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Category: Writing

Posts about writing, editing, publishing, and blogging

Northern Cardinal for Now

Not much time for blogging and book writing. Guess what comes first?

So, here, another picture of a bird.

In a free moment at work today, I flipped open Beat Poets and found Kerouac’s advice for writers: “Belief & Technique for Modern Prose.”

Half lunatic love ravings of the self-professed angelic mind (see me vent my inner Jack?) half good advice, half (yeah, 3/2’s) scattered pearls, I found a few ideas I like, especially these:

24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge

29. You’re a Genius all the time

And, now, off to the labors of my genius…

Where I’m From

I found this great little writing exercise on Danigirl’s blog. It seems to originate as a professional development project based on George Ella Lyon’s work. I thought it made for a cool post, but the next day one of my fellow teachers suddenly started talking about the heretofore unknown (to me) poet Lyon at an in-service meeting. Well, thought I, that’s some synchronicity for me.

Anyway, It seemed like a cool project to do with my kids, and being the good teacher that I am (and also the kind of person who enjoys these kinds of writing exercises) I figured I should test drive it first…

Where I’m From, an exercise in identity…

I am from maps, from National Geographic and surplus bombing charts of Vietnam used as tarps below our tents.

I am from green soccer fields, orange slices sucked through teeth at halftime and 2..4..6..8…who do we appreciate.

I am from the lonely buoy bell clanging in the bay on open-window summer nights. I am from old forests with forgotten headstones hidden in the undergrowth.

I am from the Smithsonian, concrete bunkers overgrown by jungle, that old monastery on the hill. From birdless gray Octobers and the golden light of northern summer, a fox curled up on the lawn.

I am from the scrub oak, juniper and palms, summer tomato plants and morning glory growing thick on a wire fence. I am from bluebonnets and prickly pear embedded in my palm.

I am from tacos and tamales on Christmas Eve. From Trivial Pursuit and gentleness, from Brushes, Griffins, Tomlinsons and Trouts. From the parrot we birdsat, who never learned to talk, but in our house, learned to laugh.

I am from meals with talk instead of TV, from books and magazines and a telescope pointed at Saturn’s rings.

From books are our friends and may the force be with you.

I am from the King James Bible, New England churches surrounded by three hundred year old graves. From Doubting Thomas and endless questions.

I’m from the cold Narragansett, “King” Arthur’s Illinois basketball court, both sides of the Revolution, and the Valley of the Sun, from home-baked cookies kept in the freezer, tortillas in the ‘fridge.

From Grace who said nothing of her past, from Dorothy who told everything, from Jim whose cursing made me laugh (my parents cringed) and Cecil whose tales I never got to hear.

I am from cluttered closet time capsules, vinyl photo albums, instamatic shots and slide shows of the sea, from treasure boxes and neat ordered files of school projects, drawings, homemade cards.

I am from the Colonial coast, the edge of jungle, the ring of fire, the ruins of Rome, the settled Comanche hills I now call home.

* * *

As a side project, I followed the links from Danigirl back along the trail of meme to see where it began, all the while enjoying the various takes along the way. It goes: Daysgoby to Spanglish to Lolabola to a staff development website.

Here’s the page that explains how to put it together. Give it a whirl.

Not Many Fifty Dollar Words, but I Write Good

None of them big words here, according to this site:

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It was interesting to have it scan peruse individual categories, though. My posts missives on Lost, movies and current events reveal more book learnin’ a slightly more cultivated intellect…

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while my gooder more erudite posts on stupid college boy wastes of time books seem more worthy of acclaim highest accolades…

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Thanks (a lot) to EGeorge, and Fred for inspiring this little exercise in self-inflicted insult aspersion casting. I hope nobody thinks this blog sucks aspirates.

(I wonder what this post will do for my overall rating, what with them extra 50 dollar words added in.)

2

Two years ago today I started this blog. It seems especially amusing that I’m taking a break from not blogging to blog about how long I’ve been blogging.

I’m almost finished with the second draft of my novel, which means that in the next few days I’ll return to the ‘sphere while I let others pick apart the book. I no longer have any idea if I’m making it better or worse by working on it.

I look forward to writing again in the cheap thrills and instant gratification world of blog where the first draft is the final draft.

Revising

I’m back in the throws of my novel, A Short Time to Be There after two months off. I’m reading the manuscript. Changing, fixing, deleting, moving, rewriting. Sometimes bits are good enough to make me wonder who wrote it. Lots of it needs lots of work.

I like the characters, but the begining seems a bit off. A bit slow, despite cutting nearly three chapters. Maybe I’m still too close to it. Sometimes I think it might be the screenwriter in me saying that big things have to happen within the first thirty minutes (which is thirty pages of screenplay). I don’t think the big collision has to happen in the first thirty pages of a novel. Page 46 is good too. Maybe I’m obsessing this point.

Either way, blogging takes a back seat for now.

The Accidental Hiatus-ist

We did not wash away in the floods, though I’m still trying to collect two of every greyhound for the ark I’ve been building. Unfortunately, they are each individuals, so I’m only able to find one of each.

Mainly, I hadn’t blogged because I wanted to finish my book. I didn’t want to sit at the computer writing and not be writing that, so blog went by the wayside to meet my self-imposed end of June deadline. I made it with a few days to spare.

The manuscript came in at 249 pages or 66,ooo words. A short novel, called A Short Time to Be There, at least for now. When I went back and looked at the early pages written before I really knew the characters or the pace of the story, I found a few chapters and some scenes that I didn’t really need, so I found myself going with Stephen King’s dictum: 2nd draft = 1st draft – 10%. When that 10% comes from the front end, things start to move better. Redundancies disappear.

I finished the book last week. The next day R’s grandmother died so we had to go to Orange to help with arrangements before the funeral. She died in her sleep at her home without any illness or hospitalization a few weeks shy of her 87th birthday. It was a tough surprise, but then it’s hard to imagine a better way to go.

On the long drive east to Orange, we saw a coyote standing on the side of the road outside Elgin. He ran when he saw us. We spotted a red-tailed hawk perched on a power line near Houston. A bobcat ran across the road in front of us in Orange. I never see that much wildlife from my car. I had never seen a bobcat before. The weather was weird too. Powerful storms kicking up while we were in church, where she was honored, and also right before the funeral.

My mind kept going back to Caesar: “When beggars die there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”

Of course she wasn’t royalty or even a prince, but she was noble. She would help anyone who needed it. She took in the lost. She never gave up on anybody.

Eight Is Enough to Fill Our Lives with Meme

George has memed me.

The Rules:

  1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
  2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
  3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
  4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. (You’re not the boss of me!)
  5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

The Eight Facts:

  1. Five years ago, I painted the entire interior of our old house (including trim) and even hung crown moulding. I’m painting the interior of the new house now. It hurts more this time.
  2. I’m 113 pages into my next novel. It’s been called Right of Way and also A Short Time to Be There. I plan to have it finished by early July. It feels about a third of the way done.
  3. I was born in Newport, Rhode Island. I did my first three years of high school there. Despite that, I really don’t care much for lobster. Of course, I don’t like cockroaches either. But I do like crabs despite the fact that I don’t like spiders. Go figure.
  4. I’m not psychic, but one night in May 1995, I was listening to a Dead Hour and I knew Jerry Garcia wasn’t going to be around much longer. I convinced my girlfriend (now my wife) and two friends (who chickened out) to drive from Austin to Washington, DC to see the Dead at RFK Stadium that June. We went. It was awesome. Jerry died two months later.
  5. I have a bachelor’s degree in film production and an MA in screenwriting. Despite that, I rarely watch movies anymore. Maybe it’s because for the life of me I can’t figure out why anyone still makes movies now that Lord of the Rings has been made. Perfection was achieved. Let’s move on.
  6. The first rock concert I ever saw was a Cheap Trick show in Naples, Italy. I had no idea who they were, and I still don’t.
  7. For the past three weeks U2’s Unforgettable Fire has been in my car. I’ve had it for years, I’ve always liked it, but for some reason all of a sudden, it’s all I want to listen to. Over and over again. I’ll do that until it gets old again.
  8. My favorite snack is a tortilla with cheese melted on it (in the microwave) with some Vietnamese Túóng Ót Sriracha sauce (red sauce with a rooster on the bottle) slathered all over it. Side of peanuts and a glass of cold water.

The Eight Victims:

  1. Heather
  2. Jessica
  3. Iowa Greyhound
  4. Ironicus
  5. Panthergirl
  6. Mark
  7. Danigirl 
  8. Anyone who reads this post

Nyah-nyah-nayh

The Lost Book Club: On Writing

I saved Stephen King’s On Writing, which was referenced in the Lost episode “Every Man for Himself” for the end of the season. When school gets out, I’ll start plugging away more seriously on my next novel, and I figured that perhaps King might offer some inspiration if not a swift kick in the proverbial pants.

King begins with a series of snapshots of his childhood and young adulthood leading up to the publication of Carrie. This is the memoir section of the book wherein King relates the tales of his wonder years interspersed with commentary about how these things led him to becoming the writer he became. From there, he shares advice and wisdom gleaned from a lifetime of writing. Some of it useful, some of it entertaining.

The most vivid portion is the end. This is the project he was working on when he was hit by a van while walking along a Maine highway back in 1999. He was very nearly killed and spent months in and out of surgery and in rehab learning to walk again. The end of the book, fittingly titled “On Living,” describes how getting back into writing helped him through that event. It’s powerfully written and terrifying in the way that reality often is.

On the whole, I can’t say I learned much that I didn’t know about the craft – that section of the book is thin and frequently not much more than an arrow pointing to Strunk & White – but what I got was a wide open sense of anything being possible. That kick in the pants to get me going this summer when I will have the time (starting next week) to finish the next book. Indeed, King himself describes the book as a permission slip:

…you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink.

Drink and be filled up.

King’s unabashed belief in the literal magic of writing is a sentiment that I share, and probably the one thing, that more than anything else keeps me banging out these words despite the fact that so few wind up reading them. It is still worthwhile and as much my work as the things that pay the bills.

The optimism and inspiration are the best parts of On Writing.

This magic is also where On Writing connects to Lost when King explains what writng is.

Telepathy, of course.

He explains that the writer sends his thoughts out across time and space to readers scattered around the world and existing in different times. King points out that he is writing in 1999, but that the book won’t be released until 2000 so all readers are at least a few years down the timestream from him. Here king gets at the permanence of writing and suggests the great dialogs that have gone on in print for thousands of years much like (I think) Umberto Eco in The Name of the Rose who described libararies as great silent conversations.

To illustrate his point, King sets up a little thought experiment and this is where King’s telepathic powers manifest themselves on Lost island:

Look, here’s a table covered with a red cloth. On it is a cage the size of a small fish aquarium. In the cage is a white rabbit with a pink nose and pink rimmed eyes. In its front paws is a carrot stub which it is constantly munching. On its back, clearly marked in blue ink, is the numeral 8.

Do we see the same thing? We’d have to get together and compare notes to make absolutely sure, but I think we do.

He then argues that most readers of that paragraph will fixate on the ‘8’ on the rabbit’s back, and it’s this thought that creates the telepathy. It’s this image that the writer has projected into the reader’s mind. I agree; it’s what jumps out and creates the sense of mystery that will keep me wanting more. Aside from the fact that it’s one of the numbers, I want to know why it’s there.

I’m sure Sawyer did too.

In “Every Man for Himself” – an episode that also references Of Mice and Men (“Tell me about the rabbits, George”) much more explicitly than it does On Writing – Ben has Sawyer strapped to a table. He appears to have just come out of surgery. Ben shows him a rabbit in a cage and proceeds to give the cage the kind of shaking that kills babies. The rabbit dies. Ben tells Sawyer that the rabbit had a pacemaker just like the one he’s had implanted in Sawyer, which will explode if Sawyer’s heart rate goes too high as it might if he were to try to escape or sleep with Kate. It’s a clever scene, but what stands out is the blue ‘8’ stenciled on the rabbit’s back. Later, Ben tells Sawyer about the rabbits, or at least rabbit-8 when he confides that there were no pacemakers; instead, it was an elaborate con designed to break Sawyer’s will.

Referencing King’s thoughts about writing and telepathy appears at first to be a clever and subtle reminder of the apparent, though unexplained, role of telepathy on the show. More interesting, though, is the way it begins to lay the groundwork for seeing Lost as a show about time travel, which I think it is. I’m not sure we’ll see characters time traveling as in Back to the Future, but I think we will see (and have already seen) their consciences and thoughts projected through the timestream, which is really what King was talking about so I’m chalking On Writing up to being yet another literary hint about alternate or parallel or shifted timestreams on Lost.

There’s something else, too, aside from the fact that this bit of On Writing is another rabbitcentric literary reference joining Of Mice and Men, Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, and Watership Down (all of which makes me wonder when Donnie Darko, a time travel film laden with rabbit symbolism will show up on Lost) and that’s The Stand.

I’ve never read The Stand, and it hasn’t shown up on Lost, but I do know that the show’s creators have said that it is an influence on the show. This is interesting because in On Writing, King devotes some time to describing the problems he had in completing that novel. He said there were too many characters, too many storylines. In the end the solution was to blow a bunch of them up.

Sound familiar? That would resolve many of the storylines and propel the other ones towards conclusion. As season 3 of Lost closes out in tonight’s “Through the Looking Glass” with the survivors hoarding dynamite and making plans to “blow the Others to hell,” I can’t but think that this sounds an awful lot like King’s recollection of how he moved The Stand to conclusion.

I suspect some storylines will end tonight and what remains will be the situation that propels Lost to its ultimate conclusion in 2010. Hell, I’m predicting mass doom.

Be sure to check out:

  • Pearls Before Swan for more thoughts about On Writing. (h/t as well since this is how I learned that rabbit-8 was referencing On Writing)
  • Mark at Scribes & Scoundrels also has a theory about the season finale: mass doom… or mass rescue?

Click here for my Lost Book Club index page.

Ain’t Nobody Doing No Influencing Here. No Ma’am.

This is amazing. It’s from an interview with writer Shiela Kohler (who?) about the apparently dying institution of print book reviews and the emergence of lit blogs via Critical Mass (h/t to Conversational Reading for the link):

Q. Does your work get reviewed/discussed much on literary blogs? If so, how do those reviews compare with print reviews of your books?

A.Occasionally someone may mention my books in a blog. I believe the dangers of this indiscriminate reporting on books is that people who have no knowledge of literature can air their views as though they were of value and may influence readers. Critics may not always be right, of course, but at least they have read and studied literature, the great books, and have some outside knowledge to refer to when critiquing our work.

Sometimes a writer’s own words and arrogance will turn me off their work faster than any bad review of their work in print or – perish the thought – on some dirty blog rising from the fever swamps (like so much poison gas) to taint the discourse of the learned and influence the unwashed masses with his irrelevant and dangerous opinions. Sheesh.

They Spoke

One of the things many of us teachers wrestle with is how to bring technology into the classroom in a way that is meaningful, useful and relevant.

Here in Texas some of the state standards require us to have students use technology to communicate with writers outside the classroom. I can’t really do that one since I teach in a correctional facility, but I think it’s important for kids to be aware of social media and how to use it well and in ways that won’t embarrass them later.

I learned today that Mr. Powell at St George’s Technical High School in Delaware required his English classes to read and comment on web sites that reviewed the novel his students are currently reading: Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak, which I reviewed back in February. One of the sites he asked his students to look at was mine. From his students, I received 83 comments at last count, making my Speak post the most commented post on this blog. By a long shot.

I haven’t yet read all of them (I had to work at work, you know), but I will. The ones I’ve read so far are honest, polite and direct. Everything a good blog comment should be.

Cheers to you and your students, Mr. Powell, and thanks for helping to get young people interested in both books and social media. It looks like your assignment worked pretty well. I’m enjoying the comments, so thanks to your students also for taking the time to write interesting things. Perhaps over the weekend, I’ll be able to respond to a few of them.