Lindsey Lane—Blog - Page 3 of 67 - Lindsey Lane

The Practice-Steady

Amidst the placards and banners and chanting and the thousands upon thousands of people walking, there was a tree and a bench where I could sit for a moment in the shade, out of the pressing stream of people. An eddy, if you will. A place where I could steady myself before stepping back in. How nice that the place is tucked inside the word which takes its breath there.

The practice is inspired by Naomi Shihab Nye and her notion that words are like oars. Dip them in the water. Explore with them. Feel how they touch and bump up against one another. Let them take us further down the stream.

The Practice-Just

 

 

The practice is inspired by Naomi Shihab Nye and her notion that words are like oars. Dip them in the water. Explore with them. Feel how they touch and bump up against one another. Let them take us further down the stream.

This word, this little word–just–is the bane of my writing existence. It weasels its way into sentence after sentence when I’m trying to almost say something but I pull back. Just a little. See? I didn’t pull back a little or a lot but somewhere in between so that I barely, hardly, simply don’t say anything. At all.

Just. Just. Just.

And then I look at the word a little more closely. It has another meaning. Fair. Right. Objective. Impartial.

What a strange little word. One use obfuscates the meaning of a sentence; the other deems an ethical balance. Put a chunk of -ice at the end and it becomes a word we fight for and march toward. Today.

What language we have.

The Practice-Delicious

The practice is inspired by Naomi Shihab Nye and her notion that words are like oars. Dip them in the water. Explore with them. Feel how they touch and bump up against one another. Let them take us further down the stream.

Delicious

I said this word this morning not because I had put something in my mouth and it was creamy or salty or sweet or crunchy or bitter or savory or any other word that might be related to food I am chewing, licking or nibbling or otherwise consuming. No, I said this word this morning to describe the moment between two people when there is the friction of difference. We hadn’t felt it before. Everything was easy and light and low fat. Maybe a little bit bland. And then comes this sweet moment when the differences of simply being two people in entirely separate skins creates friction, tension, dis-ease…and I have to decide: Will I let you in a little closer? Will I allow you to see a deeper part of me? Will I be more honest with you? Will I shift our conversation away from weather or sports to the deeper waters of feelings and miscommunications and big ideas and wanting, wanting, wanting. I love this moment. If I speak up now, if I say something that’s never been said between us before, we will step into unmapped area where we might become the best of travelling companions. Or we might not. I hold the moment. I savor it. This delicious moment before we become more complex.

Paperback Writer

EOTNS_hires-600x900Today, my debut novel Evidence of Things Not Seen is being released in paperback. To be honest, while I was writing Evidence of Things Not Seen, I always envisioned it as a paperback passing between students’ hands in the hallway of school. I envisioned girls’ saying, “Read Hypothesis. I can so relate to how Izzy feels about her virginity.” I could hear boys argue, saying, “No way that Alex dude would mind getting laid.”

I could hear them discussing about the star crossed lovers in The Proposal. They would debate saying Leann’s yes or not. I could hear boys saying how sick (in a good way) it was that the couple drove off the cliff. I saw all of them wondering about Karla Ray and if they would ever feel so mad and betrayed, they would kill someone. With a pick ax.

I loved writing Evidence. I loved thinking about kids who might read it. I wrote to them. I wanted them to think about open-ended questions: Like what really happened to Tommy? What is the difference between sex and intimacy? How do you love people who hurt you? What would make you run away from home? I was that kind of teenager. I loved the unanswerable questions, the what if’s. I still do. I wanted to write a book that spoke to them as young adults and allowed them to look over the edge into grittier parts of life.

Evidence is now available as paperback, which means it has another life yet to life. Being passed from hand to hand by kids who want to read an honest, tough book.

 

Me & Lorelai Gilmore

“In the parade of stupid and dumb, I’m the one twirling the flaming baton.”
-Lauren Graham as Lorelai Gilmore

When I first learned I was pregnant, I was with a friend who had raised four boys, both with her partner and alone, after they divorced. I remember sitting in a coffee shop across from her, drinking tea, my eyes rimmed with tears, asking her, “What should I do?” I was not married and the father of my dividing cells lived in a foreign country. I wasn’t sixteen like Lorelai Gilmore but I had no idea how to take the next step.

“I can’t answer that,” my friend said. “But you definitely have a great support system around you, and if there is anyone who can be a single parent, it’s you.” She was right. Twenty years later, through the efforts of pretty much everyone who loved us, that cell explosion is freestanding  and in college.

Amy Sherman-Palladino, the creator of Gilmore Girls, got that community right in Stars Hollow. Yes, she made it a whole lot more quirky than my burg of South Austin (although I bet I could exaggerate a few of my neighbors on the page and give Stars Hollow a run for its money) but she wove that world of Stars Hollow characters around this single mom Lorelai Gilmore and her daughter Rory so they could stretch and grow over seven seasons. In her weaving, Sherman-Palladino did a very smart thing: She made the big moments small and the small moments big. That’s how life is. We create over-the-top birthday parties for our one and only beloved child but what touches us is the birthday candlelight on her face.

My daughter and I came to G2 after it had been on for a while. We rented the early seasons from Vulcan Video and then watched the seventh and last season live during her last year of elementary school. Both of us loved the rapid fire, funny dialogue (scripts for most TV shows of that length are 40 – 50 pages long, Gilmore Girls scripts were known to hit 80 pages). I loved how the writers laced the script with cultural references–1552 over the seven seasons–from books, songs, movies and tv shows. This clip shows all the references from the first season alone:

Come on don’t you feel wittier and culturally smarter? And holy crap, that’s just Season One. Of course, I did the mom thing of asking my daughter if she understood a reference: “Honey, do you know who David Foster Wallace is?” TV as teaching moments.

Plus, I ascribed a whole lot of personal significance to the show. What could be better than having your daughter watch a college bound, pro/con list maker like Rory whose heroine (besides her mother) is Christiane Amanpour?

Wait, I know. Having her watch a single mother like Lorelai who flails in her romantic life yet manages to keep her priorities of raising her child and achieving her dream of owning and running an inn straight. Forgive me my missteps in love. I managed to never abandon my child and keep writing and publishing. If my daughter understands me a little better after watching the Girls, thank you, Amy Sherman-Palladino.

In short, these two women became very real to us. This weekend, my daughter and I will be tucked in together watching this other mom and daughter in the four-episode conclusion. In a weird way, watching will be like remembering where we were when we met these characters. Their memories are our memories. I suspect there might be some maudlin, sentimental moments in the forthcoming 360 minutes. I’m good with that. We get to linger in the goodbye. It’s a luxury we aren’t often afforded.

At the launch of Evidence

Me and my girl at the launch of Evidence of Things Not Seen