what writing …

Book on Snarl’s coffee table.

Writing accomplished this week:
1)  Several emails to HM while we were both at work because on some weekday mornings, we pass one another like ships in the night, juice in hand, a quick sticky kiss and out the door ’til home for dinner.
2)  Several pages in my journal just prior to class, to “catch up,” to say I wrote something.
3)  A marketing flyer, assisting on a  re-write at work, along with dozens of pages of tech reports (you realize of course that these do not count)
4) The menu for our Thanksgiving dinner
5)  Labels on file folders as I (slowly) work my way through cleaning up our file drawers (yes, this has been going on for several weeks)
6)  My name on a sign up sheet at class.
7) Two entries in the checkbook
8)  Notes in the margin of the pages as I read CREATIVE JOURNALING by Stephanie Dowrick (my copy so scribbling within is OK)

Egads, I think that’s it.

We did a road trip to University to visit Snarl yesterday (Saturday).  Such trips are (too) rare and always spontaneous, including whatever we do when we get there. He had cleaned his apartment. We brought coffee and (healthy) muffins. (Snarl is a healthy eater and works fitness into his daily routine. No point bringing him drive-through breakfasts.) Chit chat, a walk around his neighborhood where he can tell you bits and pieces on people he knows (really, too bad he doesn’t want to stick with journalism; he has an eye and ear for it. But to his point, journalism has gone “off,” reporting for a days on a cruise ship fire when indeed many other things are likely newsworthy. I digress.)

We then got on campus, only minutes from his door, and the place was swarming with students and fanatics since his U is heady with football success this year and likely will be for several years to come. Everyone was in black and gold; it was all great fun and the air was filled with the smells of tailgate bbqs.  I wonder sometimes why I didn’t opt for a major university myself.

We ducked into the campus bookstore; HM stayed outside, the motor running since I would only be inside a minute – I was on a mission to pick up a Christmas present.  And found it easily. Oh yes, the Christmas season is well underway, certainly in mood and demeanor if not in decor.

Snarl knows everyone in the town. I do not exaggerate. We parked and walked about looking at shops and found a warm spot in a cafe bakery that was also filled with the artwork of one of his friends. I snapped pictures of it and concurrently made some people nervous. No, I’m only photographing the art on the wall, I explained, smiling. Snarl gets major points for routing some of the coolest places to eat and browse, which we did more of later after eating and talking. I had forgotten how good Boursin tastes on a REAL baguette.

Gaffe…don’t have the artist’s full name; it’s BEN _____?!  I will find and return to fix here.

In search of gloves, oh yes it was cold now, thank you very much oh blustery west wind, we found some and still perambulating, Snarl got a call from a colleague who needed “models” for a phoot shoot for the university magazine. Sure, we’ll do it, he assured said colleague. An hour later, HM, Snarl and I walked into a professor’s home and sat at the dining room table with a fourth model in order that a “different sort of Thanksgiving, one that included all kinds of international foods” could be  photographed. We all warmed to our roles (and rolls!) and at the end of an hour, became quite a good little faux family, toasting one another with glasses of water, eating with chopsticks, Snarl surprising us with his Walmart roast chicken carving abilities, HM emceeing the hilarity and ensuring everyone had a fortune cookie and there was much rumination on how the cactus on its platter might actually be grilled and eaten along with the giant sugared fruits from the Mexican store on Broadway. We left sometime after sunset, wishing all a fine holiday to come.

No, there was not a whole lot of writing going on this week. Perhaps more “doing” than  writing.
Fodder, eh? 
I hope so. I’m bursting to get something on the page.

Scene from Snarl’s bookshelf…

Thanksgiving cometh…and so does the writing…

(photo taken at Eckert’s Orchard in Illinois)

Saturday night.
Stomped around getting things done, sorting and tossing, making lists, dashing from closets to trash bins, also including some minor scribbling in journal, trying to meet upcoming class assignment. I’m cComing up a double journal class week. I’ve finished two ms and handed them and have one more to go. (thus the cleaning; I always clean after handing in assignments; it’s part of the “giddy” that follows finishing a piece.)

Made a (small and really unimportant in the grand scheme of things) discovery today, yet one of those little writerly truths one discovers about oneself… and it means ultimately I will be staying away from “mad” journal purchases! I have discovered, when left ot my own to write, on WHAT I really like to write: 

…..Must have heavy paper that ink and sharpees won’t bleed through
…..must be at least 6″x9″ in size
…..Must lie fairly flat when open
…..must have smooth, very smooth paper
…..Must be unlined

More to share about  journaling:

Line after line of text is boring, not only to look at, but sometimes to create.
It is important, or at least fun, to insert sketches, postcards, ticket stubs and other bits to make the page somehow remarkable, words notwithstanding. (Remember: written text is what it is, in journaling  –  no “go backs,” fixes, edits, etc.
So it’s fun to spice it all up a bit so that it interests even you, the writer and doesn’t put any pressure on you to fill that whole blank page with words only.)

So you might enjoy a nice peek at Penchant for Paper’s blog for some ideas on notebooks and such, and then take a look at i hanna’s blog and page back through her entries to see what she’s doing with art and journaling.

We don’t have to be skilled visual artists,  but (visual) art likes holding hands with (textual) writing. 

Book recommend…
Try a magazine like one of the Somerset publications, like JOURNALING or ART JOURNALING…

Happy Halloween! though an “inky” day, not one on which I’ll do much writing…

Morning…
I called The Mud House this morning at 8:30 a.m. to set an interview with one of its owners. They have early hours (take a look) so figured my chances were good, and they were there. It’s set; we’ll talk tomorrow. I wished they  could have passed one of their well-known art-techie lattes to me through the phone.
In the meantime, there’s a bit of homework to do about the place and while the website is good (and well designed), the pictures I’m after are in their Facebook album. And I just de-activated my FB account the other day. Drat. 

And…
I haven’t written a darn thing in my journal, my coffee is a bit weak (HM is sleeping in following a howling crazy party we costumed up for and attended last night in the city so I made coffee this a.m. …bleh) and there are a million things that need doing while my pen lies quietly…just … over there…on the desk.

Why on earth we haven’t had a president who runs on the three-day-weekend ticket is beyond me. With a little rest and a little more time for all of us on the homefront, we’d be far more productive and a lot more fun, overall.  I digress.

Meanwhile…
Everything is conspiring to  make it a Halloween-y Eve!
Huge bowls of candy, silly strobe lights to set in the darkened rooms of the house, eerie spooky music to blast into the front yard from the Zune, more leaves than I can rake thus leaving hundreds of them underfoot to crackle and swoosh at each step, and there’s a bit of wind, if it sticks.

Offbeat…
Had to share these great craft papers from Graphic 45 tho’ I’ve no idea at the moment what I’ll be doing with them. But I’m an ALICE IN WONDERLAND fan/devotee and needed them. 
The designs are on heavy stock and likely ATC or bookmark ameable but somehow, that seems so…”done.” Will come up with something “Alice-y” to do with them, but for now…

This is “Alice” gone a tad Halloween…

Tim Burton would have to love these interpretations of the classic drawing.

Now where would the Hatter get himself a piece of candy corn?

So…
We’re gearing up for the neighborhood which is packed with “littles.” Nor and I will be in costume to answer the door; we’re not letting HM dress up – he’s too scary, so he’s in charge of lights and technical effects.

And in hopes of keeping away from the candy, I’ve set out some apples for Nor, HM, and me and there are four different cheeses in the fridge, too, you know, to feed those hard-working hand-out-the-candy characters! Hope it works, but I’m skeptical. I’ve already had a mini Almond Joy, and it’s not even noon. Egads.

TOP SCARIEST BOOKS…
PS Debnance did a cool booklist – she listed her top 10 scariest books.
Great idea.
And so to share (and because imitation is sincerest form of flattery), I offer my top 7 scariest books, herein (top 7? yup):
1) The Exorcist – Wm Peter Blatty
2) The Children’s Hour – Lillian Hellman
3) The Tommyknockers – Stephen King
4) Cruddy – Lynda Barry
5) The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox – Maggie O’Farrell
6) The Legend of Sleepy Hollow – Washington Irving
7) Turn of the Screw – Henry James

The Girls go a-journaling…

The Monday night pattern goes kinda like this: leave office, check bag for journal and green pen en route to car in parking lot, toss bag into back seat, climb in and head to Mom’s, stopping on way to pick up pizza or soup or giant salads. 

Mom and I carve out Monday evenings to eat, relax and then go to our journaling class. 
It’s a very unstructured gathering. No assigned seats, no desks, no blackboard.
 There are huge tables for us to sit and spread out our stuff. There are more than a dozen affable class members, and the facilitator is adept at drawing people out, getting them to tell stories even if they didn’t write in their journals that week. She has no hardcore plan yet she has great anecdotes, good ideas and some hidden clock that has her wind up each time after about an hour.

Why does anyone go to such a class?
To find out what the heck journaling is or might be 
For affirmation
To hear about journaling techniques
To share their own stories
To hear and/or see what other people are doing in terms of journaling
For support
For opening doors
Out of curiosity
To measure how they’re doing, in the grand scheme of things and possibly, in the writing world
And, the class is free. 
  

This week while we were eating dinner, Mom opened her journal at the table and passed it to me.
“Go ahead, read what I wrote for class tonight,” she said.
What? “Really? I can read this, Mom?”
She hesitated. “Of course it’s difficult to read my handwriting,” she said.
“That’s ok, I’ll figure it out.” (This from the daughter who  once tried forging her mom’s loopy signature for an excuse in high school – it was nearly impossible.)

I read quietly and coming to the end of her entry on its third page (she wrote a lot!), I laughed, delighted.
“What do you think?” she said.
What to tell her? Same thing I’ve always told her – the truth. “I like it. You had fun. This just works..so well. You need to read it out loud at class.”
“I couldn’t do that,” she said.
“You can. You should.”
She laughed, rose from the table and took the dishes to the kitchen.
She wasn’t going to discuss it further. That window had opened and closed.

I saw it, though, before she turned away. I saw that glimmer that comes when people start writing, people who might have always wanted to write but hadn’t done so before, and now they were.

We arrived at class, our fourth class in the session already, in time to sit with several of Mom’s friends. Four of them had signed up for the class as well. They couldn’t quite figure what I was doing there, but accepted that it was a mother-daughter thing. Because people were at least nod-hello friendly, the group was opening up and several were ready and eager to tell what they’d written about, if not actually read aloud.

“J-, let’s begin with you this evening. Did you try one of the writing exercises and would you like to read it aloud?” the facilitator asked Mom.
Mom was surprised and pleased to be asked. Tinkled pink. She opened her journal, then looked up at everyone to make her disclaimer. (I have found that most people, when asked to read, will disclaim in some way, explaining the story or telling what they didn’t accomplish that they had hoped to. Or, they may go in the other direction, exclaiming at how pleased they are with the piece, hoping to infect everyone with their joy.)

Mom explained that she had chosen a particular exercise but did not follow its format.

Then she began to read. Her voice was immediately part of the story. We fell into what she was describing, curious the whole while to see how or what she would do with the piece.
And suddenly, she came to a grand little ending, and the whole thing was well recieved. She beamed.

Oh yes, she was getting it now. The writing bug. The power of the pen to tell a story.
Others volunteered to read following her.

The class facilitator gave us several journal-y exercises before we left class. Though I’m not sure, I suspect Mom will jump on one or two of them this weekend.

We have both, however, agreed to take the same line to write about, a piece about one of our beloved family members and our adventures on his farm years ago.
We may each read next week, same line – but  different stories, I’ll bet.
The line is:  “Uncle Oscar went out to the barn to hitch up the horses.”

Actually, I started on it six pages ago in my journal and still writing. One of the true beauties of a journal? No editing required.

THINGS LEARNED IN THIS JOURNALING CLASS SO FAR…
1) Record the date and where you are as you write each journal entry. I’ve been writing in journals for years and for some reason, had completely overlooked timestamping and “placing”  each entry. Not only is it part of the fun, but I also realize that during the work week, I get to Starbucks often enough to sit and write. (yeah, ok, and have a coffee.)

2) How to better listen to the many many stories in a room; how some stories  “match” the teller and others seem so distant from what they’re relating. 

3) The importance of “owning” the journal. It’s not just a flat notebook.  It speaks in many ways, from the texture of the paper to the design on the cover. I have only recently realized that I can customize any journal in which I’m writing rather than sticking to all the trumped up pretty journals.

4) Ink-ing along on the page on a “non-writerly” day is better than forsaking  the writing  altogether that day.

5) Writers love (writing) exercises.

book “cool”

It’s all about used, I mean, recycled books, mags, movies, instruments, electronics and DVDs at Bookmans, in biz for 30 years now in Arizona, specifically the Tuscon, Phoenix, Flagstaff and Mesa areas.
Its six stores totalled retail space comprise 114,000 square feet and it continues to re-define recycled as it grows, simultaneously offering cultural events, classes (like Yoga) and fundraisers and it fights sincerely against censorship. 
Who couldn’t love it? Bookmans also has a blog.
One more major thing: the Bookman stores are also pet-friendly. Geez.
Oh yeah, and offer free Wi-Fi.

 Road trip, anyone?

PS Apparently online purchasing via Bookmans is coming soon! 
Me likey.

So go ahead, check out the youtube video for fun. It’s dominos –  with books!

I really should be raking…

And I will rake.
But first some journaling, and  a morning fire, outside. There’s so much tinder and kindling in the back woods.
The birds are singing, practically on the same note, just different octaves, and the breeze is gone.
There’s sun rather than the predicted rain.
There are no deadlines today; no schedule, no promises to keep (‘cept dinner, and pie!)
No one else is up yet.
Next?
Coffee, pen and paper.

BTW, the other chair (pictured) is empty and you are welcome to come and write by the fire! (there’s a table, too, and plenty of coffee and I promise not to talk.)

Recommended book:
None today.
And no reading other people’s writing.
Just doing one’s own instead.

not cool…but there’s humor in here somewhere

Following my “cool” trend over the last few blogs, I now direct my attention to “uncool.”
Herein, a few definitions of “totally not cool”  :
   Dragging your job around with you, after the workday has ended.
   Eating standing up at the kitchen counter. When you just come in the door from work. Without even changing clothes first.
   Your old and beloved dog can’t wag his tail cuz his little old arthritic hips hurt.
   Going through the files looking for an account number. Too bad filing has gone untouched for awhile. Like, for weeks.
   Wondering exactly what it is that you forgot to do today. Something…? Maybe not.
   Wanting to write. Something. Having the attention span, however, of a flea.
   Turning on the TV. Turning it off.

maybe not cool but certainly not totally uncool…
   Turning on FM and dancing to ’80s tunes, like Devo, J Giles Band and Madonna, yes, Madonna (La Isla Bonita).

Phew.
Sometimes a girl just has to get her “cool” back.

cool…Mississippians

Cool…as in “Cahokia.”

Last weekend, we visited the Mounds.
This is Monks Mound.
It is one of the Cahokia Mounds, found in Illinois, just east of the Mississippi and across from St. Louis.
It was built in 900 – 1200 by the Misssissippian tribe who carried backpack basket filled with dirt to heap, one atop the other, to create (build) the mound, a high and holy place. Assumedly, this one, the highest of the more than 50 mounds in the 30-acre area, was home and “reigning” place of the high chief of the tribe.

These are the stairs to the top of Monks Mound. It’s an easy climb. There are impactful views from the top.

Like this one.
It’s St. Louis in the (rather smoggy) distance.

The “cool” of the place is the mystery that surrounds it.
Yes, some things have been discovered as a result of intense archaeological efforts.
But overall, the Mississippians were not writers or recorders. Their civilization disappeared after about 400 years. The reason is unkown, though specialists refer to various obvious reasons such as societal unrest, illness, or failure and exhaustion of the land to continue to produce the chief sustenance – corn.

Some artifacts were discovered but other than piecing together some general info about the tribe, a great deal remains unknown. 

Which is really kinda cool.

cool…(definition of)

Not unusual, I am passionate about having the right to vote, as a human and as a woman, although I’d likely never be recognized as a flag waving, opinion-spewing civil politico.

Still, when we all stood for the national anthem at the last Cardinals game two weeks ago and discovered that we, the fans, were singing the national anthem, it was pretty freakin’ moving. 

Given the first four notes by the organist (his last game, last day), we sang a  cappella from the fifth note, forward.
We stayed together.
We hit the “high” notes.
When we finished, there was this pause, then uninhibited cheering.

Forty-four thousand people singing Keye’s composition.
Surely a  defining moment in the life of the word “cool.”

Writer Envy…

The saving grace of this lovely large annual issue last month was not so much the fashion as it was an article about Jonathan Franzen and FREEDOM along with a bonus. The article about him and his new book, also mentions his girflfriend (ex?), Kathryn Chetkovich and an essay she wrote called “Envy.”  A writer (she’s well published) writing about writer’s envy.

Her essay is actually found  in the Life’s Like That Granta 82, Summer 2003  (and you can read it here,  in The Guardian).

Well, didn’t I have to run to the shelf and take it down and read it! I had no idea he had a girlfriend (why wouldn’t he?) and that she would be a writer (why wouldn’t she be?) and since I’m always so damn curious about writers and writing and writers who hang out together and the writing process, yada yada yada , well, I had to read her essay and then re-read it.

And discover the links to Franzen whose Confessions I own, whose book of essays are on my wish list and whose Freedom, landed him on TIME’sAugust 23, 2010 cover.

So what does a writing girlfriend say about her writing boyfriend who is on the cusp and then in the thick  of uproarious success with his novel despite its timing of coming out a week within 9/11?

Actually, she writes of her own struggles about putting pen to paper, how she reads his manuscript when he asks, how he disclaims on the few pages he was able to knock out and how horrible he thinks they are, and she thinks they’re brilliant and adds that even on a good day, she doesn’t write stuff that even comes close to what Franzen might refer to as crap for his own part.

Yikes. Competition. I’ve seen it at work in the writing world, but on a journalistic level.
It’s different, I think, with fiction. With fiction, the writer has to come up with everything.  So the competiation between two fiction writers may be more quietly, clandestinely tooth and claw, a very edge-y ego thing.

 Chetkovich realizes in the closeness of their relationship that Franzen is a stunning writer, and that she is not only envious but doomed to keep scratching away and…feel terrible about her own process along the way. 

It wasn’t love at first sight for them. They met at a writing retreat (oh, geez, pls just knock me over with a feather – they met at a writing retreat? how about just going to one to begin with?)  Anyway, they had a kind of  growing friendship, one that intensified through conversation and conjoined by both being writers.  

Then she was called away from the retreat ; her father was ill and she had to go home. And while there, found that the now long distance Franzen was the person, the friend, she wanted and needed to call and talk to.

Together again, she watched his Confessions go ballisticly popular, even the sight of the book stacked in bookstores was tough for her  to tolerate. Overall, Chetkovich discovered that she must, above all, continue to write, which is her work. The envy was a “thing,” a truth she had to endure as she realized it is her lot to write…no matter what, envy, notwithstanding. 

Had I not read that page in VOGUE, the overblown review of the book (overblown meaning “long” in this sense since VOGUE usually gives book talk nothing more than one page and covering several books), I would not have connected Chetkovich to Frnazen. He is a quiet guy, in his way, at first decrying Oprah footlights, and other small things, like use of a touchtone phone.

We allow him his quirks and give him his fame, and so does Chetkovich.
There arel essons to be learned here.
Above all, push on, endure. Don’t not write. Write.