Jennifer R. Hubbard's Blog, page 45
April 13, 2014
Slowing down
In keeping with my ongoing project to try not to cram so much into my life that I stop enjoying everything that's here--my "slowing down" philosophy--I liked this post by Julie Owsik Ackerman on "Giving Up Rushing for Lent." A sample: "Rushing only makes me less happy, and doesn’t get me there any faster."
Also in keeping with this, I spent the afternoon taking a walk around some spring flowers, and attending an outdoor concert. I had a list of chores I coulda-woulda-shoulda done. But the sun was shining and the flowers were blooming, and this day comes only once. No regrets!
Also in keeping with this, I spent the afternoon taking a walk around some spring flowers, and attending an outdoor concert. I had a list of chores I coulda-woulda-shoulda done. But the sun was shining and the flowers were blooming, and this day comes only once. No regrets!
April 11, 2014
Relative riches
"[Paul assumed I had had a drycleaner] ... I tell Paul that when I was working with the homeless I didn't have anyone I would refer to as 'my drycleaner'--in fact, I don't think I ever had anything drycleaned at all. ... I don't think I bought any clothes from anywhere but a secondhand store until I was thirty. Most of my friends worked with the homeless, and no one I knew had a drycleaner. Paul grew up in a very different world than I did--his grandfather was John Huston's agent--and he looked at me oddly for a long minute when I told him this.
How'd you get your clothes clean? he finally asked."
--Nick Flynn, The Reenactments
This passage made me think about the assumptions we make about living, and standards of living, and what we think of as rich and poor. To some people, you're rich if you have your own pair of shoes. To others, you're not rich unless you have multiple dwellings and vehicles and investments. I think we all have our own definitions, but rarely compare notes with one another. At some point, I became aware of my own assumptions about what's rich and what's poor, and realized that they were not universal but personal definitions.
My grandparents worked in food service, auto repair, and a print shop. My father made the transition to office work, and then to management. I grew up as a middle-class American, at a time when middle-class families were just beginning to be able to have more than one car, bathroom, and TV set (the TV being the only electronic gadget most such families owned then, other than probably a stereo). We never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from, but luxuries were rare: planned and saved for. Growing up, I assumed a person was rich if he or she hired someone to clean the house or take care of the lawn; had anything that could be called "investments," a "trust," or an "inheritance;" owned a vacation home; or attended a private school. And then there were little details, such as ordering room service, which I thought was the most luxurious thing ever. You saw people do it on TV all the time, but I was never allowed to do it when my family stayed at a hotel. (I got most of my ideas about how rich people lived from TV, books, and movies.)
Since forming these impressions, biases, and assumptions, I've learned a little more about the world, and about how wide the extremes can be between the highest and lowest standards of living. I share my childhood ideas of wealth here not because they're of any use as an objective definition of what's rich--I think they speak more to the opposite point of how relative this can be--but because they probably tell you something about me, my class, and my perceptions, once upon a time. As such, this may be a useful example of what we writers should probably know about our characters. What do you think of as markers of wealth? What do your characters think?
How'd you get your clothes clean? he finally asked."
--Nick Flynn, The Reenactments
This passage made me think about the assumptions we make about living, and standards of living, and what we think of as rich and poor. To some people, you're rich if you have your own pair of shoes. To others, you're not rich unless you have multiple dwellings and vehicles and investments. I think we all have our own definitions, but rarely compare notes with one another. At some point, I became aware of my own assumptions about what's rich and what's poor, and realized that they were not universal but personal definitions.
My grandparents worked in food service, auto repair, and a print shop. My father made the transition to office work, and then to management. I grew up as a middle-class American, at a time when middle-class families were just beginning to be able to have more than one car, bathroom, and TV set (the TV being the only electronic gadget most such families owned then, other than probably a stereo). We never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from, but luxuries were rare: planned and saved for. Growing up, I assumed a person was rich if he or she hired someone to clean the house or take care of the lawn; had anything that could be called "investments," a "trust," or an "inheritance;" owned a vacation home; or attended a private school. And then there were little details, such as ordering room service, which I thought was the most luxurious thing ever. You saw people do it on TV all the time, but I was never allowed to do it when my family stayed at a hotel. (I got most of my ideas about how rich people lived from TV, books, and movies.)
Since forming these impressions, biases, and assumptions, I've learned a little more about the world, and about how wide the extremes can be between the highest and lowest standards of living. I share my childhood ideas of wealth here not because they're of any use as an objective definition of what's rich--I think they speak more to the opposite point of how relative this can be--but because they probably tell you something about me, my class, and my perceptions, once upon a time. As such, this may be a useful example of what we writers should probably know about our characters. What do you think of as markers of wealth? What do your characters think?
April 8, 2014
Solitude
"Alone, I was simply myself--that supreme delight of the solitary life."
--Alix Kates Shulman, A Marriage Agreement and Other Essays
--Alix Kates Shulman, A Marriage Agreement and Other Essays
April 6, 2014
Lessons from music
In my last post, I talked about going to the orchestra, and how the pre-concert preparations have always been an important part of the experience.
Now I want to say a few things about the concert itself.
Going to hear a major symphony by a well-known composer (in this case, Beethoven's 7th, though this applies even more to the 5th and the 9th, which I also often catch live), I am aware of possible judgment from two sides. One is the side that thinks of Beethoven or any classical music as snooty, or boring, or elitist. The other side consists of classical music enthusiasts who are so deep into the field that they are interested in more unusual or experimental works. They say that Beethoven's best-known works are cliche, overdone; that the musicians are bored with them.
And while I understand that maybe everyone wouldn't look forward to hearing a symphony, and maybe some people have heard Beethoven too often and hunger for something different, I've also come to the point where I accept my own tastes without apology. I like classical music's "greatest hits." I know I am not the only one (which is why these works are so popular). I have seen people slapping their thighs, punching the air, bobbing their heads along with the music.
It's always as interesting to me to watch the performance of a Beethoven symphony as it is to hear it. Beethoven was unafraid of using all the musicians, including those whose instruments play deeper and darker, like the basses and the timpani. (I have sometimes thought, "The percussionists are getting quite a workout!") Some composers rely much more heavily on the violins and don't use the rest of the instruments as much. He also uses a striking sort of call-and-response pattern among the sections of the orchestra. Other composers have this echo-of-theme thing going on, of course, but I don't have enough of a music education to describe what seems distinctive to me about Beethoven's. I do remember that it was a revelation to me, the first time I saw the 5th performed, to see the arms of the violinists moving in unison, and then to see the different parts of the orchestra come alive at different times.
As a writer, I also appreciate the way Beethoven's movements often build to a crescendo in stages, the way a novel does. There's rising action--and then falling action--and then rising action moving even higher, and so on.
So those are my writerly thoughts for the day, courtesy of the symphony: Read/write what matters to me no matter what others think. Use my whole orchestra. Trust my voice. Alternate rising and falling action in the plot, on the way to the big finish.
Now I want to say a few things about the concert itself.
Going to hear a major symphony by a well-known composer (in this case, Beethoven's 7th, though this applies even more to the 5th and the 9th, which I also often catch live), I am aware of possible judgment from two sides. One is the side that thinks of Beethoven or any classical music as snooty, or boring, or elitist. The other side consists of classical music enthusiasts who are so deep into the field that they are interested in more unusual or experimental works. They say that Beethoven's best-known works are cliche, overdone; that the musicians are bored with them.
And while I understand that maybe everyone wouldn't look forward to hearing a symphony, and maybe some people have heard Beethoven too often and hunger for something different, I've also come to the point where I accept my own tastes without apology. I like classical music's "greatest hits." I know I am not the only one (which is why these works are so popular). I have seen people slapping their thighs, punching the air, bobbing their heads along with the music.
It's always as interesting to me to watch the performance of a Beethoven symphony as it is to hear it. Beethoven was unafraid of using all the musicians, including those whose instruments play deeper and darker, like the basses and the timpani. (I have sometimes thought, "The percussionists are getting quite a workout!") Some composers rely much more heavily on the violins and don't use the rest of the instruments as much. He also uses a striking sort of call-and-response pattern among the sections of the orchestra. Other composers have this echo-of-theme thing going on, of course, but I don't have enough of a music education to describe what seems distinctive to me about Beethoven's. I do remember that it was a revelation to me, the first time I saw the 5th performed, to see the arms of the violinists moving in unison, and then to see the different parts of the orchestra come alive at different times.
As a writer, I also appreciate the way Beethoven's movements often build to a crescendo in stages, the way a novel does. There's rising action--and then falling action--and then rising action moving even higher, and so on.
So those are my writerly thoughts for the day, courtesy of the symphony: Read/write what matters to me no matter what others think. Use my whole orchestra. Trust my voice. Alternate rising and falling action in the plot, on the way to the big finish.
April 4, 2014
Getting ready for the show
When I lived in the city, I had a subscription to the orchestra--it was something I'd always wanted to do, and I knew I should do it while I lived within walking distance of the concert hall. I subscribed for several years. After I moved farther away, and my writing became more of a career and left me less time and energy for concerts, I let my subscription lapse. But I still try to make the occasional concert, as I did today.
It was good to be back. I had a seat in my favorite section: behind (and slightly above) the stage, in what they call "The Conductor's Circle." It's like being part of the orchestra--without the responsibility of having to, you know, play an instrument. You can see all the musicians up close, and you get to watch the conductor's face and see his constant nonverbal communication with the musicians.
I like to get there early because, to me, the twenty-minute period before the show is part of the whole experience. I arrange my coat and belongings. I listen to the conversations drifting around me (as writers often do). I read the program, learning a little about the music and the composers. I look at the list of musicians. Today I was surprised at how many names came back to me, and glad to see so many familiar faces. The concertmaster, the principal timpanist, the principal flutist, and many others, are the same as when I was last a "regular."
But mostly, I like to watch the orchestra get ready. It's not like at a play, where all the setup happens invisibly, behind a curtain. The musicians come out and warm up and chat with one another in plain sight. Even though they're dressed up nicely, there's a friendly informality to it. Some musicians like to get out on stage super early. They practice their instruments, and I would bet they also settle into the space, get comfortable with the atmosphere. (If I were a musical performer, I would be in this group.) From where I sat today, I could see into the wings, and I noticed they had a giant clock on a stand right outside the stage door. As time passes, more musicians filter in. There are always a few who come in with only a minute to spare. I'm guessing they're the ones who make transitions easily, who don't need time to settle before they perform.
There's a squawking bird-like noise I often hear during this time, and today I was almost able to pin it down. I think it's oboists testing their reeds. It's a sound I had forgotten until I heard it again today.
In terms of writing, all this made me think of how many components there are to a setting. Having reentered a familiar setting after some time away, I was able to recognize all the little details, but with fresh eyes (and ears, etc.). When I lead writing workshops, I encourage people to use all five senses in describing settings. This was a setting where sound dominated (the stray scraps of music being practiced, the squawk I mentioned earlier, the hum of conversation), but there was also the plush of the seat, the gleam of wooden and metal instruments, the brightly colored wrapping around the ends of the timpanist's sticks, the elastic face of the conductor, the taste of coughdrops (to prevent coughing at inopportune moments), the smell of perfume and rain-wet coats.
It was good to be back. I had a seat in my favorite section: behind (and slightly above) the stage, in what they call "The Conductor's Circle." It's like being part of the orchestra--without the responsibility of having to, you know, play an instrument. You can see all the musicians up close, and you get to watch the conductor's face and see his constant nonverbal communication with the musicians.
I like to get there early because, to me, the twenty-minute period before the show is part of the whole experience. I arrange my coat and belongings. I listen to the conversations drifting around me (as writers often do). I read the program, learning a little about the music and the composers. I look at the list of musicians. Today I was surprised at how many names came back to me, and glad to see so many familiar faces. The concertmaster, the principal timpanist, the principal flutist, and many others, are the same as when I was last a "regular."
But mostly, I like to watch the orchestra get ready. It's not like at a play, where all the setup happens invisibly, behind a curtain. The musicians come out and warm up and chat with one another in plain sight. Even though they're dressed up nicely, there's a friendly informality to it. Some musicians like to get out on stage super early. They practice their instruments, and I would bet they also settle into the space, get comfortable with the atmosphere. (If I were a musical performer, I would be in this group.) From where I sat today, I could see into the wings, and I noticed they had a giant clock on a stand right outside the stage door. As time passes, more musicians filter in. There are always a few who come in with only a minute to spare. I'm guessing they're the ones who make transitions easily, who don't need time to settle before they perform.
There's a squawking bird-like noise I often hear during this time, and today I was almost able to pin it down. I think it's oboists testing their reeds. It's a sound I had forgotten until I heard it again today.
In terms of writing, all this made me think of how many components there are to a setting. Having reentered a familiar setting after some time away, I was able to recognize all the little details, but with fresh eyes (and ears, etc.). When I lead writing workshops, I encourage people to use all five senses in describing settings. This was a setting where sound dominated (the stray scraps of music being practiced, the squawk I mentioned earlier, the hum of conversation), but there was also the plush of the seat, the gleam of wooden and metal instruments, the brightly colored wrapping around the ends of the timpanist's sticks, the elastic face of the conductor, the taste of coughdrops (to prevent coughing at inopportune moments), the smell of perfume and rain-wet coats.
April 2, 2014
You don't have to stay so very still
"Dear Teen Me:
You do not have to be good. You don’t have to try so hard. You don’t have to stay so very still inside that box that you have built up for yourself.
Life is meant for living.
Listen. ..."
So begins Beth Kephart's Dear Teen Me letter, which appears on her blog tour for Going Over, a story of love across the barrier of the Berlin Wall:
I've been excited for this book to come out, because although I remember when the Berlin Wall existed (and I remember when it came down), I've read very few stories set in Berlin during those years. And in Beth's voice, I know this world will come alive, in words carefully chosen and vivid.
The shot of inspiration from the Dear Teen Me letter was an added bonus. Well worth reading in its entirety if you, too, need to hear, "Fall down. Get up. You’ll be okay," and, "The world is wide and glorious and strange; it is a spectrum. Lend it more of your love."
You do not have to be good. You don’t have to try so hard. You don’t have to stay so very still inside that box that you have built up for yourself.
Life is meant for living.
Listen. ..."
So begins Beth Kephart's Dear Teen Me letter, which appears on her blog tour for Going Over, a story of love across the barrier of the Berlin Wall:
I've been excited for this book to come out, because although I remember when the Berlin Wall existed (and I remember when it came down), I've read very few stories set in Berlin during those years. And in Beth's voice, I know this world will come alive, in words carefully chosen and vivid.
The shot of inspiration from the Dear Teen Me letter was an added bonus. Well worth reading in its entirety if you, too, need to hear, "Fall down. Get up. You’ll be okay," and, "The world is wide and glorious and strange; it is a spectrum. Lend it more of your love."
March 30, 2014
The value of rest
It's nice to know I wasn't the only one bothered by a recent commercial. Even if the ad wasn't meant entirely seriously (Brigid Schulte, who wrote the essay I linked to, describes the company spokesman's characterization as "playful"), Schulte's essay raises a bunch of serious points about the way we live.
Workaholicism is still seen as a virtue in this country, but my New Year's resolution for the past several years has been to power down occasionally, to try to cram less into my schedule. Last summer I made time to read on my porch for an hour here, a half hour there--something I'd been wanting to do ever since we got this house--and I was giddy with triumph. I think I had to forgo a couple of chores to make time for that, but right now I couldn't tell you what they were.
Most of the writers I know will also recognize the truth in this statement by Schulte: " ... inspiration comes in the shower, on a walk, in a moment of rest, not when your nose is to the grindstone. It’s just the way our brains are wired."
Workaholicism is still seen as a virtue in this country, but my New Year's resolution for the past several years has been to power down occasionally, to try to cram less into my schedule. Last summer I made time to read on my porch for an hour here, a half hour there--something I'd been wanting to do ever since we got this house--and I was giddy with triumph. I think I had to forgo a couple of chores to make time for that, but right now I couldn't tell you what they were.
Most of the writers I know will also recognize the truth in this statement by Schulte: " ... inspiration comes in the shower, on a walk, in a moment of rest, not when your nose is to the grindstone. It’s just the way our brains are wired."
March 28, 2014
The most dangerous path
"I once heard Charles D’Ambrosio say that you have to say “yes” to the story. At every turning point, the protagonist must always—always—choose the more dangerous path. ... Stories are driven by mistakes. They require mistakes."
--Robert Voedisch, interview with One Teen Story
--Robert Voedisch, interview with One Teen Story
March 27, 2014
Visiting with readers
It's my turn at YA Outside the Lines, where I blogged about how my books can be used in the classroom.
I don't talk much here about my school visits and other appearances, because I'm not sure how wide the interest is among my blog readership. But if you are a teacher or librarian or bookseller, please know that I do accept invitations. :-) Or if you are a member of a book club and want to invite me to a discussion of one of my books. I LOVE talking to book clubs!
So while we're on the subject, here are a couple of photos from a recent school visit I did:
photos courtesy of Washington Township High School, Sewell, NJ
The first picture shows me talking to a large group at the school. The second picture shows me hanging out after the talk with one of the inspiring props they had there in the library. Johnny Depp wants you to READ!!
And a grateful shout-out to the school and everyone in the library, because they really were welcoming and efficient and enthusiastic, everything you could want in a hosting school.
I don't talk much here about my school visits and other appearances, because I'm not sure how wide the interest is among my blog readership. But if you are a teacher or librarian or bookseller, please know that I do accept invitations. :-) Or if you are a member of a book club and want to invite me to a discussion of one of my books. I LOVE talking to book clubs!
So while we're on the subject, here are a couple of photos from a recent school visit I did:
photos courtesy of Washington Township High School, Sewell, NJ
The first picture shows me talking to a large group at the school. The second picture shows me hanging out after the talk with one of the inspiring props they had there in the library. Johnny Depp wants you to READ!!
And a grateful shout-out to the school and everyone in the library, because they really were welcoming and efficient and enthusiastic, everything you could want in a hosting school.
March 26, 2014
Sometimes it happens this way: Guest post by Grete DeAngelo
I thought it might be nice to feature a "How I Met My Publisher" story, because in a field known for plentiful rejections and long waits, it's nice to remember that dreams still do come true! I met today's guest blogger at a writers' conference. I can't promise that any given conference will lead to a book deal. But, as you will see, sometimes they do ...
So here's Grete DeAngelo!
I met Jennifer recently at the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group "The Write Stuff" conference. She presented two informative sessions on writing for the Young Adult market, specifically in choosing a voice, a point of view, and dialogue for this audience. Even though I don't write YA, Jennifer gave me a lot of great ideas that cross any genre.
This was my second year attending this conference. Last year, I showed up with a women's fiction manuscript and the hopes of becoming a published author. I had a chance to meet with two agents and a small publishing house. Deborah Riley-Magnus from Assent Publishing said my story intrigued her and asked me to email her the manuscript.
Within a few months of the conference, I had signed a contract with Assent and had my first novel published. Becoming an author went from a pie-in-the-sky dream to moving very fast, and these days, I'm trying to balance my roles as a mother and teacher with those of writing my second novel and continuing to get the word out about my first.
Giving Myself Away is the story of divorced mom Adrienne, who accidentally gets pregnant and realizes she wants to give the baby up for adoption. Her family and the baby's father are opposed to the idea, so she has the difficult job of trying to convince them all that she's doing the best thing for the baby, even as she second-guesses herself.
Even though this is a woman's journey, I've found a happy audience for Giving Myself Away though my current and former students, who are constantly passing YA novels along to me! I remember well being a teenager and wondering what life would be like as a woman, what choices I'd make about marriage and children and career.
I'd like to thank Jennifer for asking me to guest blog. If you're interested in checking out some women's fiction that readers keep telling me is "so real," here are the links:
--
Grete DeAngelowww.gretedeangelo.comAvailable in paperback and Kindle format at Amazon.comAvailable in paperback and Nook format at BarnesandNoble.com
So here's Grete DeAngelo!
I met Jennifer recently at the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group "The Write Stuff" conference. She presented two informative sessions on writing for the Young Adult market, specifically in choosing a voice, a point of view, and dialogue for this audience. Even though I don't write YA, Jennifer gave me a lot of great ideas that cross any genre.
This was my second year attending this conference. Last year, I showed up with a women's fiction manuscript and the hopes of becoming a published author. I had a chance to meet with two agents and a small publishing house. Deborah Riley-Magnus from Assent Publishing said my story intrigued her and asked me to email her the manuscript.
Within a few months of the conference, I had signed a contract with Assent and had my first novel published. Becoming an author went from a pie-in-the-sky dream to moving very fast, and these days, I'm trying to balance my roles as a mother and teacher with those of writing my second novel and continuing to get the word out about my first.
Giving Myself Away is the story of divorced mom Adrienne, who accidentally gets pregnant and realizes she wants to give the baby up for adoption. Her family and the baby's father are opposed to the idea, so she has the difficult job of trying to convince them all that she's doing the best thing for the baby, even as she second-guesses herself.
Even though this is a woman's journey, I've found a happy audience for Giving Myself Away though my current and former students, who are constantly passing YA novels along to me! I remember well being a teenager and wondering what life would be like as a woman, what choices I'd make about marriage and children and career.
I'd like to thank Jennifer for asking me to guest blog. If you're interested in checking out some women's fiction that readers keep telling me is "so real," here are the links:
--
Grete DeAngelowww.gretedeangelo.comAvailable in paperback and Kindle format at Amazon.comAvailable in paperback and Nook format at BarnesandNoble.com
