Author: Wendy Kennar

Wow, No Thank You.

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

The older I get, the more I realize how lucky I was to grow up and see myself represented in many of the books I read and movies I watched. (Though the Wakefield twins of Sweet Valley High were blondes and not brunettes.)

On the surface, you might not think author Samantha Irby and I share much in common. She is a Black woman living with her wife in the midwest. Plus, she curses a lot more in her writing than I do. 

Yet, Samantha Irby is a member of the club I belong to. The club, in fact, many people belong to — the chronic illness club. Ms. Irby lives with Crohn’s Disease.  

I recently finished reading my first Samantha Irby book, her essay collection titled Wow, No Thank You. And you’ll notice from the photo that my copy is full of sticky notes. 

Here are just a few of the passages that stood out to me, resonated with me, and/or made me laugh out loud:

“Mixtapes were the love language of my youth. If you got one from me, that shit was as serious as a marriage proposal. Maybe because they were so time-consuming to make? I had a painstaking process I went through before I put a mix together.” (Side note – when we were dating, I made my now-husband a mixtape. I agree – it was a big deal to make a tape for someone else.)

“… and I guess what I’m actually saying is that, sure, I move this body around every day but I’m not actually in charge of it, and I have no idea and no control over anything that happens within it.”

Pretty much, the entire chapter titled “hung up” could have sticky notes on each page. Ms. Irby’s observations and comments about the “five-hundred dollar computer in my pocket” were so entertaining and so spot-on.

I also found the entire chapter titled “body negativity” to be amusing and fun to read. 

The chapter starts with: 

“I have been stuck with a smelly, actively decaying body that I never asked for and am constantly on the receiving end of confusing, overwhelming messages for how to properly care for and feed it.”

And there’s this passage:  

“Your neck is supposed to be firm and long, but I thought that was only asked of penises. Why does my neck have to do anything other than hold up my head? I do not, and will never, use any specific treatments for my neck. I cannot be bothered to care about my neck. Of all the things I have to check off this endless list, ‘neck maintenance’ is not going to be one of them.”

“I don’t treat my Crohn’s like it’s an albatross around my neck, like I’m laboring under the weight of this oppressive disease.”

“It’s a serious topic that can be dealt with in a really funny way while also repping for the chronically ill and constantly medicated, like me.”

“… it would mean a lot to me to put chronic illness in people’s faces, especially the silent kind that you might not even know a person is struggling through. I bet if you met me on the street, you wouldn’t automatically think ‘sick,’ but if you looked at my CT scans you would, and I want to represent for all my people taking twelve pills a day with bald joints and intestines lined with scar tissue.”

Readers, have you read any of Samantha Irby’s books? I’d love to know what you thought of them. 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

A Bit of Serendipity

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
I took this photo during last week's writing session.

Last week I spent time at one of my favorite not-at-home writing spaces; a cafe serving a yummy ice blended mocha, and providing many tables and chairs on a large patio with plenty of shade. 

This week, I wanted to share something that happened during last week’s visit.

Two women sat at a table close enough to me that I could overhear bits and pieces of their conversation without even trying. It felt serendipitous that of all the available tables, these two women sat near me. After all, I was sitting off to the side, near a wall, trying to distance myself from any loud chatter and distractions. 

Within a few minutes, I learned the two women were middle school science teachers. I heard them talking about sixth grade, about sedimentary rocks and fossils, about a project requiring a long roll of adding machine paper. (And I admit to feeling old when one of the teachers had no idea what adding machine paper even was.)

These two teachers spent their own time lesson planning. These were “off-the-clock” conversations. Because that’s what teachers who are passionate about teaching do. Your teacher brain is never really off, and teachers don’t actually get “the whole summer off,” as many non-teachers believe. Teachers are always working in some shape or form. It brought back memories of my own lesson planning days and the blended mochas my closest teacher friend and I used to enjoy while brainstorming and planning for our fourth graders. (I’m thinking of you, Nance!)

As if that wasn’t enough, after a bit of quiet individual work time, the two teachers began chatting again. I heard different phrases this time — it’s so lonely, I look fine on the outside, many people don’t get it.  

I learned that one of the teachers lives with an invisible illness. The other teacher’s partner lives with an invisible illness and was asking questions about how to best support a chronically ill loved one. 

I momentarily sat there in shock. 

What were the odds? 

Not only were these two women teachers, they were also among the target audience for my memoir! (My target audience includes those living with chronic illness, especially invisible illnesses, both physical and mental, as well as friends and families of those living with chronic illness.)

That day at that cafe, I had spent a portion of my writing time researching literary agents to query my memoir-in-essays. 

And then these two women entered the outer edges of the writing cocoon I create for myself at this cafe. 

I took it as a sign.

Disability Pride Month

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
Parasailing in Maui with my son, June 2022

July is Disability Pride Month. The designation coincides with the anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) being signed into law, thirty-four years ago. 

In prior years, I’ve written about Disability Pride Month. (You can click here to read my post “There Is No Shame” from July 2021, and click here to read “Disability Pride Month Reading” from July 2022.)

This year, however, I’m having a really hard time putting into words how I feel about this month and how it impacts me. Partly because within the last couple of years, my physical abilities have decreased, and my dis-abilities — things I can no longer do or only do with extreme pain — have increased. 

I live with an autoimmune disease that most people have never heard of, that most healthcare providers don’t fully understand. A chronic illness that has no cure. And it is this part of my identity that is the catalyst for my currently-querying memoir-in-essays. 

One day, when you pick up my memoir in your local independent bookstore or public library or multi-floor Barnes and Noble and begin reading it, you will find that my disability identity is only a part of my story. I’m so much more than my body and how it can and cannot function. 

I am Wendy Kennar.

I am a white woman married to an African-American man. 

I am the mother of a mixed-race son.

I am a college graduate, the first in my family.

I am a ketchup-using tomato-disliker.

I am a morning apple juice drinker.

I am a night shower-er.

I am a handwritten list maker.

I am an envelope decorator. (Which means I am someone who still mails cards and letters the old fashioned way, with a stamp on the envelope.)

I am a save-the-avocado-for-last salad eater.

I am a chocolate ice cream only consumer (except if I’m eating a Vanilla Soft Serve ice cream at McDonald’s, which is the only thing I eat from McDonald’s.)

I am a daughter. A pen pal. A friend. A neighbor. 

I am a Los Angeles native.

I am generally a no-crust-for-me pizza-eater.

I am a woman who has never spent any time in the snow. 

I am a woman who owns more pairs of earrings than shoes. 

I am a curious person, who wonders about all sorts of things. (Why do you walk a red carpet at awards shows? Why red? Why not blue? Or purple?)

I am adventurous. (I have gone parasailing twice, ridden in a hot air balloon twice, and gone zip lining once.) 

I am a disabled woman. 

But that’s not all I am. 

The Word Collector

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

My sixteen-year-old son and I spent some time in his bedroom the other day, re-organizing his bookcase. (The same white Ikea BILLY bookcase that used to be in my childhood bedroom many years ago.) During college, I worked in a public library; I’m happy to help when someone wants to re-organize a bookcase.

Many of my son’s once-favorite picture books had sat on those lower shelves for several years now, largely untouched and unread.

“I don’t want to donate them, but I don’t want them out on my bookcase,” he said.

I understood.

There are some books that are so firmly rooted in memories that you can’t possibly imagine parting with them. For our son, that included Curious George books and a large stack of Todd Parr books. 

From his stacks, we did find a few to donate, and I found one I have now placed on my bookcase — The Word Collector by Peter H. Reynolds.

I could mention the book’s charming illustrations. 

Or the short and sweet author’s note on the inside of the front cover. 

Or the encouraging author’s note at the back of the book: “Reach for your own words/ Tell the world who you are/ and how you will make it better.”

But really, I’m keeping this book because of sentences like these:

“Jerome began stringing words together.
Words he had not imagined being side by side.
He used his words to write poems.
He used his poems to make songs.
They moved. They delighted.
Some of his simplest words were his most powerful. 
Jerome eagerly collected more and more of his favorite words. 
The more words he knew the more clearly he could share with the world what he was thinking, feeling, and dreaming.”

I am proud to be a word collector.

Readers, do you have any children’s books you keep near your writing space? Any children’s books you just can’t part with? Please share. 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

There’s A Lot On My Mind

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I have a bit of a confession to make, my friends.

This week’s blog post has been a hard one for me to write. And I think it’s because of the date. 

This week is an “anniversary” for me. It was during this week back in 2010, when I woke up unable to get out of bed. I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t walk. My left calf was swollen like an about-to-burst water balloon and bright red, like my then-two-year-old son’s stuffed Elmo doll.

That day marked both an end and a beginning. I just didn’t know it at the time.

So I’m a bit emotional, and I have all sorts of things going through my head this week. Thoughts about where I am currently — in terms of my physical pain and limitations, but also in terms of my spirit and emotional well-being. 

It’s because I have all these thoughts swirling around, like a soft serve ice cream that mixes chocolate and vanilla into one delicious, twisty dessert, that I initially wasn’t sure what I wanted to write about this week. 

But I think this reflection is fitting for this week:

A few days ago I finished listening to Jessica Fein’s podcast, “I Don’t Know How You Do It.” Her guest was bestselling author Jean Meltzer, someone I happen to just love — for her books and her passion and her message. 

(In case you’ve missed them, you’ll find links to my earlier Jean Meltzer-related posts here.)

On this podcast, Jean explained the twists and turns her life has taken, the many ways she has had to completely reinvent herself. 

There were a couple of things Jean said that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Maybe they’ll be helpful to you, too:

–  One: Jean talked about the years she spent ignoring her illness. Her determination to continue on, pretending as if she wasn’t ill. Until she couldn’t. Until she became so ill, she was housebound. In all honesty, I have heard Jean speak of this before, but this time I really heard her. And it scared me. Because one of the things I’m actively working on is truly acknowledging my own illness and physical limitations. I often do try to push through and act stoically. What if I’m headed on the same path? What if you only get a certain number of “passes” to act as if you aren’t chronically ill, and then your body comes to a full and complete stop? (Which is actually what happened to me back in 2010. I wasn’t physically ill at that time, but I was going through an incredibly hard time emotionally. I kept trying to push through, until I literally couldn’t. That swollen left calf kept me hospitalized for four days, and my leg was never again the same.)

– Two: Jean also spoke of her decision to live a joyful life. If her body would no longer allow her to do all she wanted, if her body made it necessary for her to re-invent herself and give up her career, then she was going to do everything she could to seek out joy in this new life of hers. Lately, I have been more aware that I tend to spend some of my days as if the prime objective is to cross off as many items on my to-do list as I can. And while these are not necessarily unpleasant (water the plants, sweep the patio, do my physical therapy stretches), they’re not necessarily joyful either. I often give myself one task to do after the other, without giving myself the time and grace to simply sit and read, for example. 

So that’s my self-appointed homework: being more honest about what my body can and cannot do and to actively seek out and infuse my days with joy. 

Thank you, friends, for reading. I realize this week’s post was a bit longer. Thank you for being with me on this journey. 

Working Towards That One Yes

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Twenty years ago this month, I earned my first byline. 

And not just any byline, but a byline in the Los Angeles Times. 

It all felt so easy. I wrote a personal essay. I submitted it to the Times. They published it soon after. 

The publication happened not too long after I had taken a weekend course about writing the personal essay through the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. 

That class was the first of many I would take in the Writers’ Program. I got incredibly lucky, because Barbara Abercrombie was the instructor for that class. (If you’ve read my blog for a while, you know I have written about Barbara and credit her with helping me find my way as a writer. You can click here to read the tribute post I wrote after learning of Barbara’s death.)

Since that first publication, I have learned that writing and publishing aren’t often that easy. In reality, I may have to submit a piece to several different websites and/or print journals, before it finds a home. Sometimes I don’t find a home for a particular essay, and I have to put it away for a bit and move on with writing something new.

Now twenty years later, I am having a whole new writing experience. While I continue to write for MomsLA.com, and write these weekly blog posts, and write personal essays to answer a variety of submission calls for both print and online publications, I am also querying literary agents. 

Querying requires a whole different type of focus and time commitment. After all, I am searching for the person who will not only be an advocate for my memoir, but also an advocate and supporter for my writing career. 

So far, I have queried 58 agents.

So far, I have received 15 rejections — which does not include those agents who state on their website something along the lines of, “If you haven’t heard from us in 10-12 weeks, consider it a pass.”

It’s just a part of the process. Because it really doesn’t matter how many no’s I receive. 

All it takes is one yes. 

P.T.

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
I call this my pedal machine. My physical therapist encouraged me to try it, since we usually start our sessions with me on an exercise bike. I started pedaling for 5 minutes each day, and have slowly increased my time. I'm now up to 10 minutes daily! Generally, I use the time to read.

I have lived with chronic illness and chronic pain for almost fourteen years. 

During this time, I have tried physical therapy. Many times. 

It never worked out for me. For instance:

–   One of my first attempts at physical therapy ended shortly after it started. The physical therapist told me he would no longer work with me, because, “There’s no point. Nothing we do can help you.”


–  Another therapist, in a different location, always made me feel as if I couldn’t do much, and what I could do wasn’t anywhere close to being enough. I left our sessions feeling worse than I started. Worse in terms of higher pain levels and worse in terms of self-confidence.

–  There was the physical therapy group with a close-to-my-home location. I quit that one, after having four appointments with three different therapists, each one giving me some contradictory information.

Based on my previous experiences, you can understand my hesitation when my rheumatologist didn’t just suggest physical therapy, he strongly encouraged it.

This time I’m pleased to say my physical-therapy-is-not-beneficial streak is now over. 

I finally am working with a physical therapist who speaks kindly and smiles. A physical therapist who celebrates my effort, who acknowledges just how hard some stretches are for me, who encourages me to try, who modifies as needed. 

Plus, during last week’s physical therapy session, my therapist did something no other therapist has done before — he made me laugh.

Now, most people know PT is shorthand for Physical Therapy. 

But there’s another meaning for that acronym. 

Let me give you a bit of context — my therapist had demonstrated a new stretch, something that would work my quadriceps. It hurt when I tried it, so we modified it, with me not stretching quite as hard or quite as much. 

That’s when my physical therapist told me one of his patients invented a different meaning for PT: Pleasant Torture.

It was so unexpected, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

I have never thought of PT like that before. 

While it’s not torture, physical therapy is hard work. Each time I leave, I am tired and worn out. The following day I’m usually sore. 

Yet even with all of that, overall, the process, this time, is pleasant.

Readers, do you have any physical therapy experiences you want to share? Have you been fortunate to work with someone who makes the process pleasant? I hope so!

Crying in H Mart

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I picked up my copy of Crying in H Mart from a Little Free Library in my neighborhood. I had heard of the book, I knew it was a best seller, and I knew the author was a musician. But I didn’t know much more than that. 

Yet I wanted to read Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner for two reasons:

1. As a reader, I believe everyone has a story worth sharing.

2. As a writer, I’m always curious to see how other writers structure their memoirs. 

Here’s what you should know about me:

I am not an adventurous eater. I have a pretty sensitive stomach so most, if not all, the food mentioned in this memoir was unfamiliar to me. 

And here’s what you should know about the book:

It’s beautiful. Quite simply it is a tender love letter from a daughter in honor of her mother. 

Here are just a few of my favorite passages:

“Ever since my mom died, I cry in H Mart.”

“Food was how my mother expressed her love. No matter how critical or cruel she could seem — constantly pushing me to meet her intractable expectations — I could always feel her affection radiating from the lunches she packed and the meals she prepared for me just the way I liked them. I can hardly speak Korean, but in H Mart it feels like I’m fluent.”

“I remember these things clearly because that was how my mother loved you, not through white lies and constant verbal affirmation, but in subtle observations of what brought you joy, pocketed away to make you feel comforted and cared for without even realizing it.”

“The cowboy boots arrived in one of these packages after my parents had vacationed in Mexico. When I slipped them on I discovered they’d already been broken in. My mother had worn them around the house for a week, smoothing the hard edges in two pairs of socks for an hour every day, molding the flat sole with the bottom of her feet, wearing in the stiffness, breaking the tough leather to spare me all discomfort.”

“I wondered if I should try to explain how important it was to me. That cooking my mother’s food had come to represent an absolute role reversal, a role I was meant to fill. That food was an unspoken language between us, that it had come to symbolize our return to each other, our bonding, our common ground.”

“I talked about how love was an action, an instinct, a response roused by unplanned moments and small gestures, an inconvenience in someone else’s favor.”

“She was my champion, she was my archive. She had taken the utmost care to preserve the evidence of my existence and growth, capturing me in images, saving all my documents and possessions. She had all knowledge of my being memorized. The time I was born, my unborn cravings, the first book I read. The formation of every characteristic. Every ailment and little victory. She observed me with unparalleled interest, inexhaustible devotion.”

“The culture we shared was active, effervescent in my gut and in my genes, and I had to seize it, foster it so it did not die in me. So that I could pass it on someday. The lessons she imparted, the proof of her life lived on in me, in my every move and deed. I was what she left behind. If I could not be with my mother, I would be her.”

Readers, have you read Crying in H Mart? What did you think of it?

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

The Case for Loving

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Today, June 12th, is Loving Day. 

“Loving Day is the anniversary of a historic court decision for interracial marriage. Every year on June 12th, it’s a global day of visibility, education, and community.” (Taken from lovingday.org)

I’ve written about Loving Day before, because of its direct impact on my family — my African American husband and our mixed-race son. (You can click here to read a post I wrote in 2020.)  

And I continue to write about Loving Day because it’s so very important to remember that the rights and laws we currently have weren’t always our rights and laws. And, as we’ve seen, laws can be changed; revoked even. So I don’t take Loving Day for granted. 

This year, I wanted to highlight a wonderful children’s book — The Case for Loving: The Fight for Interracial Marriage by Selina Alko, illustrated by Sean Qualls and Selina Alko. (Fun fact — the author and illustrator are themselves an interracial couple.)

The charming book tells the story of Richard and Mildred Loving — how they fell in love, how they married (in Washington, D.C.), how they were arrested for living together in Virginia (where interracial marriage was not legal), how they wanted to leave their home in Washington, D.C. and legally live in Virginia with their three children, and how their court case made it all the way to the United States Supreme Court. 

And, what it all boiled down to was expressed in this brief, heartfelt message from Richard Loving which was read to the Supreme Court justices: “Tell the Court I love my wife, and it is just unfair that I can’t live with her in Virginia.” 

On June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously in favor of the Lovings and interracial marriage. 

1967. 

Only 57 years ago.

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

Book Birthday: The Things We Don’t Say

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

The Things We Don’t Say: An Anthology of Chronic Illness Truths is celebrating its four-year book birthday this month.

This anthology is unlike any other book I have found — and I’m not just saying that because one of my personal essays is included in this collection. (My essay is called “Chronic Contradictions.”)

I’m saying that because it’s true. 

From the back of the book:

“Spanning different ages, ethnicities, genders, sexual orientations, and diagnoses, forty-two authors from around the world open up in fifty true stories about their chronic illnesses and their search for answers, poor treatment by doctors, strained relationships with loved ones, self-doubt, and more.” 

This is the book to turn to when you’re searching for connection. Because though the medical details may vary, many of the emotions and experiences written about are shared by many in the chronic illness world.

This is the book to turn to when you’re trying to help someone else learn a bit about what your chronic illness life is like. This is the book you hand to someone and say, “Here. Please read this story. This is what I mean. This is what it feels like for me. This is what I have been trying to explain to you.”

Readers, have you discovered any other chronic illness-related books that you find helpful and/or resonate with you? Please share! 



Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.