If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb

Today is my father's birthday and if he were alive to celebrate, we’d be figuring out how to place colorful candles atop his cake, a cake he wouldn't eat. But he died in 1987, freed from his body on July 4^th, a few months after his 62^st birthday.

I’m certain Dad would not have chosen to succumb to a debilitating massive stroke at 51, but I do know he never wanted to be “old.” And something about him was youthful, in touch with his inner child. His traits comprised of high energy, fiery, bold, and he was full of surprises and excitement.

We started out with a love affair that grew into a ouchy relationship by the time I was a teen. He loved me, and I felt it; but in my mind, I never measured up. I always thought I wasn’t practical enough, didn't excel in math as he expected, wasn't as proficient in languages as he was, didn't play the piano with finesse and basically was not good enough to please him.

I often wonder how my father would critique his only daughter today–would be proud of me or not? Would he see my persistence as a reflection of his persistence. For his part, Dad was successful and he earned it, a born leader, confident and competitive he always had a goal, and the drive and determination to see it through. He never worked for anyone but himself, took risks and wanted to win to prove something to the world, with a sense of fair play- he wasn't interested in envy, deceit or cheating. No time spent frustrated, moping, just go, go, go.

Today I realize I know very little about what he was thinking or feeling, I never asked him what was in his head before he got sick because he was always so busy. Maybe he intuited his time was short and sickness would be long so he tried to do as much as he could.

Dad did not live long enough to see me become a writer or my brother a civil engineer.

Sometimes I wonder if he reincarnated, where and who he is? Or if he entered the Gates of Heaven.

As he surely reads my words from his special balcony seat, I can almost hear him asking, “What's happening with your writing?”

I have conversations in my head with him. “Listen, Dad,” I say. “I have to apologize. I think I was too hard on you in my book.”

“You think?” he repeats. The tone sharp, but he would smile. His gray eyes twinkle confirming that he is kidding.

“Writers embellish,” he says. He tosses a hand upward, as if to fling my apology away. “That’s what I tell the angles here.”

He had to have conflict, drama. And of course, he gives the orders.

“What kind of author would my daughter be, if the book didn't have sadness to contrast joy and it would be blah, with no fights.”

“Whew, I’m glad to hear that,” I add. “I’ve been worried about your reaction. By the way, you look wonderful as always,” I say.

I'm telling the truth. In all the 62 years of his life, I doubt if he had a less than polished minute. Impeccably groomed, tall and slender, even when he lay in the hospital, up to a few days before he drew his last breath, he remained one of the handsomest men I had ever seen.

I like to imagine that wherever he is, all the good deeds and caring for others that he demonstrated gives him a pay-back in either a healthy life or a sunny existence. And that he holds onto his good looks and the child in him.

Happy Birthday Daddy!

I'm expensive but worth it

Pull up a chair; I'm here for you. Don't be shy because you find yourself turning to me for a writing consultation. Many other souls–lost, confused, or indecisive– have made the very same pilgrimage. But before you submit your writing, be forewarned there’s a hitch in my mode of problem solving. 


First off, while I have had my share of writing experiences, rejections, let downs, highs, and acknowledgments, I know my strengths. If you stick to fiction, short stories, plays, screenplays, memoirs, ghost writing, social media writing, letters, spirituality book edits, non-fiction, business writing, sales letters, press releases, media alerts, proposals, grant writing, it'll be smooth sailing.

But if instead, you looking for me to skim your piece of writing and eye-ball it, and give a one or two blurb or superficial comment on what I thought–sorry but I do not work that way. I can't do anything half way, it offends my sensibilities and the love of what I do. I'd suggest you do a Google search to temporarily bandage your writing woe instead. (I could go on, but am trying to limit this to 350 words.)

Now, as to the forewarning I hinted at: If you turn to me for a writing consultation, analysis, critique, developmental edit, or writing assignment, do not expect that my work comes gratis. Who works for free? Time is money and my time is valuable. I teach writing and I'm not cheap. While you may think your writing issue will be resolved with me giving you a few minutes of my time, think again.

I, on the other hand, am a perfectionist and take my fifteen years of paid experience seriously. And it will not end there. My job is thorough and I may have to press on, refuse to dislodge even when you plead, "That's fine, that's all I needed to know." Well, maybe that's fine for you, but I have to get to the root of the problem and fix it. And I will, to make sure your work like mine, shines.

Fear is only as deep as the mind allows~

Japanese proverb.

I’ve been posting on this blog more often. But most bloggers digress. I teach blogging (http://www.click-here-now.to/getblogmoney/) and tutor privately having just finished a series of sessions with a student blogger, and counseled him, “The hardest part is to fulfill your self-promises. Now do it!”

I realize that for many, that a blog before created, spends months of existing only in an imagination.

Suddenly, one day, without warning, a shift. Perhaps even, a life altering discovery. A day to break a pattern.

In my case, I stepped out of my cozy but still uncomfortable denial just long enough to ask myself exactly how many more days of my life did I plan to fritter away running my eternal reasons why not story to myself.     

Foot poised, but, always finding an excuse to never take the step forward into the possibilities which await me. Sound familiar?

Confronted with the fact that I could continue, change nothing, rest upon my excuse filled with all the reasons why not story and knew that I would watch the rest of my life stay exactly the same, one day ticking into the next, and the next.

A slow death by procrastination.

A funny thing happens when you get honest with yourself. You are confronted with the face of self sabotage masking as writer’s block and procrastination, and in it is nothing but plain fear. Nothing special. Just fear of being known, seen, heard, visible, vulnerable, bared, authentic and accountable.

As a writer, if you look at fear in the face for what it is, it evaporates. And you may find all the above-mentioned list of attributes unconsciously appealing.

My own take on it is that we move forward when we are ready and in perfect timing. Whatever the project. Whatever the dream. I, also plead guilty to have taken my sweet time to get here.

So, what are you waiting for? As for me, the blogging continues...

The 9 Greek Muses

When I'm not writing, I'm usually in a reading mode, but since I really don't like nor can I sit for extended periods of time, I augment my creative juices by dancing, baking from scratch or changing the color of my nails, on a daily basis. I may also on a whim make alterations on my clothes such as running out and buying vintage glass buttons at Joann's and replacing them in all of my sweaters. I've also been known to repaint a room in my home again or refinish a piece of furniture. 

Creativity has been a dominant force in my life. Before I started school, make-believe, dress-up and staging shows such as putting on a mock wedding with my father was my playtime. Later, it was painting and puzzles. As an adolescent bursting with angst, I wrote poetry and etched charcoals. By the time I was a teen, it was dance and I would change the furniture around in my parents home every few weeks. Normally I would do this when alone and surprise my family when they got home. My mother being a creative woman and possessing more talents than I, sanctioned my need for change with a smile. My father, somewhat indifferent would not be pleased that his chair was not in easy reach to the phone. My brother who was a year older than me, seemed to bark at everything I did, demanded to know why the sofa was not in front of the television set.

I love painting and creating unique things based on my love of color, design, interiors and mundane objects. This urge to express myself gives me a sense of arriving at the end of my artistic process with a work that engenders a great vibe or visual experience, so much so that the method, materials, or explanation of how I got there seem unimportant. One reason that I can't pin point it (nor do I want to) is this reckless creative drive is inspired by everything around me; my love of the Creator, nature, books, travel, different cultures, interior magazines, fashion design, and especially color!

What does this all mean? It means when you're brewing about to write something and you don't know what it is, you need to break away from monotony. I urge my students when they get stuck in their writing to dodge their computers, it's not likely to lead to much debauchery. By singing a song or taking a walk, they can get back to their feeling natures. By exploring new and different, worries drop which allows to start trusting the ideas that come to them. Creativity is not something that already exists, we need to find out how to bring it into being... and that requires a child's spirit, and at the same time allowing yourself to be a playmate with God.

“Hide not your talents, they for use were made. What's a sundial in the shade?”

–Benjamin Franklin

Fourteen Years Old

Today marks the second anniversary of my teaching in Las Vegas. If I were to convert that into dog years, I’d be a teen-ager. So, what have I observed in these last two years?

1. Students show up. This seems basic, but it doesn’t always happen. There is nothing more discouraging than expecting to see fourteen smiling faces and instead see four puzzled ones. My worst experience was the summer before last when only one woman showed up. She was pleasant, and I didn’t want to cancel the Blogging class as she had gone to the effort of attending. We should have gone out for drinks. This is not something CSN encourages, however.

2.Students submit writing. This also seems basic, but it is often the case, especially in a Creative Writing class, where people are too nervous about the final assignment. I would start the class by saying, “You choose the subject and I will give you the tools you need to write it.” But sometimes they panic and to take the edge off I’ve compared it to surgery, “The week before their will be a pre-operative assessment. When in the Operating Room (OR) you will go under the knife, all eyes will be on you but you will survive.”

3. Students are willing to revise. I always get a sinking feeling when someone hands out a story to be critiqued and says, “This is my first and final draft.” The fact is, you could always find ways to improve it. There is always something to say and it’s not always right, but a lot of the times it is. Several of my students this term have done a masterful job of revising, and have brought their stories up to a publishable level, which brings me to the next point…

4. The students are serious about their craft. Yes, this is continuing education and no one gets grades and no one, probably, is going to get thrown out of class. And yet, especially in the classes I taught this semester, I was struck by how seriously the students approached their writing. This is not a hobby. This is something heartfelt and beautiful.

5. The students like each other. It is very hard to teach a class in which students feel contempt for one another or just don’t care about each other. One of my more discouraging moments came once in a class when a man read an absolutely harrowing story about physical abuse and another man sitting behind him, for seven straight weeks, said to him, “And what’s your name?” Jarred, what felt like a walnut was lodged in my throat, I needed several minutes to compose myself and resume to speak. The best case scenario is what I saw last week as I approached my room, students forming friendships, talking, discussing and laughing, it made my heart sing. I hope that they will form a bond and continue after the class is over, and form writing groups. Or that they will re-enroll.

6. The students like me. Well, I won’t go into that at length, except to say I have faced down my share of steely looks in the past, and it is much nicer to see a smile. And I enjoy when students participate and tell me what’s on their minds. More importantly through their stories they have trusted me enough to share very personal information–and that’s an honor.

It’s been a great ride and I can’t wait to see where it goes.

Who, What, Wear

I've been browsing through fashion magazines looking at pictures  and on the Internet for images of spring 2011 trends. One designer's creations piqued my interest, Yōji Yamamoto, an internationally known Japanese fashion designer based in Tokyo and Paris. He became influential after making his Paris début in 1981. His commercially successful main lines, are especially popular in Tokyo.    

Yamamoto is known for an avant-garde spirit in his clothing, far removed from current trends. I admire how different and forward his lines are. His signature silhouettes are a feature in drapery in varying textures. He swathes and wraps the body in non-traditional ways.

This dress is one from his spring 2011 collection. 

This dress doesn’t scream 'fashionista,' but it's a warm weather dress you can’t go wrong with. It’s strapless fitted bodice form is classic, and the peplum gives it a flirty fun retro 1940's edge. I would say because of its volume, it's suited for someone tall, and doesn't need jewelry. It would look well combined with a neutral wedge espadrille or wedge anklet, and Jackie O sunglasses. 

It can be worn on many occasions; from lunch, on a date, to the horse races with a big straw hat or even on a stroll, and its stripes give it a daytime flavor of fun and play.

Land, Sea, Sand and Sky

“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give”

–Sir Winston Churchill

This morning in my dream I saw writer Junot Diaz (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Junot_D%C3%ADaz). I was in my apartment in New York trying on a new wool coat with satin lining that had been given to me as a gift, like a dervish dancer I twirled from delight, he then walked into my kitchen.

Mr. Diaz is a creative writing professor at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). The irony is that I don't read Mr. Diaz's books but I am familiar with his short stories through the New Yorker.

As a native of the Dominican Republic, his roots bring to mind my time in New York. I met Maria, originally from the Dominican Republic. She had fled an abusive husband and was revising her life. As a warm and congenial middle-aged woman she called me “Leendah” in a sing-song. She asked me to tutor her for a citizenship exam. Honored that she acknowledged me, it brightened my time in the cold concrete city. We covered English, social studies and American history. Since I was doing this without remuneration, it brought a smile back to my face. She wasn't the best of students, but we trudged on; most of the time she made me laugh, it was like teaching my mother also a native Spanish speaker, all over again. She would cackle at her mistakes just the way my mother does, so much in fact that it made my stomach ache from laughter. I went with her to take the exam the first time and she failed, but I wouldn't allow her to give up. The second time I didn't go with her due to work commitments, but she passed and we celebrated the victory.

Now back to the dream. Symbolically the kitchen can link to new appetites and may be linked to new plans and ideas. Also a new coat is a good omen. When I awoke it got me thinking about an exciting break from my routine.

As a creative writing teacher, normally I start the semester with a discussion of opening paragraphs, which seems a sensible place. And I don't get into revisions, until week 8. The last class is always about publishing and I know people want me to finish nattering on about revision so we can get to the good stuff. So I’m usually rushing through revision myself.

Revision in writing just as in life can be embraced. Specifically I want to move past the idea of revision as being “fixing errors.” I want a more holistic approach to revision. I want students to view it not as a necessary evil but as an opportunity to explore their stories and bring out deeper meanings that may have been dormant in early drafts.  Of course, the only problem is that it’s hard to teach. I can tell you what a good opening paragraph looks like, but a good revision is much harder to quantify.
So here are a few tips:

1. Have a title that works. Almost always, if the title’s good, the story’s good. The reason is that an author with a title knows what the story’s about.

2. Retype the story. From the beginning. Don’t try to squeeze every little correction into the draft. Take a bold approach and be open to start again from scratch.

3. Cut out a quarter of the words. You don’t need them. Trust me.

After you've done all that, have a good snooze, maybe we'll see each other in dreamland.