Two for the Money, Two for the Show

This morning has been one of entertainment and revelation, as well as finding two more writers I want to get to know much better now that I know so little about them. Odd phrasing, I know, but true, nonetheless.

I met John Jakesthrough a short article he did for the June issue of The

Cover via Amazon

WriterMagazine. Though I’ve dabbled in his books, I never stopped to pay attention to the one behind the words. That privilege came with his article.

Jakes talks about how plot, while important, seldom brings someone back for a second reading of a book. Rather, it is a character that calls the reader back for another look into the life represented within the confines of the book’s covers. That reasoning is one I can agree with without reservation.

At fifteen, Louis Bromfield’s marvelous novel “The Rains Came” leaped off the school library’s shelf and into my waiting hands. This story for more mature

Cover of The Rains Came

audiences both surprised my composition teacher and dismayed her. She felt I wouldn’t be able to grasp the complexity of its story, characters, and plotline at a mere 15 years old.

I devoured this story of colonialist India with it’s coming revolution for sovereignty and its interwoven native characters and English colonials, its love stories—both adulterous and forbidden inter-racial unions, and its political statements. I couldn’t put it down. The depth of the story spoke volumes to me. I wanted more and took the time to find just that.

I went to the public library to find more books by this author. I came away with his Pulitzer winner, “Autumn Leaves” and counted myself fortunate that it was available. I’d discovered a world beyond kid’s literature. I could read something again with the depth and knowledge of Tennyson, Homer, and Shakespeare and get away from what was “acceptable” for my age bracket.

I understood perfectly what John Jakes spoke about. I’ve reread Bromfield’s books half a dozen times since that first introduction. Now I can look forward to reading Jakes’ marvelous volumes of “The Kent Chronicles” and “North and South,” along with anything else I can find.

Once I put way The Writer, I found Canteen Magazine online. I was looking for a new market. I found much more than that. I perused a past issue, while I sorted through the offerings, and came across one of the best writer’s articles I’ve read in months.

Of course, I’d heard of Joyce Maynard but never read her books. There are so many books out there and so little time, I hadn’t yet come to hers; a situation about to change soon.

In her article A Storytelling Life, October 3, 2011, (from Issue Two), Joyce talked of her mother and the early training in storytelling that she obtained by continual exposure. Joyce says:

“THERE YOU HAVE IT. My legacy. Daughter of a master storyteller—for whom allegiance to the truth took second position after reverence for good drama—I took to heart the lessons of two stories told to me when I was very young. One was of the princess locked in a room each night with a pile of straw, instructed to spin it into gold. That was what a writer had to do, I knew: Study a pile of dry sticks and grass, and figure out a way to make it glittering and precious. But the legend I loved even more came from Arabian Nights. It concerned Scheherazade, a young woman condemned to death, who kept a man from killing her by telling him a new and irresistible story every night. Spinning a tale well, I figured, could actually save a person’s life. Possibly mine.”

Throughout the article, phrases spring out to grip the throat of the reader, forcing one’s full attention to the detail given in spare, sharp words. Hers is an example of living without adverbs, of allowing the story to be about character while placing them on a train called “story line” and taken for a ride to allow the reader to see the characters from all sides. Her sentences flow into one another with such ease of statement that one is seldom aware of individual bits of punctuation, while the words place vivid images into the mind without effort.

Maynard explains: “But I learned more than craft under my mother’s ceaseless tutelage. She instructed me in the essence of what well-told stories are meant to accomplish—the idea that the joy of writing well might actually redeem and even trump the raw material of painful experience, thereby revealing deeply meaningful truths to the reader. Days when I’d come home from school, upset by some injustice or the hurtful behavior of a friend, my mother’s words of consolation seldom varied. “Never mind,” she said. “You can always write about it.”

Along with John Jakes article, Maynard’s example of what’s important to any kind of writing will have a special place in my new reference notebook. Take an opportunity to read these articles for yourself. You can find them at:

The Writer Magazine: http://www.writermag.com/en/The%20Magazine/Current%20Issue.aspx

Canteen Magazine: http://www.canteenmag.com/posts/joyce-maynard

And if you happen to come across others that are of special note, drop the link in a comment here for everyone to share.

Happy reading, all, and happy learning. A bientot,

Claudsy

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Meena Rose On the Air

Once upon a time I met a young, shy woman named Meena Rose. She’d come onto the Institute of Children’s Literature’s Writer’s Retreat to join our merry band of word workers. It took less than a half dozen visits for her to become a favorite attendee. Her wisdom belied her youth. Her perception and insight startled many of us who’d lived twice as long. And her gentleness melted our hearts.

I give you Meena Rose, who will surprise those who don’t as yet know her and who will bring smiles to those who already love her. Take it away, Meena.

 

Have you ever slowed down your train of thought?

Meena–A Desert Rose

By: Meena Rose

It just so happened that I was asking myself that very question a few days ago. I was curious what my thoughts would be on a topic if it was delivered in freeze frame segments to my mind. Would I reach the same reaction in the end or would it be different for having slowed down the input and the reaction to it?

There really was only one way to find out. It was to put the idea to the test and have a voice recorder on standby to record my immediate impressions before they faded. Since I normally neither watch nor listen to the news, I decided to select the first full story that I would tune into. Without further ado, here are the results. I will relay the segments and then reconstruct the story at the end.

Newscaster: This is about a little boy

Meena: Ummm, and, so?

 Newscaster: Who ran

Meena: Really, where?

 Newscaster: Into the street

Meena: Irresponsible parents, silly boy, will they ever learn. <I am feeling very agitated and angry>

 Newscaster: In front of oncoming traffic

Meena: This does not bode well. <My gut actually heaved and I felt myself tense up>

 Newscaster: Escaping from

Meena: Oh no, I am so sorry little boy. I hope you are safe. I am sorry for judging your parents too. <My arms get goosebumps>

 Newscaster: His father who was

Meena: I knew it. You were just like all the little kids who escape the grips of their parents. <I am feeling flushed and angry again>

 Newscaster: Chasing him with a knife.

Meena: Oh, no! Dear God, no! I am SO SO sorry kid. You should never have had to deal with that. Your dad is a monster you did not deserve. Please be alright kid, please be alright. .

 Newscaster: A bystander

Meena: The story is not over? Please let it end well

 Newscaster: Tackled the father

Meena: Yes! Yes! Oh wait, what about the boy? What about the boy? Don’t keep me waiting. 

 Newscaster: While another bystander

Meena: Please help the boy! Please!

 Newscaster: Pulled the boy

Meena: And?!? Hurry up!!

 Newscaster: To safety.

Meena: Yes! Yes! Kid, I am glad you are safe! <My knees feel like jello and I am breathing fast>

To be honest, my mind shut down after that. It did not want to hear any more. I had had enough. Promptly, I turned off the TV set and sat in a broody silence. For once, I understood why I can’t bear to hear the news. Being jerked around emotionally from the extreme heights of expectation to deep valleys of despair within the blink of an eye is really not my cup of tea.

However, I am this way when I read fiction as well. My mind will parse, process, analyze and react to the story in segments which I am certain the author had not anticipated. They do not obey the basic rules of punctuation. I am so riveted to the book and the adrenalin rush reading  generates that I lose myself in time.

One time I had read for 5 hours straight. The sun had set and I was famished. I went to the bathroom instead and settled in for another 5 hour burst. That book just had to be finished in one day. I literally “wear” the POV character as a cape around my shoulders and walk a chapter in their shoes. It adds to the experiential rewards I receive from reading.

There are times when I have been so angered by a story that I have flung the book clear across the room and relished in hearing the “crack” resulting from the spine hitting the wall. Once, I have cooled down, I would get up and pick the book up, apologize to it and start reading it again as though no violence had transpired.

There are other times when I have been so moved to tears that I cried openly without bothering for a tissue to dab at my eyes. Those books have tear stains upon their pages, marring the perfect finish of the page.

There are other times when I had been so terrified that I would hide the book away from sight and make a pact to only read it during the daylight with many hours separating the reading and sleep. Let us not forget about laughter, joy, peace and love; all equally powerful.

I developed a term for this reaction. I call it Enhanced Experiential Engagement (EEE).

There is something to be said for allowing the train of thought to cruise at its normal pace. I wonder if it mercifully collects large enough nuggets of information to spare us the highs and lows in our unending assessment of the world around us.

Or, do we still go through the highs and lows without dwelling on them for too long, thereby nullifying the effect? Are we better off perceiving the world in an EEE way? Or, are we better off without the notion of EEE?

Here is the story I heard:

“This is about a little boy who ran into the street in front of oncoming traffic, escaping from his father who was chasing him with a knife. A bystander tackled the father while another bystander pulled the boy to safety.”

How did you react? Did you slow down your train of thought? Did you have an EEE? Describe your reactions upon reading the story.

Bio

Meena Rose is a multi-lingual world traveler and transplanted Oregonian; a mother of three children (one boy and two girls) who works as an analyst by day, promoting creativity through writing, storytelling, and role playing wherever she goes.

Catch a glimpse of this lovely lady each day on her website, “Through the Eyes of Meena Rose” at: http://meenarose.wordpress.com/

With each day’s offering, you’ll discover more depth than you might imagine.

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Guest Blogging with Food

Chris Smith The Diabetic Chef® Autographing his first cookbook: Cooking with The Diabetic Chef® (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is a quick heads-up for whomever drops in today. I have a guest blog up this morning on Pat McDermott’s all things cooking website.

I disclose my experience with writing a cookbook for the first time. It hasn’t been the hardest project I’ve taken up, but it has been the tastiest. When you develop new recipes that hold restrictions like cakes with no sugar or low sodium meat entrees, cooking becomes a double challenge.

That’s what my cookbook partners and I are dealing with. At the end of the process, and before the last “T” is crossed or “I” dotted, we’re having a Taste-Testing party with our appetizers and desserts, invitation only. That’s a lot of work for senior women with a passion for food, but it’s work that satisfies in more than one way.

If you get the chance today, stop by Pat’s kitchen to see what’s cooking. If nothing else, you’ll find sumptuous recipes with full photos. Food lovers beware. You may be there a while once you walk in the door.

Enjoy yourselves and your little detour today.

A bientot,

Claudsy

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Listing Year’s Winners

Well, my friends, we’ve come to another holiday season. There are those looking back to count accomplishments. Others are making goals for the coming year. Lists are popping up everywhere.

Since that’s the case, I’ve decided to make a list of my own, or more. Why should I stand back and let everyone else have all the fun?

List 1: 2011 Accomplishments

1. Visited with family and friends across the country during the winter and saw things totally new to me.
2. Arrived back in Montana with all fingers and toes from the research trip from Hell. Sanity somewhat dented but still workable.
3. Procured livable apartment and had money to pay for it and the food to keep us going throughout the rest of the year.
4. Managed to have many submissions accepted for magazines and newsletters
5. Reinvested in my craft through university coursework
6. Got through another rewrite on The Moon Sees All and began what is hopefully the last rewrite before being submitted.
7. Came to a point where I can see the blessings that grew from this past year’s trials on the road.

List 2: 2011 Blessings–The Short List

1. Repeat List 1 for emphasis
2. Can still say that I’m healthier than many I could name
3. Learned more than I ever thought possible about too many things to mention
4. Watched the struggles and accomplishments of friends and family, knowing that they came through whole, if dented, and I can still enjoy them
5. I have a home, food on the table, clothes to wear, work to do that makes my heart sing most days, friends everywhere, family that I love, and I’m moderately warm for a snowy day.
6. My country hasn’t imploded yet, even if it is shaky in some quarters
7. I’ve lived long enough to appreciate the simple things of life

List 3: 2012 Goals

1. Repeat List 1, numbers 1 and 4 through 7
2. Get everything that’s already on my computer—stories, essays, poetry, children’s books, etc.—submitted somewhere
3. Finish travel book and get submitted
4. Finish women’s mystery novel and get it submitted
5. Finish YA fantasy novel and get it submitted
6. Finish “Failures to Blessings: Finding the Silver Lining” and, you guessed it, get it submitted
7. Survive to write another day

Assuming I accomplish the items on this last list, I will be satisfied with life for another year. I say that because I plan 2013 to be busier than ever in the writing department, and I’m going to need all the energy I can get to deal with it.

There you have my obligatory lists for this year. I hope you have a satisfying time doing your own lists, whatever they contain. Let me know if you’re ready to either celebrate or need commiseration. I can accommodate either situation and will do so happily.

A bientot,

Claudsy

Looking for a Mystery?

I stumbled upon a website this evening that made my heart go pit-a-pat. It was a library blog. I know I’ve a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but who knew that libraries had their own?

I’ve found Nirvana again in the form of another link between my love of libraries and my inability many times to patronize one when I want to. I know very few writers of any age who lack a deep respect for and love of libraries. It must come from our childhoods when those lofty and spacious rooms stood as enchanted realms where almost anything might pop out to take you hostage until you could wrestle it home.

When I read this blog, I chuckled to myself at the wonder of it all, and the sweetness of the gestures involved. It left the mystery of itself behind for me to ponder and within which to find meaning. I cherish that kind of reading material.

I know that I’ll return many times to see what’s happening on this site. If you’d like to share in the mystery, come along to the link below. Take a chance. You might find yourself exploring far more than you thought possible in one short session. I’ll hope to see you there.

http://talesfromanopenbook.wordpress.com/2011/09/16/mysterious-paper-sculptures/#comment-3698

Until then, a bientot,

Claudsy