Stacyverb

A friend, a tool, a part of my body

For obscure reasons, since seventh grade, I’ve given every wheelchair I’ve used the same name: Fred. Recently, I acquired a new Fred. It’s lightweight, handles beautifully, and was a bargain besides. As happy as I am to have it, though, the changing of the guard from one Fred to another is always a bittersweet transition.

All Freds must retire eventually, and my previous one had a good run of eight or nine years. A while back, the vinyl on his armrests started to crack and peel, so I gave them a makeover with leopard-print duct tape—an embellishment that garnered compliments from strangers almost daily. By the end of his term, Old Fred was in pretty rough shape—torn seat, bolts that wouldn’t stay tightened, rubber tires beginning to crumble.

I wonder how many miles I put on him. Besides routine activities like going to work and running errands, Old Fred and I had countless adventures together. We wheeled across the Golden Gate Bridge, explored Mayan ruins, and tackled mud season in Vermont. Many, many times we off-roaded over terrain he wasn’t built to handle, and he always rose to the challenge.

We went to rock shows as well as rocky outcroppings. We twirled around the dance floors of Nashville honky tonks, a Mexican disco, and weddings and reunions from coast to coast. We once modeled for a book about style so I could school folks on the challenges of dressing for a seated lifestyle (spoiler alert: high heels won’t make you look any taller).

Old Fred also rolled with me into a Tennessee hospital room to say goodbye when my father-in-law passed away. On another terrible morning, together we held Nacho Kitty in my lap as she was euthanized.

A wheelchair is just an inanimate object, right? Except it’s not. It’s a tool, and an extension of the user’s body. Transitioning from a familiar wheelchair to a new one feels strange at first. I don’t know what comparison I can make, to explain it to somebody who doesn’t use one. It’s kind of like a new pair of shoes, or a new car, but also like a new…I don’t know, roommate? Pet? This new…entity…becomes your constant companion.

This isn’t the time for a lecture about why expressions like “confined to a wheelchair” and “wheelchair-bound” are outdated, insulting, and generally just plain inaccurate. But I will say this: using a wheelchair has never made me feel restricted. The barriers and obstacles of the able-bodied world have often made me feel restricted, but to me, the wheelchair itself represents freedom. Without it, I’d be limited to…what? My house? The constant pain and frustration of trying to make my body do something it can’t do—namely, walk?

As I write this, Old Fred has been parked in a closet for about a month. Although I’m not using him anymore, I can’t quite bring myself to let him go yet. Soon I’ll donate him, maybe to a non-profit that needs him for parts, or to someone who can use him in an art project. (A previous generation of Old Fred went into show business when I retired him, becoming a prop for a local theater company.) He’s earned some rest.

Another era has begun, and my new Fred will be with me for whatever experiences come next.

Songs About Girls With Wheels

It's a time of change around here. I find myself unemployed this summer, which presents some challenges for sure, but also gives me time to focus on writing and submitting.

 

This week I'm very pleased to have a piece of flash fiction in Atticus Review's music issue. This story, “Songs About Girls With Wheels,” is one of several short pieces I’ve been working on that feature protagonists in wheelchairs.

Although I was born with a physical disability and have been writing most of my life, I always resisted writing about characters with disabilities because 1) living with a disability is so normal to me, it’s not something I dwell on. (There are so many other subjects I’d rather think/talk/write about.) And 2) I didn't want to get pigeonholed as a “disabled writer.” I never wanted people to expect me to write about that.

Eventually, though, I realized that if I want to see more representations of people like me, I should create some! This story is part of that effort. I hope it presents a different perspective that makes readers look at the world in a slightly new way. Enjoy!

Notes on putting it out there

Since I'm trying to focus on shorter pieces right now, I’ve spent some time this week writing a bit of short fiction and submitting work to online lit mags for the first time in a while.

 

 This button can make people sweat.

For a lot of writers I know, the submission process is a constant source of anxiety and stress. Fortunately, it doesn’t particularly freak me out. I mean, if no one accepts anything I’ve written, ever again, then sure, that would be depressing. On the other hand…so what? My relationships, my livelihood, my health…none of that depends on the approval of online lit mags. Rejection's not fatal.

In her excellent piece “Am I a writer?” Cathy Day says, “Only you can decide what it means to you to be meaningfully published.” I think about this a lot. When I finally finish my book, yes, I want someone to like it enough to produce it as a physical, tangible object. In the meantime, I also hope I'm writing pieces that make people feel and think about things in new ways. The most effective route to that might mean letting someone else consider publishing my work online. Or it might mean blogging right here...so why not do that? It doesn’t necessarily make sense for writers to get caught up in waiting for someone to give them permission to share their own work.

In the 90s, a lot of us were distributing our own writing by making zines. Sometimes we submitted pieces to each other’s zines, sometimes not, but the work we were doing felt meaningful either way. And it was always fun. The online lit mag scene is a higher-tech version, but it’s basically the same concept: people who’ve created spaces in which to share words and ideas, on their own time and dime. But there's so much more emphasis on submitting now (technology has made it much easier to do, but maybe also less fun?), and I feel pretty detached from the anxiety that surrounds that.

Maybe this makes me sound blasé, but I don’t mean it that way. It’s more about extrinsic vs. intrinsic motivation: the difference between writing toward a goal of recognition or acclaim, vs. writing for the creativity and challenge of working with words. As a kid, imagining what I wanted to be when I grew up, I pictured myself as an author. As an adult, typing at my computer or scribbling in my notebook, I think of myself as a writer. Do you see the difference? It’s subtle, but it’s there. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy achieving what my younger self envisioned: the prestige of having my name on the cover of a book, the external validation of that. But I care more about simply having the opportunity to do the work and to share it in whatever way seems best for me. Whether someone else publishes it--or I do, or no one does--the rest of life goes on, either way.

Well, well, well...look who’s back in blogland

"Where the hell have you been??" you might be asking, with your brows furrowed and your arms crossed over your chest. Okay, legit question.

For quite a while now, my main writing project has been this novel in progress. And my thinking for the past year or so has been: if I’m ever going to finish the thing, my writing time needs to be focused pretty much exclusively on that. So, no blogging.

But meanwhile, here’s the problem: I miss the feeling of finishing something. That’s what I find most frustrating about long-term projects—trudging along interminably, never feeling the endorphin rush of completion, the satisfaction at having finished what I’ve started.

Plus, with any long-range undertaking come those periods when you just plain stall. And when you’re making no real progress on the one thing that’s supposed to be your sole focus, you’re basically accomplishing nothing at all.

In very broad terms, my two favorite things about writing are: the process of doing it, and the act of sharing it. But in those periods of blockage and frustration, I haven'tenjoyed doing it. And since I haven't actually finished anything, I’ve had nothing to share. To the outside world, for the past 10 months or so, I haven’t looked like a writer at all. But I still am one, I swear!

I miss writing short pieces and sending them out into the world. I miss having a place to put words that are more thoughtful than a Facebook status update, but not so introspective that they need to stay in my journal. Oh but wait, I do have that place—THIS BLOG. I’ve just been denying myself the permission to use it.

So, this blog is coming back. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be writing about, or how often, but I need this platform to keep my creative work engaged with the outside world. Big thanks to all of you who’ve continued to ask about my ongoing projects and to let me know you’ve missed reading my words. I appreciate it!

I had no idea

It’s been just over a month since I returned from my four-week residency at the Vermont Studio Center. After some initial post-residency blues, now my thoughts of VSC are less about the sadness of leaving and more about gladness and gratitude for the time I spent there.

I arrived at VSC eager to have my own space and time away from job and home responsibilities; to focus completely on finishing a first draft of my novel; to meet other writers and artists, and make friends with a few of them.

Little did I know how low I was aiming!

 

Before & after: view from my studio window on March 31 & April 24

For one thing, I didn’t anticipate falling in love with the view of the Gihon River outside my studio window, or having the jaw-dropping experience of witnessing that river—mostly frozen when I arrived on March 30—thaw, break up, and begin to flow freely. Living in this dynamic setting with about 50 other writers and visual artists, I felt constantly invigorated by my surroundings and the sheer range of talent and imagination around me.

During any given conversation, one resident’s casual comment could inspire someone else in a totally unexpected way. I experienced this VSC magic from both sides more than once, and witnessed it countless other times. Inspiration and support from fellow residents frequently gave me the sensation of a switch being flipped in my brain, making it spark and sizzle and light up in new ways.

So, with fresh confidence and curiosity, I embarked on a path of pushing my writing in a more personal and experimental direction. What an exciting shift that was! After holing up in my studio for long afternoons of this new work, I’d emerge feeling equal parts exhausted and giddy.

Giddiness became a familiar feeling during those four weeks. I’d had no idea how much fun the residency would be, or that I’d grow so close to so many people so fast. And within this fantastic sense of community, I rediscovered something I’d nearly forgotten--the pure joy of writing just for the sake of writing.

While I did make huge progress on my novel, I didn’t complete my draft. And that’s okay! About halfway through the residency, thoughts like, “How many pages have I written?” and “Will anyone publish this?” began to seem irrelevant, replaced by “What if I wrote about that topic?” and “How about experimenting with this technique?”

 

My official VSC studio portrait by Howard Romero

And what happened? Magic, basically. I produced some of the strongest work I’ve ever done. Lots of fiction, for sure, but non-fiction as well. And poetry! (What? Where did that come from??)

Back home in the “real” world now, my residency experience has helped me to clarify my priorities. I recognize that my creative self—imaginative, exuberant, adventurous—is my best self. For a while, I’d lost sight of her, but VSC and my fellow residents revived her. Now I feel committed to making sure my writing and my connection to a creative community don’t get sidetracked by the routines of everyday life. I hope to keep surprising myself with what I can do when I set my expectations aside.

When I headed off to VSC, I thought I had good ideas about the work I would do, the things I would accomplish. Compared to what I actually did there and what I feel capable of doing now, I realize I had no idea at all.

My Writing Process blog tour

The excellent Amanda Miska tagged me for the My Writing Process blog tour, so here are my answers!

What am I working on?

My main writing project right now is a novel I started in 2012. I'm hoping to complete the first draft of it during my upcoming residency at the Vermont Studio Center. It's about a 20-something woman who lives in a dead-end town and got married too young for less-than-great reasons. She has few opportunities and doesn't necessarily make the best use of the ones she does have. It's not as bleak as it sounds, althought some of it is pretty bleak. On the side, I'm also working on a short story that revolves around an abandoned supermarket.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

My blog differs from many others in that I've never wanted to limit it to one narrow focus. It's not a sewing blog, or book blog, or whatever--it's a blog of whatever I feel like. Fiction-wise, I hope that I bring a variety of perspectives based on my experiences living in the south, the northeast, and the midwest; in funky urban neighborhoods and rural areas; in a small college town and a bland suburb. 

Why do I write what I do?

On the blog, I like to write and photograph projects I've done and things that inspire me, because I think documenting creativity has value. If I share these types of things, maybe other people get inspired too. In fiction, it's harder to say. Right now I'm in a phase where I want to write about people whose lives are quite different from mine, to understand their perspectives and show what makes them interesting. There's something interesting about everybody, but too often we don't bother digging around to find what it is. Writing satisfies my urge to be nosier than might be acceptable in real life!

How does my writing process work?

Often, curiosity is what gets me started. Meeting someone with an unusual job--what's it like to do that work? Observations around town or on road trips can get my imagination going--what does that strange sign mean, or why is that building vacant? Things like that. I tend to jot down a lot of notes and brainstorm for a while with a pen and paper, and then start working on my laptop when I'm ready to develop the notes into something coherent. I enjoy writing by hand, but being able to cut, paste, and delete easily becomes vital at that stage.

Thanks, Amanda, for tagging me!

Write what you know--or don't

I've been spending some time this week going through old writing files, looking for any long-hibernating pieces that I might want to finish while I have some uninterrupted time in Vermont next month. Meh...didn't find much worth pursuing. I realized I'm much more interested in finishing the first draft of what I started during Camp NaNoWriMo 2012, and working on another story or two that are bubbling in my brain.

In a lot of those older pieces, I was playing it very safe. My main characters tended to be people who were a lot like me--women around my age who'd gone to college, were creative in some way, and a bit rootless. Sometimes they were idealized versions of me--braver, or more talented, or with more resources. All pretty typical, young writer experiments, I suppose.

These days I'm working on some things about people who are very different from me. An old man. A very young married woman. People who've lived their whole lives in one place while the world moves around and past them. This writing is definitely more an exercise in imagination and empathy than in ventriloquism or wish-fulfillment.

Interestingly, one thing I've never done is write a story about a person in a wheelchair. Yet, I get frustrated at how rare it is to see any well-developed characters in wheelchairs, and that's largely because the few attempts I see at depicting such characters are created by people who...well, it's not their story.

So if I want a character like that to exist, a story like that to be told, maybe I should be writing it myself. But then the minute I create a character in a wheelchair, won't people assume it's just a thinly-disguised version of me? Probably. SO TRICKY.

Still...they say (you know..."they") every writer has at least one story that only she or he can tell. Since I've never seen a story like mine, maybe that's the story I should be telling. But it feels too obvious! It feels like cheating! I'm just now getting comfortable telling stories about people who aren't like me! Just thinking about this is making me throw a tantrum!

That's probably a sign that I'm onto something....

First and foremost

Back in October, I took a workshop through the Georgia Writers Association called "Funding Streams for Writers." While I did get some helpful tips about freelance work, promotion, etc., I think the most valuable piece of advice I gleaned from that day was when the facilitator said,

"The number one thing you should be doing is making sure you are known first and foremost as a writer."

That struck me, hard. I wrote it down. Then I circled it. Then I drew a star next to it. Because I knew this was advice I needed to hear, see, read, and read again.

I wear a lot of hats. Most people do. Obviously, I'm a wife, daughter, friend, sister, etc. And any of the people who know me from wearing those hats--those people also know me as a writer.

But I also make and sell jewelry. Work in a yarn shop. Teach knitting lessons. Run social media for a classical music venue. I take odd, random jobs that I can do at home in my sweatpants while watching movies (earlier today, I spent two hours stuffing googly eyes, pipe cleaners, and other oddments into ziplock bags so kids can make puppets out of them).

All that's good. I'm proud of my resourcefulness and ability to cobble a living together without having to spend my days at a soul-sucking job in a windowless office (been there...not my thing). I like being creative, helping other people be creative, and doing things with my hands.

However. When I heard the above quote, I realized it was absolutely not true for me. People who buy my jewelry, unless they're friends of mine, don't know me as a writer. Yarn shop customers I've known for years--most of them think of me as a knowledgeable and helpful salesperson, and they're unaware of this blog or any of my other writing activities. Not that any of it's a secret, but because somewhere along the way, WRITING and STUFF I DO TO MAKE A LIVING became compartmentalized in my life.

One of my knitting students was surprised to learn I had other, non-teaching jobs. In her mind, I am a teacher. That startled me, because in my mind, teaching knitting is something I just happen to know how to do, that people are willing to pay me for. I don't consider myself a teacher, just...someone who teaches. (If that makes sense, and I'm aware that maybe it doesn't.)

Making ends meet is important, obviously, but I've been letting that overshadow something equally (if not more) important. So I'm trying to make more of an effort to be known as a writer, whether that's how I make my living or not--putting more writing content on this blog; starting a Twitter account that I use almost exclusively to talk about writing stuff with other writers; telling some of my yarn shop customers and knitting students about my upcoming VSC residency.

One of the things I'm most looking forward to about VSC, in fact, is being immersed in a culture where I don't have to be anything but a writer. I'm sure I'll make friends there, and we'll get to know other things about each other's lives, but while I'm there, WRITER will be my primary identity.

I look forward to seeing who I will be when I'm removed from the context of ordinary daily life, wearing my writer hat.

107 percent

This week my indiegogo campaign to support my VSC writing residency came to a close. And how did I do? Let's take a look....

 

Awesome, huh? I am thrilled, and very grateful to everyone who contributed. It really means a lot to me.

I've booked my flight, and wow, it's getting close--I leave in 31 days!!!

Finished: Acero Honey Cowl

The Honey Cowl pattern has been a huge hit in the knitting world for quite a while now. As of this writing, there are nearly 15,000 (!) Honey Cowl projects catalogued on Ravelry. I've made the pattern myself once before, as a shop sample at work.

Finally, craving a mindless, pretty, stash-busting sort of project, I decided to make one of my very own. The yarn you've seen before, in this post. And here's the finished product.

I prefer to wear it doubled, as a fabulous neck-warming thingy, instead of as one long loop. The colors are wonky in the pic on the right, but this was as good as I could get it to look. I had to tinker with the color balance to get this version that's a somewhat happy medium where the cowl colors look fairly okay, without my skin looking blue or yellow.

 

I'm kind of in love with this fabric. Dense yet drapey. The colors are accurate in this pic. Flattering palette for me.

 

Oh, why not--here's another view. I love it so!

 

PROJECT DETAILS

Pattern: Honey Cowl by Madelinetosh

Yarn: Brooks Farm Acero, colorway unknown (mysterious!)

Needle: US 6 (4.0 mm)