I’m grieving the loss of dictionaries, thick, massive volumes that I used to get lost in. I would open a page and find hundreds of words, all of them demanding my attention, each a miniature world to explore. But now I’ve become a victim of on-line lexicons because they are handier than putting aside my laptop computer and marching into the other room to unload the Oxford from a bookshelf where it resides. (more…)
Foghorns blast through the 7 AM San Francisco overcast. The only woman in the place, I saunter into the longshoreman’s union hall, trying to appear as if I did this every day. A few cigarette-scarred wooden tables offer a place for the men to gather and talk while waiting to be called to work. Billowing clouds of cigarette smoke hang ominously over everyone. 
Like detectives, writers need to be constantly observant, picking up clues from what people are wearing, how they gesture, the words they speak, the way they interact with others. They study people’s facial expressions and what they might suggest about the person, storing away the data in their memory banks. Or they’ll take notes in a writer’s journal that they’ll refer to later. 
Memoir writing blurs the line between truth and imagination in this revealing conversation with Lily Iona MacKenzie. We explore how creative writing techniques shape both fiction narrative and personal stories, as Lily explains her unique approach: “you lie in service of the truth.”
Yesterday, I had to kill time (terrible metaphor) while waiting to hear a friend of mine do a reading of his newly published memoir at a Corte Madera bookstore. So I hung out at Marin County’s Corte Madera Library. 
For years I felt guilty about breaking the heirloom toys my stepfather’s mother had preserved, relics of another era. I can still remember the excitement of lifting each object out of the boxes where they had been stored and bringing them to life again: tiny china dishes with hand-painted flowers; a miniature stagecoach carrying riders and pulled by horses; dolls with porcelain faces and hands, features frozen in smiles, dressed in stylish Victorian gowns; a doll house with elegant furniture and a family. 
Editing writing requires tremendous restraint. I was reminded of this recently when a poem I had submitted to an anthology was accepted providing I approved of the editor’s changes. I’m open to thoughtful revision suggestions—a text can always be improved—but I assume the recommendations will be just that, insightful observations that cause me to re-think my work. In that light, I can re-enter a poem or story and see if any of the ideas resonate enough for me to make changes. Yet since I’m the poem’s creator, I expect to revise it myself and have the last word on its content. 
I’ve been thinking about how loosely we use abstract words like love, happiness, and truth as if they had concrete, observable meaning. I tend to revolt from using love to close my email or other exchanges unless I really feel love for the person I’m corresponding with. It bothers me when people sign their correspondence “love” without considering whether or not the emotion really applies to the recipient. Maybe you feel loving towards someone on most days, but not every day. Isn’t it deceitful to say “love” if you aren’t feeling it at the moment? Wouldn’t such a response seem confusing? It leads the reader to believe that the writer actually has such strong feelings, that somehow we’re part of the writer’s inner circle. Often that isn’t true. 
Being a first-rate writer requires the same kind of training that an architect receives. A typical program includes courses in architectural history and theory, building design, construction methods, professional practice, math, physical sciences, and liberal arts. Writers may not need to study math or the physical sciences, but they do need to give themselves the best liberal arts education they can find, both formal and informal. And like architects, in order to be successful in their field, writers need not only vision and a rich imagination but also a strong foundation. 
Thank you, Zackary Vernon, for taking the time to share your professional writing journey with me and my readers. 
Being part of an on-line writing group for several years has provided many benefits. But with the positives come a few negatives.
Until recently, if I had wanted a restful getaway, I would not have chosen San Francisco or any big city. Getting away meant heading out of town, usually for a coastal inn. I wanted the leisurely pace and ocean views of Mendocino, Pacific Grove, Carmel, or Big Sur. 
Onyx wind chimes shaped like birds hang outside my bedroom. Each time a breeze stirs them, their music reminds me of the first trip I took to Mexico. While there, I was hoping to discover a part of the country that photographs can’t capture—the spirit of the place. Lawrence Durrell claims that landscape communicates this aspect. He says, “All landscapes ask the same question in the same whisper, ‘I am watching you—are you watching yourself in me’?” 
I recently reread Henry James’ The Portrait of a Lady and have mixed feelings about the era and the characters. It’s difficult to read about Victorian morés from a 21st Century perspective. Not only do I need lenses that will give me a bi-cultural perspective, but I also feel squashed between a culture clash. Not long after I finished with Portrait, I read a review of A. M. Homes’ book May We Be Forgiven in The New York Review of Books. One of her main characters says, 
I’m remembering a fascinating article I read in the New York Review of Books some time ago about Joseph Cornell. In many ways, he feels like my spiritual father. I love his quirkiness, his living on the periphery, his unique vision. Reading about him makes me want to go out and haunt junk shops for interesting memorabilia to make things with, to start a collection that I can draw from. I had an image of turning an old radio into a kind of Cornell box. What stories do statistics tell?
February 23, 2016
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I’ve been reviewing my blog statistics for 2015, curious to learn what posts drew the greatest response. Over the year, I had 1970 total visitors and 3830 views. And the post that drew that greatest response is one I wrote some time ago about not booking first class on Spain’s trains (193 views). It hasn’t lost its appeal.
As I point out in the post, “From the RailEurope website (and what little I could glean from the Renfe site), I understood that first-class (premier) tickets included a meal (from the RailEurope website: “Enjoy an a la carte menu served right at your seat.”) Nothing could have been farther from the truth! We had been told by a Renfe agents at the information center in Seville that a hot meal would be served during our 4 1/2 hour ride to Barcelona, so I didn’t purchase something to eat on the trip. But all we were given were tiny rolls, equally tiny pieces of cheese, and a smidgeon of ham.
To make matters worse, the train ended up stalling 45 minutes outside of Barcelona. Only one announcement was made, in Spanish. Nothing in English. And we were kept in the dark, figuratively and literally, for two hours before another train arrived to rescue us, not knowing what was going to happen.
Surely we could have been informed more frequently about the rescue operation. It also would have been good public relations if someone had thanked us over the public address system for our patience and acknowledged the inconvenience we had all experienced (there were a lot of elderly people on this train, and they had no help in lugging their bags over to the train that rescued them).
I would like to say that first-class travel in other countries was better. It wasn’t, except for a train we took from St. Petersburg to Moscow, another 4 1/2 hour ride. In that instance, we truly did have a first class experience The stewards served us a three course lunch that was tasty and filling. I had a chicken dish with vegies and mashed potatoes. My husband had fish. As a starter, we enjoyed a cheese selection. Russia’s first-class high speed train was definitely worth the extra cost.
But back to my most viewed blog posts in 2015, my page for Fling!, my novel that was published in 2015, had almost as many visits as the one on first-class trains. I’m delighted that so many people were interested in learning more about the book and all of the reviews I’ve posted there.
The next highest, other than visits to my bio, was a piece I wrote, “The Magic in Magical Realism.” Since Fling! definitely fits that category, it makes sense that both should have a high number of views. “Go for the Gold and Hire a Publicist,’ has high numbers, as does “Writing’s Dialogue with Myself And My Life” and Bone Songs, another of my novels that will be published in November 2016.
Surprisingly, the viewing numbers were healthy for several other posts/pages, and most of my entries had at least one visitor. I’m not sure what to conclude from these stats, but I’m happy that my blogging explorations have somewhat of a following.
Thanks to my readers!
, are usually eager to book authors whose books might resonate with their residents.
