Jennifer Shaw

Hi! Sorry this is late; the last week here has been cray-cray. So much for believing I’d have the benefit of a little more structure this month. Ha!

You might have heard on the news how Hurricane Beryl barreled its way up the East Coast and poured down on Vermont. Well, our town, Lyndonville, was one of the places dumped on, and I woke up around 2, maybe 3 am that morning to the blare of the emergency broadcast on my phone and saw through bleary eyes the notification that we were experiencing severe flooding. The rain outside our old witch’s window didn’t seem that bad, however, so I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Things didn’t seem too awful when we were all up around 8 that morning, though not surprisingly summer school was cancelled. It wasn’t until I put a grouchy Daph in the car, thinking we’d at least go for a drive and check things out, that I saw for myself how serious the flooding actually was. We were coming down Lynburke, our road into town, and at the foot of the hill the ground as far as I could see was underwater. Like, midway-up-the-buildings underwater. Like the type of flooding you see down South on the Gulf Coast where we’re from. It was surreal. I managed to turn the car around, and I pulled up my phone, thinking I could take a backway down hill, but Google maps showed multiple flooded intersections, and I realized we were marooned on Pudding Hill.

So we headed home, and I was disturbed, to say the least. Daph went from surly to angry, and when we got out of the car, Jer met us on the porch. I was trying to tell him what I’d seen when, enraged that we weren’t going swimming and were back home so quickly (with Mom and Dad talking over her, to boot), Daphne bit down like a mad dog on the case of her new talker. Her latest iPad.

And, guess what.

Yep. She cracked the screen.

Broke another one. A third one.

Three iPads busted in a space of… three weeks?

All hell broke loose.

I won’t go into the details, but suffice it to say, it was a terrible day. My husband couldn’t help but smash the iPad down in his own rage, shattering a cracked screen into what looked like a demented spiderweb of mad parental fury, and all I could do was dissolve into tears as my daughter howled.

To top that off, we were soon seeing images from the Lyndonville Facebook group of the entirety of downtown underwater. All the businesses, some of which are owned by people we know, flooded. Merchandise floating around like nothing more than lake chaff. And these owners are good, honest people, and they include the man who sold us this property (it was his family’s old farmhouse) and the mother of the man whose lawn crew mows our acreage.

It was heartbreaking, and it felt personal. Hurricane destruction rarely felt so personal back in Houston.

My parents had been without power three full days down there, and my cousin ended up without power for six days. It blew my mind that this same storm making so many folks miserable in my native city continued its nasty trek all the way up to the Northeast Kingdom. Damn. What are the odds?!

Selfishly, I was also concerned we weren’t going to make it out of town the next day to Saratoga Springs, NY, where we were planning to attend a performance of the New York City Ballet on Friday evening. Even if we were flooded in, I knew I should be grateful–our house and property were fine while so many of our neighbors had lost so much. We were lucky and privileged, to say the least. Yet, if I couldn’t get this mini-vacay, I was going to lose my damn mind.

Thankfully, the water receded quickly, and we were able to drive out of Lyndonville all the way to Saratoga on Friday midmorning, where my saint of a mother-in-law met us at the Gideon Putnam Hotel. She took charge of Daphne for the evening so Jer and I could attend the show and feel like cultured adults again, and it was fantastic.

All of it was wonderful–the dancing and the date vibe!

I danced seriously when I was younger and was even on a pre-professional track for a while, and I still love ballet. Seeing NYCB, a world-class company and arguably the best company in the United States, had always been on my bucket list, so this was an epic evening for me. I’d read as many NYCB ballerina autobiographies as possible, and in this way I’d learned the Balanchine and company lore, and I’d grown up idolizing Darci Kistler, their star ballerina in the 1990s. Nowadays, I follow some of the dancers on Instagram, so I’m familiar with their company members and was excited to see Mira Nadon, Miriam Miller, and Olivia MacKinnon perform. I also grew up watching tapes of the company’s performances and got to know the choreography by George Balanchine well, so I was thrilled to see Stars and Stripes live. The program consisted of the company’s single-act version of Swan Lake, plus The Steadfast Tin Soldier, excerpts from Coppelia, and Stars and Stripes, which I thought would be my favorite. S&S was wonderful, for sure–it’s energetic, playful, and ultimately an exuberant showstopper, and its patriotism has a sweet, vintage feel (sadly, it’s outdated in our current political shit-storm).

However, I realized afterward that Swan Lake moved me most. I didn’t anticipate that. After all, I’ve seen the Houston Ballet dance it, plus countless other recordings of it, and it’s so iconic that it can feel worn out sometimes. But I was enthralled. So much so that I found myself in tears when the curtain went up on the classic scene and the music began. Maybe because it was the first piece on the program, and maybe because it’s been a long time since I’ve attended the ballet. But Isabella LaFreniere was a gorgeous Odile, the overall effect was breathtaking, and I never fail to feel the transcendent magic of live symphonic music, particularly Tchaikovsky (there’s nothing like it). All of that combined to sweep me away in a marvelous escape from what has felt like a crappy reality.

But even before that, I loved the quiet time with my husband.

We arrived at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center about 45 minutes before the show, so we bought two glasses of wine, perched on a little lean-to in the outdoor complex, and simply talked. I was wearing makeup, a new dress, and my Tiffany pearls, and I was excited, of course.

Jer was patient while I opened the program to the pages featuring headshots of all the principal dancers and spilled their tea.

“This one and this one are my age so they’re old and neither ever really came back after quarantine, so they’re never around to actually perform… Do you think they earn as much as the younger women carrying the performance load?”

“And this one… she has no business being so stunningly beautiful.”

“And this one–see how she’s from Salt Lake? She’s LDS, and her brother was also a principal with the company for a while, and he was married to this one over here before he realized he was gay. Now, he dances elsewhere, a freelance performer I think, and he and his partner own a flower shop…”

Stuff like that. All true, by the way.

It was such a fabulous night. And though we were only gone a little over 24 hours, the trip was refreshing. Back home now, I’m feeling renewed. Thank god.

On another note, I promised to share a writing update today, so here it goes.

I’ve finished my developmental edits for my short story “We Were the House of Usher” and sent my updated draft back to the editors. I was pleased that my editor didn’t have too many suggestions, really. I did need to make sure my main character’s reactions were consistent throughout the story’s beginning, and I needed to clarify a few important plot points while making sure Madeline’s change in attitude wasn’t too easy and unearned. These were excellent suggestions; she was spot-on. The challenge was making those changes while trying to keep the story around 4,000 words. When I submitted it originally, it was just under 4k. After I made my revisions, it was sitting at almost 4.6k! EEK. So I spent most of my time in that week-window for dev edits whittling my revised draft back down. That was painful, and I finally made it to around 4.2k, which I think will be acceptable.

I want to give a shout-out here to my wonderful mom, who was my alpha reader for this story long before I ever submitted it, and who helped me get the story’s act together before it was ever given over to a professional editor. She also did me the huge favor of rereading the piece yet again (she’s read it dozens of times), after I’d made my developmental edits and word cuts. She said she felt like the story was strong, clearer in certain ways, and good to go, which gave me the courage to resubmit it.

Thank you, Mumdi! You are, indeed, my favorite alpha reader! My story would have been in such worse shape had you not given me that April feedback!

The uncomfortable truth, though, is that my story really wants to be longer. Like a thoroughbred race horse, it’s longing to burst forth and just keep going… and I’m the jockey struggling to reign it in and keep it under control (LOL forgive the bad racehorse analogy… it’s on my mind since Saratoga is known for its famous track, home to the Belmont Stakes). The version of “We Were the House of Usher” that exists now is… fine. I still like it, but it’s definitely imperfect. The pacing is lopsided. It has a well-done, captivating first third, but the last two thirds feel shorter, quicker, and, honestly, like things happen too quickly, and that was because I couldn’t spend too many words drawing those parts out. The scope of this story really doesn’t match the anthology’s 4k assignment, and that is my fault and mine alone. In hindsight, I should have chosen a narrower focus, one that I could develop slowly and thoroughly all the way through, a single-scene story, really, that was more like 3k to begin with, which would have left plenty of room for the inevitable edits.

Oh well.

*Sigh*

I know this is part of learning the craft. And I have to be okay with some beginner’s imperfection if I ever want to start publishing. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’d never release anything because it would never be quite good enough for the world to see just yet. You can let that happen for the entirety of your writing life and wind up never sharing anything. I don’t want to make that mistake. Of the two, it’s ultimately the graver error.

And there are lots of things I love about my story. I love my use of language and parallelism; I love my imagery and dialogue. I admire my determined but imperfect female main character, and I think I’ve made the antagonist, Roderick, effectively morally grey (I despise simple monster bad guys). I also like the backstory I’ve created for Roderick and Madeline.

I just wish I had more room.

But like I said, that’s on me.

If you’re a writer, tell me your newbie mistakes. What have you struggled with, and how have you lived with it while still allowing yourself to share imperfect work with the world?

I could use your wisdom right now.

Thanks so much. As always, I’d love to hear from you.

Until next week, take care!

XOXO,

Jenn