Full Moon Dream Board: Peace

So ends my four-day writing marathon. (It was more like four and half really).  I have a word count, but I feel like it is really no way to measure what happened inside me this weekend.

I lived. 

I’ve started my first real piece of fiction (I say “real” because I’ve written fiction before I’m sure, but never seriously.)  Currently my characters are still only giving me the beginning of their stories—their tragic stories.  I am begging them to give me a glimpse of their futures so that I can trust that their story redeems. 

Being the narrator has always frightened me because for so long I was convinced that God had an “ultimate will” for me.  I have come to believe, to much relief, that in fact, the joy of writing my own story is before me.  As the author, I have created these characters with names and faces and fathers and fears.  I’m hovering above somewhere, hiding behind a tree maybe, and I can see the torment they feel.  But I don’t know yet what they will choose tomorrow.  I want to interfere, to control the story.  But I will not.  It is their story, not mine to tell.  I can only plea with them…

                                             Thoughts on Fiction

                                             29 Mar 10

I want to write a redemptive ending,

But I don’t know if my characters will let me.

They’re stuck

Somewhere between the ninth hole, the Baring Sea and delivery day.

And they are running from,

If not paralyzed by,

The fear

Of an ever growing roundness protruding from her belly.

My dear characters, may your joy grow with each day.  We are hoping for you. 

And while I am hoping for my characters, I can only pray that someone is hoping for me.  I was amazed, ashamed and confused by some of the things that crept out of me over the last few days.  Solitude and expression can do that.  Anxiety has been overwhelming me. I’ve spent moments sitting silently; asking the screaming little girl inside what she needs to say. 

She wants to be accepted.  I guess that means           

I want to be accepted. 

Yael Naim - Far, Far

As these and other beautiful and hideous thoughts rage through my being (I swear I can feel them in every joint), I know that there must be somewhere they can be placed where some other power can quiet them and I continue on in peace. 

Because peace is beautiful. 

How convenient that the moon is full and birthing creativity and excitement.  I shall use her offering of energy and offer her back my creativity.  I made a box.  Not just any box—a beautiful box.  The tag on the front reads “everything will be okay in the end…it’s not the end.”  Inside this box I will place my fears, crazies and gremlins.  (I suggest taking a listen to this and embracing the restful breaths it offers to the creative soul.)  I’m sure it will fill fast but that guarantees that I can fill with peace and light. 

And so I end my evening with a cupa, a warm meal and The Science of Sleep.  The rain will sing me to sleep tonight, like she has the past few nights and tomorrow I will wake and write again. 

Live at peace,

Jenn

2010 Book List-This Year With Reviews

Book reviews terrify me.  I'm not sure why.  Probably because I just spent hours taking it all in and now you want me to spit out a few sentences summarizing the book.  But, last year I sped through fifty books without giving a single review.

Here's my list so far this year.  I'd say it's pretty impressive considering the quarter I had.  I'm working on quiet a few books over my break and have a good list for the spring including the ones for school.  

Please add your suggestions.  I have more than enough books on my shelf to read, I'll probably buy plenty more, but I want to know you are reading and get some suggestions.  

1.  Stones Into School, Greg Mortenson  

Written in what feels like a rush and using a bazillion pages to tell the Central Asia Institute’s story in Afghanistan (a story that was hinted at in Three Cups of Tea), this book floored me; the Afghani men who represent the antithesis of the Taliban, the desperate fervor for life.  Afghanistan may hold my heart more than any other nation.  Afghanistan has the second highest illiteracy rate the in the world and not only one of the highest birth rates (seven births to each women), but the country’s infant and maternal mortality rates are just as high.   I could go on forever, at least fifteen pages, as that’s how long my research paper was this quarter.  But I suggest, for the hopeful side of the story, you read Stones Into Schools.   Mortenson presents a look at the Taliban, the most forgotten people in the most remote corner of the world and how pockets of the US Military are changing their approach.  Every page of this book cries out “everything must change.”  And I cried through every page. 

2.  The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

How many reviews have been written on LOTR?  Must I give another?  Let me say this much—the trilogy stands as a testament to passion.  The amount of time and creative energy that was spent for its purpose are evident through every word of every made up language.   The culture of creativity is seen in every character.  And the book reminds me, above all, that even if I were to know all that would hinder me along the way, the journey is still worth every step, every tear and every crumb of Lembas. 

3.  Savage Beauty, The Life of Edna St. Vincent Milay, Nancy Milford

I’m sorry to say that I could not finish this book.  In fact, I could barely start it.  While Vincent ranks right up there with Zelda and Sylvia in tortured famous females, there are a lot of pages filled with very little depiction of the world outside of Vincent’s own mind.  The author herself writes in a such a straightforward manner that I believe it actually contrasts with the manic nature of Vincent too much.  As a result, I could not engage with either fully. 

* Veiled Threat: The Hidden Power of the Women of Afghanistan, Sally Armstrong

This was a book for school, so it doesn’t actually count for my twenty-five, but it is worth making a note of.  Armstrong, a Canadian journalist, follows the story of RAWA through the refugee camps of Pakistan and parts of Afghanistan.  Veiled Threat exemplifies the kind of writing I most want to do.  She gives a history of the women, the Taliban and the current war and provides the stories of the Women who have endured all of it and have continued to fight for their own futures.  This is one of the most captivating books I have read on the subjects of both Afghanistan and women’s right.  

4. The War of Art, Steven Pressfield 

What can I say?  The day I opened this book on the bus, I stayed on the bus for a few extra stops, planted myself in Stumptown and skipped class.  The next day I called a counselor.  Being an honest person, I will say that I am a drama ridden, justified hypochondriac. I hate this about myself and have often wondered where this comes from? The book has helped me explore some of the roots of these character flaws and see how the directly relate to my creative expression.  Pressfield doesn’t leave anything untouched.  He address the ways artists try to escape the pull of our art, he draws the picture of a professional and shows you just how much time you need to put in to make your work sustainable, never once sugarcoating his own long journey to success.  The Art of War is wise, contemplative and raw.  It’s kicks your ass. 

Working on Now

5. The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien

6. Snow, Orhan Pamuk

7. On Writing, Stephen King

8. A Poetry Handbook, Mary Oliver

The Spring Reading List

9. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

* On the Road, Jack Kerouac (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

* Naked Lunch, William S. Burroughs (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

* The Pocket Beat Reader (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

10.  Half the Sky, Nicholas D. Kristof

11. A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition, Ernest Hemingway  

Thoughts on the Summer Books           

12. Strength in What Remains, Tracy Kidder

13. The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

14. The Outliners, Malcolm Gladwell

15. What the Dog Saw, Malcolm Gladwell

16. What is the What, Dave Eggers

15. Zeitoun, Dave Eggers

16. The Kite Runner, Khaled Housseini

17. The Bookseller of Kabul, Åsne Seierstad

18. The Evolution of God, Robert Wright

19. Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides

20. I really am not at a loss of books here…But I’m leaving room for suggestions.  Help!!

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

Japanese Maples. Need I say more?

November.  It was rainy.  I discovered gluten has been causing my migraines for the last thirteen years.   I explored the city.  I read.  I wrote five papers. 

Café: Bauhaus, Capitol Hill.  Didn’t enjoy it.  It was a beautiful day outside, but inside it was muggy, loud and just plain snobby.  Coffee didn’t do much for me either.  Sad.

Restaurant: Ballet, Capitol Hill.  Yeah, hi!  Hole in the wall Vietnamese food?  I’m game.  This is some of the best fo I’ve had.

Thing: The Arboretum.  I skiped school one Monday and Aurora and I headed to the Arboretum just in time to see the Japanese maples in all their glory.  It was a peacefull day full of romps through the magical forest, dreams of someday retiring to a bench with a view of beauty and feeling a little at home admiring the plants of Aotearoa in the Pacific Circle Garden. 

Books: Eats, Shoots and Leaves, Truss; Gluten Free Girl, Ahren; Imagining Ourselves; Sailing Alone Around the Room, Collins; Out of The Silent Planet, C. S. Lewis.

The End.

Full Moon Dream Board: The Stories Within

Every twenty-eight days the moon is full. It is large and round and reflecting its little heart out. Every twenty-eight days I can't sleep, I write like mad and I seem to find some new vision I feel I must live. A few months ago I discovered the Full Moon Dream Board.

It's a chance to harness all that energy and creativity and focus on something beautiful. It's a time to dedicate the next month, the next cycle of the moon the earth and my own natural rhythms to something meaningful.

This month it's "The Stories Within". I came across a quote the other day by William Zinsser (whom I am in love with and plan on hanging a picture of him on my bedroom wall like I did Brad Pitt when I was 16). In his book On Writing Well, Zinsser says, "...any time you can tell a story in the form of a quest or pilgrimage you'll be ahead of the game." Brilliant. Beautiful. Zinsser, you are my hero.

This blog is part of my quest, my stories are my pilgrimage. This month I will write the words that have been wondering through the wilderness of my mind. And like the dancers and animals and ships hanging by strings, I will frame them and find joy in them. I will tell a great story.

Broken and Beautiful

"Poison & Wine" by the Civil Wars is one my favorite songs of the year and the video is beautiful.

Coming of Age

27.May.2009

“I tell you that I have a long way to go before I am—where one begins…”

–Rilke

 

“Not long ago I was looking at photos of myself at various ages and weights—way before the neckular deterioration began, way before the fanny pack of menopause—and I could see how gorgeous I must have looked to everyone else…Twenty years! Why did it take me so long to discover what a dish I was?”

–Anne Lamott

 

I’m finally starting to feel like an adult.  I’ll be twenty-five in three weeks.  The other day I bought a green shirt.  I put it on, did my hair and looked in the mirror.  It was the first time in my life that I actually looked like an adult, really, truly.  I’m not sure why I’ve never felt that way before; I’ve often felt a little mature for my age.   The moment seemed magical.  This shirt is the color of a freshly painted kelly-green tractor and my eyes reflect it perfectly.  I was wearing my favorite eye shadow.  My hair was wavy and pulled back loosely, my neck was framed by a pair of beautifully artistic earrings I bought at a market in New Zealand.   I was showing off my newly acquired sun-kissed (burn) glow. About four days a week I go through my twenty-minute beauty ritual, which includes actually washing my face, applying light make-up and not hiding my hair with a headband.  I guess this was one of those days where I cared enough to put on the earrings.

There I found myself, standing in my bathroom staring at this woman in the mirror.  She was no longer a young woman, no longer a girl. She had lived many lives, left things behind and had many adventures ahead of her.  She was someone I felt that I had known once, or would know in the future, but in this moment she was a stranger.  I paused for a moment in front of my mirror and stood up a little straighter.  This woman looking back at me had a glimmer of wisdom, endurance and other things that continue to remain unnamed but add up to beautiful.   She held herself with true confidence and I was startled when I learned that I was her. 

I’ve read a lot of books, been on plenty of airplanes and endured some big stuff, but never have I fully seen myself as an adult.  I don’t know that I’ve ever felt really at home in my own skin, but in this brief moment I did.  I haven’t been able to shake the feeling. It feels like it’s haunting me. This adult-looking-ness is new to me. I just don’t feel “there” yet, even though I don’t know where “there” is.   I’ve been walking taller, standing a little prouder but still something in me is screaming at myself to slow down!  Something is telling me to just stop, to just rest.  In my heart I want to pace myself, allow myself to learn, make mistakes, to endure the moments as they happen with all their messy emotions and unnecessary dramas.    I want to embrace being a twenty-something but for so long I’ve been trying to achieve forty and feeling very far behind.  I think I would rather gather around the women who find themselves truthfully at their age and learn from them what only they can teach me. 

For now I think I will embrace the twenty-five year old woman I see looking back at me through my very own eyes and I will do my best to record my twenty-something dilemmas so that when it is time I will pass on the wisdom I learned about beauty and love and self and life and God.  I will live at peace with now and embrace the surprising beauty as I come of age.