Going Inkless

Writing is, by its basic nature, a solitary activity.  There's only enough room for one at the keyboard or the notebook page.  To write, you're taking things out of your head and transferring them to paper.  Nobody is going to do that better than you because only you have the front row seat to that show.  You can try to get someone else to share your vision.  That's pretty much the point of writing.  But no matter how good you are at describing your ideas, the succeeding versions will always be just a little different.  It's just the way it is, and it's not a bad thing.  I've commented before on the nature of art being a collaboration between artist and audience.  Half the magic is in what your reader brings to the experience.  Still, to draw this back to my original point, nobody else is as close to the source of your story as you; so you write alone. At the same time, writing's basic nature is social.  Yes, authors are often ste...

     Writing tends to be a solitary activity.  We may be able to perform it in crowded places if we're lucky enough to have the focus while riding the train or sitting in some common space.  When you come down to it, though, the actual act of stitching the words together into meaningful patterns is all done alone in your head.  With that basic fact established, I will also say that writing is more social than most other things you do alone.  For one thing, writers of fiction tend to walk around with all sorts of people in their heads.  Even when we are alone, our minds are often working in social ways.  But the aspect I wanted to examine in this post was the camaraderie among those who practice this solitary art.      While it could be said that authors are in competition with each other, you rarely see them behave as if they were.  There is a realistic limit on how many books may be published in the world, and...

     There are astronomical reasons for the similarities among celebrations this time of year.  Despite differences of culture or religion, there are common elements because we share a world.  Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we are on the verge of winter, with days growing shorter until the solstice turns the tide.  We have a sense that we are going down into darkness, and that has influenced our holidays.  Winter holidays, and those of late autumn, tend to be about light, family and tradition.  Winter holidays are about making it through to the next Spring.      As days grow short, we crave the light.  Twinkling bulbs, flickering candles or roaring fires all remind us of brighter days and make the darkness a little less bleak.  Even the use of gold and silver in holiday decorations may be an unconscious attraction to the glints of light they reflect.      We also recognize that the cold, dark months ah...

     Benjamin Franklin built a time machine.      This is probably not true, but it can be fun to think about.  He was a pretty bright guy, inventive and open-minded.  He could have done it if he really focused on the project.  Instead, he spent his time writing, making social commentary, tinkering with other stuff, and flirting with French women.  He started libraries, fire departments and hospitals.  He invented a stove and swim fins.  He fought government corruption, stood up for the rights of women, slaves and the poor, and helped found a new nation.  That guy was all over the place.  Imagine what he could have done with all that energy focused on just one task.  Perhaps in another reality, he did just that, and he made it work.  I'd like to think that he'd have a good time cavorting through the ages, watching the way societies and technology change while people remain basically the same.  Being a...

"I is We." My husband uttered the phrase over coffee at Baker's Square on my birthday. He was watching galaxies form from undisturbed drops of cream in his cup, a hobby he enjoys at every opportunity. The words stuck in my imagination not only because they were grammatically rebellious but because they expressed the idea so simply. When we entered the restaurant, each of us had held vestibule doors for an exiting patron, I on the restaurant side and my husband on the parking lot side. My husband was bothered because his act of courtesy had been plundered by another who, though unencumbered and in full view of the pie-laden woman we were helping, dodged through the open door before the intended. After discounting the idea that the inconsiderate one might not have seen the other, we concluded that she must have felt she was entitled to go first. It was simply a selfish impulse that might have been generated by any number of unknown factors, but what it all boiled do...

My grandfather died when I was fairly young, but I still have a few fuzzy memories of him. They are mostly just a sense of the man, stitched together in the time since then with family stories and old photographs. It all layers into an image not unlike a smiling, sun-browned apple doll, a man who had packed his years full of hard work, full of living. Though I can't remember anything he said specifically, I know that it was probably in Spanish. He had come here from Mexico at fifteen years old and hadn't stopped working long enough to study English. I'm sure he had picked up enough to get by. He was capable of communicating with his German-American wife who spoke no Spanish. He held a job and raised his children, but whatever little bits of English he knew were never as comfortable as his native tongue. My father, his son, is bilingual, as is often the case with the children of immigrants. My generation, however, was raised without that gift. English was the lang...

From birth, we are all on a quest to figure out who we are and what we're doing here. We start by exploring simple physical things. How do hands work? What does that taste like? We stare at shapes and colors that catch our eye. We touch things and test our muscles. We play with sand and water to understand how the world works. Infancy and early childhood are a series of experiments that increase our knowledge of our bodies. In short, we define ourselves in the physical world. At some point, we become aware of a less tangible realm, and instinctively, we begin to explore in the same fashion. "Who am I" takes on a whole new dimension. Religion, philosophy, culture, history, all are new ways to contemplate our existence. What do I like? What do I believe? Who do I love? These become the focus of our journey, and the answers to these questions shift even for the most steadfast. We waver between accepting the traditional identity offered by family or society...

On some level, most of us feel a resonance with growing things. You may not see yourself as a gardener. You may not consider your thumbs green, but chances are, you feel plants are a positive thing. In general, people enjoy having potted plants in their home or office. Hotels, restaurants, and shopping malls decorate with foliage because people like it. Greenery softens the hard edges and improves the general atmosphere of a place. We put fruit or flowers on the table or present a bouquet to a friend because they make people happy. Just the idea of plants is symbolic of abundance, growth and good things. In springtime, we are thrilled by the first pale green sprouts that poke out of the frosty earth. We anticipate sunny days spent communing with the life we see emerging all around us. That recognition of life and its potential to nourish us lies at the heart of our affinity for the plant kingdom. It's what turns so many of us into gardeners and groomers of our own littl...

The people in my life know I rarely get sick. I do try to live a healthy lifestyle: I generally favor healthy food options, stay moderately active, keep aware of sources of contagion without being overly cautious of them. (Your body can't learn to fight germs, after all, if it never meets any.) All this helps to ward against what's going around, but I don't think I have any kind of super immunity. The truth is I'm just stubborn. Colds come my way from time to time, and I just refuse to let them stop me. There's work to be done, and people depending on me. If I refused to get out of bed each time I had a stuffy nose, or a little pain, or I just didn't feel right, I would spend most of my life under the covers. So, sniffles don't slow me down, and I suffer headaches without aspirin . In general, I'll let the pain deliver its message, weigh it, and decide to go on if I'm doing no further damage. As long as I'm not making it worse or risk...

If you look very closely at the photo on my profile (at the time of this post, because I might conceivably change it at some point) you might notice I'm wearing a "Chicago 2016" Olympic bid jacket. It's actually difficult to discern in the photo, but trust me, it's there. From this, you might deduce that I am a) from the Chicago area b) an athlete or sports fan But, you would only be half right. I do live near enough to Chicago that it is my reference about half the time when I talk about "the city," but sports never were my thing. There's no antipathy toward sports or athletes. The truth is, I have a certain appreciation for it all. I'll watch from time to time when my husband has the Bears game on TV, and I politely smile and watch the replays when he points out an amazing catch or cheers a touchdown. His excitement gives it weight, but it's rare when I watch any sort of sport alone. I've come to realize that I'm just ...

Close your eyes and imagine... No. That's not going to work. Now that you have your eyes closed, you can't read the rest of the post. We'll have to wait here until you get bored and peek... OK. You're back. Let's try this again. Get your crayons and a fresh sheet of blank paper. If you have no crayons, then borrow some, or else you can draw with imaginary ones (just remember to open your eyes when you're ready to read again.) I want you to draw a picture of your family. That's right, just like kindergarten. Don't tell me you can't draw,either, because if perfection were the goal, I'd have asked for a photograph. This is crayon art, and what matters is the spirit you put in the lines. When you've finished your masterpiece, hang it up on the refrigerator and look at it. Who's there? Is it the same collection of smiling stick figures you drew as a child? Most of us begin with the concepts of mother, father, sister, brother,...

Compassion should not be restricted only to those we feel deserve it. This is a hard lesson to learn, particularly when we think about those who have personally wronged us. Forgive your enemies. Turn the other cheek. These may seem like platitudes spoken only by those who have never really been hurt. But, the wisdom and the practice of forgiveness grows its strongest roots in those who have been wronged. Such offenses and injuries can be great teachers of compassion if you only see the opportunity. There are lessons to be learned in contemplating our wounds, and they begin with this: holding on to bitterness is a wound of its own, and it is a self-inflicted one. Refusing to forgive only keeps the offense alive, allows it to fester and scar, and closes your spirit to all hope of healing. You may think that withholding forgiveness is some sort of revenge on your offender, but often they either don't realize it or don't care, and all you do is poison yourself with the a...

I woke up this morning with a song running through my head... barefoot and smiling... They have a tendency to do that. It was an old Dylan tune, but it could as easily have been something new this year or something centuries old. It might have been nearly any style and as likely to have lyrics as not. There's a wide range of songs that bubble up in my head unexpectedly, but each one is clear and singular when it makes its appearance, the star performer on its stage. I feel it in my ears just as if it were playing in the physical world rather than only in my mind, and my whole being resonates with its notes. What a wonderful way to wake up, swept along on a current of song. Music has a way of seeping in and possessing me. I may not remember the title or artist. I may not remember the words, but for the moment I'm listening, I'm entirely there, submerged in it, listening with more than ears. The connection to the song remains long after, ready to well up like a natura...

Purity is overrated. Through the ages, society has prized the absolutes: the whitest of white steeds, the perfect purebred dog, the matching set of dishes, or the untainted noble lineage. We aim for the flawless lawn, as evidenced by the number of dandelion killers on the market. Superlatives and homogeneity are the ideals. This narrow scope, the concentration of acceptable qualities, means perfection, and society always clings to the purity of what is "ours". It is an ancient prejudice, this preference for "us" and mistrust of the "other". Anything less than 100% makes people uneasy. Even here in the United States, home to immigrants from all over the world, there are still groups that squabble over the validity of a lineage, branding only those who came over at the start, and on the right boats, the truest of Americans. BUT Nature loves diversity. Variety and adaptation are the rules. They are the keys to survival and progress. Even the most bor...

We call her "Mother Nature" because despite the occasional antagonistic philosophies that have popped up throughout history, most people recognize Her motherly qualities. On an instinctual level, we know that this is where we're from, not what we've made. She nourishes and teaches. She loves all her children equally. She can be strict, for certain. You're never too old to be "spanked" if you're disrespectful or ignore what she's telling you. But, for one who has spent a lifetime in close contact with Her, there's no denying the motherly aspect. Like a family, we are all sprung from this parent and all bound together through Her, too. Growing up as I did, in an isolated community by the lake and, before that, at the edge of the woods, I came to know Mother Nature well. She taught me, fed me, let me climb in Her trees and swim in Her waters. You don't forget the ones who raised you. They weave their pattern into your life. So, wherever I go...

More than once, I've been with a friend looking up into the star-speckled night sky and heard them say "Look how small we are." The reaction and the reasoning that leads up to it vary depending on whether the friend leans scientific or spiritual. One could even tell you precisely how small you are compared to all the familiar heavenly bodies and venture a guess on the vastness of space beyond. Regardless of the tone of the awe, most seem struck by the contrast. Compared to the whole of creation, we are tiny, tiny, insignificant things. A humbling thought, without a doubt. Now, take that initial thought and step into the next. What lessons does the great big universe have to teach? What, other than humility, can we gain by contemplating the vastness? The universe may seem like something huge, but really, it is a collection of billions and billions of individual things. I'm not just referring to us humans, but every living thing and every non-living thing, too. ...