Right Book. Right Time.

Obviously I love to read. Reading my blog every now and then lets you know I consume books like some people consume energy drinks. I've been reading since the second grade, and the only trouble I got into in elementary and middle school was for hiding "outside reading" behind my textbooks. Yes, that makes me a goody-goody, but only until high school. I assure you I got into my fair share of trouble then. Just ask my parents.

Lunching with Joshilyn Jackson & What She Didn't Teach Me

So yes, yes. I lunched with Joshilyn Jackson on Friday. [Brush my shoulder, toss my hair, look smug]

Lessons Learned from My Obsession with Space

My dad loves to tell the story about my 7th-grade trip to Space Camp. Or rather, the circumstances surrounding winning my trip to Space Camp.

A Swift Kick from Bossy Tina Fey

I finished Tina Fey's Bossypants today. To say Tina's funny "would be the biggest understatement since the captain of the Hindenburg said ‘I smell gas.’" (To be clear, that's a joke from the book, but not about herself.) The early conversation about puberty made me laugh out loud and almost drop the light bulb I was changing. And fall off the chair. And my husband to look at me peculiarly and ask, "What're you listening to?"

But two of my favorite quotes?

The Tree that Put Me at Ease

Back in February I had the good sense to attend a writers' conference offered on campus --- where I met many talented writers, bought too many of their books, and patiently began to nibble them in small, savory bites.


Except for Jennifer Horne's Bottle Tree. I devoured it that first weekend.


Which is interesting, because --- Horne being the only poet at the conference --- I expected to enjoy her the least. That sounds insulting, but up until that weekend most of my exposure had been to the big dogs --- Keats, Yeats, Frost, etc.  You know, the poetry that demands "work, work, work to understand me." I had the preconceived notion that Horne's would be much of the same.


But then she read her first poem, and I was spellbound.  I didn't know poetry could be like this! I remember thinking, I want to write like this someday. After hearing her speak, I wanted more. After finishing her book, I wanted more. Horne had given me the gift of poetic sustenance, when up until then I didn't know I was starving!  


Two months later I'm a regular in front of the single shelf at my local chain bookstore, picking up Alice Walker and Billy Collins. Thanks to Jennifer Horne I'm at ease with my pursuit of writing poetry, understanding that fancy words and complicated styles don't make a great poem. An open mind, a gift of words, and a sense of story-telling make a great poem.  At least it does in Bottle Tree.


With the author's permission, I've presented one of my favorites from the collection. Please visit Jennifer Horne's blog and/or click here to purchase a copy for yourself.  Trust me, you'll want more.


Monday Morning with Household Chores


Surprised into tears by an old song.
It's my mother, not a lover, I miss.
How she sang along happily. With abandon.
The words soothed her. Lifted her, too.
I stop in the middle of mopping the kitchen floor.
Nothing to do but sit down on the steps.
Let the tears have their way.


It's my solitude I weep for.
The never-again of it.
Changeable weather. A sweet old song.
Me aging with all these questions.
She not there to ask.


Isn't every motherless girl the same?
Still expecting her phone call.
Even after however-many years.
Mopping's regular rhythm.
Lemon oil on wooden chest.
Honor her with frangipani candles at Christmas.
Sing with abandon. Abandon. Abandon.




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Inspiration Comes in Raw Packages

There's nothing like finding inspiration in someone else. 
Thanks to friend Kyrsten from my creative poetry class, I've discovered Taylor Mali, a former-teacher-turned-slam-poet. I spent an hour watching youTube videos of him last night, spent another hour making my husband watch them, and after was so inspired I sat down and wrote something in under 30 minutes.

I love it when that happens.

So before you think, "Blah.  I'm not going to watch some guy recite poetry," I urge you to take a minute. Or three. Watch the clip below.

Listen.

If you like what you see (and I think you will), try these:

• On What Teachers Make
• The The Impotence of Proofreading
• Labeling Keys
• Defending American Interests

 But to tell the truth, I find his deeper stuff (listed below) to be breathtaking --- literally.  I found myself holding my breath. His willingness to bare his soul... I struggle with that in my writing.  I'm always aware of who I might hurt.  If I write about an ex-boyfriend, will I hurt my husband? The ex's family? If I write about my family, will it offend my grandmother? And so on and so on. My friend Mica tells me that I'm more honest than she ever could be, and perhaps that's true. (Read her guest blog, A "Clark Griswold" Holiday)

But I know it's not enough when I find myself censoring my pen.

Because when I read writing that's raw --- or hear it like Taylor does below --- that's what really packs the punch; they're the words that stick with me. Inspiration comes in raw packages.

• Depression, Too, is a Type of Fire
• Entire Act of Sorrow
• For the Life of Me

To sum up, it seems I recommend watching everything he's ever done on youTube.  I hope you find him as inspirational as I have.  And by all means, please share him (& this post) with your friends on Facebook & Twitter, too!


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Running in Repeats

I heart Kevin Smith.  Truly.  You may only recognize him as the "too fat to fly"-guy, or perhaps you know his movies and think he's repulsive.  But the man can write -- he produces some of the most amazing dialogue in Hollywood and his autobiographies are filled with random stories that are humorous yet meaningful. If you ever get the chance to pick up My Boring-Ass Life, it's worth it to read his chapter about Jason Mewes overcoming his heroin addiction.  Unbelievable story.  Unbelievable writing.

So of course I follow him on Twitter, which is sometimes confusing because, as an artist who is known to be very particular about his words, he does not find it necessary to limit himself to 140 characters.  There are some days when I wonder if he's trying to break his own record of "tweets it takes to get this story out."

But as I've stated, I heart Kevin Smith.  Long tweets and all.  As a writer I envy the way he takes the simple, everyday life and makes me (and millions of others) think, "Oh, yeah... I've felt that way."  And although it took him 11 tweets to tell the story below, it's one of the shorter writings I've loved.  As someone who watches Friends with my daughter almost daily, I've no doubt I'll experience this someday soon.

Tweeted earlier this week, I've simply copied and pasted his words together:

"I LOVE LUCY was a sitcom from the '50s that was running in repeats during my childhood.  There were merely 5 stations when I was a kid, so I was often forced to watch LUCY - a show my parents still found funny.  Of course they did:  they'd watched all the eps during their original airings, from 1951 to 1957.  But at our little house on Jackson Street in Highlands, NJ, the idea of watching a 20 year old sitcom - even if nothing else was on - always felt geriatric to me.  Even my Grandmother would watch LUCY reruns, usually at 10pm on channel 5.  LUCY couldn't be dodged of ducked in my pre-cable youth.  And whenever someone older than me tried to sell me on how awesome LUCY was, I'd cringe, forced to watch situations and characters for which I had no perspective and no sentimental attachment.  The other day, I was watching ROSEANNE with my kid.  After ten minutes, she observed "Nobody has a cell phone."  After that, she asked questions about lower-middle-class life - a subject she's as ignorant of as I am well-schooled.  So there I was, watching a 20 year old sitcom that I still adore with my kid, who had no context for the world or era that produced the best television series of the 90s.  After she politely watched the episode with me (or rather, for me) Harley thanked me for sharing my program, then excused herself to watch GLEE.  And 20 years from now, as she tries to desperately explain to an incredulous-but-patient child of her own just how timeless and relevant HER childhood television treasure is, a circle will be complete."