From the local daily;

Adina Prietz Linden: ' ... to feel connected' | SeacoastOnline.com

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The Recorded Voice Of Virginia Woolf Part 2

This is the only surviving recording of Virginia Woolf's voice. It is part of a BBC radio broadcast from April 29th, 1937. The talk was called "Craftsmanship" and was part of a series entitled "Words Fail Me".

The audio is accompanied by a slideshow of photographs of Virginia Woolf.

The text was published as an essay in "The Death of the Moth and Other Essays" (1942)


I came upon this recording of Virginia Woolf speaking about writing just as I was about to start reading Mrs. Dalloway for the first time. It's a bit mesmerizing to hear her.

The Recorded Voice Of Virginia Woolf

Interesting...

     A writer out of loneliness is trying to communicate like a distant star sending signals. – John Steinbeck


http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/3810/the-art-of-fiction-no-45-john-steinbeck

James Frey’s Fiction Factory

     I found this article painfully provocative. It touches on so many points that have changed for writers over the last few years. The discussion of product placement in one's work made me rather sick. Still when I look at Frey, look into his eyes in the many accompanying photos, or look into his actions, I see something somewhat familiar. I suspect we all might. I see, at least in some small way, myself. Certainly, his methods are different than any I have or ever will choose. He is rather routinely coarse and vulgar, which I avoid being, (but have often been). His concept of honesty may vary somewhat from mine, (or yours or Oprah's), but no one can be perfectly authentic all of the time, we can only strive to be. What he is ... is a writer, desperate to tell his story. We are storytellers. A position once revered within the tribe. The biggest difference I see between Frey and I right now is that he is supporting himself and his family as a writer. Steven Spielberg isn't calling me.

James Frey’s Fiction Factory

     We also owe Frey a bit of gratitude, I think, in raising the discussion of honesty in memoir writing to the level it has reached. As a memoirist I have given the subject quite a bit of thought, mostly since Frey inflated the balloon. I believe the bottom line is that we, each and every one of us, have our own truth. The book I'm writing is my truth. Nobody else mentioned in it, though they were there, would write the story the same way. Some are going to say it didn't happen quite like that. Some are going to say the worst ~ "that's not true". What they mean is that it is not their version of the truth, so they feel they can invalidate my version of my truth. But they can't. Not really. And real writers know that.

Not so divine secrets ...

     Dubya is on a book tour. Dumber than dirt Dubya! While I sit here fanning my overheated self with not particularly well written rejection letters.
     That little blow aside, I have been on a bit of a roll lately. Sent out two submissions this week, booked three readings, and most important of all, got more writing done than usual. I have also been pushing my finished children's books a little bit farther out of the nest.
     Now that it is the season of curling up fireside I find myself reading more than usual. I have been a big Anita Shreve fan for several years, so while in a book store the other day I impulsively grabbed what I think is her latest, A Change in Altitude. It didn't grab my attention in turn though. I abandoned it last night (I can be ruthless if the first few pages of a book don't seduce me). Which is exactly what the used book I caught sight of at my local grocery store did. I was supposed to be gathering dinner, but a bib of old books stood between me and food, and one title stood out. Last night I started The Divine secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I know it is an oldie, but I never read it and haven't seen the movie yet either. Ironically I note that it was published the year that my fourteen year old daughter was born, and it is my morphing relationship with her that caused my eye to drift to The Divine, which I understand to be a tale of a complicated mother/ daughter relationship. This is a sensitive spot for me now as I am currently being twisted into the wicked witch of the west although I am a mortal woman of the east. Anyway, I fell in love with this book from page one. Here is a mother/ daughter related passage from page 47. Tell me if you don't fall too.
     "My mother was a beautiful swimmer. Her stroke was the Australian crawl. Watching Mama swim was like watching a woman who knew how to waltz perfectly, only her partner was not a man, but creek water. Her kick was strong, her stroke fluid, and when she rolled her head side to side to breathe, you could barely see her mouth open. "There is no excuse for a messy swimmer, any more than there is for a messy eater," she told us. My mother judged people by how well they swam and whether they made her laugh or not."

My contribution to todays Portsmouth Herald;

Leon Valley: 'I was born to build ships'
http://www.seacoastonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20101104/LIFE/11040328&emailAFriend=1

In case you missed it

Halloween poem from The Writer's Almanac 10/31/2010

The Methodist and his Method

          by Chad Sweeney

Underground in the cemetery

my grandfather preaches to the other corpses.

They clap inside their boxes

nicely arranged in Sunday clothes

in long rows like pews.

His words stir hope

that conditions may change.

Each man has been given his row boat,

he says,

to lie back in and watch the sky

braiding and unbraiding its light.

No one is safer than we are.

-- from Parable of Hide and Seek. © Alice James Books, 2010

Boomers Embracing Facebook

This is an article I wrote for SMG which was published in the Seacoast Seniors supplement to todays Portsmouth Herald.

What Is Your Facebook Status?


By Tammi J Truax

It may be hard to believe that e-mail has become an inefficient and outdated form of communication, but that really is the truth of today. Other modes of social networking, specifically Facebook, are the preferred technique of the day. At first, and for quite awhile, the younger generation, I believe they are calling themselves Xer’s, tried to keep it for themselves. As one local teenager was quoted as saying a couple of years ago; “E-mail is for you old people, Facebook is ours.” Wrong again, kids. Facebook is not just for young people.

And that is just as it should be. The internet is a product of the hippie generation, and the hippie objectives of freedom and equality for all, are the great tenants of it. Facebook, like everything else on the web, has to be accessible to everyone in the world. To date that is going pretty well. More than five hundred million people are on Facebook. I repeat – 500 million. That is one in fourteen of us on this overpopulated planet! It is said that if Facebook were a country it would be the third most populated one on earth. But it is better than that, it’s a country without borders. And the fastest growing segment of that population is, you guessed it, Boomers.

Facebook, a privately held company, defines itself as a “social utility that connects people with friends and others who work, study, and live around them.” It was founded in Cambridge, Massachusetts in 2004 for college students to get to know each other and was at first limited to students. Now headquartered in Palo Alto, California, it has several locations around the globe and is still growing and hiring.

The growth has been unparalleled. In just six years going from zero to more than 500 million users, and is expected to have earnings in excess of one billion dollars this year. Currently the fastest growing group joining Facebook is seniors.

Explains local social media consultant John Herman,

John Herman

“Data from Facebook shows that in 2009 the 55+ audience grew an amazing 922.7%. That was much more than any other age group by far. Frankly the idea that Facebook is just for young people is a thing of the past. The service gives everyone a unique way to connect with friends and, increasingly, business partners.”

There seem to be several reasons for the spike in popularity for this age group. The first being that it coincides with seniors slow, but very steady, increased use of the internet. Once comfortable with the internet it is most likely that seniors will at least consider joining Facebook. Some cities offer classes to ease the transition, but a quick tutorial by a teenager will usually do the trick. Of web activities engaged in by Americans age 65+ in November 2009 Facebook was actually the third ranked online destination coming after Google Search and Windows Media Player, and barely beating YouTube. There is no question that in the last year Facebook has climbed in the rankings.

An independent research group, Pew Research Center, reports that social networking among seniors has nearly doubled from April 2009 to May 2010, from 22% of those using the internet to 42%.

“Young adults continue to be the heaviest users of social media, but their growth pales in comparison with recent gains made by older users,” said Mary Madden, Senior Research Specialist and author of the report ‘Older Adults and Social Media’ which was based on telephone interviews.

Seniors who are on Facebook report that there are primarily two reasons why they use it. The first is that it provides a unique way to bridge the generation gap, which in America is often an age and lifestyle separation as well as a geographic one. This really is one of the beautiful sides of it. With the growth of seniors on board there is often a three generation connection. Seniors can keep track of what their children and grandchildren are doing all over the world in almost real time, and the handy and easy photo sharing feature is very popular for this purpose. One post (a message for all of your friends) can go to all of the family members at the same time, so Junior’s grades and Julie’s lacrosse feats, can be shared with both pride and efficiency. Some feel that this type of communication lacks a personal touch that even a quick e-mail message would have provided. That may be, but in the case of seniors, especially those who spend most of their time alone, a social networking service like Facebook can provide an immensely helpful interaction with the outside world, and increase, not decrease, the amount of communication that their extended family members are able to provide. The fact of the matter is, if you want to know what your kids or grandkids are up to you have to get on board. Facebook users of all ages report being frustrated with family members who won’t join because it makes it hard to communicate with them. Event planning, for example, is now routinely done on Facebook. When someone is planning a party or gathering of any kind they send out the invitation via Facebook, and it requires extra effort to include non Facebook users in the festivities. There is a private messaging feature on Facebook, very much like e-mail, for when you want to send a message to just one person, as well as an IM feature for private chatting. These are always available but you don’t have to use them.

Says Terry Abbott of Stratham,

Terry Abbott

“I joined at the urging of my kids. Thought I’d try it out. Found that it was a great way to keep up with the activities of my kids without being intrusive.”

For those who are truly turned off by the idea of interacting with the rest of the world it is possible to set up a family only group page on Facebook, but just requires a bit more work. This type of page though, can be very helpful to elder care management, when a senior is choosing to remain living alone but needs to be checked on frequently by family members. Usually, that type of page is not the choice, because a majority of seniors on Facebook report that they enjoy the second most popular reason for joining Facebook; connecting with people from their past.

Terry continued,

Terry Abbott

“Then the best part was finding a long lost friend that I hadn’t heard from in about thirty five years! And more recently another old friend found me on Facebook.”

These types of connections are the other beautiful benefit of Facebook, if you want to be found you will be found. And your findability is largely in your control. When you set up a Facebook page you set your own privacy levels (but you must be sure to do so) and you choose whether or not to reveal information like previously used last names, schools attended and professional or other affiliations. You can keep your privacy settings as tight as you want to. (Do avoid revealing your complete date of birth and address). Still, there are those who find the loss of privacy on Facebook to be so threatening that they will not join. One gentleman I talked with told me that he considers it an unprecedented, and even dangerous, invasion of privacy, and though he believes his own elderly mother is on Facebook he will not join, and finds skypping with her to be the ideal method of communication. I’m sure all of her grandchildren would beg to differ.

My own family is probably a pretty typical example. I am middle aged, smack dab in the middle of the expected life span. I have two siblings. My big brother has not joined Facebook though he tweets daily. When asked if he’ll join soon he said, “I’m no closer to Facebook’n than you are to going all a’twitter.” My sister has a Facebook that she uses minimally. I use it several times every day. (As a writer I find it crucial for networking, and as the mother of teenagers I find it essential that I monitor their use of it, and honestly do learn quite a bit about their lives through it.) All six of the grandchildren in our family who range in age from 14 to 29 are on Facebook with varying degrees of activity. I can tell you that I really have gotten to know a couple of my nieces and nephews much better since we became Facebook friends. Our only surviving parent, my 76 year old father, is not on Facebook and will not consider getting on, telling me “It has no relevance to my life.” I know all of his grandchildren would beg to differ. His wife, who admits she has been receiving a lot of pressure both socially and professionally to join, also hasn’t, saying for her the issue is time. It can be time consuming, but this is another area where you have complete control. You can check your Facebook once a day for a few minutes, or obsessively update your status every hour from anywhere using your phone. The choice is yours.

Connecting with people you have never met is another possibility, and again, one that is optional. You do not have to accept strangers as friends if you don’t want to, and if you feel you need to, you can unfriend people you have accepted. Still some people find these types of connections rewarding.

A maturing friend of mine when asked why he uses Facebook said he is

Shayne Kevin

“Looking for the love … I would say it can be found about as often as in Market Square, …, but many more voices can be heard, and heads potentially turned, than in Market Square, and there are no buses idling here.”

My friend on and off Facebook, Pat Parnell of Stratham, is an enthusiastic new Facebooker. She told me she had to join in order to view photos the family had posted of a granddaughter’s MFA exhibit. She has since begun communicating daily with her sons and grandchildren, as well as neighbors and colleagues, and takes great joy in getting regular updates and photos of her great grand children who live far away. (That’s four generations!) She has experienced profound validation from a former student friending her who is now a teacher himself, and who reminds her of things she taught him forty years ago that are still important to him. She took great comfort in being able to post and share memorial information after losing her husband, and is tickled that she now corresponds with one of his cousins she never knew about who friended her from Ireland.

She told me,

Pat Parnell

“There are unexpected pleasures in your life from Facebook.”

A similar philosophy must have been felt by Ivy Bean, who was the oldest known Facebook user when she died at the age of 104 with 4949 friends and another 9000 waiting for her to accept their friendship requests. For the last three years of her life Ms. Bean used Facebook daily to connect with all sorts of people when she could no longer get out and about.

Seniors who use Facebook do not report that real networking, one of the primary uses of it for working people of all ages, is something that they care about, but there is some evidence that they are networking. Just two examples I easily found on Facebook of groups that seniors are befriending are; The American Senior Benefits Association which claims to be a non-profit that provides “Quality benefits, targeted advocacy and education for today’s 50+,” and Seniors for Pets, Inc. which says it is “a non-profit organization whose mission is to help needy senior citizens obtain veterinary care for their pets.” Of course, you can join any groups you want, and even form your own group if nothing on Facebook meets your needs. You can share or learn about any interest you have with other like minded folks from your own page. Liz Wilson of South Berwick has found it to be a reliable way to get great recipes. People often use Facebook to ask for advice when they are mulling over a decision, or to bounce ideas off others. And of course it is a place where you can speak your mind and share what is important to you.

There are undeniable health benefits to social networking for seniors as well. We have all read the research about the importance of not just ongoing social interaction with others but active engagement of the brain every day. Social media tools, just like the recommended music playing or Sudoku puzzles, fill this need. And while you don’t need to play the games available on Facebook, just participating in the great social experiment of it can be a lot of fun.

That is the bottom line with Facebook which is what the representatives at the company try to explain to critics. FaceBook is what you make of it. And your cyber self is going to be a reflection of your real self. It is you.

Tammi Truax

“ Personally, I see it as another way of creating community, and I love the way it makes this great big world of ours a little smaller, and quite a bit friendlier.”

Many people were afraid that the invention and popularity of the telephone meant an end to normal human contact, and you know how that turned out. Facebook, like it or not, is a part of our culture now, our global culture, and like the telephone, it is much more than a trend. It played a real role in the last presidential election that changed the face of politics forever. Last Saturday night two separate skits on Saturday Night Live were about using Facebook, and the movie about its founders is well on its way to being a box office blockbuster. The number of people with Facebooks continues to grow each day. New features will be added as the changing demographics of users make their needs known. And someone, somewhere, wants to be your friend.

Metonymy

     I attended a writing conference this weekend, and one of the most interesting subjects that I learned about was metonymy; the use of one word to represent something else. Some of these have become well known figures of speech such as one I have used in this blog before; The pen is mightier than the sword. So cliche at this point that everyone understands what the pen and what the sword really are.
     Here is the definition from Encyclopedia Britannica;
     metonymy, (from Greek metōnymia, “change of name,” or “misnomer”), figure of speech in which the name of an object or concept is replaced with a word closely related to or suggested by the original, as “crown” to mean “king” (“The power of the crown was mortally weakened”) or an author for his works (“I’m studying Shakespeare”). A familiar Shakespearean example is Mark Antony’s speech in Julius Caesar in which he asks of his audience: “Lend me your ears.”
      Metonymy can also be an interesting writing device, especially useful to engage the reader in the story. A writer employs this device when indirectly describing something else and letting the reader figure out what she is really addressing.
      Here is an example I wrote in class from a visual prompt the instructor shared of the statue lined walls of a fancy restaurant. At least it is my attempt at an example. I'm not sure I nailed it. You be the judge.

     She sat, correcting her posture, lacquered acrylic nails rat-a-tat-tatting on her linen napkin.
      tick, tick, tick.
     The idea that she had selected egregiously expensive lingerie for this date caused a humiliated rise of red to color her face. She checked her cell phone again.
      tick, tick, tick.
     Looking up, marble hearted bullies lining the blood red walls lobbed taunts at her, "You really thought he was going to show up, didn't you?"
      tick, tick, tick.
     "You haven't the gifts he is seeking," telepathed another.
       tick, tick, tick.
      Each of them having been chiseled away from what they once were, to become one man's proud possession, until placed on a false pedestal to age quietly.







     

Philip Roth on writing

     This idea of Roth's is so intriguing! I've been pondering it for awhile. Even to list the historical events of just your childhood could result in some seriously interesting writing. I'd really like to give it a try, but I actually never need to brainstorm for new things to write about because I can't seem to finish writing about the ideas that come to me naturally. It kind of surprised me that anyone would have to work that hard to come up with subjects, but obviously it sure is working out well for him.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=130566223&sc=fb&cc=freshair

Tom Hall: The Shantyman* | SeacoastOnline.com

Tom Hall: The Shantyman* | SeacoastOnline.com

Dead Poets

     I found this quite interesting. You might not... Ten states are celebrating Dead Poets Day, and New Hampshire and Maine have both planned special celebrations. I can't participate in any of the fun because my holiday weekend is already booked. But I did enjoy this slide show some of the Maine celebrants put together. Some one from New Hampshire should step up;

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gravelight/sets/72157622481142604/show/

WNO

      I attended the monthly Writer's Night Out last night, which is a social gathering of writers who live in my region and are affiliated with the NH Writer's Project. It has been interesting to me that these meetings are always quite a bit different from one month to the next. There is always a different group of people present, and the topics we discuss are always somewhat different. Last night most of our discussion was about finding, or fighting for, the time to write. Today was a good case in point. I struggled all day to meet my minimum required writing time, and by that I do mean the bare minimum. But today I found myself much less frustrated than usual because I kept remembering our discussion, and how just accomplishing some writing every day really will add up over time. So I guess these meetings really are worthwhile for me. I knew they would be beneficial socially, as it is very helpful to someone who works from home in isolation most of the time to meet with others who do similar work of course, and I have met some people at WNO that I would never have met otherwise, but I am quite pleased that these meetings are also having a direct effect on my writing.
     And here is something that I wanted to share;
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/06/opinion/06Grisham.html?_r=3

Putting the elephant out

Click on people's faces in the photo to tag them.

"Adult Elephant"

Ivete Zighelboim

 

    I've been feeling bad that I had to miss a special event last night that I had really been looking forward to. It was a special ekphrastic poetry reading with improvised music by a local band that I'm quite fond of. It was set up in conjunction with our museum of fine art to celebrate their exhibit called Humanimal. I have been in to see the show a couple of times but am sure I wouldn't have written anything in response to it had it not been for the call for poems to be read at the event. While I liked many of the works in the exhibit I was most struck by this hauntingly beautiful, and very large, painting  entitled Adult Elephant by Ivete Zigelboim, an artist based in NYC. When I began writing about the painting I intended to speak about elementary elephant issues; loss of habitat, poaching, etc. but something entirely different came out. I enjoyed the process, and the result. Reading with the band to improvised music is something I do on a fairly regular basis and I have found that I write differently when I am intending to read a poem aloud, then when I don't have that intention. Since I couldn't share it at the reading, I thought I would share it with you.

Humanthropomorphism

A poem in two voices

We have to talk about it, eventually.

No, we really don’t.

We do.

We don’t. That’s the whole point.

The point of what?

You know.

Yes, we both know. But we mustn’t acknowledge it.

Acknowledge what?

You know. ~  Her.

Her who?

Her right there.

Right  there where?

Damn your denial.  Right there! Stop pretending.

Oh, that?

Just say it.

Say what?

There’s an elephant in the room.

An elephant? What kind?

A lovely Hindu blue, but is that relevant?

No. What’s she doing?

Sleeping.  Peacefully.  The elephant in the room doesn’t do anything but just be.

I bet she is dreaming.

Yes.

Dreaming of green. Her Asian home, and superior matriarchal society.

Mangoes, and mud holes, and trumpeting only the truth.

Free of incompetent  creatures who can’t communicate with each other

and so insist that large land mammals appear and excuse them

from yet another responsibility of being human.

copyright T. J. Truax, all rights reserved.

Banned Books

     Did you know that this is Banned Books Week? Banned Books Week is the only national celebration of the freedom to read, and was launched in 1982 in response to a surge in the number of challenges to books in schools, bookstores and libraries. More than a thousand books have been challenged since that year, yes, here, in The United States of America, home of the free and the brave. The challenges have occurred in every state and in hundreds of communities. It's interesting to note that almost all of the books being challenged these days are meant for teenagers to read, and these battle ready book banners believe they are protecting your children from the harm these books could do them. The harm seems to be mostly exposure to profanity (I probably took care of that one while still on the maternity ward) and reading of positive portrayals of homosexuals (my children's gay grandmother took care of that one for me). SO I don't know about all of you, but I don't want or need anyone else deciding what my kid can or should read. That's my job and I think I do it pretty well. But even if I did it badly I don't want anyone else deciding. Keep your hands off my books, but more than that, keep your hands off my kids. The banners go after books that explore contemporary issues and controversies to classic and beloved works of American literature so nothing is safe. It is often done insidiously and silently so you may be completely unaware of it happening in your community, to your children, in your tax supported institutions. The popular Twilight series of the last couple of years has been a big target, but Catcher in The Rye is still making the list. I will post a link to the #1 most challenged book of late below and I think I'm going to order my fourteen year old daughter a copy. It looks like something she would really like, and as a writer I admire the author's creativity. It is quite clever.




     And here is Good's interactive viewer of the most targeted books within for about each.

http://awesome.good.is/transparency/web/1005/targeted-books/flash.html

Nautical Terms

	I have been studying sea shanties for the last few days. As with all folk lore there is much fascinating history to uncover. This subject is particularly appealing because of the connection I feel to the sea. Maybe everyone feels that? Have just about finished the piece I've been working on and really do like the way it is turning out. During my research I was very surprised to learn that quite a few phrases that I kick around regularly are nautical in origin. Take a look at this list and see if any surprise you too.

ALOOF - means to stand apart or be indifferent, but it came from the Old Dutch word loef which meant "windward" and was used to describe a ship within a fleet which sailed higher to the wind and was thus drawn apart from the rest of the fleet.
BLAZER - meaning a jacket, the term came from 1800s British slang "blaze" which meant "a brightly colored jacket" and referred to the red flannel jackets worn by Lady Margaret, St. John's Cambridge boating club.
BY AND LARGE - Today this means "in general" or "on the whole".  It's nautical origins come from the nautical terms "by" meaning to be able to sail into the wind, or close to, and "large" meaning to sail in the direction the wind was blowing, so a ship that could sail with the wind blowing from behind it or from nearly in front of it, could sail "by and large".  The first documented use was by Samuel Sturmy in The Mariner's Magazine , 1669.
CLOSE QUARTERS - Based on today's meaning of being in close contact with, it's easy to think that "close quarters" came about because of a ship's limited space.  However, the term first meant an area on a ship's decks where barriers were put to provide the crew a safe haven from which to fight an enemy.  "Close" meant "closed" and not in close proximity.
GET A WORD IN EDGEWISE - Originally "edgewise" was "edgeways" and the earliest use was "edging forward".  Today it is used in reference to joining into a conversation when one person speaks continuously and doesn't give others a chance to talk.  Nautically, edging forward was a term used to describe the small progress a ship would make when sailing against the wind by using small tacking (zig-zag) movements.
HAND OVER FIST - most often used financially to mean that someone is making lots of money quickly, this term actually may have come the action used by a sailor to pull a rope - hand over hand.  The phrase dates from the mid-18th century.
HARD AND FAST - meaning "rigidly adhered to" as in hard and fast rules, this phrase was well-known by the mid-19th century when it was defined in 1867 by William Henry Smyth in The Sailor's Word-Book : "Hard and fast. Said of a ship on shore." The term was used in reference to a ship which was firmly beached on land.
SHOW ONE'S TRUE COLORS - a phrase meaning to reveal yourself as you really are, actually came about because of the opposite phrase "false colors" - from the 17th century referring to a vessel which sailed under a flag not her own, a practice often used by pirates to gain easier access to a victim ship.
SLUSH FUND - Money put aside today, the phrase has a less than pleasant origin.  On a ship, slush was the leftover fat or grease gotten from boiled meat on board ship.  Cooks would sell this fat whenever they were in port, making some extra money - their slush fund.
TAKEN ABACK - meaning to be surprised or shocked by a sudden turn of events, the phrase originally was used when speaking of a ship.  When the wind shifted quickly so that a sailing vessel was suddenly facing the wind and its sails were pushed back flat against the mast and spars that held the sails up, it was said to be taken aback.
THREE SHEETS TO THE WIND - meaning very drunk, how many have wondered how this could possibly mean super drunk?  On a ship, a sheet is a rope.  Back in the time of sailing ships, if three sheets were very loose, the sails would flap all over the place and the ship would sail along in an awkward path much like a drunken sailor.  Thus the ship was "three sheets in the wind".
TIDE OVER -  At first glance, this would seem to be an obviously nautical term.  Today it means to make a small bit of something, usually money, last until a supply comes in, as in borrowing some money to tide you over till payday.  However, the meaning has changed over the years.  Once upon a time, ships could move under sail power, or in the absence of wind, float along with the tide, called a tide over.  One could say the floating would tide the ship over until wind came again to move it along.
TIDY - We all know what this means: in order, precise. Originally probably from the mid-13th century, tidy most likely was first used in reference to the seasons to mean something seasonal, timely, or excellent and came from "tide" in the sense of seasons or time.

I'm a Margaret Wannabe

     Last night I went to hear Margaret Atwood speak about writing and her latest book. I am a big fan of Margaret Atwood. I want to be Margaret Atwood when I grow up. She is a remarkable woman in many ways, not the least of which is that she has achieved significant success in writing in every genre. Not many achieve that. I especially liked her confidence and sense of humor on stage. She certainly is comfortable with who she is and what she has written, and feels no need to justify or apologize for anything. She says it comes with age. I think it comes with success, and intellect. She is a brilliant woman. Her writing is backed up by that brilliance. I aspire to all of that.
     Every Halloween we have a special spoken word event here in my hometown where we read spooky poems to musical accompaniment. I always read Margaret Atwood's poem which I'll include here. As I have practiced and it for a couple of years the last stanza has become my favorite, seeming to say so much about the silenced woman in the poem, and the aspiring writer, trying to be heard. ~ Picture me with blackened eyes and a noose around my neck;

Half Hanged Mary by Margaret Atwood

7 p.m.

Rumour was loose in the air,
hunting for some neck to land on.
I was milking the cow,
the barn door open to the sunset.

I didn’t feel the aimed word hit
and go on in like a soft bullet.
I didn’t feel the smashed flesh
closing over it like water
over a thrown stone.

I was hanged for living alone,
for having blue eyes and a sunburned skin,
tattered skirts, few buttons,
a weedy farm in my own name,
and a surefire cure for warts.

Oh yes, and breasts,
and a sweet pear hidden in my body.
Whenever there’s talk of demons
these come in handy.

8 p.m.

The rope was an improvisation.
With time they’d have thought of axes.

Up I go like a windfall in reverse,
a blackened apple stuck back onto the tree.

Trussed hands, rag in my mouth,
a flag raised to salute the moon,

old bone-faced goddess, old original,
who once took blood in return for food.

The men of the town stalk homeward,
excited by their show of hate,
their own evil turned inside out like a glove,
and me wearing it.

9 p.m.

The bonnets come to stare,
the dark skirts also,
the upturned faces in between,
mouths closed so tight they’re lipless.
I can see down into their eyeholes
and nostrils. I can see their fear.

You were my friend, you too,
I cured your baby, Mrs.,
and flushed yours out of you,
Non-wife, to save your life.

Help me down? You don’t dare.
I might rub off on you,
like soot or gossip. Birds
of a feather burn together,
though as a rule ravens are singular.

In a gathering like this one
the safe place is the background,
pretending you can’t dance,
the safe stance pointing a finger.

I understand. You can’t spare
anything, a hand, a piece of bread, a shawl
against the cold,
a good word. Lord
knows there isn’t much
to go around. You need it all.

10 p.m.

Well God, now that I’m up here,
with maybe some time to kill,
away from the daily
fingerwork, legwork, work
at the hen level,
we can continue our quarrel,
the one about free will.

Is it my choice that I’m dangling
like a turkey’s wattle from this
more than indifferent tree?
If Nature is Your alphabet,
what letter is this rope?

Does my twisting body spell out Grace?
I hurt, therefore I am.
Faith, Charity, and Hope
are three dead angels
falling like meteors or
burning owls across
the profound blank sky of Your face.

12 midnight

My throat is taut against the rope
choking off words and air;
I’m reduced to knotted muscle.
Blood bulges in my skull,
my clenched teeth hold it in;
I bite down on despair.

Death sits on my shoulder like a crow
waiting for my squeezed beet
of a heart to burst
so he can eat my eyes

or like a judge
muttering about sluts and punishment
and licking his lips

or like a dark angel
insidious in his glossy feathers
whispering to me to be easy
on myself. To breathe out finally.
Trust me, he says, caressing
me. Why suffer?

A temptation, to sink down
onto these definitions.
To become a martyr in reverse,
or food, or trash.

To give up my own words for myself,
my own refusals.
To give up knowing.
To give up pain.
To let go.

2 a.m.

Out of my mouths is coming, at some
distance from me, a thin gnawing sound
which you could confuse with prayer except that
praying is not constrained.

Or is it, Lord?
Maybe it’s more like being strangled
than I once thought. Maybe it’s
a gasp for air, prayer.
Did those men at Pentecost
want flames to shoot out of their heads?
Did they ask to be tossed
on the ground, gabbling like holy poultry,
eyeballs bulging?

As mine are, as mine are.
There is only one prayer; it is not
the knees in the clean nightgown
on the hooked rug.
I want this, I want that.
Oh far beyond.
Call it Please. Call it Mercy.
Call it Not yet, not yet,
as Heaven threatens to explode
inwards in fire and shredded flesh, and the angels caw.

3 a.m.

wind seethes in the leaves around
me the trees exude night
birds night birds yell inside
my ears like stabbed hearts my heart
stutters in my fluttering cloth
body I dangle with strength
going out of the wind seethes
in my body tattering
the words I clench
my fists hold No
talisman or silver disc my lungs

on you as witness I did
no crime I was born I have borne I
bear I will be born this is
a crime I will not
acknowledge leaves and wind
hold on to me
I will not give in

6 a.m.

Sun comes up, huge and blaring,
no longer a simile for God.
Wrong address. I’ve been out there.

Time is relative, let me tell you
I have lived a millennium.

I would like to say my hair turned white
overnight, but it didn’t.
Instead it was my heart;
bleached out like meat in water.

Also, I’m about three inches taller.
This is what happens when you drift in space
listening to the gospel
of the red hot stars.
Pinpoints of infinity riddle my brain,
a revelation of deafness.

At the end of my rope
I testify to silence.
Don’t say I’m not grateful.

Most will only have one death.
I will have two.

8 a.m.

When they came to harvest my corpse
(open your mouth, close your eyes)
cut my body from the rope,
surprise, surprise,
I was still alive.

Tough luck, folks,
I know the law:
you can’t execute me twice
for the same thing. How nice.

I fell to the clover, breathed it in,
and bared my teeth at them
in a filthy grin.
You can imagine how that went over.

Now I only need to look
out at them through my sky-blue eyes.
They see their own ill will
staring them in the forehead
and turn tail.

Before, I was not a witch.
But now I am one.

Later

My body of skin waxes and wanes
around my true body,
a tender nimbus.
I skitter over the paths and fields,
mumbling to myself like crazy,
mouth full of juicy adjectives
and purple berries.
The townsfolk dive headfirst into the bushes
to get out of my way.

My first death orbits my head,
an ambiguous nimbus,
medallion of my ordeal.
No one crosses that circle.

Having been hanged for something
I never said,
I can now say anything I can say.

Holiness gleams on my dirty fingers,
I eat flowers and dung,
two forms of the same thing, I eat mice
and give thanks, blasphemies
gleam and burst in my wake
like lovely bubbles.
I speak in tongues,
my audience is owls.

My audience is God,
because who the hell else could understand me?

The words boil out of me,
coil after coil of sinuous possibility.
The cosmos unravels from my mouth,
all fullness, all vacancy.

      And this is something she wrote in 2006 that is very interesting, followed by a link to a couple of her books. The first one shown is her current work, and the second is one of her books on writing that I haven't read, but intend to read next.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/02/09/AR2006020901725_2.html

Brand New Radio Shew!!

     Brand spanking new lap top. Back in business, so to speak. Got one submission out in the last week, and received one reject letter. I guess that can be construed as breaking even.
      Have been a bit distracted from writing with lots of side projects. One big one is the launching of my (with my co-producer Terry Farish) brand new radio show called Seacoast Journal, which will be featured several times a week on WSCA 106.1 LP FM. It is modeled a bit after story corp and features interviews with colorful characters living and working and playing in this neck of the woods. If you live in another neck you can stream our program live over the web at www. portsmouthcommunityradio.org. We've been working on the show for about a year so riding the airwaves finally is kind of exciting. The show will be similar in style to my newspaper column, but you'll be able to hear the sounds of our fair little city too.
      Have also been putting an inordinate amount of time into my reading this week at Beat Night, at a much loved local venue. I have decided to share a set of cancer poems, mine and others, in large part because one of the band members (we read to improv music at this reading) is in the throes of a battle with cancer and I'd like to honor his fight. A couple of the pieces I'll be sharing are from the book shown below which is an anthology that I am published in.




     Here is a little something that I found interesting.

http://www.neabigread.org/books/dickinson/radioshow.php

The democratization of publishing

     As a writer, and as someone who has recently taken on the gig of promoting the work of self-published authors, and just as someone who finds the world wide web akin to the the invention of the first printing press, I have been thinking a lot the last year or two about the democratization of publishing. I love hearing it referred to as a revolution - a bonafide one where the people really have taken back the power held by so few for so long. It is amazing how much things have changed in so short a period of time, and how there is no end in sight to the revolution. It just keeps steamrolling forward, and it's happening by the power of the pen, so to speak. Writers have made this revolution happen. It is thrilling to be part of the surf pack riding out this killer curl.
The democratization of publishing | The Daily Caller - Breaking News, Opinion, Research, and Entertainment

Tea for Two: Richard Haynes Jr. 'Heritage Keeper' | SeacoastOnline.com

My column;

Tea for Two: Richard Haynes Jr. 'Heritage Keeper' | SeacoastOnline.com

Writerly Life

     Have been getting a fair amount of work done the last week. Fair, not great, but still, rewarding. Friday and this afternoon I enjoyed a couple of absolutely glorious writerly life afternoons. The former a meeting with a client, whose book of poetry I am helping to promote, and we had a lovely lunch meeting on the deck at a beautiful waterfront restaurant that has great sentimental attachment to me. And today, in celebration of the end of summer, I moved my office to the beach so that my daughter and a friend could have a last day at the beach. All so very pleasant, and making me feel so very thankful for my blessings. To be able to do what wants to do for work is gift and I appreciate it very much.                                                                                                           Have also made a lot progress on the launching of my new local radio show. This should be happening very soon as it has been in the works for a good year. I will post all of the details as soon as the launch date is set.                         Speaking of launching, I wrote a short story recently about my son, my firstborn, moving on. This just happened and was a somewhat traumatizing event for me. Not sure what I'll do with that. Am also thinking about a couple of other things I want to get started on and as soon as both kids are back in school I'm sure I will get more writing done...

The Belle of Amherst

     What an exciting day! In addition to my baby turning fourteen, as of this afternoon there is a very real possibility that an outstanding artist will be illustrating a picture book I have been working on for several years. Just a possibility at this point, but it may happen, and my little book is so much further along than it was yesterday. It feels that all of my little fledglings are preparing to leave the nest. I'll keep you posted.     
     This past weekend I went to see a local production of the one woman play The Belle of Amherst written by William Luce. It was a bit mesmerizing to see and hear Carol Davenport portray Emily Dickinson in such a believable way. She really looked the part right down to her slight size. The only thing she didn't nail was a Massachusetts accent. The set was also remarkably authentic. A final charming touch that deserves acknowledgement is that the actress brought Emily's black cake she had baked herself for the audience to enjoy, and it too was excellent. Here is an excerpt of another actress interpreting Luce's script. I'm afraid this show added to my bucket list substantially. I'd really like to perform this show one day. What a feat that would be.