Dying to look like Laurie Partridge

Ever since I can remember, reading was a wonderful escape for me. Not fitting in with my peers was a given, but I always seem to fit in when I was reading a book. I never worried that the characters in the book would care that I didn’t have the latest Jordache jeans or didn’t have the money to travel to a resort in Upstate New York for the summer like everyone else. One book in particular, The Velvet Room, took me to a place that I have never forgotten.

In the book, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder, Robin and her family are migrant workers and land in California. While trying to hide from her siblings, Robin finds a tunnel leading to an empty mansion on the hill. But one room is not empty. It is filled with ceiling-high bookshelves and tall windows with red velvet drapes and window seats. Robin finds herself returning day after day to the room, reading and exploring. She begins to wonder why just one room in this large empty house is furnished. I was engrossed in this book for many reasons, but mainly I wanted to find a room like that. I wanted to get away from my family and our dysfunctional drama into a room with tall windows and red-velvet curtains drawn tight against the sun. I wanted to wander and read all the leather-bound books on the shelves without fear of interruption or ridicule. It didn’t matter what you wore in the Velvet Room. Even Robin, in her worn clothes from the fields, didn’t have to worry in there. She could escape the hard life she lived at the bottom of the hill by curling up on the window seat with the curtains drawn and her feet up under her while she read a book.

I carried that book around with me everywhere when I was 11, to my mother’s dismay. I read passages about the room when I was alone, or wanted to be, which was most of the time. At one point my mother wanted me to come out of my shell and allowed me to put a sweater on layaway at K-Mart, a sweater that look so much like the kind everyone else was wearing I was giddy with excitement. It had a brown and yellow zig-zag pattern with a smart-looking tie at the waist. If I could talk her into a pair of wide bell-bottoms, I imagined I would look just like Laurie Partridge, although with my frizzy blonde hair and c-cups at age 11 there wasn’t much chance of that happening too soon. But I dreamed, and went to the store and put another $2 on the sweater each week. I patiently waited for cooler weather and the chance to wow everyone with how hip and groovy I looked in my sweater.

Needless to say, when I finally got the sweater I didn’t look anything like the incredibly thin, poker-straight-haired Laurie. I looked more like her little brother Danny (as in Bonaduce). I was wrong, that sweater didn’t change anything. I retreated back to my book after wearing the sweater for a full week, every day, with no ooohs and aaaahs from anyone.

Virginia Wolfe said every woman should have a room of her own. That might not always be possible, but a corner? How hard can that be? For the moment, I’ve got a large chair in my studio that faces my tiny bookcase and I’m content with that. I’ve got a room, and before that I had a corner. I’m going out to buy red velvet material to make curtains for the tiny windows in my studio this week because after all these years, I think I deserve them. Don’t you? Oh, and I found a copy of The Velvet Room on E-bay a few years ago, and I see it’s on Kindle now. It’s still a good book, and I still look a little like Danny Bonaduce. Some things never change.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why creatives need each other, or, another lesson from Papa Hemingway

Perhaps I need to open a Restaurant and Social Club for Writers and Artists

Being a writer/artist can be a lonely life. Many of us end up sitting for long hours in quiet rooms writing/painting/creating. (I am tucked away in my tiny studio neatly hidden in my backyard as I write this). Now don’t get me wrong, this is not a complaint, it is certainly something we choose to do. I write better when I am alone and I lose track of time. For some writers, the coffee shop becomes a refuge from the solitude. I know people who write all day in a coffee shop, blocking out the chatter and kicking out chapter after chapter. Then others work at home and end up hanging out in public with fellow writers when they have the chance.

I return to A Moveable Feast often, and I find that I do that when I’m feeling isolated or I start to get into a self-defeating mindset. Even Earnest Hemingway understood the importance of surrounding himself with creative people, including T.S. Eliot, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Picasso, etc. He liked to be alone and write, but he kept acquaintances and friendships with many creatives. I realize that this glamorous era in Paris when all of these creatives were drinking and socializing and sharing their work makes more sense every day. Yes, they had arguments and it wasn’t all rosy, but the bottom line was that they all encouraged each other. (OK, maybe Fitzgerald and Hemingway stopped encouraging and started bickering, but that’s later. Follow me here for a moment.)

Surrounding yourself with creative people fuels your creative juices. It has to. Being around that kind of energy and enthusiasm and angst can’t do anything else. We are all in the same boat, trying to create and share our work. We all understand the depression and elation that comes with being creative. Why do you think that writer meet-ups are so popular, or that writing groups meet all over the country in bookstores and cafes?

Who do you surround yourself with? Do you have a circle of people who knit with you, scrapbook, etc? If you’re a writer/artist, do you have a core group that “gets you?”

I realize that although I have a few friends who are writers, I don’t frequently hang out with other writers or artists. I had the chance to meet a lovely, encouraging writer recently and what a great feeling it was. Just hearing that someone else had doubts about her success or talent, or that someone else felt the need to create and didn’t know why. It’s a grand and fabulous feeling to talk about your work and be validated, and that’s what all those lucky people in Paris were doing. And that’s what all those lucky people in writing retreats do, and writing meet-ups in cafes. And yes, I know that the cyber world enables us to have relationships with other creatives from the comfort of the back studio, but there is nothing like being face to face with another writer and nodding your head as they express feelings you’ve had so many times.

So, my goal is now to add to my creative circle of people to share my journey. I know it can only be beneficial to me and to everyone else who has a chance to grow from it. Thanks to Shannon for adding me to your circle!

 

What is it about bookstores?

On a recent visit to New York, I had a long list of places I wanted to visit. Museums, parks, old churches, restaurants. Crazy how much you think you can do on vacation, and yet how little actually gets done.

Of course, once I showed my daughter the list, her eyes jumped right to the Strand Bookstore at the top of the list and she saw nothing else. It has 18 miles of books, what else do you want? It has used and new books, stacks of old books, carts of $2 and $1 books on the street and even a separate floor for antique books. She was in heaven.

What this means is that we spent two days at that bookstore. We didn’t get to the museums because she wanted to return to the bookstore and that was cool with me. The great thing about it was that we didn’t miss the museums at all. Spending two days in a bookstore was a blast and we would have spent three if we could have. We stopped and ate mac & cheese at S’Mac in the Village (nothing but mac and cheese, nothing but divine!), then dove right back into the books.

Mac & Cheese at S’Mac. Can’t stop at just one.

The smell of a bookstore, and the rows and rows of books, are a comforting sight. I feel alive, peaceful, curious, excited and more when I’m in a store like that. I just want to pull up a big comfy chair, cup of tea, cushy blanket, oh wait, I don’t live there. But oh if I could.

We’ve been watching old episodes of Black Books on Netflix since we got back (free on Hulu), a British sitcom about a guy who owns a bookstore. Sounds simple enough, but with typical British humor, Dylan Moran does it while drunk most of the time with a sidekick who is hilarious. Once again, a sitcom in a bookstore has got to be a hit, right? It’s books, what’s not to love?

So, when I need another bookstore fix, I’ll be at Bookman’s or Half Price Books, trying to get that NYC kind of feeling again. But it just won’t be the same.

Recharging Your Life

I spent the past week in New York with a dear friend and I feel marvelous. Why? Part of the trip was to celebrate her birthday (Happy Birthday, Dawn) and it was wonderful to be with someone I truly love. Old friends just get you and that is so comforting. And like a warm cup of tea held gently in your hands, a friendship like that is soothing, peaceful and restoring in its simplicity and beauty.

The other part of the trip was meant to recharge my life. I’ve been feeling doubtful and hesitant about making changes in my life lately. Ever get into a slump where you feel as if life is charging past you and all you can do is watch? Yeah, that’s where I’ve been lately.

Some of those changes are happening whether I like them or not. My daughter is just a few years away from flying the coop and joining the world on her own and I’m so excited for her. But that means eventually I’ll be here alone (OK, Husband will be here, but you know what I mean.) Of course, that’s a change I’m coming to terms with slowly, but not something I can alter too much.

I was lucky enough to spend a few days in New York City with my daughter and I will cherish those few days forever. We ate pizza, rode the subway, strolled through Central Park and wandered the streets of the East Village. We shopped for used books and ate mac & cheese till be could have barfed. And then we ate a little more.

We found the perfect studio apartment in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, (that’s ours on the second floor right with the flowers) just one block from Central Park and a few blocks from the Dakota Building and Strawberry Fields. We awoke to the sounds of the city and felt a little like New Yorkers for just a few days.

The apartment was on a Bed & Breakfast registry and a last-minute decision, which always seem to be the best kind of decisions in my life.

Having this time away also gave me a chance to reevaluate my writing life, and my writing ambitions. I realize that I’m secluded in my studio, writing and editing day after day without input from other writers. Why? I’m a typical artist who doesn’t want anyone to criticize my work so I keep it to myself. Yes, I realize how foolish that is. All artists need input, right? Who wants to die with a computer full of stories that nobody has ever read?

I am recharged and ready to write, edit and get serious. And I love blogging and I’ll be jumping in her more frequently. I love connecting to other writers through this medium and I cherish the friendships I’ve made here. Plus, I feel just a little like Carrie Bradshaw as I write about my life, only with less shoes and a bigger ass.

Becoming the canvas

 Daughter and I decided to become the canvas for someone else’s art last night. At a local restaurant that I adore, Bombay Spice, there is a lovely woman who paints henna designs on customers. My daughter is 16 and loves any kind of art, spending most of her time drawing or writing stories (wonder where she got that from?) I love spending time with her and we always have a blast doing things together. I’m lucky that way, she is 16 and still wants to hang out with me. Yes, I know that’s as rare as a unicorn, but I’ll take it and ask questions later.

The finished products were beautiful and so much fun. The paint feels cool as she applies it, then itches a little as it dries. I didn’t think ahead and had the top of my right hand done, which made it a little tricky to pay the bill and drive home. Daughter thought ahead and had the inside of her left hand done, realizing she wouldn’t be able to use it for a bit. Smart kid. Once the paint dries and falls off, the stain lasts for about 8-10 days.

By the way, the food at Bombay Spice is incredible. We made a meal out of way too many appetizers, but we couldn’t stop. We had lentil cakes (look to the right), smoky grilled tofu and a dosa filled with spicy potatoes. I usually save food photos for my blog on gluten-free food, but I had to share just one. Isn’t it pretty? These are the lentil cakes topped with a yogurt/mint sauce and crispy GF noodles. If you’re in the Phoenix area, don’t miss this place. Oh, and the Mehndi artist is there the first Thursday of every month. See you next month.

Creating art, no matter who likes it

“The arts are not a way of making a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”

This quote by Kurt Vonnegut has been making the rounds on Facebook and it really spoke to me. I love the line, “Write a poem, even a lousy poem.” Writers/artists are always so worried about what others think about their work. But the reward should not be who likes it, but the amount of joy we got out of creating it. There will always be someone who does not like it, and there will always be someone who does (even if that’s just you). Do it anyway.

I sent out a short story to a contest yesterday and I was sweating while I did it. I imagined the judges reading it with scowls and grimaces. “She thinks she’s a writer?” “What the hell is this?” Nightmares. Then I tell myself I’m supposed to be positive and that brings good things, right? At least that’s what all those cute sayings and photos tell me on Facebook. So I picture them saying, “Wow, brilliant writing. Check this out,” as they hand it around the table. (Yes, they are all sitting around a big conference table sipping martinis and reading short stories. It’s my dream, shut up.)

I’ve created all kinds of crappy art while trying to copy Pinterest. Who the hell does all that stuff anyway? But I had fun doing it and it’s all over my office where I can see it, but  everyone else doesn’t have to look at it. It might be brilliant, but more than likely it’s mediocre at best.

We’ll see what happens with the story, but I felt great while writing it. I felt great editing it. I felt uneasy sending it, but once it was gone it was out of my hands. And if, by chance, they don’t like it, that doesn’t take away any of the joy I got while writing it.

 

Saturdays

Peace, quiet, create, music, A/C, overcast, flowers, words, commas, he said, she said, coffee, tea, chocolate, stretching, thinking, dreaming, imagining.

What I did on my summer vacation

Taking a break from writing can be great. It can also be stressful if you feel like something is missing. So, I decided to take a break and work at a few art projects. These are a few things I’ve wanted to do, but thought I didn’t have the time. So, I took the time. Now don’t judge, it was just for my benefit and creative outlet. But I thought you might get a kick out of it.

Step One: Find a terrible painting at a thrift store or garage sale. Better yet, find something you painted during one of those wine & paint parties. (Yes, I know. Pretty bad, huh?)

Yeah, I did this. But there was wine involved…

Step Two: Lay out the stickers the way you want them and don’t be afraid to change it up.

Step Three: Paint over the stickers and canvas in any color you want. I chose black and brown. Cover till you get the desired color. Don’t worry about being perfect, it is art, remember? (I used acrylic paint, btw.)

Step Four: After it’s dried (took about 15 minutes), peel off the letters. I added a few 3-D stickers and a photo of my husband and daughter, as well as a set of beads.

Viola!

Steady hammering skills make for lovely jewelry, right?

I first saw something like this on Pinterest and it looked pretty easy. This project is simply washers (ok, I raided Husband’s toolbox) and a small letter kit I bought at Harbor Freight ($7). Choose words you want but make them short, then add beads or embellishments. Daughter is a big Sherlock fan, hence the 221B reference.

Heads up: Make sure you find a firm place to on which to hammer these. I actually split a concrete block while hammering. Good thing it was just used as a door stop in the back yard.
What do you do to give yourself a varied creative outlet?

 

 

 

A lost art of letter writing

Remember when you were young and you couldn’t wait for the mail to arrive? It was thrilling. My grandfather used to write a poem for each birthday and mail it to me. My friends wrote long letters about boyfriends and parties and I reread them over and over.

These days, most correspondence is done online. Letter writing has gone the way of the cassette tape, typewriter and phone cords. Some of these things can stay gone, no problem. Phone cords will not be missed. But I do miss the typewriter and its clack clack of the keys, and the letter in the mailbox is a tragic loss.

When was the last time you wrote someone a letter? I challenge you to write someone a letter this week. It could be a short, “Thanks for the great lunch and conversation,” or even, “I miss you. Let’s get together.” If you must, you can type it up and print it out. If you’re writing a long, drawn-out letter, by all means print it out. But hand write the envelope. It doesn’t take that much time and it gives the letter a special touch. You could even embellish the note or envelope with a drawing, stickers, etc. (OK, I’m pushing it here. Sorry)

I know this sounds very simple, but it isn’t, really. Our time is precious these days, yet we still have time to watch our favorite TV shows or movies, right? Take a moment during a commercial to write out a note. Address the envelope on the next commercial. See how quick that was?

A good friend of mine frequently rips out photos and ads from magazines, slaps a Post-it with a funny note on it and mails it out to me. I love getting these and it makes me smile. It doesn’t cost much, just a stamp and an envelope. If you have children, try writing them a letter or sending them a card. Tell Grandparents to drop them a card or letter.

Make someone smile this week. What have you got to lose?

What do you regret?

I have spent the past week going over everything in my life that I regret, why I regret it, and what I would do to change it. Why the hell am I doing that? I found a writing contest with the simple statement-Write an essay about a mistake or regret and what you would do to change it. Powerful, right?

The challenge, the way I see it, is to write something interesting, but not too deep and depressing. And of course, any of these regrets you have need to be usable in an essay that the entire world may just read (and I’m including my mother in that crowd). Ready for that, are you? Sure, I have major regrets, but not too many I want to tell the world about in 1,500 words or less. And I have regrets that I don’t feel I should change. They are what they are, and it’s that simple.

Then there are the regrets I think would have made a difference in someone else’s life more than mine. Those are the ones I think I would change. But which one of those is worth writing about?

So, my week has been quite depressing at times as I drive the kid around town, wash the dishes, and fold the laundry all the while reviewing all the shitty, stupid, or unkind things I think I’ve done and what I would do to change them. The more I review my life, the more I think I’m a bitch and that I have hurt people by the mere act of not paying attention. I think this comes from obsessing over my flaws for an entire week.

But seriously, I have come to the unfortunate conclusion that my lack of attention may have been a factor in many of these instances that keep flashing before my eyes as I sit at the red light. I would like to think that I have learned as I grew, and I will admit I have a lot fewer to review in the past 10 years. But who knows what tomorrow brings? I have been distracted lately.

I finally came up with a mistake I would like to change, and hopefully it’s good enough to win a prize. But if not, at least this has given me a chance to think about my mistakes. I didn’t like that much, but maybe I’ll pay a little more attention to everyone else.

Oh, and if I didn’t get around to you yet, let this be an apology for that thing I said. I’m sure I didn’t mean it.