Beth Kephart's Blog, page 21

the writing life's deepest pleasure: Jenny Diski, on growing up to be a novelist

In reading In Gratitude, Jenny Diski's devastating final work of literature (she passed away just days ago), I come upon these words. She's reflecting on her evolving sense of what kind of writer she would grow up to be. She has, I think, settled on the writing life's deepest pleasure: the lasting satisfaction of doing the work itself.

Later it was a novelist, when I realised that novelists lived exactly as I wanted to live. At home, with a couch to sleep on when I lost the thread, and a beloved typewriter. Lunches and literary parties, not so much. Fame? Maybe. My finished book in its jacket in a bookshop window. Yes, but something told me it wasn't a satisfaction that would last for long. One look, one pleasure and then Oh Christ, what about the next book? Or most simply a writer alone in a room and a couple of inches of typescript. Looking at it, half-done, two-thirds finished. I did that. Lying on the couch with a cigarette and half closing my eyes to see enough of the manuscript waiting to grow.

WHYY Articulate TV asked artists to share the worst advice they've received. I said —

When Kevin McElvaney of WHYY Articulate TV (my incredibly well-produced Articulate segment about memoir and Philadelphia can be found here) asked me to share the best advice I'd ever been given, I, being me, could only think of the worst. Turns out I wasn't the only one whose mind triggered back to the advice that was not followed.

So here ( link ) we are—fashion designer Wale Oyejide, photographer and blogger Conrad Benner, poet Alyesha Wise, singer/songwriter Rodney Anonymous, and me—reflecting on what we did not listen to, and why not listening mattered.
Wale Oyej—reflecting on what we refused to listen to.

My thoughts on the great Mark Haddon's new short story collection, in the Chicago Tribune

Mark Haddon, a name that needs no introduction, has a devastating new collection of short stories debuting next week.

I was lucky enough to review the book for the Chicago Tribune Printers Row .

Click the link to read the full review.

Sharp Edges: where I've been, where I'm going

I've been a blogger slacker; I confess. It wasn't meant to be this way.

But I've been rolling through and over rugged landscapes in these past weeks, and sometimes it's better to think and to do, rather than to speak.

But now I'm speaking:

Following thirty years of chasing projects in corporate America I am calling off the chase. I loved what I did, the people I met, the meaty, beautiful, complex projects I was entrusted with, the client projects that still sit proudly on my shelves. But in recent years too much has changed—a disheartening disrespect and disequilibrium has entered in. It's a demand and disappear environment out there these days. It's phones ringing after dinner with early AM deadlines, nights tapping away, and the next-day news: Whoops. Sorry. We were wrong. Didn't need that project after all. 

Didn't need you.

I have lived my life putting my family and friends first, my students second, my corporate clients second, too, and me a distant something. I would do it all exactly the same way again; I have no regrets. But going forward I know what I want, where I am happiest, what I must be, must have. More time with books. More time with people who write and read with noble purpose. More time spent beneath a blooming, bursting cherry tree, or on a farm, or by the sea.

More time being the me I need.

Not long ago, in New York, I sat with someone I have grown to love, the great editor, Lauren Wein. Later, writing to me, she wrote words that ricocheted. After so much frank unkindness from corporate America, after too much time spent in the claw and crawl of it all, I had this sudden sense of being seen.

  seeing you i thought again what i thought the other time---beth has such SHARP EDGES. in the very best way. your virtual presence is so much about generosity, encouragement, positive reinforcement--for other writers and artists, for your family, for your students. in person, the other side comes out. and it's equally compelling---it raises the stakes somehow, in the best way! it's still positive, lyrical, poetic Beth, but there's also a tension there--the sense of an oppositional pull. the bold, unexpected shoes to complement and subvert the elegant, basic black.

Being seen. How simple that sounds. How great the journey.

in which a reader of STORY taps deeply into its mystery

In which Serena Agusto-Cox of Savvy Verse and Wit discovers the breadcrumb clues I've been leaving for readers all along, book to book. So many thanks for this truly gorgeous review of This Is the Story of You .

From the end of the review:

This Is the Story of You by Beth Kephart will astonish you with the resilience of young people, their drive to make things right, and their ability to withstand more than expected, but it is in the final pages that the true mystery is resolved.  I will say this, I’m not often surprised by book endings or mysteries, but Kephart exceeded my detective skills for the first time in a long while.  (I had suspicions, but not a fully formed conclusion.)  Readers who love to immerse themselves in realistic places and explore humanity won’t be disappointed.  Kephart is a talent at creating places that come alive and characters that grab hold of us emotionally.

**You’ve probably already suspected this is a contender for the best of 2016 list at the end of the year!**

"Protect What You Love," an essential story about environmental stories, in The Writer

Beautifully researched and written by Melissa Hart, in an issue (May 2016) that is chock full of incredible stories.

Thank you, Melissa, who is, by the way, the author of the brand-new earth-observant Avenging the Owl, and The Writer.

we write for teens because: upcoming at the Penn Book Center: with Cordelia Jensen and Melissa Jensen

One Sunday afternoon, at Books of Wonder, I met Cordelia Jensen, whose reputation as a writer and teacher of enormous integrity precedes her.

One recent afternoon at Penn, I sat with Melissa Jensen and we talked. So many surprising connections between us, at least two shared students, a love of story, the start of a friendship.

We write for teens because we remember being one, because we love the ones we've met along the way, because the dialogue is rich, because of the friends we make.

On June 4, 2 PM, at the Penn Book Center on the Penn campus, Cordelia, Melissa, and I will be talking with teens—and with those who love them (or those who simply love a good story).

We'll be talking to each other, too.

We hope you'll join us.

We're grateful to Ashley, for hosting us. This will be the Penn Book Center's first teen event.

getting ready for the big (clay) shows

In our tiny but (dare I say it?) much-loved house, there are two bedrooms, one kitchen, one place for me to work, two rooms full of books and a basement and then again a garage where my husband does his thing.

This is a view of the basement. This is Sunday morning, 7:50 AM, as my husband prepares for his first solo clay show, opening in early June at the Show of Hands gallery on Pine Street. Bill has dozens of pieces of extraordinary originality and craftsmanship being cued up for the show. This shape is but a very early iteration (trust me when I tell you it will look nothing like this when it is done).

Meanwhile, Bill and I will be down at the Clay Studio in Old City on Friday evening, for the Clay Studio National reception. The show, which honors "the best contemporary ceramic art being made in the United States now," features a collection of pieces culled from hundreds from across the country. One of Bill's architectural pieces will be on display.

my first area signing of THIS IS THE STORY OF YOU, Main Point Books, April 30, 2 PM

I'll be signing THIS IS THE STORY OF YOU, my Jersey Shore novel (Chronicle Books), tomorrow, Saturday, April 30, 2 PM, in celebration of Independent Bookstore Day. Hope to see you at Main Point Books in Bryn Mawr, PA.

I love the sea, I love the shore, I wonder about storms and now, the mysteries of family and friendship.

I wrote of these things.

I hope to see you there. Not a reading, just a signing. Come any time between 2 and 3 PM.

David Marchino and Nina Friend read from their theses, with Julia Bloch

It was wall to wall. It was genuine heart. It was Kelly Writers House celebrating the Honors thesis writers. That's Julia Bloch, who directs us all (directing only me would be a full-time job) (oh, we love her). That is Nina Friend. That's David Marchino.

We had thirty seconds each to introduce these students with whom we have learned. My words were these, below.

Congratulations, Nina and David. And so much love.

Nina Friend observes. She listens. She cares. She has, for many years, wondered what “serving” really means, also “waiting.” To write this thoughtful and deeply engaging work of narrative nonfiction, Nina has read widely, spent countless hours in the company of leading restaurateurs, major novelists, and a wide variety of servers, even donned a waitress apron herself. You may think you know what a server does. But you won’t know the half of it until you read Nina’s explications of stigma and community, addiction and freedom. With fierce, often delicious language, Nina pulls the curtains way back on a world all of us would do well to ponder—and appreciate—more completely.

In hunting down his family mythology, David Marchino has traveled far—sitting again, after years of absence, with his own elusive father, sifting through the artifacts of an enflamed past, returning to neighborhood cemeteries and family homes in an effort both to remember and to understand. To all of this David has brought a giant heart, an eye for the telling detail, and a steadfast compassion for the people in his life. David may be the product of a home that will always throb with mysterious unknowns. But David is, first and foremost, his own person—a magnificent, blue-rose tattooed writer who teaches us, with this memoir, that love, in the end, wins hardest, fastest, most.