Counterbalance

The Weight of Ink

i got a tattoo (my first. only?) last week
and though i did not expect it
the experience changed me

all the fear of needles
all the fear of blood throughout my life
the fainting at doctor's offices, passing out during violent movies
(i still have not seen the needle to the heart scene in Pulp Fiction without hands covering my eyes)
all the fear of judgement
the concern about what others think of me (the tattoo placed in just the spot where i may be possibly-judged daily so I can learn to let it go)
i embraced that fear and i owned it, if only for a day 
the day of the first tattoo 

and what the poem, its title now inked, means to me
its title and its rally cry now permanently part of me
what it means to me in terms of living
in terms of making this life mean something
in terms of standing up for myself
for those who are not given the same freedoms i enjoy
in terms of shedding all the judgement from my mother
all the fear she instilled in me
in terms of celebrating all those i've lost in my life
the examples they set for me of a better way to live, unencumbered by fear

where it happened also mattered
though i had planned to get the tattoo weeks later in another city entirely

oh the power of place
the power of place as character in my life
getting the tattoo at that shop, in that place, and all the memories tied up for me in san diego
the shedding of what i once was, finally, becoming someone i truly am and not being afraid of someone not liking it, no longer afraid of someone deeming me somehow not enough (or too much)

it felt like the best kind of fuck you
it felt like the best kind of here i am
it felt like the best kind of "it's okay to be happy after everything you've been through"
it felt like the years of not rocking the boat, of avoiding confrontation, of holding together a family of alcoholics had come to an end
it felt like home
and joe, the artist who would mark me
and his galway accent and all we discussed within moments of meeting each other
all the connections to Ireland, to the bar I met my husband in, to the long lost Irish belonging I felt moments off the plane in Dublin
and the solar eclipse, so auspicious on the day of our meeting, of his suggestion, only hours into knowing me, that i might be someone who'd over-think their tattoo and mind-fake themselves into not getting it (oh, really? you don't say...)
appointment for late june cancelled
appointment for two days later noted in the books
joe would mark me on a tuesday

and then

watching that first line of the h
feeling it burn my skin
watching the curve of the s, the arc of the a
then all that excitement and all that fear and all that adrenaline crashing down
upon me, around me, inside me
sweating
cold
dizzy a bit
i had to look away
i had planned to go in there and be a champ
for him
for me
for everyone in the room
that's how i saw it going down in my mind
but i faltered
i was not a champ, but i had wanted to be
and i was there, in that chair
and it was happening
and i had made it happen
there was an inevitability to it that was beautiful
and wasn't that something?

the way he distracted me during the tense moments
reminding me to breathe
asked me about a conversation my brother and i had two days before
during my brother's tattoo
joe was the old lady you don't think is listening, but he is oh he is
he remembered about the wine. i was touched.
had i finally told my brother which bottle it was i forgot to bring?
i had.
and what did my brother think of that, joe asked.
i looked at my brother.
he said it was an amazing bottle i'd left behind. he was sad we could not drink it.
(the 2001 Chateau d'Yquem awaits)
i know, i said. but at least it exists in this world.
and joe repeated it with a laugh and a smile.
at least it exists in this world.

and we were all there in the moment of my undoing and remaking
we were there to witness it together and each of them in the room had a sense of how big it was for me
they had an idea
but they could not possibly have known how big
i didn't even know until the drilling stopped
until i felt that swipe of the glove and the vaseline applied (that i had seen so many times on my friend's tattoos or on any reality tattoo show, you pick) and i realized the tattoo - and the experience of getting my first - was over.

and i was exhilarated and proud of myself.
and sad.
i had not wanted this moment of personal triumph to be over so soon.
i wanted to luxuriate in it. extend it.
i asked questions. too many.
about tattoo care.
about the next time.
didn't want it to end.
didn't want to break the spell.
he said he was honored to be the first to mark me.
i, as an open wound (literally), took that in and owned it. instead of the usual inner voice that would say "ah, he says that to everyone", i just took it. believed it.
was honored right back.

and then

out on the street, the sun shining, we're in search of a guinness
in search of a way to celebrate
to seal the deal that was already permanently ink-sealed
to celebrate that i had done it
to celebrate that my brother could not believe it
to celebrate all that had come before in san diego
to celebrate and honor all that i was leaving behind, shedding, saying goodbye to
so as to make room for all that lies ahead

and we drank
and we toasted
to tattoos
to firsts
to san diego
to fucked up families
to art
to bravery
to all that lies ahead

it's been a week since i got my tattoo
i don't want this spell to end
this experience - this minor tattoo - holds more in it for me than any gift of any monetary value i could give myself
the gift? permission
to be me, unapologetically
to be imperfect
to be vulnerable
to accept i deserve happiness on my own terms
to know those terms will change and to be fine with it

i'm emboldened now in ways i never had been before
don't like me? fine
don't like this permanent mark on my wrist? also fine
getting to "fine"
getting to "take me as i am and all i'm trying to become"
may sound simple to you, though it is everything to me
i have finally become, in part, the person i'd hoped i would be

this mark on my body may seem like a cliche to you
or misguided or something to future-regret 
to me, it ushers in an entirely new era of possibilities
if i can do this thing i never thought i'd be brave enough to do
what else will i accomplish with my newly found nerve?

Lately

{Insert Big Idea to Save Books & Reading & Literacy Here}

I have spent most of my life reading and writing. I've spent my entire professional life working at digital agencies. There is a congruence here that I've tried very hard, for most of my life, to ignore. Or keep at bay. I'd felt for so long that my marketing strategy, digital agency life had so little to do with my writerly, readerly, let's study meta-themes and discuss Proust until we're blue in the face life that I worked overtime to keep them separate. 

I was wrong.

They are inextricably linked (most notably because both parts exist within me and it's been hell trying to keep the two separate all these years) now because of the ever-shifting world of publishing in the age of digital. I can't tell you what a relief it is to see that external forces now match my interior state. I can now set aside my George Costanza-esque need to keep my agency friends separate from my literary friends. To keep my thoughts on marketing authors quiet, my desire to develop "social reading" tech solutions unknown, my obsession with geolocation and the impact it might have on hyper-local reading patterns a secret. I can finally talk about books with my tech friends and marketing strategy with my publisher friends and no one gives me crazy looks. I'm freeeeee....

However.

The road ahead for authors and publishers and readers and booksellers and libraries and kids who can't read has gotten better and murkier and worse and clearer all at once. There are so many tools and communities and technologies that have furthered the cause of reading and have extended the reach of independent publishers and their authors. Yet, these are also difficult times for authors to get paid what they deserve, digital rights management being what it is, big publishers being who they are, the structure being what it is. You know the drill.

I haven't been able to absorb it all and make sense of it yet. None of the big, lofty ideas swirling in my head over the past few months have coalesced into anything tangible, into anything valuable that will solve these problems or even some of them or even one of them. But at the beginning of every day and at the end of each long night...this is the big problem I come back to. This is one of the big ideas I want to meditate on, tease apart, figure out.

Call me idealistic, call me crazy, call me whatever you will: I believe reading changes lives and perspectives and prejudices and communities and nation's futures. I believe everyone has a right to learn how to read and I believe everyone should have access to every book they desire so they can dream big and change the world they live in...whether that's a room away, a street away, a block away, a town away, a country away, a world away. 

I don't yet know what the solutions look like to these problems and I know I'm not the only one who wants to solve them. What I do know is this: I am now certain that part of the reason I'm here is to help figure this out in whatever capacity I'm able, in whatever way I'm needed.

My big fancy dream is to find a way to have all this brilliant technology and the social web (and whatever else we've yet to discover and coin) do the one thing I care about most: get more people to read. Who's with me?

Fire in Your Gut

"I, on the other hand, have always understood that life is an as-is, no-warranty arrangement; and if you want it to add up to anything, you'd better go at it with fire in your gut." 

      - Wells Tower, Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned

The Persistence of Fire Alarms

There are many reasons for the eerily quiet posting schedule here as of late (and as I've promised and over-promised, I'm sure it will all trickle out in good time because I've no intention of abandoning the blog ship entirely), yet there is one reason in particular that has had me over the barrel and unable to come up for air in months.  I've just remembered (and am oddly comforted by) a spot-on passage from Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris:

"A new client pitch due Monday meant a full week of one o'clock nights and a few hours of sleep on random sofas on Sunday. It was called a fire alarm, and when one came along you had to drop everything. There was no going to the gym. Theater tickets were canceled. You saw no one, not your five-year-old, not your marriage counselor, not your sponsor, not even your dog. We feared the fire alarm."

Consider this month - and last month and the month before that - the month of the persistent, never-ending, always looming, ever-terrifying fire alarm.  I have not seen my dog, I've not seen the inside of my gym in months (and it shows) and there have been many theater, event, and travel cancellations.  As the year winds down and I try to catch up on much needed sanity and sleep, I'm hoping to have a fire alarm-less life in the first part of 2009 so I can get some reading & writing done.

Nine Days & Counting

It would be a lie to say anything other than this: I've not been present in the litblog, reading, writing, fiction scene for over a month.  I've not posted. I've not even had the patience to update the links at left and right that are date-sensitive and that are so obviously now past their prime. 

It would be easy for many of you to assume (and thank you for your vote of confidence) that I have been writing like a madwoman during my absence.  Sadly, it isn't so. 

Life has been by turns hectic and sad and inspiring and confusing and seems to require every last drop of energy and wit I can muster, leaving no time for other pursuits. I have missed all of you and I have missed writing dearly.

We've got nine days until a historic election and I'm giving it everything I have.  Hopefully, you are too.  I'll be back once we've taken our country back.

Seth Greenland Nails It & Gets Me in Trouble

Seth Greenland, author of The Bones and the just-out Shining City, takes a stroll around the contradictory mess that is John McCain's brain as he weighs his VP pick options.

I laughed out loud - very, very loud - several times. In a very quiet place where serious things are taking place and I'm supposed to be quiet as a mouse or some other supposedly similarly quiet creature (Why always a mouse? I've never met a quiet one).  Not good. So not good. Lots of turned heads. Eye-rolls. Looks of utter disdain. Several throat-clearings directed my way.

But oh so worth it.

Do check it out.

Tying it All Together

I finished Human Smoke late last night after a crazy few days. It was late, it was quiet, and Baker's Afterword about what he hoped to accomplish with this book has left me pensive and still:

"Was it a 'good war'? Did waging it help anyone who needed help? Those were the basic questions that I hoped to answer when I began writing."

It isn't a coincidence that Obama spoke today in Berlin, the city that was very much at the center of the events in Human Smoke.  I may still be angry with Obama about FISA, but I'll admit to getting teary-eyed again when watching him deliver an excellent speech in Berlin:

Obama's speech gave me -- yes, I'll use the now-dirtied word -- hope that Baker's closing sentiments may (heavily caveated and in direct relation to who the American people vote for in November) not fall on deaf ears should heeding them become necessary in our near future:

"I dedicate this book to the memory of Clarence Pickett and other American and British pacifists. They've never really gotten their due. They tried to save Jewish refugees, feed Europe, reconcile the United States and Japan, and stop the war from happening. They failed, but they were right."

Jhumpa Lahiri for Obama

Jhumpa Lahiri, on Barack Obama, during a Q&A at San Jose State:

"After a reading and a lively discussion with the moderator, we had a Q&A session.  The second to last question addressed whether she was an Obama supporter and if she had interest in his "immigrant like" experience.  She proceeded to state that he is the candidate that can bring change, and that his background only serves to make him more aware of the difficulties of bringing this country together.  She was quite animated in making her points."

And I've been struggling to sort out how to link - in any real literary way - my Obama video (which, embarrassingly or no, choked me up and had me teary-eyed when I saw it and was thus compelled to post) with something that actually belongs on this blog. Thank You Jhumpa! I guess it's officially time for me to settle down and read Unaccustomed Earth.

Yep