All Things Laura and Other Things

05/13 Writing Dangerously

This last Saturday I presented at the Columbus State Community College, in which I continued to develop my persona of published writer with advice to those who wish to follow in my path. I’m adjusting.

The keynote speaker was Naomi Wolf, a writer  most famous for The Beauty Myth. I admit I never read the book, but the ideas have influenced me. Her book. along with Susan Faludi’s Backlash, were the feminist texts of my twenties. Because of Wolf I’ve walked through the overlit make-up counters and recognized the bright lights and giant mirrors for what they are—an assault. I might feel that brief nosedive of self-esteem when I see size zero clothing modeled on headless torsos, but at least I am aware of the manipulation.

Wolf’s presentation was on, naturally, political writing, or as she termed it, “advocacy writing.” In the world of creative nonfiction, debates tend to center around truth vs. bending the truth—mostly (I have to say)  egghead debates centered around writers only writers know about. But what about political change? Civil rights? Feminism?  What about risk as in bodily risk?

I’ve generally shied away from overt political stances. In My Life as Laura, I edited out musings I had on abortions rights and the Ingalls family’s Congregationalist religious background. Maybe I didn’t want my book derailed by circular debates. Maybe I was scared. My tendency is to write sideways political. For instance, I include a gay married couple in my book as matter of fact, versus a huge statement.

Wolf got me thinking, though, that I might be a wuss.

Important writing, she said, is dangerous because it demystifies and strips comfort. You can no longer be a “nice person” who doesn’t make waves. To “write dangerously” means taking risks—emotional risks, personal risks, personal risks. Steve Almond’s recent piece on Mitt Romney and bullying in The Rumpus does this. Almond reveals secrets. He doesn’t mince his position or his language.

Where I balked was with Wolf’s “writing tips.”  I believe a writer can do more than “subject/verb” and “strong topic sentences.”  Almond managed just fine as he told us a story. And while I do believe in clarity, I might question “moral coherence.” We don’t need slogans and tidy packages. We need to work on our ability to embrace ambiguities.

Yesterday I saw poet Terrance Hayes speak about how he chases surprise. So perhaps just as dangerous are these words from “Cocktails With Orpheus”:

I want to be a human above the body, uprooted and right, a fold

of pleas released, but I am a black wound, what’s left of the deed.

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05/04 Laura Goes to Town

"Laura stood up on the board and Pa held her safe by the arm, so she could see the town. When she saw it, she could hardly breathe. She knew how Yankee Doodle felt, when he could not see the town because there were so many houses."

Tomorrow I will venture from the brick-pathed hamlet of Athens for my version of “Going to Town” (LHBW, Chapter  Nine) — Columbus. While Laura gasped at bolts of cloth and horehound candy, I shall feast my eyes on a Trader Joe’s and some restaurant that serves something besides burritos, pizza and subs. My goal is a meal from the continent of Asia not served on a buffet.

The reason for curling the hair and ironing the petticoats is the Ninth Annual Columbus State Community Writers Conference, where I will present on Immersion Memoir (subtitle: How to Get Published and Famous!). Since I’m on at 9 a.m., and I’m not actually fully human until about 11, I’ll be interested to hear what comes out of my mouth. I’ll will also be reading at 2 p.m.

Thanks to Robin Hemley, whose work has helped to define the genre of Immersion Memoir, a genre a didn’t know existed until I was almost finished with my book, which is kind of weird to say. I don’t know that having a name for what I was writing changed what I was doing, exactly, but the terminology has helped me place my book in the world now that’s published, as well as explain what My Life as Laura  “is about” to others.

The keynote is Naomi Wolf, author of the now iconic The Beauty Myth. This is another one of those books that has always affected me, even though I never, (truthfully) technically, read it. What helped me was having the idea put out there. Having what I knew to be true said out loud.

I’ll return with a a report, and who knows? Maybe I’ll get it together enough to buy batteries for my camera.

 

 

 

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04/27 The Healing Powers of Prairie Bitching

I have yet to hear a bad review of Alison Arngrim’s Confessions of a Prairie Bitch, yet it took me a while before I was ready to break the spine Those who have read my book know that Little House the television show was, uh, not my favorite. I have held a prudish, Jonathan Edwards-sized grudge against the sacrilege affronted my beloved holy texts. When people tell me they have never read the books but loved the show I break out in a rash.

TV Nellie, however, never failed to be delightfully horrid. She even looked like the Garth Williams illustration; gold ringlets, petticoats, and sneer, all come to life. While the rest of the cast was hysterical and crying, Nellie threw sharp objects and plotted her revenge.

Thanks to Arngrim, I have worked though my LHOP anger issues. Now I see the cast as people who simply needed a freaking job. Arngrim’s favorite scenes were the dinner shots where she got to eat real food. Perhaps the on screen Ingalls family wasn’t up to my exacting standards, but the off screen cast was a real family, and the child actors real prairie orphans of a sort.  Michael Landon may have been a free-balling, pretty boy, but his Napoleonic Code held everyone together.  As Arngrim quotes, “Cast of Little House, no arrests, no convictions.”

With deep breathing and rainbow visualization, I can even give that freckled imp Melissa Gilbert props. I’ve always felt a great pain that her onscreen portrayal is the most famous Laura Ingalls. I envisioned the real Laura with smaller teeth. But who can resist the idea of Laura and Nellie as secret best friends, giggling and squealing as they wrestle in the mud? It turns out Melissa Gilbert had many Laura qualities including forthrightness, tenacity, and bravery.

And—as Arngrim describes the behind the scenes secrets of famous episodes, I had to realize that I had seen every one.

Arngrim has performed stand up for years, and her punchlines are delivered right on time with the right force. Maybe all that practice fighting Gilbert paid off. The story of her wig is enough to tickle the strictest of Puritans.  Remember how Carrie falls down in the opening sequence? That’s because someone put her shoes on the wrong feet. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Best, though, is how she embraces the role that made her famous. It’s easy to poke fun, but more difficult to talk about about what matters to us. The arts are tough. Some of us get to be Margaret Atwood or Meryl Streep with these scrolls for resumes. Most of us are lucky to have one genuine success. And Alison Arngrim  as Nellie Oleson is an iconic performance. Arngrim shows in her book how the good parts and the bad parts of life are often the same parts. (For example, her free-wheeling 60s actor parents).

By the end I realized that just as I have used Laura Ingalls to be strong when I needed strength, to be brave when I was cowering, Arngrim has done the same with Nellie Oleson. Whatever you want to say about Nellie, I’d rather have her on my side.

In short, I can’t wait to meet Arngrim at Laurapalooza this summer. I’m kinda hoping that once more, Laura and Nellie get to be secret best friends. Maybe she’ll accept my invitation to mudwrestle in Plum Creek.

Posted in Laura Pop Culture, Lauray Book Reviews | Comments Off

04/18 Five Paragraph Essay On Laura Ingalls Wilder

I admit I am fascinated by the keywords that bring people to my site. The Norwegian in search of a “white house.” The person from Topeka, Kansas who wanted to learn about “monster combines.” “Bitten turnip” has received 52 hits. When a colleague taught two sections of my book at Florida State University, the day before I Skyped the class there was a rash of “My Life as Laura Summary.”  Looks like somebody didn’t prepare for class.

The keywords “Laura Ingalls Wilder five paragraph essay” turned up today.  I envision a ninth grade class somewhere in Iowa with an instructor that looks like Miss Beadle.  They wonder why they have to write this stupid paper about some dead person.

So you, young Googler out there, you need a paper you say? Here you are:

My Paper on Laura Ingalls Wilder

Laura Ingalls Wilder was a very important person. She pioneered with her family across America. She battled grasshoppers and blizzards although there were also good times including a pig’s tail and a whirl of gaiety. In olden times girls had to wear calico even if it was summer. Laura had to eat beans and bread and work all the time. Her sister was blind and sat all the time sewing. Laura Ingalls Wilder was a real American because she was a good student, had a big family, and she had a cool boyfriend.

Laura Ingalls was a good student. She enjoyed reading old people, like Tennyson. Once she had to tell  big long story about the beginning of America. Laura Ingalls didn’t make a mistake even when she was about to throw up and her Pa was very proud.  Because her sister was blind she had to be a teacher.

Laura Ingalls had all sisters, not even one brother. So they all had to be quiet and sew or their Ma would yell at them. Sometimes Laura got to go out with Pa and make hay or a door but she never got to shoot anything. Carrie was pale and Laura had to beat up anyone who tried to hurt her. The family went through hard times and bad times but they had biscuits.

Laura Ingalls had a cool boyfriend with a weird name who had Morgan horses. The horses were brown with black manes and they were the best horses everywhere. The horses were called Prince and Lady and they ran through the snow with a cutter. They also ran around with a buggy. Skip and Barnum were also horses. Skip was trouble but then he walked and Laura decided to marry her boyfriend.

Laura Ingalls Wilder was okay but needed more action.  The prairie was kind of boring and all she ever did was dance around to a fiddle. But she did get Nellie Oleson covered in leeches, which was pretty okay. And the dugout house was cool. So I guess Laura Ingalls was a great American and we should all learn more about here.

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04/05 My Life as Laura on Montana NPR

From a trip to the Sip n' Dip, in Great Falls, Montana.

We all have benchmarks of success, and one of mine has always been that I would be on National Public Radio. Today, this happens! No, Maureen Sullivan has not named My Life as Laura as the MUST READ book of the year, but I will be on Montana Public Radio on The Write Question produced by Chérie Newman.

I admit I was bit nervous for my first interview. I showed up at the OU radio station (where via radio magic I could be interviewed by someone in Montana).  I sat alone in this room with a giant microphone, watching these giant apocalypse clocks (red, for danger, naturally) countdown to my interview time (tick. tock. tick. tock.) and then….nothing. My technical understanding was that something went kerplat in Montana while another something went kerplooey in Ohio so I sat and listened to broadcasts about the failing economy and bombs in Pakistan until we were ready to begin. I’d been watching a great deal of Frasier lately on Netflix so  I kept looking for Roz. Or for Niles to scurry in and pour me a glass of sherry.

Luckily, Chérie was all aplomb.

Here’s links to all the ways to find the interview.

 

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03/28 Laura Ingalls and the Lotus Eaters

A Little House “scandal”  that has always stayed with me is when Laura  (innocently—of course!)  discovers a secret, a book she realizes is meant as a Christmas present. Her parents had recently taken Mary to the School for the Blind in Vinton, Iowa, an exotic getaway for Dakotan homesteaders. The ever-thoughful Ma purchased a present ahead of time. Laura is helping prepare the house for winter, folding clothes when—

She was on her knees, lifting winter underwear out of Ma’s bottom drawer, and under the red flannel she felt something hard. She put it in her hand and drew out a book.

It was a perfectly new book, beautifully bound in green cloth with a gilded patter pressed into it. The smooth straight, gilt edges of the pages looked like solid gold. On the cover two curving scrolls of lovely fancy letters made the words,

Tennyson’s Poems

Laura was so startled and amazed by this rich and beautiful book, hidden there among the flannels, that she almost dropped it. It fell open on her hands. In the lamplight the fresh, untouched pages lay spread, each exciting with unread words printed upon it in clear, fine type. Straight, thin red lines enclosed each oblong of printing, like the treasure it was, and outside the read lines were the pages’ pure margins.

Near the bottom of the left hand page was a short line in larger type: The Lotus Eaters.

“Courage!” was the first word under, and breathlessly Laura read,

‘Courage!’ he said, and pointed to the land,

This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.

In the afternoon they came unto a land

In which it seemed always afternoon.

And all around the languid air did swoon.

Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.

Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;

And, like a—”

Laura stopped, aghast.

Laura must pretend she didn’t see the book, so that Ma and Pa can experience the pleasure of giving the gift. But she is dying to finish the poem.  She knows what she has to do—

Yet every time she saw the bureau, she could not help thinking,

“Full faced above a valley stood a moon:

And, like a…”

Like what?  She would have to wait until Christmas to learn the rest of that lovely poem…In the afternoon they came unto a land in which it seemed always afternoon. But it did not seem to Laura that Christmas was so soon.

One would think that in my continued Laura obsession that I would have finished  Lord Alfred Tennyson’s “The Lotus Eaters” by now. Monday I finally did, for a poetry workshop. For those in suspense, I’ll complete the first stanza, which so happens to be (I learned Monday) a Spenserian sonnet (ababbabcc):

“And like a downward smoke, the slender stream

Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.”

In class we discussed the use of sounds in the poem, the “ooohs” that set the mood where a “languid air did swoon.”

Tennyson is thought to have been inspired for this poem by a trip he made to North Africa. The story of the Lotus Eaters comes from Homer’s The Odyssey, whence the sailors of of Ulysses land on an island. Here the locals subsist on lotus, which has narcotic properties.  Thus, the “languid air did swoon” indeed.  The sailors are tired, they say, and wonder why they can’t just relax a bit. Dude.  Soon the sailors are so stoned that their eyelids are drooping on tired eyes. The poem is a long and lovely rationalization. In the end the sailors claim they are tired of rolling about the sea and decide to stay.

I admit, I thought the poem would be a bit more adventurous. The invective “Courage!” implies a bit more action. I wonder if Laura ever got that the poem is about a bunch of druggies. We can be sure that Ma didn’t.

I did notice in typing out word by word how lovely Laura Ingalls Wilder’s language is here:

In the afternoon they came unto a land in which it seemed always afternoon.

But it did not seem to Laura that Christmas was so soon.

Wilder, in these lines effectively mirrors the language of the poem. People ask why I love the Little House books so much, and sure, there’s the nostalgia factor. Another reason is the writing of these books holds up. Wilder repeats the word afternoon (a languid moon word) to mimic how long the wait felt.  She also (wait for it!) uses iambic heptameter to end the paragraph with emphasis.

If I’m wrong here I’m sure my poetry friends will gently correct me.

 

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03/22 Lousy, once. Liza, yes. But Lazy? The real Eliza Jane Wilder.

 

Big Sis Eliza Jane

Like Laura, my relationship with Eliza Jane Wilder has been complicated. Sure, there was Lazy Lousy Liza Jane, the bully teacher who made Carrie rock her desk even when she ill. The woman who said “little birds in their nests agree” with a creepy smile, and who gossiped with Nellie Oleson during recess.

But there was also the Eliza Jane of Farmer’s Boy. The big sister who patched up the parlor wallpaper for Almanzo after he hurled the tar brush at her and the black went splat on the precious wall. This room was Mrs. Wilder’s pride and Eliza most likely preserved ‘Manzo’s hide with her surgical skill. Didn’t we all hold our breath when the Wilders first invited their guests to admire the prized symbol of prosperity? Maybe Eliza knew on some level she had provoked the attack by taunting her little brother. Either way, in the end, she came through.

In my research for My Life as Laura I learned more about the real Eliza Jane Wilder. There was more to be admired in EJ than her ability to patch wallpaper. Eliza Jane might have been, for one horrifying moment in her childhood, lousy, but she was not lazy. She filed a claim in the Dakota Territory and tried to earn her 160 acres. (Single women could file with the Homestead Act). It’s not many women who have that kind of courage.

EJ sowed oats, wheat, flax, corn, and dug potatoes. In what we would now recognize as a heroically futile effort, she planted a fruit orchard in the Dakotas—apple, cherry, and plum trees along with currants and grapes. And when’s the last time you enjoyed a nice, fresh glass of Dakotan fruit juice? Right.

I learned that teaching was her recourse—a way to provide much needed income—but homesteading was her dream. Her father commented once on how EJ harvested lettuce and sold it for a quarter, “You were not satisfied to work six hours per day in the school room at $2.00 but you are so delighted as a child with a new toy at receiving .25 in return for a mile walk in the hot sun.”

What’s more, the fated term EJ taught school, she was recovering from a severe poisoning from potato bugs. Now I  have to think that dealing with a roomful of sassy farmkids (my beloved, albeit headstrong Laura among them) probably wasn’t so easy. Maybe she lunched with Nellie Oleson out of sheer loneliness. I’ve been there.

The returns of EJ’s claim 1885 were $5.  She finally had to throw in the plow. She moved to Washington where she worked as  “government girl”  for the Department of the Interior. The reinventing of her life didn’t stop there. She married twice in her forties (!) and wound up a rice farmer in Louisiana. For a while, when Laura and her daughter Rose were at odds, Eliza Jane took in Rose so that she could attend a more challenging school than Mansfield, Missouri had to offer. By all accounts Rose thrived there.

So while My Life is Laura is mostly about how I come to admire Laura’s ability to move on and start over, I might have to tip a bit of the bonnet to Eliza.

For a discussion of Laurafans pondering Laura’s less than flattering (and perhaps unfair) portrayal of her sister-in-law in the Books go here.

Fore more information, I recommend A Wilder in the West: The Story of Eliza Jane Wilder by William T. Anderson, the source of information for most of this post.

 

 

 

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03/12 AWP: Stalking Margaret Atwood

Still in recovery from the AWP conference, where I heard about 10,000 writers were in attendance. Inspiring v. Depressing? Hard to say but that’s why the pros spend most of their time in restaurants. Highlights for me including running into friends and clutching them at the Bookfair, and reading at The Hideout (list of readers in post below.) I also saw Margaret Atwood (no clutching except of my heart), and now I can’t believe I was almost “too tired.” Atwood is one of the writers who made (makes) me want to write and she didn’t disappoint. I am afraid I feared she would. Of course, she didn’t. How could the author of Alias, Grace and The Blind Assassin AND Cat’s Eye be any less than amazing?

No way could I hope to recreate her talk or the grandeur of the Roosevelt Theater in Chicago,  but imagine your favorite author here:

"People say artsy fartsy but no one ever accuses a writer of being craftsy waftsy," Atwood (loosely quoted).

In other news, I am now an official member of the Alabama Writers’ Forum.

Also, I have an  author interview on Being and Writingness, a blog maintained by Ashley Cowger.

And before I log off, I want to credit fellow writer friend and Chicagoan, Travis Fortney (who I did get to clutch in person), for the title of this blog post, who wrote a short story of the same name. I suppose the phrase has been rattling around in my head ever since.

 

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02/28 Lauraland Update

I often think of Mrs. Wilder (as in Almanzo’s mother) ever-bustling as she exclaims, “I must fly!” while making her loom go clickity-clack as she weaves the grey wool for Royal’s academy suit or whips up her endless feast of pies.  Or perhaps I should explore my life as Caroline Ingalls, an experiment as an endless font of industry. Anyhow, I don’t know an adult woman who rereads the Little House books and doesn’t marvel over these women. As kids we leaned on them. As adults we tip our bonnets.

In truth, I prefer to read about industrious people than be industrious myself. And yet here I found myself, this past week, rife with industry! I do like to think that Laura’s would enjoy that my book has lead me on a series of adventures.

First off, I found my presentation was accepted at Laurapalooza. I never tire of telling people that yes, there really is a Laurapalooza! It helps make up for Santa and the Easter Bunny.

The adventures continue. Last Friday I presented at Graduate Research Series at Alden Library, here at Ohio University (where I am a graduate student).  Sometimes in academia we get a bit isolated in our brick buildings, so it was nice to branch out. I received presents (a lovely poster of antique Chinese masks and stationary), plus I enjoyed people looking at me as though I were somebody with something to say. It’s amazing how much one does have to say when expected to produce.  And cookies! And lemonade. (Laurafans understand). Not hand-squeezed, but still. If all that weren’t enough, I discovered at the end I would be paid the exact amount that Angelina Day Wilder earned for her butter from the New York butter man.

The other day while teaching, I was showing my students how to locate the Oxford English Dictionary, when I clicked on the overhead screen to show them the Alden Library homepage and—oh, hello there.

Hi! I read books!

This past week I was also interviewed by Chérie Newman of Montana Public Radio for her program “The Write Question.” The show won’t air until April, but it was my first radio interview. I was nervous as Laura presenting for her school exposition. I can only hope that I performed as admirably.

The whirl of gaiety wrapped up with my appearance as a guest on local Athens  television show called “Women, Today & Yesterday” producing and featuring Lois Whealey, Citizen Activist (that’s how her name card reads).  In the picture above you can see her in the front row with her hand up. We chatted Laura and Western road trips. She was in Mansfield, Missouri, (in 197?) when Garth Williams made an appearance, and she had a book signed! She had some interesting alternate editions of the Books that I had not seen before, and I wished that Sarah Uthoff, expert on Little House book editions, could have been consulted.

And there more. This week is the big annual writers’ conference for us writerpeople. If you’re in Chicago come visit me at the Press 53 bookfair at the Palmer House Hilton, (free on Saturday if you aren’t attending the conference). Even more exciting, Friday, March 2nd, I’ll be reading at The Hideout (along with Richard Smith, Ashley Cowger, Darlin’ Neal, Melissa Queen, Zachary Oden, and James Miranda) with Wendy McClure, author of The Wilder Life, who has promised pig bladder balloons!

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02/21 Searching for Western Women

"We eased into pioneer rhythms and a certain trip rhythm. Life becomes greatly simplified in a car. Each day, we drove further away from whatever we had left undone or done badly...Contained, complete in ourselves, the trip was our existence and our reprieve."

A few people have recommended Searching for Tamsen Donner to me. Given that my book was this close to being called In Search of Laura Ingalls Wilder, that seems appropriate. Author Gabrielle Burton and I are certainly kindred spirits in many ways: Irish Catholic, quirky, in awe of our heroine, with a penchant for travel on remote western highways. We try to connect with a person from the past to understand who we are in the present. We both have a maps that show our journeys. (The heroines compared to ours). Our books are more memoir than scholarship, the focus being our personal journey.

And, um, we’re both a tad obsessive.

The stories of Tamsen Donner versus Laura Ingalls Wilder, of course, are completely different. Tamsen Donner was the wife of the George Donner of the fated Donner Party. While on their pioneer journey to California, the wagon train became trapped in the Sierra Nevadas. Many starved while some resorted to cannibalism to survive. (Tamsen Donner died.) Burton’s focus, though, is not on the tragedy, but on the story this brave, intelligent, resourceful woman who inspired her.

There are other differences in Burton’s story and mine. Burton traveled in a station wagon with her husband and five daughters (Tamsen Donner also had five daughters, who survived).  I drove alone. Burton published in 2009 about a trip she took in the seventies, meaning there’s two histories here. I admit, I admired Burton’s determined hauling of a reel to reel tape recorder to take interviews. I scribbled notes and took random video on my digital camera.

What I realized soon into my reading, was that if I were a character in this book, I’m a daughter in the back seat. My parents were huge campers. I was hauled all over the Smokey Mountains and State Parks and beyond. We put up those giant, canvas tents with poles suitable for jousting. Each day my mother carefully recorded our expenses in a tiny lined notepad. Burton describes 1979 as thrifty times. They were! I remember collecting S & H Green Stamps and saving up for toaster. Her daughters likewise reveled in the spirit of Scrooging. It’s hard to explain, but it was fun as a kid to search for dimes in phone booths. Score!

Searching for Tamsen Donner is set within the times of second wave feminism. Burton began to remind me of my mother, who was also determined to carve out a meaningful intellectual life. In the seventies, this kind of ambition was not the norm for women. Burton writes a great deal about how she struggled with guilt (I mentioned the Catholic background, right?), wondering if she was selfish for dragging her family all over the country on her quests. I remember my mother working on her dissertation, typing fiendishly in the days when White-Out was the fine link to sanity. I wanted my mother’s complete attention all the time, the way children do. But she also taught me, by how she was, to believe in my ability to accomplish.

There’s more I could write (our search for relics, Nevada) but here I’ll stop. I’ll end by saying anyone who enjoys a good pioneer story (as I suspect a reader of my blog might), I suggest Searching for Tamsen Donner.

 

 

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