And they were all from a western culture, one that prefers not to be too loud, too much trouble, or too exposed. Already they'd given me quite the eye when we talked about writing from the heart of your own emotions.
"I don't express myself personally in my work," one of them told me. "I just don't do that."
excerpt from Saving Eagle Mitch by Barbara Chepaitis
Ok, so the first thing I really want to say here is, read Saving Eagle Mitch by Barbara Chepaitis. I haven't done any book reviews on this blog (yet), and this isn't a book review. But if it was, I'd tell you this is a must read for a weary soul. A must read for those who complain about the powers that be, but have never considered taking action. A must read for people lovers and animal lovers and book lovers. A must read for readers of my blog, because there's going to be a quiz next week.
Now here's a confession that's going to make my recommendation suspect: I know Barbara Chepaitis, and I'm the "one of them" who told her I didn't do the personal thing in my writing. Now stop laughing. I know it's hard to believe, as you sit here and read my oh-so-personal blog, but it's true. Three years ago, as I embarked on my MFA with Barbara as my professor and mentor, I refused to use myself or my life as fodder for my writing. Refused.
But here's the thing. Barbara loves a challenge, and she's a formidable opponent. Over the course of two weeks, she'd taken my refusal and turned it into some passably decent writing and an incredibly fun public reading--on very personal matters! And here I am, three years later, torturing you with my private missives on a weekly basis. If you'd like to complain about that to Barbara, buy Saving Eagle Mitch. I'm sure it has her contact information in there.
You're probably wondering how Barbara managed to get me to tell my stories. It was pretty simple, actually. A few bamboo shoots and some bloody fingernail beds later, I was totally ready to talk. Talk and talk and talk. But apart from her garden-variety torture tactics, Barbara has something really magical. No seriously. MAGICAL.
A beautiful deck of tarot cards, engraved with the fingerprints of believers and doubters, breathed on by the wind of stories told and withheld, rooted in the souls of those who make room for the tree of knowledge to grow.
I hear you, I hear you. Tarot cards? Horoscopes? Tea leaves? That stuff is for the birds. The weak minded. The heathens. Well then call me a blackbird with a broken wing, because I'm a big fan. But maybe not for the reason you'd think. So hear me out, then go buy Barbara's book. It doesn't even mention tarot cards. Not once. I just want you to read it so we have something to talk about.
I'd be lying if I told you I thought Barbara could see into the future in a mystical kind of way. Although she did refer to my ex-husband as my "starter husband" a full two years before I'd even considered divorce. Astute, yes. But prophetic? Hardly.
What I do think is that Barbara, as a writer and therefore a studier of people, knows, um, people. She knows human nature and she know that A and B often times lead to C. Barbara knows that our lives are archetypal, telling the stories of the tarot cards again and again. She sees patterns and themes and secondary plots that many of us chose not to see.
In my experience, Barbara has a tremendous wealth of wisdom to offer. And because she's no dummy, she offers it through her cards. Unsolicited advice is irritating. A tarot reading is exotic and mysterious and a damn fine story to tell your friends.
A few nights ago, Barbara did my yearly reading and told me exactly what I needed to hear. Just as she does every year. Maybe the cards told her. But I'm willing to bet if I had the strength of character to listen to her honest assessment without the cards between us, the conversation would have gone much the same way.
I choose not to believe that Barbara's cards foretell my future. Rather, I look at them as a self-fulfilling prophecy. I can go ahead and ignore the cautions and the gifts they bestow, or I can bring them consciously into my life--using them as something of a roadmap for my future, rather than walking aimlessly through it.
The first year Barbara did my reading, I felt vulnerable. Completely exposed. We'd only known each other a few days and she read me like a damn memoir. Even after I'd expressly told her, "I just don't do that." It was a humbling experience, but one that taught me that I can survive vulnerability. I can even thrive within it. I have made some huge and very empowering changes in my life since encountering Barbara and her deck of cards. Not because she told me to, but because the cards helped me see my story clearly--not what I was going to be, but what I already was. And having that insight helped me make some important adjustments to my future.
So am I telling you to dig through your local paper and read your horoscope right now? Heck yes I am. Am I suggesting you wander around your downtown area and find that place that smells like patchouli and duck through the curtain into the back room? You betcha. Not because I want you to unlock the mysteries of your future, but because I want you to revel in your vulnerabilities. I want you to take a good look at the archetypal stories in your own life and take comfort in the fact that your triumphs and your sorrows have been lived. By you and by me and by all who've wandered before us. And when you see your story in the context of all the stories in its genre, your life becomes a Choose Your Own Adventure. Awesome.
Now go forth. Be loud in your stories. Make trouble. Allow yourself the pleasure of being exposed. In other words. Start your own damn blog :)
A beautiful deck of tarot cards, engraved with the fingerprints of believers and doubters, breathed on by the wind of stories told and withheld, rooted in the souls of those who make room for the tree of knowledge to grow.
I hear you, I hear you. Tarot cards? Horoscopes? Tea leaves? That stuff is for the birds. The weak minded. The heathens. Well then call me a blackbird with a broken wing, because I'm a big fan. But maybe not for the reason you'd think. So hear me out, then go buy Barbara's book. It doesn't even mention tarot cards. Not once. I just want you to read it so we have something to talk about.
I'd be lying if I told you I thought Barbara could see into the future in a mystical kind of way. Although she did refer to my ex-husband as my "starter husband" a full two years before I'd even considered divorce. Astute, yes. But prophetic? Hardly.
What I do think is that Barbara, as a writer and therefore a studier of people, knows, um, people. She knows human nature and she know that A and B often times lead to C. Barbara knows that our lives are archetypal, telling the stories of the tarot cards again and again. She sees patterns and themes and secondary plots that many of us chose not to see.
In my experience, Barbara has a tremendous wealth of wisdom to offer. And because she's no dummy, she offers it through her cards. Unsolicited advice is irritating. A tarot reading is exotic and mysterious and a damn fine story to tell your friends.
A few nights ago, Barbara did my yearly reading and told me exactly what I needed to hear. Just as she does every year. Maybe the cards told her. But I'm willing to bet if I had the strength of character to listen to her honest assessment without the cards between us, the conversation would have gone much the same way.
I choose not to believe that Barbara's cards foretell my future. Rather, I look at them as a self-fulfilling prophecy. I can go ahead and ignore the cautions and the gifts they bestow, or I can bring them consciously into my life--using them as something of a roadmap for my future, rather than walking aimlessly through it.
The first year Barbara did my reading, I felt vulnerable. Completely exposed. We'd only known each other a few days and she read me like a damn memoir. Even after I'd expressly told her, "I just don't do that." It was a humbling experience, but one that taught me that I can survive vulnerability. I can even thrive within it. I have made some huge and very empowering changes in my life since encountering Barbara and her deck of cards. Not because she told me to, but because the cards helped me see my story clearly--not what I was going to be, but what I already was. And having that insight helped me make some important adjustments to my future.
So am I telling you to dig through your local paper and read your horoscope right now? Heck yes I am. Am I suggesting you wander around your downtown area and find that place that smells like patchouli and duck through the curtain into the back room? You betcha. Not because I want you to unlock the mysteries of your future, but because I want you to revel in your vulnerabilities. I want you to take a good look at the archetypal stories in your own life and take comfort in the fact that your triumphs and your sorrows have been lived. By you and by me and by all who've wandered before us. And when you see your story in the context of all the stories in its genre, your life becomes a Choose Your Own Adventure. Awesome.
Now go forth. Be loud in your stories. Make trouble. Allow yourself the pleasure of being exposed. In other words. Start your own damn blog :)
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| Barbara is on the left in this photograph. She's on the right too, technically, with Kyle and I in the middle. It look like a Dark & Stormy night on the stoop. |
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