what do you write?

This past week, I joined over 200 writers, agents, and editors in Pittsburgh for the 28th Annual Pennwriters Conference. This might be intimidating to those of us who are somewhat reclusive when we're at work, but in fact, this particular writing community tends to be cordial and inclusive making it easy to strike up a conversation with just about anyone.

One question is all it takes:

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Science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, romance, short stories, poetry, nonfiction--the list goes on. They were all well represented among this group.

When someone asks me what I write I usually respond, "You mean, what am I writing this week?" This week I'm trying to finish up a nonfiction book about spirituality. Last week I submitted a short story for publication. Next week it might be a piece of flash fiction or an essay. Three novels are collecting dust in a drawer somewhere, and I'd love to try my hand at poetry. I can't seem to stick to just one thing...and the clock is ticking. Still, I hold on to hope.

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I ask myself:

...and I remind myself:

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...which is why I preach the fact that it's never too late to begin again...whether you're starting a revision, or experimenting with something new...because

What would you like to try? When will you begin?

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"Do what you can,

with what you have,

where you are."

~Theodore Roosevelt~

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The Pennwriters Conference was so much fun my new motto is: "Laugh and Learn." I'm still in Pittsburgh visiting the kids, but when I get home, watch out!

jan

where the stories are

I've been dancing around the idea of writing a memoir for quite some time now, even though I don't know the steps. I do, however, know that Maya Angelou got it right when she said:

To this end I have been reading a lot of memoir to get a feel for what works. The list includes:

• The Liar's Club by Mary Karr

• The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

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• Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller
• A Year by the Sea by Joan Anderson
• Brain on Fire by Susannah Cahalan
• Expecting Adam by Martha Beck
• The Road of Lost Innocence by Somaly Mam
• Floor Sample by Julia Cameron

• A Hole in the World by Richard Rhodes
• Wild by Cheryl Strayed

• A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas

...and currently, Daring by Gail Sheehy.

Most successful memoirs, it seems, are written by people:

1. who are already famous, or notorious, affording us a vicarious glimpse into their private worlds
2. who have survived against overwhelming odds, perhaps an illness, or injury, or combat experience
3. who have confronted abuse, addiction, mental illness, or violence
4. who have experienced a transformative episode in their lives, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual
5. who are daring and adventurous

In other words, best-selling memoirs are not written by people like me--average, middle class, Caucasian adults who enjoyed happy childhoods.

If I were to write a memoir it would be my father's story~~the story of a brilliant, handsome young man who was singled out by his mother to study for the Catholic priesthood in Austria. Who fled the seminary at the onset of WWII in order to enlist in the army. Who was one of the first US soldiers to enter the concentration camps on Liberation Day, and never recovered physically, emotionally or spiritually from the experience.  And never spoke about it.

It would be my mother's story beginning with her father's death following a car crash when she was sixteen years old, the incident that precipitated her mother's disabling emotional breakdown. It would describe what it was like for my mother when she was forced to quit high school in order to care for her mother. It would follow her struggle to hold down a job in NYC while she attended night school, a journey that ultimately led her to Fisher-Price Toys where she worked as the executive secretary to Herman Fisher himself until the day he retired.

It would tell my brother's story of a near-fatal case of rheumatic fever at the age of five. When he coughed up blood, he was sure he was going to die because no one said anything about it to him. He didn't know why it happened or what it meant. He suffered in silence, in terror, in dread because he was too young to ask. Even though he recovered physically, memories of the experience festered out of sight his entire life.

All this while I enjoyed a happy and uneventful childhood in the country. While I spent four wonderful years at the University of Vermont. Nothing dangerous, or comical, or especially unique happened to me, nothing exciting or entertaining.

No. Wait a minute. That's wrong.

I'm just finishing "Daring--My Passages" by Gail Sheehy, author of the ground breaking book "Passages" that came out in 70's, when the women's movement was still just a glimmer on the cultural horizon.

At the time "Passages" came out I was struggling with the patriarchy of the medical establishment. Women were not welcome in the hallowed halls in those days. I didn't realize it at the time, but my decision to study medicine was a radical statement in favor of women's empowerment. Reading Sheehy's memoir took me back to the days when women had few expectations for themselves except marriage, children, and perhaps a job as a waitress, nurse, teacher, or secretary. Before women had a voice. Before anyone thought to listen to them.

Oh yes. There are some stories there...

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"You own everything that happened to you.

Tell your stories.

If people wanted you to write warmly about them

they should've behaved better."

~Anne Lamott~

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Here's the latest:

Caleb~~one month old

jan

too much fun

Oh, this is going to be so much fun! No, I'm not taking a cruise, or running off to Vegas, or redecorating my house. I'm not going away with my friends, or splurging on a new wardrobe. This will be so much better than that. And it will last for years and years.

The thing is that my grandson just turned 22 days old. Soon, I'll be reading to him. Oh, what fun!

You see, instead of a card, friends and family welcomed Caleb into the world with a book, and with it, they included a little message to him. So, he already owns a library full of bright, colorful books...and I get to read them to him. After all,

This is very important because...

and because...

(and grandparents...)

 So,

What could be better? Maybe writing a book for children!

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"You have to write the book

that wants to be written.

And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups,

then you have to write it for children."

~Madeleine L'Engle~

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jan

trust the process

If you write long enough and hard enough your own personal writing process eventually emerges. You learn what works for you.

I'm an early bird; you may be a night owl. I'm a "pantser"; you may be a planner. I guzzle coffee; you may prefer to sip an herbal tea when you write.

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I tend to coddle my "babies," those precious little bundles of lyrical prose that make my muse swoon with envy; you may be the type who runs them off the page without an afterthought. If that's the case, I may need your help...your brutal, never-look-back-because-you-can-do-better perspective on how to revise.

This week I need to create new content to replace a nicely written piece that (I hate to admit...) has nothing to do with the premise of the chapter I'm working on. I have to go from something about faith in the workings of the universe to a discourse on humility.

For me, this process involves:

• An epiphany: the first stirrings of unease, the earliest inkling that something doesn't fit, like a tiny pebble in your shoe that isn't painful enough to slow you down, but gets to be as annoying as hell after a while.

• Procrastinating: tweaking a word here and there so it feels a little like revising even though it doesn't change a thing, or moving on with the intention of coming back to it when you're in a better frame of mind, or excusing yourself for a couple of years because something important has come up. Let's say you've run out of clean underwear, or the leaves want to be raked, or you're afraid those shoes you love so much will sell out before you can get to the store.

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• Surrendering: conceding that what you've written ain't gonna work, and solemnly promising to set things right.

• Deleting: not simply highlighting text and hitting the delete button, but in the gentlest way possible convincing the wayward child it is time to go. You have better things in mind for it, lots of fun and a brighter future. You promise to save it someplace where it will be safe and happy until you can get back to it. There is nothing cruel or brutal about it.

• Waiting: also known as pacing, fretting, and cursing until the next great thought pops into your head. This can sometimes involve long walks, sleepless nights, and solitary meals. It can lead to over-indulgence...too much coffee or good red wine. To insecurity. To suicide, or pretty darn close.

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• Beginning again: at the first spark of inspiration, the faintest blush of optimism, the earliest glimmer of hope.  

This is my process and I'm sticking with it. What works for you?

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"Hold the vision.

Trust the process."

~author unknown~

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jan

 

there are no words for this

Over the past couple of weeks, I watched as anticipation, expectation and preparation dissolved into exhaustion, fear and heartache for the people around me...people I love. I couldn't wish it away, reason it away, or pray it away. I couldn't breathe again until I felt the surge of relief, gratitude and joy that followed.

Even then, I couldn't latch on to a meaningful thought. I couldn't line up enough letters in a row to make any sense of it. I gazed at my journal but I couldn't open it, so I didn't write a word about it.

What is a mother to do while she waits? What can she say that is wise and true and fruitful? What is a writer to do when there are no words for the suffering and sorrow, the sweetness and solace that grapple for dominance every day of our lives? When the emotional roller coaster we have been riding goes flat on the page?

What difference does it make in the end as long as all is well?

Caleb Alexander Gashinski...

...et al.

Oh yeah!

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"To the world you may be one person,

but to one person, you may be the world."

~Dr. Seuss (among others)~

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jan

how broken hearts still beat

Not that I'm complaining, but things haven't always been easy for me.

For example, I survived med school back in the days when women in medicine were considered freaks of some sort.

I worked, and still managed to raise three children in my spare time.

I ran a clinic in the African bush in a tent without electricity or running water.

What then, I ask, is so hard about writing a book? I have everything I need for it--dark chocolate, strong coffee, and red wine. Peace and quiet. Time on my hands.

Nevertheless, making progress on my WIP has been like slogging through quicksand.

It's swallowing me alive. This may be the case because I'm writing about faith even though my faith might be just the tiniest bit shaky. In the book, "Ten Faces of Faith," I admit it:

"I wrestle with much of what I've been taught about faith, from the idea of angels hovering about unseen to evil spirits stalking us here on Earth, even though that’s what I was taught to believe. I’ve witnessed enough tragedy and experienced enough heart break myself to question the power of prayer, the existence of God, and His role in our lives. On a bad day I might just chalk the whole conundrum up to wishful thinking. Still, another part of me hopes that what I’ve been taught about God’s infinite love and mercy is true. That suffering serves a purpose. That in the end He will be there for us.

Perhaps you, too, have been put to the test in ways that called your faith into question. When the cancer came back, or your marriage failed, or you lost your best friend despite your prayers for her. You may have knelt down and pleaded with God for healing or solace or forgiveness that never came. You may have trusted in His mercy and power, but nothing happened. All the prayer in the world didn’t change a thing, and faith provided no consolation. God was silent. Absent. You may have conceded that prayer doesn’t actually work very well. That pain is an inevitable part of life and all the faith in the world is no safeguard against it. Like me, you may have felt God’s absence more than His presence at critical times in your life.

I’m still trying to make sense of it.

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I want to know how broken hearts still beat. I want to know how laughter survives. I want to understand why the faithful have to suffer because, despite what we’ve been told, it turns out that the yoke of humanity can be oppressive and the burden sometimes cruel."

Have you ever gotten in over your head with a writing project? What is the hardest thing you've undertaken? When you're having trouble with something, do you pray for help?

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“Undeniably great is the mystery of devotion.”

~1 Timothy 3:16~

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My next book is going to be about something that's funny...

jan

take a bow

For many of us this has been a dismal, cold, snowy winter. In fact, it's snowing outside my window right now...even though today is March 1st. Meaning, we're just three weeks away from the first day of spring.

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Winter may not be your favorite time of the year, but on a warmer and brighter note, this year it turned out to be a great season to celebrate the arts. We had the Tonys, the Emmys, the Oscars, and the 40th anniversary gig to salute the enduring popularity of SNL. We've applauded the talent, imagination, and hard work of singers and dancers, actors, artists, writers, and musicians.

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Their success suggests that the rest of us can do it, too. We may not make millions at what we attempt, or walk the proverbial red carpet of fame, but if, instead, we measure success in terms of passion, joy, and courage, we have earned the right to take a bow. 

We earn it with the first stroke of the brush on a blank white canvas. The first bars of a melody that come to us in silence. The first verse of a poem or the title of a story that needs to be told. The shape of a piece of clay.

We deserve a round of applause when we set a beautiful table, for the way we arrange the fruit on a platter, for the flowers we plant by the doorstep.

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Just imagine the roar of the crowd when we hang a child's drawing on the refrigerator door, sing a simple song together, or dance a silly jig.

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Wherever our imaginations lead us, whatever passion drives us, whatever the outcome, this is how art survives. Don't make it wait until spring.

What could you start doing today to please your inner artist?

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"Reality leaves a lot

to the imagination."

~John Lennon~

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If my posts are a little erratic over the next couple of weeks, it's because our family is expecting the arrival of a brand new baby boy. Talk about creativity...

jan