I turned on my computer
to find a poet standing there.
I took a walk through campus
and heard the soft pads of the poet
perambulating past.
I filled my coffee,
returned to my office,
full of papers ungraded
and lessons unplanned,
but I found myself returning
to the computer
and the poet I'd found standing there.
Mixed of video and audio,
she metered her matters.
I began to type outward,
to punch the keys digital
and to play within the post.
I stuttered a "P" on the keyboard
and turned it over on my tongue
like candy for the sweet sound of it.
The act felt like reaching
like yearning and desire,
like the skin of a cheek cupped
in a bare hand,
like touch and water
and sky and tree
and all the things I can know
in a syllable.
I found a poet on my computer.
The bits and bites
of arranged data brought her to me,
but the miracle of her poem
is that it made me want to make one too.
In the hollow cave of my mouth
I found the hibernating tongue
rising, hungry, blind with sleep,
but the desire, the need for food,
the sustenance of a syllable,
drove it from the darkness
only to stand dumbly blinking
in the light of her poet's dance.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
My First Critique in Months
I sent a chapter of my NaNoWriMo project to a friend this week. She is a friend from grad school and an insightful writer and editor. I knew the chapter wasn't "done," but I needed to get it off my desk and into a reader's hands. I wasn't disappointed.
For me, there comes a point in any writing project when I need a set of eyes to tell me if what I am looking at is true. For instance, the chapter I sent out had two of my main characters in it. The chapter began in the head of one, but finished in the head of another. I suspected that I wasn't executing this well, but I felt I needed a reader to let me know if my impulse was right.
It was. One of the first things my reader commented on was the fact that the chapter seemed fractured and that she wasn't sure who her emotional allegiance was with. This confirmed the fact that my writer's intuition is still working. You see, when you sit for a long time with a piece of writing, you can become too comfortable with it, you can overlook things, and you can become complacent with the way it looks because you wrote it and, personally, you think you are kind of awesome. Don't lie; we all think we're pretty awesome at some point in the day!
Now the chapter is back in my lap and the work of revision begins again. For this chapter, it means rewriting it two different ways so that each of the characters is given their due. It also showed me something else about my book. While the novel will follow four characters and each of them will have dedicated chapters, there is one character who will be written in first person. I had written him in first person before, but abandoned it. I think I will be returning to those older pieces and resurrecting his personal voice.
As my grad school advisor and the children of Narnia used to say, "Onward and upward!"
For me, there comes a point in any writing project when I need a set of eyes to tell me if what I am looking at is true. For instance, the chapter I sent out had two of my main characters in it. The chapter began in the head of one, but finished in the head of another. I suspected that I wasn't executing this well, but I felt I needed a reader to let me know if my impulse was right.
It was. One of the first things my reader commented on was the fact that the chapter seemed fractured and that she wasn't sure who her emotional allegiance was with. This confirmed the fact that my writer's intuition is still working. You see, when you sit for a long time with a piece of writing, you can become too comfortable with it, you can overlook things, and you can become complacent with the way it looks because you wrote it and, personally, you think you are kind of awesome. Don't lie; we all think we're pretty awesome at some point in the day!
Now the chapter is back in my lap and the work of revision begins again. For this chapter, it means rewriting it two different ways so that each of the characters is given their due. It also showed me something else about my book. While the novel will follow four characters and each of them will have dedicated chapters, there is one character who will be written in first person. I had written him in first person before, but abandoned it. I think I will be returning to those older pieces and resurrecting his personal voice.
As my grad school advisor and the children of Narnia used to say, "Onward and upward!"
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Arguing with a Four-Year-Old
I'm in the car with my four year old, which means the verbal flow is on output for the little lady. We're on our way to the store to take back some Christmas gifts and some lottery tickets so I can buy a controller for my PS3. We're riding along and Shea is talking about this or that, there's no rhyme or reason that connects her thoughts when we are in the car.
It starts out with her singing a song that she's made up, but soon she's calling out to me, "Daddy. Daddy."
"Yes," I say without turning around.
"I call Purple, Purp."
"What's that, honey?" I say.
"I call Purple, Purp."
"Okay. That's pretty cool," I say. "You're pretty street."
This is where she gets incredulous. "What?!" she says.
"Street. It means like cool or hip, like you know what's going on on the streets."
"That's not real," she tells me.
"Yes, it is," I say.
"You're making it up to trick me," she says. We go back and forth a couple of times in that way that only four year olds can do. It's the "uh-uh" defense. No matter what you say, it gets a "uh-uh." It's the most maddening thing.
"Okay," I say. "Let's agree to disagree." I'm getting close to pulling into the parking lot of Fred Meyer's, so I'm cutting it short.
From the back I hear her whisper to herself, "Tricking me."
Ah, my daughter the skeptic.
It starts out with her singing a song that she's made up, but soon she's calling out to me, "Daddy. Daddy."
"Yes," I say without turning around.
"I call Purple, Purp."
"What's that, honey?" I say.
"I call Purple, Purp."
"Okay. That's pretty cool," I say. "You're pretty street."
This is where she gets incredulous. "What?!" she says.
"Street. It means like cool or hip, like you know what's going on on the streets."
"That's not real," she tells me.
"Yes, it is," I say.
"You're making it up to trick me," she says. We go back and forth a couple of times in that way that only four year olds can do. It's the "uh-uh" defense. No matter what you say, it gets a "uh-uh." It's the most maddening thing.
"Okay," I say. "Let's agree to disagree." I'm getting close to pulling into the parking lot of Fred Meyer's, so I'm cutting it short.
From the back I hear her whisper to herself, "Tricking me."
Ah, my daughter the skeptic.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
More Hilariousness from the Mouths of Babes
Shea's been on a roll lately. She's been coming up with some one-liners that have had Tracy and I rolling on the floor. I'll give you a couple examples.
The first one happened when I took Shea to her physical therapy appointment. We were waiting in the lobby and Shea was talking with the receptionist Melissa. They love each other and always banter back and forth when we arrive. I actually didn't know if we were there for physical or occupational therapy, so I asked Melissa who we were seeing that morning.
Melissa said, "Oh, you're seeing Cressa and you can see her baby bump now."
Cressa had apparently recently announced her pregnancy to her office. This wasn't exactly good news for us because this meant a new therapist, which was the third new one for us due to pregnancies. I put on a happy face and said, "Oh, Shea, isn't that exciting? Cressa has a baby in her belly."
She swung her gaze over to me and in the driest deadpan said, "There goes another one," and then swung back to Melissa.
I about lost it. I didn't even understand where she would have learned to even say such a thing, but the timing and the delivery on it was absolutely perfect. I was ready to sign her up for improv classes.
The next instance came later. It was the end of the night and Tracy and I had were getting her ready for bed. We had just shuffled her off when Tracy accidentally let one "fly." I was teasing Tracy and telling her it stunk really bad. I was being overly dramatic and loud in an effort to get her to blush. I was having a good time with it and hurling jokes at her when, from the other room, Shea says, "You married her." Just like that. Nothing else. Again, it was said in the most matter of fact tone you'd ever heard.
It took Tracy and I a minute to recover. In that moment, silence reigned until we both looked at each other with tears welling up in our eyes. Tracy laughed so hard she fell on the bed and buried her face in the pillow.
We just can't get over how big she is getting and how out of control we are in terms of the things that are starting to come out of her mouth. We have no idea how she is putting thoughts together now, but it sure is keeping us entertained.
The first one happened when I took Shea to her physical therapy appointment. We were waiting in the lobby and Shea was talking with the receptionist Melissa. They love each other and always banter back and forth when we arrive. I actually didn't know if we were there for physical or occupational therapy, so I asked Melissa who we were seeing that morning.
Melissa said, "Oh, you're seeing Cressa and you can see her baby bump now."
Cressa had apparently recently announced her pregnancy to her office. This wasn't exactly good news for us because this meant a new therapist, which was the third new one for us due to pregnancies. I put on a happy face and said, "Oh, Shea, isn't that exciting? Cressa has a baby in her belly."
She swung her gaze over to me and in the driest deadpan said, "There goes another one," and then swung back to Melissa.
I about lost it. I didn't even understand where she would have learned to even say such a thing, but the timing and the delivery on it was absolutely perfect. I was ready to sign her up for improv classes.
The next instance came later. It was the end of the night and Tracy and I had were getting her ready for bed. We had just shuffled her off when Tracy accidentally let one "fly." I was teasing Tracy and telling her it stunk really bad. I was being overly dramatic and loud in an effort to get her to blush. I was having a good time with it and hurling jokes at her when, from the other room, Shea says, "You married her." Just like that. Nothing else. Again, it was said in the most matter of fact tone you'd ever heard.
It took Tracy and I a minute to recover. In that moment, silence reigned until we both looked at each other with tears welling up in our eyes. Tracy laughed so hard she fell on the bed and buried her face in the pillow.
We just can't get over how big she is getting and how out of control we are in terms of the things that are starting to come out of her mouth. We have no idea how she is putting thoughts together now, but it sure is keeping us entertained.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Sin of One
I sat on the floor of the nail salon where my mother was getting her nails done. Shea had already gotten her mani-pedi, and we were simply whiling away the time chatting with my mother. Shea was being her adorable self, as always, and the ladies in the salon began talking to me about her.
"How old is she?"
"Is she your only child?"
I hate this question. It often leads to awkward explanations and sour faces. I said, "Yep, she's our only one. One and done," I said, drawing my flattened open fingers across my neck in a swift, killing gesture. This is my fallback position. I say this whenever people ask me about the number of my children.
"Oh, no!" People exclaim. "She needs a sibling." Or they say, "No, you need to have two."
I don't know what it is about people and their aversion to the only child, but I have never in my life had an aspect of my personal life that people feel more comfortable criticizing. Shea is a happy little girl, and her experience is not diminished by her lack of a sibling. Her experience is different than other children who have a sibling/siblings, but it is not lessened.
There are many reasons my wife and I have decided not to have another child. These reasons are our own and I don't feel like I need to offer those up to strangers in a nail salon, but, the funny thing is, I do.
I sat on the floor of the nail salon and I found myself reciting my reasoning for one child to a room full of women, some of whom spoke only in broken English. I want to say it's none of their business. I want to say that I shouldn't need to justify myself. I want to say read this article by Bill McKibbon here. I'm not sure any of those responses would be effective, but I'm once again left feeling like I've made a bad call, or a selfish decision, and I don't think that is what I've done at all. I've made a balanced and mediated decision. I've made a slow, careful, and thoughtful decision as the result of conversation, sharing, and debate with my spouse.
I just can't get over why I'm still talking as I sit on the floor of the hair salon, like a sycophantic flatterer sitting at the feet of a wise man. But I don't know these women. I don't know the mistakes they've made in their own lives, in their own parenting, but I should take comfort in the fact that I've looked at my options, I've debated the possibilities, and I've made a sound judgment.
When I turn and look at Shea, she's got a mint stuck to the roof of her mouth. She sticks her finger in there and the peppermint pops loose from her mouth and onto the linoleum floor. I get up from my position on the floor, pick up the mint, and find the nearest garbage can. I talk to Shea about keeping her mouth closed while eating hard candy and she says, "But it was stuck to the roof of my mouth," and her eyes get all wide like it's the strangest thing she's ever bore witness to. In moments like these, I realize she's absolutely fine and the anxieties belong to me, and possibly those women who can't see beyond the possibilities of their own experience.
"How old is she?"
"Is she your only child?"
I hate this question. It often leads to awkward explanations and sour faces. I said, "Yep, she's our only one. One and done," I said, drawing my flattened open fingers across my neck in a swift, killing gesture. This is my fallback position. I say this whenever people ask me about the number of my children.
"Oh, no!" People exclaim. "She needs a sibling." Or they say, "No, you need to have two."
I don't know what it is about people and their aversion to the only child, but I have never in my life had an aspect of my personal life that people feel more comfortable criticizing. Shea is a happy little girl, and her experience is not diminished by her lack of a sibling. Her experience is different than other children who have a sibling/siblings, but it is not lessened.
There are many reasons my wife and I have decided not to have another child. These reasons are our own and I don't feel like I need to offer those up to strangers in a nail salon, but, the funny thing is, I do.
I sat on the floor of the nail salon and I found myself reciting my reasoning for one child to a room full of women, some of whom spoke only in broken English. I want to say it's none of their business. I want to say that I shouldn't need to justify myself. I want to say read this article by Bill McKibbon here. I'm not sure any of those responses would be effective, but I'm once again left feeling like I've made a bad call, or a selfish decision, and I don't think that is what I've done at all. I've made a balanced and mediated decision. I've made a slow, careful, and thoughtful decision as the result of conversation, sharing, and debate with my spouse.
I just can't get over why I'm still talking as I sit on the floor of the hair salon, like a sycophantic flatterer sitting at the feet of a wise man. But I don't know these women. I don't know the mistakes they've made in their own lives, in their own parenting, but I should take comfort in the fact that I've looked at my options, I've debated the possibilities, and I've made a sound judgment.
When I turn and look at Shea, she's got a mint stuck to the roof of her mouth. She sticks her finger in there and the peppermint pops loose from her mouth and onto the linoleum floor. I get up from my position on the floor, pick up the mint, and find the nearest garbage can. I talk to Shea about keeping her mouth closed while eating hard candy and she says, "But it was stuck to the roof of my mouth," and her eyes get all wide like it's the strangest thing she's ever bore witness to. In moments like these, I realize she's absolutely fine and the anxieties belong to me, and possibly those women who can't see beyond the possibilities of their own experience.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Christmas Break - Day Four
It was the fourth day of our California vacation before we went to Disneyland. Tracy and I were dying by this point. I couldn't sleep the night before. We'd put together a plan for how we would reveal our true purpose for coming to California. It all hinged on a stuffed Dumbo doll.
For those of you who missed it, there is a commercial on television that shows Dumbo flying to children's homes, picking them up, and whisking them away to Disneyland. Shea has seen these commercials. She'd also asked on multiple occassions, "When is Dumbo going to pick me up?" This was the initial spark for our idea.
So, after a near sleepless night for Tracy and I, the morning finally came. We woke Shea up and brought her to our bed to snuggle. We let her watch some cartoons and wake up with some juice before we really got things going. She was in a great mood already as can be seen by this picture.
After she'd sufficiently woken up, I got out of bed, got dressed, and made some excuse for why I needed to go to the lobby. Tracy and Shea were going to wait for me to return. As I made my way out of the condo, I grabbed my phone and set it to camera mode, and I grabbed the video camera as well. In the condo's dryer, I grabbed the stuffed Dumbo Tracy bought before our trip. I made my way out to the hallway and waited.
I could only stand the anticipation for a minute. I placed Dumbo in front of the condo door, knocked, and backed up to the far side of the hall with two cameras at the ready. Tracy told Shea I must have forgotten my key and that she should open the door. She did so dutifully. When she opened the door, she was curious as to what I was doing with all the camera gear, but she soon noticed the stuffed animal at her feet.
She knew something was up and she swung herself into the hallway a bit by holding on to the door jamb. She was looking to see if there were any other unanticipated surprises waiting for her. It took us a while to get her to understand what was really happening. Even when we told her she was going to Disneyland, she was a bit unsure. Over the last couple of weeks/months, we told her that only five-year-olds got to go to Disneyland. When it sunk in, she said, "When I'm four?!" We agreed and she ran to her mother and said, "I'm a big girl now!"
The message finally sunk in and she was overjoyed. She hugged Dumbo tightly in her arms and ran to Tracy and I each individually and gave us hugs. She said, "You're my favorites" in that sweet, tender voice she has. If you want to see it for yourself. Here is the video:
Coming soon...First day in the park.
For those of you who missed it, there is a commercial on television that shows Dumbo flying to children's homes, picking them up, and whisking them away to Disneyland. Shea has seen these commercials. She'd also asked on multiple occassions, "When is Dumbo going to pick me up?" This was the initial spark for our idea.
So, after a near sleepless night for Tracy and I, the morning finally came. We woke Shea up and brought her to our bed to snuggle. We let her watch some cartoons and wake up with some juice before we really got things going. She was in a great mood already as can be seen by this picture.
 |
| Shea's Morning Silly Face. |
I could only stand the anticipation for a minute. I placed Dumbo in front of the condo door, knocked, and backed up to the far side of the hall with two cameras at the ready. Tracy told Shea I must have forgotten my key and that she should open the door. She did so dutifully. When she opened the door, she was curious as to what I was doing with all the camera gear, but she soon noticed the stuffed animal at her feet.
She knew something was up and she swung herself into the hallway a bit by holding on to the door jamb. She was looking to see if there were any other unanticipated surprises waiting for her. It took us a while to get her to understand what was really happening. Even when we told her she was going to Disneyland, she was a bit unsure. Over the last couple of weeks/months, we told her that only five-year-olds got to go to Disneyland. When it sunk in, she said, "When I'm four?!" We agreed and she ran to her mother and said, "I'm a big girl now!"
The message finally sunk in and she was overjoyed. She hugged Dumbo tightly in her arms and ran to Tracy and I each individually and gave us hugs. She said, "You're my favorites" in that sweet, tender voice she has. If you want to see it for yourself. Here is the video:
Coming soon...First day in the park.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Christmas Break - Day 1
Tracy and I are both suckers for a good surprise. We like throwing each other surprise parties, getting the perfect unsuspected gift, and blowing the other's mind with festive sleights of hand. So, it's a double gift to our daughter, who gets our full concentrated efforts directed at her.
This Christmas break afforded us the opportunity to travel to California and to surprise our daughter with a trip to Disneyland. This trip was months in the making and Tracy and I meticulously planned each detail with our daughter out of earshot. She had been asking for a trip to Disneyland for months, but we'd told her that only "five year olds get to go to Disneyland." Her birthday is in a couple of months, so the anticipation was building, but she didn't suspect the time frame.
We didn't even tell her we were going on vacation until the morning we had to leave for the airport. When she woke up, we told her she was going to the beach in California on an airplane. She was overjoyed. The only time she'd had experience with an airplane was when she watched her mother and I jump out of one with parachutes. She was over-the-moon excited.
We jumped on the airplane and Shea took to it with no problems whatsoever. She loved takeoff and landing and even asked if we were going to jump out of the airplane with parachutes. I told her, "It's not the kind of airplane, honey." She was captivated by the process the whole way. Tickled by salty pretzels and a glass of orange juice, she nestled into her seat and watched a movie on a borrowed portable DVD player.
When we landed in San Diego, we had a bit of driving to do before we got our resort and Shea was a bit restless, but she held on through our stop to the grocery store and the check-in process. When we finally managed to get into our condo, this was the view that greeted us. For rain-soaked Portlanders, there isn't a better view to be had in December (well, unless it's the top of a snow-covered peak). Our adventure together had begun.
This Christmas break afforded us the opportunity to travel to California and to surprise our daughter with a trip to Disneyland. This trip was months in the making and Tracy and I meticulously planned each detail with our daughter out of earshot. She had been asking for a trip to Disneyland for months, but we'd told her that only "five year olds get to go to Disneyland." Her birthday is in a couple of months, so the anticipation was building, but she didn't suspect the time frame.
We didn't even tell her we were going on vacation until the morning we had to leave for the airport. When she woke up, we told her she was going to the beach in California on an airplane. She was overjoyed. The only time she'd had experience with an airplane was when she watched her mother and I jump out of one with parachutes. She was over-the-moon excited.
We jumped on the airplane and Shea took to it with no problems whatsoever. She loved takeoff and landing and even asked if we were going to jump out of the airplane with parachutes. I told her, "It's not the kind of airplane, honey." She was captivated by the process the whole way. Tickled by salty pretzels and a glass of orange juice, she nestled into her seat and watched a movie on a borrowed portable DVD player.
When we landed in San Diego, we had a bit of driving to do before we got our resort and Shea was a bit restless, but she held on through our stop to the grocery store and the check-in process. When we finally managed to get into our condo, this was the view that greeted us. For rain-soaked Portlanders, there isn't a better view to be had in December (well, unless it's the top of a snow-covered peak). Our adventure together had begun.
Monday, January 2, 2012
The End of Vacation
I've been indulging myself for weeks now. It's begun to show in my waistline and my writing time. The last couple of weeks have been hectic with a vacation, the holidays, and family time, but I have no excuse for not coming to the page sooner.
I will say that the last couple of weeks feel like I've been "filling the hopper" as one of my former teachers once said. I've been out in the world, living, enjoying, playing, being a person, and it has been wonderful. As the holiday vacation begins to wind to a close, I find myself thinking about work. About my work and wondering what the next step will be. I have yet to revisit many of the pages I wrote during Nanowrimo and I hear the faint call of Willy, John, Katie and Misty beckoning me back into their lives. I've heard them having conversations like hearing their voices from another room and I know I must return.
I also need to work on an article/post about my experiences with Nanowrimo for a friend. There are a ton of opportunities for me to revisit the page right now, so I can't wait to get the new year started by typing out the first few lines here on the blog.
In the coming days/weeks, I'll be posting about my vacation to Disneyland, the holidays, and other experiences, but for now I return to my life for a scant few more hours of delicious vacation.
I will say that the last couple of weeks feel like I've been "filling the hopper" as one of my former teachers once said. I've been out in the world, living, enjoying, playing, being a person, and it has been wonderful. As the holiday vacation begins to wind to a close, I find myself thinking about work. About my work and wondering what the next step will be. I have yet to revisit many of the pages I wrote during Nanowrimo and I hear the faint call of Willy, John, Katie and Misty beckoning me back into their lives. I've heard them having conversations like hearing their voices from another room and I know I must return.
I also need to work on an article/post about my experiences with Nanowrimo for a friend. There are a ton of opportunities for me to revisit the page right now, so I can't wait to get the new year started by typing out the first few lines here on the blog.
In the coming days/weeks, I'll be posting about my vacation to Disneyland, the holidays, and other experiences, but for now I return to my life for a scant few more hours of delicious vacation.
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