Posts filed under 'Readin' & Writin''
Part of the whirlwind craziness of the past week or so has been my general anxiety at returning to college. Not in a big way — it’s not as if the Michigan MFA program took one look at its current crop of incoming students and decided they’d made a big, big mistake to leave me hanging on the waitlist. Rather, I was fortunate enough to be granted permission by Nick Delbanco to take his fiction seminar in the Rackham Grad school English Department this fall.
In truth, I was not entirely sure what I was getting into with the class — the description in the course catalog seemed a tad vague and maybe suggested that it was better suited for those making a transition between poetry and prose. But the professor was kind enough to offer me a spot and I am determined enough to get better at writing, so I jumped at the chance — stupidly underestimating the web of academic virtual paperwork it takes to officially do such a thing.
It doesn’t help that everything happens online these days and I come from the handwritten-paper-slip approach to signing up for courses. Then there was the matter of applying as a non-degree-seeking student to the Rackham Grad School and getting immediately rejected because I was supposed to apply as a different kind of non-degree-seeking student. Then there the matter of obtaining an “override” — or official department permission — to sign up for the class. And then there was the absolutely terrifying matter of signing up for the class online in a complex system that is no doubt completely intuitive to anyone born after 1980.
But all of that is in the past. I finally figured it out — with an IMMENSE amount of hand-holding, guidance and encouragement from the Rackham English Department. (I’d name names, but I don’t want anyone to get a reputation for being the go-to gal for the completely confused.) Class started last Wednesday and while it is a small group — so far just six of us — it looks to be an interesting endeavor.
Since a couple in the class are poets in the MFA program, we will be looking at the poetry-to-prose journey a bit, but we’ll also have plenty of time for workshopping each other’s pieces and getting individual guidance from Nick. To be honest, I’m not even sure at this point what I want to accomplish with the class. Of course I want to emerge with a stronger piece for re-applying to the MFA school in the Fall, but I don’t know if that means reworking an existing story or embarking on something new. So many decisions!
September 9th, 2007
It’s about 9 o’clock in the evening and I’m sitting on the front porch of the lovely Brown Street Inn in Iowa City (pictured above), enjoying the intersection of this place, which evokes a bygone era, and the wondrous advantages of wireless internet connections. It has been hot here the past couple of days, as it has been each year I’ve come, but the weather has actually broken and there’s a cool breeze to be enjoyed.
I’m looking out on a leafy green street, with cobblestone brick roads and beautiful houses showing off their turn-of-the-century architecture. The sky’s is the most amazing wash of pink and blue. An occasional car drives past but otherwise, with the exception of the early tree frogs, it’s virtually silent. The little black kitty who makes the porch her home has come to perch nearby and keep me company. This is Norman Rockwell stuff, the backdrop for the perfect summer evening.
I’m in Iowa City, as you may know, for my third year attending the Iowa Summer Writing Festival at the university in the hopes that some of the decades-long prestige of the Iowa Writers Workshop will rub off on me. The jury’s still out on the workshop I’m taking this week. It’s called Advanced Short Story and I was actually nervous about whether or not my writing was far enough along to qualify, but we seem to be operating at a relatively tame level. Not sure how much I’ll get out of it, but I’m willing to see what tomorrow brings.
We’re workshopping three student-written short stories each afternoon, so the homework level is quite intense. Thus, I must sign off this brief update and get crackin’ on tomorrow’s fare.
It’s beautiful here, right this minute. Chris, honey, I wish you were here.
July 10th, 2007
Turns out I held my own at Thursday’s spinning class, although my ass was killing me by about 10 minutes in. I seemed to be the only person having rear discomfort as no one else was shifting and wiggling around in their seat quite as much as I was — which seems strange because I have, by far, the most padding in that area and you’d think it would make life easier. It does not.
It’s a good thing I survived it so that Chris and I could attend a Stretch & Tone class on Friday that completely kicked my ass and all the other parts of me. Definitely more toning than stretching. I worked out parts of me that I hadn’t moved since last doing the Jane Fonda workout circa 1988 (which is reponsible for the fact that any time I hear REO Speedwagon’s “Keep the Fire Burning,” I compulsively take my arms for wide circles).
Looking on the bright side, it turns out I do have ab muscles somewhere in there. I know, because they ache.
I’ve been running around like the proverbial chicken today as Fara and I are leaving for Iowa City tomorrow morning. We’re each taking a week-long workshop at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival. I had hoped to be organized and send in my short story in advance of the class, but then I remembered I was me, waited until the last minute to do a final edit/polish and got it printed and copied late this afternoon.
Also in there, I worked frantically on my second stab at sewing a summer top for myself (not counting “recons” of too-big tees, etc.). Turns out I’m just not getting it. Clothing is so finicky and so difficult to fit properly. A smart person would give up now and realize she could have just bought several tops for the amount she’s spent on unwearable disasters thus far (other attempts include a disastrous sundress that wound up being a too-small, lopsided skirt). But I am not a smart person. I am frustrated and confused and challenged and plan to keep on throwing away money in the pursuit of getting just one damn wearable item out of all of this.
It’s either that or every single person I know gets a tote bag for Christmas this year. And none of us wants that.
Anyway, the new shirt will not be accompanying me to Iowa…or anywhere outside of the house. But that’s okay, because it’s always damn hot in Iowa City, so who needs shirts anyway? Woo hoo! Actually, it’s supposed to be 96 degrees here tomorrow and I’m abandoning Chris to a hot house while I bask in the cool A/C of the lovely Brown Street Inn, where Fara and I are booked.
Speaking of the lovely husband, Chris tucked a few surprises inside the Kinko’s box containing the copies of my story for handing out to my classmates. In addition to a couple of trashy mags and a chocolate bar (does the man know me or what?), he bought me a lovely book called How I Write: The Secret Lives of Authors. I haven’t had a chance to do much more than glance through it, but it’s a collection of pragmatic advice from a range of writers (including Athony Bourdain, Douglas Coupland, Jonathan Franzen, A.M. Homes and Rick Moody) about how they write — where, when they go about the most difficult part of this writer’s life, the actual act of writing.
Isn’t that the most thoughtful gift? “Go write,” my husband said as he gave it to me. “Go do what you’re meant to do.” I’m the luckiest woman alive. I swear, I am.
Speaking of said husband, I meant to mention last week that he was interviewed by a lovely reporter for Wired Magazine who flew into town for the occasion. Don’t know when the piece is coming out, but it may be the first Sharesleuth.com article that actually focuses on Chris’ work and the journalism rather than bickering about the business model. About time, I say.
Anyway, I’ve still to finish packing — as tossing things on an armchair doesn’t quite do it — so I’ll dash off. I’m trying to keep my expectations in check. This is my third year in a row going to Iowa for a week and I always set such high expectations for myself — that I’ll write a novel, have an epiphany, lose 30 pounds. This time I’m going to try to focus on being in the present, doing what’s in front of me, enjoying the time without pressure. That should be a piece of cake, no?
July 7th, 2007
You know the addage. Those who can, do, those who can’t teach free workshops on it at 826 Michigan. Perhaps I’m paraphrasing. I am having, you may be able to tell, a crisis of conscience directly related to just what it is I might want to be when and if I ever decide to grow up.
Perhaps the latest tug on this thread of doubt was my rejection from the Breadloaf Writer’s Conference. You may see it simply as a lack of acceptance, but I prefer the word “rejection.” It’s more pathetic; it merits, somehow, more sulking.
I suppose I should have seen it coming. Breadloaf is, after all, a writer’s conference of great repute. And I did apply in the genre of fiction (in which I am an infant) and not in the genre of non-fiction (in which I am not.) So why did it hit me so hard that I didn’t get in? I knew it the moment the envelope arrived — a thin #9 envelope. Anyone who’s ever applied for college or, well, anything knows that a thick envelope is what you want. Something with housing info, forms to sign, pages on which to write “I’m terrific! I got in,” fold neatly and mail back to them in a SASE.
I just wanted to get in, you know? I wanted to be good enough. Sure, I’m going to the Iowa Summer Writing Festival next month for a weeklong short story workshop. And, sure, I come back from there every year feeling pretty invigorated. But let’s face it…the only challenge in getting into Iowa for a summer workshop is whether or not your check clears.
So I’m left to conclude that I have a lot to learn about fiction. I can live with that conclusion. It seems reasonable and, perhaps even beyond that, true. What I’m tempted to conclude and am not yet sure about is that I suck at fiction. That I can’t write it. This could be true.
Yet here’s what’s baffling…I just wound up my third six-week session at 826 Michigan teaching a narrative writing workshop to teens, 14-16, along with my good friend and fellow writer, Jason. And I love it. I really do. Sure, there are moments when I want to jump across the table and strangle the participants, but they are nothing compared to the moments when you can see the gratitude and passion in these kids eyes because someone’s taking their writing seriously, someone wants to talk to them about their writing.
When I’m in there, I’m confident that I have something to share. Somehow, I know this stuff. Maybe not all the technical stuff — I’m not an expert on plotting and themes. But I do know a lot about writing fiction and I can help them learn to love writing and to love talking about writing. I can help them become better writers.
So how can I know all this about what good fiction looks like and yet I can’t produce it? Is this a case of the old addage? I can’t do it, but I can teach it? Does that make me a phony, talking to these kids about how they should be writing when I can’t pull it off? It’s very strange for me to possess such passion and knowledge about something I can’t do.
And I like talking about writing fiction far more than I like doing it. All the writers out there know exactly what I mean when I say it’s hard frickin’ work. It’s torturous. It’s painful. It takes years off your life, puts inches on your waist and adds wrinkles to your forehead.
So that’s what I’ve been thinking about lately instead of blogging. Productive, no?
June 7th, 2007
It’s Memoir Week over at online mag Slate. Last week I wrote about Dave Eggers’ advice about telling people you’ve written about them. Slate is offering up a series of relevant articles by memoir authors — including Frank McCourt and Sean Wilsey, whose memoir Oh, the Glory of It All was name-checked by Eggers as a must-read — writing about how they told their families and friends about their memoir.
Interesting stuff if you’re interested in that sort of stuff.
March 28th, 2007
Trying to keep my nose to the grindstone in terms of writing. It’s hard to stay motivated to write creatively when using your brainpower writing for clients — especially if you have extremely limited capacity in that area. Still, I’m determined to stay focused with some writing classes and workshops in the future.
I think I mentioned in a previous post that I’d applied to the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference for August. I haven’t heard anything back yet, but thought I’d post a little more info on it in case you’re interested. It’s well-reputed ten-day summer writing conference at Middlebury College in Middlebury, Vermont. You have to apply to be accepted.
The price is kind of steep for those on a shoe-string budget ($2,000-plus) but you can also apply as a scholarship student, meaning you wait tables during meals and get to attend the conference for free. The price does include lodging and meals. My friend Maureen (currently enjoying the adventure of opening a restaurant with her boyfriend Tom in Manchester, NH) went a few summers ago and highly recommends the experience, although she suggests skipping the work study part and splurging so you can enjoy the idyllic setting and seclusion to really immerse yourself in writing.
In July, my friend Fara and I are going to the Iowa Summer Writing Festival in Iowa City, Iowa. It’s hosted by the infamous Iowa Writers Workshop at the University of Iowa in June and July and week- and weekend-long workshops covering just about any range of topics. They have an impressive list of workshop leaders (past and present.) It costs $500-525 for each week long workshop and $250 for the weekend workshops — you’re on your own for lodging and meals.
Iowa City’s a great little writers’ town to spend a week or so in and I’ve enjoyed my workshops the past couple of years. You don’t need to apply to get in — your check just needs to clear. Which can be a good thing and a bad. You’ll find yourself amidst eager, serious writers, hobbyists and a slew of post-middle-age housewives trying to find themselves through poetry. Not that I’m judging.
Today, my friend Margaret sent me an email with three wonderful sounding Summer Writing Workshops in Europe.They seem to be the brainchild of a handful of writers who are offering week-plus-long workshop this summer — fiction writing in Florence, memoir writing in Barcelona, poetry in Dublin. Talk about a fantasy deal! Oh, I’m aching for some Euro-travel and the thought of playing around with words in Florence or Barcelona sounds too romantic and evocative!
Of course, it also sounds expensive. Although, considering the cost of Bread Loaf the about $2,000 price tag to study in Europe and be able to receive college credit for it too is pretty tempting. Lodging is included but not meals and you’re on your own with airfare. Definitely out of my price range for this summer, assuming Bread Loaf comes through, but something to keep on the radar for next year, no?
I’m also feeling out a couple of friends here regarding forming a writing group. I’m really intrigued and inspired by Dave Eggers’ advice to start with your one best anecdote. I thought it would be interesting to start a writing group on that premise — everyone beginning with their one best anecdote and working to make it better and better. Everyone I know is so busy though and it’s hard to gauge whether peoples’ interest in an idea would translate into commitment in the follow-through.
Also on the writing front, I’ve got another 826 Michigan volunteer project in the works while I await for my next workshop session to start again mid-April. One of the small, private schools here is trying to get its students interested in starting a newspaper. Right now, they’ve no one to help them figure out what that means or how to go about it. Chris and I volunteered (meaning I volunteered both of us) to help figure out what that might look like.
At this point I’m envisioning a four- or six-week project where I bring a different journalist into the school each week to discuss with the kids different aspects of journalism – what makes a news story, how to write a lead, interviewing techniques. My hope is that, at the end of the session, they’d be in a place where the students and their advisor (a parent who is eager to learn but has no background in journalism) can fly solo.
Wow. That sounds like an even bigger undertaking than before when I write it down on paper. I imagine I’ll be keeping you updated on that, eh? Write on!
March 24th, 2007
I’ve driven past the Kerrytown Concert House countless times since I’ve been in Ann Arbor but I’ve always wondered what went on inside. Yesterday, the answer to that question was: Dave Eggers. Yes, that Dave Eggers, author of the best-selling memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, founder of the fantastically original online lit mag McSweeney’s and its publishing house, and founder of 826 Valencia, the parent organization of, among others, 826 Michigan.
In fact, Eggers was in town for a couple of fundraisers for 826 Michigan, including a two-hour workshop entitled Writing & Publishing the Memoir, which I attended with my friends Fara and Jason. Let me start by saying that if some part of you is saying, “Man, Dave Eggers seems so annoying on account of how accomplished he is,” the pisser is that he is extremely affable and in the intimate setting of the Kerrytown Concert House seemed genuine and generous with his passion for and knowledge about writing.
I was not expecting him to come across as…accessible as he did. Why? Probably because writers are, generally speaking, odd sorts and, frankly, if I had that man’s success I think we all know my ego would be off the charts. But Dave Eggers is not me, as we all also know. He is, however, my age. In case you wanted to, say, compare accomplishments and, say, beat yourself up about it.
Eggers is also kind of dreamy in person. Maybe even a little McDreamy, with twinkly eyes and deep dimples when he smiles, plus a headful of thick, slightly unruly curly hair. Just sayin’. He kicked off the workshop — which was really more of an informal discussion with questions and answers volleyed back and forth throughout — by presenting a large pad of paper, propped on an easel. On the first page in large slightly slanted green marker, he had written: “Why? Good Lord, why?” Indeed, it’s probably a question every memoir writer asks him or herself. Or, at least, should ask. Those who seem to be 100% convinced that their story is worth telling in the first place are often misguided.
So why, then, do we have the drive to tell our stories? According to Eggers we share our stories because we’re supposed to. Language, paper, sentences, words — they all exist for a purpose and we are, at our core, human beings who communicate our stories to one another. “It’s much less logical to not tell your story than to tell it,” he said. And once I battled through the double negatives there, I concluded that he may be right. “To not write your story own story is a very strange thing. We have a limited amount of time on this earth.”
Eggers credits the memoir boom of the past decade to the fact that people are waking up to the fact that their story needs to be told. “They need to write themselves into existence,” he said, talking specifically about working with kids and encouraging them to tell their own stories. “This is the greatest power that they have.”
Eggers also said this: “You learn everything when you write your story.” I think that’s definitely true for me. Writing is a process of discovery and whether it’s nonfiction or fiction, I rarely approach a piece of paper with any certainty about where I’m headed. There’s a wonderful and frustrating magic to it that’s nearly impossible to describe to someone who doesn’t have that…thing that writers have.
Frankly, Eggers said a lot. Too much for me to convey here, but here are some ideas he tossed out there, which may prove useful to any of you toying with the idea of writing your own story:
- Memoir is a lot more democratic than other forms of writing. It belongs to anyone and everyone.
- Decide if you are writing your story for you (and your family, ancestors) or for them (readers). I agree that’s important, but I also know that most people who want to write memoir are mostly interested in writing best-selling memoir and I think few people are enthusiastic about the idea of battling through the process only to have it sit in a dusty attic until your grandkids uncover it. In fact, most people I know who say they want to be writers don’t even want to write — they want to have written. And that’s kind of a huge distinction.
- Start small. Pick your one best anecdote and start by getting that down on paper. (Memoir is, after all, essentially a collection of linked anecdotes.)
- The #1 problem with a lot of memoir is it reads like a pity party. Recount honestly. No weeping. Write scenes like commentary with as much emotional detachment as possible. Cut back on your anger. In dealing with adversaries, Eggers advised, “The villainy comes through if you just write down the facts.”
- Then he contradicted himself a little. If your writing is driven by passion and anger, Eggers suggested getting the first draft out of you with all the anger and passion you have inside — and then go back and cut it all back.
- Russell Baker calls memoir “inventing the truth” and Eggers himself says memoir “is an incredible amount of fiction.” In the nonfiction I’ve written — and even that I’ve read — I’ve always struggled with the idea that scenes are recounted and recreated, characters combined. Eggers said of memoir: “It’s truth but it’s not fact.” That’s an important distinction for me and is helping to shape the way I think about some of my writing — the idea that you can apply fiction techniques and recreate stuff so that it may not be factually accurate but still contains and represents the truth. Freeing notion and, as I’m sure James Frey would agree, a potentially slippery slope.
- So how do you cope with the reader’s trust? Eggers suggests using notes, footnotes, and indexes if necessary to let the reader know where you stand from the start. You strike a bargain with the readers, let them know what you’ve done, how and why.
- Going back to the idea of anger and vengeance — which seem to be all-too-common motives for memoir writing — Eggers suggests extreme caution. Books are permanent and “anyone who gets hurt is going to get hurt for many years.” What you put down on paper, what you publish, will never go away. Even stuff you write in passing can have much greater impact on the people you’re writing about than you’d ever imagine.
- Eggers suggests showing drafts to your family (or whoever is featured in your memoir) as you go along. You need their help to make sure you have things factually accurate, but also to make sure your perspective is fair. You may not agree with everything your family remembers (and vice versa), but Eggers suggests measuring each battle carefully. Consider the consequences and ask yourself, is it worth it as a writer?
- It may take years before you develop enough perspective to write about certain periods of your life. You have to be far enough away to see it with a dispassionate distance to really know the shape of your story. “Usually to have the distance to see a shape,” Eggers said, “it’s going to take a long time.”
- Show your work to people as you go. Pick people to whom the story matters and other people who don’t have anything invested in the story. Eggers suggests having five to ten readers for any story or piece. If you’re writing about a specific topic, pick an expert on that topic and see if it rings true to them. Think about people you know who seem like your ideal readers and give it to them, people you need to like or appreciate it. Make sure you knock the socks off your 5-10 readers before you even think about showing it to an agent or publisher or submitting it somewhere.
- What if not much has happened to you in your life? Eggers says there’s an inverse relationship here - the less that happens to you, the better writer you need to be. “You have to breathe life into the little things — that’s what being a writer is.” Also, know what your story is. Know what the interesting part is, know the motifs of your life.
- In terms of publishing, be honest with yourself about where your work belongs. Eggers believe there’s no better time to be trying, with more literary magazines abounding than ever before. Don’t submit your work just anywhere. If you think you’re not going to bother writing unless it winds up in the pages of Harper’s, you’ll miss out on a million other opportunities.
- And about that whole writing thing. I love to quote Dorothy Parker (who doesn’t?) who said, “The art of writing is the art of applying the ass to the seat.” I cannot tell you how much I appreciated Eggers’ honesty when he said that for every four hours he spends at his computer, he estimates that he gets about 45 minutes of real writing done. The rest is farting around, delaying and procrastinating. That’s why, he said, it’s important to give yourself specific chunks of time to write — “acres of time, as far as the eye can see.” Goals are useful too. Hemingway, he said, set a daily word count goal of 400 words and when he’d met that, he quit. Of course, then he went out and drank and eventually killed himself, but that’s probably not the point to take from that.
Eggers mentioned the following works during his talk as essential memoir reading, in addition to Frank McCourt’s seminal Angela’s Ashes:
Memories of a Catholic Girlhood by Mary McCarthy
The Devil is in the Details: Scenes from an Obsessive Girlhood by Jennifer Traig. (Traig is a volunteer at 826 Valencia and is working with Eggers on a book about writing memoir that will be published soon by 826.)
Oh, the Glory of It All by Sean Wilsey
Smith Memoir - a website devoted to the genre of short memoir
Also, not memoir, but worth noting, Eggers called The Known World by Edward P. Jones the “best American novel in the last ten years.”
March 21st, 2007
Rupert Everett was the first to wish me a happy birthday last week. Unfortunately, it was not in bed as he rolled over and sighed, “You know, it turns it was just that I hadn’t met the right woman!” Or over tea and scones at some English tea room as he shared witty tales of life in the theatah and I imagined skiing down the slopes of his finely chiseled cheekbones. No, I didn’t even get to lay eyes on him at all. Rather, he wrote me what I’m sure was a very sincere wish for a happy birthday on the inside of his new book, “Red Carpets & Other Banana Skins.” It was a lovely and thoughtful gift from my friend Jennifer Brooks, who got to see him read in Glasgow last week.
I’m only a few chapters into it thus far, as distracted as I’ve been by polishing some shaky fiction for my MFA application, a process that has me feeling more terrified and insecure about writing than I have in years. In addition, I’ve been picking my way through “A Drinking Companion,” which you’ll be glad to know isn’t a guide book. It is, as its subtitle explains, a look at “Alcohol & the Lives of Writers,” which interests me. For no reason whatsoever.
The book is by Kelly Boler who, I discovered in the author’s notes, is a journalist in Asheville, NC. Since I happened to do a great deal of drinking in Asheville, I thought that a good omen. Boler examines how alcoholism affected the writing careers and lives of such notable authors as Kingsley Amis, John Cheever, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Anne Sexton, Tennesse Williams and Carson McCullers. While I think it’s a terrific topic for a book, it seems to rush through each writer’s story and doesn’t feel quite…full, I suppose. Plus, when you’re talking about the destructive qualities of alcohol, I have to question the judgment of starting each tale off with a description of and recipe for each author’s favorite drink.
I’m also starting to read the screenplay for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, by Charlie Kaufman, as we start studying that next week in screenwriting class. Screenwriting class which is, by the way, kicking my ass. The more I learn, the less competent I feel, the less equal to producing this strange and unfamiliar type of product. The fact that the majority of the rewrite is due Monday and I currently have no idea where the story is going, is not a good sign.
The only book I’ve read in its entirety lately is People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive issue, (the answer - Clooney) which my sweet husband purchased for me as bathtub reading. Wait…what? That doesn’t count as a book? Then I’m really screwed. Which I may have been anyway, since I’m apparently no good judge of what sexy is, disagreeing with a good 99% of their picks. (I mean, really, Diddy? Vulgar, yes. Sexy? Nope. Matt Damon? I’d like to give him a pat on the head, but that’s about it…)
How about you? What’re you reading? Register to comment below and let me know and I’ll add your picks to my long, long list of actual books I may someday get around to reading.
November 22nd, 2006
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