Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 8 Comments

Story to Tell

In less than three months, I will be one of 15 participants to attend a writing workshop with author Cheryl Strayed, perhaps, best known for her New York Times Bestselling memoir “Wild.”

courtesy of www.cherylstrayed.com
courtesy of http://www.cherylstrayed.com

 

The theme of the workshop is “The Story You Have to Tell.” Last night, I received an email from the coordinator with a gentle reminder about our pending gathering. Butterflies in my stomach quickly sank to leaden dread.

I am not excited, because I feel like a mess.

The story you have to tell…the story you have to tell…what’s the story I have to tell?

I seek, but do not find.

This morning I look within, searching for the smallest smattering of words to click upon the screen of my sporadic blog. My well is empty with echo.

Instead of prose at 5am, I’m sending RSVP’s to sixth-grade, birthday party E-vites. Emailing teachers about forms required for school events. Tracking shipment details on a Halloween mask we hope will make it to the post office before the 31st.

I do not feel wild.

I feel domestic.

This is not the worst thing in the world, by far. But it feels like death to an artist.

I question all.

Yet, I will keep seeking.

Three months to find a story that matters.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

What Wouldn’t Burn

When the Bohemian and I moved an armoire that had come with the house that we rent, we discovered a secret shelf inside. Apparently, past residents had created an inner shelf, that upon first glance looked like the bottom of the cabinet. In reality, the wood base was removable, and beneath it were about 20 paperback novels, holding up the base.

The titles were all fiction, mostly published in the Eighties. Everything about them indicated discard, clearly having been unimportant to their original owners. Now, their covers and inner pages emitted an odor (not that soulful, book-kind you may inhale in libraries or used book stores) that reeked of mold.

Books are special, but these begged to be burned.

The Bohemian got a good fire going in the outdoor pit, and we had our first book burning. Not something I ever thought I’d do.

That was last month.

The other night, we found ourselves back around the fire. To our surprise, we found a single remnant of our book-burning inferno, something that just wouldn’t burn. What could have possibly withstood the flames?

The inset of Stephen King’s “The Eyes of the Dragon.”

2015-10-14_dragon

 

Guess that mythical creature felt right at home in the blaze.

 

2015-10-14_Dragon King verbiage

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 3 Comments

So Old It’s New

2015-10-02_listening station

 

“Whoa! That’s crazy!”

This is the common exclamation among Jeb’s 11-year old friends, when he decides to wow them with our family record player.

They’ve never seen vinyl. They have absolutely no clue as to how to put the needle on the record. They gather around as if observing something from outer space. Full of intrigue and gasping in amazement, they look at the turntable with as much awe as the most high-tech device they’ve only Googled about.

2015-10-02_record player

“But how does it work?” they ask, bewildered. “How does the sound just come off of that black disc?”

For them, it’s been a digital world most of their lives. Music libraries stored on a computer, playlists added and deleted to an iPad or smart phone. Seeing something tangible, technology that can be held in their hands, (particularly something that’s not cold and silver), is a foreign experience.

When I liken the vinyl record to a compact disc they start to grasp the concept of a recording being “pressed” to a medium that can playback.

2015-10-02_JT vinyl

“That’s so cool!”

I think so too.

Technology so old, it’s new.