Maira Kalman is as in love with Lincoln as I am. Click here and keep scrolling down to see her wonderful tribute to Abe in images and words. Now I'm fantasizing about her doing the cover for My Life with the Lincolns!

It's been a while since I've logged in to blogger...There's so much I've been wanting to blog about, too--I wanted to say happy birthday to Abe, wanted to share with you the valentine I wrote to Obama for CODEPINK, wanted to tell you about my experiences seeing Bruce Sterling and Junot Diaz and Col. Ann Wright speak (all inspiring in very different ways). But mostly what I've wanted to share is a sense of renewal.

Last weekend, the Johnston Center for Integrative Studies (nee the Johnston Center for Individualized Learning, nee Johnston College) at the University of Redlands celebrated it's 40th anniversary, and hosted a big reunion (in this case, called a "renewal") to mark the occasion. Johnston is a progressive, innovative, alternative living/learning community where students create their own B.A. programs (mine was "Poetry and Movement: Arts of Expression, Meditation and Healing"). The weekend was full of reconnection through food and seminars and dancing and storytelling and ritual and just plain hanging out (you can check out the schedule here); so wonderful to see old friends, to hear about the amazing things that people have been up to (creating intentional communities and schools in Hawaii, doing humanitarian work around the world, raising beautiful children, creating jobs that let them live out their passions).

For me, the weekend most importantly offered a real sense of integration. The last year has been such a year of change for me that I've almost felt as if I had entered a different universe than the one I had inhabited before. At the reunion/renewal, I felt my past and present come together into one big whole; I felt my writer self, my dancer self, my activist self, my student self, my teacher self, my friend self, my entire self settle into itself more fully than I can recall. A joyous and healing time.

Take a look at this great article from The Nation, Stimulus: One Perfect for the Imagination, and be sure to sign the linked petition asking Congress to allocate 1% of the stimulus package for the arts.

Newsweek recently featured a wonderful piece about Obama and the importance of the arts, Will Act for Food, that opens with a shout out to Walt Whitman:

Since election day, pundits have exhausted themselves trying to locate every last reason for Barack Obama's win. But the fine-tooth combing has missed something—or, rather, someone: Walt Whitman. Nobody has pointed out that Obama shares his victory with the generations of writers and musicians and painters in the fervently democratic tradition that descends from our national poet.

...

Since Ralph Waldo Emerson issued his call for homegrown American creativity 130 years ago, and Whitman answered him with the all-embracing poems that helped shape the psyche of our polyglot young democracy, the arts have offered the various tribes of this country some of our best chances to know ourselves and one another, and to see the pleasures and pain of our interactions more clearly: think of what we've learned from Huck and Jim, "Invisible Man," Alvin Ailey's dances, "Angels in America," the blues. Better yet, try to imagine how we'd relate to one another without them.

I am hopeful that Obama will find a way to support the arts during his time in office, but we may need to remind him to do so. Please sign the petition today.

Rebecca Traister has written a cool article for Salon--The Great Girl Gross Out, with the subtitle "Female writers are getting more graphic than ever about the messy realities of their bodies. Is it too much information or enlightened honesty?" I know I fall into the latter camp, myself--I love the fact that women are being more honest about living inside our female bodies (it's why I wrote Fruitflesh, after all!) When we take what is normally hidden and unspoken and bring it to light, we remove the shame that surrounds it. We can begin to share our experiences more fully and openly. We can begin to realize we're not alone. The body is how we live in the world--by telling its stories, we honor the whole of our existence.

I am grateful that more and more women are feeling free to write about periods and sex and other bodily experiences that had been shrouded in secrecy for so long--these things are part of us and should not be excluded from our storytelling. I am especially grateful for women writers such as Anne Sexton and Sharon Olds who paved the way for women to write freely and boldly about our bodies today (Sharon Olds was instrumental for me, personally--her work truly gave me permission to be more honest in my own writing).

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter if you have a chance to read the article!

My dad recently published this moving letter to the editor in the North County Times; he had titled it "The Awful Rope", but they retitled it "Images of a segregated US still resonate":

As I watched Barack Obama's inaugural address, I thought of my experience in World War 2. I'm a white man who was a lieutenant in the Quartermaster Corps assigned to a service company consisting of 4 white officers and 228 black enlisted men.

After training these men at Fort Devens, Massachusetts, we went overseas in a Liberty ship, disembarking at Liverpool, England. For our first meal in Liverpool, we entered a room and were confronted by a large rope stretched down the middle of the room with these directions: "whites on this side, blacks on the other side". That rope symbolized the segregation policy of the U.S. Armed Forces. The image of that rope remains deeply etched in my memory.

During World War 2, black soldiers were treated like second class citizens. Today, we salute Barack Obama, our country's first African- American Commander in Chief of the United States Armed Forces. I hope that some of the men with whom I served and were victimized by what that awful rope represented are still alive to witness this great historic time.

Buzz Brandeis
Oceanside

I'm so proud of my dad for writing this letter, so proud of him for knowing how wrong segregation was when he was in the thick of it. I was shocked as I was researching The Book of Dead Birds to learn that this sort of segregation was still happening in the US military well into the 1970s. Thank goodness our culture is continuing to evolve--I'm thankful my dad can remind me just how far we've come within his lifetime.

Michael and I went to the Go Green Expo today at the LA Convention Center. We enjoyed wandering around the booths, sampling organic cookies and marveling at the softness of bamboo fabric and checking out solar panels, but the highlight of the expo was the screening of short films from the Elevate Film Festival and the panel discussion that followed.

Elevate seeks to use film as a medium for personal and social transformation, and I was so inspired to see the films themselves--moving and beautiful and funny stories (both documentary and dramatic)--and to hear the filmmakers speak about their process and intentions. Many of them spoke about Obama, and how he reminds people that we can't just sit around and wait for him to fix everything--we need to be active and involved in bringing that change forth, ourselves. As they talked about their desire to create community and inspire change through their work, I felt a deep resonance. They were speaking my language, even though we use different art forms to express it. It's so exciting to me to know that artists all over the country--and the rest of the world!--are finding ways to make the world a better place through their creativity and generosity.

Among the people on the panel were Jenny and Otis Funkmeyer. I don't think I can even begin to describe them--you are just going to have to experience them yourselves. Enjoy!

I've been wanting to try miracle fruit for years. I first learned about it when researching Fruitflesh--it is a berry, that, when consumed, makes sour and bitter foods taste sweet. Since then, the subject has come up many times; Miracle Fruit is the title of one of my very favorite books of poetry, and the New York Times did a cool article on flavor-tripping miracle fruit parties last year, but it wasn't until my daughter noticed that miracle fruit tablets were available on ThinkGeek.com that I took the plunge and ordered some. Last week, I did some flavor tripping, first with Hannah and Michael, then with Michael and our friends Kate and Christian. It's really quite amazing--you let the tablet dissolve on your tongue, and before too long, lemons taste like lemonade, grapefruit tastes as if it's been sugared, pickles taste more like cucumbers and wine tastes almost cloyingly sweet. The most dramatic change was in the marinated mushrooms--garlicky and vinegary before the miracle fruit tablets, they tasted as if they had been dipped in honey afterwards. It's quite wild--the texture was the same, but the flavor (especially the aftertaste) was completely transformed. I recommend the experience highly--it's great fun to taste the world in a brand new way.

The box of the tablets touts "Life Can Be Sweeter!" Even without the miracle fruit, doesn't life taste sweeter today with Obama in office?!

"In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun."

--Elizabeth Alexander, from her Inaugural poem, "Praise Song for the Day"

As I sat, rapt, during Obama's stirring Inaugural address, I couldn't help but notice the way the light hit the American flag pin on his lapel. Every once in a while, the sun would shoot off the metal in radiant beams, like something from a comic book or maybe religious iconography. Today's sharp sparkle, embodied. The promise of a shimmering new beginning. The restoration of glimmer to our shared stars and stripes.

"On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light."

We will not build a peaceful world by following a negative path. It is not enough to say we must not wage war. It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it. We must concentrate not merely on the negative expulsion of war but the positive affirmation of peace. We must see that peace represents a sweeter music, a cosmic melody, that is far superior to the dischords of war. Somehow, we must transform the dynamics of the world power struggle from the negative nuclear arms race, which no one can win, to a positive contest to harness humanity's creative genius for the purpose of making peace and prosperity a reality for all the nations of the world. In short, we must shift the arms race into a peace race. If we have a will- and determination- to mount such a peace offensive, we will unlock hitherto tightly sealed doors of hope and transform our imminent cosmic elegy into a psalm of creative fulfillment.

--Martin Luther King, Jr.

Earlier this week, when I saw news that Random House announced more job cuts, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Today, I learned that my editor's job was among the ones eliminated.

Anika Streitfeld was the editor of my dreams. We met at Book Expo America several years ago; she was working for MacAdam/Cage at the time (where she edited, among other amazing books, two of my favorite novels: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffinegger and Sleep Toward Heaven by Amanda Eyre Ward). I had written a blurb for one of her books, and introduced myself when I saw her at the MacAdam/Cage booth. We hit it off and kept in touch; both of us spoke about how much we would like to work together some day. When I finished a draft of Self Storage, I noticed in Publishers Lunch that Anika was moving to Ballantine; I asked my agent if she could send Self Storage there. Anika ended up acquiring my novel as her first at her new publishing house (Ballantine is under the Random House umbrella). It was such a joy to work with her--she gave me thorough, thoughtful, deeply intelligent notes that helped the book grow, and helped me grow as a writer. I loved how she understood my vision for the book; our work together felt like a true collaboration.

I had been on pins and needles waiting to hear her response to my latest novel, Pears, after I turned in a draft last September. I know I shared some of my angst on the blog--I may have mentioned how I had been worried that she hated the book and just wasn't sure how to tell me yet (ah, the neuroses of a writer!) It turns out she was just extra busy with deadlines, plus dealing with the vagaries of early pregnancy. When she did call with her feedback, I was in the middle of a workshop during the December Antioch MFA residency and couldn't answer the phone. During a break, I told my students that the call had been from my editor, who I had been waiting to hear from for a few months. They encouraged me to listen to the voice mail in front of them, which I did--my heart pounding, not knowing what to expect. Whether it was good news or bad, I figured, it would be helpful to share it with the students--a way to give them a window in life as a published author. Happily, the news was good--Anika called the book "wonderful" on the message and said she looked forward to sharing her ideas for revision. It was so cool to share the moment with my students, who were very excited and supportive.

Anika and I didn't actually have a chance to speak until after the holidays, since our schedules were both so bonkers. Over the last couple of weeks, though, we finally started discussing revision strategies. As always, her notes were incredibly helpful, and while I felt a bit daunted by the amount of work ahead of me, I was also inspired and definitely excited by the opportunity to work with her to get the book where we both wanted it to be. I am sad now that I won't get to share that process with her, but I am grateful for her suggestions, grateful that the novel will be imprinted by her touch even though from this point on, I'll be working with another editor (who I will connect with soon.)

Anika assured me that she'll be okay--the layoff is actually good timing for her, since she'll be able to spend some real time with her two year old before the new baby arrives. I am eager to keep in touch with her, to share book recommendations and writerly inspirations and stories about our lives.

Thank you, Anika, for all that you have given me. I am a lucky, lucky writer indeed to have had the chance to work with you.

Some events on the horizon...

--I will be on a fiction panel at the Celebration of Inland Authors at the Feldheym Library in San Bernardino at 1pm on Saturday, January 24th (I believe I'll also be reading that day, but am not sure when. I'll update when I find out.)

--I am going to introduce literary agent Betsy Amster at UCR Writers Week on Wednesday, February 4th at 11am. You can check out the full Writers Week schedule here

--I (and I'm super excited about this) will be part of the Rhapsodomancy Reading Series on Sunday, February 8th at 7pm at the Good Luck Bar in LA, a groovy little venue that looks like something out of a 1960s-era Peter Seller's movie. I'll be reading with Paul Lisicky, Carine Topal, and Lynn Thompson. This series is curated by the fabulous Wendy Ortiz.

--If you are a Johnston Center/College alum or supporter and will be at the Johnston Renewal over President's Day weekend at the University of Redlands, I will be co-teaching a class on Renewal through Fiction: Becoming 'The Other' with novelist Jo-Ann Mapson Saturday, February 14th at 1pm. It will be so wonderful to see old friends and get a dose of that great Johnston energy!

I drove down to Oceanside today to have dinner with my parents and go to my mom's latest art opening (yay mom!) At some point along that route, I always lose the signal for NPR--a frustrating experience, since it usually seems to happen right in the middle of This American Life or Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me--but today I remembered I had a book on CD in the stereo (thanks to a wonderful student/friend who gave me a huge stack of them): From Fear to Fearlessness by Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun. The audio book explores how using the Buddhist teachings and practice of lovingkindness can open our hearts and help us face the painful parts of our lives, parts of our lives that make us contract with fear.

Pema Chodron's voice washed over me as I drove past casino billboards and mountain-goat-like orange groves planted on the sides of terraced hills. I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear her words. Life has been good, more than good, but lately I've found myself grappling with a lot of sadness in the wake of my divorce being finalized. Mainly sadness about feeling estranged from the larger circle that had encompassed my marriage, the circle that tightened around Matt after I left (and that I know is still open to me, but in a changed and complicated way.) As Pema Chodron led her audience through the practice of maitri, extending lovingkindness (or, as she sometimes sweetly called it, "friendliness") first to oneself, then to those one is grateful for, then to those one is neutral to, then to those one has issues with, then to all beings, I felt myself melt. I hadn't realized that I had been feeling sorry for myself, and I could feel myself let that go as I wished happiness to all the people in that circle that has sustained me and is now sustaining Matt. And of course I wished happiness to Matt in the process, too. I hadn't been wishing anyone ill before, but to actively wish happiness felt incredibly healing.

Just as Pema Chodron said something about opening the heart, I looked up and saw a heart forming in the sky; the plane creating it was too far away to see--it looked as if the white heart was writing itself onto the blue. I felt my breath catch in my chest, then deepen, at its beauty, its perfect timing. As I continued to drive, I watched the heart change, dissipate, eventually dissolve--it, along with Pema Chodron, reminded me that change is the only constant in life, that we need to continually let go of how we think things should be in order to embrace the shifting reality of what truly is. Our own human hearts beat for such a short time before they dissolve into nothingness--it makes no sense to waste time contracting them in fear or resentment or bitterness. Open them, open them, even when (especially when) it hurts.

May all beings enjoy happiness.

Last year, my amazing friend, Masha Hamilton traveled to Afghanistan and wrote a blistering piece for Salon.com on the epidemic of kidnapping there. She recently heard from a brave young Afghan woman, Meena Yousufzai, who went to Kandahar to talk to some of the schoolgirls who had been burned by acid by men who oppose education for girls and woman. Masha asked if I could get Meena's voice out--it desperately needs to be heard.

Dear Ms. Masha:

I found Kandahar to be very quiet and isolated. According to people many middle class
families have left the province to live in Kabul or emigrate back to Pakistan and Iran.

A lot of the people I met were mainly complaining about unemployment and poverty. There were only a few restaurants and hotels in the whole city. According to the natives the only well paid jobs are with the foreign NGOs and many think it is a big risk to take.

I was staying in a dormitory along with eight other absolutely adorable girls from Uruzgan and Helmand who were studying to be midwives. Surprisingly all of these girls were Persian speaking Shia citizens of their provinces where they make a very tiny minority. While asking them about the conditions in their home provinces they told me that in Uruzgan Persian speaking people have their won communities, where government has more power and Taliban are not very powerful. The also told me that Pashtuns do not let their daughters to go to school or work that is the reason why majority of the doctors, nurses and teaches are Persian speaking Shias although, in these provinces Pashtuns make the majority. According to the girls they do not even wear a burqa in Helmand and Uruzgan while they are inside their own communities. Nafisa from Helmand told me that her mother runs a special class in her house for the girls who have dropped out of school. The home school is supported by the government so her mother is paid about three and a half thousand Afghani (almost 60 USD) a month. This is a very good income in Helmand. She told me that because the government sometime helps the course students with some wheat and cooking oil, even some very conservative families let their daughters and wives to attend the class. (From this you can see how severe the poverty really is).

I was shocked when Sohila and I were stopped to enter a restaurant because we did not have a male relative with us (absolutely like Taliban rules).on the streets you can only see a few women after 12:00 at noon. Almost every woman wears a burqa and sacks to cover their feet. People over all but women especially looked so much scared of the Taliban. They were almost paranoid about it. They thought that Taliban follow each and every of them and can hurt them and their families anytime.

Unlike Kabul I did not see many signs of the central government (like our national flag, Posters of the President and etc..). The only photos even in the government owned vehicles I noticed were of the late King, Zaher Shah, and Kandahar’s former governor Gul Agha Sherzoi, who seemed to be very popular. Surprisingly, a majority of the police in Kandahar were Persian speaking (looked to me more from Parwan and Panjshair) with little familiarity to Pashto language and Pashtun culture. While asking why that would be from a Taxi driver and a friend their reply was that the government does not trust Kandaharis because they can be sympathetic to Taliban.

I met eleven out of the thirteen girls (the media was wrong about fifteen or sixteen) from the acid attack and their families. All of them had great hatred for Taliban but meanwhile had no faith in their own central government. Asking some Shias about their religious freedom in Kandahar, they were very happy that they were being somewhat treated equally by the central government.

Just a very interesting story, one of the men named Naim who had sprayed acid on the girls was not caught by the police but his own mother called the police after watching the news and told them about her suspicions about his son’s involvement in the attack. Naim was tortured and killed in Police custody.

Wearing a burqa was a very interesting experience. It was the first time I ever wore a burqa for that long. Just after getting out of the airport , my friend Sohila, who was already wearing a burqa, asked me to wear mine. I did wear mine but I pulled up the front part meaning my face was not covered. The plan was for Mr. Ted to go with a car that our contact from Human Rights commission sent. And for us was to go in a taxi, whose drivers was a family friend to Sohila. We said good bye but suddenly my instincts told me not to trust the driver of the car. Wearing my burqa but not covering my face I ran to stop the car and go in the same car with Mr. Ted. Behind me Sohila was getting mad and shouting “You are not supposed to be running with a burqa on and without covering your face”. But I did.

Of course wearing a burqa was uncomfortable but it was easy to deal with. The hardest part for me was that I had to wear a burqa because of fear of the Taliban and men’s injustice in our societies. I was wearing a burqa not because I wanted to but because I had to. Finally I decided that I would not cover my face. And I would deal with whatever might happen. It was not really like Taliban will beat you or something they do not have that much power. But people would stare at you and gave you bad looks. Of course my friend Sohila did not let me do it all the time but whenever she was not there I did it. Once after dropping Sohila home. I got myself a Pepsi and asked the driver to go through Bazar. I uncovered my burqa, relaxed and drunk my Pepsi. Nothing really happened but made me feel much better. During the nights I slept in a room with four other girls. Till late we all would be chatting. These girls were of ages 16 to 18 and some married and two already mothers. In the first night they were shy and quite but the other nights we made really good friends. I asked them about different things in their provinces especially women rights. I was so mad when almost all of them thought it is fine for men to beat their wives and sisters. And the best thing for a Muslims woman is to keep quiet and have patience. I talked a lot to them about women in Islam. They looked so thirsty for information. I told them that If it is fine for Prophet (PBUH) to divorce his wife why not for us, who are nothing but ordinary followers of him. If in the Quran it says that Nekah is Sunnah (Actions Prophet (PBUH) has done and Divorce is Farz (Muslim’s duty if husband and wife are not happy). Then who are we to do the opposite. While talking to them I felt that I would for sure work for women rights all through Afghanistan but especially in Pashtun areas. These girls told me that they are still very lucky to be born as Persian speaking. What would they do if they were Pashtun women? They girls absolutely loved the freedom we have in Kabul. It was just great for them. They had a feeling that they can not do anything. others need to change things for them. For example Nafisa from Helmad told me that “I can not wait for Americans to take out every woman’s burqa in Helmand and Kandahar”. I told her it is only us, Afghan women, who can and who will do this. It taught me something. I wear my Islamic hejab and if Allah willing I will always but I hope every Afghan women would be able to follow their religion based on their own version and personal believes, They will do it because they want to not because they have to.

Over all I found Kandaharis to be one of the biggest victims of Taliban. They are very much in need of help. They are poor, illiterate and very easy targets for Taliban to use.

Meena Yousufzai YES ‘08
January 4th , 2009

I am grateful to have this sobering window into the current Afghan female experience, which we don't hear about often enough in the media. If you feel moved to help, the Afghan Women's Mission is a wonderful organization providing health, education and other needed programs. And if you are inspired by Masha's work (which always features a beautiful blending of art and social responsibility), please consider taking one of her writing workshops; she will help you be brave in your own creative work.

Happy 2009! I hope everyone had a peaceful, delicious holiday season.

Since my blogging chops are rusty right now, I think I'm just going to post my Free Will Astrology horoscope (Rob Brezny is eerily accurate almost every week):

Aries (March 21-April 19)
It's a great privilege to live in a free country. You're fortunate if you have the opportunity to pursue your dreams without having to ward off government interference or corporate brainwashing or religious fanaticism. But that's only partly useful if you have not yet won the most important struggle for liberation, which is the freedom from your own unconscious habits and conditioned responses. Becoming an independent agent who's not an unwitting slave to his or her past is one of the most heroic feats a human being can accomplish. And you, Aries, will have more mojo to do that in 2009 than you've had in a long time.

Wishing all of you the mojo to access new levels of creative freedom this year! And wishing for the world the hope and change that we have been promised--let's do whatever we can to bring it into being.

Just wanted to say that things will likely be pretty quiet around here for a while--my daughter and I are packing to move to a new house (hit me up if you need my new address) and I'm gearing up to teach at the 10 day Antioch MFA residency.

I still haven't heard from my editor re. my novel Pears, and am continuing to feel very nervous about it, continuing to feel as if I turned it in too soon. I will let you know if I hear anything. I completely trust my editor's judgment, though, and know whatever feedback she gives me will help the book grow stronger, whether it ends up on her list--which of course I hope for, since I love working with her--or not. The Lincoln book has (re)taught me that a manuscript can have life beyond rejection. But I'm getting ahead of myself! I look forward to jumping fully into the revision process in my new house, where I'll have fruit trees right outside the office door.

I wish everyone a peaceful and fruitful December!

On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am grateful to have found two wise posts about gratitude in today's uncertain world. One by my wise and amazing friend, Laraine Herring, which explores why writing matters even as publishers are closing their doors, and one by Michael Morford in the San Francisco Chronicle titled Change and Gratitude: How the hell can you be thankful in a time of fear and meltdown?

These words of Laraine's really spoke to me:

Write directly into the heart of the moment when reading changed you. Writing matters. Stories matter. You have a gift and a desire to tell a story. Rather than be fearful of what you might not be able to accomplish, instead be grateful for the gifts of language. Don't let the fear of the distribution (or not) of those stories get in the way of the telling. Your burdens will become greater by remaining silent. Perhaps especially in economic times like these.

Write what you were given to write and let the rest go.

These words by Michael Morford also resonated:

Maybe this Thanksgiving, it's all we can do to be grateful for, well, for change itself. Any kind of change. Because change is still required. Change is still the universal law. Without it, everything stops. Without it, we die. Change is the only thing we really know for sure. It's the only thing that actually makes any sense, even when it doesn't.

It is the grand rule: "Change and be grateful." Even here. Even now.

Yes. I am so grateful for words that can reach into my heart and make it pound harder. I am so grateful to people with whom I can share words and thoughts and moments and love. I am so grateful to be alive on this planet, which continues to be so beautiful and abundant even in these lean and confusing times. And yes, I am grateful for change, in all its terrifying, exhilarating glory.

May everyone have a gorgeous and delicious Thanksgiving!

If you found your way here via my National Novel Writing Month pep talk, welcome! I hope your month of novel writing has been a fruitful one indeed. My experiences with NaNoWriMo have been so crucial to my life as a writer--both liberating and affirming. NaNoWriMo got me back into my own writing flow a few years ago, during a time when I was feeling completely frozen by expectation (mostly my own, but also what I perceived to be external expectation, as well). I found that when I churned out words that quickly, there was no time to worry about whether what I was writing was perfect and beautiful; it shut my inner editor right down. Giving yourself permission to make a big old mess on the page is incredibly freeing. I hope you're giving yourself that permission and having lots of fun with the process!

For those who aren't taking part in NaNoWriMo, here is my pep talk that went out to all the intrepid November novelists today:

Dear NaNoWriMo writer,

The metaphor of writing-as-birth is not a new one—perhaps it may even be a bit overused—but I can’t help but think about it this month. It doesn’t matter if you’re a woman or a man; you’re pregnant with a novel—congratulations!

Of course, one month is a pretty short gestation period, but hey, that’s all the time rabbits need, and NaNo certainly requires a “no time to say hello, goodbye” White Rabbit breakneck pace.

I remember how amazing it was when I was pregnant with my kids—each day, my body had transformed into something new. This month, you have transformed, too, moving from aspiring writer to novelist, from someone who has wanted to write to someone who actually is doing the hard, juicy work of getting words onto the page. You have learned new things about the creative process, about the depths of your imagination, about the themes and images central to your subconscious life. And even if you are way behind on your word count, even if you’ve only written the first scene of your novel, you have taken a profound leap. You are a writer now. How awesome is that?!

If your experience is anything my like NaNo experiences have been, this has been a time of exhilaration and frustration, inspiration and despair (and, hopefully, big slices of pumpkin pie!) A journey from that first thrill of conception, through moments when the story feels heavy and unwieldy, to times when it kicks inside you and fills you with awe. And now the end, your due-date, is in sight—at least as far as the calendar is concerned. Now you’re not just pregnant—you’re in labor.

In fact, you’re probably at what midwives call the transition stage—the point where the contractions are coming fast and furious, and you’re almost ready to start pushing your book baby, whole, out into the world. Some people get a rush of energy of at this stage, a super human surge that propels them through the birth—a mad flurry of words, a tumbling of scenes that seem to write themselves toward their own climax. Other people, when they get to this stage, suddenly feel as if they’re going to die. As if they can’t go on. As if they don’t know why they ever wanted to have a baby/sign up for NaNoWriMo in the first place. If you can breathe through this transitional period, if you can find a way to quiet those nagging critical voices and keep moving forward, your story will ultimately find its way into the bright oxygenated air (even if it’s long after November 30th.)

See if you can use this final stretch of time to stretch yourself creatively, to try something new and playful with language, to let your characters surprise you, to let yourself surprise yourself. Never let yourself forget what a profound thing you’re doing. As Margaret Atwood says “A word after a word/after a word is power.” You have that creative force inside you. You are poised to give birth to a whole new world.

Congratulations again!
Gayle Brandeis

You can read a portion of "Raising a Ruckus with CODEPINK: Women for Peace", the speech I recently gave in Toronto, at CODEPINK's online magazine, PinkTank.

It's always such a treat for me to visit book clubs (such as the lovely one pictured that I visited in Claremont last Friday.) I love connecting with such passionate readers; they always come up with the most wonderful, thoughtful questions and help me see my work in fresh ways. One woman at the book club on Friday wisely commented upon how Self Storage couldn't have been set in today's post-election world; the fear and intolerance that were such hallmarks of the post-9/11 Bush era wouldn't have the same resonance in a story set after Obama's win. I hadn't thought about this before, and am so grateful that Self Storage now represents only a small, dark sliver of American history.

I am also so grateful to see how the word YES has exploded since then. In 2002, YES was not so easy to come by; when my main character Flan found the word inside a box in a storage auction and decided to go in search of her own source of YES, it felt like an almost radical act. The world at the time was so full of NO. As I wrote the novel, I had no idea that in a few years, millions of people would be chanting YES WE CAN and working together to say YES to the future. Such a beautiful and joyous affirmation. The host of the book club even baked a YES cake, the letters shaped with Hershey's kisses, so we had a chance to literally embody the word.

I am visiting another book club next week; I am eager to hear their questions and see how they'll open my eyes anew.

GOOD Magazine (a great newish progressive journal exploring arts and culture and the environment) recently launched a book blog; I was delighted to find this post linking Barack Obama to Walt Whitman. It closes with these lines:

At Grant Park, Obama was evidence that, as Whitman wrote in the preface to his epic “Leaves of Grass,” “The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.” Obama absorbs Whitman, we absorb Obama, and “the United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.”

There is mention of Abraham Lincoln, who was Whitman's contemporary, earlier in the post, as well. It's fun that I've written novels inspired by both Whitman and Lincoln, and now they've found nexus in our new President!

What a day for new beginnings! As we launch into this new era for our country, we have some fresh starts in our own household, as well: my daughter just enrolled in a new school, which hopefully will prove to be a better fit for her for the time being, and my contract for my first YA novel just arrived! I was offered the deal in June, but didn't want to say anything publicly until I saw the actual contract. Now it is here and I can say with confidence that My Life with the Lincolns will be published by Henry Holt, Spring, 2010.

My Life with the Lincolns tells the story of Mina Edelman, a 12 year old girl in 1966 Chicago who believes her family is the Lincoln family reincarnated and it's her job to save them from their fate. It's set during the Chicago Freedom Movement, when she and her father get involved in Martin Luther King Jr.'s campaign to work for housing equality. I love knowing the book will be published during an Obama presidency--so much of the book is about community organizing in Chicago, which of course is such an important part of Obama's own history (be it in a different era). Plus I know Obama feels such a deep connection to Lincoln, himself. My biggest, wildest fantasy is an Obama blurb for the book, but I think the President might be a bit too busy to offer one. :)

All the happiness of this day of course is tempered by the passing of Prop 8. How heartbreaking that on a day of such celebration, a day of breaking barriers and stepping forward as a country, our state decides to take a step back toward inequality. This is proof that we can't just relax now that Obama has won; there is still so much work that needs to be done. I have faith that the American people are up for the task and will ultimately work together to ensure equal rights for all, but it's going to take time and energy and commitment. Obama's campaign proved that we have that--may we continue to band together and use it well!

YES! YES! YES! YES!

So wonderful to wake up today to a new world, to find out that the dream of last night is actually real. Here are the stirring newspaper headlines people woke up to around the country and around the world.

And be sure to check out this wise and beautiful open letter to Obama by Alice Walker

I have never been so proud or happy to be an American. Yes We Can, Yes We Did, Yes We Will!

ETA: I realized I didn't share anything about my election night experience. Michael and I went to Nancy and Jenn's house for an election night dinner party; the group decided to turn on Comedy Central to see what Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert had to say about the election proceedings, and a minute or so later, Jon Stewart got all teary and declared Obama president. We couldn't believe it--it was just after 8pm; the polls in CA had just closed. When had the decision ever been made so early? We all looked at each other to say "What?" "Could this be true?" "It is live", "That's real emotion in his voice," so we switched over to MSNBC and learned that yes, it was indeed true. Obama had won. We were all in complete delighted shock; it took a moment for the reality to sink in. I'm still reeling with joy.

As I nervously, hopefully await the election results, I find myself thinking about community. I have felt it in different powerful ways in the last couple of weeks, and as someone who tends to be a bit of a hermit, I am reminded of how important it is to get out of my own cave and connect with others.

I felt community in so many ways when I was in Toronto--just being with my sister and her family was such beautiful communing in itself. My sister and I created our own community as we were growing up (both metaphorically and literally--we invented a little land called "Purcell" in the side yard of our apartment building, complete with its own laws and language and customs) and being with her always feels like coming home, no matter where we are. I loved being able to visit some of her favorite places (including the sweetest little tea house you can imagine, where we drank lavender mint tea and ate an assortment of fall delicacies, our sweets all centered around pomegranate, fig and persimmon.)

I found another powerful sense of community at the Motherhood Movement Embedded conference--connecting with mothers who are doing important work around the world to promote peace and justice was very inspiring indeed. And after my speech, my sister and I raced back to the city so we could be part of Night of Dread, one of the most amazing communal experiences I've ever experienced. Night of Dread is organized by Clay and Paper Theater (the link is a few years old, but will give you the gist of the night), and is an artful, fun, moving way to face and exorcise fears as a community. It begins with a huge procession with giant puppets and drumming and people dressed in black and white wending through the streets of Toronto before landing at Dufferin Grove Park, where there is a wonderful, kinetic series of performances and experiences, from fire dancers to fado music to a ritual burning of fears (written out on pizza boxes painted white and planted into the ground with stakes--fears ranging from millipedes to Sarah Palin.) My daughter, who joined me on the journey, and my niece Mollie were both "death dancers" (I actually found a picture of them online in this slide show; they're in the 7th picture, where you see three figures with white and black masks and white robes (Hannah's the one on the left and Mollie is in the center.) At one point in the evening, the death dancers invite the crowd to dance with death, and later they come out with platters ringed with marigolds and full of the "bread of the dead" (cooked in cool community ovens in the park) which they wordlessly invite people to partake in. Such a powerful evening, full of wild imagery, cathartic chanting and overall awe-inspiring spectacle. I hope I'll have a chance to experience it again (but I hope to see my sister and her family again much much sooner than that!)

Since I've been back home, I've experienced other beautiful instances of community--a gorgeous Samhain ritual at my friends Nancy and Jenn's house, during which we each honored a loss from the past year by making altars and meditating on what we had learned from that loss, and what lessons we'll bring forward with us into the future. I made an altar for my wedding ring; it was very emotional and healing to be able to honor the years I spent with Matt and think about how to take the lessons I've learned from my marriage and divorce forward. The ritual culminated in Nancy and Jenn's legal wedding--a profound celebration!

Our Inspire Hope 4: Rock and Shimmy the Vote this Sunday was celebratory in itself--Nancy and I pulled the show together so quickly, but it ended up being a wonderful mix of poetry, music, dance and storytelling, with a great engaged audience. I'm so thankful for the community of artists who were able to jump in at the last minute to share their talents and inspire us all to use our voices at the polls.

And speaking of polls, my boyfriend Michael and I decided to vote a day early yesterday. We had to wait for three hours at the voters registry office, but it was well worth it. I was deeply moved to see hundreds of people waiting patiently, happily to vote. Most of the voters there were people of color; we overhead several people talk about how they hadn't voted in 15 or 20 years. I got teary several times as we waited and the enormity of this election crashed over me. Seeing people come together to bring change and hope to our country is a beautiful thing indeed. May all our hope prove to be fruitful. My fingers will be crossed for the next few hours!

Two things to do Sunday, November 2nd:

--If you're in the Riverside area, come to Back to the Grind at 3575 University Avenue from 5-8pm for Inspire Hope 4: Rock and Shimmy the Vote, an evening of poetry, music and bellydance. We'll be inspiring people to get to the polls, and raising money for the local homeless shelter. Hope you can join us!

--If you have a tv, please tune in to PBS at 10pm to see my brother's documentary, Dissonance and Harmony: Arabic Music Goes West, part of PBS's new series, America at a Crossroads. Jon spent many years (and much heart and belly ache) making this film, which traces the journeys of five Arabic musicians in their home countries, and as they travel to the US to collaborate with Western musicians. I had the pleasure of seeing the musicians perform in LA, and am very excited to see the documentary, which I know will inspire great cross-cultural dialogue and understanding.

I'm very honored to be mentioned in Katie Granju's article celebrating Hip Mama's Ariel Gore. It's fun to think of myself as a "momoir" writer, even though I rarely write about my kids any more--it feels different, more like a violation, to crack open our lives now that they're teenagers. This time period is certainly full of material, though--maybe one day in the future, they'll be comfortable with me looking back to this time on the page (assuming we survive it!) I am so grateful for Ariel Gore and Katie Granju and all the other writer mamas who supported one another as we worked to give our parenting experience a voice.