Category Archives: Friendship

Year Eight of The Writing Life Begins

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

SUN RISES IN A NEW YEAR

March 15th, 2004, our family suffered a loss–the death of my son, Adam.  In my grieving, I reflected on my life and his life and thought: “What can I do with my life to honor him?” I had always believed myself a writer but struggled with discipline, leaving many things unlearned and unwritten. I thought back then: “If I can do “this one thing” to the best of my ability and honor (not neglect) my God-given gifts, then such a choice would be the best way I could honor Adam.” 

Adam’s death, although hard to bear, was the catalyst for choosing to follow this life-path with dedication and passion.  I have grown personally and have had numerous wonderful opportunities via The Writing Life.  Dear Adam gave so much and continues to bless…gone from us almost 8 years. He would be 28 this year. Wow.

And although much of my posting on the Internet is self-promotion, I think it is important to share this story and the bountiful blessings I have had in these remarkable eight years. Self-promotion is necessary because I want you to read my creative works.

I want to move you with my poetry.

I have had many struggles—some from which many people could not recover. I have recounted many here in previous postings, if you want to look back.  Right now I am looking forward which I believe is necessary for true healing.

I am grateful to God-Creator-Universal Force for Good-Power of Love or whatever it is that I do believe in for pulling me through, shoring up my confidence and for putting people in my path who have aided me with loving care, support and friendship.

I am excited about 2012. I am a mother of a 16-year-old who is smart and beautiful. She inspires me everyday.  I am married to a loving, strong and honest man.  I couldn’t ask for more, but for me there will be more in 2012—more writing, more reading, more learning and more teaching.  The momentum is with me as I continue my lifework.

I am on a path and I do not allow much to divert me from it.   

 

Thanks for reading. 

~Clare

A Blessing

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

A Good Fire

 ”A Good Fire“

Blessings for all who are in need, and gratitude for the comforts we have and the life given to us.

~Clare

30 years from age 13

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

I was a bit anxious before we set out–I had not been to New Orleans since August 2005–a couple of weeks before The Storm. It was so good to be in the city again and to experience needed psychic healing by seeing a vibrant, energized city. Maybe it was the great weather but the peeps seemed joyful all around.  We didn’t have any negative experiences. Everything was cool.

My first visit to New Orleans was when I was 13 years old. I went with my parents and we stayed on St. Charles. I fell in love with the city–it wasn’t just a teenage crush–I rode the streetcars up and down the line over and over again and longed to live there when I grew up. Something caught my eye in a small NOLA newspaper I picked up on that trip back in 1981. A notice for a poetry reading at The Maple Leaf Bar. Wow. Poetry. Cool! I was just beginning to write pimpled and hormone-soaked lines.  I BEGGED my parents to take me or let me go on my own. I had never ever been to a poetry reading before. I had never ever been to a bar either but that didn’t factor into my comprehension of the potentially incredible, once in a lifetime possibility. A poetry reading sounded chic and exotic compared to my just up from the country-boudin and cracklin upbringing. I was really messed up when my parents wouldn’t let me go and I considered sneaking to Oak St. because I wanted to be there so badly.  (Same thing happened when the Stones played the Superdome in 1981. It killed me that I couldn’t go.)

My old, fuddy-duddy folks were so lame! So I didn’t go and wouldn’t go for another 30 years.

Today was my first time ever at The Maple Leaf. Today I was actually a featured artist there thanks to Jonathan Penton of www.unlikelystories.org   The Everette C. Maddox Memorial Prose & Poetry Reading held every Sunday at 3 PM in the courtyard of the Maple Leaf Bar is the longest running reading series in North America.  It was a great high for me to read there and be a part of the Louisiana tradition.

We arrived during the third quarter of a home Saints game and the bar crowd was wild to put it mildly. The Saints won and the Unlikely Saints did too. Our readings were sublime in my humble opinion. I hated leaving at the start of the open mic but tonight’s a school night and we had a long drive home.

This weekend in New Orleans, among many things, I experienced the Good that poetry is and the Good it can do. There was “good” poetry (and prose) for certain but I think our group the Unlikely Saints (Jonathan Penton, Michael Harold, Frankie Metro, Wendy Taylor Carlisle, and Kristina Marshall) and our audiences experienced the Good Vibrations that can occur in optimum circumstances when lovers and makers of art gather to expeience creative work.  Thanks to everyone who came out to listen, read, laugh with us. Most especially thanks to Jonathan for the invitation and all of his hard work.

Tuesday will be my birthday.  30 years from age 13, I have two completed manuscripts with good prospects, poems published in the double digits, a strong writing practice and lots of love and good energy surrounding me. This weekend was a circle completing and I hope to widen an (unbroken) circle in the future.

And I leave you with these humble words as a gift: 

Bless you, you who create art. Believe in your craft; give to it as much as you can.  Let it awaken you and be the matter of your dreams—

Your voice is both vulnerable and strong. Care for it. Bring the words which fly madly through you into the world through the discipline to which you adhere.  Share it. Give it another life in someone’s mind and heart.

And follow this creed—

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

Clare

 

 

Hello. My Name is Clare.

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

Hello. My name is Clare.  Welcome (again) to my website.

I purchased the domain http://clarelmartin.com/ today and will be writing here with more frequency. I hope I can count you as a reader.

I will muse upon the writing life, real-life happenings, sleep revelations, waking prophecies, earth, wind, fire—things I am passionate about and the few things I hate with passion.  

Certainly, I will try to keep it interesting and valuable.

Stay tuned…

Peace.  

Clare

A friend said

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

“It’s not an accident that we know and appreciate you.”

It means so much to be appreciated and to feel appreciated. There is a difference. I have a full heart.

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.

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… 

And there was.

Posted on by Clare L. Martin

I wrote a poem today. It is the first new poem I have written since May 17th. The summer has been one drama after another. I am pleased with the form this poem has taken. It was inspired by a photograph by Zeralda and might become part of our collaborative project of words and images.