Beryl's January 2019 Newsletter

I began this newsletter on a glorious warm day in January and felt the need to reconnect with all of you, not because I had something important to say but simply because I’ve missed you. Today it is 10 ° F. Based on the paucity of my newsletters, it is clear that Inspiration departed and writers block took its place when we moved from our home on Lake Superior. During the nineteen years we lived within that magical landscape, it was easy to write. I’m saddened I’ve done such a poor job finding inspiration here.

Our new home is delightful. A residence for active seniors filled with warm and bright people who have become a family. It is a very busy, lively place. This busy-ness and immediate access to the many amenities offered by Metropolitan living, has given me an abundance of excuses not to write. When I was asked to help form a writers’ group here at RosePointe, I found a way out of my creative lethargy. I can’t sit by and let everyone write but me.

I have several thick red journals packed with years of quotations and notes on lectures and retreats that inspire me. While poking through current gleanings this morning—hoping to be jolted into creativity—I came across this notation from a retreat given by James Finley (one of Thomas Merton’s disciples and a well-known spiritual lecturer).

The task of spirituality is to allow God to love you. To discern God’s will does not mean to take a particular course of action. Whatever you choose is right even when you’re wrong. God is not waiting for you somewhere else because you’ve gone in the wrong direction. God is present to you now wherever you might be. I find this immensely comforting. Wherever I am, God is with me now. Now I can get up and write this newsletter.

Writing updates: My writing life is looking up now that we have a writers’ group. We had a meeting today in which I led a ten-minute writing exercise based on one of my favorite exercises: filling a page with words (action verbs, colors, sounds, objects and places), selecting five spontaneously, and quickly using them into one sentence. What fun.

Meanwhile, the work on the new edition of The Scent of God is nearing completion. It’s got a gorgeous new cover, intro and afterword. I’m getting back into the swing of the craft and believe that Its sequel might just complete its long gestation in the near future.

I hope the holidays brought you many blessings and that your happy days outnumbered the painful days. I pray this new year will be one in which we might work together to restore compassion to our nation and the world.

Beryl

Beryl's Winter 2016 Newsletter

I write this newsletter from Florida, where we’ve been enjoying a warmer and wetter winter than ever. I do think of you however, especially as my new smart phone keeps me updated on weather up north and across the nation and the news is not always good. Mother Nature seems to be in a punishing mode, her behavior more awesome, tumultuous and damaging than ever. I hope you’ve stayed safe, that you’ve weathered whatever drought, hurricane or blizzard has brought your way. Even more turbulent than Mother Nature’s actions is the angry divided condition our nation reflects.

Today, while perusing the work of Anthony de Mello, one of my favorite spiritual guides, one story struck me as applicable to our situation today.  A spiritual master once told a visiting bishop that religious people have a natural bent for cruelty. His disciples were embarrassed and asked why he’d made such a harsh analysis.  Because religious people all too easily sacrifice persons for the advancement of a purpose, the master replied. Isn’t this what we see happening in our nation as the lives of millions of innocent refugees are sacrificed to national security?  In his speech before Congress, Pope Francis offered a solution to the refugee crisis:  follow the Golden Rule. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” words that earned him a standing ovation from Congress. Was anyone listening?

 Update on The Glass Chrysalis

“What happened to your newsletter?” is a question I hear almost as often as “When is your book coming out?” My apologies! This newsletter should answer the first question. The second is well on its way to being answered. You haven’t seen or heard much from me lately because I’ve focused on one thing only: the book. Having finished preparations for submission, a completed edited manuscript, a marketing analysis and comparative title analysis, The Glass Chrysalis will make its way into the world this coming week. I shall let you know when it’s found a home. Keep me in your prayers. I’ve done my best to weave a good book with the help of Jill Swenson, book developer. The rest is up to God.

Peace and all good to your inmost souls.

Beryl

© Beryl Singleton Bissell 2016


The Minneapolis Star Tribune named Beryl as a "Best of 2006 Minnesota Authors." Her book The Scent of God  was a “Notable” Book Sense selection for April 2006. Her second book, A View of the Lake was released in May 2011 and named a best regional book by the Minneapolis Star Tribune

Aaron Lazar's Next Big Thing

Update: March 19, 2013. Aaron Lazar's Next Big Thing
Aaron Lazar is one of the most prolific authors I know, which is why I'm so pleased to feature Aaron’s Next Big Thing Interview . I met Aaron on Gather.com, a wonderful and diverse online community of writers, six or seven years ago. Since then I have watched in amazement as Aaron delivers one intriguing, suspense-laden yet heart-warming mystery after another. Sounds like a contradiction, doesn't it? You'll have to read Aaron's work to discover what I mean. 

The LeGarde Mysteries Series, Moore Mysteries Series, and Tall Pine Series -- each featuring different protagonists -- propel readers through the Genesee Valley, Adirondack Mountains, and even Paris, the city of lights. His latest book, For Keeps, features family doctor Sam Moore who wants nothing more than a quiet life with his wife yet is drawn constantly into one mystery after another. Please do check out Aaron’s Next Big Thing Blog and his Author’s Website .

Riding the Portland Rails

Portland: Day One

We didn't do any research on Portland prior to our journey there. Which is actually not a bad way to travel, especially in a city like Portland with its amazing transit system of 100 bus lines, 3 light rail lines, street cars and even a cable car – for it was while using this system that we often ended up having lively conversations with various persons ranging from the intellectual young woman who directed us to Powell’s bookstore and the skateboarder who waxed eloquent about Columbia River Gorge. “Man, you gotta see those waterfalls.”

The TriMet blows your mind. Ride it within the “Fareless Square,” which covers a great portion of Portland’s City Center and the nearby Lloyd district where we were staying, and you travel free! Perhaps it is the free fare that accounts for the crowds in downtown Portland at night. (Minneapolis/St. Paul take note. It's not arena's that bring crowds to your downtowns, it's free rapid transit!)

Bill and I rode Portland's transit system by day and by night, getting along very well without our rented car as we could ride to and fro within the city and way out into the suburbs. The only time we needed a car was the final day when we took our friendly skateboarder's advice and headed out to the Columbia River Gorge to see "those waterfalls" and the scenic drive toward Mount Hood’s snow-covered peak that dominates the Portland landscape.

But, let’s get back to our first day in Portland (or rather evening which is when we arrived and headed off on our first rapid transit leap into the city). That night we dedicated to riding the transit system for the first time, met our intellectual sister traveler and made our way, as per her suggestion, to Powell’s Bookstore – the largest independent bookseller of new and used books in the world. I usually stop into bookstores to sign copies of my book, The Scent of God. Normally these bookstores have several copies on hand save for the airport bookstores where the mention of my book brings a blank stare. When I introduced myself and made my inquiry about signing copies, I was told to head to the “red section” where I would find four copies -- two used and two new paperbacks) to sign.

Juniper, the young woman at the red section’s help desk, was mightily perplexed to discover that there was only one copy of The Scent of God on her shelves -- a galley (an advanced readers’ copy) wearing the "busy" jacket (see photo below) that was rejected in favor of the final stunning book cover. She suggested I browse the store while she looked for more. "I'll page you if I find the other copies." She didn't sound too hopeful.

Browsing Powell's is like a dream of finding oneself in a home where one room opens to another and floor leads to floor and you keep exclaiming "Imagine, this is my house and I never knew it had all these rooms." From religion to travel to memoir to poetry I wandered, finally settling down in the fiction section to scan a book of Flannery O'Connor's short stories when I heard my name announced clearly over the loud speaker. "Beryl Singleton Bissell. Please come to the information desk in the red section, second floor."

Juniper had managed to locate only one more book. Having seen me screw up my face when she'd produced the first galley, she pushed a second galley apologetically toward me. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't find the two new paperbacks. They might be on hold, or their sale has not yet been logged into the system.”

My husband Bill and I had gotten separated almost immediately upon entering the store (we have different reading tastes). Thinking I'd better track him down before we both passed out from hunger, I began cruising the various floors and sections. Meanwhile, Bill, having heard me paged, headed for the "red section," arriving just after I left. So for the second time that evening my name was announced over the loud speaker at Powell's, this time so that Bill and I could reconnect at the "red section." Locating one another was a much happier finding than my book signing experience had been, especially when we both agreed it was time to eat, which launched our next adventure.

Eating in Portland . . . to be posted tomorrow.

Get thee to the Getty

Back in Los Angeles, yet still floating on Sequoia highs, I decide to visit the world famous Getty Center on a hilltop in the Santa Monica Mountains. To get there, I can take a taxi for the measly sum of $45.00 one-way, or I can take the same trip by bus for $1.00. As a Senior, I do even better . . . I get bargain rates: $0.45 for an hour and a half trip! All I have to do is walk several blocks to the LAX bus depot on 96^th Street, take the Culver City 6 to Westwood and make the transfer there to Metro Rapid Line 761.

I arrive at Getty Drive, leave the bus, and hop onto a sleek tramway that makes me feel like I am a bird rising above the landscape below. The museum complex is huge, positioned around a central plaza. The buildings are clad in enameled metal; the plaza in split travertine, some blocks of which reveal fossilized aspen leaves. Huge asymmetrical archways frame panoramas of the mountain ridges beyond and the city below.

The architect, Richard Meier incorporated undulating design elements into the Getty buildings to soften the stark geometric design of the campus; a softening enhanced by the natural gardens designed by artist Robert Irwin which lead visitors along a walkway bordered by colorful flowers, trees, and shrubs that change with the season. The walkways meander around and across a boulder strewn stream that eventually cascades down into a pool with its own floating maze of azaleas.

Always anxious to learn as much as I can about a place, I took the architectural tour with a guide who shared all sorts of nifty ideas about how Meier’s concepts managed to blend contrasting yet complimentary shapes and forms into a complex compatible with the surrounding landscapes yet incorporate his preference for tightly controlled environments (note all those "Cs in this very long sentence).

After the tour, which last over an hour, I bought a chicken salad at the outdoor cafe and sat under an umbrella to relax. I ate surrounded by babies in strollers, tripping toddlers, kissing lovers, doting grandparents, and a bevy of gorgeous red-hatted black ladies in the purple outfits waltzing by to the music of their own laughter. So much activity, yet I felt wondrously alone and content in the warm afternoon sun.

I had such a good time outside, wandering through the gardens and walkways, watching groups of parochial school children in plaid uniforms and red shirts working earnestly over sketch pads that I quite forgot about visiting the numerous art collections inside. Instead I peeked over the young people’s shoulders intrigued by the variety of objects they chose to draw – buildings, scenes, flowers details, until another more boisterous group of children (followed by admonishing mamas), jostled past me and busied themselves running hither and yon in free-floating delight.

When I checked my watch I realized that I’d only one-half hour left in which to visit the art galleries. How would I explain myself if I didn't at least give them a peek? So off I dashed, working my way from one floor to the next of one gallery. I'd reached the third floor when I realized the sunglasses I'd been guarding so assiduously had disappeared. I needed those glasses. The sun was too bright without them and I'm cataract prone. My loss triggered a mad search of every gallery room as I attempted to retrace my steps. I could swear that I was rushing through rooms that hadn't been there earlier. Finally I was back where I'd begun my gallery tour and wouldn't you know, that's where I found those glasses. They blended so nicely with the black table on which they sat in the dark interactive screening room that they seemed to want to stay.

The ride back to Los Angeles resembled a crazy game of sardines -- men, women and children crushed onto seats among a swaying mass of humanity clinging to bars and handle straps as their purses and shopping bags and lunch buckets strove for space as well. A woman in front of me hummed the same two notes in quiet monotony for the entire trip. I wondered if she was claustrophobic, and if I hummed with her I might assuage the feeling of suffocation I was feeling.
At each stop, people got off and more got on to take their place. I arrived back at the hotel just as my husband returned from work.

It was still light out, so we headed to Manhattan Beach, where we walked in the sand for almost an hour. Hungry by then, we stopped at a tiny corner restaurant called Talia where we ate a not so tiny Italian meal. Meanwhile, our car, sitting alone in the parking lot, decided to spring a flat tire. It could have been worse, that tire could have flattened while we were careening down the Sierra Nevada Mountains earlier in the week. Besides, that flat gave me the chance to admire something new about Bill: his competent skill with car jack and wrench. Impressive. Compared to it, my successful foray by bus to the Getty, seemed like child's play.

Setting up house

I'm making a quick appearance here as I am new to blogspot and am here to refer you to my other blog at Beryl at Gather.com until I can figure out what I'm doing. I arrived here because I am a guest blogger on Patry Francis' (author of The Liar's Diary) Simply Wait blogspot.

I have been a columnist for the Cook County News Herald for the past 10 years and write frequently for regional and national magazines. My memoir, The Scent of God, was published in hardcover by Counterpoint NY in 2006 and in paperback this year of 2007. The Minneapolis Star Tribune named me "Best of 2006 Minnesota Authors," and The Scent of God was a “Notable” Book Sense selection for April 2006. It has also been nominated by Booksellers for a Midwest Booksellers Book Award.