Rejection--just a shutter-snap.

"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

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

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

"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

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

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

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.