Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Well, this week I got a positive, personal rejection letter.

Now, for those of you who aren’t into the children’s publishing business, let me tell you that having a PERSONAL rejection letter is a BIG DEAL. So, it was a triumph of sorts.

The agent who wrote it says that I am producing work that is far better than the majority of stuff she sees but, unfortunately, she is taking no more new clients. She mentioned my story in particular, wished me luck, and ended by saying, “and let me know how it goes.”

What does THAT mean????? Was she just being nice? Was she implying that she’d be open to being brought in if I get an editor to nibble?

So, it’s driving me crazy. I need to quit thinking about it and write some more stuff.

I sure am in a quandary about what to be doing with my life right now. Pursue poetry, or pursue writing for children? Not sure, not sure.

In other news, we went camping last weekend. Four days with no shower, no electricity, and only a porta-potty. And we survived—and even had a little fun! That shower sure felt good on the day we returned, though. I wish I could camp and look cool like all the svelt, tan, rugged-looking women I see camping. How do they keep their hair from getting greasy and their designer tank tops from looking like their three-year-olds hadn’t dropped hot dogs and marshmallows on them?

Monday, July 17, 2006

Why the DB Thing Doesn't Bug Me as Much as it Bugs Everyone Else

Look, I wish as much as any other LDS writer that there were publishers and distributors (and readers with lots of money to spend) who were just HUNGERING for my work.

But the fact that DB is not (hungering for my work) is not something I can hold against them.

It seems to me that this frustration (that there are so few outlets/publishers/buyers of quality LDS fiction and creative writing) is at the source of everyone's outrage over the DB/Seagull thing.

Really, what do people fear? That Seagull will go out of business. So? What if they do? Others will take their place--if it is cost effective to do so. If it's not, they won't.

Personally, I believe there is a market out there for the kinds of things DB is refusing to sell and encourage. I think that we just haven't had the right enterprising publisher/distributor show up on the scene yet. But someone will. I have a lot of hope about it. Maybe it will be Parables. Or maybe Scott Parkin will get his publishing company going. And then someone will have the guts to take on their projects and do some distributing for them--which may simply involve massive publicity for a web-based shop. Who knows. But I have great faith that the audience is out there, and the writing skill is out there (here's hoping I've got some of it), and we will all recover from the hit that Seagull is about to take.

Whence all the resentment against DB? Sure, I wish they had more of a sense of mission about Mormon letters. But they don't. They're not doing anything immoral. I think it is absolutely appropriate that a publisher have the right to control who distributes their stuff, and how.

Well, I admit that I'm completely naive about how the publishing/distribution process works, and about laws. So I may be speaking nonsense. But I just don't see why there is so much resentment towards DB. The situation is annoying, depressing, all of those things. I just don't see where DB has done anything morally wrong.

Besides all that--no one knows the truth about the problem. Judging from the past, it seems that the church tends to keep quiet about the ways others have done wrong, so it's possible that if we knew the whole story we would understand DB's decision a lot more.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

What would you do?

So, let's say that you are taking a nice Sunday walk with your kids and suddenly you overhear a domestic dispute going on. Let's say that a woman runs out into the driveway with a baseball bat, threatening to hit the car parked there, screaming, "You hit me! You hit me!" And let's say a man comes out after her and grabs the bat, and she runs into the garage, still screaming. And then the garage closes, with lots of yelling going on.

So what do you do?

Do you do anything right then? Do you hurry the kids home and then call someone? If the family happens to be in your ward, do you call the bishop? Police? Keep in mind, you didn't actually witness anyone physically hurting anyone else.

What do you say to the family the next time you see them? (If anything.)

I am so very, very naive.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Who says I'm not fun??????

Maybe my sense of fun has just been squelched up into my writing.

Because, get this: I wrote a children's book last week. And here is the title:

Jicama Hiccup.

Now, doesn't that just make you itch to read this piece of cleverness?
It's actually pretty good, I think.
Not that FUNNY, but definitely FUN.
So there.

This is just to say . . .

that I've eaten
the frozen custard
that was in
the freezer

and which
you probably didn't know
was still there.
(Because I had hidden it so well.)

Forgive me
it was delicious
so sweet
and so cold.


(apologies to WCW)

I used to be funny.

I'm consumed with envy. I want to be Courtney. (You can see why if you check out her blog at cjanerun.blogspot.com.) I just think she's hilarious and it sounds like she has more fun than anyone I know.

I used to have fun.

It's not that I don't enjoy my life now--I really do. In fact, I think I am happier now than I have ever been in my life. I wouldn't change anything about it. (Well, I might adjust a few temper-tantrums around here.)

But I used to have more fun. And I used to be funny, too. (Probably not as funny as Courtney, though.)

Really, I think that my sense of fun and of play has dwindled since having kids. Why, why, oh why is that? My kids need to benefit from fun and funniness as much as anyone. What has happened to me, and how can I get it back?

Is it the constant fatigue? The sense of responsibility (someone has to be the grownup around here)? The feeling so . . . so used up inside my body?

I don't know. I'd like to get it back. I wish I could figure out how.

Meanwhile, I'm reading Courtney's blog every day. You should, too.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Mom

I dreamed about my mother a few times this week. She has been dead for just over thirteen years, and I think I've dreamed about her only a handful of times. In the most recent dream she was showing me something--oh yeah, she had brought me to a big house to show me all of the little orphans that lived there. The children were very hungry and I gave them my lunch.

The dreams I have of my mother are never all that significant. Also, I have never felt "visited" by her, although people around me have felt her near on significant personal occasions. For example, when my father came to stay with us shortly after P. was born, he told me one morning that my mother had been there, had wandered around the house, and had shown particular interest in the new baby. I remember thinking, as he told me this, "Why, why, why didn't she come to see me?????? Why is it OK for YOU to know she was here, and not me?" It was especially exasperating because that was a terrible, terrible time for me, a difficult recovery (and exceedingly difficult baby), and, dang it, I WANTED MY MOMMY.

Another time others have felt her near was at the blessing of my first baby. "She was here! Did you feel it?" No, no, no, I didn't feel it. I was too busy worrying that A would poop all over his white clothes, loudly, right in the middle of the blessing. I didn't feel anything.

I do have to admit that I kind of felt her--well, not really felt her, but sort of knew her mind--on the day that we found out we were finally expecting #1. I just sort of knew that she knew, and that she was happy. That knowledge was helpful to me in the subsequent weeks when the doctor told me I would miscarry (and offered to do a D&C). I hung in there--and then A was born after all.

Someone told me once that the departed hang around us and are willing to help us out, and that the best way to communicate with them is to put our request in writing and leave it lying around so that they can see it (since they can't read our minds). I've had a few days of desperation when I've even tried that.

During the times when I yearn to communicate with my mother (which mostly means "yearn to hear from HER," as opposed to yearning to tell her something), I wonder why she didn't leave us more. She had plenty of time to prepare for her death. Why didn't she write us notes? Why didn't she write down things that her daughters might want to know when we reached certain stages?

Does it have anything to do with the fact that she was motherless for most of her life? Maybe it never occurred to her to think that my heart and thoughts would turn to her in these stages, that I would yearn to hear her experience.

Or maybe she just wasn't the kind of person who needs to share experiences and learn from the experiences of others. I don't know. I hardly knew her. She died just at the point in my life at which I no longer needed her as a mother but hadn't developed a relationship with her as a friend yet.

What are some of the things I wish she had written for me?

1. A love letter to me. All I have from her about how she felt about me is her journals, which she kept very sparsely the last years of her life, and in which she rarely talked about her emotions at all. When she was writing mroe often, I was a [very difficult] teenager at home, and her journals are full of frustrations at my selfishness. Was that all she saw me as? Did she see me improve? Did she think I would turn out OK, or was I just a disappointment to her? Does she see me now? Is she proud of me now? Would she like me? (Did she like me then?)

2. Thoughts and advice about marriage. There are lots of things she could have told or taught me, things that she learned through 24 years of marriage. This is a difficult subject to ask other people about. If you can't learn about it from your mother, whom can you learn from?

3. Thoughts and advice about childbirth and childrearing. Did she go through post-partum depression? Did she have days, weeks, months or years of depression because of the mindless boredom of it? What did she do to keep from being bored? How did she measure her success each day? What were her goals for her parenting?

4. Thoughts and advice about just being a woman, a daughter of God, a soul striving to return to Him.

Why do I yearn so much to hear these things from her? Well, first of all, I yearn to hear these things from almost every woman. That's why I read so much, set up book groups, crave time with my girlfriends so we can talk. I love to learn about other people's experiences. Some of these topics are awfully personal, though, and I don't even dare to ask girlfriends. ("So, how's your sex life?") There's one person in the world that I have a claim on, who I feel I have a right to ask the hard questions. But she's not around.

So, should I be writing my own answers to these questions in case I die, so that my own children will know my thoughts? Well, I guess so. But it's a little different for me because, first of all, I'm a much more open person anyway. I probably talk about most of these things enough that anyone who knows me knows how I feel about them. Second, I already do write an awful lot in my journals. I have so many journals now, though, that I'm beginning to doubt that anyone will ever wade through them. (I find it funny, though, that when I read back through them I find lots of love notes to my family written whenever I felt seriously ill--obviously written because I'm scared of dying with things unsaid.) Third, I'm raising boys. Face it, they just aren't likely to crave knowledge about me and my life in the way a girl would.

Maybe my curiosity about Mom comes, at least in part, from a fear that when I'm gone no one will be curious about me.

Anyway, she remains a mystery. And the biggest mystery of all to me is why she chose to remain a mystery to the end, refusing to write any of us goodbye letters or anything. I guess she felt her life was enough, that it stood on its own, without needing any explanation. That must be a pretty good feeling. I'm pretty sure I couldn't do the same. That's probably why I write.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Naming Things, Part 2

I am typing this within earshot of my five-year-old, who has been banished to his bed for exceeding and surpassing naughtiness. He is angry. Yea, he is very angry.

I imagine I am not the only parent in the world who listens to the tirade of a very angry, very small child with some small giggles. Currently he is yelling, "Bad Mommy! Bad Mommy! You are so . . . not good! I hate you! You . . .[searching for the biggest insult he can think of] don't tell the truth!!!!!!!! And you AREN'T CHOOSING THE RIGHT!" And I'm thinking to myself, "It's a good thing he doesn't have any more words than that."

Yes, yes, I am a writer after all and thus a believer that the more words a person has, the better for her in life, particularly emotionally. My son needs to have words that can express the intensity of his anger so that he doesn't need to express it in bad words or in bad actions. So I need to do some work with him on increasing his emotional vocabulary.

But what I'm trying to say here is that I'm glad he has been so sheltered from the WRONG words. Because he is mad enough to use any and all of them right now. He hasn't seen any movies, played with any friends, overheard any parents, or been exposed to any other influence which uses profanity or other bad words. I see the benefit to that now. I'm hoping the same thing works for restricting his exposure to violence (so that it is not a tool accessible to him). Also, with our older kids, there's the benefit of restricting exposure to sexually-charged words. (And again, it's equally important to make sure they are given the correct words for things in addition to limiting the wrong ones.)

So, yes, he needs to be able to name things accurately. But I'm glad that he hasn't been exposed to the world's variety of names—at least not yet.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

"I Couldn't Do That"

Occasionally when I tell other women that I am a stay-home mom, I get the comment, "I could never do that. I HAVE TO work for my emotional sanity. I just can't stay home. In fact, I think I am a better wife and mother because I work."

Before I start my griping about this comment, let me just say that I really do believe that women are better wives and mothers when they have something ELSE going on in their lives besides their parenting--some hobby or passion that they make time to pursue. In fact, a husband who doesn't make sure his wife gets such time to pursue something else will pay the price eventually, I think, if only at empty-nest time when she discovers she has nothing else. But in this post I am talking about women who work full time.

I hate this comment (above) for two reasons:

1-It completely makes light of my sacrifice. Yes, unlike many women, whom I envy, I see staying at home as a sacrifice that I make because I believe it's the right thing to do, and because I can't stand the thought of someone else raising my kids. It's HARD for me. I hate the implication that I'm somehow less of a person (more simple-minded?) because I apparently find ultimate fulfillment in changing diapers and and doing lamaze breathing for the fiftieth time today to keep from screaming at the five-year-old whiner.

2-You cannot convince me that a woman who works full time is truly parenting her child. (Yes, I think that God probably steps in and makes up the difference in the case of single mothers or women who truly must work in order to provide the basics.)

I had an experience this month that illustrated both of these things for me. I went to a conference that was Monday through Friday, 8:00 to 5:00. I was lucky to have Grandma and Grandpa staying here at the house to parent the kids for me. And here's how it went:

It was WONDERFUL. It was so very much fun. I got up early, prayed with the kids, kissed them, and left. I had fantastic days doing interesting, invigorating things. Things that were so interesting that I even forgot to eat--wasn't hungry, even--and realized how much of my eating at home every day is due to boredom.

After a busy, exhausting and thrilling day, I would drive home in time to feed the kids, kiss them all soundly and put them in bed. They were so very sweet and so very cute because I had been away all day. I adored them. I was a better mother. For the two hours or so that we were together.

I can see how a woman who works all day would say that she can't imagine quitting and staying home with the little guys all day. When someone else parents for you, all you have to do is be the kids' buddy, kiss them, snuggle them. Then you get to go be important at work. I imagine that to a woman used to working, the thought of a whole day with just the kids sounds impossible.

It even sounds impossible to me a lot of the time, and I do it every day.

Anyway, that's my little tirade. I'm glad to be back in the thick of things with the guys and find out what their lives are like. We don't really have a lot of deep, bonding discussions or "moments" together, but just being the one who nags about the homework or chores, who debates whether to accept an invitation with them, who makes them eat carrots at lunch, who snuggles them at reading times and slaps their little bums affectionately as they walk by--just BEING here--makes me a part of their lives, makes me their parent. And that, hard as it is, boring as it is a lot of the time, deep down feels pretty darn good.