Second Book

My second book is out: The Right Sisters: Women Inventors Tell Their Stories. This was a collaborative project with my friend, inventor Julia Rhodes.

For me, it was tremendously satisfying to work on a project that celebrates women's ingenuity with a dear friend. Julia and I have a long history of supporting one another, helping each other to the next step . . . and the next. It also feels pretty wonderful to have in my hands two books that I authored.

If you'd like to buy the book, it is available online at Amazon or Barnes & Nobel or you can contact Julia through her KleenSlate Concepts website or give me a ring and I'll get you a copy.

Writing a Book

I spent the last month finishing a book project. Twelve hours a day, day after day. I loved it! My back ached from sitting; my wrist ached from typing. My nights were filled with thoughts about the book to the point that I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or thinking. I'd wake at 3am or 4am and wish that 5am would come so I could get up (at a reasonable hour) and get back to work. Thirty marvelous days of writing. What a gift; what a privilege. This was the end of the project, during which I completed the last 75 pages or so.

But the project actually started years before when I had lunch with my friend Julia. The idea for The Right Sisters was hers. She came up with the title and she did tons of research before I ever got invovled. At lunch that day, I absorbed her enthusiasm like a plant collecting energy from the sun. The photosynthesis took eight years before that energy was fully transformed into a book.

When I think about it, the book project really started years before that lunch date, back when Julia and I first met and I reveled in her smile, in her joy of life, in her swinging blond hair and willingness to jump when I was merely tiptoeing . Way back in 1977, we started the partnership that would make a book thirty-three years later. We were the right sisters!

Thanks Julia, for being a part of my life, for shining your light on my creative life.

For the Love of Books

I recently had the pleasure of spending two hours in the library with Kyle. He diligently completed his schoolwork, a writing assignment, so that he could move on to the fun part: locating, purusing, and checking out books. He is gettng quite skillful at looking for books on the computer data base, jotting down the call number, and then looking for the book in the stacks. When you watch a child learn all the steps necessary to finding books in the library, you really get an idea of how many different skills are required.

Kyle's tastes are varied which makes him a reader after my own heart. I sat in the children's section reading a magazine while he hunted for books, brought each selection to me, and explained its appeal and then went off to find another. He chose some old favorites, found a mystery chapter book, and a book about Star Wars. Once he had a nice little stack, he asked to go look at the movie section in the adult part of the library, so I carried his stack of books over there along with my magazine, and he disappeared into the movie aisle. A little while later he emerged with 3 videos just as hs mom arrived to pick him up. I hugged him goodbye at the circulation desk where he had pulled his library card from his back pocket in preparation for checking out the books.

The next day when I saw him, he was already on chapter 8 in the mystery. The boy loves to read!

Indulging

The last I heard, Anna Mae was on page 650 of the 5th book in the Harry Potter series. I distinctly remember days as a child when I was able to indulge in reading a book for hours on end, a time when gobbling up a whole series was a week's occupation.

That's why when I came home exhausted from work yesterday, I changed into my jammies, grabbed a Harry Potter book off the shelf, and snuggled into bed at 6:30. It didn't matter that I only have 3 books in the series, all of which I'd already read. What I sought was the lovely pleasure of losing myself in a book. I only managed to read 50 pages of Book 2 before sleep grabbed me, but for a short time I indulged in delicious adventure with Harry Potter.

The Conversation in Books

My book shelves are filled with books I have yet to read and my Amazon wish list and Goodreads "to be read" list both sport a huge number of books. Not infrequently, however, someone I love speaks of a book they are reading. Their tone of voice and facial expression tell of their delight with the book and reveal how it has touched them in some way. Immediately, my curiosity is aroused, and so I set aside the long list of books calling to me to see what has called them.

When August was reading Redwall, his enthusiasm piqued my interest, so I read the first book in the series. When Taylor was reading Harriet the Spy, I wanted to re-read it, and after Anna Mae read Pegeen, the second in a series by Hilda Van Stockum, I borrowed it. I read The Body Ecology Diet after Jennie Lou found it, and I read the Faith Club based on Ashley's comments. When Ginger described the wonders of Christiane Northrup's Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom, I bought and read it. Every time I talk to Andrea, I leave eager to read the books currently on her bed-side stand, and Culley's pleasure with the audio production of The Subtle Knife had me running home to download it.

I know that books serve as a conversation; I learned this back when I was in school. Writers of any merit are conversing both with earlier writers as well as with their audience of readers. Anyone who has been in a book club or shared a book with another person recognizes the way in which books evoke conversations among readers. For me, the conversation moves beyond this, however, for I've found that reading books that appeal to people I love also serves as a window in their hearts and minds because it seems clear that the book's appeal is likely a reflection of their thinking and values.

That's why when Raleigh spoke about enjoying The Shack, I immediately bought and read it. I knew the book was Christian fiction and that the spiritual ideology was likely to differ from my own, but I wasn't reading it to find support for my own practice. I was more interested in the tale that evoked my son's satisfaction with this book. I wanted to know him through a story he loved.

I wasn't disappointed. I found a window into the nature of his faith and the manner in which love and forgiveness serve as his underpinnings. Though Raleigh and I have not spoken directly about this book, I feel like we've had a conversation because we've read the same words on the page and we've each responded these words. As I read The Shack, I was able to consider where our thinking was likely to have connected and where it might have diverged in response to William Paul Young's story, just as I wondered about Jennie Lou's and Taylor's thoughts when I read The Body Ecology Diet and Harriet the Spy.

The conversation offered by books is far reaching, rich, and deeply satisfying. It's always worth it to put aside a book on my list to pick up one enjoyed by my dear ones.

Revisiting Harry Potter

While I was traveling with Anna Mae last week, we listened to the Sorcerer's Stone on CDs in the car. I first read this book not long after it came out. It was required reading in a class in my MFA program. I really enjoyed the book then, but I think I listened differently this time, in part because of my granddaughter's presence (I was trying to hear the story from her perspective) and partly because my writer's mind is differently attuned to reading these days (I pay more attention to style, technique, and structure).

Apparently one criticism of JK Rowlings and Harry Potter is that Harry often disobeys rules and the directions of elders in an attempt to do something he believes is right. Critics believe this gives the wrong message to kids. That was one of the things my daughter asked us to look for in the book. It is of course a major feature of the character, Harry Potter, though I hadn't realized it before. This trait is often found in heroic characters, so the question becomes does it give the wrong message? I'm not sure I can answer that.

However, I did notice something from an adult perspective. I was amazed at how adroitly Rowlings depicts adult's blowing it in exactly the way that we all do, operating as we do from the assumption that we know best when in some cases the thinking of a child is much more clear sighted and fresh and in fact allows him/her to see wrong doing when we are missing it. What I learned is that I should listen more fully to children and not always assume I know best.

Anna Mae was making her own observations, paying more attention to how the kids were interacting with one another, be it supporting a friend or being mean in some way. Her criticism was mostly of Malfoy and his buddies who were the meanies, and she was aware of how the friends, Harry, Ron, Hermionie and Nelville, were a little odd, not fitting in with what would be regarded as acceptable and usual among the other kids.

So not surprisingly, we both listened to the book with our own filters on: she looking at the kids behavior and I at the adults.

Book Launch

I must admit that a long line of people stretching away from a book signing table can sure make a writer feel like an author!

Beyond that snaking line, Book Launch Day was amazing in so many ways. The gathering of friends and family from near and far was sheer delight: Raymond & Bonnie, my brothers, my son, my mother's best friend, Cindy's parents, sister & nephew, colleagues from the college, friends from the gym, yoga, meditation, the community and my new freelance business. There were friends of Carol's that I'd never met, along with many of the writers I've worked with over the years in various groups. Those who lived too far away to come sent best wishes. My sister sent yellow roses which adorned the podium and friends from Antioch sent cards! My cyber friends sent email cards and posted announcements on their blogs.

The room was elegant, with slants of sunlight pouring through the Opera Hall windows to accent Marianne's astute plan for decorating and arranging the room. The food was phenomenal in no small part because of the women in the kitchen--most notably Cindy's mom and sister-- cutting, chopping, and warming the delicious array. Bartenders Cynthia and Ilana were dressed in ruffled tuxedo shirts with purple adornments. The two kept the wine, beer, and soda flowing with their smiling good cheer. As folks arrived they conscientiously worked on the Trivia Quiz after signing the guest book.

When those assembled gathered for the start of the program, my dear friend Morgan charmed everyone with a warm and witty introduction. I stayed grounded for my part with the exception of a cracking voice and a few tears when I thanked Culley for underwriting the publication of the book. The audience laughed and clapped and played along competitively when we checked the quiz for winners. And wouldn't you know it, Raymond won the grand prize! The applause at the end included calls for Carol which brought her to the stage as everyone stood to acknowledge her bravery and their love!

While people gathered around the chocolate fondue, visited in little clusters, and enjoyed the mingle-music from a playlist compiled by Andrea, I signed books and basked in congratulatory remarks. What an amazing reward after five years spent writing the book and another three trying to get it published. Cindy sat nearby selling books to the folks who then stepped into the signing line. I've never had so many hugs and kisses in one day . . . I'm filled to the brim with sweet regard.

Come back tomorrow for a post about simultaneity . . .

ph

Wonderful

After a busy, busy week, I gave myself over to the pleasure of sitting in the recliner and reading a book: Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks. My first encounter with Brooks was when I read Nine Parts of Desire, her non-fiction book about Muslim women in various countries in the Middle East. As a journalist, Brooks is an impeccable researcher who manages to uncover an amazing array of facts with which to compliment her story. She is also adept with language and writes an enthralling literary account, be the work non-fiction or fiction.

Year of Wonders is the fictional account of a mountain village in England where the plague breaks out. Over the course of one year-- from the spring of 1665 through the fall of 1666 – Anna Firth, a housemaid tells the story about the villagers' extraordinary choice to quarantine themselves to prevent the spread of the disease beyond village boundaries. This is story of love, fear, and hate, of courage, treachery, and compassion. Brooks manages to artfully weave in an amazing amount of historical research related to mining, medicine, healing, midwifery, farming, lambing, and the Anglican and Puritan religions. The book is filled with page turning suspense and unfathomable grief as the plague makes its way from household to household decimating the population.

But this is not just a sad story. Anna explores the existential question "Why do such things happen?" Her struggle mirrors the dilemma of the world at her time, one that continues until this day: the struggle between religion and science. As Anna and the townspeople grapple with the question of why, so does the reader. After facing the horrors of the year, Anna says, "I cannot say that I have faith anymore. Hope, perhaps. We have agreed that it will do for now."

Brooks maintains a break-neck pace, sprinkling the story-telling with the language of the day in an unobtrusive manner, so that I felt immersed in another place and time. I read non-stop almost all day, munching chocolate chip cookies through the tough parts and sipping ice-water as I enjoyed the wonders of this book.

Air Quality

The smoke from a large number of wildland fires is playing havoc with my ridiculously fragile lungs. Over 300 fires started a week ago when we had lightening storms all over northern California. Soon there was a cloud of ghastly yellow smoke hanging over the upper part of the state. One of the fires threatened the housing division where Cindy's sister Sandie lives. In fact, one week later that fire is only 35% contained, and any sudden wind change could put the homes in jeopardy. While Sandie attends meetings about the safety of her home and watches flames lick the sky at night, I must stay indoors if I want to breathe evenly.

The smoke settles across the valley meadow where we live and hovers over the nearby reservoir. Even a short stint outside to water potted plants and empty the compost leaves me wheezing. I can't leave the bedroom window open at night because there is no fresh air to blow in. These lungs that I stretched and exercised as a kid by swimming seem to have lost their elasticity with age. I've become a person who must pay head when newscasters warn those with respiratory ailments to stay indoors because of poor air quality, though I admit this is the first time that I recognized myself in those alerts.

The upside is that I'm getting a lot of writing done waiting for the air to clear and the baby to arrive. Maybe the child knows better than to show his or her head in the muck that currently floats around here. I certainly have discovered the ill effects of peeking my head out the door, and my forced incarceration has effectively thwarted the procrastinator who always finds tasks to do in the yard when a writing deadline looms.

So by Saturday afternoon, I had finished the play review of South Pacific that is due Monday morning. Then I finished the novel I was reading (The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult which was OK but not something I'd recommend. If you want to read her stuff, read My Sister's Keeper). And we watched a sweet movie last night, one that Netflix recommended on the page that says "Since you liked [this movie] you might like [this movie.]" The title grabbed me: Evelyn. That's my mother's name. The blurb sounded good too: based on a true story, Evelyn follows a father's fight with the Irish Supreme Court to regain custody of his kids after his wife has left the family. The movie (along with pizza) was just the right reward for getting the review done early and staying inside all day. It was funny, well acted, and a happy commentary on beating the system and getting to right action.

There are sun beams on my desk this morning and the sky is pale white if not blue. I think I'll go take a sip of air and see how it feels.

ph

Measuring March

21 days of influenza.

11 days of not leaving home.

4 birthdays: Cindy, Gianna, Jennie Lou, & Kyle

8 books read: Atonement, The Jane Austen Book Club, Eats, Shoots & Leaves, Sticky Fingers, Emma, Second Nature, A Year of Living Biblically, The Book of Changes.

11 movies viewed: The Simple Life of Noah Dearborn, Notes on a Scandal; Fried Green Tomatoes; A Lot Like Love; License to Wed; Horton Hears a Who; Sense & Sensibility; Arranged; August Rush; Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest; Gone with the Wind.

1 hospital visit—diagnosis: Cindy has pneumonia.

1 request for more blog posts: Thanks, Bonnie

Books—a sweetness I devour

It's been a while since I wrote about the books I'm reading, so I'll do a little catch up. Last week I finished Eats, Shoots & Leaves which I wrote about on my other blog Grammar Police (drop by and visit me there too). It's a nerdy book about punctuation, but the author, Lynne Truss, is hilarious and the book was actually a New York Times best seller. If you have even a tiny interest in the English language, this book will make you laugh aloud.

I also read (actually listened to) Ian McEwan's Atonement. I wanted to read the book before I saw the movie. I'm so glad I did because so much of it takes place in the minds of the characters. The movie will undoubtedly be a different beast though I still want to see what the screen writers did with this incredible work. McEwan is so astute about human emotions—greed, guilt, fear, desire—and his ability to show all views of an event with all the potential misperceptions and misconstruals is phenomenal. He is a master of detail which slows the pace of the book immensely and it was something I found quite satisfying. However, if you like a fast paced piece, Atonement is not for you.

Atonement segues in a weird way with the book I just started on audiotape called The Stuff of Language, another nerdy, non-fiction book, this time on psycholinguistics, which is the science that looks at how language and the mind work together. The book is dense with semantic research, but I'm getting enough of it to be totally fascinated. Author Steven Pinker describes how single words can be understood differently by each of us. He then goes on to explain why this is so. He also describes how children learn language which is truly a miracle given the intricacies of language that he relates. I can't think of a single person who might enjoy this book as I am (maybe Anne or Andrea, but then again maybe not).

My books always seem to connect weirdly to my life and other things I'm reading. I'm sure this is no accident, but it always surprises me. For instance, a few weeks ago, Cindy and I watched the movie The Jane Austen Book Club. The very next day I got an email from the editor of the newspaper saying that Karen Joy Fowler, the author of the book The Jane Austen Book Club, was going to be in town in March and would I be interested in doing an article on local book clubs. I took the assignment and bought the book. This time, I read the book after seeing the movie. I'm not quite finished with it, but I will be by the time Fowler comes to town this Friday. It's a fun book and was a great movie even if you haven't read Austen (though I'm sure it is more fun if you have). The book makes me want to get back to my novel (remember NaNoWriMo and Memo?) because I was using books in a similar way when writing that novel though they weren't books by a single author.

I'm also a quarter of the way into The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs which I put aside to read Fowler's book. I'll say more about it when I finish it.

Books are the chocolate of my life . . . so sweet and delicious that I can't keep myself from devouring them.

ph

Obama

I am cautiously optimistic and deeply pleased that Barack Obama came out on top in the Democrat Iowa Caucus with 39% of the vote, making him the clear favorite over Edwards and Clinton. Though I'm not convinced Obama is ready to be president, this early victory in the primaries bodes well in my small world. I feel it is auspicious indeed that a black man could do so well in Iowa the same year that I became grandmother to Leon and Aliou, twins from Liberia.

Just before the twins arrived, I listened to Obama read his book, Dreams of My Father, A Story of Race and Inheritance. The book filled my heart with hope and calmed my fears regarding the climate of racism we were bringing the boys into. I'm a child of the 60s and remember the Civil Rights movement with weeks of TV news footage depicting riots and fires and lynching, images I still can't get out of my mind. I know things are better, but I'm not naïve. The color barrier still looms large in this country. So my hope soared for my country and the African grandsons who were on their way as I listened to Obama's rich voice recount his life as the son of a black Kenyan father and a white American mother. The book was written in 1995 before Obama was elected Senator in Illinois, and it offers the perspective of a young man describing his experience with race and many cultures.

I am not politically astute. I haven't followed the presidential candidate race very closely, and I'm guilty of voting intuitively and from my emotions just like the people who put Bush into office. But I do have a method for making political decisions. In the case of presidential elections, and even senatorial and gubernatorial elections, I read memoirs, biographies, and feature articles in newspapers and magazines looking for a window into a candidate's life. I remember reading The Ugly American when Kennedy was running, though that was before I could vote. In fact that might have been the book and times that established my way of learning about a political candidate.

For today--right now--however, I'm simply happy that Barack Obama did well. I enjoy seeing his black face smiling warmly on the blogs and news websites that I'm reading this morning, a face just like Leon's and Aliou's.

ph

Seasonal Resistance

If you are a regular reader, you might wonder where I've been for the past few days. The truth of the matter is that I'm not cut of a cloth that can weather the hyped-up energy of the holiday season. For years, I have succumbed to my annual cold in December, and this year was no exception despite the fact that I'm retired and did not spend the first two weeks of December closing out a semester at the college by reading a slew of student papers and getting my grades all tabulated and turning in book orders for the Spring semester and new syllabi into the print shop.

True to form, on what would have been the last day of the college semester, had I been working, I woke with a sore throat and a heaviness in my chest. By Friday night I knew I was going down. The rest of the weekend (and most of Monday) I spent in hibernation—in my view the most desirable situation for late December when the days are oh so short and the temperatures hover around freezing. For me, hibernation looks like this:

My pajama clad body is cuddled under blankets on the double recliner with lots of pillows ready for the many short naps I take all day. On the end table, there are empty tea cups, a glass crusted with Emergen-C, a box of tissues, my cup of pens, pencils and highlighters with the built in post-its, the portable phone, several notebooks, and 2 or 3 pads of lined paper in several sizes. In my lap and all around me on the recliner, books and binders of material are ready for delving into. This December, the focus has been two books, Start Late, Finish Rich and Ghostwriting for Fun & Profit. Along with these two books, I now have a wireless card on my lap top, putting the wonders of the Internet at my fingertips, so I've been reading a number of newly discovered blogs about freelance writing (I have 5 new RSS feeds). Over the course of 2 ½ days, I've scribbled notes and devised plans and created two neatly converging tracks: one for earning more money freelancing and another for getting us out of debt and saving money.

There I sat truly sick but busy in a snuggly way and without a doubt totally happy while Cindy shopped, baked, did laundry, and prepared in countless ways for Christmas. Last night as I rallied and actually worked on our greeting cards, she commented none to wryly on my habit each December of getting sick and disappearing into one of my book and paper projects that has absolutely NOTHING to do with Christmas preparations.

If only I weren't so transparent. So my dear Cindy, with only a week left until Christmas, I promise to resist my seasonal resistance and participate fully if you'll just give me a list and point me in the right direction.

ph

Fantasy Bridge

I'm reading Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson, mostly because it was referenced on a one of my favorite blogs, Tuckova in a post called "A lot of thinking about YA fantasy." As fate would have it, a few days later I was at the library, and they had this very tasteful display of books and quotes related to grief, along with little chits on which you could recommend books that helped you through a sorrowful time. Sitting among the books was Bridge to Terabithia, a book published in 1977 that I somehow missed when my kids were young. It has now been made into a movie. So I checked it out, and I put The Vampire Lestat aside for a few days (I'm going to finish it because I rarely abandon a book; I just need a break because truth be told, I don't particularly care for Anne Rice's style of writing—her sentences and paragraphs are choppy and redundant—and then there is the whole notion of vampires. I'll never understand the hype or interest in such ghoulish other life or I guess they are actually dead, but that part simply doesn't make sense to me).

Anyway, I was ready for a shift to quality youth literature. Terabithia is a Newberry Award, and I can certainly understand why though I'm only a third of the way into the book. The writing is delicious, the characters are believable, and the portrayal of schoolyard life drops me right back to my own school days. And of course there are the woods -- the place of Terabithia and the way Jess first relaxes into it knowing he won't have to go deeper into the dark part of the woods: "But as a regular thing, as a permanent place, this was where he would choose to be—here where the dogwood and the redbud played hide and seek between the oaks and evergreens, and the sun flung itself in golden streams through the trees to splash warmly at their feet." I relish this language and know such places even as I recognize the foreshadowing in Jess's thoughts about "dark places where it was like being underwater."

The blogger on Tuckova says she learned about writing from books like Bridge to Terabithia and The Chronicles of Prydain. Last weekend, I went to a workshop on the writing program that my grandkids are doing at their charter school, and the workshop leader said something similar, that is that children need to read, then study what they are reading and copy the form and style when they write stories. She even described an activity where she gives students a children's story and tells them to re-write it with people and places that they know while retaining the same narrative line. I love this idea and know that one of the best pieces of writing I ever did involved replicating the shape of an essay by Adrienne Rich while using different content. I know that my grandkids enjoy writing stories about make believe places—i.e. fantasy stories the closely resemble the stories they are reading.

So where am I going with all of this? I'm not sure other than the fact that I want to hurry off to my recliner with my cup of tea and read more about Jess and Leslie and Terabithia.

ph

The Malady of Mortality

I'm reading The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice for reasons that are interesting but not particularly related to this post. Early in the book, Lestat is consumed by something his friend Nicolas names the "malady of mortality," a deep shuddering realization of pure emptiness, the absolute absence of any answer in death. The malady overtakes him during a drunken evening with Nicolas not long after Lestat's harrowing near death experience with a pack of wolves which was followed closely by his mother's admission that she is dying and "perfectly horrified" by the fact. Having once seen this darkness, Lestat sees death standing behind everything—"real death, total death, inevitable, irreversible, and resolving nothing."

Yesterday was the three month anniversary of Ashley's death. In a moment of hopeless sadness and tears, Cindy and I confessed to one another that we each have this constant undercurrent of fear that it will happen again, that someone else dear to us will die or that we will die and leave behind for others the huge sadness that we feel.

When it feels like the sadness will never pass, we've found the only salve is gratitude—remembering all the things we are thankful for in each day: a beautiful sunset, children's laughter, the arms of a loved one around us in a warm happy hug.

ph

Blog Heaven

This morning, I was tweaking on the Internet when I should have been working on my review of Forever Plaid, and I made a glorious discovery: The Amazon.com Bookstore's Blog. OMG, it's the greatest.

Why?

Because not only do I love to read, but I also love to read about books and what others have to say about them. The folks writing this blog are obviously well-read (and I might add well-connected to books). The side-bar includes short bios on each contributer in which they describe their main interests and something about their love for books.

I've been holding on to a subscription request for The New York Review of Books for about 3 months, wanting to subscribe but not wanting to pay for it. I'm glad I waited because this blog is just what I'm looking for: a current and thoughtful appraisal of what's going on in the book world and because it's a blog there are hyperlinks and podcasts that make it ever so much more interesting.

Also, instead of jotting the name of a book to locate on Amazon at some later time, which is necessary when reading print reviews, I can click the link and go right to the book's Amazon page. I know!!! That's what Amazon is hoping I'll do because they want me to buy, but so far I've just put books on my wish list (Are you reading this Cindy? Aren't you proud of me?).

But this leads me to another topic--the one that got me looking at Amazon.com in the first place this morning. I wasn't looking for a book. I was doing research of another sort, something prompted by a book I'm reading called The Purple Cow by Seth Godin (a book, I might add, that I checked out of the library).

But I'll save the topic of the purple cow for tomorrow.
ph

Shakespeare TaDum

I just returned from 5 days in Ashland, Oregon at the Shakespeare Festival during which time I saw 6 plays, 4 by Shakespeare, 1 by Moliere, and 1 by Tom Stoppard. Because I was with a Columbia College trip, there were other perks: a prologue given by an actor before every play, an acting workshop, a set design workshop, a conversation with an actor, and a backstage tour. It was all marvelous as well as fodder for self-criticism, like "I'm probably the most uncreative person in the world" and "I'm a fool to think I can write" and "If I were truly an artist, I would have accomplished something by now . . . like the book that I finished 3 years ago would be published." There were 14 young people with us who were smart and witty and full of verve, like none I ever felt way back in my 20s. I struggled for 5 days to keep from drowning in self-pity and recrimination. On the bus on the way home, I made myself write a list of what I learned during the 5 days and how I was going to use it to stimulate my creative life. (thanks to ZenChump who wrote a list a week or so ago) Here is my list:

Shakespeare stole or copied most of the ideas for his plays. I will take an idea from somewhere, anywhere and grow a piece of writing from it, tweak a line of poetry, or copy it and put in new words, or copy an essay, paragraph by paragraph but change the subject (like I did for my critical paper).

Shakespeare, in one year (forget what year??? 1598???), wrote 5 of his best plays. I must write more. I have to put writing FIRST, i.e. put my bottom in the chair everyday and write, make lists of ideas to write about; start copying quotes in my quote book and write about them; set up my office space to work better for writing; set a schedule; keep making lists of ways to generate more work . . . write them in the idea book.

Vilma Silva (who played Kate in Taming of the Shrew) talked about facing the language in a play and recommended a book, Clamorous Voices to learn how to use the silence. Hmmm . . . where is the silence in a piece of writing and how might it be used. Get the book for study.

Chris Albright (who played Juliet) said she had the goal to play Juliet for 10 years before it happened. Once I finished the goal of completing my book, I have written less, though last summer I wanted to write 1-2 essays and I accomplished that. Set a goal. (Will it be the Borgquist book?)

As You Like It touched me deeply, made me weep. Leave the chaos behind; go into the forest. Be kind and devoted. Make these themes in my work. "Like a doe, I go find my fawn and give it food . . " (Orlando speaking of Adam; Act II Scene VII).

On the Razzle. Read Stoppard's Arcadia (because I know it's famous). Is there a movie of Arcadia? Fun for fun's sake, slap-stick, puns, playing with language, making it as goofy as possible with lots of repetition. Write short pieces and poems that are goofy until I get better at it. For instance, how could I make this post more funny. Could I go on the razzle? Or am I stuck with a rattle, shaking loose change in my pockets with not a funny thought in my wallet? Keep trying PH.

Tartuffe: OMG, religious hypocrisy NEVER goes away. Am I stuck with an inabliilty to turn it all into a farce while it sits like a huge elephant in the living rooms of my family. Where does the whole idea of an Interfaith conversation fit in with what I need and want regarding religion and hypocrisy?

The Tempest: Memorize the revel speech. Wear scarves and capes, especially chiffon with jeans. Something flowing like the blue outfit I bought at the second-hand store. Be the sky for Halloween. Wear blue eye-shadow.

The Stage Tour: Theater is a complex operation that requires cooperation and collaboration and lots of money. Theater companies need audiences and volunteers and donors. Comedy is always better attended than serious drama (dark or sad stories). Dressers become actors and actors become dressers. Playwrights need money so they work theater jobs (sometimes). My favorite actor (the one who played Adam in As You Like It) led part of the tour. He was a devoted member of the troupe who lives year to year not knowing if he will be signed again despite having been with OSF since 1969. He's proud of the company, generous with his praise, full of gratitude to audiences without being effusive, and knows and willingly shares the story of OSF. So much to emulate in all of this.

Report back here on my success with this list one month from now on November 8.
PH