I wrote a letter to this man, briefly outlining the idea and asking if we could meet and talk about my idea. I chose to write a letter for several reasons. For one thing, I wanted a paper trail from the very beginning of the project. Secondly, I felt that a postmarked letter conveyed a lot about my intention: that I intended to take my time on this project. That I knew it required thought as well as cooperation and collaboration. These were, albeit, indirect messages in the letter, but in this day of rapid communication via phone and email, I thought a handwritten letter sent a quieter more intimate message. I included my phone number in the closing.

The man called me back quickly–seemingly on the day he got my letter–leaving a voice message that expressed reluctance but nevertheless invited me to return his call. I called back and took verbatim notes on the short conversation. My timing was atrocious. He was in the midst of a personal and professional crisis and even though I could sense that he was flattered by my interest (given in part his quick response), he could not see past the mess he was in to view this as a worthy project.

I was disappointed but not waylaid. I had started a notebook and continued to make notes and collect stories about this man with the idea that some day he would say, “Yes.” About year and half later, he and I were called for jury duty on the same day. During the lunch break, we chatted and I was able to mention the project again. At this point, he was still reluctant but also kind of dismayed that I was still thinking about it. I was working on another large project at the time, so I relegated that conversation to the back of the desk, but knew I was keeping the idea alive if not yet in motion.

Then the unthinkable happened. The man died! I, along with the entire community in which we both lived, was grief stricken. But my idea for the project did not die. In fact, it made me more determined. A sea of people were talking about the man, stories rolling from their tongues, amazing, sweet, scary, delightful stories. I was more convinced than ever that his story was important and memorable.

But I still needed to bide my time. In the year after he died, I had two brief encounters with his wife. At each of these encounters, I brought up the project. She did not say “No!” I was sure I felt eagerness amidst her ambivalence.

A few days ago I called her and made a date to talk with her about my idea. In the course of the phone conversation she said, “I don’t understand why you want to do this?” I assured her I would explain when we met. Then I sat down and wrote out the reasons why I wanted to do it and why I thought I was the right person for the job.

Since making the call and writing out my reasons, my mind is a swim with ideas, people I want to talk to, avenues I want to explore, things I need to know.

I have official started the project for I’m confident his wife will agree. I guess I really started it in 2006, but now it is launched. And I’ve decided to chronicle the journey here on my blog. What I want to record is the terrain and motion across such a big writing project–not so much the specifics of the man’s story, but how I make my way through and what’s involved in the adventure.

I hope we can learn something together as writers.

Last spring, a young women who lives about 100 miles away in another rural town contacted me because she was organizing a public reading, and she had some questions about our event (I’m listed as the contact person on our posters). Over the months, we’ve continued to correspond, and I’ve become kind of mentor for this gal. Last night she wrote with a concern:

This week I had two gay guys from Sacramento who read their poetry.  One guy read a poem about going away one weekend and the desk clerk says I’ll send someone over to make you feel better. Man prostitute shows up, and we get a play by play of “his” hands rubbing here and “his” hands caressing there and … well you get the idea.  I was very uncomfortable.  I wimped out and didn’t say anything, but I’m thinking my regulars are not going to return. What do I say to these guys next week? “Keep it clean” just doesn’t cover the problem. Have you faced this problem?

I didn’t respond right away in part because I haven’t encountered this particular problem but also because I felt the request deserved a thoughtful response. Here is what I wrote to this gal this morning:

I can’t say we’ve had quite this problem. The closest thing is when we get young rapper poets who use the “F ” word frequently and gratuitously in their work. I keep my eye on the audience and see a few cringes here and there, but my sense is the audience is clear that this is the reader’s lack of sensitivity to the beauty of language well used and that it in no way reflects the character of the event as a whole.

In a similar vein, public readings can attract readers whose major writing is in their journals into which they pour their hearts and souls. This work often has limited literary merit, and the audience simply grins and bears it. We once had a woman who had recently broken up with her boyfriend read melancholy or bitter poems.  It was painful to listen to and weird to clap after, but we did just that.

All this to say, hang in there. Maybe they won’t come back and if they do, your audience will know what to expect. Personally, I wouldn’t clap for such work, and maybe you can get others in the audience to boycott applause. A huge wave of silence can say more than words.

What advice would you offer this woman?

In a similar vein my book Between Two Women contains Carol Cracknell’s story of young woman growing up as lesbian in the 1940s and 1950s in San Francisco. When I met Carol, she was attempting to record her stories on audiotape. Friends had encouraged her to make these recordings, emphasizing their fascination. When I stepped up and offered to interview Carol, collect the stories on audiotape, and transcribe them, she was delighted and relieved. She found it much easier to tell her story to another human being than to record them alone in a room into a tape recorder.

I know there many amazing stories out there, and I’d like to help people collect those stories for posterity. I’m now offering a service to folks who want to preserve their stories. Here is the deal:

• I will record a series of interviews with you in a location of your choosing.
• You can tell me the stories you want recorded and/or I can ask you questions to help you get to the heart of your story.
• Each recording session will be 2 hours for a total of 6 hours.
• I will transcribe the taped interviews and edit them to ensure a smooth narrative flow (e.g. remove the ums and ahs).
• I will give you a printed draft to review for corrections and changes.
• After making your changes, I will provide a final, laser-printed copy of your manuscript, along with a CD of your original interview.
• Longer interviews and/or bound books are possible if you like for additional cost. Or I can assist you in getting the manuscript printed.

If you are interested in preserving your story, leave a comment with your contact info and I’ll get in touch.

(This service is available to clients within a 100 mile radius of Jamestown, CA.)

The reading was in the courtyard of a lovely art gallery. There were about 20 readers and an audience of about 35. Though my book had been published two years before, this was a brand new audience and the experience was exhilarating. So much so, that when I got home I told my writing group that I really wanted to spearhead starting a monthly reading event in our small town. They thought it was a great idea, and we spent one of our meetings planning and dividing to-do tasks among us. On September 1, 2010 we launched First Fridays and this month marks our 12 month.

Here are the things we did that contributed to making First Fridays successful.

• secured a centrally located venue with great ambiance
• secured the endorsement of the local arts council
• advertized: posters, flyers, local newspaper, word of mouth.
• kept it simple: 1 hour, 5 minute slots, once a month.
• divided tasks on reading night, one person doing each task: sign-ups, timer, emcee, sound, clean-up.

First Friday’s continues to attract new readers each month. The audience is always appreciative and folks linger to talk about writing and reading afterward. We are delighted to have created a space for writers to read works in progress or older stuff dusted off for the occasion.

Most of my favorites were made for me or given to me as gifts.  In the top row: 1) a bookmark made by the niece of a dear friend who died of cancer. 2) A yin/yang bookmark given to me by my partner (We each have a yin/yang symbol tattooed on our ankle) 3)an owl bookmark I got on a trip to Alaska (my partner collects owls and this is my one concession to her collection) 4)  A bookmark gift from a granddaughter made by laminating leaves, pressed flowers and glitter.

In the second row: 1) A bookmark given to retirees at a district retirement party 2) a needlepoint kitty book mark my partner bought for me at a craft fair 3) A bookmark my daughter made for me at silkscreen demonstration 4) a photo bookmark, picturing 2 grandkids and given to me on my 50th birthday 5)  My favorite poem, written by Mary Rose O’Reilly, shaped into a bookmark by a friend as a favor for my retirement party.

Sometimes I lose bookmarks for weeks, months, and even a year or more when I leave them wedged in a book, especially poetry books and reference books, to mark a special place. Finding one of these feels like getting a gift.

Are you a bookmark person? Or do you use scraps of paper or turn down the corner of a page in your book?

 

The graduate program through which I earned an MFA claimed “writing for social change” as a foundation principle. I found myself surrounded by politically savvy activists, feeling like I hadn’t an activist cell in my body. Then, in seminar on the feminine narrative, I read Carol Hanisch’s 1969 essay “The Personal is Political.” The essay generated a seismic shift in my understanding of political activism as I came to see that many personal problems stem from systematic oppression.

The article is controversial and often linked with radical feminism, and there is no doubt that part of the shift I experienced was in suddenly noticing many, many small ways in which I’d been oppressed as a woman. But that’s not why I’m referencing the essay here. I bring it up because of the shift I experienced from feeling hopeless and helpless in the face of gigantic and painfully challenging issues, such as homelessness, poverty, child abuse and neglect in the United States not to mention war and hunger and THIRST in far away nations.

Suddenly I saw that if the personal is political, then I as an individual can take personal action to change the tide. Since I wanted to write, was in fact training to be a better writer, then writing was a way I could take action.

If I wrote about my dyslexic grandson, I was taking action to raise awareness and potentially promote change regarding readers’ responses to dyslexic people. If I wrote about the trials and triumphs of women inventors trying to get their product to market, I generated inspiration for readers to pursue their dreams. If I wrote about my own confusion when after more than 30 years of marriage I fell in love with woman, I could let readers know that tumultuous emotion might lead to unprecedented action and reaction.

What does all of this have to do with the world’s water problem?

In order to manage facts like these:

African women walk over 40 billion hours each year carrying cisterns weighing up to 18 kilograms to gather water, which is usually still not safe to drink;

Every week, nearly 38,000 children under the age of 5 die from unsafe drinking water and unhygienic living conditions;

A report commissioned by the UN found that in the 21st century, water scarcity will become one of the leading causes of conflict in Africa;

It takes 24 liters of water to produce one hamburger;

People in the US drink an average of 200 bottles of water per person each year. Over 17 million barrels of oil are needed to manufacture those water bottles, 86 percent of which will never be recycled.

I have to move up close and personal because otherwise such facts drown me in hopelessness. I can take small actions, such as joining the call for Blog Action Day. I can write about the problem on my blog, and though I have only a few readers, I know that by writing about the issue, my thoughts crystallize into a manageable form. I see clearly actions in my small sphere that speak to the problem :

• recycling plastic;
• choosing tap water over bottled water;
• using water consciously, e.g. not letting water run indiscriminately,  short showers, judicious gardening with regard to water use.

And here is the biggie for me: Facing the problem. That means paying close when the issue is addressed on TV, radio, or print articles. Instead of turning away from the pain with a feeling of hopelessness, I need to open my heart to the issue, let the sorrow fill me, breathe out compassion to those who do not have easy access to healthy water.

If I don’t turn away, I can make the water issue part of my heartfelt consciousness.  For me, writing, even in my personal journal, keeps me present to the gravity of the problem and directs my compassionate energy toward change.

But there’s nothing quite so varied as freelance writing. I’m sure that some writers zero into a niche and therefore write consistently about one or a couple of subjects in one or two formats, but that would not be the route I have taken. Since my business promotion is word-of-mouth and my actual search for work is sporadic and minimal, I generally take what comes and that means there is very little uniformity to the work I do. I guess I’m what might be called a Jill-of-all-Writer.

Here is a sample of the projects I’ve worked on the last six months:

• half a dozen theater reviews;
• a piece on the 150th anniversary of Columbia Grammar School;
• an aborted piece on Chicken Ranch Bingo (the tribe nixed the project);
• curriculum for the School of Vinyassa Flow Yoga;
• consulting and editing a book length manuscript for a contest;
• web content for Ehow, (100s articles on topics like Bluetooth, bibliography entries, debit cards, and birth certificates)
• tutoring in an online writing lab (OWL)
• editing landscape proposals;
• consulting/editing resumes and cover letters;
• contributing blog posts to business blogs;
• writing several newsletters for non-profits and businesses;
• writing an article on parks and picnicking in the Mother Lode
• finishing The Right Sisters and self-publishing.

I’m not making a bundle, but I’m having fun. Have you got work? I’ve got my computer!

On this day in 1993, Random House offered Colin Powell $6 million for My American Journey — the largest advance ever for a celebrity memoir — and it became the fastest-selling book in the publisher’s history. Since then, the largest advance for an autobiography — and for any book ever — was for Bill Clinton’s My Life (2004), at $15 million.

I have to say I find this bit of information nauseating in its inequity. I angers me as much as the response to Dan Brown’s The Symbol, a truly lousy book that received all kinds of advance press and sold like wild fire the minute it came out.  I’m surely envious as my first book has barely cleared $2000, but beyond that I know that talented writers, prize winning authors like Geraldine Brooks and Joan Didion, are not making this kind of money. Women especially are rarely afforded this kind of recognition. I wonder of Hillary and Sarah received such huge advances for their books?

Yes, I’m ranting and fuming. I realize a simple blog post is not sufficient to rectify this inequity, this lopsided, capitalistic appraisal of a good story. However, I could not contain my frustration nor access any equanimity in response to this phenomenal idiocy.

My recourse will be to go to my local independent bookstore and buy a well-written, worthy book by an obscure author, preferably a volume of poetry, for poets are the most under-appreciated, under-valued, under-paid writers of all. Want to join me?

My rationale for using this comma is that it prevents confusion or ambiguity, especially when the series was composed of phrases.

Now I’m writing for a web content site that adheres to the Associated Press(AP) Stylebook. AP omits the comma before the “and” in the series. Boy, is it hard to teach an old dog new tricks (to use a very stale metaphor). My fingers type that comma automatically, and my eyes usually miss several when I’m proofreading. But the copy editors NEVER miss slashing the commas I miss.

This particular employer maintains a scorecard for each writer based on copy editors’ evaluations. I swear that the reason I can’t get my score up to “proficient” is because I can’t remember to leave that last comma off. Now I know how my students felt when I repeatedly inserted that comma.

This comma thing bothers me so much that I was thinking about it on my morning walk today–a lovely hike above a sparkling reservoir with lovely vistas, dozens of birds, and small herds of deer along the way. (You’d think I’d be enjoying a lovely morning walk instead of thinking about commas, but nope!) Something occurred to me this morning as I walked that I hope will help break the habit of typing that extra comma. If I write “boys and girls” I don’t put a comma, so I shouldn’t put a comma in series such as this: “men, women, boys and girls.”

Still not totally convinced, I went searching on the Internet and found that my comma has a name “The Oxford Comma.” More importantly, I found that there are those who agree with my usage even if AP and my copy editors do not. But as I directed my students, I’d best do what my editors want.

Do you use Oxford comma? What do your editors prefer? How do you change writing habits of a many years?

On July 25, 2010, my friend Agatha Hoff launched her book Burning Horses: A Hungarian Life Turned Upside Down. The event took place at the Maritime Museum in San Francisco where huge windows onto Aquatic Park and Alcatraz served as the backdrop for this auspicious moment.

I choose the word “auspicious” deliberately, because for me a book launch is a most favorable occasion for a writer, the point at which she gets to stand before all manner of friends and say “I did it!” In her hands, she holds solid proof of her labor to get a big idea onto the page. She reads from those pages. She signs her name and words of greeting on many cover pages as people stand in line waiting for their turn to congratulate and get their book signed. The spirit in the room is celebratory and congratulatory and auspicious!

I stayed up late the night before wanting to finish reading the book before the event. I’m not going to review the book here. I’ll do that later on Amazon and Goodreads, but I will say that Burning Horses is a clear-eyed and poignant look at WW II Hungary, fresh in tone and style. During her reading at the launch, Aggie gave dimension and flair to a story that was already rich in the telling. That, of course, is the one of the perks of attending a book launch. When an author showcases her work for the first time, she will undoubtedly reveal layers of the work that may not be visible on the page. Aggie did this when she held up an artifact from the story that gave her audience a thrilling connection they might not otherwise have had.

That’s not to say this book is not thrilling in and of itself. To know this thrill, buy and read Burning Horses. But also, when you have the opportunity, go to book launches. The author will surely gift with you something special in return for your attendance.