Beware contests

Sigh...yet another contest for unpublished novelists has been announced. Lest you think I am recommending this contest, I am not. I'm cautioning you about this contest and all contests that charge reading fees.

The very wonderful short story writer Ron Carlson (and contest judge) said that contests do one thing: They get you out of bed.

But they do little else. Because they get you and every other aspiring writer out of bed to write, the competition is fierce. So you send off your story or your chapters with your fee and you wait and hope and wait.

Many contests don't even have to award the prize if the readers feel that no one qualifies.

Listen, it's hard to publish fiction, but it's still possible. Look at all the novels coming out, all the short stories. You do need a combo of great writing and sheer good luck. Doesn't hurt if you have some great publication credits or a famous writer who knows and loves you.

But contests, they make you feel like something is happening when nothing necessarily is.

If you insist on submitting to contests, though, search out the good ones. Look on the acknowledgment pages of novels for the names of contests that the author is thanking. And then make sure your story or novel exerpt (or entire novel) is stellar--as stellar as you can possibly make it. Those first paragraphs/pages mean so much.

Reading phases

Deborah's comment yesterday got me thinking about phases my reading has traversed.

In high school I read a few books of merit, but mostly I read--um--trash. One title was Swing High Sweet Pussycat. I suppose it was romance. Amazon doesn't list it so who knows. Toward the end of high school and in the years between it and college, I read essays (Paul Williams--the writer, not the singer), Jack Kerouac and the Beats, bought Swann's Way by Proust though I never finished it, and tried to read Rod McKuen but it didn't work. I read The Prophet and lots of books about California, especially Haight Ashbury. I wanted to travel to L.A. and do Primal Scream therapy, but I was too young. (Remember Janov?) I read books on gestalt therapy and read Jung.

At Goddard, I discovered Raymond Carver, the poet Stephen Dobyns, Michael Ryan (whom I later came to know), and the magical realists. Borge struck a chord. So did James Baldwin. I loved all of his novels, especially Giovanni's Room. I loved Margaret Atwood's Edible Woman and Surfacing. I admired Virgina Woolf and I believe I wanted to be her, though her writing wasn't my favorite. Henry James' Portrait of a Lady I liked very much.

Later, Terry McMillan's first novel Mama impressed me, and so did Clarence Major's first novel (he's mostly known as a poet), Such was the Season. Joan Didion.

Then writers like Amy Hempel and T. Jefferson Parker (my favorite crime writer) and Don DeLillo came onto the radar screen. And now....now there are too many to mention. I've made lists on my Web site, penonfire.com and at Readerville.com, on my author's page, but they are inconclusive lists because they just keep growing. I just finished Lolly Winston's Happiness Sold Separately and LOVED it.

I hate writing about my favorite books because as soon as I say what one is, another pops up.

What are you reading and how has your reading changed over the years?

What Hemingway might have to do if he were writing today

My friend Jordie called me yesterday about an op-ed piece in the Los Angeles Times: "What Hemingway didn't have to do." The piece was by Michelle Slatalla who wrote about how authors, these days, must do promotion. Jordie is upset at the state of publishing and wishes things were different, like in the old days, when writers wrote and publishers promoted.

I don't know what to say about this. It depresses him, this state of publishing, Me, I accept it. Doesn't hurt that from '89 to '96 I had a small publicity biz and thought it was fun to get a client's name in the paper or get a reporter to call him/her just because I wrote up a press release and sent it to the paper.

I'm not an extrovert and yet I do find it fun to give talks and teach. I mean, you can only write so much, and then it's time to get off your butt and get out of the house.

Jordie's an extrovert so I doubt this is the problem. Maybe he's too much an extrovert and longs to be able to sit at his desk and muse and write; he's a wonderful writer. But he's disgusted with the publishing biz and I wonder if this discouragement causes him to just not write so much anymore.

I can see it from the publisher's point of view (the problem with being a Libra is you can see things from not just both sides, but multiple sides--from each facet!).

Publishers publish books and need to make money doing so. Publishers aren't exactly big business. So what should they do? If they publish a book and it just sits there, who's fault is it? It's theirs for not promoting it, but isn't it also the writer's fault, for not doing what he/she can do to get it out there? And if no one is buying, who's fault is that? Good books do sell via word of mouth, so a writer can do virtually no PR and if readers love it, it will sell.

It's a complicated issue with no easy solution. There's so much else to take up a reader's time. You're reading this blog, yes? At one time there was no blog and no Internet and so you'd read the paper or--ahem--a book.

On the other hand, maybe you read as many books as you did before the Internet. I do. I just don't watch TV anymore--except, of course, for the Turner Classic Movie channel. Yes, I've seen To Kill a Mockingbird numerous times and I will continue to, so shush.

What do we do, as writers, to support the publishing industry? Buy new books or used books? Borrow books from the library or a friend? This doesn't really support publishing. Or, if you write poetry, do you buy books of poetry? Or look up poems on the Internet? We've got to buy books to keep the machine lubricated.

Don't we? Or do we hide out heads under bushel baskets and chairs, like Rosie is doing above? Slatalla came up with a creative way to promote her book--by writing a piece for the L.A. Times. The piece might be construed as complaining or whining about publishing, when in fact she's having fun with it. No?

Books on the mantle in September

The shades of fall--fall back east, that is, or up in the mountains--are back on the mantle. Here in the O.C., a few blocks from the beach, yards and trees glow green. If you want to see evidence of fall, you look to the hills. The South gets hurricanes; Southern California is headed into fire season.

It's Friday afternoon. Travis is at the beach with a friend and his mom. Brian's out doing errands. I just worked on Starletta's Kitchen using the timer; the timer works over and over again, no matter how long you've been writing. Once you set it you just can't turn it off. You've got to write till it goes off on its own.

I bought a paper shredder today. TC Boyle's novel (Talk Talk) and his words on my show--"I shred, and then I burn"--are fresh in my mind. It shreds credit cards, staples, paper. Cross-cut shreds.

Travis is shredding his workbooks from the 6th grade, now that he's veering into 7th.

Billy Collins' poem, "The Lanyard"

Brian needed a guitar pick and Travis was reluctant to give up one of his 100+ guitar picks from his pirate box. I thought of Billy Collins' excellent poem, The Lanyard. I cannot read this poem aloud straight through without getting a little choked up. It's in his newest collection, The Trouble with Poetry and I believe he reads it on the show (accessible at http://writersonwriting.blogspot.com).

Billy continues to be one of my favorite poets and certainly one of my favorite radio show guests. He has the rare ability to be whimsical and moving about an item as seemingly simple as a lanyard.

Here is the lanyard Travis made for me.

Summer

These last days of summer always make me feel a bit bittersweet. But it's been a good one. Travis turned 12 a couple of weeks ago and still likes to hang with me and Bry.

We spent the last few days in the desert--swimming, mostly. Temperature was 120 degrees at 3 p.m., down to 95 at night. Last night at eight-something, after dinner at the Blue Coyote and a stop at Vons where a checkout woman recognized Brian--went to high school with him, actually. She said, "Brian?"--we went to the pool. Night surrounded the aqua pool with pockets of underwater light and a quarter moon burned yellow, sinking into the San Jacinto Mountains. Standing in the water, swimming around, Brian and Travis threw a ball back and forth. I lay back on a chaise longue and watched them, and watched the sky, pocked with stars.

They got out for a moment.

"There's the tail of Scorpio," said Brian. We three looked up.

I like novels and stories that take place in the desert. My friend Allison has written one and we're hoping an agent bites.

Cicadas during the day, crickets at night.

Has anyone ever seen a cicada?

Reading Plaschke's sports writing

I've written about this before; I'm writing about it again. The Sports section has some of the best writing in the entire newspaper. It's active writing, often with anecdotes, often that tell a story.

We root for the Angels baseball team in this house. We're not fanatics, but we've gone to games and we watch games on TV. So I scan the Los Angeles Times Sports section for Angels stories.

Yesterday (8/27/06), a piece by Bill Plaschke caught my eye and got me reading: "Angels Win This Battle by Choosing Not to Fight."

The piece begins like this: "They scored a dozen runs, slapped around 16 hits, slid into half a dozen doubles, sprinted to a couple of stolen bases, ran around Angel Stadium like kids trying to outrace the last shadows of summer."

I love that beginning. What a wonderful lead. It's visual, active; it's got the beat.

I suggest to my beginning students that they read the Sports section. You'll find few passive verbs and dull, abstract writing in the Sports section. Pieces like Plaschke's demonstrate active, visual writing.

I read the Sports section--to improve my writing as well as to read about our Angels.

Find Plaschke's columns, go to latimes.com/plaschke.

(The photo above is from a Friday night Angel's game in Anaheim.)

Well, it's a Friday night and I....

Remember that old song, too? It goes on: "....ain't got no money...."

Great grammar. But in songs, especially blues songs, the grammar is off--has to be off--and wouldn't sound right if it was proper grammar.

Grammar can be so difficult, though, esp. if you grow up with parents who don't speak the language, as I did. Italian was both of their first languages and so often, around the house, they'd be speaking Italian slang--I later learned--which they didn't want me to learn. It truly wasn't until I was into my 30s that I understood when to use lay and lie! Or what the difference between go and come.

It's true.

Everyone, it seems, hates grammar. A few good books, though, make grammar fun. Spunk and Bite by Plotnik. Sin and Syntax by Connie Hale. Woe is I and Words Fail Me by Patricia O'Conner (I think that's her name....)

Any other you recommend?

The image is from our trip to Catalina last week, Travis and me. This tile is vintage Catalina tile. Gorgeous, don't you think?

Here we are

It finally worked....Here we are....from the left....that's me, then Travis and Brian, Paul Williams and on the right, Elaine, at Brussels Bistro last Thursday night... Mariana is taking the picture. (Elaine, if you see this, send me the photo I shot of the group so I can post the one with Mariana.) See the post below for more on this night.

Rainy days and Mondays

It's not rainy and it's no longer Monday. I tried to post this yesterday and blogger.com kept crashing on me when I went to upload the photo. So let's see if it works today.

Last Thursday Brian was playing at Brussels Bistro in Laguna with Elaine Miles, his every Thursday night gig.

Paul's wife, Mariana Williams, and I had been emailing a bit. She's a writer and was given my book. Turns out she's married to Paul Williams who wrote many wonderful songs, including "Rainy Days and Mondays," a Carpenters hit. We decided to finally meet. And because Brian and Elaine are major fans of Paul Williams, we decided to converge on Brussells--Mariana and Paul, me and Travis.

It's great when you not only have admiration for someone's talent but for them, too. It was a wonderful evening.

I asked Paul where the song, "Rainy Days and Mondays," came from. He said his mother had come to live with him in Hollywood where he was getting acting parts, but on this particular day was an out of work actor. His mother was moving about the apartment and he heard her say something like, "Nothing to do but frown," and the song began finding its way to paper.

I'd love to have him on the show, to talk about songwriting. Songwriting mystifies me. It's the one form I've never quite gotten. I've written poetry--and still do on occasion--but it's just not the same.

Even Travis had a better time than he expected, though the only food he liked were the French fries.

(I'll post a picture when blogger.com stops crashing on me when I try...)

Creating a Web site

People keep writing to me about the October issue of Writer's Digest magazine in which my article, "Setting Your Sites," is running. It's about how to set up a web site and blog--I think. It's been so long since I submitted the piece and got paid for it, I can no longer remember the exact specifics. But from the emails I'm receiving, it sounds as if it's been useful to writers. No hate mail yet. ; }
......

Lovebirds who met in my class

I heard from a former student, Chad Moore, who took my class at UC-Irvine, a few years ago. He told me he met his wife, Deanna, in my class.

He says, "She was very quiet. Took a little while to get to know. The first day of class was the first time we had ever seen each other... and it was a couple of months before we got to be friends. By the time the class ended, we were finally speaking regularly and emailing, but then she moved to Portland before we could even go on a date! So, then we started racking up lot of long distance calls. She finally came down to visit her family (she's from OC), we went on our first date, spent the weekend together, and the rest, as they say, is history. We were married almost two years ago, and live up in Echo Park. Life is good!"

I love it when that happens.

Here's Chad's blog address: http://blog.deresolution.net

And here's my memoir workshop...

As well as a critique group, this summer I've been teaching a memoir class. Like my Thursday night group, Writers Block Party, my memoir workshop also meet outdoors. A talented group of folks...some have been in other workshops of mine and some are brand new. First up, Cynthia and Diane, then Joe, Judy and Julie (who is looks like she has a wine bottle for a nose, but I'll make up for that down below)....










Laurie and Ruth....








Laurie and Kim (Ruth, who was between them, had to leave)









Kim, moi and Cynthia ....









Julie and Rebecca ...









Joe, Judy and Julie, as it grows darker ...









Julie and Rebecca, with JoJo between them. He's a cat who likes writers. What cat doesn't?

Makes you want to write romance fiction

Long ago when I started writing fiction, my older brother and I had a conversation that went something like:

"Why don't you write a romance novel?" he said. "They always sell."

"But I don't read romance novels," I said.

"So what? Write one anyway."

"I can't!" I said.

He could have done it, no doubt--he's always been a talented writer, but he's never been that moved to write. He just reads a ton.

Over the years the romance genre continues to be one of the strongest selling fiction markets. The romance writers met in Atlanta last week, their 26th annual conference. Here's the stats the Los Angeles Times cited:

In 2004, romance novels generated $1.2 million in sales (40% of fiction sales).
Romance novels have expanded into sci-fi and military tales, increasing male readership from 7% in 2002 to 22% in 2004.

Readers and writers of romance novels are a tight-knit group, enviably so. When PEN ON FIRE came out, I spoke at the Romance Writers of America-Orange County chapter's monthly meeting. (Debbie Macomber was the main speaker.) There were a ton of enthusiastic members present, and some were writers in other genres who enjoyed the community.

There's community in the mystery field, too. Lots of mystery bookstores, lots of events and conferences for mystery writers and readers.

Wonder why that's not so for literary fiction writers. Any guesses?

The weight of words

This was in the Los Angeles Times yesterday (reported by the AP): "In Iran, Pizzas Will Now be Called Loaves". They're getting rid of foreign words that have inundated their language. "'Chat' will become 'a short talk.'"

Also, a photo ran of a man in Tyre, Lebanon, gathering his books strewn about from a bombing. There is so much about the war that saddens me, but I had to cut this image out of the paper. It's on the wall above this computer. Such a visceral image.

Writers Block Party workshop

Here's my Thursday night class, which we held in the front yard on Thursday since it is SSH (So Stinking Hot) in the house. It was lovely, really, and fun to be outside with all the night sounds and this group of folks. We may make it a habit to meet out here, as long as the weather permits.

In this photo, Andy, our cartoonist/graphic novelist, is making us laugh (as usual). That's Barbara to his left, and Connie, to her left, all long-time members of the workshop.













Here, Diane, Lacy and Marrie are trying to avoid the camera but realize there's nowhere to turn.













Robin, Peter and Andy ... always upbeat folks, ready for a laugh ...













Marrie, Elle and moi...













Elle and moi. We have fun. Does it show?













Dianne and Lacy are focused on the work at hand. Marrie is into the food. And she's so enviably svelte!













It grows dark....













And darker...













Goodnight! Until next time.....

When your husband hears about your cold bath

Brian says to me, "You wrote about your cold bath on your blog???"

"How'd you hear that?"

"One of my student's, his mom. David's mom. She was laughing about your cold bath."

"Well, that's good she found it funny."

Brian gives me a look that says, what else did I write about on my blog and is there anything that he maybe should be concerned with? He won't read my blog--in part because he's a luddite, when it comes to computers, happily so, and can think of a ton of things he would rather do than sit in front of a computer. But also, I'm sure, a part of it is he's afraid of what he might learn. Which is why it took him so long to read Pen on Fire; yes, he had read many pages early on, way before they were even a book, but once his friends, who'd bought the book, started telling him things about him that they found in the book, he was afraid to look.

It can be a wild, hairy ride, living with an author who might quote you or write about you at any turn. Yet it could be worse. Imagine living with a trial attorney and getting interrogated about your every move. Or living with a dentist, who is always checking out your teeth. Or an ob/gyn who's sees it all.

So Brian says, "You didn't write about....."

"No!" I tell him. "I wouldn't write about that." At least not in my blog. Now in my fiction where I can disguise people and places, well, you just never know.

Me and George W.

I'm sitting here working on The ASJA Monthly and I'm reading Media Bistro's Newsfeeds (www.mediabistro.com). I come across George W. Bush's name, last night's dream flashes by, and I mouth the words: Oh. My. God.

Last night I dreamed George W. and I were dancing. I was infatuated with him and he was infatuated with me, although when he looked at me, he didn't quite look in my eyes, but focused somewhere near my eyebrows. I don't recall Secret Service or Laura Bush or even Brian. We were simply dancing.

Now, the one thing I like about George W., I admit, is that he wears cowboy boots on occasion.

I've begun keeping a notebook of dreams (again, after years and years). Perhaps my subconscious has decided to entertain me.

A cold bath and There Will Never Be Another You

I have never before in my life taken a cold bath. I'm from back east; I'm not a wimp when it comes to experiencing heat. I've spent August days in the desert when it was 100 degrees in the shade.

But I've never been so moved to take a cold bath as I was tonight.

So I filled the tub, affixed the suction cups of the bath pillow, and settled in to read Carolyn See's There Will Never Be Another You, which just came out. I'm halfway through. I love this book. LOVE this book. She's going to be on the show in a few weeks. Her last three books have been winners: Handyman, then Making a Literary Life and now this. I'm enamored.

So if where you are is as hot as where I am, consider filling the bathtub with cold water and spending an hour or two with this book--or any book you love, really.

Podcasting

Here's me, blathering on--well, it's only a minute so I guess that can't be called blathering--about podcasting. The woman doing the intro is my student, Laurie Sullivan. This was very impromptu, after class one night.

Click here and then click on "Tools of the Trade" on June 10.
You'll find it under "Tools of the trade, part 2."