I wanted to do cartwheels....

... when I came upon this scene in my bedroom last week (or was it two weeks ago by now?).  One of my greatest joys as a mom is to see my kids with nose-in-book.  Please note the title; yes, it is Wuthering Heights.

The Bean had been back in my room reading for twenty minutes or so when I walked through the door, saw what was happening, and then slowly, slowly backed out of the room attempting to avoid discovery.  Too late.  His Mom-Alert sensor had sounded, and without looking up, he asked, "Mom, is this a ghost story?"  Knowing his reading preferences, I said without hesitation, "Yes!  Yes, it is a ghost story.  A very famous ghost story."  And then got out of there fast.

Alas, he lost interest a while later, as any seven-year-old would.  Even with thirty years of reading experience, I have to concentrate hard on Wuthering Heights.  And I know he'll probably have to be at least twenty-seven before he'll want to try it again.

But you could read (or re-read) it.  Right now.  For those who haven't had the pleasure, it's a heart-wrenching love story (and yes, you could consider it a ghost story...... in a way).  Its particular power, in my opinion, is in its characters who are flawed and even sometimes despicable - but whom I can't help but love and feel compassion toward.  I will leave you with a taste of this stellar book: its lovely and haunting closing lines (don't worry, no spoiler here):

"I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth."

P.S.  If you live anywhere near South-of-the-River, try Sixth Chamber Used Books.  I bought this copy there for less than $3. 

Both Fires

I think I decided to start this blog on the day I found a Lego in my coffee and a swath of hot pink Play-doh dried onto the seat of my lone pair of decent jeans (Do you even need to ask if I found the Play-doh before or after I went out in public?). For some reason, the Lego in my coffee seemed the greater of the two insults, and it really drove something home to me: These kids aren’t going anywhere for a long, long time.

Maybe that should’ve been obvious. The Bean, our oldest, is seven; second son, AJ, is five; and Sister is three years old. It’s not as if they’re even close to being launched - they’re not even all in school yet! But I think I thought that after the baby days were over, there would be a little more room for Me in my days. I thought, in particular, there would be a little more time for writing.

And I suppose there is (I’m writing this, after all); but really, there’s not much. For seven years now I have endeavored to carve out little corners of time and space for my writing that the children would not invade. It never has worked very well. If I get up at 4:00 a.m., they get up at 4:15. If I try to write during Dragon Tales, suddenly they lose interest in their favorite TV show. If I try to write at night after they are in bed, they don’t stay in bed (it’s as if they know or something!).

So the Lego and the Play-doh really made me think about how I could expand my writing life without trying quite so hard to keep the kids out of it. Thus was born the idea for this blog: a little corner of the world where I can be both mom and writer.

The more I thought about the idea, the more I liked it, and the more I thought it fit with a tradition I’m glad to be a part of: women writers who are also mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmas, aunts, and friends. Writers who have not closed themselves off to the joys and demands of family life, but who have embraced them, and still find a way to be true to their art. It made me think of some words from my college writing professor Valerie Sayers who once wrote to me:

"I wrote an essay a few years back about how motherhood, for me, turned out to be a great cover for my writing life -- and how it opened me up to experiences and worlds I never would have otherwise known.  I've also discovered that women -- perhaps the ones who carry around an image of 19th century women scribbling away in the kitchen -- have passed on the traditions of keeping at it throughout their lives, well into old age, and taking time off when they need (or have) to.  For whatever reasons, we don't seem deterred if we haven't published the Great American Novel by the age of 28. So it's lovely to hear you're part of that tradition that's keeping both fires going."

Now you know where I got the name for this blog. And since I’m long past the age of 28,.................. let the writing (or, er, blogging) begin.


P.S. If you enjoy good fiction, you should read Valerie’s books. Ask for them at your local independent bookseller, or buy them here.