Pages

Showing posts with label the writing life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the writing life. Show all posts

September 18, 2015

What’s Next?

(via)

Generally, on the Friday following a book release, I talk about what’s coming next.

This is both easy and hard because on one hand I know exactly what I’m working on but I’m not sure when I’ll have them completed. First I’ll tell you why, and then I’ll tell you about the cool projects I’m working on.

This is the why.  I’ve gone through a long period of writers block that’s severely shaken my confidence.  I couldn’t seem to make myself make any progress at all.  Many reasons behind it, but I was pretty despairing for a long time.  Will I ever write again?  Should I just give up?  This is fodder for a longer post, but suffice it to say I’m once again facing the blank page—and actually writing.

To get myself back into my writing, I’ve been working on a middle grade chapter book called The Adventures of Opal the Hounddog.  So much fun!  My daughter was very distressed when she found out I killed the dog in Earth’s Imagined Corners.  I told her I hadn’t actually killed her ~ she just disappears in a flood. My daughter then insisted I resurrect Opal and that she live a long and happy life.  And so that’s what I’m doing, and it’s a blast.  Opal swims out of the flood, gets attacked by a bear, befriends an elephant, and then joins the circus. I’m also going to do some illustrations.

I’ve also started working on a book of essays called Stand In Your Truth.  These are very much for me at this point.  I feel like I have to write these in order to break myself out of the depths of whatever it is I’ve been in. They most likely will never see the light of publication.

Once I get through with Opal, which shouldn’t be but a week or two, I’ll get back to writing my young adult series called Wyoming Chronicles. It’s British classics set in contemporary Wyoming, with a girls' and a boys' version. The first girls’ book is Pride set in Jackson Hole, which is based on Pride and Prejudice.  The first boys’ book is Moreau set in the Hole in the Wall, which is based on The Island of Dr. Moreau. This is so much fun to write!  Young adult rocks.

Then I also have the sequel to Earth’s Imagined Corners coming up.  It’s called Numberless Infinities, and it follows Sara and James out across the Nebraska prairies supplying ties for the railroad and ends at the Massacre at Wounded Knee.  It won’t be ready for the next January publication, as originally predicted, but what you going to do? Keep plugging away.

And then I’m also working on my photography projects, and I might put together a photo book.  I also have been doing some artwork and would love to illustrate the two children’s books I’ve written ~ A Blush, a Giggle, a Smack and ZoLilly and the Feeling of Impending Doom.

I’ve always been one to have way more ideas than I could possibly follow through on!

June 5, 2015

Buck Tilton, Cool Person

Today, I’m capping a week of talking about the amazing people I presented with at the Wind River Outdoor Writers Conference.

Buck Tilton
Buck Tilton was our Host with the Most who organizes the Wind River Outdoor Writers Conference and teaches at Central Wyoming College.  He is the Master of the Mountain, man, the Authority of the Outdoors.  He has written and published 43 books (43!) about enjoying and surviving in the outdoors.  Amazing. 

I’ll list the amazing things about Buck:  He’s written 43 books. (Did I mention: 43?!)  He makes everyone around him feel welcome, which made this conference one of the best I’ve ever attended. I'm sure the other presenters and the attendees feel the same way.  He’s a big huggable bear of a guy who you’d totally follow into the wilderness. And he teaches a mean class and is a master connoisseur of fine scotch.


After the conference, we all went over to Buck and his wife Kathleen’s house to sample some scotch and talk.  The night got a little blurry there in the middle, but between telling stories on ourselves about the most (possibly) illegal things we took on planes, rewriting the marketing language on the sides of the scotch bottles, and talking in very bad Scottish brogues, it was perhaps the best night for fun and friends in the history of the world. Just maybe.



Here’s his bio:
A teacher of English composition and literature, an author with 43 books and more than 1300 magazine articles behind him, Buck loves his family, the wild outdoors, and the educational process. Tilton has been writing professionally since 1980 and has had 43 books published. He is the recipient of the Paul Petzoldt Award for excellence in wilderness education, the Warren Bowman Award for contributions to wilderness medicine, and the Ben Franklin Award, given to the second best humor book of the year. His book Wilderness First Responder received an award for excellence from the American Medical Writers Association. He has written more than 1,300 magazine articles, and his column has appeared in Backpacker magazine for 24 years. Buck transfers his credibility as a writer easily to the classroom where his experience and expertise form a solid foundation from which he teaches. Buck has regularly volunteered as a rescuer at Alaska’s Denali National Park and spent a summer in Haiti teaching emergency medical skills following the earthquake.

Buck, seriously, quit being so damn cool!



June 4, 2015

Max Phelps, Cool Person

This week, I’m talking about the amazing people I presented with at the Wind River Outdoor Writers Conference.

Max Phelps

Max Phelps is has spent his life in service of books ~ he is the son of a lawyer/novelist, he was an assistant in a Quaker library, he managed bookstores, and he’s been doing the great work of getting our books out there for years as director of marketing and sales.  Now, he is director of outdoor sales for the National Book Network (for Globe Pequot, FalconGuides, and Lyons).

His great presentation at the Wind River Outdoor Writers Conference was about what happens in publishing and what a writer might expect if they went the traditional route.  He outlined what the organizational chart of a typical publishing house might be, which sounds boring but is absolutely fascinating to writers.  He outlined the process a book goes through.  I’m not being facetious when I say I was on the edge of my seat.


And as he was talking about all these great people working in a house to get books out there ~ you know 30 or 50 or 100 ~ I kept thinking about how as a self-publisher you have to do every one of those jobs.  All the more reason to appreciate all the help you can get, whether you’re traditionally published or self-published or both.

And Max is such a lovely person! I’m so stoked that I got to meet him and hope to run into him in the future.  You know that person in the room that doesn’t say that much but when he does, everyone stops and listens?  That’s Max.  I’m much heartened about the future of book publishing when I think that people like Max are in the trenches. *Hand to heart* Max!

Here is his bio:
I was born and raised in Southern Colorado, and lived in Philadelphia and Montana before settling in Connecticut. Occasionally I work for my wife and kids, serving as the pack mule for their backcountry trips and as their belay slave at the climbing gym or local crag. I am a regular source of motivation to cyclists in the region, giving them the impression that they are fast and strong. The nearby Long Island Sound is plenty raucous to test my paddling skills, and I noticed that there are lots of trees and birds in the area, so I am planning to learn the names of some of them. I have a ski problem and must always have a healthy supply of New Mexico Green Chile in my freezer.


June 2, 2015

Michael Lanza, Cool Person

I thought I’d spend the rest of the week talking about the amazing people I presented with at the Wind River Outdoor Writers Conference.

Michael Lanza

Michael Lanza lives your dream life. He really does. He spends his time hiking the most beautiful spots in America with his family, and then he writes about it and takes the most gorgeous photos. He’s a dynamo ~ he thinks nothing of hiking 20 or 30 miles. And he’s really got things figured out ~ he’s figured out a way to do all this and make a living at it at the same time. And over and above all that, he’s a really nice guy!

At the conference, he gave this amazing presentation about how you can have this amazing life and be this amazing creative person online.  He's really thought it through.



I love how he helps families get outdoors. His post about helping your kids love the outdoors is one of his most popular (“One Photo, One Story: 10 Tips for Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids”). This is on his fabulous blog The Big Outside.

You should really check out his book, Before They’re Gone: A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks. It won a National Outdoor Book Award for literary merit. Read a lively excerpt here about meeting a bear on the trail.


Here’s his bio:
Michael Lanza is a freelance writer and photographer, award-winning author, public speaker, and for many years was the Northwest Editor of Backpacker Magazine. He created and runs The Big Outside, where he blogs about his outdoor adventures, including many with his family. His book, Before They're Gone—A Family's Year-Long Quest to Explore America's Most Endangered National Parks, winner of a National Outdoor Book Award, chronicles his wilderness adventures with his wife and their young son and daughter in national parks threatened by climate change. He is an engaging storyteller and gives talks and slideshows about his work and travels as an outdoor writer and photographer, the impacts of climate change on nature, and getting children out into the wilderness.

I know I'm gushing, but he's worth it.

June 1, 2015

The Wind River Outdoor Writers Conference

Amber Leberman of Wyoming Wildlife, Max Phelps of FalconGuides, Director Buck Tilton who writes wonderful outdoor books, myself, and Michael Lanza of The Big Outside.

I had the distinct pleasure and honor of presenting at the Wind River Outdoor Writers Conference this past weekend. 

You know how you never know what to expect when you go to these kinds of things?  It could be good, it could be horrible, it could be wonderful?  Well, it was beyond wonderful.  It is the yardstick against which I will measure all conferences, I have to tell you.

And I suspected as much. Buck Tilton, who organized the event with the help of his lovely wife Kathleen, is an amazing writer and the host with the most.  Anything he touches turns to writerly gold, and you just want to take him home and keep him. Our great friend David Gray helped, and I stayed with Dave and his lovely wife Chontelle (who were best man and matron of honor at our wedding years ago).

The other presenters were rock stars.  I’ll go into much more detail in the next couple of days, but I’ll introduce them here.  There is Amber Leberman, who is the editor for the pre-eminent wildlife and Wyoming magazine, Wyoming Wildlife.  There is Max Phelps, who has been in the book trenches in a number of capacities, including bookstore manager and director of marketing and sales at FalconGuides and Rowman & Littlefield.  There is Michael Lanza, who does these amazing outdoor adventures with his family and photographs and reports them on his wonderful blog The Big Outside.

Ten people attended, and I have to say I was so honored to get to know them, and I can’t wait to see how their writing flourishes in the future. Among others, there were a retired game warden, a retired banker, a retired college administrator, two wonderful PR people for NOLS (the National Outdoor Leadership School), a high school teacher, a grade school librarian, and a retired technical writer.

It took place at the Sinks Canyon Center in the foothills of the Wind River Mountains outside of Lander, Wyoming.  The blue mountains tooth up behind the center, and you think you’re in a wild animal park with all the wildlife. And the resident chickens came by to check us out.

More to come tomorrow and so on, but I have to tell you I’ll be basking in its glow for months.

Thank you, Buck, from the bottom of my heart!

October 28, 2014

Life’s Small Indignities

via


Ah, the vicissitudes of the writing life!

A fancy-schmancy way of saying: I have to believe that all people go through the same thing I do every day.  It’s one of the writerly assumptions ~ that my experience is felt by people the world across.  Almost every day I go from the heights of happiness to the depths of despair.  Or sometimes I’m in the depths of despair for long periods.  Rarely do I get the manic happiness for long periods. 

But we all feel that way? Don’t we? 

Every day is a heroic battle in which we front skirmishes large and small.  We’re faced with an ever-mounting pile of decisions and dissatisfactions and inconveniences.  If we could just make one big decision, it would be so easy.  We could just say, “This is it! I’m changing my life.” But it’s not like that. We’re beaten down daily with compromises and indignities.

This, I imagine, is why people go postal or do something drastic.  It’s much harder to handle the confusion and chipping away at your foundations than it would be to take on some grand enemy.  And so sometimes people decide to make a grand enemy and get it over with once and for all.

And I imagine this is why a lot of people read fiction ~ either to feel other people’s confusion and to have things said that they can’t articulate (in the case of literary fiction) or to have forward motion in a well-defined battle (in the case of genre). 

And one of the things I choose to believe is that writing brings us together in a way nothing else can.  It’s the only technology that allows you inside another person, and therefore it’s the technology of love and acceptance.

Write on!

February 4, 2014

Productivity


Love this piece by Emerald Depths

I’ve been reading ~ er, skimming ~ books on productivity.  This inevitably happens when I feel like I’m not getting enough done in my life.  Which is ironic because I’m being really very productive out of necessity, what with the book coming out.  Plus, 2014 came in with a bang in a number of other ways, and I’ve been totally slammed.

And since I’ve read these books before, they’re all tips that I’m familiar with, but it’s good to be reminded.  Prioritize the big things in your life.  Focus your time on those things that are important and in such a way that is the most efficient.  Try to keep your email inbox empty.  Go through and delete spam, do those things that take less than 2 minutes, and those that take longer file somewhere.  Let things go. Put your power where your passion is.

Of course, what makes this all the more complicated is that I have a natural long-cycle manic depressive cycle that pulls me first one way and then another. Boy, it’s great when I’m in the manic phase, but then I get to anticipate the inevitable crash.  

But, hey, I’m full-bore right now and it’s all good!  Keep on trucking!

January 29, 2014

It’s My Own Damn Fault

(via)

You know what?  It’s largely my own damn fault it’s taken me this long to get where I am in writing and publishing. This isn’t self-pity nor a guilt thing ~ it’s a fact.

The reason I say this is because time and again the reason I haven’t moved forward on these dreams is because I wouldn’t allow myself to dream them, or I got in my own way, or I sabotaged my own success.

Sure, there are outside forces at work as well.  I could go on and on listing them.  But, really, a large part of why it took me so long was because I wouldn’t let myself, I didn’t put myself out there, I didn’t believe I had worth.

For example, this piece from Kelli Russell Agodon, editor of the Crab Creek Review, about what she learned as an editor:

Submit Like a Man (for the women)--
This has become a mantra I've shared with my women friends because here's a trend we've noticed as editors.
When we tell a writer we like their work and ask them to submit again, the male poets will submit work within a month (two at the very latest) of our asking.  The women writers?  We usually never hear from them again or until a year or more later.

This is the perfect example.  I have been asked to submit again at some pretty great places.  For the most part, I have not submitted again. Rapid resilience is a huge part of success ~ my only saving grace is my pigheadedness.  Eventually I pick myself up and have another go. 

In so many other ways, I have had a failure to dream, a failure to apply myself.  I could blame it on my upbringing or whatever ~ and certainly it’s contributed ~ but moreso it’s about me not valuing myself.

Like putting myself out there in a book of short stories.  Once again I sat back waiting for someone else to give me permission.  “Am I good enough? Someone please tell me what I have to say is worth something!”  No.  I need to tell myself what I have to say is worth something.

And now that the first book is out, I feel like I’ve taken my power back, like that power I granted the outside world (which has been very kind to me, but it has its own agenda) has shifted.  I’ve always had this power ~ I just haven’t let myself believe it.

You do too.  Take it.
 

January 7, 2014

The Atavistic Farmranch Brain

I was talking the other day about creation stories.  Here's one of mine written a while ago ~ perhaps a bit precious, but origin stories are hard!


Tamara didn’t start out as Tamara.  She began merely as Tam, a skinny girl with pale straggly hair, like something out of a Depression-era Dorothea Lange, growing up on a farmranch. She was the youngest of seven—suckin’ the hind titty, as her grandmother Ma Strong used to say—and as such, she was the meekest, the smallest, the quietest.  Her voice, if she had one, was drowned out by the din. She was not made to take baths, her clothes were hand-me-downs from her brothers, and she had the habit curling her body in on itself, her gaze skittering around the edges, so people’s eyes did not catch and hold upon her. Tam believed she was invisible.

People in books weren’t invisible, though. No matter what their characters, they had been made visible, and their lives had being.  They were presence, even if they were little girls raised on farmranches.  Books were the insides of people all laid open before her, accessible, meaningful.  Meanwhile, people in the world itself were this bewildering chaos of conflicting desires, with no reason nor pattern.  She searched for patterns in people in the world.  Using the Smith Corona typewriter leftover from her father’s Army days, Tam typed up forms, little blank underlines striping the page, and then retyped the same in order to have multiple copies. Then she interviewed her father and her mother and her brothers and sisters.  It made her feel better, as if she had quantified and categorized them, pinned them like a bug to Styrofoam, though in reality she was no closer to understanding them than before.

It did not occur to her to write a story, to shape these bits into narrative, until her grade school girlfriend wrote a tale that climaxed with a head rolling in a gutter.  It had not occurred to her that writers were physical beings like her mom and dad and brothers and sisters, that these artifacts of language did not just appear whole upon the firmament, a miracle. And so she began to write stories, the most memorable called “A Magic Locket” about a girl who slips back in time to become her own great grandmother, her own progenitor. Tam’s writing expanded to other things.  Her deluge of emotions overflowed into journals. She wrote her boyfriend’s English papers. She wrote a humor piece for the small town rag about a gay couple who visited the family’s dude ranch.  She even won honorable mention at a regional conference for a poem. This so emboldened her that, when she went off to college, she made a tentative stab at self and changed her name to Tamara.

But she did not call herself nor think of herself as a writer, and no one else called her a writer.  It was something she did, unconnected with these “writers,” these quasi-numinous beings who dwelt on another plain of existence.  No one she knew was a writer.  They were farmers and teachers and waitresses and bartenders and drunks.  One thing she did know—the world was a place where, in order to have food and clothing, every waking moment had to be spent working, and all a person’s worth was tied to work. Still, when she went to college, she allowed herself to claim journalism for a semester, until working two jobs to put herself through firmed her resolve to find a high-paying occupation, namely engineering. She toiled away, trying to explain the world in numbers, but it was not her natural language, so she nearly flunked out. She quit instead.

Through it all, she read and she wrote.  She allowed herself one English course a semester—cravings outweighing, for once, the financial considerations.  She manufactured justifications addressed from her inner creative to her inner realist: there had to be some pleasure in life, and some people fished, some played pool, and some read.  And read and read and read and read.  She haunted the university library.  She bought books at times she wasn’t sure she could pay rent.  She volunteered at an archive doing research, reading other people’s papers. She helped friends with resumes, and she sent off articles to newspapers.  You see, reading and writing were not worth money, not something to be paid for.  It was something she did because she had to. But then, as luck would have it, she fell into a position as a technical editor and was paid to read.

Even so, in her imagination, her inner world, she wasn’t a writer.  How could she be?  She was just Tamara.  But then the unimaginable materialized in the words of a man, who said, “You love English.  Why don’t you get your degree in English?” It came to her as warmth on an early spring day. Is it any wonder that she married that man?  Slowly, a class at a time, she worked toward her degree, backing her way into it, in case it saw what she was up to and turned tail and ran.  It was a shy and nimble beast, this creature called self.  Even then, she did not embraced her true love, fiction.  That atavistic farmranch brain would not yet relinquish its hold.  As a working editor already, a degree in English could be justified as its natural extension, but fiction was a journey above the firmament, and she had no wings.

After thirteen years of off-again on-again university, she received her bachelor’s in English and then in two years her master’s.  No, not “received,” that passive construction, as if the thing were placed from above upon her supine form.  No, she battled for it tooth and claw.  She took her spear and her sword and she fought the Janis-faced beast and she sheared off its head and put her foot upon its heart and held up the prize in her outstretched fist.  “I am!” she yawped and began to spin a tale.

December 10, 2013

The Responsibilities of Writers


This morning, NPR interviewed David Simon, writer and producer of The Wire, and Azar Nafisi, author of Reading Lolita in Tehran, about the effect of the NSA surveillance on writers. Nafisi talked about how she’s heard of poets who censor themselves because of the NSA surveillance, and Simon talked about how writers have a responsibility to write anyway.  That got me thinking about the responsibilities that writers have. 

1.      To write. First and foremost, writers have a responsibility to write.  They have a talent, a skill, and they should use that skill.  The only way to be a writer, after all, is to write. Think of how what you’ve read has deeply affected you and what would have happened had that author not written whatever it is? Your words may have the same effect, and therefore you have a responsibility to your readers.

2.      To be brave. It’s easy to write what’s easy, not to push yourself, not to edit as much as you need to, not to reveal what you need to.  I believe in prudence ~ do no harm ~ but always ask yourself: “Am I holding back because of my concern for others, or am I just not being brave?” As Anne Lamott says, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” Besides, your best material often comes from what shakes you to the core.

3.      To be honest and truthful. By this, I don’t mean not to write science fiction ~ science fiction is more emotionally truthful than some other types of writing.  What I mean is that if you write false, the reader will see right through you.  You may think you’re being clever, but readers are much smarter than some people give them credit for.  Don’t talk down and push yourself to be as accurate and honest as possible.

4.      To be clear.  I’ve found that when people use circuitous language, it’s often because they either don’t understand what it is they are trying to convey or they haven’t thought it through or they're being untruthful.  Others use fancy language when they’re trying to impress people ~ don’t do that.  You just come across as unintelligible and pompous. On the other hand, there are things that are hard to convey, and so you have the responsibility of working even harder to convey them clearly.

5.      To write to the best of their ability and to continue to improve their craft.  We need to write well, and so we need to always be working to get better at what we do.  10,000 hours, and all that.  And as Gladwell says, it not only has to be practice, but you have to challenge yourself and find mentors, if you can.

6.      To consider the rhetorical situation, especially audience. Unless you’re writing totally for yourself ~ which is fine, too ~ you have to consider the needs of an audience.  I think of it as a sin, in fact.  You also need to consider the genre you’re writing in and what you’re trying to achieve.  “Everything is an argument,” as they say, and you need to use all your tools to convince your readers.

7.      To represent the interests of their client, much like a lawyer.  Sometimes we’re not writing for ourselves, and there’s no shame in that.  Writing for money isn’t bad.  In that case, we need to put our own needs and agendas aside and consider those of the people we represent above all else.  There are many writers who consider this their highest calling ~ to represent an organization and change the world.

8.      To entertain.  Be not boring.  This came as a surprise to students when I taught freshman comp.  You not only have to write well, but you have to try to engage your audience.  It helps if you’re engaged with the subject yourself, and I’ve never found a subject that didn’t engage me in some way once I got into it. 

9.      To be good literary citizens.  Writing is by nature a solitary pursuit, and so it’s easy to become isolated.  I think we have a responsibility to help other writers ~ whether it’s volunteering at a grade school or giving other writers feedback and encouraging them or running a litmag or something else. 


You’ll notice what’s not on this list.


1.      To follow your heart.  I'm not saying not to write what you want, but, you know what, sometimes you just need to write for money to feed your family, and what’s more noble than that? Also, writing is 5% inspiration and 95% perspiration, as they say ~ trust your fingers, not your heart.

2.      To write what you know.  There is truth in this, in that you should write clearly and truthfully.  However, don’t let this dictum confine you.  You’re a white male surburban kid?  You don’t have to write just about white male suburban kids.  What I take from this is to write what you care about and write about it truthfully.

3.      To be likable.  We have no responsibility to be likable and in some situations we have a duty to shake people out of their complacency.  I think this is a hard one for some women writers, including myself.

4.      To create likable characters.  Likable can be very boring. Claire Messud said it best: “For heaven’s sake, what kind of question is that? Would you want to be friends with Humbert Humbert? Would you want to be friends with Mickey Sabbath? Saleem Sinai? Hamlet? Krapp? Oedipus? Oscar Wao? Antigone? Raskolnikov? Any of the characters in The Corrections? Any of the characters in Infinite Jest? Any of the characters in anything Pynchon has ever written? Or Martin Amis? Or Orhan Pamuk? Or Alice Munro, for that matter? If you’re reading to find friends, you’re in deep trouble. We read to find life, in all its possibilities. The relevant question isn’t ‘is this a potential friend for me?’ but ‘is this character alive?’”

5.      To fight for the underdog ~ or the top dog, for that matter.  By this, I mean we need to question our knee-jerk reactions, and we don’t have a responsibility to have a certain take on things.   We as Americans tend to go for the underdog, but sometimes the establishment is trying to do good in the world too, and maybe they need to be represented.

6.      To be moral. I recently read this on the interwebs: “A writer should change readers into better humans.” Bullshit.  You can try to do this, sure, but there are many other goals in writing, and much writing that has changed the world has been considered immoral by the people of its time.  Harm no innocents, surely, but also don’t be afraid to tell your truth, as most likely it’s someone else’s truth.

May 15, 2013

What Virginia Woolf Represents for Me



Today, on the anniversary of the publication of Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway, the Paris Review posted the cover and this quote from the novel on Facebook.

Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it (scientifically) wherever he looked at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.

This is in the point of view of a war veteran with PTSD named Septimus who kills himself in a later section.   

I’ve read almost everything written by VW, including her diaries.  I very much identify with her.

One of the many things I love about VW is that she did what I try to do, which is to dramatize everyday moments, some of them mundane but some of them horrific.  How appropriate and wonderful and horrible that this is a man about to commit suicide?  And then VW herself commits suicide.  By that I mean that he notices the beauty in the world, just as she does through her writing.

But what I really love about VW is how she’s all mixed up in my mind with England.  I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Anglophile.  I think it originated from reading The Wind in the Willows and The Secret Garden and all those wonderful children’s books as a child.  I took such comfort in the worlds that were created.  And then it translated to reading English writers as an adult.  I am transported to another world when I read English authors.  Nothing like they imagined, I suppose ~ my own made-up place, my very own Pooh Corner. 

Strangely, all VW’s dark material within this world just endears her to me more.  Because for me it’s a safe world in which to explore those dark feeling that I have too.  Here is Septimus leaping to his death onto a wrought iron fence, but he’s seeing beauty, and right around the corner is Mrs. Dalloway, who’s concerned with past love affairs and social convention. 

She also brings to mind my lovely trip to London and Dublin.  I stayed at a fabulous B&B in South Kensington run by Miss St. Clair, a lovely older lady whose parents were in Africa with the military when she was born.  I stayed for a week in each city, and those memories stick in my mind ~ the free museums, having Kerala cuisine in a little out-of-the-way place, watching 15-minute Shakespeare, and meeting my English professors to take in Mrs. Warren’s Profession. So much more. By the end of the trip, though, I was homesick and had to stay the last night in a dark little place.  I obsessed a little about VW that last night, definitely shouldering her dark moods.

But when I see the name “Virginia Woolf,” I immediately get a feeling that’s hard to describe.  Nostalgic, certainly.  A healthy dose of innocent Winnie the Pooh feeling. But also a dose of darkness that deepens the feeling.

She, along with Hemingway, is one of my writer gods.