Susan Stinson

11:42 am: Toni Brown Memorial on Blogtalkradio today
I don't know any more about exactly how to find this, but if anyone would like to listen or contribute:

Dr. Niama Williams will be hosting a radio memorial program in honor of Toni on Monday, April 28 from 6:00-7:00 p.m. EST on blogtalkradio. She is looking for contributors to share their 'Toni poems' and memories. If you plan to call in, please email Dr. Ni before 4:00 p.m. on Monday April 28 with your name and the number you will be calling from so that she knows it is you on the line. niamapers@gmail.com

07:50 am: Memorial for Toni Brown in Philadelphia this Sunday
There is a memorial for Toni this Sunday, April 27, at the Painted Bride Art Center in Philadelphia -- 230 Vine Street, Philadelphia , PA  19106 from 2 to 4,  people are invited to bring memories, photos of Toni they may have, and light refreshments to share.  Her family will be there. There is info about directions and parking in a comment to a post here. Click and scroll down.

UPDATE:

I saw the following information, with more of Toni's strong, strong poetry, here.

Toni Brown Memorials

Friday, April 25, 2008
Trinity Episcopal Church
3 Goddard Avenue
Rockland, Massachusetts
7-9pm
(781-871-0096)

Tags: toni brown

10:08 am: Response to discrimination: acting together and seeking out art
I got a letter from a student at a school for the deaf. He told me that he was working on a project on discrimination. He asked if I had ever been discriminated against, or knew anyone who had been, and if I would write him about it with advice about how to handle discrimination. ( Here's what I said.  )

Tags: fat

08:11 am: Toni Brown

Edited to add: There is a memorial for Toni this Sunday, April 27, at the Painted Bride Art Center in Philadelphia -- 230 Vine Street, Philadelphia , PA 19106 from 2 to 4, people are invited to bring memories, photos of Toni they may have, and light refreshments to share. Her family will be there. There is info on parking and directions in a comment below.

UPDATE:
I saw the following information, with more of Toni's strong, strong poetry, here.

Toni Brown Memorials

Friday, April 25, 2008
Trinity Episcopal Church
3 Goddard Avenue
Rockland, Massachusetts
7-9pm
(781-871-0096)

My friend, writer Toni Brown, has died. She's the beautiful African American woman in the middle in the picture above, which was taken the last time I saw her, at a reading in Northampton two and a half years ago.

I just heard this, and can barely believe it. Toni had such gorgeous, generous habits. Once, when we were in a tiny plane to Philadelphia to do a reading -- we did that, we had a reading in Northampton for a Philadelphia feminist writers group, and they held a reading in Philadelphia for us, mostly, I think, through Toni's wide network of friends, but also because we'd been running into each other at the OutWrite conference in Boston. So we were crammed into these way too small seats on a little plane that was bouncing with the weather, and when I told Toni I was sorry for taking up some of her scarce room, she leaned closer, snuggled in, and said, "Yum," or words to that effect. That is probably the best moment that I have ever had on a plane in my life.

After Toni moved to Philadelphia, she put me up more than once when I was travelling through to give readings. She introduced me when I read at Giovanni's Room after a Nolose conference. I know that some of the folks on my friendslist were there, so you might remember her. After the reading (it's one that kind of shimmers in my mind as intense and intimate), she and Janet Mason walked with me to the car. Toni had brought a copy of my book, Belly Songs (which was itself published by a micropress Sally Bellerose, Janet Aalfs and I -- all above! -- formed out of the writers group), and, since she asked me to, I read it aloud on the sidewalk to her and Janet as they leaned against the car.

We haven't been keeping in close touch, but, oh, I'll miss having her here in the world. If I hear more about a memorial, I'll post it.

Tags: toni brown

06:12 pm: Great story by Sally Bellerose! Plus a Re/Dress New York Times sighting!
Here is a really good story by my friend, Sally Bellerose:
Potatoes, Sex and Security in The November 3 Club.

When we took our first writing break at her house today, I sat down on her couch, and there on the coffee table, was the Style Section from this Sunday's New York Times, complete with a great picture of Deb, Anne and Glenn! They are also beautifully quoted in the article about the new Brooklyn Flea Market, where Deb is selling vintage clothes size 14 and up as she gets her new store Re/Dress up and running.

Sally let me take the picture home for my bulletin board.

Tags: fat, fiction, sally bellerose

09:50 pm: Victory Lap
I'm really excited to get the revision of the novel off! I hopped on my trike and did a victory lap around Look Park.

• On the way, I came up a steep entry ramp to the bike path fast and made a sharp turn. A woman walking by (I check for pedestrians! Not reckless!) sort of cheered and said, "Wow."
  That's the ramp where I did my only wheelie. I have to go fast to get up it, and it's not iced in any more. It's spring!


• When I was coming in the entrance to the park, a couple of nice people I know saw me from across the way, and the man started singing, "There she is, Susan on her trike," to the tune of "Miss America" in a booming voice across the park. I waved and yelled, "I finished a revision of the novel!"


• I made happy phone calls to my parents and other dear ones while I was on the far side of the park. I don't think I've ever called anybody from the trike in motion before! I was breathless, and kept saying "whooo!"


• Heading home (downhill all the way!), I crossed a road just as a little boy learning to ride his bike was coming up the path. He gave a little shriek when he saw me, and turned the bike into his Mom, who caught him and it both. "Don't worry!" I said. "We had to stop anyway," she said, laughing. (It's true, they were almost to the stop sign.) He didn't really seem scared -- we all thought it was funny.


• Home before dark!


There will be more feedback, editing and revisions. But this round is out!

Tags: trike, writing

12:40 pm: Belong
Being in the moment utterly, yes -- eat an apple when you eat an apple, as Zen phraseology might have it -- but then trying also to move on from there as mindfully and scrupulously as possible, bringing any intellectual or imaginative arabesques back to the authentic human experience where they belong.

Padma Hejmadi, Room to Fly: A Transcultural Memoir

Tags: books, daily life, writing

10:02 pm: Items

• Alison Bechdel is going to be at Amherst College tomorrow (Wednesday!) at 8 pm. I'm going! Details here.



• The Nolose conference is going to be in Northampton, September 26-28. Look out!



• I hear that letters and phone calls to Massachusetts state legistlators are the most important next step on H. 1844, the anti size discrimination law, so if you live in the state, that would be a great thing to do. Who they are and what the contact info is is easy to find online. I emailed Peter Kocot, the Northampton representative, about it, but haven't heard back from him. The legistlators have to act on the bill by June.



• I'm in the middle of a spate of intense work on the novel, and won't be around here for a while. I want the book to be intellectually and emotionally adventurous! Aesthetically thrilling! Humanly compelling! Pages turning and turning and turning. Whoa nellie, do I ever aspire!



• It's raining. There's something I find so moving in this common, intimate way about the sound of a car driving past on a wet street when I'm inside my apartment, warm and dry.

Tags: daily life, fat, writing

09:39 am: Chain off
I hadn't gone far on my trike when I could tell that the pedals were turning with no effect on the wheels: a chain was off. This happened once before, but that time, I kept trying to ride until the chain was tangled in the gears, and then got help getting it back on. This time, I stopped right away. It was hard to get the chain to stretch back in place, but the key was turning the trike completely upside down -- not just on its side, so that I could turn the pedals and use the rotation of the gear to help feed the chain back where it belongs.

There was tons of gunky black oil on the chain, although I scrubbed with a nail brush, there's still some lingering under the edges of my nails and on my arm.

Tags: trike

11:36 am: Testimony
( Here is what I said. )

Tags: boston, fat

11:32 am: Hearing
( Read more... )

Tags: boston, fat

08:15 am: Today

• Today, 2 pm, the State House in Boston. Hearing on the anti size-discrimination bill 1844. Room A2. Three minutes to speak. Much to witness.


• I'm not going to be lyrical.


• I've been kindly offered a ride by a nice person who says she's inexperienced and nervous about driving in the city. We're trying to park right on the Common! Will we make it out of there before dark? Boston's long history shows up in its labyrinthian one way streets and lack of helpful signage indicating the way to I-90. I've been stressfully lost on the streets of Boston like nowhere else. Here we go.


• Evidently, there's a luncheon. I hadn't heard.


• I was having a fantasy of going to look for the reading room in the Boston Public Library in Copley Square, which I didn't know existed when I was young and washing my hands in its grand marble bathrooms during my fire escape painting days. But there's a luncheon.


• My laptop crashed.


• A deadline's near and the work's not done.


• My printer broke. I rode the eleven or twelve miles roundtrip to Hadley yesterday to get a new one. Uncleared ice on the bike path! Vigor, sunshine, low hills.


• I'm a little frazzled. And novel haunted.


• It's good to have a strategic moment to say: Discrimination based on height and weight is wrong. It's good to act to try to help stop it.

Tags: boston, fat, writing

08:04 am: Sun up over the fairgrounds
One of the things about having the same breakfast every morning is that it serves as a pragmatic and literally nourishing ritual. Minor variations are ripples in the long oatmeal river. This morning, I overcooked it, so it's gluey. The big strawberries are very cold, bordering on icy, tart, sweet. It's the last of the pecans. I'm in a hurry because I'm writing with my friend Sally today. And it's as holy, complicated, simple and necessary as yesterday's breakfast, as food ever is. Every joy to you all this morning -- oatmeal embracers, resisters and skeptics alike -- the whole bowlful.

Tags: daily life

07:03 pm: And now for something completely different.
This? Funny!

Novelists Strike Fails to Affect Nation Whatsoever

07:50 am: Oatmeal
I put the water on to boil, scoop an overflowing half cup worth of old-fashioned oatmeal out of the large and excellent container that was passed on to me by a friend moving away. Often, a few bits of oatmeal spill on the counter. This flaw in the preparation process could be solved by using a bigger cup. (I'm getting inspired to measure the amount like a proper home economist-raised person, and then experimenting with which cup...like maybe one of my grandmother's blue teacups, which are sturdy and shapely. Maybe next time.) I put frozen fruit into a silver bowl. Often it's blueberries, but lately strawberries have been cheapest, so in they go. I shake copious amounts of cinnamon over them. I toss a handful of nuts in the toaster oven. This week it's pecans. Mmmm. When the water boils, I dump the oatmeal in. I turn the stove down as low as I can get it. When the toaster oven clicks off, I empty the pan of them over the strawberries, which heats the cinnamon a little and speeds up the melting of the fruit. This smells good. When the oatmeal is ready, I scrape it into the bowl, where it steams while I add some plain yogurt and mix it all together with a big green-handled spoon.

The empty bowl is beside the computer on the green desk. I just scraped up a last cold, creamy oat. The spoon rang against the metal bowl. This is the breakfast I've been having most mornings for the past few years, in this part of my life. The humidifier is whirring and dripping away under the kitchen table. I saw the sun come up over the fairgrounds this morning, and now it's pretty bright over the cemetery when I glance out the porch window to the west.

Tags: daily life

10:06 am: Fat: Talking, Witnessing, and Taking a Stand
In a week and a half, on Tuesday, March 25, there's going to be a hearing at the state house in Boston in support of a law making it illegal to discriminate based on height and weight.

I'm going to be there, ready to talk about why this matters to me. Marilyn Wann suggested that I talk about the fat hating letter I got a few years back, so I'll probably do that. She emailed me about it eight years to the day after the hugely healing speak out against fat hatred the community helped organize in response.

A lot of other pretty amazing folks are going to be at the hearing in Boston. I'm in the middle of a crucial time in revision of my novel, it's a little hard to stop to go do this, and discrimination based on weight is always an emotionally charged thing to talk about. It takes some serious work to articulate something that painful, and also to stay human and open and alive and to keep trying to communicate in good faith, no matter what comes back.

And, yeah, it's important. And just the chance to witness a roomful of people doing all of the emotional, logistical and intellectual work to show up to do the same could be life-changing. It has been, for me, in the past. The thought of it almost makes me cry. And, oh, it matters, it matters so much, to take steps, positive, direct steps, to try to shift discrimination based on size. Some people have worked for years to make this happen. I haven't done that, but I'm going to show up a week from Tuesday, convenient or not.

If you live in Massachusetts, if you feel that discrimination based on size is wrong, it would be great if you did, too. Just being there matters. And your story about why you care about this, however halting or hard it is to tell, that matters, too. Think about coming ready to tell it. I'm doing that, and I'm coming to try to really hear.

There's also a call out to make a phone call to your state representative and ask how the Rep. will vote on the bill.

Get full information, including time, place and contact info here.

Tags: fat

08:51 am: The missing pages of the sea
Pillow by Li-Young Lee

Tags: poetry

08:37 am: The physical world
I feel like saying something to you all, but am unclear what. So: my fingers smell like Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap.

Tags: daily life

05:11 pm: Awkward
I just got the winter issue of Lambda Book Report, which includes a review I wrote of Awkward by Mary Cappello. I'm posting it here because I want more people to know about this wonderful book.

Awkward: A Detour
Mary Cappello
Bellevue Literary Press/16.95.
ISBN-13 978-1-934137-01-7/NONFICTION

I don't like the sensation – who does? – of what might be the most fundamental awkwardness on earth: the gap between the sheer fact of being alive and not knowing how to live; the space between life as a given and life as a series of acts of will; the gulf between biology and mind.

Awkward is brilliantly unembarrassed about human limitation. It is a book-length lyric essay on the gifts of awkwardness that advances in related sections with titles such as untoward, maladjusted, and incongruous.

Here is the opening of the book:

One day I read in order to know things, another day, to know the truth. I read to be aided in my lust -- to be seduced to feel, to be lured out. I read not to be alone. I want for my day to be split open by a tidal wave of strange imaginings when I read, for something, anything, to break through. A book gains a place on my shelf for the way it forces me to remember. A sentence becomes locked in my heart for the way it helps me to forget. I admit to enjoying that "good feeling" of being in the midst of something higher and better when I read, but lately I long for a literature that can throw a wrench into the works.

Any passionate reader might recognize such contradictory lures and raptures. Cappello gives plenty of pleasure in language filled with skilled, twitchy play, but she's serious about that wrench. She offers up stories and observations from her life as a writer, a critic, a daughter, an aunt, a traveler and a citizen of a nation that wields its power with too little pause for uncertainty or haltingness.

Cappello delineates the awkwardness of immigrants, spanning languages and cultures. She explores this within documents and memories from her Italian American family, and in travels to Italy and Russia, where the lines between receiving a beautiful welcome and becoming (or experiencing) a burden shift rapidly.

In writing about her "favorite awkward film," Rainer Werner Fassbinder's Angst essen Seele auf ("Fear Eat Soul"), Cappello observes, "Awkwardness happens when something usually kept out is let in." Fassbinder finds in the films of Douglas Sirk what Cappello finds in awkwardness: "a place where alternative modes of feeling are possible."

There are individual lines or passages in the book where a reader may wish for the clarity of more conventional syntax. But the book as a whole functions in much the same way that the gaps in Emily Dickinson's handwritten poems do:

Those deliberate spaces make for a poetry of stillness and yawp, where "yawp" falls somewhere between a yawn and a yell. Each pause tempts interruption by all that language otherwise bars.

In Awkward, Cappello has been intently about the work of tempting interruption by all that language otherwise bars. There are tremendous gains in experience and meaning to be found by lingering in these gaps.

Tags: reviews

06:56 pm: Eclipse
Wrote this last night, but had trouble posting, so went back to watching the eclipse:

I just came in from watching the eclipse -- it's still going on! It's got hours to go! -- and took off my grey hooded jacket with the spider embroidered on it for Spider in a Tree, my long sleeve black sweatshirt, the brown button up flannely shirt with sateen trim that I picked up at the Fat Girl Flea and which turned out to be very cozy and warm, so I'm down to my short sleeve black sweatshirt and my Bookwoman t-shirt with the picture of the red-cheeked, stiff-haired woman reading surrounded by books, signed by the illustrator, Kiki, c '89 (I do, I hoard old, old clothes. Also, I wear them, and enjoy the disjunction and continuity, both.) I won't even go into what all else I had on, but I was pretty cozy standing outside, peering through the little cut out in my facehat at the early part of the eclipse. At first, actually, I thought I would be too cold to stay long, but then I just settled in to a spot in an empty parking space just outside the wooden stairs to my apartment, and watched as the shadow slowly eased over the brightness, and the red part of the moon in the umbra was taking on a hard edge without the blur of shine, and the slowness of it was its own great, cold gift. I started out to type this with my coat and everything still on, but first I went into my bedroom, and remembered that I can watch the rest through the window from my bed. And so, I will. Now.

Tags: books, reviews