I belong to Fire Petal Books

For any of the following to make sense, you must read this post on belonging by Molly O'Neill. Go now. I'll wait until you get back.

Thinking about my belonging to something, I realize there are two that immediately strike me. The first is my home state of Utah. Most people don't realize how incredibly beautiful it is here. Often I don't either, at least until
I move away for a few months or years. Then I start to ache for my mountains. Actually, I get lost without them. How else am I supposed to know which way is east?

And in almost striking contrast, farther south along the highway are the glorious red deserts of central and southern Utah. The first morning of waking up, bundling up in sweatshirts and blankets as the sun just begins to rise, and peeking my head outside the tent to a vista of absolute perfection is something I can only describe as spiritual.

Those places have been my home for longer than my memories trace back. They are my birthplace and most likely my final resting place. Though I always long to see new places, I cannot leave my home for long.

In the past few weeks, though, I've begun building a home within that home. This home is largely empty now, though the walls shine with brilliant colors of various hues, still damp from the recent application of paint. Piece by piece, that space will be filled with chairs and shelves, followed soon after by books. Lots and lots of books. The best kinds of books, too. Those especially for kids and teens.

The walls are still bare and I've yet to have boxes of books cross the threshold, but that place is mine. It has already claimed me. Every morning I unlock the door, flick on the lights and open the blinds. Then I see it, and it welcomes me. I could spend hours lying on that floor, looking up at the gorgeous walls, noticing each piece as it finds a place.

Soon enough, this store will claim children as well, and teens and mothers and fathers and anyone who wants a place to read and laugh and live.

A friend commented the other day on how this store is me, that it is taking on my personality and becoming part of myself. I daresay she's right. I hope she's right, because that way I can give the best part of myself to others, to give them love and belonging when they may not know how to find it anywhere else.

I belong there because it is part of me, and I am part of it. I can't imagine a greater gift in life.

Michelle who belongs to Fire Petal Books

Quote of the Day

"In a world where it is increasingly possible to seclude yourself in a hive with fellow creatures who buzz the way you do, bookstores, like libraries and newspapers, are among the few places where a variety of ideas and opinions can jostle together for your attention. That tolerance of perspectives, including contradictory ones, isn't a marketing strategy for those institutions. It's part of their DNA. It's why they exist."

—Jim Higgins in a Milwaukee Journal Sentinel editorial defending Next Chapter bookstore owner Lanora Hurley, who has been criticized for scheduling a book signing by Karl Rove.

Brilliance

I had an epiphany today while painting the walls of Fire Petal Books. I've always considered myself a book person, though I enjoy a huge variety of hobbies and interests. Whenever anyone asks what I can't do, I always say I can't draw. While that's true, I've always longed to create art—visual art—on paper or canvas. Since I couldn't draw well, if at all, I never attempted to do anything more than put crayon to paper while playing with kids.

Then today as I sat on the floor, moving the paintbrush across the wall to fill in gaps and tidy up the edges, I realized the movement was very relaxing and even fun. As I was painting the wall all one color, I let myself paint freely without worrying that I wasn't painting it right.

That's when it struck, the thought that changed how I viewed art and my interaction with it. What does it matter if I'm any good at painting, so long as I enjoy it? It doesn't matter at all. If it's something that brings me peace, I'm going to do it whether people gasp in horror at the sight or gush over its magnificence. That's not what matters.

And then a related thought came: there are a lot of people who enjoy writing because it calms them and makes them happy. They don't have to be perfect at it to enjoy doing it. But I think what most of us (and I include myself here) don't realize is that we don't have to do it perfectly or make money from it or get it published to make the writing worthwhile. Sometimes just the doing of it is what matters most.

So tonight after I finished up at the store, I went to the craft shop and bought myself some canvases, paintbrushes, and paints. Tomorrow after I paint walls with a single color, I'm going to let myself go wild and paint whatever colors I like—and maybe even mixing them to create my own—in whatever nonsensical pattern feels natural. Right now it's not important to take classes or learn the theories behind each stroke. What I need is a moment alone with canvas, paint, and brush. It  will be more valuable to me than owning an expensive painting by someone else, because I will create it.

And that, my friends, is the stroke of brilliance I had today.

Why

This, all of this, is for children. These are their books, their stories. Sometimes we adults forget how vital stories are to the life of a child. We start thinking about sentence structure and royalties and the politics of book banning. But then, in a quiet moment in the corner of a bookstore we see the intent face of a boy as he reads of adventure, and the delighted expression on an angelic face as she gazes at pictures of the beautiful fairy princess. And we remember what it was like to believe, to need stories much more than we needed air to breathe.

———

I have a confession.

While most people I know would be mortified to be caught doing something so silly, I walk into the store, turn on the lights, look around, and then flop down on the floor. Arms and legs sprawled whichever way, I let my mind go and just breathe. Minutes, hours later, my mind insists on returning, and I let it back in only because I know I'll be there again tomorrow, filling my lungs with the life of a place dedicated to the happiness of children.

Someday soon, I want to see you walk into my store, flop down in an empty space, and just breathe for a moment or two. I might have to join you.

Writing Support Groups

Hi. I'm Michelle, and I'm a writer.

It's been five years since I started writing novels, and only a year since I confessed to my friends and family about it. I was, I don't know, worried what they'd think of me if they knew I was a writer. They'd expect me to become a best-seller immediately. Or maybe they'd hate what I wrote.

So, for a long time I kept it secret, writing in my bedroom with the door closed, never mentioning to anyone that I was clandestinely writing.

And then I stumbled upon a website for writers. Authonomy, it's called, and I found a virtual connection with hundreds, even thousands of people in the same situation I was in. They understood about my writing habit, and they even helped me become a better writer. There are plenty of writing support groups like that, both online and in local groups where people meet up and read each others' work.

After participating on Authonomy for a few months, it felt almost normal to be a writer. There were so many people doing it, I wasn't alone anymore. I established a connection with other writers who understood me and my struggles to write. Then I got up the courage to tell everyone that I was a writer. It was such a relief not to hide it, not to be worried that someone would find out.

Since then, I've finished writing my first book and have even completed another book. It's become part of who I am, and I'm not ashamed of it anymore. Plus, I've made friends with other writers who are amazing people and whose friendship I truly cherish, even if we've never met in person. They offer me support whenever I need it, even if it doesn't deal with writing.

So to all of you listening, I applaud you for taking the first step to coming out about your writing habit. Take the next step and connect with other writers and see how much more enriched your writing and your life will be.

Hare-brained ideas

I have a lot of them. Honestly. But sometimes these ideas turn out to be good in the end. Like when I decided one day that I wanted to study abroad in England. It was one of the most wonderful experiences I've ever had.

So my latest hare-brained idea involves going back to school. I've sworn I wouldn't do that, but then things changed in my mind. I'm actually the kind of person who enjoys the classroom atmosphere. Hate the homework and grades, but I love being in a place where intelligent debate happens. And I love learning new things more than anything.

It was a dream I had the other night, though, that kicked this into gear. Strange, I know, but maybe my subconscious was trying to tell me something. I dreamed I was moving away to go back to school for my masters. Not too complicated, but when I woke up, I instantly decided to look into going back to school for a graduate degree in writing.

I looked into it, and the best solution for me is the low-residency MFA programs that many universities offer. Spend ten days every six months in intensive writing classes, and then the rest of the time you write at home while still working at your day job. And the program I really like is in beautiful Oregon. What could be better?

Now, an MFA is probably not for everyone. I've heard some people tell of it ruining a writer's creativity. But for me, I really think it could focus my writing efforts and take my storytelling to the next level. Besides, having a Masters opens up a lot of doors.

Maybe my hare-brained idea isn't so hare-brained after all.

Chapter next

For the past few days I've been packing everything I own into boxes, taping them, and labeling the contents of my life with a black sharpie. And it makes me feel as the life I've known until now is about to change.

This chapter of my life is closing, but I wonder, how will the next continue the story? Will it be a continuation of the same: work, writing, rinse, repeat. Or will the next chapter introduce a mysterious stranger into my life? How about a message in a bottle (or from an owl). I could do with an inheritance or the arrival of a love interest.

It reminds me of one of my favorite movies, Stranger than Fiction. Is my story a comedy or a tragedy? Romance or chic lit? Literary or genre? (And yes, I'm glad I'm not a golem.)

I'm not sure. I haven't reached my denouement, so it really could be anything. But while this chapter ends, with it comes both sorrow and excitement. I will miss those who've touched my life to this point but welcome new aspects to my life that I have, as yet, not known.

This is far from the end of the story, but I at least hope this next chapter adds excitement and intrigue. I could use some.