Ed Davis's Blog, page 3

The Joy of Writing

The literary life has given me some very real moments of joy—and plenty of the opposite, too—but isn’t it perhaps the presence of both joy and despair in any “life,” literary or otherwise, that makes the experience so satisfying? Has it been the richest of my various lives? No. I prefer my life of important relationships, especially with my spouse, and even my spiritual life to writing. So how can third place be so full of joy? Maybe because it’s third place.

As the necessity of publication eventually became more a byproduct than the point of writing, the joy increased. It’s the writing itself:  staying buried inside a manuscript over long months, wrestling the angel (or devil), doing research, writing endless character and plot explorations, composing painstaking outlines, making discoveries and experiencing epiphanies—none of which can be foreseen, occurring daily while the rest of the world toils at their nine to fives (so nice to be retired).

But this joy:  what makes it so powerful? As so often when I’m faced with questions needing some clarity, I default to that great generator, the list. So here goes. Writing is joyful to me today:

Because it’s done in solitude. For others, this much aloneness would be their definition of hell; I find I’m made for it, savor it, learn from it.


Because of my relationship with the creative process: unconscious, spontaneous immersion in “flow” or whatever you want to call it, that process which, if not mystical, does concentrate the power of the mind, body and spirit on the work to the exclusion of everything else.


Because it’s the hardest thing I do. The longer I write fiction and poetry, in fact, the easier craft becomes while the art grows harder (and deeper). The stakes are constantly raised and more is expected—by critics, agents, editors, reviewers and readers—but mostly by myself. What a challenge to attempt something so difficult; how humbling to slowly improve.


Because occasionally it’s a real gift to someone else. Maybe my work has been of benefit to more than just the few who’ve told me it has, but those who have told me have given me not only the satisfaction of having succeeded at something like what I intended but a greater sense of self-worth. Yes, I know that worthiness ultimately comes only from within myself; still it’s extremely motivating when you know you’ve connected with fellow humans.


Because it’s nice to be asked to join such as esteemed group on any level. And to even feel you’re contributing a bit to the tradition; that, at least you stand inside the ballpark with writers you admire and who’ve encouraged you by their shining examples. I’m so grateful to the editors, agent, publishers and fellow writers who’ve accepted me into their tribe. It’s a great pleasure and responsibility.


Because performing is hellish fun. Now I’m talking about being an author. Giving readings is every bit as much a performance as when I played in a rock band. Neglected even as we non-best-sellers mostly are, when folks do attend our events, they expect us to be entertaining, and they’re very appreciative when we aren’t boring as hell. I accept the challenge, daunting as it is. All writers should, I think, if they ask the public for its attention.


Because I like passing it on. Being a good literary citizen has become very important to me. I’ve discovered how gratifying it is to mentor, conduct workshops and give away what was so freely given to me. By “freely,” I mean, whether paid or not, when a writer goes beyond the boundary (sometimes well beyond) to agree to read a manuscript, blurb another’s upcoming book, recommend him/her to their agent or editor, even just to have coffee, especially when writing is how they earn a living.


Because it’s my vocation—not my job. It’s a calling not everyone hears, that takes time, care, outside and inside help to verify (but it is, ultimately, verifiable; so many writers have said so, and I agree).


Because it’s essentially mine. There is no one clamoring for more of my work—not the reading public, my spouse or my beta reader-critics, who, let’s face it, will be burdened by it, once I send another draft to their already-full inboxes to critique. I am my primary audience, so I’d better be having fun. While nothing gets written without tons of discipline, every day it’s my choice to heed the call or not. Most days I choose to, but not every day. Given the choice to spend the morning with a good friend versus the writing desk, I often choose the former, though many writers would disagree. Let them; they’re on best-seller lists; they’re making a living at it.


And finally because it’s spiritual. The “real” writing, I discovered twenty years ago, was not writing fiction or poetry but the kind of writing taught within the pages of Writing Down the Bones and The Artist’s Way, by Natalie Goldberg and Julia Cameron, respectively. These books taught me that perhaps the best conversations I have are with myself and that journaling is an extremely powerful tool in facing and even healing demons preventing me from being not only the best writer but the best person I can be. With Goldberg, it’s keeping your hand moving across the page after giving yourself a prompt like “I remember . . .” With Cameron, it’s Morning Pages: the daily practice of writing at least 3 pages, dumping whatever’s in your head. Coming at a time in my life when I was putting myself under enormous pressure in my teaching and writing, Natalie and Julia gently said, “No goals; just write. Peace and liberation lie this way.” And so they did. (And do.)

P.S.—The Oakwood Library’s Author Fair last Saturday, March 5, was a great success, I thought: well-organized with plenty of quality browsers, plus there was a really positive vibe inside historic Wright Memorial Library for the two hours I was there. I hope that librarian Elizabeth Schmidt and her team repeat it next year!

Author Fair at Wright Library

Writers Galore

On Saturday, March 5, 2016, from 2-4:00 p.m., I’ve been invited, along with nine other regional writers, to participate in an Author Fair at Wright Memorial Library, 1776 Far Hills Avenue, Oakwood, Ohio. I’ll be in good company with well-published writers such as Katrina Kittle, Becky Morean and Sharon Short, all of whom will be displaying their books for sale. It’s a fine opportunity to chat with authors about their current books, plans for their next book as well as upcoming literary events in 2016. We’ll autograph books for you, too.

Writers Perform

Not only will we host tables in the library’s lovely reading rooms, but each of us will also share his/her work in 5-minute readings throughout the fair. Here’s the schedule:

2:00 – Peggy Barnes

2:10 – Molly Campbell

2:20 – Barbara Cerny

2:30 – Ed Davis

2:40 – Ann Hagedorn

2:50 – Katrina Kittle

3:00 – Alex Kudera

3:10 – P. Andrew Miller,

3:20 – Rebecca Morean

3:30 – Sharon Short

Open Mic:  the Prequel

Preceding the Author Fair, there will also be an open mic reading from 1-2:00 p.m. on the same day, featuring members of the Wright Library Poets (Matt Birdsall, Cecile Cary, Grace Curtis, Betsy Hughes, Fred Kirchner) and Wright Library Writers (Harold Coffman, Donald Peacock, and James Tajiri). These groups, too, include well-published writers, teachers and editors you’ll want to hear, meet and be inspired by.

Great Literary Venue

Having participated in literary events at Wright Memorial Library, and attended others, I can say it’s one of the best places in the Miami Valley to connect with readers. The historic building is itself a draw; but it’s the people that make it great. Reference Librarian (and poet extraordinaire) Elizabeth Schmidt plans and executes most of these events, and she gets the word out, attracting an extremely well-read, book-loving audience.

Shopping for a Writing Group?

This event could be a terrific opportunity to scope out the two library-sponsored groups mentioned above, which might be accepting new members. Plus, consider asking published writers about groups they’re aware of that might be looking for new members.

But feel free just to stop in and enjoy local writers at this worthiest of venues. In fact, come early and attend the open mic! I hope to see you at the fair!

P.S.– From now until the end of Lent, all proceeds from The Hedge Tree (paperback or Kindle), a new novel by my former student Laura Merrell will be going to Dignity San Francisco, the local chapter of an international organization for gay Catholics who refused to renounce sex or marriage and were thus banned from the mainstream Catholic Church.

 

 

Poetry Angel of the Glen

Glen Gift Shop Shocker  

This is a story of magic, poetry and Glen Helen, that mystical preserve of forest, stone and water existing at the edge of the Village of Yellow Springs, Ohio. A place of sacred surprise, as I recently found out.

On February second, my wife and I decided a hike in the Glen was just the thing to celebrate the unseasonable temperature of sixty degrees. But first we stopped at the Vernet Ecological Building on the Glen’s rim, where I visited the gift shop. After entering, I looked left and saw my poetry collection Time of the Light, facing forward on a high shelf.  Sauntering over, I picked it up and saw three more copies behind, realizing these had to be the books that had gone missing at the fourth annual Solstice Poetry Reading held here almost two months ago.

Mystery in the Atrium  

After the event on December 11, I’d accidentally left five unsold copies of my book lying on the table in the atrium where published poets displayed their wares for sale during the wine and cheese reception. As usual, about 100 poetry lovers showed up and we had a great time celebrating the spoken word.

Later, after hauling sound equipment back to Whitehall Farm, I remembered my books, came back and found them gone. Ah, well, I decided; one of my colleagues must’ve picked them up to keep for me. How kind.

But when I inquired, neither my Tecumseh Land Trust nor Glen Helen colleagues (co-sponsors of the reading) had seen the books. Stolen? Nah. I knew that, given time, the books would turn up. But I hardly expected to find them on the gift shop shelf prominently displayed and tagged for sale!

Miracle Marketer

No big deal, you say? Well, I usually have to coax a store manager or owner into accepting my books on consignment. A Yellow Springs bookstore owner once indicated his profit margin was so razor thin he couldn’t afford to purchase even one copy outright at “discount” (50% of cover price or $6) to resell; I suspect he just didn’t want the nuisance. Another local shop went out of business without bothering to contact me about my books left there on consignment.

But last December some anonymous person decided my work was worthy to be displayed among the puzzles, puppets, sweatshirts and mugs. So there the books sit on a shelf to the left of the gift shop’s entryway, an early Valentine from the poetry angel of the glen.

And Looking Forward . . .

It’s not too early to mark your calendar for the fifth annual Solstice Poetry Reading to be held in 2016 on Friday, December 9, 7-9:00 p.m. in the Vernet Ecological Building. I’ve got some surprises planned, so stay tuned for further developments! Meanwhile, read and/or write some poetry and listen to “Conrad’s Corner” on WYSO 91.3 FM.

The Review from Hell . . . or Heaven?

“Exposition forced, heavy-handed . . . theme difficult to pin down . . . language workmanlike but not evocative . . . never drawn in by the style [which] . . . on several occasions felt awkward, careless.”

Yikes!! Was the above a review of a novice writer in an introductory creative writing course? Alas, the phrases are excerpted from a letter written by the anonymous reviewer of my current novel-in-progress to an editor of a press considering it for publication. (At least he liked the plot, which, he said, is “going to keep readers  interested.”) So how does one respond to such a critique, which, let’s face it, could come at any point in a writer’s career? Humbly and as egolessly as possible, I’d argue—that is, if a writer hopes to grow, and make his work as good as it can be.

But I was irritated for about a minute and a half before recalling that I’d been almost as tough on work by a local writers’ group submitted for the anthology I’m guest-editing. Oh, I didn’t label any of their work “careless,” although I didn’t hesitate to say when they were performing at less than full steam. While “careless” was the hardest criticism to hear, it became easier when I decided that the reviewer’s not saying I’m a careless writer; he’s saying some of the writing felt careless to him. Or at least that’s the way I needed to interpret it in order to get down to work.

And get down to work I did. But first I considered submitting the novel to more commercial presses, which generally tend to prefer story over style. Then the reviewer’s voice got into my head and began haunting me, challenging me to return to the book I’d thought 90-95% complete and blow the mother up.* But changing my style, my language?! “Hey, Mr./Ms. Reviewer,” I imagined myself saying in my weakest moments, “my style can’t be changed without damaging my soul!”

Soul or ego?

Scrolling to a random spot in my manuscript, I began to read. It didn’t take long to realize the writing is “workmanlike.” I wondered why, since I usually strive for poetic prose. However, in constructing this novel, I did something I’d never done before by first composing an elaborate outline. Maybe that’s the reason my plotting turned out better than my style. At any rate, the fact that I could agree with the reviewer that my style needed work allowed me to focus on his/her other suggestions.

I’m now happily revising the book, more or less following the anonymous reviewer’s critique. I’ve eliminated one entire chapter and added a new one; rewritten scenes of highest emotion, adding color as an artist would to a basic painting; deepened characters, making them more consistent; and killed numerous darlings. Soon I’ll begin the read-through that will, I hope, produce the final version. Will it pass muster with another reviewer? I have no idea. But I have faith it will be a better book, which is, for me, the bottom line.

While receiving Mr./Ms. Anonymous’s review was ultimately productive, I confess it wasn’t the highlight of that particular day. Therefore, any angst it caused was tempered by this generous, good-hearted review of Israel Jones from novelist Michel Sauret a few days later:  http://www.msauret.com/book-review-the-psalms-of-israel-jones-by-ed-davis/

This discipline called “creative writing,” while at times disappointing, often teaches me what I didn’t know I even needed to know—and usually right when I need to know it. I’m endlessly grateful for the path it set me on nearly four decades ago.

*Highly technical literary term (ha) meaning “radically alter,” which can mean salvaging from the wreckage rather than tweaking or polishing.

True Stories II (& Poetry)

So did I send my childhood pal, terminally ill with a brain tumor, the memoir I’d written describing a traumatic event that happened in 1965 when we were adolescents growing up in southern West Virginia—an event that tore apart our previous friendship and sent him into hiding and aligned me with our peers against him? (As I wrote in my previous blog post.)

Not at first.

I was reluctant to bother my friend with a memoir that was more about me—my role and my guilt—than about his reaction to public humiliation. And yet I found myself ready to face my role and finally get at the truth about what really happened.

I rewrote the piece, transforming telling into showing, striving for as much factual accuracy as I could, despite the intervening half-century time lapse. Finally I wrote my friend and asked him if I could send him my description of that summer. His answer:  “Send away.” I did and sweated razor blades awaiting his response, wondering whether I’d gotten significant details wrong, or, worse, awakened dogs which had lain peacefully sleeping.

When, after a few days, I saw in my in-box an email from him, I took a deep breath, uttered a quick prayer and opened his message. “You did well,” he said. He didn’t correct a single detail, though I’d decided I’d be happy if I got things mostly right. “May I have a version without curse words to share with my parents?” he queried. “I don’t think they ever really understood what happened.”

After excising the 3-4 words that might offend parental sensibilities, I sent him the sanitized version, blessed by his acceptance, astonished and relieved. We exchanged a few more emails and he told me at this point in his life, he has “few regrets and no resentments” (and gave me permission to share his words).

So what, you may ask, did telling this true story do for me? Though my friend blessed me by accepting my version of events, he never uttered the words I forgive you—nor does he need to. I also have a few regrets, such as not standing up for him, regardless of the social cost. Would his forgiveness erase what happened? No. The forgiveness I need is my own. And I’m working on that.

One more time:  Reading at Glen Helen!

The fourth annual Solstice Poetry Reading will take place at Glen Helen’s Vernet Ecological Building on December 11, 7-9:00 p.m.

This year’s readers scheduled readers include Matthew Birdsall, Robert Brimm, James Brooks, Grace Curtis, Audrey Hackett, Joshua Hayward, Suzanne Kelly, Fred Kirchner, Sierra Leone, Stella Ling and Dennis Loranger.

The scheduled poets will each read for 3-5 minutes each, followed (after a wine and cheese reception) by open mic. This year’s theme is The Sacred Solstice.

I’d love to see  you there!

True Stories

Recently I wrote a short memoir, unusual for me, since I’ve written fiction and poetry almost exclusively for going on four decades; plus, it’s a sort of confession with real stakes:  if I ever showed it to my childhood best friend, recently diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, I thought it might hurt him, maybe a lot. Yet I was driven, having hung on for half a century to the story of my friend who, humiliated by a bully before witnesses, afterward hid indoors for an entire summer. And another boy (me) who, along with his peers, assassinated that boy’s character every day of that summer. A story my heart, maybe my soul, refused to let go of.

The fictional version consumed a good part of my second (unpublished) novel written three decades ago, but I never felt I got it right. That’s what I hoped this memoir might accomplish. I was on a quest like none other I’d yet experienced in my career:  to get the entire truth, so help me God. And, as I usually do when faced with the unknown, I did research, but of an entirely different kind. Instead of hitting the library, bookstore or Internet, I drove 450 miles to see my old friend whom I had not seen since the 90s. Did I have qualms and reservations? You bet—but I did what I always do when a story chooses me. I obeyed.

My old friend, his son and his son’s wife with whom he now lives while getting chemo treatments could not have been more welcoming. And my old pal, despite recent brain surgery, seemed pretty much himself. We talked, laughed, played a little music together. And though I considered unburdening myself, saying how I regretted being a party to his scapegoating all those years ago and getting his input, I didn’t mention it.

First, I decided that he had enough on his plate, recovering from surgery and facing chemotherapy. Second, in one of the reversals that Mary Karr talks about in her new book, The Art of Memoir, I realized the story wasn’t really about him but about me—what I could/should I do with the emotions that have grown ever more complex during the half-century since the incident:  guilt, yes, but also admiration if not awe for how my friend weathered this childhood storm. Existential questions loomed, too such as:  who was I? Who was he? How did this landmark event affect us in our future lives?

Mostly I wanted to find out what the experience had to teach me—what the story was ultimately about, knowing that it might metamorphose again. I realized that True Stories, as much as fictional ones, are like that:  chameleons that change over time, perhaps evolving toward some final resolution, perhaps not. It depends on who you are this time when you write it.

I did eventually write the essay, working, I believe, as hard as I’ve ever worked on anything I’ve ever written, wondering the whole time if I’d have the guts to show it to my old pal when finished. So did I? Ah, good topic for another blog! 

Poems Wanted!

Barbara Rohrer, editor of The Sycamore, an online as well as print publication, is looking for poems on the theme of service for the winter issue by poets whose work fits (or can fit) within the bounds of Christianity, interpreted widely.

The deadline for submission for the winter issue is December 15. Here’s a link for the online publication: http://readthesycamore.com/

Reading at Glen Helen!

Speaking of poetry, mark your calendars for the fourth annual Solstice Poetry Reading at Glen Helen’s Vernet Ecological Building on December 11, 7-9:00 p.m. As usual, 11-12 scheduled poets will read for 3-5 minutes each, followed (after a wine and cheese reception) by open mic. This year’s theme is The Sacred Solstice. Find out why so many include this event in their holiday traditions.

Messy Inefficiency: Writing a Novel

A Mystery  

“Good,” my wife said. “Now you’re free to write the real book.”

I’d just described an interview in which I’d received information that would require an entire re-envisioning of my latest novel-in-progress’s plot—a rewrite that might require another year to produce a second draft. She then asked me why I hadn’t conducted the interview before writing my first draft? A really good question which should’ve been easy to answer but wasn’t—and got me thinking about my messily inefficient novel-writing process.

Faith  

While I did significant research on hydraulic fracturing and learning disorders, both of which play important roles in the book, I proceeded on faith in constructing plot points relating to child custody/visitation issues. It wasn’t until I finished the first draft that I decided it was time to consult my friend Joan, a long-time volunteer Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA) for abused and neglected children in Greene County. Since I write realistic fiction, not fantasy, I knew I’d probably have to tweak some things for verisimilitude.

Passion

During our two-hour interview, Joan unknowingly shot down plot point after plot point, explaining what really happens when a parent who’s abandoned a child ten years earlier returns to legally challenge grandparents on visitation rights. But as I mentally deleted scenes I’d agonized over, I found myself not discouraged but energized when I thought about making the recommended changes. I began to see what we were discussing weren’t plot points for Joan but passion points. Her enthusiasm for serving kids was infectious. 

Liberation

As a CASA, Joan has devoted incredible time and energy to helping her child clients have a better life. I, on the other hand, was writing another novel, which, if published, would add to the glut of already-existing books. No wonder my plot was superficial; I wasn’t committed enough. But maybe if I listened and absorbed, I’d have a shot at making a real contribution to the conversation on parenting troubled kids. I was being not merely educated but liberated from earlier misconceptions and prejudices.

Humility

“Still,” my inner critic persisted, “couldn’t you have been just as inspired and educated by doing your research earlier?” Maybe. But I wonder if I would’ve had the humility to really hear and feel Joan’s passion if I hadn’t first struggled alone, discovering the crucial questions and exposing some of my own biases. Getting recalibrated was good for me. Writers must feel fully in control of their books long before they get into the hands of readers, but humility is essential to prevent knowing too soon (or thinking you do). Thus, the more humility in the face of facts and experience, the better. 

Rationality

While much of the fiction-writing process is as rational as calculus, this practice of writing first without knowing feels mystical, paradoxical and very messy. I don’t exactly know why, but this is the way I had to write this book’s first draft. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the way I write the next one, too. I recommend it highly—but efficient it ain’t.

Meli’s Way: A Review

Finding Her Moral Compass

Several years ago when I was contemplating writing a young adult novel myself, I read widely in the genre but found nothing like Meredith Sue Willis’s new young adult novel Meli’s Way. I think it’s a masterpiece:  a profound exploration of the technology-driven, terrorist-threatened, family-fragmented world in which young people today come of age.

The book is an up-to-this-moment contemporary depiction of a young high school student in New York City finding her way with very little guidance (but a lot of love) from her single parent mom with a mysterious past. It’s fast-paced with meaningful action but also ample time for Meli (short for Melisandre), who’s somewhat nerdy and independent but completely herself, to reflect on whether she’s losing or finding her “moral compass.” For much of the story, it’s a bit of both. Willis immerses her reader in Meli’s compelling journey that is as entertaining as it is deeply satisfying.

The River not the Rocks  

Meli tells us right up front what to expect:  “There’s an explosion at the end of this story, and a little bit of sex in the middle . . .” Then she reassures us:  “ . . . but those things are just bumps in the road or maybe boulders in a river. They made me change direction, but I’m the river, not the rocks.” As attention-getters go, that’s one of the most powerful I’ve ever read—and accurate. Librarians, teachers and other adults need not worry about the novel’s being too graphically sexual. While Willis hits a couple of serious social taboos head-on, she does so, in my opinion, tastefully and responsibly; the result—for Meli and perhaps for the young reader as well—is a leap forward in intellectual and emotional maturity.

Issues Abound  

The first outstanding quality I noticed was how ultra-modern Meli’s Way is in its treatment of food, parenting, divorce, multiculturalism, therapy and marriage; for example, when Meli calls herself “illegitimate,” her mom dismisses it with a wave of her hand, saying that means nothing these days. While Mom frets over many things about her daughter—such as education, fashion and friends—she gives not even short shrift to such an outmoded concept. It’s Willis’s way of signaling that her book has much bigger sushi to swallow than such archaic societal shibboleths. As we’ll see, there’s no dearth of real issues to examine here.

Comparisons and contrasts abound:  the elite, private Cranfort School Meli has been attending versus the public Ciudad (“See You Dad”) School of the Future to which she transfers; Cranfort’s neurotic American “whitegirls” versus the colorfully diverse charter school students; natural versus artificial beauty; Meli’s affluence versus her new friend Gray Jacobs’ relative poverty; New York, where most of the action takes place, versus Italy, site of her summer visit to her father (and a life-changing experience); and finally:  activism versus terrorism. Multiple cultural and religious communities, from Baptist to Buddhist, Jewish to Muslim, rub against each other, sometimes creating sparks. Willis’s cast of interesting characters—with not a stereotype among them—fully embodies these cultural contrasts, delineating themes such as deception versus truth; isolation versus community; types of families; and the different meanings of love, while giving her readers plenty to reward their attention.

Like secrets:  from anonymous phone callers (who’s “the dragon?”) to Meli’s mother’s buried past (which eventually comes to light). Like issues:  the kids of Ciudad are not sheltered by faculty in the school’s open, questioning atmosphere, where everything gets discussed: sex, pregnancy and personal responsibility; war and nonviolence; types of love; and the presence of evil. There is no preaching, but there’s often passion and humor; for example, I smiled when Meli’s admiring classmate Ari adopts Ayn Rand’s Objectivism over the summer. But Ari provides more than humor; sometimes annoying, Meli’s loquacious but lovable wannabe boyfriend is a necessary catalyst to break through Meli’s hard shell of introversion.

Epiphanies & Revelations  

Speaking of breakthroughs, Meli gets more than she bargained for by changing schools; in fact, her experiences at Ciudad shatter one stereotype after another for her, such as the traditional split between jocks and nerds. In one memorably moving scene, Meli reluctantly joins a volleyball game and in the process “is baptized by blood” into the community and, by implication, the human race. More importantly, her relationship with Tim, her social studies teacher and advisor, is the source of her greatest epiphanies, providing dramatic surprises and revelations galore. The result, as our heroine predicted at the beginning, is an explosion in more ways than one:  a shattering climax that changes Meli’s world (and perhaps the reader’s) forever.

My Hand the Animal  

Willis’s writing is concrete and credible. I found the protagonist’s voice believably precocious. Meli’s metaphors often delight and stun, for example, “my hand was like this little tan brown animal stuck to the end of my arm, doing what it wanted, not what I wanted,” and “his voice was rich and bubbly like sauce cooking slowly.” But it’s the insights at the heart of this novel that provide its lasting value. Far beyond mere entertainment, Meli’s Way reveals Willis’s deep understanding of young people; it provides knowledge based on her characters’ (and perhaps her own) experience that could take readers to another level of maturity. At the very least, they will be given plenty of nutritious, non-fattening food for thought. Copies can be obtained for $15.95 at www.montemayorpress.com.

Lit News: Lewisburg, CCC Reading & New Poetry Market

Lewisburg (WV) Lit Fest  

Would you believe it if I told you that a tiny West Virginia town with a population around 4,000 had Kathryn Stockett, author of The Help, as the keynote speaker at their fourth annual Lit-Fest last weekend, August 7-8, 2015?

Me, either—but there she stood in all her Mississippi splendor before an excited packed house in little Lewisburg’s Carnegie Hall. Stockett was very funny:  “What do you say to your best childhood friend when he begs you for the movie rights to your best-selling novel?” (Pause.) “Hell, no!” But she did give him the rights, and the rest is history.

How did the Lewisburg Lit Fest organizers ever afford such a celebrity? Committed local businesses and individual donors enabled this cultural event to be held for free! Might Yellow Springs, Miamisburg or Tipp City, Ohio host such a worthy event? With committed sponsors and hosts, hell yes!

In addition to the workshops, readings and regional presses’ displays, Lewisburg itself was a big perk. The historic downtown, built on gently rolling hills, consists of small shops, art galleries and excellent eateries. I tried Stella’s, with loads of outdoor seating and found it delicious. If you are ever visiting nearby—or want to offer your own literary services to the dedicated board, contact them at their website.

Reading in Westerville  

Columbus Creative Cooperative is including me and Daytonian Joe Downing (The Abundant Bohemian) in a reading at Java Central, 20 S. State St., in Westerville, Ohio from 3:00-5:00 p.m. on Sunday, August 30, 2015. I’ll be reading “Cracked Blacktop,” a story adapted from The Psalms of Israel Jones, included in the CCC’s latest anthology, For the Road:  Short Stories of America’s Highways. Stop in and meet these friendly folks who help area writers, from critiquing works-in-progress to publishing snazzy anthologies. I’d love to see you there!

Spiritual Poetry Wanted  

Barbara Rohrer, editor of The Sycamore, an online as well as print publication, is looking for poems on the themes of prayer (fall issue) and service (winter issue).   She writes: “I would be happy to consider the poems of any of your friends, particularly men whose work fits (or can fit) within the bounds of Christianity, interpreted widely. I have an extensive network of women’s poets . . . so I am looking to reach out more to men.”

The deadline for submission for the fall issue is August 28; for the winter issue, October 28. Here’s a link for the online publication: http://readthesycamore.com/

I was delighted to have my poem “Benediction:  A World Such As Ours,” about a scary encounter which turned spiritual, included in the inaugural issue. Submit! 

P.S.  

Got any literary news of your own to share? Let me know and I’ll include it next time. Meanwhile, enjoy the rest of your summer.

Antioch Writers’ Workshop Returns!

Invest in Yourself

Beginning this Saturday, July 11, 2015, the Antioch Writer’s Workshop (AWW) begins and continues through Friday, July 17. Including all genres—fiction, nonfiction and poetry— the workshop in Yellow Springs accommodates all levels, from beginner to professional. However, I believe it’s most useful to those who’ve been writing at least for a year or two, meaning they have work-in-progress to share, along with many questions needing answers, such as “How do I move to the next level?” or “How do I get published?”

Options Abound

By going to the workshop’s website, you’ll see that participants have options for doing as much or as little of the workshop as their pocketbooks and schedules will permit. I’m teaching “Imagery and Sensory Language” three times at the Saturday Seminar, the first day of the workshop. A perk of teaching is that I’ll be allowed to attend the wonderful morning classes all week. Plus, my latest novel and poetry collection will be available in the bookstore.

Free Evening Programs

Throughout its long tenure, AWW has always offered its 7:00 p.m. programs to the community for free.  It’s a great way to hear talented workshop faculty and participants read creative work, both published and in-progress—and to network with other writers. Not only are the readings extremely entertaining, but also they could allow you to educate yourself about the marketplace and even discover like-minded writers for a writing group or individual critique. Lives are often changed by this workshop, which includes exposure to working writers.

Here is the week’s schedule of free readings, all of which take place at Antioch University Midwest. *Note: ALL events except Wednesday’s (see below) take place at Antioch University Midwest, 900 Dayton Street, Yellow Springs.

Saturday, July 11—Keynote with poet Nikki Giovanni
Sunday, July 12–Joanne Smith, Herb Woodward Martin, John Grogan, Laraine Herring
Monday, July 13–Faculty readings and Q&A with Michael Nye, Jyotsna Sreenivasan, Kristina McBride, John Kachuba
Tuesday, July 14–Faculty readings and Q&A with Robert Boley, Myrna Stone, David B. Coe, Ann Weisgarber
Wednesday, July 15–Participants read at The Emporium, 233 Xenia Ave., Yellow Springs, Ohio 45387. Please note that ALL other evening readings are at Antioch University Midwest.
Thursday, July 16–Selected Workshop Participants read.

DIRECTIONS TO ANTIOCH UNIVERSITY MIDWEST

Please note that Antioch University Midwest is a different facility than Antioch College, and sometimes folks get confused by this. Antioch College is a beautiful campus with multiple buildings in the middle of Yellow Springs. Antioch University Midwest is a beautiful campus with one large building on the western edge of Yellow Springs. Here is a link to driving directions to Antioch University Midwest:  http://www.antiochmidwest.edu/about-aum/driving-directions/

Go For It

I’ve participated in AWW almost every year since its inception in 1986. I probably wouldn’t have a writing career without the opportunities afforded me by AWW’s generous faculty, agents, editors and participants. The workshop is well-known for being extremely personal; for example, participants have the opportunity to share meals with faculty.

Perhaps you’ve told yourself that someday you’ll invest in yourself and share your creative work with a larger community. Now’s your chance to take the leap forward! I’d love to see you there.