Stopping to Kiss the Roses

by Laurel Corona

Life has a way, doesn’t it?

It’s been a little over a year since I lost my beloved Jim to cancer, and exactly a year since I moved into a shabby-chic little rental near the San Diego Zoo.  I kept to my routine I established when I lived with him downtown near the bay, of walking to the college where I teach, passing every day by the rose garden that was one of Jim’s and my favorite stops on weekend afternoons.  

I sprinkled some of his ashes under many of the rose bushes, and for several months I could still see signs of them under one yellow and one white rose bush. I have paused in front of those two bushes coming and going over this past year, just to say hello, catch Jim up on my life, and whisper my appreciation for him. 

 I think there is something profound about the idea of mourning for twelve months and a day, because getting through the anniversary is such a big step.  I have now done without him all holidays, birthdays, memories of special times, and have relived the pain of those last days and hours.  Slowly, I have moved on, found my balance, retrieved the spring in my step. Little by little I have found there is less to say when I stop, though I always brush my lips against one of the roses which have taken in what I brought of him to that spot. Amazing how much rose petals feel like lips, and how truly I felt kissed back.

I don’t cry anymore when I talk to Jim. The vision of him in his sailor cap smelling a flower is dimmer now. That’s all right.  It all still really happened. 

Sometime this spring I learned that I would need to sign another year lease where I was living. Since I hadn’t planned to stay, but didn’t want to buy anything while I was unclear about my life, I decided the time was right to make the commitment of buying a place of my own.  Last week I moved into a beautiful one-bedroom condo on the other side of Balboa Park, with a spectacular view of downtown, the bay, Point Loma, and the ocean beyond.  

I won’t be passing by the rose garden anymore, though I will be making the occasional special trip.  Instead, I bought a large armful of beautiful artificial yellow and white roses to put in my new home.  No, they don’t kiss as well, but they are a way of saying that we never completely say goodbye.  

Perhaps, though, it’s a good thing for both of us that my move created a natural end to my stops in the garden. Jim, you are free to take on the universe without worrying about me anymore.  Now I am free to take on the other side of the park and the life that goes with it.  

. 

Going to the Festival

By Caitlin Rother

Being invited to participate in the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books this past weekend to discuss my latest book, LOST GIRLS, was a great honor for me, a personal and professional milestone as well as an opportunity to see and hear some of my favorite authors speak on various panels.

Books have always been a part of my life. Ever since I was a little girl I have been a voracious reader, riding my bike home from the library with the straps of my little canvas backpack digging into my shoulders from the weight of a stack of hardcovers. I kept a checklist too, so that when I finished each one I could check it off. Mission accomplished.

Growing up, I read stories about magic gardens, fantasy and all those classics about times gone past. Later, I went into the darkness: neurotic women, dangerous men, medical mysteries, forensics and murder. I spent many late nights turning pages, with characters taking me on trips into the beyond and detectives solving puzzles. Escaping.

Sometimes it was about the writing, or studying the craft, or learning the formula or searching for inspiration. But for as long as I can remember, it was a goal and a dream of mine to have a book published. The authors I chose – sometimes reading most every book they wrote – were my role models. They represented what I wanted to be. And that hasn’t changed.

Last week, I was thrilled and humbled to join them on those stages, and yet I was also at the festival as a fan, listening and learning. Watching and taking it all in. Overwhelmed by all the information they imparted and seeing that they were real people too, eating soup and salad at the next table in the Green Room.

Many of them still are who and where I want to be someday, so I took notes on things they said, things I could do to emulate them, and to pass on to you folks here on the blog. Here are a few tips I want to share, some of which I already do and some I aspire to myself:

1. Some of these authors said they write every day, whether it’s 500 or 1,000 words, or more if they are on a roll. Sometimes they just do what they can, or when they are in the zone, they simply go until they run out of steam.
2. Sit your butt in the chair or at your desk and don’t get up until you do get those words down, even if it’s just a writing exercise you give yourself to break through the blocks.
3. If you run into a block or feel yourself fading or stuck, switch gears, pick up another project or task. Just. Keep. Going.
4. Keep in mind that even the best authors experience rejection (with the exception of one of my favorites -- Ann Patchett, who I’ve heard say had her very first short story AND first novel both accepted on first try by a reputable literary journal and publisher, respectively.)
5. To keep your name out there and to maintain and expand your platform, write short stories, essays and op-ed pieces in addition to a continuous stream of books. (This is where I started wondering, when do these people sleep?)
6. Don’t focus on the book that’s about to come out. You’ve already finished that one. Always be thinking about and working on the next one. Keep the momentum going. (I do recommend taking a break in between, though, because too many books written too fast can drain your creative juices.)
7. Stay up to date on changes in the publishing industry. It is changing faster than you can say “New York Times bestseller.” Start thinking “singles,” i.e. 30,000 word pieces published online.
8. When you get rejected, get the hell up and back at it. (I’m well acquainted with that one.) To me, persistence and rebounding are the two keys to getting published and staying published.
9. Don’t expect that once you write your book that your job is finished, that it will sell itself. If you aren’t big enough for your publisher to send you on a book tour (most of us aren’t), then get to work months in advance to come up with a promotions plan of your own.
10. Seriously, and above all, don’t expect to get rich. Books, for the most part, don’t pay much, so you’d better really love the journey, the writing and the writing life. And feel like you couldn’t live without it. And be sure to enjoy the occasional highs and joyous surprises, as I just did, of getting your panel discussion televised live on C-SPAN. Sometimes they come when you least expect it.

 Write on.

New York Times bestselling author Caitlin Rother, a Pulitzer-nominee who worked as an investigative reporter for nearly 20 years, has written or co-authored eight books: Poisoned Love, Deadly Devotion/Where Hope Begins, My Life, Deleted, Body Parts, Twisted Triangle, Naked Addiction, and Dead Reckoning. Her latest book is Lost Girls, about the murder of innocents Chelsea King and Amber Dubois by sexual predator John Gardner. Next up is I'll Take Care of You. For more information, please check her website, http://caitlinrother.com. 

"Testing... Testing..."

by Elizabeth Cobbs Hoffman

It might be assumed that a “writer’s tricks” are about fooling readers. For me, it’s about fooling myself.

New projects are intimidating, so I begin by telling myself that I’m not a great writer, just a good one. I don’t have to be literary, merely clear. I’m composing a new version of Fun With Dick and Jane rather than the Great American Novel.

But I’m happy in retrospect, having just completed a new work of American history, to find I can at least clear one bar.

Another blogger recently asked me to take the “Page 99” test established by the great English poet, novelist, and literary critic Ford Madox Ford. (His parents must have had that wacky British sense of humor.)

Ford famously said, "Open the book [any book] to page ninety-nine and read, and the quality of the whole will be revealed to you."

I fretted of course. What if page 99 of American Umpire (released March 4 by Harvard University Press) was a blank sheet between chapters, or worse, filled with the antlike footnotes that spell geek?

But I now feel I can look Ford in the eye at a Bloomsbury soiree.

Turning to page 99 of American Umpire, I found the dramatis personae all on stage in their customary poses. The year was 1823. The American president (played in this scene by cleft-chinned James Monroe) worries that the United States is unprepared for foreign threats. Craven Cabinet members echo and amplify his fears. The Secretary of State (starring the prickly, gimlet-eyed John Quincy Adams) suffers fools silently, if not gladly, and bides his time before introducing the solution he knows will take others by surprise. Off stage, British Foreign Minister George Canning is overheard in soliloquy, plotting the grand strategy of the Pax Britannica.

On page 99 and throughout, American Umpire re-examines the familiar terrain of U.S. foreign relations between 1776 and the present, discovering new overlooks and hidden trails that reveal the nation’s place on the terrain of world history.

The first thing it finds is that—contrary to many scholarly and even casual critics—the United States is not an empire. Instead, because of its unusual federal structure, the government has always functioned as a kind of umpire, compelling states’ adherence to rules that gradually earned collective approval.

My book traces America’s role in the world from the days of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Franklin D. Roosevelt to the present. It argues that the United States has been the pivot of a transformation that began outside its borders, in which nation-states replaced the empires that had dominated history. The “Western” values that America is often accused of imposing were the result of this global shift. American Umpire finds that the United States has been distinctive not in its embrace of these new values but in its willingness to persuade and even coerce others to comply. Yet there are costs, some quite terrible. Taking sides in explosive disputes imposes significant financial and psychic burdens. By definition, umpires cannot win.

On page 99, my umpire looks outside the domestic ballpark for the first time, and onto the international playing field. Uncle Sam must decide whether to join with Great Britain in defending the right of Spain’s colonies to declare independence. The larger question on Page 99 is whether America should guarantee “international security” to ensure its own–or not?

Here, friends, is Page 99. Tell me. Did I pass the test, or am I fooling myself again?

*****
American Umpire, by Elizabeth Cobbs Hoffman (Harvard University Press)...

The offer was an extraordinary compliment coming from the victor of Waterloo. For the first time in its brief history, the United States was being asked to sign on to a high-level international diktat. George Canning, foreign secretary of the United Kingdom and America’s former adversary, courted Washington’s opinion.

Only the U.S. secretary of state, John Quincy Adams, disagreed. He shrewdly waited until others had vented their enthusiasm and then appealed to every politician’s soft spot: vanity. Britain wanted to deter France and Spain from forcibly re-imposing imperial control over the breakaway Latin republics. This was splendid. Adams himself had acerbically lectured Britain’s minister in Washington that “the whole system of modern colonization is an abuse of government and it is time that it should come to an end.” But America ought to proudly issue its own preemptive declaration, he said, rather than rowing behind the Royal Navy. “It would be more candid, as well as more dignified,” Adams observed, “to avow our principles explicitly to Russia and France than to come in as a cock-boat in the wake of a British man-of-war.” Actually, it would have been more candid for the United States to acknowledge that the whole idea of a public protest had been England’s from the start.

By the end of the long afternoon, Monroe was nearly persuaded. The president certainly did not wish to be seen as deferring to the United Kingdom, not after the United States had just lost 2,200 men defending its honor on land and sea in the War of 1812. Not after the carpenters and painters had just finished restoring the burned-out shell of the White House, torched by British troops in 1814. But with the weight of the country on his shoulders, Monroe remained anxious that Spain, France, and Russia might send as many as 10,000 troops to quell republicanism in the Americas. He could not quite bring himself to adopt Adams’s breezy self-confidence. Britain was the only country equipped to stop the menacing European powers. Prudence counseled acceptance of its offer.

http://www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog.php?isbn=9780674055476

 

Dealing with Bad Reviews

by Margaret Dilloway

Today, I read J.A. Konrath's tongue-in-cheek blog about how to deal with bad reviews. Which got me to thinking how I deal with reading my own bad reviews.

It used to be a lot more difficult, when I was newer and my skin was as thin and pink as a naked molerat's. I'd read all the Amazon and Goodreads posts and fret.

But I never responded, no matter how much I wanted to. It's counterproductive-- it makes people feel defensive and it makes you, the author, look too sensitive and egomaniacal. If I get a bad review on a blog, sometimes I'll thank them for reading it anyway, because I am happy that the blogger at least looked at it.

These days, I hardly ever read my reviews. If I see a five or four star, and thus know it's completely brilliant critique, I read it. It's just so easy for everybody in the world these days to have a big old fat opinion about everything.

It's like when I watch the news. Every station in the world does this Twitter thing now. They discuss a story, and then the anchor says, "Let's see what people are saying on TWITTER!" and then they broadcast a bunch of Tweets with whatever their hashtag is. As if a bunch of random people have valid, newsworthy opinions about complicated subjects that they can express in 140 characters or less.

I guess allowing everybody to voice their opinions is very egalitarian. But what if they're not basing their opinions on a reasonable critique, but something like, "I wish Dilloway wrote about outerspace instead and left Japan out of it. Or had more recipes. I only like sci-fi and cookbooks. One star"?  It's even worse when people who didn't bother reading the book give you reviews. Those should be deleted. If you did not read the book, at least lie about having read it.

Still, I don't say anything. You will never win. People like to argue. It's not just on the Internet. People argue with me during bookclub discussions all the time. They challenge me over imaginary characters-- characters that I wrote.  And readers say shocking things to my face all the time-- things you would think they'd only be comfortable with saying on an anonymous Internet forum.

Which brings me to this revelation I've recently had. Once you write a book and put it out into the world, it is no longer yours. I feel this way when I speak at book clubs-- like I'm engaging in a literature class discussion about the book, like I'm no more knowledgeable about the book than anyone else in the world.

So these days, I just take reviews less personally. It's an individual reader experience. I can't force someone else to like anything.

And please, if you read my book and wished it was a different book, then feel free to go ahead and write the book in your head. But don't judge the actual book against the imaginary one.

San Diego Writing Women: a Tribute

by Susan McBeth

March 31, 2013

Easter Sunday seems like the perfect time for this token non-published member of the San Diego Writing Women to count my blessings and honor each of  the eleven talented authors that comprise this  elite group.

Kathi Diamant is the dynamo who invited me to attend my first SDWW meeting, and I will forever be grateful.  I first met Kathi at a book signing event and was impressed with her energy, intelligence, enthusiasm, and vivacious personality.  Fast forward a few months later when I encountered a situation which drew remarkably similar parallels to Kathi ‘s search for Kafka’s “Last Love,” Dora Diamant.  I invited Kathi to lunch for advice on how to proceed with my situation, and not only did she offer impeccable advice, but that meeting changed my life when she demonstrated through word and deed the power of a supportive woman.

Marjorie Hart will always hold a special place in my heart and ranks as the dearest author I have ever had the privilege to meet.  The words “sweet,” “authentic,” “charming,” and “humble” don’t even begin to describe this talented octogenarian whom I am proud to call a friend.  Like everyone who meets her, I fell in love with Marjorie the first time I met her, so much so that I have made it my personal mission to ensure that everybody I know has read her Summer at Tiffany.  When I founded Adventures by the Book a little over two years ago, Marjorie honored me by being the first author I ever hosted an event for, and it will forever remain my favorite event.

Laurel Corona is talented and accomplished, of course, but it wasn’t until I really got to know her that I learned about the positive, supportive, and happy woman behind the beauty and brains.  I will never forget the moment she was seared into my heart forever.  At one of my first SDWW meetings when I was just starting Adventures by the Book, Laurel immediately shared her trust and faith in my new endeavor and asked if I would host an event for her.  When I expressed concern that I might not yet be in a position to offer her the event she deserved, without hesitation, her reply “I still choose you!”  forever seared her into my heart.

Zohreh Ghahremani stormed onto the book scene in an enormous manner as a One Book One San Diego winner, which is kind of ironic considering she comes in such a petite package.  But anyone who knows Zoe quickly learns that her size is the only thing small about her.  I marvel how such a tiny package can be filled with such an enormously caring, generous, and thoughtful spirit.  I have had the privilege of attending many of Zoe’s events, and it is evident that she has an enormous effect on everybody, and is able to connect with people in a big manner.

Caitlin Rother is the brilliant force behind SDWW and works tirelessly to ensure that this talented group of women remain a united, supportive force.  With a successful investigative journalist background, Caitlin often comes under fire for the controversial and difficult stories she writes, but it takes a special person to forge ahead with the passion and energy she possesses in spite of those challenges.  For that, I admire her immensely, and hope that I can forge ahead with her courage whenever I have to face my own professional challenges.

I immediately connected with Judy Liu because of our common bond in telling our mother’s stories, but I remain connected with Judy because she really has it all.  Brilliant? Check.  Successful?  Check.  Caring? Check.  Compassion? Check.  Honored daughter? Check.   She is a valued daughter, writer, educator, and  friend, yet she possesses a special gift that makes you feel the valued one when you are in her presence.

Margaret Dilloway is a wife, a mother, and a bestselling author, and it is clear that her subtle sense of humor is one of the resources she draws upon to succeed in all three roles.  I look forward to every interaction with Margaret, whether it is in person, via book, or via social media, because I can be sure that in each instance, I will come away smiling and appreciative of her talents and her humor.

To say that Georgeanne Irvine is the most passionate author I know is a huge statement, because every author I know is passionate about what they do, but I stand by my statement, and I am always recharged by her enthusiasm.  Case in point:  on a recent San Diego Zoo trip to India, George achieved a lifelong goal to spot a python in the wild, and to hear her tell the story is a treat, so make sure to ask her about it so that you, too, can become ignited by her fire.

Divina Infusino, Elizabeth Cobbs Hoffman, and Caitlin O’Connell are the three members of SDWW whom I haven’t gotten to know very well yet, but how exciting is it that I have that to look forward to?!

San Diego Writing Women – I thank you for your gift of the written word and for your gift of support and friendship.

The Writing Workshop

By: Marjorie Hart

"Belong to a writing workshop," the pamphlet read. "Write your story." When Cuyamaca College advertised this program of Creative Writing in 1999 it caught my attention. Writing workshops are nothing new, but for me it was a surprise--if you can still be surprised at age seventy-five. As soon as I found Cuyamaca College on the map, I signed up with a little trepidation. Going back to school at my age? Hadn't I had enough of classrooms? For thirty years I taught Music History and related courses at the University of San Diego and typed the nights away writing academic papers. My husband couldn't believe I was signing up, but I knew creative writing was a far different craft and foreign to me. .

On a Tuesday morning in September, I carried my briefcase with sharpened pencils and a yellow legal pad ready to take notes. How nice, I thought, to hear someone else lecture and make the preparations; it would be fun to be a student again. However, instead of a lecture, we were given an assignment. "Bring your writing with copies for the class next week." We would read and critique each other's writings. What kind of a class was this? Not even books to buy? Looking around, I found the room filled with Seniors--old Seniors. Good Heavens!

I was ready the next Tuesday, but embarrassed to pass out my copies.The high quality of writing from the class was stunning. Before my turn, a former high school principal read a hilarious story of when he was in first grade, capturing the dialogue like a pro, then a woman, the editor of the Audubon newsletter, read an exquisite piece about a bird sanctuary. When a tall, lean man read a touching poem about his wife who had Alzheimer's, his kind blue eyes misted. Mine did also. Later, I learned he attracted a wide audience in poetry circles. There would be no critique from me that day, only high praise.  

That afternoon was unforgettable.  What better way to learn how to write? How could I attain the high bar they had raised? At the end of the semester the instructor collected submissions for a book called Gray Matters. "You're published!!" she cried and we laughed. Those "old" seniors became my teacher, my unrelenting support and more important, my endearing friends.

Right Brain feels oh, so right!

By: Zoe Ghahremani

When asked what is music, Victor Hugo said, " Music expresses something that cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent." Art is the same as  it expresses what there are no words for. When you love a painting, it speaks volumes to you. The right side of the brain is so right! In defies separation of words from color, sound, or light. It's an umbrella for all that and the possibilities have no end.

Sometimes I think I must have known this as a child as I recall a time when nothing could stop me from discovering new artistic projects. I gave hand-made gifts on birthdays, wrote lyrics to my favorite tunes, cut pictured off magazines to make a collage. I sewed dresses, knitted sweaters, and learned to weave my own straw hats. While being pushed into science , and in the absence of formal training, I became a child poet, wrote short stories, and painted what I was unable to write. To this day, the interchange continues to fascinate me and that alone may be the reason I’ve never experienced what we call “a writer’s block."

With the ongoing events in Iran, the last chapters of Sky of Red Poppies kept on changing. Over the years, while writing and rewriting this story, from time to time I let my poppies rest on a canvas. The present cover of this novel comes from one such painting. To me, they are but volumes of the same book, whose words can only be understood by those who know art. Why did I use turquoise instead of a sky blue? You may be familiar with the Persian Turquoise, but did you know that in Persian poetry, “the turquoise dome” is a metaphor for sky? When I describe a scene, my mind paints, and in creating characters, words become my fine brush. In short, where the pen fails, “right brain” is so free, it has no trouble finding a suitable substitute.

This year, after I finished my final touches on The Moon Daughter, I left the computer and hid myself in a room with a big “Do not disturb” sign on its door. The result is my little “Moon Daughter”, who now sits on the cover of the newly released novel. Maybe there will never be a border between my outlets of expression. Then again, why should there be?

Yes, I am indeed a right brainer and I thank God for it every emotional day of my life!  

The Birth of the Mini Book Proposal

By Divina Infusino

Of all the questions would-be non-fiction authors ask me about the publishing process, the most difficult to answer is: Should I write a book proposal?

If you intend to submit your book to a major publisher, or even a mid-level or small one, the answer is unequivocally yes. Just the slightest bit of research on the publishing world indicates that unless you are Rihanna or George Clooney with a tell-all in your hip pocket, you cannot sell a book on an idea. Even Tina Fey had to write a six page proposal for Bossypants.

But non-fiction publishers also aren’t looking for a full book submission either. They want a proposal that nails the concept in the overview, thoroughly summarizes the chapters, positions the book and analyzes it for the marketplace,  provides a practical promotional strategy and offers one or two sample chapters.  (The one non-fiction area where publishers often do ask for the entire book is memoir.)

The book proposal question is getting harder for me to answer because so many new authors are increasingly becoming self-publishers by default. They begin with dreams of Random House waving a six figure contract in front of them. But once writers get the news via agents or other professionals on what it takes to get a book deal these days (Hint: Are you already famous in another field, with at least 15,000 Facebook followers?), they start checking out the myriad of self-publishing platforms.

So if you think you may self-publish, should you just skip the time-consuming book proposal process?
My response is a qualified no.

The book proposal is a sales tool, but it is also a plan that can only make any publishing endeavor better. The questions that large publishers raise are the same questions you should be answering if you are self- publishing.

*What does your book offer that other books do not? 

*What makes you an expert on the topic?

*Do you have a solid outline in place before you start writing the book?

*How do you expect to market it anyway? Magical thinking does not work in book publishing. You must have a realistic plan for letting people know it exists.

So if you are contemplating the self-publishing route, my suggestion is to write a mini-proposal. Include all the elements but without the formality that a full book proposal requires.  Use your mini-proposal as a strategy for publishing a book that you will not only write, but people might actually read.

You will save yourself a lot of time and frustration. And if, in the end, you decide to look for a publisher instead, you are already on your way.

How Not to Write a Memoir: Ten Easy Steps 

by Kathi Diamant

Dear Writers and Readers,

Perhaps you’ve tried some these methods yourself. If not, trust me. These ten steps work. And although I didn’t mention procrastination, or beating around the bush, or not figuring how what it is you really want to say, circuiting the point as long as possible, with no further clamor, here it is. My best advice on how NOT write a memoir:

 

1. Take lots of writing classes, memoir classes, even master workshops on memoir. And then don’t follow up with actual writing. 
2. Make your memoir the most important accomplishment of your life. Believe that unless you write your memoir, your life will be spent in shallows and in miseries. 
3. Start your memoir. Finish Chapter One. Rewrite Chapter One. Rewrite it again. Keep rewriting Chapter One. Never start Chapter Two. 
4. Be afraid, very afraid, of hurting someone’s feelings with your memoir.
5. Refuse to show your memoir to anyone, or open it up for critique, because “it’s not ready yet.”
6. Apply for a grant or residency to write your memoir, and when you don’t get it, use that as an excuse not to write it.
7. Teach memoir classes. And then ignore your own advice.
8. Reserve your memoir’s title with a domain name on the World Wide Web. Leave the site blank. Don’t do anything at all with it, except pay for it every two years.  
9. Decide your memoir really is not that important, no one will be interested in reading it anyway. 
10. Give it up. 

Kathi Diamant, in stores since 1895 (Berlin, 2012)

***

Okay. I tried, but I can’t do it. I can’t end this piece there. That last step is from the title of a short story by Franz Kafka. But that’s the one thing I can’t do. I’ve done all the others, but I can’t give up. And as Kafka said, “As long as you keep climbing there will be steps. They will magically appear under your climbing feet.”

Kathi Diamant has been working, or not working, on her memoir “108 Coincidences: Adventures with Kafka and Dora” or “Finding Dora, Getting Kafka” for at least two decades. In the meanwhile she wrote a biography, “Kafka’s Last Love”, which received the Geisel Award “Best of the Best” at the 2003 San Diego Book Awards, and is published in translation in Spain, France, Russia, China, Brazil and finally this year in Germany. An Adjunct Professor at SDSU, Kathi is currently teaching Memoir Writing classes this quarter at SDSU Osher Institute. http://kathidiamant.com

Writing: Paving the Way to Emotional Healing

Note: After writing this column, Georgeanne left for a three-week journey to India, to lead a tour for the San Diego Zoo. Two days later, on February 19, 2013, Dorothy Irvine passed away. We at San Diego Writing Women offer our sincerest condolences to Georgeanne and her family.  

By Georgeanne Irvine

It’s always rewarding when people are touched by something I’ve written.  I’m truly amazed by the unexpected responses I received from a short story I wrote late last year about appreciating and cherishing who my 94-year-old mother is now, even though Alzheimer’s has ravaged her mind and her vocabulary.

Initially, I wrote and posted it as my Writing Women blog on December 7, 2012:  Mom’s Limited World of Words: Priceless. But then, in light of the Sandy Hook Elementary School tragedy, I decided I didn’t want to send out my usual Christmas letter featuring funny animal stories and tales of my travels. Instead, I sent out a version of my mother’s story with the preface: “’Tis the season to reflect on the people we love in our lives and truly appreciate them for who they are.”

The notes and emails poured in, and I also received phone calls and exchanged many in-person conversations about my mom and her situation. I heard from friends in faraway places such as India, Australia, and Europe. Many people confided that they were dealing with the same situation with a spouse or parent. Others said they shared the story with their friends and family. Some, who had no personal experience with an Alzheimer’s patient were thankful for information about this debilitating brain disease.  A friend, who is a columnist for a major publication, was moved by the story and hopes to use excerpts in a future column. 

For me, the overall experience of writing the story and hearing back from so many people has been incredibly healing to me emotionally.  It has also made me even more aware of everything Mom says—so much so that now I take a notepad with me every time I visit her just in case she says something special.  I now have both an email file and a hard file labeled “Mom Said” for my notes.

Since I wrote the story in early December, Mom has provided me with several more “gift moments” to treasure.  She rarely speaks at all anymore but a few of my favorite gems are below.

At the dinner table, Mom hiccupped.  I was surprised when she piped up with “Excuse me.”  Another evening at dinner she coughed, pointed at her chest, and said, “There’s something bad in there” followed by “I think it’s getting better.”  My favorite dinner conversation was when the dining room emptied out and I asked Mom where everybody went.  Her response was, “Did they die?” 

A few other brief conservations just plain tickled me! This first one didn’t make much sense, but at least it was an exchange between us:

I said, “Hi Mom.  I’m Georgeanne.”  She paused for a moment and said, "And I'm Mrs. Smith."  I'm not sure who Mrs. Smith is but at least she comprehended what I was saying.  Her comment made me giggle, which made her smile.  Then I asked, “What did you do today?”  Mom replied, “Well, we cut the cashews,” which resulted in another giggle from me and another smile from Mom. 

This next conversation happened in early January when Mom was particularly alert and surprisingly very perky—I’d have to rate it as the best one of this year.  She kept talking and making incomprehensible comments while we were listening to live music after dinner.  Then she said something that sounded like “Is it going to rain this week?”  I wasn’t sure that’s what she said so I asked, “Is it going to rain this week?” meaning, is that what you asked?  Her response was priceless:  “I don’t know.  I’m asking you.”

However much time Mom has left on earth is anyone’s guess. She could live to be 100 or she could be gone tomorrow.  What I do know is that treasuring every moment I spend with her, keeping track of her words, writing about her, and sharing her story with others is helping me in more ways that I ever imagined. 

  

San Diego native Georgeanne Irvine has devoted more than three decades of her career to raising awareness about animals and wildlife conservation. By day, she is associate director of development communications for the San Diego Zoo, where she has worked for 35 years. George is also the author of more than 20 children’s books, plus numerous magazine, newspaper, and Web articles. George’s most recent work is the coffee table book, The Katrina Dolphins: One-Way Ticket to Paradise, which is a true story about 8 dolphins from an oceanarium that were washed out to sea during Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and dramatically rescued a few weeks later.

Vacation or Bust

By Caitlin Rother 

I was going to write about the importance of taking a vacation from writing. How good it was to go to a spa in Calistoga and relax in hot spring pools of varying temperatures and let my mind go blank. I’d never done it before and, I have to admit, it was delightful to revitalize my creative juices by clearing out my brain and letting it rest after weeks of tireless editing the manuscript I just turned in to my editor. 

Taking a break was effective, because I got an idea for a new novel as I was taking a walk in the crisp air of Northern California, many miles from home. I felt that old optimism creeping back in.

But then I got a bad news email this morning about a non-fiction book project that I’d been working up for the past year and was planning to pursue for publication this year. So, instead, I’m going to write today about persistence, rebounding from rejection and the determination I have to perpetually call into play as I keep plugging away as a full-time author.

For now, it looks like the project is dead, and if I am unable to revive it, I have no other income lined up for the year. I didn’t have a contract for the book yet, so there was no guarantee anyway, but I had already spent a good deal of time and energy researching and interviewing and thinking as I was putting the book proposal together.

Yes, that is the glorious, glamorous life of a full-time author, a career that I have often likened to professional poker player, due to the high degree of risk and speculation involved.

Because I generally write about true-life tragedies – crimes and memoirs – the people I write about and work with often have experienced significant levels of trauma, and talking to me brings up all kinds of painful memories. It can make them physically and emotionally sick and cost them sleep. Most of them suck it up and share their stories, but sometimes, they just can’t face going there, or say they can, but find they can’t.

I have had many people cancel interviews, stop returning phone calls and emails, and disappear on me without explanation. Some are victims or their family members, others are police detectives or attorneys who are just overwhelmingly busy dealing with cases involving the traumatized.

I know it’s not personal so I don’t take it that way. Still, all of that is very stressful for me as well, as you might imagine, because I have deadlines to meet and bills to pay. But this is the kind of story that I’m drawn to or finds me, and it’s what I’m good at, so I have to be compassionate, understanding, flexible and, most important, I need to stay level-headed and refrain from panicking. When a source gets cold feet, I do a LOT of soothing and trying to ease fears, apprehension and pain; I have to be sincere and genuine or it doesn’t work.

Curiously, I also have to do this for myself, to perpetually put my own feelings into perspective. I have to temper the hope that people will buy the book that I’ve poured my guts into for the past however many months or years. For me, maintaining where I am is not really good enough -- I am always trying to reach new levels of achievement. I always try to set the bar as high or higher than my last book, which, if you have a New York Times bestseller, or a publicity-drawing title, both of which I’ve had in the past couple of years, is not an easy feat. It means that I place that much more pressure on myself to match my own past accomplishments. As a close friend of mine likes to say, if you’re competing against yourself, you will always lose. But I'm stubborn that way.

Sometimes I get tired and want to quit, go get a day job working for a guaranteed salary and health benefits. But that so far hasn’t worked out or the urge has dissipated as I sit in the sun at 11 a.m. and realize I've worked too hard and sacrificed too much to give up the freedom I’ve earned since I quit the newspaper business in 2006. Writing books is addictive, but to survive and thrive, I have to live my life one project at a time, one year at a time, and constantly re-evaluate.

So that’s what I do on a day like today. I look back at how long it’s taken and how hard I’ve worked to get where I am. I remind myself of how grateful I am for the successes I’ve had, despite bumps in the road like this one. And I refocus on the goals I’ve set for myself for the year. 

I’d purposely left myself an open window so I could explore some new things this year, stretch myself by trying to pursue some different types of writing, work on building my platform, and line up more speaking engagements. I just didn’t realize how big and open that window was going to be.

So I will open my mind and let the creative breezes blow on through. I’m fortunate in that several of my projects seem to have come out of nowhere, with an unexpected phone call, right through that open window. I will just keep telling myself that somehow, some way, I will find that next perfect project, the one that will help me get where I want to be.

As you might imagine, I already have a few ideas rolling around. I just got back from vacation.

New York Times bestselling author Caitlin Rother, a Pulitzer-nominee who worked as an investigative reporter for nearly 20 years, has written or co-authored eight books: Poisoned Love, Deadly Devotion/Where Hope Begins, My Life, Deleted, Body Parts, Twisted Triangle, Naked Addiction, and Dead Reckoning. Her latest book is Lost Girls, about the murder of innocents Chelsea King and Amber Dubois by sexual predator John Gardner. For more information, please check her website, http://caitlinrother.com.

Private Substance

by Laurel Corona

And soon a branch, part of a hidden scene,

The leafy mind, that long was tightly furled,
Will turn its private substance into green,
And young shoots spread upon our inner world.

These lines, the end of the poem “A Light Comes Brighter,” by one of my favorite poets, Theodore Roethke, was on my mind as I walked home from the college this week. It’s about the first signs of the end of winter, and indeed they can be found in San Diego already--despite the limited drama of changing seasons around here.

The first time these lines etched themselves into my consciousness was almost thirty years ago, when my home on a canyon rim was scorched by wildfire, leaving the yard looking like a huge ashtray and the trees scorched to a russet brown..  “It’s a miracle how the fire went around this house,” the reporter from the local news chirped from my driveway. My heroic neighbors, who had spent the afternoon on my roof with garden hoses, greeted that comment in muttered disgust: “Yeah, some miracle.”

I thought the trees were dead, but within a month, I saw a hint of something and went out to investigate.  There, in clusters of perfect little emeralds, was life reasserting itself.

When I see the first leaf buds or early blossoms every year, my heart lifts at the sheer doggedness of the will to live that had quietly been doing its work all winter. I often think of Roethke’s poem then, particularly the beautiful last line, where he reminds us of our own internal winters, and the green shoots that come up, often by surprise, to signal that perhaps it is time to put behind whatever has been dreary and cold, and regrow ourselves.

My daily walk to and from the college where I teach takes me past the Rose Garden in Balboa Park, and there is something about the brutality with which rose bushes are cut back in late December that always wounds me. Today the nodes are swelling and the first leaves are breaking out, turning their private substance into green, just as the gardeners with their faith and pruning shears, knew they would.

Last February I lived not just in a different home in a different part of town, but in a different world.  My beloved partner, Jim, was declining noticeably from the cancer that would steal his life in April. When June came, I cried because he was not there to see the jacarandas whose purple blooms he had always appreciated with the glee of a child.  There was only winter for me last summer.  There was even less for him.

But sap does rise and the juices of this beautiful life do surge again.  Somewhere between then and now, the sad, furled leaves of my grief and sorrow opened to reveal something lush and green and full of promise. It’s called life. It’s called understanding that we are still here, and rejoicing in that single, beautiful fact.  It’s what our own internal green shoots are trying to tell us as every season, every stage of life beckons.

...

As seems to be often the case with my blog posts for San Diego Writing Women, you are probably at this point thinking, “What does this have to do with the writing life?” Well, quite a bit to do with mine.

A number of months ago, I wrote here that, “I can’t write about writing or the writing life today, because I am not doing any of the former, and as to the latter, I don’t have one.”  I’d have to say that’s still true.  I have been dormant. I haven’t written one word of fiction, or edited anything I had finished before Jim got sick. I’m perfectly okay with that, and have no sense of urgency and no plan to do anything different for now. 

In the poem, such a time is called winter, but for me, life is not cold and dreary, it’s simply not the season for the pen. In the last few months it’s been the right time for lecturing on a cruise line, seeing movies, taking up golf, making some new friends, palling around with old ones, and starting to think about loving again.  

I don’t speculate about my writing future, although my friends seem certain I have one. Blessings on you for your confidence and support.  Maybe you are right, but unlike the roses in Balboa Park that shared their wisdom with me this week, I am not stuck with being able to produce only one kind of flower.