On my bookcase is a shelf dedicated to my favorite books, the luscious reads that took me away, the ones I was sorry to see come to an end. Bel Canto by Ann Patchett is on that shelf.
Patchett has a new one out and I can't wait to read it. Little about it is the typical kind of book I enjoy, but neither was Bel Canto.
You've probably heard she is opening a bookstore. She may be my hero.
What's interesting about this interview is her writing process; she breaks that rule we've probably all heard to write every day. It reminds me that everyone has a different set of guidelines that work for her. That reassures, while surely being obvious. We're all different so naturally different ways of writing and practicing work for us.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Like Nike
For weeks, I have been meaning to post about the book signing where Andre Dubus, III read from his memoir, Townie. I had to leave early so I didn’t get to meet him but after listening to him answer questions and talk about writing and his background, I felt like I knew him.
The book was incredible. Dubus was, for lack of a zingier word, nice. He seemed like a genuine person, the kind you’d enjoy hanging out with. I wanted to write the post about him, about his book.
Why haven’t I? I wrote down a few notes during the reading but the notes weren’t “good enough.” I didn’t know what to say. My idea wasn’t “good enough.”
This is an example of perfect being the enemy of the good. I wanted the idea, not to mention the execution, to be brilliant and meaningful right out of the gate. If it wasn’t, then what was the use of trying, right?
It’s an easy mentality to get into and a hard one to get out of.
In the spirit of busting through, the jumble of notes I took:
Every time you write what is true, every time, you get closer to writing what you didn’t know. (He was quoting Grace Paley. I think what he said was that the when you write true, you discover things that you didn’t know that you knew.)
Truth is the only thing that transfers a feeling from one heart to another.
Writing is bridging the distance from one person to another.
About his memoir of growing up in Massachusetts mill town:
I love that town. I love that I’m from there.
Next time, I won’t slink around for two months because my notes and my idea wasn’t good enough. I’ll take a deep breath and just do it.
Isn’t that what writing is always like?
The book was incredible. Dubus was, for lack of a zingier word, nice. He seemed like a genuine person, the kind you’d enjoy hanging out with. I wanted to write the post about him, about his book.
Why haven’t I? I wrote down a few notes during the reading but the notes weren’t “good enough.” I didn’t know what to say. My idea wasn’t “good enough.”
This is an example of perfect being the enemy of the good. I wanted the idea, not to mention the execution, to be brilliant and meaningful right out of the gate. If it wasn’t, then what was the use of trying, right?
It’s an easy mentality to get into and a hard one to get out of.
In the spirit of busting through, the jumble of notes I took:
Every time you write what is true, every time, you get closer to writing what you didn’t know. (He was quoting Grace Paley. I think what he said was that the when you write true, you discover things that you didn’t know that you knew.)
Truth is the only thing that transfers a feeling from one heart to another.
Writing is bridging the distance from one person to another.
About his memoir of growing up in Massachusetts mill town:
I love that town. I love that I’m from there.
Next time, I won’t slink around for two months because my notes and my idea wasn’t good enough. I’ll take a deep breath and just do it.
Isn’t that what writing is always like?
Monday, April 25, 2011
Reasons
It's a talent I've honed and polished for years, although I don't use it much anymore: Excuses for not writing.
I've got a million of 'em. They're well thought out and reasoned; they don't sound like excuses. They sound like really good reasons why I couldn't write.
All nonsense, of course. If you want to write, you figure out a way to.
Distractions beckon from all corners. In my office right now, I have a stack of three great new books to read.
My bookshelves "need" tidying and sorting; the categories have gotten mingled.
The shelf of books about promoting and marketing writing makes me squirrelly and impatient, reminding me that I don't have a book to promote and market.
Colson Whitehead, whose Twitter feed often makes me laugh out loud, has a great no-excuses article about distractions.
Anne Lamott weighs in, too.
I love both their articles and the fact that if you want to write, just do it. We are all good enough, right here, right now, to write.
I've got a million of 'em. They're well thought out and reasoned; they don't sound like excuses. They sound like really good reasons why I couldn't write.
All nonsense, of course. If you want to write, you figure out a way to.
Distractions beckon from all corners. In my office right now, I have a stack of three great new books to read.
My bookshelves "need" tidying and sorting; the categories have gotten mingled.
The shelf of books about promoting and marketing writing makes me squirrelly and impatient, reminding me that I don't have a book to promote and market.
Colson Whitehead, whose Twitter feed often makes me laugh out loud, has a great no-excuses article about distractions.
Anne Lamott weighs in, too.
I love both their articles and the fact that if you want to write, just do it. We are all good enough, right here, right now, to write.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Reading + Writing: Love Match
Most every writer when asked for advice has two recommendations right away:
1) Write, and
2) Read.
Professional, experienced writers mention how many aspring writers don’t read, which they don’t understand. I don’t either. It blows my mind. If I didn’t love to read so much I wouldn’t want to write. It wouldn't occur to me to write. I’m certain of it.
It hit home the other day just how powerful and beneficial the simple act of reading good stuff can be.
I read From Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik last week. I love Gopnik's writing. It’s the kind that does what for me is so difficult and so admirable: take a universal concept and put it into fresh, accessible terms that makes readers like me swoon.
Too often when I read a particularly well-written passage and I am frankly envious. Discourgaged. Because that was so good and will I ever write that well?
This wasn’t like that. This inspired.
"...anticipating six o'clock when I begin, as one almost always does, no matter what one is cooking, by chopping onions.
The beautiful part of cooking lies in the repetition, living the same participles, day after day, planning, shopping, chopping, roasting, eating, and then vowing, always, never again to start on something so ambitious again…until the dawn rises, with another dream of something else. (Hunger, I always find, plays a very small role in it at all.)
And
The sublime moment of cooking, though, is really the moment when nature becomes culture, stuff becomes things. It is the moment when the red onions have been chopped and the bacon has been sliced into lardons and the chestnuts have been peeled and they are all mijoteing together in the pot, and then – a specific moment –the colors begin to change, and the smells gather together just at the level of your nose."
That made me want to write. Made me want to cook, too, but it made me want to write.
It stirred something in my mind and I made a connection - I could practically hear the click, just as it sounds when I fasten my seatbelt - and I was off, typing as fast as I could to get it down.
It's almost too good to be true that one of my favorite things - reading - can also help inform my writing.
1) Write, and
2) Read.
Professional, experienced writers mention how many aspring writers don’t read, which they don’t understand. I don’t either. It blows my mind. If I didn’t love to read so much I wouldn’t want to write. It wouldn't occur to me to write. I’m certain of it.
It hit home the other day just how powerful and beneficial the simple act of reading good stuff can be.
I read From Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik last week. I love Gopnik's writing. It’s the kind that does what for me is so difficult and so admirable: take a universal concept and put it into fresh, accessible terms that makes readers like me swoon.
Too often when I read a particularly well-written passage and I am frankly envious. Discourgaged. Because that was so good and will I ever write that well?
This wasn’t like that. This inspired.
"...anticipating six o'clock when I begin, as one almost always does, no matter what one is cooking, by chopping onions.
The beautiful part of cooking lies in the repetition, living the same participles, day after day, planning, shopping, chopping, roasting, eating, and then vowing, always, never again to start on something so ambitious again…until the dawn rises, with another dream of something else. (Hunger, I always find, plays a very small role in it at all.)
And
The sublime moment of cooking, though, is really the moment when nature becomes culture, stuff becomes things. It is the moment when the red onions have been chopped and the bacon has been sliced into lardons and the chestnuts have been peeled and they are all mijoteing together in the pot, and then – a specific moment –the colors begin to change, and the smells gather together just at the level of your nose."
That made me want to write. Made me want to cook, too, but it made me want to write.
It stirred something in my mind and I made a connection - I could practically hear the click, just as it sounds when I fasten my seatbelt - and I was off, typing as fast as I could to get it down.
It's almost too good to be true that one of my favorite things - reading - can also help inform my writing.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Funny: Knowing Isn't the Same Thing as Doing
How many times have we heard that thinking about writing isn't writing? Talking about writing isn't writing. Planning to write isn't writing. Meaning to write isn't writing. Wanting to write isn't writing.
I know this. Still, I'm gathering thoughts and ideas for another novel. I've been thinking about the characters, digging deeper so I can know them better. I've been noodling over the plot, the turning points, and the key scenes.
But what I hadn't so much doing had been...writing it.
Maybe most writers need a little fallow time to nourish the creative soil. I think I do, but I also know that a little downtime can creep toward procrastination, which after too long, can feel paralyzing, like I can't write.
Last week I dug in and actually began, you know: WRITING the novel, rather than jotting down notes for scenes and ideas about where the characters live and why her mother is like that. Stitching up the characters' backstory, knowing which corner store they visit and why, and that in 4th grade she stole a book from the school library, all that's important for the author to know. For me, the tempation is to dwell in all that minutiae, all that planning and getting-ready-to.
Reading Elizabeth Gilbert's piece on writing helped spur me on.
I had to dig in and do it. Now I've started, and it's exhilarating and scary at the same time. Isn't it always?
I know this. Still, I'm gathering thoughts and ideas for another novel. I've been thinking about the characters, digging deeper so I can know them better. I've been noodling over the plot, the turning points, and the key scenes.
But what I hadn't so much doing had been...writing it.
Maybe most writers need a little fallow time to nourish the creative soil. I think I do, but I also know that a little downtime can creep toward procrastination, which after too long, can feel paralyzing, like I can't write.
Last week I dug in and actually began, you know: WRITING the novel, rather than jotting down notes for scenes and ideas about where the characters live and why her mother is like that. Stitching up the characters' backstory, knowing which corner store they visit and why, and that in 4th grade she stole a book from the school library, all that's important for the author to know. For me, the tempation is to dwell in all that minutiae, all that planning and getting-ready-to.
Reading Elizabeth Gilbert's piece on writing helped spur me on.
I had to dig in and do it. Now I've started, and it's exhilarating and scary at the same time. Isn't it always?
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Everywhere
Sunday afternoon we drove through midtown Memphis, down Poplar Avenue that dips in and out of neighborhoods. I looked down each residential street we passed. I thought how every one of those houses has a hundred stories and I want to know them all.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
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