What? You noticed?

So, um, I haven't been here for awhile. Since starting the internship, a good bit of the creative energy has been sucked right up and I'm feeling a bit dry. My writing is, of course, in the ditch. The blog, the fiction, all of it. Trying not to stress too much about it.

My dear friend Esme Foong and I are writing a new Virgin piece for Grubdaily, about how to kick start the writing when life gets in the way. I am going to write it and then I'm going to take my own advice.

Meanwhile, there is fun to be had today. Hubs and I are heading in the drizzle to see the Avett Brothers at the Life is Good Festival. My hand it shakes my head it spins...

should be a good time.

The right words

Last night, I went to a reading over in Jamaica Plain where Dawn Dorland Perry read an amazing essay called Why I Write. There is a section where she talks about why writers labor over words, the right words.

She says "As writers we may find ourselves always looking for a new way to communicate it, share it, and connect–always looking for a better way to tell the story, some new combination of words that guarantees we’ll be more closely, more surely this time, understood. "

The whole essay is beautiful, but this particular bit knocked me in the gut.

Check out the whole thing over here.

Survival

Check out our second Virgin Writers post at Grub daily! This one is all about surviving the workshop.

Virgin writers advocate heavy petting

Check out this fun piece that I submitted with fellow writer Esme Foong over at grubdaily.org, the fantastic writing blog hosted by my beloved grub street!

Muse & the Martketplace Part 2: Hi, I love you

So I might have embarrassed myself a bit, once or twice, while meeting all the amazing writers at Muse & the Marketplace.

Years back Hubs and I took a trip to Florence Italy and visited the famous Uffizi museum. At one point I remember coming into a room where Bottecelli's The Birth of Venus hung on the far end of the wall. It was such a familiar image and there it was, stunning and iconic. But what really struck me was that if I had wanted to, I could have reached up and touched it. Don't get me wrong, I would never ever touch it. But I could have.

That's how the writers and instructors were at M & M. I could have touched any of them without sounding some alarm. Of course I didn't touch them. But on a few occasions, I did introduce myself. "Um, hi. Suchafanofyourwork and thatthingyousaidattheplotsession."

And not just the national writers, the local gods and goddesses too. Like Jane Roper, who is a mother of young twins and has a book out this month. Steve Almond, who I only made eye contact with, but it was significant eye contact nonetheless. Grub instructors James Scott and Cam Terwilliger who got stuck eating with us two days in a row. And the almost famous, like my friend Robert, who seems to be getting some well deserved traction, and Cathy with that flash fiction piece I keep thinking about.

Though I worked with an amazing memoir group in Phoenix, I've been writing fiction almost entirely alone for a few years now. When I joined Grubstreet in Boston last summer, I did it because I wanted to be part of a fiction writing community. It took some time, but I have met some amazing writers in these classes. So I got my inner circle, but I was completely surprised to find that I also have my outer circle. And I have to say, these people, the ones I admire and aspire to be, are my people.

Even if some of them don't know it yet.

Pop

This weekend I attended a two-day writing conference hosted by my beloved Grubstreet and now, even at day two, I am still coming down from it.

In my writing group a few months back, a friend brought in this beautiful bit about a girl trying to step onto a subway car with a bouquet of balloons. She struggles to pull all of the balloons in as the doors are closing and one balloon becomes stranded outside the train.

I've been feeling like that girl. I am holding something bright and precious, but I can't quite subdue it enough to take it along with me.

About last night

Last night was bizarre. I met a small group downtown to review a few pieces of writing. A couple of us planned to attend the spring workshop reading at Grubstreet afterward. A friend of mine dared me to read a flash fiction piece and after a few beers, both of us decided to go for it.

The reading went really well. It was amazing actually. Afterwards our instructor lavished us with praise and I experienced some sort of literary euphoria. Smiling, tingly, and a little sweaty. Like a first kiss. But before I could really soak that in, a man approached me.

I didn't quite put it together at first, but he was someone I'd met awhile back. He was trying to start a writing group near my house. He turned out to be a little aggressive, alienated the entire group (12 or so people dropped out, more than half before our first meeting), and had his meetup group officially removed, twice. Red flags all around. I was starting a new class at Grub, so I politely told him that I couldn't work it out.

Except he showed up at the reading. It felt like he hung out a while near the elevators, so I'd have to talk to him. It was weird because while the thing is technically open to the public, usually the event is just for people who've taken a class that session. He followed us outside and then proceeded to chat us up on the sidewalk for awhile. Puffing away, asking about the classes, commenting on the readings, etc. I urged him to take the novel class and extracted myself. He'd likely take the same train as me, so I left with a friend and waited it out at a nearby bar, we needed to go over some things anyway. He's probably a harmless enough guy, he owns a business near my house and has for many years. Still. Not sure if that will be the end of the story.

So finally I head for the trains and they are all late. I am waiting and waiting, texting the sitter. I get on a train and it stops twice. Lights out, no explanation. At one point the train expresses to the final stop and I have to get off and catch another train. By this time, my sitter is not going to make her train home, so I call her a cab before I even get there. Cab, sitter, killing time at the bar, I've spent a small fortune on this evening.

She leaves and texts me to say that the cab got pulled over. I stay up to wait for her and Little Guy wakes up with a nightmare. It is now past 1 AM and I am downstairs when I hear his feet hit the floor. He runs to my bedroom looking for me, but of course, I am still awake and in the kitchen. I head up there, walk him back to his bed and he says, "Mommy can you just be in your bed now?"

So it was one hell of a night, both awesome and weird, but he was right, at that point I really just needed to be in my bed.

Easy

So I zipped in to pick Little Guy up from preschool yesterday after spending the better part of the day at Grubstreet. As I mentioned previously, I attended the screening of a documentary followed by a discussion, all around women and the sacrifices required to pursue artistic careers. The film was inspiring, but also as my friend Paige put it, a little depressing. On a side note, there is always some completely crazy person at these writing events. Not crazy, like wow I'm a busy Mom, but crazy, like sedate me and lock me up in the looney bin. I'm not going to think too hard about why some nutjob always shows up in these groups. Really. I'm not.

Anyway, Little Guy loves his school. During pick up and drop off, he's all smiles. It was tough for me to decide to send him two full days (as opposed to several half days). Its expensive and he definitely doesn't nap as well there. But he seems really happy (happy enough, that I'd love to send him three days, but it's a little out of the budget, universe are you listening). I've been getting a ton more writing done on the days he is gone and, like yesterday, attending some events that I hope will help me belong to a writing community.

When I got there, he ran across the room screaming "Moooooommmyy!" and hugged me really tight. He planted a huge kiss on my cheek. Dropping him a full day has been better than fine, good even.

This motherhood thing is so complicated. Or maybe I am making it that way.

Because, sometimes, it just isn't.

Who Does She Think She Is?

Today I am heading down to Grubstreet to attend a screening of Who Does She Think She Is? The film is about the obstacles mothers are faced with when pursuing a career. There will be a discussion afterwards led by Jane Roper, of Baby Squared.

This is a topic near and dear to my heart, something I've been thinking about a great deal lately. It is no secret that motherhood, or parenthood (let's include the Dads here too) isn't easy. It isn't supposed to be and really, I find most of the discussions of just how hard it is to be incredibly boring (unless they're funny, then bring it on, we all need a good commiserative laugh). Yes, you have to make tough choices. Often. Having a baby completely changes everything.

What I do find interesting is that men seem to have an easier time weathering the transition. They usually able to stick to the same career path. They don't cut hours, switch jobs, or reduce expectations for themselves.

There are always exceptions, but in my situation, we chose a pretty traditional approach. My career took second stage when we had kids. I left my corporate position. The plan was for me to work some sort of flexible job, or not at all, until our youngest child (we planned for 1 or 2) was in kindergarten. I opened a store, I started writing, all things that could work around the family situation. This is the part where I should tell you how much I love my kids and how the sacrifice has been worth it. Duh. Of course I love them.

We are two years away from Little Guy starting kindergarten and I am working to fully come to terms with the fact that my original plan was ridiculous. To be successful at a corporation (and I'd want to be), I'd need to go back to putting in the 10-12 hour days, working late into the evening, not to mention nailing down an MBA. The truth is that, because of the kids, and the way I am choosing to raise them, I will never be able to return to the career I had before. And to top it off, Hubs' career has now become more demanding and he travels a good bit, so someone needs to be home. He also makes more money that I will be able to upon re-entry, which means that I will likely be the one juggling the appointments, the sick days, etc. Taking a step back was my always my choice, but I'm not sure I understood the longer term implications.

The path I have taken is the same for many of the mothers I know. A lawyer friend took reduced hours (and got knocked off the partner track), a doctor took an administrative position, a writer became an editor (not that editing is less demanding, but the hours were more conducive to family life, and this gal loves to write). Some of the women I know, women with advanced degrees and tons of talent, have stopped working entirely. Yet I can't think of one man in our circle who has done that. Why is that?

So the question is not about equality, I think we've gotten way past that. The question seems to be about whether it is more wrong for a woman to choose career over family than it is for a man to make the same decision. And why, when the time comes, isn't it just as likely that one OR the other will take a step back?

Is motherhood that different from fatherhood? Does it have to be? Maybe.