protecting the writing fortress

Another stunning day in paradise. Researching pesticides and trying desperately to write some thing sounds like me. Writing here (in this blog) is easy, I imagine a friendly audience of people stopping by for a hi. But writing the proposal I imagine stern editors around a table with salesmen and PR girls, discussing the selling points and downfalls of my most personal thoughts and feelings and work.

Sigh. I’m needing to banish them. Anne L. says to reduce them to mice, put them in a jar and continue on. Someone the other day said they didn’t like my book idea. Meaning, I have to be a lot more careful about who I tell. And why. Not telling for approval, but right now, all I need in this formling stage is support. Great idea, Good progress, Keep going. That’s what I need. So, I’m going to stop diluting, talking about it. One writer friend here even said I didn’t have to tell her at all what my book was about. I sort of did anyway, but it’s only now that I fully appreciate the gesture.

Yesterday I ran into someone who told me that wheatgrass oxygenates the blood so much that cancer can’t survive. “Why don’t they use wheatgrass instead of chemo?” she wondered out loud. “I don’t think it works that well,” I said, a glowing picture of restraint.

But the ocean is embracing and delicious. My friend B and I went swimming the other day and saw big black fishies and the neon-lipped fishies and I saw one that was silver with whiskers. Oh and speaking of which, last night I had the BEST sushi. Oh my melt in my mouth sushi.

Tomorrow is Halloween. I’m going to be a Maui horizon. I have an ocean skirt, a cloud top, and I’ll paint a rainbow over my face and arms. And then go on a cruise to the big parade in Lahaina. Halloween is huge here, a really big festive deal. Boo!

Good morning. I can see magenta flowers, hear twittery and throaty birds. Today’s kind of an administrative day. The book proposal is actually coming along; I got a lot done yesterday thanks to A, my at-a-distance helper/drill sergeant/deadline fairy. But after reading some Anne Lamott (I rebought Bird by Bird just so I could have her with me), I’m wondering if any wildness is coming through or if I’m just telegraphing my fear and that’s all editors will read. Not about the cancer or the poignant struggles but just I’mscaredI’scared thisismyfirstbookI’mscared. Lamott is right, perfectionism is the robber of authenticity. Okay she doesn’t say that exactly, but that’s how it feels. Like I’m trying to squeak out real thoughts in between scared trying to sell myself thoughts. And don’t get me started on the Moviefone voice. Okay, you can.

The Moviefone voice says things in my proposal like, “this ubiquitous, deadly disease that affects nearly 1.5 million Americans a year.” It also uses phrases like “vast majority” and “far-reaching” and “personal journey from illness to remission.” Gag me. Gag him.

Okay, so now I have to find a new spot to stay starting tomorrow. Eep. And write a Breathe thingy.

I saw a Beloit College sticker on a truck the other day when I was buying a Chinese medicine formula my naturopath suggested called Woman’s Treasure. The doors were open so I waited around and then was shocked to see that I actually knew this person! His name is Chris and we worked on the Round Table together about 14 years ago. Crazy. He’s lived here six years. Ah. Maui.

ripe guavas at my side

All I can hear is lawnmower. There’s a lot to mow out here in the jungle. I’m in an area called Haiku.

I’ve lived here before
In all its green, lush glory
My once-kitty basks

I feel like a disoriented visitor now that I’m not attached to a wedding party. Before the wedding on Saturday we went snorkeling. So dappled and lovely. Except for these translucent fish with long, pointy noses that just seem to stare at you with the latent ability to harm. I kind of freaked and then got trapped way too close to the coral and had to have Dan (Renee’s friend) come give me a flipper and guide me out. Eek.

Now the jungle connects
Wireless wends through guava trees
Cobwebs and websites

I’m hunting for a place to stay longer and write a book proposal. So if you know of anyone with an empty nice house in Maui with internet access and ocean views (preferably on the south side of the island), please give a shout.

Crystals abound here
I’m in an altar-filled house
Buddha, Tara, quartz

I saw a woman last night who looked familiar right when I got to this side of the island. She didn’t remember me and she looked the same but more sun-plastered and red, named Kiva. But she said, “You look just like this friend of mine. We had a healing ritual for her last night—she has a health thing. You could be her twin.” She stared beatifically for a while. Then we moved on. I bought groceries at Mana Foods, the health food store over here. Crowded as a bodega at rush hour.

Hippies shop for health
Raw chocolate for nine bucks
The ocean keeps time

Okay, time to face the day, drive to the beach, make some more phone calls, yadda. I feel like wearing a sign, a haiku:

Need house to write in
About how I got cancer
Beautiful, quiet, wired

missive from paradise

Aloha. It’s early here, but late where you are. Last night was my friend’s wedding out here on the beach in paradise land. Lovely, lovely ceremony at sunset. Tibetan lamas and orchid petals and then an organic vegan chocolate fondue fountain.

Had a terribly embarrassing run-in with a celebrity who shall remain nameless. I’m still stinging from it, actually. I’ll try to make it brief, but it might help my brain unsquinch to write about it: Turns out the wedding photographer is a friend of mine from way back. I made a joke about getting a picture of me with said celeb, who we’ll call Irving. Okay it was, as DC says, a “truth joke,” and really more along the lines of “make sure you get a picture of me with Irv.” Sort of a joke. Ha. Okay, but I didn’t think it would get set up like some great adventure attraction.

But sadly, the photog told him about me and then went to fetch me and then introduced us and I shook Irv’s soft, light hand. And I had already filled up on Jouet and Cristal at that point and he put him arm out and this is Maui, right, very huggy place. So I gently hugged him and noticed he wasn’t hugging back. Then I said, “You’re not doing the Maui hug thing, are you?” He said “No.” I said something like sorry I think, did the arm-around photo op thing. Picture was taken. I said, “Sorry to be such a cornball” to Irv. He said “No problem” and I promptly ran away.

Okay so we have an embarrassing, inappropriate photo, plus an accidental hug, plus a speedy getaway. I was reeling with the mistakenness of it all. Even though all I should be thinking about is the love I feel for my very happy in-love friend who just got married. I am, really, still bathing in it, but I’ve begun down a vicious shame spiral, so I tell a couple of guys I’ve been hanging with the story and they are unsympathetic and making fun of me. So I go to a group of women I know, tell them I’m freaking’ and tell them my story. They are sympathetic, tell me it’s not that bad that I just hugged and posed with an A-luster in violation of all rules of social civilian-celebrity etiquette.

So I’m feeling better, coming down. Even feeling like I’m comfy enough that I can do a smooth, mellow, unattached apology to Irv in a bit. Then we head in to the tent – the lovely orangey-lit glowing tent—to eat and there are no assigned seats. I say to one of these women, “I don’t know where to sit, this is like the school cafeteria.” And she says, “Why don’t you sit with Irv?” Which is funny, but Irv, in all his A-list glory, is standing right behind her and I look and it’s clear he has heard his name (since he was six inches away) and the rest. I do the mature thing. I roll my eyes at her so that he doesn’t think that I would condone this sort of thing and I escape to the very back of the room.

And for the rest of the night at this relatively small wedding, I avoid eye contact conspicuously. And I’m waiting for the bathroom a bit later and Irv comes out, eyes me nervously and gets away. So it looks, apparently, like I’m stalking him for reals. When really I never saw him go in and really had to pee.

Okay, I’m done. Thanks for listening. I woke this morning and went through some emails and remembered: I had cancer. I have a life. There are more important things than this. And I’m slowly coming back to earth, but ouch, sometimes it hurts to be a messy little human.

The lamas in the ceremony were advocating patience to overcome inevitable irritation with your partner during marriage. He said this as he threw orchids and petals at the couple. Patience. Patience for partner, patience for self. And the big, ancient undulating ocean behind them seemed to agree.

oy

So I went for my most recent tri-monthly check-up at the hospital. After the nurse weighs me and blood pressures and temperatures me they send in some clueless doctor I’ve never seen before. Almost every time. And he’s always a he and he always looks terribly uncomfortable and it’s always a bad surprise because all I really want is Dr. Z.

This guy had a German accent and immediately without warning or permission, poked the surgery scar on my neck. Poke! “Ow,” I said, recoiling. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “Why does that still hurt?” It’s moments like these when I wish I was a quicker on my feet asshole. Then he asks how I am and I say that my energy fluctuates, still a little on the low side. “Did chemo stress you out?” he asks. Really. He asked this. I’m quicker on the snark draw this time but it’s lost on him. “Is there anyone it doesn’t?” I ask. “Oh, yes,” he nods vigorously his floppy blond hair flapping. “Some people they just go in, and say ‘oops i lost my hair!’ and come out like nothing happened.”

He asked about the hot flashes and I told him I got period back. “Oh yes?” he asks. “How do you like that?”

Jesus-lordy.

Anyway, the real news is that I’m fine. Dr. Z came in finally for the main show, doing a much more thorough exam than Dr. Goethe (not his real name), focusing as he rearranges my intestines. He complimented my curly, curly hair and said it won’t stay this curly. He said it’s cute. Agreed to be interviewed for my book. Sat a while.

And even Dr. Pokey Goethe said, “You look like a healthy girl to me!”

Well, thankfully, I feel like a pretty healthy, albeit underemployed, girl, woman. Happy to have gone to my tenth college reunion(!). Happy to be heading off to Maui for a week on Thursday for a lovely wedding under and with the stars. And then I’ll get to work on getting more work.

Okay, it’s late. Thanks again for reading if you still are. I have more to say but later. It’s almost 3 am. So, later. And thanks.