Going to the Beach

After four hundred posts on this blog, I need a break. I'm "going to the beach," figuratively if not literally, until mid-June. While I'm away, I invite you to browse through the archives. There is something here for anyone. Use the search field at the very top left corner to find a collection of posts on nearly any aspect of life writing. 

I will be checking email and welcome questions. And who knows ... Sarabelle whispers insistently, I may even pop in a post or two. But mostly I'll be working on some urgent projects that require my current attention.

Keep those fingers flying and write on!

P.S. It took me about seven extra steps and ten minutes to get the photo into this blog. Blogger continues to tweak features in a way that presumably makes things easy enough for a chimpanzee to produce an elegant blog.  Now, don't take this as any sort of disrespect for chimpanzees: Tatu's artwork hangs in my powder room. Tatu was a resident of the primate research lab at Central Washington University, and aside from her artistic flair, she was surprisingly fluent in ASL. If she's still living thirty years later, she probably does want to start a blog to share a fascinating memoir.

UPDATE: April 29. Tatu is still with us at the age of 35. You can read the bio of this remarkable chimp-lady here.

Blogger's new features make it inconvenient for a mere human to continue producing an elegant blog, and I don't have Tatu to help me, so when I return, it will most likely be to a new URL on sharonlippincott.com, using Wordpress, which continues to become increasingly human-friendly. I'll let you know.

Reading Across Generations

In my last post, I mentioned best-selling author Tawni O’Dell’s observation that reading is the best way to improve your writing. In line with that advice, I read piles of memoirs. I recently read two memoirs written by authors three decades younger than I, and at first I found them disconcerting. In general and compared to my own, the younger generation has a rather cavalier attitude toward sex, living together out of wedlock, and unwed parenthood, so it’s no surprise that such topics are openly covered in memoir in ways sometimes approaching reality television. I was challenged to suspend judgment and accept the authors’ Truth at face value. Once I was able to do this, I could more fully appreciate their views of the world.

From there I also realized that shock value had obscured certain aspects of the stories. One of the authors seemed to be relying on sensationalism to hold reader attention. The story had little substance and never came to any closure or significant insight. This account of a daughter’s dysfunctional relationship with her father didn’t achieve any significant resolution by the end of the story, and served mostly to air a lot of psychic navel gazing. According to Amazon reviews, some people found it hilarious, others thought it never should have been published. There were few mid-range ratings. After discounting the shock factor, based on its literary merit, I tend to agree with the latter.

Aside from a few instances of raised eyebrows, the second book was interesting and eloquently written, with well-developed scenes and delightful description. Although positioned and described as a memoir, it’s actually a collection of free-standing essay-stories, lacking plot and storyline. Each chapter is compellingly written with a generous dose of self-deprecating humor and considerable insight, but little movement. They simply portray deftly described slices of life, focused on a specific theme. As a book of essays, it’s terrific. As a formal memoir, it’s sadly lacking.

I derived several conclusions from reading these books:

• It’s difficult to read across generations without triggering biases of our own.
• With creative description, and perhaps a bit of humor, ordinary life can make compelling reading.
  
• No matter how much love, sweat and tears we pour into our memoir, it will never appeal to every reader.
  
• Stories with plots, tension, and integrated scenes more effectively keep my attention than scattered scenes.
  
• If these two books attracted traditional publishers, there’s hope for nearly any story.
• Reading memoir written by younger generations can be as enlightening as reading memoir written by earlier ones.

Hopefully these observations will prove useful as I progress toward completion of my memoir,  A Los Alamos Girlhood.

Write now: think back through  you have read and explore your feelings about the content. Did you read anything shocking? How did that affect you? What elements of them kept your attention? How can you incorporate these insights into your writing?

There Is No Process!

News Flash: I'm honored to a guest blogger today on my good blogger buddy Karen Walker's Following the Whispers blog. Click over and pay her a visit.

Yesterday I drove thirty miles to hear Tawni O'Dell speak at Westmoreland Community College. Tawni's first published novel, Back Roads, was an Oprah pick in March 2000. Tawni is a stunning speaker — funny, profound, intimate, and brilliantly articulate. I hung on every world for nearly two hours. Her long, face-framing mane of dark frizz gives the impression of an ultra-high-energy person attuned to other spheres, and perhaps she is. She told us that her characters "find her," not the other way around. She must write the books to get these people out of her head.

Being invaded by characters is not a situation faced by memoir writers, (though perhaps it isn't so different from being obsessed with how to tell our memoir story), but she did make some points I especially appreciated. One was to always listen to our inner sense of how to write. "You cannot learn to write a novel in a classroom!" she insists. "I don't have a process. Each of my books has taken a different path to completion. So I can't tell you how to write, how to manage the process." She does support taking classes, because you never know where you'll find an idea that clicks, and (she didn't say this, but it is consistent with things she did say), you can sharpen specific skills in classes and gain an understanding of the craft, if not the process.

I especially appreciated the reminder about the importance of finding our own way through our stories. She wrote five complete manuscripts and collected over 200 rejection letters before she made that breakthrough, that she should write her way, and write what she knows about rather than what she thought people wanted to read. That's when her writing because authentic. That's when Oprah found her.

I appreciated hearing it from her, because I was teetering on the brink of being pulled into writing a Formula Memoir, a process I discuss in my memoir blog, A Los Alamos Girlhood. I also appreciated it because four or five years ago while writing The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, I strongly emphasized that point, that you must discover and work with your unique writing style.

Driving home through the drizzly April day, appreciation of the fresh, delicate beauty of newborn spring vacillated with flashbacks to Tawni. Rounding a corner I became aware of a message bouncing around my head: Trust the process. Trust the process. Aha! If this isn't confirmation to pull a Sinatra ("I'll do it my way!") I don't know what is.

Back to Tawni's thoughts on taking classes, she considers reading to be the best teacher. She reads voraciously, for both story, and also to analyze what makes the book work. What does she like about it? What can she learn? That seeps into her subconcious, and looking back through past volumes, she can see her own progress and growth as a writer. So I'll keep reading, novels, memoirs, books about writing. I'll keep writing and practicing, and perhaps some will find inspiration in my outpouring. And I'll also keep teaching now and then, because some of us do need to hang out with other writers and get feedback on our work. And because it's fun!

Write now: jot down some thoughts about your way of writing. Are you following a formula, or writing from someplace deep within you? Do you let your Inner Critic warn you away from some innovative approach burning within you? What else may make you hesitate?

Write a Birthday Story

My Grandmother Clara was known far and wide for her fabulous white cakes. During a visit one summer while I was in my mid-teens, she showed me her secrets. One of them was to sift the flour not once, but seven times. She always used Pillsbury’s Best flour — though she may have switched to Swans Down Cake Flour in her later years. She always slathered Seven Minute Frosting on it, and my very favorite was when she covered the frosting with coconut.

Although I know she baked this cake practically every time we visited, most have slid into a composite memory of Grandmother Clara’s White Cake. But one in particular stands out in memory. The year I was five, she baked her cake for my birthday, fixing it my favorite way, with coconut on the frosting. She wrapped it carefully in waxed paper (plastic wrap was decades away), set it in a box, and filled the empty space in the box with popcorn. Then she took it down to the Greyhound station in Clovis, New Mexico and put it on  a bus to Albuquerque. My mother met the bus in Albuquerque and brought the cake home. Nothing ever tasted so wonderful.

Other memorable birthday cakes include one my mom made for me with a Story Book doll stuck in the center of an angel food cake. She frosted the cake with whipped cream, smoothing it up to form a bodice for the doll, thus turning the cake into the doll’s huge big skirt. Another year she surprised me with an ice cream cake from Baskin-Robbins. I’d never heard of such and thing, and was it ever yummy!

Maybe because I grew up eating “real” cake, mixes and bake shop cake have never appealed to me. Their texture is off, and they taste like chemicals. To me, the act of making a  “real” birthday cake is a gift in itself, an act of love. I’ve always made cakes from scratch for family members and special friends. Preferences have shifted to chocolate, with a chocolate-chip mint ice cream-filled chocolate log cake at the top of the request list.

Cakes are only one aspect of birthdays. When I remember birthdays, I also remember gifts, though these memories are few. Unlike most of my friends then and now, our family never has been big on gifts and parties for birthdays. Then there are special events that have coincided with birthdays, and various joys and sorrows that accompanied the turning of the calendar.

Birthdays are a splendid time for personal rituals. I usually take a few minutes on mine to update my timeline. Many other people begin a new journal on their birthday, write a special entry in an on-going journal, or treat themselves to something special

All of this is rich fodder for stories as a feature element or elaboration in a larger story. Think back over your birthdays, and look for memories that belong on your story idea list.

Write now: a story about a significant birthday you recall. What made it special? Tell about all the trimmings, whatever they were: cake, gifts, party, (or the lack of any or all of these.) Who did you celebrate with? What did you do?

Working With a Writing Coach -- Guest Post by Karen Walker

When I read something on Karen Walker's Following the Whispers blog a couple of weeks ago about working with her writing coach, Mark David Gerson, Since I also do coaching, I was curious about her experience working with someone else, and thought readers also would be. I asked Karen if she'd do a guest blog. When she agreed, I sent her a list of questions, and she used them to do the post as a written interview. I hope you'll find it as enlightening as I do.  Thank you Karen!

Why did you decide to work with a coach?
I saw Mark David Gerson’s book, Voice of the Muse in a bookstore and was immediately drawn to it. I didn’t purchase it that day. Then, at a New Mexico Book Coop meeting (a support organization for writers), I met him. He happened to have his books with him, so I bought it. Reading it, I felt as if a very wise spiritual guide/writer was whispering in my ear, helping me on my writing journey.

When I decided to switch genres, from memoir to fiction, I felt as if I were drowning in the ocean. I was in unknown waters with new species and things I couldn’t see or know or understand. I felt a writing coach could help me navigate this new territory.

What's the difference between a coach and editor?
An editor reads a manuscript once it is completed, for content, continuity, syntax, tone, voice, etc. I don’t know about other writing coaches, but mine is guiding me in regard to process, not content.

Then there are line editors who check for spelling, grammar, word choice, etc.

How did you find and choose him? 
After reading his book, I signed up for a workshop. During that workshop, powerful insights emerged regarding the fiction piece that was stirring inside me. The way these insights arrived and the energy with which they came were somewhat intimidating. I decided I needed additional support and hired Mark David on the spot for individual sessions.

How do you work together?
I signed up for eight 1-hour sessions, which I paid for in advance. Mark David has several different payment options you can choose from. The sessions vary from week to week, but basically, I share with Mark David what happened for me since our last session. He then uses his amazing intuitive abilities to provide context, insight, guidance, wisdom, suggestions, and more. Here’s an example: I shared that I felt as if I were walking on quicksand with this process. Mark David said, “It’s not quicksand, just sand. It has solidity under it, but it does shift. You are not being sucked in or down, you are being pulled up.” That was very helpful, since quicksand is a definite negative, whereas sand is not.

Sometimes there are homework assignments, but they are not traditional. One suggestion was to make one day each week a day of indulgence. Another was to create a journal devoted solely to acknowledgement (I tend to focus on the negative rather than the positive). And lastly, Mark David suggested I spend time with the energy of the story. That may not make sense to others, but it sure spoke to me.

How are you benefiting?
I feel as if I have a spiritual guide, someone who “gets” me, who can help me make sense of my journey and how the things in my life are working together to get me where I need to go, in terms of my writing.  

Is this a long-term relationship or focused on a specific project/skill?
Once I have completed the eight sessions, I will see where I am in the process. Luckily, Mark David does phone sessions, since I understand he is moving to the Los Angeles area. I am hoping that once I have a better handle on this project and where it’s heading, I will be just fine on my own getting down the first draft.

Write now: look over some of your own writing, and think about how your projects are progressing. Do you feel stuck? Are you lacking the polish you'd like to have? Would you like to increase your creativity? If you answer yes to questions like, this, maybe working with a coach would be a good option for you too.

A Funny Things Happened on the Way to My Blog

Photo by Fakelvis

I’m ready to write. My file is open, my fingers poised. But wait, I see the e-mail icon. I’m a dog and the bell just rang — watch me drool. I click to e-mail. Ah, it’s a good thing I did. That download I want to listen to will expire in four more hours. Better snag it! Hmm, while I have that folder open, I’ll slide it over to my Zen so I can listen later. Where did I put that thing? Oh yes — it’s in the kitchen.

As long as I’m in the kitchen, I think I’ll make a cup of tea. That will only take a minute, and tea helps me think while I write. Now, while I wait for the water to boil, I’ll unload the dishwasher. I didn’t get around to that earlier.

There, now my tea is too hot to drink, so I’ll take just a minute to put the cereal bowls in the washer, and now I’ll wipe the counters, and put the cinnamon away — Oops! crumbs on the spice shelf. I’ve been meaning to clean that mess, and it’s ant season. Better get to it!

Well, shucks. My tea’s cold. Oh well, I can drink it that way. Let’s get back to the writing.

“It’s for you!” Oh, that pesky phone.

“Hi Grandmama.”

“Hi Anna. How's my sweetie?” This call will take a few minutes, but in three blinks my tiny tot will be in college and I’ll never hear from her. Take it where you can get it.

“I’m hungry. Let’s have lunch.” I glance at my watch and head for the kitchen. We fix sandwiches and eat out on the deck. “I thought I’d go to Home Depot this afternoon. Wanna want to come along and pick up that paint you’ve been talking about?

“I need to write a blog post.”

“Can’t that wait until we get back?”

I guess it can. It’s waited this long. ...

Now I’m really ready. My fingers are poised, my mind is sharp. My mind will be even sharper if I work the daily crossword.

Omigosh! It’s nearly time to start supper. I’d better get this blog post written, because if I don’t, I’ll never get any writing done on the memoir project. Ten minutes. I’ll write for ten minutes! I promise me!

Now what was I going to write about? Oh yes, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Blog.

Write now: Make a list of all the things you do instead of writing. Keep track of them for a couple of days. Then tear up the list and write.

Out of the Mouth of a Physicist

When I read something especially juicy and anyone’s within earshot, I can’t resist the temptation to read aloud. My spouse has grown used to this, sometimes enjoying the passages, but mostly staring at me to remind me he prefers to read things for himself — unless he’s driving the car.

A few minutes ago I picked up a new memoir and began reading. The first sentence screamed to be read, and since he was working on a crossword nearby, he was fair game. I continued into another paragraph before he stared me down. I suppressed my chuckle.

“Sounds like an author who uses a lot of adjectives,” he commented.

“What?” I’d read fewer than a dozen lines from a small page. I glanced at the passage and selected words popped out. Audaciously French ... pigeon gray pebbles ... most gigantic pair of hedge clippers. Every adjective was doubled.

“I don’t like authors who use excessive adjectives,” he continued. “They sound like they’re trying to impress people with their ability to describe in great detail something that I don’t care much about.”

“Bingo!” I answered. “You’re saying that adjectives in general are okay, but we should choose them with precision to avoid the need for piling them up.”

“Yeah. And many writers overdo similes too.”

This curmudgeonly wisdom sounds as if it were spoken by Andy Rooney, but not so; it comes from a nuclear physicist who once took a freshman English class. But he knows good writing when he sees it, and has little patience with anything less. He has an uncanny ability to zoom in on structural flaws and inconsistencies with laser-like precision, even with such minuscule samples as this.

Which all goes to show that some of our most powerful writing lessons may come from unexpected sources, and as you look for feedback, you shouldn’t rely solely on writing classes, groups, or coaches. Go exploring and turn over leaves in several cabbage patches, because you never know where you’ll find a master analyst.

And now I’ll return to my reading. Silently. I can deal with the adjectives, and the story does sound juicy. 

Write now: pull out a finished story or scene that includes plenty of description (I hope you have piles of these). Read through it and look for opportunities to sharpen adjectives, making them more precise and check for excessive use of similes.

Light Time

Photo: Baslow

Today is one of those transition days in the rhythm of the year. It could equally well have been yesterday, but today the full “shift” occurred. The temperature outside is 82º, unseasonably warm for April 2 in Pittsburgh. It’s definitely sandals, shorts, and tank top weather. I worked in the yard for a couple of hours and my back has that delightfully flushed and healthy feeling (I know — it’s really not healthy, unless you count all the extra vitamin D). I’m pleasantly tired. And now I’m sitting out on my sun porch with iced coffee and open windows. I’m enjoying the breeze, listening to birds, and smiling at the riotous abundance of forsythia and daffodils on the hillside beyond. The record snowfall of a few weeks ago is fading from memory.

The “shift”? This day is sensory validation that we have officially passed into Light Time, my personal term for the part of year when daylight exceeds darkness, and light clothing takes the place of dark, heavy apparel. It’s a time to move around unfettered, to roam and explore freely, a time of growth and nurturing, connection to the earth, a time of richness, fresh food, and  flowers.

Dark Time is an introspective, brooding, interior time calling for hot, crockpot meals, heavy layers of insulating clothing, and moving with effort through difficult conditions.

Each season has its own rewards and benefits, though I admit I far prefer Light Time.

Earlier, while snipping dead twigs and branches from overgrown juniper, I realized that my writing tends to go through similar seasons. There are Light Times when the words flow freely, often like a flash flood through a dry arroyo. During Light Writing Time, I tend to focus on more upbeat, “public” material. Sometimes it’s humorous,  sometimes instructive, and occasionally insightful in a growing sort of way that forges into new territory.

During Dark Writing Time, I’m more likely to focus on past events, reevaluating, reshaping, practicing the sort of alchemy that transforms leaden memories into golden assets.

My light and dark writing times don’t perfectly correlate with seasons of the sun, but neither are they disconnected. I welcome this seasonal transition as a time to inventory writing and related projects, pruning and fertilizing the vital ones, and pulling out a few that have grown stale and scraggly.

Write now: a story or essay about your own sense of annual transitions. What signals seasonal shifts to you? What memories are evoked? What seasons do you notice in your writing?