Honoring My Mother

Eight years ago my mother died from small-cell lung cancer. She was a former smoker who’d quit ten years earlier, but the damage was done. We had a special dynamic: I was an only child, and she was an only mother. When her health became delicate, long before the cancer diagnosis, she came to live with my husband Terry and me.

It wasn’t always easy, having her in the house, but it was worth it for peace of mind. I knew where she was, that she was well taken care of, that if she needed help in the middle of the night, we’d be there.

I didn’t write about my mother for six years following her death. I couldn’t. One night, I went to a poetry reading and book signing by Jim Minick, a wonderful Appalachian poet who teaches at Radford University. He's become a good friend over the years. Jim read from his collection Her Secret Song, a collection of love poems dedicated to his aunt who also died of cancer. His love for this woman who suffered from “elephant man’s disease” brought me to tears. I cried all the way home.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I rose before dawn and walked my normal two-mile walk in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. When the sun rose over a dew-studded pasture, I heard a poem in my head. It took 24 minutes to put every word together. I couldn’t wait to get to my desk and put fingers on keyboard. I let the poem sit for a week before rereading it. I changed one word. I called it Three Weeks.

I got up enough nerve to take it to my writing group in Roanoke, the Valley Writers. When my turn came, I couldn’t read the poem. My girlfriend and fellow writer, Donna Knox, stepped in to read. She broke down at the end.

Since then, I’ve read the poem at dozens of events. People cry and remember a lost loved one. I love the shared memories. My purpose as a writer is to encourage people to talk and share while they are being entertained. We’ve all been through loss. If sharing simple words has a positive effect, I’m satisfied. I’ve done something good.

I’d love to publish it somewhere. I’ve sent it in to several poetry and cancer journals. I have the rejections to prove it. I keep sending it out. One of the days someone will like it enough to publish it. If you want to read the poem, send me an email. I’ll send you a copy. All I ask is you let me know how it affected you, even if you didn’t like it.

Wytheville and Fred First

Last Friday, I drove down to Wytheville with a writer friend of mine. It was the 26th annual Wytheville Chautauqua and writing contest. Both my friend and I placed in the essay contest. I was a little concerned about the title of the essay I submitted, "Balls," because I know the sensibilities of some of the people who coordinate the contest. But, since this had nothing to do with testicles and everything to do with juggling the various balls of life, I said, "what the hell" and sent it in. Took honorable mention.

The highlight of the day, of course, was getting to hear Fred First talk about eight years and 1,000,000 (yes, that is one million) words of blogging. Fred started with stray thoughts and images about the place he lives in Floyd County, VA. Very rural, gorgeous, and Fred's own special place. He read an essay from his first book, Slow Road Home, about how he hated canned, embalmed asparagus when he was a child. -- Hate to admit it. I still like canned asparagus, cold with wasabi mayo on a boat-nic. (That's a picnic on a boat.)

Fred's book is a direct result of his blog. He dumped his blog, formatted it for print, and self-published a few years ago. It's a hit and he's a wonderful speaker.

And I scored a promise to come to Roanoke and speak to the Valley Writers in 2011. Maybe I can get him on the same program with Jim Minick, who was also at the Wytheville event. What a day.

Jim Minick's The Blueberry Years

I saw this comment on Chuck Sambuchino's Guide to Literary Agents blog in an interview with Paige Wheeler of Folio Literary Agency. Since we claim Jim as a friend, I wanted to give out a shout out to all my friends. Buy his book, buy his book, buy his book.

"The Blueberry Years by Jim Minick is coming out in hardcover from Thomas Dunne Books in September, and it's just an amazing story. I tend to be drawn to wish-fulfillment projects, and this beautifully captures what I mean by that term. This memoir is based on Jim’s trials and tribulations as an organic blueberry farmer over the course of eight years. Ultimately, though, this book tells the story of a place shaped by a young couple's dream, how that dream failed, and how that dream and place shaped these people.

Through Jim’s writing, this memoir explores larger issues facing agriculture in the United States, issues like the rise of organic farming, the plight of small farmers, the fragile nature of our global food system and our nation’s ambivalence about what we eat and where it comes from. A story of one couple and one farm, this book shows how our country’s appetite for cheap food affects how that food is grown, who does or does not grow it, and what happens to the land."

I love Jim's Her Secret Song and have turned to it several times for inspiration.