The Help by Kathryn Stockett--a review!

Hi all! I recently read _The Help_ by Kathryn Stockett and since it is the book du jour right now (or at least a couple months ago it was. . .) I thought I'd post a brief review here.

I know a lot--A LOT--of people liked this book. I did too, mostly. BUT, overall, this book underwhelmed me. It wasn't that it was a bad book or poorly written. I thought it was well paced. I thought a lot of the characters were warmly drawn and likable--especially Miss Celia! Mae Mobley was so stinkin' cute she was unreal, but she was so cute I didn't care :) (I did find a lot of the characters' actions highly, and annoyingly, predictable. Stuart was predictable and so was Minny. The big secret about the "terrible awful" was pretty obvious. The fact that Miss Celia was not actually a drunk but suffering multiple miscarriages was also obvious.)

What bothered me most was that I felt like Stockett really wanted a book about the experience of black maids in the South but instead of actually writing *that* book, she wrote a book about writing a book about black maids in the South. Why did she need to have a Skeeter character? What did Skeeter add to the book? Nothing for me. I think Stockett used Skeeter as an escape and as an avenue for excuse. Reading the afterword Stockett's ambivalence about trying to write in a black voice was pretty clear. It was a very difficult task to do without falling on stereotypes--which is what I think Stockett ended up doing. I think Skeeter was her comfort zone, her fallback, her easy road out. That's the big question for me: Why didn't Stockett just write a book about the experience of black maids? I get that it would have been harder and a little more controversial, but the outcome could have been much more powerful. Going all meta on her subject matter didn't enrich it one iota.

My other beef with the book was that it pushed my willing suspension of disbelief a little too far. The poop in the pie was predictable (talk about heavy-handed over-theming!) but not believable. It never would have happened. The antagonist, Hilly, also crossed over into unbelievable land with her breakdown and the threat of telling Skeeter's mommy what she did. It was too scripted and unnatural, too much like what our adolescent selves all dream will happen to the mean girls in middle school. The book would have been much more powerful for me if had Hilly stayed in a more restrained and catty characterization. For me this book was a lot like _Fried Green Tomatoes_, sure "the secret's in the sauce" is funny, but just pushes things that are supposed to be grounded firmly in reality too far into unreality. I think it didn't do the racism/civil rights theme justice because it was over-the-top. It just made it all a little cheaper for me.

I think overall I wanted this book to read more like Literary Fiction, but what it really was was genre fiction--some sort of cross between Chick Lit and Historical Fiction. I'm not a hater, though. I did enjoy the book. I just felt like it fell far, far short of its potential.

"The Diet Coke" by . . . ME!

Hi friends!

A short story of mine was posted this morning over at Wilderness Interface Zone. It's all about Mormon teenage rebellion, which of course starts with everyone's favorite caffeinated beverage!

And, yes, I have a real post on it's way but we have eight days until school starts here so things are getting busy, busy, busy. Hopefully I'll get that other post up sometime this week.

Love,

Laura

New Year's Resolutions and Changes to the Blog

So I am aware that it is now the second week of March. It is officially too late to blog about New Year's Resolutions, but I'm going for it anyway.

(As a side note, it would be very interesting to me to go back and see how many posts I start with the word "so". It's probably nearly every one. So . . .)

Resolutions have a pretty mixed implications for those of us in the mood disordered world. On the one hand we usually know there are ways we could stand to improve our lives and (unless we're really feeling low) we'd like to change for the better. Of course, on the other hand, we are prone to guilt complexes and anxiety that can make it almost impossible to stick with goals long term. Not to mention the fact that the stuff we have to do (therapy appointment, psych evaluations, extra sleep, etc.) to stay mentally healthy take up a fair amount of extra time and energy. It seems like good mental health is my perennial goal.

Even understanding all that every year around January 1st, I spend days pondering on what I can do to make my life better without stressing myself out. This year I almost resolved not to do anything. I'm feeling pretty good these days; why mess with what works? But then I realized that my writing brain was reasserting itself and I started getting grand ideas about NaNoWriMo. For about two weeks I resolved to participate in that this year. I started trying to figure out how I was going to write 50,000 words in a single month and how many things were going to have to go and what kind of planning was needed. Somewhere along in there is when I realized that more than I needed to have another draft of some unfinished piece of writing I needed to have a finished piece of work I was proud of.

One of my biggest weaknesses as a writer is that I am horrible at seeing projects through the revision process. I love brainstorming ideas. I enjoy the rough drafting. I especially love telling people that I am working on something fabulous. But fairly often I don't seem things through. I seldom finish and polish a piece--especially long things.

I like to blame this on the cyclic nature of my mood disorder. I go through those up periods where I'm feeling great and agree to do everything under the sun and then I inevitably hit a slump and find myself begging off projects or just ignoring them altogether. To any of you readers who have been with me through this process, I sincerely apologize. Really.

My mood disorder is probably only part of the problem, though. I'd love to use it as an excuse, but you (Dear Reader) and I both know that mood disorders are not an excuse for bad behavior. Rather they are just one more thing to work with. Everybody and anybody can come up with excuses for why they can't do things. Strong people come up with reasons why they can do it anyway.

All of that finally brings me to my actual resolution: to finish the unfinished projects. That means I'm going to finally get the rest of my food storage out of my friend's basement (Sorry, Kelly!). I'm going to finish getting the garden put in. I'm going to finish that paper on Stephanie Meyer that I've started about a gagillion times. I'm going to get those half written blog posts dusted off and polished and posted. I'm going to catch up the scrapbook and my kids' journals.

Okay, well, I might not actually finish all those things, real life (and the crazies) might get in the way, but I'm certainly going to try. And I'm not going to sign on to anything else until I get those big things done.

Another part of getting the big things done is transitioning this blog a little big. I've wanted to write about a number of things here but feel like I can't. I guess in my brain I've defined this as a place where I am going to write about mental health issues and mental health issues only. I don't think that's really working for me anymore. So I'm going to widen the scope of this blog and lean a little bit more in the Mommy Blog direction. Don't worry. I'm not going to start posting things like "How to Use a Bulb Syringe" or "I made the most awesomest cupcakes ever!" or even "My kids are better than your kids because ______". It's more like I want to start blogging about my mental health in the context of my roles as a wife and mother and in the context of my church callings. Also, I need a place to organize my thoughts and post all the info I've been gathering about different things (like my son's experiences with eczema, gluten free diets, and sleep disorders and my oldest daughter's experience with hemolytic uremic syndrome). My blog seems like the most logical place to do it.

I hope the changes don't drive you away. If you skip some posts simply because they aren't interesting to you I totally understand. But it just seems like it's time for this place to evolve a little.

I'm interested, what are your New Year's Resolutions? Now that it's March how are you doing with them?

Cupcakes Can Kill You!

Well, not exactly. . . but that happens to be the title of a two post series I did with singer/songwriter/kazoo master, Mr. Tim over at A Motley Vision.

He's a fascinating guy with a lot to say about music, Mormonism, and art in general. If you're interested, here are the links:

Cupcakes Can Kill You (part one)

Cupcakes Can Kill You (part two)

And, just for laughs, here's his take on Justin Beiber:

15 Authors in 15 Minutes--Mormon Style!

A challenge over at A Motley Vision! I sure hope you all weigh in :)

P.S. Hopefully I will be able to put together an on-topic post for you all soon. I've been ruminating on depression and personal revelation. . .

Ammonihah Revisited--the reader's theater!

Hi folks. A while ago our ward seminary teacher asked me to write a reader's theater about Ammonihah for one of her lessons. I was honored that she asked me and delighted with the opportunity. There wasn't a lot online when I researched and wrote this so I decided to post mine here. I've been meaning to go back and cite all the scriptures that I used, but I haven't had the time. Look around in Alma; you'll find 'em. It's a little serious and a little campy, and our seminary students really enjoyed it. If you'd like to use it for Church or seminary feel free, just email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com with Ammonihah in the subject line so I know (I'd love to see if/where this things travels) and be sure to run it past your bishop. I mean, I don't think it's controversial but you never know how people will take these things! Enjoy!

Also, check out my post at A Motley Vision about writing for Church assignments. And please leave a comment if you feel inspired--I promise the AMVers won't be mean!

ANCHOR (in best, most serious, news broadcaster voice): Good Evening and welcome to a special broadcast, Ammonihah Revisited: Destruction from God or Impending Lamanite Scourge? Tonight we will be exploring the history of that great city Ammonihah—examining its culture, its peoples, and its torrid religious history—all in the effort to answer the question on everyone’s minds. Was it, as the so-called prophet Alma declared, “the anger of God”? Or was it simply an ironically timed attack by vicious Lamanite war mongrels? However, before we get into our story this evening we here at the Nephite News Network wish to offer our condolences to those whose lives have been scarred by this horrible tragedy. Now, we turn to our first correspondent, Sariah, to take us into the lives of the Ammonihah-ites. Who were they? What did they do? And could it be possible that its destruction was an act of God? Sariah, we turn to you for answers.

SARIAH: Ammonihah was like most other Nephite cities: lively and bustling with commerce and culture. People here enjoyed prosperity, ruled by judges and receiving the fair sum of a senine of gold or silver for a day’s work. However, the lives of the people of Ammonihah were shaped most recently by the debate between three men: the Nephite “prophet” Alma and his partner-in-proselyting Amulek and, on the other side, Zeezrom a skilled and high-profile lawyer who was known for his ability to make people eat their words. Most of our viewers probably remember these debates well and remember the main points they were centered on: the existence of God and His intentions for the Nephite people--especially the Ammonihah-ites, a majority of whom did not believe in God at all. Zeezrom even went so far as to offer Amulek money to consider his way of thinking, but Amulek was firm and repeatedly stated his beliefs regarding the existence of a supreme being and the importance of keeping that Being’s commandments, saying, “An angel hath made [these things] known unto me.” Alma probably did more to incite the people and Zeezrom than Amulek, contending that the people of Ammonihah were wicked and making, what seemed at the time, ridiculous threats of destruction. Alma claimed, “O ye wicked and perverse generation . . . repent, or [God] will utterly destroy you from off the face of the earth; yea, he will visit you in his anger, and in his fierce anger he will not turn away.” Their teaching turned especially powerful as they spoke of a Christ, an atonement, and a resurrection. Zeezrom claimed that both were liars but as Alma continued to preach Zeezrom’s resolve faltered and he threw himself in front of the judges of the land, begging for Alma and Amulek’s release. We turn now to file footage of an eye witness to Zeezrom’s retraction.

EYEWITNESS: I was there when Alma and Amulek were speaking and even I was a little convinced. Well, not convinced so much as swayed. But as soon as they stopped speaking I came back to my senses. Zeezrom wasn’t so lucky, just like a bunch of my neighbors. They seemed to actually believe what Alma had said about repentance and God and eternal life. I saw Zeezrom just a while after his confrontation with Alma and Amulek and the guy was still shaking. It was crazy! I mean, he ran right in to the judges and said, “Behold, I am guilty, and these men are spotless before God.” He looked all of us in the eyes as he said it and, I have to admit, he was convincing, but then I remembered that Zeezrom was a lawyer and couldn’t be trusted. I spit on him and told him to get out. We all did. That’s when everyone started throwing rocks and all the believers took off.

SARIAH: Zeezrom recuperated with Alma and Amulek’s other escapsed followers in Sidom. People were slow to believe that claims that Zeezrom was baptized by Alma, but we have confirmation of that fact tonight. Zeezrom himself said, “Yea, I believe according to [their] words.”

ANCHOR: Thank you Sariah. Even after Zeezrom left Ammonihah continued to make headlines when the judges imprisoned—some would say unlawfully—Alma and Amulek. Then in a savage and ill-advised stroke the Ammonihah-ites proved their reputation as especially hard and wicked people to be true. They gathered together the remaining believers and burned their women and children, along with their scriptures. As Alma and Amulek were forced to look on Alma reportedly told Amulek, “The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand; for behold the Lord receiveth them up unto himself, in glory; and he doth suffer that they may do this thing, or that the people may do this thing unto them, according to the hardness of their hearts, that the judgments which he shall exercise upon them in his wrath may be just.” It was then that people remembered what Alma had said about God destroying Ammonihah. We turn now to another correspondent, Jerusha, to fill us in on the beginning of that destruction.

JERUSHA: With the smoke still rising from the burned scrolls and bodies, Alma and Amulek were again imprisoned—but this time they were mocked and abused. In the face of so many gruesome deaths other people might have backed away from more violence. But not those in Ammonihah. According to sources, they were just getting started. I have with me one guard who was willing to tell what he observed. Although we are keeping his face shadowed to protect his identity, this man did work for the judges in the now obliterated Ammonihah prison.

GUARD: Well, um, it was hard, you know. I think it would take a real mean person to not feel bad after what happened to all those women and children.

JERUSHA: Wait one moment. Are you saying you are a follower of Alma and Amulek?

GUARD: I wasn’t then. But I am now. And, you know, even if you don’t believe the same as someone, well, there are still laws and morals. The people who threw others into the fire were evil and they kept being evil once they got their hands on Alma and Amulek. They starved them and beat them and kept making fun of them. Shouting things like, “If you’re so powerful then free yourselves.” Or, “If your God is so great then how come he didn’t save his followers?” It was obvious from the looks on their faces that Alma and Amulek were disheartened and hurting, but once they got a moment alone they mustered their strength and they did the most surprising thing. . .

JERUSHA: They attacked the guards?

GUARD: No. The entire time they were imprisoned they were honorable. No, what they did was pray. I’ve never heard a prayer like that one. Alma stood up and in a voice that pierced all of us within earshot called out, “How long shall we suffer these great afflictions, O Lord? O Lord, give us strength according to our faith which is in Christ, even unto deliverance.” By the time Alma got to “deliverance” it seemed like the air was vibrating around them. There was just this power, you know, and, wham!, their ropes broke. Now I know the man who tied those ropes and they weren’t meant to come off.

JERUSHA: What are saying? What kind of power are you implying?

GUARD: Well, at the time I didn’t know exactly what kind. But it was an undeniable power—the air itself seemed to crack and shimmer—and the moment those ropes hit the ground they sent out shockwaves and the walls crumbled. Alma and Amulek were fine and I made it out with only a few injuries, but a lot of men were lost in the rubble. Maybe it was the shock or maybe people were starting to think Alma could wipe Ammonihah off the map or maybe they were thinking about what kind of power Alma’s God really has, but nobody protested when those two guys walked out of the city. To be honest, I wasn’t the only one who followed those two right out the gates. I’d seen enough and I was sick of wickedness parading as justice. I knew what they said was coming was true. I threw in my lot with them and never looked back.

JERUSHA: Thank you for your story. The result of the quake at the prison was complete destruction. As our witness said very few survived and nobody but Alma and Amulek walked away unscathed. People in Ammonihah were subdued for the time, perhaps even scared. But nobody imagined the terror that awaited them.

ANCHOR: Now we turn to our final correspondent to detail the end of Ammonihah. Gid, for many of the Ammonihah-ites that morning started out like any other. Correct?

GID: That’s exactly right. In fact, the period directly before the siege of Ammonihah was one marked by peace. It had been about a year since the destruction of the prison and the people in Ammonihah had put their own spin on those events, discounting Alma’s words saying it was the power of the devil. However, one clear morning, a group of Lamanites who had been attacking the Anti-Nephi-Lehies changed their minds and decided to attack the Nephites who they felt had caused all the trouble with the Anti-Nephi-Lehies in the first place. They snuck into the land of Ammonihah’s through the wilderness borders and the carnage was immediate. Before the Ammonihah-ites could even begin to raise an army the Lamanites were laying waste to them and their powerful city. The attack was swift and bloody. Spending less than a day in Ammonihah the Lamanite scourge moved on to other cities. A few days later when a scouting group from the city of Noah returned from Ammonihah their report was startling. Heaps of bodies mangled by wild animals were all that was found. It was clear that no one was left in Ammonihah. The scouting group covered the bodies in a layer of dirt but the destruction was so complete and the smell so bad our crew couldn’t even make it into the city itself to investigate. Interestingly, people in these parts no longer refer to Ammonihah by its name or even as a great city. Now they simply call it “Desolation.”

ANCHOR: An apt name for a city that suffered such an ignominious doom—one that will forever haunt Nephi civilization. But what of Alma and Amulek, these prophets who not only foretold the destruction but claimed that the very people destroyed brought it on themselves through their evil? Tonight we conclude our broadcast with a statement from them. We invited them for interview but they declined saying that “the work of establishing the Lord’s church” was keeping them too busy—which is understandable considering the number of converts they’ve found in cities all over the land of Nephi. People, both Nephite and Lamanite, are returning to the ways of their forefathers. Now, the letter:

ALMA: “[We would remind you of ] faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.”

AMULEK: “[Our] brethren, [we] think that it is impossible that ye should be ignorant of the things which have been spoken concerning the coming of Christ, who is taught by us to be the Son of God; yea, [we] know that these things were taught unto you bountifully before your dissension from among us. [We exhort] you to prepare your minds; yea, and [we exhort] you unto faith and to patience . . . that ye may try the experiment of its goodness.”

ALMA: “[We] testify unto you of [ourselves] that these things are true. Behold, [we] say unto you, that [we] do know that Christ shall come among the children of men, to take upon him the transgressions of his people, and that he shall atone for the sins of the world; for the Lord God hath spoken it. Yea, [we] would that ye would come forth and harden not your hearts any longer; for behold, now is the time and the day of your salvation.”

ANCHOR: There you have the words of Alma and Amulek. And indeed, many who have heard their teachings say that a new spirit of peace is filling the land. So, was the destruction of Ammonihah the fulfillment of prophecy? Or was it just another example of savage Lamanite hostilities? Like so many other things in our history, the answer to that question seems to come down to individual belief. Alma and Amulek themselves proposed an experiment, a testing of belief. We encourage you, our viewers, to try this experiment and share your thoughts by logging on to our website at NNN.com/experiment. Thank you for sharing this journey with us. From all of us at the Nephite News Network in Zarahemla, good night.

Check it out!

I'm trying something a little different over at AMV. Glowworms for Jesus. Check it out :)

A Private Loss

Hi folks. This is a post I'd written for A Motley Vision, but I chickened out and couldn't post it. It's too girly. Too personal. I also couldn't let it go. So I'm posting it here. Sorry it's off topic.

In 2007 I gave birth to my third child and simultaneously vowed to myself that I would become a "real" writer by 2010. I'd be published. I'd have a solid resume. And I'd be proud of the direction my art was taking.

I have not reached my goal.

As many of you probably already know, the third child is quite often when the proverbial diaper contents hits the fan and it was no different for me. My third child had severe eczema, acid reflux disease, and obstructive sleep apnea. He screamed so loudly and so often my oldest child, who was then four years old, suffered panic attacks. Baby Number Three is two and half now and still doesn't sleep through the night.

When he was in utero I was flush with possibilities--for my unborn child, myself, and my writing. I truly believed I was coming into my own. Now, in 2010, I am flush with sleepless nights, piles of laundry, and disillusionment. Conspicuously absent is my writing success.

And I am having another baby. A hoped-for and wanted baby. But a baby that means my literary aspirations will continue to suffer.

Pretty much every female writer since Anne Bradstreet will tell you writing is a lot like having children. But I'm beginning to think it's a sign that God never sent me twins: he knew I couldn't raise two babies at once--just like I can't raise babies and write fabulous literature at the same time--I'm not meant to multi-task.

Those same female writers, including greats like Maya Angelou and Madeleine L'Engle, will tell you writing and mommying is a balancing act. But I'm beginning to wonder if that isn't a bit misleading. Nothing about having children is about balance and nothing about creating art is balanced. Both require complete surrender. You can't get out a scale and put a pile of children on one side and a pile of literary accomplishments on the other and have them ever be equal. They honestly don't compare. Writing opportunities missed--workshops, conferences, contests, little inspirations that don't make sense when I can finally devote time to the random notes I've made--always occupy an ungainly portion of my thinking. But what about the sting of guilt I have over snapping at my kids because I stayed up too late the previous night writing as if I was going to win the next Marilyn Brown Award. It isn't just apples and oranges. It's apples and Winnebagoes.

My children's cravings for parental affection and attention cannot be approached in a balanced, methodical manner. Our best moments are when I am wholly theirs, forgetting my notions of who I should/would be and immersing myself in their world--their problems (oh, the woes of sharing! the frustrations of shoe-tying!), their dreams (to fly, for real, and not in an airplane; can't I feel the wings growing in under her shoulder blades?), their realities (which, since they are not yet burdened by constraints of calendars and clocks, are basically extended dream sequences).

Those moments are the only times I come close to fulfilling the Savior's injunction to lose myself in order to find myself. In their minds I am stronger, wiser, and much more lovable than I perceive myself to be. And the more I am with them the more I become that superhero they think I am. Seeing the growing (and inevitable) realization in their eyes that I am less than perfectly wonderful is a loss--my oldest is only six and is already questioning my abilities--I need their dreams just as much as they do. After all, it is in their dreams I find reflections and reminders of my own pushed aside aspirations, my own stories. It is intimidating and inspiring and it makes me want to sit down and write but I'm afraid to because me being a writer only makes sense in the dream-world my children inhabit, not in the crowded, sensible, grown-up one I live in.

One particularly worthy project has been languishing for over four years now. It limps along with me researching and writing when I can, but my sporadic efforts are not enough to please publishers and I wouldn't feel right about asking readers to spend money on it when I know the book hasn't had the attention it deserves. For the vision of the book to be fully realized would take a full time effort. Because, just like my children, this book needs me to have more wisdom and experience, to be less limited. Just like my children, this book overwhelms me. But unlike my children, if I don't rise to the challenge nobody suffers, except maybe me. The unwritten words are a kind of miscarriage. A private loss.

In 2009 I had a couple writing opportunities that seemed huge to me: I got to write two reviews for Mormon publications, Dialogue and Irreantum. Finally, I was getting my name out there and building up a cache of "real" publishing credits. It felt like everything--my self-respect being the biggest--was riding on these two reviews. But neither worked out how I thought they would. Both ended up clashing with minor family crises. The first suffered neglect due to a bout of anxiety/depression in my oldest child and the second was only half-baked because of a chemical pregnancy/miscarriage. The sudden neediness of my family sucked all the energy out of my writing and I learned that any creative energy I have--whether it be for producing babies or producing rough drafts--came from the same source and it was tapped. When all was said and published, I felt depleted and frustrated and embarrassed. There was no balancing act, only unsatisfactory compromises on every front.

So in 2010, now that there's another baby kicking it's way toward earth life and a book waiting to be resurrected what am I going to do? I don't know. All I've got right now is what I'm not going to do: I'm not going to saddle either with expectations. And I'm not going to try to balance them. I may even manage to avoid conflating and comparing them. (Because, really, no matter how good the metaphor there are limits. My children are not blank pages waiting to be filled and a novel isn't going to be expelled out of my uterus.)

I'm writing this in the past tense, as if these things are over and done with in my life and I am now truly ready to fight the good fight, finish the writing, and keep the faith of my children in tact. But all these attempts at children--both biological and literary--have taught me that failure and success are two sides of the same coin. Both are temporary states of being and one will always imply the other because that's the way agency and opposition and life work: there's always a cost. The price we pay for the things we love is always the private losses registered only in sighs and faraway looks, is always the things we must give up.

Optimism (The Mask)

A friend of mine is working on opening up an expressive arts studio and therapy center. She's been running a couple workshops over the last few weeks and invited me to participate. And, well, since I like artsy stuff and I like therapy, art therapy is like the chocolate truffle of mental health activities; I just can't get enough!

For the last two weeks I joined Nancy and several other ladies in mask making. Last week we made actual molds of our faces out of plaster (and some interesting possible poem thoughts came to my mind. . .) and this week we transformed those masks into something completely different.

Nancy really encouraged me to come to the art-making process with no preconceived notions. No thinking ahead. No planning out. No pushing or prodding or researching. She and I have talked about how my writing has stagnated--possibly because I've been spending too much energy thinking and planning and researching and prodding and not enough time playing. Well, tonight I had notions and I had ideas (it's so hard to let go of my intellect!) but when Nancy pointed out that I was welcome to use her lighter as part of my art all those ideas went up in smoke.

The aim-n-flame and I spent quite a bit of time together and, after Sarah mentioned something about layers and Heather said I was creepy, well, I followed my gut and "Optimism (The Mask)" was born. When I brought it home my husband was kind enough to say he thought it looked like real art--like Nancy had been giving me some professional guidance. (I'm not sure I believe him, but that was sure nice of him to say.) I don't know if I'd call it art--at least not with all the strings that come attached to that word--but it was definitely exciting and interesting and troubling and consuming to create. It definitely stirred people up. It made me feel alive in all the places that being depressed (and pregnant) make me feel dead. And those things, in my mind, make it at least artist-ic.

So here it is in all it's ugly/beautiful glory. "Optimism (The Mask)". Enjoy. Or cringe. Just go with your gut. (P.S. In real life you can tell, but in the picture you can't. The newsprint is obituaries. That was a deliberate and significant choice on my part. And not just because it's morbid. And the things on it's eyes are rose-colored glasses.)Yes, I know. I'm strange. And possibly deeply troubled. *sigh* You'll just have to accept it.

I've always wanted to be a multi-drafter

but most of my writing is done single-drafter style. Mult-drafters seem to have more fun. So I'm taking LDSP up on her Friday Writing Prompt. Hold on to your keyboards folks. This could be really bad.

(Dear LDSP, I'm know I'm supposed to start my piece with "In this one you are" but that is such a weird starting line for me. I'm taking this in my own direction. . .)

Every time she saw the picture on his dresser, Stacey got angry. Her jaw clenched, her shoulders tightened, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She knew it was irrational but seeing that perky, smiling woman staring at her--with one arm around John--she just got angry.

She tried logic. "John, it's such an old picture! After all these years of marriage, can't you just put it away?"

She even tried being honest with him. "Honey, I know it means a lot to you, but for me. . .well, I just . . . I'm just tired of looking at it. It's like she's mocking me."

Most recently she took the picture and hid it, thinking he might not notice. It took John less than five minutes to find it and restore it to its place of honor on his dresser.

This morning she took the picture into the bathroom and held it next to her face in the mirror. She couldn't believe how different the two reflections were. The woman in the picture was so young--no bags under her eyes or on her hips--there was even a little childish roundness to her face. Her smile held hints of laughter and her eyes seemed to meet the future without flinching. Stacey suspected it was lighting of the shot, but the woman in the picture was practically shining. Shining hair, shining teeth, glowing skin.

Stacey's own face was exhausted. Not only were there bags under eyes and on her hips (she silently thanked her five children for that), but her hair was short and her teeth were more mother-of-pearl than shining white. There was no way she could measure up to the woman in the picture. Stacey had done too much and worked too hard. Too many sleepless nights. Too many loads of dishes. Too many children suckled. Too many arguments with John.

In the picture, John was basking in that woman's radiance and whenever Stacey saw him look at the picture part of that radiance seemed to fill him again. She couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at her that way. For all of that, she couldn't remember the last time he'd actually looked at her. Stacey wasn't angry; she was jealous.

But no matter how many times she tried explaining it to John he just didn't seem to understand. Whatever she said his answer was always the same:

"How can you jealous of yourself? That's the woman I married. That's the woman I love. And I plan to look at her as much as I want."

It broke Stacey's heart, though, having to compete with herself that way. She knew she wasn't that woman. She knew John was living in the past. She knew she had changed. She just didn't know if John could love those changes.

On the State of Poetry ( and one of my own)

My co-blogger at AMV and friend, Tyler, posted on his personal blog about the state of poetry in our oh-so-post-post-modern-sound-bitey world. Wow, are there some good links there for aspiring poets! The part of his post I liked best:

"Poets should focus on narrative verse as a means of building their readers into more lyric poetry; that we should be using the web as a publication/distribution tool; and that narrative poets should be talking about other poets' work in an effort to get narrative poetry canonized or formally accepted by broad circles of readers."

Tyler often posts his own poetry and I enjoy reading and mulling it over. He is quite skilled. Fourth Month Rosary meant a lot to me. Rua: an elegy of holes is also quite enjoyable. In fact, his blog is a like a galleria of poetry gems.

Anyway, thanks to Tyler's (and Patricia's) example I'm posting one of my own poems today. Enjoy! And, as Tyler says, feedcrack welcome!

Bringing in the Sheep

On the lava plains of Idaho
Puffs of ocher white and brown
Dot the sagebrushed dirt,
Converging in a scrubby, shaded corner.

A streak of peach, a flit of blue, the children,
Brightly colored kites slicing clouds of sheep,
Making storms of fleece
Explode in new directions.

Sheep bleating—
Hooves stamping—
Weeds bending—
Dust swirling—

A voice calls out, half bleat, half croon,
In knowing repetition,
A trail inherent in its weavings.
The flock now moves as one.

Implicit in the shepherd’s voice
Is shelter, food, water,
Familiarity, care, and memory,
Gifts sheep cannot forage for themselves.

Hands feeding—
Fingers feeling—
Tongues licking—
Voices laughing—

At the Family History Expo

Interloper. That's what I am here. I'm not a hardcore genealogist; I'm a dabbling lifewriter who is managing to pick up a few good tips:

#1: If you are trying to put together some sort of family history book and you are not using a program like Rootsmagic or Legacy (which is actually the number 1 program out there) you are crazy. These programs have awesome organizing and customizing options. You can actually print a book according to YOUR specifications from your own computer, complete with pedigree charts, narratives, and indexes.

#2: If you are writing a personal history and having trouble organizing yourself there programs out there to help you too. One that is being marketed pretty strongly here is Personal Historian by the Rootsmagic folks. This one has a nifty feature that will integrate a cultural and historical time line into your personal time line so you can what movies came out, what were the hits on the radio and what was going in world politics. All these things serve not only as good contextual cues but also as memory cues. Personal Historian also has outlining and drafting tools to help people who don't consider themselves writers through the daunting writing process. Unfortunately, the program doesn't come with a personal editor--which is what I certainly need :) (There are other programs on the internet for free. I'm just telling you about this one because it's the one I've seen in action.)

#3 Don't go into your genealogy alone. There are a gazillion people out there who are doing the same stuff you are and they are probably better at it than you. You can find these people in family history centers, blogs (The Chart Chick does some interesting stuff and my friend Sarah is a passionate genealogist who is full of great info.), and even Twitter. Apparently that is the new place to get the most up-to-date genealogy information. Those genealogists may be older but they are definitely technologically hip!

#4 Genealogy heals. As a Mormon I've pretty much only ever thought about genealogy from a get-those-names-to-the-temple point of view, but everyone (Mormon or not, religious or not) keeps talking about how genealogy has soothed their spirits, healed their hearts, or centered them in the universe. It isn't just about filling in missing leaves on your tree or doing grave rubbings. There is an apparently indescribable yet palpable emotional/psychological value in knowing where you come from.

Almost makes me wonder why I don't do it. Almost.

Fun Summer Stuff

Hi friends!

So this summer I have a number of things I'm looking forward to, but there are two that I promised to blog about so here they are:



Normally I don't get excited about family history. It just seems like one more thing to do and just the thought of scouring the internet for all those names and dates makes my wrists ache. I really, really haven't caught the vision--except for when it comes to the lifewriting aspects family history. I firmly believe that every single person on the planet should create some sort of writing about their life. It will bless their children, it will bless their grandchildren, and the individuals will themselves be blessed by the act of writing. That's why I'm excited about the Colorado Family History Expo. Not only are they holding classes about how to use Google (that's for the old people), but they are also offering a number of classes about writing. My inner artist is looking forward to the down-to-earth info these types of events offer. Any of you readers living in Colorado should really consider coming. Or, if you live in Wyoming or in Salt Lake city they have options for you too!



I didn't participate in LDSPublisher's contest last summer and I regretted it. Thankfully, she's doing it again this year. I know a few of my readers are already heavily invested in LDS writing, but I also know more than a few of my readers think most LDS fiction is poorly written, soporific, romantic garbage. That is not true. There are a lot of quality LDS/Mormon fiction titles out there and this is a great opportunity to read some--and maybe even win something!
I've also vowed to read a little less this summer and write a little more (I've read 45 books already this year!)so I'm keeping my list modest.

Books on hold at the library: Lately I have only wanted to read books that have no bearing on real life. In keeping with that I've on the list for Shannon Hale's River Secrets and Austenland and Jessica Day George's Sun, Moon, Ice and Snow. I also want to borrow George's Dragon Slippers sequels from a friend.

Books coming through inter-library loan: The Conversion of Jeff Williams by Doug Thayer and Long After Dark by Robert Todd Petersen. I've been meaning to ILL that last one for a loooong time; it's award winning! I also requested Abinadi by H.B. Moore but because it's a new book the library would have to buy it and I won't know about that one for awhile. (If any of my friends want to buy this and lend it to me, I would love them forever! I'd even make them dessert!)

Other books: Dorian by Nephi Andersen is online in it's entirety for free. I'll probably start with this title. I also want to reread The Earthkeepers by Marilyn Brown. Oh, and I have a bunch of books from my dad's Mormon literature class at BYU--Under the Cottonwoods by Doug Thayer, Frost in the Orchard and The Rummage Sale by Donald Marshall, and an anthology called 22 Young Mormon Writers that was published in 1975.

I'm not sure I'll get to all these books but I know I'll enjoy the ones I do get to. How about the rest of you? If I promise to post on Dorian next week will you try to read it by then?

Happy Summer Reading!

Going Quiet

Adenoid update: gone. J's adenoid's were successfully removed and the whole process took less than 40 minutes. Seriously, we were at the surgery center for a mere two and a half hours. I asked if we could stay longer since it was so nice and quiet, but the nurses politely (and forcefully) kicked us out. J is doing very well. Too well. They told me it would take at least twenty-four hours for the anesthesia to wear off and he would be pretty groggy. What they should have said was that he would basically be a drunk toddler: as much energy as usual but none of the coordination and prone to lots of mood swings. He is blissfully asleep right now and my husband even witnessed some nose breathing. There might be hope. (In answer to the question of the day, "What the heck do adenoids do, anyway?", here's a link.)

I wasn't so sure of that a few hours ago. Like I do in most stressful situations, I had a break down just after the crisis was done. I threw a toy, cussed a little, cried a lot, argued with my husband, and vowed to make an appointment with my therapist.

However, like scripture tells us revelation is not in the earthquake or the wind or the fire but, rather, in the stillness that we feel after those things. Once my fire burned itself out I heard at least one of the things God has probably been trying to teach me all my twenty-seven years: be quiet.

For my birthday my parents gave me Madeleine L'Engle's Walking on Water and, while the book was not everything I wanted it to be (which of course it couldn't be because L'Engle is like a surrogate mother for me and, at some point, all mothers must fail their children so they can grow), I got something very important out of the book: a new prayer, "Lord, slow me down."

I think part of my reaction to my depression is to push myself. I'm so afraid of falling apart I overcompensate by trying to do everything at once. It's a good distraction to the gnawing emptiness. I also think it's just part of who I am. For as long as I can remember I've always wanted to feel everything and know everything and be everything--I'm always seeking the next step or sensation--preferably all at once. Knowledge and experience are heady drugs and fill up all the places inside me that are empty. I think that's one reason why I like to be pregnant; somebody else's being fills up my emptiness and I can slow down for a little bit.

Of course, part of managing my mood disorder is learning to appreciate the present and experience it fully instead of shunting things away to be dealt with later. It's about not distracting myself. It's about listening to what message the chaos is hiding. It's about slowing down. So, like Madeleine L'Engle, I've been praying that the Lord would slow me down. That He would make me quiet.

Be careful what you wish for.

Apparently, the only way the Lord could slow me down was by giving me enough rope to hang myself. Or, more aptly, by giving me enough projects to exhaust myself. Tonight I finally quit trying to fight the exhaustion and I'm slowing down; I'm going quiet.

For the first time in my life I'm cutting back and saying no. I've already backed out of a couple obligations and my blog is the next step. I'm a little bummed--I'm always sad when a friend gives up blogging because I love hearing their stories (even though I'm terrible at commenting!)--but it feels right. I need to quit focusing on my noise and busy-ness and start finding the slow and quiet things and listening to them. In my haste to become some sort of awesome writer I forgot the number one rule of good writing: listening. Good writers listen to everything around them, whether spoken or unspoken. And to listen like that you have to slow down and you have to be quiet. I've scratched the surface of that idea in relation to my kids and it's been amazing. It's time to open up the rest of my life to the quiet.

I'm not going to quit blogging entirely. This thing is an important brain dump! I am, however, going to be sporadic. In my mind once or twice a month should do. The cutbacks include Mirthful Mondays. Sorry. Maybe one of you should take that over that segment on your blog! Let me know if you do and I'll link to you. Anyway, if you haven't before, now is the time to sign up for my feed.

So, with all the extra time you will have because I'm not blogging as much, you should read this memoir: The Year My Son and I Were Born by Kathryn Lynard Soper. Amazing. Amazing. Amazing. If I had the money I would buy every single one of you a copy. This is a must-own for every mother. In the story of her baby with Down Syndrome and her struggle to love him and herself, Soper has embedded the story of every mother and the divinity that motherhood can cultivate within us. Soper is writing from a beautifully transcendent (and perhaps fleeting) place. And because of that the book is never preachy but still guides and uplifts. It is honest and gritty but never depressing.

Seriously--tell your husband or father or whoever to buy you this book for Mother's Day. You'll want to read it again the minute you finish it.

And as a final touch, here's some quiet for you to meditate upon. These are the mountains I live by. I think that they embody some of the quiet I need to find. I need to go lay on one and fell the earth supporting me and radiating God's power and beauty.



photo credit

A shout out to other depressed bloggers: Can I link to you?

Hi friends. Now that I've been blogging for a year I think it's about time (or waaaay past time) to pull together a blogroll. I'd like the blogroll to be a way to build support for those of us who need it, so I'm going to focus it on other depressed (but not necessarily unhappy) bloggers. A lot of you have mentioned in past comments that you are depressed and I would love to include you all, but I also want to respect your privacy. So, if you would like to be included on my Depressed (but not unhappy) blogroll leave me a comment that says so and includes your blog address. Thanks!

Also, be sure to check out the new I've added permalinks I've added on my sidebar for some good resources. I've got some good links to stuff the Church has put out (like the awesome article in the January Ensign about bipolar disorder) and other helpful sites. If you have one you want me to add let me know so I can check it out!

LDS Publisher's Christmas Story Contest

Hi friends!
I just wanted to let you all know that I entered a story in this year's Christmas Story contest over at LDS Publisher. Here's the link to the contest. There are two categories: published authors and unpublished authors and you can vote for two stories in both. I can't tell you which story is mine (nuts!) but I hope you'll go over and vote. A lot of these stories are touching, some are fun, and all are worth reading. Enjoy!