Beth Kephart's Blog, page 332

The Philadelphia Inquirer Review of Nothing but Ghosts

I have to admit that I did not see this coming. There I was at the gym, at Teresa's Body Pump, aching (and I mean aching) between the shoulder rotation and abs, wondering how in the world that Teresa can sing—sing!—while we're all lifting that bar again and again, while we are all shaking and trembling, when I saw my phone blinking. It was a note from my friend Lynn Levin, congratulating me for a review of Nothing but Ghosts, in today's Philadelphia Inquirer.

I pretty much figured that the w...

Tangled up with Memoir

Judith Shulevitz reviews Ben Yagoda's Memoir: A History in this week's New York Times Book Review, and I read, with fascination, lines such as these:

Yagoda uses the words 'memoir' and 'autobiography' interchangeably. But they are not the same thing; practitioners know this.

If the flux of life conforms so readily to the constraints of convention, and conventions come and go, then how do you draw a line between truth and art? The last time I checked, truth wasn't boxed in by convention.

.....

The Heart is Not a Size: A Priya Review

Magnificent Priya honored me with one of the very earliest reviews of Nothing but Ghosts, and she has honored me again this evening with this most exceptional review of The Heart is Not a Size, in which she found what I dared to hope (in my quiet, hopeful hours) a reader or two would find.

I shall say it again today; I shall say it, I am sure, tomorrow: It's a life of blessings.

Thank you, Priya.

HEART and GHOSTS: Two downloadable flyers

I have been busy this morning making (and updating) two one-page flyers that describe Nothing but Ghosts, which was released in June, and The Heart is Not a Size, to be released next March.

And then I thought to myself, I thought: Why not post them on the blog?

Hence.

Revisionary

When a really fine reader takes a really close look at the work you have been doing—when she takes the time to say, Have you considered this? Could you clarify that?—your only response can and must be to pay attention. To get out of whatever mind space you've been in and to see the book as your reader has seen it.

That's what I've been doing these past many days—reviewing my novel for adults through the lens of my dear friend, who took the time to read it so closely. Her deep enthusiasm for...

WBBT: The Shelf Elf Interview

I mentioned earlier this week that I had been granted a privileged place in the Winter Blog Blast Tour—an interview with Shelf Elf. I invite you to join us for a conversation that ranges from the perils and pleasures of not writing by-the-numbers books to the "truths" I seek to convey in my work to advice I would give to the characters I write to my trip to Anapra to Dangerous Neighbors, my historical novel due out next fall.

Here's a brief excerpt:

When I'm finished reading your books, I...

English 145 (8): What is teaching worth?

And so in class, yesterday, we began to ask ourselves what teaching can deliver, what it is worth. What are the residuals of an advanced nonfiction workshop, for example? What will be carried forward, one short month from now, when we have had our last class and said our goodbyes (but not permanent goodbyes; that just won't do)? What will remain a decade hence, or two?

I want my students leaving English 145 knowing more about how they think and why they think what they do. I want them hungr...

The Shelf Elf Reviews The Heart is Not a Size

I am deeply honored this morning by the Shelf Elf's review of The Heart is Not a Size, a story inspired by a trip that I took to Anapra, a squatter's village, in 2005. I want this book to matter because the people of Anapra do. Because theirs is a story that doesn't get told; it is suppressed, instead, by the drug-war headlines.

The Shelf Elf has given me many gifts these past few weeks—that stunning review of Nothing but Ghosts, this remarkable review of Heart. And as if that were all not ...

Portraiture

In the early morning, walking Lititz, he was there. "Don't be afraid," his owner called out to me, but I wasn't. I was only afraid that I wouldn't move fast enough, that I would fail to capture his portrait.

The Lititz Kid/Lit Festival (a brief reprise)

We drove toward Lancaster on a sour-skied day—past sheep, goats, horses, cows, corn-stuffed silos, chicken cathedrals. The sun kept trying to come out, and sometimes, in a skittish mood, it did, but once we reached the town of Lititz, I wasn't thinking about weather. I was thinking about the town itself—cohesive, grounded, charming. I was thinking about that marvelous independent, Aaron's Books, which had engineered its first Kid's Lit festival and invited me to take part.

The first order o...