​In this week’s blog, you’ll meet Mark Andrews, one of my favorite West Michigan photographers.

Born and raised in Newaygo County, Mark got the travel bug early in life on trips with his family. He went on to work in the travel industry, for airlines and tour companies, including a stint in Barbados.

“I started with photography in the 80s with an old film camera and fell in love with taking pictures,” says Mark.  “I worked for Kodak in the early 2000s as a sales rep selling digital cameras and had some training over the years with them. Most of what I’ve learned has been over the internet and practice, practice . . . ”

Mark is especially fond of photographing places that evoke a sense of the past – Cuba and old Route 66, for example.

Keep your camera sensor clean. Nothing messes up a trip like having spots on all your photos when you get home, and editing is so much simpler when you start out with a good photo. I traveled on a couple trips not knowing I had a problem. Thankfully, it was on the side, and I could crop the spots out some of the photos. Others . . . 

​Your local camera store can clean your camera’s sensor, send it out, or sell you what you need to do it yourself.

​Find a good spot and hang out there for a while. Come back to the same spot at different times of day to see how the light and the activity on the street change.

I took this photo in Havana, Cuba. LaFloridita was one of Ernest Hemingway’s favorite places to drink. Just to the left, of out of the shot, is a stop light. I would hang out on the other side of the street and just wait for a cool, old car to come, and I would get my shot.  I had it all framed and ready to go. I went back several times at different times of the day. At night the sign is lit up in neon and very cool.

You can do this in other locations, not just on the street. Find a good spot and shoot it at different times of day or on different days.

​If you don’t plan on shooting something in particular, you may shoot nothing. When in a city, I’ll shoot “Doors and Stores,” for example. I get up early to shoot and just wander around the town. There are fewer people on the streets, and I can take advantage of the morning light. I’m always up before most of my fellow travelers, and that habit lets me take my time and relax while shooting.
 
On my first trip to Cuba, I shot mainly cars—more than eighty percent of my shots. When I got home, I went through my shots and told myself, Next time I need to shoot more things. The following year, I gave myself an assignment: street photography of people, stores, food. I came back with a much better variety of subjects.

​I took this photograph in Ireland.  An overnight rain gave a shine to the street, and the sun coming through gives it a cool look and feel.  

Whether it’s doors, stores, people, food, or cars, think of something you’d like to shoot and make a point of going out in search of your assignment.

​Try to get up early and shoot during the blue and golden hours.

Golden hour is half-price beers at the bar, and blue hour is when you miss golden hour. (Kidding—that’s a little photography humor.) Actually, golden hour is the time of day just after sunrise or just before sunset, when the light is softer and more glowing than when the sun is higher in the sky. The blue hour is the twilight time just before sunrise or after sunlight, when indirect sunlight is evenly diffused.

There is a great app for planning your shoots called “Photo Pills.” In my opinion, it’s the best $10 you can spend on an app. It will show you the sunrise/set and moonrise/set times for any place on Earth.  Google it, and check it out on YouTube to get an idea.

Shooting at this time if day is great in the National Parks, where there’s so much to choose from. 

​I took this shot in Grand Tetons National Park, at Oxbow Bend on the Snake River.  I don’t recall the time of day, but for the most part it was only photographers that were out at that hour.

Again, this is something you can do each day, as the sky will be different, and you never know what you will get.

I’ve also been told that early morning is a good time to shoot water, when there’s less wind, and the surface will be stiller. However, I live near a lake in Michigan (not the big one), and I’ve found it to be calm or choppy at all times of the day. Even so, it may be worth trying early morning if you want to capture reflections.

​I use SkyScanner, Kayak, Orbitz, and Google Flights to check my rates. Skyscanner has a rate calendar so you can see what the one-way fare is for that a particular day. Check different days. Sometimes a day before or after or a week later will have a better price. Try different departure locations, too. I like to check Toronto (YYZ) and Chicago (ORD), along with Detroit (DTW). All of this may take a while, but I like this part, it's the dreaming!
 
I looked for airfares to Athens, Greece for three or four months before I found a $500 round trip from Detroit with a checked bag. 
 
When shopping, see what's included. I found the same rate on two different websites for the same car from the same company, but one included the extra coverage. It's nice to be covered for free.

​Check what the weather will be like during your trip, and what events may be going on that will interfere with what you want to do and see that week. Use Google maps to see what the area around your hotel is like. I found an Airbnb across the street from the Parthenon with a balcony for $180 a night that would sleep five or six people. We would sit out there and drink sweet wine and eat olives in the evening and watch the light come up on the buildings.

​ You are on vacation!!!  This is one of the hardest parts for me. I'm always in a rush, and it's hard for me to slow down. You are also going to a different place, maybe they do things differently and the food isn't the same as you’re used to. That's the whole reason why we travel! Understand things will not be the same and just embrace it.
 
If you are flexible you may be able to take advantage of being bumped and get paid for it.  Know what time you need to be where and work with the airport staff. They will lay out your best options, and you can decide if you’re able to take advantage of the credit and a different flight. My mom was able to do this for two or three flight in a row.

​I’m happy to welcome Peter Gibb to HeartWood today. I met Peter when I took—and greatly enjoyed—his workshop, “The Joy of Mindful Writing,” at the Pacific Northwest Writers Association conference last fall. 

​
​Peter’s award-winning memoir, King of Doubt, is a beautifully-crafted story of self-discovery—a must-read for anyone who’s ever experienced self-doubt. (Is there anyone who hasn't?) When I learned he has a book on mindful conversation in the works, I cleared a space on my bookshelf in anticipation.

​As he relates on his website, Peter grew up shy and isolated. Not exactly a conversational whiz. Eventually, though, he caught on to a few secrets that he honed and shared over a 22-year career of teaching, consulting, and coaching conversational skills “on 4 continents, in 3 languages, to Fortune 500 companies, to leaders of the emerging democracies in Eastern Europe, to doctors and bakers and just plain folks, hungry to learn.”
 
I’m honored to have Peter as a guest today. At the end of his post, you’ll find a link to his website, where you can take a quiz to learn your dominant conversational style. I encourage you to check it out. I took the quiz and not only gained insights into my habits in conversation, but also got tips on tweaking those habits toward more effective and satisfying face-to-face communication.
 
Now, here’s Peter . . . 

​First, I’m delighted to be a guest on Nan’s blog. So much interesting talk happening here, and such important topics.

​Is there any human activity that has the potential to bring us contentment and provide real connection, more than Great Conversation? Conversation is a master life skill. Essential for parenting, teaching, leading, making friends, getting along with colleagues, selling . . . you know, just about anything and everything you do will be more successful and more satisfying if accompanied by Great Conversation.
 
But here’s the rub. Not all Conversation. In fact a great deal of conversation isn’t conversation at all. It’s just talk. Talk that does not bring us contentment or connection. 

​A great deal of talk consists of what I call “Serial Monologue.” This is talk in which two people, supposedly engaged in conversation, are actually just talking heads, listening mostly to their own voices. Rather than paying attention to what the other person is saying, they are more frequently:

​Further, when such talkers do respond to the speaker, the most frequent type of response is what I call a “Grabbing Response.” Here is an example:

          Person A: “I just got back from a great trip to San Diego with my family. We had a                                 terrific time.”
          Person B: “San Diego, we were there in fall of ’17, but it was cold most of the time.”
          Person A: “The zoo was really wonderful. My Clara left saying she wants to                                            become a Vet. I’ve never seen her so excited.”
          Person B: “Really. We take our kids to the zoo at least once a year.”

​Person A is all excited to tell about her vacation, but Person B pretty much disregards everything that A says and launches into whatever story comes to mind. A conversation should be like a dance of connection, but in fact this one is more like a football game, each side trying to grab the ball and score points on some mythical scoreboard. Person B grabs the spotlight from A and changes the topic from A’s vacation to B’s cold vacation in San Diego and how one of the children is going to be a Vet.

​Instead of creating connection and contentment, this kind of talk fosters isolation and frustration. Neither talker feels heard or acknowledged. There is no real connection. 

We were given two ears but just one mouth. There must be a reason. The most critical ingredient for Great Conversation is “Deep Listening.” 

The first step toward deep listening is to get rid of grabbing responses and start using “reflective responses” instead.           

Imagine how different this conversation might have been, had it gone something like this:
          Person A: “I just got back from a great trip to San Diego with my family. We had a                                 terrific time.”
          Person B: “You sound so excited. San Diego. What made the trip so exceptional?”

​This is a “reflective response.” There are many types of reflective response, too many to go into here. They all validate the speaker, mirroring back some aspect of what the speaker has said and often inquiring for further about the topic. Note that in this particular response, Person B validates a feeling (excited) and then inquires for more detail (what made the trip so exceptional?) There is no telling my own story, or giving advice, or judgment, or distraction. It’s basically listening, reflecting and inquiring. Simple? Well, not always, but what a difference it will make. 

​Learning to become a more conscious, committed listener is the single most important step you can take to move your conversation from talk to connection and ultimately to “Great Conversation.” 

​So what exactly is great conversation? Well, that’s a longer conversation. The best I can do in this short time is to say that it’s a skill we can all develop. It’s based on four values whose first letters spell the word C.A.R.E.

​​If you’d like to learn more about Great Conversation, please visit my web site, http://www.petergibb.org/. Scroll down a bit on the home page, and you’ll see an invitation to take the “Conversational Style Assessment,” a short survey that will help you discover your dominant conversational style. You’ll learn which of four basic conversational styles (Observer, Nurturer, Performer, and Explorer) is your default mode. You’re not locked into any one style for life. You can change your conversational style, but knowing your default style can help you to get oriented and on the path to Great Conversation. Take the assessment and you’ll get a personalized report back from me. 

​I also have a blog that discusses issues of Great Conversation once or twice per month, and a forthcoming (but not for at least 18 months) book, titled Beyond the Weather: 5 Steps to Great Conversation. If you’d like to be notified when the book is released, please sign up on the drop down form on my web site, or email me: peter@petergibb.org

Thanks for Listening. I hope to visit with you again.
 
​Peter

Today’s visitor, Kelly J. Beard, is an author whose writing I have admired since we met in a master class at the Tucson Festival of Books two years ago. Along with the other members of the class, I was a finalist in the festival’s literary contest, and Kelly won second place for an essay later published as "Os Sacrum" in Santa Ana Review.
 
When I learned that her memoir, An Imperfect Rapture, was headed for publication after winning the Zone 3 Press Creative Nonfiction Book Award, I could hardly wait to read it. The book, which debuted last November, is a remarkable story of finding her way in the world after growing up in poverty, within the strictures of fundamentalist religion. The story is compelling, and the writing masterful.
 
I’m delighted that Kelly has agreed to answer questions today about the writing and publication of An Imperfect Rapture.

 It’s funny, but my latent love for writing probably served my legal work as much as (or more than) my legal work served my writing. A huge part of my litigation practice was writing motions and briefs, basically marshalling the facts and law into a persuasive story. Thinking about this has just reminded me of a legal writing technique I used while writing my memoir, An Imperfect Rapture. As you know, the writer’s ability to infuse her story with insightful reflection is the very essence of memoir. As opposed to the kind of writing approaches one might take in writing biography (“Just the facts, Ma’am”) or fiction (“Show don’t tell”), memoir’s marrow requires a measure of telling beyond the facts.

As I struggled to find ways to add reflective texture to my story I sometimes used a loose version of a writing technique taught in law school called the “IRAC” method. In short, the IRAC method requires the writer to identify the issue (describe the facts) and then to analyze those facts in light of the law. The analysis part of the IRAC is really quite similar to the memoirist’s reflection.
 
But to get back to your question, the real skill I developed as a lawyer that served me as a writer was self-discipline; the day-to-day commitment to sit at the computer (or wherever) and work on something you know won’t be finished that day (or year, or maybe even decade) because you believe in what you’re doing. That’s the real work of both practices. ​

​I started writing An Imperfect Rapture in my early-to-mid 50s, so the events I was writing about were anywhere from 30 to 50 years old. Like a lot of people—particularly, I suspect, people who had difficult early experiences—I submerged so much of those early years under layers of busy-ness, mostly trying to be a decent mom and lawyer. I hadn’t really thought about writing memoir. I used to write poetry and short fiction, and had started a couple of novels before practicing law. So my thought was that I’d write a novel when I finished practicing law.
 
All my life I’ve struggled with depression, but for most of my “mom” and “lawyer” years it was easy to stay distracted. I think I was also invested in trying to give my daughter a different experience than I had, so I never talked to her about the events in my memoir. She hadn’t lived in the shame of poverty or experienced the confusion of wildly erratic and unstable parenting, or the violence of their religious faith. When she left home, I fell into one of the worst depressions I’d ever had. And that’s saying something.
 
I finally found a brilliant therapist who is probably responsible both for saving my life right then and for getting me to write the memoir. I remember sitting in his office one day weeping over the distance between my daughter and me. My expectations of her and our relationship was unhealthy, I realize now, but at the time I felt utterly abandoned by her and betrayed by life. I told the therapist that I was thinking about writing to her—telling her how much I loved her, how irrelevant I felt in her life, how sad I was. I expected him to say, “Good idea, even if you don’t send the letter.” Instead, he looked at me and asked, “What doesn’t she know about any of that? What could you tell her that she doesn’t already know?”
 
And that’s the book, really.

​The scariest part was knowing I’d have to reveal this whole other life, this person and past no one—not my friends or colleagues or even my own daughter—knew about. I also have a pretty fractured birth-family. Only one of my siblings still talks to me; two haven’t spoken to me for decades. Although my father died in 1996, my mom is still alive, and I didn’t want to hurt her. It felt a little like deciding to pour gas on the charred remains of our family. 

​For one thing, I pretended I was writing for the very limited audience of my daughter and perhaps any child she might have, and that they would only read it after I was gone. I focused on telling the truth with as much beauty (skill) as I could muster. And I figured I could keep it from my mom. She’s 90 and doesn’t use the internet. Also, the more I wrote, the more committed I became to that Aristotelean ideal of truth and beauty. That ideal was hugely important in helping me work past any lingering sense of grievance and find a way to be honest with the reader about these deeply complicated people and experiences. 
​

​As I mentioned, the initial idea occurred to me shortly after my daughter started college in 2010. I was still practicing law, but I had my own practice and was able to scale back. I read somewhere that Virginia Woolf wrote two hours a day, always in the morning. She claimed not to have enough creative steam to carry her past the two-hour mark. I took her cue and wrote for two hours each morning (except Sundays—some things never leave us) and always before work or even reading email. The few times I tried to change this schedule either by working first or peeking at email before writing, I lost my creative energy for the day.
 
After a few years of working on it, I thought I had a pretty solid manuscript. In the summer of 2013, I attended a Master Class with Emily Rapp Black in Taos. The manuscript was 450 pages long. Emily critiqued the entire manuscript (as did the other workshop participants). Emily’s critique was brilliant, and I spent the following year working on the areas she suggested.

​That winter, I entered the Vermont College of Fine Arts low-residency MFA program. It was a pretty mixed bag, and while I had two fantastic advisors during my tenure there, I also had a couple that weren’t worth the tuition. But I went to tons of craft talks, studied work I might not have found otherwise, and worked diligently at learning the craft and revising An Imperfect Rapture. I ended up submitting the manuscript—essentially re-written and 100 pages “lighter” than what I’d submitted to Emily three years earlier—for my creative thesis in 2016.
 
At that point I thought, OK, this guy is ready to go. I started querying agents and submitting to a few contests. I don’t know how many agents I queried, maybe 30 or 40, but no one was interested. I think to a certain extent the gatekeepers—the literary intelligentsia, if you will—have a bit of a herd mentality. And, of course, it’s all about making money in that world, so increasingly agents make “safe” choices, a fact evident by walking into any bookstore and seeing how the genre has been cannibalized by celebrity memoirs.

So I started sending queries to independent and university publishers and also entering a few contests that were being judged by people whose work I loved. I don’t know how many contests I entered (not that many because it costs money to enter and it too often felt like a boondoggle), but An Imperfect Rapture was a finalist in two other contests before I submitted it to Zone 3 Press. Janisse Ray was the judge that year (2017). I’d read several of Ray’s books, and she was one of my idols. Her work is not only breathtaking, but important. By Important I mean necessary. So, when I saw the ad for the Zone 3 Press Creative Nonfiction Book Award, and saw Ray was judging, I knew I wanted to enter.
 
Actually, I almost didn’t. By the time I saw the ad, the deadline was only a week or so away, and there was a page limit of 300 pages. I’d spent two years largely re-writing the manuscript, but also cutting, culling, and winnowing it down from 450 to about 385 pages. The thought of getting it from 385 to 300 pages seemed impossible. Let alone doing so in such a short period of time. But I did. I killed way more darlings than I would have dreamed possible.
 
So there it is. Ray did love it! The darlings weren’t missed. Zone 3 Press is the press of my dreams. But that’s the contest I almost skipped. ​

 The hardest part to write, by far, was the end. Mostly because I didn’t know what I was writing about, and I kept trying out possible ends. As you know, the story in An Imperfect Rapture ends when I’m in my mid-twenties. I tried ending at later dates and with later events closing the final scene. I remember that in the third semester of my MFA I was trying to work out the ending, and not to sound all woo-woo or anything, but in addition to writing, I was spending a lot of time practicing yoga, meditating and praying. And at one point while trying to write the ending, I went into a kind of fugue state and wrote the end scenes. (It was the one and only time this has ever happened to me while writing, so I’m not sure I’d want to rely on it as a strategy for finding my way to an ending, but who knows?) I subsequently edited the heck of the rest of the manuscript, but the ending is the only part of the manuscript I could never really edit. It put itself on the page, and I had to leave it alone. 

​Oh, I absolutely agree with that description. I couldn’t pin down what the difference is with any precision, but “coming if age” conjures the idea of mastery: “I came, I saw, I conquered,” as opposed to the idea of “I came, I saw, I understood.” I understood. But I’m not sure I conquered.

​The shame of being poor. And the rage. I read somewhere that the average age of death for men who work as coal miners in Appalachia is 46. There’s a reason for that. Poor people are dispensable in this system, and they know it.
​ 

​That’s the mystery, isn’t it? When I was writing An Imperfect Rapture, I spent a lot of time wondering what my life would have been like if just one or two more kind, empathic people had shown up to mirror someone to me I could love and root for, or if one or two more tough-love kind of people had shown up to mirror someone to me I could admire. So, I’m not dead. I had the life I had, good and bad, so at the end of it all, I feel like it was exactly what it was meant to be. One more kind person (“angel”) or one more challenger (“worthy adversary”) and I might be—who knows, on the Supreme Court? The author of ten or fifteen important books? But one fewer kind person or challenger and I wouldn’t be here, I suspect. 
​

Right now I’m trying to give An Imperfect Rapture a chance to breathe. Maybe all authors feel like this, but I can’t imagine writing anything I love as much as this book. So, I’m trying not to pressure myself about that. Some readers have asked if I’ll be writing a sequel (a lot of years between 24 and 60), but right now, I really don’t know. I’ve written a few essays I like, but the essay form feels a little constraining to me. I’m moving toward another memoir, I’m pretty sure, but I just don’t know what slice of life is calling me to investigate it yet. 

It's National Poetry Month! You didn't think I'd let that slip by unnoticed, did you? What better way to pass the time while waiting for spring's late arrival than to read—or write—a bit of poetry? Short on inspiration? Look no further than the things you encounter every day.

​That's the advice of this week's guest, Cristina Trapani-Scott. I first met Cristina fourteen years ago at Bear River Writers' Conference. After the conference, we formed a writers' group with another writer we'd met there. The result was the Sister Scribes, an Ann Arbor-based group that eventually added three more members and became a source of support and motivation for all of us.

​​An author, educator, and former journalist, Cristina now lives and writes in Northern Colorado. Her debut chapbook collection of poems, The Persistence of a Bathing Suit, published in 2017 by Finishing Line Press, explores the moments that fill the space between surviving a breast cancer diagnosis and accepting the inevitability of change and uncertainty. Cristina's work has appeared in the Patterson Literary Review, Hip Mama Magazine, the Driftwood, Bigger Than They Appear: An Anthology of Very Short Poems, and Sweet Lemons 2: International Writings with a Sicilian Accent. She holds an MFA in poetry and fiction from Spalding University and currently teaches creative writing and composition online.

​April is National Poetry Month and each year it marks a whole month of celebrating this little thing that I found myself drawn to quite by accident more than 20 years ago. 

​I am not one of those poets that knew from a young age that I would be writing poetry. I don’t recall ever being thoroughly introduced to poetry as a kid beyond the handful of jingles I read in Shel Silverstein’s books and perhaps a Shakespeare sonnet. I don’t recall writing a poem until well after I completed my first round of undergrad studies. Still, even before I put marks on paper with the intention of calling them poems, I believe on some level I was aware of the poetry in ordinary things. 

​My mother, of course, made me hyper-aware of the ordinary world around me. She is an artist, and she always finds beauty in the most ordinary things. Her collection of garlic skins scattered on the top ledge of her china cabinet is a testament to this. I don’t have a physical collection of ordinary things like she does. I work in words. She works in paint. I do, in large part because of her, see the poetry in ordinary things.

​ I am aware of the poetry in a baby bird that had fallen from its nest in our backyard when I was a child. I am aware of the poetry in how my mom, my siblings, and I nurtured it by feeding it through a dropper with a solution a nearby vet had suggested. I am aware of the poetry in how the bird grew feathers and flew and perched on a curtain rod in our living room while our Brittany Spaniel, resorting to his instinct, stood on point.

​I am aware of the poetry in the way my Nonno so attentively showed my brother and me how to play ground darts in the backyard on Father’s Day not long before Nonno died from a heart attack. I am aware of poetry in the way my brother and I used to turn bricks over in our walkway to collect roly poly bugs and watch them curl into tiny balls as we touched them. 

​I teach creative writing at a college where students primarily are headed into business, technology, or health fields. They take my class as an elective. Many of my students have very little, if any, background in creative writing, let alone poetry (much like me when I first became curious about this thing called poetry). The first half of the class is focused on fiction, which inevitably more of the students are comfortable with. Halfway through the eight-week course, though, we shift to poetry. Many of the students admit early that they just never understood poetry, that they just never thought about writing poetry. My goal as their instructor isn’t to get them to know everything there is to know about poetry in four weeks. My goal in that four weeks is to get them to see, like my mother helped me see, that poetry has been with them their whole lives, that poetry is in the everyday things they do and see.  

​Poet Stephen Dunn said in an NPR interview, “We live with the little things much more than the large things.” I believe that to the core. I believe that has always been where I have found poetry. Even with the poetry I read, I am drawn most to the way a poet works the small things like a sculptor works clay, pushes at them until they breathe those large things on the page.

​Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that those small things are the most important things. In their book The Poet’s Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry, Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux write, “And what are the ‘great’ poems about? The big subjects: death, desire, the nature of existence. They ask the big questions: Who are we? Why are we here? Where are we going? We find it difficult to believe those subjects, those questions, can be explored and contained in a poem about working at a fast food restaurant, a poem about our best friend, a poem about washing the dishes, tarring the roof, or taking a bus across town.” This is precisely where those questions are answered. This is precisely where I tell my students to search for the big things. We talk about poems that do this. 

One that has stuck with me for a long time is Sandra M. Gilbert’s poem “Remnant” from her collection Belongings, a title that in and of itself suggests small, ordinary things. In the poem Gilbert writes of a carpet remnant in her office.

Remember the leftover
square of carpet you
unfolded in my office thirteen
years ago, two years before
the deadly surgery? Remember
​

​The “you” the speaker refers to is a spouse who died unexpectedly in surgery. The carpet represents not just a physical remnant here. It points to the memory as a remnant. It points to how the spouse, too, is but a series of remnants anymore. This small, ordinary thing, the remnant, leaps into the big thing, loss.

​ U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins does a similar thing in a much lighter tongue and cheek moment with his poem “The Lanyard.” I use this example in my classes because I find humor to be a great way to break down preconceived notions my students inevitably come to class with about what they believe poetry has to be, and I know that many of my students have memories of twisting and tying little ribbons of plastic as gifts for parents. Of course, the poem isn’t simply about the ordinary act of tying a lanyard at camp. It’s about the big idea of how we love our mothers. 

​ So, during this National Poetry Month (and after) celebrate the poetry in the small, ordinary things, in the colors that swirl in the soap bubbles on the dishes stacked in the kitchen sink, in the child that lies on the couch with one leg dangling off the edge, in the ordinary banter between partners on a weekday evening. There is poetic treasure in the ordinary, and it’s waiting to be mined. 

​Find the poems that do this in books at your local bookstore, your local library, or at websites like www.poetryfoundation.org. Explore how they connect the ordinary to the extraordinary. Finally, make your own connections and see that poetry is most definitely not about the extraordinary but about the ordinary made extraordinary.

Where do you find art in the ordinary?

For a daily dose of inspiration, subscribe to the Academy of American Poets' Poem A Day email at https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem-day​.

​We all start the new year with such great enthusiasm for our projects. Then, a month or so in, we sometimes lose our momentum. Ideas dry up, energy sags. That's when an injection of inspiration can be just the thing. 

​Welcome back, Lene!

​I hope you found something in here that might help you boost your creativity, and if you did, I’d love to hear from you! Maybe you have a tip that you’d like to add to the list, or maybe you’d like to share an experience when one of these “boosters” worked for you. Feel free to comment below!
​-- Lene

​One of my favorite January rituals is choosing a calendar to hang in our kitchen. More than a place to keep track of events and appointments, the right calendar can be a thing of beauty to admire every day.

​For the past three years, I've been delighted to find photographer Gail Howarth's calendars for sale at Artsplace in Fremont. I've been a fan of Gail's photographs since I saw a collaborative exhibit of work by Gail and painter Renae Wallace at Artsplace a few years ago. 

This year, Gail is donating profits from calendar sales to Mel Trotter Ministries, a Grand Rapids nonprofit organization that works with homeless people. Gail is also undertaking a photography and writing project with the organization. I've invited her here today to tell us about her work and this new project. 

​I feel as though my subjects find me. It is true that I carry my camera most of the time and that I often have a goal in mind when I go out for the day. However, what is on my camera at journey's end is seldom what I planned. I photograph a broad range of things, as you mentioned. I am attracted to things old and broken, beautiful landscapes, and interesting people. Often, I travel the same roads or walk the same paths and see nothing of interest. Then with a shift of light, I see the location or an object as though for the first time. This fascinates me and keeps in a state of wonder and awe. A potential subject is anything that tells a story. My hope is that my photography not only be beautiful but also conjures memories or inspires the viewer to create a tale about the image.

​I love old abandoned places. This is not unusual these days, as there is an entire genre of photography related to "abandoned places". However, it is where I am most surprised and intrigued. First, my storyteller's mind is intrigued by the possibilities of why a thing or place was left behind. Second, I am surprised by what is left behind. A girl's saddle shoe, the curtains, an apron over a bed frame, a lifetime of someone's greeting cards scattered upon the floor, a woman's purse, and so on and so on. Some images are heartbreaking, yet oddly beautiful.

​I have always had an eye for composition, but I thought my photography was ordinary. Honestly, it was my friend's comments on Facebook that made me believe I might have something more than snapshots.
 
Then Renae Wallace, a painter from Fremont, Michigan, began asking me if she could paint some of my images. Of course, I was shocked, honored, and so pleased. That eventually turned into our exhibit at NCCA - Artsplace: Of Time, Transition and Reflection. Words cannot even begin to describe how wonderful that experience was. Renae is a gem. A dream came true when Lindsay Isenhart said yes to the project. Everyone at Artsplace was incredibly supportive. Faune Benson Schuitema even helped me pick all the materials to frame and mat my work. The community came out in earnest to support both Renae and me. It was then that I knew I was on my way and felt like a real artist.

My technique improved once I learned more about all the settings on my camera. Instead of just taking a shot and hoping for the best, I learned how to set the camera for the best capture. Additionally, I started shooting in RAW versus JPEG and picked up a couple of higher-quality glass lenses. I learned Lightroom and Google NIK for editing. I do have Photoshop, but have not yet learned it. Perhaps this year. 
 
My approach is different, as I take more time with setup and take fewer images versus taking too many images and then sorting through for the best one. That was very time-consuming. I also ask for opportunities to photograph things that interest me. In the past, I would miss many opportunities because I was too shy to ask.

I worked as a practice management software trainer for Patterson Dental. When Mel Trotter Ministries Dental Clinic purchased the software, I became their trainer. Over the years, I would occasionally be called upon for follow-up training. I felt at home with this group and felt strongly that their mission was important. I was moved by their conviction to help and I would think, if I ever left my job I would want to be part of this.

​In early 2016 I began to feel more and more unsettled in the career I had loved. As the year progressed, I found myself thinking more about photography and writing and less and less about my job. One day when I was training the dental staff at Mel Trotter, I mentioned to Janice Keesman, Director of Clinics, how I was feeling. I told her I was considering leaving my job to pursue my passion. I mentioned that if they ever needed help, I would still like to be considered. That resulted in many discussions, and finally a job offer. I work in the clinic three days a week and spend the rest of my time cultivating my life as an artist.

​This is truly a labor of love. The project is so important to me that I do it on my own time. Mel Trotter Ministries is an organization that serves the homeless. It provides overnight shelter, meals, residential programs, job training, counseling, the dental clinic, chiropractic care, vision, legal services, and so much more. 
 
The project was born soon after I began working in the dental clinic. Patients often said the same phrases to describe what was happening in their lives. They went like this: No one hears me. No one sees me. I am invisible. I thought perhaps I could help. With my camera and writing skills, I could give them a voice, a face, and increase public awareness of homelessness. 
 
Mel Trotter Ministries publishes my pieces on their website. I will be including the blog posts on my own site soon.
 
Additionally, I would like to create an exhibit for ArtPrize and/or other venues to increase awareness. 

​One cannot work at Mel Trotter and not be changed. First, it has deepened my personal relationship with God. It may sound quite absurd, but I did not expect this. I think the usual things you might think: I am more grateful, considerate and have deeper compassion.
 
But, I would also say, I feel a bit more of a burden of responsibility in caring for those less fortunate. I find it difficult to leave the building between 4:30 and 5:15 pm. That sounds terrible, but I have a tender heart and my mind has a hard time wrapping my head around the extent of the issue of homelessness. That is the time when the homeless women check in for the evening. They wait in line and security goes through their sparse belongings before allowing them entry where they will receive a meal and bed for the night. I often see the same women day after day. There is no age limit. Some are very young and some very old. Some appear to be frightened, angry, resigned, and yet others quite joyful. And I wonder, where are their families, why does no one care enough to open their doors to these people, and what does the future hold for them? 
 
As an artist, I would say it has been a call to action. I am one person. What can I do? I can and will use my words and camera to do whatever I can to help.

I like photographing people, but not in a studio setting. Lighting with flashes, reflectors, and the use of backdrops is a mystery to me. The project at Mel Trotter is an extension of something I started in November of 2016. I began asking people to think about for what they were most grateful while I photographed them. I used the light that was available and processed the images in black and white. The result is a very raw image. Some people cried while others beamed radiantly. The first person I photographed for the gratitude project taught me that what I was asking was not a minor request. I was asking people to become vulnerable and to bare a part of their soul. I am grateful to those who participated. To be allowed a look into someone's soul is an honor and needs to be treated respectfully. This is what I hope to bring to the Mel Trotter Project.  

​I would like to pair writing with my photography more often. I will definitely be reviving my neglected blog. The folks at Mel Trotter have asked me to also photograph and write about the volunteer of the month and have begun asking me to photograph events. I am hoping that Renae Wallace and I can begin another collaborative project soon and am open to collaborative projects with other artists, but there is nothing in the works. Perhaps this is the year that I will finally learn Photoshop.

My work is available at NCCA - Artsplace in Fremont and at MB Woodworks & Company and Market 41 in Newaygo. Online I can be found at:
​http://www.lakehousephoto.com/
https://www.instagram.com/livingatlakehouse/
http://www.lakehousecc.com/blog/.

I am also starting a small gallery by appointment at my home in Holton.

Get your feet off the coffee table, and put on your best manners—we have company today. It's local author Janet Glaser, who writes as J.Q. Rose. She's swinging by on a blog tour to spread the word about her newly-released mystery, Terror on Sunshine Boulevard.
 
I met Janet/J.Q. through the writers' group at Fremont Area District Library, and I've enjoyed reading her imaginative stories (and indulging our mutual weakness for ice cream). Terror on Sunshine Boulevard is one of my favorites.
 
Here's a quick word from J.Q., followed by a Q&A. More details about her and her books can be found at the end of the post.

​Thank you, Nan, for hosting me during the Terror on Sunshine Boulevard Winter Warm-Up 2018 Blog Tour. I look forward to visiting with you and your readers and to answering any questions asked of me in the comments. I hope you have a cup of cocoa ready to warm me up today.
 
Readers: Please leave a comment below because a lucky commenter will win a PDF copy of Terror on Sunshine Boulevard. Winner will be drawn on Friday, January 19 at 9 p.m. EST.

The usual image of a Florida retirement community is one of golf courses, swimming pools and craft classes, not the scene of heinous crimes. What made you decide to set your new mystery, Terror on Sunshine Boulevard, in such a place?

I chose this setting because the scene one pictures of a retirement community is exactly what you describe--a place where people who have worked all their lives have a chance to enjoy the good things in life. I love the juxtaposition of the bright fun-in- the-sun feeling with the darkness of murder and mystery.  Even the title includes the contrasting views—terror and sunshine.

​

What goes into creating a believable character in a work of fiction?

I base my characters on real people in my life. We meet many interesting folks in our travels. And I might add, there are some real characters in Michigan too! I take bits and pieces from personalities, gestures, accents, speech and put them together in one character. I also create the background story of the character to understand his relationships with other characters and his motivation for doing something like stealing, cheating, even murder. All of that information, such as his favorite color, is not spilled out on the page for the reader. The more I know about the character, the more believable he’ll be.

How big a part does setting play in your stories? Does the setting ever become a character? 

​In all of my stories the setting is very important. I have mysteries set in the retirement community, a church, and a funeral home. Each location is a message to the reader to understand the reason for the drama within the pages of the book and to set the mood for the scenes. Often the twist comes when a character doesn’t fit into the setting. I think the setting is an element in the story, but I’ve never thought of it as a character. I guess we need to discuss the definition of the character.

Without giving away too much of the story, I think it's safe to say that Terror on Sunshine Boulevard deals with the intersection of nature and civilization, and the conflicts that arise as a result. Is this an issue that concerns you in the real world?

​Yes. I’m concerned watching “civilization” encroaching on the natural habitat by paving over acres of ground that is home to many animals and native plants. Developers tear out huge areas of property to build malls and subdivisions.  Roads and highways cut through ancient areas, disturbing the trails and habits of generations of animals. No wonder wildlife raid garbage cans in subdivisions. Their food supply is no longer available because the homes are built in their habitat. The natural environmental balance is disturbed and the animals’ survival is at risk. We must be better stewards of our resources.

Another theme in Terror on Sunshine Boulevard is the contributions seniors can make to society. Do you think seniors' gifts are underappreciated? 

I think many folks believe retirees are no longer useful to society. Don’t believe that! They have not been put out to pasture. A vibrant new chapter opens for them. Seniors have skills and talents polished by their life experiences. They are assets to their communities in many ways and guides to warn the young’uns about their mistakes and to show them how they have triumphed. They are storytellers when they share family stories around the dinner table as the kids sit enthralled learning about the funny, crazy uncle or the accomplished pianist in the family. Seniors are eyewitnesses to the world and our country’s history and will not allow anyone to slant the truth for their own purposes.

You've been a teacher and a business owner. What led you into writing, and into writing mysteries in particular?

To tell the truth, I was a writer way before being a teacher or entrepreneur. I actually started writing stories in second grade and I never stopped. I’ve had mentors and supporters along the way encouraging me to keep writing. First was my Grandmother Maw and teachers. Judy Corey and Mary Zuwerink started the North Country Writers many years ago. Esther Jiran (who writes as Joselyn Vaughn) was the force behind starting a writers group at the Fremont Library. I met many folks excited about writing there including you, Nan. Also a critique group of talented authors not only helped me brainstorm story ideas, but also encouraged me to submit my first story to publishers which resulted in signing a contract with a small publisher. Esther, Wendy Sinicki (pen name W.S. Gager), Theresa Grant (Tess Grant), and Nan continue to be important advocates in my writing life.

After we sold our flower business in 1995, I had time to sit down and write. So I did. I asked Rich Wheater, editor of our regional newspaper, if he could use a few stories for the paper. He said, “Go ahead.” I learned a LOT from him and branched out into writing freelance articles for magazines, newspapers, and online magazines. After reading Sue Grafton’s alphabet mysteries and Janet Evanovich’s funny mysteries, I decided to tackle fiction. And I’m glad I did!

What have been the biggest challenges in becoming a published author?

I’ve discovered writing the book is the easy part. After publishing comes the difficult job of promoting the book. I spend many hours a week, every week, on Facebook, my blog, and guesting on blogs to get the word out about the books and urging folks to review my books. Reviews get the attention of Amazon so they promote it; the review helps readers decide if it’s a story they would enjoy.

You divide your time between Florida and Michigan. Do your writing habits and routines change with a change of location? 

Yes. Daily routines change, but I learned I had to schedule an appointment with J.Q. Rose to sit down every day and write for half an hour or more. No marketing, no emailing. After lunch, I put on my author cap and write no matter if I’m up north or down south.

In what ways besides writing do you exercise your creative muscles and find contentment?  

I take photos—of everything! I love capturing people, places, things, a tricky bee landing on a flower. I also enjoy “creating” quote graphics at canva.com using my photos. 

.Anything else you'd like to add? 

​Yes. My mission is to encourage everyone to take time to write or record their life stories. So what if you didn’t discover a medicine to cure disease or help build a ship to fly to the moon? Your life is worthy because it can inspire others by sharing your experiences of overcoming obstacles, making mistakes or celebrating success. Your stories will allow generations of your family to get to know you and be empowered by your life story. I’m writing a memoir now about the first year we moved to Fremont and started our business. What an adventure. 

Do you have a story inside you to share? Go ahead and do it.

Thank you for visiting today.

Terror on Sunshine Boulevard
Back of the Book:  Rescuing a naked woman lying in a geranium bed or investigating mysterious murders are not the usual calls for first responder Jim Hart. He expects slip and fall accidents or low blood pressure emergencies in his retirement community of Citrus Ridge Senior Community and Golf Resort. The ghastly crime scenes turn the winter time fun into a terrifying season of death and mystery when the authorities cannot track down the predator responsible.
 
Jim and his wife Gloria could escape the horror and grief by returning to their northern home, but concern for their friends and residents keep them in Florida. With the entire community in a dither over the deaths, the Harts participate in the normal winter activities of golfing, dancing, and pool parties with their friends to distract them from the sadness and loss.
 
Can Jim and Gloria work with the authorities to discover who or what is killing the seniors on Sunshine Boulevard and stop the increasing body count?

Terror on Sunshine Boulevard is available for purchase at these digital booksellers.

​About J.Q.
After writing feature articles in magazines, newspapers, and online magazines for over fifteen years, J.Q. Rose entered the world of fiction. Her published mysteries are Deadly Undertaking, Dangerous Sanctuary, and Terror on Sunshine Boulevard, released by Books We Love Publishing. Blogging, photography, Pegs and Jokers board games, and travel are the things that keep her out of trouble. She spends winters in Florida and summers up north camping and hunting toads, frogs, and salamanders with her four grandsons and granddaughter.

Connect with J.Q. Rose online at
J.Q. Rose blog
Facebook
Books We Love Author Page
Goodreads

​​I'm a university scientist reaching the end of my career, and recently calculated that I've had 115 co-authors on research papers over a 45-year period. Clearly partnering with students and colleagues was a signature element of my research style, but my first experience collaborating was not auspicious, almost destroying a friendship and derailing my career before it really got started.

​​I filled the in-between times with a few weeks of warehouse work here and there, and a three-week stint as a substitute teacher for high school biology classes.

​Two years of this insecure work in varied underling capacities convinced me that I needed to go back to school if I was to ever rise above being someone else's assistant. I decided to pursue a Masters degree in marine biology, and enrolled in the Boston University Marine Program, based in Woods Hole.

​We talked often about science, and one day he pointed out a research opportunity we could collaborate on, probing whether hermit crabs could recognize each other as individuals. This was a hot topic at the time, inhabiting the border between animal behaviour and psychology. Many researchers were convinced that even lowly invertebrates could distinguish one individual from another, a remarkable cognitive feat if true.

​Stu and I designed an experiment to test whether hermit crabs recognized each other individually, or just recognized the general dominance state of the other crabs they encountered. We agreed that this would make an excellent thesis topic for me, and thought up a clever study in which we allowed crabs in small dishes to establish dominance orders, then switched individuals of equal dominance states.

​We reasoned that switching crabs of the same rank would heighten aggressive behaviors in the dishes if the crabs recognized each other as individuals, but there would be no increase in aggression if they only recognized their place in the hermit crab pecking order.

​I'm forever grateful to hermit crabs, and then to bees, the vehicles for teaching me that "ours" is a much richer word than "mine."

Spending time with other photographers always helps me improve my skills. Sometimes it's getting to know my camera better or gaining useful tips on composition or shutter speed. Other times, it's suggestions on how to notice the details. For the last few weeks, I've been taking a course on contemplative photography. This isn't about the technical side of photography, although that does come into it, but about developing observation skills and different ways of shooting the same thing. The course is called 'Learning to See' - this is very good for me. Too often, I find myself in a setting with no idea where to start taking pictures because so many interesting things surround me. ​

​Contemplative photography is a bit like meditation; it helps me focus on a theme, and then notice the details. It forces me to slow down. 

​The theme here is all about finding the light.

​ Shining a flashlight on a fuchsia for a different effect.

Since starting the course, I find that I automatically choose a theme when I'm out walking or even just taking pictures in my back yard. ​

​​On average, a total eclipse is visible from any one spot on Earth about once every 375 years.  On August 21, a total solar eclipse cut a seventy-mile wide swath, coast-to-coast, stretching from Oregon to South Carolina. 

My husband, Mark, wanted to experience this event at a one-hundred-percent-totality site.  

​

Really? I thought. I''l just watch it at home in Michigan, even at an 82 percent totality. A road trip to the steamy south in August, for a more or less three-hour event and a little over two-minute viewing of totality? No way. Besides, August is my favorite summer month in Michigan.

​But Mark persisted, so I jumped on board. 

​We checked Internet maps. From our home in Newaygo, Michigan, one of the closest places for totality was Hopkinsville, Kentucky. The longest opportunity for totality occurred there: two minutes and forty seconds.    

​​The spiritual pilgrimage metaphor emerged when I began researching the eclipse online and looking for lodging. Webster defines "pilgrimage" as a special journey to a sacred site. This eclipse event had taken on epic proportions, engaging millions of people across the entire continent.  

Communities in the path of totality, large and small, were planning for a massive onslaught. Farms, parks, university campuses, libraries, city squares, rooftops, schools and neighborhoods were supplying public viewing areas or renting parking spaces. A few venues supplied safety glasses and porta-potties. Some communities generated live music and food booths, creating a festival flavor. Others organized drum and chant circles, creating an indigenous, sacred atmosphere.  

​A wide range of research would be conducted, from animal and insect responses to solving more mysteries about the sun.    

​In this time of excruciating polarities, of amplified splits in ideology and purpose, of divisiveness and hate in our nation, this magnificent natural phenomenon was unifying hearts and minds toward a common purpose. Something stirred inside me. I felt privileged that we could make this journey, that we could join with folks from across the United States and Canada. The more I read about the eclipse, the more I encouraged friends and family to experience this event, wherever they would be.  

​Locating ISO-certified glasses, safe for direct viewing of the sun, turned into a challenge. Many distributors had sold out. First I ordered glasses that I later learned were not certified safe after all. Last minute research revealed that our local Lowes store carried them, along with a great informational booklet, Get Eclipsed.  

​Pilgrimages do have rest stops. For two days, we connected with some of my cousins in southern Indiana and toured historical Vincennes. Then, the morning of the eclipse, we arose before dawn. Grabbing coffee from our Airbnb kitchen, we proceeded the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Hopkinsville. As we moved closer, traffic increased, but moved right along. Outside of Hopkinsville, we stopped for a quick breakfast at a Cracker Barrel. The busy restaurant buzzed with co-pilgrims and eclipse talk.     

​I began noticing license plates. We saw vehicles from Indiana, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Alaska, Minnesota and Ontario, Canada. We cranked the air conditioner to stave off the climbing heat index.  

​During our drive, I told my husband I would prefer to view this event in an open field. We had reserved a pre-paid parking spot on the campus of Murray State University, about which we knew little. I visualized being confined to a paved parking lot hotter than a pancake griddle. As the GPS directed us to our destination, we turned down a road flanked with soybean crops and hay fields. A few low-rise classroom and industrial buildings nestled between the fields. We swung into a parking area surrounded by a wide acreage of grassy commons dotted with trees. Ah--perfect.   

Sheltered in a small tent, a security man and a few student volunteers greeted us and took our e-tickets. "We are sold out," the security man told us.  

​Erected round the slowly-filling parking lot, on the grass and under trees, stood colorful shade umbrellas and tents. People, representing many ages and ethnicities, were assembling their lawn chairs, coolers and cold beverages. Realizing we forgot to bring a ground cover or chairs, we snatched our yoga mat and raincoats, some snacks and water, and secured a spot under a shade tree. Mark wasted no time getting horizontal for a nap. The thermometer registered ninety-four degrees, still climbing.  

I pulled on my sun hat and walked around the area, talking to people and snapping photos with my iPhone. A vigil this was, and we had arrived plenty early. I counted vehicles from at least ten different states. Some families sat around camp tables, playing games and cards. Children pranced around the grounds. I overheard two older elementary-age boys discussing how they got excused from school for the day. 

​

​All around the grounds stood cameras. High tech cameras mounted on tripods, lenses covered with dark film. Hand-made cardboard box cameras. People tried out their safety glasses, through which the sun became a dark orange circle against a black background.  ​

​​Noon. I joined Mark on our shady, makeshift ground cover. We ate a snack and gulped down water. I tested out my safety glasses. The sun was a complete, round, orange ball. I ducked back in the shade. Twelve fifteen. A tiny Pac-Man bite showed in the top right section of the sphere. Someone shouted, "It’s starting!" Over the next half hour, we kept checking. The Pac-Man effect increased and the air began cooling, even though the sun cast shadows. By twelve-forty or so, standing in the sun no longer felt intolerable. 

​By one p.m., the sun appeared as a slivered, orange crescent. One-fifteen. Like sentries on cue, several hundred people wrapped their eyes in safety glasses, bent their heads back, and stared skyward. ​

​Slowly, the orange crescent grew into a tiny chunk, almost disappearing into total black. Just seconds before the moon totally covered the sun, creating a black orb encircled by a ghostly white ring, a brilliant, diamond-like starburst of light shot out the top right section of the sphere. The moon slid into place. A magnificent ring of rays, sparkling like white flames, encircled the black orb. The corona!  

​"Ooh, look at that," I gasped. The crowd erupted with simultaneous clapping, cheers and whoops. I pulled off my safety glasses. We had two and a half minutes to look without them.   

​The light had muted to a dusky glow. "Look at the sunset all around us," Mark shouted. I turned, doing a 360. The entire horizon glowed in peach and mauve tones, outlining puffy cloud shapes. Streetlights blinked on in the distance. The air had cooled and birds stopped chirping. An eerie calm descended. Overhead, a few stars and a planet twinkled. I tilted my head back to look at the flaming white corona with my naked eyes. In that moment, all time and activity around me seemed suspended in total stillness and awe.   

​Then, slowly the diamond flashed on the left side of the black orb, and I secured my safety glasses. As the moon and sun moved away from each other, the white corona disappeared and a chunk of orange reappeared in reverse. First a sliver, then a slim crescent. Here and there, a bird chirped, like it was morning. The welcome coolness remained for a little while longer. 

​Later, heading north out of Kentucky, battling bumper-to-bumper traffic for five hours, with the sun radiating our heads through the car roof, despite air conditioning and guzzling mega cups of water, I barely had a brain to process this pilgrimage. Was the event sacred?  Did a message lie in this event and journey? 

Now, back home in Michigan, I have had time to reflect, time to ponder, and time to listen to others' stories about their experiences. I have concluded that this Total Eclipse Phenomenon could be viewed as bearing an opportunity. 

The eclipse brought people together. Whether viewed as a partial or total eclipse, people gathered in small and large groups to experience it. People set aside their differences, their divisiveness, to unify in enjoyment and appreciation of this event. It offered community building and celebration. It offered opportunity for research and deeper understanding of the natural world. Most important, it offered a magnified sense of wonder about our natural world.  It showed us the vital interconnections between all living things. Collectively, these dynamics made this event greater than sacred and needed medicine for our time as a nation.