Write a haiku, that is.
Tricia is celebrating her one year anniversary at Talespinning. If you have not visited, I hope you will. It is one of my favorite blogs. Not only does she write from her heart, she also has the most gorgeous photographs and touching haiku.
As part of her celebration, Tricia is holding a contest and asking her readers to write haikus. With spring in the air, along with the sense of renewal and quiet excitement, it was easy to find inspiration.
This picture is from
my backyard. When we bought the house, we were told the steep slope at the back required a retaining wall, but that seemed so cold and uninviting. Then we found out boulders could do the trick. And I am so glad. And so are our resident monkeys, who got their mountain-goat footing by climbing and jumping on these rocks since they were mere tots. (And in the process, training their mom to deal calmly with heart-attack moments.) Even in the winter time when all is gray and brown, the boulders provide their own brand of stoic beauty.
Right now, the petals from the flowering fruit trees are giving way to the vincas and phlox. Colors are beginning to dot my backyard again. And here is my humble tribute to it:
Petals in the breeze
Phlox brims over stoic rock
Spring and hope collide
Happy spring and renewed hopes to all!
To say that something is big and small at the same time is to equivocate. But to feel small and become aware of limitless possibilities: that is what art does.
Yesterday, I saw some amazing pictures of stairs at Talespinning that did just that. Go over now and look at those photographs and see if you have the same reaction, especially to the first one, where your eyes follow those old stone steps upward and when the steps stop abruptly, your eyes are directed to the sky. I found myself holding on my breath as I looked at the photograph.
I felt small.
What am I when I consider the stones, and the power and time it took for them to come into existence? And the steps: how much work and strength and skill that had gone into making the stones into steps? And that unending vastness that uplifts and humbles we call the sky.
Small and big simultaneously? Yes.
Me: small. Possibilities: big.
Have you felt like that?
--It's diffi
cult to define, but I know it when I see it.
Isn't that one of the most frustrating explanations to a 
straightforward question like, "what is voice?"
While I am dissatisfied with such an explanation, I do understand why the answer is so elusive. Some of what makes up voice can be (somewhat) quantified and objectively stated-- choice of words, length and style of sentences, quirks, a unique way of seeing things, a clever way of describing observations, and here is one way--a voice worksheet devised by Barbara Samuel O'Neal--for writers to start considering the factors that go into their voice, but a lot of it is in the realm of the hard-to-define.
Recently I read two books, one of them women's fiction, the other YA, because I was drawn to the strong voice in each. The experience of reading them was like being in the company of the wittiest, most observant, and coolest dude/dudette, on a ride through their lives. Great fun.
Until about half way in. Then The Voice became too much. And I realized how much each book had been dependent on The Voice because plot, pacing, and other important story elements had been relegated to the background. I became hyper-aware of the recurrent phrases and speech patterns ("I kid you not" over and over again in one,) that became grating.
I finished both books, hoping that what I was experiencing was nothing more than the common Middle Flab that plague many novels, and that maybe the ending would be better. The endings were...okay.
Often, agents and editors say voice is the most important thing in writing. I think I understand. A strong voice can draw a reader in, entertain, and present life in a new light, all great reasons for readers to pick up a book.
But when is too much too much? When do we stop being enthralled with the charismatic guest with his hilarious anecdotes and witty remarks and move away to seek out the more thoughtful, less flashy people?
I say: when the voice overpowers all other considerations and when keeping up the voice becomes an end to itself.
I know, I know. This answer is as vague as the one that started off this post. So why don't you tell me. Have you read books in which the voice drew too much attention to itself? Do you have examples of a book whose voice is perfectly matched to the story? And here is a more personal question: if you are a writer, do you think you have a voice?
[On a side note: I realize distinctive voices don't all have to be humorous and flamboyant, but I focus on these qualities because, well, (1) I had to finish two book in this type of voice long after I'd gotten tired of it and so I need to vent, and (2) quieter voices don't tend to call attention to themselves, and so they do their jobs of conveying a story, an emotion, an experience without intruding and causing their readers to mutter threats of "If I have to read one more phrase that begins with..."]
Oh and, the always sage Scott G. F. Bailey over at The Literary Lab discussed voice in relation to story last week, touching on the question of the phenomenon known as a writer discovering his voice.
[Edited to add on 3/31. Davin Malasarn at the Literary Lab has another post on voice, to answer Scott's. Go check it out.]
In her post yesterday on Writer Unboxed, Ann Aguirre exhorted her readers to think big, to believe in six impossible things before breakfast. An uplifting message.
What stayed with me the most, however, was this list:
(1) Graduated college
(2) Moved to a foreign country
(3) Got an agent
(4) Sold a debut SF novel written in first person, present tense, that one agent called unsellable
(5) Became a national bestselling author
(6) Sold nearly 20 books in three years
These were the things she was told she couldn't do, that she'd gone on to achieve.
That shows courage and confidence and determination.
Why did the list make such an impression on me? Because these qualities:
- courage
- confidence
- determination
don't come easily to me. I am much more incline to:
- fear rather than to brave the unknown;
- discount and second-guess my abilities and decisions;
- refrain from committing to anything I am not absolutely sure of.
I look b
ack and remember one dream that I'd given up because I'd believed in naysayers. When I was fourteen and was completely captivated by the orchestra, my desire to become an orchestral conductor met with "girls can't be conductors" and "if you're not a highly-trained string player by this age, you'd never be a conductor." I was devastated and no longer dared to dream that dream. *
These people were not necessarily trying to be discouraging. They were probably just throwing out considerations. And most likely they didn't expect someone to falter so easily.
I've given up on a few other dreams such as this and still cannot think about them without that twinge of regret in my gut. Even though I am committed to living a life without regret, and objectively I know that my life is good, I do allow that twinge to surface as a reminder not to step on the well-worn, much smoother path of giving up, but to take out my machete and cleavers and chop my way through the brambles and thorn bushes of the path I need to travel on.
Now I write fiction. This pursuit is understood only by those others who are engaged in similar activities--artists, musicians, authors. To the pragmatic and uninterested, what I do is pure foolishness. But the post yesterday helped me realize that I've come a long way, baby; I've learn to say "nay" to the naysayers, especially the one from within myself.
So, I invite you to join me in standing tall, holding strong to your beliefs, and say a loud, NAY (don't you think its old-fashioned quality makes it even more effective?) to the naysayers who assault you from without and within.
*I chose these two conductors because the first one, Alondra de la Pana, formed her orchestra single-handedly and the second one, Shi-Yeon Sung, broke into the all-male ranks of conductors of the Boston Symphony, one of the most prestigious of orchestras. And oh, she started her music career as a pianist, as did so many other conductors. Read the story of de la Pana's Philharmonic Orchestra of the Americas. From the story of Sung's debut with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, I find the following passage particularly inspiring: ...she admitted the difficulty of the situation, pointing out that 50 years ago there were almost no women playing in orchestras. "Nowadays, nobody says 'a woman musician' in an orchestra. And the situation [with conductors] is changing," she wrote, noting not only [Marin} Alsop but the Australian opera conductor Simone Young and JoAnn Falletta, music director of the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra.
"I really hope that soon I won't get this question [of being a woman conductor] any more," she added.
This month, Cuppa Jolie is helping writers crack the whip on their w-i-p, as I mentioned in an earlier post. And Laini Taylor (i am reading Lips Touch right now) has Mr. Linky set up at her blog on Wednesdays, for participants to commit to a weekly word count.
My writing last week was uneven, with word count ranging from 300 to over 2,000 words a day. My goal is rather modest: 3,000 words this week and 4 chapters by the end of the month.
I don't now how I'll fare this week, but I invite you to join me in stating your goals and tapping into a supportive community.
C-r-a-a-c-k!
In case you are interested, I am joining Cuppa Jolie at her blog, as we crack the whip on our w-i-p together. When I did this last Friday, I discovered it was exactly the right amount of accountability I needed, and companionship. So I am checking in periodically, to see what is going on with the other writers who are also participating.
And apparently another writer, Laini Taylor, has designated March her NaNo month. So if you want to join her on that venture, she has set up Mr. Linky for you.
Happy writing.
Megan Rebekah posted this news about Mark McVeigh's new blog.
Mark's response to my manuscript was one of the nicest and most encouraging. It cemented my impression of him as a Good Guy and great person to know.
Basically, if you convince ten people to follow him on the blog, you get a 15-minute call with him. Given how protective agents typically are of their time, especially one-on-one time, this has got to be one of the most generous offers out there.
Even if you're not looking for an agent, I am confident that including him as part of your blog community will be a wise move.
So, head on over. Check him out. If you decide to follow him, will you come back here to leave a comment so I know? Thanks.
Happy to oblige. Here is one for those who love photos as writing prompts (as well as for those who squirm when presented with something like this, such as I.) This is a wonderful opportunity to exercise those creativity links between pictures and imagination and stories and feelings. This is the Three Minute Fiction organized by NPR. Here is the photo:
The deal: write a story no longer than 600 words, the approximate number of words that fill up three minutes of airtime. Why airtime? Because the winning story will be read on NPR,
The judge for the final round: Alan Cheuse.
Has the photo stirred up some emotions yet? Is there a story bubbling up inside waiting to be captured? Or are you still squinting at the photo like I am doing, pointedly ignoring the emotions that are indeed being stirred up? I do this because it's a lot easier to squint than to capture that first swirl of an idea, when everything is still unformed and elusive.
Onto two other contests, similar to the ones I've announced on this blog, in which the prizes include critiques by published authors and agents.
Elana Johnson has a Pay It Forward Contest. Read the deets here.
Shelli has a week long contest at her blog, Market My Words. Read the deets here.
Good luck, everyone!
Want to evoke indignation and annoyance? Just say to a random group of people, "Oh my life is so insanely busy." I guarantee that you'll have quite a few people who will either trump your assertion or roll their eyes, clearly communicating a sulky and maybe haughty you-think-mine-isn't?
So anyway, I don't think my life is busier than most people's but right now I'm feeling the insanity of it and trying very hard to stay on top of things. Interestingly enough, at least three blog posts this week are about this very topic.
Chris Richman, an agent with the new agency Upstart Crow Literary Agency talks about priorities. Sarah Aronson at the Tollbooth focuses on balance in general, and balance between writing and kids.
So while you check out their words of wisdom, I will go deal with my currently not very balanced life. But as long as it includes my family, food, books, laughter, and some form of beauty, I'll call it good.
I scheduled yesterday's entry a few days earlier, fully intending to add my quote before it got posted. But I forgot. So here is the quote, again from Olive Kitteridge (I highly recommend this book, BTW):
...had figured something out too late, and that must be the way of life, to get something figured out when it was too late.
The Piano Player, from Olive Kitteridge
by Elizabeth Strout
Now to some other business. First, Cybils 2009 is up and running. The panelists are in place and nominations are open. Last year's Cybils introduced me to some books I would otherwise have not read and I look forward to this year's nominees.
You can post this handy dandy button on your blog to help publicize it.
Here's another event worth publicizing: the Genre Wars! It's a writing contest run by the fab three at The Literary Lab. If you have some short stories in your drawers, or if you've never written a short story before, you may consider using this as a starting point. Who knows, you may find out hat you were born to write short stories.
And of course, handy dandy button.
Another event, this one to take place in November. Yes, of course you knew about NaNoWritMo. I haven't ever taken the plunge but the people I know who've done it once keep doing it again. So maybe the act of churning out a novel in a month is worthwhile, or at least addictive.
The ALA reminds us to celebrate the freedom of reading during Banned Books Week. I reckon I should celebrate it every day, but I appreciate the focused efforts to raise awareness. Words that float around in head as I look at the lists of banned books: fear, disbelief, prejudice, responsibility, and of course, freedom.
Can you guess the title of this cute drawing?
I did! And it totally made my day!
Check out the creative mind of MG Higgins, who not only writes but draws and has a fabulous sense of humor.
Yesterday was a fragmented sort of day, with more than the usual unexpected events and interruptions. By mid morning, my mind had gotten into an alert-for-any-curveball state that was not conducive to anything that required longer than a few minutes worth of attention.
One result is that I skipped over or merely skimmed my usual blogs. Almost felt like I didn't have coffee in the morning. I didn't find out till later in the day, when my mind mellowed somewhat, that Davin had written a post at the Literary Lab, that mentioned an earlier post of mine on unusual character traits.
And can I just say how thrilled I am?
When I started this blog, I had only the vaguest notions about this thing called "web presence" and now, a little after a year later, I find that the best thing about having a blog (besides having a great excuse for procrastinating) is that I "meet" people with whom I can exchange ideas. I don't know about you, but the connection that happens when like-minded people throw around ideas and find sparks and common ground, is one of the best things in life. So thank you, the wonderful writers at the Literary Lab.
my backyard. When we bought the house, we were told the steep slope at the back required a retaining wall, but that seemed so cold and uninviting. Then we found out boulders could do the trick. And I am so glad. And so are our resident monkeys, who got their mountain-goat footing by climbing and jumping on these rocks since they were mere tots. (And in the process, training their mom to deal calmly with heart-attack moments.) Even in the winter time when all is gray and brown, the boulders provide their own brand of stoic beauty.
