Gifts

I will write more about this later. I have a class in just a few minutes. Today I checked my campus mailbox and found a package from Maine containing books which are a gift from Gary Lawless who runs Gulf of Maine Bookstore. A while ago, I posted a message on the bookstore blog about having just discovered Nanao Sakaki (poet and translator of Issa's Haiku). Gary then offered to send me some books about Nanao and his poetry. I am talking "free books." I am talking about a "gift" from someone I so far barely know. It is one of things I live for--such kindnesses as this.

The books are:

Let's Eat Stars
Break the Mirror
Nanao or Never
Caribouddhism
In Ruins

Library Dreams

I've been having a lot of dreams lately about libraries. Last night I had such a dream. The library was very old. It had wooden elevators and walls stained from rain leaking through the roof. But the books this library had! Tall, never-ending shelves of books, beautiful old editions of art books.

Allen was with me. There was also a child, a baby, that was ours. It was not yet a year old but he could talk and recited beautiful poetry, quite to my surprise. Surprising, too, was the fact that we even had a child--at our age!

Provincetown / 9

Today has been busy. Allen and I have been making preparations for Provincetown. The biggest part of the weight falls on Allen, who worked all day making a truck cap to keep things dry and safe. I've spent the day gathering the books I want to take. There are so many. I think of Annie Dillard who spent a year in a cabin and later wrote Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. She checked dozens of books out of the library, checking facts, making connections. It's that way for me. There are so many aspects of life that I want to bring into my next novel.

As I was gathering, I suddenly remembered that I have to take every book I have on James Wright, since our boat stop in Martins Ferry was important. I also must take every book I have on biology, Ohio, rivers, mysticism, and fairy tales. And more. That is going to be a load of books.

Last night I reread Capote's "Miriam." I was stunned anew at what a great story it is. Interpretations abound. I thought and thought about the story's meaning last night. I will write about it soon.

3/50

The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon-Marigolds.

I once owned this book as a teenager and this is the cover my book had. I remember staring at the girl and thinking how sad she looked, how eerie the background was. The illustration seemed to be something that would be used for a sci-fi/horror movie. The title lent itself to this interpretation, too. I was surprised to find out it wasn't about outerspace at all.

I just finished reading this play. The first time I read it must have been 1970 or so. Maybe 1972. I recently sent a copy of the play to Erin of Erin's Everyday Thoughts because she is joining a writing program with an emphasis on children's writing. I remembered that this play had a huge effect on me, so I sent her a copy and also ordered a copy for myself because I wanted to experience it again.

While reading the play this afternoon, I began to think I must have misremembered: could I really have read this at such a young age? Had the play really been available through my school book club?

It's much darker than I remembered, and the language is sometimes very strong. The characters are realistic, which is a plus, but they are very cruel to each other. The ending is bleak. Yes, there's a hint of something positive, but the positive aspect threatens to be engulfed by the shockingly cruel act at the end of the play.

So I had to look at the description of the play on Amazon again and also to try to find a book cover that was familiar to me. And, sure enough, this play by Paul Zindel has been published by Harper Teen. And I definitely know I got this book from school because because school was the only place I bought books. It's quite plausible, in fact, that our whole English class read this play and discussed it and that we may have been encouraged by our teacher to watch the movie version when it came on TV. I seem to remember these things happening, but I can't be sure. It was 26-28 years ago!

Somehow I can't imagine a high school teacher here in Ohio assigning this book to her (his) students. Could they really do that without parents complaining? I've seen news pieces about books that were much less edgy than this one being complained about and sometimes removed from classrooms.

What I do remember--and the reason I wanted Erin to have it--is that I loved the play when I read it all those years ago. It is about eccentrics trying to live together as a family and not doing very well at it. It is about a bookish girl whose school accomplishments take a backseat to family drama. It was quite possibly the first book I read that showed me my own rather odd family situation was not singular. The book gave me a great sense of relief. I feel Zindel may have even planted a seed that eventually grew into me wanting to be an author myself.

The themes in this play may be a bit darker than Erin will ultimately want to deal with in her own work; however there is much to be learned from how Zindel develops characters and organizes action. Reading the play this afternoon, I was impressed with how smoothly the play moves, how sharp the dialogue is, and how revealing of human nature the themes are. This play is so honest, almost brutal. It is just what I needed all those years ago.

I release you...

One thing that started to bother me about my blog is that I started thinking too much about my readers.

Now, dear readers, I do love you. However, I began to worry too much about how I was dispensing information. I felt I had to present a coherent idea each time. And that began to put too much pressure on me.

I was afraid to be fragmentary or brief, for fear readers would roll their eyes and say, "She expects a comment on this?"

Therefore, I say to you, dear reader, I release you. I release you from all responsibility. You must not feel you have to comment on any of my entries. And if an entry looks esoteric, nonsensical, mediocre, tedious, or just too strange, just shrug your shoulders and go on.

I came to the conclusion that sometimes I might just want to jot down fragmentary thoughts or brief statements about what I did or saw that day. I came to this conclusion after reading Ianthe Brautigan's memoir of her father, Richard Brautigan. She reveals that Richard kept cryptic records about his days. Reading them, I was very touched. In a way, his short notes brought me closer to the man than lengthy autobiographical excursions would have. They also open me up, my mind, my heart. Hardly any adjectives, no sensory details. Just short, simple, declarative sentences. Elementary. True. Here are some examples:

Tuesday, September 2, 1975
My daughter and I talked about the FBI

Friday, September 19, 1975
I had a pleasant time with my daughter.

Friday, September 21, 1975
I had a long and very rewarding conversation with my daughter.

Friday, September 26, 1975
--We drove over to Bozeman to take my daughter to the dentist. She was in a very chatty mood.
--I went for a walk with my daughter down into the big fields, and I had a long talk with her.

Thursday, October 16, 1975
I bought a waffle iron for Ianthe, she's wanted one for a long time.

Saturday, October 25, 1975
Ianthe and I went into town and got some bulbs for planting. I want some daffodils in the spring.

The last two tug on me, in particular. It is touching to me that he bought his daughter the waffle iron. And it says something about his capacity for hope that he wanted to plant daffodil bulbs.

I am going to start posting some entries like this, and I'm going to see where the process takes me. It's an experiment. Maybe it will free my mind. I hope to discover some important truths this way.

Don't worry. You don't have to say anything at all. I release you. By releasing you, I am releasing myself.

This is one change I am making. I want to make more. More on that later.

Changes

Drama of Life and Death. Theresa Williams. Collage.

I look back at the person I was when I first started blogging and I feel she is very different from the person I am now. Once the blog fulfilled a need I had to figure out who I was artistically. I'd pushed a book out into the world but felt lost about my where to go next with my writing. I was full of doubts. I felt bogged down in my academic work. I was trying to find myself artistically and professionally.

Lately, I've been thinking about quitting the blog. I've been thinking I don't need it anymore. I'm starting to feel grounded in my writing life. My teaching excites me in ways it hasn't for a long time. I have more ideas for stories than I will ever be able to write in a lifetime. I've found out why I write and why I write about what I write about. Many of the friends I started out with in the blogging world have disappeared. Their interests, too, have changed, and they don't come here anymore. I feel a pulling away where I once felt a strong connection to others out there. This place is visited less all the time; the comments are sparse. It may be time for a change. That may mean it's time for me to quit.

On the other hand, I don't want to be a quitter. I need to sort through my feelings about all this.

If I stay, this blog will no doubt change from what it has been. It may become more an academic exploration of subjects I'm interested in, a beginning place for some things I'd like to flesh out. It may become more about my teaching, too, than it once was. I just don't know.

I'm staying for now. I'm thinking it over. I'm thinking out loud. I probably shouldn't mention it, really, but if I don't, then I'm perpetuating a sort of lie and holding it inside myself, and that has never been good for me.

Classes start on Monday. I have finished all three of my syllabi, and there are many new people who will come into my life once again. We will go on a voyage together and hopefully create bonds, and good memories.

I am going to California in September, to Big Sur, to teach workshops at Esalen again. It was overcast today, breezy. The humidity was low, the air crisp and cool. Such days make me feel alive.

I read an entire book this afternoon and evening, something I haven't done in a long time. I've been picking up books for weeks and only been able to tolerate them in short bursts. My thoughts slide away and I have to put the books aside. But I read Ianthe Brautigan's memoir straight through today. It is about how she dealt with the suicide death of her famous father, Richard Gary Brautigan. I ordered the book after doing a short review at a book group at Library Thing called books compared. Doing the review made me curious about Richard Brautigan again. I have always felt a strange connection to him, a connection I've welcomed but that has always made me a bit uneasy, too. Doing the review and reading Ianthe's book, You Can't Catch Death, makes me want to write about the connection I have with Brautigan as an attempt to understand it.

I've met some new friends at Library Thing. I even started a group over there called Art is Life. I've looked in on message boards and groups before and have been frankly appalled at what I saw: a lot of cruelty, sniping at each other, and worthless conversation. I've never seen a group I wanted to belong to. But people at Library Thing are more like I am, I feel. I am at home there.

I'm not quitting the blog yet. I haven't decided yet what to do. That is the truth.

The Sound and the Fury

Ha, ha, ha!

I took the quiz that I saw on Cynthia's blog. The quiz tells you what "book" you are. According to the quiz, I am The Sound and the Fury.

I'm not sure about it, though. Do I really signify nothing? Ha, ha, ha!



I do love Faulkner, however. My friend and colleague Julie tells me she thinks my writing owes much to Faulkner's dark, southern, tormented epics.

You're The Sound and the Fury!

by William Faulkner

Strong-willed but deeply confused, you are trying to come to grips
with a major crisis in your life. You can see many different perspectives on the issue,
but you're mostly overwhelmed with despair at what you've lost. People often have a hard
time understanding you, but they have some vague sense that you must be brilliant
anyway. Ultimately, you signify nothing.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.