The Angel


Can you call yourself a creative writer if you have not written a word in months? I have a friend who promotes 20 minutes of writing per day, telling people to just write, forget quality, just write. Really?! I care about quality. Perhaps too much? I make sure to read quality writing 99.99% of the time. Is this just words I am writing here or is it quality or garbage? You tell me!

One thing I can do is read. I’m good at reading. And singing. And gardening. I talk to plants; that’s why they grow for me. I truly care. They bring me peace and joy.

In the last two months, I’ve read three collections of short stories, two by Anthony Doerr and one by Gayle Jones. Normally, I am not a short story reader, but here I am reading these. Talk about different. It’s almost like these two famous writers inhabit different planets. Doerr’s stories seem intensely emotional, often a bit fantastical and heart wrenching with a lush, descriptive, poetic style even though Doerr is not a published poet. Jones is a published poet, yet her stories are blunt, conversational, often first person and sometimes short–one page short.

In many, a character is telling his or her (most of the stories are her) story about where they are, some experience, somebody they knew, what they did or said. In one story the narrator says she’s an angel, explains where she’s been, whom she’s known, and ends up by asking readers if they’ve seen her near the Seine. I doubt anyone mistakes me for an angel.

Note: Book 13 for 2025 is “Butter”, Gayle Jones. A collection of short stories.

Book 40 for 2024: “If We Are Brave: Essays from Black Americana”, Theodore R. Johnson


Johnson, a columnist for The Washington Post, notes that the US was founded on a set of ideals but for much of its history agreement on what those are ideals are has not existed. What are these ideals, who are they for? Today there is little agreement on much of this. There seems to be a lack of a common vision on what a democratic system is and should be and for whom. The essays in this book address these questions both today and from the origins of the country when only white men who owned land could vote. This book also discusses how different races in the country and the changing predominance of cultures affects the ideals people hold and the kind of country they envision for themselves.

As a Black man who is a retired Navy Commander, he also discusses his own experience, extensive research, and personal views. This short book is an excellent primer on how different races and cultures experience living in this country and their varying visions of the meaning of democracy.

Gratitude by Esther Nelson


Here in the USA I hear so much complaining even about trivia and so little gratitude. I have also come to realize that gender still defines so much, limits what girls in particular think they can accomplish; girls still try to, as this essay notes, “make nice”, often failing to accomplish all they can be. It remains remarkable and a puzzle, as this essay notes, how some people can rise above negative circumstances while it destroys others.

Esther Nelson's avatarFeminism and Religion

esther-nelsonI’ve been in the midst of moving for almost a year, yet am still not finished with that onerous task.  My youngest son and family recently moved into the place I’ve called home since 1980.  I bought a small house in the vicinity and have just settled in after spending four months painting, cleaning, and hauling box after box to my new dwelling.  At the same time, I’ve been traveling back and forth to New Mexico busy with painting, cleaning, and remodeling my “retirement house.”

I’m tired.  Am also experiencing emotions that I thought I was impervious to.  I never perceived myself as somebody having an attachment to place, but a month or so before moving out of my old home, I began to feel nostalgic.  There was so much I didn’t want to leave behind–the woods, birds nesting in bushes around the property as well as on top of…

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Teaching


Three students mad at other students:

in stream-of-conscious essay one

tells me,

“I want to punch ___T____ and ___J_____ in the face.”

Two others allude, avoid the overt.

I must “fix” this for them.

Senioritis.

Why I Write


This post continues the saga of my writing for the SCN poetry class.  One of our first assignments included reading Mary Oliver’s poem about why she writes and then write one of our own about why we write.  Unlike many writers, discipline frequently escapes me.  I write when I feel like it or get inspired or have something special I want to say.  What do I care about?  Why do I write and about what?

I want to write about

beauty and life,

wind and flowers,

riding and writing on the rim,

sleeping in the moonlight.

I want to write to

make a difference,

challenge the status quo,

instill a love of wonder,

change the world

even if only for one minuscule moment

in one tiny corner.

I want to write so that when I die, they will say,

“She mattered!”