usjul2012

Twenty-eight years and counting…

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Twenty-eight years ago, on a Sunday afternoon in a park not far from here, we promised to love, honor, and … I think we left out that “obey” bit. Here’s a poem from Linda Pastan to mark the date.

I Married You

by Linda Pastan

I married you
for all the wrong reasons,
charmed by your 
dangerous family history,
by the innocent muscles, bulging
like hidden weapons 
under your shirt,
by your naive ties, the colors
of painted scraps of sunset.

I was charmed too
by your assumptions
about me: my serenity—
that mirror waiting to be cracked,
my flashy acrobatics with knives
in the kitchen.
How wrong we both were
about each other,
and how happy we have been.

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19483#sthash.IvwecMIR.dpuf

 

 

Work

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P1050035I am floundering. For the last few days I have been writing — in longhand — five new pages each day.  I have had a lot going on this week, including an overnight visit to see Mom, in Chehalis. But I did my five pages, no matter what. Today was day four. I managed, but barely, filling in the gaps with questions.

  • What purpose does this scene serve?
  • What does Peter look like?
  • Is there just a house on this old property? Shouldn’t there be ruined outbuildings, a broken fence?
  • Did they have a well?

This morning I have taken numerous breaks. I had breakfast. I brushed my teeth. I changed my clothes. Bruce has been out here three times. Pearl just dropped in to ask if her outfit looked stupid. (It didn’t.)

I thought about posting a big sign on the door: WRITER AT WORK. STAY OUT. YES! THIS MEANS YOU!

But what did they interrupt? Me, checking my email? (Again.) Me, playing yet another game of Spider Solitaire. Me, visiting other blogs and hoping for inspiration.

I’ve been waiting for inspiration to strike.

I remembered, eventually, something I once read about learning how to start. If you’ve ever meditated, then you know this. If your thoughts wander, it is counterproductive to berate yourself, or your wandery brain. Just gently nudge yourself back to the meditation. Return again and again, as often as necessary.

True with writing, too. Learn how to fall into your work easily, effortlessly. Do this 20 times each morning, or 50, however many times it’s necessary.

I looked up the etymology of work for you. This was my favorite, because it includes the word “fornication.”

work (n.) Look up work at Dictionary.comOld English weorc, worc “something done, deed, action, proceeding, business, military fortification,” from Proto-Germanic *werkan (cf. Old Saxon, Old Frisian, Dutch werk, Old Norse verk, Middle Dutch warc, Old High German werah, German Werk, Gothic gawaurki), from PIE root *werg- “to work” (see urge (v.)). In Old English, the noun also had the sense of “fornication.”

And now I think I am going to go in the house and do some laundry.

cabin1

Reading and Eating Local

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I’ve been meaning to share this novel with you. I met Seattle author Deb Caletti at PNWA. Because I’ve watched her interviews at authormagazine.org (click on the link to watch her 2012 interview), I wasn’t surprised to like her. Her first novel-for-grownups, He’s Gone, is now out in paperback, and I’m happy to recommend it.

As an aside, while doing some sustainability research with my daughter Annie for her summer class, I visited The Essential Baking Company in Wallingford. We were sipping fancy coffees and teas and eating scrumptious desserts (I ordered a strawberry-rhubarb tart), when I remembered something I had read the night before in He’s Gone. I pulled the novel from my bag (yes, I always have two or three books with me), and thumbed through the pages. There was our heroine meeting her husband’s business partner at the very same location. I read the passage aloud to Annie and Pearl, and we told our barista, too. (He was suitably impressed.)

Literature collides with life. Nice!

While researching for this post, I went to Deb Caletti’s website and want to recommend it, as well.