Asking a writer to talk about the process of her own writing is like asking someone about her sex life. It’s slightly embarrassing, because it is so intimate, and frankly, this writer would rather do the deed than talk about it. But I don’t mind telling you what I write about. In broad-brush terms, I have written about alcohol and drug addiction, and more importantly, recovery and the influence of twelve-step programs, incest, racial and religious tolerance, abortion, and war. My short stories often deal with some sort of loss. Not much fun, you say, but it can be. We are talking passion here, folks, and motivation. I hope I’ve fleshed all this out in a readable body of work and even dressed it in a little poetic writing, accessorized with bits of humor and perhaps a gem or two.

Boomers, Not Looking Ahead

February 8, 2010

in Musings

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Boomers, Not Looking Ahead. Many baby boomers worry about having to depend on other people to care for them in their old age. Yet most boomers have done little to prepare for that possibility, a recent survey suggests;

This quote about the baby boomers made me think of lessons learned from the 30s. I learned about rhythm. Not just about jazz, blues and the beat of my piano teacher’s metronome, but the rhythms of life engraved my soul. Perhaps it is the ceaseless September to May cycle of the school year that imprints us all in childhood, yet as a writer I can see how strongly these circadian themes are played out. My first two books adhere to a strict twelve-month pattern. The third book is time-based, chronicling the final five months of the Second World War, and this book is divided into decades. Only my second collection of short stories is free of these constraints

Gustav Mueller, under whom I studied philosophy, used to say there was no new truth, only rediscovered truth. The image I have of this is the Escher print of the eternal staircase. But truth returns in different disguises, embellished, trimmed or augmented, accepted quietly or loudly rejected.

So the baby boomers are unprepared for financial hardship? They have never known it. These are the people who did not care to listen to anyone older than thirty when they were in their know-it-all twenties. They never saw for themselves the bread lines and soup kitchens, the men like the one eating a meatloaf sandwich on my mother’s front porch, men who would gladly work if they could find a job. They never felt the frustration of “Will this never end?” Of course it ended, but it took 11 years.

Stories of these times held no “relevance” for the boomers.

Today the financial analysts are fond of repeating that the average length of a depression is 11 months. These figures only take into account the years following the Second World War. Of course they are right, but there is no guarantee the present business cycle will last only that long. There are still some of us who remember what can happen, just as my father told me about his father’s recount of the money panics of the late 19th Century. Arrogance sometimes overrides history.

Even the name “The Great Depression” is evocative. Depression has come to mean to us the gloomy state of the psyche familiar to most of us, incapacitating to many and devastating to a few. Although the former refers to an economic crisis, the latter was equally and universally true during those years. John Steinbeck described the era best. The Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men and Cannery Row were more than just stories. They were drawn from the fabric of the time.

All the talk of a “new economy” in the past few years amused me. I suspected that the “old economy” would come roaring back in a new suit one day.

Life, like a kaleidoscope, is ever shifting and ever different, but the pieces are the same.

© 2001, Janet M. Taliaferro

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Looking for Perfection

February 4, 2010 Breaking the Surface

Each fall
I walk the asphalt road
turned to satin
by rain
and search the splatters
of maple leaves
to find one
perfect crimson star
the size of a baby’s hand.
Today I found one
or so I thought
until I saw
some rogue insect
had preceded me
eating a hole–
–a perfect oval.
“Looking for Perfection” appeared in The Northern Virginia Review, Vol. 22.
© 2006, Janet M. Taliaferro

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“Oh shit!” Barry’s voice exploded above the general hubbub on the beach.
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A Sky for Arcadia (Chapter One) – Part 4

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The drowning of my town had been exciting and horrifying. Tales circulated among the early-grade-school set about old people who would refuse to leave and pets that would not accept their new homes and insist on staying in the town even though the waters would drown them as surely as it would take their homes.
Such [...]

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January 25, 2010 A Sky for Arcadia
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The bitterness in his voice floated up to me with the words. I did not care.
The paramedic looked at Barry diffidently as he handed him the clipboard. “Please sign this,” he said, and then added, “Sir, if you’re a doctor, would you like . . . ?” The young man gestured toward the body.
Barry shook [...]

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A Sky for Arcadia (Chapter One) – Part 2

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Clearly that was my angular body lying supine, the long legs I have always thought of as clumsy, now inert. The sodden skirt and blouse were certainly the ones I had put on that morning. Their muted tones, turned muddy by the wetting, made my body look like a water splotch on dry sand.
The skirt [...]

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A Sky for Arcadia (Chapter One) – Part 1

January 18, 2010 A Sky for Arcadia
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On Sunday I had tried to explain to Mother, and that was what started it. I wanted to tell her how I felt about Allison. Not just that my daughter was swept away from us at an impossibly young age, but how, for me, that loss represented a broken chain. A chain of mother to [...]

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Musings…

January 14, 2010 Musings
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I’ve just finished reading Susan Jacoby’s The Age of American Unreason. Depressing but the excellent scholarship makes it riveting, especially to those of us who mourn the passing of things we treasured growing up in the thirties and forties; general knowledge about what (and where) things were actually going on in the world, appreciation [...]

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Night Terrors and the Wizard of Oz

January 11, 2010 Poetry

They were under my bed
the creatures with conical hats,
orange and green.
They bobbed around the room
just at the corner of my eye
and disappeared when I looked
directly at them.
They didn’t come every night
but often enough for a year or two
that I would call for my parents
afraid to go to their room.
Mother never heard me
but my father, clad [...]

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Whatever happened to…

January 7, 2010 Musings
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September went somewhere while I was supposed to be writing this for my website. I have a vague recollection of Labor Day and then October showed up on the calendar along with a few red and yellow leaves.
The summer didn’t go that swiftly, but it was productive and, shall I say, balanced. I [...]

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