Writing

A Torn Raincheck and Definition of Love

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

Last night, after working a thirteen-hour day, I tucked myself in bed between my lab/newfie and lab/pitbull. My 22-year-old daughter had been kind enough to look after my nine-year-old son for the evening and had just gone home. “Vinny” was showered and in his pajamas, but was suffering from a meltdown because I wouldn’t let him bring his computer game to bed. It was past his bed time.

“You said we could read a bedtime story,” he yelled.

“But you were playing Minecraft,” I said. “And now it’s time for bed. How about a raincheck?”

“What’s a raincheck?”

“It means I’ll make good on the deal tomorrow night.”

He came in my room and gave me a big hug. “OK.”

I started playing Words with Friends, so happy to see the day come to an end. Then I heard Vinny crying from his bedroom.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I’m sad.”

“Why?”

“Because I really want a bedtime story tonight.”

I sighed and thought of my father. Not once during my childhood did I ever get a bedtime story. My brother and I were told “go to bed.” We tucked our selves in. My father blared music, threw parties, had women over. Our childhood was chaotic at best. But how can I listen to those sniffles and not be moved?

“Pick out a book!”

Vinny brings in The Five Chinese Brothers, one of my all-time favorites.

I am not happy. But I tear up the raincheck and read him the book. After we finish, he kisses me. He says, Thank You. He tells me Good Night. I am too tired to play Words with Friends. I tell myself this is Love.

Happy Anniversary–Suede: A Collection of Poetry

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

Nearly two years ago, my beloved father (and best friend) passed away from a severe lung infection. Had he not contracted TB from an employee in his early fifties, he might not be dead. This employee did not divulge her disease while she worked for him. He found out later. And my father’s TB stayed dormant for years. When it finally blew up, he almost died (but that’s another blog post). His entire life he’d battled asthma, and he used to joke, “These lungs are going to be the death of me.” It’s a shame that the careless act of an employee may have caused his death. Because of the scarring on his lungs caused by the TB, doctors said he could not survive the surgery needed to cure his lung infection. But I digress.

The book Suede: A Collection of Poetry is dedicated to my father because his death prompted me to dig out fifteen years’ worth of poems and finish the book. My older brother Tony, my father’s namesake, was killed in a motorcycle accident when I was eighteen. He is the subject of several poems. Loss has defined much of my life. And while many of the poems in Suede include loss, some talk about childhood, love, lust and sex, family, and some even discuss abuse. I write in simple, image-driven language, because that’s what I know. My father, with his high school education, read all my poetry and understood my poems. They are not lofty. I call myself a “blue-collar” poet. I published Suede for my father and my brother. Perhaps you or someone you know might like it. http://bit.ly/WE66YU

Writing to Heal and to Feel Connected

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

When you’ve had experiences such as mine–emotional, physical, and sexual abuse during childhood–you can choose to ignore the pain or zap its power through the written word. Yes, it’s scary.

I write to share my experiences with others to create a sense of community. Because when I read the work of others who have had experiences similar to mine, I feel less alienated and less “freakish.” In the words of John Lennon: “It’s not just me.”

Today I learned that my best friend, a therapist, lent my poetry book Suede to a client, who was able to use my poetry as inspiration to write her own healing poems. That, my friends is what it’s all about. Let’s continue to form a community of writers, readers and healers. Let’s make each other feel more connected.

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Live and Let Write

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

Recently, I was asked to respond to a blog post by a fellow blogger. A fellow writer posed the question “which courses should I take if I want to learn how to write?” I simply shared the courses I took when I was a student at Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, Idaho.

Not long after my post, a young man posted a response to my response that I found a bit disconcerting. He came back with something similar to don’t waste your hard earned money on a degree when you could get the same in late fees at the library. Obviously, this is not a direct quote.

Let’s forget first of all that there was a typo in the quote he did post. He meant to say “writer,” but he wrote “write,” so instantly he lost credibility with me.  It’s not that I haven’t made errors—big ones. But if you’re going to argue for or against a cause, double check your words.

Let’s also forget that he didn’t cite where he lifted the quote from. He took it from the movie Good Will Hunting, which I love. As a matter of fact, it happens to be one of my all time favorites. I’ve seen it numerous times, and I have shown it in the classes I teach.

Good-Will-Hunting-Script

Basically, the quote is from the scene where Will takes the graduate student aside and chides him for his “overpriced degree” when all he really needs is to read a slew of books from the library. And, if the young man who responded to my post would have gotten the point of Good Will Hunting, the story, that is, it was that Will needed other people. That his reading all of those books in isolation didn’t allow him to grow.

In summation, the blog poster was either trying to be a complete smart ass or was just plain ill-informed. I am hoping for the latter.

If you want to be a writer, take any path you wish.

The Cobbler’s Daughter-a Memoir in the Making

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ 3 Comments

For more than a decade, I have been writing my childhood memoir, The Cobbler’s Daughter. Keep in mind, a memoir is a “slice of time” from an author’s life, i.e., this is my first twenty years. And since I hope to live to at least 100, I have four more books in the recesses of my brain. Ha!

But seriously, sometimes you hear a person say, “You’re 45? You’re too young to write a memoir.” Not really. It depends on how much has happened in your life—and how much time you have had to reflect. I know a writer who could have written one at age 30. And you should, Alisha.

Why do I think anyone cares about my life story? Because I have cared so deeply about the lives of others: Autobiography of a Face. This Boy’s Life. The Glass Castle. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Hungry for the World. Mommie Dearest. To name a few.

Every one of these memoirs touched me in a profound way, and I will be channeling these authors as I write. I will also channel the hearts and minds of my beloved father and brother, who have gone before me, and who played such significant roles in my life before I turned twenty.

Moving My Blog to WordPress

Dad and two kids
~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

Hello, friends:

For all of you who’ve stood by me since my blog Against All Odds, I am moving the Cobbler’s Daughter blog to WordPress. Stay tuned for more poetry, stories about the Leather Shoe Shop, my children, and whatever life hands me.

More to come!

Love you all.

Cindy

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