I’m still far from done with the massive slog through the stuff left behind by my late parents. Yes, I did hire “junk-luggers” to take more than a truck load of stuff off to charities, wood reclaimers and wherever else they took the pounds and pounds of books and furniture I couldn’t deal with on my own. And yes, I gave away many things, sold a few, donated a bunch and simply tossed a great deal of miscellaneous ephemera.          Things remain and some of them resonate with mysteries. I’m haunted by not being able to ask my mom “Who
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The salon was a success! Interesting people sharing creative works from pottery and puppets to poetry and plays—with a solo on a saw, children’s illustrated books, collages, novels-in-progress, and short stories, too.          One participant introduced me to the concept of the ‘spark bird.’ It’s the bird that gets you hooked on bird watching—on being a naturalist, on studying, discovering and exploring. The spark bird opens the door. This has been whirring around in my head since the guests left and will likely whir around long after the last of the leftover cheese and wine are gone.          Why?         
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I made myself cry. Yup. I read one of the short stories I wrote after my mother died and I manipulated my own emotions. I’m an easy cry so… but still I WROTE it and I knew how it would end. How did I manage to manipulate myself?          Leading the reader toward an emotional response is a thing—in fiction, in promotional writing, in non-fiction, even in the so-called objective arena of news coverage… Think about the political historian inspiring outrage at the atrocities of the Holocaust; the romance writer lingering over the description of a gentle first kiss; or
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I’m hosting an Art Salon on Friday night. It happens to be Bram Stoker’s birthday so there’s a bit of theme, but for the most part it’s a gathering of all sorts of artists, sharing works in progress for feedback and support. I attended one of these a few years ago. It was hosted by one of the instigators of this Friday’s event. I’m supplying the place, making a basket of crudités and opening a few bottles of wine.          We’ll see what happens.          Right now, I’m trying to decide what work-in-progress I will read to the group. Should
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I’m basically a disciplined personality. These twice weekly blog posts are just a formalized extension of my writing habit and a logical extension of how I am in general. But STRESS has a way of upending everything!          Buying the new apartment, dealing with the financial side of this purchase, finding an architect, approving plans, getting the co-op’s engineer to sign off (the biggest hurdle), gaining the OK from the New York City Department of Buildings, choosing a contractor… this process feels like a marathon of stress and many of my usual, highly-disciplined, retreats are failing me. I even bailed
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