Judy Alter's Blog, page 327
March 8, 2012
Bummer of a day
Bummer all around--or mostly. I went to a "Meet and Greet" at an upscale, high-rise retirement community this morning to meet women who might be interested in my memoir class, but someone had dropped the ball. The energetic, enthusiastic woman who had contacted me and set this up is out on medical leave, and somehow no one else picked it up. Nada. Not one person. So I came home. But I had dressed and gone up there--an hour out of my day that I could have put to better use. Only good was that I visited with my longtime friend, Margie, who now lives there but even that wasn't good. She told me her husband has some new, potentially severe blood disorder--no energy, etc.
When I came home about eleven, it was steamy hot--I opened the car windows. About an hour later, Jordan called to ask if I had a spare jacket for Jacob. A norther had blown in with the suddenness that happens in Texas and dropped the temperature thirty degrees. Darn cold and damp to boot. It rained but had quit by the time I went to get Jacob. I took one of my down vests which he flatly refused to put on until his teacher asked him if he wanted to miss spring break. At last, reluctantly, he wrapped it around himself for the short walk home.
Linda, who always eats dinner with me before memoir class, bailed today because she didn't feel well and all that rain was predicted (she has an hour drive to get here), so that was another disappointment. I had bacon and eggs for supper instead of the anticipated meatloaf at the Grill, but then someone brought chicken salad and pimiento cheese finger sandwiches to class and I made an absolute pig of myself.
Memoir class is always rewarding--tonight three people presented memories of their childhoods and did a terrific job of evoking time and place. We could smell, hear, see,and feel the places they described, especially a lakefront cabin on Lake Michigan. I grew up with such a cabin, and Mary Margaret's piece tonight made me most nostalgic. Some really good writing comes out of these women, and I am amazed and gratified. We talked a lot about description--how much is too much? General consensus: description draws us in as readers. When we stood in our circle to close the session and said one word about how we felt, mine was enriched. You know what? Maybe it wasn't such a bummer of a day after all.
Stay tuned, please, for blogs to come on the reprints I'm about to get posted as e-books--I'm excited-- and my thoughts on loss of hearing. Subjects that are rattling around in my brain.
When I came home about eleven, it was steamy hot--I opened the car windows. About an hour later, Jordan called to ask if I had a spare jacket for Jacob. A norther had blown in with the suddenness that happens in Texas and dropped the temperature thirty degrees. Darn cold and damp to boot. It rained but had quit by the time I went to get Jacob. I took one of my down vests which he flatly refused to put on until his teacher asked him if he wanted to miss spring break. At last, reluctantly, he wrapped it around himself for the short walk home.
Linda, who always eats dinner with me before memoir class, bailed today because she didn't feel well and all that rain was predicted (she has an hour drive to get here), so that was another disappointment. I had bacon and eggs for supper instead of the anticipated meatloaf at the Grill, but then someone brought chicken salad and pimiento cheese finger sandwiches to class and I made an absolute pig of myself.
Memoir class is always rewarding--tonight three people presented memories of their childhoods and did a terrific job of evoking time and place. We could smell, hear, see,and feel the places they described, especially a lakefront cabin on Lake Michigan. I grew up with such a cabin, and Mary Margaret's piece tonight made me most nostalgic. Some really good writing comes out of these women, and I am amazed and gratified. We talked a lot about description--how much is too much? General consensus: description draws us in as readers. When we stood in our circle to close the session and said one word about how we felt, mine was enriched. You know what? Maybe it wasn't such a bummer of a day after all.
Stay tuned, please, for blogs to come on the reprints I'm about to get posted as e-books--I'm excited-- and my thoughts on loss of hearing. Subjects that are rattling around in my brain.
March 6, 2012
Not much
I thought I wouldn't post tonight. Buried in a set of galleys, nose to the grindstone, and no deep thoughts nor exciting events to report. But I decided I needed a break. Started the day at the Volkswagen dealership where they ordered a part so I have to go back Friday--double drat. They also told me I had two nails in my right rear tire--but the tire place they sent me to was really fast and reasonable. VW told me ten minutes, and that's what those tire people did. Lunch full of laughter with Dick Hoban and his daughter and one of her co-workers at the zoo.
Tonight had my second meal in two days at The Woodshed--and loved it. A beet and ricotta salad--ricotta was too bland for these smoky sharp beets. They deserved goat cheese, but it was still great. Then the animal of the day was lamb--the most tender, flavorful I've had in forever.
But of course the day got interesting with a special news report on Super Tuesday. The Republican race continues to amaze--and leaves me, for one, breathless wondering who will eventually win. I cannot imagine the Repubican party with Rick Santorum as their frontispiece. It strikes me that John Boehner has been very very quiet lately--and for a while he was all over TV screens. Of course the outcry about Rush Limbaugh goes on but the point has already been made, and those that still call for denouncing him are simply coming late to the party. There are, as I've said, many things that I waited late in life to learn and wish I'd learned much earlier--add an interest in politics to that list. Though this year it's like watching a carnival. Funny, if the future of the country weren't at stake.
Tomorrow another early day--dentist at 8:30! But for today, that's it. I repeat, no deep thoughts, no great adventures.
Now I'll happily go back to proofing galleys of my 1994 novel, Libbie--a fictional biography of Elizabeth Custer. Look for more about that later.
Tonight had my second meal in two days at The Woodshed--and loved it. A beet and ricotta salad--ricotta was too bland for these smoky sharp beets. They deserved goat cheese, but it was still great. Then the animal of the day was lamb--the most tender, flavorful I've had in forever.
But of course the day got interesting with a special news report on Super Tuesday. The Republican race continues to amaze--and leaves me, for one, breathless wondering who will eventually win. I cannot imagine the Repubican party with Rick Santorum as their frontispiece. It strikes me that John Boehner has been very very quiet lately--and for a while he was all over TV screens. Of course the outcry about Rush Limbaugh goes on but the point has already been made, and those that still call for denouncing him are simply coming late to the party. There are, as I've said, many things that I waited late in life to learn and wish I'd learned much earlier--add an interest in politics to that list. Though this year it's like watching a carnival. Funny, if the future of the country weren't at stake.
Tomorrow another early day--dentist at 8:30! But for today, that's it. I repeat, no deep thoughts, no great adventures.
Now I'll happily go back to proofing galleys of my 1994 novel, Libbie--a fictional biography of Elizabeth Custer. Look for more about that later.
March 5, 2012
Who--or What--Are You? And Do You Re-Read Books/
We seem to be fascinated these days with classifying people--and heaven knows, there are any number of ways to classify them. Here are the classes into which I clearly fit: senior citizen, woman, liberal, Protestant. Therein if you're into statistics, you can tell a lot about me from how I'll vote in November to how I feel about Rush Limbaugh--don't ask.
But there are other, less clearly defined ways of looking at people, and some of them are amusing. There's been some buzz on the internet lately about introverts and extroverts--my daughter-in-law wrote about that on Raggedy Madness and announced she's an introvert though capable of being as social as the next one when the situation calls for it. I've read several pieces about this inborn disposition and have decided I'm an ambivert--dead square in the middle. My favorite place to be, admittedly, is at my desk in a quiet, empty house, probably with a dog asleep at my feet (ah, I'm in heaven right now for that's the situation). But give me, say, a week of evenings alone at my desk, and I am irritable, bored, lonely, cross--name a negative and I'll claim it. I love to have my house full of people, my favorites being of course my children and grandchildren. But there are a lot of friends I like to have come join me for supper, a visit, whatever. Fill my house with people--or take me whirling off to parties and dinner with friends and meetings--for five days, and I long for the solitude of my house and my office and the undemanding company of my dogs. I'm not happy for any length of time as an introvert or an extrovert, so I clearly define myself as an ambivert.
Yet another classification has come to my attention in the last couple of days. I've talked here before about authors who are plotters (everything carefully plotted out before they write that first sentence) and pantsers (those who write that first sentence, and let the muse loose to see where it will carry them). Now someone on a mystery listerv has raised the question of whether or not pantsers ever re-read books or watch a movie twice. I'm not sure I see the exact correlation but apparently the thought was that if you're a free enough spirit to be a pantser, you must be bored with planning and knowing ahead and you won't want to read a book twice. The theory is getting shot down because lots who consider themselves pantsers write about the books they read annually, or those they love to go back to occasionally. I've got to admit not only to being a pantser but to almost never re-reading a book. Nothing makes me more distressed than to come home from the bookstore (or download from Kindle now) in anticipation of an evening of cozy reading only to find after five pages I've already read the thing. One of the wonders of the Kindle program--and probably other digital programs--is that you can preview twenty pages of a book. If you don't know by then if you've read it, you might just as well give up and read it again.
What about you? Do you re-read books? Think it makes you an ambivert?
But there are other, less clearly defined ways of looking at people, and some of them are amusing. There's been some buzz on the internet lately about introverts and extroverts--my daughter-in-law wrote about that on Raggedy Madness and announced she's an introvert though capable of being as social as the next one when the situation calls for it. I've read several pieces about this inborn disposition and have decided I'm an ambivert--dead square in the middle. My favorite place to be, admittedly, is at my desk in a quiet, empty house, probably with a dog asleep at my feet (ah, I'm in heaven right now for that's the situation). But give me, say, a week of evenings alone at my desk, and I am irritable, bored, lonely, cross--name a negative and I'll claim it. I love to have my house full of people, my favorites being of course my children and grandchildren. But there are a lot of friends I like to have come join me for supper, a visit, whatever. Fill my house with people--or take me whirling off to parties and dinner with friends and meetings--for five days, and I long for the solitude of my house and my office and the undemanding company of my dogs. I'm not happy for any length of time as an introvert or an extrovert, so I clearly define myself as an ambivert.
Yet another classification has come to my attention in the last couple of days. I've talked here before about authors who are plotters (everything carefully plotted out before they write that first sentence) and pantsers (those who write that first sentence, and let the muse loose to see where it will carry them). Now someone on a mystery listerv has raised the question of whether or not pantsers ever re-read books or watch a movie twice. I'm not sure I see the exact correlation but apparently the thought was that if you're a free enough spirit to be a pantser, you must be bored with planning and knowing ahead and you won't want to read a book twice. The theory is getting shot down because lots who consider themselves pantsers write about the books they read annually, or those they love to go back to occasionally. I've got to admit not only to being a pantser but to almost never re-reading a book. Nothing makes me more distressed than to come home from the bookstore (or download from Kindle now) in anticipation of an evening of cozy reading only to find after five pages I've already read the thing. One of the wonders of the Kindle program--and probably other digital programs--is that you can preview twenty pages of a book. If you don't know by then if you've read it, you might just as well give up and read it again.
What about you? Do you re-read books? Think it makes you an ambivert?
March 4, 2012
Daughters and teachers--and who's in charge of the schoolroom?
Across the nation, the educational crisis is a major concern, though I'm not certain how to define this crisis. But here in Texas, where the crisis is very real, it has to do with major budget cuts, teacher layoffs, and teacher fatigue/burnout/whatever you want to call it. In Fort Worth, the ISD is offering early buy-outs to teachers, which is good in that it avoids layoffs--but wait, we need more teachers, not fewer!
I have now seen the Texas educational crisis up close and personal when I was in Houston last week. My daughter-in-law, Lisa, teaches math and science in a Houston-area school district where, as she delicately puts it, the kids aren't real interested in learning. Lisa is a creative teacher, recipient of several honors. She is full of ideas, new ways to make learning a challenge kids want to accept. For instance, she went with her own daughter on a school field trip one day last week and came home saying what a great classroom the outdoors would make. You could teach kids about ecology and environmental issues, weather, insect and animal life, geography and geometry. Her mind was busy.
But Lisa comes home every night head-in-her-hands exhausted. Some days it is after six before she's home, and she's in bed by 8:30 or 9:00, totally worn out. She's out the door by 7:30 in the morning. One day she said to me, "Those kids just wear me out." She's aware that her exhuastion is not fair to her husband, my son, or to her two children, ages seven and almost five. She doesn't want to come in the door, crabby and short with everyone, no time for fun. Yet some nights she can't help herself. I said something tentative about needing a life out of school, and she agreed, said she had resolved to do only what had to be done at school. And she did tell me that she and her daughter, Morgan, spent yesterday gardening together--preparing beds, going to the nursery, planting. A great day for mother and child--but probably too rare. Lisa knew she had a stack of projects waiting to be graded. Her students were clamoring for their grades.
Lisa is also fortunate in her choice of husbands, not just because he's my son but because he's a patient, helpful guy. He does the dinner dishes--albeit not till morning, which drives me crazy. But Lisa simply puts her dish on the counter and walks away. He often does laundry, and putting the kids down for the night is a cooperative project. Lisa freely admits she doesn't know how teachers do it without someone helpful like Colin.
How long will Lisa continue to teach? I have no idea. Right now she still loves her work, but the day may come when she throws her hands up in the air and gives up. We'll all be the losers if that happens.
She's been talking a lot about education to my other daughter-in-law, Melanie, who is upset at the slim attention paid to the gifted and talented program in her youngest daughter's school. Her oldest daughter--my oldest grandchild, brag, brag--is an outstanding athlete and gets all kinds of support from the system, from equipment to extra time. The youngest gets 90 minutes a week out of the regular classroom. (See Raggedy Madness, "Fast Food Education Nation," ,http://raggedymadness.com/2012/02/28/141/ ) Melanie and Lisa have been designing the ideal school they'd run. I wsh it could be more than a pipe dream for both of them.
Thomas Jefferson wrote, "Above all things I hope the education of the common people will be attended to ; convinced that on their good sense we may rely with the most security for the preservation of a due degree of liberty." We seem to have lost track of the importance of education in this country, and I f ind it scary. When the politicians, not educators, make policy decisions (including textbook choices), when the easiest budget to cut is education, when a politician calls a liberal education a threat to the country, when we pay our sports hero but not our thinkers and teachers, we are in great trouble. I hope my two daughers can make a difference, but they need help, folks.
I have now seen the Texas educational crisis up close and personal when I was in Houston last week. My daughter-in-law, Lisa, teaches math and science in a Houston-area school district where, as she delicately puts it, the kids aren't real interested in learning. Lisa is a creative teacher, recipient of several honors. She is full of ideas, new ways to make learning a challenge kids want to accept. For instance, she went with her own daughter on a school field trip one day last week and came home saying what a great classroom the outdoors would make. You could teach kids about ecology and environmental issues, weather, insect and animal life, geography and geometry. Her mind was busy.
But Lisa comes home every night head-in-her-hands exhausted. Some days it is after six before she's home, and she's in bed by 8:30 or 9:00, totally worn out. She's out the door by 7:30 in the morning. One day she said to me, "Those kids just wear me out." She's aware that her exhuastion is not fair to her husband, my son, or to her two children, ages seven and almost five. She doesn't want to come in the door, crabby and short with everyone, no time for fun. Yet some nights she can't help herself. I said something tentative about needing a life out of school, and she agreed, said she had resolved to do only what had to be done at school. And she did tell me that she and her daughter, Morgan, spent yesterday gardening together--preparing beds, going to the nursery, planting. A great day for mother and child--but probably too rare. Lisa knew she had a stack of projects waiting to be graded. Her students were clamoring for their grades.
Lisa is also fortunate in her choice of husbands, not just because he's my son but because he's a patient, helpful guy. He does the dinner dishes--albeit not till morning, which drives me crazy. But Lisa simply puts her dish on the counter and walks away. He often does laundry, and putting the kids down for the night is a cooperative project. Lisa freely admits she doesn't know how teachers do it without someone helpful like Colin.
How long will Lisa continue to teach? I have no idea. Right now she still loves her work, but the day may come when she throws her hands up in the air and gives up. We'll all be the losers if that happens.
She's been talking a lot about education to my other daughter-in-law, Melanie, who is upset at the slim attention paid to the gifted and talented program in her youngest daughter's school. Her oldest daughter--my oldest grandchild, brag, brag--is an outstanding athlete and gets all kinds of support from the system, from equipment to extra time. The youngest gets 90 minutes a week out of the regular classroom. (See Raggedy Madness, "Fast Food Education Nation," ,http://raggedymadness.com/2012/02/28/141/ ) Melanie and Lisa have been designing the ideal school they'd run. I wsh it could be more than a pipe dream for both of them.
Thomas Jefferson wrote, "Above all things I hope the education of the common people will be attended to ; convinced that on their good sense we may rely with the most security for the preservation of a due degree of liberty." We seem to have lost track of the importance of education in this country, and I f ind it scary. When the politicians, not educators, make policy decisions (including textbook choices), when the easiest budget to cut is education, when a politician calls a liberal education a threat to the country, when we pay our sports hero but not our thinkers and teachers, we are in great trouble. I hope my two daughers can make a difference, but they need help, folks.
March 3, 2012
A visit with family
I never blog beforehand when I'm going away. It strikes me as waving a banner that says, "Hey, my house is empty. Come on by," even though my house isn't totally empty. There are two dogs and the pet sitter is in and out. But in the last few days a few may have caught hints that I wasn't in my usual place.
I was in Houston with my oldest son, Colin, his wife, Lisa, and their two children--seven-year-old Morgan and four-and-a-half -year-old Kegan. I did all those grandmotherly things that I probably don't do enough with Jacob--I see him almost every day, and I rarely see these children. I think that made me more conscious of being an attentive grandparent. I went to gymnastics and a soccer game, and I listened to Morgan read her two short books every night. In truth I was impressed with her reading, though she has to work a bit on intonaton and expression:-) While they were at school and at work, I did a lot on my chili book, did my yoga each day, and was quite domestic--emptying and re-loading the dishwasher (the first time I emptied it and shelved unwashed dishes, so after that we had to clarify), made a pot of chili one night, two batches of brownies another day, not sure what all but one day it was noon before I got to my own work. Colin came home and asked, "You weren't bored?" and I assured him not. Colin is a controller for five golf courses and Lisa teaches 7th grade math, the children are in day care, and everyone is gone until 6:30 at night. And they're all in bed by 8:30--I had a two-hour visiting window.
These are children I don't see as much of and the little one has been really shy about hugging me--or allowing me to hug him. We broke that barrier this time, to my great joy, and both children clamored for my attention, hugged me goodnight, told me about their day. It was a delight. Lisa said tonight she thinks it's better when it's just me rather than all the family, and she's probably right. That doesn't happen often, but now I will have to make it happen more often with those children and with daughter Megan's Austin sons.
Colin took me from Kingwood--north of Houston where they live--one day to the Omni Galleria for a lunch with my former colleagues from A&M and associated presses. It was a real treat for me to see everyone and to show off my handsome son, though he expected a "luncheon" and got a box lunch. Good thing I convinced him he didn't have to wear a suit. Today, he hauled me and my baggage back down to the Omni. The baggage was much condensed because I didn't want to go into the hotel looking like the Joads had arrived. Still he took it up to the second floor, then down to the parking garage to stash in Melinda's car, and then came up to return her key and ask, "Are you okay now?" I rely on Colin, his steadfastness and his strength, a whole lot, poor boy. But I love him dearly.
Another delight of being out of my routine and element: for the first time in several weeks, I was able to pick up a book and lose myself in it. I'd saved Deborah Crombie's No Mark Upon Her for this trip, and I got a good start on it. Now, of course I don't want to do anything but read--and a few other things do call. But she is quite simply an exceptional writer. A Texan, she has the British lingo down pat, from car park for parking lot to the expletive "Sod him!" In this book, she ventures into the world of competitive rowing, with its own peculiar language and customs and does a triumphant job. I'm a great fan and love reading the book.
Now I'm back home, with dogs to feed and love, groceries to buy, errands to run, meals to cook--the whole nine yards. But I'll find time to keep reading.
And Morgan delighted me as I left today by asking, "Can we face time with you?" Of course she can, sweet thing. I'm feeling like a happy grandmother tonight.
I was in Houston with my oldest son, Colin, his wife, Lisa, and their two children--seven-year-old Morgan and four-and-a-half -year-old Kegan. I did all those grandmotherly things that I probably don't do enough with Jacob--I see him almost every day, and I rarely see these children. I think that made me more conscious of being an attentive grandparent. I went to gymnastics and a soccer game, and I listened to Morgan read her two short books every night. In truth I was impressed with her reading, though she has to work a bit on intonaton and expression:-) While they were at school and at work, I did a lot on my chili book, did my yoga each day, and was quite domestic--emptying and re-loading the dishwasher (the first time I emptied it and shelved unwashed dishes, so after that we had to clarify), made a pot of chili one night, two batches of brownies another day, not sure what all but one day it was noon before I got to my own work. Colin came home and asked, "You weren't bored?" and I assured him not. Colin is a controller for five golf courses and Lisa teaches 7th grade math, the children are in day care, and everyone is gone until 6:30 at night. And they're all in bed by 8:30--I had a two-hour visiting window.
These are children I don't see as much of and the little one has been really shy about hugging me--or allowing me to hug him. We broke that barrier this time, to my great joy, and both children clamored for my attention, hugged me goodnight, told me about their day. It was a delight. Lisa said tonight she thinks it's better when it's just me rather than all the family, and she's probably right. That doesn't happen often, but now I will have to make it happen more often with those children and with daughter Megan's Austin sons.
Colin took me from Kingwood--north of Houston where they live--one day to the Omni Galleria for a lunch with my former colleagues from A&M and associated presses. It was a real treat for me to see everyone and to show off my handsome son, though he expected a "luncheon" and got a box lunch. Good thing I convinced him he didn't have to wear a suit. Today, he hauled me and my baggage back down to the Omni. The baggage was much condensed because I didn't want to go into the hotel looking like the Joads had arrived. Still he took it up to the second floor, then down to the parking garage to stash in Melinda's car, and then came up to return her key and ask, "Are you okay now?" I rely on Colin, his steadfastness and his strength, a whole lot, poor boy. But I love him dearly.Another delight of being out of my routine and element: for the first time in several weeks, I was able to pick up a book and lose myself in it. I'd saved Deborah Crombie's No Mark Upon Her for this trip, and I got a good start on it. Now, of course I don't want to do anything but read--and a few other things do call. But she is quite simply an exceptional writer. A Texan, she has the British lingo down pat, from car park for parking lot to the expletive "Sod him!" In this book, she ventures into the world of competitive rowing, with its own peculiar language and customs and does a triumphant job. I'm a great fan and love reading the book.
Now I'm back home, with dogs to feed and love, groceries to buy, errands to run, meals to cook--the whole nine yards. But I'll find time to keep reading.
And Morgan delighted me as I left today by asking, "Can we face time with you?" Of course she can, sweet thing. I'm feeling like a happy grandmother tonight.
March 2, 2012
How Did I Get Here, Part 2
My talented, beautiful and intelligent daughter-n-law, Melanie (I have two daughters-in-law who fit that description, so I have to specify) wrote that she gave up two things she loved to do--writing and ballet--because she couldn't make a living at either.http://raggedymadness.com/2012/02/24/... Young, I had no such practical ideas. In college, I majored in English because I liked to read. A career? Pouf! I was a daughter of the fifties. Some man was going to marry me and take care of me, presumably while I read Silver Screen and ate bonbons. Soon I found myself with a Ph.D. in English and no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Oh, there was a man to take care of me, but that went awry after nearly twenty years.
I had always written, starting with short stories as a ten-year-old and progressing to stories of teen-age angst that Seventeen, that bible of young girls, rejected without hesitation. I found myself doing pr and editing a medical journal and an alumni newspaper--paste-up and all in the old days, though I'd had no journalism training. Once I had that Ph.D. and children and was a stay-at-home wife and mom, with a nanny thank-you-very-much, I settled down to write. There were literally days when I thought I'd write if I only knew what to write. Unlike some senior citizens who become successful authors almost by accident (See Radine Nehring's excellent post on the subject at http://madisonjohns11.wordpress.com/2012/03/01/im-a-late-bloomer-radine-trees-nehring/), I was always dead set on a career. I had banished that girl who wanted to read and eat bonbons.
Flash forward forty years. No blatant self promotion, but I have over sixty published books--fiction for adults, fiction for young adults, a lot of nonfiction for young readers, some miscellaneous titles such as a literary biography and a cookbook, and now mysteries. I also have some rather nice awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from Western Writers of America. I'm neither rich nor famous, but it's a respectable record for a writer. Still it was never enough. I wanted more. Once a woman who was my sister in spirit suggested I'd had as much success as I could expect and I ought to quit worrying about it--she was always forthright. But that wasn't my way.
I had as many rejections as acceptances--or more--over the years, and I have every author's stack of rejected manuscripts that will never go anywhere except to my archive at the Southwest Writers Collection at Texas State University-San Marcos. Bantam/Doubleday stayed with me for much of 1990s. amd several childrens' publishers and book packagers were steady clients in the late '90s and early in 2000 until the market changed, so they said. I never had a secure long-term publishing home with enough faith in me to work out a career plan..
Today my mystery career is off to a great start--the first Kelly O'Connell Mystery published, another due in April, another in August, the start of a second series in January, and a fourth as-yet unwritten and unscheduled Kelly O'Connell Mystery due in 2013. There's a lingering question in my mind about why I had to be in my seventies for this sudden roll I'm on, just as I wonder why I wasn't at thirty the woman I am now. My brother says he sees it as me re-inventing myself once again, which he believes I've done a few times before. He wanted credit for that statement, and I am glad to give it because I take it as a compliment. I think the capacity to re-invent yourself, if that's what I've done, comes with age and perhaps as a close friend suggested grace.
My new blooming career is thanks to Turquoise Morning Press. I'm a big believer in the small press movement that, along with self-publishing digitally, is changing the publishing world forever. But I doubt I would have been swept up in this movement thirty years ago. I wasn't ready, and neither was my writing. Almost certainly, retirement had something to do with this, freeing me to focus on my writing and also freeing me of a lot of stress. I'm also a fan of retirement, although all those years I would have told you I had the ideal job as director of a small academic press. And what I learned all those years on the "other side" of publishing stands me in good stead. Yet I'm a poster child for retirement, and a fan, if somewhat reluctantly, of aging. Just joined a Facebook page called Spunky Seniors--you gotta love it.
I had always written, starting with short stories as a ten-year-old and progressing to stories of teen-age angst that Seventeen, that bible of young girls, rejected without hesitation. I found myself doing pr and editing a medical journal and an alumni newspaper--paste-up and all in the old days, though I'd had no journalism training. Once I had that Ph.D. and children and was a stay-at-home wife and mom, with a nanny thank-you-very-much, I settled down to write. There were literally days when I thought I'd write if I only knew what to write. Unlike some senior citizens who become successful authors almost by accident (See Radine Nehring's excellent post on the subject at http://madisonjohns11.wordpress.com/2012/03/01/im-a-late-bloomer-radine-trees-nehring/), I was always dead set on a career. I had banished that girl who wanted to read and eat bonbons.
Flash forward forty years. No blatant self promotion, but I have over sixty published books--fiction for adults, fiction for young adults, a lot of nonfiction for young readers, some miscellaneous titles such as a literary biography and a cookbook, and now mysteries. I also have some rather nice awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from Western Writers of America. I'm neither rich nor famous, but it's a respectable record for a writer. Still it was never enough. I wanted more. Once a woman who was my sister in spirit suggested I'd had as much success as I could expect and I ought to quit worrying about it--she was always forthright. But that wasn't my way.
I had as many rejections as acceptances--or more--over the years, and I have every author's stack of rejected manuscripts that will never go anywhere except to my archive at the Southwest Writers Collection at Texas State University-San Marcos. Bantam/Doubleday stayed with me for much of 1990s. amd several childrens' publishers and book packagers were steady clients in the late '90s and early in 2000 until the market changed, so they said. I never had a secure long-term publishing home with enough faith in me to work out a career plan..
Today my mystery career is off to a great start--the first Kelly O'Connell Mystery published, another due in April, another in August, the start of a second series in January, and a fourth as-yet unwritten and unscheduled Kelly O'Connell Mystery due in 2013. There's a lingering question in my mind about why I had to be in my seventies for this sudden roll I'm on, just as I wonder why I wasn't at thirty the woman I am now. My brother says he sees it as me re-inventing myself once again, which he believes I've done a few times before. He wanted credit for that statement, and I am glad to give it because I take it as a compliment. I think the capacity to re-invent yourself, if that's what I've done, comes with age and perhaps as a close friend suggested grace.
My new blooming career is thanks to Turquoise Morning Press. I'm a big believer in the small press movement that, along with self-publishing digitally, is changing the publishing world forever. But I doubt I would have been swept up in this movement thirty years ago. I wasn't ready, and neither was my writing. Almost certainly, retirement had something to do with this, freeing me to focus on my writing and also freeing me of a lot of stress. I'm also a fan of retirement, although all those years I would have told you I had the ideal job as director of a small academic press. And what I learned all those years on the "other side" of publishing stands me in good stead. Yet I'm a poster child for retirement, and a fan, if somewhat reluctantly, of aging. Just joined a Facebook page called Spunky Seniors--you gotta love it.
February 29, 2012
How Did I Get Here?
Maybe it's last Sunday's sermon on transformaton (thank you Dr. Larry Thomas of University Christian Church, Fort Worth), but I am sort of hung up on how I got to be the person I am today, compared to the woman I was forty years ago. I had no sudden transformation, as the one Dr. Thomas described when a young black lawyer gave up his reluctance to work for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and his life was suddenly transformed. I think of my good friend Elizabeth, who just spent ten days or more at a yoga retreat in India--surely her life has been transformed--but then again, she's undergone a gradual transformation in the last seven or eight years. I think that's what mine has been--really, really gradual which may mean I'm a slow learner.
But the girl I was at thirty put up with and accepted a lot of things the woman I am today never would. Some of them have to do with issues from my marriage, when I am quite sure I was not the advocate for my chldren that I should have been. From swimming lessons to punishment issues to exposure to substance abuse, I failed to protect them and it is only dumb good luck that they themselves have turned out to be such good citizens and terrific parents--and still loving children. Yes, I gave them love, but in retrospect, that wasn't enough. We tell ourselves love conquers all but it doesn't--for one thing, it needs to be accompanied by security. I would do it differently if I could do it over as the person I am today.
What was different? I think I was scared, mostly of a future I couldn't see through the murk. I'm not sure how I've gotten what I now feel is a much clearer vision that lets me look ahead without fear, even with anticipation. I've found a strength I didn't know I had, never even suspected--and I think I've done it inch by painful inch.
I am also these days more passionate about causes, less insensitive to suffering and injustice in the world. The earlier me, like so many of us, accepted those things as the way of the world. What could I, as one person, do to change things? Today, probably to the dismay of some I love, I do believe I can help change things for what I believe is right. And, as I wrote last night, re-posting on Facebook is one of those ways--I don't just re-post about endangered dogs, I re-post about the current political outrageousness in this country. I am not able to support politicians I believe in financially, but I will do what I can in this coming year, contribute what skills I have, open my house again. I believe strongly that I am my brother's keeper, and I support politicians who show concern for education, health care, the environment, the world we leave for our children. Of course, my concern for fairness, leads me to express great anger at rude drivers, which is probably a waste of energy. Colin said, "You let that upset you?" when someone cut him off. "You're going to be upset a lot if you do that." Somewhere there's a line, but I guess I haven't found it yet. Ah, well, transformation is an ongoing project.
Topic for another night's musings: how did I get where I am professionally, from the frightened young woman who told herself she wanted to be a writer and sat in front of her typewriter--yes, I'm that old!--and thought I'd write if I knew what to write.
Life is so funny--but we learn so much. That's one of the beauties of our golden years. Yeah, there's still a thin, thirty-year-old, carefree girl who lives inside me-she's just much smarter now.
But the girl I was at thirty put up with and accepted a lot of things the woman I am today never would. Some of them have to do with issues from my marriage, when I am quite sure I was not the advocate for my chldren that I should have been. From swimming lessons to punishment issues to exposure to substance abuse, I failed to protect them and it is only dumb good luck that they themselves have turned out to be such good citizens and terrific parents--and still loving children. Yes, I gave them love, but in retrospect, that wasn't enough. We tell ourselves love conquers all but it doesn't--for one thing, it needs to be accompanied by security. I would do it differently if I could do it over as the person I am today.
What was different? I think I was scared, mostly of a future I couldn't see through the murk. I'm not sure how I've gotten what I now feel is a much clearer vision that lets me look ahead without fear, even with anticipation. I've found a strength I didn't know I had, never even suspected--and I think I've done it inch by painful inch.
I am also these days more passionate about causes, less insensitive to suffering and injustice in the world. The earlier me, like so many of us, accepted those things as the way of the world. What could I, as one person, do to change things? Today, probably to the dismay of some I love, I do believe I can help change things for what I believe is right. And, as I wrote last night, re-posting on Facebook is one of those ways--I don't just re-post about endangered dogs, I re-post about the current political outrageousness in this country. I am not able to support politicians I believe in financially, but I will do what I can in this coming year, contribute what skills I have, open my house again. I believe strongly that I am my brother's keeper, and I support politicians who show concern for education, health care, the environment, the world we leave for our children. Of course, my concern for fairness, leads me to express great anger at rude drivers, which is probably a waste of energy. Colin said, "You let that upset you?" when someone cut him off. "You're going to be upset a lot if you do that." Somewhere there's a line, but I guess I haven't found it yet. Ah, well, transformation is an ongoing project.
Topic for another night's musings: how did I get where I am professionally, from the frightened young woman who told herself she wanted to be a writer and sat in front of her typewriter--yes, I'm that old!--and thought I'd write if I knew what to write.
Life is so funny--but we learn so much. That's one of the beauties of our golden years. Yeah, there's still a thin, thirty-year-old, carefree girl who lives inside me-she's just much smarter now.
February 28, 2012
Saving dogs
I have a new cause--relax those of you who know me well, it's not political. That would be an ongoing cause. My new one is not exactly new either. I'm reposting pictures of dogs about to be euthanized in hope that someone will say, "I have to have that dog!" A Facebook friend has been posting these for some time--when I said she was breaking my heart, she replied that she couldn't not post them. So now I'm re-posting, plus I've made another friend who is if anything deeper into the cause. Judy Obregon (don't even know where she lives!) posted today about a dog she followed, visited, even gave a collar to--he was euthanized today, and she's in agony over it. Kathy, my first "dog cause" friend has built a small kennel on their ranch so she can temporarily foster some animals.
My Aussie, now 11-1/2, is a rescue dog, from the Humane Society of Fort Worth. I got him at three and a half, and he brought many problems. He'd been a "back-yard' dog--ignored and abused, never given love nor trained properly. To this day, his house manners are not reliable, though he is obedient. He long ago got over snitching food that is not his or chewing--in fact, he's not much interested in toys. He'll come when I call, eagerly--once he got out on the street and I called to him. He came running happily home, with a look that said, "Did you want me?" He's a good dog, and when he looks at me soulfully with one blue and one brown eye, I melt. But he'll potty when my back is turned--and sometimes just because he's being stubborn.
I got a new puppy last summer--for several reasons. Jacob, then just barely five, was afraid of Scooby because of his size; Scooby needed companionship--he was developing the old-age habit of sleeping all day, had given up chasing squirrels, a chore at which he used to be a master; and I wanted a puppy that I could train the way I wanted. The latter hasn't worked out so well, but I'm persevering. But still, last July Sophie came into our lives. She's a wild mix of border collie and poodle--coal black as a small puppy with just a bit of brown on her muzzle. Now she's getting some silver on her long bushy tail and on her ears.
Sophie is one wild bundle of energy. In fact, sometimes I think she's two dogs--the one that minds me so well and the one that gets frantic with excitement and throws all behavior rules out the window. On a leash, she will stop at the front door, look back at me, look out at the world, and sit patiently until I say "Okay." Off the leash? She's out the door and across the street in a heartbeat and all my cries fall on deaf ears, though a neighbor? A new person to love her? Of course she'll go, which is how I got her back when she escaped recently.
But I've had conscience pangs over buying a kennel dog instead of taking in a stray. When I look at the pictures on Facebook, I wish desperately that I could take in more animals. But I'm realistic and I know my limitations. So I'll keep posting those pictures and watching for people who need a dog. I have one friend who is sort of half-heartedly looking for a second dog, and I often post with her in mind.
My neighbors have strong feelings on the subject too. They own two rescue dogs. Jay said the other night, "I'm not much of a taxation guy"--understatement! he's so conservative he squeaks--"but I think there ought to be a heavy tax on peole who are not licensed breeders who let their dogs reproduce." Go, Jay!
Jacob now adores both dogs; here he loves on ScoobyThis is a plea for two things: give or find a rescue dog a home if you can; if you own non-show quality pets (how many of us have show quality?), have them neutered. It's the only human(e) thing to do.
My Aussie, now 11-1/2, is a rescue dog, from the Humane Society of Fort Worth. I got him at three and a half, and he brought many problems. He'd been a "back-yard' dog--ignored and abused, never given love nor trained properly. To this day, his house manners are not reliable, though he is obedient. He long ago got over snitching food that is not his or chewing--in fact, he's not much interested in toys. He'll come when I call, eagerly--once he got out on the street and I called to him. He came running happily home, with a look that said, "Did you want me?" He's a good dog, and when he looks at me soulfully with one blue and one brown eye, I melt. But he'll potty when my back is turned--and sometimes just because he's being stubborn.
I got a new puppy last summer--for several reasons. Jacob, then just barely five, was afraid of Scooby because of his size; Scooby needed companionship--he was developing the old-age habit of sleeping all day, had given up chasing squirrels, a chore at which he used to be a master; and I wanted a puppy that I could train the way I wanted. The latter hasn't worked out so well, but I'm persevering. But still, last July Sophie came into our lives. She's a wild mix of border collie and poodle--coal black as a small puppy with just a bit of brown on her muzzle. Now she's getting some silver on her long bushy tail and on her ears.
Sophie is one wild bundle of energy. In fact, sometimes I think she's two dogs--the one that minds me so well and the one that gets frantic with excitement and throws all behavior rules out the window. On a leash, she will stop at the front door, look back at me, look out at the world, and sit patiently until I say "Okay." Off the leash? She's out the door and across the street in a heartbeat and all my cries fall on deaf ears, though a neighbor? A new person to love her? Of course she'll go, which is how I got her back when she escaped recently.
But I've had conscience pangs over buying a kennel dog instead of taking in a stray. When I look at the pictures on Facebook, I wish desperately that I could take in more animals. But I'm realistic and I know my limitations. So I'll keep posting those pictures and watching for people who need a dog. I have one friend who is sort of half-heartedly looking for a second dog, and I often post with her in mind.
My neighbors have strong feelings on the subject too. They own two rescue dogs. Jay said the other night, "I'm not much of a taxation guy"--understatement! he's so conservative he squeaks--"but I think there ought to be a heavy tax on peole who are not licensed breeders who let their dogs reproduce." Go, Jay!
Jacob now adores both dogs; here he loves on ScoobyThis is a plea for two things: give or find a rescue dog a home if you can; if you own non-show quality pets (how many of us have show quality?), have them neutered. It's the only human(e) thing to do.
February 25, 2012
The day wasn't over
It's not yet noon and I've already had enough excitement for a week. To begin with, when I thought my long day was over yesterday, it wasn't . I finally tore myself from the computer--you know that just one more thing feeling?--and went to tell Jacob he absolutely had to turn off the TV, use the bathroom, and brush his teeth. He was sound asleep, TV blaring. I wrestled his pajama bottoms off to put a pull-up on since heaven only knows when he last used the potty. (This morning he looked down and said, "How did I get this on?") Then I pulled him from the foot of the bed to the head so he could stretch out--50 lbs. of uncooperating dead weight--laid him on his back and told him to close his eyes, put eye drops in, said to open the eyes. "No, three!" he shouted. "Three what?" "Count to three!" "Okay, count to three." At this he scrunched up his face in a cry and said, "No, not me. You count!" When I told him to close his eyes again, he was out, and I left the room feeling like a bad grandmother.
But the night still wasn't over. About one o'clock, he crawled wordlessly into my bed. I really debated whether it was more trouble to endure the kicks, punches, and body slams or to try to maneuver this sound sleeper back to his own bed. I settled for endurance though at times I felt like a battered woman. His favorite place is the middle of the bed, thank you very much. This morning when I asked how he got to my bed, he gave me a look like I am fairly dense and said, "I walked." I asked why, thinking he'd had a bad dream, and he said, "My bed was wet." Swell!
One benefit: sometime during my off-and-on sleep and dreams, the idea for a short story came to me. Project for the day is to rough it out. I've promised to supply a short mystery story for an anthology this spring, and it's been worrying me because I don't write short stories easily unless an idea slams me over the head.
We had one more piece of excitement this morning: Sophie, the nine month puppy, escaped out the door. Before you could blink she was across the street and in the schoolyard. I was so desperate I told Jacob to look both ways very carefully and then follow her. Ran back foir a leash, treats for bribery, and went out the front door calling for my neighbor. The neighbor on the other side said, "She's got her," and there came the neighbor from two doors down carrying Sophie, with Jacob trailing behind them. Said Sophie is so friendly she ran right up to her with delight! My heart is still pounding.
Jacob has gone to spend the weekend with a friend, the supper is cooked, and I'm looking forward to a visit with good friends. I need peace and quiet.
But the night still wasn't over. About one o'clock, he crawled wordlessly into my bed. I really debated whether it was more trouble to endure the kicks, punches, and body slams or to try to maneuver this sound sleeper back to his own bed. I settled for endurance though at times I felt like a battered woman. His favorite place is the middle of the bed, thank you very much. This morning when I asked how he got to my bed, he gave me a look like I am fairly dense and said, "I walked." I asked why, thinking he'd had a bad dream, and he said, "My bed was wet." Swell!One benefit: sometime during my off-and-on sleep and dreams, the idea for a short story came to me. Project for the day is to rough it out. I've promised to supply a short mystery story for an anthology this spring, and it's been worrying me because I don't write short stories easily unless an idea slams me over the head.
We had one more piece of excitement this morning: Sophie, the nine month puppy, escaped out the door. Before you could blink she was across the street and in the schoolyard. I was so desperate I told Jacob to look both ways very carefully and then follow her. Ran back foir a leash, treats for bribery, and went out the front door calling for my neighbor. The neighbor on the other side said, "She's got her," and there came the neighbor from two doors down carrying Sophie, with Jacob trailing behind them. Said Sophie is so friendly she ran right up to her with delight! My heart is still pounding.
Jacob has gone to spend the weekend with a friend, the supper is cooked, and I'm looking forward to a visit with good friends. I need peace and quiet.
February 24, 2012
Gardening, a book signing, and kindergarten homework--a Jacob day
This morning I promised Jacob we would do two things after school: plant a garden and go to a bookstore. He was delighted. We planted the garden right after school before we let the dogs back out--I couldn't see doing it with Sophie dancing around. The plants look wilted and sad, but they had just been rudely jolted out of their little containers. The sections of our container garden at the far end have seeds for lettuce, mesclun, and spinach. Saw this garden idea on an email that made the rounds with lots of helpful household hints. It suggested nailing gutter to your house for a container garden. The indispensible Lewis Bundock did that and drilled drainage holes in it. The only south exposure at my house is the back yard, domain of the dogs. Sophie would destroy anything I planted in the ground, but this is nicely above her notice. Jacob really got into planting, and we both made muddy messes. It will be fun to watch it grow though, and I'll enjoy the fresh greens. Too early to replenish my herb garden, trim and feed the ones that wintered over. As Greg said today, we're probably due one more cold spell. He came by and we discussed things that needed to be done in the yard and with the porch plants. When I feed the dogs I leave Sophie in my office, with the chair pulled tight up to the desk so she won't walk on the top of the desk, sniffing out what she wants. I really thought we were past the chewing stage and recently put a nice Kilim rug back down in the office. After I fed her I found her chewing the rug--she bunches it up so she gets a nice, chewable edge. The rug has now been put away again. She also reached up on my desk--perhaps from the chair on the other side--and snatched the grocery list I thought I'd lost and a pamphlet the podiatrist gave me the other day. Guess we're not past chewing.
After dinner we went to the local Barnes & Noble where Deborah Crombie was signing No Mark Upon Her. I was delighted that when we drove up Jacob said, "Oh, I love this place." He views it as a toy store, however, not a book store. We arrived a few minutes late and stood in the back, which was good so Jacob could wander a bit. But he kept whispering to me, "Is she almost through talking?" We finally wandered over to the children's section where he wheedled a fairly expensive Star Wars Lego watch out of me and we got a small gift for a neighbor child. Spent the rest of Deborah's talk sitting on a stool between two rows of magazines--I could hear but not see. Enjoyed what I heard, but then I'm a big fan. We've met a couple of times, have some friends in common, and share a love of dogs and concern for rescuing dogs--and we've been Facebook friends for some time. There was a good crowd and a long signing line. Jacob:"This is going to take a long time. Let's just go home." Me: "She's a friend of mine, and I want my book signed and I want to say hello." I promised him ice cream if he'd be patient. Jacob: "I don't want ice cream." A friend in front of us turned around and said, "That's the first time I ever heard a little boy say that." The line moved nicely, I got the book signed and a brief visit--Deborah was charming to Jacob who she knows from my blog. She said, "I know about you, Jacob," and the store's community relations manager standing nearby knew him from the Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books--Jacob's on the cover--and said, "He's famous, er, infamous." Deborah and I talked birefly about dogs, and she gave me a nice hug. One of the better parts of the day because things get worse.
When we walked in the front door at home, Jacob said, "Finally." I reminded him he hadn't told me he had home work until just before we left, and he had promised to do it first thing. So there we were, nine o'clock at night, struggling with kindergarten homework. We both lost our patience, and were not gentle with each other. This was one of those tricky pieces they throw at kids--we finally did the easy side first, which calmed both of us, and then Jacob said, "Let's save the hard side for morning." So that's the plan--chocolate chip waffles and homework.
I sat down a few minutes ago and kind of sighed as I did. Jacob asked what was wrong, and I replied that I was just old and tired. Jacob: "See? I told you you're old." Long day.
So looking forward to reading No Mark Upon Her but saving it for next week when I plan to treat myself to some free time. Leisure time? What's that?
