Category Archives: On writing

"What? What’s that you say?"

I was in bed by 10 last night. Though I knew I could sleep in if I wanted to and that I had the next day off, I was so tired from a long week, a great yoga class, and the half hour I spent relaxing in the hot tub at the gym.
So, this morning, I was up by 7. Now it’s eleven and I’ve cleaned my email box and the kitchen and finished a short story that I started in a burst of creativity a few months ago and couldn’t decide how to end.
Writer’s group is meeting this eve, so I think I’m just going to keep writing until then. Make a day of it, you know?

Cheers,

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Some past posts to keep you making time:
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone

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Ergonomics of Writing

Ergonomics: design factors, as for the workplace, intended to maximize productivity by minimizing operator fatigue and discomfort. (dictionary.com)

On my way to work this morning, ice crunching under foot, feeling sore from last night’s yoga class, it occurred to me that I underestimate the power the body holds over creativity. Considering I’m a yoga teacher, this seemed to me to be a pretty serious oversight. Of course, I know that body and mind are indisputably connected to each other and that the joining of the body and mind, as in yoga, leads to greater freedom and happiness. So, what’s the oversight? The fact that in order to walk the path to greater freedom and happiness, one must take strides, each stride represented by an aspect of life that you open to yoga. This thought led me to thinking about the ergonomics of writing and how so much of what I think is writer’s block or fatigue, is really just failure to bring my body with me to the “writing desk”, or rather that a writer can be more productive if they forgo the desk altogether and let the world be their desk. So, here are some tips that I’ve come up with as I mull this one over that perhaps can help you and me write more and more often.

1. Use props: For Christmas I got this lap desk, with a wood-hatch storage that also works to prop up books and lap and wrist foam padding. Love it! I use it in bed, on the couch, sitting cross-legged on the floor. I just had no idea. No more trying to prop books and papers up with my hands and elbows. No more disappearing laps. I also sometimes use one of those props for papers while you type. I like mouse pads with gel wrist support and ones that run along the front of the keyboard. Some of those even come filled with aromatic herbs for inspiration. Find the props that work for you and feel free on any given day to use or not use these props. Your body will tell you what you need. Don’t mistake this for writer’s block. Rearrange and prop up and then get back to the task at hand. Put your feet up. Sit cross-legged. Dictate your ideas while walking.

2. Write everywhere, everyway: When I’m working on a major project, I print hard copies and keep them in hard cover 3-ring binders. Sometimes, I edit or add sitting at my computer or laptop, sometimes, take that binder and write in the back yard, on a park bench, at a café, or half way through a walk with the dog. Stay flexible. If your body is telling you that it doesn’t want to sit in a straight backed chair in front of your computer, try something else, anything (suspended upside down from the ceiling?) until the writing comes.

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On Writing, plus some goals

I wrote on Saturday from 6:30 ‘til 10PM at Artisan’s Café in Downtown Olympia. I like it there. I think I’ll keep going. They have the best homemade hummus. Reminds me of the hummus Alex makes. Reminds me of the hummus Alex and I made in Arizona in 1993. Chunks of garbanzo, not creamed like so much hummus is. Wireless is free. That’s a bonus. I edited 30+ pages of my novel. On a roll. Spent a good amount of time last week researching markets and deadlines. Yesterday (Sunday), I organized my short story collection for editing.

Goals:
–Send out If 3 Is by February 26
–Send out SS collection by same date
–Send out 3rd edit of At The Pump for peer feedback and format for submission to editors
–Send out groups of 3-5 poems to various markets

I won’t be posting weekly prompts for a while. Change of format. I’ll be logging my goals, rejections and successes instead. I am; however, creating a prompt list as a link of fmy webpage that I’ll post here when it’s ready.

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A New Year

New Year Reflections 2008

Normally, I write this on or before New Year’s Day. Good thing one of my goals for the coming year is to let go of the need to control the course and outcome of everything, to let some things unfold, to save energy for the most important details, and to live with intent. I spent New Year’s Day in Aberdeen with Gloria, Winston and Emelita. We walked through the Southshore Mall, went out to a surprisingly good Thai restaurant on the south side, and saw a movie. Walking through the SS Mall was weird, but in a good way, like walking back into your first grade classroom where the desks barely top your knees, recognizing how far you’ve come, how much you’ve come through. So, no big deal. It’s January 5^th and I’m writing to express my hopes for the coming year.

As I think about what I’d like for my life in 2008, my mind hovers around the concept of samskaras. Samskaras are the mental and emotional patterns we move in. In my experience, most of these patterns are subconscious. As I move through days, I sometimes get glimpses of the truth, sometimes not so much a glimpse, but a hard punch in the gut. Honestly, when I’m socked in the gut, my first reaction is to flee to another thought, push it down. Why? Because it scares the hell out of me that I may not be in control, that my unconscious fears and desires are my copilot, my side-kick, the monkey on my back. I’d like to recognize the patterns I move in with detachment so that I can live with greater intention. Detachment is key. I can’t face the most frightening aspects of myself while driving or teaching ninth graders how to recognize and discuss symbolism. So, a goal I have for this year is to set aside time each day to just sit and breathe and observe the thoughts that pass, without reacting to them, with detachment. Meditation. I also have this experience of detachment when I practice yoga. In yoga, my attention is on alignment, on breath, there’s no room for thoughts—positive, negative, or neutral—that pull me out the practice. That’s how I am able to hold poses that seem amazing without toppling over or giving up. I’ve been doing this for years, but what I’d like to happen in 2008 is to live my life like I practice yoga, with attention and detachment, so that I can choose to move in the patterns that lead to positive benefits for myself and others. If in a week I eat a hunk of cheese, or skip a day when I said I’d write, or explode in anger, I need to return to this goal of detachment.

As for specific goals for the New Year, I have many.

I heard the term “anger junkie” today and something resonated with me. The woman who said it was naming her own problem and explained how she puts off actions and decisions until she gets angry enough to do something. This had created a pattern in which she loves the anger because it allows her to do, to act. She didn’t even give examples. She didn’t need to. I saw myself. I saw myself denying or holding back my feelings so as not to inconvenience, hurt or anger someone else. But, I can’t do that for long. Two time, three times, maybe—and then—BLECK–I”m on autopilot, acting through a pattern that I know is destructive, that I’ll have to apologize for later. So, what’s my goal? To be direct and upfront about my feelings whenever appropriate regardless of whatever my fears might be about the consequences. To verbalize those feelings in an appropriate way—in a way that expresses that they’re my feelings, not an assertion of judgement or truth.

For three weeks, I’ll eat only whole foods and no dairy, eggs, or gluten. Why? To cleanse. To see how it turns out, how it may change my eating for good. So far, so good on this.

I’ll refine my writing practice. Monday, Wednesday and Saturday will be my official writing evenings, also Friday mornings. Of course, summer is fair game. I’ll write every day. This year I’ll finish my short story collection, At The Pump, and If 3 is a Spiritual Number and send them out to publishers and keep sending them out to publishers. Again and again and again. Writing sessions will last at least two or three hours at a time.

I will work out before yoga class at the gym on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays. I’ll run with the dog on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I’ll take the dog for a long walk on Monday and Wednesday afternoons and also some time on Sunday. On Saturday, I may practice yoga or meditate, but I’ll feel free to not exercise at all.

I will take a trip some time this year to see a friend I have not seen in a long time.

I’ll read at least one book for “pleasure” each month. Books I read for school or work don’t count.

I will spend time working on the positive, nurturing relationships in my life, not the reverse.

I will be a better parent. I will be intentional in my communication with Winston and communicate in ways I know to be good. In this, I’ll turn to the advice of the now classic text How to Talks So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk by Faber and Mazlish. I’ve read this book several times. I think the advice is good and important.

I will find a volunteer opportunity that Winston and I can participate in together over the summer.

#10

I will continue to update and expand my blog and will complete my poetry Powerpoint project.

All of these things will lead to my goal for a happy and healthy New Year.

Namaste,

Liz

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Nano Update

I’m managing to stay just a little ahead of the game at 25,000 words. I’m half way there and I’ve got all the symptoms. What if I run out of story before I hit 50,000? What if I fall out of love with my characters or something unforseen happens to them that I didn’t expect or want and I end up having to write about it? Don’t I have other projects I should be paying attention to? However, I will keep pushing to 50. I’m fresh out of prompts until next month, so scroll back through my blog and use one you missed from a prior week. Instead of prompts, I’ll keep updating you on my nano progress. A friend of mine is whizzing through this like it’s cake and I’m starting to get both jealous and competitive. 🙂

From Joyce Carol Oates, The Faith of A Writer: Life, Craft, Art:
“The practicing writer, the writer-at-work, the writer immersed in his or her project, is not an entitity at all, let alone a person, but a curious melange of wildly varying states of mind, clustered toward what might be called the darker end of the spectrum: indecision, frustration, pain, dismay, dispair, remorse, impatience, outright failure. To be honored in midstream for one’s albor would be ideal, but impossible; to be honored after the fact is too late, for by then another project has been begun, another concatenation of indefinable states. Perhaps one must contend with vaguely warring personalities, in some sort of sequential arrangement?–perhaps premonitions of faliure are but the sould’s wise economy, in not risking hubris?–it cannot matter, for, in any case, the writer, however battered a veteran, can’t have any real faith, any absolute faith, in his stamina (let alone his theoretical “gift”) to get him through the ordeal of creating, to the plateau of creation. One is frequently asked whether the process becomes easier, with the passage of time, and the reply is obvious: Nothing gets easier with the passage of time, not even the passing of time.

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One blue, one black.

Today is the seventh day of NaNoWriMo, and I am going strong. I’m keeping about one day ahead at 11, 612 words last night. My spirits are high, but I cannot say I am unphased. I noticed this morning on my way to work that I was wearing mismatched socks: one blue, one black. What could I do but shake my head and chuckle? The dishes have piled up. There are muddy dog prints on the kitchen tile and front door that have been there for a few days now. I notice them, wonder if Alex or Winston care, then call Emy for our nightly word war. I almost fell asleep last night in the final relaxation phase of my yoga class. I wonder what my students would have done if I’d started snoring? Would they have shuffled quietly out and let the hip-hop teacher wake me or woke me up? You don’t hear of teachers falling asleep in class often. In fact, I’ve only heard of that once. One day my son came home (he was in fifth grade at the time) and told me that his teacher had fallen asleep in her rocking chair during silent ready. At the time, I kind of envied her. So, I guess that’s what it’s really coming down to for me. NaNo has forced me to a point where I’m releasing my kung fu grip on certain things, like cleanliness, matching socks and the need to sit down and eat an actual meal.

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Must be a sign.

I woke up this morning, put the coffee on, and made Winston’s lunch at an unusually slow pace. You see, I could afford to go just a little slower this morning, because I’ve taken the day off to write as a sort of celebration of the start of another (third, for me) National Novel Writing Month. While I waited for the water to boil, I checked my email. What did I find? A letter from Tom Robbins to all NaNo participants meant to inspire us. It must be a sign. He’s one of my literary heros. I adore him from his silly jar of mayonnaise to his stubborn yellow legal pad. I’m posting the letter here:

Dear NaNoWriMo participant,

When you sit down to begin that novel of yours, the first thing you might want to do is toss a handful of powdered napalm over both shoulders—so as to dispense with any and all of your old writing teachers, the ones whose ghosts surely will be hovering there, saying such things as, “Adverbs should never be…”, or “A novel is supposed to convey…”, et cetera. Enough! Ye literary bureaucrats, vamoose!

Rules such as “Write what you know,” and “Show, don’t tell,” while doubtlessly grounded in good sense, can be ignored with impunity by any novelist nimble enough to get away with it. There is, in fact, only one rule in writing fiction: Whatever works, works.

Ah, but how can you know if it’s working? The truth is, you can’t always know (I nearly burned my first novel a dozen times, and it’s still in print after 35 years), you just have to sense it, feel it, trust it. It’s intu itive, and that peculiar brand of intuition is a gift from the gods. Obviously, most people have received a different package altogether, but until you undo the ribbons you can never be sure.

As the great Nelson Algren once said, “Any writer who knows what he’s doing isn’t doing very much.” Most really good fiction is compelled into being. It comes from a kind of uncalculated innocence. You need not have your ending in mind before you commence. Indeed, you need not be certain of exactly what’s going to transpire on page 2. If you know the whole story in advance, your novel is probably dead before you begin it. Give it some room to breathe, to change direction, to surprise you. Writing a novel is not so much a project as a journey, a voyage, an adventure.

A topic is necessary, of course; a theme, a general sense of the nexus of effects you’d like your narrative to ultimately produce. Beyond that, you simply pack your imagination, your sense of humor, a character or two, and your personal world view into a little canoe, push it out onto the vast dark river, and see where the currents take you. And should you ever think you hear the sound of dangerous rapids around the next bend, hey, hang on, tighten your focus, and keep paddling—because now you’re really writing, baby! This is the best part.

It’s a bit like being out of control and totally in charge, simultaneously. If that seems tricky, well, it’s a tricky business. Try it. It’ll drive you crazy. And you’ll love it.

Tom Robbins

—
Tom Robbins is the author of eight novels, including Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Jitterbug Perfume, and his latest, Villa Incognito.

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My Nano Idea

Winston Freeman is thirteen years old. His story is told from his point of view, through narration and online diary entries. There is not excessive foreshadowing, and the foreshadowing he provides is not reliable because he is inherently pessimistic about his own abilities and future.
The story begins with Winston’s diary entry about he and his mother unpacking the moving truck. They bought a house in Vancouver, WA. This is his first move. He was born in Los Angeles, in a gated community in the Tarzana neighborhood. He lived in that same house until now. However, this is not the first time the rug has been pulled out from under him. His father died unexpectedly and mysteriously when he was seven years old.
His mother says that he died of heart failure, which has always bothered him because his father was an extremely healthy eater and a weekend cyclist. He taught poetry and Theatre Arts at Los Angeles City College. Will
Since his father’s death, his mother, who develops software for restaurants has telecommuted. Though her company is based in LA, she was able to move to an area closer to her family and long-time friends because she works from home. She was born and raised in Vancouver. She met Winston’s father when she enrolled in his theatre arts class at the age of nineteen. He was twenty nine years old at the time.
Winston Freeman’s hero’s journey from a boy who is painfully shy and lives boldly in his own imagination to a young man of confidence and principle begins when the summer ends and he begins the year at Discovery Middle School. There he meets Jewel, a confident, but secretive girl who is misunderstood by boys her age. She is; however, unconcerned by this and seeks adventure after adventure. It is her urging that calls Winston to an adventure of his own. The adventure of his life, that begins with his attempt to seek the answers that he doesn’t feel he has about his father’s death and life.
Winston plays an online game called FantasyScape. However, she is extremely protective of him and keeps roping him into all these other activities to make him a “well-balanced” child.
Winston is and only child and has a beagle named Romeo, who his mother bought for him three months after his father’s death. He named him Romeo after a character in a play he’d seen with his mother recently. He’d wanted to be Romeo, because Romeo acted. He may have acted stupidly in the end, but he acted.
His story contains a few other characters. A male teacher, who becomes a mentor for him and Jewel and Joe, the old man who lives next door, who grunts and glares. He keeps the online diary because his mother makes him. She is protective and upbeat, though he “catches” her sadness when he sneaks up on her. He hates chocolate, but loves gummi candies. He misses Alison from L.A., who he’s sure he’ll marry.

Still working out the rest. Four days until kick-off!

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"Up At A Villa" Helen Simpson

“Up at a Villa” by Helen Simpson (in Zoetrope)

The writing is good. The cynical tone is consistent and reinforced by the author’s masterful use of description. In the opening lines, for example, sh writes,

“They were woken by the deep-chested bawling of an angry baby. Wrenched from wine dark slumber, four of them sat up, flustered, hair stuck with pine needles, gulping awake with little light breaths of concentration. They weren’t supposed to be here, they remembered that. They could see the baby by the side of the pool, not twenty yards away, a furious geranium in its parasol shaded buggy, the large pale woman sagging above it in her bikini.”

I didn’t care for the story. The parents are passed out drunk by the side of a pool and their baby is just sitting there by the side of the pool in a buggy? These seem like sophisticated people. Baby’s dad is too busy reading the “Times” to take any notice of the child and in fact is irritated by the baby’s presence. He tells his wife that he’s not attracted to her post-pregnancy body. The young couple with them are even shallower than the young parents. I’m left thinking that these two must have made the decision to have a child, there are other options after all. They must have gone through nine months of development and anticipation. They must have, filling their own roles, experienced childbirth. Where are the signs of that? I cannot like or sympathize with these characters. The story ends with a flight—an adrenaline rush as the two couples flee from detection (they’d snuck in to a hotel pool) and ends with a “photographic instant” of the “little family frozen together”. The ending predicts a continuation of the dead relationship this couple has with each other and with their child. A relationship that doesn’t even hint at any intention, any complexity, any love, not even to show how small it is in comparison to the selfishness and insecurity. The description was dreamy and affecting, but the story didn’t seem real and the characters were all pathetic.

This makes me think of what I was reading last night by Gogol on realism, “But the author who dares to bring all that he sees out into the open is otherwise. All those things that indifferent eye fails to notice—all the slimy marsh of petty occurrences into which we sink, all the multitude of splintered everyday characters who swarm along the drab, often painful road of life—he shows them clearly in relief, thanks to the power of his merciless chisel, so that the whole world may view them.” Perhaps this is what Simpson is doing in “At the Villa”, but still, I can’t help but think that her characters are too shallow to be real.

Make Time.

Liz Shine: Author, Editor.

Category Archives: On writing

"What? What’s that you say?"

Ergonomics of Writing

On Writing, plus some goals

A New Year

Nano Update

One blue, one black.

Must be a sign.

My Nano Idea

"Up At A Villa" Helen Simpson

What are you reading now?