Beth Neff's Blog, page 3
February 2, 2012
You're an Artist
Writing *blink*
Read a paragraph or page from one of your favorite books. Pay attention to the use of words, the lengths of sentences, the choices of verbs and metaphors. Now write a paragraph imitating this exact style. Make the subject different but try to ‘hear the voice.’ What’s hard about it? What, of your own writing style wants to creep in? Listen carefully because that’s probably YOUR voice. (Note: this is not plagarism. You’re not going to try to copy another author’s writing and pretend it’s your own. Think of it as how the great masters of the Renaissance required their apprentices to copy the master’s work again and again until they had honed their skills.)
Read a paragraph or page from one of your favorite books. Pay attention to the use of words, the lengths of sentences, the choices of verbs and metaphors. Now write a paragraph imitating this exact style. Make the subject different but try to ‘hear the voice.’ What’s hard about it? What, of your own writing style wants to creep in? Listen carefully because that’s probably YOUR voice. (Note: this is not plagarism. You’re not going to try to copy another author’s writing and pretend it’s your own. Think of it as how the great masters of the Renaissance required their apprentices to copy the master’s work again and again until they had honed their skills.)
January 27, 2012
Writing *blinks*
New Blog Feature - Writing *blinks*
Each week (or so,) I’ll post a little writing note, idea, exercise, reflection – something to keep those writing fires burning!
Find *blinks* here, or “like” my Beth Neff-author page on Facebook to receive *blinks* on your newsfeed.
If you are particularly inspired, send your results/comments to authorbethneff@gmail.com and I may post your contribution on my website! www.bethneff.com
Today's *blink* -
Go outside. What is the weather doing? What does the sky look like? (today, we’re grey and overcast with light rain.) Think of vivid and picturesque ways of describing the scene before you (if you’re inside looking out, add that to your description.) Imagine a scene that’s far away from you but still with the same weather – on a dock ready to board a ship? A child stepping out onto the playground? Struggling to open a stubborn umbrella as you rush to an important meeting? Be creative. Use metaphors but make this weather an integral part of the setting you want to create.
Each week (or so,) I’ll post a little writing note, idea, exercise, reflection – something to keep those writing fires burning!
Find *blinks* here, or “like” my Beth Neff-author page on Facebook to receive *blinks* on your newsfeed.
If you are particularly inspired, send your results/comments to authorbethneff@gmail.com and I may post your contribution on my website! www.bethneff.com
Today's *blink* -
Go outside. What is the weather doing? What does the sky look like? (today, we’re grey and overcast with light rain.) Think of vivid and picturesque ways of describing the scene before you (if you’re inside looking out, add that to your description.) Imagine a scene that’s far away from you but still with the same weather – on a dock ready to board a ship? A child stepping out onto the playground? Struggling to open a stubborn umbrella as you rush to an important meeting? Be creative. Use metaphors but make this weather an integral part of the setting you want to create.
January 7, 2012
Writing a Life
What’s true of writing is true of life.
I’m not usually much for aphorisms or life mottos or what-have-you but I have been finding it hard to ignore the powerful similarities between my hopes for myself as a writer and my desires as a human being.
Here’s what I mean. Writing is, first and foremost (it seems to me,) an act of trust. We begin the process with little idea of where it’s going to go, starting off with maybe the hint of a character from an overheard conversation, a setting that just won’t leave us alone, a thread of plot line that seems worth further attention. Then, for some reason we can rarely account for, we find ourselves perched on the top of a very high hill, the road ahead long and partially concealed by the twists and turns we know are there but can’t actually see. And yet we move forward anyway. We can’t NOT move forward and, however tentative our steps, we believe in the outcome. It will work out. Trust. Trust and hope. A both lethal and necessary combination.
Then there’s the actual writing part. I have to admit, it always reminds me a little of the way vultures circle high in the sky, honing in on what must be the most beautiful fragrance to them, the aroma of dead meat. It’s a little like that for me. I place some words on the page. I write a few more and then I step back to look at them. Often, I move even further away for awhile, maybe even take a walk, start the bread dough for dinner, make a phone call. I circle around physically but also mentally, evaluating those words, shaping them, amending them, imagining where they are going to take me. If the smell is just right, if I’m drawn back into it, if I’m satisfied, then I know I’m ready to accept what I’ve learned and move on, knowing all the time that I’ll be back to check again if it all fits. It’s a kind of integrity – a commitment made to beliefs and values but combined with a willingness... no, a determination, to remain flexible, to revisit, to check in with those conclusions and thereby discover new ways of seeing.
Maybe most importantly, I find that writing is an identity process. Every author brings to it the mishmash of his or her own personal history, experiences, belief systems just like we all do to whatever lives we may lead. Through the writing process, we attempt to strip away persona, embrace the growing pains, arrive at some satisfactory story for who we are and what that means for the choices we make, the feelings we express, the well-being we seek. Writing? Life? Who’s to say there’s a difference?
And it’s often hard to say whether we are helping our characters along in the process or whether they are helping us.
I’m not usually much for aphorisms or life mottos or what-have-you but I have been finding it hard to ignore the powerful similarities between my hopes for myself as a writer and my desires as a human being.
Here’s what I mean. Writing is, first and foremost (it seems to me,) an act of trust. We begin the process with little idea of where it’s going to go, starting off with maybe the hint of a character from an overheard conversation, a setting that just won’t leave us alone, a thread of plot line that seems worth further attention. Then, for some reason we can rarely account for, we find ourselves perched on the top of a very high hill, the road ahead long and partially concealed by the twists and turns we know are there but can’t actually see. And yet we move forward anyway. We can’t NOT move forward and, however tentative our steps, we believe in the outcome. It will work out. Trust. Trust and hope. A both lethal and necessary combination.
Then there’s the actual writing part. I have to admit, it always reminds me a little of the way vultures circle high in the sky, honing in on what must be the most beautiful fragrance to them, the aroma of dead meat. It’s a little like that for me. I place some words on the page. I write a few more and then I step back to look at them. Often, I move even further away for awhile, maybe even take a walk, start the bread dough for dinner, make a phone call. I circle around physically but also mentally, evaluating those words, shaping them, amending them, imagining where they are going to take me. If the smell is just right, if I’m drawn back into it, if I’m satisfied, then I know I’m ready to accept what I’ve learned and move on, knowing all the time that I’ll be back to check again if it all fits. It’s a kind of integrity – a commitment made to beliefs and values but combined with a willingness... no, a determination, to remain flexible, to revisit, to check in with those conclusions and thereby discover new ways of seeing.
Maybe most importantly, I find that writing is an identity process. Every author brings to it the mishmash of his or her own personal history, experiences, belief systems just like we all do to whatever lives we may lead. Through the writing process, we attempt to strip away persona, embrace the growing pains, arrive at some satisfactory story for who we are and what that means for the choices we make, the feelings we express, the well-being we seek. Writing? Life? Who’s to say there’s a difference?
And it’s often hard to say whether we are helping our characters along in the process or whether they are helping us.
December 25, 2011
2011 Favorite Books
Okay, I guess I’ll join the crowd (just this once!) and make a Top Ten list of books for 2011. It’s been a fantastic year for reading and, actually, my list has 13 books on it since I just couldn’t choose but that’s pretty good considering I read nearly 200 books this year – not counting the ones I started and didn’t finish.
I’m not going to review each book individually but here are my criteria:
Intriguing and memorable characters, complex and deeply drawn with compassionate and honest insight
A unique premise that drives the plot, unexpected or creative connections between characters, events, social issues, and/or vivid settings.
I generally prefer contemporary stories but am also attracted to inspired retelling or treatment of historical events.
A compelling narrative is a must.
Excellent writing, prose that sings with beautiful word combinations (literary melodies?) and propelling rhythms.
Strong connections between people and place.
Dramatic conflict that subtly obliges us to consider the intricacies of the human condition.
Here are some books I loved and recommend.
The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach
State of Wonder by Ann Patchett
The Submission by Amy Waldman
The Tragedy of Arthur by Arthur Philips
Bone Fire by Mark Spragg
The Pale King by David Foster Wallace
The Cat’s Table by Michael Ondaatje
The Tiger’s Wife by Tea Obreht
The Astral by Kate Christensen
The Girl in the Blue Beret by Bobbie Ann Mason
After the Fire, a Still Small Voice by Evie Wyld
Nanjing Requiem: A Novel by Ha Jin
The Summer of the Bear by Bella Pollen
Happy reading in 2012!
I’m not going to review each book individually but here are my criteria:
Intriguing and memorable characters, complex and deeply drawn with compassionate and honest insight
A unique premise that drives the plot, unexpected or creative connections between characters, events, social issues, and/or vivid settings.
I generally prefer contemporary stories but am also attracted to inspired retelling or treatment of historical events.
A compelling narrative is a must.
Excellent writing, prose that sings with beautiful word combinations (literary melodies?) and propelling rhythms.
Strong connections between people and place.
Dramatic conflict that subtly obliges us to consider the intricacies of the human condition.
Here are some books I loved and recommend.
The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach
State of Wonder by Ann Patchett
The Submission by Amy Waldman
The Tragedy of Arthur by Arthur Philips
Bone Fire by Mark Spragg
The Pale King by David Foster Wallace
The Cat’s Table by Michael Ondaatje
The Tiger’s Wife by Tea Obreht
The Astral by Kate Christensen
The Girl in the Blue Beret by Bobbie Ann Mason
After the Fire, a Still Small Voice by Evie Wyld
Nanjing Requiem: A Novel by Ha Jin
The Summer of the Bear by Bella Pollen
Happy reading in 2012!
December 9, 2011
The 'new' social media
Out here in the boonies of Southwestern Michigan, there is limited access to what anyone might call ‘culture.’ This drought extends even to on-line media since high-speed Internet access is still a thing of the future on these corn and forest-lined backroads.
From my home computer, (remember that little dial-up modem song? I still hear it every time I check my e-mail or Facebook) I can’t really download music or videos, upload photos or graphics, have to wait literal hours for updates and documents. In some ways, I am living in a technological dark age, blacked out and unaware of what’s new when it comes to the free artistic endeavor that so characterizes the lives of many around me.
Yet, there is still one area where I can experience what’s ‘new,’ the latest releases, the buzz of activity. That is in the field of books. There is this amazing resource that, if not exactly in my backyard, is accessible to me for free. It’s called the public library.
I’ve done a little research. In the United States, the person who can be credited most directly for the dissemination of free public lending libraries is Andrew Carnegie who built over 2800 such institutions over approximately two decades. (An aside: Isn’t it amazing to think that, during the turn-of-the-century [19th to 20th] some members of the most extravagantly wealthy class, such as Carnegie, apparently perceived of at least some of their financial resources as a public trust with the full expectation that these funds would be turned back to the community for general benefit? We could use more of that attitude today.)
That said, our community libraries were and still are ‘public’ in the sense that they are supported by local governments. As an example of government operating and investing in true public benefit, even intellectual benefit, promulgating knowledge and information, promoting self-education, it’s hard to conceive of a better role for our tax dollars.
And I, for one, couldn’t be more appreciative. There are few things more satisfying than browsing the shelves of my local library, choosing the stories that are just right for whatever mood I’m in, knowing I actually get to take those stories home with me, and then snuggling into bed at night to immerse myself in them, sometimes until the light shows up in the sky.
It’s almost as good as creating them for others to do the same.
From my home computer, (remember that little dial-up modem song? I still hear it every time I check my e-mail or Facebook) I can’t really download music or videos, upload photos or graphics, have to wait literal hours for updates and documents. In some ways, I am living in a technological dark age, blacked out and unaware of what’s new when it comes to the free artistic endeavor that so characterizes the lives of many around me.
Yet, there is still one area where I can experience what’s ‘new,’ the latest releases, the buzz of activity. That is in the field of books. There is this amazing resource that, if not exactly in my backyard, is accessible to me for free. It’s called the public library.
I’ve done a little research. In the United States, the person who can be credited most directly for the dissemination of free public lending libraries is Andrew Carnegie who built over 2800 such institutions over approximately two decades. (An aside: Isn’t it amazing to think that, during the turn-of-the-century [19th to 20th] some members of the most extravagantly wealthy class, such as Carnegie, apparently perceived of at least some of their financial resources as a public trust with the full expectation that these funds would be turned back to the community for general benefit? We could use more of that attitude today.)
That said, our community libraries were and still are ‘public’ in the sense that they are supported by local governments. As an example of government operating and investing in true public benefit, even intellectual benefit, promulgating knowledge and information, promoting self-education, it’s hard to conceive of a better role for our tax dollars.
And I, for one, couldn’t be more appreciative. There are few things more satisfying than browsing the shelves of my local library, choosing the stories that are just right for whatever mood I’m in, knowing I actually get to take those stories home with me, and then snuggling into bed at night to immerse myself in them, sometimes until the light shows up in the sky.
It’s almost as good as creating them for others to do the same.
October 12, 2011
New Posts
Check out all new blog posts at www.bethneff.com. Also see the website or the Beth Neff - author fan page on FB for upcoming reviews, event notices and information about Getting Somewhere.
September 13, 2011
The birth of a story
It was this time of year – late summer – when the idea for Getting Somewhere began to take root.
Somehow, between picking beans and cutting zucchini, freezing pesto and clearing out the spinach patch for fall crops, I ran across an article detailing the difficulties associated with placing kids who had become homeless and possibly orphaned by Hurricane Katrina. Not only were social services stretched to the limit but, despite wide interest in either fostering or adopting these children, many records had been destroyed so it was next to impossible to ascertain proper identities and determine whether the kids might still have family members with legal claims over them.
This dilemma fascinated me and as I worked each day in my garden, barn, and kitchen, I gradually got a solid image in my mind of a woman on a bus, accompanied by a young child who, we would discover over the course of the story, had actually been kidnapped from New Orleans in a confused version of philanthropy. I was very excited about the ethical questions involved, the contemporary setting, the potential dramatic conflicts, even came up with the idea that the child would be mute, having been traumatized by her experience and so unable to provide any clues to her background.
When I outlined this sketchy idea to a friend, she immediately said, “Okay. Like in The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver.”
Obviously, this is not really the comment an author wants to hear. Yes, it’s great to elicit comparisons to fantastic authors but not to have your idea – or a very similar idea – already written. I was pretty upset since, even before I write a word, a huge investment of emotional energy goes into creating plots and characters as if these are people I’m getting to know and our relationship has been nipped in the bud.
I told myself it wasn’t that great of an idea after all. I told myself that I didn’t really have a story after the woman and the child got off the bus anyway. I told myself I didn’t know anything about New Orleans or Hurricane Katrina (this is true) and, besides, I was violating the cardinal rule of writing: write what you know!
So, what did I know? Well, I knew a lot about farming. I’d been doing it for over twenty-five years. I knew something about teenagers, at least my own. Two of my kids had passed through that stage and two more were smack dab in the middle of it. And I knew a little bit about juvenile detention since a good friend of mine worked at the detention center and often talked about his experiences there. And I had the experience of being a woman, knew a bit about how it can feel for many women to be lesbians in the midwest, what that challenge often looks like.
Suddenly, my bus had different riders, not a woman and a child but girls, maybe four of them, juvenile criminals suffering all the social ills that might result in finding themselves in such a predicament. And I had a place for them to go. Of course! An organic vegetable farm. And who would be there when they arrived? Why, women, lesbian women, whose relationship with the farm and each other would be stretched and snarled by the young women they hoped to help.
I think it’s Stephen King, in his book about writing, who describes how a story grows from the meeting place of two or more seemingly unrelated ideas. I agree. It’s not something that you really control or design. There is no way to know where those ideas might come from. But if you have already made up your mind that you want to write, open yourself up as an invitation to story, it just happens.
Somehow, between picking beans and cutting zucchini, freezing pesto and clearing out the spinach patch for fall crops, I ran across an article detailing the difficulties associated with placing kids who had become homeless and possibly orphaned by Hurricane Katrina. Not only were social services stretched to the limit but, despite wide interest in either fostering or adopting these children, many records had been destroyed so it was next to impossible to ascertain proper identities and determine whether the kids might still have family members with legal claims over them.
This dilemma fascinated me and as I worked each day in my garden, barn, and kitchen, I gradually got a solid image in my mind of a woman on a bus, accompanied by a young child who, we would discover over the course of the story, had actually been kidnapped from New Orleans in a confused version of philanthropy. I was very excited about the ethical questions involved, the contemporary setting, the potential dramatic conflicts, even came up with the idea that the child would be mute, having been traumatized by her experience and so unable to provide any clues to her background.
When I outlined this sketchy idea to a friend, she immediately said, “Okay. Like in The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver.”
Obviously, this is not really the comment an author wants to hear. Yes, it’s great to elicit comparisons to fantastic authors but not to have your idea – or a very similar idea – already written. I was pretty upset since, even before I write a word, a huge investment of emotional energy goes into creating plots and characters as if these are people I’m getting to know and our relationship has been nipped in the bud.
I told myself it wasn’t that great of an idea after all. I told myself that I didn’t really have a story after the woman and the child got off the bus anyway. I told myself I didn’t know anything about New Orleans or Hurricane Katrina (this is true) and, besides, I was violating the cardinal rule of writing: write what you know!
So, what did I know? Well, I knew a lot about farming. I’d been doing it for over twenty-five years. I knew something about teenagers, at least my own. Two of my kids had passed through that stage and two more were smack dab in the middle of it. And I knew a little bit about juvenile detention since a good friend of mine worked at the detention center and often talked about his experiences there. And I had the experience of being a woman, knew a bit about how it can feel for many women to be lesbians in the midwest, what that challenge often looks like.
Suddenly, my bus had different riders, not a woman and a child but girls, maybe four of them, juvenile criminals suffering all the social ills that might result in finding themselves in such a predicament. And I had a place for them to go. Of course! An organic vegetable farm. And who would be there when they arrived? Why, women, lesbian women, whose relationship with the farm and each other would be stretched and snarled by the young women they hoped to help.
I think it’s Stephen King, in his book about writing, who describes how a story grows from the meeting place of two or more seemingly unrelated ideas. I agree. It’s not something that you really control or design. There is no way to know where those ideas might come from. But if you have already made up your mind that you want to write, open yourself up as an invitation to story, it just happens.
June 16, 2011
Anticipation
message 1: by Heather (new) - rated it 5 stars "I loved reading one of the early drafts... & looking forward to the final copy!"
Thanks, Heather. Speaking of early drafts and final copies...
This is the anticipation stage - my part of writing the novel is done and it’s all up to the publisher now. It’s the time when the book is poised to join the ranks of thousands of others competing for bookshelf space and I have no idea how it will measure up. It’s the time when the dream I’ve had for years to actually publish a book is coming to fruition and I know my life is going to change but I don’t know exactly how, or, more to the point, if I’m actually going to like it when it does.
There have been a number of moments along the way at which I could actually say ‘this is happening, it’s real.’ Signing the contract was a good one, getting that first advance check was another. I liked receiving the copy-edited version of my book, enjoyed the idea that someone besides my agent and editor was reading it even if it was their job to do so. I suppose galleys are next and I’m really looking forward to that – something tangible to hold in my hand, show friends and family (who are, of course, much less disbelieving than I am.)
What really got me thinking this week, though, was receiving the packet of materials from my publisher’s marketing department, full of recommendations for how to ‘market myself online,’ ‘create a buzz,’ ‘sell my brand.’ Okay, this is actually happening. I’m going to have a book to sell. I’m going to get to talk to people about it, hear their comments, participate in discussion. My book has issues (not the kind of ‘issues’ that your high school friends had or that make you want to run and hide from the drama.) No, these are issues that I hope make people think, ask questions – of me, their peers, themselves. Issues about what kind of society we want to live in and how that means we need to treat each other, especially those who are most vulnerable.
I guess the thing is that my characters have become such an important and integral part of my life that I’m chomping at the bit to share them, to see how they are going to do out there in the world. It’s a little like watching your kids go off to college or letting your dog off the leash at the dog park. It’s a tough place out there but hardly anything worthwhile is without risk. They are learning that and I guess, along with them, so am I.
Thanks, Heather. Speaking of early drafts and final copies...
This is the anticipation stage - my part of writing the novel is done and it’s all up to the publisher now. It’s the time when the book is poised to join the ranks of thousands of others competing for bookshelf space and I have no idea how it will measure up. It’s the time when the dream I’ve had for years to actually publish a book is coming to fruition and I know my life is going to change but I don’t know exactly how, or, more to the point, if I’m actually going to like it when it does.
There have been a number of moments along the way at which I could actually say ‘this is happening, it’s real.’ Signing the contract was a good one, getting that first advance check was another. I liked receiving the copy-edited version of my book, enjoyed the idea that someone besides my agent and editor was reading it even if it was their job to do so. I suppose galleys are next and I’m really looking forward to that – something tangible to hold in my hand, show friends and family (who are, of course, much less disbelieving than I am.)
What really got me thinking this week, though, was receiving the packet of materials from my publisher’s marketing department, full of recommendations for how to ‘market myself online,’ ‘create a buzz,’ ‘sell my brand.’ Okay, this is actually happening. I’m going to have a book to sell. I’m going to get to talk to people about it, hear their comments, participate in discussion. My book has issues (not the kind of ‘issues’ that your high school friends had or that make you want to run and hide from the drama.) No, these are issues that I hope make people think, ask questions – of me, their peers, themselves. Issues about what kind of society we want to live in and how that means we need to treat each other, especially those who are most vulnerable.
I guess the thing is that my characters have become such an important and integral part of my life that I’m chomping at the bit to share them, to see how they are going to do out there in the world. It’s a little like watching your kids go off to college or letting your dog off the leash at the dog park. It’s a tough place out there but hardly anything worthwhile is without risk. They are learning that and I guess, along with them, so am I.
