Thursday, May 27, 2010
A Cut-Throat Business
Eighteen months ago I had two total knee replacement surgeries, and now, much too soon, I am facing another surgery, on June 7. A thyroidectomy has become necessary since the diagnosis of toxic multinodular goiter. My thyroid is toxic, apparently, because nodules of varying sizes (the largest being 15.8mm) have developed there, and they're each doing their own thing which is very confusing to the rest of the gland, so it just says "What's the use?" and stops trying. I am told, however, that it's a minor blip on the radar screen. This is now considered same-day surgery, so I won't be in the hospital very long, and I'll have a sore throat for a few days, but within a couple of weeks I should be back up to speed. That's good; I've got stuff to do and miles to go before I sleep. A needle biopsy revealed no malignancy, but that's to be expected in 95% of these cases. I kind of like singing in the church choir, and I hope I can still carry a tune and sing alto when this is over. If I've become basso profundo, however – looking on the bright side – I can sit next to Roger.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Help! The Retaters Have Overthrown King Helignat!
Those word verifications you have to interpret so you can comment on someone's blog have always fascinated me. I'm sure they are created by random selection, but to me they have great potential for writing science fiction.
Satire, as the Broadway saying goes, is what closes on Saturday night, but for seven years satire was alive and well and playing out weekly in the social commentary known as the television space fantasy, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. If you ever watched it you'll know what I mean. Those plots were either comedies or high minded allegories or parables based on stirring universal truths like "hubris will be your undoing every time." The science jargon is deliciously baffling, something like computerese, educationese, or Tim Geitner explaining the economy to a Congressional committee, only more believable, more fascinating, and less confusing. A battle scene might be accompanied by talk about forward shields, impulse speed, warp drive, plasma fields, tractor beams, warp core overload, cloaking devices, ion particles, phaser banks, photon torpedoes, spatial anomalies, reconfiguring the power grid, and Klingon warbirds. It’s yummy, campy stuff. It was all great fun, made more so by the incomparable names chosen for the characters, planets and races. I love to watch the re-runs.
First you had to understand the myth, which is essential for science fiction. There’s this space station, see, Deep Space Nine, and it’s next to the wormhole, that shortcut across the galaxy that Einstein always suspected was there. If the wormhole fell into the hostile hands of Cardassia, Romulus, or the Dominion, there would be dire consequences for all the good guys. I think of it as the Panama Canal, and the Delta Quadrant on the other side as something like Hong Kong. Also near the station is the planet Bajor, recently liberated from the occupation of Cardassia, another nearby planet whose citizens, with their exoskeletal appearance, have an insufferable superiority complex. In fact, DS9 was once Bajoran, but is now in Federation hands. That’s the United Federation of Planets – home base: earth – and who else but Terrans, those once known in 50’s sci-fi movies as earthlings, could have the savvy to run the place and keep the peace.
Here's where the names come in: Jadzia Dax, Kira Nerise, Nog, Odo, Jem Hadar, Worf, Ferengi, Klingon, Garak, Ezri Dax, Quark, and that's just the first episode. Are you having fun yet? These names, I suppose, could be interchangeable with the word verifications. All you'd have to do is capitalize them.
"Yes, Captain. The Bricsmo have landed on the planet Spushan and found friendly inhabitants. The Fibitic will supply all the Flogen we need for the squif drive in the engine. If we can just keep the Plualp from discovering the mining operation we'll be able to keep the Munder from rebelling. Then we'll go on to Cattive next week and deliver the Ismakit prince back to his parents King Shecar and Queen Hytoe."
There you have it - the plot in one paragraph. It's very reminiscent of the Lewis Carroll poem, The Jabberwocky. The meaning of his made-up words is perfectly clear if you understand what part of speech the word represents. "Brillig," for instance is obviously an adjective, as in "frabjous," the description of a beautiful day. It's also clear what a vorpal sword is, and that the "beamish" boy who came "galumphing" back was successful.
I love playing with the language this way and admire anyone who can do it believably. Although I've never written science fiction and don't intend to, I see those word verifications as a great resource for someone who does.
Satire, as the Broadway saying goes, is what closes on Saturday night, but for seven years satire was alive and well and playing out weekly in the social commentary known as the television space fantasy, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. If you ever watched it you'll know what I mean. Those plots were either comedies or high minded allegories or parables based on stirring universal truths like "hubris will be your undoing every time." The science jargon is deliciously baffling, something like computerese, educationese, or Tim Geitner explaining the economy to a Congressional committee, only more believable, more fascinating, and less confusing. A battle scene might be accompanied by talk about forward shields, impulse speed, warp drive, plasma fields, tractor beams, warp core overload, cloaking devices, ion particles, phaser banks, photon torpedoes, spatial anomalies, reconfiguring the power grid, and Klingon warbirds. It’s yummy, campy stuff. It was all great fun, made more so by the incomparable names chosen for the characters, planets and races. I love to watch the re-runs.
First you had to understand the myth, which is essential for science fiction. There’s this space station, see, Deep Space Nine, and it’s next to the wormhole, that shortcut across the galaxy that Einstein always suspected was there. If the wormhole fell into the hostile hands of Cardassia, Romulus, or the Dominion, there would be dire consequences for all the good guys. I think of it as the Panama Canal, and the Delta Quadrant on the other side as something like Hong Kong. Also near the station is the planet Bajor, recently liberated from the occupation of Cardassia, another nearby planet whose citizens, with their exoskeletal appearance, have an insufferable superiority complex. In fact, DS9 was once Bajoran, but is now in Federation hands. That’s the United Federation of Planets – home base: earth – and who else but Terrans, those once known in 50’s sci-fi movies as earthlings, could have the savvy to run the place and keep the peace.
Here's where the names come in: Jadzia Dax, Kira Nerise, Nog, Odo, Jem Hadar, Worf, Ferengi, Klingon, Garak, Ezri Dax, Quark, and that's just the first episode. Are you having fun yet? These names, I suppose, could be interchangeable with the word verifications. All you'd have to do is capitalize them.
"Yes, Captain. The Bricsmo have landed on the planet Spushan and found friendly inhabitants. The Fibitic will supply all the Flogen we need for the squif drive in the engine. If we can just keep the Plualp from discovering the mining operation we'll be able to keep the Munder from rebelling. Then we'll go on to Cattive next week and deliver the Ismakit prince back to his parents King Shecar and Queen Hytoe."
There you have it - the plot in one paragraph. It's very reminiscent of the Lewis Carroll poem, The Jabberwocky. The meaning of his made-up words is perfectly clear if you understand what part of speech the word represents. "Brillig," for instance is obviously an adjective, as in "frabjous," the description of a beautiful day. It's also clear what a vorpal sword is, and that the "beamish" boy who came "galumphing" back was successful.
I love playing with the language this way and admire anyone who can do it believably. Although I've never written science fiction and don't intend to, I see those word verifications as a great resource for someone who does.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Walking Around with Richard Paul Evans
Last night I finished reading The Walk, by Richard Paul Evans. I met him once when I introduced him as a speaker at a League of Utah Writers conference in Park City, and I've seen him interviewed on TV here and there. He appears to be a man with many layers and complexities that even he finds amusing, as if every day is filled with self-discovery.
Whatever else he may or may not be, he is a solid storyteller, and I'm amazed at how quickly he pulls the reader in and holds attention. He does that with several effective devices. He uses the character's journal entries to tease the next chapter, which he has done in previous books as well, and it hasn't become tiresome because it isn't pretentious. His chapters are usually short, and that makes his books easy to pick up and put down when life is busy, and yet when you pick it up again, you're immediately drawn back into that compelling world he has created. He devises solid plots, believable characters and uses a "telescope" writing style – that is, he can focus on minutia when it reflects the character's state of mind and then he can pull out and look at the big picture. It's something like getting into the "zone" where the left and right sides of the brain are working together to write and revise, and creativity is pouring out of the keyboard from your fingertips. His writing is seamless, apparently effortless, and that's what tells me that he worked hard to achieve that flow of ideas and action.
Most fascinating to me is that he uses first person POV to tell his stories, and that requires becoming the character mentally and emotionally during the writing process, sort of like an actor creating a role for stage or screen. I have never written in the first person, but I think I've had a similar experience when a character comes alive in my imagination, telling me his or her story. It's like taking dictation. They tell me their story and I write it down. When the story has been told, the characters go away. Recently I had the startling experience of coming to the end of a book and saying goodbye to the characters, but they wouldn't leave. It was as if they were saying, "We have a story to tell and we choose you to tell it, so get busy." So I listened to them and wrote another book.
Evans always has his characters dealing with thought-provoking moral and religious issues, meaning his books are character and idea driven. That's what I write, and reading another author's take is very satisfying. I'd recommend The Walk, and hope the other three volumes yet to come in the series will also catch me, pull me in, and make my stay worthwhile.
Whatever else he may or may not be, he is a solid storyteller, and I'm amazed at how quickly he pulls the reader in and holds attention. He does that with several effective devices. He uses the character's journal entries to tease the next chapter, which he has done in previous books as well, and it hasn't become tiresome because it isn't pretentious. His chapters are usually short, and that makes his books easy to pick up and put down when life is busy, and yet when you pick it up again, you're immediately drawn back into that compelling world he has created. He devises solid plots, believable characters and uses a "telescope" writing style – that is, he can focus on minutia when it reflects the character's state of mind and then he can pull out and look at the big picture. It's something like getting into the "zone" where the left and right sides of the brain are working together to write and revise, and creativity is pouring out of the keyboard from your fingertips. His writing is seamless, apparently effortless, and that's what tells me that he worked hard to achieve that flow of ideas and action.
Most fascinating to me is that he uses first person POV to tell his stories, and that requires becoming the character mentally and emotionally during the writing process, sort of like an actor creating a role for stage or screen. I have never written in the first person, but I think I've had a similar experience when a character comes alive in my imagination, telling me his or her story. It's like taking dictation. They tell me their story and I write it down. When the story has been told, the characters go away. Recently I had the startling experience of coming to the end of a book and saying goodbye to the characters, but they wouldn't leave. It was as if they were saying, "We have a story to tell and we choose you to tell it, so get busy." So I listened to them and wrote another book.
Evans always has his characters dealing with thought-provoking moral and religious issues, meaning his books are character and idea driven. That's what I write, and reading another author's take is very satisfying. I'd recommend The Walk, and hope the other three volumes yet to come in the series will also catch me, pull me in, and make my stay worthwhile.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
It's Only a Paper Moon
A charming old popular song says "It's only a paper moon hanging over a cardboard sky." That metaphor goes through my mind as I reflect on my experience at the LDStorymakers conference this past weekend. That's LDS story makers. I don't know why the cutesy way of writing it. Maybe that's what attracted some of the air kissing wannabes I saw there. Networking is one thing but I saw so much sucking up you'd have thought it was a lemon festival. Among about 450 people from Utah, Idaho, California, Arizona and Colorado, I knew three. I wanted to be a part of this group because I'm a writer, I'm LDS, I've been married 40 years, and so I write about being LDS and being married. That's what my writing teachers always taught me – write what you know. And I thought that's probably what motivated everybody else to be there.
However, I'm not a mainstream LDS writer, and perhaps that's why I felt alien. At meals and in conference lectures, people very often introduced themselves as writers of science fiction, mystery/suspense, fantasy, historical fiction, Young Adult (YA) fiction, or romance. I didn't hear another person introduce themselves as a writer of contemporary drama. In fact, I didn't even know that's what I wrote until I interviewed with an editor from an LDS publishing company who said that's what he'd call it. The best part about that is I have less competition and potential for a bigger place in my own genre.
All or most of these writers are aiming at commercial success on the national scene, not that there's anything wrong with that, but I have a different view of my purpose. I write LDS fiction for a general adult LDS audience because I have something to say to them. I particularly appreciated Anita Stansfield's discussion of her life as a writer, the sacrifices she's made, and coming from someone whose 47th book will soon be out, that was important. It was particularly pleasing to hear her refer to her talent as a gift. Obviously she has respect for it, and that respect has driven her career. I don't read everything she writes, but I was impressed with that attitude.
On the other hand, I heard nationally successful writers discuss only the need, or not, for an agent, and the circuitous twists on the road to success. No references to gifts or reverence for their talents. The contrast with Anita's attitude was stark. There was something a bit smug about them, something of the "nyah, nyah, I made it and you didn't" from a few of them. Presenters who give their spiel with a "Gol, how can you be so stupid as to not know this" tone were more than a little abrasive.
This whole idea of writing for a particular niche audience is new to me. When I was in college, one of my writing teachers said, "If what you write is good enough, your work will find an audience." Consequently, I had no answer for an editor I interviewed with several years ago who asked me who my audience was. I didn't understand the question. I write for people who read LDS fiction, particularly adults. In fact, a male friend of mine who has read my contemporary fiction particularly enjoyed it because it wasn't like most of the books out there that are loosely referred to as "women's fiction." I hate that designation. Men who read what women read are more likely to understand the women around them.
That same editor asked me why I write, and my answer – "I can't NOT write" – apparently wasn't good enough. My books were rejected by his company. But I have never stopped thinking about the question because some day I hope to come up with a satisfactory answer. I write because, like Anita Stansfield, I have a gift and not to use it would be a sin, regardless of market trends. I write because I have a story to share with my LDS people. I write because I can't edit what I say once I've said it. (That's why I can write brilliant dialog.) I write because I love the language. I write because it's thrilling to make both sides of my brain work together.
And so I go back to my own basic motivation: When LDS lives and marriages are falling apart all around us in an environment where values are slowly corroding, why are we writing about vampires and the housewife from Orem who's secretly a CIA agent and saves the world while still getting her visiting teaching done? I'm just sayin'.
Ultimately, the irony of art is that it IS only a paper moon hanging over a cardboard sky, but the story that takes place there tells vitals truths about life, exposes significant insights, and gives readers Aha! moments they might not get anywhere else. Artists create an artificial place populated with artificial people in order to reveal truth to real people in the real world. I love irony. That's good enough for me.
By the way, after reading the first five pages of my manuscript and and discussing it with me for ten minutes, the editor at Covenant asked me to submit the entire manuscript. That made up for everything else about the conference that didn't sit well with me. But now I'm chewing my fingernails for the next few weeks until I find out what the verdict is going to be. I hope they agree with me that this is a book whose time has come.
However, I'm not a mainstream LDS writer, and perhaps that's why I felt alien. At meals and in conference lectures, people very often introduced themselves as writers of science fiction, mystery/suspense, fantasy, historical fiction, Young Adult (YA) fiction, or romance. I didn't hear another person introduce themselves as a writer of contemporary drama. In fact, I didn't even know that's what I wrote until I interviewed with an editor from an LDS publishing company who said that's what he'd call it. The best part about that is I have less competition and potential for a bigger place in my own genre.
All or most of these writers are aiming at commercial success on the national scene, not that there's anything wrong with that, but I have a different view of my purpose. I write LDS fiction for a general adult LDS audience because I have something to say to them. I particularly appreciated Anita Stansfield's discussion of her life as a writer, the sacrifices she's made, and coming from someone whose 47th book will soon be out, that was important. It was particularly pleasing to hear her refer to her talent as a gift. Obviously she has respect for it, and that respect has driven her career. I don't read everything she writes, but I was impressed with that attitude.
On the other hand, I heard nationally successful writers discuss only the need, or not, for an agent, and the circuitous twists on the road to success. No references to gifts or reverence for their talents. The contrast with Anita's attitude was stark. There was something a bit smug about them, something of the "nyah, nyah, I made it and you didn't" from a few of them. Presenters who give their spiel with a "Gol, how can you be so stupid as to not know this" tone were more than a little abrasive.
This whole idea of writing for a particular niche audience is new to me. When I was in college, one of my writing teachers said, "If what you write is good enough, your work will find an audience." Consequently, I had no answer for an editor I interviewed with several years ago who asked me who my audience was. I didn't understand the question. I write for people who read LDS fiction, particularly adults. In fact, a male friend of mine who has read my contemporary fiction particularly enjoyed it because it wasn't like most of the books out there that are loosely referred to as "women's fiction." I hate that designation. Men who read what women read are more likely to understand the women around them.
That same editor asked me why I write, and my answer – "I can't NOT write" – apparently wasn't good enough. My books were rejected by his company. But I have never stopped thinking about the question because some day I hope to come up with a satisfactory answer. I write because, like Anita Stansfield, I have a gift and not to use it would be a sin, regardless of market trends. I write because I have a story to share with my LDS people. I write because I can't edit what I say once I've said it. (That's why I can write brilliant dialog.) I write because I love the language. I write because it's thrilling to make both sides of my brain work together.
And so I go back to my own basic motivation: When LDS lives and marriages are falling apart all around us in an environment where values are slowly corroding, why are we writing about vampires and the housewife from Orem who's secretly a CIA agent and saves the world while still getting her visiting teaching done? I'm just sayin'.
Ultimately, the irony of art is that it IS only a paper moon hanging over a cardboard sky, but the story that takes place there tells vitals truths about life, exposes significant insights, and gives readers Aha! moments they might not get anywhere else. Artists create an artificial place populated with artificial people in order to reveal truth to real people in the real world. I love irony. That's good enough for me.
By the way, after reading the first five pages of my manuscript and and discussing it with me for ten minutes, the editor at Covenant asked me to submit the entire manuscript. That made up for everything else about the conference that didn't sit well with me. But now I'm chewing my fingernails for the next few weeks until I find out what the verdict is going to be. I hope they agree with me that this is a book whose time has come.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Another Oldie But Goodie (from 1996)
Tee Shirt Philosophy
It's amazing how our instant society can boil everything down to a few words or phrases easily proclaimed on our tee shirts. Attitudes – good, bad, indifferent – as expressed on shirts, can save a lot of conversation time when you meet new people. No one will misunderstand your self concept if you're wearing one that says 'All I ask is that you treat me no differently than you would the Queen,' OR 'There's nothing wrong with me that a little ice cream won't fix,' OR 'Plays well with others.' It would certainly make you stop and think if someone strolled toward you with a shirt reading 'The road to enlightenment is long and difficult… bring snacks and a magazine.'
You can immediately warn people of your life status by wearing such shirt inscriptions as 'I can handle any crisis – I have children,' OR 'I'm not having hot flashes, I'm having power surges,' OR 'First National Bank of Dad (sorry, closed).'
Middle aged or retired people, whose status may be changing, can come to terms with it by wearing the declaration 'If things get better with age, I'm approaching magnificent,' OR 'Looks too young to be retired.' Others might get right to the point with the hapless 'Over the hill? What Hill? Where? I didn't see any hill,' OR the defiant 'I'm not over the hill – I'm older than the dirt.'
Explanations about interests become immediately clear if a shirt says 'Built for comfort not for speed,' OR 'Can be bribed with cookies', OR 'So much chocolate, so little time.' You could never be confused about a person whose shirt says 'Beer is the reason I get up every afternoon.'
Even your marital status can be evident if your shirt says 'One good turn gets most of the blanket,' OR 'My wife says I never listen to her – at least that's what I think she said.'
Cat lovers can proudly declare 'You're nobody till you've been ignored by a cat,' OR in a more whimsical vein, sport a tee shirt with a cat dressed as Santa that says 'Buster patiently listened to what the mice wanted for Christmas and then he ate them.'
Sports fan(atic)s can make their propensities known with 'Sweat is nature's way of showing you that your muscles are crying,' OR 'Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, I gotta golf.' If they're completely honest, they might go for 'I fish, therefore I lie,' OR 'Hunters will do anything for a buck,' or my personal favorite, 'Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, but teach a man to fish and you get rid of him for the weekend.'
Personality shirts might help you know who to avoid, or who to make friends with. You'd think twice about the person wearing a shirt that says, 'If all the world's a stage I want better lighting.' When his shirt says 'A legend in my own mind,' it doesn't leave you with any questions about his ego. 'I get plenty of exercise jumping to conclusions, pushing my luck and dodging deadlines,' OR 'I have not yet begun to procrastinate' say more about a person than a resume' ever could.
In my housewifely role, I am amused by these slogans: 'If the world were fair, VCRs would program themselves, chocolate wouldn't be fattening, and men would have babies'; and 'Does vacuuming count as aerobic exercise?' I can also relate to 'I am woman, I am invincible, I am tired.' When I try to balance my checkbook or plan a budget, I sometimes think, 'Please Lord, let me prove to you that winning the lottery won't $poil me,' OR 'Money isn't everything – usually it isn't even enough,' OR 'When all else fails, manipulate the data.'
Life is easy when lived by a tee shirt philosophy – no responsibilities, no consequences, and none of the dimensions that make life and people interesting. Fortunately, a tee shirt is a cartoon, not a portrait, and that gives us permission not to take them too seriously.
It's amazing how our instant society can boil everything down to a few words or phrases easily proclaimed on our tee shirts. Attitudes – good, bad, indifferent – as expressed on shirts, can save a lot of conversation time when you meet new people. No one will misunderstand your self concept if you're wearing one that says 'All I ask is that you treat me no differently than you would the Queen,' OR 'There's nothing wrong with me that a little ice cream won't fix,' OR 'Plays well with others.' It would certainly make you stop and think if someone strolled toward you with a shirt reading 'The road to enlightenment is long and difficult… bring snacks and a magazine.'
You can immediately warn people of your life status by wearing such shirt inscriptions as 'I can handle any crisis – I have children,' OR 'I'm not having hot flashes, I'm having power surges,' OR 'First National Bank of Dad (sorry, closed).'
Middle aged or retired people, whose status may be changing, can come to terms with it by wearing the declaration 'If things get better with age, I'm approaching magnificent,' OR 'Looks too young to be retired.' Others might get right to the point with the hapless 'Over the hill? What Hill? Where? I didn't see any hill,' OR the defiant 'I'm not over the hill – I'm older than the dirt.'
Explanations about interests become immediately clear if a shirt says 'Built for comfort not for speed,' OR 'Can be bribed with cookies', OR 'So much chocolate, so little time.' You could never be confused about a person whose shirt says 'Beer is the reason I get up every afternoon.'
Even your marital status can be evident if your shirt says 'One good turn gets most of the blanket,' OR 'My wife says I never listen to her – at least that's what I think she said.'
Cat lovers can proudly declare 'You're nobody till you've been ignored by a cat,' OR in a more whimsical vein, sport a tee shirt with a cat dressed as Santa that says 'Buster patiently listened to what the mice wanted for Christmas and then he ate them.'
Sports fan(atic)s can make their propensities known with 'Sweat is nature's way of showing you that your muscles are crying,' OR 'Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, I gotta golf.' If they're completely honest, they might go for 'I fish, therefore I lie,' OR 'Hunters will do anything for a buck,' or my personal favorite, 'Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, but teach a man to fish and you get rid of him for the weekend.'
Personality shirts might help you know who to avoid, or who to make friends with. You'd think twice about the person wearing a shirt that says, 'If all the world's a stage I want better lighting.' When his shirt says 'A legend in my own mind,' it doesn't leave you with any questions about his ego. 'I get plenty of exercise jumping to conclusions, pushing my luck and dodging deadlines,' OR 'I have not yet begun to procrastinate' say more about a person than a resume' ever could.
In my housewifely role, I am amused by these slogans: 'If the world were fair, VCRs would program themselves, chocolate wouldn't be fattening, and men would have babies'; and 'Does vacuuming count as aerobic exercise?' I can also relate to 'I am woman, I am invincible, I am tired.' When I try to balance my checkbook or plan a budget, I sometimes think, 'Please Lord, let me prove to you that winning the lottery won't $poil me,' OR 'Money isn't everything – usually it isn't even enough,' OR 'When all else fails, manipulate the data.'
Life is easy when lived by a tee shirt philosophy – no responsibilities, no consequences, and none of the dimensions that make life and people interesting. Fortunately, a tee shirt is a cartoon, not a portrait, and that gives us permission not to take them too seriously.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Reflections
We visited Richfield recently for a day, the place where we lived for 33 years, and went to church with old friends. It was wonderful to renew acquaintances and to reflect on new friends who appreciate us for who we are. That reflection broadened and I thought about other things I love about my life.
• Being with extended family more often and being able to entertain them – It's so much fun to plan and give a dinner party! These are wonderful people we haven't been able to see very often in the last 33 years, and it's great to have them in our home.
• Having a pedicure - Since it's so hard to coordinate my bifocals with the bending of knees and the placement of a nail clipper, I'm grateful for people willing to clip my toenails. Of course, I love the leg massage that goes along with it.
• 12 other people in my family - That number will probably be growing, now that Jordan and Heather have decided to adopt, and I'm thrilled at the prospect of having a new baby to love.
• Getting into the creative zone - There's nothing to compare with the moment a new idea dawns. A thought attributed to Robert Louis Stevenson: "I hate to write, but I love to have written." I've found a marvelous critique group here who have helped me make real progress on writing projects.
• Living in Provo - I love our sweet new manageable home and especially love having people visit. We are in a quiet neighborhood ten minutes from everything and I look forward to being able to get out and walk as the weather improves. We've been to art shows, plays and concerts since we moved here, and movies. It's nice to be able to go out in public and not be shouted at by students who recognize us. At last we are anonymous.
• Flowers in the house - Since we've been here, and for a little while before we left Richfield, we started buying flowers more often, and it adds a dimension of civilization that I hadn't fully appreciated before. Something about having a bouquet of flowers on the table inspires me to keep the clutter cleared away.
• My wonderful husband - He took such good care of me last year when I was recovering from knee surgeries, and he's still in the habit. It's great to have the companionship, the stimulating conversations, the hearty laughs together. And the love.
• Feeling valued by people I respect.
• Seeing Mt. Timpanogos out the kitchen window every day.
• Hearing the train whistle in the distance.
• As spring emerges, discovering what's planted in the yard - Today some brave little daffodils along the back fence tried to hold their heads up as spring snow fell. Globe willows are greening up all over. And my spring allergies have arrived.
• Serendipity – discovering "omelette night" at the hospital cafeteria. We had a "girls night out" Tuesday and enjoyed the company as much as the food.
• Decorating our new home and exploring new styles, creating the comfort we want to live in.
• Tackling new projects and having time enough for everything.
• The prospect of filling our guest room with family and friends this summer – bring 'em on!
• The stimulation of reading and writing, the fun of sharing my experiences and talents with others.
This is not an exhaustive list, but it comes from a grateful heart, and it's a good place to begin. What do you love about your life?
• Being with extended family more often and being able to entertain them – It's so much fun to plan and give a dinner party! These are wonderful people we haven't been able to see very often in the last 33 years, and it's great to have them in our home.
• Having a pedicure - Since it's so hard to coordinate my bifocals with the bending of knees and the placement of a nail clipper, I'm grateful for people willing to clip my toenails. Of course, I love the leg massage that goes along with it.
• 12 other people in my family - That number will probably be growing, now that Jordan and Heather have decided to adopt, and I'm thrilled at the prospect of having a new baby to love.
• Getting into the creative zone - There's nothing to compare with the moment a new idea dawns. A thought attributed to Robert Louis Stevenson: "I hate to write, but I love to have written." I've found a marvelous critique group here who have helped me make real progress on writing projects.
• Living in Provo - I love our sweet new manageable home and especially love having people visit. We are in a quiet neighborhood ten minutes from everything and I look forward to being able to get out and walk as the weather improves. We've been to art shows, plays and concerts since we moved here, and movies. It's nice to be able to go out in public and not be shouted at by students who recognize us. At last we are anonymous.
• Flowers in the house - Since we've been here, and for a little while before we left Richfield, we started buying flowers more often, and it adds a dimension of civilization that I hadn't fully appreciated before. Something about having a bouquet of flowers on the table inspires me to keep the clutter cleared away.
• My wonderful husband - He took such good care of me last year when I was recovering from knee surgeries, and he's still in the habit. It's great to have the companionship, the stimulating conversations, the hearty laughs together. And the love.
• Feeling valued by people I respect.
• Seeing Mt. Timpanogos out the kitchen window every day.
• Hearing the train whistle in the distance.
• As spring emerges, discovering what's planted in the yard - Today some brave little daffodils along the back fence tried to hold their heads up as spring snow fell. Globe willows are greening up all over. And my spring allergies have arrived.
• Serendipity – discovering "omelette night" at the hospital cafeteria. We had a "girls night out" Tuesday and enjoyed the company as much as the food.
• Decorating our new home and exploring new styles, creating the comfort we want to live in.
• Tackling new projects and having time enough for everything.
• The prospect of filling our guest room with family and friends this summer – bring 'em on!
• The stimulation of reading and writing, the fun of sharing my experiences and talents with others.
This is not an exhaustive list, but it comes from a grateful heart, and it's a good place to begin. What do you love about your life?
Friday, March 19, 2010
Spring Fervor
Spring begins at sea level and moves upward about eleven miles a day, according to scientists who have studied the phenomenon. It is a transition time when the natural life cycle begins again, when I watch a bee exploring the throat of a daffodil and catch my breath in astonishment at how and why this happens, and who makes it happen. Spring brings a sense of freedom, a feeling of newness, an urge to be creative.
One morning in the spring I was sixteen years old, I sat in my room watching the mild sweet Oregon rain fall on the riot of irises outside my window, explored the Roget’s Thesaurus my parents had given me for my birthday that winter, and decided that I would be a writer. That decision has spared me from the ordinary and made the unconventional common.
My odyssey began in high school. Theater has been in my blood since the spring of my senior year when I auditioned for a part in The Diary of Anne Frank. Although I didn’t get the part, I was assigned to the costume crew, which took me backstage where, for the first time, I inhaled the instantly addictive and nearly palpable scent of creative energy, and I knew this had to be a part of my life.
As a college student, my best learning moments, some even life changing, came when I was involved in plays. I’ll never forget the only applause I ever received as an actress – in my acting class, playing Amanda in a scene from The Glass Menagerie. My interests remained back stage, however, as part of the decision-making that went into the preparation, and I left the acting to people who could memorize lines and control their stage fright.
In the spring of 1967 another rich memory was born. I was the assistant to the faculty member directing a premiere production of a play written by the campus poet in resident, my creative writing teacher from the English department. The author would come to rehearsals to watch the progress of his “offspring,” and consult with the director on production details. It was instructional to listen to these two intensely creative men. I became a sponge. Sometimes when they disagreed about some detail they would turn to me and say, “What do you think?” At first it seemed ludicrous that my opinion should count for anything; I was just happy to be there, absorbing the creative energy and facilitating the activities of all those other creative people involved in the production. Sometimes I had an opinion, and I was grateful for the chance to offer it. Ultimately the collaboration was thrilling.
This spring I’m reminded of fourteen years ago when one of my creations, a play, was brought to life on stage by a group of talented people who gave me the priceless gift of their time to do for me what I couldn’t do for myself. A poet once described birth as “Trailing clouds of glory do we come, from God who is our home.” But as I watched and participated in the development of talent by gifted people around me, I concluded that the clouds of glory we trail after us must be the talents we bring, probably a spiritual inheritance from Heavenly Parents. Somehow when talents are used and shared respectfully, with deference to the Giver of the Gift, there’s inevitably a feeling of renewed life, the return of spring.
One morning in the spring I was sixteen years old, I sat in my room watching the mild sweet Oregon rain fall on the riot of irises outside my window, explored the Roget’s Thesaurus my parents had given me for my birthday that winter, and decided that I would be a writer. That decision has spared me from the ordinary and made the unconventional common.
My odyssey began in high school. Theater has been in my blood since the spring of my senior year when I auditioned for a part in The Diary of Anne Frank. Although I didn’t get the part, I was assigned to the costume crew, which took me backstage where, for the first time, I inhaled the instantly addictive and nearly palpable scent of creative energy, and I knew this had to be a part of my life.
As a college student, my best learning moments, some even life changing, came when I was involved in plays. I’ll never forget the only applause I ever received as an actress – in my acting class, playing Amanda in a scene from The Glass Menagerie. My interests remained back stage, however, as part of the decision-making that went into the preparation, and I left the acting to people who could memorize lines and control their stage fright.
In the spring of 1967 another rich memory was born. I was the assistant to the faculty member directing a premiere production of a play written by the campus poet in resident, my creative writing teacher from the English department. The author would come to rehearsals to watch the progress of his “offspring,” and consult with the director on production details. It was instructional to listen to these two intensely creative men. I became a sponge. Sometimes when they disagreed about some detail they would turn to me and say, “What do you think?” At first it seemed ludicrous that my opinion should count for anything; I was just happy to be there, absorbing the creative energy and facilitating the activities of all those other creative people involved in the production. Sometimes I had an opinion, and I was grateful for the chance to offer it. Ultimately the collaboration was thrilling.
This spring I’m reminded of fourteen years ago when one of my creations, a play, was brought to life on stage by a group of talented people who gave me the priceless gift of their time to do for me what I couldn’t do for myself. A poet once described birth as “Trailing clouds of glory do we come, from God who is our home.” But as I watched and participated in the development of talent by gifted people around me, I concluded that the clouds of glory we trail after us must be the talents we bring, probably a spiritual inheritance from Heavenly Parents. Somehow when talents are used and shared respectfully, with deference to the Giver of the Gift, there’s inevitably a feeling of renewed life, the return of spring.
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