Grace Note

Today, grace looks a lot like reading.

I finally finished Some Assembly Required, and I'm incredibly glad I did. If you've not read anything by Anne Lamott before, please do. I recommend Traveling Mercies, and if you're a writer, Bird by Bird.

I had some trouble getting through this one, for a number of reasons. One of which was dealing with the grief of losing my grandmother. Strange things bring grief back to a person. Little triggers can be anywhere and everywhere. But here, they were quite obvious. Some Assembly Required is the journal of the first year of Annie's son's first son. During that year, a much beloved and elderly relative is in the last stages of his life, and passes away. I'm not really spoiling anything for you. Grief in Anne Lamott books is nothing new to me, but this hit me a little hard, especially considering how small the section about the actual death was.

I love the encouragement, peace, and grace I can find in these books. Annie's anxieties and neuroses are akin to mine, and reading about how another imperfect person deals with these things is cathartic, and often very funny.

Instead of rambling on about my interpretations of her work, I'm going to leave this post with a few quotations from Some Assembly Required. These are passages which stuck out most to me, for one reason or another.

From an interview with [her son] Sam, September 25.

Sam: "It's so incredibly humbling when someone forgives you--I can't ever believe it when people forgive me, because you know how badly you've screwed up, and how you've hurt them, and how hard it is for them to be brave enough to find it in themselves to reexperience the pain you caused, and the humiliation that is in them because of you--and for someone to be willing to refeel that much like shit again, reexperience it out of not wanting to lose you, means how deeply precious you are to them. And that's pure gold."

I'm going to go ahead and transcribe an entire entry. This is Annie's from November 9.

"The only son of some people in town Sam and I know has died.

How on earth can the parents survive that? How can the grandparents?

Same old inadequate answer: They will survive with enormous sadness and devastation. I don't see how that is possible. But looking back over the years, I see that people do go on against absolutely all odds, and truly savage loss.

Some of us have a raggedy faith. You cry for a long time, and then after that are defeated and flattened for a long time. Then somehow life starts up again. Other people set up foundations so other kids don't die the way theirs did, and so their kids didn't die in vain, or they do political work for the common good. Your friends surround you like white blood cells. It's just fucking unbelievably sad, pretty much forever, when so much love and life have been packed into one person and then the person dies too soon. But you can shake your fist at the void with scorn and say, "You didn't get her, you bastard. We did." Some aching beauty comes with huge loss, although maybe not right away, when it would be helpful. Life is a very powerful force, despite the constant discouragement. So if you are a person with connections to life, a few tendrils eventually break through the sidewalk of loss, and you notice them, maybe space out studying them for a few moments, or maybe they tickle you into movement and response, if only because you have to scratch your nose."

I told myself I wouldn't do this, but I don't see any other way around. Here's another full entry.

November 27, Letter to Jax [Annie's grandson] on the Secret of Life

"Dear Jax: Yesterday was your first Thanksgiving, and it is the time of year to impart to you the secret of life. You will go through your life thinking there was as day in second grade that you must have missed, when the grown-ups came in and explained everything important to the other kids. They said: 'Look, you're human, you're going to feel isolated and afraid a lot of the time, and have bad self-esteem, and feel uniquely ruined, but here is the magic phrase that will take this feeling away. It will be like a feather that will lift you out of that fear and self-consciousness every single time, all throughout your life.' And then they told the children who were there that day the magic phrase that everyone else in the world knows about and uses when feeling blue, which you don't know, because you were home sick the day the grown-ups told the children the way the whole world works.

But there was not such a day in school. No one got the instructions. That is the secret of life. Everyone is flailing around, winging it most of the time, trying to find the way out, or through, or up, without a map. This lack of instruction manual is how most people develop compassion, and how they figure out to show up, care, help and serve, as the only way of filling up and being free. Otherwise, you grow up to be someone who needs to dominate and shame others so no one will know you weren't there the day the instructions were passed out . . . ."

From February 3

"Besides, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if something was not my problem, I probably did not have the solution. There are no words for how much I hate, resent and resist this."

From April 20

" . . . my pastor Veronica says that peace is joy at rest, and joy is peace on its feet."

From June 7

"Sometimes--like at weddings or funerals--you have to eat vast quantities because you need to be weighted. You need ballast, or you might just float away in the pain or joy or anxiety. Other times, like today, you just want to shovel it in, for fun, and because you don't want to have to think too much. Eating is so familiar, and marvelously stupid."

Book List 2013

I typically try to out-do myself every year with how many books I read. 2012 claimed 72 books, so I knew it would be difficult to beat. However, I did not think I would fall so utterly flat. Right now I'm sitting at 33 and 3/4.

For part of 2012, I was still in school full-time finishing up my Bachelor's degree. I was also working part-time. My quick reading pace from 2012 built up some momentum and carried me up until March. Then no progress for six months. I know what was going on for me during that time, but it's no excuse. There shouldn't be that large of a gap. And now that I've been unemployed for almost three months, I should have made it up much faster than I have. I will do better next year. Enough hemming and hawing though; I need to post my list.

The ones with asterisks are recommended. Anything in parentheses are requirements for reading or general commentary.)

If you have any questions about these books, please comment or shoot me a Facebook message or text.

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency - Douglas Adams* (Yes, it's by the Hitchhiker's Guide guy)
Nerd Do Well - Simon Pegg* (Must be die-hard Simon Pegg fan)
Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk - David Sedaris
Storm of Swords - George R.R. Martin*
A Feast for Crows - George R.R. Martin*
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl*
I Am America and So Can You - Stephen Colbert* (Must love America and satire)
Zombies: A Record of the Year of Infection - Don Roff (There's some amazing watercolor in this one)
Gossamer - Lois Lowry*
American Psycho - Brett Easton Ellis* (Prepare for the violence; no matter what you do, you won't be prepared)
Breakfast at Tiffany's Truman Capote*
Valis - Philip K. Dick* (Only if you're going to read the whole trilogy, and please do)
The Divine Invasion - Philip K. Dick (See above)
The Transmigration of Timothy Archer - Philip K. Dick (Ditto)
A Dance with Dragons - George R.R. Martin*
A Wizard of Earthsea - Ursula Le Guin*
Motherless Brooklyn - Jonathan Lethem*
Cosmos - Carl Sagan* (If you love the beauty of space and won't get too bogged down by the lingo)
Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls - David Sedaris*
The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman* (I'm surprised this one hasn't received more praise)
i, Robot - Isaac Asimov*
Like Water for Chocolate - Laura Esquivel
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden*
Onepiece volume 1 - Eiichiro Oda
Onepiece volume 2 - Eiichiro Oda
Onepiece volume 3 - Eiichiro Oda
Sacre Bleu - Christopher Moore*
Blackbird House - Alice Hoffman
'Tis - Frank McCourt* (If you've read Angela's Ashes)
The Sandman Vol 1 Ch 1 - Neil Gaiman* (Read all of The Sandman. All of it!)
Popgun War: Gift - Farel Dalrymple*
Coyote Blue - Christopher Moore*
I Am Pusheen - Claire Belton* (Everyone can use more adorable in their lives)
Some Assembly Required - Anne Lamott* (Should read Operating Instructions first; don't be like me)

Breaking Tradition

During the planning of a wedding, the couple has a lot of choices to make, and not just about what color they want the tablecloths at the reception. How do you want your ceremony to go? Will you use a minister? Practice handfasting? Jump the broom? Throw rice? These are all traditions represented still in modern weddings, even handfasting, literally tying the knot, and jumping the broom. These last two are among many ancient wedding rites coming back into practice today in order to make the ceremony more unique or to bring the couple closer.

So, what will we do? We decided a while ago that our wedding will be small. This will mean we won't get to invite absolutely everyone we know. My fiance has a big family, and I have a fairly large circle of friends, so we have some more choices ahead of us.

My fiance has been great with wedding planning so far. He and I tend to have very similar taste when it comes to style, so we haven't run into any disagreements, and our communication has been open.

We don't oppose tradition, but there are some traditions we will be doing without. I mentioned the size of our wedding so this next statement isn't so strange. We aren't going to have a wedding procession. Right now, it's just us. The bride and groom, and whoever we choose to officiate the ceremony. So, my husband-to-be will go up to the front, music will play, the guests will settle, I will walk up the aisle, the officiant will welcome everyone, and the ceremony will proceed. In my mind, it's simple, flows well, and suits us. But, it's leaving some things out. I tried to mention it casually, so let me bring it to the forefront for emphasis now. I will be walking up the aisle by myself.

I love my parents very much, and I would never do anything to hurt them. But the thought of being "given away," hearkening back to a tradition of women being treated like chattel, unsettles me.

While this tradition has become something deeply sentimental in modern weddings, it still rubs me the wrong way. And since it is usually a part of modern weddings, it can make talking to people about leaving out this detail a little difficult.

It's not that I'm not sentimental. I'm a wedding photographer! Most people don't see it because I make myself blend into the background to do my job, but I cry at weddings. When couples say their vows, the people sitting down don't always get to hear what the couple says, but I do. And it's rare that I witness a ceremony in which my eyes don't at least well up a little. In fact, my wedding will probably be no different. I will try my hardest to remain composed, but I will also use as much make-up primer and finishing spray as I can get my hands on, because most likely I will cry.

However, just because something is sweet or done in a loving capacity doesn't mean it doesn't come from a longstanding tradition that represents an awful facet of society, such as women being treated as property. I've been doing some research to see how people get around this because, well, as nice as the moment is whenever the officiant asks, "Who gives this bride in marriage?" it's essentially just flowery verbiage for a sales transaction.

Since we live in modern times, tradition isn't necessarily at the forefront of all weddings as it used to be, and gender roles are happily being cast aside in light of social equality. But, I still can't find an example of when a groom's parents have stood up and given him away. They might escort him down the aisle in the processional, but nobody gives a man away. It just doesn't happen, and I find that striking.

Honoring my family is extremely important to me. I love them so much, and through marrying my fiance, I will be incorporating his family into my life too, so I'll have even more people to love. And I'm thrilled! My fiance and I are the people we are because of our parents. I'm more grateful for that than I can say. And I have also been extremely humbled recently, because my parents have given us a substantial financial gift for our wedding.

Because honoring our parents is important to us, we are going to have something in the ceremony that will incorporate each of them. It's still almost a year away, so this may change, but I think having a candle-lighting ceremony would be lovely. My mom, my dad, his mom, and his dad would all go up and light one candle, symbolically lighting the way for our future together.

NaNoWriM--Oh No

Well, it's day six of National Novel Writing Month, and I'm four days behind. Instead of making excuses I'm forging ahead. I don't know if this writing month will only be about the novel for me though. I hadn't written in a long while until just a few days ago, and things are starting to loosen that need to be let out. I need to write some poems I think, or at least just the one that's been tumbling around up in my brain. And I need to journal, desperately.

I'm shooting for the 50,000 word count to be a "winner" at the end of the month, but my long work is not the only thing I'll be working on. I was not prepared for this month in any way, shape, or form--and not just when it comes to writing. The past month and a half of my life has been topsy-turvy, to put it nicely.

It all started when I fell down my stairs. Well, it started much before that I suppose, but this was the catalyst. When I slipped and fell down the stairs, which were fortunately plushly carpeted, I bent and bruised my tailbone. Because I was unable to sit up or do much of anything, I could not work. At my job, I was on the last step of disciplinary action for absences (because I worked for big, corporate doo-doo heads). So, whenever I was able to come back, I would be subject to termination. I decided to use of the rest of my paid time-off and after the very last paid moment passed, I resigned. I'm hoping it will look better for me to have resigned my position rather than having been forcefully terminated for absenteeism.

Quick side note.

Here's what made up my disciplinary points over the course of six months: half day because I was throwing up, full day because I was throwing up, full day because of allergic reaction, half day because of throwing up, half day because of anxiety attack AT work, and a missed punch. Yes, a missed punch on the time clock has the same weight has half a day of absence. All this, followed by my butt-bruising, would culminate in me being let go.

I've forgotten to mention until now that the day I fell was a Monday. On the Friday of this particular week, my fiance and I had planned on moving in together.

So, I fell down the stairs, nearly breaking my tailbone and rendering myself absolutely bedridden for five weeks, losing my job, having to cancel plans of moving in with my fiance (which affected him and his family in an alarming number of ways, which thankfully have mostly been mended), my dog became unwell, I got sick, she got better, I got better, and then she got much, much worse. We, my parents and I, made the decision to put the dog down. We raised her for eight and a half years, from when she was a very small puppy. I can't begin to describe how hard this has been on all of us.

I read Memoirs of a Geisha for the first time today. In it, I found a quote about grief I found poignant. "Grief is a most peculiar thing; we're so helpless in the face of it. It's like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it." None of us has found that day, I don't think, so we still pull a blanket over our shoulders and try to keep the window closed.

Shortly before my dog became so ill, a close friend of mine suffered an immense trauma. I had to balance how I dealt with everything in my life before I could think of helping them. I still have to, and it's a constant tightrope walk. Clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder have a way of bringing the world crashing down even when it's not. But when the world is a little wobbly to begin with, well, those little storm clouds don't exactly help things much.

In this span of time, my mother's health has declined. We are relieved to have a diagnosis and are proceeding as cheerfully as possible with trying to help her get her diet in order to get this thing licked. It's a tall order. With as much as I've been through in these past few weeks, she has had an infinitely harder fight. I can't help but marvel at her strength, even though I know she does not feel strong in any way.

*EDIT* My mom is okay! I've had a lot asking after her her well-being after I posted this, and I can assure you she really will be okay. She's had some major digestive issues, has undergone a lot of testing, and now we're learning how to help manage her diet to reduce discomfort and to get keep her healthy.

I am sick, again, but I am mending. I'm going to persevere and keep writing--in my journal. It may be pieces of my long work, a poem, about a particularly disturbing dream I had, or just thoughts that need to be laid out and put to rest, but it will be something. 50,000 words at least by the end of November. And I will continue journaling beyond that into the months to come.

Thank you for bearing with me through all this.

Excuses

Excuses are all I have to offer for this post, really. Since the new year dawned, I've been writing less than usual. I finally started a short story I've had rolling around my head for about a year and got 1,700 words to it, but I haven't picked it up since that first burst of creativity. I was just complaining to my writing group that most of my inspiration seems to strike me at awfully inconvenient times, most often when I'm driving down the highway on the way home from work, with no way to record the images attempting to sear my brain and prod me into action. I promise myself I'll write what I can remember of it when I get home, but other things inevitably come first--cooking food, eating food, etc. It seems I'm rarely inspired when I'm at home or anywhere near paper or pen or computer in general.

Aside from that one unfinished short story, I have the first draft of a very short poem I wrote today. I'm really rather fond of it because it began from one of those stark images that impressed itself upon me. Fortunately, I was in a place to set to writing immediately when that happened.

I have another image in my brain still half floating around, a ghost of what it was when it first appeared, as I was driving down Highway 169. Perhaps it's fitting. I think it was supposed to be about things lost, things forgotten, fog, mist, the past.

It's About That Time

With the end of 2012 comes the summation of my reading for the year. Unlike in years past, this year I will pick out my top five favorites from my recommended books and even try to deem one as "best." Some of these books (most, in fact) were new to me, but some were re-reads. I think I may borrow the tradition of some of my friends and re-read LOTR every year. There are just so many books out there to read--we'll see. The books with asterisks are recommended for everyone in general. Anyone who has read Christopher Moore needs to read all he's written. He's my favorite authorial find this year. Absurd, hilarious magical realism. A Dirty Job, Lamb, and Fluke are my all-time favorites. Also, this list is subject to change because it's possible I may finish any of the four books I'm reading right now before January 1st.

Without further ado, here are the books I read in 2012.

1. Flight - Sherman Alexie*
2. Sula - Toni Morrison*
3. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian - Sherman Alexie*
4. The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
5. The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams*
6. The Truth About Stories - Thomas King
7. A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man - James Joyce*
8. A Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare*
9. Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare*
10. Tracks - Louise Erdrich*
11. A Wrinkle in Time - Madeline L'Engle*
12. Solar Storms - Linda Hogan*
13. A Game of Thrones - George R.R. Martin*
14. Ceremony - Leslie Marmon Silko
15. Lament for a Son - Nicholas Wolterstorff
16. Odd and the Frost Giants - Neil Gaiman
17. M is for Magic - Neil Gaiman*
18. Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs*
19. Castle in the Air - Dianna Wynne Jones*
20. Out of Oz - Gregory Maguire*
21. The Fellowship of the Ring - J.R.R. Tolkien*
22. The Two Towers - J.R.R. Tolkien*
23. The Return of the King - J.R.R. Tolkien*
24. The Hobbit - J.R.R. Tolkien*
25. Good Omens - Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman*
26. The Sandman: A Game of You - Neil Gaiman*
27. The Color of Magic - Terry Pratchett*
28. A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess*
29. A Clash of Kings - George R.R. Martin*
30. The Princess Bride - William Goldman
31. The Once and Future King - T.H. White
32. Practical Magic - Alice Hoffman*
33. Ender's Game - Orson Scott Card*
34. The Cider House Rules - John Irving*
35. The Good Earth - Pearl S. Buck
36. The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky*
37. Anansi Boys - Neil Gaiman*
38. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
39. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim - David Sedaris*
40. The Alchemist - Paolo Coelho*
41. Interview With the Vampire - Anne Rice*
42. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
43. Poetry 180 - ed. Billy Collins*
44. House of Many Ways - Dianna Wynne Jones*
45. Holidays on Ice - David Sedaris*
46. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez*
47. Practical Demonkeeping - Christopher Moore
48. Bloodsucking Fiends - Christopher Moore
49. Book of Shadows - Cate Tiernan
50. The Coven - Cate Tiernan
51. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood*
52. You Suck - Christopher Moore
53. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
54. Bite Me - Christopher Moore
55. The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver*
56. The Hotel New Hampshire - John Irving*
57. Have Spacesuit--Will Travel - Robert A. Heinlein
58. Fluke - Christopher Moore*
59. Picnic, Lightning - Billy Collins*
60. Possession - A.S. Byatt*
61. The Life of Pi - Yann Martel
62. Little Women - Louisa May Alcott*
63. Island of the Sequined Love Nun - Christopher Moore
64. The Tales of Beedle the Bard - J.K. Rowling
65. The Stupidest Angel - Christopher Moore*
66. The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien*
67. The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove - Christopher Moore*
68. The Dispossessed - Ursula Le Guin*
69. Diary - Chuck Palahniuk*
70. America Again: Rebecoming the Greatness We Never Weren't - Stephen Colbert*
71. On the Road - Jack Kerouac*


My top five favorites, in order of descending greatness.
1. The Dispossessed - Ursula Le Guin
2. A Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
3. The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver
4. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
5. Possession - A.S. Byatt


I read many great books this year, but these five were absolutely life-changing for me. I was affected seriously by each one and wish that everyone who reads this will read each of these books at some point in their lives.

To Self-Publish or Not to Self-Publish?

Am I terribly old hat because that question terrifies me? Something tells me I'm not alone. I know self-publishing is no longer a last resort, a grudging alternative to "traditional routes," but something in me bristles at the notion of my actually doing it.

I'm currently compiling a manuscript of poetry. I thought with the wealth of poems I've managed to produce over the past several years that it might not be that hard. I was sadly wrong. As daunting as just putting things together to produce a cohesive piece and polishing it all up is, publishing is so much more terrifying.

I tell myself that I can continue to submit to contests--single pieces, three poems, or even a chapbook or whole collection--and that once I'm comfortable I can submit a finished MS to "reputable" publishers. My mind flags them as reputable, even though I know the literary journals and other places I've been submitting are just as reputable in reality. Perhaps what my brain means is "prolific." Then I can start my slog up the literary ladder until I have a chance to spin that magic fame and fortune wheel.

As I sit back and ponder this line of thinking, I realize I've had it since I was in third grade, when I first decided I wanted to be a writer. But where do I go from here?

I felt a similar panic when I was confronted with the concept of literary agents a couple years ago. The idea of marketing my product was something which simply had not occurred to me. Doesn't the publisher do that? The inner workings of the literary world sometimes seem as complex as the worlds the books they publish reveal to readers. I hope this anxiety at the concept of self-publishing is a rapidly passing one. It seems that more and more people are open to the idea of it, but the practical aspects of it are still a mystery to me. A simple Google search yields an incredible amount of information regarding self-publishing: articles, blog posts, reviews of self-published books, books about self-publishing, self-published books about self-publishing.

It seems like I've reached the end of this post and don't have much in the way of resolution. Rather than pontificating further, here's a quote regarding the nature of poetry from Charles Simic, taken from the Poets Laureate Anthology:

                 I remember once--I was teaching in the schools in
                 El Paso, Texas. And a student had asked . . . me
                 what poetry was good for. And I was stunned,
                 because it's such a serious question. It's a difficult
                 question. And suddenly a hand went up. It was a
                 young woman. So I said . . . "What do you think?"
                 And she said, "To remind people of their own
                 humanity." That struck me as so sensible, so
                 moving, so poignant . . . . You know, I'm mortal,
                 I exist, I have my own conscience, I have my own
                 being, myself. Here I am with this universe. Maybe
                 there's a God; maybe there's no God. This is my
                 predicament, my human predicament. Poetry
                 reminds readers of that.