The Craft of Writing -- am I too late?

One of my favorite blogs to read is Meg Waite Clayton’s 1st Books: Stories of How Writers Get Started. Meg, the author of the national bestseller The Wednesday Sisters, often has guests write a column about how they do what they do, the ups and downs and the trials and tribulations of writing, selling, publishing and promoting their books and all other matters related to writing.

Today’s post was by Catherine Brady the author of three short story collections including Curled in the Bed of Love the winner of the 2002 Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction. Brady has authored a new book called Story Logic and the Craft of Fiction.

Reading Brady’s post about her process in teaching creative writing to graduate students and what brought her to publishing the latest book, I am filled with regret.

Posts like these make me sorry I gave up on myself and never finished college. I have lots of starts in college, actually very close to having an Associate Degree but have never just knuckled down and gotten it or any degree. Brady’s class actually sounds like fun to me, I mean if you can have fun diagramming sentences.

It has been a very, make that a very very long time since I diagrammed a sentence. Remember, I’m old. I’m not sure I could even do it anymore. These days I write on gut instinct. When someone else, smarter than me, reads my work they will sometimes find some errors but overall I don’t completely butcher the English language, except for those times that I completely butcher the English language.

When hearing about authors that are successful, not just commercially successful, but those that write well, that are considered talented writers, they often talk about learning the craft of writing. I know it is a good thing.

I’m all for learning; think we should keep doing it for as long as we’re able. However, here I reach a conundrum (I’ve always wanted to use that word in a post somewhere).

Conundrum: n.

1. A riddle in which a fanciful question is answered by a pun.
2. A paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma

My dilemma? Do I concentrate on going back to school to learn the craft of writing, to re-learn how to diagram a sentence and understand more clearly the rules of English? Is it essential to writing well? Or, should I instead concentrate on what I have started and just continue to write.

Remember, I told you, I’m old. Good lord I could be 100 years old by the time I finish school, if my past record is any indication. By then I may be too old or feeble-minded to write anything at all, much less beautiful prose.

I love the idea of going back to school, making up for the idiocy of my youth and actually trying to learn something. I certainly have the time, but I am not rich and education is not cheap. But, I wonder, will it take away my determination to write fiction, to finish the memoir as I become once more overwhelmed by homework, studying, and reading. If I decide to go back, I don’t want to do so half-way. I want to give it my all. The same I want to give to my writing now.

Is it just the idea of school that I like or could I possibly do both, school and write?

My rant for today: It is mildly annoying to me that I have to wait another 4+ months before Meg’s next book, The Four Ms. Bradwells is released. I hate waiting even though I already think the wait will be worth it.

Learning Lessons Learned

If it doesn’t serve you and the highest good of all… let it go.


Release the unnecessary…


the unhealthy…


the unproductive.


--Kate McLaughlin 

It has been a difficult week for me. Not the writing, although that is almost always difficult in some way, trying to find just the right words and putting them in just the right order.

No, this week it has more to do with lessons I’m trying to learn (or is it re-learn). You would think that at my age, I would have already learned them but I still struggle.

I find myself angry and hurt over other people’s behavior, even when it has little to do with me personally. I feel anger that someone is not behaving in what I would consider the appropriate way given certain circumstances. Hurt that people I care about sometimes seem self centered and concerned only with their own happiness. Maybe it is that I wish others could look inside me and see that I have done what they are doing and it only leads to hurt. But, it is near impossible and not helpful to say you should learn from my past and my mistakes. Everyone has to make their own.

My tongue feels bloody from biting down on it, trying not to react, trying not to interject in something not my business.

I wonder sometimes how my behavior affects others, have I also been so self-serving? Have I been unkind when I could have as easily been caring? I’m certain I have.

Sometimes I want to start over, move somewhere else, live a different life and try to do it differently than I am doing it now, because this one doesn’t seem to be working the way I want it to.

All this anxiety clogs up my brain, keeps me from looking clearly at my revisions, at my writing, at my life.

It feels like it is time for a spring-cleaning, even though it isn’t spring, get rid of the unused, unnecessary, cluttering hurtful things in my life and my head and give myself a clean slate to work with.

Wanted: Writing Partner

"Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself." 
— Franz Kafka

I’m trying to decide the best way to proceed. The revisions continue, I fought through a particularly rough part (honesty about others and myself can sometimes be painful). It is slow going, I get on a roll and do well for a couple of days then get in the dumps and can’t seem to write a single word.

I’m not complaining though. I’m trying to take the bull by the horns, as it were, and figure out how to make myself the most productive I can be. Well at least in terms of my writing. Productivity everywhere else in my life is just too big a job to tackle right now.

When I was first working on the first draft, I was in a writer’s workshop. They were six-week workshops but I went to the same workshop facilitator about three or four times in a row, then I also worked with her privately. It kept me writing. Having that looming deadline within which I had to produce something to read at the following week’s workshop kept me going. Guilt can be a powerful motivator. Again, I as usual want to be the pleaser, didn’t want to be the “one” who showed up unprepared or empty-handed. So I wrote, and revised and wrote some more. It got me a completed first draft.

I didn’t always like the comments about my writing. Other days I didn’t like that there were hardly any comments at all. (Yes, I know, I’m kinda hard to please.) I, in fact, didn’t always “like” all the other members of the workshop. Well I didn’t necessarily know them that well; I just didn’t have much in common with them and couldn’t get into whatever it was they were writing. But, I put forward my best effort to be helpful, constructive, and supportive, whether I liked their writing or not. They may not have “liked” me either, but they were kind, helpful, and respectful of my work.

I haven’t been to a workshop in several months. The facilitator has been busy trying to do silly things, like make a living. (Huh, who would have thought?)

My friend E. Victoria Flynn over at Penny Jars (can I call you that Victoria? I mean we really only know each other virtually), recently wrote about getting together with a couple other women writers to talk about writing, about life about whatever. I was soooo jealous.

Side note: If you get a chance you really shouldn't miss the opportunity to meet EVF and her blog Penny Jars. She is an amazing woman, a great poet and writer and a very cool mom to adorable kids -- in fact she's the kind of mom most kids probably wish they had.

It made me think; maybe I need to find a writing partner. Someone I could bounce ideas off or who will offer an opinion or suggestions. Maybe someone who will just offer a friendly ear, or we can chat over coffee. Maybe someone who will hold me accountable to help keep me writing. Or even someone I could write with, work together on a project?

I have friends (okay one friend) who I turn to often for advice, for help, for support (thank you MendiD). But I am starting to think maybe I need to try and find someone locally; someone that I can meet with in a coffee shop, in person, who will give me “that look” if I get flakey and don’t write or am not honest in what I write. Someone I might see face to face if I am not dependable, someone I couldn’t avoid. Scary thought. It means, at least in the beginning, putting myself out there to a stranger and risking rejection.

Sometimes wish I could just get on a plane, fly to Arizona where I know there is a friendly face, or even to Wisconsin and visit in person that virtual friend for some good coffee and writing support.

I’m kind of tired of the solitariness of writing and feel the need for the warmth of some company.

Recognizing Valor and Praying for Peace

On Wednesday while sitting at my desk and writing, I  would sneak quick looks at Tweetdeck to see what was going on. Just one more way to procrastinate. There was a link to the White House to watch President Obama present the Congressional Medal of Honor (posthumously) to Staff Sergeant Robert J. Miller of the United States Army. What a sobering event. If you have never watched such a ceremony or read about the  Congressional Medal of Honor recipients I urge you to do so. In fact I highly recommend a book, Medal of Honor by Allen Mikaelian and Mike Wallace. It provides a fascinating history of the Medal of Honor and some of it's receipients and Wallace provides commentary about the wars the recipients fought in.

One, the CMH is the highest military honor that can be bestowed upon a military member. They aren’t given lightly or very often. In fact, since the first which was awarded in 1863 to a Civil War Private, just under 3,470 have been awarded. Only eight medals of honor have been awarded since the end of the Vietnam War. Unfortunately, far too often, they are given posthumously.

The story of Staff Sgt. Miller was inspiring. It was for actions in Afghanistan in 2008. Here is a link to the full story. I was once again reminded of how long we have already been in Afghanistan at war, and, sadly, how long we will likely still be there.

I wondered about Robert’s parents and siblings, all there for the presentation. In fact one of Robert’s brothers was so inspired by Robert’s actions that he has enlisted in the army and is also attempting to be a Green Beret like his brother.

Miller sounds like an exemplary human being, a great son, a great brother, a wonderful friend and an outstanding soldier, leader and teammate. It must have been gratifying for his parents to hear such high praise for their son, but certainly at what cost. Such a great honor, but like so many other recipients Robert made the ultimate sacrifice.

Possibly this event touched me even more, as my son Brendan is now back in San Diego at Camp Pendleton as he prepares to once again be deployed. He knows he is going to Afghanistan, he isn’t sure where in Afghanistan. He is scheduled to leave about November 11^th, Veteran’s Day. Ironic isn’t it?

I hate it --  the war -- that he is going there. I am proud of him. He too is a great son and brother and I know he is a good leader and a good Marine, recently promoted to Corporal. I just have to try and believe that he will remain safe and return home safely  in 8 months with all the members of his company. I don't want him or any of his fellow marines to have to attend such a ceremony.

No matter what you think of the war, the military, the President or anything else, please keep those serving in your thoughts and if prayer is part of your life, this is a good reason for one.

Making a Difference

Back on August 29^th on She Writes, agent Erin Hosier wrote a blog post titled, What Makes a Great English Teacher?.  Erin had recently reconnected with one of her favorite high school English teachers via Facebook and interviewed her in her post.

Later that week, on September  3^rd, She Writes co-founder, Deborah Siegel wrote a post titled Back to School on a Note of Gratitude, in which she decided more than interviewing her favorite English teacher she really wanted to thank her . Deborah wrote a brief but very lovely note to her favorite English teacher, the one who inspired Deborah and as Deborah put it, “propelled her in the direction that led to a PhD in English Lit”, and later to She Writes. Deborah invited other She Writers to shout out to those teachers that inspired and influenced each of us.

I have been considering that post ever since. Yes, I had a few teachers who made a huge difference in my life; a sixth grade teacher who always made me feel that excelling was never something to be ashamed of and encouraged me to read, anything and everything. And my high school Advanced Lit teacher, who inspired me to go beyond the high school reading lists and look for other works that spoke to me.

But what I really have been thinking about is just the general affect a great teacher can have on any one of us and particularly those that are the defining person in one young student’s life.

Why, might you ask, would I think of this? Because one of my closest friends and a fellow She Writer is a first grade teacher. Mendi Davis writes a blog called 1st Grade Tales which documents many of the day to day events in her classroom.

We speak to each other often on the phone. I remember so clearly last year as we would speak and she would tell me of one particular student who she had a love/hate relationship with. Mendi teaches in a school filled with many students from low-income families, in an area plagued by gangs. She has had many students who have stories of one or another family members being in or getting out of jail or prison, parents who have been killed in gang related violence, and for these kids, that is the norm.

I would often think, I could never do it. I doubt I would have the patience she does. But as she told me last year about this student, one she affectionately calls in her blog Mr. Stinky Attitude, no matter how much he tried her patience with his bad attitude or his dysfunctional family there was always something there. It became apparent that his attitude got worse at times when he was most seeking some boundaries in his life, rules that he could follow, consequences for bad behavior. And it appears, she was the one person who consistently provided those things for him.

By the end of the school year last year, Mendi was exhausted, wanting only to be done with Mr. Stinky Attitude in her classroom. He had tried every last bit of her patience and gotten on every last nerve.

Mendi is not one to toot her own horn or to take credit for even things she clearly could take credit for. So I’ll toot her horn for her.This year, Mr. Stinky Attitude has had what one might call a miraculous turn-around.  He is generally happy to be at school, particularly happy to run and give his favorite teacher, Mrs. Davis a hug and to show her how well he is doing in school, to show her his good grades and good marks for his behavior.

This year as well, Mendi has a new student to try her patience. This student it appears has some major issues which often manifest themselves in fits of blood curdling screaming for hours, crawling under his desk and throwing tantrums until he finally falls asleep due to sheer exhaustion. The “educational system” isn’t helping him much and his mother who appears to be in denial about the seriousness of his problems looks to be using the school as a babysitter for her son. This little boy is already nearing that last nerve of Mendi’s.

I want to remind her though, to keep on doing what she does, what few others can do. She is making the difference in a child’s life. She is the stability in that one little boy’s life, she is the one that will be there for him if he can find a way to succeed in a mainstream classroom, but she will also be the one who expect great things from him, that gives him boundaries and consequences.

I imagine that some day, when asked about any teacher that made a difference in his life, Mr. Stinky Attitude will gratefully point to Mrs. Davis and say, “she did because she refused to let me be just a product of my environment. She allowed me to realize that if I recognized the boundaries and believed in myself and worked most on being a good human being, anything is possible”.

So, instead of recognizing just my favorite English teacher, or my favorite teacher of any subject, I would more like to recognize those teachers that do the impossible, day in and day out, teaching children that others have already given up on, giving some kids from hopeless situations some real hope in their lives and making a difference in the lives of children.

I urge you to visit Mendi’s blog and see how things are going this week in first grade. 

"One hundred years from now, It will not matter what kind of car I drove, What kind of house I lived in, Or how much money I had in the bank, But the world may be a better place because I made a difference in a child's life." ... Unknown Author

Note: Just before publishing this post I went over the Mendi's blog for a quick glance, usually I read her posts about 20 minutes after she publishes them. Funny, there right at the top was her most recent post which I had not yet read. It is all about Mr. Stinky Attitude and how she spent some time with him this past weekend. Some things just happen for a reason, no explanation.