Trusted Readers

I’ve been accused of making my writing available to my family the way the Bush White House would – announcing that I have a piece to read if anyone is interested around dinnertime on Sunday when everyone is busily involved in getting ready for the week ahead and no one much cares about the creative pursuits of other family members.

My first writing teacher (and many more since) have emphasized what a bad idea it is to let those most close to you read your stuff, especially a spouse. I’ve pretty much followed this rule. But once a piece of writing has gone through a workshop or two, been reviewed by people I know from other writing classes or groups, and doesn’t touch on any deep, dark secrets, what’s the harm in letting my sons and my husband read it?

My husband has also taken writing classes and he’s heard the advice about not letting your spouse read your stuff. So he knows that I don’t mean anything by not sharing work with him. He’s probably relieved. He hears enough about how things are going without then having to also read an early draft. I’ve told him we can have a deal that he can read my work anytime he wants and just tell me it’s great, whether or not that’s what he really thinks. He hasn’t taken me up on that yet.

I’ve only read two pieces to my husband – one an essay on what I felt like listening to our son playing the piano and another which described how my father taught me to read music. I read both of these to him not because I wanted him to hear my writing but because I’d finally been able to put into words things I’ve been trying to express to him for years. It was a communication tool, not open mike night.

I asked my teenage son to read two chapters of something to give me an opinion on whether the pace was appropriate to a young adult work. He read the chapters and gave me the same kind, attentive feedback that I give to him when I review his essays for school. His conclusion – well written but a little slow to appeal to his peers.

I put together a binder of short pieces – essays and short stories – that I’m comfortable letting my family members read. It sits on the shelf next to my desk.

So it’s a perfect situation – I have made things available but left it to them to read when and if they want to. Maybe they already have and just haven’t told me?

Yesterday was the last session of Barbara Abercrombie's Advanced Memoir class at UCLA. It was an intense (four hours at a time), upbeat class with only a dozen people. Because of the small size and length of the class I got an idea of what everyone was working on and I could look forward to hearing a new installment each week.

As part of yesterday's work we made a schedule of what we will accomplish writing wise in the next six weeks. I'll be gone two weeks on vacation and next week is my son's high school graduation, so we'll have visitors and parties and other reasons why I won't get to my desk. So I didn't have much to write down. More or less just a promise to myself to be observant while we are away and to maybe break away a little from my usual journal-writing when I am on a trip, which is too limited to names of towns and lists of food.

Last night I had trouble sleeping. I kept waking up thinking about a project I first toyed with a few weeks ago. At that point it was an excuse to break out a new notebook to play with and a way to while away a morning. It didn't seem to have more legs than that. But now it's back, keeping me from getting my rest.

I knew it's come from reading Abigail Thomas's "Safekeeping." Barbara Abercrombie is a fan of Thomas's style of memoir and in the past month I've read "A Three Dog Life" and "On Memoir", both of which I've liked so much that I ordered multiple copies on Amazon to have something to give friends when the conversation turns to what I've been reading lately. But "Safekeeping" is an even more amazing thing to read. Short chapters, sometimes just a paragraph, some in the first person, some in the third, some cover a lifetime of narrative, others focus on a small moment in someone's life. It's given me an idea for an entirely new approach to the project I've been thinking about. And maybe something that will keep that part of my brain occupied during two long plane rides and too many croissants.

Where Do Unused Characters Go?

I've been thinking about Noel, a character I created a few years ago, when I was first trying to write a novel. I got about 80 pages in and I could never find my way into the main character. I read portions of it in a writing class and the consensus was that it was pretty boring so I set it aside.

But the novel did have a few characters that I really liked. I miss them from time to time. I liked the protagonist's father very much, as well as the mother of the next door neighbor. But Noel, a washed up British musician who just emerged from his third marriage and his second bout of rehab, has really stayed with me. I recently went by a restaurant where I had him have a meal and I've been thinking about what he's been doing, as if he were a real person.

I feel bad that I was able to come up with intriguing people and not find a way to let others enjoy them like I have.

Watching Someone Get Published

My friend Sang Bukaty just published her book "Grace Notes." It is a memoir about her childhood in Korea and her journey to the United States as a cello student in the 1960's. I learned so much about Korean culture and the Korean immigrant experience in the United States from her book. I met Sang about three years in a class at UC Irvine. I was very intimidated when I first met her because she already had an enormous binder full of a draft of her book. After that we were in a private writing group together and I got to hear sometimes sizable portions of her book.

What a thrill to see if listed on Amazon.com and to hold a hefty copy in my hand! I have learned a lot about the editing and publishing process from watching Sang go on her journey with this book. I am so proud of her for sticking with it and having a finished product.

Cup or Cone?

When I was growing up there was a Carvel stand at the top of my street. There was not a lot of spare money in our family for treats, but in the summer someone would take me to Carvel’s once every two weeks or so. I always got the same thing: a soft serve vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles. I watched in amazement as other people spoiled their ice cream with pineapple topping or nuts.

Then for a while I went into a cup phase. I became enamoured of strawberry sundaes. I entered adulthood still as a cup enthusiast and experienced the introduction of super premium ice creams and even my first tastes of gelato as a confirmed cup consumer.

But last summer I converted back to cones. It was the flick of the wrist of the man working the counter as San Crispino in Rome that did it. I watched him magically wrap first one and then a second ribbon of flavor on top of the cone with the artistry of the glass blowers in Murano. He looked up smiling. “Panna?” The only answer is yes – I want a swath of unsweetened whipped cream perched on top of my two flavors.

Then the fun begins. I am handed by Bacio meringue and pistachio confection and emerge back into the sunlight and must find the perfect balance between tasting and savoring every bite, but not letting it melt out of control over my hand. It’s a living yin/yang exercise. The light and darkness, speed and languor, what is to come and what had already been enjoyed – all an experiment that can be carried out for $3 on any day within a two block walk. It’s like a walking meditation. And when I am done – no container to dispose of, no sign left of my struggle, except perhaps a bit of sticky sweetness on my fingers.

Why I Love L.A.

This morning I went to Tanner's, a neighborhood coffee place in Culver City. I usually stop there on my way to UCLA for a red eye and a toasted everything bagel, which is served on a square black ceramic plate that looks like it was made by an artisan.

As I was waiting for my drink the barista was chatting with another customer about her recent postings on her fansite. I listened but after a few minutes I was no closer to figuring out why she had fans. But I remained glad that she was able to be up and pulling espresso drinks at eight in the morning.

Giro d'Italia

It's grand tour season. The Giro d'Italia is entering its second week and I have watched every minute of the coverage shown on American TV. I sat transfixed as I watched the cyclists hurtling down the hillsides of Switzerland in the rain on Thursday, knowing how easy it is to wipe out on even the most innocent looking bend in the road.

I watched every minute of coverage of the Tour de France last year and I intend to do so again this year. And the Vuelta de Espana in September if it is shown here.

All in the name of research. A character in a novel I have been playing with for the past year or so is a serious amateur cyclist. Last summer he broke his collar bone in an accident very similar to that suffered by Lance Armstrong earlier this year. I decided I needed to know more about cycling, so I started watching the Tour. During the day, I researched how the scoring works, the history of professional cycling, etc., and then watched the race at night. I became fascinated with the unwritten rules and the terminology: "domestiques" are riders who are not expected to win a stage but instead maintain a particular position within the peloton all day in order to allow the star rider on the team to sprint to the front in the last few kilometers; "natural breaks" are when the entire field of riders stops in order to urinate at the side of the road, often while still on their bicycles; an "uncategorized climb" is a moutain that is so steep it deserves a description beyond Category 1 (20 kilometers with an average 6% grade).

My objective is to have my character sling lingo in a believable way and to try to develop some insight into why otherwise ordinary people spend their vacations standing on the sides of roads in Europe while a hundred men flash by in just a few seconds. And then I'll try to figure out why I am spending dozens of hours watching it on TV.

New Energy

The six days at Fallen Leaf Lake did the trick. I had two days where there were no scheduled activities other than meals (which were delicious) and so I just sat, sat, sat and read my manuscript. I'm fairly tired of looking at it by now so I am going to incorporate those edits and then let it sit a while and let people read parts of it before I fiddle with it further. I'm worried about diminishing returns.

I also got an idea for a short story and an idea for another project which is different from anything I've tried before. I'm intrigued and bursting with energy. It will be so nice to do some fresh writing instead of the stitching together of a long piece.

Writing Exercise

I'm at the Write Retreat at Fallen Leaf Lake. I have a cabin where the bed faces a glass sliding door with a large wooden balcony that has a pine tree trunk coming up through the middle -- all overlooking the lake, which is a deep sapphire blue. I wanted to just stay in my room this morning and work on my writing with the cool breeze in my face. Nevertheless, I got myself into the classroom.

One of the first writing exercises was to decide which literary figure or beverage we most identify with. My mind flitted through literary people -- Dorothea in Middlemarch, Kitty in Anna Karenina (of course I only allowed myself to think about people from high literature) -- but no one seemed right.

But a beverage came immediately to mind. Prosecco. Dry yet sweet, bubbly yet affordable, doesn't travel well outside the Veneto, intriguing pale yellow color, you can't name a single famous producer or vintage.

Can't figure out why, but it seems like the right choice.

The Red Stone

In two hours I leave for a five day writing retreat in the Sierras. I'm so excited to go -- even if it means pulling out the sweaters I just pushed to the back of my closet.

This is the third year I'm going to the "Write Retreat" which is organized by Stanford and is held at the Sierra Camp on Fallen Leaf Lake. I learned that when John Steinbeck dropped out of college he got a job building some of the cabins that still exist at the camp. There is nothing more inspiring and humbling than walking by Steinbeck's handiwork on your way to breakfast each day.

So what am I bringing with me?

-- The draft of my memoir (subject of the champagne over the weekend) -- maybe at long last I'll have the stretch of time I keep telling myself I need to sit down and read the whole thing start to finish and figure out what's next

-- A print out of the 150 pages of fiction I started writing at Sierra Camp two years ago. We had a writing exercise in which each person was given an object that the teacher had collected while out on a walk. Mine was the red stone pictured here. Other people had twigs, leaves, pine cones, etc. Initially I felt compelled to come up with some nature theme to write about, which would be totally out of character for me. I sat for a few minutes with no idea what to do. Then I turned the stone around and looked at each side. The back side has a vein of darker red than the rest and all of a sudden it looked like red velvet to me. Then I thought about what kind of dress could be made about red velvet like that. And then I had a scene fully developed in my mind. I wrote some dialogue in that session. Then when I came home I kept on working on the characters I'd come up with. Last May I picked up the thread of the story again and when I got home that project lasted me through most of the summer. I'm hoping it will do the same again this year.

Milestone

I officially finished the first good draft of my book. I printed out all 298 pages on Saturday and, as long planned, had champagne with dinner last night.

Newport Beach Public Library

I went to the Friends of the Library sale at the Newport Beach Public Library today. They hold this event a few times a year. The big meeting room is set up with tables that are covered end to end with books which are sold for a dollar a bag. I was there at 11 in the morning and a man was bringing in dollies with more boxes of books to be set out.

For a dollar I bought the following -- all in hard cover:

Growing Up by Russell Baker
Happiness Sold Separately by Lolly Winston
The Properties of Water by Ann Hood
Asking for Love by Roxana Robinson
Drowning Ruth by Christina Schwartz
Safely to the Grave by Margaret Yorke

When I finish reading these I will most likely give them back to the Friends to be resold. I give almost all of the books I don't want to keep to this group. It's run by volunteers and every penny they make is given to the library. They operate a great bookshop in the front of the library that is open year round and where you can find some great things. But, alas, other than for the buck a bag sales, the regular price is a dollar per book. Sigh.

Podcasts About Writing and Books

I love listening to interviews with writers, especially when they talk about the process of writing and the publishing world. I find I like listening even better than reading interviews. I've discovered books I would never dream of reading and usually find myself inspired to sit right down and start writing again.

I've found a handful of programs that I listen to regularly as podcasts, which I really enjoy. I have them all set up to automatically download onto my iPhone and I listen while I drive, when I grocery shop, while I wait in line at the post office and sometimes even when I'm cooking.

My favorites are:

-Writers on Writing with Barbara DeMarco-Barrett on KUCI -- this is a weekly show entirely dedicated to interviews with writers, agents, publishers, etc. If you listen to all of the back shows that are available (like I did one long fall when I flew back and forth to Seattle about a dozen times) you will feel as if you have earned an MFA.

-The Leonard Lopate Show on WNYC in New York -- this is a daily show and Lopatehas several segments a day on various items but he usually interviews a few writers, playwrights, stage actors, etc. during the week.

-Washington Post Bookworld -- even though the Post has dropped its book review as a separate section they continue to issue this podcast. There is usually a brief summary of the recent publishing news, then two interviews with newly published writers and then a few minutes of poetry at the end.

Slate's Audio Book Club -- this isn't an interview with writers but is an intense hour-long discussion of a book, sometimes current, sometimes not. The last one was McEwan's Saturday.

NPR Book Tour -- this is usually a recording of the author of a newly published author reading aloud at the Politics and Prose bookstore followed by a question and answer period.

KCRW's The Treatment -- this program usually is with a screenwriter or director and often is a detailed discussion of a recent project with a great discussion of craft

Book Lust with Nancy Pearl -- this comes from Seattle. Sometimes it's great but often the interview is with someone I've never heard of and don't find of interest once I listen.

Yaddocast -- this is my newest discovery. These are ten minute snippets which profile well-known writers who have been guests at the famous Yaddo colony. I've learned all sorts of interesting things so far -- did you know that Mario Puzo got a lot of his early work on "The Godfather" done at Yaddo?

New Yorker: Fiction -- this is a huge treat. The fiction editor of the New Yorker invites a current New Yorker published writer to pick out a story that was published in the past to read aloud. Then the editor and the current writer have a discussion about it. You get things like T. Coraghessan Boyle reading Tobias Wolff’s “Bullet in the Brain.”