Toe in the Ocean

In the past, I’ve waded in the bay of business and technical writing. An article here. A book review there. I even co-authored Achieving Excellence in Legal Technology Management with legal experts I’ve long respected. And then at the end of March, I put my first, and second, toes in more traditional literary waters.

First, the California Writers Club Literary Review featured my poem “With Regret” on the true nature of California’s coastal fog. Many thanks to Dr. James Tipton for his inspirational “write a myth” prompt.

Then, Ragnarok Spring 2013 (Ragnarok the e-lit journal) published one of my flash fiction stories. At just over nine hundred words, “Cherry” tells how an old car jump-starts a new love.

Gob smacked and inspired by their recognition, I dove into rewrite sixteen (or was that sixty?) on my novel of Lord Byron, his wife and daughters – legitimate and not.

My first semester in Pacific’s MFA program ends in five weeks. I’m looking forward to my next trip to Oregon but the ‘tween term break will allow me to send a few more stories out for publication. Wish me luck!

Out of My Hole for CWC

I recently poked my head out of my writer hole to participate in a few California Writers Club (CWC) events.

On March 24th, I shared what it’s like to participate in the Berkeley Certificate of Writing program at the CWC Members-Only pre-meeting.  Jean Mansen, one of eight graduates of the program, developed the overview presentation while I focused on the online classroom experience. Unfortunately, Jean was laid low by one of those nasty cold-flu-whatever bugs and wasn’t able to join us that day.  Get well soon, Jean!

On April 1st, no foolin’, the CWC Newsletter included my review of The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide To Character Expression, a very handy book if you struggle to show your characters’ emotions past a smile or frown. For example, eyebrows do yeoman work. They raise in amazement, squish in confusion, and lower in defensiveness.  And that’s just one body part!

I gotta run back to my hole now. I have thirty pages of creative writing due to my mentor in two weeks and I’m stuck writing a scene to show Charles Babbage‘s moment of inspiration when he created the carry-over lever for his Difference Engine.  Trust me, the book is much more exciting than this one scene, which will probably end up in my Mac’s trash basket.

In the background, Mother Annabella and daughter Ada are fighting like, well, moms and daughters. And Ada is studying more than shorthand with her new tutor. “The shame of it all,” Jo wrote, her eyebrows arched in curiosity.

 

Wrapping up my “First Residency Trilogy”

I spent my first Pacific University MFA residency with one hundred and twenty-five fellow students supported by twenty-five faculty-writers.

As my dad used to say, “there wasn’t a clunker in the bunch” although the group did tilt decidedly to the left, not unexpected in a community of artists. One well-know faculty member used his turn at the podium for an extended conservative bashing. Without actually craning my neck to look, everyone I saw nodded in agreement.To blend in with my new BFF, I may wear my “I donated to NPR” button at the June residency.

On the subject of “you said what?” I award Honorable Mention to the woman sharing her creative theory that the US Treasury caused the financial crisis by flooding the banking system with unused greenbacks printed in anticipation of Y2K. She must write fiction, or perhaps fantasy.

And then there’s the Scarlet Letter A - as in Age. During my application process I was assured the average student age was thirty-eight. Right, I buy that. But, oh, what a distribution curve it must have taken to create that average thirty-eight-year-old student. Young’uns right out of their Bachelors’ degrees held down one end of the bell curve while I sat on the other, my head ringing.

Still, it’s all good.  To quote a fellow freshman, “I can’t wait to use my student ID for discounts. That AARP card is embarrassing.”

First Residency: Lessons Learned

Yesterday’s horoscope summed up my current state of mind: When you didn’t know the rules, it all worked out fine. Now you know the rules and things seem suddenly difficult. Chill out. Take a break.

I’ll take the planets’ advice and break to share Lessons Learned from my first residency.

1. Those fancy fingerless gloves with the fingertip saving hoods rock! Next year, I’ll buy a pair with full thumb coverage. Twenty percent of my digits were literally left out in the cold.
2. If everything is important, nothing is important. Short stories average one “moment.” Novels may have three or four.  Savor the moments. Explore the emotions and relevant details of that special time. Ellen Bass, Ben Percy, and Claire Davis.
3. Neat is boring. Chaos is exciting. When your characters are too damn comfortable, throw a wrench into your story’s gears.  Watch your protagonist sort through the bedlam. Fun!  Cristina Garcia
4.  Stories are chemical reactions. Start with high-energy characters. Watch them collide and combust. Clean up the mess. Story done!  Apologies to Frank Gaspar. My sound-bite summary doesn’t do justice to his chemistry inspired talk.
5. Bring a full bottle of whiskey. The hotel bar didn’t stock Jameson and my flask only made it halfway through the week.  A gal can’t live on Oregon Pinot Noir alone.

Next update – the People of Pacific University.

Residency Round One: Scene

I’ve just returned from my first Pacific University MFA on-site residency with enough perspective to comment on the scene. More intimate updates on the people and my lessons learned will come later.

Seaside’s beach extends football field deep at low tide, perfect for long “what the hell am I doing here?” walks. The beach hosted the hyped “bonfire” which looked more like a “campfire” to this country girl. Still, we had cold beer, cold wind, and cold people. What more could you ask for?

The weather alternated between wind-driven rain and sunny days that could have passed for Hawaii, sans the hats, gloves, down coats, and smoky breath.

Our one-half day off was perfectly scheduled for a clear blue afternoon.  Cannon Beach and Haystack Rock were delightful distractions and I even scored a birthday present for my sister. (No pictures, Mary. You’ll have to wait until April.)

When you put one hundred and fifty students and faculty in single large room during flu season, you create a perfect petri dish for international germ contributions including Israel and Bejing. My unscientific count showed twenty percent downed by one bug or another but if you told me the actual casualties were forty percent, I’d believe it faster than a squirt from the ubiquitous hand sanitizers. I was thrilled to leave with only a stubborn cough, a holdover from holidays in Chicago.

Many thanks to faculty members Laurie Hendrie for sharing her front-of-the-bus seat and to Mary Helen Stefaniak for the timely Dramamine when the two-hour bus trip to the Portland Airport had me rooting for a personal case of carsickness (or would that be bus sickness?) rather than a late breaking flu attack.

Nine Intimate Strangers

The day before UAL 489 took me to Chicago for Christmas, nine Microsoft Word files from David, Anastasia, Tim, Hillary, Mitzi, Kelly, Scott, Jane, and Jo arrived via email from the Pacific MFA office. Nine examples of polished prose offered for public critique. Soon, on the Oregon coast, we will each have one hour where our words are discussed, dissected, and we pray, not too badly dissed by our peers.

I don’t know my fellow authors by face and barely by name, but I know them nevertheless. I know who is not afraid of dark themes. I know whose spot-on phrase brought laughter to my champagne-sipping sisters chopping onions for Christmas Eve’s pierogis. I know whose pages seem premature or perhaps experimental. And I know the talented, sensitive author I want to sit next to for my workshop.

I wonder what they know about me.

Graduating class of 2015

To paraphrase a little ditty enjoyed by my husband’s grad school chums:

I went to college once
and thought that it was nice.
And so I decided
to go to college thrice.

Yep, I’m headed back to graduate school.  This time I plan to study POV, not ROI.

For my business buddies: POV means Point of View.  As in – I’d like to understand the other side’s point-of-view but they are always wrong.

For my writing colleagues:  ROI means Return on Investment.  As in – when I publish my novel, I hope to get a positive return on all the time I invested in revisions and edits.

Enough definitions, let’s get back to my new reality.

In January, I begin the first of five two-week stints with my new peers and the faculty of Pacific University’s MFA program in Creative Writing. Winter sessions are held in the Oregon seaside resort of, well, Seaside.

January on the coast promises to inspirational. I hear the rain falls horizontally that time of year.  Fortunately, I scored a new pair of rain pants on sale at REI.  They’ve already proven handy given NorCal’s recent reminder that not all water comes in recyclable plastic bottles.

I’ll share updates on my newest adventure in the coming weeks.  Stay tuned. I anticipate tears and cheers – and that’s just the two-hour bus ride from the Portland airport across the mountains to the coast!