Monday, March 19, 2012

A visit with Megan Mayhew Bergman

by: Joan


A few weeks ago, I mentioned we should all be on the lookout for Megan Mayhew Bergman’s Birds of a Lesser Paradise. Since Megan's short story collection debuted on March 6, her book has earned Publisher's Weekly "top pick of the week," Kirkus Review's "top notch debut," O Magazine's "title to pick up now" and Amazon's "title to pick up now." My copy arrived on the 7th, personally inscribed by Megan (get yours too from Battenkill Books and support an independent while you’re at it.)

It’s not the first time I’ve mentioned I’m not the most outdoorsy type. But that doesn’t stop me from appreciating that others are. In an alternate life, where I’m not squeamish about blood, open wounds, and “animal scat” or afraid of cats and coyotes and insects, I’d want to sit on the porch inside one of Megan’s stories, let nature teach me about life.

In Birds of a Lesser Paradise, Megan portrays relationships in pitch-perfect fashion, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, not-husbands and not-wives, animals and cruel nature. In addition to flawed believable human characters, the pages are full of fleshed-out animal ones named for movie stars, pop culture icons and corporations, of sheeps in houses, chinchillas in bedrooms, feral cats, aye-ayes (never heard of those!) and “special-needs retrievers.”

What other writers might accomplish in three paragraphs, Megan writes in less than a sentence. She’s a master at tension (read her Ploughshares blogpost and see for yourself). Her sentences have poetic rhythm without a trace of melodrama. And as with poetry, symbolism is hidden everywhere, subtle undertones that a careless reader might miss on first glance. I beg you, don’t be careless.

Her stories are nuggets of wisdom, full of subtle and laugh-out-loud humor, gritty descriptive language and raw nature. Her imagery and phrasing conspire to make you believe her stories are about someone else, someone you could never be. They lull you to a spot on your voyeur’s hammock in the woods, so that you don’t see the naked truth of her words when they sucker punch you back to your own reality.

I intended to share a few masterful phrases, but I couldn’t choose just a few. Not to mention, to share them here would take away the joy of reading them for the first time, in the context where they make the strongest impact.

Although not everyone might relate to animals the way Megan does, she has a way of making you wish you did. More than once I was transported to the past, cuddled up on the floor beside my long-gone miniature schnauzers, Mollie and Madison. Or to the many times I worried about what the world would do to my now-grown son or how he will feel when I’m old and demented. Worries that never go away, but are eased a bit because they are universal. And because a wise young author said, “In the end you let it go.”

Megan took time from her crazy launch schedule to answer some questions (our virtual tea in Oxford).

J: Your short stories have won awards and been published in well-respected literary magazines, your book reviews have graced the pages of The New York Times Book Review, you blog for Ploughshares. Now you have a short-story collection setting record numbers of lists. You have carved a career worthy of five people, obviously not listening to those who say publishing short stories is near impossible. How did you keep on track and do everything so right?

M: I'm so grateful for the support and attention! Once I decided to make writing career, I really decided to work at it. To really work. To get up early, stay up late. To accept rejection and keep trying. I’m scrappy!

Just as the book got released I felt things get a little out of control. My inbox and social media accounts are a mess; I owe people emails. Whenever I start to worry, I just remind myself that my children are my first priority. I devote myself to them when I can, and then when they are with other caregivers, I do what I can manage. It isn’t always very pretty. Lately I’ve been sending myself emails at the end of each night, so that I can wake up to a to-do list and hit the ground running!

J: Yes, though social media has blasted the phrase word-of-mouth to a new level, it does eat time. Readers, in garden-gnome fashion, pictures of cats and dogs reading Megan’s book have crept across the internet. Truly hilarious.
Megan, your characters don’t jump off the page, no, they cut their veins and bleed onto the page. For you, what makes a character worthy to spend time with?

M: They must be self-aware, never self-righteous, and always believable, even if they are strange. I am working on a novel now, and will be thinking about these criteria. It’s a very helpful question for a writer to ask herself.
J: Interesting point—and true. Your writing is spare, clean, precise. It’s literary but does not show off. How do you pull this off? Tell us about your revision process.

M: Someone along the way told me to start writing the book I’d want to read. That was a bit of what we in the south call a “come to Jesus moment.” I like spare and unsentimental prose, but I also like the rewards of traditional narrative structure; my earlier work was a little more experimental and at times self-indulgent. I realized that I needed to create and edit my work with better selectivity and honesty.

I revise constantly at the line level, and then I put a piece aside for a few days and come back to it to see how it works for me on the macro level. I need some distance from my work to judge if it takes me to the place I want my readers to go.
J: Tell us how it felt to be included in a short story collection edited by THE Geraldine Brooks?

M: That email, letting me know that “Housewifely Arts” had been selected for the Best American Short Story anthology, was a major turning point in my literary career, and a complete surprise. I’m pretty sure I cried.

Geraldine Brooks was so kind. Her introductory essay to the anthology is mandatory reading; I recommend it highly. She reminds us that there are wars raging, and that travel can benefit our perspective and writing. It’s a call to action for a writer.

J: You are a southerner at heart, transplanted to Vermont. You and your veterinarian husband live on many acres, tend a charming house and working farmland, raise animals and two young daughters. One might get the sense that you live so close to earthly delights that you wouldn’t have a TV. But you are also a huge basketball fan, is that right? You’re a complex character I wish I’d written.

M: We love basketball. And sometimes Jeopardy. But most days go by without any television, mostly because we’re too busy running around. I knew that when I became a working mother that I was going to have to give up television. The hours after my girls go to bed are precious. I work, run, or eat dinner with my husband. Plus – my girls and animals know how to make a mess. I spend significant portions of every day cleaning.

I’ve found that I’m a better writer when I’m engaging with my physical world, so I try to do that as much as possible. I’ve also tried to recommit to reading. The last few years have been so busy with two babies, teaching, and writing that I haven’t been great about making time for reading. Some nights, especially during winter, I make a hot bath and dive into a book.

J: I remember those early days, and I have only one child! How has motherhood, in Vermont to boot, changed your writing.

M: Motherhood has changed my writing more than anything else. I had a jolt of empathy toward my mother after I became one myself, a better understanding of the sacrifices she made. Faulting her for things seemed petty. We pick our mothers apart, don’t we? I rewrote a lot of the mothers in my stories after my first daughter was born.

Motherhood and moving to Vermont happened to me at a difficult time in my life, a time when we were grieving the loss of my husband’s mother. I was homesick for my own family in the south. And I started to realize all the complexity and sadness adults have to hold onto throughout life, how you have to climb your way out of it as best you can.

J: Oh, yes. Mothers say not only the right and wrong things in your stories, but they also leave a lot unsaid. If you could tell your daughters one thing about life, what would it be?

M: You are in charge of your own happiness. Choose it, pursue it, fight for it.
J: I have a feeling they will. What can you tell us about your novel-in-progress?

M: My novel-in-progress circles a lot of the themes in my short story collection: the difficult choices women make, the human-animal bond, rural life. I can hopefully tell you more in a month or two!

We will be waiting! Thanks for spending time with us. Readers, yes, I know Megan. Yes, I’m thrilled for her success. But that’s not why I loved her book. Buy it. Take a picture with your dog or your cat or your aye-aye and post it on FaceBook. And let us know how you liked it!

Friday, March 16, 2012

Almost Done Now - Really!

Carl and Madonna Ahrens - 1935
By Kim

This will be a short post from me today, but I know you will all forgive me when I explain why. As many of you know I’m working on a novel called The Oak Lovers, based on the true story of my great-grandfather, landscape painter Carl Ahrens, and the woman who inspired him, loved him, nursed him, infuriated him, and at times quite literally held him up. The research and writing of this labor of love has taken me (cough, cough) many years, but I am now within thirty pages of typing ‘The End.’

Yes, you read that right.

It’s spring break now, and this week my life revolves around my children and the long overdue replacement of carpet in part of our house. During rare quiet moments, I’ll check in with Carl and Madonna, adjust the outline for the final three chapters, and decide which part of the original opening chapter will be reshaped into the near-end.

I will also prepare myself emotionally. Writing the last few chapters will be much the same as standing by a long-suffering loved one’s bedside and waiting for the inevitable. There’s so much I want to say and so little time left, so I must choose my words carefully. Goodbyes are excruciating, the future is uncertain, and yet there’s a part of me that is now anxious to mourn and move on.

Instead of dreaming the next scene, as I have for years, I now imagine walking down a tree-lined path in Toronto’s Park Lawn Cemetery. I sit beside a modest ground marker bearing the name Ahrens and place a finished book on the grave. A promise kept. A legacy (I hope) resurrected.

I’m ready – to finish, to edit, to query.

Wish me luck.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Review: Kristina McMorris's Bridge of Scarlet Leaves

By Julie

When Kristina McMorris asked if I’d like to receive an advanced review copy of her new novel Bridge of Scarlet Leaves last fall, I jumped at the chance. You may remember Kim’s interview with her here at What Women Write last year shortly after the release of her debut novel, Letters from Home.

I had the pleasure of meeting Kristina in person last year, and you couldn’t find a more dynamic, generous person. She is a former wedding and event planner, and our conversation about all the creative ways she has marketed her books blew me away. If I managed to use only a fraction of her ideas, I think I’d fall over in exhaustion, but I’m pretty sure Kristina’s middle name is “Dynamo.”

So, yes, she is a friend, and I thought I should be up front about that here as I step into this review.

In a landscape where World War II stories are currently very trendy, Bridge of Scarlet Leaves stands out as one that mostly takes place on home soil in the United States. Like Jamie Ford’s bestselling novel Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, McMorris’s story deals with the subject of Japanese internment camps, but it is a complementary companion to Ford’s, different in that it follows the experiences of a young white woman who chooses to marry and then follow her Japanese American husband into an internment camp, much to the displeasure of both of their families.

From the publisher (Kensington/February 2012):

Los Angeles, 1941. Violinist Maddie Kern's life seemed destined to unfold with the predictable elegance of a Bach concerto. Then she fell in love with Lane Moritomo. Her brother's best friend, Lane is the handsome, ambitious son of Japanese immigrants. Maddie was prepared for disapproval from their families, but when Pearl Harbor is bombed the day after she and Lane elope, the full force of their decision becomes apparent. In the eyes of a fearful nation, Lane is no longer just an outsider, but an enemy. 
When her husband is interned at a war relocation camp, Maddie follows, sacrificing her Juilliard ambitions. Behind barbed wire, tension simmers and the line between patriot and traitor blurs. As Maddie strives for the hard-won acceptance of her new family, Lane risks everything to prove his allegiance to America, at tremendous cost.

The Kensington teaser doesn’t mention the rich subplots in Bridge of Scarlet Leaves. One of my favorites was the developing relationship between TJ, Maddie’s brother, and Jo, her best friend. Another was the emotional visits Maddie pays to her father, who resides in a nursing home due to a tragic accident that changed the landscape of her nuclear family years earlier. And I found myself glued to sections where Maddie desperately searches for the right ways to connect with her disapproving mother-in-law, often making cultural faux pas in her clumsy attempts to make peace.

Additionally, McMorris does a fabulous job of going beyond Maddie and Lane’s forbidden love, marriage, and consequences to explore the horrific experiences of American POWs trapped in secluded Pacific island camps and the fine balance between the POWs and their captors, often shown through the eyes of Lane as he attempts to make use of his Japanese heritage to negotiate peaceful resolutions. The level of detail in these sections makes the care and time McMorris put into her research obvious. In fact, given the delicate blossoms on the cover and the focus on the love story in the synopsis, I expected this book to be more strictly weighted toward Women’s fiction, but I would venture to say men would enjoy Bridge of Scarlet Leaves, too, with many chapters told through both Lane’s and TJ’s eyes.

Ultimately, Bridge of Scarlet Leaves is a rich, multifaceted novel that immerses the reader in an American world both comfortably familiar and horrifically foreign at once, in tense overseas battles both psychological and physical, and in romantic histories that convey both heartbreak and hope.

Monday, March 12, 2012

A Critique Partner | Defined

By Pamela

Why should a writer have a critique partner? What do they really do? It's really hard to take what I have here and define it. And critique partners can mean one thing to one writer, another to the next. To put it as simply as possible, I'll say that ...

... a good critique partner:

  • knows and respects your writing goals
  • is familiar with and appreciates your writing style 
  • doesn't try to conform your writing style to match her own
  • probably isn't related to you--your family members aren't likely the best to judge your work
  • is fair in her criticism as well as her praise
  • reciprocates
  • understands The Sandwich principle: praise (bread) + criticism (meat and cheese and sometimes mayo--but never more than you can stand) + praise (bread)
  • respects your time when asking for your input
  • respects your deadline when you ask for input
  • knows the value of an encouraging word 
  • understands the publishing market (if your goal is to be published)
  • admits when a particular genre is not her forte
  • admits when grammar isn't her forte 
  • reads--and reads widely
  • is honest in her assessment but never harsh

If you haven't found a critique partner, check online for area writing groups. Attend a few and see who you connect with. You might enjoy the support of a group that meets in public or find that an online group better suits your schedule. For us, a mix of both works well--much of our communication takes place via email but we meet for lunches two, three, four at a time and as a whole group whenever possible. 

In closing, may I add that the Track Changes feature in Word can be a critique partner's best ally? If you're not using it, check it out.




Friday, March 9, 2012

A Six-Season Story

By Susan

I talk a lot about not watching television.

I don't watch it because it takes up all my time.

I don't watch because there's nothing worth watching.

I don't watch because it sucks my brain out of my head and before I know it, I've become a TV zombie.

Case in point: In January, my sweet hubby decided that it made far more sense for us to have a hulu+ subscription than to pay extra for "more television." I agreed—sure! Every now and then it wouldn't hurt for me to watch a show on my laptop, or iPad, or even my iPhone, for that matter. I don't really watch television, after all. So it really wouldn't change anything, would it?

Wrong.

Ever heard of a little ABC series called LOST?

On hulu+, you can watch all six seasons. Start to finish. Without waiting a week or so between each forty-two minute episode. I only had to watch a few episodes and I was hooked. I sat and did the math like a junkie: I could watch all one hundred and thirty-eight episodes in less than one hundred hours!

Dot…dot…dot… and fast forward…

I finished the finale last night after two and a half months of binge-watching. I admit it. I've been swooning over Doctor Jack, dissecting Hurley's character arc, and hearing Desmond's Scottish brogue narrate my dreams. I've overdosed on the unfolding drama about a little island and the people that crashed there, fighting to save themselves, fighting to save the world.

I remember why I don't watch television and it's because I lose myself—not because there is nothing worth watching. And I remember the things I love—especially about a television series like LOST.

LOST had a huge ensemble cast that got me thinking about character development and motivations—both for our heroes and our villains. In six seasons, we watched the good guys become bad guys and the bad guys become good. I loved characters like Mr. Echo—who had both a great heart and a history of horrific deeds. We watched how critical the back story of every minor character became to the development of the plot. We realized, after everything, that they were all looking for love, and acceptance, and purpose. Just like us.

It's all about the story, and I love stories. It's about character development, and suspense, and entertainment. All the things we try to create when we write. Sometimes, especially in a long series like LOST, the plot derails—a bit like our own plots can sometimes do— sending the viewer in a totally different direction, before finding its place and making sense again. Yet sometimes, it sheds some light on how we live and love and think. It gives us insight into how we are and how we want to be.

It made me love television again, even if it does take up my time. And it brought me back to my own writing and my own motivations for writing. As writers, we need to know the greatest desire of every character to grace our pages. What motivates a character like John Locke? What moves Kate Austen to tears? If you're going to create them, KNOW them. That's the way to make your readers care.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

That Feeling

by Elizabeth

It happened for my daughter this weekend. Her first year competing in "Destination Imagination," and Saturday was the big day. She'd been attending twice weekly meetings with her team of seven ("Pink Unicorn Galaxy") since the fall, and it came down to a one day competition. That evening, hundreds of excited kids and parents congregated in a junior high school auditorium to hear who had placed, who had won, and who was going to State. For our category, as they rattled off fifth place, fourth, etc., it came down to will we walk away with nothing, or with the trophy? And then they said it, and our kids were headed to Corpus Christi.

I love that feeling--anticipation and excitement culminating in victory. It's maybe one of the best rewards of being human. There is an elation tied to it that is unlike any other feeling, and it's a high that is difficult to describe and impossible to overvalue. None of us are exempt from it, I think, no one is too cool--not Olivia Spencer, not Prince William, and not my daughter. And certainly not me. (Not that anyone would want to miss out on it!)

In college, I competed in Speech and Debate, and many weekends were spent in campus classrooms delivering my ten-minute speeches and listening to others give theirs, waiting for "postings" of quarter- and semi- and finally simply finalists, and then, in a college auditorium, the awards. The feeling when you won. That feeling.

There are a lot of reasons we write, and I guess everyone has their own mishmash recipe--because they cannot not write, because they have a story they want to tell, because they love the process, because words scream at them to be applied to paper. For me, the idea of feeling that feeling again is on the list.

I think the first time I remember feeling it was in the fourth grade. It was 1976, and Loma Vista Elementary was putting on a Bicentennial Program, a play called "Let George Do It," and the three upper grades would all be involved. Mostly, we would be chorus. The tallest boy in sixth grade got to be George Washington, and there were also four other speaking parts, the narrators. Those would be assigned by audition, and after school that day the Multi-Purpose Room (really, that's what we called it, very 70's) was packed with sixth graders, a few bold fifth graders, and a lone fourth grader. Me. "A fourth grader can't be a narrator!" was scoffed in my direction more than once, but I squared my shoulders and said I had as much right to try out as anyone. And when the roles were awarded the next day, sure enough, there were three sixth graders who got the roles. And me. And there it was: that feeling.

I felt it again over the years, at various award ceremonies, certainly when my team won Nationals in Reader's Theater, little zings of it over the years through work and life. But the really big doses of it are usually reserved for the times you've worked hard and bested everyone else.

I have to admit, that makes the list of why I write. That feeling is one of the best in life, and for most of us, I think, the opportunities to feel it are fewer in adult life than when we are in school. And while I am very happy that I will never have to write another term paper unless I decide to go for a master's degree someday (and I might), I do miss that wonderful rush of adrenaline that follows the announcement of my name. But writing? There is a chance for that feeling, over and over again. I've gotten little zips of it when querying and requests for fulls came, and when I've won notice in online contests for this and that. But the full-blown, over-the-top, you have won! feeling--well, it's out there. Getting an agent, selling a book, and who knows? There are awards out there, too, and one day it could be my name is announced for one of them. And there it will be: that feeling.

Today, I'm reveling in my daughter's victory, even as I scramble to make hotel arrangements and gird myself for more practices and whatever duties our team manager assigns us to help the kids get ready to strut their stuff in a little over a month. She is like a helium balloon this week, and it's lucky they were asked to wear their medals to school on Monday, because it might have been the only thing that kept her her on the ground. I love that she gets to enjoy that feeling, and I hope it lasts in some measure all month long. Because it's a great feeling, and watching her experience it makes me hungry to feel it again for myself. Which means I keep on writing, working toward that unique feeling that makes all the effort worth it.

Monday, March 5, 2012

Quoting the greats

by Joan

Recently I’ve witnessed loved ones in pain, either from lost first love, death of a treasured pet, an ailing mother, divorce, or a daily grind making someone physically ill. I’ve sent cards or books, jotted well-meaning yet trite sentiments, trying to convey how much I care, how much I hurt for their hurt.


As writers, we labor over phrases and sentences, struggle to mine the truth from words, not only for ourselves, but to touch others. Words that drape private shrouds over our readers, leave them thinking, “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

Maybe because I’m too close, I find I cannot write the words now. I turn instead to the truly great minds, to quotes I’ve discovered in my quest to understand life. Whether from philosophers, comedians, literary geniuses or children’s authors, these people “get” pain. They "get" truth.

I share a few here in the hopes that maybe one will speak to you.

The presence of the absence is everywhere.
Edna St. Vincent Millay

My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.
Jean Giraudoux

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.
Maya Angelou


My Mama always said you've got to put the past behind you before you can move on.
Forrest Gump

It is only through labor and painful effort, by grim energy and resolute courage, that we move on to better things.
Theodore Roosevelt

Whatever you can do, or dream you can, Begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it, Begin it now.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

When one door of happiness closes, another opens,
but often we look so long at the closed door
that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.
Helen Keller

Yet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free;
Love me no more, but love my love of thee.
Algernon Charles Swinburne

Love one another but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Khalil Gibran

Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Alfred Lord Tennyson

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.
Lao Tzu

People can be more forgiving than you can imagine.
But you have to forgive yourself.
Let go of what's bitter and move on.
Bill Cosby

How do geese know when to fly to the sun?
Who tells them the seasons?
How do we, humans know when it is time to move on?
As with the migrant birds, so surely with us,
there is a voice within if only we would listen to it,
that tells us certainly when to go forth into the unknown.
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.
C. S. Lewis

Every wall is a door.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
E.M Forster

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, “I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
Eleanor Roosevelt

And maybe we really did learn all we needed to know in kindergarten:

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.
Dr. Seuss

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.
Dr. Seuss

If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember... you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think... but the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you.
Winnie the Pooh

Thanks to my talented husband, Rick Mora, for matching my thoughts with photos:
Photo #1 - Branch
Photo #2 - Broken
Photo #3 - Reach
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