hear ye! hear ye!

If nothing else, October calls us to attention.  "Hear ye! Hear ye! Winter is coming! Winter is coming!"

While I'm overjoyed at the prospect, most people I know are reluctant to see summer end. I think autumn is Mother Nature's way of consoling them, as if to say, "Now, now. This isn't so bad, is it?" and out she comes with the pumpkins and gourds, the cider and doughnuts, the brilliant colors and wind tossed leaves...

 

 

 

so that, rather than bellyache about winter, we are forced to focus on her beauty.

This is a little snippet from The Bandaged Place (my still-needs-an-agent novel) that describes an October morning in northern New England through the eyes of my protagonist:

"October takes me by surprise. I should have seen it coming. Like incense over the altar, wood smoke hangs heavy in the air. There are pumpkins on every porch—Smiley, Goofy, Grumpy, Spooky—so that Middleburg takes on a personality of its own. This is one of those powder puff mornings when the rising sun causes everything to blush. The air is so still that the chimney smoke reaches straight up into the soft pink haze that clings to the treetops. Instead of dew, we awaken to the glitter of frost on the grass, to ice on the windshield, to breath that crystallizes in mid-air. I can tell that snow is on the way. I know it as surely as I know the smell of honeysuckle in May, of fresh cut grass in July, and burning leaves in September.

Summer has surrendered to autumn. Sightseers choke the mountain roads by day and jam the restaurants and bars at night. But these are fair-weather fans. They may extol the glories of blazing foliage and crisp, clean air but they’ll be sure to head home before snow flies, before Mother Nature packs up her palette and heads south leaving behind the soft soothing shades of oatmeal and brown sugar, of seashells and sand, of bone. Before the sun pales and the sky turns to lead. Before the wind shifts and whistles unchecked through the bare branches, tossing fallen leaves around like the snow that is sure to follow."
 

...the soft soothing shades of oatmeal and
brown sugar, seashells and sand,
of bone.

To my summer-loving friends and followers I say: Enjoy the consolations of autumn while they last.

To my snowdrift loving, hot-spiced-wine-by-the-fireplace addicted, hunker-down-and-write friends and followers I say: Hang in there. It won't be too much longer!

Are you reluctant to see summer end or eager for winter to arrive?

*

"I please myself with the graces of the winter scenery,

and believe that we are as much touched by it

as by the genial influences of summer."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson--

*

Next week I'll be visiting my old stomping grounds in and around Buffalo, conjuring up childhood memories for a collaborative memoir with my brother. I'd like to do a post on embodied memory the next time I come in for a landing.

jan

 

          

 

           

hopeless

Admit it. Some things are simply hopeless.

Take, for example, house cleaning. Hopeless! We have overnight guests coming this weekend, and I want them to know that I really did try to get the place in shape for their visit. I dusted, vacuumed, and mopped. The place looked fabulous...for about two minutes! That's when you-know-who came barreling in from a romp in the woods.

One good shake and my shiny, clean hardwood floor was blanketed in dead leaves, loose fur, and muddy paw prints. This is hopeless!

Then, speaking of hopeless, you have biostatistics. Yesterday I was catching up on some continuing medical education credits and the test included six questions on medical statistics, something I never understood, never use, and never will.

Nevertheless, determined to get it right this time, I accessed the reference that was provided and dug in. After about five minutes on true and false positives, true and false negatives, "specificity", "sensitivity", "confidence intervals", and calculating the "number of patients needed to treat inorder to improve the outcome for one patient in a thirteen year period" my brain turned to marshmallow fluff. It was hopeless.

Earlier in the week, I experienced a hopeless moment while writing, too. I was having such trouble with one scene, in desperation I asked my facebook friends how long it could possibly take to write one measly chapter.

    
The consesus was ten years! Some days it seems just that hopeless.

Still, knowing that your friends sometimes experience the same difficulty you do can be comforting. I started the scene over, and VOILA! I turned out not one, but two chapters in two days this week.

When things seem hopeless, it may just be that you're hoping for the wrong thing!

*

"Expect your every need to be met,

expect the answer to every problem,

expect abundance on every level..."

--Eileen Caddy--

*

Ps: I still haven't figured out the stats. Maybe next week, I'll write about hoping for things that are USELESS.

jan

oh no!

Have you ever had one of those "Oh no!" days? To understand what this is, go to http://www.bluemountain.com . Click on "funny" go to page 3, and click on "Scrappy, The Birthday Puppy."

It's not that the graphics are all that spectacular, nor is the story so special. It's the narration I love. Oh no! Oh no!! Oh no!!! It brings a smile to my face every time I watch it...and I watch it whenever I need a good chuckle. Like on Thursday, when my "Oh no!" day started with the discovery that my kitchen mouse is back--the one that invited his entire death-defying extended family to hunker down in the cupboard under the kitchen sink all winter last year. Oh no!

The Ringleader

Next, I discovered a leak in a pipe under the bathroom sink that had inundated everything I had stored there. Oh no!!

http://services.oodle.com

Well, maybe not that bad...

Still, it was a gorgeous fall day, so I decided to take a walk. But before I could say, "Bad dog!" I stepped in you-know-what, compliments of you-know who.

Oh no!!!

I couldn't figure out why I was so tired by the end of the day. I had to remind myself that, in addition to cleaning up three stinky messes, I had managed to throw in three loads of laundry. I'd done the grocery shopping for the week. I'd weeded, edged and tanbarked along two sides of the house. And prepared supper...

...after which I realized that I hadn't written a single word all day long.


www.squidoo.com

 

OH NO!!!!





*

"We are traditionally rather proud of ourselves

for having slipped creative work

 in there between domestic chores and obligations.

I'm not sure we deserve such big A-pluses for that."

--Toni Morrison--

*

This week I submitted a chapter to the editor of an upcoming anthology on empowerment for women. By next week I should know how it was received. Wish me luck... 

jan

a shot in the arm

Every so often, it's good to get a proverbial "shot in the arm"--something that motivates us or inspires us when our energy begins to flag and we lose focus. The old vitamin B12 shots come to mind.

http://www.webmd.com

When it comes to writing, though, humor and shared wisdom come to mind. If you could use a little pick-me-up, I hope this helps:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There now...that wasn't so painful, was it?

 

I actually got two shots in the arm this week.

 

First, I was invited to participate in the Empowerment Project with Beth Caldwell. Check it out at http://bethcaldwellpublicity.net/empower-book-project-for-women. The invitation arrived compliments of fellow Pennwriter Sue Rumbaugh, assistant professor of English at Carlow University, who was kind enough to think of me when she learned of the project. It was just the shot in the arm I needed, and it didn't hurt at all.

 

Second, I got my flu shot this week...and it didn't hurt a bit, either. So...PLEASE get YOUR flu shot this season. It could save you a boat load of trouble later on. Just sayin'.

 

www.newburyport.k12.ma.us

 *

"Advice is what we ask for

when we already know the answer

but wish we didn't."

--Erica Jong--

*

Next week I'll have something to say about writing memoir, God forbid.

jan



 





change is in the air



Just last week, I was relaxing on the beach, warming my feet in the sand, wandering along the water's edge.

Soaking in the hot tub with a glass of good red wine. Enjoying excellent food that I didn't have to prepare myself. Reading. Writing. Day dreaming...

 

 

 

...doing the sorts of things that awaken and inspire the imagination.

This morning, I walked the dogs wearing a sweatshirt and a jacket, wishing I'd remembered a hat and mittens.

Change is in the air!

Last week, I had no pressing agenda to accomplish, no deadlines to meet, no pressing schedule to follow.

This week, all that has changed, too. The house and yard need attention, there are appointments to keep, meals to prepare (again...), and a looming deadline on a new project. But, now I'm ready for it, the same way I think I'm ready for fall...reluctant to see summer fade but eager for autumn's gifts: the glorious colors, the crisp, cool nights, apple cider and pumpkin pie.

http://unsightlygrande.blogspot.com

I was reluctant to see vacation end, but I'm ready for work to begin again. My imagination has been stoked and my energy restored. Change is in the air.

Do you welcome the change of seasons? Does it stoke your imagination?

*

"So you see,

imagination needs moodling--

long, inefficient, happy idling,

dawdling and puttering."

--Brenda Ueland--

*

Next week, I'll tell you about my new project...and its looming deadline.

jan



don't get me wrong...

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy our annual vacation on the Outer Banks of North Carolina as much as anyone else. I like the leisurely pace and the change of scenery, getting away from the hustle of everyday life with its unrealistic expectations, unending obligations, and self-imposed duties.

I like to walk on the beach, to indulge in an afternoon nap, to be able to read--or to write--for hours without interruption. I like to wander through the local shops, to relax with a glass of good wine, and to share light-hearted banter with my family.

It's just not my favorite place to be.

And, it wasn't all that easy to get here this year. With poor Famke confined to the back seat of the car,

we found ourselves stuck--and I do mean STUCK--in a three hour traffic jam because someone, in his unfathomable wisdom, decided it would be a terrific idea to close two of the three bridges into and out of Norfolk to catch up on road repairs over the weekend.

http://blog.adw.org

 

Meaning that all the traffic, including unsuspecting vacationers heading to the OBX, were re-routed across one bridge. Eventually.

Then, on the beach this morning, we were treated to a dermabrasion session compliments of the wind-driven sand that heralded the tornado watch we are now under. While we sit indoors.

It is no secret to my family that I would prefer to unwind in the mountains. In a rustic cabin. Near a boulder strewn river or on the banks of a remote lake.

http://morningjoy.wordpress.com

At the risk of offending my beachcombing family and friends, I’m simply not an enthusiastic fan of the beach. I don’t object to the fact that I have to lather myself with sticky, smelly sun block before I venture out into the sun for even a moment. I can deal with the sand that gets into my ears and between my toes and never washes out of my hair. I don’t complain about sitting under an umbrella, in a patch of shade the size of a hoola-hoop, all day long. All. Day. Long. Every. Day. I can do that.

What annoys me is the sound of it. Not the delightful squeals of children at play. Not the muted chatter of friends and family. Not the incessant squawking of the gulls who have every right to complain. No, what bothers me is that there is never a moment of silence here. Never. The surf rolls in, breaks, and rolls out again incessantly…monotonously…perpetually. While most people find this to be soothing...after a couple of days, I find it tiresome...

 

...which is why I prefer to relax in the mountains where silence is broken only by the sound of vast, empty space, the sweep of the wind, the sound of an acorn dropping, the rustle of leaves underfoot. Where I can hear myself think…or silence the constant chatter in my head. In the mountains I can walk for miles in the shade of ancient trees and then rest on the banks of a glacial stream. Sink my feet into moss. Inhale the fragrance of wood smoke and wild flowers. Warm myself by a fire. Peacefully. Mindfully. Silently.

Don't get me wrong. I love being at the beach with my family. However, I have to admit that:

“The mountains are calling and I must go.”

--John Muir--

 

Are you a shorebird or a mountain sprite?

jan

wishful thinking

This happens to me all the time.

The words roll off my tongue: "Why didn't I think of that?"

Meaning...why couldn't I come up with that story? I may having been casting about for an idea for hours...for days...but nothing seems to work.

Then I'll read some perfect piece that's like a whack on the side of my head: "Why didn't I think of that?"

For example, there's this story: "The Wine Doctor" by Frederick Adolf Paola:

http://blr.med.nyu.edu/content/archive/2004/winedoctor

You may not have heard of it. You may not think it's special...but I loved this little story. It touched a very tender place in my heart. I wished I'd thought of it.

And then there's State of Wonder by Ann Patchett:

...and another whack on the side of the head.

These stories both feature medical issues and are populated by doctors...but the ideas behind them would never have crossed my mind. They belonged to somebody else...

...because the stories we tell emerge out of our own experiences and relationships, our own joys and sorrows...our own victories and our defeats. None of us can write someone else's story...which is why we need to write our own.

I know that all the wishful thinking in the world will not make me any younger, smarter, more beautiful...

...or more ferocious!

 

 

You could wish the day away trying to live someone else's life...trying to write a story that isn't yours.

 

The point is to enjoy the stories other people write. To learn from them. To remember them. And then, go write your own.

 

 

  *

"Writing teaches us,

in addition to the joys of martyrdom,

to be patient and forgiving with ourselves."

--me--

*

By this time next week...barring a hurricane...we'll be vacationing on the OBX! To post or not to post...that is the question.

jan