private dating...nor have i made it clear that i don't have any stuff for sale...i'm simply "looking for" a my little pony tea pot palace play set from a smoke-free home...it's not code for anything...and i shudder thinking what "my little pony" might mean in sex-talk...likewise "tea pot palace"...put them together and perhaps what i've asked for, without my knowledge, is a woman willing to let someone stick the nozzle of a tea pot up her who-ha while whinnying like a horse...
...i wonder who you thought might answer email like these, who wouldn't see right through them for the virus-carriers they really are...poor craig...i had no idea this was what you were into...
...so there's no more confusion, darling, here's a picture of what i was actually looking for...notice there's not a single naked picture of me, or anyone else, as part of this toy...it is a tiny tea pot with an actual toy pony...
...i've since found the tea pot on ebay...and unlike you, he's assured me he won't spam me...
...because your white page with blue links will forever be synonymous with half-naked, middle-aged women who speak in platitudes, i'm not coming back...and i have a feeling, darling, you won't even notice i'm gone...
10.29.2012
We Live in a Rape Culture
...i'm starting to get that creepy feeling...the one i felt at college parties when, during a lull in conversation, or a moment when the cd was changing, some moron said something like, "i knew this guy who got anally probed," and would wait for someone else to latch on to the comment so everyone involved could ponder the depths of anal probing...what usually happened was a general migration away from said moron, a looking anywhere but in his direction, a mental note not to get trapped on the balcony or next to him in the bathroom line...invariably, though, this moron couldn't gauge the body language of the crowd and would move onto another small cluster where he could mention anal probing again until someone would take him up on the conversation and he could elaborate and reveal that he was the one who'd been probed or done the probing and was looking for acceptance since he actually, really, liked it...
...no one at the party would've voted that moron into public office...
...it's been thirteen years since those days, yet each time i turn on the television or read an article online i'm faced with older versions of those party morons...except now they're politicians...who, somehow, joined the republican ticket...and they're using their platforms to define rape...specifically the 300,000 women who are raped each year in america...they don't mention the 93,000 men who are raped or the 248,000 sexual assaults that happen each year...they also discount the 9.2% of american children who're sexually abused each year...all they seem to be focused on are young women who dare to go for a drink after work...
...something about the way these politicians classify rape makes me feel like they're a little too intimate with the knowledge of each category they work to define...it's like they want to talk about it so they can punch each other in the arms and assure themselves there's not a former co-ed somewhere who didn't press charges when their date got out of hand...
...no one at the party would've voted that moron into public office...
...it's been thirteen years since those days, yet each time i turn on the television or read an article online i'm faced with older versions of those party morons...except now they're politicians...who, somehow, joined the republican ticket...and they're using their platforms to define rape...specifically the 300,000 women who are raped each year in america...they don't mention the 93,000 men who are raped or the 248,000 sexual assaults that happen each year...they also discount the 9.2% of american children who're sexually abused each year...all they seem to be focused on are young women who dare to go for a drink after work...
...something about the way these politicians classify rape makes me feel like they're a little too intimate with the knowledge of each category they work to define...it's like they want to talk about it so they can punch each other in the arms and assure themselves there's not a former co-ed somewhere who didn't press charges when their date got out of hand...
 |
| ...qualifying rape is like qualifying paralysis--it's done, it's damaging...the how is not the issue...here's the issue: we live in a culture where over-confident politicians are quick to victimize and justify the aggressor...they're sickening...and frightening... |
...my ears burn each time i hear "rape" presumably because i'm a woman, complicated by the fact that my father was a serial rapist...i come to the defense of victimized women and live with the very real fear that i--or one of my relatives--could be raped...it's a fate worse than death to live with the anger, fear, frustration, and shame that are part of the aftermath of rape...and our culture treats raped women like pariahs or side show attractions, as if rape weren't so common that five women will be violated in the time it takes to read this blog...
 |
| ...there's a basic principle my daughter puts into practice in her pre-k class...each day she's encouraged to "make good choices"...many male politicians are rushing to classify, qualify, and justify a rapist's poor, hateful choice... |
...instead of qualifying rape, politicians should recognize the real problem: we live in a rape culture...i'm sure i don't need to remind anyone of the Sabine women, of the rush of "civilized cultures" to rape their way into power...our country was founded on the rape of land...we continue to rape the earth of her natural resources and call it "survival"...if rape wasn't so ingrained in our culture there'd be no reason to flood college campuses with emergency call boxes and rape defense courses...i wouldn't live in a world where, just last night as i walked to my car through the campus parking lot, i found myself in-step with another woman who held her keys in her fist...when i smiled and acknowledge her weapon she shrugged and said, "never can be too careful"...we struck up a conversation all the way to our cars...strength in numbers, though we didn't say it...
...in the cases where a pregnancy is the result of the rape, women under a republican regime may soon be treated even more unjustly...25,000 rapes result in pregnancy each year, and party-going morons are attempting to take away what little control traumatized women have over their damaged bodies...they'd like to kibosh the right to a safe medical procedure (except in the fictional cases listed above)...
...when i was in second grade i found the old OED in a musty back corner of my small town's one-room library...i opened it and looked for the word that had come to dominate my household for months...the definition was clear: "the unlawful compelling of a person through physical force or duress to have sexual intercourse"...the large book went on to define rape as "any act of sexual intercourse that is forced upon a person"...even in fourth grade i knew what rape wasn't...
...i encourage you all to read more about rape culture AND VOTE AGAINST IT...here are some links to get you started:
10.18.2012
Kill the Babies: Why Everyone Should Participate in a Writers' Workshop
...i contemplated the passion, and then the sanity, of this woman...if it was her intention that her students all get along to do their work, i'd have to tell her she's wasting her good screaming voice...grown ups don't have to get along, or even be friends, to work together...i learned that lesson in the fourth grade when i was paired with a semi-conscious classmate on a "Spaniards of the California Coast" diorama project...she smelled of brie, did none of the writing or reading, but she owned clay and made kick-ass fleets and conquistadors...i never hung out with her at lunch, never traded allegiances on the playground...we didn't get along, never spoke of my little ponies or barbies, we just mapped out stolen gold and catholic missions...i avoided the smelly girl--who flashed her privates to boys at the bus stop and lived in the swankiest house in town--in part because she frightened me, and in part because she was just smelly...i don't even remember the mouth-breather's name...but i remember that project, the fact that for two weeks she and i had to spend an hour after school working together to finish our diorama...we both knew our report cards were at stake, and we got the job done...the project earned an A...
...in writing workshops, some fifteen years later, i finally realized the value of the smelly girl...i could actually work with someone--give praise and criticism--even if i didn't know them, didn't like them, or we didn't get along...we had something in common, and we were working together to get it...there were plenty of bozos in those classes--they let me in, after all--people who took themselves too seriously, or not seriously enough...people i envied whose work was excellent, complete, publishable...people i despised whose work was weak, half-assed and a waste of time...
...one semester in graduate school, as i was making notes on one man's story--a man who reminded me so much of the smelly girl, i could almost picture her brie face--i gave him some praise for a string of words i still remember...i couldn't stand this guy...he'd nearly sexually assaulted a friend of mine, was skating by on a fellowship, and spent his time composing long emails to the graduate class and drinking at local bars...i was working full time, busting my ass just to keep up...he was everything i despised about the world, yet there i was giving him a solid...i could've really let into him, how worthless i thought he was...but the story was a good one...i didn't want to be left in a room alone with the guy, but as far as the workshop went, i had constructive criticism to give...
...writing workshops should be made a core requirement of all high school and/or college curricula...nothing is more humbling than turning over your golden baby to a room full of meat-depraved hell hounds, and having that child ripped to shreds...workshop criticism is a daily reminder of a few key principles of adulthood, which if learned early enough, would keep college professors from becoming wild-eyed, screaming monsters...
- you are not the center of the universe--the world doesn't revolve around your time table
- no one can read your mind no matter how much you will it--if it's not on the page, it doesn't exist, thus the project fails
- everyone has somewhere better to be--if you're not compelling, people lose interest
- you are not your work, no matter the genre--at the end of the day you're a person, and your writing is your writing (see Barthes and Derrida, et. al.)
...on the first day of writing workshop, and then every so often during the course of our time together, i tell my students we're in workshop to improve our writing, not to make friends...it's not about groupies or who's more popular, it's about writing the right words, helping along someone who has a glimmer of talent but is too cocky, too lazy, or otherwise falling short of that talent...i encourage them to kill each others' babies...to do it often...to give praise where it's due..to grow a thick skin...
...that's what adulthood is about too...growing calluses so the mouth-breathers, the wild-eyed, the self-assured, just graze the surface...adults don't have to get along with the people around them to complete a task...most adults don't have time to like everyone they encounter...they're too busy hating the world...
...if all students had to complete a year or two of writing workshops they wouldn't be driving their frazzled literature professors insane with their inabilities to just get along...they'd be grown-ups...
10.16.2012
Skinny Jeans?
...i knew i wanted to buy ellie black jeans because she already had two pair of bootcut blue jeans, but since i'd never purchased a pair of jeans for her at an actual old navy store--i get them at goodwill--i didn't realize there were so many styles to choose from...straight, flare, boot, skinny, slim...an entire wall of denim...an avalanche...i climbed the ladder to the top shelf and snatched a pair of size 5 skinny jeans and turned to my shopping companion, my hip sister-in-law..."do you think ellie would wear these?"
"jack loves his" she told me, referring to my nephew who is only a couple of years older than my daughter...
...with this endorsement, and since ellie loves leggings and tights, i bought the pants...and today sent her off to school in them...
...the popular style of pant when i was growing up in the eighties was tapered jeans...we'd fold over the narrow end, roll them, and scrunch two pairs of socks between the cuff and our vans...yep, that was fashion...but as i got older, i realized a big-butted girl like myself looked like an upside-down triangle in any pants...no need to accentuate the negative with tight denim...bootcut and wide leg pants became--and remain--my bffs...likewise, my husband prefers baggy levis called relaxed fit...we don't have the time or energy to squeeze ourselves into anything form fitting...
...i first noticed young men wearing peter pan jeggings in my writing classes...i usually don't pay attention to what my students wear, but when they sag them below their asses and bunch the tight cuffs at the ankle, i tend to raise an eyebrow...i never noticed my nephew wearing these pants, but when we returned from our shopping trip, sure enough, his jeans were tight from the ankle to above his navel (he likes to pull them up high)...and his father wore a similar pair...neither one of them sagged them, but they cut silhouettes like eggs on toothpicks...
...i pulled the new jeans from a bag and showed them to ellie who said "those look likes tights" and squealed with delight...
...last night we went through her drawers and found a t-shirt and sweater for her to wear with her new tight pants...they were similarly tight-fitting, so she wouldn't look like a box atop a straw...for some reason, i have an obsession with symmetry...large objects on the bottom, smaller--thinner--on the top...after she'd gone to sleep, i sat in the living room with adam and said, "when guys wear those jeans, where do they put their junk?"
"what?"
"skinny jeans...when guys wear them, how do they situate themselves...they're like tights...where would you put it if you were wearing tights?"
"it's malleable, so it would" he shrugged "adjust"
"but wouldn't that be uncomfortable? rubbing against tight pants all day long?"
"how would i know? i don't wear them"
...we were watching a baseball game and i said, "the only men who should wear tight pants are football players...it makes them aerodynamic...and even baseball players' pants aren't that tight anymore...and they wear cups to keep themselves in place"
"isn't it just a trend?"
"but how did it get that way? what man saw a woman wearing tight pants and thought 'i want to wear those'?"
...adam had been trying hard not to laugh at how earnest i was being, but he couldn't hold it in anymore and he started rolling...
"i'm serious"
"i know" he said "that's what makes this so damned bizarre...why do you even care?"
"it just seems feminine...i'm all into bending, hell breaking gender roles, but this seems wrong somehow...i mean, if a guy is going to wear those pants he should don eyeliner, nail polish, and a guitar...and they should be leather"
"the guitars?"
"ha ha"
"maybe they just want to be in fashion"
...thinking back to my own cuffed pants and doubled socks, i decided to stop while i was ahead...but then i saw skinny jeans everywhere...in budweiser commercials, reruns of law and order, the opening sequence of boardwalk empire...am i the only person in the world who thinks steve buscemi looks like he's wearing clown shoes and a wooden promotional sign over his suit jacket as he walks up the beach?
...maybe it's my own self-consciousness over my large hips and calves...maybe i'm just jealous of tweens who can pull off tight pants and knee-high boots...maybe i just want my husband to have a little more style and show off his junk...but these skinny jeans just don't sit well with me...
...in my middle school years the style suddenly went grunge...jeans were ripped and loose overnight...i begged for a pair of distressed jeans...my grandmother's solution was to rip up a pair of second-hand jeans and in each hole sew a different color lace...while my trendy cousin wore doc martens, hip flannel and ripped jeans that flashed skin, my own pants sported pastels i was forced to pair with a collared shirt and keds...
...when i dropped off ellie this morning, i couldn't help but notice how cute she looked...if a little boy wanted to emulate her style, so be it...maybe now i can concentrate on the real problems that come with my daughter's growing up...
"jack loves his" she told me, referring to my nephew who is only a couple of years older than my daughter...
...with this endorsement, and since ellie loves leggings and tights, i bought the pants...and today sent her off to school in them...
...the popular style of pant when i was growing up in the eighties was tapered jeans...we'd fold over the narrow end, roll them, and scrunch two pairs of socks between the cuff and our vans...yep, that was fashion...but as i got older, i realized a big-butted girl like myself looked like an upside-down triangle in any pants...no need to accentuate the negative with tight denim...bootcut and wide leg pants became--and remain--my bffs...likewise, my husband prefers baggy levis called relaxed fit...we don't have the time or energy to squeeze ourselves into anything form fitting...
...i first noticed young men wearing peter pan jeggings in my writing classes...i usually don't pay attention to what my students wear, but when they sag them below their asses and bunch the tight cuffs at the ankle, i tend to raise an eyebrow...i never noticed my nephew wearing these pants, but when we returned from our shopping trip, sure enough, his jeans were tight from the ankle to above his navel (he likes to pull them up high)...and his father wore a similar pair...neither one of them sagged them, but they cut silhouettes like eggs on toothpicks...
...i pulled the new jeans from a bag and showed them to ellie who said "those look likes tights" and squealed with delight...
...last night we went through her drawers and found a t-shirt and sweater for her to wear with her new tight pants...they were similarly tight-fitting, so she wouldn't look like a box atop a straw...for some reason, i have an obsession with symmetry...large objects on the bottom, smaller--thinner--on the top...after she'd gone to sleep, i sat in the living room with adam and said, "when guys wear those jeans, where do they put their junk?"
"what?"
"skinny jeans...when guys wear them, how do they situate themselves...they're like tights...where would you put it if you were wearing tights?"
"it's malleable, so it would" he shrugged "adjust"
"but wouldn't that be uncomfortable? rubbing against tight pants all day long?"
"how would i know? i don't wear them"
...we were watching a baseball game and i said, "the only men who should wear tight pants are football players...it makes them aerodynamic...and even baseball players' pants aren't that tight anymore...and they wear cups to keep themselves in place"
"isn't it just a trend?"
"but how did it get that way? what man saw a woman wearing tight pants and thought 'i want to wear those'?"
...adam had been trying hard not to laugh at how earnest i was being, but he couldn't hold it in anymore and he started rolling...
"i'm serious"
"i know" he said "that's what makes this so damned bizarre...why do you even care?"
"it just seems feminine...i'm all into bending, hell breaking gender roles, but this seems wrong somehow...i mean, if a guy is going to wear those pants he should don eyeliner, nail polish, and a guitar...and they should be leather"
"the guitars?"
"ha ha"
"maybe they just want to be in fashion"
...thinking back to my own cuffed pants and doubled socks, i decided to stop while i was ahead...but then i saw skinny jeans everywhere...in budweiser commercials, reruns of law and order, the opening sequence of boardwalk empire...am i the only person in the world who thinks steve buscemi looks like he's wearing clown shoes and a wooden promotional sign over his suit jacket as he walks up the beach?...maybe it's my own self-consciousness over my large hips and calves...maybe i'm just jealous of tweens who can pull off tight pants and knee-high boots...maybe i just want my husband to have a little more style and show off his junk...but these skinny jeans just don't sit well with me...
...in my middle school years the style suddenly went grunge...jeans were ripped and loose overnight...i begged for a pair of distressed jeans...my grandmother's solution was to rip up a pair of second-hand jeans and in each hole sew a different color lace...while my trendy cousin wore doc martens, hip flannel and ripped jeans that flashed skin, my own pants sported pastels i was forced to pair with a collared shirt and keds...
...when i dropped off ellie this morning, i couldn't help but notice how cute she looked...if a little boy wanted to emulate her style, so be it...maybe now i can concentrate on the real problems that come with my daughter's growing up...
10.09.2012
Open Letter #6
dear Redneck Neighbor
...it's that time of year again--fall...a time when i winterize my yard, cover all those bulbs and roots with pine straw, put out the pumpkins, and watch the leaves turn yellow and red...it's also a presidential election year...time to vote for the lesser of two evils...i can't wait to flex my political muscles at the polls, and even though we seem to differ on all matters lawn-related, it's refreshing to see that you too are gearing up for the election:
...i can't help but notice your choice of candidate...
...correct me if i'm wrong, but there are three government-funded programs your ticket is vowing to abolish in which you've participated:
1. rehabilitation--after your stint in jail, you spent some time in a rehab...on my tax dime...and yet i, unlike your candidate, have chosen not to kick these sorts of programs to the curb...
2. welfare--you work part-time, your sister doesn't work, your mother hasn't left for work in weeks...you're managing to feed three adults and five or six kids how? i did notice the small ponies missing from the back yard...if you slaughtered them last tuesday they may be starting to turn...
3. child heath care--that Peach Care program that covers all five or six of your kids? yeah, hug a democrat
...maybe my list reveals more about my prejudice towards your party than it does about your actual ticket...mostly, when i hear the term "republican" i think of rich men and women--him, with a bad fake tan, her with bleached-blonde hair--who pay illegal immigrants to do what working-class americans once did--gardening, domestic help--who "play" the stock market as if they're sitting at a poker table, send their kids to private school where learning is a side-effect of networking, and are generally people who lack integrity and humility...
...sure these are extremes...i hate extremes...especially when extremists are manipulated to represent an entire group...you know, the way your vp candidate associated gun violence with inner cities...so...republicans are probably, for the most part, just ordinary folks who happen to vote for rich-white-old-men over and over...who see something they like and go for it...like that candy bar in the check-out line...but if you eat too many candy bars at once, you'll hurl...that's the candy bar's job--to be a tempting indulgence that will eventually make you fat and sick...just like republicans...
...there's a chance you are the new face of the republican party...have you written to them? maybe they'd race right over to interview an ex-con whose done a stint in rehab, is raising five or six kids on her own, and, instead of defaulting on a mortgage on a larger home, has converted the garage into more rooms to suit such a large occupancy...seriously, you could be mentioned in the next debate...the only caveat i'd add: take a cue from your ticket and hire that illegal gardener...really...
..i see a choice between two rich candidates as no choice at all...and if we're talking about degrees of evil in democracy then there's a problem much larger than this election...it'll take more than a sign plopped into six months of front yard growth to solve it...
...but before you start to adorn your vehicles with romney/ryan stickers, i'd ask you to do some poking around and read up on your ticket's real agenda...surely you don't fit into that 47% of americans romney was talking about a month ago--you pay your taxes, are doing everything you can to advance yourself and your children--but that doesn't mean you're among the 53% he actually thinks he represents...
sincerely,
your neighbor who really, honestly, hopes you'll do the math...
...it's that time of year again--fall...a time when i winterize my yard, cover all those bulbs and roots with pine straw, put out the pumpkins, and watch the leaves turn yellow and red...it's also a presidential election year...time to vote for the lesser of two evils...i can't wait to flex my political muscles at the polls, and even though we seem to differ on all matters lawn-related, it's refreshing to see that you too are gearing up for the election:
 |
| ...i had to stomp down some grass and push aside the dying branches of the knockout roses to get a good picture...the fact that this sign is in this yard is enough to keep me voting the other way for years... |
...correct me if i'm wrong, but there are three government-funded programs your ticket is vowing to abolish in which you've participated:
1. rehabilitation--after your stint in jail, you spent some time in a rehab...on my tax dime...and yet i, unlike your candidate, have chosen not to kick these sorts of programs to the curb...
2. welfare--you work part-time, your sister doesn't work, your mother hasn't left for work in weeks...you're managing to feed three adults and five or six kids how? i did notice the small ponies missing from the back yard...if you slaughtered them last tuesday they may be starting to turn...
3. child heath care--that Peach Care program that covers all five or six of your kids? yeah, hug a democrat
...maybe my list reveals more about my prejudice towards your party than it does about your actual ticket...mostly, when i hear the term "republican" i think of rich men and women--him, with a bad fake tan, her with bleached-blonde hair--who pay illegal immigrants to do what working-class americans once did--gardening, domestic help--who "play" the stock market as if they're sitting at a poker table, send their kids to private school where learning is a side-effect of networking, and are generally people who lack integrity and humility...
...sure these are extremes...i hate extremes...especially when extremists are manipulated to represent an entire group...you know, the way your vp candidate associated gun violence with inner cities...so...republicans are probably, for the most part, just ordinary folks who happen to vote for rich-white-old-men over and over...who see something they like and go for it...like that candy bar in the check-out line...but if you eat too many candy bars at once, you'll hurl...that's the candy bar's job--to be a tempting indulgence that will eventually make you fat and sick...just like republicans...
...there's a chance you are the new face of the republican party...have you written to them? maybe they'd race right over to interview an ex-con whose done a stint in rehab, is raising five or six kids on her own, and, instead of defaulting on a mortgage on a larger home, has converted the garage into more rooms to suit such a large occupancy...seriously, you could be mentioned in the next debate...the only caveat i'd add: take a cue from your ticket and hire that illegal gardener...really...
..i see a choice between two rich candidates as no choice at all...and if we're talking about degrees of evil in democracy then there's a problem much larger than this election...it'll take more than a sign plopped into six months of front yard growth to solve it...
...but before you start to adorn your vehicles with romney/ryan stickers, i'd ask you to do some poking around and read up on your ticket's real agenda...surely you don't fit into that 47% of americans romney was talking about a month ago--you pay your taxes, are doing everything you can to advance yourself and your children--but that doesn't mean you're among the 53% he actually thinks he represents...
sincerely,
your neighbor who really, honestly, hopes you'll do the math...
10.04.2012
"You Can't Write About This in an Essay"
"I remind him profanely of his family and tell him I will search them out and write about them badly."
Barry Hannah, "Bats Out of Hell Division"
...a few years ago, i was friends with a woman a decade my senior who, every time she spoke, would preface or end her musings with the phrase, "You can't write about this in an essay." soon, each time we spoke--about her cats, her affairs with subordinates at work, her pampered childhood--she became increasingly anxious and had to repeat the phrase "You can't write about this in an essay" a few times...
...eventually, i did mention her in an essay, in an attempt to point out how desperately different i was from most women in the southern united states, or at least how different i was from her...she was her parents' only little jelly bean, who hadn't worked a real job until she was forty, and still asked her father for advice on most matters...she loved the essay so much she even attended a conference with me and sat in the audience as i read it...i don't think she ever got the irony...
...as i get it now...
...i'm no longer friends with this woman...the constant nagging about not writing about her led me to continually think--and now i wish i'd said--you're not that interesting...nothing of any significance has ever happened to you...you're an upper-class, southern, white woman who votes for the republican party...i don't need to write an essay about you...flannery o'connor and william faulkner pretty much covered your demographic and you're proof positive not much has changed...when i told another friend about this continual nagging, she offered this insight, "She probably wants you to write about her and is upset that you aren't. She wants you to make her interesting."
...Lee Gutkind (the "Godfather" of creative nonfiction) says the first rule of writing cnf is "Don't make stuff up"...in his essay What is Creative Nonfiction? he writes, "The word 'creative' refers simply to the use of literary craft in presenting nonfiction—that is, factually accurate prose about real people and events—in a compelling, vivid manner. To put it another way, creative nonfiction writers do not make things up; they make ideas and information that already exists more interesting and, often, more accessible" ...if it's true that my former debutante friend wanted me to make her more interesting, i'd have to lie, breaking rule #1...afterward, to maintain the lie, i'd have to stray from the very formula Gutkind describes...i couldn't maintain a friendship with someone who expected me to compromise my craft...i couldn't perform the literary miracle of making her interesting...thus, our relationship deteriorated...
...the few times i subsequently interacted with her, she acted odd, out of sorts, flighty, and downright insane--it was clear to me and those around her she was having a mental breakdown...ironically, she became more interesting the less we had anything to do with one another...with a year or two to reflect on our relationship, i mentioned her a few times in my writing...and she accused me of being a liar...for five years she'd preempted every conversation we'd had by saying "You can't write about this in an essay" because she assumed i'd be revealing some interesting truth about her boring life...but when i finally do tell the truth about her interesting life, i'd become a liar, someone who had to fabricate, to make stuff up, just to fill empty pages...i could understand her anger if i'd written about her badly, if the sentences weren't eloquent, if the diction left her wanting...but my phrases were so spot on, several people told me how much they'd enjoyed them...no, what upset her was the truth-telling...the fact that there are truths we tell ourselves, and then there are truths everyone sees...
...i've been meditating on the "ethics" of cnf, what lines i'm willing and unwilling to cross...most people think my life is an open book, that i have no filter, that i write about anything and everything that happens to me, the people around me...not true...i leave out plenty...there are currently seven familial dramas unfolding in my life and i've purposely avoided writing about them...even in the memoir i'm working on i've left out details i recognize to be painful to the people involved...
...Lynn Z. Bloom, in her incredible essay Living to Tell the Tale: The Complicated Ethics of Creative Nonfiction, says, "Children who know the family secrets also understand the family taboos" ...as a child i lived a tangle of secrets, deceptions, and half-truths...it's become ingrained in me to understand what makes for inappropriate, insignificant, or downright wrong subject matter...there are forbidden dances, dark corners to avoid...some things we just don't discuss...
...Bloom goes on to say, "I write for the usual reasons writers write about anything important: to get at the truth; to make sense of things that don't make sense; to set the record straight; to tell a good story"...it's a mantra passed down from Didion, from Capote, from Tom Wolfe...at the crux of it, though, is the idea of importance...if something is worthy of being written about, it will be...
...i see my writer's brain as a pressure cooker...lots of things go in...they mix with other things--memories, events, facts--and eventually the cooker starts to whistle, the steam rises and forms some piece of writing...it takes time, more than anything...making those connections, realizing the implications, forming the sentence, the paragraph, the page, into a truth-revealing story...avoiding judgement and attaining objectivity takes self-control and a certain amount of distance...
...the reflection necessary for a quality piece of cnf is at the heart of what i do...which is why i hardly ever write about the heavy dramas immediately unfolding in my life...i have to be able to look back on them with something i've learned...i have to wait for wounds to scar, for dark corners to be illuminated...then, as delicately as i can, i begin...
Barry Hannah, "Bats Out of Hell Division"
...a few years ago, i was friends with a woman a decade my senior who, every time she spoke, would preface or end her musings with the phrase, "You can't write about this in an essay." soon, each time we spoke--about her cats, her affairs with subordinates at work, her pampered childhood--she became increasingly anxious and had to repeat the phrase "You can't write about this in an essay" a few times...
...eventually, i did mention her in an essay, in an attempt to point out how desperately different i was from most women in the southern united states, or at least how different i was from her...she was her parents' only little jelly bean, who hadn't worked a real job until she was forty, and still asked her father for advice on most matters...she loved the essay so much she even attended a conference with me and sat in the audience as i read it...i don't think she ever got the irony...
...as i get it now...
...i'm no longer friends with this woman...the constant nagging about not writing about her led me to continually think--and now i wish i'd said--you're not that interesting...nothing of any significance has ever happened to you...you're an upper-class, southern, white woman who votes for the republican party...i don't need to write an essay about you...flannery o'connor and william faulkner pretty much covered your demographic and you're proof positive not much has changed...when i told another friend about this continual nagging, she offered this insight, "She probably wants you to write about her and is upset that you aren't. She wants you to make her interesting."
...Lee Gutkind (the "Godfather" of creative nonfiction) says the first rule of writing cnf is "Don't make stuff up"...in his essay What is Creative Nonfiction? he writes, "The word 'creative' refers simply to the use of literary craft in presenting nonfiction—that is, factually accurate prose about real people and events—in a compelling, vivid manner. To put it another way, creative nonfiction writers do not make things up; they make ideas and information that already exists more interesting and, often, more accessible" ...if it's true that my former debutante friend wanted me to make her more interesting, i'd have to lie, breaking rule #1...afterward, to maintain the lie, i'd have to stray from the very formula Gutkind describes...i couldn't maintain a friendship with someone who expected me to compromise my craft...i couldn't perform the literary miracle of making her interesting...thus, our relationship deteriorated...
...the few times i subsequently interacted with her, she acted odd, out of sorts, flighty, and downright insane--it was clear to me and those around her she was having a mental breakdown...ironically, she became more interesting the less we had anything to do with one another...with a year or two to reflect on our relationship, i mentioned her a few times in my writing...and she accused me of being a liar...for five years she'd preempted every conversation we'd had by saying "You can't write about this in an essay" because she assumed i'd be revealing some interesting truth about her boring life...but when i finally do tell the truth about her interesting life, i'd become a liar, someone who had to fabricate, to make stuff up, just to fill empty pages...i could understand her anger if i'd written about her badly, if the sentences weren't eloquent, if the diction left her wanting...but my phrases were so spot on, several people told me how much they'd enjoyed them...no, what upset her was the truth-telling...the fact that there are truths we tell ourselves, and then there are truths everyone sees...
...i've been meditating on the "ethics" of cnf, what lines i'm willing and unwilling to cross...most people think my life is an open book, that i have no filter, that i write about anything and everything that happens to me, the people around me...not true...i leave out plenty...there are currently seven familial dramas unfolding in my life and i've purposely avoided writing about them...even in the memoir i'm working on i've left out details i recognize to be painful to the people involved...
...Lynn Z. Bloom, in her incredible essay Living to Tell the Tale: The Complicated Ethics of Creative Nonfiction, says, "Children who know the family secrets also understand the family taboos" ...as a child i lived a tangle of secrets, deceptions, and half-truths...it's become ingrained in me to understand what makes for inappropriate, insignificant, or downright wrong subject matter...there are forbidden dances, dark corners to avoid...some things we just don't discuss...
...Bloom goes on to say, "I write for the usual reasons writers write about anything important: to get at the truth; to make sense of things that don't make sense; to set the record straight; to tell a good story"...it's a mantra passed down from Didion, from Capote, from Tom Wolfe...at the crux of it, though, is the idea of importance...if something is worthy of being written about, it will be...
...i see my writer's brain as a pressure cooker...lots of things go in...they mix with other things--memories, events, facts--and eventually the cooker starts to whistle, the steam rises and forms some piece of writing...it takes time, more than anything...making those connections, realizing the implications, forming the sentence, the paragraph, the page, into a truth-revealing story...avoiding judgement and attaining objectivity takes self-control and a certain amount of distance...
...the reflection necessary for a quality piece of cnf is at the heart of what i do...which is why i hardly ever write about the heavy dramas immediately unfolding in my life...i have to be able to look back on them with something i've learned...i have to wait for wounds to scar, for dark corners to be illuminated...then, as delicately as i can, i begin...
10.02.2012
Rules for My Future Self
...i'm still high on the fumes of the SWWC...i've reached the last stretch of the memoir-in-progress...the manuscript currently tips the scales at 406 pages and my outline calls for at least three more chapters...yes, the time i spent in Rome was well-spent...
...the camaraderie of other women writers--different ages, backgrounds, cultures, and religions (yes, they weren't all born and raised southern baptists)--has lead me to ponder the type of woman i want to be in my late-30's and 40's...i've had some pretty bad role models when it comes to this demographic...especially after last year's debacle with a 40 something woman whose actions convinced me all women in their 40's were spoiled little girls who played at being demure but were really evil, manipulative, barren she-cats...i'm so elated to have my faith in womanhood, in sisterhood, restored...
...still on that high, and in the spirit of Gretchen Rubin's "Rules for Adulthood" (if you haven't read The Happiness Project, do yourself a favor, get a copy and start your own Project), i've come up with a list of rules for my future self...
Rules for My Forties
1. Continue to dye your hair and use face cream: though face-lifts are not en vogue among the writing community, neither is looking your age...this goes out of fashion somewhere around age 16...you want people to see the vitality you carry on the inside, so project it on the outside
2. Continue to garden, though ask for gardening advice sparingly: if you're in your forties and don't know how to care for the lawn, plant flowers appropriate to the environment, or winterize your shrubs, you're just plain pathetic
3. When surrounded by women who're smarter, prettier, or more talented than you--and there will be many many many---remember to swallow your jealousy and value their words and opinions, refuse to judge them, and embrace the new ideas they present...no matter how naive they may seem, they've gotten to where they are for a reason
4. Be sure to keep your patronizing comments in check: you won't know, nor could you possibly comprehend, the experiences of other people, but experience has taught you that those who consider themselves superior--and constantly voice that superiority--are usually the most character-poor people in the world
5. Quit taking in cats: having 1, 2, or 3 is okay, but when your house is occupied by more four-legged creatures than two-legged it's time to reevaluate your grasp on reality
6. If you find yourself longing for your misspent youth, instead of attending a NIN concert, call someone who knew you during your twenties and have a good laugh about yourself
7. Love your child: hug, kiss, tickle, praise...that's your legacy at the end of this crazy road...the days are long, but the years are short (thanks, GR)
8. When you get down on yourself--there will be many many many of these days--look to yourself for happiness instead of lashing out at the women in #3
9. Do one thing each day you've never done before: getting caught in a routine is not only dangerous to the people around you who'll bear the brunt of your stagnation, it's downright boring...what will you write about if you just quit living?
10. Dress appropriately...and by this i mean, don't dress as if you're a decade older than you are...reserve the kitten heeled pumps and tulip skirts for a time (maybe in your seventies) when you want to look like you're on your way to a bridge tourney
...the camaraderie of other women writers--different ages, backgrounds, cultures, and religions (yes, they weren't all born and raised southern baptists)--has lead me to ponder the type of woman i want to be in my late-30's and 40's...i've had some pretty bad role models when it comes to this demographic...especially after last year's debacle with a 40 something woman whose actions convinced me all women in their 40's were spoiled little girls who played at being demure but were really evil, manipulative, barren she-cats...i'm so elated to have my faith in womanhood, in sisterhood, restored...
...still on that high, and in the spirit of Gretchen Rubin's "Rules for Adulthood" (if you haven't read The Happiness Project, do yourself a favor, get a copy and start your own Project), i've come up with a list of rules for my future self...
Rules for My Forties
1. Continue to dye your hair and use face cream: though face-lifts are not en vogue among the writing community, neither is looking your age...this goes out of fashion somewhere around age 16...you want people to see the vitality you carry on the inside, so project it on the outside
2. Continue to garden, though ask for gardening advice sparingly: if you're in your forties and don't know how to care for the lawn, plant flowers appropriate to the environment, or winterize your shrubs, you're just plain pathetic
3. When surrounded by women who're smarter, prettier, or more talented than you--and there will be many many many---remember to swallow your jealousy and value their words and opinions, refuse to judge them, and embrace the new ideas they present...no matter how naive they may seem, they've gotten to where they are for a reason
4. Be sure to keep your patronizing comments in check: you won't know, nor could you possibly comprehend, the experiences of other people, but experience has taught you that those who consider themselves superior--and constantly voice that superiority--are usually the most character-poor people in the world
5. Quit taking in cats: having 1, 2, or 3 is okay, but when your house is occupied by more four-legged creatures than two-legged it's time to reevaluate your grasp on reality
 |
here i am in my twenties with two college pals...
no, this was not a costume...
we actually thought we were cool in those overalls...
i'm hoping for better things as i mature (somewhat gracefully)...
|
7. Love your child: hug, kiss, tickle, praise...that's your legacy at the end of this crazy road...the days are long, but the years are short (thanks, GR)
8. When you get down on yourself--there will be many many many of these days--look to yourself for happiness instead of lashing out at the women in #3
9. Do one thing each day you've never done before: getting caught in a routine is not only dangerous to the people around you who'll bear the brunt of your stagnation, it's downright boring...what will you write about if you just quit living?
10. Dress appropriately...and by this i mean, don't dress as if you're a decade older than you are...reserve the kitten heeled pumps and tulip skirts for a time (maybe in your seventies) when you want to look like you're on your way to a bridge tourney
9.25.2012
She Rocks in the Treetop
...this is my brain on a writer's conference: i wrote 20 new pages for the book yesterday...i sat for 4 hours and worked, then spent another hour last night mapping out the final chapters, making notes to myself about how to improve the 20 pages i wrote, and getting psyched about editing the entire thing...my panel had a small, but attentive audience and was moderated by a wonderful psychology professor--Michelle Haney--who i'm sure was diagnosing my neuroses as i read...
...the feedback i got at the workshop on sunday morning was invaluable...Melissa Delbridge is not just a fierce writer, she's an amazing teacher...i needed a swift kick in the pants--way too many verbs of being (= lazy writing) and rhetorical questions (what was i thinking? whoops...there i go again)...she read a passage from my introduction and i actually cried...i'd never heard it in someone else's voice...and i couldn't help it...barry and tom would be so ashamed...i wanted to apologize afterward, but couldn't find her in the sea of writers at the final lunch where Dorothy Allison preached a sermon on writing...
...i had many refreshing and deep conversations about craft, life, faith...way too much to write here...but if you don't know these names, you need to find these women right now: Melody Moezzi, Lee Ann Pingel, Nancy Werking Poling, Alicia Clavell, Sandra Meek, Lynne Barrett, Deirdre Sugiuchi, and Caroline Young...
...i was sure to take notes, especially when someone said something so simple and yet so profound:
Barbara Hamby: "I have the attention span of a tennis ball."... "Put your writing first."
...her plenary talk was a huge dose of common-sense...she spoke, at one point, about having girlfriends who wanted to lunch once a week and it got to where all they did was talk about the same things and she found herself thinking she could be using that time to write...i'm at that point now...i'm so close to the end of the first draft, to getting into the editing process, that i feel like i need to hibernate for a while...she said her real friends understood, and those women who got offended weren't really her friends...
A. J. Meyhew: "Be persistent."
...here's a novelist who didn't publish her first book until she was in her seventies...her simple words reminded me of many of my friends from the MFA program who threw in the towel a few years after graduating...they were fresh voices with something to say and the world needed to hear them, but because they didn't get big magazine publications they gave up...
Josephine Humphreys: "Something can be salvaged out of a bad time."
...it was as if she was speaking just to me...she recalled quitting her teaching job to write...the enormous risk to self, family, friends this took...i left her talk knowing i'd done the right thing...
Melissa Delbridge: "Present the facts, then go a little deeper. Then present the facts and go a little deeper." ... "Creative non-fiction must answer one question: So What?" ... "Reflection is required."..."I've had enough good in my life."
...she blanketed me, and the other members of the workshop, in these words...she reminded us that at the end of the day, the words on the page are what matter, equally--if not more so--than the story...
Dorothy Allison: "I've always been writing to tell the story to the girl I'd been." ... "Grow an ego. Then break that ego down."
...my chair, at this final lunch talk, was directly in front of Ms. Allison, so i couldn't help but feel like a child in church, as if the preacher was looking and speaking directly to the dark parts of my soul...Berry College filmed her talk, and i'm hoping to find it on youtube and post it here...afterward, i told her my reaction: "All I could think was 'fuck.'" ... she laughed, her eyes sparkled, then she said, "So tell me what you're writing." ...such a gracious woman, and one of Americas most overlooked treasures...if you haven't read her, go to a bookstore immediately and buy everything with her name on it...
...again, i had to be reminded that authors are their own publicists...that even before we have books, essays, fiction, poetry published, we need an audience...we have to cultivate that audience and get our work out there...so i caved...i took the advice that was given to me directly...i started a twitter...with the caveat i will only be tweeting AFTER a full day of writing...so go ahead, follow me...tweetle deedlee deet...
...the feedback i got at the workshop on sunday morning was invaluable...Melissa Delbridge is not just a fierce writer, she's an amazing teacher...i needed a swift kick in the pants--way too many verbs of being (= lazy writing) and rhetorical questions (what was i thinking? whoops...there i go again)...she read a passage from my introduction and i actually cried...i'd never heard it in someone else's voice...and i couldn't help it...barry and tom would be so ashamed...i wanted to apologize afterward, but couldn't find her in the sea of writers at the final lunch where Dorothy Allison preached a sermon on writing...
...i had many refreshing and deep conversations about craft, life, faith...way too much to write here...but if you don't know these names, you need to find these women right now: Melody Moezzi, Lee Ann Pingel, Nancy Werking Poling, Alicia Clavell, Sandra Meek, Lynne Barrett, Deirdre Sugiuchi, and Caroline Young...
...i was sure to take notes, especially when someone said something so simple and yet so profound:
Barbara Hamby: "I have the attention span of a tennis ball."... "Put your writing first."
...her plenary talk was a huge dose of common-sense...she spoke, at one point, about having girlfriends who wanted to lunch once a week and it got to where all they did was talk about the same things and she found herself thinking she could be using that time to write...i'm at that point now...i'm so close to the end of the first draft, to getting into the editing process, that i feel like i need to hibernate for a while...she said her real friends understood, and those women who got offended weren't really her friends...
A. J. Meyhew: "Be persistent."
...here's a novelist who didn't publish her first book until she was in her seventies...her simple words reminded me of many of my friends from the MFA program who threw in the towel a few years after graduating...they were fresh voices with something to say and the world needed to hear them, but because they didn't get big magazine publications they gave up...
Josephine Humphreys: "Something can be salvaged out of a bad time."
...it was as if she was speaking just to me...she recalled quitting her teaching job to write...the enormous risk to self, family, friends this took...i left her talk knowing i'd done the right thing...
Melissa Delbridge: "Present the facts, then go a little deeper. Then present the facts and go a little deeper." ... "Creative non-fiction must answer one question: So What?" ... "Reflection is required."..."I've had enough good in my life."
...she blanketed me, and the other members of the workshop, in these words...she reminded us that at the end of the day, the words on the page are what matter, equally--if not more so--than the story...
Dorothy Allison: "I've always been writing to tell the story to the girl I'd been." ... "Grow an ego. Then break that ego down."
...my chair, at this final lunch talk, was directly in front of Ms. Allison, so i couldn't help but feel like a child in church, as if the preacher was looking and speaking directly to the dark parts of my soul...Berry College filmed her talk, and i'm hoping to find it on youtube and post it here...afterward, i told her my reaction: "All I could think was 'fuck.'" ... she laughed, her eyes sparkled, then she said, "So tell me what you're writing." ...such a gracious woman, and one of Americas most overlooked treasures...if you haven't read her, go to a bookstore immediately and buy everything with her name on it...
...again, i had to be reminded that authors are their own publicists...that even before we have books, essays, fiction, poetry published, we need an audience...we have to cultivate that audience and get our work out there...so i caved...i took the advice that was given to me directly...i started a twitter...with the caveat i will only be tweeting AFTER a full day of writing...so go ahead, follow me...tweetle deedlee deet...
9.18.2012
The Closest Thing to a Soul I'll Ever Have
...i'm heading to the Southern Women Writers Conference at Berry College at the end of the week...i'll be on a panel with other creative writers, reading from my memoir-in-progress, specifically the essay that started it all...on sunday, i'll be part of a workshop with a small group of other non-fiction writers and they'll have comments and feedback for the introduction to the entire book...i'm looking forward to this conference because it'll be the first time that i'll sit down with another group of non-fiction writers and discuss our writing, projects, and aspirations...
...i know it's easy to become dependent on the workshop environment, to constantly need or seek feedback, but there's a part of me--the part that's been without that environment for several years--that is elated to participate and eager to talk shop...
...i suppose it's the part of me that doesn't see writing as a hobby, something to fill my nights or to work on between jobs...it's the same part of me that sees writing as, in the end, difficult, challenging, painful and liberating...it's the closest thing to a soul i'll ever have...it'll be refreshing to be surrounded by a like-minded group of women who see writing as more than fun, a trite endeavor to please a circle of friends...
...that isn't to say that writing isn't "fun"...sure it is...but i hate that adjective...i tell my writing students it's vapid, meaningless, and what i consider fun (pushing pseudo-artistic wanna-be's, who're nearly senior citizens but still rely on Daddy for opinions and perspective, down several flights of stairs) is probably not their idea of fun (an evening of apple TV)...there's always a better word or phrase...like "bleeding on the page"--that's fun for me, opening my veins for the world to see...or "telling the truth"--really fun, especially when it's about me and Adam...or my favorite "making the memories sing"--it's so much fun when i capture the exact phrase of a moment that i gift myself with an m&m...
...so i'll be off on a "fun" four-day jaunt, surrounded by writers who enjoy bleeding for their craft...who seek truth in their art...who'll be singing their verses and the verses of others...
...wish me luck...
...i know it's easy to become dependent on the workshop environment, to constantly need or seek feedback, but there's a part of me--the part that's been without that environment for several years--that is elated to participate and eager to talk shop...
...i suppose it's the part of me that doesn't see writing as a hobby, something to fill my nights or to work on between jobs...it's the same part of me that sees writing as, in the end, difficult, challenging, painful and liberating...it's the closest thing to a soul i'll ever have...it'll be refreshing to be surrounded by a like-minded group of women who see writing as more than fun, a trite endeavor to please a circle of friends...
...that isn't to say that writing isn't "fun"...sure it is...but i hate that adjective...i tell my writing students it's vapid, meaningless, and what i consider fun (pushing pseudo-artistic wanna-be's, who're nearly senior citizens but still rely on Daddy for opinions and perspective, down several flights of stairs) is probably not their idea of fun (an evening of apple TV)...there's always a better word or phrase...like "bleeding on the page"--that's fun for me, opening my veins for the world to see...or "telling the truth"--really fun, especially when it's about me and Adam...or my favorite "making the memories sing"--it's so much fun when i capture the exact phrase of a moment that i gift myself with an m&m...
...so i'll be off on a "fun" four-day jaunt, surrounded by writers who enjoy bleeding for their craft...who seek truth in their art...who'll be singing their verses and the verses of others...
...wish me luck...
9.14.2012
I Love Adam Because if he Died I'd be Shooting Heroin or Sacrificing our Daughter During the Zombie Apocalypse
...so here's the thing: the universe loves me...maybe not really, but since i found out that Mrs. Patrick Swayze is giving a public talk on the MSC campus next month, i've decided to believe that the universe has magnanimously shined upon me...
...perhaps i've already written about my pre-teen love affair with Patrick Swayze, my obsession with North and South and all things Dirty Dancing (yes, i own both soundtracks and the live concert DVD)...i've seen every movie he ever made...my 62-year-old grandma took me to see Road House in the theater...in my childhood reverie, i convinced myself i would one day marry him...
...when he died, i mourned...even though it had been 20 years since i'd gotten the stock 8x10 photo with his (somewhat speculative) personalized message...
..i get a go-get-the-straight-jacket feeling knowing i want to listen to Mrs. Patrick Swayze recount the last years of my childhood obsession's life...but i can't keep myself away...not only does the program promise to be about one of my favorite topics--death--it combines my other passion--pretending i'm a celebrity's secret wife...
...but the real reason i'm not going to miss it is that Mrs. Patrick Swayze is going to recount surviving the disintegration of the man she loved for 34 years...it's taken 8 years of marriage for me to reach a point where i actively fear my husband's death...a good friend of mine almost lost her husband this year and the panic that ensued from her experience nearly crushed me...i thank the universe daily for Adam, even on days he's so contrary i want to drown him in a pool of his own spit...
...when he's snoring next to me at 2am or wakes me in the middle of the night because i'm sleeping entwined with him, i have a moment of flash-forward where i see myself as an old woman with sagging titties and no bed partner...i glimpse myself in a quiet house, no guitar strumming, no recliner in the living room...and when the aaahhhh moment passes, that permanence freezes me, fear creeps in under the covers, and i want to hold Adam so close i can't tell where one of stops and the other begins...
...then i send a request out into the universe that goes like this: please let the zombies eat me first during their inevitable apocalypse...if they don't, i'll kill my own child rather than have her eaten and spend the final moments of my own life hopelessly running in circles
...then i calm down and get serious: i ask just to die first...i know that i could never survive very long without Adam...even if he dropped tomorrow...i'd be a complete train wreck, Ellie would have to raise herself because i'd be too busy hiding, crying, and otherwise thrashing against circumstance...child services would inevitably intervene...she'd end up living with one of my sisters...i'd turn to heroin, maybe even a little cocaine...eventually i'd fade off the grid, my child's life ruined, my husband dead...
...so, universe, while you're feeling magnanimous, please please please take me first...
...perhaps i've already written about my pre-teen love affair with Patrick Swayze, my obsession with North and South and all things Dirty Dancing (yes, i own both soundtracks and the live concert DVD)...i've seen every movie he ever made...my 62-year-old grandma took me to see Road House in the theater...in my childhood reverie, i convinced myself i would one day marry him...
...when he died, i mourned...even though it had been 20 years since i'd gotten the stock 8x10 photo with his (somewhat speculative) personalized message...
 |
the photo i got in the eighth grade from Mrs. Anderson,
my PE teacher who knew the Swayze's veterinarian,
and who passed along the 4-page letter i'd written
(in green ink) where i told Patrick Swayze all about
my obsession with him, including my desire to waltz
with him in my garage...the photo is signed "Joyce,
Thanks for the Letter Love Ya, Patrick Swayze"
...i framed it and kept it next to my bed until i went
away to college...
|
..i get a go-get-the-straight-jacket feeling knowing i want to listen to Mrs. Patrick Swayze recount the last years of my childhood obsession's life...but i can't keep myself away...not only does the program promise to be about one of my favorite topics--death--it combines my other passion--pretending i'm a celebrity's secret wife...
...but the real reason i'm not going to miss it is that Mrs. Patrick Swayze is going to recount surviving the disintegration of the man she loved for 34 years...it's taken 8 years of marriage for me to reach a point where i actively fear my husband's death...a good friend of mine almost lost her husband this year and the panic that ensued from her experience nearly crushed me...i thank the universe daily for Adam, even on days he's so contrary i want to drown him in a pool of his own spit...
...when he's snoring next to me at 2am or wakes me in the middle of the night because i'm sleeping entwined with him, i have a moment of flash-forward where i see myself as an old woman with sagging titties and no bed partner...i glimpse myself in a quiet house, no guitar strumming, no recliner in the living room...and when the aaahhhh moment passes, that permanence freezes me, fear creeps in under the covers, and i want to hold Adam so close i can't tell where one of stops and the other begins...
...then i send a request out into the universe that goes like this: please let the zombies eat me first during their inevitable apocalypse...if they don't, i'll kill my own child rather than have her eaten and spend the final moments of my own life hopelessly running in circles
...then i calm down and get serious: i ask just to die first...i know that i could never survive very long without Adam...even if he dropped tomorrow...i'd be a complete train wreck, Ellie would have to raise herself because i'd be too busy hiding, crying, and otherwise thrashing against circumstance...child services would inevitably intervene...she'd end up living with one of my sisters...i'd turn to heroin, maybe even a little cocaine...eventually i'd fade off the grid, my child's life ruined, my husband dead...
...so, universe, while you're feeling magnanimous, please please please take me first...
9.05.2012
For a Week I've Been Contemplating Forgiveness
...in all of the letters my father has written to me over the last year, not once has he ever asked for my forgiveness...i'd overlooked this until last week when i began rereading them all again to develop some new chapters...i spent a few hours specifically looking for any phrase that might hint at a plea...in dozens of pages, not one...
...nor have i ever told him that i've forgiven him...
...and rightly so...after all, i wasn't a woman he brutalized...if i were in his shoes, their forgiveness would be much more important...even not in his shoes i somehow wish those women would forgive me...i can't quite put my finger on an explanation for this except to paraphrase some of the research i've done about children of incarcerated parents...we usually internalize our parent's behavior, to the point where we often feel in the wrong...the scientific research on this phenomenon, and the case studies about children of incarcerated parents, all support this thesis: my desire for forgiveness is normal...so perhaps what i've done, essentially, in writing to him and uncovering the details of his past, is forgiven myself...
...what do we really do when we forgive someone? do we tuck away the grievance, like it's an old movie stub or a wine cork? does forgiveness entail what pop psychologists call purging? do we have to vomit every minor infraction in order to reach the pinnacle of compassion?
...or do we somehow erase the grievance from our memories?...the old adage "forgive and forget" (mostly interpreted as "to forgive is to forget") kept running through my head this week...this is a paradox for the memoirist--we cannot forget, because we must remember in order to write...but to write well, to achieve perspective, we have to forgive...or should we read the adage as forgiveness causes forgetting, forgetting is a result (by-product?) of forgiveness? when we truly forgive do we have no memory of the crime against us? does forgiveness cause that to happen? as a writer attempting a memoir, i can never forgive my father because i must remember what he's done...it's a part of him as much as the blood in my veins...
...is forgiveness a rationalization of an action: X happened because of 1, 2, and 3...if we dabble too long in the because, do we lose sight of X? do we forgive X because of 1, 2, 3 or do we understand X because of 1, 2, 3? what is the difference, then, between understanding and forgiveness?
...today the dalai lama offered this message: "Along with love, compassion is the face of altruism. It is a feeling from deep in the heart that you cannot bear others’ suffering without acting to relieve it. As compassion grows stronger, so does your willingness to commit yourself to the welfare of all beings, even if you have to do it alone. You will be unbiased in your service to all beings, no matter how they respond to you."...in writing this memoir, i am acting to relieve much suffering...my own and that of my family...even my father's torment...i hope i've reached a point of unbiased service...
...nor have i ever told him that i've forgiven him...
...and rightly so...after all, i wasn't a woman he brutalized...if i were in his shoes, their forgiveness would be much more important...even not in his shoes i somehow wish those women would forgive me...i can't quite put my finger on an explanation for this except to paraphrase some of the research i've done about children of incarcerated parents...we usually internalize our parent's behavior, to the point where we often feel in the wrong...the scientific research on this phenomenon, and the case studies about children of incarcerated parents, all support this thesis: my desire for forgiveness is normal...so perhaps what i've done, essentially, in writing to him and uncovering the details of his past, is forgiven myself...
...what do we really do when we forgive someone? do we tuck away the grievance, like it's an old movie stub or a wine cork? does forgiveness entail what pop psychologists call purging? do we have to vomit every minor infraction in order to reach the pinnacle of compassion?
...or do we somehow erase the grievance from our memories?...the old adage "forgive and forget" (mostly interpreted as "to forgive is to forget") kept running through my head this week...this is a paradox for the memoirist--we cannot forget, because we must remember in order to write...but to write well, to achieve perspective, we have to forgive...or should we read the adage as forgiveness causes forgetting, forgetting is a result (by-product?) of forgiveness? when we truly forgive do we have no memory of the crime against us? does forgiveness cause that to happen? as a writer attempting a memoir, i can never forgive my father because i must remember what he's done...it's a part of him as much as the blood in my veins...
...is forgiveness a rationalization of an action: X happened because of 1, 2, and 3...if we dabble too long in the because, do we lose sight of X? do we forgive X because of 1, 2, 3 or do we understand X because of 1, 2, 3? what is the difference, then, between understanding and forgiveness?
...today the dalai lama offered this message: "Along with love, compassion is the face of altruism. It is a feeling from deep in the heart that you cannot bear others’ suffering without acting to relieve it. As compassion grows stronger, so does your willingness to commit yourself to the welfare of all beings, even if you have to do it alone. You will be unbiased in your service to all beings, no matter how they respond to you."...in writing this memoir, i am acting to relieve much suffering...my own and that of my family...even my father's torment...i hope i've reached a point of unbiased service...
8.30.2012
Open Letter #4
Dear White Trash Neighbor,
My husband mentioned to me the other day that I should not be referring to you as "white trash." Though the name might be fitting, there are just some things we should only say to our spouses, who have to love us no matter what because we know each other's nasty secrets. When I pointed out that all of my secrets are splattered all over my blog, he shrugged. Because it seemed I'd finally won an argument between us, I instantly became suspicious that he may be plotting a secret secret reveal that includes you in some way, as you started the whole thing. But then, someone sent me a link to a television show called "Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo" and I realized that he was right all along, it's not very kind to call you "white trash." So, as homage to your apparent idol, Miss Boo-Boo, I will from here on out call you Redneck Neighbor.
So, Redneck Neighbor, a little congratulations is in order. You've been living with your sister and mother now for two months and I haven't once seen a police car, ambulance, or fire truck. My sisters are co-habitating for a while--the small abode now housing 5 children and 3 adults, nearly alike to your own situation. And the nicest thing I can say about that is they are all still alive.
Another congratulations is due you--even in this struggling economy you managed to pull off a successful yard sale. I have to admit, it was the first time I've ever seen anyone use their actual yard for a yard sale. It really bothers me when people put everything in the garage and call it a yard sale. Or they pile things into the driveway and call it a garage sale. Um, no. That's a driveway sale. I didn't mind at all that shoppers used our driveway to park--I didn't have anywhere to go for six hours last Saturday.
Though, I'm still perplexed as to why all of the unsold teddy bears, bright plastic toys, and piles of clothes are still occupying your yard. Are you planning on having another sale soon? Should I go ahead and park my car on the street in case I need to leave? If another sale is in the works, I wonder if you've noticed the weather? There's a hurricane brewing just south of us, and the rain that's been coming down since Monday is a result. I don't know how successful you'll be at selling soggy goods, though someone may buy the tires you left in the flower bed, after all they're meant to get wet. But who am I to tell you how to run a yard sale, as I've never before seen one and last Saturday was such a huge success. I hope you generated enough money to buy all of those school uniforms--sorry, I couldn't help overhear, your voice does love to travel.
I do have one suggestion, though, for the impending second sale. That huge hole on the far side of your driveway, you know the one? It's just before you get to what used to be a bed of knockout roses but is now an overgrown tangle of dead vines. I'd fill that in. Sure no one stepped in it last time, but why tempt fate twice? I'd hate for your good fortune to be ruined by a lawsuit of some kind. I'd also hate to see little Johnny, or one of the "K" girls, suddenly disappear.
Of course, if you've left everything out in order to create yard art, I commend you even more. Our prissy neighborhood could use some sprucing up. A plastic toddler bed, strewn in among struggling day lilies, is the exact sort of avant-garde display these tired, manicured yards need.
Always,
Your Neighbor Who (Really) Doesn't Mind People Parking in Her Driveway for the Sake of Your Good Fortune
My husband mentioned to me the other day that I should not be referring to you as "white trash." Though the name might be fitting, there are just some things we should only say to our spouses, who have to love us no matter what because we know each other's nasty secrets. When I pointed out that all of my secrets are splattered all over my blog, he shrugged. Because it seemed I'd finally won an argument between us, I instantly became suspicious that he may be plotting a secret secret reveal that includes you in some way, as you started the whole thing. But then, someone sent me a link to a television show called "Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo" and I realized that he was right all along, it's not very kind to call you "white trash." So, as homage to your apparent idol, Miss Boo-Boo, I will from here on out call you Redneck Neighbor.
So, Redneck Neighbor, a little congratulations is in order. You've been living with your sister and mother now for two months and I haven't once seen a police car, ambulance, or fire truck. My sisters are co-habitating for a while--the small abode now housing 5 children and 3 adults, nearly alike to your own situation. And the nicest thing I can say about that is they are all still alive.
Another congratulations is due you--even in this struggling economy you managed to pull off a successful yard sale. I have to admit, it was the first time I've ever seen anyone use their actual yard for a yard sale. It really bothers me when people put everything in the garage and call it a yard sale. Or they pile things into the driveway and call it a garage sale. Um, no. That's a driveway sale. I didn't mind at all that shoppers used our driveway to park--I didn't have anywhere to go for six hours last Saturday.
Though, I'm still perplexed as to why all of the unsold teddy bears, bright plastic toys, and piles of clothes are still occupying your yard. Are you planning on having another sale soon? Should I go ahead and park my car on the street in case I need to leave? If another sale is in the works, I wonder if you've noticed the weather? There's a hurricane brewing just south of us, and the rain that's been coming down since Monday is a result. I don't know how successful you'll be at selling soggy goods, though someone may buy the tires you left in the flower bed, after all they're meant to get wet. But who am I to tell you how to run a yard sale, as I've never before seen one and last Saturday was such a huge success. I hope you generated enough money to buy all of those school uniforms--sorry, I couldn't help overhear, your voice does love to travel.
I do have one suggestion, though, for the impending second sale. That huge hole on the far side of your driveway, you know the one? It's just before you get to what used to be a bed of knockout roses but is now an overgrown tangle of dead vines. I'd fill that in. Sure no one stepped in it last time, but why tempt fate twice? I'd hate for your good fortune to be ruined by a lawsuit of some kind. I'd also hate to see little Johnny, or one of the "K" girls, suddenly disappear.
Of course, if you've left everything out in order to create yard art, I commend you even more. Our prissy neighborhood could use some sprucing up. A plastic toddler bed, strewn in among struggling day lilies, is the exact sort of avant-garde display these tired, manicured yards need.
Always,
Your Neighbor Who (Really) Doesn't Mind People Parking in Her Driveway for the Sake of Your Good Fortune
8.28.2012
A Short Ride: Remembering Barry Hannah
...the book i've been working on with fellow VOX editors, Louis Bourgeois and Adam Young, is soon to go to print...it's been an emotional process over the last few months, especially as the images of Barry came pouring in...it was my job, in addition to editing, to lay everything out, to scrutinize and format images...each day, for at least two hours, i was bombarded with Barry's face...
...i cried a lot...then cursed myself for it and my sentimentality, something that i'd thought Barry Hannah and Tom Franklin had beaten out of me in the program...
...i've read each one of the essays in A Short Ride at least a dozen times and am still amazed at Barry's reach, his humanity, his ability to be a complete cad, a gentleman, and, let's face it, at times, a straight-shooting asshole...
...this is the beautiful cover, created by Glennray Tutor (an amazing artist you should know about, and if you don't i'm wagging my finger at you and insisting you click on his name immediately), and designed by Betsy Chapman (yes, that Betsy Chapman, of the Mississippi Chapmans)...
...i hope you'll all order a copy when it hits the shelves...i'll let you know the exact date soon...
...i cried a lot...then cursed myself for it and my sentimentality, something that i'd thought Barry Hannah and Tom Franklin had beaten out of me in the program...
...i've read each one of the essays in A Short Ride at least a dozen times and am still amazed at Barry's reach, his humanity, his ability to be a complete cad, a gentleman, and, let's face it, at times, a straight-shooting asshole...
...this is the beautiful cover, created by Glennray Tutor (an amazing artist you should know about, and if you don't i'm wagging my finger at you and insisting you click on his name immediately), and designed by Betsy Chapman (yes, that Betsy Chapman, of the Mississippi Chapmans)...
...i hope you'll all order a copy when it hits the shelves...i'll let you know the exact date soon...
8.27.2012
70-80 Victims
...trying to remain virtuous today as i plug along in what is, to date, the hardest part of the memoir i'm writing: the crimes my father was charged with...i've had some great help researching my father's past from the attorney who prosecuted him, a man who has prosecuted hundreds of criminals and says he remembers very few of them--my father being at the top of the list...he helped me piece together much of what actually took place in those bedrooms...while i can't interview any victims--could only find one and she, understandably, doesn't want to relive it all--talking to the attorney has helped me fill in much of what i need for the book, my father also being tight-lipped...ultimately, though, what i want to achieve is not sensationalism, but dignity for the women, and perhaps even, a little for myself...
...still, research is research--removed, distant, almost foreign...talking with the attorney has uncovered secrets my father, nor the rest of my family, would never share...now i'm staring down the barrel of being not simply the daughter of a man convicted of 8 counts of rape and burglary, but the daughter of a man who probably--according to LAPD--committed somewhere between 70 and 80 rapes...
...not easy to stomach, really...
...but the writing goes on...i'm up to 312 pages and whether or not it will ever go into print is beginning to weigh heavily on my mind...
...i was at odds with myself about what picture to post today...i decided on this one because it is one of hope...to anyone unaware of my circumstance, this photo is just a father and daughter enjoying her first christmas...
...it's hard to believe that's me...even harder to believe that's him...
...still, research is research--removed, distant, almost foreign...talking with the attorney has uncovered secrets my father, nor the rest of my family, would never share...now i'm staring down the barrel of being not simply the daughter of a man convicted of 8 counts of rape and burglary, but the daughter of a man who probably--according to LAPD--committed somewhere between 70 and 80 rapes...
...not easy to stomach, really...
...but the writing goes on...i'm up to 312 pages and whether or not it will ever go into print is beginning to weigh heavily on my mind...
...i was at odds with myself about what picture to post today...i decided on this one because it is one of hope...to anyone unaware of my circumstance, this photo is just a father and daughter enjoying her first christmas...
...it's hard to believe that's me...even harder to believe that's him...
8.20.2012
If I Could Turn Back Time
...that's right, i dropped a Cher bomb...this is actually one of the hundred or so songs that i know by heart--excluding, of course, all of the 1980's television show theme songs...and it's the song i had on my mind when i purchased a keychain that's a replica of hermione's time turner necklace in the HP movies...i love that little piece...not only because it's gold and shiny and has a miniature hourglass in the center...it represents the idea of going back in time...i'd love to see what my hair looks like from the back...
...i've long been interested in the idea of turning time back on itself...i think most people who've been damaged in childhood, or who've lost people they loved, have fantasies about going back and doing something differently...i would have said..., i would have acted..., i would have done...
...but then i think, "would i really go back in time if i could? how far back would i go? what would be erased? created? forgotten?...would i end up in some alternate reality where completely incompetent 40-somethings are in charge, and Biff owns a casino?...
...i wouldn't want to relive my 20's--i'm lucky i made it out of them alive the first time...forget about my teens--the repression, fear, idiocy...and my 30's have been a crap-shoot on the happiness scale, i wouldn't want to stack the deck by moving time--it would probably come back (go forward?) and bite me in the butt...
...there's a pretty long list of crappy things that've happened to me or people i love over the last few years...i could turn back time and talk to Grandpa before he died...could brace myself for the backstabbing i've faced...i could go even farther back and erase friendships, marriages, births, relationships...but why stop there?...why not pinpoint the hour, exactly, that i last saw Grandma?...or my father? what would going back in time solve there?...could my seven-year-old self say something remarkable that would alter his behavior? no.
...of course there are some advantages to going back in time--the lottery numbers, test questions, the bus i missed and, because of that, i didn't make the premier of Forrest Gump when the rest of my friends did (and have pictures of themselves with Tom Hanks to prove it)...
...the fact is, i wouldn't turn time around, even with the knowledge i have now, because i know that would, somehow, cosmically ruin the path my life has taken...then whose life would it be?...who would i be now if i altered my past?...i wouldn't be me...and while i'm not my biggest fan, and it's hard to look in the mirror and admit the mistakes i've made, i know i'm a person of conviction, who's ethical, truthful, and (most of the time) respected...i wouldn't chance my future on screwing with my past...
...over the last week, though, because i've been working on editing the VOX tribute to Barry Hannah, i've been thinking a lot about my happy years in Oxford, MS...and the reality of his death has finally come home...and with it, the guilt that i haven't yet finished my first book, haven't sold it, haven't done justice to the degree Barry bestowed on me nine years ago...
...time to take time by the balls...show up...do the work...
...these two pictures were taken on september 25, 2003 in a booth in a bar in Oxford...i'd just graduated in may, but was teaching for a year at Ole Miss...Barry had started drinking a little...he had hair again...we'd all met up at the bar...when the little squares fell out of the machine, Barry fished them out and laughed, "look at how much pleasure you're getting from behind"...i was embarrassed at the time...i'm sure i turned bright red...i'd been one of the (few?) women who'd never thought of Barry sexually...he'd been a role model, a man i loved...he'd saved my life...
...i'd turn back time long enough to say thank you...
...i've long been interested in the idea of turning time back on itself...i think most people who've been damaged in childhood, or who've lost people they loved, have fantasies about going back and doing something differently...i would have said..., i would have acted..., i would have done...
...but then i think, "would i really go back in time if i could? how far back would i go? what would be erased? created? forgotten?...would i end up in some alternate reality where completely incompetent 40-somethings are in charge, and Biff owns a casino?...
...i wouldn't want to relive my 20's--i'm lucky i made it out of them alive the first time...forget about my teens--the repression, fear, idiocy...and my 30's have been a crap-shoot on the happiness scale, i wouldn't want to stack the deck by moving time--it would probably come back (go forward?) and bite me in the butt...
...there's a pretty long list of crappy things that've happened to me or people i love over the last few years...i could turn back time and talk to Grandpa before he died...could brace myself for the backstabbing i've faced...i could go even farther back and erase friendships, marriages, births, relationships...but why stop there?...why not pinpoint the hour, exactly, that i last saw Grandma?...or my father? what would going back in time solve there?...could my seven-year-old self say something remarkable that would alter his behavior? no.
...of course there are some advantages to going back in time--the lottery numbers, test questions, the bus i missed and, because of that, i didn't make the premier of Forrest Gump when the rest of my friends did (and have pictures of themselves with Tom Hanks to prove it)...
...the fact is, i wouldn't turn time around, even with the knowledge i have now, because i know that would, somehow, cosmically ruin the path my life has taken...then whose life would it be?...who would i be now if i altered my past?...i wouldn't be me...and while i'm not my biggest fan, and it's hard to look in the mirror and admit the mistakes i've made, i know i'm a person of conviction, who's ethical, truthful, and (most of the time) respected...i wouldn't chance my future on screwing with my past...
...over the last week, though, because i've been working on editing the VOX tribute to Barry Hannah, i've been thinking a lot about my happy years in Oxford, MS...and the reality of his death has finally come home...and with it, the guilt that i haven't yet finished my first book, haven't sold it, haven't done justice to the degree Barry bestowed on me nine years ago...
...time to take time by the balls...show up...do the work...
...these two pictures were taken on september 25, 2003 in a booth in a bar in Oxford...i'd just graduated in may, but was teaching for a year at Ole Miss...Barry had started drinking a little...he had hair again...we'd all met up at the bar...when the little squares fell out of the machine, Barry fished them out and laughed, "look at how much pleasure you're getting from behind"...i was embarrassed at the time...i'm sure i turned bright red...i'd been one of the (few?) women who'd never thought of Barry sexually...he'd been a role model, a man i loved...he'd saved my life...
...i'd turn back time long enough to say thank you...
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