Category Archives: Antics

Give me a sailor and let me run away to sea

Antics, Travel, Writing, ,

This is the thing about writing…  I get to fall in love over and over again.   And not just over shiny story ideas.  I know writers gush about that a lot, but I tend to make an idea prove itself to me before I commit.

(Run with that, Dr. Freud.)

No, I fall in love with the deep substance of the story and–especially with nonfiction–the subjects.

Last week, I spent three days in Astoria, Oregon, doing research for a new book project on the pilots who work the Columbia River bar.

I interviewed two pilots, toured the boat basin and climbed aboard both of the pilot transport boats (Chinook and Columbia), and checked out their shiny new helicopter at the airport.  And, in a completely unexpected turn, one of the pilots offered to let me ride along as they transferred a pilot to an inbound bulk carrier ship.

AMAZING!!!

The two bar pilots I interviewed held me rapt.  I could have listened to them talk for hours.  And if you had been there and heard the way they talked about the sea and the ships and the life of a sailor, you would’ve fallen in love too.  And if you had been on Chinook, zooming across the most dangerous river to ocean crossing in the world, you would have lusted for the power of her engines, the grace of her handling, and the perfection of her lines.

You would fall in love too.

 

Matt de la Pena,the NYT, darkness in YA, Clive Cussler, and why I read

Antics, My Reads

Forgive my refusal to engage in complete sentences today.  Scattershot list of things inspiring today’s post:

1.  Kerfuffle on Twitter and Blogosphere about darkness in YA (I’m not even going to link to it) and a call for ratings on books (again… google yourself if you want such silliness).

2.  Being too tired to read much after writing so hard.

3.  Fifty Shades of Grey and a recent Clive Cussler novel dominate the NYT bestseller lists this week.

4.  Great essay in the New York Times by YA author Matt de la Pena (follow the links!) about reading solely for escape.  And while I insist you read the whole essay, this quote knocked me on my ass:

If there’s such a thing as emotional gravity, it’s the invisible force that continually pulls humans back down to their natural resting state of melancholy. Life is sad, man.

5.  A friend’s recent comment that she reads for “hope.”

6. Kristen Stewart’s recent rant about Twilight, criticism, and fame in Vanity Fair.

If you are wondering where I am going with all of this… so am I.  If I were Chuck Wendig, I’d thrown in a lot of expletives here.  But I’m not so I’ll go for a few semi-coherent thoughts.

The YA that I read (and write) is both weighty and hopeful.  I don’t read much wish-fulfillment YA (like Twilight) because it makes me feel yucky the way glossy fashion mags make me feel yucky.  It makes me feel that I am insufficient and my life is not worth much.  I don’t read much literary adult fiction because there’s so much soul-breaking and so little hope.  I don’t read mass market adult fiction because it’s dumb.

I don’t throw stones at reading for escape.  I do that too, but I insist that the world I escape to be fully-realized, compelling, and touch me in some meaningful way.  I don’t mind if it is brutal or “dark” (gasp), but I like it best when there’s hope.  I want to emerge thinking that I am sufficient to the challenges of life.

So there you go… ramble on!

 

 

Flash fiction – Vicks VapoRub

Antics, Writing, ,

Recently, I was on the faculty at the South Coast Writers Conference in Gold Beach, Oregon.  I had a wonderful time teaching and connecting with many talented writers.  I also was lucky enough to get to attend a workshop taught by the poet, Drew Myron.  Each participant received a clear vial of something.  We smelled and then we wrote.  It was a blast.  Here’s the piece of flash fiction that came out of that writing prompt.

VICKS VAPORUB

I know we’re in love—the real kind—because you kiss me even though I’m sick.  I’m talking funny, nose-plugged, nestled in warren of blankets.  Laptop balanced between us, we’re cruising YouTube for TED talks and snowboarding clips and the Beanie Baby parody of The Hunger Games.

Every few minutes you lean through a mentholated halo of Vicks VapoRub and nuzzle my neck.  The smear of it under my nose drives you back into the pillows with watering eyes.  Laughing and wiping tears on your sleeve, you tell me a story.

There was this guy in my dorm in college.  Edgar.  We played ultimate frisbee on the quad every Thursday.  And he had the world’s worst smelling feet.  Anyway, in sophomore year, he started dating this girl.  I don’t remember her name just that she was in our ecology class and had dimples and she didn’t last long with Edgar.  Here’s why.  

It was late.  The rest of us were partying in the room next door.  But Edgar and Dimple Girl were having sex.  And she was kinda loud, so those of us near the wall between the rooms got full-audio.  They’d been going at it for a while when the moans turned to screams.  

Screams?  You pause, grin wicked, and stare at me until I can’t help blushing.

You wanna know what happened?

I nod and dodge as you dive-bomb my neck.  Mission accomplished, you flop back against the headboard.

That douche, Edgar—I found out later—reached for the lube and got the Vicks by mistake.

Oh my god!  I snort into the comforter.  Tiny bits of down tickle my cheeks.  Vicks!  Not Vicks!  I nuzzle your shoulder with the bite of it in my nose.  It ropes us in, sharp as barbed wire, but we are all tangled limbs, new love, and the scent—thank god only the scent—of Vicks.

Do you write kidlit? See what joining SCBWI-National can do for you!

Antics, ,

This past weekend I was lucky enough to meet Lin Oliver and Steve Mooser, the founders of the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, at a regional SCBWI conference.

SCBWI is a very unusual professional organization because it serves both amateur/new writers and illustrators as well as established professionals, which means SCBWI wears a lot of hats.

In one session, Lin Oliver talked about all the things that SCBWI does for writers and illustrators.  The list was incredible–especially if you consider that membership is only $70 a year.  FYI this is a blatant (albeit unsolicited) promotional blog that urges, insists, and shoves you toward joining SCBWI if you haven’t already.

Why you ask?  Well…

1.  You’ll have access to a bunch of publications that demystify the publishing process, detail what various publishing houses and editors are looking for, guide you to book fairs, agents, and educational publishers, and articles about every aspect of the business.

2.  You can network through discussion boards, newsletters, conferences, and critique groups.

3.  Published authors and illustrators can participate in book launch parties, blog tours, speakers bureaus, and marketing collectives.

4.  There is a dedicated staff committed to your success as a creative person.

5.  You’ll find your people both regionally and around the world.  That’s priceless!

So get to it!  Join the fun!

From a child’s world–love, Maurice Sendak, & adults who think they’re all that

Antics

I took my car through DEQ to get the tags renewed today.  After exchanging pleasantries with the attendant about the weather, I told him he sounded like a true Oregonian because he seemed so accepting of the crazy lamb-lion weather we’ve been having.  He bristled.  No way.  I’m a Californian but I’ve lived here twenty miserable years.  Now, he was under my skin.  I asked him why he was still here.  Money.  Is there any other reason to do anything?  I suggested love.  Then he really laughed.  It hasn’t worked out for me.  My last wife told me I was too nice.  Now I’m to old for love.  Is it working for you?

Speechless, I nodded.  Yeah, love has been working for me. 

The conversation got me thinking about an interview with Maurice Sendak that was rebroadcast after his death a few days ago.  His books riled up a lot of people because instead of depicting the sanitized life of “good” children, his stories were full of monsters, fears, and even danger.  In the interview, he said that he wrote and drew from his own remembered child’s-eye view.

Were parents then (and maybe now) so afraid of a child’s world that they would deny its existence?  Is adulthood so amazing that we think kids should bypass those messy years and get right to it?  Ew.  My skin crawls.  The “adult world” of that guy at DEQ is one I do not want to visit.  I guess that’s why I spend my days writing through the eyes of kids and teens.  In a child’s world, love works.

A wake for dead characters

Antics

I love Ruth Feldman so much. I called her today and discovered that we had both just killed beloved characters in our manuscripts. We decided to hold a wake and commiserate. Writing is hard. Writing is emotionally draining. Grief happens. At least there are friends and food.

When writers hang with evil peeps…

Antics

This morning as I walked the kids to the school bus, my daughter said, “Mom, I don’t want you to be lonely while we’re at school.”

“I won’t be lonely.  I’ll be writing,” I said.

“But you’ll be all alone in the house all day.”

“But I’m hanging out with my characters.  I’ve got Mara and Ethan to keep me company.”

“But Mom,” she said, genuinely worried, “the rest of them are evil!”

 

 

In S. Oregon or N. Cal? Join me at the South Coast Writers Conference – February 17 & 18

Antics, Events

I’m thrilled to be on the faculty for the South Coast Writers Conference in lovely Gold Beach, Oregon.  This event includes writing for all genres and age-ranges and includes nonfiction writers, a song writer, poets, journalists, and writers of literary fiction.

The workshop offerings are great, the setting inspiring, and there is time for making connections with faculty and other writers.  I’ll be teaching about graphic novels and how reading can make you a better writer.  YA author, Anne Osterlund, will be there too.

For the full brochure, click here.

Be the teller of your own narrative. Make it a good story.

Antics

I’ve had a really good writing week.  For me that means being  so deeply immersed in my book that it begins to seem more real that my actual life.  I surfaced this morning–Saturday, and thus a non-writing day–and reacquainted myself with “normal.”  (Nothing like cleaning bathrooms to get your head out of the clouds.)  I went for a run in the forest near my house in spite of the icy, driving rain.  There’s this ginormous hill that I’ve never been able to run all the way up.  For the last year in which I’ve been running regularly, there’s always a point on that horrible hill where I have to stop and walk a bit.  Except this week.  This week, I’ve run all the way up every time.  By the time I get to the top I’m sucking wind and cursing under my breath, but I’m also fully back in my own life again.  And I’m reminded that we must be the tellers of our own narratives as well.  It’s not enough for our characters to have adventures and grow and change.  We have to attend to our own stories too.  I plan on making mine a good one!