Drew Myron's Blog, page 57

Thankful Thursday

 

I would maintain that thanks
are the highest form of thought;
              and that gratitude is happiness
              doubled by wonder.”

— C.K. Chesterton
author of 80 books
200 short stories
4000 essays
hundreds of poems
and several plays

 

What are you thankful for today?

Don't Bore Us to Tears: 10 Tips

Fill those seats, and keep 'em happy. Photo by Christine Hennessey, The New Me.
Literary hostess was not my aspiration.

Eager to promote the work of writer-friends, I simply organized a reading. “Don’t wait for the party,” I said, in an unusually zealous moment. “Be the party.”

Admittedly, I was in over my head. I had attended enough readings — both as writer and reader — to know these events can be real snoozers. You know this is true. You’ve sat there, as I have, bored and annoyed, wondering why you chose this over an episode of Mad Men. 

But it turned out I actually enjoyed turning a typically staid event into a enjoyable, lively party. My first — an ensemble reading held at an art gallery — was so much fun I orchestrated another, and another. Ten years later, I’ve produced more than a dozen literary events, at a variety of venues. I’ve worked with writers of all stripes — fiction, nonfiction, memoir, poetry and song — from ages 8 to 80.

In my transition from shy-writer to event hostess, I’ve learned a great deal. Want to shine on stage? Try this:

Ten Tips to Giving a Good Reading
(that will make your audience happy, eager to buy books, see you again, and tell others about you)

1.
The stage is for acting — even, and especially — for writers. Not naturally stage savvy? No need to pretend. If writers were performers we’d bask in attention but instead we’re hunkered over keyboards, wearing sweatpants and day-old hair.

An actress-friend offered me this life-changing nugget: You have two selves, she said. The writer-you and the actor-you. When you create, you are deep in inner-writer world. But when you share your writing, you must go into outer-actor world. At a reading, take on a persona. Allow the actor-you to share the wonderful work of writer-you.

Sounds wacky, I know. But viewing a reading as a performance is especially helpful to introverted writers. This “performance” is not a departure from our real selves, but more of a removed perspective that allows the shy writer to step out with confidence.

2.
Don’t bore us to tears. You’ve got a time limit — stick to it. Organizers have invited you and carefully orchestrated the event’s pace and flow. Don’t assume your work is captivating enough to allow additional time (it isn’t), especially in a group event. Don’t be the guy who reads past the allotted time, then looks to the hostess and asks, “Do I have time for one more?” If you have to ask, you’re out of time. And while the host may acquiesce, she will seethe inside, and likely not invite you back, and may even talk poorly about you to others. (Yes, this is personal experience; I’m not bitter, just seasoned). Always leave the audience a bit hungry — and eager to buy your book.

3.  
Give a bit of backstory. Purists will say “the work stands on its own” — meaning there’s no need for explanation. While it’s true you don’t want to beat the life out of your work with too much preamble, the audience has turned out to hear your words, from your mouth, in a live setting. Give us a glimpse of yourself. Let us in, let us like you.

4.
Smile. Everything is better with a smile. Sound Pollyanna? Try it! Seriously, a smile breaks resistance — yours and the audience’s. When your hands tremble and your voice quakes, relax your mouth, recall your best friend, and smile. The audience, says my actress friend, wants to like you. When you relax, your ease allows others to breathe a sigh of relief, too.

5.
Don’t mumble through your entire reading with eyes buried in your pages. We want to see your face, and feel a connection. In the throes of a mumbler, we wonder why we didn’t stay home and read your book in the comfort of our pjs. But now we’ve lost interest in your book. You’ve lost a sale.

6.
Be prepared. Why do writers, who have been invited as featured guests, show up to readings hapless and frazzled? From AWP to open mic nights, I’ve seen writers stumble to the podium with a look of dazed confusion as they page through reams of paper.

Note to Befuddled Writers At Public Readings: You’ve been invited. Don’t insult the audience with an attitude that broadcasts that you’re too busy, distracted or important to care about this event.

7.
Be kind — give thanks. From the multitude of writers longing for a stage, your host chose you. That’s no small thing.  Literary events require planning, marketing, and varying degrees of mental, financial and emotional investment. Want to know what makes me happy? Appreciation from writers (also: glowing feedback from the audience).

After the reading, talk to people. Take time to thank those who support your efforts and promote your work. Be genuine, gracious and kind. Write your host a thank you note. It may seem old school but gratitude is timeless. And it’s true, what you give comes back to you.

Lastly, a few things that you probably already know, though some writers clearly don’t (trust me, this really happened):

8.
Don’t bring your husband and insist he have an opportunity to read from his book too. This isn’t Thriftway, no 2-for-1 deals.

9.
If attending a reading as an audience member, don’t bring your own books to sell. Sell your books at your reading, and/or your garage sale.

10. 
Wear a clean shirt. You don’t have to go glam but please don’t show up in your garden grubbies. We get the hardworking-writer-vibe but, really, a clean sweater works wonders.

Okay, your turn. Got a reading story? A favorite tip? Spill it!

This piece was originally published on April 22, 2013 at Lisa Romeo Writes.

 

Thankful Thursday: Knowing Better

On this Thankful Thursday, I am thankful for candy corn.

Candy corn is bad for me. It's a seasonal treat made entirely of sugar, and I can't get enough.

Don't tell me how you gave up sugar, and lost your bloat, your acne, and those stubborn 10 pounds. I know, I really know.

Candy corn is just one of the many things I eat — or do, or don't do — that is not in my best interest. This is how it goes: We know better but we remain unchanged. We simmer. We stew. We put off. We shy away. We push too hard. We don't push enough. We make excuses.

I'm talking about candy corn, and I'm not. I'm talking about all those fuzzy abstracts — commitment, truth, strength — that in the course of a marriage, a career, a passion, a day, get real and messy really quick.

We nibble on colored bits of sugar and enjoy a simple indulgence that when stacked against our larger inadequacies seems small and okay. We give ourselves permission to just be. 

 

It's Thankful Thursday! Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise. Please join me in a weekly pause to appreciate the people, places & things that bring joy. What are you thankful for today?

 

Thankful Thursday: Pimples and Sneers

I'm thankful for the teenage boy who glared, folded his arms, and sneered, "I hate poetry."

You were a dust storm that cleared the room.

With your announcement, we paused and I admitted that sometimes I disliked poetry too. Like you, I get frustrated and annoyed when I "don't get what it means."

So we skipped the sappy poems, the "deep" poems, the long poems, the classic and kiddie poems. Instead, we read a poem about pimples, and giggled with delighted ewwws.

And you said, "We can write about stuff like that?"

And I said, "Yes, please!"

And so we wrote — about mud and hunting, about grilled cheese and green trees, about absent dads and close friends. The room hushed and we didn't worry if we were writing "poems." We just wrote for real.

 

It's Thankful Thursday. Please join me in a weekly pause to express appreciation for people, places, things and more. Joy contracts and expands in relation to our gratitude. What are you thankful for today?

What's on your agenda?

I'm not making this up.

When I was a child, every day before scooting me out of the house and onto school, my mother would write a list of my chores and then turn to me, asking, What's on your agenda today?

I was 10 years old. I couldn't plan past lunch. My long range goal was watching The Brady Bunch. 

Plans. Action. Productivity.

There are worse ways to mar a childhood.

______

All these years later, I begin each morning with a To Do list.

I'm a planner. Every day is a deadline of my own making. As a writer I thrive with this sort of structure in which I look ahead, anticipating deadlines, decisions, client needs and classes. Though I grew up loathing the word, I'll now admit that without an "agenda" I feel aimless. I don't drift well. I need purpose.

______

The other day, as my husband finished mowing the yard, I inhaled his grassy scent and exclaimed, I smell progress!

It's a lovely smell.

______

Today, as I prepare to write with a group of 10 year olds, I think of yesterday's session:

We talked about the many ways we see the work of writers: in books, movies, songs, magazines, commercials, cereal boxes, and even video games. The children recited every word of every Geico commercial they knew (too many!) and I urged them to consider a career in advertising. This is the work of writers, I explained. You could write commercials!

Yes, yes, we agreed, writers are behind all the things we love.

In that moment, all of us laughing and thinking and feeling a bit giddy, I felt productive. I was wearing my black dress and leopard pumps — because part of my agenda-mind is dressing the part, and well, also because I like to wear clothing with buttons and seams. And, I was writing, reading and chatting with a band of misfitted pre-teens, feeling connected to a purpose that isn't always clear but is always present.

 ______

How about you — What's on your agenda? What makes you feel productive? 

 

In Praise of the Easy Read

Sometimes you want the light read.

In bed, just before sleep, I want to engage but don’t wanna work for it. 

Or, I'm traveling, wedged into the center seat in peasant class. (I've heard tales of first-class travel. Don’t wax on, I can’t take the dream deferred). A head cold is coming. I can feel an ache moving through every limb. I need a fatigue read, something that will entertain.

Thank goodness, then, for Valley of the Dolls, Killer Smile, and Where’d You Go, Bernadette.

I like 'em light, snappy, saucy, with an easy suspension of disbelief. Life is not a literary competition. Admit it, you read mass market mysteries, beach books, light lit, and other “low-brow” selections.

C’mon, spill it, what’s your easy read?

 

Love that Line: Saved by a Book

  Because what it's come down to is this: I no longer believe I can save people. I've tried, and I've failed, and while I'm sure there are people out in the world with that particular gift, I'm not one of them. I make too much of a mess of things. But books, on the other hand: I do still believe that books can save you.

— The Borrower, a novel by Rebecca Makkai

 

Try This: Month by Month

In her book Blood Almanac, Sandy Longhorn offers a series of self-portrait poems. For each month of the year, she presents a poem reflecting both season and self.

October

Month I became the silent child,
the mortar of the brick wall crumbling,
everything came loose as a baby tooth.

Air rushed in, whistled on the way out,
my body as dray as an Egyptian tomb.
Voices tumbled in, forced open
the shut ear, made me the depository,
this library of spurn and scorn.

Month I became the thorn,
venom, muscle and the flat hand,
became a word that pulsed
and writhed and was unsayable.

- Sandy Longhorn
from Blood Almanac

I like this calendar frame, and appreciate the way each poem stands individually but is then deepened when read with the knowledge of its memoir intent. And so — as is often the case — inspired by another poet's idea, I tried my own monthly self-portrait:

This is how September lets go

On the last days, September betrays.
Gust by gust, in mad dash from summer’s endless expectations,
she muscles light to the low-angled end, throws the feast to winter’s
hungry maw. A metallic sky welds a cold grip on autumn’s orange.

Rain swells river, puddle, pool, gushes every roof, gutter and seam.
In incessant wet, wind shakes the ache of every limb, turns sky
and house to night. I am jade and craving, the damp
swallow of each last brassy glow.

- Drew Myron

Try this: Write a poem based on a month. Choose any month and let the images and mood of that season tumble out. Don't worry about making sense. The beauty of these poems is the unexpected quality of unusual word combinations, and the sideways insertion of self. Stuck for a starting point? Borrow Sandy's evocative opening line: Month I became . . . .*

I'd love to see where this exercise takes you.
Please feel free to share your results in the comments section.

* with attribution, or course. Even better, use her phrase in your first draft and then work out and away with your own words. 

Thankful Thursday: What's on your list?

It's Thursday, again, already.
On this Thankful Thursday, I am thankful for:

1.
Lists

2.
Autumn's low-angle light

3.
The word autumn which strikes me as more optimistic than fall

4.
Small gestures that remind me that it's the little things that make life big

5.
Old friends and easy laughter

6.
Good eggs (as in, people)

7.
Good eggs (as in, scrambled)

8.
My mother, laughing

9.
An unexpected note

10.
An anticipated phone call

11.
The commitment of 5 Things That Don't Suck.

12.
People who shake hands

13.
People who hug with enthusiasm, and not like they might catch my cooties

14.
The word pluck

15.
Foraging for chanterelles, blackberries, and other edibles

16.
A deep breath in a thick forest in late-day light

17.
The smell of clothes fresh from the dryer

18.
Cashmere

19.
The science of long-lasting lipstick

20.
Hair that bounces into place (usually just days before a scheduled haircut)

21.
Oatmeal

22.
Sunshine in the morning

23.
In the middle of nothing special, remembering this phrase from my mother: Wake up bright to the morning light to do what's right with all your might (also: Go play in traffic and I'm gonna punch your lights out).

24.
The freedom to read what some want to censor (see: banned books)

25.
Students who grow up, get jobs, and turn into nice people

26.
Soup

27.
This passage, from Journal of Solitude by May Sarton: It takes a long time, all one's life, to learn to love one person well — with enough distance, enough humility.

28.
Having someone with whom I can practice learning to love well

29.
Riding my one-speed cruiser

30.
A weekend without internet

31.
Bath, with bubbles

32.
Invitations to take part in literary events

33.
Cheap wine that tastes good

34.
Encouraging words

35.
The way ironing helps me work out the day's wrinkles

36.
You. Yes, every known and unknown you who is reading this list and maybe, possibly, making your own. I am thankful for you.

 

It's Thankful Thursday!
Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise.
Please join me in a weekly pause to appreciate the people, places & things that bring joy.

What are you thankful for today? 

Answers in the ink

A white-out poem by Drew Myron,
with nods to erasure experts Mary Ruefle and Austin Kleon.

See more here:
A brief affair
The Lost Voice
love & other searches