Monthly Archives: August 2009

This card states that we often picture “writing” as sitting at a desk in a big chair; that is exactly how I picture it and I have often described my new setting as the ideal place that it is but the card says “move” so tonight I write from a living room chair with my feet resting on an ottoman.  This is comfortable too, but since I moved my writing location, I also find myself thinking of the way life moves on.  We start out with plan “A” thinking that everything will go as planned and then the plans change, people come and go, and life moves forward.  In September, we will officially be empty nesters.  After spending 25+ years raising children, thinking about children, planning for them, worrying about them and dreaming of their future, they are finally living it and we are left in a new place.  This is a place that is vaguely familiar from a time we dwelled in 29 years ago.  It is comfortable and safe with fun sprinkled in for good luck.  Moving always has its surprises, and its disappointments.  Moving takes getting used to but it is inevitable, unavoidable like aging, which we hope brings with its approach, wisdom.

Reading about the realistic goals of successful writers serves as inspiration and also gives me ideas of several different goal setting strategies.  I think, at this point, with my just born writing career crying for attention, I will choose to commit to writing every evening for 15 minutes.  This Blog is a pretty easy way to accomplish that goal and to possibly get helpful comments.   Using the Observation Deck as motivation at least takes away the pressure of coming up with a topic and gives me insight into the ideas of other writers.  This goal also gives me some latitude because I can apply the evening’s topic (card selected) to pretty much anything I am thinking about or that happened that day.  15 minutes is realistic because every night is different and I also want to stay committed to yoga, my friends and family, art and reading.  Once school starts up again, my energy level will probably drop a few degrees too.

I often wonder where this drive to write comes from and I wonder if it is genetic.  I see pictures of my birth-father and know of his history of being a writer, living in New York struggling to write for a living and living to write.  I wonder what level of success he achieved?  I also am fascinated by my mother’s ability to teach others to write so successfully and yet she doubted her own abilities as a writer.  I bet she would have been a wonderful writer.  A man she worked with at Pages Books for Children, who is now in graduate school at the University of Iowa, writing, dedicated his play to her.  Wow, she had an impact on so many.  It seems like everywhere I look, there are signs beckoning me to enter the writing world, to follow the path, to get inside my own head and to explore hidden worlds.  How does one begin?  I guess for me, finding motivation, sitting in the big leather swivel-rocker at the writing desk, with my feet up on the Amish milking stool, staring out at the darkness and seeing my reflection floating, the path is becoming much clearer.

The Elephant’s Child by Rudyard Kipling

I have six humble serving men

They taught me all I knew

Their names are what

and where and when

and why and how and who.

Using these questions to ask and learn about the character, events, and setting while writing a story can give realism and details.  I read the assignment of building a character-beginning with the question of “who?” but I can only think of my mother.  Most likely this is because I just sent out an e-mail reminder about the upcoming unveiling, but also might be because I discovered a batch of photos from the 50s while cleaning out my credenza this weekend.

Who was this person?  I knew her as my mother, but certainly she was at one point, a daughter, sister, wife, aunt, sister-in-law and friend.  So as an exercise, I will answer the posed questions, referring to my mother.

Who is my protagonist?  My mother.

When and where does he or she live? She lived in her beloved Los Angeles for most of her life. The stint in New York was a fun adventure, but her heart was always here. August 13, 1928-October 3, 2009.

What are this person’s passions?  Her passions were books, her family, her friends, Broadway Musicals (especially those from the 50s), Frank Sinatra, Edie Gorme, live jazz music, serious plays, movies with sub-titles about obscure topics, learning, keeping up with current events.

What are this persons deficiencies?  Fear:  of numbers, of scary, dangerous happenings, of being alone of taking chances.  Over analyzing and not living in the moment.  Letting practicality override spontaneous adventures and joy.

How does she begin each day? Reading the paper-cover to cover while sipping on black coffee and eating a pastry.  This could take hours!

What is a typical breakfast, lunch?  Well, the breakfast is mentioned.  Lunch would be a salad; either tuna, egg or chicken and fruit.

Where does she spend her leisure time?  On the sofa, reading; in a bookstore, browsing; exploring the city’s historic places or in a class for seniors, learning about music or theater.

Who are this character’s allies?  Family, friends, other book lovers and all prior colleagues and students.

Who are this character’s enemies?  Doctors with bad news (although she loved her doctors, just not the news).

My mother was so unique and special to so many special qualities that endeared her to so many.  As I rub the smooth wood of the writing desk and sit gazing at her memory objects:

A mug with the saying “Next year we’ve got to get organized,” although she was possibly over organized.

A plaque stating “Eschew Obfuscation”: the concealment of meaning in communication, making it confusing and harder to interpret.

A small brick, supposedly from the London Bridge.  Did I mention that she loved all things British?

A Peanuts card with Linus on one side stating “There’s no heavier burden than a great potential!” and on the other “No problem is so big or complicated that it can’t be run away from!”

Her oval letter bin from The Illustrated London News (see what I mean about the British influence?).

A small statue of a worker slumped over his desk which reads “There must be an easier way to make a living.”

A photo box of photos taken when I moved to college including one of my dog Charisma and my sister’s dog Sonny.

The last picture taken with my mom and dad and my family at Nicole’s elementary school culmination-a month before my dad died.

The organized cubbies are filled with her paper clips, sticky note pads and scissors.  Her stationary supplies fill the drawers and her desk pad sits beneath my lap top computer. Even with all of these comforts, there is a sob stuck in my throat and it is hard to keep the tears at bay.

A poem she loved is the perfect description of how I feel without her here:

Squint

Dappled green leaves, streaks of sunlight rippling water, tips of brown hinting at the end of summer resting on the ends of the leaves, circles of color…

The suggestion of squinting at a familiar scene in order to get another perspective allows me to gaze with new eyes at one of my favorite scenes:  my backyard.  As I sit at my writing desk, chair swiveled towards the yard, I am able to gaze at the forest of trees and plants, all selected and planted by us, the pool designed by us to resemble a natural pond and the lounge furniture beckoning.  Soaring birds landing for a drink in the small waterfall or hopping under the wisteria highlight this tranquil scene.  The breeze rustles the leaves and casts shadows across the fence separating our yard from the park on the other side.  With open eyes I see everything, but squinting, I get a feeling and see the mood of the yard, the time of day and the season of the year.

We often take the familiar for granted so squinting at places or people enables a new view, new light to be shed on the comfortable people and places in our lives.  Today as we drove along the Pacific Coast Highway, my daughter remarked on how she would never want to live in a place where you couldn’t see the ocean if you wanted to; a feeling I have always felt too. Just knowing that the ocean is 20 minutes away is enough sometimes, but driving over the canyon and sitting on the sand-watching surfers, pelicans and seagulls is heaven.  I cannot imagine giving that up for any reason so to remind myself, during the school year, I try to force myself to take a break once in awhile to go to the beach and sit for an hour or so, just watching or reading or squinting at the ocean.  I have to do this to remind myself that the ocean is there, just on the other side of the mountains.