Wednesday, July 20, 2011

An Atavistic Apologue...


When I was fifteen, the most fascinating thing in the world was history. But not just any history--my family's history. I was on a quest to find adventure, and the most feasible option was to live vicariously on the tales of my forefathers.

I discovered a family history of bootleggers, railroaders, immigrants, and much much more. Even better, I discovered that my granddad sailed to Brazil on a steamboat, trapped in the Yukon, ranched, farmed, and couldn't enlist in the military because he didn't have a permanent address.

Yep. I like to think of him as the family hobo (if you overlook the negative connotations of that word [ehem, rotten teeth]), traveling the world and working any trade that was handy. His mother died of the Spanish Flu, he ran away as a twelve-year-old (got work on a certain steamboat I've mentioned) and he's been going strong ever since.

One day, I will really write his story.

*Atavistic Apologue

Friday, July 15, 2011

On the Horizon


I'm excited. My two weeks of summer break are coming up soon, and I have some awesome goings-on to look forward to.

First, my band, Foley Bluegrass, will be playing at the Lubbock Country Club and at an Ice Cream Social that serves as a fundraiser for a really old, really cool school-building*.

Second, the Tony Hillerman short-mystery-story deadline is fast approaching, and I will be submitting my short story, "Coffee and Cartels," to it! The folks over at Word Harvest can expect my entry soon.

Between song writing, mystery writing, and academic writing, I have my hands full right now. But busy doesn't have to be a bad thing...and it doesn't have to stop me from plotting my next story and/or song...

Speaking of busyness, I'm off to write another paper. Later!

*Picture of me, my sister, and my husband at the old Close City schoolhouse.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

I need some SPACE!

I learned a lot this past month about writing. Specifically, rewriting--rewriting the past.
I've been writing fiction for nearly seven years, and I'd like to think I've made headway in that time. But, if my writing doesn't mean anything or change anything, what is the point?

So, after reading Object Lessons by Irish poet, Eavan Boland, I've decided to follow her example and start revising, re-appropriating within my own work. After all, my mystery is set in New Mexico and bolstered with Mexican and New Mexican folklore. Where is my place in that lore? Well, that's what I'm working to discover--my place and the places of others like me. People alive and struggling for space right NOW.

Interestingly, a character I thought was minor for months has suddenly taken on a role as story-teller inside my novel. She's renovating in ways I never saw coming, and it's a good, good thing.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Courage and Writing

There's a quote on my favorite coffee cup that inspires me to keep writing: "Courage doesn't always roar," it says, "Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow'."

In the midst of doubts as to my writing ability (six rejections, on different pieces, in the last two weeks), it helps to remain objective--I'll take it one day at a time.

Friday, June 3, 2011

A Place of My Own...

I'm starting grad school on Monday, and today that means rereading part of Virginia Woolf's essay, "A Room of One's Own." Usually, I wouldn't chronicle my academic forays on this blog, but this particular reading assignment is of particular interest to me as a woman writer.

Woolf's essay touches on some pivotal issues that I really do face when I'm writing. As a woman--even a 20th or 21st century, or whatever darn century this is, woman--I have to struggle against precedents in the fields of fiction and academic writing. Precedents that, in Woolf's time, were set by men. The precedents have now been added to by women. In my case, that is a bad thing. For example, women writers in my favorite genre, mystery/thriller, have often written romantic mysteries, cozy mysteries, thrillers in which the protagonist is a female victim and males must save her (read any Iris Johansen novel), and etc. Because of this, if I use my full name as an author, my works may be overlooked or assumed to be inferior as serious mysteries.

I'm not arguing that women's contributions to genre writing are bad, because they aren't. I'm just saying that they are typified or categorized differently, marketed differently, portrayed differently, and valued differently. Some of this difference in merited; most of it is not.

When Woolf states that she thinks all women need a room of their own and 500 pounds a year in order to be able to write, she is arguing that they need a place, a precedent, in order gain independence, credibility, a foundation. More than that, though, they need a name. A name that is not decided by the dominant male writers in their field. I agree. I need ground to write on, the ability and the space to create despite the ever-pressing ideologies, duties, and demands of society. I need room to develop my own place and name, I don't want to be shaped into the mold.

And, speaking of molds, take a look at this mystery writing mold: Twenty Rules for Writing Detective Stories.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Poetry...

I don't consider myself a poet, but every once in a while I get an urge to write a poem. Or two. Take, for instance, my entry in the Spring 2011 literary journal my university produces:

Economy of Wounds

I’ll show you my scars

If you reveal yours

Silent reminders

Of many past wars

My own revolutions

Against being me

You’d call me a fraud

If you could see

I’ll show you my scars

If you reveal yours

Some self inflicted

To gain cheap rewards

My own revolutions

They aren’t all me

I need them for status

Nobody is free

This "inexplicable" urge, however, is actually explainable. And I really like the explanation. My great, great grandmother was a poet. She wrote haiku, free-verse, structured poems, and more. Every so often I rediscover the one book of hers I have. I never met her, but every time I read her poems I feel connected to her--and my crazy, writerly ways are a little bit more explainable.

Here is a poem she wrote:

Confession

The language, I admit, I abuse it

And frequently misuse it

With forethought quite malicious.

Now come on and admit you peruse it,

And thoughtfully chews it

With distaste quite delicious. --Kelly



Yep…I think we’re related.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Moving and Books

I have very toned arm muscles, and its not because I do an obscene amount of push-ups on a weekly basis. Nope. I carry books up and down stairs. Repeatedly.

Moving can be exciting, exhausting, and terrifying, but books make it even more so. It would be devastating to me to leave my books behind whenever I move. And, honestly, unpacking my books is the first thing I do after every move.

Still, my arms hurt. And look very muscular. I guess there will always be pros and cons...