Beth Kephart's Blog, page 279

Can you teach writing?

The age-old question.  I have always said this:  You can teach yourself (or others) to see beyond what is near, to spend time with what you're not, to bear in mind the symphonic construction of a passage, or an idea.  You can teach process:  Don't hurry.  You can teach living:  Go out, adventure, return.  You can fracture safety zones.  But the job of a teacher, most of all (I think), is to know what others have written and what another must read, right now, this second, in the midst of the l...

What makes for YA? A reader opines

When, I sometimes ask myself, did my writing life begin?  Was it at nine, when I started penning those crazy purple poems?  Was it at sixteen, when my English teacher noticed?  Was it when Natalie Kutz answered a letter I'd written her, or when Iowa Woman accepted my first essay?



Or was it when I won a certain grant, my first, and upon that occasion had my first reading and also met (it's funny how this happens) people who have remained friends throughout this writing life?



One of those fri...

Room/Emma Donoghue: Reflections

I was three years into writing a book that in some ways deals with the multiple strains and awful unknowing of a kidnapping when I learned about Emma Donoghue's new novel, Room.  Within a nanosecond, it seemed, Room had become the rage—awards listed and best selling.  I did what I could to filter out the news until I had written the final sentence of my own story, set it aside, let it breathe.



That was several weeks ago.  Yesterday and early this morning I sat with Room and read it through. ...

Classic texts: On Becoming a Novelist

Among the many books I read or began reading this weekend was an old one by John Gardner, On Becoming a Novelist.  I don't seem to do many things in the right order in this life of mine, and I should have probably read a few how-to's, or at least taken a university class, or something, before plunging into this writerly life of mine.  And yet, there's something very sweet about discovering, in Gardner, the sort of instructions or notions that I've stumbled my way toward by virtue of writing p...

Half a Life/Darin Strauss: Reflections

Dignity is a word I have long associated with Darin Strauss.  His refined mind and sensibilities were on display in novels like Chang and Eng.  A certain quietude pervaded interviews.  When I learned that Strauss was sending a memoir into the world, a memoir entrusted to McSweeney's (and hence, in some fashion, to the multiply talented and deeply generous Dave Eggers), I knew for certain what I'd be reading next.



I read Half a Life this morning, grateful for every white-steeped page.  It is,...

Proust was a Neuroscientist/Jonah Lehrer: Reflections

As a former memoirist and ever-ongoing blogger, I think and read a lot about memory—how it works, why it is so radically imprecise, how it shapes us.  I bought Proust was a Neuroscientist, then, because I was primarily interested in Jonah Lehrer's Marcel Proust chapter, subtitled "The Method of Memory."  What is new, I wondered, in memory science?  How did Proust, so many years ago, anticipate the workings of the brain while lying in bed writing and rewriting his so many pages? 



The Proust ...

In one gigantic act of bravery

I decide (will I regret this later? I'll probably regret this later) to upload a clip from a dance practice session.  John (my instructor) and I are dancing to Natalie Merchant's wonderful rendition of "The Janitor's Boy."  We're not yet ready for showcase prime time (we have a few weeks more before the event) and Scott, who is recording this for us so that I can see all the things I have to fix (which would be plenty), is explaining to a passerby that this is a "campy" foxtrot.  Ca...

Spotted.....

This is to say thank you to my friends—Mandy, Kathye, Melissa, others—who have been sending me photos of Dangerous Neighbors on shelves in stores around the country.  I myself have not seen the book in an actual, breathing, humming store as of yet; my few forays in that direction had been met with the news:  But we just sold our last copy.  So I live vicariously through all of you, and this morning, through Melissa Walker, who wrote, as a caption to this photo she took:  Great placement for y...

Dangerous Neighbors: The Cecelia Bedelia review

The other day, my husband was driving us along in his jalopy (well, it's not really a jalopy; it just feels that way) when I spied a circa 1920s, lemon-toned vehicle puttering up behind us.  It made me happy, this open-to-the-sky old timer—because it exists, because it was and no doubt will again be driven on a blue, blue day.



Yesterday I was doing what I do (which is to say, I don't remember exactly what) when Jenny wrote to suggest that I take a look at the Cecelia Bedelia review of...

Philadelphia, Dusk

(taken from the eastern end of the R5 platform at 30th Street Station, 7:17 PM, Rick Moody's The Four Fingers of Death in my bag)