Reading, writing...that's what I do.

Love for the printed word, love and belief in ideas.

A Gardeners’s Beginnings

Often gardeners say that the most endearing gift they could offer a loved one would be a bouquet of blooms from their own patch of earth–roses speaking of passion, or lilies indicating purity of the heart.

But what about dandelions? What about those crumpled, soggy bouquets of stringy stems and crushed flower? They are fervent with a child’s love and devotion. Their presentation calls up tears as it stretches back across the years,  symbolizing a true gift of the heart. They could be a gardeners beginnings…though when I lived in California, I learned that dandelions don’t grow there!

For child me, the flower growing in a narrow garden by our walk in Chicago was the peony. And it became the reason that I began to love digging in the dirt. Each spring the peonies called my mother Jinni from the dining room where she typed insurance policies to raise us three kids. The two of us would sit on the front porch steps to take in the color and perfume of the eight massive bushes. The blooms were thick, rich with fragrance, bragging their colors…fuchsia, soft rose, pure white–all with large yellow centers, cabbages of color becoming pendulous in spring rains, their heads drooping like my head upon my mother’s shoulder. The best part was snipping them with a scissors and brining them inside where we filled jelly glasses with blooms that truly transformed our simple home.

CHANGE 

Then when I was ten, more gardening instincts kicked in. I noticed my aunts had an everlasting garden with stepping stones. They also talked another language of breaded iris, delphinium, coreopsis, and rose scale. At our home I could almost see the grass turning brown as I stood on the lawn…the flowering bridal wreath against the porch had bloomed off leaving ragged masses of dusty green leaves. Whiz, bang, the sounds of my mother’s typewriter carriage through the open, summer window. And hours later, it happened. She listened to me, and with some money out of her budget, we bought marigolds and petunias.

My mother showed me how to plant these lovelies in a patch of soil under our dining room window–my first garden. She found time to help me pot some scarlet geraniums for the front porch and she taught me how to hook up the sprinkler and water our dusty lawn. IT WAS A START. But then as summer faded, magic happened. I gave my mother a bouquet of spicy marigolds which we carefully arranged in my grandmother’s cut glass bowl. Lovely, but not as lovely as the look in her eyes when I presented them.

PERMAENCE 

I was a gardener now, like my aunts who came up the front walk on a chilly night heralding the arrival of autumn with sheaves of chrysanthemums expertly cut and wrapped in wax paper to protect their well-ironed dresses. My mother and I were thrilled with the amber ones, the maroon ones, the bright fiery yellow ones. But my brothers moaned. Autumn meant taking down the screens and putting up the heavy storm windows, and mowing expanses of covered grass.  Because yes, as the sun angled away from the earth, doing those chores filled our Saturdays. But I did not need an monetary allowance to spur me on. I was learning to love this part of the cycle–the tidying up, the banking of the peony bed with leaves, the preserving of this beauty during a Chicago winter. All had purpose, finality that I did not mind…all held promise.

WINTER

During those cold months, I would gaze at the snow-encrusted world, imagining the eventual thaw and picturing the peonies parading our front walk…recreation! The spirit of gardening had taken hold of me and I learned in time that it’s a firm hold, one you give yourself to over and over. In my youth, the promise was there in the simple gifts I could give and share with my amazing mother. Yes, the flowers sang out to us, called to us with their colors and perfume, creating a relationship singular and personal, on cultivated by our very living.

Thanks for reading.

Living in Liminal Space Today

A liminal space is a transitional zone, a place or state between two distinct phases or states of being. It’s often characterized by a sense of being “in-between” or a metaphorical threshold.

Important: This can be a physical space, like an empty hallway or a waiting room, or a psychological state, like adolescence or a period of uncertainty. AND  NOW….

When The Words of poet and writer Mary Oliver Help…

I Have Decided  by Mary Oliver from:  A Thousand Mornings

I have decided to find myself a home in the mountains, somewhere high up where one learns to live peacefully in the cold and the silence. It’s said that in such a place certain revelations may be discovered. That what the spirit reaches for may be eventually felt, if not exactly understood. Slowly, no doubt. I’m not talking about a vacation.

Of course at the same time I mean to stay exactly where I am. Are you following me?

NOW MY WORDS  

Oh I want to follow her. And I want you reading this to follow me. I won’t plead, beg. I will attempt to use civility. And yes, you can argue back through a comment. Please do.

I ask that you remember that we come from love to live on this earth; that we are charged with making it a better place. We are creatures of God. Every one of us. We are a colorful rainbow and what woman who has carried a child in her body can turn away from this–mother/child belong together. 

One morning on NPR they talked about Reasonable Disagreement.

One morning Virginia Heffernan asked a question: where did we go wrong? Her answer: We went wrong when we began to utilize false arguments, whose purpose was to deceive. In easier terms, shorter terms, we went wrong when those in power lied.

And I don’t apologize for saying this again. I will say it until it stops, until all these wrongs are made right.

We are founded on basic beliefs that mothers and children belong together. It is so basic, that it’s hard to believe ANYONE would think it right to purposefully separate a child from its mother. BUT WE ARE THERE. People are saying it’s pragmatic. NO! NO! Our very cells should reject this action immediately. It should make us feel dirty and defiled.

Some are kneeling before the American flag instead of standing in a peaceful protest (it’s harder to kneel than to stand.) And others decided it’s treason. (Definition of treason, in case you haven’t read it lately: the offense of attempting to overthrow the government of one’s country or of assisting its enemies in war; specifically: the act of levying war against the United States.

How do you get there by kneeling?

Dodging taxes and military service seems like greed and cowardice. Oh it’s not at all, they now say, it’s done by smart people.

And guns designed for massacres lead to massacres. Well, they now say, regardless, we need more of them.

Bottom line: if our country is to remain free, we must follow the principles that created it. We must reject that children can be taken from their mothers; that people who protest because they have been downtrodden are committing treason, and that breaking the law and not paying taxes means you’re smart.

We must must stop lying to ourselves. We must call out the liars. We must remember what it feels like to do what is right and not be told that it no longer matters. Oh it does, it does. Every cell in my body tells me that it does.

PS. I hope your July 4th was filled with family and friendship. 

I hope and pray that you still believe in the principals that this country was founded on. FREEDOM  of SPEACH, of RELIGION, and of LIFE CHOICES.     

 

 

WRITING AGAINST THE WINDS OF CHANGE

“Because it’s life” or “That’s just life” …words said by people you love, people you are close to…words of regret, said as fact concerning what they are dealing with.

But it’s a very different matter when they say it about what YOU are dealing with.

In the first case, you might want to help this person, be sympathetic to their current problem. You’re eager to suggest they make some change in their lives, that they not give up.  You might even list steps to solve their problem. But if they say little or nothing, you feel that yes, it’s possible they have already given up.

But what if these same words are said by you. This time it is YOU dealing with sorrow, change, loss…you who often feels unheard, alone, others failing to notice, care about your pain, and thus not offering help.   

Because it is always all about LIFE…the bottom line…that LIFE can be difficult, bring sorrow and changes that can truly make you want to give up.

But as humans…we also know there has to be acceptance in our lives, but how much, and when. A family member is very ill. One of your adult children is dealing with a health issue, but is miles away. Your husband just had major surgery…and some person says they wish they were the one in pain. So easy to say words that are truly not honest. But WE ARE HUMAN. We are not saints, and thus it is never our wish to suffer.

As a child, I was afraid to grow up. Attending a Catholic school, I did not want to be a saint, have some apparition appear to me, suffer pain…I didn’t want any of that. 

SOLUTIONS? 

How do we cope with these human events? I found one way…I write. Or at the very least, I have ideas as to WHAT I want to write. 

Example: A woman lies in bed seeing the burning moon, feeling the soft bed sheets, her husband beside her. She is thinking about the marigolds she planted in the her garden, the strange man who likes to park his car in front of her house…who is he, what does he want. And because of these and other thoughts, she is unable to sleep. Still, she lies there, struggling, pushing wonder, sorrow away.

Then one night, she gets up, writes down all these thoughts. Because though she finds some of them confusing, hard to express …she realizes there is turmoil in her life…or she believes that there is. And over time, she finds it helpful to write down her feelings, worries, to let whatever comes to her mind appear on the page. And the title of what she writes: 

BEGINNINGS 

Writing is part of my DNA…I truly believe this. And with the internet and computers it is now facile and even easier to write. But that wasn’t always the case. So a question: have any of you reading this saved a paper you wrote in high school?

I ask, because I taught high school English and often assigned papers. Oh yes, groans, moans….immediately. “Sorry, but at this level of your education you need to be able to at least write a letter (or now create one on your computer); you need to be able to express yourself if someone you love dies; or you’re applying for a job, trying to mend a relationship, asking a person who has succeeded in a pursuit you are curious about what steps you might also take…so many pursuits, goals, ideas we want to express in a letter, an email etc. THUS…WE NEED TO KNOW HOW TO WRITE!   

FINAL THOUGHTS 

Is is easier now…or is it harder? 

When there are changes in my daily life I find it very hard to find time to write. 

And actually being heard can often be a struggle, because now we are flooded with writers. Everyone is a writer. But that’s okay. We are rising up, using the winds of change and technology to express ourselves. Competition? Yes. Always.

But my constant thought: being able to sit down and express my joy or pain, my new idea or delete an old one….is a gift. It encourages me, encourage all of us to keep going. BECAUSE there is one thing we can always count on…change. Eternal change. Writing helps us deal with that, helps me, helps you to keep going. A note, a poem, a paragraph, a rant on FB. We are just doing our best. We are WRITING against the winds of change. 

Let’s Talk “All About Tropes”

As a writer, I initially had no idea that using tropes was encouraged by editors and publishers. But as a reader, I had a different question, especially when finding books with similar plot lines. So let’s be specific, what exactly is a trope?

My history with the term began when Peggy Loftus Fink, a fellow member of  Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA), presented a discussion about tropes, the  definition and the usage. Here are the basics:  

A trope is a word (or words) used in a nonliteral sense to create a powerful image. If you say, “Chicago’s worker bees buzz around the streets,” you’re using a trope. Workers aren’t literally bees, but it suggests how fast they move. But that’s not enough.

Because there is another definition that many of us are more familiar with, one that’s definitely applicable to writers: TROPE: a common or clichéd plot device, idea, or theme used in a creative work. Yes!

To me….that is a troupe, and as a member of  WFWA, the word and its use has been  discussed frequently, stressing how tropes help in plotting, though recently, when reading the work of a new author, my ability to know the thrust of the plot was in some ways disconcerting. The author had used the exact same “tropes” I use in my WIP. 

But as writers , we then remind ourselves…this is totally acceptable. There is no writing law against it. A trope is simply what it is: a common, often overused theme or device. And to clarify, here are some tropes we’ve all encountered when reading fiction or watching films:

a kidnaping reveals a lost relative; best friends become enemies over the same love interest; a marriage on the rocks reveals the difficult past of the wife, husband or both.

A few more: the decision to finally go back to one’s home town; finding out that a friend in one’s life is really part of family ie., found family. Going home again. Rape, kidnapping, robbery…scars, secrets which the hero or heroine has to overcome. The reinvention story, staring your main character: loss, goal, conflict, motivation, expectations.  And always using TIME as a ticking bomb.

OTHER TROPES THAT OFTEN APPEAR IN STORY OR FILM

The revealed twin or orphan; the ticking time bomb, the hidden fatal illness…all can be considered tropes. But when writing, keep this in mind: a trope is more fluid and neutral than a plot element, and it certainly can be used in different ways in your story.

Tropes also help when creating blurbs to promote your fiction: kidnapping, found relative, marriage on the rocks, best friends turned to enemies, going back to your home town, lost family, reinvention story, scars and secretes, going home again.

FINAL THOUGHTS: HOW WRITERS CAN PLEASE READERS 

Make sure that your use of a trope fits your story, that it helps you work toward your story goal. That’s why when creating your novel and its plot lines, you might hesitate at a certain point in your story: is this really my character’s goal? Do I want to go in an unexpected direction? Have I laid out personality traits in my MC that will support his deciding NOT to….but instead to …..

Because we all want to read something we were not prepared for; we all enjoy a clever plot twist, but one supported by what has come before, and thus a total surprise. YES, THAT IS THE WRITER’S GOAL. But…this must be your story, you GOAL, MOTIVATION and CONFLICT. Tropes are only there to flesh out a strong story line.

P.S. THE BEST WAY TO USE TROPES… allow them to fade or radically change: the kidnapping is stopped by the most unexpected character; the lost relative is your best friend’s husband and lives down the street; the character your reader has grown to hate is really the savior of your story.

Thanks for reading.  P.S. My short novel, AFTER PAPA LEFT, is now available on Amazon: Kindle version (lavender flowers) or book version (green leaves).  

     

 

Father’s Day…2025… Thoughts, Wishes, Memories

 

On this Father’s Day, John and I are joyful. We have three amazing children and NOW FOUR amazing grandchildren. Arthur joined us in January!

We have enjoyed living in Chicago, Des Moines, Iowa and Westlake Village, California. But when our youngest, our son, moved to that part of Chicago where we were raised, where we fell in love, we moved back. Time to again be with old friends, to walk the streets we walked as teenagers, and to be near our son Andrew and his wife Amy as they build their live together. 

Fathers are important. Many of you know my story…that I lost mine when I was three. But a strong and amazing mother gave me and my brothers what we needed to grow and thrive. If you have lost a father or a mother, you still carry and will aways carry with you his story, her story, the pictures and the shadows of their lives.

And because of DNA, our parents are always a part of us. For me, drawn to medicine, always reading about human physiology (father), and for me who loves music and singing (mother), I now know and understand inheritance, parental connections. Such knowledge can offer comfort, an understanding of what we might have inherited and how we might benefit from that inheritance. I love stories about my father’s kindness, his love, sense of humor, gentleness.

And when my mother told me those very father stories, I must have subconsciously looked for those same qualities in a spouse, because I definitely found them in John, my husband. He loves humor…my father did. He is loyal, loves his family…my father again. 

Family connecting is a powerful thing…it reaches out, helps us fulfill our needs for love, constancy. Holding close the positive decisions we have made in our lives helps us continue on, to say YES when everything in our hearts, our very core is telling us…this is a good decision, this will benefit those you love. 

John and I have been blessed with three amazing children, our two daughters and our son. And we do find traces of us in them; but when they love different art or music, we listen, we learn. We find echoes in the paths of life they have taken…but they are quick to remind us that they are their own people…and rightly so. John and I always yearned to be parents, and for a time worried it would never happen… and then it did!

And so for this post on this Father’s Day…John found a wonderful photo of Caroline, our first child…who we called Carrie. I added favorites of Christie, Andrew and one of our new grandson, Arthur.    

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, JOHN       HAPPY GRANDFATHER’S DAY!!    WE ALL LOVE YOU!   

Honoring Jan O’Hara: When Dark Emotions Threaten Your Writing

This past week I lost a friend, a writer…and we all lost a former physician, thinker and woman filled with joy. Jan O’Hara and I gave each other virtual hugs when they were needed. Today I share a selection from one of Jan’s post that appeared on Writer Unboxed.

Treat Feelings with Healthy Skepticism

Cognitive therapists have identified several thinking errors which, when indulged, tend to lead to depression, anxiety, and disempowerment. One of these is the error of Emotional Logic in which a feeling’s existence serves as proof of its veracity. I feel X, therefore X must be true. 

Some examples: I feel rejected so I must be unlovable. I feel ugly, so I must be unattractive. I feel invisible so I must be unwanted.

I feel like a hack writer, so that must mean my prose is useless.

How about doubling-down to create a self-fulfilling prophecy? I feel like I’m incapable of improving my craft, therefore my present deficiencies are permanent.

Making Thoughts Conscious

The first step in countering Emotional Logic is cultivating a kind of mindfulness process so as to slow and capture our thoughts.

Meditation is a commonly prescribed method, whether taught in video format by masters such as Jon Kabat-ZinnSharon Salzburg, or via an app. Here’s a set of Free Mindfulness Apps as recommended by Mindful.org.

Because it allows me to pin down my slippery thoughts, I’m a big fan of stream-of-consciousness journaling, which I do on an ad hoc basis for as long as required. Once upon a time, I kept a Moleskin journal and used a special pen for this purpose, but I’ve changed to coil-bound dollar-store notebooks. Their informality allows me to get honest, gritty, and real. 

Detachment, Not Suppression

So you’ve identified a process which allows you to notice the thoughts which produce Emotional Logic, and which sabotage your writing. Now what?

You’ve heard the expression that sunlight is the best disinfectant? Sometimes the mere act of identifying a thought is enough to make it lose its power. What once made you cringe becomes inconsequential, a source of amusement—perhaps a source of creativity, as with this article.

But how do you handle painful, recurrent thoughts? The psychological and medical literature are clear: don’t attempt to suppress them.

The reason is our basic biology and mental processing, as confirmed by functional MRI studies. Give your brain a message like Don’t eat chocolate! Don’t eat chocolate!  and what it hears is Chocolate! Chocolate! (Why it’s advisable to state goals in positive language. i.e. “I will” versus “I won’t.” Also why people who make a career out of fighting against vice are often the ones who succumb.)

Instead, try these two techniques, which cultivate the art of detachment:

  • Visualize the darker emotions as an approaching wave. Let it wash over you without trying to resist. Focus on mindful breathing. As it recedes, climb to your feet, pick the seaweed from your hair, pull up your bikini bottoms, and carry on. (For a more elegant description of the process, read Dr. Kelly McGonigal’s The Willpower Instinct, or Kabat-Zinn’s Full Catastrophe Living—two life-changing books.)
  • My favorite technique, as described by Byron Katie: Go for a daily 5-10 minute walk and as your gaze rests on an object, give it a basic, non-judgmental name. Eraser. Pepper. Man. Move to the next object and continue the process. As you become comfortable, extend it to your thoughts, actions and emotions. Angry. Arguing. Dead.

Lastly, Build Upon Success and the Flow of Creativity

As I’m slowly learning, when the Drama Llama comes to visit, there’s no need to throw wide the stable doors, set out a gilded water bowl, and dodge his spittle whilst serving designer llama food. Rather, with time and practice, we can learn to greet him with a peaceful smile. We can offer a gentle pat and send him on his way with a “Safe journey, Drama Llama.” Then we can return to the page.

Each time we do this, we create a sense of confidence in our capacity to handle writing threats. We gain an opportunity to get taken over by the work and to enter a state of Flow, which is only my second-favorite emotional state in the world. *eyebrow waggle*

MY FINAL COMMENT: I might forget the eyebrow waggle, but I will not forget Jan’s smile, her generous comments and her friendship. Thanks for reading.

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