Writer’s Almanac for September 30, 2019

I try to listen to Writer’s Almanac every morning. Today’s program was filled with treats. Garrison Keillor reminded me that today is the birthday of Truman Capote. First, after the usual biographical information, he quoted a passage from In Cold Blood—it was a section from the passage I read aloud for last week’s Banned Books night at the Rock Island Library. It was all about the normal sounds of that November morning being punctuated by shotgun blasts that changed so many lives. I had chosen well.

Secondly, Keillor added two quotes from Capote on writing:

“To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music that words make.”

“Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born know them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.”

Good advice for a visual learner.

Finally, learning how George Perkins Marsh delivered the first address on climate change on this date in 1847 was surprising. His observations and conclusions from 172 years ago ring true today in his musical analogy about man as a “disturbing agent”:

“Wherever he plants his foot, the harmonies of nature are turned to discords. The proportions and accommodations which insured the stability of existing arrangements are overthrown. ..."

Such a nice way to start the day.

http://www.garrisonkeillor.com/radio/twa-the-writers-almanac-for-september-30-2019/

In Cold Blood for Banned Books 2019

The following is my “speech” for Banned Books Week. The Rock Island Public Library and the Midwest Writing Center join for a yearly public reading and I did more than sit in the audience this year.

In Cold Blood for Banned Books 2019

I’ve come to Banned Book readings because they are so important. I have often wished to participate, but what book to choose. I’ve found lists of banned books and have been pleased that many titles are familiar to me as ones I’ve read. But not so pleased because there are so many more left to explore.

This year I went online, perused the first list, and what did I find? Dr. Seuss! Really?! Someone in Toronto complained about the violence in Hop on Pop.

I’m awaiting the arrival of my first grandchild. She is sooo going to have this book. My youngest son will have to deal with any ensuing mayhem. So, yes, a tiny little part of grandparenting is … shall we say—payback. Just kidding—he was the “good one”.

Okay, I’m buying this book but it’s not the one I want to talk about tonight.

Neither is this one.

Lord of the Flies was assigned reading by my high school English teacher. I should explain that this guy was in the army, the World War II army, and got his college education through the GI bill. He liked to say the regular college students started out [down] here. While the returning veterans started out [up] here. So, Mr. Schakel knew his stuff.

I read the book, wrote my report, and he called me up to his desk. It was after class and he patiently explained to me how I missed the whole point of the book. I don’t remember his words, but the sinking feeling—yeah, I remember that.

I missed Hop on Pop the first time around.

I failed my reading assignment with Lord of the Flies.

That leaves the book I do want to talk about: In Cold Blood by Truman Capote—whose research was assisted by the one and only Harper Lee, but I didn’t know any of that at the time. I was a somewhat isolated teenager in small-town Iowa. The important thing here is that I, as a teenager, chose to read this; to enter the world of Perry Smith & Richard Hickock, the Clutter family, the criminal investigation, the confessions, and the trial.

This was an eye-opening experience for me.

This opened the door to all kinds of questions:

WHY did this happen?

HOW could it have happened?

WHEN will it ever end?

WHAT can a person, an individual, do?

Sound familiar? We are still asking those questions. And that’s okay.

We must not lose the chance to connect with the kinds of books that stir our passions, our fears, that push us past our boundaries, the books that make us tackle the difficult questions.

That is why I chose In Cold Blood for tonight.

My reading:

“Until one morning in mid-November of 1959, few Americans—in fact, few Kansans—had ever heard of Holcomb. Like the waters of the river, like the motorists on the highway, and like the yellow train streaking down the Santa Fe tracks, drama, in the shape of exceptional happenings, had never stopped there. The inhabitants of the village, numbering two hundred and seventy, were satisfied that this should be so, quite content to exist inside ordinary life—to work, to hunt, to watch television, to attend school socials, choir practice, meetings of the 4-H Club. But then, in the earliest hours of that morning in November a Sunday morning, certain foreign sounds impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises—on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive whistles. At the time not a soul in sleeping Holcomb heard them—four shotgun blasts that, all told, ended six human lives. But afterward the townspeople, theretofore sufficiently unfearful of each other to seldom trouble to lock their doors, found fantasy re-creating them over and again—those somber explosions that stimulated fires of mistrust in the glare of which many old neighbors viewed each other strangely, and as strangers.”    

1965, first printing, page five.

The fact is that while I can read about true crime, or in this case a “Non-fiction Novel”, when it came time to write my own book I went with the safer, less violent, cozy route—that included a nice, friendly dog. To answer the question of Why?—that was my choice.

How to Race in the Rain and Other Lessons

“I loved it when he talked to me like that. Dragging out the drama. Ratcheting up the anticipation. I’ve always found great pleasure in the narrative tease. But then, I’m a dramatist. For me, a good story is all about setting up expectations and delivering on them in an exciting and surprising way.” Page 59

I love it when an author can incorporate writing lessons into the text of their work.  I got two gems with The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein.

The first quote, above, is about structure, not revealing all knowledge too soon or all at once. Something I had to struggle with early on, and which I still try to pay extra attention to. I call it the information dump: an irresistible urge to tell all way too soon. For me, in my first novel, it was the backstory of Pearl, the 103-year-old retired teacher. Her actions were too important to squander away. I had to make myself break her story into smaller sections, space them out in the narrative, gave her the beginning and the end. I made myself be patient. Some readers got it, some didn’t.

Building a firm foundation for the main character is vital. The writer must create a narrative arc of development that plots a path of growth, either positive or negative. It reminds me of one of the first tips I got from a dear Bishop Hill friend, “Your protagonist has to change.” 

Vonnegut tells it this way: Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them-in order that the reader may see what they are made of.* That’s a little extreme for my taste, but it gets the idea across.

The second quote from Stein highlights just such a lesson:

“The true hero is flawed. The true test of a champion is not whether he can triumph, but whether he can overcome obstacles—preferably of his own making—in order to triumph. A hero without a flaw in of no interest to an audience or the universe, which, after all, is based on conflict and opposition, the irresistible force meeting the unmovable object. Which is also why Michael Schumacher, clearly one of the most gifted Formula One drivers of all time, winner of more races, winner of more championships, holder of more pole position than any other driver in Formula One history, is often left off the race fan’s list of favorite champions. He is unlike Ayrton Senna, who often employed the same devious and daring tactics as Schumacher, but did so with a wink and therefore was called charismatic and emotional rather than what they call Schumacher: remote and unapproachable. Schumacher has no flaws. He has the best car, the best-financed team, the best tires, the most skill. Who can rejoice in his wins? The sun rises every day. What is to love? Lock the sun in a box. Force the sun to overcome adversity in order to rise. Then we will cheer!” Page 136

Frankly, this would work for a synopsis for the whole book. Our protagonist, Denny, has misfortune after misfortune rain down upon him in an unceasing downpour, testing his skills, his principles, his very soul … until the very end. We discover the metal of his being. On the last turn of the last lap victory is snatched from the jaws of defeat. The only thing left to wonder about is what happened to Enzo, the dog.

*From Brain Pickings:

https://www.brainpickings.org/2012/04/03/kurt-vonnegut-on-writing-stories/

#8 on Vonnegut’s list cancels out what I said about pacing. But, in my defense, he was talking about SHORT stories.

Links to other author’s lists of advice can be found here as well.

The Butterfly Business

Monarch Madness is upon those of us who are trying to increase the population of Monarch butterflies here in the QC urban area. We do it because it helps the annual migration. We do it because, like gardening in general, it’s a satisfying hobby with tangible results.

Last year’s harsh winter took out some of my Whorled milkweed. The taller varieties seem okay. And, new this year, I’ve figured out that pruning the plants back early can produce more compact plants with additional tender leaves that momma Monarchs seem to look for. A sensible idea that needed reinforcing. Many thanks to: questions@monarchbutterflygarden.net for supplying this helpful hint and a nudge to go for it. My “weed” patch looks so much better.

This year, I’ve rescued eggs and caterpillars to raise and release. So has my neighbor. It makes for pleasant days watching Monarchs flit around our gardens. The photo I’ve added has three Monarchs going about their business. Difficult to see, but they are there.

All this has inspired me to dig out my “Letters to a Butterfly.” This began last year with my milkweed expansion in an isolated area at Fairmount Library, Davenport. (They now have four different kinds growing.) It turned into a letter writing project for visitors to my booth for Art in the Garden held at the Quad-City Botanical Center, Rock Island.

Here are the letters I collected:

Go forth and flutter lovely Monarch.

Keep flapping your wings! You’ll get there!

Oh! The places you will go 😊

Watch out for cars.

Though it may seem hard, and there will be mistakes, you’ll get there!

Go,

Live,

Love,

Come back …

Someday

Lots of encouraging thoughts for those hot summer days in the garden.

Ben Miller

Ben Miller was the keynote speaker for this year’s David R. Collins Writers’ Conference on Thursday, June 27 at the Figge’s John Deere auditorium. What follows are my remarks at the open mic event held Friday, June 28 at Rozz-Tox, Rock Island, IL.

"Ben Miller was the perfect choice to be the keynote speaker for the 40^th anniversary edition of the David R. Collins Writers’ Conference. The Figge was the perfect venue. I toured two exhibits that involved recycling: the first artist used garbage from Rio’s largest dump to restage famous paintings, the other artist reused knick-knacks to form collages that transformed familiar objects into shrines and 3-D sculptures. Perfect tie ins with the title of Ben Miller’s book which is rather long and involved. It begins with “River Bend Chronicle” moves on to mention “Junkification,” then alludes to a “Boyhood,” before concluding with “the Curious Glory of Urban Iowa.” To date it is his one and only book.

I believe Ben Miller is better known for his essays. I believe that after listening to him speak to us current members of the Midwest Writing Center and this year’s conference attendees. His remarks were quite literate and eloquent. Testament to the many people he mentioned and thanked for helping a needy youngster turn a writing passion into a life’s work.

Dick Stahl still writes poems inspired by the Mississippi River; he just celebrated his 80^th birthday. Steve Lackey keeps the Writer’s Studio chugging along; its twice monthly meetings still welcome all comers. Rochelle Murray may be a retired librarian, but she never tires of being the champion for children’s reading skills. These are only a few of Miller’s cast of life-changing, perhaps lifesaving, characters.

The Midwest Writing Center began as the vision of David R. Collins, teacher. It continues as a hard-working resource for all aspiring writers. Just as it supplied Ben Miller with what he needed, when he needed it. The Midwest Writing Center has always been there for my writing journey by offering just the right workshop, and the perfect inspiration when I needed it. So yes, I answered Ben Miller’s call to action— DO SOMETHING FOR YOUR WRITING EVERY DAY! I wrote this today, at 5 AM. And I will write something else tomorrow.

Thank you all for your support."                 Mary R. Davidsaver                                                                                                                          

A Timely Quote: Gardening

“Gardening is the most therapeutic and defiant act you can do especially in the inner city.” – Ron Finley

I love a quote that presents itself at the perfect moment for maximum impact. This one came in time for a morning of aching back and legs, the inevitable result of spending the previous warm afternoon clearing away last year’s garden clutter. Springtime squats—the exercise I’m always unprepared for—are those repetitive motions performed by bending the knees to get closer to the clump of dried up stuff you need to cut off or pull out to make way for the new growth that’s just peaking out of the ground. Anyway, that’s my ritual. Someday I’ll get smart enough to pull up a stool and sit down right away. 

My gardening space is more suburban than inner city. I still count it as a defiant act in so much as it tends to fly against the grain of a homeowner’s association’s idea of neat, tidy, and bland. I have a few supporters in my corner. Those who wish me well in working on my little island of a Monarch waystation. Their kind comments help me keep going. Plus, the butterflies have found me! Caterpillars, by the way, make great pets. I give them a head start in life by nurturing them through their main stages of growth then send them off into the world. At the end of the season, we are all free to go our separate ways.

As for therapeutic … Yes, I have the good feelings that come from helping the Monarch migration, but I have the look of a gardener: weathered skin, worn-out leather gloves, and a healthy respect for bees. I’m not sure I’d call that part therapeutic. For me the therapy comes when I absolutely need private time—I go out to the garden and find something to do. It’s a soothing repetitive routine that’s not without its surprises. Some good, like seeing a moth that behaves like a hummingbird. Some bad, as when I finally discover the parasite that’s killing caterpillars. Both spur me onward with new understanding and growth.

Gardening is work. Writing is work. Seeing them as therapeutic and/or defiant acts comes from your perspective and inner need. My need right now is get on with my next project.

Ron Findley’s quote comes from a recent Quad-Times Crytoquote puzzle.

Spending Time with Sarah Ruhl

Sarah Ruhl’s playwrighting workshop at Brunner Theatre, Augustana College, provided three writing exercises.

I missed the first one because I was late leaving home and then found my preferred parking spot filled with sports fans. So, I can only speculate on the myriad ways a roomful of eager college students might choose to name their main characters. My unfortunate loss.  

The second exercise had us pairing up and dedicating time to closely observing each other. I have to say that both looking and being looked at can be equally uncomfortable. But the mental images formed lingered quite a while. After being thus forced into “observation mode” we were given time to write about “home."

The third exercise had the feel of a Mad-Lib game. Our goal was not to fill in the blank spaces of a ready-made story grid. We would be fleshing out our own stories. It started by drawing five columns on a sheet of paper. Then we were asked to randomly place words: colors/3, names/2, the letter I/3, nouns/5, adjectives/3, adverbs/2, verbs/4, and a couple of exclamations throughout the page. The goal was to leave lots of blank spaces in between the pre-chosen words. Filling in those blanks within each column created sentences that made sense and often flowed into a coherent story. If the words chosen were related to a current writing project, I could see how it would inspire viewing your work with fresh potential.

That exercise was my best take-a-way from Ruhl’s workshop. I can see why she doesn’t believe in writer’s block. That and the time I spent among energized college students working on their plays.