It's poems like this . . .

So I've been reading John Updike's poetry. Didn't know he was a poet until just a couple of years ago when I came across "Seven Stanzas at Easter," which I quoted from here.

So, anyway, he is a phenomenal poet. The sheer variety of subjects he takes on, and styles, and images and ease of rhyme (when he cares to rhyme) is just mind-blowing to me. Here's one of my favorite images, which comes as the last line in a very long poem about bats and, in particular, chasing a bat out of his house one evening:

Stealthy as a parent, I wrapped it gently up;

it chirruped, exerting a questioning pressure

back through the towel like the throb of a watch.

Up, window. Up, screen. I gave the bat back

to the night like a cup of water to the sea.

Man, it's poems like this that make me despair of ever being a poet—and yet, it's poems like this that make me wonder if maybe I could be one. Because of the way I resonate when I encounter that one, perfect image ("like a cup of water to the sea"). There must be something poetic in me to be able to get such joy from a turn of phrase like that, right?

My dream: to hear someday that someone loved an image of mine as much as I love this one.

Presenting . . .

I'm so impressed with this new anthology. Tyler Chadwick, a poet himself and a guy who has been active in the Mormon Letters community, edited it, and it was a (huge) labor of love. And it truly is love. We all know that nobody makes money when it comes to poetry. I'm so impressed that Tyler and his buddies saw a need for an updated anthology and they jumped in, putting their own money and time on the line for this. It's huge, and amazing, and I'm sure it will be used as a textbook for classes in the future (besides being a fantastic addition to any personal library--right?).

Anyway, you can order it here. Do so, if you care about poetry and Mormon lit.

A few of my own poems appear in it, right at the end. I re-read them today and liked them a little less than in the past--I think I could do better now. (Especially that "Patriarchal Blessing" is a wee bit sentimental . . . ) But I always experience that when I read my older things. I imagine other poets do, too.

I hope you pick this up, and then you can let me know what you think.

Bucket List

My Bucket List

I love the idea of making a bucket list, especially since (as you probably know) I have been afraid of dying young ever since my mother's cancer returned. My mother was 43 when she died; her mother was only 34. Both died of female-related cancers (Ovarian and Breast). Understandably, I was happy to see the Just Ask Bucket List Getaway Giveaway going on. Just Ask offers a breast and ovarian cancer screening and is encouraging people to share fifteen things that they want to live to accomplish. Check out TodaysMama.com for details on how to enter. 

I've kept a bucket list in my mind for years, but it's time to write it down. The first one is a no-brainer, so I won't even write it on the list:  to outlive my mother! Here are the rest, in no particular order:

1.  Learn to speak Spanish.

2.  Sing a solo in church. (YIKES! This one will take a while.)

3.  Get a Master's degree.

4.  Publish a novel.

5.  Travel across the ocean with my husband (Scotland? Tahiti?)

6.  Serve a mission with my husband.

7. Work as a teacher.

8.  Run a half-marathon.

9.  Publish a collection of poetry.

10.  Be able to do twenty FULL YOGA push-ups.

11.  Visit Epcott Center with my husband.

12.  Make some close couple-friends that we could travel with regularly.

13.  Travel across the country in a motorhome with my husband.

14.  Learn to meditate for REAL.

15.  Win an AML award for writing.

And there are more—take a square-dancing class. Eat at The Melting Pot restaurant. Visit Roger's mission area. And probably lots more! How about I stick around for a while?

NaNoWriMo

NANOWRIMO (National Novel Writing Month, or, "30 Days, 50,000 Words")

Well, on a fluke I decided to go for it.

Actually, it was out of sheer admiration for my friend who, despite lots of reasons not to, decided to be brave and make a daily writing commitment, and asked me to be someone she can report to. She has much better reasons than I do for not doing it, and I admire her so much, so I figured it was the least I could do to join her.

That's the cool thing about NaNo: what have you got to lose, besides an hour or two each day? It's not like I have to say this is my Big Book, the one closest to my hear that will be my masterpiece. It's just permission to mess around and see what happens, right?

Which is why I decided to do something really crazy.

See, I decided a few weeks before Nov. 1 that I would do this, and I began thinking up some ideas, brainstorming characters, etc. Two days before NaNo started, I spent many hours outlining an idea.

Then, the night before, I climbed into bed and thought, "I'm not really all that excited about this idea." Now, I've done NaNo before—it was how I produced my first draft of my first novel. And, that time, too, I wasn't all that excited about the idea I had come up with, but it was NaNo and I wasn't all that invested, so I wrote it anyway. If you've read any of my old entries about that book, you know that I never did come to love that book very much, even though I worked on it, on and off, for the next four years or so, producing several complete drafts and taking it to WIFYR twice. And I got some good interest from agents (a few still have partials or fulls), and, at one point, got my hopes up about its being published.

But I still never loved it.

So, that night before NaNo started last week, I said to myself, "Well, what kind of book WOULD you be excited about?" And I had no idea of a story or characters or anything—just a general theme and FEELING. And I dared myself to just try it. Why not? It's NaNo, a time to risk.

So the next morning I got up and started something with pretty much no ideas in mind.

And I LOVED what I wrote.

And the next day I loved it even more. And the next day.

I wish I could say that that passion continued. But . . .

Writing a novel is a lot like raising kids. At first, you think, "This kid could be anything! He could be a genius! Mozart! Steve Jobs!" The potential of that little guy is infinite. And then, he grows up a little bit, and you start to realize that, while he's absolutely adorable and you would die for him because you love him so much, he's really kind of average (in a very adorable way, of course), and he might grow up to, say, get a scholarship to BYU or be in the marching band, but he's probably not going change the world or anything. And you love them for who they are, and learn to just enjoy them.

So that's the phase I'm at with my novel. It was thrilling to imagine the possibilities of my book, but then I had to start making some decisions—and each decision limited the book in some way. By deciding to make it serious, I limited its ability to be hilarious. Be deciding to make it about religion, I limited its appeal to many, many editors. Etc. And there's a point, of course, where some of my decisions even go against something I originally wanted it to be—because I have to be true to the story, now, and not play god so much. I have to let my characters grow up, make their own decisions, etc.

That's the real work of writing a novel, I think. The making decisions. The giving up some things for other things. It's what kills me, but it's the only way to get through. Otherwise I'll forever have the Perfect Novel in spirit form but never embodied.

A writer is just someone who decides that the sacrifices are worth it, I guess—that the embodiment is worthwhile, even as it encompasses its own weaknesses. And isn't that the truest mirror of experience, anyway?

So, wish me luck.

And by the way, my 13-year-old is doing NaNo with me and KEEPING UP! In fact, he is ahead of me on words. What a guy. (Just goes to show that even your real kids do end up exceeding expectations sometimes, too.)

Why hearing from Marilynne Robinson discouraged me

I got to go hear Marilynne Robinson in Orem last night. Her book, Gilead, which won the Pulitzer prize, and its companion novel, Home, have moved me deeply, and I was eager to hear from her, to see what kind of person, what kind of mind, these books came out of. One thing that made me especially curious was the fact that she was a woman, because those two books are so predominantly male. Home’s main POV character is female, but the voice does not feel very female, and the true focus of the book is not Glory but her brother Jack. How does a female writer feel so confident writing so much about men? I was also curious about how Robinson even got the nerve to write these books, because they are so very literary (in that there is hardly any outward plot at all) and so unlike the kinds of things that get published. I wanted to know about her background in fiction, what kinds of things she reads and what her goals were as she wrote, to help me understand how a writer can so thoroughly throw out all the rules you hear from agents/publishers about keeping the action going, having conflicts on every page, etc. I wanted to listen to her as a writer, as someone who might, potentially, want to write like her someday, with similar subject matter that is so heavily internal.

First of all, I was a little disappointed that she took a large portion of the time to read to us from Gilead. I wanted to hear her speak, not hear her read words that I had at home and could read to myself any time. I wanted to hear so much about how she could come to sit down to the endeavor that was these two novels. I was selfish, I know. The question-and-answer period helped me get some ideas, anyway. Here are some of the notes I took:

On the subject of how she came to choose Reverend Ames’s story to tell (or any of her novels): “The voice just comes to me, I don’t know from where.” This is interesting and disappointing to me. Disappointing because I NEVER GET VOICES. I have had friends tell me they hear voices, or are haunted by their characters, and I am so very envious. How can I get that? All my characters really turn out to be me in different disguises, and that is my greatest weakness. I am too cerebral, left-brained, controlling, conscious, whatever. I want to loose that need to always be in control and get tap into the world of the other, the Jungian cloud above us that is full of ideas, or my own subconscious. But I don’t know how! Can I pray to be haunted?

She talked about how, during the writing of Gilead, she would spend her day working (at something else) but have in the back of her mind the happy thought that she would get to go home and spend time with John Ames. This must have been an amazing feeling.

Her idea for the novel began with her own interests. She had a great interest in 19th century culture, especially vernacular hymns. So I ask myself, where are my interests? What am I very interested in that could lead to an idea for a novel?

I asked her about Jack’s story (Home), and at what point in the construction of Gilead she had realized that Jack had his own story that needed to be told, and whether she knew that story as she wrote Gilead. She answered that “The characters [in Gilead] just wouldn’t go away. So I figured that if they were that strong, perhaps I should give them some attention.”

Again, the haunting.

In response to a question about how she had the courage to write about religious life and believing characters, she quoted statistics about how surprisingly many Americans are actually religious. Then she said, “I have to write what is on my mind. I lecture on and study theology, so that’s what I write about. Courage doesn’t really come into it.” It reminded me of something Wallace Stegner once said to Jerry Johnston when Jerry asked about whether a great Mormon novel was possible (as reported in an AML meeting many years ago): “Just tell it true.” I believe this very strongly—that a Mormon writer who writes a Mormon novel but skillfully and very, very true (meaning no propaganda or whitewashing) could succeed nationally.

Someone asked her what she reads. She mentioned Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman and Emerson. VERY interesting. No novelists? I wonder whether that made it possible for her to write what she did. If she were constantly reading what’s being produced these days, maybe she would have told herself that no one would publish what she was writing. There may be something to be said about isolating oneself in order to keep one’s own voice and passions pure.

About craft: “Always keep something in front of the reader’s eyes. You are leading them through a world they are unfamiliar with.” I think Robinson does an amazing job of this, considering how very internal her books are. Scene, scene, scene is where it’s at. Again, I feel myself hampered by my inability to visualize.

So it was a really enjoyable evening, but it served to make me lose confidence in myself as a novelist. Is this ability to be haunted, and to visualize, something that can be learned? Should I just give up and decide to be a great appreciator? That wouldn’t be a bad life . . . And there is always my poetry, which comes so much more naturally to me, even as it also relies on scene.

Meeting Billy Collins

So I got to meet Billy Collins this week. As in FACE TO FACE. As in, NOT across a book-signing desk, but in a room where I could have asked him anything, spoken to him for five or ten minutes all by myself. And here’s what I asked him:

Nothing.

I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. Later, after his reading when he opened up the room to comments, I thought of all sorts of things I would have liked to ask him. In particular, I would have liked to ask him whether he thinks the art of being a poet can be taught. I’m not talking about revision, or skills of craft. I’m talking about being able to see a poem in a scene or detail and knowing how to get it down in a shape that is appreciable by others. I would have liked to ask him how it felt to be Poet Laureate, and what he did while he held that office. I would have liked to ask him (and I never would have dared) whether, being as familiar as he is with the more complex work of other poets, he enjoys being labeled as “the accessible poet”—does he feel people looking down on him for that? Does he wish his poetry were more dense? I want to ask him how he judges other people’s poetry whose styles are so different from his own. What does he look for when he judges poetry contests, for example? What has he learned about craft, over the course of his career? What kind of goals does he set for himself, in terms of actual work time—does he, for example, have a goal of spending two hours a day working on poetry?

Sigh. I lost a huge opportunity. It was just plain old shyness on my part. I sat there thinking, “This guy has absolutely no interest in talking to me—why should he?—so I will exit this conversation quickly so he can talk to more important people.” And this assumption on my part had absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Collins’s own response to me. He was kind and attentive and would have answered me with warmth.

PBBBBTTHTTHTH!!! to me and my stupid self-consciousness.

However, on the bright side, I was immensely nourished by the whole OCCASION of my meeting him. I got to spend a really pleasant evening with one of my favorite people (no, not Billy, but my good friend Kristi, whose family is sweet, whose home is so perfectly HER [and beautiful], and whose genuineness and love of truth always make me enjoy her company). And I got my book signed. And I had a really nice drive to and from Ephraim. Coming back, I took the long-way-round through Mona and Goshen while the sun was rising above the hills. It was a nice, nice experience, even without Words of Wisdom from Billy Collins.

And I enjoyed the thoughts he did share after his reading. Particularly, Kristi and I were affected by his comment about the process of writing a poem: “I never start with an end in mind. If I take away the surprise for myself, why would I even bother to write it? That takes away all the enjoyment.” She and I both have been too worried about ends. We resolved to be braver about seeing each work as a journey.

I’m so blessed to have people like Kristi in my life. Lately, I’ve been feeling grateful about so many things—the interesting people I get to know, the great books I’ve met in my life, my fun family (immediate and extended), football, bright fall sunshine, Dove peanut-butter chocolate, water with lemon. It’s a good life. And now I’ll end before this sounds even more like a testimony meeting . . .

9/11

I was going to post something else today, but then I saw the date. How could I dare to post something silly today, of all days?

My kids have been asking me about 9/11—where I was, what it was like, etc. We’ve been trying to explain to them how it changed the world, but they don’t remember much different, so it’s hard. When I was a teenager, I got sort of tired of all the people at church and in General Conference talking about how we were supposed to be such a strong generation, saved for the difficult last days. I didn’t feel particularly strong. Now that my children are growing up in this crazy world, I see why people say those kinds of things: It’s soothing to those of us who love them. I HAVE to believe my kids are strong (meaning, have strong stomachs and unquenchable hope) in order to sleep at night. There’s got to be a way (hasn’t there?) to remain sane in a world like this.

I kept thinking about how our parents used to describe where they were when they heard about Kennedy being shot, and then I thought about World War II and the Holocaust, and Lincoln being shot, and I realized that evil is not new; upheaval of society is not new. The answer is always to insist on believing in man’s ability to choose, even in the face of the unimaginable—and then choosing myself to get dressed, put on makeup, go out into the world and dance in the face of everything.

(But you can’t make me shave my legs if I’m planning on wearing pants. I’m just saying.)

So anyway, I don’t have anything profound to say about 9/11. Just that even though it happened I am still glad to have had a chance to have lived on this earth, and I’m still making plans for a relatively normal life. Yeah, I’m trying to live frugally and get out of debt and be wise, but I am not stockpiling guns and gold and TVP in my basement. So take that, terrorists. You gave a lot of pain to a lot of people, but for average Joe and Josephine like myself, you have not destroyed faith in humanity.

Have a happy September!

Chieko

I bet there are not many LDS women of my generation who do not know whom I’m referring to when I say the name “Chieko.” I believe that Chieko Okazaki, who died this week, had a huge influence on the women of the church and thus, I believe, on women of the world. At least, she had a huge influence on me, on my understanding of how to apply the principles of the gospel to daily living, and particularly on my self-definition as an LDS woman.

In conjunction with the presidency of Gordon B. Hinckley, the presidency that Chieko was a part of presided during a time of change in the church in regards to public rhetoric by and about women. It was during those years that what my husband and I refer to as the “wife talk” became a common staple of the priesthood session of General Conference—that is, the general authorities began to emphasize the correct (and point out the incorrect) usage of priesthood power within marriages, condemning abuse and encouraging emotional support from husbands to wives. At the same time, Sheri Dew and Chieko Okazaki were establishing a new and powerful model of what an LDS woman could be in terms of non-traditional (one was single; the other had been a working mom) and the ways (powerfully) and subjects about which (meaningful applications of gospel principals) and she could speak.

Most people remember Chieko’s talks in General Conference because she used visual aids for her object lessons. But what I will always remember her for are her writings, which I read, re-read, marked up and quoted (and still do). I’m proud that the organization that I serve, the Association for Mormon Letters, gave her a rare award in devotional writing. Her writings motivated me like no other devotional book ever had (or since has), because she was a truth-teller whose desire to increase unity and charity among LDS women was obvious, even as she bravely pointed out the ways we fall short. Just off the top of my head, I can remember several of her stories. For example, there’s the one about the visiting teachers who, when greeted by a child at the door of a woman they meant to visit because the woman was too sick to answer the door, said, “Well, tell her we’ll come back when she’s feeling better.”

I know that Chieko always thought of herself as a teacher. I have a relative who was blessed to have Chieko as an elementary school teacher who says she was fantastic. I’m grateful that the Lord arranged for Chieko to be given opportunities to teach many more than just the children lucky enough to have her in school. I’ve heard from a friend who was in her ward for years that Sunday School wasn’t boring with Chieko in the classroom. I imagine! Lucky ward!

I’m not embarrassed to say that Chieko is one of my role models. I will miss her; I think many, many people will miss her. I’m grateful to have known her mind; she changed my life.

Some of my poetry

Check out this beautiful web mag.

TREK

Well, it’s over. I have to confess to a lot of relief and even a tiny little bit of let-down.

First of all, I consider it a big success. On the way home, I reviewed the goals that R and I started out with, and found that we had met every one. Here they are:

• The kids will feel the Spirit.
• The kids will experience adversity and overcome it.
• The kids (and staff) will have an opportunity to get to know others in the ward, both youth and adults. They will grow in unity through the experience, both with other youth and with their own trek parents.
• The kids will see an example of adults with testimonies, and benefit from that, so that when they return from trek, they will have more spiritual mentors than just their own parents. We want them to be able to say to themselves, “Brother X and Sister Y knew, too.”
• The kids will have fun.
• No one will die.
• The staff won’t hate us when it is all over.

I won’t go through a step-by-step retelling of all that happened. There was way too much, for one thing.

It was a little hard to get a sense of how things were going from my position. It was as if I was standing backstage trying to gauge how a show was going with only my view of the wings and the actors backsides to help me judge. But reports are good.

The very best part was seeing the things we cared about most happen and happen well. I’m referring to the family time, in which the Ma’s and Pa’s took the kids aside and taught them, helping them relate the activities to their lives. Our Ma’s and Pa’s were FANTASTIC at this, better than we’d ever hoped. That was one of the hardest things—ceding control of this most important part to others. I really felt confirmation that the callings of these particular Ma’s and Pa’s were inspired, and that the family assignments were inspired as well. I saw several specific examples of why certain kids needed to be with certain “parents.” What happened within those families was worth ALL our work.

Other favorite parts:

• When one of the big kids (an “older brother”) came up to me, duct taped at the wrist by his “parents” to my own (very small) son: “So that B can watch over me and keep me out of trouble,” the big kid told me.

• Hearing the kids brag about how their own Ma’s and Pa’s were the best.

• The “stupid human tricks” I discovered each youth could do. (One kid can turn one of his feet almost 180 degrees around. Another can lick her elbow. Etc.)

• Singing with the kids on the bus.

• Hearing the “family songs” that the families made up.

• The food. Oh, man, the food. Many of us gained weight.

• And, of course, the sweet spirit at the testimony meeting. One kid: “That was the longest, and most spiritual, testimony meeting I’ve ever been in!”

Obstacles and tender mercies:

• My health was good throughout.
• We overcame several staff drop-outs and other emergencies, including a huge budget shortfall (through the kindness of an anonymous donor) and a major accident to our medical chairman.
• New bishopric halfway through the planning.
• We were able to reroute our Willie trek when a portion of the trail was significantly under water and we had no spare shoes (thanks to helpful missionaries).
• Miraculous good Samaritans helping our vehicle (which pulled an important trailer) that broke down on the highway.

Things I’ve learned:

• A project like this should ALWAYS be assigned to a couple to head up, not an individual. It would have been SOOOOOOO hard to do this singly, or to watch Roger do it singly.

• People who SEEM like they are “get-it-done” people are not always “get-it-done” people. Likewise, people who often hang in the background can turn out to be workhorses who put their whole hearts into what they do.

• Follow up, follow up, follow up.

• Tell people WHY you hare having them do things. They’re more likely to follow directions when they know why. (Similarly, it’s important to follow directions even when you don’t know why, because you often have limited information.)

• People in charge of big things like this often have less control over the final product that you would think. They deserve neither all the blame nor all the praise.

• Sometimes God doesn’t remove bumps, but provides help for you to get over them if the task is necessary to his work.

• Use the people who volunteer, if you can. Take advantage of their interest!

• Did I mention following up?

• After you’ve planned and planned and planned, let go and watch spontaneous things happen without fear.

One of the most exciting things that happened was the huge storm that hit while we were out with our handcarts. I was seriously petrified that we would be struck by lightning. We had a little frustration with the staff at the visitor’s center area, who were nowhere to be found when we came running in through the storm looking for shelter, but once we finally found shelter and counted heads to be sure everyone was safe, I could finally breathe. We gathered everyone for a prayer of gratitude and I walked around trying to calm my heart—and then overheard one boy telling another, “That was the COOLEST THING EVER!” We found that we had taken shelter in the replica of the original fort building—the one the Martin company had come to but had been unable to fit inside. Hearing that story just then, in that situation where we had just come in from the horrible elements, really struck us. Imagine if not all of us had fit inside that shelter that day! What a learning experience.

Another interesting thing was when we returned to camp and found all of our tents still safe because we had followed instructions and pulled them down and weighted them before we left camp. The neighboring camp, which had not done so, lost several tents to the storm.

I can’t describe the relief when we pulled into the parking lot and were able to deliver all of the kids to their parents (relatively) unscathed. It was finally over, and I began to wonder what I’d do with all my extra time after this . . .

(Well, I’m booked up for a couple of months, anyway. First there’s all the stuff I put off dealing with until “after trek.” Then there’s two huge camping trips, a week apart, that I haven’t begun planning. Maybe around August I’ll catch my breath.)

About Being a Mormon Writer

The following is from an article called "Playing to Type: Lynn Nottage on Acting and Race," by Hilton Als, in May 23's New Yorker (p. 86). It describes Nottage's childhood love of musicals, then continues:

"But when [playwright Lynn Nottage] set out to become a playwright she exchanged the joy of musicals for the mantle of racial identity, which made her early plays feel like a didactic throwback to the Black Arts Movement. This is not an unusual phenomenon: black artists are often torn between the work they do for themselves and the work they feel they should do for their people. Eventually, Nottage realized that she didn't have to write black; she was black, and her race would be inhernent in everything she did--as would her feminism."

Now go back and insert "Mormon" for "black." I think too many of us (me included) sometimes sacrifice our joy and passion for trying to Say Something. And often we feel it's our job go Say Something Mormon (or, perhaps, Something Moral). But I believe very much what Nottage came to realize--that just be being true to our own world views (which, as Mormons, are inherently optimistic--ultimately--but also realistic--hopefully), honest in the way we depict things, we are saying something. (And, in fact, we fail artistically as soon as we try to insert a message.)

What do you think?

What is my job on the planet?

“All of us are apprenticed to the same teacher that the religious institutions originally worked with: reality. Reality-insight says . . . master the twenty-four hours. Do it well, without self-pity. It is as hard to get the children herded into the carpool and down the road to the bus as it is to chant sutras in the Buddha hall on a cold morning. One move is not better than the other, each can be quite boring, and they both have the virtuous quality of repetition. Repetition and ritual and their good results come in many forms. Changing the filter, wimping noses, going to meetings, picking up around the house, washing dishes, checking the dipstick—don’t let yourself think these are distracting you from your more serious pursuits. Such a round of chores is not a set of difficulties we hope to escape from so that we may do our “practice” which will put us on a “path”—it is our path.”

--Gary Snyder, The Practice of the Wild, quoted in Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Wherever You Go, There You Are.

Last night I dreamed that I was substitute teaching (something I have done several times this year) and some authors and agents visited the school. One asked me to describe my novel and pb manuscripts and was quite excited about them. “Do you have hard copies I could take?” he asked. I said I had some at home (but obviously I was stuck there teaching). Another teacher said, “Just run home quick and get them—I’ll watch over the class for you, and no one will know.” So I did. But on the way home, I had car problems. And then, upon reaching home, I couldn’t find some of the manuscripts. I found my novel, but realized it was an older, flawed version. I felt anxiety about getting back to class so I wouldn’t get caught having ditched my job, and I didn’t believe I had time to print out a new copy. I woke up in the midst of that dilemma.

I think the dream reflects my constant guilt and indecision about where I should be spending my time (writing vs. family vs. trying to earn some money, etc.) and, more particularly, whether to abandon some of my writing goals in order to focus more particularly on others. It seems sometimes that I spend whole days spinning my wheels. Kabat-Zinn recommends asking each day, “What is my job on the planet?” He tells about Buckminster Fuller, who came to a point in his life where he decided to live as if he had already died. Each day he asked himself, “What is it on this planet that needs doing that I know something about, that probably won’t happen unless I take responsibility for it?” This question has been helpful to me in analyzing what I’m doing with and in my life. I haven’t reached any big-picture answers, but I’ve used it in some small situations, such as whether to correct a child. (“What, truly, is my job here? Is it my job to fix this problem? Obviously it is my job to raise a child who is the most capable of joy as possible. Would making this correction contribute to that, or is this situation simply not my business?”)

I look forward to finding more ways to use this question in my life. I suppose I ought to be open to the possibility that sometimes my job is just to live a day mindfully, without putting pressure on myself to produce anything.

. . . speaking of which . . .

I am really grateful for humble heroes who don't mind making a boy's day by smiling big for the 100th time late at night so a kid can have this memory forever.

(In case you don't know, these are Jackson Emery, Jake Heaps, and Jimmer, whom we ran into at the Y Awards last night. Thanks, Papa John for passing along your tickets.)

I love taking B to things because he has such an amazing capacity for enjoyment.

Jimmer-Mania

Well, we had some this year.

And not all of it (ahem) from the males in my family.

The thing is, it was just really, really fun.

And I have been short on fun in the last five years of my life.

My kids were wowed by Jimmer's skills, but the thing that charmed me was his boyishness. Really. You could tell this kid was having a blast, all the time. And I loved his openness with his emotions.





It made it easier for us to live the whole thing vicariously through him--yeah, he was insanely talented, but he was just a normal kid, just like us.

And, oh yeah, it was fun being a fan.

Notes from AML Conference

So here are some of the notes I jotted down as I listened to the incredible sessions last weekend. Keep in mind that these are not quotes from the speakers, but rather the end-product after I heard them say something similar to what is here. They've passed through my brain and possibly picked up some errors, faulty implications, ominous overtones, whatever. Mostly I'm just putting them here because I don't want to forget them.

Josh Allen on Epiphany in Fiction:
We trust the epiphany because the world which is discovered is demanding and complex.

We also need doubt. Remove it in an epiphany and you don’t have truth.

In good epiphany, truth isn’t tidy. Epiphany leads character to question other things. Good epiphany increases complexity, so we trust it. (Example: 2 epiphanies in Wizard of Oz. Bad=”there’s no place like home,” resolves everything. Good=man behind curtain.)

Insights that make things harder.

Go to a Mormon bookstore and examine the epiphanies. What is new? Nothing. All is already known. Closed universe.

Jack Harrell:
God enters chaos in which elements aren’t distinguished from each other and then divides and organizes.

God is the meaning (logos). Writers (and all creators) create meaning from the chaos. God lost 1/3 of his spirit children; writers are acquainted with failure, loss.

Good art: not just a means to re-present what we have, but to expand joy and understanding.

Meaning is discovered in the world as it is. Natural state is chaos.

From citation for Patrick Madden’s Quotidiana:
Each essay begins with the mundane and meanders into deep meaning.

Kathy Soper on Memoir Construction:1. Explore opposition.
2. Structure meaning.
3. Forster communion.

John Bennion’s admonition to those on study abroad, about touring and also about writing essays: “Wander, not knowing beforehand where you will go.” “Abandon interpretation.” “Step back. Hold back your judgment.” [Me: both in writing and in regards to self and others.

Marvin Payne on Marden Clark’s essay, “Liberating Form”: “He only wrote the essay in order to say what he said in the last two pages.” [Me: that should be the way of any written art. To the audience, you say, “You can’t hear that in the right way unless you live through this artistic experience first.”]

AML Meeting

Well, it’s been and gone now, and I can heave a sigh of relief. To tell the truth, I didn’t do much work on this year’s AML meeting, but I did stress about it—does that count? Kathleen and Boyd and Margaret pulled it off, with Matthew doing lots of the work I usually do. Matthew Jarman is a blessing that’s come to AML this year (he’s treasurer), along with Jonathan Langford, who revitalized the blog and has made it all I had dreamed it would be, and Dennis Clark, our awards coordinator who did an amazing job. Things are looking up for the old AML, with people like this!

This year’s meeting was rewarding for me in many ways. One very literal way (key word: rewarding) is that I got an AML award! For “Service to AML.” Which means, “We’re glad you do all those things that the rest of us wouldn’t want to do,” but it also means “We consider you one of our own,” and so it is very meaningful to me. Because that’s the whole reason I ever volunteered to help with AML: so I could play with the cool kids. And I really have been blessed to get to know some extremely cool kids, and come to consider them friends. This was more clear to me than ever this year because I felt so much joy in being able to greet all the old regulars and some of the new regulars by name. It makes me very happy to help people make connections with each other. I don’t think I’ve been all that influential over AML other than that (and, maybe, keeping Kathleen going, who is really the reason AML has survived some of its bumps). But I felt appreciated yesterday and so it was nice. (They even gave me 2 dozen yellow roses! And stood up for me! I wanted to pull a Sally Fields: “You like me! You really like me!”) The most meaningful part of it was the beautiful citation that Eric Samuelsen (one of the coolest kids of all) wrote for me, and the fact that he came, sick as he was, just to read it. THAT was very moving.

Thanks, my friends.

Another big ego boost was that an editor from Signature passed me a note in class asking when they’re going to see a collection from me. That had me skipping around. It was funny to me that it happened there because, as I’ve mentioned here, I’ve been doing some really good work in my class and feel like I’ve got some very solid work to begin sending out to lit mags. And I’ve been having this debate with myself about whether to put together a collection for a local (read: LDS) audience or send them out singly to non-local (read: non-LDS) mags. Signature’s interest sparked some conversations with other writers that helped me understand that I can do both. So that’s cool. And, yeah, I know that one editor passing me a note does not in any way imply that an ms. from me would necessarily be accepted. Still, it’s nice to be noticed. I know they aren’t interested in reading submissions from people who aren’t already publishing, so it felt like I’d passed at least a first screening.

But besides all the ego-boosting, this meeting was nourishing in other ways. In a day-and-a-half, I heard well-crafted stories (fiction and essay) about a suicide, a dying father, a brain tumor, a daughter with debilitating anxiety, and more. So I feel like I’ve been through the wringer. But I also heard stories of hope and humor, stories of realistic faith. I loved hearing Stephen’s prize-winning essay about his mission experience again, which is both funny and challenging and faithful. I loved seeing the documentary about John Bennion’s study-abroad group (so full of envy that I can’t go myself!). I loved the readings at Charlotte England’s house in the evening and running into FoxyJ there. (And, really, who doesn’t want an excuse to go to that beautiful house?) I enjoyed meeting the people from Mormon Scholars in the Humanities, who shared our meeting.

BTW, Kathy (Soper) read a fantastic paper on "The Alchemy of Memoir." It made me sad that we don't publish the written versions of papers in the Annual anymore, because it was so well-crafted that it deserves a good, deep read. As it was, it was a really great paper. I hope she'll put it somewhere I can read it again. AND, my friend Angela got an AML award for her anthology, "Dispensations," which was well-desereved, as everyone who's ever seen it agrees. Congrats!

All in all a fantastic, filling day-and-a-half.

And, by the way, I have to mention that I went for only half a day on Friday because I was at a funeral earlier in the day for a young man in our ward. It was an amazing, beautiful meeting and I was taught by the Spirit there about my own parenting and other things. It was cool to learn more about the family this happened to—I love Mormon funerals for that reason: I always come out loving the deceased and his family so much more after.

Just a fantastic couple of days.

Book Report

Shame on me; I’ve let it go too long. Part of my excuse is that I finally joined GoodReads, so I’ve been posting reviews, of a sort, over there. But I know a few of you like to see what I’m reading here, so this is for you. This is what I’ve read since October. I’ve put asterisks by the ones I highly recommend or plan to read more of.

Fiction
The Passage by Justin Cronin. I listened to this one, and it was a really well-done audiobook. I wouldn’t have picked it up for myself, but Angela recommended it and she’s a trustworthy resource for me. First of all, it was creepy but gripping. I’m not usually into this kind of thing (horror-ish, sort of on the level of Stephen King but much more elaborate), but I actually think it is an amazing piece of work and it kept me going until the end. The difference (between this and horror that I won’t touch) is that it is character-intensive and doesn’t sacrifice story for plot (oh, tell me you understand what I mean by that). It’s a sort of vampire book but I wouldn’t even call it that. A vampire dystopia, I guess. Very interesting.

The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest by Steig Larsson. These are a little violent and nasty (but it’s easy to skip over the nasties). His plots keep me reading. I enjoyed the third much more than the second, but then I prefer intrigue to action.

No Going Back by Jonathan Langford, who is a friend of mine, as is the publisher, Christopher Bigelow. I think this was an important story and told in an interesting and effective way. I’m glad it was published. The alternating viewpoint got a little monotonous at times and could be repetitive. I’m glad this book exists.

*A Sense of Order and Other Stories by Jack Harrell. Fantastic book—it is everything I want Mormon fiction to be. Well-written, thoughtful, down-to-earth short stories with colorful characters I want to spend time with and fresh plots. Reminded me of another of my favorites, Neal Chandler’s Benediction, only this is more serious.

The School of Love by Phyllis Barber (short stories). I like her use of magical realism and dreams. This was OK, but didn’t stand out.

*The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall. I expected this to be another negative, shock-intensive or whiny book (though I haven’t found Udall to be that way at all) but it wasn’t! It’s full of interesting, delightful characters, some quite humorous, and realistic problems. A couple of sex scenes might make some uncomfortable, but overall this is a really enjoyable and satisfying read with no short-cuts. Well done.

Our Tragic Universe by Scarlett Thomas. About a writer trying to write a novel. This was interesting to me just because of the thoughts on turning a life into a book, but the plot was a little scattered. The review calls it “whimsical”—I would say “flighty.”

The Known World by Edward Jones. An interesting tale about blacks in the south who owned slaves.

*Room by Emma Donoghue. I wasn’t going to touch this with a ten-foot-pole because of the subject (woman and small son are imprisoned for years, kept by a man in his shed), but it was actually extremely enjoyable. Beautiful, true writing and not painful. (Told in POV of the little boy.) Try it.

Angel Falling Softly by Eugene Woodbury. Also published by my friend Chris (Zarahemla). I think Woodbury’s writing is getting better and better. This one has a fascinating premise (believing Mormon meets guilt-ridden vampire) and is not a typical vampire book—much more philosophical. A little too philosophical for me at times (it lost me) but still a very interesting read.

The Camel Club by David Baldacci. If it hadn’t been on audio, I would have quit early on. This is apparently a very popular series, sort of on the lines of John Grisham or Tom Clancy but not as good as either. One thing that makes it slightly more interesting is the inclusion of descriptions of the middle-eastern cultures and mindset—but those sections were quite didactic. I didn’t enjoy being able to see the bones of this book: “Here is the Chapter in Which I Show the Villain’s Motivation.”

The Chosen One by Carol Lynch Williams. This was a really interesting YA book about a girl who escapes from a fundamentalist polygamist group. Quite realistic, I imagine. I think it could have been shorter. This book was the final convincer to me that I am not a YA author.

By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham. A disappointment. He’s a great writer, but this story didn’t do much for me. (Gallery owner has mid-life crisis, marriage falling apart, wonders if he’s gay.)

The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom. I listened to this and the audiobook was amazingly well-done. A very interesting read about a white immigrant girl in colonial Virgina but I found it quite depressing.

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz-Zaphon. A long book, and I got halfway through but couldn’t finish it. (Should have stopped after two chapters, but it had a great blurb from Stephen King, whom I don’t read but whose philosophies of what makes a good story I generally agree with, so I kept going.) A guy is haunted by a book and by its mysterious author.

*In Sunlight In a Beautiful Garden by Kathleen Cambor. Historical fiction about the Johnstown dam disaster. I’m not a big fan of historical fiction, but this was really well-written with full, interesting characters. I’ll read more by her. (One very skippable and short sex scene.)

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. This is probably the third time I’ve read it and I actually liked it less this time. I’m sick of the false romance of the philosophy that there is only one true love out there for each person. What a waste Newland Archer made of his life, refusing to fully invest in his wife, who turned out to be more clever than anyone suspected.

Anatomy of Peace by the Arbinger Institute. Don’t bother. This isn’t really fiction. I love the philosophy behind what the Arbinger Institute does. But they should get out of the fiction business. Just read Bonds that Make Us Free instead.

*East of Eden by John Steinbeck. Whenever I read Steinbeck, I wonder why I don’t read him more. This is rich and deeply satisfying, and makes a philosophical point that I deeply agree with. Like all great fiction, it takes the whole story in order to make the point (in contrast to Anatomy of Peace, for example).

Memoir/NF
Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. I read very little graphic novels (OK, pretty much none). But I picked this up from a display shelf at the library thinking it would be an interesting way of learning more about the culture and history of Iraq—and it was. Very interesting.

When Food is Love by Geneen Roth. She’s the one who advocates intuitive eating as a way to get away from eating to distract yourself from emotional problems. This was very interesting to me and I can see that many people would benefit from her suggestions. I realized that I don’t really have this particular problem, though. (Nice, for a change.)

Lit by Mary Karr. This was better than Karr’s earlier book (The Liar’s Club)—at least, it was more interesting to me. Mostly because Karr makes a major change over the course of the book, and it’s believable.

*Notes to Myself by Hugh Prather. Very interesting little book of notes made by an extremely self-conscious person as he lives his life. Must be read a little at a time.

*The Pain Chronicles by Malanie Thernstrom. The first half of this book should be read by anyone with chronic pain or illnesss. She describes what it feels like and how you think when you’re going to so many doctors that the search for a solution becomes a way of life. I think all doctors should read it, too. The second half got long and boring for me.

Loud and Clear by Anna Quindlen (essays). I listened to this and it was an entertaining experience. Typical Quindlen.

Raw Edges by Phyllis Barber. This one, I felt, was problematic. I enjoy Barber; she’s a great writer on the paragraph level. But the overall structure of this book didn’t work for me. At times I felt she told too little about her feelings and at other times, too much. As with all memoirs, it was very self-conscious. I read it to the end, though, and was interested.

Various health books: The New Glucose Revolution, The 10-Day Glycemic Diet, The Low Blood-Sugar Handbook, The Feel-Good Cookbook, Beating the Blood Sugar Blues. All of which served to freak me out and depress me. Some contradict each other. I’m so overwhelmed.

*The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elizabeth Tova Bailey. This book really spoke to me because it is about a woman who is quite ill and spends hours in her bed doing nothing but watching her pet snail. Many, probably most, people will find this book deadly boring but it was very moving to me. Thanks, Angela!

The Jewel in the Wound: How the Body Expresses the Needs of the Psyche and Offers a Path to Transformation by Emily Rothenberg. This would be a fantastic book if its subtitle were accurate. Unfortunately, the true title should be: How My Body Expressed the Needs of My Psyche and How I Thought About it Lots and Lots—Also Dreamed About It. It was just too boringly specific to one woman’s problems while trying to be about everyone. If she had made it a simple memoir, it might have been more interesting; or, if it had told me how to look at my own illness, it would have been worthwhile.

The Color of Water by James McBride. A memorior about a white Jewish woman who raised 12 black children, mostly as a widow, who all went to college and made good. This is pretty interesting, though not incredibly well-written.

Poetry
Cries of the Spirit, anthology of women’s spiritual poetry edited by Marilyn Sewell. Very thorough and nourishing. Not light or sappy at all. Great variety in style. I highly recommend it. (Thanks, Kathy!)

*Different Hours by Stephen Dunn. My new favorite poet. This is an amazing collection (it won the Pulitzer) that is at once accessible and deep—in other words, rewarding regardless of the amount of time you choose to spend on it. I love how he can communicate such abstract things as existential angst through real, specific scenes.

A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver. Very basic, for beginning writers of poetry. A little too basic for me. I did enjoy the poems she used as examples, though.

Her Side of It by Marilyn Bushman-Carlton. Published by Signature. A couple of these poems appeared in Segullah when I was editing it. Very accessible, enjoyable, narrative poems. This was good but not, I felt, as strong as her earlier book, on keeping things small.

Space

While I was doing yoga this morning I thought about the concept of getting space into your body as you stretch—between your vertebrae in a backbend, for example, or between your ribs in a side-bend or twist. As with many aspects of yoga, this goal is applicable to life in general. How can I have more of a sense of space in my life--in between my thoughts, in between my moments? Can I do a sort of mental and spiritual stretch during the day—can I live there? I think that’s what God must be like.

(You thought I was going to begin this post with "The final frontier," didn't you? I miss Jean-Luc.)

In case you missed it . . .

I didn't watch the Superbowl. I do, however, keep up with Mark B's blog, where he shared this. Thanks, Mark!

Sorry I'm so stupid (lazy) about figuring out how to resize things here. You'll just have to deal with it, I guess.

This one speaks to me because we have so many Star Wars characters regularly visiting our house. I think we own about fifteen light sabers.

My Career

People who know I write ask me about it when they see me. “How’s your writing going?” I’m glad they ask, because that is one of the few things I use to define myself and my life separate from the grueling, nebulous task of raising children. (Which is why it is so psychologically and emotionally dangerous when I consider giving up writing, which I do with regularity. If it’s part of my definition of myself, it rips the rug out from under me if I consider jettisoning it. But that’s a whole nother blog, which I’ve probably already written here too many times.)

Anyway, it’s a hard question to answer, and the answer often depends on the asker. How much does she know about what’s involved in leading a writer’s life? Has she tried to get anything published herself? Attended workshops? Queried? Tried out different writing groups and partners? Revised, revised, revised? Is she even a reader?

Some people think (my husband was one, but I think I’ve educated him), “Why don’t you get your novel published and make lots of money like J. K. Rowling?” Others actually think the same about poetry! As. if. poets. ever. made. money. ever.

You may know I’ve been leaning more towards poetry lately and away from YA fiction. (Again, another blog, which I’ve already written.) Which is very silly, since it never pays and hardly anyone reads it. And also since it is very hard to find the right place to publish and then convince them to publish you.

So in my current poetry workshop, my teacher has been encouraging me to try to publish in literary magazines. As you know, I’ve already published in a few (Segullah, Dialogue, Exponent II, Irreantum), but they are all LDS-related, and “don’t count,” in some ways of thinking. And this is what I’m exploring these days. Why don’t they count? Sure, they don’t help at all (and even hurt) in my efforts to get into the BYU MFA program, or probably into any program. And they don’t carry any cache towards getting a collection published by a national publisher. But they’d probably help me get published by Signature who is, at this point, the publisher most likely to be interested in my work. AND they get my stuff in front of the audience who most appreciates what I write, an audience that I consider well worth writing for.

If I send a certain poem to a literary magazine and if, with luck, they want to publish it, then I can’t send it to the publications that my friends, my LDS audience, read. That bugs me. Because I have fans (both of them) who seek out my stuff and relish it. Why wouldn’t I honor them with my stuff instead of sending it to obscure lit. mags that no one reads but the other people trying to get published?

So my question to myself is: what are my goals? Is it important to branch out to national publications? Do I really, truly want to do all I can towards getting into an MFA program someday or getting some “national” attention (which is actually quite minute for any given poet) instead of serving the people I love in the LDS population? I’ve felt like my true, deep-down reasons for writing are 1) to help myself relish my experiences more, 2) to get at truth, and 3) to share that truth (I admit it). Often, my “truth-getting” is deeply entangled in my religion. I don’t want to turn that off, or turn away from that. But not all of my work overtly mentions my religion—with those poems and/or stories, should I stick to the audiences which support and love all my work, or try to branch out to other audiences? Is any (probably small) acknowledgement I could earn on that bigger (well, probably not bigger by much—probably just different) stage? (And this is all assuming that I could even hold my own “out there.”)

Wait a minute. Did that last parenthetical comment imply that I have some sort of inferiority complex about LDS publications? Have I been confining myself to these because I think I’m not good enough to compete elsewhere?

Don’t know, don’t know. But I love my people, my community. I want to write for them. I also really, really want to go to school. I also wouldn’t mind writing for the world as well, like Flannery O’Connor. (A girl can dream.) So I’m puzzling all this out and, for the time being, hoarding my poems until I decide. I HATE that. I wish I could just not care about my “career” and post my poems here on my blog for all to see. Am I selfish not to?

CHECK THIS OUT

The best thing I've read all week:

Angela Hallstrom on becoming a writer and why she--and all of us--should speak up.

Yes, my friend. You said it perfectly.

My poetry class

I mentioned that I started up a new class. Just to clarify, it is a class that I am TAKING, not teaching. But I should point out that one of the reasons I’m taking it is to learn how to teach a poetry workshop. I’m afraid to teach poetry writing to people, and I want to find out why and how I can fix that. Because I love teaching, and I love poetry, and why shouldn’t I be able to combine them?

Well, one reason is that I am at a complete loss when someone presents me with a poem they’ve written that is terrible. I don’t know where to begin with them. Also, I’m at a complete loss when I encounter a poem that is supposedly good but which doesn’t speak to me at all (the inaccessible poems that require an OED and a master’s in English history to decipher or, even worse, the ones that don’t care about voice and meaning at all but are just a smattering of sounds and images). So I’ve been watching my teacher work in order to get ideas about this kind of thing.

My teacher, Jill McDonough, has several strategies that really work well. (Keep in mind that I’ve only been in class three times now, so I’m sure she’ll have even more as time goes on.) First of all, she has really structured her class and her assignments so that we go the places she wants to go (as opposed to a free-for-all, write-whatever-and-we’ll-spend-the-whole-time-discussing-it approach). For example, we’ve concentrated on only one form for these first few classes (blank verse), and we’re hammering it. I’m getting kinda sick of it, but it’s getting hard not to think in iambic pentameter—in other words, it’s becoming second nature. And it’s a really smart beginning in a situation like hers in which the students have a huge variety of skill levels and background in poetry (some are still struggling to know what a metric foot is, for example).

A second smart thing she does is that when we are critiquing, she has us “ask the poem a question,” not criticize the poet. Either orally or in writing on the poem, we ask about the things that confuse us or which don’t seem to be working: “Why did you choose this word? Is there a more concrete word you can use here?” “Why is this line only four feet long when all the others are five?” “Which person is this pronoun referring to?” etc. That way we don’t get the long answers from the defensive authors.

But the thing of most value (to me, at least) that Jill does is that she teaches us right at the beginning how to set assignments for ourselves. She demands several timed free-writes during class, each building on the previous one, so that we never have no basic material to begin with. (I myself never run out of ideas for poems, but for some of the students a blank page with an assignment to write a poem is paralyzing.) But also, she has taught me how to set myself a very specific assignment based on something else I’ve read. For example, we read Ted Hughes’s “The Thought Fox,” then analyzed it for quite a while. Once I decided what was really happening in the poem, I set up similar parameters for myself, making changes as they interested me. “Write a 14-line, blank verse pastoral in which a person, without actually performing any action, makes a realization. This realization is shown only externally, through the natural world.” This very specific assignment resulted in something more interesting than what I would have produced had I just begun with my trigger (January in Salt Lake City). I may take the poem out of blank verse when I revisit it, but I got more and different language with the assignment than I would have without it. Jill’s example was very interesting—she had read a particular poem and then set up for herself an assignment that was even more specific, including, for example, the requirement that she “draw heavily on the vocabulary of a specific profession” and “describe a disaster.”

Regardless of whatever else I get from this class, that one thing has made it worthwhile. I’m doing an adequate job of producing pretty good poetry, but the thing I needed most was instruction in how to BE a poet, how to walk myself through process, and this is what she’s given me. (Also, I’d sure like to move from “pretty good” to “great,” but I’m still not sure that’s possible.)

Of course, another huge benefit of the class is that it includes deadlines and assignments that I wouldn’t normally give myself. These things always push me to a higher level. (Which is why I was hoping to enter school . . . but that’s a whole nother discussion.)

Finally, this class, as do all poetry classes I've taken, has exposed me to some new work that I'm enjoying. Last week I discovered Stephen Dunn (I know. Ridiculous that I hadn't before) and have a new one to add to my list of favorites.

Some Stuff

The good and the bad of my week . . .

1. Diet=bad. So far, anyway. I know, I know, they say it takes “at least two weeks and more like three” to tell a difference, and I haven’t given up yet. But I’ve made it through ten whole days without cheating once (except for 2 teaspoons of salad dressing) and I feel pretty much lousy. For one thing, I can’t get warm. I wonder if this kind of diet is for people who have extra weight. I was already in the normal weight range (although I didn’t mind the thought of losing a little around the tummy and thighs) so maybe this wasn’t a good idea for me. I’m afraid I may have slowed my metabolism way down (meaning I’ll start gaining like crazy if and when I go back). Also, I’ve so far noticed no decrease in my original symptoms. I guess I’ll know more in the next week. Sum up: discouragement.

2. Dental visit=bad. I went to the dentist for the first time in a year and had a cavity. The dentist, a new one, put in the shot to numb me and I had a horrible reaction. After he got done injecting, I felt this horrible blood rush and nausea, with my heart pounding hard. He says there is epinephrin in the shot and maybe I was just sensitive to that. I’ve had dental injections (too many times) before and never had anything like that. I wanted to die. I’m wondering if it was because of this diet--? Maybe I was just in a weaker state than usual? I asked if that epinephrine was new, since it has been a few years since my last injection, but he says it’s the same stuff as always. Anyway, it was awful.

4. New Year’s Resolution=bad. I am frustrated with myself for not remembering, moment to moment, to be more positive with my kids. I am way too critical and stressed all the time. I am trying to use the atonement here—it’s a hard thing to break such an ingrained habit, and it’s extra hard when I feel so dang hungry and sickish all the time. But my years with them are numbered and I DON’T WANT THEM TO REMEMBER ME LIKE THIS. Pray for me, will you? This is hard.

5. Light=good! The days are getting longer! It has been so dramatic and heartening for me to notice the light that comes earlier in the day. I never, never take that for granted. Spring really will come . . .

6. Poetry=good. I’ve had two weeks of my poetry class so far and am really enjoying it. My teacher said my first poem was “really good!” and noticed lots of what I was doing in it. She’s pushing me (the sign of a good teacher, since she has so many different abilities in the class), and that’s what I need. Part of the reason I do these classes (besides the deadlines and assignments that get me going) is to learn how to TEACH a poetry workshop. One student brought in an entirely inaccessible poem of the ultra-modern variety (where sense is sacrificed to sound) and I watched to see how the teacher would critique it (how DO you critique something like that, which makes no sense?)—and here’s what she did: turned it over to the class. “Do you have any questions for her? Write them down. Anything you particularly like?” Hmmm. Cop out, but it worked . . .

7. Lunch with Kristi=good. It's so hard for me to go out to lunch with friends when I can't eat. Imagine eating at Olive Garden and not being able to have carbs! Not even the soup! But it was still worth it. I love Kristi and her view on life. She is an amazingly gifted writer—but she is so much more than that, and she’s making some hard choices that are good for her about how to live life as a mother, artist, and teacher. I always feel better about life in general after I spend time with her. I’m lucky to know her.

8. 18 years=fantastic. Yesterday was my 18th anniversary. I am such a satisfied customer. It’s hard (and you who are happily married know) to put into words how I feel about someone who is basically just a part of me now, but let me just say that I think he is a better catch than ever these days, and I feel sort of embarrassed about my good fortune, as if I’d won the lottery.

9. Noteworthy=very, very good! As you’ve noticed, if you’ve read this blog before, my family and I are passionate fans of BYU’s Noteworthy (female a cappella). On a whim, and thinking, “What have I got to lose?” I wrote to them and asked if there was any chance in the world they would like to sing at our trek kick-off fireside next week.

AND. THEY. SAID. YES.

I could hardly keep from peeing my pants. (Did I really just use the word pee on my blog? Did that move the rating to PG-13?) I am so utterly thrilled. What was just a trek fireside is now a WOW. It feels like a little hug from God, is what it feels like. I am so dang thrilled. The fireside is next week, and I’ll be glad to get it behind us so that we can settle down to the real work of planning. This trek thing just might come to pass. Maybe.

Food

Well, I’m dieting again. This time—for the first time, really—I’m not doing it to lose weight. I am doing it for health.

In the last few months many ideas have come my way about what could be the cause of my illness and possible ways to live with it (or even fix it). From two different, unassociated people in my life came suggestions for supplements that have had obvious and undeniably miraculous benefits for acquaintances. From others, from doctors, and from my own research have come suggestions for radically altering my diet.

The problem has been that most of them contradict each other. For example, one doctor insists I have gastroparesis (although another thinks I don’t). For that, I actually DECREASE the amount of fiber I eat. Someone else thinks it might be a yeast/ph problem. For that, I change my diet to be mostly fruits and vegetables and low or no dairy and meat. A blood test says I have blood sugar issues, and the handbook I got tells me I can go on an extremely restrictive diet for two weeks that is designed to tell me whether I am hypoglycemic. It, however, is heavy on dairy and protein (at least compared to the ph/yeast book).

Yikes! What to do?

Well, I decided to start with one of the supplements, because I had seen the, again, obvious and undeniable results someone near to me got from it. (So incredible, in fact, that Roger has become a dealer for the stuff.) All these people were having miracles because of this stuff—and I really, truly believe them. So why not me?

But . . . not me.

So, then I thought, “Well the only thing we know for sure, because labs have shown it, is that there is a blood sugar issue of some kind.” So I’ve decided to do the incredibly restrictive hypoglycemia diet. It goes for two weeks, and then I can begin adding things back in. To give you an idea of what restrictive means, here is what I can eat:

fowl, fish, meats: all types except lunch meats, hot dogs or anything with fillers--but no breading OR sauces of any kind
eggs
cheese
veggies: ONLY asparagus, green and wax beans, green peppers, raw mung bean sprouts, beet greens, broccoli, cauliflower, mushroom, tomatoes, celery, cucumbers, lettuce, onions, radishes, spinach, watercress. (No carrots, for example.)
fruits: NONE
desserts: NONE
fats and oils: butter, vegetable oil
bread, bread products, crackers, CEREAL: NONE
beverages: water, broth
plain yogurt.

THAT’S IT. No flour or grain products of any kind.

I had a hard time deciding to do this, because it so obviously contradicts the Word of Wisdom. It sounds too much like the Atkins diet (which I think is evil). But I prayed about it, and felt OK about it since it’s temporary. The point is to sort of re-set the system, see how you feel with basically no sugar, eliminate any sugar addiction, then gradually add back in quality grains, paying attention to how your body (particularly blood sugar) reacts. I can do hard—if it’s temporary.

So. I’ve made it through three days so far. And last night was really, really hard because we went to the Elder’s Quorum social, where these amazing-looking subs were set out, with chips and GUACAMOLE and gooey brownies and all sorts of goodies were set out. Roger said, “The sandwiches weren’t that good,” which amazed me because I realized how often we fill ourselves with carbs that aren’t all that tasty just because they’re there. There was literally NOTHING there that I could eat—except maybe the lettuce and tomato on the sandwiches, but I was worried it would be wet with mayo.

Already I’ve noticed how psychologically addicted I am to carbs. When I feel empty inside, I find myself fantasizing about a big bowl of cheerios, for example. But I eat my cheese and cucumbers and feel fine again. It’s a mind game—I think I NEED oatmeal in the morning, but am surprised to find I do fine with the eggs.

The book says it takes a while to feel the benefits. I really hope that’s true, because I’ve had no improvement yet.

If nothing else, it is a demonstration of faith, I suppose. I can truly say I’ve tried everything.

Oh, and yes, as a side benefit, I have lost weight. 5 pounds already. (Of course, it’ll all come back when I add back in the grains, right?)

Small Joys

Just a few things I’ve been enjoying lately:

1. Noteworthy Ladies’ latest cd. Check it out here. Viva La Vida is fantastic! I love buying whole cds instead of singles, because the songs I feel nothing for at first sometimes turn out to be favorites later.

2. Dove’s peanut-butter chocolate squares. The. Best. Candy. Ever.
3. Garrison Keillor’s collection of great poetry, which my discerning friend Angela gave me. (Not poems that he wrote, but poems that he collected and, most likely, read on the air.)
4. Having a spare room so that my father is comfortable when he comes to town.
5. The fantastic, amazing, loving person my father married.
6. DGL.
7. Bedtime. And the hot tub before bedtime.
8. Veronica Mars with my sweetheart.
9. Plain yogurt. Really!
10. That the days are actually getting longer.

What are your small delights?

Happy New Year!

Sorry for leaving that whiney post up here for so long. I actually had a nice holiday season. I hope you did, too.

My one New Year’s resolution: to be more positive. About myself, about others, about the future. I want to quit being so critical and start being more observant about what’s right with myself and others. I want to be done with fear and stress about the future, both long term (will I ever feel well?) and short term (we’re going to be late). I want to live more freely, without the weight of judgment and fear.

As part of this, I will continue my yoga, at least three times a week. I will continue blogging (goal: once a week). I will come back to writing poetry more regularly (I’m starting another class this month). I will concentrate on enjoying time with my family more instead of just trying to make it to bedtime. I will try to cut myself slack when I don’t feel well. I will reach out to deepen some of my acquaintances into real friendship.

What about you? Do you have a resolution?