The Creative Nonfiction Writing Conference In Pittsburgh

May 27, 2014 By
Dale Chihuly's art glass at the Phipps.

Dale Chihuly’s art glass at the Phipps.

I’m home from a great weekend in Pittsburgh, where I spent my days with other writers as we explored the genre of Creative Nonfiction, hosted by the magazine of the same name.  Held at the University Club at the University of Pittsburgh, the setting was perfect.  I stayed in a hotel in the neighborhood and enjoyed my morning and late afternoon walks back and forth.  Though I’m not one for sitting for long periods of time, my interest was held firmly by the presentations and the information I received.

Friday was all about the publishing process. Presentations about the role of literary magazines in a writer’s career, self-publishing, the benefits of going with a small press, and crowdfunding by experts in the their fields were helpful.

I especially enjoyed talks by Dinty W. Moore, writer and editor of Brevity, an online magazine that publishes creative nonfiction essays of  750 words or less.  Lee Gutkind, founder and editor of Creative Nonfiction magazine, imparted with great wisdom and enthusiasm, his love for the genre along with its history.  He is considered by Vanity Fair, to be the Godfather behind the nonfiction movement.

Editor and agent, Emily Loose, brought insight to the ever changing landscape of the publishing industry, helping us to explore the pros and cons of both traditional publishing and self publishing. For those interested in crowdfunding, CEO of Inkshares, Larry Levitsky, spoke about his company. Hattie Fletcher, of In Fact Books, and Michael Simms, of Autumn House Press, discussed working with a small press.

Saturday, was my favorite part of the conference.  “Style & Substance: The Craft of  Creative Nonfiction,” and it’s various aspects were discussed by Dinty W. Moore and Lee Gutkind. They were followed by novelist and memoir writer, Jane Bernstein and then memoirist and nonfiction writer, Peter Trachtenberg.  I was inspired by every word they had to say and felt I’d fallen into a delicious garden of wisdom.  As a result, I’m beginning the rewrite of my book all over again to hopefully include some of the ideas they passed on.  That same afternoon I had a private consultation with Emily Loose, who gave me some excellent advice about approaching an agent and the need to take one’s time in the editing process.

On Sunday morning I went a writing session where CNF’s Boot Camp style of writing prompts and motivational techniques were used.  I discovered that I have more difficulty writing with pen and paper than I do writing on my computer.  It used to be just the opposite.   In the afternoon, I met with Dinty Moore and six other writers for a critique of the work we had all brought to the conference.  It was extremely helpful and validated the thoughts I’d had the previous day about how to make my memoir even better than it already is :-).  I loved it.

In between all that, I was given a fantastic tour of the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Garden, by a fellow writer and new friend.  I loved seeing the glasswork of Dale Chihuly, tucked into the lushness of the gardens.  I also helped my husband, scout out St. Anne Cemetery for the graves sites of several of his ancestors.  He spent his weekend exploring graveyards and old houses, getting ready to do some writing about his family of origin.

We also enjoyed fabulous food. Legume, a farm to table restaurant, and Paris 66, a French bistro, were Bill’s and my favorites. I even managed to stay with my gluten and sugar-free way of eating without missing the sweetness of outragious desserts or the tang of freshly baked sourdough bread right from the oven.

I would highly recommend this conference to anyone who is in the throws of starting or is in the midst of a nonfiction writing project.  I learned a lot and enjoyed my time surrounded by other writers, all of whom had their own wisdom to share. I enjoyed the laid back atmosphere without sales hype, just the passing along of valuable information. Maybe I’ll go again next year!

Filed Under: Books, Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, Travels, Writing, Writing conferences Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

What Have I Done With My Former Self?

March 25, 2014 By

DSCF0597This past weekend I spent time at The Virginia Festival of the Book.  It’s a yearly event that pops up every March, bringing readers and writers together to share their love for words, books, and the pleasures of writing.  Once I was a participant when I did a poetry reading with the members of my poetry group.  But that was centuries ago and being in a group of other poets, I didn’t feel terribly vulnerable.  In the past few years I’ve been an attendee taking note of what is happening in the world of writing and publishing.

As I considered and then started writing my memoir over the last few years, I wanted to know what the climate was like out there. Being shy, anxious and intimidated by experts, I’d spent years working extremely hard selling my visual art. I also self-published an instruction book about an obscure rug hooking technique long before self-publishing became a hip thing to do.  Within the art community, I found other artists, agents, and galleries to be a very mixed bag of friendly and unfriendly beings often with noses stuck up high in the air.  I hated making cold calls to galleries, museums, and trying to get myself noticed.  It went fairly well and I was showing my work across the country. But feeling overwhelmed by having to be a sales person, which I wasn’t, I signed up with an agent who claimed she’d get my career of to a great start.  A couple of years later, having paid her up front for work that wasn’t helping me much, I fired her because she was all about making money for herself and not considering me, her client.

On the other hand my book, Australian Locker Hooking: A New Approach to a Traditional Craft, which I originally published back in the ’80s, was very successful because I knew who to market it to.  At the time I had a small flock of sheep and angora goats.  I spun their fleeces into yarn, dyed the wool with natural dyes, and wove or knitted the yarn into sweaters and a variety of other goods.  I knew other weavers and spinners all over the map and belonged to all of the organizations weavers and spinners belong to. It was the hippy, back-to-the-land era and I bet on the fact that this particular technique would turn out to have a hot market. I went to conferences, wrote articles for magazines, advertised to the niche I belonged to and ended up reprinting that book a number of times. I sold a total of eight thousand copies to shops and individuals all over the world before being a book seller got old. I wanted more out of life. I tried getting a publisher interested in taking it over but found no one game to take on this “small” project.

A few years ago, when I was told that writers had to build their own platforms and do their own marketing, I was not a happy camper. I wanted to write, not put myself out there even before I finished writing my intended book in order to sell it. I had been there, done that. Entering my 70th year I wanted to have time to do a bit of traveling and simply enjoy life. I had mistakenly believed that once a book is under contract with a publisher, that entity takes over all the dirty work like marketing.

But being passionate about getting my story down on paper and believing it has the potential to help readers who find themselves traveling down the same road I had, I decided I’d move forward with the project.  Even through the darkest of days, I made myself believe that my book would happen and that someway, someday, it would sit on bookstore shelves and sell.

As I pull the pages of my first draft together, I need to think ahead and begin exploring whether or not I will self-publish it, as I originally intended, or send it out to a few small publishers which several people have encouraged me to do. Either way I’ll need to do most of my own marketing. Both options have pros and cons.

That is what made the Festival of the Book, so valuable to me, this past week.  I talked to a small, nearby publisher, I talked to agents, and independent publicists to see what was what.  I talked to other writers, some of them at the same stage I’m at. They were all friendly, helpful, and encouraging. But what amazed me the most was my own behavior and reactions to them. I was not shy. I was not anxious. And I was not intimidated as I had been just a few years ago, when my inner critic told me I was stupid if I thought I could write a memoir. I suddenly realized those experts were in the same ballgame I’m in. They want to sell books and I want to sell my book.  I’m looking at them the same way they’re looking at me,  trying to judge whether working with any of them would be a fit.

Part of me had been dreading opening the publishing can of worms, but this past weekend I found it exciting to be doing the work.  On Sunday, when it was all over, I found myself, feeling low and let down.  I wanted more. As intimidated as I felt signing up to attend a nonfiction writing conference a few weeks ago, I’m now excited and can’t wait to get there and see what happens.

In the meantime, I’m happy but wondering what the %$#? happened to my former self and who is this new person living in my body now?  Isn’t change great?

 

Filed Under: Books, Change, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, The Virginia Festival of the Book, Writing Tagged With: , ,

Time Enough

July 17, 2013 By

DSCF0195I began the process of writing my memoir a few years ago. Among my friends are those who have been working on their books for years. But they’re all a lot younger than I am. I might not have “years” to work on mine, so why even start? Approaching my seventieth year, I figured I’d be dead long before I finished it and thought I’d be wasting my time. Afraid that it might be too big a commitment, I worried that I would have to leave behind the other things that I need and enjoy doing. Like gardening, slapping paint onto canvas and watching it magically become a finished painting. Cooking delicious healthy meals, or traveling to places I’d like to revisit or go to for the first time.

But some told me I must do it anyway. They said I have many things to share that would benefit others … especially women.  And there was that voice in my head that I often shut out. It told me that I really didn’t have anything to lose. I kept seeing the word memoir, everywhere. When in bookstores, I’d find myself in the memoir section. Reading newspapers and magazines I often found references to memoir and their growing popularity.  I took all of that to mean that I must proceed.

I started by simply writing down memorable stories from my life. I posted many on them on my blog. Some, I filed away for a rainy day when I planned to haul them out and rework them into something I could share. It was the beginning of scratching that spot on my back that was bugging me.

I kept at it and the irritation went away. I enjoyed the process and found healing for myself as I wrote down stories that I had never shared with anyone except my therapist, my husband, or a few very close friends. I joined a life-writing class and found support and encouragement there. I finally decided that maybe I did have stories that other people  would want to read and made the commitment to write a book.

I had no idea where I was headed but I figured sooner or later I’d find the thread that was lost in my tangle of stories. Conflict grew. I wanted to spend time on writing and finishing my book before my “deathday” came along. But just a year earlier I had decided a new lifestyle was in order. I was exhausted. I needed to slow down, to be present in each moment. I was looking for a more fulfilling life. Could I do both at the same time?

I had spent too many years following the rat race, trying to do too much, too fast, in too little time. My lifelong belief that “when you choose to do something, you do it well or not at all,” was left in the dust by the side of the road. Every now and then I’d stop and ask myself, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I never had an answer.

When my mother said, “Your life is a train wreck,” I denied it. But as I took on her care when her health deteriorated, I began to think that perhaps she was right. There was never enough time for anything I wanted to do. I grew more and more anxious. I was unhappy and angry. I blamed Mom for taking all of my time. I moved faster and faster so that I could take her to the doctor and expand my garden from a quarter an acre of flower beds to a half an acre. I longed for time to read, paint, take naps, and stare into space. The faster I went, the more angry and exhausted I became. That pattern pretty much continued until my mother died and I no longer had her to look after.

The first months were long and hard and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t find anything satisfying to do. I was still moving too fast and beginning to hate the things I once loved doing. When the row of potato plants in the garden were ready to be harvested, it took all of the energy I could muster. All I wanted to do was cry. I knew something was terribly wrong. I felt like I was killing myself. Consumed in grief and anger, it took a few years for me to find myself again and begin to heal the losses I had endured.

I came to understand that throughout my life, I had given much of my power and energy to other people. Of course, I had a family. I wanted to be there for my growing children and to spend time with my husband. I had parents and two brothers I also cared about. I gave them all of myself, saving very little for me.

When my kids left home and I had more time, the pace of my life got faster. I had to make up for the time I’d lost. I had too many things I wanted to do. But mostly I still put others first. My worries about time took on a life of their own.

I brought it all to halt two years ago. No more. Finished. I decided to live each day as if it were my last. No more running around not knowing where I was going. I do only what calls to me. If it doesn’t, I don’t do it. “No” is a very important word. So is “Yes,” under the right circumstances.

I won’t be talked out of what I want unless there is a good reason and it makes sense. Those who are used to my giving way to them, may have a problem with all the above, but I feel much better. I’m learning to make choices that leave me satisfied rather than frustrated and resentful. Sometimes I choose the garden over my book.  Sometimes I take a few days off to play or rest. It’s a balancing act.

My book can’t be rushed. If I don’t finish it before I die, it’s still been a marvelous ride. I’m feeling the passion for living, loving, and writing. There is time enough for it all.

 

Filed Under: Books, Caring for an aging parent, Fear, Healing, Life, Memoir, Mental Health, Time, Writing Tagged With: , , , , ,

Unplugging Blocks With Insight Dialogue Practice

June 12, 2013 By

IMG_1135There’s a lot going on at the Rough House these days.  Along with trying to keep some sort of social life in tact and weeding the garden, the launch of my new website took much of my time. I felt anxious about getting it up, feeling I’d never understand the technological stuff behind it.  Thank goodness I had lots of help.

I’ve also been cranking away on my memoir. Most of the time I have a clear view of the road ahead but occasionally I get lost, winding down picturesque side streets, looking for the perfect beginning or ending for a story I’m particularly keen on. And when I write about the tough stuff, like my Mother’s last years of life, sometimes a thunderstorm is set off in my brain and I need to take a break.

In the past when that’s happened, I sat around bemoaning the fact that I didn’t feel like writing or revisiting the past. I’m a very happy person right now, living a tranquil life, and though I’ve dealt with most of my s%#t, I can sometimes find it uncomfortable to go back to a time that was particularly hard for me. But you can bet that I’ve always learned something new about myself in the process of visiting those dark days.

That’s what happened last week when I was trying to complete a chapter on the dynamics of my family of origin. I sat in front of the screen, rereading what I had already written. I couldn’t find a place to jump into a new thought or paragraph. And I was unable to find words to describe how I felt when I thought my world was falling apart, bit by tiny bit. All I wanted to do was take a nap, read a book or see a movie that would make me laugh or inspire me to go off on some new adventure to a place I’ve never been before.

So instead of sitting around fighting my lack of written words, I took action.  I went to see the movie, Francis Ha, about a young woman trying to figure out where in the world she belonged and with whom.  It was funny, and occasionally a bit depressing. But it was also about the serendipity of life and provided me with something I needed to be reminded of … that Francis would just have to trust that she would eventually find her path, by being open to whatever came her way. And so it is with me. This is a lesson that I often forget, as I try to control everything around me.

This past weekend, I did what felt like a spa weekend to me.  No, I didn’t get a facial or a massage or a pedicure.  I went to a one day Insight Dialogue Retreat taught by one of my favorite teachers who lives right here in Central Virginia, Sharon Beckman Brindley.

Insight Dialogue is a practice developed by Gregory Kramer, co-founder and president of the Metta Foundation, and author of INSIGHT DIALOGUE, The Interpersonal Path to Freedom. Sharon has studied with him. And this was my fourth one-day retreat with her.

If you go to the Foundation website you’ll read that, “Insight Dialogue is an interpersonal meditation practice. It brings the mindfulness and tranquility of silent meditation directly into our experience with other people. As humans, we are relational beings; as we begin to wake up, clarity and freedom can illuminate our relationships with others.”

And though it draws upon traditional Buddhist wisdom, it is not necessarily a Buddhist practice. People of any faith and belief system would find it useful in building more meaningful relationships with the people in their lives.

During Saturday’s retreat I partnered with another participant; someone I didn’t know well or at all. We sat facing each other, and with eyes closed, were led in a guided meditation, concentrating on our breath, the way our bodies felt, relaxing, pausing, and opening to the process. We were then given five or so minutes to silently contemplate our own generosity, something some of us rarely speak about because we’ve been taught that publicly showing that we are generous is bragging.

When the bell rang announcing the end of the contemplation, we opened our eyes. One of us became the speaker and the other became the listener. The speaker’s job was to tell the listener about his/or her generosity or lack thereof, pausing, relaxing and regrouping when the body felt a sudden tightness or discomfort.  The listener was to listen deeply without judgment to what was being said, noticing how her body was reacting. The roles would then be reversed. Further discussion can follow with the partners telling each other how it felt to talk about themselves and their kindness.

In the second half of the day we partnered with new people, this time working in groups of three. We continued our contemplation, this time about our virtues, another topic most of us rarely speak of. It was a freeing experience, especially for those of us who haven’t believed we have much goodness within us.

At the end of the day, we spoke to the entire group about what we had learned about ourselves and what new thoughts came our way. I can’t speak for everyone, but I left feeling relaxed and pampered.  What could possibly be better than being listened to deeply, without judgment.

During the retreat I came to the conclusion that this tweaking this practice would be helpful in my writing process, especially when I feel blocked and unable to forge ahead.  In taking a few minutes to relax and have an inner dialogue with myself instead of another person, concerning the difficulty of the situation I’m writing about, I’m now finding words, where  none existed before.

The weekend was topped off on Sunday by an hour and a half of Restorative Yoga, taught by another gifted instructor, Christine Davis. For me it was a perfect weekend and one I hope I’ll be able to participate in again sometime soon.

What about you? How would you spend a perfect weekend?

Filed Under: Books, Healthy Living, Kindness, Life, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Retreats, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Memoir: Two You’ll Love

May 22, 2013 By

DSC01793“Through my identification with another girl who could write what I couldn’t begin to think, I discovered a way to break out of the socialized story into something else, something new … my own voice.  I began to see how the story that gets one person through offers a map that gets more of us through. And when we reveal details that we think are excruciatingly personal, we discover the universal.” 

Christina Baldwin,
Making Sense of Our Lives Through the Power and Practice of Story.

There is nothing like reading about another person’s journey through life to get you thinking about your own. In the last couple of months I’ve been reading memoirs as a way to nourish myself as I make my way putting my own story on paper.

I  read memoir to learn how others navigate the slick, shiny surface of a frozen pond, the choppy waters of a summer storm, and the deadly tornadoes of a desperate mind.  I take heart that I am not alone and that others have tasted similar sorrows and the same joys that I have. By immersing myself in another’s personal story, I discover new ways of loving my own life and being comfortable in a challenging world.

Two memoirs that I’ve recently read and that stand out for me are, Wild, From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail, by Cheryl Strayed, and Don’t Call Me Mother, A Daughter’s Journey from Abandonment to Forgiveness, by Linda Joy Myers.  Both are greatly influencing me as I work my way through reams of blank paper, telling my own unique story.

These two stories are as different as night and day, but what they have in common are mothers, and individual journeys through grief and acceptance of loss, during which both authors discover themselves and their own power to give voice to who they were and have become.

In both memoirs, brutal honesty and courage rule out what could be dark, lifeless memoirs about victims of circumstance. But these are inspirational as well as universal and healing. Not all of us can take on the wilderness as Strayed did to find herself, or the stubborn revisiting of the past and family that Myers put herself through. But through them we can all find our own ways to bring our stories to life, finally living in peace and acceptance of where we’ve been.

In her story, Strayed, revisions her life and losses as she limps her way along a strenuous wilderness trail, finding wholeness in her bruised and battered body.  Myer’s narrative follows her from abandonment to breaking generational patterns of abuse and becoming the mother that she always wanted to have.

Both books were impossible for me to put down and I can easily see myself reading them again as I move along my own path. For those who are interested in stories about personal growth and are written by women who found their way past major challenges, I recommend them highly.

Filed Under: Book Reviews, Books, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Quotes, The Journey, Wise Words Tagged With: ,
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