All for One

“We’re not competing here. It’s like we’re all in a big relay race, and instead of racing you, we’re handing off to you - skills, support, motivation, advice - so you can make it through to the end.”

Let’s face it. I go to an all-girl school, basically. I am okay that I do not want to compete with the amazing writers I’ve met. We are all part of the same program, the same school, the same field. I love what each woman writes, love it for the uniqueness of the ideas, for the formulation of the argument, for the voice inside the story.

How could I undermine what each woman has spent a lifetime creating?

I couldn’t.

And so I made a pact tonight. A secret rite that ensures that each member of my little group continues to write, revise, and care for her work. Every woman belonged in that group. The shy, bold, fiery, motivated, lost, hungry, creative, literary, spiritual, confident, curvy, athletic, caring, careful, wonderful women who make up my program. Especially my year. If things are going to change (and they will always change) we might as well be part of the group that makes the changes.

As a writer, I know I am obsessive, repetitive, highly focused, a little funny, and often annoying. But my work comes from the insane place in my mind where logic shuts off and worlds are born. It’s in this little corner that I shoulder all the experiences that make me an individual and create something from the bundle of pain, joy, and ambivalence. That is the magic of creativity.

“We’re just like you, but different.”

I said this to my friend tonight, or this morning, if you prefer. She is such an amazing writer, but sometimes she needs the outside perspective a friend can bring. Our Children’s Literature program is just what she needs. It’s where a bunch of us gather together to exchange ideas and neuroses and share our lives with each other. We’ve developed a group that wants to keep in touch and keep each of us motivated in our various fields.

“Let me put it this way. We are all climbing a cliff. We each have our own lifeline anchoring us above and below. We have to rely on it to make sure we don’t fall. I guess we would call it a “guideline”. Whatever.  Anyway, the rest of us are climbing around you. We offer a different perspective from our various perspectives hanging on the cliff. If I am above you, I can offer advice on where to go next. You can learn from my mistakes. If I am below you, I can point out areas that look tricky from my viewpoint.  If I am next to you, I can share the handholds and footholds securing me. No matter where I am, I will holler out support to you. I will encourage you. We’re all on the same cliff.”

And so I say, have hope. I am not out to get you. I am on your side:

 “You’re in a tunnel, going around a bend, and you don’t know what’s ahead of you. There is a tiny glow just around the corner and it gives you hope. It may just be a flickering yellow light, dangling from the ceiling, or it may be a beautiful green world growing under the fluorescents.”

Sometimes late nights and amazing risotto make for surprisingly deep conversations.

Virginia Rain: Various Moods

Virginia Rain #1
  The weather here is fickle. The clouds hover angrily, gathering pressure until, suddenly, the blow. A flash of bright light, an ominous rumble, and suddenly the rain starts. One spatter falls like a missile to my skin. Heavy drops splat onto the concrete and two more graze my skin. “Yes”, I say to the dark sky. “Yes, bring the rain.”
  But the weather here is fickle. It does not want to make me happy. It does not recognize me at all. The thunder rolls away and I am left with three beads of perspiration clinging where once there was rain.

Virginia Rain #2

  When the sky is ready, then it will let loose. I toss in bed, confused by the slight moisture reaching for my legs. The window clatters. I sit up groggily, so lost in sleeping that I am merely annoyed with the noisemakers beating against the sky. 5:30 am. I close my window and close my eyes, only to have my eyelids seared by flickering white light. Thunder booms outside my door. I cover my face and slip into sleep interspersed with kettledrums and flickering fluorescent lights.


Virginia Rain #3
  The sidewalks are already dry by the time I walk to campus. “What rain?” the ground seems to say as it slurps away any remnants of moisture. I forgot about the morning rain, too, and wear sandals. The heat doesn’t stop just because it rained. It weighs upon my shoulders as I fumble with the campus map. It pushes down as I walk under trees and tall columned buildings. It presses against my heels even as I escape inside.
  The heavy mantle of heat stretches to cover our class’s second story window. Our teacher hears the sky’s groans better than I do and dismisses class early in hopes we can escape the rain. I walk into it. Evaporating raindrops sizzle against my ankles. The rain starts in earnest, then, with big drops falling hard against grass, tree, sidewalk, and me.
  I resist the urge to run from the onslaught. I’m from Oregon, after all. I don’t fear rain! But this rain seems angry. I may love the rain, but the combination of heat and rain chases me until I slam the library door behind me.

Virginia Rain #4
  The rain types against the glass, streaking and spattering the third-floor windows of the library. Dark clouds highlight the white flecks of rain falling in droves now, waves. They splash into full gutters and cascade down the building.
  I sit and listen until the rain ends, then walk outside. Dark splotches linger on the pavement, but the network of dry cement soon spreads to cover the whole walkway.
  Just like that, the rain is forgotten.
  I don’t forget so easily. The hostility of the clouds still waits, loitering over my shoulders. I do not forget the rain as I pass the small creek rimming campus and hear the happy chirp of bathing birds. I do not forget as I dip only my toes in a puddle as pass along the creek.
  The rain has been here, and so have I.