Memoirous

I've been away from my desk lately, helping out a friend who is running 8 ultramarathons 8 days in a row to benefit a homeless shelter in Chicago, Cornerstone Community Outreach, where I volunteer to facilitate a creative writing group. If interested in Paddy's run click here . There's also a video the team has worked up. The point of Strive4More is to create awareness for the issue of homelessness in America and specifically in Chicago where CCO welcomes and shelters the homeless in addition to offering basic services to meet their needs. We are one of the few shelters in the city to take in WHOLE families without splitting them up. We took in a family who had an autistic child, that child needed his dog, the dog got to stay too. We take in families with teenage boys, always a liability in a city riddled with gang violence. The children can live with their parents and continue to go to school. Strive4More asks the question: When is enough enough? If this guy ca

*from wikipedia Dark night of the soul is a metaphor used to describe a phase in a person's spiritual life, marked by a sense of loneliness and desolation I was there this winter, actually early winter. In November I was feeling the loom of doom. My "career" was going nowhere. Writing was stupid. Why in the world had I wasted so much time? My life! You can see the thread of despair here. It's probably the same argument most people involved in the arts has at one point or the other. Art at times can be invisible--like air. You work all day on something still unpresentable, left unfinished. And, sometimes, never done. It's a lot like explaining feelings. Harder yet when no one "gets" those feelings. That's why it is so important to have a support network. For me that translated into starting a critique group. I know it doesn't sound like rocket science, but it is trickier than one thinks. For years I investigated the world of critique grou

I just heard on NPR that last week's earthquake affected the earth's rotation and that our day is now A LITTLE longer. My question is this: How come I still have a hard time getting everything I want to do to fit into one day? It should be getting easier.

I write this after losing an hour of sleep because of Daylight Savings Time. Some people might be wondering: what does a person get out of a residency/artist retreat? Or what could I accomplish by having a chunk of time to devote to my art? Here is my response: 23,000 words to finish a first-draft ms 66,000 go over a ms and revise, using specifics given by my agent 300 words, a new piece inspired while here at Starry Night (really prose poetry) 5,000 words revising a short story that is sure to raise canckles (is that a word?) 2,500 word story revision, that I'm hoping to sell or include in an anthology what is that? about 110,000 words for 14 days, 2 spent in travel, not bad but if you don't want to go strictly by the numbers then this: Last night was the grand opening of Estrella Gallery, Monika Proffitt's baby. She had her art and art light installations lining the walls. We probably had over 100 people drop by and I sold all together about 8 books. We s

There are probably technical definitions that explain the difference between the two, but for this blog I'll treat them as the same thing. Retreat/Residency both mess with our routine. I work on my writing whether I'm at home or away. What makes this so different is something I can't get at home and that is NEW. We need NEW to inject vitality and hope into our art. The day here is 24 hours just like it is in Chicago. But a new environment and new people are stirring my creative juices. Also  solitude--it creeps in as well as NEW thoughts. Just like new tastes in our mouth. We discover a new dish or restaurant and it is suddenly life-changing. There is a downside to NEW I feel compelled to mention. Fear, unknowing, the idea of surprise. Many people avoid risk because of this very thing."Art is an adventure into an unknown world, which can only be explored by those willing to take risks." 20th c artist, Mark Rothko--though in full disclosure, he did commit s

*the title of this piece is taken from a really syrupy Disney film--about as far from this post as you can get So yesterday as I was trying to recover from my arduous day of hiking and biking during a windstorm, I was telling Monica and Edna the workers here at Starry Night all about it. When I got to the part about the dead deer they were like oh my gosh. I've never seen women jump so fast. Within minutes we'd all changed out of pajamas and Edna had grabbed work gloves and a hand saw (?) and we were out the door to go back for the parts. I directed them down the dirt road that borders the Rio Grande. As soon as we got back to the sandy washout where we picked up the dead deer trail Edna had her gloves on. She picked up a leg and gave it a quick twist to disconnect the sinews holding it to the hip bone. When the girls saw the skull they were like down in it taking pictures with their cell phones. Where am I? I was starting to wonder. Who are these people? Look at them t

This is an unforgiving land. Yesterday I got up early, before sunrise, to pack and get to a trailhead to start my hike. First mistake: I went by myself. I had to ride a ricekty old bike with only 3 gears six miles and half of that was on dirt road, following the oral instructions of the girl who works at the hot springs spa. I found the parking lot she told me about, really just leveled off dirt and saw I had to go through a barbed wire fence, this type of fencing is everywhere out here. So still nothing new. I thought about using a stick to separate the wires and reached down for what I thought was a stick. It was a deer leg, perfectly intact, hoof and all. I screamed and backed over the deer head. Once on the other side of the fence I began seeing more and more macabre deer parts. Possibly torn apart by a predator or a serial killer. I was told by spa lady to go up an arroyo, a wash out that when during dry season become a path. I hiked that--there are ways to get lost and I di

Saturday I got a treat. James Durham, a local T or C author came and picked me up and rode me around the area. We went up to the Elephant Butte resevoir and saw the dam and the lake. Later he took me to the Ivory Tusk for a burger. James ordered the Big Butte burger and I got the Good Dam Burger. T or C is filled with artists and I got to meet a few of them the other night at the reception. At the end of this week, there is an art hop in town where I will give a reading. On the work front: I finished the longer project I brought with me. Whew! But, no worries, have a novel revision I need to finish up for my agent as well as some shorter pieces to write and work on. I even submitted last night to some journals. And guess what! The rejections are already piling in--faster than the pony express. Okay, gotta go. I" going to wake up at 5:30 a.m. to go climb Turtleback Mt. described as a strenuous hike. I wonder if there is a dead zone like there is on Everest. also described a

Yesterday the wind picked up. It came sweeping down from the mountains and howling over the plains of the Rio Grande. I needed a human voice. When my daughter called we talked for awhile, but after I hung up I felt even worse. I think they call this condition cabin fever. It fits. I'm in a cabin. An old CCC living barracks. After the crews were done constructing the Elephant Butte resevoir the whole building was floated down the river. Monika purchased the 4-unit building for Starry Night Retreat and is slowly rehabbing the units. So think hunter's cabin or garden hut and that's about the size. Very reasonable for a writer who only needs a place to lay her head--and INTERNET. When I got here for some reason I couldn't get the Internet. Monika offers it with the residency and gave me all the passcodes, etc; it was just me. Well, flusd with excitement, I said, no problem. I don't need it. If I do I'll go up to the library. It will be an excuse to get out. So e

I think barren is not too strong a word to describe the landscape. There's not a lot of green and the flowering cactus have died off--this would have been the season for that. You see right when Chicago was having its blizzard, this part of the southwest experienced historic record-breaking low temperatures. For 4 days the thermometer stayed BELOW ZERO. Bobbie told me last night that the century cactus growing in her yard succombed. The century plant flowers every ten years (I know it sounds crazy) and it was just about to blossom. Then came the cold. All the pipes burst and the ice cactus, yet another variety, ironically froze. Now they look like a nest of yellow worms full of puss. It will take months for the pipes all to be repaired and years for the cactuses to come back. How long for the century plant--I'm not sure. All this to say that today the expected high is supposed to be 70 and tonights low 39. Lots and lots of sunshine.

Many of you have already Googled or looked up the name provenance for the town, but here are some things I just found out. Last night I had a couple over for dinner that I had met my second night in town at a reception held in my honor at a gallery on Main St. I invited Bobbie and Andy over because they are neighbors and because I am so daggone desperate for company. I'm getting 4,000 words in a day with little else except the characters' voices inside my head. Stir crazy, but literarily functioning. At dinner our conversation turned to the town. Of course I am curious about the people here and what goes on. Bobbie said that within the past 2 years there's been something like 15 murders*--not including that serial killer back in '85. Then she proceeded to list off the murders and the grisly details. Did I mention that we were by this time sitting around a camp fire. Edna and Blake, more about them later, had started one in the court yard. So we were sitting around

Truth or Consequences or T or C as the locals call it is famous for it's hot springs. The town is situated right along the Rio Grande before it winds its way down to the border. The aquifer which sits underneath the town is hot and full of minerals. At the Starry Night website there is a list of the what's in the water. Starry Night So last night I rode my bike up to La Paloma the cutest little motel around. The bathhouses sit right over the springs so when you go in it's like entering a cave. Right away the heat hits you. I immediately wanted to strip down to a bathing suit. But that's not necessary. The rooms are private. There are all sorts of amenities--candles, atmospheric music, and for some reason a rope. Danielle who showed me--ahem the ropes--said it was so that in the middle of your medicinal soak you could reach up and stretch. And you know what! It worked! She also showed me some crystals that were supposed to have powers, but to my eye just looked aweso

I've decided to blog my artist residency while here in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. A couple things straight off. I'm probably going to run out of toilet paper and the little radio I bought at the T or C thrift store only gets 2 radio stations, a mexican one and a christian one. I think this sort of sums up my experience so far. About the toilet paper. This a.m. I woke up early, like 6 a.m. to write. It's the desert and cold in the morning. During the night the intense heat of the day radiates out into the huge sky and temps drop to around 30 degrees. Thus, the desert gets cold at night. Many of the houses around here are not set up for cold temps. The doors and windows let in plenty of sunshine, but aren't a tight fit. So my little writing cabin--about the size of a gardening hut, gets pretty cold. So in the a.m. I wake up and make hot tea and sit and write. Yesterday I put in 2,500 words. I drink tea, tap at my keyboard, and pee. An endless cycle. So I hop