Fragility, Futility, and the Lifesaving Power of Community

 

This is not a post about Helene, but I'm going to start there. Bear with me. The morning following the storm, my neighbors and I began to peek out, wary of the still gusty winds among the massive tree trunks and limbs on the roads, cars, and houses of the neighborhood. We had power briefly that morning, but once we lost it, it was gone for a long while. My whole-house generator kicked on, making a racket in the now-quiet collection of homes clustered near the top of Long John Mountain. I'd never had one before - not through my years in storm-riddled Florida, not in snowy Maryland. With it, I had the ability to help - not with a chainsaw like the posse of neighbors who made their way up the mountain, clearing the road with giant saws, rakes, and loppers, pulling limbs and logs to the shoulders before passing through with their pickup trucks. We were all in the street, checking on each other, surveying damage, providing aid where we could. For us, that was providing hot meals to those who could use it. Another neighbor brought in non-potable water from his business so we could flush toilets, because no power means no pump house at the bottom of the mountain. No showers, no laundry, no dishwasher. I met more neighbors in those first few days than I had in the 18 months I'd been here.

Just prior to the storm, my employer cut my hours, essentially making me part time when classes were scheduled and on my own when they were not. I chose to think of the additional time as an opportunity to focus more attention on writing. I'd just returned from Bouchercon - the World Mystery Convention, I was podcasting about writing life in North Carolina, and I had ideas to chase down. And then my podcasting partner stepped away to pursue her own projects. I added affiliate links for cool stuff I loved that I thought other readers, writers, and listeners would love too - nothing happened. I tried to build an audience for the podcast on my own - nothing changed. I powered through lessons to learn new skills to help me organize, create ads and market my efforts, drive traffic to my sites and my books - nothing came of it. And it was costing me every month, what now began to feel like a futile attempt to get my feet under me in a flood of change and ruin.

I made the decision to shutter Secrets and Lies at the beginning of the year. I was paying for recording, for hosting, and for promotion and not making any headway, and since I no longer had my former salary to liferaft it, it seemed ridiculous to keep going. I'm sad that I never quite got the podcast where I wanted it, but I learned a lot and I enjoyed it, so it was worthwhile.

So as I wade into the full on hellscape that has been January with one jawdropping headline after another, I remember my community who stepped up for each other through times of crisis. Carly at Claywood who fed people for free and provided workspace for those without power or internet after the storm. They endured prolonged construction essentially cutting them off from their customers and lost a team member unexpectedly and now it's our turn to step up and help. Make this a special occasion and celebrate at Claywood with a soul-soothing glass of dry reisling and some mushroom agnolotti.

Stop in The Joy of Books and pick up a local writer's work or a good whodunit to pass the time away from screens. I just acquired As the Crow Dies by Kenneth Butcher (could you have a better writer name?) and I'm excited to tackle an Asheville mystery. Bookstores and libraries are havens and deserve our support. And the peace they provide is unmatched, unless you happen to have gotten a gift for the spa at the Omni Grove Park Inn, in which case, the spa will take that matchup. Otherwise, though - bookstores all day.

Stop in at Three Chopt and check out the charming spot while noshing on a sandwich and chatting with the owner. Drop by Whit's for the Hendersonville Gem (a sundae with frozen custard, hot fudge, caramel, and toasted pecans - omg) because they donated a portion to local first responders, and because it's ridiculously good. Grab breakfast at Pop's diner or a slice at K's NY Pizza and SoFlo Food or lunch at the Purple Onion in Saluda. Find these local treasures and help others find them too. They are our neighbors and they need us now.

It seems like everyone has something in common - a school we attended, a place we lived or visited, a book we loved. Community is what we make it, so for those of you who are stepping up to provide a struggling writer a review or visiting a local business that needs our support, or sharing about your good experiences, or just plain being kind, know that it is appreciated, needed, and that those of us on the receiving end will happily pay it forward.

As for me, I am looking forward too. I have two new nonfiction books out on Amazon, and I'm writing the second Gina Morrison mystery. The Kindle version of Ten Dysfunctions is on sale for $.99 and I hope to hear back about some new story submissions in the coming weeks. 

May you have good coffee and good stories!

💕📚 Carolyn

My Thoughts on Memoir After Reading "Spare"

This isn't exactly a book review - though I wrote one on Goodreads which I include below.

I have a lot of thoughts here - in fact I feel compelled to blog about it shortly, but I'll say this:
Everyone has the right to share their own story

Everyone has the right to decide that their living situation is not healthy for them or their family and then make a change

Families are complex and difficult sometimes, no matter who you are.

I imagine there's more regret in playing an uncomfortable part that's written for you than finding your path without a map even if people shout that you are going the wrong way.

I'm not a fan of tabloid "news" on either side of the pond, but I'll admit to loving The Crown on Netflix and a few documentaries here and there. It's not an obsession, more a curiosity (my obsession would be Jane Austen and all things Agatha Christie) so Harry's perspective first as a young boy and later as a young(ish) man to events both familiar and unfamiliar to the general public interested me.

Keep an open mind and give it a try. Perhaps we could all judge just a little bit less.


Obviously, I have some feelings here, but if I had to sum it up into one thought it would be this:

Writing memoir is hard. I've only done snippets here and there (I don't think "Beedancing" is even still up on the Gimmick Press site) though I suppose most of my blog here is memoir-lite. I have the luxury of talking or not talking about my experiences because they are not public. I didn't grow up as the subject of worldwide fascination and incessant media attention. I have no idea how I would handle that.

I have seen others in my life stay in unhealthy relationships because breaking away "wasn't done" or would embarrass others or was too frightening than the familiar unhappiness they knew. I've seen others in my life stay in jobs for years that drained their joy because looking for something else - risking something else - was unthinkable. I've seen friends marry early because it was "the next step" or because they wanted to break free of their homes and later find that they've traded one confining situation for another. The bottom line here is that is frightening common to look around with some despair or regret or fear or whatever emotion fits and wonder whether anything can be done.


“Don’t cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of time making it.”
― Aubrey de Grey

My parents divorced when I was young - before kindergarten - and I remember the drive back across the country with my mom and my uncle and my little sister in a crappy car that overheated a lot. My sister and I played with a metal tin of bandaids that we stuck all over ourselves and each other in the back seat, the one thing we knew always made us feel better.

Complication 1. My mom apparently eloped with my dad while they were both in college and my mother still lived at home with my grandparents. Like, she literally climbed out the window. I'm sure it was dramatic and exciting and maybe even romantic in the moment but it caused a rift. I'm told that her pregnancy with me (first grandchild) eased the way back a bit with the parentals. I can also imagine that this new married life would have been a shock and a steep learning curve as my mother had not been raised as many women of the time were with extensive homemaking skills. I imagine that stepping into a role with such pre-defined expectations without the script would lead to all sorts of issues that two young people would struggle to overcome. I don't imagine my dad was much better prepared to be a husband or father.

Complication 2. After my mother's foray into the marital state, her next younger brother (she is the only daughter of five, with one older and three younger brothers) met and married my father's sister, my Aunt Gail. (two siblings married two other siblings - I feel like I should make a chart here) She already had children by previous relationships with one close to my age - instant cousin! My aunt and uncle soon had a son together, who was now my cousin on both sides of my family. Seriously, a chart would help, right? And then they, too, got divorced.

Complication 3. Everybody remarried, some more than once.
So, there is a divide, both geographically and emotionally, between my parents' families. It's not the Montagues and the Capulets - it's just distance, awkwardness, and choices made to focus on that which is nearby. I don't harbor anger or anything like that, I just moved on. My mother had married again, (wowsa, another book in of itself) was widowed, raised us mostly alone, and then married again once my sister and I were grown. She has since been widowed again and has really blossomed in her new independence. For the first time in her life, she is not sharing her space with her parents or a spouse or a dependent child - she is free to make decisions, mistakes, friends, and all of the other messy and wonderful parts of a life. And she is happy.

I never married and I never had children. I saw no need for the former and had no desire for the latter. Was this in defiance of my past? Who knows? My sister has three lovely girls and many grandchildren. It seems a happy chaos.

I haven't seen my father in many years, in fact, since my cousin's wedding. (my cousin on both sides) After arriving at the church in Baltimore with my mother who was in town helping me move into a new house, I slid into a pew on the groom's side. The man sitting directly in front of me turned around and there he was. I was shocked and unprepared as I'd never dreamed he would travel across country for this wedding. But here he was. He said something like You look beautiful, and I mumbled my thanks, face aflame, acutely aware of my mother's cool composure at my side. He did not approach me at the reception.

My father has two sons by his third(?) wife who was very kind to me during an ill-conceived semester I spent in Arizona when I was about 21. It was a terrible idea that did not end well, partly because I was wading into deep waters I did not understand, partly because I was 21 with all the self-absorption, insecurity, and naivete of that age, and partly because we were all strangers to each other, all carrying assumptions we were not comfortable talking about. When I last saw my half-brothers, they were five and three.

So, back to Spare.

It's not perfect, but I don't think it's trying to be. Harry (feels weird calling him "Harry" as if we know each other) is not perfect - at all. But he seems to be doing the best he can. He seems to be a good person who cares deeply for his family, even those who are not as nice or warm as they could be. He has recognized the trap of the "role" and has stepped back when it was clearly not healthy for him or his family.

Don't hate on him for telling his story. It's his to share. Don't hate on him for promoting his book, even though much of his trauma comes from interactions with the media. It's part of the process of releasing a book, and in this case, of making his own way, making his own money, and steering his own life, just as we are all free to do. You don't have to be friends, but you also don't have to be an asshole.

I have a bracelet inscribed with this quote to remind me to bravely choose my own way:

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined.”
― Henry David Thoreau


Harry, if you're reading this (still feels weird), maybe slow down with the drinking and substances a bit, keep it up with the therapist (no shame!), take care of that beautiful family, and live the life you are now free to imagine.

Side note: For those of you interested in memoir and family stories, check out my friend Vicki's project Secret Boxes here. It's really cool.

Tap, Tap - Is this Thing On?

 So, I did a thing. I recorded an audiobook version of Ten Dysfunctions of My Teams. Long ago, I used to say that if you worked at Disney long enough, you'd know people in all parks, resorts, and disciplines all across the world. Turns out, if you just live long enough, you can build a friend list across all sorts of industries - people who have channeled their talents and passions in directions that spread out like a creative circulatory system of the planet. 

It turns out that one of them is now a professional voice actor with his own studio.

A normal person would have stopped there, I suppose, turning the words over to the pro, but that's not how it plays out. After some encouragement, I agreed to narrated the stories myself. Who knows them better than I do? Of course, I was gripped with anxiety about this, but Paul talked me through the process, helped me to select a decent microphone, and set up our sessions so that I could record from my own office while connected to his studio over the internet.

It took a while. Turns out I can read two stories out loud before I get crackly and fuzzy-headed. I made plenty of errors. Each time, Paul stopped me, took out the bad section and told me where to pick it up again. We worked in blocks of an hour to 90 minutes or so, either recording two stories or three, until all ten were done. I learned a few things:

1. Don't drink cold (especially iced) drinks. Turns out this is bad for the vocal cords.

2. Don't drink hot liquids, like coffee, which honestly would have been my inclination. A nice hot cup o' joe feels like it clears my throat and my head. And the caffeine...well, yeah. Also bad. 

3. Carbonated drinks are not good either - burping. Back in my Disney days, when the energy flagged and I needed to push through gangster or bandit shifts at The Great Movie Ride (#onceamovierider) I went for an icy cold Vanilla Coke - full sugar. The combination got me through many a ten hour day of theatrical tour vehicle hijacking and forbidden jewel stealing.

4. Room temperature water. Boring, but it's what's for dinner.

I also learned that I am not a good talker/breather when those two things have to happen together. I was out of breath a lot. It seems that I was taking in a big breath and talking for as longs as I had air. Like a freediver, only for no good reason. I still don't really get how to balance my breath with a "natural speaking voice" when I'm the only one talking. 

So, obviously, I decided to try podcasting.

What do I know about this? Not a thing, but I did get myself a new book, Audio for Authors, by Joanna Penn. It arrived today, so I'm hopeful that I will pick up a few things.

Stay tuned! I think my first podcast will be about the journey of recording my first audiobook. You'll be able to hear what I mean, and I hope to ask some people who know all about this to provide some guidance in case any of you decide to dabble with recording your stories.

Because of the whole living a long time thing, I have many in my network who have plenty of performance experience, theater, music, public speaking, and so on. If you have advice, please share!

New year, same four walls - but a cool, new breeze blows through

 I, like much of America, watched the Inauguration with part of my psyche clenched in anticipation of something terrible that might happen in spite of the precautions, the extra security, the relentless press coverage. In spite of this ball of anxiety, I enjoyed Lady Gaga, JLo, even the fashionable outfits - all the beautiful trappings of ceremony conducted with grace. I teared up at Kamala Harris's oath and Senator Klobuchar's words, and I chuckled at Bernie's now infamous mittens. I started to breathe easier when President Biden made his first address as #46. But is was when a small woman, shining in yellow and red stepped up and began to speak, accentuating her words with flowing hands like a dancer, that the clouds parted and the sun shone brightly to burn away the last four years.

Her name - Amanda Gorman. Her words - magic. 

You can see her read The Hills We Climb here.

From the New York Times:

22-year-old National Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman recites poem at President Biden's inauguration, "the new dawn blooms as we free it for there is always light if only we're brave enough to see it, if only we're brave enough to be it."Jan. 20, 2021

 

Not since Maya Angelou have I been so moved by poetry, spoken so eloquently after such a long and parched year defined by its isolation, division, fear, and defiance of reason and civility. I begin to hope that we will be all right after all.

2021 seems a cautiously optimistic time. A few updates:

I have a new website: https://www.carolyneichhorn.com/  

Here you can find latest publications and other news. I'm taking a short pause with my fiction to work on a nonfiction project with talented colleagues - stay tuned for more soon on that project.

I'm taking a three day virtual course with Alison Gaylin on thriller writing soon with the Center for Fiction- I'll be sure to share about that, too.

Stay safe, all - until the vaccine comes and we can gather again. Until then, I virtually toast in the new year with you.