Pushcart Prize winner, Harrison Solow’s powers of thought and prowess in writing are laudable to the degree that bringing her essay to you today is an honor and an adventure, both thrilling and expansive. The piece you are about to read was not digested immediately by me – only occasionally does the veil lift for me to glimpse Solow’s sensitivity toward liminality, but it is something that I am determined to catch hold of for myself, even bits of it, one illuminating rendition at a time. Now take your turns, as writers, to coax its significance into your worlds.

 Harrison’s latest book, Felicity & Barbara Pym, about writing, reading and what it means to be truly educated (http://felicityandbarbarapym.wordpress.com) has just been released in the UK with stellar reviews and is available to those outside the UK from The Book Depository (http://tinyurl.com/fbpbd ) which offers free international shipping.

 Liminality

In a letter to a friend, not long ago, I wrote this sentence: “I’d like to be in Wales – my Wales, where the leaves on the ground lift in response to a wind that isn’t there and uncover for a millisecond, small vibrant worlds.”

 Before I comment on this sentiment, which was neither deliberately constructed, nor designed, but sprang from my hand, fully formed before I got a chance to see it, I would like to very briefly discuss the concept of liminality, which is a very new area in literary studies – or rather a very old phenomenon that has recently captured the attention of those in literary studies and thus, been named an “area.”

 Gwyn Thomas of the University of Wales, Bangor wrote an article in A Place That is Not a Place: Essays in Liminality and Text, called “Your Margin is My Centre” in which he invokes Arthurian narratives, specifically Vita Merlini (The Life of Merlin by Geoffrey of Monmouth) to illustrate the idea, as I see it, that people live in different Matters within the same space/time continuum. The literary idea of ‘matter’ originated from a medieval conviction that certain romance writing could be divided into separate spheres which were both physical and thematic, not unlike the “parallel universes” of science fiction in which disparate beings and cultures co-exist and (and occasionally overlap) in the same place and at same time but in different dimensions. These dimensions are similar, in literary imagination, to Matters and although they seem more metaphysical than physical, are actually verifiable by theoretical physics.

 In the Prologue of my first book, Gene Roddenberry: The Last Conversation (manuscript edition) there is a passage that illustrates what I mean:

 ”There is a sense in which time is always present as space. Quantum physicists and astronomers describe the time/space differential as the result of space travel at (or near) light speed. And yet the point at which space becomes time (and the reverse) exists as a constant in everyday life as the verb “to be.” 

“Where are you?” carries within it the word, “now.”

 ”What time is it?” implies both “now” and “here, in this space.”

 Among the many unanswerable questions I have pondered over the years was one posed by my son when he was about six years old. When asked: “What time is it?” he replied, “What time is what?”

This is the very heart of the spiralled and unending quest of science fiction:  “What does it mean to be ? In this time, in this space, who are we?” Its struggle to answer those questions is a tale of time slippage and alternate space; a delicate and determined unravelling of current quantum theory – physics to metaphysics and back again.

  Quantum theory gives rise to the postulation that the universe consists of several linear, simultaneously active dimensions which coexist as interweaving patterns of timespace that are not relative to each other except at “weak points” where they meet. It indicates that several worlds may cohabit the same space at the same time, and remain unperceived because the “fabric” of one dimension is atomically dissimilar to the pattern of another. Only at random points of exceedingly low probability, could the non time non space between these dimensions ever be traversed. The quest of science fiction is to somehow leap over that chasm called “between” - to discover the random, the serendipitous, the luminous light shining through the tight woven cloth of our timespace reality; to break through, as it were, and leave our swaddling clothes behind. ”

This is also akin to the notion of “tzimtzum” in ancient Jewish mysticism, wherein it is thought that there was originally one Matter, but that it was fragmented into many. The notion is this: When God withdrew into Himself (tzimtzum – the great withdrawal) in order to leave space for the world to be created, a vacuum was illuminated by a thin veil of light. When God attempted to re-enter this space, the delicate process went awry (for God is too large to be contained solely by His own creation and the vacuum, since it exists, is a creation) – the light of God was shattered throughout all creation (a cosmic calamity known as Shevirat Keilim – the breaking of the vessels) and was trapped in fragments, by isolated shells (people, nature, etc.). It is the duty of human beings to release this light from their shells. When all the light is again gathered together by much care and tikkun olam (repairing the world through good deeds and the monitoring of one’s own soul) only then, it is thought, will the Messiah come. Of course this symbolism can easily be applied to Christianity, whereupon when the gathering of the light is fulfilled, the Second Coming will take place.”

 The allegory of these fragmentary “lights of God” in their cracked and faulty vessels corresponds to secular chronicles of what is – records of perceptions of reality, or realms of knowledge, or imaginative narratives that attempt a cohesive answer to the questions of who are we and why are we here.

 I am writing such a narrative in my forthcoming book, Bendithion, (an extension of the essay of the same name that was awarded a 2008 Pushcart Prize http://tinyurl.com/solow-bendithion) to create a network, a wholeness, a vessel out of some very mysterious Matter – both the one in which I lived in Wales, and the one I came from, each of them barely perceivable through the membranes and thresholds that both bound us to one another for that short time and divided us forever: A matrix of stories and tales, poems and legends about the thoughts and powers and deeds that illuminate a land and a people and the silence behind them. And therein lies liminality.

 Perhaps this is best explained by the answer I gave in another interview (http://tinyurl.com/solow-americymru), in which I explored my own perception of liminality as the “hinterland between fiction and nonfiction.”

 “[Jan Morris, the inimitable Welsh writer, describes Welsh literature as] ‘the indistinguishable blend of fact and fantasy.’ But that blend is not only emblematic of Welsh storytelling – it is at the heart of my writing.

 My literary life began as the Western World’s did – with oral stories and fables, and then moved on to tales of daily life and very quickly thereafter to Lives of the Saints and the rigours of the Baltimore Catechism, as I have said, at a very young age, all of which inculcated a deep affinity with imaginary heavens and hells and the rich portent with which earthly life was endowed: Biblical parables, medieval pedagogy, Arthurian quests, Bunyanesque allegory, Chaucerian pilgrimages and Apologias of all kinds. This literature comes naturally to me. Or rather, as it was clearly imposed on me, it was not a resisted imposition and comes naturally to me now. I’m not fond of overly academic approaches to it – “overly” meaning the triumph of theory over art. And all of these literatures are both fiction and non-fiction; depending on which side of belief you live. The Welsh, with their Mabinogion and highly allegorical literary history, have no problem with this apparent dichotomy.

 I’ve spent a lot of time in what can appear to others to be fictive worlds, “closed-to-the-public” worlds: convents, Hassidic communities, the very tightly guarded world(s) of Hollywood, NASA and JPL. Monasteries, astronauts associations, the clans and tribes from which my families came, lonely insular communities in the backwoods of Canada, girls’ schools, private clubs and green rooms, the hermetic enclosures of the famous. Even our house in Malibu was closed off from the world by ten foot high walls with locked gates, no windows on the side of the house that faced those gates (the opposite side of the house was all glass – 20 feet high and overlooking the Pacific Ocean) – and then, of course, Welsh-speaking Wales. All closed worlds. Nothing significant within these worlds can be adequately portrayed by an outsider. These are cultures to which you have to belong in order to understand, in order to verify the messages you think you are being given – and because the codes and secrets, values and rituals, attitudes and assessments of these enclosures are not available to the outsider, when outsiders write about them, they inevitably get them wrong. 

 To return to the sentence that opened this short commentary, “small vibrant worlds” are actually what I see.  In Wales, where I physically lived and metaphysically live, the gathering of light is a routine task for the oft hidden indigenous inhabitants. Wales is put together for others to see, but not to occupy, by the shedding of light on a hidden dimension of itself that is only briefly uncovered at times by what the outsider might call “wind” and the inhabitants of that particular Matter, might call the breath of God.

 Liminality, in this sense, is both stance (perspective) and perception (“seeing” as opposed to “looking at.”) It is the uncertain entryway through which the writer enters into such a world – either the one he is creating, or the one that he sees, that others do not.

 There is no possibility of studying these worlds from outside their own Matter, as a scholar does. Not for a writer. A writer must stand on thresholds that are not revealed until she has reached – or created – them, and enter worlds that he has never seen until he gets there. A writer must live liminally, in a chasm called “between” because he can’t do what he has to do if he is looking at it.

~~~

© Harrison Solow, July 2010

About the Author 

Pushcart Prize winning American writer and one of the two best selling UC Press authors of all time (at time of publication) Harrison Solow has received many awards for her literary fiction, nonfiction, cross-genre writing, poetry and professional writing. Her most recent award is First Prize for Short Fiction in the Carpe Articulum Literary Review International Competition for 2010.

Harrison has lectured at a number of universities, colleges, arts and cultural institutions in the United States, Canada and Great Britain. A former faculty member at UC Berkeley, she accepted a lectureship in the English Department of the University of Wales in 2004 and was appointed Writer in Residence in 2008.

 She is a strong proponent of the traditional Liberal Arts, the Fine Arts and the Utilitarian Arts as separate and equally respectable entities, an advocate for Wales and a patron of literary endeavours.

 Harrison speaks various varieties of English as well as intermediate Welsh and rusty French. She is a member of The Association of Literary Scholars, Critics and Writers, The Intercollegiate Studies Institute, The National Association of Scholars, The Women’s Faculty Club of the University of California, Berkeley, The Association of Welsh Writers in English, The Claremont Institute, The Association for Core Texts and Courses, The Red Room, The Association of Writing Programs, The Welsh Academy, and The National Coalition of Independent Scholars, where she served on the Board in 2009 and 2010.

 Harrison lives in the United States and Wales with her husband, Herbert F. Solow, the former Head of MGM, Paramount and Desilu Studios in Hollywood. She has two incomparable sons.

 You can find out more about Harrison at:

 http://redroom.com/author/harrison-solow

http://lamp.academia.edu/HarrisonSolow

http://tinyurl.com/amcyreview

http://tinyurl.com/harrisonsolowww

Review comment 7-2-10:

“Simply majesterial. As you know, this is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. (And something I’ll hopefully write about in the near future, as soon as I have a house and a desk. Thrilled to know I’ll be able to allude to this brilliant essay.” ~  Elizabeth Eslami, author of Bone Worship.

Reply by Harrison: 

“Elizabeth, among of the happiest gifts in life, for me, is the exceptional bond that occurs between kindred spirits who are working in the same field with intellectual passion and creative limerance. Although we have only recently met, I have no doubt that this shared interest, among the others we have discussed, will lead to an invaluable association, a fruitful interchange and a lasting  friendship. I truly value your review of this essay. Thank you.”  ~Harrison

During our semi-annual Planning Retreat yesterday, we got down to business, but, as you can see by the snapshot, laughter trumped the agenda. Judith Marshall, Sarbjit Rai, and I were not the only ones in the group laughing, we just got caught in the act by Teresa with her candid camera.

I especially like this photo, because it will be a great reminder, when I’m deep in overload, that we truly do have so much fun interacting, networking, planning, and hosting events. And this is exactly why we choose to belong to WNBA-SF, along with the fact that as a national organization our influence reaches far and wide connecting women and men to the greater literary community across the country, as well as, promoting literacy world wide as a member of the United Nations and UNICEF.

Speaking of literacy, September is National Literacy Month, so we begin our fall season of events with Zen and the Art of the Book Deal and the Great Book Giveaway. October promises lunch with a bestselling author during National Reading Group Month, and November offers members the extra benefits of Authors’ Showcase & Silent Auction, just in time for holiday gift buying.

In the next few weeks the final details of the above teaser notes will be worked out and posted as the  Fall Calendar of Events on our WNBA-SF website. Click here to peruse the site and join us in promoting women and the book.

Masha Hamilton has been named this year’s recipient of the Women’s National Book Association WNBA Award, which is presented to “a living American woman who derives part or all of her income from books and allied arts, and who has done meritorious work in the world of books beyond the duties or responsibilities of her profession or occupation.”

Hamilton is a novelist and former foreign correspondent. Her fiction includes 31 Hours and The Camel Bookmobile. As a journalist, Masha worked for the Associated Press, reporting from the Middle East, and for the Los Angeles Times and NBC/Mutual Radio, reporting on the Soviet Union during its final years.

In 2009, she launched the Afghan Women’s Writing Project “to foster creative and intellectual exchange between Afghan women writers and American women authors and teachers.”

WNBA president Mary Grey James praised “the depth of Masha’s commitment to the world of literacy and books beyond her own career. She is a sterling example of what the WNBA Award truly intends to honor–meritorious work in the world of books beyond her profession.”

Thank you, Masha, for going the extra mile in the world of books,

Lynn Henriksen, President WNBA-SF

Seems like I’ve neglected my blog far too long, but it has been all I could do to keep up with a hectic schedule the past couple weeks giving workshops from Boise, ID, to Santa Rosa, CA, and then traveling back east to WNBA’s national presidents’ meeting, not to mention my “day job.” I know, we’re all swamped, but let us not forget about dad – you still have time to give him the best gift ever (see below).

Fathers, I haven’t forgotten you! It is your day on Sunday. I’ve posted a little poem for all the sons and daughters out there who, when thinking of their fathers, feel a tug at their heart. I know I do.

The following poem, author unknown, is for you:

When I think of you, I just

Can’t restrain the tug at

My heart that I can’t explain.

When I think of you

Winter or summer, sun-

shine or rain, there’ll always

Remain that tug at my

Heart that I can’t explain,

When I think of you.

 Now that you’re feeling that dad is tugging at your heart for your, write a short memoir by answering this question, “If I could tell just one small story that would capture my father’s character and keep his spirit alive, what would it be?” Become a TellTale Soul.

I feel fortunate to have clear memories of what Memorial Day signifies. When I was a kid growing up in North Dakota, this was a day where everyone I knew actually did commemorate the fallen American soldiers, who had died for our country as far back as the Civil War. Flowers were placed on the graves and memorials of these brave men and women to honor the fact that they made the ultimate sacrifice. A huge amount of patriotism was displayed as flags waved in most every yard and place of business, our national anthem – The Star Spangled Banner – boomed from horn and drum across our great land, and the smoke from charred hot dogs (gotta love ‘em) blanketed picnic grounds the country over.

Thousands and thousands of bright red, paper poppies were sold all over the United States in support of World War II Veterans. These crinkly poppies went for a 5¢ piece, and were worn with pride by all Americans. To us kids, they were like badges of honor. Perhaps this is another reason why the California poppy is so special to me, even though it is not the same poppy as the Poppy Day poppy.

                     I love spring time in California, when poppies suddenly appear in their glorious orange splendor, standing tall and bright on spidery stems, but strong and hardy nonetheless. These common poppies can be seen everywhere, from ditches to the best-kept yards, and each and every time I catch a glimpse at them, they remind me of the uncommon valor of our soldiers, the fragility of life, and the indebtedness I have for them for keeping America the land free and the home of the brave.

The Star Spangled Banner ?link to complete lyrics

By Francis Scott Key 1814
Oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

… Back to the blurred line between fiction and nonfiction. I enjoyed the comments I received from searchers for truth after posting the first part of this short series. The following are a few extracted comments that hit home: 

• I received a Goggle alert announcing my death
• The reality check has bounced
• I think humanity has for the most part lost the ability to confront the truth and instead seek escapism in any form
• Without truth, we’re crossing swaying bridges with no railings
• Buyer beware has grown into listener beware
• Tawdry “reality” that surrounds us today becomes the worst sort of lie

(This is a three-part series; for context, read part one, click here.)

First of all, I love literary fiction and read it voraciously – more than I read literary nonfiction, actually. I’m wondering if fiction is perhaps one of the most honest forms of writing after all. Fiction writers don’t pretend to tell the truth, but I believe their writing is based on seeking and portraying the truth about human nature. Fiction, by definition, is not based on fact, but on fabrication and the work of a darn good imagination. We only buy into fictional stories if and when the writer gives us believable characters with whom we can connect on an emotional level.

Nonfiction, with memoir being most dear to my heart, is supposed to be based in fact. Now, who said memory is made up of nothing but facts?  I teach that it’s okay to use your imagination while writing memoir. And I say that the way in which you see the truth about people and events will be very different from how your sister, for example, will look at those same people and events.  The whole matter becomes blurred to some degree by each person’s feelings, emotional posture, passion-set, and personal claim on each moment in time.

Both memoir and fiction, when skillfully written, “…[have] the ability to evoke the entire spectrum of human emotions to distract our minds, to give us hope in times of despair, to make us laugh, or to let us experience empathy without attachment.” (Quote from word iQ, regarding their definition of fiction. I chose to add memoir, because it, too, aptly fits the description.)

I remember reading a novel written by a woman I know socially. It was a lively story, entertaining, rife with emotion. While reading it, I began to believe she was the protagonist and this was the story of a portion of her life before I knew her, since many events fit what I knew about her colorful life. When next we talked, I mentioned something about what a brilliant little guy her son was, and I was curious as to what he was up to now, since I thought he surely would have turned out to be an astronaut or someone equally remarkable. Through a wry smile, she informed me that she didn’t have a son, in fact, no children at all, as planned. Turns out she was pleased that she’d written so convincingly about a son in her story that many readers believed he was hers – I wasn’t the only one caught in the snare of a talented writer. She had no intention to deceive, she’s a novelist. It was I who was reading fiction as nonfiction and loving every word of it!

I’ll move to a short post about the wiggly nature memoir next time. In the meantime, write a true tale about your dad for Father’s Day (June 20^th). What could be better than to let him know you took the time to capture his character and spirit in a bio-vignette that only you can write?

Is fiction the 21^st Century’s nonfiction? From many points of reference, it is. We are inundated with the gyrations and hubris of movie stars, politicians, government, sports figures, singers, authors, You Tubers, bites & bits from social networkers, and staged stunts on “reality” shows, most of which/whom are anything but legitimate or authentic. This Stuff, lacking in veracity, is pitched to us as nonfiction, and it has moved so far over-the-top that it has become difficult to separate fiction from nonfiction, illusion from truth, and fabrication from fact.

The media serves up the lies, air-brushed & siliconed lovelies, cover-ups, and pathetic excuses and insincere apologies for bad behavior, while a whorl of adoring fans and supporters suck up this fiction as truth. I wonder if these actions are because some of them don’t know any better, or is it that they just don’t give a flying fig?  We belly-up to bunk in one form or another on a daily basis, and, whether we believe the drivel or not, it seeps stealthily into our collective consciousness. But most of us crave honest emotional reactions that come from taking in truths that we don’t have to second guess – genuineness that just sits-right in the gut.

I realize that in writing this on The Story Woman blog, I’m probably preaching to the choir – there’s always hope for validation. With this little rant out of the way, I’ll get back to you in a couple of days with a few thoughts on the topic of where truth and honesty fit into the literary world of writing fiction and nonfiction. I surprised myself with where some of this line of thinking has taken me. Truth is often stranger than fiction, but is it as entertaining? Let me know what you think.

This time, while walking the memoir labyrinth, deliberately open your mind to the colors that appear when using your senses. Spend time thinking about how color affects each of your five senses, one at a time. And then expand your thoughts into combining, for example, taste with smell or sight with touch, which will give you the opportunity to add appealing sensory layers to your writing in imaginative ways. This exercise will show you that what you need to do to make a short, true tale come alive is well within your grasp. It’s yours for the taking, if you’ll simply write down what you have visualized.

Mom, Dad, Uncle Joe, Grandmother Sophia – they are or were colorful people, true? When you think of them, you think of them in color, so now write about them in color. To make your story come alive, use your senses in the context of the color of their character and their actions.

Colors trip sensory responses in all of us, and sensory responses are tied to every hue imaginable. It’s your job to invite the colors in.

• What colors come to mind with when you see you mother’s angry face or when you dissolve into her warm smile?

• What colors come to mind when you feel your father gently pat on your cheek or when you cry out as his belt hits your bottom?

• What colors come to mind when you smell your wife’s perfume or when you get a whiff of the sneakers she just took off?

• What colors come to mind when you taste that horrible stew your grandmother made or when you gobbled up her famous strawberry shortcake?

• What colors come to mind when you hear your husband talk about the sexy, new girl at the office or when you listen to him whistle while he works on the screen door you’d asked him to fix?

Now that you’ve had some fun using your senses to add color to your personal thoughts, apply what you’ve learned when you write your bio-vignette. The people whom you’re writing about – do them justice by capturing their character in living color. Add details that describe them, the scenes, and the events vividly through colorful characterizations that put oomph and vitality into the flat facts.

In her novel, Beloved, Toni Morrison has her characters ponder color this way:

Her past had been like her present — intolerable — and since she knew death was anything but forgetfulness, she used the little energy left her for pondering color. “Bring a little lavender in, if you got any. Pink, it you don’t.” And Sethe would oblige her with anything from fabric to her own tongue.

Do write your bio-vignette using colorful, sensory details – become a Technicolor TellTale Soul – but spend thoughtful time on the memoir labyrinth first.

I know you’re budding out, pert and peppy in all your glory, Spring. I feel you beckon me with your flirtatious ways, flowing sap and saucy spirit, so that I can’t resist your charms, but that only means trouble is looming on the horizon.

Our love affair is fraught with predictable problems, and I should know better than to trust you after all these years. With you, Spring, I get bees that sting, sunburn, in spite of the block, and broken fingernails from poking around in your fertile bed. But that’s not the half of it. You make me hot – my temperature rises with hope held high for planting. Were it not for you, I wouldn’t envision brilliant flowers and juicy tomatoes that taste like tomatoes making their grand entrance all around after teasing them with gentle love and holy water.

But I know my dreams will be dashed by loving you. You make me love you, and then you invite your ill-mannered friends to our garden party and leave me broken hearted, empty. After each fruitful day with you, I awaken to see that overnight, every new leaf and bud has been silently nipped. Your treacherous friends have left smelly tracks and dangerous ticks in their wake, while your face opens into a wide blue smile and you wink at me as only you can.

Sorry, Spring, I’m not falling for this again. Now I wonder where I left my hoe.

Spring has written her Mother Memoir. Have you? Mother’s Day is just a couple days away, you still have time to give your mother the best gift – a short, true story capturing her spirit. Become a TellTale Soul by writing your bio-vignette.

Jane Wenger is at it again – I wish I could go, even though I’m not a playwright. Everyone learns so much for Jane, a teacher with more than vision… and she’s fun, too! If you can possibly go to Assisi to study with her, don’t miss this opportunity.

Vision and REVISION

 Jayne Wenger, Instructor                                                                                                     

ASSISI, ITALY  August 6 – August 19, 2010

Live and write in a 12th century town in the heart of Umbria with a community of artists from around the world. The workshop will focus on plays that are in process, with emphasis on development and analysis of the script.  Writers will hear a scene or monologue daily and will receive individual dramaturgy from the instructor. In-depth and practical, this is a unique opportunity to concentrate your creative energy.      

Artists developing solo shows are also encouraged to attend.  Emphasis is on plot, organic structure and character, with focus on building a relationship with the audience. This aspect of the workshop is tailored for writers who want to act, actors who want to write, and performers who want to create new work. 

Jayne Wenger is a director and dramaturg whose exclusive focus is on original material. She is the past Artistic Director of the Bay Area Playwrights Foundation. She leads workshops on play development around the country, is nationally recognized for her work on new plays, and has developed the work of acclaimed playwrights nationwide.

 Additional details and information can be found at www.jaynewenger.com and www.artworkshopintl.com.

If you can’t attend Jane’s workshop, at least write your Mother Memoir and become a TellTale Soul! Bio-vignettes work.