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Author, Historian, Storyteller

Life, WritingLeave a comment

I recently rewrote the bio and artist statement for a friend’s website.  She had all of the info there, but she knew that the delivery could be better.  That’s when I entered the picture.  I rearranged, simplified and solidified her statement and message.  I had fun with it and she LOVED the final product.  This was easy for me.  It was easy and it was fun.  So why can’t I do the same for my own bio?

I’ve been meaning to rewrite my bio for, oh, four months now.  Pretty much ever since my website went live.  I wrote something quick, dirty and to the point fully intending to re-do it ASAP.  That definitely hasn’t happened.  Since then I have written thousands of words, yet I can’t quite bring myself to re-do my bio.  In fact, I am choosing to write a blog post about rewriting my bio right now, instead of just rewriting the damn thing.  If that isn’t some stellar procrastination in action, I don’t know what is!

Truth be told, I would rather write anything else.  I would choose to rewrite the menu of a dollar-a-scoop Chinese restaurant over rewriting my bio.  I hate writing about myself – I don’t mean about my thoughts or feelings.  I think you have all figured out that I have no issues with that whatsoever!  What I hate is summing up who I am in a couple of paragraphs and, in some regards, selling myself to the reader.

What do I include, what do I leave out?  Do I make it fun and witty, or “Just the facts ma’am?”  Since I’m a writer, there’s that added pressure that it has to be really good, to drive home the fact that I’m a writer.  Now mind you, I can look at someone else and tell you what is relevant and apropos for the given situation.  I have a monthly article where I do just that, and I love that project.  But I can’t do it for myself, and I don’t think I’m alone in this.  I feel that as a culture we don’t like talking about ourselves.  If you tout all of your skills and strengths, you’re a braggart.  If you downplay those things, you’re self-effacing.  In reality, you might be a totally kick-ass person, but it’s awkward to say that about yourself.

This is why I think that all bios should be written by someone else.  After all, they are called bios, not autobios.  In all seriousness though, I don’t think you should write your own bio.  You’re too close to the matter at hand to be objective.  You will get a much truer representation, if the description is coming from someone else.  Or this whole random blog post has been a stream-of-consciousness bit of sophistry so that I can justify not rewriting my bio for another couple of months . . .

AutoB

Life, WritingView all 2 comments

I present to you the inner monologue of a writer while meeting a friend for coffee who was given new pages to read earlier in the week.

 

Friend (F): Hi!

Writer (W):  Hi!  How are you?

Inner Monologue (IM):  So what’d you think?

F:  I’m really good.  You?

IM: Who cares, what’d you think?

W:  I’m good, kind of exhausted today. Coffee?

IM: Brilliant move!  Of course she’s not gonna talk about it in line, get the coffee and sit down first.

F:  Definitely.

IM:  Wait, why wouldn’t she want to talk about it in line?

F: Did you see?  I sent you that invite on Facebook?

IM: She didn’t like it.  That’s why she hasn’t said anything!

W:  No, not yet.  I haven’t been online today.

IM:  Oh God!  She hates it!

F: I think the date should work for . . . wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM: She wants me to be sitting down when she breaks it to me.

F: Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah wah.

IM:  She’s going to tell me that I have a better chance of becoming a professional under-water-basket-weaver, than a professional writer.

F: Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM:  And in a Starbucks!

F: Wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM: Well at least I didn’t quit my day job.

F: Wah wah wah wah, are you listening?

W: What? Oh, yeah, uh-huh.

IM:  Way to pay attention jackass!  Now you’re gonna be a crappy writer with no friends!

F:  Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah wah.

IM: This is so not fair!  Just tell what you thought.  Tell me that it was horrible or whatever.  I can take it.  Just tell me something!

F:  Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM: A word or two.  That’s all I need.

F: Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah.

IM:  Just ask her.  Drop it into the conversation.

F:  Wah wah wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah.

IM: Casually, like, “Yeah, that’s horrible about your uncle, but what did you think about the piece I sent you?”

F:  Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM:  Wait, uncle? Crap!  I have no idea what she’s talking about.

F: Wah wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah.

IM: I thought we were talking about an invite, what’s this about an uncle?

F: Wah wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah.

IM: What?  Focus!

F: Wah wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah.

IM: Oh my god!  You are my best friend and I love you, but it’s been over 48 hours since I sent you the new pages without a word from you about them.  So unless your uncle’s leg fell off and the doctors reattached it using only chopsticks so that they could make it into the Guinness Book of World Records for “Most Unnecessarily Complicated Surgery” I’m not going to be able to focus on A THING YOU ARE SAYING!  I AM THE WORLD’S CRAPPIEST WRITER AND THE WORLD’S CRAPPIEST FRIEND!

F: Oh, so I read your piece.

IM: Play it cool.

W: Oh, really.  What’d you think?

IM: What if she hated it? What if she loved it? What if it was just okay?  Argh! *flinches*

F:  I loved it.  It was amazing!

IM: * sigh *  I knew that.

W:  Thanks!

Snoopy writing

Characters, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

As I mentioned yesterday, one of the character’s in my book is a poet.  Rebecca is an invalid, and as such is not eligible for marriage so she lives with her sister in Richmond, VA.  Unable to work, or be a contributing member of the household Rebecca escapes into the poetry that she writes.  It isn’t until Kady recruits her as part of her spy network for the north, that Rebecca realizes that she does actually have worth and can be useful despite her limitations.  Here’s one of her poems:

My country she is crying, but there is no one left to hear.

All her sons are off to war you see, against the brothers they hold dear.

The fathers all argue that where they stand is right.

The mothers all roll bandages to wrap the wounds good and tight.

The daughters we are left to mourn, the passing of the day: waiting, simply waiting as we look out across the bay.

My country she is crying, deep rivers of blood red tears.

My country she is crying, but there is no one left to hear.

Characters, Poetry, WritingView all 2 comments

One of my characters in my novel is a poet and has gotten me into a poetry sort of mood.  So here’s a poem for you.  This is one of mine, not one of hers . . . although I guess technically hers are mine . . .

 

Letting go . . .

Of what is right, of what is wrong

Of what is normal, of what is planned

Letting go . . .

Of expectations and anticipations

Of familial plans and childhood hopes

Letting go . . .

Of what should have been, what will never be

Letting go . . .

Of regrets and

Letting go . . .

To learn from mistakes, to see the good

To grow stronger, to improve

Letting go . . .

To revel in the moment, to embrace the now

To forget past pains, to let the future worry about itself

Letting go . . .

To finally hold on

Life, Live and Learn, WritingView all 3 comments

I find that it is so easy to get caught up in our day to day lives and where we’re trying to go and what we’re trying to achieve that we can lose sight of what we actually have in front of us.  I feel like I’ve been doing this a lot lately.  So today I wanted to stop and pause for a moment to think about the things that I do have.  Today I am grateful.

I am grateful for the people in my life that have moved beyond friends and are now a part of my family.  My band of sisters that I have collected through life and can’t remember what life was like before they entered, because it feels as if they have always been there.  I am grateful that I have a job.  It is not the job of my dreams, nor is it a job that I ever aspired to have.  But it’s a job and it’s a job that pays all of my bills.  That is more than a lot of people can say. Heck one year ago, it was more than I could say.  For that I am grateful.

I am grateful that I have the time to put words onto the page and spin tales of life, history and the theatre.  That I have an audience for those words, no matter how big or how small and that maybe some of those words will affect someone in a positive way.  For this I am grateful.  However, today I am most grateful for some advice that I allowed myself to hear.  Upon expressing frustration that I felt as if I was simply spinning my wheels and getting nowhere fast, a friend pointed out that maybe I wasn’t spinning my wheels. Maybe I was still in the same place because I was busy building a foundation around me.  Maybe I’ve already made it to where I need to be, but I’ve been so busy running for so long that I failed to notice.  So maybe, just maybe, I need to stop running and start enjoying the build.

I truly believe that everything happens for a reason.  I am not a religious person, never have been.  My mother was, and it didn’t seem to do her much good . . . but that is a conversation for another day and that conversation will take place between me and my god.  In the meantime, my spirituality remains ambiguous, but anchored in the notion that everything happens for a reason.  People, events and experiences come into and out of our lives to serve a purpose. We may not know what that is today, or next week, or ever, but on some grand cosmic scale there is a reason.

Maybe we needed to be low so that we won’t take the highs for granted.  Maybe we needed to start over because the path that we were on was no good for us.  Maybe we encounter more obstacles in the road than most because the wisdom gained in getting over each one transforms us into the person we need to be to do our best work.  Or maybe everything is so hard because we’re so focused on an outcome instead of the journey that we’re blind to the fact that we’re scaling a wall to get to the top when there’s a set of stairs three feet to our left.

Today I choose to take the stairs, and for that I am grateful.  What are you grateful for?

Dating, WritingLeave a comment

I’ve come to the realization, that as much as I may want to be and as much as I may try, I am not a daily blogger.  I think sporadic blogger is a better description, and honestly I don’t know why this surprises me.  Even growing up when I kept a journal, I never wrote in it daily.  Some weeks I would, and then I would take time off.  I guess I never really felt compelled to write for the sake of writing.  I had to have something on my mind.  A story that I wanted to tell or something that I wanted to work out.  That’s what writing has always been for me, a tool.  It’s one of the greatest tools that I have in my arsenal.  I can’t think of a single time that I had a dilemma or an issue that had bogged me down that I wasn’t able to work out by writing about it.  The simple act of putting it down on paper, stream of consciousness, has always helped me get to the root of whatever was troubling me.  Writing it out makes it clear.  Not to mention there’s a definite satisfaction to laying out all of your troubles and then ripping them to shreds!  If you’ve never done that, I highly recommend it, it’s very therapeutic!  Write out your troubles, your fears and your worries.  Lay it all bare, read through it, soak it in, then tear them to shreds and let it all go.

Or start a blog and put them on the internet for all to read . . . doesn’t really have the same panache, but it has a different kind of release.  So I decided that against all of the advice and how-to’s about how to have a “successful blog” I am no longer going to concern myself with keeping a steady flow of content.  I’m going to write when I have something to say and hold my tongue when I don’t.  That’s how I work, and trying to do anything else is going to come across half-hearted and insincere.  I’m going to do it my way, because that is the only way that I know how to do things that are meaningful and if it doesn’t mean something what’s the point?

Maybe that’s the real crux of the issue, I’ve never understood why people spend so much time and energy on things that in the end won’t amount to anything.  For me this especially shows up in dating.  I’ve never casually dated.  If I don’t see something in a guy that sparks my interest long-term, then I’m not interested short-term.  If I had a dollar for every time a friend has told me to, “Relax, and just have fun with him.  You don’t have to marry him,” I could probably pay off my car.  And I’ve tried, but I can’t do it, because inevitably I realize that instead of spending time with “Mr. Okay For Right Now” I could have been doing something worthwhile.  It sounds horrible, but I greatly value my time and I know where I want that precious commodity to go, which is not to “Mr. Okay For Right Now.”  I know, l know, loosen up!  I’m working on it . . .

Characters, WritingLeave a comment

I find myself struggling with one of my characters.  He’s one of my main characters, but for the most part I’ve been avoiding writing him as much as possible.  Because quite frankly, I don’t like him.  There, I said it, I do not like him.  I feel like I’m that parent that very clearly has a favorite amongst their kids, but I can’t help it.  I just don’t like the guy!  So I avoid him, and I’m getting to the point that I can’t avoid him for much longer.

He’s so cocky, and arrogant.  He’s one of those guys that doesn’t really have to work for things, they just fall into his lap.  Things have a way of working out for him even when he doesn’t deserve it, especially when he doesn’t deserve it.  So I find myself throwing things at him to mess with him.  I chop off his leg . . . he gets a wife out of the deal.  Damn it!  His wife proves to be a far superior spy . . . he takes credit.  Double damn it!  It’s like no matter what I do to this guy he pops back on top and it annoys the crap out of me!

At this point, I think I’m almost afraid to write him, because I really don’t think I can hide the fact that I don’t like him.  I’ve never had this experience with a character.  I have never vehemently disliked a character to the point that I not only wish him harm, I cause him harm.  Unfortunately, the story will out, so he always winds up fine.  I already know how it ends and he’s in the end, so I can’t kill him off.  Triple damn it!

Although I guess there are worse things than hating a character.  I could feel ambivalent toward him and that would make one hell of a boring character.  So I’ll grit my teeth and let him play out his part of the story and I’ll take my consolation from Henry.  Him I like.  Huh, I don’t know that I’ve ever put this together before, but I like my Confederate officer.  It’s my Union officer that I don’t like.  Interesting . . .

Life, Live and Learn, WritingLeave a comment

Maybe it’s an occupational hazard, but life seems to me to function in chapters.  Sometimes one chapter closes and you move on to the next with no warning.  Something big happens unexpectedly, or you just look around one day and realize that without you knowing it, you’ve moved on.  You’re in the next phase of your life, the next chapter.

Other times you can see it coming.  You can sense that things are starting to come to a close; things are wrapping up to move you on to the next great thing.  That’s when the impatience sets in.  You can see it, what lies over the next horizon, and you can practically touch it, feel it, taste it, but you’re not quite there.  You want it so badly, you start moving on prematurely, jumping ahead and skipping steps.  Which inevitably leads to falling flat on your face because you moved too far too fast.  You weren’t ready for that step; the universe wasn’t ready for that step. So discouraged you get up and head down the road again.  Maybe this time you’re more cautious.  Or maybe this time a seed of bitterness has set in, you’re tired of this chapter and can think of nothing but the next.

But you can’t do that.  You can’t skip ahead.  Dues must be paid and every step that is required must be taken.  Just because you can see the next chapter does not mean that you get to stop writing your current chapter.  I can see my next chapter, but I’m not done with this one, not even close.  I’ve simply found enough clarity to see where this road leads, and I like what I see.  But I have to finish this chapter first, and I have to finish it the way that I started it. I’ve made the journey by myself.  One step at a time, through the brambles and bushes, and I have to continue up the hill until I see the top.

Of course I’ve had my life-lines, and there have been stretches that they have carried me part of the way, but when all was said and done they put me back on my feet and let me stumble my way forward.  Nobody held my hand. Nobody laid the path out neatly before me.  They let me find my way on my own, and so it is partly to them that I owe it to finish this out on my own.  Finish this chapter first, and then move on to the next.  Look to the here and now, focus and do the work required to finish this out.  Finish like I started.

Happiness, Love, WritingLeave a comment

Last year I got to watch my best friend get married to a truly great guy, and because she loves me and wants me to be happy she didn’t make me buy a hideous bridesmaid dress.  So thank you for that!  She did, however, ask me to do a reading for the ceremony.  I immediately said of course and when I asked her what she wanted me to read – I was expecting a psalm or a poem, etc – she instead asked me to write something . . . and she didn’t want to read it or hear it until her wedding day . . . no pressure or anything!  Ack!  At any rate, I came up with this and wanted to post it today to say happy one-year anniversary to Jolene and Tim.  All my love to you both and I still think you made a beautiful choice!

 

Love Is

There are many occasions in life to symbolize when a girl becomes a woman, and a boy becomes a man.  Some are manufactured, some earned and some merely attained through the passing of the years.  I think it is best to leave symbols to literature and find our definitions through the living of life.  Therefore I believe that a woman and a man are truly born of a realization.  A realization and acceptance that love is not the thing of fairy tales.  There are no knights in shining armor, problems aren’t solved in the span of a catchy song, and while you may get to ride off into the sunset, the story continues the next day.

No, love is not the thing of fairytales.  It is much more powerful than that.  It is more akin to the love that the poets speak of: a fire that can warm and enthrall the senses, or rage and burn through the night as a torrent of emotions engulfing all within its wake. It can be a fiend that slowly, imperceptibly fades away, leaving naught but its smoky ashes.  These fires can be left to rage and fade, skip and jump where they will, or they can be harnessed and used to sustain you through to the end of your days.

Love is hard, because it is work.  It is work that has to be done each day, because love is not unconditional. Love is a choice.  A choice to recognize that even if your fire is raging, your partner’s may be flagging and need encouragement and a gentle stirring of their faltering embers so that they may burn brightly by your side instead of being snuffed out and engulfed by your heat. A choice to carry someone else’s voice in the back of your mind; to not always pick the option that is best for you and you alone. It is a choice to always say you’re sorry, because over time the little things can hurt just as much as the big.  It is a choice to open oneself up, bare one’s soul and risk the whips and scorns of judgment from another human being; to make mistakes and risk carrying the scars of those mistakes with you for the rest of your days.

But it is also a choice to be seen and accepted for who you truly are.  To know someone so well that when they look into your eyes they see to the very depth of your soul.  It is a choice to share the good times, weather the bad, and when there are no words left to hold each other tight.  It is the burning cinders that keep you warm at the end of a long, cold night.

Love is compromise.  It is sacrifice, acceptance, forgiveness and joy.  But above all, it is a choice, a beautiful choice. So may you stand together as Woman and Man and choose love, everyday, for the rest of your lives.

Theater, WritingLeave a comment

I’ve been a theater critic in Los Angeles on and off for about three years now, and in that time I’ve been given quite a bit of advice – some solicited, some un-solicited – about what a critic is and how to be a good critic.  For the most part it seems like there are three camps.

 

Camp 1 – synopsis of the play followed by “Yay, everybody was so good!”

Camp 2 – synopsis of the play followed by a history lesson about the play, the playwright, the time period that the play takes place in, the theatrical convention used, etc, followed by critical remarks about the production

Camp 3 – synopsis of the play followed by scathing remarks tearing apart anything and everything that was even remotely sub-par with the intent of culling the weak theater out to make way for the good.

 

Honestly, I don’t know that I fall into any of those camps.  I’m a critic, not your mother.  So if you want/need to hear, “Yay, everybody was so good!” then you better put on one hell of a good production.  And while a little background about the play, time period or theatrical convention used is warranted if it helps to illuminate the critique; I don’t feel that a full-on history lesson is needed.  In this day and age if people are really that interested they can Google the particulars.

Lastly, I definitely don’t believe that it is my JOB to weed out the bad from the good.  I am one person and what I have to say is one person’s opinion.  There will be productions that the majority of people will love, that simply aren’t my cup of tea.  I commonly have this conversation with my sister:

 

Sister:  How was the movie/play?

Me:  Ugh, it was horrible.  The acting was mediocre, the plot predictable and the story contrived.

Sister:  But would I like it?

Me:  Oh, yeah, you’d love it.  Go see it!

 

This is not a commentary on my sister.  It’s a commentary on me.  I am hypercritical of everything I watch.  I always have been, and it’s a rare circumstance that I can turn that part of me off.  Yes, I’m the same with my own work, so at least I’m an equal opportunity critic.  That being said critiques come down to one thing – they are the opinion of one person, and this person loves live theater.

I root for the theater companies.  I want them to do amazing work and try new things and experiment and create art that can move their audience.  Some of the most amazing experiences in my life have taken place in theaters either in the audience, onstage or backstage.  However, as in any art form, when you put yourself out there and take a risk, sometimes you miss the mark and as a critic I do have an obligation to my readers.  If they only have enough money to go see one show, then I need to steer them to the show that will help build their love of theater so that they’ll keep coming back.

So I tell it how I see it and I try valiantly to walk that fine line between being honest and being mean, because there is a difference.  A HUGE difference.  And if I can’t come up with anything positive to say about a production, I prefer to say nothing at all.  That’s the kind of critic that I want to be.