My Life in Letters – “W” is for Writer

That's me...always thinking of the next great post.

I know, I know.  This is an obvious one.  But it’s one I couldn’t let go of.

My life with words began when my mother used to read Edward Lear’s Alphabet Book to me.

A was once an apple pie

Pidy

Widy

Tidy

Pidy

Nice-insidy

Apple pie.

I looked forward to that book every night.  There was something about the rhythm of the words and the way he made the words work for him.  He wasn’t bound by the words – the words were bound by him.

Years later I discovered another gem of a writer who was also fascinated with word play and forgoing the rules of grammar and placement.  e.e. cummings.

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

I love how playful his poems are and how he makes up his own words to suit the needs of the poem.

In fifth grade a habit-wearing nun named Sr. Vincentine had us keep journals as a part of our grade, and thus began my love of writing.  At first it was a chore.  What in the world did I have to write about?  I can remember copying passages down from magazines just to fill the pages up since she never read them.  But as time went on, I realized I did have things to say.  Maybe not profound things, but things nonetheless.

The journal trend continued in high school and it evolved into something so much more.  An outlet.  There was a lot going on, as there usually is with teenage girls and my journal was the bandage, temporarily healing my wounds.

I was dramatic in typical fashion for an angst-ridden teen, and my journals reflect that in a way that makes me cringe now.  For example and excerpt from my class journal circa 1984ish:

I’ve come to the fact that I’ll never quite be over him.  I’ll always regard him as someone very special to me.  I wish I could see him.  I’d just like to say, “Hey, how’ve you been?”  I could say this to him to.

It hurts me to see you hurt like you do.  I feel your pain when I think of you.  I want to hold you, oh so tight, and I won’t let go ’til the morning light.  I can’t promise to provide you with an answer, but I’ll listen and I’ll catch each tear one by one as they glisten.  The pain that you feel is set deep in your eyes, though your smile appears, it’s no disguise.  I want you to know that I really do care and if you need someone please know I’ll always be there.

Oh YIKES!  Heart on sleeve?  That was me.  No need to discuss who I was talking about.  If you read my blog, then you already know.

So my writing has always been there for me.  I have a box of journals in the attic that I went through yesterday.  Oh how fun to be faced with your heartbreaks again.  I sat and read and cried.  But the tears weren’t the ones you would think.  I was laughing my ass off at the absurdity of the drama.  Oh to be a teenager again…uh, no thanks.

So fast forward many years and many bad poems later and look at me now.  Putting my sass out there for all to judge.  And to think it was all because of some nonsense alphabet book and a mother who took the time to read to me.

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Moxie Giveaway Announcement

Today I attended a writing workshop – The Imaginative Storm – where I got to play with my words all day. The workshop conducted by poet James Nave and writer Allegra Huston allowed me to explore words in a whole new way with some really surprising results. We danced, we acted and, at times, were downright silly. And it was amazing.

I was so inspired and fired up about my writing that I decided it was time for another giveaway – time to get my readers to spread a bit more Moxie love. I am so happy to say that I secured my goal of 50 new subscribers by last Sunday. Thanks to all of you who signed up to have your sass kicked. I really appreciate it.

I have a new goal and I need your help. I want to have 100 subscribers by Sunday night. I know that’s putting a lot of pressure on you but I have faith in you. If I get 100 subscribers (I have a total of 65 now) then I’ll be giving away a signed copy of Allegra’s book Love Child. That’s only 35 subscribers left to get. If each person passed Moxie on to just one person that would put me well over my goal and I’d love you forever.

And since Allegra was kind enough to offer her Moxie support, I’d like to invite you to meet Mr. Gorski, Allegra’s latest project. Good Luck, Mr. Gorski is a “really great short film: a love story about the benefits of moon travel for those on earth.” You can read the full script here – just scroll down the page where you’ll find the prompt “read full script”. Allegra is asking anyone who is touched by this story to consider becoming a part of Gorski history. By donating $20 you will be helping Mr. Gorski’s story reach liftoff. You can also join the Facebook group Good Luck Mr. Gorski.

I’ll check in with you all tomorrow and let you know how you’re doing.  So if you know someone who could use a little kick in the sass tell them about Moxie Momma and you could be the winner of the second Moxie giveaway. What are you waiting for? Get your sass outta here and spread the Moxie!

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Life List – Part One

I was reading Body and Soul magazine’s April 2008 issue this weekend and came across an article titled, “What’s on Your Life List?”.  The title intrigued me having entered a new decade of my life back in October.  Turning 40 stirred something up in me that I haven’t felt in a very long time.  Desire.  A desire to do something.  Something big.  Something I’ve always dreamed of.  Now my stirring didn’t come as a specific offering, but rather a little rustle in my soul that made me feel restless.  The good kind of restless that makes you want to get up and be the amazing person you felt like you would be when you were 8 years old.

So I started thinking.  What would be on my life list?  The article invites the reader to “get back to that place when ‘limitations’ was a word grown-ups said” and “make a list of your early ambitions”.  Okay, let’s see.  When I was in elementary school I wanted to be a nurse.  Had the Halloween costume and everything.  I guess it didn’t matter that I was terrified of doctor’s offices and had to be physically restrained when I got my shots.

Middle school hit and I decided I’d up the ante. In my 8th grade annual I stated that I wanted to be a pediatrician.  Heck, I liked kids.  In fact, I was one.  I could do that.  But just in case, I also added that I would enjoy being a cartoonist as well.  Perhaps I could draw cartoons for the terrified kids and ease their fear of doctors.  Hmmm, might actually work.

Then here comes high school and I discover that I love words and am pretty good with them.  Junior year I take a class trip to NYC, and decide that what I really want is to be a poet living in the Big Apple.  As you can see, I rebelled against the sensible ambitions of my childhood and went instead for the more appealing artistic side of life.  One problem.  Not much money to be made as a poet.

College.  My brother was majoring in Psychology.  I enjoyed reading his Psychology Today magazines so I figured it must mean I was meant to be a Psych major.  Or not.  Tried it.  Really liked it but realized that I had way too many issues to be helping others figure their own out.

So I became an English major.  Everyone said, “Oh, do you plan on teaching?”  And I would scoff at the idea of being a teacher.  That was the last thing I wanted to do.  I wanted to be a writer.  10 years later (did I mention that I had to pay for my college with the dreaded Sallie Mae loans and 2 jobs to boot?) guess what.  I became a teacher.

So now here I am 40 years old and trying to figure out what my life list has on it.  Apparently things have changed.  Or have they?  I am no longer a teacher and my latest venture – a writing class – starts next week.  Maybe I’ll be a writer after all.

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