Memoirous

Wild Geese You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.  – Mary Oliver My writer friend has told me I have a week to wallow in self-pity. My daughter has told me NOT to wallow, but instead get up and get going. A critique partner has given me an assignment: massive revisions of the manuscript PLUS a re-write of a short story. My write...

 On Meditating, Sort Of, by Mary Oliver Meditation, so I’ve heard, is best accomplished if you entertain a certain strict posture. Frankly, I prefer just to lounge under a tree. So why should I think I could ever be successful? Some days I fall asleep, or land in that even better place — half asleep — where the world, spring, summer, autumn, winter — flies through my mind in its hardy ascent and its uncompromising descent. So I just lie like that, while distance and time reveal their true attitudes: they never heard of me, and never will, or ever need to. Of course I wake up finally thinking, how wonderful to be who I am, made out of earth and water, my own thoughts, my own fingerprints — all that glorious, temporary stuff. I’m in an uncomfortable place right now—I’m speaking metaphorically. Yes, I long for my tiny house and a sense of permanence, but this “place” I speak of is psychological. Once again, an agent has let me go. He said, You have no platform. There was no arguing ...

Danny skidded into the bowling alley just as we were starting the second game. He grabbed the heaviest ball (I’m making this up) and bowled a turkey (I’m not making that up). I high-fived him after each strike and we all had a really great time. Actually a better time than I thought we would have. The lane next to us even asked us to settle down, we were being so loud. As if we could quiet the strikes and accidentally dropping our bowling balls. Afterwards we all went out into the parking lot to find that it had started to snow. Not a lot, but a little glaze of it covered the windshield. Dad handed me the keys. “Want to practice?” The parking lot was nearly empty. I took a deep breath that said now or never. I got in and turned on the wipers to clear a see-hole. Mindy waved at me. I put the car into D and felt the power of the accelerator through my gym shoe. I barely touched the pedal and the car lurched forward. All my training had been on class simulators. Dalton gave me a thu...

Later that night after a tryptophan nap Torrence and I prank-called Dalton and Mindy, which I guess technically isn’t prank calling since they knew it was us. Still it was fun to hear Torrence ask if their refrigerator was running. I’m sure he had no idea who Prince Albert was. He was like my own little Muppet repeating words into the phone that I whispered to him. He kept screwing up which made me laugh harder. If I wasn’t such a selfish only-child I’d have wished for a little brother. Right away Dalton drove over after picking up Mindy. I was starting to revive after eating such a heavy meal. Meanwhile we helped clean up the kitchen. By cleaning up I mean we loaded the dishwasher. Mindy loved the crowns Dad made so I let her wear mine. It barely fit over her bandana headband. We wasted a couple hours talking about what to do until Dad finally put our quibbling to rest by insisting we all go bowling. Now, there is nothing I hate more than bowling. Like what the hell is the po...

This week I am excerpting holiday related sections of a new manuscript I am shopping to editors and agents. Survivor Guilt After the high school principal finds his truck on the roof of the school, prankster James Tiller is sentenced to sixty-six hours of community service at a local homeless shelter. Between punking people on Facebook and giving the check-out clerks at Walmart hell, his life is seemingly one big practical joke—until James’ mother is killed when a U-Haul slams into their car.Suddenly things become very serious.   Happy Turkey Day The director of the homeless shelter where I volunteered dropped Torrence off Thursday morning. Dad had been up since 6 a.m. working on dressing the turkey. I on the other hand was not dressed. I was still in my PJs. Torrence and I sat in front of the TV eating cold cereal and watching the parade. The one with the creepy, globular balloons. The one with Buzz Lightyear the size of a cruise ship. The one with a warehouse si...