Six Great Books

Making the Mundane Magical

Fellow writer and Six Great Books contributor, Molly Mahoney Matthews, is sending marvelous missives from her visit to Vietnam. She writes of coffee, commuting, little girls and lychee nuts, the everyday in a remote land that is usually paired with the word war. The way Molly is sharing her view of the mundane is magical, she has managed to erase the images of bullets and bodies that I have associated with Vietnam for so long. That is what writing and sharing does, it changes perspectives and perceptions. Thanks Molly. You can follow Molly's adventures on her blog, Unsinkable.  

Farming on Paper

 

           

 

            Let me start with a confession: I did not have enough time to reread all of The Grapes of Wrath before the day of my scheduled contribution to the Classics Circuit blog tour celebrating the work of John Steinbeck.  This makes me feel sheepish, like a student who has not managed to do the assigned reading for a class.  On the other hand, it reminds me that we designate certain novels as “classics” partly because they are memorable enough to stay with us in the years after we read them.  And sometimes the experience of reading a book is as memorable as the book itself.

          I first picked up The Grapes of Wrath over twenty years ago during a two month stay on a small organic farm in the Tarn region of France.  It was a lonely time for me, a twenty year old American literature student who had stumbled into this unpaid internship while seeking a summer language immersion experience that would cover my living expenses.  Most of the French spoken in my midst was too rapid and heavily accented for me to understand.  Only thirteen year old Rodolphe, the oldest son of my host mother, had the patience to carry on long conversations with me as we planted seeds, weeded fields, fed chickens, gathered eggs, and transformed the cows’ milk into yogurt and cheese. 

          During the hottest part of the afternoon when everyone rested, I wrote letters on thin air mail paper and soon devoured the few books that had fit in my backpack.  Amidst the piles of Tin Tin and Asterix comic books the kids spend their afternoons reading, I found Les raisins de la colère.  Rodolphe and his mother were enthusiastic in their praise for Steinbeck’s most famous novel, which they explained was standard assigned reading for French students of a certain age.  Given that Rodolphe had learned from his superior history curriculum how to rattle off the acronyms of every agricultural and public works project FDR had initiated, I felt obliged to read this chronicle of American Depression era agricultural devastation.

          My purpose in learning French was to be able to read French literature in the original, so there was an inherent irony to the act of reading Les raisins de la colère in French translation.  When I went along that week to help out at the farm’s market booth in Toulouse, I found an English bookstore with an expensive copy of The Grapes of Wrath.  At my host mother’s suggestion, I read each chapter first in French and then in English.  This tested my comprehension and gave me an opportunity to see how the French translator had attempted to capture the Okie dialect in French slang.  My hunger for English—and relief at being able to comprehend fully what I had read—made me love Steinbeck’s spare yet elegant prose all the more.

          Reading about the struggles of the Joad family while living on a picturesque, but struggling small farm made the agricultural dimension of the story more meaningful to me.  In retrospect, it is interesting to consider how Steinbeck’s 1939 critique of what we now call “Big Ag” presents in fictional form many of the same arguments that Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma and other recent nonfiction books have made about agriculture in America.  The Depression era Dust Bowl was a tragic example of how corporate farms that emphasize monoculture (single commodity crops such as corn) destroy land that traditional methods of crop rotation might have saved.  In one of the earliest chapters of The Grapes of Wrath, a man in a tractor drives out the starving sharecroppers by planting cotton in relentlessly even rows, damaging houses and uprooting the people who live in them.  Later, the Joads learn that those who own the abundant fruit of California’s orchards would rather see it rot than let migrants like them eat it for free.  Because there are so many desperately hungry migrants, those orchard owners have a guaranteed supply of workers who will work for almost nothing.  Steinbeck refers to such owners “farming on paper” as they record their profits without ever seeing their land—the opposite of the small farm model I feel fortunate to have experienced.

          There are many scenes in the novel that stand out, including the Joads' fascination with the modern plumbing in the federal resettlement camp where they find temporary refuge.  The camp's "ladies' committee" discovers an overuse of toilet paper, which they soon find to be the result of one family's starved children subsisting on a diet of green grapes and getting the runs.  However, the most memorable scene of The Grapes of Wrath is its last when Rosasharn, after giving birth to a stillborn baby and seeking refuge from a flood in a barn, sustains and comforts a sick old man with her breast milk.  We do not know if this milk will save him, but her act of generosity is a pure moment of hope in an otherwise pessimistic book.  Rereading that scene, I think Steinbeck was suggesting that however mechanized food production becomes, our need for food and the desire to share it makes us human.  And when we are hungry for stories to sustain us, reading makes us human too and books become as much a part of our individual and collective memory as the food we eat.  In giving us The Grapes of Wrath, which argues eloquently that food should be for people and not corporations, Steinbeck pulls off a good sort of "farming on paper."   

That Vision Thing

 

What was it that George H. W. Bush used to say, something about “That Vision Thing”?  Well, I must admit that I’m having my own problem with “That Vision Thing” concerning my memoir Poor Relation, now roughly two-thirds complete.  It’s not that I don’t have a vision for how it will all come together.  I do, and it is crystal clear in my head.  However, conveying that vision to others has always been and continues to be a challenge for me.  Part of that difficulty is because the book has gone through a pretty major evolution as I’ve been writing it.  It started as a book mostly about my mother, who gave up her two children from her first marriage before she married my father.  But it has evolved into a book about my childhood and the impact that my mother’s decisions had on my family, and how I got from there to the happy place where I am now.

But those are big topics, and understandably, when people (i.e., my writing group) are reading a book that is not yet complete, they may wonder just how I am going to wrap this all up in a neat and tidy 300 or so pages.  The answer is, I will.

But the fact that readers in my writing group are sometimes asking these questions alerts me to the probability that agents and others who will take up my manuscript will also have questions.  While they will not be burdened with the chore of reading the 60 or so pages that I subjected my writing group to that I have already discarded, they will certainly have some of these same questions if I am not careful.

So, this is telling me three things: First, I need to be brutal in editing down the first third of the book so the reader gets into the meat of the story earlier.  Second, I need to work on more clearly articulating, both verbally and in short written form, exactly what the book is about.  And third, I just need to write, write, write to finally finish this first draft.  I’ve been working on it for so long, and now that I do have the vision for how it will come together, I need to find every spare hour that I can to work on it, so I can finally make “That Vision Thing” a reality.

Readers Envy and a Writer's Life

I've been an avid reader all of my life. However, when I began to write my own novel, I could no longer just read. Something an author writes triggers a line or idea for my own novel and immediately I'm digging around for a scrap of paper to jot down a note for my manuscript. Reading has become a forensic exercise - I dissect how other authors communicate/structure action and emotion, how they pace the story and what devices they use to move it along. I have become a student of the craft of writing as much as I am a fan of literature. That push and pull, reader/writer- writer/reader, can make the continuity of reading a book a challenge.

There is also the guilt. Read something that's off of my novel's topic and I feel guilty because I should be writing/researching/editing/building a platform - anything and everything related to my book! It almost feels like I'm "cheating" on my manuscript. Sounds strange but writers know what I mean.  

Even with these distractions I must read, it is as necessary for me as breathing. I still quiz my friends about what they're reading, exchange books with my daughters, I pour over the NYT Book Review and source new reading material from places like NPR and the apps I found on Galley Cat that tell you what folks in the WWW. are reading. Life was simpler when I was just a reader.

But I am a writer. A writer  with a 400 page manuscript that I'm aggressively seeking an agent for. And, I've got two novels working their way out of my head and onto paper. Even with complications and compromises, nothing beats capturing your own characters and their stories on a page for readers to read or other writers to analyze. I may have reader's envy but I am ever so grateful to have a writer's life!

Agent Hunting Rules and When to Break Them

Writing is all about following rules and knowing when to break them.  We observe the rules of grammar and usage, but then we flout them to create a unique narrative voice or make our dialogue more authentic.  Our stories emerge in the context of literary conventions about genre, style, and audience, but the best stories defy and reshape those conventions.  The rules only get stricter when we finish our books and try to publish them.

Like all gatekeepers, literary agents establish rules for entry into their domain, and their grasp of the rules publishing houses and editors impose earns them a fifteen percent commission of their clients’ profits.  However, as is the case for that better known category of agents—real estate agents—literary agents do a lot of uncompensated work.  Many literary agents who appear in Jeff Herman’s Guide to Book Publishers, Editors, and Literary Agents claim to have a rejection rate of ninety-nine percent.  In order to cut down on the huge number of query letters they receive, they have clear submission guidelines that include injunctions against such no-nos as sending email attachments or making telephone inquiries.  Many of the most successful agents simply inform writers that they “do not accept unsolicited queries.”  In other words, they prefer to sign on clients through direct referrals or they just do not want more clients.

Twitter Teacher's Pets?

What does Twitter have to teach us?  Brevity, at the very least.  Keeping tweets under 140 characters forces us to choose our words carefully. 

Some high school English teachers believe that incorporating Twitter into homework assignments will make students better writers.  However, as this article in the Washington Post points out, asking students to tweet about Hemingway or The Canterbury Tales may make them more vulnerable to online predators, including their teachers.  Virginia is calling for regulations regarding instructional use of social media, and some states have already banned Facebook and other digital tools beyond school control.

Will keeping Twitter out of schools protect young people?  Twitter is a new technology, but relationships between students and teachers are hardly a new problem.  Central to the plot of my novel, Blind Girl's Bluff, is an illicit liaison between an art teacher and a blind boarding school student in 1985, when computers were virtually absent from secondary school curricula.  What makes my protagonist Lucy vulnerable is not the art that brings her to Monsieur Touchefeu's bed, but the trauma of having lost her father and the naivete of her perception that she is a grownup at age fifteen. 

Blaming art or technology when bad things happen between teachers and students is far too simplistic.  That's the kind of blame we could tweet in 140 characters or less, and that's why we still need novels and other traditional storytelling vehicles to capture the emotional complexities Twitter cannot.  My hope is that teachers using Twitter to enhance their students' engagement act purely out of good intentions.  In other words, I hope they are not slimeballs like Monsieur Touchefeu. 

And for those of you who would like to meet my slimeball, here is a link to an excerpt from the first chapter of my novel (this comes immediately after the prologue, which appears on the "About Kelly" page of this site).

"Tweet This, Buddy!"

If you’re a writer looking to become a first-time published author, you’ve undoubtedly heard of the importance of having a “platform”.  You better “friend” everyone you’ve ever known on Facebook down to your pre-school playmate from 40 years ago, and “link” with everyone whose hand you’ve ever shaken on Linked In.

I understand the rationale, but for me the need to develop a “platform” has been complicated by the fact that I haven’t told my siblings or most of my friends that I’m writing a family memoir.  My book is roughly two-thirds written, but I’m still not ready to broadly share the news.  I’m just not ready to explain that no, my childhood didn’t include any murder, sexual abuse, or even alcoholism, but yes, it is a story worth telling and will be a book very much worth reading.  And I feel like writing a book is hard enough, but the additional pressure of worrying about my siblings’ reactions to what I’ve written while I’m still working on the writing is too much for the writing process to bear.  And as for my friends, I would rather tell them about my book when I’ve got an agent in my corner, or at least after my first draft is finished.

Enter Twitter.  A few months ago, I dutifully created an account, but I didn’t spend any time on the site.  Sure, I’d hear about all the various celebrities and politicians and their “tweets”.  It seemed everyone was asking for me to “follow” them, or asking for “tweets”.  But I would just scoff, and my crass alter ego would say to myself in response, “Tweet this, buddy!”

And then, a couple of weeks ago, I re-visited Twitter and guess what?  I get it!  I finally understand the beauty and the magic of Twitter.  Twitter isn’t only about connecting with people who you know.  Facebook and Linked In and the others can do that.  Twitter is mostly about connecting with people you don’t know, but who share your interests.  So, you can get your political news alerts from the sources you count on, book and publishing news from various sources, and you can even follow the agents you’re interested in to get an idea of what they’re thinking about and working on.  All in one spot.  And even more, in the context of building a “platform”, you can attract followers who are interested in what you might have to say about books or writing or whatever else you might be thinking about on any particular day.  If you’re witty and prolific enough, perhaps you’ll draw a following large enough to turn the head of a potential agent.

Of course I’m not there yet, but I’m committed to start.  My first substantive “tweet” was in response to #whyIwrite.  I “tweeted”: Because there is tremendous satisfaction in creating art (hopefully!) from the experience of life.  And since then, I’ve “tweeted” a few times, and I plan to “tweet” much more in the days and weeks ahead – about writing, books and the publishing industry, family and family history, and about life.

It is with that in mind that I invite you to:  Follow me on Twitter @JanetHWerner.

And, oh yeah: “Tweet this, buddy!”

 

YA or the Highway?

Although my oldest daughter is still months away from qualifying as a “tween,” I’ve got teen troubles.  My problem is Lucy, the fifteen year old girl who is the protagonist of my first novel, Blind Girl’s Bluff.  She has plenty of problems of her own, considering that she lost her vision and the person who mattered most in her life when her anarchist father suicide-bombed a post office.  When formerly homeschooled Lucy goes to school for the first time on a scholarship at a progressive boarding school in Arizona, she meets new friends, but also finds new problems.  She falls in love with painting, which puts her in the awkward position of being unable to see, and therefore judge, her own work.  The unscrupulous teacher who encourages her painting, French artist-in-residence Monsieur Touchefeu, becomes her lover and, ultimately, an exploitative promoter of her work. 

Lucy is a problem for me because, according to the prevailing logic of the literary marketplace, her problems are supposed to appeal primarily to a teenage or young adult audience.  When I pitched the book at a writers’ conference, each literary agent who heard the basic outline of my story was quick to associate it with “YA,” which is shorthand for what has become the hottest category in fiction.  In other words, this meant my book might have a sliver of a chance of selling.  One agent argued that my story would “work” as YA if I set it in 2010 instead of 1985 and changed the anarchist father to someone like Joe Stack, the guy who flew a plane into the IRS building.  I ignored that last bit of advice, but began to submit queries to agents referring to my book’s potential “crossover young adult” appeal.  A handful of agents have requested the full or partial manuscript, but some of the ensuing feedback suggests that Blind Girl’s Bluff does not quite fit the YA mold—or break the mold in quite the right way.

Our Not So New Year's Resolution

This blog has been more or less on hiatus since Thanksgiving.  This is partly due to our focus on the writing that really matters to us--our six great books.  So, we talked at our writing group meeting the other night about ditching the blog or dedicating ourselves anew.  We decided on the latter.  It's never too late for new year's resolutions, so look for new posts from us soon!

Better an Unread Book than an Unworn Sock

     I try not to buy too many books for myself or my children.  Our bookshelves are full and we raid our local library every two weeks, checking out fifty books at a time.  This has something to do with being "green," but even more to do with being cheap, so please don't tell me to buy an e-reader instead!  As a wannabe first novelist, I feel like a hypocrite.  Why should I expect anyone to buy my (as yet unpublished) book if I don't consider their books worth buying--even when I desperately want to read them?  

    Here's a confession: in my last blog post, I referred to Mona Simpson's compelling novel, My Hollywood, but I have only read the first third.  It was a great read, and it made the two hours I had to kill at the Stamford, Connecticut Barnes and Noble store before catching a train so delightful.  Since my return from that trip the week after Labor Day, I have been on the DC Public Library waiting list for the book, starting off at number nine.  Since users can check out books for three weeks and renew for another three, it's not a surprise that the list goes slowly.  Just when I was thinking of asking for Simpson's book for Hanukkah (we celebrate Christmas too, but that's weeks later this year), I discovered today that I jumped up to number two on the list, apparently because the library system bought more copies.  Even if I haven't supported Simpson directly, I console myself with the knowledge that my hold request helped to convince the library of demand for her book.  And the patrons who let the book sit around on their nightstands for six weeks probably helped Simpson's cause even more. 

    I'm not too cheap to buy books for other people, especially when I want to impose my literary tastes on them.  Unfortunately, no one on my holiday gift-giving list seems right for My Hollywood, but I will keep in mind this plea on the blog of Chuck Sambucchino, the editor of The Guide to Literary Agents, encouraging us to make books our standard gift in order to support the publishing industry.  He advocates asking family and friends for lists of books and magazines they want, but many of us shy away from such a pragmatic approach.  The whole idea of gift-giving is that you are supposed to come up with great ideas on your own.  That's why aged aunts are famous for giving itchy, ugly socks and other items that no one wants or uses.  Nobody strives to be a clueless gift-giver, but if you just don't know what to buy someone and you want to save the publishing industry, then console yourself with the knowledge that an unread book is better than an unworn sock.