One of the books I brought here to jump-start my nonfiction writing is Sweet Invisible Body: Reflections on a Life with Diabetes, by Lisa Roney. You can get a sense of the book's scope and tone from this interview with the author. On page 103 I found a handwritten post-it note, in blue felt-tip ink, that reads as follows:
7-7-00
Dear Margie,
I'm sending these books to you. Something to read & I hope it will interest you. Hang in there. I experienced same before my mom died.
-L
I was initially interested in this book because Roney is doing with diabetes what I hope to do with the food allergy book: write accessible narrative about a subject that has only been addressed in either medical guides or recipe books. What I like about the book is it's close attention to detail, and the way it uses thematic rather than chronological hubs. That said, I'd like for my book to feel a bit less "memoir"-like than this, a bit more grounded in factual research outside the self.
But this post-it hit me hard, because it captures a glimpse of my target audience: the person who wants to read something that brushes up against her life, but ultimately lifts her beyond her own painful circumstance. Not the English major or the critic so much as the daughter bearing witness for her mother, or the mother worried for her newly-diagnosed daughter. The person who needs to hear this is all part of a larger story.
January 18, 2010
January 17, 2010
VCCA: 1
Finally settled in at Virginia Center for Creative Arts--which I just noticed now has a blog--after arriving around midnight on Friday. It is always frustrating to leave DC later than intended, particularly when one gets trapped by the HOV rules for Route 66 (meaning that if you don't have 3+ folks in the car, you can't drive from 3:30 to 6:30 PM). I used the extra hours wisely, though. Just trust me.
And honestly, I would have arrived just in time for a dinner that might have killed me. If I have to take a chance on meals, I usually guess that the vegetables are safe. But the next morning I learned the chef's technique consists of "butter, salt and pepper." Which meant that tonight, my dinner consisted of falafel (minus the cucumber sauce) and bare greens. Ineligible for consideration: beef stew, egg noodles, peas. Ah well. With the nature of social eating at art colonies--in which you graze and graze, simply as an excuse to continue the conversation--I need an involuntary fast or two.
Notice how I rationalize falafel as "fasting"?
Yesterday was all a matter of nesting: introducing myself to other residents, unpacking, running out for things I'd forgotten to pack, and buying a planter of tulips, croci and daffodils for a studio that desperately needed a spot of color. The "watercolors of nature" calendar thumb-tacked to the bulletin board emphatically did not count. Who wants to be reminded of the dwindling days at an art colony?
There is a better couch in the living room. There is a new and disturbing plethora of stink bugs. The grounds are a bit muddy, but not nearly as icy as when I was last here in January 2005. It was quite a shock, upon walking into the studio kitchen, to find a poem I'd thumbtacked to the bulletin board way back when. The poem appeared in Theories of Falling under a different title, with a different dedication, and the paper is now brittle and curling at the edges. But there it was.
And honestly, I would have arrived just in time for a dinner that might have killed me. If I have to take a chance on meals, I usually guess that the vegetables are safe. But the next morning I learned the chef's technique consists of "butter, salt and pepper." Which meant that tonight, my dinner consisted of falafel (minus the cucumber sauce) and bare greens. Ineligible for consideration: beef stew, egg noodles, peas. Ah well. With the nature of social eating at art colonies--in which you graze and graze, simply as an excuse to continue the conversation--I need an involuntary fast or two.
Notice how I rationalize falafel as "fasting"?
Yesterday was all a matter of nesting: introducing myself to other residents, unpacking, running out for things I'd forgotten to pack, and buying a planter of tulips, croci and daffodils for a studio that desperately needed a spot of color. The "watercolors of nature" calendar thumb-tacked to the bulletin board emphatically did not count. Who wants to be reminded of the dwindling days at an art colony?
There is a better couch in the living room. There is a new and disturbing plethora of stink bugs. The grounds are a bit muddy, but not nearly as icy as when I was last here in January 2005. It was quite a shock, upon walking into the studio kitchen, to find a poem I'd thumbtacked to the bulletin board way back when. The poem appeared in Theories of Falling under a different title, with a different dedication, and the paper is now brittle and curling at the edges. But there it was.
January 11, 2010
Too Much Information
I've just had a breakthough idea on how to frame a freelance article I'm working on. The idea came to me in the bathtub, which is often where creative breakthroughs happen. (That would make for a heck of a BAP contributor's note: Beasley writes, "While in the bathtub"....)
*
The idea did not come to me after a 1 AM viewing of Mamma Mia!, which is unfortunate, because I was really hoping to rationalize that as a productive use of my time. I'm embarrassed to enjoy that movie as much as I do. Julie Walters' gung-ho performance is one of the main reasons, as are the numbers "Dancing Queen" (oddly tuneful) and "Money, Money, Money" (gloriously cheesy).
*
There is a rotisserie chicken in my refrigerator with "sell by" date of December 28, 2009. Last year's poultry. That bothers me, but it's not my chicken to throw away, and the owner insists he can still find use in it. I am not responsible for whatever follows from here.
*
I'm writing. Just not on the blog, not this week. But next week I'll be at Virginia Center for Creative Arts, and I look forward to posting a tour. I'll be there through the end of January, other than sneaking out for a night to read poetry at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts' "Art After Hours" program on Thursday, January 21, with sets at 6:30 & 7 PM. If you're in the area, come on out!
*
The idea did not come to me after a 1 AM viewing of Mamma Mia!, which is unfortunate, because I was really hoping to rationalize that as a productive use of my time. I'm embarrassed to enjoy that movie as much as I do. Julie Walters' gung-ho performance is one of the main reasons, as are the numbers "Dancing Queen" (oddly tuneful) and "Money, Money, Money" (gloriously cheesy).
*
There is a rotisserie chicken in my refrigerator with "sell by" date of December 28, 2009. Last year's poultry. That bothers me, but it's not my chicken to throw away, and the owner insists he can still find use in it. I am not responsible for whatever follows from here.
*
I'm writing. Just not on the blog, not this week. But next week I'll be at Virginia Center for Creative Arts, and I look forward to posting a tour. I'll be there through the end of January, other than sneaking out for a night to read poetry at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts' "Art After Hours" program on Thursday, January 21, with sets at 6:30 & 7 PM. If you're in the area, come on out!
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