I spent some time this morning typing in an excerpt from one of Natalie Goldberg's books. I imagine I've talked about her before in these pages; she has some of the best, most inspirational writing advice I've ever found. (I hear Anne Lamott's _Bird by Bird_ is also good, but I haven't read it yet). So I sent this excerpt to a friend of mine, and then I thought, 'Well, I already typed it all, and maybe there are some of the journal readers to whom it might apply.' So I'm enclosing it below. Slightly long, but well worth reading. Have a good weekend, everyone!
Sometimes we would recite our poems to each other. I remember the first time. I was driving Jim home and he said, 'Oh, I'll recite one of my poems.' And he did. A beautiful one about a deaf boy catching a Frisbee. Then I recited one of mine. I can't remember which one. He said, 'Hey, that's good.' And we both let out a sigh of relief. It almost didn't matter how much we liked the rest of each other's work. It was the first poem that counted the most. We could continue with our relationship.
One day after we knew each other a while -- Jim was ten years older than I, a veteran poet -- he turned to me, 'Who gave you permission to be a poet? Was it Allen Ginsberg?' I had studied with Ginsberg the summer before. 'Someone along the way has to give you permission.'
'No.' I shook my head. I was too shy to say, 'No, Jim, it was you.'
I have a friend who is widely published and is now working on her third book of nonfiction. She read me two of the chapters last week. I listened to them, my head cocked to one side. They were beautiful. 'Hey, that's a novel you're writing.' She smiled, very pleased. She couldn't contain herself any longer. She wanted to be a fiction writer but wasn't as sure of herself in that area. I was the only writer she knew, and whenever we got together, she said, 'Let's talk about writing.' Of course, I love to talk about writing and was pleased, though our friendsh was multileveled and we shared many interests. I realized in a subliminal way that she was asking my permission to be a writer. Naturally, anyone can be a writer, 'It's a free country,' I used to scream as a kid when I was in an argument with another kid. But there's someone further along on the path, who gives you the nod, who says yes, who adores literature as much as you and so gives you permission to love this odd thing all the way and to continue with it in the face of everything.
When I say 'you ask permission,' I do not mean you have to go to someone higher up on the totem pole and inquire, Is it okay if I write? Write before you ask anyone. As a matter of fact, never ask anyone; always write, but it is about relationship. You know another writer and this reinforces your own love and commitment. It is not about them saying yes or no; it is about encouragement and friendship. And it is about something deep and unspoken. When I was with Jim, I quietly vowed to continue, to carry on with this great thing we both loved. I didn't stand there digging the big toe of my right foot into the dirt and say, 'Gosh, Jim, well, golly, do you think even dumb old me can write?' It's more like you stand shoulder to shoulder, looking out a the vista, and the older writer points and says, 'See,' and you nod and smile, knowing that the vista is good and sweet and you always want it in front of you.
Cecil Dawkins was over for lunch last Tuesday. We both had finished our novels the same week. She worked on hers for eight years. Three years ago at the start of mine, I had brought her some chapters for suggestions.
I said, 'You know, when I came to you, I didn't know what I was doing.'
She nodded. 'Yes, I know, but I figured you'd figure it out.'
Last week we sat and read to each oother from our manuscripts. After I read her the epilogue, she said, 'Well, I think you became a writer with this book.'
I was thrilled. A seasoned novelist had given me the nod. After she left, I sat on my bed, thinking, 'I want to be a writer more than anything else. That's what I want to leave to future generations. If I stay true to this path, I won't be afraid to die when it's my time.' I felt an invisible thread pulling me through my life. I wouldn't be so afraid to die because I would have been busy dying in each book I wrote, learning to get out of the way and letting my characters live their own lives.
But a thought just occurred to me. 'Well, when do I get to live my life?'
The answer that came back to me is 'You don't. Not in the old small-minded way. A bigger life happens. You extend yourself to the past and future. When you get tired of your big life, take a break. Go have a cup of tea or maybe even a chocolate chip cookie."
- Natalie Goldberg, _Wild Mind_
Gotta run, but here's this interesting tidbit of news:
KEY WEST, Fla., Jan. 26 (UPI) -- The Key West City Commission has approved a rule that will allow city employees to add domestic partners onto their insurance policies.
The ruling makes Key West the first municipality in Florida to extend insurance benefits to unmarried homosexual or heterosexual couples that live together in committed relationships.
In order to qualify, couples must register as domestic partners at the city clerk's office.
For a $50 fee, they will receive a certificate recognizing them as committed couples. City officials say the certificate could be helpful on mortgage applications and in other financial matters.
Only residents of Key West may apply for certification.
The city still has to work with its insurance carrier before the benefit package goes into effect, but the ordinance clears potential snags.
Florida's business community already had broken the domestic-partner barrier, as firms such as Disney Co. -- which owns Walt Disney World in Orlando -- have extended benefits previously granted only to married couples.
In other news, I have my first sailing class today (it's offered as phys ed here) -- exciting. Lots of new things, lately; while I was in Chicago, Todd (mathematician friend) took me ice skating for the first time, down on the new rink they have on the Midway. I fell down twice in half an hour, which I'm told is not bad at all (though I admit, I was either clinging to the wall or Todd or Karina's hand for most of the time (and my knee was not pleased with me. neither was my ankle)). I had a great time...let's hope sailing goes as well.
I'm starting to feel like I'm back on track, like I'm actually going to get everything done, like I'm not flailing. We'll see. :-) The classes look really exciting this semester, with tons of good reading. I went a little book crazy yesterday; bought some textbooks, but then bought a bunch of other books. It wasn't really my fault, though -- I'm giving a presentation on Delany's autobiography for my creative non-fiction class, so I *had* to go to the sf bookstore, see? And once there, I was lost...
Remind me not to oversleep. I start having nightmares. Maybe it's just my body's way of telling me not to be lazy. It's strange, because actually in the last week I've had a lot of intensely happy dreams, sort of 'it'll all work out' dreams. Dreams about Kev, and my family... Weird.
Those of you on the list (I really ought to name the readers' list, and formalize it. Ideas for names?) should be getting some odd stuff this semester. Creative non-fiction appears to cover memoir, essay, letters, collage, etc...in other words, you'll probably be learning more about me than you want to know. Maybe I'll label the non-fiction pieces as such. I'm more than a bit nervous about them, to be honest. At least with fiction, no matter how much of you is in them, you can say -- 'Hey, it's just *fiction*'. No such screen to hide behind here.
I do believe in being brave. I believe it almost always pays off. But sometimes it gets tiring, and it's almost always scary.
Good thing I like you guys. :-)
Then it's toÊwork! I have a two page fiction piece due today -- it'll be the first new fiction writing I've done since mid-December, I think. Eep. Good thing I have school to get me off my butt. Will send it out to the reading list when it's done, so y'all can see what a very rough, very short draft looks like. Should be good for a few laughs, at least.
I do have a pile of work to do today, so I'll just point you to the new page of random sexual humor I added this morning. I don't know that any of these jokes would stand on their own, but I get enough of them sent to me that I decided to start up a page for them, so that you can read them when you're 'in the mood', as it were. :-)
Have a good day, everyone -- I may check back later.
Classes start today! I'm home again! I have a pile of mail! I have two stories left to critique before the Clarion X workshop tonight!
In other words, I'm a little too busy for a journal entry today, but I should get you a proper one soon, my dears...
I do have a new radio interview to report -- WLXG radio in Lexington, Kentucky. I'll be on Wednesday, January 21st, 4 p.m. Eastern time -- it's a call-in live talk show with a Gen-X audience, and I'll probably be on for a while. Hope some of you call in...
That's all folks! Karina arrives tomorrow!
In other, more exciting news, the Nebula ballot is out, and I have a new reading list. The Nebulas are the awards given by members of the Science Fiction Writers' Association, so they're the awards a writer gets from hir colleagues (as opposed to the Hugos, which are voted on by the fans). To become a member of SFWA, you need three professional sf publications (I have one so far (I would have two, but the magazine folded (after paying me))). Someday...(submitting to SF magazines would probably help).
I enclose the list of novels, in case any of you are interested. I'll star the ones I've read so far, though I plan to make my way through a good chunk of them -- this *is* the competition, after all.
First, let me apologize for the long absence. I was offline for some time, as expected, but just when I would have gotten access again, I got very sick. Nothing serious; just a very bad cold, but I was weak and feverish for about a week, and am only now starting to feel healthy again. As Kevin doesn't have net access from home, it's only recently that I've felt up to walking to campus to log in. So apologies to all, especially those poor souls who have been leaving little notes in my mailbox asking when the journal will come back. It's back, and I hope not to leave you for so long again.
I'm not going to try to cover the missing weeks in detail; it would just take so long, and my memory is faulty. I managed to keep a journal for three days near the beginning of my trip -- those entries have been appended to the December '97 page, and those of you who are curious may wish to go back to them. They mostly cover the New York portion of my visit. Connecticut was pleasant; everyone in my family appeared to be on their best behaviors (yours truly included), and while perhaps nothing serious was discussed, neither were there any major battles. I'll take that, for now. It was wonderful seeing the family again, and eating my mother's cooking -- yum! She may not be the best cook on the planet (she says *her* mother was much better), but she's one of the best I've found.
After arriving in Chicago I met Roshani's new boyfriend and his utterly charming mother; we spent a day traipsing around the Art Institute and the Bahai Temple before I got really sick. As always, lovely to see the Art Insitutute, and the Temple was a simply gorgeous piece of architecture; I'd never visited it before, and I'm very glad I went with them this time, even if it did make my cold worse. Then I went up to stay with Lisette for three days, and generally sniffled my way through them, resting and watching videos (six hours of Pride and Prejudice!) and reading Foxtrot comic books. Then back down to Hyde Park to stay with Kevin, now back from visiting his parents for the holidays, where I've been resting more, watching more movies (Love! Valour! Compassion! was quite good, and I'm planning to watch Evita later today), and starting to think about working. Actually, I have started working, reading the anthology submissions that piled up while I was gone. A fair number left to go; I'll try to get through a bunch this afternoon. (You know, I keep expecting this anthology editing to turn into work, and it hasn't yet. It's still fun. If it keeps being this much fun, I may need to think more seriously about spending a portion of my career as an editor).
Ah, my career. That's what's really on my mind these days. I just finished reading Jane Tompkins' retrospective, A Life in School. Tompkins is a literature professor, and author of a book on reader-response criticism; I've read some of her work before. This new book is a fascinating look at what she calls a desire for a more holistic approach to teaching. I don't think I can really encapsulate it in a paragraph or two, but it was a pleasure to read (okay, I found the early part a bit tedious, and I think it could be trimmed, but otherwise...) and made me think more about what kind of teacher I want to be. I'm very comfortable in the traditional academic mode, in the lecture style, in the classes where the 'bright student' shines....yet there appear to be quite a few pitfalls with that design, and I worry about how useful it really is to the students. I know I'm a good lecturer, and I don't want to just fall back on that and not think about whether I'm being a good teacher. It would be so easy for me to be emotionally lazy; I can easily picture myself as the traditionally overprepared teacher who works desperately hard and never feels like there's enough time to cover everything. Well -- I'm not going to keep ranting about this here. If Deborah (professor) says it's okay, I'm going to add my reading logs from her course on theories and strategies of teaching writing to these pages in a separate section, and then those of you who are interested in that subject can follow my ramblings and incoherencies there as I struggle with the field.
This all assumes that I will teach. I hope to, certainly, but the thought of what would traditionally await an M.F.A. graduate (a round of single courses at various community colleges for some years) sounds inexpressibly dreary. Not the teaching itself, but the low pay, low prestige, necessity of running around to multiple schools, exhausting oneself in the commute simply to make enough money to make a living...eh. It seems arrogant to say, "I ought to be able to do better", but nonetheless... On the other hand, if I look at four-year college teaching positions, it's clear that I'm generally underqualified for those. Well. I haven't really started researching this properly, so perhaps the picture will lighten up as I go. This is all complicated by not knowing yet where Kevin will be next fall (he finishes his math Ph.D. this June) and various decisions as to whether to try and get a job near him, etc. Two academics dating -- ick. We'll be lucky if we get jobs in the same state.
Before I go, I want to rave about a new book by Emma Bull and Will Shetterly -- Freedom and Necessity. Written in 18th century epistolary style, this book by two noted fantasy authors just blew me away with its brilliant combination of adventure story, double romance, Hegelian philosophizing, detailed historical and hint of mysticism. Couldn't put it down. Recommending it to everyone. And Engels is a major character -- what more could you ask? (The philosophy does get a bit dense for those who aren't into it; just skim it if you need to.)
Well, quite a lot of babble to little effect. I still haven't written an anniversary entry for the journal; perhaps I won't. It's going well, and I'm happy with it -- let's leave it at that. I also haven't done my New Year's resolutions; perhaps I'll do that tomorrow. We'll see. I'm not going to stress about it.
Hope you all had a wonderful holiday and are thoroughly rested and rejuvenated. I'm starting to feel that way.