Writer-in-Residence: Part Two

Today, sun. Lots of it. The meadow held the warmth all afternoon, the air hot enough to bring up thoughts of swimming. Thoughts only and then quite fleeting. I wouldn't even stick a tiny toe in the river; it is galloping for the coast at what looks like several knots an hour to me.

The sun made for some true basking on the porch though, watching red-shafted northern flickers (Colaptes auratus cafer) investigate the eucalyptus, stab for ants in the grass and dash around, with orange wings, white body in the air. Otherwise, the flicker is one fine dapper dandy of a dresser: soft grey basic coat, like dress-up flannels, with a tidy black ascot at the throat, a speckled waist coat and a striped jacket over that. The male sports a flamboyant red mustache-- or is it lipsitck from his lover? He only needs the sporty fedora ... with one of his own feathers in the brim.  My camera sucks at getting bird pix (no real telephoto, slow as molasses) so I'm posting a link to about a thousand pictures of the creature.

In contrast, I just have to say, those Acorn Woodpeckers (Melanerpes formicivorus) are too much. As I said, they look clownish, with white eyes in a half-mask of white, a black bill and red topi. In flight they remind me of the Harlequin, black wings with a wide white stripe, a black back but a white rump. From the rear, as they fly away from me, they seem to be making wing-angles in the air; flying towards me, they just seem....goofy.

This is by far the best photo I found online, at Steve Velo's pix.
These are very interesting birds, residing in sizeable groups of 4 or 5 or more, and sometimes several groups at a time.  They are larder-hoarders, hiding acorn like squirrels in granaries by drilling holes into old trees,  stumps, the side of the water tower, then stuffing acorns in the holes, which the birds defend against all comers. Pretty fascinating.
We think of it as storage, maybe they think of it as art.

Jeepers, sounds like our family, stuffing things in boxes and bundles and defending them against anyone with plans to "organize." Must have some woodpecker in our DNA.

Writer in Residence - Trial Run

To write about Wellspring Renewal Center, is to write about nature. The place sits just outside the hamlet of Philo, California, in Mendocino County; 50 acres of woods and meadows with the Navarro River running right through it. One long meadow, hemmed with small oaks and manzanitas along the north bank, parallels the river. Across it, redwoods spire to the sky, filling the horizon, topped only by trees of the hill commanding the horizon.  Hendy Woods State Park is adjacent to the property, across and to the west down the river; it feels like the redwoods go on forever. Which they did once, but no longer.

The buildings cluster on the northern, top edge of the gently sloping meadow which rolls down to the deep banks of the river. In recent summers, the river has slowed down to barely more than a large creek in spots, winding in a shallow trench across the rocky river bottom; this winter the channel is filled all the way across as an astounding volume of water barrels out to the ocean. Nevertheless, the river hasn't risen to the top of these banks in living or even recorded history. If it did - now that would be scary-or a different eon..

The meadow runs east to west the long way and thus is graced with sun the full day long. The cabin I like to claim has a generous porch facing south, overlooking the meadow, several majestic oaks, the scrim of trees and brush hiding the river and the redowwds across the way. The river, even as full as it is right now, sits so far below the tall banks it is invisible; only the noisy rush and tumble of the high water gives it away.

To write about Wellspring is to write about nature; it is to write about the birds first, for they truly abound. Acorn woodpeckers, clownish in their half-masks of yellow and black, flit about, working their way, knocka-knocka-knocka, around the tall wooden water tower and the oaks; they are everywhere with their a-whacka-whacka-whacka calls. Vultures wheel around the sky, blue, grey or blustery. The call of hawks and ravens echo off the redwoods; closer by I hear the brash squawks and burry chirrrs of the scrub and Stellar jays, the funny whistles of the northern flickers, the pips and peeps of towhees, juncos, phoebes, sparrows, chestnut-backed chickadees.

(psssst: don't take this Writer-in-Residence bit as official, it's not authorized in any way by the Wellspring Renewal Center. I just wanted a project. Anything to distract me from the dang-blasted novel.)

Wrting, writing, writing, keep those authors writing....

On my way up to the Wellspring Renewal Center for my Personal Writing Retreat (created by moi, funded by moi), I stopped at my favorite Indy Bookstore (Copperfield's Books in Petaluma, but of course) for some reading material. Some inspirational and reference books to keep me on task, some sexy-trashy magazines for the downtimes: Best American Essays 2009, a pocket-sized field guide to birds in California and The Writer mag. Yeah, so now you know, sexy-trashy = writer's mags.

But wait, before you dismiss outright, here's the article that got my attention in the middle of yesterday afternoon on a long covered porch in full view of meadow, with redwoods and mountains. " 'Writer in Residence' ? Sign me up!" by Kathy Stevenson...aside from the wonderfully complex instance of punctuation, I was struck by the circs that opens the essay: Alain de Botton had the gig of Writer in Residence for a week at ... wait for it....London's Heathrow Aiport. That's right: he spent a week at the airport * and wrote it up for a book.

Now how cool is that? Kathy Stevenson thinks like me: "Where do I sign up?" she asks.

As you imagine, these gigs are not growing on trees, and Kathy Stevenson puts her fertile good mind to use and comes up with all sorts of alternate locations where she might shine, W-I-R at Godiva Chocolates, for instance.

Which  is when I wondered: couldn't I be the Writer in Residence at Wellspring?

* cool photo on  that link

link to article on Kathy Stevenson's blog

3 a.m.

Sky padded with fog, silvered by a thickening moon; a secret privilege to be awake feeling this quiet.

The jangle of day is not far ahead but for now not even the refrigerator hums and the owls are still.

Absolutely a Big F'ing Deal

Just have to shout YAHOOOOIEEEE for the passage of the Health Care Reform Bill! To quote Joe Biden, yes, indeed, it's a big f**king deal. And I have to hand it to Obama, he's not sitting on his laurels; in the week since, he's given the Won't Do Party (the  Great Obstructionists Party, whatever you want to call it) plenty of fodder to choke on: a jobs bill passed, a seder in the White House, an end run around their inability to cooperate by appointing officials during recess and today, he popped up in Afghanistan. He's a blur; they don't know where to focus or when to get riled up next, and by the time they do, he's onto some other thing they can't stand. Good for him! The Republicans showed their stripes as rabble-rousers and leaders of the ignorant. Their fears, their over-the-top rhetoric about Health Reform and what they think it will do to America....well, it just tells us more about them, about their ignorance and deep prejudices than it does about any of the issues.  I predict that their resistance to Health Care Reform will hurt them in the next round of elections, even as they continue to bluff and posture otherwise.

Back in the day, the rhetoric about Social Security and Medicare/Medicaid was just about as vitriolic and insensible, and yet now I don't think there is one American who doesn't view either program as their inalienable right. Not even rabid right-winger Republicans. Except for GW Bush, perhaps, who seemed to think that the social security funds were fair game for the stock market. I don't hear anyone singing that tune now - no, siree bob.

And credit goes to Nancy Pelosi, too, who fought the good fight, didn't give up and produced results. Now is the time for us to support her: click to StandWithNancy

Paper Fan Shout Out

Wanted to thank anyone and everyone who not only read the Paper Fan story, but jumped over to Girls Write Now or bid for it on E-Bay. Someone won the fan for $21.50, a fair showing for the item+story, I thought. (Is this the sort of someone who will do something creative with the story+item, and send  a photo of it into Sig Obj, as some bidder/buyers do? one never knows... ) But! more importantly, the money pot is filling up for Girls Write Now, well over $300 and rising.

There are more items+stories to bid on, so if any of you get E-bay fever....

But here's a nice shout out to Significant Objects from Girls Write Now that features a very familiar fan...

and if you enlarge the type, some familiar words... at least to me.  

Fanning the Flames of a Bidding War....

oh, dear...I forgot to mention that Japanese  Fan item is only up for bid for a week at Significant Objects...and the week ends tomorrow morning at 6 am!  so ...if you intended to bid but procrastinated, the time is now! 


The fan is at $20 now (a steal for that and an inspiring story!) but the S.O. organizers are hoping to get a significant amount of money to give to for Girls Write Now. This wonderful organization, singled out by Michelle Obama for its successes, "provides guidance, support, and opportunities for New York City's underserved or at-risk high school girls, enabling them to develop their creative, independent voices, explore careers in professional writing, and learn how to make healthy choices in school, career, and life."


You can read more about at:  http://www.girlswritenow.org/gwn/

And if you have the inclination, swing by http://significantobjects.com/2010/03/03/paper-fan/   tonight!


Muchos gracias, in advance!

Fan Mail from Your Favorite Flounder-er

Hey, guess what! Significant Objects just posted a story I wrote about this sweet Japanese fan.  As I've mentioned before, I have been fascinated with Josh Glenn and Rob Walker's project which seeks to show how our emotional entanglement with an object increases that object's value. All that makes sense, of course. But the beauty of the Significant Objects project is that they've devised a method to measure that increased value using the auctions on E-Bay.

So, here's the deal...swing by and read the story, then click the link that takes you to the ebay auction for it..and bid, bid, bid! You may win ... and if you do, you gain three things: the sweet little fan, a copy of my story to have and to hold, and the warm feelings of contributing to a very worthy cause, Girls Write Now.

And I'd love to hear what you think of the story, too.

True Confections & NPR

Off to the side is a brilliant red and white Follower Badge belonging to Katharine Weber.  It is the image of her book cover (on the left)  of her latest novel, True Confections, which was published  January 5th, 2010... and has already garnered a very tasty review from NPR  Her blog, Staircase Writing, is one of my fav go-tos on my bloggy-bloggy list, so there is no excuse for me not trumpeting her pub date earlier. But do visit her blog for candy-lore, "staircase moments" and book-tour reports. And I'm sure you'll be tempted as I am to snag her book, too. It looks delectable. Like chocolate.

Significant Objects Volume 3

Significant Objects is doing it again, yep, yep,  Volume Three, proceeds to benefit the organization Girls Write Now. A great line-up of writers, too, for a worthy cause...including Charles Baxter (yes, the Charles Baxter) whose story is already up. So excuse me, I'm on my way to bid on the meteoric paperweight he so brilliantly created out of whole cloth.

Writing Lysacek Style

Watching the Olympics these past nights, suffering from Olympic Narcolepsy all the next day...man, it starts late here on the West Coast and then goes later.  Doesn't make sense, since we're  pretty much in the same time zone as Vancouver, but there you have it.  Media playing yank-the time-zones.

Still, it's worth the sleep deprivation, as long as you're not one of my co-workers, who have to bear the brunt of my Olympic-sized crankiness the next day.

The Men's Figure Skating Shoot Out at the Pacific Coliseumn...omg...Lysacek! * What a stunningly beautiful five-minute eternity on ice. The perfect flow of energy, grace, power, control. Nothing broke my attention on his flawless execution; I wasn't caught up in how high he leaped or how many times he spun. I was enthralled, enraptured, transported to those moments of lost-to-the-world concentration. It hit me then: we want this same sort of focused, breathless attention from our readers; we want them  to be so caught up in our world that they are not aware of how high we leap or how many sentences it takes to construct the scene and setting; we don't want them to see any clunky transitions or biffed landings.  We just want them there, an engaged witness to the story.

So I went out to the woodshed and began revising. Again.

But I work with hope in my heart and a somewhat clearer vision of the way forward: ditch the un-essentials, streamline,  streamline, streamline and weave in about eight triple axels.



* Because NBC controls all video coming out of the Olympics, this link takes you to YouTube of Lysacek's 2009 Championship Free Skate. Pretty amazing stuff, but his performance at the Olympics was even more so.

Napa Valley Writers Conference - Summer 2010

And speaking about the Napa Writers Conference ...  it looks like another bang-up summer of writing and workshops for what I (personally) consider the Best Little Writing Conference in the West.

Okay, so yes, I'm involved (Fiction Director this year), but I was a workshop participant for two years and loved it just as much then. This summer, check it out: Ron Carlson,  Lan Samantha Chang, Curtis Sittenfeld and Michael Byers as fiction faculty; C.D. Wright, Arthur Sze, Brenda Hillman and Major Johnson as poetry faculty.  Spending the last week of July in one of the most beautiful valleys in California, working with fabulous writers...really, what's not to like?

Rolling admissions worked well last year, so we're doing it again, which means we'll be accepting applications beginning March 1st  (in one week -yowzers! -- better get my eyeballs oiled and tuned up.) Scholarship deadline is April 1st....so, writers, grab your keyboards; send me some apps!

Some photos from last year, courtesy of participant Charlene Kwon:

Some plein-air workshopping with ZZ Packer's group

  After the workshopping and writing, come the readings.

Gathering for wine and conversation before the Robert Boswell and Jane Hirschfield reading at Rubicon Winery (previously known as the Niebaum-Coppola Winery).

Ron Carlson - "The Signal"

Speaking of Ron Carlson (previous post, down at the bottom), I was so impressed with his latest novel, "The Signal." (Of course, I am an RC fan, so not soooo much of a surprise there.) Still. The man can write.

(Although dedicated to local indie bookstores, I've included the link to Amazon above, simply for the excellent Washington Post review posted there. Read that, then log off and order/pick up the book at your LIB. )

The Washington Post reviewer, Ron Charles, notes that Carlson "writes like Hemingway without the misogyny and self-parody." Amen. It is one of the Carlson's qualities that I most admire (aside from his prose, that is). He writes both men and women characters with full respect for their humanity, rather than privileging one over the other, or parroting the cultural baggage of being male in this society. His stories that involve parenting are gems for revealing the depth of emotion and reality of being an engaged father.

Carlson's prose has a poetically tensile strength that is at times simply amazing; it defies description and must be read to be truly appreciated.  In "The Signal," he brings all the skills he's honed from crafting short stories, cutting out all the fluff usually acceptable in the form, so that it reads almost like a novella and yet.. it isn't quite. The prose is absolutely complelling; once I dip my eyeballs in the pool, I have to be yanked out by some obligation standing in front of face and shouting, "Hey, Mom, hey, Mom, hey, over here!" or the smoke alarm wailing because I've left the toast in the toaster way too long or the teakettle boiling to the point of a flamed and red bottom. And few authors can write the mountains the way he has in story after story, in "Five Skies", the previous novel, and now "The Signal."

And, even more fun, Carlson is one of the faculty this summer at the Napa Valley Writers Conference, the Best Little Writing Conference in the West, imho. So, folks, get your keyboards running: applications open March 1st and as Fiction Director this year, I'm waiting for your submission, yes, I am!

Objects of Significance, Objects that Signify

The Significant Objects Project rocks on. They're now at the end of the second round (the last object is up, folks, time to start bidding) the proceeds of which benefit 826 National, the writing program that Dave Eggers and crew began in SF and now has gone, umm, national. Sig. Obj. has now raised over $2,000 by  e-baying various thingamabobs, doohickeys and tchotchkes after they've been value-enhanced by a pertinent albeit invented history.  Rob Walker chats more about the project here at More Intelligent Life.

This past week, Sig Obj has been dedicated to objects collected by Underwater New York, which...well, to get the whole story you'll have to go there, but suffice it to say, these evocative objects have another whole layer of meaning sloughing off them; they've been underwater before being salvaged by the intrepid band of New Yorkers dedicated to seeing what is under their water. (hell yeah, they're brave! or... foolhardy?)  Yep, hop on over there, it'll all become clearer. But -- remember: come back!

So the Sig Obj project is looking at how a story enhances an object. It's fascinating that once we've engaged with an object, once we've attached value, symbolism, meaning to a thing, that thing becomes precious to us, even though it itself hasn't (usually) changed one iota and is probably, on the grand scheme of things, inherently worthless. Although Jamie Madigan's blog is about gamers and why they do what they do, this particular post considers the assigned vs absolute values of objects and he quotes some very interesting research about what happens when objects carry an emotional charge. Go there for the research...come back here to find out what the hell I think I'm talking about.

Okay, a story making objects valuable, we got that. But it got me thinking about the role of objects in fiction; how they carry meaning for the story. Not just symbolically, though that can happen. I'm thinking more like the inventory that Ron Carlson talks about: the stuff that arrives at the start of the first draft, the objects, attitudes, names, weather, etc., and how these things both define the story and can be used later in the draft to keep the story moving along. But the idea is that these specifics bring significance to the story, they give it life. To me it is the reverse of story granting significance to things; it's things granting significance to the story.

Professions that Require Large Shoes

Anyone up for a new curious list (as described in previous post) ?
Let's roll!
Professions that Require Large Shoes:

Father
Carpenter
Carpenter's son

Winter trapper
Shepards
Mythical Characters with a seven-league stride


More suggestions needed!

Lucia Galloway: "Venus and Other Losses"

Great news! My friend and fellow-Antiochian Lucia Galloway's new book of poems, "Venus and Other Losses," has just been published by Plan View Press. I don't have copy to quote from yet, though I will soon. I've always admired her poetry; she has a great feel for formal structures, using them to her advantage, all the while messing around with them in most delicious ways.

I do have a link to a recently posted poem of hers, Seasonal, that will give you a taste of the delights to be found in her work. And if you go to her webapage, Lucia Galloway, you'll find other poems on her Portfolio page as well as links to other published work.

But wait, wait, update! Lucia generously sent me this poem, found on page 32 from "Venus and Other Losses," to post for you all.  Enjoy!

Poem without the Piano

Even if you’re expecting

just notes—

in tunes and rills

chords and counterpoint—

you may get minnows silvered

darting in little schools

or sumo wrestlers panting

groaning with the contest.

You may get Chinese acrobats

stacked up in pyramids

or paddle balls

or yo-yos

whirligigs

Pick-up-Stix

painted turtles

crawling from fissures

between the keys. Things

whose happening

takes shape in spaces

between the sounds.

~ Lucia Galloway

Breakfast for Dessert, anyone?

You know those mad, rushed, over-the-top days when breakfast-for-dinner is the best thing going?

Well, today I had dessert-for-breakfast. That's the sort of day it's been. You'd think things would have calmed down a bit at work, now that we're into the second week of the semester. But no.  Students are still duking it out for classes, and in my office, no less.

So I had my dessert first today, just in case. And besides which, a home-made eclair will get you though times of Big Trouble better than anything I know. Thanks, Gran'mom Marilyn!

Breakfast is the handiest, most satisfying meal there is and it never hurts to have two or three of them in a day. Guess lots of people had that urge when the forecasters called for a few feet of snow last week in the mid-Atlantic states. See the results: Snowpocalypse

Or as one commenter from Philadelphia said, when observing that stores sell out of bread, milk and eggs before a storm,"Why do people in Philly feel the need to make French Toast whenever it snows?"

As one who grew up in very Upstate New York (Potsdam and Buffalo), two feet of snow, well, it's snow, but I doubt we would have had a snow day. Of course, we were prepped for it with snow tires, winter woolies (down and fleece these days) and our pantry was kept topped up. No one rushed anywhere in the winter.  Unless they were on skis.  And then when we came in from a bit of cross-country or other snow-play, ahh, the  aromas of warm maple syrup and hot chocolate. And French toast. Fast, simple, hot.

So maybe it's an atavistic thing.

Diagram A

Two weeks ago,  my dentist (yes, he's mine, he's too good to share ;-} ) drilled out a huge hunk of disintegrating silver amalgam from a lower front molar in preparation for yet another manufactured tooth. I think that gets me down to just a crooked little picket fence of bottom teeth, and maybe about 4 others, that are original issue from the gum up. All the other teeth are gold crowns or porcelain caps cemented onto some mighty stubborn roots, although most of those have been gutted by root canals. (see diagram A). By the time I'm done, my genetically worthless teeth will have become the best part of me, sturdy and hale, while the rest of me falls apart. 

I began my life terrified of dentists. In the fourth grade, whenever my mom told me I had an appointment after school, I'd run away from home. Not so far that my father couldn't find me by driving around the block a few times and ordering me into the car when he spotted me hiding behind a tree. My panicked escape was understandable. At the time, Novocaine was just beginning to make its way into the profession and our dentist didn't believe in using it. Yes, way back in the mists of time.  And there was so much work to be done; Dr Hart had a long list of cavities to tackle.  Dr Hart, my mom would say, flicking an inch-long ash off her Chesterfield, I'm not sure he has one.

Perhaps Dr Hart wasn't comfortable about being able to administer the proper amount to children, or maybe I was just too wiggly for him to get a good purchase on me with a needle in one hand. Anyway, the body memory stayed with me for a very long time, even after I went to many (hundreds, it seems like) other dentists and Novocaine became an essential of the procedure. All my adult life I've avoided making appointments, missed them, reset them. When I did get into the chair, I made sure I was numbed to my eyebrows. 

Today, I got the double-crown glued on (without Novocaine, too -- no drilling!) and I feel ready for another 50,000 miles. I bless the advances of the dental profession and the excellent technique and skills of my dentist.  But it's only the first installment, And so, bit by bit, the re-build begins. 

Wordless Wednesday: Windows and Doors

Curious Lists: Unlikely Ice Cream Flavors

One book acquired over the holiday, "Curious Lists," is basically a bunch of suggested Lists to make, in any way you'd like. So, yeah, its mostly blank ... but what great lists!

For instance: Knots Used for Sailing or Declarations of a Furious Chef or True Things About Cats or Hiccup Cures or Unlikely Ice Cream Flavors. These can be taken seriously or whimsically, depending on mood or any surrounding mayhem you might find yourself in.

Kinda reminds me of the "Pillow Book," the Japanese book written around the year 1000 by a Sei Shonagon.  Part of its charm are the lists the author included, though this current book is more, uhh, interactive. (God, that word is becoming, like, poison.)

So I thought I'd throw one of those lists out there and see what folks come up with. Post any suggestions in comments and remember, fictional or literal suggestions equally acceptable (just not overly scatological or un-family friendly; those can go on your personal list you keep in your car's glovebox for the times you need to convince an officer of the law that you're more wacky than drunk and should simply be delivered home into the waiting arms of your patient but worried spouse).

So how about the last one mentioned:

Unlikely Ice Cream Flavors 

1) Aloe Vera

2) Spaceship Exhaust

3) Copper Shavings

4) Fairy Dust

5) Belly Button

Send me more!