Charlotte Rains Dixon

Review: The Future That Brought Her Here

The Future That Brought Her Here

by Deborah Denicola

Before we get started, I want to make one thing perfectly clear, just in case the FTC happens to be reading my blog (stranger things have happened, but not many).  I have an ulterior motive in writing this review: I got a free book to do so.  Gasp!  I know, I know, shocking but true, review copies of books are given out so that writers can read them.

Okay, that taken care of, let's get started.  This memoir by Deborah DeNicola is about a spiritual quest.  The author found herself plagued by strange visions (a room she was in completely changed itself to a previous incarnation) and intense spirits, for lack of a better word, who made her life somewhat of a living hell with their antics.  But, ultimately, this turned out to be a good thing, as it set in motion a journey through many mystic and mystery traditions, including goddess worshiping and the gnostic gospels, and consultations with psychics and channelers.  Denicola, a poet, also set off on journeys to sacred sites in Israel and Europe.

DeNicola's background in poetry clearly shines through in her lyrical descriptions and beautiful flights of fancy.  Her accounting of her quest for spiritual answers in incredible in its detail.  Since I can't generally remember what I ate for lunch the day before, I'm amazed at the recall DeNicola has about things that happened years ago.  I don't mean this as a criticism--rather; I'm envious.  I presume she kept a meticulous diary.  And even with that, the level of detail is impressive.  I keep what I consider a somewhat obsessive diary and I still wouldn't be able to recount my every thought from years ago.

Impressive as the detail is, I also consider it the main drawback of the book.  At times I longed for a glance at the bigger picture because being inside DeNicola's head for the constant play by play of her quest was sometimes exhausting.  Upon occasion, I longed for a step back to ponder what all of this might mean. 

That being said, the book is well worth reading, particularly for those with an interest in New Age and spiritual topics.  There's a lot of interesting history and information here, on a wide variety of topics, sometimes all on one page!  Deborah DeNicola has written quite a fascinating memoir.  Here's a bit more information on her, in a blurb provided by her publisher:

Deborah DeNicola is the author of five poetry collections and she edited the anthology Orpheus & Company; Contemporary Poems on Greek Mythology. Among other awards she won a Poetry Fellowship in 1997 from the National Endowment for the Arts. Deborah has been a recipient of many writing colony residencies. She also teaches dream image work and mentors writers online at her web site www.intuitivegateways.com. To purchase a copy of The Future That Brought Her Here and receive up to 20 bonus gifts, please visit: http://www.thefuturethatbroughtherhere.com/bonusoffers/

Give Thanks for Being a Writer

Everyone and their uncle are writing thank you posts and sending out newsletters telling about how grateful they are today. 

Don't get me wrong,this is a good thing--I'm all for gratitude, especially now that I've figured out being grateful doesn't mean settling.  (This is generally where I get hung up on my spiritual journey, misunderstanding the basic tenets of it.)

The only problem I have today is how to say something original about being thankful and full of gratitude.  It is not yet even Thanksgiving, and I've read a gazillion posts and emails and newsletters that say essentially the same thing: we're so grateful for you, our customer reader, its all about me you, I'm going to give you something that costs a lot of money if you read the fine print free, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah.

All these people are well-meaning, even if some of their emails are thinly veiled sales pitches.  But from a writer's point of view, they tend to repeat the same old platitudes.  And let's face it, even the sweetest among us get tired of platitudes after awhile.  I'm not in the least bit sweet, and I get damned sick of them really fast.

But before you accuse me of massive curmudgeon-hood, hold up a minute.  Because I have lots and lots of things I am grateful and thankful for, not the least of which is you, my wonderful loyal readers.  But I'm not going to say that because everyone else already has and I need to be original.  But if I were going to say it, I would truly, deeply mean it because I do so appreciate every one of you.

What I am going to talk about being grateful for is the fact that I am a writer.  How I had the great, good fortune to get a career that is centered not only around words, but on pulling words up from the deepest levels of self to share.  A career that is about making meaning of life through story.  A career that enables me to spend my days doing what I love most--putting words on paper.  And, let us not forget, once in awhile I get to go out in the world and share my love of writing with you, and I love that, too.

Sometimes, even after all these years of doing this, I sit at my computer working away and the thought overtakes me: I'm writing.  I'm writing and it is the best thing ever.  I know people who write for a living and hate it (I'm not naming any names, you know who you are) and the thought is simply unfathomable to me.  Just as the thought of being alive and not writing in a journal is unthinkable to me, or not coming up with fifty million ideas for novels I'll never have time to write.

I've recently had the wonderful experience of someone coming up to me and saying, "I want to be you."  And in general, when I stop to think about it, I'm pretty happy being me--because I get to write. So besides the fact that I'm grateful for my family, my friends, many of whom truly are family, and so much else in the world this Thanksgiving, I want to state again, how grateful I am to be a writer.

It is a privilege, an honor, and a thrill.  I hope that all of you out there think of it the same way, no matter where you are with your writing, a beginner or an old pro.  And don't forget to give thanks for it.

Bookcases, Bookcases, the Joys of Bookcases

The thing about bookcases is that you always need more of them.  At least I do, because the stream of books in my life is never ending.  Books are like rabbits and ideas, they reproduce themselves automatically.  One minute you have plenty of room in your bookcases for more books and then suddenly there are books piled all over the house and it is time to buy a new bookcase, or several. 

I have so many full bookcases in my house that sometimes I think it will sink into the basement from the sheer weight of all of them.  Perhaps, you might suggest, it would be prudent to shed some of the books.  And in truth, I have gotten better about doing that.  Used to be, I would never, ever, let go of a book once it came into my possession.  But once the problem of storing them reached crisis levels I had to rethink that obsession.

One thing that helped, in a sink-or-swim kind of way, was the fact that many years ago half my house burned down.  The half that didn't burn down, the bottom floor, sustained serious smoke and water damage, and since that is where many of the books were, we had to go through them and throw a lot of them out.  Yes, I know, it is painful to contemplate, but it is true--some of the books were so badly damaged that they couldn't even be given away.  In the process, I lost some of my favorite books, that I mourn to this day--my omnibus edition of the Caroline books, for instance.

But I gained the knowledge that physical books are just that--things that are far less important than human connections.  Because, you know how everyone asks you what you would grab if your house is on fire?  When the real thing happens the only thing going through your mind is getting the living, breathing creatures out--in our case, the kids, the cats and the dog (who refused to leave and cowered under the kitchen counter as firemen tromped through the house).  You don't spare a thought for the family photos, or your carefully designed scrapbooks, or even the computer with your novel on it.  All you think about is getting your loved ones out safely.

Since then I've managed to convince myself that letting go of books is good.  And I have the great good fortune to live in Portand, where Powells is located, which means any time the bookcases get a bit too bulgy, I can sort through them and go sell a few boxes there.  The problem is they give you more money if you take a store credit, so one must be disciplined in this endeavor as well.

Oh, who am I kidding?  I still have way too many books to fit in my bookcases and they spill into every room in the house.  (Which is just as well, because I distrust houses that do not have bookcases and stacks of magazines in them.)  So when the nice people, or the one nice person, at CSN Stores offered to send me a bookcase to review, I leapt at the chance.  Actually, they offered me a choice--review the bookcase myself, or offer it as a prize in a contest.  Um, I thought about offering you guys a chance to win it, really I did.  But my need for bookcases won out.

So just as soon as they send me my bookcase, I'll be reviewing it. You will read it here first!

The Writing Life: LA in November

LA in November is warm and sunny, though everyone here insists is it freezing cold.  As I write this in Pasadena, it is 75 degrees, which, let me emphasize, is NOT COLD, though it was chilly enough this morning to have to cover up with a blanket during the daily writing session on the porch.

LA in November is green and brown, much like LA in August.  When I left Portland last week, everything was yellow and orange and red, leaves covering streets and lawns and sidewalks, everything glistening in the rain.  There were still quite a few leaves left on the trees when I departed, and I'm hoping the trees are not completely bare when I return home mid-week.

LA in November features soft light and incredible Saturday night traffic jams that require the navigational skills of several people using the GPS on my Iphone.  You know traffic is bad when every major freeway reads red on the Google map.  I provided the phone only, no navigation, since the geography of LA is still such a vast mystery to moi.  Although, this trip the plane flew in to Burbank at a different angle, from the west, in such a way that I could see the whole of the city laid out before me--downtown, the west side, the ocean beyond.  Expansive views like that help to set my navigational map down here.  But not enough to dodge around major traffic jams.

LA in November is seeing friends and hearing about their screenwriting projects or television deals and making me thankful I'm a novelist.  Dealing with the publishing industry is difficult enough, but Hollywood is a whole other level of stress and angst.  (Now, if only I would hear back from the wonderful agent who is reading my manuscript and then I could truly crow about how great the publishing world is in comparison.....)

LA in November is attending a great weekend workshop on an energy clearing modality (more on that in a future post), hanging out with friends, eating Mexican food, and even better, amazing home cooking from a gourmet organic chef.  It is sleeping with ear plugs in so that the five cats who live here don't wake me up...and taking walks in Eaton Canyon...and spending lots and lots of time reading manuscripts.

But mostly LA in November is being grateful for friends, old and new, and the time to hang out with them. It is being grateful for the fact that I am a writer, and my work is transportable so that I can leave Portland in the dreary days of November and come down here for a break.   The writing life, I'm telling you, it is the best thing ever and damn am I glad that it is mine.

Holding My Breath

So, my novel is now being read by an agent.  I do not want to jinx this, so I'm not going to say anything more than that, and I know that y'all have lots of important things to worry about, but if it crosses your mind, say a teeny little prayer, or think a good thought for me, will you please?