Sharing the Dead
“It’s a comedy,” my friends said.
a sketch in my mother's journal
When we pulled into the parking lot, I realized they’d lied. They wanted to see Alien 3. They thought that if they got me to the theater, I’d have to watch the movie. Then I’d realize how much fun scary movies were.
“You can go see the movie if you like. I’ll wait,” I said. They did not think I’d wait in the car for two hours. But I had a book to read.
I’ve been called uptight and stubborn more than once.
The blood and gore isn’t what is magical about Halloween. I prefer something closer to Dia de los Muertos, and though I have recently spoken to a medium, I don’t mean talking to the dead. Just honor them. Remember them. Tell a story about the ones who’ve died and you’d like the world to remember.
Don’t we tell stories to remember?
My mother wore an over-sized fuzzy robe, socks, large hoop earrings, and glasses. She sit like this on weekend mornings, drink her coffee and eat almost burnt toast. It was when she laughed the most. In my memories anyway.
Share a story someone else ought to know.
Happy Halloween.
It is all material–even the dead.
“What do you think happens after you die?” my mother asked. We were in her car driving I don’t know remember where but the road was lined with pine trees and it was a long drive.
The conversation started with one of those psychology quizzes about finding a key and coming to a body of water. One answer is supposed to tell you how you feel about death. I don’t remember my answer but my mother talked about a forrest and a large tree blocking the path.
The other day I spoke to a medium. Have you ever talked to a medium? Why or why not?
I got in touch with my mother’s ex-boyfriend a few months ago. He remembered me. He told me how much my mother meant to him, that he thought of her every day, that he knows they will be together again. My mother died 20 years ago and this was not what I expected as a reply.
He said he made regular visits to a medium and had spoken to my mother. I haven’t spoken to my mother since the Sunday night phone call the Wednesday before she died. Eventually he sent me a message asking if I wanted to talk to the medium too. He offered to pay her fee.
I didn’t want to owe my mother’s ex-boyfriend anything. I’m not a believer in speaking to the dead–no matter what stories I write. But, you know, you never know. This was an opportunity. Good or bad–it would be material.
In a writer’s life everything is material. And what writer doesn’t need more material?
I can’t say if I believed the medium or if I felt good about the talk. There is no nonfictional way to write about that conversation without sounding… a way I don’t want to sound. But I’m sure this will show up in my fiction. Then we’ll see.
So, would you visit a medium? What would you hope for? What do you imagine such a conversation is like?
*
So for fun and interest I get this horoscope sent to my email every week. For this week’s…
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): At a family planning conference in Beijing, a researcher from Ghana presented testimony about tribal issues that he had in part gleaned through interviews with dead ancestors. He said that spirit mediums had acted as his “translators.” When he was met with skepticism from colleagues, he was defensive. “If I only heard from the living,” he explained, “I wouldn’t get a very good balance.” His perspective would be smart for you to adopt right now, Libra. To make the wisest decisions and take the most righteous action, draw inspiration from what has passed away as much as from what’s alive and in your face. Halloween costume suggestion: a spirit medium.
I’m old news already.
Just read this article on the BBC about artists who use text in their work. Well hey, I’ve never been ahead of fashion.
Fiona Banner documented the car chase in the Steve McQueen film Bullitt as she was worried there were no great literary car chases.
When you write or make art, do you try to figure out what is hot, what trend waits around the corner? Most of the time I feel like I’m flinging my work out there on the curb, and then peering out the window to see if anyone notices.
Danger. Distraction ahead.
silliness
It is difficult sometimes to tell the difference between a tool and a toy. I just got Photoshop…
What toys are distracting you?
On Display
a student looks at my art
Your novel is published and you see someone reading it. Do you introduce yourself? Leave the room? Spy?
Tonight at my art show I watched students, friends, and strangers look at my work. Because of the text, they usually lean in close and read the bits and slices of my novel. One student asked me what was in my mind when I made this work? I couldn’t begin to answer.
Start Your Writing (Would it help if your pen made a revving noise?)
The smart Sarah Stockton posted this article on Facebook. I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep. If you want to be a writer, perhaps take the time to read it. Just a thought.
And while your at it, watch this.
Secrets Messages
the ad my mother made years ago
My mother had to design an advertisement layout for Albertson’s. The ad would be running on my 11th birthday, and my mother snuck in a birthday message for me on the horse. I knew it was a sign that she loved me.
I’m still looking for signs. Signs that other people think I can write. Signs that my family likes what I do. Signs that the publishing industry will accept me. But shouldn’t I know better?
Do you look for signs that your writing is good? Will being published prove it? A good review from a particular writer? A pat on the back from…?
A very merry unbirthday to you, to you…
junior high birthday
“Happy Birthday,” my students shouted when I walked into the room. I turned around, confused, wondering if they were talking to me. On the chalkboard I saw a birthday message with lots of smileys around my name.
But it was April. A coworker had told all the students it was my birthday even though he knew it wasn’t. All day long students wished me a happy birthday and I had to explain that, no, it wasn’t my birthday. My birthday was in October.
A few days later I told students to congratulate my coworker on his engagement–that he had finally asked his girlfriend to marry him because of the baby. Even the students who knew it was a payback joke, decided to pretend it was true.
Do you have some sort of birthday deadline? You know, the by-the-time-I’m-(insert magical age here)-I will-have-published-my-first-novel deadline. Or maybe not a birthday, but a magical date? By-the-year-(insert magical year here)-I-will-have-an-agent date.
Do deadlines help or get in the way? Do you set your own deadlines? Does the sound of the clock ticking spur you on or stop you in your tracks?
Then there is that ultimate deadline. You know, the line that when you cross it, you are, well, dead. How much does that day loom in your writing? How important is it to you have your work live on after you?
Take the Stairs
Some days just drain the imagination, drive, and determination. This little video was a nice gleam at the end of a long gray day.
What do you do for fun anyway?
Maybe I’m too tall to write a short story.
my Tuesday night latte, my captain, my short story
Writing a short story feels like going out without my makeup on and my hair done.
What writing comes more naturally to you? What puts your writing in the best light?
