Gimme a Sense of Purpose

In a few weeks, I’ll be celebrating the ten year anniversary of launching my writing business. Since I had neither business skills nor family encouragement, I prepared myself more for failure than success. I used my last regular paycheck to buy a dozen cans of chicken noodle soup, a few boxes of pasta, and a 24 roll pack of toilet paper. If the business tanked, I was prepared to wait tables again, just like I had in college.

Looking back, I’d say one factor helped me spin the floss of my dreams into a decent living: I was motivated by a strong sense of purpose. My writing projects focused on issues that seemed vitally important to our society. I wrote about schools and homelessness. I wrote about health care systems that were not prepared to serve immigrant patients. And I wrote crazy creative pieces about working class Joes who’d been replaced in the popular culture by thin people in Armani. What kept my business in motion was my belief that good writing could make people care about matters that needed their attention -- and I still believe that. But, after a decade of writing, the arc of my interests has shifted. A business anniversary is an opportunity to evaluate things and reflect on the issues that now dominate my thoughts. 

In September 2011, after 15 months of taking care of my ailing Mom, I got wrapped up in a social problem that now seems more urgent than any other. Research and experience are both telling me that our communities are not prepared to meet the needs of the booming elderly population. While seeking help for my mom, I began to discover that services are very fragmented. They breakdown across health systems, insurance companies, and geography. Elders who have no advocate to help them are as vulnerable as children who walk through gunfire to attend bad schools. I really don’t know how people survive if they have no family member to help them navigate the bureaucratic systems that control their quality of life. 

One day, after listening to some total strangers discuss problems they faced while caring for their parents, I felt a new sense of purpose sink its teeth into my writing bones. Working with people I’d met through clients, friends, and service providers, I set up an interview schedule and began collecting information to help families caring for elders with fragile health and memory loss. Through a new website and Facebook page, I started publishing stories to help caregivers in different parts of the country. The product of this effort is called “Between the Pond and the Woods”. Every day I wake up full of new ideas about interviews and issues I want to include. The renewed sense of purpose is thrilling. Despite my deepening crows feet, it’s the same force that helped me get started when I was a young idealist. 

Since my new project is keeping me very busy, I won’t be writing much here. Although the stories are different, any one who enjoys the photographs from this site, will find more of them at www.BetweenthePondandtheWoods.com  I invite you to take a look at these pages and share the links with those who may need them. I’m also searching for families and caregivers who want to share stories about caring for their parents, spouses or other family members. If you have a tale you want to share, please contact me at tenpagesaday@msn.com . In the meantime, accept my best wishes for a joyful holiday season. 

Feeling Alive During Days of the Dead

A life without rituals is one deprived of meaning. Imagine a year with no July fireworks, a December with no gifts. Steal the parades from the small towns, empty all the Easter baskets and we become a herd of Grinches, green from lack of fun. Last week, despite a major power outage and a premature foot of snow, a small group of faithful writers kept our little Day of the Dead ritual in Jim Thorpe. Surely, the spirits brim with gratitude.

The role of ritual in creative life cannot be overestimated. As Joseph Campbell has observed, "A ritual is the enactment of a myth. And through the enactment it brings to mind the implications of the life act that you are engaged in. Now, people ask me, what rituals can we have today? My answer is, what are you doing? What is important in your life? What is important, they say, is having dinner with their friends. That is a ritual."

These encounters with people we value add meaning to the simple tasks we perform anyway -- just to survive. But the presence of others -- and a sense of occasion -- make us all the more aware of the value in each moment of life. For me, the Day of the Dead readings also remind me of friends who are no longer around to share cherished dinners and chats over coffee. Setting aside the time to miss them provides access to those memories of when they were here to share the bounty of life. 

Campbell says, "When you sit down to eat a meal, you are consuming life. But you don't know what you're doing unless you think about it. That's what a ritual does. It give you an occasion to realize what you're doing so that you're participating in the inevitable energy of life in its exchanges. That's what rituals are for; you do things with intention, and not just in the animal way, ravenously, without knowing what you're doing."

Thank you to my fellow writers who took the time to turn an afternoon into a meaningful occasion. And thanks to the unseen spirits that shared our humble work.

Speak of the Dead

My time in Mexico taught me many things: a beautiful language, the power of family unity, and marvelous ways to celebrate the presence of departed souls. The Days of the Dead are very special holidays. In Mexico, people build lovely altars that appeal to every sense. The colors and smells are there, and so is the spiritual connection to deceased friends on the other side. This year, in Jim Thorpe, we are holding a fourth annual Day of the Dead reading event at 1 PM on Sunday, October 30th.

At the "Speak of the Dead" reading, we will have a mix of readers and creative performers from Carbon County -- along with a special guest or two from my old Philly gang, the Liberties Scribblers. The event will be held at the Strange Brew Coffee House at 79 Broadway -- Jim Thorpe's main street. If you'd like to read or perform a piece in tribute to someone who has passed on, please contact me here or at the Facebook page for Pennsyl Pointe Writing Retreat.

We will also build a small ofrenda at Strange Brew. If you want to add an item in remembrance of a beloved soul, you can leave it for me at Strange Brew some time before the event. This is one of my favorite autumn rituals. Feel free to join us.

Parallel Stories of Walking the Tightrope

Creative people embrace fabulous dreams. If you have abandoned yourself to the charms of a creative idea that now seems impossible to complete, consider the work of Philippe Petit whose incredible feats were captured visually in the documentary Man on Wire -- and poetically in the book Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann. Petit is the French highwire performer who walked back and forth between the towers of the World Trade Center in 1974. McCann is Irish by birth, but his book captures the soul of New York City as lived by its socialites, artists, hookers, and priests. 

Petit, a Frenchman from Nemours, spent six years planning his walk between the Towers, a project that was dangerous beyond words and patently illegal. His dream of the tightrope feat came to him before the World Trade Center had even been built. He read a newspaper article about the WTC construction project while he was waiting in a dentist's office and immediately began formulating a plan for his unbelievable walk more than 100 stories in the air. 

McCann's book captures the excitement of Petit's performance by leading us through the lives of characters who occupy each rung of New York City's social ladder. Some of their stories are heartbreaking. But the book is written with such affection for the tumult of life, you cannot help but feel delighted by their efforts to seize the available beauty in life. The sight of the tightrope walker adds a dimension of greatness to a day that would otherwise feel tragic to some, mundane to others. 

A third level of artistic complexity is added by James Marsh's film Man on Wire. If you have never seen it,  it is worth every dollar of a DVD rental and each minute of your attention. The work of Petit, the novel by McCann, and the movie by Marsh wrap the tragedy of 9/11 in a tableau of meaning that is far deeper and more complex than any one story could express. 

There will always be days when your life or work may feel impossible. And there are certainly times when the events of our lives seem to weigh more than we can bear. But by comparison, no task could be more difficult than the goals these artists set for themselves. Steal a moment to enjoy their work. Then take a big breath and get back up on the wire. 

Character Education

If you can't predict what a character will do, you're more likely to stay hooked by a story. Complex characters take time to reveal their hidden motives and disruptive plans. Rampart, one of the best films I saw at the Toronto Film Festival, revolved around a corrupt policeman with loads of charm. Watching Officer Dave Brown develop and unravel was an extraordinary experience. Much of his behavior was awful, but his emerging desperation made you want to understand him more. It's hard to think of a character in literature with the same qualities of attraction and repulsion. Voracious readers: help me out!

Officer Dave Brown is not Raskolnikov -- but he shares some of the delusions that Dostoevsky's great character held about why he should be permitted to do some of the sickening things he does (e.g. bash in the heads of suspected criminals, kill those he presumes to be guilty).

Officer Dave Brown is not Gatsby -- but he has some kind of naive sense of entitlement and -- though he has no real skill for the endeavor -- he is prone to love.

Officer Dave Brown is not Salander -- he has a set of gifts that include bottomless irony and a penchant for disappearing, but his morals are not as clear as Lisbeth's and his taste for violence is less defensible.

The one thing that Officer Dave Brown may be is the clearest example of what a great actor Woody Harrelson has become. Watching this mesmerizing movie, I had to remind myself that Harrelson is the same person who began his career as the dumb guy everyone made fun of on Cheers. During Rampart, it is difficult to take your eyes off him because he seems to have control of every muscle, every pore -- and he uses them to reveal more about the character.

Any writer who wants to learn more about creating compelling characters should see this movie. It is as instructive as it is amazing.

The Director's Deepest Cuts

The best dividends of travelling are the strange, intimate stories you hear from people in airports, subways, and cabs. When your journey takes you to an event like the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), the collection of tales expands to include confessions from world-famous artists who offer even more reasons to view life from new perspectives. I'm not sure whose story touched me most this year, but I think it's a toss-up between Francis Ford Coppola and Harvey Weinstein's chauffeur.

The chance to hear Mr. Coppola was the result of some wild luck. At TIFF you can stand in line to request a seat at any event. But those that feature legendary actors or directors fill up fast. If you're not prepared to wait an hour or two at the box office, forget it. For me, a week of travel is too precious to spend standing still, so I usually skip events that require a long wait -- even though I've shared memorable moments with producers and writers in TIFF lines. This year, after 40 minutes of waiting to pick up my ticket package, I made a random inquiry about availability for Coppola's premiere of Twixt. Even the TIFF guy couldn't believe my good fortune when he discovered there was one spot left. More serendipity brought me a seat very near the man who directed The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, and other unforgettable films.

Twixt was a fascinating experiment in story telling that had little in common with Coppola's best known works. Some story elements were drawn from straight from horror movies -- others had the emotional tone of serious character studies. Visual elements shift from frames of hand colored black and white photographs to highly stylized 3D sequences that could have been designed by Hitchcock himself. Since the plot of Twixt has Gothic overtones, I expect the film to appear in theaters around Halloween. But the most important aspect of the movie is the personal conflict that propelled its development.

Coppola is known for his expansive vision and massive appetites. His big belly is the central feature of a man who has overspent on budgets for some films that flopped like harpooned whales. But his explanation of Twixt revealed some of the personal turmoil that his prior excesses nearly hid. Tragic deaths lie at the core of the plot; denial drives the actions of the lead character. In his comments after the film, Coppola revealed that these themes mirrored his own epic pain over losing a child. He said that the film's plot came to him through a dream he had in Turkey one night after drinking too much wine. While the ending of the story was not revealed to him, his dream showed him that the key to resolving of the film's conflict was buried inside of him. Considering Coppola's work in light of his personal losses makes it's easier to forgive him some of the excesses he displayed in his career. Twixt was also a lot of fun to watch. It's spooky, visually compelling, and it gave Val Kilmer a chance to show comedic talent he didn't need when good looks were all the camera demanded. Kilmer is not beautiful in Twixt, but he looked good on stage in Toronto. It was also a treat to hear a former Batman laugh out loud. For me, the whole premiere was a reminder that our best creative work is often driven by memories that remain undead no matter how often we plunge a stake in them.

Can George Clooney tell a good story? Live from the Toronto International Film Festival

Hardly able to keep my fingers on the key pad as the schedule for today's films gets arranged and re-ordered to shape the day. Creative people fill the sidewalks of Toronto as the film festival shifts into high gear. Directors, actors, producers, and fans have converged to see the films that have the potential become this year's hits. High on the list for today: A new Clooney picture --The Descendants, directed by Alexander Payne of Sideways fame -- and Albert Nobbs, a film co-written by its star Glenn Close. Both films intrigue because they are based on books or screenplays written from unusual perspectives. One describes a man who is heir to a large and valuable tract of land in Hawaii, the other charts the life experience of a woman who has spent her life dressed as a man. Stories like these can be portrayed in  ways that surmount the "star elements" of the films. Can't wait to see what they'll be like.

September Transformations

Every kid in the world knows that things change in September. Even if you finished your last day of school thirty years ago, you can still feel the world's heart skip a beat when students on campuses everywhere open great books for the first time. What story has most transformed your view of things? Was it a fiction classic like "The Great Gatsby", a memoir like "Angela's Ashes", or the work of a cunning philosopher like Machiavelli or Adam Smith? 

Earthquakes, Hurricanes and the Script for Disaster

Everyone was running away from Irene since she arrived in town with a bad reputation. Circumstances forced me to do the opposite and drive straight into the hurricane. There were very scary moments, but the script for this disaster movie wouldn't be authentic if it overlooked the great waves of kindness moving around the eye of the storm.

For weeks I'd been planning a nice evening in my old Philly neighborhood where I had to fix a roof leak before the start of the rainy season. Once Irene showed her teeth, there was no way I could cancel the trip. Although the new galleries and restaurants in Northern Liberties have made it a sexy destination for people in sharp clothes, I lived there when it was a haven for working and middle class people of all incomes, races, and jobs. On summer nights, neighbors hung out on the front steps and shared the Yuengling.

Yesterday I was reminded that no amount of hipster marketing has erased the heart of my neighborhood. it still beats to the rhythm of hammers and saws of hard core Phillydelphians. As the rain teemed down on all the old brick houses, one guy from our street became the most important fellow in town. He's the local roofer who had spent his morning saving a church roof that was about to collapse under three feet of water! The gutters were blocked and they needed someone to get up there and unclog them before doom set in. By the time I found him, he'd already been working nearly around the clock saving local buildings before the storm hit.

His wife and I sat talking while George the hero changed his shirt, dried his head, and grabbed his truck keys. In the pouring rain, he climbed out on my roof with another guy from the bar across the street. The bar's number is the one you call when there's a crime or crisis. Since the guys there can solve most problems faster than cops or firemen, it's smart to get them involved early. Twenty minutes after George arrived, my leak was fixed, my neighbors were drenched, and I was soggy but safe. It was a great moment for my community. Soaked and laughing, we remembered what the realtors tried to make us forget. Come quakes or high water, Philly is a heart and soul town.

It was a long, exhausting drive back to the mountains and I'm glad to be out of the of Schuylkill backwash now. Still, it's nice to remember how much kindness lies at the heart of what we call disaster.

Where are the butterflies?

Leaky roof, sticking door, stack of bills that need attention. Everything slits a hole in the balloon of inspiration. Trying to mend the tear just frays the edges. Clouds part, but it's still overcast. Where are the ideas that used to land here like butterflies? Cranky times need poetry and action. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote: "I heard an angel speak last night/And he said, "Write!"

Every word feels like the product of arthritic effort. But with time, it starts to flow like yarn unraveled. Life isn't supposed to be easy, and writing is just an extension of life, so why should that be easy? Joseph Addison had it right when he said, "Our real blessings often appear to us in the shape of pains, losses, and disappointments."

Wallet empty? Spirit tired? Car out of gas? If your cup runneth over with "blessings" of that sort, shake off the mood of complaint and pick up a pen. Your swallowtails and monarchs may have arrived.

A Taste of the Hand-Made Life

Today's chefs and food writers have found a huge popular audience. But writers like Julia Child and M.F.K. Fisher delight me far more than their contemporary apprentices. That's mostly because, although they shared a fascination with food, Child and Fisher lived unique, hand-made lives built one original decision at a time.

Julia Child's biography is nicely detailed in her books and in the film "Julie and Julia". What enchants me about her life is the way she allowed a passion for French cooking to drive her other career decisions. By following her impulse to master French cuisine -- and share that expertise with an American audience -- she created a whole genre of culinary writing which has stood the test of time. Julia also lived an incredibly satisfying life without yielding to pressure to dilute her ideas on how to cook, write, or live. Even in TV shows made at the end of her life, Julia Child bubbled with enthusiasm and authentic charm.

M.F.K. Fisher also fashioned a writing career around the love of eating. But unlike Chef Child, she focused on the way food binds families and people together. Her writing reflects a glimmering literary sensibility that lures you into a meal by way of innuendo and luscious metaphor. Here is a paragraph Fisher wrote about her first childhood meal in a restaurant: "There was no mention of milk to drink but instead we lifted the tall goblets of forbidden ice water waveringly to our lips, and looked up over them at the pink rose nodding in a silver vase between us and the world. There may have been other things to eat, but the chafing-dish chicken is all my sister and I can remember now, and of course the wonderful waiter who kept on remembering us too, after that first hushed luncheon." By the end of this piece, you feel like you've not only eaten a lovely meal, but traveled back to misty, mythical meals from your own childhood.

Like Julia Child, MFK Fisher began to write about food in an era when expectations about women's lives did not include roaming the globe, eating odd foods, and writing about the experience. Fisher had several husbands. She left the first one and the second died of a rare disease. Even with two young daughters to raise, she continued to seek ways to keep travelling and maintain her unique career as a gastronomic writer. Today her essays on food set the gold standard by which we might judge all Cooking Channel poseurs.

Although I love to cook and sample great food, the food writing business is an extraordinarily difficult one to enter. At last year's conference of the American Society of Journalists and Authors, editors at a food writing workshop told writers that it is nearly impossible to get a cook book published if you don't already have a cooking show. Imagine how Julia Child or M.F.K. Fisher would have reacted to that message! Perhaps we'd never have learned how to make a proper Boeuf Bourguignon or savor Fisher-style meals of mussels steamed on fresh seaweed over hot coals. On second thought, considering the obstacles they faced in their day, maybe they would have gone ahead and self-published their writing, hoping a hungry audience would find them one day.

Nostalgia for Borders

It's not easy to confess, but I think I'm a book addict. It started pre-kinder, when my cousins taught me to read. By second grade, I was a library junkie, helplessly hooked. Borders fed my addiction in ways I couldn't have imagined until they opened their Philly store on Rittenhouse. It was just two blocks from my house and I could not stay away.

When that flagship site first opened, there were lots of independent bookstores in Philadelphia. Most seemed small and dim compared to the bright, expansive aesthetic promoted by Borders. The store had leather club chairs for browsing and cappuccino for those times when only caffeine could sustain a good book binge. Coffee and books, leather chairs, the occasional Wednesday night jazz combo playing on the second floor...the place offered stimulation and comfort to urban thinkers.

Poetry and performance groups convened there. I remember a guy pulling a flute out of his backpack one night, to accompany a poet. Jazz aficionados and world travelers converged in the cafe to drink espresso and critique the world. Borders was the only place in town with a good selection of literature in Spanish, French or Russian.

Economists say that Borders fell because the chain's prices were undercut by Amazon -- a global store with no chairs or coffee. They also say that Borders failed to embrace E-books early and lost out on that market. While these things are true, I also think Borders followed the irritating example set by banks. First these corporations put a sales outlet on every corner to try to stamp out competition. Then they end up with huge overhead costs that turn them into dinosaurs. Consumers lose out once more.

No matter why it happened, the death of Borders makes me sad. I'll miss my browsing marathons and spontaneous chats with other book fiends. But I'm keeping my favorite Borders memory:

One night I helped a friend from Spain edit a paper he'd written. It took hours to knock the warts off his grammar and smooth out his prose. By the time we finished, we were the only people left in the cafe. I went over to the cashier and, while waiting to get some change, I felt someone brush up behind me. I turned to find myself standing face to face with Bill Clinton, America's sexiest presidential candidate. Yes, he touched me right away and with both hands. I swear he could have been a faith healer if he hadn't gone into politics. With one palm on my shoulder and one on my hand, he sent a surge of electricity right through my body. I had him sign a Borders napkin which I gave to my Spanish friend. For myself, I kept nothing but memories of his blue eyes and the glare on Hilary's face as she looked on. It was before we knew what we know now -- about Bill and about Borders. Goodbye, old innocent days, goodbye.

You Lookin' at Me?

Do you want to make money, have a million followers, or be recognized for the quality of your writing? Creativity expert Julia Cameron believes that every writer must identify their "True North". True North is the outcome that would bring you real satisfaction with your work.

If you can't name your personal True North, it's hard to set goals that will lead you in the right direction. Some creative people write great stories but are frustrated by the fact that they can't earn a decent living and have to hold down many jobs. Others sell their work, but feel like they have to stoop to the low tide of the market to earn any dough. Then you have the unusual predicament of a hugely successful author like Stephenie Meyer. The final book in the Twilight saga sold 1.3 million copies in the first 24 hours after its release. But Meyer believes that today she could write a much better version of Twilight -- because now she's developed a true sense of craft. Though she says she's got mature stories to tell, Meyer says can't write when she feels people looking over her shoulder.

Yikes! After selling more than 70 million copies of the Twilight books, finding the creative solitude that feeds her True North must be nearly impossible. Meyer says that even her mother tries to tell her what she should be writing. Still, she knows that get to the heart of the matter, she's got to put distance between herself and the rest of the world.

Those mystical moments when creative ideas are born can be thrilling. Last Thursday, I took my coffee down by our stream. The sun hadn't risen above the trees but the weather was already steamy. Early morning felt like a dream my brain forgot to end. Then I got this sensation that I wasn't writing alone. I turned my head and saw I had a follower. He had horns, lean legs, and a white tail. Maybe he was just thirsty, but I think that deer was trying to find his way into my plot. Can't find peace and quiet anywhere!

The Long March to Success: Rachel Simon

Many folks think that writing careers are launched by a random bolt from the sky. But most are the product of ceaseless work. The tale of Rachel Simon, a friend whose book "The Story of Beautiful Girl" recently made the New York Times Bestseller list, offers an antidote to the magical thinking that surrounds the writing industry.

When I met Rachel, we were both in our first post-college jobs. I wasn't sure what to do with my English degree. Journalism didn't seem attractive, but I still wanted to write. Rachel was not a journalist, but she had a clear vision of the kind of writer she wanted to become. She never let the drudgery of her day job keep her from working on stories. Over time, her strong work ethic and well-defined goals helped her get a story selected for "consideration" by a literary journal. During an entire year of waiting, Rachel's story got lost and was eventually rejected by the publication. Infuriated, Rachel's anger pushed her into entering a story contest -- which she won. When she went to accept her award, she took copies of her story to hand out at the event and used the opportunity to meet professionals in the industry.

Guided once more by her goals, Rachel worked to sell her first book, before she even had an agent. After winning a contract, she did whatever it took to sell more books and make people pay attention to her writing. Her publicity events were funny and fearless and she never backed down from the endless challenge of getting people to notice (and buy!) her work.

When her second book of fiction did not set the world on fire, Rachel had to work through a long period of self-doubt. Ultimately, her instincts led her away from fiction and into memoir. This brave decision was a key choice that transformed her view of herself and her family. It also showed her she had the power to tell many kinds of stories. Riding the Bus with My Sister was translated into a host of languages and made into a TV movie.

Though the success of the memoir opened a new path for her, Rachel still taught writing as a part-time college professor. Then, after years of teaching, her position got cut during a budget blood-bath. Grieving this sudden loss, Rachel turned the termination of her job into raw material for her next work. The Story of Beautiful Girl has now pushed Rachel into the national fiction limelight. Her book was recently highlighted by Jennifer Weiner on Good Morning America as one of this year's great summer reads.

If Rachel's path teaches anything, it is that successful writing careers rest on a foundation built from tremendous discipline and the ability to rebound from disappointment. She works with diligence and wisdom whether she's helping students, meeting her writing schedule, or throwing a party.

Becoming a good writer requires us to become the best version of ourselves and that often means turning away from more seductive pleasures. Rachel says, "The most valuable tool in a writer's toolbox is the word no." Say no, she says, to anything that distracts you from your writing. This advice reminds me of the motto on a statue in the Annenberg School where Rachel and I worked at our first jobs. The bust of Moses Louis Annenberg reminded everyone that, "Sacrifice is necessary for achievement." Yes, Moses, it certainly is.

Word Ethics

Most people who thrive as writers have built their success on three qualities:1) Skill, 2) Luck, and 3) Work ethic. It's an equation that can be rebalanced in a few ways. If you are incredibly skillful, like Scott Fitzgerald, you might need less luck. And if you're really lucky, like "Twilight" author Stephenie Meyer, skill may not be the key. But even lucky, talented authors can't survive without a disciplined approach to the page.

Many young people want to be writers but they absorb their ideas about the field from images in movies and publicity media. Some actually believe that all published writers get the beach house, prepaid. This is a hilarious notion for those of us struggling to meet deadlines while we wait for our freelance checks to roll in. Apart from writing, most authors have to maintain teaching jobs or speaker schedules to keep their financial boat afloat. Last week I taught writing workshops to students in Philadelphia and raced home to write after nightfall. Yet even some of my most sensible clients seem to think my address is Easy Street USA -- maybe that's why my checks arrive late.

Writers don't get paid holidays and they finance their vacations with 60 hour work weeks before and after each break. When I have a three day weekend, like last week, I usually have to write at night to make up for lost time. But I'd still do this job even if I never got another day off. I started writing stories and journals when I was a kid in primary school. If I have to go a day without writing, it's only because I'm forced into it. Sure it's a bit of a compulsion, but it's the only way I know how to stay limber and hit every deadline -- and it's a common practice with most writers I've known. Even Stephen King, who could survive 300 years without selling another book, keeps a rigorous writing schedule because his personality will tolerate no less.

A long time ago, I saw a diagram for helping teens choose a career. In the middle, it said: "Do what you love". This message was surrounded by concentric rings which explained that: a) doing what you love, helps you define who you are and develop your true talents, and b) developing your true talents helps you become the person you were meant to be. So if you think you are the kind of person meant to obsess over words from morning 'til night, and cool your heels 'til your financial payoff arrives, a writer's life may be just for you. You can write on the porch in summer and on the couch when it snows. Just be prepared to do a lot of scribbling before you get the beach house. It comes with a nice view and a hefty mortgage.

Next week: A true tale of how a phenomenal work ethic built a path to the New York Times Bestseller list.

Fireworks in the Library

Conflict lies at the heart of every revolution. It set things off in 1776 and rocks our politics today. Great writers also embrace conflict as a tool to move society forward. Authors like Edna O' Brien chafed at the injustices promoted by organized religion and sexist norms. Though her books are revered today, they once served as fuel for library bonfires.

People with a strong creative impulse often find themselves at odds with society. O'Brien felt suffocated by a religious education and poured her discontent into The Country Girls, a tale of independent girls who resisted the constrictions forced on Irish women. Her work -- which advocated birth control -- was banned, burned and belittled before it catapulted her to the top of the literary heap.

Practically every work O'Brien wrote was censored by the Irish government under the Censorship of Publications Act of 1929. The authorities found her stories to be "indecent or obscene". But she later won a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Irish Book Awards in Dublin, as well as the Los Angeles Times Book Prize.

It's a quiet day today, but a writer can find the seeds of conflict anywhere. There are firecrackers shaking the forest while mountain laurels explode across the hills. Tonight, those rowdy fireflies will be back and the fireworks will start again. So much rebellion, so much material, right here in our woods.

Writing Idols Revived: Midnight in Paris

Once upon a time a bunch of clever people settled near the Seine seeking new ways to write, draw, and explain the world. Their work earned them big prizes and a perpetual glow that still enchants aspiring artists. Books like The Great Gatsby and The Sun also Rises ensured that hordes of college students would dream of writing in French cafes. Then, just when you think the magic of Jazz Age literature had been dispelled by reality (and Reality TV), Woody Allen leaps in to revive it with his film Midnight in Paris.

Seeing this film sent me back to books that have launched a million writing careers. Though Fitzgerald always charmed me most, it was Gertrude Stein who brought Picasso, Hemingway, and the rest of that creative gang together. It takes work to find the core of her stories, and the rewards have not always seemed to justify the effort. But Midnight in Paris reminded me that the enigmatic quality of her writing was a reflection of her strong, quirky personality -- and that's what drew genius artists to Stein's salons.

This paragraph from The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas illustrates the oblique charm of her writing: "As I was saying, Fernande, who was then living wih Picasso and had been with him a long time that is to say they were all twenty-four years olds at that time but they had been together a long time, Fernande was the first wife of a genius I sat with and she was not the least amusing. We talked hats. Fernande had two subjects hats and perfumes. This first days we talked hats. She liked hats, she had the true french feeling about a hat, if a hat did nto provoke some witticism from a man on the street the hat was not a success. Later on once in Montmartre she and I were walking together. She had on a large yellow hat and I had on a much smaller blue one. As we were walking along a workman stopped and called out, there go the sun and the moon shining together. Ah, said Fernande to me with a radiant smile, you see our hats are a success."

That's a heap of words. Yet, when you get to the end, there is a sense that the phrases describe more than a moment. It's a long paragraph leading a tour of cultural history. Nevertheless, you may not want to eat that many words at each meal.

It good to go back to read those authors who were your first idols. It makes you recall what you love about writing -- whether it's content or style or just the rhythm that propels great stories. I think I may also go back to see that Woody Allen movie again. He has put a new coat of paint on a cherished illusion.

Advice from Masters

All around me, the garden is in some ecstatic state that makes things grow fast. But gray skies make me feel lazy. The late John Leonard, my beloved college writing teacher, told me that laziness is a writer's biggest problem. Starting pieces you never finish, he warned, is the scourge of the profession. Since he'd published a few novels and been editor of the New York Times Book Review, he knew a thing or two about the rewards of perseverance.

Persistence is clearly a trait that drives success in this business. It may even matter more than talent, since many talented people give up before they get published -- and lots of mediocre writers end up in print. A recent computer crash taught me something about the limits of my own ability to persevere. One afternoon the laptop I'd been using for two years went dead -- just dead -- without warning. I was in the middle of a high profile assignment with a no-nonsense deadline. The project had to be finished, so I went to work on an old, injured IBM. It was once a great machine but had developed electrical problems that allowed me to type only when I held down the left corner of the keyboard. It's not a very comfortable arrangement, but I managed to complete the work on time.

Later when I had a chance to scroll through files on the old laptop, I found a couple of stories I'd written two years earlier but never edited. One had a special place in my heart because it was written in honor of a friend who'd lost his life. The discovery made me think about John Leonard's advice and the many great pieces I'd seen friends write but never finish.

It's really never too late to go back to a story you care about. Like certain books, some can lose their appeal when you hit a wall. But if you go back to them, it's possible to rediscover the magic that drew you to the tale in the first place. When I need inspiration for writing, my garden at Pennsyl Pointe always helps me find it. Last fall I put a leafless hibiscus in the ground without expecting much. The winter was cruel and I wrapped the roots of the plant to protect it. All through March and April it just looked like the grey stick you see in the background of this photo. Then suddenly, in early May, it pushed out a green shoot. For the past week it's been growing at least an inch every 48 hours. Now it's got real Jack-in-the-Beanstalk propulsion. It's quite possible that those old abandoned stories conceal the same kind of surprising potential.

The Vision Thing

Some people look at a field of rubble and see the end of civilization, while others say, "Hmm, nice spot for a garden." One of the perks of my writing business is that I often work with visionary people. It's exciting to help someone massage an idea until it's got the right shape and dimensions. My job is getting that vision on paper so we can transform it into reality.

The "visionary" trait is not universally distributed. People who have it are often very creative and most are a bit headstrong. Stubbornness is an important quality when you're trying to launch a new project -- whether it's a book or a skyscraper. Many obstacles can arise when moving an idea from the stage of foggy inception to real life. The architect of a good idea has to be at least a little pushy to move things from phase to phase.

A few weeks ago I had a chance to chat over coffee with a long-time client who has founded several organizations and created some gorgeous city parks and buildings. We both agreed that you can usually sense when some innovative idea will work or not. If your vision has true value, pieces start to come together in ways you hadn't anticipated to make it even more interesting than you originally thought. Doomed ideas seem to keep getting hung up on the rapids. No matter how hard you work to solve problems, no amount of effort can revive them. This guideline is one I use to help decide whether to keep writing something or look for a new angle that finds traction in my imagination and allies in the real world.

This week, while working on a new book project, even the research process really fascinated me. As lists of facts coalesced, I began to see more value and complexity in the concept. When momentum grows, so does commitment. This is what makes writing a true adventure. It's like living in an Eden of ideas.

The photo here, by the way, is not a picture of our Pocono garden. It's a shot of the Libertylands garden in Philadelphia. Those gorgeous flowers were planted on the site of an abandoned tannery where roses were once just a dream. Moral of the story is: plant a paragraph today if you want a bouquet of chapters tomorrow.

War and Memory

Even in the tiny hamlet of Albrightsville, we have an annual ceremony of rifles and Taps to honor deceased local veterans. The cemetery at the top of our hill is half the size of a soccer field but it serves as the final resting place for veterans from every war from Abe Lincoln's to Vietnam. There are no graves for soldiers who fought in Afghanistan or Iraq, but the solemn gunshots force you remember the people still fighting wars for which there is no true end in sight.

It's a mistake to believe that wars ever end. So many soldiers bring home harrowing memories that haunt them their entire lives. My dad was a Korean War veteran and, although he would never admit it, it scarred him in ways that undermined his efforts to be a good husband and father. He spent a lot of time celebrating his military experience but never took the time to disarm the ticking bomb of distress inside him. He suffered from endless nightmares and recurring heart problems. When Marines fresh from active duty would visit him at our house, we always had to leave the room. He did not want us to know the gory details of wartime, preferring to wrap them in a flag.

A few weeks ago, I also lost a long time friend who received the Silver Star, the Bronze Star and two Purple Heart medals after extensive tours of duty in Vietnam. Luis Munoz, Sr., was my advocate and protector when I first started working in a dangerous North Philly neighborhood. He helped me run programs that sent young Latinos go to college and he personally raised many scholarship dollars for kids who often couldn't afford to buy their college textbooks. Lots of the students who won those scholarships were from Edison High School which, at that time, was the high school that had produced the greatest number of veterans who had been killed in the Vietnam war. He never mentioned any connection between his own battle scars and his efforts to help young people find a path away from military service. But on many occasions, he shared heartbreaking stories of things he'd seen and done in the war. Despite the wounds he carried, he was a friend and hero to many, many people.

Writers from Ernie Pyle to James Jones and Tim O'Brien have used the printed page to make us examine the truth of war and its human costs. If you have a war memory or are a second hand veteran, like so many children of soldiers, today is a good day to put some of that truth on paper and make those memories count in new ways.

Did the French Invent Everything?

Shrinks have lots of theories about how and why we create, but anthropologists now think they've dug up the roots of modern creativity. One-upping psychologists and poets, the rock hounds excavating Chauvet Cave in Southern France, have uncovered stone rooms filled with detailed paintings made more than 31,000 years ago.

Werner Herzog, one of the world's great storytellers, has made the Chauvet cave paintings the focus of his documentary, Cave of Forgotten Dreams, which was a big hit at the Toronto Film Festival. Last week in Philadelphia, I had a chance to watch the film and reflect on its message in the context of Philly's lush creative community. While the city is known for great baseball (GO PHILS!) and cheesesteaks, for me it's always been a hive of creative communities, bursting with artistic expression.

Philly is dense with gorgeous murals, hidden gardens, and every form of poetry known to man and thug. The city also has links to France -- Ben Franklin's gang loved Paris! -- that help me accept the Chauvet anthropologists' theory that their cave paintings may be the first art that used modern techniques of shading and perspective. It's okay with me if the French take credit for inventing modern art since they've done so much to refine it during the intervening centuries.

For a writer, however, the most interesting part of Herzog's story comes at the end of his film during a discussion of how aboriginal people explain the source of their creative impulse. When the Chauvet scientists talked about worldwide cave art discoveries, one man mentioned a story about an aboriginal cave artist in Australia. An ethnographer asked the aboriginal man to explain why he would go the caves to touch up ancient paintings. The aboriginal artist protested that he did not paint -- it was the Great Spirit doing the painting. For me, this explanation also describes the most profound writing experiences. It is not Ego Me that writes good stuff. It is that strange visitor who steps in from the underground cave to leave inspired work on my page.

They have yet to discover any books in Chauvet Cave. But I feel certain that one day they will stumble into the cavern library which is surely located just behind the cave's central fireplace. Unfortunately, the reading chair is made of stalagmites.

Good Mothers Publish their Children

Merriam-Webster offers this two-bit definition of the word "mother": a female parent. But if you have a mother, or are a mother, or have ever had the privilege of knowing one, you'll note the number of details this definition omits. Apart from the million tasks that go into caring for families, mothers are awfully creative people. Some have also been exceptional writers in their "spare" time.

Toni Morrison, for example, earned a master's degree, gave birth to two sons, and got divorced before she ever wrote her first book. She accomplished this while holding down a full time job and raising her kids, who have never written tell-alls to gripe about her parenting skills. In fact, one of her sons (Slade) has even collaborated with her on several children's books.

Somehow in the process of raising children, teaching, and writing books, Toni Morrison managed to win the following awards:

1977 National Book Critics Circle Award for Song of Solomon
1977 American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters Award
1987-88 Robert F. Kennedy Book Award
1988 American Book Award for Beloved
1988 Anisfield-Wolf Book Award in Race Relations for Beloved
1988 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for Beloved
1989 MLA Commonwealth Award in Literature
1993 Nobel Prize for Literature
1993 Commander of the Arts and Letters, Paris
1994 Condorcet Medal, Paris
1994 Pearl Buck Award
1994 Rhegium Julii Prize for Literature
1996 Jefferson Lecture
1996 National Book Foundation's Medal of Distinguished Contribution to American Letters
2000 National Humanities Medal

Just pondering all that may lead to exhaustion. But her example also shows us that it is possible to be a good mother and a successful writer. Sometimes I think of my neglected manuscripts as abandoned children. I know in my heart that they deserve a better fate, yet I put off taking care of them. Today is a good day to revise the to-do list and become a better mother to works I still love.

Country Characters, City Plots

This week the first hummingbird arrived at Pennsyl Pointe and dandelions erupted across the lawn. Instead of sitting around admiring the spring, I propelled myself across the state into the roiling energy of New York City where I met with many writers and picked up a few urban plot points.

Life in the woods is full of beauty and quiet charm. But when I throw myself into the arms of a big city like New York, I always come home with a head full of new projects and hot ideas to nourish my writing. Fortunately, the big city stories I just added to my agenda are neatly tied to my blissful life in the woods. In the Big Apple, I had a chance to see the Oscar-nominated film Gasland. Anyone living in the Pennsylvania counties that sit upon Marcellus Shale must see this movie. It's time for people to educate themselves about the unpublicized environmental threats associated with the fracking process. At the screening, I had a chance to meet Josh Fox, the film's director, and talk with people in the publicity crew for his movie. Now I'm actively plotting to bring the film to Carbon County for a public screening and discussion. If you're interested in working with me on this project, please get in touch.

A second writing project grew out of the fun I had meeting writers at the annual conference of the American Society of Journalists and Authors (ASJA). Over the years, I've had the privilege of working with so many writers in different parts of the country. My Philly crew is very dear to me and I've enjoyed getting to know members of the Black Diamond Writers Network. Now, through my growing involvement with Gotham Ghostwriters and ASJA, I think it's time for ... a city-to-woods writers party at Pennsyl Pointe. Wanna help me plan it? Send me a note and let's talk before the dandelions take over the lawn in earnest.

Today the Associated Press reported that Hosni Mubarak, ousted president of Egypt, is not healthy enough to be moved to a military hospital. He will continue to be held in detention in a hospital at Sharm el-Sheikh until his condition is more stable. Here is a link to my recent article in Carbon County Magazine about the revolution in Egypt and some thoughts on freedom of expression.

The Triumph of Instinct

Time to tune in to the soundtrack of spring. Crows, robins, turbulent waters, wind, dogs -- there's sound everywhere silence once reigned. Instinct churns all of it. When writers listen to their instincts it will also tell them where to find the real story.

Some writers create characters that embody instinct. In great novels like The Girl Who Played with Fire, Lisbeth Salander is able to survive a million threats to her life because her instincts are as sharp as those of any animal. Rape, gunfire, police manhunts, technology -- nothing actually overpowers her highly developed gut knowledge of the true threats in life. She also has a well developed sense of morality that underlies her sometimes violent approach to justice.

E.M. Forster speaks to the alchemical process that pushes writers to hear their instinctive voices and incorporate them into great fiction. He says, "What can we say about the creative state? In it a man is taken out of himself. He lets down as it were a bucket into his subcionsious and draws up something which is normally beyond his reach. He mixes this thing with his normal experiences and out of the mixture he makes a work of art...And when the process is over, when the novel is complete,....he will wonder how on earth he did it."

When your gut pushes you toward a story, follow it. For months, I had notes for a story on Egyptian filmmaking waiting for me to turn it into something. About two weeks ago, I was overcome with this idea that the time to write the story was on that day. I wrote it, found an interested publisher and wrote it out as fast as I could. The next day, Hosni Mubarak and his sons were taken into detention for questioning on charges of corruption and abuse of power. It gave me a lot of satisfaction to hear the story break on the news the day after I turned in my final draft. If only my instincts were that accurate for all aspects of life -- today I'd be writing from Paris instead of the Poconos.

Passion Ain't a Dirty Word

Yesterday, as the wipers raced to clear my windshield, passionate men of all ages and shapes parked their cars along the roadside and slogged to nearby streams. No storm could dampen their love of fishing on the season's first day. They just hitched up their waders and marched.

As a kid, we watched people pursue their hobbies with discipline and gusto, but the word passionate wasn't one we'd ever use to describe them. For us, "passion" described soap opera love affairs or small town scandals. The word only made it onto the covers of books written for adults and shelved beyond my reach. But now the judges on TV talent contests keep telling contestants to display passion, connect with the song, dance, or whatever...and deliver an emotional performance.

Great writers have always followed this advice. Isak Dinesen ran away from her rich family to paint in Paris. She later followed her husband to Africa where she fell in love with the landscapes she described in her novels. Ernest Hemingway stalked the bullfights and safaris in search of material for works that married emotional life to other feats of daring.

Though we have a million great examples of passionate writers, it's often really hard to pursue a story idea that takes us out of the realm of our daily life. Routine has its own gravitational force. Breaking away often seems impossible.

Don't let yourself be a prisoner of inertia. Want to write about the circus or the world of modern dance? Have a yen for sushi or a new slant on love? Take a tip from the determined anglers. Invest in the right tools, pick a date to begin, and don't let stormy weather keep you from your goal.

The Plot of a Lifetime

To deliver a good plot, a writer must find clues that emerge from every landscape. Rich symbols and ideas appear in odd places at strange times. But it's the writer's job to use these signs to enrich the adventures we put on paper and those that drive our lives. Synchronicity is as valuable to a writer as it was for Jung and Sting. (Note: both guys have one syllable names ending in G.)

Jung thought of synchronicity as a "meaningful coincidence" of outer and inner events that are not linked by causality. He encouraged people to pay attention when certain ideas, symbols, or events occurred in clusters. Their occurrence did not suggest that these moments "caused" each other – just that significant ideas tend to occur in patterns. Jung believed that these patterns signaled a new phase in the process of psychic growth.

Creative people have also embraced the concept of synchronicity as one that can help drive the development of a work as it proceeds from inception to finished product. Julia Cameron, who has written extensively about the creative process believes that when we encounter a problem in our lives or our writing, taking a single key action may be enough to make a solution appear. She says, "Synchronicity is like a tap on the shoulder by the universe. It tells us pay attention, that we're on the right path." In lyrics from his bestselling album with the Police, Sting describes it as, "An effect without a cause, sub-atomic laws, scientific pause, synchronicity."

Now, for the I-swear-to-God finale: While writing this piece, I was paging through a treasured volume of Jung's articles and ideas. It’s a nice hardback with illustrations and photos that I got for $8.50 in a used bookstore. While searching for quotes, I happened to look at the inner fly leaf for the first time since I bought the book. Written in pencil on that blank page was the name Jan Price. That is the name of my best friend from elementary school. And this is what happens when you start looking for meaningful coincidences that nudge your work toward the unexpected.

Thrill of the Random

On my left were empty seats with place cards for Bob Marley and Marley...my boyfriend said hi to my family and I asked if he'd be lunching with us. He said, 'Just 'til Bob Marley and Marley show up...' Then I woke up, strangely pleased. M.L.von Franz, a Jungian sage says, one must "remain alert of hints and signs, both in dreams and external events, that the Self uses to symbolize its intentions." Reggae or not, when the Marleys speak, a writer should listen.

The creative impulse is mischievous and can elude direct efforts to summon it. But a random adventure almost always wakes my muse. Yesterday, in a familiar town, I felt bored by the usual scene. Then, on a dim back street, I saw a Moorish style fountain spraying water near an old tavern.

We looked at the menu and decided to go in. The front of the building had a small, dark bar with antique furniture. It was the kind of place where a cheating wife would feel at home. But the back dining room was another story. It was built like a chalet with a vaulted roof and floor-to-ceiling windows. Diners gazed out at a giant willow tree flanked by a rushing stream.

The visit surely sparked my morning dreams. The place had three qualities that wake my creative drive: 1) Novelty -- I'd never seen the place before; 2) Strong natural imagery -- that willow tree, that stream, and eventually, stars; and 3)Randomness -- the entire adventure was completely unplanned.

Today I realize that entering that restaurant felt something like a dream. Nothing I saw was what I expected. Isn't that also the basis of a great plot? For a writer, new places and odd dreams are more refreshing than rain. They call your attention to different symbols and original ideas.

As Gandhi said, "If we have listening ears, God speaks to us in our own language, whatever that language is." That giant willow tree had words with me last night, then somehow raised the ghosts of the Marleys. This morning I inspected a willow near our house. In full sun, I saw a hint of green on its limbs and felt real joy. Creative renewal is always closer than it appears, and as Bob Marley said long before our phantom lunch, "None but ourselves can free our minds."

More Optimism, Please

Winter returned to badger the optimists, but I know I must be resilient. "Resilience" is a word that landed on my desk in the late 90’s, when I worked in social services. It's a shiny concept that suddenly got credit for being the prime quality that helps kids survive tough childhoods. Resilience also seems to be the key to success in the writing field. To thrive, a writer must triumph over life’s hardships and survive the ordeals of the marketplace. Frank McCourt is a writer who did both with panache.

The early years of McCourt’s life were filled with sufficient illness, danger, and heartbreak to kill a child of lesser grit. He lost three siblings to disease and nearly died of typhoid fever himself before reaching adolescence. According to him, his hometown of Limerick was a place where dampness “created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive creaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges.” His father was an unrepentant alcoholic who drank up the family’s cash. Young Frank often resorted to stealing bread to help feed his hungry brothers and sisters.

When he reached the age of 19, McCourt moved from Ireland to New York City. After working in the hotel industry and completing a stint in the military, he eventually established himself as a public school teacher. Although McCourt taught writing for decades, scribbling his own work on the side, he did not publish the bestselling Angela’s Ashes until he had already retired from teaching.

I heard McCourt talk about his writing breakthrough when he visited Philadelphia to promote his second book,‘Tis. He was a hilarious public speaker, funniest when he described how his late in life success had inspired scores of old fogeys to leap out of their beds and begin writing memoirs. I got him to sign a book for me and couldn’t help noticing how all that hardship had left no trace of bitterness on his face. He was a truly resilient person whose long years of toil brought him prosperity, happiness, and a Pulitzer Prize at age 67.

Spring Cleaning and Artistotle

Signs of renewal are everywhere. The ice is gone, the mud's firmed up, and the fishermen are ready stock the pond. As spring rain fills our local stream, neighbors prune dead trees, cast out trash, and embrace the spirit of catharsis. Aristotle would be proud.

In his "Poetics", the Greek philosopher explored the ways in which catharsis buoys the power of classic tales. For Aristotle, great stories pushed a character (or reader) toward a huge release of pent up feeling. To achieve this effect, a story's audience must experience strong emotions that result in a purge of passion -- like weeping or belly laughs. Some iconic characters invite us to the passion party by forcing us to witness their tragic fate. Think of Anna Karenina or Jay Gatsby, whose out-sized dreams tipped the human seesaw too far.

But for every memorable character who falls off the cliff at the end of the story, there is one for whom catharsis results in a new life and a resurgence of hope. These are the characters who survive tremendous challenges, yet reach for goals they can achieve despite their frailties. Characters of spring have the pluck of busy birds making new nests in your local elm. Think of Miles in Rex Pickett's "Sideways" or Louisa May Alcott's Jo March.

Though the cold months of winter break down our resistance to despair, green buds restore a sense of hope. Forget Madame Bovary...Take a breath of optimism and let your characters lead lives they once thought impossible.

Victory in Print

Between the oaks and hemlocks, trees with less resilience fall. Many could not survive the rough winter. Yet even in the coldest months, Stieg Larsson's novels brought heat to our corner of these chilly woods. Such a shame he didn't live to write more about "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo".

Larsson gained world fame as a crime writer who created Lisbeth Salander, a unique female character who hacks computers and brings villains to their knees. He wrote the series as a kind of hobby to relax from the stress of his real work. For decades Larsson wrote journalistic articles that tracked the activities of neo-Nazi groups in Sweden. His grandfather was a strident anti-fascist who was punished in a Swedish work camp for his political views. Following his footsteps, Larsson wrote journalistic exposes of right wing extremists.

As a young man, Larsson traveled the world on a shoe string budget. To finance his travels he did things like work as a dishwasher and sell his own clothes. While he earned respect as a journalist, he did not live to enjoy the wealth produced by his mystery series (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest). There is still hope that a fourth novel will appear one day. But that won't happen until his family members settle a suit with Larsson's long time girlfriend who has possession of the material.

Apart from the unsettled financial questions, his death at the age of 50 inspired many conspiracy theories. Did Larsson really die of a heart attack after climbing several flights of stairs -- or was he victim of some insidious act? Regardless of what provoked his death, it's very sad that he did not live to celebrate the worldwide victory of his printed work. His writing somehow captures the prime threats and contradictions of our times. We could sure use more of it.

The Long Winter of the Oppressed

Dictators have fallen on hard times. Their ceaseless efforts to stifle human creativity are like old man winter's fruitless bid to suppress the arrival of spring. Tyrants hate the vitality inherent in artistic expression. As Erica Jong has said, "If sex and creativity are often seen by dictators as subversive activities, it's because they lead to the knowledge that you own your own body (and with it your own voice), and that's the most revolutionary insight of all."

In some societies, the church drives censorship...in others, the political class takes the initiative. But in the most heinous cases of artistic persecution, all public institutions coalesce to silence creative discourse. Nazi Germany had very efficient methods for eliminating those who chronicled its atrocities. Among the many artists who were exterminated by Hitler, Irene Nemirovsky stands out as a remarkably talented writer whose stories of Nazi occupation have all the emotional grandeur of a Tolstoy novel.

Nemirovsky did not survive her imprisonment in Auschwitz. But her work still stands as a testament to the strength of her creative spirit. She wrote, "My God! what is this country doing to me? Since it is rejecting me, let us consider it coldly, let us watch as it loses its honour and its life. And the other countries? What are they to me? Empires are dying. Nothing matters. Whether you look at it from a mystical or a personal point of view, it's just the same. Let us keep a cool head. Let us harden our heart. Let us wait."

As we watch the fall of distant empires, consider the range of truths still unspoken against oppressors large and small. Do not relinquish your pen. It's a powerful weapon in the hands of a committed writer.

And the Award Goes To......

Later today, people in fabulous clothes will be accepting gold statuettes for all sorts of achievements, real and imagined. To scoop them all, here's an imaginary list of awards for storytelling achievements exhibited in a truly random sample of this year's big movies. Let's start with characters, because, why not?

Best Character in a Nifty Picture: There were a lot of unkempt, drunken men on the screen this year (Barney from Barney's Version, Rooster Cogburn in True Grit) but I really liked Johnny Depp's version of the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland. Please note, all of these characters were based on literary versions of the same. As for female characters, I really liked Jennifer Lawrence's character in Winter's Bone. Vulnerable, determined, smart, and driven to carry out a chilling mission.

Best Screenplay: By a wide margin, 127 Hours. This was my favorite movie of the year. But I've said that too often. A story told using music, dreams, hallucinations, memories, journals, fake morning news -- all in a canyon crevice! Hats off.

Strangest Plot: Black Swan -- I'm still not sure what happened. I thought I went to a character drama, but it turned out to be a horror movie. Nevertheless, compelling.

Cinematography as Narrative -- I loved True Grit. As the camera followed horse and rider across the terrain, my heart overflowed. The landscape told half the story.

Costumes that Tell a Story -- The 2011 Polar Bear plunge. I liked it better than Natalie Portman's feathers. Someone even brought a portable sauna.

For a real plot twist, watch the Oscars in your bathing suit this year. You'll have way more fun.

Showdown with the Boulder

A choir of saws now hums around Henning Pond. It's 22 degrees, down to 9 with the wind chill. But men are cutting a giant hole in the ice so people can jump in. So crazy. What kind of nut would do this? (Me...?) And why....?

Along with a hundred other people, I jumped in the pond last year. I said I was celebrating a big birthday. But it's also the kind of weird ritual that makes you face fears that float below the surface of your life.

Many creative people find a nature challenge attractive because it tests your nerve and gives you an adrenalin rush. One of my favorite stories from the past year is based on a nature challenge that went awry. It's the story of Aron Ralston, a hiker who ended up trapped by a boulder in a Utah canyon. He went hiking in search of adventure and thrills. Then nearly lost his life when faced with an obstacle he never anticipated.

Ralston's life story was the basis for the movie "127 Hours". I loved the story telling techniques used in the movie and wrote a piece about it for Carbon County Magazine. While Ralston waited in the canyon, he had nothing else to do but face his deepest fears. Finally, he gathered the courage to address his gruesome situation and was totally transformed by his showdown with the evil boulder.

As writers, we are often stymied by inner obstacles that keep us from addressing topics we ought to deal with in our writing. It takes great courage to overcome those fears and escape the boulders in our path. But it is worth all the effort to emerge victorious on the other side of fear.

I'm heading out to the pond now. Not jumping this year, but I want to see who else is jumping into the cold water, swimming toward the strange freedom on the other side. Try it. Take a leap, face a fear, get away from that boulder, write.

Writing advice from....actors?

For a week or so, winter has made Pennsyl Pointe an even more perfect place to write. Snow softened the sound, cold weather made things cozy, and my new French press produced some wonderful coffee. Why then, was it so impossible to put words on paper?

I tried to limit phone and email interruptions. Still, my list of writing ideas sat abandoned and I started hating myself for not using these winter days to write something really good. Then one night, I saw a televised interview with John Cusack, the film actor. A young actor asked Cusack why it's so common to get blocked at the moment of performance. Cusack, quoting ideas from Carl Jung, said that sometimes when it's time to perform, the conscious self does not want to give up control or experience the vulnerability at the core of the creative process. The self -- or ego -- then sets up barriers to block creative expression. To defeat the ego and its blocks, an actor must make friends with the unconscious -- or shadow self -- which is the true author of creativity. The same notion can also be applied to writing.

Like most creative people, I learned this long ago. But my world had gotten a little too busy and I was treating my creative work like an item on life's grocery list. The imagination really needs room to play -- or an incentive to jump higher than the ego. Even after 10 years of professional writing, it's easy to forget this truth and think you can boss your unconscious mind around.

Taking Mr. Cusack's advice to heart, I've begun looking at each creative writing session like a theater piece. Before I raise the curtain, I offer my shadow self a little treat. Sometimes it's one of those great cups of coffee, but it's paired with a moment of silence or some music. And, okay, sometimes it might be piece of chocolate. After all, the creative self is a lot like a child. Once you coax that little imp to come out and play, the writing flows like...like...a runny nose on a winter day.