Porter and Sadie

Sadie loves dog toothpaste. You can’t actually brush her teeth because she struggles too much to eat the paste.

I was washing dishes when Sadie found the toothpaste on the floor. She was chewing away on the tube when Porter came over to investigate. The attack ensued.

My son screamed and the dogs tried to kill each other.

I dumped a pot of soapy water on them. They separated, but one of them lunged again. I grabbed the dogs’ water bowls and threw them. Water soaked the dogs, the sofa, the carpet, and the shelves. Everyone was breathing hard.

Blood from Porter’s ear spotted a cabinet door.

At the edge of the splash zone were our two laptops. A few drops of water streaked the tops of them, but they were closed, and I thought–no harm done there.

I took care of the dogs, my son, and the dishes. I sat down with my laptop and used it a while. When the power got down to below 40%, I decided to charge it.

It wouldn’t charge. After trying various things, I had to take the MacBook in to be repaired, pay more money than I had to spare, and live for days, DAYS, without my Mac.

Years of my life were happy without computers and the Internet in them. Well, such is life today. Some people lived happy lives before TV and independence from England. You can’t go back.

So now that I have my portal into cyberspace back, what do I do? I’m feeling more and more pressure to go ahead and opt for the e-publishing path…

But I can barely get people who know me to read my work…

My laptop holds most all of my writing. Most of them are backed up one way or another, but if I’d lost the Mac, I’d have lost a lot. But it made me wonder what I’d do without all my stories. What would you do if you lost everything you’d written?

Orangeberry Books

I’ve never understood people who say they don’t like kids. They were once kids after all. Did they like being so easily dismissed by grown ups?

Not to mention I thought we were raised to avoid gross generalizations. There aren’t that many groups left you can publicly and happily state you don’t like. And what is to be gained from dismissing an entire group? You miss out on some interesting individuals that way.

Anyway, recently I met–in a cyberspace sort of way–a woman working on an anthology of stories from childhood. Dr. Niamh Clune is part of a new publishing venture that this week is coming out with their first book: Every Child Is Entitled to Innocence.

The proceeds will go to Child Helpline International, an organization that works to establish global helplines for children.

Perhaps you’d be interested in the book or at least passing this news on. You could friend Orangeberry on Facebook if you like, tweet, or participate in their Light-a-Candle campaign.

Somewhere between the time I was three and a stranger shot our family dog and ten years later when a strange man appeared at my bedroom window, I learned the world isn’t a safe place. We can’t protect children from every heartbreak in life–and if we did how would they learn empathy and develop as full human beings? But too many things children don’t need to experience, and I wish all us grown ups would give more thought to that.

from Great Expectations

We lived far from everything, fields around most of the house, a lake in front of the house, a highway in the distance. An only child, I had to find my own way to forget that the neighbors might not actually be close enough to hear screaming.

I’d curl up on the sofa and watch television. We got 5 channels, but two of them required going outside into the dark to turn the antennae, so after a certain hour, we really only had 3 channels.

On one of the channels I met Miss Havisham and fell in love with Charles Dickens. Perhaps you know his 200th birthday was the other day?

I watched the movie Great Expectations, and afterwards couldn’t stop thinking about Miss Havisham and Estella. They seemed to confirm my 14 year old perspective on love, and while I felt I was supposed to feel bad that Estella was being raised impervious to love, I also suspected this was not all together a bad thing. I rather wished I was Estella.

She was not afraid of boys.

But I feared I had far more in common with Miss Havisham–unstable and most likely to be left at the altar. Years later on my wedding day, when I was 27, I walked to the church in my wedding dress, my father at my side, with the slight nagging notion that my soon-to-be husband was going to change his mind.

I didn’t tell anyone Miss Havisham was at my wedding, but she was, quietly sitting in the corner of my mind, rather disappointed I wouldn’t be joining her.

Still, back when I was 14, having watched the movie, I went and read the book. The book was even better, and so I fell for Mr. Dickens.

Yes, he was flawed–seriously so–and not everything he wrote was perfect by any means, but how perfect does a writer need to be?

What if I could write one character that could stay with someone all of her life?

Is there any character like that for you?

Happy Birthday, Charles Dickens. Glad you’re still with us. You know, in the way great story-tellers always are.

my kiddo skates fast

My students–who come from all over the world–were asking me about American families. Why do we make our kids leave home at 18? Well, I don’t think we make them leave, but we do seem to have a different attitude about children leaving home. I had a hard time answering their questions though. My own experience growing up and leaving home wasn’t typical (what is typical?) and I can’t represent every population and all the views…

I have to remind my students that Americans aren’t all like me. So often I ask them, “What comes to mind when you think of an American?” “Blond.” Sigh.

But that is something else all together. The last few days they’ve wanted to ask about families. One student believes that American parents are fine with their kids getting hotel rooms and that kids take drugs because their parents do.

It was a long conversation and I know I failed to explain the half of it. How on earth do you explain the American family?

I like movies, but I don’t really mind that I hardly ever watch any these days. The movie has to be something special to me if I’m going to take that much time from my life. One thing I’ve never understood is watching a movie just because “it was something to see.”

Anyway, a friend posted a movie meme on his blog, and I thought I’d use it to make a post. Leave your own answers in the comments if you like (or write your own post and let me know).

1. Movie you love with a passion.

The Wizard of Oz And as with any passion, you either understand or you don’t.

2. Movie you vow never to watch.

Used to be Titanic. Still haven’t seen the entire movie, but I did get stuck watching the last hour a few months ago. Now I vow never to watch the entire thing. And most any horror flick. I’ve made a few exceptions, but usually regret it. Oh. And Batman. Don’t care what anyone says. Or any of the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo films. Or Twilight. Or Anonymous.

3. Movie that left you literally speechless.

Dead Man Walking. Well, I managed to say one thing when the movie was over. My friend asked if I wanted a drink and I said yes.

4. Movie you always recommend.

I hate recommending movies. I don’t want you coming back annoyed at having wasted your time and money. Read reviews. Watch trailers. Take your own risks.

5. Actor/actress you always watch, no matter how crappy the movie.

For a long time that was Harrison Ford, but I haven’t seen any of his films from the last ten years. Can’t think of anyone else. Probably Judi Dench. Though just this evening I was thinking of seeing Daniel Radcliffe’s new film The Woman in Black even though he isn’t my favorite actor and I vowed never to watch horror films. Mostly I sympathize with his efforts to transition from boy wizard and would like to show him my support.

6. Actor/actress you don’t get the appeal of.

Tom Cruise. Adam Sandler. And I haven’t seen enough new movies to know who the hot young things are, so can’t speak to anyone else.

7. Actor/actress, living or dead, you’d love to meet.

Humphrey Bogart. Helen Mirren.

8. Sexiest actor/actress you’ve seen.

Ah, well. I can go for the obvious. Johnny Depp. (When he’s not hanging out on a Tim Burton movie set.)

9. Dream cast.

Hard to say, but it would have to involve Dame Helen Mirren, Dame Judi Dench, Cate Blanchett, Nicole Kidman, Toni Collette, and Dame Maggie Smith. Maybe with David Tennant and John Cusack tossed in.

10. Favorite actor pairing.

Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn. Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Molly Ringwald and Ducky (yeah, you heard me).

11. Favorite decade for movies.

Don’t have one. Although I am usually reluctant to watch any film from the ’60s and ’70s.

12. Chick flick or action movie?

Neither. Don’t get me wrong. I loved When Harry Met Sally and Die Hard, but I don’t rush out to see the next incarnation of the genres.

13. Favorite movie setting.

London.

14. Hero, villain, or anti-hero?

I don’t know. Well, not the villain.

15. Black and white or color?

Don’t care.

Now, this one wasn’t in the meme on JES’s blog, but I think there should be this:

16. Movie you regret seeing.

I don’t know the name of this film, but I was in a hotel bar and they were showing this horrifying, misogynistic sci-fi flick on their TV. After watching three barely dressed women killed in sci-fi dystopian ways, I very much wanted to have my brain bleached.

My son and I did recently go see Hugo. That was a lovely film, and my 8 year old liked it.

And films you’d like to mention are?

Back in the early ’90s, the AIDS Quilt was touring the country, and it was scheduled to stop in Cleveland. I was going to graduate school in Kent, Ohio at the time. My friend Tony and I decided to drive up to Cleveland to see the quilt.

Tony and I in Ohio in the early '90s...

I got the day off from work. Can’t remember if I skipped class, but we had only this one day in our schedule to go see the quilt, and then the quilt would be moving on.

We got there–an indoor basketball stadium–and it was closed. We’d misread the tour schedule. The quilt was inside the building, but the building was locked.

Or almost locked. That is the brilliant thing about my friend Tony. He wasn’t in those days thwarted by locks and closed signs.

The employee entrance was not locked. We walked right in.

This was a stadium. A huge cavernous building. With just us. We made our way to the basketball court. I don’t know if you’ve been in one of these massive buildings, but the ceilings are impossibly high and the walls are so far away, especially if the only light you have are those tiny white light that edge the steps into the stands.

But the Quilt was there. Sections were hanging from some kind of rigging over head and other sections were carefully lined up on the floor. The silence was cathedral-like, and Tony and I–no romance between us–held hands.

Tears may have come to my eyes even if I’d had to see the Quilt with a crowd, but even now all these years later tears come remembering the moment.

At some point, Tony and I let go of each other and walked quietly around the many (too many) sections, until we were across the court from each other, each wiping our eyes, amazed at the beauty and sadness mixed so inexplicably.

Then we heard footsteps.

We froze. A man appeared above in the stands. An employee in a uniform. I couldn’t tell what kind.

He asked us what we were doing. Tony answered for us. Unlike other times he’s been caught where he isn’t supposed to be, he told the truth.

I worried my tissue between my fingers, wondering what it was like to be arrested.

The man stared down at us. He told us he wouldn’t bother us, but that the automatic locks were set. If we weren’t out in 30 minutes, we’d have to spend the night in the building.

He left us alone.

Tony and I met back up in the middle of the floor. We laughed and dried our tears in that half dark surrounded by those quilts.

I felt so lucky. Sad and lucky at the same time.

But that said, I sure am wasting a lot of time on it.

Several wordpress themes have elements about them I like…and elements I don’t. I don’t have any coding skills so designing something on my own isn’t an option. And since my writing doesn’t bring home those big bucks, paying for a website isn’t an option either.

But I can’t find a theme I’m really happy with.

So. You and your blog? How/why did you choose the theme that you have? How much did it matter to you? What do you think is key when deciding?

People first seeing my work often assume the text is taken from newspapers or random books. But I think it deepens (hope it deepens) one’s appreciation of the work to know that the words are my own, printed and cut from my own stories. I cut the pages, paste the cut pieces down, and draw the images around them. The smallest picture takes two hours–and that doesn’t even count the time spent writing the stories.

I work late at night while my family sleeps, though once in a while I can work on a Friday morning. There is never enough time to make all I want to make, but I do what I can…half-finished projects are piled at one end of my work table. I share my work space with the son, and so it is great that we sometimes sit together and draw, but it keeps my projects in check. There is only so much room.

Thank you for stopping by.

bunny ornaments

Pricing. This Friday is time again to hang my art in public (public hanging!) and decide what numbers to put on those little tags.

Part of me wonders why art can’t just be free. Oh, that’s right. Artists like to eat and have heat in the winter.

Crazy but true.

So, yes, I know all the things to consider: cost of materials, amount of time, quality of piece, how much I want it to sell, what the market will tolerate…

I’ve read a lot about pricing, but that hasn’t made it any easier. Money is another word for psychological land mine.

Now, I’ve made a few handmade books. Most of them are small books–a short story or two inside. Only one is a hardcover.

My research on how to price handmade books has pulled up only blank books, like leather bound journals or small, pretty books that are works of art but contain no story.

Now, a hardcover book cost $30, right? Give or take.

But that’s a factory made book.

But charging for my time and materials…means a crazy high price.

So logically it seems foolish to make things I can’t sell.

But I don’t do it for money.

But I’ve got to cover my cost because I’m not a trust fund baby.

Besides, who even wants a handmade book in our ebook world?

Oh, well. It isn’t the end of the world if it doesn’t sell. That’s the nature of these things.

* * *

P.S. I’ve been working on my other blog–where I’m famous in a parallel universe. You can find out more here.

my art with a bit of color

I asked the photographer to take black and white pictures of our wedding. I never seriously considered otherwise.

Maybe I love black and white photographs because my mother took such pictures.

a picture my mother took of me for a college photography class

Anyway, my mother-in-law was paying for the wedding though she said she liked black and white too.

On the day of the wedding, two photographers were there. “Why are there two?” I asked.

“One is here for color.”

Seems my mother-in-law paid for an extra photographer so she could have colored photographs. Well, she was paying for it and color is nice.

Color is beautiful. I like color. But my art is almost always black and white.

BLack and white is simple, and mistakes are easier to correct.

I’ve been told to add more color.

I don’t think life is black and white, my home is quite colorful, and my stories are filled with ambiguity (searching the gray not the black and white).

Do you think it says something about a personality? Certainly the art a person makes (the stories a person writes) says something about them. Doesn’t it?

Not sure I should hazard a guess what my work says about me.

(I’ve tried to film my work in progress…here.)

What are you kind of art are you drawn, and how important is color to you?