Visit My New Blog!

Please visit my new blog at my writing website.

In my new blog, I will discuss topics related to my novels, to writing and the writing process, and to issues related to my interest in coming of age across the life span.

I may continue to use this blog to explore other issues, especially those related to "the third half" of life.

Please also visit my art website, with examples of my watercolor paintings, collages, and photographs.

Thank you for your interest.

On My Next Big Thing

I have been tagged by the uber-talented Jennie Wood for this pyramid scheme for writers to answer a series of “interview” questions about their books—-upcoming or on the market—-and then tag three others. So here’s my opportunity for a little advance self-promotion.

What is the working title of your book? How to Write a Best Seller: A Novel

Which genre does your book fall under? For the moment, I’m going with upmarket women’s fiction with a touch of humor.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? This novel originally started out as a screenplay so many years ago that my friend with whom I originally wrote it and I thought that Goldie Hawn would play the single law professor; Sally Field, the married market researcher; and Peter Gallagher, the young love interest. Clearly, none of these is age appropriate anymore.

What is a one sentence synopsis of your book? Two women in their middle years set out to write a novel about a woman with a perfect career and perfect romance only to realize that their own grittier lives offer the more compelling tale.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? That depends on what the starting point is! We finished the first draft of the screenplay in about six months and then spent years on revision. When I began novelizing it in 2006, I took at least two years to complete the first draft because I was working on another novel at the same time. It has been through many revisions since then, most recently with the crucial help of my Grub Street Novel Incubator class in 2011-2012 and my two incomparable Lisa Borders and Michelle Hoover.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? I think more in terms of other authors whose work has some of the same flavor: Claire Cook, Elinor Lipman, Nick Hornby. It could also be considered a kind of Bridget Jones Diary for women in their middle years.

Who or what inspired you to write this book? In the mid-90s, my friend and I decided that we could write something along the lines of Bridges of Madison County. In the course of concocting the original story, we realized that our own adventures in doing so were way more interesting. So this novel has autobiographical/ biographical roots, which we used as a jumping off point to tell the story we wanted to tell. My friend really does teach law to educators and her area of expertise is privacy rights/strip-searching of students, as is her fictional counterpart’s. Sometimes reality beats out fantasy (a major theme of the novel).

What else about your book might pique a reader’s interest? I have a background in developmental psychology. A lot of my work could be classified as coming-of-age across the life span with the characters figuring out who they are, what they want, and how they can conquer their demons, often demons from childhood. So although this novel has a humorous bent, I believe that many women might recognize themselves and their struggles in my two protagonists. It’s also a book about deep friendship. The story alternates back and forth between the points-of-view of the two main women protagonists. Structurally, it’s a meta-story. A story about a story. Of course, the hope is that the book my protagonists are writing will become a best seller, and so the meta-story is also about my fantasy that my novel will be a best seller.

When and how will it be published? I have started to query agents, so the answer to that question is out of my hands for the time being. I welcome representation. Stay tuned.

The following writing colleagues all have books out that they’d like you to take notice of. Check them out on Amazon. Guys, you’re it!

Jack B. Rochester Wild Blue Yonder: A Novel of the Sixties.

Stephen Turner All the Sad Goodbyes. A World War II saga.

Daniel Evans Weiss His latest- The Magic of Middle-Aged Women. Non-fiction. Hot!

On the Cycle of Creativity--Part II, The Writer

The Muser has returned!In my blog entry of July 2012, I discussed Jeanne Carbonetti’s seven stage Cycle of Creativity. So how might this process apply to writing a novel (or two), a central task of mine these last few years? I’ve taken a crack at it.

WAITING: The germ of the story forms until you can no longer resist it. You have a desire to create.

OPENING: You design your main character(s) and uncover what makes them tick; you begin to form the shape of the plot. Your mind is spinning with the possibilities. Maybe you start making lots of notes, creating character sketches, composing shards of unconnected scenes. Maybe you do some research. The project is still a fantasy without a body, but it has a spirit.

CLOSING: You are in the thick of your writing process, fingers flying on keyboard. It is all you can think about if you don’t let other things distract you. You are goal-focused.You produce a first draft at this stage. You’re proud of your baby. You feel like a writer.

HOLDING: Now what? Despite having a draft, your novel isn’t nearly finished. It needs revising. You may feel stalled, wanting to work on other projects. Maybe you let it gestate awhile until you are ready to attack it anew. You have a dream after all.

RELEASING: Now is the time to share your work with others and get feedback (and support), which you must accept gracefully and ingest rather than fight back. It is not your job to explain to your critiquers what they can’t see. It is your job to take what is right and good, to fix it so that what others see matches your vision for the project. You make as many revisions as you need to, sometimes feeling constipated and unable to let go. Take a laxative if you need it, whatever that is. Allow yourself to continue to release your story. That is your mission.

EMPTYING: When you can do no more, you will stop. It is done. It is time to send out your manuscript to agents and hope that they appreciate your vision.

SITTING: And then you wait until the agent calls with the good news, or you move on…. Time for another project. You will accept your destiny, whatever that is, and soldier on, hoping that a new desire starts to form.

On Returning Home

Dear Blog,

Before you scold me for abandoning you for a full year, let me first say that I missed you! I’m not trying to butter you up. I really did. Yes, absence does make the heart grow fonder.

I was honest with you. I told you on in my last entry to you that I was temporarily leaving you for another form of writing—a year-long novel writing program. Maybe you would have been willing to share me, but alas, my energy was too depleted to court two of you.

Please don’t be jealous. One of the things I’ve learned about myself is that I am not a one-project kind of gal. Let’s face it; I was never monogamous with you. While I dutifully gave you two thoughtful entries a month, I was also quite serious about my three novels and even dabbled in the odd short story, flash fiction, or (cough) poem. Each one met a different need and contributed to my overall happiness. You do want me to be happy, don’t you? If you recall, our last date on June 14th, 2011, focused on happiness. As excited as I was about my new venture, the Grub Street Novel Incubator program, I expressed some doubts then about the kind of singlemindedness it would require.

I am proud to have stuck with it, to have learned and accomplished so much, to have made the acquaintance of so many fine writing colleagues, and to have enjoyed myself. But after the program was over, I needed a break from "Best Seller," my hot and heavy romance of the last year. I couldn't even bring myself to look at it. I felt guilty—we’d been with each other day in and day out. I’m pretty sure we’ll be lovers again, but not for awhile. Does that make you feel better? Perhaps you will be a beneficiary of that liaison. I hope I have become a better writer and editor. You may even gain some readers

And I’ve come home to you. I feel confident that you and I have something solid. It’s regular, but we don’t overdo it. There’s mutual respect. You let me express myself in a way none of the others have. I can talk about anything with you whenever I want. And when we’re finished with one topic, there is that satisfying sense of closure. Not the nagging doubt those demanding, pesky, never-ending novels give me. Yet, I am drawn back to them. Remember, it’s me, not you. I’ll introduce you if you like.

If you are confident enough to let me mix it up with them, I think you and I will be friends for a very long time. What do you say? Can we give it another shot? I have a dandy idea inspired by a funeral I just attended. Who else will let me share my thoughts, without judgment? If you say “no,” I may have to throw myself at the mercy of “Twitter.”

Yours faithfully,

Musings from the Third Half

On How Do You Know When the Story is Done?

You know when the roast is ready when the internal temperature reaches 165 degrees; the quiche, when the knife comes out clean. The pasta and veggies are cooked when sampling indicates they are appropriately chewy or crisp, respectively.

But how do you know when your story is ready for submission?

Your critique group has given you multiple suggestions. One person tells you to “dwell” a little more when the protagonist meets the stranger for the first time; another doesn’t like the blonde you introduced on page 8. Someone else feels you should begin the story in a different place. You’ve been given ideas for extraneous words to delete. You revise and revise again, following some suggestions, ignoring others. As you are doing so, you get a couple of “aha” moments, which lead to some restructuring. All of a sudden, one of the ideas you had rejected now makes sense. You wonder what else you’ve missed.

You give it to a couple of other people to read. They like it, offer a few additional thoughts, maybe more minor this time. They find a few typos. You feel like you may be closing in. You search for those submission guidelines and find that your story is 500 words over the accepted limit. Time to tighten. You can’t believe how many long-winded phrases you manage to find, how you’ve inserted an unnecessary character who never appears again (but no one else mentioned), how the ending now seems too obvious. You manage to shave off 600 words. Is it enough? Of course, now you notice a mass of typos because of all the changes you’ve made. Although your husband is a great editor and proof reader, you are hesitant to give him your story in case he hates it. You like it, but you feel you’ve lost all objectivity.

So you save it in the folder on “works in progress,” and go back to the novel you were working on. No danger of that being finished to your satisfaction any time soon.

Then one day you casually mention to someone you have just met that you “write.” “Oh,” he says. “Have you published anything?” “Yes, one story,” you admit. Almost four years ago. One lousy story. Now you feel embarassed, ashamed that you even brought up the topic, even though you’ve been writing like a fiend during this time. You aren’t a dabbler. And it’s not because you’ve had rejection after rejection; it’s because you rarely sumbit work. On those few occasions when you scrambled to meet the deadline for a writing contest, your work did not receive any acknowledgement, and you allowed yourself to get discouraged. You rationalize that it takes time to find the right places, and for now you want to concentrate on perfecting your writing, on producing a substantial body of work.

You are reminded of your young English cousin who didn’t say a word until he was three, and then the first sentence he uttered upon seeing a freshly painted door was, “By jove, what a smashing green door.” A fully formed grammatical sentence. It caused a bit of a sensation. Perhaps you are hoping that when your horse leaves the gate (to change the metaphor), it will win its first race. A debut wonder. A best seller. But really, how many agents will consider you if you haven’t proven yourself in the marketplace? It doesn’t matter if you have a couple of dozen stories and three novels in the bottom drawer.

One published story is a good start. It was a decent journal. It means you’ve got some literary chops. At some point, you just have to trust yourself to say, “This is done enough,” and take the time to find the appropriate venues or get help in doing so. Submitting isn’t writing, but it is all part of the process, isn’t it? And let’s face it, you’re no spring chicken with a whole life ahead of you. After you’re gone, your bottom drawer, all your hard work, may be someone else’s recycling.Then you're really cooked.

On Creativity (or Lack of It) and the Common Cold

Your throat thickens and then becomes scatchy, your nose begins to drip, your eyes water. You suck a zinc lozenge and sip a hot honey-lemon, hoping to stave it off. But then the cough comes. A mucousy cough that makes you want to constantly clear your throat. You heard somewhere that was bad for you, but you can’t help it. At night you sleep half propped up to allow your lungs to drain (or so you think), and the unnatural posture throws your back out. Your cough is now dry and unproductive. Sometimes you hack so much you can hardly catch your breath. You’re grateful that your stomach feels okay, but you have no interest in doing much. You struggle through a few hours of work, your eyes blurry. In the middle of the afternoon you give yourself permission to take a nap. When you finally feel well enough to emerge into public a few days later, you hear tales of other people’s illnesses. Two weeks. Three weeks. (You consider yourself lucky—you are only on day 8. But later you become hoarse and the cough worsens.) It seems everyone has had it. A powerful germ, this one. Welcome to the common winter cold.

Maybe it was the convergence with the holidays and all the other demands on my time, but this cold really knocked the creative stuffing out of me. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but stare vacantly at the TV. As someone who doesn’t get sick very often, I am not a patient patient. I felt guilty that I wasn’t using my time productively, especially as I wasn’t going out in the evening. But you can’t force the muse. I haven’t always been a mush brain when I’m ill. I remember a week during my the final month of my senior year of high school when I had some mysterious ailment involving lots of sneezing (it turned out to be a new allergy). I spent my time out in the sunny garden on a lounge chair writing poetry—not something I’d done before or have done since in quite the same way. I remember another time when, despite a bad cough, I produced pages of a novel . Unfortunately, when you’re self-employed, especially with a home-based office, those delicious absences from work, like snow days from school, just don’t happen. I still spent my requisite number of hours at my desk, with little to show for them.

Maybe it’s an end-of-year malady. The creative juices have been depleted and need to be topped up like washer fluid in one’s car. Or recharged like a battery, or completely replaced. Out with the old. Start anew come January 1st, all healthy with a fresh resolve, a sparkling set of goals and a whole year in which to meet them.

There are still a few days left to 2010. A few days in which the phone is unlikely to ring very much. The holidays are behind me now—no more shopping or card preparation, no more guests or visits to friends. TV is all reruns, and I don’t need anything from the winter sales. I am well now. There are no more excuses. The month is still redeemable. I just need to sit in front of the screen, reread what I last wrote, and re-enter that world I’ve created and inhabited in my mind’s eye for so long. It’s not such a big step once I leap across my mental chasm. When I am there, I know I will be hooked again, and that is a good feeling. So, readers, this will be my final post for 2010. I have attained my goal of two a month for this year. Now I need to plunge into my out-of-control fictional world of 1963. Wish me luck!

And happy new year to you (2011, not 1964...)

On the Perfect Off-Season Writer's Getaway

At least once a year, I like to go somewhere for a week, not only to get away from my work routines and my distractions at home but also to write a bit. The best of these vacations has certain characteristics. Below I describe how my recent trip to Provincetown, MA on the tip of Cape Cod, stacked up against my criteria.

The Location. Distance from home—drive up to four hours, or non-stop plane ride with no more than one hour drive at other end. Things to do and see, nice places to walk, a few good restaurants, a convenient grocery store. Interesting architecture or history a plus. Our Location: Provincetown, MA. Historic, quirky, fun,friendly. 2.5 hour drive from home. Location rating: A

The Condo. A separate bedroom and living area is a must, with a door that closes between the two. A full kitchen is preferable (stove, oven, large fridge, dishwasher). At least 1.5 bathrooms is nice. Bright is a real plus. Convenient to things but a little off the beaten track. Quiet in the morning and at night. Several choices of places to set up the laptop. Free and strong WiFi or cable internet connections. Our Condo: Eastwood A- (roadwork in the morning made the noise factor less desirable. But three good computer spots, and excellent WiFi.)

The Schedule. Leisurely, with writing time every day, long walks, one meal out, a diversion or two, time to read. Our schedule: Some variation every day, but always the aforementioned included. Schedule rating: A

The Physical Challenge. A strenuous hike, a canoe trip, cross-country skiing—something where you feel really good about your accomplishment at the end. Our Physical Challenge: A hike over the dunes to the ocean. Walking up and down hills in soft sand. Physical challenge rating: A

The Surprise. Something unexpected. Our surprise: The entire dune walk, from the hills and valleys, to the vegetation (including toadstools in this dry place), the dune shacks where some people actually lived, the vastness and seeming remoteness of it though it was so near town (we walked to it!), and finally the ocean at the end—we saw no one else there. Second surprise: Being ablet to walk down the middle of the main street with minimal traffic! Surprise rating: A

The Native Tip. An off the beaten track place known to the locals, but not as much to visitors. Our Local Tip: The cliffs at Longnook Beach, Truro. A wide, unspoiled beach, protected by high, sandy cliffs, where we watched the birds dive into the ocean for their food. Local tip rating: A

The Ultimate Relaxation. Whatever turns you on. Our ultimate relaxation. The hottub at Eastwood—after our Physical Challenge. Ulimtate relaxation rating: A

The Local Dinner. Something of the place, not too expensive, ambience. Our Local Dinner: The early bird Clambake Special at The Waterford for $18.00. The lobster was delicious. Local dinner rating: B+

The American Breakfast. One fun breakfast in a local hangout. Our Breakfast: Tip of the Tops’n. Breakfast rating: B+

The Sunset. A spot to share the end of the day—over water is best. Sunsets can be skipped on winter getaways. Our Sunset: Herring Cove Beach. Sunset rating: B (We were lucky to have cleark skies; sunset was nice, but nothing out of the ordinary. Setting was lovely.)

The Original Photo Op. We’re not talking about your usual sights (or sunsets) but something that strikes the fancy. Preferably more than one. Preferably one that is good enough for the annual holiday card. Our Photo Ops. Fences and shadows, colorful buoys, fun mirrors, reflections and shadows in a store window. Photo op rating: B+ Not sure about the holiday card, and the light was a bit iffy at times.

The Cultural Experience. An musical, artistic and or dramatic event/place that delights one or more of the senses. Our Cultural Contribution. Cubano art gallery—one of only 30 galleries in the US allowed to bring in art from Cuba. A range of media and styles. Cultural contribution rating: B+

The Social Opportunity. An arranged or spontaneous gathering with friends or new acquaintances. Our Social Opportunity. Good friends from NYC were visiting the Cape at the same time. We met their friends, ate lunch with our friends, and took a long walk. Social opportunity rating: A

The Friendly Native. An interesting conversation with someone from the area. Our friendly native: Unbeknownst to us, we crashed a staff party at a local bar. The owner of the restaurant (whose staff it was) came over to us and made us feel very welcome. Friendly native rating: B

The Unplanned Stop. Something that wasn’t necessarily on your agenda but turns out to be a real pleasure. Our Unplanned Treat: Truro Vineyards and wine tasting. 10 different wines in a very pleasant setting after a short tour. Showed up just at the right time! Treat rating: A

The Writing Output. At least two hours a day, five days out of seven. Some sense of forward movement on a project. Maybe a new source of inspiration, or an aha moment. My Writing Output: Schedule achieved; output—not as high as I would have liked. Some progress in structure. One blog entry. Writing output rating: B

[Note: More pictures to be added.]

On Setting Stories in Other Times

I was going to write this blog about the genesis of my young adult novel, and its many incarnations, but instead I want to muse about fiction that takes place in time periods that are still within living memory of many adults. At a workshop several years ago, the leader told me that unless one was writing true historical fiction it was better to make one’s story contemporary, with the rationale that it could more easily be adapted to the screen.

But there are several reasons for choosing another time. The most obvious, of course, is when the events of a particular period are the catalyst for the story itself. The Civil Rights era, and the events of 1963-64, provide the backdrop of the novel to which the characters in my young adult novel respond. One of the characters makes a choice that today might not create as much of a stir as it did then. Some of their problems, though commonly recognized today, had not yet been given names, like bulimia, or attention deficit disorder (whose name keeps evolving.) But teenagers, now as well as then, are notorious for hiding those things of which they are ashamed. Could this story have been set in 2010? I’d like to believe that the concerns of each of the three main characters are timeless, even if the context is different, but I believe the story would lose some of its color (pardon the pun) and interest. After all, stories set in other time periods can be instructive to those reading them—letting them into other worlds and mindsets.

Second, even if the story is not shaped so much by external events, it may be that another time offers some perspectives that make the characters and plot more believable. I had always seen my Japan novel as occurring in 1981, but after the aforementioned workshop, I changed it to the present where it stayed through its many revisions. But meanwhile Japanese society was becoming less patriarchal, the economy was slumping, and the foreign bar hostess was almost a cliché. Having decided I’d followed advice that wasn’t working for me, I needed to go back and review every page for anachronisms (e.g. cell phones), edifices that had not yet been built, relationships to historical events, clothing choices, and the less obvious, such as attitudes. Fortunately, the Internet allowed me to find out that karaoke had just come on the scene in 1981 (but would have been unknown to my American protagonist) and that I could replace a fun park (not yet in existence) with a brand new mall with specialty shops. I could also refer to a kitschier time for love hotels (think themed), make the difference between men’s and women’s roles more stark, and portray my Japanese customers more prosperous. I chose 1981 for quite specific reasons—it was a period when women in particular were flocking to business schools for the first time, but the corporate world, especially in a place like Japan, was less responsive to women on the rise. Although computers were a part of the workplace, personal computers as a common household item were a few years’ off. Cell phones also did not exist. Thus, communications could be awkward. Finally, 1981 was pre-AIDs awareness.

Third, the author may be familiar with a particular time and have the memories and perhaps even the evidence to create a credible world. With my Japan novel, I was able to draw on the descriptions of places, food, people, and events from my journals of a slightly earlier trip to Japan and feel that I wouldn’t be too out of date. First-hand knowledge also shaped my young adult novel .

Finally, of course, in the story that extends over a number of years, history will probably intersect with the story in some way. Movies that spring to mind are “The Way We Were” or “Forest Gump” or even “Same Time Next Year,” in which the characters express themselves in ways that reflect the times.

Whatever the rationale for choosing to write about another period of history, authenticity is important, and research, crucial, to get the details right, including slang. In fact, one can argue that a book intentionally set at an earlier time may become less dated than one written as a contemporary tale. Even that modern story will eventually become historical. Some will stand the test of time, and some won’t.

So I convinced myself to stop worrying about the screenplay—if it’s so compelling that someone wants to buy the rights, they’ll figure out a way to make it happen.

On Technology and the Writer

I don’t know if I could write if it weren’t for computers. Words flow through my finger tips much more quickly on the keyboard than they do on paper. In fact, other than some childhood attempts at storytelling, I didn’t start writing fiction until two years after I bought my first PC. I’m on my fourth desktop computer now. On the downside, I can’t write very easily if I don’t have access to a computer. I can make notes or scribble comments on a printed out draft, but I am not able to produce anything new. Does that make me less committed than those who still pen entire novels on legal pads?

Editing is hardly a breeze, but it is both more inspiring and much easier to read a clean copy than one covered in scrawls. At the same time, editors and agents can more readily demand revisions. Is an expectation of perfection the price we pay for wordprocessing?

Of course, the computer has all but ruined the credibility of that favorite plot twist of the loss of the only copy of someone’s 500 page handwritten manuscript (as with Michael Douglas’s character in the 2000 film “Wonder Boys.”) It’s become as an anachronistic as the bad guy cutting the phone wires, thus destroying our protagonist’s only access to outside communication. Nor are we likely to feel as sympathetic toward the writer who doesn’t back up his work.

Would I have even bothered with the year of the aforementioned “Wonder Boys” if it weren’t for instant access to the Internet? The library of song lyrics, ideas for character names (including names common in other countries along with their meanings), dates when certain buildings were built, descriptions of religions, and countless other facts and speculations is mind-boggling.

Nevertheless, I still have shelves full of books that I’ve used as background material for my novels. I am more impatient when I search the web for information. If what I want doesn’t turn up in the first couple of pages of a Google search, with maybe a couple of different choices of key words, I give up. The other day, I couldn’t easily find a particular recording artist’s top 10 hits for a particular year, so I turned to my Billboard reference book.

We can take writing courses on-line and never meet our teachers our fellow students who are critiquing our work. We can send a copy of our manuscript to friends and colleagues (and people with whom we’ve become “pen pals” on-line), and receive back “track changes.” Our circle of acquaintances, of people who share our passions and interests, is broader through blogs and social networking. I emailed a published writer who was writing about the same kind of thing that I was, and miraculously, she replied. I read her novel just after it was published and wrote a short review for her; in return, she read and commented on my novel draft—all of it perhaps possible in the days of snail mail, but much simpler in cyberspace. Writing does not have to be the solitary activity it once was when there is a worldwide community of other writers accessible to us.

Theoretically, the submission process should be easier, too. We can research appropriate agents, follow the links to books and authors they’ve helped published, examine sample query letters, and even send many of our queries on-line.

So the next logical question is, what about the novel itself? Are the days of the paper version numbered? Is the novel doomed to a life of binary code, or will it, like my beloved reference books, continue to hold its own despite or perhaps because of all this technology?

On My Mother, My Muse

Today is the tenth anniversary of the death of my mother, Josephine Carlton Brett (June 9, 1908-April 3, 2000.) She was born in London within the sound of the Bow Bells, making her a true Cockney, but her parents were Jewish immigrants from Russia and Eastern Europe. Her life spanned most of the 20th century, encompassing two world wars and the Great Depression. When I was very young, our family emigrated to Pennsylvania for 18 years for my father’s work, but my parents retired back to London, which was always home for my mum. Except for her last year, she lived the final 30 years of her life in a flat in Putney, overlooking the Heath.

My mother was an art teacher and artist, and her huge range of talents, her continual learning of new skills, her creativity, and her productivity in her “golden” years, when she took up a new (to her) art form (silkscreen), serve as inspirations to me, perhaps now more than ever. I own and proudly display pieces from her legacy.

Because of the time in which she grew up and her detour to the USA, she was never quite able to realize all her personal ambitions. Perhaps as a consequence, she was fiercely proud of her daughters and her granddaughter and our professional accomplishments. When I became director of the career services department at the Harvard Graduate School of Education in my mid-thirties, my mum bragged to everyone, “My daughter is a director at Harvard!”

I know she would have been supportive of my writing efforts, if not a little eager for completion of my projects. When I first told her that I was writing a screenplay (probably around 1997), she was very excited. Of course, she kept asking me whether I’d finished it. I think she expected it to magically appear on the silver screen. But even in the last year of her life when she was suffering from severe dementia, she became animated when recalling the passion of the creative process—it’s like “butterflies in your stomach.” Much like love, yes?

A large portrait of my mother as a young woman hangs on the wall in the room where I do most of my writing—serving as my muse. Between my sister (see March 16 blog entry) and her, I should be able to draw sufficient inspiration to last a lifetime. The photo on the left was taken when she was about 23 (and still involved in acting, her other love.)

Below I share a poem about her that my sister and I wrote and read at her funeral, following a family tradition that my mother maintained for many years of composing poems for our birthdays. It seemed fitting to honor her life in a similar way. The last line was originally, “Go in peace,” which she always said to us as adults when we would leave her flat after a visit. I have changed it to be more eternal.


ODE TO JOSIE BRETT

She was-
Creative, imaginative, energetic, vivacious.
Lively, theatrical, talkative, but gracious

She wore-
Tailored suits, high heels, black leather, bright smocks.
Patterned jumpers, silk leggings, red velvet, warm socks.

She did–
Painting, silkscreens, puppetry, and plays
Sewing, knitting, odes for birthdays.

She saw-
San Francisco, Montreal, Boston and Maine
Venice by ship, New York by train.

She shopped at-
Lord and Taylor, Blum Store, M&S with a cart
Fifth Avenue, Liberty’s, always dressed smart.

She made–
Shepherds’ pie, soufflé, sherry trifle, shavas dinner
Sponge cake, stuffed trout, each one a winner.

She took pride in-
Her handwriting, her voice, an organized chart,
All her family’s achievements, her posture, her art.

She was-
Proper, stoical, don’t make a fuss.
Generous, loving, unconditionally supportive of us.

She loved-
White Linen perfume, flowers, teaching children, Matisse.
Sisters, husband, and family.
Now, Mum, rest in peace.

On Failure Deprivation Syndrome

I’m sitting here watching “American Idol” and marveling at the resilience of these young people who in front of millions listen to some pretty raw criticism—“That was horrible!” is a frequent Simon Cowell comment. Of course, these are the finalists; they’ve already shown their mettle against hundreds of other candidates. But I wonder what happens when they are voted off. Do they cry? Say they’ll never sing again? Resolve to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and start all over again?

Years ago, when I was a career counselor, one of my colleagues at Harvard noted that she regularly saw students who came to her devastated because they had received their first lousy grade in their lives, or some professor hadn’t liked their paper. She named this phenomenon “failure deprivation syndrome.” These young people had never failed at anything, and they didn’t have the tools to handle it.

As I thought about my own life, I realized that I, too, had not suffered big setbacks at least in terms of standard achievements by which we gauge success. I did well in school, was accepted into all the colleges and graduate schools I applied to, and generally got the jobs I wanted. Sure, I worked hard and aimed for things that were reachable given my talents. You could say I deserved my rewards. My early love life was another story, but after a slow start, I even landed the guys on whom I’d set my sights. I guess I should consider myself lucky.

And then I started writing. Let’s face it. This whole business is not for sissies. Last year, I sent off queries regarding my novel to four agents; I actually heard from three. I’m told that it’s quite common to not receive a reply. One sent a form letter saying they weren’t taking on new writers. Another took the time to write back, “I didn’t love it, and I have to love it.” And a third, with whom I had had previous contact, was even more generous with her feedback, though I didn’t understand what she was telling me to do. Later, in a one-one-one manuscript review of the first twenty pages of one of my novels, a New York agent told me she didn’t feel simpatico with my protagonist.

Recently, I entered two local short story contests—in one, the odds were about 6:1, and the other, 40:1. I thought my stories were pretty good. I wondered whether I was close to the cut or tossed out after the first read. Unfortunately, I’ll never know.

I wouldn’t say I am a sore loser. A sore loser complains, blames others, doesn’t use feedback to improve. I believe I take responsibility and listen to suggestions if they are offered. Nevertheless, I can’t say I handle rejection well. It slows me down and makes me reexamine my goals. I know that people we now think of as great authors often had their novels rejected many times, and I have a copy of Pushcart’s Complete Rotten Reviews and Rejections (Ed. Bill Henderson and Andre Bernard), itself a best seller to remind myself of the variety of viewpoints out there (and that agents, reviewers, and publishers all have bad days).

But how do you know whether for you it’s just a numbers game and that someone out there will eventually like you well enough to represent you, or that your manuscript really does need more work, or that you really don’t have the talent? The agent who gave me the feedback I didn’t quite get did say that maybe someone else would like it as it was. Was she saying, “I could see how some people might respond to this, so keep sending it out?” I stopped at four agents, and maybe I should have just kept sending out my novel. Instead, I decided to take the disparate and unclear pieces of advice and do more revision. So now having stalled on that task, I am in a nowhere land. I’ve made it convenient for myself. If I don’t get it out there again, I can’t be rejected again, can I?

All of those who write need to ask ourselves why we write; how much effort to we are willing to put into it after the first one or two drafts and the inevitable suggestions; how badly we need external affirmation for our labors, especially in the form of publication by someone other than ourselves; and how much indifference or negativity from an increasingly deluged and strapped publishing industry are we willing to endure to get to that place. But I suppose that if John Le Carre could keep going after hearing, “You’re welcome to Le Carre—he hasn’t got any future,” I shouldn’t throw in the towel just yet. After all, it’s never too late to learn something new—even how to weather a little rejection.

Now didn’t I just hear about NPR’s latest 3-minute fiction contest?

On Reflecting Back: One Writer's Year

Since 1972 I have been keeping a daily log of what I do—just the basics. Last year, I resolved to complete the log in “real time” rather than relying on my fragile memory a week later, and I’ve been pretty good. The result is a better record of my life. Of course, like most good intentions, I started out with more gusto than I ended up. I know, for instance, that the first week of January, I wrote approximately 4000 words. Later on in the year, I know what days I wrote, but that’s it. But as I look back over the year, I don’t see a lot of white space, so I guess I’ve been keeping busy. In an effort to appreciate how much of my life is being devoted to my writing avocation, I have decided to summarize achievements in that arena, based on my log (fittingly, recorded in a diary called “The Writer’s Desk," with photos by Jill Krementz. The diaries are an annual Christmas gift from my husband. This year the theme is beleaguered 1950s housewives. We shall see how that inspires me!)

WRITING and REVISION:
• Began my blog in January: 24 entries.
• Completed a first draft of my novel “How to Write a Best Seller” (HTWS) on July 4th (estimating about 250 additional pages during 2009).
• Wrote one and two page synopses of HWBS as well as detailed chapter outline.
• Completed a second draft on 9/4 and gave to two people to read and critique.
• Revised opening pages of “Gina”
• Reread 7th draft of “Gina,” decided to reset it in 1980, and fixed anachronisms in entire draft.
• Rewrote first few pages of HTBS based on feedback of 2 reviewers.
• Wrote a handful of haiku (inspired by our stay in Hawaii)
• Got new idea for a linked short story collection and wrote 1.5 short stories (November/December)

WRITERS’ GROUPS/CRITIQUE:
• Paarticipated in 21 meetings of my bi-weekly writers’ group (at two hours apiece)
• Participated in a 2-minute critique session with an agent on first 20 pages of “Gina”
• Reviewed chapters of another writer friend, and met/talked with him to discuss our writing on five occasions from April to December.

READINGS:
• Attended readings of: Sarah Lawrence Lightfoot (“The Third Chapter”);”Jury of Her Peers;” Jane Hamilton (“Laura Rider’s Masterpiece); Four Stories, Tracy Kidder; book party for “Map, an autobiorgraphy of my CCAE teacher; Steve Almond and Page M. Guttenberg machine demonstration at the Harvard Book Store; Ha Jin.

RESEARCH & SUBMISSIONS:
• Researched agents, sent out three query letters for “Gina in the Floating World” (eventually heard from two)
• Entered “Book in a Nutshell” contest and one line hook contest
• Researched synopses on websites

CLASSES, WORKSHOPS, PANELS, and FESTIVALS:
• Participated in 7-week Novel Development Class at Cambridge Center for Adult Education; reviewed and critiqued classmates’ outlines.
• Participated in full weekend Grub Street workshop “The Art of Language,” and one-day workshop on “Cinefiction.”
• Attended one full day of Muse and the Marketplace (including 4 workshops and keynote Ann Patchett); Boston Book Festival (multiple workshops); Somerville Book Festival (talked to authors)
• Attended shorter workshops on “Should I be on the Web?” and “Writers’ Contracts” sponsored by PEN; “Nail the Opening,” “Avoid Rejection,” and “Ask the Agent” sponsored by Grub Street.
• Attended panels of debut authors at BPL; “Muses, Monsters, and Mentors” at the Brattle Theatre; “Adaptations” at Coolidge Corner.

MISCELLANEOUS:
• Organized my writing drawer on several occasions

Of course, this list doesn’t include novels read, movies that give me ideas, or conversations about writing. Despite full-time work that pays the bills, I really have been devoting a lot of time to this endeavor –almost like my own private MFA! Now if only I could graduate….

On Using the Myers Briggs Type Indicator to Create Character Personalities

A challenge for any fiction writer whose books are not solely plot driven is to develop memorable characters. These characters should be distinguishable from one another by their quirks, styles of speech, and patterns of behavior, and as they change, they should act in believable and consistent manners. Over the span of 300 or more pages, this is no small feat. There are tools we can draw on from other fields to provide a framework. One of my favorites is the Myers Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), which I enthusiastically embraced in my former lives as a career counselor and administrator.

Katherine Briggs and her daughter Isabel Briggs Meyers expanded on Carl Jung’s theory of psychological types and made it more accessible. Although developed several decades before, the MBTI came into vogue in the 1980s when a number of books about it were published, including the second edition of A Guide to the Development and Use of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (Isabel Briggs Myers and Mary H. McCaulley, Palo Alto: Consulting Psychologists Press, Inc., 1985) as well as the more popular Please Understand Me (David Kiersey and Marilyn Bates, 1978; new version now available). For awhile the MBTI was a very popular in corporate settings.

In brief, the MBTI poses four dichotomous scales designed to describe a person’s preferences in relation to her perceptions and actions. The names that were assigned to these scales can be a bit misleading in that they may conjure up images different from those intended. Simplistically put, the four scales are:

Introversion (I)-extroversion (E): Where does your psychic energy come from? Extroverts obtain much of their energy from being with others; introverts prefer being inside their own heads and may be drained by spending too much time with others, especially large groups. (Many actors and writers are introverts in this sense; many salespeople are extroverts.) Note that extroverts are much more common than introverts.

Sensing (S)-intuition (N): How do you collect and generate information? The sensing person focuses on concrete information and details gathered through their five senses. The intuitive person prefers the world of possibilities and ideas. (For examples of a sensor versus an intuitor, think George W. Bush versus Franklin Roosevelt or Abraham Lincoln.) However, although we may associate creativity with intuitors, sensors can also be very creative.

Thinking (T)-feeling (F): How do you process information, especially to make decisions? The thinking person uses analysis and logic. The feeling person is more concerned with values and emotions. (Think Barack Obama versus Bill Clinton.) Note that women are more likely to be feelers, and men thinkers.

Judging (J)-perceiving (P): How do you operate in the world? The judging person likes to organize their world and prefers closure. The perceiver is more spontaneous and continues to collect information. (Think Felix versus Oscar in The Odd Couple.)

After completing a multi-item assessment, each person can be classified into a four letter type, and each of the 16 resulting types also has distinct characteristics beyond the sum of its parts. (Of course, on some scales, people may be more of a mixture; in others they may have much stronger preferences.) However, I’ve found that even a knowledge of the four scales provides useful information, especially to truly grasp why someone may think or act differently from you. As a partner, manager, subordinate, co-worker, or friend, you can manage your own expectations of others’ behavior much better if you understand their type preferences. Setting aside the arguments that the MBTI doesn’t describe all aspects of personality (and has its detractors), it covers a lot of the ground where tensions between people can arise.

Back in the world of fiction, these inherent tensions between types can also provide the fodder for conflict in fiction. Imagine the high J (judger) becoming very frustrated with the high P (perceiver), who seems incapable of making a decision. At the same time, the P accuses the J of being rigid. Or the high T (thinker) may ridicule the high F for being illogical while the high F may think that the high T has no heart. The high E can stay at a party all night, but the high I has had enough after a short while and would rather go home and read a good book.

There are hundreds of references on the MBTI. A useful, though not definitive, URL is ODportal.com. To use the MBTI in the way it was designed to be used requires formal training and certification, but for the writer, the fun is in the description of type and seeing how these different types might aid in character development.

On Taking the Plunge and Other Ways to Open a Story

Image:FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I start most of my stories by leaping headfirst in scene, into the action. But the opening to my first novel isn’t working, and I couldn’t figure out why. It has high stakes, lots of tension, an unusual setting. Why, after countless rewrites, is it still not doing its job?

Recently, for the long drive back from my college reunion, a friend had lent me some short stories on tape. I listened to these stories as much to learn something about structure as to be entertained. What struck me was that several of these began somewhat languidly, laying out a back story, poking around the head of a key character, or stepping way out for a view of a place or a time in history. If I believed that a novel should start in the middle of things, I had even surer convictions that a short story must catch our attention even more quickly. How else to do this than to plough right in? Clearly, despite regular evidence to the contrary in my own reading, my vision had been clouded by something I had learned or heard that had etched itself in my writer’s brain.

A few days later, thanks to Grub Street Writers instructor, Jasmine Beach-Ferrara, and her informative three hour workshop, “Nailing the Opening,” I now have the language to apply to my analysis. Ms. Beach-Ferrara laid out a framework (along with easy to remember names) of five different kinds of openings that could also be combined with each other. These are:

• “The Plunge.” That’s me. Immediate, out of the gate, immersion into the action.
• “The Wind-up.” A more deliberate entry that may cover a lot of time, maybe even recounting a backstory.
• “The Rumination.” I begin a lot of chapters with these, but I’ve never begun a story this way. In this opening, a character ponders “life’s truths.” The rumination is particularly useful to introduce the voice of a first person character and may give us some sense of the theme of the story/book.
• "The Aerial View.” This kind of opening orients us to the world we are about to see. It is useful when that world operates differently from the one we know. The aerial view is distancing.
• "The Hook." We all know this as the clever sentence or two that immediately snares us, intrigues us, surprises us, makes us take notice and want to know more.

Of course, many stories combine these kinds of openings. Later, I went back to some of my favorite novels to see how they began. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest introduces us to our narrator, Chief. At first glance, it looks like “The Plunge.” We are in the middle of a scene, but it is a scene that has probably played out before. Kesey skillfully lays out the unfamiliar world of the mental institution for us, giving us an “aerial view,” but at closer range. In Catcher in the Rye, Holden insists he doesn’t want to give you any back story, but then he does (A Windup)along with some rumination until he gets us to where his story begins. We have an immediate idea of who this character is, and we are along for the ride. Memoirs of a Geisha, another first person narrative, begins with a short rumination before leading us into the tale that takes place in chronological order. In contrast, the curious incident of the dog in the night-time, takes a short plunge, gives us a piece of back story to help us understand the narrator, and then brings us back to the action.

In that short evening class, we had the opportunity to apply four different opening techniques to a piece we were working on. In just eight minutes each, I spent time in my narrator’s head making observations about this new identity she had assumed (rumination), had her consider the past that brought her to that place (wind-up), described the strange world she inhabited (aerial view), and had her jump in and out of the water more quickly than I had before. What a simple, yet brilliant exercise that forced me out of my comfortable patterns! Now I am so giddy with the possibilities, I hardly know where to begin….

On Creative Symbiosis

Before I wrote regularly, I took photographs. I bought my first “real” camera right before college graduation. That summer I traveled across the USA to California for the first time, followed by two months in Europe (in the $5 dollars a day era.) Film was expensive, and I think I used up exactly one roll of 36 slides without having tested my camera.

Over time and with a larger budget at my disposal, I switched to print film. Along the way, I figured out what I enjoyed capturing. I began to find my photographic “voice.” And sometimes, I produced some pretty good photos. Occasionally, someone even paid me to take photographs. I took workshops, but mostly I just kept taking pictures and figuring out what worked. Never a lot, just regularly over a lot of years. There’s much to be said for practice.

Digital photography has allowed me to be more adventurous. With no film to waste, I can take some chances, look for different angles, zoom in to the details, zoom out to catch the entire context (with my trusty wide angle to zoom lens). Even better, I can see the approximate results instantly. I compose my shots as carefully (or as impulsively as before). Other than a little cropping, I try to keep my fiddling around with the images afterwards to a minimum. (I’m not into the technology of photo-editing. I want to get it right when I hit the shutter.)

But now that I write, photography is even more satisfying as a creative outlet. The two activities complement each other, using different parts of my brain. There are similarities. Both involve using my imagination, telling a story, deciding on the focus. They are both visual media—in one case I must decide which part of the visual world I want to represent and in what way; in the other, I must paint that visual world with words.

But they are very different, as well. Novel writing, though enjoyable, is a labor intensive, indoor, and lonely pursuit. In contrast, photography for me is an outgrowth of other activities, such as travel. Because my husband is a photographer, I often have company. And the turn around time is quick. Go home, download, select, edit if needed, and print.

Each year, I choose one of my favorite photos and make holiday cards for my friends and family. Many a time I have visited a friend in July only to see my photo on the mantle. Instant external approval and gratification. And then there are the occasional requests from friends and colleagues for enlargements, with no marketing on my part.

In contrast, after months of writing a first draft, there are the revisions, feedback, more revisions, fine tooth editing, query letter creation, etc. before one even thinks of sending out the precious novel into the world for professional scrutiny. Then come the rejection letters, often months after the initial query was sent out. The self doubt. Renewed scrutiny of the manuscript. More revisions…..I can tell myself that the real accomplishment was completing such a mammoth project, that if I want to see my book in print, I can self-publish (sort of like printing up one of those photo books). But after all the expenditure of energy, after each revision, I am even more reluctant to give up. I am too invested. (It’s like waiting in that long line; once you’ve been there an hour, you’re not going to leave, or it will feel like you've wasted your time.)

Maybe I’ll get out my new camera instead. Maybe today will be the day I’ll shoot the photo that will be worthy of the annual holiday card, or maybe I’ll just stumble on an interesting pattern. And if I don’t, it doesn’t matter. With a blink of an eye, I’ll feel my creative spirit renewed, ready to tackle the character that needs some extra “spark,” or that scene that isn’t quite credible. It’s a symbiosis that works for me at the moment.

Of course, there’s always my blog. Not as quick as a photo, but it looks very professional up there on the screen. Just like a real writer….and once in awhile I even get a real reader!

On Procrastination and Swiss Cheese

For the last six months a forbiddingly large package has been sitting in my hallway. Although of sentimental value, the painting that was entombed in the package was not something I needed in the near future, and the box was not particularly in the way. But its constant presence served as a reminder of a seemingly daunting task that needed to be completed. This was not an ordinary package. Approximately 40 mammoth staples were deeply embedded through a covering of heavy corrugated cardboard. In short, the removal of the painting seemed akin to storming Fort Knox. Each day I passed this giant object, I felt increasingly annoyed, frustrated, and guilty.

Then last night, as I lay awake, I visualized a process involving a screwdriver and a hammer that even I, a physically small person, might be able to manage. When an enjoyable but long phone call ate into my planned workout at the gym, I decided that the time had come to tackle the monster. Wedging out the staples along three sides, cutting through the masses of tape around the inner cardboard box, and unearthing the painting shrouded in a blanket took exactly one-half hour. Thirty lousy minutes! How many half hours have I wasted over the last six months when I could have polished off this chore and stopped it from haunting me?

Of course, this project serves as a metaphor for all those things put off because they felt too time consuming, too overwhelming in scope, or too likely to lead to failure. Sometimes, the build up to the task takes more energy than the task itself, which may be dispatched with a short, concerted effort, as with the unbundling of my package or cleaning the bathroom. We just have to commit that small amount of time. On other occasions a delay of the simplest of tasks may lead to greater problems, such as the fine I once received for failing to affix my new parking permit by the deadline—a parking permit that was already sitting in my glove compartment. A one minute task!

But what about the really intimidating projects—especially the ones we are so personally invested in, like writing that novel or sending the completed manuscript out to agents? Here I like to use something I once heard called the “swiss cheese approach,” which involves breaking a very large project down into much smaller steps—writing the first paragraph of the query letter, writing the second paragraph, etc., giving it to three trusted colleagues for review, revising once, revising again, doing a web search or index review to make a list of five plausible agents, researching each of them and their requirements, addressing five envelopes, etc., each step designed to take just a moderate amount of time. It may be long plod, but we arrive just the same.

The key, as with the big package, is psyching oneself up (maybe through a little visualization? A reminder from a buddy?), not using other undone tasks as excuses (I can’t write until I’ve done the laundry, played solitaire on-line, cleaned out my email box…) and then just getting started. Time management experts suggest that each day, no matter what other expectations await, we aim to check off at least one item on our own “most important” list. (Note: Not someone else’s priorities for you, but your very own—those things for which you live and breathe.) Punch a hole in that project until there is no cheese left! I conquered the oversized package, but the real accomplishment of my day was using my effort to create my next blog entry. However, my self-congratulatory mode expires at midnight. Tomorrow is another day. Now where was that agent list I made a few weeks ago…..?