No More Dragons

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

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

"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

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

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?

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

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.