More Great Reads

I finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn last week. I almost didn't plow through because of some objectionable elements but more than that a nearly overwhelming sense of despondence that came over me while I was reading. I just knew the main character and her mother were going to make terrible choices, and I didn't feel up to handling that. (I'm a very empathetic reader.) However, I did persevere and was glad I did so. Francie makes such an amazing journey and gathers so many images along the way. My favorite image was of a young Francie sitting on the fire escape with her pillow and book sucking peppermint disks and watching girls in other apartments get ready for their Friday night dates. The image recurs at the end of the book when Francie is leaving the old neighborhood and sees a little girl reading and watching her. When Francie tells the girl, "Goodbye, Francie," it's a real heartstring puller.

I'm now reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. It's a Pulitzer Prize winner that is deeply reflective--a work that cannot be rushed and will most likely never be plumbed (at least by me). Will probably comment further on this when I'm finished.

And the Answer Is . . . Wait Some More

My editor/publisher let me know yesterday that she is herself in a holding pattern given some restructuring/negotiations/red tape stuff going on in her office. The publisher evidently is trying to broaden its audience. That being the case, it doesn't seem that this will affect the decision on my book (Hamilton's Pond) except for timing possibly. Of course, this is all speculation on my part. Exact words: "this will push the decision deeper into the calendar." Go figure.

Stamp of Approval

Today the mother I interviewed about her son's disability read Daniel's Day. She cried. Okay, that was quite gratifying. She felt that the tone (what I'd been so concerned about) was right: serious but not morbid and with enough touches of humor. She made one suggestion and that was that the massaging session I mentioned would take place at the therapist's not the doctor's office. I made that change and am continuing to let the piece simmer as I consider whether to submit it now.

Still waiting to hear about Hamilton's Pond. I really don't want to submit another story to the same editor until I hear about the first one. Not sure if that's the right tactic or no.

No News Is No News

I found out yesterday that my editor will be out of the office until Thursday of this week. So that means that I will most likely not hear anything until next week about the status of Hamilton's Pond. This manuscript submission process will teach me patience yet.

Still diddling away on Daniel's Day.

An Austen Afternoon

My daughter and I attended a Jane Austen lecture, tea, and film showing this afternoon at our downtown public library. The lecturer spoke on the subject of "Austen and the Stormy Sisterhood," a reference to a famous criticism of Austen by Charlotte Bronte. (Bronte believed Austen to value reason over passion to a deplorable degree.) Although I did not agree with all of the lecturer's assessments, I was intrigued by the whole of idea of famous authors critiquing one another's works. I know my favorite criticism quotation is Jonson's of Shakespeare when Jonson said, "Sufflaminandus erat," that is, "He ought to have been stopped." Of course, I humbly but heartily disagree with Mr. Jonson.

Chasing Redbird

Earlier this week I finished Sharon Creech's YA novel Chasing Redbird. Although I still loved her semi-rambling, casual style--a style that feels comfortable, like a favorite chair--the plot of this novel passed me by somehow. The characters were endearing and memorable--the uncle who runs about waving a stick; the main character, Zinny, a collector of everything from bottlecaps and white pebbles to mental images and fading memories. The weakness I saw was the fact that many of the character actions seemed unmotivated: why is Zinny obsessed with the trail? why have her aunt and uncle created this other world in the woods? and how is it possible that no one knew about the cabin? why is Jake a kleptomaniac? I had the same feeling with this novel that I have feared for my own writing; that is, that I will become so enamored of a certain image that I will ram it into my work whether it fits or no. The dying-in-a-drawer image struck me this way. And the medallion. And the snake thrashing. And the divided house. I'm not giving up on Creech though. I still admire her breadth of style and unwillingness to fall into a safe pattern in her writing. Formulaic she is not. And that seems like a great rule to follow.

Read Aloud

I read my story aloud to my husband today. It was nice to have an audience. I found myself getting choked up near the ending. I still think that there are some rough passages and that some of the things that are clear to me are probably muddy to someone unfamiliar with my topic, but it's coming along. The tweaking continues.

Down to Business

Today is another writing day courtesy of my hubby. I'm sitting in a coffee shop with a mug of coffee and a banana nut muffin top preparing to let the creative juices do what creative juices do best. My goal is to knuckle down on the Daniel's Day story. I'd love to get that into submittable style before we leave for vacation in a week and a half. I need to incorporate the info from the interview and get a couple more questions answered along the way. I think tone is going to be my biggest hurdle on this piece: serious but not somber, light but not trivial, happy but not giddy.

Response to Literature

I recently re-read the epilogue to More Precious Than Gold, the story of a terrible house fire that left young Becky Vaughn permanently disabled and disfigured. Several things stuck out to me as I read of her ordeal. One was the magnitude of her injuries: she had over 57 surgeries and 171 blood transfusions at the time of the writing. Another was her awareness (as an impressionable teenager) that she was not physically attractive to other people and her knowledge that other people would stare at her. At one point in her narrative, she says, “I’m only telling you this because I’m writing it and you’re not looking at me.” Throughout her story Becky remained thankful that God spared her life. Although she was “not sure what [her] story will be yet,” she recognizes that “God has been very good” to her. The poignant statement “I’m glad I’m alive” at the end of her piece is a gut-punch of an ending and a reminder of “what is really important in life.”

Reading Update

Last week I read Jamie Turner's newest book, Sometimes a Light Surprises, about a man whose wife died years previously, and he is estranged from his children. Although I could not empathize as well with this character as with the protagonist of Winter Birds, I enjoyed Turner's exquisite characterizations as always. These are people you feel you know and just might catch yourself requesting prayer for at Wednesday night prayer meeting. I also read Kate DiCamillo's Because of Winn-Dixie, a book I've intended to read for some time. I thoroughly enjoyed the pacing, the characterization, and the plot. I thought it was spot-on for its YA demographic. Next up: Chasing Redbird by Sharon Creech, my current favorite YA author.

Research Interview

Today I talked with a friend who has a disabled child. She answered my questions about the family's daily activities and how the other children are involved in taking care of the disabled child. I spoke with the children, too. Their input was quite affectionate. Neither one seems at all shy or embarrassed about their sibling. They both treat the whole situation as if it's the most normal thing in the world. As I expected, I had no sooner left but I had a number of further questions. Ah, well, these can be covered by email.

Probably the most interesting thing about the interview was the mother's saying that the disabled child adds an immeasurable sweetness to the home--something that seems to defy description. However, I shall attempt it. Or perhaps the sweetness is better left to the illustrator. . . .

Back at It

Today my wonderful husband gave me the morning to write. I went to a local coffee shop that had wi-fi and worked diligently on Daniel's Day, the story of a handicapped child and his siblings. I was surprised at how much I had already written. The story is really taking good shape. Tomorrow I will go visit friends who have a handicapped child and ask questions about how they go about their days. I'm interested mostly in how the other children work with the handicapped child. I feel as though I'm handling this in a very sensitive manner, and I genuinely want the piece to be educational, inspiring, and challenging. But I worry that in my ignorance, I may ask questions that seem callous. At the same time, I don't want to sugarcoat what the family is dealing with. Happily, this family is well-grounded and very open.

I also did something I've never done before--at least not on a computer. I reformatted the last two or three paragraphs with each of the 10-12 sentences on separate lines (not in paragraph form). Then I cut and pasted in order to get the right order. In the process I realized that there were some redundancies as well as sentences that were irrelevant. How difficult it is to part with favorite ideas or turns of phrase! But seeing each attempting to "stand" on its own made the superfluous sentences obvious.

Stagnation

My life is currently so busy that I don't seem to have time to write . . . at least not for publication. I'm writing blog posts for Summer Shakespeare, writing assignments with a student I'm tutoring in writing, and similar things, but no "official" writing. And momentarily I'm leaving to address a group of high school students about the play they will see tonight (Two Gentlemen of Verona). (That's related only by virtue of its being communication of some sort.) I really am itching to have a block of time in which to get some ideas down on paper.