If you're reading this...

I watched the movie Julie and Julia this week. Julie was discovered as a writer through her blog; a journalist at the New York Times read it, ran a story about her, and immediately she had dozens of calls from book publishers. Cool.

No one will ever discover me through this blog because it's not search-able online. New Ange is in the middle: slightly less personal than a private diary, but too personal for me to make available to everyone. Whenever I think of making my blog accessible to Google, I think: Do I want the guy I dated in high school to read this? Do I want distant relatives who still call me 'Angie' to gossip about my hangup and crises? Do I want personal information about my kids floating around cyberspace for their future employers (and therapists) to see? And I answer, no.

What I write here is for friends and friends-of-friends; to encourage you in your own daily "blah," "ak!" or "ahhh!"

Sometimes I think of starting another blog, one I'd be comfortable letting the whole world read. Blogging more would help the creativity to flow more freely. (Right now I'm at a slow drip.) But would I write any different? Maybe I'm just afraid; after all, if I wrote a book, fiction or biography, its cardboard covers would hold personal information about me for everybody's ex-boyfriends to read. The difference is that it wouldn't be just me talking; a publisher's stamp of approval would be on my words--so the distant cousins wouldn't be able to gossip about my hangups without first mentioning my success: "Did you hear Angie wrote a book?"

I want to lose myself in a book--my book--more than anything; I won't be truly alive until I feel the creativity pour out of me. Is blogging for the whole world the best way to get there? What would my public blog/book be about?

Highlights of 2009

What I celebrated:

Our 15th wedding anniversary (with a weekend in Kenora),

my inlaws' 50th,

and my children's successes.
What I lost:
I said goodbye to my wonderful Grandma--my last grandparent, my connection to the past, my greatest prayer warrior, one of my best friends, and my biggest fan.

What I gained:
Something to keep my car...

...and my arms warm.

What I accomplished:
I submitted (and published!) a freelance story for the first time in years.

I taught two new courses: Minor Prophets and Communications, opened many pudding cups for first and second graders, sold a few spices, taught my daughter to ride two-wheeler and sent my son to his first week of overnight camp, wrote my Christian Week health column, and accepted a part-time term position as a Mennonite historical researcher.

I painted G's room yellow...

...and Minneapolis red!

Perhaps my greatest memories involve girlfriends new and old:
I joined a monthly support group for mom of special needs kids (which meets at Kelsey's over
free drinks and pricey appetizers), hosted an alfresco tea party, c0-led a women's accountability group, and went for many life-giving coffee dates with special friends.

Happy New Year!

Wif God

My daughter doesn't often bring home spelling words, perhaps because she studies them adequately at school, or perhaps because her teacher doesn't want to increase G's (like-mother-like-daughter) perfectionism by emphasizing the upcoming test. But the week my daughter did bring home her spelling workbook there was a good reason: God needed to send me a message.

Included with G's list of a_e words, I read the three sentences she'd composed to practice them and the second put me on the edge of tears.



Like mother like daughter; we make life hard for ourselves, setting standards we can't meet, focusing on our failures and life's "what-ifs". But deep down we know where we are: safe in God's hands. When we face new challenges--a first college lecture or a second grade test--we sometimes forget.

Then God comes near and spells it out for us again.

peek

Wow, I didn't realize it had been this long since I've blogged. My absence has nothing to do with a dearth of things to write about. The opposite in fact.

My first excuse is that since the beginning of October I've been teaching College essay writing for the first time. Thirty-three students. Ninety-nine essays to mark. Secondly, I blame Facebook--I release so much of my creative energy in 20 word bursts in my daily status updates.

But teaching and Facebook-ing don't explain everything; I've been doing both for years. The main reason is a felt need for privacy. I've experienced so many emotions, changes, and stresses that would have made for intriguing blog posts--may even have encouraged someone--but I don't feel ready to share with the world.

Saturday I went to a discussion on the definition of Mennolit featuring local authors Armin Wiebe and David Elias. Afterward David Elias told me that writing fiction is more truthful than writing fact. A few weeks ago novelist Sandra Birdsell told me the same thing. She said it was like putting a puppet on your hand: a character to hide behind while you uncover yourself in complete honesty.

I know what they mean. I want so badly to show you what's inside, but I'm tired of being vulnerable, of opening myself and my family up to criticism, advice, and gossip. I want to hide behind a character who embodies everything inside me: the fear, the humour, the sexuality, the insecurities, and the dreams...how it feels to be in my skin, and somehow, through my fictional character, to have it all make sense, or at least: something beautiful.