Katey Schultz's Blog, page 21

D.C. Whirlwind

My sweetie and I took the weekend off and headed to D.C. for a whirlwind tour of college buddies, monuments, and...a carousel ride. I couldn't help but wonder whatmonuments to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan will be erected near the Mall at some point (hopefully soon)...
Warning, this may make you dizzy!

Top Books of Poetry Recommended as Gifts

With Gary Gutting's recent New York Times article about "The Real Humanities Crisis" in mind, I'm feeling even more bolstered as I compose this post recommending 4 books of poetry for gifts this holiday season. If book touring taught me anything, it's that word of mouth is still worth its weight in gold on the book circuit. Thank goodness for that! Word of mouth may travel slowly, even through social media, but it has an important, cumulative effect. Here are 4 authors whose work has earned critical praise in its own right...and also comes highly recommended by yours truly.

And if these reviews aren't persuasive enough, consider my friend Deb's insight today, which was effectively: "This would be a very different country if we had 2 minutes of coverage every evening on the news about what's new in the arts." If there's someone you'd like to share the literary arts with, a book of poems is a great way to start. A book is a gift you get to open again and again!

To Embroider the Ground with Prayer by Teresa J. Scollon:
What the cover says: To Embroider the Ground with Prayer is a portrait of poet Teresa J. Scollon's several worlds, as she accompanies her father through his illness and death and records the richness of family and community life in her Michigan town. These poems enjoy reverence and irreverence in equal measure as grief appears side by side with playfulness and humor. Scollon employs a wide range of poetic styles and voices: elegies, narratives, and persona poems are organized in recursive circles that evoke family, village, local characters, and the author's adult life beyond her hometown.What I say: I recently reviewed this book on Goodreads by saying that I found this to be absolutely the most moving, accessible, precise, honest book of poems I have read in years. Eighty-eight pages of poetry that brings the genre into any reader's hands. Clear and direct without being bland; mysterious without being obscure. Lovely imagery, moving insights, relatable loss...incredible. Speaking Wiri Wiri by Dan Vera:
What the cover says: Winner of the inaugural Letras Latinas/Red Hen Poetry Prize [that's a big deal, readers!], Dan Vera's Speaking Wiri Wiri is a work of historical insight and wry wit, unexpectedly delightful and full of surprises as it meditates on the challenges of multiple identities, ethnicity, geographies of migration, familial displacement, popular history, and more. Everything is fair game for Vera, who finds poetry in the mundane and the monumental, the hidden lives of iconic television stars and the alternate and accidental histories of Latinos in the United States. Carmen Miranda makes an appearance, as do Captain Kirk, Vladimir Nabokov, and José Martí in a literary landscape careening lyrically between lost and found. What I say: This is on my Christmas list...so if I get it, I'll be reviewing it on Goodreads. Suffice it to say that I've had the privilege of hearing Dan Vera read out loud and I felt immediately moved by his work. It's specific and sensual, vivid and honest. I remember listening to poems about experiences I have never personally had, but somehow Vera's verse enabled me to find relatable threads and enter the poems all the same. Other poems rang incredibly true and personal. He's a voice not to miss!
Belonging by Britt Kaufmann and Quick Draw: Poems from a Soldier's Wife by Abby E. Murray:
What Britt says: "This collection of poems loosely chronicles my upbringing in a Mennonite community in the Midwest and my move, as an adult, to the mountains of Western North Carolina."What's amazing about Abby: Her blog is...how can I say this? An incredible resource for poets. She's clear, opinionated, honest, and funny! Keeping up with her blog and then reading her book might make you so smart your friends don't even recognize you anymore!Why both of these books: I know both poets personally and have heard and seen them read out loud. I also had the chance to overlap with each during various drafting stages of their work. I always marveled at their dedication and precise ways of seeing. Finishing Line Press published these authors and it is a great little press with affordable, beautifully designed chapbooks. Check them out!Happy Holidays and happy reading!

A Literacy Movement: Celebrating "Read Tuesday"

Tuesday, December 10th is Read Tuesday, a way to celebrate books and give the gift of reading this holiday season. All participating authors have agreed to lower the cost of their books through at least one sales avenue for Read Tuesday. Flashes of War is for sale for $1 off the cover price with free gift wrapping by using the PayPal button at left. A catalog of participating Read Tuesday authors is available and it spans everything from nonfiction to sci-fi. Enjoy the savings and join us in giving the gift of good writing all over the globe!

Speaking of the globe, I awoke yesterday morning to find that Humayoon Babur, an Afghan journalist in Kabul who received my book from a friend in Michigan, shared Flashes of War with his close contacts. This photo was taken in the home of an Assistant Professor at Baglhan University:


Humayoon reports that these young men most enjoyed "That Sunday Morning Feeling" and "Stars Over Afghanistan."

It's difficult to describe how seeing this photo made me feel. In some regards, it brings to life the stories I imagined in a way I never considered before. Each book an author writes has the capacity to return something to the writer in its own unique way. This is one of those things that only a book about these wars could have done. But in other ways, it makes me feel further away. There's a little part of me in Afghanistan now, and it's very likely I'll ever go there to unite with it. What would I say, if I visited for a day? What could I offer or do? I can only envision myself as a fly on the wall, taking in as much as possible, humbled and overwhelmed by the chance to finally experience--on the level of the five senses--a world I have tried to bring to life for myself for the last three years.

In other book news, I was interviewed by a war literature blogger in New York City. It was so refreshing to speak with someone 6 whole months after the book launch. I have a different perspective on my own work now, and interviewer Rebecca Forbes had incredibly precise, insightful questions. If you'd like to read about the military-civilian divide, the specters of guilt and silence, and my writing process, please visit Profound Flashes: Q&A with Author Katey Schultz.

Finally, tonight you can tune in live through online streaming to hear an excerpt from Flashes of War and an on-air interview as I speak with the hosts of KFAI Minneapolis public radio from 7-8pm (Central Standard Time) for their "Write On!" show. I think I'll be reading from the opening pages of "Getting Perspective," a story set in Western North Carolina.

On Thursday, I'll post a list of books I'm recommending as gifts this year--poetry, fiction, and memoir. I'm very excited to share some of my favorite authors with you, so stay tuned!

'Tis the Season

The Flashes of War holiday sale is on for five more days - $1 off the cover price plus free gift wrapping. This is a great gift for under $20 and has an immediate financial impact on The Writing Life. Please consider ordering an autographed copy as a gift by using the PayPal button on the left sidebar of my website. Thank you so much!

Belated Happy Thanksgivaka to those of turkey or Jewish persuasion, happy nearing Christmas to many more, and happy-lots-of-other-things to all! I'm feeling the spirit of the season more this year than ever before. Perhaps it's being in love. Perhaps it's knowing I've paid off my Airstream and paid off my book tour and am not traveling again until the end of February. Perhaps it's being one month into full self-employment and seeing how I think I can keep this up. More than likely, it's a combination of everything. I'm so grateful to live where I do, to find support and creative influence in the community around me, and to be near family and friends.

As I've finally found a rhythm and schedule again, which includes work on the novel. I'm eager to get back to my more contemplative, focused blog posts. Stay tuned for thoughts on revision, hiking, balance, and--as always--Gus the Superdog, the source of infinite wisdom and joy. Meantime, let's decorate!

Holiday Sale!

 
In support of the "buy local" and Small Business Saturday shopping movements, I'm offering a sale on Flashes of War through my website for the next week. By using the Buy Now PayPal button (at left), you can receive $1 off the cover price of Flashes of War. Additionally, I will autograph the book, wrap it up if it's a gift, and mail it directly to you or the gift recipient as per the instructions you leave me when you fill out your order. This is a great chance to support a local author and small business, give someone a meaningful gift that's under $20, and help The Writing Life experience a little financial boost at a time when it's really needed.


You can even order multiple copies of the book for a single shipping cost, and as long as you leave me specific instructions in the "note" section of your PayPal purchase, I'll happily ship books to multiple locations!

What I'm Thankful For

Just a few of the family members I'm thankful for today...There is quite honestly so much to be thankful for, I often find it difficult to pin down a central focus for blog posts such as this...but that's no excuse for saying nothing, and with that, I'd like to offer a sincere Happy Thanksgiving to readers of The Writing Life and these few reflections:

Looking back on 2013, I'm thankful for the communities who opened their doors, bookstores, and schools to me as I navigated my first book tour. Likewise, the authors I look up to who coached and inspired me along the way, among them: Kyle Lang, Claire Davis, Jack Driscoll, Bilal Sarwary, Ben Busch, Molly Gloss, Helen Benedict, Van Jordan, and Doug Stanton. Support from organizations like Fishtrap, National Writers Series, and Words After War also came a crucial times, helping me get over the hump of exhaustion and into the home stretch of travels. But more than anything along these lines, I'm thankful for the everyday civilians who have, in some small way, taken the time to read words written by Iraq & Afghanistan veterans (or here) or to engage in meaningful conversations about how these wars are re-shaping a generation. Without this openness to discussion, I never would have believed I had an audience for Flashes of War, and without that audience, I may have found it damn near impossible to write. Likewise, those people--civilian or veteran--who are willing to keep looking at these predicaments and apply critical thinking, creative thought, and compassion over the long haul.

I'm also thankful for the individual students and local arts organizations (and one truly inspiring summer camp) who help me keep my self-employed lifestyle afloat. Without their trust in my abilities as a teacher and press manager, and without their paychecks, I quite literally could not do what I do. I'm 34 and fully self-employed. Not amply, but still--fully--and that's a luxury and security I do not take for granted. Not for one single day. To those of you who are a part of helping me meet my monthly expenses and encouraging me to keep offering the services that I do, thank you. Your trust in me makes my lifestyle possible.

I began this blog post by stating how difficult I find writing a tidy thanks to be. Even these very small and personal thanks feel so limited, as sincerely as I intend them to be. Therefore, of course I am likewise thankful to wake up each day with the basics of food, water, shelter, and freedom in my life. I'm thankful for the general health of my friends and family and I'm sending direct, positive energy to those who are fighting illness right now. I'm thankful to have the time and piece of mind to explore my life and its options, to engage with community, and to make decisions that try to benefit the world. Too many people woke up today without having their most basic human needs met--and they will spend the rest of the day, and the next day, and perhaps the next months, still in search of those things: 2.1 million Syrian refugees, the US's own under-served citizens within its very borders...the list could be so long...

I'm going to eat a big meal today. It's so strange to say that. But I'm not going to swallow a single bite at a table surrounded by the warmth and excitement of new family without at least taking a moment to feel how fortunate it is to be able to do so. We are born into this world and tossed about. I often can't make any sense of it. But I can pause and say thanks. At least I can do that.

Trail Crew of the Mind

Sometimes, creative play takes the form of mixing up your routines. While I tend to spend Mondays volunteering with Carolina Mountain Club, this week, I framed my time with trail crew differently. I've been dedicating mornings to the novel, but didn't want to miss out on trail crew, so I woke early and began immediate work on revisions, then headed out to meet my CMC buddies. Summiting nearby Pinnacle peak, our task was relatively simple: blaze the trail with new markers, clear downed trees, and lop overgrowth. One of my favorite perks of volunteer trail crew work is a chance to wander--and wonder--in the woods at a slower pace than normal hiking or backpacking. With a hazel ho or saw in my hands, it's my job to work efficiently but thoroughly, and that takes time as I step and view the forest with different eyes.

Today, I steered my mind a bit away from the functional and toward the imaginative. As we lopped through dense rhododendron thickets, I imagined hobbit tunnels. As a small flock of wrens fluttered from one rock outcropping to another, dancing across a viewscape of mountains, I wondered what it would feel like to ride on their backs. Later, at lower elevations, I considered hiding places and natural rock shelters that seemed poised for an overnighter. I noticed thick patches of moss, which appeared like quilts across the land. Cutting a few errant hemlock boughs, I imagined a bed of needles and the scent of evergreens sending me to sleep.

It's the little things--it always has been--but remembering this is such a gift. One thing that makes the best short stories the best, is the fact that they reveal truth through the immediate details of our lives. How we see what we see influences what we glean from the world, and what we glean entices us to act. If the gathering clouds and icy wind make me think of hibernating, and if creative play entices me to push that metaphor to an extreme, what can I learn about myself? My choices? Fictionally, what could the idea of hibernation do in the novel I'm working on right now? How my might my protagonist feel if given the chance to hunker down with the bears, skip out on hunting season (which is in full swing here in the Blacks right now), and wake up rested but with a ferocious appetite?

Back at the desk with a few more miles of trail under my belt, I feel as though I've traveled a lot further than my local National Park today. There's been an exhale. A space has been created. Where there's space, surely the imagination will find a way to fill it. I'm already excited to get back to the novel tomorrow morning...Creative Mission Accomplished!

View from Pinnacle looking north at Black Mountains

Taking the time to Wonderbook

I've been a bit impatient with myself lately. Three weeks of getting up at 6am five mornings a week (ok, a slept in until 7am a few times) to work on the novel. No email. No Internet. Nothing connected to the outside world until 10am. This gave me four hours to eat breakfast, wash the dishes, read, and write. Some mornings, I spent as much as 2 hours reading and just an hour writing. Other mornings, I stuck to the toosh-in-chair method only to write 250 words in 2 1/2 hours. One morning, I worked by hand on revisions but couldn't pull up the resources to then type those revisions into the saved document on my computer. I felt exhausted. I knew I was working hard and trying, as I'd promised myself, but it felt unproductive. It also felt harder than anything I've ever experienced at the desk.

Recently, I had a revelation. Rather than waking up and slugging along as though there was something wrong with me, I decided one morning that I needed to have more fun. Who cares that it was slow going? Who cares if I scrapped every word I wrote? I needed to have fun, goddammit, and if that meant a bonus cup of coffee and a little more talking to myself than usual, so be it. First and foremost, I'm not entirely certain what I'm doing. How does one actually write a novel? It feels so breathy to me. So goddamn laborious and overstated compared to flashes or stories. No need to fight it. Instead, I gave myself full permission to study the authors I respect in order to learn how it's done. Where do their pages get breathy and how do they pull it off anyway? What holds my interest? How do they get to their transitions into and out of scenes? How do they get to narrative exposition?

Second, I decided

So while I was busy trying to figure out how to make things a bit more fun (play great music while washing the dishes, indulge in reading a little more, talk or sing more to myself), I picked an incredible book called Wonderbook: The Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction. As someone who teaches writing, I've still managed to be quite snobby (perhaps unnecessarily so) about reading books about writing. Who wants to do that? I'd rather read books of good writing, then write one myself. But of course, there are some incredible books about writing out there and on more than one occasion, such books have saved me in the classroom. Now, I'm the one that needs saving and Wonderbook might just be the trick. It's goofy, delightful, thoughtful, inspiring, and deep. Oh, and it's illustrated. Like, CRAZY illustrated. Is it possible to call it a graphic how-to-self-help-but-much-better-than-both-those-categories book? You'll have to see for yourself. Check out the trailer. Then buy the book. I'm broke after my book tour and I'm still glad I bought the book. Dare I say...it's WONDERful. Inspiration abounds! Playfullness and insight have room on the same page! In the same sentence! Slow and steady, I'll get there. The word NOVEL is like a cave. I'm fumbling around blindly. Thanks to Wonderbook, I know I'll find a torch sooner rather than later.

Popular Book Club Picks

Readers: There is a discount offered at the end of this blog post!
What makes a popular book club pick? By now, everyone knows that the Oprah seal of approval will skyrocket any author's book sales--no matter if that author turns out to be a sham or if the writing is more voyeuristic than literary. But of course, many of Oprah's recommendations are utterly fantastic works of high merit (Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout comes to mind). Outside the big-name promos and who's-who lists, how are the bulk of loosely organized book clubs around the country selecting their books?

Word of mouth plays a huge roll. Think of the last ten books that you read. How many of them did you read because someone told you about it, gave it to you, or because you saw it mentioned several times through various media outlets? Repetition and a trusted endorsement still go a long way in the book marketing world and I'm glad for that. Sure, actual face-time word of mouth recs may travel slowly compared to tweets, but they still move and if a writer is patient, the sales may eventually add up.

The other criteria is often


And sometimes, a book is selected because the author is local or the subject matter is timely. This afternoon I got to meet with a group of North Carolina readers who selected Flashes of War as their book club pick for November. Since this club meets just a hop, skip, and a jump away from my home in the Airstream, I also got to enjoy the luxury of knowing my audience ahead of time. The organizer brought homemade gingersnaps. Another member brought pumpkin bread. The hostess offered coffee and wine. And I brought a bouquet of flowers.

I also brought my folder of "source material." These are all the notes and images that I gathered during the 2 1/2 years it took me to write Flashes of War. Along with my laptop, which I used to show a 3-minute video on my creative process and a slideshow of photos that inspired my work, we had plenty of things to discuss as the members of the club arrived and asked me to sign their copies of the book.

I loved getting to talk to people about my work who I ordinarily only see in another context (at gallery openings, at the grocery store). It was so special to relate reader to writer, curious mind to curious mind. It helped me feel more "known" in my own community and, in turn, bolstered my confidence as I told the story of how I worked my way from barista to grad school to full time, self-employed writer. The added bonus? I got to tell personal stories of victory and disappointment that aren't public. Who wants to post a Facebook update about a missed opportunity, a behind-the-scenes conversation that went awry, or a publicity omission that cut to the bone? No one. But give a writer a roomful of soft ears--and remember that that writer is used to working alone and keeping the nuances of her business to herself--and it's kind of lovely how the opportunity to share face-to-face leads to real connection.

To that end, I'm inviting readers of The Writing Life to please consider bringing Flashes of War to your book club. Your word of mouth vote will have a direct professional, financial, and creative impact on my business and therefore my life. Between now and the end of the year, if your book club orders 6 books or more directly through me, I'll send a bulk mailing of the autographed books and waive the shipping fee. Message me through Facebook for details, and let's get this started!

Going Solo: The Next Day

After the epic night on the ridgetop, I was ready to get up and get going as soon as sunrise came. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast as pale, yellow light warmed my camp and flushed the birds from their roosts. I marveled at tiny flocks of chicadee and titmouse as they flew in bursts from the western slope toward the east, flitting in the sunlight. They made sumitting look so easy--just a few flaps of their wings and they were up and over, then angling down beak-first and apparently delighting in this all the while.

Some time passed and I headed down the mountain for View Rock, about 1 1/2 miles from Deep Gap (or 2 1/2 miles from the Colbert Creek Trailhead down in the valley). I knew my hiking buddy Randy was going to meet me at the rock sometime around noon, but of course I didn't know what time it was. Suffice it to say I had plenty of time to myself up on View Rock, overlooking the South Toe River Valley and entertaining myself by identifying known landmarks--the nursery on White Oak, the Celo Soccer Field, Bob's studio, etc. I even read a few chapters of Olive Kitteridge, fired up my MSR Pocketrocket for an indulgent second cup of coffee, and took a brief nap in the sun. Sitting and doing nothing--or doing whatever my mind fancied in the moment--on a rock in the middle of the National Forest is not something that I do enough. I felt glad for the time, and when Randy arrived he offered a chocolate bar and freshly dug carrots from his garden. We enjoyed a nice lunch.

Our task was quite simple: bushwhack down to the Locust Creek grade (an old but well-tended Forest Service road that is now closed off, thanks to locked gates and a bit of local controversy). What I felt uncertain about, and the reason I asked Randy to come along, was where to leap off the known Colbert Creek Trail and into the unknown space between

We stepped gingerly at first, then faster as the mountain dropped away from our feet and leaves piled around us, all the way to mid-calf. At times, bushwhacking down this section felt like skiing on top of leaves. More than once, each of us "fell" down--just simply stepping, then sliding, then giving in to the slide and sitting down on our butts to stop, get up, and start again. How long did this go on for--five minutes? Twenty minutes? I didn't know. I should have taken note. But it wasn't long and we dropped out onto the Locust road like it was nothing.

For a mile and a half we followed it, contouring Colbert Ridge, hopping over Locust Creek and contouring Locust Ridge, and then...before I knew it...I spotted a tree that I had seen before. It was this tree, in this photograph of Gus, that I took last May. This crosses White Oak Creek at the supposed "end" of the supposed "marked" and "official" White Oak Trail. We were coming in at a perpendicular and as soon as I saw the tree I knew precisely where we were--and how to get home efficiently. We crossed the creek, ignored the official trail, and continued on our merry way along the countour--not dipping down and not scrambling up. Slow and steady, over and over and over. Sideways was the name of the game and that's what kept us on track. Until...

We hit the big outcropping of rocks on Burnt Mountain. This is actually just a ridge--Burnt Ridge, as I prefer to call it, but the map calls it a mountain--and it runs like a long finger off the ridgeline of the Blacks, parallel to Locust and Colbert Ridges, until it fades out into the lower elevations of the valley. I'd been to this rock outrcop before and dropped below it, steep and iffy with a full pack but still do-able. Instead, Randy suggested we backtrack a bit to that old 4-wheeler trail just a hundred yards away. "What 4-wheeler trail?" I asked. Randy smiled. He'd seen it and I hadn't. He's good like that. He's also had over 40 years to hike and know these mountains.

Backtrack we did, then followed the 4-wheeler trail down and around the rest of Burnt Mountain until we seemed to hit some other sort of old cleared thing. What was this? Expanded game trail? Old logging road? Old 4-wheeler track? In any case, it was certainly something and when we got to the junction, Randy turned right and I turned left. We both stopped in our tracks. "Wait...why?" We both had our reasons for wanting to go opposite directions. Turning left, or north, was my preference as I knew I was headed toward a route I'd bushwhacked before and I knew it ended up on the opposite side of Shuford Creek--my home. Turning right, or south, Randy knew he'd hit an old road that ended up above Janie's yard--my neighbor, albeit on the opposite side of Shuford Creek.

I was curious about his route and followed suite, both of us whacking through the brush and bramble as we angled southeast. After fifteen minutes or so, though, we'd lost something and we'd also not ended up where Randy thought we might. The afternoon was growing longer and, while we had a relatively good understanding of where we were, we also didn't know how long it would take (and how many circles we'd turn) to find that old road Randy knew hooked up to the trails behind Janie's house. We decided to head back to the juncture, if we could find it, and go my way--north. Within twenty minutes, we'd crossed Shuford Creek and linked up with the official Woody Ridge Trail. Ten minutes after that, I was home.