Linda Clare’s writing recipe
Posted on 10 March 2010 | 1 response
Here’s a treat. Actually it’s a two-fer. I asked a friend whose first novel was published last year if she would guest blog for me (this really helps, while I learn a new job and don’t have as much blog time available). I mentioned that included in my “huge” audience are young moms with interest in writing (and who are good, by the way), and that food often comes up in my blogging circle.
I’ve known Linda since the early 90s, when I showed up at a writer’s group get-together. I remember we divided into small groups, and she talked to mine about writing and sending out her work, like it was something any regular person could do.
Over the years, I heard about her collaborative efforts. Her name is on these books: Making Peace With a Dangerous God; Revealed: Spiritual Reality in a Makeover World; and Lost Boys and the Moms Who Love Them.
I applaud Linda now in her success with a novel, something she dreamed about doing for a long time. The Fence My Father Built is an engaging story. It takes place in Central Oregon, with a good ol’ boy bad guy and Muri, a librarian from Portland at the end of a divorce she didn’t seek, trying to raise a rebellious teenager, missing the father she barely knew. How she gets to “know” her dead father and what a fence made out of oven doors has to do with it make for a tale that kept me coming back.
Now here’s Linda, in her own words. Yummy-looking recipe follows.
Dream Big
I’m excited to be Deanna’s guest blogger today. Over on my own blog, http://www.GodSongGrace.blogspot.com, I provide writing tips I’ve learned in the last few years as a writing instructor for a local college. I’ve published four books so far, which should encourage you to go for your writing dreams.
Deanna tells me many of you are young moms. I raised four children, and when I was starting out I also ran a full-time daycare from my home. If I could’ve asked writing-related questions back then, my number one concern would have been, “How can I carve out a writing routine?”
You might think it’s darn near impossible to write while the kids are little, but that’s just what I did. Each afternoon, before the school-aged kids came home, I put the kindergartners and tots down for a 90 minute rest. I played a wholesome video during this time (the only screen time of the day). While the kids rested their legs and voices, I hauled out a heavy electric typewriter—this was B.C., before computers—and plugged it in on the stovetop. I did this so I could peek around the corner at intervals; to be sure no kid had ditched her diaper and was streaking (this happened more than once). I stood up and typed until rest period was over. Then the kids got up—starved of course—and my writing time was over for the day. We pottied, ate a snack and then headed outside if weather permitted.
For those of you moms who feel tugged in opposite directions, here are a few tips I used to keep my writing dreams alive:
- Even if you only get 15 minutes of writing time, resolve to show up every day. Many moms set their alarms early or stay up late. I bought a book written by a pediatrician who also had 12 kids. I thought, “If she can do it . . .”
- When you are writing a first draft, don’t edit yourself. Just write. Editing comes later.
- Focus on producing word count, not quality work. Let yourself go and write what comes to mind. Gertrude Stein said, “I write to learn what I think.”
- Take a course—community colleges, workshops or continuing education classes are not expensive, and you can learn the basics.
- Join a writing organization, or find or form a group with other moms. Instead of comparing potty-training techniques, read your writing to each other.
- Read the kind of books you want to write. Read the best books you can find.
- Writing is a skill—you can learn a skill. But it’s also an apprenticeship, one that requires practice. Remember the Three Ps: Practice, persistence, patience.
OK now for the recipe: So many ways to go here! I could give you munchie ideas so you can eat while writing, or a yummy dish to make ahead, thus extending your writing time. Since I confessed to eating stick pretzels on the job (oh, the shame!) I’ll give you my easy enchilada casserole recipe, which you could make in huge quantities and freeze. Or not. Enjoy!
Linda’s Easy Enchilada Casserole
Set oven to 350. Use nonstick spray to grease a 9×13” glass or metal rectangular casserole dish. Construct this mild casserole in layers as you would a lasagna. If picky eaters are involved, puree onions and garlic or omit. If you use a mild sauce, even kids will eat it.
Assembly time: 15 minutes Baking Time: 30 minutes
You will need:
Two cans of enchilada sauce, 16 oz. each
1 pound lean ground beef, ground turkey or extra-firm tofu
3 cups grated jack or Colby cheese
1 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
One can of corn
3 cups precooked rice (I use leftovers from a stir-fry dinner)
18 corn tortillas
Vegetable or olive oil
To garnish: Black olives
Shredded lettuce
Sour cream
Brown the onions, garlic and ground beef, turkey or tofu in a heavy skillet. Season with salt and pepper or chili powder if desired. Drain and set aside. Line the casserole dish with about three tablespoons of the enchilada sauce and arrange 6 tortillas, slightly overlapping, on top of sauce. Add one tablespoon of oil and spread evenly over tortillas. Spread one-third of meat mixture, rice, corn and a thin layer of the sauce over the tortillas, ending with cheese. Repeat twice more, ending with cheese. Tent aluminum foil (don’t let it touch the cheese!) and bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Garnish with shredded lettuce, black olives, sour cream or other condiments such as salsa or avocado. Cut into squares. Makes 6 servings.
sounds good, don’t it?
Posted on 8 March 2010 | 2 responses
The style of the essayist is that of an extremely intelligent, highly commonsensical person talking, without stammer and with impressive coherence, to him- or herself, and to anyone else who cares to eavesdrop.
~Joseph Epstein~
lent for lent
Posted on 3 March 2010 | 4 responses
Christian traditions of various types have been placed around me all my life. Even more these days, when I tread paths of some ancient beliefs. At least, I imagine what it’s like to be a pilgrim on those sorts of journeys.
I’m struck by the beauty in Orthodox rituals – from decorous clothing to music to incense. They’re at once simple and opulent. The people regularly practice fasting, as in abstaining from meat, dairy products, olive oil, and alcohol. Right now, during Great Lent, the fast holds fast for around fifty days. And to this cloud of witnessing faithful I have lent my husband.
You might reconsider inviting us out for pizza until after Easter.
Many Protestants decide on something to give up for Lent. The reasons appear to range from wanting to achieve holiness to a remembrance of the sorrow Jesus’ disciples felt after he died. (One of the better articles I’ve read, here on Wikipedia, contrasts and compares several Lenten observances.)
I like what my daughter told me, about the purpose of the fast being preparation for the feast, for the joy to come. In such a sense I tend to look at life, because, you know, life is hard and then we die. But if one has a view of the hardness bearing eternal purpose, well, then, it might just all be worth it.
The only thing I’ve given up for Lent is shoes. I’m trying out barefoot jogging on my treadmill. Apart from blackening my soles, I’m thinking this might be okay. Better than what Asics has bestowed. I need to strengthen muscles in new ways, but first thing I lengthened my stride. Not the same texture as when striking smooth sand at the beach, but I liked it. I remember wanting to run like this while dreamily staring at fields we drove past on vacation.
For me, perhaps, the motivation has ever been freedom. Let’s give up the shackles that have bound our thinking. Let’s dance across the dunes, wind in our hair.
But I did first need to see myself stepping so intentionally onto a path that destroyed me and those around me. I hadn’t believed I could really be bad. Until I saw it, those years ago, I couldn’t mourn. And mourning was good.
It still comes to me in organic ways. When I need it, I guess. Before the feast and joyful exercise, the darker actions of blessed loss and good grief.
wall-gazing
Posted on 1 March 2010 | 3 responses
Things come.
Not as expected, or even as the shadow of expectation sometimes, but they arrive. Sailing in: the phrase I thought couldn’t be grasped, the way to shape a structure, the whereabouts of that envelope surely lost.
They show up when it’s important.
If not, well, they still might.
the games begin
Posted on 26 February 2010 | 6 responses
Even though I’ve missed most of the Olympics, the afternoons I have watched those committed athletes doggedly doing their snowy thing have inspired me. There are sports I never knew existed – combined this and biathlon that – with skis and rifles(!) and corrugated jumps and bells and whistles and very little glory to go around.
One tiny woman got to the semi-finals on her own, with no coach or sponsors, and she skied, flying down the twisting course, hanging on, to everyone’s amazement, til the final hill. She fell and slid across the finish line, a fractioned second off the time that would have sent her to the finals.
I hope she didn’t break any bones. I hope her bruises remind her of the value of perseverance. She did all she could. Her very best.
My blogging takes up again today far afield from where it’s been lately. Well, maybe not so far. Themes continue, relentless, and when I pause I notice them.
Life is funny. The quest for certain goals can make me think I’m going after gold. But really I’m learning to persevere, whatever the outcome. I truly believe (can’t escape that word) that the stuff I’m doing is incidental to my story happening as it should. How I do things, why I do them, and what I see in the doing about my heart’s orientation are what matter.
I am now employed. The volunteer group that turned me down last week called Monday morning and asked if I was still interested in the job. I showered and went to their staff meeting. Tuesday and Wednesday I trained. Yesterday I tried to catch up at home. My hermit ways need modifying.
And yet, this is a very good way for me to be hired. Only now can I see it. I have really, really wanted writing to be my full time job with a part time paycheck. But I’m still waiting for a check for the last article I sold. It’s not a great time to get pay for words.
But for a writer it’s always a good time to live. For me, seeing real faces on the people I’m learning to work with is refreshing, especially when the job is one that’s been close to my heart for twenty-some years. It’s at a pregnancy support center, where the workers are anti-abortion (which, by history’s strange method, has become anti-establishment), but the mission is not political. I helped a woman who doesn’t speak English get diapers for her baby. A couple came in for infant clothing, their tiny one burbling in the dad’s arms.
I don’t know how well I’ll perform at this, or how many crashes will commence. It is very part time, though, and the people are treating me so nicely. They have been around this “game” a long time. I can catch back up, I hope, to where I was two decades ago when I volunteered for a similar group at the coast, where we used to live. Where I had screwed up my life a few years before. I promised God I would work with young women, if only I could quit my factory job, and things happened that let me quit the factory, be a stay-at-home mom, and serve people who were messing up their lives in a lot the same way I had.
Now my story arc has swung back around. Kind of the way an essay does, when the final paragraph ends up hinting at the beginning. Only this ending paragraph is a start at something new.
object smatter
Posted on 19 February 2010 | 8 responses
I’m starting over.
I was into a wonderful, rambling post about further musings on belief, and. Well. Maybe it wouldn’t have been wonderful to try plowing through on your way to a zillion other blogs, distractions, and weekend activities.
So I shall attempt to concise things up a bit for next week. Anyway, one of those cool writing moments happened while I was composing, and I got an image to illustrate my latest idea. Too bad I can’t find one like it on the web somewhere. But if you happen to see a picture of Nathan Fillion in a robe and beard, that’s where I’m heading.
how it is
Posted on 18 February 2010 | 4 responses
This week: my second job interview in three months.
The second job I didn’t get. The second time someone said they would have loved to work with me, but another candidate was just that much more qualified.
A tragedy it’s not. I did my best. Times are challenging for everyone.
The saddest moments, also the ones where I nearly hug myself for happiness: I remember I get to keep writing.
wednesday’s commercial word
Posted on 17 February 2010 | 4 responses
I didn’t plan to get one. Honest. But now I’m glad I stole it that night.
We were enjoying KLSR-TV’s annual Christmas dinner, and the traditional gift steal game began. The first opened gift, promptly snatched by newslady Natasha Chughtai, was a leopard-patterned snuggie.
Those blankets with arms looked kind of nifty on the infomercials. I whispered to Tim I wouldn’t mind having it. He winked and gave me total discretion when our gift number came up.
I suppose it was my annual free-Margarita glow. Wobbling over in high heels, I held out my hand to poor Natasha, who had stashed the snuggie under her table. But the gift was still up for grabs by the game rules. It could be stolen once more. I got it.
Later I felt badly and told Natasha with all sincerity she could have it back, but she laughed and said keep it. She was happy with her glowing wall stickers or whatever gift she finally got (my brain was still fuzzy at the time).
Now of an evening I am saved in the recliner from cold and our cat Westley’s heavy shedding. I can scratch beneath his purring chin while under cover. In fact, he sees me grabbing the snuggie from the closet and he’s in position to pounce and commence kneading my chest. I sigh, deflect claws carefully, and reflect on the one time in my life crime paid.
the object matters
Posted on 16 February 2010 | 5 responses
This culture is hung up on the way the word “belief” gets understood. I’m stymied by it as often as anybody.
It rankles to hear someone say there is a right way to believe. My term in an old journal was “right-angled faith.” I wanted to write a book about how this is wrong. A right way, of course, implies a wrong way, and when I get into a mindset that says I’m right in my way, in my methods, I’m saying I have it all figured out, while others, specifically you who think differently from me, are going nowhere.
In my understanding as a child of my culture, right equals worthy. It means perfection, flawlessness. And therefore to consider oneself right is a false idea, because no one can be found who is flawless. Most people don’t try to come off that way anymore. Instead, we make a point of saying everybody lies; everyone screws up. So to say there is a right way to believe is actually to believe something that is false. It’s to be deceived, by self or another person or group.
I like that people want honesty about all of us in our world today. I’m grateful for this genuine idea that we’re on level ground. This truth has come at great cost – there were Hitler and Pol Pot and Nixon and many more destroyers of illusion.
Unflinchingly now we believe there is no moral perfection among us. And so it seems to follow that there is no right or wrong way to believe. All I want to mention here is, sure, some details regarding believing – like whether or not I kneel or pray or study a religious book or fast or go someplace regularly to offer honor and service – don’t matter in the overall picture of what’s true.
My question is, does the object of my belief matter? Does anyone think so anymore? Or does everyone who’s sane urge everyone else, the way the preacher, Book, urged Captain Mal in the movie Serenity, to just believe? Don’t worry about what you’re believing, he said with his dying breath, just believe.
The same thought was put forth by the animated film, Kung Fu Panda. It seems a lot of screenwriters agree that believing by any means in anything is the real deal. Just flex those faith muscles; it’ll all work out.
But I can’t go that far. I think the object of my believing makes a difference, because Hitler believed in ideas that weren’t true. If he had saluted his straight-marching troops and shouted Heil! and all that as a way to gather everyone to go out and save harbor seals, no one would have gone to war with him (or at least it makes sense they shouldn’t have).
I plan to say more about this object stuff. Feel free to let me know if it makes you object.
random notes on creative nonfiction
Posted on 12 February 2010 | 3 responses
I want to uncover from real to real,
though I can barely get beyond imagined.
The role my supposings play, though, makes it fun:
a biography of air, of ants, or aunts,
a piece of driftwood once a tree.
A foundation crumbles,
a cemetery stone speaks.
My face in the mirror
draws down.
I wander long hours, imagining
why this was, or what that might have been,
what we might be.