Red Room Where the Writers Are

Lately I haven't felt like writing. It all feels hopeless. The country is so divided right now with this election I don't know if we'll ever be Okay again. Regular readers of this blog know how I feel, so I'm not dragging my politics into this. I feel so blah, so "is this all there is?"

The buyout has been upsetting me as well. Gee, they get a buyout. How honky dory for them. I wouldn't mind a buyout. I've worked since I was sixteen, so that's what-twenty years?  I think they owe me. I've been good, Santa, honest.

Little things at home get at me as well-Ida B. knocked down the computer monitor today, twice. My father needs his taxes done, so I'm meeting him in Berkeley, where I will do the taxes and wonder if I'm doing them right. Gussie needs flea medicine and that's eighty dollars down the hole. I need to pay my student loans.  I'm wondering random things; will I ever get published? Where will I be living a year from now? Will I ever have enough money, enough stuff? Will I get married? Do I want to get married? Should I have a baby? Do I want a baby, or do I want to continue being Auntie Mame, which is a great role?

I get tired of my voice, my writing, at times. I don't see the point at times at it.  How is my writing going to change things, make things better?  Sure I can make people laugh, I can make people think. However, what's it all about, Alfie?

Then I noticed my mother reading The Piano Lesson by August Wilson. I've never see the play, but years before Charles Dutton, Courtney Vance and other actors performed a scene on a Emmy broadcast. In the scene the men start to remember a old song slaves used to sing while working. While they sang, they slammed down their glasses on the table, creating a echo that radiated through the theater. Usually during awards shows they show the audience and their reactions, or who looks the best. Not this time. The camera stayed right at the actors as they sang, then slammed the glasses down. When they slammed the glasses the last time, there was absolute silence in the theater. The lights went back on. There was a standing ovation. People were crying, clapping. It was one of the most moving things I ever saw.

So here's what I know. Writing is bearing witness to everything that happens. As the scene mentioned above, I know for sure art can transform people, can make them better.  Good and bad, you have to write about it, because who else will? I'm reading Aunt Erma's Cope Book where she reads The Total Woman (Which she calls the Subtotal Woman) In case people don't remember, Marabel Morgan suggested that wives dress up in saran wrap or princess outfits. Bombeck dressed up in her son's football uniform, and waited for her husband to come home. He didn't. A repairman came instead, and well, talk about embarrassing. Of course this is dated, but Bombeck created something here that lasts-she showed how funny it was, and that people took this stuff seriously.

"The function of freedom is to free someone else," said Toni Morrison. I'm not sure if Toni Morrison thought of Erma Bombeck dressing up as a footballer player when she said that but surely reading Bombeck's words years later does free someone, if nothing else having a good laugh.

I always think of the ending of Great Gatsby, it's such a great ending, and I'm like Gatsby, I guess I'm still looking for that green light. We all are. And writing is my way of finding the green light, of beating on, boats against the current.  If nothing else, it's just seeing what's going on. And writing about it.

 Berta Berta

 O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal oh-ah
O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal well

Go 'head marry don't you wait on me oh-ah
Go 'head marry don't you wait on me well now
Might not want you when I go free oh-ah
Might not want you when I go free well now

O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal oh-ah
O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal well now

Raise them up higher, let them drop on down oh-ah
Raise them up higher, let them drop on down well now
Don't know the difference when the sun go down oh-ah
Don't know the difference when the sun go down well now

Berta in Meridian and she living at ease oh-ah
Berta in Meridian and she living at ease well now
I'm on old Parchman, got to work or leave oh-ah
I'm on old Parchman, got to work or leave well now

O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal oh-ah
O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal well now

When you marry, don't marry no farming man oh-ah
When you marry, don't marry no farming man well now
Everyday Monday, hoe handle in your hand oh-ah
Everyday Monday, hoe handle in your hand well now

When you marry, marry a railroad man oh-ah
When you marry, marry a railroad man well now
Everyday Sunday, dollar in your hand oh-ah
Everyday Sunday, dollar in your hand well now

O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal oh-ah
O Lord Berta Berta O Lord gal well