The Hillhouse

The Journey of a Mother and Son

Woman of Oz July 27, 2013

When I write my posts, I sometimes remind myself of the Wizard of Oz. Or rather, the man behind the curtain pulling the levers and speaking into a mic. It’s an interesting feeling to sit in my comfy chair, alone in my room, ‘talking’ into the box on my lap. Feeling quite alone as I do (except for the constant crowing of roosters outside my window), it’s nearly impossible to realize I’m speaking to a group. And yet, luckily for me, I’m still able to do my thing, relatively unaffected by my growing and invisible audience. I had wondered recently if this might become challenging as time went on, but I’m happy to find that I can still tap into that universal mind and enjoy a line free of outside interference. As those who create will know, when things are going good and stuff is just coming to you, that’s a spiritual sweet spot. It’s kinda like getting in a canoe and joining the already moving water. Off you go… The trick here is not only knowing that I’m not exactly alone in my thoughts (nor would I want to be; the point of a blog is to share ideas), but that everyone in my life’s wake is privy to these thoughts and observations. Because of this, there are sometimes repercussions. But this is my life’s art for now, so on I go, broadcasting from my little chair behind the curtain.

Keeping one’s voice the same, without modifying its tone or exaggerating the day’s events when they seem a little too common, these are some of the challenges that face me. Thankfully, they aren’t affecting me at present, nor are they really concerning me. I’m surprised at this. Thought by now things might be getting trickier. You know, running out of ideas, becoming bored with what I already got goin. But I’m alright. My mind rolls up and down all day long as I tend to my outdoor work and I make mental notes to examine things more closely when my work is done. The biggest hitch in all of this is just remembering ideas later on. Guess that’s why writers take notes. I have a dry erase board in the kitchen, and a small pad in the car. If I’m lucky I’ll be near enough to one or the other that I’ll get something down in time. And while it aint Alzheimer’s yet, I forget far more than actually occurs to me – and this has me wondering sometimes if it’s not a foreshadowing of the fate awaiting me. But I’ll no doubt write about that chapter too when it descends on me. Cuz no matter how my aged years present themselves, whether it be memory loss or the inability to get around (hopefully neither!), that will be an entirely new adventure that will bring with it its own observations. And as long as I’m able to write, I’ll probably be letting you know exactly how I feel about things.

It seems that from the observations and ruminations I’ve published through these last few and difficult years, I have actually concluded the makings of what might be my first book. In this particular moment, my life has come to something of a stopping – and starting – point. Divorced, the ex married off, small farm chugging away, son just about in his pre-teen years… All of that, plus a recent little explosion of reaction to the blog on Facebook, and I think things are fairly tidily wrapped up. A period has been placed at the end of a long sentence. Life is by no means a static thing, and I am still grappling with some of the same challenges, but I feel a bit more confident these days, thanks to the most supportive readers and loving friends a gal could have. It strikes me as a bit ironic that at the ‘dreaded’ age of 50 my life is beginning again! I feel possibility now. As I watch the new garden outside my door begin to take shape and become real – all from the birth of my simple imaginings – so too I feel the birth of whole new future taking shape. I feel a little relief with the onset of this new chapter, too. A friend had suggested to me recently that this was the start of Elizabeth 2.0. I really like that. Nice way to welcome the new into my life, in all the forms it may yet assume. And with that, I’m think I’m done for now. Off to work in the garden. Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain! The great Oz has spoken…

 

Old Dog July 8, 2013

Spent the day trying to teach myself some new tricks. On the computer, that is. The most basic skills still elude me, and my excuse has been my 24/7 job as mom. I still stand by it; there’s just so much one person can do in a day, and in between writing, teaching, playing piano, keeping house and home and being mom I have about eight hours left in which to sleep – and I aint about to give that up. ! Plus I like to read at bedtime. That habit in addition to my chronic insomnia helps me define my priorities. So finally, with Elihu in Chicago for a bit, now I’ve got some time. Already hooked up my long-paid-for domain name with this blog – that in itself was a minor victory for me. Next on my list is to get some hyperlinks goin. It can’t be that difficult. I hope you’ll indulge me as I do a little experimenting in the following paragraphs…

“My son and I recently took a lovely little vacation together in Chicago. We thoroughly enjoyed a boat cruise (on both the river and the lake), one which I highly recommend, given by the Wendella Boat Line.

After that spectacular tour, we headed north for dinner at the Heartland Café in Rogers Park (which is no longer owned by local legend Michael James. Although it’s clear they’re trying to march forward in the same spirit as before, the unmistakable vibe that’s been present for the past thirty-something years is sadly no longer part of the Heartland experience.)”

Ok. That seems to have worked too. This is all fairly easy stuff. Feel kinda silly about having put it off for so long. But the linked words still show to be underlined and blue in the working copy I see in front of me. Really? Hm. Gonna save and preview again…

So. Ascertained that the links are the same color as the text. Good. And while they appear sort of highlighted, they aren’t underlined. That’s good too. I’d rather  that the text appeared the same as the rest, but then again I suppose you wouldn’t realize that it was a link. I guess. Now my only concern is that until I go ahead and actually publish the post, apparently I can’t check to see if the links actually work or not. Really? Am I missing something? Here I go again…

Although unrelated to my above ‘hyperlink challenge’, I feel I must mention that my edits aren’t always successfully saved, in spite of my quite definitively hitting ‘save draft’. It is beginning to piss me off. Gotten to the point where I save the same version a over and over a handful of times until it seems to take. (When saves don’t take, it becomes insanely tedious to go over the entire bloody text trying to re-create the previous changes. Like it did just now as I re-wrote this past sentence for the third time. Really.) Upstairs, on my tiny and ancient little Mac, I’ve noticed that updates stop saving well after just a few versions… might be due to many pages up in sequence. Don’t really know. My trick is to close em all and restart. But now it’s happening on my ‘new’ (updated) PC. Seriously. What am I missing? Screw it for now. I won’t worry about it tonight, cuz I’ve got a pile of books I can’t wait to get to beside my bed. Been at my desk nearly ten hours now and am done. I think I did pretty well today for an old gal. Schooled my own way over, around and through some unforeseen obstacles, and in the end feel like I actually learned a couple of new tricks. Good dog.

Near-immediate Post Script: WordPress just told me I have a more current version of my post in autosave. Naturally I panicked, then checked it out, and realized that no, it is not the most recent, updated version. ! And I can also now see that my shiny new hyperlinks are bridges to nowhere. Sigh. Maybe it has something to do with the domain change today. Oh how I had hoped to get over these few hurdles by now. Good thing I still got lots of time to figure it all out. Thanks for your patient audience as I fumble about here…

A “refreshed the next morning” Post Script: Have re-pasted the links. Ok. Got in now. !

 

Atkins Winds Down June 2, 2013

When I started on my weight loss campaign back in February, I’d hoped to use this forum as a substitute for the famous Weight Watchers weigh-in. I had enjoyed some good successes on Weight Watchers in the past, and I attributed it mainly to the element of witness that it provided. (I realize this is perhaps the ‘down’ side of WW for many; I can remember my mother herself complaining bitterly about it.) Personally, I needed it. I needed the accountability. Weight Watchers online? Not so much. Why? No accountability! Hey – if it’s one thing overweight folks usually have a problem with – it’s the truth! Sneaking something here, downplaying the significance of repeatedly over-sized portions, justifying it all in the name of comfort, or some such reasonable excuse…. Isn’t this one of the reasons we’re there to begin with? Doing in online means weighing yourself at home – rounding up a half pound cuz your scale isn’t accurate enough – rounding down cuz you just know the scale can’t be right… I can even see one giving up before too long if going it alone. I know I can’t be entirely right about this – but even so, I think some will know what I mean. Anyway, doing it on my own is not for me. I like the weigh in. Only I was clever – speaking of evading the whole truth, did you notice? – I never actually mentioned my weight. Only the amounts I lost. Ha!

Since I’d also had success once upon a time with Atkins (just how many diets have I been on? you may wonder), and knew it to be more ‘fun’ than WW (lots of salt and fat), I thought I’d go the no carb, low carb route this time. Plus, in my experience, I’ve made progress faster with Dr. Atkins’ method. The down side of this trendy diet is, however, that if you go right back to your pre-Atkins life as usual, it’s likely you’ll find all that weight back on your frame after a while. This time, I have taken a different tack. I don’t intend to live a carb-free life, but in that I certainly don’t need all that quick energy – and in that carbs are far more prevalent than they ought to be in our grab-and-go culture, I’m simply opting not to go looking for them. First, I don’t eat fast food. I don’t prepare rice or pasta at home. Don’t eat bread, pancakes or bagels. In ongoing, everyday life, that is. But I am not going to avoid them to the point of being a lifelong carb martyr! Forget it! When life presents its little moments – like eggs benedict one Sunday out of many, or a rare dinner out – I am not going to whine about carb counts. But in terms of everyday life – it actually works out well. I must admit, that it is a little pricier to eat so many vegetables and so much meat, but in that I no longer make wine a regular part of my life (carbs), the money I saved there goes into the food budget. Ich, there’s never a perfect plan. Ya just gotta figure out what’s really important. If I have to cut back on something else in my world so that I can maintain a size 10, that’s ok.

Years ago, when I’d hear people complain about the inevitable weight gain that came with aging, I’d thought they were idiots. Yes, there was a time when I worked out seven days a week, when I race walked miles every day, when I just knew that would never be my story. I was way too aware for that. But now, as my life has changed, as my time thins out and I must settle for a to-do list half done, now that I am no longer one person in the world, I have had to – finally – accept that there might be a bit of truth to this change-of-life-weight idea. Sure, I suppose one could keep it up, but as I’ve said before, you can’t do it all, and if you’re to keep some things in your life, other things have to go. If my weight is to go up, this is a good time I suppose. My body has changed over the past five years, and it’s got me crying uncle. My thighs have that crazy crinkly skin that looks all dried out in spite of being perfectly moisturized. My hands have been transformed by arthritis. The silver on my head has found its way to other parts of my body, and regular readers may remember that my neck is no longer behaving as it once did. So I suppose it figures that my weight too might settle into a new groove. It certainly seems to have. While in years past I’ve lost as much as 55 pounds on a diet (the post-baby, WW success) and have always, always been good at knocking off ten pounds as needed here and there – I just cannot seem to budge past the weight I am now. Maybe I go down a pound, up a pound, but here I hover.

For years I remember 123 being my resting adult weight. I can also remember in those days becoming extremely upset if I should migrate up one single pound. On my 5’4″ frame I do know that it’s possible to see the effects of weight gain or loss fairly quickly, but in my younger days I had absolutely no perspective. Man, when I think back on the emotional energy I gave to that shit, it makes me shake my head. If only I could tell myself back then not to worry so deeply. Not to tie up my emotional health like that… But I realize my frame of reference was different. All things in their time and place, I guess. Some time in my early thirties my base weight snuck up to 126, where it stayed for a few more years (that’s what I weighed when I got pregnant. It jumped to 188 just before I had the kid!!). Post-baby WW loss my ‘resting’ weight landed at about 135. In the wake of my move to New York and separation from my husband, naturally I went back up again. Topped off at around 163 pounds some time last year. That was deflating. Or inflating, as it were.

I’ve landed at 140. A hundred and thirty-nine on a good day, 141 on a not-as-good one. I’m pretty sure I could bust it down to 135 again, maybe even 130, and I might give it a go in the future, but for now I’m not in high diet gear. There have been so many parties lately – my mother’s retirement, birthday parties, end of school events – not to mention fresh fruit. Seems crazy that such a healthy carb as fruit should be such a no-no, but it is. So when cherries hit the stores recently, I knew my full-on Atkins thing was going on hold. I refuse to feel that eating fresh fruit is bad. Sheesh. I do understand the theory and the science, but at the end of the day, a cherry’s simply got to be better for you than a cheddar cheese stick, ya know?

So fellow dieters, I can report success, albeit on a different ‘scale’ (!) as at one time in my life. While I’m not a fan of the overly-used phrase ‘to be comfortable in one’s own skin’, it does describe the phenomenon that’s taken place in my life these days. Probably a combination of physical age, of experience and shifting priorities. I do enjoy feeling good in clothes again, but I also realize that the look I’m sporting would have been entirely unacceptable to my twenty-something self. But I’m not twenty-something. It’s taken me awhile to get it, much less to make peace with it, but I’m much further along in the process than just a year ago. I complained once in a recent post that I don’t know what the hell happened to my forties. Now I think I have a good idea – I raised a child from baby to young boy, I learned what it was to live life on my own, and I became acquainted with a new body. As long as I can continue to understand that I am not who I was two decades ago, and as long as I can adjust my expectations accordingly, I think I can proclaim that this most recent dieting chapter has been a success.

Post Script: While on the subject of numbers, we’ve just reached 23,000 visitors to this blog! I remember when Elihu and I jumped up and down and danced around the house for joy when we reached 1000. Ah numbers, we’re so attached to them, huh? But this number is truly significant because it helps to remind us that we’re not alone and that we have friends somewhere out there in the world. Hello to all of you, and thanks for being with us! We send you all our love and gratitude…

 

Thinkwright August 23, 2012

I think I figured it out. I came up with a word that explains what I do. I would like to call myself a thinkwright. A builder and an expresser of thoughts. First I create them in my mind, then I put them in tangible form. I mull, I muse and I consider things as I go about my day – and in my solitude here there’s plenty of time for that – the ideas percolate to the surface, then I sit in my chair at the end of the day, and I write. (I might also be called a writewright I suppose, but I don’t think it sounds as good. And of course, it might make sense to use thinkwrite as well; it implies the word ‘wright’, yet it represents literally what it is that I do. Hmm. Still mulling this over. A quick google search comes up with very few thinkwrights, so maybe I’m onto something.) Maybe you haven’t felt any reservations about calling me a writer, or a blogger, but I have. I still don’t quite feel like either. Recently, something happened that had me thinking more closely about what it is that I hope to do with my writing. In this world people expect growth, change, progress. So what am I growing towards? What might I hope to do, be or achieve in the process? Never really thought about it before, but these days I’m wondering.

Recently I’ve been toying with the idea of joining an online blogging support community in order to get a better idea of how I might expand my readership or maybe even tweak the look of my blog a bit. It doesn’t cost too too much ($20 a month), but in my world that’s an expense that I really need to justify before I commit to it. So when I get those super-upbeat emails from the director of the program, telling me that she has “seven proven steps to make my blog go viral” I experience some mixed feelings. The first one is from my ego. I think, wow, that might feel pretty good. The fourteen year old girl inside me who still wants validation from everyone really likes that. But then the second, less needy voice appears, and it says wow, think of all that connection going on. Think of all those people sharing the same stories, the same take on things. Think of all that connection – with old friends, with new ones. Maybe even readers connecting with each other. Not sure, but seems possible. I have nothing to sell. I don’t want my readership in the hundreds of thousands for any other reason than to build a sense of friendship and community, of mutual support. When my stories resonate with someone, that means they share some sense of agreement with me. They get what it is I’m expressing, and in so doing, we all share an understanding of sorts. And that’s a good thing.

So when this very peppy blogging guru told me I could go viral – I simply had to be the annoying kid in the room with my arm up. I just couldn’t imagine my blog going viral. Why would it? What would drive this crazy upsurge of activity? I asked her, embedding a challenge in my question, a prideful dare. I was being a bit arrogant, ignorant too maybe, but it seemed like she could take it. And I was pretty sure she could dish it out. Indeed, she was very professional – and kind – and responded. She’d read a post of mine in the past and had commended me on the writing. Yeah, that’s nice, and I’d appreciated it, but what of this viral thing? Might that magic work on me too? She told me that I had too many “I”s, “me”s and “mine”s and that I needed to turn it around and offer my audience some concern for them, using instead “you”s and “yours”. I had to offer my readership a solution for a problem, and I had to make it about them, not me. Hm. Didn’t sound like it applied to me. Decided to let the idea sit for a while. So I went out to work in the garden. And I thought about it. And I came to a conclusion which suits me for now: I’m not a blogger who writes, I’m a writer who blogs. I’m not offering solutions here, just perspectives. Perhaps I’m a memoirist without a publisher. Yeah, that feels more like it.

I don’t have anything to offer except my life and my own take on it all. That’s it. And I apologize if there really are too many “I”s and “me”s in my writing – but hey, that’s kinda what this experiment has been about thus far. And if you weren’t kinda curious or interested, you wouldn’t be reading. And I’m sure you don’t read when it doesn’t appeal. You’re all busy, just stopping by takes time. For that gift of your time alone I’m so very pleased. I really do hope reading these posts gives you some joy, maybe even some sense of connection. That’s why I started this whole thing to begin with – to feel some connection with the outside world. I needed to throw out a lifeline because I felt so very alone. I just needed to get it all out. And for me, it’s worked pretty well. So if the circle grows, great. If not, that’s just fine too.

So I guess that kinda gives away my true colors. I’m no blogger. I’m just one person trying to understand my world. Just one person hoping to connect with fellow residents of this difficult planet. A gal just trying to express herself. A writer of thoughts, a thinkwright.

 

Here One Year March 4, 2012

Filed under: An Ongoing Journal...,Divorce Diary — wingmother @ 11:22 pm
Tags: , , ,

Although I can hardly boast any appreciable new technical skills after having been a blogger for one complete calendar year, I can report that I’ve had a full and robust year – one in which I began to find my voice and become more fluent in its expression. Yup, it’s been an interesting year for me, and this blog has helped me through some difficult episodes. (Although the entries may show to have been written earlier, my first true post was March 1st of last year.)

I’d hoped to perhaps have a more sophisticated handle on this forum by now, but I still find myself merely hanging on to the simplest tools. I can insert a photo by the skin of my teeth, a video still eludes me as this platform doesn’t like the form my the vids from my camera arrive in – and inserting an interactive guest book here is as confounding to me now as it was six months ago, in spite of hours spent researching it. In view of the much more visually interesting blogs to choose from in the world, I’ve found myself wondering what I have to offer here. This was a question I’d not even begun to consider even a few months ago, but with a growing readership, it has me thinking about this differently. Might I consider a little marketing? A little upgrade in my presentation? There’s certainly room for that. But in the end, in that I’m not selling anything, in that I’m so very grateful that I have people at all with whom to share my life, in that this has all been a lovely adventure – I think I’m going to let it be as it is for the time being. One day I may rally my efforts towards ramping this humble blog up a notch, but not right now.

Let me make no mistake about it; I began this blog simply as a means to keep myself from despair. I had been treated badly by my husband in this cruel divorce, and after several years of going it alone, I wanted a witness to the unfair way in which my marriage was ending. I was outraged, hurt and angry, and I felt it was time that someone else felt the outrage too. I was hoping that this public platform might help me to conclude my divorce – if by no other way than by shaming my husband into treating me better (i.e. giving Elihu and me enough money to live on as was entirely possible given his own personal financial reality) by giving our story a wider audience. In that Fareed has seen little more of this blog than the photo of this three kids by three different mothers (and, enraged by this, told me to remove it ‘or else’), and in that he lives in a world of his own concerns (and I am not one of them), this blog did not in the end serve to shame him nor cause him to reflect on the inequity of the situation. But while it may not have done what so selfishly I’d hoped in the beginning, it did end up taking a different course which proved to lead into happier new territory. Entries became more about our own personal adventures and struggles, and much less about the divorce and its lack of parity. I’ve never been one to keep a scrapbook or record personal events in a diary, and so this blog has been a nice way to not only record things that have happened in our lives, but it’s also given me a place in which to work out my thoughts on life as it happens. Honestly, I’ve forgotten so much of my life; I’m glad to have this past year down on paper (as it were). And I can’t help but wonder how Elihu himself may one day value this window into his younger years, this window into the thoughts of his own mother. I can’t begin to imagine having such a document of my own mother’s, or of my own early years. Really, what a great tool. What a lucky time to be alive.

It’s been through this blog that I’ve met many new friends, reconnected with old ones, and heard the stories that others have had to tell too. And because of it all I’ve come to feel a lot less alone. I had no idea anyone other than a handful of friends would come to read my posts. I may feel so isolated some times, but I’m reminded, through this magic little oasis in the ether, that you’re here with me too. In the end, I suppose that’s been more important to me than anything else, although a year ago I had no idea.

A little ‘by the way’ for you: Fareed and I will indeed be legally divorced as of 9 am this coming Friday. This was the very thing I sought with my first desperate plea one year ago this week on my virgin blog. “Letter to All…. I cannot get divorced…” And so here I am, one year later, my goal met by week’s end. Thank you so much for being with me through this difficult year. I so appreciate your friendship and support. Elihu and I both are aware that we’re not alone; we both know that you’re sharing our life with us. It makes us happy to know. It makes us grateful, too. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Happy Birthday, Hillhouse!

 

Wannabe December 30, 2011

‘To be or to wannabe’, I think that’s my question today. Am I writer or do I just think I’m a writer? Over the past few weeks I’ve had more ideas for posts than I can deal with. I find I’m getting out of bed every night to jot down ideas. I have more material than time to write it. And I feel it must come out – if I’m to live healthily, that is. I can’t really justify it any more than that. I am followed by a guilty voice that tells me this is pointless and selfish. Every now and again I peruse my old posts and wonder if it doesn’t seem an extended pity-party for the poor, almost divorced (yeah, yeah, get over your drama) newly-impoverished (it’s been three years – not so new) middle aged woman who (boo hoo) is now a single mother in spite of her wishes (join the fucking club) to a simply amazing child (isn’t everybody’s?) and must somehow start over in life, now that her boobs can no longer hold their own without a bra and… well. You know.

Years ago after reading a letter I’d written, a dear friend remarked ‘you’re a good writer. You should be a writer’. That got me angry. ‘I am a writer!’ I screamed at him. ‘What do yo mean I should be?!’ I referred to of course, as this poor guy could hardly have known, my collection of hundreds (ok, maybe dozens) of journals in which I’d written nearly every day of my life for the past decade. For many years of my life friends would see me writing in a tiny notebook, one small enough to fit in a pocket if necessary. I’d assumed he, having seen them himself, knew of their importance. Importance to whom?

The conversation we had on that day began a now decade-old debate inside my head. Just what makes a writer a writer? Is it getting paid to write? Is it simply the quantity of material? The quality or uniqueness of the writing? Getting published perhaps? It seemed, as the anger of my reaction to his one simple statement revealed, that I myself felt being a ‘real’ writer meant being a published one. I think I got angry because I myself felt guilty. I knew I wasn’t a writer. Silly to declare that I was. I’d always wanted to express things; I’d dearly wished to connect with people who might be happy to recognize themselves and their own experiences in my observations, and so I wrote. While I had material, no one had ever read any of it as of that point. To connect with people, this was the germ of my hope, but I hadn’t come close. So my own private sense of failure had bubbled to the surface in anger. I wrote, yes. But was I a writer – yet? I knew I wasn’t. My writing existed for me alone.

So now I have this growing repertoire of posts, and in some way, they are published. Kind of. I’ve had thousands of readers visit, I have hundreds of regular readers. I know I’ve connected with people. Does this now finally make me a writer? I’m still not convinced. I don’t want this post take on a ‘poor-me, won’t you please help me with my lack of self esteem issues and validate me’ sort of tone, I really don’t. I’m just sort of wrangling with this in a public way, as I’ve been doing with all of the mundane events in my life. So on I go…

I’d always thought that being a real writer meant in part that you were paid to write. That was somewhere in the equation. But first, a writer had to be published. No money in this critical step. You know, send your stuff out to underground zines and obscure quarterly literary issues – the kind that I remember looking hand-typed way back in the day. (And honestly, the kind of publication I might pick up casually at a cafe but would find little interest in.) But before the days of the internet I wouldn’t have had a clue how to find, much less court, these publications. Then of course people will want to know how to market you. Who do you read? What authors do you like? What is your writing similar to?…  Shall I mention another guilty issue for me? I read a lot, but I have nothing to show for it. I can never remember the titles or authors once a book is finished. So if someone asks me ‘what have you read lately’, while I can recall all the places I’ve been and all the thinking I’ve done as a result of all the volumes I have indeed read lately, I can’t for the life of me remember who wrote them or what their titles were. And that is inherently disrespectful of the author, to say nothing of what a huge oversight it is in general (plus it just makes me look stupid). While it’s not an excuse, I know I’m not the only one guilty of this. It’s kinda like meeting someone at a party: you have a really interesting conversation with them, maybe even beginning to feel a real kinship with them, but you’ve forgotten their name. Now what do you do? You feel silly; you like them, but you don’t know their stupid name. If you know you’ll never see them again, you don’t really need to know their name. You now know their essence; they’ve shared their story with you – and isn’t that the part you truly take away? And if you do think you might want to see them again, you ask their name. Maybe write it down. Then you can find them again if you like. Kinda like me and a book. If I really like it, I’ll write it down. Or I’ll scribble the author’s name on a post-it (and well, there goes that). So while I read a lot, I don’t have much on paper to show for it. So that might not go over so well in an interview situation. Maybe that’s what an agent is for – to run interference. But an agent? Geez. That’s a whole nother ball of wax.

Singer/Songwriter = Writer/Thinker. That’s occurred to me.  But what good is a singer/songwriter singing alone in her basement? What good is a writer/thinker with a journal in her pocket? I need to make some forward movement here, but I’m feeling stalled. Ladies’ Home Journal is hosting a writing contest. I submitted a piece. Not sure it’s clever enough. One thing I’m realizing in this process is that my writing is done in pretty plain language. Not a lot of color or nuance. Out of the context of my blog – who I am and what I’ve gone through up til now – my writing might not hold its own. I don’t really hope to win; I just don’t feel my writing stands out in terms of craft. I’m more about getting the idea expressed and shared, and I’m not sure my voice would work in a stand-alone essay contest. We’ll see.

Btw – I am printing out my entire blog and having it spiral bound at Kinko’s (parts I and II, thank you very much) as a gift for my internet-challenged parents. So pretty soon, I’ll have something published. Sort of.

I guess I’m a writer. Maybe. I’ll keep working at it, cuz even if I’m not one yet, at least I know that I want to be.

 

20/20 Vision June 17, 2011

Filed under: An Ongoing Journal... — wingmother @ 1:40 pm
Tags: , ,

Two thousand and twenty visits to my blog. In the grand scheme, very modest. In the personal realm, a triumph. My gratitude, thanks and love to all who’ve visited and taken the time to read my stories. I appreciate your audience; it’s more meaningful to me than singing before a sold out concert hall.