Category Archives: Karen Stephen Author

Reframing ~ when you need a new look at life

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flamingo_flying_med_clIn my Doc Flamingo persona, I am a licensed Psychologist in California and after a 40-year career as a therapist, am now serving as the Mental Health Clinical Director for a large health plan providing medical and mental health services to over 500,000 Medi-Cal recipients in 14 northern CA counties. In my Karen Stephen writer persona, I invite you to LIKE my AUTHOR FACEBOOK PAGE and tell me about yours.

reframingOne of the most powerful ways to change our stinking thinking is to reframe persistent negative thoughts. It’s not a matter of just putting on rose-colored glasses, pretending that something which seems awful is just hunky-dory. Cognitive reframing is a dramatic shift that occurs simultaneously in our brains and our emotions, one that allows us to see the disappointments, even the disasters of our lives in a entirely new way.

saying about lossThis saying is a recent example of how reframing dramatically changed even my own pessimistic and stubbornly-held attitude about a loss in my life. The saying popped up on my FACEBOOK Profile. It was just the ticket that, first of all, perfectly reflected the painful event in my life, the unexpected loss of someone whom I had assumed would always be there for me. Then it turned that lost dream into a believable promise for the future, one that I would never have considered as a possibility.

My thinking shifted immediately. Yes, absolutely, life can deal me an unimaginable blow, but on the flip side, it can also deliver an unimaginable promise. Even as I read it, I could feel something deep inside of me change. And every time the old pessimistic thinking, the grief, the sense of unfairness, the “why’s” of it all sneak up on me, my mind and spirit immediately go to the new promise. I find myself opening my eyes, my hands, and my heart, in anticipation of finding that something or someone that I’ve never dreamt of having.

Maybe winning that American Library in Paris Book Award for my novel MOTHER TONGUE.

 

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words ~ Calacuccia store

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Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

The moment over, I grabbed the edge of my seat as Scafani barreled ahead, lurching to a stop at a building identified by a sign reading Les Halles Corses. Its façade of stone traveled two feet up white stucco walls and crept around a stout door, propped open to catch the breeze. Two shields, nailed on each side of the entrance, marked it as both a boucherie and a charcuterie.

Scafani opened his door and leapt out. “I’ll be right back.”

I refused to be left behind and reached for my door handle. “I’ll go with.”

He stuck his hand out like a school crossing guard. “No.”

After enduring a terrorizing ride, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be ordered to sit and stay like a friggin’ cocker spaniel. I swung open my door and followed him into the market. He joined a group of grizzled old men seated around a pickle barrel. I headed for the opposite side of the store and busied myself browsing through shelves of canned meat products. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the men greeted him with rounds of kisses on both cheeks and hearty claps on the back.

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A fascinating storefront I captured on my trip to Corsica in 2006.

 

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words ~ Bleak village

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Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

The Professor launched into her narration. “I remember there was a dry sirocco wind that day, kicking up swirls of dust all the way along our three-kilometer journey. I worried that my photographer, who shared none of my enthusiasm for the occult, might change his mind and leave me stranded.”

I felt a slight chill go up my spine as the next scene revealed a string of bleak stone houses in a sparsely settled hamlet. The Professor continued. “The inhabitants were nowhere to be seen when we arrived. I knew the men were most likely tending their sheep on the high plateaus. But the women? Were they hiding from me, a stranger in urban dress accompanied by a man holding this strange, whirring machine, or had they caught a glimpse of the solitary figure that approached us?”

I let out an involuntary gasp as a scarecrow of a woman popped onto the screen, her black rags being whipped to and fro by the wind.

village de Muna

Photo Credit: Corse Passion on Facebook, “Village de Muna”

 

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words – The Citadelle Corte

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Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

Within minutes I dropped down into a valley and entered the outskirts of Corte. Seeing its sleek, modern buildings dispelled the gruesome images. As I neared the turnoff to the university, I slowed to navigate a roundabout and caught my first glimpse of the city’s Citadelle. The ochre fortress rode atop a wave of rock that soared hundreds of feet above the valley floor, casting a long summer-evening shadow which wrapped its dusky fingers around my car.

Citadelle_2_corte

Photo credit: Les photos de Gaël / HDR / Citadelle 2 corte http://www.deficulturel.net

 

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words ~ Monte Rotondo

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Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

By now the sky turned had deep purple and clouds rose like puffs of steam off a pot of boiling soup. Exiting the next tunnel, a rounded peak still dusted with snow in mid-summer loomed into view. I glanced at the map spread out on the passenger seat. It had to be Monte Rotondo. As I passed each road sign, my eyes lingered on the names of destinations written in both French and lingua corsa: Corte and Corti, Ajaccio and Ajacciu, Ile Rousse and Isula Rossa. A few kilometers farther, a graffiti-covered stone wall, spray painted with the words Cuncolta Nazionale, took me back to Fresnes, which, in turn, triggered disturbing visions of Benatar’s son clinging to his father’s leg as he was being dragged across the very lawn where he had kicked a soccer ball to his Dad the day before.

Mont Rotundo

Another shot as I clicked along N193 from Bastia to Corte on Google Maps until I neared Corte. The graffiti says Corsica Nazione Indipendente. Monte Rotondo lies in the distance, still dusted with snow in the summer.

 

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words ~ Caporalino

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Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

I tapped my breaks as the first building in the tiny village came into view, a two-story house whose rear of rough, moss-covered stone lurked behind a façade of beige stucco. My gaze lingered on the checkerboard of cast stone at the point of demarcation. I felt an odd pulling sensation in my chest, as if someone was watching me from behind the white shuttered windows, each one tenderly surrounded by filigreed carvings. I imagined walking up to the oaken front door and lifting the brass knocker. The blare of a horn broke the spell and I drove on.

Caporalina house

Crawling along on Google Maps, I found this house in the village of Caporalino along N193 in Corsica and felt it was perfect as the dwelling that catches my protagonist’s eye when she first arrives on her mother’s native island.

 

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words ~ Granite knob

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Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

Not until I spotted a knob of granite sticking up from the valley floor like a two-hundred-foot-high thumb hitching a ride, its backside sheared off as if by a giant axe, did it strike me that Corsica, this place where my life had begun, might have a special character of its own. 

A Punta di U Diamante -U Spidali (l'Ospedale) -Corsica [Copy-protected photo by Thierry Tramoni]

A Punta di U Diamante -U Spidali (l’Ospedale) -Corsica [Copy-protected photo by Thierry Tramoni]

A symphony of lonely hearts on Valentine’s Day

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Lonely-heart-miss-you-3D-wide-300x250A Symphony of Lonely Hearts

Now is the only time.
Right now I am creating a state of mind,
a joyful moment
to carry me into the next hour,
travel with me though the morning,
thread its way into the afternoon,
trickle down to tomorrow,
and spill over into next month, next year
to color all the days of my life.

I always fantasized that that joyful moment
that turns into a contented hour
and becomes an afternoon of delight
could only come if my hand were held,
my face caressed,
my yearnings satisfied
by a man—a mythic prince.

But my prince is not here right now.
He is not present in this Valentine moment of mine.
He is off smiling that charming, little-boy smile,
the one with the dimples and the heavy-lidded longing,
for someone else.
He is placing a perfect rose on her pillow,
or so I imagine.

I could as easily imagine
that he is asleep at this moment,
or lost in the shadow of a frown.
Perhaps his jaw is clenched in anger,
his lower lip quivering with grief.
Yes…he could be sharing a blissful moment
with the woman he loves.
But they could just as easily be sitting apart,
hearts aching,
in a dark place edged with uncertainty.

Will our paths ever cross again?
Will we need or desire each other if that moment comes?
Silly questions that beg to be left unanswered.

I have only now,
only this Valentine moment of mine.
What shall I do with my moment on this red-letter day?
I will breathe in my solitary pain.
I will breathe in the pain of all those who find themselves alone this day.
I will breathe in the corroding poison of lost dreams—mine, theirs.
I will breathe out a measure of loving kindness,

That soft breath out will soothe me
and flow in endless ripples
to comfort all the solitary souls.
Could a moment in a lover’s embrace,
With its uncertainty, its impermanence,
ever produce such a melody,
such a true and clear harmony,
as the symphony of a thousand lonely hearts
connected by a single breath out?

The American Library in Paris Book Award

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book award

Selections from the 2014 award year

I’ve just received an unexpected and most delightful invitation to submit my novel MOTHER TONGUE for the annual American Library in Paris Book Award designed for authors of fiction or non-fiction books written originally in English about France or the French-American connection. MOTHER TONGUE follows the journey of a young American child advocate attorney with Corsican roots who flees to Paris after a personal tragedy. Serving as a lingua corsa (native Corsican tongue) translator for Liberation, she finds herself caught up in another case of a missing child and uses her secret knowledge of lingua corsa to infiltrate the Corsican separatist movement to find the child and avert another tragedy. A suspense-filled French-American connection for sure. C’est moi! Wish me luck.

The winner of the Award receives a prize of $5000.00 and she is invited to Paris, with air travel and accommodation at the Library’s expense, for an award ceremony including a public reading. All nominated authors will have their books added to the permanent collection and showcased in a special display for six weeks in the fall of 2015. They will also be invited to the award ceremony and be considered for a public reading.

From their website: The American Library in Paris has attracted and celebrated writers for all of its ninety-four years. The Library was created in part as a memorial to a young American poet, Alan Seeger, who wrote the well-known poem “I have a rendezvous with death” not long before he died in action in France in 1916. One of the Library’s founding trustees was Edith Wharton. Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein, among many other writers of note, contributed reviews to the Library’s literary magazine, Ex Libris. Stephen Vincent Benet composed John Brown’s Body at the Library. And authors of every generation have worked and spoken at the Library: Ford Madox Ford, Archibald MacLeish, Colette, Henry Miller, André Gide, Anaïs Nin, James Baldwin, Irwin Shaw, James Jones, and Mary McCarthy, to name a few.

Today the Library is the pre-eminent center in Paris for evening talks by prominent authors who write in English. The Library now looks to extend its commitment to outstanding writing by awarding an annual literary prize [of $5000] under the supervision of its Writer’s Council. A generous grant from the Florence Gould Foundation has allowed us to make this idea a reality.

Our_shelves_hold_over_120000_books

The collection of over 120,000 books at the American Library in Paris

The material in the Library’s collection of over 120,000 items is composed primarily of works by American and other English-language authors, and features significant holdings in American history and civilization, American literature and literary criticism, American artists, and general aspects of American culture and society. The collection is otherwise described as encyclopedic, covering all topics of knowledge.

Oh! Soul-oh! Me-oh!

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IMG_0002On car buying and losing weight…part two. This is a cautionary tale. When you sign a lease for the car, pay attention to those mileage limits.

So I’m weighing (no pun intended) my options and I discover that I’m already over the mileage limit on my leased Kia Optima. Sort of snuck up on me like those daily calorie counts. I take off to the Kia dealer to see if I can negotiate. But, no. If I buy elsewhere, I owe the last 6 payments, 20 cents per mile over the limit (already racking up at $540 and on its way to a gut-wrenching $1870 by August) plus a $400 penalty for early termination.

I’m sitting there in a morose mood, waiting for the finance manager to work out what the deal would be if they pay off the leased car for me and I buy a new one from them. Enter stage left…Dante, an amiable low-pressure sort for a car salesman, who asks if I’ve ever considered a Kia Soul. Well, I’ll admit, color freak that I am, I’d had a slight hankering for the boxy little chartreuse green (aptly named Alien II) charmer. I gave a moment’s thought to the Solar Yellow which is almost Corvette-ish but makes the Soul look like a Stingray that got smashed between a brick wall and a semi and morphed into a pudgy yellow cab.

feature_soul_2014_18-alloy-wheels_S--Kia-600x-jpgSo off we go on a test drive in an Exclaim (!) version with all the bells and whistles and the snazziest 18″ alloy wheels I’ve ever seen. I’m a sucker for wheels…and a few other things in life!

I found the 2.0 L engine was powerful enough but a bit sluggish on the acceleration as the car mags say (okay, I shoulda gotten the Porsche Cayman and attached a trailer for the little ones….but then there’s the arrest and jail time, etc.). The three driving modes took me from cushy comfort to hard-driving sporty, the high end audio system had speakers that glowed different colors and vibrated with the music (and just who is looking at their speakers at the bottom of the side doors while they’re driving…maybe the young have better peripheral vision), and, compared to the Mini I had been salivating over the day before, one can actually put five full-sized adults in the car without first shrink-wrapping them. Also, because it rode a bit higher (reminding me of my long-deceased 1972 Chevy van) and with windows all around, I had the visibility that an old person like me needs in order to avoid making a squishy mess out of pedestrians and splintered relics out of telephone poles. I suddenly realized that I could have semi-sporty, major cute, even that stand-out-in-a-crowd vibe, and have a way out of that onerous lease.

Then the part I dread…the deal. There was $400 off for this and $1000 off for that which sounded fair to me, but I knew I needed to consult my daughter first–the one I had not consulted when I signed that lease. Mom, she muttered with great annoyance and authority, get out of there right now. We need to comparison shop. On my obedient way out the door, the finance guy, in Superbowl warm-up mode, almost tackled me by my ankles and offered another $1000 off, but out the door I went.

Later in the day, my daughter took me to another dealer–who ended up quoting $1800 less on the exact same car (they would bring it up from the first dealership I had visited). But my daughter escorted me out that door as well. She gets on the phone to the first dealership and closes the final deal. If I come back in–by now it was nearing their Sunday 6 pm closing time–I could have it for $2100 less than their morning offer. SOLD AMERICAN…or should I say Korean.

IMG_0003The moral of the story…take along whomever among your family or acquaintances can function as a premier wheeler dealer if you are ever car shopping. And keep your mind open. Your car is out there. I found mine…c’est moi and it matches the lime and pink Fragonard fabric on my couch.