Unfold Fate

"There is something in me maybe someday
to be written; now it is folded, and folded,
and folded, like a note in school." -Sharon Olds

Sharon Olds, the first woman to win the T.S.Eliot Prize for Poetry wrote that. It made me think of so many grubby folded notes I confiscated after having rescued them from the dirty clothes pile. Max, especially, was an avid note collector. Out of self preservation, I never read any of those confiscated notes. Not because I was respectful of my children's privacy, but because I was protecting my innocence. What I didn't know couldn't hurt/worry me. . . 

Looks like she like she wore an Ali   Magraw's Love Story-ish crocheted caps, no?

The award was for a poetry collection entitled "Stag's Leap." (Yesterday, Nov. 19th, is Sharon's birthday, which is how the "folded notes" came to my attention--a Goodreads gift) She's a California girl, too, born in San Francisco, maybe that's why she feels familiar.

Folded notes, strips of words, pluck one and see  . . . 

A Guardian article noted the title refers to "her husband's leap for freedom." (If you Google "Stag's Leap," even with the possessive, a link to the winery of that name--sans possessive--pops up.  I have a sign about that too, it reads, "No good story ever started over a bowl of salad".... I'll leave you to take that leap.

Stag's Leap was also awarded a Pulitzer Prize. Penned while/after going through her own divorce. Fab interview about it in the Huffington Post.

 Did Sharon dash off notes before? Scribble them during? Crunch them in anger? Frustration? Maybe even hurl them in anger? Were they--those reminder notes--tear stained? How many other ran through the wash? Dryer Confetti?

While searching for the origin of that Sharon Olds quote, I googled "folded note" and up popped a post by John Findura called "Simple Twists of Fate."  The "note" in it turned out to be a folded doctor's note in his father's pocket when he went for his induction physical. His father didn't want to go to Vietnam and fight, he wanted to be a teacher. Though the contents of the note wasn't revealed in the post, I imagine whatever was in that note determined his fate. 

Notes of mine that spring to mind are not all on paper. Some are: to-do lists, story ideas, groceries to buy. Others are piles of stuff mounded and waiting on my desk, the work bench, heaped in the basement closet. More are "want tos" "bucket list" items, waiting...

The mounds of stuff, the lists, the bag of notes can be promises...but are also, often weights. Grounding? Or pinning us down? To keep us from flying? Or keep us from flying away?

What if we pick one from the pile. Uncrinkle it. Spread it out flat. Consider it, and then . . . 

Unfold Fate Playlist:

• The Way We Were, Barbara Streisand
• Theme from Love Story 
• Simple Twist of Fate, by Bob Dylan (sung with Joan Baez)

Thanks Giving

I used to think author photographs on book jackets were stony-faced and black and white to make readers think the writers were seriously brilliant, thus implying their work was brilliant and deserved reading. Now, after a few decades spent writing (with varied success) I think those photos are printed in shades of gray because the authors in them are gray—morose—miserable even, because writing is hard. Even humorist, columnist, satirist, Dave Barry, author of more than 30 books and Pulitzer Prize winner in journalism, a guy I imagined spent his days chuckling as he clicked away on his keyboard, finds it hard. The Summer 2010 Author’s Guild Bulletin published a snippet from The New Your Times Magazine interview in which Barry described his writing routine:

“Get Coffee. Stare at screen. Write a bunch of things that aren’t any good. Then comes that moment when I’ll say, ‘That’s still not any good.’”

Am there…do that! Which begs the burning question: If writing is so bloody hard, why do it?

In the same issue of the AG Bulletin, Lisa Grunwald, suspected author of Primary Colors, actual author of The Irresistible Henry House (named the “Best Book of 2010-so far”) answered the question:

“Some days, it’s torture,” she said. “But just that business of writing a good sentence—it’s authentically joyful.”

It’s a joy to devote this day to focusing on what is right in my life, to recognize and give thanks for all I have—including the ability to write, the mind to imagine, the time to dream, and the desire to strive for good sentences, one after another after another…

Happy Thanksgiving!