The music that will never, ever go away

This year, with political firestorms and the tragic, actual firestorms throughout my state, I’m craving the comfort of Christmas songs.

I want to hear the familiar carols, the goofy songs (“I’m Mr. Heat Miser”) and the smooth retro feel of classics from the 1950s and ’60s, that golden age of Christmas songs. Don’t get me started with the Christmas movies featuring those songs.

whitechristmas__spanWhite Christmas isn’t a great movie. It’s the music that makes it. I watch it to sing along with Rosemary Clooney on “Sisters.” And hear Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye sing the melancholy “White Christmas,” written by Irving Berlin, who was actually Jewish.

I’m dreaming of a white christmas/Just like the ones I used to know…

The song captures so well the longing for a time that never really happened. Christmas is invested with all that we dream of and realistically know the new year won’t bring us. But in the bleak days of winter, it makes us so happy to sing about it.

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The highlight of my Christmas song memories has to be when I attended a multicultural church in San Francisco. I was in a 150-person choir, an incredibly diverse group of people. We did a funky version of “Winter Wonderland,” which I couldn’t get out of my head for years afterwards. After we sang the Hallelujah Chorus at practice, the choir director said, “Hey, guys, look around you. This is what heaven will look like.”

Last year, my sisters and I watched the movie musical, Meet Me in St. Louis, with my mom, who is bedridden, nonverbal and in the last stages of dementia. When the songs started up, she smiled and sang along, carrying the tune pretty closely but garbling the words. It was mind boggling. It made us cry.

A dementia expert once told me that a small part of the brain remains unaffected by mental deterioration. Things like songs and often repeated prayers live there. That’s where these Christmas songs will stay, locked deep within the lead-lined safes in our minds. We won’t be able to get away from them.

What are your Christmas and holiday favorites?  What songs do you love? And love to hate?

 

Here’s my list. Feel free to dispute my choices.

My Seven Best Christmas Songs Ever 

  • O Little Town of Bethlehem
  • Hark the Herald Angels Sing
  • Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah
  • Silent Night
  • O Holy Night
  • Winter Wonderland
  • Do You Hear What I Hear? (fondly remembering the movie Gremlins)

My Seven Worst Christmas Songs Ever

  • Wonderful Christmastime  (Paul McCartney)
  • Little Drummer Boy*
  • Last Christmas
  • Santa Baby 
  • Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer
  • We Wish You a Merry Christmas (Secretly resent it because it took me years to nail the chord changes)
  • Deck the Halls (Fa la la la la…It’s like they ran out of words)

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*Exception:  1982 David Bowie and Bing Crosby duet. This is sweet and cheesy, and I love David Bowie so much, I could watch it again and again.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, friends!

Back from the UK (with pictures)

The jet lag has worn off, but two weeks ago I got back from a wonderful trip to England.

I walked through London in the footsteps of my favorite writers. I ate lunch at the pub in Oxford where Tolkein and C.S. Lewis met on Tuesdays. I got to see the hangouts and graves of the classic writers who gave me my love for the English language. The weather and the people could not have been more congenial.

London was busy and energetic, full of so many people under 30 that I felt pretty damn ancient. As Harry Potter fans, our first stop in the city had to be Platform 9-3/4 in King’s Cross Station. 

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Hedwig’s missing!

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We saw Westminster Abbey, on a tour led by a bossy, hilarious verger who rolled his eyes at the new, abstract David Hockey stained glass window. I got to see Poets Corner, and the grave of my literary crush, Samuel Johnson. As a Californian, the history awed me. The site has been a religious gathering place since 960 AD.

It was a relief to get away from US politics, but we did catch a brief glimpse of British Brexit drama, when streets were shut down for the Wooferendum, a protest in which dogs and their owners marched against the travel quarantine that their dogs will have to endure when they vacation in the EU after Brexit.

In Oxford we ate at The Eagle and Child, where the Inklings (C.S. Lewis, Tolkein and friends) met. Our friend Ruth then took us over to the Bodleiean Library where we saw an exhibit of Tolkein’s drawings and heard recordings of him speaking the languages he invented for Middle Earth. 

Ruth drove us (very fast, on incredibly narrow, twisting country roads) up to the Cotswolds for a roadside picnic.

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Our picnic spot in the Cotswolds
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The punts at Magdalen College, Oxford. Imagining Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane heading out on the river.
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Lunch at the Inklings’ hangout!

After leaving our gracious hostess, we headed for Stratford-upon-Avon, a tourist town but in a good way. Shakespeare’s birthplace and the associated sites are well kept up and the tour guides are knowledgeable. The town had even more meaning for me since I’ve been teaching Shakespeare and watching the hilarious BBC show, “The Upstart Crow,” a comedic version of Shakespeare’s life as a struggling playwright.

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The Avon part of Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s hometown

We finished off our trip in Bath. I love this city! A beautiful abbey, the Roman Baths, the site where Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, and the Jane Austen Centre. We ate Sally Lunns, Bath Buns and many, many scones with clotted cream. I drank Samuel Johnson’s favorite tea.

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Pulteney Bridge, Bath

 

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The Roman Baths, built around 400 AD. Coincidentally the site on which Mary Shelley wrote one of my favorites, Frankenstein, 1400 years later.

I’m still feeling a pleasant buzz from the scenery, the history, and the friendliness and dry wit of the British people.

As I corral myself into my daily routine for NaNoWriMo, I’m dreaming of my next trip.

The impossibility of writing in an empty house

IMG_20180906_120325The door closes. There is that beautiful sound: silence.

The sound I’ve longed to hear, through years of being a mom to three children. No video game boss battles. Nobody banging away at musical instruments (which I admit I enjoy). No requests for food or money.

I am…alone.

I’ve made up my to-do list. All I will do with this time. Clean the bathroom, read that new magical realism novel I downloaded. Pay a bill. Write my book.

With the house to myself, with no interruptions, I should be able to write literally THOUSANDS of words. I should be able to sit at my desk and nail down the scene that’s been coalescing in my head.

The characters in my book—the young police detective, the unhappy wife, and the grieving family of the murdered ex-Nazi—are breathing sighs of relief and exchanging grateful glances. Finally, she’s alone! Now we get to do something.

download-1It’s our time. Our time down here, my book’s cast of characters chant as they launch into Sean Astin’s speech from The Goonies. They can get on with their investigations, conversations and illegal/sketch activities! At least they are motivated.

I have my special coffee mug and hot water in my French press. I have a healthy, Whole30 compliant snack. I turn on the MacBook, open Scrivener and I sit.

And wait.

A phone call interrupts my thoughts and now I’m out of my seat. I remember I haven’t watched the latest episode of The Great British Baking Show. And oh, my God, it’s Cakes! If I watch it, fold the clothes from the dryer and maybe think about that scene some more—that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? At least I’d be getting something done.

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And so the rationalization begins. If I do sit back down and write, my time is short and full of distractions.

After a few of these frustrating sessions, I decided to work with myself and my distractible tendencies. Just as I would with students I teach or one of my kids. Let’s strike a deal here, make this work.

My thought process went something like this:

Realization #1
I don’t get much time to myself. I am alone-time deprived.

Realization #2
My self discipline fails me when I feel deprived, whether it’s a diet or schedule I’m trying to adhere to. (If you’re an enneagram person, I am a Self Preservation 4, which means I’m a creative type with a high priority for self care.)

Brilliant hypothesis!
If I indulge myself for a set period of time, I will get rid of those feelings of deprivation.

My latest tactic:  For an hour, I allow myself to relax and enjoy the quiet house. Watch that Great British Baking Show episode. Prepare myself something that tastes really good. Maybe put on a Spotify playlist of my favorite songs.

Then I sit down in front of my computer. I have fully savored my alone-ness, given in to any desire to dance around like Tom Cruise in his underwear in Risky Business. I am ready now.

And so I write.

Thankfully, this is working pretty well for me so far.

If you’re a parent or spouse who doesn’t get much time by yourself—how do you stay focused when you get your alone time?

The top 5 writing distractions. (#5 will surprise you)

If anything is a test of your will as a writer, it’s resisting the distractions that curl up a ghostly cartoon finger and lure you away from the page. They’re evil, I tell you. Evil.

And the rationalizing that goes on in a writer’s head could fill volumes.

Everyone has their own temptations. Mine are food and the internet. I’d love to hear yours in the comments. Wait–maybe I could do some research on the subject of distractions! Now that could be interesting.

Let me just pop onto Google and look this up (disappears into bottomless void).

Distraction #1
What’s for lunch?
What’s in the fridge? It’s only 10:30 am, but it wouldn’t hurt to get something started.
Rationalization: Food is necessary to sustain life. Nobody disputes this.

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Note: This distraction gets worse when you’re on a diet and all you can think about is food.

Distraction #2
I need another cup of coffee.
Making coffee will take maybe ten minutes, but it will make me write faster.
Rationalization: So I’m actually creating time if I take a break to make coffee.

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Distraction #3
What’s Trump doing right now?
He’s up to something, that’s for sure. I’ll check my news feed and find out what it is.
Rationalization: If it’s nuclear war, I want some notice so I can revise my less-than-perfect first chapter. It may be found in the Cloud someday, after the apocalypse.

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Distraction #4
Let me go online to check something. It’ll only take five minutes.
If I go online, I will head down a rabbit hole and emerge 40 minutes later, knowing a lot more about gopher traps and French property laws, but completely derailed from my story.
Rationalization: But if I don’t check, the mistake will end up in a published book because my revising self and all my beta readers will miss it. Readers will write me mean letters.

Distraction #5
Because…cute pet
Look what Fur Ball just did! This is so going on Instagram.
Rationalization: The little guy is adorable. Posting a pic of the cuteness will make people happy. After all, nuclear war could break out at any time. Don’t we all need joy?

Since I currently don’t have any pets, the members of my writing group have kindly sent me these pictures of their adorable distractions:

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Charlotte, the therapy cat. Courtesy of rcgwriter on instagram
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One of Ariel’s very literate cats, courtesy of leiraklewis on instagram
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That face! O’Neill, courtesy of onceuponrosanna on instagram

What are your big distractions, writing friends? How do you overcome them to stay focused?

How not to dread writing

img_20180330_080013-e1532978494452.jpgI am a writer and a writing teacher. So I deal with my own writing motivation issues, then I turn around and help high schoolers with theirs.

My personal catchphrase and what will inevitably be engraved on my tombstone is: No one should have to dread writing.

But I do, sometimes. If I take the time to analyze why, there are usually two reasons:  1) I’m afraid I’ll fall short of my own expectations; and 2) I’m not excited about what I’m writing.

There is a great quote by public radio personality Ira Glass about the gap that creative types experience, between what they churn out initially and what they know in their hearts to be really good. Here’s a short, creative video rendition of the quote: https://vimeo.com/85040589

As you hone your craft, you will be painfully aware of how short you fall of your own expectations. The only way to close that gap is to practice more of your craft. The more you write, the better you will get.

There’s one magic solution to this–don’t quit. If you keep writing regularly, closing that gap will be inevitable. One thing that encourages me is to go back and re-read an old draft or a story I wrote a few years ago. Then I see the truth. I’m getting better.

The other reason why I and so many of my students dread writing is, we’re writing about something we’re not excited about. So here’s my oh-duh solution:  write your passion. Write about something you daydream about. Or about what you fear most. Write about something that’s stuck in your head, that you’re trying to come to terms with. Write about something that pisses you off.

Last year I had a freshman who hated to write and did the very minimum on his writing assignments. When I asked him what he loved to do, he said, “Play the video game Fortnite.”

Screenshot_20180730-121346_2I asked him what he liked least about the game. He said, “Bush camping. It’s unfair and I hate it. Players hide in the bushes, and they ambush you and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

That next week, he turned in the best piece of writing he’d done in the class, a persuasive essay arguing in detail that bush camping should be taken out of the game!

If you’re writing something you’re not passionate about, write about something else. If that’s not an option, research angles on the subject till you find something you do care about. Pick at it. Find something that gets your emotions going, for good or bad.

Here are two books that have inspired me and some of my students:

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life  by Anne Lamott
Tips and encouragement for any writing process, whether it’s fiction or an essay for school.

If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland
A sparkling and encouraging book for fiction writers, filled with the author’s sense of humor. Gets to the heart of why we want to write and how to move forward doing it.

 

I want to write a badly written book

Disclaimer:  Oh, dear. The blogger was clearly not in her right mind while writing this post. She was last seen logged into Amazon, buying up every book she could on plot structure, suspense and character development. Please accept our apologies. 

Lately I’ve been reading whatever I can get my hands on that will make my novel better. Blog posts on how to create characters flawed in just the right way—enough to draw in the reader but not enough to get the book thrown against the wall. Books on how to create micro tension, so that your taut sentences are filled with that soupçon of contradiction that beckons the curious reader to read on. Articles on how to write your first five pages so that an agent will not be able to put them down.

I’m exhausted.

At a meeting of one of my writer groups (see previous blog post), I told my patient and supportive friends: I want to write a really bad book.

I have the urge to write something that completely veers off the road of good taste into the murky pond of self-indulgence. I want to pour out my wildest dreams into a story of forbidden love that I publish myself and put the six-packed torso of a man on the cover, drawn badly by my best friend.

Last school year, I taught a creative writing class to middle schoolers. Middle schoolers get bored easily and have short attention spans (hormones). So they write about people murdering each other on camping trips, about unicorns appearing in their backyards and mermaids having a babysitting service.

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They aren’t usually well written, but they’ve got passion and chutzpah. The stories are filled with relentless action. The kids write with confidence, because they don’t know any better.

I can use words to tell this crazy story that’s in my head. So I’m going to do it.

That’s what I want.

I want that sense of fun, that reminder that I’m the only one who can tell this crazy story that I made up, so you’d better listen. I want to write with a confidence that I don’t deserve to have. Because ultimately, while rules are important, every one of us can name a rule-breaking book that became a bestseller—or just near and dear to our hearts.

Writing is not a game you “win” because you follow all the rules. Creativity doesn’t work that way. But despite my frustration, I realize knowing the rules helps. My dad is a painter and when I saw my first cubist painting, I asked him if Picasso always painted that way. How did the guy get away with painting like that? My dad answered that Picasso studied painting for years–and had been painting for years. He knew all the rules before he decided to break them.

Maybe I’ll take a break from reading the rules now. And try some writing.

Why you need to be in a writers group

The life of a writer is solitary work. And that’s good.

When you’re by yourself, planted in front of your computer, or bent over a legal pad with your pen, the creativity flows without distraction. You have time and space to imagine your world.

I have a memory of being 11 years old, lying on my stomach on my bed in Bellevue, Washington, with a giant newsprint tablet and a pen. Just me and my story, which I also illustrated. No annoying younger siblings, no mom nagging me to do my chores. When I think of my happy place, that’s it.

If you are creating your story for yourself, for the love of it, that’s perfect. The problem comes when you are writing for an audience beyond yourself and your bedroom. When you’re going to submit to an agent or self publish.

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Come out of your cave and find your squad!

This will be a long road. So crawl out of your writer cave and gather people around you. People who will encourage you. Call you on your bad self talk, cheer for your victories.

A writers group will help you keep writing and get better at it.

I’ve been in two different kinds of writers groups. A few years ago, I was in a critique group where each of us read a chapter at our meetings. I saw how my writing came across to a variety of people. Over time, these people got to know me and helped me grow within my unique style and genre. I learned what works in storytelling and what doesn’t. I also grew a thicker skin—something you need if you’re writing for publication.

Right now I belong to two writer groups, one that grew out of a novel-in-a-year class, and one that spun off from an arts program at my local church. My novel-in-a-year group has given me some great beta readers. We also share tips on how to find agents and how to market ourselves.

My weekly writers group is all about encouragement and accountability. We have virtual writing times, which are fun and often hilarious, using google Hangouts and a productivity app. When one of us has a victory, we celebrate. We also call each other on our bullshit:  You’ve only sent out six queries, and you got two rejections—and you’re discouraged? Come back when you’ve sent out 20 or 30.

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Actual productivity app screen from one of our virtual writing sessions (unfortunately crashed by ME).

If you’re writing for more than yourself, find a group that works for you. The support will keep you going when the journey is discouraging and you’re feeling—as all writers do—that you’re not cut out for this.

Growing a confident writer

Today I had my lesson plan preempted by an eleven year old with a story to tell. I let her tell it.

I teach Creative Writing to middle schoolers through a charter school. Last year, I had a group of high-achieving kids, studious and driven. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those students in particular ends up publishing a book before she turns eighteen. Her writing style and voice are finely tuned, and she knows the craft of telling a story. I had her sign up for the NaNoWriMo Young Writers Program. Her mom can’t stop her from writing. She’s twelve.

This semester, I have very different kids. These kids are in it for fun, and for the cookies I sometimes bring to class. They’re funny and snarky. Minor things like spelling aren’t a priority for them. And sometimes—well, they lose focus.

A few minutes before class, Jade asked me if she could draw on the white board. I let her do it, as we waited for the rest of the class to arrive. She began drawing a character, whom she named, and told me his back story and character attributes (clearly she had been listening to our previous lesson). As she drew, she described her setting in detail (she’d listened to that lesson, too), and added another character as a love interest, with a complication:  her parents disapproved of the match (Lesson on conflict–check).

When the rest of the class came in, I let her keep going. She was on a roll, telling the story with flair, as she moved all over the board, illustrating like crazy. Her two characters find a portal in a tree and travel to another dimension. After a series of adventures involving ogres and dungeons, the two characters manage to get back home, where they are welcomed by their parents and live happily ever after. Or as Jade scrawled on the board ominously when she finished: Or do they?

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The rest of the class chimed in with questions and suggestions, totally into it. The story ended up taking up half the class. When I finally got to my planned lesson on description and setting, I used Jade’s story for the examples. What seemed like a long diversion became a great teaching moment, something I never could have planned. And, in line with my class’s taste, it was a lot of fun.

One of the most important things you can have as a writer is ballsy confidence. A belief that yes, you do have a right to tell your story. And if you put your story out there, people will listen. How do you grow this in someone? On my own path as a writer, I’ve struggled with this.

Today a kid got time and space to tell a story. I didn’t just give her that, the whole class did.

I hope this gives her confidence to make more stories.

My 30-year literary crush

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Today I taught my senior English class a lesson on my literary crush.

I’ve been carrying a literary torch for this guy for about 30 years.

Years ago, in my sophomore year in college I signed up for a required English literature class. I wasn’t at all excited about 18th century literature, so I gritted my teeth and settled in for what I thought would be a very dull ten weeks.

I found out right away what a difference it makes when your professor is bursting with passion for his subject. Dr. Max Byrd loved the writers we studied so much, it seemed like he had just come back from chatting with them at the literary salon. He bubbled over with their ideas and talked about their work as extensions of the lives they’d led.

One writer he couldn’t stop talking about was Dr. Samuel Johnson.

Over the course of the class I fell in love with Samuel Johnson. I didn’t see this coming. Most of my exposure to English literature to that point had been Shakespeare, Jane Austen and the Brontes. Samuel Johnson hadn’t written any novels or any plays I’d seen, so he wasn’t on my radar.

Samuel Johnson became a real person to me. Dr. Byrd talked about Johnson’s laziness and his inability to live up to his own standards, which I related to very much. Johnson, with his foibles, physical impairments and grand ideas, became very human. I had never learned to read literature this way—through the lives of those who wrote it. It brought deep philosophical readings like Johnson’s Rasselas to life.

Dr. Byrd wanted us to be excited about what we were reading. He said something like this once in class: “I want you to feel so strongly about the ideas we’re discussing that you’re willing to get into fisticuffs over them.”  My boyfriend at the time, who was also in the class, thought that was hilarious and intriguing. I remember him going to office hours to ask Dr. Byrd what that meant.

A decade after Dr. Byrd’s class, my husband (not the aforementioned boyfriend) and I traveled to London for my work. I told my husband I needed to see Johnson’s house on Gough Street. It felt amazing to be able to see the home of my literary crush, the place where he’d spent ten years writing his dictionary of the English language.

But the biggest reward from Dr. Byrd’s class was today, when I was able to teach my students about Samuel Johnson myself.

I could not have foreseen thirty-odd years ago that I would be a teacher, but two years ago I began teaching high school English on a contract basis for a charter school. All that I learned as an English major and never thought I’d use is coming back to me. I’m finding that I am teaching literature through the lives of the writers as well. I tried my best, as Dr. Byrd did, to resurrect Samuel Johnson for my class, to let them see him as the unusual, gifted and flawed person he was. The wit, the thoughts and ideas that made Johnson great came pouring out of me in that weirdly effortless way that happens when you’re talking about something you love.

I love that teaching is like a chain: we teach what we’ve been taught, carry on the best that we’ve been given, and inspire others to do the same.

Thank you, Dr. Byrd. It felt amazing to pass on the gift today.