A second intense, long day of classes and chatting with writers at the Wordcrafters conference and I feel like I could sit down and write my whole book tonight and never stop. I worried that at a fiction conference I wouldn't get enough to help me with my narrative nonfiction, but I was dead wrong. I already knew I wanted to use fictional techniques, and my writing group has always worked on my pieces just like fiction for that reason, and that carried through the workshops too. Nobody glazed over and said, "oh, you mean memoir," as if that were the thing old ladies do when they have nothing new to say. No one even seemed to see me as an old lady!
Every topic, discussion and lesson translated directly to my work, and since I am only comfortable listening with notebook in hand I right away started to jot things down. Quickly I formed the habit of putting the general tips on the left side of each page and my specific ideas for my project on the right. As I went from room to room the pages filled and now I have 24 pages of very specific plans for each and every part of the book I will write. Furthermore, now I know that I will certainly write it.
Going into the first day, which was Thursday evening, I was saying to myself (in my habitual conversations while walking or working) that I wasn't focusing on publishing, that I loved the research, that I was only writing the book for myself anyway....These are all the usual excuses we make when we are afraid we would rather fail from inaction than from hubris. I knew that, so I didn't say them out loud once I got there. All of these people were publishing, or published, and they weren't all that different from me. They were creative people, I am creative, and I feel that I am a good writer, especially when I bother to edit and remember to use what I have learned. So I just pretended to be a real writer for the first night. These big shots with lots of books that are bestsellers did things like accidentally drink my wine, touch my Jell-O, laugh at my clever repartee. They were friendly even though they were surrounded by their real friends. Some even told me intimate things about their real lives, and we connected like people do. Ones I knew liked me more, and I liked them more. We had a community. And we have books.
Magic happened. Maybe it was in the first few hours, and I couldn't tell you what started it, but now when I look at my notes I have it all there. I have the structure, I have the beginning, the end, the scenes, the characters, the vision. I already had the passion and the material, but now I am sure that I have a book. It's not just a thing I'm working on, it's not a memoir, it's not an essay here or there, it is a fully-feathered story with a narrative arc and all of the elements that make a compelling tale. It has suspense, it has depth, it has real marketability, and it is mine to make happen using all of the magical techniques that are there to use.
With what I gleaned from the minds of these experienced and hard-working writers, I have something real, compared to the maybe-fantasy-dream-someday pile of papers I had before. Someone I respected even said words like "fine" and "good." Those are the pats on the head I so needed, the taking me seriously that I have only had in my intimate group of four with whom I have been meeting for decades now.
Sure, I get compliments on my meeting minutes, and I am a great speller and can put together an articulate opinion, but my creative writing rarely gets read. I have these blogs, these unedited ramblings of mind that I toss out effortlessly to promote this or discuss that. I have folders and files of pieces I've written for myself, all in preparation for a next step I have been unwilling and unable to take. But these writers shared themselves with me. They told me all the things they learned that helped them, and they helped me and the others in the room. They said so many useful things! I also have piles of papers and books and materials to study, all given generously by those who created them and lived by them. I am the luckiest person right now.
I'm not holding the manuscript; it's still in my head and in my notes, and it will be many long months before I do hold it up ready to take the next step. I don't know what that will be. I do know that I have had a wonderful time being me, in the midst of what might have been some terribly intimidating people, but now they aren't so scary. I showed myself and they received me kindly, even enthusiastically. They liked what I do, and they liked what I say, and some of them even accepted my friend requests. I wore Jell-O and shared it, and some of them were properly amazed and delighted. And the Jell-O was just a sideline. They liked the inside of my mind.
It feels like there is nothing so wonderful as that. I will go to sleep a happy, lighter woman. I will rise up early and go catch one more class at 8:00 am. I am the richest woman in the world at this moment. I hope I remember this feeling when the drudgery sets in and I don't have time to write and the writing is crap. I hope I remember how naive and untrained I can sound on the page and how hard it is to pound it into shape. I hope I can be humbled and still keep in mind the euphoria. I hope when I stand at a podium and talk about my writing, I can be of this much help to someone else. What a world we imagine, what a story we tell!
Showing posts with label Wordcrafters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wordcrafters. Show all posts
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Put Your Write Arm In
I'm overexcited this morning. So much is happening, and strangely enough I'm not longing for those January days when pretty much nothing was. I miss having time for my research, but I just signed up for the Wordcrafters writing conference http://wordcraftersineugene.org/ next weekend, so I know my passion for it will stay charged up until I can get back to it. Except that it might be August when that happens, as the retail season is ramping up.
I was just lamenting yesterday how much of my writing energy is put into typing minutes and letters for my groups. I love volunteering, and see the contributions I can make, but I can also see how limited my time could be (65, that's a big birthday coming up) and how sad it would be if my legacy was a bunch of meeting minutes which very few people would read. They'd pass from notice as soon as I stopped doing them.
But my book, or the compilation of my research, articles, corrections to the historic record of Eugene, all of that would have a teense more lasting power and a wider readership. That isn't so much my goal, but it seems that to finish it in some tangible form would be like gluing a jigsaw puzzle to plywood and hanging it on the wall. In a public place. Some people would love it, and actually since it would be original work it would be way cooler than a puzzle picture of Sahalie Falls or a landscape in a thousand shades of green and blue.
One of the options at the conference is a little appointment to talk about my writing with someone...though my genre, creative nonfiction, isn't really a focus this year. Still, I'm guessing that one of the consultants has an interest in it. Historical fiction comes close, and literary fiction comes close, and I could write a piece for those if I had the time, but that would be a dream. I have minutes to type today...oh that circular thing. Well, it is pi day. Maybe I forget the circumference and go right for the radius and that focal point.
The Jell-O Art Show performance practice last night was as good as it gets. The group was a little smaller, we all had our scripts and even a few costumes and props, and we were all primed to run through it and time it and see if we can fit into our 20-minute limit. It did fit! We had such a blast, as it all worked somewhat smoothly and we sang harmony and as Larry said, we were a little bit loose and a little bit tight. I am still excited over that, and tonight am actually going to a party. If you know me you know I almost never do that. My excuse is always Saturday Market, how I have to go to bed early on Friday night and am too exhausted by Saturday night. But this weekend and next weekend, and the one after that, no Saturday Market.
I'm a little in disbelief that this is my last Saturday off, with the conference next weekend and the Jell-O Show the following one. I mourn the loss of what seems so ordinary but I only get this particular leisure time for three months out of the year. I like those PBS shows, the Woodwright, and the other building shows, and I love knowing that lots of people are home enjoying their homes. Of course I love working at the Market too, but there is a special joy in staying home. Most particularly it is a good feeling today as it rains out there.
Rain makes for such a difficult outdoor day at the Market, but as a dedicated member I always go. I complained about the weights issue on my other blog, http://gelatinaceae.blogspot.com/2015/03/too-many-projects.html so I won't get into it again, but it's really only the rainy or iffy days when I bring the pop-up and need the weights. I might need one for the umbrella, to make the 30# requirement, but it could rain every Saturday. It has happened that we get into a pattern when it is nice all week and rains every weekend. It even snowed on April 21 one year. Just because spring is a month early around here doesn't mean the weather is predictable, or favorable. It's a challenge, and adds to the many challenges which kind of swim around in my outer awareness. I'm trying to train myself not to actually worry about things, that is, obsess over them and chew on them, but they do come up.
So perhaps I will write something just to distract myself. I've written the first pages of my book a dozen times or so, and it would be easy enough to take that and see what someone would say. The beginning is crucial, and I do have the tendency to make it too expository and not compelling enough. Comparing the starts over the years tells me I have learned a few things, but there is always more to learn, and I have little to lose. None of them will think it is their job to discourage writers. The whole idea of getting together is for mutual support and encouragement, but neither will they be there to give empty praise. All writing groups probably learn that simple praise wears thin and writers want actual support in the way of helpful suggestions we might not have considered. We want to be (gently) pushed to write it a little better, to make one more thoughtful edit. We use what we know to provide a slightly different view to the writer, just point something out in a useful way. The ego needs a little praise, of course, and writing does involve ego.
That's a tough one to overcome, that investment of the self that needs a pat on the head. I suppose the fear of that is why I don't try harder to exhibit my art, or go to the Art Walks more often. I stopped in to see the New Zone show and there were several astounding pieces from friends I would not want to have missed. Patricia Donohue's fairy dress just stopped me in my tracks, and I had already been grabbed from browsing by my friend Indra Stern's sculpture of rusty assemblage. There were some thread paintings that were thrilling. There wasn't any Jell-O Art. Why didn't I push a little harder and take something in? It would have been so easy.
Unanswerable questions. I guess I was busy not making that my priority. I had an intense focus on the Jell-O Art Show and couldn't take on anything else. Until my thoughts about the place of my volunteering in my life, I had let it erode my priorities and take over my time. Something like the OCF is so big it will suck you dry if you don't set some inner limits on what you can give and what you must keep. This is a part of being a human, especially a nurturing and supportive human. Once in awhile we have to get shocked out of our groove and take a bit of a turn to the sun and reorient our directional focus. We can give it all away.
So okay, I have talked myself into writing something. Maybe even today, instead of cleaning the house, which as all artists know is just a futile attempt at control. The house will always need to be cleaned. I do have to find and get rid of that sauerkraut odor, but I do not really have to vacuum the living room. The bathroom is okay for today. That party isn't at my house.
We have practice tomorrow too. I have kind of a tight rule about keeping Sunday for solitude and sustenance but I am going to break it for the next two weeks. I'm going to extend myself, just a bit. I'm convinced it will reward me. You never know. Somewhere between the Introvert's Ball and the Queen of Jell-O Art, there is a little girl wanting a really satisfying pat on the head. Just ask me to remove my crown for a minute and lean on in, if you are one of my tiny dedicated group of readers. Or allow me to poke you in the eye with a Jell-O orchid, your choice. It's Hokey Pokey time! You put your whole self in, and you shake it all about...
I was just lamenting yesterday how much of my writing energy is put into typing minutes and letters for my groups. I love volunteering, and see the contributions I can make, but I can also see how limited my time could be (65, that's a big birthday coming up) and how sad it would be if my legacy was a bunch of meeting minutes which very few people would read. They'd pass from notice as soon as I stopped doing them.
But my book, or the compilation of my research, articles, corrections to the historic record of Eugene, all of that would have a teense more lasting power and a wider readership. That isn't so much my goal, but it seems that to finish it in some tangible form would be like gluing a jigsaw puzzle to plywood and hanging it on the wall. In a public place. Some people would love it, and actually since it would be original work it would be way cooler than a puzzle picture of Sahalie Falls or a landscape in a thousand shades of green and blue.
One of the options at the conference is a little appointment to talk about my writing with someone...though my genre, creative nonfiction, isn't really a focus this year. Still, I'm guessing that one of the consultants has an interest in it. Historical fiction comes close, and literary fiction comes close, and I could write a piece for those if I had the time, but that would be a dream. I have minutes to type today...oh that circular thing. Well, it is pi day. Maybe I forget the circumference and go right for the radius and that focal point.
The Jell-O Art Show performance practice last night was as good as it gets. The group was a little smaller, we all had our scripts and even a few costumes and props, and we were all primed to run through it and time it and see if we can fit into our 20-minute limit. It did fit! We had such a blast, as it all worked somewhat smoothly and we sang harmony and as Larry said, we were a little bit loose and a little bit tight. I am still excited over that, and tonight am actually going to a party. If you know me you know I almost never do that. My excuse is always Saturday Market, how I have to go to bed early on Friday night and am too exhausted by Saturday night. But this weekend and next weekend, and the one after that, no Saturday Market.
I'm a little in disbelief that this is my last Saturday off, with the conference next weekend and the Jell-O Show the following one. I mourn the loss of what seems so ordinary but I only get this particular leisure time for three months out of the year. I like those PBS shows, the Woodwright, and the other building shows, and I love knowing that lots of people are home enjoying their homes. Of course I love working at the Market too, but there is a special joy in staying home. Most particularly it is a good feeling today as it rains out there.
Rain makes for such a difficult outdoor day at the Market, but as a dedicated member I always go. I complained about the weights issue on my other blog, http://gelatinaceae.blogspot.com/2015/03/too-many-projects.html so I won't get into it again, but it's really only the rainy or iffy days when I bring the pop-up and need the weights. I might need one for the umbrella, to make the 30# requirement, but it could rain every Saturday. It has happened that we get into a pattern when it is nice all week and rains every weekend. It even snowed on April 21 one year. Just because spring is a month early around here doesn't mean the weather is predictable, or favorable. It's a challenge, and adds to the many challenges which kind of swim around in my outer awareness. I'm trying to train myself not to actually worry about things, that is, obsess over them and chew on them, but they do come up.
So perhaps I will write something just to distract myself. I've written the first pages of my book a dozen times or so, and it would be easy enough to take that and see what someone would say. The beginning is crucial, and I do have the tendency to make it too expository and not compelling enough. Comparing the starts over the years tells me I have learned a few things, but there is always more to learn, and I have little to lose. None of them will think it is their job to discourage writers. The whole idea of getting together is for mutual support and encouragement, but neither will they be there to give empty praise. All writing groups probably learn that simple praise wears thin and writers want actual support in the way of helpful suggestions we might not have considered. We want to be (gently) pushed to write it a little better, to make one more thoughtful edit. We use what we know to provide a slightly different view to the writer, just point something out in a useful way. The ego needs a little praise, of course, and writing does involve ego.
That's a tough one to overcome, that investment of the self that needs a pat on the head. I suppose the fear of that is why I don't try harder to exhibit my art, or go to the Art Walks more often. I stopped in to see the New Zone show and there were several astounding pieces from friends I would not want to have missed. Patricia Donohue's fairy dress just stopped me in my tracks, and I had already been grabbed from browsing by my friend Indra Stern's sculpture of rusty assemblage. There were some thread paintings that were thrilling. There wasn't any Jell-O Art. Why didn't I push a little harder and take something in? It would have been so easy.
Unanswerable questions. I guess I was busy not making that my priority. I had an intense focus on the Jell-O Art Show and couldn't take on anything else. Until my thoughts about the place of my volunteering in my life, I had let it erode my priorities and take over my time. Something like the OCF is so big it will suck you dry if you don't set some inner limits on what you can give and what you must keep. This is a part of being a human, especially a nurturing and supportive human. Once in awhile we have to get shocked out of our groove and take a bit of a turn to the sun and reorient our directional focus. We can give it all away.
So okay, I have talked myself into writing something. Maybe even today, instead of cleaning the house, which as all artists know is just a futile attempt at control. The house will always need to be cleaned. I do have to find and get rid of that sauerkraut odor, but I do not really have to vacuum the living room. The bathroom is okay for today. That party isn't at my house.
We have practice tomorrow too. I have kind of a tight rule about keeping Sunday for solitude and sustenance but I am going to break it for the next two weeks. I'm going to extend myself, just a bit. I'm convinced it will reward me. You never know. Somewhere between the Introvert's Ball and the Queen of Jell-O Art, there is a little girl wanting a really satisfying pat on the head. Just ask me to remove my crown for a minute and lean on in, if you are one of my tiny dedicated group of readers. Or allow me to poke you in the eye with a Jell-O orchid, your choice. It's Hokey Pokey time! You put your whole self in, and you shake it all about...
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