Baxter Clare Trautman's Blog, page 2

Act For, Not Against

Since November I’ve been going to a lot of rallies, marches, and protests. Most have been peaceful. But being there is an action, usually a reaction to politics, policies, or persons. By its nature, an action can’t help but create some another action, a re-action. Heather Heyer fatally proved that in Charlottesville. Her death makes it even more important to stand for what I want, to continue to fight for what I love. What the kid in the car reminded me was that this can be dangerous, that for every action there is a reaction.

I’m aware of this when I show up at a rally. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I didn’t defend my country in a uniform but I can at least defend it with a sign and my time. What I must remember at each event is that I am there to support what I love, not fight what I’m against. A subtle distinction to be sure, just that one stance comes from love, the other from hate. I must remember I’m there for what I love – this big, broad, multi-colored democracy we call America. I’m not there against hate, bigotry, exclusion, and ignorance.

There are always counter-protestors at these events, sometimes nothing more than a swastika-clad man grinning on the sidewalk. Do I give him the finger and call him names, or do I blow him a kiss and tell him how sorry I am he’s in such pain? (Because, really, can you imagine being so desperate, so scared and angry that your only option is to find comfort in being a Nazi?)

If I shoot him a bird instead of a kiss, he wins. My anger will incite his. And it will escalate. Anger is its own fuel. The instant he’s baited me into a response, I’m his. He’s played me and I let him. I may as well have torn open my chest and handed over my heart.

We’re so passionate about we love that it’s hard not to react. But someone has to stay on the high road, to be able to see clearly enough to steer the ship where we want it to go. It’s as simple and difficult as Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat. She sat on the bus for what she wanted. I challenge each of us to stand in the streets for what we love. To act for Heather, not against all the sad souls already in their own private hells.

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Tell Me, Dear Reader…

My wife mentions a blog this morning and it gets me to thinking it’s been a long time  since I’ve written one. Then I get an email from Bywater Books announcing the blog hop I agreed to participate in has begun. Oka-ay, guess I know what I’m doing today.

First, though, a question to the reader – dear blog reader, tell me what you want to know. What are you looking for when you take the time to visit a blog and read it? You who have so little time, yet choose to spend it with me, what can I do for you? How can I (choose all that apply) entertain, inform, inspire, edify? What humble crumbs might I offer?

Entertain, is it? How about news that my wife and I are living through an El Niño winter in a 1988 travel trailer with no shower, two large dogs and a big, fat cat.

(Yes, there is an orange cat behind the dog but Tim has sadly gone on to his next incarnation. We look forward to having him back soon. Maybe he will return as a mischievous kitten when we get our new home.)

Since Thanksgiving we’ve been thinking that our house being rebuilt after the fire will be done “in a week or two.” Naiveté or critical wishful thinking, I’m not sure. But really, I’m pretty sure it’ll be done soon, a week or two. Definitely by Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s Day…

Information you want? I went off on a long-weekend retreat in January and started a new book – whoa, easy Franco fans. Sorry, not her yet. She’s still stewing in the mountains. This new, fragile love is non-fiction – part memoir, part natural history. A grown-up Spirit of the Valley, set in the ubiquitous California chaparral instead of an oak savannah.

What if it’s inspiration you seek? What little can I impart? I’ll tell you what works for me. When I wake up I am warm, dry and (usually) not in pain. A lot of people can’t say that, and my first thought every morning is, good God, how lucky am I? Take stock of the little blessings you overlook – cereal and a cupboard to keep it in; hands that automatically do your bidding (yesterday I watched a homeless, armless guy trying to drink a cup of hot chocolate); the simple, unequivocal love of a cat, dog or houseplant. (Don’t believe me about the plant? Concentrate hateful thoughts on it for a month and see what happens.)

Edification is a little harder. What to teach or instruct, and can I even? I hope so. I’ve been asked to lead two LGBT workshops for the 2016 Central Coast Writer’s Conference. (More details to follow. ) What can I impart other than the most basic and crucial tasks of any writer- dream; read what you admire; tell the truth; and damn it, just sit down and write. That’s probably the hardest work right there – getting your big/fat or little/skinny butt in a chair and typing away. Go to town! Have fun. Go wild! Go crazy! No one’s watching. Or should be at this point. The start of a project is exclusively for you and your dreams. Later, so much later, after you’ve got all those dreams, or much of them, spelled out in 12-point Garamond, then you can start sharing and bravely inviting critique. But the most important of the journey, is just starting.

I didn’t know what I was going to blog about this morning, but I opened my laptop and took the first step. Here is where it’s led us. And dear reader, we’ve so many more steps to take together. Where would you like to go next?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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On Losing and Loving

Was it Hemingway that said, “All love ends in death”? I read that somewhere as a young woman. I’d never thought of it like that but it’s true. I have friends who won’t get another partner, or more pets, because they will just lose them. They are so ruled by their fear that they are not living fully. Here physically, but not with their hearts.  (Maybe that explains our cultural attraction for zombies – many of us can relate to them on a subtle level.) We are one way or another going to lose everyone and everything we love. That’s a fact as unavoidable as a sunset. And it will hurt, oh god it will hurt. And your heart will break and you will wonder how you can draw your next breathe. But you will, most of us will. Because at the end of the day, we want to live, we want it so much. We love life and most of us will choose it, over and over, again and again, until we no longer can, at least in corporeal form. Love is more masterful than fear, more overpowering than sorrow. Yes, we will all have times when we bow to despair. It is needed and necessary to honor the depth of our love. The deeper the grief, the greater the love. So cry for all our dying friends and newly departed. Cry for those long gone but fresh remembered cialis prix. Cry hard and deep and true. After your tears are spent, and it may take a long while, go out and watch a sunrise or moonset. Listen to a sparrow or wind in the leaves. Let yourself fall in love with the world again, because life is going on, with or without you. Will you spend this, your one wild sliver of earthbound time, running from fear or racing to love?

 

 

 

 

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Win “Hold of the Bone”

Get on over to Goodreads to win a copy of Hold of the Bone. Contest is going on through July. Hurry! Don’t wait!

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Cate Culpepper’s “River Walker”

This review was originally published in Alexandra Wolfe’s sadly defunct Kissed By Venus magazine. I’m reposting to encourage everyone attending the Golden Crown Literary Society Conference to read this for the Con’s book club reading of River Walker. See you there.

Half way through River Walker I put it down and said , “Damn. I wish I’d written this!”

There. Having confessed my envy I can proceed clean of heart. River Walker deserves no less.

Cultural anthropologist Grady Wrenn relocates from the Pacific Northwest to a little town in New Mexico and straight into a murder spree. Locals blame the killings on “La Llorana”, the legendary ghost that haunts the banks of the Rio Grande, and they accuse Elena Montalvo, the town’s healer, or curandera of aiding the accursed spirit.

Enthralled with the story of La Llorona, Grady’s anthropology students take on the legend for their summer project. What better place to start their research than with the local curandera, smoothing the way for a charming relationship between Elena and “Professor Gringa”.

Though the women are attracted to each other, and approach the attraction each with their own set of matching baggage, the enchantment of the romance lies in how they take the time to feel each other out. They get irritated with each other, then make up, they squabble and are recharmed, just like in real life. There’s a lovely ebb and flow to their courtship, a dance refreshingly healthy and mature. Of itself, River Walker is a delightful romance.

But wait, there’s more. Throw in the cyclic killings of abusive men and you have a tight little mystery. Culpepper has the perfect touch with the murders. They are grave but not gruesome, and are never frivolous or secondary to the story. Indeed, Elena’s life is at stake as the murders increase and the angry townspeople seek a scapegoat.

But wait. There’s yet more. As if a sweet romance and intriguing murder mystery aren’t enough, Culpepper throws in a good, old-fashioned ghost story as Elena, Grady, and her students, all encounter the legendary “river walker” of the Rio Grande.

I have to admit, Culpepper almost lost me in the first chapter. The novel opens with Grady insomniacally prowling a moonlit bank of the Rio Grande, where she not only hears the marrow-leaching cry of La Llorona but sees the nubile young Elena rising naked from a rock in the middle of the river.

Oh great, I thought. Here we go. This is going to be ridiculous. In less talented hands it might have been, but Culpepper gives an implausible series of events a very realistic explanation. She does so throughout the novel, with none of the deux ex machina gimmicks that would be so easy to fall back on in such a story (assuming of course, that one allows for the possibility of ghosts, unseen beings, and things that go inexplicably bump in the night).

Romance, mystery, and ghost story – Culpepper does it all. But ultimately River Walker is a story of faith and grace. The novel’s core is Elena’s relationship and commitment to her god and Grady’s subsequent willingness to trust life, approaching it from her heart rather than her head. While the story is told from Grady’s point of view, Elena’s prayers appear consistently throughout the novel, adding delightful insight into this deeply devout woman’s point of view. Culpepper fashions very down to earth characters, folks I would like to sit down and have a cuppa with. From Grady’s naive grad students to Elena’s quarrelsome mother, each character lends weight to the story. With her deft hand, Culpepper gives just enough academic and professional details to make each character authentic but never enough to bore. Like the ghostly La Llorona, Grady and Elena steadfastly walk the river, each following the path of her faith.

 

 

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Soundtrack “Hold of the Bone”

Every book I’ve written unfolds in my head like a movie, and each has a unique soundtrack. The River Within had scenes set in Afghanistan and Iraq so it was written mostly to middle eastern music. Each Franco novel had its own soundtrack. I kept the albums on a list but lost it when the house burned down. Fortunately, I created the Hold of the Bone soundtrack on i-Tunes and still have it. The songs were gleaned from Pandora stations featuring R. Carlos Nakai, Chopin, and Bach’s cello music. It’s an eclectic mix of genres but each fits perfectly with the books darkly haunting theme.

El Caminante (The Traveller)  Douglas Riva, on Granados: Sentimental Waltzes, 6 Expressive Studies – Classical – this was probably the most pivotal piece of music at the start of writing Hold. That questioning, repetitive piano theme tied in perfectly with Frank’s mysterious, repetitive visions and with my questions about where the story was going and how.

Shaman’s Call  Katalize, on Tribe – Journey Through the Spirit – New Age – this epitomizes how Frank feels on the ranch, like her spirit is soaring, like she is alive for the first time, in a completely new and unknown way. She doesn’t understand why the mountains make her feel this way, but she needs that aliveness, begins to crave it.

Beethoven Piano Sonata No. 14 in C sharp minor Op. 27/2 (Moonlight Sonata)  Jenő Jandó, on The Very Best of Beethoven – Classical – love this for the scene when she is looking out the cabin window at the storm ravaged moon….

Perfect Neglect in a Field of Statues  Eluvium, on An Accidental Memory In the Case of Death – Rock – a sense of urgency and quest to the music, perfect for her anxious flight from the city into the wilderness she is afraid of yet longs for.

Theme from Casualties of War  Ennio Morricone, on 50 Years of Music (92 Original Scores Recorded By Ennio Morricone in Concert) – Soundtrack –  A sweet interlude, underscoring loss, the past, all that is left behind.

Once Around the Park Paul Bley, on Fragments – Jazz – couldn’t find a link to this, which was okay. It was on the Hold playlist but never as instrumental (haha!) as El Caminante or Shaman’s Call.

The Approaching Night  Philip Wesley, on Dark Night of the Soul – New Age – echoes El Caminante with it’s tinkling, probing refrain. Softer, though, not as insistent. Frank is softening, relaxing into her mysterious connection to Sal and the mountains. She’s learning to trust herself.

Dusk and Void Become Alive   Die Verbannten Kinder Evas, on Dusk and Void Became Alive – Metal – dark, strong music nearing the book’s end, as Frank begins to accept her inextricable, inevitable ties to the land.

 

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“It ain’t real until I can crush it,”

as the guy told his co-worker dreaming about the can of Coors he was going to have after work. Ebooks are well and good, and have their place, but until I can feel, smell, and yes, crush it, it ain’t real. Today, thanks to the USPO and all the good folks at Bywater Books, Hold of the Bone is REAL.!!

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Crossing the Line over at Women & Words

In case you missed it, the divine ladies at Women & Words allowed me to guest blog in honor of the latest L.A. Franco release. Pop on over and see what’s going on with me, Frank, and Hold of the Bone. It’s some good weird stuff!

 

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The story behind “The Price of Salt”

Interesting post from The Guardian about the origins of this early classic novel of “forbidden love.”

http://bit.ly/1QQcT9j

 

 

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By Lowly Listening

I could have gone to work today, but wisely and sanely, did not. Instead, another day in bed, surrounded by books, dogs, and cats. I sit, as Emerson would say, “lowly listening”. I found that quote in Phyllis Theroux’s charming The Journal Keeper.

“There is guidance for each of us, and by lowly listening we shall hear the right word.”

That, followed by this excerpt from Sue Monk Kidd’s When The Heart Waits: “When you’re waiting, you’re not doing nothing. You’re doing the most important thing there is. You’re allowing your soul to grow up. If you can’t be still and wait, you can’t become what God created you to be.”

A week ago I hadn’t heard of either book. They were mentioned in something forgotten that I had been reading and I ordered them from the library. Of course the best thing about being married to a librarian is that she brings your requested books home for you, so I just happened to have them both around when I landed in bed for a couple days, waiting. Waiting to get better. Waiting to be patient with my symptoms. Waiting to learn what they could teach me. Waiting to hear from the “lowly listening” what I should be writing, if I should be writing.

And what I heard yesterday, sitting in the morning sun streaming through the dinette window, was this – “When what needs to be written is ready, it will come to you.” The words came to me over a bowl of cereal, not like God’s James Earl Jones voice, but more as italics in my head.

I nodded, and got a little teary with relief. I don’t have to worry anymore, wondering if I should be starting the Hold of the Bone sequel, or picking up the WWII novel destroyed in the fire, or a follow up to The River Within, or maybe a memoir about this amazing last year, or something I haven’t even thought of yet. Yeah, you see how crazy it gets up in there? But it’s quiet now. And I trust that when what needs to be written is ready, it will come. For now I wait.

 

 

 

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