My blog has moved! Please take a look at Meandering Mind for
more frequent updates. February 19, 2010 The end of February is in sight. This month has always been a hard one – long,
cold, gray days. We’re all tired of
winter and ready for spring, yet the snow keeps falling, the sky keeps pressing
down. We grow impatient, and so we take action,
propelling ourselves forward in a desperate attempt to escape inertia. Relationships end; relationships form; career
paths shift; trips are planned – all in a state of breathlessness. - Last week the sound system on my computer stopped
working, forcing me to dust off my stereo.
I’ve been rediscovering CDs that I listened to obsessively in
college. Ani DiFranco, Nick Drake, Belle
and Sebastian, Dar Williams. Dar, more
than anyone, was my Oberlin soundtrack. She celebrated my first romance and cradled me
through my first heartbreak. And my
second heartbreak. And my third. I no longer cry at the sad songs, but I do
still dance around to the bouncy ones. - Today I began discussing J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace
with my students. I always begin with a
brief lesson on apartheid, and every semester I’m surprised anew by how little
my students know about the subject.
History so quickly becomes ancient.
Sometimes I’m frightened by what our forgetfulness means, but then
again, maybe that’s just the natural order of living. February 8, 2010 Congratulations to my dear friends Dani and Rachel
Hummel-Sass on the birth of their beautiful daughter, Esme! I am so excited for them and wish I were in
San Francisco to help welcome their little girl in person. This past week has been one of newness – new
arrivals, new connections, new projects.
After struggling with my latest story for several days, I finally found
its rhythm. I feel as if I am starting
to be able to say the same thing about life in general. On Tuesday, as I walked from Battery Park to
the ferry, I looked at the sun on the water and realized that I was fully
present in the moment. I wasn’t worrying
about this or that or the other. I was
just seeing, just experiencing. Despite
my best intentions, I fear that still happens too seldom. J.D. Salinger seems as if he was a man who
understood the power of the present, of attending to the small details that
give life its richness, and its meaning.
Lillian Ross’ New Yorker
piece about Salinger is a sharp contrast to the Time’s obit, which I
linked to in my last entry. I prefer
Ross’ insights, which come from a place of much deeper understanding and
acceptance. January 28, 2010 This and That: Today the spring semester began. I headed across the water in swirling snow
and returned in bright sunshine. My
voice almost gave out while reading over the syllabus. I’ll have to get used to talking for long
stretches again. My birthday was last Thursday, and I celebrated with
a trip up the Empire State Building that night and a party at my apartment on
Sunday. The party was filled with
writers and book talk, and I woke up the next day with a new direction for a
story I’ve been working on. That’s the best
sort of birthday celebration – one that helps a birth of its own. Olena and I have found a new writing spot: Flying
Saucer Café on Atlantic Avenue. Good
music, plenty of electrical outlets, a fine selection of tea, and tables big
enough for both laptops and cups. Highly
recommended. J.D. Salinger
has died. I am really hoping
that none of his rumored notebooks make their way into publishers’ hands. We should show our gratitude for the gifts he
gave us by letting him rest in peace. January 15, 2010 The situation
in Haiti is hard to comprehend. We read detailed
news reports, watch harrowing footage, yet still the magnitude of tragedy is
difficult to absorb. We are left feeling
bereft and helpless. But we can do something. We need to do something. As human beings, it is our responsibility to
take action. In whatever way you can, please contribute. January 13, 2010 On Monday night I read at Franklin Park with Hannah
Tinti, Victoria Cho, Alexios Moore, and Jake Goldman. Thank you to everyone who came out! The energy was amazing. I read “Shadowland,” which was
published in PANK and is up for the
Pushcart. I get such a high from reading;
there’s nothing like receiving that immediate feedback from your audience. Be sure to check out Franklin Park’s February
event. The theme is Desperate New
Yorkers. I’ve started work on a new Big Project. I like having a clear sense of
direction. Everything else in life seems
less stressful when I know where I’m going with my writing. January 1, 2010 Happy New Year!
I celebrated with a case of insomnia that had me reading the New Yorker
at three o’clock in the morning. My
wakefulness was peaceful, though. The
apartment and the street were surprisingly quiet, and I gave in to
reflection. This morning I feel rested
and ready to embrace the beautiful unknown of this new decade. On Wednesday I returned from a ten day visit to
family in Ohio. My computer’s wireless
wasn’t working, and so I was kept away from the internet for the most
part. The isolation gave me time to
reboot. I found the stillness which I
had been seeking, and I rejoiced in the slow afternoons alone with tea and my
mother’s cat. Story ideas gathered, but
I didn’t rush to put them down on the page.
Now I’m back and falling into step with the hustle
and bustle of city life. Yesterday I
went to the Brooklyn Public Library and picked up my next random read for Wandering the Stacks, and
today I plan to give life to those incubating stories. On Monday, January 11th, I’ll be
reading at the Franklin Park
Reading Series. Check my News
page for more info. December 16, 2009 The final class has met, grades have been turned
in. The fall semester is officially
over! While I come up for air, I give
you the links below to peruse: The best
unread books of the decade – I’ve added several to my reading list. Back to the
Land – A beautiful And the Pursuit of Happiness Blog post on food
democracy and the slow food movement. The end of the
Kirkus Review – To a select few, including me in my former life as a
literary agency assistant, the Kirkus Review was a big deal. I’m sad to see it go. December 6, 2009 The fall semester is almost over. I feel the restlessness in my students, and
I’m restless, too. Once again I find
myself looking forward, evaluating what has worked and what has not,
considering possible future texts. But I’m
trying to fight this impulse to always be one or two or ten steps ahead. I’m trying to experience life in the moment. I’m searching for stillness. I have a friend who is away right now on a ten day
silent meditation retreat. She is
without email, without books, even without a journal and pen. Stripped of
outward resources and communication, she is forced to turn inward. As the days pass she will be taken deeper and
deeper into her silence; ultimately a new state of consciousness will be
reached. I find the idea both exciting
and terrifying. Left alone with only your thoughts, what would you
discover - about yourself and the world?
What revelations would be formed, what truths revealed? What fears would you be forced to face? I imagine surfaces cracking and falling away,
revealing a core that shimmers. A geode held
in the palm of the hand. November 23, 2009 Bits and Bobs: I spent yesterday afternoon writing at Root Hill
Café in Park Slope and finished the second draft of a new short story. I used to find writing in public venues
distracting, but I’ve grown to like the quiet camaraderie of all of us bent over
our laptops, focused on creation as empty coffee cups add up and Radiohead
plays in the background. Olena Jennings
and I have been meeting at the cafe every other Sunday for months, and I’ve
been amazed by how much I get done, how just having her sitting across the
table lends me the moral support to push forward. A dear friend of mine in Spain sent me this link
to an interview with Lydia Davis, one of my literary idols. I like Davis’ description of story writing: “An
idea will occur to me, one that I find amusing, and I will spin it out to its
logical conclusion, like working out a little problem.” On Thursday, December 10th, the Brooklyn
Food Coalition will be hosting a book party/six months of community organizing
celebration. If you’re in NYC and
concerned about creating a sustainable, just system of healthy, affordable food
for all Brooklynites, you should attend.
You can find out more info here. November 21, 2009 Emily St. John Mandel’s recent essay
in The Millions has me thinking about writing and nationality, or more
specifically, writing, nationality, and personal identity. I agree that categorizing authors primarily by
region is limiting and a little silly, although clearly a clever marketing
ploy. Great writing is great writing,
and should be viewed as such, no matter where the writer comes from. However, the following statement by Mandel gives
me pause: “I’ve come to realize that I would be more or less the same person if
I were a citizen of Britain, Australia, or just about any other
English-speaking country…More to the point, I don’t think I would be writing
very different novels if I had a different collection of passports.” Do I agree?
Would I be the same person if I were British or Canadian instead of
American? Or, for that matter, if I had been raised in New York instead of
Ohio? I don’t think so.
Nationality, or regionality, isn’t just about place. It’s about society and community, and all the
things that go with them - ethics, traditions, mores. I wasn’t only shaped by my parents or my
genetic predispositions. I was molded by
the town where I grew up, the children at my school, the values of my teachers. Many of those values I rebelled against, but
others I internalized, and my struggle to decide which to adhere to and which
to reject helped form the person I am. I
never felt like I “belonged” in my hometown; I never wanted to spend my life
there. Yet now, along with my Northeastern
Ohio accent, I carry with me certain Midwestern characteristics, and those
traits influence how I write and what I write about. Nationality, like gender or race, isn’t the best way
to categorize fiction. But it is
revealing and important nonetheless. November 11, 2009 I’m being featured in “Women in the Spotlight” on VegetarianWomen.com. Melissa asked some great questions, and I was
excited to have an opportunity to talk about both my writing and my
veganism. I practice conscious living; when making choices, I
consider the impact on the environment, other living creatures, and
society. To that end I do not consume animal
products or byproducts. I buy locally,
avoid anything processed or chemical, and eat whole and seasonal foods. I also reduce waste, recycle everything, and buy
most of my clothes at thrift stores. Every
day I take a long walk and listen to the rhythms of my body and the earth. For me, it’s a wonderful, peaceful way to
coexist. A few of my favorite vegan and conscious living
blogs include: November 7, 2009 Over the course of a semester, one or two students
disappear. Their loss is a given fact of
teaching. Some miss one class here, one
class there, until, slowly, they just stop coming. Others simply vanish. And a rare few feel compelled to say
good-bye. Those are the ones who don’t
want to leave. They come by your office
or ask you to step into the hall, and then, in agonizing detail, they tell you
their story. You hurt for them. As they fight back tears, you fight to maintain
a professional distance when all you want to do is wrap your arms around them
and never let go. The unfairness of life can be staggering. Bright, talented, dedicated students become
derailed due to health issues, family crises, financial problems, forces far
beyond their control. Eighteen year olds
who used to have every option suddenly see no way out. As a teacher, you notice the physical signs
first – the slumped shoulders, unkempt hair, shadows under the eyes. You try to help. You do everything you can to provide
encouragement. You wish you had the
answers and become angry because you don’t.
When they come to you to say good-bye, you tell them
to keep in touch. You say that you
believe in them and they’ll be back in school soon. In those last few moments, you do everything you
can to make a difference, even though you know that, in this case, what you can
do is not enough. October 30, 2009 My blog is now over a year old! Amazing.
Soon I’ll have to archive the older entries. Must think of the best way of
doing that. Any suggestions? I’m spending today home sick. I really hate sick days, but this one was
necessary, especially considering the emergency room visit last night. The need for national health care resonated
with me strongly as I curled up, in pain and weak and listless from
dehydration, and worried about the cost of calling for an ambulance. And I have
medical insurance, too. Luckily my roommate took over, getting me where I
needed to go. I was released around 2:30am, came back home and
crawled into bed. Now I’m slowly
recouping and reminding myself that listening to my body, giving myself time to
heal, and staying away from people while contagious are productive things to
do. My mind keeps racing over the other
tasks that could be getting done, though.
I’ll be very happy when I’m back at full force. In the meantime, I want to point you in the
direction of an eye-opening Times
series from earlier this week. Check out Running in
the Shadows and learn about hidden victims of the recession, the
increasing number of runaway children. October 21, 2009
Life
has been eventful lately: “Shadowland”
has been nominated for the Pushcart, too! My
short story “Myrtle
Avenue” is now up on Word Riot. I
spent Columbus Day weekend in Montreal among strange and interesting people,
having strange and interesting adventures, and wishing I knew French. I’ve been to Montreal three times now, and
each time I fall in love a little more.
On this trip I learned about BIXI, their public bike
system. Silver bikes are in stations set
up all around the city, and anyone over 14 can pay (either a 1 year or 30 day
subscription or a 24 hour fee) and go.
According to my friend, the city has not had trouble with stolen bikes
or vandalism. I wonder if such a system
could work in New York… On
Monday I attended the Franklin Park
Reading Series’ “Music and Mayhem” night. Readers included Sarah Rainone, who read as
one of her characters from Love Will
Tear Us Apart. She had
the audience laughing hysterically until the end, when we all were stunned into
sudden silence. Truly mesmerizing. I’ll be
reading at Franklin Park on Monday, January 11th. October 4, 2009
My short story “Hungerford Bridge” has been nominated
for the Pushcart Prize! I’m very excited.
I wrote the original draft when I was at Oberlin, freshly returned from
a semester in London. Many, many
revisions followed, and Forge published
the story last March. It’s a piece that
has all sorts of nostalgic connections for me, and so I’m especially grateful
to have it recognized. A few noteworthy links: Olena Jennings’ recent essay
in The Millions The New York Art
Book Fair in Long Island City this weekend October is the Vegan Month of Food! October 1, 2009
The first day of October…I’ve always found this
month to be one of great inspiration.
Something about the cold weather, the falling leaves, the darkening skies. Nature is preparing itself, expectant of the
next big step, and I find myself doing the same. I take my time in the mornings, sipping cup
after cup of tea. In the afternoons I
put on my corduroy jacket and go for long walks. I tend to want to be home in the evenings. I think about home a lot. I plan projects; I nest. I feel tender and accepting, and although I
love New York, I miss Ohio. These past few weeks have passed in an obsessive Incendia blur. It’s been fantastic, the sort of focus that
wakes you up at five-thirty in the morning with voices in your head and your
fingers itching for the keyboard. Now that
stillness has descended, I’m taking a moment to appreciate the silence,
anticipating what the next step might be. Looking ahead…My short story “Myrtle Avenue” is
scheduled to appear in the October Word Riot. I’ll post a link when it’s up. Looking further ahead…In January I’ll be reading at
the Franklin Park Reading Series
as part of a short fiction night. Date
and more info to come. September 16, 2009 Last weekend I went to the Brooklyn Book
Festival, a wonderful, free event of readings, panel discussions,
and vendors of a literary sort. The
festival is the perfect meeting ground for bibliophiles, so I wasn’t at all
surprised when I ran into friends from Columbia. Over lunch we talked about the panels we’d
attended, books, and our own work.
Writing is inherently a solitary act, but having a support system of
fellow writers, especially those at the same point in their careers, makes the
process much less isolating and somewhat less frustrating. Their camaraderie was just what I needed to
launch myself into this week of revisions. Yesterday I read The
Cement Garden by Ian McEwan. McEwan
is one of my writing gods. He has the unique
ability of placing us directly into the skulls of these fully realized,
strange, contradictory, occasionally menacing characters. What captivated me most about The Cement Garden is the erosion of normalcy into “evil.” Where and how is the line crossed? And who defines what that the line is? At its root, Incendia is about “evil” passions and whether or not those desires
should be given in to. I feel inspired
now to push my characters’ boundaries even further, to travel down still darker
paths and see what is revealed. In other, yet similar, news: Joyce Carol Oates discusses Shirley Jackson September 5, 2009 A week and a half into the fall semester, and I’m
loving the ferry ride to and from Staten Island. In a month or two, the commute will drag on
and on, but right now the weather is perfect and being on the water is still
exciting. Yesterday the trip home
coincided perfectly with the sunset over Manhattan - purple skies, majestic clouds,
shadowed boats passing with graceful purpose, the city lights just coming on. Nothing could be better. Such moments are imbued with unity as all the
variant parts of the city quietly come together to form a cohesive whole. A few links of interest: “Lost Cat” – an essay by
Mary Gaitskill in Granta. Be warned: you
will cry. Reading endangered?
Not on the subway. Oxfam
– good hearted charity or yet another big business putting down the literary little
man (and the British way of life)? Every year on my anniversary of moving to New York,
I take a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.
On Thursday, I marked five years.
I live near the bridge and cross it semi-regularly, although
I’ve learned to avoid the weekends, when tourists crowd the lanes and bikers
grow especially impatient. Usually I
walk fast, with somewhere “important” to go, even as I remember to raise my
eyes and appreciate the view. Occasionally after parties my friends and I will
decide to watch the sunrise from the center of the bridge. Those moments are breathtaking. Emotions raw from alcohol and sleep
deprivation, we’ll lean into each other and watch the city that we love - our
home by birth even if some of us didn’t arrive here for decades afterward -
slowly come into the light. On my anniversary, I go alone. I walk slowly. I stop and look Manhattan full in the
face. I inspect every detail of Brooklyn’s
skin. I gaze out at the Statue of
Liberty and think about all those who came before me, seeking refuge. Five years ago, New York City opened her arms
for me. I am so grateful to have been
pulled inside her embrace. The summer semester is now over, and I’m thinking
about fall. I’m looking forward to the ferry
ride to Staten Island, returning to my office, getting to know my new class
list and new classrooms. I love all the
promise that comes with the beginning of a term. I wonder if that excitement ever gets old, if
expectation fades over time. I hope
not. I don’t want teaching to become
mundane. But before the summer ends, I need to stick my toes
in the sand. I’m embarking on a brief
vacation. I’m not even taking my
computer. Instead I’m taking a notebook
and a pen. Back to the basics. August
4, 2009 My book review project, “Wandering the Stacks,” is
now up and running. You can read the
first review here
or by following the link on the Book Review page. I decided to move the reviews over to
blogspot in order to make the project more interactive. Let me know what you think! I began with Alice McDermott, but I will be
reviewing emerging and lesser known authors in the weeks to come. I welcome any and all suggestions - please
send them my way! August
3, 2009 As promised here
is the link to the WFUV broadcast about crime novels. Check out the other Fordham Conversations,
too. I’m a big fan of the station and
have it playing pretty much nonstop when I’m puttering around the apartment. August
1, 2009 I’m listening to a fascinating conversation on WFUV about serial killers, crime fiction, and the
making of monsters in our cultural ideology.
I’ll post the link to the program when it goes up. After much poking and prodding, I joined Twitter a little while
ago. At first I thought the entire
Twitter concept was rather silly, but I’ve been brought around to its
networking value. Add me if you do that
sort of thing. I update (no, I will not
say “tweet”) pretty regularly. As you may notice in my sidebar, I’ve created a Book
Review page. I’m going to come up with a
snazzier title and start posting reviews soon.
The inspiration came from my frequent trips to the Brooklyn Library, where I
like to wander the stacks and pick books at random. I’ve discovered some amazing authors this
way, and I want to tell you about them.
Also, if you have a book you’d like me to review, please drop me a line. Speaking of titles, I finally discarded the name Discomfort for Incendia. I like it, my
agent likes it. All is right in the
world. July
30, 2009 Last night we had a storm. I savored the wind through the window, the thunder,
the way time seemed to slow as I made another cup of tea, opened a book, curled
up and listened to the rain. July has almost finished. The summer session is in its second, less
stressful half, and I’ve completed the latest round of novel revisions. This weekend I plan long walks, people
watching, baking bread, getting back to the root of creativity. I’ve been thinking about short stories again. For some time I’ve been working in longer
forms and discovering much about myself as a writer through their scope, but
there’s magic in the brevity of a short story, incredible power in the slice of
life. I’m returning to my foundation and rereading Lydia
Davis, Mary Gaitskill, Lorrie Moore. And,
of course, Joyce Carol Oates. July 17, 2009 Titles are difficult for me. When I begin a project, a title usually
springs to mind right away, and I carry on with that name through plotting and
research, initial drafting and round after round of revision. I become attached, which makes perfect sense
when I’m thinking about the piece, conversing with the piece, worrying about
the piece all under the name given to it at birth. Unlike my feelings about most other aspects
of my writing, I never really doubt my title.
Until I hand it over to the outside world. Then I realize, or rather am shown, that my
title doesn’t actually make sense anymore. Discomfort
needs
a new name. I admit that the title was a
better match for the novel’s original concept and now seems understated and
just not that exciting. But I have
trouble thinking about the book in any other way. I can see where this or that title is more
appropriate, even snazzier, but Discomfort
is Discomfort. Just like I’m Courtney and you’re (fill in
the blank). I know that eventually I’ll find a better name and,
after a few weeks, will stop slipping up and using the old one. That’s what happened with Muscle and Bone (formerly Rowing Through Eden). But I don’t like this in-between phase. Uncertainty makes me antsy. July
8, 2009 I’ve been thinking lately about place, its role in
my writing and role in my life. Born in
Missouri and raised in Ohio, I have always felt a Midwestern girl at
heart. I have the wholesome look and the
stereotypical values – the golden rule, help your neighbor, strength in family,
the satisfaction of a hard day’s work – associated with the middle of the country,
although I combine them with a decidedly liberal worldview. In my writing, the rural Midwest used to be my predominate
setting. I might have started on the
coast or in the city, but eventually my characters found their way to
cornfields and bonfires, truck stops and desolate train tracks, ranch houses
cramped with memories and sprawling grocery stores on the edge of town. Over the past year, however, a shift has
occurred. Now when I write, I write
about New York, and when I write about New York, I write about Brooklyn. August will mark my fifth anniversary of moving to
the city, and I realize that I no longer am a Midwestern transplant. My roots are firmly planted and growing in
urban soil. Brooklyn has become my home,
and it’s a home that feels more like mine than any I’ve known before. And so of course I give this place to my
characters. We are learning about home
together. And yet…sometimes I do miss driving down those long,
open roads… July
3, 2009 Revising is a wonderful, horrible process. For the past week and a half, I’ve been obsessively
going through my novel. I love getting
lost in its world again. But I also have
been cutting and deleting and, in the words of a former professor, “killing
babies.” Sacrifices must be made for the
greater good, yet I ache for those sentences and paragraphs, even an entire
chapter or two, that just don’t fit anymore, especially when I was so proud to
have brought them into the world in the first place. Summer is slipping by. Next week I start teaching my July/August
course for incoming freshmen at CityTech.
This is my fourth year doing so, and I’m impressed by the way the program
has evolved in that time. We’re taking a
holistic, wide-lens approach, with emphasis on stimulating critical thinking,
encouraging creativity, and preparing students for college life both practically
and emotionally. I leave every faculty
meeting feeling inspired and wishing all schools had a program like this one. Today I’m meeting a friend and former Columbia
classmate for lunch at one of my favorite vegan restaurants, The V-Spot in Park Slope. The rest of the time I’ll spend killing more
babies. And maybe giving birth to a few
as well. June
21, 2009 Happy first official day of summer! Although it’s soggy and gray and cold in New York,
I’m assured that other places are dry and sunny and hot. A few links of interest: Better World
Books – “The online bookstore with a soul.” They buy and sell books to fund literary
initiatives around the globe. And their
shipping is carbon neutral! Food, Inc
– How does the industrial food system impact the way we eat, feel, work,
coexist? And how can we escape its
influence and reclaim our lives and our planet?
Check out the trailer for this film and then check your area for local
showings (in NYC, Film Forum and Beekman Theater). Ray Bradbury
supports his local library – Libraries across the country are in danger of
closing and need our help. Also, the Times plays matchmaker between Bradbury
and Bo Derek. June
19, 2009 Today is perfect walking weather – a speckle of
clouds, a cool breeze but warm enough for bare arms and legs. I wandered over to Prospect Park this morning,
and my mind unhinged in all the right places, as it often does when I’m in
motion, allowing me to swing free. The revisions have begun on Discomfort. I’m doing arson
research while Joni Mitchell sings to me, and I’m discovering that people of
all ages and genders and backgrounds set fire to things for any number of
reasons and the prices they pay are consistently inconsistent. When photos pop up, I examine the faces and
try to see my character inside these strangers’ eyes. I doubt that a crime exists that is not a crime of
passion in one way or another. What does that say about the rest of us? Are we more moral, more civilized, more sane? Or simply less passionate? June
7, 2009 Summer is waking up without an alarm clock, drinking
tea and eating strawberries in front of an open window, NPR in the background, a
late morning shower, wearing a bright pink sundress and flower earrings, wandering
down Brooklyn streets, greeting strangers with “beautiful day,” spending hours
inside the cool recesses of the library, taking your new book into the park, choosing
a bench next to the water, and forgetting all about time as the afternoon opens
up to you and your imagination. June
3, 2009 The past two and a half weeks have included the end
of the spring semester, a six day visit to the family in Ohio, hard work on editing
projects, and the completion of the second draft of Discomfort. Very busy, but the sort of productivity I
like. I was disturbed to read about the closing of
Morningside Bookshop near Columbia.
The store was a favorite of mine during my grad school days. I remember coming from Ohio to look at
Columbia the summer before classes started and being so impressed by this wonderful,
personable independent bookstore; it made me think that yes, I would be all
right in this big, strange city after all.
Apparently the shop may still be
saved, but the likelihood seems doubtful. I was despairing at death of independent bookstores
in New York, but then I read about the opening of Greenlight
Bookstore in Fort Greene.
Hope remains, at least in Brooklyn! Because we do have a choice and can take control of
our health and our lives… May
9, 2009 When critics speak of the “golden age of the
American novel,” which some lament ended with Updike, where are the female
writers? Elaine Showalter’s insightful Guardian article
examines this question, the impact women writers have made and are making, and
why they have so often been overlooked or placed in a category apart from, and inferior
to, the men. May
6, 2009 I’ve finished the first draft of Discomfort. Now I’m taking a little break, working on a
few new projects, and gearing up for the onslaught of final papers that will be
coming my way next week. I’m fighting
very hard not to start revising yet. I
know I revise best with space between me and the work, and so I must wait. I must, I must, I must. Self-control is a good thing. In other news, the Brooklyn Food Conference last
weekend was a huge success. Being in one
place with hundreds of other food activists was incredibly inspiring. You can read more about the day’s eventshere and here.
Also, I need to tell you about the best applesauce
ever created. On Tuesdays the Staten
Island Ferry terminal hosts a tiny farmers market, where I regularly buy apples
and applesauce from Wilklow Orchards.
The sauce is thick, juicy, pure perfection. I did a little research online and found the
orchard’s website as well as a
day-on-the-farm blog. Look for them at the Greenmarket. You won’t be disappointed. April
25, 2009 My recent absence has been due to an insanely productive
period on Discomfort. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been
completely focused on the novel and haven’t had much time or space to think
about anything else. The results make me
very happy. Now I’m venturing out into
the world again. Today New York is
supposed to hit a high of 83. I’m
planning the Brooklyn Bontanic Garden,
which is in the middle of their cherry blossom festival; the farmers market at Grand
Army Plaza; and reading Ian McEwan’s Black
Dogs in Prospect Park. Next Saturday is the Brooklyn Food Conference! Registration is open and free, and they’re
also looking for volunteers. I’m having
trouble deciding which workshops to attend.
Should I learn about hunger solutions in New York or how climate change
is impacting the world’s food supply?
Digital activism or fighting back against transnational food
corporations? Fair trade or race and the
food system? So many interesting, and
incredibly important, options. April
12, 2009 This
New York Times article gives insight
into Nicholas Hughes, the person, not Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes’ son, nor the
inevitable conclusion to their story. Although
I admit to the inherent romanticism of the situation and the attraction of tracing
lines of causation, even fate, I also think we’re well served to have a
reminder that children are not just the products of their parents. April
3, 2009 Go, Iowa! I have high hopes for you yet, Midwest. March
27, 2009 After a week of illness, I’m back to being
productive. At some point this weekend I need to get my hands on
Mary Gaitskill’s new short story collection. Gaitskill has long been one of my literary
idols. I love the beautiful rawness of
her writing, the unflinching complexity of her characters. She is able to get at that evasive something that is inherent in being human,
and it is ugly and uncomfortable, awful and soothing. Although I’ve enjoyed her novels, I think Gaitskill is
at her best with the short story. The form
suits her well with its attention to character over plot. I still shiver every time I read “Because They
Wanted To” and “The Girl on the Plane.” March
13, 2008 Apparently the National Endowment of the Art’s
literature director has vowed to eat
To Kill A Mockingbird if all the residents
of Kelleys Island, Ohio, do not complete the book in The Big Read. The Guardian
compares his promise to John Sutherland’s threat to eat The Enchantress of Florence if it didn’t win the Booker prize. A literary-gustatory trend? Whatever gets people reading… March
9, 2009 This weekend I received my contributor copy of
Issue 2.2 of Forge, which contains my
story “Hungerford Bridge.” The setting
is rare for me – not a Midwest story and not a New York story. “Hungerford Bride” is a London story. I first began writing it after four months of
living in Soho, right off Oxford Street.
Every revision returned me to that place and time, and now, reading over
the piece again, I feel highly nostalgic.
I need to get back there. March
7, 2009 Between teaching four days a week and working on Discomfort, my life has felt very busy
lately. I would like to just write and write
and write. However, other duties call, other
responsibilities have to be met. I try
to find a balance, but even when I am wearing my other hats, I still think about
Discomfort almost nonstop. I remember this phase with Muscle and Bone. The initial
birth. In frustration and in joy, no
other step in the process can compete. March
1, 2009 Here
is a very interesting Guardian series
in which writers provide commentary on their favorite paintings Also of note: Ian McEwan writes about John Updike An artist’s conceptualization
of our stats February
23, 2009 This weeks New
Yorker contains a fantastic profile of Ian McEwan. I recently finished Enduring Love and once again was amazed by McEwan’s ability to
capture his protagonist’s thought processes so completely. In Daniel Zalewski’s profile, “The Background
Hum,” we are introduced to McEwan’s process, and he is as fascinating and
complex as any of his characters. February
22, 2009 Today marks the beginning of National Eating
Disorders Awareness Week. Check out the NEDA website
to learn more about events in your area. If you or someone you know has an eating disorder, I
encourage you to speak up and reach out.
Silence is an eating disorder’s greatest power; words are a survivor’s
greatest triumph. After many years, I still
search for my voice - anorexia is one of the few topics I’ve never been able to
address in writing. As I look for my
bravery, I hope you can find yours. February
17, 2009 My contributor copies of Gravity Fiction and PANK
have arrived! I’m pleased with both. I especially like PANK’s format and Gravity
Fiction’s thoughtful commentary. Tomorrow will be a long day for me – food coop work shift
in the morning and then teaching in the afternoon. My class is discussing Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee.
One of the best parts of teaching is passing on the books you love. February
13, 2009 Gravity
Fiction is now available on Amazon. I am incredibly excited about this anthology. The collection showcases stories by college
writers (I wrote “Beautiful Things” during my final year at Oberlin) and
includes commentary on the art and craft of fiction. The potential as a teaching tool is huge. Plus it’s just a really great read. February
9, 2009 You now can read my short story “Shadowland” on PANK’s website. The print issue will be available soon. Also: the 100 most
beautiful words. My favorites
are ephemeral, imbue, loquacious, scintillate, and bonus word symbiosis. Yours? What would you add? And which would you remove? February
8, 2009 Jane Austen
and zombies – you can’t go wrong with that combination! After a day outside enjoying the suddenly
spring-like weather, I’m settling in for an evening of writing. I’ve
started on Part Two of Discomfort,
which continues to unfold in surprising directions and is turning out to be my
first “New York” work in many more ways than just setting. It’s been a good day. February
1, 2009 I was struck by this New York Times article
about Braddock, Pennsylvania. This evocatively
beautiful town delivers an ominous, yet optimistic, message. I’m not sure if our country has reached the
point of self-reflection needed to decipher it, but soon, I think. January
31, 2009 I’m working on an article on CSAs for my coop newspaper in anticipation
of the Brooklyn Food Conference
in May. I’ve been interested in Food
Democracy since reading Hope’s Edge
last summer, and I’m so excited to have the opportunity to participate in an
event that will bring together such a wide array of activists and Brooklynites to
discuss and motivate on food issues. The
effects have the potential to be very far reaching. The conference is free, and registration begins
mid-February. January
27, 2009 John Updike
died today. January
25, 2009 Today is Robert Burns’ 250th birthday. In Scotland Burns night is a big deal, so of course growing
up in my Scotophile household in Ohio, I celebrated in a big way. My mother baked shortbread and scones, bought
meat pies and sausage rolls from the British bakery in Cleveland. We draped a tartan cloth over the kitchen
table, placed a worn copy of Burns in the middle, and drank tea while listening
to Scottish folk songs. If the day was
gray and drizzly, all the better! Years later I backpacked through Burns country. I hiked dirt trails through the highlands, across
pine forest valleys and hillsides dotted with sheep, the sight of smoke
emanating from a distant cottage warming my chilled bones. I sat beside lochs, turning worn stones over
in my hands. I watched the boats nod
knowingly. I fell deeply in love. This morning when I checked my email, I found a
message my mother sent last night. She
already had the shortbread made. Since I
cannot be with her, and I cannot be in Scotland, I’ll settle for a cup of tea
and time alone with his words. January
20, 2009 This morning I walked through my Brooklyn neighborhood
and saw it on every person’s face. I
felt it in the chilled air, the electricity binding us together, an intricate network
in which we all play an integral part. A new era has begun.
Today I really do believe that the people have the
power. We are one, we are strong, and
finally our voices will be heard. I’m grateful to be here. January
19, 2009 I am in the midst of a period of hyper
productivity. I love when this happens –
my writing comes along so easily, the story an uninterrupted flow originating somewhere
beyond myself. I am not a writer but an
agent of my characters; all I need to do is listen. My fingers fly across the keyboard, and I am
surprised, even shocked, by what appears.
When I get up from my desk, I cannot let go, or rather my characters refuse
to let go of me. I see the world through
their eyes. I hear their voices. In the shower, on crowded sidewalks, in line
at the food co-op, I find myself whispering back. The need to create expresses itself in other ways as
well. I am baking bread, making hummus
from scratch, looking at almond milk recipes.
I am knitting. I push myself in
yoga, trying to get to a new level of understanding, to produce a stronger
spiritual and physical self. I am
looking into editing opportunities. I am
writing class plans months in advance. These manic periods do not last, and so I embrace
them fully. I savor the
exhilaration. I try to prolong the
moment, to irk out everything that I can.
Catching my breath will come later. January
16, 2009 Back from vacation. The winter issue of Forge (“Hungerford Bridge”) is being delayed until
mid-February. A recent report by the National Endowment for the
Arts reveals a rise in
literary reading among adults. Although the same survey found that book reading went down overall, I’m
choosing to focus on the positive. January
7, 2009 An update from the Gravity Fiction editors: the anthology, including my story
“Beautiful Things,” should be out by the end of this month. Stay tuned. Tomorrow I head off on a week long vacation. The timing is excellent. I’ve reached an interesting place with Discomfort – I’ve been writing steadily for
days and now really need to stop and think about what happens next. I plan to use much of this trip to consider
the options, make notes, and give my characters the space to tell me. January
3, 2009 Happy New Year!
I’m back in Brooklyn, reviewing my PANK
galleys, eating oatmeal, and considering a trip to the food co-op in a
bit. I’m optimistic about the year
ahead. The atmosphere seems ripe for
change, and from a personal standpoint, I’m motivated with eyes open. I like what I’m plotting. December
28, 2008 Olena Jennings and I have started C & O Editing
and Translation Services. We’ve been
editing each other’s work for years and decided the time had come to extend our
collaboration; every piece we edit and/or translate will be a joint effort. Check us out at www.candoediting.com. December
27, 2008 I’m in Ohio, visiting the family for the holidays. After a stressful and hectic fall, I’m taking
some much needed down time and savoring every minute. I don’t get back here very often – twice a year at
most. Even though I feel firmly planted
in New York, I find myself renewed every time I return to my Midwest
roots. Sometimes you just really need to
be Home. Right now I’m sipping a cup of tea on the
screened-in porch and watching the cat watch the squirrels. Life is good. December
19, 2008 I just put up a new page, “Writing.” I’ll be posting excerpts from my notebook as
well as fiction both published and in the works. Check back often for updates. I also finally fixed the addresses of the pages so
that they’re now named instead of inanely numbered. We’re in the middle of a snow storm. I’m glad I have nowhere I have to be and can
stay inside and listen to the ice patter on the roof. December
17, 2008 Today is the birthday of Cil, my childhood best
friend, as well as the birthday I gave to Rose in Muscle and Bone. Also of interest: The discovery of unpublished poems
and “rude” letters by Robert Burns And proof that reading makes
you sexier December
16, 2008 My roommate just pointed out to me that it’s
snowing! This is our first real snowfall
of the season in Brooklyn. December
15, 2008 The fall semester is drawing to a close. Research papers have been graded, my spring schedule
arrived in my mail box on Friday, and the last day of class is tomorrow. As a student, semesters seemed to last
forever, but as a professor, they fly by.
After fourteen weeks of planning and working and struggling and
connecting, the end feels rather anticlimactic. But I’m in a good mood. I’m very happy with my essay in The Literary Review, and soon I’m going
to Ohio to celebrate Christmas with my family.
After several weeks of anxiety and rushing around, I’m finally relaxing
and just going with the flow. December
13, 2008 I was writing a blog entry when the buzzer rang. Grumbling because it’s 9:30am on a Saturday, I
hurried downstairs in my pajamas to find the mailman at the door. I remained nonplussed until he handed me a
big package containing the Fall 2008 issue of The Literary Review, featuring my essay “The Horse With No Name”! Go get a copy now!
Check your local bookstore or order online here. The
Literary Review makes an excellent Christmas gift… December
12, 2008 December
9, 2008 Here
is John Berryman reading my favorite Dream Song. I find the video strangely unnerving, in a good way. The poem, especially the ending, has always
resonated with me on a deep and visceral level. December
6, 2008 I find the
Guardian series on writers’
rooms endlessly fascinating. December
4, 2008 Take a look at this article
in today’s Times about environmental damages caused by meat
consumption. A quote: “I’m
not sure that the system we have for livestock can be sustainable,” said Dr.
Pachauri of the United Nations. A sober
scientist, he suggests that “the most attractive” near-term solution is for
everyone simply to “reduce meat consumption,” a change he says would have more
effect than switching to a hybrid car. December
3, 2008 I just received word that my short story “Shadowland”
has been accepted for publication in PANK magazine. My piece will appear in print and online this
January. I really dig PANK’s vision. From their website: “PANK comes from the end of the road, the edge of
things, a north shore, up country, a place of amalgamation, and unplumbed
depths, where things are made and unmade, and unimagined futures are born. PANK is a ghost town around the next
bend. It is hidden in caves in the
withered hills. It is buried under impassable
drifts of snow. An ultima Thule, PANK –
no soft pink hands here. It bears old
scars, fresh scabs, callous, blood, and dirt.
It is serene melancholy, spiritual longing, quirk, and anomaly. PANK inhabits its contradictions.” Pretty nifty, no?
December 1, 2008
Miscellany:
I can’t believe we’ve reached December already.
Discomfort is coming along beautifully. For the past two days, I’ve woken up thinking in scenes. I love this period of initial creation, when the course ahead is completely open and full of possibility, just blank white page after blank white page, waiting.
Yesterday I started reading Trespass by Valerie Martin. So far I’m quite taken in. She has a smooth, clean prose style that appeals to me strongly.
A general note about this blog: you may have noticed that there is no real theme or focus. Originally I imagined a literary blog. Then I envisioned using this venue for political and social commentary. Then I thought, “What the hell, it’s my blog, I’ll write about whatever I want.”
I have to admit that at first you intimidated me. I’d written blogs before, but those journals were for my close friends only. This blog shoves me naked and mostly unrehearsed on to the large, brightly lit stage of cyberspace. Which is pretty cool, considering I’m a writer and thus an exhibitionist.
Still I worried about being judged. I worried about sounding intelligent and important. I worried about being relevant. And all that worrying quickly became too difficult and no fun at all. So I decided to relax and free myself to write about life and what is significant to me and hopefully interesting to you.
It’s a grab bag, really, of my meandering mind. Oh, and you can subscribe now. Take a look at the bottom of the page.
November
30, 2008 Wow, this
is sickening – materialism and callousness at their mind-blowing worst. November
28, 2008 Veganism and environmentalism are a huge part of my
life. I try every day to make decisions
that will impact the earth and society in a positive way. Every one of our choices, even the smallest
and most mundane, has an impact. A few months ago I read Hope’s Edge by Frances Moore Lappé and Anna Lappé. The book changed my life, opening my eyes to
connections I never had considered and reaffirming my faith in cooperation and
the belief that individuals can change the world. Shortly thereafter I joined the Park Slope Food Co-op, which upholds these
principles. Something as simple as the
food we eat – what it is, where it comes from, how it is produced, how it is
sold, and how its waste is disposed of – has long-term, far-reaching
ramifications. We are all global citizens. The push and pull cannot be escaped, but we
can change the direction. Take a look at The Small Planet
Institute. Then take a walk
outside. See the world around you and
remember that you are an integral and responsible part. November
27, 2008 Happy Thanksgiving! Here is how I’ve spent the past three Thanksgivings: 2006 – Spontaneous four-day trip to London (yay
cheap airline tickets!), where I wandered with no set plans 2007 – Alone in Brooklyn, where I cleaned my new
apartment like a madwoman 2008 – With the roommates in Brooklyn, where last
night I helped out at The Bowery
Mission and today I plan to write and take a walk in Prospect Park Not bad, all in all, but I do miss my family in
Ohio. New York has been incredibly good
to me; I have trouble imagining living anywhere else. But at certain times of year, the distance
does seem much more distant. In other news…I finished reading Once Upon a Time in England by Helen
Walsh. Amazing book with stunning
imagery, although the ending seemed a little over the top. Definitely worth reading and keeping for
future reference. November
21, 2008 Since I have poetry on the brain, I give you links
to a few of my favorites: John Berryman’s “Dream Song 29” Robert Lowell’s “Skunk Hour” Martha Collins' “The Good Gray Wolf” And an excerpt from C.D. Wright’s Deepstep Come Shining November
20, 2008 In my composition class on Tuesday, I taught poetry
and once again fought against the barrier so many students put up between
themselves and poems. From a young age
they have heard that poetry is “hard,” and they hold on to this presumption that
it just cannot be comprehended. I find
their resistance very sad, especially since many of these same students write
poetry in their spare time, poems they never actually share, perhaps because
they assume that they, too, will be misunderstood. November
16, 2008 Last night Thorn Kief Hillsbery and I read to a full
house at KGB, even though an awful storm blew in just as we were about to
start. Thank you to everyone for braving
the rain! I love reading.
That direct connection to the audience, the immediate reactions, the
opportunity to shape your words as you truly mean them to be shaped – the high
produced is like nothing else. November
12, 2008 Bits and Bobs: This Saturday I’m reading at KGB with Thorn Kief
Hillsbery. Thorn and I attended Columbia
together; we met in our very first workshop.
I’m hugely excited to be reading with him, at KGB, and debuting Muscle and Bone. And to have the lovely Olena Jennings as our
host for the evening. I’m pissed off
about Proposition 8, but I’m happy about Connecticut.
Someday I want
to do what these people are doing. I’ve been on a
vegan muffin baking kick lately, and I’ve discovered that I completely lack the
ability to follow a recipe. I always
have good intentions, but somewhere along the line I think, “More soy milk has
to be a good thing!” or “Ginger is nearly the same as cinnamon.” I don’t know how this happened. I grew up with a mother who is an excellent
baker. I even took cooking lessons as a
child. But somewhere along the line
normal baking just got boring. Or I
became a little more ADD. Not sure
which, but I like to think my results are more adventurous this way. They’re one of a kind. That should count for something.
November
9, 2008 In this general atmosphere of excitement and change,
I want to point out a website that has come up with a pretty nifty way to get
people motivated about saving energy and helping the environment. Go to Carbonrally,
take one of their challenges and see how simple making a difference can be. November
5, 2008 Last night at a lounge on First Avenue and St. Mark’s, I met with a friend for a quick drink.
I expected an early night, both of us tired but needing to socialize
after a stressful week. We were hopeful
but cautious. Before I’d left my
apartment, I’d checked the latest – Obama was ahead and looked to win by a
landslide. However, after the last
several elections, we still worried. Sipping
our drinks, our conversation skirted the obvious. We’d voted, and now all we could do was wait. We were the only people there. The waitress and bartender chatted. I thought about how nice the red walls looked
and how I’d like to redo my room. We
ordered one more round. And then, in an instant, the city transformed. Out of nowhere people appeared, chanting Obama’s
name. My friend and I looked at each
other and stood up, went to the windows for a better view. Traffic had stopped. American flags waved above the crowd. Drums beat, a steady rhythm that seemed to be
coming from us all. “He won,” my friend said, and we grabbed on to each
other, pressing with all our force until I almost toppled onto a table. The lounge doors opened, and people streamed in. The bartender began serving up free drinks,
the music switching to “My Way” and “We Are The Champions.” When the front door became too congested,
people began jumping into and out of the bar’s large windows. Obama’s voice brought a momentary hush. He seemed to be right outside. I burrowed into my friend’s shoulder and
listened to the man who was bringing this city, this country together, who was
bringing us hope. My eyes met the eyes
of strangers, and we smiled, unified, whole.
At last we could believe. And with that belief, our celebration grew. Standing in the middle of First Avenue, I
watched as all the rules lifted and barriers disappeared. On top of an MTA bus, a man marched, knees
bent high, his arms raised in triumph. Taxi drivers offered salutes as they
inched past. A little boy did
somersaults. Couples kissed, horns blew.
Around the corner on St. Mark’s, three young men sat
on a stoop, playing the Charleston on an old record player. A businessman stopped, his briefcase
dangling at his side, and began to dance.
Soon others joined in until half a city block moved as one. November
1, 2008 Check out The Body Image Project. October
29, 2008 On Monday my roommates were married at City
Hall. I acted as their witness. The ceremony took only a few minutes. The judge seemed incredibly bored and barely
looked up from her papers. The vows were
simplified, the room devoid of any color or celebration. Yet their wedding was one of the happiest and
most honest I’ve attended. I’ve watched A and D’s romance from the
beginning. Although they’re young, they’ve confronted challenges that few will ever face in a lifetime. And through those challenges, they have only
grown stronger. Their love is not about preconceived
notions or idealized selves. They see
each other honestly, with total acceptance and respect. A City
Hall ceremony was the right fit – no fuss, no pretensions, just real people standing
together and promising to commit to each other. And I got to witness it all. Congratulations, A and D! October
26, 2008
This has been quite a week – meetings, teaching, grading papers. I’ve been very productive but also very busy, which means I haven’t had time for my wandering. I feel my sanity sliding.
In The Faith of a Writer, Joyce Carol Oates writes a wonderful essay, “Running and Writing,” about the way running helps her creative process. I have a similar relationship with wandering. I need to get outdoors, to move, to be disconnected from my desk and phone for a while each day. I usually have no real destination. Going somewhere is not the point. Leaving somewhere is.
I can pinpoint when the wandering started. Six years ago, after a semester studying in London, I decided to backpack through Scotland on my own. I had a vague idea of hiking the West Highland Way, but soon rained out paths foiled my plan. I split from the trail halfway up and began moving eastward with no real idea where I was headed. I’d wake up in the morning in a freezing hostel, spread out my map, and pick a town at random. The freedom of being able to go anywhere, to be anyone was addictive. I remember standing on top of a hill in a downpour, surrounded by angry looking sheep, my stomach rumbling because I had not eaten anything but oatmeal in three days, and feeling incredibly happy because I was untethered. I was just me.
I think that feeling of essential “me-ness” is what I’m trying to capture now when I leave my apartment and descend on Brooklyn’s streets. Unencumbered, at least for a little while, I let my mind go where it may. The forward movement of my feet triggers forward moving thoughts; I have solved so many problems and begun so many stories out on the pavement. Sometimes we need to be directionless for a while in order to find direction.