Here's To Turning Up The Thermostat

I'm not a viral type blogger, it takes too much of my time and energy to be writing blogs everyday,but it is ridiculous that I haven't written anything yet this year. That it's almost July is scary enough. Does everyone else wake up six months into a year and also suddenly scream, "OMG, it's almost over. If time continues to go by this quickly."

With the group of ladies in rehab, that I lead in a storytelling workshop,  I try to emphasize that they should not let their days pass by in a blur, that it's essential to grab onto each day, each hour and consciously squeeze all the juice out of it. And here I am blurring through the months. Except for my new novel. That keeps me grounded to the hour, if not always to the day.

Almost 1/2 to 2/3 through the first draft and working with Linzi Glass, I may be able to only need one more edited draft after this one. The early 1900's is rich for research, full of problems, catastrophes, new allegiances, women speaking up, protesting and organizing, with a little romance thrown in for good measure. Such fun. As Janet Fitch, my first mentor always pushed, make your characters suffer, turn up the heat, always higher. Another quote I found from Catherine Mackenzie, "Write what makes you frightened, what sets you on fire."

Blaze on everybody, it's going to be a long, hot summer!

Read As If Your Writing Depended On It - It Does

It's hard to believe I haven't posted since July 2, but life and writing have continued at a fast pace. After a week in Idyllwild's Fiction Writing this summer, I actually went back to my novel. I should say I re-began my novel and have been at it ever since. Now in the middle of a UCLA novel class with Mark Sarvas, it's all beginning to make sense. His insistence on our reading as a writer has opened up ideas and the realization of how much deeper I have to go with my characters. Reading a book a week is a big commitment but it does pay off. At least in the thinking about the writing. I strongly recommend it. In some cases it may take more than one reading to really understand the author's process, but even in the first read, you begin to see how your own exposition was really superfluous and the scene needs more action or the  backstory should be dispersed where it's necessary and not just a ramble through the character's history. 

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Keeping the writing flame alive

I've been thinking about the next book for forever it seems, without getting much on the page.  I still have a lot to research it's true, but something keeps distracting me from consistent time at the computer.  I'm sure every writer has had the same problem.  Well, maybe not Every One, but those who are honest will admit to occasional blocks. Writing in public with a friend helps, reflecting back on the proposed characters keeps up the connection, even leading the group of ladies in rehab keeps the writing bond strong, so I just have to trust that this book is taking a longer time to gestate than the first two.  The most hopeful prospect is my upcoming Writers Week at Idyllwild which happens in two weeks.  It's probably foolish to put all my writing eggs into the Idyllwild basket, but I am someone who sometimes needs to be kicked in the rear to get me moving.  I hate being the kind of person who says they're a writer without actually writing.  Past accomplishments don't help.  I have to prove myself today, with this next project. What helps is the encouragement form some of you who have read Sown in Tears and want me to continue the story of the main character.  Leah still lives, if only in my imagination.

LEADING A WRITING GROUP

I have been wanting to start a writing group for female military vets, hoping that writing their stories might be beneficial to them. After many weeks of research I finally was put in touch with a group (Volunteers of America) who are setting up a housing and full service project for homeless female vets and their children. But until it's actually opened I've started working with a group of women at a rehab facility that VOA also supports. Next to writing myself, I've never had a better time than working with this group of women who after their initial shyness, have opened up their hearts and souls, and seem to be enjoying the process as much I am. Everyone has a story, whether they share it as fiction or memoir, putting it on paper can be so good for them. For the first two sessions, we've concentrated on what they're doing or what memories they have to share. Now I have to make sure I figure out how to keep this all going and keep them all engaged.

GRATITUDE, A HARD ROW TO SOW

It's so easy to be grateful on the first day, when the doctor says "it's not your hip, the fractures are not displaced and you don't need surgery." Wow, gratitude just oozes out of me.  I am introduced to the wonders of a walker, I can get around my apt., a piece of cake.  But after a few days of painful movements, every trip across the room needing planning as if you're going a trip or you're a mother taking a baby for a ride where you pack every conceivable item you might need along the way; you get a little cranky.  That's when you have to recite the mantra: I'm grateful that it isn't my hip, that the fractures aren't displaced, that I don't need surgery.  My cats have witnessed my lack of patience (sometimes it's a good thing to be living alone where no one else hears your blow-ups).  So many people deal with so much worse than what I'm dealing with. Only 7 more weeks to go (I've lived through the first week intact).  Of course, the fact that I was stupid in trying to do something in workout that I knew I couldn't do properly or that my trainer encouraged me to push myself- just makes me mad.  So mad is okay, but ungrateful is not.  I can finish the books I'm supposed to review, I can think about the writing that never seems to get done, I can work on my inner self, which seems to need a lot of work and come out a better person, right?

I'm grateful that it isn't my hip, that the fractures aren't displaced, that I do not need surgery. Okay, once again with spirit.

Why do all those eureka moments only come at three am in the morning?

I had written narratives of the characters, description of the location, background of their history- everything but a story.  For months this had gone on, while I fretted that nothing new was occurring to me, that it all seemed so dry and stale. Been there, done that.  Until one late night that turned into sleepless agony and it all became very clear.  I was not going to write a sequel to SOWN IN TEARS, not continue the saga of Leah, her children, her brothers, her former loves. I had not figured out a story-line because I had nothing left to say about them, at least for now. But miraculously  I had a totally new idea (still no definite story) and it was a bit more contemporary than early 1900's. It's still a little fuzzy in my head, but very promising.  No I'm not telling yet (what does it matter, I never believe that anyone is reading these blogs, if you are give me a sign) because talking about it helped to dry the old idea into dust.  This time I'm keeping it quiet, mums the word. If creative inspiration doesn't happen, it could be just a temporary writer's block, or it could mean that you should move on.  It's hard to do when you don't have anything to replace the idea with, but if the dry spell goes on too long, you begin to lose confidence and interest in writing.  It starts to be a chore, not a passion.  With any luck, you'll have your own eureka moment, even if it does come in the middle of the night. The fact that it occurs in the midst of insomnia doesn't make it any less valid.

REAL LIFE IS TOO MUCH WITH ME THESE DAYS

I'm finding it difficult to remove myself from daily events and isolate myself into writing.  It's been hard enough trying to define the story of the next book although I have the characters, the location and the time, it's just not coalescing.  And so I'm much more vulnerable to the effects of everyday horror.  Daily there's a mass shooting, the Republicans constantly roil the waters with repugnant challenges, climate change deniers continue to prevent our taking appropriate measures and the country rises up against a soldier and his family before we definitely know the facts.  My mood swings from anger to sadness to complete dismay at the state of our country's reaction to anything, anymore, anytime. And I don't even watch Fox News.

I'd like to take refuge in a world of my own making, where I get to control the issues, the conflicts, the desires of my characters, but I can't. I want to say something profound about the state of our world.  I watch episodes of "Cosmos," and I wonder how our universe has survived and will it continue with the human species alive and well.  I've always lamented that left to me we would still be in the cave because I wouldn't get the significance of watching a rock roll down the hill and turn it into the wheel or what do do with that hot stuff that started burning after a storm and could there be use for it, like cooking. Or rotten fruit, what to do with that? Somebody says drinking it will make you loopy. Patterns of stars up above would just be pretty to me, not informative as to how to move around the planet or what the seasons will be. Recognizing patterns in the midst of chaos is not my forte.

And how could TV bring back marathons of Law & Order, just when I thought I was weened away? It's like comfort food, I know it will all be solved or at least resolved in an hour and I won't have to worry about real life encroaching upon me until I switch it off.

"Pantsing"?? I don't like the term, but I seem to adhere to it

A recent article I read in Writers Unblocked talked about "pantsing" which they described as writing spontaneously and hoping that a story will emerge.  They made it sound crazy, as if this was the hope of some irrational writer.  I guess that's me.  I've never been one to outline a story or book.  I start with the characters, the location, the year and yes, I hope for the best.  With Sown in Tears, I  was inspired by a story my father told about my grandmother, although the book was not about her life, just the turbulent times she lived in Russia, 1905. The full story did emerge as I wrote and thought about the possible events in my protagonist's life.  If I were a mystery writer,things would be different, I'm sure.  Then you need to know how the story ends before you begin. But for me, as in real life, stories have a way of not adhering to an outline and you must be ready to change with the turn of events.  It does take longer and it's more frustrating, but it's my approach and so far, I'm stuck with it.  Pantsing, indeed. Flying Out of Brooklyn, my first book occurred the same way. I had two characters, the year 1943, Brooklyn and World War 2 plus the emotional state of my heroine, Judith. For the reader, it makes no difference how you approach it, it's the final story they care about, but for us writers it's a gamble I willing to take.

Happy New Year's Everybody!

Janet Fitch always said when I was in her workshop, that you must write an hour a day, no matter what.  If you didn't exercise the muscle it would atrophy.  2014 has tested that theory to the extreme for me.  It's been so hard to even sit at the computer and stare at the blank page, so I didn't bother sitting there.  I would use my phone to access emails and then I wouldn't feel guilty about doing nothing.  But that's no way to achieve anything.  Sometimes you just have to fake it until you make it.  That's my new mantra.  Start a sentence and you'll make a paragraph.  Keep going and soon there will be a page, maybe more.  I don't feel alive if I'm not writing, creating some new world, inhabited by flawed, challenged people. Stop looking for answers, just get to work.  It's successful in any situation, not just writing.  No more complaining, it's the beginning of my new year.  Forget January and February.  They were just test months.  The real year is just starting.  HAPPY NEW YEAR'S  EVERYBODY!

Are words as tasty as cookies?

I haven't posted since August and here it is December, with Chanukah just past and Christmas and New Year's on the way.  How could it be 2014 when I haven't gotten used to writing 2013 on checks or correspondence?  To be perfectly honest the last date I really paid attention to was the coming of the new millennium, year 2000.

But now with the holidays, a friend's party is coming up and each guest was request to make a little something homemade for each of the other guests.  Anyone who knows me even superficially knows I can cook but not bake and even my cooking is not the kind that gets gifted around town.  Some of the other participants are great chefs, bakers, artists, bon vivants, but hey, I thought, I'm a writer.  Why not give the gift of words?  What could be more personal or creative, albeit a little schmaltzy, but who cares?  It's the holidays when sentiment should reign supreme.  I never said I was Plato, Shakespeare or even Dear Abby, but I can and did put together 12 different thoughts, most of which occurred to me at three o'clock one morning.  Since these are meant for others, I won't reveal the contents.  But if you're thinking of what to do, with a personal touch, you, too, might want to send a few words to your friends and neighbors. (Just to make it more palatable I'm enclosing a little snack pack of homemade spiced nuts to go with the words.)

I'LL ALWAYS NEED MY LIBRARY

I've just signed up to participate in a book festival sponsored by the Friends of the Duarte Library to sell my novels, SOWN IN TEARS and FLYING OUT OF BROOKLYN (It's October 5, 10am-4pm, Duarte is just past Pasadena, if you're in California). I've done book reading/signings at libraries before for both books, but this time my participation entails a fee.  Which is fine by me.  Libraries have been a major influence since childhood. I can't imagine a life without them even though I'm often grateful to bookstores and Amazon when I purchase new books.

Some of my favorite childhood memories include wandering off to the local library with my cousin Judy, back in Philadelphia.  She was almost two years older, but we were very close growing up.  A movie or the library was our usual destination whenever I visited.  In those days two kids could go off for the whole day without an Amber Alert going off.  Sometimes we went to the Saturday matinee at the movies which began at 11am and at 8pm, we would see my uncle, Judy's father, striding down the aisle determined to find two wayward little girls.  We did the same thing on our trips to the local library. We never had much sense of time. First we had to kick through all the piles of leaves that had gathered outside. That was especially fun in autumn.  Then we'd enter, overwhelmed by all the books, imagine how long it would take us to read every one, mainly in the fiction section.  Of course we were still in elementary school, so we were restricted to children's books, but despite our ages, we were convinced that we'd soon be old enough to be issued an adult card.

It's a long time since, but I'm still trying to get through the shelves, although time and other projects have slowed my progress.  I don't have my childhood conspirator either, since Judy passed away, so my library trips have all been solo for a long time.  But I'm happy to contribute to any library I can, in her honor.

A Memoir Shouldn't Be Just Reportage On Your Life

This, of course, is just my opinion, and not having tried a memoir of my own, I know it's all much harder than it looks.  But having read, or tried to read a few recently, I do know what I'm hoping to find in someone else's memoir.

A good friend, Janice Van Horne's book, "A Complicated Marriage," relates her life and unique (by other people's ideas) marriage to art critic, Clement Greenberg.  You learn who she is, understand the people and some very well-known artists who come into her life.  A reflective look at a woman's search for her own life-path against a background of art and theater.  I'm reading Edna O'Brian's memoir, "Country Girl," which she describes with great lyricism and Irish wit. She is not only telling the facts but she takes you inside them,so you know her and the life around her better.

By contrast, I've recently tried to read Julia Child's "My Year in France," and Salmon Rushdi's "Joseph Anton."  Who am I to complain about Salmon Rushdie?  But I couldn't get past the first 50 pages, telling me the minute details of his schooling.  The reason I picked it up was to learn how he survived the devastating years of living under a fatwa, but I was supposed to care about his school lessons first.  As for Julia, I know what a wonderful life she had, but somehow the way it was described just drained the joy out of it for me. It became more of "and then I cooked...."

I just shared a book reading with two other local Los Angeles authors.  One, who was 89, wrote a memoir of a life lived in amazing places, but the minute details she felt she had to include (at least in her reading) left me exhausted and bored.

Anybody out there have any other thoughts?  After all, maybe I just expect too much of other people's lives.

FOR WOMEN ONE SIZE DOES NOT FIT ALL

The protagonists of my two novels (FLYING OUT OF BROOKLYN and SOWN IN TEARS) have been young Jewish females, at different historical times, but both faced with problems of independence and changes in their lives.  With the controversy kicked up by the book, "Lean In" by Sheryl Sandberg, everyone is re-thinking what's important to women, as if this is a new question.  Women have been thinking about this for centuries, never coming up with a formula for all women.  Why should there be one answer anyway.  The only thing that's important is having the choice to pursue the path that suits you best.  Careers, marriage, children, no children, or a combination of all those should be available to everyone, regardless of gender.  It's that lack of choice that holds us women back.  How do you pursue a career if you have no help with child care?  How do keep up with your marriage if you don't have flexibility with work hours?   My heroines struggle with their problems and conflicts and their resolution fits only their situation. If I could come up with a one-answer-fits-all, I would be crowned Queen or elected President or sell even more books than Ms. Sandberg.  Maybe I'll try with the next book.

Private Writing in A Public Place

Writers, writing teachers all have touted writing in a public place.   Sometimes alone, with a partner, timed, untimed - it's all done with the idea that once you put your pen to paper (that's assuming you can still use a pen or pencil) you keep writing for an assigned time. And it's true that the very publicness of the situation somehow turns on the writing faucet and it all pours out, to stretch the metaphor to the limit.  Give yourself a prompt - a word, a phrase, anything that will stiumlate the brain and most often, words will appear on the paper (assuming you still use paper and not a computer).  Often it's not restricted to the prompt, you can far afield, who cares, it's a way and an exercise to get the ideas and words out of your head and onto the page.  Sometimes you will even write something that you can use later in a bigger work or it might thaw some frozen area of the brain and let you actually create.

It's more motivating to have a partner, a regular set time and a place you feel safe in. It's stimulating, liberating, invigorating and it reminds you that you really are a writer. Save those pages, they may come in handy someday when the ideas have become a little stale and you need some inspiration.

GRAND AVENUE PARK BOOK FEST

Just imagine a beautiful Los Angeles afternoon, downtown in the new green space called the Grand Avenue Park, just between the Music Center and City Hall, holding the first annual Book Festival.  It was a tribute to independent book publishers, sellers, authors and poets.  Music, games and story telling for children, readings for the adults, food trucks, kids splashing in the fountain, a fun event for families, people of all ages.

A chance to mingle with other writers, schmooze with potential book buyers (we love those) and after coming back from New York, a look at LA as I want it to be:  a reading, involved, intellectually curious city.
What a great way to spend a Saturday!  What a treat!

To Sequel Or Not To Sequel

I've found in the two novels I've written, that my story is an on-going journey for each of my characters.  Some writers I'm sure like to tie up all the details in a book, so the reader knows exactly what the ending is and where the characters will be going.  I don't find life to be like that so I tend to write the same way, a possibility of an ending, ambiguous, a maybe, perhaps even a definite maybe.

So when people ask me if I'm writing a sequel to either book, it's like asking me to be a fortune teller.  Now I have to see into the future and take them on a new journey.  I toyed with the idea for the first novel, FLYING OUT OF BROOKLYN.  I thought perhaps I should consider Judith, then her daughter, then her daughter's daughter.  Three generations, twenty years apart.  But with the advent of the second book, SOWN IN TEARS, reviewers have actually suggested that they're hoping to see a continuation of the story, follow Leah and her two sons.Where do they go?  What happens to them?  Even I'm getting intrigued.

I have to admit I'm never happier than when I'm starting out on a research project, gathering the elements that will become the characters' world.  Of course the trick is not to get so involved with your research and the minutia that you dig up, that you forget your story and the conflicts, upsets, problems, victories (sometimes) that your readers are waiting for.

Never thought I'd be starting up so soon, but if you want to be a writer, you have to write and write and write and write. Turn off the emails, unplug the tv, silence the phone.

What a way to start the New Year!

Hacking, auto mishap, computer glitch - what a way to start the New Year.  But with today's technology, these have become normal events to be endured and overcome. Even technology can't be relied on. I remember the first time the computer went out in the midst of writing FLYING OUT OF BROOKLYN.  OMG, what am I going to do, no computer.  Well, of course there are always pens, pencils and paper. What did people do even before we had those implements?  They made marks with a rock on stone. We're too tied to too many "things." I don't want to wax sentimental, but things don't matter at the end of the day or   It helps if they make you comfortable but they don't define you.  Or do they?

Compared to what others have gone through lately, blips in technology can be tolerated.  Even the heroine in my second novel, SOWN IN TEARS, puts me to shame when I start complaining.  I need to go more with the flow in 2013. Really what better choice do we have?

Sometimes it just takes a good book.....

I am so often years behind in my reading.  For instance I just read Wallace Stegner's "Crossing to Safey," a novel about four friends, which is quiet, observant, with great depth, but little action.  His descriptions are infinite and beautiful, writing the way I'd like to, with details, metaphors, bringing you right into the scene.  It seems that so little occurs, but it's the lives of four people, their friendships, their dreams, their flaws.  Such beautiful writing.  To write a book which remains alive and vital years after it was written, for a reader to share, to be moved by - I'm sure that's the dream of every writer, certainly it's mine.

With the horrors of the past few weeks, I was grateful to read something quiet, smart and insightful, which took me away from the bloodshed of outside events.  It seemed that hatred and anger were everywhere, here and around the world.  We need to hold on and notice the beauty that still exists everyday, be grateful for the smiles that still shine, the children who can still play, the books that can still captivate, especially our next breath which gives us the chance for a new start with each inhalation.

I'm also grateful for the rave press reviews for my book, Sown in Tears, the loved ones in my life and the hope that the New Year will be filled with days of wonder for us all.

I'm not really a cruise person, but......

This Thanksgiving I joined friends on a week-long cruise.  We all started the conversation, by saying, "I'm not really a cruise person but...." Then we all agreed to go, seven adults and two kids. I believe it's the obligation of a writer to experience different cultures, taste new foods, see lots of places, not necessarily out of town, you can even in your own backyard, if you keep an open heart and wide-open eyes.

I think a big ship line homogenizes everything to fit the widest range of people.  But we decided to opt for excursions in Costa Maya, Belize City, Roatan and Cozamel, run and operated by locals, so we could at least get a little taste of the different places, from people who lived there.  And we started in New Orleans where the ship was docked.  Tennesee Williams' house, William Faulkner's house, great Creole food, authentic blues music, and beignets from Cafe du Monde, I give thanks just for that.

So, I'm still not a cruise person, but.....it was a great holiday.  Hope yours was too.

Who Me, Interviewing John Lennon?

I'm always amazed at the people who start out in life knowing what they want to do and where they're going.  Sometimes I've envied their focused passion while I was still all over the place, going from one career to another.  But lately I've been reflecting on the unexpected paths I've taken and begun to realize that I wouldn't have had some of the adventures if I had stuck to the tried, true and expected.

For instance, there I was in Philadelphia deciding if I should accept a nursing scholarship and instead opted to become an x-ray technician. Whoa!  Where did that all come from?  That's another story for another time.  But that decision led to going to New York and surprisingly discovering the world of acting.  A surprise which opened up all my creative juices.  Little off-off-off-off Broadway theaters where sometimes the cast outnumbered the audience.  But always learning to observe, to remember, to let the emotions flow.  Good practice for a writer as well as an actor.

When you're an aspiring actor, you need a flexible day-job and one that I had was working for a radio/records publication where I found myself ultimately interviewing and reviewing music and musicians.  My first byline, leading to a music industry magazine and Los Angeles.  Who would have expected the x-ray technician from Philadelphia to be doing one of the first interviews with John Lennon after he split from the Beatles?  Sitting in a garden, sipping orange juice and ruminating with The Beatle, about fame and music and the group's place in history.  Or laughing hysterically with the group Monty Python as they answered questions in their own inimitable style, which was rowdy and raucous. Or seeing the Golden Gate Bridge glowing at sunset with a member of Blood Sweat and Tears.   Or as a publicist helping to plan Paul McCartney's party on the Queen Mary for his fist solo group, Wings.  Or sitting in Venice, Italy, holding off the papparazzi from Rutger Hauer at the Venice Film Festival. Or juggling the media backstage at the Grammys after Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond had just finished their amazing duet of "You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore."

And that was all before I had the rewarding, extraordinary experience of getting into writing fiction.  You just never know where life can take you if you're open to the adventure of new journeys.  I reccommend it, I never worry about kids who aren't sure of their life's path. Give it time I say. And stay open.