Creative Writing Programs

A short piece by Lee Child got me thinking about writing programs.  I went to a school with a great creative writing program (I was an art history major), and I, a non-English major but a wanna be writer, benefited from it in many ways. Wonderful nurturing profs. Supportive environment. I learned word play and how to write to a deadline.  All positives. 

One of the best memories is that of meeting W.H. Auden. He'd been invited to campus, and a reception had been scheduled for one evening. English majors were invited, and I, although not an English major, somehow wangled an invite, so, off I went.  Dressed in my expensive Italian tan knit dress, brown Aigner heels, real pearls. 

Mr. Auden was sitting alone on a sofa, with people milling all around him, chatting to each other and not Mr. Auden. He was quite elderly then and reminded me of my own grandfather.  What does a good Southern girl do when she sees a party guest all alone? She marches over, introduces herself, and asks permission to join Mr.Auden on the couch. He was politeness itself, and very kind to a starstruck young woman, and gave me a memory I'll never forget.

Back to Lee Child. He says we're storytellers, not storyshowers. That old adage about "show"  and "don't tell" was hoisted on Mr. Child's most able petard.  That lead to all those other writing adages, the ones you're committed to never skewering, because you've been taught they're sacred.  I've talked with recent grads of the creative writing program, and I have to admit, they're horribly naive about the publishing world. All that lovely nurturing and encouraging just won't get them published. Sticking to the "rules" will get them nothing but rejection slips.

How I'd love to have a creative writing program that brought in wildly successful writers, the Lee Childs, the Sandra Browns, Nora Roberts, Daniel da Silva, Michael Connally - there are hundreds. I've heard quite a few of them speak (Lee Child is really good!), and they could teach young writers more in an hour than they'd learn from three months of seminars with equally naive classmates, all reading their stuff to each other.

But I am so glad I got to meet W.H. Auden.

Older Books - The Mythmaker Westerns

I'm having such fun reworking and rereading my Mythmaker westerns. These are good stories. I'm surprised at how well they've held up, to be honest.  Now that I don't have the word count restrictions their original publisher imposed, I can add what I want. At first, I thought this would be pages and pages, but it's not.

A line here and there.  A couple of sentences restructured.  Verbs changed now and then.  The story sounds more true in its original voice, and I don't want to mess with it too much.  How exciting to rediscover these tales and still love them.

I hope to have them up for Kindle this coming week. Westerns will remain my favorite genre because it's my first love, and the history still excites me.

Am I Shallow?

Am I Shallow?

Okay, I can be. Can’t we all?  But I’m on a tear about my fav authors leaving me cold, so yeah, I feel a bit like a twit.  Hear me out, however.

1. Janet Evanovitch – will grandma ever stop going to funerals? Will Ranger ever be less than sexy? Will anyone in this series get out of the 80s? I think I quit with Easy Eights? Can't remember, it was such an annoying book.

2. “C” is for Couldn’t care less.  Sue Grafton, can we talk? Talk about a mystery series that should have grown up, too.  Why is everyone emotionally frozen in one time period? I quit several books ago.

3.  This one is hard for me. Very hard. James Lee Burke is one of my favorite writers.  I finally had time to get into The Glass Rainbow, and my stars, what the heck is going on?  Clete and Dave are so down on everyone, so judgmental; I want to slap them silly. If Burke was planning on this being the last Robicheaux book, I guess he decided to out with a bang of the irredeemable and totally f****d.   Two years later, and I read he has a new Robicheaux coming out, so I guess Dave didn’t bite the big one, but who knows about Clete?  They were such downers in Rainbow I kinda wished they’d taken the boat across the River Styx.  I sure think the women in his books would be better off without the Bobbsey Twins of NOPD. I get the feeling Burke was writing everything he’s ever wanted to say in Rainbow, but does it have to be so drawn out, so hammer-to-the-brain? 

4. And then there’s Craig Johnson’s LONGMIRE series. Adored the first three books. Liked the fourth one. The fifth was, um, okay.  Haven’t gone any deeper into them.  I must be in the minority, because the books are doing great.  The  TV series, not so much my cuppa.  Love mysteries, obviously, but these feel rushed.  And Katee Sackhoff just isn’t Vic, the fiery Italian.

Need to read something that doesn’t make me want to gnash my teeth on a car bumper. Any recommendations?

104 in the Shade

It's the end of the world.  Totally early, if you believe the Mayan calendar interpretation. (By the way, it's been shown that the Mayans were talking politics and the end of a political reign, not Armageddon.)  Four (or is it five?) straight days over 100 degrees, and averaging 102 for good measure, have been brutal on humans and plants alike. The tomatoes are gone. The dogwoods are drooping. I'm not sure the pine trees will make it, their roots are so shallow. The rains we're expecting next week are coming none too soon.

This weather makes me dream of floating in cool water hour after hour. Or sitting beside an English river, under the willows.  Having been in Sweden in the summer when it was 90 degrees, I think that one's off my wish list.  Watching movies with snow and ice (The Thing, anyone?) helps a bit.

We decided to stay away from the Daytona race because we just couldn't bear the thought of sitting in the stands in the heat and humidity. The Nationwide race on TV was killer- good for Kurt Busch, driving that beat-up car to a win through the wreck-fest that's called a Daytona race.  The Cup race Saturday, not so interesting.

If it sounds as if I've been griping about the the weather and trying to pretend I can get cool by thinking cool thoughts, that about sums up my activities since the Fourth.

Lifted this from one of my daughters. Good advice.  Even better, it's a command worth following.    Good writers do this, is my firm belief. Struggling to find your voice as a writer isn't easy.  Whatever is truly important to  you finds its way into a manuscript, whether you want it there or not, and getting it down exactly is only the result of many rewrites.  Just try keeping your beliefs out of a story, and you're dead in the water. Sure, characters run away and do their own thing, so to speak, and as the writer, you sit back and say, OK, I'll see where you're heading, and if I don't like it, you're history.  Allowing a fictional person to act like a jerk doesn't mean you cotton to the power of jerk-ness.  It just means the story needs that vinegar to get the hero going on the right path.  All very obtuse, but if you're a writer, you know what I mean.

The soul-scorching heat this week has sapped whatever sanity I once possessed.  I'm either cowering in the AC, bemoaning the fact it's 102 in the shade, or wandering my desert-like yard, sweating through every inch of clothing, as I try to save what few plants haven't croaked.  The day lilies are gone, with a few exceptions, the rose bushes look peaked, (a Southern expression meaning they're not in good humor), the flower boxes droop pathetically, and the grass has given up the ghost. We have West Texas hard pan out there now. Even the weeds have given up the ghost.  Can't wait for the rains to come. And they will.  Just as the next sentence will come when a story seems stuck.  I believe in the power of words and rain.

A Book Recommendation

Seldom, if ever, do I get up at 5 a.m. and stay up to read someone else's book. Normally, I'm working on my own computer at that hour before the melee of the day begins. But today I took the dogs, Barb Morgenroth's WAITING FOR YOU, and my cuppa tea to the deck, and didn't move until the carpenters showed up at 8 and caught me in my jammies. Shocked them silly. Me too, since I didn't realize I'd been there three hours.

Go forth and buy this ebook. If you like romance of the adult variety, by which I mean emotional depths and not porn, buy it. Let me be clear, buy this book!

Jefferson Baths

The Jefferson Baths (Ladies Section)

We spent an hour, way back at the end of April, in these warm spring waters in the hills of Virginia.  We were staying at The Homestead, which owns the Jefferson Baths, and decided to try the experience. First of all, this is a photo of the roof reflecting in the water. Those lumps you can see (if you squint) are big rocks on the bottom of the pool. Water rushes continually through the bathhouse and is crystal clear and loaded with minerals. The roof itself is as rickety looking as the building around the pool (peeling wood, warping and not too stable-looking), and the skylight is open. The light from the holes in the roof dances around the water, and the effect is other-worldly.

If I were Dean Koontz, I'd open a horror novel here. Warm mineral waters, dancing sunlight, decrepit structure, yeah, just what the aliens like.

On another note, why doesn't The Homestead maintain the building better? I can understand retaining its historic integrity, but on the other hand, shouldn't it get a little help?