Wet Ink

Advice I Was Given, But Don't Always Take

1. YOU MUST PLAN

Do you always plan your stories?  Sometimes, with short work, I don't.  I rarely sit down at the keyboard with an outline in my head.  Instead, I tell myself, "I've got an idea.  Heaven knows where it'll take me.  Let's see."  And then, when I've seen the result, I redraft again.  And again.  And again.  

2. CORRECT SPELLING IS VITAL

Sheesh, just use a spellchecker.  When people witter on about the "standards of spelling these days" I figure it's just a control issue.  Move on.

3. IF YOU CAN'T WRITE NOW, YOU'LL NEVER WRITE

A big part of what some term "natural talent" amounts to positive attitude.  There have actually been several psychological studies that support this statement.  (Here's one on the attributes shared by Olympic Champions).  In other words, keep at it. 

4. SEX WRITING IS CHEAP

Well, if that's what they think, they've clearly never read Sarah Waters, Steve Almond, Susie Bright or Anais Nin.  If they call these writers tawdry, what can you do?

5. WRITING DOESN'T PAY

Firstly, that's not true.  You're not going to earn a sound salary, but you might get a few nice bucks.  Secondly, writing pays hugely in an emotional sense.  A love of stories often teaches us to value the currency of meaning above material goods.  What's more worthwhile than that?

6. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET PUBLISHED

Just plain crazy speak.  Keep learning, redrafting and subbing.  

7. SHOW, DON'T TELL

This one's bounced around by the teaching profession too, but I find it's only useful at a basic level or when put in context.  Actually, the successful weaver of either lesson or story will know when to build pace by telling and when to immerse by showing.  Showing everything takes one heck of a long time.

8. DON'T WRITE - IT'S THE LONELIEST JOB

This one's worth fighting.  There are lots of us out there.  If you're in Boston, check out Grub.

9. KEEPING A BLOG IS POINTLESS

Baby, love is its own reward.

Useless Sleeper

The first piece of creative nonfiction I've ever had accepted for publication will appear in The Yalobusha Review next year.  Just wanted to share the  news with you.  The piece is called "Useless Sleeper" and is a short-short about my father's feet.  Dad may be gone, but his feet live on.  Eureka!  That's the magic of the written word.

 

Find Health: Make Stories

In 1905, Jung moved away from the standard way of treating psychiatric patients by deciding to pay head to their fantasies.  Until he did so, many schizophrenics were simply labelled as such, and their stories weren't listened to, analysed or asked for -- instead they were brushed off as being simple "symptoms".  But Jung took a risk and started listening to these stories, with an inkling that they, in themselves, might hold the key to the individual's recovery.  In fact, he began studying mythology not out of personal interest, but because he thought it would inform the many fantastical worlds his patients had dreamed or concocted.  In Memories, Dreams, Reflections, he wrote the following:

"Clinical diagnoses are important, since they give the doctor a certain orientation; but they do not help the patient.  The crucial thing is the story.  For it alone shows the human background and the human suffering, and only at that point can the doctor's therapy begin to operate."

He also writes:

"Through my work with the patients I realised that paranoid ideas and hallucinations contain a germ of meaning.  A personality, a life history, a pattern of hopes and desires lie behind the psychosis.  The fault is ours if we do not understand them."

So the next time you have what feels like a completely crazy story, one you hardly dare even set on the page, remind yourself it has meaning; because though Jung was talking about the schizophrenic mind in the passages above, he also saw the healthy mind as a place for expressing story.  What he was saying, in essence, is that what we create is important.  It's the key to who we are -- whether in shadow, or light. 

Criminal Mind

Very little to blog about today, except maybe to say that I walked home through Harrogate in the dank darkness, when both mother and superego shouted, "Don't do that, you're crazy!" and was enchanted by the tall, Victorian town houses and the old-style streetlights and dimly lit rooms.  As some of you know, the novel I'm working on is about a pair of thieves, and this holiday has found me gazing at English homes imagining which of them would best intrigue a thief.  I've taken a particular interest in side alleys and walkways, which are often a thief's route in.  Seriously, I'm starting to think a little like a criminal.  Which houses are best shaded?  Which have windows beneath street-level?  Which have easy access to upper floors?  It's a dark way of thinking, and very enjoyable, actually.  Fun, fun game!

Shh.  Don't tell Mum.

The Star-Spangled Lens

The novel (and stories) I'm currently working on are all set in Britain, so it's both fun to be back here and it informs my writing too.  Anyway, I thought I'd share a few aspects of dialect and culture I'd forgotten.  It's fun to look at them through an ex-pat lens, whilst also finding out that I click into them quite naturally.

1. Literally

I had a lovely evening with a mate the other night where we crawled (as in "pub-crawled") round a few old haunts.  My mate got talking about everyday language.  The word "literally", she explained, in colloquial usage was driving her crazy.  It's a dialect thing.  "I almost died," someone will say.  "I mean, literally."  Or "He was all over me.  Literally."  No, cries my mate, holding up her palms.  You didn't literally almost die, or you'd have needed an ambulance. It's used for emphasis - hyperbole - and I have to admit, I'd forgotten the expression.  Hilarious stuff.

2. Sorry, Thanks, and You Still Have to Pay

As per the stereotype, the English apologise all the time, and it's amazing how quickly I switch back into this behaviour.  When someone backs their supermarket trolley (cart) into you, youboth say sorry.  As a result, we remind each other that everyone's equal - there is no blame really, and things continue as normal.  There's also a wonderful little stock conversation we draw on when something goes wrong.  Just now, the barmaid kindly brought a glass of wine to my table in the bar.  When she put it down she said, "You still have to pay, sorry."  

I flapped my hand.  "My fault, sorry.  I'll come to the bar."  

"Sorry," she echoed, smiling.  Over at the bar, when I paid, we both said thank you.  Me first, her second.  The last thing she did was call me love.

Such exchanges are a dance here, a way of making sure we all feel acknowledged.  Certainly, there's a US way too - it achieves a similar dynamic, but with different language.  

3. Pubs and Taking the Piss

I had the pleasure of being taxied by a wonderful driver on Friday who asked me whether I lived in Cambridge.  When she heard I lived in Boston, she had lots of questions.  One of them was, "What do you miss most?"  Apart from friends, I said, pubs are what I miss most - not the act of drinking beer so much as the atmosphere, the camaraderie.  She nodded (she was a pub girl, like me...I could tell) and said, "It's just what you do.  It's normal.  The pub's where you go to relax."  As we continued down the road, she gave an ironic snort and pointed to her left.  There was a guy riding a bike with a steel sink balanced on his handlebars.  "You can tell you're back in Cambridge," she said, "when there's some bloke on a bike with a sink."  Then she turned round, looked right at me, and both of us snorted with laughter.  

If you're a Brit, you can take the piss, and in turn, have the piss ripped out of you.  If you warm to someone...and want to show it...you take that risk.

Maybe I'll blog about what I've learnt of US culture at some point.  Or have I already?  I'm so used to spilling my brains on you, I seem to lose track...

Cheers, mates.  This round's on me.

So Where Do We Find Anais, Baby?

I think I may go bananas if I don't share the following finding:  in Cambridge, Waterstones, which is one of the biggest bookstore chains in the UK, does not have a "Sexuality" section, or even one marked "Erotica."  Curious to look into Belle De Jour's work, given her recent unveiling, I found myself nonplused, especially seeing as one whole wall was devoted to naval fiction (yes, that's fiction about the navy).  I mean, where do Waterstones think we come from?  Storks?  

Borders, however, have an entire section simply entitled "Sex."  

Now that's what I call honest.

Cambridge: Quirky Lady

"Every city has a sex and an age which have nothing to do with demography.  Rome is feminine.  So is Odessa.  London is a teenager, an urchin, and, in this, hasn't changed since the time of Dickens.  Paris, I believe, is a man in his twenties in love with an older woman."  John Berger

The Queen was in Cambridge today, presumably to catch a glimpse of me.  Whether or not her dream came true, I've yet to ascertain.  But seriously, it's been a year since I set foot in this city - the place I lived for seven years, which is the longest I've stayed anywhere - and once again, I'm falling in love...though this time, I'm making some time for the affair.  "No visits to friends on day one," I told myself.  And much as I'm looking forward to seeing good mates, it was the right thing to do.

John Berger said every city has a sex and an age; if so, Cambridge is a quirky old lady with a spark in her eye and a book under her arm.  The book is tattered, but she doesn't give a damn, and she wears fringed Bohemian gear she bought from Oxfam.  I've been enjoying spending some one-to-one time with this quirky woman.  It's the first time I've visited Cambridge alone since I moved to America; in fact, as I write this, I'm sitting in Pizza Express (oh, how I've missed Fiorentina pizza!) with a glass of valpolicella and a pen in my hand.  My focus is on the place -- how it's stayed the same, and how it's changed.

I laughed in Boots when I was stumped by the debit card machine.  "I live in America," I said to the guy.  "Dunno what the heck I'm doing."

"Really?" he said, with a quizzical look.  "Because you sound like a total Brit.  A local, in fact.  I'd never have picked you for foreign."

I explained I was an ex-pat who'd fought to preserve her accent, and he nodded.  "I always wanted to live in the US," he said, "but they say you can't beat the British, right?"

"True," I said, but as I turned to walk away I thought to myself, Brits are Brits and Americans are Americans, and we're all bloody gorgeous in our ways.  Cambridge UK and Cambridge US are both great places; but if you sat 'em on a bench next to each other, they'd speak in different ways, and there ain't no harm in that.

Britain Bound

I'm flying home this evening, but hope to keep you posted on my escapades.  Do British Starbucks still serve coffee in china mugs and rocky road on china plates?  Is the Cambridge Evening News still sold by that sweet little lady in the cabin outside Boots?  What new words have I yet to learn?  (Last time, everyone was talking about chavs).  Will I be offered a teaspoon full of nothing on Parker's Piece, or has reality checkpoint normalised?  For the answers to these questions, and many more, stay tuned.  

"The Winged Hendersons..." Makes the Glimmer Train Best Start List

I've just found out that the opening pages of my novella, "The Winged Hendersons of Welton-on-Sea," which is a piece from my linked collection, "Touch Me, I'm a Monster," has made the Glimmer Train "Best Start" list.  "Best Start" focuses on an excerpt from a work in progress/unpublished work, and fifty cash prizes are awarded.  Mine will be spent on some Guinness and a good bit of dark chocolate.  Probably the English stuff, seeing as that's where I'm headed this week.

Big thanks to members of my wonderful writing group who really helped me get this right.  Without them, I doubt I'd have this news to share with you.

To see the other top fifty award-winners, you can view a PDF here.

Art2Art6: The Birthday Celebration

Last night was not only the one-year anniversary for Art2Art, but also Wayne and my birthday celebrations.  This time, A2A was hosted in the same room as Wayne's art show - and what a treat that was.  The neon, silver and glass looked magical, especially when the spotlights were angled just-so.  The performances were sensational, as usual, and included flame-twirling, live flamenco music, readings, solo theatre, a talk on photography and much, much more.  There were also two birthday cakes (how sweet is that?!), and the crowd was enormous (at one point, we had about 100 folks in the room).  

What struck me most was how grateful people were.  Among the many kind comments I received that night, were the following:  "You and Wayne have created a really warm community of artists.  Before Art2Art I felt so alone...", "You always balance highly professional acts with the good work of beginners, which makes for an exciting evening...", "You're the talk of the Boston arts sphere..."  and "I love these parties.  I'm addicted!"  

Thanks to all of you who have proven yourself such good friends by supporting Art2Art, be that by coming along, performing or simply taking an interest.  It is TREMENDOUSLY hard work (and I know that isn't always apparent) but when folks look so darn chuffed with what they've created or viewed it certainly makes it worthwhile.

And thanks for the cake!  (It looked great smeared over Wayne's ear, didn't you think?!).

Here are some photos. Keep scrolling down -- there are quite a few, but they're funnily arranged and I can't seem to fix that.  Snort.

   

  

    

  

PHOTOS BY RICHARD, WITH THANKS.