This Saturday, I’m teaching at WRITE-O-RAMA, a festival of mini-writing classes that raises funds for Richard Hugo House. Each class is fifty minutes long, gives you an overview of a subject designed to inspire, and then let’s you have time to write. People have come away from Write-O-Ramas with pieces that they’ve polished into published stories, new writer friends in the area, and a greater excitement to write.
Here’s my class description: 

You Want Me to Want You: Connecting with Readers on Social Media
This class will look at great literary writers who use social media and learn how it can build your author brand, cultivate a network of artists who motivate you, connect you with readers who are looking for a writer with your particular voice, and sharpen your skills as a writer. We’ll also read from the classic, Novel in Three Lines by Félix Fénéon, examining storytelling in tight character constraints, and write microfiction of our own.

If you’ve followed the event I’ve been running since 2011 for Hugo House, #FridayFiction, you already know that you can use even the most character-constraining sites for advancing your art. But there are so many sites, Tumblr being the foremost amongst them, that can inspire you to write, give you great practice, network you with other artists and best of all, connect you with new readers. 
I’m excited to teach this class, and take the others being offered that day by some of the best up and coming writers in Seattle. I hope you can join me. All your proceeds go to scholarships, programming and resources that Hugo House offeres the local writing community.
You can come for the whole day, or just for a few hours. The amazing food truck Off the Rez will be there at lunchtime, if that helps tempt you. You can grab your tickets here. I hope to see you Saturday!


This Saturday, I’m teaching at WRITE-O-RAMA, a festival of mini-writing classes that raises funds for Richard Hugo House. Each class is fifty minutes long, gives you an overview of a subject designed to inspire, and then let’s you have time to write. People have come away from Write-O-Ramas with pieces that they’ve polished into published stories, new writer friends in the area, and a greater excitement to write.

Here’s my class description: 

You Want Me to Want You: Connecting with Readers on Social Media

This class will look at great literary writers who use social media and learn how it can build your author brand, cultivate a network of artists who motivate you, connect you with readers who are looking for a writer with your particular voice, and sharpen your skills as a writer. We’ll also read from the classic, Novel in Three Lines by Félix Fénéon, examining storytelling in tight character constraints, and write microfiction of our own.

If you’ve followed the event I’ve been running since 2011 for Hugo House, #FridayFiction, you already know that you can use even the most character-constraining sites for advancing your art. But there are so many sites, Tumblr being the foremost amongst them, that can inspire you to write, give you great practice, network you with other artists and best of all, connect you with new readers. 

I’m excited to teach this class, and take the others being offered that day by some of the best up and coming writers in Seattle. I hope you can join me. All your proceeds go to scholarships, programming and resources that Hugo House offeres the local writing community.

You can come for the whole day, or just for a few hours. The amazing food truck Off the Rez will be there at lunchtime, if that helps tempt you. You can grab your tickets here. I hope to see you Saturday!

A story up on Pacifica Literary Review!

Looking for something quick to read this afternoon? I may have just the thing: Pacifica Literary has published a short story of mine!

“The Key”

She handed him her key to the front door. She wanted to ask if he was sure, if it was really better, both of them being alone? Starting over seemed impossible just then, learning to breathe again without the one arboreally absorbing the sighs and rambling words of the other. 

Had this been her idea? Or was she the one being kicked out? She couldn’t remember as the dull, serrated edge of the key slid over her fingers into his palm. This had to have been his idea. His fingers closed over the key. His torn nails, swollen-knuckled fist, a tan line where the ring had been, pulled away with her key, her last permission to be a part of her old life, embedded into his hand.

Read more on Pacifica’s website.

sarahsamudre:

Vasant found this inside a fortune cookie with his lunch today. On my last day on staff at Hugo House. 
Today I woke up with “I Have Confidence” stuck in my head, hearing “What will this day be like? I wonder.” The line echoed in my head with every move I made this morning as I got ready for work.
As of this moment, Vasant and I are BOTH fulltime in our media company, which has been our dream and the hard-fought-for goal since 2005. We have big plans for the summer and fall, and are already thrilled that several people have approached us to be a part of our team on the projects we have in the works. 
But for now, for this next week, I’m off on vacation. I’m going to sleep, travel a bit, get my head emptied of the stress of balancing two jobs for the last year and get ready for a new era. I’m so excited to get started on our big projects and work with the amazing people who are just as excited to tell good stories as we are. But most of all, I’m so excited to work fulltime with Vasant. We went back to school together and studied for four years in every class that we took, filming on the side, dreaming about this day. The last two years at different jobs has been rough. People wonder how we do it—work together—and we don’t even know how to answer. If soulmates are supposed to complete you, how do people wonder how we work together? For Vasant and I, our differences, our strengths, our weaknesses—everything fits together. We are at our best when we’re side by side, telling stories.
We’re going to kick start vacation with a nice dinner, a trip to the EMP’s Fantasy exhibit (nerds!) and maybe a movie. Then sleep. Then the rest of our lives. 
In that order.

sarahsamudre:

Vasant found this inside a fortune cookie with his lunch today. On my last day on staff at Hugo House. 

Today I woke up with “I Have Confidence” stuck in my head, hearing “What will this day be like? I wonder.” The line echoed in my head with every move I made this morning as I got ready for work.

As of this moment, Vasant and I are BOTH fulltime in our media company, which has been our dream and the hard-fought-for goal since 2005. We have big plans for the summer and fall, and are already thrilled that several people have approached us to be a part of our team on the projects we have in the works. 

But for now, for this next week, I’m off on vacation. I’m going to sleep, travel a bit, get my head emptied of the stress of balancing two jobs for the last year and get ready for a new era. I’m so excited to get started on our big projects and work with the amazing people who are just as excited to tell good stories as we are. But most of all, I’m so excited to work fulltime with Vasant. We went back to school together and studied for four years in every class that we took, filming on the side, dreaming about this day. The last two years at different jobs has been rough. People wonder how we do it—work together—and we don’t even know how to answer. If soulmates are supposed to complete you, how do people wonder how we work together? For Vasant and I, our differences, our strengths, our weaknesses—everything fits together. We are at our best when we’re side by side, telling stories.

We’re going to kick start vacation with a nice dinner, a trip to the EMP’s Fantasy exhibit (nerds!) and maybe a movie. Then sleep. Then the rest of our lives.

In that order.

I have some exciting news:
In six weeks, I will be joining Vasant full-time at Samudre Media. I’m happy to report that business has been very good, but as a result of that, my life has been very hectic balancing Samudre Media, my commitment to Richard Hugo House and some family issues that have required our energy and attention. As the family situation began to resolve and our client list grew, Vasant and I felt it was time for me to fully focus on Samudre Media. So, last week I talked to my boss and a fellow colleague of mine who gave me invaluable advice and support. I gave notice and we worked out a transition plan for the next six weeks. 
I have been at Richard Hugo House since June 2011, as a volunteer social media manager and graphic designer, and then later on staff as the marketing and social media coordinator. Our staff has been such an encouragement and an inspiration to me personally and as a writer, not to mention, my Brian McGuigan impersonation was just starting to get really good.
I have loved working there, and Vasant and I’ll continue to donate our time, filming and photographing events, as well as managing social media for the House. 
When Vasant and I first got together, we were just two drifting dreamers who traveled a lot, worked odd jobs in order to travel and who spurned the idea of higher education. I loved writing, he loved filming, but we didn’t have a plan or serious aspirations towards doing that professionally.
When we fell in love, our love of storytelling clarified. I don’t know how, but it was like our hearts contained two sets of lenses that, when overlapped, brought everything in our lives into focus. One of the first things we knew was that we wanted to tell stories together. Within months of getting married, a plan formed between the two of us: we needed to go to university (despite our age) and learn more about our craft, get jobs in our respective field (despite the economy), launch our own media production company after a certain amount of time, and then finally, film our first feature. In that order.
We made this plan in 2005. 
Now it’s 2013. We’ve done this all except for the film. That’s next year. This thought thrills me. No matter who we’ve been separately or how we’ve failed alone, when Vasant and I are together, we’re unstoppable. Samudre Media’s already been successful with him there full-time. I can’t wait to see what happens this June.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t add the biggest thank you to the friends and family who’ve stuck by us, believed in us, and encouraged us over the years as we’ve gotten to this point of being able to afford for both of us to be full-time in our business.
This will always sound cheesy, but sometimes the most sincere truths are: we wouldn’t be here without the love and support you’ve given. We have by no means “arrived” and as far as we’ve come, we have so far to go. But we travel with a fellowship of amazing people, and to those of you who’ve poured into us, supported us, inspired us and challenged us: thank you. We need you and hope that we’re only half as good for you as you are for us.
Reposted from sarahsamudre.tumblr.com.

I have some exciting news:

In six weeks, I will be joining Vasant full-time at Samudre Media. I’m happy to report that business has been very good, but as a result of that, my life has been very hectic balancing Samudre Media, my commitment to Richard Hugo House and some family issues that have required our energy and attention. As the family situation began to resolve and our client list grew, Vasant and I felt it was time for me to fully focus on Samudre Media. So, last week I talked to my boss and a fellow colleague of mine who gave me invaluable advice and support. I gave notice and we worked out a transition plan for the next six weeks. 

I have been at Richard Hugo House since June 2011, as a volunteer social media manager and graphic designer, and then later on staff as the marketing and social media coordinator. Our staff has been such an encouragement and an inspiration to me personally and as a writer, not to mention, my Brian McGuigan impersonation was just starting to get really good.

I have loved working there, and Vasant and I’ll continue to donate our time, filming and photographing events, as well as managing social media for the House. 

When Vasant and I first got together, we were just two drifting dreamers who traveled a lot, worked odd jobs in order to travel and who spurned the idea of higher education. I loved writing, he loved filming, but we didn’t have a plan or serious aspirations towards doing that professionally.

When we fell in love, our love of storytelling clarified. I don’t know how, but it was like our hearts contained two sets of lenses that, when overlapped, brought everything in our lives into focus. One of the first things we knew was that we wanted to tell stories together. Within months of getting married, a plan formed between the two of us: we needed to go to university (despite our age) and learn more about our craft, get jobs in our respective field (despite the economy), launch our own media production company after a certain amount of time, and then finally, film our first feature. In that order.

We made this plan in 2005. 

Now it’s 2013. We’ve done this all except for the film. That’s next year. This thought thrills me. No matter who we’ve been separately or how we’ve failed alone, when Vasant and I are together, we’re unstoppable. Samudre Media’s already been successful with him there full-time. I can’t wait to see what happens this June.

Vasant and I

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t add the biggest thank you to the friends and family who’ve stuck by us, believed in us, and encouraged us over the years as we’ve gotten to this point of being able to afford for both of us to be full-time in our business.

This will always sound cheesy, but sometimes the most sincere truths are: we wouldn’t be here without the love and support you’ve given. We have by no means “arrived” and as far as we’ve come, we have so far to go. But we travel with a fellowship of amazing people, and to those of you who’ve poured into us, supported us, inspired us and challenged us: thank you. We need you and hope that we’re only half as good for you as you are for us.

Reposted from sarahsamudre.tumblr.com.

sarahsamudre:

Three throwbacks.

First, I am three. Or four. I’m squirrely and don’t sit well for the picture, which I believe is a hilarious prelude to some sort of tickle fight. I am probably right. I am the only one and haven’t let anyone down yet. I know I am adorable.

Second, I am 18. I am living in a van in a campsite in Lake Tahoe. I have been sent to California by my parents who put me on drugs because they believed I was a “monster” without those tiny pills. Unfortunately, I was just troubled without them. I became monstrous once I took the prescription, an angry zombie enraged by amphetamines. I left my aunt’s house for Tahoe, where I’d been banished, and live without drugs amongst the tall trees, granite boulders and deep blue waters of the lake. I meet a bear and take a walk with it. I survive the experience and walk out of the woods. I get better. I keep it all for future stories.

Third, I am taking pictures of Lilo, that one time she was small enough for the sink. Vasant holds her in place so I can cruelly take a picture of our shivering sweetheart, who is looking at me, pleading, “Could you please stop adjusting the f-stop and get me out of here?”

I see the look and take ten more pictures. I can’t help it. This will be the only time she’ll fit. A week later, she will have grown too big. A month later, and she’ll be too big for my lap. Two years later and she is my everything, all 75 pounds of her, climbing onto my chest every morning at 6 a.m. to kiss me good morning.

I am here.

sarahsamudre:

After being in the city, coming home on a nearly-spring night to the country is magic.

Symphonies of frog song, amphibious echoes, swell in the wood-smoke scented air. Stars spark and flicker through the ribbons of moonlit clouds. Coyote yips tumble out from the woods, pawing at the edge of the pasture.

They’ll be out running soon, raucous and wild while we sleep.

This morning I was up with the sun and I could smell the earth warming up as it rose. In the country, that smells like last night’s dew exposed in the minerals, grass waving around in the light breeze, tufts of animal fur caught in the bramble and a few intrepid blossoms sneaking their way into the cold air. 

Growing up an Anne girl in the city, and living in the country as an adult, I am absolutely insufferable about the country in my prose and poetry. 

I realized this morning that the whole world will just have to get used to that.

sarahsamudre:



Written for my sister, Claire. 
Click to enlarge.




I felt I should add an annotation, since Claire wrote about it on her blog.
Claire is nine years my junior and I’m immensely protective of her. Not just because she’s my youngest sister, because trust me, I have no illusions of her being babyish or unable to care for herself. Just the opposite. Claire is one of my heroes. I’ve written about that here before, but it can’t be said enough. Claire is the only person I’ve ever loved, besides Vasant, who has never hated me. She has never betrayed me. She has never quit me when it was inconvenient to love me. I have many amazing stalwarts in my life, but Claire stands above them all as a constant, second only to Vasant.
Claire has a recurring nightmare where gravity ceases to have its hold on her, and she falls upwards into the sky, to her doom. When she tells me that she has these dreams, for a while, it felt like I was hearing the beginning to a story. This is how a character would find out they can fly, I’d think, she just hasn’t gotten to the part where she realizes that’s what’s happening. She keeps waking up as the powers manifest. 
Claire and Vasant are the people I pow-wow with about art, endurance, being strong when your body’s breaking, and I don’t know many people more powerful than her. Maybe you’ve been affected by her poetry, her prose, her plays, her music… but she’s affected people the world over and she’s barely gotten started. 
So I wrote a poem for her, hating that a dream would terrify her, make her of all people feel powerless, figuring that this was the best way to introduce her to her origin story. 
And that is the story of that.

sarahsamudre:

Written for my sister, Claire.

Click to enlarge.

I felt I should add an annotation, since Claire wrote about it on her blog.

Claire is nine years my junior and I’m immensely protective of her. Not just because she’s my youngest sister, because trust me, I have no illusions of her being babyish or unable to care for herself. Just the opposite. Claire is one of my heroes. I’ve written about that here before, but it can’t be said enough. Claire is the only person I’ve ever loved, besides Vasant, who has never hated me. She has never betrayed me. She has never quit me when it was inconvenient to love me. I have many amazing stalwarts in my life, but Claire stands above them all as a constant, second only to Vasant.

Claire has a recurring nightmare where gravity ceases to have its hold on her, and she falls upwards into the sky, to her doom. When she tells me that she has these dreams, for a while, it felt like I was hearing the beginning to a story. This is how a character would find out they can fly, I’d think, she just hasn’t gotten to the part where she realizes that’s what’s happening. She keeps waking up as the powers manifest. 

Claire and Vasant are the people I pow-wow with about art, endurance, being strong when your body’s breaking, and I don’t know many people more powerful than her. Maybe you’ve been affected by her poetry, her prose, her plays, her music… but she’s affected people the world over and she’s barely gotten started. 

So I wrote a poem for her, hating that a dream would terrify her, make her of all people feel powerless, figuring that this was the best way to introduce her to her origin story. 

And that is the story of that.

The Happiest of Saturdays.

sarahsamudre:

It’s a beautiful night. 25 degrees out. Webs of frost gather in the corners of the window panes. Our deck is painted with ice crystals criss-crossing over cold, gray planks. 

I’ve been writing poetry again. About coyote packs outside in the night. About Alzheimer’s breaking down my family like a tsunami. It’s felt amazing. They’re small cracks in the wall that is between me and the person I used to be, who couldn’t go a day without setting the day into stanzas, but it’s progress.

I’ve spent the day curled up with Vasant watching Wes Anderson movies, football games and catching up on Gold Wake Press submissions. Did I mention I’m on their editorial board? That happened right before the Christmas break. 

Now The Claire is over and we’re about to watch Beasts of the Southern Wild. Overall, the happiest Saturday of the young year. 

How have your weekends been?

sarahsamudre:


Creating New Year’s Resolutions is an Act of Bravery
We’re a day into 2013 and things have been pleasant and restful. I have another week left of vacation and now that the holidays are officially over, I’ll be spending it writing and cleaning the house.
2012 was a great year, but it was rough. My family lost my grandmother to cancer. This occurred early in the year, while Vasant and I were still recovering from miscarrying in 2011. We could barely breathe as the two losses collided within twelve months of each other. We also launched our small business in the midst of a tough economy which, while exciting, has been terrifying.
It is, however, not the hardest thing we’ve ever done. The physical, mental and emotional juggling that went on from 2006-2010 was, when we went back to school, getting two degrees each, building our home and finishing my novel. Launching and establishing Samudre Media is tough, but it’s not the toughest. 
As brutal as 2012 has been, it’s actually felt like the year when we’ve finally gotten traction on things. We earned our degrees in 2010, but 2011 was submersed in our grief from the miscarriage and our search for jobs that would open doors in our careers.  We had no time to appreciate what we achieved in 2010 in 2011, and much of the achievements of 2011 were lost in the wave of sadness that overcame us.
This year, however, we’ve been able to hold onto the victories, both big and small that have come our way. I turned my volunteer position at Richard Hugo House into a staff position. My time there has introduced me to amazing writers, actors, producers and directors. I’m constantly inspired in my craft while there and I enjoy what I do. Vasant has taken our media production company, which we’ve run on the side for years, and taken it full-time this year. He’s loved the people that he’s met and the projects he’s gotten to work on this year. 
Best of all, the grief of this year and last has finally subsided into a quiet peace and acceptance. The five stages have been traversed through and conquered. We did the work. We sought out healing. We wrote our stories, shared our nightmares, drew, did yoga, slept, worked… until we passed through. So many times throughout 2011 and in the beginning of 2012, we felt like we wouldn’t. But we knew what we had to do in order to get through, and we did the work to find healing in faith that we’d get it if we reached out. 
And we did. 
Then the fall became a time where we pushed out of our fragile recovery and got back into pursuing our dreams of writing and filmmaking. Our next steps? Take Samudre Media full-time and begin sharing my writing in public. Both happened, and it’s remarkable. I look back at 2012, and such grief separates the winter, spring and summer from the fall that it seems like we all came through three years just to finish this one. 
I feel like 2013 is going to be a year where we return to joy. 2011 felt like 12 months of drowning. Much of 2012 felt like we were just beginning to get our heads above water. This fall has felt like we’ve climbed up out of the waters and onto the shore. 2013 feels firm. It feels exciting. 
Because of this, I have a long list of resolutions. When you grieve, you can crawl into a hole and wait everything else out. Nothing is as important as recovering. You have one job. Get better. Everything else can be put on hold. 
This last fall, we began to take things off hold. The last several weeks have been filled with discussions about, now that we’ve regained our strength, moving forward and moving fast. What do we need to get rid of to move quickly on the massive things we want to accomplish? What do we need to add to our lives to get us where we want to go?
The list of resolutions has grown long and every item added thrills me. At first, the idea of a New Year’s list tired me out. While we’re gaining traction and strength, we’re still so tired. There’s a difference between gaining strength and having energy. That lays beyond us for now. 
But resolutions are so important. Every year, around the New Year, we sit down and decide to keep growing. Every year, this becomes more important than the last. Growing up is hard. We begin to say that in our twenties, but we still don’t fully know what it means. The jobs we gain and lose, the paths we take and abandon, the hope we have and forsake, the people we love and lose… they wear on us. We gain friends, find new passions, heal ourselves if we do the work. 
Joy is happiness that’s gained through and in spite of pain. It’s tough to achieve and transforming to attain. And you can’t get there unless you do the work, unless you’re willing at the end of every year to take all the shit that came against you previously and choose to let go. Choose to do better. Choose to take responsibility for your lot, change what you can, be brave enough to dream that something better is coming. 
Being brave enough to dream for something better is the hardest part after you’ve grieved. And that’s why New Year’s resolutions are an achievement in and of themselves. As soon as you’ve done your meditation on the last year, dreamed for the next, evaluated yourself and made the list, you are instantly better off. There are some people who can’t make the list. It becomes harder to do every year. Making resolutions is a defiant act of hope against the march of time, the grind of human existence in a world of gun massacres, brutal storms, disease and short lives. To be aware of all the cruelty of this world, and to make a resolution that you, yes, you, small you, tiny human that you are, will make a difference in your own life, in the lives of those around you, is one of the bravest things you will do all year.
I’m excited that I’ve pushed off my weariness and made my list for 2013. As soon as I’d finished, I felt an energy and excitement that has been out of my reach for far too long. 
I hope those of you making lists feel that too. If you have, you’re brave and better for it. If you haven’t, make one. Dare to dream of a better year than the last. Even small resolutions to secure a brighter future make a huge difference in your life. 
I can’t wait to see where Vasant and I will be on January 1, 2014. This feels like a good year. 

sarahsamudre:

Creating New Year’s Resolutions is an Act of Bravery

We’re a day into 2013 and things have been pleasant and restful. I have another week left of vacation and now that the holidays are officially over, I’ll be spending it writing and cleaning the house.

2012 was a great year, but it was rough. My family lost my grandmother to cancer. This occurred early in the year, while Vasant and I were still recovering from miscarrying in 2011. We could barely breathe as the two losses collided within twelve months of each other. We also launched our small business in the midst of a tough economy which, while exciting, has been terrifying.

It is, however, not the hardest thing we’ve ever done. The physical, mental and emotional juggling that went on from 2006-2010 was, when we went back to school, getting two degrees each, building our home and finishing my novel. Launching and establishing Samudre Media is tough, but it’s not the toughest. 

As brutal as 2012 has been, it’s actually felt like the year when we’ve finally gotten traction on things. We earned our degrees in 2010, but 2011 was submersed in our grief from the miscarriage and our search for jobs that would open doors in our careers.  We had no time to appreciate what we achieved in 2010 in 2011, and much of the achievements of 2011 were lost in the wave of sadness that overcame us.

This year, however, we’ve been able to hold onto the victories, both big and small that have come our way. I turned my volunteer position at Richard Hugo House into a staff position. My time there has introduced me to amazing writers, actors, producers and directors. I’m constantly inspired in my craft while there and I enjoy what I do. Vasant has taken our media production company, which we’ve run on the side for years, and taken it full-time this year. He’s loved the people that he’s met and the projects he’s gotten to work on this year. 

Best of all, the grief of this year and last has finally subsided into a quiet peace and acceptance. The five stages have been traversed through and conquered. We did the work. We sought out healing. We wrote our stories, shared our nightmares, drew, did yoga, slept, worked… until we passed through. So many times throughout 2011 and in the beginning of 2012, we felt like we wouldn’t. But we knew what we had to do in order to get through, and we did the work to find healing in faith that we’d get it if we reached out. 

And we did. 

Then the fall became a time where we pushed out of our fragile recovery and got back into pursuing our dreams of writing and filmmaking. Our next steps? Take Samudre Media full-time and begin sharing my writing in public. Both happened, and it’s remarkable. I look back at 2012, and such grief separates the winter, spring and summer from the fall that it seems like we all came through three years just to finish this one. 

I feel like 2013 is going to be a year where we return to joy. 2011 felt like 12 months of drowning. Much of 2012 felt like we were just beginning to get our heads above water. This fall has felt like we’ve climbed up out of the waters and onto the shore. 2013 feels firm. It feels exciting. 

Because of this, I have a long list of resolutions. When you grieve, you can crawl into a hole and wait everything else out. Nothing is as important as recovering. You have one job. Get better. Everything else can be put on hold. 

This last fall, we began to take things off hold. The last several weeks have been filled with discussions about, now that we’ve regained our strength, moving forward and moving fast. What do we need to get rid of to move quickly on the massive things we want to accomplish? What do we need to add to our lives to get us where we want to go?

The list of resolutions has grown long and every item added thrills me. At first, the idea of a New Year’s list tired me out. While we’re gaining traction and strength, we’re still so tired. There’s a difference between gaining strength and having energy. That lays beyond us for now. 

But resolutions are so important. Every year, around the New Year, we sit down and decide to keep growing. Every year, this becomes more important than the last. Growing up is hard. We begin to say that in our twenties, but we still don’t fully know what it means. The jobs we gain and lose, the paths we take and abandon, the hope we have and forsake, the people we love and lose… they wear on us. We gain friends, find new passions, heal ourselves if we do the work. 

Joy is happiness that’s gained through and in spite of pain. It’s tough to achieve and transforming to attain. And you can’t get there unless you do the work, unless you’re willing at the end of every year to take all the shit that came against you previously and choose to let go. Choose to do better. Choose to take responsibility for your lot, change what you can, be brave enough to dream that something better is coming. 

Being brave enough to dream for something better is the hardest part after you’ve grieved. And that’s why New Year’s resolutions are an achievement in and of themselves. As soon as you’ve done your meditation on the last year, dreamed for the next, evaluated yourself and made the list, you are instantly better off. There are some people who can’t make the list. It becomes harder to do every year. Making resolutions is a defiant act of hope against the march of time, the grind of human existence in a world of gun massacres, brutal storms, disease and short lives. To be aware of all the cruelty of this world, and to make a resolution that you, yes, you, small you, tiny human that you are, will make a difference in your own life, in the lives of those around you, is one of the bravest things you will do all year.

I’m excited that I’ve pushed off my weariness and made my list for 2013. As soon as I’d finished, I felt an energy and excitement that has been out of my reach for far too long. 

I hope those of you making lists feel that too. If you have, you’re brave and better for it. If you haven’t, make one. Dare to dream of a better year than the last. Even small resolutions to secure a brighter future make a huge difference in your life. 

I can’t wait to see where Vasant and I will be on January 1, 2014. This feels like a good year. 

We Tell Ourselves Stories In Order To Live

Sarah Salcedo Samudre -

This afternoon I read at Marya Sea Kaminski’s “Wild Round the Dinner Table” Autism Benefit.

The essay I read, “We Tell Ourselves Stories In Order To Live,” was a reflection on growing up with Asperger’s, how my Dad taught me to make sense of life through literature and how an encounter with a Grizzly bear transformed my personal narrative.

This event was a completion of a New Year’s Resolution to read my work in public, but it was so much more than just a checkmark on 2012’s list. The other pieces shared today were amazing. I cried several times at the raw, intimate beauty presented in the music, memoir and poetry performed. 

You can listen to my essay above to hear my performance (the audio begins in the middle of my introduction to the piece.)

I’ve broken through my fear of doing this; I can’t wait to do the next one.

108 plays

Never Too Late to Complete a Goal

Today, just 16 days shy of 2013, I am checking off a major New Year’s resolution.

I’m reading my work in public for the first time ever. 

I love that it’s a little over two weeks away from the end of the year and I’m just now fulfilling this New Year’s resolution. I actually forgot about it for most of the year until October. I thought I’d missed my opportunity, but then Marya Sea Kaminski put together this event.

I will be reading at 2 p.m. at Cornish College of the Arts for ”Wild Round the Dinner Table,” a benefit for the Seattle Children’s Autism Guild. There will be memoir, fiction, music and food. It should be an amazing afternoon. 

Confession: I’m very nervous. It’s an extremely personal essay on my experience with Asperger’s, my family and growing up. For my first time reading in public, it’s a very intimate piece to read, but it’s also one I care about a lot. The fact that I care about it, that I’m sharing something I care about with others, excites me. 

Also… the first snow of the Christmas season is falling right now.

sarahsamudre:

It’s almost midnight and I’m still working. 
But I’m drawing pictures of toilet paper, so at least I can say I LOVE WHAT I DO.
…
No, seriously. If you have to be working late, drawing pictures of toilet paper is better than the database nightmare I was wrestling with last week. Of course, this is just a draft (pending the artist’s/my boss’ approval.) I’m moving onto some website stuff, with IT CROWD playing in the background, so I can take a wonderful, carefree day off tomorrow and get some writing done.
[UPDATE]
It got approved and lots of compliments. I think drawing toilet paper may be my new calling in life…

sarahsamudre:

It’s almost midnight and I’m still working. 

But I’m drawing pictures of toilet paper, so at least I can say I LOVE WHAT I DO.

No, seriously. If you have to be working late, drawing pictures of toilet paper is better than the database nightmare I was wrestling with last week. Of course, this is just a draft (pending the artist’s/my boss’ approval.) I’m moving onto some website stuff, with IT CROWD playing in the background, so I can take a wonderful, carefree day off tomorrow and get some writing done.

[UPDATE]

It got approved and lots of compliments. I think drawing toilet paper may be my new calling in life…

HELP: I was beat up by a pantoum.

sarahsamudre:

So here’s something interesting: I used to be a poet.

I don’t call myself one these days. I haven’t written poetry in years.

For some reason, even though some of my poetry was very good, I have some degree of hatred for the idea of returning to poetry.

Was I traumatized in some way? Did a sestina beat me up and I’m repressing it?  

I don’t remember why I gave it up or why I can’t stand the thought of getting back into it. I still read poetry. I work with poets at Hugo House. I attend poetry-related functions. When I see this, I regard it with a strange degree of curiosity and unfamiliarity, like sky-diving. You know, “Oh, that’s lovely that other people sky dive. I don’t think I could ever jump out of a plane.” 

Even my own sister shares her poetry online and I regard that with strangeness too, even though I used to do the same exact thing back in my LiveJournal days.

I am remembering this all only now because I just found a hard drive full of poetry that almost seemed to jump out from my laptop screen, punch me in the face and shout, “J’accuse!”

Some of the poetry is your typical, was-I-ever-that-young-and-unpolished crap. Some of it’s good. Some of it is actually pretty great. So great that I’m uncomfortably looking through my own head for this repressed incident when I must’ve been beat up by a poet, poem or book of poetry. 

This hard drive contains a decade’s worth of poetry. As I read through each poem, I remember what a big role it used to play in my life. I wince through some from my teenage years, but as I read through into my mid-twenties, I’m no longer wincing at my own mistakes, but I’m wincing because this shit is good. So good, I am afraid of finding out why I suddenly let it go from my life. If I’m not repressing some poetry-related violence, then I think I may have Eternal Sunshine‘d myself. 

And it’s more than just forgetting about poetry. I have no desire for it. I love listening to or reading it. I admire others for pursuing it, but when I think about picking it up again in my own life, I get upset.

Why? What villainous villanelle crossed my path to make me this way? 

I don’t have any answers. I’m just surrounded by the poems that prove I used to take this seriously, that show a talent for it, poems that awaken memories in me from almost a decade ago that I used to eat, sleep and breathe poetry. And now I write anything but poetry. I have nothing against the art form, I just get upset when I think about making it a part of my life again. 

This does not make sense and I don’t know how to proceed from here, but getting it out on the page and sharing it with others will make sure this isn’t just a worry that I brush from my mind in a day or so. Some of these poems deserve to see the light of day, and that can’t happen until I figure out what is keeping me from sharing them and engaging in this art form again.

sarahsamudre:

I have struggled with dyslexia all of my life. Although I’m amazingly clever at anagrams, this issue, as you can imagine, has been problematic. I was lucky to grow up with parents who read a lot and helped me learn to love to read and write despite how difficult it was for me. I know a lot of kids aren’t that fortunate. They have difficulty with reading and writing early on in school and are instantly evaluated as “less intelligent”. I was lucky and, because my parents provided me with a reading obsessed environment, I taught myself workarounds. 
Some days still, however, when I’m tired and stressed, it’s hard to get through a sentence. It’s like a bomb exploding within the word. “Second” become “econsd”. “Typically” becomes “pytcially”. I’ll spend ten minutes on two paragraphs, typing and retyping, then deleting, then growling at the keyboard, at my stupid fingers, at myself, and then I calm down, and type again. Slwoly. Slowyl. Slowly. 
Until it’s right.
And I’m a writer. I’m a marketing & social media coordinator at a center for writers. What, other than obsessive masochism, would drive me to choose this path? What would drive me to blog about it when I’m having to retype every other word two to three times?
I don’t know. 
For years, this has been THE question. And I still don’t have an answer. Even if I had one, it would probably come out twisted and inside out. All I know is that I love to write, despite the inherent difficulties. I hate feeling dumb and usually don’t, but every now and then, I miss something. Some days still, I don’t just type inside out, I read that way too. And when I write “ahte”, I read “hate” and feel the text is ready to share. 
I’m sending off a piece I’ve written to Peter Mountford, Hugo House’s Writer In Residence, today. It’s the first literary non-fiction I’ve ever written and I feel very good about it, but a multitude of fears trail behind the piece… fears about writing memoir, fears about my own writing, fears about whether I’m capable enough to review my own work before sending it out. I suppose I’m writing about this, on a day when my dyslexia is particularly bad, because my fears about my writing are just like my fears about my abilities. They’re something I can work around.
I just have to keep typing.

sarahsamudre:

I have struggled with dyslexia all of my life. Although I’m amazingly clever at anagrams, this issue, as you can imagine, has been problematic. I was lucky to grow up with parents who read a lot and helped me learn to love to read and write despite how difficult it was for me. I know a lot of kids aren’t that fortunate. They have difficulty with reading and writing early on in school and are instantly evaluated as “less intelligent”. I was lucky and, because my parents provided me with a reading obsessed environment, I taught myself workarounds. 

Some days still, however, when I’m tired and stressed, it’s hard to get through a sentence. It’s like a bomb exploding within the word. “Second” become “econsd”. “Typically” becomes “pytcially”. I’ll spend ten minutes on two paragraphs, typing and retyping, then deleting, then growling at the keyboard, at my stupid fingers, at myself, and then I calm down, and type again. Slwoly. Slowyl. Slowly. 

Until it’s right.

And I’m a writer. I’m a marketing & social media coordinator at a center for writers. What, other than obsessive masochism, would drive me to choose this path? What would drive me to blog about it when I’m having to retype every other word two to three times?

I don’t know. 

For years, this has been THE question. And I still don’t have an answer. Even if I had one, it would probably come out twisted and inside out. All I know is that I love to write, despite the inherent difficulties. I hate feeling dumb and usually don’t, but every now and then, I miss something. Some days still, I don’t just type inside out, I read that way too. And when I write “ahte”, I read “hate” and feel the text is ready to share. 

I’m sending off a piece I’ve written to Peter Mountford, Hugo House’s Writer In Residence, today. It’s the first literary non-fiction I’ve ever written and I feel very good about it, but a multitude of fears trail behind the piece… fears about writing memoir, fears about my own writing, fears about whether I’m capable enough to review my own work before sending it out. I suppose I’m writing about this, on a day when my dyslexia is particularly bad, because my fears about my writing are just like my fears about my abilities. They’re something I can work around.

I just have to keep typing.

Night Thoughts

sarahsamudre:

A story has been finished, edited and sent away. Whether or not a story gets accepted is immaterial the night it gets sent away. What matters is that feeling of completion, bravery and gratitude when you finish a creative work and leave it in someone else’s hands. 

I’m still gearing down from the adrenaline of hitting send, listening to Four Tet and The National and drinking jasmine tea. The air blowing in from the window is cool and scented with summer flowers. An owl is hooting in the maple tree outside. 

As much as I love this place, with the blackberry-choked forest, the rush of wind in the maples and birches, I wish I was packing to get on a plane. Vasant and I have been antsy to discover a new place lately. Traveling, for us, is like reading an amazing book or watching a great film. All three processes are completely immersive. You lose yourself in a new world, letting your soul and imagination inhabit the spaces you’re introduced to in a way you can never do on an ordinary day.

Not that there is anything wrong with ordinary days. Today was an ordinary day in which I wrote, drove, sang, saw a performance in the city, ran around in the country and sent off my latest story. But I want to get lost in a city and fall in love with it. Vasant and I were driving down I-5 today and when we spotted the airport, both our hearts ached to be in the air, on our way to discovering something new.

But since our August is tied up, we’re stuck with our ordinary days for now. Tomorrow’s ordinary day features, on top of Hugo House work, a return to my robo-human story (now that the serious literary one is sent off), writing about love and circuitry. It’s not as glamorous as jetting away to Europe, but it is something I love and I don’t have to deal with a time change to discover it.

Taking an afternoon tea break from writing the robo-human story.

Tried to call Vasant to see how he was doing. May’ve sounded like a dial-up modem.