Memoirous

Remembering the laughs, the tears, the upsets, the betrayals, the inconsistencies, the hierarchy, the absurdity, the surreal, sitting at Cook County for hours on end, Deac rides, Deac cars, tokens for the L, or having to jump the turnstyle, Mondays off, donation doughnuts, barrels of orange juice, government cheese, Malibu quiche, treats, getting awakened in the middle of the night to give up your bed, stepping over the sleeping homeless in the lobby, Strider. Answering the telephone, ignoring the telephone, getting telephones, handing out smartphones, info mail Checking to see if you’re on the money list, waiting in line for gas money, reserving a car Linda handing out Christmas supplies, afterwards trading pecans for more walnuts, eating the bag of chocolate chips before even going up the stairs, fighting for the kitchen, room on the stovetop, losing your favorite measuring cup, finding it in the dishroom, staking out your laundry slot, weekend work rotations, wrapping gifts for

  You’ll likely see this plea for the month of December. My books are available for download through Amazon Kindle and Smashwords (click on either to go to those pages). Also through Amazon you can order paperbacks of most of my titles. Through month of December Smashword downloads are 25-50% off. Highlight of this post: Orphan Girl: The Memoir of a Chicago Bag Lady Review "A homeless woman's story reminds us of the need to consider the suffering of others. Hertenstein's narrative . . . is a gift to us." Chicago Tribune, Sunday Book Section, March 15, 1998 From the Author I had known Marie for about ten years before I did her story. She was a bag lady--not homeless as she had an apartment she shared with a number of cats. Marie could be seen daily pushing her cart around the neighborhood picking up stuff put out for trash and giving items away to people who needed them. Whenever she saw me she'd say, "Jane, someday I have to tell you my story." And I

Talking on the phone about Ron Brown’s Memorial   You have to trust that every friendship has no end, that a communion of saints exists among all those living and dead, who have truly loved God and one another. You know from experience how real this is. Those you have loved deeply and who have died live on in you, not just as memories but as real presences. --Henri Nouwen   A kind of grieving, missing, longing Missing not just a single man A great man, a big-hearted man But who we used to be   In the pictures I see Henry Huang, Lottie Jones, Stan and Vera I see their kids—or don’t recognize them Everyone is older, indistinguishable   The Communion of Saints Unsaints, using walkers Some, themselves, facing grave illnesses   Divorced now, separated All of us, in our own spaces, comfort zones Into old age, disease, ill-ease Mental health, fragile I can’t help but wonder Who we’d be all together Even grumpier, haters   Collectively who we w

You’ll likely see this plea for the month of December. My books are available for download through Amazon Kindle and Smashwords (click on either to go to those pages). Also through Amazon you can order paperbacks of most of my titles. Through month of December Smashword downloads are 25-50% off. Highlight of this post: Flash Memoir: Writing Prompts to Get You Flashing We begin with a sudden memory, follow it to see where it leads. Yet so many of us tend to ignore these flashes. We think later yet later on we might have forgotten or lost the relevance of the moment, the urgency that led us there. I recommend a process I call write right now. In the amount of time it takes you to brush your teeth, you can jot down the memory and an outline which can be filled in later. The prompts in this book are designed to spur memories, to get you writing. I’ll also direct you to resources, authors to read and study, and places to submit. What reviewers are saying: StalkyReader 5.0 Stars While Jane

Here is an excerpt from my book: Beyond Paradise available from Amazon  and Smashword.  Through the month of December all smashword downloads are 25-50% off. are  Well, Christmas under Covid is interesting. This new variant . . . I've stopped keeping count of which one we're on. Anyway, Christmas Day went well, but then after the gatherings I've not felt the best. Let's just say I got a lot of extra for Christmas. I spent much of the vacation in the basement when lo and behold a rapid test said I was negative, but another person in the household was SUPRISE! positive. For all those in isolation celebrating this season here is an excerpt from my first novel, Beyond Paradise-- (available in as a print book as well as digital format, eBook from Amazon, Nook, Smashwords, y'all!). ANOTHER EXCERPT Christmas in Captivity Christmas Day arrived—my second in the Philippines, my first in captivity. It came without store-bought presents, without Papa, Julie, or mother. Mother

Here is an excerpt from my book: Beyond Paradise, available from Amazon  and Smashword . Through month of December Smashword downloads are 25-50% off. In the cold month of December we could use a little paradise--here is an excerpt from my YA novel (available in digital format, eBook from Amazon, Nook, Smashwords, y'all!). It is Christmas 1941--after the attack on Pearl Harbor the Philippines were targeted and the Japanese invaded the islands, slowly working their way down from Manila which capitulated (not the case at the end of the war where Filipinos and Americans  fought corner to corner against the Japanese. The city was heavily damaged. and the civilian population paid in many casualties). Anyway Louise's father was in the capital city when it fell and there are questions of when, if ever, he might be able to reunite with the family on the island of Panay. Christmas excerpt  Beyond Paradise Mother volunteered to make a Christmas Eve dinner for the Fletchers. By combining

You’ll likely see this plea for the month of December. My books are available for download through Amazon Kindle and Smashwords (click on either to go to those pages). Also through Amazon you can order paperbacks of most of my titles. Highlight of this post: Cloud of Witnesses MG novel What reviewers are saying: Cloud of Witnesses hooks the reader with well-developed, interesting characters and snappy dialogue. The story features issues faced by many middle schoolers - coming of age, friendship, loyalty to family and classmates - but is set in the backwoods of Appalachia. The activities and language ring true in this slice-of-life tale about a region not usually featured in books. This is an important fish-out-of-water story about empathy and the dangers of and lessons learned from painting everyone in the same circumstances with the same brush. -- Marlene Targ Brill, best-selling author of over 60 children's books M J Lane 5.0 stars Wonderful coming of age story, set in rural Ohi

Bike Life is a podcast from Warmshowers.org, a non-profit group that connects bicycle tourists to hosts. The organization is world-wide. For example, I was able to stay with hosts on my Rhine River ride in Koblenz, Koln, and Karlsruhe, Germany as well in Strasbourg and Egsheim ,  France. Doing this allows me to actually pursue international bike travel. After the costs of airline tickets and surcharges for bringing the bike, I can save some money not having to stay in hotels the entire time and ALSO connect with locals. My host in Strasbourg, Florian gave me great tips for getting out of the city, told me all about Egsheim and how great is is, then proceeded to help me by saying to stay on the German side of the Rhine after visiting my friend in Freiburg. These kinds of “insider” info has at time made all the difference in a trip. I go from just following directions to understanding a place or region, clued in as it were to only stuff a local cyclist would be able to share. I was a h

  I meant to go for a run But I ended up doing a puzzle All day I meant to eat a salad But because of the puzzle, noshed All day I meant to go to bed early But stayed up to fit the last piece All night I meant to not nosh after dinner But I snacked anyway All night I meant to brush my teeth All day All night I mean to do all the things I meant to But day and night get in the way Life And I end up doing the things I want Life, I guess.

Check out Issue 7 of Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality & the Arts https://pensivejournal.com/ Pensive is out of the Center for Spirituality, Dialogue, and Service at Northeastern University. The journal is available after Nov. 28 th for purchase or click on the cover at the website to browse. The story is entitled Little Norway and I wrote here recently about how I came to cobble together my ideas for the piece using found memories and experiences—and, a bit of my bike ride across the state of North Dakota. It’s amazing how when we let ourselves go to create what we draw in or ruminate about when allowed. I pulled on various threads to knit together Little Norway. Opening paragraph: Thelma ran a rag over the church kitchen Formica counter while listening to Pastor Rolfson go on and on. He did that a lot. Rambled. Though, to be clear, Thelma let her mind wander just as much. Yes, things were changing and not always for the better—was what Pastor Rolfson was say

You’ll likely see this plea for the month of December. My books are available for download through Amazon Kindle and Smashwords (click on either to go to those pages). Also through Amazon you can order paperbacks of most of my titles. Through month of December Smashword downloads are 25-50% off. Highlight of this post: Freeze Frame: How To Write Flash Memoir Many of us are looking to write memories—either in the form of literary memoir or simply to record family history. This how-to book looks at memoir in small, bite-size pieces, helping the writer to isolate or freeze-frame a moment and then distill it onto paper. What reviewers are saying: Mary Ellen Gambutti 5.0 stars Excellent# I have read this book twice, and highlighted extensively. As a new memoir writer who works in slice of life and brief moments, I find her approach helpful. Highly recommend to all writers of memoir. Enjoyable read! Karen Douglass 5.0 stars Free to Write Short Just recommended this book to my memoir-writ

You’ll likely see this plea for the month of December. My books are available for download through Amazon Kindle and Smashwords (click on either to go to those pages). Also through Amazon you can order paperbacks of most of my titles. Through month of December Smashword downloads are 25-50% off. Highlight of this post: 365 Affirmations for the Writer Plus Bonus Material Writing is a journey. Every time we sit down to begin a piece or write the first chapter or the first line we are venturing into uncharted territory. 365 Affirmations for the Writer is about listening to those who have gone before us and letting them guide us with their insight, their own trials. By reading what others have said, we can survey the path before us, count the cost, and plunge ahead. What reviewers are saying: Mary Jo G. 5 Stars If you are a writer in need of a little inspiration, this book is for you. The quotes are great, but I especially liked the bonus material which provided concrete exercises to spa

It has been going on 3 years since I first posted here the poem “December” by James Schuyler. I was first attracted to it for the snide oblique personal references, people’s names—as if trying to puzzle out relationships, decode the poet’s life. Schuyler’s sarcastic tone as I perceived it: *Each December! I always think I hate “the over-commercialized event” * The giant Norway spruce from Podunk Podunk. That one word illuminating his disgust for Middle America, the fly-over regions, folks—people who take the holiday seriously, who refer to it as Christmas, who over-spend while afterwards always say, Next year I’m keeping to a budget. The gaudy tinsel and shiny balls and bright lights. Yet . . . It grows on each of us. We re-visit the sights, sounds, smells in memory so that when we are surrounded by Christmas we can’t help but sink into sentimentality. The poet confesses: catching glimpses, hints that are revelations: to have been so happy is a promise, and if it isn’t kept

Flora Literary is running a small prose poem I wrote around the theme of regret. It starts as a list but then addresses certain people I feel I’ve wronged or short-shrifted—bringing on latent regrets. Afterthoughts. Self-examination. What-ifs and if onlys. Hindsight is 20-20, as they say. And, it is the heart that reminds us             To open up, and be more generous in spirit. Link here to Things I Regret: https://florafiction.com/literary-magazine/ open to expand video and scroll over table of contents, my piece is around page 24.

I’ve come to the end of the year, a busy year at that for publication acceptances. I’ve worked hard on revisions and submitting manuscripts to publishers, agents, and contests. I rode my bike up the Rhine River through Germany, France, and Switzerland. And, I’ve come to the end of new stuff to write about. So it feels like. Lately. Perhaps, I need to lower the bar or slow down. Part of my preparation for my talk at the Festival for Faith and Writing, Slow Looking, is about honing observation skills. Living in the moment. Creating a Zen-like attitude toward the world. Definitely not listening to the news. I never liked nature poetry. I relegated it to old ladies, to people who went to bed at 7 pm and asked for the senior discount at the donut shop. There was a 4 o’clock special at the Denny’s restaurant I worked at in Centerville, where we could count on the same retirees showing up with their potbellies and suspenders and pocketbooks full of half-used tissues and Hawaiian white g

Ever since I got back from my Rhine River Ride all I’ve wanted to do is eat. Ever since I got back from Europe all I want is a big salad. Everywhere I stayed I was eating salad, so that now it is a muscle memory. Ravenous. A kind of craving. Perhaps, it’s post-trip depression. Either way, I’m eating salad and dreaming of my next bike trip.

I’m in charge of the turkey—what does this mean?—It means do not kill the family with unsafe poultry. I’ve had too many experiences with unthawed turkey on cooking day. So I told my daughter I wanted at least a week for the bird to thaw in the downstairs mini-beer-fridge. Now 4 days to go and it is still crunchy-semi-frozen. I know we can put it in the sink for an hour or two for the final final, but it is unbelievable how frozen these frozen turkeys can get. Meanwhile, I’ll work on the pie and together we’ll do the cranberry relish. It’s been a while since we’ve cooked together and, with the new baby, it was decided that we wouldn’t travel, but stay home. I’ve drawn up graphs and charts and step-by-step to-dos. Yet, this hasn’t stopped me from worrying. Sheesh, I can ride my bike across the country solo and summit mountains, but cooking a meal has me petrified. We’re still days away and I can’t help imagining serving a botulated turkey.

I watched the Netflix release, NYAD, about the endurance swimmer Diana Nyad’s attempt(s) to swim from Cuba to Key West. I found the main character to be annoying, narcissistic, and one-dimensional. Like most exceptional professional athletes. If this were a man we’d think nothing of it— She was driven by internal, psychic forces to do this incredible feat not for any monetary reason, but only to prove to herself that she could. Of course, she had to bring others into her over-achievement orbit and hold them there in order to accomplish her goal. There is a certain tension in the film of how she viewed relationships. Yet, she was fully human; we saw her warts and all. I think what made me keep watching was that she and I (in the film) are close to the same age—and I, too, feel a sense of wanting to get things done, or at least attempt to. My Rhine River Ride (search here at blog for posts) portrayed this: Despite rain the first day, I had to do 100 km to Koblenz and 100 the next d

What a wakeup call—even though I’ve been awake. Yesterday I had an appointment and rode my bike. It was early, but didn’t feel so early with the time change—at least now most mornings I head out in light and not darkness. But on the way there, even with my thermal knit gloves, I couldn’t feel my fingers after five minutes. Nevertheless, I kept going. The story of my life. Such bone-biting cold reminded me of why I love warmth, made me grateful for my Tiny House, wish I were back in bed—while at the same time, let me know I was alive. I was super-aware of my surroundings: the near-bare trees, the carpet of leaves beneath my wheels, clear blue cloudless sky. And, in tune with my body: the frozen digits, my breath, at first sluggish, but then coming faster and hotter as I raced along, my legs, up and down with each stroke. Tingling, blood pumping, fully awake. When I got to the office I couldn’t unbuckle my helmet; my fingers just wouldn’t cooperate. I told the nurse, It must be nea

Last spring I submitted a proposal to the Festival of Faith and Writing for their upcoming 2024 conference—the first in about 6 years to be in-person—for a Festival Circle. My proposal was selected! Slow Looking: Freeing the Mind to Observe This Circle introduces participants to Corita Kent, an Immaculate Heart sister known as the "Pop Art Nun," who captured the imagination of the 60s and early 70s with her free-spirited designs (her iconic LOVE stamp is still sold by the U.S. post office). Sister Corita helped her students to see the world a new way—in small bite-size pieces. Her “finder,” a small cardboard frame, reshaped the everyday and brought minutia into perspective. Jane Hertenstein is the author of over 90 published stories both macro and micro: fiction, creative non-fiction, and blurred genre. She teaches a workshop on Flash Memoir and can be found blogging at http://memoirouswrite.blogspot.com/ Do I have a clue as to how I’m going to present? No—it’s slowly

A lot has happened this past week: I’m still getting caught up from my three-week cycling vacation along the Rhine River, plus immediately going back to work. Now, add—the new baby. Remy Winslow Garvey arrived 11/3 at 9:52 at 6 pounds 7 ounces. All at once he looks like his big brother Jack and all his own with dark hair and dark eyes. I’m still getting used to him. Then I had a birthday, supposedly a big one. Sixty-five. Again, I don’t know how to feel; it’s all happening around me and to me, but inside I’m an observer, trying to get a handle on the present and possibly the future. Yesterday was the first chance I had to take a step away from family since I got back. I ride my bike to a beautifully wooded area and walked the leaf-laden hills. The weather was gorgeous and there’s still some color in the trees. Overhead were birds. I crunch-crunched along, just thinking. Asking myself: Do you feel sixty-five? Not really. We’re never certain of anything—except death, and, I r

Wow—how did this happen?! I remember asking the same thing at 45. Now, here I stand, after so many changes, at another milestone. Milestones aren’t always the same. There’s the Imperial miles and the king’s mile, which I learned about in Sweden. No matter the name, it’s where one stands, the distance perceived, one’s attitude toward the long game. It’s all relative. Ground to cover from A to B. Having just gotten back from a bike tour, people always ask me: What kind of bike do I ride? I know, I know, I work at a bike shop and sell the dream, but I also tell my customers—it’s what you do with the bike that counts. So many times people tell me they have a barn full of bikes they don’t ride. They’re just looking for the perfect one. Excuse me while my head explodes. Nike had a point: Just do it. I also get a lot: Aren’t you scared? Or, You’re so brave. No. I credit this to being overwhelmed by so many emotions that fear sort of gets squeezed out or sidelined. This trip I might

After a restless sleep, and not enough of it, I awoke to having to buy toilet paper, restock the fridge and pantry shelf. The water tasted different, the slant of light. The trees were further along into their descent into winter. The whole world. While gone, there was Israel and Gaza and new wars. New perils. The garden had gone to seed. The peeling paint more distressed. I wish I were somewhere else. Is this the letdown after a trip? The low following the high? A reckoning? Not that the trip was paradise—more an interruption to real life. A fourth dimension, a slipstream that I folded into for a little over 3 weeks. That vaguely familiar routine of pedaling, a kind of Zen, where I feel at home within my body, my mind elsewhere, living in the moment. The moments of awestruck pleasure over the most sublime scenes. The hush, the color of the sky, a certain sense of well-being, of not being lost, of getting somewhere, that adventure awaits. The first few weeks were Indian Summe