women

Writing Women Back Into History

August 5, 2020 by admin

I would not leave thee, dear beloved place,

A crown, a sceptre, or a throne to grace;

To be a queen—the Nation’s flag unfurl—

A thousand times I’d be a Factory Girl!

An Address to Napiers Dockyard

Ellen Johnston

Years ago while working on a project for college, I ran across a book where astrophysicists debated the existence of God (don’t worry, I’m not going to write about that). I happened to notice they were all male. Are there female astrophysicists? Of course there are, and here’s a list. For whatever reason, though, not a single woman was represented in that book.

This was my first realization of how women are written out of history, even with significant achievements. I thought of this again when I saw the movie Hidden Figures. Would my life have been different, I wondered, if I saw the success and achievements of women at an early age? When I was growing up, I had no idea women, let alone women of color, used mathematical expertise to launch rockets.

So when I discovered my great-great grandmother had been removed from the family history, I wasn’t surprised. Jane the Factory Girl, which I am getting closer to completion, is a fictionalized attempt to bring her back into the family…and to also pay tribute to the women who worked in the mills and factories, whose stories have also been erased.

While doing research for the novel I fell in love with the poetry of Ellen Johnston…and along the way gained exposure to a wealth of Scottish poetry written by women. Never heard of her? Of course not. And yet, in her lifetime, she was well known and popular as a poet.

Ellen began working in factories at either age 11 or 13, not uncommon at the time. She had little schooling, enough to read and write. She later gave birth to an illegitimate daughter, and put the child in her mother’s care because she had to keep working.

After being fired from a mill, Johnston successfully sued for severance. However, this action caused her to be blackballed.

As a poet, Johnston published a number of poems in newspapers under the name Factory Girl. In 1867 she published a collection called Autobiographies, Poems, Songs, and The Factory Girl. A second edition (that deleted references to her daughter) was published in 1869.

Ellen’s fate is unknown. A woman named Helen Johnston died in a poorhouse in 1874, but this may or may not be her. Rumors suggested she married or moved and changed her name. She was known to be in ill health, however, from her years in the mills, so the latter theory is not likely. It’s more, perhaps, what we wish were true. Instead, like too many women, Ellen Johnston just disappeared.

It is a tribute to Johnston that each chapter of Jane the Factory Girl begins with a poem. Where possible, I use Johnston’s lines. Where not, most of the poetry is written by women (I threw in Stevenson and Burns, so men aren’t entirely ignored).

Here again, though, the only female poet I had heard of before working on this novel was Elizabeth Barrett Browning, whose stunning poem The Cry of the Children still haunts me. Others include Elizabeth Melville, Mrs. G. G. Richardson, Elizabeth Hamilton, and more (lots of Elizabeths here, I just noticed).

Hopefully Jane the Factory Girl will not only restore Jane’s standing in the family history, but will also bring other women to life whose work and achievements had previously disappeared.

A Writer’s Life is Many Lives #WDC18 #amwriting

August 15, 2018 by admin

As I come off this year’s Writer’s Digest Conference, I am thinking about how fortunate I am. I get to do work that I love, and when I spend time around other writers, I am among incredibly generous and supportive people. As author Steven James said during his “Story Trumps Structure” workshop, we are in a rare business where people who could be our “competition” come and share everything they know. He likened it to Apple going to Google and sharing all their secrets.

The magic, of course, is that there is no competition. Each of us has a unique story to tell, so the more of us the merrier. We don’t have to elbow anyone out of the way.

Back home, I am once again immersed in my projects. For one, I am reading about artists, particularly female and self-taught. Think Grandma Moses as one of many examples. I’m also learning to draw and watercolor. I’m not doing this because I want a new hobby, though I suspect I’ll keep at it because it’s fun. No, it’s a way to understand my main character better.

While I continue my research for that novel, I am living (in my mind) in late 19th-century Scotland. This story idea has sent me to Scotland twice and the old mills of Lowell, Massachusetts; introduced me to proletarian novelists such as Elizabeth Gaskell (think contemporaries of Dickens); and introduced me to genealogy.

When I wrote What She Knew, I studied the victims and perpetrators of the Madoff Ponzi Scheme. I was fascinated with the movers and shakers of Wall Street and what would happen if one of them actually grew a conscience.

In short, as a writer I get to live many lives. I get to play dress up and try on new identities. I get to peer inside the heads of my characters, who I grow to love as if they are real people and real friends.

This is a good life. A happy life. A fulfilled life. Last week I met a lot of wonderful writers who share this journey with me, and I am looking forward to getting to know all of you better.

Becoming Visible: On Female Characters Beyond Middle Age

January 9, 2018 by admin

A few days ago I had the pleasure of seeing the play 20th Century Blues, a tale of four women whose 40-year friendship threatens to combust over a set of photographs. We get to know their hopes, dreams, and failures, and we watch them grapple with the challenges of aging in a world that values youth. As their stories unfolded, I found myself nodding my head, laughing, and crying because I could relate.

That doesn’t happen a lot these days.

I love youth, don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of these Millennial haters. In fact, whenever I feel cynical, I hang out with them. I volunteer at DonorsChoose, an organization that supports public schools, and I never fail to come away feeling energized after being around this group of positive young people.

Still, when it comes to art — plays, books, movies, etc. — I want to see my age group from time to time. As a woman, I feel like my life is much more interesting than it was when I was in my twenties. We have the scars of life, and yet we are not done. We often feel young inside, with plenty of hopes and dreams left. Yet too often we are invisible or expected to take to our rocking chairs.

My current WIP has a new working title: On Her Own Terms. I tell the story of Elaine, a wife, mother and grandmother who decides at sixty to have a career of her own. Her family loves the idea as long as it doesn’t interfere with her role as their chief cheerleader. I’m encouraged by other stories, such as Marilyn Simon Rothstein’s Lift and Separate, that are finding audiences.

In the movies, whenever we want to see a badass older woman, casting directors seem to call on Helen Mirren. Mirren is strong, sexy, and intelligent in all that she does. Judi Densch, Meryl Streep, Linda Lavin, and others are still maintaining active careers. More and more, it seems, we’re seeing women beyond middle age on the big screen, and I hope the trend continues.

We also witnessed the historic candidacy for POTUS of a grandmother…and the ageist notion that she should now “take up knitting.” Nothing wrong with knitting, by the way, but there is an assumption by some that she should now go away quietly, but not the same assumption for older male politicians.

There was a time when women our age were completely invisible. I’m not saying the tide has turned completely, but I do see hope on the horizon! And with great projects such as 20th Century Blues, hopefully we will see more.

Love Letter to the Moon #moonlover #ayurveda #fullmoon #IWSG

March 4, 2015 by admin

Moon, you know I am an inconstant lover. I commit to you, and then I get busy and harried, then forget. May this love letter to you breathe into me new commitment.

Twenty years ago, while recovering from a strange illness that left me without a voice for six weeks, I woke in the night and saw you, in your fullness, in your brilliance, and I lost my heart. I want to be with you, I said. I want the freedom to stay up at night, as I did that night, to just watch you, with nothing else to do.

It was a prayer, though I didn’t know it at the time. You did…and you answered. Every month, you waxed and waned, sometimes hiding behind clouds, other times shining over the water. You gave me a glimpse of your power and mystery, and you reached out with your glow to touch my face with support and loving care.

Yet I have been disconnected from you, moon. I lost sight of you except for an occasional glance at the night sky, when you rise over the water and command my attention. I lost you when I lost my female cycles. It never occurred to me at the time that those cycles still exist within me, and you are the key.

Women who study Ayurveda, a sister science to yoga, believe the moon is important to women. The New Moon is for introspection, they say, and the Full Moon is for clarity, power, and manifestation.

A few months ago, when I added more Ayurvedic practices to my life, I began to pay attention to you again. I notice higher levels of energy — and agitation — during the full moon. It’s no surprise to me that this week, as you wax toward your full glory, I am carting bags of compost and manure into the garden. I am weeding and feeding my fruit trees. I am writing busily and happily. I feel strong and alive.

In a few weeks, when you wane to near-darkness, I will begin my period of spring cleansing and reflection.

What if I can reconnect to your rhythms? What if I can dance once again with your ebb and flow? Do I stare stare full in the face of magic? Do I claim my right to know your mysteries?

I will walk this path to find you, and then I will know the answer to those questions. I send you my love, mysterious moon, and I glide in your river of sweet, soft energy.

For more on this month’s full moon, visit these websites. I am not into astrology, but some of them are fun anyway. Enjoy!

http://www.universetoday.com/119164/the-mini-moon-cometh-catch-the-smallest-full-moon-of-2015-this-thursday/

http://www.mysticmamma.com/full-moon-in-virgo-march-5th/

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/03/full-moon-in-virgo-head-versus-heart-tug-of-war/

***

I am grateful for finding the Insecure Writers Support Group. We’re starting the A-Z Blog Challenge in April, but already I’m feeling the love. We also have a monthly group post, and today’s the day. Thanks, all!

We Haven’t Come Such a Long Way, Baby!

February 4, 2015 by admin

Remember the cigarette ads for Virginia Slims cigarettes? In 1968, we women got a cigarette designed just for us, giving us equal rights to die of lung cancer. Yay equality!

Meantime, equal opportunity issues abound in the workplace. In my last job, the commercial reps were all white men. When I had my exit interview, I pointed out how ridiculous that was. The HR rep, herself a woman, told me with a straight face that they couldn’t find any qualified applicants who were females or minorities, even though other oil & gas companies seemed to manage.

I worked in administrative hell, where we couldn’t even get appropriate software to do our jobs, even though that meant exposure to fines and contract violations because we couldn’t keep track of thousands of contract provisions in our heads. Women worked in administration, and administration didn’t generate revenue, so we just had to make do. After a failed campaign to update our systems, I knew it was time to go.

If I seem unduly stirred up by something that happened seven years ago, it’s because of what happened last week.

By now you’ve probably read the crazy obituary of author and neuroscientist Colleen McCullough, most famous for her novel The Thorn Birds. Does anyone remember Richard Chamberlain in the movie? Hubba hubba. But I digress.

Anyway, if you haven’t read it, catch up on it here. This prolific writer, with scores of accomplishments outside of the world of words, was diminished in an obit that focused on her appearance.

Of course, this is nothing new.

Ever since I returned from the U.K., I’ve studied various biographies of Charlotte Bronte. Elizabeth Gaskell’s The Life of Charlotte Bronte, which influenced generations of readers, portrays this brilliant woman as a tragic figure whose subversive Jane Eyre was an accident of a poor, spinsterish daughter of the church who didn’t know any better.

Sadly, Gaskell, who knew Charlotte Bronte, took her cue from the author herself, who had already written apologetically about her sisters, Emily and Anne, for publishing “coarse” novels that included Wuthering Heights.

Sure, Bronte was a tragic figure. Anyone who is the last survivor of many siblings, who herself dies young, gets a pat on the back for a tough life. However, like Colleen McCullough, Charlotte was ever so much more.

Jane Eyre broke new ground in its portrayal of a woman who would have love only as an equal. In real life, Charlotte Bronte turned down several marriage proposals (eventually marrying late in her life). She had an intense relationship with a married man — unconsummated, and unrequited, but one where creativity and intellect brought out her deepest passions, which fortunately for us ended up on the page.

She was, by all accounts, “plain,” just as Colleen McCullough was reported to be. But who cares?

Someone does, obviously, or we wouldn’t still have to deal with this drivel.

Novels written by women still do not garner the same attention for awards as men’s novels do. Female politicians are expected to be “hot” more than brilliant.

I know when to hand the phone to my husband because certain people, such as mechanics, will respond differently to him as a man. I can’t tell you how many jokes I’ve had to listen to about women and shopping, women and shoes, women and [fill in stereotype here].

Ladies, we need to claim our power. Whatever we do in this life, we need to share our fullness and strength. We are more than our weight, our complexion, or our hair. The Guardian did a better job with Ms. McCullough here, acknowledging her many accomplishments with warmth and humanity. Let’s acknowledge those who treat us with respect and continue to call out those who do not.

Walking the Moors – Thoughts on Bronte Country

November 12, 2014 by admin

Did you know that the Bronte sisters, Charlotte, Emily, and Anne, wrote and published a book of poetry that sold only two copies? Though well reviewed, the book flopped. Even when they did achieve literary success, it came under male pseudonyms, and reviews after they were outed as females took a nosedive.

Yet Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre remain two of the greatest and best-loved novels in history.

The Bronte sisters wrote together, and we can imagine them bouncing their ideas off of one another, but they also wrote wildly. Their stories were too “improper” to be written by women. Yet they couldn’t help themselves. In their regular walks along the Yorkshire moors, strolling through thigh-high fields of heather, they captured the passion and raw fury of winds and rain and exposure, stamping unforgettable settings and emotion in their work. They wrote true to their natures, and their boldness has kept their novels in the public ever since.

Recently I had the great privilege to walk the moors the Bronte sisters once did. I visited the home where they made history, looking at their tiny clothes (including Charlotte’s wedding bonnet) and pondering their lives. Of course, I came home with a stack of books to learn more about them. As always, it helped me as a writer to literally walk their path. A hike to Top Withens, said to be the inspiration for Wuthering Heights, brought the stories more deeply into my bones.

I don’t pretend to even come close to the skill of these authors. I do know, though, as I walk along the moors, absorbing the life and strength they emanate, I am adding to the files of my imagination. The Bronte ghosts tell me they, too, were merely human, and struggled to balance their unusual writing styles with the marketplace of the time. Their struggles are different, but we understand each other. I return to my own work renewed and inspired to continue.