Arleen Williams's Blog, page 8
November 5, 2018
New Release! - Mom's Last Move
Some stories seem to tell themselves. Others take years to complete. MOM’S LAST MOVE is a memoir that began as scribbles in a journal, scribbles scrawled in an attempt to make sense of life’s pain and chaos, scribbles that continued for the eleven years and twenty days between my father’s death on February 2, 2002 and that of my mother on February 22, 2013. They were silent scribbles that simmered and sat in wait for that moment when I was able to see the story in the scribbles. Looking back, I’m unsure when the long process of creating memoir from scribbles began. Then there was more waiting as challenges were overcome, decisions were made, and publication was put in place. Fourteen years have passed since I began those first scribbles during the long nights and early mornings following Dad’s death.
MOM’S LAST MOVE is a story in three strands, like the three leaves of the Irish shamrock or the Triple Morrigan: crone-mother-maiden. Mom is the focus of the primary strand. After publication of my first memoir, THE THIRTY-NINTH VICTIM, readers asked about my mother. Those gentle, concerned questions about a woman who had lost her partner of fifty-four years while also reliving the horror of her youngest child’s murder compelled me to share this story of motherhood. My mother was a woman I neither understood nor admired in the manner she deserved until she could no longer understand the depth of my love or the regret that held it. The second strand of the story tells of my daughter’s journey through the tumultuous teens and my struggles to understand normalcy. I was overcome by unrealistic and unfounded fears for my daughter based on the unrelated and dissimilar reality of my youngest sister’s murder at nineteen, a murder solved twenty years later when my daughter was fourteen. I explore my journey as a writer in the third strand. I didn’t begin writing until age forty-eight in direct response to the Gary Ridgway arrest and my father’s death two months later. I was a wreck. Writing was my salvation. THE THIRTY-NINTH VICTIM became my voice, a voice some in my family were not ready to hear. MOM’S LAST MOVE tells the story of conflict and love, of the strength of sibling bonds to overcome absolute disagreement. MOM’S LAST MOVE is now available on Amazon. Your interest and readership mean the world. I hope my story resonates in unexpected ways. I hope you share it with friends and family. And, if you’re inclined, I hope you’ll consider a short scribble on Amazon to share your reading experience.
MOM’S LAST MOVE is a story in three strands, like the three leaves of the Irish shamrock or the Triple Morrigan: crone-mother-maiden. Mom is the focus of the primary strand. After publication of my first memoir, THE THIRTY-NINTH VICTIM, readers asked about my mother. Those gentle, concerned questions about a woman who had lost her partner of fifty-four years while also reliving the horror of her youngest child’s murder compelled me to share this story of motherhood. My mother was a woman I neither understood nor admired in the manner she deserved until she could no longer understand the depth of my love or the regret that held it. The second strand of the story tells of my daughter’s journey through the tumultuous teens and my struggles to understand normalcy. I was overcome by unrealistic and unfounded fears for my daughter based on the unrelated and dissimilar reality of my youngest sister’s murder at nineteen, a murder solved twenty years later when my daughter was fourteen. I explore my journey as a writer in the third strand. I didn’t begin writing until age forty-eight in direct response to the Gary Ridgway arrest and my father’s death two months later. I was a wreck. Writing was my salvation. THE THIRTY-NINTH VICTIM became my voice, a voice some in my family were not ready to hear. MOM’S LAST MOVE tells the story of conflict and love, of the strength of sibling bonds to overcome absolute disagreement. MOM’S LAST MOVE is now available on Amazon. Your interest and readership mean the world. I hope my story resonates in unexpected ways. I hope you share it with friends and family. And, if you’re inclined, I hope you’ll consider a short scribble on Amazon to share your reading experience.
October 22, 2018
An Autumn Escape
Every autumn brings a flurry of activity, so it's wonderful to get away whenever possible. A change of scenery, even for just a few days, is great for the soul. This year my husband and I made a weekend escape to Portland, OR. We stayed in a historic downtown hotel that surprised us with champagne and chocolates after asking if we were celebrating anything special. I’m not one to keep my birthdays a secret!
Having taken our bikes, we spent two days exploring the Willamette River trails and adjacent neighborhoods. Portland is a city of bridges, and we crossed many of them, pedaling from one side of the Willamette to the other.
We ate Peruvian delights and tasted local brews and ciders. A tram ride offered a colorful autumn view of Portland with Mt. Adams, Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Rainier in the distance (and a break from cycling!)
And, of course, we visited Powell’s City of Books. Such an amazing bookstore. I could take a sleeping bag and move in. I’d sleep in a different section every night, maybe a few nights in my favorites. What a thrill to find Running Secrets on their shelves!
What’s your favorite autumn escape?
Having taken our bikes, we spent two days exploring the Willamette River trails and adjacent neighborhoods. Portland is a city of bridges, and we crossed many of them, pedaling from one side of the Willamette to the other.
We ate Peruvian delights and tasted local brews and ciders. A tram ride offered a colorful autumn view of Portland with Mt. Adams, Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Rainier in the distance (and a break from cycling!)
And, of course, we visited Powell’s City of Books. Such an amazing bookstore. I could take a sleeping bag and move in. I’d sleep in a different section every night, maybe a few nights in my favorites. What a thrill to find Running Secrets on their shelves!
What’s your favorite autumn escape?
September 14, 2018
Eight Days Early
Rain is falling this gray Seattle morning. Autumn is eight days early. Is it already time to settle in, collect, or perhaps organize, your tall stack of must-reads for the inclement weather ahead?For some it might also be the season to re-dedicate time for writing. To begin, or perhaps complete, that memoir you’ve carried in the back of your mind throughout the summer months. The memoir you’ve been telling yourself you’ll write when you have the time.
Now’s the time! Join me to celebrate the autumnal equinox by learning some writing tips that will get you back in that chair long enough to produce a memoir you’ll be proud to have written. Whether you already have a pile of pages or the ideas are still in your head, join me for a free workshop to explore a path to completion!
Writing Memoir: What? Why? How? Saturday, September 2210:30 a.m. – 12:30 p.m. Lakewood/Smokey Point Library 3411 169th Place NE, Suites ABCArlington, WA 98223
August 24, 2018
Pen and Paper - Always!
Despite the heavy smoke that blankets the Pacific Northwest, Coupeville is a gem. I am grateful to Debbie Lagassé of Sno-Isle Libraries for inviting me to present and to the dedicated writers who attended my memoir workshop.
Light traffic and a ferry allowed an early arrival. I wandered the small town and dock, ate at the hotdog stand, and gawked at the deer and fawns on the beach.
The two-hour workshop seemed to end before it started with lots of sharing of ideas and experiences. In conversation afterwards, Kevin Fristad, author of Dead Geese Flying, mentioned carrying a notecard and pen to jot ideas as they surface. We shared a laugh when I pulled out my tiny notebook. Reminder to writers: Carry pen and paper always!
August 17, 2018
Hello Coupeville!
The thing about the Pacific Northwest is that there’s water everywhere, and where there is water, there are islands. These islands of Puget Sound – Anderson and Fox, Vashon-Maury, Blake and Bainbridge, Whidbey and Camano, Guemes and Fox – to name just a few, are gems, each with its own island identity and small towns. I’m not a regular ferry commuter like many in the area, and I don’t visit the islands as often as I’d like. The islands and the ferries needed to reach many of them can confuse, yet the pull to explore is strong. So, when Coupeville Library invited me to lead a memoir-writing workshop, I did a google search to figure out where it was, how to get there, and what I could learn about the area. I was intrigued by this town of 1,831 residents on Whidbey Island. Here’s what Wikipedia has to say:
Coupeville is a historic district is within the federal Ebey's Landing National Historical Reserve. The reserve was established by Congress in 1978, as the first and now one of the largest National Historical Reserves in the nation.[8] Its 22 square miles (57 km2) also encompass farmlands, Fort Ebey State Park, Fort Casey State Park, shorelines and beaches, parks, trails, and 91 buildings and structures on the National Register of Historic Places.
Of course, those of you who live there already know the facts and the appeal. I look forward to exploring your town and island next Monday, August 20.
If you’re a reader or a writer, if you have an idea for a memoir and need some help getting started, or if you’ve got a work in progress, please join me at the Coupeville Library.
Writing Memoir: What? Why? How?
Coupeville Library 788 NW Alexander St
Coupeville, WA 98239-0745
Monday, August 20, 2018
1:30 to 3:30 p.m.
July 27, 2018
With a Little Help from My Friends
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
And I'll try not to sing out of key
I spent a week on San Juan Island in mid-June. Every morning I sat at a small table in a lovely guesthouse perched on a hill, with a panoramic view of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, Canada only eight miles in the distance. Laptop open, I dug deep, at peace in the solitude and beauty surrounding me. When my writer friend offered me this solitary writing retreat, I grabbed at it with both hands, grateful for the time and place to complete the draft of my latest memoir project. My friend was the perfect host. She left me alone. I wrote from early morning until late afternoon, when it was time for a shared dog walk and dinner. By week’s end, the draft was complete. The Ex-Mexican Wives Club is the story of my ex-pat years in Mexico City in the early 1980s intertwined with the story of reconnecting with the women I once knew there thirty-five years later. Each of these women is an integral part of the story about a time that left an indelible mark on all of us. I know I have opened Pandora’s box of memories, not only for myself, but for all of us by writing this memoir.From the small table perched on the hill, I sent the completed draft to seven women inviting each to share any comments, concerns, corrections she may have. Then, I packed my bags, caught the ferry, and headed for home. Within days, I had heard from most of the seven and my heart sang with delight. As another writer friend told me: That’s what memoir writing is all about. That’s what this memoir is – the threading together of your life. Her comment made me think of the story quilts Sue Monk Kidd describes in The Invention of Wings. The creation of memoir through patches of cloth, images to tell stories, images threaded together in much the same way a memoirist threads story and creates images through words on the page.I may not be able to stitch a straight line or sing in tune, but I certainly could not get by without the help of my friends.
July 16, 2018
Australia Reads Citadel
Writer and teacher, mentor and friend, Jack Remick is featured in an exclusive interview with Jasmina Siderovski for the Australian publication, eYs Magazine.
Jack Remick is a award-winning poet, short story writer, and novelist. Citadel is his latest work. This is an interview I'm sure will be of interest to readers and writers alike. It begins ...
Click here to read the complete interview. You'll need to flip through the magazine to pages 51-57, but it's well-worth the effort. Enjoy!
July 6, 2018
Do You Have a Story to Tell?
Have life events left indelible marks? Do you feel the urge to examine and voice those experiences? What's holding you back?
Memoir is important to me - writing about memory, writing about memoir writing, writing about reading memoir. Most recently I posted a piece I prepared for a Seattle coffee shop reading:
Memoir and Why I Do It
. It makes sense then, that when Andrea Murray interviewed me for her blog, my thoughts turned toward memoir.
On Facebook, Andrea writes: Join Arleen as she talks about facing her fears, not asking for permission, and keeping the ideas flowing.Please click here to read the interview.
Memoir is important to me - writing about memory, writing about memoir writing, writing about reading memoir. Most recently I posted a piece I prepared for a Seattle coffee shop reading:
Memoir and Why I Do It
. It makes sense then, that when Andrea Murray interviewed me for her blog, my thoughts turned toward memoir. On Facebook, Andrea writes: Join Arleen as she talks about facing her fears, not asking for permission, and keeping the ideas flowing.Please click here to read the interview.
June 27, 2018
Memoir & Why I Do It
Here in West Seattle we have a wonderful spot called C & P Coffee Company. In this welcoming environment, PoetryBridge hosts monthly events with featured readers and a community mic organized by Leopoldo Seguel. More recently, Leopoldo has launched PoetryBridge Times. I am grateful to him for publishing this piece and happy to share it with you.
A while back, I was driving home to Seattle from eastern Washington with my sisters. I sat in the back seat. As we drove over Snoqualmie Pass and started the descent into the Puget Sound lowlands, I noticed two police vehicles parked in an open area, perhaps a weigh station parking lot, to the north of the highway. One was an SUV, the other a sedan. Both were black. They were parked head-to-head with the drivers’ windows aligned. The SUV was on the highway side, almost blocking the view of the sedan.
“Looks like that’s where the cops take a break,” I said.
“But there’s no donut shop around,” said my sister, the one riding shotgun.
We laughed and thought nothing more of it.
Five minutes down the road, a police SUV passed on our left. A moment later they’d pulled someone over.
“Where’d that guy come from?” I wondered.
“Same one we just saw,” my sister said.
“No way. The parked cars were black. That one’s white.”
“No,” my sister said. “It’s the same white SUV.”
So what happened? The paint color of the cop cars obviously hadn’t changed, so one of us had to be wrong. Was it her or me? Was the white SUV the same vehicle we’d seen parked or another? Was it possible that when we joked about donuts, my sister and I were actually looking at different cars? Read more...
A while back, I was driving home to Seattle from eastern Washington with my sisters. I sat in the back seat. As we drove over Snoqualmie Pass and started the descent into the Puget Sound lowlands, I noticed two police vehicles parked in an open area, perhaps a weigh station parking lot, to the north of the highway. One was an SUV, the other a sedan. Both were black. They were parked head-to-head with the drivers’ windows aligned. The SUV was on the highway side, almost blocking the view of the sedan.“Looks like that’s where the cops take a break,” I said.
“But there’s no donut shop around,” said my sister, the one riding shotgun.
We laughed and thought nothing more of it.
Five minutes down the road, a police SUV passed on our left. A moment later they’d pulled someone over.
“Where’d that guy come from?” I wondered.
“Same one we just saw,” my sister said.
“No way. The parked cars were black. That one’s white.”
“No,” my sister said. “It’s the same white SUV.”
So what happened? The paint color of the cop cars obviously hadn’t changed, so one of us had to be wrong. Was it her or me? Was the white SUV the same vehicle we’d seen parked or another? Was it possible that when we joked about donuts, my sister and I were actually looking at different cars? Read more...
June 13, 2018
Poison Apples?
Perhaps all mothers of daughters possess a secret talking mirror that announces when their young womanhood begins to fade and their daughters’ begin to blossom. As in the fairy tale, the experience can unleash a lacerating jealousy in some mothers, which turns up like poison apples on the daughter’s doorstep. It can also usher in fears that I would’ve sworn I’d never have. Of invisibility, anonymity, irrelevance. And deeper down, fears of decline and death.Traveling with Pomegranates: A Mother-Daughter Story by Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor
My four sisters and I gather four times a year – winter, spring, summer, fall – to celebrate our birthdays. Sometimes we meet in a restaurant, other times in one of our homes. I am hosting a late summer celebration of two landmark birthdays this year. My eldest sister will be turning seventy. My youngest is hitting sixty. Six years younger than the eldest and four years older than the youngest, I am close to the middle marker, slowly edging toward Medicare.
When I read Sue Monk Kidd’s thoughts and fears on aging written on the cusp of her fifties, I realized how unaware I had been of those feelings a decade ago. Late in coming though they have been, I am very aware of them now, over a decade later. Still a late bloomer perhaps?
I don’t believe I have left any poison apples on my daughter’s doorstep, but I certainly have felt the tentacles of ageism Sue Monk Kidd names: invisibility, anonymity and irrelevance. And while I can say, at least now, at least at this moment, that I do not fear death, decline terrifies me. I face decline on a daily basis. I face it in my need to stretch each morning in order to abate the deep muscle ache that will otherwise pester throughout the day. I face it in my inability to hike or cycle or garden with the energy and enthusiasm of only a few years ago. I face it in the mirror’s reflection.
Facing age – the havoc wreaked on body and mind – with grace and dignity is a challenge. Still, it is a challenge I’m eager to take on with all the energy I can muster. Better that than the alternative, right?
In my mind, birthdays are a time to embrace life. Each passing year and each coming year merits celebration. I often quip that I believe in week-long, no month-long birthdays. A single day simply isn’t enough. As I plan the celebration for my eldest and youngest sisters, I wish for something more than a simple afternoon of delicious food, cold wine, and warm conversation in the garden, but it must suffice. We will brush away invisibility, anonymity and irrelevance, we will share an afternoon together, and it will be enough.
My four sisters and I gather four times a year – winter, spring, summer, fall – to celebrate our birthdays. Sometimes we meet in a restaurant, other times in one of our homes. I am hosting a late summer celebration of two landmark birthdays this year. My eldest sister will be turning seventy. My youngest is hitting sixty. Six years younger than the eldest and four years older than the youngest, I am close to the middle marker, slowly edging toward Medicare.
When I read Sue Monk Kidd’s thoughts and fears on aging written on the cusp of her fifties, I realized how unaware I had been of those feelings a decade ago. Late in coming though they have been, I am very aware of them now, over a decade later. Still a late bloomer perhaps?
I don’t believe I have left any poison apples on my daughter’s doorstep, but I certainly have felt the tentacles of ageism Sue Monk Kidd names: invisibility, anonymity and irrelevance. And while I can say, at least now, at least at this moment, that I do not fear death, decline terrifies me. I face decline on a daily basis. I face it in my need to stretch each morning in order to abate the deep muscle ache that will otherwise pester throughout the day. I face it in my inability to hike or cycle or garden with the energy and enthusiasm of only a few years ago. I face it in the mirror’s reflection.
Facing age – the havoc wreaked on body and mind – with grace and dignity is a challenge. Still, it is a challenge I’m eager to take on with all the energy I can muster. Better that than the alternative, right?
In my mind, birthdays are a time to embrace life. Each passing year and each coming year merits celebration. I often quip that I believe in week-long, no month-long birthdays. A single day simply isn’t enough. As I plan the celebration for my eldest and youngest sisters, I wish for something more than a simple afternoon of delicious food, cold wine, and warm conversation in the garden, but it must suffice. We will brush away invisibility, anonymity and irrelevance, we will share an afternoon together, and it will be enough.
