Getting in the Conversation

I love Ted talks. I watch them in airports, while waiting for my son’s practice that are supposed to be over but aren’t, wherever I have my phone and an extra 18 minutes. So when I saw the format was coming to the fairly rural community where we live, I high-tailed it down to the box office for tickets.

I was not disappointed.

I live in a rural community where often people lose their vision to the daily grind. They sacrifice new ideas, learning, and vision to the comfort of the way it’s always been, even if that way is unhappy and uninspiring. Conversations revolve around the weather and whatever lines up with a particular world view that dominates a mental landscape. There’s not a great deal of diversity which often means not much diverse thinking. It can feel stale at times. It can rub off on you if you spend too much time rubbing up against it.

However, this past Saturday night there was energy in the air that was motivating and anything but stale. Eight speakers were launched by Shasta Taiko, a drumming group that originated as a group of friends and now performs in Mt. Shasta annually. The performance set the tone: this would be an evening of listening to someone moving to their own passionate beat.

One speaker, Jason Roberts, inspired listeners to make a difference in their communities just by doing things. He pulled off neighborhood restoration projects in Texas, breaking all the rules of what “could” be done, to create lively centers where families came out and brought the cities to life. He had been motivated by a trip to Europe where he saw that people of all ages were out in the streets unlike the “bad” areas near his home in Dallas. The takeaway? Just follow your crazy ideas. Just do something.

Matthew Diffee, a New Yorker cartoonist, talked about his process which starts each day with a whole pot of coffee and a blank sheet of paper. He explained how he comes up with his winners, and promoted “quantity over quality.” As a writer, I did so appreciate this. Gives credence to Lamott’s “shitty first drafts.” (seconds, thirds…) Just hearing how a cartoonist creates inspires me. It all comes back to showing up with the blank page on a regular basis.

One speaker from Cedar Rapids, Iowa was named Andy Stoll. His talk was on “Startup Alchemy and Rural Places.” He said that when he graduated, he wanted to understand how all kinds of people do things, so committed to travelling the world–with no money. My husband and I talked to him after he spoke and asked him how he did that. Bottom line? He just got really good at making friends. He’d tell them the truth–he just wanted to learn more about their culture and how they thought.

What kind of ideas could we manifest if we all entered into this larger conversation with such an attitude? How would this reflect in our systems and structures, in our art and our writings?

After the event we talked to people we don’t usually talk to. We listened to what they were doing, thinking about, excited about. Threaded through those conversations (with various people of all ages) was such possibility and promise. My husband and I even skipped our traditional Saturday night movie (Woody Allen, at that) to continue talking to a young archaeologist and her partner, a young man ready to embark on a micro-biology Masters’ Degree in Scotland. After they left, high school classmate Bill Jostock stopped by the Grape Escape, a small wine bar in downtown he told us about, and we continued the conversation.

The whole night reminded me of the importance of talking to new people about things that matter and old friends about new things. To listen, without agenda. To approach humanity with the idea of being a student of the University of the Universe. It’s no coincidence that the words are so similar.

Star light, Star bright

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I spent the fourth of July weekend on Lake Shasta with family this year. We found an isolated cove with a breathtaking view of granite cliffs nestled amongst pines. The natural beauty was intoxicating. The thing that really got me, though, was the sky.

By day, it seemed to stretch on forever, a canopy of violet blue stretched across an infinity frame. By dusk, a soft pink backdrop for bats diving down close to where we lay on the top of the houseboat watching Mother Nature’s previews. The main attraction, though, came at night.

Do you have any idea what goes on in a wide open sky sheltered from city light? It had been years since I’d seen it. Living in LA for 30 years near the beach, we hardly ever saw stars. The city lights and coastal fog swallowed them up. I had grown up with these stars, but I had forgotten their power.

We sat and waited, watching for the first star while playing marshmallow Olympics. (The fish weren’t biting, so we had to find other uses for our mini-friends.) As each star dropped into place, it looked unique, like it had its own purpose on that tapestry. Eventually, the sky was covered. As we all watched the sky from our sleeping bag lookouts on top of the boat, my husband had an idea.

Husband: Hey! I’ll go get the IPAD and we can look at the galaxies through that app.

Me: Oh. Hmmmm. Okay. (Technology can’t make this better, I thought. Why does he want to ruin this with technology?)

Cousins: Oh. What? (On the fence. Not sure about what he’s talking about.)

Me: Are you going to get it?

Husband: No. Not enough enthusiasm to go down the ladder.

Me: (Not wanting to break his techno-spirit) Oh, come on. It’ll be cool.

Husband: Nope.

All of us: DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!

Husband: Okay. If you really want me to.

He pads down the treacherous houseboat ladder and returns armed with the IPAD telescope. Holding the IPAD up to the sky we could not only see the names of all the stars, we could see the overlays of zodiac images. It was fascinating on so many levels. We loved it. It added a whole new layer to what we were seeing. After everybody had a chance to play with it, we put it away and stared back at sky original.

As each person faded off one by one, faint snoring sounds filling the night air, I laid there wide awake. How could there be so much up in that sky? One after another satellite passed by. I had no idea how many were up there. Shooting star after shooting star streaked the black. Most amazing to me was how different the night sky was from the day. How unique. And how so many layers performed in a night time drama I’ll never forget.

And while you ask yourself “What does this have to do with writing?,” I’ll tell you what I got from the whole thing. Each artist, each creator, shines uniquely like those individual stars. They have a unique body of work inside them that they have been sent here to do, and though many factors may pull them away from it, if they listen to their intuition, they will find their True North. The compilation of those works create life’s night sky, so captivating it can keep the world up at night if it looks closely.

Young Stars

Is it just me or are 8th graders getting smarter? They read more, they write deeper, and having sat through a plethora of ceremonies this past week including my youngest son’s, I can tell you they speak like they’ve been attending Toastmasters for years.

I live in a small town where I grew up (then left for 30 years, then came back 4 years ago) and many of these kids are somehow related to people I know. There are really no degrees of separation. This makes watching them grow that much more intriguing.

At my son’s graduation yesterday, and the awards assembly a few days before that, students got up to talk in front of a packed out auditorium. That, in itself, is enough to drive many adults running for the hills. But these students, who’d written their own very impressive speeches, spoke flawlessly. One girl even tripped on her way up the stage, gracefully pulled herself together, and gave a perfect speech. What an example!

Teachers read some of the students poems. They wrote of Paris, and of Audrey Hepburn, topics you don’t anticipate from kids growing up in an unincorporated cowboy town. It made me happy we’d moved back and decided to have our youngest go through this school system. I was blown away by the talent at such young ages. The insight. (Not to get all verklempt, but my baby has actually been published in a national poetry anthology since 6th grade thanks to his teacher who believed in his talent and submitted his poem several years back.)

Call it Indigo-Crystal influence, call it evolution–call it a generation looking to the next with Pollyanna glasses. Whatever label you want to throw, I’m inspired. I’m inspired by their sensitivity, wisdom, and insight. I’m inspired by their creativity, their bravery, and their naivete up against this all-knowing background. By their talent. By their ability to mix enthusiastic youth with the adult sensibilities they need to go through to make these life changes with grace.

It makes me realize my characters in my current YA are not rounded enough to reflect these young adults. I need to honor them more, because from where I observe, they truly are remarkable and they deserve it.

Chasing Eagles

 When I was in high school, my English teacher, Mrs. Jones, was hated by many of her students. Not me. I loved her. I thought she was wise, and smart, and had enough persnickities to start her own Persnickety Store.

One of the reasons I loved her so much is  she made me believe in my writing. The way she did this was with “eagles.” (She was a staunch conservative and I see this now as subliminal training into the Republican  Party.) If a paper was returned with a gold eagle on it, it meant I was “published,” and she sent the papers out to everyone as an example of good writing. Extrinsic motivation at work right there in Anderson Union High School GATE English.

Flash forward MANY years…

Last week when my agent Rachael sent back my edits with a “GOOD FOR YOU” and “I’m so proud and pleased,” I got all eagly all over again. Gold star. A +. I started planning my first book signing. Boy, was I pleased with myself.

Then I had this conversation.

Ego: Ha! I nailed it.

Higher Self: When will you learn?

Ego: Learn what? Did you not see how she just said I brought the whole book up a level? Where’s the Cristal? Pop the cork!

Higher Self: We have so much more work to do with you.

Ego: Buzz kill.

My best work happens not when I’m trying to impress or seek validation or hunt down Eagle stickers. My best work happens when I’m opening myself up and allowing the story to flow through me from some place far greater than me. I am but a willing servant, a conduit. It’s SO not about me.

When I get all stuck in my ego and think I’m so clever (which is hard not to do when somebody says in one way or another, “You’re such a good writer”), my writing pretty much inevitably sucks eggs. It’s distracting, it doesn’t flow, it doesn’t honor the story. That’s not the kind of writer I want to be.

It’s important for me (crucial, even) to keep myself open and present to each moment as it passes by. To be an observer of the eagle and feel its energy as it soars through the sky serves me better than to covet the gold symbol that says I nailed it. If I can do that, while keeping my world in balance and joy–to serve people with what comes out of my fingertips in a way that makes their life better somehow–then that, my friends, is why I’m here.

Karmic writing

“I had been up for four frickin’ days and couldn’t sleep. I was really scared…people were following me…I was just really, really fried, but I couldn’t sleep.” My best stab at sounding articulate fails miserably. “I was so tired.”

He jots a note down on his paper. I think I may have spilled too much.

“You said people were after you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Did I?

This is my 17-year-old protagonist speaking to her ER doc in First Break. I mentioned last week where I am in the process with this New Adult manuscript (going through my agent’s edits on track changes in Word). I’m embracing this–mostly. But here’s a really annoying thing that happened and how something really enlightening came out of it (besides the fact I’m still not entirely sure how to spell frickin’ or why I want to use it so badly.)

Do you see how I use the ellipses (…) up there? Well, apparently I REALLY like the ellipses…a lot! Why is this so apparent? Because in the transfer of formats between she and I my three dots became six and a space. Now to fix that, I’ve got to go back through every ellipses, accept the change, delete a space, accept the change and so forth. Monotonous, at best. Here’s the enlightening part: I clearly need to invite other devices into play. Not leave the hyphen out–or at least let him join in more.

I’ve spent much of my morning fixing ellipsis. (I now know that’s how you pluralize that.)  I’m thinking of it like karmic yoga. Do you know that practice? You just do something for a period of time and then stop without getting married to the results. Like raking leaves. You just rake for an hour without having to pick up the leaves and throw them away. It’s like that.

Except for one thing. I’m totally married to the results: three point elipses and no space…unless it’s at the end, and then four.

I’m typing this under a large oak (thanks, Vin, for the sweet Oak shot), the wind playing with the wisps of hair around my face, the speckled sun making my computer screen almost impossible to see, my dog begging me with her eyes to go out for a morning walk, Karunesh playing the haunting music that so well accompanies my story in this manuscript, and my tomato plants nearby dancing to Karunesh.

With all this, who cares how long it takes to fix the ellipsis? Karmic yoga or no, I’m in my happy place.

Advance or an In-Between?

The writer’s advance. A concept beyond me. Why is it called an “advance” in the year 2013 when it really comes in the “in-between”?

Writing is not like any other profession I’ve ever had. I’ve been a movie candy girl, a flower deliverer, a legal secretary, a marketing director in law firms, an assistant in a psychiatrist’s office, a second grade teacher, a massage therapist, a health coach, and probably a number of other things I’ve left out. But every single one of those jobs came with regular pay checks that were delivered very near the time the work was completed.

Not writing. Even in the case of freelancing, rules vary. Some publications don’t pay until your article comes out and frequently you are writing several months prior to publication because of the time required to publish a magazine. This is getting slightly better with groups like Ebyline, but still there’s a long way to go towards closing the gap. Where this is most apparent, though, is the book advance.

The term “advance” stems from way back, I’m told, when deals were made at Parisian bars over a handshake after an idea was thrown out to an editor. The editor would then give the writer money (said advance) to write the book. Since he’d be busy writing, he’d need money to live.

In today’s market, though, it seems to me most manuscripts need to be pristine to ever get to the advance conversation. And to get a manuscript pristine takes hours and hours and hours of writing and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting…in my case, six years. Now my critique partner Darbie is reading Stephen King’s craft book where he says a first draft should take 3 months. (Whatever, Stephen. You clearly aren’t raising kids. Or going to the grocery store. Or ever leaving your chair to sleep.) Nevertheless, even if we go with that, that’s a first draft and that’s 3 months. What other job do you work at for 3 months (ah-hem, 6 years) and not get paid? Oh, and maybe never get paid?

Fact is I don’t know many writers in it for the money. If they are, they quickly leave when they figure out the “in-between” (um, maybe if you’re very lucky) thing because, in case you didn’t already know this, there’s usually a ton of work waiting after the advance, both in and out of the cave.

I’m pretty sure writers write because they have to. Because nothing gives them the same satisfaction as the idea that their book, their published book (story, article, research, poem), will be out there in the world for others to read.

Not Getting Over It

We’re told we need to move on, “get over it,” grow up. That’s what it means to mature after all.

Except for writers. We’re told to go back. Access that age that your protagonist is now. Not get over, but dive into the pool of raw emotion you barely tread through the first time.

I’ve spent all these years trying to suppress those memories. They’re some particularly painful ones I just as soon pretend never happened, let alone access. Bringing it back hurts. (Take this Gunnie Sak, for example. To think I thought this was the prettiest dress I’d ever seen and we probably sacrificed a week’s worth of dinners to buy it for my eighth grade graduation.)

Emotions were so raw, so new, at 14. And buried. Covered up by smiles for the camera, fancy lace, and a light peach silk blend. The transitional time from 8th grade to high school is huge. I see it through my children’s eyes, but letting my own feelings boil to their  emotional surface is a whole different dynamic. Try it some time.

In my current YA/NA thriller, Intuition, my protagonist, Shay, is 14. She’s in her last weeks of 8th grade, dealing with a painful breakup, and feeling the need to help uncover a string of murders taking place in her small town. This is a novel–not a memoir–but it’s steeped in the true story of Darrell Rich, a serial killer who terrorized my small town during my early teens. My life was intricately woven with his in that his mom babysat me for years, often for weeks at a time, so we grew up together. The day he picked up his last victim (a 12 year old girl he raped and threw off Shasta Dam) he’d offered me a ride that I’d rejected. My stepdad, who was going through a nasty divorce with my mom during those years, was the public defender co-appointed to represent him. I was subpoenaed to testify in the trial (in his defense) which was terrifying at that age because the whole scene was so confusing. Rich was the last Californian (I believe) to be executed on death row 3 days after my birthday in the year 2000. That’s for starters.

Who wants to revisit that? I see no cyber hands shooting up. Me neither, quite frankly. But sometimes you just have stories that refuse to go away until you write them. This one’s been fighting me for 20 years and, finally, I’ve caved.

And I’m discovering why. Having these experiences…going back there and drawing on those emotions…will make Shay a richer, more rounded character, than she could ever be if I buried it.

“Life’s challenges are not supposed to paralyze you; they’re supposed to help you discover who you are.“
– Bernice Johnson Reagon

Wednesday Writes #1

A quick study of the dates since my last dip into the vortex of word fun tells the tale.

Theme #1: This girl needs some writing Metamucil. Or some word juicing. Something to get her moving the keys more regularly.

Theme #2: She likes to write about conferences. Not so much about writing. Or anything else. Just conferences.

There is some truth to both these themes, but as with all things, there’s more when you dig deeper. So I’ve dug, and have uncovered this truth: no time like the almost-end-of-the-world (I know–so 2012) to turn over a more regular leaf. And this is a good thing. Perhaps it will eliminate cliches about foliage from my writing.

What really spurred me on was my commitment to my health coaching clients and to my personal health. I set a goal to write daily through the 2012  holidays and completed that recently. Heck, doing anything every day during the holidays besides wrapping presents is a challenge. Celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas (we like to be safe) makes December a full-time job at my house so just getting through on a regular year is iffy. This year I had an additional four trips to weave through that tapestry.

Still, by keeping this commitment, I realized the value of daily writing outside my normal  writing. I fell back in love with that which had become trudgery. (Don’t go looking it up. the Merriams haven’t learned the word yet, but once they stop being trudgerous, they will.)

I reignited with that part of me that got so excited when I saw my first poem, “Red,” published in the Redding Record Searchlight back in 1971 or so. (Oh, to find that piece of work sent in by my first grade teacher, Mrs. Pope.) I’ve always felt I was put on this planet to write, and when I do it regularly, I’m reminded of that.

Balance is key, though, and I’m working on many projects. I need to organize my time. Here’s what I’ve come up with.

Look for thoughts on writing each Wednesday. If you’re into healthy living, you can find me Mondays here  (www.getstrongblog.com). They go together in my mind since I gained 85 pounds drafting my first novel (too many peanut butter M&Ms–you’ve been warned) and I had to learn how to draft novels without that crutch, a secret of the universe I like to call decaf tea.

I hope you’ll join me through the process, the trudgerous and glorious roller coaster we call writing.

Sedonalicious

Ahh, Sedona. Where New Age meets Naturalist. Where geologist meets Reiki Master. Where Native American tradition weaves with modern culture. Where metaphysical conversation is the norm. What is it about the place?

Maybe it was my high school fascination with Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged that draws me here. Maybe it’s the azure sky against the red rock moutains and the way the light plays on both. Or maybe it’s that I just feel a unique blend of creativity, peace and balance in Sedona. It just feels really good.

In fact when you chat with people in Sedona that’s what you find. They came there on vacation and they felt so good they never left. That’s a fairly common response.

That’s the case with our mountain guide, Kurt.

Kurt visited Sedona from Wisconsin 13 years ago and stayed. He knows the land and he knows people. We learned about the indigenous tribes from Kurt as he hiked us to the top of a mesa behind Big Thunder Mountain (yeah, just like Disneyland but better) and lead us in a meditation, followed by a Hopi ceremony. Here we are basking in the glow of our mesa-top sage bath. He explained this is where you take in the “big picture” of life, like the eagle flying high above who sees below. Kurt is a great storyteller and told us about the various tribes that believe this canyon is the beginning of all creation.

We spent my birthday with Kurt and his partner, Mariposa, a Reiki Master and all-around energy guru. Kurt took us to several gorgeous spots and taught us about the medicine wheel while Mariposa made sure all chakras were in good working order.

Each time we visit Sedona it is different. We usually stay at Enchantment in Boynton Canyon and never want to leave. This time we stayed on the creek at the Creekside Inn B&B and were mad explorers. We hit the wineries (Javelina, Oak Creek and Page Springs.) Wineries in Arizona? A little weird and no competition for California, but we did enjoy Page Springs, the subject of a new limited release film called “From Blood to Wine.” Sadly, it didn’t make the top 10 at the Sedona Film Festival so not sure how far that will go.

We visited the art galleries in Tlaquepaque, drove along Oak Creek where snow was still on the ground, visited the Holy Cross Church built into the cliffs, found some new shops we liked and hiked the cliff dwellings of Montezuma Well. There an underground lake was once covered with rock. The Synagua people built their homes in the cliffs and laddered down to get in? Here is one of their homes.

Our favorite restaurants? We were right across the street from Shugrues in the Hillside Galleries and highly recommend the clam chowder, but Yavapai at Enchantment is our favorite! Their food is art.

One of my favorite things was just sitting down by the creek with our new locally made Navajo blanket wrapped around us and watching the creek flow. I could do that for hours. It seems to me that’s how we should live–in the flow. When we start to feel like we are salmon swimming upstream, we need to re-evaluate our choices. In contrast, when we are moving in conjunction with our life purpose, the journey is clear, directed, sometimes shallow and sometimes deep, but directed and synchronistic.

Here’s to happy flowing! Namaste.

*** MEDIA ALERT ***

Local Author and Daughter Featured in New Anthology,“Voices of Bipolar Disorder”
–Upcoming Reading at National Alliance on Mental Illness Meeting in Redding—

WHAT: LaChance Publishing announced today the release of Voices of Bipolar Disorder: The Healing Companion: Stories for Courage, Comfort and Strength. With a forward by the creators and cast of the Tony Award-winning Broadway musical Next to Normal, a play that explores the challenges faced by those with the disorder, this new anthology is the first-of-its-kind publication to openly share the experiences of some of the approximately 1-2 percent of the people in the U.S. that suffer with bipolar disorder.

The eighth in a series of books that brings to light the real-life accounts of those living with chronic illnesses, Voices of Bipolar Disorder is intended to provide support and comfort to those living with the disease and those who care for them.

The anthology includes more than 34 stories of parents, spouses, children and loved ones who have flet the impact of the disease. These tales of courage, strength and compassion offer insight into the challenges of living day by day with the disorder and the terrible isolation experienced by its victims , but most importantly, the writers’ hopes for the future and the strength of the human spirit.

WHO: Local author Jamie Weill says, “My daughter, Amanda, and I believe the best way we can bust stigma and help other families dealing with brain disease is to share our story. We hope that through our story others will find inspiration and know they are not alone. And, honestly, the best pathway we have found to recovery is in looking outside our own internal chaos and serving others.”

Diana Clayton, NAMI President – Redding, “The membership is so excited to have Jamie Weil come to our February 1 meeting, tell her story to the group and sign books. Talking openly and honestly about mental illness helps to erase stigma and discrimination which is a giant barrier that gets in the way for finding early treatment.”

SPECIFICS: Redding National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) meeting
Monday, February 1, 2010
6:00pm – 8:00pm
Northern Valley Catholic Social Service
2400 Washington Street, Redding

CONTACT:
For more information, contact Jamie Weil at jamie@jamieweil.net or Diana Clayton, President, NAMI Redding at Dianaeclayton@aol.com