Tips for Writers: The Thesaurus Throwdown

This post is the first in what I hope will be a regular Friday discussion on Tips for Writers. Not that I know any more than anyone else, but I'll put some things out there for people to consider, dispute, elaborate upon. The first one deals with the writing process itself.

In the September issue of The Writer's Chronicle, Mark Doty comes down hard on the thesaurus: "If you write a poem with the aid of a thesaurus, you will almost inevitably look like a person wearing clothing chosen by someone else. I am not sure that a poet should even own one of the damn things." When I read that, I nodded, knowing from my stint as a teacher of Freshman composition that a thesaurus can be dangerous, much like an English-French dictionary can be abused by beginning language learners. Just because a word is in the thesaurus or the dictionary doesn't mean it's the right choice in a given situation.

But today the new issue of TWC arrived. (It came Priority Mail, for some reason; maybe the AWP folks thought I was having a writing emergency of some kind.) A letter writer, Ralph Culver of Burlington VT, complains about Doty's comments, and says that it's "one of the oddest statements I've ever read in your pages--and poets say some pretty strange things. . ." He goes on in that vein, defending the poor thesaurus, and the magazine allows Doty a response.

I confess that while I agree with Doty about the dangers of using a thesaurus, I've got one handy at all times while writing, and I do resort to it. But, knowing the dangers, I use it with extreme caution. I don't set out to discover words I didn't know existed--words that I might not be able to use properly, and that will almost certainly sound stilted in the context of my normal vocabulary. Instead, I simply use it to remind me of words I already know. Maybe everyone else has a better memory than I do, but when I'm writing I will often feel a word swirling in my brain just out of reach. I know that I'm looking for just the right choice, the precise noun that indicates the color I'm thinking of, the verb that states exactly the action that I want to describe (without having to rely on one of those evil adverbs). I struggle, and it doesn't come. So I reach for the thesaurus and begin the hunt for just the right word. Usually--not always, unfortunately--I find what I was looking for and couldn't remember. It's a small triumph, but such is the life of a writer.

So, I mostly agree with Doty on this point, and I think Culver misses the point. A thesaurus can be dangerous in the hands of an amateur. But I keep one close just the same.

The New Yorker: "The House on Sand Creek" by Thomas McGuane

October 3, 2011: “The House on Sand Creek” by Thomas McGuane

Since McGuane has a novel coming out this year, and since I didn’t think this story came even close to being satisfying, I thought it surely must be an excerpt. But based on the Q&A with Thomas McGaune, I guess it isn’t. This is the second Mcguane story in TNY this year, and while I didn’t love the first one, I liked it more than I like this one.

Here’s the basic story (spoiler alert—because you don’t need to bother to read the story): small town lawyer marries Monika, a refugee architectural student from Yugoslavia and moves to the country—into a horrid house vacated by crazy people—but after a while she leaves him and moves home. Lawyer becomes acquainted with Bob, a crazy neighbor. Monika comes back, along with Karel, her child by a Nigerian businessman. Karel enjoys Bob’s company, especially while Lawyer and Monika are fighting. Bob kidnaps Karel, Lawyer summons the boy’s father, but Bob and Karel are found. Life goes on.

And that’s about it. Some of these characters are potentially interesting (Monika, for example, is impulsive and quirky), but in this story I don’t think they’re fully developed. Which is why I thought it was an excerpt. We do get glimpses of themes: the lawyer is fond of Karel and can’t help himself with Monika, who will surely leave him again; Bob is also delusional. Beyond that? There’s not much there.

Interview with Kevin Watson, Press 53

This is a really nice short interview with Kevin Watson about Press 53, a publisher who isn't focused on market trends; he publishes what he likes. I'm grateful that my book, In an Uncharted Country, is among them, and that my new book, What the Zhang Boys Know, will be.

Busy month coming to an end

It's not quite over, but the end is in sight. I've basically done no writing this month, which is a first for me, although I may be able to rectify that next week. I've just been too busy on writing-related things!

I got back from my writing retreat in France just before labor day, and spent some time recovering, dealing with 3 weeks of mail, etc.

Then, having accepted an offer to publish my new book (it comes out next fall), I decided to make a big push to publish the rest of the stories. Submission is time consuming, and I spent several days working on nothing else. It's already paid some dividends, however, with a couple of accepted stories this month.

And having just finished a new novel (the retreat was meant for putting the finishing touches on the manuscript), I began the search for an agent. So I needed to write the query letter and also research the agents who would be right for me (and for this book). Being alive is the main criterion, but there are others.

I also needed to prepare for a couple of panels I was on during the first weekend after Labor Day, one at the Write-Brained Network's workshop in Harrisonburg, and one at WriterHouse in Charlottesville.

Then the online class I'm teaching through Writers.com began on September 6, and the face-to-face class I'm teaching at BRCC/WSCE began on the 13th. And I taught a half-day seminar at WriterHouse on publishing and, that same day, gave a reading in Staunton sponsored by SWAG (the Staunton Waynesboro Augusta Group of Writers).

This week I gave a reading in Northern Virginia at the Fall for the Book Festival. And on most days I've devoted some time to planning for the Northwestern University Alumni Association Annual Leadership Symposium, of which I am the co-chair. It starts tomorrow, and I'm heading to Chicago this afternoon.

I think I forgot a few dozen things in that list, including planning for the new issue of Prime Number Magazine, working on the print annual issue of the magazine, and more!

I'm looking forward to Monday when I might actually be able to get some writing done.

Book Launch 2.0

The New Yorker: "Dog Run Moon" by Callan Wink

September 26, 2011: “Dog Run Moon” by Callan Wink

Sid is on the run from Montana Bob and Charlie Chaplin who are chasing him because Sid stole Bob’s dog. Sid prefers to think of the act as one of “liberation,” however; the dog had been chained up and depressed until Sid freed him. Sid is literally running, though, and because he’s a nude sleeper, he’s not wearing any clothes (since Sid and Charlie came to his house in the middle of the night to reclaim the dog). Nude isn’t the real problem, although he’s going to get very cold when he stops; he’s also barefoot, and the terrain is chewing up his feet.

Meanwhile, the dog is running with him and seems content. Sid, though, is thinking about his ex-girlfriend, also a nude sleeper, for whom he still has strong feelings.

It’s a good story about freedom and loss, and the language is more lyrical (with quirky dialogue--is that how they talk in Wyoming?) than the normal New Yorker story. And although it’s wonderfully implausible, it isn’t hard to suspend disbelief. It’s also a jumble of time, but easy to keep track of. It’s a nice big splash for a young writer. Check out the Q&A with Callan Wink.

Fall for the Book

I've been so busy this month that I haven't had time to think about this, but it is now upon us. This Wednesday I'll be appearing in Northern Virginia at the 2011 Fall for the Book festival at George Mason University. I'll be part of a group of four readers sponsored by the Northern Virginia Chapter of the Virginia Writers Club.

I'm really looking forward to reading with Sofia, Jack, and Austin!

Guest Post: All the Roads That Lead from Home by Anne Leigh Parrish

I asked Anne Leigh Parrish to tell us something about the origin of the stories in her new book:


"The eleven stories in All The Roads That Lead From Home take place or are associated with the fictional town of Dunston, New York. Dunston represents Ithaca, home of Cornell University, where I was born. At fourteen I moved out of state. When I went back, many, many years later, I found the town had never left me. It was a shock to feel how strong my memories were, and how deep they went. One way or another, the stories I wrote afterwards set themselves there.


"The Dunston in my collection may resemble the real town only on the surface. There's the lake, the rolling hills, the brutal winters.  The campus and the gorges appear, too, also the problem of student suicides that made the papers last year. To my mind, an outline of  place is enough to evoke the fuller substance, if rendered carefully.  I hope I succeeded.


"As I was seized by the past, so are the people in my stories. A woman is visited by her mother's ghost who takes up residence in order to deliver a cryptic message of redemption. Another grapples with a long-held belief that her father doesn’t love her. One is haunted by a lie she told as a way to cope with her sister's death. 


"Overall I'd say that my goal with the collection was to suggest that while roads take us away from home, they can, quite unexpectedly, return us to what we left behind and what might claim us once more."

For more information, visit Anne's website, Anne Leigh Parrish, or her book's page at Press 53: All the Roads That Lead from Home. 

SWAG reading series open to all book lovers | The News Leader | newsleader.com

SWAG reading series open to all book lovers | The News Leader | newsleader.com:

There is a great article in today's Go! Magazine (supplement to the Staunton News Leader) about SWAG Writers (the Staunton Waynesboro Augusta Group of Writers) and the reading event that is happening this Saturday, September 17, at 5pm, at the Darjeeling Café in Staunton.

I'm excited that Michele Young-Stone is coming to town to read with us. I know the crowd is going to love hearing her read from her terrific novel, The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors (and possibly some new work, as well).

And, as the article mentions, I will also be reading. I'll read some from my book, In an Uncharted Country, and I might read a little from my forthcoming book, too.

We have lots of fun at these events, so I hope lots of people turn out!

James River Writers

The James River Writers Conference is next month (Oct. 7-8). You should go. It's pretty excellent.

It's in Richmond, VA, at the Library of Virginia. It has terrific speakers (not me this year, unfortunately, but still). It's fun and informative.

The New Yorker: "Starlight" by Ann Beattie

September 19, 2011: “Starlight” by Ann Beattie

This week’s “story” is an excerpt from Ann Beattie’s new “novel,” although it isn’t clear that the book is really a novel, and this excerpt certainly isn’t a story. The portrait it gives of Richard Nixon and his family through the eyes of Pat Nixon is somewhat amusing, but to what end is completely unclear. I like Beattie’s work, but this struck me as a waste of valuable space in the pages of The New Yorker.

On the other hand, the Q&A with Ann Beattie on the website is interesting, and I recommend that.

Have the terrorists won?

My friends Mary Ann and Stan were visiting from Chicago. They had left the house to go for a long run, and I was straightening up. We had planned to go on a hike and then cook a nice dinner later, so I wanted things to be orderly.

I flipped on the TV in my bedroom to check the stock futures and that’s when I saw that a plane had flown into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I assumed, as did the commentators, that it was a private plane accident—because, really, what else could it be. But then the second plane hit, and the accident was ruled out. Details began to trickle in. I watched. Mary Ann and Stan got back from their run and I pulled them into my bedroom to see what was happening. There was word of an attack in DC. The towers fell.

We were, of course, horrified. But what could we do? What good would be served by watching the news coverage of the tragedy—already labeled a terrorist attack—when that coverage would surely reveal little actual “news” and would, most likely, simply show the images over and over and over again. So we prepared for our hike. We’d leave the TV behind. We’d find out what was going on later.

A friend called from DC. He’s also a friend of Stan and Mary Ann’s. He was on his way, he said. His government office building had been evacuated and he didn’t want to go home. So he was coming out to see us—150 miles from the city. It complicated things, but we figured we’d make it work. I didn’t have a cellphone then, but we’d deal with it.

And so we headed to Crabtree Falls, a beautiful trail in the George Washington National Forest not far from where I live. It was a gorgeous day—just like in New York and Washington—and the woods were beautiful. Quiet. Peaceful. We didn’t talk much. We walked. We were calm. We thought. Mostly I thought about how grateful I was not to be alone.

Somehow we managed to rendezvous with our DC friend. We made dinner—I don’t recall what it was—and then talked about what had happened. And our DC friend watched TV, although the rest of us could not.

That’s how I spent the day. Since then, I’ve been horrified to witness the changes in our country. So many Americans have channeled their anger in ways that will almost certainly make things worse, that it makes me think that the terrorists accomplished even more than they thought they would or could. A deep wedge has been driven between Americans. And some Americans seek to exploit that division for political gain. Our discourse has never been less civil—at least not in my lifetime--and I believe our reaction to the 9/11 attacks is at the heart of this divide.

But I don’t think the situation is hopeless. I would like to think that all of us would understand that the way we defeat terrorism is by remembering who we are—the United States. We are one country—not just a country of conservatives and liberals, but a country of Americans. Why can’t we share the sacrifices needed to make our country strong again? Why can’t American investors accept slightly lower profits from corporations in order to put more people to work? Why can’t the wealthy agree to pay slightly higher taxes in order to put our financial house in order, and in order to ensure that no American goes hungry or is denied medical treatment? Why is that asking so much?

Because if it is asking too much, then we’re doomed.

The New Yorker: "An Anonymous Island" by Yi Mun-yol

September 12, 2011: “An Anonymous Island” by Yi Mun-Yol

What is this, Asia month? Last week we had Haruki Murakami, the great Japanese writer. This week it’s Yi Mun-yol, a Korean writer. Shall we expect a Ha Jin story next week?

Not that I’m complaining. As an “old Asia hand,” I love these writers and always enjoy reading their work. And we haven’t seen nearly enough of Yi (this story prompted me to order one of his books, in fact).

The story is set in Korea, although that isn't specified. Husband and wife are watching TV and the husband seems to disapprove of what he sees. He complains, “How did it get so easy to be anonymous?” If it’s Seoul where they live (the story doesn’t say, but it’s not a rural village in any case), his complaint is reasonable, and it makes him long for his childhood home. The husband’s rant sparks the wife’s memory of an incident from long ago—the real story here.

She was fresh out of college and was sent to teach in a remote elementary school. It’s a village that is essentially just one clan—everyone is related either by blood or marriage—so anonymity is impossible. And yet, there’s an odd stranger in town, Ggaecheol, who can’t be explained. And, eventually, the wife discovers a secret about Ggaecheol and why he is tolerated. And, just to make things interesting, she becomes embroiled in the secret.

Lots to enjoy about this story, especially if you’re at all interested in Asia generally and Korea specifically. There’s very good information, too, in the Q&A with the translator, Heinz Insu Fenkl.

Shenandoah: Vol. 61, No. 1, Fall 2011

Shenandoah, the Washington & Lee Review, has completed its transition to being an online magazine (except that it still requires postal submissions, so maybe the transition isn't really complete). In any event, it looks like they've got some good reading. Check out the first online issue.

The New Yorker: "Town of Cats" by Haruki Murakami

September 5, 2011: “Town of Cats” by Haruki Murakami

This “story” by Murakami is excerpted from his new long novel, coming out this year in English. (For a nice change, this one is not hidden behind TNY’s pay wall.) According to the interview with Murakami, the novel goes back and forth between realities. This piece, though, is mostly realistic, except for the internal story that Tengo, the protagonist, reads—“Town of Cats”—which is anything but realistic.

The excerpt stands reasonably well on its own, although it leaves a lot of questions unanswered. Tengo decides to hop on a train and go to visit his father who is in a sanatorium where he is being treated for a “cognitive disorder” (Alzheimers?). We learn that Tengo and his father are estranged, and that the father may or may not really be Tengo’s biological father. There is a shadowy memory Tengo has of seeing his mother with another man, and he is convinced that she didn’t die, as the father has always maintained.

On the train, Tengo reads the story about a man who arrives in a village occupied entirely by cats. Intriguingly, when the cats smell the presence of humans, the man is convinced he is done for, but the cats can’t find him. When he tries to leave on the train that brought him, the train won’t stop—as if the engineer doesn’t see him. While the relevance of the story Tengo reads isn’t clear in this excerpt, it isn’t hard to imagine how it could be important to the novel as a whole. Murakami says as much in the interview: “In any case, this episode performs a symbolic function in the novel in many different senses—the way a person wanders into a world from which he can never escape, the question of who it is that fills up the empty spaces, the inevitability with which night follows day. Perhaps each of us has his or her own ‘town of cats’ somewhere deep inside—or so I feel.”

Tengo arrives at the sanatorium and has an awkward visit with his father, in which they discuss the story about the cats, and also Tengo’s questions about his mother—questions that don’t get answered. Read the book, I suppose. Enjoyable “story,” though, so I just might.

Man Booker Prize 2011 short list announced

The shortlist for the 2011 Man Booker Prize is out:

• Julian Barnes

  The Sense of an Ending

  Jonathan Cape

  A truly wonderful novel that will have the reader immersed in the story from the very first page, and all...

  read more »
  
• Carol Birch

  Jamrach’s Menagerie

  Canongate

  I was born twice. First in a wooden room that jutted out over the black water of the Thames, and...

  read more »
  
• Patrick deWitt

  The Sisters Brothers

  Granta Books

  From the author of the acclaimed Ablutions, this dazzlingly original novel is a darkly funny, offbeat western about a reluctant...

  read more »
  
• Esi Edugyan

  Half Blood Blues

  Serpent’s Tail

  ‘Chip told us not to go out. Said, don’t you boys tempt the devil. But it been one brawl of...

  read more »
  
• Stephen Kelman

  Pigeon English

  Bloomsbury

  Newly arrived from Ghana with his mother and older sister, eleven-year-old Harrison Opoku lives on the ninth floor of a...

  read more »
  
• A D Miller

  Snowdrops

  Atlantic Books

  "A.D. Miller’s Snowdrops is a riveting psychological drama that unfolds over the course of one Moscow winter, as a young...

  read more »

Killer Titles

I've been thinking about book titles lately, because of the very good news that I've got a new book coming out next year from Press 53, a great small press that also published my first book, In an Uncharted Country. And while I've had a working title for that book for a long time, I suddenly came to doubt it, and came up with an alternative. And then another. And another.

So I was intrigued this morning when I saw GalleyCat piece, Three Elements of a Killer Title, which links to a blogger's discussion of the subject, Three Criteria for a Killer Title. (Apparently GalleyCat didn't think Katie Ganshert's title was sufficiently "killer".)

Her three criteria/elements are:
1. It has to represent the story
2. It has to be intriguing
3. It has to sound good

Okay, I can't really quarrel with these, but I'd add a fourth element. A really killer title has to be memorable. That's what I'm looking for. So that's my 4-part test: appropriate, intriguing, euphonious, and memorable.

So, where does that lead me in my own decision making? I think I'm sticking with my working title, which has been WHAT THE ZHANG BOYS KNOW. It's a novel in stories about the Zhang family of Washington, DC. The title is striking and memorable, I think, and it certainly represents the story. It also suggests intrigue (what do they know?), and I like the rhythm of it, so to me it sounds good.

Of the 12 stories in the book, 6 have been published, and I'm now making a push to get as many of the remaining stories published as I can before the book comes out next fall. And then, be on the lookout for this book!

Writers.com: Writing the Short Story--Make Your Story Great!

There's still time to sign up for my "Writing the Short Story--Make Your Story Great!" class at Writers.com. It's a 10-week class for beginning to intermediate  writers who want to develop their grasp of fiction fundamentals. We'll have lectures, writing exercises, and we'll workshop stories by all the participants. Most importantly, we'll have fun in the process! The class is scheduled to start on September 6, but we'll spend the first few days getting organized. I hope you can join us!

Book Review: Caged: Memoirs of a Cage-Fighting Poet by Cameron Conaway

Caged: Memoirs of a Cage-Fighting Poet

Cameron Conaway 

Threed Press, 2011

Cameron Conaway is a poet (a book and a chapbook forthcoming in 2012 from Salmon Poetry and Finishing Line Press) and was, for a time, a cage-fighting mixed-martial artist. He is also the sensitive son of an abusive father. And that triple-threat combination has resulted in this suspenseful, inspiring memoir that is partly a guide to health and nutrition and partly encouragement for all who might find solace in literature for the challenges that life presents.

Conaway’s story is, in some ways, familiar. When he was a kid, his father, as Conaway portrays him, was an angry man--intolerant, often verbally and sometimes physically abusive. Divorce was inevitable, but that seemed to make things worse for Conaway, who was perpetually torn by his admiration for his father (an accomplished martial artist) and hatred for the way his father often treated him. Despite the mistreatment, Conaway craved his father’s approval, and that craving pushed him to succeed. The family situation came to a head when Conaway tried to protect his younger sister from their father’s abuse; that clash ended their relationship.

How Conaway then channels his conflicted emotions is the real story here—he turns in a big way to physical training and sports. Fond of basketball, his height keeps him from getting the playing time he desires in organized ball, and yet pick-up games on the playground provide valuable lessons about competition, adversity, and battles against opponents often much larger. Eventually he discovers martial arts—his father’s discipline—but takes it a step further. Instead of the less practical versions of the sport, he would focus on real fighting: “The art of [Brazilian Jiu Jitsu] gave me the confidence that I could not only protect myself and those close to me, but gently kick the shit out of somebody if need be.” This growing confidence, not surprisingly, has implications for other aspects of his life.

In college, he discovered both academic discipline—his advice here is especially worth noting—and poetry. His first poetry teacher exposed him to the practice of observation—seeing both the forest AND the trees—and he was hooked: “The way I loved [Brazilian Jiu Jitsu], I loved poetry. The goal of poetry seemed to be to show new ideas and perspectives that broadened and deepened human understanding of each other and the world.”

So, while also working as many hours as he can in order to support himself, he pursues both poetry and mixed martial arts (he adds other styles to BJJ in order to have as many tools at his disposal as possible) in a big way. He participates in cage fights (traveling to Ohio, because the practice is illegal in Pennsylvania), and in the book the descriptions of these fights are as suspenseful and exciting as any I’ve read. He also earns a spot in a top MFA program to further develop his creative writing skills, and begins to teach in order to share his love of both MMA and poetry. Along the way, despite the commitment problems you might expect in someone from his background, he falls in love.

It’s truly an inspiring story, highly readable (Conaway includes some of his own poetry that reflects both his family life and his pursuit of martial arts), and I whole-heartedly recommend it to all readers.

But that’s not the only reason I wanted to write this review. Conaway has been working on this memoir for some time, and he landed a publishing contract with a major publisher in the field of martial arts. He was thrilled, as anyone would be. The book progressed through production and was scheduled for publication. And then the publisher pulled it from their list because of a threatened lawsuit—one that they knew they could win, but didn’t want to spend the money to fight. After exploring his options, Conaway has gone ahead with the book—a typically gutsy move—and I’m proud to support his effort.

  

Residency's End

It was a brief residency, and today's the day I leave. I've got a 5:30 pm train back to Toulouse and an early flight from there (to Frankfurt, then Dulles, then Shenandoah Valley) on Friday. I'm sorry to go, but looking forward to getting home, springing the dog from the kennel, sleeping in my own bed . . .

A few nights ago, after Craig and Sandell arrived and we were up to 4 artists in the house, all trying to share a kitchen, we agreed to rotate cooking duties. My turn was last night, and I think I produced a passable eggplant/tomato/chickpea dish along with a cauliflower salad. The night before that, though, we had a "fellows' dinner"--VCCA feeds us once a week--at Le Petit Palais (check out that website if only for the pictures of the village), in Auvillar.

On the way up the hill to dinner, I spotted the little fellow at left. Cheryl explained that there is an annual Marche des Potiers in Auvillar every year and one year there was a "pilgrim" theme (see earlier post on the pilgrims of St. Jacques de Compostelle). The village then bought several ceramic figurines and installed them around town. I'd photographed several on an earlier exploratory walk, but I'd missed this one.

Also yesterday, besides cooking dinner for the artists, I managed to finish my book. I'm still going to be fixing a couple of things next week, and there are two scenes that I have doubts about, but otherwise it is done. I arrived at that point late yesterday afternoon, so today I've been working on other things, and packing up, including straightening my studio. Here's all that's left at this point.

One of the things I'm missing by leaving now are some celebrations that will occur here in a couple of weeks in connection with a visit by several members of the VCCA Board, and as part of that Craig Pleasants, a sculptor and also director of Programs at VCCA, is here and he's working on an installation on the hill behind the studio building. There's Craig, picking the spot. I wish I were going to be here to see the thing come together!

And that's it. I'll be heading out soon. And I'll check in on the other side.