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SPACE

meanderingthroughmidlife

 

spaceHappy New Year!

Today I have been thinking about space: space to write, space to read, literal and metaphorical space.

Yesterday I took some time to clean out my “writing room”, a third bedroom in our suburban ranch that houses books, this computer, a few chairs I’ve inherited, and my Reiki supplies.  It felt good to rustle through the desk drawers and chuck things I haven’t looked at in over a year.  It felt even better to find lost stories in the closet, ones I would like to revisit and possibly revise.  Spending an hour cleaning up the room felt right on New Year’s Eve.  It felt like throwing out the old to make space for the new.

My Reiki training has helped me make cleaning spaces a priority.  If I want something new to show up in my life, I need to make space for it.  Clutter in a room can muddle a mind.  Heavier energies can get trapped in piles of “things” that I may not need.  Letting go of stuff is important.

Space is time.

Tomorrow we return the chaos of everyday life.  Back to work and school, sports, meetings, and more gatherings with friends.  It is a tricky time for me because I give more than I’ve got at work.

One of my resolutions for 2018 is to give myself SPACE.  Space to write.  Space to read.  Space to be ME.

This holiday season has been magical as a middle-aged mom because I felt as if I had space to just BE.  I read when I wanted to.  I ate when I was hungry.  I laughed when something was funny.  I said “No” when I just wanted to stay inside and binge watch TV.  I was spontaneous when my son asked me if we could see The Last Jedi for a second time late one afternoon.

Most importantly, I did not worry.

And this made me happy.

Space is necessary for writing.  It takes more than just duct taping your ass to a chair in front of the writing tool of your choice.  Writing requires giving your muse some space amid the text messages, social media, to do lists, and other “important” things that causes your brain to spin.  Imagination requires time to slow and the mind to wander.  Doubt needs to take a hike.

Reading requires space too.  Taking the time to read aloud to my nine-year old before bed is still a sacred time for us.  Allowing my mind to slip into story and see someone else’s characters interact in their plot is still priceless.  It is in that space that I lose time, but it’s worth it as I come out feeling connected to another writer’s world.

I dare say that giving yourself space, allows you to connect more deeply with others.

Best wishes for giving yourself the SPACE to be you in 2018!

JMonell

 

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SPOILERS AHEAD!

meanderingthroughmidlife

lightsaber

 

I warned you! If you have not seen THE LAST JEDI yet….wait to read this until you do.

 

 

Last chance.

 

 

 

I was seven when my father took me to see STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE in a theater on Route 46 in Totowa, NJ.  We stood online for nearly an hour, hoping to get tickets.  Dad was super excited, but I had no idea how much the movie would influence me… for the rest of my life.

My son was seven when The Force Awakens debuted in theaters.  My husband and I sat on either side watching his expression of awe as the curtain lifted and the story unfolded.

And this weekend, we took him to see his first 3D movie, The Last Jedi.  I think it is my favorite of all the Star Wars movies.

And this is why.

The Last Jedi highlights the duality of human/alien nature and sets it on a collision course with the unknown.  Point of view is critical to the movie as we watch Rey listen to Luke’s story about what happened to Ben Solo.  And Luke’s story is different from Kylo Ren’s.  And Rey listens to both, seemingly without judgement.  And then she goes off to figure out the truth for herself, which leads her to understanding that she doesn’t know half of what she thinks she does.

A similar situation is presented between Poe Dameron and Admiral Holdo.  We’ve known Poe before and want to root for him, but it turns out that Leia, who we’ve known longer, who knows more, may be the side to root for, which left me as an audience member conflicted and unsure of how the story line would play out.  As Leia admonished Poe, I felt conflicted too.  What was she doing?  And then the explanation came and I had my “aha” moment.

The dual nature of light and dark is best represented by Luke’s fear of the dark side and Rey’s curiosity towards it.  Luke tells Rey of his desire to destroy the Jedi, believing that the need for balance and acceptance of both light and dark must overcome EGO.  Lesson one.  We are all connected by the same energy.  Being “great” means separation from the whole.  It is a risk that leads to chaos.

Rey dares to go where Skywalker told her not to, seeking to find out the truth about her parents.  And yet, the force does not reveal this truth to her, signaling that where she came from does not matter, but where she goes does.

And the setting for this illustration of duality is that the unexpected happens throughout the movie.  This element waylaid Finn and Rose as they tried desperately to save the last of the resistance.  The unexpected thwarts them their entire journey…yet things turn out okay for them.  Poe learns to control his impulsiveness and trust.  Leia learns to let go.  And Luke…learns to be who he is, not what he wants.

The Last Jedi is about faith and surrender.  No one is purely good, or evil.  And we do not have control over everything.  As Rose said, “We shouldn’t destroy those we hate, but save the ones we love.”  And those we love may embody the duality of light and dark.   We should not discard those who have wandered onto a dark path; yet we cannot control their outcome.  We can only love them.

And then we will be “the spark” that lights hope.

May the Force be with you.

JMonell

 

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So who’s your turkey now?

meanderingthroughmidlife

turkey_2

When I was little, teachers told me that Thanksgiving was a time when the Indians broke bread, or maybe corn, with the settlers who were starving, saving them from certain death.  American Indians were “savages” depicted in our textbooks as running or dancing half-naked and causing a problem for the colonists.  The pictures of the American natives were demeaning at best.  And the text subtly ridiculed them by mocking their belief systems, lack of clothes, and “meager” standard of living.

Today, I shared a different point of view with my students, that of the American Indian, who found European settlers, filled with violence and selfish purpose,  colonizing their land. The “pilgrims” butchered the native people, took their land, and forced them to retreat from their homes.

And all this got me thinking about the narratives we tell ourselves to make us feel okay, whatever “okay” means today.

Thanksgiving for me means cramming everything into a car and driving North for anywhere between four and six hours that morning.  As we inch closer to my husband’s childhood home, I watch the transformation begin from his body position to the words he chooses.  So by the time we’ve reached his parents house, DH is no longer my DH, but the DH who grew up with three siblings in a modest home in a foreign territory.

We enter the house, leaving all our belongings in the car, because “it would be rude to do otherwise” despite the fact everyone knows we are about to shack up on the floor, the couch, and maybe, just maybe, a spare bed.  And did I tell you that this is a modest house?

DINNER, which is supposed to start at 2:00, begins an hour late as we wait for the eldest, who lives five minutes up the road, to arrive.  Then we begin course one of four as a cacophony of conversation breaks out.  I struggle to keep each one straight, and find myself fussing over my son instead.  There comes a moment when I consider my insignificance at this meal, and wish to crawl under the table.  It is at that moment that the jabs from political javelins come from my left and my right at once, and my blood boils.  Just who are these people?  I can’t understand their point of view on issues that light passionate matches in my soul.  JUDGEMENT rises up from my gut and I choose to guzzle some more wine rather than say something stupid.

Course four is dessert.  It arrives after the table is cleared and the family’s favorite movie is shoved into the DVD player.  The kids take the couch, a few playing with toys on the floor, and one by one my in-laws come in and plop down for the two hour show.   It is a comedy.

And I don’t have a fully- developed sense of humor.

So as others laugh ’till their sides hurt, I know who I am.  I am the OUTLAW at my in-laws’.  Tentatively, I glance at the other OUTLAW sitting at the end of the table who is staring at the ceiling.  He looks down, and I try to give a knowing glance, one of empathy, but it falls flat.

Thanksgiving is a time of gratitude.  And I remind myself of that.  But am I a native or a pilgrim?

I know I am grateful for marrying DH and building a life together.  But on these trips, I feel like “a stranger in a strange land” submerged into the Twilight Zone.  And fitting in is the narrative I tell because society expects that it to be so.

But the truth…

JMonell

 

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Convention Craze

meanderingthroughmidlife

IMG_3248

Believe it or not, I did not know that such things as Cons existed until my thirties.  Insert joke here (   ).

But when I got more involved with the writing community, I discovered the thrill of Cons.  The first time I went to a Con was back in 2000.  A friend took me to a small NJ convention called DevilCon.  It’s not longer around, but I still remember the awe of listening to writers and fans talk about books, and gawking at the few who dressed up as their favorite characters.

Then I was off to Horrorfind, World Horror, NeCon, LunaCon, and PhilCon, one of my favorites.  And that was before the Munchkin arrived.  Going to Cons is a rarity these days.  I’m often pulled in other directions in attempts to be a responsible adult. But every once in a while, you just have to escape.

And PhilCon this year was a great escape from the stressors of my humdrum hamster ball life.

I loved seeing friends that I may see once every four of five years.  Listening to writers and readers speak about the political nature of science fiction was thought provoking, and hearing Seanan McGuire speak about breaking the rules of writing was inspiring.  Then there were the costumes, the dealer’s room’s wares, and the art.

But the best part of being there was….well being there.  There is something about being a writer and surrounding yourself with other writers.  The atmosphere was soothing to everyday woes.  I felt I was with my peeps, as my students would say.

So here’s a few pics of my day:

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Happy writing!

JMonell

 

 

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The Value of Words

meanderingthroughmidlife

wendigo

This afternoon a few fellow writers and myself ventured forth in a nor’easter to join together at a public library to read aloud Algernon Blackwood’s “The Wendigo”. It is the season for a good ghost story.

We sat in a darkened room around a homemade “camp fire”, and took turns reading Blackwood’s tale to a small audience while rain pelted the ceiling above us.  After a while, a couple got up and left, letting the library’s bright light pierce our campy production.

And we weren’t quite half-way through the text.

Which made me think…what is the value of words today?

I woke up this morning excited at the prospect of getting together to read the text aloud, for no other reason, then to enjoy Blackwood’s words bounce in my ears.  To prepare, I not only read the story, but I listened to an audio file on You Tube.  And as I sat around our “camp fire”, I focused on just the text, and took the time to read slowly with empathy.  I forgot about the audience and marveled at Blackwood’s deft imagery, and slow build of suspense.  I felt the words fill my mouth as the story went on, and took the time to consider their delivery.  I didn’t just want to read aloud, I wanted to share in the experience of Defago’s encounter.

We live in a world where prattle covers us like a wet blanket.  Words, ugly and some kind, are shot at us like bullets from a machine gun.  And how often do we think to consider the subtext of each syllable?  Maybe we have forgotten the skill of listening.

Maybe we have forgotten how to feel.

Writing needs to be more than just storytelling.  It needs to be about deliberate word play.  Shakespeare understood this.  And I think Algernon Blackwood did too.

Happy Halloween!

J.Monell

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Too Sensitive?

meanderingthroughmidlife

Recently, I read about Laurie Forest’s THE BLACK WITCH and the Twitter war it created.  After reading two or three articles, I wanted to read the book for myself.  Sometimes bad press is better than no press.

Luckily, my local library could acquire a copy.  So off I went dashing headlong into Forest’s world, keeping thoughts about accusations of racism in the recess of my mind.  While the writing is not as crisp or as descriptive as I usually like, and the protagonist, yes, I said protagonist, Elloren changes too quickly from naive country girl to university survivor of  Mean Girls, I did not find evidence of the kind of racism or homophobia about which I had read.

Don’t get me wrong.  There are definitely things that Elloren does or says that made me flinch and twitch.  But I did not throw the book across the room and utter a primordial scream.  And this is because the offensive actions and statements are part of Elloren’s transformation from ignorant person of privilege to curious student of the other.  While she cringes in the mirror of truth about her heritage, she seeks information from those she fears, or loathes.

Now I must confess that I am only half-way through, but Forest’s first foray into fantasy is worthy of being read.  Good books have the power to make a reader feel, and feel I have while reading The Black Witch.

Is it too controversial for the YA market?

I don’t think so.  I grew up reading Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey at twelve.  Then there was The Bell Jar, and Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack.  And who can forget Terry Brook’s Shannara Series?  I was fifteen when I first read Dean Koontz’ Phantoms.  While these were more gritty than the usual Judy Blume, or Paula Danzigger, they spoke to me as a kid.  Then again, there weren’t too many YA books back then, and the adult section of the library was my playground.

Yes, these are different times.  But what bothers me the most about the upheaval over Forest’s novel, is that it appears that a good many people who bashed the book on Good Reads never even read it.  They heard “racism” and decided to go to war.  I assume this happened on Amazon as well. American Culture seems rife with the obsession with shiny trinkets that distract.  It’s like we fall in love with the shiny wrapping paper and forget to open the box inside.  Rarely do we READ the entire article or book without forming an opinion.  We exist in a social media vacuum that depends upon likes and dislikes, or simply, the click of a button.  It’s quite a superficial experience.

Racism has become an inflammatory word that ignites hate, but we need to feel comfortable reading texts that make us question our society, even when they shine a light on our darkest shadows.  Through common texts we can examine our own reality and face our challenges.

Sensitivity towards others’ experiences is a necessity in this century.  But exploration of our own views is fundamental for our growth.

Happy Reading!

J Monell

 

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Falling into the Flow

meanderingthroughmidlife

It’s been nearly sixteen years since I dared called myself a “fledgling writer”.  It used to be that I could sit down and verbal vomit onto the screen a complete story.  I was a pantser.  But now, writing is a bit more tricky.

Which is why I am turning back toward reading to jump start my writing.  But reading isn’t always easy these days either.  There is the required reading for work, the rereading of texts for work, and the endless emails, texts, tweets, and posts.  But it surprised me how challenging it can be to fall into the flow of a novel.

I will put the book by the bedside, intending to spend a chunk of time reading before sleeping.  Instead, I will spend a chunk of time on social media, checking out the latest news stories, and be half asleep by the time I put down the ipad/phone and pick up the novel.

Why is that?  I know that Nicholas Carr’s THE SHALLOWS tries to explain that Google just might be “making us stupid” by encouraging us to skim and scan, to not read.  But it frustrates me that when I think I want to sit down to read, I struggle.

Last summer I tried a new approach.  I picked up a book that I loved as a teenager: Anne Mc Caffrey’s Dragonflight.  For a week, I fell in love with reading again, yearning for the extra free moments when I could slip into the world of Pern and ride a dragon alongside Lessa in my imagination.  And it was interesting how things that did not stand out for me as a thirteen-year old reader, did as a midlife mommy.

More importantly, I felt a sense of accomplishment.  I had fallen into the narrative’s flow and allowed myself to experience  the story.  For a little while, I had forgotten all the day to day challenges.  Reading in the flow was cathartic!

And all it took was carving out some time, choosing the right book, and slowing down.  Slowing down might have been the magic ingredient in the fairy dust that transported me to Pern.

It was a healing experience.

Upon finishing Dragonflight, I felt compelled to research about Mc Caffrey’s life and her inspiration.  Then I marveled at how dragons are once again an important part of our culture.  And at last, the single sandy grain of a story began to form in my head.

Reading is breathing for a writer.  And I am still working on falling into the flow of others narratives.  But when it happens, it’s extraordinary.

JMonell

 

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A Mommy Moment With BTS Night

meanderingthroughmidlife

September is always chaotic in our home.  It amazes me how our family accelerates the pace of life from the hazy days of summer crawl to the all out sprint of BTS.  Suddenly, bedtime has to be adjusted to accommodate an early morning wake-up.  School forms need to be filled out and signed. Sports uniforms have to be ordered. Schedules have to be coordinated.  And I am in a mad dash to do all the summer cleaning I swore I would do, but didn’t.

The Tuesday after Labor Day is my New Year’s Day too.

And I have two BTS nights.

The second one requires me to rush home, pick up Munchkin, provide some sort of meal,  hug DH with a ‘hello” then rush back out usually within an hour of getting in the house.  I relish BTS night because I want to meet the Munchkin’s teacher and hear about what he will be doing.  Every year I can predict how it is going to go just from quality of the presentation and the expression on the teacher’s face.

Sometimes, the Munchkin’s teacher doesn’t want to entertain me.  It can be threatening to know that your client has the same job as you, knows the lingo, and can see through smoke and mirrors.  There have been years when I felt the hesitation in the handshake, or could imagine the teacher talking in the faculty room…”Watch out! Mom’s a teacher.”  I understand.  It has happened to me too.

The best BTS nights have been the ones when I walk into the classroom and know the year will be great.  I can feel the care that was put into making the room feel like home.  And it is organized.  Reading in one corner.  Math manipulatives in another.  Science in the back.  Social studies in the front.   I love it when I leave and know I will be working with Munchkin’s teacher.

But, my anxiety does rise like icy water when I walk into a room full of parents and I am the oldest one squeezing into a little kid seat.

You see, BTS night is also the time when the parents check each other out.  A glimpse around the room can be very revealing.  There have been moments when I swear I feel the other women’s gazes upon my back and I can hear them ask “Just how old was she when she had her child?” in their heads like some sick yummy mommy telepathy.

Being an “older” mom makes some ask why you waited so long, or wonder if you couldn’t find Mr. Right “on time”.   Then some will look around or listen to hear if I have an older child, almost as if this one was an “oops”.

I am being scoped out on the battlefield of the mommy wars.

And I know it.

As the class parents (moms) stand up and talk about giving money for class parties, and getting involved, I feel a bit sick.  They smile and bounce like they’re walking down some runway not standing in the front of a fifty-year old classroom.  Sometimes they giggle.  Sometimes they growl…”Of course you will join PTO!”  “Give us your name, numbers, email…rank and file too.”

Honestly, I feel bad.  I work.  Halloween parties and parades are great, but I only get so much personal time in a year, so reading during Read Across America, supervising holiday parties, or helping organize graduation are not options for me.  And PTO after a full day of work, family, grading, lesson planning, cooking, and…. it’s just not going to happen.  This doesn’t mean I don’t care.

And I should not also feel like a second- class citizen.

It amazes me how quick people are to judge one another.  My middle age is teaching me to take a step back, and breathe, before allowing those thoughts to consume me.  One would think I’d be beyond caring what other people presume.  But it is still a struggle at times.

Sometimes, when I see other moms, I wish we had children when I was younger.   It’s too easy to wonder what life would have been like if only… Not that I regret my choices.  There is a reason why things have happened in the time that they did.

This year I looked about the room and tried to stay present.  Munchkin is growing much too fast.  When I blink, I wonder what I missed.  Now I try to live moment by moment and let go of Regret.

JMonell

 

 

 

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Reditus

meanderingthroughmidlife

Source: Reditus

I love this post, because writing is really about getting back to one’s “roots”. Amanda Mininger beautifully describes the sentiment of writing because one needs to, because one needs to find the words that explain our humanity.

In a world that runs through space and time at the speed of light, it is easy to forget how necessary the act of creating is to be human.  Shaping words, forming images, evoking emotions, are all a part of that creation.

Human beings need stories.

Human doings may not.

Enjoy the post!

JMonell

 

 

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Is Publishing Dead?

meanderingthroughmidlife

Last night I had the chance to speak with an author who has published quite a bit more than I have, but who is more pessimistic than I am about the state of publishing today.  Lucky for me, I was with a few different authors, but most of them said the same thing, that publishing your work the traditional route has gotten more difficult, if not downright impossible.

Then why are there so many new books in the teen section at Barnes & Noble?  And why do I get great book deals day after day on Book Bub?  Can you explain why my local library has at least thirty to forty books in the New Book Section each month?

Is publishing dead?

Well, maybe the traditional route is dying.  But there are other ways, right?

Nicholas C. Rossis’ 9 Hot Trends in Publishing in 2017  suggests that most sales will come from eBooks.  He cites Amazon’s imprints as the way to go.  So it seems that Amazon continues to dominate the book selling market, even going as far to add brick and mortar stores.

Kallen Diggs also draws a bleak picture for traditional publishing in The Inevitable Death of Traditional Book Publishers .  He breaks down the numbers for how much an author would make if they sold 5000 copies, a very bleak picture indeed.  According to Diggs, authors can earn a 25% royalty for an epublished novel, versus a 10% for print.  Mmmm 25% vs. 10.  Mathematics does have that ability to clarify things.  Diggs also suggests that the argument that self-publishing is less credible is dying today.

For me, the bottom line is that there are ways to publish your stories, and I don’t believe that STORY is dying.  Not at all.  As a writer, we just need to go around the perceived road blocks, or better yet, think outside the box.  If our egos are chained to the idea of traditional publishing, then we might have a tough time.

The new global economy is not going away any time soon.  And it seems to thrive on populist ideology, like current politics in America.  So can you get published?  Sure.  Is publishing dead? No.  But it may be tied to your reader’s impression of you and how much they like the story.  Reviews may be proof of that.  The relationship between reader and writer may be more important now, even if you know it is superficial.  People are looking for that good feeling, the one that warms them and makes them feel special, appreciated, or validated.

Maybe we should act like  financial advisers and differentiate our assets,  some traditional publications, some e-publications, a few audio productions, and of course promo videos for Utube.

I don’t think publishing is dead.  If I did, I wouldn’t duct tape my ass to the chair and write with some regularity.  Let me know what you think!  Or share some tips in the comments.

Write on!

J.Monell