Posts from the ‘culture’ category

To:  Analog Sea Review

PO Box 11670, Austin, TX

 

Dear ASR,

It was with great delight that I discovered you last month in a quiet corner of an obscure bookshop in Sausalito, CA. I promptly devoured every morsel of your latest “offline journal” — poetry, essays, musings, and all.

Thank you for creating a rare unplugged oasis in the current desert of digital.

I’m inspired by your ethos, and this inspiration comes at an opportune moment as my husband and I ponder our own artbook-in-progress.

In today’s book publishing frenzy, it’s very tempting to obey all the latest directives before we even put pen to paper and brush to canvas: build a platform, amass social media followers, research the market, post religiously, leverage our network, toot own horn, submit query after query. Rinse, repeat.

But what if we didn’t?

What if, like ASR, our book were instead a unique vision, a thing of beauty, a work of art in its own right?

What if we had no website, no bar codes, no (gasp) Twitter handle?

What if we bypassed Amazon and instead became an off-grid nugget discoverable only in quiet bookshop corners, or given as a gift between friends?

Do these things diminish a book’s value or do they, in fact, make it kinda priceless?

Thank you for clarifying these questions by fact of your mere wondrous existence. We look forward to reading future Analog Sea editions.

Warmly,

Liz Norwood

 

I help other people tell stories for a living.

Memoir, personal essay, bios — you name it, I’ve probably edited it.  

But I rarely considered the stories of my own life. My own life was just clumps of events, thoughts, compulsions, and relationships filed away randomly in my memory bank.

All of that changed when I discovered the subtly subversive subculture of The Moth.

The Moth is an “acclaimed not-for-profit organization dedicated to the art and craft of storytelling. Since its launch in 1997, the Moth has presented thousands of stories, told live and without notes, to standing-room-only crowds worldwide.”

My first live Moth experience was in a small chapel on the island of Martha’s Vineyard back in 2015. I had no idea what to expect when I went in. But I came out astonished and changed.

That evening, I heard stories from six decidedly different people, from the “fame-ish” former children’s TV star struggling with his true identity to the 80-year-old murder-mystery author rekindling an old flame.

Each story was limited to 10 minutes, but the clock was the farthest thing from my mind. Time and space fell away and nothing existed but me and the storyteller. I opened my eyes and ears. I didn’t sneeze or scratch for fear of missing something.

Suddenly I felt deeply connected to these people that I had “nothing” in common with. The assumption of difference disappeared. The illusion of separation evaporated. Then we were all just a bunch of people in a room with stories to hear and stories to tell. The details of our stories may be unique, but the themes are universal.

The next day I signed up for a week-long Moth workshop that was offered as part of the roving Moth event. Once again, I didn’t know what to expect, I just felt an overwhelming compulsion to participate.

There were eight writers in the group from various literary disciplines and persuasions. Over the course of the week, it became apparent that we were all feeling the same way: freaked out to high-heaven, but determined to push our envelopes and mine our internal story-laden caverns.

I was under the impression that we’d have an opportunity to present our stories at the end of the week, not an obligation. I assumed my story wouldn’t be worth telling. But as time passed I realized that I owed the telling to myself, to the others in the group, and to whoever might be listening.

It was the last day of the workshop. We each took our turn at the microphone. On a stage with nice lighting. Big breath and began our tales. Tales of first communions and unrequited love. Childhood shame and family drama. Excruciating loss and staggering growth. Stories of realization, integration and transformation. Pretty big stuff for a little five-minute story.

Since then, I’ve tried to listen to one Moth story every day. It’s like a daily prescription for perspective and hope. And a handy reminder of our shared humanity.

Catch The Moth Story Hour on Public Radio, download the podcasts, or find live events in your area. You might even surprise yourself by submitting your own story for consideration.

 

 

On April 22, 1970, twenty million Americans coast-to-coast took to the streets, parks, and auditoriums to demonstrate for a healthier, more sustainable environment.

It was the first Earth Day, a momentous movement that galvanized groups that had been isolated in their fight against pollution the loss of nature, achieving bipartisan and nondenominational support from rich and poor, city dwellers and farmers, CEOs and labor leaders alike.

It also led to the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency and the passage of the Clean Air, Clean Water, and Endangered Species Acts.

Flash forward 51 years. Environmental awareness continues to grow, but humans are still in denial about how we affect our planet. We are splintered on the causes of global warming. And we are often paralyzed by our deep-rooted divisions and our feelings of helplessness.

Earth Day 2021 is Thursday, April 22. It’s the perfect excuse to come together again, to join others who are making big changes, and to firm our commitment to taking greener steps:

        • Hold fast to your 4 Rs – Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, and Rot (compost)
        • Teach your kids a thing or two about being green. After all, they’re our ambassadors to the future…and the future looks green!
        • Celebrate the day with local, global, and/or virtual activities

Right now, this beautiful, unique, life-sustaining marble of a planet is our only home.

True, Nasa is searching for earth-like planets and SpaceX is determined to send us all to Mars.

Colonizing another planet could be cool, but isn’t it better just to stick around and take care of the one we’re on?

 

Upend Trump with your vote!

Upend things at the ballot box! Morten Morland illustration. Courtesy debutart.com

 

The last original blog I posted here was right before the presidential election in 2016, when I nudged you all to not sit this one out.

Why the four-year lapse?

Because ever since that existential election, I have been suffering from a paralyzing case of Trump-induced Writer’s Block (TWB).

My TWB is a condition closely related to Trump Anxiety Disorder, an unofficial term coined by therapists who have seen a dramatic rise in stress among patients across the political spectrum. (Shoutout to my friend Halicue at HOTV for bringing TAD to my attention.)

I have coped with TWB by clinging to the hope that a cure would come — and soon.

Surely moderate Republicans would finally wake from their collective fugue to say enough is enough. Surely the sheer volume of dangerous policies, shocking scandals, prepubescent bullying, unabashed racism and absurd incompetence would finally tip the scales. Surely unanimous impeachment would finally break the dystrumpian stronghold. Surely ever-Trumpers would finally jump ship when the American death toll from Covid-19 skyrocketed due in large part to the ignorance, inaction and arrogance of this president.

Inconceivably, none of these sure things came to pass. And there has been no relief from TWB, TAD, and all related conditions. The emperor still sits atop his throne, and he still has no clothes.

So, my friends, the only remedy is at the ballot box on November 3, 2020, where those who oppose — and we are the majority of Americans — must stand and be counted.

I said it before, and I’ll say it again:

Don’t sit this one out. Make your voice heard. Exercise your right as a citizen of this precious, precarious democracy. Get out there and VOTE!

 

“I’m hopeful that despite all the noise, all the lies, we’re going to remember who we are, who we’re called to be. Out of this political darkness, I see a great awakening.

If you vote, things will get better, it will be a start.””  

~ Barack Obama

 

Here are some things you can do right now to sit this one IN!

1 – Make it official: If you’ve never voted, now’s a great time to start. Think you’re already registered? Double check to make sure.

2 – Have a plan: If you feel comfortable voting in-person, find your polling place now and figure out how to get there, and how to stay safe while casting your ballot. Prefer to vote by mail to avoid the crowds? Your state might already be sending all registered voters a mail-in ballot. If not, apply for one today.

3 – Track your ballot: Each state has a different policy and process for tracking your mail-in ballot. (In my home state of California, voters can sign up for Ballottrax.) To find tracking scoop for your state, search “your state + mail-in ballot tracking.”

4 – Share the election love: Volunteer to help others — especially young voters and those most vulnerable to voter suppression learn about the candidates and issues, get registered, or get mail-in ballots.

 

Together we can rise above the noise and remember who we are.

Let’s get started!

 

I’m a little worried about the future.

To be specific, I’m a little worried about technology.

It feels like the more we plug in to our screens and devices, the less we tune in to our relationships, our empathy, and our higher consciousness. The more we get distracted by virtual reality, the less we engage in—well, real reality.

So I’m always thrilled to discover ways that technology is actually helping people feel connected, respected, and understood. It gives me hope for the future.

StoryCorps is one such bit of hope.

When I first heard about StoryCorps, it reminded me of The Moth. “True stories told live” is the Moth motto – and boy do they deliver. The Moth shows us how powerful the simple act of telling your story, and listening to others tell theirs, can be.

Just like The Moth, StoryCorps reveres the story, but adds an element of interaction. StoryCorps invites people all over the country to grab a friend, loved one, or unsuspecting stranger and interview them. Since 2003, StoryCorps has collected hundreds of thousands of conversations, recording them on a free CD to share, and preserving them at the Library of Congress.

The StoryCorps mission is to “…spark a global movement to record and preserve meaningful conversations….that result in an ever-growing archive of the collective wisdom of humanity.” (For a moving overview by founder Dave Isay, and a sampling of choice interviews, watch this StoryCorps TED talk.)

Typical StoryCorps interview questions can be straightforward, like Can you tell me the story of your first kiss? or What’s the worst thing you ever did as a kid?

But they can also be as complex as How has your life been different than you imagined? or If you were to die suddenly this evening, what would you regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

With these and other prompts, anyone can dig beneath the surface and discover the ideas, stories, and sentiments that too often go unexplored. It ain’t easy being intimate, and each StoryCorps interview is an act of courage that elicits raw honesty and beauty.

The platform makes it a snap to get started. First, turn your phone into an instant interview device by downloading the StoryCorps app. Next, throw caution to the wind, put your hesitation aside, and get out there. Share an interview with your Mom, your best friend, your son, your hairdresser, even the guy who mows your lawn every week.

How often do we connect meaningfully in our daily interactions? How often do we ask our friends, our family, or perfect strangers “Who are you? What have you learned in this life? How do you want to be remembered?

Not often enough.

Yet the potential payoff is infinite.

StoryCorps interviews give everyone at the table permission to go deep. You might be amazed at how little you know about the person you thought you knew the best in the world. At how much closer you feel after coaxing to the surface their previously hidden depths.

Both of you will be forever changed – whether slightly or monumentally – for the better. The words you share will ripple out to the universe (or at least as far as the Library of Congress) to say:

I mean something. I have something to share. I exist.

emilymcdowell.com

emilymcdowell.com

In past holiday blogs, I’ve waxed ecological about the Xmas tree (and whether faux is way to go) and I’ve given you tips for greener gift wrapping.

This year, I’d like to make the case for a simple gift that’s easy on the planet and good for everyone on your list:

A word of thanks.

Every year, we send loads of thank you cards for the loads of holiday presents we receive. (At least those of us, ahem, who are still practicing the antiquated art of the handwritten.)

Now, don’t get me wrong—thank yous are great. But instead of waiting to send thank yous for all the gifts we get, what if we pre-appreciated our friends and family?

Instead of waiting to thank them for all the material stuff, what if we thanked them now for all the other stuff, the intangibles like love, friendship, life (thanks, mom and dad!), a wise perspective, a good laugh, a reason to get up in the morning.

And you don’t need to take pen to paper to do a proper pre-appreciation. A quick call, email or text are good, too. In person is nice because you can seal it with a smile or squeeze.

Here’s why it’s good to gift gratitude:

  • Good for the planet Very few resources and very little waste involved. And because your gratitude is guaranteed to please, think of all the gas saved by reducing those pesky trips to the mall for returns or exchanges.
  • Shortens the shopping list  And the credit card bill.  Also guaranteed to reduce hours spent trolling the internet for elusive “perfect gift”.
  • Makes someone happy  No one doesn’t appreciate some appreciation.
  • Makes you happy, too! You make a deeper connection to someone you care about.

Let me just say that, although I’m fairly competent at expressing thanks when appropriate, I myself rarely take any formal approach to gratitude.

But this year I’m going to take my own advice and start pre-appreciating. (Dare I say ap-PRE-ciating? Get it?)

I’m even thinking about designing and selling pre-thank-you cards. Made locally with soy ink, from renewable corn husks or re-claimed elephant plop, of course.

What do you think—should we start a new holiday tradition? How about a global ap-PRE-ciation revolution?

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