Down with Reality(?)

Three different people have written to me this past week to say they “just finished” or are “enthralled by” a novel. Each time, I grinned—because I know exactly how they feel.

Remember those old Calgon bath salts commercials? When her world became too chaotic, the woman would cry, “Calgon, take me away!” and end up relaxing in a tub of bubbles.

Well-written fiction, too, can whisk you away from your woes or push you to delve deeper into them. Good writing introduces you to characters and environments that jog your perspective, surprise you with insights, equip you with new coping mechanisms. It expands your world, allows you to luxuriate in thoughtful, exquisite phrasing.

If you’re recovering from an injury, fighting to hang on to your job, or just struggling with each day’s dreary headlines, pick up a book. I guarantee it’s better than Calgon.

“To acquire the habit of reading is to construct for yourself a refuge from almost all the miseries of life.” 

—Somerset Maugham

[Art by John White Alexander.]

Their Brilliant Careers

Though I lost touch with many of my college friends, I did check in now and again on their professional accomplishments. One became a Broadway director, another a Broadway actor; one acquired acting fame in Hollywood, another took home an Oscar for directing. I swelled with pride for all of them—I felt joy, never envy, for their success.

A couple of months ago, I read this:

“My friends are professionally accomplished, and have big important jobs. Using classic Under-Achiever logic, I feel I don’t need to do more with my life, because they are doing so much. It’s kind of like I’m achieving by association. (Keep up the good work, guys! I like feeling important.)”
—Jane Clancy, author of The Literary Horse

I knew just what she was talking about—I nodded. I felt the same way—I laughed!

And then something weird happened.

An e-mail about the publishing industry popped into my inbox, as one does nearly every day, to inform me about who signed with which agent, whose book is headed for the silver screen, and what I should be doing on social media to market myself. I usually scan these e-mails and read only the bits I feel connected to.

On this particular scan, a name gobsmacked me—a name from my college (g)olden days, a name I’d followed for years when the fellow was doing well in Hollywood but then I lost track of him. Now I knew why he’d disappeared: He’d left the bright lights for a professorship, and while he was instructing wannabe actors on howtobe actors, he started writing children’s plays and musicals, which segued into writing YA fantasy fiction, which landed him an agent and a three-book deal for a cool million (and then $ome).

Really?

This time, it was only a little like I was achieving by association. My joy for my friend was fleeting; in its place rose a pang of envy, foreign to me and ugly.

What happened to my usual pride? Why was this different?

Did I yearn for that kind of recognition? Pine for the money? What?

It took a few days to figure out, but I came to the conclusion that I have a problem with people who excel at more than one thing. Well, TWO things are okay, I suppose. But this guy was good on stage, on screen, as an academic, as a playwright, and now as a novelist.

It just felt unfair. It made me feel like I was a kid in the schoolyard again, wondering when someone would pick me to be on the dodgeball team.

Actually, it wasn’t like that at all. I really have nothing to compare it to. My pride had been sucker-punched. I can do a lot of things, too; I just don’t excel at many of them. After whimpering a bit, I got over it. And now I’m happy for my friend. Really.

As Jane says, “Keep up the good work, guys! I like feeling important.”

Here’s A Job EVERYONE’s Eligible For

I saw this on Craigslist, I think. Does our government count it as a “job created”?

I'm looking for an experienced writer interested in writing poems, articles and essays. This is a part time position and will be a 6 month contract. Respond to this post to learn more about this opportunity

**NOTE** No experienced writers welcomed

[Artist unknown—by me. Do you know?]

Scouting for Good Reads

You may have noticed the recent flurry of activity on my book lists. Attribute it to: 1) My intermittent panic that I’m failing to make a dent in my reading wish list—never mind the ongoing short-listed award books cranked out month after month, and 2) My last trip to the library—when I meant only to pick up a book my husband had on-hold, but also came away with a handful of titles I noticed in passing. I’m like the freelancer who takes every job because there’s no guarantee another will come along. I scooped up the books before someone else did or before the library decommissioned them (the more likely scenario).

Which is to say that I’ve been reading on a schedule. But now that I’ve finished the library books, I can return to my own inventory and read at leisure.

Last night, I started a book that held little appeal for me during its prepublishing blitz: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Even after it started winning accolades and awards, it didn’t make it onto my Top 10 list. (Confession: I tend to avoid books and films about injustice. They upset me too much. I know … I’m a wuss.)

Then last year I read a short memoir* by Rebecca Skloot in an anthology of dog tales. I admired her sensibilities and her writing style and was eager to read more of her work, so I took to Googling. It didn’t take long to make the connection as to why I thought I knew her name: Her debut book, Immortal Life, was the one I’d been avoiding. Immortal Life rocketed to my Top 10 list—I couldn’t not read it now.

This is how my reading wish list has evolved of late. Rather than getting recommendations from others or following the bestseller and awards lists, I sample short stories in anthologies and journals. If an author impresses me, I’ll scout out more of his/her writing.

This method is not foolproof. Some authors write better in short form than in long form; some are better at fiction than nonfiction. The theme of the anthology also influences my choices. (The essays of two of my favorite writers in one anthology were duds. Had I not already been familiar with them, I might not have discovered their better works based on that particular anthology.) However, in the long run, the method is a scavenger hunt of my own making that has no downside. All discoveries are serendipitous. There’s no shame or guilt in disliking the book recommended by a friend or reviewer.

As for Immortal Life, I simply had to wait for it to become available at my local library. Soon after I added it to my wish list, though, it arrived at my door; a friend had mailed it to me. How’s that for serendipity? It felt like Christmas. And now a little surge of that feeling will hit me each time I pick up that book.

To good friends and good reads, my abiding gratitude.

* The short memoir was about Skloot’s dog, Bonny, who was viciously attacked by a pack of wild dogs in New York City. If you’re on Facebook (which I’m not), you should be able to read the entire drama there, taken from Skloot’s blog. (If you find it, can you copy it into a file and send it to me?) If the Facebook series is anything like the short piece I read, it will provoke your ideas and convictions on legislation, dog training, and the value of any life. Note for dogsters: You may also enjoy reading Skloot’s article on memorializing her other dog, Sereno.

[Pics are HeLa cells, all originating from Henrietta Lacks.]

Boost Your Ego Today: Analyze Your Writing

I finally got around to visiting the I Write Like Web site—the analysis program that tells you which celebrated author your writing most resembles.

I tested two different Lull posts, a few grafs from a eulogy, and a story I started last year. The results? The eulogy came up as Cory Doctorow, the Lull posts as Anne Rice and H. P. Lovecraft, and the story as David Foster Wallace.

Huh?

I thought, perhaps, there was a set loop of writers the program used for every sample, so I tried to trick it. I entered my “Anne Rice” write-alike again, but got the same answer.

To be clear, I read a couple of Anne Rice’s novels about 20 years ago; I’ve never read any Lovecraft or Doctorow, though I’d heard of them, and I’ve read more about David Foster Wallace than I’ve read his work. So how could I imitate their style without studying it? I was a little perplexed as to how the I Write Like algorithm worked.

I Googled for info and discovered that Margaret Atwood had tried her hand at the analysis, too, only to find that she writes like Stephen King! Who knew? Certainly not Atwood fans, I’d bet.

I found another algorithm online—one that purports to be blatantly truthful and accurate—and tried it with the same samples, but the results were no ego boost. Twice I was told I write like a “daily mail journalist” and the other two samples were tagged as being written by “someone about to go on a killing spree.”

Well, forget about the ego boost. But give both Web sites a spin just for kicks. The results might make you smile.

Crisscrossing America, from Tree to Shining Tree

Traveling exhausts me.

This past week I’ve been to New York, Illinois, Alabama, Georgia, New Hampshire, Mississippi, Vermont, Pennsylvania, California, Tennessee, and Massachusetts. Sometimes twice. Never in any practical order.

I’m visiting the homes and trees of literary and cultural icons with author Richard Horan. This morning we swam in Walden’s Pond and took Frost’s Road Less Traveled. Yesterday we communed with Flannery O’Connor, Willa Cather, and Pearl Buck. Before that it was John Muir, L. Frank Baum, Henry Miller, and Edith Wharton.

It’s a mad-dash tour that’s only halfway completed, yet we have to wrap it up by this coming Saturday—the day our “vehicle” must be returned to the library.

“The secret God-grin is in the trees.”
—Jack Kerouac

For nearly any place you want to go, there’s a book that will take you there. However, when said tome belongs to a library, your timetable isn’t your own. That’s my frustration with reading Horan’s Seeds: One Man’s Serendipitous Journey to Find the Trees that Inspired Famous American Writers. If the book belonged to me, I’d take more time to savor it. Ideally, I’d read a work by each writer mentioned and use the Web to explore the towns, trees, terrain, and architecture that colored the thoughts of those writers. The trip could continue for months.

But this trip has to be over this Saturday. So if you don’t hear from me, I’m likely in Tuscumbia, Yazoo City, Appomattox, Saratoga Springs, or Monticello—or somewhere in between.

Happy trails …

[Trees pictured are the now uncommon American Chestnut: top photo from the USDA Forest Service and bottom photo from The American Chestnut Foundation.]

Time to Tweak My Book Lists

The lists I keep on Lull tell an abridged story. My reading extends beyond the books and magazines listed.

The only publications I post have been read cover to cover. However, some magazines have but a few articles that engage me, so they don’t get listed. Likewise, some anthologies contain but a few stories that interest me, so the book title fails to get listed.

This method is flawed. I’m going to start posting the shorter works I’ve read. Here’s why:
1. To list only books excludes other writing genres that deserve just as much recognition.
2. Listing the shorter works helps me keep track of authors—to read more of their short-form writing, or to look into their other genres, or to avoid them in the future.
3. Some Lull readers don’t have time for books. Short works fit better into their hectic lifestyles.

A few books have become permanent fixtures on the Current Reading Lineup and they’re really starting to bug me. I started all of them, but for one reason or another, they no longer hold my interest. I intend to finish them some day—just not now. I think I’ll keep a tab running on Books Not Completed. This, too, may change at some point. I may not be able to face a list of “failures” every day.

Perhaps you never look at the book lists (in which case, my apologies for this post). That’s okay. I realize I provide no recommendations or reviews or summaries. But you can find those all over the Web. My lists are merely ideas for you, and an inkling of where my head is at month to month. I’ll keep the lists going if only for my benefit.

“We read to know we are not alone.”
—C. S. Lewis

May whatever you’re reading now bring you pleasure, or wisdom, or both.

[Pictured is the outer wall of the library parking garage in Kansas City, MO. Photo by Jonathan Moreau.]

Angel at His Feet

In her upcoming book, If You Ask Me (And Of Course You Won’t), actor and animal activist Betty White describes her good friend John Steinbeck’s method of writing: “standing up at a drafting table—in long-hand, his white bull terrier, Angel, lying across his feet.” (My own feet hurt just thinking about writing this way.)

The Bull Terrier was Steinbeck’s dream dog. He wrote of wanting one long before he wrote about his travels with Charley, his standard French Poodle:

“I have owned all kinds of dogs, but there’s one I’ve always wanted but never had. I wonder if he still exists? There used to be a white, English Bull Terrier. He was stocky, but quick. His muzzle was pointed and his eyes triangular, so his expression was that of cynical laughter. He was friendly and not quarrelsome but forced into a fight he was very good at it. He had a fine, decent sense of himself and was never craven. He was a thoughtful, inward dog, and yet had enormous curiosity. He was heavy of bone and shoulder. He had a fine arch to his neck. His ears were sometimes cropped, but his tail never. He was a good dog for a walk. An excellent dog to sleep beside a man’s bed. He showed a delicacy of sentiment. I have always wanted one of him.”
—From “Random Thoughts on Random Dogs,” in the Saturday Review

Years later he got his wish, for Angel was Steinbeck’s last dog—the one who shared his final hours of life.

[Pic by James Richey.]

Reverence for the Written Word

“As a group, I put writers on the same level as horses: a species almost beyond reproach. Whatever their imperfections, they were still writers. They got me through my childhood, through the last ten years without a date. Whatever sanity I had was thanks to writers, to books that either helped me forget my troubles or helped me understand them. I was one of those people who thought the answer to everything was in a book. To me, the phone book was a book. I could hardly believe we got it free.”
—Susan Richards, in her memoir Chosen By A Horse, after meeting a writer who fell short of her expectations

[Seated Scribe by Gentile Bellini.]