Léna is also a Regional Manager for Writopia Lab whose mission is to foster joy, literacy, and critical thinking in kids and teens from all backgrounds through creative writing.

"Well, the question is, what do you want to believe? Do you want to live in a world where things are possible, or in one where they aren't?" Cin, Edges.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Don't Let a Little V.D. Get You Down

 V.D. and I haven't always been such good friends.

Six years old - Valentine from my parents. Love.

Eleven years old - school chums exchange Valentines and candy. I give but don't get.

Fourteen years old - red, white and pink roses are being sold at school to give out anonymously. I buy pink for my friends and red for Leo, my crush. I get one pink in return, but no red. CRUSHED.

The pathetic life of teenagers. I didn't want to want, but I was left WANTING.

Seventeen years old - not to be a drama queen, but Valentine's Day was ruined for me. FOREVER.

I succumbed to the sin of cynicism.

At least for the next few years, until I fell in-love with a good man. (A man who knows that Valentine's Day makes me anxious and buys me flowers on the 13th, or somehow manages to decorate our bedroom with hearts while I'm sleeping.)

Romantic gestures are awesome, but . . . for the past few days I have felt angsty. Feelin' my own teenage daydream. Why are we forced to express love in such a false way?

Once again, my own kids get me out of my funk.

Forty-four years old - my daughter wakes up early and puts on her red party dress, bursting into our bedroom to wish us a Happy Valentine's Day with a painting for each of her beloved parents. The boys are cheerful too, and sheepish that they haven't made any Valentine-inspired art. They are all excited to exchange candy and cards with their school chums - they are so sweet.

My kids don't EXPECT anything, but I went out to  Pier 1 and bought goblets to fill with candy and fake hearts. I bought them each a rope bracelet. ("You'd better call that a 'band' and not a bracelet, otherwise Cooper won't wear it," my husband said.) (Cooper just came home and immediately put it on.) I decorated the table.

Making an effort - it feels good. They appreciate it.

And here I am Polly Positive again - we need even MORE opportunities to celebrate and emphasize the GOOD things in life, to focus on the things that we have instead of the things we don't.

I am not CRUSHED, WANTING, FOREVER anymore!

EXPECT MORE GOOD!

Friday, February 8, 2013

Throwing the Muse: Meeting Kristin Hersh

Like every other teenager in the mid 80's, I had a plethora of tapes and "mix tapes" to slide into my walkman so that I could travel with my music. One of my favorites was by an indie band of kids a couple of years older than me from Rhode Island, called Throwing Muses.

I loved the fact that the band was mostly girls with a boy drummer, (unusual back then in a male-dominated industry) and that the singer was at once both ethereal and screechy, and that their lyrics were free association poetic rambles. It was full of raw emotion, and all of their music was full of the chaos of life. It reflected my own life perfectly.

I was introduced to their music via the Cocteau Twins and the British record label: 4AD the summer I turned nineteen, the summer of 1987. I was in San Francisco, and had gotten a job canvassing neighborhoods, asking for money to support saving the environment. All of my friends were a few years older and way cooler than I was. They loved my innocence and  I in turn worshiped them.  When one friend played all of 4AD's list for me, my mind had officially been blown. I had thought I was an indie aficionado, but it turned out I knew nothing. These bands were not just making music, they were making art, and they were succeeding.

All I was trying to do was finish college. After that summer, I went back to Barnard for a few months but then had to drop out because of depression. What was I doing with my life? What was my purpose and how would I make an impact? I had dreams of being an actress, but I was having a hard time reconciling my own narcissistic needs with a lack of real ambition, or at least a lack of interest in anything that was commercial - I wanted to make art.

And I wanted to make a impact. So I went to school to become a Drama Therapist. I was a therapist, I was making an impact on people in a creative way. And then when I had kids and I seriously had to reevaluate and push myself into growing my concept of art as service, because stories kept banging on my psyche.

Now everybody knows that I get cranky and depressed if I am not working on a project, that I know it takes discipline to listen to the muse, and when it doesn't seem to be there, I still try to look for art and kindness everywhere.

Looking for art - a year and a half ago I found the old tape. I hadn't listened to Throwing Muses in years, but my mom had generously bequeathed me her old car with a tape player, and I was able to unearth it, along with a few others.

Then a month ago, my friend Erika suggested that we read Kristin Hersh's memoir, Rat Girl for our book group.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"The lead singer from Throwing Muses - you love them, don't you?" Erika and I were in the same year at Barnard, but didn't know each other. She was a cool music maven and I was a theater geek - we ran in different circles, but she had booked Throwing Muses and they had played at Columbia.

Yes, but I never knew anyone's name. Of course I wanted to read it! Once I started reading, I couldn't put it down. It was about the year Kristin was 19 and getting Throwing Muses out there. It spanned the year from the summer of '85 to the summer of '86, and it chronicles her descent into a prolonged manic-depressive episode with an eventual diagnosis of bipolar disorder, her being signed by 4AD and trying to reconcile making art in a contrived studio situation, to being ultimately saved by getting pregnant and finding a new voice in that process.

There is no drinking, drugs or sex. There is nothing but kind depictions of other people, and no glorifying of mental illness. It reads like a novel, and you fall in-love with the characters. It forced me to look at myself at that age and how lost I was, but it also gave me another layer of forgiveness.

Life is messy.

"I like that girl," Kristin later said to us.

Erika and I both wrote her fan gurl emails and were astounded by her kindness and generosity in responding. That generosity continued in her skyping with us last night for over an hour and a half, talking about the Rat Girl, art, music, and the craziness of the industry. It was thrilling. She is adorable and so, so kind. What is so impressive, is her continuing to make her own kind of music in the face of the psychosis-inducing recording industry. She has divorced herself from that and is completely listener supported through her non-profit, CASH music, an organization that builds open source tools for musicians. (If you are so inclined, click on the link and donate.)

Making art is about making connections, not only between concepts, but ultimately between people. Reaching out to be understood. It's not for narcissistic adoration, it's for finding meaning in this crazy world. Kristin, thank you so much for the music, your words and your time. You made a profound connection and impact on me.

And if you have to throw a few muses around, then so be it!






Friday, January 18, 2013

The Little Book that Could

First you write. And then you rewrite and rewrite.

Then you query.

You are rejected.

Rewrite, query, reject and so forth. Multiple times.

Agent Edward Necarsulmer wants more!

Rewrite, submit.

Ding, ding, ding! FSG buys it on first round of submissions!
hard copy AND an ebook. Random House's Listening Library buys the rights to do an audio book.

You've made it! Right?

Then there's the waiting for two years for an actual BOOK to be produced, high expectations, more writing, then marketing-induced psychosis.

For realz. You make a God box and keep putting the book in there. It's the only real thing you can do - take deep breaths and get out of your own way.

But it doesn't become a best-seller and you have to accept that. Being published by FSG, you, your agent and your editor were hopeful that Edges would be an award-driven book  - but it did not get on anyone's radar. You are not John Green.

Book #2 is loved, but ultimately rejected because the sales of book #1 are not high enough.

Okay.

You stop worrying about sales and focus on writing new stuff and teaching writing.

Almost two years later, the rights revert back to you, and you buy out the Macmillan warehouse, so they can make room for shiny "new" things.

That's okay with you - they weren't marketing you anyway. This is what happens, and it's not personal, it's business.

And yet.

You are still asked to show up at events, speak on panels. And you've just been tweeted that your book, Edges, is on the syllabus for a class called YA Lit at The University of Utah. (And guess what? John Green is there too, along with your grandmother.)

And yes grasshopper, you go back to the work of writing, knowing that it's not about sales, but about communicating and finding the voice of the particular story. And that it's all about connecting you to the human race.

And you love your day job just as much: empowering kids and teens to find their own voice through creative writing.

Life is AWESOME!

Thursday, January 10, 2013

The Flu and Downton Abbey

I just watched 17 episodes of Downton Abbey in three days. That's right - you heard me. Most of them were on Tuesday and Wednesday when I was in bed with the flu. Now I am slowly starting to feel better, but I have been staring at my manuscript for the past hour - yeah, just staring - I can't seem to construct a sentence -

I've never done this before - given myself the gift of a marathon of this magnitude. Who has the time?

But that was the gift of the flu.

Facebook can make one feel left behind on certain things, and I had missed the whole Downton Abbey craze. On Sunday, people started posting about the beginning of Season 3. I asked Facebook: do I really have to watch from the beginning?

The resounding answer was yes. My husband was watching a football game, so I took my computer under the covers and logged into Netflix and watched the first episode, and then the second. On Monday night I watched the next two episodes, but then I couldn't fall asleep, thinking about Anna and Bates, Mary and Matthew. Do I like Mary anyway, are we supposed to like her? And that Thomas!

Tuesday morning I ran errands, but by 10:30am it was clear that I should not be driving, or writing, so I got back into bed and finished Season 1. But I had to have more! So I ended up paying for it, streaming on Amazon Prime. Two more. Sleep. Then yesterday I watched the next seven glorious episodes in Season 2, topping it off by watching Sunday night's movie-length episode on PBS.com.

So now I know. And I love it. It is a well-crafted story with rich, interesting characters whose motivations you understand, can even relate to, even though they live in a reality far away from where you are (in bed with the flu?)

Never heard of Downton Abbey? Here is why it is so popular.

And who doesn't love Maggie Smith?

Monday, December 31, 2012

New Year's Resolutions or Revolutions?


Happy last day of 2012! 
So tell me good people, are we making New Year's Resolutions or Revolutions? 

A resolution is an answer . . . but what are our questions? 
Hmmmm . . . 

A revolution is a sudden, radical or complete change.

Lots of things need radical change, fo' sho'.

For us writers and readers, a resolution "marks the point in a literary work at which the chief dramatic complication is worked out". 

Is that our hope, that our lives will become less complicated if we just show some resolve? Can we will the world into being a better place?

Er . . .

Is this why we write?

We get to be Lords of our own Universes:

  

Is this why we read fiction? For the resolutions?

Life is beautifully complicated. We work through the knots in our lives with tenderness and care.
 It's what can make us superheroes.
 If we pay attention.


 I also like the idea of REVOLUTION.
 We are all revolted by senseless violence, but the reality is that many of us disagree with each other on how to carry out the revolution. Do we have a resolution for the revolution? 
(Am I asking too many questions?)

The truth is that we need to move closer to LOVE, collectively, all of us. Move away from hate and fear
                                Be our authentic selves, whether we're (hippy dippy)

straight
gay
old
young
bi-focalled
(Whovian)
observer
player
married
single


(Be the change you seek . . .)*

And . . .

 A revolution is  "the action by a celestial body going round in an orbit". The earth rotating around the sun is an act of revolution, and takes 365 days.
A year. 


That is hope right there, something we can depend upon.

Are we in the same place we were last year, or have we deepened? Did we dare to disturb the universe**, and do we dare to commit to that again this year?

This time of year, we all bandy around the word "resolution" both with levity and mysterious terror:  We RESOLVE to be better people in the next year. We'll eat less, exercise more, show more patience and kindness in our relationships.  How do we measure up, what has the last year been like, what will  the new year bring?                                                   

 I want to let go of my attachment to successes and failures, and welcome in the possibility of new ones -

 but I may just be required to let go of my own willfulness, indeed, to let go of my own resolve - 
to let go of the belief that I am in CONTROL.   

Shit happens . . .
but so do miracles. 

Darkness sometimes wins
But let your light seep in through the cracks.

Take the actions, let go of the results. 
Jump into 2013 with joy and knowledge that you are living your best life.
You are answering the call, aren't you?  

(Be the change you seek)*

* Ghandi                          

 ** T.S. Eliot 




Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Merry Part and Merry Meet . . .

. . . And Merry Christmas!

Just let's be merry.

Let's take a leap of faith.

We're in this together - this life that is both more terrifying and wonderful than we could ever imagine. We can bask in our ordinary, human beauty.

Tonight's dominant story in our culture is one of a baby - the "light" of the world - being born in a stable, but I've been thinking more about Mary.

Maybe it's because I'm a mother myself, and I need to have frequent visitations by angels to remind me to "fear not". Maybe it's because she carried on and through in spite of life being overwhelming and stretching her farther than she ever thought she could extend without breaking.

Maybe it's because I saw The Hobbit this morning.

Bear with me.

Bilbo Baggins is everyman. Bilbo Baggins is Mary, he is ME. He wants things to remain simple, and safe: comfortable. But it is "adventure", that helps him to grow. Not only that, it is in helping others that he finds himself.

Wow.

I am merry, I am Mary, I am Bilbo Baggins.

By now you may have realized that Christmas makes me loopy. But I am goofy for all sorts of stories, especially ones that make me think and feel.

Now it is 12:09AM and Santa must be coming very, very soon.

Sweet dreams my angels, and . . .

Merry Christmas!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Better to Light a Candle Than Curse the Darkness


In these past few days I have been at a loss for words and have taken comfort in the words of others. I have been reading a lot of poetry: Dylan Thomas, Rumi, Mary Oliver, William Blake, and I have been meditating on the fact that even though darkness sometimes wins, the world needs our inner light more than ever. My Dad sent me the sermon that he preached on Sunday from Winchester Cathedral in the United Kingdom and I wanted to share it with you  as he so beautifully expresses all of my hope.  My Dad is the dean emeritus of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. He is at once goofy and serious, and incredibly charismatic. He and my grandmother are the best preachers I have ever heard, and his name is Alan W. Jones.


Not much of a God . . . . and yet . . .

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and
pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way
to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key
moments, and life itself is grace." (Frederick Buechner)

The sermon fell apart after the news two days ago of “the slaughter of the
innocents” at an elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. Twenty little children
were slaughtered. The New York Times yesterday quoted a mother: “Who would do
this to our poor little babies?”

How do we respond to such news in this season of the divine child? At first
sight, things are made worse by the fact that we’re presented with not much of a
God! A child from “nowhere”. Bethlehem was “no place”! The Word of God is a
baby who cannot speak a word. If we’re prepared to go deeper, we find that
judgment hangs over us all if we cannot discern the mystery of the child. Those
dear dead children are a sign of judgment on a world that cannot decode the
glorious gift and mystery of being human. Each of us is a wonder, unique and
unrepeatable. And, St. Paul reminds us that we are stewards of these mysteries.
We’re given a baby – the promise of a new world, a new beginning. The message?
Don’t let the darkness and violence set the agenda. Better to light a candle than
curse the darkness.

Something “big” is happening in the world. With all the upheavals and
unrest, how is the human family going to survive and flourish? Christmas is a sign
of God’s generosity. It’s about a new way of being human. But we’ve ceased to be
shocked by the Christian message! It’s deceptively simple stuff – an act that turned
the world upside down. The simple truth that God has created us neighbors, made
us one people. It’s deeply shocking but we don’t notice it anymore. We either
ignore it or make it into something simple-minded and sentimental.

Don’t let the darkness and violence set the agenda.

There’s a story of the early rabbis arguing about which was the most
important text in the Bible. Rabbi Akiba said the greatest principle of Torah is
found in Leviticus: “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” Only one rabbi
challenged this. He argued that the simple words ‘This is the role of Adam’s
descendents” were more important because they revealed the unity of the entire
human race. The human race is one. – one human family, one ethnic group. God
created us neighbors. There are no “others”. All are our brothers and sisters,
without exception.

This isn’t just a nice idea. In fact, for most of us the discovery that the world
is one and that we are all neighbors is very distasteful. It’s something that’s
happening all over the world. We often fail “to acknowledge the sheer diversity of
this increasingly mixed-up world. More than ever, that must include the diversity to



be found in a single human skin, mind and heart.” There’s only one people. And it’s
us – all of us - together! This is the heart of the Christmas message of the Mother
and her Baby.

No, it’s not much of a God – a Baby who cannot speak. Our challenge in
these few days leading up the Christmas is to get in touch with the oddness of it all –
the proclamation that we’re all related. It’s shocking. And our way back into it’s
shocking generosity is simple – just to look at a woman with a baby. Don’t, in the
first instance, get cluttered up with a set of beliefs – just look as woman with a baby.
See your own flesh and blood.

We love babies because a baby is a sign of possibility. We look at a new-born
and think -- even if only for a moment -- that there is a chance that the human race
might make it after all! Loving babies isn’t sentimental. It’s wonderfully and deadly
serious.

E.B.White, the author of The Once and Future King, wrote a light but
deceptively simple poem about 70 years ago:

Hold a baby to your ear
As you would a shell:
Sounds of centuries you hear
New centuries foretell.

Who can break a baby’s code?
And which is the older –
The listener or his small load?
The held or the holder?

The Advent question? Who can break the baby’s code? Do you know what’s
really real? The poverty or richness of our loving determines what we think is real.
That’s what matters, that’s what’s important, that’s what the Baby is trying to tell
us. There are no others – only brothers and sisters. God has created us neighbors. We
are one flesh. And don’t expect the realization of this truth will always be pleasant!
Think for a moment about how odd it is that you’re here and alive – you,
unique and unrepeatable, an instance of wild improbability and deep significance.
It’s amazing. You’re amazing. Most of us have lost sight of the fact of the oddness of
our being here at all! And in Newtown, Connecticut this week, the world has been
robbed of thirty unique and unrepeatable souls.

Now think of the pathetic modesty of the revelation – not only a baby but a
baby born in Bethlehem of all places. The prophet Micah calls it a no place. It’s as
if I were to announce that Jesus is coming and he’s coming to Wimbledon (my birth
place), or, as we heard in the cathedral earlier this week, the birth place might just
have been Walthamstow!

Remember, the revelation of what truly matters happens in a place of no
importance – in the simple every day act of a young woman having a baby. Exactly
the way you came into the world. Through the doorway of the flesh. At Christmas
we learn that, as one early writer puts it, “The Flesh is the hinge of salvation!”
Simple, vulnerable and holy. What an awesome and wondrous thing it is to be alive,
to be human!

Don’t let the darkness and violence set the agenda.

How do we recover the wonder of the everyday and commonplace? through
flesh and blood – a woman with a baby? Roman Catholic theologian Andrew
Greeley puts the outrageousness of it all very simply: I often think that maybe half
our heritage is transmitted to children around the crib at Christmas time - and
especially in the wonderfully mysterious explanation of the Incarnation to little kids
that Mary is God's mummy."

Ridiculous isn’t it? Not much of a God. On one level is plainly daft. Too
naive and simple-minded for the clever and the sophisticated. But is it more
outrageous than the proclamation that every one matters and we are all part of one
family?

That’s why we need stories and myths to give shape and purpose to our lives.
Carl Jung wrote, Anyone “who thinks he can live without myth, or outside it, like
one uprooted, has no true link either with the past, or with the ancestral life which
continues within him, or yet of contemporary human society. This plaything of his
reason never grips his vitals.” The killer in Connecticut had no inner story to help
him move through his craziness and pain.

Don’t let the darkness and violence set the agenda.

Mary is God's mummy! No, I haven’t gone off my head. I simply believe that
there is a profound truth here. And it comes home to us when we look at Mary and
her Baby. When we look with the eyes of love we find ourselves at a place of
unraveling, unweaving – we cross a boundary into another world – or better –
another way of looking at this world. Remember: The poverty or richness of your
loving determines what you think is real.

This why cathedrals are important. Look around you! The builders of this
place – what were they thinking. Those who built the cathedral in Seville said, “Let
those who come after us, when they see this, say, ‘They must have been mad!’” I’ve
visited the Cathedral of Our Lady of Chartres every year now for several years in a
row. Like Winchester, it is one of those borderland/boundary places. Its focus is on
Mary who presents us with the infant Jesus as a sign that we too are the place where
God chooses to dwell. Each of us matters that much.

I don’t know about you, but I need pictures and stories, which take me
across the boundary where I meet people like you who are also on a boundary-
crossing journey. Not “others” or aliens, but brothers and sisters. Neighbors.
What do we have in common – the motley crowd that shows up at places like
this at Christmas? We share a common vulnerability in that we’re not always sure
that we’re in the right place at the right time. Yet we have an instinct that the most
fruitful place for crossing the boundary is “in those areas of our life where we feel at
sea, not understanding, not succeeding.” Where a mystery overtakes us and we let
go of life as a mechanical thing. We cross the boundary into our deeper selves
when we really see that Mary is God’s mummy. We come to understand that the
poverty or richness of our loving determines what we think is real. This discovery is
the real gift of Christmas. And we discern that . . . Jesus is God’s Word to us about
ourselves and this good news comes to us in the form of a baby who cannot speak!
How strange is that? The imagery is stunning. You can hold the Word (God’s
communication to you) in your arms. You can suckle the Word at your breast. The
Word – the communication – is as vulnerable as that. In the flesh.

Hold a baby to your ear
As you would a shell:
Sounds of centuries you hear
New centuries foretell.

Don’t get caught in the sticky mess of doctrinal controversy. Look! Look! Look! See
your own mystery in a form that you can touch and handle. Don’t let the darkness
and violence set the agenda.

The tradition tells us that there are two births. Listen to the words of St.
Simeon, The New Theologian. “The ineffable birth of the Word of God in the flesh
from his mother is one thing, his spiritual birth in us in another. For the first, in
giving birth to the Son and Word of God gave birth to the reforming of the human
race and the salvation of the whole world . . . while the second, in giving birth in the
Holy Spirit and to the Word of knowledge of God, continually accomplishes in our
hearts the mystery of the renewal of human souls. Thus . . . . anyone, married or
unmarried, who lives with integrity towards God in the deeper level of their being
may not, like Mary, bear the Son of God in the flesh, but they can and do become,
like her, and will be God-bearers to humankind.”

How about that! Mary is God’s Mummy and you are invited to allow God to
come to term in you and be a God-bearers to the human family! All in the fleshy
messiness of everyday life. Allow the strangeness to get under your skin. If you do,
Christmas will be different this year. You will light a candle rather than curse the
darkness.

So, before you plunge into the hectic last days of Christmas preparation,
experience your own oddness. Entertain, for a moment, the idea that Mary is God’s
mummy and in the light of that find out who you really are. Find out what’s
important. This Christmas give yourself away. Be a neighbor, be a brother, be a
sister, be your true self – be the best present anyone can give. And if you have the
chance . . .

Hold a baby to your ear
As you would a shell:
Sounds of centuries you hear
New centuries foretell.

Who can break a baby’s code?
And which is the older –
The listener or his small load?
The held or the holder?
And . . . don’t let the darkness and violence set the agenda. Know that the worst
word isn’t the last word. The baby’s coming and that’s good news.

Closing Prayers:

People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered
LOVE THEM ANYWAY

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives
DO GOOD ANYWAY

If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies
SUCCEED ANYWAY

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable
BE HONEST AND FRANK ANYWAY

People really need help, but may attack you if you help them
HELP THEM ANYWAY

Give the world the best you have and you may be kicked in the teeth
GIVE THE WORLD YOUR BEST ANYWAY

A Christmas Prayer – For Winchester, 2012

The world waits for the coming
of the Prince of Peace.
Our hearts ache for justice for the poor
and carefree safety for our children;
for laughter in our homes –
the singing and dancing
native to the human spirit.

We thank you for the glorious
sounds of Christmas – tokens of our longing
and signs of your love.

We ask you to bless
the families represented here:

5

the whole ones;
the broken ones;
the scattered ones.

We commend into your gracious keeping
all those caught
in the spiral of violence and poverty –
here at home –
and in other cities –
Jerusalem, Baghdad, Kabul, Damascus, Newtown.

Especially protect the children,
and in your spirit,
help us so rebuild the world for them
so that your joy may fill their hearts
and your peace heal the nations.

Let’s switch off the world’s distorting noise
until we hear our own heart beating.
Let’s listen to its inner rhythm,
whispering, “God is with us.”
Revelation is all around,
showing us that every baby
is well-connected
and every one
the dwelling place of God.

Thanks be to God!

May the angels of God watch over us.
May Mary and all the Saints pray for us.
May the Lord lift up the divine countenance upon us
And give us peace, now, and forevermore.
Amen.

ADVENT III: WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL – Evensong, Sunday, December 16, 2012.

The Very Rev. Alan Jones, dean emeritus, Grace Cathedral, San Francisco, and honorary Canon
of the Cathedral of Our Lady of Chartres.