Word Strumpet

I Confess

I cannot tell a lie, because you have no doubt noticed, but I am a blogging slacker.

Two weeks ago I headed to Nashville for the Writer's Loft fall orientation.   This was a big to-do because it was the first actual orientation that my partner Terry and I planned since we took over the program.  And, I am happy to report, it was a rip-roaring success.

So much so that I got completely re-inspired to work on my novel again.  Not just working on it, but working working on it, if you know what I mean--keeping the file open on my computer, working on it every spare moment, obsessing about it all the other moments, stealing time from paying work.  That kind of working on it, which I love because its been too long since I've been in this space.

To my credit, there has been guilt.  Lots of it.  So much that it finally drove me to cautiously log onto my Typepad account.  So here I am.  I've not gone anywhere, just deeply into the novel.

Here's the good news--I took copious notes while sitting in the workshops and lectures that inspired me so much and my plan is to write blog posts about what I learned.  Um, never mind that that has been my plan for the past week, since I returned home.  I'm going to do it.  I wrote this post, didn't I? 

I also have a pile of reviews to post on my companion site, Bookstrumpet.  So stayed tuned, there is much more to come.  Really.  Trust me.  I promise.

And now excuse while I go look at what I wrote this afternoon on my novel.

Oh, one more thing--I was having some computer issues last week.  Like big ones.  Like my beloved Vaio melting down type problems.  Its okay for the moment, but I'm in the market for a new one.   I'm so tempted by the Macbook.  So very, very tempted.  I've resisted the whole Apple cult for years and now I feel it ensnaring me.  Help me, PC users! Not a big fan of Dells, but I've loved my Vaio.  I would like it to be less than astronomically expensive.  So if anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear it.  Has to be a laptop--it goes with me wherever I go.

Writer's Loft Orientation Next Weekend

Yesterday I cleverly wrote a post on my new Centro phone and sent it to be published on Typepad from my backyard.  I know this is old news for those of you who have had Blackberries and Iphones for ever, but it is a major step forward for me.  I'm on the road to LA and Nashville a lot, and now, should I find myself without and internet connection, or stuck in an airport, I can check email, work on documents and even write a blog post. 

Another way to feed my internet addiction, just what I've needed.

I've been working on figuring out this phone because I'm heading off to Nashville on Tuesday.  Next weekend is the two-day orientation for the Writer's Loft, the program I co-direct with Terry Price.

The Writer's Loft is a certificate writing program that features one-on-one writing instruction that is based at Middle Tennessee State University.   Students write original work and critical essays based on their reading, and their mentors critique this work in a structured, supportive atmosphere.  You can read a lot more about it on my page about the program here.

This fall, we're doing something a little different and that is opening up the Friday portion of the orientation to non-students for the low cost of $50.  That morning, novelist Darnell Arnoult will be lecturing on, "Writing Out of Chaos, Or, How To Write a Better Story Than You Know," and in the afternoon poet Bill Brown will be presenting a workshop called, "Finding Your Pivotal Moments, Real and Imagined." 

Anyone who lives in the Nashville area and is interested in writing ought to seriously consider checking it out.  You can register directly on the website and read all about the program there, too.

I'm hoping to bring you live reports from the scene, as they say, or at least check in after the events of the day are over to bring you nuggets of writing information.  Stay tuned.

Testing

This is a test. No, not of the emergency broadcast system, but my phone, to see if I can post directly from it. Since I'm hitting the road on Tuesday, I thought it would be cool to figure out. The last test failed, here goes this one. Update: It worked! I sent the previous paragraph from my Centro. Pretty cool, huh? Now I can send posts from airports or wherever I happen to find myself. I know, I know, you're beside yourself with excitement. I'll also be trying to remember to send tweats for my Twitter feed which you can see on the lower left column. My only problem with that is I haven't figured out how to do it tactfully--ie, sitting in a lecture, pecking away at my phone might not go over so well.

Ah, LA....

where it is illegal to look different from anyone else.

It is a requirement here that you be thin, tan, have long hair, wear sunglasses and pout, AND be young.  Thus if you are not young it is required that you go get plastic surgery really, really fast.  And then you look like you are trying hard to look like everyone else, even though everyone knows that you went under the knife to do it.

Ah, LA.  I love it so, and I'm not even sure why.

Being here always makes me muse on the nature of identity and true self.  These are important topics for writers because letting that ole true self out in words is pretty much the key to it all.  You will find success only when you find your voice and you find your voice by writing enough that you can let it rip, and open a direct line from your deepest inner being, through the arm, out the fingers, and onto the page.  Or keyboard.  Or digital recorder.

My friend Deidre, who lives in Silver Lake, says that everyone in LA strives to look alike and act alike and be alike and then the one person who is not like everyone else arrives and they are the one who makes it.  So why does everyone else persist in attempting to be like everyone else?

And once you hit 40, forget it.  Actually, it might even be 30.  Soon it will probably be 20.

Lat night I had drinks with a friend who is an entertainment attorney and he says its a hellish culture of youth here  (my words, not his, but they have a ring to them, no?)  As an attorney, he is expected to be wise and mature so he doesn't have to worry about the the age thing, but if you are flailing about on the creative side trying to make it, you gotta be young.

The hell part is, of course, that everyone ages.  Even Hollywood Goldenboys.  Then they have to dye their hair and pretend they are still young.

I realize that none of this is news, yet it continually perplexes me every time I come down here. Why do we all persist in trying to make ourselves just like everyone else, when there's only one of each of us in this whole world?  I'm veering dangerously close to getting teary eyed and talking about snowflakes here so forgive me, or better yet, explain it to me.

I'm reading Harriet Rubin's latest book, The Mona Lisa Stratagem: The Art of Women, Age, and Power, and she talks about how if a famous actor is on stage and a cat is on stage, all eyes will be on the cat. Why?  Because the cat is uniquely, gloriously, himself, no matter what.  Animals just are.  (This might help to explain why the most popular photos on my yahoo home page are always of animals.  So we're not as simple minded as I feared.)  Its the same thing with babies.  Ever notice how nobody can keep their eyes off them? 

Somebody ought to tell all the 20-something wannabe actresses that story.

And yet, despite my horror at the preponderance of clones everywhere and the cult of youth here, there is something about this place that keeps luring me back.  Maybe I like coming here so much because I can flee back north to Portland, where everybody seems desperately determined to not look like anyone else, ever. 

Or maybe its just the palm trees.

It's Hot in LA

I flew down to LA on Friday and at the moment I'm staying in Pasadena.  It is probably in the mid to high 90s at the moment, but yesterday and Friday, the temps were around 106-107.  Gee-zus.  This is way too hot for an Oregon native like me, especially given that we've not had much of a spring in Portland.  (I know, I know, its now summer.  We kinda went right from winter to summer.)

Even though Suzanne's house is air-conditioned, it still gets hot.  And yesterday my Vaio just couldn't take it, and kept blue-screening on me.   Poor little thing is over three years old, which must be like over 100 in computer years.  And so yesterday I ended up getting nothing done.  Suzanne and I tried to have a yard sale, hauling stuff out front to sell, but nobody came by.  It was too damn hot.

So today I was determined to get some writing done and this morning I got up and worked on the novel.   I did what I always tell people not to do, which was fuss over the beginning.  (I reserve the right to give contradictory advice.  And at least for me, the rest of the piece, no matter what it is, simply won't flow until I've got the beginning right.  I wrote about that somewhere.  Let me see...ah yes, here it is.) 

I fussed over the beginning and then wrote a wee bit more.  By a wee bit more I mean maybe a paragraph or so more.  But it doesn't matter.  Cuz I loved getting up and getting to the novel first thing.  I had a good bit of momentum going on that last week, but what with the need to hop on an airplane, work on a yard sale, and survive the heat wave, I had lost it.  Now its back.

Of course, the hell part is that I'm going to lose it again, as tomorrow I'm going down to Laguna Beach to stay with my mentor and friend Julie.  I'm stopping in Silver Lake to pick up another good friend, Deidre.
Together the three of us make up the west coast contingent of the Novel Goddesses, a group which also includes Linda, and two writers who do not yet have websites but will need them soon because Maryann is about to have her first novel published and Katy is working on a kick-ass one.

Losing momentum on the novel is going to be well worth it.  I'll get back to it when I return here on Wednesday. 

By the way, I'm working on the new book review site, which I don't even have a link for yet but will soon, and if you are interested in reviewing, please email me or leave a comment.

It's Off to Home I Go....

I'm heading back to Portland this afternoon, and I am, as always, sorry to leave Nashville.   I am not, however, sorry to leave the weather behind.  Yesterday there were tornado warnings which were relayed to me through a sort of old-fashioned round robin system.  Friends of Sue and Walt's who live up the street called Sue to tell her there were tornado warnings and Sue called me to tell me.  You see, there is no TV here.  Not that I miss it--except in times of weather emergencies.

But the tornadoes landed somewhere else and we were able to muster 14, count 'em, 14 people at the Loft alumni and mentors dinner last night.  The Sunset Grill offered half-price on any full bottles of wine purchases PLUS a lottery ticket and so Terry now has four lottery tickets to check when the winners are announced tonight.  Its all for one and one for all--we're going to split the winnings between the 14 of us. 

Last night there were no tornadoes that I know of, but Lord almighty there were raging thunderstorms all night long.  I mean, all night long.  In Portland, if we get a thunderstorm, which is rare, it might last half an hour and then its gone.  Not here, where they come in one after another.  I've learned that you can see lightning even with your eyes closed and that after a couple hours of thunder, you can actually get so used to it that you'll sleep through it. 

Before I leave I wanted to direct you to this cool post that my Welsh Zen buddy Derek wrote about me.  He and I have been corresponding on for a few months now, on all kinds of topics, but especially Zen, and writing, and our internet interests.  I've mentioned his Zen site before, but here's his writing site, and the post he wrote about me.

Thanks, Derek!

And now I've got to vacuum and shower and say goodbye to Juni before the taxi gets here.  By the way--dogs seem to have no problem sleeping through thunder.  Juni snored through the whole storm.

Writing Away From Home

I'm in Nashville, which is beautiful and warm (although pretty much anything is probably warm compared to Portland) and would be perfect in every way except for....the pollen.

Which has me sneezing and my eyes running and itching in a way I've never quite experienced before.  It still does not affect my love for this city, however (just don't tell Nashville that I had a brief fling with Asheville, okay?)

The beginning of the week was full of Loft-related activities, and the past two days I've been at Sue and Walt's, dog sitting the beloved Juni, who sleeps on my bed every night.  She is about twice as big as my pug, so she takes up a bit more of it than I am used to, but I don't mind.  I love having her with me, and she makes the best security system in the world.  (Note to Sue and Walt: the non-canine alarm does seem to be working).

While tonight and tomorrow night are taken up with more Loft-related activities, the past two days have been mine.  And, when not busy corralling four other writers so that I could submit a proposal for a panel for the AWP conference next year, I've been writing.

But it strikes me that writing is different when one is away from home.  I feel like I'm getting a lot done, like I have more time and more freedom.  The truth of the matter is I have just as many things pulling at me here--the AWP proposal, a forced marched into downtown Nashville yesterday to see my friend Suzanne, dinner with Melinda last night, manuscripts to critique and so on and so forth.  And there are dishes and clothes to wash and Juni to walk.  Life is nearly as complicated as it is at home, and yet it doesn't seem so.

For some reason it feels like the day flows easier when I'm away from home.  I eat at different times, and walk at different times, and eat different things and walk different places (of course).  And so the writing seems to flow easier, too.

I suppose this is in part the psychology of a writing retreat--minus the responsibility to do anything but write.  But even being here, still with responsibilities, it feels easier to write.  So I guess the moral of the story is to travel whenever you can--especially if it give you time to write.

Loft-y Tennessee

I am in beautiful Springfield, Tennessee, where there are rolling green fields and the air feels totally different than it does in beautiful Portland, Oregon--mostly because it is warm.  I'm staying at the home of Terry Price, and we are theoretically working on the Loft.

No, we are really working on it--we have been chatting all morning about it and millions of other things, while also eating Monkey Bread, monitoring the process of the log cabin which is being built in the backyard, and listening to Van Morrison.

I'm here for the opening semester of the Loft, at least the opening semester with Terry and me at the helm.  This is only the beginning, folks, and we are very excited about our five hardy students.  The program has actually been up and running for five years but it had fallen on hard times before Terry and I, who have both been with the program since the beginning, decided to petition to take it over.   

Next fall we'll have an official orientation weekend, complete with opening reception and other exciting events, so stay tuned.  And though the Loft is centered around Nashville, TN, please keep in mind that we are also working on plans for true distance learning. 

Go the Loft page at MTSU here, or read about it on the page I wrote.

Nashville to New York

Well, I've been home over a week now and as a matter of fact I'm taking off tomorrow for New York City. But that is another story and another blog post. Anyway, the time seems right to post my photos from Nashville. Actually, the time was right about a few days ago but I started posting and things went haywire for reasons unknown to me and then I ran out of time. And it is only now that I am all packed and almost caught up on my work that I've had time to sit down and post.

And let me just say, I still forget that I own a camera. So sometimes it remains discreetly packed away in my purse or wherever, while I glibly forge on with life, never thinking, ah, I could take a photo of this. But here are the photos I did manage to get, starting with the single most important one of all:

Well, you are just going to have to imagine a photo of a coconut cake here. It is gorgeous and white (amazingly enough) and it is sitting on a blue and white checked tablecloth. Why aren't you seeing a photo of it? That is a very good question. We shall have to put it down to technical difficulties because for some reason, Typepad is not allowing me to download my photos. I am not nearly techie enough to figure out why this may be.

So you'll just have to wait a little longer for my wonderful photos of the Nashville Skyline and lots of shots of people sitting around drinking talking about writing.

Instead, I will regale you with stories of my plans for my trip to New York. I am attending the AWP conference. That would be me and 6,999 other people. Yes, that is correct--7,000 literary and writerly types are descending upon Manhattan to attend the annual conference of the Associated Writers and Writing Programs.   Take a look at the roster of speakers and readers if you head on over to the site--John Irving is the keynote on Thursday night and I'm also looking forward to hearing Sue Miller read on Friday night.  Along with many others, not to mention the multiple panels and presentations, one put on by my friend Diana. 

We are staying at the Hilton New York, which is the conference hotel and which sold out long ago.  The only reason I have a room is that I've strong-armed my way into sharing a room with Maryann and Linda.   Maryann, being far more organized than I, had the foresight to make the room reservation last summer.  Maryann and Linda and I are all members of the infamous Novel Goddesses.  What?  You've not heard of us?   We are a group of writers, all members of the first group of MFA students at Spalding, who came together in the first novel workshop that the program held.  This NYC trip is exciting because it is the first time so many goddesses have been together in one place for quite some time, since we all had a retreat in Alabama on Dauphin Island a few years ago.  Besides Linda and Maryann and I, we will also have Katy, who will be working at the Spalding booth and not quite as free as the rest of us.  We're only missing two--Deidre and Julie, who are both in southern California.

So that's the scoop.  Raise a glass to the goddesses on Friday night, when we are all meeting for dinner.  And check back here because through the magic of technology I'm going to have some posts up while I'm gone

Hi ho, hi ho, its off to Nashville I go

I'm leaving on a jet plane tomorrow.  (I know, I know, I can't help it--I have all these old songs playing in my head.)

I'll be in Nashville for the Loft Literary Day, which is on Saturday.  I get to meet with students and sit and enjoy the lectures of other mentors.  Usually I am giving a lecture myself, and all nervous, so it will be a treat just to sit back and listen to others. 

I'm also meeting with private students and a client or two.  Oh, and all my wonderful friends in town.  I adore Nashville. 

On Monday, I'm heading over to Gatlinburg to have a writing retreat with my friend Linda Parker.  Since I finished the second draft of Emma Jean, I think I'm going to have a look at my first novel, Language of Trees. 

There may be a good reason for this.  But I'm not sayin' anything yet.

Anyway, don't miss me too much.  I'm not going to give you a chance to, because you know how I am--just can't stay away from the blog.

Now excuse me, while I go in search of some fried okra.  Or better yet, fried dill pickles.  They never met a vegetable they couldn't figure out how to fry in the south, God love 'em.

Photo of Gatlinburg used under GNU Free Documentation License 1.2.  Photo of Nashville by Bill Penn, used under Creative Commons License 2.5.

Fourth of July Updates

Happy Fourth of July. 

It strikes me as amusing that this is one holiday we often refer to by date, as in have a good Fourth.  Rarely do we refer to it as Independence Day.    Think about it--we don't say Happy Twenty-Fifth for Christmas.  Odd.

Updates:

Joe Bare sent me a link to a sight about lucid dreaming.  You can access that here.  Its pretty cool stuff.

In my post about Blog evangelism in Orange County, I forgot one of the most important things.  I won one of the prizes they give out at the end and it was a beautiful collection of soap and lotions from the Tara Collection.  These are wonderful products.  Check them out here. 

And Happy Fourth.  Or Happy Independence Day.

A Post Not About Writing: Party in Venice

Went to a party on the Venice canals on Saturday night.  It was a large party, with multiple bands playing sequentially, the grill going full time with hot dogs and hamburgers, and a great potluck spread.  We were there as the guests of film director and producer Lina Shanklin, even though she never made it to the party.

I had a blast.  I love the canals and the people at the party were friendly and fun to talk to.  Everyone was named John and came from Culver City.  Okay, that's not true, but I did meet two different men named John and they both lived in Culver City.  The first actually spelled his name J-O-N and was a retired computer guy who now played in a band and experimented with lucid dreaming.  He wasn't especially old, either.  The second spelled his name the traditional way and was in radio.  He was one of the people who made a fortune (I might be exaggerating a little) selling ring tones when that business first exploded.  Now he's going to write a novel about internet dating.  I also had a nice talk with a professor from USC.

Came home with a headache from the wine and Mary-Suzanne got it go away with ThetaHealing.  (The photo of the canals is by her, too.)

What does all this have to do with writing?  Not a thing.  Not one thing.  But there will be more posts to come on that topic very, very soon. 

Creative Commuting

I'm in LA this week, to see clients and friends. 

I flew down here yesterday on the first Alaska flight out of Portland on Monday morning, and the back of the plane was full of creative commuters.  Besides moi, there was the Danish screenwriter that I sat next to.  Across the way, a man was doing audio mixing on a powerful laptop. I never figured out what the man in the row behind me did, but he was a commuter also, because they had all been stuck on the last flight out of Burbank the previous Friday, which was memorable because it had been delayed five hours.  Which happens to be over twice as long as the actual flight itself.

Anyway, apparently there's quite a group that commute back and forth on a regular basis.  Its a nice combo--LA/Portland, so very different.