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Pet Peeve #462

January 6, 2011 By 4 Comments

I’ve written before about pet peeves. (Isn’t that why the world invented blogging?) I’d like to ring in the new year by drawing attention to yet another pet peeve.

First, a little background. As I’ve mentioned before, I love listening to short stories on my walks. I’ve found a few favorite (and free! keyword "free"!) podcasts of short stories, including The New Yorker Fiction podcast. Besides getting good stories, this podcast has the added bonus of a short discussion between The New Yorker’s fiction editor, Deborah Treisman, and the writer who read the story. (Note: the writer reading the story chose a story by another writer, not one of their own.) I like these discussions because I can often get more from the story from their perspectives.

However.

Sometimes Deborah will ask the guest reading writer, "So do you think this story is autobiographical?" or something to that effect.

Enter Pet Peeve #462.

Who cares if it is or not? Does that make the story more meaningful or more truthful? The author chose to write this as a fiction piece, not as memoir. That does not dilute the essential truth in the story.

I thought I was the only one who got all red-ants-in-her-pants irritated over this nonsense. Then I read this tidbit in John Irving’s Last Night in Twisted River (which seems less a novel and more an excuse to write about writing): "Yet what bothered the novelist more was that his novels had been trivialized. Danny Angel’s fiction had been ransacked for every conceivably autobiographical scrap; his novels had been dissected and overanalyzed for whatever could be construed as the virtual memoirs hidden inside them . . . In the media, real life was more important than fiction; those elements of a novel that were, at least, based on personal experience were of more interest to the general public than those pieces of novel-writing process that were ‘merely’ made up" (location 7333ff on Kindle).

Preach it.

(Unrelated side note: One reason I like John Irving’s novels is because the man is not afraid of semicolons and parenthesis. I like semicolons and parenthesis.)

Shameless plug: If you are a lover of audio stories, you can download some of mine for free at NoiseTrade. I never once discuss what is or what is not derived from real life.

Filed Under: John Irving, Last Night in Twisted River, pet peeve, The New Yorker, writers, writing

The Master's Artist: To Publish or Perfect

July 20, 2010 By Leave a Comment

I’m up today at The Master’s Artist considering the question of whether we should publish or perfect our work.

On the one hand, why would I want to put anything out there that is
less than my best? I have one opportunity to impress, and I don’t want
to waste it. One must dress for success. Plus, we all know this is the
answer the agents want to see. Case closed.

On the other hand, my work will never match the ideal I have in my head. The novel is
perfect. Until I translate it onto page. If I wait until perfection,
I’ll never publish. (Perhaps some of you have better luck with
attaining the unflawed and unblemished.)

On the other hand,
settling for mediocre art leaves a bad taste in my mouth (although that
could be last night’s garlic sauce). Art and excellence go together
like beans and rice. If choosing publishing over perfection means
settling (such a dirty word), I’ll have none of that, thank you very
much.

Read the rest here.

Filed Under: art, artists, publishing, writers, writing

Casing the Joint

May 12, 2010 By Leave a Comment

"This is the same daughter-in-law who stole your grandmother’s china right from your house?” a woman in the table behind mine says.

I dig my Nancy Drew notepad from my purse to jot down this tidbit.

A second voice chimes in. “Wait. She stole your china? Why?”

“To sell it on Craig’s list, if you can believe that.” This from the offended woman, apparently.

I consider asking my lunch partner to switch seats with me to better see the facial expressions and hand gestures. But I don’t think I could hear as well from her seat.

“Did she tell you that?”

“No! Get this—you know how I love finding odds and ends on Craig’s List, right? Well, I just happened to see this china that looked exactly like my grandmother’s, so I clicked on it out of curiosity. I didn’t even know mine was gone at that point.”

Read the rest at The Master’s Artist.

Filed Under: reconnaissance, thievery, writers, writing

What They Said

April 28, 2010 By Leave a Comment

A few words from writers today on novels and on writing:

 

But there is a certain diffidence about me, not very obvious socially, to my own mind, that prevents me from going all out, as you call it. I assemble the dynamite but I am not ready to touch off the fuse. Why? Because I am working toward something and have not yet arrived. I once mentioned to you, I think, that one of the things that made life difficult for me was that I wanted to write before I had sufficient maturity to write as "high" as I wished and so I had a very arduous and painful apprenticeship and still am undergoing it. This journeyman idea has its drawbacks as well as its advantages. It makes me a craftsman–and few writers are that–but it gives me a refuge from the peril of final accomplishment. "Lord, pardon me, I’m still preparing, not fully a man as yet."

 

- Saul Bellow (in a letter to David Bazelon about Bellow’s novel, The Victim), emphasis mine

 

The burden of [Frank O'Connor's] criticism is that fiction has not been faithful to Stendhal’s definition of the novel as a mirror dawdling down a road. Instead it has insisted upon going behind the mirror, becoming self-absorbed and indifferent to that crowd which it had once brilliantly particularized . . . On the whole, he regretted this development. What he longed for was candor, not circumlocution, cards on the table rather than held close to the chest. For this reason and others, he could not approve of Joyce, feeling that when artistic method had become so dominating life was lost. He liked and practiced a more open confrontation.

 

- Richard Ellmann about Frank O’Connor in his introduction to O’Connor’s Collected Stories

 



Filed Under: Frank O'Connor, Saul Bellow, writers, writing

Writers in the Wild

April 19, 2010 By 6 Comments

Many have dared to attempt the near impossible: bring writers into the social world. They are often met with the blank stare that characterizes this rare creature. The blank stare can be explained by:

  1. The writer is eavesdropping on the conversation in the booth behind him (this species is essentially a thief).
  2. The writer is composing a scene in her head and attempting to remember it until she gets home to her computer.
  3. The writer forgot to eat breakfast. 

On extraordinary occasions, a careful observer might stumble upon a gaggle of writers in their natural environment. These occurrences happen infrequently and are short-lived, primarily because sustained meetings of this type would cause a massive explosion that would alter the earth’s axis and possibly throw humanity into a parallel existence either made of a writer’s imagination or where writers rule the world. As desirable as these parallel worlds sound on paper, they are at the least impractical and at the worst downright frightening.

An anonymous observer (Ian Philpot, also a writer and therefore a traitor [for those of you familiar with the Philpot legend in Ireland, Ian will henceforth be known as Ian Philpott]) caught such an occurence on video at an undisclosed location (Calvin Festival of Faith and Writing in Grand Rapids; specifically in the suite of a hotel room). This video helps scientists understand what writers do when gathered in gaggles.

Scientists have made their findings available here.

A caveat: this is not for the delicate nature. Gird up your loins before viewing.

A second caveat: read the description of the game before viewing the scientific data. Without understanding the game-play of these beasts, you will most likely come to an incorrect interpretation.

A third caveat: the phrase in the middle of the game (inspired by a picture drawn by yours truly, to be specific) came from a session with Joshilyn Jackson, where she described one of her favorite books. 




Filed Under: Calvin Festival of Faith and Writing, writer's conference, writers

Syncopation

August 5, 2009 By 3 Comments

One of the reasons I love writers: They notice the unnoticed.

For example, in the latest Image issue, there’s a story about the rabbi asked to take care of the body of Gregor (of Metamorphosis infamy). It takes a well known story and turns it, then turns it again. So now we’re at the end of one book, but the beginning of another story. Now we’re in the point of view of the neighbor who witnessed Gregor’s tribulation. Add to that, the neighbor is a rabbi called on to help in a difficult situation.

How can you not love this? Who else comes to the end of a book and says, "Huh, I wonder what the family would do with the body?" but a writer? Who else would explore the ramifications of this–the body is the carcass of a roach yet is your son/brother? You can’t toss the body of your son out with the rotting vegetables in the trash. Yet, what religious leader would allow the body in their sacred burial grounds?

And in through this absurd situation, told with wit yet utmost seriousness, the author explores questions of humanity and grace.

Yes, I love writers.

Filed Under: Metamorphosis, writers, writing

Celebrity Deathmatch*

September 25, 2007 By Leave a Comment

*No actual writers harmed during the making of this post nor are they aware of the fight.

Welcome,
folks, to today’s celebrity deathmatch. In the one corner weighing in
at feisty and beautiful (you didn’t think we’d actually reveal a
woman’s weight, did you?) and wearing a red kimono dress with intricate
embroidery and a gold brocade collar, we have loud Asian chick, Camy Tang. In the other corner, weighing in at deranged and tall and wearing a spacesuit, we have mad-genius physicist Randy Ingermanson.

As
the contestants come out of their corners to shake hands, Camy narrows
her eyes, going for the intimidation factor, while Randy works out a
formula based on her age, weight, and size.

The bell rings!

Camy
makes the first move with a wasabi kick. Oh! And Randy catches it right
in the stomach. He’s gasping for breath. Recovering, he barrages his
opponent with Ninja Snowflakes. The blades slice and dice the air (and
for one low payment of $19.95, they also make julienne fries), but Camy
tucks and rolls. She comes out without a scratch. Her hair is not so
lucky. The Snowflakes have done a number, leaving her with a crew cut.

The
loud Asian chick, appalled at her new look, screams. The air
reverberates, threatening eardrums everywhere. The crowd does not like
this move. Neither do the dogs. Randy does some quick calculations,
does a move no one’s ever heard of before, and recalibrates the sound
waves, turning them back on Camy. She’s down. To prevent another move
like that, Randy pulls out a laptop and begins playing the song, "Let
My Words Be Few," tying up Camy’s strongest weapon–her mouth.

But
it’s not over. She’s reaching into her belt. Is that…? It is! I
haven’t seen one of these since, well, since dinner at the sushi bar
last week. She’s lobbing edamame shells! Ohh, that one came close.
Randy’s glasses are gone! Blown clean off his face! It’s getting
downright dirty here, folks.

Randy throws old bones, presumably
from the Jesus tomb, at Camy, leaving smudges all over her best dress.
She’s not happy, folks.

Not to be outdone, Camy throws chopstick darts at him, piercing his protective suit.

The
bell rings, the end of the first round. The contestants return to their
corners and tally up their losses: hair, glasses, outfits. While they
renew with coffee and chocolate, we’ll break for commercial.

For
since there is still jealousy and dissension among you, are you not
influenced by the flesh and behaving like unregenerate people? For
whenever someone says, “I am with Paul,” or “I am with Apollos,” are
you not merely human? What is Apollos, really? Or what is Paul?
Servants through whom you came to believe, and each of us in the
ministry the Lord gave us. I planted, Apollos watered, but God caused
it to grow. So neither the one who plants counts for anything, nor the
one who waters, but God who causes the growth. So then, no more
boasting about mere mortals! For everything belongs to you, whether
Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present
or the future. Everything belongs to you, and you belong to Christ, and
Christ belongs to God.
taken from 1 Corinthians 3 (NET)

I
used Camy and Randy because I do not see the celebrity factor in them,
so they were safe non-examples. What authors struggle with: (1)
Nonpublished authors in awe of the published authors or the editors and
agents, in awe of the celebrities who have achieved more than mortal
status somehow.
It’s in the stars. I mean that literally. The
constellations come from folks in Greek and Roman culture who achieved
more than mortal status. We come from a long line of celebrity worship,
of seeing a tier of humanity.
(2) jealousy. Pure and simple jealousy
(although I guess jealousy isn’t so much pure). I want Apollos’
ministry, or I want Paul’s job. I say this because I struggle with it,
and I know I’m not the only one. That peace God gave me was tested this
weekend. I went from "I want to serve him" to "I want that agent" in 60
seconds. But everything belongs to me, to us as a Church, and we belong
to Christ, and God has given us different ministries.

Filed Under: jealousy, writers, writing

Goodbye, Madeleine L'Engle

September 8, 2007 By Leave a Comment
Madeleine L’Engle, most famous for her Newbery-Award winning Wrinkle in Time (and the rest of the series), died September 6 at the age of 88.
L’Engle, along with L.M. Montgomery and Louisa May Alcott, is part of the reason that I am a reader and a writer today. I keep a copy of Herself, a book of snippets about life and writing, at my bedside.
For you creative types, I highly recommend reading her book Walking on Water, which contains (as much as L’Engle can be contained) her reflections on art and religion.
It’s sad that on the same day, two people who were full of beauty and life have passed.
Thank you for your legacy, Mrs. L’Engle.
Filed Under: writers

2007 Pulitzer Prizes

April 27, 2007 By Leave a Comment
I’m a blogging fool today! I’m using up all my blogging time for the next three weeks to come in one morning. But I had to call attention to this, and then I’ll shut up.
2007 Pulitzer Prizes:
Of course, most of them I gloss through. Two are important to me, no, make that three (cuz I can’t count when I’ve posted this much): fiction, drama, and music.
Fiction: The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It’s on my list, but I haven’t read it, yet. Wish I had so that I could be one of those (like Lisa Samson and Mary DeMuth) who predicted its greatness.
Drama: Rabbit-Hole by David Lindsay-Abaire. I confess, I’ve lost track of what’s going on in the dramatic world due to trying to keep up with other things, so I don’t know this work.
Music: Sound Grammar by Ornette Coleman. Big year for jazz this year! John Coltrane (whom I love more than Coleman, mostly because I get him) got a special citation. Coleman fathered free jazz and made huge strides toward avant-garde music. If memory serves correctly, which it may not, Coleman decided to castrate himself as a stance against the overt masculine sexuality dominating jazz music at the time. He didn’t go through with it, though.
Coltrane started out with Miles Davis and Thelonius Monk and ended up in jazz-rock fusion and free jazz stuff, too.
In case you wanted to know.
Also of note: Ray Bradbury received a special citation. I’m not an avid sci-fi/fantasy fan, but I love me some Bradbury, although my favorite of his is Dandelion Wine, which is probably the least fantasy if it can even be considered fantasy (which, I suppose, it can’t).
And I’m done posting.
Filed Under: books, writers

Writer's Website

April 25, 2007 By Leave a Comment
So Miss Snark pointed us today to this writer’s website for her new book. I had never heard of Miranda July (because I’m ignorant and no matter how hard I try can’t stay on top of every new fad), but all I have to say is that is one clean kitchen. I haven’t looked at the top of my refrigerator since, um, since some time last year when I lost something up there. It scared the beejeebers out of me worse than any Stephen King, so I haven’t been back. And her stove, too! Clean! My theory is – the food will all eventually burn off. So go have a look-see.
Filed Under: writers
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