sensory overload

I just took a cup of coffee out of the microwave where I have re-heated it for the third time this morning...and have yet to sit down long enough to take a sip. The Thanksgiving guests have departed. The leftovers are dwindling. The tablecloths and towels are in the washer, and the kitchen floor has been swept and mopped. Today is recovery...and revision...day.

I'm in the process of revising a short short story for a submission. I don't know how other writers approach revision, but I do it in layers. Formatting, typos, and punctuation first. Grammar and usage, second. Next I circle all the "to be" verbs and eliminate as many as I can, and then I look for other repetitive constructs--paragraphs with too many he's, she's, and it's, and sentences, one after the other, beginning subject/verb, subject/verb.... Finally, I strike out as many adjectives and adverbs as my sinking heart can bear.

Then, the fun begins! Imagining new metaphors...and engaging the five senses--vision, hearing, smell, taste, and touch.



www.educationworld.com



Thanksgiving definitely reawakened my five senses! First, the sun rose such a deep red on Thanksgiving Day that my camera froze up at the beauty of it, so this isn't exactly it, but you get the idea:

www.fireflyforest.net

Then, the mingling aromas of a slow-roasted turkey and spicy-sweet pie tweaked our appetites all afternoon...



 

...although, frankly, I could have done without the reptilian feel of the slippery, slimey liver and kidneys that I boiled up for the dogs!

 

The real taste treat came compliments of Chef Guy Fieri with his recipre for whiskey-glazed sweet potatoes that you can find at http://thefoodnetwork.com:

 

 

And when we sat down to eat, silence prevailed, interrupted only by the sound of forks clicking against china, and an occasional sigh of contentedness.

 

Sensory overload.

 

So, today I'm working on incorporating the senses into my story, "Lost and Found."

• Imagine an elderly widower's apartment that reeks of moldering coffee grounds and old bananas.
• Picture a snow plow barreling down the street spewing out a wall of snow like a monster wave rolling into the shore.
• See him coming in out of the cold with a moustache that has turned to frost and his cheeks, to cherry popsicles.
• Imagine his relief when he opens the door to his friend's store and a tinkling chime and surge of warmth welcome him in.
• Imagine his rue when he realizes he forgot to pick up the hard candy he likes to hand out to the children in the neighborhood. And picture him setting his bag down and slumping against a lamp post when he can't find his way home again.

If you don't see, hear, feel, smell and taste the things your character does, you are left with a mere shadow of the person you are trying to create or describe.

 

www.abc.net.au

 

Are your senses fully engaged in your writing? Are you alert to your surroundings and to the people around you? Or are you rushing ahead with your eyes fixed on the ground and your thoughts elsewhere?

*

"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch

you must first

invent the universe."

--Carl Sagan--

*

Next week I'll be in Pittsburgh where I'll get to meet Beth Caldwell, author and project manager for the up coming anthology, "Empower! Stories of Breakthrough, Discovery and Triumph" where you will be able to read my chapter, "Begin Again". The anticipated date of release is March, 2013.

 jan

 

 

 

 

brats!

Today is the day I intended to finish my yardwork for the season--trimming back the perennials and mulching the shrubs--a poor excuse for avoiding the gym.

A lingering diehard

The weathermen had us believing that it would be sunny and mild today. Instead it's 45 degrees and raining. I don't mind working in the dirt when it's cold outside...but groveling in cold mud is a different story. So, this morning, I'm huddled next to my space heater (Don't get me wrong...I'm grateful to have it when some people are still without heat or electricity a week and a half after hurricane Sandy.) and I'm trying to decide what's next.

I have three writing projects underway, all of them refusing to cooperate. They can be such brats! I've been waffling back and forth all week long with the rewrite of a chapter in my novel but it won't make up its mind which path it wants to take. I'm trying to polish up a short story for a submission, but my main character can't decide what to wear. (And here I thought only I had that problem!) And I've started work on a memoir based on a few isolated glimpses into my past that I can't quite knit together. I should be happy to be stuck indoors with nothing but time on my hands but I can feel my frustration level morphing into an impenetrable road block.

So instead, maybe I'll put on another pot of coffee and spend the day reading. Three books lay open on my night stand and I just bought another one this week. I finally got around to reading "The Liar's Club" by Mary Karr.

The story doesn't resonate with my childhood at all so I'm trying to understand what it is that makes me keep on reading. What is it that makes her dysfuctional family so much more engaging than mine? If I can figure it out, perhaps it will help me with my own story.

I'm also struggling to get through "A Hole in the World" by Richard Rhodes, Pullitzer prize-winning author of "The Making of the Atomic Bomb."

This is his memoir of the abuse he suffered as a child. I say I'm struggling with it because it's more expository in nature than Mary Karr's story, not as engaging as hers, and it is devoid of humor, even dark humor.

The third book is Arthur Plotnick's "The Elements of Expression--Putting Thoughts into Words," a "how to..." book that does for storytelling what "The Elements of Style" did for grammar and usage.

As soon as I knock one of them off, I will relax into Anna Quindlen's memoir, "Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake."

Faced with an empty day do you ever find yourself spinning your wheels? Do you have a hard time getting started because you're frustrated or blocked...or because you're so excited you just can't decide what to do first??

Oh! Look! The sun just came out! Problem solved...

*

 "Life is denied by lack of attention,

whether it be to cleaning windows or

trying to write a masterpiece."

*

Get ready for another vocabulary quiz next week.

jan



 

 

in the aftermath

Those of us who live in the Northeast held our breath for a couple of days last week while Hurricane Sandy swept over, under, around and through the region. While we were fortunate enough to have enjoyed a deep sigh of relief when it was over, thousands of people were not so lucky.

Our trees are still standing, meaning that our house is still standing…meaning that we have everything to be grateful for.

 

I tried to imagine what it must have been like last week to have been cold, wet, and hungry for days on end…what it felt like for mothers and fathers who couldn’t feed or comfort or reassure their children in the dark. What it felt like to lose a loved one in a heartbeat. To lose everything. Forever. 

www.greenpeaceblogs.org

I couldn’t fathom the loss, the heartbreak, the helplessness reflected in the faces I saw on the news.

www.guardian.co.uk

Stories were born this week…stories that will be passed on the old-fashioned way for a while—person to person, neighbor to neighbor, and friend to friend. Stories that will be shared for generations around the dinner table, in churches, temples, and synagogues, on visits to the beach, and on other stormy nights in front of the fireplace. Stories that will eventually appear in journals and letters and pictures.

The question is: how will people put their stories into words? Into words the rest of us can understand? And…how will their stories end?

My heart aches for victims of the hurricane this week. If I had been able to reach into the TV set and draw people out of the storm and into my own living room...I'd have done it. I'd have offered food, clothing, a good hot shower, and a soft, warm bed to anyone who needed it. I would have wrapped my arms around them and welcomed them. But what would I have said to them? The truth is that I felt totally helpless.

If you, too, feel helpless as the news continues to unfold, you may want to donate to any of a number of disaster relief agencies. Among many others are:

http://www.directrelief.org/

http://www.redcross.org/

http://samaritanspurse.org/

 

Remember:

 

and



So...even if you aren't able to donate at this time, you can still help because...

 

 

To all the people who are still struggling...and will continue to stuggle for a long time to come...I wish you faith, hope, and solace.

 

 



*

"It has been said, 'time heals all things.'

I do not agree. The wounds remain.

In time, the mind, protecting its sanity,

covers them over with scar tissue

and the pain lessens.

But it is never gone."

--Rose Kennedy--

*

With this, I totally agree. She should know...

jan

embodied memory

I must admit--it's a bit of a challenge to write this morning with the rain hammering against the windows and the wind howling outside as hurricane Sandy moves on shore. And we live inland so we aren't getting the worst of it. Still, I'm ready:

Emergency preparedness...

Actually, there's a good chance that a one hundred year-old oak will come crashing down on the house today or tomorrow, given its age and the direction of the wind. Famke is pressed up against me so she apparently knows that something is up with this storm, too. Which reminds me...

 

...I spent a couple of days with my brother in Buffalo last week for a memorial observation of the passing of one of our last remaining relatives. There, I was reminded of the iconic blizzards I enjoyed back when I was growing up.

 

http://venturebeat.com

Trust me--I know how to prepare for a storm.

 

It has been years since either of us has been back home so, while we were there, we revisited a few of our old haunts and indulged in food you can only get in Buffalo:

 

Ted's hot dogs from the same stand we frequented 50 years ago
 

 

Roast beef on kimmelweck
 

Duff's Wings-voted #1 in Buffalo for 8 years running
 

My brother and I also visited Buffalo Women's and Children's Hospital while we were there.



 

We were both hospitalized there with rheumatic fever as children and we are collaborating on a joint memoir about our shared experience and the subsequent effect it had on the course of our lives. I have to admit that my world wobbled a bit when we first walked in and I inhaled the familiar scent of antiseptic and hospital food, when I saw the chidren in their beds, and their parents keeping vigil at their sides. Of course, the hospital doesn't look anything like it did in 1952. Still, it brought back memories. As did the taste of hot wings. As did the cold, damp wind blowing in off Lake Erie.

 

Which brings me to the subject of embodied memory--a memory that is triggered by a physical sensation, a scene or a moment in time that may not have crossed our minds for many, many years. For me, last week, it was the smell of the hospital--a physical sensation that transported me back to the ward where I was hospitalized at the age of three, into the crib in the back corner of the room, back to the tantrum I threw at 8:00 every night when visiting hours came to an end.

 

You may experience something similar. You might hear a song that sends you back to your college days. You might walk out into the cold and remember standing at the corner waiting for the school bus in a snowstorm as a child.

 

 

You might inhale an aroma that triggers the memory of a long forgotten Christmas morning with your family.

 

Embodied memory is an important concept in our understanding of PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder) and in the recovery of preverbal memory. It helps connect our reaction to certain persons and situations, and can help explain the anxiety we feel at times when there is nothing to feel anxious about.

 

If you write, this is a great way to introduce backstory--as a memory related to a sensation in one of your characters. You can incorporate one or more of the five senses as a trigger, remembering how important it is to access taste, smell, hearing, and touch in description.

 

Home-bound today because of the in-coming hurricane, I am transported back, by the roar of the wind and the chill draft in the house, to a day as a child when school was closed and we watched a different storm roll through.

 

 It's starting to pick up out there, so before I lose power, I just want to wish everyone in the path of this storm a safe harbor.

*

"Teach yourself to work

in uncertainty."

--Bernard Malamud--

*

Right now, it's hard to know what next week will bring forth.

jan



 



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