litmag etiquette–courtesy is a two way street

<RANT>

I know that litmags demand a certain amount of courtesy from writers who submit work; whether this is courtesy in the form of addressing the editor by name (as opposed to the thoughtless “Dear Editor” or “To Whom It May Concern”) or in the form of standard formatting (Times New Roman, 12 pt font, inch margins, numbered pages, etc.), there is an expected etiquette in the realm of literary submissions.

THAT SAID–I have had my taste of strange (or lack thereof) etiquette in return from litmags lately. Most litmags are not guilty of this, but I still find it odd that the establishment (and yes, it’s an establishment) of litmags won’t return courtesies…

Earlier this year, during the holidays, I got quite a few letters from litmags asking me to donate. I shrugged.

There is one litmag to which I will donate, and that is ZYZZYVA and its editor, Howard Junker. He opened the door to my writing career, and for that I am always indebted, and for that ZYZZYVA will always be first in line (okay, maybe when Haiti has an apocalyptic earthquake, they get my money first). This is all to say that I’m no stranger to donations.

But when a litmag that has rejected me multiple times with curt letters (nay, I wouldn’t even call them “letters”–more like a sentence or two, which technically isn’t even a paragraph), asks me to donate, it leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. And before you think I’m anti-litmag, I’ll let you know that I’m the fiction editor at a litmag that runs on a shoestring budget. I’m pro-litmag, and pro-donation-to-litmags.  Writers should read, donate, and subscribe, to literary magazines.

My friend who used to work at one of the litmags that sent out the letters protested when I said the donation queries disgusted me. She defended the litmags saying they need the money, and we should give money without thought to our personal experience with being rejected. True, I told her, true. We *should* give even if we were rejected by the litmag.

But out of *courtesy*, why can’t the litmag figure out a different form letter to send those whose work had been rejected? Just a touch of courtesy might pierce my scarred, cold heart. To that, my friend agreed. That would be a nice touch.

My other pet peeve these days have to do with litmag contests. Specifically, my pet peeve is about litmag contests that don’t bother to notify the losers entrants whose work didn’t win.

I entered two litmag contests months ago recently. I did it on whim–knowing I probably wouldn’t win. In the past, my work has been named a finalist, a couple of times in various contests. (Many, many other times, my work has lost). I’ve noticed in the past that litmag contests sometime fail to notify everyone of the winners, and to notify folks who didn’t win, that they didn’t win. I thought to myself, “Huh. Maybe the letter got lost in the mail.”

But I’m beginning to notice this as a trend. There is no such indication in the contest submission instructions that winners will be announced on a particular website (implying no notification otherwise)–so there’s no way to think you won’t be notified personally.

Zoetrope’s Fiction Contest clearly states that winners are announced on its website, and that’s fine by me. And the venerable Glimmertrain with its multiple contests, always manages to notify its writers (winners, finalists, honorable mentions, and outright rejections alike) in an organized manner.

But when litmags don’t state how entrants will be notified, I assume I’ll be notified either by email or by postal letter note. Both The Missouri Review Editors Prize and The Mississippi Review Prize posted the winning writers on their websites, but didn’t notify entrants.

I’ve gotten used to the 2 inch x 4 inch xeroxed rejection slips sent to me in the postal mail. In fact, I’m so used to it that when I see a handwritten note scrawled on a rejection slip with a six-word-long encouragement, I get quite excited. I’ve gotten used to the one sentence rejection emails. I’ve gotten so used to the rejection form letters that have been xeroxed over and over again so that my copy is barely readable, that I am not offended at all. I understand that there is a balance of power, here, and that as a writer I don’t have much power at all.

I would not be kvetching if etiquette and courtesy weren’t such a priority expectation in the litmag world, but it is something that litmags expect out of writers. Shouldn’t we writers expect the same in return? Even if one sentence long, shouldn’t writers get the courtesy of notification? Even if a different form letter, shouldn’t writers get the courtesy of an acknowledgment that their work has been rejected, but they’re still being queried for a donation?

</RANT>

Revving up for revision

I am not one for going into situations unprepared. I love to plan–I have backup plans, and backup-to-the-backup-plans. When I teach, I make sure to have at least two backup lesson plans, if not three backup plans, plus a sure-fire, “fun” lesson plan in my back pocket for the occasion where students might not respond to anything I throw at them. (p.s. this only extends to my “work”–when I’m on vacation, I go without nary a list of things to do or schedule!)

Still, I plan in order to gain a sense of security, despite knowing that plans do not cover all bases–because I know that once I enter my classroom, I’m walking that high wire without a net. If I don’t listen to my students, and don’t think on my feet in response, there is no way any sort of plan will save me from rebellion. Oftentimes, I deviate from plan with verve. So much of teaching is intuitive.

My friend Elizabeth tweeted the following link detailing Zadie Smith’s lesson on craft: Are you a macro planner or a micro manager in your writing? Intrigued by these two approaches to writing a novel draft, I clicked.

According to the summary of Zadie Smith’s craft lecture, I’m a macro planner, someone who organizes everything in advance–so much so, that I can start writing from anywhere in the novel (at a certain point, I started skipping around with my chapter-writing, because I had such a clear vision of my structure). At first I ventured out without a plan at all, and then swam back to shore, before I drew up a plan that finally got me across the finish line.

Micro managers do not start with a grand plan, their novels only existing “in the present moment,” written from the beginning to the last word, not knowing what the ending will be until she gets there. (Not me. Might be you?)

Still, like my teaching, so much of my novel writing is intuitive. While I have a clear idea of structure and have an outline, at a certain point in the story, my novel tells me what to do. My characters rebel against my dictatorship and go on strike resisting what I tell them to do until I let them do what they need to do; for example, if they’ve been miserable, I have to let them do something fun. There’s a lot of negotiation going on–and it is at that point of the novel, where I begin to experience a lot more joy in my writing.

This is all to say that..I’m gathering together a sort of plan before I start my revision. I’m a plan-in-advance kind of girl, one who, after a certain point, is more than willing to throw away her plans and go off intuition….but in general, I really do need a plan to start. And this is all new. So I’m feeling freaked out. One of my writing mentors told me that the “real writing” occurs in revision and that too, is freaking me out, because the first draft was hard enough to achieve.

(Also freaking me out is how a Famous-Writer-who-has-won-many-prestigious-awards told me he never revises–he just writes the novel from scratch). But I will ignore that. I will.

Here are things I know to do:

1. I’ve printed my manuscript out, in hardcopy.
2. I need a pen–to mark up the manuscript, and to jot down things like continuity errors in a notebook.
3. A deadline. (I hear a novel can take 2 weeks to revise–others say a month? Spring is busy for me, so I’ll be taking longer than 2 weeks to revise).
4. I’ll read the manuscript all the way through. I’ll indicate sections that are good, sections that need work.
5. Definitely mark sections that seem expository and go back and provide details.
6. I’ll examine character/s: do they each have a purpose for being in the story? Do they make their exits and entries in a sensical way? If they change, is there a sensical reason for their change?
7. I’ll examine theme/story: I don’t have to resolve every single conflict/mystery, but are most of them resolved by the end of the novel?
8. Does each scene matter? Are there are least three reasons for the scene to exist?
9. Examine language closely. Do the characters speak in consistent ways throughout? Is the narration unique, free of clichés…? Are their vivid verbs and nouns?
10. Mark BIG continuity errors in the notebook or with a different colored pen. (i.e., make sure the character lives in the same place throughout–that the building is the same)
11. Where does the story drag? That’s where my writing’s flat.
12. Where does the story move too quickly?
13. To be continued….

My novel manuscript awaits my return, sitting in an envelope. Soon, soon, soon!

Ne’er before mentioned…

I have been tagged by Contemporary Troubador to list seven things I haven’t mentioned previously on my blog…

1. I sometimes think about writing my next novel before I’ve finished the current one.
2. I definitely have a structure in mind for the next novel.
3. My goal in 2010 is to increase my running distance.
4. If my running brings about ten pounds weight loss, even better.
5. My brother is getting married in a couple of weeks.
6. I am scared of the novel revision process.
7. I think I have spy tendencies.

Offending Family

I was in tears over a piece of writing, and it wasn’t because of a poorly written manuscript or because it had been panned. In fact, the few people I’d sent this essay to read/preview/critique were excited and touched by the essay.

I was in tears because my family wasn’t happy with the essay, a personal piece about one particular in-law, someone who passed away in the last few years. I’d sent copies to get their blessing, assuming I’d receive the same kind of support I’d received from writer friends, but when I got the email saying, in so many words, that it was not a good idea to publish the piece, I felt destroyed. They asked for a few changes, but all I heard was “No no no no no no no….”

I hadn’t written anything derogatory–it’s just that they didn’t want family to be mentioned in my writing whatsoever. As a member of the family, I felt deeply hurt because I didn’t know what could be so wrong about a tribute to my relationship with that person; in fact, I felt that I was not being allowed to grieve, and display my grieving, in my unique way. At the same time, I understood their desire for 100% privacy, given circumstances. But as a writer, I felt censored, my creativity stifled.

A “good girl” at heart, someone rule-driven and eager for the approval and acceptance of others, I felt demonic for wanting to express myself. A writer, I hated the “good girl” for allowing myself to consider censorship for the good of the family and to the detriment of my work.

How did I deal with this internal conflict? I sat in the car in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s and cried, my sobbing breaths fogging up the car windows. Eventually the “good girl” and “the writer” working together, got me to call a friend intimately familiar with the conflict of artist/family expectations (her book pissed off her family), who texted me back with what I needed to hear: permission, for the “good girl” to allow the writer to thrive. She told me to go for it–to make some concessions, but to try to get the work out there.

So I’m putting the piece out there. (In the end, my family said it would be okay so long as I left out names). I know this will not be the last time my writing might conflict with family comfort levels, but maybe someday, I won’t have to call someone to give the writer in me, permission, to go go go.

And maybe maybe maybe, someday my in-laws will understand what it means for me to be a writer.

2009 good things

There were plenty of bad things in 2009 out in the world (need I explain what they were?), and the bulk of my friends rang in 2010 with great anticipation and relief. But in the realm of things, I still don’t think my 2009 could be worse than my 2007 (the year that is now the marker for “the worst year of my life,” what with my stroke, inability to write, inability to read, my mother-in-law’s sudden death, and other things that are more private and painful). In fact, 2009 was pretty okay, despite its financial nadir.

Here are some things about 2009 that make me proud, make me happy, make me smile:

• New York, where I had some of the best days of my life.
• Many excellent books like 2666 by Bolaño, The History of Love by Nicole Krauss, Big Machine by Victor LaValle, Lullaby by Palahniuk, and The Road by Cormac McCarthy
• One of my stories was a finalist for an award!
• An awesome road trip to Yellowstone (and back)
• Despite my many travels, and my deep love for New York City, I still found my moments of deep love for Berkeley
• Perched on a rock, I watched kokanee salmon spawning in a Sierra stream.
• Fun with The Alphabet Meme–writing prompts that stirred me out of slumps multiple times, and prompts that brought up sometimes long-lost memories and sensations.
• Despite my writing ups and downs (mostly downs) and so many litmag rejections, despite (and because of) being laid off from my job, leaving me scrambling…despite the stroke, which set back my writing for two years….this year I finished my novel manuscript, possibly the biggest achievement of the year.
• I started teaching community college English…and I LOVE it.
• I started a running regimen; having never been able to run faster than 4.0 mph for more than 5 minutes at a time without gasping, I can now run 20+ minutes at 5.2 mph without gasping. Running and writing a novel are, for me, inextricably linked.
• I finally lost the 10 pounds I gained in 2008.
• I went “off” chocolate.
• Friends, family, laughter, wiener dogs.

And last but not least–in the wake of the catastrophic earthquake in Haiti…I urge you to help your fellow humans and send money to the Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, Partners in Health, etc., so that we can bring the people of Haiti, aid. Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere–unlike Hurricane Katrina or the earthquake in Sichuan, this earthquake is impacting their entire country and infrastructure…they will be suffering for quite some time. I hold back tears every time I turn on CNN to watch the news updates…but there need not be tears of helplessness.

For those who would rather buy, or would like to, additionally, buy a cupcake to benefit Haiti…my friend Samin is holding a bakesale for Haiti on January 23, from 10am-2pm at several locations in the bay area: Pizzaiolo in Oakland (and Pizzaiolo is donating 100% of proceeds from its baked goods sale that day to the cause)….Gioia’s Pizzeria in Berkeley and Bi-Rite Market in San Francisco.

2009 sucked in a lot of ways–but let’s start 2010 with good karma and help those who need us.

3 years later

I repeat my tweet today from Tahoe:

“I FINISHED the 1st draft of my novel–and on the 3rd anniversary of my stroke that left me unable 2 write fiction for a year, no less. “

It feels very bizarre to be done with my novel first draft, but in a good way.  Now, on to revision (and revision and revision)!

Balancing Act from Writerland

In the news I read that fewer people are having babies these days thus ending a baby boom, even though I greet that news with great disbelief. This year and last year was full of newborn babies in my life, and friends celebrating motherhood for the first and in many cases, the second time (and third!) time. Along with the baby announcements have been tweets and blog posts about their struggles to balance writing with their new children.

There was one blog to which a friend pointed me that actually advised mothers to prioritize their writing to an extreme: the writer said one should NOT go to their children’s activities, and work on their manuscript instead.  My friend (a new mother) and I whispered (if one can whisper on twitter) that just seemed a bit extreme.  (The writer also suggested other extreme items, which I have blocked out from memory, they were harsh enough for me to wonder why it was the writer had children in the first place–children are not pets that can be crated, people!).  But that still begs the question–how to do it? How to balance writing with children?

I asked my friend Meghan who blogs at Writerland, that very question…and she has graciously obliged me with a guest blog post:

People ask me whether I have time to write with two kids—one who just turned two and the other only three months. The answer is, “Yes, but …” Yes, but only while someone else is taking care of them (i.e. I’m paying someone else to take care of them) or after they go to bed. I’m fortunate this time around because my newborn is already sleeping through the night. So after 8 p.m. I’m “free.” Free to eat dinner, wash the dishes, fold the laundry, pay my bills, check my e-mail, catch up on editing, etc. etc. etc.

So I find myself staying up late at night, usually until 12 or 1 a.m., and then getting up at 8 and feeling semi-tired all day. But there is time to write. It’s just compressed time, which means I need to be more disciplined than ever. If I want to accomplish anything, I can’t spend my time e-mailing, reading blogs, and Twittering. I can’t go the gym, have lunch with friends, or watch TV. If I do, I don’t write. Or I don’t sleep. And then I get sick. Which I did two weeks ago.

Unfortunately, the fact that I’ve completed my first book and am trying to get it published makes me feel justified in spending all my time online rather than putting words on the page. I’m itching to start a new project, but I don’t want to be one of those writers who has several unpublished books lying around, so I’m trying to focus on getting my first book out there instead. I wish I had time to do both—to use the social media tools to their fullest extent AND write AND exercise AND spend time with my kids … but I don’t.

Writing with little kids is all about choices. It’s about running instead of going to a yoga class because it saves me time. It’s about sharing my kids’ attention with a nanny and being okay with my son accidentally calling me “Dolores” from time to time. It’s about forking out a lot of money each week in order to buy myself the freedom to write, which is a tough choice when I’m making so little money from my writing. It’s about spending my evenings on my laptop instead of curled up on the couch watching a movie with my husband. It’s about being tired most of the time. Is it possible? Yes. Is it hard? Hell yes!

Yiyun Li, who was my thesis advisor in the Mills College MFA program, said she once heard that a writer’s career is delayed by two years for every kid she has, and she agreed. I agree, too. But when I look at my son’s sparkling blue eyes when he giggles with delight at being tickled, or when my baby girl smiles when she sees my face, I figure it’s worth it. Like the Peace Corps motto, parenting is the toughest job you’ll ever love. I think that’s true of writing, too. Combine them and you’ve got two tough jobs to love—double the work and double the pleasure.

Rejected

I once wrote a short story and titled it “Rejected.” It got rejected a kazillion times. I thought to myself, “Perhaps that’s not such a good title for a short story.” I changed the story title, and…it still got rejected a kazillion more times, until I retired it.

Retirement meaning: I forgot about it. It’s gathering dust in my hard drive. What the hell do writers do with stories that never ever get published? I feel like I should have some sort of burial ceremony. For every story of mine that’s been published, there exist at least a few more that will forever be wallflowers, never asked to dance, lingering on the sidelines. Poor dears.

So in a sense, there are quite a few stories I’ve written whose titles are unofficially, “Rejected.”

My friend at Writerland wrote a post titled (and about) “Dealing With Rejection”. It is a timely post, at least for me, because even though I’m always dealing with rejection as a writer, this week has been especially tough on my psyche.

I don’t deal with rejection well. My first short story was published in ZYZZYVA a few years ago in the early 2000s. But here’s the thing: the published story was written eight years prior. I didn’t submit it anywhere other than ZYZZYVA–it took me eight years to send it out, because I couldn’t deal with the thought of being rejected.

After that acceptance (what a bluebird! It was the only place I’d sent my work), I was buoyed, and sent my stories out. I have since been rejected hundreds of times. It’s awful. Sometimes, I brush a rejection off. Other times, I want to burrow under the covers and stay there for weeks. I’ve been driven to suicidal thoughts, I’ve thought of giving up. But I’ve kept on going.

I’ve kept on going with my writing, not because of any special coping device, but simply because there’s nothing I’d rather do than write. Even if I feel that I only produce mediocre, trite writing…it’s still all I’d rather do, and the thought of a life without writing drives me to dark insanity.

I deal with rejection in both healthy and unhealthy ways:

• I feel sorry for myself. I wallow in self pity. I question myself. I become imbued with self doubt.
• I go for a run. Hell, if my psyche’s suffering, then I should do something good for my body. Besides, endorphins are real.
• I go for a walk, especially on a beautiful day like today–a late autumn day with golden light and a chill that requires a warm jacket. It’s peaceful.
• I eat an entire bag of chips. Sometimes it’s Doritos, lately it’s Pirate’s Booty.
• I used to eat chocolate, but I’ve been “off” chocolate for over a month now (resulting in weight loss, but that’s a different story). But you know–emergencies require chocolate.
• I will email a good friend to tell her how awful I feel.
• I will tweet my misery.
• I will call writer friends to vent.
• I will read a good book (right now I’m reading Victor LaValle’s Big Machine–it’s good!).
• I will blog.
• Sometimes, I drink. Today, I added some vodka and cointreau to my pineapple juice. I’d have added a splash of grenadine but I couldn’t get the bottle open, because it was glued shut with sugar. That kind of gives you an idea of how often I drink (rarely).
• I’ll go see a movie, turn on the TV and veg out.
• In the growing season, I’ll go putter in my vegetable garden.
• And most recently, I’ve clung to this quote from Cormac McCarthy who in his WSJ interview said, “I’m not interested in writing short stories. Anything that doesn’t take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing.”

In sum, rejection is like heartbreak. There is only so much you can do, like running and commiserating with friends, to stave off the devastation of heartbreak…but in the end, you have to let the devastation wash over you and run its course. The more in love you were, the greater the heartbreak. The more hope you had in a writing opportunity, the greater the impact of rejection.

Right now: I’m feeling the heartbreak. I’m making loved ones around me miserable. I’m miserable. If you’re not a writer, you won’t understand what it is I’m going through. If you’re a writer, then you, unfortunately, understand.

writing playlist

The other day, a friend asked me what’s on my iPod’s “writing playlist.” (If not in quiet, I write to two items on my iPod: Mozart’s Requiem…or my writing playlist). I promised her that I would share my playlist, which is as follows (in order):

1. Come to Me (Peace) –Mary J. Blige
2. Beautiful – Akon
3. Viva La Vida — Coldplay
4. Death — White Lies
5. Everybody’s Changing – Keane
6. Death and All His Friends – Coldplay
7. Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol
8. Fix You – Coldplay
9. High – James Blunt
10. How to Save a Life – The Fray
11. Crack the Shutters – Snow Patrol
12. Somewhere Only We Know – Keane
13. Lovers in Japan/Reign of Love – Coldplay
14. In Your Eyes – Peter Gabriel
15. Med sud i eyrum – Sigur Ros
16. Sense of Touch – Mark Isham
17. Goodbye My Lover – James Blunt
18. This Woman’s Work – Maxwell
19. Hurt – Johnny Cash
20. Wuthering Heights – Kate Bush
21. Same Mistake – James Blunt
22. Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley
23. The Blower’s Daughter – Damien Rice
24. A Whiter Shade of Pale – Procol Harum
25. Breathe Me – Sia
26. Nothing Compares 2 U – Sinéad O’Connor
27. Life in Technicolor – Coldplay
28. Svefn-g-englar – Sigur Rós
29. Green Grass of Tunnel – Mum
30. Vid Spilum endalaust – Sigur Rós
31. Marl1 – Tsewer Beta
32. Alone in Kyoto – Air
33. One Perfect Sunrise – Orbital
34. Deep Blue Day – Brian Eno
35. Halcyon On On – Orbital
36. Adagio for Strings – Tiesto
37. Love U More – Sunscreem
38. Stay Down – Mary J. Blige
39. How to Be Dead – Snow Patrol

(Yes. I listen to James Blunt).
I have other playlists too, like an “upbeat” playlist to which I workout/jog/run. Because my writing playlist is chock full of emo music. And emo music is sucky for workouts.

i can’t hear you

I rarely talk about my stroke anymore, I am so determined to put it behind me. But occasionally, I’ll be reminded that I’m not exactly the same person I once was, and it takes me a little while to absorb that fact. Sure, we’re not the same person we were just 24 hours ago, because of all the things that happen to us in a day and all those things change us in tiny ways…but when you are changed by illness, especially at a younger age, there’s a sense that your life was…disrupted, that these changes don’t come about by normal process. Of course, illness is a part of life, but there’s an anger/discouragement attached to that…disruption.

I’ve been back to 99% with a few palpable differences for about a year now. A couple differences: I now like beer (I used to hate it), I have huge empathy with people who have learning disabilities, especially those who don’t have very visible/obvious disabilities.

Also–the stroke damaged my verbal/auditory short term memory the most. I had quite a few tests measuring brain functionality in the months following the stroke, and they all indicated an almost 100% loss of verbal learning. Over time, much of my brain function returned (the things I missed most and were glad to see back: being able to HAVE a short term memory..and my coping skills, so that I wouldn’t break down and cry or fly into a rage at every insult or setback). Apparently, the thalamus helps with coping mechanisms.

But these days, my verbal short term memory is still very nearly absent. I am not an auditory learner. I took a test alongside my students trying to figure out if we’re 1) auditory learners, 2) visual learners, or 3) kinesthetic learners. Many of the students came out in some sort of combination, with no one single learning style dominating. But when we shared our scores, everyone was surprised: I had nearly zero auditory learning capability. What I had suspected was confirmed.

That means–if you introduce yourself to me, and I don’t see your name written down (or quickly figure out a visual mneumonic device like “Robert is wearing a red scarf. R for Robert. R for Red. Robert. Robert. Robert. RED SCARF!….what was his name? Red scarf?”), it is nearly impossible for me to remember you. This was painfully obvious to me at a literary reading the other night when the other writers and I introduced ourselves to each other in a noisy room. I had to ask them several times what their names were, and still struggled. (The next day, when our group picture was published on the web, with our names written down underneath, I learned their names immediately–precisely because it was all visually enabled learning).

Now, some of you may think this is completely normal, and it may still fall within normal range–but for me, this is a CHANGE from who I used to be. I used to remember names like a wizard. (Now that I teach, I take the student roster and read it over and over again and over and over again so that I can memorize student names within 2-3 classes. It’s important to know people’s names).

At the reading, I stuck to the two other writers who were the kindest to me. I have learned that memory can also go through the emotional center/avenue of the brain–even in the day after my stroke when I was most addled, I remembered the name of my wonderful neurologist, and I couldn’t figure out why I remembered him and no one else. Two years later, my thoughtful primary care physician told me that I probably remembered him because he was kind, and his name was processed by the emotional center of the brain, bypassing normal avenues. Ahhh–and so to this day, if you are kind to me, I will probably remember your name even in a crowded room where your name isn’t written down.

Afterwards, a few Stegner Fellows introduced themselves. I asked for their names over and over–I still didn’t remember. Alas, there is no picture of them on the web with their names written underneath, so their names are now lost to me.

I have always favored one on one interaction over group interaction, but these days I avoid group interaction because it reminds me of the ways in which I struggle.

This deficit has helped me as a teacher, because I try to engage all learning styles: I will write things on the board, read what I’ve put on the board, I will pass out handouts, and then read what’s on the handout. I will put students in small groups, and have them act out exercises. When there’s class discussion, I’ll write key words on the board. After small groups, students will write their answers up on the board. I try to incorporate auditory, visual, and kinesthetic learning styles in my classroom, and at the same time, tell my students that many other teachers will just lecture and expect them to take notes (and thus I teach them note taking skills). I understand what it’s like when a teacher makes you learn in a way that is impossible to you.

When the school year began, I enrolled in a workshop to learn about all the district’s teaching software. The instructor sat us in front of computers, gave us handouts, and then said, “Do NOT turn on the computers. Do NOT touch the computers! Don’t open the handouts! Just LISTEN TO ME.”

Oh.My.G*d. I wanted to scream. None of what he said was going into my brain. I wanted to take notes, because instinctively, that was a way to visualize what he was saying, but he chided me for writing on the handout that was not to be touched. I put down my pen and gave him a dirty look. I wanted to walk out of the room. I suddenly empathized with students who have behavioral problems, I was so frustrated with the situation and my own helplessness. I was furious. I sighed.

I raised my hand and asked, “I am not an auditory learner. Can you please put something up on the screen? Can I open the handout?”

He said no. I was so mad, I disregarded him from that moment on. I tuned out.

Acceptance. It’s hard. Friends tell me this loss of mental ability/memory is just old age–and it very well could be (is 36 old?), and many times, I do shrug it off. I’m grateful to be in the place I’m in now–to be able to write, to just be myself again, to experience life and all its details. But occasionally, like when I’m at a party and I can’t remember people’s names, and I feel like I’m coming off like an absent minded dork for not remembering when everyone else can…I’m reminded of who I am now.

Cheering from the bleachers: NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo, aka National Novel Writing Month is upon us. Several years ago, I heard about NaNoWriMo and signed up with enthusiasm; the idea of writing a novel within a months’ time was too tempting to disregard. It had been my dream (and still is) to write a novel.

I learned that NaNoWriMo isn’t for me. It was such an oppressive process (write 50,000 words in a month, nearly 2,000 words a day, without regard to quality) that I was driven into a six months long writers’ block afterwards, throughout the long winter of 2003-2004. I was miserable trying to keep up the pace, and I dropped out after a couple of weeks with a collection of words I can only describe as gobbledigook. (Over at Writerland, Meghan’s description of her NaNoWriMo book jibes with what I produced in those two weeks).

NaNoWriMo isn’t my process. I’ve been plugging away at this draft of the novel in earnest for nearly a year now, and I’m about two-thirds of the way through. I’m not editing as I go, but this is the speed at which I write, and my process doesn’t involve writing fifty thousand words in one month (p.s. my novel’s first draft is going to end up at around 100,000 words, double the NaNoWriMo goal).

I estimate that I will probably revise the draft at least five times, if not ten times, before I consider sending it out to an agent. And then after that, I estimate, I will have to revise the draft again (maybe another five times). This entire process will take years.

NaNoWriMo is a great exercise–but that’s exactly what it is: an exercise. For those of you who did sign up for NaNoWriMo, I cheer you on (wearing some of my many NaNoWriMo tshirts). And hope you get what you need out of it, whether you are a new mother re-engaging with her writing and using NaNoWriMo to kickstart that re-engagement, or someone who wants to get all the words down on the page.

And for the record: my friend Tayari Jones, the author of Leaving Atlanta and The Untelling, has a post up on why she doesn’t participate in NaNoWriMo. It’s well worth a read, whether or not you agree with her.

F is for Fall

F is for Fall. Every year, I wait for the sunlight to wane into pale yellow streaks that color a white wall ivory, for the evening temperatures to fall, to celebrate leaves that turn into fiery colors until they drop as if burnt to a crisp, and break out my scarves from the closet. Oh, Fall.

I’m creative during Fall. I like cooler weather…and perhaps because of my lifelong pattern of returning to academic studies in the Fall, my work ethic seems more honed. Or maybe it’s because I grew up a chubby child ashamed of her pudgy self, and prefer to wrap myself in clothing. I’m not a summer sort of person, I’m never comfortable in a swimsuit, I don’t like to tan, I don’t like the heat, I prefer to do summer activities like hiking in the Fall (Autumn is when the mosquitoes die–hooray!), and I don’t even like the long days.

Give me a sweater. A jacket. A scarf. Boots. A book. Ingredients for apple tarte tartin. Pumpkins. Cinnamon. A blanket. Fuzzy slippers. Hot tea. Give me Fall.

——

Joining Charlotte’s Web, The Contact Zone, Asiatic Fish, and Fog City Writer in working through the alphabet with short, memoir-like pieces. It’s called Alphabet: A History.

Previous letters:

• A is for Aub Zam Zam
• B is for Boys
• C is for Corpse
• D is for Dirty
• E is for Earthquake