Listen to These Writers...And Happy Mother's Day

       I went to see the St. Louis show for Listen to Your Mother yesterday. Even though I had submitted a story and had not been chosen, two of my writing friends had been chosen. And since Lynn and I were the only WWWPs (Wild Women Wielding Pens) who were in town, we had to represent our critique group.

      'Cause that's what writers do. We support each other...

      One woman--a young mother--came on stage gorgeous and looking quite "normal." However, she shared her story of having a mother who was anything but normal. Her mom spent her time--instead of with her family--in a bar. This writer (she was like 9 or 12--some too-young-for-this-ugliness age) would take two buses to go to the bar and try her convince her mother to get her a@@ off the barstool and come home.

      She now has several sons, a husband, and worries constantly since she was never taught how to be mother...how can she be a loving mother to her boys? The answer: she tells them every day, many times a day, "I love you." (Lynn and I sat next to these boys. They are well loved.)

      Linda O'Connell shared a story she had never shared with her critique group. Lynn and I had the pleasure of hearing it for the first time, like the rest of the audience.

     Kim Lenhoff--despite claiming she was nervous--got in front of the auditorium and told about raising an autistic, bi-polar son. Because she has the courage, perhaps others will...She was afraid her knees would knock in nervousness, and I told her I was looking forward to them knocking so much, she would start a fire. What a way to add excitement. Sadly, Kim + no sign of fear = no inferno.

      Another writer--made us all sob. She suffered through many miscarriages, and when she finally was able to give birth to twins, it was because her Japanese-born (late) mother had helped her "catchee baby."

      Happy Mother's Day. For those who are fortunate enough to still have their mother with them, call or hug them. For those who are lucky enough to have children and grandchildren, enjoy the day. When the Listen to Your Mother writers took a bow at the end of the show, I took a picture with my phone. Because of their movement and my photographic skills, they're a blur of motion.  But it makes me think...My story blurs into your story which blurs into her story, which blurs into his story. We all have heartbreak and joy in our lives. 

      We all have a story to tell...

A Treasure Chest--And It Could Be Yours

        My favorite poet is Mary Karr  Adrienne Rich  Emily Dickinson . Okay, I have many favorites, and it depends on my mood. I have many collections of poetry on my bookshelf.

        But daily, I turn to Shay and Mama Zen for their mind-blowing poetry. Every day--sometimes twice a day in Shay's case) they post poetry. Shay's is sometimes whimsical, sometimes sharp but always inspiring. Mama Zen can do more with just a few lines than anyone I know. On the back of their book it notes that Mama Zen (Kelli Simpson) "is the Mistress of the short poem" but I would beg to differ; I think she's the dominatrix of short poems. She's fierce, she's most likely rocking some gorgeous boots, and she's always cracking the whip, reminding us that every word counts.

        Now I have another great collection of poetry to savor--created by three contemporary poets.

I'm sorry, but I cannot manage to link this book cover to Amazon, but you know
how to click onto Amazon and buy a copy or two, don't you?

         Hedgewitch (Joy Ann Jones), the third point in this triangle of talent, joins Shay Caroline Simmons and Kelli in this poetic powerhouse.

         When this book came out, I bought three copies. One for a dear friend, one for me, and one to give away. It's a true treasure of a book.

         To get a chance, leave a comment. And since I don't want to go to jail over including any of their poems/lines to entice you, I will share a poem that Shay wrote especially for me (I gave her the topic and she delivered). This poem is framed  and hangs in my study:

                           Damn the Match

I said, damn the match that set me on fire
But no one heard--
So I fanned myself with books, and oh
How I burned.

Damn the one who made me feel nothingly small,
This lonesome girl--
Then I spit my anger on a black-curling page,
And blistered the world.

Damn the distance that keeps my love from me,
The miles are sin--
Then I wrote out my love as a pink-fire dawn,
Warm on her skin.

Bless the match that each finger is,
To strike what I feel into words that be
An incendiary flow from soul to sky,
One burned-bright star that's made from...me.

                                    --Shay Caroline

(Hey, Shay. If this is a copyright infringement, please send the police immediately. It's the end of the school year and I would loooove to be in jail right about now, so I can miss the last couple of crazy weeks.)


       So, leave a comment. I'll announce the winner in a week. Good luck.

Donna Volkenannt: MY Inspiration

        Yesterday I got my copies of Chicken Soup for the Soul Inspiration for Writers.

      Cathi LaMarche has a story in this collection. I won't give away too many details of her tale, but I will say I was yearning for a particular ending, and shazam! It finished just the way I wanted it to...it ended up being a combination memoir and fairy-tale-come-true. Cathi is one lucky lady. (You'll have to buy the book and read the story to find out why she is so fortunate in my eyes...)

      Donna Volkenannt is in the book as well. Donna had an integral role in my story and she's mentioned by name...several times. She pushed inspired me to do something that--without her prodding--I probably wouldn't have done. (It happened several years ago...way before I joined my critique group. Donna probably doesn't even remember or realize how she helped me.)

Donna Volkenannt--at one of her book signings in December 2012

     And hey! The WWWPs are mentioned (in my bio) as well. They have the label of "infamous." Perhaps "notorious" would be more apropos?

     Buy a copy of the book. It's one that every writer should have...

Something Old, Something New

          Getting new fronts for your cabinets gives a whole new look to your kitchen. And getting a writing piece resurfaced and the rough edges sanded off makes all the difference in the world, too.

       I had a story that I wrote about 10 years ago. I had sent it off, but got no acceptances. It was a tale about an experience my family had back in 1968. Ten years ago, I was a lot more unskilled--writerwise--than I am now.

       Also, I didn't belong to an effective writing critique group ten years ago.

       I was in Birmingham this weekend, and while I was out of town, I got an email that my story--after it had been dusted off and worked on and critiqued and "fixed" in many ways--has made the first round for Not Your Mother's Book On Holidays.

       Take a story. An old story. Dust it off. Look at it with new eyes, and increase the number of eyes that check out the tale. And watch what happens...


       

     

It Ain't Got a Thing If It Ain't Got That...Rhythm

        Every almost every time I hear a singer from England or Australia or France or any other foreign place, I am always amazed by the fact that any trace of an accent has disappeared. (The most recent time, it was Chris Martin of Coldplay, who's married to Gwyneth Paltrow; he's the son-in-law of the late Bruce Paltrow, the man who brought us "St. Elsewhere," one of my favorite TV shows.)

        And then I contemplate that the rhythm is the king. The rhythm of the song dictates what the voice does.

        It's like that with writing as well. Sometimes a slow, meandering flow is appropriate for the story/article/poem.  Other times, an intense, more hammering rhythm is called for.

        I'm leaving you with a Ruthie Foster video, and giving you a link to Jennifer Brown Banks' blog, 'cause in a comment she (Jennifer, not Ruthie) reminded me of how much I love Foster's singing.

 

With a Little Hindrance From My Friends

          This week we had our writing critique meeting. The meeting of five wild women wielding pens. The WWWPs.

          Three of us had submitted to the same anthology. Two of us had not heard (or so I thought) . Privately, a couple of weeks ago, I had told the more brazen of the other two of the submitters that I had already heard. I heard the next day--the day after I had submitted my story. Seeing the name of the anthology on an email that quickly was definitely surprising.

photo by mbgrigby

         The other writer-friend I didn't tell, until I knew she had sent hers in, as she is sometimes of the thinking, 'Well, they'll take yours and hers...why would they want mine?' But on Wednesday I discovered that my shy friend had indeed sent in her piece.

         It was then that I admitted that I had already heard. "They emailed me the next day. 'No,' they said. It stunk so bad, they had to burn rubber getting away from the stench--that's why they answered so quickly."

        When the shy submitter said she hadn't heard, I replied, "Well, that's a good sign, because apparently if they don't like it they move fast." Then I looked at the other one, and she had her hand over her mouth and had her head ducked down...like she was trying to hide from me.

          She had heard as well. They were considering her story. She said, "I didn't want to say anything because I knew you'd be mad."

          I wasn't mad, although I did shout out my favorite phrase in mock ticked-offness. But that was all a façade. I wasn't angry with her. Instead, I felt bad.

          Talking wryly about my rejections is something I do, right along with celebrating the times I get a "yes." And when my friends get their work accepted, I'm thrilled. If it's a publisher/editor that I failed at, I might throw a colorful phrase at the friend, but I'm never serious about it. Rarely am I emotionally invested in a piece to the point that I get furious when I hear "no" because I know that at some point, I'll change the piece and regurgitate it and then submit it to another publisher.

         So if you have any shouting-from-the-rooftop to do, let me know. My writing friends help me so much--either in person or via the blogosphere--and I never want to hinder or inhibit any of them.

         Ever.