Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- November 4, 2016 Edition

> I'm not much of a baseball fan, but I am a fan of beautifully written, sport-related essays and feature writing, especially a piece that bring together big team events with the humans who love them. Like this one, which ran on ESPN the morning after the Cubs' World Series win.

> Beautiful review by Alexis Paige at Brevity, of the new essay collection by my brilliant MFA thesis advisor Barbara Hurd, whose lyrical prose always astonishes.

> In New York City, legislators have introduced a bill to protect freelancers from editorial clients who don't want to pay.

> This is not new, but I read it again yesterday while passing along reading suggestions to some writers who are struggling with the concept of massive revision. Imagine tossing out an entire novel? Laura Dave explains.

> If you teach writing, or act as a writing coach, or simply help another writer with a project from time to time, I think you will appreciate Jane Bernstein's honest assessment of her behavior working with a former workshop participant.

> How about some levity? What if "Election: 2016" were a novel? Can you imagine the rejections from literary agents? Devorah Blachlor did.

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommons - WackyStuff

Beware of what you wish for. (And what you don't.) -- My Teaching Writing Update.

For the past seven years, I've tried to keep this blog filled with tips, advice, and resources that will help writers. For the past few months I've relied heavily on some generous guest post contributors and interview subjects (as well as link round-ups) to do the job. My own contributions dwindled because I was extra-busy. Thanks, readers, for supporting the guest bloggers, and sticking around! At first my busy-ness was all about writing, teaching, and editing in fairly equal portions. But lately, that shifted. I hope you'll indulge me a bit while I explain. Then, the plan is to get back to a more regular posting schedule in September. - Lisa

During my MFA program, I frequently thought (and sometimes said), oh, I'll never teach.

Ahem. 

Toward the end of those two years, a mentor who knew me well predicted, I think you are going to teach. It's clear you want to help other writers.

"Nah," I said. 

Three months later, a local library hired me to teach an adult memoir class and another in freelancing. Within six months, I was teaching creative nonfiction online via small private classes I'd developed. Within 15 months, I was teaching in the continuing education writing program at Rutgers University, and two years after that, I was asked to teach memoir and personal essay writing for a lovely, multiple-location regional organization, The Writers Circle.

In between, I created the *I Should Be Writing!* Boot Camp for writers in any genre (it's now on-demand solo course). Along the way, I developed a monthly coaching option, which brings so many wonderful writers my way.

Now, I'm setting out on new teaching adventures. And, I've been thinking of Barbara Hurd, who like all terrific mentors, sometimes say what their students don't necessarily want to hear. I've also come to understand the power of the MFA community one develops, too.

When Suzanne Strempek Shea, a faculty member from the Stonecoast MFA program I completed, called me about 20 months ago to gauge my interest in joining the faculty of a new all-online, all-nonfiction MFA program in the planning stages for Bay Path College (now Bay Path University), I didn't hesitate. It sounded perfect. 

I said yes, then tried to put it in the back of my mind, tried to temper my excitement. After all, it was nearly two years away, and needed all kinds of approvals and certifications before it could (would?) launch.  

A few days ago—after a summer of syllabus revision, training in the online course management system, and wonderful conference calls with the director and other faculty—I welcomed some 20 students into the two classes I'm teaching in that vibrant new MFA program.

Once the students began checking in, I realized that I was right where I wanted to be.

But there's more to the teaching story.

In April of this year, the Rutgers program was shut down; sad, but I'd had a good run there.

I live about one mile from Montclair State University. I've used the library there, attended literary events there. I've signed my kids up for programs there, our family has seen plays and concerts and sporting events on campus. And two years ago, I applied for a teaching job there. I didn't get it.

What I did get – about a month ago – was a call from the writing program director: Was I interested in teaching one section of an undergraduate elective creative nonfiction writing class? 

My plate seemed full already. But then, isn't it always? 

I was a kid who always loved school, longed for the smell of fresh pencils and the feel of new notebook pages. As an undergraduate college student, I jammed my schedule with as many different kinds of writing and literature classes as I could. I remember the feeling of being in those classrooms. I love September and the idea of a new semester. (And I'll be they one day unwittingly contribute to my Stuff My Writing Students Say series!)

So next week, I'll be in that classroom at MSU. I'll be online with my Bay Path students every day. I'll be writing. I'll be sending out the memoir. I'll be editing, and prepping for the fall session at The Writers Circle, and helping to get out the fall issue of Compose Journal.

It's a lot.

It's a little bit of everything I ever and never wished for, and clearly need.

Wish me luck.

Images: Flickr/Creative Commons - Old time teachers desk, Todd Petrie; Scrabble tiles, Denise Krebs; Notebooks, Kristen Nador; 

Gold in Them Notebooks, Part 7

Lately, I've been finding inspiration in the dog-eared pages of my old MFA notebooks, and sharing with my readers some of the good advice I'm finding there.

From a seminar on story in creative nonfiction:

• The apparent subject lies on the surface, neat and calm. The real story lies underneath. It's very messy and has emotional urgency. Always keep asking yourself, "What's the real story?"
• Some reasons writers often don't get to the real story – shame, fear, laziness, the inner critic, time; not yet understanding the real story; not ready to deal with the real story.
• To uncover the real story, alter the way you look at things. Read other material – read what you love, and see what opens the doors. Be like a bloodhound; keep sniffing around, keep moving; do free writing to find what moves you.
• How to know when it's not there yet: You're bored. You are relying on writing and not on story. It feels dutiful. You are unable to title it. You can't imagine an ideal reading audience for the piece.

--Barbara Hurd, literary nonfiction essayist and mentor extraordinaire

The first six MFA Notebooks posts can be found here.

Still in Residence

It's just past the halfway point in my final MFA residency and while I'm far too exhausted both mentally and physically to post anything lengthy or terribly insightful, here's a quick rundown, some random thoughts.

- Best seminar so far? Today, one given by visiting writer Jamie Cat Callan on what can be learned from scriptwriters and the classic structuring devices they employ. Her presentation was completely engaging, fun, far too short even at 90 minutes, and packed with usable insights; so glad my equally interesting fellow Stonecoast student Ann Rosenquist Fee lobbied for Callan to join the residency.

- That master class workshop I was leery about because it was being led by a poet? Terrific.

- That presentation I was worried about giving? From where I stood, a success; one reason -- I had a good time, so good I ran out of time way before I ran out of material. That's when I knew I could breathe.

- Got to work with a performance coach, William Steele, a USM theater professor and professional actor, in preparation for my upcoming reading. Actors know so much writers can use when it comes to reading aloud. About phrasing. Pacing. Rhythm. Peeling the emotions off the page. Volume control. Eye contact. So much.

- You know how, when someone introduces a writer they begin with, "It is my pleasure (or honor) to introduce…" Well, I found out this week – that's not just a line. It truly was a pleasant (if nerve wracking) honor to stand up in front of a packed room and give an introduction for my final semester mentor, the incomparable Barbara Hurd, who read from her new book of essays, Walking the Wrack Line. (you can read an excerpt here)

Hope you are enjoying the guest blogs that have been (and will keep) popping up here while I'm busy and slightly crazed. Next report from me will likely include the word graduation. Sniff. And, hooray.

Staying in Drive

This doesn't happen every day.

You attend a reading of a writer you have admired for a long time, and the next morning, she sits down with you for a half hour, ready to answer anything you care to ask. And -- since earlier in the week, you, your instructor Barbara Hurd, and the others at the table read and discussed this author’s new book – a lot comes to mind.

I’m talking about Katha Pollitt, who read from her essay collection, Learning To Drive and Other Life Stories, one evening lat week at my MFA residency in Freeport, Maine. Her humorous recollections of a long-ago copy-editing gig for extra cash was perfect for an audience of writers. Pollitt really enjoyed her reading; she smiled, laughed, engaged with the audience, and generally had a blast at the microphone. (Can’t we all recall dozens of readings at which the author never smiles, much less enjoys himself?)

Next day, Pollitt visited the manuscript workshop in which five other MFA students and myself had been participating for three days. She was open to any question, any topic, and her answers were fresh and candid, sometimes thoughtfully meandering and other times gracefully succinct –just like her essays. Here’s a small sampling.

On how she approached the personal essay form (as opposed to her usual social/political commentary pieces for The Nation.): “I thought of the essays in Learning To Drive as stories.”

On whether or not she will write another collection of personal essays: “I don’t know. If you have any ideas, call me.”

On what keeps manuscripts from winning contests and/or getting published: “The person has insufficient literary talent. The language is boring. The writer does not use language in an interesting way.”

On what she looks for when judging contests (more on this later): “Prose is the thing for me. Is the writer in love with the English language?”

On what makes a compelling text: “Manuscripts that are interesting to read are those where the writer is pulled along by a long thread.”

Pollitt was in Maine partly to present the first Stonecoast Book Prize, which she judged last summer. The contest was won by Maine writer (and my new friend and Stonecoast MFA grad) Penelope Schwartz Robinson, for her stellar essay collection, Slippery Men, and includes publication by New Rivers Press in September 2008.

Like any good author surrounded by writing students -- Pollitt had a book recommendation: My Misspent Youth by Meghan Daum, which she said avoids the essay collection curse of featuring a handful of stand-out pieces among others easily identifiable as filler.

That must mean it’s like Pollitt’s excellent Learning To Drive: Everything moves forward, from start to finish, never pausing in neutral.