LINDA C. WISNIEWSKI

Category: writing

• Only You Can Tell Your Story

  Posted at 10:59 am by lindawis, on February 15, 2021

  

  

  The Covid 19 pandemic has changed lives all over the world, and we cope in different ways. Often, we look for distraction from it. But I’m a big believer in the saying, “The only way out is through.” The isolation, lack of hugs from best friends, missing restaurant meals and movie theaters, takes a toll on our mental health. And the stories of heroism and love give us strength to carry on. You see, I believe it’s all about stories. Our history is our stories, and the stories of ordinary people are most important of all. We know about the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, but do we know how our parents and grandparents felt that day? How they coped with their fear and anxiety? Only if they told us, or wrote it down in letters and diaries.

  So here’s what I want you to do: tell your story. Better yet, write it down, so the ones who come after you have a record to go to when they wonder what 2020 was really like for people like you.

  Here are two good anthologies to show what I mean: Living on Covid Time and Alone Together. Take a look inside one or both and get inspired to jot down your own thoughts about this time in history. Your time. Because no one else can tell it like you can.

  If you’d like some company while you write, consider my memoir class starting March 3rd. I’ve been doing this for over 15 years. Sharing personal stories with others, crafting them into a work of art – for that’s what a good story is – is a great way to spend your time.

  To register or for more information, please contact Cindy Louden at 267-421-6203 or clouden@pearlsbuck.org.

  Have you started writing your pandemic story? Have you read a good one? Share it in the comments! And stay safe.

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  Posted in book, life stories, memoir, memoirs, Uncategorized, writers, writing | 2 Comments | Tagged covid-19, history, pandemic, stories, story

• WRITING, DRAWING, LOOKING, SEEING

  Posted at 10:43 am by lindawis, on June 3, 2020

  

  A few years ago, while hiking with a group along the cliffs of Cornwall, England, one woman in our party sat down at the end of every day with her sketchpad to draw the scene before her, a slight smile on her lips. I envied her. I never mastered anything beyond a simple flower, a sun, a little house. I admired her but didn’t take the time to observe her process.

  Our local art museum offers drawing classes, and at the beginning of this year, I decided to sign up. The pandemic ended that before it began but I found an online class at another museum. Every week, I follow a different lesson – landscape, perspective, portrait, still life. Guess what else I learned? I can draw! I suspect anyone can learn to draw, just like anyone can learn to write. Sure, the talented ones will do it best, but we can all learn to do something better than we did before.

  This week, my country is on fire with anger, sorrow, and despair. Because of the murder of yet another black American by police, systemic racism is once again forcing us to look, to see.

  When I started my drawing lessons, I was surprised at how much it was like learning to write. And now, how much it is like confronting racism. They all have these things in common:

  You have to look. Really look.

  When I write, I look for the details that will paint a picture in my readers’ minds. When I draw, I look at how a pine tree is different from an oak. This week, I don’t have to look far to see the pain black Americans are going through.

  It takes time.

  When I sat down to draw, I used my eraser a lot. Writers call that revision. We need to erase systemic racism from our society, and revise our perspective on our own place in it.  

  It takes practice.

  We will make mistakes. Sometimes I throw away an essay or a drawing and start over. Can white Americans like me own our mistakes and start over?

  It takes humility.

  I cringed when I found something I wrote twenty years ago. I thought it was good enough to submit for publication. It wasn’t. My first attempts at drawing are not for public view, but they got me started. This week I joined a group to read and discuss the book White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo.

  Writing, drawing, looking – and maybe, finally, seeing. May it be so.

  How do you see the turmoil in our country these days? I’d love to hear, so leave your comments and I’ll put your name in the drawing for Toni Morrison’s novel, The Bluest Eye.

  The winner of last month’s drawing for Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani is Karen Edwards. Congratulations, Karen, and thanks for sharing your thoughts.

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  Posted in art, drawing, mindfulness, pain, racism, writers, writing | 4 Comments | Tagged drawing, writing

• Behind the Scenes

  Posted at 11:37 am by lindawis, on March 2, 2020

  

  Curiosity is a writer’s best friend. Ask anyone who has researched a topic for a book, article or presentation. We are drawn to interesting stories, the ones that often come from behind the scene of an otherwise familiar setting.

  At a writing conference last year, author Colum McCann told the audience how it works for him. While doing background research for his novel, Dancer, he learned that ballet dancers hate the scene in The Nutcracker ballet when snowflakes begin falling onto the stage. “That fake snow is full of dirt and mouse poop,” they told him. “We can’t wait to wash our hair.” (I checked it out with my favorite ballerina, and it’s true.)

  McCann told us this story to show how a small authentic detail can convince readers you know what you’re writing about. It’s the “insider” information that makes your story believable. I have a few stories of my own.

  My neighbor works part-time at Kohl’s, where they are now accepting returns from Amazon orders. Want to return something? Drop it off at Kohl’s and they’ll send it back for you. But behind the scenes, my neighbor says, “there are piles of stuff, and nobody is doing anything about it. They can’t keep up with sending all that stuff back. Stupidest thing I ever heard of….”

  Long ago, I volunteered at a phone bank for a local candidate. “How does she stand on….?” the voter asked me over the phone. “Hang on,” I said, “I’ll find out for you.” Much to my naïve surprise, a staffer said, “If the voter is in favor of it, say yes, our candidate will vote yes. If the voter is not, say she’s looking into it.”

  In the dressing room for a fashion show for charity, I saw tattoos in surprising places. I know these people but I never saw those tattoos again. Neither did the audience.

  What do you know, from your work or personal life, that most people don’t? No names, please, we don’t want to embarrass anyone! Share your story in the comments and I’ll put your name in the drawing for a copy of This Book is Overdue! How Librarians and Cybrarians Can Save Us All.   

  The winner of last month’s drawing for Listening is an Act of Love is Cindy Louden. Congratulations, Cindy, and thanks for your comment!

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  Posted in book, Colum McCann, Nutcracker, writers, writing | 2 Comments | Tagged backstage, secrets

• Toni Morrison and the “Woman’s Award”

  Posted at 12:35 pm by lindawis, on August 30, 2019

  

  My writing friends and I have been talking about Toni Morrison since her death early this month. Her influence on American letters is gigantic, and many have written about her effect on them personally. I have two small connections myself.

  As a docent at the historic home of author Pearl S. Buck, I point out her Nobel and Pulitzer prizes and say she was the only American woman to hold both awards for 55 years until Toni Morrison won the Nobel prize in 1993. What I don’t usually say, but might from now on, is that Morrison also received the Woman of the Year Award (now called the Women of Influence Award) from the Pearl Buck Foundation (now Pearl S. Buck International) in 1994.

  In her acceptance speech, Morrison said that after reading Buck’s work, she was disappointed to find the honesty and empathy with which Buck wrote about other cultures was not common in American novels. She decided to “fill the void,” she said, remarking with a bit of humor: ‘I’m grateful to her for misleading me in a sense.”

  Pearl Buck wrote what she knew: the culture and lives of the people of China in the early twentieth century. Morrison did likewise, becoming one of the foremost writers on the lives of African Americans. From The Bluest Eye to God Help the Child, she was fearless in portraying the consequences of racism. The long list of her awards on Wikipedia does not mention the Pearl Buck Woman of the Year. A local newspaper at the time called it the Pearl S. Buck Woman’s Award.

  I like the fact that Morrison came in person to accept it, and signed books, programs and even slips of paper for admirers who waited in long lines to meet her. I wish I had been there.

  I saw her in person once, on a street corner in Princeton, New Jersey. The light changed and I started to cross the street when she sailed toward me, unmistakable in salt and pepper dreadlocks and a sweeping long caftan, a half smile on her lips. “That’s Toni Morrison,” I whispered to my husband beside me. She disappeared into the crowd before I could think of something good enough to say.    

  I never met Pearl Buck either, but it helps me to remember how hard they both worked to get it right, and how they tried to find out what they didn’t know so the rest of us could benefit from their stories, and see ourselves in their characters. A good writer transcends time and place and brings us together. 

  What about you? Have you ever been struck speechless by someone you admired? Let us know in the comments section. I’d love to hear!

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  Posted in book, ethnicity, fiction, novel, Uncategorized, writers, writing | 0 Comments | Tagged Pearl Buck, Toni Morrison, writing

• Big Girl Pants

  Posted at 2:26 pm by lindawis, on July 25, 2018

  

  Photo by Burst on Pexels.com

  It was raining lightly when I got to the Borough Hall Station. I saw the sign on the street; all I needed was to find the entrance. People walked snappily by, like they knew where to go, and I wanted to look that way too.

  When I was young, New York City was my dream place to live and work, the apex of my career girl life. In the 1960s, we called grown women girls and didn’t think anything of it. You could count the career girls in my upstate New York mill town on two hands: teachers, nurses, one doctor. Was a “private secretary” a career girl? My parents wanted me to go to Mildred Elley Secretarial School in Schenectady. But like Richard Russo’s mom, who lived in a nearby town, I longed to be Elsewhere.

  It took a while. After college, there were business trips to midtown on the train to and from Philly, and whole days in big convention hotels with other librarians. Post-career now, I write and teach. I want to write well, to learn how it’s done, and so I travel to writing conferences in the literary city, sophistication town, like the big girl I want to be.

  Sometimes I’m still the scared Catholic schoolgirl inside, remaking herself late in life. After two times crossing the street in drizzle, I found the subway staircase from the street. A young black man held a door for me as I deliberately stepped down. I thanked him, pleased that of all the busy people, he stopped for me, because he saw me looking uncertain. My son who lives in Brooklyn said, take the 2 train uptown, it’s best, to Times Square, then the 1 right across the platform to 50^th Street. On the 2, a young Hispanic woman offered me her seat. I smiled no thanks, then saw the sign: Please give seat to the elderly or disabled. Okay, fair enough. I feel slow, unsure, and frazzled by the rain, the confusion, the tangle of people in every direction. My son was right; I got off the 2 and the 1 was right across from me, waiting. It all seemed to work for me that day. It has to, my son’s girlfriend says, in a city this big you have to be civil.

  At 50^th, I walked upstairs and took out my foldout laminated map, walked to 6^th between 53^rd and 54^th  and laughed as I spotted my conference hotel.

  People around me paid no attention. Cars, buses, and taxis clattered by. Storefronts glittered, the rain stopped, and my heart lifted like the red one on the T-shirt I refused to buy because it’s too tourist hokey. I heart NY. I really do.

  *********************************************************************************

  Have you done something you were scared to try? Big or small, share it in the comments and I’ll put your name in the hat for a copy of Styx and Stone: an Ellie Stone mystery by James W. Ziskin. Ellie is a career girl in 1960s New Holland, New York, a thinly disguised version of my home town of Amsterdam, who travels to New York City.

  **********************************************************************************

  The winner of this month’s drawing is Cheryl. She gets a signed copy of Dorothea Benton Frank’s By Invitation Only.  Visit her terrific blog, Mind Kind Mom. Congratulations, Cheryl, and thanks for your comment last month!

   

   

   

   

   

   

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  Posted in Amsterdam, anxiety, book, conference, elderly, feminism, fiction, memoir, NY, writers, writing | 10 Comments | Tagged aging, Amsterdam, anxiety, memoir, NY, society, writers, writing

• The In Between Time

  Posted at 3:53 pm by lindawis, on December 28, 2017

  

  This is the week in the year when I feel most in-between.  Thanksgiving and Christmas are over and a New Year waits in the wings. I feel like the director of a play in which I hold back the actors for just another moment. Not yet, it’s not quite time, we’re not ready, please wait.

  This is the week I launder the tablecloths from Christmas dinner, recycle dented gift boxes and toss out leftovers nobody wants to eat. It’s the week to relax and enjoy the pile of new books I received and to binge watch The Crown and A Place to Call Home, an Australian drama my husband and I both love. We’re both retired from our careers and enjoy artistic pursuits and volunteer work, but this week even those things take a back seat to just lounging and reflecting, reading…and eating.

  As a writer of creative nonfiction, I’m a “reflector” by trade. This in-between time seems made for me. No rush, nowhere I have to go. I’m preparing for a party in the New Year, but even that feels relaxed, checking if we have enough wine, beer, plastic ware and ice.

  I journal every day, but this week I read about other people doing the same. The newspapers, internet, and even TV all offer stories about new resolutions and looking back. It’s quite a lot of pressure to do something.

  But not right now. I took a year off from teaching to finish my first novel. The second one is outlined, but I just can’t get into it yet. I have a new memoirs class coming up in March, so I need to plan. I’ve published four essays this year, and I’d like to write more. I finished editing A Woman of Worth, a project I’d been working on for a couple of years.  I have an idea for another book-length memoir. But none of these projects is calling me right now.

  I could be anxious about that, but I feel lucky I can stay here a while. The kids are grown and living their own lives. Whatever I choose to do or not do is up to me. The weather is freezing cold and we’re in between snow storms here in southeastern PA. I know another one is coming but we’re not sure when.

  So, this is the week I ignore the inner urge to “do something productive.” I read over the Christmas cards and newsletters, remember the leisurely conversations shared with family and friends by the fireplace, and allow gratitude for the love, warmth and companionship that graces this time of year.

  There is a certain pressure to make a “to do” list for 2018. I know I work best when I choose one project to put most of my energy behind. This in between week feels a bit uneasy, but I’m going to stick with it. If we hurtle from project to project, we don’t fully appreciate what we’ve accomplished. We don’t allow ourselves to enjoy having written, being published, hosting a dinner party, receiving gifts. I’ll meditate every day and let myself off the hook for productivity for now.

  What about you? What do you do when you’re not sure what to do next?

  Comment and I’ll put your name in the drawing for my next giveaway: The Promise of Pierson Orchard by Kate Brandes.  Written by an environmental scientist, it’s the story of what happens when fracking comes to a rural community, told through the eyes of a family already breaking apart. Speaking of what to do next! You’re sure to enjoy this balanced look at both sides of the environmental debate.

  **********

  The winner of last month’s drawing is Nannette Benson-Nicol. She gets an autographed copy of An Uncertain Path by Sandra Carey Cody. Congratulations, Nannette!

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  Posted in anxiety, balance, book, compassion, fiction, home, memoir, novel, philosophy, simplicity, Uncategorized, Waiting, winter, writers, writing | 16 Comments | Tagged anxiety, home, lifestyle, memoir, writers, writing

• Time Enough

  Posted at 3:48 pm by lindawis, on October 23, 2017

  

   

  Seventeen years ago this fall, I collected acorns from my driveway and put them in my pocket as symbols of rebirth. When I entered the hospital for major surgery, I took the acorns with me, as well as these affirmations for the surgeon: “I am very pleased with this operation.” “Linda’s surgery is a big success.” “Linda will heal quickly.”

  He was, it was and I did. Life went on, as it does, and I got older. A big birthday last year jolted me into a state of anxious rumination. Had I done enough with my life? Short answer: No. So, what’s an older woman to do? I journaled and pulled my spiritual reading off the shelf. I started a new spiritual practice, lighting a candle and reading something inspirational, then journaling about it for 20 minutes, first thing in the morning.

  That year of rumination is almost up, and I’m pleased to say the anxiety is going away, albeit slowly. Somehow, I realized I had done quite a lot. That the years I remembered as preoccupied, worried, angry or scared were my learning time. The twenty years since I began writing about my life have been my practice time. Some of my work was published, much of it not. Some of my time was spent writing, much of it not.

  Yesterday, after an outside appointment, I thought of stopping to pick up some birdseed, or to spend that coupon from the clothing store, or maybe pick up a latte. But my writing had taken over part of my mind and so I drove straight home and sat down at my desk.

  One reason I’m motivated to write these days is the example of other women like myself. Women like romantic suspense author Alice Orr. Her latest novel, A Time of Fear and Loving, is the fifth in her Riverton Road series. I met Alice through the International Women’s Writing Guild. She is a former book editor and literary agent who suggested I turn my complicated first novel into a trilogy, advice I am happy to say I am following.

  Alice is the author of 16 novels, 3 novellas, a memoir and No More Rejections: 50 Secrets to Writing a Manuscript that Sells. She is a mother and grandmother, and she’s not letting the passage of time get in her way.

  I hadn’t read romantic suspense since I was in my twenties, but reading Alice’s work reminds me how much I loved this genre. I was pleasantly surprised to find her series is set in the North Country, the beautiful part of upstate New York near the river town where I was born and raised. In this latest book, a young widow investigates the disappearance of her old friend and soon runs into a long ago crush who is now a police officer with his own issues from serving in Afghanistan.

  So, here’s the question: how does the passage of time affect you? Do you ignore it? Do you use it to motivate you? Something else? Comment on this post and I’ll put your name in the hat to win a signed copy of A Time of Fear and Loving.

  I’d love to read your thoughts.

  The winner of last month’s drawing is Susan Schoch.  I’m sending her my copy of Dorothea Benton Frank’s Pawley’s Island.

   

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  Posted in anxiety, autumn, book, fiction, NY, writers, writing | 15 Comments

• Mercy, mercy me!

  Posted at 11:08 am by lindawis, on September 22, 2017

   

  Maybe it’s my Polish Catholic upbringing, but the themes of forgiveness and mercy are showing up in the books I choose to read. And a glance at the magazines near the supermarket checkout would lead us to believe we have much to forgive. Whether it’s how to be a better parent or spouse or cook or lover, our culture says we are doing it all wrong. We need to work harder to correct our ways.

  I’m all for self-improvement – to a point. The older I get, the closer that point is to where I am today: human, imperfect and perfectly okay. Self-blame is corrosive and saps our energy. I’m encouraged by the recent upsurge in magazines about simple living and authors who advocate getting rid of self-doubt.

  All this may explain why I related to Dorothea Benton Frank’s 2005 novel, Pawley’s Island.  When artist Rebecca Simms loses custody of her children to her cheating husband, her self-esteem is already at rock bottom. She judges herself harshly for simple mistakes until a retired female attorney with her own guilty conscience comes to her rescue and learns to forgive herself in the process.

  Often, it’s our friends we turn to when our self-image needs a boost. I count on women who have known me for decades or just a year to remind me I’m worthy of love, despite my mistakes. They teach me that mercy is for everyone, including me. They have also, on occasion, come up with some good solutions for knotty problems, but only when I ask. Most of us, most of the time, can figure things out for ourselves. We just want our pals to be there, cheering us on through the sticky parts.

  What about you? Have your friends helped you navigate those days when you wanted to pull the covers back over your head? I’d love to hear about it. This time next month, I’ll randomly pick one person who comments to receive my copy of Pawley’s Island.

  And speaking of next month, come see me and a bunch of other writers on Sunday,  October 15th at the Prallsville Mill  in Stockton, New Jersey, for River Reads. Lots of fun – wine, crepes, readings, signings and workshops!

   

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  Posted in book, compassion, fiction, novel, suffering, writing | 13 Comments | Tagged forgiveness, Pawley's Island, women's fiction

• When Things Were Not So Different

  Posted at 3:17 pm by lindawis, on April 5, 2017

  The following is a blog piece I wrote last year and never published. I think it’s time to let it out into the world.

  Today I went to a life celebration for one of my memoir students. Lee was 93, a sweet and gentle man who smiled at his own frailties and took seriously all my suggestions to make his writing better. The gathering was small but filled with love and laughter as his family recalled his attention to detail and his endless storytelling.

  It’s been a tough week here in the U.S. of A. Another mass shooting, angry ranting in the media, social and public, about the merits of gun control and the true tenets of a religion whose extremist members are suicidal would be killers.

  Added to that is the ever present fact that I’m not getting any younger. No moisturizer or beauty sleep will iron out the wrinkles on my face. No amount of zumba or chiropractic will stave off forever the aches in my back and knees. I feel the pressure of time. Enjoy life, now, while you can, I tell myself. Use each moment to live your best life, there may be no tomorrow.

  How can I reconcile my desire to accomplish certain things, to savor each moment, and to rewire my brain for happiness with the outside world and its horrors?

  Can I stop watching the news? Cut off my social media? I’ll know it’s there anyway.

  Hearing about Lee’s long and full life, at the funeral home this morning, at the lunch the family hosted afterward, and in his stories in my memoir class, I understand why this man was so loved. He was kind, he was gentle, he was tender. He lived through another horrific time: the Second World War, and worked as a young scientist on a secret project in the desert, far from home. And went on to establish a family and a network of friends, a home and a lifetime of useful work.

  My mother once told me of the sad and lonely wartime Christmas holidays, for three or four years in succession, when she missed her husband and three brothers, all of them in mortal danger, knowing she’d only hear from them weeks after a letter was written, hopefully always by them and even then not knowing for sure they were all right.

  We’ve been through tough times before. The world is like that. This is our time, and we can hide from that truth or use our time here to make our patch of earth and sky, the place from which our light shines forth, warm and suffused with love. A comfort. Like Lee.

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  Posted in anxiety, balance, life stories, memoir, memoirs, pain, philosophy, writing | 11 Comments | Tagged aging, anxiety, family, history, memoirs, society

• One Thing At a Time

  Posted at 3:16 pm by lindawis, on March 31, 2016

   

  

  photo credit: Wojtek Witkowski at Unsplash.com

  Writer Louise DeSalvo has been a favorite of mine ever since I picked up her memoir, Vertigo. Because I love to read, write and teach memoir, I recommend her work and delve back into it for my classes. Writing as a Way of Healing and The Art of Slow Writing are two treasure troves of advice, quotes and tips from famous and successful authors as well as very personal anecdotes and helpful encouragement from DeSalvo herself. For the past ten years, her words have kept me going when I needed a friendly push to keep telling my own story.

  Often, I find my mind spinning with ideas. I have a hard time deciding which one to focus on. Which writing project best deserves my attention? Which is a waste of time? I don’t know. I want to know. Ahead of time, before I even write it.

  The next novel, a short story, a personal essay? I have files of unfinished pieces. I open one and get bored with it before I finish reading the entire draft. I reach for Slow Writing. I flip to a highlighted page. “In writing, it doesn’t matter what you choose to do; it only matters that you choose to do something.” Yes, but isn’t there a best thing to write today? Apparently not, or at least, there’s no way to know what that ‘best’ thing is. Like meditation, just sitting down and doing the practice is the answer.  I know from experience that the “best” way to meditate is to just do it. Let the crazy thoughts fly in and out and focus on your breath or mantra. In writing, DeSalvo says it works best if she focuses on one decision at a time. Write five hundred words. Develop the characters. Add details. Line edit word by word.And so on. One thing at a time. I can do this.

  DeSalvo says it gets easier with practice and I believe her. Because most things do. Meditating. Exercising. Healthy eating. Cooking. Why not writing?

  What about you? Do you have a book of writing advice you love? What do you do when you can’t decide what to write?

   

   

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  Posted in anxiety, balance, book, memoir, simplicity, vertigo, writers, writing | 6 Comments | Tagged Louise DeSalvo, writing

• Rest When You Are Weary

  Posted at 3:11 pm by lindawis, on August 23, 2013

  Today I’m back from a week in the mountains, where I wrote for 2 or 3 hours every day, went on long hikes and read. A retreat I had planned all summer, hoping to finish revising the novel I’ve been working on for years.

  

  What happened with the writing:

  I found plot holes and plugged them.
  I tied up loose ends in the story.
  I found ways to make the main character’s actions believable.

  But…

  I didn’t finish.
  I figured out how to make the story better, which means:
  I have about 25% more of the novel to draft, then revise. I have been writing long enough to know that means more than one revision.

  The good news:

  My story is really fun to write and spending so much time on it makes me eager to keep going.
  After months of struggle, it’s all coming together.
  I know exactly what to do to “bring everybody home,” which means all major characters reach a satisfying conclusion.

  Now I’m back in my regular world where:

  Laundry must be washed, dried and put away
  Phone calls and email messages need replies
  I need to get some exercise today

  But I’m tired, physically, mentally, even emotionally. The end of things, even a vacation writing retreat in the beautiful mountains, always makes me a little sad.  And writing, even when it’s fun and good and rewarding, makes me tired.

  The weather is gloomy now, which doesn’t help. So I’ll put off the to-do list for later. First, I’ll curl up with a good book I started this week: The Art Forger by B.A. Shapiro. And maybe I’ll take a nice little nap.

  Why not? Do you need a “good reason” to rest besides being just plain tired?

  
  

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  Posted in balance, book, fiction, mindfulness, novel, philosophy, retreat, writing | 1 Comment | Tagged home, writing

• Publish Before I Perish

  Posted at 9:14 am by lindawis, on July 18, 2011

  
  
  I’ve been working on my novel for several years now; I have lost count of how many years exactly. At workshops given by experienced novelists, I always learn something that will make my story better. I love the process of adding subtext, developing characters, and using place mini-crises to move the plot forward. But some days, like today, I allow myself to feel discouraged by all I have to do before I am finished.

  Because I read writers’ newsletters, blogs and social network posts, I know many authors are churning out thousands of words a day, publishing their exciting novels, meeting with agents…and I wonder if I am too slow. Will I ever be ready to say “it’s done?” Will I live that long?

  Although I’ve always loved to write, it was only after my fiftieth birthday I began to take my writing seriously, to send my work out into the world, to make money from it. Feature stories for the local paper, magazine articles and personal essays take me hours, days, weeks to complete. I don’t think it has anything to do with perfection. I just want my work to be the best it can be.

  Some Monday mornings, it seems I’ll perish before I publish my first novel, which may well be my only novel. I can’t just throw it out there, unvarnished, not when I know better. The only thing to do, I guess, is to get back to work.

  Let me know if you find an easier way. Please.

  

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  Posted in novel, writers, writing | 3 Comments

• My Weekend as a Travel Guide

  Posted at 3:12 pm by lindawis, on June 7, 2011

  This past weekend, I got to open a window and peek into other people’s lives.

  For the memoir workshop I taught at the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference, attendees submitted pieces a few weeks in advance for critique. And as always, the stories were heartfelt, moving and inspiring.

  A little black girl and her family traveled through the 1950s South, searching for a bathroom they could use without being arrested.
  A man visited his father’s people in Ireland, people who played the violin after working a long day on the farm.
  A woman fought fiercely to preserve land threatened by development.
  A young doctor’s growing numbness in her feet led to a diagnosis of MS.
  A woman became her father’s caretaker and learned an important lesson about herself.

  So many different ways to tell a real life story: the historical context, the ecology of the land, cultural memories, the messages of illness and more.

  Memoirist Patricia Hampl said “memoir is travel writing, …notes taken along the way…”

  Last weekend, I was honored to be a guide for a small part of that journey. I am still basking in the afterglow.

  

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  Posted in Cultural memoirs, life stories, memoir, Patricia Hampl, Philadelphia Writers Conference, writing | 1 Comment

• Simple Days

  Posted at 4:55 pm by lindawis, on June 3, 2010

  

  In my never ending quest to find balance in my Off Kilter life, I discovered a wonderful book. Quite by accident. Or seredipity. Or maybe it was just meant to be.

  In February, I traveled to a women lifewriters conference in Austin, TX and entered a silent auction for a book by a writer I had met 9 years earlier in Manhattan. At another women writers conference. She autographed her first book, A Voice of Her Own, about women and journaling.

  Mine was the top bid for the auction book, and so I happily took home Simple Days by the remarkable Canadian writer, Marlene Schiwy.

  So many parts of the book spoke straight to my heart, I’ve taken it as my guide for this year. “…we end up feeding false hungers,” she writes,” while our genuine yearning for meaning goes unaddressed.”

  She writes, walks, sews, bakes muffins and teaches writing workshops.

  I write, walk, quilt, teach memoir workshops…and freelance for two papers, substitute at a public library, practice yoga, read a LOT, belong to four writers’ organizations, watch too much TV news, spend too much time on the Internet, and worry about my kids in my spare time.

  Do you see why I want to be like her?

  A simple life, she writes, demands “constant vigilance against the seductions of productivity and importance.”

  My Off Kilter life is seduced by the demand for recognition. But I want to write well, and that takes time. And is not productive for a long time. Until I get it right.

  With Simple Days as my guide, I am balanced on the edge of contentment.

  

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  Posted in A Voice of Her Own, balance, Canadian women writers, Marlene Schiwy, Simple Days, simplicity, writing | 3 Comments

• Characters

  Posted at 3:56 pm by lindawis, on March 27, 2009

  The novel is slowly taking shape, mainly because I am writing it. Who knew? LOL
  These things don’t happen by themselves. A friend asked me if my characters are taking over and telling me what they want to do next. I wish they would! My characters are just standing around, doing laundry and shopping…

  

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  Posted in fiction, novel, writing | 0 Comments

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