Writers write to be heard, which means writers must brace themselves for input, whether it ends up being destructive criticism or health critique. J.C. Schaap describes this kind of input among students in his blog post “Witless Fear and Hug Lines.”

In it, he tells how scary it is for a student to lay out something he or she has written in front of her peers and “let them go at it.” I remember classes like that. They were painful.

We turned in a poem or story to the teacher, who made copies to pass out in class. He would hand us a packet with a submission from every student. One by one we critiqued each piece, pointing out what worked (and what didn’t), trying to explain why it worked (or didn’t). For the young and/or insecure writer, this process can be discouraging and at worst, destructive, demeaning the person for taking creative risks and trying something new. If handled well by the instructor, however, the input can be invaluable, making us (and our work) stronger, pointing out weak spots that need editing.

Some of Schaap’s students sent e-mails telling him that they were scared, witless. So he gave them a trial run with an anonymous piece he found in his files. At first, they were reluctant to say anything negative. But someone spotted a scene in the story that seemed unrealistic and hesitantly pointed it out. That first comment opened up the rest of the class, and Schaap reported that “condemnation starting rolling down like justice is supposed to. Right before my eyes, a bandwagon appeared.” He continued:

There was a hangin’ coming, I knew, so I told the madding crowd that next week—when their own workshopping begins—the same darn thing is likely to happen, only they’ll be looking at the actual writer, not thinking of her in the abstract, because next week the writers R US or whatever.

That quieted the mob into stony silence.

Teaching can be fun. If it wasn’t, I’d quit in a minute.

“So,” one of them says, meekly, “when we’re done, can we have a hug line?”

If we know we’re helping people become stronger writers, our critique can be constructive; especially when followed up by specific encouragement … and a hug.

This weekend I received a comment at an abandoned blog associated with a long-ignored website I created in 2001. On that website, I published some poetry. Someone apparently visited the poetry page.

This person saw that there was no convenient way to leave a comment (that website is static, without a familiar blog-platform), yet he or she was motivated enough to find the old blog (which would have required a click or two) and leave an anonymous comment. Anonymous went to all that trouble to tell me this:

“Your poetry—it sucks. I mean, it really sucks. Really.”

Everyone is entitled to his or her opinion.

But if someone studied my poetry closely enough to form that strong opinion, I wouldn’t mind finding out what he or she thought made the poems “suck” so badly.

In her opinion, how could I improve these poems? What should I practice? Is there something this person would recommend that I could try in the future? This one comment has reminded me that when I review and critique someone’s work—especially something as personal as poetry—I need to be constructive.

For those who may be involved in a writing group or workshop, check out “The Difference between Critique and Criticism,” from Scribe’s Alley:

• Criticism finds fault/Critique looks at structure
• Criticism looks for what’s lacking/Critique finds what’s working
• Criticism condemns what it doesn’t understand/Critique asks for clarification
• Criticism is spoken with a cruel wit and sarcastic tongue/Critique’s voice is kind, honest, and objective
• Criticism is negative/Critique is positive (even about what isn’t working)
• Criticism is vague and general/Critique is concrete and specific
• Criticism has no sense of humor/Critique insists on laughter, too
• Criticism looks for flaws in the writer as well as the writing/Critique addresses only what is on the page

Taken from Writing Alone, Writing Together; A Guide for Writers and Writing Groups by Judy Reeves

Specific, insightful, kind critique is welcomed. This can be gleaned from a healthy writing group (learn more about forming writing groups in Charity Singleton Craig’s article at Tweetspeak), a trusted writing partner or colleague, a writing coach (as a coach, I offer clients ongoing constructive, encouraging input), or a gentle editor.

The cry for gentle, kind, constructive input comes from so many of us. Even Emily Dickinson:

This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,
—The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!

Writers have to develop a thick skin and deal with criticism, even that which is destructive. But when we are dealing with someone else’s words, whether in the form of a poem, post or story, we would do well to assume that they would like our input followed up by a “hug line” and that their heart’s cry is: “Judge tenderly of me!”

* * *

Flickr photo “Making Poetry” by Aurelio Asiain available under a Creative Commons license for noncommercial use, requiring attribution and no derivative work. Post originally published in 2010; updated with minor edits and updated links August 2015.

The post Destructive Criticism vs. Healthy Critique appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

• A youthful Pat Robertson interviews Corrie in 1974 (interspersed with a few short clips from “The Hiding Place” movie). It’s so neat to see and hear her.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=038cuYe3Nis]

• A woman posted a very short video shot from inside the Hiding Place in Corrie’s house. You’ll feel like you yourself have climbed inside and lowered the secret door.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLnfRt03rkU&feature=related]

• This is a video slide-show someone uploaded with snapshots similar to mine. Complete with dramatic music and a bit of footage from the film as an intro. A little hokey, but it shows you the place.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8K6jxHjf04&feature=related]

• Photos from the museum are available to view on the Corrie Ten Boom official website (glare-free!).
• A short bio and excerpt of a Guideposts article available from PBS in a series “The Question of God.”
• Of course, I highly recommend reading Corrie’s book, The Hiding Place.
• Download actual messages/sermons delivered by Corrie ten Boom herself (in MP3 format) at this site. It’s very cool, and it’s free. I tried it.
• Lots of excerpts from Corrie’s writings here.
• Wikipedia has her bio and info (including a few more links).
• Haarlem website with a nice bio.
• Someday I need to buy a DVD of the film, “The Hiding Place.” The Belgian Wonder saw it when he was young and said it impacted him deeply. “It stays with you for life,” he said.

It worked well for me this week to find all of this, as I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. So my Works For Me Wednesday tip is that thanks to technology, I can dig deep into the Internet when I want to know more about something. And then I can share the wealth.Enjoy learning more about Corrie ten Boom.Return to Rocks In My Dryer by clicking here.Visit the archived Ann Kroeker WFMW tip-collection here.

The post Corrie Ten Boom Online Treasures appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

“As the media theorist Marshall McLuhan pointed out in the 1960s, media are not just passive channels of information. They supply the stuff of thought, but they also shape the process of thought. And what the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.” (p. 57)

It reminds me of Neil Postman’s book Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Discourse, which was written before the Internet had such widespread influence.Carr says that his literary-type friends are also having trouble staying focused on long pieces of writing. One blogger who was a lit major used to read books voraciously, but wonders–even worries–if not only the way he reads has changed, but also the way he thinks?Another guy admitted that he now has “almost totally lost the ability to read and absorb a longish article on the web or in print.” And another wrote, “Even a blog post of more than three or four paragraphs is too much to absorb. I skim it.”Looks like I would have already lost him by now, were he reading this post.Carr quotes Maryanne Wolf, author of Proust and the Squid, saying that she:

worries that the style of reading promoted by the Net, a style that puts “efficiency” and “immediacy” above all else, may be weakening our capacity for the kind of deep reading that emerged when an earlier technology, the printing press, made long and complex works of prose commonplace…Our ability to interpret text, to make the rich mental connections that form when we read deeply and without distraction, remains largely disengaged. (p. 58).

Is Carr right? Are we as a society or even worldwide losing the focus of slow, attentive reading?The article warns:

 Never has a communications system played so many roles in our lives–or exerted such broad influence over our thoughts–as the Internet does today. Yet, for all that’s been written about the Net, there’s been little consideration of how, exactly, it’s reprogramming us. (p. 60)

Carr talks about Google’s goals as a company, and described the company founders’ desire to turn their search engine into an artificial intelligence that might even be connected to our brains. He quoted one of the two founders, Larry Page. “The ultimate search engine is something as smart as people–or smarter.” And then the scariest quote of all:

Certainly if you had all the world’s information directly attached to your brain, or an artificial brain that was smarter than your brain, you’d be better off.

According to Carr, Page said that in a 2004 interview with Newsweek. He really did.Is nobody nervous about that?I’m telling you, that is the stuff of science fiction novels, people. And yet, it’s not scary or uncomfortable at all to a generation of kids growing up with avatars and second lives online. It would seem like a perfectly normal progression to stick a contraption on one’s head and gain access to all kinds of information simply by thinking a question–and getting immediate answers. No need to study for tests anymore, or store up information in one’s head. It’s all right there in a gadget. What’s weird about that?, our children will wonder. They’ll shake their heads and make fun of their old-fashioned parents, so “out of it.””They don’t get it. We don’t need school anymore–we have artificial intelligence. Right here at our fingertips.”I’m not even dreaming this up, because I hear kids say this already. “Why would I need to memorize anything? I just Google it and get all the information I need.”Maybe I am an old fogey, but I’m with Carr:

[Google’s] easy assumption that we’d all ‘be better off’ if our brains were supplemented, or even replaced, by an artificial intelligence is unsettling…In Google’s world, the world we enter when we go online, there’s little place for the fuzziness of contemplation. Ambiguity is not an opening for insight but a bug to be fixed. The human brain is just an outdated computer that needs a faster processor and a bigger hard drive. (p. 62, 63)

In my world, contemplation is something to be practiced and developed, not lost; and my brain is something to be exercised and developed, not supplanted. The computer and search engines are tools at my disposal, not a substitute for learning and thinking on my own.What kinds of mental disciplines should we put into place in our lives to fight this?How can we slow down as we recall how to read deeply and start practicing it?What shall we change about our reading in order to focus on one article long enough to absorb it, understand it, consider its premise and argument, and then talk with someone else about it?How can we keep from clicking away and skimming and clicking away again?How can we learn? Think? Truly read?This speed-reading is affecting our ability to study, stick with, and (with the aid of the Spirit) comprehend God’s Word.Which will affect, in turn, our prayer life.Our minds will be fickle and flit from thought to thought, always looking for the next quippy quote that takes little time to “get.”We must pray more slowly, read more slowly.To do so, we may need to live more slowly.If I may finish with a more secular thought from that article, here’s something else Carr wrote:

The kind of deep reading that a sequence of printed pages promotes is valuable not just for the knowledge we acquire from the author’s words but for the intellectual vibrations those words set off within our own minds. In the quiet spaces opened up by the sustained, undistracted reading of a book, or by any other act of contemplation, for that matter, we make our own associations, draw our own inferences and analogies, foster our own ideas. Deep reading, as Maryanne Wolf argues, is indistinguishable from deep thinking.If we lose those quiet spaces, or fill them up with “content,” we will sacrifice something important not only in our selves but in our culture. In a recent essay, the playwright Richard Foreman eloquently described what’s at stake:              I come from a tradition of Western culture, in which the ideal (my ideal) was the complex, dense and “cathedral-like” structure of the highly educated and articulate personality—a man or woman who carried inside themselves a personally constructed and unique version of the entire heritage of the West. [But now] I see within us all (myself included) the replacement of complex inner density with a new kind of self—evolving under the pressure of information overload and the technology of the “instantly available.”

As we are drained of our “inner repertory of dense cultural inheritance,” Foreman concluded, we risk turning into “‘pancake people’—spread wide and thin as we connect with that vast network of information accessed by the mere touch of a button.”

So many quotable quotes just in that section…Read slowly the things worth your time. Don’t lose those “quiet spaces opened up by the sustained, undistracted reading of a book, or…any other act of contemplation” you might enjoy this summer.Make associations.Draw your own inferences and analogies.Foster your own ideas.Read deeply; think deeply; pray deeply.I suggest we get countercultural.Anyone for a long, slow, summer read in the hammock?

The post Is Google Making Us Stoopid? appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

“With a storyteller’s charm and a Bible teacher’s grit, L.L. Barkat weaves memoir, humor and spiritual insight together into a satisfying read,” Edward Gilbreath, author of Reconciliation Blues.”The beautiful and intelligent writing will pull you in, but the deep and uncommon insights will keep you reading…It is a book meant to be read slowly,” Steve Hayner, professor of evangelism and church growth, Columbia Theological Seminary.

And Scot McKnight, author of The Jesus Creed, said, “The only writer I know quite like L.L. Barkat is Eugene Peterson. That probably tells you all you need to know.”Wowzers. Scot says Barkat is like Peterson? No wonder I thought, “That person’s smart!”I don’t know if books that are difficult to categorize really are hard to market, but once I discover them, I have found them to be captivating reading.Stone Crossings was like that.Each chapter begins with a poetically written reflective piece, often weaving in something of her love of natural settings. The chapters then explore the hard places Barkat has been physically, spiritually, relationally, emotionally…and they celebrate God’s grace as He met, taught, and guided her through it all.Her personal stories, powerful and poignant as they are (the discreet but clear personal story that sets up the meat for chapter 2 proved to be a difficult, painful read), don’t necessarily serve as the centerpiece of the chapters; instead, they establish the theme. Within a few paragraphs, Barkat proceeds to highlight a character or story from Scripture, weaving in details and insight that reflect her spiritual wisdom, study, and depth of understanding.In Chapter 2, she offers a beautiful detail about the term “worm” when it’s used in Psalm 22. In this psalm, Jesus “cries prophetically through David that he’s a worm,” Barkat writes. She then explains:

[T]he Hebrew word here, towla, refers to a special sort of worm–a female that attaches herself to a tree before laying her eggs. Once she lays her eggs, this sacrificial mother becomes a protective covering. She dies right there, excreting a crimson fluid that covers both her body and her offspring.Such colorful artistry was not lost on the ancients. (p. 22, Stone Crossings)

That artistry and image was not lost on the ancients; nor, it seems, was it lost on Barkat. Nor was it lost on me, when I read it. The word captured long before Jesus was nailed to the cross is a picture of His sacrifice for us–He covers us with His blood. In Him, we’re saved and, ultimately, safe.I don’t want to tell too many stories from the book and keep you from discovering them yourself, but I was deeply impressed with the story she told about sacrificing her career.  After her first daughter was born, she returned to teaching. She and her husband enrolled their little girl in a local daycare and dropped her off. “I was sad on one level,” she wrote, “but relieved to ‘get my life back,’ as I’d heard women say…But then my infant daughter made her own plea: ‘I want my mommy back.’ At seven months old she had no words to say this. She simply stopped eating in my absence.”The workers at the daycare tried everything to get her to eat, but she wouldn’t. Ten hours would pass, and she would refuse. She would be “dazed and unresponsive. She ignored my attempts to communicate with her. My lively, smiley baby was gone.”After two weeks, they took her to the doctor, who said that distressed babies sometimes go on hunger strikes.Barkat explained:

I went home that day knowing I was at a crossroads. My daughter wanted me, but I wanted a life. What’s more, I wanted a house. With my salary, we were on track to get one soon–a good-sized home in which to raise a family…[God’s Spirit] spoke quietly on my way back from work: ‘You can have a big house with nothing to put in it. Or you can give up the job and the house and fill your home with love.’ While God doesn’t necessarily ask every woman to leave work for a child, he seemed to be urging me in that direction and graciously promising, ‘I will make…your walls of precious stones.’ (Isaiah 54:12).As it went, I took him at his word. (p. 83, 87)

I was deeply moved by the apparent grief and confusion of her young child and the resulting call to sacrifice that L.L. felt that God was calling her to.In a later chapter, I loved her lengthy description of what the blind man might have experienced after Jesus placed mud on his eyes and told him to wash in the Pool of Siloam…possibly a long, stumbling walk as he tried to find it still in his dark world of mud-dabbed blindness. I had not considered how far the water might have been from the place where the blind man and Jesus met; nor had I registered that the man was still blind and smeared with mud while searching for it. Barkat took time to climb into that man’s shoes and tie his experience in with her own story.Finally, the story in the epilogue ties in the theme of stones in a highly personal way with Barkat’s extended family.It’s simple. Beautiful. And full of grace.That’s only a choppy peek into a book that’s packed with insight, honesty, poetry, pain, beauty, and grace.She has opened up her life for us to learn and grow.Through this book, she herself has offered every reader hope–by seeing the relationship with Jesus Christ she has developed in and through the hard places she’s been, we have hope that we, too, will find His grace in times of need.L.L. Barkat offers even more honesty, insight and wisdom over at her blog Seedlings in Stone. Pay her a visit, and you can decide for yourself if “that person’s smart.”

The post Stone Crossings: Finding Grace in Hard and Hidden Places appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

1. Castile Soap for a Simpler Life (and blemish-free face)
2. Thick and Chewy, Fast and Easy Pizza Dough
3. Overnight Crockpot Steel-Cut Oatmeal

What am I doing posting about the perils of my attempts to multi-task?Why bother typing up Katherine Paterson’s thoughts on Beauty?Blog-readers want TIPS.They want HELPFUL INFO.Why do I kid myself and write posts about something cute my kids said, or about some Deep Thought I’ve come across in a book or at a conference? I need to be writing bullet-pointed how-to posts that empower people in some way.My brief blog-analysis reminded me of other surprise hits that were “tip-ish” in nature:

• Six Ways to Refresh Your Mind gained a lot of popularity since I posted it in February 2007.
• 10 Simple Ways to Class Up Your Act (a notch) caused a spike in the stats in its day.
• Thanks to linkage from a Top Mama Blogger, How the Cuckoo Found its Voice also brought in some new readers who joined me in considering the joy of resurrecting old, neglected, forgotten hobbies and skills.
• Crepes? Mai, Oui! offers my Americanized instructions on how to prepare this French specialty.
• Quiet Time Round-Up included a collection of devotional and Bible study tips that I gathered into one place. Several people appreciated the effort. It was………helpful!

Helpful ideas, step-by-step how-tos, and tips. Tips, tips, tips.And yet….And yet people flock to the clever writers, the funny folks, the great photographers. The Dooces and Boomamas and Pioneer Women of the world. They do offer some helpful tips along the way, though, so maybe it all comes down to TIPS. And if you’re funny, too, all the better. And if your funny and can take great pictures, you’re a shoe-in to becoming a Blogging Superstar.By the way, have you seen Dooce make the rounds on talk shows representing the power of Blogging Mommas? She was in the Wall Street Journal a couple of weeks ago and was scheduled to be on the Today Show either yesterday or the day before.I usually try to save tip-type posts for Rocks In My Dryer’s Works For Me Wednesdays (talk about TIPS–she’s a Tip-Warehouse!).But now I’m curious what would happen if I specialized in tips for a few days?Not that I have that many ideas to offer the world.It’s not like I’m Family Circle magazine personified.But if I talked to friends and thought about it, I might be able to pull together a few “collections” under some kind of theme.If I can manage to pull it off, I just wonder if my titles ended up How-To in flavor instead of story-driven or essay-style, how that might affect things?I feel an experiment coming on.Five Days of How-To Posts: Experiment with Helpful Posts that Offer Value Implementing Quick-and-Easy TweaksHonestly, just to be clear, I love my faithful readers and those who pop in now and then. You’re fun, encouraging, and insightful. You’re writing great stuff of your own. I love the community of like-minded people who drop in here to see what my radar has picked up and posted; and I try to visit yours, as well. So don’t ever question my satisfaction and gratitude for how you let me be myself here.I guess I’m just curious what would happen if I tweaked my content for a few days.Feel free to join me on this experimental venture. You, too, can try posting nothing but helpful, how-to, informational content for a few days.Just to see.Don’t you wonder?I guess I’d better wrap this up and start making some lists.

The post Five Days of How-To Posts: A blog experiment offering helpful information in bullet-point form appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

She spent most of the time defining that word, “acedia,” that has fallen out of usage. She’s trying to resurrect it, because she thinks it captures our current culture’s general boredom, apathy, or ennui. None of those words expresses the attitude and mood quite right, so she’s returning to acedia.

She wrote in the description:

Few people today have encountered the word acedia, which literally means not-caring, or being unable to care that you don’t care. In some ways, though, acedia defines today’s culture, expressing itself as willful indifference, restless boredom, or even frantic busyness. Norris discusses both acedia and its opposite–the zeal that draws on faith, hope, and love.

She said that when the seven deadly sins were determined and defined, the term “acedia,” which had been used widely among monks who struggled with it, was absorbed into the concept of sloth. It was lost. It has a meaning, however, that is specific and in her opinion, useful.

“I tend to believe words are in usage because we need them,” she said. And she thinks we need the word “acedia” again. When she proposed the idea of a book about acedia, somebody–maybe a monk, maybe an editor–told her, “Well, you’ve got an open field, since not much has been done with it since the sixth century.”

She said she faced an “attack of thoughts spiraling me downward” and made a “powerful connection with my past. When you’re a writer,” she said, “there’s no turning back from such a connection.”

“Acedia works like a spiritual morphine. It leaves you not caring; unable to commit to relationships; unable to stay in one place; and so frantically busy, you don’t have the energy to care….there’s so much coming at you, you can’t care any more. It renders us impervious to care.”

Does that sound like our culture today?

By the way, she passed along what she thought was the best description of midlife she’d ever heard (I can’t remember the source):

“Midlife is a metamorphosis in reverse, where you start out as a butterfly and gradually turn into a caterpillar.”(laughter)

She talks and writes openly of her avoidance of all things math-related. In a room full of writers, I’m sure there were plenty of sympathetic ears. When she said, “I don’t have much faith in linear process,” she was rewarded with a burst of hearty laughter. I have no idea what came before or after that. No context. Only that isolated statement.

She talked about how our culture gives us the art we need and maybe the art we want.

Maybe we want Britney, for example, because we don’t want to deal with the complicated pain and horror of that pesky ground combat in Iraq. “Denial,” she said, “is entrenched in our culture. We don’t want to be awakened from our sleep of acedia.”

Maybe we want to not care; in fact, we might even want to not care that we don’t care.

“Why bother?” we wonder.

She borrowed a phrase from Wordsworth, that we’re in a state of almost “savage torpor.”

Life bores us. And she quoted someone…Baudelaire, I think, saying, “Oh, how tired I am of the need to live 24 hours a day.”

She was speaking to a lot of writers in that room. She talked about the “tyranny of the blank page.” Later she called it the “democracy of the white page–every writer has to return there.”

I would add that bloggers can replace that with “blank screen.” The screen stares. The template taunts. Do we have anything to say? Each writer returns there and asks the same thing…unless, of course, she is plagued by acedia.

“What do writers need?” she asked rhetorically. “Not to stop.”

“We need ‘possibility,'” she said, then quoting Kierkegaard so quickly that I couldn’t get it down. So I jotted a few key words in order to Google it later, which I did, landing on this page of Kierkegaard quotes:

“If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating, as possibility!“

She claims that prayer and the reciting of psalms battle acedia.

Finally, she mentioned in passing a “Commonplace Book.”

Do you keep a Commonplace Book?

I think my blog has become something of an online, virtual Commonplace Book; in fact, I think many blogs are, given the description provided at Wikipedia. It says:

They were a way to compile knowledge, usually by writing information into books. They were essentially scrapbooks filled with items of every kind: medical recipes, quotes, letters, poems, tables of weights and measures, proverbs, prayers, legal formulas. Commonplaces were used by readers, writers, students, and humanists as an aid for remembering useful concepts or facts they had learned. Each commonplace book was unique to its creator’s particular interests.

This very post, in fact, is an act of “commonplacing,” as I record Norris’s quotations and reflect on them personally:

What is “Commonplacing” and what is a Commonplace Book? Commonplacing is the act of selecting important phrases, lines, and/or passages from texts and writing them down; the commonplace book is the notebook in which a reader has collected quotations from works s/he has read. Commonplace books can also include comments and notes from the reader; they are frequently indexed so that the reader can classify important themes and locate quotations related to particular topics or authors.

The commonplace book was always at hand as a conversational prompt…today, perhaps, it can serve as fodder for blog posts, articles, books, or good old-fashioned conversations.

Although I don’t want to add another notebook to my life, juggling it along with my Day-Timer and journal, I’m tempted to begin one for that purpose–to collect sayings and quotations that I can use as a conversational (or blog-versational) prompt. And then the blog itself serves as a more developed, refined version of the notebook.

That’s all I’ve got for Kathleen Norris.

Look for signs of acedia.

And tell me about what you use as a kind of Commonplace Book.

Is it your blog?

Do you weave quotes and facts into your journal or diary?

Do you jot down quotes on pieces of paper or 3X5 cards and toss them in a box?

The post Kathleen Norris, Acedia, and the Commonplace Book appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

I was sitting in the Visitors’ Gallery of the House of Commons, I and forty-nine other artists from across Canada, fifty in all, and I got to thinking about stillness. To read a book, one must be still. To watch a concert, a play, a movie, to look at a painting, one must be still. Religion, too, makes use of stillness, notably with prayer and meditation.

Keep those thoughts of his in mind.The fifty artists went in and presented the reasons that funding for the arts is essential for Canada as a country, but the leaders seemed disinterested. He said that Stephen Harper, the Prime Minister, tends to run Canada more like a business than a country, and sat unmoved throughout the short plea for support of the arts.Martel could have responded in a lot of ways to the apparent disinterest. He decided to be positive, proactive, and clever. I pulled from the site the following explanation: 

The Prime Minister did not speak during our brief tribute, certainly not. I don’t think he even looked up. The snarling business of Question Period having just ended, he was shuffling papers. I tried to bring him close to me with my eyes.Who is this man? What makes him tick? No doubt he is busy. No doubt he is deluded by that busyness. No doubt being Prime Minister fills his entire consideration and froths his sense of busied importance to the very brim. And no doubt he sounds and governs like one who cares little for the arts.But he must have moments of stillness. And so this is what I propose to do: not to educate—that would be arrogant, less than that—to make suggestions to his stillness.For as long as Stephen Harper is Prime Minister of Canada, I vow to send him every two weeks, mailed on a Monday, a book that has been known to expand stillness. That book will be inscribed and will be accompanied by a letter I will have written. I will faithfully report on every new book, every inscription, every letter, and any response I might get from the Prime Minister, on this website

I just love that. I love the care with which he is selecting great literature and writing a brief explanation of how it might enrich the Prime Minister’s life.Martel said he has a few self-imposed rules for the book selection process. He chooses relatively short books, trying to respect the PM’s time (and, perhaps, his attention span). And I think with the exception of Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince), the books are all in English. I can’t remember why, because I think the PM is fluent in French.Here is an excerpt from the first letter Martel sent accompanying the first book, which was Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych.

I know you’re very busy, Mr. Harper. We’re all busy. Meditating monks in their cells are busy. That’s adult life, filled to the ceiling with things that need doing. (It seems only children and the elderly aren’t plagued by lack of time—and notice how they enjoy their books, how their lives fill their eyes.) But every person has a space next to where they sleep, whether a patch of pavement or a fine bedside table. In that space, at night, a book can glow. And in those moments of docile wakefulness, when we begin to let go of the day, then is the perfect time to pick up a book and be someone else, somewhere else, for a few minutes, a few pages, before we fall asleep. And there are other possibilities, too. Sherwood Anderson, the American writer best known for his collection of stories Winesburg, Ohio, wrote his first stories while commuting by train to work. Stephen King apparently never goes to his beloved baseball games without a book that he reads during breaks. So it’s a question of choice.And I suggest you choose, just for a few minutes every day, to read The Death of Ivan Ilych.

I liked that Martel reminded the PM, as well as his Festival audience on that night he spoke, that reading can be done in short segments of time. Most of us sleep next to a nightstand of some sort. We can leave a book there and “in that space, at night, a book can glow,” as we read from it for five minutes at the end of a day. Even busy people can manage to read. He was, of course, preaching to the choir that night at Calvin College; but to Stephen Harper, he was being understanding and practical.It’s also fun to scan the titles Martel has chosen along with a brief synopsis of each book. Martel includes his own personal opinion about why the book is great, and along the way, gently reminds the PM why literature matters–why art matters–and why stillness matters in the taking in of art. 

The post Yann Martel on Life of Pi, Interpretation, Stillness, and Art appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

The post You. Are. Blessed. appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

She remembered. She remembered the transatlantic flight we shared in 2005, and the descent that led to my child’s airsickness. She remembered how my husband and I mopped up vomit as the plane landed. She remembered handing me a paper towel, and how, when I turned around to thank the kind stranger, I realized it was her and exclaimed, “You’re Phyllis Tickle!” She remembered saying, “Why, yes, I am! You look familiar…how do I know you?”

I explained that I met her at a writing event, and I reminded her of something stupid I said, and she remembered that, too.

And she remembered how I introduced my husband to her, and how he thoughtfully didn’t extend his vomit-y hand to shake hers. She remembered how I totally abandoned him to the cleanup to continue talking with Phyllis and find out why she was on the same flight from Belgium. I was so focused on my kids for the six- or seven-hour flight that I never bothered to turn around. She was one row behind me the entire time.

And so after her talk yesterday, we had a big laugh reconnecting and remembering.

And, of course, cheesy-me, I asked someone to take our photo:

That whole airsickness incident reminds me to take a tip from the world of advertising and marketing: if you want someone to remember you, even bad press is good press. So do something memorable, or don’t feel bad if something memorable happens.

When I was sitting through Phyllis’s presentation, I scribbled a quote that stood out–and it wasn’t even the point of her talk: Some writers “are learning to say very well…nothing.” About the only application that kind of writing might work for is ad copy, she said, or on the Web.

I thought about blogging. I hope to learn to say things very well. But I hope to use any skill I may acquire to say something meaningful, not “nothing.” It’s a good warning; a reminder to merge craft and content, or, to have content with craftsmanship, or something like that. She didn’t say all that–that’s me chewing on her one thought.

The title of her talk was “Writing as Catechesis.” It’s too hard to explain briefly, so I’ll just type out her description from the information packet and let you ponder it:

Writers of all stripes have claimed to write for discovery, yet religious writers, according to Tickle, write to discover what they believe as well as what they think, making writing the ultimate catechesis.

After her message, as I waited to go up and get my photo taken, I glanced to my left. Two chairs down from me sat Christian authors Lisa Samson and Claudia Mair Burney!

I recognized them from their blogs. I’d clicked over there from this blog or that blog. Who knows how we arrive at places on this crazy World Wide Web, eh? Anyway, I recognized their faces and names, and decided once again to be a bold attendee. I stuck out my hand and said, “Hi there! I recognize you both from online…would you mind if I took your picture and put it on my blog?”

“Of course not!”

As I introduced myself to Claudia, I mentioned someone that I was pretty sure she knew, Don Pape, and I mentioned that I was working on a book for David C Cook, where Don is Trade Book Publisher, and she said, “Don’s my buddy! And I just came out with a book with David C Cook!” She held it out. It’s called Zora & Nicky: A Novel in Black and White. Then, she handed it to me.

“Here,” she said. “I want you to have this.”

“What? No! No, I can buy a copy.”

“No, I want you to have it. Here.” She put it in my hands.

“But…well…Thank you. Thank you so much.”

So congratulations, Claudia, on the book’s release. And thank you again. I can’t wait to read it!

And then I got to talk with Lisa Samson, and she’s a bright, lively, fun author who has written a lot of Christian fiction and just came out with a book called Embrace Me.

Congratulations, Lisa, for the book’s release!

After chatting for a moment or two about publishing, they introduced me to someone else. It turns out that she’s the Executive Director of the Christy Awards, Donna Kehoe. I said hello, chatted about nothing too memorable, nor did anything memorable happen–no kids around to produce vomit–and I think it was Donna who offered to take a picture of Claudia and Lisa that had me in it, too.

Then I excused myself to go get that snapshot with Phyllis.Later that afternoon I was passing through the little campus hangout, making a beeline for a booth where I planned to unpack my bag and write, and there sat Claudia in a comfy chair, eating some yogurt.

“Ann!” she called out. “Pull up a chair and join us!”

“Oh, no, no, I don’t want to intrude on your gathering. You should feel free to sit here and talk shop.”

“You aren’t intruding–I’m inviting you. And we aren’t going to be talking shop, or if we do, you can hear it, too. Sit down. Pull up that chair.”

So, unsure what the others would think, I set down my bag and pulled up a chair. Then Lisa Samson came over along with Donna Kehoe, and then another author named Cindy Crosby came over. They introduced her to the group as well. They’re all so warm, welcoming, and gracious. The world felt all rosy and soft-focus as I listened to them tell funny stories and explain the plots for their next book projects.

A funny little “small world” thing about Cindy Crosby is that she grew up in the next town over from where I grew up, and her dad owned the Christian bookstore just around the corner from where my mom worked. I used to walk there with just a little bit of change jingling in my pocket. I’d look at all the book titles and study the pamphlets. Every once in a while, I’d buy a little pamphlet, because that would be all I could afford with my change. But one time, I saved up enough to buy my first Bible with my own money. My parents would have bought it for me, but I wanted it to be all my own, and somehow purchasing it must have been key to that in my mind.

Cindy’s dad tried to talk me into an NIV or NASB, but I had it in my head that I needed a KJV. I think I was about 12 years old. So I made my final selection: a King James bound with inexpensive burgundy leather. Her dad did succeed in talking me into getting my name stamped on it in gold. I think he understood how personal it was, and convinced me that my name in gold would solidify the deal.

Later, with birthday money from my aunt, and because I was having a little trouble understanding the King James, I bought my second Bible from him–a copy of The Living Bible with a kind of puffy green hardcover binding.

Anyway, I took a terrible, terrible self-snapped shot of Cindy and me, but I’m including it because Cindy looks okay. I’m the one who looks terrible, and I’m okay with that:

Apparently, I am so tired, I’ve decided to take a nap on Cindy’s shoulder. Or, rather, I need a little coaching in how to take self-snappers.

Anyway, Cindy is author of several books, including By Willoway Brook. She doesn’t have a website, but you can do an Amazon search on her name to pull up her titles.

I lunched with L.L. Barkat, who wrote the newly released Stone Crossings (Congratulations again!), and we had a great conversation about writing and blogging.

“I wish there were some fun way to get a picture of us together that I could post on my blog,” I said, “that would still respect your privacy.”

And then, as we shifted our feet, inspiration hit her.”I know!”

And that was the only moment during the festival that I regretted wearing my sensible walking shoes. Mine are on the left, and I can see now that they are probably far, far too sensible…scuffed…worn…a disgrace…unsightly and unstylish.

Okay, maybe they aren’t that bad.

Then again, maybe they are.

People, if you ever meet L.L. Barkat, pray that you shined your shoes that morning. This is her new thing. I ran into her later, and she said she got a nice shot of her shoes next to Ed Gilbreath’s.

Here’s a shot of my new friend L., who wishes to remain unnamed, when we were sitting in an auditorium waiting for Yann Martel to speak. Martel is the author of Life of Pi and maintains a blog called “What is Stephen Harper Reading.” He explains the reason for the blog and what he does here.

Then I met two charming festival attendees–Eileen Button and Nadyne Parr–at Elizabeth Berg’s lecture.

We ended up walking together to Elizabeth’s book signing, so I just stood in line with them in order to continue the conversation. I didn’t have a book of Elizabeth’s for her to sign, but I thought it might be fun to get a picture, because I was just thinking of you all so much and wanting to share everything with you. Really.

So there I was at the table, and her sweet husband said, “No flash,” because Elizabeth has an eye condition. So we turned off the flash, and Nadyne snapped this picture that will prove to the world what an intimate friendship I’ve forged with Elizabeth Berg.

You can see for yourself the rich interaction we were enjoying and what a surprising connection we made in such a short time.

Right. Well.

I had two more favorite moments. One was when I ran into a dear friend at the very end of the conference, just before heading to Katherine Paterson’s lecture. I was with Nadyne, and she snapped this picture of my happy reunion with Jim Poole.

In addition to being very tall, my friend Jim is a talented actor, video producer, and writer, but he will be most familiar to you as the voice of Scooter in the VeggieTales productions. That’s the vegetable with the Scottish brogue. We have a sing-along CD with “I Can Be Your Friend” on it, and I always jump in and sing along with Jim, imitating his accent, “Aye, that’s why we’ve got feelin’s that are verrrry (roll the “r”) much the same!”

Too bad I didn’t run into Jim sooner, as he managed to get himself known by several of the “names” at the event–he’s endearing and easy to know, so one of his new BFFs (Scott Cairns, maybe or Jeffrey Overstreet) invited him to the evening reception where all the authors were sipping colas and eating hors d’oeuvres. Before I ran into Jim, I peeked and saw them all mingling. It was a grown-up-writers’ party to which I was not invited…but…apparently Jim could have gotten me in.

Life just didn’t time out quite right, however, and I wasn’t able to nibble triangles of chicken quesadilla next to Kathleen Norris and Scott Cairns. I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. I would have been tongue tied, and if I managed to think of something to say, I would have said it with tortilla blobs stuck in my teeth.

Memorable.My other favorite moment happened this afternoon. Ever since I saw the comment from Monica at Paper Bridges (formerly “Books Are My Friends”) that she wished she could sit in on a session with Rob Bell, I had this idea…I wasn’t sure if I should try it. I mean, I knew it would be goofy and borderline junior-highish. I waffled.

Then I just did it.

I walked up to Rob after his session. “Hi, I’m Ann Kroeker,” I said, holding out my hand to shake his. “I really enjoyed your talk just now (he said thanks), but what I wanted to ask is a favor. A friend of mine couldn’t be here, but really wanted to see you most of all. And so I was just wondering if I could get a picture of you with this and put it on my blog.”

He grinned really big, nodded, took the piece of paper, and I snapped this:

And this, my friends, is an example not only of how to do something so memorable so that you might be remembered for your silliness, but also of why you want to make friends with a blogger. You never know when she’ll be thinking of you.

The post Connections and Conclusions appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

The Bloggers Circle [CLOSED]What are the challenges and pitfalls of good blogging? How much should you disclose about yourself and other people on a blog? How do you respond to critics? To what extent should blogging be descriptive, a kind of reporting, and to what extent should it be reflective and expressive of your own feelings and thoughts?

Anyway, if you’re interested, here’s the list of speakers.I only knew a few, like Katherine Paterson, Kathleen Norris, Yann Martel, Haven Kimmel, Phyllis Tickle, Elizabeth Berg, Deb Rienstra, Rob Bell, Francine Rivers, and Luci Shaw. Maybe some others, too. You can see from this diverse group that this is not intended to be an exclusively Evangelical event–I think it’s encouraging a broader conversation of faith and writing at a literary level. A lot of these speakers not only have written books and won prizes, they also teach at prestigious universities. I hope I’m inspired and encouraged rather than overwhelmed by these brilliant minds expressing themselves.Hopefully I can check in here at the blog. I’ll try to snap a few pictures of famous people. I’ve been known to say and do embarrassing things when I meet people I admire. I stepped on someone’s foot just before we were introduced, I’ve said really stupid things, and on one memorable occasion in 2005, I was riding on an airplane back from Belgium one row in front of Phyllis Tickle. The story involves airsickness. You can read about it here if you like. After all, there’s really no better way to spice up a story on the mamablogsophere than to include a little vomit vignette.Anyway, if anything memorable happens should I happen to bump into Kathleen Norris or Katherine Paterson in the hallway or the ladies room, you’ll be the first to know.

The post Live, from Grand Rapids, it's the Festival of Faith and Writing! appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart

be pleasing in your sight,

O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.

(Psalm 19:14)

May the words of all our “mouths”–may the words of our blogs–be pleasing in His sight.

Let it be so.

The post Blogger's Prayer appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

I was once asked to make a list of five strengths I possess as a writer. Here’s what I came up with.

Five Writing Strengths

1. The ability to sit still for long stretches of time

Not everyone can do this, you know. Some people get antsy, restless. After a few minutes of sitting still, they fidget and have to get up and make hot chocolate or call a friend. Writers need to be able to sit still for hours in order to get their work done. Dorothea Brande in her book Becoming a Writer said:

Writing calls on unused muscles and involves solitude and immobility. There is not much to be said for the recommendation, so often heard, to serve an apprenticeship to journalism if you intend to write fiction. But a journalist’s career does teach two lessons which every writer needs to learn—that it is possible to write for long periods without fatigue, and that if one pushes on past the first weariness one finds a reservoir of unsuspected energy—one reaches the famous “second wind.” (71)

I can’t help but think of that famous advice writers hear at conferences and in books—how does one become a successful writer? Apply one’s bottom to chair (unless, of course, one is using a standing desk). I admit that I do head into the other room to grab a handful of nuts now and then, or fix a cup of tea. But I can sit still when need be.

2. Curiosity

Each person I meet knows something that I don’t—I can always learn something new if I ask the right questions. All it takes is a little curiosity. Whether working for a newspaper or corporate client, finding interest in some aspect of a new industry, person, story, or methodology is a strength—if I myself am interested in it, the way I write about it will probably be more interesting, as well. I value curiosity so highly in writing and in life, I publish a monthly Curiosity Journal, documenting and sharing my discoveries.

3. A Commitment to Lifelong Learning

I’ve abandoned the pursuit of higher education in a formal sense, but Autodidact Ann lives (and reads and researches) on. The more I learn, the more I have to write about. And guess what lifelong learners possess in abundance? Curiosity.

4. Love of Reading

Numbers 2, 3, and 4 are suspiciously interrelated. It might seem that I’m taking one idea and stretching it out to fill space—which might be yet another strength in itself—but I do think they deserve to be singled out. Curiosity often leads to learning and reading, and one often learns via reading. But there are other ways to learn and satisfy curiosity, and there is more than one motivation to read.

Yet (and this is the point) reading inevitably enhances writing—the content may inspire (or not); the writing style may be worth imitating (or not). Either way, reading widely only helps a writer. In his memoir, On Writing, Stephen King says:

If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut. (139)

and

Reading is the creative center of a writer’s life. (142)

Storylines linger, nonfiction facts inform, ideas from texts co-mingle with others in my mind to form something new. A writer who doesn’t read is doomed to compose in a narrow style and draw from a limited library of ideas. I relish a good book, and I believe that makes my writing richer.

5. Perseverance

Never, never, never give up. Stick with it. Persist. I may not have been born with the greatest writing talent, but I’ve stuck with it. I work to improve and learn from mistakes, forging ahead a little smarter, wiser, and more skillful. As a friend of mine said (I paraphrase), the most successful writers are not necessarily the ones with the greatest talent; they’re the ones who persevere.

What five writing strengths do you possess?

______________________________

Is your writing life all it can be?

Let this book act as your personal coach, to explore the writing life you already have and the writing life you wish for, and close the gap between the two.

“A genial marriage of practice and theory. For writers new and seasoned. This book is a winner.”

—Phil Gulley, author of Front Porch Tales

The post My Five Writing Strengths appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

• Vehicles to transport us wherever we want, even off-road, with audio technology and reading material–iPods, books on CD, podcasts–to keep the ride from getting dull.
• Bountiful hobbies to make life more interesting.
• Newscasts, magazines, online news, and blogs, of course, to make our lives more informed.
• Television, TiVo, DVDs, movies, and theater (until this pesky writers’ strike) to entertain us.
• Tools and gadgets and computers to make us more efficient.
• Vacations to feel more relaxed.
• Educational opportunities to make our minds sharper and lives deeper.
• Social events, small-group meetings, and church services to make our social and spiritual lives richer.
• Volunteer opportunities to give our lives more meaning and purpose.
• Sports to make lives healthier and more fun.

“So with all those things filling our lives,” Gire wonders, “why aren’t we more fulfilled?”

He proposes that life for Westerners has become more like an all-you-can-eat buffet, which looks good as you go through the serving line, but by the time you finish eating, everything has lost its taste. “Instead of feeling satisfied,” he suggests, “we feel bloated.”

Sometimes less is more, as the saying goes, and sometimes a few well-prepared servings are more satisfying, ones where we have time to chew, where we can taste even the subtlest of spices, where the flavor lingers long after we’ve finished.We can’t savor anything, though, if we’re stuffed. And if we’re heaping serving after serving onto our schedule, by the end of the day we’re never going to want to eat again.(p. 99, The Reflective Life, by Ken Gire, Chariot Victor Publishing, a division of Cook Communications, Colorado Springs, CO, 1998).

What is his recommendation for giving meaning to these all-you-can-eat days? When life pressures us to cram as much as possible into a day, is there a way to savor any part of it, or are we stuck bloated and strangely, paradoxically, empty?

Well, as he said, sometimes less is more and we can consider cutting down our activities in order to focus on doing a few things well. To use his words, “sometimes a few well-prepared servings are more satisfying, ones where we have time to chew.” In other words, sometimes we’re simply doing too much. We need to cut back.

But he also suggests something simple and practical: pauses.

“Putting pauses into our schedule allows us to savor the individual servings in our day,” Gire advised. (p. 99, ibid.)

Pauses.

Breaks.

Time to reflect and contemplate the purpose and meaning in an interaction or event.

He recommends keeping a journal, to look back on the day and consider its highs and lows, and reflecting at length on the Scriptures.

As I read Gire’s observations and considered his ideas, I thought about the discussion we’ve been having about meaningful blogs.

In the comments, Ann of Holy Experience, wrote:

I read (somewhere? ~smile~) that when most reader check a blog post, they have a time allotment of an average of nine seconds before they click away. That is about 250 words or so.I think on this often. But I wonder if it is possible to write such that in those first nine seconds, they can find themselves drawn to a place where they want to slow, pause, take a deep breath, and want to read more. To consider. Reflect. Worship.And when they finally click away, they are in a different head and heart space…I often wonder too… if we write in sound bites, are we are contributing, cultivating a culture who thinks in flashes and snippets and clips…. instead of creating islands of soulful, contemplative thought…?

I’ve been thinking about Ann’s comment in conjunction with Gire’s analysis of the busy -v- reflective life, and the word “oasis” keeps coming to mind.

We need oases to replenish ourselves, to survive and flourish while on this 21st Century, fast-paced journey.

We must find islands of soulful thought, as Ann said, where we stop, think, ponder, rest, and reflect before revving up the engine and merging back onto the freeway.

She added worship to the list. A call to worship is asking a lot of a blog, but some writers pull it off. They point us to the Savior and remind us that this life is not about us. It’s not about our crazy-busy schedules, room-mom responsibilities, or carpool chaos. It’s not about the mindless TV shows that make us laugh. Life is more than Thanksgiving preparations and Christmas shopping.

In the pauses, we can remember to Whom we belong. We can reflect on His grace and look for the ways He is working in our world.

We can ask for help and give thanks.

We can realize what we’ve known all along but forgotten in the flurry–that this life, hectic and harried, or reflective and restful, is about Him.

An oasis can be the time and space in which we find meaning in all the other obligations and activities that pack our days.

An oasis is a fertile area in the middle of a desert, an island of life in a land of extremes. Any oasis serves as a refuge, relief, or pleasant change from what is usual, annoying, difficult.

An oasis: that’s what I would like to be as a person; even, if possible, as a blogger.

An oasis: that’s what I’d like to find for myself, as well–a regular refuge to refresh and replenish myself; a safe place to pause.

I think of Jesus’ invitation to come away and find rest. He had sent off the disciples, and they came back from the journey, gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught.

Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”

They needed to pull away….with Him.

We do, too.

He is our oasis.

The post An Oasis in our Fast-Paced Lives appeared first on Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach.

At my brother’s urging, I signed up with StoryCorps to interview my mom back in 2007. My brother interviewed Dad.

The idea of StoryCorps is to collect the stories of everyday people and save them for posterity. Here’s how they explained their vision:

StoryCorps is modeled—in spirit and in scope—after the Works Progress Administration (WPA) of the 1930s, through which oral history interviews with everyday Americans across the country were recorded. These recordings remain the single most important collection of American voices gathered to date. We hope that StoryCorps will build and expand on that work, becoming a WPA for the 21st Century. (2007 website description)

Interviewing my mom was a privilege and pleasure—she’s a great storyteller, and I think we managed to capture excellent verbal snapshots of her life. We traveled back to her small town childhood during WWII, as she explained what a different world it was and how much freedom she was given to roam and explore. She talked about her dad, my grandfather, and what made their relationship so special. She told about interviewing Vivian Vance—yes, Ethel from I Love Lucy—for The Indianapolis Star. 

These were great snippets to get on record. StoryCorps provided us with a CD of the interview for our own family records, and evidently they file one with the Library of Congress.

Capturing Family Stories

But the experience also inspired me to schedule more time with mom and dad in order to record more stories, just for our family. On our walk back to the car, we recalled two or three more stories—famous family stories—that would have been wonderful to have her tell. Oh well. There’s only so much you can fit into a 40-minute interview. [Edited to add that Mom has since captured many of her stories in book form, in a memoir of sorts called Hoping for Dolphins.]

Reading the vision of StoryCorps made me think about blogs and social media. I think a lot of people are preserving stories for posterity via these platforms.

Many of us are living life and then writing about it, hitting highlights and lowlights, telling vivid stories and posting them to Facebook, Instagram, or a personal website. Informally, instinctively, and without being directed by a clear goal, we’re giving to the world a collective effort not unlike StoryCorps’ initiative. We are adding to the conversation in our own way, capturing life as we know it in the 21st Century.

Living and Writing Unfolding History

If someone were to scour our sites for the stories, they would likely find hints of history or history-in-the-making. Some bloggers tell stories from their childhood—which is history—while others type out what’s transpired in the past day or so—which will one day be history. 

Blogging and writing on social media differs from StoryCorps in that it’s not oral history (except for podcasters producing personal content), but it is history in everyday language by everyday people, recorded electronically and posted for all to ponder.

One day we may be astounded at the window into our world that seems so ordinary from day to day, as we sit in front of our computer terminals, diligently typing away.

We’re leaving a legacy, however lighthearted or profound it may be.

I find that fascinating and inspiring.

Recording the Stories

I was so inspired by the experience that I resolved to continue collecting family stories via audio and on paper or electronically—any way possible.

In order to collect high-quality audio of the stories, StoryCorps recommends acquiring a hand-held microphone and digital recorder, along with headphones to monitor the sound levels and quality.

It’s tempting to go overboard and borrow some high-tech equipment from church or a friend who specializes in multi-media, but I’ve used what I have. The sound quality was average in the beginning and has improved over time as handheld devices and phones offer top-notch mics.

My goal is to spend an hour with each of parent several times, until we’ve amassed a fine collection of family history, genealogy, anecdotes, tributes, and remembrances.

Here’s my plan:

• List Key Stories: I could kick myself for missing a few great family stories during our official StoryCorps interview. Before I go out to my parents’ house, I’m going to keep a running list of the “famous” ones that I want to capture. Then I can just go down the list and say, “Tell me the one about Aunt Lynn at the viewing” or “Let’s hear about great-grandma and the Chicago Fire.” These stories have been told and retold, so that’s the only prompt necessary. I’ll have Mom and Dad write some down, as well. I can keep a master checklist of those that are recorded, so that we don’t tell them over and over.
• Assemble Equipment: Before heading out, I’ll make sure I have extra batteries and the headphones to my MP3, or be sure to have a charger cored for the cell phone, so I don’t make all those plans and see them come to a screeching halt because of a dead battery. The headphones are just to check that it’s working.
• Keep Kids Occupied: Personally, I don’t mind hearing my cute kids in the background, but the recording would probably be better for posterity if I can keep them from interrupting. Besides, that would just be rude of them. Fortunately for me, my oldest daughters are old enough to babysit, so I can give them instructions to keep the youngest quiet and that should work fairly well. Maybe. Let’s hope. For people with younger kids, I suggest a little creative babysitting—maybe ask the grandparent if a neighbor could come over the keep the kids busy, or if there are two grandparents, ask if one could watch the kids as the other is interviewed.
• Additional Questions: Search for questions online, as I’m not the only one gathering stories from parents and grandparents. Using thoughtful, open-ended questions to ask curated by others arms us with lots to choose from.
• Refrain from Audible Encouragement: I’ve listened to some interviews I’ve conducted and can’t stand to hear myself saying, “Mmhm…okay…sure….ha-ha-ha-ha!” or whatever response seemed important at the time. You will enjoy this much more if you just pose the question and let the storyteller do all of the talking. Smile. Nod. Nod more if you need to. Raise your eyebrows. But I recommend refraining from lots of murmuring. Oh, and this should go without saying, but—don’t interrupt! Let the storyteller talk herself all the way to the end, and if she thinks of another story, let her have at it. Just jot it down on the master list.
• Jot Notes in a Notebook: As the storyteller is talking, he might say something that makes me think of yet another story I want to hear or a question to ask. Scribble notes, but don’t distract from the story. Look up quickly and nod again.

Complementary Story-Capturing Ideas

1. Blog: I also got the idea of creating a group blog. I haven’t succeeded in setting it up so that family members can easily log in and contribute, but I’m working on it. In the meantime, at the very least, Mom and Dad can write up their stories, e-mail them to me, and I can post them on the blog. That way we have a written record of the stories, as well, and can direct extended family members to it, or we can just enjoy reviewing the stories ourselves.
2. Kids’ Assignments: Involving the kids as interviewers is an interesting twist on the idea. I haven’t yet assigned this to my oldest, but I think it could be a good project for school—interviewing her grandparents and creating a written report afterwards, along with memory pages for a scrapbook.
3. Skype/Zoom-Interview: I was greatly impressed with Boomama’s podcasts (I haven’t listened to Episode 3 yet, so the link takes you to Episode 2) that are created using Skype but Zoom will work just as well. I can use that technology to capturing family history and stories of the other set of grandparents overseas. For people with parents who live far away, this could be a way to expedite the story-gathering process (rather than waiting until a visit)—assuming that one’s parents (or grandparents) would be able to handle their end of the technology.
4. Transcriptions: Transcribing those stories could be a good project for my tweeners’ typing practice. It’s hard work, but what a great Christmas present they could give to family members! The typed-out version of the recordings, bound together and if possible, illustrated with photocopied photographs that relate to each story. If they can’t handle that, I could do it myself (and be the one to give the marvelous gift). If you don’t mind paying for it, you could hire a high-school or college student to do the transcription part for a fee. Or use a system like Temi.com (now owned by Rev.com) or HappyScribe, which offers imperfect but fast and fairly accurate AI transcription.
5. Video: Another method would be to videotape the storyteller as he or she talks. Video files can also be uploaded to HappyScribe for transcription.

As I continue with the story-gathering process, I’ll probably generate even more ideas and solutions. In the meantime, don’t lose those stories. Go to the storytellers and one way or another, collect them and preserve them. It’s part of your heritage and history.

Besides, if you’re a writer, it’s great stuff to have on hand. After all, you never know when you’ll be asked to write your memoirs, autobiography, or just want some great stuff for a novel (you didn’t hear that, Mom).

————————————————

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I remember settling sideways in a black, plastic chair to sit across from a new client. I was developing my freelance corporate writing career simultaneous to incubating my first baby. My client, a land developer, stared doubtfully at the tent-like awning—er, maternity blouse—brushing the edge of the table. I tried tucking my “bump” under the table, but that didn’t work. That’s why I ended up sitting sideways to take notes.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to finish this job?” he asked, gesturing to my bump, “I mean, will you finish it before…uh…in time?”

“Of course!” I chirped in reply. “The baby is due next month—plenty of time to complete your information packets. Let’s get started.”

After my meeting, I drove home wondering if he was right. Would I be able to finish his project? Even broader than that, would I be able to launch this part-time career and deal with a new baby? Could I be the mother I want to be and become the writer I want to be? Could I do both well?

I wasn’t sure.

Somewhere along the line I ran into a Madeleine L’Engle quote:.

During the long drag of years before our youngest child went to school, my love for my family and my need to write were in acute conflict. The problem was really that I put two things first. My husband and children came first. So did my writing. Bump. (p. 19)

The bump. How interesting that she chose that word when talking about motherhood: bump. Funny, with biological moms flaunting their bumps these days in photos on blogs.

Anyway, knowing that Madeleine L’Engle developed her writing life in the context of motherhood gave me hope. If Madeleine figured it out, maybe I could, too.

And then an amazing opportunity presented itself. During that phase of early motherhood when my computer keyboard was bumping regularly against the umbrella stroller (metaphorically speaking), Madeleine spoke at a college about two hours away from my house. A friend of mine and I eagerly secured tickets. As expected, her talk inspired my writing-mind with her musings on time and space and creativity.

After her message, she signed books. Just to get her autograph, we stood for a long time, maybe an hour, in a line that snaked down a hallway. Madeleine’s health wasn’t good at the time, so they streamlined the process to minimize her stress and strain (and maximize the number of people who got books signed) by having us open our books and file through the room in a certain way. It was orchestrated smoothly. They wouldn’t appreciate a glitch.

I’m famous for glitches.

As we inched closer to the table where she sat signing book after book, I kept thinking, This is my chance to get some nugget to hold onto, some hope that somehow I’ll be able to pull off motherhood and writing.

“How, Madeleine?” I wanted to ask. “How did you do it?”

Maybe as much as knowing how, I just wanted some encouragement from her.

Maybe I wanted to hear her say, “You can do it. You’ll make it.”

Maybe a knowing smile and a slight nod would be enough.

I’m sure I was a maddening companion for my friend Julia during our long wait. I waffled. Should I ask, or should I just say thank-you and move on? If I asked her, what would she have time to say in the instant we were face-to-face?

Actually, I had a long list of questions I’d like to ask her. But I would have about five seconds.

Of all the things I could ask Madeleine L’Engle during those seconds I would stand in front of her—a chance in a lifetime—you’d think I’d go for something more esoteric or profound. Or ask her something more personal about Crosswicks or life in New York. But at that stage in my life, the most pressing question nagging me involved writing and motherhood:

How? How would I do this?

I handed her a book to sign (Walking on Water). She asked for my name and scrawled a note on its pages. She looked up and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said. Then I blurted it out: “When your kids were young…how did you do it? How did you manage to write?”

She looked up at me.

Eye contact.

One beat.

Two beats.

I’m sure my eyes were bugged out a little from the desperation I felt inside. I needed to know.

Three beats.

Four beats.

“It was hard,” she said.

And that was all she said.

Then she looked past me, hand outstretched for the next book, to scrawl another name, another mindless message, to click the next cog in the wheel that would get the assembly line back in motion and make up for my glitch.

It was hard? I already know that, Madeleine. I’m living that. I’m struggling. I’m dealing with the bump—the conflict, the struggle—every day.

I shuffled along with Julia out of the room.

What did I expect? It was a book signing, and I deserved no more time, wisdom or insight than anyone else in that long line of fans.

But boy did I need it. I needed hope from some author-mom on the other side, with kids all grown, who could look back and assure me that I’d make it through—someone who could offer a few principles for how to handle that Bump.

Madeleine couldn’t offer that.

Deep down, I knew it even before I asked.

A bit later I found myself in a writing workshop. Holly Miller was teaching. She used to work for the Saturday Evening Post. She’s written books and countless magazine articles. She frequently teaches writing workshops and seminars.

The event was held years ago in a small, intimate setting. Unlike my limited, five-second exchange with Madeleine, I had time to chat with Holly. I was the mother of three kids at the time. They were still very young.

After the official seminar finished, the room cleared out except for a few stragglers. I stood back and listened as she interacted with three friends of mine. Then she turned her attention to me.

I was lugging my portfolio, which included feature articles I’d written for the newspaper. A magazine article or two. Some brochures.

I’m sure she was noting that same bug-eyed look of desperation that poor Madeleine had to face.

“Here’s some of my work,” I stammered. “My kids are all young. I want to write and develop myself more.” She was leafing through the pages. “But…you, Holly, you’ve ‘arrived.’ You’ve done it! You’ve pulled it off—I dream of one day being where you are now. And you did it with kids. I just wonder how? How did you do it?”

She looked into my pleading, buggy eyes and reassured me. “You’re doing it. I mean, you’ve got some nice work here. You’re getting your name out there. You’re working at it. I think you should feel good about what’s shaping up here.”

Then I remember her eyes. There was a shift. She asked how old my kids were. I told her, and her eyes grew distant, almost melancholy. I don’t know if that’s what it was, but that’s what I felt.

“I’m where I am today because I worked long hours full-time when my kids were young,” she continued. “And now they’re grown. You’ll still have time to develop your career later, but you only have now with your kids. Your kids are so little, and they’re little for such a short time. Right now, I suggest you focus on your children. You’ll never regret spending time with those kids.

“Keep your finger in the publishing world,” she concluded. “Just keep your name out there. Publish locally with your paper, like you are. Submit to magazines. Keep it going on a small scale and your time will come.”

Finally: An answer.

I thought I was looking for hope or a plan of action. What I was really looking for was: Perspective.

That wistful look has carried me for years. I did not want to live with regret that I gave too much to my career and not enough to my little children, so I let that reflective advice assure me, especially when others were building more impressive careers than mine, that my time will probably come. Eventually.

And if it turns out that my time never comes as a writer, I’ll have been (and be) the mom I want to be for my children.

I was never bug-eyed desperate after that.

Taking Holly’s advice, I’ve faithfully kept my finger out there in the publishing world:

• maintaining this blog
• submitting to a magazine now and then
• authoring a book
• writing for corporations, organizations and not-for-profits.

I could stand to be savvier. There’s probably a way to make money from all these words I compose for the blog. I’m working on new projects and ramping up my writing life in other ways.

Maybe my time is coming. Maybe not. We shall see. Lord willing, we shall see.

But there are still soccer games to support. Softball practices. Meals and birthdays. Doctor’s appointments and carpets to vacuum.

My little boy just today asked me to read Mirette on the High Wire, which I did, along with Mem Fox’s Wilfred Gordon McDonald Partridge and Possum Magic. And then we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and an apple cut up.

But he also had to wait while I finished up an e-mail that I had to send out for my freelance work, and when I told him he had to go to drop-off childcare so that I could attend some meetings, he muttered, “I wish you didn’t have this job.”

Parenting. Writing.

Bump. Bump. Bump.

Life’s an experiment. It evolves; I adapt.

I live, laugh, love…and write.

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To succeed, you must persevere.

J.K. Rowling, Agatha Christie and Hunter S. Thompson received their share of rejection letters. According to Lulu, “Stephen King got so many that he used to nail them on a spike under a timber in his bedroom.”

In the Christian market, Max Lucado received rejections from 14 publishers before On the Anvil was accepted, and Frank Peretti also stuck it out in spite of 14 rejections. Don’t know what’s up with the number 14, but that’s a lot of rejection. It would surely tempt a person to doubt. I can feel like giving up after only the fourth rejection. I can be kind of insecure that way.

But they persevered. Max Lucado is a household name in Christian households, and Frank Peretti has certainly made an impact with his books on the spiritual realm. They have remarkable perseverance to keep working and submitting in light of twelve, then thirteen, and then fourteen rejections. They both had to send it out a 15th time to find a taker.

It’s hard to get rejected so many times that your file folder starts to bulge with all of that negativity, or your paper shredder jams with the sheer number of sheets you’re jamming in.

Perseverance sends you back to the computer chair to keep tapping away, composing a new cover letter, maybe even composing a completely new opening to a new article or reworking a chapter. Perseverance studies submission guidelines and sends off queries. Hope, faith and prayer come in handy, too.

My dad is fond of a Winston Churchill quote that sums it up nicely: Never, never, never give up.

Not in war.

Not in writing.

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If Midwestern places are so grim and gray, why do writers keep recalling them, sometimes after decades of living far away? What draws the imagination back across the miles and years? The chief lure is the country itself; the forests, fields, and prairies, the wandering rivers, wide skies, dramatic weather, the creekbeds lined with sycamores and limestone, the grasses and flowers, hawks and hickories, moths and cicadas and secretive deer. Again and again in literature about the Midwest you find a dismal, confining human realm – farm, village, or city – embedded in a mesmerizing countryside… By turns cruel and comforting, the land holds them, haunts them, lingers in their memory and bones.Scott Russell SandersWriting from the Center(as quoted in this online article)

While I’m concerned about the effect of the “dismal, confining human realm,” if it indeed exists, I have focused more on the “mesmerizing countryside.” I’m trying very hard to appreciate the sycamores and limestone, cicadas and secretive deer. I guess that’s why I write about worms, crawdads, and trees.And I suppose that these topics–this humble, rural subject matter–have exposed my obvious roots. I shouldn’t be surprised that people take note.For example, when Mom in Action delurked to wish me a Happy Birthday, she wrote, “Your writing evokes a midwestern charm and perspective that I miss. I’ve enjoyed connecting with my roots again through your writing.” I was at first delighted–we’ve discovered via e-mail that we have a mutual friend and ran track against each other in high school–but the fact that my writing “evokes a midwestern charm and perspective” also makes me wonder if I should be a little embarrassed, as if I’m exposed as the rube I may in fact be. Should I be aiming for a higher level of sophistication, or tickled that my writing feels like a safe little country cottage, glowing and warm from a bright fire crackling in the fireplace?Am I so obviously a midwestern blogger?As I’ve been reflecting on these things, I happened to be reading Chosen By a Horse, a memoir by Susan Richards. She had to transport a sick horse six hours away (one way) for treatment just before Christmas and needed someone to ride with her.

I got out my address book and started going through it. As soon as I came to Dorothy’s name I reached for the phone. She was the right friend for this trip. She didn’t know anything about horses, but she was kind and loving and strong. She was the only friend I had who was from the Midwest, and it showed. She was as sensible as a wool hat.”Sure,” she said without hesitating. “I’ll make corn bread.” (p. 170)

I stopped right on that line and re-read the passage. Dorothy was from the Midwest, and it showed, Richards wrote. Some of the adjectives she selected for Dorothy were “kind,” “loving” and “strong.”I guess I wouldn’t mind being known as kind, loving and strong.Richards also described her as sensible–as sensible as a wool hat.Sensible is good.Sensible is…safe.Sensible is….woolen.Sensible is….midwestern.And I do make good cornbread.I am a wool hat.I am Dorothy.I can’t get around it: I’m a Midwesterner.

And I’m dealing with it.

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Sorry. Where was I?

Oh, yes, regarding that post. Well, I thought I’d stick it here on my WordPress blog and get some input. I updated the number of blogs that I referenced; otherwise, this is exactly what I wrote. Perhaps you can tell me why it would be getting so much traffic, and feel free to address the question I posed at the end:

People want to be heard. Lots of people–55 million bloggers are being tracked by Technorati alone–all blogging their hearts out!

At one point during this surfing, I was struck by the sheer numbers of blogs and suddenly pictured them stuffed inside bottles, corked and floating in a virtual sea. Just like the song by the Police, “Message in a Bottle,” where Sting hopes that someone gets his message in a bottle, then walks out one morning and can’t believe what he sees–a hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore.

Maybe we’re all just castaways, tossing out our ideas and thoughts in hopes that someone will get our message. Maybe everyone is scribbling, cramming, corking their messages and tossing them into the worldwide web…and no one is reading them.

Or maybe people are reading them…maybe there are twice as many readers as bloggers, and they really are making an impact. If so, it’s a fascinating phenomenon. It’s surely changing us in significant ways: language and vocabulary, the concept of publishing and readership, communication, transfer and cross-fertilization of ideas. All of that is evolving into something new. Highly intelligent people who have never published a book or magazine article are sharing their insights. Average Joes and Josephines with profound life stories can encourage the world.

Whether or not people are reading blogs, they do represent a new freedom of speech being exercised. How can we make the most of it–as readers and writers?

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