Shake Your Groove Thing

CHICKS ROCK! is happy to have Kristina back as a guest blogger this week. Kristina Leonardi is the founder of The Women’s Mosaic. She is a career/life coach, speaker, seminar leader and expert in the areas of career development, work/life wellness and personal growth. The following was originally posted on November 28, 2012 on Kristina's blog.

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Do you have the discipline to be a free spirit? ~ Gabrielle Roth
 

In the movie Silver Linings Playbook, the main characters Pat and Tiffany are in training for a big dance competition that turns out to be much more than a fancy booty shaking contest.  A unique romantic dramedy, it's a film that shows there is a fine line between sanity and insanity, acceptable versus unacceptable behavior, and the beauty of living life to the beat of your own drum.

 

In the movie The Sessions, Mark O'Brien is confined to an iron lung 20 hours a day, existing on a gurney unable to move from the neck down, and yet he writes poetry, is a professional journalist and decides to hire a sex surrogate so he can experience the most human of experiences. We go along on his journey (based on a true story!) and find him to be one of the most alive, loving and liberated individuals to have ever lived despite such extreme physical limitations.

 

And as seen in the movie Lincoln, our 16th president is clearly not your Average Joe.  He was always thinking out of the box, used his quirky sense of humor to diffuse or illuminate situations, and took numerous risks throughout the most heart-wrenching circumstances our country has endured.  He stretched the Constitution to its limit, working within an established framework while implementing his own interpretation and/or bending the rules based on his hard-earned wisdom, keen observations and superior judgment as unprecedented needs arose and critical decisions had to be made in order for progress to occur.

 

In the conscious movement class I take, we are told to  'dance it your way' and have breaks of  'free dance'  where we boogie as we see fit; it's not chaotic because there is an organized structure and unity contained within the flow as we come back together intermittently as a group throughout the hour.  It's a super-small class because for many people, when given the opportunity to move and think for themselves, even for just a few moments, is a daunting and uncomfortable feeling; it's an empowering exercise that requires more effort and less inhibition, and many simply don't know what to do if they are not following the instructor. And that, my friends, is indicative of a larger problem with implications reaching much farther than a gym studio.

 

Spielberg's Lincoln asks, "Do you think we choose to be born? Or are we fitted to the times we're born into?"  As citizens of the 21st century, we are certainly living in extraordinary times that will require us to become the fullest and most unique beings we are meant to be.  We each have something that needs to be expressed, something that no other person on this planet, no one who has come before or will come after can express. Right now we need new ways of looking at old problems and to change old ways in order deal with new problems, so it's more important than ever for you to do your own thang, because there is no other way to generate inspiration and birth innovation.

 

In any era it's easy to get stuck in past habits and sucked into the zeitgeist of the day.  Resist the urge to follow the herd, fight to honor yourself, think and speak your own thoughts and begin to know and create yourself anew every moment of every day instead of getting swept up by social media, news, commercials, and even your peer groups, work and ethnic cultures or family and friends who are all, consciously or not, forces that can easily grab hold of your mind, body, spirit and/or bank account.  Don't let your physical characteristics, family roots or societal dictates squash all the rhythms inside you that might be quite different from what those outside influences might have you believe, say or do.

 

Not sure exactly what your groove thing is? Give me a buzz and I'll get you started with some basic choreography and point you in the right direction, because ultimately You Should Be Dancing your own steps throughout life, hopefully with a fun disco floor beneath your feet along the way!

Creative Flow

CHICKS ROCK! is happy to welcome back Giovanna as a guest blogger:

Giovanna lives in New York City. Through her work experiences and
most recently through her studies, she has developed a passion for the
dynamic of work, the psychology behind it.


A creative mind is a happy mind. Researchers have found that, among other things, creativity increases job satisfaction, creates more positive emotions, and augments the overall wellbeing of a person. Henceforth, it should come as no surprise that people who are creative are happier than those who aren’t.

To attest to it, think about the times when you’ve been your most crafty: that time you whipped up pancakes from scratch or when you came up with that cool hack to save time in the morning before work. Chances are, you look back at those moments with fondness because creativity often comes from a positive place: love, impulse, curiosity.

Our history is full of artists, philosophers and mad geniuses whose ideas were so groundbreaking that they seem novel even today. However, lately it seems the world has lost that creative edge.

We live in a time where anything mainstream looks and sounds the same: the people next to you as you cross the street are wearing the same style, the song on the radio sounds exactly like the one you just heard, etc. It’s as if there are no new ideas anymore. And the shocking part is, most of us are O.K. with that. Many of us have become complacent with living our lives without creativity.

Researchers have even coined a term for it: creative bias; people want to be creative, yet reject creative ideas when they have them.

Sound familiar? It should, because we have all been guilty of this at one time or another. How many times have you thought about trying a new activity, for instance, yet brushed it off as implausible? How often have you wanted to try a new hairstyle but decided against it because you thought it would look ridiculous? We put so much restraint on our own thoughts, that we disregard any possibility of originality. It's as if we're afraid of the stigma that comes from thinking outside the box.

However, as much as we may try to suppress it, creativity needs to be expressed. Creativity is as much a part of being human as breathing; the challenge is learning to apply creativity to our everyday lives.

Creativity is said to come from the right hemisphere: the same side of the brain associated with images, emotions, color, music, expression, and intuition. That’s why musicians, artists and writers are often described as creative. Even so, you do not have to be the next Frida Kahlo or have a page on Etsy to be considered creative. Creativity is not just about making collages and writing sonnets, it’s about creating ideas! PsychologyToday defines creativity as the ability to generate new ideas, new connections between ideas and new ways to solve problems. In order to do this, you have to open your mind to a new way of thinking.

So next time you have a kooky idea - embrace it! Allow yourself to take a different cognitive approach to a given situation. Take inspiration from your environment, the people around you. Let go of mental hurdles you place on yourself and let the prospect of creativity sharpen your skills and abilities. Let it boost your resilience and satisfaction with life. Quiet the negative thoughts and let your creative mind flow!

I Wanna Dance!

CHICKS ROCK! is happy to welcome Sonia as a guest blogger:

Sonia is an economist from Barcelona. She discovered flamenco and decided to make it her profession at the age of 24, completely changing her life. She's convinced you can do anything you want if you fight for it and never lose your passion!


When I sat down to write this, an avalanche of questions and doubts came to me... Who am I to be writing? What do I have to say?

Well: I’m 31, with a degree in Economics; at 24, I fell in love with dancing; at 26, I quit a great job to become a professional flamenco dancer. And after seven years of struggle, I AM HAPPY and want to share with you my journey.

Leaving work was perhaps the easiest part. At 24, I was dancing at the same level as a 6-year-old and my body prevented me from moving as fast as my mind was going. Needless to say, though I didn’t lack desire or dedication, I felt powerless. Accepting my physical limitations and learning to handle destructive feelings of impotence and frustration, are perhaps two of the battles won I'm most proud of because they provided me with the tools to face other challenges. In my case, these challenges included the death of my mother two years ago and, of course, leaving a career my family and friends were proud of to be an artist. (I won’t tell you what my father said when I announced: “Papa, yo quiero bailar” -- “Dad, I wanna dance!”)

After quitting, I had more to overcome. I was good and people believed I had danced for several years but I kept hiding the truth because I saw my age as a handicap and something to be ashamed of. We’ve been sold the idea that the age when you started doing something defines how well you do it and how authorized you are to teach it to others. The younger, the better. I was not even allowed to participate in many contests for “new talent” because I’m too old, despite my limited years of training.

But isn’t it just as valid to have started something in later in life and achieve success?

I realized that my age was something to be proud of. When you start a new life at a later age, it means you’re sailing alone. But as your arms move your boat forward, those arms get stronger, providing better support for the weight of the challenges, disappointments, failures, as well as opportunities and success that will come to you.

I hope my story will encourage you. If you are someone who’s a little unhappy and needs a final push to start changing it, know that you can! In these troubled times when everything is changing, maybe we should take advantage of this global confusion and embrace change. Believe in yourself and surround yourself with people who understand and support you.

The next step for me is going to New York. I don’t know what will come of it, but neither did I that first day I put on flamenco shoes thinking that it was just a leisure activity for after work... and it changed my life!

Art in the Open

I've posted about this before, but I'm a total sucker for public art. Especially cheerful art that makes my day seem a little bit brighter.

In my adventures around the Miami area, I've been finding pieces that intrigue me. Here are a few of them:

I love the flamingo! She is so delightfully decked out. Apparently flamingos were one of the creatures featured in Miami area (Like how NYC had the apples for a while and I think it was Chicago that had cows?). Roosters are also popular around here.


This artist has colorful pieces up all over Miami. I like the style, although the locals seem to sort of be "over" his style. Very bright and cheerful, though, as far as I'm concerned.

I think part of what attracts me to art in public is simply the fact that it's free, for all to enjoy. So many times there seems to be a price attached to the enjoyment of art, whether it be expensive tickets to theater and opera, museum admission fees, hardcover book prices,  the ever-increasing cost of movie tickets, or certainly the extravagant prices of many fine art pieces.

Don't get me wrong--as an artist who makes a living off of people buying what I create, I am by no means suggesting that art should be totally free, or that artists shouldn't be paid. But few people can afford to buy every book they read--that's why we have libraries. Few people can purchase fine art pieces, that's why we have museums, and not everyone can even afford the ticket price, which is why they often have flexible fees and/or free admission days.

Absolutely, I think artists should not have to starve, nor to give away their ideas and their creations, but I also believe in sharing the wealth of creativity freely.  Seems like a contradiction, no?

What do you think? Can the idea of free art and the idea of artists actually making a living exist and, not only survive, but thrive in the same economy?

He's There, The Phantom of the Opera

More than a decade ago, I saw one of my first Broadway shows, The Phantom of the Opera. It was the first show I obsessed over: I bought the highlights soundtrack, tried to learn every voice part in "Masquerade," and imagined myself someday belting out "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" (even though I wasn't a soprano and didn't have an opera voice).

Because I love Broadway, people often ask me what show to watch and I always include Phantom in my list of recommendations. But I realized sometime this year that what was once burned in my brain was now an incredibly distant memory. I still knew the story and listened to the songs, but I could no longer visualize any parts of the show.

So when my cousin got in touch with me about seeing something during Broadway Week, Phantom was the first show that came to mind. We finally went last week and I was blown away at how much I loved it! If it was even remotely possible, I loved it even more now than I ever remembered loving it before. The music, the drama, the emotion, the chandelier... Everything about it is perfect. I didn't cry nearly as much as I thought I would, but I also found myself holding my breath at times, which I certainly did not expect.

I am constantly amazed at the power of theater and music to move people the way it does. Some shows are great but others are mind-blowing, and I'm so happy to have had the experience again. Now that I'm taking voice lessons again, maybe in a few months I'll be able to master "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again."

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The Art of Observation*

The following was originally posted on April 30, 2012. It is being re-posted as part of our CHICKS ROCK! Summer Retrospective:

I've been observing and enjoying a lot of public art lately. It might be because I'm traveling and so my eyes are open to noticing the world around me in different ways than usual. But even when I was last home, I found myself increasingly viewing the world in terms of visual art. I've been trying to take more pictures, and I always have my camera (or cell phone camera, at least) on hand and it makes all the difference when I am consciously aware of each new corner of the world as a potential photographic subject.

In every city I visit, I'm finding there is a notable presence of public art: dynamic sculptures, wall murals (some commissioned, some graffiti) activist-inspired installations, and much much more.

These discoveries have led me to think a lot about the presence and role of art in the world in general, and in public spaces in particular. I think about how essential it is, how delightfully overwhelming it can be to be startled, moved, inspired, made to giggle or to react in some visceral way to a piece of art encountered unexpectedly.

There's great power in art, which of course I knew already, being an artist myself, but the sort of art I pursue is more deliberate somehow. Readers don't tend to "accidentally" read a novel, not in the way you can so easily stumble into a piece of visual art, or overhear a song. I suppose you could compare the act of turning a corner and meeting a delicious sculpture to the act of browsing a bookstore and discovering a gem of a read you might never have gone in search of but just finds its way into your hand at the opportune moment.

At any rate, these recent glimpses of art continue to surprise and delight me. I continue to take their pictures and fold them into the photographic record of the life I am currently living. Which, I suppose is another layer of art unto itself.

Do you tend to notice art in the world around you?

A Woman's Table*

The following was originally posted on September 20, 2010. It is being re-posted as part of our CHICKS ROCK! Summer Retrospective.

Last week I went to the Brooklyn Museum to see The Dinner Party, created by Judy Chicago (and hundreds of volunteers), a landmark piece of feminist art from the late 1970's. Surprisingly, I had never heard of this piece, which is now on permanent exhibition as the centerpiece of the museum's Elizabeth Sackler Center for Feminist Art.

The Dinner Party is a large triangular table with dinner place settings for 39 women (real and mythical) who over the course of history have impacted feminism, women's rights, and/or the perception of women in the world. Each featured woman represents a cadre of women who made related contributions, and 999 additional names are scrawled on floor tiles in the center. Some represented include The Fertile Goddess, Hatshepsut, Sappho, Elizabeth I, Sojourner Truth, Virginia Woolf and Georgia O'Keefe.

Each place setting contains a unique plate and table runner styled to represent the individual woman's contribution, plus an identical fork, knife and goblet to represent the unity among them. The ceramic plates feature stylized butterfly/flower/vulva forms, and the intricately stitched table runners and ceramic work alike spotlight centuries of “unsigned” women’s art—the quilts, clothing, dishes and more that women have sewn, painted and created over time.

As with any piece of (woman-centered) art of this scale and attention, The Dinner Party was controversially received. Developed between 1974-1979, and debuted in San Francisco, it then existed without a permanent home for over two decades. Is this so surprising, given that women’s work and art has traditionally been pushed to the margins? Let alone a piece of women’s art designed to highlight that very history…

Personally, I found the piece impressive, intriguing and inspiring, but most of all--it begs a conversation. After all, what else is a dinner party for?

As Resilient As Glass*

This piece was originally posted on August 2, 2010. It is being re-posted as part of our CHICKS ROCK! Summer Retrospective, during which we will post a combination of new content and posts from the past. Enjoy!


I visited a glassworks in Louisville, Kentucky, earlier this summer, where you could sit and peer through a huge picture window into the active glassblowing studio. I sat for over an hour and watched an artist and his assistants sweat over a single vase, thrusting the glob of red-hot, molten glass in and out of the flames, pinching and turning and shaping and blowing it just so with each extraction. Fascinating.

In the time I watched, the artist drew the vase in and out of the fire once every minute or two, working it, studying it, and finally he held it up for a long inspection. I thought he was finished, he had paused so long, but then he shook his head and slammed it back in, allowing it to lose its shape entirely. He drew out the pulpy mass and started over, scrapping an hour's work, at least. Not angry, just matter-of-fact. You could see it in the set of his shoulders. Not bad, but I can do better.

The heat must have been unbearable. I felt pain for him, as he destroyed his work and started again, but his attitude about it gave me inspiration and hope. Because things don't always go as we plan, the first time. And if you don't give up, there are better things on the horizon. It's as true in life as it is in art, whether it be glassblowing or writing, which is my own stock-in-trade.

Attached to the studio there was a shop and museum of handblown glassware and glass art. I fell in love with about a dozen amazing works of art. In the end, I wasn't able to afford anything in the whole shop, apart from the trinkets at the checkout. I bought a small disk of pale blond-colored glass, swirled with strands of copper and gold, etched with the words SCRIBE DEEP.

It's small--about the size of a half dollar, only thicker, like a Nilla wafer--but it's quickly becoming a favorite touchstone for me in my writing life. A reminder that it isn't enough to go through the motions, but that I have to dig to find what's important. And, that it's okay sometimes to scrap a project and start it over, when I know I can do better. It's not the same as giving up, when the raw material (or, in my case, the idea) is still alive in the flames, ready to be drawn out and made into something beautiful.

The Heart View

Part of the experience of being an author is going on school visits. I went to a school visit in New Mexico recently where the students welcomed me with great enthusiasm, and had prepared art, music and theater projects on the themes of my books in celebration of my visit.

My second novel, CAMO GIRL, is about a girl who doesn't fit in at school and only has one friend. She's self-conscious about her appearance, since she has a skin condition that causes her face to have dark and light patches of skin on it. Mean kids at school tease her about it, which only makes maters worse. Her best friend, though, accepts her for who she is, and she him in return. They sit alone at the outcast table at lunch.

The themes in the book--things like friendship, peer bullying, and self-acceptance--resonate with middle schoolers, and they sit quietly in their rows while I talk about my own experiences of feeling left out as a kid, and how badly I wanted to have lots of friends.

It was especially touching to see the wall of art these particular kids had created in anticipation of my visit. They had read and discussed the book, and they created a collage mural with the main characters' names and decorated an entire hallway to reflect the settings of the book. My favorite piece, though, was the wall of faces they labeled "If you saw me with your heart instead of your eyes." The students decorated a series of identical cut-out faces by putting another, hidden, layer behind them and writing in things about themselves that you might not know by looking at each of them.

I found myself choking up looking at these faces, because it was such a beautiful tribute to the book. And also, because the idea of looking more deeply into people before judging them had been introduced to these young sixth-graders. I hope it's a lesson they will carry with them throughout their lives.

The original hardcover

The new paperback cover!

The Art of Observation

I've been observing and enjoying a lot of public art lately. It might be because I'm traveling and so my eyes are open to noticing the world around me in different ways than usual. But even when I was last home, I found myself increasingly viewing the world in terms of visual art. I've been trying to take more pictures, and I always have my camera (or cell phone camera, at least) on hand and it makes all the difference when I am consciously aware of each new corner of the world as a potential photographic subject.

In every city I visit, I'm finding there is a notable presence of public art: dynamic sculptures, wall murals (some commissioned, some graffiti) activist-inspired installations, and much much more.

These discoveries have led me to think a lot about the presence and role of art in the world in general, and in public spaces in particular. I think about how essential it is, how delightfully overwhelming it can be to be startled, moved, inspired, made to giggle or to react in some visceral way to a piece of art encountered unexpectedly.

There's great power in art, which of course I knew already, being an artist myself, but the sort of art I pursue is more deliberate somehow. Readers don't tend to "accidentally" read a novel, not in the way you can so easily stumble into a piece of visual art, or overhear a song. I suppose you could compare the act of turning a corner and meeting a delicious sculpture to the act of browsing a bookstore and discovering a gem of a read you might never have gone in search of but just finds its way into your hand at the opportune moment.

At any rate, these recent glimpses of art continue to surprise and delight me. I continue to take their pictures and fold them into the photographic record of the life I am currently living. Which, I suppose is another layer of art unto itself.

Do you tend to notice art in the world around you?

Madame's Legacy

Last week I went to visit the Madame Alexander doll factory, which I was excited to learn is located in NYC's own Harlem neighborhood. I know someone who collects dolls, so I thought it would be fun to take her there. Not only is it a doll factory where the prototype dolls are handmade, it is also a doll hospital where people can send "injured" dolls for repair, and a Heritage Gallery displaying hundreds of classic collectible dolls from the Madame Alexander line.

I don't know much about dolls (that is to say, not any more than I knew back when I was six) but regardless, it's always fun to see something behind the scenes. My favorite thing was learning more about Madame Alexander, the company's founder, who was a pioneering business woman of the 1920s. She founded her doll company in her kitchen in 1923, and over the following decades nurtured it into an internationally respected business.

It turns out, she also developed a lot of the features I took for granted in my own childhood dolls. Madame Alexander was the first doll maker to license literary and film characters for look-alike dolls (like Rhett and Scarlett from Gone with the Wind). She created "sleep" eyes, which are eyelids that close when the doll is lying down. She manufactured the first line of hard plastic dolls in the 1940s. Madame Alexander's Cissy dolls were the first to be modeled after an adult woman's body as opposed to a baby or young girl. (Yes, this was several years pre-Barbie, and Cissy is more properly-proportioned!)

Bottom line: the dolls are really cute! And for me, they become more so when I realize they represent the legacy of a woman who must have faced every challenge the early 20th century posed to talented ambitious women, and still rose to the top doing what she loved. That's inspiring.


Images from madamealexander.com

Flashing Back

I've been doing some historical research lately, and I've spent time looking at archived popular news magazines, like TIME, in the library. I'm looking now at 1968, because that is when my upcoming book is set, and a time I need to get more familiar with, seeing as it's a bit before my time.

The process is really intriguing, not just because of the information my research is uncovering--I expected to learn that stuff--but also because of some unexpected results. The best part of flipping through these old mags is the classic advertisements!

Wow, times have changed. Never has it been clearer to me than when I'm looking at these old ads. Looking at what is considered beautiful (women who aren't stick thin), what is considered fancy (really nice Scotch), what is considered risque (long distance driving) and what is considered cool (great cigarettes) has really transformed in the last forty to fifty years.

Needless to say, some of these changes are for better, and others for worse. It's all subjective. There are lot more drawings in the old ads, in addition to glossy photographs. There's a lot more text to read and absorb. There are a lot more families represented, and a lot fewer celebrity endorsements. Alcohol and cigarette and car ads dominate. It's striking, because booze and smoking have become so taboo in ads in recent years.

The research started out as drudgery, but now I'm loving this project. They say a picture is worth a thousand words...well, the thousand or so pictures I've looked at tell an entire story of a moment in time, and the way the country thought and reacted in those days. It's the closest I've come to feeling like I know what the world "looked" like in 1968. Pretty intriguing!

Is there a time period from the past that you'd like to visit?

Knot My Problem

Every once in a while, it seems, I take up knitting again. I've been spending time with a few friends who knit heavily--and much better than I do!--and it has inspired me to get to work on my small projects again. It's a good thing to jump start in advance of the holidays, when I'll be traveling a bit and probably sitting around watching football games and bad TV specials with my parents for a period of days.

I like knitting. Supposedly, once you get moderately comfortable doing it, the repetitive motion becomes meditative and soothing. I'm finally getting to that point, and it's become even more enjoyable. The problem I'm currently having is finding a balanced project that will look nice in the end but not drive me crazy learning new stitches.

In talking with my knitting friends, I've realized that the way they experience satisfaction after finishing a big, cool knitting project is similar to the way I experience satisfaction after completing a novel manuscript. One of them told me there are "process knitters," who just love the act of knitting, and "project knitters," who do it to end up with a neat homemade item.

I suppose the same could be said of novelists--some of us just do it because we love spitting words onto the page and the process of honing a first draft to a manuscript is painful, while others love the revision process because they want so badly to see a finished book.

I'm struggling through copyedits on my latest manuscript, a laborious process that has taken me many days of work. It usually goes faster. But it's the end process of more than a year's work on this book. How does this relate to my knitting, you ask? It's shown me why I am definitely a project knitter. And small projects, at that! You'll probably never hear of me tackling a sweater--if I'm going to spend a year's creative energy on anything, it's going to be a novel. But when the going gets rough with my writing, it's soothing to know I can grab a ball of yarn and knit up a pair of gloves or a hat in a weekend. It reminds me that creative projects can and will be finished!

Do NOT Read This Post

Doesn't that title make you want to read whatever I'm going to say just a little bit more? I thought so. This is one of the things that's always puzzled me about censorship; despite all the various forms it takes (some more insidious than others), in the process of trying to stop people from seeing or reading something, you often end up calling more attention to it and inspiring interest from people who might not have even noticed it otherwise.

This topic is on my mind because authors and book lovers around the country recently celebrated Banned Books Week, which is our way of honoring artists who speak truth and whose words contain a particular kind of power that has the potential to frighten small-minded people, those who want the whole world to agree with them on every imaginable perspective. As someone who's spent a great deal of my life dealing with diversity--embracing, encouraging and embodying it--I can't stand the thought of opinions being suppressed, and people's minds and hearts being suppressed along with them.

It's something of a badge of pride among published authors (especially young adult authors, I'd say) if your work has been challenged by a school board, a PTA, or a conclave of concerned citizens. We're proud of the impact our books can have, and we understand it very well, because lots of other people's books have had an impact on us--as young people, as writers, as humans. Books can touch readers in ways that no other media can. As authors, we know we have the power to reach people--maybe not to change their minds, but to make them think. And why is that so scary?

During Banned Books Week, I kept thinking about my own writing. I don't know if my books have been challenged...yet...but I know they will be in the future, because I write about things that make some people uncomfortable. Racism, classism, death, sex, violence, power. I write about genuine fears and deep loves, the way we hurt one another and the way we're affected by tragedies. And, particularly, how it all starts when we're young.

In 1992, Stephen King wrote an op-ed after some of his books were removed from school libraries, saying: "When a book is banned, a whole set of thoughts is locked behind the assertion that there is only one valid set of values, one valid set of beliefs, one valid perception of the world. It's a scary idea, especially in a society which has been built on the ideas of free choice and free thought. ....As a nation, we've been through too many fights to preserve our rights of free thought to let them go just because some prude with a highlighter doesn't approve of them."

Not much has changed in twenty years. Hopefully, twenty years from now it'll all be better. In the meantime, I'll settle for being amused by the attention that people draw to the books they challenge, and I will continue supporting other writers in the effort to keep our books on shelves in even the most tightly-closed corners of the country. I'll study all the handy, lengthy lists of "banned" or challenged books, and see what piques my interest.

Poems and Promises

I've been thinking lately about a series of poetic phrases like roads diverging in a wood (Frost), and what really does happen to a dream deferred (Hughes), and basically all the things creative people try to say with poetry because it can't really be expressed any other way.

I'm thinking about this because sometimes, like today, I get the desire to sit down and write something brief and meaningful and expressive and lasting--which is exactly the way I'd describe the poetry I most enjoy. Sometimes I want to break from the forms that I'm used to--novels, essays, blog posts--and attempt something bite-sized, based on a feeling or idea that doesn't need to be explored in the course of three hundred pages, or maybe even three hundred words.

But I'm not a poet, strictly speaking. I've written the odd poem, sure, as I suspect most people have at some point. Let's say, then, that "Poet" is a label I'm uncomfortable with, because my relationship with poetry (both as reader and writer) is awkward at best, and not something I really aspire to improve.

Every other year or so, I promise myself I'm going to try harder with poetry, reading more of it, writing more of it, and being more open to it in general. These efforts are always short-lived, but I suppose I do dabble successfully. So, should I call myself a poet? When do you cross the line between having done something, and allowing it to become part of what defines you?

Given my current mood, I think I'll try calling myself a poet...but probably only for today.

Do you enjoy reading or writing poetry?

The Performance Gene

I definitely did not inherit the performance gene in my family. I have cousins who sing and dance so well that I find it hard to believe that we are related sometimes. While my childhood was isolated, they had (and continue to have) exposure to many people within their cultural and religious worlds. Part of me is glad not to have the pressures to fit in with a community that can be extremely judgmental, but another part of me knows that the experience of performance and exposure to a variety of people at a young age can be beneficial to social development.

I saw the benefits of having the performance gene recently with one of my cousins as she danced to a packed, inadequately air conditioned theater. She had the usual jitters associated with performing live in front of family and friends, but she held herself with such poise as the theater remained hot. It wasn’t so bad for me, because the ceilings were quite high and I remained seated with everyone else as I fanned myself constantly. My cousin had the stamina and the discipline to perform dance after dance, and make it look effortless.

My cousin is trained in the classic dance from of Bharatanatyam, which originates in Southern India, which she has been part of it since she was five years old. The dance recital, or Arangettam as it is called in my parents’ native language, usually takes place after years of training with a dance guru; it is like a final exam and graduation all in one. I was completely ignorant of this aspect of the classical Indian dance world my cousin has been in until the day of her Arangettam, when I saw her hard work pay off before my eyes. I am not sure I would have had the discipline and passion she has for dance, even if I had the opportunity to take classes as a child.

Do you have the performance gene? If so, do you think it gives you an advantage over those who do not?

The Will of the Mind

I've been thinking a lot about blank pages lately. How it feels as a writer to open a new document and stare at the vast expanse of whiteness, expecting something to flow. Some days it comes, some days it doesn't. On the days it doesn't it seems easier and more practical to just throw in the towel and go back to bed. But there are pesky things like deadlines to keep, and editors waiting for my work to cross their desks. I have a living to make, and this is how I've chosen to make it. So I stare at the blinking cursor and wait.

When I was in high school marching band, our band director often used the following quote to inspire us to do just one more run through of our drill: "Commitment is the will of the mind to finish what the heart has started, long after the mood in which the promise was made has faded."

Back then, I thought he was getting it all wrong--I was convinced that the heart itself was what had to carry us through. Because that was how excited and passionate I felt about marching band, the friends I'd made, the camaraderie and the music. As an adult and a novelist, I now recognize what he meant, how the heart so easily causes that first leap, the first creative burst of "Yes, I have this story to tell," without regard for all the effort, all the hard work that lies ahead.

Whether it is keeping the commitment of blogging every week, or facing the challenge of finishing a novel manuscript, sometimes in my creative life I find myself staring at a blank page and having little, if anything, to say. It is nothing but the will of the mind that keeps me sitting at the keyboard. What is amazing, though, is that when I find that will, somehow the heart kicks in.

We are constantly creating, painting our lives, writing our stories day in and day out. It is helpful to think about that, to realize that I am not trying to make something out of nothing, but that I draw from my life, my improvised, creative existence to do my creative work. Maybe my teenage self wasn't all wrong: The will of the mind is required, but it is the will of the heart that gets the job done in the end.

What leaps is your heart driving you to take? Do you have the will to follow it through?

As Resilient As Glass*

The following was originally posted on August 2, 2010. It is being re-posted as part of our CHICKS ROCK! Holiday series:

I visited a glassworks in Louisville, Kentucky, earlier this summer, where you could sit and peer through a huge picture window into the active glassblowing studio. I sat for over an hour and watched an artist and his assistants sweat over a single vase, thrusting the glob of red-hot, molten glass in and out of the flames, pinching and turning and shaping and blowing it just so with each extraction. Fascinating.

In the time I watched, the artist drew the vase in and out of the fire once every minute or two, working it, studying it, and finally he held it up for a long inspection. I thought he was finished, he had paused so long, but then he shook his head and slammed it back in, allowing it to lose its shape entirely. He drew out the pulpy mass and started over, scrapping an hour's work, at least. Not angry, just matter-of-fact. You could see it in the set of his shoulders. Not bad, but I can do better.

The heat must have been unbearable. I felt pain for him, as he destroyed his work and started again, but his attitude about it gave me inspiration and hope. Because things don't always go as we plan, the first time. And if you don't give up, there are better things on the horizon. It's as true in life as it is in art, whether it be glassblowing or writing, which is my own stock-in-trade.

Attached to the studio there was a shop and museum of handblown glassware and glass art. I fell in love with about a dozen amazing works of art. In the end, I wasn't able to afford anything in the whole shop, apart from the trinkets at the checkout. I bought a small disk of pale blond-colored glass, swirled with strands of copper and gold, etched with the words SCRIBE DEEP.

It's small--about the size of a half dollar, only thicker, like a Nilla wafer--but it's quickly becoming a favorite touchstone for me in my writing life. A reminder that it isn't enough to go through the motions, but that I have to dig to find what's important. And, that it's okay sometimes to scrap a project and start it over, when I know I can do better. It's not the same as giving up, when the raw material (or, in my case, the idea) is still alive in the flames, ready to be drawn out and made into something beautiful.

Knitting Pretty

I saw an early episode of 30 ROCK in which Alec Baldwin's character guesses (correctly) of Tina Fey's character: "Every three years you take up knitting for...two weeks." I laugh every time I think of that line. Sounds just like me!

I spent time with a pair of knitter friends this weekend, and after watching them work, now I'm raring to go whip out the needles and begin work on The Great American Sweater. Except I know myself well enough to realize that I'm likely to achieve little more than The Mediocre American Neckline. so is it worth expending my burst of knitting energy now, when I fear I'll end up with nothing but a half-finished, mostly-knotted ball of yarn in the back of my closet a month from now?

This is not to say I've never finished a knitting project. I've made several scarves, a hat and some baby blanket patches for charity. But a girl can only use so many scarves. I'm dying to create a cool sweater, afghan or skirt that I can wear and use and be proud of. I just don't seem to have the dedication for a long-term project.

Dilemma: I don't want to set myself up for failure, or to be the sort of person who gives up easily. But who knows, maybe this is the moment when I'll find my knitting "stride" and be able to go the distance, so I hate to deny myself the chance.

Decision: I've failed at knitting in the past, but I've always attempted it solo. Being with friends has reminded me that maybe the best way to learn, progress and have fun is by bringing others into it. So I've chosen a new, more advanced project, something still small and achievable (a purse, not a sweater!), and sometime in the next few weeks my friend is going to help me find good yarn and get started!

A Women's Table

Last week I went to the Brooklyn Museum to see The Dinner Party, created by Judy Chicago (and hundreds of volunteers), a landmark piece of feminist art from the late 1970's. Surprisingly, I had never heard of this piece, which is now on permanent exhibition as the centerpiece of the museum's Elizabeth Sackler Center for Feminist Art.

The Dinner Party is a large triangular table with dinner place settings for 39 women (real and mythical) who over the course of history have impacted feminism, women's rights, and/or the perception of women in the world. Each featured woman represents a cadre of women who made related contributions, and 999 additional names are scrawled on floor tiles in the center. Some represented include The Fertile Goddess, Hatshepsut, Sappho, Elizabeth I, Sojourner Truth, Virginia Woolf and Georgia O'Keefe.

Each place setting contains a unique plate and table runner styled to represent the individual woman's contribution, plus an identical fork, knife and goblet to represent the unity among them. The ceramic plates feature stylized butterfly/flower/vulva forms, and the intricately stitched table runners and ceramic work alike spotlight centuries of “unsigned” women’s art—the quilts, clothing, dishes and more that women have sewn, painted and created over time.

As with any piece of (woman-centered) art of this scale and attention, The Dinner Party was controversially received. Developed between 1974-1979, and debuted in San Francisco, it then existed without a permanent home for over two decades. Is this so surprising, given that women’s work and art has traditionally been pushed to the margins? Let alone a piece of women’s art designed to highlight that very history…

Personally, I found the piece impressive, intriguing and inspiring, but most of all--it begs a conversation. After all, what else is a dinner party for?