My Half of the Sky

Just Wait a Minute

2012-01-20T09:30:00.000-08:00

I needed to get to a family service in Ottawa, Canada last Saturday. I flew out Friday morning with connections in LA and Chicago, planning to meet my sister on the last flight.
I figured my ticketer knew what he was doing when he suggested various flights. However, after the pilot left late from LA, I got in the air and realized I had but twenty minutes between flights.
Perhaps the gates were right next to each other.
"No," the guy sitting in the aisle seat--a native of Chicago--chuckled. "You'll never make it."
He did root for me, however, offering me his seat for the last ten minutes of the ride, and practically pushing me off the plane as soon as the bell rang signalling this big bus had reached a full and complete stop.
I had 14 minutes.
I ran through the terminal like OJ Simpson (in his Hertz rent-a-car days) to the shuttle which would take me to the next terminal.
I had five minutes.
"Just wait a minute," a guard said. "The shuttle will be here soon."
A whole minute? I don't have an extra one of those. I called my sister. "Can you ask the flight to wait? I'm almost there."
"Don't worry," she said. "It's been delayed."
It was amazing. I was so relieved to have that time. Just time. Time to breathe.
It made me think of writing. We're often under an imagined deadline. I need to finish this by my 50th birthday, by the end of the year, by summer vacation. It makes us do silly things (like jump over suitcases and push others out of the way.) It's good to have a deadline, a goal, as long as the goal doesn't overwhelm your writing. When it does "Just wait a minute."

Climbing the Mountain

2012-01-12T08:42:00.001-08:00

Over the holidays, we went on our annual trip to Lake Tahoe. There was absolutely no snow, other than that manufactured by the resorts, which was fine by me as my idea of a good time is driving on dry pavement, not bundling up, and hiking around the lake with the dogs.
While the kids snowboarded on icy patches, my husband and I decided to hike to the top of the bare mountain. It didn't look hard--surely we'd be back down in time to meet the kids for lunch. We looked for a path and, not immediately seeing one, just bulldozed our way through a patch of bushes, over a bunch of rocks.
It got rockier and rockier. The top seemed further and further away. Whereas my husband was surely a mountain goat in some past life and jumped from rock to rock, I was brought to my bottom as I held precariously onto one wobbly rock after another. I kept thinking, "Was this supposed to be fun?"
I decided I'd rather hike on flat pavement and went back down the mountain. A few joggers ran past and I asked, "Is there a trail nearby?" There was--just down the road. Oh, the beauty. A nicely carved trail, a direction to follow.
I was reminded of the writing journey. How it seems so easy--to just write a book--and I bulldoze through, getting hung up on rocks and scratched by branches, landing on my butt more times than I can count--and wishing to be like a mountain goat. While there is no "trail," I've found several markers helpful:
1)The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide by Becky Levine. She writes about the importance of critique groups, how to find one, how to critique. My critique group is my major lifeline, pulling me back when I wander off -or can't even find--the trail.
2)The Plot Whisperer: Secrets of Story Structure Any Writer Can Master by Martha Alderson. She takes the nitty gritty words and forces the author to look at the big picture. What is the plot? How does it evolve? It's a great help for people (like me) who bulldoze ahead and get stuck on a pile of rocks.
3)Occasional amazing teachers, like David Corbett. He is the author of numerous adventure stories, including Do They Know I'm Running? Done for a Dime, Blood of Paradise, and The Devil's Redhead. He'll be teaching a class Arcs & Acts at Book Passage in Corte Madera, Saturday, February 4, 10:00 am-4:00 pm and Sunday, February 5, 10:00 am-3:00 pm. See details
4)Good books. The book of the week is Deep Down True by Juliette Fay, the story of a middle-aged mother who tries to pull her family and herself together in the wake of a divorce from her husband who left her for a young Chinese immigrant. I enjoyed Fays's first book--Shelter Me--better. However, as in that book, I loved Fay's voice. I would read anything by this author.

Fun with Antiques

2011-12-26T12:40:00.002-08:00

My younger son is into photography these days. So, one of the big gifts I gave him this Christmas was a "real film" camera from the back of my closet. He thought it was so "cool." I got a kick out of the idea that something I'd used as a young adult was an antique, and was thrilled to be able to actually teach him something. (Usually he's the one showing me how to set a password or download an app.)

By the way, one of his photos was chosen for a city contest
Please take a look and vote---the beautiful blue rose picture is his. Merry Holidays.

Amazing Coincidences

2011-12-16T09:03:00.000-08:00

This past month, I had the good fortune to visit England and Denmark. Our eldest was doing a semester at Warwick and, as the Brits don't do Thanksgiving, we took it to her....and to a smattering of relatives who have lived overseas so long they've forgotten about that particular tradition. There were a great many amazing moments (which I won't tire you with). I did discover the fact that Warwick Univ --of all possible places in the universe-- has a sister relationship with NTU-Singapore. So I arranged to drop off a copy of My Half of the Sky for their library. That was definitely fun.

Book of the Week: Shelter Me by Juliette Fay. When the story opens Janie, who has two small children, has just lost her husband in a freak accident. Seems like a real downer, but the voice of Janie is strong and funny, and made for a good read.

One Hunk No Longer Enough

2011-11-14T08:38:00.000-08:00

A few years ago my husband went out and bought a mega-drive (as in I don't know how big it really was. Just big.) I backed up writings and kids' work and pictures--tons and tons of pictures. In fact, I spent an entire summer scanning old photos which I then gave over to this hunk of a drive.

This weekend, as my youngest and I were preparing to go to England/Denmark for ten days, I thought it best to back up the latest drafts of my new novel. I plugged in my hunk of a drive. The light came on, but the hunk was not there. The Geek Squad informed me the hunk had died. That they could not retrieve the information....although maybe a stronger engineering team could. (stronger meaning mega-expensive.)

How could this happen? I felt sure that one hunky drive was enough. Even my engineering husband had been confident.

I asked Mr. Geek how he did back up. He said he had four drives, did four back-ups of all his information, and checked the drives weekly to see they were working.

He must have some serious information he's worried about losing.

Then he went on, "But, if you have documents you're really concerned about, you might want more than four back ups."

Hmmmm.

So the one hunk is not sufficient. But four? How many back-ups do you do?

Books of the week

Quiet as they Come by Angie Chau is a series of short vignettes about a family of Vietnamese who are trying to make it in America. They live one family to a room in a dilapidated apartment. There is never enough food or clothing--even love is sometimes in short supply. The writing is beautiful, the stories very touching. It's well worth the read.

The Biggest Ghost in Our Family's Past

2011-10-28T08:48:00.001-07:00

With Halloween coming up--and kids digging through the crafts box to figure out what to dress up as--I was reminded of the biggest ghostly incident in our family.

We were living in Singapore and had traveled to Bintan Island, Indonesia for a holiday. They had nice shacks lining white-sand beaches, coconut trees swaying in the breeze, lovely coral filled the water. It was idyllic except for the neighbors who started drinking before noon and got progressively louder.

We quickly took the kids out for a swim, enjoying the lovely coral, the pretty fish, the warm water. We stayed out all day, only coming in as the sun was setting and we were hungry, tired, and salty.

As we passed the neighbors, there was no more raucous laughter. "Did you see a middle-aged man out there swimming?" One of them came up to us and asked. "Our friend Suzuki is missing. "

There had been a bunch of teens splashing around near the rocks, a lone woman snorkeler. But no Suzuki.

My husband went off to help locate the inebriated Suzuki. The sky was turning a light shade of pink. It would be dark soon.

I took the kids into the shack alone to help them shower. As I stood in the shower, I felt a shiver. Why would Suzuki just disappear like that?

We dressed and hurried to join the search party. Now there were dozens of people lined up along the beach. One of the friends suddenly tore off his shirt and raced into the water. "I'm coming." he shouted as he swam toward the deep waters. "Hold on."

"You found him?" I asked looking into the dark water. For now it was so dark it was hard to see.

"There." My husband pointed.

I squinted at the dark, menacing waves and could just barely make out a head. I held onto my children, remembering how much this man had had to drink all day and wondering why in the name of anything he was out here swimming.

More people gathered, pointing and murmuring. Finally, a motorboat sounded in the distance. A rescue was on the way.

"What's everyone doing out here?" A man came racing down the beach. He was dressed up for dinner. He was loud.

"Suzuki?" Someone called. "Is that you?"

It was. He had been waiting in the restaurant the whole time. So who was in the water being rescued?

The rescue boat shone its light across the waters... on the swimming heroic friend and then "Suzuki"...a big bobbing coconut.

We all got a good laugh out of that. But, it made me realize how we are so easily dominated by imagined fears. How quick we are to see dangers that don't exist. It is a reminder--although my kids are usually the ones to do the reminding--to embrace adventure and not look for the bobbing coconuts.

Book of the week:

Inkblot by Johnson Naigle is a fun young adult story about a teen who creates this ingenious personality profiling software which he hopes to one day use for the good of society. Unfortunately his love interest decides it could be used for the good of her career first. It is an easy, cute read.

Never Too Late to Apologize

2011-10-17T17:39:00.000-07:00

1882 Project

www.1882Project.org

The Chinese Exclusion Laws involved legislation Congress passed between 1879 and 1904 that explicitly discriminated against persons of Chinese descent based on race. The laws imposed increasingly severe restrictions on immigration and naturalization. Congress repealed the laws as a wartime measure...but they never looked back, never thought to apologize.

On October 6, 2011 the Senate (finally) passed S. Res. 201--the resolution addressing and expressing regret for the Chinese Exclusion Laws--by unanimous consent. We could not have done this without the considerable constituent support that all of you provided, or the inspiring and tireless leadership of our prime sponsor, Senator Scott Brown. Now we're hoping for similar success in the House.

To learn more about these miserable laws and to write a note to your Congressperson, go to The 1882 Project

Tossing Out My Swear-Meter

2011-10-14T09:57:00.000-07:00

I used to have a swear-meter, counting cuss words in movies, and making the kids stop watching if the count went higher than six.
"Who cares about plot? If they can't get the story across without cussing a blue streak, then I don't want to hear it." That was my motto.
But I didn't stick to it. As the years went on, I realized I was missing a lot of good movies. I think I was the last one on earth to see Saving Private Ryan.
That same motto was not relaxed with books...until recently.
Over the summer, my son came home with a book. He wouldn't show me the title, but I often heard him off in the corner giggling and finally I couldn't stand the suspense. He was busting his gut over Shi*t My Dad Says by Justin Halpern.
I was immediately turned off by the title. But the memory of those giggles stayed with me. So, the other day, when I saw it on my other son's Kindle, I thought I'd read a bit.
I happened to be at my youngest daughter's piano lesson--not in some studio waiting room, but in the living room of our neighbor three feet away from my daughter and her teacher. I soon found myself giggling so hard I thought my stomach would break and trying not to given the circumstances. Afterwards, my daughter asked, "Mom, why were you crying?"
It's definitely worth reading, although perhaps not at a piano lesson and not with your youngest daughter...too many swear words.

A Cure for the Dentist's Drill

2011-10-10T19:36:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I had to have a crown redone. It sounds like such a lovely event, complete with swishy red velvet dresses and diamonds and dancing til dawn. But we all know better. The only thing red is--well I won't go there. Not at all looking forward to this, I thought of an escape: my son's Kindle (which at some point in time had actually been a gift to me.) I seemed to remember that it has a text-to-speech function. Of course, I couldn't figure out how to use it so I asked my friend, Google. Sure enough there was even a You Tube Video on the subject. Armed with my Kindle I entered the world of doom and gloom. I must admit the robotic voice was irritating as I sat looking out the window awaiting my fate. But, let me tell you, even robots sound like old friends when compared to the drill. I won't be visiting the dentist again without my Kindle.

China's Not So Far From Oz

2011-10-06T17:29:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks back I went to Kansas City, Missouri for the US-China People's Friendship Association's National Convention. I kept thinking, "Kansas City? Only Oz is further."
As it turned out, Kansas City is very close to China--
Edward Snow was born here and his legacy continues,
Kansas City is sister cities with Xian,
Missouri State has an amazing Asian Studies Program, and
the Nelson-Atkins Art Museum has a huge Chinese art collection.
Everywhere I turned there was a link to China.
I guess the lesson here was not to judge a state by a musical (although I did see my fair share of ruby slippers.)
I'm pleased to say that Missouri State has a copy of My Half of the Sky in their library and the Nelson Atkins has autographed copies for sale in their bookstore.
Books of the Week: Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford. Ford writes of the period during WWII when the US was in a panic and every Japanese was spy material. His hero is a young Chinese boy who must wear a badge around which reads, "I am Chinese." He doesn't understand the point of this until his new best friend, a Japanese girl, is taken away to a relocation camp. The badge turns from something pointless to a valuable shield. It's a fascinating and well-told story. (My only complaint is that the Japanese translations are off.)
A Fierce Radiance by Lauren Belfer--This was really long and overdramatic story which couldn't decide if it was a romance or a mystery. However, the history in here about the development of penicillin (and the way people dropped off like flies before it) was fascinating.

Sentiments that live through the ages

2011-09-23T18:11:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, a Korean gentleman approached me. “Your book reminds me of old Korea.Will you help me tell my story?“ This man grew up in Korea during WWII and the Korean War (1950’s). His father (A Christian minister) and two older brothers were killed during these wars, all by different regimes. He wasn’t out to point a finger and say, “This country was bad to us.” However, he wanted people to understand that when a country has a bad leader—any country—the innocent suffer. He said his deepest wish is that all people of the world hold hands across the oceans in peace and brotherhood.This past week, one of the lovely Afghan Women writers wrote a poem, the following of which is an excerpt:Dear people of world and friends Dear people who are black, white, yellow, and from every race, every countryLet us put our hands together To help prevent another murder I was struck by the similar image, an image many of us dream of but cannot grasp. (In fact, I’m often struck by how I have so much trouble with just the people next door.)

Memories from around the world

2011-09-11T13:51:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned, this month I'm lucky to be able to mentor Afghan women writers, as they work to express their thoughts. Today, one of my writers--Yalba --is featured on the blog as she recalls what 9/11 meant to her family. It's an amazing story. Please visit Islamabad and 9/11 and leave feedback.

Labor Days

2011-09-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

Five years ago a friend set up a website for My Half of the Sky. I didn't get the chance to use it—as KOMENAR publishing had different plans. And, while recently the publisher gave me the green light, my friend had moved onto different projects. So any updating and setting up of a website was now in my lap. Ugh.

This past weekend, my computer engineering husband took pity on me with my html-code cheat sheet. But even with the two of us hovered next to the screen, we spent all the holiday sighing and looking at the ceiling and asking the screen, “What do we do now?” Days of intense labor. Please come take a look.

I had a worst-books kind of week. I just read a book put out by a big publisher (Houghton-Mifflin), so I assumed it would be wonderful. The writing was choppy and disjointed with points of view popping up for no apparent reason, with chapters hinging on unbelievable details (like a guy having sex with his girlfriend and not noticing she is five months pregnant.), with main characters acting deliberately dumb. The author got lost in what felt like a moral crusade to preserve life. The book was instructional to me on how not to write. But gosh, it was painful to read. Have you read anything good lately?

An interesting book and fascinating project

2011-09-02T08:48:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I had the chance to hear Ying-Ying Chang talk about her new book, The Woman Who Could Not Forget. I had not heard of the book, but I knew Mrs. Chang was the mother of Iris Chang, an incredible author who wrote several books including the most definitive, well-documented (and readable) book on the rape of Nanking. Iris Chang suffered depression and shot herself in 2004.

Her mother, Ying-Ying, in an effort to squash rumors surrounding her daughter’s death, wrote a book. It’s a charming read, one that is so sad, yet so full of hope. She talks about Iris’s life as a child, a mother, a writer. One line stuck out for me in an e-mail Iris had sent her mother: “Words are the only way to preserve the essence of a soul.”

So true in many ways.

Iris Chang believed words were one way to be immortal—marveling at the works of Churchill and Darrow and Napolean. Another author believes that words are one way to keep the soul alive. Masha Hamilton, who has also written many wonderful books-- my favorite being the Camel Bookmobile—started a writing project a little over two years ago to give Afghan women a voice.

I've been following the project since its infancy, marveling at the stories these women share, despite the danger to themselves and their families, despite the long and arduous journeys they must often make to get their words out. This month, I am privileged to get to work with some of these writers.

Please stop by Afghan Women Writers Project, see what they’re writing about, and leave a comment or two. Your comments and encouragement mean the world.

A New Convert to the E-Reader

2011-08-26T08:37:00.000-07:00

I never caught the e-reader bug. I bought one for my mother and tried it out. But I prefer having a book in my hands, turning real pages, going back to a passage I enjoyed without using a "search" function.

However, a dear friend recently gave me a Kindle and I thought I'd try it again. I didn't even get the chance. My children swooped down on that thing like pigeons spotting a bread crust.

What's so fantastic about that is none of my children were avid readers. They would read their school texts and maybe a few extra books for pleasure each year. But that was it...

Until the Kindle. The week we got it, my son devoured an entire series. My daughter, who fought for time, read two books. I eventually broke down and bought another one--this time a Nook, as I understand colleges are making materials available on it.

I'm now a devout worshipper of this device, and enjoy knowing that the kids are scrolling through book after book after book.

Book of the Week: Eden Close by Anita Shreve. Shreve's use of language is always a treat. This story is too. A thirty-something man returns to his hometown for his mother's funeral, to pack up the house. He plans to just get in and out, as his high-powered job in New York is calling. However, he begins revisiting memories, including those of his friendship with the girl next door.

I'm In Control

2011-06-30T18:16:00.000-07:00

Recently, my younger son was struggling with grades. I wasn't sure what the problem was. He's intelligent. He's capable. So, why all the missing homework? The low test scores?

I kept asking him, "What's the problem here?"

"It's nothing," he kept saying, "Don't worry, Mom. I'm in control."

I trusted that elegant pronouncement....for a long time. Then I found a place called All Minds Matter.

The first question the Academic Coach, Caitlin Hoffman, asked was, "Does you son have a cell phone with him when he studies?"

"Of course," I said. "But you know these young people. They're so capable of multi-tasking."

"No, no, no," she said. "Take the phone away when he studies."

The first time I took the phone away, it was like taking opium from an addict. But I wrenched it from his hand. I put it downstairs near me. I was doing some research.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. The thing went off.

I found my spot again and continued reading.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

I was interrupted mid-sentence and forgot what I'd just read.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

That damn thing went off--with someone's text--every five minutes. The noise alone made me lose focus. I could just imagine my son attempting to study anything. Unless it only took four minutes to do, it wouldn't happen. It was an eye-opening experience. And I came away wondering about my own forays away from the page. The occasional click to check e-mail or look at ratings.

It's nothing, as my son would say. I'm in control. Or am I?

Books of the Week: Lost Names by Richard E. Kim--Kim writes of a young boy growing up in northern Korea during WWII. He takes you through the injustice, the fear, the hunger, the sorrow of growing up in an occupied nation as a young boy, and the exultation yet concern of being suddenly set free with the end of World War II as a teenager. It's a lovely story, and I only wish he'd kept going to deal with the moments when North Korea became a state in its own and yet another war broke out. Oh, wait, he does. But, it's another book. (The Korean War) Goody.

Rescue by Anita Shreve-- This more recent book of Shreve's is of an EMT who falls in love with a woman he rescues, and then must deal with the fall-out of that disastrous relationship. The writing is beautiful, of course. It's an interesting read.

Yes, and...

2011-06-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

Tina Fey in her book Bossypants, which I've already lent out so I can't quote from, talks about tricks she learned doing improv. She'll stand on stage and her partner will say, "Hey, Mom, I just realized I'm from Mars." Instead of saying, "No, sweetheart," she'll say, "Yes, and isn't that a wonderful realization?" In fact, the rule of thumb in improv is that you don't use the word,"No." You accept any and every suggestion which is thrown at you, and move with this new body of information.

Just for fun, I started counting the times I say (or think) No to someone else's ideas, beliefs, suggestions. (I decided improv would not be a good profession for me.) Seriously, though, it hit me this week, as I was struggling with my manuscript, that one of my critiquer's ideas --to add another character's voice-- was just what I needed. When she had initially suggested this six months ago, I thought, "No way. She's nuts." If only I'd read Fey's book earlier.

So I've decided the Fey approach might be the key not only to improv...but to writing, to life in general.

Books of the Week: On A Night Like This by Ellen Sussman: The main character of Sussman's book discovers she has cancer and is going to die very soon. She is a mother of a teenager, and has no other family around. I kept thinking, "How can this story end well?" This is going to be maudlin and mushy and sad. It wasn't. While there were a few too many forays into discussions on love and dying, it was an interesting and meaningful read. One that will stay with me for a long time.

Bodysurfing by Anita Shreve: The book reads like a poem--throwing out images rather than holding my hand and guiding me in the right direction. I, at first, thought this would get tiresome. Instead, I stayed up half the night wanting to know what happened next. Shreve has a way of placing you right there in the middle of the action--and lots of it. I hated for the story to end.

Surely even Kipling expected us to take a water break

2011-05-27T09:17:00.000-07:00

My eldest daughter sent me three e-mails this week. All one line, no frills updates. She wasn't coming home, as she wanted to take summer school classes; she wanted me to edit a donation-request letter for her Medical Brigades trip to Honduras; her wisdom teeth were bothering her. I had heard about all these activities (minus the wisdom teeth), but hadn't realized just what a pile it had become. I picked up the phone to find out how she was doing. She said she felt stressed--thus the short e-mails. I listened to her schedule which was jammed, every unforgiving minute full of sixty seconds worth of distance run, until January of 2012 and understood why. I had the urge to grab onto her, make her look back a moment from whence she'd come before moving on, make her take a water break. Surely even Kipling intended us all to do that.
Talking with her inspired me to take my own advice. This time of year is always stressful. It's the end of the school year--my children are already celebrating with beach days and pajama days. I'm still trying to force out another chapter--some days even another paragraph would be welcome. After talking with my daughter, I got on the computer, not just to stare at the cursor on my current chapter, but to look back at all the projects I've done over the year (and okay, I looked back even further.) I got lost remembering the fun of that project, the inspiration for that, the multitude of tasks I'd forgotten I'd accomplished. I haven't felt so de-stressed in weeks. You should try it.
Book of the Week: Bossypants by Tina Fey. Tina Fey has a witty stream-of-consciousness style that makes you feel like you're sitting against the bleachers with your best buddy. I haven't laughed so much in a long time. If looking back isn't your thing, this is a good 'water break.' I'd do both.

Imperfect Action

2011-05-09T10:01:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I got to be a part of the National League of American PEN women's presentation, awarding generous scholarships to women in art, music, letters. I told the Race Story (as it's come to be known in our family.) How my daughter once joined the track team and was invited to this big meet where she could join any event she dared. We all went to watch, lugging babies and babydom to what felt like the other side of the country. (It was really just a half hour away.) But we couldn't see my daughter. Which race was she participating in? We finally spotted her sitting in the middle of the field chatting with friends. When I went to find out why she wasn't running any of races, she mumbled,
"I don't want to. What if I lose?"
"Just run the race, Love. Run the race."
Her raw fear feels true to me everyday--it's so much easier to sit on the field (whether you have finals coming, a concert, a book project, whatever) then to stand up and give the project in your heart your damndest and fail.
I still congratulate these young National Pen women scholarship applicants for running the race. For winning.
Along this theme, fellow author Jane Parks-McKay pointed me to a great video: Artist Michele Theberge talks about how to move forward when your mind is giving you a thousand reasons why not to work on your project : I don't know how to start it. I don't have all the research. I don't have all the materials. Who will be interested? She calls it Imperfect Action and says, "Just take one step. Action begets action." A great reminder. (www.themindfulartist.com/2011/05/whats-so-great-about-perfect/
Book of the Week: Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown . The book's construction was fascinating, told from the we-POV of the sisters. It was as if these three sisters were one body telling this story. For that alone, I think it is worth the read. That and the lovely turns of phrase. The plot? Uh--well, that kind of fell off the table....

***As a side note: If you know of any young (I know we're all young, but in this case highschool and college age young) female artists, musicians, writers, who are live in the Bay Area, point them in the direction of the National Pen Women. The scholarship info for next year should be up on the website in a couple of months. http://www.nlapwsantaclara.org/.

Some good books

2011-04-22T09:47:00.000-07:00

The Imperial Cruise by James Bradley. Ever wondered how the idea of Nazi-ism got started? Why the sudden push for an Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere? What sparked WWII? I always thought the world had just gone mad (a bad 60-year cycle, as fengshui people would say). Not so, writes James Bradley, documenting early Americans and especially focusing on the first President Roosevelt who promoted a Japanese Monroe Doctrine. The work is eye-opening....and humbling.
A Helmet for my Pillow by Robert Leckie. HBO did a series called The Pacific, which documented some of the worst battles in the Pacific during WWII (and with Steven Spielberg directing, no gore was left to the imagination.) While I had trouble watching the series, covering my eyes each time bombing started, I was fascinated that the characters in the series were based on real men. One such man was Robert Leckie who wrote a bunch of books about his wartime experiences. A Helmet for My Pillow was like reading someone's letters home--funny, endearing, heartwrenching.

Awe-inspiring Grace

2011-04-06T12:25:00.000-07:00

The buzz in my children's worlds recently has come from UCLA. A student there got on you-tube to offer her opinion of library manners--or the lack thereof. While I hate to subject people to such nonsense, and cringe everytime I hear her talking about "hordes of Asians" --as certainly 99% of them are Americans who happen to speak more than English--one must see the video in order to understand one man's response. And there was an outpouring of response. Shame, anger, disgust, etc. I fell in the latter category, as in "How did someone like that get into UCLA???? Is this the type of politician we have to look forward to?" But one man--Jimmy Wong--wrote a song. It's tune is fun and simple, the lyrics poke good-natured fun (all the way down to his exaggerated Japanese accent), and the monies he receives when you buy his song as an i-tune download go to Tsunami Relief. Ching-Chong. I'm in awe of such grace.

Places to Help Japan

2011-04-01T11:24:00.000-07:00

The other day I was talking with a friend about Japan, and she said she hadn't heard of any fundraising efforts. I was thinking that all I've seen is fundraising for Japan--but then perhaps it is because I'm looking, looking, looking. For those who also haven't seen any fundraising efforts, I found a great blog which listed places to help out Japan Let me know if you find other places.

Deliver Me From the Stone Age....Please

2011-01-20T10:47:00.000-08:00

This past week was midterm week at the high school. Oh, so much information. Where does one start? I suggested my son make flashcards.
A pile of cards later, he looked more frustrated. How would he ever remember all these battles? Dates? Cell parts?
Hmmmm, what about the internet? Perhaps someone had developed a game--like jeopardy or concentration--which would make the info fun and easy to remember.
Nope. He found something even cooler.
Online Flashcards
Perhaps I'm the last neanderthal to have made this discovery. But just in case there are a few others remaining, let me say it is the greatest tool. You create your own flashcards and then can test yourself. What's more, for a small fee, you can download the info to your ipod. All week, wherever my son went, he could pull out his ipod and test himself.
I'm now looking at a pile of index cards on my desk--not for midterms, but for my novel. An unwieldy bunch of cards, denoting characters and their traits, place names, chapters and their happenings. I'm thinking it's time for me to join the new century and do some of this online flashcard stuff....but then perhaps there's a better internet application specifically for writers. Any thoughts?

Run the Race

2011-01-14T08:46:00.001-08:00

Years ago, my eldest daughter joined the school track team. One of the first meets was away, and the coach encouraged the runners to join as many events as possible. I dragged my whole crew to this far-away school to support her.
We couldn't find her. At least not on the track. After numerous races, a diaper change, a juice-box break, I spotted her sitting on the field surrounded by a bunch of friends.
"Why aren't you joining any of the races?" I asked.
"I don't want to," she mumbled.
"Why not?"
"What if I lose?"
That raw emotion stays with me. I was reminded of it this week when my son did his best to ignore impending finals--surfing the web, making plans to build half pipes, playing video games.
I'm reminded it of it each time I put off my own writing in favor of something mundane like cleaning out a closet. For certainly it's easier to say I didn't have time to put my whole self into something then to do my damndest and fail.
But as I said to my daughter that day, as I told my son, as I must remind myself everyday:
Run the Race.
Book of the Week:
Pictures of You by Caroline Leavitt. It's been months (a long time for me) since I found a book that grabbed me, one that I looked forward to reading for more than sedative purposes. Pictures of You kept me up half the night as I longed to find out what happened to these dear characters thrust together as the result of a horrific car crash. A good--and fast--read.

Time--A Personal Issue

2010-12-10T17:16:00.000-08:00

I ran into my son's friend today, a freshman at college. When I asked how things were going, she said, "It was a challenge at first. I've got all this time, no one looking out for how I use it, and I was never sure how much time I needed to spend doing what."
Wow.
I have a new high schooler who flounders over the same thing.
I have a new middle schooler who flounders.
As an old alum I still flounder.
I've come to think it's a matter of figuring out how much time YOU need to finish what is most important to you. I'm sure this is common sense to many. But I've watched enough people struggle to be as efficient as Tom, Dick and Harry. I watch myself constantly over-estimating my writing efficiency.
It's only recently that I'm finally figuring out how personal that chunk of time is, how necessary it is to divide those precious minutes given according to your own abilities and desires. Nevermind that Sara tosses out a chapter in two hours. Nevermind that Jen wrote an entire manuscript in a month. Based on your personal prediction of how long your important activity takes, pare down the other activities so that paper gets done, project gets done, that book gets done.

Fun Books: The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness by Elyn R. Saks. Professor Saks writes of how she grew up feeling different, hearing voices, not always sure of the thoughts she was having. As a Yale Law School Grad and Rhodes Scholar, she takes us on her journey through her sickness and shows us another side to mental illness.
The Curious Incident of The Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon: This is an amazing book written through the eyes of an intelligent boy who has learning problems. His quest is to find out who murdered his neighbor's dog, and he takes us down a dangerous road through serious family issues.
Half-Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls is a novel based on the true-life story of her grandmother who grew up on a ranch in the early 1900s. She's full of spunk and creativity and the ability to survive even during the Depression. An easy and interesting read.

Post a Guard in Your Writing Lot --Avoid the Sorries

2010-09-10T09:08:00.000-07:00

One thing about having a Chinese husband—or at least my Chinese husband—is that we never travel too far unless it's to visit a relative. While on the one hand this means a lot of tourist destinations are out--cross off Bahamas and Cabo-- it does make travel twice as meaningful. You’re always getting an in-depth view of the place and visiting someone you haven’t seen in a long time. This past summer we got both tourist destination and family reunion visiting my cousins in Oahu.
On the third day there, we went to a small beach renowned for having a bunch of sea turtles. The concept itself seemed funny—that sea turtles would “live” in a certain area of the ocean. But it was true. As soon as I entered the water, a huge turtle (which I thought was a rock) bumped into my leg. Another swam over my head. Amazing.
All this beauty was punctured, though, when we returned to our rental car wet, tired and hungry and ready to go home, only to realize that someone had smashed the window of the car and stolen my purse.
Fortunately, I had two teenagers and my cousin all with cell phones.
The police arrived within minutes to document this “smash and grab.” Apparently, the crime is so common (especially in this particular parking lot) it had its own title.
“If it’s so common,” I wondered aloud to the officer and my cousin, “Why not post a guard in the parking lot? I'd pay a parking fee to ensure my car was safe.”
“The economy’s bad now," they said. "No money for guards.”
That didn’t make sense to me, but I was more intent on canceling my credit cards than worrying about this parking lot.
"But don't worry," the officer consoled. "Someone from VASH will be calling you soon."
Would they find the perpetrators so quickly?
Was this just a momentary inconvenience?
No, he explained, VASH stood for Visitors Aloha Society of Hawaii --volunteers who called victims of crimes to offer sympathy, counseling, etc.
Oh.
VASH did call and apologize on behalf of the Island for this unfortunate incident. Did I need counseling? When I got home, they’d even sent a card…with a local island scene on the front and "thinking of you" on the inside. That’s when I got irritated.
Here were all these passionate citizens interested in maintaining the image of their lovely island. And they do have a lovely island. But their efforts were channeled into apologizing. I thought, if they volunteered as much time guarding the affected areas of the island (or sending letters to council members to suggest better protection), there wouldn’t be a need for all this aftercare.
As usual, this made me think of writing. Of how we writers are passionate and dedicated to our work. Yet, sometimes we're so eager to get a piece finished and out there, we don’t polish up those last few scenes or we ignore the gap in that character’s arc or (more importantly), we skim through that contract.
Then we end up apologizing. (“I really didn’t mean to send that draft.”)
Or just being sorry. (“Why did I ever sign that contract?”)
I’ve lost opportunities and been stuck in situations I still regret because I didn’t post a guard in my writing lot.
So, when you think you’ll just keel over and die if you have to look at that manuscript/contract one more time, sit back. Wait a week. Or a month. Visit a relative.:) By then, you probably can bare to peek one more time to make sure everything is as perfect with your manuscript as it can be, everything is as fair with your contract as it should be.

Book of the Week
Zoe Ferraris latest novel, City of Veils, is a sequel to her great first book, Finding Nouf. The story begins with a dead body, an American woman who dreads returning to live with her husband in Saudi Arabia, and a police detective who is trying to keep up with her new job and compete among the throngs of men. Each voice--and there are five-- is unique and brings a different perspective. I found myself thinking, as I raced forward to find out what would happen next, "This isn't just about Islam." (Or dead bodies.) It's about all our Gods." It's a fun--and fast--read.

Just Give it A Try

2010-09-03T09:17:00.000-07:00

This summer my incoming freshman son perused the club offerings at the high school.
bicycle racing club --but they bike uphill too, he figured.
swimming --doesn't start til spring, he noted.
snowboarding club --too expensive, I put in.
"What about Marching Band," I suggested.
I must admit I didn't really know anything about marching band--but they did have a percussion section, and he's been taking drumming lessons since elementary school.
"Percussion is different than drumming." He continued flipping through the offerings.
Really?
"Marching Band is social suicide," his brother said. "Only nerds join."
Then he can be the first cool nerd.
"It's militaristic," his uncle said.
Come on. The British aren't coming.
"Just give it a try," I suggested. Pleaded. Begged.
Being a cool nerd, he did. And he was surprised to discover that not everyone was a nerd, that percussion was challenging to learn, that he actually enjoyed.
Still, it was a painful few weeks dealing with everyone's preconceptions and misconceptions of this world.
It reminded me of a recent discussion among the Womens' Bay Area authors--one author wondered if it was better to have your book known as "literary fiction" or "women's fiction." Wasn't "literary fiction" tantamount to boring? And "women's fiction" another term for flimsy fluff?
"Why is there even a category called 'women's fiction?' asked another. "There's no "men's fiction.'"
To be honest, I'd never even thought of that. To be honest, though, I never gave any of the categories much thought. It seems these categories serve only to push readers away. Why do we do this?

Books of the Week
Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is required reading for the UCSB African American Women's Lit class--but don't let that category build walls. It's an amazing book about a teenager living in a fundamental Catholic family in Nigeria when the the world begins to crumble under a military coup. I was so entranced by the world Adichie wove, I've since ordered her other two novels, Half of a Yellow Sun and The Thing Around Your Neck.

Someone Sings the Praises of Underrated Writers

2010-08-24T08:35:00.000-07:00

Recently an obviously frustrated writer, who shall go unnamed, decided to rant about today's authors. In his very un-humble opinion, these authors were given too much credit. He trashed some of my favorites--Amy Tan and Junot Diaz.
While I quietly steamed, one brilliant author, Elizabeth Stark, started her own list...underrated authors She has a wonderful blog which not only includes these unsung artists, but has interviews with authors and other writing tips.

Fun is just beginning

2010-08-23T11:42:00.000-07:00

Summer is winding down--but the fun is about to begin. Two upcoming events which might be of interest:
Award winning author/poet Jenni Beiliki is hosting a win-win auction. While raising funds for breast cancer, she is also addressing the needs of new authors. Visit Critters Against Cancer Auction to bid on a fun title and get a critique of your first chapter. If you bid on My Half of the Sky, I'll be there to guide you.
In a totally different vein--or key, as this case may be--the Cantonese Opera Association will be doing a fundraiser at Borders Books, Milpitas (15 Ranch Drive) on the weekend of September 18/19. They will feature authors of books on China, including fengshui, music, martial arts and My Half of the Sky.

Watching a 50-ton Miracle

2010-07-15T10:20:00.000-07:00

I've been in this fog where night is day and day is night, where one day melds into the next, where there's no concern about time or dates. It's also known as summer. It's not been great for writing, but gosh it's been fun.
Yesterday I took my children whale watching in Monterey Bay. Now, if you're like me you think, "Ugh. Whale watching. A scam with seasickness to boot."
Fortunately, my neighbor works at Monterey Bay Aquarium and hears the lowdown on all the stuff going on in the bay.The whales are back in town. Like they haven't been for the past seven years.
At first we saw water spraying in the air, like little bombs exploding beneath the water's surface. One after another after another. Those bombs were the whales. Our boat was surrounded by them.
We saw them dive down and flip their tails, National Geographic style. We saw them come up and open their long wide mouths. We saw them breach (jumping up into the water and landing). That last one still gives me shivers. According to the naturalist on board, a whale is born weighing about 1200 pounds, gains 100 pounds a day, and reaches a weight of about 1 ton per foot. The humpback whale grows to 40-50 feet. So we were watching about 100,000 pounds fly up from the water. 100,000 pounds.
I now have a new image to aid my writing. Each time I feel stuck and think how impossible it is to move forward, to come up with another line, another word, I will see that humpback propelling its massive 50-ton body into the air like a ballerina. Miracles happen.
Books of the Month:
Chasing Windmills by Catherine Ryan Hyde: The story seems simple, at first--boy meets girl on subway, they fall in love and will march off into the sunset...or the crowded streets of New York. But then both the characters have lots and lots of emotional and physical baggage. One is sure that these two will never end up together. The ending is amazing and wonderful and a refreshing twist on happy-ever-afters, reminding us that life is not like the movies.
Into the Wild by Jan Krakauer: Oh, my God. These are the words that keep running through my head as I read of the true account of a young, intelligent, educated man who ditches everything--family, friends, full bank account, promising future--to live out the "ultimate adventure" living off the wilds of Alaska. While this young man's quest did not end in a happy ever after, he reminds us to live life to its fullest.

Descartes Philosophy Not Enough for A Medal

2010-06-04T09:35:00.000-07:00

I know I shouldn't be surprised..but the concept bothers me anew at the end of the school year. Yesterday I sat in an audience of adults cheering as though their children had just discovered a cure for AIDS. All I could think of is, "What in the world are we clapping about?" I'm talking about the Million-Word Reader awards.
For those of you fortunate enough not to know what this is, it's a reading campaign started in the US many years back in which children set a goal to read so many words and then try to reach or surpass that goal. There is a complex formula for figuring out how many words are in a book--or there's even a website which will give you the word count.
I protested when the idea was introduced at our school, but was told, 'We're just are trying to find a way to encourage children to read." A noble goal. Still I had my doubts which were confirmed when--more than a few times--I saw my daughter looking through her bookshelf, picking out books and dismissing them NOT because of theme or content or even an ugly jacket cover, but because "they don't have enough words."
Trying to keep an open mind about this campaign, I went looking for research which proves the Million Word Reader encourages reading. I mean after all these years there should be some kind of study. I couldn't find anything other than enthusiastic sites which suggested how your school might advertise the campaign through posters, competitions, award nights. I kept thinking, "What are we doing to this younger generation?"
This ridiculous campaign which has swept the nation strikes me as the Cultural Revolution of Literature. In fact, I can see down the line books with few words being burned as “useless," poetry being banned altogether, Descartes philosophy "I think therefore I am." reduced to a mere five words--or by then it might be considered 18 letters--still not enough for a medal. And all the while we sit there clapping.
Am I just being a fuddy-duddy unable to grasp a new teaching method? Does anyone know of research showing that advertising word count is a better way to get kids to read? If not, does anyone have thoughts on how to combat this disaster?
Book of the Week: After the Workshop by John McNally is a novel about a man who joined the highly revered Iowa Writer's Workshop and then stagnated, in the meantime becoming a media escort. It's fun and funny.

A Mystery to Be Unraveled

2010-06-01T14:12:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I was invited to listen to the Hindu religious teacher, Swami Chidananda, who was visiting the Bay Area for the first time in three years. One portion of his talk focused on the quote "Life is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived."
I smiled. Not only life. One could say the same of a manuscript.
While there might be a few basic rules to follow, each novel is unique....a mystery to be unraveled.
I'll be doing a workshop on some of those rules of scene-building for the upcoming East of Eden Writers Conference in Salinas, CA from September 24-26. If you're interested in unraveling a bit of the mystery of your manuscript, come join us.

Book of the Week: I always like to give my brain a reward for doing research. So after a week of reading (portions of) The Coldest Winter by David Halberstam which is a fascinating moment by moment account of the Korean War (and started during the coldest winter in recorded history making it deadly for many of the soldiers), I gave myself a break.
Katie Fforde writes just such relaxing novels--fun, witty stories which make me feel like I'm watching an English television drama. So I plunged into her latest book--ugh. It was hysterically horrible. Her dialogue which drives her stories and is normally so fun was beyond terrible....
"I've got such good news! I wish you'd sit down."
"If it's that good why haven't you told me already? Why have breakfast first?"
"Because I need to have you calm and sitting down."
"I am calm and sitting down. Unlike you."
And on and on...
I was so ready to return to the Coldest Winter--in fact, I would have read anything.

Give Yourself Time...Enough to do your best

2010-05-24T10:42:00.001-07:00

My daughter's school has an extra program called The Autonomous Learner Degree. It's not an official degree, but something the students can do and be rewarded for upon graduation. To earn this degree, the student needs to demonstrate proficiency in all areas of life--community service, art, research, politics, etc. My daughter who wants to do everything, and who naturally did all of these "autonomous" things--wanted this extra degree. The only problem: she had to provide all documentation by a certain date (which was last Thursday). She kept putting this part off and putting this part off and putting this part off.
The night before the due date we were ALL up til after midnight helping her film her role play of a gifted individual, helping her find pictures for a timeline, helping her figure out a software to make an animated lesson....all things that she could have spent days on. She woke up early Thursday morning to cram in a few more things.
When I went to pick her up after she'd seen the leader of the ALD program, she seemed relaxed and resigned.
"I didn't get it," she said. The teacher had told her that her animation project was too simple and to come in to fix it, but "if she stopped me on that project, she's not going to approve the others."
Whereas I was ready to have her run in and make that last shot toward the gold medal--or whatever the award was--she was the one who stopped me, saying "I didn't give myself enough time."
Whoa.
I felt in the presence of a guru (albeit a miniature guru who also cried and screamed in frustration).
I always think if I push hard enough anything is possible. Anything. She reminded me otherwise. She also reminded me of my own ALD--my writing. I was reminded that it's tough to make choices between all the wonderful opportunities available--lunch with friends, a walk with the dog, reading a good book--but when it comes to my story, my manuscript, I need to reserve enough time to do my best.
Book of the Week

Every Last One by Anna Quindlen is as captivating as reading one of her old essays in Time. She has that same down-to-earth voice which made me a fan of hers for years (In fact I used to subscribe to the magazine long after it morphed into a version of the Enquirer, just so I could read her column.) Every Last One is the story of a Mother dealing with her three children and husband and their individual issues--some of which turn out to be huge. It is written in present tense (which is always a bit jarring)-- but once you get past that it's a gem. If you're a parent, you'll find yourself smiling, giggling, nodding...and crying.

I just want an "aha!"

2010-05-17T09:27:00.000-07:00

This past week has been miserable, as I stumbled around in the dark trying to get my characters on the next part of the lighted-path. I kept thinking....
"This shouldn't be happening. I'm revising. This should be easy."
It's not.
I tried doing more research.
I tried reading books to jumpstart different techniques.
Yesterday, I spent the whole day doing totally unrelated but creative things--making greeting cards, calendars--in the hopes of finding a spark.
Nothing hit me as an "aha!"
(What I got was a more boring return to old pages to refocus this and refocus that--kind of like getting a sparkler which fizzles halfway down.)
How do you get your creativity flowing? How do you get past a dark patch in your writing?
Book of the Week:
I don't have one. I started --then abandoned--a whole bunch, as they weren't offering the right spark. I'm sure they are good books, but I'm in hyper-critical mode right now. Next week should be better.

Is Today Mother's Day?

2010-05-10T09:53:00.000-07:00

There seemed to be a lot of confusion over Mother's Day this weekend. On Saturday, my husband came home with a dozen roses. My youngest handed me a poem she'd written at school. "Is today Mother's day?"

Mother's day can be loosely tied to ancient spring celebrations in Greece honoring Rhea, the Mother of Gods. Or to celebrations in England honoring the Christian Mother Mary (Mothering Sunday). But our present holiday is thanks to one ordinary woman--Anna Jarvis-- an unmarried, childless woman who cared so much about her mother that she went about creating a day to honor mothers. Three years after her mother's death, she held the first mother's day on May 10, 1908. The idea caught on, and eventually (1914) Woodrow Wilson made it a national holiday.

Yesterday, while my eldest son prepared a feast, I went to hear Anne Quindlen discuss her latest book Every Last One at the Commonwealth Club. A mother's day treat for myself. She discussed her writing process, saying she often felt as if she was channeling the feelings of another person. That she was just the conduit. Often she'd sit down to write and get so involved that when she looked up at the clock, several hours had gone by.

One shouldn't be watching the clock, counting the pages, the words, the letters.

I thought, yes, when the stars are aligned and all goes right.

Just like one shouldn't be watching the date. When it goes right. Every day is Mother's day. At least it should be. Right?

But then the magic isn't always there.

This morning, I took my son to school. He turned on a rock station, the guitar notes making my eyes twitch. I turned the radio off. He turned it back on, switching stations to a no-less jarring tune. He gave me an impish grin.

"Whatever happened to Happy Mother's day?" I asked.

"That was yesterday."

Here's hoping that magic happens--in your writing and your life--more times than not.

Books of the Week


I am Nujood Age 10 and Divorced< by Nujood Ali with Delphine Minoui
Escape by Carolyn Jessop with Laura Palmer

By coincidence both of these books are about women who, due to religious and cultural constraints, were forced into arranged marriages with men many times their age.  One of them was from Yemen, and one of them was from the good ole U.S. of A.  Both stories-although not literary gems- are fascinating.

Good Morning To You

2010-05-03T11:12:00.000-07:00

All year long my youngest has been asking for a surprise party for her birthday--which is later in May. It's all been very funny, especially when her older brother points out
"If you ask for a surprise party, what part of it is a surprise?"
But I thought I'd try.
So I booked a campsite this last weekend, told her we were going camping and invited all her friends.
There was only one issue. We weren't doing a cake (but smores), so there would be no candles to blow out.
"Where did that tradition come from anyway," my husband asked.
We stopped packing the van to find out. Apparently blowing out candles on your birthday cake originates from the ancient Greeks. Every sixth day of the month, the Greeks celebrated the birthday of the Goddess of the Hunt (Artemis). Each household made a honey cake in her honor. In ancient times, people believed the Gods came to attention when you lit a candle. Thus each month, they lit a candle and made a wish to the Goddess. Once she received the wish, the candle was blown out. Over the years, we've adopted a similar idea with our birthday cakes.
Once I started researching on the subject of birthdays, I couldn't stop....
The birthday song originates from a kindergarten song written in 1892 by two sisters Patti and Mildred Hill. Patti Hill was a kindergarten teacher (who incidentally laid the foundation for the standards of kindergarten education in public schools.) She wrote a song called, "Good Morning To You." Later the words were changed around--and we got Happy Birthday To You.
It's a good thing one of the birthday guests called to remind me of the original goal--a surprise party--and took me away from this gold mine of information.
The party turned out to be a great surprise. We sang the Hill's birthday song. Then we all held candles and blew them out, figuring whatever wish my daughter had, she would need her friends (as well) to help her make it come true.
Book of the Week
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is set in the 1940's and is the story of a young girl whose given up into the foster care of a German family sympathetic to the Jews. It is told fascinatingly through the voice of death. I loved this book, and then passed it onto my 8th grader. He's devouring it.

A Magical Writers Weekend

2010-03-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

This year the Milpitas Alliance for the Arts sponsored a short story contest, of which I got to be one of the judges. Yesterday we gathered for a fabulous luncheon to honor the winner, Pria Banwait . She wrote about growing up in the Bay Area with Punjabi Indian restrictions which stifled her, of escaping one evening to venture out into the "wilderness." She ventured as far as her driveway.
She sat there breathing in the night air. Alone. Free at last.
When asked how long it took her to write this story she said, "Oh, probably two days."
I was impressed. Just two days?
"But that was just the beginning," she clarified.
She gave the story to her creative writing class at SJSU and got feedback. She gave it to friends and got feedback. Thus began her process of revising...and revising...and revising. Until she had a first-rate prize-winning story.
Revisions is a topic I'll be discussing at greater length during this year's East of Eden Conference in Salinas the weekend of September 24-26.
This is a magical bi-annual conference. Some of this year's highlights:
Workshops with amazing novelists, such as:
Thomas Sawyer (Murder, She Wrote),
David Corbett (Do They Know I'm Running?) and
Penny Warner (How to Host a Killer Party)
as well as writing gurus
Becky Levine (The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide)
Martha Alderson (Blockbuster Plots)
Martha Engber (Growing Characters from the Ground Up)
Pitching sessions to agents, including Andrea Brown, Amy Burkhardt, and Laurie McLean.
A writing contest (short fiction, novel, poetry, non-fiction) with a $1,000 prize.

So, if you haven't registered already...

Gendercide--it's not technology or policies

2010-03-14T12:49:00.000-07:00

Recently The Economist focused on the worldwide phenomenon of Bare Branches. That's the epithet awarded Chinese men who can't find wives, an occurrence which is happening more and more. The normal birth ratio (108 boys to 100 girls) has become skewed. In some parts of China 130 boys are born for every 100 girls. It's estimated that in ten years China will have as many bachelors as there are young males in America.
Imagine.
That's a lot of bachelors--and that's just from China.
According to The Economist "Gendercide exists on almost every continent. It affects the rich and poor; educated and illiterate; Hindu, Muslim, Confucian and Christian alike."
Fifteen years ago, China and India tried to stem the overflow of boys by making gender-based abortions illegal. That didn't help.
"The destruction of baby girls is a product of three forces:
the ancient preference for sons,
a modern desire for smaller families,
and ultrasound scanning..."
It appears that the first force is the strongest. The only east Asian country which has been able to reverse the skewed birth ratio is South Korea. They reversed their long-held cultural preference for boys and --miracle of miracles--more girls were born.

For more, read the March 4th Issue of the Economist:
The Worldwide War On Baby Girls, Gendercide and Sobs on the Night.

Happy 100th Anniversary

2010-03-08T09:35:00.000-08:00

Today marks the 100th Anniversary of International Women's Day. Stop by here for a neat slideshow on the great strides women are making in Asia. And smile.

Some Fun Stuff

2010-03-07T15:06:00.000-08:00

I just got my copy of US-China Review, a magazine put out by USCPFA, an organization started in the '70s to promote friendship between the two countries. It's said that the group insisted Nixon make a visit to the then-closed fortress of the Middle Kingdom. This historic visit lead to the normalization of ties.
These days the group sponsors tours, pen-pal exchanges, and work opportunities while continuing to foster friendship and understanding.
So anyway, I was looking through my copy of the latest magazine and came upon two wonderful reviews of My Half of the Sky.
I'm so thrilled.
I hope you don't mind if I share some excerpts.....

"McBurney-Lin tells a wonderfully entertaining story with the traditional coming-of-age theme (which is experienced universally)...weaving in the cultural challenges of growing up in China's rapidly changing social system."--Mary Warpeha, co-President of the Minnesota Chapter of USCPFA

"The novel ...includes many of the tales and the folk ways of the people living in the rural areas of South China, still followed provincially. The story takes place in current China, but could relate the dilemma of any young woman in rural China through the ages."--Kitty Trescott, National Board Rep, Midwest Region, USCPFA.

Thank you for that indulgence.)
By the way, Happy 100th Anniversary of International Women's Day.

No Right To Know Everything

2010-02-28T14:31:00.000-08:00

Although my husband is an engineer, often his words reverberate in my head like a Hallelujah Chorus for writers. This past week he was mentoring some new employees at work, which always fascinates me. What are the young people like these days? He said that one of the fresh grads--an intelligent young man--became paralyzed when he didn't recognize everything being tested. "You don't have a right to know everything," my husband advised. "Work with what you know first and move from there."
Yes, I thought. Work with what you know first. Don't worry if you don't see the whole picture. If you don't understand every detail of your character. If you aren't totally sure how to jump from one chapter to the next. Move anyway. With what you CAN do.
Book of the Week: A couple of weeks ago I asked for book ideas on Marx. There wasn't an outpouring of response--no surprise there--however I managed to unearth one: Karl Marx.com by Susan Coll. It's hardly filled with facts, but is a novel paralleling the life of Marx's daughter, Eleanor, and that of a confused grad student. I got a smile out of it, and am ready to dive back into the dusty pages of history. Unless, of course, you've got some other fun ideas?

Come Join the Discussion

2010-02-20T14:14:00.000-08:00

I guess some things are meant to happen. Many months ago, a woman in my book club suggested we all read In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. I viewed the prospect with trepidation. I grew up thinking a trip to McDonald's or a serving of frozen fish sticks was a 'treat.' I had the feeling Mr. Pollan wouldn't agree...and I didn't really want to hear it. Fortunately, her suggestion was trumped....
But then the program director of the Indian Professional Business Women called and asked if I'd moderate this year's Silicon Valley Read's panel discussion. And what should be this year's read? You guessed it. In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan.
The book can be summarized in basically four sentences:
Eat food.
Not too much.
Mostly plants.
(No frozen fish sticks.)
Our discussion should be a little more provocative than that, though, with panelists including registered nurse and SCC Board of Supervisors Liz Kniss, registered dietician and Fitness Clinic co-owner Lisa Richardson,the Director of the Pacific Coast Farmers Market Association John Silviera and the co-founder of the South Asian Heart Center Ashish Mathur. Hope to see you there.
Date: Sunday, February 21st, 2010
Time: 2.00 pm to 4.00 pm
Place: India Community Center (ICC), 525 Los Coches Street, Milpitas, CA 95035

Shedding Some of the Traditions..but not the Happiness of the New Year

2010-02-14T12:13:00.000-08:00

In China, the New Year is the most important holiday of the year--like a combination of our Christmas and Thanksgiving. It's celebrated on the first day of the year, according to the Lunar Calendar, and vacillates between late January and early February. This is the first time I remember the new year falling on Valentine's Day. How often does that happen? According to the LA times, about three times a century.

The holiday starts on the eve (this year, February 13). Certain foods hold great meaning. A whole chicken symbolizes family togetherness. Long noodles represent long life. (It's actually considered bad luck to cut the noodles.) Spring rolls and clams symbolize wealth. Sweet sticky rice symbolizes a rich sweet life. Many foods symbolize abundance, including: oranges, tangerines and fish.

When we first married, I went to great lengths to try to learn and follow all the Chinese traditions. I spent days--or perhaps it just felt like it--in the kitchen. I bought decorations depicting little boys and girls (again the symbol of goodness). We wrote out spring poems to put on our walls and gave the children hongbao (little red packets filled with money.)

These days, though--perhaps because we're nestled in the CA mountains far away from the center of all these traditions--I've lost my manic concern. While we make sure to eat a meal together, it could be anything. (This year, my eldest son baked his signature salmon and my eldest daughter made brownies) About the only tradition we stick to--to avoid a youth uprising--is giving the kids hongbao. And I realized that although the symbols are fascinating and the foods delicious, the being together is the fun part, the talking about your year--your plans, hopes and dreams. Cause in day to day life, how often do you get to do that?

HAPPY YEAR OF THE TIGER!

Celebrate What Is...and Fly High

2010-02-09T09:31:00.000-08:00

For weeks,I've been struggling over a particular scene in my story. The dialogue's fun, but not necessary. The attitudes of the characters don't feel right. The action is not all that it can be. Fueling this struggle is the thought that I haven't been able to race ahead on schedule and turn in pages to my co-author for review. It's been days and days of writing misery.
Until yesterday, when I started a new practice: Moments of Gratitude. This practice was inspired in part by the talented writer and therapist, Beth Proudfoot, who wrote an amazing speech on filling your cup. It was also inspired by David Khorram, author of World Peace, a Blind Wife, and Gecko Tails.David, an eye surgeon who turned down offers awaiting him in America's leading medical centers to live and make a difference on Saipan, compiled the editorials he'd written for the local newspaper.
He has more to talk about than eyes, though. He shares stories about life: life on the island (communication mishaps, island celebrations, fireworks horrors) and life which can apply to us all. His vignettes about gratitude, acceptance, encouragement and change were funny, uplifting and inspirational.
I was so inspired that I tried an exercise he practices with his children: moments of gratitude. The purpose of this is to spend a few moments being grateful for all that is (rather than is not). In our case it went something like this:
"What are you guys feeling grateful for this morning?" I opened the car door.
"Shotgun!" My daughter, raced to the passenger seat, jumped in and slammed her door.
"I wanted to sit in the front." My son harumphed his way into the back. "How come she always gets the front? Can you turn on the radio?"
"No." I forged ahead. "Let's be quiet. Just for a moment. Let's think of things we feel grateful for."
"I can't think of anything," My daughter said. "Can I have a friend over after school?"
"Oh, there must be something." I urged.
"I don't know." My daughter sighed. "I feel grateful for music."
"So do I," My son agreed. "Now can you turn the radio on?"
Needless to say, it wasn't the uplifting outpouring of souls I envisioned. But the two siblings--always in rivalry--found a point of agreement. That's a start....for which I was grateful.
Just as uplifting was my moment at the end of my writing day. Rather than focusing on what I hadn't done--I'm still way behind my self-imposed schedule--I celebrated what was. I finished three pages of that scene, I told myself. I finished them! I finished them!
I felt higher than a kite.

Three Reasons I Quit Reading

2010-02-03T09:09:00.000-08:00

The past week when I've gone into the bedroom, my husband is propped up against the headboard, book in hand, glasses perched on his nose...eyes shut tight. I know what he's reading....because I was reading the same book a week before. Karl Marx by Julius Smulkstys. After two nights of doing just as my husband and falling asleep mid-sentence, I gave up and instead devoured Stately Pursuits by Katie Fforde. Now before you think that I'm just into chic lit, I went on to read another of Fforde's books--Life Skills--and fell asleep right next to my husband.
It's not the subject matter. It's the presentation.
Three things that make me quit reading--or work "better than sleep medicine" as my husband would say:
1)The description of the world I'm being asked to occupy is confusing and I can't stand up. In fact, I feel brain dead. With Marx it was Dialectic, Hegelian Method, Negation of the Negation etc. With Fforde it was Locks and Windlasses.
2) The author skips all the conflict/drama. Marx, the father of the communist doctrine who stated that "religion is an opiate of the masses" came from a long line of rabbis. In fact, his own father was a rabbi! How did Marx get out of this? What family struggles were there? I want to read this.
3) I don't have enough invested in the character to want to turn the page. Now I'm fascinated by Marx--just as I am by other world theologians (Mohammed, Jesus, Buddha, etc.) so it's hard to turn me off. With most books, however, I only know the character from the description provided. I only care about the character because the author is asking me to. In Fforde's book, the main character is an unmarried woman getting up there in age--and surrounded by people telling her she needs to have children before it's too late. But she doesn't care. She's not afraid of anything, not inhibited by anything. In fact, every scrape she gets into, she easily gets out of---even when she turns up pregnant. It's hard to care about a teflon-coated character. I want my character to feel fear and anger and sadness and longing. Or I think, "So what?"
I haven't given up on Fforde (who is amazing with dialogue, and humorous to boot) nor on Marx. However, please--if you know of a good book on Marx--let me know. We've had enough sleeping medicine.

A Great Book Launch

2010-01-31T17:17:00.000-08:00

This weekend I attended my friend Becky Levine's book launch of the Writing Critique Group Survival Guide . Oh, what a party it was--with so many people, cupcakes and even a raffle. But more than the party atmosphere, I was impressed by Becky's words about writing and critiquing.

1) As for writing, she talked about how it's important to be open to more than that which you're focusing on. When she went to a writers conference in Ohio a few years back to be part of an editing panel, she pitched an idea to one of the other panelists--an agent with Writer's Digest Books. The agent wasn't interested. After the panel, in which many audience members asked about critique groups (how to form them, what's the point of joining one, how does one do a critique) Becky approached the agent again--what about a book on critique groups, she asked. The agent paused.
Hmmm. Well, show me a table of contents.
On the airplane ride home, she blasted out the table of contents. "Obviously, I'd had this book simmering in my mind for a long time and didn't even know it."
2) As for critiquing, she said it's important to have R-E-S-P-E-C-T. When you give a critique to someone, respect that this person has slaved over every word, was bold enough to bare all, trusts you to care as much about the writing. When receiving a critique, respect that the person is doing his/her best to bring your work to a higher level. Their opinion might be different than yours, but might also hold great value, a new truth.
If you've ever thought of joining a critique group, but aren't sure how or why --or even if you've been in critique groups but aren't sure you're getting the most from them--this is a great book to have.

Logic is Just A Part of It

2010-01-26T09:13:00.000-08:00

Last week, at the Swap Meet, I came home with several treasures-- a talking hotdog for our D.C. Dawgz fundraising, a set of duck-shaped candles, and the fun book Wild Designs by Kate Fforde which prompted me to check out three more of her titles to read as soon as our electricity came back on.
I was driving home alone in the darkness with these books, as well as ten gallons of water to fill our cups, our dog & cat bowls, to wash dishes, to flush the toilets. (It's amazing how many ways we need water.) Suddenly I heard a man's voice. Strange, as I was listening to music on the radio. I turned down the radio. The voice was gone. So I turned up the music again.
Perhaps the radio had been tuned to two stations. But no. The station seemed clear enough. That man's voice sounded again.
I thought of the numerous e-mails forwarded me about safety for women in the city. How men sometimes hide in unlocked vehicles waiting for their prey. But I'd locked my car. Hadn't I? Oh, please. I shut off the radio and waited.
Moments later, I heard:
"Hotdogs, hotdogs. Ketchup, mustard, relish. Get your fixin's here."
The hotdog toy we'd found at the swap meet last week, and which was obviously being pressed on by gallons of water, played all the way home.
I got a kick out of all the explanations I'd come up with for that voice--some of them totally illogical.
Which reminded me of fiction. Your characters don't always need to think logically--that would be asking too much. Wouldn't it?

Attention Writers

2010-01-24T20:16:00.000-08:00

A dear reader mentioned the Amazon Novel Contest and I thought others might be interested. Apparently they are accepting the first 10,000 novels they receive and will choose one winner. The author will receive 15K and be published by Penguin books.
For writers who prefer short stories, there's an upcoming contest for new writers.
By the way The Southbay branch of CWC has a great website. Just click on the SBW Journal to the right side of the page and you'll be taken to news, contests, classes and more.

Reaching for the Lights

2010-01-24T11:13:00.000-08:00

Due to heavy winds and storm, we were without power and water for three days. Despite this, my son invited his band over to practice after school one day. An acoustic practice. But they were hungry first and raided the cave (which is what the kitchen, piled high with dirty dishes, seemed like even in sunlight).
"All you have to do is push it down," I heard my son fussing around.
Curious, I entered the cave to see what food needed pushing to eat.
He and one of his friends hovered over the toaster, my son offering a lesson on how to use the machine.
"What magic do you think that thing possesses," I asked as they banged on the toaster trying to make the button stay down. "That allows it to work when the rest of the house is without electricity?"
Oh, yeah.
But while my son and his friends were certainly the funniest, we all repeated this exercise. My husband plugging in his laptop, my daughter asking if she could watch tv, me reaching for the lights in the middle of the night.
As I explore in my novel, My Half of the Sky, traditions are difficult to change. As was evidenced by us all this past week, even the silliest little ones--like expecting electricity--provided a stumbling block.

Ice Soldier by Paul Watkins is the story of a man--William Bromley-- who is sent on a mountaineering mission during WWII. He fails, and resolves never to climb again. Then a mountaineering pal of his dies, forcing William to make one final climb. It is an amazing tale for its description--of sights, sounds, smells--however I often felt as if we were trudging through waist-deep snow: one step forward, breathe, breathe, look back, ponder, rest.

Just keep digging

2010-01-18T09:14:00.000-08:00

Last weekend I attended my first swap meet. I'd never heard of such a thing. The idea is for people to bring their gently used treasures for whomever wishes to take them. People set up their goods on a table and then are free to roam about and search for treasure. On first glance, I was struck by the number of items people had saved: old candy boxes, a random pile of magazines, a bag filled with mismatched socks.
"Mom, we already have those," my son said.
If I'd just been a casual consumer, I might have left with a ho-hum feeling about the event. But I stayed all afternoon as part of the D.C. Dawgz, a parent/child fundraising team raising money so their children can participate in the 8th grade school trip to Washington, D. C. Each hotdog customer came with a story of treasures found. One young man, whose girlfriend had just moved in with him and had lost one of the books in her Harry Potter collection, came out with that exact edition in hand. Another couple came out elated to have found a steam cleaner for their floors. Another plopped a plastic hotdog on our table as a donation. When pressed, the plastic dog would call out "Hotdogs, Hotdogs. Ketchup, mustard, relish. Get your fixin's here."
I was reminded of writing and of the little fish in Nemo who sings, 'Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming." Only in this case, it was "Just keep digging. Just keep digging." Often the best dialogue, the nuggets of a story are crowded by mismatched socks. You need to stick around all day long, culling the treasure out of your story.
Book of the Week: Oh, but I had fun this past week. Not only did I get some great ideas from readers, but I ran into one of my Book Gurus at the Swap Meet. She always has a good book for me. "This is a light read," she said, picking up a book from one of the tables.
Wild Designs by Katie Fforde is the story of a divorced mother of three teens who has just lost her job. She's been contemplating a career change (from school secretary to garden designer), and thinks this might be her time. On the downside of this whole plan, though, is the fact that the greenhouse she's been using to house her plants has just been bought up by a handsome man and his young girlfriend. I felt as if I were watching a British sitcom--the dialogue is witty, the story is fun.

A Step At A Time

2010-01-10T09:54:00.000-08:00

This past week I went to my critique group. They're always full of great ideas--lots of them. I needed to change this character's name and re-do that scene and add more tension to that conversation. I went home and was sitting with my notes in my lap, overwhelmed, when my eldest daughter called from university.
"I'm already stressed," she said. "We have a ton of books to read. There are all these labs and huge lab reports. We have to--
"Wait," I said. "Just hold it."
"What?"
"It'll be okay," I said. "Just take it a step at a time."
She paused. Took a deep breath. Laughed.
"Yeah," she said. "A step at a time."
When I got off the phone and looked at my critique notes, I laughed too. Yeah. A step at a time.
Books of the Week: Help. I need a good book. Give me some ideas. Please.

Not Smarter than a Fifth Grader

2009-12-27T16:16:00.000-08:00

We have this game in our house based on the tv show Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? The game tests your knowledge of history, geography, science and math. It's fun if you can get past the obnoxiously repetitive game show music... and the fact that when you fail to answer a question you have to say out loud, "I am not smarter than a fifth grader."
Now, whenever we do something nonsensical, we automatically say these magic words. This whole week my brain has been echoing with them.
It all had to do with my ingenious plan for New Year's gifts. I've been scanning old photos, and I thought friends and relatives would enjoy the fruits of my monotonous labor. So I went out and bought colorful CDs, spent hours selecting meaningful pictures for each friend, and mailed them to parts all over the globe. I even made some for my husband to mail. Being the quality control manager that he is, though, he checked each of his CDs before heading off to the post office.
"Are these the CDs you put the pictures on," he asked. "Because all these are blank."
Huh?
Turns out I'd done everything except the final step--pushing the "burn files" option. Turns out I'd spent hours fiddling with photos, writing sweet little notes, and traipsing to the post office to mail off discs down a blank memory lane.
I know. I know. I am not smarter than a fifth grader. (But I'm more persistent than one.)
Do you have any "fifth grade" moments to share?

Attention New Writers

2009-12-14T10:38:00.000-08:00

The city of Milpitas opened a new high-tech library earlier this year, which I had the honor of helping open. They have a literary luncheon each year, and I was invited to talk about My Half of the Sky during one. They have a fine Rotary Club which often features writers. And , yes, I got to be one of those. The city of Milpitas is always doing wonderful things for writers. (In fact, I often tell my husband that should we ever think of moving....)
Most recently, Milpitas Arts is hosting a short story contest for new writers, which not only offers an opportunity for recognition in the local paper but a $1,000 cash prize. The deadline is Feb 1, 2010 for 2,000 words or less. The category is open-ended.
So grab your laptops and join the fun.

Take a Moment To Breathe

2009-12-07T10:50:00.000-08:00

In our house, we say that Halloween signals the beginning of the end. At least that's how it feels. There are end-of-the-year shows and parties and fairs. Guests and shopping. Gift exchanges and letters. It's a downhill slide that goes way too fast.
Still, on your way down, grab hold of a branch or two. Stop yourself. Take a few minutes to yourself--to write, to read, to breathe.

Books of the Week: Love in Translation by Wendy Tokunaga took me back through the streets of Tokyo--high tech signs blinking and ringing next to the sweet-potato seller calling out, the juxtaposition of old and new all wrapped up in cuteness, the strict adherence to a code of unspoken rules. The story is humorous and well-told, and I could identify with the young woman, Celeste, who was unsure of what she wanted to do or how she fit in to this foreign world.
I devoured every page, and walked away feeling as if a dear old friend had come to visit.
In An Uncharted Country by Cliff Garstang is a series of short stories, from that of a young man who attempts to sell off antiques--but has no idea how-- to that of a young couple adopting their first child from China. The characters are rich and the detail so real you feel as if you've been plopped into the middle of all these crises.

The Disneyland Approach to Writing Expectations

2009-11-24T15:52:00.000-08:00

Today on NPR MIT Professor Dick Larson--a.k.a Dr. Queue-- spoke of "Queue Rage":How people get irritated--sometimes violently so-- when they have to wait in line for a long time.

Dr. Queue mentioned that part of the problem is expectations.

Disneyland knew this when they made their serpentine lines. Not only did they make those lines fun, but they posted ETA signs. And they fudged. Yes, Disneyland discovered that if they advertised a longer time than it actually took, people got really excited. As in, "Hey, we got through the line really fast."

I've decided to apply Disneyland's rule to book writing.

When I was writing my first novel I can remember explaining the concept and the plans to family and friends. They were all excited...the first year. Maybe even the second. After that, at the word "book" their eyes would glaze over. I could hear them thinking, "She's still doing revisions?" I'd start thinking to myself, "I'm still writing revisions?"

But family gatherings should be much more fun (and I won't stress out as much, either) now that I'm armed with my sign: "Estimated Time til End of Book: 20 years"

Books of the Week: I'm not one to suggest a book that I haven't finished reading, but I'm really enjoying The Help by Kathryn-Stockett. She does an amazing job with dialect, dialogue, and bringing us into the conflicts in Mississippi during the 60's. I'm loving every word.

I enjoy fairytales, and whenever I travel one of my first questions of the locals is "Tell me a story." When I first moved to Japan a new friend said her favorite tale was "shin de lay la." I settled down, anxious to hear.
"Once upon a time," she said. "There was a young girl whose mother died. Her father remarried a mean woman with two wicked daughters. Every day, the wicked stepmother made the young girl do all the work-- "
"Wait, wait," I said. "This sounds like--did you mean Cinderella?"
"Yes, yes, shin de lay la."
This week I came upon two wonderful Japanese tales right up here in the mountains of Los Gatos: The Magic Ear and The Fox's Kettle are told by Laura Langston--with beautiful painting-like illustrations by Victor Bosson.

Stick to Level Ground

2009-11-15T15:22:00.000-08:00

This past week was a ride from the earth's highest peak to its darkest deepest crevice. I've been honing my latest manuscript...and getting opinions from friends, relatives, critique members, and professionals. I went from having a fine author offer to give a pre-publication blurb to a fine critique member tell me there are way too many Points of View. From a colleague saying it was one of a few books she'd remember the rest of her life to an editor confessing confusion. What to do with so many valuable opinions? As my spirits spiraled up then down, then up then down, down, down my husband reminded, "It's your story. Listen to the words of others--both praise and critique--but remember it's your story."
I know this.
Of course I know this.
But it was good to be reminded--and that's why I'm passing it on. Now I'm back on level ground. It's boring--there aren't any peaks or valleys. But on level ground I can still see the highs and lows from afar. More importantly I can still see where I--and my story--are headed.

Books of the Week/Blogspots: A Walk on the Beach by Joan Anderson. This is a quick read on life and living. Joan Anderson, while walking on the beach, met a lively old woman who happened to be the wife of Erik Erikson, the psychoanalyst. Joan discovered, through their friendship, new ways to look at life, new ways to be. She shares those gems of wisdom in this book.
Check out the Killer Hobbies blog. This week is a Writing Workshop with a different writing topic every day. One commenter from the week wins a copy of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide by Becky Levine.

The Latest in Technology?

2009-11-08T12:13:00.000-08:00

I'm always coming to technology three steps late. At least. In fact, when my husband and I were first married twenty years ago we were given a huge translation project by one of the big tech companies in Tokyo. My husband would translate from Japanese to English, and I would smooth out the English. One night I read his copy which said "Open a new window."
"What are you talking about," I asked. "A window is something you open to let in fresh air. Surely you're mistaken about this."
As I said, at least three steps behind.
At any rate, a couple weeks ago I mentioned a haunting book by Masha Hamilton. Just yesterday I discovered the latest (for me) in technology--a trailer about the book. What a fun way to hear more about books.
Books/Blogsites: Coming Back to Me by Caroline Leavitt is the story of a young man who finds the family he's always wanted....and then loses it in a medical mystery. I'm sure the producers of the tv show House found inspiration here, although to make the comparison is to take away from the literary prose that makes this such a great read.
Last week I spoke about finding time, the talented Jill Ferguson sent me the following link to one of her poems.
Upcoming Events:
An avid Kindle reader just informed me that My Half of the Sky is now available as an Ebook. Please pass the word.

Make Writing A Tradition You Refuse to Let Go Of

2009-11-03T13:08:00.000-08:00

A dear friend, author and therapist Martha Clark Scala, recently sent me her monthly newsletter which talked about the struggle we all have giving up routine. When we go to the gym we want to use the same locker, the same sink, the same hairdryer. When we have a family feast we expect there to be acorn squash with the turkey. She suggested we learn to compromise--to let go of some of our "traditions."
Although I couldn't relate to the gym..or the acorn squash..her piece reminded me of a course I used to teach overseas to newcomers called "Settling In Singapore." One of my exercises was to ask the group, who had just spent a couple of hours sitting in one location, to get up and find someone new to sit with. Some would bop off to a new location, leaving all their bags behind. Others would gather up everything they owned (fearful of losing anything) and move. Some refused to budge. It was said that those who were willing to move at the drop of a hat--with nothing at all in their hands-- would have the easiest time adapting to their new surroundings. I don't know how true it was, but symbolically it made lots of sense.
This morning--after the never-ending Halloween weekend-- I was struck by how this clinging to the familiar also affects our ability to write. It's scary to wander down the unfamiliar path of writing--bumping into strange characters and dealing with new surroundings. It's much easier to stay put and work at a routine job or chore (or seek out the same sink at the gym.) I can't tell you how many people I've met who have a story to tell....if they could just find the time. And before you think I'm sounding a little too uppity, let me clarify that I'm always in danger of choosing the familiar over a morning of bumping around in the dark, especially after a long Halloween holiday. Or near a holiday. Or even after a weekend. Or near a weekend.
That's why it's important to declare to the world (or at least yourself): This is my writing time. I will write for X amount of time or X amount of words/paragraphs/pages each day. It's important to make writing one of those traditions you refuse to let go of.
BOOK/BLOGSITE of the week: I finally opened Reading Lolita in Tehran. It was a story I avoided, as I was sure it would be bizarre, unbelievable, depressing. It is all of those things, but definitely worth the read.
On a similar note author Masha Hamilton pointed me in the direction of the The Afghan Women's Writing Project. These women have amazing stories to share. One of my favorites this month is My Sister's Golden Hair.

The Importance of Group When The Power Goes Out

2009-10-21T08:49:00.000-07:00

The mountains were chaos last week. We got 10" of rain in twelve hours. Trees fell. Power lines fell. Everything went dark. PG&E kept saying, "Tomorrow, you'll get power back." After the third day of listening to that refrain, I made up a ditty in memory of Annie: "Tomorrow, Tomorrow, you might get power Tomorrow. If not, the sun shines anyway."
By the weekend, when we still had no power, we decided to move our "campsite" to a real park. New Brighton State Beach. We were a big group of families and friends. My second son asked if he could bike down the Demonstration Forest Path (a 30 mile ride) and meet us there. I said sure, but he needed to include all his friends. One of those friends was not a biker. According to his mom, he had loved biking but had taken a really bad spill. That had been the end of his short biking career. She asked if I could give the boy a ride. When he came down to our house, though, all the other boys were getting ready to leave. "You coming with us?" they asked. "Come on. It will be fun." That boy looked at the group of enthusiastic faces and he got on his bike and rode that 30 mile ride. I still get teary-eyed thinking about it. About the power of positive support, the power of a group.
One such group for writers is the California Writer's Club which now has 18 branches throughout the state. (I had the pleasure of speaking at Southbay's publishing panel last week.) I've been a member of the group since we moved to the US ten years ago, and I'm sure I wouldn't be published if it wasn't for their feedback, networking and encouragement (especially when my power was out.)

Upcoming Events: November 4, 11:30, The Loma Prieta Club, Skyland Church, Los Gatos. I'll be discussing My Half of the Sky.
Book of the Week: The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. This story is about a man who loses everything and his struggle to get back what he can. Garth Stein and I both appeared at NCIBA when My Half of the Sky and his first book came out. (How Evan Broke His Head and other Secrets). While I enjoyed that first book, I wasn't eager to read his second, only because I'd heard it was from the viewpoint of a dog. A dog? But then my neighbor, a fellow writer, who has never failed me on book suggestions yet, said "You gotta read this." She was right.

Remember the Little Things

2009-10-11T18:02:00.001-07:00

"Success generally doesn't happen overnight, and it can seem to be limited to a tiny percentage of those who compete." --Lenny Wiersna, Cal State University, Fullerton

Wiersna wasn't talking about authors, but swimmers. My eldest son is a swimmer, and gets lots of magazines related to the subject. Most of them are fluff (some are a retailers version of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition.) So I don't pay much attention. But this morning, I happened to sit down in front of one of the magazines, and this article popped out at me.
Wiersna writes about how swimmers, after losing a race, tend to lose the next and the next because they are mentally defeated. He suggests that swimmers keep an "I Know" list. "I know I'm fit. I know I have a strong kick. I know I'm fast on turns, etc."
I suggest a similar writer's list. ("I know I'm good at dialogue. I know this subject better than anyone. I know I'm good enough to have _______") It's a small thing to do, but when those rejections come in or you start feeling defeated by the business of publishing, that shot of self-confidence might be just what you need to move forward again.
Some quotes I keep with my I Know list:
The longest journey starts with the first step--Chinese saying
I don't write books. I write pages--Dan Fante, Author
What are your favorite inspirational quotes?

Upcoming Events:
October 13, 6pm, I'll be participating in a panel discussion on publishing at the Sunnyvale Municipal Golf Course just off Maude near the 237 with CWC Southbay
October 19, 12:15pm. I'll be discussing the history and benefits of a leaf: tea at the Milpitas Rotary Club, Embassy Suites, 901 E Calveras.

Not Planning to Fall

2009-10-01T13:46:00.000-07:00

"Where there's passion, there's no fear." --Ancient Chinese Saying.
Last week's blog about the sorry state of book buying prompted one writer to e-mail me, saying he felt so depressed he was tempted to throw his query letters away.
No, no, no.
I was reminded of the above ancient saying, as well as a camping trip our family took to Big Sur a few years back. Big Sur is unique in that during the spring rushing rapids run through the middle of the park. And if you can climb your way across and up the river, you are rewarded with a lovely gorge.
One spring, my eldest son insisted on leading his sister and her friend on a different path across the river to the gorge. They crossed a rickety log perched over the rushing rapids. There appeared no way for them to reach the other side, barring jumping in the freezing water or climbing up the sheer face of a rock wall. I expected him to return across the rickety log and follow us on our easier route. He instead climbed up that sheer rock face.
He made it across the rock wall, and helped his older sister and her friend. I took a deep breath, gushing with gratitude. Then I stepped forward and--kerplunk-- fell right into the rapids.
“What were you thinking?” I asked my son when we had all made it back to the campsite. “What if you'd fallen? What would you have done?”
“But, Mom,” he looked at me, my hair still wet from the cold river. “I wasn't planning to fall.”

I often think of that episode. It reminds me to keep a positive attitude despite the overwhelming odds. So, take out those query letters. Follow your passion. Climb that wall.

Good Books: 31 Hours By Masha Hamilton. My all-time favorite book of Hamilton's is the The Camel Bookmobile, about an idealistic young American out to better the world by bringing books to remote areas of Kenya. She hardly thinks she'll get anything but warm enthusiasm, and is shocked that some people--the elders--would actually oppose her. It's a funny and fun book.
31 Hours is not funny, but is no less compelling a read. The story revolves around a young Caucasian American who, after a visit to Pakistan, has decided the best meaning he could give his life would be to shake the slothful, greedy Americans awake in a suicide bombing.
Upcoming Events:
October 13, 6pm, I'll be participating in a panel discussion on publishing at the Sunnyvale Municipal Golf Course just off Maude near the 237 with CWC Southbay
October 19, 12:15pm. I'll be discussing the history and benefits of a leaf: tea at the Milpitas Rotary Club, Embassy Suites, 901 E Calveras.

Rejection--just a shutter-snap.

2009-09-23T11:03:00.000-07:00

"We are all working in the dark these days as none of us has ever experienced a market like this one!"---Top New York Agent

I've been dancing around the 'lost camera' issue. This week, in view of the ever-dipping market, I thought it a good time to discuss that particular loss.
This summer we spent a week in Japan, where my husband and I had lived for six years. I took hundreds of pictures, of the kids at their first "onsen" hot springs, of catching frogs in the rice paddies, of old friends and new. Then we went onto China, and again I took hundreds of pictures, of the new baby bunnies (born the day we arrived home in the village), of grandpa, of the kids 'walking on water' in a plastic bubble-type contraption.
One day, my husband took the camera to church--a province-wide choral gathering. Then he brought it with us to a restaurant. Then we went on to a friend's apartment, in separate taxis. The next time either of us thought of the camera was when we were going out to dinner.
Had we left it at the restaurant? In the taxi? And, by the way, whose fault was this?
My husband went back to check the restaurant. Our friends called the cab company, which I might add was so high-tech that we were able to give the street address and approximate time of the ride, and they could search up on their GPS the exact cab I was in. None of this produced the camera.
It was gone.
Whoosh.
It felt like a cold wind had blown through my body and sucked away part of my life. Two special weeks that would never come again.
"We can take more pictures, Mom," the kids said. "We'll just get another camera."
But what about those special shots I'd already taken?
"We have the memories," my husband said. "That's the most important part."
I cried myself to sleep anyway--thinking of the effort I'd gone to to take this shot and that cute pose. I dreamed that someone came to our door the next morning bearing the camera.
That didn't happen.
That next day I had no desire to move. I was defeated. But then my husband took me to get a new camera. At first I only took the few obligatory shots--of friends. (Why expend effort that might be lost again?) But soon I was back to snapping away.
I've gotten to the point where I don't usually think about the lost camera anymore.
The only reason I mention it now is because I recently read that book buying is down 18%. My experience with the camera reminded me of a similar experience: rejection.
When an agent/editor says, "Thanks, but no thanks," that cold wind blows through your body sucking not just weeks, but months, years, decades off your life.
"What am I doing?" you think. "My writing's worthless. I'm worthless."
"It's okay," a friend, partner, writing buddy will say. "You can write another story."
They just don't get it, you think.
"Did I have a bad editor?" you obsess, trying to find fault. "Was my story too long/short/funny/sad?"
"It's okay," a friend, partner, writing buddy will remind you. "Just keep writing."
But it's not okay. Nothing about it feels okay.
You dream that the phone will ring the next day. A happy person on the other end will say, "Sorry, there was a mix up. Of course, we'd love your story."
That doesn't happen.
"It's okay," a friend, partner, writing buddy will continue to urge you, until you sit back down at the writing desk. Tentative at first. (Perhaps it would be better to refurbish the cabinets or get a job at the library.)
Before you know it, you're writing again,though--- that bitter cold,life-sucking rejection a small shutter snap in your world.

Pick up the Brush

2009-09-08T13:13:00.000-07:00

When I returned from China, my to-do list was still waiting. (For some reason, I'd hoped it had disappeared like many of the other things during our trip--swimsuit, backpack, camera.) One of the things I'd promised myself was that I'd stain our decks.

Oh, gosh, but I didn't want to do that.

Power-washing the decks is great. Rolling stain on the bottom planks is easy. But the meticulous staining of each piece of wood on the railing is a (sometimes futile) exercise in sanity-control.

There are hundreds of those pieces. No, I didn't count. My shoulders felt the constant up and down, up and down, up and down.

Once I got started, however--and it took some real mental persuasion to get started--I found myself in a rhythm. I could do this. I could finish. Besides, it looked good.

Each day, I made a goal for myself. Each day I tried to beat that goal. By the time I was done (hallelujah!) I didn't even mind going over parts I'd missed. (For of course my engineer husband managed to find parts I'd missed.)

This chore took me back to writing. It's so easy to say, "I'll start on that project tomorrow." Then tomorrow comes and the last thing in the world one wants to do is actually sit down and type out the beginning of what seems like an endless project. It's not necessarily messy, but it's painful and frightening. However once you get into the rhythm, you can start to see a form--hey, this might even be worthwhile--and you see the end in sight. You don't even mind going over parts that your friends, critique-group members, editors think need more work. So, pick up the brush.

**For inspiration, amazing editor Becky Levine will be doing a teleseminar on Professional Memoir Writing this Friday. Be sure to join in.

Loving a Summer Filled with Three-shower-a-day Heat

2009-08-31T12:02:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, it was so miserably hot here in California--sweat-trickling-down-your legs hot, mind-numbing hot, three-shower-a-day hot-that my son was reminded of China...although China was more humid. Visiting friends and relatives in China/Japan was where we spent our summer.
China was so dynamic—one day always felt like two...or three. (And that wasn't just because we had sun-induced naps during the day). We always saw something different: neon kites flying like UFOs in the sky or barges piled high with salt floating down the river or a bag of frogs for sale in the wet market or spittoons at the edge of the public pool. We also managed to catch the Solar Eclipse in Hangzhou on July 22, an event that will not occur in that part of the world again during my lifetime.
(A solar eclipse occurs when the moon moves in front of the sun. The sun is 400 times larger than the moon, but also 400 times as far away. So when the moon gets in the sun's path, which it does somewhere on the earth once every six months, it has the effect of blocking out the sun.)
It was amazing to have the whole world go dark—and all the sensor-powered street lights come on. In ancient times, people believed a dragon was eating the sun, and they beat drums and made all kinds of noise to try to scare the dragon away. In modern times, we all watched the event through sunglasses or black-and-white film (one person even watched through an X-ray of somebody's broken arm). When the world went dark, everyone gave a collective awe-inspired, “Ahh.” Then someone lit off fireworks. Five minutes later, the sun began its reappearance, and everyone dispersed. My kids poked me with their parasols. 'Let's go, Mom. We don't have to wait for the total re-emergence of the sun. Besides, it's hot.” That last part was definitely true.

Books of the Week:
Rooftops of Tehran
Rooftops of Tehran by Mahbod Seraji: This was a beautifully-told story of how the governments (including ours) wormed their way into the hearts and minds of small villagers in Tehran. How the Powers ruined everything. Everything. A great read.

No Place to Run by Thomas Sawyer: I love literary fiction, which this is not. But given that Mr. Sawyer worked for decades in television (headwriter for Murder, She Wrote), I can see where his style emerges. The story, which centers on a cover-up of the 9/11 disaster, is an all-night read. What a ride!

The Memory-Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards: This book came out the same month as My Half of the Sky. I meant to pick it up, but then kept confusing it with other titles-- Gravedigger's Daughter, Hummingbird's Daughter, etc. The title just didn't stick with me. Fortunately, I saw it in the library the other day and picked up a copy. Oh, what a treasure. With each character, I feel as if I'm walking in his/her shoes. The plot is heart-wrenching: A doctor delivers his wife's twins, one of whom is born with Down's Syndrome. He makes the quick decision to give the DS child away, telling his wife that the child died--a hasty action which has repercussions that keep coming and coming and coming. I haven't yet finished the book because I don't want to. I want to savor each word, each turn of phrase. It's a title I won't soon forget.

Upcoming Event: US-China Friendship 60/30 National Convention in San Francisco
Saturday, September 5, 9:45-10:45: Filmmaker Rae Chang will show her documentary on the life of Qui Jin, China's first feminist. From 10:45 I'll be discussing My Half of the Sky. The two of us will then lead a discussion on women's rights in China and the ongoing struggle of women caught between tradition and modernity. Please join us.

The Thief of Time

2009-06-07T10:50:00.000-07:00

"Procrastination is the thief of time." Karl Marx

I'm not a particular fan of Karl Marx—everything I've researched pinpoints him as an arrogant, argumentative man always looking for a sparring partner. (And that was before he came up with Communism.) But I've been reading his works as well as books on the Korean War and the beginning of the Cold War. I learned some fascinating tidbits, such as the Korean War was Vietnam-Part I. General MacArthur enamored by the effectiveness of the atomic bomb in WWII requisitioned 26 (Yes, twenty-six) of them to use on North Korea and China. And "procrastination is the thief of time." Actually I knew that last one –but have never heard it put so succinctly.

**I'll be speaking about My Half of the Sky at the Martin Luther King Public Library on June 27th at 2pm. Please come join us for a fun afternoon in that amazing library.

The Process of Writing

2009-05-18T08:38:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I had the opportunity to speak at We and Our Neighbor Clubhouse . The clubhouse, built in 1910 to deal with issues affecting the community, is about to celebrate their centennial birthday and is busy renovating. The two hostesses were very apologetic about the looks of the place. Would I mind speaking in the Dining Room?

This wasn't just any old dining room, though. A quarter of the room was once walled off and used as the first branch of the Santa Clara Free Library system. It was so cool to stand there surrounded by the energy of books from years past. As several people came up to me after the talk saying they were inspired to go home and write, perhaps they felt the same energy. We discussed the Process of Writing:

1) Writing is a Never-Ending Process: The quote "Each time I strive for perfection, I realize it's a moving target," can be applied to the writing process. Each time I think I'm done, someone--editor, friend, critique group--points out an area that needs fixing and I realize there's more that I can do. As one writer pointed out, there comes a point when you just must stop.

2) Writing is ever-changing: What works for one story may not be the best method for the next story. Don't be afraid to experiment. A story doesn't always need to start on page one.

3) Writing requires a routine: I need to figure out a schedule and stick with it, so as not to be pulled away from the project--to check e-mail or take the dog on a walk or clean a spot in the rug. Regular journal writing is a trick I use to slide into "the real writing" of the day. Once I get going writing about the events of the previous day, it's not so hard to switch gears just a bit and keep typing.

What thoughts and additons do you have?

Book of the Week: The Honk and Holler Opening Soon by Billie Letts centers around a wheelchair-bound Vietnam Vet who owns a restaurant in a lily-white area of Nebraska. It's not a thriving business--opening only when the first customer arrives--until an American Indian woman shows up needing a job, then a Vietnamese immigrant fix-it man arrives. The themes that stood out were racism, religionism, fear of others. It's a fun--and funny--read.

Re-Writing til it's Right

2009-05-11T14:06:00.000-07:00

It's coming down to the wire--before the kids' school vacation when all semblance of a writing routine disappears. So I'm writing and re-writing, hoping to get my manuscript ready before that mid-June deadline. I saw a great quote the other day, which I thought could be easily applied to the writing process: "When you aim for perfection, you realize it's a moving target."
For each time I think--oh, this is it. This is perfect--I realize, "Hmmmm. You could flesh that character a bit deeper or add a few more smells to this chapter."

Any great quotes to share?

Book of the Week: Blowback: the Costs and Consequences of American Empire by Chalmers Johnson
Johnson, author of over a dozen books, is a retired Professor of Asian Studies at UC Berkeley and UC San Diego, as well as a former consultant to the CIA. While at times I felt like I was drowning in information--I would get halfway down a page and have to start over, gasping for air after each sentence--the picture Johnson portrays of America's presence and policies in Asia after WWII is frightening. The continuing presence of American military in places like Okinawa, Japan, and South Korea when the Cold War is no longer an issue is mind-boggling.
Blowback is apparently a term the CIA use to refer to unintended consequences of policies kept secret from the American people. In this book, published in 2000, Johnson predicted disasters to come (like 9-11), as well as the horrible economic mess we sit in. It's a sobering read. And once I've gotten my breath back (meaning read a book of fiction) I'm diving into the next book in his series: The Sorrows of Empire.

Never Just One Viewpoint

2009-05-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

Last week, I got an e-blast from a parent at the elementary school about a strange car which followed the school bus the previous day. The male driver and a small boy had stopped behind the bus at each stop. The two had watched as the children got off the bus, the man smiling and waving at the kids in such a creepy manner that the bus driver took down his license plate number. The note ended by giving us a complete description of the sicko and his car, and mentioning that this information had been handed over to the school and CHP.
A few hours later I got another e-blast from the same parent. An apology for making us all concerned. Apparently, the CHP had gone to the sicko's residence to question his behavior. It turned out that this man's son was about to start riding the bus home, and this dear father was showing the boy the exact route the bus took.
I loved this. How one moment the man was a child molester, the next he was Father of the Year, depending on the believed intent behind his behavior. This incident served as a reminder--not just in real life but in fiction--that no two characters will ever view a situation in the same way.

Book of the Week: Only A Girl by Lian Gouw takes us into the lives of the Lee family in Indonesia during one of that country's most dynamic periods (1932-1952). Gouw brings the struggles of that time to life, as the Lee family grapples with which rituals to follow when the world beneath their feet changes year after year, from Dutch control to Japanese control to Indonesian control. It's an amazing piece of history, a fascinating story.

Always another village

2009-04-27T08:53:00.000-07:00

I heard a great saying this weekend written by Chinese poet Li Bai (701-762).

At the end of the mountain and the end of the river, when you doubt there is a road beyond...there's another village nestled in the flowers and bushes.

In other words, in difficult times, don't give up. There's always another village...another road.

Do you have any sayings to share?

Books this Week: I had the misfortune of reading Loving Frank by Nancy Horan, a novel about the architect Frank Lloyd Wright and his mistress Mamah Borthwright. I enjoyed the historical tidbits about Wright's life--but oh the dialogue (I mean monologues), the lack of editing, the point of view switches , the tedious detail about things like their dog's fur. What a disappointment--made more so as the book is a "New York Times Bestseller."

In My Cave

2009-04-20T17:06:00.000-07:00

Last week, a dear woman asked why I haven't been speaking lately. What a thrill. To be honest, I've been holed up in my writing cave in a mad dash to finish my latest manuscript before summer vacation. (During the summer--when children are out of school--life slows, creativity beyond camping trips vanishes, time slips faster than a setting sun.) I'm pleased to report that Draft 1 is completed, and I'm in the process of editing: my favorite part of the writing process. The piece is there; now it just needs to be massaged, massaged, massaged.
I've been asked to come out of the cave for a day. On May 16th I'll be speaking about the writing process at We And Our Neighbors Clubhouse in San Jose from 1-3pm. If you're interested, please join us. (RSVP Carolyn Newt at csnewt@hughes.net)

Book of the week: Forbidden Family was like reading a letter--full of secrets, humor, gossip--from a friend. Margaret Sams, who went to the Phillippines hoping for an adventurous life got more than she could have ever imagined. Her husband of the time was sent off to join the Bataan Death March, while Margaret and their 3-year-old were rounded up and told to bring "enough supplies for three days." They were taken to Santo Tomas Internment camp in Manila where they lived for three years.
During that time Margaret met and fell in love with another prisoner, Jerry Sams. Their affair shocked the sensibilities of the camp (even amidst all the war issues.) She writes about being shunned (and Jerry being punished), constantly worrying about being shot for hiding a contraband radio, scrounging for food so they wouldn't starve, attempting to escape. It's a fascinating history, an amazing story.

** Someone noted the book links no longer go to the amazing Kaleidoscope Books. That wonderful store--to our great misfortune--is no longer.

A week of fluff

2009-04-13T17:23:00.000-07:00

Famous pranks. Fun parties. Hundreds of activities to choose from.
Am I already signing children up for summer camp? No. This was the contents of college tours I went on last week with my eldest son. I noted that the Cal Tech tour guides/admissions officers repeated the same prank story over and over, suggesting pranks might not be top on their list of important school activities. Still, I was amused to see such an emphasis on fun.

I had fun taking spring break and reading fluff.

Fearless Fourteen by Janet Evanovich--I always put down an Evanovich book feeling happy, but not sure why. (The same way I feel when watching a sitcom.) The scenario is crazy--bounty hunter female gets involved in ludicrous situations and is aided by hot-looking special ops lover or boyfriend cop. The dialogue is funny and upbeat.

The Winds Come Sweepingby Marcia Preston is more serious. It's part mystery, part romance, part literary fiction about a young woman who left her farm and her daughter to go to the big city to become an artist. She returns to the farm after her father dies. She attempts to save the farm from bankruptcy by using modern technology, much to the anger of the neighbors...She attempts to find her daughter.

The Search & Rescue of Ideas

2009-04-05T12:36:00.000-07:00

Last week I did a search and rescue of a backpack...
"You better take daddy," my son (the owner of the pack) said. "And a flashlight. And a ladder."
I drew the line at the ladder. I wasn't planning on scaling any 8ft fences...although the school where we headed was surrounded by them.
My son has been traveling all over the Bay Area this year with his soccer team, because some joker in a pick-up did donuts on our school field. Last week, we went to a huge, well-locked school in the city. (For the game we accessed the soccer field by sneaking through the gym where a volleyball game was in session.). In the excitement of a hard-fought win, my son forgot his backpack.
When my husband and I arrived in the dark,we were in luck. That gym was still open (some poor kids were still playing volleyball at 9:30pm) and we snuck through to the field. As soon as we exited the gym, though, CLICK, the doors locked behind us.
We searched over every blade of grass. No backpack.
“Let’s go,“ I suggested, heading back towards the gym. I hoped that there would be some straggling volleyball enthusiasts who would answer our frantic knock.
“We came all the way out here,“ my husband said. “Let’s just look a bit more.”
I followed--not with much hope. We walked through the basketball courts, the playground, past several more locked entrances, by several classrooms. No backpack. We continued to a huge entrance, obviously locked, the whole time laughing about how this security was unbelievable. Perhaps we should have brought that ladder.
Just as we reached the gate, a car pulled up. My first thought was that unlike our school where derelicts do donuts, this school probably had cameras. Surely police had been alerted to two suspicious trespassers.
A young woman emerged from her car. But instead of barraging us with questions, she unlocked the gate.
“I’m just here to pick up some work I forgot,” she said, as if WE deserved an explanation.
‘That was amazing,” my husband said when we were walking, free at last, back to our car.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “All that security. It felt like a prison.”
“Not that,” he said. “When we needed to get out, a woman came out of nowhere to the exact gate where we stood.”
The search and rescue of the backpack reminded me of the search and rescue of writing ideas. I’m often struck by how when I’m totally lost about where to go next in my story, the answer comes. It’s not necessarily inspiration. I still have to check every blade of grass, walk through playgrounds and basketball courts, and reach the point of exhaustion (or pass it). But the gatekeeper eventually appears to set me free.
What's your experience?

Books of the Week:
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid
This took a while to get going, as it's an unusual voice. You feel like you're attending a one-man show, as the character describes the setting, what the other characters are doing, etc. The story is of a Pakistani Princeton graduate who is offered a top position in the New York business world. Then 9/11 happens, and this perfect world he's been invited to join reveals cracks...too many of them. It's a fascinating story. Once you get started, it becomes an all-night read.

Raise Rules For Women by Jill Ferguson and Laura C Browne.
I'm ashamed at how fearful I was to read this book--it's been on my shelf for months--as if the contents would reveal that I really wasn't that strong and modern. Rather than shaming me (although at times I cringed,) the pointers offered gave me insight and information I can carry about getting the monetary validation I deserve. A helpful read.

I'll Take My Advice

2009-03-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

Recently I was asked to critique a 3-page college essay. As I went through it, I felt like a lot of words had been included to fill space. To mask obscure ideas. And then there were some fun errors--like “vibrantly remember.” Do you mean “vividly remember?” Isn’t “remember” good enough?
I sent off my ideas, and while the student accepted some of them, she got busy and ended up not reading through all my comments (“vibrantly remember” stayed). I was initially miffed--if you’re not planning to read my ideas, why bother asking?
But then I noted, when I sat down to write, that I was more aware of my use of the language. Were all these words necessary? Was I just filling space with these sentences? In essence, I remembered the reason for critiquing: it’s as much to the benefit of the critiquer as it is the author.
Writer’s Digest is putting out a book on critique groups. The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide: How to Make Revisions, Self-Edit, and Give and Receive Feedback by Becky Levine. It covers all aspects of critique groups. What to expect. How to behave. What's the purpose. How to find the positive aspects of a piece as well as those which could use improvement. Even as a seasoned critique member--I’ve been in my group for 9 years-- I've pre-ordered a copy (as I tend to vibrantly forget some of these important points.)
What are your thoughts on critique groups? What stories do you have to share?

Discovering this new DR.

2009-03-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

I always associated DR with physicians until my son got his assignment for the Amigos Program, a non-profit organization which sends volunteers to Latin American countries to encourage self-development. He's going to Azua in the Dominican Republic, often referred to as "DR."
I'd never heard much about this DR, except as a small group represented in the Olympics. My brother, however, said his wife and mother-in-law went there on holiday, and they enjoyed the beaches, the sparkling Caribbean waters, the five-star hotels. I loved that image, and even bought a shoe-string guidebook to the place. What an amazing island!
On the other hand I found it hard to believe that a non-profit would spend months preparing my child for aquamarine waters and white sandy beaches.
A past volunteer suggested reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. On the surface this Pulitzer Prize winning novel is about the love life of Oscar, a poor New York boy who is originally from the Dominican Republic. But it's a complicated story--with footnotes and lots of Spanish--about the fall from grace of a prominent physician during the Trujillo regime. Oscar is the doctor's grandson.
While at times confusing, the book gave me some insight into Azua, which Diaz calls "the Outland, the Badlands, the Cursed Earth, the Desert of Glass, the Burning lands, the Doben-al, the Salusa Secundus, the Ceti Alpha Six, the Tatooine." (like I said, at times confusing.) The book gave me insight into the Dominican Republic, a lovely island which has suffered nightmare after nightmare in its leaders. Or more specifically, its Leader Trujillo.
Do you have stories about the DR? Books to recommend?

Cultural Binds

2009-03-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

No written law has ever been more binding than
unwritten custom supported by popular opinion.
--Carrie Chapman Catt, Senate Hearing on women's suffrage , 1900

Wednesday, I got to play hookey....

At least that’s how it felt as I left my manuscript behind (I’m down to the last few chapters which aren’t flowing as easily as I’d hoped) and went over to take part in the Foothill Authors Series at Foothill College.

This month is Women’s History Month. Since My Half of the Sky focuses on a young woman who wants to change with the day but is held back by tradition, I was pleased to speak on this auspicious occasion.
To be honest, though, I couldn’t remember Women’s History Month from my childhood. Or what we did. How we celebrated.

I was relieved--sort of--to discover the reason was not my mental capacity. When I was a kid, Women’s History Month was only a day (which started in 1909). The day turned into a week in 1978. The week turned into a month in 1987. Perhaps if we can keep the momentum rolling, we can look forward to a year....a century....a millennium...forever.
The Foothill gathering was interesting, as one would expect with a room full of intelligent students. One question that particularly struck me was a student who asked, “Do you think that part of the culture that defines gender is speech? Are men and women’s speech different?”
Although I couldn’t think of examples in Chinese, I was reminded of Japan where there was definitely a difference in the way one spoke as a female/male, superior/inferior, stranger/friend.

The question has me still thinking. Does the English language have gender-based speech differences? Can you think of examples in other cultures?

Book of the Week: The Soloist by Steve Lopez.

LA Times Columnist Steve Lopez takes us on a fascinating trip into the life of gifted musician, Nathanial Ayers, a past student at Julliard who impressed the professors so much he was annually given a scholarship. The third year at Julliard Mr. Ayers went nuts.

For thirty-some years he battled the demons in his head and wandered the streets. He was happy playing his music in the tunnels of LA and sleeping outside a factory in the toy district where he used a pair of drumsticks to keep rats at bay.

Mr. Lopez often saw him on his way to work, and one day wrote a column about Mr. Ayers, thinking it was a one-off topic. But Lopez became so entrenched in the well-being of this man that each time he tried to back away, he was drawn back in. The story is his unsuspecting, funny, depressing, sometimes heartbreaking journey.

***If you haven’t had a chance, please ask your local library to order a copy of My Half of the Sky.
Please leave your opinion about the book at your favorite online bookstore (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Powells,/etc.)
Please keep spreading the word.

Thank you!

Important Stories

2009-03-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving two years ago, we were all gathering at the dinner table ready to feast. My eldest daughter, however, was missing.
“Oh, she went down to the mailboxes for a minute,“ my husband said.
The mailboxes? On Thanksgiving?
When mouthwatering steam no longer rose from the turkey slices, I decided to check the mailboxes.
I walked down (our boxes are a ten-minute walk) and there was a car parked haphazardly across the road. My daughter sat in the car next to some boy without a shirt on who gestured wildly to his chest where there were some red markings. I went up to the car and knocked on the window, expecting the boy to get out and introduce himself, perhaps even explain what he was doing here...on Thankgsgiving...without his shirt. Instead, he locked the doors and continued talking--no, shouting--at my daughter. My daughter rolled down her window, saying “Mom. It's okay. He needs my help.“
The boy wanted my daughter to accompany him to a temple somewhere to do some ceremony that would keep him from dying that night. Mentioning Thanksgiving dinner on the table as an alternative activity seemed frivolous, but I did. Would he like to stay?
The whole night he talked of God. How he was God. We were all God. We could do anything. I kept thinking this lonely kid had ingested more during the day than turkey and cranberry sauce. God ended up spending the night on our couch (with my husband sitting vigil), as he was afraid to go home.
As soon as the holiday was over, I called the boy’s mother. She listened, and while I expected her to say she'd investigate a 12-step recovery program or contact CASA, she broke down and said. “He has Lyme’s disease.“
Huh?
At least that was what I thought until last night when I saw the movie Under Our Skin. Lyme disease, caused by tick bites affects 200,000 Americans every year. It's more rampant than West Nile Virus and AIDs.
The disease affects every part of the body and is often misdiagnosed as Lupus, MS, Parkinson’s, craziness--or drug problems . The best treatment so far is long-term antibiotics (2-3 years), but health insurance companies don’t want to pay for that so they do their best to keep doctors from finding Lyme’s disease, including registering complaints against and having licenses revoked from some of the best-known Lyme Disease doctors.
The movie was quite an eye-opener.
Another eye-opener on a much grander scale was Greg Mortenson’s book, Three Cups of Tea. I’m probably coming late to this tea party, as the book won the Kiriyama Book Prize, was a New York Times bestseller, and every club I know has read it. Still, on the off chance you haven’t read this phenomenal story, I wanted to mention it.
Mortenson, a nurse with a passion for climbing, was conquering K2 (Pakistan) one year when he got separated from the other climbers and lost. A porter found Mortenson wandering around the next day, hungry, dehydrated, and disoriented. Mortenson was so grateful to this porter that he offered to build a school for the man's village. He thought it was a one-off kind of thing, that he would build the school and then “get on with his life.” However, one school led to another to another. During the 9/11 crisis and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, Mortenson was in Pakistan and Afghanistan building schools and trying to help the US government see the humane side to these lands. He's still there.
Two great quotes from the book:
“You have to attack the source of your enemy’s strength,” said Brigadier General Bashir Baz. “In Americas’ case, that’s not Osama or Saddam or anyone else. The enemy is ignorance. The only way to defeat it is to build relationships with these people, to draw them into the modern world with education and business. Otherwise the fight will go on forever. “
“I had no idea what education was,” said Jahan, a Korphe, Pakistan village girl. “But now I think it is like water. It is important for everything in life.”

**This Wednesday, I’ll be doing a talk in honor of Women’ History Month at Foothill College. Please come join the discussion.

**Also, if you haven’t had a chance, please ask your local library to order a copy of My Half of the Sky.
Please leave your opinion about the book at your favorite online bookstore (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Powells,/etc.)
Please keep spreading the word.
Thank you!

Dealing with Our -Isms

2009-03-02T09:05:00.000-08:00

I took part in a fascinating panel at the Indian Business and Professional Women Council discussing Silicon Valley Reads Not a Genuine Black Man by Brian Copeland and the heavier outcome: race relations in the US...and the world. I was really pleased to be part of this panel, as the central theme of my novel, My Half of the Sky, is how do we reconcile traditional thoughts (and fears) with the reality of the moment?
The other panelists included journalists, Mike Swift
Diana Rohini ,and De Anza Professor Ulysses Pichon.
Moderator Shubangyi Vaidya asked us what part of Copeland's book reminded us of our lives. Copeland grew up in San Leandro, an all-black family in an an all-white neighborhood. His mother had trouble getting their apartment (and keeping it.) To that part of the book, I could totally relate.
When my Chinese husband and I went looking for our first apartment in Japan, we ventured outside of Tokyo (where it was cheaper and greener). In fact, we traveled willy-nilly on the train until we saw enough greenery. When we got off the train, there were three real estate agencies beckoning to us with huge advertisements for lovely apartments. But when we walked into the first one, they said, 'Oh, we have nothing right now. Sorry."
We walked into the second place and got the same response.
"This is too strange," I thought. "Something else is going on."
At the third place, I asked my husband--who spoke Japanese fluently and who had lived in Japan long enough to look the part (short spiky hair, jeans, clunky shoes)--to please go in without me. This time there were plenty of apartments.
What had been the problem? Foreigners, the agent explained. Foreigners weren't raised the same as Japanese. They made big grease fires, cooked smelly foods, left a huge mess...needed special permission to live.
Our IBPW panel, after hours of discussing various experiences at home and abroad, came to no ground-breaking solutions to the issue of Fear of Others. We concluded:
1) There is no innoculation against racism. We need to just keep addressing the issue over and over and over again.
2) It's not just about color, but about ethnicity--traditions, language, culture. (We didn't even get started on religions.)
3) It's important to constantly question our -isms: racism, sexism, agism, homophobism, etc. Why do we act and react the way we do?

Do you have any experiences to share? Any thoughts to add?

The Best Way to Ski

2009-02-23T10:22:00.000-08:00

This past week was “going to the snow” holiday ....so we went to the snow. However, while I grew up conquering black diamonds and getting lots of air, while I taught my kids how to ski as soon as they could bear to wear those clunky boots and fall in the snow without thinking this was some bizarre torture, I’ve lost my passion for the sport.
It started a couple seasons back, the worrying. What will I do if I break a leg? Or worse, an arm? How would I write? I thought all this paranoia was too much caffeine in my diet. But the next year when I was down to drinking hot water instead, I was still hemming and hawing.
I realized I enjoyed the chairlift ride more than the actual skiing. That instead of reveling in the “jump-age” (kids’ word) and excitement, I prayed I’d just make it down in one piece. I realized that the kids I’d taught to ski were leaving me in the powder spray (and had moved on to snowboarding the black diamonds.) Oh, sure, we always met up to do one run together, but even then I could tell they were really humoring the “old lady” (kids’ word).
So this time, while I brought my skis just in case I had a sudden craving to return to the good old days and race down the hill crying, “ye-ha,” I also brought lots of books.
Love Walked In by Marisa de los Santos is a book I avoided because of the title--it sounded like a Harlequin Romance. But when a friend of mine said it was great, I plunged ahead. While the book has an abundance of beautiful people, the ending is happy and somewhat predictable, and it is a romance, the voices of her characters are strong and witty, the dialogue is amazing, and the story is fun. I enjoyed reading it so much I picked up her second book, Belong to Me (another yucky title).
Home Was The Land Of Morning Calm by Connie Kang tells of Korea’s history during the 1900’s through the voice of a woman and her family. It’s fascinating the twists of fate dealt this small-but strategic and highly-coveted--island country, and hearing these facts through the real history of family makes it even more interesting.
So I had a wonderful going-to-the-snow holiday, and I did venture out into the snow, on long walks with the dog, on hikes to the local store, and while shoveling out our car which I’d run into a snow bank (long story). But this snow --except for the snow bank incident--felt safe and friendly. I didn’t hem and haw once. I came away thinking it was the perfect “ski” holiday and why hadn’t I done this earlier? But then the best editor I’ve ever known once said to me, “Just because a character realizes something, doesn’t mean he or she will immediately act upon that realization.“ A thing to remember in fiction as well as life.
**I’m doing an author chat this week on Library Thing. It’s an interesting site with lots of events going on, so stop on by.

Fun with Language

2009-02-15T11:26:00.000-08:00

I love listening to non-native English speakers. Their words put a twist on the mundane and offer a refreshing look at life.
Author Phyllis Mattson who wrote War Orphan in San Francisco, a fascinating story through letters of how she and her parents were separated during WWII, mentioned that the word “become” in German means “to get or receive.” She said it took her a long time to stop “becoming” an artichoke or piece of bread when she was just asking for some. But what a neat concept--the you-are-what-you-eat mentality.
My youngest daughter’s Russian piano teacher once said, when my daughter had forgotten to keep the beat, “You do not like to remember to count.” Exactly. How many times do we forget because we do not like to remember?
My Chinese husband doesn’t provide as much raw insight anymore. This past week though, I thought he‘d given me a new one. He was in Thailand on business and had stopped to see some old friends of ours who recently moved to Bangkok.
“We went to a restaurant called Cabbages & Condoms,” he said.
I was sure that this was an interesting language issue.
“You heard me correctly,” he said. “There were condoms on the walls and dripping from the trees.” (Actually he didn’t use the term “dripping,” but I could just imagine.)
At the end of the meal, which he didn’t describe as he was so busy telling me of the ambience, they brought the check and fortune cookies? No. Dinner mints? No. You guessed it.
Apparently, C&C is a non-profit whose aim is to combat the lack of Family Planning assistance and promote safe unions.
But back to language. Most recently my eldest daughter called from college, procrastinating. She had to write a paper on Democracy and Capitalism.
“Ughh," I sympathized.
“It should only take a couple of hours,” she said.
“That’s it?”
“Oh, well this isn’t the final paper,” she said. “It’s what my teacher-- who’s from Serbia-- calls a Discovery Draft.”
The Discovery Draft. How hopeful and inspiring without alluding to the garbage it will become. How beautiful.
Have you heard any interesting uses of language? Please tell.

Hiker Friends for the Journey

2009-02-08T14:54:00.000-08:00

We have a beautiful dog named Scotch. She is a sweet dog, and one of many dogs on the road...some of whom are not so sweet. In fact there's a posse of six right up the road who will bark at a falling leaf, and whose ferocity brings out the "flight" instinct.
Still, Scotch loves being outside and wandering, and she'll often go on walks with the neighbors. Then she'll stop and say hello to the friendlier dog population. At night, she comes back home.
This past week, though, she went out early in the morning and she didn't come back. So I called one of our neighbors and asked if there had been a Scotch spotting.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Saw her heading up past the corral with another dog."
I got in my car and went looking. I drove past the corral down towards another neighbor's. Just as I pulled into her place, she was driving out with Scotch in her car, ready to bring this guest home. It wasn't the first time.
My dear neighbor had a theory that Scotch followed hiker friends up the road, but then was afraid to go back down, "past the barrier" of six barking soldiers on our road.
It seemed a funny thing. I mean why would she walk past this menacing barrier a first time, but not a second? Obviously having the hikers by her side made all the difference.
This episode reminded me of my own writing. About my barriers: How will I find time to write in the middle of x, y, and z? How should I start? How will I get past the murky middle? What will my mother (sister, brother, husband, friends) think of this? These barriers are no less daunting even though I've passed them before.
And I definitely agree with Scotch. It’s necessary to have "hiker friends"--CWC, my critique group, my writing buddies-- along on the journey.

Things I Love

2009-02-02T12:37:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we were invited to a Superbowl Party. I have no feelings about football. It’s a foreign world to me that I don’t care deeply enough about to want to learn more--kind of like Sanskrit. My eldest daughter used to be on the Dance Team at her high school, meaning she danced football halftimes. I always timed it so I’d get there just for her performance. Except once--the homecoming game--my daughter said I’d better get there early or I wouldn’t get a seat. I went, taking a sweater along to knit as I whiled away the l-o-n-g minutes. I sat next to this elderly gentleman (in his 80’s) who had graduated from the school and never missed a game if he could help it. Although I didn’t ask, he began explaining the various penalties and plays. At one point, he took my elbow. “You must stand for the kick-off,” he insisted. I was impressed. He really wanted me to understand this world.
Although, thanks to that kind man, I’m a little more knowledgeable I’m still no big fan of the game. So fortunately last night, true to form, I showed up at halftime in time to hear The Boss.
Last week I was “tagged” by two dear bloggers: Becky Levine
and Nina Amir to answer questions about what I love. They’re both great writers. Becky’s an amazing editor, and writes Young Adult fiction as well as non-fiction books for writers. Nina does non-fiction articles on faith, her dancing son, cooking, and how to become an expert. They asked for between 7-20 things I love. I’ve chosen the number 8, a favorite number of mine as in Chinese the character represents “ever-increasing harmony.”
I take my family & friends as a given in this. I love :
1) Watching my kids participate. In swimming. Basketball. Dance. Music. Theater. If they were in football, I’d love that too.
2) Mornings when the words just dance from my heart so fast my fingers can‘t race across my keyboard fast enough.
3) The beach.
4) Traveling someplace new
5) Playing games--Scrabble, Worm, Charades, Cards
6) Hiking & Swimming
7)Chocolate.
8) Hearing a good story or reading a good book…which brings me to my latest, a book I had no intention of reading. Last month I read the book Beautiful Boy by David Sheff, a non-fiction story written by a father whose wonderful son became addicted to methamphetamines. Tweak by Nic Sheff is the book his son wrote about the experience. I felt as if the father’s book was as much as I wanted to hear, but my teenager (who had also experienced the father‘s viewpoint) wanted to read Tweak.
I thought I’d best preview it. What if it said something like drugs were the most wonderful thing in the world? And it did….for the first 30 pages. But then young 20-something Sheff keeps talking (and it always felt like he was chatting, revealing secrets only a really close friend would)
Like the gentleman at the football game, he took me by the elbow and showed me his world, leading me through the darker side of the streets of San Francisco, defining the drug world that had become second nature to him.
He wrote bluntly about his struggle. How he would go days without eating, had no place to stay, spent hours trying to break into an apartment complex just to take a shower, crawled to the LA airport in his socks, as he’d lost his shoes, stole from his family, begged on the street corner, sold his belongings and his body. All because he’d spent every last penny on getting high. Many times he’d gone sober…and then relapsed. The ending brought me to tears….and I passed the book onto my son.

Oh, yeah, Now I get to do the tagging. I pick Lynn and Sara

No More Dragons

2009-01-25T11:05:00.000-08:00

Explosions come from all around. The air is so smoky you can hardly see five feet in front of you. The night sky is filled with lights, bursting and dripping through the air. It's Chinese New Year.
I've only been back to China twice for the New Year. But each time the firecrackers went from dawn til midnight. The fireworks exploded more than the 4th of July. The story behind firecrackers and Chinese New Year is a wonderful symbolic one I think of often...especially during the New Year.
According to legend, there once lived a dragon. He came out of his cave once a year, forced his way through the village gates and kidnapped a young virgin in his thick, hairy hands--like a guest picking up a toothpick.
The villagers were terrified of this dragon.
The village priest suggested building the village walls higher. Setting a bonfire. Making a fake dragon. None of these methods worked.
Then one year as the dragon approached, a child lit a pocketful of firecrackers, one by one. Kaboom. The dragon jumped back on his haunches. Kaboom. His scales turned bright yellow. Kaboom. Kaboom. The dragon turned and ran away, never to be seen again.
I love this story, because we all have dragons: Dragons who say you can't accomplish this or try that, dragons who breathe their intimidating fires, dragons who make you afraid to follow your heart. Imagine the sound of firecrackers. Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom.
Happy Year of the Ox. May it be one of Happiness and Prosperity...and No Dragons.

Find Your Piece of Ground

2009-01-19T19:08:00.000-08:00

Last week, I took my youngest daughter (9) to see Brian Copeland speak. He's the author of Not A Genuine Black Man, this year's Silicon Valley Reads, and he was doing an opening interview in Campbell. I'd heard Mr. Copeland speak several times. We both presented at East of Eden, and then again at Book Group Expo. It's not that I expected to hear new material. But I wanted to be there to support the opening of this great book, the story of a young boy growing up black in the 99.9% white neighborhood of San Leandro. (I've given away more copies of this book than any other.)
It was like a girls' night out for my daughter and me, as we went to dinner beforehand and played several games of uninterrupted tic-tac-toe. When we got to the theater and sat down, I marveled at how wonderful it was to be there, sharing this moment with my daughter. I enjoyed the back-and-forth between Mr. Copeland and his interviewer. Then I felt my little one tug on my sleeve. "How long does this last?" she asked.
Later when we sat down for a bowl of ice cream, I asked, "What do you remember about the talk?"
"Uh," She lifted her spoon to her mouth, as if to think. "He has three children."
Well, that's true, I thought, wondering again at how our world is shaped by what we hear or think we hear. And how she might grow up one day to tell her friends how she got dragged to this theater to listen to some man talk about his three children. How everyone in the city had come to hear about those kids.
What I remember of the talk is the story he told of how he got started writing. He was talking to his friend, Carl Reiner (producer, The Dick Van Dyke Show) and bemoaning the fact that he didn't know what to write about. Mr. Reiner said, "You have to find the piece of ground that you alone stand on. Then write about that." Copeland realized that nobody else could tell the story of a boy growing up in the heart of diverse California and at the same time experiencing segregation and racism as though he lived in Mississippi. When he figured this out, it was as if the gates had been opened. He had found his voice.
What is your piece of ground? What unique dish do you bring to the table of life? These words echo in my mind when I am at a loss for which direction to turn in my own writing...or even in my life.

The Milpitas Treasure Chest

2009-01-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

"Now said a good book unto me.
Open my pages and you shall see
Jewels of wisdom and treasures fine
Gold and Silver in every line
And you may claim them if but you will
Open my pages and take your fill”
(Excerpt, Michigan’s Poet Laureate, Edgar Guest)

An indispensible friend to every cook in need of a recipe, author Lynn Walker, asked to hear about the Opening of the Milpitas Library this past Saturday.
The Milpitas Library , a 10-year-dream in the making, is twice the size of the old library where it was often so crowded you couldn't find a seat, where the checkout line was longer than that at Costco.
What I found most wonderful about the new library, though, was that it incorporates a special building: the first Milpitas Grammar School. The Grammar School was used to educate from 1916-56, then it became City Hall, then a community center, then a senior center, and now it is the auditorium and reading room for the library.
I found it so heartening that the people of Milpitas adapted the old school to meet the needs of the community.
So, while I’d been asked to talk about my current writing project, I was inspired by Milpitas’ dream to talk about my first dream, My Half of the Sky. My dream took longer--12 years which often felt like FOREVER--and was about a village, unlike Milpitas, which couldn’t adapt to the changing aspects of the world around it.
The afternoon was fabulous and memorable--with music, dancing, speeches and tours. It was an honor to be there with Terri Thayer, author of four murder mysteries, to help open this lovely treasure chest. If you get a chance, stop by and admire their jewels.

Give Yourself Time to Do Well....to Enjoy

2009-01-05T11:19:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year. I hope you enjoyed the holidays. We had a house of twelve, relatives from the midwest and southern CA, and we enjoyed so much--endless games of Scrabble and Charades and Ghost--that this morning everyone left the house as though going off for a lethal injection.

One of our interesting trips was to San Francisco. Initially, I wasn't planning to go. I had a thousand other things to do (send off Holiday cards, read a manuscript, figure out dinner.) However, my favorite sister-in-law insisted I join. As we were a big group (11) we took two cars, and I told my husband we should just meet the rest of the crew for lunch in Chinatown and then come home.

I had forgotten what a vortex Chinatown is. There are so many things to see (people were playing ancient instruments on the street the day we went). So many shops to browse--the fresh vegetable shops, the medicine store (we needed our cold medicine 999), the inexpensive luggage place, the Chinese New Year store, etc.

We didn't stay as long as we wished and we still got home later than our relatives. In fact, by the time we got back, they had fixed dinner.

I had to laugh at myself. I'm always doing this. Most often with writing. Often I just want to get the day's writing done, done, done, as I have a dozen other things on my plate. I don't allow myself time to enjoy and explore the scene or the character, instead rushing in with "only enough time for lunch." I end up feeling cheated ...and still late to pick up the kids from school.

So, in this New Year, lets give ourselves time to do the important things well. And to Enjoy.

**One great book I read over the holidays was Fortune Catcher
by Susanne Pari. The story focuses on what happens when life as you've come to know it becomes illegal, immoral, a reason for your death. Laylee, a woman born in Iran but raised in both Iran and the US, returns one year with her Iranian fiance to marry, and the country they knew and loved had disappeared and been replaced by religious fanatics. A fascinating read.

**Hope to see you at the opening of the Milpitas Library this Saturday, 1pm at 160 North Main Street, Milpitas. :)

Playing Hookey and Lovin' It

2008-12-17T16:30:00.000-08:00

It's so hard to pull away from my morning writing routine. I needed a kick in the pants, a kick my daughter --who is home from college--gave me when she asked me to spend the morning with her. I felt as if I were playing hookey...and gosh but it was fun.
Anyway, while I was running around, some fun book stuff happened. Carrie Runnals posted an interview about My Half of the Sky on her website and is holding a drawing to give away a free copy. Also, the Milpitas Public Library asked me to be part of their grand opening ceremony in January.
What fun stuff is happening with you?

Holiday Writing Ideas?

2008-12-12T11:39:00.000-08:00

My mom is calling with thoughts on the holiday menu. And I'm wondering how my fictitious mother makes kimchi.
My daughter's teacher is asking for a festive party. And I'm wondering if my character should celebrate the star festival early with his girlfriend.
My husband even stayed home so we'd have our own little pre-holiday time. And in the back of my mind I'm wondering how the wounded elder brother can reunite with his girlfriend.
My point is, despite exciting and important events, stories don't go on holiday. Your brain keeps thinking of the next plot twist or dialogue.
I may not have time to sit and meditate and write out my pages, but over the holidays I'm committed to writing down at least a thought a day--or whenever one pops in my head. I'm also pondering the thought of carrying around a miniature tape recorder to catch the thoughts when I have them. (Then again, perhaps that will be as engaging as watching someone text message during dinner.)
Any other ideas for writing through the holidays?

** Beautiful Boy by David Geff, is a story that will stay with me a long time. It's about an intelligent, talented, sporty, handsome boy. He's on the water polo team and swim team, is lead actor in school plays, is the brightest boy in his classes. Then he goes to France for a summer abroad where there's no age limit for alcohol consumption. When he returns home, he has enjoyed drinking so much that he decides to try something more. Marijuana. Then Meth.
He goes from being the bright star of the family to an addict. With the snap of a finger. Geff describes his son's addiction as well as research that shows some people's brains are wired with a tendency towards addiction. (I wanted to haul all my children off to have their brains examined.) A fascinating--albeit frightening--book.

I'm Done, I'm Done, I'm Really Done

2008-12-05T08:48:00.001-08:00

Those are the words I've been hearing all week, while my youngest worked on a six-paragraph story for school. She managed not to even approach the assignment until the last moment. Then she sat down, spewed out six paragraphs and was ready to e-mail it off to her teacher.
"Do you mind if I check for spelling?" I asked.
"Oh, there aren't any red lines under the words so I'm good."
"Do you mind if I look it over for other things?" I suggested. "Like grammar."
She heaved a big sigh, but she printed out a copy for me. I went through the story with my normal editorial pen--not clear where the character is standing, this character has conflicting thoughts in the same paragraph, this place isn't well described.
"I didn't ask you for that kind of help," my daughter moaned with each mark of my pen. "Just look for grammar stuff."
So, I just looked for grammar stuff. She corrected that, sent it off to her teacher and then wanted to know what I thought.
"I told you what I thought," I said. "And you didn't want to hear it."
That night as we were reading together and tension over the story had dissipated, she asked, "When you write a story, do you just write whatever comes to your head and send it to an editor?
Wouldn't that be fun?
It dawned on me that my daughter was trying to understand this writing thing. And that really her experience was not too different from what we've all gone through--procrastinating, wanting to be done, wanting to rush off our "done" manuscript to an agent, wanting the agent to think that manuscript is perfect.
How do we get these tendencies? Get over these tendencies?

**I just finished reading a beautiful story, The Blood of Flowers by Anita Amirrezvani. The story revolves around a spirited young girl on the brink of womanhood in 18th century Iran. Her father dies suddenly, and she and her mother are left at the mercy of the father's distant half brother and miserly wife. High drama. On top of all that, interwoven in the story are wonderful ancient Persian folktales. A lovely book.

Shaking my limbs

2008-11-29T12:32:00.000-08:00

I feel as if I'm just emerging from a pool of family and food and thanksgiving. It was warm and reassuring and nurturing. And it's hard to get my limbs moving again.
Over the holiday, I read Sipping from the Nile by Jean Naggar. She writes about a part of history I was only peripherally aware of--the Suez Canal Crisis of the late '50s when Jews were persecuted and pushed out of their homes.
Naggar grew up in Egypt in the kind of fairytale existence we only dream of: surrounded by caring extended family, living in a mansion with cooks and servants and dressmakers, constantly hearing a handful of languages and understanding them all, never wanting for anything.
Naggar details her "ivory tower" livelihood, as one of her relatives referred to it. I loved hearing about all the Jewish traditions, as well some of the superstitions of the time. One of those superstitions was whenever Naggar went on a trip--which she often did, and was in fact one of the first to ride in the revolutionary Comets, the first jet-propelled airplanes--she drank water from the place she was leaving from. That would ensure her safe passage back. She often sipped from the Nile. Unfortunately, this superstition didn't always work. Naggar's "ivory tower" started crumbling in 1956 with the nationalization of the Suez Canal. Jews were suddenly the target of hate. All they wanted now, after centuries of building a successful livelihood in Cairo, were exit visas to someplace safe.
It was a fascinating--and poignant--peek into a part of history we don't hear much about...
Read any good books over the holiday?

Traditions Are Great... Until They're Not

2008-11-21T09:22:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, I spent a wonderful morning with Jill Ferguson's
Asian Literature class at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. They are reading My Half of the Sky as part of their class, and invited me to join in on the discussion. After answering their questions--How did I think up the idea? How did I get in the head of the character? Why did I go to live in Japan? How did I get published?-- I asked them, following the theme of the book, to tell me stories of times when they questioned or went against a tradition.
This was certainly the right group. As musicians, they were often in the position of having to buck the norm. Several students said their parents wanted them to get a four-year liberal arts education, to become a doctor, to pursue a degree that would be more secure. They had to convince the parents that no, they wanted to play music. One student actually quit high school to study voice. She didn’t get flack from her parents, but from the public school system. One student said her parents were from Russia, and all the time growing up she had wanted to celebrate holidays like her friends in the US, but her father wasn’t interested in celebrating those foolish American holidays. He finally relented. Now she celebrates all the holidays. (My partner in joy. )
What made me laugh, though, was that at the end of this enlightening discussion, this man whose parents had wanted him to be a doctor instead of a pianist, raised his hand and said, "But I like tradition."
Everyone agreed. Traditions are fun--like everyone sitting together to eat turkey on Thanksgiving. But what happens when those traditions become barriers?
I shared the story of when we arrived here ten years ago and were in need of furniture. I knew that my mother had a wooden bed in storage in her garage, a bed that my great-great grandfather had built. So I called her and asked if we could have that bed for my daughter's room. "No," she said . "That's your brother's bed."
My brother lived in Germany at that point.
My modern-minded, women's libber of a mom said that the bed had been handed down through the male lineage. But if I called my brother and he said it was okay for us to use, we could have it. I called him, the whole time thinking this was ridiculous. Of course he'd say I could use the bed. But you know what he said?
"No, that's my bed."
That bed, ten years later, is still in storage in the garage.
We all had a good laugh and everyone agreed that traditions are great...until they're not.
Do you have an example to share?

Follow the Qi of the Day

2008-11-12T08:40:00.000-08:00

My thighs are aching. I hobble up and down the steps. Put my hand out to ease myself down into a chair. You'd think I'd spent a week skiing. But, actually, I just took my first Taiqi class.
I've always been intrigued by Taiqi. The first time I went backpacking in China, I followed my shoestring guidebook, getting up at 5am to rush to the People's Park in Shanghai to watch people perform. It seemed like the whole neighborhood had come out to participate, and I felt like I was watching a silent ballet. Their movements were fluid, like a wave, as they picked up an imaginary ball and moved it up, then down, from side to side. My Father-in-law practices each morning at the local elementary school in the village. He and my husband often said that I should pick up the practice. That it's healthy, would be good for my back. "Someday," I thought.
A couple of months ago, I was up the road picking blackberries and I ran into a man I'd never seen before-- a neighbor-- who said he taught the martial arts, including Taiqi. I told him I'd always wanted to do that, but never had the time. He said of course there's time. That he'd arrange a class up here.
This last Sunday I finally made it to his class. I felt like a kid who'd put on a pair of ice skates for the first time, wobbling this way, falling that. The movements aren't difficult. To do them correctly--synchronizing the movement with breathing and balance--feels impossible.
What intrigued me more than the movements, though, were the ideas. The idea of harnessing the energy (qi) of the universe, bringing that energy to your body, your life. The idea of thinking and moving not in a solid forward movement, but forward and back, from side to side, depending on the situation. The idea that the body follows the mind. So if you focus your thoughts, your body will find its way there.
For me, these are great gifts to take with me into the holiday season--a season full of shopping and decorating and parties and vacations. A season when my forward writing momentum comes to a grinding halt....and I often feel frustrated. This year, I'll bend my aching legs, pick up the imaginary ball, take a deep breath and try to follow the energy, the qi of the day.

**A great writing opportunity: Martha Engber, a journalist, playwrite, Pushcart Prize nominee, and author of Growing Great Writers From the Ground Up, is holding a workshop on character development Sunday, November 23, 10-2, Books Inc., 301 Castro St., Mountain View.