The sounds

I wrote this from a prompt in my MFA class by my brilliant professor Juyanne James 

It's seven am. I've been up all night. My eyes close. Then I hear my dog Frodo wheezing again. No! Jumping up from the couch, I see he's seizing again. His jaws clenching. His black eyes rolled back. I scream silently in my head. 

Breathe, I tell myself and I copy what Adrian did earlier. I pry Frodo's mouth open. Dearest Frodo. My hobbit named shih tzu of fifteen years who has soothed me so often. I blow and blow into his tiny mouth and press my hands to his furry black and white spotted chest. I press over and over like Adrian said to do if it happened again. His brother Chewbaca whines, watching.

In my head, I flash back to watching the paramedics working on my father's chest, seventeen years ago.

But Frodo comes back. I am so relieved that I cheer and cuddle him, tears running down my face. Kissing him while Bowie plays in the background. My other shih tzu Chewbacca licks Frodo's ears while whining some more. Frodo wheezes softly still. Shhhhh. Shhhh.  It almost sounds like he's whispering to me. 

I try to slow down time. To see if I can get God to let me spend more time with him. But everything speeds up. Like a movie on fast forward. 

I'm on the phone with the emergency vet. Frantic, I throw on a sweater and flip flops. I text my court team for coverage. I turn my head. A louder wheeze. Another seize. I repeat my efforts. He comes back again. I hug him and put him in the car. Chewbacca whines as we walk out the door. 

The whole car ride Frodo wheezes. Softly still. Shhhhhh. 

Within twenty minutes, I am at the emergency vet. More wheezing. Seizing. A wheeze. Another seize. Within an hour, Frodo will be gone. They will wrap him in a dark brown velvet blanket, fitting for a hobbit and I hold him, telling him how much I adored him. How he saved me. How I am so sorry I couldn't save him. 

Kissing his small black nose, I rock him and sing him a little lullaby, like a whisper, a song for him, and for my dad, and for all who are gone. Shhhhh. Shhhhh. 

Staying the path

This morning, I'm drinking my espresso and giving some gratitude to the universe. This month has started off grand. School is starting and although I am only taking one class (a workshop with Professor Juyanne James), I know it will be both fun and low key. I also just received a grant and had a panel accepted with a bunch of my favorite writers for AWP in Kansas City. 

Now I am not a Pollyanna at all, but everything is going so well. It's a little scary. They say when you find your purpose, life is easy. And right now it is. Even my work as a deputy public defender, which everyone knows can be challenging at best, has been particularly rewarding. It's as if I found my mojo.

The trick, at least in my opinion, is finding your groove and just going with the flow. I've pulled back on events a bit. I am trying not to overwhelm myself, which is what I tend to do, and staying true to me and my mission. 

Just a few years ago, I was in crisis, plagued by health issues and feeling like I would never finish my longer book which I'd been laboring over for a decade. I had to take a medical leave from work and have a very invasive surgery. Thankfully, my publisher Frank was very supportive and gave me more time, and then I re-edited the book (working backwards) and at the last minute I included some older poetry (from a collection I'd put together and stuck in a drawer), making both of my books hybrid. It was as if a higher power intervened to help me over the finish line and poof, it all came together! 

I suppose what I'm saying is don't give up. It may be a cliche, but it really is always darkest before the dawn. The sun will rise and throw big golden hues your way if you persevere. Just stay on the path and I promise you'll get there. You will get there. You will.

The fixer upper

So yesterday, I found the term a "fix up" novel. What it refers to is a book, an example is "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury, that is written in stand alone pieces that are published separately and then turned into a novel through revision and expansion. It is a term most common in science fiction circles. But writers like Anne Tyler also have books that have been referred to as fix up novels as well as a book I love called "A Visit from the Goon Squad". 

What I realized after finding this definition is that my memoir was written in that same way. I wrote most of the stories in "Tales of an Inland Empire Girl" as stand alone pieces over more than a decade and published them in a number of literary journals. Turning those pieces into a book took me two years and I added a few pieces and an afterword/epilogue. I also had to take out a lot of repetition and find the narrative threads. It wasn't easy. 

Realizing that many writers write their books this way was a relief. My memoir is meant to read like fiction and while I know I did it the hard way, I think that it is just my process. And now, the YA fiction book I'm currently working on seems a lot less daunting because I think that I was getting stuck by trying to write the novel in sequential chapters. It's like a lightbulb went off. I just need to just write the stories when they come to me.

So I guess what I'm saying here is that we should all do what works for us and our own process. 

There is a method to my madness. And if being a fix up kind of writer works for me, that's what I'm leaning into. From now on, I'm going to to trust myself and the writer I've become. So I'm taking the term as a compliment I suppose and as inspiration to finish my next book. Let's do this.

Let Us Eat Cake

So I'm up early. But I went to bed early. Was it eight pm? Hubby was watching a soccer game. I was upstairs. I just wanted to sleep. Perchance to dream. 

It's Saturday today and I have a reading and book signing, but lest you think I'm bragging let me finish my sentence, at a senior center. I'm only 52 so I do not technically qualify to go there, yet... 

In a mere three years, by 55, I might.

And I'm not making fun of the senior center locale. I'm not. I love older people (of which I'm surely becoming one). Older folk make the best audiences. They love history and memoir, they have longer attention spans, and aside from a few elders like my mom who refuses to get a hearing aid (god love her), they listen intently. 

Youth is truly wasted on the young. I learned this in my thirties while living in San Francisco. My church at the time had an average age of sixty-five and mostly consisted of caring individuals who did death bed counseling at the local hospital. St. John of God was also the church where I took my classes to make my confirmation and attended church every Sunday. After, I would sit with everyone in the day room and eat cake that they had baked. Scones, muffins, pastry. All home made. I would sip cup after cup of hard black coffee and give thanks for my beautiful Sundays. 

So today I will read my stories, sign my books and hopefully eat cake. 

The hours

Today is a good day. Yesterday was a good day. It's been a good week. A bunch of good things have happened recently.

The fog that had me these last months has lifted. That anxiety that sometimes overwhelms me has abated.

And the shoe never dropped. Weird right? To think something bad will happen when all is good is like letting Voldemort into your life by speaking his name. Not a good idea. 

I'm trying to stop being fatalistic. The thing is, I had put so much pressure on myself this last year. There's so much I want to do. But I also need to realize how much I'm already doing. And I need to be happy and content where I am and with what the universe has gifted me with. 

The rain is falling outside. I listen to the pitter patter on the roof. I hear a faucet drip. I watch my dog sleep by my feet as I drink my coffee. His breathing calms me. 

I'm sitting here in the hours (as my friend Hannah would say) and it feels good. Damn good. 

People Are People (and more)

I had an epiphany today. Institutions, schools, and structures can't take care of people. People have to take care of people. 

What I mean by this is that our "systems" are just that. They're structures and they all have failings. Of course, some with more failings than most. But ultimately, what saves people from these system and their inequities and injustices are people. 

Today, one of my favorite clients is graduating my program. I was thinking about it this morning and got all teary eyed. I have my soft side and I'm so happy. Also, I know that it is because of people. It's because of a good judge, a fair prosecutor, and an amazingly hard working team of mental health professionals. And most of all it's because of my client's hard work and his family support. Everyone deserves a second chance. 

People don't do this kind of work for money. There's much more money to be made in the private sector. They do it because they want to, have to, make the world a better and kinder place. 

The only way you can do my job long term is to have an overwhelming and optimistic belief in redemption. I believe in people you see, and on days like today, I see why.

A good day I say

Today is a good day. My podcast is live on Apple Podcasts. It's something I had been working on all summer. And while you would think conversion from video to audio is simple, it's not. I had to find a producer (who is fabulous) and ultimately, it does translate amazingly well and I'm over the moon. I've interviewed over forty writers. Can you believe that? 

(You can listen on apple just search Life of JEM.)

I love interviewing writers on writing. A big time reader, there's nothing I love more than cuddling with my favorite books in bed. To be allowed the opportunity to talk to some of my favorite writers about my favorite books is a gift. 

Speaking of gifts, last night we went to my niece Selena's birthday party at my sister house. It was so mellow and fun. My sister Annie put out a good spread. I'm so proud of Selena who's an elementary school teacher and she's only 24. I remember when she was a little girl. She was always so wicked smart, and a voracious reader like myself.

It's funny. Life goes by fast. It moves past you if you're not present. It's the small moments that matter. That stay with you. So I suppose all I want to say today is that we should all gather our rosebuds, put them in a basket and then throw them over ourselves and dance.