Hello, Old Friend

It's been a long time since my last post.  But here we are, with renewed inspiration and focus.  And commitment.  I'm out of excuses now.  I completed an MA in Creative Writing (thank you, Southern New Hampshire University) and so I can no longer say, "Well, I'm not a real writer.  I didn't study writing."   That convenient justification for not following my lifelong dream has been eradicated.

The process of actually studying and practicing writing was alternately exhilarating and frustrating.  Learning to appreciate feedback from people whose writing I didn't find terribly inspiring was a great learning experience.  Over the more-than two years and twelve classes, I devised many ways of saying, "I really appreciate your feedback" when I often didn't appreciate it at all.

But some of my classmates and several of my instructors helped me learn to read more critically and to write more clearly.  I learned that "personal style" can't be used as a justification for lazy writing.  Shortcuts and lack of precision are not techniques.  

I read books that I would not have otherwise encountered.  I found authors I hadn’t previously known.  I found out that I rather enjoyed some others I had preconceptions about but hadn’t read.  My eyes were opened to old and new masters.

I discovered that I do have a story to tell, and that it’s worth telling.  My calling is to share experiences that might help other people find their way through some dark times.  Everything is survivable if you have the right mindset.  For me, that survival mentality came out of necessity rather than bravery.  For some of my hardest experiences, I was on my own.  I had to survive, as I didn’t have someone to hold me up, to pick up the slack. 

But that’s okay: I learned to dig deep, to take a deep breath, and to get on with it.  Responsibility is a powerful motivator for the failure-averse.  And of course, in the more recent years, the obligation to survive, to not give up, was driven by the responsibility to Bella Pie, the amazing little dog who owns my heart.  I had a purpose beyond myself.  She needs me.  I can’t fold up like a cheap lawn chair.  No matter what’s in my head and heart, no matter if my soul and bones are exhausted, she needs two meals, four walks, countless belly runs, and no small measure of treats each day. 

And of course, beyond survival, I am on a mission to find joy, humor, and peace.  Aren’t we all?  Finding those qualities is largely a matter of mindset.  Joy and humor are present in all situations if you can change the lens through which you experience a situation.  I’m working on that daily.  And peace?  A common quest, if my Facebook feed is to be believed.  It is out there, again by changing lenses.  By letting things go.  By understanding what is and what is not in your control.

Let’s take this journey together, shall we?  

A Letter to Gloria

My mother died unexpectedly on January 28, 2000.   I think of her constantly, and in a few peaceful moments I forget that she's gone.  Here's what I am thinking about her this evening, as I sit facing another painful anniversary.

***

Dear Mom,

I can't believe that you've been gone for 13 years.  It feels like 5 minutes most days, with the pain and shock still right at the surface.  You were gone in a flash, there was no time to prepare, to be ready, to have a satisfying 'goodbye'.  But then, I doubt very much that I could have survived knowing that I was going to lose you.  Shock was the only thing that kept me going.

I look at my life today, the life I have forged ahead to create, and wonder what you would think.  On paper, it all looks pretty good: I have a great job, I own a house, I have a spoiled dog, and I manage it all on my own.  That's success, right?

But I can also see you looking at me with worry: why no boyfriend or husband?  Why didn't I have a child?  Why do I work so much, and then spend the rest of my time at home, alone except for the dog?  It's easy to explain, really.  I can't bear any more loss.  It's easier to be alone than to risk more hurt.

I have a box of notes, cards, and letters that you sent me over the years.  I go through it every so often, and it brings me comfort and despair.  It's like having you back for a while, and then realizing all over again that you're gone.  I am grateful to have it, of course, but greedily wish that I had new cards and letters to add.  I wish I had another day, just one more day, with you.   Just one more opportunity to sit at the kitchen table, drinking a few cups of tea, and talk about nothing in particular.  And, selfishly, to wring out of you as many affirmations that I was not a disappointment as I could get before you'd tell me, appropriately, that I needed to develop some self-confidence.

I hope that you have peace where you are, and I hope you know that even still you are the inspiration for anything good that has come of my life.  I hear your laugh, I hold on to your sense of joy, and I try to treat other people kindly.  You will always be the reason I do anything good.

Love,

-stephanie

Paralyzed by Too Many Choices

I often find myself staring at my bookshelf, standing frozen, gazing at the collection of books.  Most of the books on the shelves are yet-unread.  I collect books, but don't carve out adequate time to read them.  I buy them as though I will never be able to get my hands on them in the future:  'If I don't buy this new Cheever biography RIGHT THIS MOMENT, it will disappear into the ether, and I will NEVER EVER be able to get it again!'  So I acquire it right away, shelve it, and then when I am ready to start a new book, I become overwhelmed by the possibilities.  Funny essays?  Chick lit?  Catching up on the classics?  There are simply too many options on the bookshelf.

And don't even get me started on the vast repository of guides/manuals/creative philosophy books that I have accrued, to help me with my writing.  'Someday', I think, 'maybe on my next vacation, I'll get through that gorgeous Iowa Writer's Workshop book.  I can't wait!' 

Anyone else drowning in good intentions?

Back in the Saddle Again

Hello Dear Readers,

I am back with a renewed commitment to my writing life. I have had the good fortune of discovering a few like-minded people in my circle, very inspiring. Also altering my own expectations for time and schedule. New approach, new goals, new attitude. Hoping it all leads to new productivity and a renewed sense of purpose and fulfillment.

So hang in there, and expect to hear back from me more often.

A Tribute to My Biggest Fan

A sad post tonight, dear readers, as your numbers are one less.  Last Tuesday I lost my biggest fan: my father passed away, both suddenly and not.  He battled a terrible illness, but we thought he had a few months left.  And so I write this post in his honor, as I struggle to find a reason to keep writing.  At the same time, I know that writing is the thing that will get me through this difficult time. 

I had always hoped that my parents would share my success, and the idea of that joyful moment, of seeing my book on the NYT Best Seller List...will it still feel as sweet without my cheerleaders enjoying it with me?  What will keep me motivated?  How do I find satisfaction in doing it just for myself?

Somehow I'll find a way.  I owe it to myself, first and foremost, to pursue my dream, and I owe it to my parents, who aren't able to pursue their own dreams in this world anymore.

So thank you, Big Dawg, for having believed in me for 39 years, without fail.  I was so very lucky to have had you as my father.  I'll do my best to be the best 'me' that I can be, and I thank you for all that you did, all that you taught me, and all that you gave up so that I could have every opportunity. 

Inspiration Strikes

It was an exciting late-morning walk with Bella.  Exiting the building, I had ideas for a few characters for a new satire piece about higher education.  I know, writing books with college politics as setting is a bit of a niche market, but it certainly is 'writing what I know'.  Just hoping to keep momentum in my brain for the next week, as work obligations will not allow me to really invest time in writing.

But at least I have some ideas to put to paper now, and to keep mulling on the dog walks. 

Thrilling when it strikes!

Anecdotes about favorite college experiences and professors welcome!

Gregory Maguire: Damn, I Wish I Thought of That

I am reading yet another Gregory Maguire book, and once again wish that I had considered the concept that is making him millions: Re-writing well-known tales from a different character's perspective.  My God, Wicked even turned into a smash musical!  And really, such a simple concept!

But I give him due credit: while the 'stories' aren't necessarily as well-imagined, since he's using the framework of an existing story and building on established characters, he is an excellent writer.  His prose is beautiful, and his vocabulary...well, I am pretty word-savvy, and yet I have to stop and look up words sometimes!

What a gold mine!

But it begs the question: how does he feel about it?  Does he feel boxed in now?  Does he feel (or does his agent feel) that the only style people want to read from him is the twist on the fairy take?  Does he pine to write a whodunnit, or a courtroom drama?

What books would you like to see reconsidered from an alternate point of view?