Winter, Walking Casts, Writing Books. Going on...

At the nearby track where I walk when the roads are icy or I’m recovering from yet another injury, or have time only for a quick two miles, on many mornings on the inside field, a freelance soccer coach takes groups of youngsters through what to me seem like advanced skill drills. A blur of motion, legs, soccer balls. I have almost no interest in the game, but what I love is that no matter where on the track I am, or even how windy it may be, I hear the lilt of the coach’s rich voice, his island accent, urging his players on.

When he first appeared, I noticed that no matter what mistake a player may make, no matter how much one of the kids may be struggling, what comes out of this man’s mouth is: “And, we go on.”

 At first, I couldn’t decipher it, thinking I’d heard: “andweeego own…” But then I got it, and realized he was encouraging his charges, constantly—and more, suggesting that errors, small or large missteps, don’t matter as much as going on, without pausing to worry or feel sorry.

I learned to love hearing him, and some days when I was driving to the track, hoped fervently the coach would be there, boosting those hopeful, keep-on-trying kids. When I hear him encouraging them, especially on days when I’m considering cutting my walk short, that small push is enough.

 And, we go on.

 And so, I do.

Like now. 

Middle of winter in New Jersey. And though I’ve lived here all but a half-dozen years of my life, I’m always and inexplicably a bit surprised at what happens (snow, ice, bone rattling cold), and also a little dismayed (Seasonal Affective Disorder, otherwise known as the daily gray day doldrums). Toss in two new broken bones in my foot, and here we are indeed: February, slightly depressed, too much forced sedentary-ness, staying home far too much.

 And, we go on.

Keeping me going just now, as I clump around in an awkward walking boot: teaching (this semester, an MFA course, “Reading as a Writer,” which I developed several years ago); writing (barely trudging around the track, but showing up); editing and coaching (absolutely nothing better than helping writers polish their drafts, manuscripts, and skills).

Yet, some days, when it all gets to me—like the gray and icy 13-degree day last week when my foot ached and I ran out of British crime dramas to watch—it’s my non-writer, feeling crummy but determined to do something activities that keep me going on. That is, I organize. Cull closets and shelves, then toss, sell, or find ways to give away. I’ve culled my office, notably my bulging bookshelves, three times recently. A neighborhood social media page ensures the novels and memoirs and biographies I part with find new readers nearby.

Most recently, I’ve been thinning my writing craft bookshevles. This group (pictured) is ready to go. (I've either got a duplicate copy, or read it and got what I needed from it, or for some reason it didn't speak to me but may be just what another writer needs.) And I’d love to give them to you, my blog readers and writing and reading friends. Want one? Email me with your U.S. postal address and I’ll send it via media mail at my cost. (If you can make good use of several, and are willing to share mailing expenses, we can do that too.) That’s it. Books to a new home where they can maybe inspire another writer.

Here’s hoping your winter/pandemic/getting-back-to-normal/whatever projects and activities are feeding you.

 And, we go on together.

 P.S. I have two open editing slots for winter and three for spring, to take on full manuscripts, and room for a few new coaching clients. And of course, editing/feedback for shorter works is available almost anytime. Get started here or email me.  

Guest Blogger Jane Paffenbarger Butler on: Theme Reading with High School Writers, aka: Pharmacist Dispenses Great Expectations

One of the most enjoyable ways I meet other writers is at small conferences, often over a meal, and one topic that often comes up is how we all make a living while chasing writing goals. That’s how I met Jane Paffenbarger Butler and learned about her unique job—which I’ve invited her to write about here.

Jane has degrees in pharmacy and health systems management and worked in clinical research. While raising three children, she wrote in fits and starts, but then got serious, joining the Brandywine Valley Writers Group and Main Line Writers Group. She’s at work on a memoir, You’ll Get Over It, Jane Ellen. An excerpt placed second in nonfiction at the 2017 Philadelphia Writers Conference. Her work has also appeared in the anthology Unclaimed Baggage, and in the Philadelphia Inquirer. She’s the 2016 and 2014 winner of the West Chester Story Slam.

Please welcome Jane Paffenbarger Butler.

Most days, I adore my job. I am talking about the one where I get to go to my local high school and hang around the English classes talking to kids about their writing. Today, for example, a steady stream of students visited me; some wanted to discuss what to write in their comparative papers on Wuthering Heights and Dante’s Inferno, others needed help proving a point made in Merchant of Venice. It may sound pretty high brow I know, believe me it is not, especially for someone like me who is a pharmacist by training. But the same dynamic occurs whether the students and I are talking about Shakespeare or the Sunday comics. The focus is on art and on the act of responding to it.

Other days, in other classes, I work my way around the room asking each student to tell me their ideas for assigned poetry, memoir, or short story projects. I tell them that ideas mellow and age and do not usually spring to the page fully formed. I tell them that it’s okay, in fact it’s preferable, to get started by just writing in stream of consciousness.

My title is Theme Reader, and I support the work of a high school English teacher by reading and commenting on each student’s writing assignments. Yes, it is a support role, and it is a peach job for someone like me, an aspiring author. This is a teaching job with none of the strings attached. I meet no parents, give no formal grades, and discipline no one. Instead I am a writing coach, and my time is spent reading teenage students’ work and talking to them about the craft of writing.

I am also paid to sit in on the viewing of classic films and TED talks, and get to stay in tune with young people who gladly explain to me such mysteries as gifs and K-pop. And what could be better than sitting in on a discussion of Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying or Twain’s Huck Finn? Or reading twenty-five papers from the AP Literature students who each select, from a lengthy list, a different classic novel to analyze? Often, the students’ detailed breakdown of each book is so complete, by the time I review and offer comments on their projects, it feels as if I’ve just read the book myself.  

Sometimes, in classes where students are not as motivated, it is my duty to inform them of the power of words. That words can be a tool by which we get what we want out of life. I help them see that learning to use words to their advantage could be a way to get out of bad circumstances, a way to rise above people who make life difficult, and a way to work through issues that are hard to manage. Words are power. I love helping them learn how to understand, harness, and wield that power.

In Creative Writing, an elective class, students arrive not as hostages but as volunteers, open to my crazy suggestion that we daydream a little about what it means to be human. With the whole world as fodder for topic, I help students zero in on what their own voice yearns to say. This year I am meeting with an independent study student weekly to work on her novel. The notes I took recently on Robert McKee’s Story, Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat, and Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, while trying to elevate my own projects, have become perfect resources for our work together. Sharing such material conveniently reinforces my personal goals, too.

When I was a Clinical Research Monitor at a pharmaceutical company, among my many tasks were study reports and protocols, and I excelled at ensuring the internal consistency between tables and charts and between statistical facts and stated conclusions. I yielded the red pen as editor for a 400-page New Drug Application Summary submitted to the FDA, based on data from hundreds of patients. At my interview for the Theme Reader job, I explained that although I wasn’t a certified teacher and had no degree related to language or English or anything one might suspect relevant (and which the job specs listed), I love teaching and students and the English language. I handed over the bound New Drug Application Summary, the thin manuscript of my memoir, mentioned my membership in local writing groups and my participation in writing conferences. They hired me on the spot. That was ten years ago.

One of Jane's six word memoirs. 

The best part about my job is that I must show up every week and pay attention in class. This time around I am personally interested in what makes for a good story and what constitutes a rhetorical device. My job requires me to say out loud the facts I know to be true about writing, to sit alongside students and reconsider the masters, to teach patience and taking risks on the page, and to learn, learn, learn.

To top it all off, I even get a paycheck.  

Get to know more about Jane at her website and blog.

Read-Along. Like a Ride-Along. But with books.

Let's pick up with the reading theme from the last post, shall we? I mentioned that I want to read a lot more than what is required for my work life. But there's one part of work-related reading that straddles the work and pleasure reading columns.

It's what I call the Read-Along. This is something I offer to do with my writing coaching clients, or sometimes writers for whom I'm editing a manuscript that's in need of more-than-moderate revision.

What we do is carefully choose a book that speaks to the very particular writing challenges that client is facing—and then we both read it, simultaneously.

Sometimes we read just a chapter at a time, and I follow that up with a series of questions. Or I ask the writer to note down observations. Other times, we read bigger chunks, then we check in, sometimes with a longish phone or Skype call. Or we read it through quickly, then make our way through again slowly, zeroing in on something in particular—say, the chapter endings, or time movements, or structure.

On one hand, it's like a tiny little book club for two. But it's really a very focused reading-like-a-writer activity, customized for that writer's interests and writing goals, and making some of the same demands as the reading annotations required in many MFA programs.

Sometimes we're in search of quality prose, a tight story, a prime example of a form. Or we're looking at a particular type of book or story structure or organization; a genre that's new to the writer-client; maybe a POV she's never written in before.

Though it's often a book I'm already familiar with, and I read it again as the client reads, some of the most memorable read-alongs in the past couple of years were books that were new-to-me.  

I've read-along to a couple of young adult novels (with a fiction writer who typically wrote very long novels for adults); an emotional memoir (with a journalist who wanted to stretch beyond just-the-facts); and a humorous novel made up of very short chapters (with a nonfiction writer hoping to turn dysfunctionally funny family episodes into fiction).

Though typically separated by hundreds (maybe thousands) of miles, being "on the same page" (sometimes literally on the same day) as a writer I'm working with is a singularly enriching experience. It's one thing to say, "go read this book." It's another to be having the parallel experience, and knowing we're going to discuss it later.

I have one such read-along coming up. This time, it's a themed essay collection—for a writer-client itching to edit an anthology. While her story editing skills are strong, the idea of assembling the varied pieces is a mystery. We're going to be looking at the mix of essays and authors; how the pieces differ and what ties them together; the order and flow of essays; and the variety and level of prose in the different pieces. (And, as it's a book I haven't read before, it will do double duty for my 2017 reading challenge list.)

I can't quite recall how I got the idea for the Read-along; it may have simply been a client frustrated with something, and me thinking of a book she could read that might help…and then realizing I'd be better equipped to help if I re-read that book too. Or maybe something else. What I know is that the activity seems to deliver beyond what I'd originally hoped. Plus, it's kind of fun.

Reading should be fun. Even when it's not precisely "pleasure reading." Right?

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommone-DanielWehner

When a Big Editorial Project Ends

Satisfaction. Letdown. Relief. Pride. And, eventually panic.

These are just some of the emotions I rotate through at a time like this, the day after I have finished a major, long-term client editorial project. And by finished, I mean definitely finished, for sure; not like last month when it felt just about finished. Now, the client's book has been sent off to the printer by the publisher, and that's it. The end of 19 months of hard work, collegial collaboration, laughs, and occasionally, disagreements and promises to myself (never again!).

Yesterday, I did a few quick edits on the second version of the foreword, gave an opinion on some cover text, and without even realizing it at the moment, the project came to a quiet end.

More than a year and a half ago, one of the co-authors called. Demanding schedules and commitments created a need for editorial help in order to complete the manuscript the two authors had proposed, sold and committed to delivering to a respected, established academic and professional press.

Over the many months we worked together, my role took on a fluidity that at times unnerved me, challenged my patience as well as my skills, and had me wondering why I'd agreed to the project in the first place and at the same time thinking, I'd like some more, please.

For 19 months, I revised, advised, edited, wrote, rewrote, brainstormed, ghostwrote, restructured, consulted, coached, proofread -- and revised again and edited some more.

And today, when I know for sure that, at least for this particular book project, there will be no more urgent emails or late night phone calls asking me to drop everything and take another look at a client-revised chapter, that all of the structuring decisions are final, that nothing else requires "just one more pass," I'm glad to let it go. And, a little sad too.

But mostly – as everyone who makes a living as a freelancer will likely admit – I'm wondering how and when I'll replace that completed project with another income-producing project.

And then there's that little voice, a temptress, urging, on second thought…. As I moved all of the files from the completed project off my desk, put them far out of arm's reach, glanced at my calendar now free of weekly project-related deadlines, and noticed that clean swatch of uncluttered space on my desk, beckoning, teasing – I hesitated, and thought about what it might be like…

"I know!" I mused. "I won't take on another big project. Instead, I'll use those big chunks (instead of small pieces) of time, to work on my own book."

Then I snapped out of it, slapped my forehead, and reminded myself that the tuition bill, the now higher property taxes, the summer camp fees, and oh yes, the mortgage, are a lot more related to my securing more paid client work than producing a book spine with my name on it.

I know (no, I hope and pray) another interesting project will come along, but also worry that it will happen later rather than sooner. That's where the panic comes in, staring at that blank calendar and knowing those pesky, annoying, wonderful – and missing – project-related deadlines need to appear there. With luck, I'll have another project to (sometimes) complain about and to love, and I'll be grateful, and I will get busy, and I will learn something new and feel proud of what I can help a client accomplish on the page.

Many days, that's enough.