“The lightest of barriers against a breeze is the little head scarf of chiffon.”
~ from CHIFFON
Susan Maciolek has written a lovely book of art and verse called Chiffon that grew from the simple image of a woman waiting for a bus. Her guest post today is a testament to the joy found in pursuing a project for the love of the story and includes artwork from the pages of her book.
The Delicate, Diaphanous Tale of How Chiffon Came to Be
by Susan K Maciolek
When I used to take the bus to work, one of the regulars at the bus stop was a little dumpling of a woman who was always neatly dressed in knit tops and pants. She had the kind of immovable hairdo some older ladies are partial to and she sometimes wore a scarf over her hair. The scarf was white and semi-sheer – a chiffon scarf – and I hadn’t seen one in years. Seeing it reminded me of Christmas shopping trips to Chicago when I was a kid, where ladies wore chiffon scarves in the middle of December, and it mystified me. How could something so flimsy do any good in such cold, windy weather?
Ah, yes, the very gossamer quality of the chiffon scarf was the point: it kept a bouffant hairstyle intact without mashing it down the way heavier fabrics would. And like other scarves, the chiffon came in silk, or the more affordable nylon, and later polyester. I wondered if chiffon scarves might be an ethnic thing, adopted by European immigrants in industrial cities near the Great Lakes – perhaps an American successor to the babushka? Chiffon scarves had been spotted in Chicago and Milwaukee, maybe we’d find them in Cleveland and Buffalo, too.
However it came to be and wherever else it might be worn, the chiffon scarf was still a Midwestern thing, and I was captivated by the way something so light and insubstantial was deployed for such hard work. Defending hair against the elements is no small task on the shores of Lake Michigan. I had to know more.
I resisted the compulsion to learn the complete history of chiffon scarves since I wasn’t doing a research paper, just a lighthearted salute. But soon phrases like “a sheer pastel wisp” and “beauty shop hair” started dancing in my head. I eventually captured them in a story told in verse and void of any illustrations. My writing group at that time didn’t hate Chiffon, but they didn’t warm to it – disappointing since I was so taken with the notion. Still, I kept at it and even sent the story off to a local magazine. When the editor replied “We don’t publish poetry,” I thought, He doesn’t get it. It’s not poetry, it’s humorous verse!
Chiffon didn’t fit neatly into any market at the time, so I moved on to other stories and let it languish for years. When going through old manuscripts, I found it again and it struck me that what was missing were illustrations. That’s when I became inspired.
Though it’s better to create art along with your story and not afterward, as a visual person I already had scenes in my head for most stanzas. I also knew my Chiffon ladies had to be rounded and simple to draw, especially their hands. I’d done figure drawing for years and knew I’d fixate on getting every finger right, which could take forever. Then I unearthed a clip I’d had in my files for ages (you never know when something you’ve kept will come in handy) of a blob-like cartoon creature with pointy hands. Problem solved – I knew that pointy hands would suit my ladies just fine (and give their creator a break). Pipe stem legs and bee-stung lips completed their appearance.
With Chiffon, I didn’t have all the doubts I usually have about my work. This time I had a vision in my head of how the book should be. I chose to keep the drawings simple and sketchy. I knew I wanted the cover clean and uncluttered, with just the title in an inviting typeface. I found a gorgeous shade of green cover stock called “Casaba” at Broadway Paper, along with matching chiffon ribbon to use as a decorative “binding.”
At this point I sent the book off again, this time to a unique and arty publisher. As is so often the case, their only response was no response–a rejection. Rather than sulk and let the story sit on the shelf again, I headed to a local printer and handed over my flash drive. When the guy at the counter checked my PDF file, he chuckled as he read it. That made my day; he got it! I shared copies with friends, and they got it, too. Eventually I found the courage to approach retailers about selling it.
Chiffon is one of the few projects I’ve done that ended up almost exactly as I envisioned; I had a certain image in mind as the end goal and felt driven to achieve it. What I pictured was a small illustrated book in a beautiful color, tied with a sheer ribbon. Eventually that came to be.
Chiffon is available at The Sparrow Collective on Kinnickinnic Avenue in Bay View and at Woodland Pattern Book Center on Locust Street in Riverwest in Milwaukee.
We’re still in the early weeks of a new year, so it feels right to kick-start a new series on the blog: the Remington Roundup.
“The idea I love is that a story is kind of a black box. And, you’re gonna put the reader in there…with this thing that you have made. And when she comes out, what’s gonna have happened to her in there is something kind of astonishing.”
“9. Write one scene at a time. Put each scene on an index card. On the front of the card write the theme, and on the back of the index card write down little details–dialogue, smells you remember.”
“Christi Craig’s Flash Nonfiction Online Course packed a wealth of resources and prompts into four weeks and gave me a needed motivational push to strengthen the writing habit.” ~ Lisa Rivero, past student
I like parts of this argument, too. You could get lucky and find some naturally skilled groupmates who give great advice. I have seen it happen for golfers and for writers. On the other hand, you could end up with a duffer who thinks he knows more about golf than he really does. He might advise you to change your grip only to make your slice worse. Let’s face it, bad advice is worse than no advice at all. The other hazard here is that your golf game could be so much better than your mates’ that they can offer no suggestions for improvement.
