I'm a Vowel Messenger, not a Space Cowboy

Writing, incantations, simplicity, and long winding paths.

»»» Dedicated to the sound of each and every letter. «««

“All my mother’s journals were blank,” says Terry Tempest Williams in When Women Were Birds. And, next; she proceeds to explore the blank journals and explain what they say. This, my readers, is a glorious lesson in WRITING. (A a)

Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash

I recently spent a little over three days in western Iowa at the Okoboji Writers Retreat as a speaker on publishing and writing. It was a valuable getaway from the daily publishing grind of emails, texts, files, edits, deadlines, sales, and ordinary chores. Talking and listening to others reminded me of my literary citizenship. The gathering was all about what happens when writers/publishers get to share their thoughts with each other, which doesn’t happen as often as expected in everyday life.

As we all tend to do, I reside on the cusps of myth and reality, wishing for mythical bliss and, simultaneously, hoping for enough satisfying reality to live a “good life.” As Lao Tzu suggests in his masterpiece, The Way of Life, “The way is easy; strive hard.”

Lao Tzu is good at reminding me of more than a few things that contribute to decent writing and publishing. Things expected and unexpected: let me go a bit off track here:

1) When does the elusive 8th day of the week, Someday, arrive? & 2) I often think of Mary Oliver's words: ”Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” & 3) My lifelong motto, which I read in a Jim Harrison essay, is more or less: “It’s not people’s problems that interest me, but their solutions to their problems.”

The swerves above keep me aligned within reality. What do I mean by that? There’s a perch on which sincerity is placed and which serves as a guide. What do I mean by that? There’s a need for people to trust in an increasingly less trusting world. I find this to be good writing advice in the way glass bends sunlight: reflections askew in odd angles, and refractions devise unexpected fruition.

Wanting to learn and be entertained, we forage for satisfaction, for what we can add to what we already believe in and feel to be true. Finding this is medicine for the soul; as we say, habits are like a river flowing—both certain and allowing for surprise. Sunrise mixed with the noise of the Owl, wind through pine needles. At the very same time, remember that trust and sincerity can be lost as quickly as the blink of an eye. The trust we had today is warped away tomorrow: infidelity, lying, death, natural disasters … what was fact today (i.e. today, the earth was the center of the universe, but tomorrow it became the sun…) then incurs a little howl, and we must adapt and learn and continue with what’s become.

Sometimes, it is vital to ponder the less-than and be pessimistic. Best to let the earth seep in and encase itself—to let the summer return to the earth, to be what it is: where the unknown is more than equal to the known. I get it; sometimes this is too kumbaya, that I’m spouting hooey and applesauce, too much jive, mind games, and tongue twisters. The trick is to know enough to know you don’t know. Naive tightrope walking. Sometimes the impossible is possible, sometimes it’s not. This is a great spot to be writing from.

I like the idea of translating English into English. Some poets, for instance, say, In English, we say I miss you, but in poetry we say, ….

“Where once was a room filled with laughter and cheer
Now stands loneliness, emptiness, and despair…”¹

Beautiful right? The sounds and mourning the world and words can provide are passionate. Balancing comfort and complicated simplicity. Writing is two-sided, you might say. For instance, many people like to behave silently but not privately. But then, the same person will flip: be private and not silent. We want secrets, but we also want to hear what you secretly think of others. Noises, at once long and short. You hear/see where we’re headed, right? (E e)

It is impossible to live only within human confines. I mean, I’m reading a book on risks and gambling. These dudes think they are smart enough to control sports league outcomes. I view this as nonsense. They have committed their genius-level thinking to be a minuscule bit of an expected value point (EV+) above 50%, some geometric sequence in relationship to the flip of a flip of a flip of a coin. A precarious realm to my mind. I find this absurd. I mean, it’s being able to, quite simply, declare failure quickly and conveniently. If the chance of knowing is equal to not knowing, then who can be wrong? It inherently sounds like an addiction mantra. The slightly EV+ notion ripples into more EV+ options. Sure, we know very little, but being too confident of this clouds the humility inherent to its value.

So I rather prefer …

listening to the sound of a Blue Jay. In situ; as me, for me, here and now. Blaring and vital. A sharp-shinned Hawk appears, though, and all other creatures go silent. There is no way to be merely human in this moment. A breath away, so we say…

This leads me to mystical/magical overthinking, which can collude and impact returns on your time; too much, and you’ve lost it. Some overthinkers and worriers (of which I’m one) tend to believe their worry and obsession contribute to favorable outcomes. Some authors never finish their drafts in much the same way. Sometimes I feel foolish when I remember how I bend my mind to extremes. I recall that Mark Twain said something like: “The worst things that ever happened to me didn’t even happen.”

One gospel truth of being an author: To write is to create. To create is to come to terms with a finish line, if even for a moment. (I i)

Back to the cusps of myth and what to do with my one wild and precious life. Toward more certainty. Aka, the hopes and dreams of writers (and publishers).

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

I wish for calmness: Om mani padne om, “Be pure in body mind and speech.”

As publisher (and author) I crave the feel of generosity, to be of use to others: "the paramita of dana,” Giving with pure motivation is called dana paramita (Sanskrit), or dana parami (Pali), which means "perfection of giving." There are lists of perfections, but Dana, giving, is the first perfection on every list. I have found that I am out of my element in trying to define these things, but in living these things, I am not.

Honest writing doesn’t need to be fully understood to be useful. Sure, you have to know enough to recognize honesty from deceit, but that’s not all that hard. It’s like wanting to write vs. not writing. They stem from the same place but end up worlds apart. In The Little Prince there’s a line: “Be aware of what can never be tamed.” To which I think, heck yes, I wanna walk like that, talk like that, be like that …

The vowels are like a chant, but they also mean, to me, the basic formation of words. I want to say to so many people that to succeed, first, get the easy stuff right. Master and do what a publisher likes doing the least. We don’t want to be bothered by incorrect spelling; get long submissions that are lacking in what our mission is; get queries that never mention a book we’ve published and they admire; God help you if you haven’t ever purchased a book we’ve published (can you hear me sighing, and literally saying “No” to a submission?)

Where does this take us? What do I mean? The most straightforward sounds, the easiest thoughts that come to you, are you. Be grateful, polite, lovely, respectful, honest. That’s the role of the first impression, a firm handshake—first words shared. What’s simple, you ask? A good first sentence.

Some drama and acrobats are involved, but instead of being a space cowboy, I realize I’ve become a vowel² messenger—weaving, engaging, and flattering efforts in murmured recitation, chants turned enchanting.

A E I O U & Y

a e i o u & y

aeiou&y

A satisfying glom of noises combining letters into words we use to interpret and celebrate. The building blocks of our English language. Seeds upon which we stand—noises we use with all our might to curry up sense.

Writing, vowels, and beautiful giving

My interaction with vowels is a real journey. I used to recite them as if a rosary: long vowels and short vowels again and again. A puff of air expelled just right. Tip of the tongue precision. Over and over as to be a charm. Tutors held me inside the library to improve both my writing and reading skills while others played outside during recess. Breaking down the sounds, breaking down a sentence. Then, I was sent to a neighbor, a retired English teacher. We sat at her kitchen table, and I recited vowels. Mastered the noises as best I could. (O o)

She tried to offer me help, and I tried to figure out how the letters helped me—a paramita, a dana.

She led with simplicity, with Tao, and I absorbed what I didn’t know I was absorbing. Like good writing, the recipe is easy: tell the best story with the best words you can—participle into paragraph. An exciting event told your way, a creation story, therefore. I wonder as I write: What keeps surprising me in the story I’m telling? I wonder what happens next that could be explored and shared in the least expected way. Alas »» Truth is a many-sided fact. (U u)

At some point, you must understand you are not in school anymore. Reading and writing are pastimes, not homework assignments. Memory and imagination are powerful. Close your eyes, and you can encounter a fast track to almost any reality. Being who you are is hard, but only because it is a revelation of the easy. Again, we go to: the way is easy, strive hard.

Back to the essential love of sound. Birdsongs = vowels in action: a long I and a short i. The sounds this world makes are insistent and offer us their trust and sincerity. We explore and implore of chirps and cries, squeaks and splashes to increase our understanding. We can write better knowing this. Share your most believable stories as best you can. In doing so, you are on the way to being a vowel messenger by using intimate vessels of sincerity. (Y y)

My wish for you as a writer is not straightforward but certainly easy: embrace the simple until you are able to fly.

Wings made of vowels

until, at some instant, you are

going up up and

away

.

I am happy to be part of the Iowa Writers Collaborative.

1. Shirley J. Stankiewicz from “A Mother’s Cry”

2. a vowel is a speech sound that is made without significant constriction of the flow of air from the lungs. The tongue can be at various heights in the mouth (such as high, mid, or low) and at various positions (front, central, or back). The lips can be variously rounded. Vowels can vary in pitch and loudness, too.