Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Today's wish

As I was going through papers, I found a drawing a former student gave to me on the last day of class.  And so my thoughts turned to the her and all my students who write and continue to write and hope that their work will be acknowledged.

I want their work to be acknowledged, too.  I have learned so much from them--important lessons about dedication and resilience and humility.  And I've been impressed with their work, too, knowing in my heart of hearts that they have often been more talented, more skilled than I am.

Just wanted to tell them all for being a part of my life.


Sunday, January 29, 2017

Fog

I feel like I'm doing okay.  But then I realize I haven't responded to texts or emails or calls--not because I've deliberately chosen to ignore them, but because their existence has altogether slipped off the slick surface of my brain.  My brain which can't seem to hold onto an idea or a thought right now.

I'm also leaving things behind everywhere I go.  I've always done this--my parents used to lay bets on what I'd forget to bring home whenever I left--but I'm even worse than usual right now.

It occurred to me that maybe this is how the aftermath feels.  I did all my crying this summer.  And now there's this.

If you don't mind, would you share how your experience played out after the death of a family member?

Thanks.

Friday, January 27, 2017

Some thoughts on my life as a writer

I almost said "my career as a writer."  But then I thought that I haven't exactly had a career--at least not if a career is something that supports you (and your family) monetarily.  But writing has certainly been a huge part of my life.

The thing of it is this:  I never really had a plan when I started out in my twenties, although "getting published" somehow, somewhere was always a goal.  To that end I tried a little bit of everything and sent those bits everywhere.  Along the way a few things did, indeed, get published.

Meanwhile, certain unexpected opportunities presented themselves along the way, and I rarely said no--not even to the offer (when I was first starting out) to write manuals for MLMs that sold bee pollen and endorsed cryogenics.  This means I have a CV that lacks focus.  On the other hand, this tendency has taken me to this place--a chance to be the Salt Lake Tribune's Dear Abby.

Except for the part where I'm not dead.

It's kind of exciting at this age to be starting something brand new.  Am I nervous?  Yeah.  I am.  But feeling nervous makes you feel like a kid again.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

I have a feeling

. . . that I may be writing a lot about my dad--about both parents, actually.

I'm actually doing well.  You don't need to worry or anything.  But it gives me a lot of pleasure (and some comfort) to think about him and to write down tiny snatches of memory.

Last night Geoff asked me about a certain person.  I thought things over and then I said, "Well, you know, he's a different cat."

Geoff laughed because that's what my dad would say sometimes.  I've said this about the Coach before, but he was an interesting mix of salt-of-the-earth farm boy and cool rat packer.  I can remember him leaning against the bleachers at one of my boy's games, wraparound sunglasses shielding his eyes, and saying about someone we both knew, "Yeah.  That guy's a different cat."

Monday, January 23, 2017

Listening to Tana French

Or maybe not actually listening to Tana herself--listening, instead, to her novel Broken Harbor, read as an audiobook.

Lisa B  is a great fan, so when I told her I was finally becoming acquainted with the French's work, Lisa told me to start at the beginning with In the Woods.  However, I had already become hooked on Broken Harbor--not so much on the story at first (although I am now), but because I am a sucker for stories read to me by men (sorry, ladies) with any kind of British (English, Scottish, Welsh, or Irish) accent.

Meanwhile, I am marveling at Tana French's prose.  Soooooo amazingly fine.  I can't believe I've waited this long to invite into my life.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Oh, Sean Spicer

I can't tell you how much noise my jaw made as it dropped to the floor during Sean Spicer's press conference on Saturday when he said that the media had made up the story about Trump's rift with the intelligence community (because, yeah, the media is the entity that dropped the term "nazi," not Trump) and also that the media had lied about the number of people at the inauguration (because, yeah, size matters and the press deliberately framed photos to make the crowds look smaller).

I just felt so . . . depressed by Spicer's performance.

Here's the deal.  The press and the POTUS always have a contentious relationship.  If they don't, that means the press isn't doing its job.  But this attack from Trump's team is unwarranted, unprecedented, and unfair.  DUDES!  HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD OF THE FOURTH ESTATE?!

I can't believe that Spicer, in his heart of hearts, believed a single thing he said.  But I've come to the conclusion that this is Trump's end game.  He won't be able to deliver on all of his grandiose promises.  He ran for president.  Not dictator.  This means Trump has to work with other people who don't want the same things he wants.  So when it becomes clear that he can't deliver, Trump has already set up a perfect patsy.  The press.

He can point a finger and say, "I could have done everything I promised to do-- if only the press hadn't lied about me.  SAD!"

I'm rarely political online.  Not my style, really.  But this.  This made me ill.  I somehow expected better from Spicer.



Friday, January 20, 2017

What I'm reading

My friend Dr. Write had this to say about books.  Lovely, isn't it?

Meanwhile, I thought I'd account for what I've been reading.  Which isn't much, frankly, although I hope to change that.

This week I've read Advanced Reading Copies of soon-to-be-released graphic novels by Shannon Hale and Nathan Hale.  (Not married.  Not related.)  I liked them both.  (I mean the books written by the not-married Hales, not the Hales themselves.)  (Although I like the Hales themselves, too.)  And let me say that reading graphic novels is a pleasure because it takes me back to the days when I sat on Wendy and Diana's front porch during the summer, eating cookie dough while we read Ripley's Believe-it-or-Not comic books.  Also, I was a fan of Tales from the Crypt, although that series induced in me a life-long fear of accidentally being buried alive.

CAN'T YOU TELL I'M NOT DEAD, I imagined myself shouting.  From the crypt.

I've also read part of CLEOPATRA by Stacy Schiff and part of THE GIRL FROM VENICE by Martin Cruz Smith.  I like them both.

What are you reading?