Kim Batchelor

Writer of magical realism and other imaginative fiction

The Hill that Inspired the Little Prince

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In 1938, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, author of the beloved children’s book, The Little Prince (Le Petit Prince), crashed his plane in Guatemala. During his recuperation, he spent some time on Lake Atitlan, a volcanic lake about three hours outside of Guatemala City. There, as the legend goes, he saw the Cerro de Oro, “hill of gold,” that inspired a drawing and scene in The Little Prince, published in 1943. The hill, sitting at the edge of the beautiful volcanic lake, does resemble  an elephant with a boa trailing off at its head and tail as if it were being consumed.

In a couple of weeks, I’ll be attending a writers’ workshop conducted by writer Joyce Maynard. Joyce is author of several novels—including Labor Day, made into a motion picture with Kate Winslet and Josh Brolin—and a memoir, At Home in the World, that partially describes how she met and developed a relationship with J.D. Salinger when she was 18 years old.

The workshop will be conducted in a town we have in common—San Marcos La Laguna. We both own houses there, and when my spouse and I were considering purchasing ours, a Google search revealed a story in the New York Times on Joyce’s.

With the Cerro de Oro in the distance, I hope for inspiration during this learning opportunity, and a chance to get to know Joyce and other workshop participants. As we ponder writing and produce our work, somewhere across the magnificent Lake Atitlan, a boa constrictor and an elephant in the form of a companion to volcanoes will be keeping watch.

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A New Year. No Pressure. Only Opportunity

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The beginning of any year is weighted down with expectations. What will you leave behind in the old year, good or bad? What will you do in the year to come? What will you accomplish, and how much will you drive yourself crazy with fears of failure or not getting as far as you want to go toward your goals?

The pressure is on to make resolutions. We will be constantly reminded that we’re likely to drop those resolutions by the end of January. We can determine some goals, but it’s probably best to keep those goals to ourselves. Or, if you’re like me, conveniently forget we ever set them.

As I look out at the winter landscape beyond my window, with so much appearing dead that is only dormant, it occurs to me that neither resolutions nor ambitious goals seem helpful. I don’t mind taking stock, mulling over what I’d like to accomplish by the end of 2017. Even that simple task is not often easy, especially since 2016 was a tough year for many of us. Our family ended it by losing our quirky cat Frida—also known as Frida K, Frida Kahlo, sometimes Frida Katherine. Every morning I’d hear the click of her little paws as she ran to greet me before I’d even wiped the sleep from my eyes. Grieving takes time.

I move into 2017 with a couple of helpful tools that have replaced resolutions. I set weekly goals and give myself the flexibility to move them to the next week. I follow the advice I once heard someone say—don’t make to-do lists without also scheduling the items to be done. And I learned from a friend about “personal Kanban” boards–using post it notes on a board to indicate the no more than 2-3 things at a time to concentrate on. It’s a strategy that works better for me than multi-tasking. If I make only one resolution, it’s to finally finish the novel I’ve put aside for almost a decade, a resolution I feel pretty good about fulfilling.

I began the new year with something mysterious, something that gave me hope for the future. I concede I may have imagined it, but I’m almost positive that I twice heard little cat feet dropping onto the wood floor in the early morning hours. And once when I was sorting the day’s mail, I saw the fleeting image of a small black cat dart past my feet and underneath the table where Frida always hung out. Of course it could be my mind playing tricks on me, but I’d like to think otherwise.

I plan to sense little Frida sitting beside me as I put the finishing touches on my long overdue novel. Will that happen? I’m not sure. But one thing I do know for sure—there’s still room for mystery in the coming new year.

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In Praise of Small Things

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img_2095Every Christmas I reminisce about Olla Podrida (“broken pot” in Spanish), a small complex of craft and clothing stores in Dallas. Before it closed in 1996, a visit to the amply decorated wooden structure was something I did every holiday season. A store that sold miniatures for collectors and doll houses was one of the most popular spots in the complex. Visitors marveled at tiny furniture and common objects—sofas, rugs, appliances, plates and lamps, pitchers, sewing machines. I’m not a collector and haven’t owned a doll house since I was in elementary school—a cheap one made of metal with sharp edges that sometimes nicked my fingers. Nevertheless, any representation of the ordinary as something small has always fascinated me.

If you read my short stories for children, you know that I have an infatuation with small creatures. From tiny monsters to miniature ghosts, I’ve occasionally brought them into my stories. I like playing with the idea of fearful things that may not be dangerous because of their size. Or at least they’re probably not something to be afraid of.

These days, one of my favorite places to go is the International Museum of Folk Art in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The museum has expanded from its original mission as a showcase for the collection of Florence Dibell Bartlett who gifted more than 2,500 artworks from 34 countries and the building to establish the museum for the State of New Mexico. On a recent visit, I walked through one exhibit featuring the sacred and another displaying the beautiful clothing and other objects associated with flamenco. My favorite part is still the original collection in the huge main room housing folklore from around the world. The items are organized in themes such as food and heaven and hell, and some are found in small but elaborate displays recreating the markets you might find in different countries. Every visit to the museum, I find something new to study with each exhibit containing a small part of a miniature world.

Maybe it’s because I’m a height-challenged 5’1” that I’m drawn to these worlds. Or maybe it’s that many of us believe there’s something just beyond what the eye can see.

What small things fascinate you?

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Satan’s Tips for Being a Terrible Critique Partner

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Hello. Satan here. Sure, I’m best known for war, pestilence, brussels sprouts and those songs in commercials you can’t get out of your head. And some of you have met me because we’ve made a little deal for your soul. You know who you are.

Now some tips for those critique groups you’re all involved in.cartoon-devil_gybpoopd_l

As a writer, too (I’m the author of all those bestsellers you tried to read and thought were garbage), I know the value of participating in a critique group. I thought I’d share some of my views on how I approach my role as a critique partner which I do for fun.

  • Don’t make suggestions. Instead tell the writer how to do it the way you’d do it. That’s what they’re there to hear, right?
  • Read too carefully. Look for anything to criticize. There’s got to be something to point out. Something nit picky. Maybe the font?
  • Don’t read carefully enough and make an irrelevant comment. This is one of my favorites. There’s nothing like it that’s more frustrating for the writer who isn’t allowed to talk while being critiqued. I enjoy how their faces turn red.
  • Don’t read at all. Or don’t pay attention when the writer is reading his or her own work. Just act bored and stare at your nails.
  • Engage in revenge critique. No one says anything negative about my work without getting an irrelevant comment back.
  • Use your body language to full effect. Eye rolling. Furrowed brow. Clenched teeth. They all work for me.
  • Pop in and out of established critique groups. When you’ve got all you need, drop out. There’s nothing like stepping on the heads of others as you claw your way to the top.

So feel free to use any of these tips. Productive and respectful critique groups are not my friends. Too much competition from better writers.

Oh, by the way, I’m running a year-end sale on soul acquisition. Hurry before this deal runs out. Contact me. I’m all over Twitter.

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The Story of “La Milagrosa”

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la-milagrosa

In a sprawling cemetery in Havana, Cuba, a female figure keeps watch over a grave. She is carved from white Carrara marble. Her right arm is wrapped around a cross, a symbol of sacrifice. Her left arm holds a baby.

The grave belongs to Amelia Goyri and the date of her death is 1903 at the age of 23. Amelia’s story is tragic. While pregnant she acquired pre-eclampsia, causing high blood pressure and other health problems, and following seizures, she and her baby son died. Her grieving husband visited the grave daily and each day he engaged in the ritual of knocking three times. The story told is that when the grave was opened to re-inter Amelia’s and the baby’s bones, as is the custom, what they found was an intact body. A miracle, hence the name “La Milagrosa.”

The rest of the story varies. Some say Amelia was found holding her baby in her arms. One guide through the cemetery said that the baby was found resting at her feet and was later returned to her arms when she was reburied.

Regardless of the truth of the story, Amelia Goyri’s grave has become a revered monument in the cemetery, a place where fresh flowers are always found and where people come to seek miracles of their own.

Touch the foot of the baby. Tap the marble slab three times. Consider your wish. Many say those wishes come true. They believe that from a tragic death comes something beautiful to those with faith who show reverence to this symbol of tragedy.

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