How to make writing friends?
Toss out the question and let the suggestions swim in.
Thanks for the great ideas. They landed by blog, email, and message board. I'll share them all soon.
But first things first: The winner of the drawing for the book, Saved by a Poem, is . . . Molly Spencer.
Thanks again for sharing your ideas and stories.
Annoying Words
(I Beg You Not to Speak, Write or Use)
Really? Seriously?
Hand me a muzzle. I cannot bear to hear one more tart and snarky Really?
Used as a barb to show displeasure, this one word response requires no articulation, and no carefully considered critical thinking. Really? — delivered with an annoying inflection, and followed by Seriously? — is just plain lazy. And overused. At one time, say three years ago, this succinct response was clever and a little bit cute. Now really is yesterday's amazing.
Actually
Actually is an unnecessary word, a filler that quickly bloats and bothers. Diane Lockward at Blogalicious offers this well-put rant: "I want to place a restraining order on the word actually. Forever, not temporarily. The word has used up its lifetime quota. Overused and misused, it's become a sort of verbal punctuation mark or a space holder. Well, actually. How many sentences now begin that way? Actually, a lot. How many responses begin that way?"
Literally
Like so many good words, literally has been abused.
In its standard use, literally means "in a literal sense, as opposed to a nonliteral or exaggerated sense." In recent years, according to my trusty dictionary, an extended use of literally has become very common, where literally is used deliberately in nonliteral contexts, for added effect: they bought the car and literally ran it into the ground. This use can lead to unintentional humorous effects: we were literally killing ourselves laughing and is not acceptable in formal English.
Kelli Russell Agodon sees the lighter side of literally: "I confess I love it when people misuse the word literally. I literally yelled my head off. Really, that must have been very painful for you and how weird you're still alive. I literally died laughing. Really. So you're a zombie now. I know some people get really annoyed with the misuse, but in my head, I love it. I literally see all the things these people literally did."
Bless her heart, I'm not there yet.
I may be cranky but I don't think I'm alone: What's got you bothered?
After I gushed last week about my gratitude for writing friends, a reader raised a critical point:
How do I make writing friends?
Excellent question! It's not easy making friends, at any age, and it can be a real challenge to find niche companions. Want a running partner? Head to the running store. Seeking foodie friends? Take a cooking class. But writing friends? Do you stalk bookstore shelves looking for people with pens? Pace the paper aisle of your local Staples?
Desperate needs call for desperate measures but you don't want to appear desperate. Get too needy and you are a neon sign broadcasting Danger!
You want to cultivate literary friends, but how?
I've got a few ideas, born out of desperation and desire. But before I spill my first-hand blunders and sometimes success, I want to hear from you — and I'll sweeten the deal by offering a free book. Tell me:
How do you make writing friends?
Where and how have you made friends? What's worked? What hasn't?
Jot a note in the comments section below, and I'll enter you in the drawing for Saved by a Poem: The Transformative Power of Words by Kim Rosen.
Feeling shy? Send me an email with your suggestions to dcm@drewmyron.com. I'll include you in the drawing, too.
Deadline to enter is Thursday, August 25, 2011. Winner of the random (i.e. highly unscientific, blindfolded drawing of name) will be announced on Friday, August 26, 2011.
Looking forward to your ideas, experiences and suggestions!
It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light.
— G.K. Chesterton
Because life sometimes seems a checklist of adversity, I groaned a bit when my sister pressed The Happiness Project into my hands. But contrary to first instinct, this book is not just fluff. The Happiness Project is an engaging, action-oriented read. Author Gretchen Rubin thoughtfully explores — through research and personal experiments — what it takes to feel happy. And while she seems a tad Type A (charts, resolutions, progress reports) I applaud her tenacity. A zealot for happiness sure beats a zealot for gloom.
Packed with commandments, secrets and manifestos, the book appeals to my love of lists and order. I especially like her Secrets of Adulthood:
People don't notice your mistakes as much as you think.
It's okay to ask for help.
Most decisions don't require extensive research.
Do good, feel good.
It's important to be nice to everyone.
Bring a sweater.
By doing a little bit each day, you can get a lot accomplished.
Soap and water remove most stains.
Turning the computer on and off a few times often fixes a glitch.
If you can't find something, clean up.
You can choose what you do; you can't choose what you like to do.
Happiness doesn't always make you feel happy.
What you do every day matters more than what you do once in a while.
You don't have to be good at everything.
If you're not failing, you're not trying hard enough.
Over-the-counter medicines are very effective.
Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good.
What's fun for other people may not be fun for you — and vice versa.
People actually prefer that you buy wedding gifts off their registry.
You can't profoundly change your children's natures by nagging them or signing them up for classes.
No deposit, no return.
And speaking of happy, the Secret Society of Happy People is celebrating Happiness Happens Month.
"Somewhere between The Ed Sullivan Show and The Jerry Springer Show talking about being happy became politically incorrect," notes the Society. "We're more comfortable airing our dirty laundry than telling people we've had a happy moment. . . Since happiness is contagious, if more people are recognizing and talking about it then more people will be happy. And ultimately, our world needs more happy people."
"You must have writing friends. Kill the idea of the lone, suffering artist. We suffer anyway as human beings. Don't make it any harder on yourself."
— Natalie Goldberg, author of Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within
For years I wrote in the dark, clutching pen and paper and hiding anything that might reveal my loneliness, my need. I was a reporter in the early years of my writing career and I valued the ability to peer into the lives of others with measures of detachment and objectivity. Writing poetry was entirely different: I felt exposed, vulnerable, and afraid.
Attending my first writing workshop — with poet Judyth Hill, in Taos, New Mexico — cracked me open, and changed my life. Writing needs air, she said, needs to be shared. From that week I grew less afraid and more willing — even eager — to make writing friends.
Writing friends are not like other friends. We don't borrow sugar or share Facebook banter. We don't talk kids or jobs or everyday worries. Our focus is rather narrow. We meet to write, read, and share the writing life. We take part in "acts of literature" — things that feed creativity.
This morning, I enjoyed a weekly coffee and conversation with a poet-friend. We are 40 years apart in age but close together in our love of words. Today we shared works-in-progress, discussed possible revisions, and played a round of Bananagrams, a word game she introduced me to.
Next week, I'm having happy hour with another writing friend. When I moved to Oregon and was devoid of writer friends, she was the first to respond to my call for a writing group. For seven years, we've been faithful in our creative dates. Sometimes we write together. Sometimes we talk. A few months ago we spent a Saturday creating art postcards (and wrote poems on them, too).
Another friend and I have never met — but we share emails. Each week, we agree to a weekly writing prompt, then share the results. Just as with "normal" friends, life sometimes gets full, and so we share our struggles. And that's helpful, too.
Whether it's 40 years apart, or 4,000 miles away, I am grateful for these writer friends. They pull me out of the dark. And in the light, we help each other shine.
Do you have writer friends?
If you don't have any writer friends, what's holding you back?
In the thick of books, I linger.
Something about summer allows me to slip easily in and out of new authors and ideas. Sure, I’ve slogged through a few duds but I've also found some wonderfully absorbing reads this season. Here’s a few of my latest, favorite books:
I Wore the Ocean in the Shape of a Girl
by Kelle Groom
Just when I think I can’t stomach another memoir, along comes this engrossing, sad, and ultimately, beautifully poetic story.
The Adults
by Alice Espach
A wry, perceptive, funny novel told in the voice of a smart and snarky teenage girl as she observes life and death and adulthood fall apart around her.
Room
by Emma Donoghue
This is the ultimate I can’t-put-it-down book. Told from the perspective of a five-year-old boy held captive with his mother. A brutal story beautifully told, and original, too.
Have you slipped into any good books lately? What are you reading?
I am giddy with gratitude (and alliteration) this week.
A few reasons why:
- A good run, thanks to a free podcast.
- Cake Pops. My new favorite indulgence.
- The first (ever!) Denver County Fair was a great success, and serving as Director of Poetry was a kick. Congratulations to the winning poets: Meghan Howes, Carol Samson and Kathryn T.S. Bass.
- Time with family in sunny Colorado. Highlights: Playing Scrabble with my niece and nephew, a jog with my sister, seeing a bad movie in the good company of my parents, and great Mexican food at every turn. Oh Mile High City, you have your charms.
- Returning home to a pile of mail that included two -- yes two! -- handwritten and heart-full letters.
- It’s Happiness Happens Month! That's cause for celebration, and song. Sing along with Macy and me, won’t you?
Stop and smell the flowers
And lose it, the sweet music, and dance with me
There is beauty in the world
So much beauty in the world
Always beauty in the world
There is beauty in the world
Shake your booty boys and girls for the beauty in the world
Pick your diamond, pick your pearl, there is beauty in the world
It's Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to appreciate people, places and things. What are you thankful for today?
Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise.
Please join me in a weekly pause to appreciate people, places & things.
On this Thankful Thursday, I am grateful for things found:
A Quote (just when needed)
"Cultivate your own capabilities, your own style. Rabbits don't fly. Eagles don't swim. Ducks look funny trying to climb. Squirrels don't have feathers. Stop comparing. There's plenty of room in the forest."
— Chuck Swindoll
A Literary Project (that's meaningful and unique)
StreetBooks, the work of artist and writer Laura Moulton, is a bicycle-powered mobile library offering books to the homeless. No questions, no money, no pressure. Read the news story here.
A Blog (that makes sense, and has fun)
Blurb is a Verb, by author Sarah Pinneo, explores adventures in book publicity.
Fresh Food (and not just zukes)
This week I am munching through strawberries, cucumbers, tomatoes and beans, courtesy of Gathering Together Farm. The system of CSA — Community Supported Agriculture — was pioneered in the 1970s, and re-energized in the 1990s (by Denver Urban Gardens' DeLaney Community Farm and others). After so many years, thank goodness, fresh, organic, community-driven food distribution is now mainstream.
Sunshine (hooray!)
While the rest of the nation swelters in triple-digit heat, the central Oregon Coast has endured another unseasonably cool, gray, damp summer. Now, at the end-of-July, I'm wearing summer skirts in a 70-degree heat wave.
It's Thankful Thursday! What's on your list?
Laundromat
Waiting for me to finish folding, she
read Southern Living, spun her cane.
If she wanted help she would ask, I supposed,
but I told her anyway out of the goodness
of my guilt,
Ma’am these dryers are empty,
pointing to the top row. She looked up from her
magazine. I could see the starburst of blue
spider-webbed across her forehead.
She stopped spinning and spoke, I can’t reach
those, she said, I’ve got a problem
with my equilibrium.
What I might have said was Don’t we all,
but instead I nodded, looked at the floor, helped
haul her wet sweat-suits to the dryers, apologizing
for not doing so earlier, whole time thinking
how lucky I was
that I never saw my mother reach
that age, how she would do laundry downstairs
in the room with the window that looked out
onto my childhood,
the lake that would freeze
past the docks during winter, and I’d walk
to the brink, lie down on the ice and dip
my hand in the water, feel the cold
on my stomach, flat and solid, but shifting.
— Luke Johnson
from After the Ark
Photo by Cathy Love MurphyI'm still a bit tipsy, climbing out of the Fishtrap fog. While I've been to several writing workshops, I've never spent a week with so many good people producing so much good work.
It wasn't just the headliners — such as Pico Iyer and Gary Ferguson — sharing strong, inspired work. It wasn't just the faculty — poets Henry Hughes and Myrlin Hepworth, novelists Karen Fisher and Rosanne Parry, for example. Or the Fellows, Patricia Bailey, Nicole Cullen, Angela Penaredondo and Luke Johnson (the poem above is from his just-published book).
Strangely and wonderfully, a large portion of the Fishtrap "students" were accomplished, published authors, too — Bette Lynch Husted, Roberta Ulrich, M.e. Hope, to name a few.
The beauty of the Fishtrap experience, the magic it's often called (yes, I too, once rolled my eyes at this blissed-out description), was that for one absorbed, saturated week all of us generated fresh work together.
Immersion in reading, writing and words, without distraction or interruption, is a rare thing. And though the experience can be a bit exhausting, as I re-enter the "real world" of laundry, bills and everyday obligations, I increasingly value the people, words, ideas, books — and yes, magic — that was enjoyed, gathered, and carried home.
Do you attend writing workshops?
What workshops have you enjoyed, and why?
I’ve just returned from Fishtrap, a writing workshop held in the far reaches of eastern Oregon.
The Fishtrap mission is to “promote clear thinking and good writing in and about the West” and for one full week an accomplished (yet approachable) faculty of poets, essayists, novelists, historians and publishers led and encouraged a group of more than 100 writers through an exploration of Migrations & Passages. I had the good fortune to attend as a Fishtrap Fellow.
What does it mean to move, to travel, to grow up, to be displaced?
Situated at the base of the dramatic Wallowa mountains, getting to Fishtrap is a migration itself. From my western home on the Oregon Coast to the state’s eastern edge town of Joseph, Oregon is a nine-hour drive. Passage, indeed, as I drove through temperate rainforest, past idyllic farms, along carved river gorge, across dry ranch land, and into remote small towns. Remote is understatement, and I say this as one who lives in a town of 650 people and no stoplights.
The displacement was refreshing. I gently pulled from routine and leaned into a roadtrip hum that allowed my mind to wander and wonder.
How do our journeys — of body and soul and pen — awaken us to the new, the foreign, the familiar?
Through writing classes, planned and spontaneous readings, and lively mealtime conversations, Fishtrap provided time, space and opportunity to make creative leaps. Situated at 4,000 feet in forested wilderness, and stripped of cell phone service and internet connection, quietude prevailed as new poems brewed.
And how can staying in a place also change who we are?
Writer Pico Iyer served as guest speaker and visiting thinker. Born in England, to parents from India, Iyer lives in both Japan and California and works as a travel writer (in the sense that outward travel stirs inward introspection). He is the author of two novels and seven nonfiction books exploring globalism, migration, crossing cultures and literature, including The Global Soul: Jet Lag, Shopping Malls, and the Search for Home.
Iyer crystallized the week’s theme by sharing his amusing but profound perspective on what it means to be at home in the world. Always an outsider, he spoke of “the dance between the need to belong and the need to stand apart.”
It’s a dance, like migrations and passages, that may take me a lifetime to learn, to fully live.
I spent the week with a group of lively 11, 12 and 13-year old girls.
As the Summer Camp Adventure Writers (a program of Seashore Family Literacy), we made each day an exploration of the world around us. We journeyed across the historic Alsea Bay Bridge, hiked the temperate rainforest of Cape Perpetua, took the city bus to Newport to wander the working bayfront, and kayaked Eckman Lake, where we paddled against a steady wind that made us feel strong and accomplished when we returned to shore.
As our call to action, we adopted Walt Whitman's Song of the Open Road:
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
Every day we viewed the world with fresh eyes, remembered to taste the air, smell the earth, touch the quiet world within.
One blink is all it takes to see a whole new world.
— Hannah, age 11
Each reflection sparked another so that our pens moved as quick as our feet and words flowed as easily as our laughter.
I search through my mind to find I have seen the small stuff. I have asked why and I know that when you explore yourself you will always find new things.
— Lexi, age 12
Next week, I will attend another sort of summer camp; I've been granted a fellowship to attend Fishtrap, a weeklong writing workshop in eastern Oregon. I imagine it as a summer camp for adults — with the same delicious emphasis on travel, both inward and outward. In fact, this year's theme is Migrations & Passages. The featured guest is renowned travel writer Pico Iyer, who wrote, "We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves."
For children and adults, I'm happy to say the same message applies:
Allons! the road is before us!
Oh, I have lots
of little morsels of advice:
Read often and a lot. Floss.
Invest in a good pair of shoes
and write letters more often.
Listen to the paper take the ink
when you sign your name.
Check out Poetic Asides, a Writer's Digest blog by Robert Lee Brewer, who has gathered writing advice from an impressive collection of contemporary poets, including two of my (Pacific Northwest) faves -- Dorianne Laux and Susan Rich.
How about you: What's the best writing advice you've received, or given?
Thanks to Erika Dreifus for sharing this link on her blog.
I slip them into letters, serve them with dinner, and sprinkle them into everything from congratulations to condolences. I'm always sharing poems.
But sometimes my enthusiasm can be a bit much.
I don't really like poetry, a young writer recently admitted. I don't get it.
I gathered myself, rose to full posture and began my poetry pep talk.
And stopped.
She was right. I sometimes don't like poetry either. I get frustrated by clever phrasing, put off by evasive "meaning," and annoyed with lofty voice. Some days I want nothing to do with poets or poetry. All that suffering. All that longing. Too much whining. Let's get a Slurpee instead!
And then, a few days later, I find a killer poem. I climb into the poem like a kid in a tree, reaching higher and higher for the best view and the perfect perch. And then, because I've tasted how words, experience and perspective can blend, bend and sing, I clamber down to earth to write my own.
So I say to my young friend, Yes, yes, I know. But poems aren't secrets or tests. You don't need to analyze, you just need to feel.
She nods, and I can't tell if she agrees or is ready to bolt. I stop waving the poetry flag. We talk fiction instead.
And then, weeks later, she sends me a poem.
I found this and thought you might like it, she writes. And, of course, I do. I love the poem, the discovery of the poem, and the young woman finding her way with words.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt — marvelous error! —
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.
- Antonio Machado
It's Thankful Thursday. Joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude. What are you thankful for today? A person, a place, a thing? A story, a song, a poem? What makes your world, your heart, expand?
Off the Page, On the Coast
A one-day writing workshop in Yachats, Oregon
Saturday, August 6, 2011 from 10am to 4pm
A workshop for writers of all levels, experience & interests. From poetry to prose, fact to fiction, the focus is on fresh writing with prompts and practices designed to inspire and energize. Led by Drew Myron, participants will generate new work in an encouraging atmosphere and serene coastal setting.
The workshop takes place at the Overleaf Lodge Event Center, a warm and inviting spot nestled steps from crashing ocean waves, minutes from a shoreline trail, and in the beauty of Yachats, a tranquil beach town of just 650 people on the central Oregon Coast.
Cost is $65, and includes lunch.
To maintain a supportive, intimate experience, workshop is limited to 12 writers.
Register Now
- Register online
- Register by mail
Send check, and contact info (name, address, phone, email) to:
Drew Myron
Off the Page, On the Coast
Box 914, Yachats, Oregon 97498
Questions? Call 541-547-3757, or email dcm@drewmyron.com
in this kiss
all our other kisses—
summer solstice
— Ce Rosenow
from Pacific
a Haiku Society of America Book Award Finalist
Dear Crummy Motel,
Thank you for perspective. A single dark hair clings
to the bathroom sink and mottled dust hovers
on the baseboard edge. But all is not grim.
Stained carpet and a thrift store stench
urge me to appreciate life’s small luxuries.
Last night your thin walls invited me to the party next door,
and in this I am reminded that I am a quiet person in a quiet life.
Sometimes I forget.
On the table a tattered pad of paper calls me to scribble lines
about the barking men on the asphalt edges, revving engines
as their girlfriends emerge halter-topped and happy.
From the comfort of a swanky hotel, all this would go un-noticed.
I would be nestled in thick pillows and smooth sheets
watching Real Housewives on a sleek screen. I would pretend
real means heels, hair and endless parties.
But you, humble motel,
remind me how little I need,
how much I have.
It's Thankful Thursday. Joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude. What are you thankful for today? A person, a place, a thing? A story, a song, a poem? What makes your world expand?
I'm curious and fascinated by the lives of others. What's your story? I always wonder.
As a reporter, my vocation provided the ideal excuse to probe for answers. These days, however, I ask less and listen more. When out to dinner, for example, I almost always listen to the conversation at the next table. I don't crane to hear. My nosiness comes naturally.
Lately, I have put my overactive listening skills to use. By gathering the lines of others and making them my own, I am creating overheard poems.
Happy Hour, Happy Birthday
— overheard at the Embarcadero Lounge
I got my AARP card in the mail.
I don’t need that.
I went to Portland to drown my sorrows.
Thank God, there’s always hair coloring.
I don’t know what happened to my boobs.
I don’t have boobs anymore.
It’s a minus tide.
How about you? It's your turn to show and tell. What's in your ear? On your page?
It's Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to appreciate people, places and things.
Today I am thankful for a Leah Dieterich, a woman who shares my love of the thank you note. Her book, thx thx thx: thank goodness for everything is a collection of her thank you notes to the world.
From houseguests to laziness, clean sheets to berets, Leah appreciates the everyday in a daily record of gratitude. Neither saccharine or sentimental, Leah's notes show great mindfulness.
"A few years ago I was living in the future," she explains in the book's foreword. "Not in a sci-fi kind of way, but in that I spent a lot of time thinking about what I'd do when this or that happened, or what I'd do if it didn't. It was stressful to live like that all the time. There were occasions, however, when I felt more calm, more satisfied, and I noticed these were the moments I stopped to think about all the things I had right then and there. The things I was grateful for."
She acknowledges that a thick book of small notes is a tough sell, and even turns that awareness into a thank you note: "I realize a book of thank you notes could come off as overly sentimental, syrupy even, so I applaud you for being less cycnical than the average person."
Last month I gave away a bag of books. No ordinary grab-bag, mind you, but a carefully selected Surprise Package of Good Books.
And the surprise was partly on me, as the first winner — chosen in a highly unscientific, blindfolded drawing — was a no-show. Oh, Ida, we hardly knew you. In fact, we knew you not at all. Fortunately, the bag of books found a home with our second place winner: Shirley!
And because so many participants have asked (okay, just one) I will now unveil the books you could have won, and could be reading right now. While this tease may seem a bit cruel, do not despair. You can get your grubby little hands on these books; Go to your local library, used bookstore, new bookstore, e-reader — or just hit up Shirley.
Poetry in Person: Twenty-five Years of Conversation with America's Poets
Edited by Alexander Neubauer, this thick volume provides both a historical and insider's experience with a stellar line-up of premier poets.
Pictures of You
The latest novel by Caroline Leavitt showcases the prolific writer's consistent skill at weaving contemporary story with engaging plot.
Living Things: Collected Poems
Anne Porter was 83 when her first collection of poems was published. The book was a finalist for a National Book Award for poetry and was followed by Living Things in 2006. One Minute Book Reviews calls her "an Easter lily in the field of late-blooming poets. . . She describes a world that is, as O’Connor put it, founded on the theological truths of the Faith, but particularly on three of them which are basic – the Fall, the Redemption, and the Judgment . . . Porter transmits her Franciscan joy in created things and reminds us that the idea of the holy is still possible for us."
Haiku Poetry
This slim and unassuming book of poems holds the impressive work of Seattle, Washington-born poet and philosopher James William Hackett, born in 1929. Notable for his work in English, an international award is given in his honor: The James W. Hackett Annual International Award for Haiku, administered by the British Haiku Society.
Waterstone Review
A literary annual published by the Hamline University Graduate School of Liberal Studies, Waterstone published work of all genres as well as essay, reviews and interviews. It's one of my favorite literary journals.
This was fun. Let's do it again soon. In the meantime, do tell, what books have surprised you?
Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise.
Please join me in a weekly pause to appreciate people, places & things that bring joy.
On this Thankful Thursday, I am grateful for all things handwritten and heartfelt:
1. A postcard from a former student
2. A thank you letter from a recent college graduate
3. A Pay It Forward package. Remember Pay It Forward for Creative People -- the Facebook post? The deal was that you agreed to send something handmade to five people AND agreed to pay it forward by doing the same for another five people. I sent my handmade items several months ago and forgot about the project — until this week when I received MY surprise package of handmade goods. What a delight!
4. My mother, who taught me to write thank you notes, and who this morning, upon not seeing a Thankful Thursday post, wrote me (not by hand, but by email) this message:
Aren't you thankful anymore?
