Heart Dance

I fell in love with Nora Ephron when I read Heartburn many, many years ago. She spoke in a voice I recognized.

I’m trying to decipher my reaction to her death. I feel as if I have lost a friend. It’s odd because we weren’t actually friends. But I know we could have been. Maybe that’s it. As I read all the articles that have been written since her death, I realize I’m not alone. Both real friends and could-have-been friends grieve her.

I loved her movies, just, I suspect, like the rest of the world. Sleepless in Seattle, This is My Life, When Harry Met Sally, Heartburn, You’ve Got Mail, Silkwood, Julie & Julia. Her books, Heartburn, I Feel Sorry About My Neck. Her last, sitting on my bookshelf for the last few months, started last night: I Remember Nothing. I have some yet to read. I’m working on that. I have also never seen her plays or read them. Working on that one, too.

Three quotes from her vast reservoir of witty, urbane and honest comments stand out for me.

When talking about writing for women she said:  “I try to write parts for women that are as complicated and interesting as women actually are.” How beautiful and simple that statement is. 

Her most often quoted and maybe most well-known, when speaking to a Wellesley graduating class:  “Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.” A comment for everyone, not just women. So easily aspired to, so hard to do.

And last, from her novel, Heartburn: “I look out the window and I see the lights and the skyline and the people on the street rushing around looking for action, love, and the world’s greatest chocolate chip cookie, and my heart does a little dance.” I’m not sure why I love that one so much. I think it’s because it captures so vividly what it’s like to be in New York.

I have come to believe that when a person’s work on this earth is done, they leave. Provided of course they don’t take matters into their own hands. So I guess her work here is done. I will miss knowing she is in the world. She made my heart do a little dance.

Madness and Magic

Henry James said, "We work in the dark—we do what we can—we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art."

So feeling a little mad, using the white rabbit as a reference, I have made a dive back into writing. It never ceases to amaze me how much joy it gives me. As the words start to move across the page, it’s as if light moves outward from my core and suffuses me.

Last week, after several meetings back with my writer’s group, I read them an excerpt from my YA novel. I had not looked at it for a year. I was terrified to actually do this, but the anticipation of their critique was much more horrifying than the reality. They were kind but gave some very helpful suggestions. I have been stuck for awhile. Not knowing whether to move forward or let it go. I had queried several agents over several years about several manuscripts… and those that did respond, passed. Was it the queries? Was it the topics? Was it…drum roll…the writing?

I had become so immobilized by the wall of rejection that I was having a hard time getting on with it. I have been writing for most of my life but seriously for about 17 years. To be fair to myself, I spent many of those years, first writing novel one and then researching the business of how to get published. Oh yeah, and learning how to use a computer so I could type my manuscript. What I learned aside from “there are no rules” (well, almost none) could easily fill another novel

So I got the critiques and it was now my task to implement the ideas that made sense to me. When you hear the same thing from several writers whose work you respect, you take heed. That’s your clue. Your starting point. So I sat at my computer and asked myself, “Do you really want to do this again? The rewriting, the polishing, the researching agents, the submissions?” Because it is a royal pain, let me tell you.

I thought and thought and thought, staring at the computer. Well, I must be that mad artist because I couldn’t think of another single thing I would rather do. That’s the magic part.

Cutting to the Bone

Writing. Trying to start over. It’s painful. I’m not sure why. Fear of failure? Fear of success? (I highly doubt that). I move through the house trying to find things to do… and it’s not hard… bills, laundry, lists, lists of lists, organizing, straitening, cleaning (as little as possible of that), email, Facebook, reading, watching TV. What’s up with that by the way? I have never, I mean NEVER watched daytime TV. Okay, being honest here, I did watch General Hospital for a period in the ‘80’s. But with that one exception, never.  I’m sure there are a few worthy things on… but it’s just not me. It’s always seemed a waste of time… time that could be spent on other things… more productive things. So I must be really desperate not to write.

There was a time when truly critical life issues stopped my writing. Family illnesses… plural..and then personal health challenges. During that time I could have written about the experiences, but I was too overwhelmed. Getting through was my only goal.

So now I really have free time. It’s summer break and I’m not working outside the home. We are home from vacation. Everyone is well, knock on wood, spit over both shoulders. So, if I’m honest, I can do it. I’m looking at myself in the proverbial mirror and asking, “if not now, when?” 

That's the question.

Lunch with Friends

It needs to be said. I value my time with my friends as one of the great gifts of my life. Coffee, a glass of wine, lunch, dinner, just hanging out, it doesn’t matter. There is something special I get from that time that is not matched by any other interaction. Not from family time, not from alone time, not from people at work or performing on stage. I love all these things, immeasurably, don’t get me wrong. But I want to sing the praises of friendship. There is nothing like it.

Our time, after all, is so precious. As we get older (perhaps because we know it is not unlimited) it becomes even more so. My aspiration is to refuse to continue to do anything that brings me down or spend my time on shallow, unnecessary obligations. Pretty lofty, yes? I want to spend my time in a way that enriches me, motivates me and hopefully those I am with.

When I sit down with friends, real friends, we talk so fast that we overlap… but that’s okay. We talk about everything from our hopes and dreams to our frustrations and pain. We talk about books, about tv shows, about Nia (we even do a little sometimes). We talk about what inspires us… and what doesn’t. We share ideas. We encourage. We tell the truth. I think. We laugh and laugh and laugh. Friends are good medicine. They are a large part of what makes me, me.

So to my friends, you know who you are, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

Leaving

Leaving my children is akin to reaching in and removing my heart from my chest. Little wonder as I gave it to them a long time ago. Little by little, I will piece it back with phone calls, cards, letters, skype (who said all technology is bad:)), lunch or dinner with friends, reading, writing. A busy life. I will breathe again. It's not new or profound or particularly poetic, it just is.


People always told us (other parents, primarily) that we would be relieved when they left and struck out on their own. Not glad exactly, just relieved. Unfortunately it was not so. We enjoy their company. Always have. We raised them to be independent, opinionated, intelligent, strong and thinking individuals. It is no surprise that they soared with delight and freedom when the time came. So I think we did our job, if not well, then at least with gratitude that we didn't screw up too much. But with their freedom comes the wrenching of the tearing cords. The silken, spider-silk-strong cords that must break to allow them autonomy.


With wings released, soar my Darlings, soar.

Land of Milk and Honey

I’m traveling up and down the coast and some inland in the state of California. San Francisco, Winters, Davis, Sacramento, San Jose, Stockton, Sausalito, Salinas, (17 mile drive) Pebble Beach, Carmel, Cambria, Morro Bay and San Luis Obispo so far. A harrowing 100 mile trek down the Pacific Coast Highway night before last night put hair on my chest…. Even though I wasn’t driving. The beauty of California is heartbreaking. It fills my soul in a way no other place does. The closest would be the coast of South Carolina near Charleston. We are trying to decide if it is a fit for us. If the major upheaval required to make a move from the East coast to the West coast would be worth it. Or even doable.

In the meantime I am going to enjoy the sunshine. Let the answers come. I borrowed this quote from my friend, Connie:

"Everything will work out perfectly in the end, if it doesn't work out perfectly, then it is not the end" -Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

 

                                          Pacific Coast Highway- May 2012

Anybody Out There?

Multitudes.

I wonder all the time if all the new technology intimidates anyone else. Is it just me? First it was computers. That was a challenge, but I mastered the basics. Sort of. Every time I talked with someone who knew more than I did (which wasn’t hard), I picked their brain and took notes. In pencil. Remember pencil? I still do that every chance I get. By the way, do you notice that young people, I mean the ones that grew up with computers, are annoyed to show you how do things on the computer? As if your ignorance wasn’t enough of a handicap, you are also made to feel dumb about being ignorant. I want to remind them, that even they had to learn to read from someone. We don’t spring from our mother’s loins with technology implanted. Or reading skills.

Then came email. I stuck a tentative toe in the water and then dove. I loved it. Fast, efficient. A way to get in touch with people and correspond. No fuss, no muss.

Apparently it wasn’t fast or efficient enough. Then came (I’m not sure in what order, so don’t sue me) Websites for Everything!, Texting, Twitter, Blogging, Personal Websites, Skype, Smartphones (what does that even mean?), Cloud technology, Nooks, Kindles, iPads, and on and on and on. I’m sure I’m behind on even naming them.

The point is, I feel as if I have to be a magician to even keep up. But I’m trying. Lord knows. I’m not sure, however, with all of this corresponding and sharing of information… if people are still talking. How’s the art of conversation faring  with the How r u’s and LOL’s? How about handwritten letters? I used to love getting letters. Even a greeting card makes me happy. In the mail. Oh sure, I love to get them via email, but there is something about holding them in your hand. Books, too. I don’t want to be a dinosaur about it but it’s true, there are things to miss. Some traditions worth hanging onto.

Still I’m embracing the change as best I can. Come on…. What’s next? Bring it on.

You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. - Mae West

I want to live with as few regrets as possible. Once one reaches a certain age, regrets are inevitable, I think. But my goal, from here forward…. is about living consciously. Choosing my path consciously.

There are many times I have felt swept along by the frenzy of life…. Just hanging on by my fingernails in the whirlwind of what others wanted, needed, required. There always have been and will be others who need us to be something we were not created to be. The trick is to gracefully hold fast to your true self. Choose consciously.

Each decision sets us on a path. It has always been fascinating to me to reflect on “the road not taken” (Robert Frost). Not just for me but for friends, family, even strangers. If we knew how we create our destiny with each choice we would probably be immobilized.

I have a friend that chose to go and study Shakespearean acting in London instead of taking a high-profile, high paying job in her previously chosen field. She probably would have been happy either way, but now she literally glows with happiness.

My mother often said she was not meant to be a parent. This was, I think she meant, not her natural inclination. In spite of that, she fiercely became the most devoted, nurturing, loving and unselfish parent I have ever known. It was just my good fortune to be her daughter. But I was also always aware of her deep longing for another kind of life. An artistic life. One unfettered by convention and rules.

I have absolutely no regrets about becoming a parent. It’s true that it shaped my life. But I chose it consciously. I was never the incredible multi-tasking, drive-carpool, fix dinner, help-with-homework, do laundry, do bills and sit-at-the-kitchen-table-and-write-a-bestseller kind of writer. I did all of that but the writing. I focused on my children. I have no regrets about that. What is hard is to shift the focus now that it’s not needed.

Time for me. Time to show up. Time to write.

My Story

I am a writer. It took me a very long time to say that. Finally, with only minor trepidation, I can own it. It makes my heart soar to write. It gives me joy. That's how I know it's what I am supposed to be doing.

I have completed two middle-grade novels and one-third of the third of the trilogy. I have also completed a YA novel. I have several other works in progress... poems, short stories and a non-fiction. 

I look for inspiration everywhere and often find it. My friends, my family, music, TV, interviews, literature, poetry. So many others are looking and have wisdom to share. We can learn from each other.

My friends tell me just to "show up" and see what happens. So that's what I am doing. I am going to "show up" for my writing. It deserves it. 

What does it mean?

So what does it mean, "The Forest and the Trees?" The Forest is where I am forging a path toward publication. The trees are all the other writers, agents, editors and bloggers out there doing the same thing.

Trees are also representative of grounding, beauty, spirituality, strength and fortitude. They create the books you hold in your hands. Since, in my opinion, it would be a good thing to always have books to hold (an increasingly rare thing these days) and air to breathe, plant a tree when and if you can.

Moseriah is a character from my first book. 

I have been a reluctant Blogger. It seemed self-indulgent and aggrandizing to me. Then my daughter said to me, "You can write about anything. It doesn't have to be about you. It can be about what you find interesting or fun." I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea. That sparked something in me and opened up possibility. So thank you, my darling daughter. This one's for you.