Observation Day

Posted on January 22, 2013 by ltownsdin

It was a day to get out of my chair, out of my story, out of my house, and out of my town.

Mid-week San Francisco morning, I cut through hurrying crowds of people, chin tucked into my scarf against bitter chill winds whipping through the caverns of downtown high rises, and steered toward the Embarcadero. Once there, my cheeks rose to meet the sun and I unwound my knitted scarf.

I browsed in the Ferry Building shops until the heady mix of aromas—farmer’s market vegetables, designer olive oils and chocolate, coffee, delicate teas and Tasty Salted Pig Parts—drove me back out to the Embarcadero.

Tasty Salted Pig Parts

I set out with Piers and Bay on my right, street traffic on my left, the city in the background, and above that the hillside of stacked houses leading to Coit Tower.

Street musicians, chattering tour groups, tables of crocheted hats, jewelry and sunglasses caught in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t stop. Offered rides on gaudy bicycle carts, I declined, sailing along on my own two feet.

After walking a couple of miles, I stopped at Pier 45 and boarded a merchant marine ship built to take supplies to Allied fighting forces in World War II. It’s considered a National Historic Landmark.

Descending steep ladders to the bowels of the engine room and back up to the bow and gun stations, and ducking my head into compact crew cabins, I gained a sense of a different time and place and a healthy respect for the people who built this ship (mostly women), crossed the ocean in it and the fighting troops they served.

Deck of SS Jeremiah O’Brian, a WWII Merchant Marine vessel berthed at Pier 45.

It felt good to spend some time soaking up sights, sounds, sunshine and a little history on a Wednesday in San Francisco. I would sit at my desk in my house in my town and write again on Thursday.

Reading our Fears

Posted on January 9, 2013 by ltownsdin

How-to books, motivational gurus and courses proliferate telling us how to how to fight, control or eradicate fear, so imagine my delight when I watched this TED talk by Karen Walker Thompson about looking at our fears as stories we tell ourselves.

Who doesn’t love stories?

Thompson said we are the authors of our fears. She talked about fear “as an act of imagination,” and said fears are unintentional stories complete with plots, characters, images and suspense.

Fears fuel creativity and writers have always used fear as fodder for stories. Being human means dealing with fears on all levels all the time. Parents fear for the wellbeing of their children, most of us have money fears at one point in our lives. Even if we have plenty, we fear losing it. If we’re healthy, we fear sickness. Many of us fear death and some people even fear success.

Thompson also says we are the readers of our fears.

We use our imaginations to predict what could happen in our lives. Choosing the scariest scenario causes the biggest emotional wallop so that’s the one we fear will happen. That process enables writers to create believable situations based on real emotions.

Now I’m looking at fear in an entirely new light. Without my fears, I’d never be able to create the stories I write. Instead of being captive to my fears, I can consciously use them to my advantage. It feels like an epiphany.

And

Posted on January 1, 2013 by ltownsdin

In my Friday night writing group our prompt was to pick a word for the year as a guide and companion. The prompt was based on a blog Nevada City poet Molly Fisk wrote about finding a word as an alternative to a list of resolutions. It turned out to be the perfect catalyst for finding my own word for 2013.

My word was AND. It arrived with a pop after mulling over words like ALLOW and FLOW (as in go with the flow). I even considered some hyphenated words, like sovereign-self. I read that in a book and loved the idea of being a sovereign-self the way Native Americans have sovereign laws and lands.

I thought of choosing two words. WHAT and IF are two of my favorite word combos. WHAT IF is almost as good as AND.

I thought of my favorite phrases, but the process was getting away from me so I went back to the one word. The one true word to carry with me for an entire year.

My ego wanted a word that was unique and cool, so I tried to shake off AND. But no, the lowly and overused and much abused AND was my word. The AND of run-on sentences.

And yet, simply saying it out loud lifted my spirits. I realized that AND has a higher calling, maybe even the highest calling of all words. It’s definitely loftier than OR and more decisive than BUT.

It’s inclusive. It means I can work on two novels simultaneously. I don’t have to choose. I could even work on three at once if I wanted to, and write short stories and prose poems and….

AND works across all areas of life. It brings relief to any obstacle or setback. I can feel sad AND know I’m still okay. It’s liberating to add any amount of them to wish lists and goals. It’s a word that means infinity, endless acceptance, endless adventure, experiences and possibilities.

Do you have a guiding word for 2013?

Found Poem

Image

Walk On

Posted on December 12, 2012 by ltownsdin

I said goodbye to my old dog yesterday. We walked at least twice a day together for almost four years, until she couldn’t anymore. Native Americans use the phrase “walking on” when someone dies and I like to think that’s what she’s doing. The piece below is based on a prompt from my Friday writing group.

Following Dog

Arms pumping, iTunes pounding in my ears, I’m on my daily run through the neighborhood. Past the foreclosed house, past the homes that line Locust Street, where last week a flock of wild turkeys stopped traffic. I turn right onto Bellwood, trying to get a decent workout with New Year’s Eve champagne sloshing in my stomach, when a black dog stares at me from someone’s lawn. I wonder if the owners know it’s loose, but I don’t stop. I have my route to finish.

I turn a corner and the dog evaporates from my mind. Ten minutes later I’m rounding the cul de sac on Wildflower Way, my final stretch. I move to cross the street and trip over something. The black dog. It must have been on my heels for blocks. Creepy.

I feel along the grimy pink collar. No tags. I walk back to Bellwood and try every house on the street, but no takers. I don’t have the energy to continue knocking on doors.

She’s a lab or shepherd, maybe terrier mix, about forty pounds. White muzzle, half-moon scar on her side, an arrow-shaped one near it. Another on her leg. She whimpers and scratches at her right ear. I lift it to take a look and gag at the stench. I drop the ear to hide the infected mess inside.

I call the SPCA, but everything is closed on New Year’s Day, even the vet. Animal rescue says an old, sick dog won’t be kept more than forty-eight hours. I take her picture and post a found dog notice on craigslist and the newspaper and plaster the neighborhood with posters.

We go to the vet the next day. They name her Lucky. She also has abscessed teeth so we’re there a long time. The vet can’t believe a dog in that much pain could be so sweet-tempered. We head home with three kinds of meds.

No one claims her. Not that I would give her back to anyone who could let an animal suffer like that. She doesn’t bark. She doesn’t pay attention to other dogs except small white fluffy ones. She is infinitely patient with children. People pet her but she shows no interest.

We don’t know each other’s history. I don’t know how she got her scars and she doesn’t know how I got mine.

It’s New Year’s Day a year later and I’m running through the neighborhood with Lucky at my heels. She follows me, whether I sit at my desk, or walk to the kitchen or go to bed. She’s interested in my every move and grins when she sees me even after a short separation. Everyone says she is lucky to have found me, but they have it backward.