Category Archives: Family

I Am Today

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

I learned today that my creative non-fiction piece “The White Crane” will be featured as the spotlight nonfiction piece at Referential Magazine very soon.  This piece of writing is very special to me. Writing it was a high mark in my recovery from the ravages of untreated bipolar disease. 

I am in recovery.  I always will be. I am not cured of bipolar disease. My illness is being treated with medication and therapy.  But there is a deeper sense of recovery to which I am referring, and to which I am deeply committed. I am recovering from emotional trauma which damaged me and kept me suffering for many years even though the most pronounced symptoms of bipolar were abated.  

The actual writing of “The White Crane” signified closure for me of a dark time in my life that included six or so hospitalizations in mental hospitals, misdiagnosis, turmoil in my family, job losses and loss of so much of my self-worth.  I have been clawing my way back to peace and sanity ever since with the full awareness that I could have another breakdown and another and another.  The disease is just that insidious.  But I am today because of the health care I receive, the love and support of family and friends and because of writing. 

I will say it again:

Each success, no matter how small, in practice of what I love is a lightning strike against the dark. 

I have had high hopes for this piece for many years and I couldn’t be happier with its placement at Referential.  Much thanks to Jessie Carty and Eleanor Bryan for selecting my work and sharing their audience with me.

I will post an announcement when it is published.

It is never enough, is it?

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

Why do I carry some nebulous shame for things I have or have not done in my life? I wish I could have a ‘no apologies’ attitude and continue brushing off the backhanded compliments or outright snubs. I am glad in who I am and enjoy the life I have created with my family. I am growing as an artist and believe in my work. I am moving forward in the process of discovery that writing offers—that life offers.  But recently something was said to me that made me waver oh so slightly in those beliefs. I am writing this entry to clarify my perspective for myself and to make a statement to those others who judge me.

I am in recovery. I am recovering from abuse, breakdowns and raw grief. I have been open about my history. I have engaged in this recovery with all of my being for the sake of my children and loved ones. I know I am cherished. I cherish myself. I cherish this time I have which almost slipped from me due to illness, misdiagnosis of that illness, and the devastation of self that was the result of both.

I wondered for years about the life I could have lived if I did not have bipolar disease–if I had not fallen apart those so many times.  I do not allow myself to wonder what my life would have been like without Adam. I do remind myself that at the time others were pressuring me to not have a child at such a young age. His life was a grace in mine.  I learned more about love, compassion and humility through Adam’s life than I ever could have if he had not been.

I embrace the life I am living.  I realize I am where I need to be to do what I desire—which is to raise my daughter to the best of my ability, do meaningful work in the world and honor the loving relationships in my life.

Since I have lived in relative stability for several years, I have come to be able to pursue the writing which brings me great joy. I took the first steps on this path in 2004 after Adam died.  In dealing with my grief, writing offered a path out.  Through the writing process, the creative process, I am accessing life and myself in deeper ways. I am looking within and without and creating art through myself. That activity is essential to my recovery and my peace. That I have achieved some success is uplifting beyond words, but I will try:

Each success, no matter how small, in the practice of what I love is a lightning strike against the dark.  

I believed what was believed about me for too long rather than believing myself.  But I won’t hold those negative beliefs any longer, not even a shred. My ambition is true and I am on fire with it. I set myself on the path and I do not allow much to divert me from it—even gross insults and arrogant snubs.

No, I don’t have a chip on my shoulder but I do recognize when I am being belittled and it will not go unanswered.

Quietude

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

It’s been a hectic summer. We have just a couple of weeks left before school starts again. My daughter is going to be a high school freshman! There will be so many changes for her. We are excited but also wish summer would last a little longer. In the meantime I am seeking quietude.

Because of busy days and the fact that I am sleeping well at night I haven’t been writing daily or even weekly.  I have been revising and submitting work, but I am just beginning to refocus my efforts to produce new writing. Now I’m challenging myself with exercises and so far have produced three new poems in the past few days.

Tonight I made curried lentil and spinach soup.  It was super delicious!  I absolutely love and crave soup daily—which is why I will soon begin a blog called One Hundred Days of Soup.  I’ll keep you posted.

An Excerpt

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

Here is a very brief excerpt from my creative nonfiction piece, Nacona, about my horse by that name, which was a gift to me from my parents when I was a teenager.  I revised the piece tonight and submitted it to a magazine that has previously published my poetry.  I’m hoping they will take this piece as well.

 

 

…The drainage ditch is wide with water.  Nacona heaves over it because I ask her to. We slide three feet in the mud.  Nacona’s back legs give out and she rolls me off. My feet dangle out of the stirrups and I rise unbroken but soaking with mud.  A. is riding the Thoroughbred gelding, Lucky, and she turns back to laugh at me.  I burn with humiliation. I scoop a patty of mud with both hands and hurl it at her. Lucky half-rears and breaks into a sideways gallop. A. stops Lucky and hops off his back.  She trudges through the field wildly threatening me. I cup another whopping pound of mud and throw it smack dab in her face.  Her mouth is open blurting a curse and now she’s choking out black mud.  Her choking turns to laughter and she fills her hands with a solid mud bomb.  It hits me in the right boob.  That’s it. Our mud fight’s a free-for-all… 

Six Months In

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

So far in 2010–six months in–I have had nine poems published and three have been accepted and will soon appear in magazines. I am thrilled to bits about this. I was updating my C.V. with the new acceptances and noted that 49 pieces of my creative writing have been (or will be) published. Most of them have been published since 2004. 

In 2004, my son died.

When Adam died, I promised myself that I would live my life as a writer; that I would write purposefully and professionally for the rest of my life, God-willing. I have lived the writing life each day since.  I embrace my role as writer, along with my roles as wife and mother, proudly and with serious intent.  I always start out my “bio” with the phrase:

Clare is a poet/mother/wife…whatever.

I am these things at my very center. I move outwardly from ‘that place’ in my heart—

I can also share that I have bipolar disease. I have struggled for most of my adult life with its symptoms. I have had serious breakdowns and lost so much but I have been very blessed to have a doctor who saved me with careful attention and astute clinical sense which he used in my treatment.

I have been in recovery since 2000.  That means I am moving forward but the disease never leaves.  It is always at my back.  It is deadly–but thankfully I have been able to care for myself and my family somewhat steadily for a long period. I learned the hard way how to sense the oncoming symptoms. I have the strong support of family, friends and a treatment team of doctors.

I am in recovery.

I am recovering.

I am.

If you would like to read the poems that have been published on the Internet so far in 2010 please click the links below.

“White Bull, Black Road” Scythe, Vol. II, 2010

“The Woman You Married” Scythe, Vol. II, 2010

“Little Poem at Pink Moon” Scythe, Vol. II, 2010

“Memento Mori” THE RED ROOM: Writings from Press 1, anthology, 2010

“Mute” Blue Fifth Review, blue collection 1, anthology series, 2010

“Winter Brought Out All the Knives” Melusine, 2.2 Spring/Summer 2010

“Birthing” Avatar Review, Issue 12, Summer 2010

“Make a New Garden” Avatar Review, Issue 12, Summer 2010

“The Never That Was” Avatar Review, Issue 12, Summer 2010

“Father Almost Drowning” Poets & Artists, forthcoming 2010

“Open Me with a Fire of Words” Wild Goose Poetry Review forthcoming 2010

“Premature” Literary Mama, forthcoming  2010

Happy News

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

Thanks to Sam Rasnake for selecting my work for inclusion in the first e-book “blue collection 1″ in the new series from Blue Fifth Review. The wonderful collection including my poem “Mute” can be read by following the link below.

the blue collection 1

a little bit of festival & facing truth (again)

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

During my brief time at Festival International de Louisiane 2010 I saw in the crowd people who were familiar to me but I could not remember under what circumstances I had encountered them before. Perhaps I dreamed them. It was uncanny. There were at least five who were in very close proximity to me who stood out as people that I should know. And then I saw the orthopedic surgeon who operated on my fractured toes. He was with his family moving away from me further into the sea of people. I wanted to fly over the fast-moving, swinging bodies to reach him to shout: “Thank you for saving my poor mangled foot!” I wanted to catch his gaze and just say “Hello, miracle-worker!” with my eyes.

I sat on the steps of the Federal Courthouse which was very near where the TV5Monde Stage was set up. The two women sitting next to me were wearing matching rings on their left hands.  I also saw two men kiss on the lips. It made me happy to see love in the open. There was something symbolic too I think in that we were surrounded by same-sex couples on the Federal Courthouse steps. I hope that is a good omen for future strides in the movement for equal rights.

The rising moon was three quarters full. The sky was blue glass-bright and cloudless.  Earlier, rain had been predicted. In fact in other southern states there were terrible tornadoes!  The weather couldn’t have been better for Festival—it was not too hot, breezy, and cool in shady spots.

The music sent me deeper into myself.  I tried to connect with my friends through texts but we were scattered about the downtown area at different performance stages.  My fear of crowds abated for a time. No one raged around me. I had my husband with me which always makes me feel secure.

I did not want to leave our spot. I could have sat on the courthouse steps until the music ended and the people streamed back to their ordinary lives beyond this wonderful creative celebration of Francophone and world cultures that are mixed so wonderfully in Louisiana. A world explodes into being in this microcosm made of music, art, food (and drink) film, visual arts, performance arts, spoken word, etc. Such is Festival International de Louisiane. 

Arriving at the festival I was energized but leaving I had to stop walking after short distances to take a break and catch my breath. I am terribly out of shape. My husband noted this when we got home. He said it kindly but it still hurt to hear this truth.  What have I done to myself?  What grief am I holding in my body? Plainly, why do I overeat and live a sedentary life?  I gained a great deal of weight and lost muscle when I broke my foot in January of 2009. And after I was rehabilitated I made several half-starts and full-on attempts at changing my behaviors to lose weight. I was diagnosed with high blood pressure a few months ago and while that is under control I know I am stressing my body— my heart and my knees especially by carrying this excess weight. My family is concerned about me and about their own health  issues. I want all of us to get healthier.

I cannot continue in this unworkable way of life any longer.