When the Saints came marching in

I have to begin this post with an aside. I watched an event last night that I (along with many others) wondered if we would ever see. I watched the Saints win the Super Bowl. Now, for people in most parts of this country, this probably doesn’t mean too much. One team wins the Super Bowl each year. However, the Saints aren’t just any team. When I was in elementary school, one of my classmates often wore Saints gear to school, and other kids would pick on him for being a Saints fan. He always used to insist that they’d have their day in the sun one of these days. Even though I wasn’t much of a football fan at the time, I admired him for his devotion to the team, and I’d listen as he spoke with such passion about the team’s chances that year. As the years went on and times kept on getting tougher for southeast Louisiana, the Saints became more than just a football team. They became a symbol of hope as year after year, they took the field and tried to make magic happen. Coaches came and went. The owner considered moving the team. The fans remained and grew in numbers. People turned to the Saints as they lost their jobs, their homes or much more and took heart every time the Saints hit the field that if they could keep on going, no matter how tough things were, maybe all of us could keep on going as well.  Finally, after so many years, the Saints have their day in the sun. I can’t help but wonder if those kids who used to pick on Saints fans in elementary school grew up to don black and gold last night and cheer “Who dat.” I know I was cheering, and I know I feel a boost in seeing that perseverence can pay off.

That being said, I just read a wonderful book about perseverence in the face of crazy circumstances. Home Fires Burning by Robert Inman is one of the best books I’ve read in a long while, and I can’t recommend it enough. With each page I read, I became more invested in the plot and its characters. I felt like they were people that I should know and took comfort in being caught up in the words of their story. If I could create characters as rich and vibrant as the ones in Home Fires Burning, I would feel immensely accomplished as a writer. I finished the book with a determination to keep going and to work towards that goal, of creating a story that readers can’t put down and characters that jump off the page. It’s going to take a great deal of effort and perhaps years of work, but it’s worth doing, and I believe that I can do it. I can’t and won’t let anything deter my faith, and I’ll keep on going through success and failure. One of these days, I will have my day in the sun as well. I’ve just got to keep believing.

Seclusion and the writer

After the passing of J.D. Salinger last week, the literary world has been abuzz as to what posthumous works might be making their way out into the public soon. Rumors have been flying around about manuscripts that could be locked in his safe. Salinger is quoted as saying that “publishing [was] a terrible invasion of my privacy.” I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit the past few days. The few occasions thus far when I’ve had the honor of having my work published have been to me an opportunity to share my endeavors with others and to allow the works to have a life of their own outside of my own brain. There is a point in the creative writing process where I do feel that I have to lock works in a safe because I don’t want them to be thrown into the deep end before I’ve finished. However, when they’re ready to stand on their own and face the world, I readily let them go. The very act of writing something down suggests to me a desire to share it with someone else.

At the same time, I can understand a need for seclusion. This weekend, we were snowed in (or as snowed in as the South ever gets), and I took the opportunity to shut off for a bit, to be secluded from the world. It was amazing how enjoyable days could go slowly like they did when I was a child. It seems like we’re so wrapped up in media and communications in the present day that we don’t get that sense of leisure that we once had. Even good days seem to pass quickly when I’m in the middle of everything. This slower paced weekend was also the perfect environment in which to read Robert Inman’s Home Fires Burning (highly, highly recommend — I’ll probably write more about it later) and to do some work on my Outer Banks project. It helped to get me into the mindset of a time when it took days and weeks to get information and when people weren’t constantly available to be contacted. In addition, Alex and I were able to sit around and talk without feeling the pressure of keeping track of the time because we had somewhere to go or something to do. We were able to just be in our little house with the fire going inside and the snow/sleet falling outside.

However, as always, the snow has to melt, and the time comes to rejoin the world. After a little seclusion time, the world outside looks more fun and inviting than it did prior. I find that I’m looking forward to sending out submissions again, to walking around in the neighborhood and stopping off to read or write or just to take in the local flavor, to those little interactions with people that become the stuff of literary fodder, to touching base with friends and loved ones, to moving things forward. I can’t imagine keeping my work on ice, never to be shown to anyone. I can’t imagine not getting feedback on my writing since that often adds perspective that I wouldn’t have otherwise. I can’t imagine always being in a world of my own. Hopefully Mr. Salinger got what he needed from life in his seclusion, but that’s just not my way. Seclusion is a way to accurately see things as they are at the moment, but constant seclusion is to be stuck in the moment forever, and I want more. Being a part of the world, sharing my work and getting published serve to help my work to improve and help me to grow as both a writer and as a person, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything.

Creating a Writing Space Part 2

It occurred to me that it had been a while since I had provided an update with how my efforts to create a writing space were developing. To be honest, I hadn’t updated on this because I didn’t feel that I had done much. However, it’s become more clear to me recently just how much I have made the space my own — how much I’ve influenced it and how much it’s become a part of me. My space is a studio detached from the house. Though it might seem rather spartan at first glance, I think of it as utilitarian, and the few components of it were chosen for a specific purpose and are very much fitting with my personality. There’s a wooden desk that I’ve turned to face the door and two recliners turned to face the desk for whenever I invite people out. One swivels, one doesn’t. The desk chair is completely old school, squeaky and so so comfy. There were already some unframed bulletin board squares mounted on the wall which I have put to good use — so much so that I need to get some more at some point because the current ones are nearly filled. Maps, maps and more maps decorate the walls. A radio and speakers are set up on an old coffee table that we’re storing out there. In addition, half of the space is being used as storage for our washer and dryer as well as some assorted computer stuff. I’m eventually hoping to figure out some way to block those off, but for now, it’s space that I probably wouldn’t be using anyway. The space that I have is more than sufficient for my needs.

When I go out to my creative space, I usually have in tow tons of books. My mom always used to laugh because, even when we were just running to the grocery store, I would have to bring at least one book. As an adult, that has not changed. Most of the time, I do have a book on my person. Recently, the books have been historical non-fiction texts for use with a couple of writing projects I have going, but I typically also bring a book that I’m reading for fun just in case I can’t get in the writing groove. I also have a book of writing prompts that I sometimes bring out in order to get the creative juices flowing. Sound is also key to the writing process. If I turn on the radio, it’s usually to listen to NPR. If I stream music from the web, it can be anything from Celtic to classical to techno/dance to pop to Motown. On rare occasions, I don’t even bother with sound (though this has gotten increasingly difficult because of barking dogs next door). I let outdoor noises fuel my words. It all depends on my mood.

When this world away from the world is firmly established, I sit and imagine. I imagine the world as it is and as it was. I imagine new worlds. I imagine characters, plots, lines, paragraphs, facts. I let go. I get up at some point and pace. I often talk to myself. When necessary, I yell at the dogs next door. Alex sometimes comes out, and we talk. I fill him in on what I’ve done, what I’m doing, and what I plan to do. We imagine our worlds. At some point, this all ends, and I start the routine of moving back inside. I pack up my books, close the laptop, turn off the heater or A/C depending on the time of year, turn off the lights, close the door, lock it up and rejoin the world. Physically, my writing space doesn’t look like much to the untrained eye, and physically, I appear to be somewhere else, but I feel that emotionally, I am firmly established in my writing space. Somewhere in the process of setting up a physical space for me to write, it firmly established in my mind that I am a writer, and I along with my writing are all the better for it.

A few things for the day

It’s amazing how the world can seem much brighter the day after getting a good night’s sleep. I was yawning before I even got home yesterday around 5:30 and ended up crashing around 10. When I woke up this morning, I felt ready to take on the world again. I’ve got a few ideas for places to submit work to from Duotrope’s Digest, so I’m hoping to get those off today. Though I was tired, I wrote a couple of things yesterday that I need to go back and edit. Also, I need to mail off a book that’s been requested from me through PaperbackSwap so that I can get another book. Lots of writing things to do, and I feel like I have the energy to do them today!

Turning to a not so bright note for a moment, I wanted to share this link to MSNBC’s website with a list of charitable organizations involved in the Haiti relief effort for those interested in donating. Hopefully the world can help the people of Haiti to recover from this awful tragedy and rebuild their country into something greater. My thoughts and prayers are with them, and I hope that out of this tragedy, a brighter future can unfold for the people of Haiti who have endured so many hardships over the years.

Looking back and moving forward

I can’t believe it’s already Wednesday! Tempus fugit! It’s been an interesting week thus far. Yesterday evening, I took the initiative to get my papers organized. This has been an ongoing project because college papers were mixed with bills were mixed with writing drafts and so on and so forth. Disentangling all of those papers then reorganizing them in a way that made sense was a chore, but it was something that has desperately needed to be done in order for me to move forward, both as a person and as a writer. For the longest, I have felt lost in the deluge of life stuff, and organizing the various papers from the various facets of my life seemed like a physical representation of what I’ve been doing within. It was amazing the things that I found. Within the web of papers, I found drafts of my honors project from college, I don’t know how many drafts of my still incomplete first novel manuscript, my first rejection letters from 2006, and, the biggest treat, the first ‘long’ work that I did back when I was 9 or 10. It was a rather simple mystery story which would probably only be five or six pages typed, double spaced, but it was the first time that I remember seriously considering characterization, plot, setting and all of the elements that go together in crafting a story. It was the first time that I truly felt what it was to be a writer. I remember being sprawled out on my bed, words flowing from my pencil to the page, and imagining a time when I would be seated at a desk in a study filled with books, developing manuscripts, creating worlds upon worlds in my head. So much water has flown under the bridge since then, but that thrill is still there, that dream is still there and is slowly but surely starting to be realized.

Also, I found numerous poems and thoughts that I had written and forgotten all about as time went on. I didn’t get much of a chance to sit down with them, but I put them in their own special stack so that later on this week, I can return to them and see if there’s something worthwhile in there or if they’re just the stuff of nostalgia. It was nice to see the original drafts of some short stories and poems that I did remember from a few years back. I could still remember writing one in the Starbucks (now closed) on Elizabeth after getting an early morning start, another while sitting at Hawthorne’s waiting for Alex on a cold January evening (much like the ones we’ve been experiencing), still another at the dining room table in our old place. So many good writing memories make me think of how many more are yet to come!

Quick recommendation

I just read “Measure of a Man” by Joshua Mattern over at The Write Room and wanted to recommend it to everyone. There’s a lot going on in this story, but the emotions come across very true to form. Plus, it gets extra points in my book for a Fred Phelps stand-in character getting punched. Not that I advocate violence as a way to express one’s personal views, but no one’s hurt if it happens in fiction, right?

Mr. Saul Bellow, or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Just Write

Pretty much everyone who knows me could attest to the fact that I love being on the go. I love to walk and travel and help and in general be doing something. The fact so much time has to be spent indoors is one of the reasons why I have trouble getting through January. Another is that indoor time and not being on the go ultimately leads to too much thinking which develops into worrying. Where am I going? What am I doing? Why don’t I do this? Why haven’t I done that? Questions, questions, questions roll around in my head ad nauseum. However, this year, I am trying to take the words of Saul Bellow and Colson Whitehead to heart and shutting that off in order to turn on my writing cap.

Alex and I were out having lunch and a couple of beers the other day, and we got to talking about the future. I went through a whole diatribe of “Well, I could do this” and “Perhaps I could do that” in terms of future careers/jobs. He glared at me and matter-of-factly said, “You already know what you want to do. You just have to make it work.” Then the question became what to write. Again, a pointed “You know that too.” He’s right. I said that I was scared that I wasn’t good enough to write what I want to write. I said that I’d have to learn. “I think you know more than you think. You just need to start writing.” was his reply. It’s just that simple and that difficult at the same time. I’ve been trying to do so much all at once, and I’ve got to find a way to slow down to do what I want to do and to do it well. So that’s the plan for January and hopefully I can carry it forward from here on in.

On a side note, I finished Sam Taylor’s The Amnesiac and have made a v line to a quick read that I got for Christmas — Alexander McCall Smith’s The Kalahari Typing School for Men – before moving to Borges. After a few thoughtful books, I felt that it was time for an easy, fun read.

Hop, Skip, and Jump to a New Year

After a much-needed break from work, the internet and everything in between, I am back and ready to kick off 2010. One of the things that having some time off has helped me to come to terms with is focus. I learned a great deal in 2009 about motivation and productivity, but I feel that one of the things I’ve had trouble with, both as a writer and as a person in general, is focus. It could be that this is part of the larger societal problem of being bombarded with information, but in any event, in order to move forward, I have to learn to focus my energies on one project at a time and see it through to completion. Now comes the task of figuring out what the first “one project” to focus on should be.

While I managed to get a great deal accomplished over the break and even got some writing done, I am disappointed that I came close but did not manage to finish Sam Taylor’s The Amnesiac before the end of the year. It can be somewhat of a dense read at times, but I highly recommend it, if nothing else than for the literary devices that he uses in crafting his tale. If anyone ever needs an example of an uncertain and at times untrustworthy narrator, this is the book I will recommend as a prime example. I’m hoping to finish it up this week then move on to Jorge Luis Borges’s Labyrinths in order to understand some of the references made in The Amnesiac.

The streets of Laredo are very sad indeed

A quarter of a million people soon to be without access to a bookstore. I just can’t imagine…

Writing personally

Writing is a very personal exercise. A writer has to open his/her self up to the world and let what’s in mind and heart out onto the page. No matter the type of writing, there is always a portion of the writer in every piece. Though my writing interests are varied and I have written about a number of subjects, there are some that I’ve known that I should write about but just never seem to be able to put into words. Experiences growing up, losing my mom, family issues before and since, I haven’t really allowed my writing to address any of those. The few instances that I tried, it either just didn’t seem right or I would find some reason to avoid it. That is, until recently. I woke up one night a couple of weeks ago with a specific memory from childhood in mind. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I had it out on paper. I felt that it was important to write those words on that night. Thus, I got up, wrote for a bit and went back to bed. The next day, looking over what I had typed, it dawned on me how rare it was for me to get that personal with my writing, and I started to wonder why. Part of me felt an influence from getting more involved in the critique group and of some of my fellow writers. Previously, I never felt that I could do the experiences justice. Over the past year, I’ve grown stronger and more confident in my writing abilities and have seen how others are able to use their personal experiences to add strength and depth to their writing.

However, I also realize that a crucial component to the timing of opening up more is that a number of friends have lost loved ones in the last few weeks. One of the things that I promised myself after my mom died a few years ago was that I would do everything in my power to make sure that those who experienced loss would not feel alone, that I would try to help in any way possible. I feel now as if my writing could help others, perhaps people that I don’t even know and might never meet. It’s not just about me, as loss is a universal human condition. Before, it felt like it would be using writing as therapy, and for some reason, that seemed selfish to me (though I know it’s not and is a perfectly valid form of expression, but still).

Still another part of me wonders whether I haven’t opened up as much because I didn’t want to share my memories and emotions, my experiences, as if I had to hold on to them with dear life otherwise they wouldn’t be mine anymore. In particular, my memories and emotions regarding my mom’s death. Every day that passes, it’s hard to imagine that yet another day has been added to the tally since I was last able to look at her, hold her hand, hug her, talk to her, have her as a part of my physical life. It still seems inconceivable to me that she could be anything but present. This year, I feel I have come to terms to the fact that she is always present and feel less like she is slipping away from me. Every day that passes, I find that I have more of her strength and her courage as a part of who I am. Her compassion and giving nature, I’ve tried to take to heart and carry forward. Her dreams and wishes for me, for my future, I have reshaped and made into my own, and carrying forward with my writing is one of the ways that I want to honor her memory and to express my thanks for all that she gave to me.

While I know that there are some things that I don’t feel I will ever be able to express absolutely with my words, on the eve of what would have been my mother’s 60th birthday, I feel that my mind, heart and pen are starting to meet more casually and comfortably once more, old friends reacquainted and dedicated to doing great things in the future. [A note: It took me three days to write this blog post. Even in this form, it seems that it's not easy for me to write about these things, but I'm getting there, slowly but surely.]