Archive for July 8, 2010

Lois Lowry & Me

I’ve never met Lois Lowry and I doubt she has any idea how terrific I am. But for my money time, she writes one of the few truly excellent blogs out there by authors. I mean to say, it’s not all self-obsessed twaddle. Maybe it’s because she’s already successful; Lois doesn’t feel compelled to relentlessly beat the drum of  self-promotion. But actually I think it’s because her interests range far beyond her own self, and the blog reflects that. So I make it a point to swing by from time to time.

Lois Lowry, right (she’s the one in the turtleneck).

I recently commented on one of her posts, “Do I ever work?” In it, Lois took a rare moment to discuss her writing, offered up some thoughts on transitions, and was mildly critical of another writer’s work. (Note: Lois admits to  mostly reading books for adults. I can relate to that.)

Anyway, Lois used my comment as fodder for today’s blog post, provocatively titled, “Put clothes on him. But not too many.” It’s about including details — without going overboard. You should read it.

When I ask my daughter, Maggie (age 9), to describe a movie she’s seen, she’ll go into excruciating, mind-numbing detail. Well, she’ll begin, warming to the topic, this happened, then this, then this, then this . . . until warm blood starts trickling from my ears. “For the love of all that is good and holy,” I’ll cry, “get to the point!”

That’s when I learn she’s only on the previews.

Maggie, you see, is at that stage in her development where she can’t quite separate the wheat from the chaff. It’s all important, and therefore, of course, nothing matters. I’ll beg, “Please, dear heart, just give us the highlights.”

It’s a basic mistake for many young writers. Too many details, too many dreary facts, most of them meaningless. As authors, we must seek the telling detail, not bury our characters under mountains of fact.

Anyway: I feel like the radio talk show caller who’s been on hold for the past half hour. Suddenly he’s gotten through and can’t quite believe it. “I’m on the air? Really? Lois, is that you? I thought you’d be taller.”

Hey, Look! It’s the Nietzsche Family Circus

I quite enjoyed this story by Tim Vanderburg, a guest blogger at Pop Candy. Tim recalls how by writing a piece of fan mail, he became influential in updating the mom’s hairstyle in the comic strip, “The Family Circus.”

Just a sweet read.

As a child, I learned how to draw by opening the newspaper and imitating the likes of Beetle Bailey, Hagar the Horrible, Peanuts, Family Circus, Andy Capp, and more (though, sorry, never Mark Trail). Later when I had children, it was back to the comic strips and a table strewn with  magic markers. Like Tim, I guess I have a connection to those comics that’s deeper than maybe I realized, in that they connect to simpler times, the physical pleasure of a hand moving across a white page, and something of innocence lost.

I remember when I first “got” Bill Keane’s “Family Circus” in a minor-key, eureka moment. I mean, I had always read the strip, liked it more or less, but never found it particularly funny. Keane, I suddenly understood, wasn’t after funny. He wasn’t trying to get a laugh. Instead, Keane pursued a slice-of-life moment of recognition. Nostalgia based on reflection, appreciation. Keane didn’t seek a laugh so much as the nod of affirmation: Yes, that’s life, I’m paddling in that crazy boat, too. He shows us our world.

Anyway, researching this little post, I came across The Nietzsche Family Circus. It pairs a randomized Family Circus cartoon with a randomized quote from everybody’s favorite comedian, that borscht belt funnyman, Friedrich Nietzsche.

You can go here to check it out, and click the “refresh” icon to see new  combinations of cosmic cleverness. Gosh, sometimes the interwebs can be so joyously weird. I’m going to renew my free subscription!

The higher we soar the smaller we appear

to those who cannot fly.

Music Video Weekend: “Devil’s Spoke,” “Alpha Shallows,” and “Rambling Man” by Laura Marling

I’m working over the holidays while my family plays. I hear it’s beautiful outside, but that’s just an ugly rumor to me, the devil whispering in my ear. I want to finish this book today, stuck in this windowless basement. I mean it. Today!

Or, okay, maybe Monday. Some things can’t be rushed.

(And, oh yes, I should whisper this: I love my book. So happy about it, so challenged by it. My first YA!)

I miss my kids, feel like I’m letting down my wife, but the work has got to get done. Even in this state, I listen to music — it feeds the work, sustains me — and I associate this artist below with a character I’m writing about, named Becka. I think Becka would very much like Ms. Marling, I can imagine Becka listening to her new CD, “I Speak Because I Can.”

Born on the date of my birthday, but, um, exactly 29 years later (Feb 1, 1990), Laura Marling strikes me as a very exciting young talent. A singer-songwriter from Hampshire, England, she’s linked to the Brit indie-folk resurgence, including bands like Stornoway, Noah and the Whale, and Mumford & Sons. I’m not sure where that trend is going, if anywhere, but I’m enjoying for now.

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I had to add a live performance to balance out the video, I think it shows off her pure talent even better; it’s probably my favorite. Repeat after me: Twenty. Years. Old.

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One more and I’ll stop, promise:

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RAMBLING MAN

oh naive little me
asking what things you have seen
you’re vulnerable in your head
you’ll scream and you’ll wail till you’re dead

creatures veiled by night
following things that aren’t right
and they’re tired and they need to be lead
you’ll scream and you’ll wail till you’re dead

but give me to a rambling man
let it always be known that i was who i am

beaten, battered, and cold
my children will live just to grow old
but if i sit here and weep
i’ll be blown over by the slightest of breeze

and the weak need to be lead
and the tender i’ll carry to their bed
and its a pale and cold affair
i’ll be damned if i’ll be found there

but give me to a rambling man
let it always be known that i was who i am

its funny how the first chords that you come to
are the minor notes that come to serenade you
it’s hard to accept yourself as someone
you don’t desire
as someone you don’t want to be

oh give me to a rambling man
let it always be known that i was who i am
oh give me to a rambling man
let it always be known that i was who i am

Happy 4th!

Poetry Thursday: “Dinner”

I came across this poem from a while back, thought I’d share it here — with my Nation of Readers — rather than stuff it back into the already stuffed file folder. Actually, I dug it out because it expressed some thoughts that connected with a current project.

Do I think of myself as a poet? Not really, no. But I believe this: As somebody who gets paid to write, it’s important nevertheless to write for myself, not the marketplace. It can’t always be, “show me the money.” Poetry surely answers that call. Witness the lack of billionaire poets.