by susan | Feb 26, 2013 | what I'm reading
john receives the big, fat new york times, delivered to our doorstep bright and early each sunday. six or seven weeks ago he handed the book review section to me, suggesting I might want to read a review written by an author whose work I like. I perused it quickly, then filed the section away to be looked at when I had more time. and interest.
I am not much of a newspaper reader, nor am I one who enjoys reading reviews. I’m impatient with (and critical of) most journalists, and often find reviewers to be looking for and concerned about things I don’t usually find myself looking for or concerned about. so the book review section, folded in half, rested on my desk between folders filled with project information and my weekly calendar, waiting for me, patiently, for weeks.
another sunday rolled around and john handed me the book review section again, here, there might be something in here you find interesting. I dug into it, and read a review. then another. and then I decided to re-read the older section that’d been waiting for me. I read them both. and then the next week’s.
one of my first thoughts–this while reading a review of Vampires in the Lemon Grove–was this: I am not a new york times kind-of writer. I am not quirky enough, I don’t possess a mfa. I am not outre, I am not a wunderkind, I don’t live in soho and I haven’t attended the iowa writer’s workshop. I am just dedicated, committed, determined, and–since I’ve been gathering work for the past 15 years–in possession of a lot of as-yet-to-be-discovered work. I may never be an author who has a book reviewed in the new york times.
or I might.
I’ve been reading more reviews. I’ve been gaining a sense of the literary world according to the times. I’ve been paying attention to more author’s names, and I’ve requested a few books to read (I’ve just begun reading raised from the ground by jose saramago). I’m working to see where I–my beliefs and sensibilities–fit into the world I seem to want to join and has as of yet not answered my knocks and pleas for admittance. I don’t know that I fit there, but what I also believe–after reading these review sections–is that no one truly fits there.
last sunday the times was delivered and I asked john for the book review section. I read this review and skimmed that, and skipped over everything that didn’t call to me. I find myself in places; I am unequivocally absent in others. and this I know: I am my own unique being. I will never write short stories about female werewolves. I will not become an essayist, nor a poet. I can’t ever imagine writing a review of someone else’s written work. it’s unlikely I’ll ever write a political novel, nor an expose of someone’s life. or something so controversial or original or heartbreakingly staggering that the entire world stands up and takes notice. I will write what I have to write, and keep plugging away at it. the new york times book review may one day notice me, or it may not. either way, it will be what it decides to be, and I will continue to find within it gems and clay.
this isn’t a review of the review. it’s simply my reaction to it. I’m warming to it; I’m hoping it will become a better acquaintance, perhaps even someday a friend. I respect it; I acknowledge that I don’t have to love it. it’s a way to learn about the world of writers and written works. and maybe, along the way, a few more things about myself.
by susan | Feb 13, 2013 | Uncategorized
david carradine is quoted as saying if you cannot be a poet, be the poem.
ah! I want to be a poem.
full of grace and rhythm and words, amazing and beautiful and strange and lyrical words.
living a life that says something, makes a statement, causes others to ponder and think and reconsider.
changing metre and form and perhaps even direction, a time or two or, of course, continually.
it may stick at times, or bite. or swoop with devastating loss and soar with unexplained loft.
lives will be lost and nations will be conquered and good will always prevail over evil, though the highest good may not always be clear to mere mortals.
choices will be made, paths chosen, forks encountered and journeys pondered, yet never regretted, whether taken or not.
in the end wings will fold and existence will settle into dust, and all will be understood by those who take the time to read each word and sit in solitude and let the beauty and grace seep into their awareness.
I am a poem.
by susan | Feb 10, 2013 | Uncategorized
may I never, ever, be heard saying that I want to give a shout out to anyone.
sincerely,
older-than-I-want-to-be-but-sometimes-glad-for-it, me
by susan | Feb 7, 2013 | Uncategorized
I’ve had a twitter account for almost 2 years now. I’ve tweeted 6 times, none of them earth-shattering, brilliant, or even anything close to pithy.
I amaze myself with my boring, deeply uncreative approach to twitter: am I truly this dull?
I tell myself the problem is that as a writer I simply have too much to say. tweeting is like writing a synopsis: coming up with a meaningful tweet is–for me–akin to taking an entire 350-page book and condensing it to one page. my inspiration does not seem to come in short-and-sweet, pithy, or concise varieties, and my little-teeny ego does not like to be edited.
that being said, I am always one for self-improvement. matthew kelly said it best (and then I painted in on my mirrored dining room wall): it’s our job to become the next best version of ourselves. no matter how great I/we/whomever might be today, there is always an opportunity for us to become even better/richer/deeper tomorrow. thus…can you feel this coming? I’m assigning myself a new task.
writing synopses and “book cover copy” is an important part of being a writer. we’re told if we cannot describe our project in a sentence or two, we’ll never be able to sell it. agents and publishers accept and reject projects off of information gleaned from one-page query letters and brief (one-paragraph to three-page) synopses. it’s crucial that a writer learn to be succinct. (I just chopped off the last two words of that sentence, “when necessary” because they weren’t really necessary. )
so my new self-assigned task is to work on my tweets. not that I expect my tweets to save the world, inspire others, or change lives; I simply see it as a skill that I have an opportunity to develop. I am setting a goal of tweeting something every week that is neither copied from someone else nor a weather report. neither an action recap (rode my bike today!) nor a wish list (wish the sun were shining so I could ride my bike!) but a statement in 140-characters-or-less that is, somehow, worth reading.
yes I’m nervous. I’m already thinking I’ll have to start a new “tweet” notebook to jot ideas and notes in, and that I’m going to be spending an inordinate amount of time worrying about this. but because I’ve said it, I’m now going to do it. and to help keep me honest I’m posting my twitter address (do they even call it that?) here so you can check up on me:
@susanibird13
watch me learn how to tweet! (and then someday I’ll learn about hashtags. maybe.)
hey, it’s hard to get someplace if you’re not willing to do the work.
by susan | Jan 27, 2013 | Uncategorized
this afternoon I decided to organize my writing life. a wet version of something between hail, sleet, and snow is piling up on my yard and patio and it’s a perfect day to be indoors contemplating the various paths I might follow during my next half-year of writing.
like the suddenness of this afternoon’s storm, my writing life has just ignited. while I was waiting for a lunch meeting regarding my grace manuscript, I counted back the years of this writing life of mine, and realized that it’s been almost 22 years since I committed to creating written works of art. given, I haven’t yet quit my day job, but I have never truly stopped pursuing this dream. I’ve performed some editing, I’ve hired out, I’ve spent a chunk of time writing “morning pages,” I’ve attended workshops and seminars and written more queries and synopses than I want to think about. printed papers of all I’ve written would likely cover every wall in our main downtown library. essays, short stories, novels, memoir, works of non-fiction . . . I am versatile and prolific.
and suddenly I’m busy. I have one published book out there for which I must stimulate sales and find more ways to market, and I have a completed manuscript for which I’m creating a marketing plan. I’ve just accepted a commission to complete a memoir for a woman who died before completing hers, and I’m working on a short story to enter into a competition next month. in addition, I have a friend who wants me to take a look at her manuscript, and a request from a small publisher to come up with an idea (and eventually a completed manuscript) to meet his current need. not to mention my novel-in-the-works . . .
so I decided it was time to get organized.
my sophisticated system is this: a manila folder upon which I’ve written the name of each project, my current plans and commitments for it, and my 3-6 month goal. it took about 15 minutes, and so far it works for me. now I have something to keep me centered and on task, to help me remember what I might forget, something to keep me honest. it all seems doable.
however, it also pointed out to me that we’ve already finished almost one-twelfth of this beautiful new year, and next month’s contest deadline will be followed closely by my next goal date in april. time slows for no man, does she?
the snow is still coming down solidly, building on top of what came down when I began typing this post. it’s a good quarter-inch higher than it was then, thick and white and wet. it’s resolute, committed, determined, unstoppable.
sounds good to me.
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