(The last two days have been unkind to me as far as posting on my blog is concerned. I wanted to try to play catch-up, but seeing how I have less than an hour left of today, I decided to go forward from where I am and call it good. I'll have to save P and Q for another time.)
I was in junior high when I decided I wanted to be the next Robert Frost. The Road Not Taken was, I am certain, the first of his poems that I was exposed to and fell in love with, but Stopping By Woods On A Snowing Evening was right on its heels. He paints pictures with words, and the pictures he paints include forests and country lanes and old farm houses. Growing up in Oregon, these were images I was familiar with and held very close to my heart. I knew exactly what the places he wrote about looked like, and they were the places I wanted to be. He made me cry with a delicious ache for all of these places he described. More than anything I wanted to be able to paint my own pictures with my own words. I wanted people to see Oregon the way he showed people New England. I wanted to fill people with a longing for my home. I wanted to make people cry.
That's an odd life goal for a thirteen-year-old, but I knew, as Anne Shirley would say, that Robert Frost and I were 'kindred spirits.' When I read his poem Once By The Pacific, I knew it was true. Not only had he seen my ocean (I didn't realize that he born in San Francisco) but he 'got' it:
"The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before."
That is my Oregon coast. Cliffs and rocks and waves and wildness. Exactly how I like it.
Anyway, I set out to become a poet. I saw the world in poems. The words to the poems didn't always come to me right away, and I didn't pursue every poem and commit it to paper, but the feeling of a poem was practically a daily occurrence. Poetry was how the world spoke to me, and when the poetry was silent, I knew something was wrong. (I dated a guy for four months and realized after we broke up that I had not felt a single poem the whole time we were together. That scared the liver out of me, and I knew to pay more attention the next time around. If the next guy I dated quashed the poetry inside of me, then I wasn't going to waste four months on him. It turned out that the next guy I dated not only did not quash my poetry, but he wrote poems to me. We've been happily married for seventeen years.)
I am not going to be the next Robert Frost. Though I took some poetry classes in high school (near disaster) and college (wonderful), I don't even write a poem a year anymore. I took a creative writing class in college that required us to write a short story, and that was the beginning of the end of my poetry-writing days. My 'short' story was easily three to four times longer than any other story in the class (to this day I cannot write a short story) and the ONLY fantasy. It was crap, but once that bug bit, there was no going back. Aside from that, it's not like I actually have Robert Frost's talent.
Recently I read a quote by him that I must have read during the early days of my poetry mania but had since forgotten. The words are so familiar to me, and say so perfectly what I felt:
"A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching out toward expression, an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the word."
That's exactly what I mean when I say I felt poems.
Now I see stories. Everything is a story. I very seldom know what the story is, and I actually have a very hard time coming up with stories (I've never been able to make up bed-time stories for my kids), but every time I turn around I find another thing that wants to be a story. Maybe if Robert Frost was here I could explain it to him and he could paint a picture of my feelings with his words. I bet he could.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
O is for Oregon
(Although technically it is now Tuesday, I have not yet gone to bed, so for me it is still Monday, and Monday turned out to be a day when I did not get to write my blog early, which is good because I now have a better idea what I'm going to say. Maybe.)
My name is Michelle and I am from Oregon. I've been from Oregon my whole life. The last time I lived in Oregon was almost 30 years ago. The last time I was in Oregon was seven years ago. In the fall I wear green and gold, even though the university I went to is ten minutes from my house and their colors are blue and white. (I don't really like football all that much to begin with, but I'll cheer for the Ducks over anyone else.) I can be in a canyon in the mountains in less than fifteen minutes, but I still miss mountains with individual peaks that I used to know the names of (Mt Hood will always be my mountain) and glaciers. And trees. And rain. I actually miss rain that stays for days, not the stuff that blows through here in a couple of hours and is gone. And I miss the ocean. Not just any ocean, but the wildness of the Oregon coast, the driftwood and the agates and the tidal pools. And waterfalls. And the color green.
Several years ago I heard a visiting poet from Wales give a presentation at BYU. He read some of his poems, and one in particular had a Welsh word in it that he had to define for us. The word is hiraeth, and he described it as being "how a Welshman feels about Wales." I instantly teared up and started to cry. I know EXACTLY what that word means. That's how I feel about Oregon. (If you google it, you will generally find two things: it does not translate into English, and when they do give a definition, it's homesickness or longing.)
So I'm from Oregon, and I can be pretty snobby about it. It's the prettiest state in the Union, as most Oregonians will tell you (we're all a bit snobby about it).
My name is Michelle and I am from Oregon. I've been from Oregon my whole life. The last time I lived in Oregon was almost 30 years ago. The last time I was in Oregon was seven years ago. In the fall I wear green and gold, even though the university I went to is ten minutes from my house and their colors are blue and white. (I don't really like football all that much to begin with, but I'll cheer for the Ducks over anyone else.) I can be in a canyon in the mountains in less than fifteen minutes, but I still miss mountains with individual peaks that I used to know the names of (Mt Hood will always be my mountain) and glaciers. And trees. And rain. I actually miss rain that stays for days, not the stuff that blows through here in a couple of hours and is gone. And I miss the ocean. Not just any ocean, but the wildness of the Oregon coast, the driftwood and the agates and the tidal pools. And waterfalls. And the color green.
Several years ago I heard a visiting poet from Wales give a presentation at BYU. He read some of his poems, and one in particular had a Welsh word in it that he had to define for us. The word is hiraeth, and he described it as being "how a Welshman feels about Wales." I instantly teared up and started to cry. I know EXACTLY what that word means. That's how I feel about Oregon. (If you google it, you will generally find two things: it does not translate into English, and when they do give a definition, it's homesickness or longing.)
So I'm from Oregon, and I can be pretty snobby about it. It's the prettiest state in the Union, as most Oregonians will tell you (we're all a bit snobby about it).
Sunday, April 17, 2011
N is for Networking
True story: When I was about five years old, my mom got locked in the bathroom in our apartment. She asked me if I knew where the manager lived, and I did, so she told me to go down and knock on the manager's door and ask him to come rescue her. I walked down the sidewalk and stood in front of the manager's apartment, sobbing, because I COULD NOT BRING MYSELF TO KNOCK ON HIS DOOR. After several minutes I went back home, still crying. My mom asked me if the manager was coming and I told her no (there was a lot of tears and snot involved). She asked me if I had even talked to him and again I told her no (even more tears and snot). She sent me back down to the manager's apartment, but this time I didn't even bother going the whole way because I KNEW I was not going to talk to the man. It wasn't going to happen, even though I was going to be an orphan and my mom was going to be locked in the bathroom forever.
Those are some pretty high stakes when you're only five, but talking to an actual stranger was an even worse option. So I went back home and sat in front of the bathroom and produced copious amounts of tears and snot until my mom somehow extricated herself from the bathroom on her own.
This is how I feel about networking. I have been to several workshops/conferences. I have met several agents/editors/authors. I read a lot of blogs. And I do not have anything that anybody would consider a 'network'.
Because I am scared to death to talk to people.
Okay, it's not really (quite) that bad. I would totally go get the manager if my mom was locked in the bathroom again. In fact, having been the manager of an apartment building for a few years, I could probably get her out of the bathroom on my own. But it's still hard for me to talk to complete strangers. When I go to these conferences, or read blogs, it's hard for me to believe that I have anything to say worth bothering somebody else about. It's not like I'm on the verge of being orphaned again.
However, sometimes I get worried that my book is. It's so easy to sit and not say anything. But I'm working at it.
Those are some pretty high stakes when you're only five, but talking to an actual stranger was an even worse option. So I went back home and sat in front of the bathroom and produced copious amounts of tears and snot until my mom somehow extricated herself from the bathroom on her own.
This is how I feel about networking. I have been to several workshops/conferences. I have met several agents/editors/authors. I read a lot of blogs. And I do not have anything that anybody would consider a 'network'.
Because I am scared to death to talk to people.
Okay, it's not really (quite) that bad. I would totally go get the manager if my mom was locked in the bathroom again. In fact, having been the manager of an apartment building for a few years, I could probably get her out of the bathroom on my own. But it's still hard for me to talk to complete strangers. When I go to these conferences, or read blogs, it's hard for me to believe that I have anything to say worth bothering somebody else about. It's not like I'm on the verge of being orphaned again.
However, sometimes I get worried that my book is. It's so easy to sit and not say anything. But I'm working at it.
Friday, April 15, 2011
M is for Mulligatawny
It's halfway through the month and halfway through the alphabet, so I guess it's appropriate that I find out about this A to Z challenge and get started, since I only halfway know what I'm doing anyway.
I have talked about the naming of my dragons before, and how it all started with the movie The Glass Slipper and the fairy godmother and her pickle-relish. Jambalaya was the first word to present itself as a perfect dragon name, and then came Mulligatawny. At first it wasn't intentional that they were food words (in particular soups), but as the cast of characters grew and I needed more dragon names for the other kids' dragons, sticking with food just seemed easier. There are simply too many cool and fun words to say in the world, and it actually is easier to pick one when you limit your options. Instead of fishing out of ALL the nouns and adjectives and whatnot in the ocean, I toss my net in the relatively smaller lake of 'exotic' food (I can pretty much guarantee that I will never name a dragon Hamburger or Milk). Once I decided to stick with food, it seemed natural to keep naming the boys' dragons after soups and name the girls' dragons after desserts or sweet stuff (Sassafras is another awesome word to say). And I'm really hoping that when I get through with this round of editing (the goal is by this summer!) and start sending it off to agents that they won't think it's too kitschy.
There is no hidden meaning to Jambalaya and Mulligatawny. They are just fun words to say, and since these dragons represent whatever children might imagine a dragon to be, they seemed prefect. (Mulligatawny is camo-colored because my son loves camo. How cool would it be to have a dragon that looked like camo?)
I have talked about the naming of my dragons before, and how it all started with the movie The Glass Slipper and the fairy godmother and her pickle-relish. Jambalaya was the first word to present itself as a perfect dragon name, and then came Mulligatawny. At first it wasn't intentional that they were food words (in particular soups), but as the cast of characters grew and I needed more dragon names for the other kids' dragons, sticking with food just seemed easier. There are simply too many cool and fun words to say in the world, and it actually is easier to pick one when you limit your options. Instead of fishing out of ALL the nouns and adjectives and whatnot in the ocean, I toss my net in the relatively smaller lake of 'exotic' food (I can pretty much guarantee that I will never name a dragon Hamburger or Milk). Once I decided to stick with food, it seemed natural to keep naming the boys' dragons after soups and name the girls' dragons after desserts or sweet stuff (Sassafras is another awesome word to say). And I'm really hoping that when I get through with this round of editing (the goal is by this summer!) and start sending it off to agents that they won't think it's too kitschy.
There is no hidden meaning to Jambalaya and Mulligatawny. They are just fun words to say, and since these dragons represent whatever children might imagine a dragon to be, they seemed prefect. (Mulligatawny is camo-colored because my son loves camo. How cool would it be to have a dragon that looked like camo?)
Saturday, April 2, 2011
More thoughts on e-books
I am in love with Hilari Bell's Knight and Rogue series. I have a serious, I'm-way-too-old-for-this crush on Mike and Fisk, and it all started MANY years ago when I read Hal and Alan, by Nancy Springer (Hal and Alan isn't the name of books, but the names of the guys in the books). I love stories about guy friends. Buddy stories. I think that's the term I saw when I was looking up Hilari Bell and came across a review for Knight and Rogue. I wasn't completely certain what that meant, but I was hopeful, so I found them at the library and blissfully devoured them. All of my hopes were fulfilled (well, most of them, but more on that in a second). I told my friend Anne that she had to read them, and when I said they were another Hal and Alan, she didn't wait several months (like she did with David Eddings) or years (like she did with Tolkien) but started reading them as soon as I was done. Both of us were hooked.
This is where the problem comes in. I wanted Mike and Fisk in my home all the time, even when I wasn't reading them. I didn't want to have a midnight craving and have to wait until morning when the library opened, only to find them checked out by somebody else. They had to be mine. Anne felt the same way (this is why we are best friends). The obvious solution was to buy them and bring them home (two copies, so Anne and I could remain best friends). That simple task proved remarkably difficult to do as they were not carried in any of the local bookstores (at least not the entire series and multiple copies). It's true they were on Amazon, but not all of the books had made it to paperback, and I wanted a matching set (if at all possible) and I simply couldn't afford to buy six new hardbacks. So I turned to my husband, who is The Finder of All Things on the internet (though not necessarily around the house). He got two complete sets of Mike and Fisk for Anne and me for Christmas because he is awesome and wonderful and We Love Him.
What does this have to do with e-books? I found Mike and Fisk in electronic format for considerably less than the hardback price, and even less than paperback. The problem is, I don't have an e-reader device, and until that point hadn't really wanted one. I like paper. I like holding it, feeling it, smelling it . . . I like it, and I never thought I would convert until Mike and Fisk were so tantalizingly close to being in my grasp. I briefly entertained asking for one for Christmas, but quickly realized that even six new, hardback books would never add up to the price of one Kindle/Nook/i-pad, so I couldn't really argue economy. In the end I got Mike and Fisk, which is what I really wanted, but it got me thinking about e-books in a new way.
Then came January and February and all the storms back east and mid-west (I was born in Oregon and now live in Utah, so I find the term 'mid-west' interesting since it's all east to me). It was not a time to be going to libraries or bookstores. I know that people were dealing with real, actual issues of not freezing to death, but once they weren't dead, you know what I was thinking? How are they getting new things to read? You couldn't go out in that. Then you start dealing with the freezing-to-death stuff all over again. But if you had an e-reader (and electricity), then you could still go online and get books! (I swear this is what was in my head during all of that Chicago-is-a-parking-lot disaster.) There I was, thinking about e-books again.
That's all as a reader. As a writer, I have even more thoughts that I can't begin to sort out. I'll just mention one, and maybe it still qualifies as a reader issue. One of my favorite series of all time is The Phoenix Legacy by M. K. Wren. I love them, easily as much as I love Mike and Fisk (though for different reasons--sort of). I have never bought or seen a new copy of any of the books, though through the years I have bought at least five complete sets of the series from used bookstores. I just looked on Amazon, and there is no electronic version listed there. I hope I am not stepping out of bounds by saying that I think Ms. Wren would rather have people reading her books than not. If they were published electronically, then they wouldn't 'go out of print,' and they wouldn't be so crazy hard to get your hands on. (The various copies of the series that I have acquired over the years were given to a carefully-selected group of people who would appreciate them for the precious commodity that they are. I know there are other intelligent people out there who would realize how great the series is, but there's a limit on the actual, physical copies of the books, and I haven't seen one in years. So many people are missing out on a truly moving story.)
So, there you have it. As a reader, e-books are more accessible in many ways (once you have the whole e-reader thing taken care of--and i-pods don't count because my eyes are too darn old to read entire books in that small a format). As a writer, I want my books to continue to be available, even if they don't hit the New York Times best-seller list and stay in print forever.
(Okay, one more reader pet peeve. There was a series of books I was looking at for a long time. The library didn't have them, I didn't know anyone who had read them, and I'm not made of money, so it took a while for me to finally decide to actually buy the first book. When I went to the store--no first book. The second book was out, and they were carrying that one, but not the first one. I understand about shelf space and all that, but it was very frustrating. I think I wound up ordering it off of Amazon. If I had had an e-reader, it wouldn't have been an issue.)
Very most lastly, after I finished my last post, talking about community, I realized I had completely neglected another community: the internet one. Blogs and Facebook and Twitter and all of this other stuff that I'm really only still dabbling on the edges of (I don't get Twitter at all). A lot of fans feel very connected to each other and their favorite authors because of online communities and that is something I need to pursue. I suppose in many ways they are not just a gathering of strangers that come together one time, but a group of friends that have not necessarily met.
And that's what the other hand thinks.
This is where the problem comes in. I wanted Mike and Fisk in my home all the time, even when I wasn't reading them. I didn't want to have a midnight craving and have to wait until morning when the library opened, only to find them checked out by somebody else. They had to be mine. Anne felt the same way (this is why we are best friends). The obvious solution was to buy them and bring them home (two copies, so Anne and I could remain best friends). That simple task proved remarkably difficult to do as they were not carried in any of the local bookstores (at least not the entire series and multiple copies). It's true they were on Amazon, but not all of the books had made it to paperback, and I wanted a matching set (if at all possible) and I simply couldn't afford to buy six new hardbacks. So I turned to my husband, who is The Finder of All Things on the internet (though not necessarily around the house). He got two complete sets of Mike and Fisk for Anne and me for Christmas because he is awesome and wonderful and We Love Him.
What does this have to do with e-books? I found Mike and Fisk in electronic format for considerably less than the hardback price, and even less than paperback. The problem is, I don't have an e-reader device, and until that point hadn't really wanted one. I like paper. I like holding it, feeling it, smelling it . . . I like it, and I never thought I would convert until Mike and Fisk were so tantalizingly close to being in my grasp. I briefly entertained asking for one for Christmas, but quickly realized that even six new, hardback books would never add up to the price of one Kindle/Nook/i-pad, so I couldn't really argue economy. In the end I got Mike and Fisk, which is what I really wanted, but it got me thinking about e-books in a new way.
Then came January and February and all the storms back east and mid-west (I was born in Oregon and now live in Utah, so I find the term 'mid-west' interesting since it's all east to me). It was not a time to be going to libraries or bookstores. I know that people were dealing with real, actual issues of not freezing to death, but once they weren't dead, you know what I was thinking? How are they getting new things to read? You couldn't go out in that. Then you start dealing with the freezing-to-death stuff all over again. But if you had an e-reader (and electricity), then you could still go online and get books! (I swear this is what was in my head during all of that Chicago-is-a-parking-lot disaster.) There I was, thinking about e-books again.
That's all as a reader. As a writer, I have even more thoughts that I can't begin to sort out. I'll just mention one, and maybe it still qualifies as a reader issue. One of my favorite series of all time is The Phoenix Legacy by M. K. Wren. I love them, easily as much as I love Mike and Fisk (though for different reasons--sort of). I have never bought or seen a new copy of any of the books, though through the years I have bought at least five complete sets of the series from used bookstores. I just looked on Amazon, and there is no electronic version listed there. I hope I am not stepping out of bounds by saying that I think Ms. Wren would rather have people reading her books than not. If they were published electronically, then they wouldn't 'go out of print,' and they wouldn't be so crazy hard to get your hands on. (The various copies of the series that I have acquired over the years were given to a carefully-selected group of people who would appreciate them for the precious commodity that they are. I know there are other intelligent people out there who would realize how great the series is, but there's a limit on the actual, physical copies of the books, and I haven't seen one in years. So many people are missing out on a truly moving story.)
So, there you have it. As a reader, e-books are more accessible in many ways (once you have the whole e-reader thing taken care of--and i-pods don't count because my eyes are too darn old to read entire books in that small a format). As a writer, I want my books to continue to be available, even if they don't hit the New York Times best-seller list and stay in print forever.
(Okay, one more reader pet peeve. There was a series of books I was looking at for a long time. The library didn't have them, I didn't know anyone who had read them, and I'm not made of money, so it took a while for me to finally decide to actually buy the first book. When I went to the store--no first book. The second book was out, and they were carrying that one, but not the first one. I understand about shelf space and all that, but it was very frustrating. I think I wound up ordering it off of Amazon. If I had had an e-reader, it wouldn't have been an issue.)
Very most lastly, after I finished my last post, talking about community, I realized I had completely neglected another community: the internet one. Blogs and Facebook and Twitter and all of this other stuff that I'm really only still dabbling on the edges of (I don't get Twitter at all). A lot of fans feel very connected to each other and their favorite authors because of online communities and that is something I need to pursue. I suppose in many ways they are not just a gathering of strangers that come together one time, but a group of friends that have not necessarily met.
And that's what the other hand thinks.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
thoughts on e-books
When my son was four he camped out with his dad to get tickets to the first-night showing of Phantom Menace. It was a huge deal. My son had been raised on Star Wars. The 'bad guys' of his young world were "Troopers," he had seen the original movies countless times, and now there was going to be a new one, with Anakin. Not only that, but he got to sleep in a tent surrounded by a whole bunch of other people who were also REALLY EXCITED. It was a party, and parties are fun.
I did not get to camp out with them because our second son was being impatient and wanted to enter the world a little too early, so I was on bed rest (but not serious bed rest--I didn't get to camp out for tickets, but I was still in the theater the next day). It was a bummer for me, but obviously there were going to be more movies, so I would just do it next time, right? No. By the time Attack of the Clones came out, everyone was buying tickets online weeks before opening night. I never got to camp out for Star Wars tickets (and neither did my second son, who might possibly like Star Wars even more than his brother).
Down the street from our house is the Barnes & Noble where I stood in line to get the last three (four?) Harry Potter books at midnight. There's a surreal sense of community, staying up half the night with a bunch of other people who are REALLY EXCITED. It was a party, and parties are fun.
There were also the midnight-release parties at Borders for the Twilight books, and I know there have been others too, that have made a big splash at bookstores when they came out. But how much longer are those parties going to happen if the book can be downloaded onto your reader at 12:00 on the night in question? By 12:01 you can start reading (and I assure you, I never had my hands on Harry Potter by 12:01). If nothing else, everyone is going to stay home for their internet connection.
I'm going to miss the parties, the sense of community, that we're all coming together because this world that a complete stranger has created has affected all of us, more complete strangers. We have been drawn in and are fellow citizens, but the only time we really get to meet the rest of the population is when a new door is presented to us and we all gather to open it together.
That's what the one hand is thinking today about e-books.
I did not get to camp out with them because our second son was being impatient and wanted to enter the world a little too early, so I was on bed rest (but not serious bed rest--I didn't get to camp out for tickets, but I was still in the theater the next day). It was a bummer for me, but obviously there were going to be more movies, so I would just do it next time, right? No. By the time Attack of the Clones came out, everyone was buying tickets online weeks before opening night. I never got to camp out for Star Wars tickets (and neither did my second son, who might possibly like Star Wars even more than his brother).
Down the street from our house is the Barnes & Noble where I stood in line to get the last three (four?) Harry Potter books at midnight. There's a surreal sense of community, staying up half the night with a bunch of other people who are REALLY EXCITED. It was a party, and parties are fun.
There were also the midnight-release parties at Borders for the Twilight books, and I know there have been others too, that have made a big splash at bookstores when they came out. But how much longer are those parties going to happen if the book can be downloaded onto your reader at 12:00 on the night in question? By 12:01 you can start reading (and I assure you, I never had my hands on Harry Potter by 12:01). If nothing else, everyone is going to stay home for their internet connection.
I'm going to miss the parties, the sense of community, that we're all coming together because this world that a complete stranger has created has affected all of us, more complete strangers. We have been drawn in and are fellow citizens, but the only time we really get to meet the rest of the population is when a new door is presented to us and we all gather to open it together.
That's what the one hand is thinking today about e-books.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
pianos, cellos, and writing
Last Saturday we took our oldest son and my best friend to a Jon Schmidt and Steven Sharp Nelson concert. (Those of you reading this thinking "I'm your best friend and you didn't take me to any concert on Saturday. What's going on here?" never fear. I am lucky enough to have several best friends, just like I have three favorite kids, and those best friends who didn't go to the concert are still my best friends. Though you may be annoyed that I didn't take you to a concert. I'll make it up to you with a Dr Pepper. Or Red Mango.)
If you don't know who Jon Schmidt and Steven Sharp Nelson are, check them out here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xXtVBJDPs6k
It was an amazing evening. Truly a highlight to be remembered forever and not just because of the music. My son doesn't emote a lot, which can be nice in comparison to his brother and sister who hide not their feelings under a bushel. Ever. His 'blow-ups' are so mild compared to his siblings that you have to know him to know that he just blew up. On the other hand, as he said it once himself, "I am excited. It's just that my excited looks like everything else." Saturday night he hugged his dad several times and said how much he liked the concert. That is an unqualified success in my book.
Aside from the music, which was beautiful, and the actual playing of the music, which was unreal, was the joy of creation that filtered through the air and gave me goose bumps. Because of where we were sitting and how the stage was set up, I couldn't see Jon's face very well (unless he was actually looking at the audience) but Steve's face was right there, and there were times while he was playing that it shone with an almost holy bliss. And it made me think about writing, because that is the part of me that is creative. That is the place where I think I share that joy of creation that was so obvious Saturday night. Sometimes, when the words are coming and the plot is falling in place and I realize that all along I have been setting things up for the perfect solution without even realizing it, that is when I feel a little floaty inside, like I have done something magnificent, or maybe something magnificent used me for a lightning rod and this spark of brilliance came to earth in this place and this time because I was there to channel it.
Both of these men played their instruments supreme excellence, but they also didn't just play by the rules. Jon played the piano upside down and with his toes. Steve played the cello with every part of his hand except the back, and once even moved the cello instead of the bow. Undeniably, they were having fun. They knew what they did so well that they could play with it, and that is where a little, tiny ache crept into the concert for me. I have so much to learn about writing. I haven't honed my skills to the point where I can be given a word or a topic and write a story or poem off the top of my head. I still have to stress and think and work and think before I've got anything. I don't even tell my kids bedtime stories because I can't make things up that fast. So I have a lot of practicing to do before I become a writer on the level that they are musicians, and even then I don't know that I'll ever be 'like that.'
Last, but certainly not least for me, was the friendship between them. Many of the goofy mash-ups they played they had come up with at 2:00 in the morning. And that brings me to my friend who was there with us. Writing is often a solitary endeavor, but I never would have made it this far on my own. An extraordinarily close second to that high of being used as a conduit is brainstorming with someone who gets how you think, and that's Anne. She doesn't think exactly like me, but she thinks enough like me that she can take an idea and carry it forward in a direction I would want to go if I was only smart enough to get there myself. Those are some crazy awesome fun times, often at 2:00 in the morning.
So those are my thoughts on writing gleaned from a piano and cello concert. I hope someday to have more skill and fluidity in my writing, but mostly I want to work for more of those moments of bliss, when writing fills up the now to overflowing and I know it's exactly where I'm supposed to be.
If you don't know who Jon Schmidt and Steven Sharp Nelson are, check them out here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xXtVBJDPs6k
It was an amazing evening. Truly a highlight to be remembered forever and not just because of the music. My son doesn't emote a lot, which can be nice in comparison to his brother and sister who hide not their feelings under a bushel. Ever. His 'blow-ups' are so mild compared to his siblings that you have to know him to know that he just blew up. On the other hand, as he said it once himself, "I am excited. It's just that my excited looks like everything else." Saturday night he hugged his dad several times and said how much he liked the concert. That is an unqualified success in my book.
Aside from the music, which was beautiful, and the actual playing of the music, which was unreal, was the joy of creation that filtered through the air and gave me goose bumps. Because of where we were sitting and how the stage was set up, I couldn't see Jon's face very well (unless he was actually looking at the audience) but Steve's face was right there, and there were times while he was playing that it shone with an almost holy bliss. And it made me think about writing, because that is the part of me that is creative. That is the place where I think I share that joy of creation that was so obvious Saturday night. Sometimes, when the words are coming and the plot is falling in place and I realize that all along I have been setting things up for the perfect solution without even realizing it, that is when I feel a little floaty inside, like I have done something magnificent, or maybe something magnificent used me for a lightning rod and this spark of brilliance came to earth in this place and this time because I was there to channel it.
Both of these men played their instruments supreme excellence, but they also didn't just play by the rules. Jon played the piano upside down and with his toes. Steve played the cello with every part of his hand except the back, and once even moved the cello instead of the bow. Undeniably, they were having fun. They knew what they did so well that they could play with it, and that is where a little, tiny ache crept into the concert for me. I have so much to learn about writing. I haven't honed my skills to the point where I can be given a word or a topic and write a story or poem off the top of my head. I still have to stress and think and work and think before I've got anything. I don't even tell my kids bedtime stories because I can't make things up that fast. So I have a lot of practicing to do before I become a writer on the level that they are musicians, and even then I don't know that I'll ever be 'like that.'
Last, but certainly not least for me, was the friendship between them. Many of the goofy mash-ups they played they had come up with at 2:00 in the morning. And that brings me to my friend who was there with us. Writing is often a solitary endeavor, but I never would have made it this far on my own. An extraordinarily close second to that high of being used as a conduit is brainstorming with someone who gets how you think, and that's Anne. She doesn't think exactly like me, but she thinks enough like me that she can take an idea and carry it forward in a direction I would want to go if I was only smart enough to get there myself. Those are some crazy awesome fun times, often at 2:00 in the morning.
So those are my thoughts on writing gleaned from a piano and cello concert. I hope someday to have more skill and fluidity in my writing, but mostly I want to work for more of those moments of bliss, when writing fills up the now to overflowing and I know it's exactly where I'm supposed to be.
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