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a writer's journal
Saturday, July 5, 2003
I've generated note cards with ideas for mini-scenes
within the major scene that lies ahead in the novel. And one of these
suggests a backstory element that must be inserted in the opening
chapters, an elaboration on the apple tree incident. It's an element which
will stand well on its own and seem complete. So the reader should
experience an unexpected resonance when this long ago act also plays into
how the present-day story unfolds.
What has me halted right now is this: There are two
directions the novel can go, and there seems to be no way that both can be
combined, as much as that appeals to me. Either direction requires LeAnn's
full involvement, and one would certainly overwhelm the other in her mind
and heart if both situations develop. Unless I can construct a bridge of
sorts between the two, that is. It would have to be done carefully, so it
does not stick out, does not announce itself as the author-contrivance
that it, in fact, would be. I'm reluctant to trash either story direction,
but I truly fear that I'll end up constructing an ungainly thing, neither
fish nor fowl, that lack's a novel's necessary unity. I'll seek possible
ways to tie the two together for a while longer. A few more days, maybe.
No more than that.
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Robert Olen Butler mentioned casting director Michael Shurtleff's books on actor preparation for their roles, talked about how
much of what Shurtleff writes also applies to the fiction writer. I've
been reading Audition this week. In it, he contends that
opposites can exist within a character almost simultaneously, or at least
feelings and motivations that appear to be opposites. Actors (and
writers) try too often to make their characters consistent on a logical
basis. In fact, characters need only be consistent in their dreams and
yearnings, and those can be manifested in many ways, some of which may
appear inconsistent when viewed from the perspective of logic. And they
can easily display a wider emotional range than the actor/author might
expect.
So now I think my competing storylines might work,
given a dream-driven LeAnn.
Saturday, July 19, 2003
Bob Sloan, whose new short story collection
Bearskin to Holly Fork is just out, and poets Charlie Hughes and
Steven Cope read at Berea Arts Council's ArtSpace this past Thursday.
Despite marginal publicity, we had a decent turnout. I ended up
introducing the readers, and they sold a few books and Cope's music CDs,
so we'll call it a success.
The novel inches forward. I'm reasonably pleased with
the few pages being added, although the quantity is way below my usual
rate. I think it's a reflection of where I am in the story, what would
amount to the climax of act one, if this were a play. George Brosi gave me
a lead on a book describing a particular aspect of Appalachian culture
that I'm researching for the novel, trying to make details of an upcoming
scene as authentic as possible. I purchased a copy online and have begun
reading.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
After another week of research reading, a week of
face-to-face feedback from my Lexington critique group, and a week of
adding very few new pages to the novel-in-progress, I leave tomorrow
morning for Hindman Settlement School and the Appalachian Writers
Workshop. I am ready for a week of camaraderie with others afflicted, of
sessions taught by writers I admire, of hearing others read their work in
a mountain setting, and maybe reading something of my own to them, too.
Mostly, I need to get my writing batteries recharged, because this current
novel, the beast with no name, is demanding all the energy and mental
focus and endurance I can muster.
Sunday, July 27, 3003 -- Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman
Settlement School
Arrive at Hindman Settlement School late in the
afternoon, sign in, lug my suitcase to the top floor of The Quiltmaker
Inn, and unpack. Then it is down to the dining hall, where I hug a few old
friends and meet a few new ones. In the evening, Anne Shelby performs her
one-woman play, "Lone Pilgrim, Songs and Stories of Aunt Molly Jackson."
Monday, July 28, 2003 -- Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman
Settlement School
With simultaneous sessions going on, every one you choose to
attend means you're foregoing another. I'd love to sit in on 'Memoir,'
which is led by the dynamic Joyce Dyer. Her reading at last year's
workshop, Safety Shoes, still echoes in memory. And Marie
Bradby is leading Children's Literature and Sandy Ballard 'Non-fiction'
and George Ella Lyon and Cathy Bowers 'Poetry,' all sessions I'd love to
sit in on, if only to absorb how they work. But alas….
I was admitted to the workshop based on my novel
manuscript pages (Ch4-6). I'll attend the 'Novel' sessions led by Silas
House and Pamela Duncan. And with a favorite author, Ron Rash, joining
Chris Holbrook for 'Short Story' this year, I simply must attend
those sessions, too. Maybe next year I can sit in on some others.
Rash and Holbrook talk about the importance of
openings, of creating questions in the reader's mind, in coaxing them to
'lean into the story.' Another tidbit -- naming places takes them out of
the bland generic, makes them specific and real to the reader. Another
nugget quoted by Silas House -- All novels are mysteries; all novels are
love stories.
After lunch literary agent Deborah Carter of Mysterious
Content Literary Agency talks about finding an agent and fields questions.
I'll query her next week with Tucson Winter.
Each afternoon, participants read from their work.
Organized by Barbara Smith, each reading is limited to seven minutes, more
or less. What a treat this is each year, wonderful writing and great
reading. I've read here in the past, but won't this year. I'm too deep
into the novel, and troubled by it. But that won't keep me from enjoying
those who do read.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003 -- Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman
Settlement School
Every morning I'm up earlier than most. Fortunately,
there's coffee brewed in the cafeteria by six. I stumble in. A few folks
sit around a table. Others arrive to rock on the porch, talk weather and
politics, get acquainted or reacquainted.
Ron Rash talks about 'character wanting' as the essence
of story, a comment which echoes Robert Olen Butler, who considers
'character yearning' as a hallmark of the best fiction. A character's
obsession may reveal a yearning that he's not aware of on a conscious
level. Assume that your short story audience is intelligent. Do not
over-explain or wrap the story ending in a neat bow.
Silas House and Pamela Duncan talk about showing
character emotion by body posture, by how a voice sounds, by how the
character moves in his environment. Other nuggets: Showing a character in
the act of eating humanizes him. Even a villain should have someone or
something he truly loves.
Evening readings open with Leatha Kendrick and Marie
Bradby. Then Ron Rash reads two poems and a new short story that leaves
everyone in the room breathless. The evening ends with a performance by
singer, instrumentalist, and folk music expert Betty Smith.
Wednesday, July 30, 2003 Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman
Settlement School
Chris Holbrook and Rash talk about regional dialogue in
Appalachian fiction. They warn against transcribing how people really
speak. Dialogue in fiction is more like proper English with the patterns,
rhythms, and idioms lightly applied. When read aloud, your third-person
narrator should also sound as though he belongs in the environment of your
story, not through dialect but through rhythm and diction.
Silas House relates a piece of advice given to him by James
Still. Learn to be still, to observe, and let your characters do the same
thing. Much depth in fiction comes from the moments of reverie when the
character is alone, when he isn't in motion, isn't striving, but slips
into contemplation and reflection. Then House and Duncan discuss ways to
create a sense of place in fiction. It's not just the physical landscape,
but also (1) how characters interact with each other, (2) the food, (3)
the economy and workforce, (4) the dialogue and dialect, and (5) their
religion and value system.
In the evening, Wendell Berry gives the Jim Wayne
Miller Lecture, reading from his current novel manuscript which is set, as
are several others he has written, in fictional Port William, KY. His
control of story, the subtlety of his dialogue and narration, the depth of
his characters all shine through. And afterwards, the Amburgy Bluegrass
Band play. Dancers and cloggers take the floor then, led by Silas House
and Renee Lyons and a half dozen other writers. I watch and enjoy. Later,
we go up to apartment two for informal music and singing by workshop
folks--Betty Smith, Pia Seagrave, Deborah Thompson, George Ella Lyons,
Michael Wells and others soloing and harmonizing. It's one o'clock before
I syumble back to the Quiltmaker Inn.
Thursday, July 31, 2003 -- Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman
Settlement School
Last night's Wendell Berry reading is used by Ron Rash
to illustrate a point: Great writing sounds effortless, but it is hard
work to write fiction that is true to the human condition. Chris Holbrook
talks about pacing, about blending dialogue and description and background
and action, about shifting from one to the other as seamlessly as
possible. None of this happens easily. Easy reading writing is hard work.
Ron Rash advised writers to risk sentimentality, to
avoid the cynical and ironic, the clever and disdainful. He gave as
examples two similar stories by Raymond Carver, "The Bath" from early in
his career, and "A Small Good Thing." In the former, the author holds
himself above his characters and their story. In his later work, Carver
seems more personally involved, less clever and ironic, and that gives the
story greater emotional impact.
Before the afternoon participant readings, Leatha
Kendrick describes the process of screenwriting for the film she wrote for
KET last year, a film on photographer Doris Ullman and her work
documenting the people of Appalachia during the 1930s. Evening readings
are a short story by Barbara Smith, a remembrance of an uncle by Joyce
Dyer, an excerpt from his forthcoming novel The Coal Tattoo
by Silas House, and poetry and a story by George Ella Lyon. Then it's up
to apartment two for another night of group singing.
Friday, August 1, 2003 -- Appalachian Writers Workshop at Hindman
Settlement School
Hard to believe it's already Friday, that this will be
my last early morning coffee on the porch for another year.
Rash and Holbrook suggest writers to read and study for
technique -- Cormac McCarthy, William Trevor, Mary Ward Brown, Tim
O'Brien, Bobbie Ann Mason, and others. House and Duncan offer advice:
Surrender to the novel and its characters. It's not the story that makes
the novel, it's the way you tell it. Reveal yourself on the page, even if
it can't be seen by anyone else, you'll know it's there. That will spark
your fiction alive.
Then it's lunch and goodbyes and I'm driving home to a
lawn that needs mowing and I'm feeling invigorated, ready again to attack
my novel-beast.
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