Sunday, February 28, 2010
Blog Update
You'll note, down the right side of the page, all the archives are updated and available again. There were some odd bugs and really odd comments but all that's been edited out and taken care off. So, for those who are looking for past posts, you'll find them here.
Next, there will be a new format of conversation for subscribers in the form of a monthly newsletter which will be posted each month. If you are on our list, we'll send you a copy starting in April. Thank you for those who continue to come to the site and those who send letters! Everyday, I get a new message. They are all so welcome.
Last and best of all, yes, there is a new memoir and it is titled Bye Bye Blackbird. Think of that old song with Joe Cocker singing the tune and you've got it. "Pack up all my cares and woe, here I go, bye bye Blackbird." 
Over these last five years, I have acheived the "found" state of being via a journey that took me deep into the heart of Tibetan Buddhist meditation practice and then into the search and discovery of my birth mother and family. Bye Bye Blackbird is the yummy and satisfying end to the story of being broken.
So where is it, you may ask? (And based on the letters you send, you are asking!!)
At this time, my literary agent works miracles trying to sell Bye Bye Blackbird to a publisher in NY in order to go the most mainstream route. If we find a good partner to take up the reins of the project, good enough. If such a partner cannot be found, other paths and opportunities are available. No matter, a strong faith burns within and I know Bye Bye Blackbird will be out and available in due time.
Who knows what is possible? It is a new day in publishing and there are many channels to reach out to you, the reader. Please keep tuned to the site for developments. 
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Right Writing Class?
Each week, I get a letter from a student asking advice on classes and what I recommend for the memoir writer.
I thought I'd pull together a few guidelines that are especially vital for those who are just stepping into the process of writing about a life experience.
1) Search for professionalism and exceptional talent—in equal measure.
2) Try to study in a collegiate program—PSU, PCC, or an MFA.
3) If a collegiate program isn’t available, study with a published writer you admire. Published means in a journal, magazine, via a college press or with a major press.
WARNING: If you must take a grassroots, home-based teaching, with an unpublished writer—be on alert.
When one begins her memoir-writing journey, she is as tender and as fragile as a new bloom arising from the wet earth. She is like an orchid. So delicate. And, as she writes her life, the writer also cracks open her greatest sorrows and deepest wounds for another to view.
What could be more frightening?
So often, this very act of opening becomes the fodder and fuel of the unskilled teacher, and fellow minions, who then launch an ego trip at the writer's expense. The result is to waste time, money and emotional energy.
In my most humble view, a writer sells herself short when she puts herself into the hands of the unskilled. Writers of memoir must treat themselves with great care throughout the writing process. I encourage writers to be the mother they wanted for themselves and to find the courage to act as their own best advocate in self preservation and protection, especially when attending groups of want-to-be writers and untested teachers.
Not even a well-published author knows more about you and your journey than you do. Be tough on your teachers. Demand excellence. You won't be sorry.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
New Memoir??
You may have noticed that I am not writing much about my new book. Is it out? Is it coming out? What's it called? What's it about?
Well, the manuscript for the memoir about my journey to a sense of final wholeness (and how that came about) is in NY as I write this and activity is brewing around possible publication. I have titled it Bye, Bye, Blackbird and it is a stand alone story that has me go the distance to find my birth mother and family. I write of healing, transcendence and a catharsis of self that I have been actively searching for for nearly fifteen years.
It is a very odd publishing market right now but I have a sense of optimism and hope. As soon as I know the progress of the situation, I will post on the sight.
Your prayers and blessings are so welcome.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Retirement
I disassemble my coffee maker and dump out the last pot that has been sitting for so long (embarrassing to admit) that the contents are mostly mold. I don't drink coffee anymore. I'm not sure how that happened--I just stopped liking it. First I downgraded to decaf and then poof, I was past all that.
As I scrub the carafe clean of mold and coffee stains, I am taken back to a woman I once knew--a friend of sorts--who got me hooked on five cups of Joe a day. She needed rescue from an unhappy marriage, my favorite neurosis--and I needed someone to mother me, her favorite weakness. I gave her advice for leaving a man and she made me pots of coffee and let me take refuge in her cabin in the mountains. Oh what a time we had, laughing as we dipped biscotti into cups of coffee with a pif of cream. At nights, we drank beers and told stories and shared secrets. We made a thousand plans to be friends forever and become old women together. There was care between us until she went back to her man and I finally stopped stalling and found my real mother.
I roll up the cord to the pot, dry off the carafe and carry the whole mess down to the basement to be stored away.
Coffee was our connection and now, all I have are the memories and the lessons.
I leave the old Braun pot on a shelf, in the dark and stand there for a long time--digging into my truth. I never really liked coffee and if I had to have another cup--one day--it would be the kind my mother made when we finally met; that one cup at a time with the flavored creamer that comes in a bright yellow carton. I remember loving the way she made coffee for me, both of us so awkward and confused. I was so damn happy to have found her, alive and real and mine, I'm pretty sure I would have been happy with a cup of mold.
But that's another story.
Not this.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Adopting Haitian Children
I receive calls, asking what I think of the children being taken from Haiti. As a woman with a history of being adopted, twice, I suppose I have a level of experience.
But it isn't a very deep level. I am not a woman living in Haiti, being pressured to give up my baby due to my challenges with poverty, homelessness and perhaps grave injury. Nor am I an orphan in Haiti.
Having said that, I know that I would not want to be taken from my people under these or any conditions. As a baby, I did not want anyone but my own mother. I am clear about the biological truth of that statement. As a woman, I have only found peace by knowing my birth mother. I know I am part of my birth family, as well as a part of their fate.
What is true for me is true of all human beings. No matter how dysfunctional or disturbed or poor, you cannot discount the genetic truth of who we are and what matters to each of us as human beings.
I believe the children of Haiti must stay in their country and with their people. They need their culture and rituals and homes. If we, American's, want to help--we should send funds and blankets and ideas. We should send man power to rebuild and empower the people of Haiti. We should not increase their sorrow by taking away the children.
How many countries sent adoption emissary's to the U.S. during 911? Or Katrina? How would we, as U.S. citizens feel about babies and children being distributed before the dead can even be counted? How would you, as a mother, feel to know your children are gone?
What we do, in the name of being helpful, is to bring great suffering to ourselves and to the children of Haiti. I beleive what is happening is quite self-serving and wrong.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Eight is Great
There she goes.
Running into her self.
My daughter Jo, at her birthday party. The countdown to this birthday lasted almost six weeks! What a funny, sweet girl.