Monthly Archives: May 2023

To Share or Not to Share

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“You have to learn to take rejection not as an indication of personal failing but as a wrong address.” ~ Ray Bradbury

Even when we’re not asking an entity from the great gods of publishing to judge and dissect our work to give us outside proof of its worthiness, when we share our writing, the stakes can be significant. In fact, when your best friend doesn’t like something you’ve written, it can feel much worse than a journal rejection. Because even when the people you love are trying to be diplomatic, you can usually sense their ambivalence in their tone, or the way they might hem and haw as they try to figure out a nice thing to say, or when they ask you an off-topic question that demonstrates beyond the shadow of a doubt that they just didn’t get what your story or poem means to you (and what you think it should mean to them). Or they don’t know what to say so they focus on the grammar: Are you sure “its” shouldn’t have an apostrophe here?

So, what to do?

The urge to share what we write can be compelling. Sharing is what connects us. We write because we want to be heard, validated, acknowledged. While it’s a purely personal decision to decide when, with whom, and how to share, here are some suggestions to share in a way that both enhances and protects our vulnerability.

Be true to yourself about WHEN you want to share: There are many times I want to take myself and my writing to some snowy inn on top of a mountain and sit with it by a fireplace at a candlelit table for one. And this is a perfectly fine choice, whether you do it literally or metaphorically, especially for writing that still zings in its its newness and rawness. I find that I don’t necessarily need outside validation for every word that leaks out of my pen or pours out of my keyboarding fingers. Often the catharsis of dealing with a difficult emotional subject or finding the right words to capture a joyful moment, or a knotty character revelation can be its own reward.

Be discerning about WHO you share your writing with: Chances are, your soulmate in love and life will not be your best writing/sharing buddy (though I know some lucky few soulmate pairs that defy these odds). And words from your soulmate, your parent, your child, your best friend, all of whom know you too well and in too many other contexts carry much more weight than comments from people who know you less well, or those who know you only in a writing context. I could write a very long book that had nothing in it but annoying things people I love have said to me about my writing. And while I can’t ban all these stinging nettles from my memory, as I know I should, I do my best to consign unhelpful comments to their own little corner of my mental closet.

Be Clear About Exactly WHAT Feedback You Want: Especially with those you love–and even more so if they are not writers–ask them to tell you some things they liked about your writing–an image, a description, a funny moment. If you’re ready to hear their more constructive feedback, ask them to frame it as something they were confused about or didn’t understand, rather than giving you a prescriptive way of how to “fix it.” These can be helpful guidelines in a writing group, as well. However, if you are open to prescriptive suggestions, especially from other writers who likely have more experience than your friend-set in solving writing issues, be sure to consider any suggestions as a possible exploration that can get you closer to your own path, rather than as a “must do.”

Happy sharing!

 

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Babies, Blessings, and the Bird’s Eye View

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For the past five days I’ve been living with my daughter, helping to take care of seven-month-old Baby Manu while her husband is away. Like most of life, there have been moments of  joy, moments of challenge, moments of laughter, drudgery, frustration, profound peacefulness, you-name-it. The only thing certain about life with a baby is that there’s rarely a dull moment.

As a grandparent I feel blessed by having a lot more perspective than I had when my own children were young. In my years of early motherhood, whenever my kids screamed, I worried that not addressing on some immediate need they were expressing would scar them for life, the fog of sleep-deprivation only adding to my anxiety. Now, as I carry Baby Manu around the house and try with my old arms to satisfy his need for incessant “jumping” (i.e. lifting him up and down as he flexes his leg muscles as a launching point on my lap) I feel wiser and calmer–even when he’s screaming. And I’ve thought about how like writing, taking care of a baby is really just an exercise in plunging in and dealing with a lot of trial and error as I try to find that “true north” point of connection.

With Manu this might mean reading a book and taking stops between each page for jumping breaks, or tango dancing around the house while humming riffs from Raffi’s greatest hits or rap songs I’m making up on the spot–all on the theme of Manu: The Life. It might mean playing hand games, or making funny noises, or going through an entire array of animal sounds. Or taking a moment to put him down to play by himself, recognizing in my new found older-age wisdom that both of us could use a little time to chill.  “Little” is the defining word here. All of these activities have proven successful–but generally none of them work for more than 5 to 10 minutes at a time.

The writing process can sometimes feel similar. While I welcome the blessings of the time I feel “in the groove,” other times my words–and my brain–can feel jumpy and fragmented. These are the days I go into the garden to chill, just as I put Manu under his playstation, so he can shake his rattles and babble to himself without Grandma’s interference. And other times, when I’m struggling with trying to write that “one true sentence,” I realize I need to switch up the activity, which for me usually means putting a story aside to revise a poem, or putting the poem aside to work on another poem, or another story or essay until I find something I’m connected to enough in that moment to “re-see.”

But I’m counting my blessings and taking the “birds-eye view” as both a grandparent and a writer. Eventually Manu will grow old enough to tell me what he wants–and so, I hope, will my baby poems and prose in progress.

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Gardening: An Antidote for Perfectionism

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It’s May, which means it’s time to get real about the garden!

April has always been a hard month for me emotionally. (I resonate with T.S. Elliot.) I generally feel as unsettled as the weather. The minute we get a warm day, I’m warring with my impatience, chomping at the bit to start planting, while at the same time feeling anxious about how I’m going to incorporate daily gardening time into what seems like my already too busy life. And when the days turn back to being cold and rainy, there’s actually a part of me that feels relieved that I can stay burrowed into my winter self for a while, though I wonder what masochistic inner voice is making such a silly choice. Meanwhile the crocuses, the daffodils, the rhododendrons, the pink and white flowering trees are lighting the world with promise but fading so quickly, I worry I’m not paying enough to attention to enjoy them before they’re gone.

But now it’s May. The peas, onions, cilantro, and tat-soi are all planted, and half of my garden bed has been prepared as I wait for some reliably warmer weather to plant the more vulnerable vegetables. A few of the daffodils are still hanging on, while the tulips I planted last year are springing out among the wild violets and dandelions. We’re still getting cold, rainy, weather, but this didn’t stop me from seeking the garden yesterday the minute I felt stuck with a writing project. There is something about feeling the dirt sifting through my fingers that consistently gives me my best writing ideas. My writing/gardening motto: When in doubt, go out!

I didn’t grow up loving gardening. As a NYC girl, I think I was a teenager before I realized that vegetables didn’t come from the supermarket. When I first moved to western Mass. I didn’t really get what the fuss was about when people made a point of proudly showing me their tomatoes.  Yet, gardening is a thing here, so when my downstairs neighbor at the first house we rented long-term said she’d teach me how to garden and we could make one together, I agreed. And fell in love.

Some people find the endless cycle of weeding and digging and mulching and watering a kind of drudgery, but I make sure to stop the minute I get tired of a task–which makes the 30-60 minutes I try to spend each day a joy rather than a chore.

What I love most about gardening is that I have no desire to do it perfectly. Each thing I manage to grow and harvest feels like nothing short of a miracle, even after more than thirty years of experience. If the peas don’t come up, I shrug and re-plant them if it’s not too late in the season, or figure I’ll buy some from a local farmer. Some seasons I’ve replanted cucumbers and zucchini four times before they didn’t wilt or get eaten by animals. While I like to exchange tips with other gardening enthusiasts, I don’t spend any time comparing my gardens to theirs. Really, all I want is to get my hands back into the dirt and dig up some writing revelations as I pull out the stubborn blades of grass. And to jump for joy as I see the asparagus spears poking their heads out of my little plot. And celebrate the delicious mint from last year that’s survived the winter and come again all by itself. Time to make a mojito!

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