Just when we were thinking it couldn’t be any worse (partisan here: remember the GW Bush years?) society, the economy, the planets, Nature, LIFE serve as reminders that, as Event Horizon,one of THE classic 90s horror films states, “Hell is only a word; The reality is much, much worse.” (If you enjoy a bit of rotfl gore, click through here for the clip. If not, definitely stay away!)
I’m being a bit glib, as I don’t really believe in Hell as such, and therefore have no post-mortem fear of it. But that aside, the hits just keep on coming.
Example: when I was dreaming about my future in an upstairs classroom of a building constructed in 1928 in pre-summer Pomona during the 1990s, it did not include a debilitating sciatica issue. Nor did I envision a future earning money via food and grocery delivery while I was racking up loans for grad school 10+ years ago. But here (the royal) We are.
I’d also never conceived that I might *really* enjoy hiking or have an inclination to keep plants alive. Which I do, and have.
Hiking was a thing that people with money or dads who lived at home did so I knew it wasn’t for me. It wasn’t until I was fired unceremoniously from a job I didn’t love last year that I discovered all the trails – specifically trails I *haven’t* seen posted on social media – near me. It was the first time I was able to “Yes, And…” being fired. I’d never been super active in my life because I hate competition and I don’t believe in “no pain, no gain.” The two are not correlative by any means. But once I’d been convinced that hiking was just walking in the woods and that I wouldn’t need to scale a mountain, I decided to try it out.
And it was the beginning of me. The beginning of a new era/phase/stage of development. I’d reached middle age and had been so focused on how far I hadn’t gotten and on the idea that what I *had* learned hadn’t done much for me. Hiking was much more of a mental and spiritual journey than it was a physical one, and it was a huge physical journey. I have been in therapy for most of my life and there were things in hiking I learned about myself that I don’t know I could have learned through talk therapy alone. The skills I learned negotiating my way across a tiny stream that my friend jumped across all gazelle-like were the skills I used to negotiate my way to the bathroom when my sciatica pain was so bad I could barely move.
Last year, I lost a job, then I lost mobility. I didn’t feel like I should have lost either. “I have a Master’s Degree – why don’t I have a job? Why can’t I keep a job?” And “I’m only 43, I should be able to move. I shouldn’t be in this much pain!” It really was a crazy amount of pain. Consistent pain for eight months which kept me literally grounded.
The week after I was set free from that job, I started taking a medicinal plant workshop. I may not have been the best student, but showing up was what I could manage at the time. And I’m so grateful for the opportunity to learn those things while I was learning to hike. It was a hard shift away from the “outside” world with which I’ve had such a complicated relationship for as along as I’ve been in therapy/have been told I needed it.
I learned to make some preventative medicines for allergies, an amazing salve for muscle and nerve pain, and what it means to *really* pay attention. It turns out that the huge tree outside my bedroom window that I’ve been staring at for 11.5 years is a Eucalyptus tree. Eucalyptus, among its many amazing uses, is great for respiratory issues.
I have asthma, which is a chronic inflammatory issue based in the lungs. Some suggested causes are allergens and stress. I learned in my herbal medicine class that addiction and asthma are afflictions related to loneliness/abandonment. I also learned that the left lung is smaller than the right, as it has to share space with our heart. Sometimes when the heart is sick, it affects the lungs. I also learned that the lungs are the place in the body where we most hold onto grief.
The U.S. culture is not one that honors grief much less death as a part of life. It has dissociated itself from these basic life facts in an effort to delude itself into thinking it is godhead. But It. Is. Not. Some needed to be reminded; some have never forgotten. With all that is going on in this country, in this state, in this city, in this house, in this body, paying attention to the stage of development and nurturing it is key. We are not godhead; we are Life and Death and everything in between.
Like a long distance runner, I travel solo at a fast pace, between villages, delivering my message:
Latinx immigrants are here to stay. We are an increasingly large group of people in all shades of brown, with complex identities product of the ethnic amalgamation that the process of colonization brought upon us.
It has been a pleasure doing this publication roundup for the last 4.5 years. It’s allowed me to stay connected to this amazing community and inspired me to keep trying to publish. Though this will be my last roundup, I look forward to seeing all of you virtually and in the real world soon. Happy writing! Laura
Congratulations to T.M. Semrad who had 4 poems published at isacoustic! From “Absent Affirmation, a selfie, my mother’s doppelganger, deleted:”
I celebrate father, hold up his present, my face an aching grin to give him a gift who gifted me. Later, when I am grown, he and I will walk together alone
I had heard other trains on other nights—as a child in Indiana when the house our rented room was in abutted the track, I’d be jolted awake by the train passing by the open window until the child I was grew used to the sound and added it to a dream—a black crow overhead would open its beak and out came the shriek of the train, first louder and louder and then diminishing with a distorted pitch as it taxied away on the physics of the air.
the first time I ask Tana why she left El Salvador, me dice: porque allá llueve mucho. its waters too vast and devious, too quick to wash away everything she’s worked for.
Our country is burning. Again. There is so much happening, it is difficult to find a place to start. The news is constantly turning, cycling. The protests, which give me hope, illuminate the stories of America we have for too long denied. Perhaps I could begin with the election of a tyrant, the subsequent wave (or resurgence) of fascism and racism, and finally a pandemic, which instead of becoming a great equalizer or unifying force, has served to magnify the inequities in America.
From “June 24, 2010” by S. Evan Stubblefield at Past Ten:
The hills I drive past are as red as heat. The sky is muddy, and there are few cars on the road. The coolant in my air conditioning is low and my windows have to be cranked down by hand. That was my dad’s idea. “If your car ever ends up in the water,” he said. “You can just roll down the glass and get out.” But I-5 is all almond trees, citrus groves, gas stations, and cows. No ocean anywhere.
From Hazel Kight Witham‘s “The Power of Story:” Interview with Jared Seide On How Listening To Each Other Can Restore Our Humanity at The Sun:
Seide: We knew the twenty-year anniversary of the Rwandan genocide was going to be a big one, so Bernie Glassman [co-founder of Zen Peacemakers] asked me to help support a Bearing Witness retreat, which would be an opportunity for people from Europe and the U.S., as well as Rwanda and other African nations, to come and participate in five days of bearing witness to the atrocities. Bernie had been leading similar retreats to Auschwitz for two decades.
When I picked up Boland’s first book of prose, Object Lessons: The Life of The Woman and the Poet in Our Times, I didn’t devour this book so much as I inhaled it. Here was a woman writing eloquently about unnamed issues I knew were real, articulating the ambitions of many other female poets who were also stymied by invisible barriers, the press of tradition, and the need to know their voices mattered.
Memoirs play with time. Through narration and reflection, the past meets up with the present, allowing the writer to give a closer eye to why what happened still remains so vivid. Díaz utilizes this manipulation of time and takes artistic license. She identifies several moments and brings them together like an accordion. “There was a time, before my mother’s illness, before my parents divorced, before we left Puerto Rico for Miami Beach, when we were happy. It was after Alaina was born, after Mami had gone back to work at the factory, after I’d started school and learned to read.” In an equal amount of befores and afters, she uses just the right moments to capture a lifetime.
Congratulations to Tanya Ko Hong who translated 4 poems by Na Hye-Sok at Lunch Ticket! From “The Doll’s House:”
Playing with my doll makes me happy and later I become my father’s doll and later my husband’s I make them happy I become their comfort
I have thought long and hard about my decision to address the newest example of police brutality against Black men and women in America that has resulted in the worldwide protests. Sometimes the only way that I can deal with the rage that these images evoke in me is to become numb as a defense mechanism. Far too many times these occurrences flood our timelines for a few weeks, and then are gone until the next incident. I worry about myself, but more than that, I am constantly worried about my family and you, my students. I pray that the world can see the joy and light that I see in your faces daily. I see you for the individual qualities that you bring to the classroom. I see your excitement but also your pain and struggle. Quiet, loud, extroverted, introverted, disengaged, actively participating, Black, White, Asian, Latinx, Pacific Islander, Native American, Multiracial, Gay, Straight, Bi or Curious, I see you and advocate for you. I want nothing more than to protect you as you figure out who you are as you pass through the awkward years of middle school. You have enough to deal with becoming yourself without having to deal with images of abuse due to immigration status, race, gender identity, sexual orientation, oh and on top of all of that, a worldwide pandemic that has isolated you from friends and loved ones for months.
The last time Los Angeles was awakened by a civil unrest was in 1992. I was a couple of years older than you are now. I remember how that impacted me and the many emotions that I didn’t know how to express. I experienced all three stress responses: fight, flight and freeze. I felt powerful from the rage but also completely helpless against a system that continuously exhibited disdain for me and my people. The far too often attacks on character either through explicit statements or with microaggression based on implicit biases adds to the stress of trying to exist in peace.
Through the years with each new murder at the hands of police or “stand your ground laws,” I could feel the pressure building to another eruption that inevitably happened two weeks ago. I would like to be optimistic that this time it will be different. So far, the evidence is suggesting that this time may be different. Maybe since people were confined at home and couldn’t turn away, they finally see and understand what Black people have tried to explain about mistreatment and the systemic racism found in the police, healthcare, and school systems of our country.
I hope and pray that when you are my age, you will not have to tell future generations experiencing yet another civil unrest the story of “When I was your age…” My parents told me of Marquette Frye in 1967, my story in 1992 was LaTasha Harlins & Rodney King, and in 2020 it is George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arberry and too many others to name. I believe that your generation can break this cycle. You are open to an entire world through social media to share experiences and understand each other. Learn and become who you are so that you can celebrate and respect the similarities and differences of others. You have shown that you can adapt and survive anything. To quote one of my favorite cartoons, “I believe that you have the power to change the world” (Avatar the Last Airbender).
Congratulations on all of your accomplishments. I am so proud of each and every one of you. It has been my pleasure to be your science teacher.
Sincerely,
Ms. R. Montgomery
I majored in Biology and graduated from California State University Dominguez Hills. My first teaching position was at Crenshaw High School in South Los Angeles. I left the field of teaching to work in a pathology lab at Harbor UCLA Medical Center. I spent three years studying the effects of alcohol induced hypoxia due to binge drinking on the liver of rats and mice. I left the field of research and returned to teaching to answer a calling. After my experience at Crenshaw, I wanted to reach students earlier in their academic careers. I received my preliminary teaching credential in biological sciences from UCLA Center X with a Social Justice emphasis. I taught at Bret Harte Middle School in South Los Angeles for 12 years. I am currently teaching at Emerson Community Charter Middle School in the Westwood area of Los Angeles. I believe that everyone can learn if given a fair opportunity. I try to instill a love for learning and a need for students to stay socially aware.
Written by Ryane Nicole Granados, Edited by Lauren Eggert-Crowe, and Resources by Ashley Perez
It is with a heavy heart that we find ourselves in a position, once again, to draft a statement in support of Black lives and to denounce police brutality, while reaffirming our commitment to fighting anti-Black racism. We know members of our community are tired. The exhaustion is a soul deep weariness from a lifetime of saying name after name of those murdered in the name of hate.
The ongoing, tragic killings of unarmed Black men and women, including most recently, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and Tony McDade have continued to expose our society as a system built to oppress and harm Black people while perpetuating white supremacy.
As a result, Women Who Submit stands in solidarity with the #BlackLivesMatter movement. Some of our members are Black mothers and daughters and spouses and artists and educators and activists, and their very existence in a world determined to deny them their humanity is revolutionary. We recognize their revolution.
One action we can take immediately is to make our solidarity visible through our art, activism and our voices. If you are protesting, let us know and we will spread the word. If you are writing, let us encourage you to submit because your words matter. If you are tired, let us help you carry on because the more of us who mobilize, the greater our impact will be.
Black writers’ lives matter. Black readers’ lives matter. Black children’s lives matter. Black women’s lives matter. All Black lives matter, now and always.
We believe in a world that values community over policing. We want to build a society that invests in education, housing, healthcare and the arts, not an ever-expanding and dominating police presence. We lend our time and energy to the work of building a network of resources that nourish the community and uplift Black lives.
Resistance is a collection of small and grand acts by people who care. Women Who Submit leadership and membership are resisting by attending protests, donating to organizations that support Black lives, making calls to legislators, demanding independent prosecutions in unlawful killings and supporting bailout efforts for protestors. Below is a list of organizations that need your dollars, and as we search for additional ways to help bolster the fight, we also share the following collection of works and resources that we have found helpful in these troubling times.
When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed. But when we are silent we are still afraid. So it is better to speak–Audre Lorde
We hope you and your loved ones are well during these challenging times, and that these literary successes from women in our community bring some hope and joy.
As laughter echoed in the lobby of the Katzen Arts Center, I began to ponder collective nouns. If a group of crows is a murder and a group of owls is a parliament, what would the term be for a group of undergraduates? No word came to mind, so I christened the gathered American University students a “headache.”
We knew about the Arringtons before they got here. Irv Silverman tap-tapped on our back door the day the moving truck driver refused to venture up his black diamond-run driveway. Irv asked if the guy could use ours. Of course we were accommodating. We were good neighbors. Ours stretched down from Oakland Avenue in the back, instead of up from Stage Road in the front, and it was a bunny hill compared to his. So, the driver came that way and the truck pulled onto Irv’s property from ours. There was never a “for sale” sign and Irv waited until then, when it was obvious, to tell us he was moving.
From “Avenging Angel” by Désirée Zamorano at the Los Angeles Review of Books:
When we first meet Lily Wong, the protagonist of Tori Eldridge’s The Ninja Daughter, she is in an empty, desolate building, hanging from a platform, sardonically addressing her Ukrainian tormentor in a bid to extend her life and interrupt the pain of his swinging rope.
Congratulations to Désirée whose story, “Habia Una Vez,” was published at Crab Creek Review!
Our Family Name / translated into English / means in rice field, to flee Okinawa’s / smattering of rocky isles / overrun with pests. Sail amber waves for / land in America where / anything will grow.
Congratulations to Lituo Huang who had two poems, “Prize” and “05.09.2020,” published at Decameron Writing Series. From “Prize”:
The first time I saw the claw machine, I was at a guy’s birthday party. The guy was someone my sister had dated a few times. The party was at Dave and Buster’s because the guy was turning twenty-one. I went even though I was thirty-one and hadn’t been invited.
Already imperfect, memory is often fragmented and fragile with trauma, making telling our stories more elusive. Just as life does not usually move in a straightforward, organized narrative, my stories were not always moving toward a linear, traditional format. In fact, while I was working on my manuscript, I found that its main characters kept messing up my story arc. Sometimes writing in alternative forms can help to excavate this material, so this is one of the things I looked for in my reading.
The books below were my friends on the road to publishing One Day on the Gold Line, waiting on my bookshelves whenever I needed their company.
More congrats to Carla whose poems, “Each Day” and “Not Hand in Hand,” were published in Sheltering in Place at Staring Problem Press!
Our spaces have changed due to the current situation, as have our concepts of rooms, events, and conversations. But as we step into Zoom sessions, chat rooms, or House Parties, and as we prepare to go out into the world again, here are some good things for us to remember as white people moving in spaces that aren’t all white.
I get where it comes from. I grew up the youngest in a white family with two older brothers, so there was always competition for attention at the dinner table. I learned that if I could be clever enough and say the thing loud enough and get my opinion out, I would win. Not win, but be seen.
This need to talk continued as I grew up white in American classrooms. Teachers reward the answerers, those who raise their hands and say the thing all the way. By the time you get through high school, you know the grades are there for “class participation,” showing interest, registering your opinion. And through college. And into the job world; if you’re at a table, you’d best be heard if you want to be seen as a member of the team. By the time we’re adults, it’s ingrained in us. “Be assertive.” “Register your opinion” “What do you think? Say it while you have the chance.”
We’re so good at saying the thing. Being heard. Letting the powers that be know we are the smart one. We are all over social media registering our opinions daily. When something big happens in the news, there’s this urgency inside to be heard from. I’ve felt it, that same squirm in my belly that came when a topic would come up at the dinner table. Or in a meeting.
But what we missed was that in our various classrooms, colleges, and jobs, this is not what people of color have experienced or what they’ve been taught. They were silenced, ignored, brushed off daily and, over time, taught that there was no reward for speaking up; it would get you corrected, silenced, ‘splained to, or a combination of the three. If you are a white woman reading this, you’ve experienced some level of this brushoff from men. We all have. Imagine it being the relentless message in every space you occupy. Understand we’re experiencing a different operational reality from our friends of color. I’m working on paying attention to this.
Allyship series by Atlanta artist Danielle Coke @ohhappydani on twitter and instagram.
It happened again. I’m certain if you’re reading this, you’ve been in a space where this happens. The white guy got a hold of a mic.
The overall thrust is that the publishing machine of the US is not only white dominated, but only promotes white writers, even when they’re telling stories of people of color. Flatiron Press’s kajillion dollar promotion of the problematic American Dirt pushed the conversation to a head.
Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo, a poet and activist, the founder of Women Who Submit, put together in very short time a crackerjack panel to talk about these issues, including Christopher Soto, Myriam Gurba, Romeo Guzman, Roxane Gay, and Wendy C Ortiz. All of these people have expertise in the publishing industry.
When Xochitl opened the mic up to questions after the panel, she gave a very clear reminder to the room that this space was being held for writers of color, children of immigrants, latinx writers.
And that white guy got up. He’s an agent and proceeded to ‘splain the publishing industry and statistics to this panel of experts.
Here’s where you can chuckle and say to yourself, “I’m not that guy,” and pat yourself on the back. But my question here is, instead of letting a roomful of people politely wait for this man to say his piece that adds nothing to the conversation, to let the guy bogart the mic from a roomful of people for whom that microphone was intended, what can white people do?
I was going to holler, “not your microphone, sir” but I sat there thinking: this isn’t my event, I came here to be quiet, listen, and amplify. But how many times have the BIPOC in the room had to carry a white guy like this?
I made up my mind to talk to the guy after the event ended. But when I got up, this agent was handing out his card to writers of color. Maybe this was a gatekeeper who saw the problem and could get writers’ books out there. I realize now I should have waited until he was not handing out a card and still had those words. Not that this guy, who had been clearly told who that microphone was for was necessarily going to learn, but I will work to do better next time.
Handling these guys takes a lot of energy, but it’s work BIPOC are tired of doing. We need to step in where we can, stop that guy from instinctively bulldozing and not listening. I ‘m working on this.
And, I’m hoping, as you’re reading this, you understand that the tickle in your belly, the squirming in your seat, your inner need to absolutely say the thing is best subdued in these spaces. When you walk into a reading or a conversation where people of color are well represented, which people of color have created, I’d urge you to appeal to the other things I hope you were taught growing up white: how to be a good guest, how to not speak until spoken to, how to be respectful of the experts onstage.
Allyship series by Atlanta artist Danielle Coke @ohhappydani on twitter and instagram.
We are products of the systems we grew up in and if you’re part of the dominant culture in this country, even if you are waking, even if you read all the things out there and feel pretty “woke” (please don’t call yourself that, you aren’t) there’s still a lot of work to do.
Stick around only white people? Put yourself only in comfortable situations? No. This does nothing but put you out of touch with the world, the country, the city you’re living in. It also makes you an active participant in a system your forebears created, and that system is not equal.
It is your responsibility as a member of the dominant society in this country to be aware of the system you’re in, fight for justice where you can, and listen to non-white people tell us how it is for them. Because only they know.
And where you can, where you have influence, create spaces for people of color. Even if it’s only at work or in your extended family. Even if it’s only online.
And just don’t be the asshole where that space has been created.
I’m still learning, but here are some tips on how to be a better ally, for that is what you’re working on.
Pay attention to the space you’re in. Any space at all where there is a person of color, recognize and allow that person to speak. Shush your white buddy who doesn’t get it. This lack of listening can happen at dinner tables, cocktail parties, receptions and in office meetings, and in Zoom sessions. Don’t be party to it.
Pay attention to the conversation you’re in. Is your opinion really going to enrich the conversation, or are you simply feeling that tickle in the belly, squirm in the seat need to be heard? Was your opinion actually asked for? If not, stay quiet. Your opinions are valuable, but they do not need to be everywhere all the time, they have their space. Save it for later.
Is your sudden need to express an opinion because everyone is weighing in? Is there a dogpile going on? Can you stop said dogpile?
Has the space been created for people of color only? Don’t be afraid to reach out to a friend of color to ask that question before attending. There are spaces you don’t belong.
Has the space been created for people of color to have a voice? If you are welcome there, your role is to sit, listen, and amplify on social media. Tweet that stuff out; good poetry, things said, amazing moments, tweet it with credit to the person who said it. You’re helping your white audience (if you are white you likely have a few white folks in your feed) see the conversations that are taking place. They can learn a lot from people in spaces they might not get to.
Amplify books, articles, poems, short stories, essays, and art by people of color. The systems in place in so many of those worlds only push the white version. Help your fellow artists, writers, poets, journalists, friends out. Retweet, share, and get excited about anything you genuinely liked–be as loud as you can!
If there’s an opportunity to step in to talk to a white person (live or on social media) when your friend of color is doing some heavy lifting. Ask that friend of color if it would be helpful for you to do so. “Can I handle this asshole for you?” You can do the explaining, references, give that person articles. Better yet, you can take the conversation to a sidebar outside this person of color’s feed. Because it’s exhausting for them. Also, THAT white guy does better when they’re in private conversation. Sometimes when they feel they’re being called out publicly, they go toxic. The object is to shut them up off your friend’s feed and out of their day.
Listen and learn. You are not woke. You are learning things, but I promise, you are not woke. My family has 300 years of benefitting off a system built on slavery and land theft, grown on laws and systems put in place to benefit their own. Inequality that takes 300 years to build runs in our fiber in ways we don’t understand. Keep listening, keep learning and get involved in the community where you live.
If you consider yourself a feminist, please understand that women of color are functioning under a different operational reality than you. If you’re a white woman, yes, you have experienced oppression, but again, that absolutely having to say the thing can make you unwittingly drown out voices of color around you. Be conscious of the spaces in which you are traveling and make sure you ‘re adding to the conversation, not talking over anyone.
There is work to be done, and it is not up to people of color to be the only agents of change. As Roxane Gay said in the #DiginidadLiteraria event, “It is not encumbent on writers of color to fix a problem they did not create.”
Kate Maruyama’s novel, HARROWGATE was published by 47North. Her short work has appeared in numerous print and online journals and in several anthologies, including Women Who Submit’s own ACCOLADES. She is a member of the Diverse Works Inclusion Committee of the Horror Writers Association and teaches in the BA program at Antioch University Los Angeles and for inspiration2publication among other places. She writes, teaches, cooks, and eats in Los Angeles, where she lives with her family.
“What is the bridge from the water’s edge of inspiration to the far shore of accomplishment? [Insert laughter from a drunken undergrad] Faith. Faith that your story is worth telling.” – Q played by Rip Torn in Wonder Boys, 2000
This excerpt is taken from pretty close to the top of the film, which takes place during a very prestigious writer’s conference in New England. I assume it’s supposed to be something like Bread Loaf. (Do writer’s books get optioned at Bread Loaf?) I wouldn’t know because I’ve never attended. And I’ve only been to one AWP Conference, which, incidentally was because it took place less than 10 miles from my home.
I’ve never written an entire book, much less published one. And why? “Faith. Faith that [my] story is worth telling.” I have had challenges with that aspect of writing and creating altogether. I have faith that it’s important to me, but that it would be to anyone else enough to listen, read, or purchase that story? Infinitely less so.
Which is why I’m immediately a huge fan of anyone who finishes a complete collection of creative work – literary, musical, performance-based – all of it. Especially non-commissioned works. As a writer who hasn’t completed a novel or collection – I’ve written full length plays and songs, but not a book. And as someone who has tried via NaNoWriMo for the better part of 15 years, I have an idea about what it takes to complete a full-length work, but I don’t know.
Welcome to the brave new world, where your commute (unless you are an essential worker) is from your bed to the couch. Perhaps you are feeling a bit judgmental. With so much extra time on your hands, the thought I should be writing might be circling your brain.
For those who are new to working from home or have an ample amount of time due to being furloughed or being laid off, you may have realized that a 1-hour task can take 16 hours. The lack of structure, and the ability to make your schedule, might have you reeling for normalcy and discipline. Reeling seems to be a symptom of the pandemic.
My father, the king of ADHD and distraction, likes to say about himself, “It doesn’t take me all day to do an all-day job, it just might take me all day to get there.” Going from a film studio corporate structure with set hours and workload to being my own boss– I hate to say it, but I resemble that remark, especially with my inherited ADHD.
This thing called time organization might be new to you. I’ll be honest; it can be a struggle at the best of times.
Time travel is weird, y’all. You don’t even need a time machine to do it. Your mind might be rushing to the future. What will the world look like after this? Your mind might be on the present. Do I have another roll of toilet paper? Your mind might be in the past. I miss XYZ; I felt so much happier then. You might find yourself in a time loop, repeating the same time thoughts over and over again.
These days I see friends and colleagues lament on social media about their lack of productivity, and unsure of where the time has gone. I know where— time travel. The mind cannot be in the present if it’s occupied with the future or the past. Pandemics are great time traveling devices as there are a lot of unknowns and uncertainties.
Remember the old idiom idle hands are the tools of the devil or another version of it idle hands are the devil’s playthings. Folks often believe this expression came from the bible, but we can thank Chaucer’s Tale of Melibee (1405) for the proverb. The character Melibeus says, “Dooth somme goode dedes, that the deuel, which is oure enemy, ne fynde yow nat vnocupied.” My translation of that is, stay busy, so the devil doesn’t find you some work. My interpretation is biased by my experience. Growing up, if my sisters or I said we were bored, there was always a woodpile or brick pile that we would have to move from one side of the yard to the other and served no other purpose. Amazingly, it cured us of boredom, or perhaps it just taught us sublimation.
To me, the idiom is not so much about falling prey to sin; it’s about how the mind can reel, how time travel happens when we are not otherwise occupied. Doing something with your hands can be very grounding. It can help disrupt the time loop. They say gardening and baking can help you feel more grounded, but maybe you don’t have the resources to do that. I have a two-ingredient sweet potato roti recipe for you. Works on a hotplate or stovetop. It will give you the opportunity to smash, knead, flatten, and roll. I dare you to attempt to time travel while making this.
2 Cups flour of your choice (I use Bob Mills 1-to-1)
2 Cups sweet potato
Pinch of salt (optional)
Flour for dusting
Steam the sweet potato(s), let it cool slightly. Peel the skin off the sweet potato when it is cool enough to touch. Mash it with a fork or potato masher until it is mashed really well, or all your existential angst is gone. Then stir in the flour. Knead to mix well, until dough forms. Divide into 12 balls. Put one ball on a flour-dusted surface, flatten it with your hand, then use a rolling pin to flatten it even more to about 2mm. Heat a skillet on medium heat. Once hot, place one roti at a time, flipping it after 2 minutes each side. If you don’t want to make 12, match equal parts sweet potato and flour, it will still work. The roti also freezes well.
After you have paid the devil his due, and enjoy the roti, it’s time to wash your hands and get back to writing.
Thea Pueschel is a hypnotherapist, yoga/meditation teacher. She writes, creates visual art, and teaches yoga teachers and doulas how to deliver and write meditations in and around L.A. and Orange County. She is committed to submitting, only in a literary capacity with light-hearted yet dark creative non-fiction, fiction, and poetry.
