Unnecessary Quotations

I just can't handle unnecessary quotations. Few things peeve me more than this heinous grammatical crime. This sign actually caused a bowel movement. But, my view of humanity was restored when I saw that one costumer mocked the sign with her own mandate: Please clean bathroom! -customer.  Unfortunately, she leaves me with an itchy brain by not completely the mocking by adding unnecessary quotes around "clean." Please, if you plan on mocking a sign with unnecessary quotations, please, "FINISH" the job! - Management.

For those of you willing to admit that you, like the sad sack who wrote this sign, have the same offensive problem with grammar, please take advantage of this pocket-sized resource available at your local Amazon.com. 

I won! I won!

2011 Numero Cinq Erasure Contest
My entry was not nearly as amazing as the announcement of the winner, so I think I will share that instead:

At long last, after much delay occasioned by feckless judges who are next thing to derelicts and juvenile delinquents, using Numéro Cinq expense accounts to go on sea and surf vacations in Guadeloupe, stock their wine cellars, and buy braces for their kids. One judge financed matching face lifts for himself and his dog out of his NC per diems. This is what the management has to put up with. On the other hand, the judges are in unanimous agreement for a change. Their matchless literary tastes have coincided. And who cares about their personal foibles as long as they deliver pristine and irreproachable judgments—eventually?

And to this end, all the NC judges agreed, that for wit and arrogance, this time, no one could touch Sarah Braud’s entry (with or without the “illegal” numbers). The finalists were brilliant, but there was just too much twist in the tail of Sarah’s last line to resist. And in a literary world where often the words are delivered by and meant for men, this entry flips the entire culture on its head—starting with the words “rules” followed by the deliciously subversive “Avoid exercise.” It does it with sublime timing, exuberance and mischievous glee.

Congratulations! Three cheers! 21-gun salute! You are now the object of envy of the Entire Literary World, possibly the Universe. Soon people who barely know you will be asking for help with their entries for the next NC contest (and possibly small loans).  One piece of advice: Do not accept emails from NC Contributing Editors asking you for credit card and bank account information. It is simply not true that Rich Farrell needs your help to succeed to that $1 million inheritance from his Mexican uncle.

The list of OFFICIAL ENTRIES for this year’s contest is here. And the PEOPLE’S CHOICE winner is here. The Official Finalists are here.

The winning entry reads:

I have laid down the Rules:
1. Avoid Exercise.
2. Make art.
3. Follow a man who helps you and lets you hit him.

—Sarah Braud

(Text swiped from Numéro Cinq online literary magazine)Clearly, the judges at Numero Cinq are brilliant (evidenced by their final choice). If you'd like to read more of their brilliance: check out Douglas Glover's lastest novel, Elle. 

Fits and Spurts

I try to be consistent. I really do. But, I have also started embracing the me that is sporadic. Maybe not-cleaning-up-as-you-go can be a positive attribute. Growing up, we would clean our bedrooms on Saturdays. During the week, though, it all went to pot. Clothes, dirty dishes, homework, crafts, blankets from our forts and more would end up littering our bedrooms, and we were content to live in the squaller. Saturday morning though, after our routine cartoon watching, we'd head to our rooms and Mom would call us more than once  to use our elbow grease.

There is nothing wrong with that system. Am I right? If you aren't  in the mood to clean up after yourself day-in, day-out, it's fine, as long as, at some point, the elbow is greased and  life is put back in order, cobwebs removed and mold is kept at bay. It's all a facade anyhow. The illusion that we are in control of something. We aren't really.  Cleaning is for those who need that fantasy of control. The real risk-takers are those who cast off discipline and perseverance for the less neurotic form of living, mop-free.

Did you see those babies in the documentary aptly entitled Babies?  You had your clean and safe North American and Asian babies with their FDA and APA-approved car seats and organic, toxin free baby wipes. Then you had your rolling in the red dirt and sleeping with the rooster babies from Mongolia and Africa. And that baby from Mongolia just made me feel like butter. What a happy child. Even when his brother whacked him behind his mother's back. Even when he almost put himself through an involuntary brist climbing off a rusty barrell, in the middle of a cow pasture. That mama was not worried about keeping her yurt germ free. But, I digress.

My point is, I am not consistent. With anything. Cleaning, writing, you name it. But that doesn't necessarily have to be a character flaw. It can be a conduit of inspiration. Like, right now, for example. Instead of cleaning up to cook dinner, I'm snatching this precious 25 minutes alone to write on my blog. Even if I tried to be consistent, which I have, I'd fail. So, I will embrace the spurts and the sputters and the fails. I will name it something positive, have it branded and start raising funds to support a non-profit that promotes healthy living through waiting for the mood to strike. You watch. It'll be a national trend soon. And I'll be giving advice on how not to do the dishes.

Why you should read Mystery and Manners again.

The rationalist approaches the peacock and sees, possibly at first glance, beauty. But, after the beauty has worn off and the tomatoes have all been eaten off the vine, the scientist hears nothing but the screeches and sees nothing but dinner. The writer, however, sees the King of the Birds.

            The writer writes because, when the rationalist is done with all the defining and the categorizing and the mystery of life has finally been “revealed” and exhaustively understood, more mystery is found underneath it. Flannery O’Connor, in Mystery and Manners, says that if you are asked to explain what you are writing about, the only sensible answer is to say, “Read the story.” If what we write about can easily be summed up in a one-sentence theme, then why have we wasted our time writing for pages? It is, in fact, impossible to divide the theme from the story, just as it is impossible to divide the incarnated Christ from God Himself. The mystery cannot be understood without the body, the tangible, just as the concrete cannot be understood without mystery. Flannery writes that stories cannot be limited to character motivation or right theology. The writer “has to be concerned with these only because the meaning of his story does not begin except at the depth where these things have been exhausted." This must, I believe, be the litmus test I use to assess my own writing, though O’Connor would laugh at the irony of my applying human formula to measuring Mystery.

            Mystery, Flannery says, is an unflinching look at the true condition of humanity and all of its horrors, and finding that the God who evaluates it all has deemed it worthy to die for. Religion doesn’t limit the artist; it, in fact, frees the artist to see the fullness of the human experience. If God accepts it all, then who are we to look away. As a doubt-filled believer, I can firmly take hold of this call to not try to understand it all, but to tell all of what I see, particularly in the deep recesses of my heart and mind. The role of uncertainty is possibly one of the main tools the Christian artist must use in interpreting life through art.

            Manners would then be the what of what I see: the daily routines, the accents, the figures of speech, the clicks and tics, my conflicting thoughts, the sinner and the saint in each character. A whole character does not live since there is no such thing on the earth. The broken, whole-enough or thoroughly shattered person lives, not because the writer makes her live, but because something else has brought her to life. As soon as my writing takes a turn into certainty, I have surely let my writing die. I will leave conclusions and explanations to the scientists and theologians. I will push off the false burden of the fate of souls and I will concentrate on the burden of creating art.

          

Love Dogs

I was fortunate to have the chance to get to know Dr. Richard McCann at the Vermont College of Fine Arts residency. I was assigned to his workshop and, with every piece that we looked at critically, like a surgeon, he cut to the heart of everyone's narratives. He kept pushing each of us to find the motive underneath our motives. Our workshop was like writing class and group therapy rolled into one. I left each day with a deep sense that a magical connection was being made among our faculty leaders (Richard and Sascha Feinstein) and the other writing students.

One of my worries going into a graduate writing program was exposing my writing to people who did not share my similar worldview. However, it has always been my hope that my writing would surpass the boundaries of the Christian literary market and would stand up under the scrutiny of even the most cynical reader. I want my writing to be universal, for someone, anyone, who reads it to be able to connect with my experience and see themselves. I thought for sure that I would be grilled and misunderstood and  ridiculed or worse: dismissed.

However, that has not been my experience at all. Okay, certainly there may have been those who have dismissed me, my interpretations, and religious assumptions; however, none have overtly. Well, there was the one professor who refused to say hello to me when I waved, but I think that may have had more to do with his poor eye sight than his desire to cold-shoulder me. In fact, Richard McCann congratulated me on my bravery for writing about spirituality. Because I knew a brief history of how the Church at large has hurt McCann, I feared his bitterness toward it would turn toward me. Not only is McCann not bitter, but also generous in spirit— he made gestures toward me that were incredibly nurturing and life-giving.

As I was finding my seat on the airport shuttle on the last day of residency, I was pleased to see Richard there. I was hoping for a few more minutes with this brilliant man. After a few minutes, we realized that we were on the same flight to DC, where I would then switch planes and he would de-board for home.

After watching a harrowing episode of Hoarders on hulu.com together in the airport lobby, we sat next to each other on the plane. Richard shared a poem with me someone had previously sent him. With his melodic, raspy voice he read the poem "Love Dogs" by Rumi, translated into English by a writer and prof at the University of Georgia.  As he read this poem to me, I instantly realized that Truth is Truth and Mystery is Mystery, no matter where you find it, and the cynic in me that fears all the other cynics in the world was silenced.

Love Dogs 

One night a man was crying Allah! Allah!

His lips grew sweet with praising,

until a cynic said, “So!

I’ve heard you calling out, but have you ever

gotten any response?”

The man had no answer to that.

He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,

in a thick, green foliage.

“Why did you stop praising?” “Because

I’ve never heard anything back.”

“This longing you express

is the return message.”

The grief you cry out from

draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness

that wants help

is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.

That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs

no one knows the names of.

Give your life

to be one of them.

Thanks to Richard and Rumi, the cynics' questions aren't as scary anymore (no matter how many answers I cannot give them.) I will continue to whine until my Master comes home.

What Actually Stuck

A Series of summaries from the lectures I attended at my writing residency. At my age, my neural pathways are mostly carved. So, I strive, in my graduate education, to retain just a smidgeon more. This is a record, not of what I was taught, but of what actually stuck.

Ellen Lesser

SWEET CHARIOT:  REDEMPTION IN END-TIMES AMERICA

It seems appropriate to look at apocalyptic literature when trying to craft the end of a short story.  Ellen’s lecture was tailored for the fiction writer, but I found much of it to be helpful in nonfiction craft as well. The current thinking in regards to certainty in the end of life, and even the end of the world as we know it, must be taken into consideration when you are writing for the current reader. What is certain about life? What is certain about salvation? What is certain in these times of global warming, inevitable environmental implosion, and world wars? The writer must be aware of what the general human consensus is if she is to connect with her readers in any real way.

Ellen’s passion for her craft seeped through every sentence of her lecture. I left with not just more tools for writing, but with a deep sense of inspiration. I want to love and know my area of concentration like this brilliant, incredibly human person. I am jealous of all the fiction writers who get to work with her this semester. However, one thing that I added to my writer’s toolbox was the knowledge of how to pitch your language to fit the tone of your subject.

End times stories demand Biblical language. Ellen took us through three short stories included in the anthology Best American Short Stories released annually. She walked us slowly through each story and pointed out how Rescue and Redemption now look to the 21^st century reader—and believe me, it doesn’t look good. In fact, if you were to take the three short stories we read, you’d think we were a real cynical lot. Rescue and Redemption look more like gates into the deeper levels of hell. Is optimism even possible in the current climate?

The stories were riddled with religious imagery. There were snakes present, floods, hell-fire smoke, mentions of Eden, crosses, vines and sanctuaries. The infusion of Biblical terms and images worked to support the story’s consideration of how we should live in the end of days.

Of course, my mind honed in instead on poop imagery. Though Ellen kept directing our gaze to the religious slant of the language, I kept hearing the doo-doo slant. (I know, I have Freudian issues.) The story that took place in New Orleans during the Katrina flood was infused with the words refuse, shit, brown chop, crap, log roller, septic, boat hole (maybe that is a stretch, but I swear I heard “butthole”), movement, dump, shit storm.

My bodily function fixation, upon reflection, explains my unfailing optimism even in the end of times. (Wait for it.) I watched the language through all the pieces go from shit to compost to vine-ripened tomatoes. I saw that the writer had included gardens bursting with fruit right in the middle of the protagonist’s apocalypse. The best tasting tomatoes were growing next to his outhouse. Therefore my worldview: Even when life goes to shit, there is another power at work that can turn it all to nourishment. Ah, redemption! Oh, I like this whole pitching language business.

Of course, Lesser taught us so much more, but, alas, that is all of what actually stuck.

Lesser spent most of her time looking at “Rubiaux Rising” by Steve De Jarnatt, chosen for Best American Short Stories 2009, a story about a detoxing junkie trapped in his grandmother’s attic during Hurricane Katrina is miraculously airlifted to safety. You might want to read the end if you want to know what happens when the world does end.

What Actually Stuck

A Series of summaries from the lectures I attended at my writing residency. At my age, my neural pathways are mostly carved. So, I strive, in my graduate education, to retain just a smidgeon more. This is a record, not of what I was taught, but of what actually stuck.

Patrick Madden’s Lecture: WHERE THE ESSAYS ARE

Pat has a nuanced sense of humor that infiltrates his writing and his speaking. Even when he is unsmiling, there seems to be a smirk hiding under the surface that keeps the listener/reader on her toes, waiting for the punch line. He’s kind of adorable in an overly earnest-kind-of-way. Like the Colin Firth of the Essay World, Mr. Darcy without the scowl—though his intelligence and stature can intimidate even the stoutest of students. I highly recommend his collection of essays Quotidiana. 

Madden's writing allows you to sit, breath and enjoy his current of thought which generally leads to happy seas of the mundane. I guarantee you’ll want to hug him, or someone close by, after you read his stuff.

At the residency, Pat gave a practical lecture on getting your essays published. Though, you’ll have to forgive him for sneaking in lessons on the true nature of the classical essay, he cannot stop himself:

The Personal Essay…

1. Is Not an article; Articles set out to prove something.
2. Is Not a composition; Compositions are the cancer of the essayists mind—Beware: 5 paragraph essays may cause internal hemorrhaging! In fact, Madden might go as far as to say that the 5 paragraph-essay-structure is a blight on the face of American education.
3. Is out to ponder something, to follow your meditative thoughts through all their wandering paths, through scenes and reflections, not knowing where they will lead. To understand the real essay, you must know its birth and history: St. Augustine wrote his Confessions, delivering a new genre of writing into the literary canon. Michel de Montaigne, the Father of the Personal Essay, nurtured the form into its maturity. Visit Madden’s website, www.quotidiana.org, for a buffet of short, classical essays. You’ll be surprised by how enjoyable these quick reads are. My personal favorite: Of a Monstrous Child, about Montaigne’s experience seeing a conjoined twin (or should I say conjoined twins if he had only one head?) on the road to town. It’s actually very comforting to know what hideous thoughts others have. That is the point, in my opinion, of the personal essay: To humanize our own monsters lurking inside. Of course, Madden has fewer monstrous thoughts than I, so his tastes in essays lean toward the beauty of the world, mine toward the grotesque.

Publishing is a noble goal for the writer, and therefore, Pat gave us a few tips to take with us in our pursuits. His first advice was to read literary publications, get to know the personalities of some journals in order to know which of your pieces would be a good fit. I have found the blog Essay Daily to be a great resource for finding nonfiction journals. The blog has a fabulous list on the right sidebar called “Homes for the Essay,” which is fairly exhaustive. I’m still trying to find the journals that are just “so me.” I’ll be sure to let you know when I do. Many editors, Pat reveals to us, read only the introductions of submissions, so you need to make sure the guts and glory of your writing show up in the first few paragraphs.

Of course, Madden shared much more with us, but, alas, that is all of what actually stuck. 

Ball Juggling 201

One semester of grad school down, three to go.

Clearly, being a full-time student added to my list of roles has kept me from updating my blog! But, as I learn to negotiate the highways and byways of life as a student, I am seeing the road with more clarity.

I have spent the past six months reading 16 books—most of which were creative non-fiction, written 6 critical essays, 6 book reviews and 150 pages of creative work, and attended two residencies—22 days worth—in Vermont! I have loved every minute of it, and it is very out of the norm for me not to be whining about something! (I'm sure the antidepressants help some, but there are some things that pills just can't cure.)

I'm starting the semester strong, reading some amazing stuff. Though it will be no surprise to anyone, I'm enjoying Flannery O'Connor—What a smart cookie! Mystery and Manners would have to be my favorite book on writing so far. I have underlined just about every sentence. My book just looks ridiculous...My underlining was supposed to cue me when I look back to see what I should include in my critical essay. I hope my professor this semester is ready for rewritten copy. Maybe I'll just change the font and he won't recognize it.  

Speaking of my advisor, I have a new one! Patrick Madden, my brilliant essay-expert of a professor from last semester has been shared with five other students and I will miss his critiques and encouragement. But, I will continue with my education of the classical essay on his site Quotidiana. I will be working this semester with the memoirist and biographer Lawrence Sutin. His work is incredible and I am loving A Postcard Memoir. The level of academic excellence we are being exposed to at VCFA is fantastic. Every time I go to research one of the faculty, I am amazed at the amount of google tags that open up. Seriously. I've decided that my next goal in life is to have a Wikipedia page dedicated to my accomplishments. It'll be one of those long-ass entries that talks about my childhood in Tucker, GA, including the baby kangaroo we had as a pet. Of course, my more technical creative nonfictionist classmates will charge me with inaccurate information....(So what if it wasn't a baby kangaroo? It was a wallaby. Same diff.) You can't just add yourself either. I've tried. It'll be up for one day and then someone out in Wiki Land deletes your entire entry, officially saying that your life is just not important enough. They may have a point. Whoever "they" is.

So, if you are up for it. We can have a mini-online book club. It'll be called: Don't you wish you'd get credit for reading this book like me? Book 1: Mystery and Manners

by Flannery O'Connor. Book 2: A Postcard Memoir

by Lawrence Sutin. You can even order these books straight from my blog. Yippeee! The memoir has beautifully-written lyrical essays that were inspired by Sutin's postcard collection. I have enjoyed reading them (each essay is quite short) and then using some of the postcard images for my own inspiration to write.

Feel free to leave comments about the books. We can have a dialogue going in my comments box. If you say something really interesting, I might even include it in my critical essay. Though, I won't cite you, if that's okay. Just know that imitation is the biggest form of flattery.

So, as I continue to strike a balance with teaching, schooling, parenting, and living, I will try to bring in more blogging. What's one more ball to juggle? If I drop one, well, that'll just be more balls to shag. And, who doesn't like a good shag every now and then?

Offering a Hand

Here is a selection from an essay I am writing.  First draft, but I thought I'd share it anyway.  Feel free to give some critical feedback!  

He looked like any other kind, elderly black man: rocking gently on the cinderblock front porch of his subsidized home, tired after years of living— having survived a few wars, the lynching of a few relatives, integration.  His slight, wrinkled body, dark and weathered by the sun and the years, seemed one with his chair. Each morning during the fall semester, I walked past the government-housing complex just a block off campus, and thought about the unfairness of life and the tragedy of a man who was forced to navigate life as a black man in a white world.  “Good morning!” I’d call and wave to him, thankful for the opportunity to share the love of God with a lonely old man.

            One particular morning, before the sun had fully risen and the haze of the dawn was still making the world seem wobbly, I was walking sleepily to class when I caught his eye.  I didn’t want to wave this morning, I was tired from staying up too late the night before watching a 90210 marathon on cable.  He blinked his black eyes slowly and they reminded me of a horse’s eyes, red and watery, but with the depth of soul and the wisdom of experience.  I stretched my lips into a half smile and raised my hand in an attempt at being friendly.  He smiled a big, toothless grin and waved his one hand back at me. Oh, did I mention he only had one arm? I immediately felt guilty. Here I was, this able bodied, young white girl, given every opportunity and I was too tired to say hello. 

            I was never really a fan of the acronym WWJD, promoted by the more commercial brand of my faith, but, this morning, I knew what Jesus would do. So, I stopped, my smile working its way to a full grin and asked warmly, “How is your day going?” The old man called something back to me, though I imagine his being toothless made clear articulation hard work.  I walked up on the sidewalk, as I had been walking in the street, and faced him.

            “What’s that?” I asked, my bright smile shining the light of Jesus directly at him. 

            “I need some love,” he said.

            Not sure I understood him correctly, I asked for clarification again.

            I didn’t want this man to feel foolish for not being intelligible.  After all, it really wasn’t his fault.  Lack of education and lack of dental care had taken its toll.  I thought it was particularly heroic that here he was, a handicapped man, every morning, fully-dressed at 6:45, in his baggy, plaid button down shirt, brown suspenders and blue Dickies.

            “I need some love!” he called louder and more clearly this time. “Twenty dollars. I’ll give you twenty dollars to come on up on this porch and give me some love.”

            Shocked, I said what every self-respecting, independent college woman would say: “No, sir!” 

Living a Better Story

Remember this blog post? 

***

from January 6, 2010

The beginning of my pursuit of writing began last year. I started reading a book recommended by a creative writing professor at Vanderbilt called Writing Fiction, a Guide to Narrative Craft, by Janet Burroway. Writing Fiction is a text that walks the reader through the many elements and qualities of a compelling story and provocative writing. Like Donald Miller in his new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, I have gotten excited as I connect the components of what it takes to write a good story to what it takes to LIVE a good story. Story is a theme I am thinking about daily. How do we live out this narrative we experience as life and how does it connect to the larger Meta-Narrative? These questions have reinforced for me anew my hope in the Christian story laid out in the Bible and have pushed me to ask myself how my personal story fits in that larger mystery.

Guided by Donald Miller's latest blog entry, Living a Good Story, An Alternative to New Year's Resolutions, I have decided to apply the elements of writing a good story to living a better story. As outlined in his post, instead of New Years Resolutions, I am going to "think in narrative rather than goals. The goals get met in the journey of the story."

To start, a story begins with a character who wants something enough to endure conflict and suffering to get it.

"...in order to engage our attention and sympathy, the protagonist must want, and want intensely. The thing that the character wants need not be violent or spectacular; it is the intensity of the wanting that introduces an element of danger."- pg. 33, Burroway.

So, here's question number 1. at the start of 2010: What do I want? Though I have several desires for this year, I think I will only focus on a few to be intense about. :) The "intensity" thing wears me out a bit. I'm not sure how much danger I want. Though, if I look at it that way, I can always avoid danger by choosing several TV shows to really be into this year. I could make sure to catch every episode, sacrificing all that comes in my way. But, I remember quickly, that doesn't make a good story. And who wants to look back at the end of 2010 and say they had a great year keeping up with what happens to Quinn Fabray's baby (not saying that a healthy obsession with the love triangle of Quinn, Finn and Puck is wrong, it just isnt very soul-fulfilling, in the end.)

One of the things I do want is to grow as a writer. I am willing to give up some things: mainly money (MFA programs are no joke). I will battle the fear that I am wasting our families financial resources. (They could be used to send Ellie to camp or get Atticus stellar drum lessons, or even more guilt: to buy Dave professional photography equipment that will grow his business! O the guilt!) I also have to let go of my deeply imbedded bad theology that leads me to believe that "nurturing my creative self" is selfish and, honestly, a bit new-agey. (Yes, I KNOW that God is Creator and by creating I am "imaging" him. But knowing something and believing it are two completely different things altogether!)

Another component that makes a good story, as outlined beautifully by Mr. Miller, is the "climactic scene". Writers know a story always leads to the pivotal scene. All of the action is leading up to that one event.

"They know their entire movie is heading toward that scene where Frodo throws the ring into the fire. And they write the movie to get him there."

That leads to Question #2: What scene am I headed for? What is my climactic scene? I am currently applying for grad schools. Its fairly exhausting work. I had to study for the GRE and suffer the pain of having my intelligence quantified by that stupid left-brain dominated exam (My boss told me to stop ripping the scab off that wound, but clearly I enjoy watching the blood letting!) I also had to write twenty-five pages for a writing sample. I have to still write a critical analysis of a literary work, and so on. However, this IS all headed somewhere: To my first "Writers in Residence" experience! I am applying for low-residency MFA programs that will include 7-10 days on campus going to workshops, writing, dialoguing, and editing my and others' pieces. In effect, I get to spend a whole week taking my creative self seriously! I get to call myself a writer!

I picture myself in a group of the cool kids (or, to be more realistic, a weirdo ecclectic group of socially awkward, potentially introverted, writer-types) discussing the political, social and spiritual problems of the world and then inspiring one another to write about them creatively (all while eating our lunch from a plastic tray from the university's dining hall). The scene includes my sitting underneath a tree on the university lawn writing til my hand falls off, sitting in an auditorium taking extensive notes from a lecture given by one of my favorite writers...Donald Miller, perhaps?

Don advises that, "Once you have that climactic scene in mind, you’ll know the scenes it takes to get there. Also, write this stuff down. Even if you just throw it away, write down what that climactic scene looks like, smells like and feels like. It will get in your brain and like a good protagonist in a great movie, you’ll wake every day knowing what you are supposed to do with your time."

Characters don't want to change. We really don't like it. We fight against it. We sit on our couches and watch too much hulu.com because we like comfort. Characters in a story need INCITEMENT, something that forces them to change. "An inciting incident is the event in a movie that causes upheaval in the protagonist life. The protagonist, then, naturally seeks to return to stability. And in order to do that, he HAS to solve his new problem. In Taken, Liam Neeson’s daughter is kidnapped and he MUST find her."

Question 3: What will force me to do this? Well, first of all, embarrassment. I have just told the blogging world my goal. If I don't do it, if I flake on my deadlines and don't get into any school, I have to admit it. Bringing people into my story has helped. Melinda Franklin (as previously defined as my Editor) and my other writing partner, Leslie Mitchell, have read my short story, spent time editing it, and care what I do with it. I will let them down if I don't follow through. They will have wasted their time. I do not want to let them down! Telling people my deadlines, for example, is another way to incite me to action. January 15th and March 1. All the schools I am applying to are due around then. Now, see there, I HAVE to turn them in on time because some of you are going to ask me about it. And, again, I do not want to fail you. :)

I will also need to make some extra dough for it to happen, and I think that fits in the "overcoming conflict bit", but I will try to figure out the inciting incident that will force me to make the money to pay for tuition. I'll need more time to think of that one. I'm not really motivated easily there. Any suggestions?

***

As I continue to pursue being a better writer, I celebrate my moments of victory...getting accepted into Vermont College of Fine Arts, attending my first residency this summer (the plastic tray in my vision was accurate, at least). But, my journey is far from over. The small hilly obstacles on the horizon get closer, I see that they are not actually hills, but mountains. Publication seems far off, making any money at writing seems unlikely. Maybe Donald Miller's conference in Portland will inspire me! Don directly applies literary concepts and techniques that he has learned at various conferences about how to write a better story to how to life a better life.  Do you wanna go with me?

Check out the conference link here: www.donmilleris.com/conference or watch his video add for his conference:

Living a Better Story Blog Contest from Donald Miller on Vimeo.