Nourishing Ourselves with Story Nourishes the World

"You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, or who had ever been alive." -- James Baldwin

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I call this blog "our stories, ourselves" because I hold that we and our stories are really one and the same. My story is your story, and yours is mine. We are intrinsically connected. I've also held for a long while, and most particularly in the last several years as we wend our way through our highly digitized landscape, that the very best way to instill a sense of connectedness and a sense of empathy in children is to give them books to read. By giving children stories to read, we give children safe passage into other peoples' lives, other peoples' minds, other peoples' feelings, and other peoples' experiences. It seems to me once we've done that, we've done something utterly invaluable--we've established some of the necessary and critical groundwork for our children to become engaged, caring, connected inhabitants of the world. 

A Scientific American article from 2010, "What, Me Care? Young Are Less Empathetic" (read it here), talks about the fact that studies have been done that prove empathy levels have been declining over the last thirty years. One theory as to why this might be so is that an increase in social isolation coincides with the drop in empathy. I'm no scientist, but I subscribe to this theory wholeheartedly as I see more and more people moving away from human interaction for the sake of digitized "friendship" and "connection"--and it worries me a great deal in terms of what's happening to us as a society.

So it brings me great relief and joy--not to mention a happy moment of "I knew it!"--to read an article in this week's Pacific Standard, "Your Brain on Story: Why Narratives Win Our Hearts and Minds," (read it here) which discusses scientifically proven direct links between the experience of story and a rise in empathy levels. Just look at this:

"Paul Zak, director of the Center for Neuroeconomics Studies at Claremont Graduate School, found that reading simple, humanistic stories changes what is in our blood streams. Taking blood samples of subjects before and after reading a story about a father and his terminally ill son, Zak found their blood levels contained an increase in cortisol and also oxytocin after reading the story.  Called the human bonding or empathy chemical, oxytocin is also released by breastfeeding mothers."

I've said it before and I'll say it again: We writers, poets, storytellers, illustrators, and artists of any kind have not only the vision to create and share the stories needed to nourish our children and, by extension, our society, but we have the absolute obligation to do so. If we don't, who else will? We have no time to lose.

(c) emma d dryden, drydenbks LLC

Are You Being Served? A Recipe for a Great Critique Group

 Ingredients: 

- 2-12 dedicated authors (can be of different genres & formats; can be of same genre & format)

- heaping doses of imagination

- heaping doses of respect

- heaping doses of sensitivity

- liberal doses of gentle honesty (if you opt for brutal, critique group will become too tough and hard to swallow)

- open-mindedness and creative flexibility

- willingness to ask questions and listen to answers

- generous sprinkles of laughter (can use hysteria and guffaws if desired)

- timer (enables fair attention paid to each author)

- cough drops & water (enables requisite read-alouds)

- bathroom & stretch breaks

- delicious food

- comfortable setting (a cozy setting is even better, if you can find it)

- wine or spirits (for after critiques are completed! Some may find wine or spirits appropriate during, but proceed with caution)

- optional: friendly dog and/or cat; fireplace; views (ocean, woodland, mountains, etc.); anything else to enhance experience

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Directions:

Gather ingredients together on a regular basis. Stir with professionalism, exuberance, imagination, and inspiration. Surprises may result. Quiet moments of reflection may be required. Questions can be asked for which there may be no immediate or clear answers. That's ok. Allow for staying open to possibilities; critique groups vary based upon the ratio and balance of ingredients.  

Caution: If each author doesn’t feel heard and respected, the ratio of ingredients has gone awry and you will most assuredly want to double-check your recipe.

Note: Every once in a while, it's a good idea to add a one-time ingredient to this recipe, such as a professional editor or published author who will provide a new voice and perspective to the discussion – this can best be achieved over a weekend. For a sample taste of this sort of enhanced group experience, go to this post from the Route 19 Writers blog. 

This recipe serves many, including a richer society of writers and readers.

  (c) emma d dryden, drydenbks LLC

believing in magic

the breadth and delicate majesty of nature is magic
the writing and telling of stories is magic
the creating of art is magic
the giving and receiving of love is magic

this time of renewal and looking ahead is magic
this time of possibility and maybe is magic
this time of reflection is magic
this time of creation is magic

I believe in magic as I believe in hope
I believe in magic as I believe in a world greater than ourselves
I believe in magic as I believe in inspiration
I believe in magic as I believe in art sprung from imagination

I believe in the magic that infuses our dreams
I believe in the magic that forges human connections
I believe in the magic that carries us on our journeys
I believe in the magic that we share through ourselves

embrace your magic, and pass it on.

(c) emma d dryden, drydenbks LLC

Lighting the Dark Corners

"And the world will still be imperfect, because men are imperfect. Good men will still be killed by bad, or sometimes by other good men, and there will still be pain and disease and famine, anger and hate. But if you work and care and are watchful, as we have tried to be for you, then in the long run the worse will never, ever, triumph over the better. And the gifts put into some men, that shine as bright as Eirias the sword, shall light the dark corners of life for all the rest, in so brave a world.” 
                                                                                                                                                                                                --Susan Cooper, SILVER ON THE TREE

Today is aftermath—the aftermath of the tragic, senseless shooting of children and adults in Newtown, Connecticut. We’ve all of us been delivered a tragic, senseless blow—yet one more act of darkness in a world where so many of us are try to keep lights lit even as we discover new shadows every day.

I can't think I'm alone in feeling ill-at-ease today, anxious, distracted; feeling I’m on the verge of hurtling down a hill, about to scream, about to rage—but I’m unable to focus, to do anything particular, to make any noise. Tears come for no reason—or, rather, for anger, for helplessness, for sharing in grief.

In my unrest, I find myself turning to this blog—to write. To write. To create something strong of myself and my heart that can’t be shot down, can’t be ripped apart or away, and that can help me to heal.  However we find ways to heal, we must—and in doing so, we create something precious for the world that might help to replace the precious the world’s lost. Write, paint, sing, dance, walk in nature, breathe deeply, and love fiercely. As we reach out to friends, to family, to others, so too must we reach inside to be gentle with ourselves. And we must remind ourselves we do carry the light necessary to light the dark corners, vanquishing one shadow at a time.

(c) emma d dryden, drydenbks LLC

Beginnings

Margaret K. McElderry

07/10/1912 – 02/14/2011


My mentor and friend, Margaret K. McElderry, passed away at the age of 98 on February 14, 2011. Valentine's Day. A day on which we celebrate and express love. And a day somehow wholly appropriate on which to say farewell to a woman who was full to overflowing with a passion for imagination, story, a beautifully crafted book, laughter, friends, fine wine and delicious food, blue skies over sparkling oceans, the quiet revelatory conversation and the raucous celebratory gathering—a woman so full of love and enthusiasm for all life has to offer professionally and personally.

Where our work ended and our friendship began, where our friendship ended and our work began, it’s hard to say. I suppose though, the working friendship and friendly working began the day in early August 1990 when I tried to reach Margaret to tell her I was accepting her job offer. Margaret was leaving that day at Noon for her annual vacation on Nantucket and we’d agreed I’d call her at home with my “Yes” or “No.” I made my decision. It was going to be “Yes.” That morning at eight o’clock, I called. No answer. I called again. No answer. I waited a half-hour and called again. No answer. I called over to Margaret’s office at Macmillan to confirm I had the right number. No one was in yet and I left a message to say I was doing all I could to reach Margaret to tell her I wanted the job and would they please let the HR folks know. I called Margaret again. No answer. I was getting on the subway to go to Random House where I was working at the time. I found a payphone to call my partner and my mother to ask them to please keep trying Margaret McElderry’s phone number while I was on the subway. They did. No answer. I got to Random House, called again. No answer. I left another message with Margaret’s assistant. I decided to come clean and tell Margaret’s friend, Knopf editor, Frances Foster what was going so she could confirm I was dialing the right number. I was.

Now I’d not only essentially given notice to Random House without actually accepting the job offer from Margaret, but it was getting on towards 11:00 and I was frantic. I knew darn well you don’t promise Margaret McElderry you’ll call her and not call her. I called Macmillan again and was told my messages had started to set off great concern. Publisher Judy Wilson was putting McElderry Books’ art director Barbara Fitzsimmons into a taxi at that very moment to send her down to Margaret’s house on Washington Square to see if everything was alright. Oh, and by the way, Judy Wilson was delighted, I was told, that I wanted the job. I called again. No answer. And then, just before Noon, my phone rang. Judy Wilson was on the line to tell me it seems Barbara got to Margaret’s house in a progressively nervous state, and was pounding on the door and holding her finger on the doorbell – only to have a rather put-out Margaret McElderry open the door, take one look at Barbara’s pale face, and say something to the effect of…”What are you doing here? Did you all think I was dead?” Well, in fact, yes we did. And, in fact, while Margaret McElderry was clearly very much alive, her telephone line was completely done for. It seems not three minutes before Barbara arrived, she’d just figured out what was happening when she’d quite irately picked up the receiver to call Macmillan’s HR department to tell them QUOTE “If that Emma Dryden doesn’t have the common decency and courtesy to call me at the time we arranged for her to call me, I don’t want her working for me anyway.” UNQUOTE.

Margaret and I never did speak that day, but I started as her associate editor on September 19, 1990, a week or so before she returned to the office, tan and energized, from Nantucket. And when we saw each other, we hugged and laughed and had some rather choice things to say about AT&T.   The rest is history and we told and retold that story over and over again because it said something about our partnership and it made us laugh. Such a remarkably unexpected beginning to a remarkably unexpected friendship and collaboration.I’d give anything to call you right now, Margaret, to tell you how much it all meant to me—professionally and personally—to accept that job offer, to accept that gift. And this time, we'd use our cell phones.

Constellations

Upon meeting him for the first time, an artist whom I have come to greatly admire and respect said to me that his constellation had gotten brighter because my star was now in his galaxy. I have never forgotten the impact his gracious remark had on me. How remarkable and utterly beautiful to think of our friends and family -- and strangers, too; all of the people we meet along the way -- as stars, moving fluidly about and around us to create our own personal constellations. Star maps by which we can guide ourselves through our life's journey. Some stars shine brighter than others. Some stars are large, some small. Some stars that started so brightly fade out, making way for new ones. Some are near, some far.

In exploring the origins and history of constellations, I happened upon this statement: The outcome depends on the configuration of influences at the time. This sentence can, in a context of astronomy, reference scientific influences when it comes to how the stars aligned and "shaped" themselves into the constellations. But I like to think that beyond science, there is most definitely a sense of what I call fate at work in configuring and influencing who and what we are. Over the past few years I have been paying a lot more attention to things that happen "by accident" and I believe deeply that who we are and what we become as we continue through this life is dependent upon the chance or purposed meetings we have with people. People happen into and move out of our lives for so many different reasons -- causing us joy one moment and grief the next, causing us inexplicable happiness and unspeakable rage, fulfilling a wish and dashing a hope. How we respond and react to those comings and goings, how we grow and change by virtue of those comings and goings -- this is how we nurture ourselves.

Normally we wouldn't think to ask ourselves, "Why am I meant to have this experience with this person?" But if we did take a moment to ask this question, I am convinced the answer is secured in the fact that we must constantly intensify our personal star maps to illuminate ourselves and our lives, to keep us from stumbling in the dark. As stars are born, combust, reflect light, or die out, so too do the people with whom and among who we interact -- they inspire a birth of new ideas, they allow us to experience deep emotion and feeling, they reflect us back to ourselves, they leave us changed, touched, and somehow equipped to move ahead on our path.

While on an island this weekend, I looked up at the night sky bejewelled with stars and I thought about my friends and my family -- and, too, about the people who have passed through my life at one time or another, and the people yet to come. Peoples of every ancient culture saw worlds in the stars, created the constellations to make sense of chaos, to light their dark. And how extraordinary and somehow perfectly balanced it is that we, then, can see worlds in people, find ourselves drawn to people who help us make sense of chaos, and stay close to the people who light our dark.

(c) emma d dryden, drydenbks LLC