Savvy Context: The Crowd Weighs in on Computers

Bonus post between weeks!
(See, I told you I'd make it up to you!)

Last time I talked to proponents of writing on paper. Here's what the other side had to say:

I tend to use the computer mostly in the editing/refining stage. For me there's also a distinction to be made here between creative writing and academic writing….I like using the computer for academic writing because it allows me to start with an outline and then flesh things out little by little. —Kandi H.

When I wrote everything on paper first, I was always carrying a notebook around with me, often a large one. Now I…don't worry about always being prepared to write the next part of the story. Also, you don't really have to worry about losing the page that you just wrote your most brilliant scene ever on. And there's always spell check and the backspace key. I got really tired of not being able to easily change large sections on paper. –Aimee L.

I love the feeling of my laptop's keys beneath my fingers. It propels me to type something--anything--with no aim or purpose (most of the time). I start typing, and I watch as something unfolds: a long overdue email to an old friend, a quick online message to a new friend, or the beginning to what I hope will be the story that changes the world.—Lynz M.

If I'm writing on a computer, sometimes I like to start in the middle. I can write papers or stories in chunks and then rearrange, add and subtract as necessary….Computers help me write because they make it so fast and easy to generate, alter, check grammar and spelling, etc. But they also make it easy to agonize over one sentence, rewriting and deleting, until you drive yourself crazy.—Tanya P.

So which side are you on?

Teh Internetz: NaNoWriMo

This year, for the first time, I will be doing NaNoWriMo. For the uninitiated, that stands for National Novel Writing Month. This year will be its 10th anniversary.

The point of NaNoWriMo is to create an online support system that challenges participants to write a 50,000 word novel in the 30 days of November. It's a grueling task that only a small percentage of participants complete, but apparently it's supposed to give you the same feeling of accomplishment as running a marathon.

Just...you know...with words instead of actual steps.

Though I've never tried doing NaNoWriMo before, here are some tips that I've been told might help when attempting to write a novel in a month. They might end up being good general writing mantras.

1. Do not edit or censor as you type. Just barf those words onto the word processor.

2. Make a calendar with specific word count goals for each day.

3. Create an outline to work from so you stay focused.

4. Procrastinate by checking British National Treasure Stephen Fry's Twitter feed every few seconds.

5. Use NaNoWriMo.org to meet up with other NaNos in your area to bitch, mainline coffee, and participate in write-ins.

The point of writing a novel in 30 days isn't to write anything GREAT, it's just to write freely with the support of a community of writers. Good luck to any fellow NaNos out there; let's look forward to December.

blogwatch: Alinea at Home

Any faithful blog reader must surely by now have encountered the cook-through-the-book type of blog. The general idea is that some enterprising non-professional cook, dissatisfied or bored with the rigors of corporate life, decides that cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, say, is a far finer thing to do. In Carol Blymire's case it was The French Laundry cookbook. Was, because after the better part of two years, Blymire finished every recipe in the French Laundry cookbook, complete with photo documentation, fancy dinners at The French Laundry and Keller's Per Se, and a wide internet fan base.

It's not too late to be won over by Blymire's humor over successes and epic failures both. You see, she's decided to do it all over again using the new cookbook from Alinea, Grant Achatz's Chicago restaurant. Alinea, while winning numerous honors including Gourmet magazine's nod as Best Restaurant in America, is primarily known for the adventurous detail involved in every plate. Think foams, agar and other hydrocolloids, aromas, airs and other aspects of molecular gastronomy most of us experience, if at all, secondhand. A blog post, with visuals sums up the intriguing experience.

How can you cook such cuisine at home? Lord knows, I would probably break down in tears. For those interested in following along, Achatz and co. worked with Ten Speed Press to make shockingly affordable $30 cookbook, and Blymire's Alina at Home blog is set to commence any day.

Right There by Melissa Mann

The short lines and repeated sentence structures of Melissa Mann's Right There give the poem the frantic feel of an insomniac mind; it reads like the 4 AM poem that the note preceding it identifies it as being. Characteristic of sleepless thought, too, is the way the poem builds from minor kitchen accidents to relationships to social inequality then draws them all together again. At first the conclusions drawn from what is focused upon seem exaggerated, the products of a mind that sleep because it is overwrought:

You see this burn on my arm?

Right there

Is why you should never

Cook.

Slowly, they come to make more sense. Avoiding a dent in the wall (and presumably a minor injury on the part of whoever hit into it) is probably worth restraining one's urge to tell one's partner

To open

The sodding

Tin of beans

Herself.

Even the flattened characters who appear near the end fit into the insomniac mindset: the "hedge fund manager", the "single mum" become like the shadows outside the insomniac's window, incompletely known yet able to fuel the speaker's racing thoughts.

Nonetheless, the lines about

that disabled woman

On the tube

Having to ask someone

To give up their seat

are problematic because people with disabilities often suffer from people seeing them only as disabled. Here the speaker not only echoes this unfortunate tendency but goes on to use the woman to prove her a point that frankly has nothing to do with the woman but is, rather, an appropriation of her identity and situation. (Besides, the fact that not all disabilities are visible or make someone need a seat on the subway seems entirely overlooked.) Similarly, the "single mum in Rotherham" is nothing more than a geographical location and a single mother whose home has been repossessed. Why is she a single mother? Why is she in such a desperate position?

The answers don't seem to matter for this poem; they show the limits of the speaker. "It's all right there"— even the reasons why the speaker cannot go beyond fantasies of dropping out of society and being loved to work to improve "the steaming pile of shit" and to fix her relationship.

Less redeemable is the verse about the heart wrapped in muslin. The confusion of cause and effect (one should hide one's heart away so as to avoid hiding one's heart away), while reflective of insomniac thought, slows the poem's pace. More importantly, specifying that the material hiding and protecting the heart is muslin does little to relieve the cliché.

Savvy Context: The Crowd Weighs in on Paper

First, I apologize for a belated post! I promise I'll make it up to you!

Instead of writing this post from inside my own little bubble, I asked some friends what they thought of writing on paper.

I find that it's much more satisfying for me to put the ink on the page myself rather than relying on a computer. I think that writing on paper makes the writing more personal. —Kandi H.

I hand wrote on paper for many years. I still do sometimes. There's something about it that's easier, like a connection from my hand to the pencil. I was also very against using pen….[Writing on paper] really just help[s] me get my ideas out. Staring at a blank sheet of paper just makes me want to write something in a way that a computer screen won't.–Aimee L.

I always begin writing on paper; my initial draft is always written the same way I would talk to someone. Once the ideas are laid out on paper, then I can circle, draw, scale, move, exchange the phrases and words into a more comprehensible idea rather than just blurbs on paper. I usually re-write at least 3-4 times; it's also helpful to track my changes and watch the birth of a masterpiece throughout the entirety of its evolution.-- Jenny A.

[The lone male voice in the room simply pronounces its preference] I always write on paper.—Stan S.

Next time, the computer people will have their say. Until then, where do you stand and why?

You, The Living (dir. Roy Andersson)

"Be pleased then, you, the living, in your delightfully warmed bed, before Lethe's ice-cold wave will lick your escaping foot."

And so begins what superior critic Anton Bitel enticingly describes as ‘a litany of human disconnection, misery, frustration and despair’- but the kind that sees humour in the apparent futility of our day to day mishaps and misunderstandings that bind us together in our collective angst.

Conventional narrative is replaced with a series of living tableaux; our hapless characters shuffle around ineffectually – forlorn and resigned - some in silent anguish, others more vocal in their pain. It could make for decidedly grim viewing if not for the rather jaunty music provided by members of a marching band, and for the distance created between ourselves and the characters which enables us to see humour in their absurdity. And yet, somehow, there remains the tiniest glimmer of humanity within it all.

Andersson is gifted with a distinctive visual style: everything is in long shot, the static camera moving only once or twice throughout. Every scene is composed like a painting, the heavy ashen make-up and muted palette serving to enhance this aesthetic. The director explains: ‘I want light that has not much shadow because I want light where people can’t hide in – light without mercy.’ The pared down result is beautifully stark; the lack of distraction allows us to savour the texture of the utilitarian architecture and weather worn streets in all their gritty glory.

The film may well be a master class in mise en scene, but there is a philosophical core lurking not far beneath the surface: think understated rather than startlingly profound. Either way, this collection of deliciously droll vignettes is something you have to see for yourself.

News from the Center of American Poetry

I receive in the mail a cream-colored envelope from the Academy of American Poets in New York, New York. In the lower left-hand corner, this quote from Walt Whitman: “To have great poets, there must be great audiences…”

The bundle of paper inside is about what you expect: sophisticated panhandling.

First, a letter from the Chairman. “Dear Friend,” it reads. What follows is a petition for my Membership in an organization founded well over seventy years ago by Marie Bullock, who was “outraged” by the fact that poets were not given time off from their jobs to give readings—jobs such as “soda-fountain jerk” or “salesman in a clothing store.” A rather confident letter.

As a member, among other perks, you get copies of books awarded by the Academy, “a valued edition to your personal library.” Join at a higher level (“which will bring you closer to the center of the American poetry world”) and you get a DVD. About poets.

By now I am dismayed.

But look, a letter from Donald Hall, author of the great Anti-Institutional essay "Poetry and Ambition" (1983), telling me poetry “requires institutions to give it a presence in the public world.”

Here is a brochure on all the Programs the Academy sponsors: awards, book clubs, websites, events, and prizes, prizes, prizes. I feel ill.

Finally, the bottom line: check a box next to a dollar amount. American Poetry accepts Visa, MasterCard, and American Express. This donation puts your name on Annual Reports. The return envelope has paid postage—though a first-class stamp will “help keep costs down.”

Whitman’s dream. But how did Whitman get my name and address?

Copyeditor Needed

Fringe is looking for a few good people who have a dorkily intense love of the English language as expressed through grammar.

We're in need of:

• a chief copyeditor to coordinate collection, correction and return of lit work to editors, and to be an extra set of eyes on all copy.
• 3 to 4 copyeditors to read specific genres, including poetry, and to make sure our issues are grammatical and make sense.

It's a great way to get involved with Fringe, learn the inner workings of a lit mag and be a part of the literary community.

Want to join the team? Email fringeeditors@gmail.com and let us know which position you're interested in.

skin-deep

Have you ever wished you could shed your exterior and hop inside someone else’s skin, to literally walk in their shoes, even just for day? By altering every aspect of your physical being, morphing ones self into another race or gender you would be allowed a secret passage into the world from their eyes. Now I’m not speaking about an upgrade to your fantasy look, a supermodel body, fix your nose, younger looking skin. No, I’m talking about taking on the exterior of someone from a complete alternate walk of life to oneself. To experience how the world responds, if only your physical being was transformed, the different limitations, the expectations, the remunerations a person from another sector of society encounters.

When I purchase a train ticket here in Cape Town, the conductor will always issue me a first class pass, (which is more expensive and allows you to travel in a separate more quiet metro-plus carriage), even though I have not requested one.

One day the woman beside me on the train looked over at my ticket, and questioned as to why I was paying for first class and riding on third class. I always travel third-class, and being a naive foreigner, previous to this incident I had not realised they had been over charging me. I was not happy. “Why?”, I exclaimed. The woman, went on to explain that they would look at me (being a small, white, blonde haired female), and assume I would want first class, “the white South African girls would never travel third class, if on the train at all” she explained, matter-of-factly. I’m sure I could here the ‘duh’ resounding in the tone of her voice.

In this moment I was struck more-so than ever before, by the emphasis placed on our physical appearance, the very things we have no control over. And it got me thinking, if only I could experience another side, a world with a different response, to hop inside a different skin.

Power and Pole Dancing in Malaysia

I lost my footing on the treadmill when I found the Asian Pole Summit ad in the Expat KL Magazine, which targets expats in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, a Muslim country in Southeast Asia. My first thoughts as an American feminist were that the summit represents an unusual tolerance for female sexual expression, or maybe it’s not so different in this culture from belly dancing. Egyptian women once danced me under the table at a women-only party, but then I consider our proximity to the "lady sex" industry in Bangkok where erotic dance is more empowering to pimps than the dancers. Then I noticed the ad's Simone de Beauvoir quote, “one is not born a woman, one becomes one.”

The appropriation of this second wave feminist cornerstone made me ask “What is a woman--in Malaysia?" Beauvoir’s idea that “women” are a social construct threatens to crumble the Islamic gender norms, which circumscribe dress (even though the hijab is optional here), rights, and behavior. I let local women answer for themselves whether and how they feel might feel oppressed, but in any case the Asian Pole Summit’s audience lives in a society whose majority subscribes to strict gender norms and where men can take a two-hour flight and get all the pole dancing they want. In such a context, to tell women that they can empower themselves via a weekend of “killer workouts” and “exotic titillation” reduces the options for women to the virgin-whore dichotomy while doing nothing to challenge the patriarchal social structure wherein most married women have banking options that rival pre-1950s America.

This country is confused about women. Mini skirts and hijabs rival each other for majority so it feels to me that the only public woman seems to be a sexualized one, and therefore any choice a woman makes about her presentation is a response to the country’s secular-religious struggle. I wonder if female empowerment through the art of pole dancing is possible in a patriarchal society; as Andi Zeisler asks regarding do-me feminism, “If the standards and stereotypes by which girls and women are judged haven't changed, could it really be called empowerment at all?”

No doubt the Asian Pole Summit deserves kudos for its woman-centered approach and the apparent business savvy of its female leaders. The issue isn’t to pole dance or not to pole dance, but it’s a question of power and meaning. I'm not convinced that empowerment from sexy fitness will translate outside the studio's doors where a solitary woman, irregardless of race or class, is a target for robbery or abuse even in broad daylight (don’t be mislead by KL’s low statistics). Maybe the dance's power doesn't have to translate to be effective for an individual woman, but I think she might be best served learning a dance move that includes a few karate chops when she’s seduced a would-be attacker to his knees.

The material and the dream can join

Writers tend to be very particular about the hows and wheres of their writing sessions. Entire books have been devoted to the subject, featuring 50-year-old desks, walls covered with post-it notes, and over-stuffed bookshelves.

Nowhere in one of these books will you find a tan-colored cubicle.

My preferred workspace consists of a table at Panera in Watertown, Mass. On this table are two things: (1) my MacBook and (2) a refillable cup of Mountain Dew. To my mind, I do my best writing here, with the Dew and the sunlight and the white noise of quick lunchtime conversation.

Alas, I spend 40 hours a week in the aforementioned cubicle. Inspiring it is not. But I have found ways to push through the pain of my spirit-killing, I mean, less-than-ideal, confines:

• Procrastinate. Most writers, when sitting down to write, find ways to procrastinate. When you have a day job, however, you can use your own writing as a means of procrastination. In this way, writing almost becomes fun. Almost.
• Decorate. Tack quotations and poems to your cube walls. Some may view this as pretentious and/or weird. Just tell them that, without these things, your muse might abandon you altogether. They’ll think this is totally normal.
• Exploit. Write about your co-workers.
• Blog. Blogging may not do what the Dew can do, but it’ll get the creative juices flowing. See here and here and here.
• Research. Put all that non-work-related Web-surfing to good use and research magazines and journals, or places to submit your work. See “Procrastinate.”
• Compete. If you’re at a loss for writing material, find a writing contest that dictates your subject.
• Believe. Believe that if you persevere, one day you’ll be able to return to your rightful spot at Panera.

White Suit in the White City

Best-selling author and journalist Tom Wolfe made an appearance Thursday as “The Right Stuff” was selected for The Chicago Public Library’s One Book, One Chicago program this fall.

I must admit, I feel somewhat perverse writing a blog about him after he said tersely in an interview with journalist Carol Marin, “Blogs fascinate me…they’re a new world for people who will believe anything.” Believe me when I say meeting Tom Wolfe was truly an unforgettable experience.

After much discussion, Marin finally got to the question everyone’s been dying to know, “What’s with the white suit?” Anybody who knows anything about Wolfe knows he’s famous for wearing a white suit and fedora during any appearance.

Wolfe said the white suit is “the man from Mars” approach. He said he never blended in with the crowd and wearing the white suit provides a barrier between himself and his subjects, as he has reported a variety of subjects from NASCAR drivers, to Black Panthers, to Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters, to the first men to launch into outer space – just to name a few. He described it as “The man who doesn’t know anything and is eager to know.”

His opinion of modern authors who have “the right stuff” are Carl Hiaasen (Strip Tease) and Richard Price (The Wanderers). You better believe I rearranged my book list. Any advice from the pioneer of the New Journalism movement is worthy advice by me.

The turnout of One Book, One Chicago was an expected 700. Audience members were given a numbered ticket, and mine was 249. The adoring crowd waiting nearly an hour as numbers one through 50 paid their dues while eager-to-please Wolfe allowed photos and small talk as he signed book after book.

Tired and grouchy, I waited it out, determined to meet the author who takes up a good portion of my bookshelf. I went to the restroom to contemplate whether to stay or leave, when the angels above must have heard my silent pleas. A ticket with the number “49” was laying on the tiled restroom floor. No more than a minute passed and I was back out in the corridor waiting in line for my book to be signed.

My copy of The Right Stuff was bought years ago from a used bookstore. The cover page was hanging on its last thread and when I finally handed my shabby copy to him—yellow weathered pages and all—he said, “Wow, this is one loved book. Authors like to see this.” As he closed it, the cover fell off in his hands. Needless to say, though sad and broken, I will never rid of my beloved copy of The Right Stuff.







*Sidenote : I found myself in line with The Huffington Post's Greg Boose. Read his piece on whether Wolfe thinks McCain or Obama has "the right stuff". You'll find me at the bottom of the posted pictures!

What about today?

When I checked my email this morning I received the most annoying forward from my aunt. It was entitled “Black and White” and detailed all the nostalgic wonders of the 1950s. It was filled with ridiculous photos and some equally ridiculous statements like, “My mom used to cut chicken, chop eggs and spread mayo on the same cutting board with the same knife and no bleach, but we didn't seem to get food poisoning” or “we all said prayers and sang the national anthem, and staying in detention after school caught all sorts of negative attention.” There were also, bizarrely, four references to spanking children.

Nostalgia bothers me as a rule. Not only is it unwarranted and silly because we can never go back to that time, it discredits how far our society has come in the past 60 years. Even though we are in the midst of a huge financial crisis, today’s news is a perfect example of why we should be celebrating the future not the past. Colin Powell took the bold and unexpected step of endorsing Barack Obama for president. We’ve been waiting for years for Powell to break publicly from the Bush-era mistakes, and today he did so with force. His comments were inspiring and thoughtful; his reasoning regarding the campaigns of Obama and McCain was totally on point. But most of all he gave me hope that there will be change, that everyone’s belief in Obama is not hollow or too idealistic.

This exciting news coupled with the announcement of Obama’s huge fundraising gains makes me happy to be living in 2008. Over 3 million people have contributed their hard-earned money to the man who could be the first black president of the United States. We do not need nostalgia in such exciting times. The forward ends by encouraging the recipient to “pass this to someone and remember that life's most simple pleasures are very often the best.” I agree; life’s most simple(and modern) pleasures—equality, positive social advances, and a hope in our collective future—are the very best!

Poetry in the Age of the Fellowship

Of the poets I know in Portland, Oregon, one is an adjunct at a local community college, another is an HR temp, and another was recently laid-off from an editing position. As for myself, I am a marginally-employed substitute teacher and hand-to-mouth freelance writer. Obviously, the economy is faltering for young writers.

Who doesn't lament the loss of programs like the Works Progress Administration? Howard Zinn, in his People’s History of the United States, says this short-lived project of massively funding artists in the Depression was never to be repeated. NEA aside, of course he is right.

Consider a less-widely known branch of the WPA: the Federal Writers’ Project. It was essential for hardscrabble wordsmiths. Poets employed by the program included Claude McKay, Kenneth Patchen, and Kenneth Rexroth. Writers like Saul Bellow, Studs Terkel, and Ralph Ellison contend that the WPA deeply influenced their later work.

But today it is with little surprise that I read a press release from Portland’s Regional Arts and Culture Council, announcing that poet and writer Kim Stafford had won the organization’s $20,000 fellowship, which he will use to take time away from his career at Lewis & Clark College to work on a project.

I find these “awards” troubling. How can I not notice that those who win grants, more likely than not, are artists already published, comfortably employed, and financially secure? The apparent purpose of “grants” and “fellowships” seems not to be in support of artists and writers with demonstrated financial need—those very creative-class types who tend to be young, trying to get their foot in the door of the writing community.

I am not begrudging Stafford, or any of the other writers who have won this award. I myself won a grant from RACC last year to attend a workshop with Marvin Bell, which paid for not only the $1103 tuition, but the experience and poems I gleaned.

Yet the granting of grants seems to closely resemble the structure of the rest of the economy: resources are allocated to those who already have resources. The rest of us are left to fend for ourselves not only artistically but fundamentally and economically. If the rich get richer, the poor take temp jobs, come home exhausted, and write poems about it.

What is the purpose of a grant? Is it to award accomplishment or to encourage new voices? With capitalism so firmly entrenched in literature, how are new writers to put out books (especially in a culture dominated by reading fees for first-book contests)?

Yeats said a poet should never get to comfortable. With this in mind, should young writers simply alienate ourselves entirely from the Arts Administrators? That is, is the best poetry to come from lack while lackluster poetry comes from "the best"?

Teh Internetz: Password Protection

A few weeks ago, I nerd-laughed (which is a sort of phlegmy, halting snicker) at Sarah Palin for having her Yahoo account hacked as well as Bill O'Reilly for having his web site hacked.

Stupid, un-web savvy n00bs, I chortled. God, who uses yahoo e-mail anymore anyway?

Then, a few days later, I got totally hax0red.

A personal blog I had kept since I was 15, chronicling my every teenage honey-nut angst-morsel and drama-ridden spinach-puff, was hacked and wiped clean of all information. Sure, it wasn't as horrifying as, say, compromising government business or releasing personal contact information of hundreds of paid subscribers, but it still sucked big time. Luckily, I had a content backup system and I was able to contain the damage, but that is no excuse. I should have had a better password protection system in place.

As writers, you will hopefully be keeping digital archives of your work along with important e-mails from your (god willing) agent and/or publisher. Consider this a friendly reminder to stop using "password" as your password.

Lifehacker has a great article here about how to keep your password safe.

Bottom line:

1. Don't answer your security questions in a clear-cut fashion; obscure the answers.

2. Choose passwords that are complex.

3. Use a password manager to keep track of them.

So go ahead. Change that password you've been using for 10 years. It might be annoying, but it'll make you safer in the long run.

Why my life is like Goodfellas

Ok.

Did you ever see the movie Goodfellas? Remember the scene when Henry Hill had to make the sauce, pick up his brother from rehab and get a cocaine deal ready? Remember how hectic and insane that day was?

Well, my life as a single mom who works is kinda of like that everyday, (except of course the dealing and doing drugs part).

It involves getting a 6 and 5 year old up, fed and ready for school and usually finishing a deadline for a side client, while going to my real job at a marketing firm, dealing with a staff of Tibetean nannies, housekeepers and other random people I must pay.

There is always a drama with either my ex-husband, a client, the police (someone recently tried to break into my house) or my kids. Some days my youngest decides randomly that she is "not welcome at school" (her words, not mine.)

Or I have been asked to write some "out of the box' thinking for a large packaged goods client, that is of course really code for give me something safe my specific demographic of 24-92 moms would like.

Through it all I have taken the approach, that my life is like a game show or Survivor. If I guess all the clues correctly, or outsmart the competition, I will win a calm orderly life, in which I will be able to garden, cook dinner for my kids and read all of those books that pile up and actually volunteer for school and other things.

But until then...

StoryMill: Making Writing Fun (Again)

I've been working on a long project for some time, and now that revisions are in order I decided to try out Mariner Software's StoryMill program I'd first heard mentioned in the end pages of a David Levithan novel. StoryMill, which is only for macs, comes with a free 30-uses demo although it's also quite affordably priced.

What makes StoryMill so helpful is that it provides a variety of ways to organize yourself while writing. If you're anything like me, you've usually got notes scratched on a notebook, three ideas rattling around your brain, a couple of links cut-and-pasted somewhere to help write the description of the main character's hometown, and some minor characters whose motivation you need to explore. With StoryMill, you can create character profiles, assign yourself research tasks, input any useful information from YouTube clips to website snippets. When you sit down to write, you can make sure you're surrounded with every tool you need to focus on the writing.

StoryMill also allows you to keep track of your productivity via a ProgressMeter that you can set to a specified word count goal or project goal. Thematically, you can organize your progress through a Scenes tab, or create a timeline of events. StoryMill allows annotation, tagging, and a full screen view to prevent any distractions on-screen.

I'm having such a wonderful time with StoryMill because it allows me to put all my relevant information in one place, and organize it in as many or as few ways as I feel it needs. That, in turn, makes me want to write, which is fantastic. I haven't played around with all of the functions, most notably the timeline, which received a rather negative review here. If anyone else has worked with StoryMill or a similar application, I'd love to hear about their experience.

Writing The Wrongs

Kids today aren’t just disinterested in writing—they are downright terrified of it.

Blame video games. Blame the Internet. Blame cell phones. Blame any of the high-tech toys that too many responsibility-shirking adults are so quick to use as a scapegoat. But, the way I see it, distractions like these are only as strong as the internal motivation to avoid another task. So what is it? Why is “writing,”—an activity that so many, historically, have used as a vehicle of rebellion, self-expression, and liberation, not more attractive to angsty, contrary teenagers?

What I saw in my classroom this week has led me to my own hypothesis. And, at the risk of sounding like a turncoat, I say: the real onus is on teachers.

“Miss Carey?” One overachiever asked, “Will you take points off our writing if we have more than 8 sentences in a paragraph—or less than six?”

No, honey, Mrs. So-and-So probably told you that because that’s the way the state testing Gestapo is going to decide how worthy you and your teacher are on the MCAS this spring.

“Miss Carey? What do you mean good poetry doesn’t have to rhyme? Are you saying that Jack Prelutsky isn’t the greatest poet who ever lived?”

Yes, dear. That is what I’m saying. If you were told otherwise in the past, it’s because your teacher was as afraid of poetry as you are.

“Miss Carey? Will you make us write as a punishment if we do something bad in class?”

No, son. I also won’t bludgeon you with a calculator and then try to make you a better mathematician.

It goes on. The truth is, I haven’t done much at all in the way of actual writing instruction so much as I have trying to reprogram 60 brains and convincing them that, despite what has been instilled in them with all the fire and brimstone of a Catholic upbringing, writing is not just another set of rules and regulations cast upon them by generations of old-dog teachers who refuse to learn new tricks. So far, it seems to be working, but it’s going to be a long road.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Four Landscapes by Jerome Rothenberg

Each of Jerome Rothenberg's Four Landscapes on PFS Post suggests a different way in which a landscape and the lives within it may be viewed as one travels through "on a train".

In the first, descriptive lines alternate with statements that destroy, contradict, or interrogate them. It's not quite Adorno or Hegel but something beyond between them. Figures crossing a bridge are revealed to (possibly) be more than just picturesque figures witnessed but, rather, being for whom this might be a daily or weekly journey. The everyday occurrence of crossing the street is made strange. What bells mark changes because everyone who hears them will have a different take. An arm is closed with another arm. This shifting resembles the way one's perception of a landscape shifts as one travels through it. The framing created by the full end stops resembles the frame of the train's window which creates the possibility of perceiving a series of connected, static scenes cut-off from the world like camera shots.

In the second landscape, the speaker picks out various details and moments. Their eyes dart from sky to hand to house. Any total picture must be put together in their mind after this sense data has been gathered, just as the reader must use these short, full end-stopped lines to put together a whole poem and a whole image (if they wish to do so).

The third focuses in on one detail, then moves to another one, related but still cut off by a full stop. The last line, more abstract, represents a return in thought to the original detail.

The fourth landscape moves in a similar way, only two related details follow the one focused upon. Moreover, the stampeding horses and the fire are the sorts of things that distract, that dramatically grasp at one's attention, so the overall effect is less tranquil and contemplative.

It's the End of the World as We Know It

We're living in an increasingly consumer-driven society--Youtube is replacing network television, musicians can remix their favorite artists' music, and Time named "You" as Person of the Year in 2006.

Now, even the rules of literature are being rewritten: collaborative, web-based novels, written by a diverse group of writers (most average web-users, not writers) are becoming more and more prevalent. In 2007, Penguin launched the ground-breaking "One Million Penguins" Project, a wiki novel project in which the submission period spanned five weeks, but the wiki is still open to edits. Though some would contend that a user-driven collaborative novel cannot succeed, the form remains.

The University of Chicago has piloted a new project, EndOfThisWorld, a collaborative novel focused around the hypothetical end of the world. This novel uses voter input to determine which submissions will be published as part of the overall story. Submissions are open for the 5th chapter of the novel--check it out, and get writing!

The Believers/Zoë Heller

Whereas Notes on a Scandal employed the services of an embittered yet wryly perceptive narrator, The Believers casts a wider net, this time opting for a third person narration which cunningly absorbs the conflicting perspectives of the assorted characters whose lives it intersects. We follow this tangle of delightfully toxic and brittle souls as they proceed to negotiate their tense and often vicious encounters and are treated to glimpses of their anger, resentment, shame, weakness, and self-loathing. Such sentiments are expressed (and repressed) with varying degrees of honesty and venom, ranging from enthusiastic precision to resigned politeness. Along the way, each character’s respective values and convictions are tested, discredited, abandoned and amended (hence the novel’s slightly crappy title).

Heller’s decadent mix of linguistic flourishes and biting humour - immediately apparent in her previous novel – is perhaps more restrained here, waiting until after the understated prologue to come into play and wow the humble reader. Save for the occasional slip, Heller avoids common cliché in both her descriptions and her details which touch on human weakness with nuggets of piercing accuracy and that clever breed of wit which wavers between sardonic and sympathetic.

If Notes looked at an affair from the obsessive gaze of a bitter ‘friend’, The Believers casts a wavering eye around the edges of one, dipping into the personal stories of those on the periphery rather than exploring that of the key players. This is a more ambitious novel; the complexity of the family dynamics harder to negotiate, and consequently the potency is somewhat more diluted. Nevertheless, Heller has still crafted a thoroughly compelling novel which affirms that her skill for touching on multiple nerves is as finely honed and deftly spun as ever.

Uncut review joy (plus a snippet of synopsis)

Other opinions (it’s only fair):

Telegraph

Guardian

Interview (just because)

How it begins (but remember that it gets better)

I like jazz AND I wear heels

By now, you've probably seen this commercial. In case you haven't, it's part of a new campaign to McDonald's new foray into serving espresso. It's called "Intellectuals." (Their quotation marks, not mine.)


(I'm sorry this is huge, and topped with a boston.com logo. It's the only place I could find the video)

Sure, this commercial is all about the commodification of a lifestyle. If you buy your coffee from Starbucks, you're one type of person, and if you buy your coffee from McDonald's then you're another, presumably more real, kind of person. While that's always frustrating, it's nothing new; it's the basis of almost every commercial out there.

But before we go further, let me confess: I am a devoted coffee shop girl. I don't even like coffee, but drinking tea & reading a book in a coffee shop is pretty high on my list of favorite-ways-to-pass-the-afternoon. So my initial reaction to this commercial is defensive; that's me they are making fun of.

But ego aside, this is a messed up commercial! From the other side of the fence, Starbucks is pretentious. So in criticizing Starbuck's, McDonald's is suggesting that everyone at Starbuck's would rather be some place more real, more down to earth. Some place like McDonald's.

And so, in this commercial, we see a series of confessions unfolding after the initial excitement of McDonald's coffee, starting with the exclamation, "We won't have to listen to jazz anymore!" The two women, additionally, have only been pretending to speak French and don't know where or what Paraguay is. Thank God for McDonald's; they can finally be themselves! All along they've just been faking it for Starbuck's, but now liberation in the form of a $1.99 latte.

And this idea that book-reading, coffee-shop going "Intellectuals" are some how just full of it is insulting. It's the same ideology behind Sarah Palin's condemnation of "those East coast states." (Read: those liberal, urban, intellectual hot beds of sin like NYC and Boston. But that's a post for another day.) As the title proclaims, it's anti-intellectual through and through.

But here's where we get to my favorite part. The concept that Starbucks-going intellectuals are phonies is reinforced, I think in a forced way, through gender stereotypes. The excitement over McDonald's coffee shops elicits the response: "I can wear heels again!" It doesn't matter that no one would ever dress up in their stilettos for McDonald's. Being an intellectual is completely opposite to being a traditionally feminine, high-heels wearing, sexy individual. Not only is this reinforcing normative gender roles (Woah, just took you back to that Women's Studies class from sophomore year, right?), it's suggesting that a) intellectual women are defying their true desire to be vapid, gossip reading airheads and b) being intellectual, if you're a woman, can't be sexy.

The exclamation at the end, "I just want to show my knees, you know?" is confusing and awkward. The source of her frustration, however is not that she was apparently was raised by Puritans, but that she spends her time at Starbucks wearing flats.

Recently McDonald's released round two of this campaign. You can watch it here. It actually has humorous moments, but is still severely messed up, and while there's lots to say about this commercial too, this post is probably long enough.

This Is Africa

Since living here in Africa we have adopted the fondly used acronym, TIA, This Is Africa. TIA is used to excuse some of the most absurd, ridiculous and uncanny things that will cross your path in this nation. Happenings that make you want to scream for an explanation, but alas, this is Africa, you most certainly won’t get one.

Explaining the concept, simply does not suffice, but let me allow you into a little of the notion here in South Africa, fondly coined “job creation”. The idea is developed to decrease unemployment, and encourages self-initiative and small businesses. It really is a brilliant ploy, and I believe it is working wonders, the out workings of which make a very interesting city for a foreigner to enjoy. Aside from the commonly seen jewellery and bead making, wire twisting and other colourful crafts, are the ‘street vendors’.

Traffic light intersections are more like a mobile shopping mart. From the comfort of your driver’s seat you can view any array of objects from phone chargers to magazines, belt buckles to lamp shades, all at the convenience of your car window. They are avid salesmen too, very convincingly pleading you to buy these random contraptions you never dreamed of purchasing. Stay here a while though, and your bound to adopt the head down, eyes in the opposite direction avoidance mechanism.

If you ever have trouble finding, or manoeuvring into a car park then South Africa is the place for you. Each public parking area comes complete with car guards, who will not only guide you into a space, but will stay watch over your vehicle until you return, without you even having to ask. All this for a small price of 2- 5rand. Simply because, This Is Africa.

And my personal favourite, the ‘taxi’ ride. Here, the taxi operates much like a bus, travelling between one set location to another. However, the taxi is in fact a small combi-van which can squeeze any number of people inside, and wont move until it is filled above capacity. Despite the seats looking a little worse for wear, many are installed with elaborate sound systems pumping self-recorded African music. The drivers have a destination sign sitting on the dash board, although more often they will cruise around yelling out the open windows. It’s a very lively and claustrophobic experience, not for the faint hearted, but certainly a very popular and effective mode of public transport. When you see where you want to hop out, simply signal to the driver and he will swerve to the side for you.

The weird and wonderful continues in this intriguingly beautiful nation. But, I’ll save the rest till next time.

Savvy Context: The Writing Process, Part 1

The words “publishing” and “technology” are hot topics these days. The Google news search results wouldn’t surprise you: an obvious spike of news and blog articles popped up in August, almost doubling July’s figures. But while everyone’s debating which new e-book reader will become the market favorite and how publishers will survive the transition to the electronic book, I’m sitting back to consider the smaller, quieter effects of technology in the publishing world. Let the pundits and big voices handle the politics of the industry for a while: I want to get down to the basics, the parts of publishing technology you and I know best.

When I sit down to write, I turn on my computer. It’s natural for me, and to a degree, always has been natural. But most grade school pedagogy hadn’t (and maybe still hasn’t) acknowledged the importance of the computer in many students’ writing processes. I resisted traditional prewriting methods because I wanted to use the computer. So I outlined in my word processor; I used painting programs to (poorly) sketch out important scenes. I even put a slideshow together as a storyboard. Contrary to my middle school teachers’ beliefs, there are ways of making the computer and internet work for you in your prewriting. But old habits die hard, and even I admit that sometimes I just need to scribble something on a piece of paper.

So here’s the question: do we need to be able to change our craft to fit our resources? Is there a way to make everything we do to start writing electronic? Is our use of paper nostalgia? Or is there really something important about paper?

(image courtesy of ToothpasteForDinner.com)

Update! (10/09/08 @ 2:40pm) I was reading a post on The Book Bench, and found the following quote about writing by Don DeLillio:

The reason I use a manual typewriter concerns the sculptural quality I find in words on paper, the architecture of the letters individually and in combination, a sensation advanced (for me) by the mechanical nature of the process—finger striking key, hammer striking page. Electronic intervention would dull the sensuous gratification I get from this process—a gratification I try to soak my prose in.

Just more food for thought!

It worked for Joshua Ferris.

While an uninspiring office environment can strip you of your creativity and drive, at the same time, it can also be the source of some of your best stories, or, if you’re a writer, some of your most promising material.

Characters
Let’s face it: Never in our lives do we encounter stranger people than in our work spaces. In my first job out of college, I sat next to Nancy. Nancy was 45 and lived with her mother; she sported thinning hair and a thick, dark mustache; she didn’t drive, had never been to Target, and refused to set foot on a plane. She kept six pairs of shoes under her desk. They smelled.

The office is rife with interesting, bizarre, and, yes, compelling characters to be used and exploited for the sake of a good story.

Themes
As illustrated by popular TV shows, movies, and books, nowhere is the relationship between humor and pathos more apparent than in the office. The disillusionment of the American dream; birthday cake in the kitchen; the importance of work; the unimportance of it all. People like Nancy, who ask, “Did you guys know that bookstores have coffee shops now?” People like Nancy, who live for their jobs because they have nothing and no one to come home to.

If you’re smart about it, writing about work could be your ticket out of your cubicle. At the very least, it’ll make that dreaded Friday morning staff meeting seem just a little more meaningful, not to mention entertaining.

Pub Crawling: Well, how did I get here?

I am a female pushing 30, who moved 300 miles away from the place I've always lived, and who finally, half a decade after graduating college, has embarked on what can tentatively be termed a "career."

Yes, I am a publishing newbie, but I don't feel terribly new. Honestly, sometimes I just feel fucking haggard. And I've only been here 4 months.

I have an advanced degree and hold numerous honors that would be too ostentatious to list here, but I swear they exist. For 3 years I helped manage and run a nonprofit organization. I co-founded a magazine, interviewed Pulitzer Prize-winners and artists and filmmakers, and edited countless manuscripts and articles. People in my old hometown knew who I was. I was occasionally quoted in the local paper in articles about the "local literary community." The neighborhood sandwich shop knew my "regular" (turkey on wheat with American, lettuce, tomato, dollop of mayo). For a while, it seemed like I was moving up the ladder. Making the most of myself. Achieving my potential. Writing for a living. Receiving sandwiches without saying a word.

And now: I am back at the bottom of the totem pole in an entry-level position in a town where nobody knows me and nobody cares. I am several years older than numerous people in more senior positions, I make less per hour at my current salaried position than I did when working full-time as a temp, and I wonder if trying to start a career in publishing right around the time the economy has imploded is just a sign that I am another one of those cliched failed writers who has made a stupid mistake.

What made me do it? Why did I give up what I had and think it would be wise to re-establish myself in a new state and a new industry as a new kid when I am anything but new? Is it a mistake? I'm still trying to figure it out, but at least, for your reading pleasure, I'm not planning on keeping it to myself.

XXOO,
Pub Crawler

Because Women Don't Poop.

You gotta love Sarah Haskins. Watch her decode the messages behind marketing aimed at women.

Wilpers takes Bloggers to Print and then International

According to Universal Hub, Former EIC of the now defunct BostonNow, John Wilpers, is seeking global bloggers for GlobalNews Enterprises. As GNE’s Director of Global Blog Development (fancy sounding, eh?), Wilpers is teaming up with local TV exec and NECN founder Phil Balboni and former Globe publisher Benjamin Taylor, among other notables, to form the “first fully web-based news organization to provide daily coverage of international news.” They plan to get 70 bloggers on board from around the world. While their site won't be up until early 2009, you can register in the mean time as a future subscriber or contributor. Don’t be intimidated by GNE's impressive Nova-esque graphics; if you’re interested in writing, contact them.

Wilpers is known in Boston for his work with TAB, Metro, and AOL's Boston CityGuide and has also worked with the Washington Examiner. He was EIC for BostonNOW for its first eight months in 2007 and then served as a consultant. The paper went under in April of 2008 when its main Icelandic backer, Baugur Group, pulled the plug due to poor foreign credit markets (a little bit of foreshadowing that hits close to home).

Although BostonNow was frequently slammed for its outrageous, often tabloid content and antics, it was the first US print paper to publish local blog content and to seek out and recruit bloggers. Even with the paper’s random and disjointed organization, its influence is undeniable. Since the publication's brief run excerpts from blogs are now printed in many papers, including Metro and The Boston Globe to name a few. Many heavy-hitter publications even have their own staff blogs (cough cough, Fringe?). BostonNow, despite its flaws, played a part in that.

I’m interested to see how GNE develops and whether it will be successful as BostonNow once planned to be. You can read more on Wilpers' thoughts on the evolution of blogging and its importance in the print world here.

Jonathan Safran Foer Talks with Slate

Check it. One of the greats of our generation talks about his life and his process. And Sam -- I'm totally into the reading binge. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close really delivered the goods. Cool that Slate is taking on the task of talking with living writers. I'll be interested to see who they talk to next.

Teh Internetz: Feed Readers

If you're a writer...

No, scratch that, if you are ANYONE living in the world today, you must start using an RSS feed reader if you haven't already. In a nutshell, a feed reader will take the content from a web site (usually when you click on the nifty orange button with the radio waves in your toolbar) and FEED that content into an interface that is controlled by you. Feed readers enable you to view, organize, share, tag, and keep tabs on your favorite sites without checking each one every single day. It will change the way you browse, certainly. But do not be afraid.

Most people, my stubborn past self included, don't like the idea of switching to a reader for their online needs. They whine: "Oh, but I like visiting my sites! I like seeing them for myself! I like wasting time and being inefficient for hours and hours on end."

Fine. Suit yourself. But the rest of us fly honeys are going to be rocking our readers.

For writers, a reader can help you keep track of your favorite author blogs, organize news feeds, and stay on top of sites that are helping you research that next great American novel (and I say that without snark or incredibly dull patronization). For publishing folks, it can help you follow industry news and financial stuff. And here's something awesome: you can even set up feeds from job sites so you can easily scan the help wanted sections for your chosen profession. It's how I landed my gig.

And of course, there are the blogs. Millions and millions of blogs. The internet is just teeming with them. And you can follow them all, from cooking to cakes to LOLcats, on a reader.

If you want to set up an RSS feed reader for yourself, you have a lot of options. Here is a list of the top 5 as compiled by Life Hacker. I personally use Google Reader, which, if you have a Google Account, is already ready and waiting for you.

They should all take only a few minutes to set up. Then the fun begins: adding your feeds. Start right now. Click the little orange button up there. Yeah, that one in the address bar if you're using Firefox. Probably lower in the toolbar if you're using IE (we'll talk about that later). Who knows where the hell it might be on Opera. Chrome? It's probably already thought ahead for you. Anyway, give it a click. Add the Fringe blog to your reader. You'll be glad you did.

Review of The Tenth Muse by Judith Jones

Judith Jones, at least to me, is one of those women in publishing. You know, those ones. You've heard their name somewhere, only you can't remember where. Maybe on NPR? You know she's responsible for something to do with...oh, cookbooks...publishing...you're pretty sure she's really important. Recently I picked up a copy of The Tenth Muse at the library feeling I ought to get to know a bit more about what this woman has done for publishing and also for cooking.

Suffice to say if there was a great discovery to be made, Jones quite likely had a hand in it. It was Jones who brought The Diary of Anne Frank to publication and, as if that weren't enough of a career accomplishment, Jones who championed Mastering the Art of French Cooking into its publication. Jones chronicles the process of working with Julia Child to present a recipe for a French baguette because, at the time, no such thing was commercially available in the US, and both women believed French bread to be crucial to a fine French meal.

Jones's memoir reads like a who's-who of the genesis, not only of American cooking (Marion Cunningham. MFK Fisher, Edna Lewis, Jams Beard) but of the great expansion of regional and international cookbook authors (Claudia Roden, Madhur Jaffrey, Hiroko Shimbo, Lidia Bastianich). I was surprised to see that Jones keeps constantly abreast of the changes in publishing, food trends and food history in this country, pausing to mention Michael Pollan or Eric Schlosser in a local chapter on local eating and cultivating a garden.

While I would have liked to hear Jones discuss her position in publishing with some regard to feminism or women's issues (perhaps especially because she dealt primarily with cookbooks, and domesticity is already a murky issue for women) I thoroughly enjoyed the book overall. Jones has changed the character of many households through her continuous contribution to culinary writing and her memoir is a quiet pleasure for any fans of food. For anyone wanting to learn more about Jones, Michael Ruhlman has a good interview here and the New York Times has a great profile up here.
If these names sound unfamiliar to you, check them out next time you're thinking of googling some Food Network show or whipping up a Rachael Ray suggestion.

Fever-Stricken

Laurie Halse Anderson is one of the most gifted young-adult authors of the 21st century. Her 2nd published novel, Fever, 1793 tells the story of 14 year-old Matilda Cooke, strong-willed heiress to her widowed mother’s coffeehouse in post-revolutionary Philadelphia, and is a quintessential example of the higher-standards required of today’s young adult literature (R.L. Stein, take note).

For the history lovers, there are the historical names, places, and details of the worst yellow fever epidemic in U.S.history intricately woven into Mattie’s story. There’s the dry-heave-inducing accounts of yellow fever’s symptoms. There’s a sweeter-than-saccharine romance between Mattie and Nathaniel Benson, a ne’er-do-well, lowly painter’s apprentice in front of whom Mattie scandalously dares to show off her elbows (gasp!).

There’s Grandfather: General William Farnsworth Cooke “of the Pennsylvania Fifth Regiment,” who spends his days in the coffee shop, regaling the customers with stories of his days under General Washington, while doting on Mattie and his pet Parrot, “King George.” There’s Eliza: the Cooke family’s freed-slave chef who serves as a member of the Free-African Society and always shoots from the hip (“You’re too soft!” she tells Mattie, “You have city hands and a weak back. You wouldn’t last a week on the farm.”)

And, of course, there is Mattie, a typical teenager grappling with the woes of adolescence: awkward in her pubescent body, rebelling against her stoic mother’s rigid expectations while simultaneously seeking her hard-won approval, and trying to establish her own identity, under the most tumultuous of circumstances.

The novel begins with a sluggish introductory chapter which sets the scene and introduces the major characters, and through which I always have to coax my dubious students. But, by the end of chapter two, the story is catapulted into high-gear as it races towards the heart-wrenching climax (I am yet to make it through a read-aloud without tears), and a conclusion that leaves no loose ends untied as Anderson deftly concocts a well-balanced literary meal that is at once educational, suspenseful, and deliciously satisfying.