Writers' Retreat - Part I

In early September, I will be attending a writers’ residency – seven days and nights without cell phone, internet, television, day job, housework, yard work, errands, pets, or any of the thousand and one distractions that take time and can be used as excuses to not write. I am so looking forward to it. For that one week, I’ve given myself permission to be selfish. To only think of my needs and wants, and to do nothing but write. Glorious.

It occurred to me this past weekend that I should be chronicling the experience from beginning to end and posting about it here. Sometimes, I’m slow. Really, really slow. So, forgive me as we go back in time to February and March 2009, when I was exploring my options and submitting an application.

Where to Apply

One of the first things I had to decide was where to apply. I’ve been collecting information on grants, fellowships, residencies, and workshops and staring at the different websites with longing for a couple of years now. The idea of going some place where writing was all I had to focus on more than appealed to me. This year, I’d decided to look at some of the places quite seriously and apply for either this year or the next if I could find one that fit. There are a number of very real external factors – most people, me included, do not have the luxury of just dropping all of our responsibilities and disappearing for weeks at a time. If we did – if I did – writing time would not be an issue.

I already knew I did not want a workshop. Workshops specialize in critiquing and helping writers improve. I’m not saying my writing is perfect – far from it. There are lots of areas I need to work on, so maybe I will apply for Clarion or Viable Paradise one day, but this time around, I was seeking dedicated work space and time. Some place I could go and be alone with the voices in my head and the words on the page.

Real Life Considerations

That said, there are some very real considerations that have nothing to do with writing or my desires that had to be taken into account when choosing where and when to apply. I have commitments that limit the amount of time I can step outside of my normal existence for this experience. I currently have a part-time day job. Since I don’t earn vacation time, I wasn’t certain how much time I would be permitted to take off, especially since I’d been there for less than a year. My boss assured me that I could take off for two weeks and she would not fire me. I didn’t ask about any longer than that because, quite frankly, I still have bills to pay and more than that would have been too much a strain on my household budget. Plus, there are my freelancing deadlines to consider. And the thesis, which my advisor tells me I’m no longer permitted to call ‘The Never-ending Thesis,’ just so you know.

Many of my readers might have to take into account household and familial responsibilities, too. I do have the benefit of sharing a home with my mother. While we each have our chores about the house, for the most part, if one person disappears for the time, the other can pick up the slack. If I were married or had a child, this would be a different story. If I was living alone, there would be a different set of concerns that would have to be addressed. Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about any of these things, but even so, I could not consider places like the Art Farm, where they prefer residents to stay for 8 to 12 weeks at a time. This was not an option for me, not this time around.

Eligibility

Beyond the length of the stay, the eligibility requirements of some of the places I found meant I could not apply. For example, some require that the writer be from certain places or their work to relate to the area where the residency is located. Others want the work to have a certain theme or focus. Because I’m still a student, I was ineligible for a number of others.

Then there were the ones that I’m just not qualified for. They are the type of opportunities where writers who are much more established in their careers than I am would apply. I had to play the odds. If I wanted this, I had to focus on places where I had a realistic chance of getting accepted.

Even so, there was a long list of options available to me. At least technically. Other variables meant I could not pursue some places, no matter how much they made me go weak in the knees.

Financing

One of the first places I discovered that I thought I could realistically attend was the Mary Anderson Center in Indiana, but they charge $45 per day. Given that this covers most meals, it’s more than reasonable, but when you’re looking at a week or more, it also adds up rather quickly. Seven days is over $315. Not only would I be losing a week’s pay from the day job, I’d have to pay out over $300. Again, reasonable and fair, but not an option for me right now. Maybe next year – maybe – but definitely not this year.

I wish financing weren’t such a weighty factor in my decision-making of where to apply, but I can’t escape the fact that it was and probably will be whenever I have the opportunity to try for a residency or fellowship. I imagine the same is true for most of my readers, too.

Location

The location of the residency was a factor for two reasons: travel time and travel expense. Yep. There’s that financial thing rearing its ugly head again. There’s no escaping it. I am not independently wealthy. But, again, if I were, the writing time thing wouldn’t be as big of an issue.

While I might have loved to apply to Soapstone – and one day I will apply either there or to Hedgebrook – having to travel to the Pacific Northwest, but that would add three to four days of overland travel – which would mean more time away from the day job that pays the bill – or airline tickets – which can be expensive if one can’t find deals that match travel dates. Also, with airline travel, I have to either coordinate pick-up and departure times with someone else or a rental car. Some places don’t offer any airport shuttles as part of the retreat or fellowship. Either way, the travel expenses and the deficit from the day job paycheck add up quickly. These things must be considered.

I needed to limit my selection to locations within a day’s drive. Preferably closer. This, finally, seriously shortened the list of possible places I could apply.

Many places have application deadlines. I found one place that seemed ideal, at least as far as the above concerns went, and it had the added benefit of having an early deadline. I decided to apply there and see what happened before exploring the other possibilities in more depth.

More about where I applied in Part II.

Soap Making & Professionalism

This summer, I started attending farmers’ markets. I’ve been searching for fruit, since my mother’s companion provides us with more than enough vegetables to see us through the year, let alone the season. I’ve also been looking for girlie products, since I’m a sucker for such things and nothing quite beats well-crafted homemade soap. So far, I’ve discovered three such vendors at two different markets. I’ve bought products from two of the three. Both women that I bought soaps from were very friendly. They made themselves available to answer my questions, their displays were attractive and well organized, despite the fact they were set up on a folding table in the middle of the street, and they took the time to help me select the product that I would enjoy. One even offered me a money back guarantee.

The third… Well, the woman didn’t meet my eye, couldn’t be bothered to stand when I approached, was indifferent to my questions, didn’t seem to know her product, and everything was just sort of tossed out on the table.

The products of the first two women were everything they promised. I could easily become a regular customer of one or both of them, even though one is slightly out of my way. I’m definitely going to buy more soap from one of them before my writer’s residency. Something in a nice lavender, though that might be too relaxing for what I’m hoping is a highly productive week.

I have not, and cannot imagine, trying the third woman’s products. Thing is, they may be just as good, or even better, than the other two people’s. Soap making might be her passion. She might be brilliant at it. I don’t know. Why then won’t I try something of hers just to find out? Her appearance, her presentation, and even her attitude were unprofessional and I have no reason to believe that she didn’t have the same lax, uncaring attitude and inattention to detail when she created the products she wanted me to try. Why should I shell out my hard-earned dollars or risk my skin to find out, especially when there are two other people, one in the same farmers market, who are willing to take the extra time to market their products and answer questions in such a way that I’m easily reassured about their quality even before I make a purchase?

The same is true of writing. Editors have a choice. Trust me. I’ve now served not only as the editor who makes the selections, but also as an editor who helps whip manuscripts into shape prior to publication. There is absolutely no reason for any editor to choose to work with any writer who thinks they are the gods’ gift to literature. Ego. Disparaging readers. Unwillingness to accept criticism. These things are huge turn-offs and, rather than dealing with them on an on-going basis, editors are more than willing – and rightly so – to reject a well-written manuscript or terminate a contract. It’s just not worth the stress, especially when there are a whole slew of far more professional writers offering similar products for sale. (And, no, your story is not that unique. It’s just not.)

Does this mean writers need to kowtow to editors and brown nose in order to get published? Definitely not. What it does mean is that as a writer, you need to bring more than just a well-written manuscript to the table. You need to not only be a professional, you must also present yourself as such. Part of this are the things we often hear about:

• Use correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation
• Format your manuscript properly
• Read and follow the writers’ guidelines

Beyond these things, though, the writer who would like to make a career out of this writing thing needs to:

• Be humble

Leave the ego at the door. You may have tons of talent. You may be an extremely skilled storyteller. You might just be the next big thing, but even so, no one owes you anything. Not the editors, not the agents, not publishers, not the booksellers, and certainly not the readers.

Life is too short to spend it dealing with people who look down at their colleagues and, worse, their customers.

• Listen

To an editor, a quality product isn’t just about delivering an innovative story or an article with an interesting angle. It’s also about providing a story or article that the editor can use. If they make suggestions, or indicate a certain need: Listen. Be willing to make changes or extend yourself in order to meet an editor’s needs.

• Communicate

If something isn’t going well with the project, if something comes up – personal or otherwise – let the editor know. Be willing to admit your limitations. Be honest about what you are able to do, both with yourself and with the editor. This includes asking for extensions on deadlines if you’re not going to be able to make one.

• Stand behind your product

When turning something in, make certain it is nothing you will be embarrassed to have written. While there’s nothing wrong with using a pseudonym, and in some cases there are very valid reasons for doing so, make certain you can still point to the quality of writing with pride and say, “I wrote that.”

• Manage your first impressions

In this business, reputation is everything and that reputation often begins with first impressions. Thing is, in this increasingly virtual world, writers often cannot be certain where those first impressions will occur. Will it be at a con? In e-mail? On a writers’ forum? In your blog? Wherever you are, behave as if the person you wish to work with will “meet” you first through the words you leave behind.

Also, when you land a gig, make certain you treat each assignment as if it were the first one and you were establishing yourself with this editor. They say one unhappy customer will lose you ten more. As a writer, how many editors can you really afford to not do business with?

This list is in no way inclusive of everything we as writers must be aware of in order to be and be treated as professionals. It is only a start. The important thing is, just like with the two soap makers who impressed me, to remember that writing and publishing is a business and it is up to each of us how we manage our company of one. We are the only ones who can control how our customers see us. Leave as little as possible to chance and take control of what you can.

Nothing is Created in a Vacuum

Our family often seeks inspiration from others when it comes to home organization. For example, there is a bar constructed of pipes hanging above my mother’s washer and dryer. I thought it had been her innovation, but turns out she borrowed it from my cousin, her niece. Another cousin, this one on my father’s side of the family, once confessed that for the layout of her much larger kitchen, she used our smaller, eat-in kitchen, as inspiration. She liked the idea of the cooking taking place at one end while the family could gather round the kitchen table at the other.

Understand, no one stole any of the ideas. I don’t think any of them are that unique. Nor, if you were to step into the three separate homes, would the casual observer see more than the base similarity between the any ideas. “Oh, look, you have a table in your kitchen. Didn’t I see the same thing in your cousin’s house? Hey! You’ve got four walls and an exterior door in here, too. Now, wait a minute…”

Still, the inspiration exists. Nothing, as they say, is created in a vacuum. We all get our ideas from somewhere. Then we take them and make them our own.

The same is true with writing. No author, beginner or otherwise, should avoid reading. In fact, we should all read as much as our schedules allow. Our inspiration will come not only from the world around us, the experiences we have and observe, but also from what others have written. This is not plagiarism. It is not copying. It is not stealing. It is seeking inspiration where it exists to be found.

I have heard young writers claim that such things as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is nothing more than fanfiction of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. To say such things shows a gross misunderstanding of what literature is and how it comes into being. Nothing is created in a vacuum.

If you’ve followed my blog for any time, or engaged me elsewhere in the internet, you’ve heard me talk about the interconnectivity of literature, how it is conversation that occurs across time and space. This is why we, as writers, read. To learn what has been said before. Without this knowledge, we are unable to fully utilize our skills to create meaningful stories that engage our readers and have a chance to stand the test of time.

If we, as authors, have any talent, we are able to take what we read and, not only respond to it, but we also use it. We take snippets of things we’ve seen, ideas that others have used, and we recreate them in new and innovative ways, that really aren’t all that new or innovative, just changed enough to make it our own. We engage in the conversation and, if the reader looks hard enough, they will still be able to see the threads connecting our work to what has come before. After all (repeat after me), nothing is created in a vacuum.

Fairy Tale Nightmares

My mother would not let me read The Terrible Nung Gwama to my nephew at bedtime this past weekend. It’s Chinese version of Little Red Riding Hood, but instead of encountering a wolf on the way to Grandma’s house and being rescued by a woodsman, the girl-woman in the story is on her way to her venerable parents and encounters a monster known as the Nung Gwama. This monster, because the girl refuses to give him the food she is taking to her parents, promises to come by her house that evening and eat her. This, understandably, reduces the girl to tears. Several peddlers happen along and give her gifts, which she uses to defeat the Nung Gwama later that evening.

Now, the parts of the story that my mother objected to as a bedtime story were the descriptions of how the monster consumed his victims, not eating them delicately, but crunching on them, bones, head, hair, and all. Not to mention all the violence done to the monster – he’s bitten by poisonous snakes, has his fingers snacked on by fish, and is blinded by exploding eggs – before he is destroyed at the end of the story.

“But, Mom,” I told her, “it’s a fun story. I like it.”

“You’re thirty-eight. He’s six.” She paused. “You can read it to him during the day, when the sun is out, but you cannot read it to him at bedtime.”

Knowing when I’m fighting a losing battle, and not particularly wanting to deal with a six year old’s nightmares on his one and only night in town myself, I relented, making only one comment about what the non-Disney versions of Cinderella and Snow White actually contained. Cinderella’s stepsisters slice of parts of their feet in order to fit into the slipper and Snow White forces the queen to dance to her death in red hot iron shoes.

Thing is, these fairy tales teach us how to deal with ourselves and the world around us. Not to the point of showing us how to peck out our siblings’ eyes or kill our (step)mothers, but by allowing us to acknowledge our inner demons and letting us know that we are not alone in how we feel. Such fairy tales serve as a reflection of our deepest inner selves. Children denied such outlets become repressed adults. Adults denied such outlets become depressed.

I’m not certain when we started protecting children to the point where we tried to deny not only was the world sometimes ugly but that we ourselves are sometimes ugly, but that’s what’s happened to children’s literature. It’s become sanitized. It denies the humanity of the reader. Recent publications seek to educate without enlightening the individual.

But we need the mirror that literature, and fairy tales in particular, represents in order to better understand who we are as a people, even if that truth does sometimes give us nightmares.