"Yes, I'm a mouse"

So declares the brave mouse warrior Reepicheep in the new Narnia movie, "Prince Caspian," when facing stares of astonishment and disbelief from the humans he's cut down with a stroke of his little but mighty sword. It's a declaration, a challenge, and a statement of fact all in one.

(No, this is not a picture of Reepicheep, in case you haven't seen the movie and were wondering. This is a picture of my windup mouse that does terrific back flips.)

Like Reepicheep, I am coming to terms with my limitations, but I am finally learning to do so, as he does, without any shame. Yes, it's been quite a while since my last post. Yes, I've struggled to find inspiration for a long time. But yes, I'm still writing - contrary to the apparent lack of evidence.

I realize that my blog has been dark for months. I've been wondering if I should sign off for good because my posts have been so shamefully sporadic. However, I decided that this would only tempt me to give up on other things in my life, and right now I am trying to take ownership of my goals after letting them go by the wayside. So this is not the time to sign off. I'm going to keep plugging away in my little corner - that is my declaration to you and my challenge to myself. As a statement of fact, this long-overdue blog post is one of my first steps toward reclaiming my goal to start writing again.

While I'm in a positive, declarative frame of mind, let me share a few other matters of fact...

Yes, I survived my second-to-last semester of grad school, even though it felt like I was always drowning in reading and writing assignments.

Yes, I took the nastily exhausting comprehensive exam for my masters program in April - and passed! (That is a huge weight off my back.)

Yes, I have one more semester to go before I graduate. If all goes well, I'll be accepting my diploma in December.

Yes, I'm really enjoying my summer off from school (although work goes on, of course). Reading lots of good books, loving the lighter summer traffic, singing in choir at my church again after a long absence, and just catching up on life.

Yes, my 11-year-old car finally outlived its reliability, and I had to get a new car last month. (I'd been driving my mother's car since last December, so it was a relief to finally stop the "Musical Cars" game.) It's so nice not having to worry if my car is going to make it all the way to and from work without dying.

Yes, I've seen the new Narnia movie ("Prince Caspian") and the new Indiana Jones movie, and I liked them both.

Yes, I like Coldplay's new album.

Yes, I've run out of things to say for now. But that's OK.

The enchanted hour

Lately I feel as if I've been living under a fairy tale enchantment. Not the fun kind, like meeting a charming frog you might end up marrying, or discovering a goose that lays gold bullion for eggs. Not even the initially tragic kind that leads to happily ever after, like being forced to take a hundred-year nap until the right prince finally comes along. No, the enchantment I'm under is of the annoying torture variety, like having to hide yourself at night because your skin turns green by moonlight, or being unable to eat because your mouth is only the size of a pinhole.

OK, maybe that's exaggerating my situation a little...but I do love to exaggerate. Makes things sound more interesting than they really are. Anyway, I like to call my affliction "the enchanted hour" - and my comfort is that I know I'm not the only one under this spell.

Let me illustrate the terms of the enchanted hour. For example: at a certain time in the morning as yet undetermined, perhaps at 8:37 by an atomic clock, I can leave the north side of town and report to my downtown office on time. Otherwise, it makes little difference whether I leave earlier or later - I will invariably be late to work. If I miss that mysterious little window of time, I am doomed to stabbing myself repeatedly with a pen to fight drowsiness and insanity while idling through an impenetrable barrier of cars on all sides for close to an hour. In the evening, the window of clear passage is even more elusive - whether I leave the office early or late has about as much effect on my chances of smooth travel as does counting backwards from 100 while standing on my head and wearing a snorkeling mask.

Here's another example: There is a grocery store conveniently located just across the freeway from my apartment, and easily accessible by any of the three routes I might take home after work. However, this grocery store is under the enchantment invoked by the words, "so close, yet so far." For only after 7:30 p.m. on weeknights is it possible to enter the store's parking lot without being surrounded by a horribly gridlocked tangle of cars attempting to enter and exit, and only after 8 p.m. can I shop in the store without being surrounded by a horribly gridlocked tangle of customers attempting to maneuver their shopping carts up and down the aisles. This is why I prefer to go there on Sunday mornings, which seem to miraculously part the traffic congestion like the Red Sea, making a clear path by which it is actually possible to enter and exit without extreme distress.

To my dismay, I am finding that my third semester of graduate school is also under the spell of the enchanted hour. For example, I have limited access to the tools I need to work on my projects. Both classes I am taking require that I use Adobe software to complete my projects. At first, the situation was very grave. I didn't have this software on my computer at home. I couldn't go to the computer lab on campus, because (of course) it's only open while I'm at work. I couldn't just go to my parent's house on weekends and borrow my dad's computer (on which is installed the Adobe Creative Suite), because I would need to have regular access to the software throughout the week, not just on the odd weekend I could afford to drive all the way across town and commandeer my dad's home office for an hour or two. However, my own little notebook computer, which at nearly five years old had already been exiled to the age of dinosaurs (though I found no other fault with it), was neither new enough nor powerful enough to house the Adobe Creative Suite. So...with some financial assistance from my dad and from my rich Uncle Sam, I got a new computer and the Adobe software.

Now I have access to the software I need, any time I want to use it...provided that I want to use it only on nights and weekends. Sure, I have this software on my computer at home...but I only have it at home. It's not installed on my computer at work. Nor is it a wise idea to bring my computer to the office, when another office on the same floor has been the victim of laptop theft.

I won't bore my dear reader(s) with any more humdrum details of this not-so-fairy-tale enchantment, but I am experiencing other limitations to my coursework that are at worst driving me crazy and at best teaching me to maintain a very flexible project timeline. There seems to be no incantation or elixir to break this very annoying enchantment, and I'm afraid that even a charming frog would have no power to save me (though it might be an interesting distraction). Sometimes I think I might even summon the courage to pass under the dreaded sphinxes' gaze in the "Neverending Story" if on the other side I could find a quick fix to all this frustration.

However, I have learned one "spell" that seems to be working. I call it my "no-worry policy." Under this policy, I am not allowed to worry about anything at all. I can pray, I can plan, I can deliberate, I can take action, or I can simply wait if there is nothing else to do. But I am not allowed to worry. When a feeling of panic or anxiety creeps into my mind, I turn it off like a switch. Sound too good to be true, like something out of a fairy tale? Well, this doesn't mean that I never actually worry. But interestingly enough, it seems that even if I just pretend I'm not worried, this is sufficient to alleviate panic and prevent total paralysis of the mind. Which means I can actually get things done and cross items off my list, even if I have to bend my timeline a little. My life may not be as exciting as a fairy tale, but I am learning that the ability to stay calm under all circumstances is more valuable than dozens of golden eggs. (Although I'll probably be ready for a hundred-year nap by the end of the semester.)

I Spied: Four

This morning on the way to work, I spotted something that made me want to clap my hands in girlish delight, the way heroines in old-fashioned novels always do. (I don't recall if I've ever really "clapped my hands in girlish delight.") I was driving through a scenic part of my route, a tree-lined, gently winding road, when a girl on a red scooter appeared in the lane next to me. A girl on a red scooter is cool enough, but on top of her cute mode of transportation, she had a hobo purse slung over her left shoulder for all to see. I do happen to be a handbag fanatic; but fanaticism aside, this was a truly eye-catching purse: pom-pom tassels dangled from the flap, which sported an adorable squirrel applique. What made it so adorable was its tail: a puff of bright magenta flocking that no one could possibly ignore, whether they loved handbags and hated squirrels or loved squirrels and hated handbags or didn't give a hoot about squirrels or handbags. I wondered if the girl had made it herself or bought it; and if it was store-bought, I imagined she must have found it at some thoroughly Austin-flavored little boutique.

Maybe this sounds blah and kitschy, but in the moment it was quite a serendipitous sight, like something from the movie "Amelie" - if it were filmed in Austin instead of in Paris. I thought of Cake's song, "Short Skirt Long Jacket"; the refrain played in my mind with the new words, "I want a girl with a squirrel purse and a reeeeed scooter." A wonderfully weird sight that made my morning!

My best rejection ever

Sometimes rejection can be bliss. Seriously.

I know how much it can hurt. Like everyone else, I've experienced a healthy portion of rejection in various forms. But yesterday, I received a rejection that gave me the floating-on-clouds feeling.

After revising and submitting my short story to a new webzine last month (see previous post), I did my best to forget about it. And I did. My primary goal was simply to rewrite the story to my best ability, which I had already achieved. Of course I wondered every now and then if the editor had read my story yet, and if she liked it or hated it or even cared about it. But I kept busy with other things and didn't worry about the outcome. One of my favorite mantras is, "Blessed are those who expect nothing, for they shall never be disappointed."

So...yesterday I was minding my business as I had been doing for the past month - only at a more frenetic pace because suddenly I was getting really busy with schoolwork and work work all at once. And what should I discover in my inbox that afternoon but a reply from the webzine editor! I was pretty certain it was a rejection, as the premiere issue is scheduled for release this month and it would be rather last-minute to be receiving an offer for publication now.

Nevertheless, I held my breath as I opened the email. I sort of stumbled through it once in disbelief, and then pored over the words again...and again. This wasn't an ego fest. I truly couldn't believe I was seeing a generous dose of encouragement framing the more than civil rejection. The editor's reply was almost - dare I say it - friendly! Although she used one of the stock rejection phrases, something along the lines of "it was with regret that she could not use my story at this time," she also gave me some very positive feedback. She found my story "captivating" and said I had succeeded in writing "a protagonist [she] really cared for." And if that weren't enough to send me over the edge of writer's paradise, she invited me to submit to the webzine again. Wow!

If you're an aspiring author, or know anything about writing for publication, you know how rare it is to receive direct feedback from an editor or agent. The most common type of response to an unknown, unpublished writer's query is the form rejection, which is randomly generated from a library of about five stock phrases - all variations of "We don't want your manuscript. Have a nice day." I've received a few of these and have yet to shed a tear - I know rejections are part of a writer's life and I'm just starting my collection.

A positive, specific comment from a busy editor or agent is therefore a gem to be treasured - and invested. I will allow myself a little time to be deliriously happy; and then I will refocus on my schoolwork and work work; and then, as soon as I have a chance to write again, I'm going to try my hand at another story to submit to the webzine.

One more thing: I can't resist ending this post with a HURRAH!

Writing again!

Once again, I've been a negligent blogger. But I hold my head up high, and if you look at my face you'll see no trace of shame. Why?

Because this time I have a very good excuse: I've finally started writing fiction again!! Through my writers' critique groupvine I discovered a new webzine that is accepting short story submissions for its premiere issue. When I read the webzine's description, I realized I had a short story that might possibly fit. I originally wrote this story several years ago, and I had not revised it in quite a while. After reading through the most current draft, I decided surface polishing wasn't enough. I needed to do a serious rewrite. So I spent a good two weeks or so fleshing out the characters and expanding the plot. Finally, when I couldn't stand to look at my draft anymore, I declared it complete (for now) and submitted it to the webzine last week.

I have no idea what my chances are for publication. It depends in part on how many other writers submit to the webzine; but mostly it depends on whether the editor sees my story as a good fit or not.

Whether I get published or not, however, is irrelevant (though of course I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping). I've already achieved my goal in this venture, which was simply to start writing fiction again. I've been creatively dry for so long that it felt wonderful just to be in the thick of a story, the pen in my hand tapping a direct connection to my brain, ideas gushing forth and spilling on the page almost in real time.

I don't think I'm ready to tackle novel writing yet. Ideas for characters, settings and scenarios come in a steady trickle, but viable plots seem to elude me. Still, through lessons learned in the writing of my first two novels, I've managed to breathe freshness into an old short story; and that has to count for something. There may yet be hope for the unfinished short story I began over a year ago, for the poem trilogy as yet missing its third part, and - who knows? - maybe there is even hope for those dozens of novel ideas I've been dutifully writing down and trapping inside an old binder until the time is right for one of them to germinate.

Grad school resumes in just a couple of weeks. Soon the extra time I've been enjoying this summer for leisure reading and creative writing will be overtaken by classes, reading assignments and projects. But I'm glad, at least, that I finally got to take one little stroll down Fiction Lane before returning to Academia.

A new bridge

Last night, I witnessed the building of a new bridge. For the first time in my life, I saw my two grandmothers meet...for the first time in their lives. Mother and I were there with our little snapshot cameras, clicking away, while the two women who consented to the joining of their children in marriage so many years ago beheld each other at last. Grandma's face lit up with happy surprise. Obaachan, my Japanese grandmother, embraced Grandma and then had to take out her pocket handkerchief to dab the tears in her eyes. Later my grandmothers exchanged the kind of laughter that crosses all language barriers. I felt overcome with amazement at the sight of them in one room. As we were leaving, Obaachan clasped Grandma's hand in hers and said "Bye-bye," the only English she knows. The Japanese actually use this same word in their own language as a casual "See you later" goodbye - and so it was, for my grandmothers will meet again during Obaachan's month-long visit.

Two countries, two cultures, two families, divided by one great ocean for a lifetime - until June 27, 2007. This is a day I will not soon forget.

Both sides of the ocean

Yesterday I experienced a first: I saw both of my grandmothers in the same day. This has never, ever happened. It is really a bigger deal than it sounds because...

One of my grandmothers lives in Japan, and she has never, ever been to the United States before. Until yesterday. My mother was visiting her and brought her back for her first-ever visit to America at the age of 86. Dad and I met them at the airport. Tears welled in my eyes when I first beheld my grandmother standing on American soil (American escalator stairs, to be precise, but whatever). I'd been reviewing Japanese the past few weeks in the hope of communicating with her at least a little, for she doesn't speak a word of English. I was afraid all the Japanese I'd studied would retreat at the crucial moment. However, to my relief I did manage to speak quite a few sentences (albeit broken and grammatically flawed) in my grandmother's native language. And that afternoon, once we had settled the weary overseas travelers at home, Dad and I went to visit my other grandmother, who lives here in Austin. Both grandmothers in one day! Truly a singular event.

Yet I am waiting, as I have been for a month with great anticipation, for an even more singular event: the meeting of the two grandmothers. I hope to witness this, for I couldn't have dreamed it would ever happen. I'll be there with my camera and my eyes as wide as they will open, anxious to capture the reactions on their faces, the faces of both my parents' mothers who will stand in the same room together for the very first time.