sex & violence & big bucks?

In a conversation with my mother last night, she rather plaintively (yes, that's an adverb, and I don't care. Love 'em!) asked why I don't just write a book with lots of violence and sex and sell it for lots of money. After I remarked that I am eschewing the propagation of violence as much as possible (except for the occasional imagining of nasty ends coming to those I don't like...heh heh heh), I also said that sex & love are fine by me, and I am writing one containing just that...very, very slowly. Especially since I still have not manifested my laptop, although I'm working on that.

Say, anyone out there want to gift me a brand-new laptop? Preferably a good Dell? Just checking. Feel free, at any time. I will happily provide you with an address to which to send it! What a way to pay it forward, gain good karma, help out a struggling writer....

Anyway. Sex & violence does sell in our culture, indeed. I recognize that, and for quite some time I thought I might write mysteries set in southern Utah's red rock country. I still might---a "cozy" mystery, at least.

But I digress. Part of me agrees with my mother, that I certainly have the capability to write such a thing and get it sold--especially when I regard, horrified, all the dreck published in this country. So then I have to look at basic procrastination, that old bogeyman that has chuckled at me all my life. Well, much of it. Especially those parts related to me, rather than to others (i.e., working for others). And then I have to look at available time, and the frustration of working all the time, and trying to make time to write. A dear friend of mine said, in an attempt to kick-start me, that she has a friend who gets up at 5:30a.m. every day to write. Yes, those people do exist. However, I am not happily one of them! I'd be more likely to get up at 6 or 7...do my morning routine...then write...then go to work at about 10a.m.--sounds great to me! However, there aren't that many jobs that begin that late in the day that would actually support one and not be so draining and time-consuming that one still had energy left over to be creative.

My other writer friends, weigh in here. Am I alone in this viewpoint? Dan? Jenna? Anyone?

Okay, well, as I write in here, I do not write my romance. (Which, come to think of it, does contain death and a bit of mayhem. Hmm.) So. Off through the sleet & rain & snow (no, I'm not joking) to the coffeehouse in town I like, to sip tea and write long-hand in my journal--how bizarre, still, a bit, to write long-hand. And how is everyone out there doing on their own creative projects?

sex & violence & big bucks?

some thoughts on family

Family's been on my mind lately. My grandmother is doing better, residing with my mother still. My mother sounds well too, despite getting tired at times from the extra care she is giving her mother now. The mother of a friend of mine died recently, quite suddenly and unexpectedly. That definitely rattled my friend's world, and it made me ponder mortality, again. Another friend is going through some issues around her family as well. It's never-ending, really, isn't it? Family, how they affect us--and how we affect them, which cannot be forgotten either!

Family. No matter what our relationship with them, they mean so much to us, and we miss them when they are not around, even if they drive us nuts when they are around. And as a species we are still so excited to reproduce, to raise young ones, and to continues that cycle of family. Almost mind-boggling, no? Must mean it's working out for some people. That, or the younger ones are determined that they will do things differently. Or some combination thereof.

Anyway. I do believe in families, and champion them, no matter what form they take, as long as they are created and operate in true, giving love. Not all families are from blood, nor even from raising. Some families are created with those whom we love, but would technically be required to label "friends." There are so many differing categories. Frankly, I am blessed in all areas, and grateful for it. Even in the trickier moments...certainly gives me more material for my writing! ;)

Now, back to manifesting my new laptop.... So that I can post more often on here, of course!

some thoughts on family

thanks a-plenty

I don't know about all of you, you secret readers out there, but I've been very thankful for so much in my life lately. I have wonderful family members, who are supportive and loving and HEALTHY (!). Pets I adore, and who make me laugh, even from miles away at the moment. I have my own health, a beautifully-running (and great looking, I must say) truck, and money in the bank (not tons, but definitely enough to keep me going right now!). I have friends who are so generous to me, through laughter, stories, opening their homes, and gracing me with their presence. Beautiful landscapes wherever I go. A sharp mind that is busy designing the latest projects for me to embark upon (and ooh, do I have some neat ones planned). An active spiritual life that is unfolding more and more every day.

This is the time of year to be thinking about thanks, and I certainly have it in spades. If you need a little nudge, I found this bit about gratitude journals on beliefnet.com that might appeal. There's always something to be thankful for!

Right now, I am also grateful simply to be alive and experiencing this moment. Even though it's clouding up outside, and cooling down, I get to go on a run in gorgeous country in just a while here--and I am so happy that I have the lungs and legs for that! And the knees, which I've realized are essential parts of our ambulatory bodies.

Okay, enough of the sweetness and light, eh? But just remember to open your own hearts to it, and pass some on as well. Our world can always use more! Peace.

thanks a-plenty

the writing biz

Let's face it. Lots of Americans can't write very well. No surprise there, really, although one would think we are awash in writers, given the ridiculous number of books published in this country every year. A large chunk of those books, however, are not all that well-written, now are they? Or they are ghostwritten by someone else--someone who really knows how to write.



I just checked out this "top 20" list of consulting businesses on Entrepreneur.com, and guess what? Five (count 'em, five) of the slots involved writing and/or editing. Hmm.... Intriguing, no? So, you wonder, why is my own writing & editing consulting business not up and running all that spectacularly just yet, you wonder? Lots of competition out there. Gotta find a niche. But wow, when you do--watch out. That's quite a niche to carve out.



Pretty cool, eh?



My public service message of the day. Now, back to writing that racy Harlequin back cover copy....;)

the writing biz

autumn...sort of

This weather is very warm for the Southwest in November. Hmm, global warming, anyone? I, for one, am enjoying it while it lasts. Today I walked by a beautiful (albeit low) river, jumped into a pile of raked-up fallen leaves, and swung on a swing set by the river path. All in all, a good day!

Besides, when it finally gets cold and starts to precipitate again, there is skiing...although it may be somewhat paltry for a while. But I'm anticipating it nonetheless!

Check out the National Book Awards, for which the ceremony is happening this Wednesday. Some cool stuff out there...okay, okay, I haven't read any of them--but I am familiar with the work of some of the authors, at least. How cool, one day, to see my name on the nominee list...hmm....

Babcia update: still doing okay, fielding lots of visits from daughters and calls too, at least from me. See, I told you she's tough.

Now, back to writing....In my journal, by hand, since I am still in the process of manifesting a new laptop... :)

autumn...sort of

ode to a laptop

Well, my laptop has had it. It croaked pitifully a few weeks back, and I sent it to a computer guru friend who very generously looked at it for me despite a very busy life of his own. He regrets that he cannot pull my data from the laptop. Unfortunately, I had some photos and some unsaved writing on it. Lesson learned: get a thumb drive.

Do you hear that, all you wild computer users out there? If your work is important to you, get a thumb drive and use it!

Anyway. There is a way of retrieving my data, one which involves great expense and time, two things of which I do not have in spades at the moment (although they are on their way to me right now, heh heh--the power of manifestation). So all is not lost. Just at the moment, it seems, I must be patient. Which is never easy for an Aries.

So until my brand-new laptop arrives, I store all my stories in my head, that great laptop attached to our bodies, and try to keep them simply filed. But, oh--how hard it is for a writer to be separated from her laptop. Yes, I can and do write by hand, but it's a different proposition when one looks to getting those words into electronic form. Hmm...challenges today. Although oddly enough, I'm feeling quite optimistic. Perhaps it's because it's a beautiful day, my Babcia is doing much better and should be going home tomorrow, and really--what good is it to whine and complain and feel beleaguered? That only generates more of the same.

So. Go out and think positive thoughts, and prosper, all of you. And don't forget to store your data in at least two places. I had a bunch of mine on a CD somewhere...now if only I can find it....

ode to a laptop

powder is reality

Funny story to relate here: a friend of mine, who has worked in the wilderness therapy industry, began to date someone who had no experience in this industry. Her partner had Grateful Dead stickers on his truck, is a skier, works in a totally unrelated field, etc. etc. Oftentimes we get judged by our covers, no? Anyway, my friend had to take her partner's truck to work for a variety of reasons, and asked him if she could remove the Dead stickers so the students wouldn't see them, because that really is inappropriate and unprofessional in this profession. He didn't understand why at all and thought today's teens really would have no idea what those stickers stand for, but, being the loving man he is (yes, my friend has a good 'un!), he allowed her to remove said offensive stickers.

So there my friend is in the field, riot-inciting stickers gone, and two students are near the truck. They peruse some of the other stickers and start to chuckle a bit. There was, unfortunately, one sticker there from a ski resort, which read, Powder Is Reality.

These two students were cocaine addicts.

My friend declared her day done and drove away.

I am not telling this story nearly as well as my friend did, and if you are not in any segment of this industry you may not get it, but trust me. There is a certain existential humor in it. Sometimes, you just can't win!

Onward.

Found this inspiring comment about writing on a PW blog from yesterday. Okay, I perhaps wax a bit sarcastic. Writing is necessary for writers, however, rather like oxygen is necessary for mammalian life. I must, and do write. But this blogger correctly paints the very challenging picture of getting published, and making a living off it, in this mad, mad world! However, I will keep trying. My work has been rejected more times than I care to count (and I may not be able to count them again, if my files holding that information are not retrieved--maybe that would be a good thing?), yet I do keep plugging away, although perhaps not as regularly as I might. Rejection does get very tough. I need to post, sometime, some of the crazier rejection letters I've received in the past. The one from Gordon Lish was almost longer than whatever it was I'd submitted.

Anyway. Future project! Happy day, all. And remember to COMMENT! If you want. :)

powder is reality

your secret's out

Okay, it seems all you readers out there have a little secret: you are actually reading this blog! I was wondering, as no one's left comments for the longest time, if I was just babbling into a vacuum. I may still be babbling, but there are plenty of readers of Red Rock Writer--you're just being secret readers. Which is okay, really, but it would be waaay more fun if you all left a comment now and then! No fewer than about eight people have mentioned to me in recent weeks, "Oh, you said in your blog...," which I found interesting. So. Feel free to comment!

Anyway, in other news, my grandmother is not feeling too well again, which makes me a bit nervous. (She had pneumonia back in May and was hospitalized for it.) She was, as she said to me in a tired voice this morning, dragged off to the doctor again today by her pesky adult children, who are also concerned about her rather fragile state at the moment. I will keep you posted on the health of my very cool grandmother, my Babcia. I personally believe she is very strong and healthy.

At the moment, I'm enjoying the offerings of Salt Lake City, which is fabulous except for the inversion (bleh--makes me feel as if I'm in L.A.) and the traffic. Not that the traffic here is horrible, by any means, but for someone used to living in rural Wayne County and in relatively small Durango over the past eight years, any city traffic is intense in comparison. However, I was interested to discover, on a walk this afternoon with my friend's little wiener dog, a mini-ranch complete with horses right next to her enormous (really), sprawling apartment complex. The West. It just can't shake its rural roots! Fine by me, of course. The horses were clean, pretty, and relaxed in the warm afternoon light. And they smelled, like, well, horses. It's a clean, warm, living, just wonderful smell (no, it does not smell like manure), and it will send horsey types everywhere into paroxysms of delight. If you are a horse person, you will understand. If not, just believe me. Makes me realize I need to get horses into my daily life again--or at least weekly.

In the writing world, this intriguing article called The Democratic Approach to Slush appeared in the latest Poets & Writers. Check it out, if you are a writer--quite interesting. Will remain to be seen if it's viable--sounds a bit dicey, letting the opinions of readers control the destiny of one's work--but then again, it does seem much more democratic than the whims of one editor. Having worked as an editor myself and read and rejected many manuscripts (I recommended a few, some of which actually got published, in case you fear I was all bad), I do understand that personal taste truly does come into the decision-making process, naturally. We are still human (well, most of us are), after all.

I also found a new magazine website, called Terrain.org, which is really cool, if you are into reading about the earth, place, the environment (both natural and constructed), etc. Really good work on there. I submitted something to them recently--will keep you posted, naturally, as a prime aspect of my blog is to self-promote my writing! Which is growing, slowly but surely...especially when I get a working laptop again, and my files. (Thank you, David, in advance, again!!!)

I leave you with this quote, which perhaps more of us might live by (myself included):

"Eating words has never given me indigestion." --Winston Churchill

your secret's out

wonders of all kinds

Been reading Barbara Kingsolver's Small Wonder: Essays, and am delighted by her writing, which I only recently discovered. Very inspirational to me in my own writing, which, I have realized, is strongest when I pen creative nonfiction, or essays, or whatever you want to call them. My current focus (well, that focus tends to hop all over the place, I admit--there is just too much fascinating stuff in this world!) is essays about place, particularly about this place, Wayne County, southern Utah, this general area, its landscape, its creatures, its people, its history, its potential futures. So much to discuss--so little precious time--yet so much of it, as well, oddly enough. Bizarre, no?

At any rate. Today is another gorgeous day in canyon country, crisp blue sky, rich colors lighted by the sun, still and perfect. I am about to head out to explore, to adventure, to find all the small wonders of this place that never fail to amaze me, and to say good-bye as I prepare to leave yet again. It's a tiresome thing, leaving, and I am well and truly sick of it. Yet, go I must, for many reasons. But, I console myself, I will return, always. And this land will not change too drastically--I hope.

wonders of all kinds

dusting oneself off & movin' right along

This whole laptop-has-crashed-and-burned-in-a-mighty-conflagration thing is, as usual, providing me windows of opportunity I might have otherwise missed. (Despite the fact that I really did not want this sort of window--or maybe, come to think of it, because of it? Hmm...philosophical brain twisting in the morning.) Some of the windows include these gems:

1) Forced to either write on my friend's computer (which is okay, but I tend to keep my writing very private and secured), or by hand, such as journaling more. Ah, the old-fashioned way. It does bring the writer closer to the words themselves, makes me think about my choices more carefully, because there is no delete button, nor a backspace....There is only commitment.

2) Strongly encouraged to stop freaking out about this potential loss and simply enjoy what I do have, which is plenty: loving family, generous friends, a spectacular place in which to live at the moment, my mind and its endless machinations & cool new ideas, on and on the list goes. I really am blessed--just have to remind myself of that at times.

3) More time to read! Watch movies! Hike during this amazing fall weather, which is perfect! Talk to friends and acquaintances! Visit and play with my horse! Practice yoga & meditation! Etc., etc. Gifts, indeed.

4) Space to explore the quiet, patient side that I generally lack. I have been a downright hermit lately, and it's been grand.

A friend (thanks, Dan) sent me a quote I want to share here, because it's really apt in this moment:

"Let us spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off the track by every nutshell and mosquito wing that falls on the rails." --Thoreau

I'm letting nutshells and mosquito wings veer me off-course, which is silly. Things happen, and we all really do go on--just perhaps not in the way we expected before the calamitous event. Another friend pointed out my ability to find gifts in the challenging moments, which was a great compliment and meant a lot to me (thanks, Shelley!).

One last gem, the kind that will nurture me for years to come: the other day, I was sitting in a local coffee shop with a friend, grousing a bit about the unpredictable nature of the wilderness therapy industry and proclaiming my own personal doneness with it. Then one of my recent students from the field, one I'd worked with for two shifts (16 days), came in with his parents. He'd graduated, and they'd just finished up their family workshop. I met his folks, noted how centered the student seemed, and we had a brief conversation.

And during that short time, he said to me not once but twice, "Thank you, Julie." And I heard and saw the sincerity resonating through his every fiber, and it just meant so much to me, and brought that sort of smile to my face that can only come from the recognition of right action, of having done something well that touched another life in the most positive of ways. And my last week out with that particular group had been so, so difficult! You never really know how your presence affects another.

At any rate, I want to thank broken laptops (sigh), unforeseen opportunities, a young man named Thomas, and my dear friends, all of whom have helped me in these past weeks to get up, brush off the dust, and just keep going, even if the smile has sometimes slipped from my face.

dusting oneself off & movin' right along

Halloween & technological woes

Happy All Hallow's Eve to you. Wherever you are, I hope you rise above the commercial mockery this day has become, ignore all the candy, and just enjoy yourself. Found this fun quote:

Halloween.

Sly does it. Tiptoe catspaws. Slide and creep.

But why? What for? How? Who? When! Where did it all begin?

“You don’t know, do you?” asks Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud climbing out of the pile of leaves under the Halloween Tree. “You don’t really know!”

—Ray Bradbury, The Halloween Tree

This is one of my favorite times of year. A magical night, the leaves changing, winds gusting up, deep blue autumn skies, the time about to rock backward, and the season well and truly turned. The Welsh call it a "spirit night," and obviously our culture agrees, although in typical Western fashion, the idea behind the holiday has been bastardized, cleansed, and commercialized beyond recognition.

The veil between the worlds is supposed to be thin, and tonight is your best bet for uncannily accurate tarot readings, crystal ball predictions, or other forms of scrying your future. Let the games begin, I say! Have a blast, and do wear a costume if so moved. Why not, after all--it's also the only time of the year adults are allowed to be more childlike, to play, to dress up, to show their pent up wildness. As a culture, we really do suppress that, don't we? And then look what happens: little boys playing with warships and soldiers, except that they're real ones, and not expecting them to really get hurt, or little girls cat-calling at each other and playing the cruelest tricks, except that they change lives in hurtful ways, because grown-up games can often be much more devastating than those we played when we were truly children. So let out your inner child/faery/demon/angel/ghost/etc. tonight, engage in laughter and gentle tricks, and express all your sillies.

And please send me and my mom your best healing Halloween thoughts, so that my laptop (my connection to the world, as well as the way in which I am attempting to make a living!) and her computer, both separated by several states and both choosing to get all persnickety at the same time, heal themselves. Sigh.... Maybe it's just the spirits playing tricks on our technological crutches!

Have a glorious Samhain (“summer’s end" in Celtic), and enjoy that spiced cider simmering on your stove...I know I am.

Halloween & technological woes

indian summer

The weather here right now is perfect for hiking the southern Utah back country, and let me tell you, I'm doing just that. Went on a great 6-hour jaunt yesterday to a mesa-top I'd never visited before--it requires ascending a rugged horse trail to achieve the unparalleled views and unsullied terrain up there. Clearly, very few people venture into that area, and after slogging up the wrong little canyon crack to get up there, I understand why. I'm quite grateful that such remote areas still exist in abundance around here! I found a tremendous amount of chipping beds, arrowhead pieces, and other really cool stuff. And almost no human footprints, although plenty of critter prints.

On a more disheartening note, a friend of mine told me that some modern-day pot hunters (illegal looters of protected archaeological sites is the more correct term) are using helicopters to get to the most remote back country sites, where they can quickly loot, remove, and fly away. Luckily, people on the right side of the law have a description of the helicopter, and are on the lookout for it. It's a genius idea, although of course also totally morally reprehensible.

I understood, on some level, however, the allure of seeking out and actually finding such ancient sites with their treasures still intact. I was gripped by similar fever as I wandered around the high mesa, eyes scanning for telltale signs of previous human occupation or at least traversing. I, however, am not going to loot. Arrowhead pieces, yes, I admit to taking some that I've found, and I'm sure it's also a justification. We each have our own system by which we live, do we not? However, I have too much respect for ancient spirits, ancient peoples, and the laws of this country to do more than that. Yet so many out there do not! It always amazes me at how selfish this society--Western civilization--is. There is no group, there is no community, there is only I, and how much I can profit. It's very saddening, on multiple levels.

Anyway. A beautiful photo of a southern Utah desert sunrise to inspire whatever. Writing. Protection of the land. Joy. A smile!

indian summer

writing from life

Okay, here is what I am focusing on while my homeland (SoCal) is burning down: writing from life, from the people who inhabit our daily or at least semi-daily lives. I just today finished (hooray! oh rarity, finishing a short story--especially since mine are usually looong) a story based on real-life events that happened recently here in Wayne County. I don't actually know any of the players, except one only superficially, and I totally made up most of the details, not actually knowing them besides the bare bones. Which is why we call it fiction! But there is still the dilemma inherent in such situations: how much to disguise, and how, and why indeed, to be truthful.

Pam Houston, a writer who taught three workshops that I've attended and someone whose writing I've liked, has said that fiction is more truthful than nonfiction. Her own fiction draws heavily from her personal life, and I think she's pissed off some people in her tiny town where she lives part of the year by some of her portrayals. But what she was meaning to say is, We tend to be more truthful in our fiction, more unabashedly honest, because of that very label, fiction. It ain't true, folks! Nothing to see here, it's all make-believe, these characters are just that--made up. So with that accepted cloak of anonymity, we can skewer all the sacred cows (and humans) we want, while getting away scot free.

Anyway, it's a subject I find interesting. It's one I usually play with, writing from life, or at least from the lives of those I know, whether closely or from a more reserved distance. Not always! But enough. I mean, come on. Life presents the most interesting, outrageous, "no way!" moments and story lines and people we could ever want. Truth is stranger than fiction, etc. It's true, no? What do you all think?

And by the way--if I'm ever going to skewer you as a sacred cow, perhaps you'll know--and perhaps you won't...heh heh heh....

writing from life

autumn winds

Winds of change, or something like that, no? I love this time of year. It's a bittersweet love, to be sure. Things are changing, summer is winding down, people leave, there is a slight sense of melancholy in the air. Or maybe it's just me! I must say that autumn in Wayne County is spectacular. The air is certainly crisp but not dreadful (although over the weekend there was a snowstorm that seemed to be a blasting harbinger of winter). The colors on the aspens on the mountains are glorious russets and glowing yellows that are almost iridescent in the direct sunlight, framed so sharply against the stark white of the tree trunks. Elk are bugling on the mountainsides (or so I'm told; haven't heard them myself), the sky is that unbelievably deep Utah blue, cobalt or even navy in the evening light. There are still visitors here, but everything is slowing down a bit as creatures human and otherwise start to prepare for that inevitable winter thing, hibernation.

If only we people did hibernate! I'd love it, right about now. I think that's my thing in the winters: hibernation like a bear. Along with skiing! Right now I'm hunkered down in one of my favorite bookstores, Robber's Roost, and I'm wishing I could just stay here for the next several weeks, writing quietly and with purpose. Tomorrow, however, I head into the field, so there will be another weeklong dearth of writing, here and elsewhere. I do bring my journal into the field, so that remains constant in my life no matter what.

This amazing, often infuriating, endlessly eye-opening thing we call life is so interesting, is it not? What we set up for ourselves surprises us so, at times. I still get surprised, although I have really created every moment that led up to this one. I have created this very moment in my life, whether I consciously planned it or not. Rather humbling to remember that when I start complaining about things.

I must say that I am still so happy to be here right now, in what is perhaps my favorite place on earth, surrounded by the land that nurtures and sustains me so. When I walk by the river later, and take out my journal and write in it to the melody of the water tripping and rippling past, I know already that I will feel so secure, so safe and familiar and held, in a way, by the red and cream rocks and the big blue sky and the birds of prey that circle and swoop far above. It hugs my soul close while simultaneously letting it soar free, and isn't that all we want? A paradox there, but what we want: to be held and to be free at once. And to live in a place we adore.

What is your place that you adore? How and why does it hold you? And how, if you will, do you hold it while also letting it be free?

Time for me to head out to visit my horse (with a bag of apples! He and his pasture-mates will be thrilled) and then the river. Till next week, then.

autumn winds

words o' wisdom

Sorry about the time lag. Went into the field a few weeks ago, spent 8 days wandering the high (and chilly) mountains with students and llamas, and then exited the field to rest, hike, and not get online really until today. I return to the field on Wednesday, so expect another time gap....

I have nothing of terribly interesting note to note today. Just the words of several friends and myself: Feelings pass. Actions are remembered. Be cautious when the two merge!

With that, I leave you to ponder your own feelings and what, if anything, you will do with them on this Sunday. Happy day!

words o' wisdom

saving the planet one step at a time

Got some news from SUWA this morning about the off-road vehicle depredations in southern Utah. Check out their website and see how the BLM office there is slowly bowing to pressure from activists and concerned citizens. Off-road vehicles have been illegally damaging a place called Recapture Wash, endangering archaeological sites, trampling the local sparse vegetation (think desert), and probably really annoying hikers, bicyclists, runners, and others trying to enjoy the peace and quiet of such a place.

See, we can make a difference, one voice at a time, one step at a time. I can't stand it when people go belly up or hide in their turtle shells, whining that the world just doesn't work that way. Hello, it does. There is tremendous power in belief, in positive thinking, in imagining a better world for oneself, for the future generations, for the animals, for the planet itself. And there is tremendous power in speaking out, even if it's just once. You never know if you're going to say just the right thing to just the right person. It may not affect anything at the moment--perhaps you are speaking to a child who will change the world, even in a small way, in 20 years. My point is, you never know. So why give up? That helps no one at all.

I am feeling particularly aggrieved this morning, I think, because I am here in Los Angeles (well, thank goodness, South Pasadena, which is far better in my mind), where the message seems to be ever-bigger vehicles (Ford F-550s? Are they joking?), more spending, keeping up with the mythical Joneses (who are probably broke, disillusioned, and divorced by now), and building over every possible play area for kids, every natural nook or empty lot. And usually putting up ugly, non-energy efficient buildings. Blehhhg.

Don't just sit on your asses, folks. Do something, anything, for this world. And that includes finding out about it, checking out what's really going on, and doing something, rather than just sitting before the TV spouting its pablum for the masses. Do your own research, make up your own mind, don't believe everything you hear, but don't be such a cynic that you simply throw up your hands and say, That's the way it is.

Because it doesn't have to be that way.

Public service announcement for the day! Have a lovely one. I'm going to go decompress now....

saving the planet one step at a time

rare book mania

Okay, back here in L.A., I am being completely gripped by book fever again, and I love it. Have been perusing the used stores around here (Goodwill, etc.) for misplaced literary treasures, re-read Used and Rare: Travels in the Book World by Lawrence and Nancy Goldstone, and lost myself for hours today at The Bookhouse in South Pasadena and Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena. Ah, heaven! It is so, so fun. I attended an antiquarian booksellers convention here in L.A. last year and saw old books that were selling for hundreds of thousands of dollars (yes, really), and also had a lovely conversation with a Salt Lake bookseller who knew of Everett Ruess and was amazed that I did as well.

When I am ridiculously wealthy, I am collecting books. I already do. I will simply be able to collect more and afford the ones I really want!

Sigh.

Anyway, I'm off to dream about old books, new books, any books. And, uh, write a book. Ahem. Time to get serious about that, eh....

rare book mania

wild green parrots

I'm currently in South Pasadena, CA, visiting family, enjoying the warm, smoggy air, and listening with a happy smile to the crazy squawks of the wild green parrots that seem to be everywhere in the San Gabriel Valley. They fly in hordes or in small clusters, land on phone lines, treetops, in the large fronds of palm trees, and endlessly chatter about everything under the sun that seems to affect their days here. Who knows what parrots discuss?

"Hey, Jean, there's a great-looking perch in that jacaranda tree. Let's go check it out and squawk at those silly-looking people rushing about below."

"Sure, Elsie--and look, Martin and Bill are there too! We can catch up on the latest while we snack on the leaves."

(I can't say that parrots eat jacaranda leaves, by the way. I really have no idea what they ingest. Bugs?)

There are differing stories on the original arrival of the parrots, ranging from ship escapees to illegal pet store escapees to who-knows-what. However, they have been here since the 1940s or so, are absolutely everywhere, are not native, and they really startle people the first time they open their beaks in mid-flight overhead. You'd think we were in Belize rather than a huge West Coast sprawl.

I've adored the parrots for a long time, although not everyone agrees. If I can get a good picture this time, I'll post one, but so far I've only managed blurry, far-away snaps (my camera isn't super-special). In the meantime, I'm going to take a stroll around the neighborhood and keep an eye out for those distinctively loud imports as they zip and swoop around their adopted home. One does NOT see wild green parrots in Colorado!

wild green parrots

a tale of two towns

So I am feeling a split lately that is somewhat disconcerting, yet also not unexpected (love the double negatives for their poetic quality). I feel equally at home in two places, both Durango and Torrey, to the point where it is a bit maddening. I went to Durango over the weekend and couldn't wait to return to live there, considered it one of my homes, and realized that I love it, to the point that as I drove back to Torrey (last night), I actually felt resistance to returning to Utah! Then, today, as I walked over the bridge leading to Robber's Roost Bookstore across the water canal channeling Fremont River water, I also felt at home, comfortable, loving this place, and knowing that I could settle here again.

Feh. I fling up my hands in delighted frustration. I know I am returning to Durango, I really like it there. But the moment, here in Torrey among the storm-tossed cliffs and the striving rainbows, I am enjoying myself and will explore, live, and stay in the moment, for as long as I have it. Not too bad, eh?

And when I head to California tomorrow, I plan to thoroughly enjoy the places and people there too! I can't wait to go to the farmer's market and be utterly whomped by all the colorful sights and sounds and smells of the people there, and hike in the heated foothills rising through the haze above Los Angeles, and browse the public library bookstore and lose myself in a thousand possible tales.

Who says one cannot call more than one place Home? I certainly can, and I do. Besides, for a writer, it adds spice, creativity, new experiences, and a never-ending font (fount?) of ideas. Such as, at this moment, there are two separate couples sitting here at the Roost, each sipping coffee, perusing books or maps, and speaking English with voices not from here--not even from this country. I can sit and unobtrusively examine them, and make up stories about them, and perhaps one day see them creep into a character or tale, adding their own piece of life to those I create with this keyboard. Then in Durango, I can laze by the banks of the Animas or fly (not completely gracefully, yet) down the slopes at Purgatory and see other people, other lives, and learn or guess from them and create yet more people for my stories.... Pretty cool, really.

And then there's my own family, which sometimes gives me drama close to Home! Such as discovering that my cousin's wife may have ties to a criminally-inclined family in a southern country.... So bizarre, really. And for a writer, endlessly fascinating.

Although I also am ready to settle into one place again, more permanently. And set up my little writing nook, and create, create, create....

a tale of two towns

on home

What makes a home? What creates the place one calls home, and how does one decide and know when that magical, safe, glorious, beautiful place deserves the appellation "home"? I have been rolling this concept around in my brain and heart recently, as I travel between two places that are dear to my heart, one for years now, and one more recently and unexpectedly: Torrey, Utah, and Durango, Colorado.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, Torrey--Wayne County--is my home in many ways. I was not raised there, and I have only known it for eight years now. But it is dear to me, it calls to me, and the human inhabitants know me. I feel secure and safe as I tool around there in my truck--I know where I am, I know what to expect, and the very land speaks to me in way that breathes and murmurs, This is home. The hidden, secret spots. The ridiculously gorgeous views that can be had from almost any vantage point in the county. The bright blue sky (well, not so much as of late, due to fires up north, but still) framing the red rocks. The way you can go on a hike and not see another single person for miles, literally. Golden and bald eagles circling or feasting on roadkill (yep, not too pretty, but that's the truth of those great birds). Walking up to the bank teller, who calls you by name. Or the grocery store clerk. The postmaster. The restaurant owner. The woman who cuts your hair. If you were raised in a small town, this will sound familiar, perhaps too intimate. I was raised in Southern California. For me, this is really cool.

The other place that has grown on me in the past year is Durango. I had an interesting time there overall. Happy times, rocky times, in-between times (like everywhere, no?). Over the winter, I said, This is not the place for me. This is not my home. This is not where I belong. Yet slowly, it creeped up on me. I really began to appreciate this place and its unique spots. The Animas River walk, where I spent many a leisurely hour strolling, alone or with friends, watching the rushing water. Junction Creek, where I have spied a raven's nest and smiled congenially at other hikers or runners or bikers (when I didn't frown because the latter tried to plow me down as they came zipping down the trail at inhuman speeds). The two health food stores here that I haunt, Nature's Oasis and Durango Natural Foods. The local, independent bookstore, Maria's Bookshop, filled to capacity with books, posters, cards, journals, and other happy browsers lost in many different worlds. And here, too, I can be walking or driving and see people I know, people who call my name and say hello.

How cool is that?

Something else I like about Durango is that it reminds me of South Pasadena, where I spent my high school years and where my mother still resides. Some of the downtown Durango streets are leafy, shady, filled with turn-of-the-last-century homes, graceful and reminiscent of the East, and also of South Pasadena. I noticed that right off the bat when I moved here last year, and immediately felt soothed by it.

Hmm. So I don't know if I've clearly articulated what home means. But you get the drift. And so what makes a home for you? Or rather, what makes your home?

on home