Pregnancy has not been good for blogging. I thought it might be. I mean, I could whine and moan about the discomforts of pregnancy for NINE WHOLE MONTHS, right? Ample material! But...I also started to think of how SICK of my whining my friends and readers would get...and how sad my friends who struggle with conceiving might feel...and how STINKIN' TIRED I would be--so tired that even spending time whining and moaning seemed as though it might take too much energy. I remember after my first trimester how I knew I was beginning to feel a bit better because the idea of watching a TV show downstairs on the couch was not so overwhelmingly exhausting (I'd been crashing in bed many hours a day). LAYING ON THE COUCH was exhausting! I mean, seriously! Who can blog?
Not to mention that my blog definitely takes a food slant and just try writing about food when you can't stomach food. Just, ew. Gross.
I have barely cooked for my family in months. Yep, that's right. Me. Flathead Mama. Foodie. More often than not, I find myself getting take-out or making a big salad for dinner. Or a sandwich. Mmmmmm.... Garlic has become persona non grata, which eliminates basically all of my recipes except dessert (although if I had found a way to add garlic to dessert, that probably would be part of my repertoire too!). The first trimester, I couldn't cook or even stand cooking smells in the house. I was craving chili one day and I made my husband cook it on the barbecue grill. A few friends brought me casseroles. BLESS THEM. Because of them, my family could actually eat a few home-cooked meals! And Sweet Peaks...Oh, God bless Sweet Peaks...their creamy, homemade ice cream was one of the few things that tasted really good. Hence, my visits about three times a week. No exaggeration.
And then...just as the afternoon sickness of nausea began to abate, I got a bad sinus infection that turned into a cough that made me throw up (which, strangely enough, I had never done from pregnancy nausea...in either pregnancy!). And then I got food poisoning and had diarrhea for 4 days. I was reminded of the line from The Devil Wears Prada: "I'm just one stomach flu away from my goal weight." Haha. In a way, it was good. I had gained a little weight before getting pregnant. This equaled me out a little bit. Look on the positive side, I guess. I wouldn't recommend 4 days of diarrhea as the best diet ever though. Don't try this at home.
I got so depleted, I started having what almost felt like contractions. So I had to get checked out at labor and delivery. There was enough instability that they ordered an ultrasound. But ultimately, baby was found to be staying put. I went home, rested, stayed in bed (some more) while my husband did basically everything (some more). BLESS HIM. Without him, I probably couldn't have gotten well. But I did.
The last week or so has been good. We have done more fun things in the last week than in practically the whole pregnancy combined. (Arts Festival! Swimming at the lake! Farmer's Market! Thursday Fest in Kalispell! Movie with the hubby!) I'm tired and sore these days (and suffering from more allergies than usual), but functional. And we found out this week that our baby Bean is a boy, so we have taken to calling him Mr. Bean. I'm feeling him move more and more and so grateful to have gotten this far. So grateful for the husband, daughter, family, and friends who have helped me through the hormones and sickness and difficulties of the first trimester (and part of the second). So grateful to God for sustaining me even through an all-too-frequent negative attitude. So grateful for the good and replenishing activities I've been able to do this week.
I hope with some renewed health and energy, I will be able to post a little more often. But however things work out, know that I plan to be with this blog long-term. Because, well, writing is awesome. And so are my readers.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Friday, August 10, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Book Review Friday: Townie by Andre Dubus III
Well into his memoir
of life in a rough-and-tumble mill town in Massachusetts, Andre Dubus III offers up this gem of writing wisdom discovered through observing a master, "[he wrote] in a simple, naked style that drew the reader's eye not to him, but to them [the characters in the book]." Although there are parts of this narrative that don't work at all, I will take this line away with me for a very long time. It is tempting as a writer to be an ultimate egotist, to draw unceasing attention to myself. I once knew a lady who proclaimed that "everyone loved to hear her read" at church. And I sometimes think of this as I write. Am I writing as an egotist who believes that "everyone loves to hear me talk"? Or do I have a wider, more important mission than myself? Do I have a mission that is for others and for God?
For Dubus, the author of this week's featured book, Townie: A Memoir (W. W. Norton & Company), writing was almost a spiritual salvation experience, a deliverance from his wild efforts to prove himself through muscle and brawn in the hardscrabble life of a hard-living townie in Haverhill and Newburyport, Massachusetts. It is ultimately a book about a young man's efforts to find himself and become a man in the absence of strong fatherly guidance. It is a book that brings to mind the oft-repeated line from The Incredible Hulk, "I don't know if we can control it, but we can aim it."
Dubus's father was a celebrated author and he grew up in that shadow. His father also left his mother for another woman when he was a child, leaving Dubus without much male guidance, in poverty, with a family facing great obstacles such as hunger and the eventual rape of his sister. Dubus suffered greatly at the hands of town bullies and developed a goal in life of never being beaten up or dominated by another. He idolized body builders and paid homage to their photos in magazines. He worked long and hard to build himself up as an indomitable neighborhood warrior. The first 3/4 of this book detail fight after fight after fight in which Dubus was engaged. This is not a book for those offended by strong language; the language is some of the most fierce I have ever read. There are also times when I felt Dubus was abandoning his stated mission to let us see the characters in his world, instead yielding to the temptation to prove to us all how very hardcore he was "back in the day." There was also nearly constant foreshadowing of doom, but there was not always doom in store. Perhaps this reflects Dubus' mood in life in general, but I felt it told me more about him than about his story.
There were other times I felt like I was sitting at a MFA workshop table with the material in this book. Dubus drops into scenes without letting us really know where we are until pages later. He does this again and again, leading to a bit of disorientation. Rather than paring away extraneous details, he subjects us to an overly detailed account of his fights and developing sexuality as a teen. I appreciate the fact that he wanted to show us how driven by brawn and the frontal lobe of the brain he was as a young man, thereby giving us a hard-won transformation that we would appreciate all the more for the journey. I think some of the hard-edged content is warranted but I would appreciate a lot more of it being summarized. There is a feeling amongst writers that in order for writing to be good, one must be entirely vulnerable and reveal every little embarrassing detail; I disagree with this notion and feel that it simply leads to ego-centered writing in which the writer battles to be seen. We're all prone to this as writers--in one way or another--but it's still a failing when it happens.
All that said, Dubus comes into real strength in the final 1/4 of his book. Having tried to prove himself as a man through his fists and through never running away from a fight, one day he simply picks up a pen as if fate has led him to it. He begins to write, at first badly, and then better and better. He begins to find success. And when it dawns on him that he needs to see people and not seek to be seen, it transforms his life. He becomes empathetic towards the criminals that he supervises in a halfway house and even, in a penultimate scene close to the end of the book, becomes empathetic toward bullies who try to intimidate a group of children on a train which leads to the defusing of the situation (much to his surprise). This scene takes place shortly after Dubus on a sleepless, anxiety-filled night picks up his girlfriend's Bible and reads the words, "Love one another." Through love instead of violence (the latter of which he points out only begets more violence), Dubus begins to find a way to make a positive impact on his world.
Can I be too impatient with Dubus for engaging in some of the ego-centric writing that he is trying to avoid? No, I can't because he is simply a person in transition, striving to become a better man though handicapped through an upbringing that included much abandonment and poverty. I appreciate what he has overcome and that he is trying to walk a better way. I appreciated his words of wisdom and insight about writing and underlined many of them. I appreciated his attempts, at times, to engage a bit with faith. Most of all, I appreciate his effort to lay aside his violent impulses and take up a more intentional and empathetic style of living. This could be a useful corrective to the thousands and thousands of young men (I could add "women," but this is ultimately a book about manhood) who are chained to the harsh taskmaster of anger and rage. There is a way out.
With all this said, however, it was a difficult ride through the first 3/4 of this book and I can only recommend it with hesitancy to the most mature of readers. You will have to slog through a lot of messy humanity before you find a ray of light.
3.5 stars
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from W.W. Norton & Company. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 <http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html> : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
of life in a rough-and-tumble mill town in Massachusetts, Andre Dubus III offers up this gem of writing wisdom discovered through observing a master, "[he wrote] in a simple, naked style that drew the reader's eye not to him, but to them [the characters in the book]." Although there are parts of this narrative that don't work at all, I will take this line away with me for a very long time. It is tempting as a writer to be an ultimate egotist, to draw unceasing attention to myself. I once knew a lady who proclaimed that "everyone loved to hear her read" at church. And I sometimes think of this as I write. Am I writing as an egotist who believes that "everyone loves to hear me talk"? Or do I have a wider, more important mission than myself? Do I have a mission that is for others and for God?For Dubus, the author of this week's featured book, Townie: A Memoir (W. W. Norton & Company)
, writing was almost a spiritual salvation experience, a deliverance from his wild efforts to prove himself through muscle and brawn in the hardscrabble life of a hard-living townie in Haverhill and Newburyport, Massachusetts. It is ultimately a book about a young man's efforts to find himself and become a man in the absence of strong fatherly guidance. It is a book that brings to mind the oft-repeated line from The Incredible Hulk, "I don't know if we can control it, but we can aim it."Dubus's father was a celebrated author and he grew up in that shadow. His father also left his mother for another woman when he was a child, leaving Dubus without much male guidance, in poverty, with a family facing great obstacles such as hunger and the eventual rape of his sister. Dubus suffered greatly at the hands of town bullies and developed a goal in life of never being beaten up or dominated by another. He idolized body builders and paid homage to their photos in magazines. He worked long and hard to build himself up as an indomitable neighborhood warrior. The first 3/4 of this book detail fight after fight after fight in which Dubus was engaged. This is not a book for those offended by strong language; the language is some of the most fierce I have ever read. There are also times when I felt Dubus was abandoning his stated mission to let us see the characters in his world, instead yielding to the temptation to prove to us all how very hardcore he was "back in the day." There was also nearly constant foreshadowing of doom, but there was not always doom in store. Perhaps this reflects Dubus' mood in life in general, but I felt it told me more about him than about his story.
There were other times I felt like I was sitting at a MFA workshop table with the material in this book. Dubus drops into scenes without letting us really know where we are until pages later. He does this again and again, leading to a bit of disorientation. Rather than paring away extraneous details, he subjects us to an overly detailed account of his fights and developing sexuality as a teen. I appreciate the fact that he wanted to show us how driven by brawn and the frontal lobe of the brain he was as a young man, thereby giving us a hard-won transformation that we would appreciate all the more for the journey. I think some of the hard-edged content is warranted but I would appreciate a lot more of it being summarized. There is a feeling amongst writers that in order for writing to be good, one must be entirely vulnerable and reveal every little embarrassing detail; I disagree with this notion and feel that it simply leads to ego-centered writing in which the writer battles to be seen. We're all prone to this as writers--in one way or another--but it's still a failing when it happens.
All that said, Dubus comes into real strength in the final 1/4 of his book. Having tried to prove himself as a man through his fists and through never running away from a fight, one day he simply picks up a pen as if fate has led him to it. He begins to write, at first badly, and then better and better. He begins to find success. And when it dawns on him that he needs to see people and not seek to be seen, it transforms his life. He becomes empathetic towards the criminals that he supervises in a halfway house and even, in a penultimate scene close to the end of the book, becomes empathetic toward bullies who try to intimidate a group of children on a train which leads to the defusing of the situation (much to his surprise). This scene takes place shortly after Dubus on a sleepless, anxiety-filled night picks up his girlfriend's Bible and reads the words, "Love one another." Through love instead of violence (the latter of which he points out only begets more violence), Dubus begins to find a way to make a positive impact on his world.
Can I be too impatient with Dubus for engaging in some of the ego-centric writing that he is trying to avoid? No, I can't because he is simply a person in transition, striving to become a better man though handicapped through an upbringing that included much abandonment and poverty. I appreciate what he has overcome and that he is trying to walk a better way. I appreciated his words of wisdom and insight about writing and underlined many of them. I appreciated his attempts, at times, to engage a bit with faith. Most of all, I appreciate his effort to lay aside his violent impulses and take up a more intentional and empathetic style of living. This could be a useful corrective to the thousands and thousands of young men (I could add "women," but this is ultimately a book about manhood) who are chained to the harsh taskmaster of anger and rage. There is a way out.
With all this said, however, it was a difficult ride through the first 3/4 of this book and I can only recommend it with hesitancy to the most mature of readers. You will have to slog through a lot of messy humanity before you find a ray of light.
3.5 stars
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from W.W. Norton & Company. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 <http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html> : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
creative process
I don't work the same as other people. As a creative person and a "thinker," I've found that my creative process necessarily requires dry spells, periods of writer's block, and other "breaks" from producing content. Don't get me wrong; I can spit out some content if I need to, but if I've not allowed myself creative space, I'll know well and good that it isn't high quality.
The downside to this creative process is that if I have to fit into somebody else's mold, I become depleted, leading to less quality in what I do (this is not to say there are not times to just "get it done"). There may be time periods when I appear to be doing little to nothing. But it's like letting my fields lie fallow. If it isn't done, the land becomes depleted and exhausted and cannot bear fruit. I must let my mind lie fallow from time to time.
The upside to this creative process is that intriguing thoughts come into this empty space and fill it up. In the midst of a current dry spell, I found myself interacting with people who believe very differently from me on a Huffington Post column. The commenters were aggressive though I tried to be respectful. I finally came to realize that they were coming to the table with lots of wounds and assumptions that simply come from their experience, just as I was probably assuming things about them. I decided not to be offended. But I did find myself intrigued by one theological/Biblical issue raised by one of these commenters. I suddenly didn't want to know the answer in order to convince them anymore; I wanted to know the answer to the quandary in order to enhance my own understanding. And then I found myself being forcefully pushed into reading Scripture intently with a mind to really hear what was being said. I was curious again (the key to creativity, growth and knowledge). I was on the edge of my seat--and still am. The theological question is not one I have fully resolved yet, but I am well on my way.
Questions make life exciting. Not knowing all the answers and yet having something to discover makes life meaningful. If I could wish anything for people in general--and people of faith in particular--it is that we maintain a curiosity about the world. But this curiosity cannot come to us as easily in the drudgery of daily life. We must come aside, in whatever way--even if it is simply in a dry period of doubt or lack of inspiration. And we must trust that inspiration will come again.
This is the only way I have found to write, to create. Endure the time of fallow ground, for the bloom will come again.
The downside to this creative process is that if I have to fit into somebody else's mold, I become depleted, leading to less quality in what I do (this is not to say there are not times to just "get it done"). There may be time periods when I appear to be doing little to nothing. But it's like letting my fields lie fallow. If it isn't done, the land becomes depleted and exhausted and cannot bear fruit. I must let my mind lie fallow from time to time.
The upside to this creative process is that intriguing thoughts come into this empty space and fill it up. In the midst of a current dry spell, I found myself interacting with people who believe very differently from me on a Huffington Post column. The commenters were aggressive though I tried to be respectful. I finally came to realize that they were coming to the table with lots of wounds and assumptions that simply come from their experience, just as I was probably assuming things about them. I decided not to be offended. But I did find myself intrigued by one theological/Biblical issue raised by one of these commenters. I suddenly didn't want to know the answer in order to convince them anymore; I wanted to know the answer to the quandary in order to enhance my own understanding. And then I found myself being forcefully pushed into reading Scripture intently with a mind to really hear what was being said. I was curious again (the key to creativity, growth and knowledge). I was on the edge of my seat--and still am. The theological question is not one I have fully resolved yet, but I am well on my way.
Questions make life exciting. Not knowing all the answers and yet having something to discover makes life meaningful. If I could wish anything for people in general--and people of faith in particular--it is that we maintain a curiosity about the world. But this curiosity cannot come to us as easily in the drudgery of daily life. We must come aside, in whatever way--even if it is simply in a dry period of doubt or lack of inspiration. And we must trust that inspiration will come again.
This is the only way I have found to write, to create. Endure the time of fallow ground, for the bloom will come again.
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