Showing posts with label Camp Journal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Camp Journal. Show all posts

Friday, August 5, 2011

Camp Journal Day #7 - On Writing and Stephen King


Can't believe I'm on the last full day of camping. Where has the week gone? Where does every week go? Where does a lifetime disappear to? One minute you're crapping in your diddies and the next minute you're doing the same thing – only the brand name changes, Pampers to Depends. And the shit gets smellier.

My dear friend Mark Kerstetter asked me to list some of the things I found helpful about Stephen King's On Writing. He said he finds King's writing "bloated and vulgar;" the funny thing is, King is used to all kinds of critical comments and he addresses them in On Writing.  I can't say I agree with Mark on this point. Truth is, I've been a fan of King's work since forever. I actually find his writing style sparse and lean, just the way I like it.

Liking King or disliking him has little bearing on this book, though (although King fans will love his "life story" section and the chapter about his accident). What came through, for me, is some basic writing advice, a plan of attack for getting things done and some good, old-fashioned inspiration. Here's some of the things I "got" from the book:

1. Read a lot. Reading, King says, is just as important as writing, and reading a bad book is just as important as reading a good one. He really stresses reading as the best teacher of writing. He even lists his favourite books of all time at the back. He calls himself a "slow reader" but ploughs through 70 to 80 books a year.

2. Take the act of writing seriously. "You must not come lightly to the blank page." King says: "You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair – the sense that you can never completely put on the page what's in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page. I'm not asking you to com reverently or unquestioningly; I'm not asking you to be politically correct or cast aside your sense of humor (please God you have one). This isn't a popularity contest, it's not the moral Olympics, and it's not church. But it's writing, damn it, not washing your car or putting on eyeliner. If you can take it seriously, we can do business. If you can't or won't, it's time for you to close the book and do something else. Wash the car, maybe."

3. Build a writing tool box. King compares writing with carpentry and stresses the importance of keeping your tools close at hand. Everybody will have their own tool box, filled with different kinds of tools, but he has suggestions to help you build your own. Common tools, he says, go on top.

"The commonest of all, the bread of writing, is vocabulary. In this case, you can happily pack what you have without the slightest bit of guilt and inferiority. As the whore said to the bashful sailor, "It ain't how much you've got, honey, it's how you use it."

He goes on to compare paragraphs of famous writers, some with vocabulary that will stumble even the most literate among us; others that are simple yet beautiful, like this paragraph from John Steinbeck in The Grapes of Wrath: "Some of the owner men were kind because they hated what they had to do, and some of them were angry because they hated to be cruel, and some of them were cold because they had long ago found that one could not be an owner unless one were cold."

He compares Steinbeck to Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian: "Someone snatched the old woman's blindfold from her and she and the juggler were clouted away and when the company turned in to sleep and the low fire was roaring in the blast like a thing alive these four yet crouched at the edge of the firelight among their strange chattels and watched how the ragged flames fled down the wind as if sucked by some maelstrom out there in the void, some vortex in that waste apposite to which man's transit and his reckonings alike lay abrogate."

Still with me? That was a mouthful. King says, "The Steinbeck sentence is especially interesting. It's 50 words long. Of those 50 words, 39 have but one syllable. That leaves 11, but even that number is deceptive; Steinbeck uses 'because' three times, 'owner' twice, and 'hated' twice. There is no word longer than two syllables in the entire sentence. The structure is complex; the vocabulary is not far removed from the old Dick and Jane primers. The Grapes of Wrath is, of course, a fine novel. I believe that Blood Meridian is another, although there are great whacks of it that I don't fully understand. What of that? I can't decipher the words to many of the popular songs I love, either."

King says, "Put your vocabulary on the top shelf of your toolbox, and don't make any conscious effort to improve it. (You'll be doing that as you read, of course...). One of the really bad things you can do to your writing is to dress up the vocabulary, looking for long words because you're maybe a little bit ashamed of your short ones." That sentence meant a lot to me.

I also enjoyed what King had to say about grammar, the next tool in your tool box. There are no lectures; no debates about what constitutes good grammar or bad grammar. He pretty much throws all that stuff out the window and frees writers to write what they feel, rather than worrying about subjects and predicates. "Take any noun, put it with any verb, and you have a sentence. It never fails," he says. For those who insist on learning more about grammar, he has this to say: "If you want to refurbish your grammar, go to your local used book store and find a copy of Warriner's English Grammar and Composition – the same book most of us took home and dutifully covered with brown paper shopping bags when we were sophomores and juniors in high school. You'll be relieved and delighted, I think, to find that almost all you need is summarized on the front and back endpapers of the book."

He also has an amusing passage about his own likes and dislikes in sentence style and structure, disliking the passive tense passionately. And don't even get him started on adverbs! "The adverb," he says, "is not your friend." And then (this makes me smile): "I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops. To put it another way, they're like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn, it looks pretty and unique. If you fail to root it out, however, you find five the next day ... 50 the day after that ... and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely, and profligately covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are, but by then it's – GASP!! – too late."

Something else he writes about is dialogue attribution and I am on the same page with him. It's always better to use "said" as simply as possible.


"Put down the gun, Utterson!" Jekyll grated.
"Never stop kissing me!" Shayna gasped.
"You damned tease!" Bill jerked out. All King's examples of nasty attribution.

He finishes his section about adverbs and attribution with his wise advice: "All I ask is that you do as wel as you can, and remember that, while to write adverbs is human, to write he said or she said is divine."

King then spends a great deal of time talking about style and structure, particularly paragraphs. You'll have to read the book for the details but his summation is this: "I would argue that the paragraph, not the sentence, is the basic unit of writing – the place where coherence begins and words stand a chance of becoming more than mere words."

4. Write every day. King likes to write 2,000 words a day. Every day. That's his personal goal – no wonder he can write a novel so quickly. In fact, he says a novel shouldn't take any more than three months to finish. Any longer than that and he starts to lose his enthusiasm and the novel's "voice." He admits not everyone can write like he does – especially for those, like me, who have full-time jobs. He does suggest beginners start out with 1,000 words a day and taking at least one day off. This sounds a lot like the process fellow writer John Wiswell went through when he wrote his novel this year. This is SUCH a good idea. Maybe 1,000 words is too much – I think it probably is too much for me. But 500 words is doable. I think I can commit to that and getting writing done is making that commitment to put your ass in a seat and write. This is the best practical advice I've ever seen on writing. If you don't read anything else in King's book, read this. He also has good advice on setting up a writing space and turning off the TV.

5. Write what you know. John Grisham writes about lawyers. Patricia Cornwall writes about medical examiners. Don't try to copy their style, just because it's successful. Write what interests you. Also, don't write for money. Write because of story. Write because you love it. Write because you have to.

I'm a big fan of King's books but I have no real interest in writing horror. When I do try it, I do it badly. I can admire his work, and Grisham's, and everyone else's, but I must stick to what is in my own heart. When I do that, I write well.

6. Forget about the plot. King doesn't plot his books and he suggests other writers do likewise. Stories, like lives, are organic. They come to life of their own volition. Writers, King says, are mere transcribers. Allowing the story to take the writer where it needs to go will result in a better story.

I do have a bare outline for the work I'm doing now but the outline is in my head. I have no notes. Every time I sit down to write the story takes on a life of its own. I can see where having a definite plot would stagnate the creative process.

7. Description. "The key to good description begins with clear seeing and ends with clear writing, the kind of writing that employs fresh images and simple vocabulary."

8. Dialogue. "Some people don't want to hear the truth, of course, but that's not your problem. What would be is wanting to be a writer without wanting to shoot straight. Talk, whether ugly or beautiful, is an index of character; it can also be a breath of cool, refreshing air in a room some people would prefer to keep shut up. In the end, the important question has nothing to do with whether the talk in your story is sacred or profane; the only question is how it rings on the page and in the ear. If you expect it to ring true, then you must talk yourself. Even more important, you must shut up and listen to others talk."

Brilliant advice from King, just brilliant. People sometimes say I write good dialogue. Part of that may come from 25 years as a reporter, listening to people talk and writing their quotes down verbatim. So much listening does translate into knowing how people talk. One of the things I've loved most about King's books is they read like people talk; they read like the thinking going on in my head. You can tell Mr. King is a very good listener.

There's more to this book, of course, but I fear I am already way past "too long." I'm also half afraid somebody from the King publishing world is going to slap my hands for quoting him so much. I hope not. No one's a bigger fan of this man than I am (gawd, sounding like Annie Wilkes here).

This week I put what I learned from On Writing into practise. I went through my WIP with a fine-toothed King, knocking out adverbs, smoothing out excess description and killing more than a few of my darlings. I am so happy with the results. It was like having The Great One hanging over my shoulder. When I get home from camping, back to the regular routine, I am going to, I swear, force myself to write at least 500 words each and every day. The more the merrier, of course.

Feel a need to go buy On Writing? Of course you do! Get it while it's hot, folks. The Kindle version is avaiable here.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Camp Journal Day #5

You should see my hair. On the other hand, maybe you shouldn't. Oh, and I rolled out of bed at 9:32 a.m. Plus, Dave's making pancakes. All sure signs that we're on vacation.
Yesterday I made a run into town to pick up some poison ivy stuff. Sam had a rash on top of both his feet and there is tons of that noxious weed around here. I google-imaged poison ivy to see if I could see my son's rash – big mistake, unless photos of humongous blisters, swollen eyeballs and scarlet red asses turn your crank. What I didn't see was any little red rashes a la Sam but I decided to get the treatment just in case.
This is what you do: wash the "affected area (!)" with soap and warm water (that always kills me, the "affected area." Of course you wash the affected area - do you think you wash your hair? Your arse? Sheesh, how dumb are we people-who-write-instructions-on-the-back-of-medicine-bottles?); follow that with a wash of rubbing alcohol; apply a hydrocortisone cream; then take a Benadryl or a Reactine. And don't itch it, unless you want an infection. Sam seems better today. "It's still there," he says, "but it's getting better."
***
I'm reading Stephen King's On Writing. What a fabulous book for a writer. I'm enjoying it even more than a novel.
I read it years ago, when I was only thinking about writing, and I thought it was merely ok. Now that I'm in the midst of a project, it is invaluable. Inspirational. I want to talk more about it but Dave has just put a pancake in front of me so I must go.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Camp Journal Day #3

I had to write something to get rid of that last post. Stick my head down the toilet and flush it? Omigawd, can I be any more dramatic? Thanks for all your messages of support – means the world to me, honest. You'll be happy to know Day #2 and Day #3 have been completely fabulous. Or maybe you might have been happier knowing I was unhappy because nothing cheeses a person off more than a person on vacation having too good a time. Oh come on, admit it. The minute somebody starts yakking about what a great time they had you zone out, start thinking of that salami sandwich you had for lunch, and how every time you burp it still tastes like salami.
Not that I had salami for lunch. I joined Weight Watchers, see, and I've been scarfing down a lot of chicken and veg. My friend Tammy said, "You're so brave joining WW just before going on vacation," but honestly, this is the best kind of vacation for waistline trimming. All we do all day is swim, bike and walk. Everything is a walk when you're camping; even going to the bathroom is an aerobic workout and I'm not talking about the pushing!!!
Must go - my camping buddies have shown up for the de rigeur campfire. They are exhausted from carrying chairs and crap down the road to our campsite. "My arms are falling off," complained one.
See? Aerobics, I tell ya.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Camp Journal Day #1

I wish I had something good to report.
That's not true, I do. A fair bit of the day was fantastic. It's this end bit that has me pounding at the keyboard, mad as a hatter, my son sent to bed for the night and my husband going to our friends' to apologize that we won't be dropping by their place for a campfire.
Sigh.
For a while there, it was magic. We bicycled down to the beach and, oh, what a beach. To me, Inverhuron Provincial Park has the best beach in Ontario. As good or better than the surf I frolicked in at Puerto Plata, way too many years ago to count. I do know that I was embarrassed about showing off my fat self in a bathing suit but back then I was positively Twiggy compared to now and now I don't care what people say about how I look. My friend Tammy and I were coming out of the water and she held a flutterboard in front of her because, "I hate coming out of the water and have people staring at me so I do this." I wanted to make some crack about how no one was looking at her because they were all staring at me saying to their wives, "Look, hon, there's a whale coming up the beach." I think everyone should hang out with someone who is larger than them; that way it doesn't matter what you look like.
I'm digressing, aren't I? That happens when I rant. What I'm trying to say is we were having a great time. We were all in swimming; gawd, the water was like pea soup. Sam said it was like swimming in lemon lime Kool-Aid because of the amazing colour; and the sand, that rippled sand that felt so soft on the toes. It was late afternoon before we finally got to the park and got settled in; then we hopped on our bikes, towels slung around our necks, and headed down for that glorious swim. The setting sun was still hot; other people who had been at the beach all day were leaving – the fathers' backs loaded down with coolers and beach umbrellas, chairs and floatey toys, their faces stolid, sunburned and grim. We had the water almost to ourselves and we played for a few glorious hours.
Then we came back and I made supper: brown rice, sauteed baby carrots and a strange-sounding but absolutely fabulous concoction combining a can of diet cola, a cup of ketchup and chopped raw chicken breasts. While I made dinner I let Sam play games on my laptop because, as he told me yesterday, the only thing that excites him in life is video games and computers. Apparently a day at the beach isn't even close to the levels necessary for excitement.
I put dinner on his plate and I knew right off that my picky kid was turning his nose up. When Dave and I made him eat, he got cranky and tearful and said, "If you guys hate me so much, why do you even make me visit?" See, for those who don't know, Sam and his big brother live full-time with his father because I was fucked over big time. Husband cheated, I hit husband with Dr. Seuss book in flaming fight, I call cops to get husband kicked out, cops take me to jail instead because I hit husband, I spend night in jail, judge gives me an order to stay away from my own house, I go live with my parents, kids come to visit me, husband wants full custody and is willing to fight for them, I have no money to fight it plus lawyer says I will never win because Dr. Seuss incident gives me a criminal record, so I don't bother. Ex husband and I arrange an amicable separation agreement because there is no other bloody way. I sit by and watch ex husband spoil children senseless with material things to assauge his guilt. He never makes them eat their dinner and usually feeds them french fries and chicken fingers. He never gives them chores. He spends money he doesn't have to win their love. I try to teach them better, but they don't appreciate rules or weird food. My oldest is 14 now and is at a point where he almost never comes to visit us because he world is the computer and his bedroom and his friends. Sam still wants to come, for the most part, and we almost always have a great time. Only he hates being told to eat his dinner so suppertime often becomes a battleground.
Like tonight.
When he says we must hate him, we try to talk sense to him. Dave sits him down earnestly and pours his heart out about how much he loves him and asks for a hug. Sam barely puts his arms around him and doesn't say anything in return. Dave's heart breaks. Sam heads for his bunk. I call him over to me, determined to talk and cuddle and work things out. But things don't work out and I get angry. Instead of cuddling, I send him to bed.
Now we're all depressed. Day one of our vacation isn't turning out like we planned.
Some days I could just stick my head in a toilet and flush it.
My children are growing up without me and I can't stand it.