Get Out of the Way

Writing prompts that involve several words have never appealed to me. I need something very basic but full of possibility, like a single word. If someone says, "Write about faith" or "Write about filth" I might write about religion. If they say, "Write about worms" or "Write about politicians", it's the same topic. But I get to interpret with fewer boundaries. No one is asking me to incorporate "Tea, sidewalks, amusement parks and trout" into one writing. That's too narrow. I have to really think about it which gets in the way.

Thinking too much is self-consciousness, like pulling fragile petals from blooms.

I think we write best when we stop thinking about writing, about words, grammar and spelling. Those concerns are for the later edit. The left brain. Stephen King once wrote that we should write our first draft "with the door closed". We should write without concern that anyone in the world will ever read it, without any thought that anyone else even exists. It's just us and our story, a whole that moves unselfconsciously, like a toddler or Mother Nature without pruning.

I do struggle with this. In fact, I edited the last eight words I wrote twice before I put a period at the end. It's like an itch I can't ignore, fixing something the moment I know it's wrong. But did I lose my flow? Forget my point? Lose a bloom of right-brain wholeness as I pulled the petals off mid-flower?

There are few instances that we don't have to worry about how we are perceived. Those moments usually happen when we're alone, windows covered, doors locked. We can walk around naked, watch infomercials or eat an entire gallon of Blue Bell peppermint ice cream. We can pass gas, scream expletives or touch ourselves. No one will see. No one will ever know unless we tell them or gain fifty pounds from the Blue Bell. But personal writings meant for the public eye are subject to criticism.

Writing is the only art measured by itself. Paintings aren't critiqued with more painting. Songs aren't reviewed with more singing. Only writing is reviewed using the same canvas, brushes, microphones and voices. And this difference makes it more vulnerable somehow. It is easier to take apart "i" with another "i".

Maybe we'd write better if we weren't so nervous about being naked, so protective that we stand in the way. Maybe every writing prompt should begin with the phrase: Get out of the way...

I wish I could.

I Miss Pencils

I've never bragged about being computer savvy. I'm not. In fact, I have two documents I can't send at the moment because I can't seem to turn off the "underline" element. I highlight the text from top to bottom, click the hell out of the Underline icon and nothing happens.

I lost my car manual long ago. It tells me what all the buttons of my Mercedes do, way too many buttons, just like my computer. Way too many buttons like my home alarm system, thermostat, and TV remote control. Even if I had a manual for these things, they'd be too thick to read in any button emergency.

My iPhone and iPad are different. They explain themselves, communicate telepathically. Here, tap this. Yes, that's it. Good girl. You're there now. My other devices taunt and insult, ignore me. I hate them. I hate complicated things that look down on me, live without my input, require no intimacy.

What ever happened to the good ol' pencil? You didn't have to call the Geek Squad when your pencil broke. It didn't get viruses. It didn't crash. It didn't cost much more than a postal stamp.

And what was so wrong with typewriters? Or at least tell me, why do we need so many buttons? How many fonts do we need to communicate? Why can't we choose one margin and tab setting and live with it? Why do we need so many useless confusing features?

There's an underlying premise to all advertising: Convince consumers they need what they don't. Selling is just that. Pushing a choice that will make the seller money. Food and clothing aren't just that anymore. They're necessities broken into a zillion unnecessary options. Choices gone awry. Viral. Expensively so. Grocery stores and malls give me hives. There's too much sensory input, price tags everywhere, carnivorous kiosks, blinding strobe lights and hypnotising ad campaigns. How many versions of ketchup do we really need? How many brands of sanitary napkins? C'mon.

So I'm about to send one hundred pages littered with underlining to an editor because either my button's stuck or I'm still stuck in the pencil era. He'll probably decide I can't be represented if I can't operate my own equipment, if a simple button has me baffled. I can't say I blame him, but the ultimate insult would be for him to reject me by snail mail. Plain stationary. Cursive. All in pencil.

Conversations With the Dead: 2/283 Seabrook, Texas (1307 Bellgrove - Letter from Mom to Charlotte)

Dear Charlotte,

Just thought I'd drop a line or two, to prove I do write once in a while.

I think Teresa is coming up there this coming weekend.

I'm going to group therapy every Monday night and the head doctor has put me on a medication like you're taking (it's safe). I feel a lot better taking it. I don't have those weird mood changes. Kind of levels me out. He thinks I have a chemical imbalance of something. And I sure can see a difference. Been taking it right, too. (You couldn't get high if you took the whole thing!).

Hope you'll take Teresa to the health place so she can get her birth certificate (or get it from Jay). And she's so excited about her new car she's getting. I'm excited for her.

P.S. I've tried to call you several times. Line busy or no answer.

Love,
Mom

~~~

"You couldn't get high if you took the whole thing!" Which Mom did. The bottle was empty.

This is the last of anything Mom wrote to anyone. It is written on stationary with a little girl on the front wearing a bonnet, prairie dress and patchwork apron. It is raining and her umbrella has a patch sewn on it. The girl is pulling a small cart behind her filled with bread, vegetables and daisies. I imagine she'll eat the daisies, smoke the bread, and throw the vegetables at her enemies.

Conversations With the Dead: 6/24/82 Seabrook, Texas (Letter from Mom to Charlotte)

Charlotte & Mike,

Here's your picture of the "crew" and one of David.

We're going to get our blood test Saturday and will be married at 7:00 PM, 7th month, 7th day, at Bay Area Park, in the "Oriental Gardens". It'll just be family and maybe Sally and Dan.

Let me hear.

Love,
Mother

~~~

I can't remember if Charlotte came to the wedding. I'll find out but I'm guessing not.

Mom tossed the bouquet over her shoulder and it came in my direction. I let it fall into a small pond. No effort at all. Scotty gave me a disparaging look and said, "Teresa..." He was right. I should have made an attempt.

Conversations With the Dead: 1982 Letter from Charlotte to Nanny

Dear Nanny & Wendy,

Here's school pictures of the kids. Thought you might like to have them. They really did a lousy job on L's. Not centered.

Got a letter from Teresa today, says everything is fine. Coming down for Christmas. Mother's mad because I want her a week and because Teresa wants to come down for a week including Christmas Eve. She says we're ganging up on her. She's so paranoid. Why can't we have normal parents like most kids?! Just the thought of her makes me mad.

Guess I'll go for now.

Love you,
Charlotte & Gang

~~~

I can't remember if I spent Christmas in Fort Worth with Charlotte or not. I probably did. Sadly it was our mother's last Christmas. Maybe she knew this somehow.

Conversations With the Dead: 4/19/82 Indio, California (from David)

Dear Mom,

How are you Im fine todays the 19th I got 27 days left until I get out Gonna be nice to see the world again really nice. Not much going on in here just eating sleeping and watching TV Thank you for the money and everything else Well not much to say be good

Love,
David

~~~

Dear Charlotte,

How are you. I'm fine today's the 19th I got 17 days left until I get out. Gonna be nice to see the world again really nice. I thought Id write mom and let you mail it to her OK. Not much going on in here just eating slepping and watching TV havent heard from you what happend mom hasent written eather well any way 27 days left really 25 because todays over and my realease day I go home at 5:30 in the morning so its Cool Well see ya

Love,
David

~~~

I don't usually get upset about the letters but these really hurt. Again, I typed them with their original mistakes. David dropped out of school in either ninth or tenth grade. He, Dad and Charlotte always struggled with spelling, but David was also dyslexic and along with the schizophrenia and medication or the lack thereof...

I don't know if he's writing from jail or a mental health ward. Could be either. I have nothing else from him.

We spent a few months together once I moved in with Mom in September, 1980 then I never saw him again.

They are buried side by side in Rosehill Cemetary, Fort Worth, Texas.

Conversations With the Dead: 4/12/82 Indio, California (from David)

Dear Mom,

Hi Mom how are you I'm fine. Good to hear from you Say hi to Treasa and your Boy friend. Mom I dont even know how old you are. Well mom I spent about 2 years in the dessert and mountains living cooking it is nice water falls all kinds of animals really nice. up in Town I worked part time and later full time I found 2 gold Bracelets got $100 for each one Bought 2 Buckles and really had fun. Well got go By

Love,
David

~~~

I typed the letter as it was written in pencil, mistakes and all. He had just turned twenty-four. I don't know if he was taking his medication for Schizophrenia. Doubtful.

Two years in the dessert. He makes it sound like a vacation. I hope he was happy. I can't remember ever seeing him truly sad except when you and Dad divorced. That was the turning point in his mental health. He was never the same.