Patterns - In Words - In Life

By Cheryl Oreglia

Humor me for a moment and imagine a pile of words as if a clump of clay, siting lifeless on the table, until the artist comes along and molds it into some sort of shape. Right? Before one word is selected, or the skill of the artist is applied to the clay, in that moment the possibilities are endless. It's the most enticing and frightening part of the process for me.

As I stare at the unformed page, organizing my thoughts, censoring nothing as waves of words ebb and flow through my mind, it's an exciting moment, full of tension, a touch of fear, and unquestionable elation. I have always aspired to shape my 1,500 word posts into something worthy of display, as if a work of art, a piece that inspires the reader to stop and ponder it's meaning.

After hours of sculpting, a rustic image begins to appear, but I believe it takes enormous courage to lift the cloth, boldly revealing that which you have cast, intentionally or not some hidden aspect of the self is always unveiled.

"Soul animates body to make a living being, just as form animates matter to make a piece of art," claims Jane Alison in her recent book Meander, Spiral, Explode. If formation and pattern are the soul of our narratives than I think it might be worthy of our consideration?

There are many ways to write, the most popular having something to do with an arc, meaning historically a story has been defined or burdened with a beginning, middle, and end - And they lived happily ever after - a narrow but classic closure. The truth is there are many ways to weave a story and often without knowing we use various strategies and patterns when we write. This is the personality of your work and as with people it can be charming or annoying or boring, or worse unengaging and we simply loose the audience we so painstakingly enticed.

Strangely enough when you explore structures of writing we find they mimic fundamental patterns in nature! It's all so pleasantly rural. Look around you, everything is patterned, this can be comforting, and distressing at the same time. Right in front of me are patterned blinds shading me from patterns of light filtering into the room, below me is a patterned tiled floor. I'm sitting on a patterned chair beside a patterned brick fireplace and layered wooden mantle. The plants I have scattered about the room in an attractive pattern are patterned with leaves and flowers. Outside the tree and bushes form an attractive pattern. It's extraordinary when you stop and look around. Even the keyboard I use to type this piece is patterned along with my daily schedule and patterns of sleep.

Oh my, the webs we weave are adhesive as hell.

We have distinctive ways of organizing our stories, usually they fall in the form of Parataxis or Hypotaxis. Parataxis being a linear form: She walked into the kitchen, filled her cup, reached for the morning paper, and decided to spend her morning on the patio basking in the sun. As opposed to Hypotaxis which is a more spacial form of writing, it bounces, and lingers leaving the action hanging in favor of comparative relations among the elements: It could have been the crows gathering in the Magnolia tree for their morning chat, or the aroma of freshly brewed coffee that moved her thoughts in a deadly direction, she had to shut that shit down, and snuggled more deeply into her voluminous pillow muffling the wayward solicitations and fetor of scalding java.

I am a Hypotaxis writer, the story draws me into the underlying symbols, but it is the meaning embedded in our stories that I find so titillating. How about you?

Jan Alison says it's not about what happens next but instead weaving a net whose design you can't see until it is finished. Sometimes when I'm reading a novel that uses this approach, someone like Ruth Ware, I literally have to use all of my inner strength not to peek at the final pages, I have to manage this uncomfortable tension between knowing and not knowing, which only serves to heightens the suspense. Let me just say the struggle is real and I failed while reading her last novel.

I've sought to create powerful narratives that hint at embedded structures but avoid the simplicity of the classic arc, structures that create an inner sensation of traveling toward something and leave a sense of shape behind, so that the stories feel organized - not just slice of life writes Jan Alison. Stories like The Sound and the Fury, The Great Gatsby, Pride and Prejudice to name a few.

Think of the motion of the waves at the beach and how a pattern such as that can be assigned to our stories, waves of action roll in and recede, tides of thought rise and fall, "a drama with swelling and collapsing tensions," it can be as magnetizing as the ocean. Jan Alison says a wave is a clear instance of energy charging static matter until that energy is spent and equilibrium returns, elegant and satisfying. I liken it to the feeling I get when riding a Ferris wheel or roller coaster.

We have to consider the experience of the reader as they absorb the essence of the story, our goal is to pull them in, keep them in our world, until it becomes their own. Think of a story that moves like a tornado, swirling, spiraling across the page, sort of reminds me of the Wizard of Oz, with all the unexpected twists and turns, kindness and generosity playing beside devastation and destruction.

Patterns are everywhere, we like patterns, it is our nature to pattern our lives in some sort of fashion, it makes us feel not only safe but sacred, as if our life is an efficacious ritual, our deepest desires miraculously manifest in the center of routine. This is the same with story, readers are drawn to patterns in your writing. It makes me think of architecture, bee hives, quilts, paintings, textiles, flooring, even the way the grass is mowed. These patterns need to find their way into the DNA of our stories.

So it is a personal challenge that I will go in search of ways to interest my readers by using unexpected patterns, white space, repetition, texture, symmetry, and wavelike stripes, that work beyond the narrative to create motion and appeal, as if an invitation to the reader, come, join us, stay.

What are some of your favorite stories and what sort of patterns do you use in the molding of your tale?

When I'm not writing for Across the Board, I'm Living in the Gap, drop by anytime.

Exploding

By Cheryl Oreglia 

“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” Sylvia Plath

As far back as I can remember I've always enjoyed writing. As a kid I wrote silly poems, and then short stories. I thought everyone did the same thing, but when I began adulting, I realized writing isn't for everyone. In fact some people hate writing so much they avoid it at all costs. No wonder texting is so popular? 

I allowed my voice to be silenced for years, afraid to honestly write the things I was feeling and experiencing, because I thought people would think I was insane. Although E.L. Doctorow says, “writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.” I looked around my life, living in the suburbs with a dog, cat, four kids, a husband, and thought what the hell could I write about? I was doing my best to keep everyone fed and in clean underwear. 

It seemed like I spent half my day in the car and the other half cleaning...as in dishes, clothing, toilets, floors, and refrigerators. I didn't leave the house without a diaper bag, box of Cheerios, and full cup of coffee for a decade. This was not the fertile soil of a writer. Or was it?

There are millions of writers in the world, each occupying their own niche, putting out high quality papers, essays, stories, poems, blogs, screenplays, etc., but very few comparatively make money. This is the most underpaid profession ever, I'm a word whore, with an abusive editor. The woes of writing...

How could I justify spending all this time typing words into a computer when I could be doing just about anything else and earn a 'good' living? Selling tupperware, painting addresses onto the curb, modeling for Victoria Secrets (kidding). I had options.

Nevertheless, "the idea of writing begin to take hold, to gnaw and to push and to build until, like a pressure cooker full of fresh corn, it started to leak out in sprays of hissing steam," Nancy Slonim Aronie. And as Nancy states pressure cookers explode if you ignore them. 

Instead, I ignored the naysayers, and started writing. “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you," says Maya Angelou. The early stuff was sort of like an appetizer, something nice that goes well with a glass of wine, but I kept at it, and some of my later work has a little more meat to it. Hopefully my next phase will be a decadent dessert that compliments a nice pour of port. 

Writers have to write. That is all there is to it. Sometimes I sit down to an empty page and wish my skeletal words would bloom like the foliage around me. After sprinkling a recent post with a few dehydrated phrases, I put it away, half expecting it to open like a tulip overnight. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on says Louis L'Amour. There is no magic, open the computer, and let it flow.

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect,” says Anais Nin. I'm sure that's true but it sounds a lot like indigestion. Browsing through my life for material, I scan the memories, searching for some sort of deeper meaning embedded in the yarn, but sometimes a ball of yarn, is simply a ball of yarn.

Writing is most peculiar, I'm attracted to the mystery of the written word, but it's often evasive, and much of the time is spent editing, deleting, scrounging around in the gutter for just the right term. I've learned the simplest, most concise, and painfully clear word is usually the best choice. And then we have Mark Twain who says,  “substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very;' your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” 

I'm damn excited about writing. How about you? When did you get started?





When I'm not writing for Across the Board, I'm Living in the Gap, drop by anytime, we'll quibble with words.

My Life as a Hang Nail

By Cheryl Oreglia

I have spent a great deal of time focused on yet another shift - as in occupational - my sixth I believe - only to discover this holistic inner longing - to become a writer - gritty - exposed (except for the fig leaf) - which I believed to be absurdly unique for someone my age - ends up being as common as a hang nail, just as annoying, and completely devoid of value. Shit. 

I have a thing for Nora Ephron. I wonder if anyone else struggles with the same affliction? 

I walk around dropping Ephron quotes like bread crumbs, as if meaningless idioms can be tracked, and followed. Most of the time I get blank stares? "Who?" Then I shout, "Everything is copy," which I think is hysterical. Apparently I'm the only one? I start spewing bullet points from Ephron's resume. "When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail!" Nothing? Most people need to refresh their drink at this point, which suits me just find, I wasn't enjoying your company either. 

I have come to grips with the fact I'll never be Nora Ephron. I'm not Jewish, I don't write screenplays, nor am I fearless, acute, or funny but we do share the same birthday. It's our thing. I'm not sure if life happened to Nora or Nora happens to life because she struggles at being Nora too. Don't we all. 

I mean the struggle to be our authentic selves, not Nora.

She wrote, "after I went into therapy, a process that made it possible for me to tell total strangers at cocktail parties that breasts were the hang-up of my life, I was often told that I was insane to have been bothered by my condition (small breasts syndrom)." Her large breasted girlfriends assured her their lives were much more miserable than hers, to which she responded, "I think you are full of shit." Who doesn't love her?

Nora's dirty laundry is epic and she hangs it out for everyone to see. In her best selling novel Heartburn she recounts with fictional characters her devastating divorce from Carl Bernstein. It's sharp, painful, and funny all at once. Your emotions get confused, fighting to emerge at the same time, as in wincing with a smile, or laughing so hard your hernia kicks in, but you really just want to cry. She does this with words.

What are you going to do? Everything, is my guess. It will be a little messy, but embrace the mess. It will be complicated, but rejoice in the complications. Nora Ephron

In chapter thirteen of her novel Heartburn, "If I had to do it over again, I would have made a different kind of pie. The pie I threw at Mark made a terrific mess, but a blueberry pie would have been even better, since it would have permanently ruined his new blazer, the one he bought with Thelma." She throws a pie at her husband and we all cheer. 

She helps us not only imagine what a blueberry pie would look like on a new jacket, but how satisfaction is an impermanent condition, as our emotions tend to be. The pie, the mess, her husbands surprise, and yet absolutely nothing changed. Her husband was still having an affair with her best friend while she was expecting their second child. It's pitiful but you don't pity her. Why? She owned the story. 

When you slip on a banana peel, people laugh at you; but when you tell people you slipped on a banana peel, it's your laugh. So you become the hero rather than the victim of the joke. Nora Ephron

This is what I like best about Nora. When asked why she's compelled to turn everything into a story she said, "because if I tell the story, I control the version. Because if I tell the story, I can make you laugh, and I would rather have you laugh at me than feel sorry for me. Because if I tell the story, it doesn't hurt as much. Because if I tell the story, I can get on with it." She does lament the hardest thing about writing is writing. 

Nora Ephron passed away in 2012 and I've been trying to channel her ever since. She's busy, I get it, but once in a while she throws me a bone, and I come up with this spectacular thought so beyond my scoop, that all I can do is bow down and thank her! 

You do get to a certain point in life where you have to realistically, I think, understand that the days are getting shorter, and you can't put things off thinking you'll get to them someday. If you really want to do them, you better do them. There are simply too many people getting sick, and sooner or later you will. Nora Ephron

Nora wrote, "I spent my first 45 years never thinking about my nails. Occasionally, I filed them with the one lone wretched emery board I owned, put a little polish on them, and went out into the world." My life as a hang nail is going pretty well especially when you consider I could be snipped at any moment. I've been hanging on, annoying the best of you for years, maybe it's time for a manicure?

I look out the window and I see the lights and the skyline and the people on the street rushing around looking for action, love, and the world's greatest chocolate chip cookie, and my heart does a little dance. Nora Ephron

When I'm not writing for Across the Board, I'm Living in the Gap, drop by anytime, we'll watch When Harry Met Sally

Anecdotes:

• “We have a game we play when we’re waiting for tables in restaurants, where you have to write the five things that describe yourself on a piece of paper. When I was [in my twenties], I would have put: ambitious, Wellesley graduate, daughter, Democrat, single. Ten years later not one of those five things turned up on my list. I was: journalist, feminist, New Yorker, divorced, funny. Today not one of those five things turns up in my list: writer, director, mother, sister, happy.” Nora Ephron 
• “And so, Thanksgiving. Its the most amazing holiday. Just think about it — it's a miracle that once a year so many millions of Americans sit down to exactly the same meal as one another, exactly the same meal they grew up eating, and exactly the same meal they ate a year earlier. The turkey. The sweet potatoes. The stuffing. The pumpkin pie. Is there anything else we all can agree so vehemently about? I don't think so." Nora Ephron
• I'll have what she's having. Nora Ephron

Do you have an author obsession? Share a few thoughts in the comments! 

Nothing is a Horrible Word

By Cheryl Oreglia

When it's time to post a blog sometimes the panic surges up in my esophagus, as if struck by severe indigestion, and I find it hard to breathe. Especially if I am late to the process. Desperately scanning my life for relevant material, knocking back cup after cup of french roast, but when nothing surfaces, I slump against the wall in total resignation.

Nothing is a horrible word. It means of little importance, of no concern, not anything, nil, zero, zilch, nada, zip, diddly-squat, and apparently that's all I have.

In a feeble attempt to avoid the blank page I order a therapeutic candle and vintage mixing bowls from Amazon. The thrill is short lived.

These are my current thoughts, "I want to accost the gardner who has been running the blower since eight this morning, causing the neighbor's dog to bark incessantly, and the whine from the refrigerator is taunting me.

I might need to move to Paris?

With nothing to write I'm sort of forced to scan Facebook, but it's the same three friends, checking into the same three restaurants, eating the same enticing food, which they photograph and post. Now I'm hungry.

I open both sides of the refrigerator and narrow in on a slice of leftover steak. It's dry, someone has taken a bite out of it, and decided to leave it behind? Maybe I'll take a picture and post my pathetic meal on Facebook? Maybe not.

Continuing to veer off course, I send out a few self-serving tweets, watch the hummingbirds fight over the feeder just outside my window, when unexpectedly I become fixated on exfoliation.

Diligently digging through my makeup drawer for said product, I spend ten minutes massaging mud onto my freshly washed face. Glancing in the mirror at the dried brown mask I realize all I'm doing is hiding. Damn. I hate it when reality slaps me in the face.

Rinse. Moisturize. Pluck eyebrows because this seems less painful than plucking words from my brain.

Back to the blank page. Maybe I need is a prompt?

I rifle through recent events as if on the Easter egg hunt, searching for something hidden, relevant, apposite. It's daunting. The empty page stares me down until I run to the kitchen with my mug screaming, "the road to hell is paved with adverbs," a Stephen Kingism.

Sometimes I use starters like, "Today I notice... I'm curious about... I couldn't live without... I wonder about...." The word that keeps popping into my head is NOTHING.

Let's hope the coffee kicks in soon.

I admit during the summer it is especially difficult to write because I'm busy relaxing.

Now some people have interesting lives. I just don't happen to be one of them. But interesting things do happen around me.

When I started blogging I thought it would be effortless. Sit my ass  down in a chair and allow the words to flow through me. Ann Lamott says “All good writers write [terrible first drafts.] This is how they end up with good second drafts and terrific third drafts. . . I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts. All right, one of them does, but we do not like her very much. We do not think that she has a rich inner life or that God likes her or can even stand her. (Although when I mentioned this to my priest friend Tom, he said you can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.)”

Maybe I need  a priest?

Or a writing process?

What would a process look like? So glad you asked. Here, I gave it a go. You're welcome.

1. Feed the Blog. I need to get in the habit of jotting down memorable events. Worry less about spelling. Ramble, unload, let it go...this is not the blog, this is food for the blog (shitty first draft). For example, the enormous fires that surrounded us at the lake house last weekend, or the old friend who called me up out of the blue, because she's selling some miraculous anti-aging gel, and wants me to be part of her downline? Than there's my beloved cousin who demanded we clean out the refrigerator because she insisted a colony of botulism had moved in the produce drawer. The common theme seems to be preservation? We'll let those thoughts marinate while I cut up some cucumbers for my eyes.

2. Groom the Blog. I am a quote hoarder. It's true. I obsessively write down quotes, passages, articles, books that inspire. I keep a notebook handy or just record them verbally on my iPhone. This week I came across; "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind." Dr. Seuss. "Where’s your will to be weird?" Jim Morrison. "The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire," Ferdinand Foch. A Writer's Guide to Harnessing the Creative Power of Resistance by Deb Norton, "Don't look where you don't want to go." It's odd how I come across just what I need, just when I need it? Spooky... 

3. Weed the Blog. Spy on your thoughts suggests Deb Norton. Good writing is about telling the truth. Start with that shitty first draft, then weed, weed, weed until the truth is able to grow. “If something inside of you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act—truth is always subversive,” Anne Lamott. As if a child investigating a June bug, be fearless, notice everything, abandon yourself to the delight. 

4. Liberate the Blog. I'm not talking about the feminist movement, or burning your bra, this is about getting the words down and letting them go. “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.” Anne Lamott. I have this running inner dialogue which tries to derail me, I realize this comes from a place of fear, I attempt to mollify her with kindness, or caffeine, and then unfollow her as if an annoying Facebook troll.

“Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.” Enid Bagnold

What does your writing process involve? Where do you find inspiration? How do you generate material? I'd be ever so grateful if you shared a few thoughts in the comments.

Full story at Living in the Gap, drop by anytime, I crave good company.

Love in a Hundred Years

By Cheryl Oreglia  

The last time Valentine's Day landed on Ash Wednesday and Easter fell on Aprils Fool's Day was in 1945. I read that the Detroit Tigers won a World Series that year, but that's beside the point, and has not been verified. 

Being of the female persuasion I look forward to flowers, chocolates, dining out, and maybe even some champagne on Valentine's Day so this will make my Lenten sacrifice a bit tricky? Ash Wednesday traditionally marks the start of the season of Lent, a 40-day period that Jesus spent in the wilderness. A time of reflection, prayer, and penance. The irony is rich. 

On April Fool's Day, while my children will be participating in an IPA hunt in celebration of Easter, my husband will be attempting to blow out fifty-eight candles in a single breath. He was born on April Fool's Day, the same day we'll be celebrating the birth of the Church, and new life so to speak. I'm simply captivated by the texture of things that coincide this year - a crucible of love, faith, and parturition. 

So that got me thinking about the relationship between love and sacrifice. Right? I read a blog that concluded the healthiest couples look for the best in each other, love unconditionally, and accept each other for not only who they are, but who they are becoming. Sweet in theory, but love is complicated, "like a box of chocolates." 

Which got me thinking about modern day love vs love in the future. We now have dating apps that connect those looking for love by simply swiping up. It's a real thing. You only get to do that once in a while therefore limiting your preferences to a select few. If modern love is dependent on downloaded apps what will it look like in the future? 

You had to ask.

1. The first thing I discovered in searching futuristic trends is the decline in languages. They predict in a hundred years only three languages will prevail: English, Spanish, and Mandarin. Minor languages are dying out at a fast pace including most of the romance languages: Portuguese, French, Italian, and Romanian. I love you will be limited to three versions. Time to touch up on your Spanish and Mandarin people! Te Amo, Te Iubesc, if you want to say I love you in the future. 

2. You can forget languages altogether, because we might have the ability to communicate telepathically, or through something known as thought transmission. Picking up on someone else's thoughts is highly likely in the near future. Synthetic telepathy is possible if we can learn to interpret electrical signals rather than words. If thoughts are just electrical impulses they can be captured not unlike storing something on the net. In the future learning to control your thoughts might be imperative especially in close relationships. Can you just imagine futuristic arguments, instead of yelling, we'll be slamming each other with a series of electrical thoughts. Shocking. 

3. Another alarming trend that will challenge our most intimate relationships is Nanorobots which will allow our memories to be recorded. Nanorobots are well within the realm of possibility but currently only exist in theory. A popular Netflix show call Black Mirror has an episode dedicated to this new technology. Relationships will be under a lot of scrutiny in the future, gossiping with the ladies at Bunco will be a thing of the past, along with ice runs for the guys. 

4. It is also completely possible that our brains will be wired to computers for increased functionality in the next forty years. Cell phones already supplement our knowledge base but in the future they'll be embedded. Have you seen the movie Her where a man falls in love with his OS. They say by 2075 most people in the developed world will use machine augmentation of some sort to increase the capacity of their brains. I already have a mountain of things to compete with for his attention, including football, but now a savvy OS? Talk about a crowded relationship? 

5. In the near future you might be able to honeymoon on Mars, or the Moon, because something called space elevators will make space travel cheap and easy. Cheap is a relative term, because in the near future only the rich will be able to afford this technology, but eventually it will trickle down to the masses (especially when they need workers to domesticate the raw land and clean the spaceships). This takes traveling abroad to a whole new level. "Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its 5-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man (woman) has gone before," might be a real thing. Colonizing other planets will not only separate our species, but how will this change our evolution, and the way we love? 

5. Because people will be living past one hundred years of age marriage contracts will become common in the future. This is a weaker form of marriage designed to last a decade or two rather than a lifetime. Traditional marriage will always be an option but with increasing longevity this might prove to be a challenge. These contracts will allow people to enter into a long term commitment without the fear of financial ruin when the relationships ends. We currently have prenuptial agreements to compensate for a financial imbalance before you enter into a marriage but we're also seeing a decline in matrimony all together. Couples are opting to live together and raise children without the traditional constraints of marriage. It's not for me even if I live to 103 (that could be the first line of a modern day love note).

6. Due to the rise of infertility most women will be impregnated artificially in the future. This doesn't sound nearly as fun as the old-fashioned way. Couples will be able to choose advanced fertility techniques for genetic diagnosis. An artificially inseminated embryo can be selected for a desirable sex along with eliminating congenital illnesses. We can already screen for many congenital illnesses prior to embryo implantation, but this will allow families (mostly wealthy) in the future to avoid common genetic diseases, like breast cancer, diabetes, and heart disease. You'll be able to decide on the sex of your children, spacing, health, intelligence, and eye color. What will the nuclear family look like in the future?

7. I saved the best for last, robotic engineering, which will allow for incredibly intelligent humans, who are immortal. Most likely this will start out by keeping people alive (those who can afford it that is) artificially until electronic immortality technology is available. "The idea that breakthroughs in the field of genetics, biotechnology and artificial intelligence will expand human intelligence and allow our species to essentially defeat death is sometimes called the Singularity," claims Patrick Tucker. Deciding on a spouse becomes ever so important, because never before has marriage been eternal, "unto death do you part" has been the common biblical wisdom.

What are your thoughts around the future of romantic love? 

When I'm not posting at ATB, I'm Living in the Gap, drop by anytime. 

Spirit in the Sky

By Cheryl Oreglia

I love observing how the darkness slips over the evening sky as if a silk gown covering the stark nakedness of the day. It draws me in like fine wine, compelling me to linger over the fragrant images, it has become a ritualistic devotion regardless of the tedious tasks in need of tending. It is something I never tire of watching "the spirit in the sky" as it prepares to rest.

The beauty of the evening sky is as unique as the people it shelters. I've yet to see two exactly the same. Crystal Woods says, "a sunset is the sun's fiery kiss to the night." A sultry take on the relationship between day and night but murder might be more accurate with those glorious crimson ribbons rippling through the "marmalade skies." 

"How strange this fear of death is! We are never frightened at a sunset." George MacDonal

Tonight the sky appears unassuming, unfolding itself with such style and grace, as if a slow dance between lovers. The intensity of the colors might have something to do with the silence that has surrounded me for the last two days. I escaped up to the lake on my own, my husband had plans, and I had a todo list as long as my arm. The silence was the unexpected result, but I'm beginning to appreciate the subtle gifts of quietude, everything speaks so loudly when I finally shut-up. 

It's as if I've been estranged from my thoughts for years, ever since the kids came along, and I sort of lost track of them (my thoughts, not the kids). It seems odd that silence feels so natural after such a short amount of time. Normally I'm besieged by so many distractions I wouldn't notice a thought if it came right up and slapped me in the face. Not that my thought are abusive but you know what I mean. It's as if I created space in my head for inspiration to grow. 

The other complicit circumstance messing with my normal routines is a thirty day cleanse I got roped into. Larry and I radically cut down on bread five months ago in order to rein in his triglycerides, but with his follow-up test coming up in thirty days, I begrudgingly agreed to participate in a thirty day cleanse in hopes of boosting the results. Of course this translates to no happy hour which is ironically correct. 

I grew up in what one might call the "cocktail era," circa 1960's and I carry around this picture in my head of Mom and Dad lounging on the couch, early evening, stemmed glasses in hand, debating the topics of the day. 

It occurs to me now that I don't really know those people, so young, fearless, and full of life. I been caught unaware in the web of their sweet romance, in tribal rituals that held us together like glue, and formed us in ways that continue to give life. 

My parents had an unusual sort of love. I don't say that just because they have both passed away. They were truly madly in love with each other. Each afternoon around 4:45pm Mom would jump up, comb her hair, and apply perfume because Dad would be arriving soon. Corny as it may sound she actually lit up when he walked in the door. 

He knew the drill, leaning in to give Mom a chaste peck on the cheek, he would promptly pour two glasses of wine, and lead her into the family room for their evening rendezvous. We were always welcome to join in the conversation and by the time we were eighteen we were even allowed a small glass of wine. That is definitely when the conversations got more interesting.

"She wished it were evening now, wished for the great relief of the calendar inking itself out, of day done and night coming, of ice cubes knocking about in a glass beneath the whisky spilling in, the fine brown affirmation of need." Michelle Latiolais

As I sit down to the computer the words just seem to flow especially now that I given my thoughts free rein. The quieter I remain the louder my interior voice becomes. This might be the reset button I've been searching for as we enter 2018. Stepping out of the world once in a while, allowing the more subtle elements of life to take center stage, might be wildly beneficial for creative types, especially writers.

So quite unexpectedly I find myself consorting with my wayward thoughts, noticing the unique facets of each passing hour, and avoiding the things that can take the edge off the vibrancy of the day.


What practices help you "reset" or "revive" your creativity? 

I'm Living in the Gap, with no one to talk to, but the dog. For the love of God please come find me. 



Notes to self: A friend of mine recommended a new app called Insight Timer for practicing meditation. It's awesome, if you get a chance check it out, and it's free!

Grateful Harvest

By Cheryl Oreglia

It's hard to imagine the first Thanksgiving was a harvest celebration held by the pilgrims of Plymouth colony in the 17th century. Clearly Americans like to eat and perpetuating foodie traditions is especially popular. As you know the early pilgrims had a lot to celebrate, 53 out of 102 survived the Mayflower crossing, only to encounter raw land in need of cultivating, disease, extreme weather, and the Native Americans. It was a tenuous beginning at best. I'm sure they were flabbergasted when members of the Wampanoag tribe generously supplied them with food for the cold winter. A kind and neighborly gesture that sort of backfired a century later.

The first harvest celebration went on for several days. Can you imagine? Ninety members of the Wampanoag tribe showed up with five dead deer in need of roasting. This is diversity at its best. Edward Winslow wrote about the celebration in his diary. 

“Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together, after we had gathered the fruits of our labors; they four in one day killed as much fowl, as with a little help beside, served the company almost a week, at which time amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and amongst the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our Governor, and upon the Captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful, as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want, that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.” 

Eventually the United States established a date for these yearly harvest celebrations, which of course made travel a nightmare, but at least you know why the grocery stores are inundated with turkeys, cranberries, and sweet potatoes. In accordance with tradition, families and friends gather to enjoy an array of foods, express gratitude, and watch football while gorging on pumpkin pie. The traditional meal was choreographed in the 60's when an article appeared in Better Homes and Gardens describing the perfect, "Thanksgiving Turkey Dinner: Hot Tomato Starter, Roast Turkey, Herb Stuffing, Cranberry Sauce, Orange-glazed Sweet Potatoes, buttered Green Beans, Apple-Pinapple Slaw, Hot Biscuits, Butter, Pumpkin Pie, Hot Coffee." They outed the deer and corn for a more appealing meat and seasonal vegetable. Who knew?

Mail isn't delivered, schools are on holiday, and most businesses are closed, except for Walmart of course. This is my experience of Thanksgiving, but I wanted to explore some of the more unusual expressions of this holiday, and this is what I found. 

1. How about a traditional food fight at the end of the meal? Started by a crazy aunt, slightly inebriated, but becomes a cherished family tradition. I have to admit this one worries me.
2. I learned about a crafty host who provides a white tablecloth for guests to leave painted handprints, made to look like turkeys, dated, and signed. They add new hands to the cloth each year. Now there's a way to occupy the guests while the turkey cooks.
3. A few people I know host an open table Thanksgiving, this is where you might land if you are estranged from family, or far away from home. It is a generous and kind practice for those who would otherwise spend Thanksgiving alone. Open hearts, open doors. I am ever so thankful for the tables that are open to my children that are not with me this year.
4. The turkey dance is one of the more unusual traditions I came across. This requires the cook to dance with the turkey prior to being stuffed? I will assume this requires soft music, romantic lighting, and good wine. Bon Appetit!  
5. The Twitter family asks everyone to send out a gratitude tweet right before grace and then all phones all go into a turkey shaped cookie jar until the end of the evening. Tweet, tweet, gobble, gobble.
6. Instead of pie this family plays hide and seek after dinner with their cars. Teams are constructed, boundaries decided, the "it" car gives a fifteen minute grace period for teams to hide, and then drives around until all the cars are found. Makes you wonder what you would say to the police officer who discovers five people sitting in a dark car, on Thanksgiving, behind a bush in a neighbors yard?
7. Friends-giving is a popular tradition for many who gather in celebration of friendship. These events are often celebrated at an earlier date leaving the holiday open for family events. My daughter hosts a friends-giving up at the lake every year, and other than an Instagram of the table setting, I know nothing about the intricacies of this event. Beer and ping pong balls might be involved? 
8. I read about a grandma who bakes "thankful rolls" with pillsbury dough. The family writes down what they are thankful for on tiny slips of paper as they arrive and these notes are actually baked into the rolls, like a fortune cookie, only with butter. What would you write?
9. The Turkey Trotter is a stuffed turkey that travels with family members that are away for Thanksgiving. They are required to take regular updates of their travels with pictures of these turkeys positioned in funny locations. I just sent turkeys to Australia and Utah (most likely they'll arrive late, remember it's the thought that counts, but I expect pictorial updates nonetheless). 
10. One family has a Twister competition after dinner with several mats and rounds going at the same time. Right hand, blue circle, left hand, yellow circle. This could be an interesting intergenerational activity if no one gets seriously hurt. 
11. Instead of sitting around after dinner you could go on a scavenger hunt searching for specific scenes; like pumpkins on the doorstep, piles of leaves, people walking pets, live turkey's milling around, someone jogging (really), or early Christmas decorations. See what team returns with the most finds substantiated with photos of course. I admit, this one's a keeper.
12. The famous butter shapers, comes from an odd family skill, passed down through the generations of sculpting the butter into turkeys. The kids then fight over who gets to cut off the heads. A little violent but aesthetically pleasing I suppose.
13. Then of course there is the family weigh-in prior to gorging on the traditional meal, it's actually a competition to see who can gain the most. Why? 
14. And my personal favorite. After the dinner is consumed the ladies leave and go shopping at Walmart for comfy PJ's and silly socks while the men clean up the kitchen. Oh I can not express how much I love this tradition. 

Wishing you all a wonderful and gracious Thanksgiving! Sharing a table with those you love is a sacred act. This year listen to the music of the table, the voices, the laughter, the clink of the spoon against the gravy bowl, the scraping of chairs on the hardwood, the litany of silverware dinging the plates, the movement, the grace of being elbow to elbow, worshiping the flavors of life. "For this and all we are about to receive, make us truly grateful..."  

Drink and be thankful to the host! What seems insignificant when you have it, is important when you need it. Franz Grillparzer

Notes - The term cold-turkey means suddenly, without preparation. Talk turkey means to speak without preparation. A turkey shoot is a fight or contest where one side is so much stronger that the weaker side has no chance of winning. Bird for thought...

What are some of your favorite traditions? 

I'm Living in the Gap, drop in anytime.

Writing in a Hostile Environment

By Cheryl Oreglia

Writing in a hostile environment is difficult at best and on occasion impossible. I'm talking about the unnecessary eye rolling, impatient pacing in front of my work space, audible sighing, words muttered under the breath, even enticements to the local wine bar (seems unusually cruel) while I attempt to polish up a new piece. It's maddening. I blog, what an atrocity, sue me. I consider it my work but that is not how everyone views my writing practices, especially since I don't make a dime, and I spend an astronomical amount of time honing my craft. I don't care one iota. 

The words quick blog is an oxymoron, although my posts may appear spontaneous, they are created with blood, sweat, and at times tears. I usually start with a "really, really, shitty first draft," as Anne Lamont would say, and then I work it over as if pulling toffee, until it is smooth, elastic, full bodied, imbued with interesting flavors. It has to have texture, bulk, leave the reader with something to chew on. That's the objective, not always the result. It's purely subjective and I'm leery of unwarranted opinions so let's not go there.

Simply put, writing takes an enormous about of time, and there is just no getting around it. I have been known to linger over a single word for an hour. I'm not a fanatic, but the right word is like pulling a hair-ball out of a clogged drain, it creates flow. When it's right it's right, when it's not, it's a hair-ball. You do not want to leave your reader with a gag reflex. It's counter productive.

Once a general idea begins to sprout, I pull together a few body paragraphs, and as if a miracle a summary starts to surface, then I go for the fill. I'll research some aspect of the writing, add a quote from a recent article I've come across (it is uncanny how often the perfect article, quotes, current event - finds me just in the nick of time), and if I bump into an applicable Seinfeld clip, that's just topping on the cake.

By the way, I have a real job too, one that deposits a pay check into my account every two weeks, one that lacks flexibility when it comes to my time. I teach high school, I absolutely love this work, but it is work. When I write it's like I'm suspended in some kind of time warp, I'll look up from my screen, and three hours have passed. I'm not kidding. I totally lose track of time, I don't feel a single pain in my body (at my age it's more like a collection), and the room around me kind of fades away. It's like taking a mini vacation from life.

Speaking of vacations, Jonathan wrote a great piece on writing while on the road, I can not possibly add to that masterpiece except for one notation, writing in a bathing suit, sipping a pina colada, poolside, adds a whole new dimension to my skill set. I'm not sure it's a good thing. I can't seem to put down the taco that some half naked woman delivered right to my lounge chair, the screaming children are distracting (miss my grand-babies), and the ocean to my right is more mesmerizing than the words trickling down to the keyboard. I'm in Hawaii this week, can you feel my pain? I didn't think so, but I'm scheduled for today, and carrying my computer all over the resort has not resulted in a post. See, you have to open it, sit down, and actually write. 

My sister says she has a hard time constructing a text message? Which reminds me of a passage in Anne Lamott's book Bird By Bird (I read it every year). In responding to a students inquiry about how you actually write Lamott says, "You turn on the computer and bring up the right file, and then you stare at it for an hour or so. You begin rocking, just a little at first, and then like a huge autistic child. You look at the ceiling, and over at the clock, yawn, and stare at the paper again. Then, with your fingers poised on the keyboard, you squint at an image that is forming in your mind -- a scene, a locale, a character, whatever -- and you try to quiet your mind so you can hear what that landscape or character has to say above the other voices in your mind.” So poolside writing is not a total bust but the rocking part is concerning a few of the guests. Hostile decides to take a dip in the ocean. 

The other malady is the wicked "perfectionism, the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people," warns Lamott. It is the Felix to Oscar in writing (if you are too young to remember the Odd Couple, see clip below). It is why many aspiring authors quit, pull their hair out, and drink. Oh shit. Lamott says, "I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it.” 

So there you have it. Hostile is surfing the waves, I have free reign of my workspace/lounge chair, half naked serving staff, and my own tunes blaring from pandora. I ordered another pina colada, found a worthy Odd Couple clip, and I'm calling it a wrap.  I'm not going to worry about misspellings, poor word choices, or run on sentences. I'm going to die anyway. Cheers...

Where, how, and when do you enjoy writing? 



I'm Living in the Gap, drop in anytime.

Lagom with a touch of Hygge

By Cheryl Oreglia

I wanted to be a Hyggelist for about twenty-four hours but just found out that was so yesterday! This was the topic of a recent blog posted at Living in the Gap. Hygge is a Danish term, it requires consciousness, the ability to not only live in the moment, but also recognize it's gifts. For those of you who only write horror, the english words used to describe Hygge are cosiness, charm, happiness, contentment, security, familiarity, kinship, or simpleness. The very things you strive to shatter in a horror novel are currently trending in the United States. 

If I wasn't trying to disrupt the algorithm of Facebook ads on my social media accounts with fake google searches I would have never stumbled upon the term Hygge. How lucky are we?

Taking time to smell the roses, enjoy the moment, maybe even seize the day, this is what Living in the Gap is all about.  All very cliche, totally Danish, but nonetheless taking our culture by storm. As a writer I consider my life experience through a unique lens. Does it have relevance, deeper meaning, significance? Is it worth writing about? Hygge sharpens the focus. 

Larry, my husband, and I have very different interests. My passion is writing, his is riding (mountain biking), weird how they sound the same, although very different practices. He does not miss a Saturday morning ride if he's in town. EVER. So I tend to write on Saturday mornings but that's not enough to keep a blog going. I have to linger with my words, thoughts, feelings, #Hygge. He'll never admit it, but he's not a fan of watching me crouched over a computer, deep in thought, sucking down gallons of coffee. He's what you call a man of action. I'm not. Is there middle ground?

Last night we were invited to a private concert. A good friend of ours is pursuing his passion of performing in a band. He made it happen, organized a group of talented musicians, and lined up a few gigs. They are awesome, the name of the band is Knee Deep, and they are making their mark in the valley. 

Knee Deep was booked at a quaint theater in downtown San Jose, a crew was filming for promotional purposes, so a small group of close friends showed up to dance/cheer/clap in the background. At one point in the night my friend Jill said "I love that Steve (the one in the front of the picture) is pursuing his passion." She looked at me and said, "you are too with your blog." We looked up and down the row of spectators, all over fifty, and still working day jobs. We realized most of us have a passion we kindle on the side, be it writing, riding, music, yoga, fishing, hiking, wine making, running, wood working, philanthropy, etc. And we all agreed we prefer our passions over our day jobs. 

I thought this was interesting, but I put it aside, and continued my mad search for news of Hygge. This is when I found out Hygge was so 2016, Lagom is the new trend, and together they are defining American culture. You can toss that around at your next dinner party (#sointheknow). Lagom is a Swedish concept of "not too much, not too little." Did I mention I'm Swedish? 

Sounds a little like the Buddhist concept of the "middle way," which avoids extremes of deprivation and excess, finding comfort in the middle ground, an optimal place for enlightenment. Lagom translates to "enough, sufficient, adequate, just right." Where Hygge aims to capture a feeling, Lagom is an ethos of moderation. Coffee with cream is Lagom, a nonfat pumpkin spiced latte is too much, plain coffee not enough. Add a roaring fire and you've got Nirvana!

In staying with my new standard of Lagom maybe I should avoid extremes like Comnopanis or my disastrous Closet? Apparently there is a thin line between following your passion and acting in a selfish manner. Striving for balance, learning to say no, focusing on what you need to be doing are all part of the Lagom lifestyle. It's your personal gift to the world, the one you were born to pursue. As Glen Campbell sings, "I might need you more than want you." Writers write, singers sing, athletes play, everything else is superfluous. The trend is to simplify, pursue your passion, and avoid excess. A soft throw, hot coffee, computer, now that's the ultimate Lagom with a touch of Hygge.

"You will always be a little incomplete. This is the beautiful frustration of being human. And it’s where all the best art comes from, " Jeff Goins. 

Drop a few thoughts on these new trends in the comments. I might need, more than want a simplistic lifestyle, how about you?






I'm Living in the Gap, drop in anytime.

The Hope Chest

By Cheryl Oreglia

I started a "hope" chest in 1970 with two embroidered pillow cases (white, with pink flowers) and a couple of dish towels. The name of the chest is a little disconcerting because the whole idea is based on the contents "hopefully" being utilized when prince charming comes along, tosses you a ring, croaks out a few vows, and switches up your name. I believe we refer to this as wedded bliss.

I added to my "hope" through my adolescent years, quilting a baby blanket in high school, inheriting a yellow tea kettle from grandma, embroidering more dish towels, and an apron. Are you getting the picture? I also received a Betty Crocker Cookbook which made me feel very sophisticated but did nothing to improve my talent in the kitchen. I considered myself a talented cook with no experience. I still have this book, the margins are full of warnings, like the time I heavily salted some fish and added capers for good measure. It was not edible and we had to throw thirty dollars worth of Halibut down the drain. The intention was worthy.

I'm better with linens. In fact I tend to horde linens because maybe they'll be useful "someday." Sadly I've had those pillowcases in my possession for over forty years and never used them. (I did the same with a rose shaped candle that eventually melted in storage) Recently I've been binge cleaning, I'll just blame Mom, every drawer in her house was neatly organized, and somehow she made this seem normal. I think it's outrageous that my mother can make me feel guilty about my linen closet from the grave. She was my world and now I have her spirit. Glory be...

I'm beginning to understand the popularity of If you Give a Mouse a Cookie, because for me it started with the window seat in the old master, and believe me when I say one thing leads to another. My goal was to de-rat Dante's room literally (we added on to our ranch style track home close to twenty years ago and somehow Dante ended up in the old master). I told him to get everything out and we would replace his old furniture with a sturdy bed frame, side table, and chairs from Mom's guest room. A day later I was shocked to find all his belongings neatly stacked in the garage on an old comforter. My children totally pick and choose when to follow my guidance. It's a crap shoot and I usually lose.

Somehow we were able to fit a bedroom set, two recliners, and a small desk into his room. Extraordinary. I drove straight to Bed, Bath, and Beyond (coupons  in hand) because as you know the right comforter sets the tone for the entire room. I found the perfect one. I'm sure Dante is thrilled, he didn't say, but I could tell. As we were moving in the new stuff he mentioned the storage under the window seat was full. I took a peak and found it crammed with Julie's stuff (my oldest daughter), dolls, scrapbooks, and a bunch of teenage paraphernalia she left behind ten years ago when she moved away to college. Why in the hell am I storing all this stuff? She is married and has a home of her own.

I sabotaged her recent visit and started pulling things out of the window seat. Just like Michael J. Fox, she was slammed back in time, squealing with delight over a slew of long forgotten dolls. She quickly faced-timed her sister who was at work and found it difficult to fully share in the experience. We piled all those treasured possessions in the back of Julie's van and I waved good-bye to the clutter, the memories, and a piece of my heart. Nic (her husband) was not pleased. 

It reminded me of the time I went to the doctor about a rash covering my lower leg. It was all scaly and unattractive, the doctor who was examining me said it was due to stress? What? Apparently four kids, husband, dog, fish, arrogant cat, and out of control linen closet was stressing me out. I could leave or drink wine. I took the road less traveled and that has made all the difference...

But I digress, back to the pillow cases. I decided Larry's office also needed a makeover. I'm on a roll, move along, or get squashed. He has these samples stored in piles of boxes all over the room. It's not the first thing I want people to see when they enter my house. His office is positioned opposite the front door. That was a mistake of epic proportions. What's done is done. I flutter around saying things like, "he just got a shipment or he's reorganizing, this will all be gone in a week," which is a total lie. They've been there for a year and I see no indication that he was planning to store this mess any time soon.

Clearly he needs two shelves in my linen closet and I throw myself into the work. This is when I stumbled upon the embroidered pillow cases. They have yellowed over time but it makes them look vintage. I washed them up and this inspires me to revamp the guest room. It is now appropriately called the mermaid room due to the adorable bedding I spent a fortune on and Amazon happily delivered to my doorstep. I pulled out the old sleigh bed and replaced it with two twin beds. The bedding is now all color coordinated, it is adorable if I say so myself, and those two little pillow cases blend in perfectly. Who knew? I'm so happy with all of my little projects I might tackle the kitchen next?

I noticed Larry is developing a rash. Strange? I feel refreshed and unencumbered. I think I even lost a few pounds. My daughters had memory boxes instead of hope chests. I might rethink this strategy. We  take our "hope" with us when we move out but for some reason the memory boxes get left behind. I think there is a message embedded in all this? Don't you?

Barbara Kingsolver says, "the very least you can do in your life is to figure out what to hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope." It all started with two pillow cases. Forty years later I'm decorating a room for my granddaughters. Who could have ever imagined my greatest joys would be resting their heads on pillowcases I embroidered with girlish dreams and a lot of hope.



I'm Living in the Gap, drop in anytime, it gives me hope!


What are you hoping for? Leave a few notes in the comments (I almost said closet) give me something to do besides redecorating. My husband would be grateful.