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Iceland, 2015 Being invited for an artist or author residency is such an honor. Last May I went to northern Iceland for a week long artist residency to help seventy kids in grades one to ten paint murals. The school was Valsárskóli in Svalbarðsströnd, which is across the fjord from where my son Eric and […]

Today we walked among snow-encrusted trees at Maudslay State Park and an idea came to me. Now that I have drawn it, let me explain. Symbols can be powerful. Consider Gerald Holtom’s peace symbol, which he designed for the Direct Action Committee against Nuclear War in the fifties. It is now widely used and is […]

A while ago I posted an interview here with Miranda, a very special person to me. Recently, I asked her similar questions about her reading habits and those of kids she knows. The answers show a trajectory  and are useful information for writers, so I also posted this on www.writersrumpus.com. Nine-year-old Miranda and I went […]

also posted on WritersRumpus.com most visuals by author Here’s something for writers and illustrators to consider: the painful physical effects of your work. Don’t laugh. I kid you not. You might think that the arm in the photo (mine, actually) looks pretty healthy. After years of making welded steel sculpture using all sorts of heavy […]

What do Ezra Jack Keats, Sylvia Plath, Stephen King, Richard Avedon, Truman Capote, Robert McClosky, and Andy Warhol have in common, besides being incredibly creative? Ding. Time’s up. Each won a Scholastic Art & Writing Award when they were in their teens. Of this experience Richard Avedon, among others, said winning was “the defining moment […]

Today the weather is perfect for writing, drawing, painting, or other creative work. It’s 9 degrees F. and snowing like crazy. There’ll probably be an additional 12″ by the time it’s over, on top of the 22″ we already had. Bookmark

Today we installed The Whistler (painted steel, 101″ x 18″ x 18″) at the wonderful Sanctuary Arts in Eliot, Maine. Christopher Gowell is an amazing woman who has collected a vibrant community of artists who take and teach workshops and live life creatively. Josh and Lauren run a foundry there too. And every summer there […]

The last day of the semester…and for me the last semester, too. For the past fifteen years I’ve been teaching in the Art Department at Middlesex Community College, in Bedford and Lowell, MA. Standing among eighteen new students in each class and encouraging them through fifteen weeks of growth has been an awesome experience. I […]

Alas, I have been so busy with life, so you have not heard from me. But here is something intriguing. My sister Norma alerted me to a certain delicate Edinburgh mystery. This NPR article by Robert Krulwich describes a trail of surprise gifts given anonymously to those with eyes, a heart, and a brain. Bookmark

For last year’s NaNoWriMo I laid the groundwork for What Else is There?, my YA historical novel about Gudrid Thorbjarnardottir. It is set in Iceland, Greenland, and America about 1,000 A.D. Approaching the end of the story, I am meanwhile exploring references to Norse mythology in books and other media. In the past two days [...]

Miranda and I went on a walk. She was telling me what she thinks about books. Here’s what she said. Topics that some kids like (kids that I know): Fluffy kitty cat books (I hate them completely) Books with some scary moments and action (I personally like these best J) Craft books like how to [...]

Have you been wondering how anyone could possibly read an entire book on an IPhone? On such a lilliputian screen, that’s like reading, say, “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” while looking at it through a keyhole. Wouldn’t it make sense to provide narratives chosen with the scale of the device in mind? After all, [...]

Above: Blue glass "stone" encased in crocheted netting.

This post is Part 3 in a 5-part series on Pain.

• Part 1: An Introduction to the Subject of Pain
• Part 2: My Personal Pain Story: The Pink Porcupine

So many of my feelings and beliefs about creativity and how it relates to pain stem from the experience I had as a teenager over an eighteen-month period when I was ill with mono and then a benign tumor in my neck and three surgeries related to it. I would gather my sewing box, sketchbook, miniature poodle Suzi, and small b/w TV and, with Vernor's ginger ale close by to counteract the peroxide mixture I had to gargle with, I would retreate to my bed for the day, making tiny felt creatures and sketching farm scenes in pencil.

Perhaps it should be pointed out that I was a bit of an introvert, already enjoying creative pursuits, and I had the encouragement of my parents and the time to give to experimenting with arts and crafts. I also had a wonderful high school art teacher, Mrs. Catherine Lotze, who inspired me and even invited me into her home to show me the beautiful things she and her mother before her had made. So, though my love of making things did not begin with illness, the illness gave me time to nourish the tiny seed of creativity genetics or environment or parental guidance (or a mix of all three) gave to me.

In 2006 and 2007 when I was working on Open Your Heart with Pets: Mastering Life through Love of Animals, I solicited stories about people and their pets. Many of the stories I received concerned the manner in which the writer's pet had comforted and cared for them during illness. And, as I delved into the subject of pain this month, I am finding another commonality: many folks use creativity as an outlet to express or escape from pain.

When I am in discomfort or pain (in my layperson's terminology, I am using "discomfort" to indicate pain that only marginally interferes with undertaking one's usual activities and "pain" to indicate a level of feeling that does significantly impact one's normal activities), I can pick up the tools I'm using for the book illustration project of that month, work on my novel-in-progress, or grab some needlework and, perhaps like a person who has learned to meditate well, I mentally dive into the task at hand and my focus is on it and not on how I feel. Not on what hurts. Art takes me away the way nothing else can, or ever has.

When I put down the creative task and try to watch what for me is mindless TV—or talk on the phone, do laundry, or fuss in the kitchen—everything my body feels floods back. For me, creativity is truly

Part 1, "An Introduction to the Subject of Pain"
Part 2, "The Pink Porcupine"
Part 3, "Creativity in the Midst of Pain" Part 3 (coming soon)
Part 4, "What Others Have Written on Pain and Suffering" (coming soon)
Part 5, "Resources Related to Pain Management" (coming soon)
Please bookmark Appalachian Morning or add it to your RSS Feed or Google Reader so that you can easily find all sections of this 5-part post.

Disclaimer: I am not a psychologist. physician, physiologist, or therapist. I have no medical or mental health training whatsoever. Therefore, no advice, medical or psychological, is intended or implied by any of the posts in this series on PAIN.

PAIN: The Pink Porcupine

"...we can let the circumstances of our lives harden us so that we become increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us kinder and more open to what scares us. We always have this choice." The Places that Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times by Pema Chodron

MY RELATIONSHIP TO THE HEATING PAD BEGINS
When was the first time you experienced pain? For me, it was in my ears, and this is curious as I grew up to give birth to a son who has struggled with a hearing disorder for nearly thirty years now and undergone two painful ear operations. I had horribly painful earaches (called "bealed ears") as a young girl (before age five). And, way back then there were no "tubes" to insert. The heating pad and late-night TV were my companions as I remember being up in the middle of the night, on the sofa, covered with a homemade afghan, the heating pad, and some long-forgotten program on the b/w television. To this day, I associate the smell of a heating pad with being a little girl.

The earaches felt like an ice pick, slowly pushing ever harder against my eardrum and radiating into my jaw, eye, and temple. The muffling of sound was accompanied by a thick, yellow liquid medicine (of which I can still remember the smell) that was not as gross as the liquid that stained my girlish pillowcase each morning when I awoke.

The earaches were the worst pain I'd felt in my young life and were, I realize now, an introduction to the pain that life can bring. When my parents loaded me in my flannel pajamas into the car for a ride to the hospital to have my tonsils out (as this was thought to perhaps help), I didn't worry about the surgery, I didn't know what surgery was. I kept my eyes focused on the shoebox on the front seat between my parents. In it was a surprise that I would get once settled in at the hospital: a Raggedy Ann doll. I can remember the anesthesiologist asking me what presents I received for Christmas and in the middle of my answer I fell into a deep sleep, had my tonsils removed and was never bothered by earaches again.

Just before my fourteenth birthday I came down with a nasty bout of mononeucleousis followed months later by a growth on the right side of my neck, between my jaw and collarbone. At Halloween that year I was in a semiprivate room having the abcess drained. I don't remember pain from this operation, but learn about pain I surely did, as the middle-aged woman sharing a room with my young self was underg

Pain.
Aching
stabbing
throbbing
radiating
relentless
acute or chronic.
Pain.


I've been in a fair amount of acute physical pain over the last seven weeks. Thankfully, it has now skulked away, mumbling the brand name of my antibiotic and shaking its fist. I injured my back at the end of November, and it was just healing up and not constantly reminding me of the foolish move I'd made (trying to lift up an elderly friend), when I came down a week ago with an abcessed tooth. Overnight it progressed to facial cellulitis, a painful, serious infection that ebbed its way out of my jaw, chin and cheek thanks to the miracle of modern medicine.

I've had periods of both acute and chronic pain at other times in my life as well, and while I've written about my childhood, my children, surgeries, my business, my love of Ohio and art and crafts and books... I've never written about pain until now.

Outside of the medical community, pain seems to be a "hush-hush" subject. To talk about it, to admit to experiencing it, implies a degree of wimpishness, of self-centered attention-seeking impropriety even. For men, there are even more societal pressures to "put up and shut up" when it comes to pain and all sorts of cliches such as "take it like a man" and "Don't be a sissy." As children, when we said, "It hurts!" our parents may have countered with: "Now, don't make a big deal out of it. It's not that bad." Parents may be so afraid of raising a whiney child that their only course of action is to negate feelings and discourage further discussion.

Fortunately, although I spent a year and a half of my high school education ill and undergoing three surguries, my parents did everything right. Looking back now, as a mother myself, I marvel at how they offered to me the right mix of empathy and confidence in my ability to cope. They took my complaints and concerns seriously, yet never babied or spoiled me, though I'm sure at times it might have been tempting to do so, as I was the only child still at home and was introverted and sensitive by nature.

When bringing up my artistic leanings in conversations with others, my mother often mentioned how, when waiting for surgery at age fifteen, I asked for pen and paper and created a little chess set so I could play the game with my father and pass time while coping with pain and waiting for the operating room to free up so the surgeon could relieve pressure in my swollen neck (from a benign tumor). What Mom doesn't mention is that she and Dad were the sort of parents who encouraged my creativity and gave me the pen and paper and played the game with me as if these were good solutions to a stressful situation.

In the adult world, it seems we don't trust ourselves or others to mention, admit to, or discuss pain and illness for fear of giving into it entirely and letting its presence control our lives and keep us from the good health we all hope to experience. But perhaps that is the wrong approach. Perhaps silence only empowers pain; by trying so hard not to mention it, we end up screaming about it in less psychologically healthy ways. While no one but immediate family wants to listen to in-depth, descriptions of illness or medical procedures, that verbal faux pas is a far cry from stating the truth:

• "I'm in pain, but finding ways to cope."
• "I've been ill, but am on the mend..."
• "I am doing much better thank you; but it was pretty awful."

(Of course, in work environments there are reasons not to share health information, but I am talking about discussions between friends and those in one's social circle.)

Now, I'm not a psychologist. I'm not a doctor. I'm not a counselor. I have no mental health or medical training whatsoever. So, no advice, medical or psychological, is intended or implied by this post or the three parts that

Large scale sculpture is expensive to make, a challenge to move and difficult to sell, none of which deters Dale Rogers. His business acumen and energy level have propelled his career as a successful sculptor, allowing him to make an excellent income doing the work he loves. His work has been purchased by sculpture parks [...]

The temperature and humidity are dropping. The days are getting shorter. Between May and September, here's what the weather seemed like to me: springlike, rain, rain, rain, hot, really hot, continued hot, can't-stand-it-hot, cool, muggy, 48 degrees, socks, thunderstorms...

But I know that soon the leaves will change color. I will look out our kitchen window and find the small tree where the birdfeeder hangs has turned yellow, yellow, ORANGE! After I spent s e v e n t e e n looooonnnngggg years smoldering in Florida, I returned to Ohio (and a March blizzard) with joy and anticipation of Spring! Summer! and Fall!

Now, 11 years later, I still feel excited when the leaves start to change, and now that Mark and I have over four acres of trees, I have lots of opportunity to study their cyclical hues. As the days shorten, the sun rises in our dining room window and sets right across from the kitchen window. When the leaves give up and scatter to the wind, it is then I can see the hot rosy sun set behind the hills as we meet in the kitchen for dinner. Here are some photos* from our place on Earth to you, from fall 2009, scenes I will enjoy this year as well.

(*All photos ©2009 Janice Phelps Williams. All rights reserved. If you want to share these with friends for noncommercial use, please tell them about AppalachianMorning.blogspot.com.)