Blog Voice: Deborah
Mood: Frustrated
Music: the clicking of my keyboard
Writing: Journalism work stuff, and this blog
Hi All,
First of all, Outdoorwriter, yes, definitely read more. I saw that in one of your comments to Sarah. I started Native Son, a novel about growing up black in America in the 30s and it was too depressing, so I set it aside for a while. Then I went to Schuler's and bought a fantasy book my daughter-in-law recommended, Shadowmarch, by Tad Williams, one of my favorite authors. This is first in a trilogy--Yay!--and the book is really good so far. Only 732 more pages to go!
I also picked up Grand Rapids in Stereographs 1860-1900. Because I write so much about GR buildings, parks, and places, this book is fascinating to me. I've been poring over the stereographs like a loony woman! I even bought a magnifying glass so I can get every detail. I'm such a dork.
Then, of course, there was a sale on classics, so I got Jane Eyre, Leaves of Grass, and The Scarlet Letter, none of which I have ever read (OK, I've read bits and pieces of Leaves.). Guess that comes from attending a small school--if you didn't get in lit class the one and only semester it was offered each year, you just didn't get in it ever. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
As for writing, I wrote 10 articles this week, but nothing else. I'll do my 30 minutes of prime time tomorrow.
I was a little down when I left Susan's cottage and the wild women writers last week. I think the stuff I shared in our group was shared before I was really ready to do it. I was doing a personal essay of sorts, and was really using the writing to explore an inner call I have and trying to understand it. While the stuff I brought to group was first draft (always the best for me sharing-wise), and the feedback was definitely helpful, thoughtful, and gave me tons of ideas, the spiritual side of me wasn't ready to let go of the piece and let it be "out there."
But, hey, I knew that about me going in and could have taken something else for group. It was good to be reminded that I DO get attached to some of my work, and that I need to give it enough time before sharing it.
So, I'm off to get my laptop fixed. It just went Pffft! last week. My tech guy says he thinks the motherboard is fried. I'm taking it back to the guy who built it, and we'll see what he says. It's past the warranty time, but he said he's willing to work with me on that part (unlike Sarah's tech guy!), so we'll see what gives. In the meantime, it's nice to know that Dell is having a lot of back-to-school sales right now...
Later, you keyboard tappin' geniuses, later!
D
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4 comments:
Deb,
You raise two very challenging points. One, our relationship with what we read: there have been a number of times I'm reading something because it's good for me, like eating my brocoli, (see, I don't even think I spelled 'brocoli' correctly) when I really want to read a good mystery. I love Tom McGuane's writing, the idea of his last book was promising, but it kept putting me to sleep. Brother's Karamazov was a horrible chore. I am deeply ashamed to admit these things.
But, evidently, not ashamed enough not to write them.
Second, the relationship between our writing and the reader. Presumably we want our writing to be read at some point, but when is the writing too vulnerable to be shared? And is it the writing, or the writer, that is vulnerable? And is it possible to separate the two? My hope, as I said last summer at one of our large talks, was to serve the writing, not the other way around. I mean, if I write well enough, the writing will end up benefitting me. But I want to write as well as I can, and try, hard as I can, to keep my ego out of it. And that's hard, because my ego is the size of the Goodyear blimp. But I need it to fly. And my hurt feelings are rarely about the content, it's because what I'm attempting isn't matching what I'm doing, and people aren't getting what I'm attempting, so I need to do something different. Does this make sense to anyone?
Talk soon,
Mike
listening to old Sun Records compilation of Elvis, Cash, Jerry Lee, etc.
"it's because what I'm attempting isn't matching what I'm doing, and people aren't getting what I'm attempting" Yes! Yes, yes, yes. This makes total sense to me. I'm reading Free Lunch Program and I end out feeling like what I attempted when I first wrote it didn't come out--even to me. So the debate is whether to start over or spot-treat or skip altogether.
And hey, I'll readily admit I HATED Moby Dick. I know it's supposed to be this wonderful classic and all but I found it incredibly boring and almost everyone dies and what's the point? Symbolisim. Yeah, I know. I guess I'm just too shallow to appreciate all that deep sh--,I mean stuff.
And Deborah, I'm sorry you left the wild women's writing retreat feeling less rather than more. I liked where the piece was going--and was interested in your journey. Sometimes we are fragile beings. I guess I forget that because you always seem so strong. Reminds me I should check in with people now and then.
Mike;
How interesting about Tom Mc Guane. On the back of an old Michigan Natural Resources, the editor offered some advice for those who hoped to sell him an article. Tom McGuane was one of the examples and offerator--if that's a word. The other was the late John Madson, a nature writer with some excellent credentials--one of my favorites, I might add.
McGuane: "I've been a writer of literary fiction and feature movies, but all my discretionary time has been spent fishing, bird hunting, and trying to raise bird dogs. There is always a point where where you're passionate, you're excited about something that is happening, you're wondering why your dog walks on point (they're not supposed to) and Joe's doesn't, and all those things that are somehow connected to the mystreies of the universe that we get to touch through our sporting lives. These things seem so important that they demand language, if you're a writer. Your excitemnet, your sense of gratitude at being able to do these things is such that you want to write about them.... What we're really hunting, when we're hunting and fishing, are perceptions. We're trying to see the world. We're not really trying to bag limits. We're looking for a sequence of perceptions that have more meaning than our everyday lives. Writers ought to help us a little...help us to see a little clearer...
I think the key to good writing is to avoid writing about anything you don't care about."
There's a very thin line between fiction and journalism. It's practically non-existent. Most experienced nonfiction writers work just like fiction writers. They try to get themselves topped off with feelings and information about something, and then they just wing it."
John Madson: "I think one of the things that that separates the literary writer from the nunts-and-bolts, how-to-do factual writer is that real literature is one of the most naked of occupations. The writer of literature reveals himself as few others ever do--his emotions, his functions in life, his beliefs, his hopes and aspirations. Such a person stands to be 'shot at' as few people ever do.
I don't think a piece of writing can be really good writing unless it's true. It makes no differenvce if it's fiction or non-fiction. A discerning reader can always spot a phony piece of expression."
In Madson's opinion, we as writers must be vulnerable. But what you said makes perfect sense. We work on things that just don't seem to come together, yet we don't give up. We may put them aside, but don't forget them.
From Larry's post: I think the key to good writing is to avoid writing about anything you don't care about.
From Mike's post: it's because what I'm attempting isn't matching what I'm doing, and people aren't getting what I'm attempting, so I need to do something different.
Both of these ring really true for me. And, in my case of sharing writing too soon, my feelings weren't hurt, but I felt too naked. Like I needed me AND my story to be wrapped up in a blanket and snuggled.
And yes, what I was writing was not what i was wanting to express, and my readers weren't getting what I was trying to express, so that made me realize that if I'm going to continue this emotional exploration in writing i have a lot more work to do. And I'm not sure I want to do it, because I'm not sure I care enough about it.
D
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