Carpe Annum Tribute

 

An important component of Carpe Annum – claiming the year – is claiming the past. Taking stock and acknowledging how we got to this point in our lives as writers.  Identifying the layers of the bedrock we’ve built upon, including great books, great writers, mentors and encouragers great and small, who steered and cheered us on.  This segues naturally into a Mother’s Day appreciation since next Sunday is THE day.  (Get those cards in the mail today, if you haven’t already.)

My sweet mother just turned ’91 or 90, whichever.’  I chuckled to myself when she said this. It was so similar to the opening of Water For Elephants.  What’s a year when you’re approaching a century?  I credit her for introducing me to a lifetime of reading.  

I remember the excitement when a package came in the mail for me at the age of five or six containing three books by a new children’s author named Dr. Seuss.  I assume The Cat in the Hat arrived first, or whatever, as mom says. Every few months another package arrived with more books until we had a small collection.  I think I had first seen them in the dentist’s office.  I had soft teeth, and having bitten my old dentist (not soft enough, apparently), he had referred me to a new-fangled pediatric dentist who very wisely prescribed a pre-appointment sedative and filled his waiting room with children’s books.  Later, reading them to my own children, I realized my mother must have gone nuts repeating those nonsensical rhymes over and over, but she never quit, even after I could recite them by heart.  My particular favorites were Put Me in the Zoo, Go Dog Go, and One Fish Two Fish.  Interestingly, Dr. Seuss credits his own mother with inspiring him to write books.  You can read about his journey (27 rejections for the Cat in the Hat) at http://www.catinthehat.org/history.htm.

When I was older, mom took me to the library and signed for me to get my own library card.  It was the first official card in my plastic wallet.  The children’s books were located in a snuggly, low-ceilinged basement that muffled all sounds of outside civilization.  I could have brought my sleeping bag and settled in. I overheard mom telling the librarian that my teacher said I was ahead of my grade in reading, and the librarian showed me the stacks for more advanced reading.  It was something mom never would have told me, not wanting my head to ‘get big.’ Parents had to keep their kids' feet on the ground in the 1960s.

Later, mom and I read Victoria Holt’s books until we could predict the endings, and moved on to Agatha Christie and L.M. Montgomery.  The day came in my adolescence when I picked up a paperback novelization of one of my favorite shows, The Avengers.  Not the Marvel Comics superheroes – I’m talking John Steed and Emma Peel, the British agents.  I argued hotly for it and she clucked her tongue and shook her head before allowing me to buy it with the caveat that if there was inappropriate material, I would stop reading. Now we were swimming out past the buoy into unknown literary waters.  She trusted me and I felt mature enough to handle whatever it contained. I had no intention of getting rid of it.  I read the book in my room, anxious that ‘the passage’ might appear.  And, of course, it did – not even a scene, but an offhand comment that shocked me. By today’s standards, it was mild, but I felt chagrined and tossed the paperback with my favorite actors on the cover in a place where she would never find it.  To her credit, she never asked about it until a year or so later.  I simply acknowledged that she was right and she never said another word.  Good form, mom.

Then, in high school English class, we read West Side Story.  I was a bit shocked and disturbed by one scene in the book which I felt was inappropriate for high school, and I skipped over it.  Mom, of course, managed to pick up the book and flip to THAT scene, which triggered a tirade and a threat to call the principal’s office. I talked her down from the edge, assuring her that it was the only book that had anything offensive in it that we had read and she cooled off. I mean, if you overlooked Catcher in the Rye and A Separate Peace, which she didn’t need to know about.  

Mom and I continued to swap book titles until our tastes parted ways.  She even read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. But she loved a good mystery best of all.  She read so many from her local library that she had to make a small mark inside the cover when she was done so she wouldn’t check it out again.  I was shocked that she would be so bold as to mark in a library book.  Well, maybe not.

I think the thing I appreciate the most is that she didn’t discourage me when I said I wanted to write.  Mom was never overly demonstrative – so not her generation.  But she proudly took my first book into the library where the librarian added it to a display case for local authors.  I dedicated that book to her and my family, but the dedication page was inadvertently omitted (stuff happens) and the page made it into the next book.

Whose shoulders do you stand on in your writing journey?  Who has helped you build a foundation to Carpe Annum?  We’d love to hear!

Unreliable Pipes & Sippy Cups

On Wednesday, Bonnie wrote, "Creative energy runs in unreliable pipes."  Well, said, Bonnie. I might pin that above my computer.
While searching for equally brainy quotes about creativity, I came upon one that I love by Ray Bradbury, "We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled.  The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out."

Maybe it's just the way my brain works, but the combination of these two quotes brought to mind the sippy cup I used with my kids, the kind with a tight-fitting plastic lid and straw.  Even when it was full, nothing came out of the cup unless the straw functioned properly.  My son could toss it on the floor or projectile it across the room, but unless he hit the lid just right or learned to utilize the straw or the dog got it, nothing came out.

Sometimes it feels like I'm wrestling a stubborn sippy cup when trying to direct the creative energy to my pages. Wouldn't it be great if it came instead in a Big Gulp cup with a flexy lid like the kind that skids off when you bump it against the steering wheel?

The cup is a good thing. It captures the creativity and holds it until we need it. The pipe is definitely a good thing, because it channels the flow to the page.  What can we do to keep the channel open and functioning? Here are some of my favorite quotes about creativity. It's nice that famous authors have blazed the trail ahead, whacking at thorny shrubs and palm fronds with their inky machetes.  They know what they're talking about.

• Show up.   Same time, same place. Or change the place, but know when and where you're the most creative. "I only write when I'm inspired, and I make sure I'm inspired every morning at 9:00 a.m. " Peter DeVries
• Don't empty your reservoir.  Leave your last sentence or your last paragraph dangling, but don't bring closure to the scene.  "I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it. " Ernest Hemingway 
• Bring your best to the table. Make it a priority, not the last of your to-do list. “...a writer should not so much write as embroider on paper; the work should be painstaking, laborious."  Anton Chekhov
• Fill up on good writing, not junk food. Read widely and be discerning. “If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.” Stephen King
• Dig deep.  Don't chicken out. Write what only you can say. “Go where the pain is, go where the pleasure is.”  Anne Rice
• Know when to walk away. Got frustration? Go polish the silver or wash the car. Do something that doesn't require thinking but keep your notepad nearby.   “The best time for planning a book is while you're doing the dishes. ”Agatha Christie 
• Write intuitively. Hold a loose rein on your outline and be open to surprises. “The only good writing is intuitive writing. It would be a big bore if you knew where it was going."  Ray Bradbury 
• We repeat, don't talk about your WIP. "I think it’s bad to talk about one’s present work, for it spoils something at the root of the creative act. It discharges the tension." Norman Mailer

I will end with this quote from Anne Lamott that gives me comfort.
For those of us who remember the Polaroid camera...
 " Writing a first draft is very much like watching a Polaroid develop.  You can't - in fact, you're not supposed to - know exactly what the picture is going to look like until is has finished developing."

What does and doesn't work for you when staring into the creative vacuum?  Is there a routine you follow or a special tool you use, a favorite quote above your laptop?  Please, we'd love to hear!

What's the Point? -- A Roundtable Discussion

CONTEST REMINDER: Write a compelling essay on Why the Novel Matters, and you just might win a Kindle Touch. Read the rules and submission guidelines here.


In keeping with our theme this year, Why the Novel Matters, I'm curious where we as individuals fit into the grand scheme of the world of fiction. Speaking first as a reader, I always have a novel on my night stand. If I read non-fiction I read it during the day. But fiction, well, that is my favorite nightcap. I savor it, usually reading two hours before turning out the light. I love a variety of fiction, though there are a few genres that just don't appeal to me, historical fiction being one of them. However, I recently surprised myself by reading and loving a 1,200 page historical novel titled And Ladies of the Club. (I'll post a review of it in March.) But when I read fiction, I read first and foremost for the purpose of entertainment. I don't read to be indoctrinated, enlightened, or wowed by an author's style -- though I love it when I am. I don't read for the sake of dogma or propoganda, or even as research for my own style of writing. I want to be entertained, even if in a macabre way. I want to be drawn into the story world and engaged by the characters. I want to put myself in someone else's shoes and hang out where they hang out for just a little while. In the past couple of months, I've been aboard the Pequod and smelled the blood of whales. I've rubbed shoulders for the first time ever with Hercule Poirot, just for the fun of it. I've lived in post-Civil War Ohio for more than half a century under the stringent rules imposed on women of that era. I've lived a very dysfunctional fifteen years at St. Elizabeth's Home for Unwed Mothers in Habit, Kentucky. I don't object to finding a moral to the stories I read; I mean, there has to be a point, right? But I want that moral to emerge from the story, and not the story to emerge from the moral. I don't want The Point to be what drives the author. It nearly always comes across as contrived when The Point is the point.

Oddly, I find that very thing is my main challenge as a writer. Because our novels almost always begin with a premise, it's easy to let the premise lead the way. But it works so much better when the characters or the plot are the driving force, and the premise is only a gossamer thread that gingerly holds the story world together.


I recently took my children to an art gallery in our city. The gallery is set up as a series of large rooms, each one dedicated to a single artist. One room was dedicated to the art of a young man who primarily focused on photography. His work was fragmented, often pictures of piles of garbage he had found on his travels. There were never any people in the pictures. There were thousands of images, some tiny, others huge, some were negative images on a spool of film. It was difficult to make sense of it all. I spent a great deal of time studying one portion (one wall) of the bombardment of art until I could finally see the pattern in his work, and, having discovered the pattern, I was able to "hear" what he was saying. In many ways he was talking about what everyone is talking about these days, having eyes to notice the poor, of caring for the environment. Except that wasn't his real message. Under the veneer of social issues was a cry for a specific kind of social justice for a specific people group. What made me walk away from the display was that his message wasn't come and see us, but rather: this is your fault. You are bad and you should shoulder the blame for the mess we are in. The artist was angry, perhaps justifiably so, but his sneaky anger rankled me. I felt like it jumped me, and I walked away quickly into the next room. I don't begrudge this young man his art and his vision, but I learned a valuable lesson as a writer. Bait and switch, even with a worthy, justifiable message, isn't honest. And it offends. Being honest is always best, and for me, being honest means admitting that my best ideas are always tinged with uncertainty.

I love Bonnie's last point, that honesty necessitates a level of humility. Might the angry photographer have been a man too inexperienced to know how many of his cherished convictions will change, that he will one day find himself at odds with his younger self? You'd think a Christian might be exempt from such, but I'm a Christian, and I'm not exempt.

I love authors who are honest above all else. When I read a passage that makes me think, yes, yes yes, that's exactly how it is, but I've always been afraid to see it - then that author is my friend for life. Truth is wondrous, even hard truth.

When I write, I tend to focus on questions I have no answers for. That helps assure that the writing will mean something to me at least, and it's the best way I know to avoid giving easy answers in my story.

I once read a novel for an ABA book club that pulled me along with interesting characters and a fly-on-the-wall look at an American culture totally foreign to me. In the last chapter, the hero happens to go to a Christian Science meeting and proceeds to include a three-point sermon on the supremacy of that group and their uniquely correct view of the Word. Huh? Where did that come from? No one in the story had gone to church before this. No questing after truth, just survival. I got the feeling that the author wanted this material in the book but didn't make the effort to do so organically. I hated it. On the other hand, I've read lots of books embedded in belief systems and cultures that would seemingly counter mine, and I enjoyed the experience. Books like that are journeys. To answer your question: No, I don't want to read books that sermonize about religion, global warming, or politics. I do want to be entertained, first and foremost. But keep in mind, every story is based on how the author believes the world should work.

The last time I sat on the floor and cried over a book was about six months ago. (I was cleaning the pantry and listening to a book on tape: about the only way I read fiction lately.) The author portrayed a mother's last look at her son's body in such a way that I sobbed and sobbed.

That's the end of the story. Let me tell you the beginning. If you had told me the book I'd selected was the author's "impassioned plea" for a cause, I would

never have chosen it. Those kinds of descriptions on the back of a book cover make me slide it back onto the shelf. Touching it only with my fingertips. Saying, "ick, ick, ick" under my breath.

Or if you'd said it would take a stand that's opposite one I've held for many years, with biblically-based convictions, I wouldn't have selected the book. (Believe me, someone is always trying to change my mind about something.)

The book was John Grisham's The Confession, and it made me think about capital punishment in a way I've never before considered it. Maybe it's changing my mind.

But here's the point: Only when I read some reader reviews after I'd finished the book did I find that other people thought it was contrived and manipulative. I was very surprised to hear that. I figured that if he could make me think, he could make anyone think. I salute his skill and thank him from the bottom of my heart for such a moving story.

This discussion got me thinking about books that get the point across without being preachy or manipulative, creating fiction that matters. I think the last book I read that did this successfully was The Help. It certainly has a message, but relationships are the force that pull the story along and convince you that the cause is right. The author put faces on the problem. When we can 'see' their faces we care about the problem without being told that we should. I haven't read many stories that accomplish this so well.

Reading for pure pleasure is therapy. Sharon, I only wish I could stay up and read for 2 hours before bed. It's more like 10 minutes before the book hits the floor, and it's not for lack of interest.

What about you? As a reader do you mind if the author has a heavy hand? If you're also a writer, what approach do you take in order to get your point across, assuming you have a point?

Back to the Chair

Sharon's post on Wednesday resonated with me, and judging by the comments, I'm not alone. It's difficult to keep up a level of enthusiasm and confidence in your skills when you're being stared down by a blank page.

At times like this when I'm struggling with BIC. (Butt In Chair) I feel my desire to write expiring. It's such a familiar feeling. Not so long ago, before I was published, it was my constant companion, and I was better at dealing with it. I had unbridled hope but no expectations. I had a calling, a love of story, a character crush. I was 'fed' by the act of writing. Satisfied and satiated. So...it's temporary, I know. And when I'm in need of a break or a distraction that leads back to the chair, I can usually count on:

1. Closet cleaning: My daughter moved to a more permanent college-living arrangement two years ago, and her old closet space is just waiting for utilization. As Sharon pointed out, tackling a job that doesn't take a lot of brain power can free your mind to work on plot issues or twists. To quote Agatha Christie, "The best time to plan a book is while you're doing the dishes" and I quite agree with her.
2. Favorite movies: I put on a movie I love that is so familiar I can get other things done and save my undivided attention for the best parts. Usually, I choose either The Philadelphia Story, What's Up, Doc, Casablanca or Dirty, Rotten Scoundrels. Fun stories. Great characterization. The stuff that feeds my imagination and stirs the pot of ideas.
3. Cooking: Homemade soup, cobblers and chicken pot pies. Apple butter. Homemade marinara with roasted roma tomatoes. Comfort food. I'm not saying every dish is a winner, but the act of combining the ingredients and playing with my options reminds me how gratifying it is to create and to take a chance on a new twist.
4. Good books: This may be a book from my TBR pile (just finished Snow Falling on Cedars) or a favorite read that I skim for my favorite parts. Ray Bradbury's Green Shadows, White Whale is one such book. What a storyteller! Rubbing cosmic elbows with writers through their thoughts and words is bound to pay off, isn't it?
5. Reading about writers: Author biographies or essays about their faith can be very inspiring. I have two essay collections that challenge me to think: Shouts and Whispers (Wm. B. Eerdmans Pub.) and Going on Faith (Marlowe & Co.)
6. Be-ing time: I take my journal to the canyon rim or the American River and unravel to the tune of rippling water and birdsong (while keeping a nervous eye out for four-legged predators). Madeleine L'Engle said in Walking on Water, "...take time away from busyness, time to be. I've long since stopped feeling guilty for taking being time. It's something we all need for our spiritual health, and often we don't take enough of it." In the long run, being is more important (& productive) than doing.
7. Keeping friends: I cherish my writer friends at times of dryness. They tell me it's only a temporary state of affairs. Worry and stress constrict the flow of creative juices, they remind me. The sluggish economy works to discourage me. Above all, stay true until the day that I feel released, not simply discouraged.

In Walking on Water, Ms. L'Engle shares a story about a clockmaker who was asked to repair broken clocks and watches. Many had been abandoned by their owners, and he could only repair the ones which had been kept wound because they were the only ones that could remember how to keep time. "So we must daily keep things wound: that is we must pray when prayer seems dry as dust; we must write when we are physically tired, when our hearts are heavy, when our bodies are in pain." Keeping things wound, building in memory - that's what BIC is really all about.

Have I missed anything? What helps you in times of dryness or discouragement? We'd love to hear from you.