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Stretching Out My Wednesday

Yesterday was too busy a day for a post on Wednesday’s word.

I hate missing a deadline. Plus, I considered the fact that you might count on finding out what word rises to the surface on Wednesday of every week. So while it’s after midnight in my neck of the woods, I haven’t gone to sleep yet. That means, I’m still working on Wednesday’s time.

I had hoped that Wordsmith.org would choose a light and festive theme this week, considering the upcoming holiday. But this week’s theme is “fear and desire.” I thought, at first, I had no connection, nothing to write about.Then, I caught myself getting all keyed up as I scurried around town doing my last minute shopping.

What if I forget something?
What if he doesn’t like it?
What if I just buy that one for myself?

In all that running around, today’s word sparked some microfiction.

astraphobia. noun: An abnormal fear of lightning and thunder.

She arrived early and secured a parking spot near the side entrance. At two minutes to nine, she walked briskly from her car to the glass doors and reached for the handle at the same moment the manager unlocked the door. She felt she had the upper hand: a winter storm advisory, most people off today and sleeping in, her list in hand so she could get in-get out.

But, she got caught standing in front of the Nonfiction books, Sarah Palin staring her down. She wondered what made Sarah think she was so rogue. Just as she reached for the book, she heard the manager’s hearty “Hello!” and “We’re so glad you’re here!” She turned and saw a trio of musicians in Santa hats hauling an electric piano and a box of small instruments. They plugged in, underneath a Christmas light display, right in the middle of the store.

She forgot about Sarah. She looked at her list. One more book to buy, she told herself. The musicians warmed up their voices, and she buttoned up her coat. She walked in front of the piano and shot a side-glance  at the player. He was smiling and humming as he slid his hand across the keys. When he flipped the switch to turn on the piano, a Christmas bulb blew. There was a pop and a flash of light and a “Whoa!” followed by laughter. The flash threw her off balance, and she fell sideways into the  “New in Paperback” display. Like dominoes, the books tumbled and fell to the floor.

The flash.
The thunder of books.
She turned and made a mad dash towards the exit, her coat tail fluttering behind her.

Next year, she told herself, order online.

***

Just for fun, check out Thursday’s word of the day: onomatomania. Maybe it’s late, but something about that word made me giggle.

Enjoy a festive holiday!

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What’s in a Name, Really?

Kate Harding’s compelling article, “Write Like a Man,” on Salon.com reveals how gender affects a writer’s success and psyche.

She writes about James Chartrand’s first hand experience that proves a male writer succeeds faster than a female writer, even in the 21st century (you can read James’s account here). For James Chartrand, changing the she to he, on paper, skyrocketed her writing career. The same writer – sitting at the same laptop, crafting articles with the same style – became a quick success under the guise of male anatomy.

Kate Harding also mentions Kathy Sierra’s story about a barrage of death threats, via internet, aimed at her simply because she’s a female blogger. Kathy Sierra put her gender on the table and still managed success. However, she also attracted a hostile reader who threatened her with physical and sexual violence. Not because she wrote provoking blog entries, but because she was a woman who dared to write about “cognition and computers,” which apparently is man’s domain.

There are days when equality seems accessible, tangible. Then, I read about the experience of these writers, and I wonder, what’s a woman supposed to do to get ahead, or just plain even? In ten days, we will enter another new decade, one that seems lightyears away from the Seneca Falls Convention and the  birth of a seventy year struggle to ensure a woman has a voice. Still, women stand two rungs down on the ladder to success. Not only that, but we are susceptible to bodily harm when we dare to succeed in a man’s world.

Sure, there are plenty of women writers at the top of their game, selling books left and right, sporting a fat, healthy readership. Yet, Kate Harding’s article cannot be ignored. She says it well when she expresses the same sentiment I feel when faced with these odds:

“I get furious when people insist that western women have achieved full equality, feminism is no longer necessary, the wage gap is imaginary or the lack of women in positions of power is unrelated to sexism.”

Check out Kate Harding’s article for yourself. Though your perspective may differ from mine, we’ll at least be on the same footing about the facts.

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Back Online and Dreaming

I’ve had little time to write lately, and that disconnect is beginning to wear on me.

Today, I stared at a blank screen.
The blink
Of the cursor,
A taunt.

“Write something. Anything.” I told myself.

I searched through my files for an old writing prompt to stir me into new material, and I found this one from an online course I took with Ariel Gore:

Allow a beautiful vision of your life to come to mind.

As cliché as it sounds, this is a great time of year for me to reflect on the past and envision the future — especially when I sit in front of a screen and wonder, what do I, little writer that I am, have to offer?

Reflecting on the past year, I see that I passed more benchmarks in writing this year than in the past:

  • I saw my work in print on the pages of a few different publications.
  • I “met” several writers online who offer encouragement, support, and excellent feedback on my work.
  • I wrote almost every single day, in the form of a post or a rewrite or morning pages.
  • I signed on to Twitter and found an even greater pool of resources and authors online.

Small successes, I tell myself, are as important as signing with an agent for a three book deal (though maybe not quite as exciting).

This year, I dream:

  • I find time to write every day — not just minutes pieced together here and there but good, solid, time.
  • I see myself opening my email to a message from a literary magazine, saying “yes.”
  • I watch my hand reach into an envelope and pull out a check for a story published.
  • I envision holding a finished manuscript, passed through the virtual hands of beta readers, reworked, and queried.

Then, I imagine I put down my manuscript and turn away. Let the story go, I tell myself, and let it land where it may.

I step outside into the brisk air of early summer. The wind raises goosebumps on my arms, but the sun warms my back. With bare hands and a spade, I dig in the ground for a while. I turn the soil. I wake the earthworms. I plan a plot of fresh herbs, tomatoes, maybe some wildflowers.

What do you envision this year?