I loved climbing the tree to my platform. You climbed up three bricks of wood nailed into the trunk to get to the spot. I think one of my brothers and my father had nailed that platform into the V-shaped gap about 12 feet up. I sat on a two-foot by two-foot piece of wood, my platform.
To be an artist or a writer, I’ve wondered if it’s necessary to be an outsider.
This is Central Park a couple of weeks ago after the beautiful snow storm. There is nothing so beautiful as Central Park after it snows. (It doesn’t have to do with the post, but isn’t it pretty?)
From the platform in the tree, I could be on the margins of our big suburban house, not far from the action. But far enough away to be alone.
Having three brothers, all around my age, I was the only girl for many years, I was, at times, lonely, different, misunderstood.
There was no way a tree could misunderstand me. The tree was simply a tree, asking for nothing. I appreciated the non-judgmental nature of a tree.
I had sinus headaches regularly. The pediatrician took pinpricks on my arm weekly, until he, a George Castanza kind of guy, determined that I was allergic to mold and dust; trees and grass. I was especially allergic to Oak and Elm, the two kinds of trees in our suburban Chicago yard.
I rarely climbed the backyard tree as I got older and started high school. Instead, I hung out in the kitchen of our next-door neighbor Mrs. Zimmer. She administered my weekly allergy shots. We talked a lot. I felt understood. I remember once we talked about Zoroastrianism.
I liked our backyard tree; I liked my adult friend; I liked relief from my sinus headaches.
How do you “Brag! The Art of Tooting Your Own Horn Without Blowing It”? (from the title of a recent book that I’ve got to start reading.)
Taking my middle school students on a walk to Central Park allows them to feel free and confident.
My shyness around self-promotion started in Middle School. I was the first girl student president at Lincoln Junior High — a big and surprising achievement, given that I ran against a suave and popular boy.
After my election, during a parent-teacher conference, one of my teachers told my mother that I was getting a little too big for my britches ever since I won the election.
He should not have said that. She should not have told me. (Though, to her credit, she told me because she was very mad about his remark. “He had a lot of nerve telling you not be proud, Bethie!”)
So I cloaked myself in humility.
Years later, I was beyond thrilled when a funny story of mine appeared in Self magazine. I was on a sidewalk in Orange County, and bumped into a Pulitzer-prize winning friend of me. (Yes, I have amazing friends!) I wanted to share my brilliant little gem of a story but I couldn’t figure out how to broach the subject. Instead, I hugged the magazine to my chest, hoping he would notice the magazine and ask me about it. He didn’t.
On the sidewalk, we talked about kids, California, and my friend’s beautiful new play.
I have always felt more comfortable praising other people’s achievements than my own.
These subway performers got a ton of money, because they were good and they weren’t afraid to show off their mad tumbling skills.
Now that I’m starting my own business and continuing to get published, I have to rethink my humility habit. I have to let people know that I am awesome.
I can write, edit, and teach. (Hey, last month, I starred in one short comedy film and wrote and directed another for the Iron Mule Film Festival.)
I can no longer wait for people to notice the little gem that I’m hugging close to my chest.
Here are some things that help me hop on the self-promotion train:
Social media. People can’t see the way I cringe when I have to promote myself. I like the anonymity of the web.
B2B Networks. Friends who have small bizes, like me, can know, support and cheerlead one another.
Belief statement. Tony Bacigalupo, founder of new work city, was talking about this the other day. He’s into building community. It makes sense: you don’t have to be nervous about selling your goods or services if you really believe in them. Start with your belief. I believe making people into better writers makes them into better people.
Passion for the work. I love writing and leading workshops.
A Fact. Quoting one interesting fact or one happy customer somehow sets everyone at ease. It only takes one.
How do you talk yourself up? How do you toot your own horn without blowing it?
When Chris was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease nearly ten years ago, more than one family member said, “Now you’ll slow down.”
I thought the same thing. And I thought this again as I left my full time work almost five months ago. I will relax more, volunteer more, work out more, write more. I will do all of these things and I will slow down.
Um, not so much.
As my husband slows down, I feel inclined to twirl in my life twice as fast.
Last week my daughter and I went to New Jersey for a camp reunion. This was the view that late afternoon.
I know I overdo. One day last week, I left the house at 7:45 am and got home at 9:30 pm. This was the fourth day in a row with these kind of hours. I had so much to do!!!
On any given day, I like experiencing a variety of settings — the after school office, spinning class, lunch with a girlfriend, free wifi at the local cafe, teaching, subway to SoHo, a meeting about my short comedy film, happy hour.
The only time I am in the slow lane is when I run. My goal is always to run a 13-minute mile.
Having a spouse with a chronic illness has made me want to get out there and interact with the world more, because, at times, the sadness of the disease’s progression simply brings me down and I cannot stay there.
Yet as lively as I want my outside world to be, I want my inside home to be a safe harbor and a cozy nest. This mama bird wants to fly back home with a mouth full of worms. I want to chill in front of the TV with my chicks.
And I want to do it now because I know my chicks are going to start to fly away soon.
We shot our short comedy film last Wednesday night for the February 2, Iron Mule Festival. The title, Spork Wars, was shouted from the audience. A spork, of course, is a spoon and fork.
Spork Wars is a silly story of a spork salesman, played by Michael Martin, who tries to sell sporks and connect with diner owner, Jay Fortunato, only to discover a familial bond from the old country.
While I had hoped the shoot would take an hour, it took three.
The secrets of my recent filmmaking productivity?
1. a deadline.. there is nothing better than having to finish something by a drop-dead date. A deadline is a line in the sand and I’m pretty good about not crossing.
2. a crew… one of my seven secrets to success is to “Pile on the People.” In filmmaking, you get to work with awesome, funny, creative people. It’s been superfun to make new friends, like Ryan Decker, Ali Mao, Michael Martin, as well as work with old friends, like Pat Bishow and Jay Fortunato!
Don’t you love a good diner? Gee Whiz Diner!
3. a location… The peeps at the Gee Whiz Diner were super-nice. And in exchange for free use of their lovely diner space, I promised to promote them! They are located on 295 Greenwich Street, right near the Chambers Street subway. Try the Greek salad.
4. a sense of humor (and flexibility)… Of course I wanted my actors to speak the lines exactly as I wrote them. But Jay and Michael are improv geniuses. Naturally, they strayed. It was cool. In fact, I was laughing so hard, especially at their improved bit about gyros, that I feared my convulsive laughter would ruin the sound track.
5. a letting go… I really don’t know what the credits should look like or how the background music should sound. I forget to call, “Action!” I don’t know all the filmmaking nomenclature, but I did my best. And done is always better than perfect. And very good is a nice place to start.
Alison sent me the RC (rough cut!) last night. And I have to admit, I found it pretty funny. I showed it to my 15-year old who chuckled, which is a pretty good response from a 15-year old.
I won’t be there. I’ll be in in Charlotte, NC, co-leading a memoir writing workshop with Ms. Cynthia Sloan. If you’re nearby, please join us. When she and I get together, there’s always laughter (and tears)! There’s still room for a few more at the story of your life, memoir.
After a 15-year hiatus, which coincided with the birth of my three children, I have begun acting, writing, and directing short comedy films again. So fun.
There are so many more wonderful women comedians and directors out there now for me to emulate. Not like when I left the biz, way-back when. The world has moved on since the days of Mary Beth & Friends, my cable show on Manhattan Neighborhood Network in the early 1990s. There’s now Tina Fey, Kristen Wiig, Nancy Franklin, Amy Poehler, and Kathryn Bigelow. Right, I know Zero Dark Thirty wasn’t a comedy but I just want to mention my name in the same category as Bigelow’s).
On December 1, my name was pulled out of a hat. I won the “Wanna Be a Star?” contest at the Iron Mule short comedy film festival. The next thing I know, I’m getting eyelash extensions. ‘Cause I’m hoping that my eyelashes will distract viewers from my crow’s feet (smile lines!). I’m wondering if the camera still loves me. Vanity!
The name of the movie was shouted from the audience, the Alan Ladd Syndrome. And so last month, I starred in a funny short film written and directed by Victor Vornado. (not available for viewing yet.)
The premise is that the less popular the actor Alan Ladd was, the shorter he grew. When I threatened to break up with my boyfriend, played by the hilarious Michael Martin, he claimed to have this syndrome too!
I had so much fun performing in this little film that I announced to my husband Chris, a broadway veteran, I’m going to call my old commercial agent to see if I can start auditioning for commercials again.
“Well,” he said slowly. “You reach a certain age…” And he paused, presumably, sparing my feelings.
“Really?” I said, defensively. “Because I see people like me in commercials all the time — dog food, Viagra, anti-depressants?!” Yes, that’s what I said and that, indeed, did make me feel depressed — in need of some dog food, Viagra, anti-depressant.
“Maybe?” Mr. Broadway said, noncommittally.
Screening room (courtesy of 92nd Street Y Tribeca)
interviewed me in front of, like 80 or so audience members.
I felt proud and cocky ’cause, hey, I had just starred in a movie. Besides, my eyelashes looked awesome.
I mentioned that their festival needed more women filmmakers. (And, if you know me, I think every institution needs more women, especially the White House cabinet.)
“Even though you probably have binders full of women.” Yes, I said that. Witty, no?
Jay asked me, in front of everybody, if I’d write and direct the next one. And so, of course, I said yes.
And, as usual after committing to a job, I had to overcome a few little hurtles — namely, a morass of self-doubt, inertia, procrastination.
Did I manage to get the film made? I’ll tell you tomorrow.
Read what’s coming up on the Iron Mule blog: Iron Mule NYC
december, the event of a thread, art installation by Ann Hamilton
weekly challenge: pick the best pictures from your 2012. have the pics tell everyone about your year.
I shot all of these with my iPhone 4S and a few I tweaked with filters on instagram.
november, manhattan streetnovember, on my way to a lunch date, but stopped at this 53rd street public spaceoctober, van cortlandt park, the bronxseptember, back to schoolaugust, duke university, working with united methodist womenjuly, adirondacks, cold spring bay in lake champlainjune, school of mission, george fox university, portland, oregonmay, had a get-away trip to the jersey shore, painted a littleapril, watched little league in the north meadow, also watched cross country, swim, soccer, basketball, trackapril, cherry blossoms in central and riverside parksmarch, siesta key, spring breakfebruary, the view from my officefebruary, times squarejanuary, new year’s day walk with jolain
The event of a thread is made up of many crossings of the near at hand and the far away: it is a body crossing space, is a writer’s hand crossing a sheet of paper, is a voice crossing a room in a paper bag… – Ann Hamilton
The exhibit at the Armory on Park Avenue and 66th is hard to explain.
There are pigeons, swings, talking paper bags, a writer, a reader, a listener, more…
The kids did not want to go but were glad they went.
It must be experienced. Laying on your back watching the billowing silk above. Hypnotizing.
I had one insight which is this: it is not work that makes the world go (the curtain lift), it is play.
Play is the engine.
H. discovered that our swing was not pulling the curtain alone. He spotted this when we were looking down from above. Our swing was inextricably, almost invisibly, connected to someone else’s swing who was also making the curtain dance.
Through play.
I found out about this exhibit while scanning my Facebook feed. Thanks, Yris Bilia! You made it look so fun. And it was.
I didn’t really like the Hobbit. Like everyone else in the world, I loved the earlier Lord of the Rings.
I loved the book. I have memories of sitting on my father’s lap and listening with my brothers as dad read to us on the back patio in Skokie, Illinois on a warm summer night.
But the movie left me with one burning question:
Where are the women?
Do orcs, dwarves, hobbits, ogres reproduce through spawning? This movie was like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves without Snow White.
I know men rule the world, but really. Really?
No wonder Middle-earth is so violent. There are no women with whom to partner, make love, reason, journey alongside, learn from, share.
Last I checked women and girls made up half of the world’s population and half of the movie-going audiences. Why dis us this way?
The only woman in this film was the lovely Cate Blanchett who is really more of a spirit than a body. While the men can eat and travel and fight, her special talent is that she disappears. Perfect for this movie.
The movie was clearly made for and by men and boys. It unfolds like a video game — now that you’ve surpassed the scary tiger level, you move on to the orc level, and if you move on from that level, you may proceed to the next level. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I do like a subgenre of movies where the hero (always male) doubts himself and then finds he has within him what he needed all along. (Like Glory! An all-male movie too, but brilliant!) And I guess this journey towards courage in the face of self-doubt motif happens for Baggins on his journey. But I was hoping for something more.
Even Skyfall had a few juicy women characters like Dame Judi Dench and Naomie Harris.
If you are looking for a holiday blockbuster, go to see Les Misérables, a fun adventure for girls and boys, men and women.
Yesterday I saw Les Misérables. This is my guilty pleasure. I love the musical. I have always loved it. Loved Anne Hathaway and Hugh Jackman and their vulnerability. I loved that they let themselves look like (or be covered in) shit. That’s an actor!
Today’s prompt is:
Tell us about a guilty pleasure that you hate to love.
I hate to love the movies, but they are my therapy.
They take me away. In the last month, I have seen a couple of awesome French films, Amour and Rust and Bone. And now Les Mis, which is set in Paris. The city is moody and dark, yet it is the city of light. This year we need a lot of light.
I’ve wanted to go to Paris for years. I have friends there and a place to stay, but I feel it’s too far or too expensive. With Chris’s illness, I feel I should only travel close to home and only for a few days.
When I go to the movies, I go to Paris and am still home in time to greet the kids as they walk in the door after school.
One of the darlings went to the premiere and met the celebs. Here she is with amazing Amanda Seyfried.
The life lessons in Les Mis are brilliant:
To love another person is to see the face of God
Show faith in and forgive people cast off by society just as the priest forgave the thief Valjean, played by Jackman
Let your children love and let them go. This song, “Bring Him Home,” by Jackman was a real tear-jerker
Care for all children, as if they were your own
Show kindness, always
Have passion for your cause
Know that change will come
Workplace squabbles can lead to prostitution
Maybe that last one is not a good life lesson, but you get the idea.
Believe in the power of passionate individuals to change the world. I know there are many more life lessons in Les Mis to explore, but I am heading to Middle-earth today.
Yes, I am going to see The Hobbit at noon.
And so I leave you with the words of Valjean.
And from a writing teacher’s point of view, I must point out these lyrics are so brilliant because they are so simple. Almost all of the words are one syllable, but they pack in so much emotion, just like the musical.
“Bring Him Home”
Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy
You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live
If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Writing about anything but yesterday’s tragedy in Newton, Conn, feels insensitive. But to cope with horrors, ordinary or extraordinary, I need to write. Through any endeavor, creative and artistic, we find out who we are, what we think, and how we feel. And we figure out how to go on.
This morning I dropped off one of my daughters at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I feel calm looking at art and making art. Thanks, Andy Warhol.
I’m a teacher, a mother, and a writer. I’ve been thinking about conflicts.
I know in families and schools and all our relationships, conflict is inevitable. But how we deal with our internal and external conflicts is optional. I believe our society preys upon our conflicts. Our media exploits our differences — red state vs. blue state; stay at home mom vs. working mom.
Honestly, we have more that unites us than divides us.
As citizens of the United States of America, we have to find a way to seek common ground and lift one another up, not put each other down. We cannot whip out automatic rifles when we cannot get along — with ourselves or with our mothers.
We have to find and share our public spaces like our schools and our museums. Our public places and institutions are sacred.
I teach my writing students that conflict is the essence of drama. We mustn’t avoid conflict. But we cannot rest in a place of constant conflict. We must learn to use conflict to further the plot of our lives, to reach out, to state our needs, and to work on how to find a common humanity. Even when we want to find a common enemy.
Every child and every adult should lean how to resolve conflicts in a healthy way. Those of us who live in cities and ride the subways or share public spaces know we must coexist. And when we cannot live peaceably with ourselves, our families or our neighbors, we must get help.
And as every one is saying on social media, getting help should be a whole lot easier than getting a gun. There is no shame in experiencing conflict or in getting help with whatever arise in our lives. The tragedy arises when we cannot resolve our conflicts without hurting someone else.
To manage our inner and outer conflicts, we can:
make art
write in a journal
talk to a friend
work out
seek professional help
listen to music
walk in nature
attend a worship service
read a book
I don’t know. There are probably a million ways to handle conflict healthily. But we must be taught them; they don’ t just come naturally.
Today’s daily prompt, What’s your ideal Saturday morning? Are you doing those things this morning? Why not?
Ideally, I may do any of the above conflict resolution items.
I write in my journal. I read the paper. I drink coffee. I go for a run. I make a nice brunch for my family with bagels and lox. My kids clean up the brunch without being asked. Then I go to a nearby spa for a massage. The kids get themselves to wherever they may need to go — basketball, Bat Mitzvah. I feel at peace. I make art.
While the first few things I listed do happen, reading, writing, drinking coffee — the last few things don’t. I cannot control other people. (I am concocting a plan to make the kids more self-reliant and supportive of one another and of me and my husband.) I also do not get lox or a massage on a Saturday morning because I worry about the expense. I feel guilty spending money on myself during the holiday season. My budget is already pretty tight with kids’ presents and holiday travel. I guess that would be an ideal too, not feeling guilty.
Just for today, I teach my kids to resolve conflicts in a healthy way. I love them well and hold my dear ones close. Just for today, that is my ideal.
100 Days of Poems and Pics 