A Catherine Noon

Letters

I’ve been an inveterate letter correspondent since I was a little girl. I loved getting mail in the mailbox, because it was news from the outside. I was raised in what might be now termed a cult, in an environment of severe child abuse. But the letters existed outside of all that, in a clean, happy world where people wrote of the lives they led and everything was interesting.

I remember once that I did a stack of letters for the post office. My mother had agreed to drop them off on her way to work.

A couple days later, I got a call from one of the recipients, a lady that was a friend of my mother’s. I’d sent her a birthday card, but I’d expected my mother to hand deliver it so I’d just scrawled her name in big letters across the front. My mom, on “autopilot,” dropped it in the outgoing mailbox.

It got to its intended recipient.

This isn’t because it was such a long time ago. (Please, I’m not THAT old.) It had more to do with the size of the town where we lived. There were only about 5,000 people in the greater area, and everyone knew everyone else. I guess that the letter carrier knew the recipient and figured, what the heck, I’ll deliver it. The only admonishment was, next time, use a stamp.

We put the correct change for the stamp in an envelope and left it for the letter carrier on our route.

And who says the post office doesn’t bring people together?

What about you, Dear Reader? Do you like to send or receive mail? I love to; leave me a note in the comments and I’ll be happy to add you to my card list. Who knows – maybe I’ll even remember to address your envelope! 🙂

Writer Wednesday

It’s Wednesday, and I’m a writer. That’s about the only reason the title is what it is, and because I couldn’t think of anything else to use. Check-in sounded too session-y, and holy shit the world’s on fire a little histrionic. Both are, however, true. So this is a Writer Wednesday Check-In Because the World Is On Fire.

And in some ways, my sentiment is, Burn, baby, burn. It’s well past time we reckon with the consequences of the genocide we’ve committed against Black and brown people in this country, (I’m in the U.S. if that wasn’t already clear), and the convulsive changes occurring here and around the world are necessary for growth.

Sure ain’t easy, though. Mr. Floyd was laid to rest yesterday. I keep trying to write something coherent about it but run up sharply against the fact that the world doesn’t need another horrified white lady extolling … well, anything on race right now. No shit, it was horrible that he was murdered. But the truth is, this has been happening for hundreds of years, in big cities, in small towns, and in rural places in the back of beyond. Like Will Smith said, racism isn’t new, it’s just being filmed.

So how do we move forward from this moment? Particularly when we’re gripped in a global pandemic and an environmental cataclysm that may make everything else moot if we don’t get on it?

I don’t know. And that’s not a bad thing, this not-knowing. It’s not comfortable, I know that. But I want to invite you to sit with that not-knowing, that place between what we knew to be true and the place of what is actually true, or at least the next threshold. The more we can hold this place of not-knowing, the better we can listen and have a chance to really hear the lessons we’re being called to learn.

What that looks like for me is a couple things.

One is, I learned a new concept this week: “Performative.” There are many kinds of resistance and, unfortunately, we’ve seen a lot of performative acts over the last week and a half in the wake of Mr. Floyd’s murder by white people. The most egregious example of this are the statements by NFL CEO Roger Goodell, where he apologized to … whom, us? the players? Colin Kaepernick? for censuring players for their peaceful protests of police brutality. Why is this performative? It cost him nothing. Mr. Kaepernick wasn’t re-signed, and the fines paid by him and other players have not been returned, at least as of this writing. But it’s on a smaller, more localized scale too. Many of my fellow whites have been vociferous on social media about the horrors of racism and police brutality, and there’s a subset of these folx who are acting as though they’ve just become aware of it. There’s also a sense that this is what we’re doing this week, but next week when something else comes into our consciousness we’ll go do that and forget about Black Lives Matter. What makes it performative is this aspect of publicly doing it: “See? I’m a good person because I’m shouting out loud how bad this is, and how much it hurts me to see it, and how enraged I am.” I’m not going to restate things that BIPOC folx have said better and more informatively than I can, and frankly we should be listening to them.

Which is my point: I’ve been very quiet the last week or so because I’ve been sitting with my own racism and unconscious bias, and asking hard questions about why I’m posting this or that? Am I doing it to keep the focus on BIPOC voices and activists? Am I doing what they are asking me to do as an ally, or am I doing things to make myself feel better or express my horror and outrage without realizing that the BIPOC community has been traumatized from watching on video Mr. Floyd’s murder? The young woman, all of seventeen years old, who filmed the murder has been the subject of frequent harassment and has been made to feel unsafe. Is my jumping up and down going to help her? Or Mr. Floyd’s devastated family and friends? I ask myself, if it was my family member murdered on a video went viral so that I see it everywhere from social media to the news to analysis shows, how would I feel?

And so, I’m quiet. Because I’d be fucking devastated.

I’ve joined a private reading group to wrestle with these ideas and educate myself better. The book we’ve chosen to read first is called How To Be An Anti-Racist, by Ibram X. Kendi. The link is to Chicago’s only Black woman-owned bookstore. It’s a safe space to discuss the ideas in the book as well as a place to ask embarrassing questions like, what do I tell my Black friend when her neighbor is acting badly? I’d just call the police, but I don’t fear that I might be shot if I did that. I’m at absolutely no risk of it, and in fact depend on the authority my whiteness gives me. What does wipipo mean? Can I use it, or is that not a term that I should be using? How do I talk to my friends and coworkers of color about race? How do I not be an asshole when I’m trying to help?

There are many resources, and if you’re looking for things, may I suggest you look to BIPOC leaders who have already written extensively on the subject? You don’t need me, a white person, educating you on how to be a better ally. We, each of us, need to be doing that work for ourselves and listening to the BIPOC thinkers who are willing to talk to us about it. And we need to not bother our friends, neighbors, and family members with it – they’ve been traumatized by the events of recent days. It’s not up to them to educate us. And we need to be very suspicious of our own desires to ask them: are we asking out of a genuine desire to know? Or are we asking them in specific so they know we’re “enlightened and woke” now? If you absolutely don’t know where to start, check out your public library. They’ve got curated lists and librarians willing to answer all sorts of questions for you.

I know this is a long one, but thank you if you’ve read with me this far. I wanted to share, and I wanted to write about what’s going on, but it’s been really difficult to find my voice in the middle of what’s going on. For that reason, I’ve decided to coordinate a session of Finding Water starting this Sunday. There is no charge for it and the course will go for fourteen weeks. Head on over to our writing group site, Writer Zen Garden, for more info.

Other than that, I’ve been learning to weave and having a ball with it. I’m also taking a class on Herbalism called the Science and Art of Herbalism, and I made some lavender tincture with brandy this week. It will steep for a month, and then we’ll see how it turned out. I’m going to start featuring more of that kind of activity on my craft blog, Knoontime Knitting. If you enjoy making things, I hope you’ll come on over the join the conversation.

I hope you are staying safe and healthy. COVID appears to not be going away any time soon, so make sure to strengthen your immune system and be smart about being out and about in public. Hug your loved ones close and keep on writing.

Love,

Noony

Flashback Friday – NANOMADMO!

I know it’s not really November, but we are basically on quarantine here in my valley and the idea of writing a whole lot over the next couple weeks seems very fitting. Here, then, is a flashback to a post I originally wrote for a publisher’s blog in 2013.

It’s November, and you know what that means! NANOWRIMO! For those of you who haven’t heard of this phenomenon, November is National Novel Writing Month – though it really could be called INTERnational Novel Writing Month since my city, Chicago, is competing in a word war with cities from all over the world – including our longstanding with Glasgow, Scotland! (We’ll win, by the way.) (Jus’ sayin’.) Writers sign up and target getting 50,000 words – or more – on a first draft of a novel. There’s a ton of support, help, and good old fashioned competition during the month and the ones who win the most are the folks who give it their best shot – 50,000 words or no.

So here’s what I’ve learned about, and from, doing NaNo. This will be my fourth year participating; I’ve ‘won’ two (meaning, completed over 50k), and participated once (meaning, got a ton of words but not quite 50k).

-You win whether you finish 50k or not. Learning to write is a tough gig, and learning to avoid our own censor and just sit down to tell a story can be tough. Just Do It is a devilishly tricky piece of advice.

-Just Do It. Yes, Nike said it first, but they have it right. There’s no substitute for writing it.

-When all else fails, write about your critic – that nasty voice that’s telling you your novel sucks, no one will want to read it, and who the hell are you to try this crazy thing anyway?

-Don’t go it alone. Whether you find writing buddies in the online forums on the main NaNo site, your own region’s message board, or out in the real world at a live write-in, speak up. You’re not the only one doing it and the sense of camaraderie can do wonders for your writing self esteem – and may just help make the difference between starting, and winning.

-Caffeine can fuel the world. No, really.

-Cats can’t help you write. They can, however, sit on your keyboard – so make sure you back up your work. Often.

-Get good at writing silly stuff. Write to prompts. Write character interviews. Write badly – on purpose. Write silly and pedantic and goofy and in voices you never intend your characters to actually have. Whatever you do, write.

-Write. There’s no substitute for it.

And don’t forget to sleep and shower. Your family will thank me for that one.

Write on!

This post originally appeared on the Samhain Publishing blog, 11/08/2013.

Writer Wednesday – write-minded Podcast Appearance

Happy Wednesday, writers! I am hard at work on an application for a super sekrit program, which I’ll share about as soon as I can. But in the process of working on the application, I came across this awesome podcast where fellow author Alexis Daria and I were interviewed on the write-minded podcast. I thought you might enjoy. Take a listen, here.

Anxiety

Anxiety sucks. It tells lies. It feels true. And it is constant.

Why is it there?

That’s a complicated answer. I am not a psychologist, so I can only tell you what I understand about my own anxiety. I am a survivor of child abuse. My mother was mentally ill and my father is a malignant narcissist and psychopath. These aren’t descriptors, in that I am not saying them to be insulting. They are factual statements based on evidence of behavior. While I am not qualified to diagnose either of them, I am able to evaluate their behavior over years of evidence and those two statements fit the evidence.

Because of their prolonged brainwashing, I now struggle with regular, daily existence. I have a hyper-developed sense of danger, sometimes referred to as “hypervigilance,” which is one of the symptoms connected with Post Traumatic Stress. Anxiety is one of the symptoms as well.

The thing about anxiety is that it uses all your brain’s faculties to create scenarios that feel incredibly real, yet aren’t. It can take someone’s failure to smile in line at a Starbucks or in the office break room and build an elaborate scenario about how they hate you, want to get you fired, and are dangerous.

Take the coronavirus situation. I live in Bellevue, Washington State, the epicenter in the United States for the current outbreak. The hospital where the first recorded deaths have occurred (and are still occurring) is five miles from my house. Closer to my office.

So of course, my anxiety brain thinks I have the virus, even though I have no symptoms and to my knowledge, have met no one who has been exposed.

This, then, is a conversation with my anxiety brain:

I HAVE CORONAVIRUS.

No, you don’t. You haven’t met anyone with it.

BUT I COULD HAVE.

Yes. That’s true.

SEE? I HAVE IT!

No dear.

THERE! I SNEEZED! SEE? I HAVE CORONAVIRUS!

It was dust.

YOU CAN GET CORONAVIRUS FROM DUST!

No, you can’t. Dust is dust. Or cat hair. Besides. If you get it, you’ll be fine. You just saw the doctor yesterday.

BUT SHE COULD BE WRONG.

Shoo. Go write something.

WHEN I DIE OF CORONAVIRUS, YOU’LL BE SORRY!

Yes, that’s true. But in the meantime, write some words.

NO!

You could write about coronavirus. Write a romance in a post-apocalyptic world where there’s a continual quarantine.

…

Hello?

I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU. I’M SICK.

Okay, you go be sick. I’LL go write something.

CAN YOU WRITE WHILE YOU’RE SICK?

Yes. It’s a superpower.

If you struggle with anxiety or other issues, I urge you to seek help. Psychology Today has a great therapist finder on their website, here.

Flashback Friday – Beneath the Surface

Originally posted on Aug 17, 2012 , this is a little flash fic that I wrote in response to the prompt, “unexpected spring.” I hope you enjoy!

“Holy cow, Monte! What the hell?” My voice carried, bouncing off the side of Monte’s house and sounding louder than it really was. “Hey! Monte!” I yelled and waved my arms.

“Hey, Louise,” he called back and cut the power to the jackhammer. “What’s wrong?”

“Look!” I pointed.

“What the…” He laid the jackhammer on its side and walked over. “When did that pop up?”

“Monte, you must’ve hit the water main or something!”

“Can’t’ve. It’s over there.” He waived an imprecise hand toward the other side of the yard. “No idea what this is.”

I edged closer. Water, brown with the stirred-up silt from Monte’s labors, swirled up from a crack in the fence’s foundation pole.

“Monte, it’s rising.”

He knelt on the other side of the fence and I could see his fingers poking around under the fence slats. “Shit.”

“What?”

He didn’t say anything right away. “It’s salty.”

I stared down at the water. “That’s impossible!” I poked a cautious finger into it and tasted. Sure enough, it was salty. “Monte, there’s no ocean around here!”

“They always did say California was going to break off.”

“That’s not funny!” I snapped. “I’m serious, here! How is there salt water in our back yard?”

His knees popped as he stood. I rose and met his serious brown eyes. “I don’t know, Louise. I really don’t. Maybe we’d better call the city?”

“What do we say? ‘Hi, there’s an ocean in the desert?’”

He shrugged. “We have to report it.” He glanced down. “Your shoes are about to get wet.”

I stepped back, amazed. “Monte, what if it doesn’t stop? It’ll flood our houses!”

“We’re on a hill, Louise. Calm down. It’ll flood downtown first.”

I had visions of a wall of water sweeping down the Las Vegas Strip and almost laughed. He smirked. I realized with a slight shock he was trying to cheer me up. “Thanks, Monte.”

He smiled, his teeth very white. “No prob. I’ll call my guy at the Water District. Let’s see what he says. Maybe it’s a pipe or something.”

“A pipe.”

He shrugged. “What do you want me to say?” He looked calculating. “You got anymore of that meatloaf?”

I laughed out loud. “You need a wife,” I said without thinking.

He looked intense suddenly and then turned to his equipment. “Yeah, that’s what my mom keeps saying,” he said over his shoulder.

For some reason, my heart was pounding and I felt hot. “I’ll go make us some lunch while you call.”

He waved at me without turning around. I walked back inside to the air-conditioned hush and got out the meatloaf. Truth was, I had made it for him. But not to flirt, I just knew he liked meatloaf. At least, that’s what he always told me. What if there was more to it?

This was silly. I hit the lights half-angrily and set about making a salad and sandwiches. I set everything up on plates, got down my tray and the pitcher for tea, and made sweet tea. I glanced outside and saw him pacing back and forth by the fence, his portable house phone glued to one ear. He didn’t look happy.

I walked out and set out the tray on the table. He saw me and walked through the gate between our properties and sat down.

“Thanks, Mal. I’ll let you know.” He hung up and met my gaze. “They’ll come tomorrow at ten,” he informed me. “He thinks I’m crazy, but he owes me for some work I did on his pool last fall.”

I looked over at the water. “What if we are crazy?”

“We’re not,” he mumbled through an enormous bite of sandwich. “It’s still rising. See the trickle? There, on my side of the fence?”

I craned my neck. Sure enough, there was a little brook forming, trundling along the fence toward our neighbors down the hill. “What if it floods?” I asked, afraid again. “You know how fast flash floods happen, Monte!”

He shrugged. “What do you want me to do? Sandbag it?”

He had a point. What could we do? I ate some more sandwich and worried.

“Louise. Stop worrying. It’s going to be fine.”

I heard a splash. Monte froze, and I could see the hairs on his neck wave a little bit. Weird. ‘Hairs rising on the back of your neck’ was actually visible.

“Crap!” he blurted, spraying bread crumbs. “Did you see that?”

Truthfully, I had been staring at his neck. “No, what?”

He glanced at me, irritated, and then focused on the bubbling water. I looked over too, wondering what could capture his attention so fully.

A black tailfin peeked up out of the water and then disappeared.

I was on my feet so fast I didn’t remember moving. “Monte…” My voice sounded breathy and weird.

He joined me a second later as another ripple disturbed the water. “Get in the house, Louise. You got your keys?”

“Right here,” I said, patting my pocket. Another fin, black and pointy, emerged slowly. By the time the eyebrow ridge appeared, we were cowering behind my kitchen curtains.

“Where’s your phone?” Monte whispered hoarsely.

“You calling the police?”

“No, the paper!”

We had a brief wrestling match over the phone, which he won. He flipped it open and thumbed the camera button. He snapped two shots of the glossy black head as the thing climbed out of the hole. It was bipedal, covered in scales, and had dark purple eyes covered with some kind of web. It blinked vertically, opposite of a human, and stood about as tall as Monte.

We watched it walk down the hill, following the water trail.

“No one is ever going to believe this,” Monte murmured.

It was then that I realized we were holding hands. Monte didn’t seem inclined to let go, so I didn’t either. I watched the black creature disappear as the sun set over Sin City.

Happy New Year! – Thoughtful Thursday

I’m glad it’s the new year. It’s an election year here in the States, finally, and I am optimistic about our ability to get ourselves back on the right track. It’s funny, though; many years I feel called to set intentions or resolutions and I’ve felt none of that this year. I’m more interested in taking it easy and working on my mindfulness practice, which ultimately seems to be helping me with productivity. I feel like that’s logically backwards but I’m also superstitious enough to not want to mess with it if it’s working.

Writing

This is still like pulling teeth. I trust that fallow periods are necessary, and things are starting to crack loose slowly, but man. Slow sucks. 🙂

I’m working on drafting Ambush, and playing with a couple other things. One involves crow shifters and that’s got both Rachel and I excited. I’ve been messing around a little with poetry and memoir, and those are satisfying. I’m re-reading Deena Metzger’s Writing For Your Life, and it’s been a good thing to revisit the silence of my own mind and thoughts. I like her ideas about writing and life, self expression, and psychology.

Community

One of the local writing organizations here has put out a call for Writer In Residence and I’ve decided to apply. I think it sounds like a lot of fun and a great way to give back to the writing community while having a more structured place and time to specifically write.

This weekend, we have our first Soulwoman Circles of the Salish Sea event and I’m excited. The SoulArt Pocket Vision Journal session still has spaces open and we’d love to see you there on Saturday, January 18th. More info is on the link.

We’re overhauling the Writer Zen Garden website and have a new forum and chat function available, which I’m stoked about because I want to move off of Facebook. I don’t like their practices or interference in our elections here in the States, and want to have an alternative for our members when we offer workshops and other events.

Day Job

I think working writers don’t talk enough about working and writing, and it leads to the persistent myth that a) writers can easily make a full-time living by writing and that b) if one isn’t doing so, one’s writing isn’t successful. Most of my colleagues who write full time have spouses who support them and pay the mortgage and other bills. It’s rare that a writer can make a full time living. The Author’s Guild just did their annual earnings survey and earnings have sharply fallen due to the consolidation of publishers, rise of independent publishing, and many other factors.

I work a day job in the insurance industry and have found it useful from several standpoints, one of the most important is that it grounds me on the left side of my brain. I can go to work and when I leave, I can leave my work at the office and not drag it home with me. That allows me to focus, without pressure, on my writing and other creative pursuits, knowing my bills are taken care of. I like to write in the mornings before work, and I used to write extensively during my commute on transit. I no longer commute that way and am trying to figure out where to fit that writing time in my current daily round.

Art

I’m knitting like a fiend. I’ve got a blanket going as well as two sweaters and a shawl. I find that deeply satisfying and meditative.

What about you, Dear Reader? What do you like to do to fill your creative well? What’s new in your world? Tell me in the comments; I’d love to know.

From the Archives – Snow Day

This was originally posted on the Samhain Publishing blog, and I’m feeling nostalgic for snow. We visited Leavenworth, WA, this past weekend and got to see the white stuff! 🙂

As the Midwest hunkers down for our first storm, I’m reminded of all the things I love about snow. I’m not a huge fan of the cold, but I love me the white stuff! I hope it’s a White Christmas, too. Here, then, in no particular order, are Noony’s Top Ten Reasons To Love Snow:

If it’s snowing, it can’t be a gabillion degrees below zero. If it gets too cold, the air is too dry to hold the snow and it can’t snow. So snow means warmer. Woot!
My dog loves to frolic in the snow. Frolicking is fun when you have four feet.
Snow balls. ‘Nuff said.
You come inside all out of breath and damp from sweating and it’s warm, even if it’s not the warmest house on the block.
People like to make stuff like hot cocoa and mulled cider in this weather. Yum!
I’m a knitter. Which would suck, if I lived in Bora Bora. But I don’t, so yay! Sweater weather! And hats! Scarves! Mittens! Purses! Afghans! Pillows! You get the idea. I’m in it to knit it.
When it’s snowing outside, you don’t look like such an asocial freakazoid for wanting to stay in and write. ~grin~
Snow is pretty. I especially love when it’s snowed more than a foot and nothing is moving, except the periodic plop from a tree branch of falling snow.
At night, the snow sparkles in the streetlights like diamonds strewn on the sidewalk.
Snow cushions your fall. Ask me how I know this.

What do you love about snow? Tell me in the comments, I’d love to know!

December Begins – From the Archives

This was originally posted on our publisher’s website back in 2013. It’s still relevant! Enjoy.

And so it starts. Thanksgiving and Halloween are over, and the Superbowl is coming. (Hah. Bet you thought I’d say something else, huh?)

So here we are, on the second day of December, the twelfth month of the thirteenth year of the second millenium of the current era. As the year winds to a close and we approach the end of the year, it’s a good time to think about our bodies. We’ve just stuffed ourselves silly with the Thanksgiving feast, if we’re in the States, and with all the goodies Chanukah brings. Christmas and New Year’s approach; what’s our poor overfed body to do?

Why not end the year on a high note, instead of hitting January with remorse and the resolution to get to the gym and not just pay rent there? I have two suggestions for you:

Try walking. Even if you live in a cold part of the world, you can walk indoors; walking doesn’t require much investment, just a pair of shoes and some clothing. You might enjoy getting yourself a pedometer; you can focus on the things you can control (how many steps you take a day) and let the rest take care of itself. It is recommended that you take 10,000 steps a day for good health; between 12,000 and 20,000 steps for weight loss.

Another idea is to eat root vegetables throughout the winter to keep your body strong and to nourish yourself. Beets, Carrots, Turnips, Onions, and Garlic are especially good and are used as healing foods for chronic conditions of the body (Jeanne Rose, HSC, pg. 56). Try a mustard sauce over them:

2 cups standard white sauce to which has been added
1/2 cup Dijon or other type coarse Mustard
Mix together and serve over Cabbage, Cauliflower, or Broccoli.

What other tips have you found useful over the years for surviving the whirlwind of December? Favorite books to read, movies to watch? Foods to share, rituals of relaxation? What keeps you sane? I’d love to know in the comments.

Happy Holidays!

Happy December! | Samhain Week Five

And just like that, it’s December. Poof.

I’m actually glad. I feel more optimistic now, and the start of a new month leading up to the start of a new year gives me hope. I realized I’m ending the year like I began it, with pin loom weaving: this time, with some acid-overdye and vintage artifacts from my grandmother’s button collection.

The first of our new sites is up! The Noon & Wilder site is live – and so is the bookstore! I am so excited. Thank you so much to Crystal Jordan for making that happen. She did a fabulous job, don’t you think? You can click the image and go visit the new site, too!

We have our free master class – but note the date change; it is SUNDAY, 12/15/2019. 11:00 PST; you can ask Auntie Google what time that is in your valley. Jonni has been my creativity coach since 2013 and I highly recommend this course. You’ll be glad you did – whether or not you journal, you’re sure to find something helpful in your creativity journey.

In other goings-on, we took a hike in our local nature preserve, the Mercer Slough Nature Park. There was actually ice on the river! That surprised both of us, because it didn’t seem that cold out. But down in amidst the trees it got pretty chilly.

There were ducks out wandering on the river. I tried to snap a picture of one, but it dove into the water right when I took the shot and all I have is his tail feathers. Brat. About a mile and a half in, there’s a lovely bridge that goes over the water and affords a lovely view of the water. It’s hard to believe this area is just south of downtown in the second-largest city in the state of Washington.

Tomorrow I head back to the day job after an entire week’s vacation. I’m looking forward to re-establishing my routine. I have some creative projects to work on, some gifts and some just play. What about you, Dear Reader? What’s in your intentions for this week?