Reteaching A Thing Its Loveliness

Sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness.
(Galway Kinnell)

"The bud stands for all things, even for those things that don't flower; for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing..." Galway Kinnell, Saint Francis and The Sow

Over the last several weeks I've stayed at various hotels, traveling partly for work and partly for pleasure (although I'm very fortunate to take great pleasure in my work). I love the adventure, but being on the road comes with a plethora of pitfalls, from planning, to packing, to traffic jams to searching for healthy food, to finding accommodations that are clean and comfortable without blowing my  travel budget. 

One of my secrets to happy travels is to always bring my own down-filled pillow from home to guarantee a good night's sleep. As of last week, I shall now add hand-mirror to the list of must-brings because there is a malevolent presence lurking in every hotel bathroom. It lays flat against the tile with an elbow that scissors outward so you can check the bed-head cowlick on the back of your scalp. That's the happy, friendly side. Flip it over and you will come face-to-face, literally, with a magnified image of every pore, every wrinkle, every age spot on your skin. And if you are over fifty, you will die inside, just a little, at the realization that the face you knew or thought you knew has taken leave. Step back a little and you might find that it took your svelte, toned premenopausal body with her.

As someone who embraces diversity whether it be sexual preference/gender ID, ethnicity, religion, politics or physical differences, why is it so hard to turn that acceptance inward? Why do I immediately focus on perceived flaws in my physical body? Am I in denial of the aging process or does it go deeper to that imperfect perfectionism that has plagued me for most of my life? As if on cue my beloved shared this poem with me as he sipped his morning tea, merely because it spoke to him. That's the thing about poetry; it fillets a concept and leaves you these beautiful, honest bones to pick between the crevices of one's reality. He took his meaning and I took mine, vowing to be less critical of myself in thoughts and words.

Along with traveling, I've been working against a looming deadline on the final revisions of Clover Blue. As most writers will admit, we can go from "This is amazing!" to "This sucks!" in a matter of seconds while writing and revising our stories. But this time, as I did my final read, I decided to put away the  magnifying lens of perceived imperfection and, as Galway Kinnel wrote, remind it of the long perfect loveliness of itself. And it's true. I love this book and I love the characters and I hope you will, too. In the meantime, may we all remember that everything flowers from self-blessing. Except maybe that fucking magnifying mirror. That thing is pure evil.

What about you? Tell me something lovely about yourself, right here, right now.

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Pssst! We're still seven months away from publication, but I hope you'll add CLOVER BLUE to your Want-To-Read-List on Goodreads and follow my Facebook Author Page to be notified of giveaways and the Cover Release Party. You can also Pre-Order it HERE. 

Eldonna Edwards grew up in a large family nestled between cornfields and churches in the provincial Midwest. She eventually escaped the harsh winters, moving to California where she expanded her career from journaling facilitator to author to beloved writing instructor to keynote speaker. Her bestselling debut novel, This I Know, won over the hearts and minds of readers everywhere and was a Delilah Book Club selection. In her second novel Clover Blue (May 2019) Eldonna once again explores themes of otherness and belonging, and the true definition of home. She is also the subject of the award-winning documentary Perfect Strangers that follows one kidney patient and one potential kidney donor in their search for a possible match. Her 2014 memoir Lost in Transplantation chronicles this life-changing decision. Eldonna currently lives and writes in a tiny pink house with her best friend, Brer. 

What's in A Name? (Why Choosing Character Names isn't As Easy As You Think)

One of my favorite parts of writing is choosing character names. It's also one of the most challenging. Just when I think I've settled on the perfect name I discover (usually through polling friends or from beta readers) that the chosen name doesn't work for them, usually because they have a history with it.

Take for example the name Linda. One of my favorite people in the world is named Linda. However at least three of my long-term relationships have been with men who've longingly recounted the torrid, sometimes-unrequited love affair with their Linda. One of my lovers had two special Lindas. All the Lindas in these stories are drop-dead gorgeous, highly intelligent, sexy, hilarious women who've left an indelible mark on these men's version of the ideal women. There's no way I'd not unpack my Linda baggage if I chose it for a character. 

In THIS I KNOW, claiming to be inspired by God, Reverend Carter "divines" names for his newborn children. 

"Mama told us that after each baby was born Daddy held his fat black Bible over our tiny bodies and the Lord bestowed upon him a name for his children. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Daddy was listening very well. Or maybe God changed His plans, because none of us fit our given names except for maybe Hope, who is the oldest."

I loved choosing the names that Daddy gives his daughters. I knew I wanted him to screw up because it was important to underscore the ego hidden within the act of projecting personalities upon his progeny. Ironically, as a writer, I am the all-

powerful name god and I got to name the reverend. I sometimes imagined him standing behind me as I wrote. Henry? Really? Pretty sure I'd be a James or a John, good strong names. (Insert author's maniacal laugh.)

In my next book (CLOVER BLUE/June 2019) the characters live in a spiritual commune in 1970s Northern California. Each member chooses a new name for themselves when they join--except for the children, who are named by the guru. The "Olders" pick names like Coyote, Jade, Wave, Willow, Sirona, Gaia, Lotus and Doobie. The children, referred to as "Youngers" are named Harmony, Moon, Aura, Rain and, of course, Clover Blue. You can probably imagine how fun it was to name them, right? Yes, but you wouldn't believe the list of outrageous, often horribly ridiculous hippie-dippy names I waded through before settling on this ragtag cast of characters who live in the woods without plumbing or electricity.

I feel fortunate to have been gifted with a unique name by my mother. Her name was VaLoyce, an uncommon name that rolls off the tongue and sounds exotic. I like to think my mom chose "Eldonna" for me because she believed I was the child who would fully embody such a powerful name. She once told me that she went to high school with an Eldonna and always liked the name, but I call bullshit on that. I think by the time she gave birth to her fifth daughter she ran out of girl names. She probably figured I'd adopt the shortened "Donna" but I never took to it outside our home. I was always Eldonna at school and in the workplace. I also rejected the suggestion from a well-meaning professional to use my nickname Ellie as my author name because "it's more approachable." To my siblings I am Donna. To many of my friends, I'm Ellie. But in my blood and bones, I am Eldonna. Sounds a little melodramatic to say that, but hey, Eldonna is a serious damn name.


What about you? What are your favorite or least-favorite names? Do you like your name? If you could change your name would you? What would you change it to? Have you ever stopped reading a book because you hated the character's name? 

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THIS I KNOW

LOST IN TRANSPLANTATION

What Was I Thinking?

Work in Progress

My beau secretly snapped this photo in a rare moment of what appears to be me taking a break. I am not on a break, I'm working. Having recently turned in the manuscript for my second novel, I've started pondering Book #3. You can't see it, but if thoughts were literal bubbles around our heads, mine would block out the ocean and the mountain behind it. (Yeah, I know. Rough setting, right?)

Writers often hear things like, "You're so lucky. You get to sit around and just make up stories instead of going to a job." I am lucky and I do get to play with words, but it's a job--one that I don't ever leave. Every single experience becomes an opportunity to explore as a possible scene. Every person I meet gets filed away in a collage of traits that make up future characters. Every sound, every smell, every touch; they're all pieces swimming around in my head trying to find their way to the page. And that's just the writing part. PR and marketing are a whole 'nother ballgame.

Several years ago I took a stab at meditation. It didn't go so well. Apparently some people the luxury of neat little organized brain compartments. My brain is more like a pinball machine, with thoughts racing and bouncing faster than I can write them down. And yet I'm grateful for this. I love my job, I really do. I manifested it! But when I look at this picture I realize I also manifested moving to California, living near the ocean, and a beloved companion who pauses to snap a pic of his partner deep in thought on a sunny day in Avila Beach.

So as I close my laptop and head out to the back deck, I'm going to try and leave my work-in-process right here in my office, along with these forming characters, plot lines, and settings. Because sometimes you have to take time to live your own story, yes? In the meantime, caption the photo above for a chance to win a "THIS I KNOW" lined notebook (pictured below). I'll choose a random name from comments here and on my Facebook Page. Go!