Monday, December 14, 2009

Responses to last week's homework assignment

The following was the final assignment for my recent workshop with the responses below:


Write a scene that features:

a red, silk handkerchief
a matchbox car
someone laughing
someone slicing cheese in a kitchen
the number 4
someone leaving

Untitled
Linda Fiorenzano


The ten foot tree stands perfectly in the living room of their forty five hundred square foot mansion.  Edward and Jacqueline sit across from each other on matching white chenille sofas.  The unscented artificial tree sparkles with tiny white lights, German glass ornaments and the family's twenty year old Swarovski crystal star.  The lower half of the tree is covered with an obscene amount of silver tinsel added by four year old Adam and two year old Casey. Through the large bay window behind the tree, Edward sees the first snowfall and feels the warmth from the crackling fire.   Edward sips his martini while Jackie and the children enjoy warm apple cider.  Gretchen enters the room from the kitchen where she finished slicing cheddar cheese and poached apples for them to nibble on before Christmas dinner.  
    The doorbell rings and Adam jumps up and picks up his entire collection of matchbox cars in his new NASCAR carrying case and rushes to answer the door.  Grandma Rose is standing there with a huge smile wearing her mink coat and holding bags filled with beautifully wrapped gifts.  She drops her packages in the foyer and bends down to receive  hugs and kisses from her only grandson.  She scoops Casey up from the Oriental rug into her arms as she throws her arms around her neck giggling and laughing the entire time. Jackie retrieves Casey and exchanges forced pleasantries with Edward's mother.  Rose asks when her oldest son, Thomas, and only daughter, Rachel, are due to arrive.  Edward says they are running late as usual and should flurry in just about the time the family is sitting down for dinner.
    Edward fixes himself a second martini as Gretchen offers Rose some cider.  The children beg their Grandmother for their gifts.  Rose happily reaches into the Nordstrom bag and pulls out one silver box decorated with a simple silver ribbon for Casey and another box with no wrapping paper for Adam.  The children slowly open the boxes and tear through the tissue paper to find new cashmere scarves, gloves, and hats.  Pink for Casey and hunter green for Adam.  They seem disappointed as they ask for another gift.   Rose smirks at Jackie and looks at the remaining gifts to find the ones the children really want to open.  Casey happily reveals her new American Girl doll whose face looks exactly like her own and wears the exact same dress Casey is wearing today.  Adam chases his new remote control helicopter into the dining room. 
    Edward walks over to the back of the tree, reaches through the branches to the center and pulls out a small gift simply wrapped in red paper and a white bow.   He walks up behind Jackie, taps her on the shoulder and hands her the box.  She giggles with excitement.  She wondered when Edward was going to give her the only gift she was waiting for.  She stands with her back to him and rips off the wrapping paper and top of the little white box.  She frees the inner velvet box, snaps it open and gasps with joy.  Nestled perfectly inside the black velvet box is the sparkling and flawless five carat diamond ring set in platinum.  She takes the ring from box, places it on her right ring finger, and lifts her right hand up in the air staring at the sparkling beauty and smiles.  She never thanks Edward for the gift.  Rose never asks to admire the new jewel.  Edward again thinks to himself that the purchase was a stupid one and reminds himself of all the practical expenses the hundred grand could have been put toward.
    Everyone hears a ruckus at the front door as Rachel makes her grand entrance.  She's wearing a black leather mini skirt, knee high black leather boots, a skin tight white spandex camisole, and a red silk handkerchief tied around her neck.  The camisole perfectly matches her complexion and the scarf is the same tone as her caked-on lipstick.  She loudly calls out for the children and her brother as she stumbles into the foyer.  Gretchen rushes to Rachel's side to escort her into the living room where the family is gathered.  Rose is not surprised by Rachel's appearance but still wants to crawl under a rock.  Rachel hugs her mother and Rose nearly falls over from the stench of booze.  Rachel stumbles to the children and hands each of them a coloring book and a box of used crayons.  Jackie rushes to her daughter's side to retrieve the crayons from her and hides them in the drawer of the coffee table.  Edward grabs Rachel's arm and pushes her into the kitchen to lecture her and try his best to sober her up before dinner. 
    Thomas and his partner, Scott, arrive shortly afterwards.  Thomas is walking on his own today as Scott wheels the oxygen tank closely behind Thomas so the mask on his face is not disturbed.  Rose walks over to her son and hugs him gently, but tightly.  He smiles and kisses her on the cheek.  His spirits remain high as he battles the side effects of the experimental drugs treating his AIDS.  Jackie says hello to Thomas and Scott but never approaches either of them.  Edward and Rachel emerge from the kitchen and Thomas recognizes the signs of the scene from past holidays.   Rachel rushes to Thomas's side to hug him with hopes that he will not preach about the wrongs of her life and just let her continue to get sloshed.  Again, everyone hears loud banging at the front door and Edward rushes to see who it is. He looks through the peep hole just as the guy on the other side swings the door into Edward's face.  Edward shouts the guy and pushes him back outside.  He quickly determines this has to be Rachel's latest bad decision.   The guy is screaming Rachel's name and demanding she come with him.  She rushes out the door, knocks over the topiary and falls down the front stairs, landing at the guy's feet.  Edward forbids her to go with him, but she tells Edward she's sick of his "holier than thou" attitude and gets in the car.  Edward shakes his head back and forth as he watches them leaving.
    He walks back into the house with his head hanging low and says nothing to the family.  No one asks what happened to Rachel.  Gretchen announces that dinner is ready and asks everyone to take a sit in the dining room.  Edward recites grace out loud and the family speaks 'Amen' in unison.  Quietly Edward adds an extra thank you.

 

Coming Home
Jenny A. Williams
As I open the front door I can hear laughing some where deep in the house. The smell of freshly baked gingerbread cookies fills my nose as I step into the front hall. “CLAIRE!” My mother rushs at me from the kitchen. Her warm embrace always brings tears to my eyes. I never let myself feel how much I miss her until I am back in her arms. This is always the best part of the holidays, the coming home. Being away at college has given me so much independence and yet I still miss that physical part of my family – a daily hug, the reassuring squeeze of my hand, or a kiss goodbye.
            My mother takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen where I see my older sister at the counter slicing cheese getting ready for our annual soup and sandwich tree trimming night.  Her four-year-old son on the floor behind her completely unaware of my presence. Now it is my turn to give out hugs, “COLLIN!” I yell. My nephew drops his matchbox car and runs full speed past the kitchen table and right into my midsection. “Auntie C!” He squeals as I grab him by the waist and lift him upside down and swing him over my shoulder and then slowly lower him back down to his feet. “Can I have a hug?” I ask - there is nothing quite like these toddler hugs. Collin flings his arms around my neck and squeezes with all of his might. I have to swallow back the tears – this is home, this is what I have been missing so much. Trish makes her way over to us and says, “OK Collin, let go of the Auntie C – it’s my turn.” Collin giggles as he squeezes one more time and then lets go and is gone as quickly as he appeared. I stand up and my sister grabs both of my shoulders to hold me at arms length to look me up and down. “It is SO good to see you – I have missed you so much!” I hear a waver in her voice as she pulls me to her. Man, have I missed her! Ever since she got married and had a child I feel like I only have my sister half time. Her holidays are now split with her in laws and not having her and her family around for Thanksgiving just made me feel so empty, so quiet. I realized then how much they are a part of who I am. The emptiness of Thanksgiving is completely erased as Collin comes marching in to the room waving a red silk handkerchief. This is the handkerchief I had bought mom for Christmas. How on earth did he find that?
“Look what I found!”   He screams and runs a lap around the table wanting me to chase him and who can resist? I take off after him as he darts out of the kitchen and  down the hall towards the front door. I see my duffle bag is unzipped, upside down and my clothes are all over the floor.  I am glad I sent Collin’s gift ahead so my mom could hide it. I reach out and tackle him and throw him on top of my clothes. “What were you looking for in my bag, Collin?” I start tickling his ribs. His laugh is so infectious. “TELL ME! What did you think you would find in there? A dump truck?” I tickle him some more until he is gasping “Please, Auntie C – stop! I will pick up all of your clothes, I promise.” I let him go and together we scoop up my clothes and stuff them back into the bag.
“Help, me bring my bag upstairs Collin.” He grabs the back end and together we hoist the bag up to the second floor turn the corner and go in to my room. He has already dropped his end and is on the bed before I can object. Where does he get this energy? “Your bed is the bounciest, Aunti C!” Again, that little giggle and again how can I resist him? I climb up on the bed with him and start jumping. Now, I remember why this was so fun – just like when Trish and I were young, flopping on each other, pushing off each other to get up and start it all over again. It’s just the two of us – here together. “Touch, the ceiling Auntie C. You can do it!” And I do. And my childhood flashes in front of me. Trish and I used to do this very same thing – reaching and reaching for the ceiling and laughing and hiccupping. I love that Collin, Trish’s son helps me remember how much I loved being with Trish, growing up with her, wanting to be just like her. I look at Collin and wonder if he has any idea how much I love him, how much I love his mother.
Collin bounces down on his bottom and falls down on his back. “STOP! STOP! I can’t jump anymore.” Is he finally tired? We lay next to each other staring at ceiling. “He pants, “That was really fun. Mommy never lets me do that. I love you, Auntie C.” These are the little things that make coming home so great.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Final Assignment for 2009

The following is the final assignment I gave my students. I post this in the hopes that you, dear reader of this blog, will also respond to it by writing your own scene and then post it in the comments. If  your own writing has fizzled out, this may be the way to reignite the fire.

Write a scene that features the following:

a red, silk handkerchief
a matchbox car
someone laughing
someone slicing cheese in a kitchen
the number 4
someone leaving

If this assignment intrigues you, you may want to join us in class in 2010. Read below for the schedule:

For 2010, live classes will run as Saturday four hour intensive workshops. Each of these will cover all of the general concepts of Releasing The Writer Within and are perfect for anyone, beginner to advanced. Students may purchase one workshop at a time, or  pre-register for all five and get a steep discount. See below for details:

Releasing The Writer Within: Saturday Intensive Workshop
Dates for Saturday Workshops 2010:

February 6th, 2010 Breaking Through The Block
March 6th, 2010 How To Finish What You've Started
April 10th, 2010 Using Your Own Life to Create Powerful Fiction
May 1st, 2010 The Basics of Storytelling

June 5th, 2010 How To Read Like A Writer (and use what you learn in your work)

Place: 16 Cutler Street. Warren, RI. East Bay Chamber of Commerce Conference Room.
Time:
1-5 pm.
Cost:
$85 (
member rate). $100 (non-member rate). Pre-register for all five workshops and the rate is $75 per class for a total of $375. You must be a member  to pre-register.

Registration form.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Write+Naked

Write+Naked

BUSY GIRL

I have been delinquent in my weekly blogging because life is too busy. One of the fruits of my labor has been school, particularly, three short stories (and I don't write anything less than 30 pages per first draft, so there goes the idea of short) and an annotation paper to the tune of 12 pages (which is nothing by now) as well as an annotated bibliography from the first two semesters of school....

Therefore, I am too tired to write something angst ridden about self publishing for the third time...which is what I need to write about...but I am simply zonked. So, I grant you, in this blog, my complete annotated bibliography of semester 1 and 2. Gotta do something else with it besides share it with my favorite and beloved teacher and brilliant author Laura Williams McCaffrey. 

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About.com: Classic Literature website. http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/kchopin/bl-kchop-thestorm.htm. The Storm. Kate Chopin. January, 2009. Delicious but melodramatic language that was of the time period. Lots of tension and a clear plot line. Lots of telling verses showing but the language made it work.

Angus, Douglas. The Best Short Stories of The Modern Age. Fawcett; Revised edition, 1987. This anthology has all classic authors: Sherwood Anderson, Anton Chekov, Joseph Conrad, Shirley Jackson, D.H. Lawrence, Katherine Mansfield, Lionel Trilling, and quite a few more.  My favorite piece is The Rocking Horse Winner because of the use of metaphor and symbol, which I can actually understand easily now, as an adult, instead of not seeing it at all when I read it in high school. This is about a truly dysfunctional family who wants to keep up with the Jones at all costs. The father uses his son to help him select a horse to bet on and over time, the poor boy starts to feel responsible for helping his father increase his luck. I read it this time feeling very sorry for the child who rides his rocking horse into a frenzy, channeling the winning horse. I interpreted this as a metaphor for what children will do to please their parents, sometimes dying over it as the little boy in this story does.

Asher, Jay. 13 Reasons Why. New York: Penguin Young Readers Group, 2007. I liked the suspense in the book and the premise– someone who has committed suicide speaking, on tape, to the collection of people that she holds responsible. Asher pulled off something that if not written well and with authentic dialogue, would not have worked.

Atwood, Margaret. Cat’s Eye. New York: Anchor Books, 1998. Unfortunately, I do not like the author’s writing style very much. It’s a kind of denseness that I find claustrophobic.  The plot was okay, but I couldn’t get through the entire book.

Bagdasarian, Adam. First French Kiss and Other Traumas. Canada: Douglas & McIntyre Publishing, 2002. I enjoyed this and thought the structure was unusual.  It seemed like a fictional memoir and instead of separate stories the pieces were different vignettes all around the trauma of his father’s death.

Barnholdt, Lauren. Two-Way Street. New York: Simon Pulse, 2007. Well, it was a fast read but there was something forced about the plot.  It seemed unlikely that parents would force their daughter to go on a cross country trip with her boyfriend who just dumped her all because that was their plan for her to get to college. Also, the MySpace references were irritating. It made it seem like a commercial for it. Turns out the author has s very active Myspace page. I did like the alternating points of view though, as I’m intrigued with POV choices. It was a good read but a little contrived with the plot.


Bauby, Jean-Dominique. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. New York: Random House, 1997.  Amazing tight language. A story to be read in one setting.  Have a box of Kleenex. In terms of first person point of view–I know it’s a memoir, but memoirs still can have a point of view worth studying–this book presents a unique first person with almost all internal monologue and that highlights the idea that we are all free in mind if not in body. 

Brown, Rebecca. The Gifts of the Body. New York: Harpercollins, 1994.This wasn’t a memoir but based on the author’s work as an AIDS homecare worker. It is truly amazing in terms of the preciseness of writing. I read this thinking, there’s nothing else like this out there.

Burroway, Janet. Writing Fiction. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Addison-Wesley. 1999.  Sometimes too technical and not user friendly. But the journaling and point of view sections were really helpful to me. It’s probably the best technical craft book out there. 

Cabot, Meg; Jaffe, Michele; Harrison, Kim; Meyer, Stephanie; and Myracle, Lauren. Prom Nights From Hell. New York: HarperTeen, 2007.  I read a lot of anthologies last semester so I tried to avoid them this semester. But, this had some notable authors, so I had to read it. I enjoyed this anthology even though it’s not my taste–fantasy/fantastical. I was intrigued because several of the authors in the anthology were not known for their fantasy/fantastical work. I selected one of the pieces to annotate and while the story itself bored me, the writing was excellent, particularly the use of a close third person point of view with a dual voice.

Caletti, Deb. Honey, Baby, Sweetheart. New York: Simon Pulse, 2008. This is an award-winning book…but not an award-winning story. The language was a bit melodramatic for me but I appreciate the vivid descriptions and sensory language. It is supposed to be a teen romance story with a not Disney princess ending–which I also appreciated. The title comes from, in my opinion, the best character in the story. A septuagenarian lady who tells the main character that after her husband died, she decided she was no longer going to be someone’s honey, baby, or sweetheart. That is really the award-winning part–message for me as a reader.

Cart, Michael, ed. Rush Hour: Bad Boys. New York: Delacorte Books For Young, 2004. I met Michael Cart years ago and he was so kind and knowledgeable about YA literature. I think he’s the grandfather of the genre.  Maybe the inventor?  I like his willingness to bring forth stories that are risky and different.  This collection was just that, and Jacqueline Woodson’s piece Poe-Raven is the most brilliant short story I read this semester.  Nothing happens yet everything happens–it’s a narrative of internal revelation and understanding.

Cart, Michael, ed. Rush Hour: Sin. New York: Delacorte Books For Young Readers, 2004. I didn’t like this collection as much as the other one.  The stories seemed more about the plot verses the character pushing the plot.

Curtis, Christopher Paul. Bud, Not Buddy. New York: Random House Children’s Books, 1999.  Not a good as The Watson’s Go To Birmingham. I had high hopes and was bored.

Davis, Stephanie. Smart Boys & Fast Girls. New York. Smooch, 2005. I connected to this book because the girl opens the story by saying she is every boy’s “buddy” and now, junior year, wants more. I expected to see this struggle played out, and it really wasn’t the main thrust of the plot. However, I did let go of that enough to enjoy it.  But it made me realize that it’s important to go through your story to make sure that things you “say” are things that you “show” and if you don’t, maybe that’s not something you need.

Ellis, Bret Easton. Less Than Zero. New York: Random House, 1985. The voice and story bored me. I know that part of the point is for you feel the numbness of the characters. I thought that could be achieved better if it were condensed down to a short story.

Flake, Sharon. The Skin I’m In. New York: Hyperion Books for Children, 2007. What I liked about this story was the message and portrayal of mentorship between a teacher and student and that its characters were varied and not slices of a stereotype of inner city African Americans. I also thought the internal struggle of the main character with her looks was relatable and universal–this opens the book to a very wide audience.   

Flake, Sharon. Who Am I Without Him? New York: Hyperion Books for Children, 2005 While there were may stereotypes portrayed and that’s not my favorite thing to read, within each stereotype was a uniqueness in character and story.

Gallo, Don, ed. No Easy Answers: Short Stories about Teenagers Making Tough Choices. New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell Books for Young Readers, 1997. Really enjoyed this eclectic collection. Some stories had mainly dialogue and others had a lot of exposition– good for my annotations. The first story had such a great premise but the way too long exposition kind of made it long-winded.

Gallo, Don, ed. Visions: 19 Short Stories. New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell Books for Young Readers, 1987. I’m not a fan of sci-fi or fantasy but there were Richard Peck’s “Shadows” was really lovely and sad.  You think that this girl is haunted by a ghost but it turns out what she sees is a boy hiding in her house is the son of one of the aunts caring for the narrator.  It’s all classic Peck and filled with irony.
Gallo, Don, ed. Sixteen: Short Stories by Outstanding Writers for Young Adults New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell Books for Young Readers, 1984. . I didn’t like this collection.  I found the stories to not be satisfying.  I often thought, am I just not getting this?

Gilman, Charlotte Perkins. The Yellow Wallpaper (Dover Thrift Editions). New York: Dover, 1997. While it’s hard at times to follow exactly what is happening, that actually doesn’t matter because this is a story about what goes on inside the mind verses events that happen outside the mind.

Gotliebb, Lori.  Stick Figure. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2009. One of my students read this for summer reading, and so I joined in–I resisted reading this when it came out years ago, fearing it would be another Hollywood royalty psycho-drama. However, this was a painful but humorously told story of Lori, daughter to a famous producer mother Linda, about a young girl’s journey into and out of anorexia.  One of the better memoirs on the subject!

Greene, Graham. The Shocking Incident. http://www.nbu.bg/webs/amb/british/6/greene/accident.htm. To me, very much the 1960’s, with the kind of quirky bizarre pig-falling and killing the dad.  It was okay but not my thing.  I think was a play on “when pigs fly”.

Green, John. Looking For Alaska. New York: Dutton Books, 2005. A little melodramatic but liked the character development of the narrator and “Alaska”.

Hill, Laban, Carrick. Casa Azul. New York: Watson-Guptill, 2005. An interesting idea and fun way to look at history/biography of Freda Kahlo.

Hills, L. Rust. Writing In General and the Short Story in Particular. New York: First Mariner Books, 2000. Incredibly helpful about the parts of plot. Will use this again and again!

Howe, James, ed. 13: Thirteen Stories That Capture The Agony And Ecstasy of Being Thirteen. New York: Simon Pulse, 2006. I loved every story in this collection and really fell in love with Alex Sanchez.  So much so that I went on and read two more of his books.

Kearny, Meg. Home By Now. New York: Four Way Books, 2009. This lady makes me want to write poetry. The use of metaphor is brilliant and shames my own lame attempts, and, yet, I think careful readings of her work can help me make my own a lot better. 

Kearney, Meg. The Secret of Me. New York:  Persea, 2007. The brevity of words with the hugeness of story.

Levithan, David,. ed. This Is Push: An Anthology of New Writing. New York: Scholastic, 2007. Out fifteen stories I really dug ten.  Liked the idea of each story pushing truth and reality but not sure how they were defining those terms.  Loved the Kristen Kemp piece!

Mandelbaum , Paul, ed. 12 Stories and Their Making. New York:  Persea, 2007. Some of the stories I didn’t care for like The Story of My Life Kim Edwards, who wrote The Memory Keepers Daughter. I felt like it was contrived and after I read it, there was a section about how she wrote it and she said she took it right from a headline. I read this because it was supposed to be a story that had a tight plot.  It totally bored me. I loved the Sandra Cisneros piece, even though it was a little confusing to follow.

McCafferty, Megan, ed. Sixteen. New York: Three Rivers Press, 2004. I enjoyed the variety in the anthology–from Ned Vizzini’s story about a boy from the old west coming of age via a brothel visit with dad to Carolyn Mackler’s story about two girls–one who has found religion and one who has just had sex.  Most seemed to be really from the point of view of the modern teen except…I annotated one of the stories called Infinity, which, when I annotated it, I really liked–at least the use of symbols. She uses the metaphor of mastering a rotary as a symbol of mastering decisions about sex. However, when I look at the actual story now, it seems like a rather 1950s view of sex and teenagers. Dessen seemed to portray the men in the story, the boyfriend and father, as strong and capable drivers while her mother was timid and scared. I take that as men are powerful and able to make decisions about sex while sex is bad and dangerous for women and that they couldn’t possible even think about such a terrible thing.

Meyer, Stephanie. Twilight.  Boston: Little, Brown Young Readers, 2005.  The ending of this book made me kind of moan and groan.  The whole other vampire liking her scent thing just seemed contrived.  Otherwise, liked the romance.

Moffet, James and McElheny, Kenneth, R. eds. Points of View An Anthology of Short Stories. New York: Signet, 1995. This was perfect for my semester-long study of point of view. The editor organized the stories into categories based on their point of views. I particularly liked the story Acts of Faith about anti-Semitism in the US military during world war two. The author used anonymous narration with a single point of view, but I saw that there was definitely more than one point of view portrayed. Even though it seemed a little inconsistent with the pov at times, overall, it worked.

Myers, Walter Dean. What they Found Love. New York: Wendy Lamb Books, 2007. Enjoyed the varied voices of the characters but wished for more of a through-line.

Na, An. Wait For Me. New York: Putnam Juvenile, 2006. Beautiful language, but I did feel some of the characterization in Mina to be too vague.

Oats, Joyce Carol. Faithless. New York: Haper Perennial, 2002.  I didn’t like this book. I read on Amazon that no one gave it less than three stars, so maybe something is wrong with me. Her work doesn’t seem timeless, like I though it would.  The ending of the first story seemed like a scene from melodrama from the 1950s–an inference that the father killed the mother and buried her in the backyard– and was predictable.  I was intrigued by the title, but felt disappointed. Could it just be that I don’t get it?

Potak ,Chaim.  Zebra. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1998.  This collection about 6 pre teens and the life changing events they go through has a promising strong start with the first three stories from the male perspective but when Potak tries to write from a girl’s perspective he falls way short.

Rowling, J. K. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. New York: Scholastic, 2004.  I’m not a fan of the Harry books, but Rowling is a master of dialogue.

Ross-Larson, Bruce. Stunning Sentences (The Effective Writing Series). New York: W.W. Norton & Co, 1999. After Laura suggested that I work on variying my sentence structure I looked for a quick reference that wouldn’t bore me to death. I found this in the bookstore and read this on the treadmill in two days.  The clear and simple examples and instruction really influenced and encouraged me to play around with sentence variation both critical and creative work. It explained and elaborated on the idea of rhythm in your writing.

Salinger, J. D. The Catcher In The Rye. Boston: Little, Brown, & Company, 1991. I have read and taught this probably twenty times and always discover something new.  This time I realized the power of Holden’s voice, not just that he sounded like a teen from 1950, but that his voice, the sound of it was a universal sound of angst and fatigue. I related.

Salinger, J.D.  Nine short stories. Boston: Little, Brown, & Company, 1991. A classic. Never tired of reading A Perfect Day for Bananafish, which uses a kind of old fashion exposition technique of talking on the phone to reveal background. 

Sanchez, Alex. So Hard to Say. New York: Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division, 2006. I am not a fan of his writing style, which, at times seems forced and awkward, but his courage to tell these stories about gay teenage boys wins me over. I liked the premise of a girl falling for a boy as he is discovering he is gay and didn’t find it smarmy in the telling of the tale.

Sanchez, Alex. The God Box. New York: Simon Pulse, 2007. This was a little less interesting to me as the previous book.  The stuff about God, the bible quotes, were way too much, but it proved that Sanchez did his research. Again, boy discovers he is gay but in this one he has had a girlfriend for 4 years and now must come to terms with her and himself.  There is a bashing scene that I really got emotional over.

Scofield, Sandra. The Scene Book. New York: Penguin, 2007. I read Sandra’s out of curiosity but found her ideas helpful. It was more of a workbook, which wasn’t what I was looking for.  I think this is a nice craft book to have on hand when trying to fine tune your stories and make sure you have all the elements of scene. What I really liked was Sandra’s little bits about her own writing life and how she created her own self-study of books.  The other nice part about the book is that it isn’t too technical and very user-friendly for beginner or advanced.

Seton Hill Website. http://jerz.setonhill.edu/writing/creative/shortstory/ an article about writing short stories. Basic and helpful reminder of the basics. Used this in the beginning of the semester to remind myself of the elements of plot I wanted to really examine.

Shange, Ntozake. Ellington Was Not a Street.  New York: Simon & Schuster Books For Young Readers, 1983. Unique idea to take a poem and make it into a children’s book, particularly when the poem is not necessarily for children. But to read it this way makes a heavy theme easier to digest and understand.

Shuma, Holly.  Love And Other Natural Disasters. New York: 5 Spot, 2009. This is chick-lit that wasn’t that bad although a little predictable.  I liked the premise of an emotional affair.

Spinelli, Jerry. Stargirl. New York: Dell Laurel-Leaf, 2000. Well, I didn’t love, love this book years ago when I read it for teaching purposes.  I was annoyed by my inability to characterize the type of fiction–was it a parable? Was it a fairy tale?  What is this thing?  I loved Jerry Spinelli and was put off by this departure–as I saw it. Reading it now, open to the idea that you cannot always characterize what type of YA fiction you are reading–and that’s good thing–, I started to enjoy it. I annotated this and found that the use of images as symbols was interesting and effective. I still am not in love with the story though. Is the message don’t be different, conform?  That, in the end, being different doesn’t work? I don’t know.  Too confusing.

Summers, Courtney. Cracked Up To Be. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2008. I liked this until the end.  The missing girl poster thing confused me.

Toole, Kennedy John. Here’s a great POV book– The  Confederacy of the Dunces. New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1987.  The single most brilliant use of third person omniscient! It beats out Anna Karenina in the effective third person POV category. Additionally, characters are brilliantly developed through dialogue and interior monologue through third person. The plot is hilarious even if some of the author’s laborious descriptions slows things down.  The last quarter of the book is a page turner. 

Tsetsi, Kristen. Homefront. Nashville: Penxhere Press, 2007. I wrote an annotation on this book, and, yet, it is hard to write a quick blurb about my feelings regarding it. I will say this: clear, beautiful, evocative language and a first person point of view intriguingly reporterish. My hang up was that–and you have to read this in order to get it–I felt like the author/narrator hated children and, therefore, as a mother I found the portrayal of a pregnancy in the book rather upsetting. But my own prejudice was put aside, and I really loved this book.

Tracy, Kristen. Lost It. New York: Simon Pulse, 2007 Well I liked this as it dealt with the decision to have sex and how it can change things but in a unique way although I found the ending kind of disappointing. Plus I felt like it was saying that when you have sex, things always go bad. I’d like to write a story about someone’s first time being great.

Vorwald, John and Wolf, Ethan. Creating Short Fiction: The Classic Guide to Writing Short Fiction. New York: Spark Publishing, 2006. Simple to understand.

Wild, Peter, ed. Noise: Fiction Inspired by Sonic Youth. New York: Harper Perennial, 2008.  Liked a lot of it and hated some of it. I just didn’t get some of the stories. Not sure if I would call this YA.

Woodson, Jacqueline. Locomotion. New York: Puffin Putnam Books for Young Readers, 2003. I loved these children and wanted to take them home and care for them but I also marveled at their strength. Woodson writes reality.

Zarr, Sara. Story of a Girl: New York: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2007. I like the minimal pop culture references as well as the minimal technology, which makes it so that you can read it twenty years from now. I felt like it was a timeless piece about the relationship between a girl and her father after she is labeled the town slut.  This was no slick Gossip Girls bs like it could have been.  The writing was lovely and literary.

Sunday, November 08, 2009

Life Happens When You Are Busy Making Plans

I was planning on taking a sabbatical from teaching my workshops starting in January. But, after careful thought, I have decided to modify it. The feedback I received, coupled with my own reluctance to give up doing something I love (even thought it’s for another something I love), has made me rethink taking a year and half off teaching.

My motivation for issuing myself a sabbatical came from the amount of work I have for school, which is only going to increase come my third semester in January. The third and fourth semesters at Pine Manor’s Solstice program (little plug) are designated for writing your thesis–not one but two, one in each of those semesters. So, looking at my life, coaching and tutoring (my work) and then my children (I have a 16 month old and almost 6 year old), I realized, I cannot do it all. Something has to give.

However, after receiving quite a few emails that asked if maybe I would consider running one or two more abbreviated workshops before I go, I thought–there’s got to be a way to continue to teach and get the time off I need.

So, I came up with a plan: Between February and June, I will run five Saturday afternoon intensive workshops that will focus on journaling your way to storytelling–perfect for anyone interested in writing anything from short, creative nonfiction essays, novels, short stories–anything creative. I will teach the powerful techniques that are the hallmark of Releasing The Writer Within and introduce some new things that I have learned at school. I will also throw in some during the week one-night two hour classes–possibly a class on revision and a Critique & Feedback. So, my sabbatical will really be from July to when I graduate in January 2011.

Don’t forget, too, that I am offering online tutorials–classes online for individuals rather than a group of students. Those tutorials can begin at a designated date that I will determine with the student. I also am offering online classes that begin the first Wednesday of every month and run for four weeks. The cost for the classes and tutorials are the same.

Click here for the schedule for all these classes. Don’t forget becoming a member of Releasing The Writer Within enables you to receive the very steep discounts on all classes as well as writing coaching sessions and packages.

Monday, November 02, 2009

Self-Trust, Self-Publish, Self-Promote

The Rug Pulled Out

I am getting better at riding out the shit that life throws me. Right now, in my personal life, the life I don’t write about in my blog (believe it or not I do keep some things to my self), I have had something happen to me that is best analogized with this: You are walking on, what appears to be, a lovely bike path, nice and flat, miles and miles of easy asphalt ahead of you.  You are just going and swinging alone, enjoying the feeling of moving forward, the lovely scenery with water to your left and a thicket of trees to your right.  Then, suddenly, upon the next step, you drop, fall, down, down, down, and land in  new place, bruised and lost. It’s sudden. There’s no warning. And now, you have to figure out what to do.

This “shit” that life has thrown me is not the worst thing to have happened to me ever-that would be death, divorce, or illness. It’s none of those. Maybe that’s why while this sometimes wakes me in the middle of the night, but my heart doesn’t pound and I don’t get a tightness in my chest. While I am consumed with it in my head during the day, it’s more just the buzz and noise behind everything else.

So, it’s not that bad. I guess.

But, the point is, the reason for me sharing this with you all is that this “shit” has given me some perspective on my writing, and more importantly, (what this blog entry will eventually be about) on the marketing of my new book, Fear of Falling.

Struggle?


Due to this shit in my life, marketing my book seems like a minor concern and yet, at the same time I say that, I feel guilty. I shouldn’t neglect this book.  Marketing is my duty in a way that when you create something, with it comes the responsibility of caring for its well being. I know the book isn’t my child, and I have blogged about realizing my old metaphor of birthing books and parenting them into the world doesn’t really work. A book is not a child. I get that. But still, I wrote the thing and published it. Shouldn’t I tend to it regularly? Or, is it like what happens with your pets once you have children? Where all your energy used to go to loving Fido, now poor guy is lucky if you clean his food bowl once in awhile. 

Guilt?

While I feel guilty about Fear of Falling not getting as much of my time as it should, I am well aware of how futile book marketing efforts can be. That I can do every single thing short of tying the book to my neck like a necklace and still not sell a lot of books. I have talked at length about the going-up-hill-with-a-bag-of-rocks-on-my-back experience of book marketing.  The reality is that you just don’t know what will work, and you do a lot of shooting arrows in the dark.  That was fine with the first and second book and that was fine before I had two children and that was fine when I wasn’t in school and that was fine when my business was slow. But now, I am pressed for time. Now, I have other things that are simply more important.

Frustration

Even when I was a marketing nut, the result was almost the same as not doing a whole lot. With book one and two, I did every single thing possible and sold a total of a bit more than 1500 (and I still sell some here and there). That is fantastic for self-published with no help. But the amount of time and energy it took was enormous, and I don’t regret it, but my life is very different now and I can’t live that way. I have to make money to support my children, and so my time has to go to children, work, and husband. Plus, I am in school, and school comes before marketing my book. I have to accept my limitations, and I have to let go of these voices that say “You should have waited to publish this one” or “You should have tried harder for a new agent or tried at least once with submitting to a regular publishing house.”

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

And...more frustration


It’s frustrating to love your book and believe in it but feel as though the time it takes for promotion is futile. Shot in the dark, and if you keep shooting and missing, you get pissed because your time could be spent doing something else. Recently I sent out a gazillion press releases, spent $800 on it and got only one response. Seriously? WTF?

And...more struggle

The struggle is with the guilt I feel for not devoting the amount of time I did with book one and two. The struggle I feel is the sadness of how so few will get to read this current book.  How, in many ways, this is the most important one. The struggle is to say, “I did this for simply the sake of my art and not to sell or promote.”  Which is the truth.  I went into this one saying, “I am publishing book three because I have to.  Because if only two people read it and are moved and touched– it’s worth it.”  I don’t regret self publishing it. I just wish that the few things I do for marketing would snowball effect out and bring in more readers.

Self-Trust When You Self-Publish


When it comes down to it all, I have to trust my self and my process with this book, and I have to remind myself why I did it and reconcile myself with the reality that some of the marketing I have done, which cost lots of money and time, isn’t working, and so that’s it. That’s it, as in, time to stop wasting money and time and just do what’s easy and accessible and free. 

Forgive and let go...


I am done efforting with marketing and from here on, I will market only in ways that are easy. And if I don’t sell any more books, I accept that.

The struggle between work, school, marketing, children, husband, house. I really understand I no longer can do it all and do it all to the best effort. One of those things will suffer. It can’t be the children or husband or work or school. Those are, in ways, effortless.  It’s the marketing of this book. Sorry, book. I love you, but I can’t do much more than I am doing.

----------


Told you all, way back before I released this book, that  I would be really honest about the third time around in self-publishing.  So, here’s the update on the book’s progress.

Middletown High School in Middletown, RI ordered 12 copies to give out as awards to teachers for a unit they did on bullying.  MHS is my alum and place I taught a few years back. I wish they would invite me to come and do a workshop. Cross your fingers. I have put it out there so...

I had a signing at Barrington Books and sold 20 copies between the three books.

Reviewing/blog goddess and student/friend of mine Joanne Carnevale posted the first official review.

A fellow named Marc Marc Archambault, author and blogger, will review the book on his blog My Indy Book Review.

Devyn Burton from 5 Awesome YA Fans has the book and will review some time next year on his blog http://fdreview.blogspot.com/. The Faerie Drink Review

I submitted to the IPPY awards.

I have acquired 73 fans on Facebook!

The Bristol Phoenix Wrote a lovely piece about the book and me. http://www.eastbayri.com/detail/131943.html

The Jewish Voice will be running a blurb and a head shot in their next issue.

Mt. Hope High school here in Bristol asked me to come and do a workshop.

The Barrington Library– so I hear– has a display of my books!

Clark’s Alum magazine featured a quick blurb about the book.

A reviewer from the Young Adult Book Club website is set to review the book shortly.

On the other hand...


The Newport Daily News has passed on writing an article about me.  Too bad. They did a nice job a few years back on my first book.

A few weeks back there was a request from the press release service I used. Haven’t heard back, though. I spent $800 on this wire/press release service. I only got one response. Lesson learned.

I haven’t set up any more signings yet.

Ran a contest only one person submitted to. : (

If you have any easy and quick marketing ideas, email me!  I will post any that I try out. 

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Book Giveaway Contest/Excerpt of Hannah's first two books!

Write Naked runs its first EVER book giveaway contest. 

The Contest

Write a review of Fear of Falling and post it on Amazon.  Then, send Hannah the link to the review, and she will send you a free, autographed copy of My Sister’s Wedding or My Summer Vacation–your choice! But hurry, only the first five reviewers will win the prize!!!!

Deadline is November 20th!

_______________________________________



From Chapter 1 of My Sister’s Wedding

“For God’s sake Barb, the waste paper basket was right next to you!” My mother screams from the bathroom. “Did you have to vomit all over the $700 veil?
     We are in my mother’s bedroom and Mom is in the bathroom furiously scrubbing the veil in her sink and screaming every profanity possible. Barbara is standing in her dress bawling, makeup running. I am holding the bustle up with one hand and wiping Barbara’s face with a tissue with the other hand.
     “Sorry Mother, I guess I missed!” she spits back at her.
     I am tired. Tired of my mother getting upset over the wrong thing. How come she doesn’t say: “For God’s sake. Barb, did you have to get trashed the night before your wedding?”
     Instead we stand around screaming and crying over a veil.
     Moments later, after I tuck Michael’s ring (designed by his father who owns a swank jewelry store in town) into my tiny, blue-beaded purse, we tumble into the white stretch limo and are on our way to meet Michael, my dad, and Michael’s parents at the temple. We are fifteen minutes away. My mother is discussing draperies with the limo driver (she constantly tries to recruit more customers, no matter the situation).
     “Now, Mrs. Hickman, my wife wants to buy all these curtains and pillows. I tell her: You make it! Why do you have to buy them? Women used to make this stuff. Why does she have to buy it?” says the limo driver, who is a balding, wrinkled man with a toothy smile.
     “George is it?” My mother asks him. He nods, teeth gleaming. “George, your wife probably is a busy woman. She takes care of you and maybe the grandchildren–”
     “Great grandchildren!” He announces as if they were a prize.
     “My!”
     “Six!”
     “Well, then, George, don’t you see how hard she works?” George nods vigorously. “Does she really have time to make drapes and pillows?” She stresses the word “drapes”. My mother refuses to say curtains.
     “I guess not.” Poor George has been defeated by Martha.
     “Let me give you my card....”
      My sister and look at each other and roll our eyes. She mouths to me, “Sucker!”
      My sister busies herself with her compact, fixing her lipstick. It all somehow doesn’t seem real; my sister is getting married and leaving the house. It just doesn’t seem possible.
      My mother closes the deal with George and turns back to us. She looks over at Barbara and says, “Did you bring any concealer?”
     “Why?”
     “Because you have circles under your eyes.”
     I stare at my mother. And that’s because...?
     My sister looks into her mirror. “I already put some on.”
     “Well,” my mother smoothes her dress. “You need more.”
     “No, I don’t, Mother.” Barbara turns to me. “Do I need more concealer?”
     I stare at her, not wanting to get involved. Not wanting to open my mouth for fear that I may scream, who gives a shit! You’re friggin’ hung over! Can we just say it already?
     I say nothing because now they are going at it. I tune them out and stare out the window. I have started to become aware of my family and how screwed up it is.    


From Chapter 5 of My Summer Vacation

I feel like a child who smells chocolate chip cookies and is lured out of her room and into the kitchen by the hypnotic smell. Inside the music shack, some instrument cases and stands are scattered around the scuffed hardwood floor. As I peer around the corner of the foyer area, I see curly brown hair flopping up and down. The boy who owns the hair looks up and the playing stops. Red blotches creep up his thick neck. He’s stocky. Tan with dark black hair. Cute in a cuddly way.
     “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was walking by and I heard the song and—”
    “That’s okay. I was just messing around. I hope it’s okay.” His voice is deep but soft.
     So he’s not a CIT. But he looks and sounds way too old to be a camper. The cook’s kid or something? He reminds me of Jack Black. Maybe his younger brother.
     “Is it okay?” Now he’s asking me. He closes the piano. “Are you one of the JCs?”
     “No, no. I’m a CIT. In the pub shop. Are you a—?”
     “Camper,” he finishes for me. “I’m a camper, but it’s my first year. I’m starting a little late. I’m going to be fifteen in July.” Fifteen is the cut-off age for older campers before they have to either be a CIT or forget coming to camp.
     Pause.
     “I love John Lennon,” I say. “No one my age likes Lennon or the Beatles.” I motion to the piano.      
     “You’re really good.” I like this kid. Immediately. He could be my Peter for the summer. Not that I want to bump out David. But I think David will be otherwise occupied.
     “How old are you?” he asks.
     “I just turned sixteen.”
     “You look older. I thought you were a counselor.”
     “You too.” We both laugh. Instant cocoa and marshmallows. That’s what my sister says when she connects with someone. It’s something she picked up in rehab from a sixty-year-old recovering alcoholic who was her group therapy counselor.
     I walk over to him and lean against the piano. “What else do you play?”
     He starts clanging out the John Lennon song, “Woman.” I feel a shiver that doesn’t belong in this stickyhot weather. His voice is gravelly but deep and strong. It doesn’t belong on anyone under forty. I hide my tears with a cough and eye rub.
     He finishes the song and looks up at me. “So how did you get into old music?”
     “I have a sister who’s nine years older than me.” I stop, not sure I want to reveal the full reason for Barbara’s appreciation for older music.
     “My brother, Orin, is nine years older than me.” He tugs on his curls and runs his hand rapidly over the back of his head. “A real screw-up. But a great musician. If he hadn’t blown a major record deal, he’d be a Behind the Music episode.”
     His candor nails me to the floor. “Maybe it’s an older-sibling trend to be a screwup. Mine’s a recovering alcoholic.”
     “At least she’s recovering,” he says. “Although Orin, I guess, is too. He’s always recovering or trying to recover or in recovery.”
     Holy shit.
     I feel compelled to top him but I can’t. “Wow.” It’s all I can come up with.
     “Even fucked up, Orin is a rockin’ singer and guitar player. Arista Records wanted to sign him last year after they heard him play with his band Couch Brats. They wanted just him. He fucked that up. Never showed up for their first meeting. They even sent a car to our house. The record dude even called and asked to come by. Orin was busy at the hospital.”
     He stops, and I notice he has a sort of weird tic, where he moves his jaw slightly from side to side. I haven’t moved from my position, arms leaning on the piano. I fiddle with a hangnail on my left thumb and wait for the end of the story.
     “Yeah, he was busy getting his stomach pumped. Too many pills along with the coke the night before.” He slides his jaw.
     I want to say Wow again, but instead I say, “That sucks.” Pretty original.
     “He’s one of those people that went to school stoned every day and got straight A’s. I can’t even have a bad night’s sleep and make it through first period. He’s OD’d five times and died on the table twice.” He moves his jaw. He talks like his singing voice sounds ... over forty.
     “I’m Maddie,” I offer.
     “Brian.” He leans back a little on the bench, holding on to the piano. “Do you play anything?”
     “No. But I love music. I wish I could play.”
     “I can teach you.” He leans into the piano keys and lightly plays a few. “It’s easy. Do you read notes?”
     “Actually, yeah.” I inch over to the bench and sit next to him.
     “I can’t.” We both laugh again. “Maybe you can teach me that.”
     “So you play by ear?” I ask him as I slid on to the bench next to him as naturally as brushing hair out of my face. “My father’s mother could do that. I never met her. Supposedly she was nuts and would play the piano in this bright pink housecoat all day. Local bars wanted to hire her but every time she was supposed to play, she’d wear her damned housecoat. My dad says she thought she wouldn’t be able to play without it. I get why my dad married my anal-retentive mother. Imagine what his home life was growing up!”
     “Yeah, I think it’s genetic. My mom, her grandmother, Orin, and me.”
     “No one else I know can do it. Play music, I mean.”
     “Maybe you can.” He grins. “You just don’t know it.”
Brian keys a few bars of “Imagine” by John Lennon. Another one that makes me cry. This time I don’t bother hiding it. Cocoa and marshmallows. Brian plays the entire song and when I look over at him toward the end, he’s tearing up too.
     After I leave the music shop, I realize I hadn’t thought about Justin once.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

An excerpt from my new book Fear of Falling

Fresh off "the worst year of her life," sixteen-year-old Maddie Hickman has sworn off love and her once-beloved self-help books in favor of editing the school paper and "banging out weepy poems." When she receives an anonymous letter from a gay student who's been physically threatened, Maddie is forced to step out of her self-imposed isolation, face her own personal problems, and take a stand. But how far is she willing to go? Will her best friends Peter and Susan stand with her? Can friendship survive past and present personal problems as well as challenging parents and unbending school administrators? And just how far are the three friends willing to go?


From Chapter 5  
Fear of Falling


I turn to Mrs. Leahy. “Mrs. Leahy? Do you have a minute?”
She cocks her head. “Where have you been all week?” I understand what she’s really asking. I tick the answer in my mind: Not hanging around after school, clacking out sad poems. All my editing for the paper was done in between “meetings” at Susan’s house and the three pounds of homework from AP History. Thank God the school paper is published triweekly.
“Sit,” she instructs. “Listen, I think it’s great that you’ve been busy with other things besides school.” She smiles. “So, what’s up?”
I look at the spine of The Great Gatsby on her desk. Then a deep breath. “I’ve decided to write the article about being gay in high school.”
Confusion or maybe anger flashes across her face as she looks away. Then her tiny hands flutter to her desk and she purses her lips. “Well.” Her face flushes while she looks from me to the door and back to me. “Where are you going next period?”
            “I have History.”
            She knows, just like I do, that Mr. Morgan is the kind of teacher that says if you’re taking AP History and are late, you’re obviously the kind of student who has a good reason. She gets up and closes the door so silently that there’s not even a click when it shuts. Like she’s trying to be quiet because a baby’s sleeping or something.
            “Listen, Maddie. That letter you received. We’re dealing with some serious stuff. Very. I don’t want you involved.” She suddenly looks young, like a student almost. Her eyes are wide and slightly watery, just the way most of us look the first few periods of the day. Her hands rest on the desk; she’s holding her left pointer finger with her right hand. “To be quite honest with you, I’m not sure if an article is a good idea.”
            “But why?”
            She sighs and shakes her head. “I’m not sure how much of this I should get into with you…”
            I don’t blink or move.
            Another sigh. “Mr. West thought he might be able to figure out who the student is. And he told me he’d take care of it, that he would keep everything anonymous. He told me not to worry. Of course I did, but … listen, this isn’t your responsibility—”
            “Anonymous wants me to help him.” I’m angry now. I stand.
            “I know, Maddie. But this isn’t your battle to fight.”
            “But he came to me!”
“You aren’t the adult here.”
I step back like she punched me. “What do you mean? God, Mrs. Leahy, you’re the one who tells us to write how we feel and not be afraid to share it with people. That the written word can change people and society. You’re the one who lectures us on bigotry and homophobia. I mean, why shouldn’t I fight this fight?  Why shouldn’t I fight for the freedom, the right to publish this article? Why shouldn’t I fight for Anonymous?”
            “Maddie, this is a public school, and it might not be the place to—”
            “Oh, my God! If this isn’t the place, then—” I throw my hands up. “So what do you want me to do? Forget that this kid called on me, asked me to help him? You always tell us to do the right thing and stand up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. To be a voice and spokesperson. I don’t get why I can’t just—”
            I swear I see tears brimming. “I’m sorry Maddie. I really am. But this … this situation. It’s really out of my hands. And yours.”
She reaches for my arm but I pull away.
“You have to let this go and focus on yourself, Maddie. You have a lot going on as it is, and—”
            “Forget it, Mrs. Leahy. Forget it.” I slam out of the classroom, surprised at my own anger, and that I even let her see it. I pat my pocket; at least I didn’t show her the draft.