This excerpt from Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones reads very smoothly, and I like that. It doesn't attempt to tower above the reader by using insufferable language or haughty linguistic theories, nor does it make the reader feel subordinate to the author in terms of knowledge and experience; it invites us in to a warm environment where we feel that the author is learning along with us. While I don't really care much about her studies in Zen (Katagiri Roshi is a popular guy in her world, it seems) or much of her personal interjections, I can appreciate the simplistic and enrapturing approach she takes in her writing-- it flowed by much more quickly than some of the other materials we've covered so far in class, that's for sure.
There are some choice pieces of advice to be found, of course, amongst the casual approach Goldberg has taken. While the relevant points could be honed down to their essence in about two paragraphs out of this entire selection, they are quite insightful and could prove to be the introspective kick writers in our class could get good use out of. I found the line towards the opening to be particularly interesting, for I'd never considered it this way, but the fact that "loneliness" isn't really loneliness if we can connect with other people, even about being lonely, is pretty interesting. It really gives us a perspective that we might glaze over while writing, in that what we consider to be lonely, or sad, or anything of the sort could just be mundanity to a reader: we need to define this given emotion, and make sure it stands out.
Necessitating a way to slip out of our writer's rut, to subliminally give us a new perspective, is a common theme in Goldberg's writing. Her carrying a cigarette around is a clever way of doing so, especially due to her habit of not actually smoking at all; it's the same mindset that method actors use, to really get into a character other than their preset, boring selves. I can see how something as little as an appearance change can make one think completely differently, especially if they were out in public (which Goldberg certainly is banking on, now that I think about it). This mentality is echoed elsewhere in the piece, particularly in the "group work" section; for example, drawing a random topic out of a hat and running with it seems to be counter-intuitive to creativity, but as she states, we'd be surprised at how much we can squeeze out of a random start like that.
The idea of a writing marathon is also intriguing, in that it would help lambast ourselves in a way that I quite enjoy. She talks about avoiding criticism and letting your work sit to "decompose" in a compost pile of literary occlusion, but I think that writing a whole lot in a short period of time, and in repetition, could really help a writer realize what's working for them and what isn't. By going back and reading works after we've let them sit for a while, as she suggests, we can find some sort of bastion amongst all of the terrible writing we squeezed out. A good writer would be able to take this, and work from there, honing their materials so there's more scalding hot lines than tepid, soulless ones.
I think my biggest criticism for this reading lies along the content Goldberg is implying her advice is best applied to. While we can graze from her writing and derive helpful information, it's clear that her writing students and herself are focused on themselves and writing about personal experiences, their lives, and so forth. It's not impossible to be creative while writing about these topics, as she proves throughout, but it's also easy to fall into what she warns against in the beginning: being boring for other readers. Creative writing doesn't need to be wacky, nigh unintelligible jumble to be appreciated, but people who focus on themselves, especially new writers, tend to drive more people away than they draw in.
Oh, and Goldberg likes to stick herself into just about every situation she possibly can throughout this small section. It's her book, so she can do as she pleases, but it was obvious that she needed to shoehorn her own experiences in at least twice a page in order for us to better get an understanding of her topic (as if that makes any sense). Even when she's referencing other people or their stories, she finds a way to make it about herself, which is funny in a sorry sort of way. As I critiqued above, this has the potential to get (and does get) pretty boring pretty quickly-- whether that's because of the material itself or the self-absorbed narrative is up to each of us to decide, but I'll call it as a little bit of both. And that, in a round-about sort of way, is why I mentioned I appreciate the warm, inviting flow of this excerpt; it would be much more intolerable had she written it in a more scholarly sort of way.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Fiction Packet #3
Fiction Packet #3 is the latest entry in our series of fiction readings, and I believe our class will be pleased with its contents after a curious lack of enthusiasm for Juice. For the most part, the stories here are self-contained and generally absent from any cryptic, metaphorical nonsense which tripped most everyone up in Juice, and just having a concrete narrative that can be followed from beginning to end feels almost like a breath of fresh air.
The one exception to this would be the exerpts from "The Sing Fish," a curious tale of boys and girls and moons and mud and, of course, fish. I'm going to shy away from explaining that one. That isn't to say that all the other stories are simplicity defined; there are plenty of eccentric aspects to them, of mystery and ambiguity, which really highlight their creativity-- they just aren't meandering, seemingly disparate sentences strung together, yet they don't just hand a story to the reader and leave them with nothing gained.
"The Falling Girl" gives us a head-scratching look into a scenario where, at the top of a skyscraper, people are jumping towards the ground to reach a party of magnificent proportions. We're experiencing this through the eyes of an inquisitive girl, who seems to be dreamily observing everything. We learn that, on the lower floors, inhabitants of the skyscraper only see older folks falling, and suddenly the context of the conversations in the beginning of the story seem less dream-like and more metaphorical, clearing up the intent of the story very nicely. What began as a somewhat droll, daydream-inspired short story evolved into a clever perspective on the progression of life, hinging on just a few key lines to change the entire feel of the text. I like that the author uses some wonderful imagery juxtaposed with plain, ordinary dialog, giving us a sense of wonder while presenting it in a deadpan sort of way.
"The Fifth Story" is a collection of five stories, all of which are centered around the exact same day, the exact same action. A man, innocently enough, wants to kill the plague of roaches infesting his home; fair enough. He learns of a recipe from a woman that will dry them from the insides out, and we have our story. This same story is then recapped over the next several tales, until we get a maddening amount of detail of the mental process behind the decision that is, at first, as simple as just exterminating some pests. Our narrator compares himself to a killer, questions the morality behind ruining these creature's lives, ponders if he should do it every night, for they'll keep coming back up the pipes, and launches a rather brilliant ranting metaphor on the similarities of the dried-up shells of the cockroaches to the horrors befallen the island of Pompeii. The implication, I think, would have him in the place of the personified murderous volcano, slaughtering all without discrimination or forethought.
On a side note, both of these stories are written in a foreign language and translated, which leaves me to wonder how much of the integral word choice, the meaning and feeling behind each word was lost in translation. There are many foreign phrases and words that hold no simple meaning in the English language, and I wonder if these authors crafted even better works in their native language, only hindered of their true potential for us by a language barrier.
The one exception to this would be the exerpts from "The Sing Fish," a curious tale of boys and girls and moons and mud and, of course, fish. I'm going to shy away from explaining that one. That isn't to say that all the other stories are simplicity defined; there are plenty of eccentric aspects to them, of mystery and ambiguity, which really highlight their creativity-- they just aren't meandering, seemingly disparate sentences strung together, yet they don't just hand a story to the reader and leave them with nothing gained.
"The Falling Girl" gives us a head-scratching look into a scenario where, at the top of a skyscraper, people are jumping towards the ground to reach a party of magnificent proportions. We're experiencing this through the eyes of an inquisitive girl, who seems to be dreamily observing everything. We learn that, on the lower floors, inhabitants of the skyscraper only see older folks falling, and suddenly the context of the conversations in the beginning of the story seem less dream-like and more metaphorical, clearing up the intent of the story very nicely. What began as a somewhat droll, daydream-inspired short story evolved into a clever perspective on the progression of life, hinging on just a few key lines to change the entire feel of the text. I like that the author uses some wonderful imagery juxtaposed with plain, ordinary dialog, giving us a sense of wonder while presenting it in a deadpan sort of way.
"The Fifth Story" is a collection of five stories, all of which are centered around the exact same day, the exact same action. A man, innocently enough, wants to kill the plague of roaches infesting his home; fair enough. He learns of a recipe from a woman that will dry them from the insides out, and we have our story. This same story is then recapped over the next several tales, until we get a maddening amount of detail of the mental process behind the decision that is, at first, as simple as just exterminating some pests. Our narrator compares himself to a killer, questions the morality behind ruining these creature's lives, ponders if he should do it every night, for they'll keep coming back up the pipes, and launches a rather brilliant ranting metaphor on the similarities of the dried-up shells of the cockroaches to the horrors befallen the island of Pompeii. The implication, I think, would have him in the place of the personified murderous volcano, slaughtering all without discrimination or forethought.
On a side note, both of these stories are written in a foreign language and translated, which leaves me to wonder how much of the integral word choice, the meaning and feeling behind each word was lost in translation. There are many foreign phrases and words that hold no simple meaning in the English language, and I wonder if these authors crafted even better works in their native language, only hindered of their true potential for us by a language barrier.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Juice
Juice continues a somewhat popular trend found throughout our creative writing course and its materials: mildly confusing, subtly cryptic, and wholly meandering literature. I found myself constantly going back to re-read sections of the text to make sure I knew what was stated, that there was a definite connection to the rest of the text; and, while a lot of times it didn't make a whole lot of sense, it certainly knew how to show itself off. Even if someone were to read this book in its entirety, and misunderstand the context of every single page, I would find it hard to believe that they couldn't pick up on some of the awesome, wholly imaginative uses of imagery throughout (though I only have currently read ~half the book, so excuse me if it takes a 180-degree turn and does something unpredictable).
I suppose, if one were to be confused by the erratic nature of the text, they could just interpret the entire thing as a dream sequence of sorts and forgive the jumping narrative. In my opinion, at least from ongoing discussions with classmates, the poetic styling of this novella will be the main hindrance for readers. Something about poetry just seems to turn people off, and while this work is certainly written with prose at the structural center, its flow is very poetic-- throw a few line-breaks in, and you'd have some contemporary poetry to accompany our earlier poetry packets.
Oh, and the current affairs of juice afflicting our main characters are humorous, I suppose, but utterly nonsensical-- am I missing something, or is this just a weird fetish?
I suppose, if one were to be confused by the erratic nature of the text, they could just interpret the entire thing as a dream sequence of sorts and forgive the jumping narrative. In my opinion, at least from ongoing discussions with classmates, the poetic styling of this novella will be the main hindrance for readers. Something about poetry just seems to turn people off, and while this work is certainly written with prose at the structural center, its flow is very poetic-- throw a few line-breaks in, and you'd have some contemporary poetry to accompany our earlier poetry packets.
Oh, and the current affairs of juice afflicting our main characters are humorous, I suppose, but utterly nonsensical-- am I missing something, or is this just a weird fetish?
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Story Writing
The fiction-writing packets have given me some interesting perspectives to consider while writing, though I found some of the readings to be a bit long-winded. Many things can be pulled from these words of advice and guidance, however, that apply to all forms of writing. I enjoyed reading Burroway's "Prose-Rhythm" section coming off of poetry, and much of his packet can also be related to the poetic form. In particular, the bit about "Significant Detail" stands out: without strong, character or plot-driving details, most pieces of writing become boring rather quickly.
Of course, there is a heavy emphasis on utilizing emotion via action and description rather than simply saying something plainly, which is poor form throughout. I found it important that Burroway took the time to emphasize that simplicity does not equal static writing, however; he shows that even simple words can be used to evoke the senses, such as "smoked fish" and a character exclaiming "Good day!"
I think that, overall, some great advice lies among the text here, but these packets also make "creative writing" seem awfully contrived at times. Then again, my immediate frame of reference for creative writing comes from Kurt Vonnegut. His famous eight points are far from accurate in the light of many, many famous story-weavers, but they've certainly given me as much to think about as anything in these packets in terms of actual creativity. I'll drop them below, should any classmates wish to read them and make unnecessary comparisons to their own work or others' writings:
Of course, there is a heavy emphasis on utilizing emotion via action and description rather than simply saying something plainly, which is poor form throughout. I found it important that Burroway took the time to emphasize that simplicity does not equal static writing, however; he shows that even simple words can be used to evoke the senses, such as "smoked fish" and a character exclaiming "Good day!"
I think that, overall, some great advice lies among the text here, but these packets also make "creative writing" seem awfully contrived at times. Then again, my immediate frame of reference for creative writing comes from Kurt Vonnegut. His famous eight points are far from accurate in the light of many, many famous story-weavers, but they've certainly given me as much to think about as anything in these packets in terms of actual creativity. I'll drop them below, should any classmates wish to read them and make unnecessary comparisons to their own work or others' writings:
- Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
- Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
- Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
- Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
- Start as close to the end as possible.
- Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
- Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
- Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Longer Short Stories
When our initial fiction packet containing what were called "Short Stories" was freshly removed from my printer, I succumbed to a bit of laughter when I noticed how short they actually were. This week's discussion about three comparatively long stories, which I will call "normal-length" in acknowledgement of their eponymous categorization, are more along my lines of expectation.
There's a lot to admire about this form of writing, and how they influence these stories; the time given to develop characters and cause intrigue, if not emotional involvement with the reader, without proper introductions is fascinating, and the descriptive terminology used in the stories is widely necessary to uphold the enrapturing nature of a short story, yet still somehow entirely unique amongst one another. Perhaps my respect for short-form literature stems from this necessity: drawing a reader in and causing some sort of provocation, whether it be curiosity at the plot or admiration of the atmosphere or a connection to the characters, is not an easy thing to do, yet we see such variation here in such a limited scope that it's hard not to admire these works.
The first story is, I'd like to think, my favorite, though the ending admittedly confused me. The writer presents us with a rather mundane scenario of internship at what appears to be some sort of psychology/sociology hub, complete with terminology that would probably rise above the typical dialog of many readers, yet makes it work tremendously. We are presented with a duality of sorts, in which a so-called observation is flipped on its head halfway through the story. While we may realize what's going to happen pretty quickly through the story, thanks to the curt-yet-revelatory descriptive nature of the writing and in particular the environments, its the nameless characters who steal the show, leaving us reveling in a scenario neither one of them is certain about, but one that we know is ultimately debilitating for the participants and cruel for the instigators.
The precise use of scientific annotations really helps drive this one home; while most people would look at things like this and roll their eyes, in this story they provide insight to the mentality of the characters (which is, really, non-existent otherwise), and the entire setting can be envisioned as some artsy movie, in which we can watch the mental stagnation and degradation of these characters with verifiable emotions. It certainly ends on an ineffably odd note (unless I misunderstood something obscure in the midst of the story), but the context of the entire writing is nothing short of clever, enjoyable manipulation of the human psyche-- both in the story, and of the reader.
There's a lot to admire about this form of writing, and how they influence these stories; the time given to develop characters and cause intrigue, if not emotional involvement with the reader, without proper introductions is fascinating, and the descriptive terminology used in the stories is widely necessary to uphold the enrapturing nature of a short story, yet still somehow entirely unique amongst one another. Perhaps my respect for short-form literature stems from this necessity: drawing a reader in and causing some sort of provocation, whether it be curiosity at the plot or admiration of the atmosphere or a connection to the characters, is not an easy thing to do, yet we see such variation here in such a limited scope that it's hard not to admire these works.
The first story is, I'd like to think, my favorite, though the ending admittedly confused me. The writer presents us with a rather mundane scenario of internship at what appears to be some sort of psychology/sociology hub, complete with terminology that would probably rise above the typical dialog of many readers, yet makes it work tremendously. We are presented with a duality of sorts, in which a so-called observation is flipped on its head halfway through the story. While we may realize what's going to happen pretty quickly through the story, thanks to the curt-yet-revelatory descriptive nature of the writing and in particular the environments, its the nameless characters who steal the show, leaving us reveling in a scenario neither one of them is certain about, but one that we know is ultimately debilitating for the participants and cruel for the instigators.
The precise use of scientific annotations really helps drive this one home; while most people would look at things like this and roll their eyes, in this story they provide insight to the mentality of the characters (which is, really, non-existent otherwise), and the entire setting can be envisioned as some artsy movie, in which we can watch the mental stagnation and degradation of these characters with verifiable emotions. It certainly ends on an ineffably odd note (unless I misunderstood something obscure in the midst of the story), but the context of the entire writing is nothing short of clever, enjoyable manipulation of the human psyche-- both in the story, and of the reader.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Short Stories
When I think about my favorite way to consume a ton of reading material, I think short stories are the way to go. I always love to dive into a novel and become enraptured by the atmosphere and characters they present, but short stories allow someone to get the same level of mystique and intrigue on a smaller level. That said, our short story fiction packet left me in a bit of surprise: I was expecting what I would consider a short story, in the sense of Twain or Hemingway's* huge catalog of miniature stories, but I was left with stories that were nothing but literally short.
Nonetheless, I found myself enjoying the readings wholeheartedly. I think the greatest thing I've taken from this collection of stories is an appreciation for each writers' ability to encapsulate a moment, their given characters, and the general atmosphere without having the space to drone on endlessly about backstories or details or anything such as that. Many of these short stories are the equivalent of anecdotes or even well-written jokes; everything is explained at face, with no unnecessary (and perhaps even lacking some necessary) details, fleshed-out plots, or anything of the sort. These are not "excerpts" from a longer story, they are longer stories, honed down to their skin and bones with nothing but the impact left for the reader to revel in.
This "phenomenon" I've described is further made intriguing by the complete diversity in storytelling we have. For example, the first story, Survivors, is nothing short of a bleak, saddening glance into the mind of a person with his own predicament-- it's no different than a teenager dreaming into the future about their current fly-by-night girlfriend or boyfriend, but it's got the right tone to send a somber message to the reader. It's short, but it's emotionally profound, and while it doesn't pack the punch of a Wuthering Heights or even a Nick Adams story, it accomplishes quite a bit in just a few hundred words. Morning News touches on a similar subject (not the struggles of homosexuality, but the foreboding notion of death and its wake on the living left behind), with a more poignant twist at the end. As I mentioned, these are almost like jokes-- they may share key components, but the "punchline" is rather dynamic. Well, Sharon Krinskey's stories notwithstanding-- they're much more ambiguous and contemplative-and shorter- than most of the others. I don't really know if I like them, but I can appreciate them).
I think my utmost favorite story here is Wallet, by Allen Woodman.He presents a situation with just enough backstory to draw a reader in, perhaps even relate to the situation, and then he flies through this ironic mishap of an adventure with no real lesson left at the end to learn from. It's as if we're glancing into the window of some person's car, and instead of merely seeing their faces, we experience their emotions, what exactly they're laughing about. It's rife with coincidence, but the story is both humorous and touching, in a way that only an established character relationship can provide-- yet we don't truly have that here. I think that's why I enjoyed this one the most; a finely honed story that pulls its punches perfectly.
*To end on a related note, I'd like to post a short story allegedly from Hemingway that, to my knowledge, is the shortest "story" ever written: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." It encompasses my perspective above perfectly, I would say-- you're given nothing, honed even more than the short stories contained in our packet, and left with this six-letter phrase that's as emotionally evocative as a whole league of works in size much greater than itself.
Nonetheless, I found myself enjoying the readings wholeheartedly. I think the greatest thing I've taken from this collection of stories is an appreciation for each writers' ability to encapsulate a moment, their given characters, and the general atmosphere without having the space to drone on endlessly about backstories or details or anything such as that. Many of these short stories are the equivalent of anecdotes or even well-written jokes; everything is explained at face, with no unnecessary (and perhaps even lacking some necessary) details, fleshed-out plots, or anything of the sort. These are not "excerpts" from a longer story, they are longer stories, honed down to their skin and bones with nothing but the impact left for the reader to revel in.
This "phenomenon" I've described is further made intriguing by the complete diversity in storytelling we have. For example, the first story, Survivors, is nothing short of a bleak, saddening glance into the mind of a person with his own predicament-- it's no different than a teenager dreaming into the future about their current fly-by-night girlfriend or boyfriend, but it's got the right tone to send a somber message to the reader. It's short, but it's emotionally profound, and while it doesn't pack the punch of a Wuthering Heights or even a Nick Adams story, it accomplishes quite a bit in just a few hundred words. Morning News touches on a similar subject (not the struggles of homosexuality, but the foreboding notion of death and its wake on the living left behind), with a more poignant twist at the end. As I mentioned, these are almost like jokes-- they may share key components, but the "punchline" is rather dynamic. Well, Sharon Krinskey's stories notwithstanding-- they're much more ambiguous and contemplative-and shorter- than most of the others. I don't really know if I like them, but I can appreciate them).
I think my utmost favorite story here is Wallet, by Allen Woodman.He presents a situation with just enough backstory to draw a reader in, perhaps even relate to the situation, and then he flies through this ironic mishap of an adventure with no real lesson left at the end to learn from. It's as if we're glancing into the window of some person's car, and instead of merely seeing their faces, we experience their emotions, what exactly they're laughing about. It's rife with coincidence, but the story is both humorous and touching, in a way that only an established character relationship can provide-- yet we don't truly have that here. I think that's why I enjoyed this one the most; a finely honed story that pulls its punches perfectly.
*To end on a related note, I'd like to post a short story allegedly from Hemingway that, to my knowledge, is the shortest "story" ever written: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." It encompasses my perspective above perfectly, I would say-- you're given nothing, honed even more than the short stories contained in our packet, and left with this six-letter phrase that's as emotionally evocative as a whole league of works in size much greater than itself.
Monday, September 30, 2013
City Eclogue, Part 2
Roberson's City Eclogue continues down its path of rife political commentary and rich metaphorical comparisons to humanity, technology, and nature, and it's still every bit as convoluted on a first glance as the first half of the book. Everything is just as enjoyable, though, even if the intricacies stay misunderstood upon a second or third reading and the odd formatting is something of a headache. Some things are resoundingly clear up-front: "Ornithology" relates to each poem in some way, whether superficial or upon a deeper meaning, and his inferences are worded strongly as ever, especially in regard to racial tension.
"Not Brought Up" is a perfect example of this, and I think it works especially well in citing the fact that Roberson isn't just writing about how everything is today (or a current observation, anyway), but how things became the way they are (the title, I think, helps frame this nicely). The imagery at use here provides the reader with a perspective that, though it's on a subject we're all very much acquainted with at this point, is nonetheless haunting. The whole idea of the Civil Rights movement gains a new bit of traction in my mind when I realize that most, if not many, African Americans simply stayed quiet, and politicians did nothing about the issue while in office, out of perhaps both fear and prejudice. And, obviously, things were much worse before anyone had the courage to stand up and speak.
"Not Brought Up" is a perfect example of this, and I think it works especially well in citing the fact that Roberson isn't just writing about how everything is today (or a current observation, anyway), but how things became the way they are (the title, I think, helps frame this nicely). The imagery at use here provides the reader with a perspective that, though it's on a subject we're all very much acquainted with at this point, is nonetheless haunting. The whole idea of the Civil Rights movement gains a new bit of traction in my mind when I realize that most, if not many, African Americans simply stayed quiet, and politicians did nothing about the issue while in office, out of perhaps both fear and prejudice. And, obviously, things were much worse before anyone had the courage to stand up and speak.
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