First drafts are messy. We’ve all heard that, but I always think no draft can be as messy as mine. Given enough time, I will restart and restate parts of the story, losing track of what I already wrote. I’ll rethink it until the story swirls around and leaves my head spinning. Finally I have to print it and cross out areas, bracket and draw arrows to new places, cut and paste, with scissors and tape, old school. Actually, I start with my journal, so lots of scratching there too. I wonder how it will ever come together. But if I stay with it, like the bucking horses my mother used to put me on, it finally calms down and becomes something cohesive and wonderful- a great ride, a story readers can inhabit. I live for that. Believe in it. Believing keeps me going. Writing is an act of faith.…
The Barbed Wire Within
When I sit down to write about my recently dead mother I am overcome by a sense of dread. I want to write this memoir, I tell myself; it is an important story that needs to be told. the hard edges of writing difficult stories tear like barbed wire on the inside marika-vinkmann Her death was untimely in many ways, a wrongful death I might have prevented, had I not been somewhat ambivalent at the time, eager to go back home and spend Thanksgiving with my real family. In my absence, my older brother, who our mother trusted to take care of her, and who she had signed over everything to, put on Lorzepam, a heavy anxiety med, and morphine. He moved to a group home where she was given occasional sucks of water from a dirty sponge. When she lived more than the two days our brother got nervous,…
Where You Begin, Again
Forget the flowers- write about fears, and all else your heart runs from. May is (Motherhood) Memoir Month- You don’t have to be a mother to have a motherhood story- It’s where YOU begin, or began, or begin again. I am always and forever beginning again, a firm believer in new beginnings, but also in finishing what I’ve begun. I’m not as good at that. I’m better at starting over. I’ve been writing a memoir about my mother- what it means to be a daughter of a manic mother, and how mania trickles down, becoming either a driving force for creativity or a stumbling stone. And, how my mother’s death has changed, but hasn’t ended our relationship. The mother-daughter relationship is a complicated, conflicted one, and writing about it helps us understand it better, and helps me understand myself better. Meanwhile, the writing feels messy. However, I’ve found some tools…
Scott in Chase's Timber's T-shirt
Ode to an Other Mother
Sons #2 & 3 just left to return home to Portland and Seattle. #3 was wearing a Timbers T-shirt. My hub commented that it was a pre-Alaska Airlines influenced logo (he works for AA now). Chase gave me this shirt the last time we were together, he said. And he told the story again that we love to hear, but are sad for too, for Chase is no longer with us. A few years ago Chase called Scott and said he’d be in Portland where Scott was living, interning with OPB, and could they catch a Timbers game together? I don’t have the money for that, said Scott, the starving student/intern. My treat, said Chase. And I’ve got nothing to wear. I’ve got that too. And Chase brought him the T-shirt. It was on loan. Never returned. Worn with a deep sense of nostalgia now. But it is the mother…
Lily by Fealing Lin
Growing Pains
Mothering is difficult. And then it gets better. Here’s poetic evidence for Mother’s Day: Yesterday I wrote about Daughter #2, the poet. At the Central Oregon Writer’s Guild this last year she read her award winning poem, and then she read this: Growing Pains Thank you for teaching me to fold things I am still not good at it when it comes to cloth but when it comes to feelings I can sort by color, texture, pattern, And put them to bed in the right drawers Sorted and named and placed All because of you And for dusting the blinds in my room I know you hated it (and so did I) but now I am so good at letting in the light growing towards its warmth even when I’m not sure how clean I am myself I am lighter because of you And for letting me ruin your horsehair…
Of Winning with Daughters
You might remember that daughter #2 won the Central Oregon Writers Guild poetry award last year at 17( http://www.lorilyngreenstone.com/marking-milestones/). She won it again at 18, and I won an award for non-fiction by wrapping a story around one of her poems. It started as a letter to her (see http://www.motivation.com/posts/48/the-power-of-the-journa There is a lot of power in reciting someone’s own words back to them sometimes, in the right spirit. Here is the story: Such Unkind Things The way your dark mascara dripped and blurred under your eyes when you peeked out from behind your pink blankie made me think of a Pierrot doll, and I asked if you were okay. Your whispered response turned into a sobbing storm, so I encircled you with outstretched arms, and I thought, how much are you willing to put up with? I see…
Whose Pants Are Those?
My friend thinks I wear the ‘pants’ in my family, but she says it’s okay since the man-of-the-family is not angry. But I see her trying to get at a bigger question, or underlying issue: Who’s in charge? So much comes down to that, the underpants. So I’m thinking about these pants and how they fit– what kind of ‘pants’ are they anyway? Are they Spanx, an undergarment so elastic they suck you svelte, but then slap you silly when peeled off? Or are they more like sweats– loose and accommodating, good for a Saturday stroll or Sunday lounging? Or are they work pants– chino style, somewhat serious, yet unassuming, in traditional khaki-tan so they don’t show spills? Personally, my style is more of a pedal pusher– you can dress them up or down, great in the garden or the classroom, very versatile. I like mine with some stretch to accommodate shape-shifting–…
Self-Regulating Children
Isn’t that the dream? Children who just do what they need to do when it needs doing, and we just get to enjoy them? We’re on child #6 and I have to say, this is as good as it gets. She turned 11 on May 1, and she’s fairly self-regulating, other than the fact that she hasn’t mastered picking up after herself. She makes up for this with a willing cheerfulness most of the time. And by #6, let’s just say we’ve gotten less picky. In fact, according to some of the children who came before, a whole lot less picky. I guess that’s what happens when you get the chance to learn from your mistakes over a 25 year period (#1 & #6 are separated by a quarter century, but same father…). We’ve run the gamut of parenting styles during the last 35 years, but one thing has emerged…
Impostor Mom
Do you ever feel like you’re making it up as you go? On a good day, I like to think I’m throwing myself out in front, then seeing if I can catch up. But sometimes I just end up stressed. Maybe I’m throwing myself in too many directions. Things look ok on paper–the to do list–but so many items we do as parents, and just plain people, never actually show up on the list. And then there are all those distractions, like putting away stuff so we can actually get to the stuff that really needs doing. So when something fun comes up, I often feel as though I should just say No. Get the work done, especially if there is a deadline. And yet… we all need breaks. So I went to mountain bike camp. For the past 5 years I’ve worked for REI, the outdoor co-op. But, can…
You're the main author of these journals, but you can ask others to add to the story- the doctor who did open heart surgery on our youngest son drew his picture and wrote a message (meant for the nurses on the bandage) in our son's journal for posterity
Journal for Your Child
After I wrote The Power of Journaling I got this response (see http://www.motivation.com/posts/48/the-power-of-the-journal) Hi Lori, I read your blog on motivation.com regarding keeping a journal for your children. I absolutely this idea so much! I have a few questions though: How often do you find that you have time to write in it? Sometimes only a few times a year. Other times daily, maybe even more than once a day- not because I have the time, but because something pressing needs to be said and I can’t trust myself and my voice to say it in a way that will be well received. Ideally, if you wrote twice per month and didn’t even start until they were almost 3, by the time they turn 18 you could have 365 entries. As they leave for college you could hand them their own personally written devotional of sorts. I feel so stumped at…