Jamie Patterson's Blog, page 23
September 3, 2011
For Better or Worse
I get asked a lot lately how I feel about being so open in Lost Edens about such a difficult time in my life. The short answer is: it changes in range from terrific! to not great. Currently, the answer is not great, but let me take you through the evolution.
I didn't write Lost Edens with the intention of anyone reading. I think this is the only way I was able to be so honest in writing it. For whatever it is or isn't Lost Edens is absolutely a very accurate portrayal of what the confusion and desperation of falling apart (a person, a marriage) looks like. I sometimes feel that it's kind of like chronicling with precise detail your most embarrassing moment as a teenager for all the world to read, pimples and all.
So when I decided to publish the answer to "how do you feel about sharing this" was obviously terrific! I was so far removed from the events that I didn't feel like I was sharing my life but my past, which seemed like a distinct difference to me. As a writer, the honesty of the words and the raw emotion struck me as something I'd never be able to replicate and, therefore, unique and worthy of a broader audience.
Now, though, as more people read (the book is available now on Amazon!) I find myself saying "I'm great now, don't worry. In a few short years this will be a decade since I experienced these things, since I was that person." The events might be nearly a decade old for me but it is strange to have people experience them now for the first time. I know the idea here is to approach these readers and the topic with a sophisticated sense of critical reasoning and in doing so give the support and sense of wellness I received from so many during that time, but this sometimes takes effort.
My hope really is that Lost Edens will spur much needed discussion on unhealthy relationships and the definition and limitations of marriage. My hope is for the story to help in some way. So I know I'll swing back to terrific! before too long. I think the current not great status is just me wishing I had written a joke book (I'm really, really funny. Seriously.), or maybe a cook book (I don't cook, but what a great time it'd be to talk about it!).
Perhaps for the next book.
I didn't write Lost Edens with the intention of anyone reading. I think this is the only way I was able to be so honest in writing it. For whatever it is or isn't Lost Edens is absolutely a very accurate portrayal of what the confusion and desperation of falling apart (a person, a marriage) looks like. I sometimes feel that it's kind of like chronicling with precise detail your most embarrassing moment as a teenager for all the world to read, pimples and all.
So when I decided to publish the answer to "how do you feel about sharing this" was obviously terrific! I was so far removed from the events that I didn't feel like I was sharing my life but my past, which seemed like a distinct difference to me. As a writer, the honesty of the words and the raw emotion struck me as something I'd never be able to replicate and, therefore, unique and worthy of a broader audience.
Now, though, as more people read (the book is available now on Amazon!) I find myself saying "I'm great now, don't worry. In a few short years this will be a decade since I experienced these things, since I was that person." The events might be nearly a decade old for me but it is strange to have people experience them now for the first time. I know the idea here is to approach these readers and the topic with a sophisticated sense of critical reasoning and in doing so give the support and sense of wellness I received from so many during that time, but this sometimes takes effort.
My hope really is that Lost Edens will spur much needed discussion on unhealthy relationships and the definition and limitations of marriage. My hope is for the story to help in some way. So I know I'll swing back to terrific! before too long. I think the current not great status is just me wishing I had written a joke book (I'm really, really funny. Seriously.), or maybe a cook book (I don't cook, but what a great time it'd be to talk about it!).
Perhaps for the next book.
September 1, 2011
The Road not Taken
Any English major can tell you that Frost was being ironic with his "two roads diverged in a wood and I/I took the one less traveled by;" a poem that has been widely misread to be something of a Hallmark card message. Really, the idea of the poem--really basically--is that either path would be fine but the point is you have to choose and no matter the choice, you will always question what would have happened if you had chosen the road not taken.
I'm on a massive house clearing streak and today I practically emptied one closet and one shelf of books. In one of these books (a GRE study book, one I didn't mind recycling) was a note written just before I became engaged and started on the journey that led to Lost Edens. This note was very clearly my yellow wood and showed, in my own writing, two clear paths. And all this time I've felt like I had no real choice in how things progressed and spun out of control and into a marriage I think neither of us really wanted. And yet, here was this evidence that what happened from that moment forward was most certainly (at least in part) my choice. I was faced with two clear options and I took one path and have questioned ever since what would have happened if only I could have taken the other path. And I could have. So easily. Not gotten married. Not even become engaged. Walked away quietly.
I know it isn't always easy to see or accept options that are right in front of you but it made me think of Frost and of one of my all-time favorite songs, Sympathy by the Goo Goo Dolls, with the line: "it's hard to lead the life you choose."
I'm on a massive house clearing streak and today I practically emptied one closet and one shelf of books. In one of these books (a GRE study book, one I didn't mind recycling) was a note written just before I became engaged and started on the journey that led to Lost Edens. This note was very clearly my yellow wood and showed, in my own writing, two clear paths. And all this time I've felt like I had no real choice in how things progressed and spun out of control and into a marriage I think neither of us really wanted. And yet, here was this evidence that what happened from that moment forward was most certainly (at least in part) my choice. I was faced with two clear options and I took one path and have questioned ever since what would have happened if only I could have taken the other path. And I could have. So easily. Not gotten married. Not even become engaged. Walked away quietly.
I know it isn't always easy to see or accept options that are right in front of you but it made me think of Frost and of one of my all-time favorite songs, Sympathy by the Goo Goo Dolls, with the line: "it's hard to lead the life you choose."
Harry
My parents just celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary. By coincidence, they celebrated by buying more land around their cabin up north. Although it's always been in the family, now my parents own my great-grandfather's cabin, and by extension, Harry's cabin (below). Both of which are mentioned in Lost Edens.
I had a chance to ask my grandfather a couple weeks ago about Harry. There was a debate over whether or not he had actually killed himself (as told in Lost Edens) or had just been institutionalized. The verdict was that my grandfather didn't remember but would support the belief he had killed himself. Then my grandfather told me stories about Harry I'd never heard as a kid, with good reason. Harry hadn't slowly gone mad, as I had thought, he was mad. For whatever the reason, my great-grandfather defended him and gave him work even though my grandfather remembers his dad getting asked to go into town to get Harry, who was threatening people with a gun. Apparently, this was a rather common occurrence.
I think the versions of stories we're told as kids is an interesting thing. I'm not sorry I didn't hear these details sooner I just think it's interesting how easily small details can paint a semblance of a reality. Bits and pieces put together to create a semblance of a whole. I guess that's how life is like art.
I had a chance to ask my grandfather a couple weeks ago about Harry. There was a debate over whether or not he had actually killed himself (as told in Lost Edens) or had just been institutionalized. The verdict was that my grandfather didn't remember but would support the belief he had killed himself. Then my grandfather told me stories about Harry I'd never heard as a kid, with good reason. Harry hadn't slowly gone mad, as I had thought, he was mad. For whatever the reason, my great-grandfather defended him and gave him work even though my grandfather remembers his dad getting asked to go into town to get Harry, who was threatening people with a gun. Apparently, this was a rather common occurrence.
I think the versions of stories we're told as kids is an interesting thing. I'm not sorry I didn't hear these details sooner I just think it's interesting how easily small details can paint a semblance of a reality. Bits and pieces put together to create a semblance of a whole. I guess that's how life is like art.
Book Party!
Yesterday I took my 2-year-old niece, Siena, to mail invitations to the Minneapolis launch party for Lost Edens. We mailed an entire stack two at a time. Looking forward to celebrating with family and friends!Launch parties in Kansas City and San Diego will happen in November, so if you're not in Minneapolis, don't worry. More chances to celebrate to come!
Here's to September
This is just so I can come back to this page and remember that taking Huey outside is a really great break from the day 7 months of the year. Maybe 8?
To the Minnesota residents who come across this post in January: see? This really is a great place to live. Hang in there.
To the Minnesota residents who come across this post in January: see? This really is a great place to live. Hang in there.
August 31, 2011
Outdoor Dining for two
One of my absolutely favorite things to do is bring a book and go for a late, late lunch at a cafe about a block from my house. They allow dogs on their patio and bring out a little water dish for Huey, who sits patiently waiting for me to share some bacon from my delicious fried egg sandwich. How can I say no to a face like that?
Books to Read, Books to Buy
I wrote Lost Edens sitting at my parents' kitchen table the summer of 2006. It was written in between the events in chapters 1-13 and chapter 14 so I do get asked a lot if it was healing. I think because I wrote it right in the thick of the darkness that it wasn't necessarily healing but it was part of my healing process.
Really, writing it was very much like all writing: solitary, sometimes sad, frustrating, sometimes thrilling when the words came together just right. About a year later, I wrote chapter 15. About three years later, I wrote the last paragraph and the last line.
It's been a long process but a good one.
Now we're faced with five more days without books in hand (they can be ordered directly from the publisher, though) and to be honest, I'm not so bothered by this. I know it would have been ideal to have books 2 weeks ago and it is frustrating not to have them but one of the things I learned about shifting from a writer to an author is to go with the flow. After all, I might have had total control of the words but I have absolutely no control over how people read them, right?
If you've come looking for books, don't fear. They'll be here really soon. And I'll be thrilled to hear from you and how you read the book, what story you take away. So far, it's a little bit different for some and very much the same for some, which makes the time spent writing at my parents' kitchen table much less solitary in retrospect.
Really, writing it was very much like all writing: solitary, sometimes sad, frustrating, sometimes thrilling when the words came together just right. About a year later, I wrote chapter 15. About three years later, I wrote the last paragraph and the last line.
It's been a long process but a good one.
Now we're faced with five more days without books in hand (they can be ordered directly from the publisher, though) and to be honest, I'm not so bothered by this. I know it would have been ideal to have books 2 weeks ago and it is frustrating not to have them but one of the things I learned about shifting from a writer to an author is to go with the flow. After all, I might have had total control of the words but I have absolutely no control over how people read them, right?
If you've come looking for books, don't fear. They'll be here really soon. And I'll be thrilled to hear from you and how you read the book, what story you take away. So far, it's a little bit different for some and very much the same for some, which makes the time spent writing at my parents' kitchen table much less solitary in retrospect.
August 30, 2011
My cup Runneth Over. And Over. And Over.
I'm pleased to report that I actually have room in my closets now. Nearly four whole empty shelves and two hanging bars that are sitting sad, bare, and desolate. I took more donations to a charity drop-off and low-and-behold, it seems I'm late for the whole donation trend. This semi below was one of two that were already packed with donations. It made me feel good that I was contributing to this huge pile that would hopefully go toward good but then it also made me kind of sick at the thought of this overwhelming evidence of needless consumerism.
I'm nearly to the three month mark since my last shop and I have just a bit more time before June 20, 2012, when I'll let myself shop again. I have to say, though, that this no shopping thing is really liberating. The irony is that now that I'm living with what I have I feel like I'm living in the kind of cheesy abundance promised by television evangelists (you will be blessed to overflowing! Overflowing, I say!). Now that my closets are closer to empty than they were a month ago I've moved onto a good kind of overflowing: the kind I can recognize and be thankful for.
I'm nearly to the three month mark since my last shop and I have just a bit more time before June 20, 2012, when I'll let myself shop again. I have to say, though, that this no shopping thing is really liberating. The irony is that now that I'm living with what I have I feel like I'm living in the kind of cheesy abundance promised by television evangelists (you will be blessed to overflowing! Overflowing, I say!). Now that my closets are closer to empty than they were a month ago I've moved onto a good kind of overflowing: the kind I can recognize and be thankful for.
I Didn't do it. Okay?
One of my goals in life is to get back to the place in Kansas City where my sister, our friend Joe, and I put our names in wet cement. I wish we'd done something other than names. Like maybe: Have a nice day! Or: Hello gorgeous!
I saw this sidewalk writing (below) while out walking Huey and thought it was pretty funny. We walked ahead about a block and, written in the same style, there was a MICKEY etched in the cement as wide as the square outline.
So maybe putting your name in wet cement is too much of a temptation even for the more clever among us.
I saw this sidewalk writing (below) while out walking Huey and thought it was pretty funny. We walked ahead about a block and, written in the same style, there was a MICKEY etched in the cement as wide as the square outline.
So maybe putting your name in wet cement is too much of a temptation even for the more clever among us.
August 29, 2011
Voluntary Migration
There was a tiny fit-in-the-palm-of-your-hand frog in my back garden tonight and I thought for a moment about scooping it up and bringing it down to the lake, which is just at the front of the building. My thinking, of course, that from the back garden to the lake is an awful long journey for such a little frog.
Then I thought: the frog probably knows better than I do what the heck it needs or how far it needs to travel so I let him sit (only after poking him to make sure he was alive and not in need of proper burial).
About the same distance from the back garden to the lake in the opposite direction is a house that just sold faster than a flying potato. The older couple who sold it have lived there as long as I've been alive. Worked there, too, both of them on the second floor studio. I only know them in a front-porch-to-front-walk kind of way. He looks like a ship's captain with a big white beard, and he would sit on the front porch reading the paper. Once, I think he tipped his head at me and Huey as we passed. She didn't emerge until recently as they packed and moved and had an estate sale. She was out with the movers today.
They're moving to the East Coast, a long-held dream (or so the rumors go). They're going to live out their years 1,000 miles away from what has been their only home in as many years as I've had 19 homes.
Sometimes I wish for permanency. Most of the time I wish for change. Most of the time 1,000 miles in any direction sounds like it might be nice. My family is migratory by each generation; none of the last five generations on either side have lived in the same city as the previous generation. That might explain my itch to leave Minneapolis. But I keep coming back to what my friend Max told me one night in London years ago as I debated the push and pull of trying to find home: "after awhile, everywhere is just somewhere, isn't it?"
Sometimes when I travel I'm overwhelmed with the possibilities of life. Of what streets and places you can come to know and can become part of your story. It feels like so many choices. But Max is right, I know. A change in scenery doesn't always change the things you'd like it to.
Which brings me back to the frog: I had a moment of panic while writing that I really, really should have scooped up the frog and brought him to the lake. (He needs water! He needs help across the street!) I went out back and found he had gone.
How brave! I thought to myself. And then I thought of myself: how silly. And I'm not at all sure which I would apply to the older couple.
Then I thought: the frog probably knows better than I do what the heck it needs or how far it needs to travel so I let him sit (only after poking him to make sure he was alive and not in need of proper burial).
About the same distance from the back garden to the lake in the opposite direction is a house that just sold faster than a flying potato. The older couple who sold it have lived there as long as I've been alive. Worked there, too, both of them on the second floor studio. I only know them in a front-porch-to-front-walk kind of way. He looks like a ship's captain with a big white beard, and he would sit on the front porch reading the paper. Once, I think he tipped his head at me and Huey as we passed. She didn't emerge until recently as they packed and moved and had an estate sale. She was out with the movers today.
They're moving to the East Coast, a long-held dream (or so the rumors go). They're going to live out their years 1,000 miles away from what has been their only home in as many years as I've had 19 homes.
Sometimes I wish for permanency. Most of the time I wish for change. Most of the time 1,000 miles in any direction sounds like it might be nice. My family is migratory by each generation; none of the last five generations on either side have lived in the same city as the previous generation. That might explain my itch to leave Minneapolis. But I keep coming back to what my friend Max told me one night in London years ago as I debated the push and pull of trying to find home: "after awhile, everywhere is just somewhere, isn't it?"
Sometimes when I travel I'm overwhelmed with the possibilities of life. Of what streets and places you can come to know and can become part of your story. It feels like so many choices. But Max is right, I know. A change in scenery doesn't always change the things you'd like it to.
Which brings me back to the frog: I had a moment of panic while writing that I really, really should have scooped up the frog and brought him to the lake. (He needs water! He needs help across the street!) I went out back and found he had gone.
How brave! I thought to myself. And then I thought of myself: how silly. And I'm not at all sure which I would apply to the older couple.
