Last night, while we were out of town, a tanker exploded near the eastbound approaches to the Bay Bridge–yes, we’re talking about the infamous MacArthur Maze. The explosion has destroyed approaches to at least 3 eastbound freeways, including one that I take all the time.
Wow.
Update: more Wow…a citizen’s youtube video of the fire.
Filed under The World
Superleggero means “Superlight”–in the realm of cars, superlight ain’t bad. It’s terrific.
The novel is widely regarded as the most desirable (and publishable) format of writing, at least for fiction. Ask a literary agent what she thinks of short story collections, and she’s likely to answer, “Whenever someone presents me with a short story collection, I ask if they can write a novel instead,” adding “Short stories just don’t sell.” (They don’t. A novel is considered a “best seller” when 5,000 copies are sold…a short story collection is considered a best seller if it sells 2,000 copies).
Additionally, the short story collections that do get published are with the understanding that the writer tackle and write a novel as a followup–take Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake and Daniel Alarcon’s Lost City Radio, for starters. Jhumpa Lahiri proved that she is a much better short story writer, and yet she’s pressured to write a novel–the Holy Grail of published writers. At the end of the fiction finish line is: The novel, the novel, the novel, the novel. The novel!!!
I started, as so many fiction writers have, with writing short stories. Being in an MFA program also encourages the short story format; writing workshops are just so much friendlier to nurturing short stories. Yet, the novel is the penultimate product for a writer, despite this lack of support or scaffolding for the learning writer. So it is that many of us make the leap across the chasm, with great hope and few tools. It’s what we have been taught to aim for: The Novel. So for the last couple of years, I have been writing a novel.
But recent developments have made me unable to even look at my novel, let alone write my novel. In addition, reading novels is an entirely different sort of exercise for me now, as my cognitive skills return in different form and/or return slowly. So what have I been doing?
In addition to memoir and nonfiction, I have been reading short stories, and slowly returning to the realm of fiction through beginning attempts at short story writing. The short story has regained prominence in my writing life these days…and I wonder, “Do I really want to work on my novel?” Should I change my thesis from my novel to a collection of short stories?
Elsewhere, others are documenting their 10 Favorite Short Stories–it has awakened my thinkings about the short story genre. It has encouraged me to read more short stories; today I read Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” courtesy of Literary Kitten’s Short Story Challenge. The story was amazing–I read it in the backseat of my car on a longish roadtrip today, in an eerie reflection of the short story’s similar setting. It pierced my psyche in all sorts of ways, this rich nugget of literature.
And yes, sometimes I remember the amuse bouche (short story) of an elegant and extraordinary 12 course meal more than I remember the entree (novel).
In the course of this “10 Favorite Short Stories” meme, someone (and I can’t remember who it was–so if you know who it was, please let me know so I can credit her (I’m pretty sure the person was a woman) properly) observed that the selection of the participants’ “10 Favorite Short Stories” has been incredibly diverse (as opposed to how a 10 favorite novels survey might come out). She concluded that short stories must pierce the psyche like no novel can, resulting in such a wide variety of choices.
Of course, this leads me to the observation of one of my writing professors/mentors, a poet and short story writer himself, during my first semester as an MFA student. “There’s nothing wrong with short stories you know,” he said with great weariness at the pressures of publishing. We all nodded blankly, our eyes focused past his shoulder on the novelistic horizon.
Now, nearly three years later, I think, “He’s right.”
Filed under Publishing, Reading, The Stroke, Writing
(Note: I didn’t expect to win a 3rd Thinking Blogger Award–I had to go google for the French word for “three” (it’s “trois” fyi and if it isn’t obvious by now, I speak very very very very very little French)–if I had known that there would be a third round of these awards, I would have picked a language I know, like Spanish! Or Korean, but then YOU would have been googling for the meaning of “dool” and “saet”)
Anyway, onward: I have been awarded another Thinking Blogger Award!
This falls on the heels of my 2nd award and my first award–I purposely leave you links to those rounds, because I pointed to some very worthy blogs.
I have to say–I’m surprised! Thank you to the Kellementology blog! Your award comes at a particularly pitiful moment in my life, and I gobble this award up with great joy. I’m glad my writing means something to others.
And now I must, in turn, award 5 other blogs an award (and moving forward: each of my awardees must now award 5 other blogs. Don’t forget to include the link to the Original Thinking Blogger Award post).
Here they are, in no particular order:
Now–go forth and MULTIPLY!
Filed under Memes
My little darling dog is wriggling and running around again. She is a bit gimpy, but very much herself again.
These days, I’m reading Floyd Skloot’s In the Shadow of Memory, a book that Barking Kitten recommended to me–the book is a memoir of his life after an illness attacked his brain and left him with cognitive deficits. It’s amazing to read the book, seeing a mirror of my life in his words! I now read his book with a pen in hand, underlining passages that speak for me–the ways in which his writing process has changed, the ways in which his emotions now run amock, the ways in which he forgets things, the ways in which he hides his deficits, the ways in which his aphasia occur. He is so spot on!
I wish I had read his book earlier in my recovery, but of course, earlier in my recovery I couldn’t read very much–still, months later, the book and his words give me incredible comfort and reassurance and hope. His work also gives me perspective on my own recovery (which admittedly, is way more rapid than Skloot’s). It continues to be a mirror–in that I’m watching a writer try to recover his brain and writing.
Likewise, I realize I have a mirror in my doggie, who was paralyzed, had spinal surgery, and is now recovering. She came home walking, suffered a few days, and then turned a corner towards wellness. She went off her medications earlier this week, and day by day, her personality has been returning to her previously sweet and feisty (yes, you can be both) self.
Watching her recovery gives me a window into my own process–her personality was diminished by her injury and by the pain, much like I was diminished by the stroke in the early days. Then she fought, and her personality and spirit has returned, her progress taking steps forward.
I believe my doggie will return. I believe things will get better. All I have to do is wait and love.
Filed under Life, SuddenDeath, The Stroke
I read my bloglines subscriptions everyday. Yes, it’s an obsession of mine to read blogs, and I’m not satisfied until the “unread” blogs on bloglines indicates: 0. It takes awhile, I’ve got 143 feeds–I try to keep it under control, I unsubscribe to blogs now and then, and others I merely peruse…but still, it’s my way of keeping connected to the world, much like this blog is a way for me to be connected to people, to you.
Today, I discovered that two people, Nova over at distraction no.99 and Elizabeth of Fluent, posted about their dreams. It’s as if last night was a dream nexus for writers.
I read their dreams with great wistfulness and interest. Hrm. Wait. Why was I so wistful? Then I realized–I haven’t had a dream in weeks and weeks…maybe even months.
Oh boy.
My dreams have often been a way for me to connect with my creativity and imagination. In fact, so important have my dreams been that I have a category called “Dreams” for blog posts having to do with my dreaming.
What does it mean that I don’t remember my dreams (I doubt that I don’t dream–but could it be possible that I’m not dreaming anymore)? And is this a facet of my very sluggish imagination? Did my stroke have anything to do with this absence of dreams?
Filed under Dreams, The Stroke, Writing
yes i know. this blog reads like an awful tragedy, without any bright points, and i write in it with great fear that it will turn into a platform for utter self-absorption. and really, how can it be at all entertaining? but alas, it is my life right now.
i will look for a bright point to post on as soon as i can.
Filed under Life, Miscellaneous
i have had enough of phases–tragedy broken down into palatable steps. The grieving process and its phases after my stroke, and now the grieving process after a death in the family. Denial, bargaining, anger, depression…these steps are just small bites of eating horrid news and experiences.
So horrid would these experiences be, if they were to be swallowed all at once, that they could kill us, I think. I have had enough of grief, and I wonder if I would rather just swallow it whole–but it does not happen that way, the grief has a strange mercy and visits us in doses, hiding its bitter pills from my grasp.
So we eat the poison in little steps, barely palatable, with the hope that they will make us stronger and more immune and more learned about stuff we would rather never get to know. There is no manual, and everyday lies like mystery–the grandest novel of all.
Today is the end of sheloshim. It is now a month after we buried her, according to the Jewish calendar, and today we put a stage of our grieving past us. The men shave their beards, and we step into another phase, one that carries us gradually and further back into life. The prayers are said, the yarzheit memorial candles are lit, and a path is lit before us.
And even though it is supposed to be the end of this kind of mourning, and we are supposed to move towards remembrance and not grief, I am so very sad today.
I am sick of phases–they are just a part of something very long and difficult. And I am just not up for that today–I can barely breathe from the difficulty. The candles are just outside this room, in the hallway, casting shadows in the middle of a sunny day–even the light contains so much darkness.
When will this end?
And why does the end of sheloshim hurt so very much? We had looked forward to this day as a lifting–but instead, we are dumbstruck by the pain. And from what? From letting go? From remembering? What?
Filed under Life, SuddenDeath, The Stroke
