Tag Archives: early difficulties

“A few suggestions which may make continuing a halted or bogged-down manuscript a little easier….”

Hello out there, writing chums!  C’mon now, no need to be modest, we all write something, even if it’s only a letter or e-mail to an old friend, or the weekly grocery or chore list.  And I believe I’ve hit upon a list of suggestions which may help you continue a halted piece of writing as they have me (I shy away from the word “rules,” as it makes me halt and become bogged-down in turn, and unable to compose sentences).  What I’m saying (to borrow two terms from grammar) is that these suggestions are not prescriptive like rules (that is, they don’t dictate to you what you should do); rather they are descriptive (they are about what someone before you actually has done, namely I, to stir up my writing abilities).  By altering them only slightly to suit yourself, you may be able to use them for a critical or scholarly paper, a list of chores (we all tend to be able to remember 9-10 things in a row, but you may have to prod your memory for the other ones), a short story, novel, or even perhaps a poem.

Here goes:

Assuming that you have at least a snippet of your text already in mind, one of the things most writers of note will mention to you is to “outline” your ideas so that you can continue with the rest of your plan.  Obviously, you can do this, but for some of us the building of an outline deadens the process of dreaming up new ideas quickly and jotting them down before they vanish; I number myself among these people.  The outline-devotees at this point will go on from jotting down things to prioritizing them with A.B.C. and 1.2.3. and I am not at all suggesting that this is a bad method; I am simply saying it stifles my own creative abilities.  It is still related to what I do with my own method, which is to jot down item after item after item all over the top, bottom, sides, and in the margins of a piece of paper, and then mark them out one by one as I write them into my manuscript.  I do sometimes combine them slightly with the outline form by looking over them and prioritizing them with 1.2.3. or underlining the key sections.  The main advantage of this method (it’s perhaps too chaotic to call a “system”) is that if I am working with ideas which appear in a heavy cloud, again it allows me to get it all down before it vanishes.  Then I just abstract ideas, or images, or lines of dialogue from the cloud and use them in the work.

Another method of coping with a piece which won’t “move forward” is to re-read it, either the entire piece, whether long or short, just to see what you haven’t yet covered, or perhaps the last 10-20 pages before it breaks off, to get an idea of where you want to go next with the characterizations, or if it’s a grocery list to see what spices (for example) you’re out of that’re needed with the other items you’ve written down, or if the work is a letter to remember what scandals you haven’t yet told your absent friend about.  Here’s a place where the method doesn’t work as well as the outline method for those writing papers, because of course they already have a set course to cover, and will only be surprised if something else comes up while they are writing, as of course it may do (a new bit of research may turn up while they are composing on the basis of older research, etc.).  In that case, even the outliners may need to rewrite a section before final revision time (and most kinds of writing occasionally or often require final revisions, depending on what they are and how lengthy).

A third method, one not unrelated to the second, except for the fact that it allows you to sort of “sneak up” on the piece of work you’re doing, as if it were a shy bird or butterfly you were attempting to photograph and might scare away, is to go back to the beginning for proofreading.  This is different from method 2 because the original intent and focus of the exercise is on the writing as writing and not on “plot” or “content.”  In the letter or e-mail, you may have chosen to compose a previous part with a flourish of writerly skills which drove a related idea you meant to express straight out of your head, and so quizzical are the potentates of memory that rereading your original flippancy or splash of egocentricity may call the hidden rulers of memory forth again to articulate the lost idea.  In the list, you may have chosen a luxury item instead of something you need more, and re-reading the luxury item on your list may perhaps cause you to be forced to decide between the two or possibly to write them both down as things which for some reason you feel you need.  This method may work for the scholarly writing exercise too, because we all love to show off our writing skills a little (just note some of my odd and peculiar metaphors above, which you may feel are nothing to show off about!), and we may have forgotten or overlooked a toad lurking beneath the blossom, as it were.  But if you’re lucky, sometimes a short snippet of a continuation may occur almost magically in your mind from rereading the previous phrasing and because you have edited the previous portions up to the break.

If none of this works, leave the piece to mature a little further before tinkering with it again.  It may simply need time to become a sort of magnet for other ideas, images and plot lines (and here I’m mixing metaphors, as “magnets” are not usually “tinkered” with, nor do they conventionally “mature”).  With the list, if that is what you are composing, you can always leave it on the counter for others to add their suggestions and comments, knowing full well that at the end of the day (at least with this one sort of writing) if your six year old writes “more candy” on the list, or if your roommate writes “your obsessive-compulsive lists make me barf,” you can ignore, delete, or rewrite the list to suit yourself.  Now if only it were that easy for scholars, novelists, and poets!

What are your tricks and traps for catching and holding fleeting inspiration and getting it to work for you?  Why not share with other writers here just what helps you get writing when your manuscript refuses to go forward?

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Filed under Literary puzzles and arguments

Just what kind of bird was it? And what was the cat doing there?

Today, I read a new post by another blogger whose site has provided me with many pleasurable hours spent reading.  The blogger is Emma McCoy, and her blogsite, which I recently reviewed, is at http://emmamccoy.wordpress.com/ .  Today, Emma wrote about the problem of writer’s block, though she doesn’t dwell on that topic.  The main gist of her article is about how one can free up one’s mind with the process of free association (learned from psychology, a field in which Emma seems to be an expert).  Emma starts her own free association and lets it run for a while, letting us see openly just what some of her inner connections are within the topics her mind runs through.

This is significant to me right now because I’m in the process of working on my fifth novel and am stuck in place, having left off at the last point where I had anything to say and having been unable to pick up for about a week now.  So, following Emma’s example in my somewhat quirky way, I decided not to free associate, but to pull out a little poem of my own which stays in the back of my mind as a sort of chant, and which sometimes lures me back into the creation process when I find all else murky and dark.  Here it is:

“It flew over the fence without a word.

The heart of cat is caught by bird.”

This little poem comes up somehow in my mind every time I’m stuck, and I don’t even know why, but sometimes it helps me back into writing what I want to continue with.  Of course the bird “flew over the fence without a word,” it’s a bird, after all!  One has to posit a third actor, perhaps a human watching the bird-cat interaction; the knowledge of the cat’s overweening interest in the bird stirs in the human the idea that it’s not just the cat’s possibility of catching the bird that’s at stake here, but the fact that the sight of the bird twittering and dancing in the grass or on the fenceline, or pulling up a worm or sitting in a bush only seconds later perhaps to startle and fly away over the fence has captured the cat’s attention much more effectively than the cat could have caught the bird.  But this is to make prosaic a line or two of poetry (I know, it’s not great, but it is poetry).

So, the same thing goes for the writer and the reader both.  What catches the reader-as-cat’s attention is of course getting into the whys and wherefores of the story, the drama of the encounter depending upon explanations inasmuch as the explanations are the scaffolding of the dramatic encounter.  What the reader’s main attention is on, of course, is the actual interaction:  Does the cat leap?  Does the bird get away?  What does the cat do next?  Some of the details might be:  Just what kind of bird was it?  And what was the cat doing there?  Was it an outdoor scene entirely, with a real risk implied, or was Tabby an indoor cat watching from behind a picture window?  Fulfilling this sort of question-and-answer contract with the curiosity of one’s readers is akin to giving them a good scratch behind the ears (no condescension intended, it’s my cat-within-cat metaphor getting away from me) and a treat, and helping them to console themselves, perhaps, for not having seen the end of the story, that the bird would in fact fly over the fence and into other perspectives.

First, however, the initial cat/bird metaphor to be fulfilled is not the contract between writer and reader, but the contract between the writer and herself, to find a bird worth watching and a cat who just might leap, given the chance.  Lest you think I’ve wandered away from my basic metaphor again here, let me just say that it’s as you suspect:  before the bird can fly over the fence taking your heart with it, so must it do in analogous form for me.  I have to sit watching the bird through the window, preening my whiskers as I think of being able to knock it down and bite into that feathery mass.  But it has somehow to escape sucessfully from me, too:  it has to surprise me and catch me off guard and carry my own heart over the fence with it until I say, “Ah, yes, now that’s a bird after my own heart!”  For of course, it’s the old tale of “the one who got away” except that the tale itself is the point, and the tale comes not only from a capture, but from imagery and incident and detail and (here’s the tricky part) allowing the spirit to fly away over the fence, which is after all the essential part of what it is to be a cat watching a bird and feeling one’s own heart airborne as well.

This is my possibly pedestrian evaluation of one of my own poems, and how it recurs in my life at some of my trickiest moments of fiction writing.  I would love to hear from you about what gets your creative mind working.  Thanks to Emma for her free association, which you can see and respond to at her site, listed above.

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Filed under Full of literary ambitions!

The difference between demand and suggestion–what “paying the piper” actually means….

Hi, folks!  This is another non-literary day, which I have singled out as a writer’s day for making better contact with potential readers than I evidently have heretofore.  When I first set up my website, I based it somewhat on my former site, which wasn’t through WordPress.com, and which had an obligatory “Buy now” PayPal button on it for the long works of fiction and poetry which I had or planned to have on it.  That meant that if people wanted to read something from that site, they had to pay in advance.

On WordPress.com, however, I have a “Donate” PayPal button.  While this at first seemed like a disadvantage for financial reasons, and while I did encourage people to pay for what they read, I think the time has come for a bit of clarification.  In short, despite everything I said about wanting people to feel fine about reading the long works for free if they felt they couldn’t pay, probably only about 30 or so folks have done so since the week I put the works on my site, and that’s a generous estimate.  So here’s a guideline:

In the category section of the PayPal post, I have a category called “Time to pay the piper.”  I must confess, I was thinking of this in a sort of traditional cultural way, following the ages-long historical method of the piper who first plays a tune or tunes and at intervals passes around the hat to collect contributions.  It didn’t at first occur to me that this would seem like a preemptive strike for money:  that’s not what pipers do.  It’s after they play for the audience and please them, one hopes, that the hat is passed around.  My suggestion of a $5 bottom limit is to eliminate the problem resulting from a donation which is too small (less than $2) to count on PayPal’s system.

So, you see, I’m not a money-grubber, just a person who would like to receive some real-life recognition for work which I hope will amuse and inspire you; but the first step of this is absolutely being read, and if all you feel like contributing is a comment about what you’ve read, know that comments too are very welcome, and will let me know what you like about the fiction or find wanting in it.

Another point a person brough up who viewed my site from my computer was that the cover art page of each book and the size of the pages of the fiction are too large; I don’t know how it looks on your site, but on my site, it’s simply a function of the zoom level needing to be adjusted (when I added the .jpeg cover art to the text and .pdfed it, it automatically increased the size).  Just find your zoom level on your computer and adjust it to 100% or 75%, or whatever size is best for your own eyes.  The zoom level usually appears on a computer text in .pdf at the top of the Adobe Reader page, and it’s easy to adjust.

That’s all I really wanted to say today.  I recently finished (in August) putting the poetry I’ve written to date on this site, and a little later my fourth novel in what I hope to finish as a loosely connected series of 8 novels (but they aren’t connected as to plot and aren’t serials, so you can read them in any order you want.  The connection, slight as it is, comes in because I have chosen to try to link them loosely to the 8 family signs of the I Ching, which you will see in the upper right-hand corner of the cover page.  These signs are connected to a mother, a father, three daughters and three sons, and each novel is related in a marginal way to some of the symbolism associated with the signs, that’s really the size of it).

I hope that whether you can or want to pay or not, you will find something which you like in the novel(s) you read or the poetry, and that you will feel free to write in and discuss it with me.  Even negative criticism can be instructive to both parties because it shows human involvement, and may generate a dialogue, though of course one hopes most people will like one’s work.  In any case, I’ve made my argument for you, and I really should sign off on this post.  Until I hear from you, then, happy reading, whether you cover the posts or the longer works–I’m always happy to discuss writing and literature, my own or someone else’s.

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Filed under Full of literary ambitions!, Other than literary days...., Time to pay the piper....

“Where the hell have I been all day? What have I been doing?”

Hi, I haven’t written a new literary post for today.  If you’ve already been online to my site, you know this, of course.  So, where have I been and what have I been doing?  Clearly, this is one of those “other than literary days” I have noted down in my categories.  Yes, it is.  Here’s what I’ve been doing since about 9 o’clock yesterday morning:

I’m on the verge of finishing my fourth novel, which is very, very exciting (that is, the prospect of finishing it is–as to whether or not the novel itself is exciting, it’s a matter of opinion, though of course I’ve been having a fantastic time writing it).  It’s hard, yes, but with this novel I have written in bits and pieces, and then stopped sometimes for a week or more, until I had something else to say, or had an idea of how to continue.

Though I have a very good idea of just how the novel is going to end (which I explicated to my ride on the way in to the eye doctor this morning), I was really dreading more the inevitable necessity to design the book cover and get it placed on the front of my novel file.  Previously, my brother the good and noble web designer has always done this for me, using PhotoShop of which he owns a download.  This time, I was on my own.

First, I took the background picture off my USB drive and put it in Windows Live Photo Gallery, where I played around with getting the logo from the I Ching in the right position (upper right-hand corner).  Then, when I discovered that Windows Live Photo Gallery would do this but wouldn’t allow me to switch the height and the width, I went to RoxioCreator and RoxioPhotoSuite.  Here, I was able to make changes to the size and shape of my picture.  By about 11:30 p.m. last night (Monday night), I had the lettering placed on the canvas in the correct positions, and was feeling mighty pleased with myself.

Next, however, I had to put the altered photo back into Windows Live Photo Gallery and transfer it into my Microsoft Word documents file so that I could place it at the beginning of my text.  This was when the fun began.  Rather, I’d been having a certain amount of fun so far proving to myself that I’m not a total ninny when it comes to computers; now, however, it was necessary to get my Photo Gallery to accept that yes, I really was not interested in putting together a slide show, or e-mailing my photos to anyone else, or doing any one of the nearly 110 other ingenious things that were apparently done by anyone else with photos.  I nearly despaired.

Then, however, I found something called Microsoft Office Picture Manager.  This became very grueling, because I kept trying to follow directions instead of being innovative (it’s hard to be innovative with the posted instructions unless you’re in a sort of devil-may-care frame of mind about experimenting and taking things down and putting them up again in a series of trial-and-error runs).  By 1:30, I was too tired to continue, and had to go to bed, because I had to travel about 45 minutes to get to the eye doctor’s office this morning.  So, knowing that I was almost there in terms of getting my photo project done (which just started out life as a .jpeg copy scanned from a watercolor), I went to bed and was unable to get to sleep because I wanted so badly to keep on working.  Finally, I slept.

When I got up this morning, I discovered that the “edit” button the Microsoft Office Picture Manager had described as having a “insert into text” option actually showed no such thing.  But you don’t know how stubborn I am; I tried again and again and again, until I was tired.  I’d gotten the thing to work one time, but it didn’t look the way I’d wanted it to, so I’d taken it down, and now couldn’t remember what I’d done.  Finally, I discovered that what I’d done the time it worked was to go to one of my favorite functions on Word and use the extremely useful “send to” button to send the picture to the front of my document.  And there it sits now, waiting for the title page and copyright page to be put in behind it, between it and the body of the novel.

True, it still doesn’t look entirely as I would like for it to, but I’m content to tinker and twiddle with it hoping to find perfection.  And the eye doctor even gave me a clean bill of health, so I haven’t totally ruined my eyesight from hours and hours in front of the computer!  Now, in place of my usual literary endeavors, isn’t that just about the most exciting story you ever heard (no, I know, probably not)?  Well, it’s at least exciting to me, because it proves I can usefully be stubborn instead of (what usually happens) being stubborn to no avail.  Now, if only perfection and I can work things out!

I hope to have another literary post up for you folks tomorrow or the next day, and I hope you’ll continue to visit my site.  Until then, onwards and upwards, as they say!

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Filed under Other than literary days....

When is borrowing acceptable, and when is it unacceptable (and actionable) plagiarism?

The twentieth century and the early twenty-first have not been kind to the notion of borrowing from others in order to create one’s own work.  From Ezra Pound’s edict “Make it New” to the constant reiteration in critical and creative writing courses for students of the priniciple “just do your own work,” the modern (1899-1945) and contemporary (1945-present) eras have put a high premium on originality, that loaded term of terms.

Of course, Pound himself was a great borrower from much earlier works, which he imitated, borrowed from, referred to, and essentially canonized in the more acceptable (read:  non-anti-Semitic) of his Cantos.  So, Pound’s instruction to “make it new” was less an injunction to create ex nihilo, or like Athena’s “springing full-blown from the mind of Zeus,” than it was to revitalize literature by returning to past models and revamping them for modern use.  It’s just that in returning to past models, Pound went further back in time for his models, instead of basing his work on that which came immediately before him.

T. S. Eliot, who had his poetry sculptured and shaped by Pound in Pound’s character of literary patron and advisor, is known to have further muddied the waters of clarity by saying “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal” (from Philip Massinger).  Nevertheless, this statement is qualified by other things Eliot says, such as “[Tradition] cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by great labor” (from the essential essay for students even now, “Tradition and the Individual Talent”).  He also says “The great poet, in writing himself, writes his time” (from Shakespeare and the Stoicism of Seneca).  Of course, to some extent writers who are very self-aware of their status like to issue shocking or startling remarks like Eliot’s first one quoted above.  But wait–take these three quotes together and with their sources, and I think things become a little clearer again, at least with reference to T. S. Eliot.  We might have considered anyway that Eliot was referring to writers like Shakespeare in the first quote above:  for, Shakespeare regularly stole plots and sometimes whole plays from others, improved upon them immeasurably, and set them in their forms for generations to come, because of his sheer poetic and dramatic greatness.  The problem is, this took place at a time when it was the norm for poets and playwrights to draw freely upon the works of others, both contemporary to their own times and from antiquity.  But our times have insisted upon originality as part of the essence of a truly great work, and upon innovation as a necessary rite of passage in the struggle to turn out a good and creditable work.  It’s no wonder that those people who are genuinely confused by the issue of plagiarism are so taken aback by what seem like competing sets of requirements.

And then, of course, there’s the issue of writing articles and books in the academy.  If you can still find recordings of the Harvard mathematician Tom Lehrer’s hilarious satirical songs anywhere (and let me not wander too far from my topic, but Lehrer is well worth hearing; he’s the John Stewart of his time, in the 1960’s), you’ll run across a lyric about Lobachevsky, a Russian mathematician who evidently wrote things without proper attribution that were at least highly imitative of what others had written.  Part of the lyric reads:  “Plagiarize.  Let no one else’s work evade your eyes.  Remember why the good Lord made your eyes.  So don’t shade your eyes, but plagiarize, plagiarize, plagiarize–only be sure always to call it, please–research.”  For another quote of this ilk, there’s Wilson Mizner’s “Copy from one, it’s plagiarism; copy from two, it’s research.”  These quotes are not meant to make students who might read my column cynical; rather they’re intended as an airing of the issues involved.  The best advice in the academic life is:  however much you may borrow, either credit the work outright and get consent, or if it’s an occasion between friends where no credit is needed, check that out with the friend or let them see it to make sure.  You can always credit it privately and impersonally for them if they are shy of attention, or can perhaps say something like “as a friend noted some time ago” or variations on the same.  If you’re working for credit in a class rather than writing a manuscript, let your instructor know that you are honest by crediting quotes as you are taught.  The basic rule is: be modest.  Don’t take credit for something which you have found somewhere else, and if it turns out especially that the other fellow or gal beat you to the punch and said what was just on the tip of your tongue (infelicitous mixing of metaphors here, but you get my point), give them credit anyway:  they historically said it before you did, even if the idea is a brand new one which just occurred to you.  If you find out too late to credit it that it was said by someone else first (after you publish or turn in an essay for example), tidy up behind yourself by mentioning (in any new edition or to your teacher) that you were previously unaware of the concurrence of remarks, and give the other person a footnote or mention.  Contrary to what you may believe, it makes you look better rather than worse.

To return just for a moment to Shakespeare and one of the reasons he got by with his extensive borrowings without credit (aside from the traditions of his time, that is) let’s look at the poet John Milton for a quote:  “For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrower, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè” (Eikonoklastes).  There have been a number of studies written, only a few of which I’ve even seen or had presented to my attention by my own teachers, that show how Shakespeare immensely bettered the other playwrights and poets he stole from.  So, in the traditions of his own time, in which it was essential to write upon some story that perhaps was well-known anyway, in the same fashion in which a realistic writer of our own time might use as inspiration a story which is covered by all the major news networks, Shakespeare “made the grade,” so to speak.

During the twentieth century also, the scholar and critic Julia Kristeva came along, with her idea of intertextuality, which is a way of referring to the intricate and intertwined relationships literary texts establish among themselves without recourse to authors’ intents.  As this is more a move to put consideration of what the authors’ intentions are out of the picture than an actual stance on plagiarism, it is a more theoretical issue.  It takes place after the fact of composition, however, not before the fact, so I’m leaving it out of account for now (and I’m being a bit lazy here–Julia Kristeva is a very challenging author to read, and I’ve only covered most of one of her books).  I’m just mentioning it because there is some tangential relationship to originality as a topic.

And what about all those columnists in the news in the last ten years who were fired for plagiarizing from other columnists or newspeople?  It’s tempting just to let Peter Anderson settle the issue.  He says, “Quotations are a columnist’s bullpen.  Stealing someone else’s words frequently spares the embarrassment of eating your own.”  Still, as we have seen, this doesn’t really settle the issue, because the columnists get fired anyway, and several of them have declared that the fault was unintentional.  What do we make of this?  Perhaps it would be generous in this discussion to remember the many times in which some of us literary wannabees copied out the words of others in our notebooks or on our computers because they seemed so strongly to chime in with what we ourselves wanted to say or felt.  I’ve certainly had times myself (in the days before personal computers) when I found thoughts scribbled in one of my writer’s notebooks, and said to myself complacently, “Boy, that’s really a good one.  I have to use that soon.”  And in the days before I started also to take the time to copy down the author’s name and possibly the source of the quote as well, I misremembered more than once and assumed the thought was mine, only to have a friend or teacher to whom I showed the idea furrow his or her brow a moment and say something like “That sounds like so-and-so.  Are you quoting or did you think of that yourself?”  It can happen, yes, which is why it’s a good idea always to note down under your quote where it came from and the author, if you know.  It only takes a little more effort, but more effort is what being a good writer is about.  And if it’s just a coincidence, look up the author anyway, and see how they developed their thought that was similar to your own.  This is what truly changes your work from plagiarism to research, which all kidding aside is a noble endeavor.  And there’s no rule that says you have to write only about your own little mud puddle or corner of the world to stay original; most good writers are either knowledgeable already upon some subject they want to write about or do actual research on it (and either directly or indirectly credit their sources).

My solution in fiction, which would not suit everybody, is to have a character mention the name of the author he or she is quoting, or initiate a literary discussion which makes it obvious what issues are being discussed.  In poetry, I give notes to my poems and let my readers know whom I was thinking of when I wrote, if anyone.  Most of all, I try to “just do my own work.”  And I put my whole heart into it, because what everyone on this planet has to say, despite all the many human things we share and the human experiences which join us one to the other, makes them as individual as myriad snowflakes, each one original and different.  Putting your whole heart into being your plot, being your characters, being your style, et cetera, and relying likewise on the best models you can find and the best literary advice is advancing a large step ahead on the path towards real originality.

P.S.  My own investigation of and meditation upon this topic was occasioned by dialogues I’ve had with the blogger at http://thelivingnotebook.wordpress.com/ .  By and large I think we agree, though he is advocating a freer system of borrowing than I feel comfortable with.  I rather suspect that he’s more interested in spurring creativity in others by his remarks than he is in actually encouraging people to steal freely.  He’s a little like T. S. Eliot and Ezra Pound in that he knows enough about what he’s talking about to know just how far he can go without seeming unoriginal (and of course, he turns out a very original column, which I’ve much enjoyed).

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Filed under Literary puzzles and arguments

This is one of those days when I feel like I’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever know.

Hi, folks!  This is just a brief note to let my readers who follow me day by day know that I’m not putting up a new literary post today as I normally do.  Instead, I’m trying to verify my site with the search engines so that I can gradually learn a little search engine optimization, though that seems like a very optimistic venture at this point.  It’s hard, because each site has something a little bit different that it wants done, and all the wishes don’t match up.

As to my title?  Well, it’s derived from an old saying, often thrown at the head of an overly ambitious and confident upstart by some old-timer or other.  The original saying, from expert to beginner, is “I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know.”  This is what I sometimes feel about the kind people in all the site forums who’re trying to help me:  they’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever know.  But more than that, after trying variation after variation on the one theme of how to get my search engines to recognize me, and trying to be sure I don’t do the same thing twice,  I have honestly begun to feel that I’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever know!  I’m going to keep slogging at it though, until I either get the correct formula that will satisfy everyone, or just decide to give up and wait until all parties ask for the same details.  Someone who had encountered a problem with this a few years ago, back in 2009, I think, said on one of the forums that WordPress.com actually does a pretty good job of supplying the data you normally gets through optimization without you having to do it (unless of course you’re ready to upgrade or buy your own domain name, go on WordPress.org, etc).  So, there’s no real disgrace in giving up if nothing works.  But secretly, I would rather believe that my heroes on the forum sites are right, and that I’m just a slow learner–it makes life more bearable that way.

For those of you who are looking for my literary posts, however, I did go ahead and do two less intensive, shorter ones over the weekend (even though I originally said that I probably wouldn’t, due to having some wonderful family company here).  As it turned out, though, the company needed some rest and time away too, so during that time I went ahead and wrote one post on Saturday and one post on Sunday.  I hope you can make due with those and with my archives and novels until I can get some sort of handle on the issues I’ve trying to resolve with respect to search engines.  I’m really excited sometimes to see on my stats page all of the people in different countries who’ve been following my blog.  It keeps me going to know that I’m developing an audience.

I hope to be publishing literary posts again by the middle of the week.  See you then, if not before!  shadowoperator

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Filed under Other than literary days....

“Hope is the thing with feathers.”–Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson wrote:  “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers–/That perches in the soul–/And sings the tune without the words–/And never stops–at all–“….  This is a very well-known quote, to which even Woody Allen felt the need to respond (by titling one of his comic books Without Feathers, for example).  We all feel hope for one thing or another, aspirations of one kind or another, desires that we cannot perhaps meet in the present, but which we hope to fulfill in the future.  In the nature of the thing itself, it matters not whether it’s a hope for a particular education, kind of job, one specific individual to share our life with, or our poetic “muse”: whatever may be the inspiring element of our own hopes, it reaches fulfillment because of some of the same characteristics, which might be called “persistence towards the elusive future, capitalization on the possible present.”  (That last phrase is just something I made up for lack of a better one, it’s not a quote.)  First of all, we have to persist in hanging on to the future, which seems to be trying just as stubbornly to elude us at every turn.  Secondly, we have to capitalize on anything good in the present which might lead us to that ever receding goal.  We all face these challenges, and it’s in the documents of our successes, failures, and survival on the path that we enrich and entertain and inspire each other.

One writer who has composed for us a story very much of this encouraging and rugged nature is the Chicana writer Sandra Cisneros, another graduate of the University of Iowa’s Writers Workshop, who has written several books and volumes of poetry about her experiences, somewhat fictionalized but always true-to-life.  The book of hers about which I want to comment today is the book of short “vignettes” (as the blurb writer denominates them) composed around the life of Esperanza (a word for “hope,”) who doesn’t like her own name and would prefer to be called “Zeze the X.”  The book is entitled The House on Mango Street, published some time back, in 1984 (this is the paperback date; the hardback date may well have been earlier.  The story appears in a slightly different form in the anthology I mentioned in an earlier post a day or two ago).

In the autobiographical note in the anthology, Cisneros is quoted as saying that she has discovered for herself a way to write stories “that were a cross between poetry and fiction….[I]  wanted to write a collection which could be read at any random point without having any knowledge of what came before or after.  Or, that could be read in a series to tell one big story.  I wanted stories like poems, compact and lyrical and ending with reverberation.”  (The only other writer I am aware of who has written by a similar method is the writer Julio Cortazar, who wrote a book named Hopscotch, of which the chapters can be read in any order.)

The House on Mango Street opens with a terse, tense, though melodic relation of all the many houses (and streets) Esperanza has lived in (and on) with her family during their urban migrations from apartment to apartment building.  Esperanza first becomes aware of her own and her family’s poverty when a nun from her school points to the apartment from the sidewalk and says “You live there?”  Esperanza remarks only, “The way she said it made me feel like nothing.”  But true to the nature of her being (and living up to her name and her quality of mind) Esperanza relates, “I knew then I had to have a house.  A real house.  One I could point to.  But this isn’t it.  The house on Mango Street isn’t it.  For the time being, Mama says.  Temporary, says Papa.  But I know how those things go.”  Thus, Esperanza’s dreams are at variance with her worldly wise awareness of the things adults say and do, even though she herself is still a child.  Her experience and attitude are much the same regarding the friends she sometimes hopes to have.  Other incidents and conversations which are well-imagined and which are perhaps remembered concerning the writer’s comrades and friends are told in a lyrical style all their own, achievning what Cisneros herself aspires to do in her work.

In the penultimate story in the book, entitled “A House of My Own,” Esperanza adds evocative details to what she wants in a house:  “Not a flat.  Not an apartment in back.  Not a man’s house.  Not a daddy’s.  A house all my own.  With my porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias.  My books and my stories.  My two shoes waiting beside the bed.  Nobody to shake a stick at.  Nobody’s garbage to pick up after.”¶  “Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.”  Here, the rhythmic flow of the sentences creates the “space” for the readers to dip into Esperanza’s world imaginatively, adding their own like feelings and experiences of being crowded/longing for release, with the final line of “clean as paper before the poem” being the line that vindicates both Esperanza’s desire to escape and the reader’s persistence in following the writer’s exploration of the nature of hope.  Virginia Woolf and A Room of One’s Own, move over (or at least make room!):  Sandra Cisneros and her whole house are coming through!

(Today’s a short post, but I hope a worthwhile one.  I’m having a great time with my family members who’re visiting, and I hope your weekend is going well too.–Cisneros’s book is available from Vintage Contemporaries of Vintage Books, a Division of Random House, Inc.  Get it soon, and enjoy the fine combination of poetry and prose which is a goal well-realized by Cisneros.)  shadowoperator

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Filed under Articles/reviews, What is literature for?

Just a quick note about the other blogs/websites I’ve reviewed so far….

Yes, I admit I’m lost in the computer world; and I admit without challenge that one of my recent spoutings on ignorance could be applied to me, though not on the same topic (that is, I know a fair amount about Mark Twain, but computers–at least the correct language about them–not so much.)  So I was unaware when I wrote the reviews of other websites to make up for not having a “Blogs I Follow” button that what I wanted to fill in was the link that I would actually use in my browser to find the sites myself (do I have at least that language right?  No?  I’ll get it right eventually).  At any rate, I can at least do the other sites the courtesy now (a few days later) of giving the addresses where you can find them for yourselves easily.  And I think my punishment for my ignorance should be (though it’s not really punishment to be allowed to speak my mind!) to continue to write reviews of websites I begin to follow, just to add variety and interest to my own meanderings.  Actually, I’m being slightly disingenuous here, since my stats show that my readers like these pages introducing them to other sites, or perhaps commenting on sites they’ve already seen (and all my readers should feel free to respond through “comments,” or to recommend through “comments” other sites they themselves have seen first).

Here are the addresses where you can reach the sites I’ve reviewed so far:

Truth and Cake– http://truthandcake.com/

Jessica Stanley– http://jessicastanley.com.au/

Becky Hutchinson– http://rebeccahutchinson.wordpress.com/

ohdizzle– http://ohdizzle.wordpress.com/

The Art of the Visit– http://theartofthevisit.wordpress.com/

Forever–More Reviews– http://forevermorereviews.wordpress.com/

The Elephant House– http://theelephanthouse.wordpress.com/

Ye-buh-dee-ye-buh-dee-ye-buh-dee, that’s all, folks!  Until tomorrow!

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“The covers of this book are too far apart.”–Ambrose Bierce

Have you ever been really enjoying a book, on the one hand, and on the other wondering how much longer it was going to go on?  It’s not quite the same as boredom with the thing (if it were that, you’d probably just put it down), yet you still find your self counting the pages, getting impatient with the author for not “gripping” you as you deserve, or perhaps deserting it temporarily for some shorter read which promises instant gratification.

This feeling I’m describing can oppose or strangely go along with the contrary feeling you get when finishing such a book (maybe even a book published in volumes), that you are sad to see it finally go, and that it’s been a world for you to live in which is now taken away from you until you have a chance to read the book again.  This is especially true of long reads like A Dance to the Music of Time by the British author Anthony Powell (a book which spans a major part of the main character’s long life in the 20th century, and is composed of twelve, yes twelve, well-respected volumes)–read it and laugh, don’t weep, because it’s very often a witty book.

It took me a year or more, reading a short number of pages each night at bedtime, to read all twelve volumes.  I often turned from it in frustration, to read a few pages or chapters of some mystery or fantasy or science fiction novel which made more modest claims in the literary world, but I conversely felt safe because I knew I had a world just waiting for me to come back to it and take it up again.  Such reads, sometimes resented in the reading, have later turned out to be some of my favorite books to share and discuss with others in retrospect.  So the next time you’re looking for that special book to take to the beach, or to fill a dull moment, don’t just grab the shortest and flimsiest reading experience you can find, assuming that it doesn’t matter.  Why not try developing a long-lasting relationship with a good, long, serious or humorous (or both) read that will carry you well into autumn if you read a little of it now and then?  You may be surprised to discover just how rewarding an experience this can be!  shadowoperator

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Filed under What is literature for?

Wow, who’d ever thought setting a menu could be so challenging?

Too many widget choices and not enough space to put them all in!

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Filed under Full of literary ambitions!