Driving across the Buckman Bridge last week, I listened to one of my favorite songs on the radio. My husband plays the song on the guitar, so I know most of the words. Josh Turner’s song “Your Man“ is a ragtime sort of tune. I viewed it as a positive sign, hearing my favorite song and being uplifted as I went to a place where I hoped to do some uplifting myself.
As I drove across the bridge—it took me months to adjust to driving over 3 miles of water with a very low concrete wall on either side—I wondered what sort of class I’d be doing poetry with.
The J.E.B. Stuart Middle School students I met are in 8th grade advanced language arts—Joe Cramer is the teacher. The first thing I noticed about them was how they paid attention to the teacher. Joe introduced me and I began my presentation, asking them questions about poetry. Suddenly, a very big WONK WONK sound erupted.
Someone yelled, “Fire Drill,” and we proceeded outside. I worried a little because once you interrupt a presentation, the audience may lose interest, especially when it is a smack dab perfect April day, with a temperate breeze and enough spring fever to fill a hospital.
I needn’t have worried. Once we returned, we dialogued about poetry together and I read a few pieces from my new collection. I deliberately selected poems for all ages for my 2007 book Notes from a Florida Village. I peppered my talk with comments about my childhood, my desire to be a writer, and how I overcame a difficult upbringing to do what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted them to know they can do the same; this school is not in a well-heeled area.
They asked a number of questions—When did you know you wanted to be a writer? Do you ever write about your children? Do you write about your childhood? Do you ever have writer’s block?
The most amazing thing was the attention span. The class is full, and every student in the room gave me undivided attention. That’s a first. There was an exciting current of kinship in the room. These kids are in the 8th grade, and they know what a sonnet is, what a cinquain is, and they know their poets well. We talked about Emily Dickinson, Sharon Olds, Robert Louis Stevenson, Walt Whitman, and many more writers.
Joe Cramer is one incredible teacher. One of the projects they worked on is making a poetry anthology, not of their own work but of work by other poets. They type the poems, lay out the book and design it themselves. One book I looked at had the quality of a professional artist, and included both classical poets and modern ones.
I’ve extended an invitation to Joe to select two of his students for our Florida State Poetry Reading in Washington. I invited Joe to read too; he is a master writer of sonnets. Joe is one of the most dedicated teachers I’ve ever met where poetry and writing are concerned.
I went to J.E.B. Stuart to inspire. I came away inspired.
Link of the week: Winning Writers; Why? Free newsletter. Admission to full site requires subscription for a small price and a mountain of good information.
Reminder of the week: Enter your poem in Poetry Spotlight 2 at The Writer online.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Confessions of an addict
Some of us can’t imagine a life without poetry. My own love for it began when I was very young. My mother didn’t have a formal education, but her reading to us is one of the first early memories I have. One of my favorite books was A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. One of my favorite poems was Lochinvar by Sir Walter Scott. I discovered Walt Whitman and many others when my Aunt Cornelia, a woman known for her beauty and genteel nature, gave me an anthology of poems. The name of that book escapes me, but I read it until it fell apart.
I carried my passion into adulthood. I read poetry to both my daughters from the moment they breathed on their own. Now that they’re older, we’ve shared many “poetry moments” together, often when I come across a poem that stops me on the tracks of a busy day, like a train. I am probably one of the only people I know who doesn’t mind the interruption of a train on a city street; I like to watch the box cars and read what people write on them. I like to imagine what’s inside them, where they’ve been, where they’re going. And that’s how I feel about poems.
I read such a poem yesterday. Vince Gotera, in an article about imagery, cites a haiku written in the 1700s by Taniguchi Buson. Gotera teaches a course on the Craft of Poetry at the University of Northern Iowa. His site is an act of generosity for both writers and readers.
Gotera uses this poem in the context of an instructional article about imagery in poetry, citing Pound’s In a station of the metro as well. I was so taken by Buson’s lines that I called my 16-year-old into the office and read it to her. She listened, then smiled at me and said, “Wow!” Here’s the haiku, borrowed from Buson’s site (in the interest of poetry instruction):
The piercing chill I feel:
my dead wife's comb, in our bedroom,
under my heel . . .
When you consider the sound implied, not only literally but in the context of history, the poem unfolds even more. Combs of that period wouldn’t have been made of plastic; this comb would have been created from bone or tortoise shell or a material that surely would have produced a high crackle. The poem is amazing.
As someone addicted to poetry, all kinds of poetry in its many manifestations, I don’t think I could enjoy life as much without it. I think most poets would agree with me. We may battle like barbarians over style and technique and aesthetics, but on the matter of the importance of poetry, I am certain we all concur.
I carried my passion into adulthood. I read poetry to both my daughters from the moment they breathed on their own. Now that they’re older, we’ve shared many “poetry moments” together, often when I come across a poem that stops me on the tracks of a busy day, like a train. I am probably one of the only people I know who doesn’t mind the interruption of a train on a city street; I like to watch the box cars and read what people write on them. I like to imagine what’s inside them, where they’ve been, where they’re going. And that’s how I feel about poems.
I read such a poem yesterday. Vince Gotera, in an article about imagery, cites a haiku written in the 1700s by Taniguchi Buson. Gotera teaches a course on the Craft of Poetry at the University of Northern Iowa. His site is an act of generosity for both writers and readers.
Gotera uses this poem in the context of an instructional article about imagery in poetry, citing Pound’s In a station of the metro as well. I was so taken by Buson’s lines that I called my 16-year-old into the office and read it to her. She listened, then smiled at me and said, “Wow!” Here’s the haiku, borrowed from Buson’s site (in the interest of poetry instruction):
The piercing chill I feel:
my dead wife's comb, in our bedroom,
under my heel . . .
When you consider the sound implied, not only literally but in the context of history, the poem unfolds even more. Combs of that period wouldn’t have been made of plastic; this comb would have been created from bone or tortoise shell or a material that surely would have produced a high crackle. The poem is amazing.
As someone addicted to poetry, all kinds of poetry in its many manifestations, I don’t think I could enjoy life as much without it. I think most poets would agree with me. We may battle like barbarians over style and technique and aesthetics, but on the matter of the importance of poetry, I am certain we all concur.
First recommended link of the week: Poetry Magazine, the essay I Go to AWP by Kay Ryan in particular. Brilliant poet, brilliant essayist. I suppose I identify so passionately with the essay because like Ryan, I can’t imagine teaching and writing at the same time.
Second recommended link of the week: W_O_M_B Poetry, a new site offering promises of good poetry to come.
Tease of the week: Watch The Writer Magazine online for an upcoming article of interest to poets.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
A National Poetry Month Stroll
April inspires a good stroll, at least in Northeast Florida. If weather can be perfect, we’ve got it. Moderate temperatures, lots of sunshine, and the ever-present breeze that makes this such a comfortable place to live. With the idea of a stroll in mind, I’d like to invite you to take a poetry stroll, but instead of watching children play, dogs chase Frisbees, and gardening enthusiasts put in their petunias, we’ll gaze at a few poetry sites.
Nicki Leone hails from North Carolina. I first met her when I read at a booksellers’ retreat sponsored by the Southeast Independent Booksellers Association. Nicki comes off as a low key, gentle sort. I remember thinking to myself she looked like a writer; at the time, she had a management position with a large independent bookstore. I was delighted to learn last week that Nicki Leone has had her first poem published, and in a major daily newspaper no less. Intersection is one of those haunting poems that stays with you; the title struck me as perfect, because it works on several levels, among them the intersecting of the poet's with the reader’s own experiences. I’m sure we’ll see more fine verse by this young poet who I am certain will blush when she sees herself mentioned here.
The villanelle is one of our language’s most difficult forms. I’ve been working on a lot of poetry information for The Writer magazine’s online site. A few days ago, I scrolled through the general poetry forum there and found a villanelle that made me want to try the form again. The poem, “Lament for the Absence of Content” written by a grad student named Christina, is on the Poetry Thread. The winning poem in Poetry Spotlight I, “My Muse” by Mary Rose Betten, is on a special thread at the top of the page; it’s in free verse. Please do visit the pages and comment on the Poetry Spotlight poems. Comments by Kim Addonizio, Alfred Nicol, and Dr. Claudia Grinnell are on the winner’s thread; Spotlight 2 winner will be critiqued by Patricia Gray, David Wright, and Shoshauna Shy. Articles on the site include a roundup of comments from award-winning poets (“What makes a poem rise above the ordinary?”), and a sneak preview of upcoming guidelines for poets who’d like to read at the Library of Congress for Poetry at Noon.
I discovered a site by a fellow Floridian G. Michael Palmer and co-founder Orson Scott Card. Strong Verse has some interesting work, a forum, and an open submissions policy. Guidelines suggest a preference for accessible poetry.
Jacksonville is home to a number of publications, and at the top of the literary category is Mudlark, edited by William Slaughter. I hope to meet him when I return to college this fall—I’ll be taking courses at the University of North Florida.
There’s an interesting article at Newsday, Plotting a course back to Long Island about one of my favorite novelists Carol Goodman, whose latest book THE GHOST ORCHID I’ve highly recommended in a previous column. What does this have to do with poetry? Goodman’s latest book includes some incredible poetry by her husband Lee Slonimsky whose work I wouldn’t have likely discovered had I not been a fan of hers. I highly recommend reading both novelist and poet. I plan to pick up Slonimsky’s book when it’s released by Ochises Press. I hope both of these talented writers see their work gain a broad audience.
Do visit Creative Writer US for news about writing, contest announcements, book reviews, essays and just about everything related to writing. We’ve just posted a National Poetry Month tip page for teachers and poetry enthusiasts.
If we go any further, we’d have to call it a run rather than a stroll. I hope you enjoy the sites I’ve pointed out—and please do read poetry, lots of it. We’re having a special month!
Recommended poetry link of the week: The Writer magazine online.
Why? For going beyond the call of duty for poets.
Nicki Leone hails from North Carolina. I first met her when I read at a booksellers’ retreat sponsored by the Southeast Independent Booksellers Association. Nicki comes off as a low key, gentle sort. I remember thinking to myself she looked like a writer; at the time, she had a management position with a large independent bookstore. I was delighted to learn last week that Nicki Leone has had her first poem published, and in a major daily newspaper no less. Intersection is one of those haunting poems that stays with you; the title struck me as perfect, because it works on several levels, among them the intersecting of the poet's with the reader’s own experiences. I’m sure we’ll see more fine verse by this young poet who I am certain will blush when she sees herself mentioned here.
The villanelle is one of our language’s most difficult forms. I’ve been working on a lot of poetry information for The Writer magazine’s online site. A few days ago, I scrolled through the general poetry forum there and found a villanelle that made me want to try the form again. The poem, “Lament for the Absence of Content” written by a grad student named Christina, is on the Poetry Thread. The winning poem in Poetry Spotlight I, “My Muse” by Mary Rose Betten, is on a special thread at the top of the page; it’s in free verse. Please do visit the pages and comment on the Poetry Spotlight poems. Comments by Kim Addonizio, Alfred Nicol, and Dr. Claudia Grinnell are on the winner’s thread; Spotlight 2 winner will be critiqued by Patricia Gray, David Wright, and Shoshauna Shy. Articles on the site include a roundup of comments from award-winning poets (“What makes a poem rise above the ordinary?”), and a sneak preview of upcoming guidelines for poets who’d like to read at the Library of Congress for Poetry at Noon.
I discovered a site by a fellow Floridian G. Michael Palmer and co-founder Orson Scott Card. Strong Verse has some interesting work, a forum, and an open submissions policy. Guidelines suggest a preference for accessible poetry.
Jacksonville is home to a number of publications, and at the top of the literary category is Mudlark, edited by William Slaughter. I hope to meet him when I return to college this fall—I’ll be taking courses at the University of North Florida.
There’s an interesting article at Newsday, Plotting a course back to Long Island about one of my favorite novelists Carol Goodman, whose latest book THE GHOST ORCHID I’ve highly recommended in a previous column. What does this have to do with poetry? Goodman’s latest book includes some incredible poetry by her husband Lee Slonimsky whose work I wouldn’t have likely discovered had I not been a fan of hers. I highly recommend reading both novelist and poet. I plan to pick up Slonimsky’s book when it’s released by Ochises Press. I hope both of these talented writers see their work gain a broad audience.
Do visit Creative Writer US for news about writing, contest announcements, book reviews, essays and just about everything related to writing. We’ve just posted a National Poetry Month tip page for teachers and poetry enthusiasts.
If we go any further, we’d have to call it a run rather than a stroll. I hope you enjoy the sites I’ve pointed out—and please do read poetry, lots of it. We’re having a special month!
Recommended poetry link of the week: The Writer magazine online.
Why? For going beyond the call of duty for poets.
Friday, March 31, 2006
On the eve of construction: Poetry Month begins
It’s about to begin, that month when poets and media intellectually couple to celebrate poetry month. As I’ve said before, the celebration has its naysayers. But personally, I like the fact that my favorite genre struts to center stage.
Activities are as diverse as the poets. Poet Jayne Jaudon Ferrer does a special newsletter celebration. She selects a poem for each day in April and emails it. Last year’s poems arrived in my inbox daily, and I enjoyed every one of them. She favors diversity in her selections, and there’s never a dull poem. Jayne will happily add you to the list for free; to get the newsletter, visit her signup page.
I received an email today from Poetry Daily, a special edition of the regular newsletter. PD selects 20 past featured poets to select poems to be delivered to you each weekday in April. PD leans towards university presses and MFA style, but many of the poems will certainly be pleasurable. Visit the PD site for more info.
As always, the Academy of American Poets who founded National Poetry Month in 1996, will have a variety of events and abundance of information on their Net site. The Academy is a veritable bastion for the purest form of writing, leaning towards poets established within the Northeastern literary network (Southerners are of course included if they pass the smell test). It’s a great resource; visit the Academy page .
Do visit the feature I’m writing and coordinating at The Writer. Just announced: the scoop on guidelines for an opportunity to read at the Library of Congress. I talked with Patricia Gray, coordinator of Poetry at Noon for the LOC, and the woman has a vision poets can help bring to fruition. Read more at The Writer online.
In Jacksonville, Peter Meinke arrives April 8 at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts for a top quality writers’ festival. Adult members from the community can attend; the fee is so low it’s almost silly. To learn more, visit DASOTA Net pages.
My first NPM event is with poetry compatriot Dorothy Fletcher. Dorothy set up a program with Starbucks, “Authors at Starbucks.” She and I do free workshops and assorted readings there—Starbucks devotes a lot of resources to literacy and treats authors incredibly well. We’ll read and do a workshop (sponsored in part by the National League of American Pen Women, Jacksonville) on Sunday, April 9 from 1-3 p.m. Poetry Café, as we tagged it, will be held at Starbucks Coffee Company in Lakewood Plaza, corner of San Jose and University, in Jacksonville. For a full description, visit the writers’ resource site I edit.
Otherwise, I’m speaking to a variety of groups during April and I’ll do my special poem for the month as always. I’ll have the poem up on my Net site soon.
Another small treat for you: I’ll feature a top poetry site link at the end of each April column.
So do poetry a favor. Grab the nearest willing ear and pull it along to a poetry event. Buy a book published by a small press. Stand on a street corner and recite “Howl.” Or read something racy by Sharon Olds at your next club meeting.
It’s all good.
Recommended poetry link: Ron Silliman
Why? Because nobody does poetry better. Or more extensively.
Activities are as diverse as the poets. Poet Jayne Jaudon Ferrer does a special newsletter celebration. She selects a poem for each day in April and emails it. Last year’s poems arrived in my inbox daily, and I enjoyed every one of them. She favors diversity in her selections, and there’s never a dull poem. Jayne will happily add you to the list for free; to get the newsletter, visit her signup page.
I received an email today from Poetry Daily, a special edition of the regular newsletter. PD selects 20 past featured poets to select poems to be delivered to you each weekday in April. PD leans towards university presses and MFA style, but many of the poems will certainly be pleasurable. Visit the PD site for more info.
As always, the Academy of American Poets who founded National Poetry Month in 1996, will have a variety of events and abundance of information on their Net site. The Academy is a veritable bastion for the purest form of writing, leaning towards poets established within the Northeastern literary network (Southerners are of course included if they pass the smell test). It’s a great resource; visit the Academy page .
Do visit the feature I’m writing and coordinating at The Writer. Just announced: the scoop on guidelines for an opportunity to read at the Library of Congress. I talked with Patricia Gray, coordinator of Poetry at Noon for the LOC, and the woman has a vision poets can help bring to fruition. Read more at The Writer online.
In Jacksonville, Peter Meinke arrives April 8 at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts for a top quality writers’ festival. Adult members from the community can attend; the fee is so low it’s almost silly. To learn more, visit DASOTA Net pages.
My first NPM event is with poetry compatriot Dorothy Fletcher. Dorothy set up a program with Starbucks, “Authors at Starbucks.” She and I do free workshops and assorted readings there—Starbucks devotes a lot of resources to literacy and treats authors incredibly well. We’ll read and do a workshop (sponsored in part by the National League of American Pen Women, Jacksonville) on Sunday, April 9 from 1-3 p.m. Poetry Café, as we tagged it, will be held at Starbucks Coffee Company in Lakewood Plaza, corner of San Jose and University, in Jacksonville. For a full description, visit the writers’ resource site I edit.
Otherwise, I’m speaking to a variety of groups during April and I’ll do my special poem for the month as always. I’ll have the poem up on my Net site soon.
Another small treat for you: I’ll feature a top poetry site link at the end of each April column.
So do poetry a favor. Grab the nearest willing ear and pull it along to a poetry event. Buy a book published by a small press. Stand on a street corner and recite “Howl.” Or read something racy by Sharon Olds at your next club meeting.
It’s all good.
Recommended poetry link: Ron Silliman
Why? Because nobody does poetry better. Or more extensively.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
April is the kindest month
If you’re a poet, you know all about April. And if you’re not a poet, here’s a tip. That’s the month when Poetry takes center stage with a deliberately capital P.
Now there are poets who think this is silly. The thinking goes that poetry should be special every month. A few years ago, Charles Bernstein garnered quite a bit of press for himself by voicing anti-poetry month sentiments. He summed up further thoughts in an essay for the University of Chicago Press Net site, and later read a briefer version of the essay on public radio. Pretty good press for someone who doesn’t like the annual celebration.
Each to his or her own I say. As for me, I like the idea of National Poetry Month. Each year, I write a special poem to commemorate the occasion, and I get a number of invitations to speak about and read poetry. It’s always been a mission of mine to turn people onto poetry—not just my own, but to other poets as well. There are certain poems that stay with me, poems that I recommend to audiences because I admire the skill of the poets. Poems like Wendy Cope’s “The Orange,” Julie Carter’s “But Soon,” Kim Addonizio’s “Therapy”, and just about all verses by Emily Dickinson, many by James Wright, Charles Simic, Frank O’Hara, Billy Collins, Elizabeth Bishop and others too numerous to list—these are poems and poets I tell others about.
It’s easy to persuade people to read poetry if you’re passionate about it. I suppose from my list you can tell I’m a very diversified reader, and I confess to being a diversified poet as well. I bore easily.
The American people love poetry, all sorts of poetry. Smarmy poems and sophisticated poems, spoken word poems and prose poems, sonnets and rambling free verse. I know because I’ve logged thousands of miles traveling this great country to connect others to poetry. I’ve received many kind emails and expressions of appreciation for my own work, and I’ve enjoyed book sales that please my publisher.
But I’ve also been bashed on the trope by poets who didn’t care for my style or subject matter. On one occasion, I became very angry at a poet about that sort of thing, but in a short time, I let the anger go and never looked back. Because for me, poetry is a pleasure separate from love or friendship. I have many people in my life to ease my journey through the human condition. So I won’t worry about those who can't. And poetry, that purest form of writing, goes far beyond petty concerns of the human realm.
So I’ll pursue my usual NPM ramblings. I’m doing a very pleasant reading with Dorothy Fletcher at Starbucks Coffee Company (Authors at Starbucks) on April 9. Dorothy and I do these events together in part, as an outreach for the National League of American Pen Women, Jacksonville branch. And I’ll devote the entire month of April at Bookbeat to NPM events and themes.
Mainly I do poetry for me. I can’t sit still long enough to get a manicure, and I never did like to shop. That my efforts encourage others is the silver lining in a very intriguing cloud.
Visit The Writer online for a special celebration of National Poetry Month in April. The Writer’s Online Poetry Spotlight 2 will continue through the month. I’m enjoying reading the variety of poems submitted.
Now there are poets who think this is silly. The thinking goes that poetry should be special every month. A few years ago, Charles Bernstein garnered quite a bit of press for himself by voicing anti-poetry month sentiments. He summed up further thoughts in an essay for the University of Chicago Press Net site, and later read a briefer version of the essay on public radio. Pretty good press for someone who doesn’t like the annual celebration.
Each to his or her own I say. As for me, I like the idea of National Poetry Month. Each year, I write a special poem to commemorate the occasion, and I get a number of invitations to speak about and read poetry. It’s always been a mission of mine to turn people onto poetry—not just my own, but to other poets as well. There are certain poems that stay with me, poems that I recommend to audiences because I admire the skill of the poets. Poems like Wendy Cope’s “The Orange,” Julie Carter’s “But Soon,” Kim Addonizio’s “Therapy”, and just about all verses by Emily Dickinson, many by James Wright, Charles Simic, Frank O’Hara, Billy Collins, Elizabeth Bishop and others too numerous to list—these are poems and poets I tell others about.
It’s easy to persuade people to read poetry if you’re passionate about it. I suppose from my list you can tell I’m a very diversified reader, and I confess to being a diversified poet as well. I bore easily.
The American people love poetry, all sorts of poetry. Smarmy poems and sophisticated poems, spoken word poems and prose poems, sonnets and rambling free verse. I know because I’ve logged thousands of miles traveling this great country to connect others to poetry. I’ve received many kind emails and expressions of appreciation for my own work, and I’ve enjoyed book sales that please my publisher.
But I’ve also been bashed on the trope by poets who didn’t care for my style or subject matter. On one occasion, I became very angry at a poet about that sort of thing, but in a short time, I let the anger go and never looked back. Because for me, poetry is a pleasure separate from love or friendship. I have many people in my life to ease my journey through the human condition. So I won’t worry about those who can't. And poetry, that purest form of writing, goes far beyond petty concerns of the human realm.
So I’ll pursue my usual NPM ramblings. I’m doing a very pleasant reading with Dorothy Fletcher at Starbucks Coffee Company (Authors at Starbucks) on April 9. Dorothy and I do these events together in part, as an outreach for the National League of American Pen Women, Jacksonville branch. And I’ll devote the entire month of April at Bookbeat to NPM events and themes.
Mainly I do poetry for me. I can’t sit still long enough to get a manicure, and I never did like to shop. That my efforts encourage others is the silver lining in a very intriguing cloud.
Visit The Writer online for a special celebration of National Poetry Month in April. The Writer’s Online Poetry Spotlight 2 will continue through the month. I’m enjoying reading the variety of poems submitted.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Good Reads
Reading is both a learning process and a means of escape for me. Three excellent books have brought me pleasure lately, two of them poetry and one a novel that includes poetry.
Carol Goodman’s THE GHOST ORCHID (Ballentine Books, 2006) weaves myth, history, poetry, mysticism and mystery into a tale that takes the reader on a journey of self-revelation with the main character Ellis Brooks. The Bosco estate, a retreat for artists and writers, also functions as a character by undergoing change and by impacting on the actions of those in residence. Adding a layer of luxury to the novel are the sonnets written by Goodman’s husband Lee Slonimsky whose collection will soon be released by Ochises Press. The sonnet is one of my favorite forms to read and to write. Slonimsky’s sonnets are among the very best I have seen in contemporary American letters. He brings the form to an exceptional level, and integrating his poems into the novel was a masterful stroke on the part of Goodman. I’d highly recommend this book to any reader, and it can be appreciated with a variety of perspectives. Goodman is an accomplished novelist who always spins a riveting and memorable tale.
Claudia Grinnell’s CONDITIONS HORIZONTAL (Missing Consonant Press, 2001) is a collection of poems that illustrate why free verse is a complicated form. No one is more gifted than Grinnell when it comes to poetry, and reading this book has been sheer pleasure. I’ll do a full review of it soon at Creative Writer US.
My publisher sent me a copy of THE POWOW RIVER ANTHOLOGY(Ocean Publishing, 2006), edited by Alfred Nicol. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed thumbing through this book—poems by Rhina Espaillat always ring well to the ear and the heart. I hadn’t read Bill Coyle until now, and discovering his work was a special treat. I look forward to reading all the poems. The anthology is a collaboration by the Powow poets, a New England group spurred to action by Ms. Espaillat.
These books certainly brought some calming moments to a schedule that for me has been too hectic of late. This is my busiest year ever, with newspaper work, magazine work, online work, and my latest book about 40% complete. So time with a rewarding read is a great way for me to forget my own work. If you’re looking for a good book that will soothe you like a friend, I highly recommend each of these.
Carol Goodman’s THE GHOST ORCHID (Ballentine Books, 2006) weaves myth, history, poetry, mysticism and mystery into a tale that takes the reader on a journey of self-revelation with the main character Ellis Brooks. The Bosco estate, a retreat for artists and writers, also functions as a character by undergoing change and by impacting on the actions of those in residence. Adding a layer of luxury to the novel are the sonnets written by Goodman’s husband Lee Slonimsky whose collection will soon be released by Ochises Press. The sonnet is one of my favorite forms to read and to write. Slonimsky’s sonnets are among the very best I have seen in contemporary American letters. He brings the form to an exceptional level, and integrating his poems into the novel was a masterful stroke on the part of Goodman. I’d highly recommend this book to any reader, and it can be appreciated with a variety of perspectives. Goodman is an accomplished novelist who always spins a riveting and memorable tale.
Claudia Grinnell’s CONDITIONS HORIZONTAL (Missing Consonant Press, 2001) is a collection of poems that illustrate why free verse is a complicated form. No one is more gifted than Grinnell when it comes to poetry, and reading this book has been sheer pleasure. I’ll do a full review of it soon at Creative Writer US.
My publisher sent me a copy of THE POWOW RIVER ANTHOLOGY(Ocean Publishing, 2006), edited by Alfred Nicol. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed thumbing through this book—poems by Rhina Espaillat always ring well to the ear and the heart. I hadn’t read Bill Coyle until now, and discovering his work was a special treat. I look forward to reading all the poems. The anthology is a collaboration by the Powow poets, a New England group spurred to action by Ms. Espaillat.
These books certainly brought some calming moments to a schedule that for me has been too hectic of late. This is my busiest year ever, with newspaper work, magazine work, online work, and my latest book about 40% complete. So time with a rewarding read is a great way for me to forget my own work. If you’re looking for a good book that will soothe you like a friend, I highly recommend each of these.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
A holy moment
Years ago, as a student at the University of South Carolina, I dreamed of becoming a writer. Because I have always been unconventional, I dreamed of being a writer without a day job. I aimed at earning a living by words.
I never realized the mix of skills I’d need to fulfill that dream. I didn’t know then I’d have to be a small business owner, marketer, secretary, and general errand girl as well as a writer to sustain myself. A friend of mine, W. Thomas Smith, Jr., is one of the only other writers I know personally who does the same thing I do. His career is far more distinguished than mine, because he’s written for the cream of the national crop and his credits are very impressive.
When I traveled to South Carolina this past weekend to read at the book festival there, I invited my fellow writer to have coffee with me. We traded stories about our constant deadlines, time-challenged workdays, and unrelenting email, how there’s never enough time in a day. Then he invited me to talk to his journalism students at the University of South Carolina where he is an adjunct faculty member in the College of Journalism and Mass Communications.
Today when I returned to the office, I made a pot of Popayan coffee and tinkered with a poem while I awaited Thomas's call. I marveled at the technology that would allow students in South Carolina to ask me questions as I sat here in my Florida office.
They asked fine questions—about the writing process, about the need to establish an area of expertise, about sonnets and poetry and inspiration—even about healthcare topics. Their voices sounded so positive and hopeful. And as we were ending the call, I thought of something to share.
Many years ago I sat in a classroom on that same campus, dreaming about doing exactly what I am doing now. It was a holy moment.
I never realized the mix of skills I’d need to fulfill that dream. I didn’t know then I’d have to be a small business owner, marketer, secretary, and general errand girl as well as a writer to sustain myself. A friend of mine, W. Thomas Smith, Jr., is one of the only other writers I know personally who does the same thing I do. His career is far more distinguished than mine, because he’s written for the cream of the national crop and his credits are very impressive.
When I traveled to South Carolina this past weekend to read at the book festival there, I invited my fellow writer to have coffee with me. We traded stories about our constant deadlines, time-challenged workdays, and unrelenting email, how there’s never enough time in a day. Then he invited me to talk to his journalism students at the University of South Carolina where he is an adjunct faculty member in the College of Journalism and Mass Communications.
Today when I returned to the office, I made a pot of Popayan coffee and tinkered with a poem while I awaited Thomas's call. I marveled at the technology that would allow students in South Carolina to ask me questions as I sat here in my Florida office.
They asked fine questions—about the writing process, about the need to establish an area of expertise, about sonnets and poetry and inspiration—even about healthcare topics. Their voices sounded so positive and hopeful. And as we were ending the call, I thought of something to share.
Many years ago I sat in a classroom on that same campus, dreaming about doing exactly what I am doing now. It was a holy moment.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Confession is good for the writer's soul
Some days are just tougher than others. For one thing, I can’t find our chicken. We don’t know where she came from—she arrived last May, zooming over our 8-foot fence—and we don’t know where she’s gone. I’m hoping she’s okay. She can fly, so I hope she didn’t fall prey to the wildlife we’ve got running around here, mainly because they’re trying to cut down every forest fragment left in this city, and hawks, possum, and raccoons have to eat. I’ve written about her several times; here’s a link to the Times-Union story I did.
On top of that, I got a rejection from an editor I really want to write for. She’s asked for one piece, but not until the first of 2007, and I’d tailored this other piece just for her and boom, no dice.
The good news is I got a really great assignment to cover a presentation by a family from Afghanistan—our neighboring county is reading THE KITE RUNNER by Khaled Hosseini. I read the book as it was being released, courtesy of an advance copy. I loved the book. So it will be interesting to go to the presentation next week and write about it.
We’ve got tons of poems, and some of them are really strong, for the contest at The Writer. I’m also doing an article that will accompany the crits of the first winning poem.
I’m beginning to delve into the project I’m doing for Shands Jacksonville, as writer-in-residence here for the Arts in Medicine program. The history is absolutely amazing; the time capsule found by construction workers dates to 1930. It strikes me that the community has relied on doctors and nurses and healers at that location for over a century. I’m very excited about writing the stories.
Seeing some nice numbers at creativewriter.us. I love working on that site; I wish I had more time. Right now, I'm updating weekly except for the regular news; I update that every other week.
Otherwise, heading to South Carolina for the book festival. Poet Janet Carr Hull organized an exhibit, Pure Poetry, and I’ll be reading with her, Dorothy Fletcher, Carolina’s Poet Laureate Marjorie Wentworth, Ellen Rachlin and Patricia Gray, director of poetry for the US Library of Congress. We’re featured at a reading Saturday afternoon; I think it will be very inspiring. Dorothy and I will stay at my brother’s place on the lake; we’ll just take it easy Friday evening—sip wine and watch the deer eat my brother’s shrubbery.
Meanwhile, there’s a poem driving me nuts—I saw this photo that a reporter took of a full moon over downtown Jax. The thing is the moon was still in the sky, but the sun was beginning to rise too. Came up with two strong lines and can’t seem to get past that.
Never, ever a dull moment, even when you wish for one.
On top of that, I got a rejection from an editor I really want to write for. She’s asked for one piece, but not until the first of 2007, and I’d tailored this other piece just for her and boom, no dice.
The good news is I got a really great assignment to cover a presentation by a family from Afghanistan—our neighboring county is reading THE KITE RUNNER by Khaled Hosseini. I read the book as it was being released, courtesy of an advance copy. I loved the book. So it will be interesting to go to the presentation next week and write about it.
We’ve got tons of poems, and some of them are really strong, for the contest at The Writer. I’m also doing an article that will accompany the crits of the first winning poem.
I’m beginning to delve into the project I’m doing for Shands Jacksonville, as writer-in-residence here for the Arts in Medicine program. The history is absolutely amazing; the time capsule found by construction workers dates to 1930. It strikes me that the community has relied on doctors and nurses and healers at that location for over a century. I’m very excited about writing the stories.
Seeing some nice numbers at creativewriter.us. I love working on that site; I wish I had more time. Right now, I'm updating weekly except for the regular news; I update that every other week.
Otherwise, heading to South Carolina for the book festival. Poet Janet Carr Hull organized an exhibit, Pure Poetry, and I’ll be reading with her, Dorothy Fletcher, Carolina’s Poet Laureate Marjorie Wentworth, Ellen Rachlin and Patricia Gray, director of poetry for the US Library of Congress. We’re featured at a reading Saturday afternoon; I think it will be very inspiring. Dorothy and I will stay at my brother’s place on the lake; we’ll just take it easy Friday evening—sip wine and watch the deer eat my brother’s shrubbery.
Meanwhile, there’s a poem driving me nuts—I saw this photo that a reporter took of a full moon over downtown Jax. The thing is the moon was still in the sky, but the sun was beginning to rise too. Came up with two strong lines and can’t seem to get past that.
Never, ever a dull moment, even when you wish for one.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Internet termites
When I first began to use a computer, I rarely thought about invasion of privacy, phishing, or emails promising to enlarge an appendage I do not have.
I met poets by way of Gazebo at Alsop Review and I met other writers through various message boards. At some point, I joined suite101.com, establishing the Women’s Poetry site and later the Poetry site. I connected with thousands of readers by way of the discussion threads at those sites.
On occasion, I actually met some of my Internet friends in person. They were all nice; some have become true friends. In those early years, the Internet seemed a light and airy sort of place, with limitless possibilities for learning, research, and networking.
I don’t remember whether my first computer even had virus protection. But in the last few years, I’ve invested in all sorts of virus protection and spyware programs, and wouldn’t even think about foregoing the latest updates for just about every software program I run on both computers I depend on now.
I back up everything. Twice.
I won’t open an attachment from someone I don’t know; I don’t read ‘forwards’ because they’re almost always followed with an apologetic email saying something like, “I really thought the cure for the common cold had been found. The email I sent you was a scam. Sorry.”
SPAM has become downright silly. Whether it’s an appeal to send personal information so I can share millions with some poor soul who can’t spell and whose family died in a plane crash, or buying prescription drugs at ridiculously low prices, or engaging in activities that you’d have to be brain dead to engage in—well, you get the general idea. Silly stuff.
And we have to do some pretty silly stuff to keep all that stuff from being even more annoying than it already is. As young as the Internet is, the good old days are already sorely missed.
Enter a poem in the online contest sponsored by The Writer. No entry fee. Guidelines are on the Net site.
I met poets by way of Gazebo at Alsop Review and I met other writers through various message boards. At some point, I joined suite101.com, establishing the Women’s Poetry site and later the Poetry site. I connected with thousands of readers by way of the discussion threads at those sites.
On occasion, I actually met some of my Internet friends in person. They were all nice; some have become true friends. In those early years, the Internet seemed a light and airy sort of place, with limitless possibilities for learning, research, and networking.
I don’t remember whether my first computer even had virus protection. But in the last few years, I’ve invested in all sorts of virus protection and spyware programs, and wouldn’t even think about foregoing the latest updates for just about every software program I run on both computers I depend on now.
I back up everything. Twice.
I won’t open an attachment from someone I don’t know; I don’t read ‘forwards’ because they’re almost always followed with an apologetic email saying something like, “I really thought the cure for the common cold had been found. The email I sent you was a scam. Sorry.”
SPAM has become downright silly. Whether it’s an appeal to send personal information so I can share millions with some poor soul who can’t spell and whose family died in a plane crash, or buying prescription drugs at ridiculously low prices, or engaging in activities that you’d have to be brain dead to engage in—well, you get the general idea. Silly stuff.
And we have to do some pretty silly stuff to keep all that stuff from being even more annoying than it already is. As young as the Internet is, the good old days are already sorely missed.
Enter a poem in the online contest sponsored by The Writer. No entry fee. Guidelines are on the Net site.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Poetry flows at funeral
It happens all the time. Someone dies, and an aspiring poet pens a verse or two. Sometimes the poet even reads it at the funeral. And sometimes, the media will seize the poetic moment for all the rest of us to witness.
So it didn’t come as a surprise to me that poetry found its way to the funeral of Coretta Scott King this week in Lithonia, Georgia. After all, Maya Angelou was there. But my thoughts don’t dwell on Ms. Angelou.
The poem I remember was read by the Reverend Joseph Lowery. I caught part of the reverend’s verses as I glanced at clips shown on the evening news.
I don’t know who wrote the poem. Credit wasn’t cited, and I haven’t been able to find out the author’s name. In my opinion, the verses illustrate everything that is right and everything that is wrong about poetry in America. And there’s an opportunity of sorts as well.
The poem aimed at a political statement. But that isn’t what bothered me. This is America. You want to use a funeral to stump, it’s fine with me if it’s fine with the family of the deceased.
But it seems to me, considering all the talent in this country, Reverend Lowery might have enlisted some budding bard to craft a real poem in honor of a woman revered by people of all color.
Here’s a line that suggests the artistic level of this poem: “She deplored the terror inflicted by our smart bombs on missions way afar.” While none of us favors inflicting smart bombs on innocents, I can vouch for the fact that there are thousands of liberal poets in this nation who would be happy to pen a poem for an occasion such as this. And I do not believe a single one would have followed the word ‘way’ with the word ‘afar.’
There was a nugget in the poem—“weapons of misdirection.” That might have led to greater things had the poet put a little elbow grease behind his or her pen. But that was the single nugget in the entire piece. Reporters noted the reverend’s reading as “playful.” We're discoursing about smart bombs, poverty, weaponry, and the death of a person integral to changing American culture. “Playful”?
It’s a good thing to mark a person’s greatness with a poem. That act is a practice in myriad cultures dating to ancient times. But thoughts strung together with forced rhyme, ragged rhythm, and passion do not constitute a poem.
Next time someone famous and beloved is publicly praised, hire a poet. I can vouch for the fact that poets can always use a little extra cash. And, I’d advise reporters who cite poetry to read more of it. That way, you’ll know a real poem when you see one.
The audience gave the poem a standing ovation. In truth, they were applauding the politics. Anyone who applauded that poem never read a real one.
Click on the column title above to read more of the poem discussed.
NOTES
View calls for submission, reviews, and articles about writing at Creative Writer US.
The Writer is having an online contest. Visit the site to learn more. No entry fee.
So it didn’t come as a surprise to me that poetry found its way to the funeral of Coretta Scott King this week in Lithonia, Georgia. After all, Maya Angelou was there. But my thoughts don’t dwell on Ms. Angelou.
The poem I remember was read by the Reverend Joseph Lowery. I caught part of the reverend’s verses as I glanced at clips shown on the evening news.
I don’t know who wrote the poem. Credit wasn’t cited, and I haven’t been able to find out the author’s name. In my opinion, the verses illustrate everything that is right and everything that is wrong about poetry in America. And there’s an opportunity of sorts as well.
The poem aimed at a political statement. But that isn’t what bothered me. This is America. You want to use a funeral to stump, it’s fine with me if it’s fine with the family of the deceased.
But it seems to me, considering all the talent in this country, Reverend Lowery might have enlisted some budding bard to craft a real poem in honor of a woman revered by people of all color.
Here’s a line that suggests the artistic level of this poem: “She deplored the terror inflicted by our smart bombs on missions way afar.” While none of us favors inflicting smart bombs on innocents, I can vouch for the fact that there are thousands of liberal poets in this nation who would be happy to pen a poem for an occasion such as this. And I do not believe a single one would have followed the word ‘way’ with the word ‘afar.’
There was a nugget in the poem—“weapons of misdirection.” That might have led to greater things had the poet put a little elbow grease behind his or her pen. But that was the single nugget in the entire piece. Reporters noted the reverend’s reading as “playful.” We're discoursing about smart bombs, poverty, weaponry, and the death of a person integral to changing American culture. “Playful”?
It’s a good thing to mark a person’s greatness with a poem. That act is a practice in myriad cultures dating to ancient times. But thoughts strung together with forced rhyme, ragged rhythm, and passion do not constitute a poem.
Next time someone famous and beloved is publicly praised, hire a poet. I can vouch for the fact that poets can always use a little extra cash. And, I’d advise reporters who cite poetry to read more of it. That way, you’ll know a real poem when you see one.
The audience gave the poem a standing ovation. In truth, they were applauding the politics. Anyone who applauded that poem never read a real one.
Click on the column title above to read more of the poem discussed.
NOTES
View calls for submission, reviews, and articles about writing at Creative Writer US.
The Writer is having an online contest. Visit the site to learn more. No entry fee.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Confessions of an author-mom
The book business can weigh on an author like an elevator malfunction. If you’ve ever been stuck in a metal enclosure with music that sounds like a vending machine hamburger tastes, well, you know what I’m talking about. You’re just stuck there in an enduro.
There are the bright spots and the low spots, and it’s all part of the game we play once we see our name on the spine of a book.
Sometimes, a bookstore will give an author that boost she craves. I recall a signing I did here in Jacksonville at the Books-a-Million in Orange Park. The store manager, regional public relations rep, and all the employees made me feel very welcome.
They made regular announcements, personalizing them instead of saying something like, “Author Brownie Brown is signing her book The Only Living Fat Woman in France: A Fictive and Afflicted Memoir. Meet the author at the back of the store where the poetry half-shelf is located.”
So it was a good day, and when the signing ran over an hour longer than scheduled, I apologized to the manager. “No, no,” he said with a smile. “You’re good for business. Stay as long as you like.”
Remembering that day, this author wishes all events were like that. But of course, they aren’t. Last year, I walked into a bookstore and not a single person greeted me. It was inventory day. Two customers came in during the 4 hours I was there. A festival was occurring in the immediate area, and that’s where everyone appeared to be. It was my first zero-book-sale event.
The lighter moments in an author’s life make it possible to suffer the book biz without lasting mental damage. My older daughter Jen brought a smile to my face yesterday.
I’d sent her to the bookstore for a novel my younger daughter needed for school.And I wanted to read Bernard Cornwell’s new book The Pale Horseman. Plus I wanted Kenyan coffee beans. I told her to put the charges (and the frilly frothy latte stew she likes to drink) on my debit card.
When she returned, she said, “You’ll never believe what I did.” She handed over my package, explaining that she was checking out when the clerk said, “I need to see a picture I.D.”
So my daughter starts fishing through her inadequate purse (way too small; way too crammed) for her driver’s license. Then she checked her pockets. Then she remembered she’d stuck her license into the pocket of her other jeans. She explained it to the salesperson who said, “Oh, sorry. But we’re still going to need an I.D.”
Jen thought about it for a minute. Then the fine mind my brand new college grad has served her well.
“I tell you what. You sell my mama’s new book, and my picture’s on the back of it. So if you go over to the shelf and get a copy, you’ll see I’m exactly who I say I am. My name's on the back of it too.” And Jen gave her the smile that can light up an entire afternoon.
The purchase went through without another hitch.
Being a small press author does have its bright moments. Being a mom is even better.
There are the bright spots and the low spots, and it’s all part of the game we play once we see our name on the spine of a book.
Sometimes, a bookstore will give an author that boost she craves. I recall a signing I did here in Jacksonville at the Books-a-Million in Orange Park. The store manager, regional public relations rep, and all the employees made me feel very welcome.
They made regular announcements, personalizing them instead of saying something like, “Author Brownie Brown is signing her book The Only Living Fat Woman in France: A Fictive and Afflicted Memoir. Meet the author at the back of the store where the poetry half-shelf is located.”
So it was a good day, and when the signing ran over an hour longer than scheduled, I apologized to the manager. “No, no,” he said with a smile. “You’re good for business. Stay as long as you like.”
Remembering that day, this author wishes all events were like that. But of course, they aren’t. Last year, I walked into a bookstore and not a single person greeted me. It was inventory day. Two customers came in during the 4 hours I was there. A festival was occurring in the immediate area, and that’s where everyone appeared to be. It was my first zero-book-sale event.
The lighter moments in an author’s life make it possible to suffer the book biz without lasting mental damage. My older daughter Jen brought a smile to my face yesterday.
I’d sent her to the bookstore for a novel my younger daughter needed for school.And I wanted to read Bernard Cornwell’s new book The Pale Horseman. Plus I wanted Kenyan coffee beans. I told her to put the charges (and the frilly frothy latte stew she likes to drink) on my debit card.
When she returned, she said, “You’ll never believe what I did.” She handed over my package, explaining that she was checking out when the clerk said, “I need to see a picture I.D.”
So my daughter starts fishing through her inadequate purse (way too small; way too crammed) for her driver’s license. Then she checked her pockets. Then she remembered she’d stuck her license into the pocket of her other jeans. She explained it to the salesperson who said, “Oh, sorry. But we’re still going to need an I.D.”
Jen thought about it for a minute. Then the fine mind my brand new college grad has served her well.
“I tell you what. You sell my mama’s new book, and my picture’s on the back of it. So if you go over to the shelf and get a copy, you’ll see I’m exactly who I say I am. My name's on the back of it too.” And Jen gave her the smile that can light up an entire afternoon.
The purchase went through without another hitch.
Being a small press author does have its bright moments. Being a mom is even better.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
The Fray Over Frey
Most of us writing nonfiction face the challenge of seeking truth by way of recollection.
Oh, my. Oprah’s brought James Frey back for his Day of Reckoning.
This afternoon, I caught the last 30 minutes of Frey’s second appearance on the American confessional icon's talk show. Memoir’s newest bad boy projected the image of a man who became a better man because he’s admitted to millions of viewers that he lied. He probably wouldn’t have made the admission, or returned for his DOR had it not been for the Internet site The Smoking Gun.
Either way, sales are booming. As I write this column, his controversial book is ranked #5 at amazon.com. His second, the one that picks up where the first left off, is ranked #16. Lying is profitable. So what else is new?
I haven’t read Frey’s book. Didn’t want to. I have loved two substance abusers in my lifetime, serious substance abusers. Both of them died young. Both of them left a trail of sad memories and grief because all who loved them hoped against hope that addiction could be overcome.
I figured if James Frey did happen to be straight while he was doing the book thing, it wouldn’t last long. Forgive me if I have little faith. Being burned on a regular basis tends to make a skeptic of those of us who have wiped up actual vomit, cleaned up bloody wounds from fights, and dealt with a drunk or a druggie when he was going through withdrawal.
I do, however, understand the challenges in finding truth by probing memory and recalling painful events. When I wrote my own memoir about our troubled move to Jacksonville and the bog that formed when our 12-year-old had an illness doctors couldn’t figure out, the quest for truth kept me anxious for the (roughly) 16-month period it took to finish the manuscript. A sub-theme in my book involved the death of my youngest brother when he was a baby.
I recall one afternoon in particular. I remembered parts of the day my brother had died, but I couldn’t remember a lot of the details. The only person who could help me was my mother. My surviving brother was younger than I was when the events occurred. I put off asking Mom about it day after day. I knew this would cause her great sadness, to recall losing a son. But finally I had to ask her questions. She might be over seventy years old, but she’s still very sharp. She answered all my questions, and her responses awakened images long forgotten in my mind. For some reason, as we talked, I could envision the window on the back door she and my dad came through the night the youngest member of our family died suddenly. Before I hung up, my mother and I were lost in a sea of very painful memories, but I had the facts much straighter than before I phoned her.
I checked other information by referring to my personal journal, to the notebook I kept once our daughter’s illness got into full swing, to the daily agenda I’ve kept in my office for over 20 years, to the radiology reports and lab results. I reviewed real estate documents, school records, every scrap of paper I could find from that time in our lives. The documents I used fill two large boxes in my supply closet. I interviewed both my daughters, quizzing them at length. I wrote and phoned our daughter’s doctors. I checked every single statement I made. In the interest of truth.
Over a period of a year, my publisher read and questioned some of what I wrote. We re-drafted about six times, if memory serves me properly. He’s a small press owner, but he happens to believe in accuracy.
Compared to Doubleday, my publisher’s resources are minuscule. But he took the time, a lot of it actually, to be sure that the book we hoped to sell to readers was as accurate as a human being could make it. After all, he was categorizing the book as nonfiction because I told him it was true.
I felt good about the book when it was completed. I had great hopes that it would help someone going through the same ordeal. I had great hopes, and still do, that if even one person is spared an emergency surgery because of the information in my book, then I did a good thing.
When you journey through a dark period in your life, if you survive it, you come to fully understand the meaning of the word redemption in a very personal way. I’ve received a number of emails from readers who’ve thanked me for writing the book.
My book will probably never be #5, or even #16 on amazon.com. I have no plans to sit on the dais with Oprah. To be able to do that, I’d have to change my whole attitude and method of writing.
To be able to do that, I’d have to be published through a press that could buy end-caps in book stores, a press that could schmooze bookstore owners and send a fleet of publicists forth to woo media, a press that could purchase co-op advertising, and do all the other things that make a bestseller zoom its way to the nightstands in millions of bedrooms. At the very least, I’d have to sensationalize some of the bitterest parts of my life.
It’s sad how some writers and publishers just don’t care about integrity. It’s all about the bottom line.
It’s inspiring how some writers and publishers do care. As for profits, small presses and their authors just hope for a bottom line, period.
Oh, my. Oprah’s brought James Frey back for his Day of Reckoning.
This afternoon, I caught the last 30 minutes of Frey’s second appearance on the American confessional icon's talk show. Memoir’s newest bad boy projected the image of a man who became a better man because he’s admitted to millions of viewers that he lied. He probably wouldn’t have made the admission, or returned for his DOR had it not been for the Internet site The Smoking Gun.
Either way, sales are booming. As I write this column, his controversial book is ranked #5 at amazon.com. His second, the one that picks up where the first left off, is ranked #16. Lying is profitable. So what else is new?
I haven’t read Frey’s book. Didn’t want to. I have loved two substance abusers in my lifetime, serious substance abusers. Both of them died young. Both of them left a trail of sad memories and grief because all who loved them hoped against hope that addiction could be overcome.
I figured if James Frey did happen to be straight while he was doing the book thing, it wouldn’t last long. Forgive me if I have little faith. Being burned on a regular basis tends to make a skeptic of those of us who have wiped up actual vomit, cleaned up bloody wounds from fights, and dealt with a drunk or a druggie when he was going through withdrawal.
I do, however, understand the challenges in finding truth by probing memory and recalling painful events. When I wrote my own memoir about our troubled move to Jacksonville and the bog that formed when our 12-year-old had an illness doctors couldn’t figure out, the quest for truth kept me anxious for the (roughly) 16-month period it took to finish the manuscript. A sub-theme in my book involved the death of my youngest brother when he was a baby.
I recall one afternoon in particular. I remembered parts of the day my brother had died, but I couldn’t remember a lot of the details. The only person who could help me was my mother. My surviving brother was younger than I was when the events occurred. I put off asking Mom about it day after day. I knew this would cause her great sadness, to recall losing a son. But finally I had to ask her questions. She might be over seventy years old, but she’s still very sharp. She answered all my questions, and her responses awakened images long forgotten in my mind. For some reason, as we talked, I could envision the window on the back door she and my dad came through the night the youngest member of our family died suddenly. Before I hung up, my mother and I were lost in a sea of very painful memories, but I had the facts much straighter than before I phoned her.
I checked other information by referring to my personal journal, to the notebook I kept once our daughter’s illness got into full swing, to the daily agenda I’ve kept in my office for over 20 years, to the radiology reports and lab results. I reviewed real estate documents, school records, every scrap of paper I could find from that time in our lives. The documents I used fill two large boxes in my supply closet. I interviewed both my daughters, quizzing them at length. I wrote and phoned our daughter’s doctors. I checked every single statement I made. In the interest of truth.
Over a period of a year, my publisher read and questioned some of what I wrote. We re-drafted about six times, if memory serves me properly. He’s a small press owner, but he happens to believe in accuracy.
Compared to Doubleday, my publisher’s resources are minuscule. But he took the time, a lot of it actually, to be sure that the book we hoped to sell to readers was as accurate as a human being could make it. After all, he was categorizing the book as nonfiction because I told him it was true.
I felt good about the book when it was completed. I had great hopes that it would help someone going through the same ordeal. I had great hopes, and still do, that if even one person is spared an emergency surgery because of the information in my book, then I did a good thing.
When you journey through a dark period in your life, if you survive it, you come to fully understand the meaning of the word redemption in a very personal way. I’ve received a number of emails from readers who’ve thanked me for writing the book.
My book will probably never be #5, or even #16 on amazon.com. I have no plans to sit on the dais with Oprah. To be able to do that, I’d have to change my whole attitude and method of writing.
To be able to do that, I’d have to be published through a press that could buy end-caps in book stores, a press that could schmooze bookstore owners and send a fleet of publicists forth to woo media, a press that could purchase co-op advertising, and do all the other things that make a bestseller zoom its way to the nightstands in millions of bedrooms. At the very least, I’d have to sensationalize some of the bitterest parts of my life.
It’s sad how some writers and publishers just don’t care about integrity. It’s all about the bottom line.
It’s inspiring how some writers and publishers do care. As for profits, small presses and their authors just hope for a bottom line, period.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Sometimes a poet’s just gotta’ have fun
I often team up with fellow author Dorothy Fletcher for special events. Last year we conceived the idea of a writers’ retreat—we decided we wanted to go beyond the typical workshop and create an experience that would do more than simply inspire writers. We wanted a true writing experience, one that allowed time to go below the surface—a writers’ gathering that a 1 ½ hour time frame would never allow.
We had no idea what to expect. We found a place in Jacksonville’s historic Riverside area. The Riverdale Inn perfectly matched the vision we had for a setting—atmosphere, gardens, a genteel attitude. We spent months planning our format. Limiting the number of writers seemed to be a good idea. We wanted an intimate, individualized experience. We crossed our fingers, hoping other writers would like our idea.
Both of us are excited about our Wordstream writing retreat. Several teachers have signed up; several other writers have come on board. We wanted a group of 10; it looks like we’ll come very close to our goal. An independent bookstore, The Book Nook near San Marco, donated some very nice totes, and Starbucks Coffee Company donated gift cards for each of our writers. I picked up issues of The Writer to include in the bags; Dorothy found some creatively rendered notebooks. We have lots of handouts and information pieces for the bags too.
While we were planning this, we came up with another idea, one just for fun. We were trying to come up with an author event for our favorite Starbucks Coffee, the one in Lakewood Plaza. We do an ongoing “Authors at Starbucks” event there. With Valentine’s Day in mind, we decided to hold a “Love Poem Clinic.” We both laughed as we came up with this idea. I realized this would be something that would be just plain fun. We organized the “clinic” as a resource for others who want to write their lover a poem for Valentine’s Day. We pledged to assist them in rewriting their poems, hopefully taking the craftsmanship up a notch or two.
I’ve received dozens of love poems in email over the years, all of them from aspiring poets. Most of the poems are completely personal; only the person’s significant other would appreciate such a poem. A poet who’s into technique and form usually groans at the sight of such a poem. But when I think about it, anyone who even tries to write a poem for his or her lover is giving a genuine gift from the heart.
Other than those endeavors, I’m juggling a project for The Writer (will announce it February 1), beginning a really fascinating corporate freelance project, and prepping for the SC Book Festival. Making plans for speaking at a writers’ festival in Rockledge. Poetry Month is coming up and I’m trying to figure out how to make room for all the activities associated with that. Coming up with an overview for the 80th anniversary of my National League of American Pen Women branch—we’re holding an arts showcase in May.
My work is featured in this month’s issue of the Florida Council of Teachers of English journal. Considering the other poets they’ve featured, I am humbled by the company I’m in, and I’m very grateful to the organization for supporting my work.
Still hammering on the novel, have an essay in the hopper, and trying to build up my creativewriter.us site. Still slogging through research and information about the felony murder rule for my nonfiction book. And of course, as always, writing poetry, the latest a blank verse sonnet.
Had a late lunch with my daughters today. We ate at Cross Creek so we could catch the first part of the Steelers’ game. The weather here was sunny with a temperate breeze. Like spring. Returned to the house and we watched the first half of the Seahawks/Panthers game. Every time one of us yelled, “Catch the football” the beagle hound raced to get his football, baying and pleading for one of us to pass it to him.
When I sat down at my desk tonight, I looked around me and savored the fact that some days, life is better than I ever thought it could be. Considering the first part of my life, most days I’m pretty sure I’ve been handed a miracle.
We had no idea what to expect. We found a place in Jacksonville’s historic Riverside area. The Riverdale Inn perfectly matched the vision we had for a setting—atmosphere, gardens, a genteel attitude. We spent months planning our format. Limiting the number of writers seemed to be a good idea. We wanted an intimate, individualized experience. We crossed our fingers, hoping other writers would like our idea.
Both of us are excited about our Wordstream writing retreat. Several teachers have signed up; several other writers have come on board. We wanted a group of 10; it looks like we’ll come very close to our goal. An independent bookstore, The Book Nook near San Marco, donated some very nice totes, and Starbucks Coffee Company donated gift cards for each of our writers. I picked up issues of The Writer to include in the bags; Dorothy found some creatively rendered notebooks. We have lots of handouts and information pieces for the bags too.
While we were planning this, we came up with another idea, one just for fun. We were trying to come up with an author event for our favorite Starbucks Coffee, the one in Lakewood Plaza. We do an ongoing “Authors at Starbucks” event there. With Valentine’s Day in mind, we decided to hold a “Love Poem Clinic.” We both laughed as we came up with this idea. I realized this would be something that would be just plain fun. We organized the “clinic” as a resource for others who want to write their lover a poem for Valentine’s Day. We pledged to assist them in rewriting their poems, hopefully taking the craftsmanship up a notch or two.
I’ve received dozens of love poems in email over the years, all of them from aspiring poets. Most of the poems are completely personal; only the person’s significant other would appreciate such a poem. A poet who’s into technique and form usually groans at the sight of such a poem. But when I think about it, anyone who even tries to write a poem for his or her lover is giving a genuine gift from the heart.
Other than those endeavors, I’m juggling a project for The Writer (will announce it February 1), beginning a really fascinating corporate freelance project, and prepping for the SC Book Festival. Making plans for speaking at a writers’ festival in Rockledge. Poetry Month is coming up and I’m trying to figure out how to make room for all the activities associated with that. Coming up with an overview for the 80th anniversary of my National League of American Pen Women branch—we’re holding an arts showcase in May.
My work is featured in this month’s issue of the Florida Council of Teachers of English journal. Considering the other poets they’ve featured, I am humbled by the company I’m in, and I’m very grateful to the organization for supporting my work.
Still hammering on the novel, have an essay in the hopper, and trying to build up my creativewriter.us site. Still slogging through research and information about the felony murder rule for my nonfiction book. And of course, as always, writing poetry, the latest a blank verse sonnet.
Had a late lunch with my daughters today. We ate at Cross Creek so we could catch the first part of the Steelers’ game. The weather here was sunny with a temperate breeze. Like spring. Returned to the house and we watched the first half of the Seahawks/Panthers game. Every time one of us yelled, “Catch the football” the beagle hound raced to get his football, baying and pleading for one of us to pass it to him.
When I sat down at my desk tonight, I looked around me and savored the fact that some days, life is better than I ever thought it could be. Considering the first part of my life, most days I’m pretty sure I’ve been handed a miracle.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Bookstore Angst
Over the past two years, I’ve spent a lot of time in bookstores. I signed in a number of cities with A Poetry Break (2004) and Killing Earl (2005). I’ve spent enough time in both chain and independent stores to realize that the bookstore we once knew and loved no longer exists.
The busiest bookstores where I’ve signed function as community centers. These stores have extended operating hours and a café that usually stays open until 11 p.m. They are always located in areas where there is a lot of pedestrian traffic. They also sell a lot more than books—everything from gift items like bookends to coffee beans. Most of them stock the same titles up front, and most of those titles have enough orders in to be classified as best-sellers. Most of those titles, in hardcover, anyway, will be heavily discounted within weeks of being displayed.
What’s missing from almost every store where I’ve signed is the long-term employee who loves books. I don’t mean to disparage the employees who work in bookstores now. But the day of the truly diversified book lover is, I fear, long behind us.
For one thing, all bookstores depend on major publishers to spur sales. Harry Potter makes the register sing. Mysteries drive the market. You will rarely see a truly famous author signing books in person, although ex-presidents, rock stars, and politicians will do so, and tickets are usually required for the purchaser to meet these media personalities.
What you will also see, in droves, is the mid-list author, or perhaps a local author. Tickets will not be required, and this type of author will spend no small amount of time single-handedly recruiting warm bodies—any warm bodies—to come in to purchase a book. Once this author leaves the store, his or her book will likely be banished to a back shelf and forgotten, at least by the bookstore.
That same mid-list or local author will do scores of book events outside the bookstore realm, and will likely sell more copies at book festivals, independent gift and coffee shops, and speaking events than the author ever sold in a bookstore environment.
Bookstores as centers of literacy and literature are scarce. They have become places where study groups do homework in the café, and where you are likely to see an upfront display of the latest yoga DVD rather than the latest poetry collection by a Pulitzer prize winning poet. The book business in America, like almost everything else, manifests as an extension of the entertainment world.
I miss the bookstore of my youth, the store where I meandered through hallowed aisles of books by all sorts of authors, where books were still produced as a quality product rather than rushed into print as a print-on-demand title, something even traditional, large publishers now do. I miss the employee who could actually name five living poets, the employee who could talk with me at length about authors like Carson McCullers or James Joyce. I miss the employee who could think for herself, rather than follow the mandates set out by management to push the latest alpha-titled-series mystery.
What’s really missing from the American bookstore and the American literary scene is the independent reader, one who can think for herself and who will browse aisles looking for something that the New York Times hasn’t stamped with approval.
I miss the reader who wouldn’t have been duped by James Frey despite his television infomercials portrayed as talk shows. The first thing I asked, when a friend mentioned Frey's “great book” was how come he’s walking around free if he’s wanted in three states? How many felons can hide after center staging themselves on Oprah?
The reader that bookstores knew and loved is missing, compliments of the international marketing conglomerate that determines a handful of publishers comprise the world’s reading list. The conglomerate, though it's made up of different corporations, functions single-mindedly.
The busiest bookstores where I’ve signed function as community centers. These stores have extended operating hours and a café that usually stays open until 11 p.m. They are always located in areas where there is a lot of pedestrian traffic. They also sell a lot more than books—everything from gift items like bookends to coffee beans. Most of them stock the same titles up front, and most of those titles have enough orders in to be classified as best-sellers. Most of those titles, in hardcover, anyway, will be heavily discounted within weeks of being displayed.
What’s missing from almost every store where I’ve signed is the long-term employee who loves books. I don’t mean to disparage the employees who work in bookstores now. But the day of the truly diversified book lover is, I fear, long behind us.
For one thing, all bookstores depend on major publishers to spur sales. Harry Potter makes the register sing. Mysteries drive the market. You will rarely see a truly famous author signing books in person, although ex-presidents, rock stars, and politicians will do so, and tickets are usually required for the purchaser to meet these media personalities.
What you will also see, in droves, is the mid-list author, or perhaps a local author. Tickets will not be required, and this type of author will spend no small amount of time single-handedly recruiting warm bodies—any warm bodies—to come in to purchase a book. Once this author leaves the store, his or her book will likely be banished to a back shelf and forgotten, at least by the bookstore.
That same mid-list or local author will do scores of book events outside the bookstore realm, and will likely sell more copies at book festivals, independent gift and coffee shops, and speaking events than the author ever sold in a bookstore environment.
Bookstores as centers of literacy and literature are scarce. They have become places where study groups do homework in the café, and where you are likely to see an upfront display of the latest yoga DVD rather than the latest poetry collection by a Pulitzer prize winning poet. The book business in America, like almost everything else, manifests as an extension of the entertainment world.
I miss the bookstore of my youth, the store where I meandered through hallowed aisles of books by all sorts of authors, where books were still produced as a quality product rather than rushed into print as a print-on-demand title, something even traditional, large publishers now do. I miss the employee who could actually name five living poets, the employee who could talk with me at length about authors like Carson McCullers or James Joyce. I miss the employee who could think for herself, rather than follow the mandates set out by management to push the latest alpha-titled-series mystery.
What’s really missing from the American bookstore and the American literary scene is the independent reader, one who can think for herself and who will browse aisles looking for something that the New York Times hasn’t stamped with approval.
I miss the reader who wouldn’t have been duped by James Frey despite his television infomercials portrayed as talk shows. The first thing I asked, when a friend mentioned Frey's “great book” was how come he’s walking around free if he’s wanted in three states? How many felons can hide after center staging themselves on Oprah?
The reader that bookstores knew and loved is missing, compliments of the international marketing conglomerate that determines a handful of publishers comprise the world’s reading list. The conglomerate, though it's made up of different corporations, functions single-mindedly.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Back to the keyboard
It’s like raindrops plopping from an awning onto the back of your neck, that return to the office after a nice long break. I took the first real vacation in 2 years, and it felt good. I made a resolution to do it again soon. We spent a week in Carolina, staying at my brother’s house on a lake in a really small town. Very tranquil.
Within minutes of checking my email and messages when I came home to Florida, I realized Christmas was definitely over. About 550 messages waited in two email accounts. I’m still slogging.
Accepted some new assignments—one is a neat project I’ll announce shortly. It involves a poetry project for a national magazine. So stay tuned.
Back on the newspaper beat, and trying to cover my bases on speaking arrangements. I spoke to the Woman’s Club of Jacksonville yesterday, and it was a very rewarding experience. The members are intelligent and well-read. A poet’s dream. We had a great time together—I think they enjoyed my anecdotes about the freelance life. I signed both books.
Met with my publisher today to cook up ideas for the coming year. I have to admire owners of small presses. We were in one of the major chain stores, and my eye wandered. Aisle after aisle of impulse purchases, cook books by unique personalities, get-thin books by already thin people, discounted Christmas decorations—all scattered against a backdrop of coffee machine groans from the café. Where, I wonder, did the bookstore of my youth go?
The year ahead looks promising. Dorothy Fletcher and I are working hard on Wordstream, the writers’ retreat we’re holding at Riverdale Inn. The inn is one of those places that oozes history and charm. I think this will be one of the most enjoyable projects I’ll be part of this year.
Creative projects include editing my young adult novel, completing my new poetry collection, and working on a book about the felony murder rule.
I’m also fleshing out my writer-reader resource site creativewriter.us. I'll have an announcement soon about a new associate editor for that site.
Never a dull moment.
Happy New Year to all!
Kay Day
Within minutes of checking my email and messages when I came home to Florida, I realized Christmas was definitely over. About 550 messages waited in two email accounts. I’m still slogging.
Accepted some new assignments—one is a neat project I’ll announce shortly. It involves a poetry project for a national magazine. So stay tuned.
Back on the newspaper beat, and trying to cover my bases on speaking arrangements. I spoke to the Woman’s Club of Jacksonville yesterday, and it was a very rewarding experience. The members are intelligent and well-read. A poet’s dream. We had a great time together—I think they enjoyed my anecdotes about the freelance life. I signed both books.
Met with my publisher today to cook up ideas for the coming year. I have to admire owners of small presses. We were in one of the major chain stores, and my eye wandered. Aisle after aisle of impulse purchases, cook books by unique personalities, get-thin books by already thin people, discounted Christmas decorations—all scattered against a backdrop of coffee machine groans from the café. Where, I wonder, did the bookstore of my youth go?
The year ahead looks promising. Dorothy Fletcher and I are working hard on Wordstream, the writers’ retreat we’re holding at Riverdale Inn. The inn is one of those places that oozes history and charm. I think this will be one of the most enjoyable projects I’ll be part of this year.
Creative projects include editing my young adult novel, completing my new poetry collection, and working on a book about the felony murder rule.
I’m also fleshing out my writer-reader resource site creativewriter.us. I'll have an announcement soon about a new associate editor for that site.
Never a dull moment.
Happy New Year to all!
Kay Day
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Touch of Florida winter
Today I had a book event with fellow author Dorothy Fletcher. Dorothy worked out an arrangement for us to do bookish things at the Starbucks Coffee located in the Lakewood community here in Jax. Lakewood is just off San Jose Blvd., also known as Florida 13.
I signed some poetry books, and in between, watched people come and go, all bundled up because by Florida’s standards, it was cold here today. The temp was in the upper fifties; it’ll go down to 32 degrees tonight. I can’t figure out why it feels so cold. One fellow told me it’s the dampness, since we’ve got the St. John’s River and the ocean close at hand. Compared to the winters in my upstate Carolina childhood, I guess it’s not all that cold. But maybe I’ve just grown used to the balmy Florida climate.
The coffee shop manager invited us to come back and sign any time. She says Starbucks Coffee is into literacy. I have to say signing there is just so pleasant. The patrons are the sort who read, and of course, you’re surrounded by all those great coffee smells. I even got some of my Christmas shopping done; they have all kinds of coffee, hot chocolate, and tea assortments and the prices are reasonable. I’ll do anything to avoid the mall.
As I drove back home, I listened to the end of the game between the Jags and the Colts. We came so close—at least we lost honorably, coming within 8 points against a tough team.
I’m trying to wind down my ‘to-do’ list for a two week vacation. I haven’t been home to Carolina since June, and I’m really looking forward to seeing my family again.I’m already filling 2006 up, so for a small press author, that’s a good thing. I didn’t meet the NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000 words in 30 days, but aiming at it got my novel about 75% complete and it helped me form a habit of writing fiction every day.
My new poetry collection is going well and should be in first draft stage by late winter, 2006. Some nice assignments are on the books, and I’m looking forward to working with writers on the Wordstream retreat Dorothy and I are doing. We’re holding it at this historical inn in Jax’s Riverside district. The Riverdale Inn set us up with a very reasonable package, and they’re throwing in a gourmet meal.
Plus I’ll be poetry instructor for the Southeastern Writers Association conference. It’s good to have things to look forward to.
Best to all,
Kay Day
I signed some poetry books, and in between, watched people come and go, all bundled up because by Florida’s standards, it was cold here today. The temp was in the upper fifties; it’ll go down to 32 degrees tonight. I can’t figure out why it feels so cold. One fellow told me it’s the dampness, since we’ve got the St. John’s River and the ocean close at hand. Compared to the winters in my upstate Carolina childhood, I guess it’s not all that cold. But maybe I’ve just grown used to the balmy Florida climate.
The coffee shop manager invited us to come back and sign any time. She says Starbucks Coffee is into literacy. I have to say signing there is just so pleasant. The patrons are the sort who read, and of course, you’re surrounded by all those great coffee smells. I even got some of my Christmas shopping done; they have all kinds of coffee, hot chocolate, and tea assortments and the prices are reasonable. I’ll do anything to avoid the mall.
As I drove back home, I listened to the end of the game between the Jags and the Colts. We came so close—at least we lost honorably, coming within 8 points against a tough team.
I’m trying to wind down my ‘to-do’ list for a two week vacation. I haven’t been home to Carolina since June, and I’m really looking forward to seeing my family again.I’m already filling 2006 up, so for a small press author, that’s a good thing. I didn’t meet the NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000 words in 30 days, but aiming at it got my novel about 75% complete and it helped me form a habit of writing fiction every day.
My new poetry collection is going well and should be in first draft stage by late winter, 2006. Some nice assignments are on the books, and I’m looking forward to working with writers on the Wordstream retreat Dorothy and I are doing. We’re holding it at this historical inn in Jax’s Riverside district. The Riverdale Inn set us up with a very reasonable package, and they’re throwing in a gourmet meal.
Plus I’ll be poetry instructor for the Southeastern Writers Association conference. It’s good to have things to look forward to.
Best to all,
Kay Day
Friday, December 02, 2005
Catching up
November 16, 2005
It's hard to believe the year is almost over. With the
arrival of 2006, I'll pick up where the tour left off, with
events scheduled in Florida, South Carolina, and
Georgia. I'm planning to take several weeks off mid-
December through the first week in January. I realized
last week this has been a challenging and sometimes
exhausting year.
My poetry will be featured in the December issue of the
journal published by the Florida Council of Teachers of
English. I thoroughly enjoyed speaking at the October
FCTE conference. Florida is blessed with some
spectacular English teachers.
Watch for an interview with poet Billy Collins in the April
issue of The Writer. Soon, my essay about working with
students on poetry at Nease High School in St.
Augustine, Florida, will be featured in the St. John's Sun.
And I'm penning a Christmas story for the Florida Times
Union. I'm also pitching an essay about the Felony
Murder Rule, and I'll let everyone know who bites and
where it will be published.
Other than than that, slogging through the trials and
tribs of freelancing. I found out last week that I need a
license from the county to freelance. Spent an hour or
so getting all that together--who'd have thunk you'd
need a license to do this? My former home state never
cared, but then again, Florida doesn't have the personal
income tax that South Carolina levied. Either way, the
government's gonna' dip into the pocket.
Best to all,
Kay Day
It's hard to believe the year is almost over. With the
arrival of 2006, I'll pick up where the tour left off, with
events scheduled in Florida, South Carolina, and
Georgia. I'm planning to take several weeks off mid-
December through the first week in January. I realized
last week this has been a challenging and sometimes
exhausting year.
My poetry will be featured in the December issue of the
journal published by the Florida Council of Teachers of
English. I thoroughly enjoyed speaking at the October
FCTE conference. Florida is blessed with some
spectacular English teachers.
Watch for an interview with poet Billy Collins in the April
issue of The Writer. Soon, my essay about working with
students on poetry at Nease High School in St.
Augustine, Florida, will be featured in the St. John's Sun.
And I'm penning a Christmas story for the Florida Times
Union. I'm also pitching an essay about the Felony
Murder Rule, and I'll let everyone know who bites and
where it will be published.
Other than than that, slogging through the trials and
tribs of freelancing. I found out last week that I need a
license from the county to freelance. Spent an hour or
so getting all that together--who'd have thunk you'd
need a license to do this? My former home state never
cared, but then again, Florida doesn't have the personal
income tax that South Carolina levied. Either way, the
government's gonna' dip into the pocket.
Best to all,
Kay Day
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Writing Nano
Thursday, November 3, 2005
Writing NaNo
The first thing that popped into my mind this morning relates to
what I never have enough of. Time. Where does it go? I start out
every morning early and finish late. I’m thinking I need to take a
time management course. Only I don’t have time.
I opted in to NaNoWriMo, aka National Novel Writing Month. I’ve
had an idea for a novel zooming in and out of my muse space for
at least a year. So I mapped the characters and sketched a plot
scene by scene. I didn’t question whether I could write 50,000
words in 30 days. After all, there’s no editor sitting at a desk
somewhere, ready to send me one of those ‘where’s your story?’
emails I get from time to time. So it's like I hit 'delete' on the
pressure key.
I started writing on November 1. What really impresses me is the
fluidity. Normally, I’ll write graf after graf to get an article sketched
out, until I land on the lead or angle I want. But with this book,
once I let the character through the door, the story just started
running like a marathoner.
I’m not kidding myself that this will be a finished manuscript. I’m
a neurotic reviser. But scheduling 1,667 words a day has merit.
Maybe it’s a result of so many years of meeting deadlines for a
set amount of words. But for the first time, I’m not struggling with
fiction. I’ll know in 30 days whether I can do this. My goal is to
produce a first draft.
Fiction is a whole lot easier to draft than nonfiction or poetry, in my
opinion. Note the emphasis on the word ‘draft.’ When I write
poetry, it’s like climbing a steep mountain one small step at a
time, and I’m wearing flip flops. When I write nonfiction, it’s like
digging a long garden row before you drop the little seeds in the
soil.
But with this NaNo project, once I got the main character going,
she took over and began to tell her own story.
Who says you can’t teach an old freelancer new tricks?
For the latest Bookbeat, visit http://creativewriter.us
Writing NaNo
The first thing that popped into my mind this morning relates to
what I never have enough of. Time. Where does it go? I start out
every morning early and finish late. I’m thinking I need to take a
time management course. Only I don’t have time.
I opted in to NaNoWriMo, aka National Novel Writing Month. I’ve
had an idea for a novel zooming in and out of my muse space for
at least a year. So I mapped the characters and sketched a plot
scene by scene. I didn’t question whether I could write 50,000
words in 30 days. After all, there’s no editor sitting at a desk
somewhere, ready to send me one of those ‘where’s your story?’
emails I get from time to time. So it's like I hit 'delete' on the
pressure key.
I started writing on November 1. What really impresses me is the
fluidity. Normally, I’ll write graf after graf to get an article sketched
out, until I land on the lead or angle I want. But with this book,
once I let the character through the door, the story just started
running like a marathoner.
I’m not kidding myself that this will be a finished manuscript. I’m
a neurotic reviser. But scheduling 1,667 words a day has merit.
Maybe it’s a result of so many years of meeting deadlines for a
set amount of words. But for the first time, I’m not struggling with
fiction. I’ll know in 30 days whether I can do this. My goal is to
produce a first draft.
Fiction is a whole lot easier to draft than nonfiction or poetry, in my
opinion. Note the emphasis on the word ‘draft.’ When I write
poetry, it’s like climbing a steep mountain one small step at a
time, and I’m wearing flip flops. When I write nonfiction, it’s like
digging a long garden row before you drop the little seeds in the
soil.
But with this NaNo project, once I got the main character going,
she took over and began to tell her own story.
Who says you can’t teach an old freelancer new tricks?
For the latest Bookbeat, visit http://creativewriter.us
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Changes, News
I'm trying to pen a regular column at a new site I've built,Creative Writer So approximately every 7 days, I'll archive the column here since a number of readers have bookmarked this site. Plus it's just plain easier to move the previous column here.
This has been convention-crisis month. I haven't had a free minute--7 weekends in a row spent doing the authorial ritual. But the book's going great. I just found out yesterday, at a banquet in Gainesville, Florida, that Killing Earl won second place in the letters competition sponsored by the Florida State Association of the National League of American Pen Women, Inc. I won some other awards too, in fiction, nonfiction and poetry. I was a whole lot more surprised than the audience. FSA/NLAPW has over 600 Florida members. The book that took first prize is Mary Cameron Kilgour's Me May Mary, published by the Child Welfare League of America. I am honored to be in her company.
I'm also doing NaNoWriMo--you can keep up with my progress at Can She Do It? I have no idea if I can push out 50,000 words in a month. But I've had this young adult novel in my head for a long time. And on a regular month, I write more than that; it's just that I write it in segments for different newspapers and magazines.
Hope everyone's doing well today. We're keeping an eye on Wilma.
best to all, Kay Day
This has been convention-crisis month. I haven't had a free minute--7 weekends in a row spent doing the authorial ritual. But the book's going great. I just found out yesterday, at a banquet in Gainesville, Florida, that Killing Earl won second place in the letters competition sponsored by the Florida State Association of the National League of American Pen Women, Inc. I won some other awards too, in fiction, nonfiction and poetry. I was a whole lot more surprised than the audience. FSA/NLAPW has over 600 Florida members. The book that took first prize is Mary Cameron Kilgour's Me May Mary, published by the Child Welfare League of America. I am honored to be in her company.
I'm also doing NaNoWriMo--you can keep up with my progress at Can She Do It? I have no idea if I can push out 50,000 words in a month. But I've had this young adult novel in my head for a long time. And on a regular month, I write more than that; it's just that I write it in segments for different newspapers and magazines.
Hope everyone's doing well today. We're keeping an eye on Wilma.
best to all, Kay Day
Creative Writer
Sunday, October 2, 2005
first posted at creativewriter.us
Welcome to my new digs. I decided to move my blog to Creative
Writer because it's just easier all around.
I established Creative Writer because for one thing, I get tons of
email and phone calls from aspiring writers of all ages. I figure
now I'll be able to share information in a less time-consuming
way.
This site will also give me some opportunities. I get many
requests to review books. But I can't always place a review. So
when I read a book that moves me, I can put the review here.
Since I'm also moving my personal pages from kayday.com to
kayday.net, I'll probably use Creative Writer to host my "good
cause" pages, such as those for the National League of
American Pen Women's Jacksonville branch, and my literary
archive pages, By Invitation. This will take some time, though,
because I have to sandwich it in between assignments from
editors and book events.
Last week, I had the pleasure of interviewing Billy Collins. That
will come out in The Writer soon, so stay tuned. Billy Collins is
one of the most interesting American writers I've ever talked with.
In other news, co-author Dorothy Fletcher and I are collaborating
on a new book, and we've set up our new Wordstream Writers'
Retreat to debut January 28, 2006. Watch for more on this unique
approach to exploring our favorite pursuit.
Meanwhile, visit either of my other sites, and know that I'll be
adding to these pages at Creative Writer on a weekly basis.
I'll archive this blog at my Bookbeat site.
http://kayday.net
http://kayday.com
NOTE: I'm always glad to see friends and fellow writers place a message here. But those who post advertising links--well, I'd rather they not do that. A classic example is the individual posting an ad for Carrier equipment. Well, I happen to know about heating and a/c equipment, and I'm here to tell you don't blindly buy that brand. There are less costly brands that are just as good.
Please don't automatically click on the advertising links embedded in these banal messages. I don't know where the links will take you. I don't click on them at all. I plan to remove those messages as soon as I have time.
first posted at creativewriter.us
Welcome to my new digs. I decided to move my blog to Creative
Writer because it's just easier all around.
I established Creative Writer because for one thing, I get tons of
email and phone calls from aspiring writers of all ages. I figure
now I'll be able to share information in a less time-consuming
way.
This site will also give me some opportunities. I get many
requests to review books. But I can't always place a review. So
when I read a book that moves me, I can put the review here.
Since I'm also moving my personal pages from kayday.com to
kayday.net, I'll probably use Creative Writer to host my "good
cause" pages, such as those for the National League of
American Pen Women's Jacksonville branch, and my literary
archive pages, By Invitation. This will take some time, though,
because I have to sandwich it in between assignments from
editors and book events.
Last week, I had the pleasure of interviewing Billy Collins. That
will come out in The Writer soon, so stay tuned. Billy Collins is
one of the most interesting American writers I've ever talked with.
In other news, co-author Dorothy Fletcher and I are collaborating
on a new book, and we've set up our new Wordstream Writers'
Retreat to debut January 28, 2006. Watch for more on this unique
approach to exploring our favorite pursuit.
Meanwhile, visit either of my other sites, and know that I'll be
adding to these pages at Creative Writer on a weekly basis.
I'll archive this blog at my Bookbeat site.
http://kayday.net
http://kayday.com
NOTE: I'm always glad to see friends and fellow writers place a message here. But those who post advertising links--well, I'd rather they not do that. A classic example is the individual posting an ad for Carrier equipment. Well, I happen to know about heating and a/c equipment, and I'm here to tell you don't blindly buy that brand. There are less costly brands that are just as good.
Please don't automatically click on the advertising links embedded in these banal messages. I don't know where the links will take you. I don't click on them at all. I plan to remove those messages as soon as I have time.
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