WordSisters

Tag: wordsisters

  • What To Do When Your Editor Has Your Manuscript

    ostrich-with-head-in-sand 2Surprisingly enough, I don’t have any nervous energy waiting for her response. I’m looking forward to her feedback. And, as soon as I receive her comments, I know that I’ll stick my head back into the manuscript and write, revise, and write.

    An ostrich doesn’t bury her head in the sand but she does dig a hole in the dirt to use as a nest for her eggs. Several times a day, the ostrich puts her head in the hole and turns the eggs.

    Since winning the 2013 – 2014 Loft Mentor Series in Creative Nonfiction, I devoted my time to babying my book. Every spare moment I had went into the work that would result in this baby growing into a manuscript worth publishing. I had a vision. I purged what wasn’t working and kept writing what was.

    With my newfound free time, I turned my attention to the cat room. It had become a stockpile of possibly useful stuff. Every time I walked into this room it bugged me. I’m a purger by nature. I don’t like stuff.

    Transforming this room became a creative process. I had a vision for the room. I knew that it could be more than it was. Focus, hard work, and purging would bring my vision to fruition.

    I’m the purger in our house. That’s my role. I enjoy it. For me it is creative. When Antonio and Crystel get to the point that even they can’t stand their bedrooms, they’ll turn their rooms over to me. I’ll go through every slip of paper, every drawer, every pencil box and organize, toss, give away, and rearrange. At the end of the day they have bedrooms they don’t recognize as theirs.

    Of course, there are those moments when I discard something I shouldn’t. Crystel asked me where her grocery bag of papers were. She said, “They are in the memory box like the pictures you took down off the wall, right?”

    Sorry, honey, I thought. That paper bag went straight in the trash.

    “Ms. Hutton said we’d need those later in the school year.”

    “Oooooh,” I replied.

    Jody, also enjoys when I get in this state of mind. I can bring orderly to chaos to any kitchen cupboard or linen closet.

    Maybe I am a good purger because I don’t have an attachment to stuff.

    There isn’t much that I won’t give away. I am one of twelve children and my mother would stack our clean clothes on numbered shelves. We each had a number that corresponded to our birth order. As the fifth child, I was number five. Even so, one day I couldn’t find a pair of blue jeans that I got for Christmas. Finally, I figured out that number six brother was wearing them. Possession became ownership.

    173314-stock-photo-sky-movement-head-sand-power-forceI tackled that cat room with the same intensity and focus that I used to write my book.

    Within three days, it wasn’t recognizable and I had a new sitting room.

    Soon, I’ll be burying my head back into my manuscript. I’ll be a mother to my words. Turning each one over and over. The only difference being … will be where I’m sitting. The cat room has become my favorite creative space. I’m confident I’ll emerge with a book worth reading.

  • Middle School Dances Are Not Just For Kids

    IMG_5199They are for adults, too.

    It’s my reward for living with two squalling 10 month olds who I swore would always be 10 months old. I could not see the day that I would be standing with the two of them at their first middle school dance.

    Middle school dances are also for the adults who volunteered in kindergarten and all through elementary. These same kids that we chaperoned on the apple orchard field trip and to Wood Lake Nature Center are now looking at each other with different eyes. And, if we are lucky enough, we’ll be able to discern who is looking at who.

    Antonio showing his id and getting his bracelet.
    Antonio showing his ID and getting his bracelet.

    Middle school dances are also for adults who volunteered in the community as Cub Scout and Brownie leaders, supervised playdates to Edinborough Park, Children’s museum, and the Children’s theatre. All these places that our children are too old to go to now (almost).

    It’s our due to see their faces clean, to watch them carefully choose their clothes even if it’s their favorite black hoodie.

    Middle School dances are also for adults who never went to a dance in middle school or high school. You can pretend that you’re supervising the dance floor when really, all you are doing, is checking it out.

    Don't let her face kid you. Crystel is excited that I'm at her first middle school dance.
    Yah, she’s kidding. Crystel loves me at her dance.

    If you are a Police Reserve Officer you can roam the halls with the middle-schoolers, duck into the karaoke room, the Wii dance room, the gymnasium with the four different inflatables, or stop and watch the donut eating contest.

    Then go back to the dance floor.

    Middle school dances aren’t for standing in one place.

    They’re for watching, observing, and hanging out.

    And, if you’re fortunate like I was, those same Cub Scouts and those same kids you chaperoned will smile and say, “Hi.” And, though you are much older, you’ll remember their name. And, let them use your cell phone to call their grandma to pick them up.

    Antonio with friends
    Antonio with friends

    And, you’ll be asking your own kids about the kids who didn’t come.

    Cause it was so much fun.

     

  • “I’m Not Afraid”

    Cheryl Strayed at Concordia College
    Cheryl Strayed at Concordia College

    Saying “I’m not afraid” over and over got Cheryl Strayed from the Mohave Desert through California and Oregon to Washington State – over an eleven-hundred-mile solo hike on the Pacific Crest Trail. I tried it myself this week–the mantra, not the hike–and it worked. I got through another moment. Cheryl Strayed had many moments on the trail with dangerous animals, a snowstorm, and misery.

    Monday, October 20th, I was with over 2,000 people listening to Cheryl as she spoke from the lectern at Concordia College.

    She dropped bits of wisdom throughout the night.

    “Don’t make fear my God.”

    Her book reading was different from all others that I’ve attended in that she never read a word from Wild. She talked to us. We could have been gathered around a very large coffee table.

    I had her book, Wild, for as long as it took her to do the hike – a summer–before I read a word. I was resistant because I didn’t want to be disappointed. I thought the praise for her writing might be because she was a local girl done good, and if I picked up the book the story would fall apart in my hands.

    Enough people recommended Wild that I finally opened to the first page. Whoa.

    I looked around the gymnasium at Concordia. A couple thousand people, including me, could relate to her story. How did she do that?

    “It’s the only book that spoke to me,” said my friend sitting next to me. Her husband passed away eight months ago. “People know that I like to read. I got a lot of books, but this was the only one….”

    “How can I bear the unbearable?”

    October 22, 2014 091Cheryl called her hike a universal journey. A journey of finding who we are and then coming to peace with that. “Grief is love,” she added.

    Therein lay my answer. Universal truths. Truths that apply to all people.

    “Love is the nutrient that we need.”

    “Alone with something I couldn’t lift but I had to lift it.”

    December 5, Wild will be coming out in movie theatres.

    Cheryl invited me to the after-party. She invited all of us. How did she make me feel included in her trajectory?

    Her author page on Facebook has 105,627 likes. She’s been accessible, not losing herself in her climb.

    In my research of her many interviews and talks around the country she didn’t lose herself in the publishing process or the making of a movie.

    “In a heroic battle to make my way back to myself.”

    During the evening Cheryl spoke about refusing to allow herself, her writing, or her story to be pigeonholed. Wild isn’t just for women. 50 percent of her correspondence is from men.

    She left me with a ‘how to’ for when my book sells: Go in expecting respect and politely inform others. An artist shouldn’t defend his or her work.

    Her book is powerful but she is even more powerful.

    “I’m not afraid,” I can imagine her … me … and all of us … continuing to say on our own personal hike.