New

The tide has come and gone. Again. As ever.  I live four hours from a beach, but I know this is true. It is not new. Neither is this poem. It has been written a thousand trillion times plus one in the minds of sleepy children uncertain whether or not their dreams were real or imagined. It was written by my10th grade English teacher one night after his girlfriend left him. It was written by my older sister in that hateful note she left me before she moved out for good. It was written by my neighbor who keeps her house dark on Halloween because she is scared of any sort of mask. It was written in every half-baked business plan, roads to fortune, that ever was. It was written went I fell out of my old self and into screaming love for the first time, and then it was gone.

There was one grown up without normal manners who told me once that everything that ever was has already been thought, written, sung, danced, painted and cried over.

We twisted spoons together with our minds, and drew pictures of heroic horses and their unaffordable, fine black carriages as though recalling a personal memory and not something from last Sunday’s movie at the empty theater with sticky carpets.

I wrote the perfect title for the book I will never write. I sang the first goose-pimpling chorus to the song that will never been sung. I stretched my tired, inflexible body in a modern arch I mastered long ago when happening upon harmless grass snakes in the woods behind my house. They summoned me, or perhaps the other way. But it was a dance always crouching in the silent anxiety of my days.

The drywall in this new house is textured and rough, but sanctimoniously uniform. For an hour, I grip an orange and green glass marble in a tight fist convinced that my best idea is trapped inside of it. I fantasize that I might be able to throw it so hard it will pass through the drywall without a scratch, the universe reassembling itself in honor of the only new thought to come about in five thousand years.

Instead, it is legitimately cold under a vast Texas sky. I find a scarf, but keep my flip flops on. The summer was a living hell, I say out loud to something without breath. The wind pushes leaves into my face, and I swat them away like fruit flies. I should be grabbing them like million dollar bills or kisses. I steer my head toward the stars and know this has been done before. I remember now. I bury the marble next to the dead Peruvian Lemon tree that died in last year’s freak snow storm.

I don’t long for the stars out of reach. Instead, I survey the leaves at my feet, gather them quickly and release them to the wind like wishes. Now, they are in my neighbor’s yard.

———————–

(Words in bold were gathered from a random word generator. )

Writing can be a tricky business, for sure. Help is coming. So, if you know of any students (I can coach via phone also) who could use some writing support, here is my professional link!

http://www.nextguru.com/jenniferhr

1) “Really? That’s amazing. Do you write romance novels? I love those. “

2) “A writer? A real writer? That’s so cool. You must be smart.”

3) “Can I find your stuff at the library or Barnes & Noble or on Amazon? Are you published?”

4) “Are you like J.K. Rowling? Do you know her?”

5) “That beats my job. I hate being cooped up all day.”

6) “How do you make up stories? That must be hard. I could never do that.”

7) “A writer? That’s a real job?”

“How fast can you type? You must type fast.”

9) “How’s business?”

10) “I have a story. It’s so crazy. If I tell you, can you write it for me?”

Here are my answers…

1) No, I don’t write romance novels. I’m not that romantic.

2) I’m smarter than some, way dumber than lots.

3) Yes. I just pressed the “publish” button on my WordPress blog. Oh, and I’ve also had a byline in some newspapers and magazines. But my books aren’t published yet. Two of them are ghost written and being edited, and one is actually about ghosts. The one about ghosts will have my name on it– the others won’t. If you give me your email address, I’ll let you know where to buy all of them. I hope you’re interested in women’s hormone health, religious pluralism and teen paranormal angst.

4) I’ve never met J.K Rowling and I’m probably at least seven inches shorter than her. Also, I am brunette and there are no wizards in any of my books.

5) That sucks. I am also cooped up all day, but mostly in places with delicious lattes and weird music. You should try it.

6) Stories are everywhere. Your life is full of them. Believe me, you’re probably more interesting than you think.

7) Yes. Being a writer is an actual job. We either can barely pay our bills, or we’re ridiculously well off. It all depends. Screenwriters make the most money for the fewest amount of words (excluding poets who are in a world all their own.)

Last I checked, I type 60 words per minute. But I never learned proper typing technique. However, I do hunt and peck with the best of them.

9) What does business have to do with writing?Oh, a lot. Well, business is currently slower than I’d like. I mean, the publishing process can be painfully slow. But when it picks up, I’m sure it will be a ride worth waiting for.

10) Um, no.

JH: What first prompted you two to develop The Child’s Guide to Anarchy? Where did the original idea come from?

JS: It started with Jana’s drawings of Wild Child, who was initially intended to be part of our Happy Punks web comic and recently – finally – made her first appearance. Jana also came up with the title “A Child’s Guide To Anarchy,” which later we added “A Rule Is To Break,” which is nod to one of our favorite children’s books, “A Hole Is To Dig.”

It seems to us that in the marketing side of children’s books there is a lot of effort to please the parents, who are obviously the ones buying the books. But we had this idea of making books for aunts and uncles to buy the kids. Not always, but often enough in the family dynamic, the aunt or uncle are the “cool” ones, the ones the kid daydreams is really the parent, the ones who can be a bit subversive in their gifts or activities. It seemed to us that a lot of our book ideas were more of interest to that person than the parent, necessarily!

Also there’s the reality of alternative families of all kinds — they exist, but unless they can be pigeonholed and covered in a “how to deal with the fact my family isn’t like other families” type of book, they aren’t really sought out as readers by mainstream publishing. We wanted to make something for those families.

These two audiences were much more part of our experience than the more traditional ones, so we were really doing a book for the world we come from and the people we know.

JH: There have been a lot of titles in the past couple of years geared toward counter culture parents which are clearly written for grown ups. But this is for kids. Why did you decide to go in that direction?

JS: We’re not interested in making fun of kids or making fun of the things that kids like or treating kids like they’re in the way, so we clearly weren’t going to jump on that ironic bandwagon. Also, adults have had their chance. Once you have a kid, it’s no longer about you, it’s about the kid. A good deal of your effort should go into helping that kid be a better person than you were.
We like kids with some pluck and wanted to encourage that. Our kids have pluck. Every kid should — especially these days, when kids’ lives have become so regimented, so mapped out, so devoid of individual goals. A little rebellion is a good thing, a lot of rebellion is a great thing, and that’s what we encourage in our stories.

JH: What is your creative process like as a husband and wife team? Do you have other similar projects in the works?

JS: It works different ways.

Sometimes it’s pretty traditional – John writes a manuscript for an idea he has and Jana illustrates it. If that’s the dynamic, Jana will add levels through the drawing and the text might change to suit the illustration, if that seems like the right thing to do.
Sometimes Jana comes up with the initial idea and brings it to John, and if it’s something he can actually write, it moves forward.

Other times, Jana will draw things with no intention of a story project and John will take it and run — Happy Punks started that way. In the cases of web comics, Jana will sometimes write them and just run them past John.
Still others, we’ll sit down together and map out the story, page by page, coming up with the actual story as we do. It all changes from project to project.

JH: You’ve had traditional publishers in the past. Why did you decide to independently publish this project?

JS: Sending a children’s book to a traditional publisher just seemed against the principles of the book itself. It’s a very DIY ethic, so the subject matter dictated the method of getting it out there. Also, we wanted a faster turnaround and the process of traditional publishing really demands a snail’s pace.

Plus, we had no desire to compromise on the content. We say in the book exactly what we mean to say in it and understand that some of it might not sit well with a traditional publishing house, or survive the committee process of editors and marketing guys. We just weren’t interesting in submitting Wild Child to that mob scene!

JH: In addition to the fun tips and narrative of the book, what are some other ways that parents can help kids be awesome?

JS: Play to your kids’ strengths. Schools too often play to weaknesses — got to get math scores up, for instance — and spend so much time doing so that the kid’s talents aren’t always addressed in any serious way until college. At that point, the pressure is to have an education for the sake of a job, and after years of focusing on everything but what you’re good at, you tend to not choose to study your passion. So if a kid is good at music or science or numbers or history or sewing or gardening or sports or whatever, nurture that all their life — and make if fun! Don’t turn it into school. Let the kid lead and you can supplement that with some suggestions of things that they might not notice on their own. Kids are natural learners until school programs that out of them.

Also, we’d stress creating some actual cultural literacy and not leaving it to the wider popular culture to shape taste in arts and entertainment – especially if you are giving the kid up to daycare. It all starts at an early age and parents have to work harder in that scenario and not abdicate responsibility. Turn off the radio, the television, play the music you love, watch silent movies, read books together, talk about real things, travel everywhere often — help nurture the importance of experience and culture beyond the fishbowl of their peers.

Check out their supercool book trailer with original music by The Atom, made up of their rock star twin teenage boys Harry and Hugo.

So I started thinking about the novels that might show up on Amazon some day where it says, “If you liked this, you might like this.” I’m stumped. I mean, I know who I like to read. But I wouldn’t say that I am particularly into one genre over another. Sure, I tend to stick primarily to YA fiction. But even within that group, there are numerous subgroups that completely attract. But I have a confession to make. I don’t recall reading any paranormal novels lately. Not one.

To me, the book I just wrote is about a girl– a girl who is having some trouble understanding and accepting an extraordinary supernatural family gift. This gift, in many ways, is not so different than the other gifts she wrangles with: writing and drawing. She’s trying to make sense of how to use what she’s good at in a world that isn’t quite that kind to people like her. Oh, and there are some famous ghosts who come to help.

The creepy factor is something I cherish in a novel because it takes me out of a place that is expected, normal and predictable. And creepy doesn’t have to mean supernatural. When I was 12, I was obsessed with V.C. Andrews. I would skip entire lunch periods to read the Dollanger series (Flowers in the Attic, Petals on the Wind, If There be Thorns, etc). The creepy factor was based on macabre family secrets, abuse, incest and abandonment: the ghosts of pasts that should be forgotten and locked away. They were awesome. I look back on that now and I am shocked that Sister Theresa didn’t confiscate my books. If only she had known…

I’m not allowed to give a synopsis yet, but I’m so excited about it and can’t wait to be able to share more. So tomorrow, as my son and husband spend some together together post tonsil surgery, I’ll be skipping the parades. And there are no fireworks in Austin because of the drought and a statewide burn ban. Doesn’t matter. We’re all taking this Independence Day as a day to be our wonderful, independent selves. Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. I’ll take it.

Capra is a character, you guessed it, based somewhat on my 16 year-old self. The entries are a combination of fiction and fact, but always reaching toward a balance of inspiration, entertainment and education. So far, I’ve written to these interesting people:

Natalie Portman: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/17/dear-natalie-portman/

Dr. Carl Jung: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/28/dear-carl-jung/

Aretha Franklin: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/03/dear-kate-middleton/

Seraphine de Senlis: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/02/08/dear-seraphine-louis-de-senlis/

Ricky Gervais: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/24/dear-ricky-gervais/
Jackie Chan: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/02/04/dear-jackie-chan/

Conan O’Brien: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/05/dear-conan-obrien/

Russell Brand: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/02/14/dear-russell-brand/

Carl Sagan: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/03/dear-carl-sagan/

Rush: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/18/dear-rush/

Cher: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/26/dear-cher/

Jón Gnarr: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/13/dear-jon-gnarr/

Bessie Coleman: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/02/17/dear-bessie-coleman/

The Kardashian Sisters: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/21/dear-kardashian-sisters/

Kate Middleton: http://alwayscapra.wordpress.com/2011/01/03/dear-kate-middleton/

Ultimately, our goal is to make the blog better and better and eventually create an entire world around Capra which includes YA novels, animation shorts, music, an advice column and more. Go check it out and let me know what you think!

Crawl carefully in the mystical place of the heart– it is the most free you might be. This is the diary of a masterful claw. A song strung out serene, empty and without light has all the lure of a photgraphic journey flashed furiously on a wall at dinnertime. I have never been there, I will never go there, it was not my dream. Why, then, do we repeat the silly misery? It flew away from us once, now pesky and righteous, dripping in a heartless tapping that defeats our senses. Now, there is the cat to consider. Julius doesn’t smile or jump or cower. He never did– we made him up from day to day. We do that. Bending in time, stretching beyond our psychic means is very dangerous and fattening and overall quite bad for the heart.

Thank you for being a voice of reason. I’m with you. As far as being Catholic, I’m out too. To be clear, my decision was a long time coming. I’ve been in and out of the church so often and for so many years, I was never quite certain what my place was or where my faith was hiding. I was looking for it like a lottery ticket or a valuable heirloom earring. But the reality is that I can not be a part of it any more. I was mystified, confused and downright pissed off about so many things the Catholic Church was involved in and “up to.” I would listen to Catholic radio and be inspired and enchanted by the mesmerizing reciting of the rosary. I would nod my head in agreement when a priest talked about the evils of war. I would feel in my right mind when I listened to the saving grace that prayer provided to someone who was ready to end it all. I would think fondly, even romantically about the gorgeous cathedrals in Venice and how I openly wept in that church of St. Francis in Assisi when I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit push through me like life-giving air. I recall a moment of grace in a cathedral in San Miguel surrounded by old women on their knees with the sweetest smiles on their sunworn faces. I recall the intimate conversations with the Virgin Mary after my mother passed away. I would find a church in every city I visited just to light a candle for her. I recall the overwhelming moment of joy when my son, only four months old, was raised high above the head of an Irish priest after the moment of his baptism. I recall the smell of burning votives and incense and the taste of the Eucharist. I remember lying flat before a hanging crucifix and Jesus in an empty church pleading with him to help me understand myself and what my purpose here on earth really is. I was twelve. I did again when I was 18. Again when I was 26. I would watch “A Nun’s Story” and “Brother Sun, Sister Moon” over and over fantasizing of a life devoted to God and prayer, but knowing in my heart that writing was my truer calling.

My home is full of crosses, sacred hearts and pictures of Mary and little statues of my mother’s favorite saints. When John Paul II died, I cried for days recalling a moment during midnight mass on Dec. 31, 1998 when our eyes met briefly as he slowly walked to the magnificent altar in St. Peter’s Cathedral. I felt changed and came to the church after a long departure. And in the last three years, I have learned more about the presence of angels and the divine guidance and intervention of the heavens than I ever dreamed possible. There are so many things to love about the mystery, magic, artistry and ancient wisdoms of the Catholic Church. And knowing that I could be in Dublin, Rome, Mexico City or Boston and have access to my dearest spiritual tools by just rounding a street corner was extremely comforting to me for many years.But it’s not enough. Not even close.

I think Christ is real. But what the Catholic Church is doing now is destructive. I have not self-identified as a Christian for some time, and I was never quite sure why. But it has become clear that they are not delivering news from God. They are firmly implanted in the world of man under the guise of spirit. And to me, that is wrong. Perhaps that’s why I have felt so disconnected. I went to church to hear God. But all I kept hearing was man’s feeble interpretation with an ever-increasing emphasis on politics. The bottom line is that I can not be a part of a religion that treats women, gays and lesbians with such unapologetic disdain and cruelty. I do not believe anyone, in good conscience, can participate in a religion that systematically denounces condoms in Africa. It’s ridiculous . I can not condone a religion that puts saving face over the safety and gentle care of children. I can not be a member of a church who indoctrinates its most devoted messengers — priests and nuns who have holy callings— and tells the spiritually dedicated that sex, marriage and children are obstacles to living a spiritually awakened existence.

I wish I could tell you how difficult my spiritual journey has been. But in all honesty, I must admit that being Catholic at least gave me an awareness and a language for understanding the universe and cosmic laws in a way that was rich and beautiful and memorable. I believe in God with my whole heart. I believe in powerful human messengers that have delivered some of these universal truths designed, essentially, to save us from ourselves. I believe in divinely-inspired music that can lift my soul out of my chest and helps me to meet the angels halfway. I believe in sincere contemplation, stillness, meditation and prayer. I believe that humans sometimes need artifacts and rituals and a common history to absorb and understand spiritual truths. But I believe, above all, that love is the answer to everything. So, Anne, I feel your pain. I understand your confusion and how pissed off you’ve been. I get it. I just want you to know that you can take the girl out of the cathedral, but you can’t take God out of the girl.

Take care and God Bless.

Love,

Jennifer