Musing

Exercise Your InkTank

It has always seemed to me that muses are more useful as subject of blame, than they are as guiding forces behind the writing. We can curse them when we’re stuck, hung up, or lost, and avoid the shame of knowing only we are to blame for the lack of inspiration in our work. Creative blocks stall many writers and even the psychologists agree that it’s a sticky matter. No one can confirm or deny the existence of writers block as a specific diagnosable condition and recently The New Yorker ran a piece suggesting our culture is at least in part to blame for its prevalence; it seems writers block is a modern invention, first appearing in the literary lexicon in the early 19th century. Once you have a word for a thing it become a real thing, doesn’t it? But surely this is a struggle as old as language, as old as old. And while we here at InkTank won’t offer you a quick fix or an herbal remedy, there is an entire industry out there ready to exploit you. For only $119 you can order unblocking software that will unlock your creative energies forever. You’ll never not write again.

When I’m stuck it’s usually because I’m not sure what I want to say, or because I’m worried that I don’t have anything to say. Writers like Elizabeth Bishop have cited their students’ lack of experience in the world as the cause of a certain frailty in their work (the Paris Review Interviews) and I can believe it. I try not to feel as though I need to trek through the Amazon in order to have something important or interesting to say, but I do value the experiences I have had—I don’t know where my writing would be without them.

We’ve talked about our writing wells, how we conceive of them and how to expand them. So far, the only advice I feel solid about giving is this: read more and write more. Most of the writers I’ve talked to say the same thing or something similar. Of course, there are things we can try right here. One is to memorize a Berryman or Bishop poem and then write from our memories on it. Another is to write about the very first moment we remember wanting to tell a story, and then write about what we’ve written. I’ll give you all the option. Pick one and run with it.

Casabianca
By Elizabeth Bishop

Love’s the boy stood on the burning deck
trying to recite ‘The boy stood on
the burning deck.’ Love’s the son
stood stammering elocution
while the poor ship in flames went down.

Love’s the obstinate boy, the ship,
even the swimming sailors, who
would like a schoolroom platform, too,
or an excuse to stay
on deck. And love’s the burning boy.


Dream Song One: Huffy Henry Hid the Day
By John Berryman

Huffy Henry hid the day,
unappeasable Henry sulked.
I see his point,—a trying to put things over.
It was the thought that they thought
they could do it made Henry wicked & away.
But he should have come out and talked.

All the world like a woolen lover
once did seem on Henry's side.
Then came a departure.
Thereafter nothing fell out as it might or ought.
I don't see how Henry, pried
open for all the world to see, survived.

What he has now to say is a long
wonder the world can bear & be.
Once in a sycamore I was glad
all at the top, and I sang.
Hard on the land wears the strong sea
and empty grows every bed

A List of Useful Texts in No Particular Order:

You asked for a list of books and I've delivered. These texts are not required reading for the Writers Salon. But they are good books to have as a writer. Look for updates in the future. And please send recommendations if you have them.

The Story and Its Writer, Edited by Ann Charters, Bedford/St. Martin's.
I’d say any edition of this book would do, but I don’t know anything about the compact version. It’s always available used because it’s often a required text in college courses. I like it because it’s a good anthology, a good introduction to literary writers for those who are new to the genre and a good reference for those who are old hands. I recommend it because it includes a number of interviews and essays that expand the experience of the writing, some of which can’t be found elsewhere, and because it includes a useful list of literary terms, a solid history of the story, and interesting biographical notes.

Poems, Poets, Poetry, Edited by Helen Vendler, Bedford.
I like this anthology as an anthology, but I also like its plainspoken approach to matters of craft. Vendler explains what she means, which is nice as long as you agree with her meaning.

The Elements of Style, by William Strunk and E.B. White, Longman.
Any edition of this book will do. You can pick it up used for under $10. Go here for the basic principles of composition, grammar, word usage and misusage, and writing style.

The Best American (Insert Genre Here), Houghton Mifflin, Any Year.
Of late, this series has been expanding exponentially. I can’t attest to the quality of all of them, but I can say that these books will give you a good sense of what’s going on in any given genre. The best work is selected from the top literary magazines and published every year in an affordable collection. If you can’t get around to buying many journals, this may be the way to go. By the way 2000 was a great year for the short story edition. I’m also a fan of The Best American Short Stories of the Century.

The Paris Review Interviews, Picador.
There are several volumes of interviews; I’ve got volume one and can attest to its usefulness. It’s great. Use it to learn what the writers you admire (and the writers who have escaped your attention) have to say about writing, about craft, about living.

On Moral Fiction, John Gardner, Basic Books.
If you’ve ever wondered about the source of this continuous dream business, here it is. I recommend this book because it engages us in a useful conversation about what art does and what it means. It informs much of my thinking about the teaching of writing and it’s a book many people know, which means it’s an easy reference.

Habitations of the Word, William Gass, Cornell.
I recommend this book as a way to continue the conversation that I begin with Gardner. If you’re upset by the notion that all art is obligated to mean, this book of essays is for you. It’s also a good place to begin a conversation about language.

Ariadne’s Thread: Story Lines, J. Hillis Miller, Yale U Press.
This is a tough book. It may kick your ass. But you will be ten times smarter after reading it. It begins with a story that becomes a metaphor for storytelling: the story of Theseus and his journey out of the Minotaur’s labyrinth.

Poets & Writers
This is the leading magazine for literary writers. I am not often impressed by the writing or the reportage, but it does list all of the contests, calls for submissions, and conferences. Of course, you can always look at those for free online: http://www.pw.org/mag/grantsawards.htm

Revising the Sky of Mold

Exercise Your InkTank
It’s Really Revision

Is it because you’re lazy that you don’t revise—because you’re okay enough with what you’ve written not to care if your readers must struggle through the weak spots? Or is it because you’re afraid it’s too hard to revise, too dangerous, or too time-consuming? Is it because you yourself have not carefully read what you’ve written that you don’t revise? Or is it because you’ve formed an unhealthy relationship with the words as you’ve placed them on the page that you don’t revise—because you think they’re so precious, far too precious to disrupt? Is it because you believe that writing is a mystical magical process and that revision is clinical and evil process that you don’t revise? Or because you believe yourself to be a writing deity, a genius for whom revision is synonymous with weakness? Perhaps you’ve made the mistake of conflating proofreading with revision. They’re not the same, you know. Perhaps you don’t trust in your own facility with the language enough to revise, or perhaps you’ve never revised simply because you’re not sure what revision is. If I sound upset, it’s because I’m being theatrical. Oh, there’s a point: you must revise. None of your excuses are good enough not to revise.

If you’re having trouble, it might be helpful to think of revision as re-seeing or re-imagining. It’s about clarity and it’s about an awareness of the reader as a meaningful presence. Of course, grammar and mechanics are a part of it—you’ve got to keep the page clean. But beyond that, revision is about ensuring that the reader is never disrupted from the continuous dream of the story without a damn good reason. Disruptions can occur every level—the sentence, perspective, character, plot, voice, or even time—and they cause the reader to leave us. Once we lose them, they may never come back. We’ll be alone and unhappy and our writing won’t be getting any better any time soon.

Workshops can give you what your own eyes often can’t: a view from outside the storytelling. But you have to be prepared to lose much (sometimes almost all) of what you have on the page in order to move forward with your writing. Writing is a recursive process, after all. You learn more as you go along and you employ what you’ve learned. It’s hard work that will get you there—not magic, not luck, not even booze.

Please Re-see Me
In order that we might put a spotlight on revision, let’s think about workshopping the following excerpt and determining its strengths and weaknesses. Based on our conversation, we’ll then revise it on our own as individuals. Take the good and lose the not so good, even if the good is only a single word or an image.

Existing is about being unique. Existence, reality, essence, cause, or truth is uniqueness. The geometric point in the center of the sphere is nature’s symbol of the immeasurable uniqueness within its measurable effect. A center is always unique; otherwise it would not be a center. Because uniqueness is reality, or that which makes a thing what it is, everything that is real is based on a centralization. Seven years ago, I was about to become centralized. I couldn’t have known where it would take me, but I could have guessed that it would take me to the center. To her. To Maria. Her hair was the kind of hair that moved without actually moving. Her eyes were the kind of eyes that saw without looking. We came together in nature’s own mysterium and our essences became a reality. I’d never experienced anything like that before. When she left, it was as though the sky were eaten through with mold. Now she’s the center of another’s existence and the sky mold is eating through me.