She Reads in a Tree

Everyday Life Fuels the Writer's Fire

2005-10-12T13:14:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how life provides material with which to work.

I was thinking this very thought this morning as I drove my son to the doctor's office with a broken finger. It certainly was not how I had planned to spend my morning, but life with children usually involves a certain amount of upheaval. As I drove, thinking these thoughts, I was reminded of one of my college professors who claimed that life was boring -- too boring to write about. He believed adamantly that writers had to completely invent their material.

I balked at this even at the age of 21. I was a journalism major, and believed that it was up to the writer to inspire the reader to read, no matter what the topic. To make matters worse, I had registered for creative writing, not fiction writing. It so happened, this professor taught both creative writing and fiction writing. Since he saw no difference between the two courses (despite the university's course catalogue), he saw no reason to teach them differently.

Instead of exploring different writing styles that I could incorporate into my own writing, I was treated to his coffee house fiction readings and ... I really can't remember anything else he said. I don't recall his face or his name, but he always wore black, left his hair slightly longish and feathered, and wore glasses. He was oh so trendy -- very 80s.

I spent the semester trying to prove him wrong. I did not register for fiction writing, so I refused to write fiction. I used my personal experiences and adapted them to whatever assignment this professor (for want of a better word) doled out. (It is not that I dislike fiction. I love to read it, and maybe one day I will decide to write it. I just resented the implication that fiction writing was the only writing.)

He didn't like anything I wrote. I guess that made us even. I wasn't looking for a pat on the back; I was looking for a means to improve my writing, and I didn't get it from him.

I did learn to hold on to my convictions. I was not going to change this professor's mind, but that wasn't the point. I don't think I ever even voiced my opinion in class (although I did address the issue in my course evaluation). My rebellion was an introverted one. I said that I wanted to prove him wrong, but I really wanted to prove something to myself.

I still rail at the inanity of this man's comments because all good literature -- fiction or otherwise -- is based on the human condition, which is based on real life. Even fantasies that are largely imaginative works, employ personification and other literary devices that help the reader relate to the character or place or whatever. I find that I am drawn to descriptions of a condition or a place or a person whether I am reading or writing because they are the backbone of life and art.

We will never be able to count the billions and trillions of words that have been put to paper over the centuries. Many of those words are lost to history. Those that were saved were saved for a reason: They all share some universal theme, something that makes us want to read them again and again.

I believe that those universal themes are more likely to lie in our own backyards than in any distant world.

The Article that Started it All -- Finally!

2005-10-10T15:40:00.000-05:00

This web log is quickly developing into a monologue about everything I have left unfinished or haven't done at all. My desk and files are littered with notes on paper of varying sizes and colors, like this square pink post-it note upon which I am hastily scribbling.

But at least to be somewhat credible, I must finish something.

Here is the piece that sparked the idea for She Reads in a Tree. I probably should have linked to it from my opening post, but it wasn't finished! I hope you enjoy Reading in a Tree.

Promise to Self -- Finish Something!

2005-10-06T11:04:00.000-05:00

Once again, I am finding it difficult to keep my promise to myself. Making a living has again intruded upon my creative pusuits. I find that I need reminders in the form of personal pep-talks. While searching my files for ideas, I came across something I wrote last year when I first decided to write for a living.

I put it aside to finish another day, probably to do something else that was "more important." Upon rereading, I discovered that it was actually very close to being finished. Another half hour (at most) would have polished it.

So my goal for today is to finish Having It All, and then to return to this edition of She Reads in a Tree to publish it with a link to my newly-polished-year-old article. My next goal (after I finish some writing for which I am being paid), is to go through the stack of other semi-finished articles and finish them.

If you like Having It All, you might also like Starting a Writing Career (or Thoughts about Taking the Plunge) and Starting a Writing Career (or How I Sifted Through the Muck and Found My Way)

A Personal Quest

2005-09-24T18:30:00.000-05:00

It has been three days since my last post.

I'm feeling guilty. I had intended to be more consistent. I had intended to put aesthetics over practicality on a regular basis -- even if that action takes place only in my mind.

I should make clear that, despite my quest for "freedom," I have no desire to abandon the mundane aspects of my life. Since my last post, I have changed 20+ diapers, loaded and unloaded the dishwasher three times, and done 12 loads of laundry. I have attended one school meeting, one soccer practice, and two soccer games, and I have tucked three boys into bed for three nights in a row. While I could easily live without the diapers, the dishes, and the laundry, I could not so easily survive without the boys who create the dirty diapers, dishes, and laundry.

So when I say that I want to affirm "my need to believe in freedom and endless possibilities," the "freedom" to which I refer has more to do with intellectual freedom and balance. It has more to do with believing in myself and acting upon that belief, while I perform the mundane tasks that are part of life.

Part of my quest involves finding a means to bring the "creative" me into balance with the "day-to-day-I-have-too-much-to-do" me. I took the first step when I chose not to return to full-time employment after the birth of my third son. Instead, I stayed home and I wrote while he slept. All went well at first, but as nap time grew shorter, so did the time I could devote to writing.

I also must admit that exchanging a consistent pay check for freelance was a difficult transition. As my mortgage payment approaches each month, my inner balance leans back toward practicality. I'm still writing, but I find myself once again writing to make a living rather than writing to fill any inner need.

So, it seems my attempt to place aesthetics over practicality is a rather lofty one. Attainable, but lofty. It may take a very long time; my posts may sometimes be spaced several days apart. But life -- and art -- have more to do with the journey than the destination.

The Reading Tree Sets Me Free

2005-09-21T23:26:00.000-05:00

I suppose my first entry ever should explain my title...

I am new to blogging -- and I am anxious to get started. I've found a host, and I am now staring at the registration page. It is asking me for the title of my blog. I've spent some time thinking about content, but I have not even considered a title. Yet without one, I can't even complete the registration process.

So I sit and think. The writer in me tries to think of something significant, something meaningful. The mother in me looks at the clock and counts the hours until I must wake my kids up for school. Then I calculate the number of hours of sleep I will get if I continue to stare at my computer worrying about significance.

I am also a perfectionist, so I continue to sit, stare, and think.

I have a file of ideas that I keep near my computer. Don't ask me why I don't take it out and read it, but instead, I sit trying to recall the contents.

My mind drifts to a conversation I had with my son this afternoon. He prefaced his request by telling me that he knew it "sounded weird," then he explained that there is a quiet place under a tree at the park where he likes to sit. He explained that he really likes how the wind blows around him when he sits there, and he wanted to know if he could go there to read his book. I told him I didn't think it was weird at all because I once had a similar place where I liked to read.

I grab a pen and paper -- the registration screen is still up on my computer screen -- and I write. The place where I once liked to read was one of the items on my idea list. Here is my significance.

It may sound "weird" to some, but it makes perfect sense to me. I spent hours reading in that tree, and I can still feel the wind gently ruffle my hair. To me, that tree represents freedom and endless possibilities. Without even realizing it, I have passed that desire -- that longing -- on to my son. For a long time, I forgot (or suppressed) my need to believe in freedom and endless possibilities. She Reads in a Tree is my affirmation that endless possibilities do exist and that aesthetics reign over practicality.