Change is Good--Right?

Hello dear readers--are you still out there?

It's been awhile, and I wouldn't blame you for moving on. I felt the need for change, and have spent some time with a new website, and setting it up is like learning a new language if, like me, you are a Luddite. So I am done writing here. It's been a great ride, one lasting more than a decade. I've made a lot of friends, and learned a lot about writing. Please join me as I start a new venture at lindawastila.com.

Peace...

THE WORLD IS THEIR OYSTER

For us academics, late April signals the end of a semester. There's busyness around exams and papers and grading. This Spring I have 160 pharmacy students on 2 campuses in a required class. It's all good, and they're an energetic bunch, and I'll miss them. This Spring I also have a doctoral student who will graduate, her dissertation a rigorous meditation on how where you live determines what medications you get to treat mental illness--and how geography and treatment combine to determine one's probability of hospitalization.

For these students, this Spring signals an end. And a new beginning. Just not with me.

Which saddens me because lately, as I grow older, it seems I stand still while the rest of the world streams by. The world is their oyster; for me, it's already eaten and digested.

I know I should welcome this time of relative stillness. I can write (and I am). I can meditate (and I'm not). I can spend time doing nothing, which we all know confers tremendous health benefits (and I'll try). But still... I have a growing hankering for more. But more what?

When younger, I'd satisfy my itch with travel. Now, travel is a lot of work, although once at my destination, I usually appreciate the views, the people, the food, my single room with control of the remote. Or new experiences, like zip lining or karate or learning how to piece together a handbag (and use the sewing machine). I have been cooking lots of new recipes, inspired by my daughter's vegetarianism.

But I sense a need for change. The last time I felt this yearning, about ten years ago, I woke up one morning and started writing. The words flowed from me like lava, hot and uncontrollable and vivid. And unexpected. So whatever comes next, I will be listening, waiting.

Of course, maybe this perceived need for change will be solved with a new pet or a new pair of sandals. And I know, from experience, that wishing for change sometimes brings about change you don't want. So for now, I will quietly gather my energy, enjoy the peace, and wait for the Next Big Thing to announce itself.

Peace...

Leaves Whisper...

Writing a chunk of PURE, I realize I am writing in parallel time. In my story, it is October, in a book-filled cabin nestled high on a New Hampshire mountain, and Ben is finding his truths and pondering the decisions he needs to make. I walk and the wind whips up the ochre and crimson and gold leaves, and they eddy around my feet and I feel Ben.

I feel passings as well. Autumn conjures in me a melancholy...

The Reading... Still immersed in GRAVITY'S RAINBOW. Also close to finishing my October debut novel pick (I'm late, I know); it's a story that's taken me some time to get into. Have 3-4 other books in various nooks and crannies of my home/car/office, as well as reading BELLEVUE LITERARY and POETS and WRITERS. Good stuff...

The Writing... Focusing on PURE, preparing for the insanity that is National Novel Writing Month. But I've worked on several short stories, a poem, and even futzing with BRIGHTER THAN BRIGHT. Speaking of, this week I received a handwritten (!) postcard from one of my favorite Indy presses politely passing on BTB along with a reason why. Somehow this rejection made me feel good; perhaps it was that someone: 1/ read it; 2/ bothered to write me 18 months after I'd submitted (and their website is clear they don't respond unless interested); and 3/ they used their stamp. So.

I'll be scarce for the next month. Life, writing... both so time consuming.

Live well, write well, be true to your heart. Peace, Linda

Idus Martiae

I think of the Ides of March not so much a metaphor for impending doom, but more a time of uncertainty, of shifting tectonic plates. Of blood coursing through veins too fast, too hot.

I watch the earth in our garden crack, the soil heaving upward; I like to think of the repressed plants rebelling against the last of the cold and thrusting upward to the sun. That’s how my heart feels this time of year: yearning, striving, desiring something more, something greater. It’s my time of restlessness, of pacing behind my psychic boundaries like a caged cougar.

Big day for me, the Ides of March. Some 15 years ago, I defended my doctoral dissertaton, a watershed of sorts. Today, when I woke early to write, I wished Ben, the protagonist of Brighter than Bright and Pure, a happy 28th birthday. Then a couple of hours later, my son woke with a fever and a sore, swollen throat that compelled us to rush to the on-call pediatrician, who diagnosed strep (again!). And then, as if our family life is not complex enough, we adopted a four-year old Sheltie mix, a cute red-head named Georgie. It’s been a full day. A wonderful day, despite the unease of change thrumming through me.

Big writing week:
• Icarus Arisen. A poem that’s teased me for over two months. I’m quite happy with it, but threw it in a red manila folder anyway and will revisit it before shopping it around.
• Finding Out. A short non-fiction piece about the conception of my son after years of infertility. A personal milestone for me (both my son and the writing of this piece). Also marinating in the manila folder.
• The damn synopsis. I spent at least 30 hours on this over the last two weeks. But I managed to eke out a half-decent draft for my WritersOnline class and Nudge-Nudge Collective to review.
• Brighter than Bright. Committed to a reading at our Unitarian Universalist church in two weeks. Gulp.
• The Muse and the Marketplace. Booked my flight and hotel for this Boston Grub Street sponsored writing conference in late April and signed up for an agent review of my novel. Great writers: Jonathan Franzen, Anita Shreve, Karl Iagnemma – among others. Pumped is an understatement.

Keep writing… Peace, Linda