My week in photos (4): A sad post

We lost both of our bunnies this week. It seems they had a parasitic infection passed from mother to baby bunn that shows very few symptoms until it's too late. It's been a really sad week for us, but we're hanging in.

Oddly, we already have a new bunn to announce (which we got as a match for Doodle Doo before we knew he was sick. His brother, President Reagan, died a few days before him and bonded bunnies usually do much better if they get another mate soon after theirs dies). Her name is Daisy, though we might change it to Dandelion or Lauralei. We're waiting to see how her personality develops and hopefully she'll tell us what her name is. She is a giant angora, emphasis on giant:

It feels a little wierd to have her already because we're nervous about getting attached again to a creature who might leave us (but that's life, isn't it?), and because our grief is so fresh over our first two bunns. But hopefully she'll help us through this sadness. With a face like this, how could she not?

And check out her clydesdale-esque paws:

And just to make sure our other animals don't feel left out of the blogosphere, here's a pic of my Chloe dog, with whom I have been enjoying long walks around our new neighborhood:

And here's Boom Boom, our large and in charge cat whose favorite hobby, by far, is purring:

Wednesday Wrap Up (4)

Week four, with bad news to report. This week has felt very unfocused, writing wise. Probably because the first half was spent in a frenzy to get the house ready for our party, and then the second part of the week was spent on a freelance project. But now I'm back, and plan to refocus.

I did:
**Write part of the short story I'm working on via a Sunday Scribbling post

**Contact a medical intern friend of mine, who agreed to answer some technical questions about the ins and outs of a hospital ER

**Go see Sue Miller read and speak about writing. She was very down to earth, and seeing her reminded me that even my favorite writers, writers who have written 9 books (!), are still people, people who put one word in front of the other like the rest of us.

I did not get to:
**Send my damn story out. I can't tell if it's procrastination due to fear, or if I was really just too spent to do this. Either way, if I don't have this done by next week, I'll... well, I can't decide what I'll do. How about mail each person who comments on this post $5. (So someone comment, otherwise I'll have no consequence!)

**Write 4 days

Bottom line: A thumb's down for this week, with a promise to regroup and refocus for next week. That said, I'm going away on a mini vacation, so no posts until next week!

My week in pictures (3)

You ever have an irrational annoyance with something? Mine is uploading pictures from my camera to the computer. Even though it's quick and easy, I dread doing it. So, this weekly pic thing is a challenge for me! (Note to self, it's the uploading to blogger that's a pain in the bum!)

But anyway... this week's most photogenic event was our housewarming BBQ. We were honored (and yes, warmed) by 40 wonderful friends and family who came and hung in our backyard. Someone at work recently said that he first felt like his house was a home when he came into it during a snowstorm and felt the cold meltaway. Another coworker said that moment came when he finally got art on the walls. For me, it is when I find myself preparing for and welcoming a big crowd of loved ones.

The bunnies were a big hit, especially with the kids:

And so was the food... (though we somehow have 40 leftover hamburgers. And we don't eat meat.)

Unfortunately I didn't take too many outdoor shots of people relaxing in the yard. I think I had too many drinks myself to wield a camera well... But here's a pic or two of the house itself:

A great quote

“Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”

~ Meg Chittendon

My week in pictures coming later today, featuring shots from our housewarming BBQ this weekend.

Sunday Scribblings: Solace

For the third week in a row, my Sunday Scribblings is a look at the world in the eyes of my fictional character, whose husband Bob has just been taken in for bypass surgery.

I went to the patient lounge seeking solace. But even the lounge was cold--both in terms of the air temperature and the general feel of the place. The couches and chairs were upholstered in the thick plaster of diner seats. Probably easier to keep clean, but certainly not cozy. One wall had large windows, but they overlooked a parking lot, and a large building sat about 20 feet away, blocking any farther off view.

I sank into the plastic couch and put my head back. I planned to just rest my eyes, but I must've fallen asleep. I woke to the sound of hushed voices, voices that, I assumed, were trying not to wake me.

A man with a slight accent--Indian? Middle Eastern?--said something about this being the best space to talk in, despite the lack of privacy. A pipe had frozen overnight and flooded his administrative office.

The other voice, a woman's said, "Fine, fine." She sounded annoyed. Like Bob sounded with me a lot.

"I just wanted to apologize again. I can explain to you exactly how the mistake happened if you like." His voice sounded a bit warmer than it had when he was talking about his office flooding.

I heard one of the people shift in their seats, and imagined the woman shifting in reaction to the doctor's apology.

The doctor continued talking, faster now, obviously nervous. "Now none of these are excuses, I know that. There are a number of things I did wrong in the situation. But anyway, it was the end of a 14 hour shift. My twin babies had cried throughout all of the night before, and even though my wife does night duty on the days before my hospital shifts, it's amazing the wails these little bodies can expel. They wake me sometimes even when she's brought them downstairs to protect my sleep. Anyway, I was tired. And the nursing staff who was supposed to assist me got held up in another operation. So the people in the OR weren't familiar with your case.

Again, I'm sorry. None of this excuses what happened. But I hope you can understand. It wasn't just blatant uncaring, or recklessness. It was a series of mistakes, but the responsibility for the end result resides with me. And I am sorry." On these last words, his voice sounded so soft, like he was talking to one of his babies, not an adult.

Of course I was dying to know what this doctor had done. I opened my eyes a little in hopes of getting a glimpse of the patient. Maybe she would be misshapen in some obvious way. But I barely saw her. My eyes stopped on the face of the doctor, a slight man with dark hair and dark--almost black--eyes. It wasn't his looks that were so striking. It was his look. His face looked the same way I knew mine did when I talked to Bob. When I pleaded with him to forgive me, to try to understand that my hitting the dog was an accident, that he was in my blind spot, and that I felt terrible. He had the look of true remorse on his face.

The woman--a chubby , 40-something year old with black, curly hair-- unfolded her arms and sighed. She, too, seemed caught by his gaze. "It's...Well, it's not OK. What happened is not OK. But, I forgive you." She smiled at him. "These things happen."

The man sighed, and then took her hands in his. "Thank you. Thank you." The words seemed to flow out of his mouth on his breath. "I haven't slept since... Haven't eaten. You don't know how much this means to me."

But I did. I knew just how much being forgiving meant. And then it hit me--Bob would never forgive me. It'd been months now. And it wasn't that what I'd done was so unforgivable--"these things happen" after all. It was that he didn't want to forgive me. And that--that--is unforgivable.

Random cuteness

I'm going to make this sweater for my niece for Christmas. Yes, we knitters have to think about Christmas gifts now.

(If you want the pattern, go here: http://www.knitty.com/ISSUEsummer08/PATThelena.html)

Wednesday Wrap Up (3)

My third week doing this wrap up, and more good (though less structured) news to report. This week I:

*Wrote one Sunday Scribblings entry related to my short story (more than my 350 word count)

*Spent time editing the story I plan to send out--and finalized it! Whoo! What a good feeling!

*Spent time researching journals to submit to

Submissions

A little about my submission processes...

To finalize my story, I sent it to three very smart readers (thank you!) who made great comments and confirmed that it is ready to go out.

Then I read it aloud to check for any snaggles. Edited those, and changed the beginning a bit to make sure I was starting in a place that would really grab the reader.

And now, I am researching the journals whose work I liked while perusing them in a bookstore and finding... that many of them are not accepting submissions during the summer! POO! At least I have a list of places to send to in the fall

http://www.tinhouse.com/mag/mag_submit.htm (Not accepting til September)

http://www.massreview.org/faq.html (Not accepting til October)

http://www.americanshortfiction.org/(Not accepting til September)

http://www.columbia.edu/cu/review/about.html (No info about submissions, but the website is still talking about its Spring issue, so I assume they are not up and running in the summer)

http://www.triquarterly.org/submit.cfm (Not accepting til October)

I also have to find two "nice" rejection letters I got in the past telling me to send more stuff.

I'm hoping, too, that the Lesley folks will start sending out info about placing soliciting for work, so I can add to my list. I'm guessing that too many of these are "reach" publications. But hey, I guess I'll start at the top and work my way down as necessary....

Any lit mags you think I should add to my list? Suggestions welcome.

My week in photos (2)

This week's theme was water, water everywhere.

1- We had a minor flood when our second floor washer decided to spew water everywhere, including through our first floor ceiling.

2- On a happier note, we spent a lot of time at Ames Pond this weekend, a swimming hole that is walking distance from our house.

3- We ended the weekend with lots and lots of thunderstorms.


(None of these photos are mine... I took some of the ceiling mess, but haven't had time to upload them to the computer.)

Sending out--eek

So I'm going to put some final touches on a story and send it out tomorrow/Monday. I sca-red!

Anyone have a system for figuring out which journals to send to?I need to make a list. I looked at some journals in a bookstore and made note of a few that seemed to publish stuff that I liked. I guess I'll start there? I'm not sure how big to aim. I mean, do you send your stuff to the New Yorker on the off chance that miracle upon miracle someone likes it?

Any feedback would be lovingly appreciated.

Sunday Scribbling: Ghosts

Like my last Sunday Scribbling, this is in the voice of a fictional character whose story I am currently writing. This is background info that probably won't even make it into my story, but which I know will help me understand my character.


I don't believe in ghosts, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the presence of my parents--my mother in particular. They died in a car accident when I was 32--bad weather, an inexperienced driver going too fast on the highway.


I had been living in Manhattan at the time, enjoying my life despite a recent bad break up. That's how I ended up moving back to upstate N.Y. I needed to tend to their house, which I assumed I'd sell. But I just couldn't. I felt my parents there in a way I didn't anywhere else. I'd occasionally smell my mom's floral scent on a towel I hadn't yet used and washed. I'd hear the oldie's station echo through my parents' bedroom with the same acoustics as it did every morning when their alarm rang. Sometimes I would have to do a double take because I'd swear I'd seen my dad leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other.


So I got a job as a paralegal at a small firm near Albany. I took an absurd cut in pay, which was fine since I didn't have to pay absurdly high city rents-or any rent for that matter, since my parents had paid off their mortgage.


It was hard to be there without my mom, who was really more like a sister to me in her last years. If she had been there, we would've been going to the farmers markets together, stopping for lunch at the dinner on the way home and planning what we'd make for supper over our greasy grilled cheese sandwiches. Instead I was doing those things alone. Which was fine, just not the same.


Years passed. I made some friends through work, connected with a friend from high school, Lea, who I hadn't seen since we graduated. She and I got very close, but she had a family--a husband and two little girls. So there were still plenty of weekends where I went about my shopping and cooking and relaxing alone.


I was happy, though a bit lonely. And time was a ticking. I wasn't baby-crazy in a serious way, but like any woman who has crested the hill of 35 will tell you, it's pretty impossible to avoid thinking about the topic of fertility and motherhood when you're starting to realize that you might not have a choice as to whether or not you join that particular sorority.

So maybe that's why I was so grateful to find Bob when he came into my life. Maybe that's why I was so willing to overlook some things I didn't like in how he treated me, namely what Lea calls looking at me without seeing me, listening to me without hearing.

***
To read other ghost stories, click here.

Wednesday Wrap Up (2)

I'm posting this on Tuesday night because I anticipate tomorrow to be a super busy day at work, so I won't be able to sneak in 10 minutes of blogging.

The verdict: Success! I clocked in 4 writing sessions this week!

Well, let's spend a minute defining writing sessions, as my friend Robyn and I did via email earlier in the week. On Friday, I wrote more than 350 words about my story for Sunday Scribblings. One down. On Monday night, I wrote 200 words before being interrupted by something. Today I wrote the remaining 150 on that chunk, and clocked in another 350. Checks two and three. Here's where tallying gets a little funky: On Thursday, I spent an hour in one of my favorite bookstores--The Trident on Newbury Street--researching literary journals that I could send my work to. Though that didn't add to my word count, it did consist of time spent on writing activities, and Robyn and I decided to count those hours,too.

I think of it like how you're "allowed" to count short, 10 minute walks in your daily exercise goal. Would it be most beneficial to get all of your exercise by doing errands on foot? Probably not. But the walking does still count towards the greater goal.

Anyway, this week's goal: met!

And let me reiterate how much having this goal has helped me. There is NO WAY I would've sat down and written tonight after dealing with a washing machine that flooded my upstairs and leaked into my downstairs (yes, this happened to me today) had it not been for knowing that I'd be shamed by reporting my failure here.

My week in pictures (1)

We adopted two insanely cute angora bunnies (I can spin yarn from their fur!--once I learn how, that is) I'll let the pictures speak for their adorable selves.

Sunday Scribblings: My oldest friend

I immediately had a very personal story tug on me when I saw this prompt, but I want to try to use Sunday Scribbling as a means of getting deeper into my fiction writing, so here is the story of my new main character Ellen's Oldest Friend.

**So just to reiterate, this is fiction. Don't want anyone to think I'm airing info about my failing marriage over the internet. (Not that I even have a failing marriage. Thankfully!) :) **

I always thought that my husband would be my best friend. I thought that's how it worked. I'd have to watch our wedding video to verify this, but I think I even wrote the word "best friend" into our wedding ceremony. But I guess you can't make a person live up to their promises, can you.

Let me be blunt: I killed my husband's dog. No, I never liked the thing. But no, I didn't mean
to kill him either. Bob knows this. He must--I've told him a thousand times, even had him back my car out of the driveway so he could see that the dog just happened to be lying in the car's blind spot, and that there was no way I could've known he was there until I felt the impact and heard his little bones crushing. Even though I'm no animal lover, that sound replays in my head sometimes, and I get so nauseous I have to sit down.

There's no way I could've killed a dog on purpose.

And I guess that's the crux of the problem, I'm coming to see, how can I be with someone who doesn't know that about me? Who can't, even after 6 months, accept my apology and allow us to move on?

It's not that he says he doesn't believe it was an accident, or even that he doesn't forgive me. No, he's much more on the passive side of the passive-aggressive equation. He "jokes" about my killing his dog, for instance. In front of other people. As in: In response to something I've said that he doesn't agree with: "This from the woman who killed my dog!" Or, if he's trying to get out of doing something he doesn't want to do, he'll say he can't do it because he's overcome with grief. Convenient that the grief only lasts as long as it takes for me to do whatever it is myself.

At the beginning of the story, when I take him to the hospital because he's having chest pain, I'm scared for him. I'm a bulldog (no pun intended; Shasta was a yellow lab, anyway). I bark at the nurses when they don't get him tested right away to see if he's having a heart attack. I repeat Bob's long list of allergies every time a new orderly comes in to give him some new drug. I'm scared, to be honest, that after all the hard work I've done to try to save my marriage after not being able to save Bob's dog (and then working overtime to pay for the $2,000 vet bill), he'll die on me. And I love him, I do. I tell him that as they roll him into heart surgery. He doesn't say it back.

But then, I witness a doctor-patient apology: he operated on the wrong side of her body. I see in his face the same pain and true regret that I felt about Shasta. I wait for the patient to come back with some nasty comment about the surgeon's incompetence or to call her lawyer. But she doesn't. She accepts the apology, saying she'll need some time to deal with this news, but that she knows he didn't mean to hurt her. She smiles.

After that, I know it's time to leave Bob. If he loved me, he would forgive me and see how much anguish this situation has put me through.

Wednesday Wrap Up (1)

Welcome to my first Wednesday Wrap Up, a post where I will publicly declare whether I made my goal of writing 350 words per day, four days of each week.

This first week, I did not make my goal. Whamp-waa (the sound effect from games shows when a person loses).

On the positive side, I did write two days of 350 words, and I know I wouldn't have done so had I not been trying to meet my weekly goal. So, I'm going to count this week as a partial success in that it is allowing me to slowly get into my new writing routine.

Final judgement: Thumbs sideways.

The future of the blog

I've got big plans for this here blog now that I'm actually blogging again. It needs some structure. So here's the plan. Each week I'll post:

* My Monday in A Picture: This photo-centered post will hopefully be pics I took myself that reflect what my week/weekend's been like. If I'm swamped, I'll sub in a photo of someone else's that I like/represents the week.

*Wednesday Wrapup: Detailing how I did meeting my weekly word quota (my week will be Wed. to Wed. where this is concerned).

*On Friday or over the weekend I'll post a Sunday Scribblings post or another writing-prompt oriented post.

And of course, there will be lots of spontaneous posts about all things writerly.

Wish me luck sticking with this ambitous posting plan!

word quotas

I can't believe how much this word quota is getting my butt in the chair. Without it, there's no way I would've opened up my laptop and written as I watched the fireworks on TV. I've got no money riding on this, just pride: I made a vow to write 350, four days a week and since I'm quite the procrastinator, if I don't write today, tomorrow, and Sunday, I'll miss my mark the first week out of the gate. So I wrote.

Happy 4th!! Hope you had as inspiring a time watching the fireworks as I did.

Two ideas for future posts: what makes a book "chick lit", and is the very term sexist? And trying to get my hubby to fulfill his writing goals.

350 words: day 1

I did it! I wrote 350 words last night, which was precisely how many I needed to get through that paragraph I needed to add to Cartes Postales. Whoo!

Plans

Ok, it's been a while. I'm slightly embarrassed. But hey, stuff happens. And at least I've returned, right?

So now that I've graduated from both my masters programs, I need a plan to keep me writing. My MFA buddies and I decided on setting a word quota for ourselves. Mine is 350 words, 4 days a week. (Which means I better get writing tonight since I didn't do anything yesterday or Monday...)

I also need some other goals, so here are some for this month:

By July 11
Add paragraph to Cartes Postales and send to the friends who have generously agreed to read it.

By July 25
Research journals and begin sending Cartes out.

By July 31
Decide which other of my thesis stories I would like to send out.

What are your writerly goals for the month?

6 unimportant things about me

Susan of Martha's Vineyard Fiberfarm fame tagged me for this meme. And the best part? In the tag she said she thinks I'll be a literary superstar some day. Who could resist doing a meme when you're introduced like that?? So here are 6 unimportant things about me, in an unimportant order:

1. I once rode 150 miles on my bicycle, from Quincy to Provincetown, MA. It was a fundraiser for MS, and one that I will never, ever do again. It POURED for two days straight and was freezing cold, though the ride was in June. Now I do the way-more-sane 20 miler on Martha's Vineyard in May.

2. I can stand on my head. (Lots of years of yoga)

3. My favorite flower is Black Eyed Susans. Luckily, they're easy to grow so hopefully I'll have a garden full soon.

4. I am a militant recycler/composter. Though my husband thinks I'm insane, I think he loves this trait about me, too.

5. For no particular reason, Thursday is my favorite day of the week. I find Thursdays soothing.

6. In recent years I had to give up coffee due to heartburn. I miss it dearly, and I occassionally cheat. When I do, the caffeine affects me like crazy and I talk really fast and jump from topic to topic. It's what I imagine being on certain drugs must be like. And all for a $2 at the local coffee shop...

So now it's my turn to tag people! I'm going to tag those of you who have commented on recent posts on this blog:

Tori
Becca
Don
Tracy
January
Boston Erin

The rules of the game are as follows:
1. Link back to the person that tagged you
2. Post these rules on your blog.
3. Share six unimportant things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your entry.

Some random writerly bits

1. I recently finished Jhumpa Lahiri's newest book, Unaccustomed Earth. It is half short stories, and half linked short stories, and IT. IS. AMAZING. Read it. There's really not much more to say. She's a marvel.

2. I forgot how emotional writing is. I started a new story, and man, monitoring my thoughts as I got back in front of the computer was crazy. I felt:

• impatient--I wanted to know what was going to happen already!
• scared--where was this story going? Was I wasting my time?
• annoyed--why was this taking so long to figure out?

All of this in about 30 minutes of writing.

3. OK, not a writerly update, but I thought I'd announce that we moved! We're just getting settled into our new "country estate" (sounds much better than suburban colonial, right?). It's so nice and relaxing. I am really happy with our decision.

Must. Start. Writing. Again!!

I haven't written a word in weeks. Nothing in my journal. Nothing on my blog. Nothing in a Word doc. I blame it on moving and simultaneously tying up the loose ends of my thesis.

I'm still living out of boxes, and still feeling out of sorts as I adjust to a new house, commute, life. But the only I'm going to feel better is if I get myself back into some sort of routine regarding exercise, eating, and writing. Yes, writing is as important to my well being as healthy food.

I've taken the first steps. I wrote this post. I bought a new journal yesterday (my old one is packed in one of many boxes). Tomorrow, I'll take the next step and actually write in it. I'm imagining spewing forth on my feelings and thoughts about our move, and some ideas for new stories.

Happy publishing news

Not about me, unfortunately! But I do like to share good news even when it happens to strangers, in this case a Canadian writer who self-published his novel after not being able to land an agent or publisher. He recently won Canada's most prestigious award--and $10,000!

Check out the details here.

Some interesting tidbits

I don't have much to report from my own world of writing--just finishing up my final revisions on my thesis (whoo hoo!). But I do have some links I'd like to share:

• This NY Times article announces the fact that Nabokov's son is going to publish his father's last, unfinished work--against his father's wishes. It made me wonder--what would I do and what would I want done?

I think I would publish the work if I were the son. It just seems a crime to not let anyone see it, as long as people know not to judge it as if it were a finished work. If it were me, I would probably be OK with something unfinished being published under those
circumstances. But if someone were to publish diaries or something of mine that I told them not to because of their private nature, I would come back from the grave and haunt
whoever made them public. Which reminds me to burn all diaries myself before I die.

• Another interesting NY Times article, this one discussing the state of the literature and books, and the impact of MFA programs and self publishing on them.Two quotes I found most interesting from the article:

Mark McGurl, an associate professor of English at the University of California, Los Angeles, and the author of a forthcoming book on the impact of creative writing programs on
postwar American literature, [says] that writing programs have helped expand the literary universe, “American literature has never been deeper and stronger and more various than it is now,” McGurl said in an e-mail message. Still, he added, “one could put that more pessimistically: given the manifold distractions of modern life, we now have more great writers working in the United States than anyone has the time or inclination to read.”

I feel like McGurl's take on the state of books in America is realistic. Another quote-- this one I do not agree with:

In “So Many Books,” [Gabriel] Zaid playfully writes that “if a mass-market paperback costs $10 and takes two hours to read, for a minimum-wage earner the time spent is worth as much as the book.” But for someone earning around $50 to $500 an hour, “the cost of buying and reading the book is $100 to $1,000” — not including the time it takes to find out about the book and track it down.

If you measure your reading time in terms of how much money/time it "costs" to get through a book, I feel sorry for you. Reading is about personal fulfilment and enjoyment, and cannot be measured that way.

• And finally, a link to the ever inspiring Poet Mom, who posted a great video of a roundtable discussion with three writers about characterization in their work.
  

Competence

I haven't blogged in a while, mostly because the insanity that comes with buying and selling real estate has taken up most of my energy. But I've also been mulling a topic over in my head for a while. I'm wondering if any writer ever feels competent.

As a journalistic writer (my day job), I feel competent. I know what elements of a story need to be included for a reader to be satisfied at the end and to learn something. And as a creative writer, I have the basic knowledge about those things, too.

One of the main differences, I think, is that I am not worried about perfecting a journalistic piece. Don't get me wrong, I want it to be good. But I know that a large part of the process is the editing that my editor will do to ask questions I didn't think to, and maybe to help me focus the piece.

The second big difference is that at some very definitive point, I have to let go of my journalistic piece. It's called a deadline, after which, my words will be printed somewhere and I can never, ever edit them again. The process for getting creative writing published seems to encourage a feeling of incompetence--you finish your story/book and think it's done. You send it out to a few magazines/agents/editors, and let's say they all reject it. So now not only is your writing incompetent, but so is your judgment about knowing when something is done. So you go back, and rework, and send it out again in the hopes that this new person won't give you another reason to think you're incompetent.

So what's the moral of this post? How does a writer begin to feel competent about her writing, her story telling, and her ability to decide when something is done? I don't know! You tell me. Please.

My Beef with Jhumpa

I went to see Jhumpa Lahiri read last night at the Coolidge Corner moving theater. She read from her new collection of stories, and then took questions. She seemed very reserved and nervous--clearly being in the spotlight isn't something she enjoys. But she answered the questions honestly and sincerely, and was even occassionally funny.

So what's my beef? I asked a question about what drew her back to short stories (her first book was stories, then she wrote a novel, and her new book is stories). She said a lot that I agreed with: that she hates how the literary world and readers look down upon stories as something less than novels, and how wonderful short stories can be both to write and to read.

But then she went on to say that she didn't think that reading or writing a short story was very different from reading or writing a novel. Huh? I would argue that they are totally different genres. Yes, you need many of the same elements in both, but there's only so much you can fit in a story. That's part of what I love about the best of them--they are jam packed just to the limits of how much emotion and change a reader can absorb a character going through in the space of 20 pages.

A novel, on the other hand, has layers and layers of things going on, and usually more characters jumping in and out of the spotlight. As a writer, I think the challenge of working on a novel would be to keep all those balls in the air and, when you set some down, to remember where you put them so you can go back to them when needed. And the challenge of writing a story is getting across, in a short amount of space, a change in your character that is both meaningful and realistic. That challenge exists for the novel writing, too, but she has much more room to move in and breath in.

As a reader, I find reading a short story to be a more powerful experience. I usually get a whole story in one sitting, and then have to absorb the entirety of it. Novel reading is more leisurely in that the whole emotional punch of the story is unwound throughout hundreds of pages (and tens of reading sessions). I love both experiences--the intensity of the short story and being mid-novel and being compelled to get back to the book so I can see what happens.

This is coming from someone who has only written stories. So what do I know? If you've written in both genres, let me know your thoughts! And if you read both genres, please comment to.

Movie Rec

I saw the best movie last night. Seriously, one of my new favorites. I had never heard of it, so I'm guessing others might not have either. It's called Last Kiss, with the guy from Scrubs and Gwenyth Paltrow's mom. It's basically about relationships in different kinds/levels of crises among a group of friends and family. It's really thoughtful and very well done. Let me know if you see it--I'd love to discuss. (The soundtrack is pretty awesome, too.)

Breaking up over books

This essay from the NY Times will make book lovers smile. It's about how we judge potential loves by their book knowledge/choices. Though the idea that people would only read/admit to reading books that might make them look good to suitors strikes me as very sad, and makes me glad that A) I'm not single and B) I don't live in New York. The second assertion may not be fair--since the article focuses on New York it's only natural that the people admitting to altering their tastes would also be from New York. But having grown up on Long Island and having friends in the city, I feel qualified to say that Manhattan is a much more judgmental place than the rest of the world.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/books/review/Donadio-t.html?em&ex=1207022400&en=be66964abe7c5f54&ei=5087%0A

Calling yourself a feminist is an act of gratitude

I try to keep this blog about writing and other crafts, but occassionally something outside of this realm is so damn appealing that I need to post it and spread the word. If you don't call yourself a feminist, check out this video and hopefully be enlightened. If you do, watch it and be inspired.

Knit pics

I'm very bad about posting pics on the blog. For some reason, it seems like a big pain in the tush. But since I am doing too much thesis work to write anything much on the blog, here are some pics of baby gifts I knit earlier this year.

Can intense people/overachievers be OK with calm?

I recently got introduced to some wonderful craft blogs (links on the side of my blog). These bloggers' lives are what I've always dreamed of. They write, they craft, they hang out with their children, who do their own crafts with their sweet little fingers. They are just like the person who, as a kid, I assumed I'd be when I grew up.

My husband and I are in the process of buying a house--our dream house--the kind of house where I imagined myself doing all that crafting and writing. It's on an acre of land, so we'll have plenty of room for gardens and hanging out (and animals--lots of dogs, rabbits, etc!). It's big enough that I'll get a craft/writing room, where I can decorate as I please and leave yarn all over if I want to. (Of course I'll have to work to help pay for the house, but that's just a pesky detail.)

So now that I'm getting to a place in my life where I can really envision myself living the life I've dreamed of for so long, I find myself asking, Will I really be able to? Will I be able to devote so much time to things that give me pleasure? Will I be able to not feel incredibly guilty doing so? Will I be able to enjoy it without feeling like there are better things I ought to be doing with my time? (Like, say, saving the world.) Is it OK to relax and enjoy life? Will I just find something new to worry about?

I guess I'll find out in the months and years ahead. (I assume that finalizing the buying of this place, selling our condo, and moving will give me enough to stress about in the near future.) But in the mean time, the idea that I could be worried about not worrying is something I Just Don't Get.

For more writing on things that baffle us, check out this week's Sunday Scribblings.

Me and my laptop take a trip

With a condo on the market and a house that's about to be ours, I'm finding it a wee hard to concentrate on my writing. So I'm going away, just me and my laptop. We're taking a bus to Western Mass tomorrow, checking into a B&B and holing up there. When we emerge, I'll have finished drafts of all my thesis stories. Here's my plan:

Tomorrow I'll finish a draft of Cartes Postale, Aneurysm and Sit, Stay (Sit and Aneurysm need just minor work, and I have a detailed plan for Purpose.)

Friday I'll revise Northern Exposure and Bee Keeping (both of which are in their third draft, but need some serious revision still).

Friday night my friend Kathy comes to join me, and Saturday we'll spend the day at a yoga center.

I'm confident I can get the work done once I'm away from the mortgage brokers, realtors, and boxes of my real life. I am so looking forward to only having one thing--my writing--to focus on.

I don't know if I'll have internet connection, but if I do, I'll try to spend some of my down time catching up on the blogs that I haven't had a chance to visit in a million years...

Every MFA students' fear

If you're worried that, post-graduation, without the structure of an MFA program, your writing will falter, check out this thoughtful advice:

http://www.salon.com/mwt/col/tenn/2008/03/12/writing_and_fitness/

Last thesis story

I am finally, finally beginning the last major revision for my thesis. There's a ton of minor things to do once I'm through with this, but it will feel good to at least have an idea of the structure and meaning of each story. So now's the time for me to start brainstorming about this story.

Title: Carte Postale

What is it about? A young woman, Chloe, who goes to France a year after her husband unexpectedly dies. She is taking cooking classes there--something she learned about while researching culinary vacations for the magazine she writes for, but her main reason for going is because vacationing alone seems like a hurdle a newly single woman should jump.

Who is Chloe? Chloe is all about jumping hurdles. She's very successful in her life as a magazine writer, and she wants to feel competent about grieving, too. She has tried very hard to keep it together, especially in relation to her mother-in-law, who was obviously grieving herself. Her mother in law is a bit self-centered, and she gave Chloe something to focus on while repressing her own grief.

What happens? She writes postcards to her dead husband, the first kind of journaling she's ever done, even though the grief course she took with her mother-in-law said journaling was a good way to get in touch with the pain.
The writing, being in such a romantic spot, and being away from anyone who needs to be taken care of leads her into real grief for the first time. The grief starts when she pretends to her fellow cooks that her husband is at the Louvre. At first, the denial is only when she's in class. When she gets out, she cries and cries that Ethan won't be meeting her, like she told everyone. At the end of the week, though, she has a mini-breakdown where she allows herself to believe he's alive even after class ends, and when she finally comes out of her imaginary world, she is devastated. But she is also ready to move on.

Some challenges:
*How to present the denial/imaginary world without making it seem like she is crazy?
*How to make the city of Paris come alive in the story

Revision plan:
Reread draft tomorrow during the day
At night, rewrite the cooking class scenes. Make the class span a few days.
Thursday night: Writing group; probably won't work on story
Friday night: Getting a much-needed massage; probably won't work on story
Weekend: Finish revising by thinking about postcard structure, determining what info should be presented to Ethan on each, and in what order. Decide if she needs to sleep with the man she meets (probably yes). Make sure it's clear that Chloe is not crazy, just really wants to believe that her husband isn't dead.

The benefits of watching TV for a writer

In general, I'm not a big fan of television. We don't have cable. I probably watch only an hour or two a week. But, because of some things going on in my life that I hope to be able to blog about soon, I've been a wee bit more stressed than usual. The up side is that has caused me to work out more--I swear, the best way to combat that racing-heart feeling is to make your heart actually need to race. What I had considered the downside was that I've been watching more TV because it's easier to get absorbed in a TV show than it is in a book, when I'm stressed at least.

But I've realized that, while too much TV can certainly be a big time suck and a distraction from writing, it also has its benefits. Currently, I'm hooked on two shows: Grey's Anatomy and Men in Trees. (Lost lost me last week, with all those time travel shenanigans.)

Both shows (and I'm sure others) do something that I've been struggling to do in my writing: they stick to a theme and explore that theme through the episode. For example, in the Men in Trees I just watched, it was thought that one of the characters drowned in a boat accident. His girlfriend is thinking about all she regrets about their relationship--namely that they took too long to get it started. Then, using good transitions, the theme of regret was explored throughout a few of the characters lives, and you saw how regret can mean different things to different people and affect different people differently. Even the minorest of characters--a guy who showed up at a priest's door after a fight with his wife--showed regret.

In thinking about how the television writers brought out the theme, I'm realizing once again how every piece of information that is conveyed in a story really needs to focus on the theme. But my main lesson is that stress relieving TV can be good for the writer--and that if we look hard enough, we'll find teachers and lessons just about everywhere.

One reason I love the Boston Public Library

I am a huge fan of libraries. (Nerd alert!)

We went to my town public library a ton when I was a kid. My mom is a big reader and we would go together to get books for the both of us. (She later ended up working there.) Now, I'm a "friend" of the Jamaica Plain public library, meaning I donate to them so they can buy new books and maintain their falling apart building as best they can.

My absolute favorite thing about the library is that you can search their web site for the book you're looking for, and if any branch of the library (including some public school libraries) has it, you can order it and they'll deliver it to your local branch! How cool is that?

that I have three books waiting for me. What a treat I'll get this evening!! (FYI, I'll be reading: The Annie I just went online to seeDilliard Reader, Away by Amy Bloom, and A Home at the End of the World by Michael Cunningham.)

Calm, finally

I'm feeling calm for what feels like the first time in years. I think I had to get to the opposite of calm, as I did last night, to be able to come back to calm. I've learned some lessons through this, though:

1- It does everyone involved good if you say no if you don't think you can make it somewhere. On Friday, I really wanted to go support Poetmom at her reading. But it was an hour away from me, and I had a few things I needed to do after work before I could get there. A last minute flag-on-the-play meant I just couldn't make it in time. I knew I was going to be harried getting there, and I should've just expressed my regrets from the get go instead of cancelling at the last minute.

2- I ended up at a yoga class after doing the stuff I needed to do. It was the perfect anecdote to the anxiety surrounding rushing and canceling plans.

3- Sometimes it feels really good to organize. I spent hours and hours today organizing our condo and our tax documents. Brian went out to do homework at his school. The only time I can happily do housework is if I'm alone. Something about doing it while someone else does anything else (even if it's homework) makes me feel like a martyr. But organizing alone is a fantastic feeling.

4- Bouncing off my wonderful yoga experience, I meditated today, and I'm going to take a yoga class tomorrow morning. I think today's meditation is keeping me relatively calm as I react to:

5- I'm behind on my writing. Again. It's so strange how I really, really, really want the stories in my thesis to be great, but I'm often finding myself resisting working on them. Maybe my next post will be a Letter to my Thesis, ala RB.

My memoir, in 6 words

Tori and I must've been listening to NPR at the same time, because we both heard the story about a neat book of people's 6-word memoirs.

Here are mine. (They're three seperate 6-word "memoirs," not one 18-word one. So don't think of me as a cheater.) If you decide to post one, let me know so I can be sure to take a look!

Tackles too much, gets much done

Sleep, animals, writing, reading, snuggling, yoga

Worries much about own, others' feelings

Hubris

I was clearly kidding myself in that last post. I sit here, a day behind on my writing schedule (see post from a few days ago), completely stuck with Bee Keeping. Ugh. What was I thinking, giving tips? What do I know? Double Ugh.

The one thing I do know is that I've got to get back to it.

Finally!

I'm finally making headway on my Bees story (renamed from Queen to Beekeeping). This one has been a toughie for me. I don't know if it's because I'm juggling a bunch of fairly emotional stuff in my regular (ie, not fictional) life or if I'm getting a little burnt out, or if it was just a tough nut to crack.

B asked me how one goes about revising, saying something along the lines of, "Everyone says you have to allow yourself to write a shitty first draft. But then what? Anyone can write crap." It made me realize that first of all I hadn't given revising it's due before this semester--both in terms of how hard it is and in terms of how important it is. And second of all, I hadn't given much thought to the steps I'm going through in revision. Here's some of what I have learned about revision. Please add your own thoughts in comments--I'd love to learn more from you!

1. The work must sit for weeks or months between first draft and second. Before each residency, I tried to revise stories that I worked on in the previous semester. But I didn't really revise them. I tweaked them, making scenes more visual, characters clearer, dialogue better. But I didn't re-envision them. For me at least, I need a few weeks or months to be removed enough from the story to see what needs to be re-envisioned.

2. I need to freewrite about some questions around the story:

"What does the character learn in the story?"

"What are the main themes of the story?"

"What is the narrative drive of the story?"

(ie, What makes the reader be compelled to read on?)

I think freewriting is important here--not just thinking about these questions or trying to answer them as you type in the story file. I need to use a journal for this step because getting away from the story file allows me a freedom I don't feel when the story is in front of. On the pages of my journal, I feel freeer to try theories out, to test things, than I do in the Word document of the story. (I use a paper and pen journal for this step, but I imagine blogging or even typing in a clean Word doc would work.)

3. I need to open a fresh Word doc and begin revising by cutting and pasting a paragraph or two from the original draft into that fresh document. Something about this step allows me to feel freer to move things around, delete things (by not copying them into the new doc), and write completely new material. This is clearly all psychological, but it works for me.

After all of this, I have a story that barely resembles my first, shitty draft. It generally starts and end in a completely different place, the focus of the story has shifted, some of the characters didn't make the cut, and some others have been added in. My next step will be revising at the sentence/word level--reading the piece aloud to make changes concerning rhythm and word choice. (I haven't gotten to that point on any of my stories yet. Yikes!)

Now, tell me about your revision process! Do you do anything similar to this? What isn't on my list that would have to be on yours?

Yet another schedule

Ok, unless you're really looking for something to read, skip this post. Really. It will be boring. And it will repeat/contradict the schedule I posted earlier. But I need to get this revised schedule out there so I can refer back to it as needed. And I need to get very specific about how I'll be spending my writing time in the next few days. I've been finding that I'm feeling stressed and unproductive/unfocused, so hopefully a schedule will help me both buckle down and pencil in some downtime.

April 1: Thesis to Hester
March 12-April 1: Do line editing of all stories. Spice up verbs, cut extra words/paragraphs/etc.
March 12: DONE with major revisions
March 6-12: TBD (depending on how well I stick to the schedule, and if I have the energy to revise the two short short stories I have been debating about including in the thesis)
Feb. 27-March 6: Revise aneurysm story
Feb. 26: Journal about Aneurysm story, decide where to go with it.
Feb. 25: Day off.
Now-Feb. 25: Revise Bee story
Sunday: Family party, time spent on story TBD
Saturday: TBD (depending on how tonight and Friday writing go)
Friday night: Spend one hour on story, go out with B
Tomorrow: Morning pages about story. Night off! (Writer's group meets/Lost)
Tonight: Read through story, deciding where to insert new information I wrote
yesterday and responding to Hester's comments

A funny quote

This quote made me laugh, as I imagine it will anyone who has simultaneously struggled with writing and enjoyed it immensely:

"Writing a novel is like making love, but it's also like having a tooth pulled. Pleasure and pain. Sometimes it's like making love while having a tooth pulled."
--Dean Koontz

What do you want, character Celia?

I've been distracted by some regular life things, and very busy at work. Not a good combination for making my deadline to send another draft of my story to Advisor by tomorrow. So, now, before I leave work to meet Brian for a Valentine's day dinner, I will journal about what I think is the biggest of the currently known problems in the story.

What exactly does Celia want in this story? She's a soon-to-be-divorced 30-something woman who moves to Boston from New York to escape her ex, who cheated on her. She's lonely and sad and cold. She is also very confused about what happened--her marriage hadn't seemed bad before she found out her husband was dating someone else and had no intention to stop.

One of the main things she wants to figure out is: how could she not have known? How could she be married to someone--smell his morning breath, know everything he's eaten in a given day--and not know that he's someone who could break a vow that she took very seriously, and that he once did too?

And more specifically, how could she not have known that he was cheating? Sure, in retrospect she can see certain behavioural changes that can be linked--he started "going to the gym on Saturday mornings," he worked late a few more times a month than usual.

But more than not questioning those could-be-benign signs, how did she not notice anything change in him? Did he not change how he looked at her, how he had sex with her, how he talked to her? How could someone not change those things while they're falling out of love with you, and decieving you? Did they change and she just didn't notice? Did she chalk up any minute changes to the changes that happen between all couples, day in and day out, the changes that come and go with mood, and external events like a bad day at work?

The answer of course is that people and relationships are complicated. Very good people can do very bad things, and vice versa. Very good relationships can take very bad turns. What might be a sign of a revved up health kick one month may be the sign of someone cheating the next. It wasn't that she didn't know Bobby well enough, or that she misjudged him completely. It's that people are so complicated that even those you think you know well can surprise you. Hell, you can surprise yourself.

It is through her budding friendship with a neighbor, Abby, that she begins to figure these things out. And when it comes out that Abby in fact cheated on her first husband with the man she is now married to, Celia can better understand that people do shitty things and even though they may not be sorry at first (her husband never apologizes, and Abby didn't really feel bad about what she did until much later), they probably have regrets and remourse later on.

So... how to insert this more into the story?
1- Have a scene where Celia is asking Abby about how she couldn't have known he was someone who could cheat, and have Abby say something about how people are a complex mix of good and bad, and how people often do things that they are surprised they can/would do in a given circumstance. She should give a small example, like that she shouted at a scary-looking teenager on the bus once to give up his seat for an old woman who just got on. She never would've said she'd do that, but something about the situation just made her spring into action.

2- When Celia finds out she has to go back to NY for the divorce hearing, have her imagine asking Bobby these questions, and her not even being able to imagine what could be a satisfying answer to them.

3- Have a scene where Celia surprises herself. Maybe after she storms away when she finds out that Abby cheated on her husband. On her walk back to her apartment, something happens and she reacts to it strangely because she's all wound up from their interaction. What could it be??

4- In the denouement, after Abby apologizes to Celia and Celia gets a sense of satisfaction from that, almost as if it was her husband saying all the right words, Celia should make note of some sort of acknowledgment that it wasn't her fault to know any more than she knew, and that people are indeed complex.

OK, I drafted this in a hurry, so I'm sure their are typos. But please ignore them, and offer your thoughts!

More audio, an update

I've been a bad blogger. Mostly because I haven't had much to say. I do have some pictures to share, but that whole plugging-the-camera-into-the-computer thing seems like something I just don't have the time for.

So instead, I bring you a link to Harvard Book Store's Audio page, where you can hear authors like Steven King, Barbara Kingsolver, and Richard Russo read and discuss their work. (I'm going to see Charles Baxter speak there tonight. Hopefully they'll put the audio of that up at some point.) Another good literary thing to listen to while I knit!

And as my blog title promised, I also bring you this update: I'm still plugging away at revising Northern Exile (the second of the five stories I'm revising this semester for my thesis). It's going a little slower than I'd like, but it's moving. I decided I will send it to Advisor on Friday No Matter What, so hopefully a firm deadline will get my little fingers moving.

I've been doing morning pages (journaling) and that has really helped me work through some of the problems in each of my stories. I highly recommend freewriting about the issues you're having in your poems/stories/novel/essays. It seems a little odd that writing about your writing might help, but it really does! Something about writing in a journal (ie not having the problematic work staring you in the face) releases enough pressure for your brain to work out whatever needs to be fixed.

Backwards Schedule

I'm doing pretty well on my revisions, but I'm getting nervous that I'm not working quite fast enough. So, the remedy of course is a backwards schedule:

April 1--Thesis draft due to Advisor
March 17-April 1--Make final revisions on all stories.
March 17--Get third draft of Purpose to Advisor and fifth story (Untitled, second draft) to Advisor
March 8--Get fourth story (Purpose, second draft) and third draft of Queen to Advisor
February 22--Get third story (Queen, second draft) and third draft of Northern Exile to Advisor
February 12--Get two stories to Advisor, one will be the second draft (Northern Exile), the other will be the third draft (Sit, Stay)

This schedule is super tight, so I'm guessing I might need to push the April 1 date a bit. I think (and hope!) Advisor will be OK with that. I'll double check as the need arises...

Need to be read to?

As some of you know, I like to listen to books on tape, NPR, and things of that nature while I knit. I thought I'd share two writing-related audio features I just learned about:

1. The New Yorker has published free audio clips of authors reading their favorite short stories and discussing them with the fiction editor of the magazine. So far, I've listed to Jhumpa Lahiri reading/discussing William Trevor's A Day, and boy was it worth the 45 minutes! I learned a lot about the story, which I had read already. Go to itunes.com and search for New Yorker. The fiction should be easy to find.

2. Salon.com recently featured Billy Collins in its Video Dog feature. Click here to watch him talk about poetry and the writing process in general.

Revision, Story 2

I don't know if I'm procrastinating by blogging, or if I really think this is a good use of time... But in any case, I need some structure regarding revising Northern Exile, the second story I'm working on this semester. So, here's another of my lovely schedules:

Tonight: Write out first scene of Celia spying at her neighbors through her peep hole.
Tomorrow: Write scene where she meets Abby in the laundry room of the building.
Friday: Read through latest draft to see what should stay and what should go.
Weekend: Write through scene where Celia tells Abby about her divorce, flashes back to some info about her marriage.

This plan is a work in progress, subject to change. All I know for sure is the first two steps that need to be taken. I'm guessing about what I'll feel needs to be done by Friday and the weekend...

Look ma, no hands!

This writing process is an emotional roller coaster! Just look at my last two posts: one minute I was thrilled with the progress I made with my story, the next I was in despair about the story and writing in general.

I laid awake in bed last night (probably because I slept so much all damn weekend...) and I spent some of the time thinking about one aspect of my story that needed work. I think I figured out why the character is doing what she's doing, which will help me take a new crack at the story tonight. But I'm far from that elated, aha, top-of-the-roller-coaster feeling. It's more like I'm dreading the work, not quite sure if I'll ever get that good feeling again.

At least I have some place to dig in.

Miscellaneous numbers regarding being sick , and having existential crises

Times I've been very ill this cold/flu season: 3

Days this current cold has lasted: 3

Times I've been outside in the last 48 hours: 0

Hours in the last 24 hour period that I have been asleep: 17

Pints of frozen yogurt I've eaten since getting sick: 2

Days of work missed: 2

Social events cancelled: 2

Moments of existential crises gone through: too many to count

What is it about being sick, when my body's defences are totally down and my cells need all the energy I can give them to fight whatever virus has invaded, that makes my mind swim in circles around questions like: What is my purpose on this earth?

I came down with an awful case of bronchitis my Freshman year in college. It was then I decided I ought to drop out of school since I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. This question--of what to major in, of who I was--had bothered me since the day I moved into my cell-like dorm room, but it really started to get to me when I had hours upon miserable hours to lie in bed and think.

I called my parents during this crisis and told them of my plans to drop out of school. Instead of freaking out, my mother, in her infinite wisdom, said, "Why don't you just focus on feeling better and we'll talk about this later." By the time "later" came, I realized that thought I still had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, dropping out of school wasn't going to help me figure that out.

During this current illness, I happened to get my MFA mentor's comments on the stories I had given her. Even on the best of days, comments on my work are often enough to send me straight to the Land of Crisis. Needless to say, feeling like crap physically didn't make her comments easier to take. So of the 7 hours I've been awake in the past day or so, I would say 5 of them have been spent wondering, WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE? I CAN'T WRITE! WHY AM I EVEN BOTHERING TRYING TO GET A STORY ON THE PAGE AND THEN OUT THERE INTO THE WORLD? WHO AM I KIDDING?????

Her comments weren't harsh or even surprising--I knew the stories I handed in needed a ton of work. And I'm excited to work on them. I guess I was just hoping for some over-arching positive message like, "You've come a long way since we first worked together" or "You're totally going to make it--don't worry!" I guess that's what we're all always hoping for, though, and I should just get used to not always getting it.

For more miscellany, visit Sunday Scribblings.

The Snick

Thanks to Laini (of Sunday Scribblings fame) for naming the feeling I've had while writing recently: Snick. She defines it as the sound of puzzle pieces fitting together, and broadened it to encompass the feeling you get when you finally, finally know that something you've been working really hard on is moving in the right direction.

I finally feel like I've got to the heart of a story I first drafted over a year ago. How do I know? I can finally answer the deepest question a writer can ask of her work with confidence: What is the story about? Well, Sit, Stay is about two lonely women who find friendship with each other for a short period of time before they come to a small conflict that they cannot overcome because they are both hurting from recent losses and can't risk getting hurt again.

Ta dah! Now in my next revision, I can make sure the themes of loneliness and fear are present and clear throughout the story.

Sunday Scribblings: Fellow Travelers

I have so many stories about meeting wonderfully nice and helpful people in my travels.

One of my favorite stories is from a trip I took recently with my mother to Paris. Despite all the jokes about how rude the French are to tourists, we encountered nothing by smiles and helpfulness.

When we first got there, we took the Metro from the airport to our hotel with no problems. So on our way back to the airport at the end of the trip, we decided to take it again, instead of a cab.

But this time, the trip was not so smooth. First of all, the escalator was broken at the metro station near our hotel. My mom is a small woman who travels with a large suitcase, and there was no way she could carry it down the stairs. So I told her to wait up top with her bag, and I would carry mine down and then come back for hers. By the time I got half way back up the stairs, two young men had taken her bag and were carrying down the stairs. (I'm surprised my mother didn't freak out and think they were stealing it, since she doesn't speak much French...)

We switched trains and unfortunately got on the wrong one (the first time this happened, throughout the many times we took the Metro!). Once I realized we were headed the wrong way, we got off, as did a young man who overheard us and realized that he, too, was on the wrong train.

When we got off, I asked this Amazon of a woman where we could go to get the right train. Not only did she tell us where to go, but she hoisted my mom's suitcase, balanced it on her head, and told us to follow her. She carried the bag up one flight of stairs and down another to the correct track--only to turn around and go back up and down the stairs to go back to the track she needed to be on.

By this time, my mom was close to tears. She hated feeling so helpless, and was cursing our decision not to take a damn cab. The man who got off the train with us came to the rescue, chatting with us about how he used to live in Paris, and now lives in Greece with his wife and kids, but returns for business sometimes. When our train got there, he helped me lug our luggage onto it (there's an awfully steep step onto some trains in Paris).

Then, when we got to the airport, he stayed with us until we found our terminal (which sounds easier than it is), using his flawless French to ask questions and get answers in a fraction of the time it would've taken me to struggle through the conversation with my limited French.

When he left us, we all hugged goodbye, and my mom kept calling him an angel.

When we got home, we told this story to my family. My brother asked, "Are you sure you were in Paris? You didn't get lost and go to Ohio or some other super friendly place by mistake?"

I love bashing cultural stereotypes, and only hope we helped bash that of the Ugly American when we were in Paris, trying very hard to speak French and honor their customs.

For more travel tales, click here.

An Aha moment

I had my writer's group last night, and I ended up getting the most out of it on the drive home. I dropped one of the members at her house, and during the ride, I mentioned how I was having a hard time with the story I am revising. I decided it was because many of my stories are about the same thing--loss of a loved one-- and I was finding it hard to really to distinguish this character from my others.

My writing group partner mentioned how in lots of author interviews, writers talk about how they often get obsessed with one topic and write about it from a million different angles to try to get a grasp on it. And she noted that loss of a loved one is a big enough topic that she could see how I could do that.

Something about her saying that made me think about the many people a person grieves
throughout a lifetime. And that made me realize why I was feeling stuck--two of my characters are 30-something women grieving after the unexpected death of a husband. Why do they both need to be grieving husbands? There are so many other types of people whose death would really impact a person. So now I am thinking that the character in Sit, Stay is grieving after the death of her father, to whom she was really close.

I feel unstuck! And excited to get back to my revision this weekend.

The philosophy of the book review

An intersting article in the NY Times book section describes a battle between two philosophers over a book review. You see, one philosopher really flamed the other's book in a journal. And I mean flamed.

According to the article, he called the book, "painful to read, poorly thought out and uninformed.” And he said that the review as printed was actually toned down after his editors asked him to make it less critical. Yikes!

Since philosophers are involved, of course they are thinking deeply about the controversy, wondering, What is the meaning of life? Oops. I mean, What is the meaning of the book review? :) The article only touches briefly on the question of whether such scathing reviews should be published. But I think it's an interesting
one for writers to discuss. What do you think?

I think that of course the reviewer's opinion should be front and center--that's what they're getting paid for. But I also think that reviewers and editors should really think carefully about what kinds of books they are assigned. In this case, the philosophers were from totally different schools of thought. Did that influence the reviewer's opinion of the book? Who knows. But it's something to consider.

I remember a professor of mine at Harvard got a letter to the editor published in the Times responding to a Michiko Kakutani review. In it, she had slammed a book by a friend of my prof's. I forget the specifics, but the book was of a genre that Kakutani always slams, so my prof suggested that maybe someone with a more open mind to that type of book should've reviewed it.

Something to ponder... Let me know your thoughts!

Making time to write

Hopefully if I put my writing (and exercise) schedule in writing, it will make me feel worse if I flake out and don't keep it. Here goes:

Tonight:
Write through the scene where Charlotte drops Snoop off at the shelter
Journal
(Reward for doing all this: vodka cranberry and some knitting/TV time)

Tomorrow:
**Before work:
20 minutes of abs/arm workout
Morning pages
Brief meditation

**After work:
Write through scene where Charlotte goes back to the pound to get Snoop to eat

(Reward: Time to order honeymoon album; yes, I've been married for years and have neither a wedding or honeymoon album put together)

Wednesday
** Before work:
Morning pages
Brief meditation

** Lunch: Elliptical at gym

** After work: Write through the scene where Charlotte brings sandwiches to the pound

(Reward: knitting/photo album time)

Thursday
**Before work:
Morning pages
Brief meditation
Run with Chloe

**Lunch:
Read stories for Writer's Group

**After work:
Writer's group meeting

Friday:
**Before work:
Morning pages
Brief meditation

**Lunch:
Yoga class

**After work:
My friend Gracie is in town from Seattle this weekend, so I will probably be spending Friday night with her.

Saturday:
Morning gentle yoga class
Write through scene where Snoop gets adopted
Redo bedroom--I'll post pics of our new space once it's all set up. We rearranged our furniture, ordered a new bed (which will be delivered this week) and now need to move around pictures and get new curtains.

Sunday:
Take a break from Sit, Stay if I need it. If not, write through vet scene.
Do hot yoga class.

A renewed commitment

I admit it, I fell off the blogging wagon. First I was getting ready to be away from a week from work and home, then I went to the Bahamas for Christmas, then I came home and caught up only to leave again to go to my last (sad!) MFA residency. But now I'm back, my writing batteries super recharged, and I'm ready to post!

I'll start with my ubiquitous list of writerly things to do:

This semester I'm putting together my thesis. Yikes! That means I'll be revising 5 short stories and 2 short short stories, getting them to a finished state (whatever that means!).

The first one I'm working on is called Sit, Stay. It's the first story I wrote for the program, more than 18 months ago. It's about a woman who runs a dog pound who befriends a woman who has come to drop off a puppy that was thrown from a moving van in front of her house. Both of the women are fragile, though, because of recent personal losses, and even forming a friendship is difficult for them, it makes them feel very vulnerable. Some questions I need to answer before I can revise:

Whose story is this?

If it's Tracey's (the woman who works at the pound, and whose point of view the story is now told from), what changes in her? What does this episode mean to her?

Should the story be in first person? Or should it be in third so I can follow both women?

What's at stake for the characters?

I just reread the story, and even though I wrote it so long ago, I'm finding it hard to think about tearing it apart, though I think my first step should be rewriting it from the third person POV and seeing what that does. Wish me luck!