false promises

Like everyone else this week, I'm trying to process the tragedy that unfolded at Sandy Hook Elementary School yesterday.  I didn't turn on the news this morning for the latest updates...not because I can't bear to revisit the pain these families are suffering, not because I'm untouched by it, nor because I'm hardened against it...but in deference to their need for privacy and respect. I'm trying to keep my thoughts reverent and prayerful. The problem is that, in light of this tragedy, I'm not exactly sure who I'm praying to:

God the Father?

www.en.wikipedia.org



God the Son?

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I Need More of God in My Life

 

Or God the Holy Spirit?

It makes me wonder what I'm doing wrong when I pray, or why I bother at all, so little seems to come of it. And that's a problem for me having struggled for so long to come to some sort of workable relationship with a power or deity who chooses to reveal himself/herself in apparent false promises:

"For my yoke is easy and my burden light." Matthew 11, 30

Really?
 

www.lulacpoliticaletter.blogspot.com

 

 ...in irreconcilable contradictions:

"For the Lord loves justice and right and fills the earth with goodness." Ps. 33, 5

Really?

www.policymic.com

 

 

...and in elusive mysteries:

"Faith is the realization of things hoped for and evidence of things not seen." Hebrews 11, 1

 

This kind of tragedy...not to mention its timing...is enough to raise some serious doubts even among dedicated believers. At Mass tonight, it was reassuring to me to learn that even our pastor struggled to make sense of today's gospel:

"...the Lord is in your midst, you have no further misfortune to fear." Zephaniah 3, 15

 

In my Roman Catholic heart of hearts, I don't believe that all the prayer in the world is going to bring one moment of peace, one dew drop of solace, or a trace of comfort to the parents and families of the children whose lives were lost at Sandy Hook yesterday...not to mention the first responders whom I, personally, worship.

 

Nevertheless, when someone else's suffering is paralyzing to witness and we are powerless to help...we may have nowhere else to turn but to prayer, in the hope that someone or something, somewhere, is listening and able to fulfill his/her promises, to reconcile the contradictions, and to answer the question--"How could you let this happen?"--once and for all.







 

It's gotta be worth a try.

jan

 





what is winter without snow?

 

 

What is winter without snow?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hm'm'm.

Okay, I give up...

 

*

The cold was our pride,

the snow was our beauty.

 It fell and fell, lacing day and night together in a milky haze,

making everything quieter as it fell,

so that winter seemed to partake of religion

in a way no other season did,

hushed, solemn.

--Patricia Hampl--

*

Oh, my. Yes.

jan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

have no fear

Anyone who knows me knows that I love winter.

In my opinion, whoever invented snow deserves praise and glory forever and ever. Amen. I mean, who doesn't enjoy a "snow day" once in a while?

This is a great time of the year, especially for those among us who thrive on chaos. No sooner is Thanksgiving a pleasant memory, than we begin our gift-wrapping, card-sending, cookie-baking preparations for Christmas.

www.getsafeonline.org

The trouble is that takes time...time away from the daydreaming, word-searching, plot-twisting devotion we need inorder to write. Which is why I've taken to jotting things down on the back of cashier receipts, cancelled envelopes, and on the back of my to-do lists...

...wherever and whenever they come to me. Because I'm slow at writing and at this time of the year I don't have time to fritter away in front of my laptop waiting for inspiration to strike.

So...when I carved out a couple of days last week to go to Pittsburgh, it was just One. More. Thing. But I was optimistic about it. The drive takes about four hours depending on weather and traffic...

four uninterupted hours I expected to spend in my head, revising a short story I'm writing, plotting out the next couple of scenes in the novel I seem to be stuck on, and reflecting on the memoir I'm starting to write. Instead, my monkey mind scampered from party planning, to holiday decorating, to cookie baking...anything but story telling. Not one thing came to me. Not one line of dialogue. Not one scenic image. Not one original metaphor. I couldn't have flushed one out if my life depended on it...

...until the drive home. I spent four hours in silence when, for reasons I still cannot fathom, it all came to me. In my mind, I finished the short story and I lined up all the scenes I need to get to the end of my novel.

How does that happen? One day--nothing. The next day--BAM!

www.knowyourmeme.com

The point is that writing requires patience. It can't be forced. But have no fear--when the story is ready, it will come to you. Just when you are about to give up on it, it will drag you, kicking and screaming, back to the keyboard, or to your notebook, or, to a piece of scrap paper, and it will pour itself out. You simply have to be ready for it, open to it, and grateful for it when it happens.

Mary Keeley, an agent at Books & Such Literary Agency, has posted a great piece about this conundrum that you can find here: http://www.booksandsuch.biz/blog/writers-extend-flexibility-to-yourself/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+booksandsuch%2FzNoF+%28Books+and+Such+Blog-+Between+the+Lines%29 .

Are you patient with yourself when you write? How do you handle frustration?

*

"So you see,

imagination needs moodling--

long, inefficient, happy

idling, dawdling and puttering."

--Brenda Ueland--

*

Next week: What is Christmas without SNOW??

jan



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.



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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