The Writing Center

Tuesday’s Portland Oregonian featured a story on the International 3-Day Writing Contest, which puts writers to the task of beginning and finishing a novel within 72 hours (making the term Labor Day Weekend truly appropriate). The contest draws 300 entrants from around the world, and its $50 price tag allows the sponsors to offer publication to the winner (though it’s not clear by what criteria novels are defined or winners chosen — this year’s winning novel was only 80 pages).

I’m a big fan of Anne Lamott’s aptly named notion of Shitty First Drafts (see Bird by Bird for her brilliant chapter on this) and therefore am not sure any novel written in three days should be published. In fact, many novels that take a hundred times that long should not be published (including my own first attempt). This contest is clearly more about speed than literary quality (in only three of the contest’s twenty-eight years have the sponsors found no winning novel) — but to its credit, the contest gets people past their writer’s block and gets them writing. For some writers, it may be the competition that jump-starts their work; for others, it’s the possibility of publication. For most, it’s probably just knowing that other writers, somewhere out there, are suffering along with them.

This contest makes NaNoWriMo look like a walk in the park. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is a soon-to-be nonprofit that every year inspires writers to pen novels during the month of November. The rules for NaNoWriMo make a little more sense: the minimum word count is 50,000 (about 200 pages); it’s free to sign up; and any writer who reaches 50,000 words is declared a winner. NaNoWriMo doesn’t publish any of the finished novels and acknowledges that this approach provides a starting point only (though many writers who began novels with NaNoWriMo went on to revise and sell their books to such publishers as Warner and Berkley Books). But perhaps best of all, the organization collects donations to help the children’s literacy non-profit Room to Read fund libraries in Cambodia and Laos.

For anyone who has writer’s block but not $50, I’d suggest setting your own Labor Day Weekend goals — devise a personal contest of your own, or challenge a few writer friends to help each other finish your long-neglected projects. And if this weekend doesn’t do the trick, November and NaNoWriMo are just around the corner.

Most often when the subject of libel comes up in our workshops, it’s in the memoir classes. But of course fiction writers, too, draw stories from real life, though as Rachel Donadio notes in yesterday’s New York Times Book Review, “it’s extremely rare for a publisher to drop [a novel] because of libel concerns.”

Yet according to Donadio’s essay, that is just what happened to J. Robert Lennon’s novel Happyland, which according to Lennon was dropped by W. W. Norton at the last minute due to its storyline being based on an actual woman and actual events that took place in upstate New York. While Lennon maintains that aside from this foundation, the rest of his novel is entirely fictional, apparently the publishers were concerned enough to let it go.

It’s enough to make any writer paranoid. Many fiction writers do base characters and events, at least in part, on characters and events from their own lives. Then they either let the characters take on entirely new personas — or they very carefully disguise them in hopes that they won’t be recognizable. But libel is always tough to prove, particularly in fiction, so most writers don’t worry too much about it. When my students ask, I turn to my favorite source on the subject, Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. For her take on the matter, see Part Five: The Last Class. She says it all.

The good news, as the essay reports, is that Lennon’s novel did receive publication — as a serial in Harper’s. As Lennon told Donadio, with its circulation of 200,000, Harper’s may have provided a better vehicle for the story anyhow. At any rate, it’s good to see that the First Amendment has prevailed. Donadio also reports that the real-life subject of the novel has no intention of either reading the novel or suing over it. It’s a lesson for writers nonetheless: write whatever inspires you, but do it carefully.

Not long ago, a couple of my workshop students joked that taking my classes has really ruined their reading pleasure. That is, whereas they used to simply enjoy a book, now they read it with a critical eye, noting what works and what doesn’t, and trying to figure out why.

Francine Prose’s new book, Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them, reviewed today in the New York Times, is about this very subject: reading books not only for pleasure but (mostly) for their didactic qualities.

Many writers will maintain that creative writing cannot be taught (including Times reviewer Emily Barton, who writes, “I used to inveigh against writing workshops — right up until the day I started teaching one.”) I myself used to take great pride in having published fiction without ever having taken a fiction-writing course … and even though I now teach fiction workshops, I’d be the first to tell any student that they don’t really, truly need me in order to write. (Though I do aim to help.)

What we all need, however, are the writers who teach us by example. Not necessarily the ones who write books on how to write — while some of these are certainly enlightening, they fall under the same category as classes: perfect for some aspiring writers, but not for all. I’ve always liked Stephen King’s second foreword to his book On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, in which he writes, “This is a short book because most books about writing are filled with bullshit. Fiction writers, present company included, don’t understand very much about what they do—not why it works when it’s good, not why it doesn’t work when it’s bad. I figured the shorter the book, the less the bullshit.”

Yet learning from other writers’ novels or memoirs or poetry is irreplaceable. It’s through reading that we learn what we like, what we don’t like, how to find our own voices, as well as how to handle all the little details that create a character, a scene, story. Prose’s new book sounds like one of the rare gems in books about writing; as Emily Barton writes, “Like the great works of fiction, it’s a wise and voluble companion.”

I just wanted to post a couple of links for any of you who are interested in local classes that go beyond what Metro Writing has to offer — there’s a lot going on this fall, especially for those interested in memoir and poetry (which are, unfortunately, not on Metro’s schedule for the fall).

I’ve just seen the fall course catalog for San Diego Writers, Ink., listing fabulous classes and events to choose from. Another great resource is the San Diego Writers Calendar of Events, which lists these SDWInk classes as well as provides links to other local resources.

Enjoy the back-to-school season.

Freud famously said, “Love and work — that’s all there is.” Rachel Donadio’s essay, “What I Did at Summer Writer’s Camp,” in today’s New York Times Book Review, explores two of the U.S.’s most famous artists’ colonies, Yaddo and MacDowell, pointing out that love and work are alive, well, and abundant at both.

In her essay, Donadio repeats the popular saying that the sex is better at Yaddo but the work better at MacDowell, and she interviews writers from Alice Sebold to Michael Chabon to Jeffrey Eugenides about what really goes on at the colonies. It’s an interesting piece for anyone who’s ever been to such a retreat as well as for anyone who’s ever thought about applying.

Having never been, over the years I’ve thought many times about applying to one of the myriad retreats available to writers. I’ve heard a lot about them (mostly that a lot more loving than working actually happens). And I have yet to send in an application. Sometimes it’s due to scheduling, a daunting application process, already being happily married, or, in one case, the fact that the location was so remote that I’d have needed to bring my own power saw in case a tree fell and stranded me from the main road.

The main reason I have never applied, though, is that I’ve become so used to being a working writer — that is, a writer with a day job — that I’m not sure how productive I’d be if I had two weeks or a month with nothing to do but write. My writing process has become all about fitting it in when I can, and sometimes it’s the lack of time that makes me the most productive. Donadio’s essay touches on this, with one writer saying that all that free time at the colony evoked in her an “exsistential terror.” Other writers simply report sleeping a lot.

What I do try to do sometimes, and what I recommend to others who can’t get away for long periods of time, is to create a retreat of one’s own. This is similar to what Julia Cameron calls the Artist’s Date. What Cameron means is to take yourself out and enjoy some play time or leisure time. But if writing is what you need to do, set aside a day and go to the library, or the beach, or a coffee shop — somewhere you can write all day, uninterrupted by phone, family, or work. Or ask your partner to make him/herself scarce for the day, and to take the pets and kids along, leaving you with a quiet space to write. (Better have him/her take the remote control, too.)

Great work can be done anywhere; you don’t need an artists’ colony to write. However, it’s still worth looking into. As the essay points out, of the many advantages of places like Yaddo and MacDowell, with all that sex and creativity in the air, returning home with good material is one of them.

Today’s Wall St. Journal features an interesting article (subscription required) about authors and publishers linking their books with soundtracks. For example, Bret Easton Ellis recommends Michael Jackson and Elton John to accompany his novel Lunar Park, and James Patterson and Lemony Snicket both give out CDs along with copies of their books. The idea is to create a mood to match the book, and it’s also to attract younger readers for whom sound has become a vital component of entertainment.

According to the article, several authors use music as a way to help readers understand their characters — i.e., they encourage readers to listen to the same music their characters would listen to. Others believe music will simply capture the mood, as music does in film.

It’s a fascinating idea, particularly for the younger demographic (of which, unfortunately, I am no longer a part) that thrives on multitasking. I’m one of those old-fashioned readers who loves to read in a quiet room; I like to focus on the book itself, to let the words themselves set the tone. If I’m in an airport or on a subway, I can still manage to read — but if the choice is mine, I prefer silence.

I often encourage my students, particularly memoir writers, to listen to music before or as they write, to help capture a mood or set a scene. If this is done well, theoretically readers won’t need music to feel what the author wants them to feel. But no one can deny that music can affect almost anything — and for many, that includes books. As the article points out, publishers and authors are always trying to come up with innovative ways to publicize their books, and this is the latest trend. It has its challenges — such as the collision of the music and publishing worlds, and reaching the silent types like me — but it could make a difference with those readers who are accustomed to, or simply enjoy, having a soundtrack in the background of their lives.

Fact-checking is a part of any editor’s job, and a recent New York Times article reminded me of one of my best resources for random, obscure, and weird questions while I was working in Boston: The Boston Public Library’s telephone reference line. We all had the number in our rolodexes, if not posted above our phones or even programmed into auto-dial. You could call the number and ask about literally anything — and nine times out of ten, you’d get the answer you needed.

The Times article (it appeared a couple of weeks ago, actually; I’ve been a little slow on my blogging lately) was, of course, about the New York Public Library’s telephone reference service, and it even included the number (212-340-0849). Those of us on the West Coast needn’t worry — the reference librarians take calls from anyone, anywhere, and even offer to answer your question within five minutes (especially good news for anyone for whom this is a toll call). But don’t forget the time change (they’re available from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Eastern time, daily except Sundays and holidays).

And we do have local resources as well — the San Diego Public Library has telephone reference (619-236-5800) available Monday and Wednesday from noon to 8 p.m.; Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday from 9:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.; and Sunday from 1 to 5 p.m. You can also submit a question online, and the library will provide “provide short, factual answers.”

What’s fun about researching in this way is not only getting your information but piquing the curiosity of the reference librarians. At the BPL, I always noticed that the librarian on the other line wasn’t just dutifully doing her job; she genuinely became interested in what I needed to know, and suddenly she needed to know. So the next time you get stuck in your writing (or editing), pick up the phone. You’ll not only learn something new, but you might teach someone else something new as well.

Some of us buy books based on the cover, the storyline, the genre — and many of us also open them up in the bookstore (or on Amazon) to read a few pages. (John, for one, never buys a book whose opening paragraph doesn’t hook him immediately — and I suspect he’s not alone.) We’ve found a couple of good ways to check out the first chapter of a book without hogging the chairs at Barnes and Noble or flipping through all those electronic pages on Amazon.

The Washington Post hosts a wonderful web site called Chapter One that posts the first chapter of new books — and it’s so much fun to explore. It’s also highly addictive. The site features fiction and nonfiction from a range of literary and popular authors, and most of the books have been reviewed by the Post. But it gives readers a chance to check out new prose for themselves — the best addition to any review.

The New York Times features its own selections in “First Chapters,” in the Books section of its web site. This, too, is highly addictive. But these sites are clearly win-wins — for both readers and authors (and of course, advertisers). We hope they’ll stay around.