I realized my last three blogs had apron-wringing excuses for not posting regularly. Enough of that.
I'm reading Raymond Carver right now and I keep getting to the end of stories and going, "What?" His minimalism is heroic (although apparently that had a lot to do with his editor) and his stories are real and spartan. And real spartan, I guess. I wonder if we will ever have a great minimalist again. I think Hollywood has burned that bridge. More, more, more, you know? Which is not always better. What about precision? How about qualitative over quantitative? I'm just rambling here. Mostly I'm angry that Avatar got the Golden Globe for best picture. I haven't seen it, but I'm a snarky blogger now and so I can say that kind of thing. Go watch the "Bitch Pleez" SNL sketch on Weekend Update.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Update. That's all these will ever be. Monthly, probably.
Update, update.
I finished the first draft of the novel I've been working on. 78,000 words. That's insane. And it's mostly okay. I take heart in what I've learned from Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird that writers must forgive themselves for their "shitty first draft." Now it is work, work, work, edit, edit, edit, revise, revise, revise. Unless edit and revise mean the same thing.
For now I've been writing short stories. My mentor this semester is this awesome and crazy woman from LA named Kate Gale. She runs a publishing house called Red Hen and writes poetry and other stuff. She grew up in a Christian cult and has fascinating stories. She keeps a blog at kategale.wordpress.com and she swears she loves my writing. I'll take it, even if it's flattery for a graduate student. In her critique of my first packet she told me I was a "literary writer", which was mildly confusing for me, so I emailed her and asked her exactly what she meant. I got this response:
You could be a commercial writer. You could be a hack. You could be a grocery store book writer. But sadly, you won't be able to buy your mother a car. You'll be able to buy your wife a glass of wine and your daughter a swing set.
I feel good about that and I thought I would share it with the world (a.k.a. you, blog reader.) I also hope that I can someday write something commercial, but in the meantime, we don't have a swing set and we rarely drink wine.
So stories. I'm terrible with titles, so I'll let you know at least what I'm writing about.
1. The joys of Almond Bark at Christmas and the strange ways that we all cope with sadness.
2. A son who digs up his dead father to bury him in a different location.
3. A foster girl, now grown, learning about the difference between love and survival. If there is one.
4. The confusing nature of pregnancy tests
5. Also, individual scenes from that darn novel.
If you're interested, I might be willing to send something to you. Not all of them are done or anywhere near polished. But the whole copyright and online information thing makes me nervous.
Also, I'm looking for a job. Maybe as a technical writer or something. If anyone has any leads ...
And hopefully I'll be back sooner, rather than later.
I finished the first draft of the novel I've been working on. 78,000 words. That's insane. And it's mostly okay. I take heart in what I've learned from Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird that writers must forgive themselves for their "shitty first draft." Now it is work, work, work, edit, edit, edit, revise, revise, revise. Unless edit and revise mean the same thing.
For now I've been writing short stories. My mentor this semester is this awesome and crazy woman from LA named Kate Gale. She runs a publishing house called Red Hen and writes poetry and other stuff. She grew up in a Christian cult and has fascinating stories. She keeps a blog at kategale.wordpress.com and she swears she loves my writing. I'll take it, even if it's flattery for a graduate student. In her critique of my first packet she told me I was a "literary writer", which was mildly confusing for me, so I emailed her and asked her exactly what she meant. I got this response:
You could be a commercial writer. You could be a hack. You could be a grocery store book writer. But sadly, you won't be able to buy your mother a car. You'll be able to buy your wife a glass of wine and your daughter a swing set.
I feel good about that and I thought I would share it with the world (a.k.a. you, blog reader.) I also hope that I can someday write something commercial, but in the meantime, we don't have a swing set and we rarely drink wine.
So stories. I'm terrible with titles, so I'll let you know at least what I'm writing about.
1. The joys of Almond Bark at Christmas and the strange ways that we all cope with sadness.
2. A son who digs up his dead father to bury him in a different location.
3. A foster girl, now grown, learning about the difference between love and survival. If there is one.
4. The confusing nature of pregnancy tests
5. Also, individual scenes from that darn novel.
If you're interested, I might be willing to send something to you. Not all of them are done or anywhere near polished. But the whole copyright and online information thing makes me nervous.
Also, I'm looking for a job. Maybe as a technical writer or something. If anyone has any leads ...
And hopefully I'll be back sooner, rather than later.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)