Author Archives: melinda

Three Weeks to NaNoWriMo 2013!

When Chris Baty and twenty-one San Francisco Bay area friends held the first National Novel Writing Month in 1999, I was preparing materials for a year teaching kindergarten in Colorado. Curriculum-writing, not fiction, was on my mind. But mountain lions, hiking, wild fires, white buffalo, and avalanche survival were part of my life in the Rockies. Someday, Fiction-writing, I would face you, armed with material.

St. Mary's glacier

St. Mary’s Glacier, CO

National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, has been held every year since 1999. And for the last two years, I have written. I’d love to say that I finished writing last year’s novel, sent it out, and was instantly rewarded with a contract. But I’d be lying. The truth is I did something equally important.

Last year’s NaNoWriMo helped me break a bad habit. I once heard that the average number of revisions on a first paragraph is twenty-five. So I was about average, with twenty-five revisions of my opening paragraph. Except I had gotten into the habit of revising my first paragraph twenty-five times BEFORE writing my second paragraph. Which leaves a lot of second paragraphs never written. I had to replace my bad habit with a good habit.

NaNoWriMo helped me rediscover fluency – writing, without stopping for correction edits and better idea revisions. NaNoWriMo helped me to WRITE; to get a wealth of material on actual pages. And some of it was really good material. Later I can revise it . Later I can edit. Now, I must let my characters speak, discovering what they want to say, to what sights, sounds, and scents they attend, where they want to go, unhindered by my inner editor. It’s a happy habit to have. This experience worked with Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen (interview).

This year’s goal: Fifty-thousand words in thirty days. THEN revision. Then submissions. Then a contract.

From Metacognition to Mindfulness

Early in my teacher training we focused on metacognition: helping students acquire knowledge about their own cognitive processes. When students understood how they perceived and processed information, they could use this understanding to help themselves best learn.

I think of mindfulness as metacorpuscognition: understanding how our minds and bodies interact, how this interaction affects the way we perceive and process information, and how neuroplasticity allows us to reshape the physical structures involved in this interaction.

Or, in other words, breathing deeply 🙂

Filling up the cup

Sometimes we writers, and all humans, really, need to refill our cups of creativity and abundance.

We’ve poured it out on pages, on people we love, on the world, freely. 

But the world gives back when we let it. 













Breathing it all in deeply…
 
looking closely…

listening carefully…

watching the stars.

I find this in the mountains, under a tree, on city streets, and especially,
any time I see a sleepy dog nearby.

I was blessed this week to experience a renewal of abundance in Carpinteria, Ca.
Paying attention to the ocean and moon, I met creatures in the tidal pools at low tide, found treasures washed up by high tide, and let the rhythmic sounds of the waves wash over me.
We danced in the sand.
And now my cup is full.

Filling Up the Cup

Sometimes we writers, and humans, really, need to refill our cups of creativity and abundance.

cappucinoWe’ve poured it out on pages, on people we love, on the world.

heart anemone

 

But the world gives back when we let it. Love. Beauty. Peace.

 

We can take it all in, deeply…

 

looking closely…

Carpinteria girls 2013 170 (1)

stone

listening carefully…

birds

and watching the stars.

tidal pool starfish sunset

I find it in the mountains, at the beach,

on city streets, and especially…

sleepy pug

whenever I see a sleepy dog. There’s something about the slow rise and fall of a canine chest, the gentle snore, those dream-tickled twitching paws. Dogs are perfect examples of being fully in the moment, whatever that moment may be.

I was blessed this week to experience a renewal of abundance in Carpinteria, California. Paying attention to the ocean and moon, I met creatures in the tidal pools at low tide, found treasures washed up by high tide, and let the rhythmic sounds of the waves wash over me. Jules

We danced in the sand.
Julie Gail

And now, my cup is full.

Smoke

Above me, the morning sky wakes bright and clear blue. But looking east, the thick mountain cover that’s ordinarily snow or rain-clouds is a different color, hanging ominously north to south. A heavy gray-smudged orange haze blankets the Sierra. Smoke.

The morning news reported that the Rim Fire threatens the city of San Francisco’s drinking water supply with ash. Homes, wildlife, and vast stretches of land, including Yosemite National Park, are in danger. Time lapse film of the Rim Fire, created by the National Park Service, is savagely beautiful when viewed on my computer. But close-up, homeowners and firefighters might not have the same reaction. I didn’t, when I packed my car in Colorado, ready to flee with my dogs and family from oncoming fire.

Seeing smoke hanging in the sky reminds me that my reactions to reports on television news are brief. Sometimes I follow up by donating to relief funds for victims of shootings, hurricanes, flood and other disasters. When the High Meadows fire in Colorado spared us, I spent time volunteering with other families, evacuated children sheltered at the high school while their parents worked with insurance representatives or tried to salvage belongings. I brought water bottles and snacks to firefighters. It helped me feel not quite so powerless in the face of disaster.

Life on this planet of ours includes sad, even shocking events frequently enough that I have come to value proactivity. Regular donations to the Red Cross, for instance. A frequent prayer for all people, everywhere, in any difficulties they may face. Lovingkindness. Chesed. Blessings.

I feel compassion for those who suffer. (Including an occasional “Poor baby” just for me!)

A mindfulness colleague in my meditation group once quoted Shinzen Young: Suffering = Pain x Resistence. (S=P x R). In other words, there will be events that cause us pain. Pain is a natural part of existence. When I was learning to carve nature scenes into the covers of wooden boxes with my exacto knife, I slipped and cut my hand. I had a choice in how to react:

“Owwwwwuh! I am so clumsy! Why can’t I ever learn something new without a disaster? And look at my hand. It will never be beautiful again after that cut. I’ll probably have a big, ugly scar. Oh, it’s going to hurt so badly if lemon gets on this cut…”

 You know. On and on. Like that. But I had another choice:

“Ouch.”

In both cases, the cut hurt. But in the first example, I multiplied my pain. Lately I’m starting to realize there’s enough pain, just being alive, without multiplying it. It makes me appreciate good days and good friends.

Today, as I lift my eyes to the hills, I’m sending special Sierra thoughts and prayers in their direction. And, as usual, in yours.

Smoke

Above me, the morning sky wakes bright and clear blue. But looking east, the thick mountain cover that’s ordinarily snow or rain-clouds is a different color, hanging ominously north to south. A heavy gray-smudged orange haze blankets the Sierra. Smoke.

The morning news reported that the Rim Fire threatens the city of San Francisco’s drinking water supply with ash. Homes, wildlife, and vast stretches of land, including Yosemite National Park, are in danger. Time lapse film of the rim fire,

created by the National Park Service, is savagely beautiful when viewed on my computer. But close-up, homeowners and firefighters might not have the same reaction. I didn’t, when I packed my car in Colorado, ready to flee with my dogs and family from oncoming fire.

Seeing smoke hanging in the sky reminds me that my reactions to reports on television news are brief. Sometimes I follow up by donating to relief funds for victims of shootings, hurricanes, flood and other disasters. When the High Meadows fire in Colorado spared us, I spent time volunteering with other families, evacuated children sheltered at the high school while their parents worked with insurance representatives or tried to salvage belongings. I brought water bottles and snacks to firefighters. It helped me feel not quite so powerless in the face of disaster.

Life on this planet of ours includes sad, even shocking events frequently enough that I have come to value proactivity. Regular donations to the Red Cross, for instance. A frequent prayer for all people, everywhere, in any difficulties they may face. Lovingkindness. Chesed. Blessings.

I feel compassion for those who suffer. (Including an occasional “Poor baby” just for me!)

A mindfulness colleague in my meditation group once quoted Shinzen Young: Suffering = Pain x Resistence. (S = P x R). In other words, there will be events that cause us pain. Pain is a natural part of existence. When I was learning to carve nature scenes into the covers of wooden boxes with my exacto knife, I slipped and cut my hand. I had a choice in how to react:

“Owwwwwuh! I am so clumsy! Why can’t I ever learn something new without a disaster? And look at my hand. It will never be beautiful again after that cut. I’ll probably have a big, ugly scar. Oh, it’s going to hurt so badly if lemon gets on this cut…”

You know. On and on. Like that. But I had another choice:

“Ouch.”

In both cases, the cut hurt. But in the first example, I multiplied my pain. Lately I’m starting to realize there’s enough pain, just being alive, without multiplying it. It makes me appreciate good days and good friends.

Today, as I lift my eyes to the hills, I’m sending special Sierra thoughts and prayers in their direction. And, as usual, in yours.

Filling Up The Cup

Sometimes we writers, and all humans, really, need to refill our cups of creativity and abundance. I did just that this week in Carpinteria, California, with two of my best friends from Colorado. But as beautiful as the setting was, I do that wherever I am with them. Sitting with really good friends is like sunshine on the stormiest days of our lives. We know there will be days like that. We know we can weather them together, even if we are far apart. We are connected. I am grateful. On stormy days, when my toes are frozen, or have been stomped on and hurt, this day, today, this warm sand, will still be a part of me. Because I wasn’t distracted. I wasn’t doing anything. I was just being, with friends, at the beach. I am just being.

Smoke

Above me, the morning sky wakes bright and clear blue. But looking east, the thick mountain cover that’s ordinarily snow or rain clouds is a different color, hanging ominously north to south. A heavy gray-smudged orange haze blankets the Sierra. Smoke.

The morning news reported that the Rim Fire threatens the city of San Francisco’s drinking water supply with ash. Homes, wildlife, and vast stretches of land, including Yosemite National Park, are in danger. Time lapse film of the Rim Fire, created by the National Park Service, is savagely beautiful when viewed on my computer. But close-up, homeowners and firefighters might not have the same reaction. I didn’t, when I packed my car in Colorado, ready to flee with my dogs and family from oncoming fire.

Seeing smoke hanging in the sky reminds me that my reactions to reports on television news are brief. Sometimes I follow up by donating to relief funds for victims of shootings, hurricanes, flood and other disasters. When the High Meadows fire in Colorado spared us, I spent time volunteering with other families, evacuated children sheltered at the high school while their parents worked with insurance representatives or tried to salvage belongings. I brought water bottles and snacks to firefighters. It helped me feel not quite so powerless in the face of disaster.

Life on this planet of ours includes sad, even shocking events frequently enough that I have come to value proactivity. Regular donations to the Red Cross, for instance. A frequent prayer for all people, everywhere, in any difficulties they may face. Lovingkindness. Chesed. Blessings.

I feel compassion for those who suffer. (Including an occasional “Poor baby” just for me!)

A mindfulness colleague in my meditation group once quoted Shinzen Young: Suffering = Pain x Resistence. (S=P x R). In other words, there will be events that cause us pain. Pain is a natural part of existence. When I was learning to carve nature scenes into the covers of wooden boxes with my exacto knife, I slipped and cut my hand. I had a choice in how to react:
“Owwwwwuh! I am so clumsy! Why can’t I ever learn something new without a disaster? And look at my hand. It will never be beautiful again after that cut. I’ll probably have a big, ugly scar. Oh, it’s going to hurt so badly if lemon gets on this cut…”
You know. On and on. Like that. But I had another choice:
“Ouch.”
In both cases, the cut hurt. But in the first example, I multiplied my pain. Lately I’m starting to realize there’s enough pain, just being alive, without multiplying it. It makes me appreciate good days and good friends.

Today, as I lift my eyes to the hills, I’m sending special Sierra thoughts and prayers in their direction. And, as usual, in yours.

In the right wrong place at the right wrong time

Driving this morning, I saw a young mother pushing a stroller in one hand, while using the other to assist an elderly gentleman using a walker. He appeared a little confused when the light changed, and was trying to cross the busy road diagonally, instead of in the crosswalk. I pulled over and parked my car.  
May I help? I asked.
Yes, please!
Her son was left in his stroller on the sidewalk as she tried to redirect the man with the walker from traffic. I pulled the stroller away from the edge of the sidewalk and sat with her little boy. I stayed while his mom tried to guide the man back and dial her cellphone at the same time. She finally crossed the street with him.
The two of them sat on a bench on the other side of the road, four lanes of traffic between us. She was on the phone but holding the man’s hand.
The little boy’s brown eyes lit up when I started singing The Wheels On The Bus, and we pointed at a bus, then each big truck that rumbled down the road. I went through my entire preschool song repertoire. We saw a cement mixer spinning, and a long red fire truck. We finally saw two police cars with their lights flashing. I showed the little boy how to make my car lights flash with the key transmitter.
Once help arrived, the mom made her way back across to me and her toddler, whose name, I learned, was Milo. Her big brown eyes matched her son’s. No wonder I hadn’t guessed Milo as we went through every name I could think of, laughing at all my wrong guesses.  It turns out the man was neither her dad, nor granddad. He was a stranger she saw stumble in the grocery store parking lot. She’d gotten out of her car to help him to his feet, then to the bus stop when he said that’s where he was headed. He could not remember his next destination.
  
The providential banana cake
She and I hugged each other. She was a little shaken. She said I was her guardian angel. I told her she beat me to the guardian angel job today!
We both agreed, that could have been our parent or grandparent, or even, someday, us. She laughed when I told her I wouldn’t have been there at just that moment if I hadn’t left a cake on the counter and driven back around my block to get it. She just happened to park in exactly the right spot at the grocery store to see the man fall.
We were both in the right wrong place at the right wrong time.
♥ Bless you, Milo’s Mommy, wherever you are. 

In the Right Wrong Place at the Right Wrong Time

Driving this morning, I saw a young mother pushing a stroller in one hand, while using the other to assist an elderly gentleman using a walker. He appeared a little confused when the light changed, and kept trying to cross the busy road diagonally, instead of in the crosswalk. She was trying to keep them all from being hit by oncoming traffic. I pulled over and rolled down my window.

Want some help? I asked.
Yes, please!

I parked my car and jumped out. Her son was in his stroller at the sidewalk as she tried to redirect the man with the walker from traffic. I pulled the stroller safely onto the sidewalk and sat with her little boy. I stayed while his mom tried to guide the man back and dial her cellphone at the same time, but he was determined. She finally crossed the street with him.

The two of them sat on a bench on the other side of the road, four lanes of traffic between us. She was on the phone but holding the man’s hand. She kept on eye on me, too, between cars.

The little boy’s brown eyes lit up when I started singing The Wheels On The Bus, and we pointed at a bus, then each big truck rumbling down the road. I went through my entire preschool song repertoire. We saw a cement mixer spinning, and a long red fire truck. We finally heard sirens and saw two police cars with their lights flashing. I showed the little boy how to make my car lights flash like theirs with the key transmitter. Ah, the distracting power of electronics. He loved it.

Once help arrived, the mom made her way back across to me and her toddler, whose name, I learned, was Milo. Her big brown eyes matched her son’s. No wonder I hadn’t guessed Milo’s name as he and I went through every name I could think of, laughing with him at all my wrong guesses. It turns out the man was not his granddad, she told me. He wasn’t a neighbor or friend. He was a stranger she saw stumble in the grocery store parking lot. She’d gotten out of her car to help him to his feet, then to the bus stop when he said that’s where he was headed. He could not remember his next destination. The police had finally gotten his information from his wallet and were taking him to safety.

She was a little shaken. She hugged me tightly, whispering thanks as she looked down at her precious, oblivious, happy toddler. She said I was her guardian angel. I hugged her back, and told her she’d beaten me to the guardian angel job by a mile today!

That forgetful, forgotten gentleman could have been our own parent or grandparent, or even, someday, we nodded, us. She laughed when I told her I wouldn’t have been there at just that moment if I hadn’t been forgetful, too.

Book club bananas Foster cake and kindle

Book club bananas Foster cake and kindle

I’d left my homemade Bananas Foster cake for book club on my kitchen counter and had driven back to get it. My forgetfulness made me arrive at that precise intersection at just the same moment that they did.

She just happened to park in exactly the right spot at the grocery store to see the older gentleman with the walker stumble. What providential timing.

We were both in the right wrong place at the right wrong time.

♥ Bless you, Milo’s Mommy, wherever you are.