thoughts on writing

"But reports can give you tunnel vision, trapping you on the middle rungs of the abstraction ladder and crippling your ability to tell a good story."

pg. 58, Story Craft, by Jack Hart

Stories are told either by using summaries of what has happened or by putting the story into scene. There are areas in between the two however. And if you are in this gray area, you are not telling a good story. Try to move towards either end.

The good writer must "show and tell."

Part of my new work is reading a book about the craft of writing each week. I liked what Hart had to say about these things.

blogging down...inability to sleep up

Ok, so I am having problems sleeping at this point...between the baby and acid reflux, I really sleep best during the day...which is silly.

Anyway, I have stumbled upon a new blog that I just love. You all know I love boingboing.net, but now there is blog.sethroberts.net, a blog by Seth Roberts. His posts are endlessly fascinating to me. I have made my way back to the beginning of last year, and will continue working backwards. I did this for boingboing too...

Roberts engages in a lot of self experimentation. He does different exercises everyday to monitor how well he is doing that day. For example, he takes a math test everyday and records the amount of time it takes him to compete the test. He has found that eating half a stick of butter a day and eating flax seeds makes him feel better and improves his math test scores.

Maybe instead of reading his blog I should write...but I haven't.

writing dead zone

You know how you encounter cell phone dead zones...I am in a writing dead zone. I don't have writer's block...I have a block even remembering to write. I am in a class and need to send something in by Sunday. I am not really sure what I am going to do. Write all day tomorrow I hope...

I feel overwhelmed by life right now and can't really immerse myself into some other fictional character's life. That sounds like an excuse. Life is always overwhelming. Get over yourself.

End inner dialogue.

i actually started writing

and it went well today.

good job.

finally.

talent: can it be learned? writing notes

Reading, Writing, and Leaving Home: Life on the Page
by Lynn Freed

The author, Freed, hails from South Africa – and according to this memoir cum resume, that’s where she places all of her novels. Before my professor recommended the memoir, I had never heard of Freed. Also, according to this book Freed has lived her life on her own terms – which we hear over and over. She relied and continues to rely largely on her innate "talent" as a writer to get by after she divorced her husband. Lucky for her, since she tells the reader over and over how hard it is to read all of the poor writing found in the MFA courses she teaches to make ends meet. She also tell us she has problems not being brutally honest – yet she can’t bare to tell these mediocre writers the truth: they have no future.

Is that true? Is there really no future for the average or even poor writer? Brent and I recently came upon some dastardly lawyer-ing. A large part of being a good lawyer is anticipating the worst case scenario. This poor work made me realize there are lots of professionals out there who make a living not being the best. Freed puts so much emphasis on being the best writer. I would love to do some statistically analysis of her former students and see how they are all doing. Were they really that bad?

Freed does make some great points about writing though—one of which being that the writer must stay away from the cliché of making all parts of a book fall into a "good" or "bad" basket. In fact, because I remembered this idea from her book, I just edited myself and instead of telling you that I thought she should have cut all of the family crap from her book, I realized that some of it was quite interesting, and therefore, resides in the gray of life.

Seeking out the gray is akin got seeking trugh in your writing – another theme of the book. Writing the truth is hard. When I try I sometimes get worried that I will hurt people’s feelings – or worse yet my truth – which has a tendency to modify a bit to sometimes enhance the truth- might be completely different from someone else’s truth. But what can you do? Press on as Linda would have said to me.

The final tidbit that struck me was her guidance to "Ask your self what obsesses you and write about that."

Annoyingly, one long-term obsession of mine –gigantic waves—just got its book, so I would add to the tip: NOW. Go write about your obsession now.

jeans

The second year I lived in Germany I found my dream pair of jeans. They were tight in all the right places and they fit. I wore them every day. Every day. I am not kidding. If they were not clean, well then I would stay home.

I love my jeans.

After a few months in Berlin I realized I needed another pair. It almost seemed like a fluke that I a. had found these jeans on sale and b. the jeans fit. I went back to the same store and found another similar pair, only these were slightly smaller. I was losing weight and figured that I would be wearing them in no time.

I am still not wearing those jeans, however they sit in my closet, even though I have a firm rule that clothing that looks bad, has not been worn, or is out dated be donated. Another pair sits in my closet too. These are from 10th grade however. When I bought them I thought I looked fat in them. I look back on that person with a hint of pity. What I would not give to have a 32 inch waist. Well, apparently, I would not give up food.

This year’s resolution was to get in shape and learn about health. I have a trainer I see twice a week, my knees feel great, I have recently joined Weight Watchers. I am doing this the slow way.

Doing what? Appeasing my Grandmother who constantly talks about “getting all that weight off?” Merely trying to get in shape, so I can ski and bike and do the things I like to? Trying to get my doctor to ask me how I lost weight if it was not via his just eat 1200 calories a day plan?

I have a job that is interesting, and has the potential to make the world a better place. There is only one problem with the job: I can’t wear jeans, ever. Every year we have an opportunity to tell the administrator of our agency what we would like to see done; a giant suggestion box if you will. I want to scream loud and clear: if I could wear jeans to work I would NEVER leave this job. Never.

But wait, I left a jeans job, to go to law school. Why did I do that again?

I like to wear jeans because they are comfortable, I look good in them, I feel good in them, and I notice when I gain or lose weight while wearing them. Other cloths are too forgiving. In other clothes, I can cover up problem sports, or just wear black for weeks on end. Jeans offer none of those comforts. Yet, it is to my jeans I turn to with excitement every Saturday morning.

So are the jeans really just a symbol of freedom? Of my ability to tell the Man that I don’t have to conform to his world, of my inability to not conform to his world.

The jeans worn daily in Berlin are too tight these days too. But they are zippable, which is more than they were at the beginning of the year.

Zippable: the act of being able to lay on your bed, with lungs empty, and zip up your pants. Said pants cannot be worn out of the house, or out of the bedroom really, because of problems with fainting.

I am working on zipping the jeans and wearing the jeans as part of this year’s resolution.

(I wrote this as part of my writing class.)

writing

So I officially sent out five submissions to publications this weekend! My writing career began...well is beginning...will begin...has begun? I am pretty excited. I don't expect anything to be accepted, though.

This quarter I am taking a class entitled, Writing the Creative Nonfiction Book: Getting a Full Draft. The professor, Rachel Howard, is a published author. I have her book on my Amazon wishlist. It is a family memoir which also covers the murder of her father! The book is called, The Lost Night: A Daughter's Search for the Truth of Her Father's Murder.

I have a draft of my book and in the intervening weeks I am thinking I should re-write it. From scratch. What it is missing is a theme, somewhat important.

Wish me luck.

jealousy and writing

I have started disliking people who I have never met for the most ridiculous reasons lately. I just started reading a book review in the New York Times and thought I might like the book. Until I saw the author’s picture. She looked so nice. Why would I dislike someone for looking nice? And then I read the review. The book of short stories sounds great. I think, “I will order it.” Some of the stories take place in Montana and are about lawyers. And then I become insanely jealous. Here is this other woman from Montana who just had a book published and then reviewed in the New York Times and I am sitting in my cube at my government job.

This is crazy. Facebook strangely affects me in a similar manner: all these people, always happy. Are they all really happy? I have one friend who consistently is unhappy. I make fun of her too. But really the book review and the facebook posts and all of it only show part of how a person is really feeling.

What does it mean to be happy? I am happy. I like my life.

I am seeking drama, maybe. Who knows.

On the bike ride home the other day I realized there is only one way to get out of this job: I have to go through with writing a book. Once the book is written, and sold, I can quit my job and call myself an author.

Stop complaining about that other author, and write something yourself.

great article: how not to be a writer

A colleague in my writing class wrote this...here is the intro. Click anywhere in the paragraph to read the rest. Very fun!

THE WRITER'S EDITION: 5 Ways To Fail As A Writer
August 7, 2008 - 4:27PM

FIVE WAYS TO FAIL AS A WRITER

by Brent Kerrigan

My father, a farmer and a good man, believes that reading and writing are complete wastes of time. It's a belief he feels all men share, along with a predilection for backbreaking labor and animal husbandry. That's why I long ago perfected the art of hiding. When I was young, a typical day would consist of my father searching for me throughout the farm-groaning wagon of hay at the ready in the 35C heat-dreaming of new and complex beatings he could unleash. When he did find me, his punishments were rare, but the disappointed look on his face and his questions were more than any five-year-old should bear.

"All you ever do is sit up here and read all the time," he'd say, standing in the granary doorway, red in the face, manure dripping from his coveralls. "Where in the hell is that ever going to get you?"

I'd lie there, buried under a mound of corn with my copy of Remembrance of Times Past, and think about that question. Where was reading going to get me? Even then I knew I wanted to become a Serious Writer. A writer who would leave his mark on the world. A writer with my name on schools and parks dedicated in my honor. A writer who would influence millions of men to quote my words to millions of women of questionable intelligence. I wanted fame, fortune, and a ticket off that farm.

It was decided for me. My father was right, reading wasn't enough. I needed to do more. I put pen to paper and started to write.

Keeping the faith

Yet, here I am at age 35, sitting on this park bench with my notebook and wondering why my life as a Serious Writer is, for all intents and purposes, dead. Hundreds of first drafts coupled with countless outlines and I've yet to be published. Thankfully, this did not stop Peterborough Community College from hiring me on as a teacher in their Creative Writing program. It's a great job with many benefits. Nevertheless, as a teacher of Creative Writing, I always face the same question at the beginning of each semester.

"I can't find your writing in the library," a student will say. "Maybe they forgot to enter you into the card catalogue." At these moments I often stumble over my words. I say I'm currently working on a manuscript, expect it any time, and have agents at the ready.

writing: this week's assignment

* UPDATE: I only wrote the start of the story and only had 350 words to do it in!

This week in my fiction writing class we had to write a story about a man and a woman who have an affair resulting in a pregnancy...here was my piece:

The phone rang just as she picked up the mail by the front door. Her children last used the portable phone so she ran around the living room looking for it. The call came from the hospital; her husband had been in a horrible car accident. While she listened she absently mindedly put the mail down on the fireplace mantel. There this pile of mail would sit for the next six months, through nights of crying, through false hopes, and through the eventual post-funeral gathering at the house after her husband eventually succumbed to the injuries sustained in that car accident.

He had been texting someone when he over corrected and drove off the bridge, just before the guard railing started.

She finally noticed the mail as her daughter helped pack up the house for the sale. Her daughter handed her the mail, after riffling through it herself. Finally her head was clear again; she knew where she was going in her life. She and the children would make it through this tragedy.

The letter struck her as strange when she saw it. The handwriting scrawled on a cheap envelope addressed to Mrs. Dutton. It was rare to see her married name on envelopes. Everyone knew she had kept her own name because of her medical practice. It seemed the easiest thing to do at the time.

The letter came from his mistress. The mistress was tired of playing second fiddle, and explained in the letter that she and Cal (not Calvin, who was this man?) met in an elevator in Chicago more than three years ago. Their son would be born on what was now tomorrow, May 23rd.

Everything clicked into place. The late nights at work, the learning how to send a text message like her children even though he hated technology, the midnight calls to the house, and the woman at the funeral who said she was an employee of Calvin.

a real schreibtisch

How fun is this object!

schreibtisch aka writing table
"A mobile notepad/ piece-of-furniture made of paper. The die-cut paper-sheets (about 1000) are joined together with red colored bookbinder-glue. The handle is not glued so you can remove each sheet of paper as you you use it! The object works as communication tool, sketch-board, notepad, etc."

Made by...a German! Yep...(Click here to see more of the artist's work!)

Book Review: Foreskin's Lament, A Memoir

Foreskin’s Lament, A Memoir
by Shalom Auslander, 2007

What attracted me to Foreskin’s Lament was that Auslander grew up in an ultra-Orthodox Jewish family. I love these stories. Give me a misunderstood esoteric minority book and I will give you a few hours of my life.

Book summary in two sentences: The memoir forms the basis for what will one day be the case God puts forth against Auslander’s entrance into heaven. God: “Even though you kind of kept the Sabbath and you walked to the Ranger’s game for the Stanley Cup from Westchester to NYC on the Sabbath over the GW bridge, all bets are off because you did not keep kosher.”

While the books takes the occasion of Auslander’s son’s birth and potential circumcision to talk about growing up Jewish and the effect his upbringing continues to have on him, the book is really about his relationship with God. He prays to God, or rather makes deals with him all the time. And his reading of the Old Testament (Torah) is even funny, in a somewhat disturbed manner.

"The people at Monsey [Auslander’s grade school] were terrified of God, and they taught me to be terrified of Him, too – they taught me about…a man named Moses, who escaped from Egypt, and who roamed through the desert for forty years in search of a Promised Land, and whom God killed just before he reached it – face-plant on the one-yard line, --because Moses had sinned, once forty years earlier. His crime? Hitting a rock."

I had never thought of the story that way. Brent says one of the things he likes about the Old Testament is how black and white everything is in it. Do this, suffer this fate.

But real life is grey. Auslander deals in the gray everyday. In one poignant section of the book, (which I will not reveal too much of because it kind of gives the book away) he has made peace with a decision and he thinks this will appease his parents. But no, even what he considers his grand compromise gesture is seen by his parents as the wrong decision.

The book offered an opportunity for Brent and I to discuss religion more deeply, which I enjoyed. I believe in God. But God backed me into a corner of believing. Since Linda is dead, I can’t imagine that she did not go someplace, so I am kind of stuck. But I don’t believe in what one might call a “personal God.” I don’t think God sweats the details. A few swear words, a little crazy dancing, maybe even a few drinks. He doesn’t care.

I think Auslander shares my feelings on this. At one point in the book he gets an email from his sister where she substitutes the forbidden words in her email with symbols for the vowels. Really? You don’t think God can tell?

“When [the devout] are not preaching what a ... Maniac the Lord is, they’re behaving like He’s a ... idiot.”

I read this sentence and said, “Exactly.” If God is watching and knows everything, then he knows everything.

So I am the kind of person who largely subscribes to the Golden Rule, by which I mean, be a good person, be kind to people, and do good things. Everything else will work out.

“I believe in God.
It has been a real problem for me.”

This might be what Auslander should give as his defense if he has any trouble getting in to heaven. The book is a great, quick, yet thoughtful read, so don’t let the title put you off.