tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29671792243725201142024-03-13T12:57:41.746-05:00what women writeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger864125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-59866594119124401832015-04-29T20:54:00.000-05:002016-07-13T12:04:01.262-05:00Today We Say Farewell<div class="MsoNormal">
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Six years ago we started this blog as a way to share our writing
journeys with others. Armed with humor, anguish and a lot of hope, we’ve posted
numerous essays on craft and the publishing business, interviewed countless
rock-star authors, and visited with editors and agents. Developing and thriving
in this community has been so rewarding and we have each grown as writers and
humans, developed life-long relationships amongst ourselves and with others
we’ve met along the way. </div>
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We are not alone in finding the commitment of regular blogging as both a reward and hindrance to our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i> writing time. We are primarily novelists here – published and as-yet.
And as with many time commitments, we had to weigh the joys of writing for this
blog and (hopefully) helping others as we’ve been helped along the way. </div>
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We’re
sad to say goodbye to this page, but we are not saying goodbye to each other,
our critiques, our community, definitely not our annual retreats. </div>
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We are ever grateful for your reading our words, for sharing
your stories and comments, for traveling with us as we celebrated the joys of personal
and professional milestones, comforted us in our rejections and tragedies. </div>
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Our posts will be there for you to peruse – a list of
authors we’ve interviewed is on the right panel. And if you want to see what
we’re up to, please visit us on our individual websites or pages. (links below)</div>
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<a href="http://writerunboxed.com/author/kim-downes-bullock/" target="_blank">Kim Bullock</a></div>
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<a href="http://pamelahammonds.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Pamela Hammonds</a></div>
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<a href="https://susanishmaelblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Susan Ishmael</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.juliekibler.com/" target="_blank">Julie Kibler</a></div>
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Elizabeth Lynd</div>
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<a href="http://joanmorawrites.com/" target="_blank">Joan Mora</a></div>
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Farewell, all.</div>
Joan Morahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152990243138876941noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-416316462335054422015-04-07T20:06:00.001-05:002015-04-07T20:06:40.071-05:00Three Boxes of Stories (originally posted July 5, 2010)by <a href="http://joanmorawrites.com/" target="_blank">Joan</a><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">This past weekend, I spent three days with family I haven't seen in years. We watched a slideshow of scanned photos, chatted about family trees and plucked our matriarch's memory for the family scoop. I haven't had time to reflect and write any of it down, so I found a previous post about my continued fascination with our ancestors.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjceMNjVbioItn6EYCcunGHtQLmP3MovvqDV139DEAz1EgP-NxoYsOoUqp7cN6iATAxHiaa_gFoe6k_l5IMBDCWQ41K5vXrNaonZV13GMqVAx24sFmjJSBnxnseSLNrNLP_VIVUem8Btbw/s1600/Aunt+Florence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjceMNjVbioItn6EYCcunGHtQLmP3MovvqDV139DEAz1EgP-NxoYsOoUqp7cN6iATAxHiaa_gFoe6k_l5IMBDCWQ41K5vXrNaonZV13GMqVAx24sFmjJSBnxnseSLNrNLP_VIVUem8Btbw/s1600/Aunt+Florence.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a>Last week we spent a week in Maryland with my family. One of the highlights of the week was a whirlwind Sunday where we hosted a family brunch and then dinner for friends we don’t see often enough.<br />
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For the morning shift, I dug out three boxes of old family photographs. As we munched on bagels, quiche, and Costco granola (we swear it’s laced with crack), I sat next to one of my cousins, whose mind holds three generations of our family tree. With a pencil I jotted the names of great grandparents, aunts and uncles on the back of thick sepia photos, some so old the corners had disintegrated. Many remained unmarked as we debated to which side of the family the stern-faced, bustled ladies belonged.<br />
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Maybe one of the men is the artist of the Falmouth sailboat watercolor hanging above my desk and between the pages of The Cemetery Garden. Maybe the guy with the beard is Leo Tolstoy or Fyodor Dostoevsky. (Actually, he’s my paternal great-grandfather Zachary Levinson!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCk2GqIsQfGad_Kb3MNf5YF99HTuOeC3vAM1xlSDyyzCtnzvFER6ix3SkryoyF3XQdMTZcIkn0rQ3Axvq7YZcTaz4D1NxN9R1Az_piSJgu_jeBXshxdz0F4TUe8xkCRm62_Dr3E4tcprU/s1600/Paul+Levinson+Father.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCk2GqIsQfGad_Kb3MNf5YF99HTuOeC3vAM1xlSDyyzCtnzvFER6ix3SkryoyF3XQdMTZcIkn0rQ3Axvq7YZcTaz4D1NxN9R1Az_piSJgu_jeBXshxdz0F4TUe8xkCRm62_Dr3E4tcprU/s1600/Paul+Levinson+Father.jpg" height="320" width="230" /></a></div>
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In some faces we saw the shape of my face and eyes. In others we saw three generations of full lips and wavy hair. We’re fairly sure a few pictures were shot in Russia, before our relatives journeyed to Ellis Island. Others were taken in Brooklyn studios. Still others captured their daily life: three familiar faces posing proprietarily in front of a grocery/delicatessen, others in a confectionery, a young married couple standing tenuously side-by-side, my father (as a child) demurely atop a horse.<br />
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How will we ever identify those faces shamefully abandoned in the past, like elementary school friends who once pricked fingers and blended blood? Will our great-grandchildren forget us in the same way?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2iSLwL_IGky3JU6ZkKL4lwk6jMh-gNFKuL2efAKknphAXfg25rtppFM3bTdU7EOXz3BQsgkXCEHjVTkN4lisujOTk_UZabPt-nS9pidd-RQZ4Iq93-TKrVGAXqIXEftDWa-IYCUOevw/s1600/Monroe+on+pony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2iSLwL_IGky3JU6ZkKL4lwk6jMh-gNFKuL2efAKknphAXfg25rtppFM3bTdU7EOXz3BQsgkXCEHjVTkN4lisujOTk_UZabPt-nS9pidd-RQZ4Iq93-TKrVGAXqIXEftDWa-IYCUOevw/s1600/Monroe+on+pony.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a>It got me thinking about the layers of our lives, how our ancestors’ actions and decisions affected not only our looks, but where and who we are now. Had they stayed in Russia, they might have lived in an isolated frozen community or been arrested and sent to Siberia. Maybe I wouldn’t be here now. Maybe I’d work in a government job and walk to work in knee-high boots and a parka. I wish my ancestors had written some of it down, like Kim’s great-grandmother. I have bags of WWII letters from my father, but nothing from the previous generation.<br />
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Is that why we write? So years from now, a descendant will find our words and understand us a little more clearly? When we write, we capture a mood or a setting in much the same way a photograph does. With just the right shading and lightening, cropping the boring parts. Posing our characters on a backdrop of plot.<br />
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Seeing these pictures also got my creative mind lassoing ideas for a future novel. Like Julie, I need to finish my WIP first, but I’m already excited about where these pictures will lead me. I’ve got about 500 more treasures to scan and, with that, a lifetime of stories to tell.<br />
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What about you? Have you found crumbling family photos? Do you know who they are?<br />
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Joan Morahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152990243138876941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-80362263975251987752015-04-01T08:34:00.001-05:002015-04-01T08:34:33.911-05:00Don't Jaywalk Your Query (repost from 2009!)by Elizabeth<br />
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(This was first published back in 2009. Now that I'm querying again, and thus aware of what's going on out there, I'm struck by the fact that in six years, things are still the same. Wow, or not. As for me? Still following the rules.)<br />
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I'm a pretty law-abiding citizen. If you overlook my occasional indifference to speed limits on long stretches of open highway, you could really call me squeaky. I really don't understand disregard for the law, especially when the law simply codifies common sense and protects the vulnerable.<br />
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It drives me nuts seeing parents at my kids' school jaywalking their kids across the fairly busy street. (Worse in the rain. Trust me, don't get me started there.) I realize the parents are watching cars, waiting for tolerant drivers to stop in the flow of traffic to let them cross, rendering the practice more or less safe, but it still irks me. There are crosswalks at either end of the school, and sure, it would add two minutes to the twice-daily routine--but at what cost are they buying those 240 seconds? As I see it, those parents are teaching their kids that their time is more important than other people's; that the rules don't matter; and that taking a shortcut is okay if you don't get caught.<br />
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There are times to break the rules. I get that. Civil disobedience has its place; our country wouldn't exist without it. But I don't agree that a busy street with frazzled drivers, a situation in which a moment's inattention can transform those saved two minutes into a lifetime of regret, is the place to introduce the concept to a seven-year-old. Not that I think these parents consider they're teaching those kids anything. They're simply focused on getting them to school on time. Even so, the thing about breaking rules is that you have to know the rule and have followed it before it's meaningful to break it. (Or safe, for that matter--and in the case of the Founding Fathers, at least worth the considerable risk.)<br />
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For writers on the cusp, it's not time to break the rules, either. I'm equally amused and amazed reading accounts of queries stuffed with glitter, or packaged with trinkets, or accompanied by not-funny joke death threats. I'll admit that when I first learned about the system, my mind flickered to what pretty paper on which I'd print my queries. Luckily for me, information is plentiful to anyone who exerts themselves even mildly, and I'm pleased to report I never sent out a query on anything but plain white bond, SASE included. <br />
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The query system isn't perfect. We all know that. Laws aren't perfect. But both work pretty well almost all of the time, and if you follow both, chances are your sparkling manuscript will find representation, and you'll remain ticket-free (and un-maimed). Querying is not the time to flaunt the rules. That's not what gets noticed. Shining within the guidelines is the way to catch an agent's attention. And since your manuscript has one shot with that agent, play it safe. Play it smart. Cross your T's, dot your I's, stay inside the crosswalk. Allow your project to provide the glamour. <br />
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And teach your kids to follow the rules instead of how to get around them. They'll figure that out on their own when they're teenagers.Elizabeth Lyndhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02638768950811415099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-73373279349950209922015-03-23T07:00:00.000-05:002015-03-23T07:00:04.915-05:00On Joan Didion<div class="MsoNormal">
by <a href="http://joanmorawrites.com/" target="_blank">Joan</a></div>
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Several years ago I read <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4866010" target="_blank">Joan Didion’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Year of Magical Thinking</i></a>, her raw and honest memoir covering the
death of her husband and writing confidant, John Gregory Dunne, and the serious illness of their daughter, Quintana Roo (who recovered but later died). </div>
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I always meant to read Didion’s earlier novels and essays, but
never quite got around to it. Then about a month ago, I came across a
fascinating 1978 <a href="http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/3439/the-art-of-fiction-no-71-joan-didion" target="_blank"><i>Paris Review</i> interview with Linda Kuehl, The Art of Fiction</a>: </div>
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When asked to clarify what she meant by: “Writing is a
hostile act,” Didion replied, “It’s hostile in that you're trying to make
somebody see something the way you see it, trying to impose your idea, your
picture. It's hostile to try to wrench around someone else's mind that way.
Quite often you want to tell somebody your dream, your nightmare. Well, nobody
wants to hear about someone else's dream, good or bad; nobody wants to walk around
with it. The writer is always tricking the reader into listening to the dream.”</div>
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In the interview, Didion said she began typing out
Hemingway’s stories to learn how his sentences worked. “I mean they’re perfect
sentences. Very direct sentences, smooth rivers, clear water over granite, no
sinkholes.” Didion also noted Henry James as an influence. “He wrote perfect
sentences, too, but very indirect, very complicated. Sentences <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i> sinkholes. You could drown in
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After reading this article I decided I must search out more
of her work. I started with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Slouching
Toward Bethlehem</i>, a collection of essays published in the 60s. The audible version was
performed by Diane Keaton, a perfect blend of narrator and author. Occasionally
when listening to an audio book, I find myself rewinding to catch a sentence or
scene I’ve missed. But while listening to these essays, I pushed rewind more often, not because my mind had wandered as sometimes happens,
but because I wanted to hear the brilliance again.</div>
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Aside from
the John Wayne article in which he’s very much alive, and perhaps the title
story covering the Haight-Ashbury druggie scene, the essays were surprisingly
relevant and immediate to now. Whether California and its dichotomous
personality and landscape, or New York in the author’s twenties, the essays are
individual yet universal, abundant with literary inspiration. In “On Keeping a
Notebook” Didion shares her thoughts on why a notebook is not a journal. She
jots down snippets of conversations, places and times of random incidents, not
as self-reflection, but as a chance to document how we create our own memories. </div>
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One cannot read Didion without wanting to capture some of
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“The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive
one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only
secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself. I suppose
that it begins or does not begin in the cradle.” </div>
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“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with
the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.
Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the
mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who
betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things
we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike,
forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were. I have
already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be…”</div>
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I particularly liked her essay, “On Self-respect.” It seems an
appropriate message for writers who live so close to rejection, but also for recent
graduates who are struggling with what to make of themselves and where they
will land in this world.</div>
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“People with self-respect exhibit a certain toughness, a
kind of moral nerve; they display what was once called ‘character,’ a quality
which, although approved in the abstract, sometimes loses ground to the other,
more instantly negotiable virtues.... character—the willingness to accept responsibility
for one's own life—is the source from which self-respect springs.” </div>
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“To have that sense of one's intrinsic worth which
constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate,
to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself,
paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference.” </div>
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It turns out, Didion’s style has the flair of both Hemingway
and James: clear and direct, a smooth river with an occasional sinkhole
to drown in. For more on Didion, listen to fascinating podcasts of her <a href="http://www.nypl.org/blog/2015/01/29/podcast-joan-didion" target="_blank">NYPL interview</a> or talk with David L. Ulin as part of <a href="http://www.lapl.org/collections-resources/e-media/podcasts/aloud/evening-joan-didion" target="_blank">Aloud, at the Los Angeles Public Library</a>.</div>
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Joan Morahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152990243138876941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-43722808167596473412015-03-20T05:00:00.000-05:002015-03-20T05:00:08.785-05:00A Review of Meg Rosoff's How I Live NowBy <a href="http://www.carlahrens.com/">Kim</a><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I first heard of Meg Rosoff through Writer Unboxed, where
she is a contributor, and had the privilege of taking one of her classes at the
UnConference in Salem this past November. I am now kicking myself that I did
not have <i>How I Live Now</i> with me at the time, so I could have had it signed. I
don’t read a lot of YA, and so perhaps I can be forgiven for having missed this
gem, published back in 2004 and since made into a movie of the same name. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2R9SJpAwFf4TGcJl8wSJlgJ9t0ccpV8u9XWS8yquiXDk-BHGOYeUpKdPf_ohVUWu3eGhtCpn8-KT6WeV-lrBtevBwAct1d-SXSHPM7Je3DKHGOe7xCETMtlolMn_GyLgH01MSs2JS5vI/s1600/How-I-Live-Now-Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2R9SJpAwFf4TGcJl8wSJlgJ9t0ccpV8u9XWS8yquiXDk-BHGOYeUpKdPf_ohVUWu3eGhtCpn8-KT6WeV-lrBtevBwAct1d-SXSHPM7Je3DKHGOe7xCETMtlolMn_GyLgH01MSs2JS5vI/s1600/How-I-Live-Now-Cover.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Synopsis of <i>How I Live Now </i>(from the book jacket)</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fifteen-year-old New Yorker Daisy is sent to live in the
English countryside with cousins she’s never even met. When England is attacked
and occupied by an unnamed enemy, the cousins find themselves on their own.
Power fails, systems fail. As they grow more isolated, the farm becomes a kind
of Eden, with no rules. Until the war arrives in their midst.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Daisy’s is a war story, a survival story, a love story—all
told in the voice of a subversive and witty teenager. This book crackles with
anxiety and with lust. It’s a stunning and unforgettable first novel that
captures the essence of the age of terrorism: how we live now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>About Meg Rosoff:</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meg Rosoff is an American writer based in London. <i>How I Live
Now</i>, her first novel, won the Guardian Prize, the Printz Award, and the
Branford Boase Award. The novel was made into a motion picture, which released
in 2013 starring Saoirse Ronan, Subsequent novels include <i>Just in Case</i>, <i>What I
Was</i>, <i>The Bride’s Farewell </i>and <i>Picture Me Gone</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>My Review:</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is pretty much impossible to categorize this novel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s part utopian and part dystopian. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a war story that takes place on the fringes of the war,
at least until the scene that left me as shell-shocked as poor Daisy and Piper.
This was soon followed by something exponentially worse. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The love story should be disturbing or, at the very least,
off-putting, yet it somehow isn't. Not in that context. Not in that world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How I Live Now</i> is only 194 pages yet it felt much meatier
because Daisy’s voice forced a slow read with no skimming allowed. It is one of
the most original stories I've read in years, and also one of the most timely
and unsettling. I wouldn't hand it to my thirteen-year-old, but when she’s
fifteen I may well be shoving it at her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It made me examine how vulnerable MY world is, how easily it
could crumble into chaos. How many novels can do that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Highly recommended.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kim Bullockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06100854132576647442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-41512565526770123042015-03-18T11:07:00.000-05:002015-03-18T11:07:01.427-05:00Post-Deadline ReliefBy Pamela<br />
<br />
The past several weeks have been a bit of a bitch. Freelance assignments (for which I'm soooo grateful) piled on and left me feeling very work-weary. And then I took on another magazine assignment that qualified as being the longest one I think I'd ever written for publication. I wrapped it up last night, emailed it to my niece for her expert opinion and printed it out (which I never do), so I could read it on the page. My son, home for spring break, graciously read it, too. I let it marinate overnight and read it with fresh eyes this morning. After a couple tweaks, I sent it off.<br />
<br />
Now, I face a couple more writing assignments that need my attention but not my <i>immediate </i>attention. So, this afternoon I'll make a quick run to the tile warehouse and carpet supplier to choose some products my contractor is waiting on. But what I really want to do is write. Write for me. Write on my novel, which I hesitate to admit aloud because I feel every one around me is tired of hearing about it. It shouldn't take so long to finish a book, should it?<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizubAc-FsqekuHqIid8a1dD9DPGbERgryAuvMinrl9vMScKBG59OWJsDcRdI0R7Ypmkl_4JyazJhjkfgCJes7w5VTyQQO_Rl3OJyvfmFWN9Nc-ksMsnSnVKEyutP4wddZAfYKu2TfupU8/s1600/morning+sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizubAc-FsqekuHqIid8a1dD9DPGbERgryAuvMinrl9vMScKBG59OWJsDcRdI0R7Ypmkl_4JyazJhjkfgCJes7w5VTyQQO_Rl3OJyvfmFWN9Nc-ksMsnSnVKEyutP4wddZAfYKu2TfupU8/s1600/morning+sky.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The morning Texas sky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But sometimes it does. Sometimes work and kids and obligations become priorities and not excuses. And my life right now is about taking advantage of writing that pays in lieu of writing that <i>might </i>pay. I also feel I need to balance time away from the computer, connecting with people and getting away. So my calendar has a lunch with a friend planned for next Monday, a media weekend away (but I can take my girl) starting next Friday and a media tour to California wine country (just me!) the day after we return.<br />
<br />
So, life is full. Life should be full and finding the time to make connections away from the computer are essential for me and hopefully my writing. Who would want to read a novel about a woman who sat all day in her jammies, tapping away at the keyboard? Not I! It's time to get out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-639784630208509162015-03-16T11:30:00.000-05:002015-03-16T11:31:47.767-05:00Stuffby Elizabeth<br />
<br />
My watch's battery has been dead for a couple of weeks. I have some pans and coasters I need to return to the store. My bathroom grout needs a dose of vinegar and baking soda, and my cat's nails could use a trim.<br />
<br />
This is the stuff that plagues me today.<br />
<br />
I have a beta-reading project I really need to get to. My WIP is demanding attention. I have to figure out what I'm going to feed my family for dinner tonight.<br />
<br />
Stuff.<br />
<br />
There's an unfortunate build-up of stuff on the counter in my breakfast room. The dog needs a walk. I have a pile of library books due in a couple of days.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWWoYnQRgUl0oe2Jt5Tu0miviHR2ustvvXlT4nSk5ePZoe-8PQGC1hOrsx_wjdxbdnlGfgC1qr4JTul3SiknuBnb-To4lvlKpNVFlLp1E6nypbUPPKbM2THQqt1kYSHpLkMjQwmBTPY4/s1600/41kn4wrLhrL__AA160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWWoYnQRgUl0oe2Jt5Tu0miviHR2ustvvXlT4nSk5ePZoe-8PQGC1hOrsx_wjdxbdnlGfgC1qr4JTul3SiknuBnb-To4lvlKpNVFlLp1E6nypbUPPKbM2THQqt1kYSHpLkMjQwmBTPY4/s1600/41kn4wrLhrL__AA160_.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>Since I write contemporary women's fiction, it's tempting to use my life as fodder for my characters. I'll never forget hearing Amy Tan explain how she tried to justify her Chinese restaurant lunches as research for tax purposes (and getting shot down by her accountant husband). I wonder what Lou would say if I wanted to write off yoga teacher training? It's in my query letter.<br />
<br />
I'm reading A Spool of Blue Thread right now, Anne Tyler's newest novel, and once again loving the little bits of life she peppers into her stories. She is truly the master of the tiny detail, seemingly insignificant tidbits of information that I never tire of reading. Here's an example:<br />
<br />
It took a total of five vehicles to carry them all to the beach. They could have managed with fewer, but Red insisted, as usual, on driving his pickup. How else could they bring everything they needed, he always asked--the rafts and boogie boards, the sand toys for the children, the kites and paddle-ball racquets and the giant canvas shade canopy with its collapsible metal frame? (In the old days, before computers, he used to include the entire <em>Encyclopaedia Brittanica.</em>) So he and Abby made the three-hour trip in the pickup, while Denny drove Abby's car with Susan in the passenger seat and the food hampers in the rear. Stem and Nora and the three little boys came in Nora's car, and Jeannie and Jeannie's Hugh started out separately from their own house with their two children, though not with Hugh's mother, who always spent the beach week visiting Hugh's sister in California.<br />
<br />
In the book, that takes up about a third of a page, and really, there's nothing in there driving the action of the story, or anything particularly revealing about any of the characters (we already know Red well enough by page 133 to figure he'd be that kind of stubborn)--but it's a pleasure to read and its own kind of funny. (Tyler specializes in quirky characters.) <br />
<br />
Hooray! That means I get to write about my character driving to the mall to the watch repair place and maybe gobbling down lunch at a Thai place and then dropping by the store for pita bread to have with dinner.<br />
<br />
Except. Another book I read late last month included little details, too. Lots and lots and lots of them, and while this was the work of a celebrated novelist as well, I found myself wondering why it mattered where the old pajamas had been purchased, impatient with reading through a character picking up and putting down a phone repeatedly to show her ambivalence about making a call, nearly rolling my eyes when having to read about a character plugging the computer into an outlet to get a specific number of emails that have nothing to do with anything. This is a novel I enjoyed and finished, but one that probably had a good fifty pages worth of detail that could have been deleted. Had they been, I would have liked it much more.<br />
<br />
My WIP was begun as a NaNoWriMo book five years ago, and when I picked it back up earlier this year and realized it was a project I wanted to finish and felt ready to work on again, it did indeed have the requisite 50 thousand words to its credit. To my credit, I rapidly acknowledged that probably 35 thousand of those would be biting the dust, most sooner rather than later. Repetition, fine details, and while there's the nugget of the story there, and some good detail even well written, much of it would make a reader's eyes roll even faster than it did mine.<br />
<br />
Over and over as writers we hear the advice to make every word count. Every chapter, paragraph, sentence, word, must add to the story or be sacrificed. I've bristled at this idea at times, but reading my early partial draft, I'm ready to shout Hallelujah and sign on. With books like the one I read last month that will always have an asterisk in my mind, I've got the pen in my hand. But then I pick up Anne Tyler, and the pajamas she mentions are seersucker, and too light for the season, really, but the only option, and I know I could read paragraph after paragraph about them and know the time was well spent.Elizabeth Lyndhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02638768950811415099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-38466972922023410222015-03-13T09:00:00.000-05:002015-03-13T09:02:22.710-05:00On Writing <div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">By
Susan<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">It's one of the age-old topics amongst writers: how do we get the writing done while balancing our lives? And even after we've found the time to write, what combination of luck, talent, and hard work does it take for a writer to succeed? From excuses, to pacing, to revision and the
practice of writing itself, here are a few notes to myself while I struggle with those questions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">On Writer's Block<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">There’s
no such thing as writer’s block. That was invented by people in California who
couldn’t write.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="color: #6d6d6d;">Terry Pratchett</span></i><i><span style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">If I believed in writer's block, right now would be
the time I'd claim it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
There are times in my writing journey where I
consider myself a student, and times when I'm the teacher. Sometimes, I want to
be neither: I just want to be the writer—and right now, I'm a suffering writer.
Perhaps you feel that way at times as well. I'm at a crossroads, and all I want is to
simply write my way to the end of this draft of my novel. Yet my life is
getting in the way—meaning my excuses are piling up.<br /><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">The actuality isn't that I'm plagued by writer's
block, but that I've been struggling to control my writing mind. The remedy for
that? For me, I need the time to think. Yoga and exercise help. Solitude is
essential. Retreats, residencies, and workshops refill my well. When I can't
have those luxuries, I need to carve out my own time to refocus my energies.
Now is one of those times. </span></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysB7y3kF6PTGPLAU6uffkPlxVfGT7qQDlMThoC_tMb35aaCpqnYCQrv5Ppc9Vw6VBDrneolgAAF1yCej6Vr37WEdNyzVdbNKn4ObGgeNSQUhZ80RPrs4d9SRW3JRxjqoHC4r-3hQOUJhK/s1600/6a01053589724d970b017ee8a28a3a970d-320wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjysB7y3kF6PTGPLAU6uffkPlxVfGT7qQDlMThoC_tMb35aaCpqnYCQrv5Ppc9Vw6VBDrneolgAAF1yCej6Vr37WEdNyzVdbNKn4ObGgeNSQUhZ80RPrs4d9SRW3JRxjqoHC4r-3hQOUJhK/s1600/6a01053589724d970b017ee8a28a3a970d-320wi.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ernest Hemingway's attic typewriter in Oak Park, Illinois</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
The interesting part of writing as a student is
that I tend to follow a pattern I've named "lag and sprint." My
pacing has been thrown by an external time clock instead of internal
motivation. It seems I'm either sprinting toward a deadline or lagging in the afterglow of meeting yet another one. Before I started my MFA, my
writing life took on a more rhythmic pace. My advice to MFA
students? Properly pace yourself. Find the right rhythm for you and stick with
it.</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">On Writing as a Student<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">It’s
none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were
born that way.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="color: #6d6d6d;">Ernest
Hemingway</span></i><i><span style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">As a student, I'm reading novels extensively and dissecting
the form of short stories and poetry. I'm writing essays, literary criticism,
and new chapters. An MFA in Creative Writing is serious business (although it's
well-known that some programs are more rigorous than others) and I've taken
each month's work to heart. After all, if I don't take my writing seriously,
who else will?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">On the Magic of Writing<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">People
on the outside think there’s something magical about writing, that you go up in
the attic at midnight and cast the bones and come down in the morning with a
story, but it isn’t like that. You sit in back of the typewriter and you work,
and that’s all there is to it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #6d6d6d; font-family: inherit;">Harlan Ellison</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #6d6d6d; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I like the idea that writing is magical, and
perhaps I idealized the process myself when I first starting taking my fiction
seriously. Yet this statement by Harlan Ellison sums it up properly. The key to
completing projects is to do the work. Easier said than done when we convince
ourselves that our writing is a luxury, or a pastime, or a hobby. The key to
making our writing a priority is to simply carve out the time to do so, and to do so without guilt.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Susan Ishmael-Pouloshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14902604968932512324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-87557973999862489322015-03-09T07:30:00.000-05:002015-03-09T07:30:00.537-05:00Stand tall, perfect your jump<div class="MsoNormal">
by Joan</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRrOTQPrmKC54ZyEAeg4UT7Gg9ZFUzEBtFVHLHmojf9xjhpZUO9mJYTDqUD5ddfqI7CMrSEZEMjls4fGpWMHoxJtPUdExlduzVFOgOgcoeIXxXK0BVv3bgqGsJKs79o_PsaOZRg1MrTM/s1600/Pom+circle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRrOTQPrmKC54ZyEAeg4UT7Gg9ZFUzEBtFVHLHmojf9xjhpZUO9mJYTDqUD5ddfqI7CMrSEZEMjls4fGpWMHoxJtPUdExlduzVFOgOgcoeIXxXK0BVv3bgqGsJKs79o_PsaOZRg1MrTM/s1600/Pom+circle.jpg" height="270" width="400" /></a>When I was in eighth grade, the older sister of a good
friend was a high-school cheerleader. She was beautiful and energetic
and joyful, and several of us could think of nothing else but how to perfect
our jumps, yell with spirit and keep our arms straight during routines. I was
pretty good at straight arms and spirited yells, but no matter how much I
practiced, my jumps rarely got more than six inches off the ground and my
cartwheels looked like a crab at a ninety-degree angle. Still I was confident
my positive attributes would make up for my lack of acrobatic ability.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAyP5gW3dfnaiOWNc2EG82nxILAJHw11taWgAYhHPeD96V4rGaDn-V_W5olI_Fef7Cxezw6b7JvUOvhSMYmISAgKgZ1uKDwDcKVl4YPEt_fjQeqVa_GP6_rTLZvrrLyRY0CkRoP2rJUfA/s1600/Drill+team.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAyP5gW3dfnaiOWNc2EG82nxILAJHw11taWgAYhHPeD96V4rGaDn-V_W5olI_Fef7Cxezw6b7JvUOvhSMYmISAgKgZ1uKDwDcKVl4YPEt_fjQeqVa_GP6_rTLZvrrLyRY0CkRoP2rJUfA/s1600/Drill+team.jpg" height="400" width="297" /></a>After tryouts we all went home to our respective houses to
await “the call.” After an hour I still had hope. I had hope even after one or
two of my friends called to say they’d made the squad. But as the evening wore
on and it was apparent my phone wouldn’t ring, I went to my room and pulled the
covers over my head. Actually I’m not sure I remember exactly what I did, but
it was probably something like that. I had worked hard. I had practiced and
memorized routines and even improved my jumps (though I never could do a
cartwheel). And I still hadn’t made the team. <br />
<br /></div>
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I tried out the next year and the year after that. Finally
in eleventh grade I learned about drill team. This was a group of 24 girls who
did choreographed routines to pop songs while marching and shaking red and gold
pom poms. Although you had to have a certain amount of spirit, there was no
cart-wheeling, jumping or yelling. I had rhythm and bounce and, miraculously, a
bit of self-confidence. Not only did I make the team in eleventh grade, but I made other dear friends. The
following year I was nominated captain. I could have given up, I could have
decided performing wasn’t for me, could have stayed under the covers.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Rejection is hard and I’ve received heaps more than my fair
share. I have manuscripts on that high closet shelf. But I also have one on
submission and one in the works. Because that’s what writers do. Stand tall,
practice, perfect their jumps.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Joan Morahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152990243138876941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-2255407364241302452015-03-06T05:00:00.000-06:002015-03-06T05:00:08.517-06:00Snowmaggedon, Bipolar Weather, and Our Productivity<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi275vPKaToyGx58lKXkfnKApq7BucNdiFHlo8WXnE2Ik9G02cmCzmxghR4oqD5Aus60IHYrEA1YVStiBF1KqEgB7D2WGfiyJTBMvIE-BBYcwB-U9CvI-7cC-qPYIw6QdtTlS1mgkKdszU/s1600/DSC_0006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi275vPKaToyGx58lKXkfnKApq7BucNdiFHlo8WXnE2Ik9G02cmCzmxghR4oqD5Aus60IHYrEA1YVStiBF1KqEgB7D2WGfiyJTBMvIE-BBYcwB-U9CvI-7cC-qPYIw6QdtTlS1mgkKdszU/s1600/DSC_0006.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Deborah Downes / <a href="http://www.taketoheartimages.com/">Take to Heart Images</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By <a href="http://www.carlahrens.com/">Kim</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you are
anything like me, weather has a great deal of impact on your mood and
productivity. While we have not had the snow our friends in the northeast have
experienced, the winter of 2015 here in Dallas would best be classified as
bipolar. One day it is 70 degrees and the next we have freezing rain. We had
four inches of snow last night and now it is nearly all gone. We’ve gone
through long stretches without seeing the sun. The constant state of flux has
made it hard for me to focus. Even tasks like writing this post seem too
daunting to manage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So I’m
letting other people write it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I reached
out to several of my writer friends, asking them what the weather has been like
in their neck of the woods, and how it has helped or hurt the number of words
that make it to the page. Some of their ideas about how to keep or reclaim
focus may be of help to some of you (like me) who are still struggling. Here is
what they had to say:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I am a summer person, and am more
productive when the weather is sunnier and hotter. Here on the West Coast it
has been a particularly foggy and wet winter. The fog really drags me down, and
productivity in all areas flags. I’ve been using my light box more this winter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://bjacksonfantasywriteranddaydreamer.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Brin Jackson</span></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> – Fantasy writer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVlrTXbqiRdvhn3Hxt-AxjRyyHnsTVNswjmqaGB5FM4ifQsSj8FyEcqOByWxl64-Y0-2TCo4xHFeoRAGkkVfccscId3lpToK-VzhiHIkpgga550kDazfCeiBud7aQzVstCOnKykiLpiU/s1600/Whiteout.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVlrTXbqiRdvhn3Hxt-AxjRyyHnsTVNswjmqaGB5FM4ifQsSj8FyEcqOByWxl64-Y0-2TCo4xHFeoRAGkkVfccscId3lpToK-VzhiHIkpgga550kDazfCeiBud7aQzVstCOnKykiLpiU/s1600/Whiteout.JPG" height="188" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Deborah Downes / <a href="http://www.taketoheartimages.com/">Take to Heart Images</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">“New York City's very trying, cold, icy winter has made me
want to run away inside my novel and find a nicer world. I wrote one scene
describing such sweet spring weather, and was quite astonished to find myself
still struggling over dirty mountains of old snow outside. Which shows my
creative worlds are more real to me at times than the one I live in every day!
I wrote cherry blossoms and really expected them to appear!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.stephaniecowell.com/"><span style="background: white; color: blue; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Stephanie
Cowell</span></a><span style="background: white; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"> – author of <i>Claude
and Camille</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">“Maryland has had pretty gloomy weather for the last 3
months--lots of rain, ice, wintry mix; very little sunshine. I normally love
winter and find grey days excellent for concentration, but lately have been
finding it hard to keep working. The desire to pamper myself--perhaps comfort
is a better word--gets stronger with every dismal day. If it just snowed, I'd
be a lot happier! (I used to live in Massachusetts and miss the snow's clean
lines, the blue light at dawn and dusk.)”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.bmorrison.com/"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="color: blue;">Barbara Morrison</span></span></a><span style="background: white; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"> – author of <i>Innocent:
Confessions of a Welfare Mother</i></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’m
hesitant to blame my lack of writing progress on the weather, but February here
in southern Ontario has been downright nasty. We had stints of wicked cold (-20
to -30, for those of us who speak only Celsius… to put that in perspective,
that feeling when you go outside and your forehead kind of aches from the cold
is around -15) followed by slight warming, but the slight warming was always
accompanied by giant dumps of snow. There are mountains of shoveled snow acting
like blinders alongside my driveway; backing onto the street means taking a
deep breath, hoping for the best and gunning it. I don’t think we saw an
above-freezing temperature all month. I mostly gave up on running
outside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTDkYCN_ZRH6ulEB3Bb5utzyP9myB3WxkwRFGSOx0IofR433tJyl1kNebB6D0REhWEP8jGNq77j-9rLHTND3vlUPqtmjRfIdNqOTJYeBvt5jqSwmoumeztFMnfAyLQuqmnjx8ne3gahM/s1600/AMusicalNoteOverTuscany.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTDkYCN_ZRH6ulEB3Bb5utzyP9myB3WxkwRFGSOx0IofR433tJyl1kNebB6D0REhWEP8jGNq77j-9rLHTND3vlUPqtmjRfIdNqOTJYeBvt5jqSwmoumeztFMnfAyLQuqmnjx8ne3gahM/s1600/AMusicalNoteOverTuscany.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Deborah Downes - <a href="http://www.taketoheartimages.com/">Take to Heart Images</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So
yes—it’s been more a month of going mad than of writing like mad. You’d think
that, stranded indoors, I’d find lots of time for writing. Not so, and I’m not
sure why. I was frustrated with my project, feeling like I couldn’t get
anywhere. To be honest, I put it aside. Not in a mature, considered way,
either. If my story were a person, I’d have shoved her into the ditch with all
the self-restraint of a tantrummy three-year-old. I wiped my hands clean and
walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
oddly, just as the past few days have gotten brighter and it’s starting to feel
like there might possibly be an end to this winter, I’m feeling hopeful about
my writing again, too. My writing group meetings have helped, even when I
didn’t want to go and had to force myself out the door. It was good to see
friends, especially friends who have struggled with their writing, too. The workshop
I attended recently also helped—I’d almost forgotten about it, and grumbled
when it popped up on my calendar, but hearing about someone else’s approach to
story helped unlock my rusty brain-cogs and start things spinning again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
don’t know how it’s going to go, but the snowdrifts are shrinking, and I’m
easing back into writing and back into the world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://erinthomas.ca/"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: blue;">Erin Thomas</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: blue;">
</span>– author of <i>Forcing the Ace</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“February in the Mighty Mitten was
cold and snowy. The temperature never rose above freezing once, was below zero
about a dozen times, and topped out in the single digits or teens more than
half the days of the month. We had about a half-dozen major snow events (more
than four inches) in February, but on well over half the days of the month we
received dustings and/or snow flurries. Total snowfall for this area for the
year is around 70 inches. Unlike the Northeast, this has been a fairly typical
winter, here along the Lake Michigan shoreline. And it’s been beautiful! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As is typical for me, the winter
months are more productive, writing wise. I finished a draft of a major rewrite
of a manuscript in February, after struggling with it over the holidays. The manuscript
was a total rewrite (in other words, I did not reuse any old material), as near
as I can calculate (based on where I think I was on Feb. 1), I wrote around 55K
of new words, plus assorted essays, etc. The final few days of the month were
spent in a pass-through edit of the project (in which I’m still engaged).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve always loved reading or writing
in inclement weather. There is a coziness and a feeling of solitude, and
perhaps a bit of melancholy, that all suits my fiction, and leads me to hunker
down and disappear into the process. There is a lovely quietude that comes with
the snow. It’s so still out there. I’m cushioned in sweaters and thick socks
and slippers, with a hot coffee cup to warm my hands. Immersion is easier. I
look out at the swirling snowflakes, and the green pines and gray beech trunks,
and I’m off to Dania.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><a href="http://www.vaughnroycroft.com/"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue;">Vaughn Roycroft</span></span></a></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span>– epic fantasy writer</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTCnTpMeYBZ6gu_QaR1Em8xWA8umJCGqhdE0eBdMCLi0iPbjMEd1jyT6YhIfLvHviC89DTkasAq1zRXrZ3YNcBWyJxRHDIl8dYz9HvWTBGXkoBqYpU3eWx6xg7QSwXrl8oPdJwz5-M1A/s1600/Connected(ForJPGFriendsWhoMoved.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTCnTpMeYBZ6gu_QaR1Em8xWA8umJCGqhdE0eBdMCLi0iPbjMEd1jyT6YhIfLvHviC89DTkasAq1zRXrZ3YNcBWyJxRHDIl8dYz9HvWTBGXkoBqYpU3eWx6xg7QSwXrl8oPdJwz5-M1A/s1600/Connected(ForJPGFriendsWhoMoved.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Deborah Downes - <a href="http://www.taketoheartimages.com/">Take to Heart Images</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“So. The weather here has been wonderful, if you
are a fan of Frosty the Snowman, who has decided to move in permanently. My
youngest has had 7 snow days and at least one delay, followed by a week of
vacation. Not much writing is happening. On the other hand, he's growing so
fast he's only about 6 inches shorter than me now, and in a few years snow days
will mean sleeping late or hanging with his friends instead of sledding with
me, so I'm still pretty grateful for the extra time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.lizmichalski.com/"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: blue;">Liz
Michalski</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> – author of Evenfall</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I spent almost the entire month of February sick,
and did little to progress my actual book. It also meant I had too much time to
doubt my current book, to dither between projects, and doubt every word I've
ever written. It's been a rough winter. My husband has talked about getting me
one of the light boxes Brin mentioned. <br />
<br />
Keeping a journal pulled me through the worst of the doubt, though I'm still
muddling through questions about what I should be writing. I did a lot of
stream of conscious writing and surprised myself with a few revelations about
my process and what was in my *colander*. <br />
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Meditation also helps me get through the worst of the weather. I am a much
better person (and less grumpy mom) when I take the time to just *be*. But,
like writing, it's a practice. Some sessions are better than others. <br />
<br />
We have almost two feet of snow where I live in south-central Illinois, as well
as below zero temps. I live in a rural area where many people reside in the
country and have been snowed in. I have an elderly great aunt I've been taking
medicine to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://toniawashere.wordpress.com/2015/02/24/earthbound-a-poem/"><span style="color: blue;">Tonia
Marie Harris</span></a> – writer of YA speculative fiction</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocXuUktVoADoliSBMsJiwDrsSVfTNZAs-DkYsk_1yVpBZaDmtYEwL7zQo0ZxeAvUPVuFZf4dmoEOQXMmD0lgOVN0UGQOMQQER5lLKly4XCbuCCJ25xDygiTNziUDzzUbxTUFJ59iC4OI/s1600/DSC_0040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocXuUktVoADoliSBMsJiwDrsSVfTNZAs-DkYsk_1yVpBZaDmtYEwL7zQo0ZxeAvUPVuFZf4dmoEOQXMmD0lgOVN0UGQOMQQER5lLKly4XCbuCCJ25xDygiTNziUDzzUbxTUFJ59iC4OI/s1600/DSC_0040.JPG" height="171" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Deborah Downes - <a href="http://www.taketoheartimages.com/">Take to Heart Images</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Winter is the time I do most of my writing,
because in the warmer months I want to be outside. And this has definitely
happened this winter, because I have been trapped indoors with the never-ending
snow. *sobbing* And although, like Liz, my kids have had 8 days off from school
followed by a vacation, I've still managed to get a good number of words on the
page, and even better, I've been happy with most of what I've written.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://twitter.com/j9thib"><span style="color: blue;">Jeannine
Walls Thibodeau</span></a> – freelance editor/proofreader and writer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Growing up in an area with sunshine 350 days out
of the year left me with reverse seasonal affective disorder. I need the change
of seasons both for clear thinking and focus. I do work differently in warm
weather vs. cold—outside by the harbor during the summer months and at my
desktop during the winter. Venue doesn't seem to affect productivity.<br />
<br />
That said, we just came off the snowiest month on record, and I've had trouble
concentrating. Not because of the gloomy weather, but because of
claustrophobia. I live on the ground floor and the snow is piled so high around
my building, when I look outside, all that is visible are walls of white.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://vrbarkowski.wordpress.com/about/"><span style="color: blue;">VR
Barkowksi</span></a> – author of <i>A Twist of Hate<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Here in the Florida panhandle, our winters are
quite mild, with about a cumulative week's worth of cold in the 20's scattered
throughout February. There really is no big change in seasons...the leaves drop
and the grass browns, things become dormant, but that's about it. I usually have
a lot of yard maintenance in the winter, because once everything comes back to
life, it comes back in full-force. Since the days are short, I do my writing at
night during the winter. During the summer, of course it's tough to keep on top
of the growth (especially if you didn't do winter maintenance), but since the
days are so hot, I only work in the yard in the early morning or late evenings
and write during mid-day. So, seasons do alter my writing habits--at least the
time of day that I write."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://mlswift.me/"><span style="color: blue;">M.L. Swift</span></a> –
writer of “unboxed” stories that don’t fit neatly into a genre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"I am more productive in the winter. I posted on my
blog about this topic. When the weather is inclement (I live in Connecticut) I
find myself indoors more and it is much easier to write. In the summer there
are too many competing distractions. I love the beach and I like to be outdoors
in the summer. I suppose that's no excuse because one can always bring a laptop
or tablet and write outdoors."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://cgblake.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: blue;">C.G.
Blake</span></a> – author of <i>Small Change</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>So, what's the weather been like in your neck of the woods? How has it affected your productivity? If it inspires you, why? If it does the opposite, how have you been able to reclaim your lost focus?</b></span></div>
Kim Bullockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06100854132576647442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-31910473578630177282015-03-04T07:00:00.000-06:002015-03-04T07:00:02.766-06:00Telling StoriesBy Pamela<br />
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Let me tell you a story. It starts with a main character, our protagonist, and ends with his overcoming a storm of conflict. Along the way, the other characters bend and break and rebuild him so, by the time you reach the ending, he will have evolved into a transformation of himself, a guy who sees the world differently. It's a pretty simple formula that's used in most works of fiction. At times it's man vs. man, man vs. beast, man vs. weather, or man vs. himself. <br />
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If you study writing, you learn words and phrases such as:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>conflict / resolution</li>
<li>story arc</li>
<li>character arc</li>
<li>dialog </li>
<li>setting</li>
</ul>
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What you might not learn is the myriad ways to tell a story. Literary devices can be used to make your story original and when it works, it's fabulous. Here are some novels that employ their own unique methods of storytelling. I'd recommend each as required reading, especially if you want to devise your own unique path to take the reader from 'once upon a time' to 'the end.'<br />
(NOTE: Text in italics is from the publishers.)<br />
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<h4>
Defending Jacob <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</h4>
by William Landay<br />
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<i>Andy Barber has been an assistant district attorney for two decades. He is respected. Admired in the courtroom. Happy at home with the loves of his life, his wife, Laurie, and teenage son, Jacob. Then Andy’s quiet suburb is stunned by a shocking crime: a young boy stabbed to death in a leafy park. And an even greater shock: The accused is Andy’s own son—shy, awkward, mysterious Jacob. Andy believes in Jacob’s innocence. Any parent would. But the pressure mounts. Damning evidence. Doubt. A faltering marriage. The neighbors’ contempt. A murder trial that threatens to obliterate Andy’s family. It is the ultimate test for any parent: How far would you go to protect your child? It is a test of devotion. A test of how well a parent can know a child. For Andy Barber, a man with an iron will and a dark secret, it is a test of guilt and innocence in the deepest sense. How far would you go?</i><br />
<br />
Throughout the book, <b>we read transcripts of a trial</b> that reveal the testimony of Andy while being questioned by ADA Neal Logiudice. Those transcripts help tell the story of how Andy continues to defend his son even as the line between guilt and innocence becomes increasingly blurred. It's a method of storytelling that works in this tale of paternal devotion at all cost.<br />
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<br />
<h4>
Gone Girl</h4>
by Gillian Flynn<br />
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<i>On a warm summer morning in North Carthage, Missouri, it is Nick and Amy Dunne’s fifth wedding anniversary. Presents are being wrapped and reservations are being made when Nick’s clever and beautiful wife disappears. Husband-of-the-Year Nick isn’t doing himself any favors with cringe-worthy daydreams about the slope and shape of his wife’s head, but passages from Amy's diary reveal the alpha-girl perfectionist could have put anyone dangerously on edge. Under mounting pressure from the police and the media—as well as Amy’s fiercely doting parents—the town golden boy parades an endless series of lies, deceits, and inappropriate behavior. Nick is oddly evasive, and he’s definitely bitter—but is he really a killer? </i><br />
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It took me a while to warm to the storytelling device of this novel--hearing Nick's side as told in typical novel formatting (i.e. action, dialog) and hearing <b>Amy's voice, at first, through the pages of her diary</b>. But as the story progresses, you understand why we're getting to know Amy this way. And it works masterfully.<br />
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<h4>
Where'd You Go Bernadette?</h4>
by Maria Semple<br />
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<i>Bernadette Fox is notorious. To her Microsoft-guru husband, she's a fearlessly opinionated partner; to fellow private-school mothers in Seattle, she's a disgrace; to design mavens, she's a revolutionary architect, and to 15-year-old Bee, she is a best friend and, simply, Mom.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Then Bernadette disappears. It began when Bee aced her report card and claimed her promised reward: a family trip to Antarctica. But Bernadette's intensifying allergy to Seattle--and people in general--has made her so agoraphobic that a virtual assistant in India now runs her most basic errands. A trip to the end of the earth is problematic. To find her mother, Bee compiles email messages, official documents, secret correspondence--creating a compulsively readable and touching novel about misplaced genius and a mother and daughter's role in an absurd world.</i><br />
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As the publisher reveals here, the story is told through <b>Bee's piecing together her mother's correspondence.</b> I honestly didn't expect to get sucked into the story the way I did, but maybe because I have a fascination with people's private lives (What's more private than reading someone's mail?) and am a bit of a snoop, this novel was purely entertaining. My thinking is, though, that had it not been so masterfully crafted, it would have fallen flat. In Semple's hands, it was a treasure.<br />
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<br />
<h4>
Reconstructing Amelia</h4>
by Kimberly McCreight<br />
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<i>Kate's in the middle of the biggest meeting of her career when she gets the telephone call from Grace Hall, her daughter’s exclusive private school in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Amelia has been suspended, effective immediately, and Kate must come get her daughter—now. But Kate’s stress over leaving work quickly turns to panic when she arrives at the school and finds it surrounded by police officers, fire trucks, and an ambulance. By then it’s already too late for Amelia. And for Kate.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>An academic overachiever despondent over getting caught cheating has jumped to her death. At least that’s the story Grace Hall tells Kate. And clouded as she is by her guilt and grief, it is the one she forces herself to believe. Until she gets an anonymous text: She didn’t jump. </i>Reconstructing Amelia<i> is about secret first loves, old friendships, and an all-girls club steeped in tradition. But, most of all, it’s the story of how far a mother will go to vindicate the memory of a daughter whose life she couldn’t save.</i><br />
<br />
Similarly told as <i>Gone Girl </i>and <i>Where'd You Go, Bernadette?</i> in <i>Reconstructing Amelia</i>, we learn the back-story of Amelia Baron through <b>her text messages and the blog posts</b> of her classmates as her mother tries to piece the story of her daughter's life leading up to her death.<br />
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<br />
<h4>
Big Little Lies</h4>
by Liane Moriarty<br />
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<i>Big Little Lies follows three women, each at a crossroads: Madeline is a force to be reckoned with. She’s funny and biting, passionate, she remembers everything and forgives no one. Her ex-husband and his yogi new wife have moved into her beloved beachside community, and their daughter is in the same kindergarten class as Madeline’s youngest (how is this possible?). And to top it all off, Madeline’s teenage daughter seems to be choosing Madeline’s ex-husband over her. (How. Is. This. Possible?). Celeste is the kind of beautiful woman who makes the world stop and stare. While she may seem a bit flustered at times, who wouldn’t be, with those rambunctious twin boys? Now that the boys are starting school, Celeste and her husband look set to become the king and queen of the school parent body. But royalty often comes at a price, and Celeste is grappling with how much more she is willing to pay.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>New to town, single mom Jane is so young that another mother mistakes her for the nanny. Jane is sad beyond her years and harbors secret doubts about her son. But why? While Madeline and Celeste soon take Jane under their wing, none of them realizes how the arrival of Jane and her inscrutable little boy will affect them all. </i>Big Little Lies<i> is a brilliant take on ex-husbands and second wives, mothers and daughters, schoolyard scandal, and the dangerous little lies we tell ourselves just to survive.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
While maybe not quite as devoted to employing a device to tell story, <i>Big Little Lies</i> does feature the <b>police interview transcripts of a Greek chorus of unreliable witnesses </b>to a crime that Moriarty invokes to keep the reader enthralled in a seemingly everyday tale of parents behaving badly that ends in the death of one of the major players. It's humorous and yet compelling as we make our way through the story of lies--both inconsequential and life-changing. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h4>
Dept. of Speculation</h4>
by Jenny Offill<br />
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<i>Dept. of Speculation is a portrait of a marriage. It is also a beguiling rumination on the mysteries of intimacy, trust, faith, knowledge, and the condition of universal shipwreck that unites us all.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Jenny Offill’s heroine, referred to in these pages as simply “the wife,” once exchanged love letters with her husband postmarked Dept. of Speculation, their code name for all the uncertainty that inheres in life and in the strangely fluid confines of a long relationship. As they confront an array of common catastrophes—a colicky baby, a faltering marriage, stalled ambitions—the wife analyzes her predicament, invoking everything from Keats and Kafka to the thought experiments of the Stoics to the lessons of doomed Russian cosmonauts. She muses on the consuming, capacious experience of maternal love, and the near total destruction of the self that ensues from it as she confronts the friction between domestic life and the seductions and demands of art.</i><br />
<br />
Offill tells the story of a two people in a stream-of-conscious form of writing that's both extremely lean and exquisitely crafted. <b>Part aphorisms, part reflections, part meditations,</b> it's a quick read that you'll either embrace or dismiss. I'm betting you'll embrace it.<br />
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<br />
The uniqueness of these books' compositions is fraught with the gamble each author took to tell the story in a way that could have been perceived as gimmicky but instead bordered on genius. Do you have one to add to the list?<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-32112971537626323432015-03-02T11:00:00.000-06:002015-03-02T11:03:29.627-06:00Resolveby Elizabeth<br />
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It's March. How'd that happen?<br />
<br />
When the year was new, how many of us made a resolution? I often do, though it generally takes the form of a list of things I want to say are true when Father Time drops his scythe the last night of the year. This year, though, I added something in particular, tiny but significant. Well, significant to me, and maybe to my health, and not a big deal though surprisingly onerous at times. Yet I've done it.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkUygON-6wylmC0fqwPn_osMMJ-UldgYTPplhkABJ1_cjPEl7alIa_PKp2wjBO-sEdeCwNv5_FsKTgrZQ7TeKlOAuetMlMcdFotH9I89dU5AWy4iqxOEpHs3sSoNECJ7sYXq_dOHPYh0/s1600/20150302_101357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkUygON-6wylmC0fqwPn_osMMJ-UldgYTPplhkABJ1_cjPEl7alIa_PKp2wjBO-sEdeCwNv5_FsKTgrZQ7TeKlOAuetMlMcdFotH9I89dU5AWy4iqxOEpHs3sSoNECJ7sYXq_dOHPYh0/s1600/20150302_101357.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calcium and water in a pretty cup, exactly 8 ounces of resolve</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm drinking more water. Specifically, a cup in the morning, and a cup at night, when I take the calcium tablet my doctor added to my daily regimen a few years back. Just a cup, a coffee cup in fact, and I drain the whole thing morning and night with my pill. No big deal. But sometimes daunting. Just eight ounces, and daunting! But I do it.<br />
<br />
Have I seen real benefit? I can't say I have really. I don't feel slimmer, stronger, fresher, lighter for it; in fact, I'm currently working on shedding a few pounds that decided my body was a good place to hitch a ride. (Is there a set amount of human fat in the world? If I lose it, must someone else find it? Did this fat find me after someone else misplaced it?) So feeling lighter for the extra water isn't the case here, but I still manage to feel better for drinking it. Because I'm drinking it. Because I said I'd drink it, and I'm doing it.<br />
<br />
My writing habits, like those of countless other writers, can be sketchy. An old friend once mentioned how heavy her pen can be at times--I loved that. And it's true. Although sometimes the hardest part of writing is sitting down to do it--and the excuse that we are too busy is rapidly put to shame by those who are busier than we yet manage to find hours to park their posteriors and write--it's something that can be done if we make it a priority.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel like this blog is an exercise in self-reporting. Telling the truth of when I write, when I don't. One of those truths is that I wish I were better about sitting down in the chair and cranking out the words. Every day? Nope--not for me, though I wish I did. Not even when I'm on a roll, like the fall of 2013 when I finished up the first draft of the novel I'm querying now. I got a lot of work done, I met my goals, but did I write every day? Not even then.<br />
<br />
But I take this pill twice a day, and for the past 50+ days have drunk my cup of water twice a day, which proves that if I decide to do it, I can do it. And since I am so far from the most disciplined human being around, it means if I can do it, truly, anyone can do it. Take a pill, drink some water, sit down and write a few words even if they suck.<br />
<br />
I didn't resolve to write every day. And yet I also know there is nothing magical, not really, about January 1, and if I want to write every day, really want to, really decide to, I can. Just like one cup at a time, over and over and over again until I've drunk over 40 times my weight in water more than I would have without resolving to come the end of this year--well, if I can choke down the water, I can choke down anything. If I decide to. As can we all.Elizabeth Lyndhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02638768950811415099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-71371745246534199702015-02-27T08:00:00.000-06:002015-02-27T14:12:16.880-06:00Found ObjectsBy <a href="http://www.juliekibler.com/">Julie</a><br />
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I've wondered if other writers take as much pleasure as I do in a certain part of the research I undertake while writing a manuscript. I'll go ahead and call it <i>found objects</i>. These are objects that inspire, reinforce, enhance, and commemorate my writing.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqjM27NQd1yZez6h29cH3mMn-0i5itLuEmFyqLxEOg42_dWRW858_pnsRg9ccC8Su-leG2XNoWNKw_kYv12J2IrcmlXW1Z15a1Ud7KQSpZtpL2u2-htFCweioQWQG6Qpbb8NcHRV7iFQT/s1600/tea+mug.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqjM27NQd1yZez6h29cH3mMn-0i5itLuEmFyqLxEOg42_dWRW858_pnsRg9ccC8Su-leG2XNoWNKw_kYv12J2IrcmlXW1Z15a1Ud7KQSpZtpL2u2-htFCweioQWQG6Qpbb8NcHRV7iFQT/s1600/tea+mug.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>Sometimes they're items I come across accidentally--or maybe
serendipitously--that don't serve any real purpose other than reminding
me of the work I'm doing. In this category is an infuser mug I bought at
World Market when I was writing a story with a character who was a
Japanese war bride, pictured here (the green one with the red lid). <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUkPXuySRgZ4XAPf1Q822-cu4Mc6YWKr7tpn6Ef13TRShLqoxWh_wR1D-_37V3mv9r75h7GtYknE78CAWng42qbxoplPMnjZwBjPEg1h7eykU0LqkQol0pSNp7IzqtcazjFjKRrBf_9GVv/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUkPXuySRgZ4XAPf1Q822-cu4Mc6YWKr7tpn6Ef13TRShLqoxWh_wR1D-_37V3mv9r75h7GtYknE78CAWng42qbxoplPMnjZwBjPEg1h7eykU0LqkQol0pSNp7IzqtcazjFjKRrBf_9GVv/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>After I bought it, I intentionally looked for items to represent each
of my main characters in that novel, intending to keep them on my
writing desk to help me stay on task. Too bad I didn't finish that
novel, but it was fun finding the objects and displaying them for a
while. Maybe the characters will make their ways into other stories
eventually, and the energy and money I spent won't have been wasted.
Another of those objects was an early 20th century era Catholic prayer
booklet for mothers, which I found on eBay along with a vintage rosary. I
was fascinated to discover carefully cut out flower art and a lace
bookmark inside the booklet, as well as hand-marked spaces for someone
to personalize it. I wondered who did that. Maybe it was simply an
unused gift. But maybe someone started it for herself, then never
finished it. A lost baby? Who knows, but my imagination was off and
running. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiv01cMQQSYqreuvQif1O9KWCE20HpUKZWnfeDhpdJ5nZl9VLUL6SkWH3xnufmdBC6ZdydpsBDshAuKopSU-l6nwEirBI4lpn1G8nP-8xs2fLdUHJnUOYUhv7AvvLrFXoeKAzmZ9ITU-HT/s1600/Thimble+necklace_Mrs+Gibson+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiv01cMQQSYqreuvQif1O9KWCE20HpUKZWnfeDhpdJ5nZl9VLUL6SkWH3xnufmdBC6ZdydpsBDshAuKopSU-l6nwEirBI4lpn1G8nP-8xs2fLdUHJnUOYUhv7AvvLrFXoeKAzmZ9ITU-HT/s1600/Thimble+necklace_Mrs+Gibson+2.jpg" height="186" width="200" /></a></div>
Some of our readers might remember when I did a giveaway before <i>Calling Me Home</i> released of a necklace I found on Etsy. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw how perfect each of the items attached to the necklace was in telling the story I'd written in a nutshell.<br />
<br />
I'm working on a new story right now, one I'm very excited about, and feeling more confident than I have in ages that it could be the "right" one. (How many times have you heard me say that now? But seriously, I'm all about writing the "right" story, so I'll keep hammering away until it happens.) I've been doing research until my eyes cross. I've read everything I can get my hands on about the topics contained within. I've written pages I'm pleased with, and pages I've deleted in disgust.<br />
<br />
In the process, one of those "found objects" appeared this week. I confess my heart rate sped up a bit as I opened the package that came Thursday afternoon, a few days earlier than expected. Inside was a book I'd ordered, carefully wrapped in brown paper. A book published in 1931 -- a first edition, no less. I crossed my fingers it wouldn't smell too much of mold, as so many of my old books do. It was in good condition for being almost a century old, and I was thrilled to open the pages and find not only text, but slick pages with photos. A book that tells much more of the story I'm researching than I could ever find online or at any library in the area. Not only that, but it was the only copy I found for sale anywhere. One copy. I have to assume it was out there waiting. :) <br />
<br />
I turned to the first page and began reading, and the sense I had of actually holding history in my hands was different than anything I've experienced yet while working on this story. I can't tell you more about it right now, but today, I feel very lucky about this "found object."<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKDQwhAfQWRrdIlENcXh-6vYGdV_-WEvexMlziQNx6DYTRVDsDXeU3TpWpEzU8LSQ1iaI8r09k_Sxz0Mv6WQ158at3C-v6tXeU753lZuBooUQLsi2gDjujnTDqk7tPkLX0Pf9UWskc-O3/s1600/UUbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKDQwhAfQWRrdIlENcXh-6vYGdV_-WEvexMlziQNx6DYTRVDsDXeU3TpWpEzU8LSQ1iaI8r09k_Sxz0Mv6WQ158at3C-v6tXeU753lZuBooUQLsi2gDjujnTDqk7tPkLX0Pf9UWskc-O3/s1600/UUbook.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>What about you? Share with us in the comments about "found objects" you have come across that have enhanced your writing or reading.</b> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Julie Kiblerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07914386223833117415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-75582937682683734752015-02-23T09:17:00.001-06:002015-02-23T09:20:03.464-06:00Weather as a character<div class="MsoNormal">
by <a href="http://joanmorawrites.com/" target="_blank">Joan</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I write this, ice taps the windows and wind batters the
chimney cap. I’ve just come in from helping my husband raise the exterior
shades on the two-story window and my fingers are still numb. A snowflake icon
shows up on my weather.com app for tomorrow (or today, as you are reading). No,
I’m not in the northeast; I’m in Dallas, where last week it was 75 degrees. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-0WHGuakUXchDjM8lqjBpCH-0LmSKgkp8hPmiVYF-jYl2d4aBZi9EakXP8QaoBCyitNDzdbayzFbdmZtM9fdVO-6ugw0j3yUfLiGqvpq1m8xcLnGCa6BPW-rJ9Ax1p_ZWwCpBFbRz3E/s1600/1994-01+Blizzard+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-0WHGuakUXchDjM8lqjBpCH-0LmSKgkp8hPmiVYF-jYl2d4aBZi9EakXP8QaoBCyitNDzdbayzFbdmZtM9fdVO-6ugw0j3yUfLiGqvpq1m8xcLnGCa6BPW-rJ9Ax1p_ZWwCpBFbRz3E/s1600/1994-01+Blizzard+04.jpg" height="131" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maryland house, 1991 - 1999</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For forty-five winters in Maryland, there was a particular
dread I’d feel going into November, knowing that I wouldn’t be warm again until
mid March. The jewel-toned October trees would strip naked and stand brittle
and grey. The sun would slink away earlier and earlier, sometimes not showing
up at all. I shivered constantly, no matter how many sweaters I crawled into. Some
years were worse than others, but in my memory the winter scene looks just as
it does now: temps in the teens, imminent or piled-up snow, wind that whips chill
into your bones. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Elmore Leonard said, “Never open a book with the weather.”
But what if your book features haunting, beating, relentless weather. The
problem with writing advice, particularly when it involves the word “never,” is
that there are brilliant stories that defy the rules. Beautiful prose, tension,
engaging characters; these are the elements which lure readers into a story. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2015/02/a-review-of-nancy-pickards-virgin-of.html" target="_blank">Kim just reviewed Nancy Pickard’s <i>The </i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virgin of Small Plains</i></a>, which takes place during a deadly Kansas
blizzard. A while back, <a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2013/01/a-review-of-ann-weisgarbers-promise.html" target="_blank">Julie reviewed</a> <a href="http://annweisgarber.com/" target="_blank">Ann Weisgarber’s </a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://annweisgarber.com/" target="_blank">The Promise</a>,</i> set in Galveston, Texas, in
the weeks leading up to the devastating 1900 hurricane. In Weisgarber's novel, a scandalized
woman leaves Ohio to marry a widower in the south Texas town. She’s expecting a fine city house, but
instead he leads her to a sweltering, rustic home and a skittish child. Her new
husband’s housekeeper doesn’t trust her and is fiercely loyal to the memory of
his late wife, even as she harbors her own feelings for him. When the hurricane arrives, her husband goes out to help neighbors and the animals, and she is left
to protect his boy from the powerful storm that literally rips apart their house. It’s the weather that destroys everything, yet it also bonds
them. </div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1sZB6G-R94cqgsZa_gimZZpX73cgYaCK2FIu3Pwd5mmLwFC3m3amRwCjr8VeG8tBhIjZ-kqtGkmUzDev3AQuMoIDUxtJ0Pm5vptbKELon-UgHNdWwT4oTvQJoLBA3-CmkIWB70sjVi8/s1600/Build+a+fire.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1sZB6G-R94cqgsZa_gimZZpX73cgYaCK2FIu3Pwd5mmLwFC3m3amRwCjr8VeG8tBhIjZ-kqtGkmUzDev3AQuMoIDUxtJ0Pm5vptbKELon-UgHNdWwT4oTvQJoLBA3-CmkIWB70sjVi8/s1600/Build+a+fire.jpeg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In <a href="http://www.jacklondons.net/buildafire.html" target="_blank">Jack London’s short story “To Build a Fire,”</a> weather <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> the story. Over the course of a day,
a man attempts to walk over thirty miles of Canada’s Yukon trail to meet his
boys by suppertime, despite an old trapper’s warnings. It’s seventy-five below
freezing, snow as far as he can see, and he’s carrying nothing more than
bacon-stuffed biscuits, nuzzled against his skin to keep from freezing. With only
his husky for company, he is oddly confident. Both his and the dog’s beards have turned into crystal muzzles from the
moisture of their warm breath. Soon the man’s cheek bones and nose are frozen,
and his hands and feet are beginning to numb. The spruce under which he
attempts to light a fire is so weighted with snow, its branches cause an avalanche. In wonderful foreshadowing by London, the man feeds the fire “with twigs the size of his finger” and “branches the size of
his wrist.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I write my current story, I’m looking for places to
introduce weather into an already dangerous climate: The Depression, prohibition,
divorce, poverty. Wherever you are, I hope you are safe, warm and dry, reading
or writing a book with all the right elements.</div>
Joan Morahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152990243138876941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-75646685043922750372015-02-20T05:00:00.000-06:002015-02-20T05:00:02.217-06:00A Review of Nancy Pickard’s The Virgin of Small PlainsBy Kim<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpzFPwl-ay8edZKz9_cGDVxOr8ErmXeI0NcKJBoyHonhUae7yaqwg6gFtcvgPbx-yRxnGtZVEpN_DgqK7ojazyJTvM-CRXvZw_ohCUhkTPJ14EBD_VHFCeA7O4ros07EhXd0sXUnd66g/s1600/virginofsmallplains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpzFPwl-ay8edZKz9_cGDVxOr8ErmXeI0NcKJBoyHonhUae7yaqwg6gFtcvgPbx-yRxnGtZVEpN_DgqK7ojazyJTvM-CRXvZw_ohCUhkTPJ14EBD_VHFCeA7O4ros07EhXd0sXUnd66g/s1600/virginofsmallplains.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>About <i>The Virgin of
Small Plains</i> (from the book jacket):</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Small Plains, Kansas, January 23, 1987: In the midst of a
deadly blizzard, eighteen-year-old Rex Shellenberger scours his father’s
pasture, looking for helpless newborn calves. Then he makes a shocking
discovery: the naked, frozen body of a teenage girl, her skin as white as the
snow around her. Even dead, she is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. It
is a moment that will forever change his life and the lives of everyone around
him. The mysterious dead girl—the “Virgin of Small Plains”—inspires local
reverence: In the two decades following her death, strange miracles visit those
who faithfully tend to her grave; some even believe that her spirit can cure
deadly illnesses. Slowly, word of the legend spreads.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what really happened in that snow-covered field? Why did
young Mitch Newquist disappear the day after the Virgin’s body was found,
leaving behind his distraught girlfriend, Abby Reynolds? Why do the town’s
three most powerful men—Dr. Quentin Reynolds, former sheriff Nathan
Shellenberger, and Judge Tom Newquist—all seem to be hiding the details of that
night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seventeen years later, when Mitch suddenly returns to Small
Plains, simmering tensions come to a head, ghosts that had long slumbered whisper
anew, and the secrets that some wish would stay buried rise again from the
grave of the Virgin. Abby—never having resolved her feelings for Mitch—is now
determined to uncover exactly what happened so many years ago to tear their
lives apart.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three families and three friends, their worlds inexorably
altered in the course of one night, must confront the ever-unfolding consequences
in award-winning author Nancy Pickard’s remarkable novel of suspense.
Wonderfully written and utterly absorbing, <i>The
Virgin of Small Plains</i> is about the loss of faith, trust, and innocence…and
the possibility of redemption.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>About <a href="http://nancypickard.com/">Nancy Pickard</a> (from the book jacket) </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nancy Pickard is the creator of the acclaimed Jenny Cain
mystery series. She has won the Anthony Award, two Macavity Awards, and two
Agatha Awards for her novels. She is a three-time Edgar Award nominee, most
recently for her first Marie Lightfoot mystery, <i>The Whole Truth</i>, which was a national bestseller. With Lynn Lott,
Pickard co-authored <i>Seven Steps on the Writer’s
Path</i>. She has been a national board member of the Mystery Writers of
America, as well as the president of Sisters in Crime. She lives in Prairie
Village, Kansas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>My Review:</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t remember the last time I read a mystery/suspense novel,
but <i>The Virgin of Small Plains </i>was one I felt compelled to pick up after Donald
Maass spoke about it at length during his 21<sup>st</sup> Century Fiction workshop.
(He’s not her agent.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The praise was well deserved. The opening sequence of
events, though not a surprise after the workshop, still kept me glued to the
page. I read this book until two in the morning one night and picked it back up
at seven. I read it while I made breakfast, while I ate lunch, in the car
waiting for my daughter to get out of dance class, and every spare moment in
between. Pickard is a master at letting out just enough information to keep a
reader going, yet withholding the rest until the most devastating moment. I did
figure out one key element long before it was revealed, but the “how” and “why”
questions were equally compelling and not answered until the end. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Writers could learn a lot about pacing and point of view
from dissecting this novel. It is also a prime example of a genre novel with
literary elements. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Highly recommended.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kim Bullockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06100854132576647442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-21905882239530717492015-02-18T07:10:00.000-06:002015-02-18T07:11:35.575-06:00Say What You Mean by Elizabeth<br />
<br />
I'm the mother of non-drivers (one close!), so I spend a significant amount of time in the car toting kids from point A to point B, both my own kids and their friends and schoolmates. Carpooling makes life easier for a lot of us in this boat, and modern technology makes carpooling even easier. Most of the time.<br />
<br />
One recent afternoon near the final bell I group-texted the girls in my afterschool carpool that either both or neither could stay for tutoring that day. I got back two replies--both from my child--the first saying "Not going? (Friend)?" and the second, "Never mind. I'm staying."*<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUSkhB1pimW0ISsa0PCHbCNesfhjxYLtmsZM7bTVgrL-ekwq-ipOffQMhgBn5EmhCfxMDhnsdE-00FRCPvEcDktKT0kXyF2yJ3wuTektNgAfKqDF4Ig6fJ0KJlV4oDfsyM4vwKYXeQ0s/s1600/20150217_161944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUSkhB1pimW0ISsa0PCHbCNesfhjxYLtmsZM7bTVgrL-ekwq-ipOffQMhgBn5EmhCfxMDhnsdE-00FRCPvEcDktKT0kXyF2yJ3wuTektNgAfKqDF4Ig6fJ0KJlV4oDfsyM4vwKYXeQ0s/s1600/20150217_161944.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look, a communication device! You'd think.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Me: "Is friend staying?"<br />
<br />
(Call friend. No answer.)<br />
<br />
Me: "2 or 0." <br />
<br />
Me: "I am in car coming. You both need to come home."<br />
<br />
Me: "I need you both to reply you got this."<br />
<br />
Me: "No tutoring."<br />
<br />
Me: "I expect to see you both at the curb. I really need you to communicate with me."<br />
<br />
(Call daughter. No answer.)<br />
<br />
Me: "I'm here. Why aren't you? This is not okay."<br />
<br />
(Call daughter. Finally answers. Explains they both were staying for tutoring. I explain back that they had better get outside on the double.)<br />
<br />
Daughter: "I am finding (friend)." <br />
<br />
Me: "I am angry.**"<br />
<br />
Daughter: "We are running."<br />
<br />
You can use your imagination to supply the conversation that ensued when the girls got in the car a few minutes later. More than once I wondered if my daughter's silent friend would complain to her parents who would then nix the carpool. (I doubt it. I think they need it more than I do.) Let's just say there was some loud talking involved and the atmosphere was less than pleasant.<br />
<br />
But then again, why should you use your imagination for this? I'm writing something intending to be understood, and you are reading something with the general hope to get something out of it. Just like the texts I sent, hoping to get some clear communication, so are you reading this with a similar goal.<br />
<br />
My daughter at first defended her use of "I" to be understood as "we," but after some reaming she acknowledged that it was indeed some lousy communication. What I was angry** about was that this was a repeat offense, and what I was really angry** about was that the other kid who had apparently communicated with my daughter inside the school had failed to simply confirm that she, too, was staying. It was at best careless, and maybe even lazy, and certainly inconsiderate. (Though in the end, hardly a big deal, I know.)<br />
<br />
It also reinforced the fact that good writing matters, and why good writing is fairly rare. It's easy to peck out a couple of letters on a keyboard and get some idea across. It's a lot harder to get a precise idea across, but for a writer, that's the job. Add elegance and style to precision, and suddenly it's clear that the writer's job requires far more than making sure "I" doesn't replace "we." It's clear that writing clearly and well takes both attention and respect. <br />
<br />
We are living in an age of heightened communication, and this is surely not the first place you've heard someone lament that our increased communication perversely decreases our connections. My worry today is for what this will glean a generation from now. (Though history records that pretty much every generation, going back thousands of years, sighs at the thought of the next one's deficiencies.) Are we truly finally raising a population whose carelessness with writing might extend to fiction and formal writing? Or am I just "angry"** that I was inconvenienced and am illogically extrapolating a world of lazy novels and confusing biographies?<br />
<br />
<br />
*I added punctuation. The serious deficiency of such is a rant for another day.<br />
**Okay, I used another word.<br />
<br />
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Elizabeth Lyndhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02638768950811415099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-14418878687570284572015-02-16T14:35:00.001-06:002015-02-16T15:09:45.977-06:0050 Shades of MotivationBy Pamela<br />
<br />
This past weekend marked the release of the film adaptation of the titillating best-selling novel <i>Fifty Shades of Grey</i> by E.L. James. Full disclosure: I did not read the trilogy, other than a sample of book one on my Kindle, so I refuse to comment on the quality of writing other than to say the opening was fairly unremarkable. It's been a while and I can't recall anything noteworthy about it. So there's that.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrymhElAtSwKbKSeqCwOi3oBtmHsJp5CS09okycCd_Ax3-RLZenrjsq8iCTBcl6WgvknJVtc2qMnCvcYIyjSuyJ-SsdiOKGnCQyPy0p1tpbWUyZH6eO-R3N8ZKBrLXUQzSZtt96dko1Y/s1600/bookman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrymhElAtSwKbKSeqCwOi3oBtmHsJp5CS09okycCd_Ax3-RLZenrjsq8iCTBcl6WgvknJVtc2qMnCvcYIyjSuyJ-SsdiOKGnCQyPy0p1tpbWUyZH6eO-R3N8ZKBrLXUQzSZtt96dko1Y/s1600/bookman.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mr. Grey will read to you now!</span><br />
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhillary/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Flickr image by Mark Hillary</span></a></td></tr>
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But, when you sell greater than 100 million copies of your books, no one can deny that you've done something right. From what I've read, James wrote a piece of fan fiction based on her adoration of the <i>Twilight</i> series and fans responded so encouragingly, she gave them more; first self-publishing her book before landing a publishing contract.<br />
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I've never met James nor read her interviews, but I can't help but wonder if she's at all bothered by the criticism her works have received. Does the phrase 'laughing all the way to the bank' fit her take on her publishing journey? Or does it sting a little to be so widely panned as a writing hack that parodies and mock readings abound online?<br />
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We've all read books that make us wonder why publishing gatekeepers felt moved to offer a book deal to the author, and how many readers prior to publication kept their collective pie-holes closed regarding the content. But like any viable industry, publishing houses are in business to turn a profit and if the readership seems poised to purchase, they print.<br />
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As writers, we have options for how we respond when we see authors achieve greatness we perceive to be based more on luck than talent. We can virtually flog them with our criticism. We can join in with praise we say but don't feel. We can leave our 'helpful' reviews on sites such as Amazon or GoodReads. We can keep our own pie-holes shut and say nothing at all.<br />
<br />
Or we can see their success as motivation to keep plugging away at our own manuscripts. Because, to me, 100 million copies in sales means people are reading, and as long as we haven't lost that, we've all won.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-52575271721037888702015-02-13T12:38:00.000-06:002015-02-13T12:38:47.561-06:00Happy Valentine's Day!Happy Valentine's Day to all of you from What Women Write!<br />
Here's hoping your weekend is filled with chocolate covered strawberries, wine, and books.<br />
Enjoy!<br />
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Susan Ishmael-Pouloshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14902604968932512324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-46405121739587693722015-02-09T07:00:00.000-06:002015-02-09T07:00:01.492-06:00Megan Mayhew Bergman's Almost Famous Women<div class="MsoNormal">
by <a href="http://joanmorawrites.com/" target="_blank">Joan</a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megan Mayhew Bergman</td></tr>
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“I’m interested in anyone’s particular sense of control and
autonomy — control over their own life. Traditionally and across many cultures
women’s desires and careers often take a back seat to the men in their lives
and I’m fascinated by cultures or particular women where this isn’t the case. I
respect the difficulty and complexity in stepping outside of those lives.
Especially when we’re talking a hundred years ago.” Megan Mayhew Bergman, in an <a href="http://lareviewofbooks.org/interview/sends-googling/#.VM_SAXG1ACs.twitter" target="_blank">interview with L.A. Review of Books</a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.mayhewbergman.com/" target="_blank">Bergman’s Almost Famous Women </a>has earned a <a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/megan-mayhew-bergman2/almost-famous-women/" target="_blank">starred Kirkus review</a>, impressive
reviews from <a href="http://www.npr.org/2015/01/26/376135143/these-13-almost-famous-women-stirred-up-trouble-or-trouble-found-them" target="_blank">NPR </a>and the <i><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/01/books/review/katherine-heinys-single-carefree-mellow-and-more.html?emc=edit_bk_20150130&nl=books&nlid=50249826&_r=1" target="_blank">New York Times Book Revie</a>w, </i>and made several "books we're looking forward to" lists.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RhWEEd6vocIIcGGGEOWWgNiqDVpyPa6bwZuj0BwXOaJLM-KQ0kbSNV19Y-yoMdTDe530IezN_ElJ7bsDL5WMF_dnHHOy9JRWMvzRW64Tzte_W-aal0yHSZWVUXd3O49epX5gCzrI4h0/s1600/AlmostFamousWomencover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RhWEEd6vocIIcGGGEOWWgNiqDVpyPa6bwZuj0BwXOaJLM-KQ0kbSNV19Y-yoMdTDe530IezN_ElJ7bsDL5WMF_dnHHOy9JRWMvzRW64Tzte_W-aal0yHSZWVUXd3O49epX5gCzrI4h0/s1600/AlmostFamousWomencover.jpg" /></a>I pre-ordered <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Almost
Famous Women</i> from <a href="http://www.battenkillbooks.com/search/apachesolr_search/almost%20famous%20women" target="_blank">Battenkill Books </a>and so received my signed copy on
January 7<sup>th</sup>. Although I wanted to devour the collection in one long
sitting, instead I savored the stories over a few weeks. I knew from reading
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2012/03/by-joan-few-weeks-ago-i-mentioned-we.html" target="_blank">Bergman’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Birds of a Lesser Paradise</i></a>,
that to rush over her words would be akin to dashing through the Met in ten
minutes. I’d snatch glimpses of brilliant color and style, but would miss the
elegant narrative, subtext and symbolism crafted into each masterpiece. </div>
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Bergman’s fascination with these women began at an Oxford
summer program when she came across a book by Natalie Barney, an American author
who held a literary salon in Paris, was a great patron of women’s art and
happened to be romantically involved with some of these women. The stories
formed in Bergman’s mind over the next ten years of reading and researching. </div>
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Inside the lyrical cover are stories “born of a fascination
with real women whose remarkable lives were reduced to footnotes.” These women
hail from different social classes, races and continents, but they have a few
things in common: tragic lives, fierce spirits, and a desire to be seen; though
most would greet you with a punch, not a slap, for pitying them. </div>
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Many of the stories are narrated by close bystanders: a
lover, a caretaker, a friend. This construct prohibits us from understanding the
almost famous one’s motivations, but lets us view the tornado in progress—and
its inevitable destruction.</div>
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In “Romaine’s Remains,” an aged, suffering artist spends her
final days under the care of an Italian mama’s boy named Mario. Romaine Brooks is
an enigma; she sleeps with her “body curled like a prawn, her head lolled to
the side,” and yet she “tries to control the afternoon sun by slapping a
yardstick against the blinds.” Romaine is bitter and bedridden. She calls Mario
a brute, even though he’s gentle and kind with her, bathing her and carrying
her down a flight of stairs on her whim. </div>
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He half wishes she’d die, but then
worries he’d have to return to busing tables. Romaine, now nearly blind, has
led a daring bohemian life, painting “androgynous women in various brave poses
or nude recline,” drinking wine, and living with her lover Natalie in a Tuscan
Villa. This last bit Mario learns from snooping at her letters, and he is
struck by the idea that he “has never been explicitly himself.” When Romaine
confides in him details from her tragic childhood, he imagines she will set him
up with an annuity. But she is fickle and “more stubborn than blindness
itself.” </div>
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“The Autobiography of Allegra Byron” gutted me. Lord Byron’s
three-year-old illegitimate, unwanted daughter is sent away to an Italian
convent of Capuchin nuns. Despite her tragic circumstances, Allegra is not an easy
child to love. She throws tantrums, is spiteful and difficult. A peasant
woman who sought refuge in the convent after her own child and husband died of typhus, is
the only one who can calm Allegra down. “It had
always been my intention at the convent to be nobody, to go unnoticed, to
punish myself until I could no longer feel the weight of my dead child in my
arms.” When she becomes too close, the grieving woman is warned: “When the
children you’ve taught go home, they will hate you as if you’re the one who
kept them here.” </div>
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During one of Allegra’s particularly wild tantrums, one nun
threatens to call for an exorcism. But Allegra’s new guardian coaxes her into
the bath and offers to help her write letters to papa Byron. Both of these lost
souls need affection, to be held and soothed. But we learn early, “The convent
was not a place of peace.” </div>
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In “A High-Grade Bitch Sits Down for Lunch,” Beryl Markham
is broke and alone, “hungry to feel something every day,” even if it’s fear of
riding a wild stallion, the “one who’d killed a man with his hooves and teeth
in the corner of a stall in Nairobi.” To make her money back, she will ride
him. “I will have you, she thought, locking eyes with the regal horse.” When she
says, “You will respect me,” it is all of the women in these pages speaking.</div>
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In a <a href="http://www.rutlandherald.com/article/20150105/BUSINESS03/701059983" target="_blank">Rutland Herald interview</a>, Bergman shares what she hopes her
daughters will learn from reading this book: <span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">"I do hope they have the courage and intellectual curiosity to live
a satisfying, full life. … I want my girls to have the option. I don’t want
them to feel like a traditional domestic existence is a foregone conclusion. I
want them to feel that the world is wide open, that gender roles are fluid and
they can chase passions and dreams and professions and they can really be the
hero of their own life story."</span></div>
Joan Morahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152990243138876941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-49218158543075636572015-02-06T08:00:00.000-06:002015-02-06T08:00:06.220-06:00Does Your Manuscript Have a Soundtrack?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">By
<a href="http://www.carlahrens.com/">Kim</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It
feels odd for <i>me</i> to write a post about manuscripts having soundtracks since I’m
one of the few writers I know of who must compose in silence. It </span><span style="line-height: 18.39px;">wasn't</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> until
quite recently that I realized music still plays an integral part in my writing process.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A
little </span><span style="line-height: 18.39px;">backstory</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">: I spent most of the summer *cough* and fall *cough* stuck on
the same scene. I knew what needed to happen and I knew that writing it would
force me to go to revisit places in my mind I'd have done just about anything
to avoid. I hate fight scenes. Bickering is fine. Name-calling and any sort of
violence, no matter how mild, is highly troubling to my Introverted-Intuitive-Feeling-Prospecting
(INFP) personality type. Those who share that profile are called ‘diplomats’
for a reason, but I had to let these characters battle it out unhindered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Back in November, a Facebook friend posted a
music video by The Family Crest, a group whose song “Love Don’t Go” was played
at the opening dinner for the Writer Unboxed UnConference. I remembered having liked that song,
so I clicked on the video for “Beneath the Brine.” Halfway through, I paused it and went over to iTunes to buy the whole album. The song is unsettling, to say
the least. An orchestral tempest of raw emotion sung by a man whose voice soars
to highs few humans could ever master. My mother went so far
as to compare listening to it with watching the movie Moulin Rouge. (I admit that film mesmerized me from
beginning to end.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/EmQWye0Oe_M" width="560"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I
had probably heard “Beneath the Brine” several dozen times before I realized
why I kept hitting ‘repeat.’ The mood was exactly what I hoped to replicate in
the-scene-that-refused-to-be-written. It had all the waves and
lulls of a storm at sea, yet even the calm parts were rife with tension. With lines like ‘all of my love, and all of my life,
given to you, sacrificed’ this is a song I could well imagine Madonna singing to
Carl if this scene were part of an opera. Living with him was indeed like enduring
“a steady squall” where she must choose between her ambition and an obsessive
love that both sustains and slowly drowns her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Once
I connected the song to my scene, the words all flowed out in one exhilarating
rush. (Thank you, Sean Walsh!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This
experience made me think of other songs that have influenced my manuscript over
time. There are the obvious ones, such as "Amazing Grace", "Ave Maria", Tchaikovsky’s "Warum Op.6", and Alfredo Barili’s “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vKmrWt1ib4">Cradle Song</a>”. All but the latter are ones
Madonna sang in her recitals or at other key moments in the book. Barili, one
of Atlanta’s most prominent composers, was Madonna's voice teacher in the summer of 1921. He
surely would have played her his most famous piece. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Two
songs from Cinema Paradiso (one of my favorite films of all time) are ideal to listen to before tackling a romantically nostalgic scene. The first is the lilting <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hg_boJV0Z_o">main theme</a> (by Laurent Korcia) and the other is called “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7Ee3RjUUJ0">Se</a>.” Josh Groban did an
amazing version of that song. It can turn me into a weeping sap in less than thirty seconds
even though it's in Italian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41qBffVg154">So She Dances</a>,” also by Groban, perfectly illustrates Carl’s feelings for Madonna
during the Roycroft section of my manuscript. Christina Perri’s “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROqTa1mn_qc">Distance</a>” sums up Madonna's side of
the relationship well, at least until it escalates to something more like “You
are all I see, sweet obsession in my soul. Fill each moment with your voice,
breathe your beauty into me.” – from Tara MacLean’s “For You.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Other
songs in my manuscript’s soundtrack:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgJXQg5R6LY">After the Fall</a>” by Cary Brothers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5anLPw0Efmo">MyImmortal</a>” by Evanescence<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEXhAMtbaec">Gravity</a>”
by Sara Bareilles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5moX0iBLi44">I Should Go</a>” by Levi Kreis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HoDRbZvOcM">Last Train Home</a>” by Ryan Star<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANWRhyp-RcM">Set the Fire to the Third Bar</a>” by Snow Patrol<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhK81hZj4L4">Crack the Shutters</a>” by Snow Patrol<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzS4OJP-YMk">Shattered</a>”
by Trading Yesterday<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As
you can see, very few of these songs existed in the early 1900s. That doesn’t matter,
because songs from Carl and Madonna’s era would hold little emotional meaning for
me, the author of their story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>What
about you? Which songs have influenced your manuscript? Have you ever heard certain songs play in your mind while you read someone else's stories?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Kim Bullockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06100854132576647442noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-71439841897017183692015-02-04T10:56:00.000-06:002015-02-04T11:00:34.115-06:00Contrastby Elizabeth<br />
<br />
My oldest friend faced one of the worst events of her life yesterday, and today she's scheduled to celebrate a spectacular achievement, what should, and surely will be, counted among the best days of her life. I'm hoping, as is she, that she'll get through the joy of today in one piece.<br />
<br />
Life is stranger than fiction, the saying goes, and what I write is so much less important than what any human being feels. But being a writer, thinking like a writer, both these events and their emotional weight set me thinking about how life translates onto paper. Certainly both the high and low my friend is going through would be, have been, written about in fiction (as well as non-fiction, come to think of it, over and over again), from multiple points of view. How would I write these events if they were to figure in a novel? The story changes depending on who is telling it, even as the particulars stay the same. <br />
<br />
And then, as a writer, as a plot-deviser, there is the question of contrast.<br />
<br />
A few things have stuck with me from the very first writing conference I attended. One was a speaker advising us to put our characters in peril, and then make it worse. I think she likened it to putting the character up in a tree, then snatching away the ladder--and then lighting the tree on fire. I understood what she was conveying, and have benefitted from the advice in my writing. But even more, I came away from that seminar with the idea that while things can always get worse, but maybe what interests me most as a writer are the moments contrast of when things are great in the midst of awful.<br />
<br />
In the novel I'm querying, I have a character who stands to benefit in a way that would fulfill her greatest wishes--but only if her greatest fear is realized. Contrast. In my work-in-progress, a character is faced with destroying the happiness of someone she loves, and if she doesn't? Then both that person, and someone she loves even more, risk a lifetime of grief. Contrast. One of my favorite movie scenes ever is in While You Were Sleeping when Jack tells Lucy she's not his brother's type, and she aches and he aches because he can't admit she is, in fact, <em>his</em> type, and she hears his silence as rejection. The moment could have been a turning point for them, but instead it's a barrier, and the emotional tug, pull, yank, is because of contrast.<br />
<br />
Life is full of contrast. Often it's terrible to live through, dampening a moment that should shine--but perhaps the shining moments make the black ones bearable. My friend's day should be all about glory and celebration, but there will be a shadow. That said, will the contrast of the wonderful she gets to revel in today temper the grief of yesterday? I hope so. Elizabeth Lyndhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02638768950811415099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-34197941512970114062015-02-02T11:07:00.005-06:002015-02-02T11:07:42.318-06:00In Praise of LibrariesBy Pamela<br />
<br />
As a kid, I felt pretty envious of my cousins' lifestyle. A real-life city mouse/country mouse saga was being played out with me as the mouse who lived next door to farmers and rode my bike down dangerous asphalt roads without a sidewalk to separate me from oncoming cars. Our trees and flowers grew without much thought or attention, and dogs ran loose and free. My nearest playmates, Connie and Brenda, lived over a half-mile away. But I really never labeled myself 'deprived' until I realized my cousins had library cards and, to me, that was almost akin to royalty status. Well, the library and access to a neighborhood pool.<br />
<br />
I did have wonderful school libraries and count those librarians as some of my most treasured teachers. In fact, I stayed in touch with Mr. Wray, my elementary school librarian, up until my 20s--and that was before Facebook! But without access to a library in the summer, I was left to my own wiles and had to read whatever books we had around the house or I could borrow from friends.<br />
<br />
Now as a certified city-dweller, I have a <a href="http://www.flower-mound.com/index.aspx?nid=135">library</a> two miles from my home. Not only does it have free Wi-Fi, study cubicles and meeting rooms, one can also borrow books, movies, audio books, children's learning kits and more. Plus they host a Friends of the Library used book sale four times a year and, if you happen to miss one, there's a bookcase of remainders with hard cover books a mere $2 and paperbacks for 75 cents. At my library, a teen writing group meets every month and so does a book club for adults. The local master gardeners put on talks quarterly and, if chess is your go-to stress reliever, the second-Sunday afternoon of each month is devoted to you.<br />
<br />
I'll admit, since my daughter and I no longer attend the story time events (remind me to tell you about the one time she waited until I was unbuckling her from her car seat in the parking lot to announce she wasn't wearing any underwear) or puppet shows, I don't take advantage of all my library has to offer me. Like indoor plumbing and my dishwasher, it's a luxury I take for granted. But yesterday, I was in need of a book for one of my book clubs and hated to spend the money on a download if I didn't have to. So, I ventured to the library and there the book was, waiting for me to take it home. In fact, I had a choice--paperback or hard cover.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSzVyhbFADUvThQ-0lQrk5XHg1IuzqTYLEBSBZhFiITm-lPUqQMD19TfGsVehn40xC1YcG1VAi-8wV_EksObgWOu6HYrd678a7WeUXcbjqVe2Cvfq4IVLHdSPxndF2QgNz8K2uraK2ww/s1600/mia's%2Bhands%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSzVyhbFADUvThQ-0lQrk5XHg1IuzqTYLEBSBZhFiITm-lPUqQMD19TfGsVehn40xC1YcG1VAi-8wV_EksObgWOu6HYrd678a7WeUXcbjqVe2Cvfq4IVLHdSPxndF2QgNz8K2uraK2ww/s1600/mia's%2Bhands%2B2.jpg" height="507" width="640" /></a></div>
As I was waiting in line with my book (and three to buy from the leftover sale), I almost got teary-eyed watching a young mother and her toddler check out their stash--books and few that came with accessories that had to be contained in important plastic pouches. What memories they are making of spending time together, choosing stories that, no doubt, will mean time snuggled together side-by-side as they explore the imaginations of Seuss and Dahl and Eastman and Peet.<br />
<br />
This made me realize that, while my girl has a stash of books that would be the envy of many and a Kindle, too, I need to get her back to the library. Maybe she'd even like to join that teen writing group.<br />
<br />
What's waiting for you to discover at your local library?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-60669725152030098502015-01-30T11:21:00.000-06:002015-01-30T11:21:55.880-06:00Immersion<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">By Susan<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h3>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Fiction is about everything human
and we are made out of dust, and if you scorn getting yourself dusty, then you
shouldn't try to write fiction. It's not a grand enough job for you." ~
Flannery O'Connor</span></i></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpCveahvmEY5bp2WFFo1LHTeM51UJP1ER5NAndPMBHKiSD8gO-t08qmfJLvWwCQqn8ofaJW8Zhyphenhyphen2r1ksFwjifYLP2YpuxFbLN2gb-Mu-Mc4bTZ6ZWkgm05koHHJHmLeM_oAb93Zu2ASmx/s1600/arts_books1-1_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpCveahvmEY5bp2WFFo1LHTeM51UJP1ER5NAndPMBHKiSD8gO-t08qmfJLvWwCQqn8ofaJW8Zhyphenhyphen2r1ksFwjifYLP2YpuxFbLN2gb-Mu-Mc4bTZ6ZWkgm05koHHJHmLeM_oAb93Zu2ASmx/s1600/arts_books1-1_01.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flannery O'Connor with one of her "obsessions."<br />She raised over 50 peafowl at her home in Georgia.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I've
been home from my third MFA residency for the past two weeks. Deciding to get a
strong jump-start on the term, I've spent the past 14 days in a state that I
can only call <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">immersion, </i>which is to
say that anything that doesn't have to do with my reading or study has been put
on the back burner and set to simmer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">There
is something incredibly powerful about spending days on end in the deep end of
a study pool. For me, my topic is Flannery O'Connor—and this immersion has been
incredibly eye-opening. I've not only read <b>The Complete Stories</b> (all 550 pages)
and her essay collection, <b>Mystery and Manners</b>, I'm also tackling her first
novel, <b>Wise Blood</b>, and am beginning her second and final novel, <b>The Violent
Bear it Away</b>. I'm waiting on the arrival of her 2013 published collection of
letters and journals, <b>The Prayer Journal of Flannery O'Connor</b>. I've not only
spent the past two weeks reading her work, I've annotated it, made pages of
notes, and have begun the formulation of a thesis regarding her wide influence
on American literature. I've loved every moment of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Writer
Steve Almond, who was a guest speaker at the University of Tampa for the
January residency, might call this immersion <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">obsession</i>. And good writing, he notes, comes from obsession. How
else can we motivate ourselves to tackle a puzzle as large as a novel? Or
complete a non-fiction title on an obscure topic? We allow the obsession to
become our work. Simply put: </span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Our </i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">obsession
justifies the madness that consumes us when we take on a new project. <o:p></o:p></i></span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">That's
how I currently feel about Flannery O'Connor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'm
charged this term with writing my critical essay in addition to writing another
80-100 pages of fiction, and in the beginning I was daunted by the task of
simply choosing a topic. Flannery O'Connor and her influence and illumination
of religion in American fiction came to me from a deep sense of whom I am as a
writer: a Southern woman with a deeply religious history. I didn't know that
I'd be seized with a literary passion and that I'd take in her collected works
like liquid. I didn't know that I'd become immersed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Immersion
as a reader </i>becomes much deeper than skating atop the ice, of course. Immersion
requires diving in. In doing so, I've found a way to build bridges between the
stories. I've seen threads of characters as they re-weave themselves through
her work. I've studied the grotesque with a quiet fascination, and I've marveled
at her ability to create rich characters that not only experience brutality and
bigotry, but perpetrate it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Immersion
as a writer</i> is a similar process. I'm looking at my novel in progress through
O'Connor's filter, and I see glaring character and plot flaws. Yet I started
this novel—I remind myself—out of the obsession to tell a tale of character and
place. As I stare down the latest draft of my own work, I know that my obsession
with it will translate to another type of immersion. And there, I can find the
heart of my own words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Susan Ishmael-Pouloshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14902604968932512324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-11175587312047714402015-01-26T07:00:00.000-06:002015-01-26T07:00:05.762-06:00About Us, six years laterby <a href="http://joanmorawrites.com/" target="_blank">Joan</a><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ar6_EiZXehAO_Y2QqHM7Rbno0lOYu7NeRjs8p-Kr_ZaMXhw7tPJgHj3sQPUYalp6eDTozNUquqrXLEQnWPt6KxNIPrE2FZqxbp1lzPuVO3Jj5nTIFm4KJckvS6qny7Gvgk_jBbB78K0/s1600/Group1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ar6_EiZXehAO_Y2QqHM7Rbno0lOYu7NeRjs8p-Kr_ZaMXhw7tPJgHj3sQPUYalp6eDTozNUquqrXLEQnWPt6KxNIPrE2FZqxbp1lzPuVO3Jj5nTIFm4KJckvS6qny7Gvgk_jBbB78K0/s1600/Group1.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth, Julie, Joan, Kim, Susan, Pamela</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">This June will mark six years since we began this blog. We kicked
off on Monday June 8, 2009 and since then have shared 850 posts. Chances are if
you’re reading this you’re familiar with what we do, probably a little bit
about each of our styles. We've interviewed authors, agents and editors as well as posted about our highs and lows over our many years of writing. We get excited about attending author events like
others might for concerts or live theater. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 8.0pt;">Here are just a few of my favorite
interviews and guest posts from over the years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2010/01/amy-einhorn-stops-in-for-chat.html" target="_blank">Amy Einhorn stops by for a chat</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2010/02/dani-shapiro-on-her-newest-memoir.html" target="_blank">Dani Shapiro on Devotion</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2010/05/welcome-guest-blogger-mollie-glick.html" target="_blank">Mollie Glick on what she looks for in a submission</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2014/10/a-conversation-with-bestselling-author.html" target="_blank">A conversation with Alyson Richman</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2013/08/karen-harringtons-favorite-rejection.html#comment-form" target="_blank">Karen Harrington's favorite rejection</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2011/01/pulpwood-queen-fits-right-in-with-what.html" target="_blank">Kathy Louise Patrick (The Pulpwood Queens)</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatwomenwritetx.blogspot.com/2011/12/interview-with-naomi-benaron.html" target="_blank">An interview with Naomi Benaron</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">We’ve updated our “About Us” page, so check it out. </span>Joan Morahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152990243138876941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-25763020015565505572015-01-23T05:00:00.000-06:002015-01-23T08:32:17.582-06:00A Review of Rodin’s Lover by Heather WebbBy Kim<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Synopsis
(from the book jacket):<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As a woman, aspiring sculptor Camille Claudel has
plenty of critics, especially her ultra-traditional mother. But when Auguste
Rodin makes Camille his apprentice—and his muse—their passion inspires
groundbreaking works. Yet Camille’s success is overshadowed by her lover’s
rising star, and her obsessions cross the line into madness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rodin’s
Lover</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> brings to life the volatile love affair between one
of the era’s greatest artists and a woman entwined in a tragic dilemma she
cannot escape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Angie Parkinson</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">About
<a href="http://www.heatherwebbauthor.com/">Heather Webb</a> (adapted from the author's website):<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As a former military brat and
traveling addict, it was tricky for Heather to choose a landing pad. At last,
she settled in a rural town in New England. For a decade she put her degrees in
French and Cultural Geography to good use teaching and coaching high school
students.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Currently, she is a novelist and
works as a freelance editor. She can also be found lurking at the popular <span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="http://romanceuniversity.org/">RomanceUniversity.org</a></span> where she
contributes to their blog with editing advice, and at the award-winning
site, <span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="http://writerunboxed.com/">WriterUnboxed.com</a></span>,
where she poses as Twitter Mistress (<a href="https://twitter.com/WriterUnboxed" target="_blank"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">@WriterUnboxed</span></a>). She also kicks around a local college
teaching classes called “Write to Publish” and “Crafting Your Novel”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When she’s cross-eyed from too much
screen time, she flexes her foodie skills or geeks out on history and pop
culture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rodin’s
Lover</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> is Heather’s second novel. Be sure
to check out her first, <i>Becoming
Josephine</i>, as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My review:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_9GmfHhn_gImr5XcQ4W6ANckOBDzRLVBiccrNWtlB-d6e6a47-2oDprBrJM9YxfNcY6DdzxUVfVQHJI7khFtsljSjjEwQpHwHB21NOfCSyVlVCzY5IO-eyZ39XCtndfV1d-tP8nHN0fM/s1600/cover+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_9GmfHhn_gImr5XcQ4W6ANckOBDzRLVBiccrNWtlB-d6e6a47-2oDprBrJM9YxfNcY6DdzxUVfVQHJI7khFtsljSjjEwQpHwHB21NOfCSyVlVCzY5IO-eyZ39XCtndfV1d-tP8nHN0fM/s1600/cover+3.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hmmm…an artist-muse story set in Belle
Époque Paris? The tale of a talented female sculptor obsessed with and
overshadowed by a male artist of greater fame? It’s safe to say that I would
have snatched this book off the shelf and bought it based solely on the title
and that gorgeous cover. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For those readers unfamiliar with
the relationship between Auguste Rodin and Camille Claudel, the cover may imply
a tempestuous affair crossing the border into obsession, one that more likely
than not ends badly. The beauty of <i>Rodin’s Lover</i> is that while the reader does
get the thrill of living vicariously through all that passion and heartbreak,
this is not a typical artist/muse story. Though Rodin is better remembered by
history, Claudel possessed similar talent. The role of muse is not set in stone. (Pun intended.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Heather Webb did a phenomenal job chronicling
Claudel’s slow descent into madness, much of which is told from her point
of view. I saw Claudel’s delusions through her own eyes, and while I knew her
perceptions were not real, there was truth to be found in them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Readers who have felt thwarted in
their creative pursuits by a parent or other loved one will likely find Claudel
relatable and sympathetic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.45pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you enjoy stories about artists
and the creative process, or even simply ones that take place in this
particular point in French history, Rodin’s Lover is well worth the read. Pick
up your copy starting on January 27<sup>th</sup>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 14px;">Disclosure of Material Connection: I received an advanced copy of the book mentioned above gratis in the hope that I would mention it on this blog. Regardless, I only recommend books I've read and believe will appeal to our readers. In accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s </span><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 14px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html"><span title="http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html">16 CFR, Part 255</span></a><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 14px;">: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising” I am making this statement.</span></span></span></div>
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Kim Bullockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06100854132576647442noreply@blogger.com1