Esprit de l'escalier

There is another re-occuring character from the streets of Greenwood. We call him Can Guy and here’s why. Nearly everyday a tall, slender man with a sharp nose and shaved head walks up and down the curbs along 85th and Greenwood. He generally wears short grey slacks, red converse, a beige trenchcoat and a grey newsie’s cap. He walks the blocks, with his head down and his hands in his pockets, taking long strides until he comes across a stranger and asks for random amounts of change. 32 cents? 27 cents? 14 cents? He does this until he has enough to stop at a local market and buy 2 cans of soda. He then continues with his laps around the block, drinking the soda in large swigs until he gets back to the intersection of 85th and Greenwood on the corner in front of the old Greenwood Hair Academy and sets the can down on the corner in exactly the same place every time. Then he crosses the street and disappears until the next day.This pattern has gone on for months.

We suspect recently that Can Guy was scolded for his littering habits because now he marches to the nearest trash can and pounds down two sodas, one in each hand, and throws the cans away.

Another new development came today when we noticed Can Guy has a new coat! He has traded in his trenchcoat for a more fashionable grey Dickies jacket. Lightweight, but still warm. We are all speculating if this change is due to the weather, or possibly a new lady in his life.

It’s officially the first day of National Novel Writing Month and I can’t wait to get started! My Untitled Thriller has been neglected since I got a new job. All of you out there who have been waiting for the next segment can finally relax, the next chapters will be coming soon!
I’m at work right now, but I long for the moment when I get home this evening, get a fire going in the fireplace, put on some hot tea and hunker down for a nice long chat with my characters. I wonder what they’ve been up to since we last met.

This time last year I was newly unemployed, sitting at home by the fire looking for jobs on craigslist. I was nervous about how we were going to pay our mortgage and was going to extremes to minimize our expenses. It was, for lack of a better word, ridiculous how far I went to count every penny. I was obsessed with making sure I didn’t become a financial burden now that I wasn’t contributing monetarily.

Not only did I avoid buying anything, I went to great lengths to make sure I didn’t cost anything. I stayed home and didn’t drive anywhere so as not to use gas, I didn’t cook anything for breakfast or lunch, and only ate sparingly the few groceries we already had in the house. I would go all day without turning on the heat and instead would wrap myself in blankets and run in place to keep warm. I spent my days overly aware of my financial footprint and constantly looked for ways to earn my keep. I cleaned and did some inexpensive home improvements. I cleaned some more and worked on building my portfolio and resume. I cleaned and did yard work. Some may see this as extreme, I saw it as a challenge.

Sure my husband thought I was crazy. He would come home to find me bundled in sweaters, blankets and pillows reading a book and using as little energy as possible. He would ask me if I’d eaten anything that day and I would simply answer ‘not really. I wasn’t hungry.’ He would shake his head and I would suggest we enjoy left-over chilli for dinner and perhaps add some rice to make it go further. (All the while, thinking I can eat some of the left over rice from tonight with a little bit of milk for lunch tomorrow). Yes, maybe I had gone nuts. But when the bills came, my husband finally saw the method to my madness.

Our house looked great, it was clean and I had painted and organized. I got a lot done and at little expense. But still I found myself in exactly the same place I’d started. Unemployed and feeling guilty. Obviously I had bigger issues that needed to be addressed.

I was battling with this idea that I had to constantly be doing something productive and bringing in a paycheck. For some reason, although I’d been happily married for three years by that time, I still hadn’t allowed myself to be taken care of. I’d been subconsciously taking care of and supporting myself. Suddenly, I wasn’t able to contribute a paycheck and I felt worthless. I tried to make up for it in other ways, but still came out feeling guilty and useless. It’s a hard lesson to learn, and in truth I’m still learning it, but now I understand the real meaning of teamwork sometimes involves one player carrying another for part of the course.

Sure I found little ways to contribute while I was still looking for a job, but in the meantime I had to humble myself enough to allow my wonderful husband to carry my weight until I found the perfect place to work. And I learned that one can contribute more than a paycheck to a relationship. Sometimes the real gift is letting someone know how much you need them and letting them take care of you.

Now, a year later, here I am four months into an awesome job, working with awesome people and daydreaming about what my next post will be on my new blog nooksandcranberries.com. I have so much to be thankful for. And I have to say, this month I’m four years into it, I still think getting married was the best idea ever.

Today is my wedding anniversary and I’ve decided to make it (like my birthday) a license to do (just about) anything I want. So in celebration of that idea, I’m postponing running reports at work and instead I’m using my work computer to blog about whatever I feel like blogging about. And I’ve decided that topic will be…um…Tuesday. I would blog about how awesome my husband is, but he already knows how much I love him. So I will blog about last Tuesday.

Tuesday was beautiful. Glorious weather and gloriously uneventful at work. On the way to work, Peacoat Guy and I exchanged our usual good morning’s.

“Good Morning Peacoat Guy,” I said.

“Good morning Pretty Lady,” he replied with a smile and a raise of his coffee cup.

Once I got to the office, the usual bustle made the day fly by. Before I knew it I was on my way home. I was especially excited because Kyle and I were meeting our friends for a very tasty German-inspired dinner. (More on that later).

Everyday I pass the Poetry box. It’s a blue, shabby chest, set up on legs that has been reclaimed, painted blue and set outside with a hole in the middle and POETRY painted across the top. At first glance it’s really rather charming. The idea is that the owner of the yard in which this treasure is placed, prints out pieces of poetry, rolls them up into scrolls and places them in this box for passing pedestrians to enjoy. I decided to try my hand and pick one. Here’s the one I picked.

Poetry Box

“Often I’m awakened by awful noises,
jackhammers, dynamite, walls crumbling
and bigger ones climbing the sky
in their places. My future arrives and I
have to settle for it. I don’t understand how
I got here any more than a lobster understands
how it ended up in a tanke next to a Please wait
to be seated sign, but both of us can read
the faces of the cruelly beautiful women
pointing at us. I always feel eyes on me,
so I apologize to insects after I kill them
and to the salmon on my plate, caught
being nostalgic for home. Everything makes sense
if you squint just right, and at least once a day
I realize that whatever I’ve been saying
isn’t the point at all. I spend most days listening
to other people almost making sense, and I don’t
ask them what the hell they’re talking about
because they’re on television or the radio, or
because I’m eavesdropping from the next table.
When I’m not talking or listening, I’m in a
boil, my shell softening. I’m getting a good look
at a wrecking ball. I’m crumbling.
I volunteered for all this, accidentally,
by raising my hand, intending to ask
a question I couldn’t put into words.”
~UM by Tom C. Hunley

This poem, while funny, was actually kind of a downer. And suddenly my bright cheerful sunny day was changed. I continued my walk home, dwelling on the vision of a lobster in a boiling pot. Life was suddenly grim. My eyes were opened to unusual sightings. Two policemen stopping to pick up a bum sleeping on the sidewalk, I saw a guy at the bus stop, filling a Gatoraid bottle with beer and I ran across a monstrosity of a chair (if that’s what you can call it) set out on the curb. Horrifying! *sarcasm intended*

Car Chair

I really didn’t know what to think when I saw this. It looks like someone stuffed the car seat from a 1994 Arostar Minivan into my grandmother’s living room chair. Is this even real?

Thankfully dinner that evening brightened things up. So will I ever take another poem from the poetry box? Probably. My curiosity is too strong to deny.

So I haven’t seen Homeless Guy for a couple days now. I suppose he’s moved on. Maybe he’s a seasonal character. Like Tom Selleck on Friends. Perhaps I’ll run into him again next summer. In the meantime, new comedy relief has entered into my morning walk routine. Peacoat Guy. Peacoat Guy has twice called me ‘Pretty Lady’ and three times said ‘good morning’ with a not so creepy *smile*.
He always has a bluetooth in which is why he hasn’t been a ‘Morning Walk’ character until now because it wasn’t until recently that I even realised he was talking to me.
Aside from the real life Sylvester and Tweety (they live in the white house up the street…I’ll get a pic of them one of these days!), Peacoat Guy is the next most re-occuring character of the Morning Walk series.
(Yes, my commute life once again presents itself as a series. Now it’s just less stressful.)

Everyday on my way to work I pass a grubby-looking man unsteadily heading towards (I assume) Ken’s Market. He looks homeless and sometimes stumbles like a drunk. Part of me wonders if he isn’t just acting homeless so people won’t bother him. We once made eye contact and I said good morning. He just stared back at me blankly. Perhaps he doesn’t speak English? Or maybe he just hadn’t had his coffee yet.

So I suppose it’s about time that I post something new instead of trying to milk all I can out of posts from 5+ years ago. So much has been happening and God is so good. I finally have a new job! I started the end of June and it’s been great. I’m the box office manager at a local independent theater. It’s a wonderful organization. However, I won’t say the name of it yet in case you are waiting for me to get back to you about your season subscription that you sent in a week ago and haven’t received a receipt for yet.

After all the searching I did to find the perfect job, this is the last occupation I ever imagined myself in. For one, I can’t act worth beans – which I suppose is why I’m in the office and not on stage. But aren’t I suppose to be able to relate to the actors to some degree? I played Kanga in a high school production of Winnie the Pooh – does that count?  Anyway, I found out the other day that it came down to me and one other person for the position. The other guy was good with numbers, but not as strong with customer service and I happen to be great with talking to patrons and I’m not so good with numbers. They opted for me, a ‘people person’ over Mr. Numbers. Turns out Mr. Numbers was actually the president/owner’s son! Wow! I feel so blessed that they picked me and I hope I can live up to their expectations.

So in short, I’m loving this job for several reasons: I get to walk to work everyday, I get to work with great friends in a tight community, I don’t have the pressure of sales looming over me in the form of a boss with some serious issues, I have great hours and an awesome, fun supervisor, and finally, our office is across the street from the PAWS Cat Adoption Center and whenever I need a break I can run over and watch the kittens playing in the window. How amazing is that!?!

One of the best parts of this new chapter of my life is all the stories I have to share now. (I’ll share more later). While I miss being able to spend my days hoping from coffee shop to coffee shop reading and writing to my heart’s content, now I am interacting with real people again instead of the imaginary friends in my novel-in-progress. (Don’t worry Secondary Character number 3, I’ll get you a name as soon as I revise chapter 14 ;). )

Don’t forget your manners! We’ve all heard an adult tell us this at one time or another. When joining a critique group, it’s important to mind your manners in order to have a successful, creative support system.

A long time ago, I read a little book by American minister and author Robert Fulghum called All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Fulghum outlines the basic manners and life skills we learn in kindergarten. These principles also reflect the fundamentals of proper critique-group behavior.

For the sake of those who are new to the idea of critique groups or those who could use a refresher, here are a couple rules of etiquette to keep in mind:

1. Share everything: Participate, don’t dominate. Share the time you have in your group so that everyone gets a turn. Wait your turn and listen. Allow your group to share with you! Share ideas, constructive criticism and be honest.
2. Play fair: Be nice and encouraging. The work you are critiquing is just as important to the person who wrote it as your work is to you. Be sure to meet the page requirements and time slots agreed upon by your group.
3. Don’t hit people: Also translated as: don’t hurt people. Be mindful of your words and mindful of the values of your group.
4. Put things back where you found them: Be aware of the space your group is meeting in. If it’s at a member’s house, respect that and their willingness to host. If anything was moved to accommodate you or your group, be nice and give them a hand to clean up after group is done.
5. Clean up your own mess: In addition to putting things back, keep in mind your messes. Help clean up shared spaces before and after you meet with your group.
6. Don’t take things that aren’t yours: Celebrate the ideas of others in your group and learn from them, don’t take them as your own.
7. Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody: Or better yet, don’t hurt anyone in the first place. Be gentle in your critiquing and be receptive to the critiques of others. First and foremost, be open and not defensive.
8. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you: Enjoy a critique group meeting with snacks. But don’t let fine baked goods dominate your time or conversation!
9. Live a balanced life: Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. Be creative and be inspired by your group. Allow for diversity and be open to new ways of writing and language use that you may not have known before.
10. Take a nap every afternoon: Don’t come to critique group tired. And if you do, try not to be grumpy and give your group fair warning.
11. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic,
    hold hands, and stick together: Allow your critique group to be a support system. Build relationships and accountability. Be sure you are contributing as much as you are benefiting.
12. Be aware of wonder: Allow the Lord to work in and through your group. Enjoy the time you share and explore the wonder of the written word!

If you are not yet part of a critique group, be aware of the etiquette you need to exercised as a non-group members as well. NCWA allows new members to sit in on critique groups to watch and see how they operate. Before sitting in on a group, please contact the critique-group coordinator for permission and group meeting times. Once you have been granted the privilege to sit in, you must be quiet and observe. Please keep opinions to yourself as you are not yet a part of the group and this takes away from their scheduled time.

After you sit in on a group, you will no doubt get the critique-group bug. When you do, contact Sarah Madson, the Critique Group Coordinator at critique@nwchristianwriters.org.

With so many ways that a person can die, it’s a wonder that we aren’t all living in fear.

Is it weird that while writing a DIY article about mason jar chandeliers I couldn’t help but think about how this type of decorative piece could inflict death upon an unsuspecting victim? Perhaps while wiring there is a short circuit that sends a bout of electricity coursing through your body. Or maybe the fixture itself wasn’t installed properly inflicting blunt force trauma to the top of a passing pedestrian’s head? This line of thinking isn’t new for me. And just to clear this up now…no, I have never had any intention of murdering or killing anyone in any way. To tell the truth, I’m not sure that I’m unnecessarily morbid so much as just really afraid of things. I mean, I don’t feel like I go through life living in fear. Perhaps I have a overactive sense of mortality.  Anyone who knows me can tell you that there are really only two things I’m hyper vigilant about and that’s jay walking and the set of Cutco knives in our kitchen. The first is the result of all the obituaries I had to write my first year at the newspaper. The second is, well, in my mind completely obvious. They’re knives! I simply refuse to touch them unless absolutely necessary. Few objects are as scary as an over-sharp knife. I do, by the way, believe there is such a thing as a knife that is too sharp. If ever you are cut and it takes you a while to realize it…that instrument is too sharp. It’s simply common courtesy, if death is upon you, the least of your worries should be noticing it.

What’s worse is that of all the things in this world that have been expressly made for the purpose of killing, people seem to forget that knives fall in that category. All the fuss is poured over guns. The reason seems to be that knives serve many supposed ‘purposes’. Like slicing vegetables for soup or opening the plastic encasing a block of cheese. But when I think about it, it’s like putting inmates to work. Sure they can be useful…but would you let them be useful as a babysitter? To me, they are simply killing tools hiding behind a mask of utility. Don’t even get me started on letter openers or scissors! Weapons masquerading as office supplies.

Now I know you may be thinking to yourself, ‘Sarah, there are many good, wholesome, noble uses for a knife.’  Sure, sure, I’m not disagreeing with that point. Like surgeons need their scalpel to save lives, etc. And I’m not saying that the root of all evil is a blade. It is true that it is not the knife itself that kills, but the person who holds it. But consider for a moment accidents in the kitchen…

And with that, I must end this train of thought. I will admit this post went down a path I had not intended. Plus, all this talk of knives is giving me the creeps and I have to cook dinner soon.  I think what this all comes down to is the thought that everyday objects could be involved in ending someone’s life…something as inane as a beautiful light fixture or as obviously treacherous (but all too common) as an overly-sharp pairing knife.

I love dialogue. I love that I can make up characters to say what I never feel secure enough to say myself. I love banter and eloquence.

But in the case of my latest literary endeavor, dialogue is killing me. My novel is turning into the written version of Before Sunset. All dialogue and not very much action. My problem is that I’m having a hard time communicating the visual cues. The raised brow, the slight nod, the sarcasm. Can you imagine what the script looks like for an episode of Gilmore Girls? All those words without the visual sensation of the show and the vocal pacing would be a mess. Which is essentially what I fear my piece is turning into. Unless…unless I turn my action thriller into a picture book! Wait, no…I’m pretty sure that would come across as more of an insult to those who favor the genre. Plus printing fees would be out of this world.

Well, pictures books aside…many great writers who have come before me found solutions to this problem. So now I’m off to find one…a solution that is – not a great writer. I don’t think I could face greatness right now. Writer’s block is not a flattering state to be in.