Friday, December 30, 2011
The price of truth vs tact, blarney, and political correctness
On the surface, complete honesty is expected from our partner/friend/child/parent/teacher/boss/government. But in practice, honesty is often cloaked by something else, a need to soften its delivery so it's less blunt and easier to accept. I stink at that.
When I'm responsible for the outcome of a situation or if I'm asked outright, I just say what I think. Complete honesty doesn't always sit well with the recipient, but the other choices are -
Silence - That works in many situations. But other times silence is absolutely unacceptable, like with the child-abuse problems at Penn State and elsewhere. I can keep silent about truths that don't need to be said - I have that basic impulse control. Unless I'm asked. Then you get the whole truth.
Diversion-
Q: Does this make me look fat?
A: Look at these earrings.
Blarney -
"the art of telling someone to go to hell so they look forward to the trip." This requires a silver tongue and a fondness for shamrocks, neither of which I have.
Political correctness -
"tyranny with a happy face” according to Charlton Heston. I can't play that game. The saccharin-speech and namby-pamby feel of our PC country is the reason I yell at the TV during political campaigns.
Outright lie -
not acceptable.
So what's the point in all this? In my journey toward publication, I had questions about a potential contract and publisher. As the author, I want to be proud of the end product so I went ahead and asked my questions. The publisher was not comfortable with my lack of political correctness, lack of blarney or diversion or silence on the matter and now will not be publishing my book.
The lesson? I guess they're not the right publisher for me.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Revamped and refocused
For months, I have busied myself with submitting my novel to agents and publishers. So when I realized that I haven't posted on this blog for 6 months - yikes! - I knew it was time for an overhaul. I've redesigned the blog and plan to post opinion pieces about, as the heading says, people, freedoms, media, and what's truly important to me. Here goes:
Out of all the people I've met in my life, the one who influenced me most never spoke a word. She was the ultimate teacher, unashamedly showing her joy in the simple pleasures of a ray of sunshine, a forbidden cookie, or a bedtime ritual. In her, in my sister Joyce, I saw humanity stripped of its trappings, without status or clout and without an agenda for the future. Somehow, this freed her and she was truly able to live in the moment. If only I could accomplish that for a single day, a single hour.
My childhood with Joyce affected me profoundly. Professionally, I became a pediatric physical therapist because of Joyce, but on a personal level, Joyce taught me to see the person first then the disability, a philosophy made popular in recent years by 'people-first' language. She also taught me that she didn't need fixing - she wasn't broken - and against her brightness I saw that I, with my intact body and intelligence, needed some work. I still do.
Out of all the people I've met in my life, the one who influenced me most never spoke a word. She was the ultimate teacher, unashamedly showing her joy in the simple pleasures of a ray of sunshine, a forbidden cookie, or a bedtime ritual. In her, in my sister Joyce, I saw humanity stripped of its trappings, without status or clout and without an agenda for the future. Somehow, this freed her and she was truly able to live in the moment. If only I could accomplish that for a single day, a single hour.
My childhood with Joyce affected me profoundly. Professionally, I became a pediatric physical therapist because of Joyce, but on a personal level, Joyce taught me to see the person first then the disability, a philosophy made popular in recent years by 'people-first' language. She also taught me that she didn't need fixing - she wasn't broken - and against her brightness I saw that I, with my intact body and intelligence, needed some work. I still do.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Travel!
On Friday, Michael and I leave for the trip of a lifetime- two weeks touring Bavaria, Austria, and Switzerland. Michael has wanted to see Switzerland for as long as I've known him, so this is a check off his bucket list. Me, I've been drawn to that part of the world since childhood, and now as I prep for the trip, I've tried to identify why.
I've had the good fortune to travel in Europe several times. The first was in '69 when my grandmother took us to meet her family in Kempten, a charming little Bavarian city. While we were there, we took side trips to Vienna, Salzburg, and Venice, passing through much of Bavaria, Austria, Switzerland, and the Italian Alps. But I was thirteen, and my memory was formed from that viewpoint. In '03, Michael and I toured England and Scotland by rail, a totally amazing adventure together. Such beautiful countries and hospitable people. We'd love to explore both again, especially Scotland. Then in '08, Katie and I went to Munich to research the setting for my novel. It was a quick trip, just 5 days from start to finish, but it was enough to study some local maps and photos in the city's archives, and identify a neighborhood for Sophie's story.
All four of my grandparents emigrated from Germany/Prussia during the 1920s, each with a young daughter in tow. My parents were both born here. You'd think I'd have heard a lot of stories about my grandparents' childhoods in the homeland, but I didn't. Neither of my grandmothers spoke much about their early lives; they seemed content to focus on the new life they made in the US. Maybe that's because of the cloud of negativity and shame surrounding Germany when I was a child in the late 50's and 60's, I don't know. But despite the paucity of first-hand stories, I felt the stamp of the old country in our home's food, language, wooden toys, and dolls in dirndls. And the music- Mozart, Beethoven, German marches. Is that why I'm so attracted to that region?
Or is it the books I digested as a child? Heidi, Grimm's Fairy Tales. Or my continuing love of The Sound of Music? Or is it simply the photos I've seen of mountaintop castles surrounded by mist, of green valleys like carpet between snowy peaks splotched with small neat homes and grazing sheep? Or is it the way Europeans blend respect for history and natural beauty with contemporary conveniences?
Michael and I will be in that part of the world soon, exploring the Alps together. And like the other times I've traveled there, it will feel a bit like home.
I've had the good fortune to travel in Europe several times. The first was in '69 when my grandmother took us to meet her family in Kempten, a charming little Bavarian city. While we were there, we took side trips to Vienna, Salzburg, and Venice, passing through much of Bavaria, Austria, Switzerland, and the Italian Alps. But I was thirteen, and my memory was formed from that viewpoint. In '03, Michael and I toured England and Scotland by rail, a totally amazing adventure together. Such beautiful countries and hospitable people. We'd love to explore both again, especially Scotland. Then in '08, Katie and I went to Munich to research the setting for my novel. It was a quick trip, just 5 days from start to finish, but it was enough to study some local maps and photos in the city's archives, and identify a neighborhood for Sophie's story.
All four of my grandparents emigrated from Germany/Prussia during the 1920s, each with a young daughter in tow. My parents were both born here. You'd think I'd have heard a lot of stories about my grandparents' childhoods in the homeland, but I didn't. Neither of my grandmothers spoke much about their early lives; they seemed content to focus on the new life they made in the US. Maybe that's because of the cloud of negativity and shame surrounding Germany when I was a child in the late 50's and 60's, I don't know. But despite the paucity of first-hand stories, I felt the stamp of the old country in our home's food, language, wooden toys, and dolls in dirndls. And the music- Mozart, Beethoven, German marches. Is that why I'm so attracted to that region?
Or is it the books I digested as a child? Heidi, Grimm's Fairy Tales. Or my continuing love of The Sound of Music? Or is it simply the photos I've seen of mountaintop castles surrounded by mist, of green valleys like carpet between snowy peaks splotched with small neat homes and grazing sheep? Or is it the way Europeans blend respect for history and natural beauty with contemporary conveniences?
Michael and I will be in that part of the world soon, exploring the Alps together. And like the other times I've traveled there, it will feel a bit like home.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Heroes
I sat at a college interview, intimidated by my solo drive through NYC and Long Island traffic to get to the large unfamiliar campus, fully aware of the potential impact of my performance that day. The program director, a smallish energetic man, settled back in his chair, crossed his ankles on his desk, and inexplicably, ate a grapefruit. "Who is your hero?" he asked.
Where did that come from? I was prepared for questions about my education thus far, my chosen career path, my future goals, even my personal life. But a hero? I hadn't had one since Superman when I was six.
Or did I? I answered my interviewer in moments, but the question has been with me for decades.
My hero was and still is easy to identify. It is a person who becomes more than their genetic make-up or social class, who uses obstacles as times of personal growth, who finds joy in the daily rhythm of sunrise, meals with loved ones, and restful sleep. My hero is not defined by the media, the world of sports, or my country's government. He or she is defined by a personal moral compass that somehow points North when all around them head south.
I've found these heroes in the children and families I work with, in my neighbors, friends, and family, in my church, and in my writer's group. And I've found them in stories. I savor the experiences of my literary heroes and try to absorb the lessons so I won't have to learn them the hard way. And isn't that the point?
Where did that come from? I was prepared for questions about my education thus far, my chosen career path, my future goals, even my personal life. But a hero? I hadn't had one since Superman when I was six.
Or did I? I answered my interviewer in moments, but the question has been with me for decades.
My hero was and still is easy to identify. It is a person who becomes more than their genetic make-up or social class, who uses obstacles as times of personal growth, who finds joy in the daily rhythm of sunrise, meals with loved ones, and restful sleep. My hero is not defined by the media, the world of sports, or my country's government. He or she is defined by a personal moral compass that somehow points North when all around them head south.
I've found these heroes in the children and families I work with, in my neighbors, friends, and family, in my church, and in my writer's group. And I've found them in stories. I savor the experiences of my literary heroes and try to absorb the lessons so I won't have to learn them the hard way. And isn't that the point?
Friday, May 20, 2011
Events
As I expected, writing presents me with challenges in time management, creativity, clarity, and focus. I hope the payoff comes in the form of a published book, but in the meantime, cool opportunities have come my way.
I've been part of a diverse and ever-changing weekly critique group at the Dietrich Theater in Tunkhannock for four years or so. These fellow writers provide me with support, encouragement, and the obligatory kick in the pants when appropriate. I've learned to listen carefully to their feedback on my work and I often hear an echo of my own thoughts. Interesting how that happens. Hopefully I've helped some of them along the way, too.
In the last few years, my stories have given me the opportunity to participate in several community events. I was invited to read one to preschoolers at a community program called Popsicles in the Park, and I also read one of my stories to my daughter's preschool students- what a thrill that was! I was a guest speaker (to twenty women) at the Tunkhannock Business Women's Association installment dinner, a presenter (to twenty-five 3rd graders!) at Keystone College Young Authors Day, and just this week, a guest speaker at the Factoryville United Methodist Church United Methodist Women meeting. These events have given me an opportunity to share my love of a good story. Hopefully the attendees left with a smile and a nudge toward finding or creating stories of their own.
I've been part of a diverse and ever-changing weekly critique group at the Dietrich Theater in Tunkhannock for four years or so. These fellow writers provide me with support, encouragement, and the obligatory kick in the pants when appropriate. I've learned to listen carefully to their feedback on my work and I often hear an echo of my own thoughts. Interesting how that happens. Hopefully I've helped some of them along the way, too.
In the last few years, my stories have given me the opportunity to participate in several community events. I was invited to read one to preschoolers at a community program called Popsicles in the Park, and I also read one of my stories to my daughter's preschool students- what a thrill that was! I was a guest speaker (to twenty women) at the Tunkhannock Business Women's Association installment dinner, a presenter (to twenty-five 3rd graders!) at Keystone College Young Authors Day, and just this week, a guest speaker at the Factoryville United Methodist Church United Methodist Women meeting. These events have given me an opportunity to share my love of a good story. Hopefully the attendees left with a smile and a nudge toward finding or creating stories of their own.
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