And so we beat on…

I’m back.  Perhaps I should apologize for my absence or give a litany of excuses.  Ah, but I respect my readers too much for trivial words of appeasement.  I will admit the inspiration that aroused a need for the resurrection of this site.

F. Scott. (He and I are on a first name basis, you know.)

Yes, Baz Luhrman’s adaptation of The Great Gatsby is now in theatres.  3D at that.  I saw it in simple 2D last week and it has taken me a full week to form a complete opinion.

The verdict?  I hate loved it.

I’ve always been fond of Luhrman’s vision since Moulin Rouge and Romeo and Juliet.  So I waited two years, with anticipation sticky on my tongue to have The Great Gatsby burst before my eyes with life.  Luhrman satisfied with dazzling party scenes and fast New York shots.  I especially loved the intimate scene among huge trees with fireflies sparkling in the dark. 

But he seemed to forget one great important detail.  The story of Gatsby and Daisy?  Well, it happened in the 1920′s.  As glamorous as the time may have been, Lurhmann remembered simply in costume.  Kind of. Everything else failed to deliver me to a time period of grace and glory.  I have a hard time seeing Gatsby at his parties, which played like a theme party at a modern day club.  And don’t even get me started on the music.  I expected a modern day take on Louis Armstrong or Fats Waller.  Beyoncé could have channeled Lena Horne and put a new spin on Ain’t Misbehavin. Mamie Smith?  Bessie Smith?  Al Jolson?  Their music is all waiting to have a modern twist.   It just didn’t quite fit the proper and proud Mr. Gatsby.  Don’t tell me they couldn’t have done something with this…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iympOhiU1o

Speaking of Gatsby…Can we discuss Leo?  Initially, I loved his portrayal with the exception of his pension for leaving the “t” off “Old Sport”.  I had a little giggle every time he called some one an “Old Spore”.  And his attempt at attempting a Boston accent every now.  What I did like was the way Leo gave us a glimpse into Gatsby’s desperation, more so than I’d ever seen before.  In hindsight, it was his exploration of that need that was far over reached.

Which leaves me to discuss my main critique of the film.  You see, the best thing about F. Scott’s book is subtlety.  In fact, everything about Gatsby was subtle, despite the loud parties and fast cars.  He offered the world a boisterous playground, but he, himself?  He boiled just beneath the surface because of his pride and fear of being discovered. 

Sadly, I think if anyone could have played Gatsby’s inner life, I believe it would have been Leo.  But he went the easy route of over exaggerating.That’s what I didn’t like about Baz Luhrman’s interpretation on screen.  What wasn’t portrayed?  That’s an entirely different story. 

The Great Gatsby is far from just another love story.  It isn’t just about an obsessive man and shallow women.  Not parties and affairs and material things.  Not really.

The Great Gatsby is about circumstances and perseverance and desires and delusions.  It’s about the haves.  And the have-nots constant struggle and admiration of the haves.  What they will do to get a taste of their life.  It’s about loving an ideal instead of people.  The Great Gatsby is a glimpse into humanity, indicting of societies values.

The Great Gatsby is a book.  It’s an incredible book that perhaps, regardless of who plays the part or who calls the shots, can’t be justly portrayed in two hours and twenty two minutes.

But…wait…

I still loved it.  As a movie apart from the book, it was beautifully shot and wonderfully acted.  It was everything I expected from Mr. Luhrman.

So?  If you want to see a good movie, I highly recommend it.  But don’t watch it as the book.  For that, stay home and curl up with F. Scott’s beautiful words.

Or maybe, I have a touch of Gatsby’s soul…

“There must  have been moments that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams–not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion.”

 

 

 

The End

“It is always important to know when something has reached its end.  Closing circles, shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn’t matter what we call it; what matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.” ~ Paulo Coelho

My greatest struggle in writing is the end.  I can spend hours on a story perfecting the setting and characters, but when it comes to the end…I want it done.  If you read my first drafts of any story, it is apparent how much I hate endings. They are rushed and inconclusive.  Done.

It’s indicative as to how I live my life.  I don’t like endings that drag on with mess.  When something is over, it’s over.  No looking back.  No long drawn out nights.  Yup!  I’m conclusive that way.

Relationship.  Done.

Job. Done.

Mourning. Done.

Get the paperwork filed and move on. Pack the house and move on. Say goodbye and move on. Tell the story and move on.

If only it were so simple. Far too often, after I’ve said done, it comes back to haunt me.  Lingering emotions tighten their grip until I have to deal with the mess I try so hard to avoid.  This is probably not the healthiest way to live.

There’s something important about endings.  The greatest lessons lie in goodbye’s.  When we sweep them away and move on as if they never happened, we miss the lesson.  Perhaps we avoid it for that reason.  Lessons change us. Change is hard. Better just to be done.

Yet, we can’t get away from them.

When I skimp on the endings in my story, far too often I don’t want to delve into the lesson.  All the common advice says to tell the story and let the readers take away what they will.  Don’t be preachy.  Don’t shove it down their throats.  I understand the advice. I’ve avoided my share of self-righteous people trying to tell me how to live my life.

But if we can’t take something from a story, what’s the point of writing? I look to Paulo Coehlo who lays forth his stories like philosophy.  He has no shame in creating stories with moral fibers and laying them out for the reader.  And his books have made an impact on my life and views of the world.  Some might say that he’s preachy, yet he’s wildly successful.  There has to be something to it.

I think I’ll take more time on my endings.  Put a little more heart and lesson into the conclusion of my story.  Allow myself to learn a little.  Not just in writing, but in life as well.  Maybe it’s a lesson we can all take with us.  Slow down and allow endings in life to change you.  We all might be a little better for it.

Literary Reflections of the Future

“If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” ~ Dorothy Parker

I’m currently buried in the pages of “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens.  Admittedly, it’s my first time reading it even though “Great Expectations” is one of the greatest influences in my writing. I’ve only now started Chapter One, but already I’m finding a relation to the book that I hadn’t expected.

A wine barrel breaks open into the street, spilling on the cobblestone street with red wine.  People drop what they are doing, including a woman carrying an empty food bucket with a hungry infant on her hip.  The crowd runs into the street, stomping in the wine and mud.  They use their hands as cups, staining their skin, as they scoop the glop into their mouths.  Mothers soak handkerchiefs for their children to suck.

The wine shop owner shrugs his shoulders at the sight of the poor sucking off the street. He disappears inside the shop and engages in conversation.  One man says, “It is not often…that many of these miserable beasts know the taste of wine, or of anything but black bread and death.”

I’m no Charles Dickens, I know. Dickens has impeccable word choice. Had he chosen to say, “…many of these poor souls,” the tone would have made an entirely different scene.

It’s that tone that struck me the hardest after Mitt Romney’s comments he made during a speech at a closed fundraiser.

“There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it. That that’s an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what …

These are people who pay no income tax. 47 percent of Americans pay no income tax. So our message of low taxes doesn’t connect… my job is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them that they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives.”

Mr. Romney, I am part of that 47% of which you speak.  I live around the poverty line and I receive no aid from the government. I take full responsibility for my life, thank you. You needn’t convince me.

I still will not vote for you.  Because I believe that we have evolved from the 19th century when Charles Dickens described adverse poverty beneath the noses of a ruling class.  I believe that women have the right to reasonably priced contraception.  Furthermore, I believe that more access to contraception would severely curtail the need for abortions.  I believe that children deserve to eat and have a roof over their heads.  I believe that less poverty leads to less crimes. And I refuse to live in a society where only those of financial value are deemed worthy of the basic necessities of life.

I am an American, Mr. Romney, and I chose to vote for a president who knows his job is to worry about ALL Americans, not just the Americans of your choosing.

The best part of literature is the vivid descriptions of societies and values of the past.  As I write my stories, I hope that one day future generations can read the stories of our culture and find pride in the choices we made.

I’m no Charles Dickens, but I do have fear that my writing may come to reflect the very darkness he describes.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,it was the season of light,it was the season of darkness,it was the spring of hope,it was the winter of despair.”  ~  Charles Dickens,    A Tale of Two Cities

The Pattern of Snow

“Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself…It’s a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily his demon, but of his divine discontent.”  ―    Harper Lee

Every writers deepest desire is publication. The dream of seeing your writing on a website or in print to be read and, hopefully enjoyed, by readers around the world. Vindication. That’s what DLBurton called it. Vindication. Not necessarily towards anyone else but for the hours spent behind a keyboard punching in words, then deleting, then more until the recipe is right. Vindication for every eye roll and “Oh, you’re a writer” comment. Above all, vindication for the poison of self-doubt that sucks the life from the marrow of our existence.

My first published short story was released this weekend. You can read it here  http://www.thewritemag.com/2012/08/falling-snow/ .  Be sure to read the others stories too.  I especially liked Tabula Rasa by Brian J. Robinson and John “Tubby” Stover by Arthur Davis.

Funny thing about being published, besides the feeling of vindication, is the overwhelming sense of nakedness.  A friend said she felt like a voyeur reading “The Pattern of Snow”.  While the story is fiction, I understand why because the feelings are all very real to me.  I think that’s how a good story should make the reader feel.  Like a voyeur peeking into someone else’s life.  Reading should be the ability to walk in someone else’s shoes for a period of time.  It’s the singular greatest asset we have toward compassion.  Without understanding, there can be no compassion, leaving only room for hate and disgust.

Right now, I’m going to revel in my first publication, though shameless self-advertising is much like I’d imagine wearing a jock strap, bulky and ill-fitting.  This is the most you’ll hear from me.  Stop by and read my first published short story at http://www.thewritemag.com/. Enjoy it.  And feel free to leave comments.

Whew.  I’ll go back to writing, thank you.  Less like a jock strap, more like a pair of cozy pajama pants.  And I’ll put away that vile of self-doubt for a while.

 

The How of Letting Go

“You know how writers are… they create themselves as they create their work. Or perhaps they create their work in order to create themselves.”  ―    Orson Scott Card

Perhaps the most difficult challenge that I’ve yet to learn is when to let go.  Or perhaps it’s the how of letting go.  I suspect is has a lot to do with growing up a military brat and having to let go of friendships long before they bloomed.  So, I hold on to everyone I meet that touches my heart with such an iron grip that I often break them.  Much of my writing is a process of learning to let go.  Sometimes, I wish it were so simple to just write the story down and tuck it away for rereading when the wounds of goodbye are less tender.  If I could perfect the process, I would.

So, I begin again with my novel, having mulled over the non-existent plot and figured out the loopholes.  It is, primarily, a novel about letting go. Letting go of opinions, ideas, expectations, things, and love.  Love being the hardest.  Because I’m still learning the how of letting go of love.  Being as I am, I just figure that I won’t ever have to really learn the how of that because I won’t ever let myself go there again.

How to let go of regret is another theme I plan to tackle.  Those dodgy thoughts that run through your mind of people you’ve hurt or opportunities lost.  Those moments when fear allowed you to push away chance that danced outside your door.

Perhaps Orson Scott Card had it right.  Maybe writing is nothing more than a long journey to create a self out of the messes we make of our lives.  It’s a good thought to have as I begin this novel. It gives me a goal to work towards.  The only way to work toward a goal is to decide what outcome you want.  Then, plan accordingly.

“. . . All artists’ work is autobiographical. Any writer’s work is a map of their psyche. You can really see what their concerns are, what their obsessions are, and what interests them.”
―    Kim Addonizio

The craziest part about writing is that the best laid plans are usually thrown asunder by the end of the first draft and truth comes to light.  If it’s written right. I’m off to begin a new journey of self-creation.  I’ll check in with you soon.

Making Me

Two weekends ago, I traveled home to Watertown South Dakota for the All School Debate Reunion.  Meaning everyone who has ever graduated from the Watertown High School Debate program was invited.  Realize, this program is generations old with attendants who graduated before I was born.  It was an incredible experience that I almost didn’t make.  But in the end, I pulled it together. It seemed funny to me that, while reminiscing with my old team mates, we remembered so little.  Like…who were my debate partners?  My best friend swore that we debated policy together.  I don’t remember it for the life of me.  Our sophomore coach shared a story about a ride home from Pierre, SD during which one of our teammates became ill in the suburban.  If you know the trip home from Pierre, there is nothing.  You start with a full tank of gas.  As Coach told it, we drove for a while until we found a little prairie bar where he cleaned up the mess with newspapers, still in his suit, and walked into the bar to throw it away.

None of us remembered.  Except for him.

What I do remember from High School Debate were the lessons that affect my life to this day.  I’ve always been a writer since I created stories listening to my Walkman on the front porch of grandma and grandpa’s farm at the age of five.  But I just told stories.  What one must realize is that writing is more than the simple telling of a story.  It takes organization and word choice to have an impact.  This…is what I learned from High School debate.  Here are the tricks I still use.

1. Flow pad

For those of you with no High School Debate experience, this is what we debaters called a flow chart.  Here, we charted points given in the speeches of the other team.  Yes, it must be done on yellow legal pads.  Not white or pink.  Yellow.  It is a simplified organization tool that I use to draft my novels, or short stories.  Because all writing must have a system of organization.  I still use one.  Yellow legal pads, horizontally across the lines. There is no other way.

2. Index Cards

I’m sure this is old school, but it was a way of life in the 1990′s.  We would find our evidence substantiating our claims and paste them on index cards, which would then be organized with dividers and carried in brief cases.  There were cards both for and against the topic, organized by dividers. Most debaters carried several briefcases to every event.  To my recollection, significant amounts of the evidence was never used, falling to the wayside for the stuff that evidence that proved effective.  Therefore, I sustain that the majority of evidence was carried as a means of intimidation. And a nice seat in the middle of the overstuffed bus.

As a writer, I still rely on index cards. When I moved, I carried an entire stash.  Sometimes, I write individual sentences on them to reorganize paragraphs.  Sometimes, I paste pictures on them for inspiration.  And most of them, I admit, I carry just because.  Old habits die hard.

3. Highlighters

I wasn’t just a debater. In fact, my strongest area was in the individual event, Oratory. At the beginning of the year, I walked into my competition rounds with my oratory glued to black construction paper.  After a few events, I’d have it memorized.  I competed with success throughout my high school career.

And this is where Highlighters came in.  Words on a page tend to blur into a smear of black and white for me.  It made memorizing the pages and pages of Oratory that I wrote rather difficult.  So, I had a trick. Highlight important phrases.  The impact words, therefore breaking up the monotony of black and white.  I still use highlighters in my writing.  No story is ever finished until it’s been printed and read through with a highlighter.  Anything that reads a little off, or serves as a pause causer, gets the swipe of orange.  That’s the color I prefer.

4. The Perfect Pen

Never, never underestimate the power of the Perfect Pen.  The Precision shown above is, and always has been, my absolute favorite.  I’ve been called a pen snob.  I do not argue.  I will continue to be a pen snob.

I keep these tricks and trades from my time in the Watertown High School Debate team, with so many more.  Without the skills I learned, my writing would still read cluttered and chaotic.  But there’s one more thing that I carry with me from my High School debate geek days.  That’s confidence.  The reunion gathered debaters who had walked many different paths of life.  Lawyers, doctors, business men, teachers, among so many others. From our time in debate, we all learned confidence. To speak, to collaborate, and to share our opinions regardless of what others might think.

Me? I write.

And just to get this off my chest, among the other memories that seem to have slipped our minds, I can’t remember for the life of me how I ever was nominated “Clod of the Squad”.

   

If You Don’t, Who Will?

I Googled the answer to this question and found the one answer Google doesn’t know.  There is no specific number on unpublished, dedicated, trying-to-break-in writers.  Personally, I know 700+ on Twitter and another 100+ on Facebook, all of whom I find I’m grateful to know.  But there are thousands more I don’t know, which means if I don’t follow my dream of publishing, there are, at least, 800+ people out there who will.

So why bother?

I’ve been in the doldrums lately.  I could go into the ins and outs as to why, but it’s not really important.  What it boils down to is feeling stuck. In a rut. The size of the Grand Canyon.  With no search team.  Or cell connection. Or GPS. I’m not too worried about it.  Droughts have as much significance as the rains and somehow they all balance out.

Fortunately, I have a mother.  That one person in the world who believes that her angel sings better than all the other kids, even if they are tone-deaf and screaming at the pageant. We had a long conversation today about my doldrums.  And then? She told me about an essay contest at Real Simple.  Doldrums be gone and I found hope again.  More than hope…excitement.  I wanted to start writing right then, but Mom wanted to talk more.  The mention of that contest reminded me of another contest for a woman’s magazine. I’ve been trying to enter it for years but struggled with the theme of things women today face.  The story never came together, but I have a month and a half to figure that one out.

It feels good to have something to work towards again.  A goal.  A plan of action.  One thing to focus on.  I guess that’s the way I live my life.  All common wisdom says to live in today, which I’ve been trying to follow.  Just today. Not yesterday or tomorrow.  That common wisdom goes against the way I work.  I’m a goal seeker and find it difficult to focus on one day at a time.  I live for the thrill of my next adventure, the titillation of a new story, the hope of win.  Even in school, I sat on the edge of my seat waiting for the next big project to passed out on a Xeroxed paper.  Having no plans for the future left me feeling hopeless. I need something for my brain to chew on.

I suppose I’m missing the point.  It’s not that I don’t love my day to day life, especially now that my son is home from visiting his father’s.  But what do people think about in their downtime?  Me?  I watched the entire series of Teen Mom.  Fascinating stuff, I’ll tell you.  But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life watching someone elses. I think I lost a few IQ points during that time.

I’d rather have something to work towards.  I even have a story to fit the woman’s magazine theme.  Maybe I became a real woman over the past year.  As for the essay at Real Simple?  I’ve got that covered as well. I have something to work towards and the doldrums have lifted.  So I dismiss common wisdom.  Live for tomorrow.  Hope for tomorrow. Dream for tomorrow.

Because if you don’t, 800+ other writers will.