Digressions

Cards

/ Lisa / 5 Comments

One of my sisters always remembered to send cards for every family holiday. Or birthday. Or special day. Or just because. She even managed to send us a beautiful card after she passed away that said ‘love you!’ inside. At Christmas every year she sent out a calendar with family dates as a gentle reminder that we, too, could remember to send out a card. Every year I opened that calendar positive that this year I would do so. I rarely did.

Another sister sends me unique bear cards. The card section in grocery stores these days are bland and boring. Hallmark cards that are all alike. When I was young stationary stores had unique cards that weren’t mass produced. This sister still finds those types of cards. It’s become a challenge for me to also find unique cards to mail her. I love my bear cards and have them around my writing space.

Today I received a card like no other I’ve seen. It was blank. Inside was a stamped envelope but with no address written on it. With the blank card and the blank envelope was a slip of paper. This is what it said.

‘I wanted to send a note to say thank you for the food and friendship you provided to Bruce this summer. When this started we had no idea where we were headed and as things came to the conclusion, and Bruce made choices for his life path, he was grateful for the love and care and kindness you provided…Don’t forget to write. This note provides you the opportunity (and a request) to write to someone you care about by sending the writing out in the note card and passing it forward through the US mail.’

Don’t forget to write.

When my oldest sister was still alive the three of us shared something like a chain card. I can’t remember who started it, but one of us would receive it, add a chatty note, and mail it on to the next one. It would then circle back and keep going. It never got to the point where we had to mail it in a big box, but it was like an ongoing diary kept by three sisters. We still have that and can pull it out and see the handwriting and hear the voices in the words.

Sending on this blank card to someone I care about seems profound somehow. It feels like honoring the sister who always remembered to send us mail. It feels like sending the friendship of the one who passed away out into the wind to wing its way into the unknown. It feels like giving stories, and at the same time, like giving the gift of a blank paper for someone else’s story that needs to be told.

What an amazing gift I received in the mail today. The power of the blank piece of paper. The love and grieving and hope from someone I care about. The opportunity to reach out to someone else I care about. I don’t know how I will choose. I might have to go shopping for a cart-full of blank cards and envelopes.

Don’t forget to write.

Transitions

/ Lisa / 11 Comments

I’ve been thinking a lot about transitions lately. Those thresholds, cusps, cracks, that make us jump, stumble, stop, that bring us fear, joy, hope.

The old dog, ready to go. On the floor with her, hands on her, arms around her, tears in her fur, as she transitions.

Hair. Once red. Lost to radiation. Lost to grief. Came back each time, which is a metaphor for life, isn’t it? And now, transitioning to the color of age.

A friend, preparing. Giving us poems and stories and songs to hold for later. Us, standing on the edge of a lake, raising a glass, as the friend steps over that threshold.

Summer, slipping into coolness and rain and snow.

Trees, getting ready to let go.

Spiders, getting ready to hang on.

It strikes me that right now, my life is surrounded by transitions that have been difficult. I have to pause and work at finding positive changes.

The son, moving on to the next stage in his life and me, hoping.

Reclaiming my writing space, hoping the words will be there. Making the same space usable for friends, hoping they will be there.

Definitely a positive for me, waiting for the return of rain.

Finishing a book and starting a new one. Leaving one world for another.

Me, hoping again, the new gray hair will transition to something dramatic, like big stripes on each side.

Transitions are just endings and beginnings. Nothing new or profound there, but still, something to remember. A beginning is an ending and an ending is a beginning.

In the meantime, I will step outside and listen, hoping to hear the owl in the night singing the path as our friend begins something new, without us.

And me, out there waiting for the wind to bring the rain.

Libraries and the Internal Critic

/ Lisa / 10 Comments

One of the challenges for authors is the difficulty of reaching a wide audience. In a world with trillions of stories it’s nearly impossible to float to the top and become visible. Add to that those writers who take the independent (indie) path to publishing and it’s even harder.

One thing that helps authors get into bookstores is if their book is available through library systems. If libraries carry your book, then a bookstore is more willing to take an author seriously.

So how does an indie author with no big publishing house/contract behind them get into a library system? One way is to spend money through places like Ingram Sparks. These are reputable organizations that review your book and help you go through the process of being added to library catalogs. I’ve gone back and forth about this because it’s hard for me to part with money.

Another option is to check your email one day and find out you’ve been added to the Indie Washington Program which puts indie authors into library catalogs in the state they live in. This is a program through the Office of the Secretary of the State of Washington Library system and part of something called Biblioboard. Each state has this program. Books are submitted, vetted, and hopefully added. Although not all library systems are part of the Indie Project yet.

This Deep Panic is now part of Indie Washington. I’ve been sitting on the news because I’m full of contradictory emotions and not quite sure if I’m excited or sad. So I decided to break those emotions down here.

Excited. Something I wrote is now available to library patrons. Fearful. Now more people will realize I’m not a very good writer. Ashamed. I’m not good enough to wear the label of ‘author’ so I don’t belong in this space. Discouraged. I haven’t been writing for personal reasons and now I’ll let people down. Pressured. I better figure out this angst and ask some new stories to come visit. A bit stupid. I know better than to listen to my cruel inner critic.

As you’ll see from the list above, there are far more negative emotions than positive. I’m working on that and the first step is confessing here that some people out there thought something I wrote, something that lived in my imagination, should be in a library.

That’s what I shall try to focus on rather than that damn inner critic’s voice. My friends and my husband are excited for me so I’ll fake it until I believe them. Promise.

And in case you’re wondering, all these photos were taken over the two days of filming the book trailer for This Deep Panic. Two perfect days with laughter and rain and friends and a silent inner critic.