Katey Schultz's Blog, page 25

How to Prepare for a TV Interview

Well, I made it through my first-ever TV author spotlight without a hitch and I thought I'd take a moment to share a cheat sheet I put together. I've never been interviewed on television and wasn't sure how to handle myself--what to wear, how expressive to be, how quickly to speak, etc. I did a little research and here is the result, as well as what I learned:


 
1. Use hand gestures between the range of your elbows and shoulders. Too low, and the camera will miss them. Too high and you'll look a bit crazy. Using hand gestures makes you instantly relatable, conveys a sense of passion for what you're discussing, and engages the audience visually on top of what you are already saying.

2. If at all possible, view sample video clips online in advance of your interview. I did this and discovered that the host basically had a run of 5 questions that she asked her guest writers, even if the question was phrased slightly differently. By watching half a dozen clips, I could pretty easily guess what she was going to ask me, and that allowed me to type up my answers ahead of time and essentially rehearse with myself. I also knew that sitting on those tall chairs would put a lot of leg in the camera view, so I wasn't comfortable wearing a dress. My parents priority mailed me my black pants and they arrived 12 hours before air time! Totally worth it!

3. Decide what you want your agenda, focus, or twist to be. During the commercial break right before my segment went live, the news host introduced herself to me, fitted me with a mic, and asked me what I wanted her to talk to me about. She was giving me a chance to put a spin on things, and so I did--telling her that the veteran response to Flashes of War had been strong and that my big event through National Writers Series was coming up July 24th. When the cameras started rolling a fast 10 seconds later, she zeroed in on these two points and concluded the interview by repeating the event name.

4. Don't assume the person interviewing you will have your book or any relevant props on hand. Television is the medium of the moment, come and gone. The chance that a news host has read your book (or seen your art show, or heard your album) are slim. They've got ten segments to keep straight in their head and your two minutes of fame is just another part of their job. Show up to a TV interview prepared with anything that will leave a smart, singular, visual impression on the audience. I brought my book, and when you watch the interview you'll notice that about half the camera time was spent on the cover of the book alone (oh, and Holly's fantastic nails).

5. Get your TV body going: Sit up straight at the edge of your chair, don't look at the camera (the camera isn't talking to you, the host is), and angle your knees toward the host. This will make you look smaller, present, and engaged. Now, if only I hadn't been expected at the studio so early, my summer allergy eyes could have un-puffed!

Ready? ACTION!

Notes from Halfway

For local readers, a quick PSA regarding today and tomorrow's key book events:
Benjamin BuschJoin me Monday, July 15 @ 2pm at The Cottage Book Shop in Glen Arbor, MI. This is a dual author event with actor, Iraq war veteran, filmmaker, and author Benjamin Busch. (Ben's memoir is Dust to Dust and he played Officer Anthony Colicchio in "The Wire.") We'll each read from our work, have a conversation, and take questions from the audience. Have fun in the sun, jump in the lake, then come cool off in the shade as we read beneath the pines at this outdoor event.Also today, July 15 @ 7pm at Dog Ears Books in Northport, MI. Come for a reading, book signing, and short conversation at the close of what looks like it will be a very beautiful day to be reading along the shores of Lake Michigan.Finally, check out Up North Live 4&7, Traverse City's NBC-affiliate news station around 6:12am on Tuesday, July 16th. I'll be featured in a 3-minute interview to discuss Flashes of War and announce upcoming events. Friends outside of Michigan can view the TV clip on Up North Live's website as soon as it is archived.Meantime, this book review by DL Hartman went live last week with 5 stars, her "talk radio" interview with me will publish later this month, and I'll be on air in a week and a half with Interlochen Public Radio. It feels odd sitting down to blog, and letting all of this spill out. But if I'm not talking in Tweets or getting directions to a bookstore, I seem to be at least thinking about what's next, and that has spilled over into...everything. Between faculty readings for friends, 4 hours of teaching a day, and keeping up with some freelance work...my Interlochen book tour summer is turning out to be a little busier than I prefer. That said, there's still time for good food and laughter every once in a while. Meet the Creative Writing Faculty for this year's camp, and the fine women I've made company with for the past few weeks:

Thanks for bearing with me through the highs and lows, the overbookings and underbookings, the reviews and mysteries, the miles and milestones. I love it up here in Lake Country, but I can't wait to get back home and attend to the parts of my life that have been on hold for far too long. Four more weeks...

A Celebration of Teen Writers

This week my dear Intermediate Creative Writing Majors will don their required performance attire (blue knickers, red socks) and publicly read their hard-earned poems and stories. Even though I've seen and heard every word of their chosen writings before the actual reading, I am still very moved by their bravery when the final moment arrives. Imagine being in your most awkward teen years, attending one of the most prestigious arts camps in the world, and taking that first brave breath at the podium in front of 50-100 other artists. No pressure, right? The event could only be thrilling and challenging, memorable and all-too-fast...all at once.

I can't fairly publish the work of my students on this blog, because it is not mine to bring to the World Wide Web. But I can offer a few inspiring excerpts from their drafts. Also, these smiling faces the night of their reading:

  
"Here is a teenage girl accepting her first beer from a friend. The skittish girl is fifteen years old, with long, blonde hair and chipped nail polish. Her trembling hands cradle the bottle as if it is a wild beast..."

"Running down the hill
wind on my back,
dirt on my feet.
The sound of birds chirping
and the water humming..."

"The worst moment came after the storm. It wasn't when she could see the water violently rushing towards the house, looking as though it was free, happy, and enjoying its rampage. It wasn't when she could look down and see terror on her children's face, their hands shaking like leaves. The worst moment is right now, standing in front of the ruins of her home..."

"It wasn't always like this. The sky had not always been gray. The beach had once been a place where people would go for vacation. They would swim in the clear blue water that reflected the bright yellow sun. They laid in the sand, waiting for their skin to darken. At the time, all of this was possible. The water was not toxic. The rays of the sun did not give you cancer..."

"The ants marched.
Warriors.
They acted as a battalion
fighting in a spectacle of grandeur
as they locked in combat."

"I tried to imagine Aunt Judy as an angel looking down at us from a special place in heaven...but then I started wondering if it hurt when she died and I remembered this book. It said that after death, your brain functions for seven minutes. And Einstein said time is all relative. So seven minutes could be stretched into crazy time. What did my Aunt Judy think about?"

"Tyler's significant other came to him at this time. The one who would make everything perfect. The one who had melted into the background of the party so as not to be seen, and the one who everyone thought was just another friend. Just another brother. The one who Tyler loved more than anyone else. The one who was also a boy."

"I'd usually hate to ask you,
But would you meet me by the lake?
You can take a chance on me,
Or say 'Yes' if you believe in fate.
We could watch the night sky,
Maybe count the shooting stars.
Listen to your favorite music
or hear the breathing cars."

Getting Back In

It should not have been a surprise that what it took was a bit of beach time (sunsets, floating on the water), a bit of reading (currently: Pam Houston's Contents May Have Shifted), and some unpacking (war research notes) before I could find my way back into the novel. As soon as I filled my well with just a few buckets, so to speak, I had a vision for starting the revision process. It had nothing to do with the keyboard and everything to do with the wall.

(At Interlochen, I stay in a room that's decorated for a kid, hence the "forest" theme.)I've always been a list-taker, a note-maker, an organizer. When I hit the road for three years, part of what I found in writing studios across the country was a space to hang things on the wall. To be clear--I'd lived in places with plenty of wall space before and written well in them. But when your personal possessions are stripped down to what can fit into your car, you're not traveling with framed artwork. After a year or so of packing and unpacking my own writing supplies, I'd developed a system of keeping everything relatively small and transportable. Notes scribbled on old envelopes or the backs of first draft pages. Post-Its or discarded cardstock or grocery store receipts. I spread these things around the desk or kept them stuffed in a folder for access only when I thought I needed them. It wasn't until seeing the bulletin boards at VCCA (for the second time) that it finally dawned on me that wall space was an invitation. I wrote about my epiphany in this essay, "In Praise of Bulletin Boards" and have been hanging notes on the wall ever since. Living with my notes physically around me, from wall to wall, completely changed my writing process because it enabled me to "live inside" the world I was making as I made it.

This weekend, I found that hanging my notes reminded me about what made my characters tick. I added four new sheets of paper (one for each of the main characters) with notes I'd compiled based on two critiques I received. These lists included general concerns for each character, followed by a list of suggestions to address the problem. For example, Nathan is just a little too decent. One reader suggested adding a scene where he snaps at his wife and then feels bad later. In the case of Aaseya, whose desires are too Westernized, a reader suggested lengthening the relationship Aaseya has with an American teacher from 6 months to 2 years and adding a full scene that depicts the strength of the teacher's influence on Aaseya when she was a young girl. Surrounded by these new notes and my original intentions, the wall helped me see that I had informed choices to make. Rather than feeling overwhelmed by too many choices from a vast sea of fictional possibilities, I could see an emotional logic to the changes I needed to make...

So I sat down...
And started making them.

Blurry on the Edges

What can I say? These kids are the best. Sure, most of them were "required" to attend my faculty reading at Interlochen Center for the Arts. They are, after all, Creative Writing Majors. But they're also some of the brightest, curious, most genuine teens I've ever taught...anywhere. So reading to them always feels like a special privilege and brings a smile to my face. This photo is blurry around the edges, but I think you can get a sense for their keen writer-listener skills, their grand goofy-awkwardness, and their oh-so-blue uniforms from this shot:

I wish I had been able to get this photo in focus, but as I reflected after the reading, I realized that most of this summer is going to be blurry around the edges for me as well. There's just too much going on...and new things keep cropping up every day. It's not a problem to complain about, as each new thing is for book promos or literary career moves and lasting relationships with other writers. But my, oh my, my calendar is FULL.

The good news is that I'm 100 pages into my first read-through of the novel draft. The tough news (the news that makes me edgy and grumpy, the news that makes me not pay attention when people are talking because I'd rather be writing, the news that makes me want to go on a run for six hours and then laugh and cry and throw my entire body into the keyboard) is that I'm just FLAT OUT not getting the time I need this summer for the novel. My heart is there. My skills are there. I know what I need to do and, though I don't know exactly how I'm going to make it happen on the page...I do know that the only way to make anything happen at all is to get writing. What's missing is time, and as each day passes, I realize that every week of this 8-week stint seems to be less like a "normal" one and more and more like yet another exception.

In other news, an archived radio interview is ready to go, via WordPlay on Asheville FM (don't be fooled by the first 2 minutes of garage band music) and newest blurbs and reviews are right here. I've got a TV slot booked in two weeks, another radio interview coming up, and things are slowly coming together for the fall portion of the PacNW book tour. Movin' and shakin' folks, and tryin' not to go nutso in between. Yowzah.

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer at Interlochen?

Living on campus with 5,000 artists--youth and colleagues alike--is pretty incredible. It's one of the things that keeps me coming back to Interlochen every summer. I walk to my classroom each morning and hear french horns practicing. On my way to lunch, I can hear the high school girls choir warming up ("me me me me me"). During lunch, I sit lakeside and listen to the water slosh, the starlings jostle, the squirrels yack. For an afternoon break between classes (I teach 9-11am, then 2-4pm), I often walk home over to "boys side" as the campers call it, where I live at the end of Faculty Lane. To get there, I pass the Rock 'n' Roll "classroom"--a gigantic, old cabin with screens for windows and a fantastic sound system. It's a pretty great thing to hear a 14-year-old belting it out to Janis Joplin. Later, on my evening walk, I'll hear lines from Hamlet coming from the Pavillion as the Shakespeare Festival kicks off another season of outdoor theatre. Other times, everything quiets and the only thing that I can think about is the startling palette of the sky over a lake:

This Is Not a Sign

It's the end of a 14 hour day and I stare at the two things left on my calendar: blog and novel. For a moment, my throat catches. I've put writing last, well past my hour of fatigue, and here--at Interlochen Center for the Arts--of all places. But I can't despair just yet. I have, after all, barely come off an incredible wedding weekend and a bit of packing and travel before that. Not to mention a few book events.

But still...I have never been the person that talks about writing, the never writes. I have always been the writer who writes. After my fellowship at Randolph College, I forced myself to put the first draft of the novel in a drawer. A hard but probably wise decision--and not based on any wisdom I gained by experience, rather, by asking my respected mentors what they did in the early stages of their novels (and most importantly, what they wish they'd done differently). All along, I knew I wanted my arrival at Interlochen to coincide with pulling that novel back out again and looking at it with fresh eyes. My first full day here, I was able to get through a few pages. The next morning, I got through a few more. But then I didn't touch it for the rest of the Writer's Retreat...and now, days later, I'm no further along.

To be certain, I have kept plenty busy this first week and a half here. The Writer's Retreat ran smoothly and my first two days of teen classes feel solid. But my time is limited--just 8 weeks total up here in the North Country. There is good writing energy and history for me in this place. The chair and room I'm typing in now, after all, were the exact place I sat 10 months ago when my acceptance letter for Flashes of War arrived. And last week in Frohlich Lodge, I slept in the same bed I was sitting in when an email from my #1 NYC agent pick came in, encouraging me to write a novel. Across the way sits the cabin I began my war research in, three and a half years ago. Last but not least, in the driveway sits THE CLAW, the very symbol of this whole adventure of the writing life.

Today's failure is not a sign. It is merely a momentary reality. Tomorrow is another day with more openings, and I can't help but insist that by the end of this week (which will make 17 straight days of travel, directing, teaching, and events), my fingers will be on those drafted pages. With any luck, my heart will be rested and open enough to take another stab. I can't imagine having it any other way.

The Three P's

It's been a whirlwind 10 days. First, driving 900 miles north for the summer at Interlochen. Second, directing the Writer's Retreat (joyful, fulfilling, and...busy). Third, driving 140 miles south to catch the Lake Express ferry and taking it across Lake Michigan (highly recommended - holy cow!). Fourth, officiating and marrying my dear friends Dan and Sara in the wedding this weekend in Milwaukee (a personally written 25-minute ceremony, thank you very much!). Fifth, giving a reading at People's Books Cooperative downtown. And very soon, sixth: taking the ferry back across, driving 140 back the way I came, meeting tonight with a colleague to catch up on what I missed, and teaching my first class of the summer 12 hours later to a room full of bustling teen writers. Phew.

On the Lake Express, I caught myself resurrecting THE CLAW. (For new readers of The Writing Life, THE CLAW is the name of my unstoppable 1989 Volvo station wagon, shown here...and it carried me for 31 out of 36 months of life on the road, including 3 cross country trips). In addition to being ridiculous and fun, THE CLAW has also become a symbol for "going after life" and grabbing it for all it's worth. Hence, the hand symbol (conveniently also similar to the shape of Michigan itself). I'm glad I snapped this photo, but I'm also glad that my three years on the road is done.
When I moved back home and settled into the Airstream in August, I promised myself I was done with life on the road. My heart, mind, wallet, and snow tires were all worn thin. But then the Randolph College 7-week fellowship came. Now, the book tour and Interlochen. This fall, more book tour. I'm far from complaining--theses are in fact all opportunities that I aimed for--but I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I really really want to make my life in North Carolina work.

Putting everything on the line and living from place to place to support myself and my writing taught me a lot. For instance, there are what I call the Three P's in life: the partner, the position, and the place. Life on the road taught me that I can go for a very long time with two out of the three. But eventually, something has to give. I have the position. I have the place (and want very much to be there, even now, hiking with my crew and noodling Gus the Superdog)...but I don't have the partner. Flashing THE CLAW on the Lake Express reminded me of how equally hopeful and heartbroken I felt when I was "out there" on the road. For so long, my habits, patterns, and daily decisions were shaped by my choice to be transient.

Of course, merely moving home, buying the Airstream, and unpacking wouldn't make everything else fall back into place. Certainly, I knew it would take work. But what I didn't know was that the transition would not be instant. The seeds I planted while on the road are still coming to fruit. That's a good thing, professionally, but personally it means that I still feel rootless from time to time. Most people don't make good dating partners when they're rootless, though. I have my writing--I always will. And I'll always identify with my writing as my home that stays with me wherever I am. But the other part of me--that part that needs stability and connection, a place to exhale and someone there to hear the edge of my breath...that part is being put on hold. Again. That's a little hard to get excited about.

Meantime, three cheers:

Interlochen Writer's Retreat: Lessons Learned

Being "artistic director" of a retreat sure is fun. The way I see it, if I do my job right all winter and spring, by the time June rolls around I can spend most of the retreat running small errands and helping folks move smoothly from one scheduled event to the next. So far, this week has cruised along. The participants are joyful and have begun to create community. There's no ego here. No one-upping or out-doing. It's just a small group of 30+ writing their hearts out and engaging in craft conversations along the way...each person willing to dig deeper and stay in touch after the week's close.

The perk is, I get to attend the craft talks and introduce authors who I respect and love. I'm not in the trenches of the classroom, doing the hardest and most rewarding work, but I do catch bits here and there in conversations between sessions. It's a pleasure to hear about what other folks are learning. I especially love spending late dinners and long evenings with the faculty in our shared lakeside lodge, nibbling on chocolate and talking about favorite books that shaped us as children and as adults.

Here's a bit of what I've picked up from the pros:
From Patty Ann McNair I've learned about dedication to students. About knowing when a craft suggestion might be mistaken for a "rule," and when too much of a good thing might turn an aspiring student on her heels. I've also seen how a truly selfless and inspired teacher will repeatedly go above and beyond, because she knows the causes and conditions are present for a teachable moment. Time and again, she helps her students get there.

Patty Ann also had a few things to say this week about place and process. She agrees that "out of place comes story" and that "everything we write is useful, even if it's not used." In other words, we need to ponder, observe, and conjure the places we're writing about--be them real or imagined--with such openness and thoroughness that we could live in them ourselves. Even if we don't write every detail that we can see in our mind's eye into our stories, just knowing those details will help us write with authority.

From Anne-Marie Oomen I've learned about remembering a child's inner sense of vitality, time, and emotion. The way children experience time isn't necessarily as logical or wedded to the clock as it is in our adult lives. And the way moving experiences impact them isn't nearly as conceptual as it is in our adult lives. Anne-Marie's work helps us get right to the heart of a child's formative moments, then peels away from those moments in smooth sentences of reflection and insight. As a teacher, she demonstrates this (she can't help herself!) through her process- and memory-oriented prompts that help us access memories with fresh, authenticity.

From James Arthur I've been reminded about the power of repetition and pattern as driving forces in poetry. As a prose writer, I always latch onto narrative, time, and place. It's a crutch. If I can't land something or someone in one of these three things, I'm lost. But James' poetry helps me get over this, as the words beat their lovely patterns across the page--and then, as those patterns are broken and the unexpected zaps us. For me--a novice poetry reader--his patterns are subtle, but powerful. I'm sure I'm missing plenty of them, in fact. But having heard James recite his poetry by memory to an entranced audience yesterday afternoon, I can say whole-heartedly that his is the work of a master poet. He's on the fast track, though every inch of it has been hard-earned. James, my friends, is an author to keep your eye on.

He reminds us that "if form is managed skillfully, the poem can successfully stay ahead of the reader's expectations." He also insists that "even if we know something is coming, that doesn't mean we are prepared for the experience of its arrival." In other words, the way in which we present something--all the underpinnings of the arrival of a word on the page and the context of that arrival--is just as important (if not more so), than the content of those words themselves. Apply this thinking to plot or narrative arc for prose writers, and you've got a pretty cool way of re-thinking predicatbility, presentation of details, and the order of events.

And last but certainly not least is author Louise Hawes. I might be "most proud" of this faculty member's presence this year because I played a direct hand in bringing her (at least moreso than the others). We'd met at a residency and stayed in touch enough that when I extended the invitation, she trusted my description of what Interlochen had to offer and confidently accepted. I've learned a lot about the audience that young adult writers need to keep in mind as they create their stories, and the challenges that come with that. Going on six hours of sleep this morning, I'm not going to attempt to paraphrase...suffice it to say this is an author whose teaching and life go hand in hand, and whose stories are moving to any reader. My eyes have been opened to the YA world of literature and I'm better for it.

Next week, my role as Creative Writing Faculty for Interlochen Summer Arts Camp kicks in, and I'll be teaching teens for 4 hours a day...then hopefully revising the novel and book touring for Flashes each night. But in the 72 hours before that, I've got a radio interview, a wedding, a book signing, and a ferry ride across Lake Michigan to get though first. Summer has arrived!

Interlochen Writer's Retreat

I'm dispatching this week as Artistic Director for the annual Interlochen College of Creative Arts Writer's Retreat. It's 5 days on a beautiful campus between two lakes with 4 faculty and about 32 participants. We gather each day in the Writing House for craft lectures on poetry, young adult fiction, short stories, or memoir and then participants move to their separate classrooms for prompts and deeper discussions within their genre. As Artistic Director, most of my work has been done in advance...and if all goes well, this week I get to help "direct traffic," as they say, and most of all, enjoy the week. I need to troubleshoot and make photo copies and help people find their way from time to time. But at Interlochen, where community is so wedded to who we are and what we create, I also get to check in with people who have been returning for this program for years. I know about their families, their latest submissions of work, their grad school programs or day jobs, etc. In this way, the Writers' Retreat also feels like a reunion. Curious what we're up to? Here's the schedule.

One of my favorite roles at Artistic Director is getting to introduce authors I most respect. Tonight, I'll be introducing Patricia Ann McNair (Temple of Air) and Anne-Marie Oomen (An American Map). Of the first, I can tell you that hers is one of the few books of fiction I've read more than once--and if that isn't a testament to the stellar, breathtaking work of this author, I don't know what is. Hers is truly worthwhile and moving writing. Of Anne-Marie, I can say her prose makes the earth come to life. She evokes the natural world through the senses and she does this so thoroughly, so pervasively, it's difficult to experience one's surroundings in the same way afterwards. Especially for those interested in memories of rural childhood, I recommend her work, which spans memoir, essay, poetry, and plays.

But more than anything else, this week I relish the opportunity to live with these 4 faculty members in a lakeside lodge overlooking Duck Lake. The first thing I do upon arrival is thrust open the windows and doors and let that rolling, lake-air fill the house. For the rest of the week, I'm aware of its tempos and moods, ready for my daily dive at any moment. I love living in the mountains--I mean, I love it...and it's hard to imagine settling down without ridgelines around me. But Lake Country is also something special, and the healing power of living so close to water is something I've always felt enamored with. Here's this morning's view after a rain cloud burst: