And I Will Always Love You

 

I have always loved Dolly’s music and I especially loved her 1980 anthem to the plight of underappreciated office workers.

Working Nine to Five. What a way to make a living. They use your mind and they never give you credit. It’s enough to drive you crazy if you let it.

As a young mother, I worked for Estee Lauder alongside the most brilliant, funny, creative women I’ve ever met. (This was after experiencing massive sexism in male-run companies and making the very conscious decision to work for a company run by women).

Still, it was a hustle--out of bed at 5:30 in the morning to write, then waking up my baby daughter to bring her to childcare. Hustling down the subway steps, rattling around in the metal box on the Lexington Line, alighting at 59th Street and running across Lex, Park, Madison, Fifth and then into the GM Building where all the Lauder Girls switched out our sneakers for high heels. Then, we put on our lipstick and got to work at our trusty typewriters.

Perhaps this is what I appreciate the most about Dolly--her work ethic. Here’s what she had to say about a woman’s career:

After you reach a certain age, they think you’re over. Well, I will never be over. I’ll be making records if I have to sell them out of the trunk of my car. I’ve done that in my past, and I’d do it again.

I feel exactly the same way about writing.

So yes, I have always loved Dolly. I admire her can-do spirit as well as her unapologetic feminine-feminism--how she used her womanly charms to disarm the folks who tried to get in her way--how she championed the rights of all people, created her Imagination Library, how she supported scientific research.

She did all this while sporting an over-the top blonde bouffant and really big bosoms--so big that you would think they’d get her way.

They did not get in her way.

Creative Friends--be yourself. Work hard. Keep your sense of humor. And never give up. And like Dolly, I will always love you.

Jamie

Take me home, Country Roads

 

Almost Heaven. West Virginia.

Okay, not exactly West Virginia, but I’m happy to announce that a week from today I’ll be on en route to Virginia in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains where I am so lucky to have received a three-week writing fellowship to the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.

My first residency at VCCA was in 1982 when I was a mere child. Okay, I was actually twenty-eight and I had just published my first novel--a YA titled Over the Hill at Fourteen. It was inspired by the 1980 ad with a fourteen year old Brooke Shields asking the question--What comes between me and my Calvins?

The answer--Nothing.

If you’re old enough, you might remember that the ad created quite a stir. NAL asked me to write a novel about a fourteen year old fashion model inspired by Brooke Shields.

The novel was a big success. It came at exactly the right time. And as they say, timing is everything.

Until it’s not. Over the course of my career, I have been in and out of vogue. (Maybe more out, than in.) Back in the aughts, while all my friends were getting big book deals and appearing on Oprah and Good Morning America, I was busy spinning my wheels. Yes, I was writing and writing, but somehow I did not sync up with the times.

And so, no. I have never had that kind of big break-out, life-altering success.

Perhaps I never will.

Why am I telling you this? Because despite the fact that I have found peace with my life under the radar, I have never given up on the dream of life-changing literary success. Even at this advanced stage of life. And so, returning to the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts is deeply meaningful to me.

Creative Friends--your journey is your journey and it’s yours alone. It will have surprising twists and turns. There will be detours along with periods of great stagnation. There will be departures and arrivals and sometimes and reunions, returns.

Here are your instructions: Put your dance shoes on. Pen to paper. Get the guitar out. Have faith that you are on the right path. Keep your eyes wide open and enjoy the forever-changing view.

Love,

Jamie

Begin and Begin Again

 

 

My friend told me that she loves Irises. And so, I thought, well, then I’m going to paint an Iris for her! Never mind that I’ve never tried to draw or paint an Iris. I just got to it. And then, shortly into this ill-fated endeavor, I realized the extent of my hubris.

An Iris is a complicated flower. All those ruffles and ridges. The floppiness of the thing, those crazy petals. It makes no sense! But, once I began I couldn’t stop. My first try is the colorful one in the middle. My husband glanced at it and said, how nice! You’re painting the broccoli from our garden! I was highly offended, until I realized he was teasing me. Although, I do admit the stems do look a bit broccoli-esque.

My next try is the one all the way to the right. I actually kind of like this one. It’s so sad. So poignant! To me, it looks like a faded illustration you’d see in an old flower book. But it’s the color that makes this painting sad—but this color is actually a mistake. I used the sort of micron pen that when you apply paint, it gets muddied. So, I was left with this grey color, even though it intended it to be a bright turquoise blue. What a surprise to end up with this faded Iris!

My most recent attempt is the Iris on the left. It’s still a work-in-progress. I haven’t had a chance to apply color to it, and so it’s all potential. This one kind of thrills me.

In fact, all three illustrations thrill me and truthfully, I love them. I love the one that’s kind of funny and looks like broccoli. I love the little one--the sad one that looks neglected and very, very old. Poor thing! And finally, I love the third drawing because it’s unfinished and it’s all potential.

Creative Friends--resist the urge to judge. Let your work live on its own terms. Let it reveal itself to you and be what it wants to be. Your job is to simply get close enought to listen and hear what it’s trying to tell you. Lean into that mystery and then begin, begin, begin. And begin again.

Love,

Jamie

The Art of French Socks

 

Look at this! One sock has big dots and the other sock has stripes and little dots. What could it possibly mean? These socks do not match! Something strange is going on here. Have I lost the matching sock in the wash or is it that my eye sight is failing? Perhaps I’m losing my mind?

Actually, none of these things. In fact, these socks were given to me by my artist friend, Cheryl Fortier, who recently retired as Resident Director of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts in Auvillar, France. Beginning in 2009 Cheryl--along with her charming husband, John Alexander—welcomed visiting artists-in-residency from all over the world. I am lucky to have experienced the joy of a writing residency and later teaching alongside Cheryl at VCCA/Moulin à Nef. Truly, it was the experience of a lifetime.

So yes, my socks are French. And the mismatch is purposeful. Artful. Given to me by an artist. Whenever I look at my feet, well, I have happy feet. They’re a reminder of Cheryl and John, VCCA Auvillar, my wonderful experience and the enduring joys of imperfection.

Creative Friends--re-think the orderly life. Reconsider your urge to make things match. Be brave and a little wild and find the beauty in chaos. And as always, have fun.

Love,

Jamie

My Life as a Redhead

 

I began coloring my hair red after I turned thirty. Perhaps it was an homage to my Irish heritage. But since I was deprived of the red, I gave myself the hair color I felt I deserved.

I started with henna, but as you might know, once you’ve dipped your toe into the waters of hair-colorie, well, it’s a short trip to full-on Clairol at home in the bathroom sink.

This allure of the red hair came from more than my Irish ancestry. I grew up with a steady diet of I Love Lucy and Million Dollar Movies featuring famous red-heads like Rita Hayworth and Ann-Margret, but I related more to the comic red-heads, the girl next door types like Shirley MacLaine—the ones who weren’t obvious beauties but got the plot moving in unexpected directions.

I eventually grew my red hair long and then I got bored with it and cut it myself into a sort of mullet, which was a disaster, so I disguised the crazy choppiness by pulling it up into a lopsided Cyndi Lauper style ponytail. And then, there I was by 1991--sitting in a UCLA classroom wearing my Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown tee-shirt with fake shoulder pads. It was a look. Okay?!

A little aside---I once met the director, Pedro Almodóvar and when I introduced myself, he gave me a kiss on each cheek. Evidence that people like red heads!

Unfortunately, once I returned to Connecticut to teach at the very proper Fairfield University, my red hair became a liability. And so, I experimented with more subtle shades of red. And then brunette. And then, brunette with a fuchsia streak. When I moved to Cape Cod--land of Lily Pulitzer pastels--I went blonde. And then variations on the blonde theme.

And now, and now? I’m a natural platinum blonde from the Land of Upstate. (Okay, grey!) Truth is, I no longer think about hair color all that much. I have the hair of an old woman and that’s because--I am an old woman!

Creative Friends--in your life time, you will try on many identities. My advice--allow yourself free rein. Have fun. Make mistakes. (More importantly, make friends!) But know this--one day, you will return to yourself.

And that is the greatest pleasure of all.

Love,

Jamie