Making Stuff Up From Mrs. Potato Head to Eat the Earth: Everyday Magic, Day 928

My cohort in making stuff up

What to call a fictional women’s collective running a potato farm in Moab, Utah in my novel Miriam’s Well? What else but “Mrs. Potato Head” (yes, the Mrs. instead of Ms. is an ironic touch, which fits the women’s sense of humor). Likewise, when naming a L.A. non-profit organization that trains inner-city teens to grow and cook  their own food, Miyako the cat and I came up with the name “Eat the Earth.” Because this novel retells a biblical story, that of the Exodus but from Miriam’s point-of-view and set in Contemporary America, I named a North Carolina ecovillage “Garden of Eden” and a utopian Idaho community “New Egypt.”

Such is the thrill of writing fiction: you get to make up all kinds of stuff, and name towns, organizations, and projects, not to mention characters, which is a little like naming our children. Sometimes the name came to me easily, and sometimes in a dream, glimpse, or great suggestion from a pal. Of course, there were also many real places, plucked from travel guides and web searches, because of their names, such as Maine’s Mount Desert Island where I placed the made-up Acadian Dream Inn, and Idaho’s East Hope, sporting a fictional restaurant with the slogan, “Eat and get out!”  I even got to dream up an arts parade to benefit a San Francisco hospice at the height of the AIDS crisis, titled “Soul Train,” and stealing heavily from my own experience of once organizing an arts parade in Lawrence which also featured marching existentialists who regularly called out questions like, “What about the children?” and “What does it all mean?”

Along with this, since the book has 35 pages of recipes, I got to make up meals, then track down recipes from wonderful cooks and bakers I know (thanks so much to Nancy O’Connor, Jayni and Frank Carey, Meg Heriford, Kris Hermanson, Lauren Pacheco, and Janet Majure) or write out my own made-up recipes. Of course, this entailed eating real food from fictional impulses, but that’s all for the good.

Now that the book is about to go the printer so it can mosey on out at the end of March, I’m doing another kind of making-stuff-up-as-I-go, organizing readings and workshops in various states and states of mind. Although we live in a time when the real is seemingly far weirder than fiction, it’s nice to know there’s ways to immerse ourselves in fiction that I hope brings new slants of light on more universal truths.

You can see a short video about the book at my Indiegogo page, another way to make things up by selling books in advance to help fund the book tour, right here.

A Bright, Beautiful Day and Why I Blog: Everyday Magic, Day 923

The temperature is up to the 20s after days in the minuses that made us layer clothing and heavy food. The chickadees span across the deck railing for their bird seed buffet. The happy dog paces, wanting to go out and run with the sun. The blue of the blue of the blue winter sky lights up the edges of all the bar trees and frozen grasses, the brown hills in the distance, and the wooden floors inside the house. Such a moment reminds me of why I started this blog and keep at it over a decade later.

I started and persist for two reasons: to build more of an audience for my books, workshops, and other freelancing curves of work, and even more so, for my soul. Writing has always been a hybrid spiritual-emotional-artistic practice for me, helping me clear away the cobwebs on the ceilings and dust bunnies on the floors of whatever I think I’m doing, and land more in the actual time and place I am. I began writing as a teenager to cope with some traumatic times that overwhelmed me everywhere but on the page, and I continue writing decades later because of how stringing word to word connects me with something larger than my little thoughts or big anxieties.

Sometimes writing this blog is a way to share curiosities and wonders, such as the 100,000 snow geese on an oxbow of the Missouri river. Sometimes it’s to pay tribute to people and places beating in my heart.  Sometimes I’m tilting toward the light of how people show us the way through injustices or heartbreaks. But always I’m writing as an act of discovering, for myself most of all, what’s what, where, how, and why; I have doubt writing is a way of both knowing what we know in our bones, and unknowing what we thought we knew but turns out to be old scaffolding. Writing is an amazing road — in many ways like most other arts — into accessing much more of our intelligence and perceptions than our habitual thinking. In my case, I’m often much smarter and clearer on the page, and I can speak more with language from body and soul on occasion.

So when I look out the window and glimpse beauty, change, birds in flights or winter roosting in all the corners of the field, my first impulse is often to start writing something to tell you about it and to help me see this tiny fraction of reality really happening in real time. Thanks for joining me on the page or screen.

****Related to this post, I’m teaching two sessions of the workshop “Blogging for Your Soul and Audience” — one inperson 4-5:30 p.m., Sat., January 20 at Ellen Plumb Bookstore in Emporia, Kansas, and another online (via your own computer or phone) 4-5:30 p.m., Sun., January 28.  The cost for either is simply buying my book based on this blog, Everyday Magic: Fieldnotes on the Mundane & Miraculous. More at my events page (Note: for Emporia workshop you buy the book at Ellen Plumb Boostore). 

Hawking Books Wherever the Wind (and Car) Take Me: Everyday Magic, Day 919

Ding Dong, luna moth at your door.

I’ve learned over the years that it’s never a mistake to drive around with a bookstore in a rolling suitcase just in case, and that’s especially true when there’s a new book in the house (and car). Everyday Magic, landing under the UPS tree in a big pile as if dropped by a passing spaceship, is stepping out and waving its friendly arms at people. In the last few days, I’ve hauled over two dozen books (and they’re big and heavy, over 400 pages each) to the post office to mail, and I found myself selling individual copies betwixt and between, such as to someone in my weight-lifting class between bench press and RDLs (Romanian Dead Lifts…..seriously!).

I find that whatever my books are about is reflected in the process of writing and sharing them, a phenomenon I share with students about the focus of their thesis projects. Write about chaos theory, and guess what? The same seems true for writing about everyday magic, which made for a far easier and lovelier time hauling books than if said book concerned the end of civilization as we know it. What’s more, this is a book based on my blog — this blog — of the same title, and here I am writing a blog post on a book based on the blog, so talking about this is a bit like mirrors reflecting other mirrors.

When I arrived at the post office, I stepped into a mythical stretch of time between my normal experience of carrying piles of books to wait in long lines. I was the only one there except for people who suddenly appeared to hold open doors and steer me in the right direction (given that I could barely glimpse the path over the pile of books). I went to one of the postal buy cialis daily use online worker to start having each book weighed for media shipping when another one said, “why don’t you bring me half the pile, and I’ll do those so you can get out of here faster?” I did, and although it took about 10 minutes, by the time I was done, I found a line of a dozen people had formed, probably all wondering why the woman with the big pile of books gets two people to wait on her at once.

When I went to the Merc to see if the store wanted to carry the book, I met some friends who said, “Oh, is that the book?” and within a few minutes, I had money to go out for dinner in my pocket. When I dropped into Signs of Life and the Raven, two wonderful bookstores in town, they were happy to immediately take some books to sell. All the way around, the book was stepping out jauntily to show its stuff but without pressure, like a book equivalent to Casper the Friendly Ghost but with many more pages.

Now the pile left at home holds different cats at different times, playing Cat Jenga with the books, daring us to remove any without the fur flying. But that’s also part of what makes everyday magic: what life piles up, and how we find some joy and spark in unpiling it.

If you’re interested in a book or two of your own, please drop me a line at carynmirriamgoldberg@gmail.com, drop by the stores mentioned in this post, or please visit my wonderful publisher, Meadowlark Press. You can also pull up alongside me on any street in town, signal for me to lower my window, and toss you a copy. Just remember to duck because while my aim is true, it isn’t always good.

When Miriam Finishes Wandering the Desert: Everyday Magic, Day 911

Late last night, as I sent my novel Miriam’s Well to my wonderful publisher, Steve Semken of Ice Cube Press, I reworked a summary of this 500-plus page book that’s been at the heart of my writing life for 13 years:

In this modern day retelling of the biblical story, Miriam wanders the political and spiritual desert of a changing America, torn between her roots as the Jewish daughter of a Black father and white mother, her yearning for home, and her brothers, Aaron, a successful New York City attorney, and Moses, a Kansas autistic artist. An astonishing cook and singer, Miriam has a knack for showing up to feed and help people at at landmark events, including People’s Park during the Summer of Love, the Wounded Knee encampment in South Dakota, the AIDS epidemic in San Francisco, the Oklahoma City terrorist attack, 9/11, and Hurricane Katrina. As she seeks the promised land, she shows her people, and eventually herself, how to turn the chaos and despair of our times into music, meals, and meaning.

The amazing painting (sunset on the Platte River) by Anne Burkholder that will be on the cover of the novel.

This morning, waking up to the first day in the many years when I wasn’t finishing this book, I realized, that for all intensive purposes, the Miriam of my imagination is done wandering the desert. I got off easy compared to biblical Miriam’s 40 years of wandering, after which she never even got to the promised land (at least in that telling of her life). I’ve gotten lost, and eventually found, in many sentences in the writing and revision of the book, thanks to my tried-and-true process of writing what Anne Lamott calls “shitty first drafts,” then reworking my words for eons. I’ve read the in-process book in entirety aloud to Ken twice, and parts of it to Brave cialis 5mg no prescription Voice participants occasionally, but from here on, the “in-process” part of the process is finished.

It’s a strange feeling to complete a big book that takes everything you think you can do, and asks of you to do more and go farther. So many times, I couldn’t figure out how to develop a scene, flesh out a curve in the plot, or show, with greater transparency but still enough mystery, who a character is. As I tell my students and workshop participants, sometimes you just have to tell yourself you’re not just smart enough to write something at the moment, shrug it off, write something else, then return to the page. Also, writing is a way of knowing: my hands on the keyboard had led me often to language that was far beyond me thinking into words.

Now I’m sitting on the porch in the rain during a morning thunderstorm, reminding myself I don’t need to rework something in the book that I loved writing so much. Despite the glory of being finished, I’m sad. Then I remind myself: I’m only leaving the writing of it. I’ll be doing readings from this novel for anyone who will listen for years, and I’ll be talking at length about its nuances, and what might happen to Miriam after the end of the novel (although I wish I fully knew). Of course, there will be many more times to proofread the book, even after the advance copies are printed and distributed this fall in time for us to garner some reviews for a Passover 2018 release date.

In time, just like Miriam, I’ll be done wandering, and in the case of such a long-term project, wondering how to shape each paragraph, lift and close each chapter. Miriam will find her next story, and so will I.

Please Help Me Find Cover Art For Miriam's Well, My New Novel: Everyday Magic, Day 900

I’m looking for art for the cover of my novel Miriam’s Well, coming out from Ice Cube Press when the clock strikes 2018. This 12-year-in-the-making novel is about biblical Miriam and her brothers Aaron and Moses, but it’s set in the U.S. and has Miriam wandering the spiritual, political, and cultural desert and lushness of this country for 40 years, starting her wandering in People’s Park in 1969. I describe the book as somewhat like Forrest-Gump-Meets-The-Red-Tent. I’m looking for original art to use that resonates with Miriam, her well (way of feeding people and keeping up their spirits during the long haul), wandering, seeking home, the kaleidoscope of family and life, or any related theme. Little caveat: ain’t nobody getting any advance on this book, so I don’t have a budget for art, but I can pay the artist with extensive gratitude, a big pile of books, his/her/their profile at the end of the book, and other ways to share more about this wondrous artist. Thank you for your help! Below is a longer synopsis of the novel. If you know of any art – photography, painting, pastels, sculpture, quilting, etc. — that might fit, please email me at carynmirriamgoldberg@gmail.com. Thanks for reading this far and considering what images would do the trick!

Miriam’s Well Synopsis

From a young age Miriam sees visions she can’t cope with or stop. Growing up Jewish in Brooklyn with Aaron, her boy genius brother, her black father and white mother, she finds her place in the world best through singing and feeding people, much like her biblical namesake. That sense of belonging is shattered when, as a teenager, her worst nightmares come true. After her high-strung mother gives birth to a third child, Moses, who is more Miriam’s than her mother’s, the family moves to Israel. Caught in a freak accident during the Six-Day War, Miriam’s father is killed, her mother disengages from the family, and Kansas relatives take Moses away from her. Shattered and lost, Miriam and Aaron return to their old house in Brooklyn, now owned by their aunt and uncle, to piece together their future. Miriam embarks upon an opposite journey than her career-driven brother Aaron as she takes to the open road.

For the next 40 years, Miriam wanders, yearning for home and meaning while dwelling in the edges of America. She feeds a giant house full of hippies in Berkeley, attends women’s Black Panther meetings in Oakland, and sneaks into Wounded Knee during the 1973 occupation to cook for everyone. She sings to people at soup kitchens in Denver, homeless shelters in New York City, and a San Francisco hospice during the peak of the AIDS epidemic. She even bakes the Cuban bread the leaders of Key West throw at U.S. government officials when the city tries to secede from America in 1982.

Many of the places Miriam lives, first on her own, and later with her half-Lakota, half-Italian husband Joseph, and their daughter Laura, are geographically, politically or spiritually on the edge of America, from Mount Desert Island off the coast of Maine to the beaches of Key West to an extreme west Texas small town. She tries to salvage a relationship at an Idaho back-to-the-land commune, leads women’s rituals at a feminist potato farm (Mrs. Potato Head) in Utah, and runs a cafe at an Alabama ecovillage. Working with the homeless or the hungry, at-risk L.A. Teenagers or overlooked New York City elders, Miriam reaches beyond the edges of her upbringing.

Miriam is continually plagued by her visions and driven by an unquenchable desire to save people while puzzling over what do with her own family. She helps a man search hospitals for his wife after the Oklahoma City bombing, rescues a a teen who overdosed during the Whittier-Narrows earthquake, runs toward the World Trade Center during 9/11, and feeds hundreds after Hurricane Katrina–all to the fury and fear of her family. Her many visits with Moses in western Kansas teach her that she can’t rescue her autistic brother from his quiet life among evangelical Christians, but she can dwell with him there. She can’t live the life her brother Aaron wants for her, but over decades, she helps him recover his own visions. She can’t stop missing her father, but over time that deep yearning changes from overwhelming roar to dull ache. After decades of avoiding, blaming, and distancing from her mother, Miriam discovers Batty isn’t who Miriam thought she was, and her family is intact in a mosaic she never could have imaged.

Much to her own surprise, Miriam finds home in a kaleidoscope of family and friends, healing in the middle of cancer, and peace in the thin places between the world lost and the new land on the other side of her wandering.