The Commune

Milestones

2009-12-03T12:57:00.001-06:00

In writing, milestones are sometimes fuzzy. When we start out writing, we expect that measurements of when we’ve “made it” to be clear and easily defined. We’ll sit down with our notebooks, at our typewriters, at our laptops, and we’ll type away until a book – novel, non-fiction, memoir, it doesn’t matter – appears beneath our fingers. Or we’ll jet about the country, finding interesting people, uncovering earth-shattering news, writing the details of what we find, and our names and our words will appear on the cover of Time or National Geographic. Regardless of the writing track we’re pursuing, it will be easy. We’ll sit down, write, and publish. We will make a living from our writing. We will be writers. Easy peasy.

Reality soon shatters our illusions. Writing is hard. Sure, the stories are in our head; the interesting people are out there. But using words to create images on the page is not as easy as it sounds. People with stories that need to be told don’t just appear next to us while we wait in line at the grocery. Not to mention the old adage “writing is rewriting” is far truer than we could have ever imagined. This writing thing is work. It takes time and energy. Research takes effort and, in some cases, money.

That’s the other thing we writers soon learn. It takes an incredibly long time to make a living from our words and in the meantime, we have to pay our rent and put food on the table. Even when we have loved ones who make enough to keep a roof over our heads and our bellies full, they often don’t make enough to pay for braces, a second car, Julia’s band dues, or for us to pay postage to keep sending manuscripts out. We have to do something to contribute to the household’s financial well-being while we wait for the world to discover us. In some cases, that means a day job – part-time or full-time. For others, that means getting really creative and finding ways to make our writing pay for itself in the meantime. In many ways, the day job is easier.

Through it all, our families and friends, keep waiting for us to “make it,” as do we. When, people ask, will we be able to take them on a celebratory trip to Disney World? With each achievement they want to know if they can auction off our stolen underwear on eBay yet or hold our cat for ransom. Can they say they knew us when? And with each guess-where-I-just-got-accepted-e-mail, we answer “not yet.”

In traditional careers, the milestones are easier to recognize. A raise. A promotion. A title added to our business cards. In writing – as in most creative endeavors – the markers of success are not that clearly defined. First acceptance is certainly one, as is the first rejection. First sale for money. First request for something specific. First letter from someone who has read your work. First… In truth, writing is a career of firsts and they all mean something to us, even if they don’t mean we’ve made it yet.

Over time, we come to recognize the truth of that other adage, the one that says it takes twenty years to become an overnight success. Being a writer, we realize, is not a destination, but a journey, no matter how cliché that may sound. Each achievement is not so much a milestone as it is a signpost confirming we are traveling toward our goals. It is progress. We might, one day, be able to make a living at our craft or become a household name. I question if we will have arrived even then. More than likely, those achievements will be yet another signpost on our path, telling us we are still growing in the direction we chose for ourselves so long ago. In the distance, there will be still another goal waiting for us and we will still be telling our friends and family “not yet,” this achievement is not the destination, but merely a step in the journey we are on.

Peace This Thanksgiving

2009-11-27T00:30:00.000-06:00

Dear Lord; we beg but one boon more:
Peace in the hearts of all men living,
peace in the whole world this Thanksgiving.
~Joseph Auslander

Bad Blogger. Bad.

2009-11-24T12:33:00.000-06:00

The presence of smart alecks in the proceeding post’s comment trail tell me that it has been far too long since I posted anything at The Commune. They are, of course, correct. It has been far too long since I’ve posted anything here. Bad Lori. Bad writer. Bad editor. Bad blogger. Bad, bad Lori.

What amazes me is, while I’ve been away – okay, while I’ve been negligent in my blogger duties – my followers have grown in number. *waves at followers* This makes me feel special in the good way, though why they would choose to follow a neglected blog… Maybe I shouldn’t feel too special? After all, a couple of them look a little shadowy. Has The Commune become the dark alley where ne’er-do-wells hangout, waiting for their next victim in lawless cyberspace?

Oops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to head off on a tangent like that. It happens sometimes these days. I blame a combination of a lack of sleep, a lack of dreaming when I do sleep, and a lack of fiction writing. All of my brain’s creative outlets are shut off, so it takes whatever creative opportunities pass its way. Bad brain.

While I’ve been absent – I prefer that to the more accurate negligent – I read an article about how ignoring your readers was the same as telling them they were not important to you. This is not true. You are important to me. So, on top of everything else , I now feel guilty about not updating here as regularly as I said I would.

Anyway, I’m still out here, eating vanilla wafers and drinking Diet Coke and/or hot tea, working a part-time day job, editing other people’s manuscripts, riding herd on my stable of authors, adding words to my thesis, oohing and aahing over office supplies, and occasionally changing my sheets. It’s an exciting life I lead, I tell you, but not a bad one.

What’s up in your lives?

Writing Speaks to Us

2009-10-28T12:53:00.001-05:00

Non-fiction speaks to the head,
Fiction to the heart,
And poetry to the soul.

Inspiration

2009-10-03T10:36:00.002-05:00

Sometimes, inspiration comes to you from unknown places. Sometimes, random thoughts come together and create a new idea. Sometimes, it's something someone else has said or that you've seen or heard. Sometimes, it comes from a dream. And, other times, you wake up, realizing you have something to say, something to share, and knowing exactly what that something is and how to accomplish it.

This Writing Fad

2009-09-10T00:05:00.000-05:00

One thing being overweight most of your life teaches you is that if something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. Fad diets are just that, fads. They come and go with each generation and don’t really change all that much. They’re not healthy and they don’t produce lasting results. You might be able to lose weight with SlimFast®, but as soon as you start eating like a regular person, instead of getting the bulk of your nutrition from a prefabricated drink, you’re going to regain as much as you lost, if not more. And the FDA… don’t trust them either. Just because they say a weight loss drug is safe, doesn’t mean it is. No medication just released has seen long-term use in the general population. Better to sit back and wait and observe than to risk even more serious health issues than already created by carrying extra pounds on your frame.

Even if you religiously keep to the 1500 calorie diet currently recommended, you still won’t slim down if the bulk of your nutrition comes from potato chips (one 2 ¾ oz. bag of Lay’s original Kettle Cooked chips contains 450 calories) and candy bars (one king-sized Reese’s has 400 calories). In the end, the only things that really work for long-term weight loss are: 1) address any underlying issues for weight gain/failure to lose weight, 2) exercise, and 3) eat a balanced diet. You know, the things that are hard, difficult, and take work.

If anyone suggests anything else, it’s probably too good to be true, and therefore will not work.

The same is true of writing. There aren’t any quick fixes. No easy solutions to navigating the publishing maze. If anyone suggests otherwise, they’re trying to sell you a fad diet that’s going to cost you more in the long run.

Writing professionally, takes discipline. It’s hard. It’s work. There will be times that you fall off the bandwagon and indulge your whims. When that happens, the only thing to do is stand back up, dust yourself off, and hit the gym – or place your butt in chair, as the case may be.

Being a professional takes balance as well. It’s highly unlikely that you will be able to make a living doing only one type of writing, at least not in the beginning. Making a living writing nothing but fiction is straight out.

Yes, yes. I know. Fiction is the fun stuff. It’s why you got to be a writer in the first place, but the reason you can’t make a living at it has nothing to do with you as a writer. It has everything to do with the realities of the market right now.

When it comes to short fiction, very few markets pay a professional wage. Most pay in the neighborhood of $.01 per word. Some less. Many less. At these rates, to make even $100 from a story, it needs to be 10,000 words long. Now, go research the number of short fiction markets that accept that length. Very few. Most want 3,000 words or less. So, in order to make a part-time wage, you need to sell approximately 3 stories a week, every week. There just aren’t that many market available right now. I don’t know if there ever were. Then, for fun and games, take into account the number of people attempting to be writers these days. They’re all submitting work, too, and many of them are just as good as you are and some are better. Most are worse, but even so, when even the smallest publication has three to five acceptable stories for every slot they have available, the odds are greatly diminished of the stories you’ve written getting chosen by the editor three times a week

What about novels, then, and receiving an advance? First, many advances aren’t that much. Certainly not enough to live on for a year. Second, novels are a long-term investment. From the time you finish it, at the absolute least, it will be a minimum of a year before you receive any monies from it, advance or otherwise. And that assumes you sell it in the first place.

How can you ever hope to make a living as a writer in this day and age? How do others do it? Diversify and find a niche. By diversification I mean don’t concentrate on any one medium. Write non-fiction as well as fiction. Write puzzles, greeting cards, magazine articles, and hire out your services to those who lack your skill. By find a niche I mean find a topic or subject matter that you do well. Are you a health nut? Corner the health-writing market. Do you like martial arts? Then research that? Are you a parent? Hey, that’s fertile ground. Exploit what you know all over the place and never, ever be ashamed of doing so. And don’t ever let anyone tell you this writing thing is easy.

But then, nothing worth doing is.

Loneliness

2009-09-07T10:44:00.000-05:00

I think we’ve forgotten how to be alone. No. That’s not true, because I’m often alone. Alone in my car. Alone in my office. Alone in my room. What we’ve forgotten how to be is lonely. Too often when we’re in danger of becoming lonely, we reach out electronically to other people who had been in danger of loneliness. Through our cell phones, e-mail, and the internet – forums, newsfeeds, blogs – we can always find another soul to connect to. This isn’t always a bad thing. Think of the people whose lives have been enriched, or saved, this way. Think of the times someone has needed a shoulder, and found it, because of how much smaller technology is making our world.

But this newfound interconnectedness comes at a price. What we’ve lost the ability to do is respond to ourselves, to be alone inside our heads. Thing is, that is where individual strength comes from, where we learn who we are. If, when we need to think something through, form an opinion, or overcome some hurdle in our lives, there is always someone out there to help us, how are we ever to foster a dialogue with the one person in our lives who means the most to us?

How are we ever going to learn to communicate with ourselves?

Writers' Retreat - Part I

2009-08-17T00:05:00.001-05:00

In early September, I will be attending a writers’ residency – seven days and nights without cell phone, internet, television, day job, housework, yard work, errands, pets, or any of the thousand and one distractions that take time and can be used as excuses to not write. I am so looking forward to it. For that one week, I’ve given myself permission to be selfish. To only think of my needs and wants, and to do nothing but write. Glorious.

It occurred to me this past weekend that I should be chronicling the experience from beginning to end and posting about it here. Sometimes, I’m slow. Really, really slow. So, forgive me as we go back in time to February and March 2009, when I was exploring my options and submitting an application.

Where to Apply

One of the first things I had to decide was where to apply. I’ve been collecting information on grants, fellowships, residencies, and workshops and staring at the different websites with longing for a couple of years now. The idea of going some place where writing was all I had to focus on more than appealed to me. This year, I’d decided to look at some of the places quite seriously and apply for either this year or the next if I could find one that fit. There are a number of very real external factors – most people, me included, do not have the luxury of just dropping all of our responsibilities and disappearing for weeks at a time. If we did – if I did – writing time would not be an issue.

I already knew I did not want a workshop. Workshops specialize in critiquing and helping writers improve. I’m not saying my writing is perfect – far from it. There are lots of areas I need to work on, so maybe I will apply for Clarion or Viable Paradise one day, but this time around, I was seeking dedicated work space and time. Some place I could go and be alone with the voices in my head and the words on the page.

Real Life Considerations

That said, there are some very real considerations that have nothing to do with writing or my desires that had to be taken into account when choosing where and when to apply. I have commitments that limit the amount of time I can step outside of my normal existence for this experience. I currently have a part-time day job. Since I don’t earn vacation time, I wasn’t certain how much time I would be permitted to take off, especially since I’d been there for less than a year. My boss assured me that I could take off for two weeks and she would not fire me. I didn’t ask about any longer than that because, quite frankly, I still have bills to pay and more than that would have been too much a strain on my household budget. Plus, there are my freelancing deadlines to consider. And the thesis, which my advisor tells me I’m no longer permitted to call ‘The Never-ending Thesis,’ just so you know.

Many of my readers might have to take into account household and familial responsibilities, too. I do have the benefit of sharing a home with my mother. While we each have our chores about the house, for the most part, if one person disappears for the time, the other can pick up the slack. If I were married or had a child, this would be a different story. If I was living alone, there would be a different set of concerns that would have to be addressed. Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about any of these things, but even so, I could not consider places like the Art Farm, where they prefer residents to stay for 8 to 12 weeks at a time. This was not an option for me, not this time around.

Eligibility

Beyond the length of the stay, the eligibility requirements of some of the places I found meant I could not apply. For example, some require that the writer be from certain places or their work to relate to the area where the residency is located. Others want the work to have a certain theme or focus. Because I’m still a student, I was ineligible for a number of others.

Then there were the ones that I’m just not qualified for. They are the type of opportunities where writers who are much more established in their careers than I am would apply. I had to play the odds. If I wanted this, I had to focus on places where I had a realistic chance of getting accepted.

Even so, there was a long list of options available to me. At least technically. Other variables meant I could not pursue some places, no matter how much they made me go weak in the knees.

Financing

One of the first places I discovered that I thought I could realistically attend was the Mary Anderson Center in Indiana, but they charge $45 per day. Given that this covers most meals, it’s more than reasonable, but when you’re looking at a week or more, it also adds up rather quickly. Seven days is over $315. Not only would I be losing a week’s pay from the day job, I’d have to pay out over $300. Again, reasonable and fair, but not an option for me right now. Maybe next year – maybe – but definitely not this year.

I wish financing weren’t such a weighty factor in my decision-making of where to apply, but I can’t escape the fact that it was and probably will be whenever I have the opportunity to try for a residency or fellowship. I imagine the same is true for most of my readers, too.

Location

The location of the residency was a factor for two reasons: travel time and travel expense. Yep. There’s that financial thing rearing its ugly head again. There’s no escaping it. I am not independently wealthy. But, again, if I were, the writing time thing wouldn’t be as big of an issue.

While I might have loved to apply to Soapstone – and one day I will apply either there or to Hedgebrook – having to travel to the Pacific Northwest, but that would add three to four days of overland travel – which would mean more time away from the day job that pays the bill – or airline tickets – which can be expensive if one can’t find deals that match travel dates. Also, with airline travel, I have to either coordinate pick-up and departure times with someone else or a rental car. Some places don’t offer any airport shuttles as part of the retreat or fellowship. Either way, the travel expenses and the deficit from the day job paycheck add up quickly. These things must be considered.

I needed to limit my selection to locations within a day’s drive. Preferably closer. This, finally, seriously shortened the list of possible places I could apply.

Many places have application deadlines. I found one place that seemed ideal, at least as far as the above concerns went, and it had the added benefit of having an early deadline. I decided to apply there and see what happened before exploring the other possibilities in more depth.

More about where I applied in Part II.

Soap Making & Professionalism

2009-08-13T21:20:00.003-05:00

This summer, I started attending farmers’ markets. I’ve been searching for fruit, since my mother’s companion provides us with more than enough vegetables to see us through the year, let alone the season. I’ve also been looking for girlie products, since I’m a sucker for such things and nothing quite beats well-crafted homemade soap. So far, I’ve discovered three such vendors at two different markets. I’ve bought products from two of the three. Both women that I bought soaps from were very friendly. They made themselves available to answer my questions, their displays were attractive and well organized, despite the fact they were set up on a folding table in the middle of the street, and they took the time to help me select the product that I would enjoy. One even offered me a money back guarantee.

The third… Well, the woman didn’t meet my eye, couldn’t be bothered to stand when I approached, was indifferent to my questions, didn’t seem to know her product, and everything was just sort of tossed out on the table.

The products of the first two women were everything they promised. I could easily become a regular customer of one or both of them, even though one is slightly out of my way. I’m definitely going to buy more soap from one of them before my writer’s residency. Something in a nice lavender, though that might be too relaxing for what I’m hoping is a highly productive week.

I have not, and cannot imagine, trying the third woman’s products. Thing is, they may be just as good, or even better, than the other two people’s. Soap making might be her passion. She might be brilliant at it. I don’t know. Why then won’t I try something of hers just to find out? Her appearance, her presentation, and even her attitude were unprofessional and I have no reason to believe that she didn’t have the same lax, uncaring attitude and inattention to detail when she created the products she wanted me to try. Why should I shell out my hard-earned dollars or risk my skin to find out, especially when there are two other people, one in the same farmers market, who are willing to take the extra time to market their products and answer questions in such a way that I’m easily reassured about their quality even before I make a purchase?

The same is true of writing. Editors have a choice. Trust me. I’ve now served not only as the editor who makes the selections, but also as an editor who helps whip manuscripts into shape prior to publication. There is absolutely no reason for any editor to choose to work with any writer who thinks they are the gods’ gift to literature. Ego. Disparaging readers. Unwillingness to accept criticism. These things are huge turn-offs and, rather than dealing with them on an on-going basis, editors are more than willing – and rightly so – to reject a well-written manuscript or terminate a contract. It’s just not worth the stress, especially when there are a whole slew of far more professional writers offering similar products for sale. (And, no, your story is not that unique. It’s just not.)

Does this mean writers need to kowtow to editors and brown nose in order to get published? Definitely not. What it does mean is that as a writer, you need to bring more than just a well-written manuscript to the table. You need to not only be a professional, you must also present yourself as such. Part of this are the things we often hear about:

Use correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation
Format your manuscript properly
Read and follow the writers’ guidelines

Beyond these things, though, the writer who would like to make a career out of this writing thing needs to:

Be humble

Leave the ego at the door. You may have tons of talent. You may be an extremely skilled storyteller. You might just be the next big thing, but even so, no one owes you anything. Not the editors, not the agents, not publishers, not the booksellers, and certainly not the readers.

Life is too short to spend it dealing with people who look down at their colleagues and, worse, their customers.

Listen

To an editor, a quality product isn’t just about delivering an innovative story or an article with an interesting angle. It’s also about providing a story or article that the editor can use. If they make suggestions, or indicate a certain need: Listen. Be willing to make changes or extend yourself in order to meet an editor’s needs.

Communicate

If something isn’t going well with the project, if something comes up – personal or otherwise – let the editor know. Be willing to admit your limitations. Be honest about what you are able to do, both with yourself and with the editor. This includes asking for extensions on deadlines if you’re not going to be able to make one.

Stand behind your product

When turning something in, make certain it is nothing you will be embarrassed to have written. While there’s nothing wrong with using a pseudonym, and in some cases there are very valid reasons for doing so, make certain you can still point to the quality of writing with pride and say, “I wrote that.”

Manage your first impressions

In this business, reputation is everything and that reputation often begins with first impressions. Thing is, in this increasingly virtual world, writers often cannot be certain where those first impressions will occur. Will it be at a con? In e-mail? On a writers’ forum? In your blog? Wherever you are, behave as if the person you wish to work with will “meet” you first through the words you leave behind.

Also, when you land a gig, make certain you treat each assignment as if it were the first one and you were establishing yourself with this editor. They say one unhappy customer will lose you ten more. As a writer, how many editors can you really afford to not do business with?

This list is in no way inclusive of everything we as writers must be aware of in order to be and be treated as professionals. It is only a start. The important thing is, just like with the two soap makers who impressed me, to remember that writing and publishing is a business and it is up to each of us how we manage our company of one. We are the only ones who can control how our customers see us. Leave as little as possible to chance and take control of what you can.

Nothing is Created in a Vacuum

2009-08-10T00:09:00.000-05:00

Our family often seeks inspiration from others when it comes to home organization. For example, there is a bar constructed of pipes hanging above my mother’s washer and dryer. I thought it had been her innovation, but turns out she borrowed it from my cousin, her niece. Another cousin, this one on my father’s side of the family, once confessed that for the layout of her much larger kitchen, she used our smaller, eat-in kitchen, as inspiration. She liked the idea of the cooking taking place at one end while the family could gather round the kitchen table at the other.

Understand, no one stole any of the ideas. I don’t think any of them are that unique. Nor, if you were to step into the three separate homes, would the casual observer see more than the base similarity between the any ideas. “Oh, look, you have a table in your kitchen. Didn’t I see the same thing in your cousin’s house? Hey! You’ve got four walls and an exterior door in here, too. Now, wait a minute…”

Still, the inspiration exists. Nothing, as they say, is created in a vacuum. We all get our ideas from somewhere. Then we take them and make them our own.

The same is true with writing. No author, beginner or otherwise, should avoid reading. In fact, we should all read as much as our schedules allow. Our inspiration will come not only from the world around us, the experiences we have and observe, but also from what others have written. This is not plagiarism. It is not copying. It is not stealing. It is seeking inspiration where it exists to be found.

I have heard young writers claim that such things as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is nothing more than fanfiction of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. To say such things shows a gross misunderstanding of what literature is and how it comes into being. Nothing is created in a vacuum.

If you’ve followed my blog for any time, or engaged me elsewhere in the internet, you’ve heard me talk about the interconnectivity of literature, how it is conversation that occurs across time and space. This is why we, as writers, read. To learn what has been said before. Without this knowledge, we are unable to fully utilize our skills to create meaningful stories that engage our readers and have a chance to stand the test of time.

If we, as authors, have any talent, we are able to take what we read and, not only respond to it, but we also use it. We take snippets of things we’ve seen, ideas that others have used, and we recreate them in new and innovative ways, that really aren’t all that new or innovative, just changed enough to make it our own. We engage in the conversation and, if the reader looks hard enough, they will still be able to see the threads connecting our work to what has come before. After all (repeat after me), nothing is created in a vacuum.

Fairy Tale Nightmares

2009-08-06T12:36:00.000-05:00

My mother would not let me read The Terrible Nung Gwama to my nephew at bedtime this past weekend. It’s Chinese version of Little Red Riding Hood, but instead of encountering a wolf on the way to Grandma’s house and being rescued by a woodsman, the girl-woman in the story is on her way to her venerable parents and encounters a monster known as the Nung Gwama. This monster, because the girl refuses to give him the food she is taking to her parents, promises to come by her house that evening and eat her. This, understandably, reduces the girl to tears. Several peddlers happen along and give her gifts, which she uses to defeat the Nung Gwama later that evening.

Now, the parts of the story that my mother objected to as a bedtime story were the descriptions of how the monster consumed his victims, not eating them delicately, but crunching on them, bones, head, hair, and all. Not to mention all the violence done to the monster – he’s bitten by poisonous snakes, has his fingers snacked on by fish, and is blinded by exploding eggs – before he is destroyed at the end of the story.

“But, Mom,” I told her, “it’s a fun story. I like it.”

“You’re thirty-eight. He’s six.” She paused. “You can read it to him during the day, when the sun is out, but you cannot read it to him at bedtime.”

Knowing when I’m fighting a losing battle, and not particularly wanting to deal with a six year old’s nightmares on his one and only night in town myself, I relented, making only one comment about what the non-Disney versions of Cinderella and Snow White actually contained. Cinderella’s stepsisters slice of parts of their feet in order to fit into the slipper and Snow White forces the queen to dance to her death in red hot iron shoes.

Thing is, these fairy tales teach us how to deal with ourselves and the world around us. Not to the point of showing us how to peck out our siblings’ eyes or kill our (step)mothers, but by allowing us to acknowledge our inner demons and letting us know that we are not alone in how we feel. Such fairy tales serve as a reflection of our deepest inner selves. Children denied such outlets become repressed adults. Adults denied such outlets become depressed.

I’m not certain when we started protecting children to the point where we tried to deny not only was the world sometimes ugly but that we ourselves are sometimes ugly, but that’s what’s happened to children’s literature. It’s become sanitized. It denies the humanity of the reader. Recent publications seek to educate without enlightening the individual.

But we need the mirror that literature, and fairy tales in particular, represents in order to better understand who we are as a people, even if that truth does sometimes give us nightmares.

Late Summer Reading

2009-07-30T00:48:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, our cable company changed their line-up. What this means is, whenever I pick up the remote and automatically enter the numbers pre-programmed into my fingertips, I end up with channels I normally don’t watch. It’s a bit like ending up with a book in a genre I don’t normally read. It’s odd and enjoyable and makes me want to recommend to each of you to go to the bookstore and go to a different section than you normally shop and pick up a book you wouldn’t normally read.

Or, better yet, post your absolute favorite book(s) here and other people can pick a late summer or early fall read from the list.

I’ll start:

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst and Ray Cruz

Sam 1; Statuary 0

2009-07-20T00:05:00.000-05:00

Sam doesn’t like statues. I discovered that this weekend. We were at a different Farmers’ Market than normal Saturday morning and I paused near a bronze statue of a young Abraham Lincoln with a pig at his feet to adjust how I was carrying my packages and holding Sam’s leash. Next thing I know, there’s this strange noise coming from nearby. I glance over at Sam, and he’s low to the ground, staring hard at the statue, and growling. Before I can fully wrap my head around the idea of Sam growling in earnest, he starts barking at it, warning it not to come near, that he was prepared to defend himself, his territory, and his pack.

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Funniest thing I’ve seen in awhile.

I think we need to get him off the farm and out into the world a little more often. We have been trying.

The More Things Change

2009-07-13T00:05:00.002-05:00

The more things change, the more they remain the same. I’m not certain who first said that and, as I write this, I’m not taking the time to do a quick search on the internet, but it’s true all the same.

Look, for example, at our shopping habits. There was a time a little over a century ago, when you took your own basket to the market to carry your purchases home. Then, stores started providing paper sacks, then plastic, then a choice. Now, environmentally conscious people take their own, reusable bags to the store with them in order to carry purchases home. Not so different, is it?

A few weeks ago, I was at a farmers’ market to buy locally grown, in-season, slow-grown produce for my family’s table. While there, a local hospital gave me a go-mug that included a clip to attach it to my belt or bag when it was empty. It was designed to encourage me to take it more places with me and use it more often than just the car. Looking at the design, I could not help but smile.

I’ve attended more than one Renaissance Festival in my day. I’ve worn made-to-look-like period clothing and I’ve admired the people who had far more interesting and authentic costumes than mine. I was just a weekender. There for a one-time, fun shot. There are people whose lives revolve around Ren Faires and their costumes are something to see. They spend months, if not years, researching and getting them right. One thing many of them have in common is they have a cup attached to their belt. When they get thirsty, they unclip it, have it filled, drink from it, and, when it is empty, the reattach it to their belt for the next use.

The concept is almost exactly like the one the hospital used for their go-cups, except using modern materials and a modern twist on the carrying mechanism. Oh, and all of the go-cups have lids. Only some of the Renaissance mugs did. These are the differences.

In the fullness of time, everything that is old will become new again.

In this environmentally conscious world, what will come around next? What's your best guess?

Write Like a Master

2009-07-09T00:05:00.000-05:00

I am, unashamedly, a viewer of certain reality television shows. The ones that appeal to me are mostly those that are contests, rather than invitations to voyeurism and extreme behavior. As I once explained to my mother, they really are no different than the game shows popular in the 1970’s. Think The Newlywed Game . Real people put in front of the camera, being asked embarrassing questions, and being judged on their responses.

My two favorites have probably been Project Runway and Top Chef. I stumbled upon Project Runway in season four, I believe. Maybe season three. I’d never heard of it, but I was clicking through and I landed on Bravo while the contestants were standing on the runway being critiqued. Keep in mind, I own a needle. I can sew a button, and maybe a quick stitch for minor repairs, but if I need anything even hemmed, I either pay someone or strike a bargain with a family member. Didn’t matter. In a very few seconds, I was hooked. Why? Because as I lounged, listening to the contestants respond to the critiques, I didn’t see designers on the camera. I saw writers. There responses to the judges, how they handled the opinions of their work, how they responded… I recognized all the personalities I’d ever encountered when I’d critiqued other writers work.

Later, Kristine convinced me to watch Top Chef. The same thing was true there. As these individuals struggled to win, the creative egos shown through. You could see who was confident in their work, who had talent but had yet developed the skill to match, and whose ego surpassed their ability. You recognized the individuals no editor would ever want to work with, regardless of their talent, and the Golden Worders who may or may not come to learn their vision was the end all/be all of creation.

This year, there has been some shuffling in the schedule line-up, probably in part due Project Runway switching networks, has been somewhat messed up and, this summer, they are airing Top Chef Masters. Instead of the regular season of Top Chef, where 15-16 contestants compete against each other all season, until you get down to three who go head-to-head in one winner-take-all competition, chefs who are names, who are known, who are the Stephen King’s and Neil Gaiman’s of the culinary world, are competing for their favorite charities. Each episode, four famous chefs go head-to-head and one advances to the final round. And there’s a real difference in the personality of the competition.

During the regular season, all the competitors are hungry. They want this. Winning could propel their careers forward by years. It is the jumpstart, the chance, the one single break they dream of. As such, there is stress and tension. Tempers flare. Sure, they tend to help one another out and have fun, but they want to impress. They want to be noticed. They want to be the last person standing. For them, the competition is very, very personal.

For the Masters, not so much. They’ve already been noticed. People are already impressed by them. And while many of them comment they were surprised how difficult it was, and how they have a newfound respect for the regular contestants – they’re also much more relaxed. This is not the end all/be all for them. It’s fun. It’s something to do. It’s a game for bragging rights among equals who have already carved out their own niches. One made cookies while waiting for the judges verdict. Most of them laugh at some of the silly mistakes they made, at their inability to operate a microwave or keep track of their own grocery cart.

And I think there’s something to be said about the differences in attitudes between the up-and-coming chefs and the masters. Sure, we all want to make it, to be the name, the success, and to have the freedom and opportunity to relax that already being at the top affords. But there’s also something to be said for relaxing and having fun while you’re struggling to the top, and trying to make it.

After all, this creative thing isn’t supposed to be about ego. It’s supposed to be fun. We’re supposed to be enjoying it.

My suggestion for all of you reading this, when working on something creative, act like you’re already a master. Like you already have a niche. And by that, I don’t mean using your ego to crush others. I mean relax. Have fun. Enjoy yourself. I bet it shows in your work.

Non-blog post post

2009-07-03T23:32:00.008-05:00

I’ve had lots of good ideas for posts for The Commune this week. Some ranting. Some pointing out good things. Some talking about writing. Some not. Some going “huh”? The end result, when this happens, when I’m bombarded by ideas all at once and they all seem very good and something I should write about now, immediately, before the timeliness disappears is, you get nothing, or rather, instead of nothing, you get a recent picture of and lots of babbling about the puppy.

He’s eight months old now, weighs somewhere around 50-lbs, and will still be in the chewing stage for at least two more months.

Most days, it's hard to remember how small he was a mere six months ago, but I'm glad he joined our lives, even when he's a complete and total PITA. I hope the chewing stage ends soon.

First They Came

2009-06-29T12:16:00.002-05:00

Some days I feel like I'm the crazy person standing on the street corner shouting about Armageddon and conspiracy theories. Some days I feel like we need more crazy people standing on street corners and shouting. It seems like every time I turn around, there’s something else that makes me stop dead in my tracks and say, “You have got to be kidding me?”

Two months ago, it was discovered that Amazon was deranking books with homosexual content. Not just books with graphic sexual content, mind you, but children’s books, like Heather Has Two Mommies. Meanwhile, things like Playboy: The Complete Centerfolds were still ranked. Understand, Amazon’s ranking system includes the tags which make books easy to find if you don’t know the exact title or author. Deranking certain books was the equivalent of keeping them under the counter where customers had to specifically request them. When I told some friends, who are readers but otherwise not part of the publishing industry, I was a bit shocked by their nonchalance. I was disappointed – no, disappointed is too light of a term; I was appalled – when one long-term friend told me she believed Amazon had been “too limited in the net they cast.” [Anonymous]

I was appalled because, although it was a right-wing Christian who uttered this comment, she is also a well-educated individual. As such, I would have hoped she understood the world is not limited to her experiences and beliefs. There are others with different experiences, different traditions, and different beliefs who hold their history and life-paths just as dear and precious as she holds her own. I had hoped she would be able to understand it is one thing to live one’s life according to one’s own belief system, but quite another to attempt to remake the world and force everyone else to live according to her worldview. To do so marginalizes and oppresses many.

I believe firmly in the message of Martin Niemöller’s poem “First they came…” If I do not speak out for others, even if they are not part of my tribe, who then will speak out for me in my hour of need?

The Bahá’í Faith teaches, “Should any king take up arms against another, all should unitedly arise and prevent him.” [Gleanings, 249] I personally believe this should be taken one step further. Whenever another individual attempts to oppress another through physical or other means, we should all unitedly arise and prevent it. In order to create a society in which everyone is free, we must be willing to champion that freedom, even for those who are unlike us.

More recently, four men from the Christian Civil Liberties Union in West Bend, Wisconsin, have filed a lawsuit because it finds a young adult novel dealing with homosexuality to be “explicitly vulgar, racial [sic], and anti-Christian.” [Flood] First, I have to ask since when is it a crime to be anti-Christian? Since when is that an offense one could reasonable expect to take to court? There is absolutely nothing in any US constitution, state or federal, which says any individual must be pro-Christian. That’s the beauty of living in the United States. I can be against anything I choose to be against and for anything I wish to support. I don’t have to be any certain religion. I don’t have to be any religion at all.

This protection is not limited to certain sects of Christianity. It encompasses all religions and non-religion, too. Your rights end where the next person’s begin; it is the next person’s right to not support Christianity if they so choose. My beliefs, my neighbor’s beliefs, your neighbor’s beliefs, do not infringe on your right to believe as you do. While Christianity may be the dominant religion in the United States, it is far from the only legitimate belief system; there is no state religion.

The Bible the members of the Christian Civil Liberties Union have read must have been far different than any of the copies I have studied. All the versions of the Bible I have had the privilege to read have one thing in common: they relay a message of compassion and acceptance as taught by the prophets of the Christian faith. The desire to remove access to other ideas and ways of being is not an act of compassion or acceptance. It is bigotry and oppression. It has as its source, not tolerance, but hate.

I’m not going to repeat the childhood adage, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” because I do believe words have power. They can slice to the quick faster than the sharpest sword. As such, they should be used wisely. I also believe words and ideas are precious, and should never be discarded out of hand. If we find them offensive, it is better to ask ourselves why, because obviously they have touched a nerve within us, than to shove them aside and pretend they do not exist. I believe in self-realization, not in persecuting others.

The thing is, this is not a fluffy bunny world. It will never be completely inoffensive. Nothing anyone does is going to make it that way. No matter what you object to, no matter what causes you offense, there will be people out there who believe exactly the opposite. There will be people out there, standing on opposite street corners from you, shouting just as loudly as you, about things that make your blood boil. And, you know what? They have as much right to shout as you do. They have as much right to exist, and believe as they believe, as you do. If you truly believe in freedom of speech, you will not try to change that.

And if you don’t truly believe in Freedom of Speech, do not attempt to use the First Amendment to further your own private, personal agendas. That’s not its purpose.

__________

Anonymous. “RE:Mail blocked due to Inappropriate Content.” E-mail to the Author. April 14, 2009.

Flood, Alison. “Christian group sues for right to burn gay teen novel.” The Guardian. June 12, 2009. .

Gleanings from the Writings of Bahá’u’lláh. Trans. By Shoghi Effendi. Wilmette: Bahá’í Publishing Trust, 1952.

“Martin Niemöller.” Wikiquote. Last Updated June 21, 2009.

You're selling what?

2009-06-22T00:05:00.002-05:00

Commercials are scaring me lately. The commercials themselves aren’t frightening but what they are saying about people and what we’re willing to do to ourselves, or sacrifice for the sake of convenience, is.

Take, for example, the commercials for Latisse, the first FDA-approved drug designed to – get this – help you grow longer, thicker lashes. Let me say that again, in case you didn’t hear it the first time: the sole purpose of this drug is to help people – the marketing is targeted to women – grow longer, thicker lashes. This means that the drug companies believe there are people out there willing to ingest drugs into their system just to get Bambi-like lashes. I have no doubt the drug companies are right. Just when we’re starting to realize there are too many artificial ingredients in our food, when we’re finding prescription medications in the drinking water, when parents are starting to demand that the potential connection between immunizations and autism be explored, when a record number of people do not have proper healthcare, there are people seeking prescriptions so their lashes will be longer. Oh, and did I mention that one of the side effects of this drug is a potential permanent change in eye color?

Yeah. I believe this drug is safe. It can’t be doing anything harmful to the body if its worse possible side effect is changing an aspect of ourselves that’s determined by our very genes. (That’s sarcasm, by the way.)

One of the other commercials that has me pounding my head against the nearest unresisting surface are those for Bing. In case you hadn’t heard, Bing is Microsoft’s latest entry into the search engine wars. It is not, the marketing tells us, a search engine, but a decision engine. According to the commercials airing for Bing, the human race is so overwhelmed by options, they are no longer able to answer simple questions or make basic decisions. Bing is the alleged solution to all of this. When you are looking for information on the internet, it can decide what you’re really seeking for you. The mere human user doesn’t have to worry about all of those pesky choices. Just let the computer do it for you.

Isn’t that the premise of multiple science fiction movies and novels? The machines come alive, start thinking for themselves, and attempt to destroy the human race. Why does this not sound like something we should be actively pursuing to me? Why does the fact that Bing removes my ability to make my own decisions not sound like a selling point? I like making my own choices, I like learning things I didn’t know before. And on those occasions when I don’t, or can’t, figure out the best option for myself, I prefer to choose who helps me out of my quandary by going to other humans that I respect and trust and who have knowledge in the area that I’m stuck in. Far better to do that than trust a mindless, soulless machine programmed by a team of computer engineers whose primary purposes are to advance their own interests and take home a paycheck, not necessarily in that order.

It’s long past time for people to start collectively questioning what advertisers are telling them and why they’re trying to sell the products that they’re selling. If you’re really so into your appearance that you’re willing to rise permanent changes to traits that are considered identifying markers, then perhaps you should look into therapy instead of new prescription medications, because really, how full your lashes are, it’s just not that important to risk your health, or risk further pollution to the planet, for.

As for making your own decisions? There’s a saying amongst writers: Own your words. It means take responsibility for what you say and how you say it. As writers, we are expected to have greater control of how we use language. The rest of the population needs to take on the same standard of conducted. Own your actions. Make your own decisions. Choose wisely. And, if in doubt, ask questions, both of yourselves and of the people trying to sell you things.

In this increasingly virtual world...

2009-06-18T00:05:00.002-05:00

In this increasingly virtual world, it is sometimes easy to forget that the people on the other side of the screen are more than the sum of the text they choose to share with us and what we read between the lines may not be reality. Often times, what people choose to share online fails to give the complete story. There are many reasons for this. Perhaps the person doesn’t feel like sharing the full details – they are real people, after all, and entitled to their privacy. Perhaps they aren’t writers and don’t have strong non-verbal communication skills. Perhaps the medium – as in the case of Twitter – doesn’t lend itself to providing full details. There’s only so much you can, or should, say in 140-characters. Maybe the person is just tired and doesn’t feel like typing all the pertinent details out. Or, again, just maybe, it’s none of your business and the person on the other side of the screen is not obligated to share every detail of their existence with anyone with online access.

In a post I would like to see made famous, Neil Gaiman informed a group of readers who were attempting to demand George R.R. Martin do nothing but write – no days out, no watching football, no nothing except writing – that George R.R. Martin was not their bitch. He was entitled to a life apart from the characters and series they had fallen in love with. In fact, he might need a life apart from the character and series in order to be able to create it. When it came to his private life and personal decisions, Martin did not answer to them.

During my growing up years, the only ways people had to reach out and touch you over long distances were by postal mail or telephone. The only individuals with that sort of access usually already knew you. You were highly unlikely to encounter a stranger’s opinion about the letter you wrote to grandma when you answered the telephone or to find that someone you had only conversed with on the most basic level had reached a conclusion about who you were and how you needed to improve based on a comment you had made to friend during a late night phone conversation. Such things were, generally speaking, private. Not so these days.

These days, you can have deep lasting friendships with people you’ve never met anywhere except online. Many of your exchanges with these friends are in the public domain. Snippets of dialogue found in one online locale are continuations of much longer conversations from other internet dominions. Those snippets are used by passerby to form a full image of you devoid of any background or other contextual information. From these snatches of dialogue they feel free to evaluate your existence and judge how you are living your life.

My father’s parents and siblings were not the nicest of people. Sometimes, his siblings would call into the house, intoxicated and belligerent. I was taught from an early age that there was nothing that compelled me to accept a phone call from anyone. Just because someone called into the house and I answered the phone, I was under no obligation to listen to them. I was free to hang up the handset and walk away any time I chose to do so.

Increasingly prevalent technology has not changed this. It is still merely a tool and if someone uses it to cross the boundaries of acceptability, I am not obligated to allow them to continue to do so. As much as people are free to say whatever they want, I am free not to listen. It is an empowering realization and is true not only of phones, but also forums, blogs, twitter, IM, and e-mail. Nowhere, in any contract or agreement that I’ve signed, does it say I must accept communication from any individual not affiliated with the companies providing the service to me.

Life is just too short to allow people who raise your blood pressure or who only want you to feel horrible to have access to you. Life is too short to allow others to judge you and tell you how to live your life. You are the only person who can make the best decisions for you. I am the only person who can make the best decisions for me.

Make History: Write Like a Child

2009-06-15T00:05:00.001-05:00

For many years now, I’ve been a moderator over at the Absolute Write forums. As new writers come and go from the boards, there are a handful of questions that are perennial. One such question is, basically, “What is (un)acceptable to write?” The questions take on various forms, such as, “How much violence can I include?” “Can I talk about child rape?” “Am I allowed to…” I now have an answer for every writer who ever wondered where the line is: Write like you were a child.

By this, I do not mean keep your story G-rated, with unicorns and fairies and happily ever after endings. Children are not the pure, innocent creatures we pretend they are. Babies might be pure and innocent, but by the time our offspring leaves the toddler stage to become a small child, innocence has been left far behind. Instead I mean to say (and by that I mean write) whatever comes to your head, no matter how inappropriate you might consider it to be.

The other day, I was walking Sam and I came across a little boy riding his bike in the road. Sam was on “short leash,” walking right next to me, but I still tightened my grip on the leash. Sam is well-trained, but he’s still just a puppy, even if he’s a big puppy, and the boy was only about 5 years old or so, still riding a bike with training wheels, right at Sam’s level. A bike that size was new and I could see Sam suddenly deciding it needed to be investigated. Dogs, especially puppies, are a lot like toddlers. They move quickly and not always in the way you’re anticipating.

About that time, Sam sniffed something worthy of his attention in the yard we walking past. I glanced over and saw an old pile of doggy doo. I called him to me. Told him to “leave it.” Which he did.

At this, the child spoke up. “Don’t worry. They won’t care if he goes to the bathroom. They have three dogs and a cat.”

The adult in me was thinking, “Yes, but it’s their dogs and cat in their yard. They might mind if my dog goes in their yard,” but I said, “Yeah. He was sniffing one of their dogs poop and he’s been known to roll in it.” I smiled and wrinkled my nose.

The child made a face. “Eww.”

“Yeah,” I said.

At which point the boy must have decided I was all right, in a way that only a child can quickly size an individual up. He proceeded to point out which house he lived in and talk about his dog. He explained to me that his dog was a boy and he would “hump” (the so-called innocent child’s word, not mine) other boy dogs, even if they were lying down.

Now, I know that male dogs will hump other male dogs as a sign of dominance, but I did not say this to the child. That would have been far too pedantic and though I am capable of being far too pedantic, even I have my limits. Also, I was struck by the boy’s openness and his willingness to say whatever came into his head, without worrying about causing offense. He did not stop to consider that he was talking about what many would consider homosexual behavior, that there were people who would condemn him for daring to even allude to such things, that sex discussions in any form, even when talking about animals, are often taboo subjects, and I was a stranger who might possibly be offended in multiple ways by his words. No. He just said what he wanted to say, sharing the information he wanted to share. It’s what children do.

Writers should be as open and as unconcerned about causing offense as children are. When writing, say what’s on your mind, what you want to say, without worrying about consequences or tact. Forget the social niceties about what is and is not proper that have been drummed into you since your parents first heard you talking about the dog’s bathroom habits at the formal dinner party with your father’s boss and the church minister.

If you’re always worrying about who might be offended by the words and scenes you’re creating, you’re far less likely to write anything worthwhile. Laurel Thatcher Ulrich said, “Well-behaved women seldom make history.” As writers, we need to adapt this philosophy and make it our own. Authors who are constantly concerned about what is and is not acceptable or proper are not going to publish anything that removes the blinders from people’s eyes or changes the world around them.

To every budding writer out there who has been concerned that they should not write something because someone somewhere might possibly be offended by it, I say good. Let them be offended. Let them question their values and the values of the world around them. Make readers become aware there is more to the world than their nice safe corner of it. If your words encourage someone to think beyond their own limited experiences, than that is the type of writing that will stand the test of time.

Go out there. Write like a child, free of inhibitions, and do not worry about being a well-behaved author. After all, you want to make history.

Classics & Antiques

2009-06-11T00:05:00.001-05:00

Wednesday morning my mother and I woke to a heck of a thunderstorm, the type that damages roofs, knocks limbs out of trees, ruins gardens, and makes for great sleeping weather, which is exactly what both of us did when the rain and thunder woke us. We rolled back over, tucked our heads under the covers, and fell back asleep. Problem is, both of us forgot that the front windows were open, and the wind was driving everything against that side of the house.

My mother was the first up. By the time I emerged from my room, she had already shut the windows, pulled the furniture away from the walls, and dried everything off. She’s efficient that way. When she told me what had happened, I asked, “What got wet?” I was walking into the living room to assess the damage myself as I talked. A lot of my stuff that isn’t in storage (read that as books and photos) are in the living room.

“Keep walking,” she said.

In short order my bare feet hit damp carpet. “How’s the furniture?” The trunk had been pulled out and the antique rocker my great-grandmother had refinished just for my mother was sitting in the middle of the room.

“I dried them off,” she said, as I approached the outer wall to see exactly how wet the carpet was nearer the windows and check out the baseboards, “but I forgot to check the tapes. They’re probably wet, too.”

I glanced down at the video rack full of an assortment of CDs and VHS tapes. “Yep. They’re wet.”

I left my mother to take care of them while I hurried into the shower to get ready for my work day. As I left, I wondered to myself how many of the CD cases were ruined and how well a VHS tape could withstand a good soaking. I hoped they had fared okay. The shelf was metal, but I hoped its protective coat of paint had done its job, though I figured water had pooled in little divots on its surface.

The thing is, I was far less worried about how the old steamer trunk and the rocking chair fared our housekeeping lapse than I was concerned about the tapes and CDs and the shelf they sat on, modern as they. More to the point, I was worried about them because they were modern. Such things don’t always stand the test of time as much as the furniture we’ve built out lives, and our family’s lives, on.

The same is true with books. Many writers want to create something new, something modern, something that will sell well now. Yet, just because something is a bestseller today doesn’t mean it’s constructed to stand the test of time. It could very easily go out of print next week. To be a true classic, a book must be something that is handed down through the generations. It needs to be well crafted, have an entertaining story, and speak directly to what it means to be human.

Classic literature can withstand the critics and the evolving world. Take Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn for example. Sure, he talks about slavery and uses the word “nigger,” but his work is still read today, both casually and academically, not because of those issues but in spite of them. Regardless of the setting in which the story is told and the language used to tell it, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is about what makes a man, a man. And because it is well crafted and an entertaining story and speaks directly to the heart of humanity, it endures regardless of changing standards and altered social mores.

As writers, we must ask ourselves what we’re striving to do. There is value in entertainment and in creating something readers enjoy today, but if the craftsmanship is equal to the story, then its possible that what you write will also be able to withstand harsh criticism and endure to be passed on from generation to generation. After all, my mother rescued that old steamer trunk from her father’s barn, where it was being used to store greasy car parts, and the rocking chair came from my great-grandmother’s attic where it had been discarded. Both are classic pieces that would fit into almost any décor, despite being created for an earlier time. And the rain? It didn’t harm them one bit. After they were wiped off and the floor around them was given a chance to dry out, they were slid right back into position under the windows. They’ll probably remain there until they’re transferred to either my brother’s or my home in twenty or thirty years. As for the DVDs, I’m certain some of their cases are starting to fall apart now. Not that it much matters. They’ll be replaced by something new before too much longer.

Eye of the Tiger

2009-06-01T00:05:00.002-05:00

I tend to whine. I readily admit this about myself. Usually about little things. Big things, I don’t whine about. Mostly because when it comes to big things I just want to lay down and pound my fists and heels against the floor while screaming at the top of my lungs. This, I know, is a temper tantrum, and unbecoming of any adult, no matter how good it make one feel from time-to-time. (This is the great secret that adults fail to tell children: we’re actually jealous of your ability to totally give into your emotions and just go with the moment.)

So, I tend to whine about little things. Thing is, often when I whine about things, something else comes along to show me how good I really do have it.

For example, this past Friday I was whining because my arm hurt and I felt like a slug. My arm hurt because I’d blown a vein trying to donate platelets and I felt like a slug in part because of the arm and in part because my hormones had been unable to settle for the last week and a half and in part because I had done nothing but drive the previous day. All told, little things, especially when compared to what was happening in the lives of other people I know, like David Ihlenfeldt, his wife Alise, and their two boys.

David is one of those people who helped make me the person I am, despite the fact that he probably only has the vaguest recollections of me. I went to school with David and his twin brother Donald from first grade until I received my Associate’s degree at a local community college and all three of us transferred to different universities to finish our Bachelor’s degrees. In grade school, I always had either David or Donald in my class. By the time the three of us were in high school, I associated more with Donald than with David. Still, I have fond memories of both Ihlenfeldt boys – memories of times when I was beginning to become me – despite the fact that our lives have moved on and apart.

Recently, I learned from my mother, who learned through her church, that David’s ten year old son Alexander suffered from a bleed on the brain. Along with untold others, I’ve been following Alexander’s story, as told by David, on http://www.caringbridge.org/”>CaringBridge>. Despite the fact that his family’s life has been turned upside down and they do not know what tomorrow brings, David provides updates with humor and a sense of hope. No whining.

It’s something to remember. Even in the darkness, there is light. Even in the midst of tragedy, there is laughter. Even when confronted with the unknown, there is hope.

It's something to remember, too, the next time you receive a bad crit, or your work is not received as you wish it to be, or you find a rejection in the mail. In the great scheme of things, these are small things and nothing to complain or lash out about. As long as there is food on your table, a roof over your head, and your family is healthy, there's not much else worth whining about. Not even for angsty writers.

Deal With It

2009-05-28T21:46:00.002-05:00

"Dogs bark, babies cry, grass grows. Deal with it."

~Lt. Colonel Henry J. Plawer

Did you miss me?

2009-05-25T00:05:00.000-05:00

I’ve come to realize how very difficult it is to “get away” these days. Thanks to technology, one can be connected to one’s ordinary life – friends, family, news, business, hobbies – wherever you are. It doesn’t matter if you pack up on the spur of the moment or plan a trip a gazillion miles away. Odds are, you’re either going to have cell phone reception – and with so many people giving up their landlines and using cell phones as their primary telephone number that people aren’t going to think twice about calling you on the cellular number wherever you happen to be. Most of us have plans that are no longer limited by regional constraints but are instead based on the number of minutes we use in a given month, at a given time of day.

In addition to cellular phones, the proliferation of laptops and wifi has made it easy to know what anyone is doing at any time of day. We trade pictures, quips, notes, tragedies, and achievements at an unprecedented rate, regardless of where or when we are.

Where it was once the great impasse, geography has become irrelevant to communication.

Thing is, it was once possible to miss someone. They would go on a business trip, take a weekend vacation, and we would be aware of their absence from our daily lives, if only for a short time. We would wonder what – and how – they were doing and hoped they returned safely to us. These days, such a thing is a rarity. Thanks to technology, despite a person’s physical absence, we can reach out and touch them, find out about their adventures, what new things they’ve learned, what’s gone right and what’s gone wrong, all before their trip is even finished. When they do return to us, it is without the profound sense of relief that they are back, relatively unchanged for their time away. When they do return, there are no stories to tell, no experiences to share; all that’s to be done is the laundry.

Such is true of the trip I took over Memorial Day weekend. On Friday night, as I boarded the train to take me to Joliet, I called the friend who was to meet me at the station and let him know the train was leaving on time. There were reassurances that if something should happen to slow the train between my departure and arrival, I would call him en route. He would have no surprises about whether I was arriving on time or not.

Before I left, a dear friend died. My sempai. Knowing I would want to go to his funeral visitation, I considered canceling my trip, but I also knew that given his military status, the holiday weekend, etc., it was unlikely to be held before my scheduled return. So, I went on my trip. While I was gone, I checked the online obituaries and had my mother check the print obituaries in the paper at home. I talked on my ever-lovin’ cell phone to both my mother and to my sensei about plans for attending the funeral. Even though I was not home, my availability status had not changed. I was still there.

That has become one of the complaints of business men. No matter where they are, they’re working. Even when traveling, in a busy airport, aboard a plane, they’re on. Making deals, preparing reports, getting things done. We’ve become a nation of Type A personalities. People who don’t know how to take the day off, to kick back, to relax. To just be. It’s an art we need to relearn. We need to rediscover how to get away. We need to be missed, even before we are dead.

Not Far, Not Forgotten

2009-05-20T22:58:00.003-05:00

Hi, gang. I haven't been far from The Commune. In fact, I have three or four articles started for it. Kinda hard to follow up on Kristine and Pete, though. Off the top of my head, I've started a blog post about how our view of what is happening in the publishing industry is limited by our individual perspectives and we need to be aware of that when reading industry blogs. I started a post about how easy it is to overlook the wonder that exists in our own back yard.

After reading my e-mail tonight, I'd like to blog about politicians who are so completely out of touch with their constituents or... Seems most of my thoughts involve being blind or ignorant of how others see things. As writers, we always need to be flexible in our point of view.

Anyway, I'm still out here. Still writing. Still editing. Still working I haven't gone far and I haven't fore