Enough
“You are not enough.”
She said it out loud.
Tagged with: fiction, imagination, moments, narrative, poem
Thirst
Those who knew her commented how the color of her skin matched the dry Missouri dirt she walked upon. They worried when the drought came. They watched the dirt open and crack. You could pick up pieces and crumble it in your hands. Dirt powder, everyone called it. And then they noticed her skin, just as thirsty as the earth, took on the same appearance. She tried to explain, but her parched throat would not let her. She tried to cry, but her tear ducts had gone dry.
Those who remember say her skin ached for water. That kind of thirst can cause damage—can keep the crops from growing, the tourists from coming. That kind of thirst can kick up dust that covers everything: houses, fields, cars—a thin film just enough to coat the windows and change the look of any day.
Tagged with: construct, moments, narrative, story
Lamp
“Stay there, until you see
You are gazing at the Light
With its own ageless eyes.”
—Rumi
She was cleaning out the attic when she found the lamp, its blue ceramic base chipped, its white shade yellowed with age. All morning she had been tossing old clothes and dishes: uncluttering her life.
Tagged with: fiction, moments, story
Bones
All winter long she watched the same tree. She could see it out her back window, its branches stark and spare. A cup of coffee warmed her hands as she watched the birds perch and chatter to the gray sky. She made a game of counting them and waiting as they flew off one by one to some other tree in some other neighborhood where someone else in some other house could see them framed through a window. Sometimes the tree limbs reminded her of bones, as if the tree were a skeleton in the February air.
One day, she sat at her usual spot and forgot to look out. Another day happened like that. She looked down instead—at a crossword, at an article, at a spill on the counter that needed her attention. Until a morning when the light came in just so, and she finally looked out. The bones had gone. Green leaves crowded the sky. She could barely see the birds through all that green. She could hear them though—singing their spring songs.
Tagged with: fiction, moments, story
In the TV Light
The day had been long. Grace entered the dark kitchen looking for food. She found a box of cereal and poured some into a bowl. She carried the bowl, some milk, and a spoon with her to the couch where she settled in amongst the pillows. She aimed the remote at the TV, turned it on, then poured some milk into her bowl, watching the cereal change as she did. The TV lit the dark room, and Grace looked up to see a teenage girl lying in a hospital bed—her face wounded and distorted. An interviewer stood over her. Apparently they were in Afghanistan. The interviewer said, “Why do you think the men poured on acid on you?” The teenage girl with the damaged face said simply, “They do not want girls to go to school.” Grace put her cereal bowl down on the coffee table. She leaned into the TV light. The girl with the damaged face looked right at Grace. It seemed that way. It really did. And then the light changed. The image switched to a commercial about some man throwing a crystal ball at a vending machine. When the vending machine broke open, the man laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed so loud that Grace had to turn down the volume. The man who threw the crystal ball laughed right at Grace. It seemed that way. Grace switched channels hoping to find the teenage girl who just wanted an education. But Grace could not find her anywhere.
Tagged with: fiction, moments, story
Solstice
“I feel completely unfulfilled.” Bea lifted her cup of tea, took a sip, and put it back down on top of the newspaper she was reading.
“Is there something in the paper that made you say that?” Lindsay asked.
Tagged with: fiction, moments, narrative
Meatballs
She makes them on special occasions. Meatballs. And once you have had hers, you shun all others. It’s just the way it is. She starts first thing in the morning, mixing the meat, the cheese, the pignolis, the oil—all in a bowl. Then those old hands scoop out the perfect amount—over and over—molding the balls, dropping them into the hot skillet. You wait. You smell. You listen to the sizzle from the living room. You move closer to the kitchen doorway. You peek around the corner at the empty plate wondering when one will land there. And when it does, you are waiting with a fork. You stab it, lift it, and hold it like a lollipop—barely giving it time to cool before you bite. And she stands, hands on apron hips, watching—waiting—listening to you chew. Before the first swallow, she smiles and says, “Well? How is it?”
Tagged with: moments, narrative, story
Saturday in New Jersey
Just returned from a writers/editors conference at Rutgers University. What a well-conceived, well-organized event—a one day conference during which writers, editors, and agents mingle. And I was most impressed with the editors I met—all of them young and passionate, intelligent and thoughtful. They love books. They love good writing. And they volunteered a Saturday to offer encouragement, advice, and feedback. Trying to market one’s work can often feel discouraging, but the Rutgers University Council on Children’s Literature has found a way to make it encouraging. For that, I am grateful.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, learning, marketing, moments, process, why write
Into the sun
On Friday, I flew from Boston to Kansas City. Then I climbed into a rented car and drove five hours west—into the sunset—toward Hastings, Nebraska.
Destination: my niece’s wedding.
Tagged with: fiction, moments, narrative, story, truth
Bardo Poem
Here is the poem (perhaps still in progress) that grew out of my lessons in negative space and my introduction to the buddhist concept of bardo. Thank you, Kennon.
“A Lesson in Negative Space”
Tagged with: connection, moments, poem
Bleeding Hearts
The Bleeding Heart Bush is a perennial metaphor. It blooms at this time of year; and in the morning, when I walk Gizmo, I stop and stare at one that rises from behind my neighbor’s small wooden fence—all those hearts bleeding.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, moments
The Perfect Glass
Recently, I purchased three stemless wine glasses. I wanted six, but the store only had three. One evening, I poured some chianti into one of the glasses. I drank. It was a perfect wine experience.
These glasses are not thin, as are so many wine glasses. They have a certain stability to them. And the design cut into the crystal is called “pearl”—white dots neatly aligned vertically. The 15 oz. shape fits perfectly into my small hands.
Tagged with: connection, moments, story
Rain
In Boston, we are experiencing February rains. This morning, walking Gizmo, I noticed just a few patches of dirty snow left from the series of storms we had some weeks ago.
Back inside the house, I dried Gizmo off with a towel, pulled off my dripping hood, and for some reason, remembered July, when I had major surgery, and then remembered the day we brought Gizmo home, almost 10 years ago. Why did those two memories come to me at that moment?
Tagged with: moments, quotation
My Stories
Avid soap opera watchers generally refer to their favorite soaps as “my story.” And my sister-in-law, over the holidays, referring to the writers’ strike and Grey’s Anatomy, said, “I miss my story.”
Where did that start? Calling a serial drama “my story”? Not a story but my story? I love that.
Tagged with: moments, story, truth
Once Upon a Time
I was pleased to watch the film called Once about an Irish street singer/vacuum cleaner repair man and a young woman who changes his luck. What a beautiful tale of intimacy, music, and friendship. It had fairy tale qualities, but its content surprised me with its unpredictable turns.
And on a different note, but still in the folk-tale-once-upon-a-time category, I happened to watch Tim Burton’s adapation of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I was so drawn to Ichabod’s Crane mixture of vulnerability and strength, and so wrapped up in the story’s theme of the rational as it comes to terms with the irrational.