WRITING: The Importance of A List

It was weird, I know, so I’m trying to mentally retrace my steps to figure out how I came home from grocery shopping with a full grown Bengal tiger in the back seat of my car.  And a lava lamp.  That’s really strange because not only would it be hard to find, but the one thing we don’t need any more of in our house is a lamp.

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LITERATURE: BASS 2007 – Do Something (& Finale)

The final selection, Do Something by Kate Walbert finishes up one of the best BASS anthologies I’ve read.  Not a head-scratcher among them and so I get the feeling that Stephen King and I may share some similar taste in reading contemporary fiction.  I felt as satisfied with this issue as I had with Michael Chabon’s editorship of BASS 2005.

Do Something is extremely well written and has an excellent sense of voice and tone that complements the topic of a middle-aged woman standing up for something she believes in doing, risking not only her own reputation and incarceration but the embarrassment of her grown daughter and husband by her actions.  It brings her face to face with herself and with things in her life and the way she has handled them, such as the death of her grown son by cancer.There is great depth of character here in the fine literary tradition, without sacrificing story and movement of story.

It was indeed a pleasure to read this compilation, and while I haven’t read Stephen King lately (after his first twenty or so novels), I remember why I liked his style.

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LITERATURE: BASS 2007 – Sans Farine

Jim Shepard gives us a narrator who serves as executioner during the French Revolution–no wonder Stephen King included this one in the anthology!  I’m sure Mr. King was just twitching with delight at Shepard’s fine delivery, realistically presented in the language style of the era, and in a deadpan acceptance of the character’s place in his time and his state. 

Nicely done, with enough gore and grit to satisfy those of us who enjoy severed heads that may still express dissatisfaction at their plight after separation.  But it is more a story of history and a society that is in transition and yet more violent than its prior oppressors had established as fact. 

The narrator is an executioner following family tradition, which it would seem, has its own place in society.  His wife is a gentle, sweet, caring individual who loves her husband and her family, despite their occupational choice–which is almost a non-choice because of its inherent traits that inhibit if not prohibit much expansion into more favorable and tasteful employment.  Shepard uses this relationship between husband and wife as the underlying conflict to the one of the ongoing Revolution itself and I would believe that while it resolves itself when she finally leaves him, we are left to wonder exactly if it was her choice to do so and how permanent that leaving becomes.

Well written in the voice of the era; how easily one falls back into the language and tone in the reading, and then in the speaking. I pity the next customer who enters my shoppe for the elegance of framing for my mind and tongue are still in the eighteenth century.

Nice work, completely absorbing and I found that I read it eagerly and quickly, pauses taken only be insistence of reality rather than the laying aside as a trial.  (See, I told ya.)

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REALITY?: Siren Song

There it goes again, the wail of the ambulance from its home up the road down to our corner.  Louder it gets, and louder.  I can imagine exactly its ride:  by the playing field and down around that bend in the road  that becomes a lazy S curve before it straightens somewhat. By the sound, just passing the hatchery where the eagle will sit on the tall old dead tree.  It gives him an excellent view of the stream, catching glints of swimming silver that do not know he is there. 

At its loudest now, right at the corner; without stopping it lessens its sound.  Turned at the corner, I will not see it go by.  It is going to help strangers–neighbors not known.  The sound fades as it heads down the main road and I wonder, Why this sense of relief? 

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REALITY: Dance-Driving & Singing now too!

Yes indeedy, I’m one of those idiots you see bouncing around in the driver’s seat to inaudible music.  I know it looks goofy–I’ve laughed at others just like me.  This morning though one song flowed into another and I realized that something was different; I was singing along! 

Hadn’t been able to do that much in the past several years, a gritty cigarette voice does not a Janis Joplin whiskey-sound make.  It just cuts out on you and you can’t reach the notes anymore.  But with some smokeless time behind me now, I can sing–not well, but sing without being offkey or losing the voice. 

So sing I did, bouncing around in my seat through the long winding road of the mostly woods to my house.  Tapping, and bopping, and singing out loud–except for those few lower-lip biting Derby-cool moments of acoustics alone.  City of New Orleans is a fairly long tune.  I’m a fairly quick driver.  Okay, so I sat in my driveway till it finished.  Luckily my neighbors have seen this spastic performance before and didn’t call for the ambulance before the song ended, I shut off the car and got out; the very image of middle-aged lady coming back from her Saturday errands.

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LITERATURE: BASS 2007 – Horseman

This one by Richard Russo didn’t quite draw me in.  A graduate student teaching at a college and finding one of her students plagiarizing a paper is interwoven with her dealings with two difference professors–one a brilliant man she admires and one a has-been alcoholic–and with some personal problems thrown in for effect; a husband who doesn’t have a full time job and a son who sounds perhaps autistic (though I hesitate as this seems to be the new hot diagnosis thrown around far too much lately).

A bit of head-hopping and I wrote about that in my Creative Writing weblog, that may or may not be as well done or necessary to the story.  Some confusing italicized segments that are backstory and supposedly show us how the main character got to this state of mind, though it seems that a decade later, she is more screwed up than ever.  While I had no real problem with the writing style and use of language, there seemed to be a shallowness of character that didn’t get me to look deeper into the problem or care enough about it. 

However, there was a particular gem that struck me:

When it was Bellamy’s turn, he’d recited "Windy Nights," a children’s poem everyone but Janet remembered.  He emphasized its childish iambic downbeat by slapping the table so hard the water glasses jumped, and by the time he finished the entire group was weak with laughter  "Okay, okay, okay.  Now the explanation," someone insisted.  "Tell us why that’s the greatest poem ever in the English language." 
"Because," Bellamy said, suddenly serious, his eyes full, "when I speak those words aloud, my father is alive again."  (p. 363)

And I totally missed the "Horseman" symbolic meaning of the title and its mention in the story. 

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LITERATURE: BASS 2007 – St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves (2)

Absolutely loved this one by Karen Russell, and for two reasons: it was a bit off the wall–a convent school run by nuns for, well, girls who have been raised by wolves, and secondly, because it was well done.

Normally I dislike some of these great concepts because they’re simply unbelievable and not well enough constructed to overcome any reticence about suspending disbelief.  Karen Russell makes it easy.  I have absolutely no problem with her characters growling at each other and spraying to mark their territory–as a matter of fact, the one thing that almost stopped me was the spraying, in that I thought it was just males that did that.  How’s that for total trust in a writer?

It’s written pretty tongue-in-cheek, and once you’re in the groove it all works according to story plan: conflicts between the girls, the girls and the nuns, the girls and learning to be human girls, all pace the story.  For me, the grounding was in the attitude of the nuns–personal memory confirming their behavior.  The transition for the students–and there’s a school for boys as well so that a dance becomes a proving ground or trial for them–is hysterical in its fallbacks to learned behavior and instinct.

The brothers didn’t smell like our brothers anymore.  They smelled like pomade and cold, sterile sweat.  They looked like little boys.  Someone had washed behind their ears and made them wear suspendered dungarees.  Kyle used to be the blustery alpha male BTWWWR!, chewing through rattlesnakes, spooking badgers, snatching a live trout out of a grizzly’s mouth.  He stood by the punch bowl, looking pained and out of place.

"My stars!" I growled.  "What lovely weather we’ve been having!."  (p. 336)

By playing on the typically awkwardness of teenage interaction, Russell has compounded a scenario of conflict while making it very familiar to the reader.  I mean, these are just kids at their first dance, and instead of being cautious not to speak too loud or dance on somebody’s toes, they need to be careful to rein in their instincts to attack and eat the nuns who are chaperoning.

Altogether a most delightful read.  Even some more serious contemplation by a final statement, in case the reader missed some of the more subtle references to human nature.

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WRITING: Multiple Point of View

We had had an excellent discussion about Molly’s story Devotion on Wednesday night, and it brought up the question of using multiple point of view.  I happen to really like it, though in many ways it can be considered a copout when using character’s thoughts instead of actions as a source of information.  This seems to go back to a show don’t tell problem. 

When there are only two main characters in a story and we only see it from one’s pov (even in third person pov) then it indeed is that character’s story.  If we’re allowed third person multiple or omniscient, then the interaction becomes more intricate and each character must be more closely observed to be believed or win sympathy.  In Molly’s story, the two characters were both female so the she and her were more difficult to overcome in the reading. Separation by paragraph, white space where necessary, and careful adherence to follow through: if one character’s thoughts or perception is being displayed, then that character should be the focus of the prior sentence/s to flow properly without confusion or indiscriminate jumping into heads.

Usually the character’s thoughts will give us an idea of attitude, though again, it might be less obvious–though more difficult to project–via actions.  Here’s an example from Horseman, a story by Richard Russo included in the BASS

"The grant came through" he told her, nudging Marcus gently.  "Move over sport.  Let’s make room for Mom.  She looks like she’s had a rough day."  And she’s late, was what he didn’t say.  Late coming home on a day when she might have been expected to return early.
"That’s okay," she told him.  I’m going to change.  Which grant? How much?"
"The Contemporary Art Institute.  Seventy-five K.  They’re over the moon."
"They should be.  Congratulations."  And how much did you get? she thought.  Why do you let these people take advantage of you, working for peanuts, making them look good?  (p. 357)

Obviously there is tension between the stay-at-home Dad and the wage-earning Mom.  It’s an old story as is the dancing around and the resentment that grows from not verbalizing.  I’m not so sure that this jump into the husband’s head was so necessary, seventeen pages into a twenty-four page story for the first time here. 

In this particular story there’s also a switch to italicized sections that separated out a more pov introspective thought of the woman–though it often encompasses a scenario that fits in the linear timeline and need not have been separated out at all to my thinking. 

Guess what this comes down to is that omniscient third person pov is tricky to carry off successfully and it’s not just a warning to new writers, but to the more experienced as well to use it as a tool, but not as a substitute for clearer more imaginative writing.

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CLASS NOTES: 3/5/08

Workshopping of Molly’s story, focusing particularly on edge and changing point of view.  Also discussed from FFF, The Great Open Mouth Anti-Sadness and Things You Should Know.  Particular emphasis on voice in these stories, and on turning point.

Took a field trip down to the main hall of the building and after studying it, returned to class to write down simmered into two sentences a description of what we saw there. 

Mine:
The great hall yawned in an echo of arching space bordered by blocks of soft colors of the Southwest.  Lit from thousands of sources of all shapes and sizes that harmonize into a corridor of silence. 

Or something like that–I don’t have my notes with me here. Point made as to describing without using abstract words,  i.e., large, big, tall, wide, narrow, and project via image, simile, metaphor, sensation that pricks memory to imagine.

Mid-term portfolio due next week (‘cept me) before spring break and the large rabbit commeth.

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WRITING: Fun Stuff

Life cycles in circles except when it spirals and you find yourself hanging in space.

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WRITING: Oh yes, all 8,000 words.

No opening lines, false starts or examples of dialogue, character, setting and such.  A whole story emerged this past week and it’s done–up to the point of rewites and editing.

A new form of hypertext, completely written and read online at the Hypertextopia website,  A Bottle of Beer was just what I needed right now to concentrate on writing without caring if anyone liked it or not.  Though frankly, I haven’t heard from friends who’ve I asked to take a quick gander at it, but I suppose, traditional or hypertext, my writing is not going to be so different in style as to grab their attention and comment if they didn’t like my straight text either.

Love the concept of this site, from the idea of hypertext to the accessibility of the finished form of story for both the writer and reader.  While it’s not typical hypertext theory of offering many path choices to the reader, it likely suits me still and offers a very user-friendly format as a transition between traditional and the hypertext work found in Storyspace for example.

More to come.

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WRITING: Hypertext Fun

This is one of the neatest things about writing into the hypertext storyworld: you can have fun.

What drew him there he couldn’t tell you.  It was an instinct that he could not fight with any rational argument.  He crossed the road simply because he was an armadillo and that was what armadillos do.

His father had been run down by a cart laden with corn to feed chickens.  His brother had met his death on the road in a race to the death with Coyote.  The pleadings of his wife fell on deaf ears as he set out that night, confident of his own invulnerability.  He had faith in his God-given armor. 

In the end, his faith in himself and his God let him down. He ended up as just another roadkill.

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REALITY?: Gullible America

Go away, guys; go get yourself a beer or something because this’ll likely gross you out.

Ladies, doesn’t it seem a bit odd to you that while it sounds right and sounds like such a nice thing to do and believe me, I’d gladly help supply young African girls with tampons or napkins because they can’t afford them but honestly, do they really miss several days of school every month because of their periods?

My mother’s generation used cloths that they (yuck) had to wash out and reuse much as you would diapers for babies prior to disposables (which are truly causing a huge problem for the environment btw) and they sure didn’t miss school because of a period.  My mother missed school–the last three years of high school, as did my father because they had to work to help the family survive financially.

I’m tired of being hit dishonestly in the sympathy spiel.

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WRITING: Yep, I am, honest.

I’ve been doing lots of writing of story the past three days into a new form of hypertext that’s available online at a site called Hypertextopia.  I started playing with it and a story just came together to fit the medium and while it’s not finished or edited well, it’s almost complete.  You can check out A Bottle of Beer if you are curious about the hypertext medium–and this is why I love the site, because you can read it online, and if you check out the Grand Library, you’ll find more–though many of them are just dabblings there are a few that are complete and intricately presented.

Still writing in the Storyspace Hypertext program, but I seem to be struggling with this second story and am wondering if perhaps I should just move on to something else. I don’t think I should be wasting time and effort on something that’s not working, when even what I considered to be good stuff isn’t going anywhere either.  The only impetus to write lately has been the writing mood itself.  The carrot on the stick is made of rubber.

Also busy on a few other items that are still writing related (and of course, take precedence over the real life of Susan the Drudge) and I’ll be posting about that stuff shortly.

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WRITING: Story in the Hypertext Environment

Will possibly–with the Professor’s approval–submit a hypertext that I’ve been working on to the class for workshopping.  I can wait until the final scheduled workshops of the semester, and maybe spark some interest that way in the New Media II session classes that are planned for Tunxis in the Fall, and may include Storyspace in the curriculum.

Just loving the medium, in this case, the online Hypertextopia, loving the different way it creates story by asking with the completion of each box, for more; more story, more details, more insight, more clues.

A tidbit:

A scorpion skittered across the porch, stopped in front of the rocker, fled from Yolanda’s sandal as she lifted her foot to annihilate it.  It had noticed the change in light, the shadows, the movement of air in the motion.  It had lived by its wits and now it smiled to itself as it had once more survived the dangerous world of the desert and the animals that were its enemies.

A safe distance from the dangers of the leathered foot and the long swoop of the rocker curve, the little scorpion recovered its grace, held its tail curled up proudly over its back, and sallied past the lesser bugs and beetles who watched in awe and admiration from crevices in the walls and floors of Yolanda’s house.

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