"The writer is the person who stays in the room."-Ron Carlson

Troll School

Common sense and a grasp of basic reasoning skills should never get in the way of winning an Internet argument. Time for another priceless pearl of wisdom from Troll School!

Lesson# 4: Oh yeah? What about Clinton? (alternatively: Oh yeah? What about Carter/FDR?)

No argument, no matter how well made, can ever withstand the brutal onslaught of the administrations of former US Presidents Clinton, Carter, or Roosevelt. Whatever positive influences these three presidents may have had on their country or the world around them notwithstanding, their personal failures, foibles, and intern-related indiscretions are enough to win any Internet conflict you may be involved in. To wit:

“Dick Cheney just shot a man in the face!”
“Oh, yeh? What about Clinton?”
Argument solved.

Troll School

The wild and wooly world of the Internet has provided the human race with a burgeoning treasury of knowledge and information, beamed directly to our computers faster than our minds can process it. It is important to remember, in this fast-paced digital age, that no amount of facts, critical thinking or indisputable evidence should ever get in the way of winning an argument.

Certain aspects of debate – such as not knowing what one is talking about, arguing more from emotion than logic, and/or simply making things up out of thin air – form the rock-solid foundation of making an unassailable point, and should not be forgotten in the advent of technology that provides for immediate fact checking

It is thus in the spirit of public service that we now present to you, our reader, the finer points of winning an argument online, or, as we like to call it, TROLL SCHOOL.

Lesson One: Semantics.
The reason, intelligence, and wealth of facts any enemy poster may have will be completely undone with the use of semantics.
It doesn't matter if said opponent is a constitutional scholar with a PhD. in history, one single word will undo them. For example:
"America is a democracy".
This falsehood is ripe for the pickings with the response:
"WRONG, d_ _ _kface! America is a republic!"

The fact that the enemy poster never implied that the US is a commonwealth, a giant state, a kingdom, et al notwithstanding - he's a total commie, and he just demonstrated it.


Join us under the bridge next Sunday for a new lesson. Until then, keep on trollin'!

Untitled:Foreword

The following is the first installment of a fiction serial that I started writing for one of my other sites, 1000 Follies. I decided that it is a more natural fit here. After running the first III Parts, I will start adding to the story little-by-little. Please come back for Part II.

FOREWORD

It is with honest pleasure that I introduce this collection of columns by Margaret Millet. I do so as her friend as well as her Publisher. I worked with Margaret for approximately eight months, during the period that she wrote for my newspaper, The Estimator. It was in that publication that all of the pieces in this compilation first appeared, from September 2006 until March 18, 2007.

I met Margaret about 3 weeks before sending her on her stint to Canada. She impressed me immediately, and with great clarity, as a woman and writer of depth, talent, intelligence and vision. I felt, at the time, that The Estimator had fallen too far away from my initial goals: it had become stale, boring, and perilously close to extinction. In an effort to shake new life into its tired bones, I mass hired an interesting bunch of characters from all sorts of small publications. The Indie Artists, as they liked to call themselves, succeeded in infusing vigorous blood and energy into The Estimator.

Margaret came to me from a tiny magazine that folded a few months later. The job did not pay her bills, something that bothered her to practically no degree at all. She was a woman in love with words. She thought it privilege enough just to be allowed to set her thoughts to paper. Readership was not really something she thought about. I changed that when I sent her to Montreal. Instantly, she had 300,000 people reading her columns: it rather quickly became their privilege. I can think of no one else that I would have even considered sending to another country, with no guidelines or subject matter. All that she had to do was write, steadily and well, to the tune of 3 columns a week. She managed this with beauty, expertise, and an entirely unique voice. Margaret wrote incessantly while up North. I am not sure that she did anything else, apart from the charming perambulations mentioned in her columns.

Although our relations were always warm, considerate, and full of humour, i never got to know Margaret in any intimate capacity. It is my belief that she had given up on the notion of a one-on-one connection with others. She channeled that loss into her writing and, so doing, intimately connected with her readers in a way that would probably not have been possible otherwise.

Margaret Millet, by the way, was not her real name. She chose it for its alliterative quality. Even after I hired her, and gave her that wide readership on a silver platter, she declined to use her given name, which was perfectly lovely. It is not my place to divulge her true identity, so we will continue to call her Margaret Millet, a name that gave her real pleasure.

I sincerely hope that you enjoy the works contained within these covers. I was proud to print them a few years ago, and I remain so. If anything, my enjoyment has increased over time. I hope that you take away something of the intelligence, artistry, and whimsy with which Margaret endowed her writing and her person.

GIBSON OLIPHANT

NEW YORK CITY

July 19, 2009

"Writing is the best way to talk without being interrupted."-Jules Renard

Fiction! Fiction! Coming Soon to A Small Press Life

As part of our on-going expansion, we will be adding Fiction to ASPL. There are no genre limitations to what will be published: it simply has to be good stuff, full of Indie Spirit. If you would like to see one of your stories in this space, please e-mail us.

Networking for the Anti-Social: Welcome

I am not a joiner. I am not exuberantly social. The concept of mingling with a group of strangers, no matter how like-minded, is nearly enough to make my skin crawl. When I find myself in such situations, if I am expected to do one thing I am overcome by a perverse desire to do the opposite. Fortunately, my good manners usually prevent anything disastrous from happening; but the very thought that certain things are expected of me, no matter how inconsequential, makes me ill at ease. Yes, I can be that unpredictable. Yet I know that I am not alone in this: it is one of the great universal truths that small talk makes people uncomfortable. Even when a common goal is at hand--say, furthering one's career--this type of witless chit-chat can be tedious, painful and boring.



Things were no different when I was a school-girl. I dropped out of Brownies after a year. The delight that I took in donning my little brown pinafore--I still remember the day that I picked it out of a JCPenney catalogue--was not enough to hold my interest. I tired of making useless crafts from Popsicle sticks; I already knew why it is important to be kind to old people and animals; and, most telling, I had little interest in being friends with most of the girls in my troop. Part of this was due to my natural shyness. Although I will never be gregarious--not even with half-a-dozen drinks in my system--time, experience and circumstances have largely eradicated the extreme form of shyness that I suffered from as a child. The rest, however, is a result of what I would call a personality quirk; you might call it rudeness or self-absorption. While I try not to judge people, I am as guilty as anyone when it comes to impressions; I am even worse when it comes to the after-effect of such decisions. Simply put, if I do not find you interesting, then the conversation is over; it is unlikely I will come back for more.



I was this way even at the tender age of 7, and quite possibly sooner. Life is too short to be spent in long pointless conversation with strangers. This is where Alicia and sociability part. Thus, I have not been an active member of anything since 1981. Fortunately, technology has come a long way since then: it is now possible, and perfectly acceptable, to network and market yourself solely through what our forebears would probably consider wickedly artificial means. Thank you, Internet. You were meant for people like me.



Lest you get the wrong idea, I will spend approximately one paragraph expounding on my personality and social choices. I am no hermit. I enjoy going out. I do not balk at meeting new people. I like finding friends, expanding my circle, and experiencing interesting things. I am not typing these words in a dark room in my parents' basement. I am a modern, sophisticated, witty woman who just so happens to have no penchant for listless small-talk, coupled with the attention span of a ferret and the patience of a 2-year-old.





I know that I have stated this before, but truth bears repeating: the Internet has been a major gift for writers. It has also, most unfortunately, sated the world with more hacks and untalented aspirants than I ever thought possible; that is the topic for another day. For those willing to forgo the old-school pleasure of holding their work in their hands, the Internet has opened up thousands of new venues. I, for one, have opted for a compromise-mix of the two, hawking my work to a combination of hard-copy periodicals and on-line magazines. In the area of marketing and networking, however, I fully embrace twenty-first century means.

Networking is, it seems, one of those necessary evils for any writer desirous of being read. It is tedious, time-consuming, and soul-and-creativity draining--unless you are one of those rare people who actually goes in for that sort of thing. Most of us are not. We just want to write, to express ourselves, to weave plot and words and philosophy together into one unique vision. The naked reality is, of course, that if we do not do it no one will. Suck it up, because writing is a business like--and unlike--any other. On the Internet, raw human contact is, naturally, kept to a minimum--which can be quite nice when you are essentially whoring your most personal goods out to a bunch of nameless, judgmental strangers. You can also do it at any time of day or night. You do not have to get dressed up--or even dressed. You can edit how you present yourself down to the last crossed t and comma. Presentation is all in the words--exactly what writers are most comfortable with.

There are myriad places on the web to market and network yourself: finding the forums, forms and communities that are best for you takes a lot of effort. Networking for the Anti-Social is going to shine a hot little light on some of these sites. It is up to you to try them on for fit.

First Up (Next Time): Thirty-Something Bloggers.

Shopping for the Bookworm: 1970's Pencil Case

Newly sharpened pencils are not just for students, nor are cases to keep them in the sole province of the teacher's pet. They are tools for a writer's trade. Technology aside, many of us still write the early drafts of stories or articles long-hand or, at least, jot down notes, ideas and phrases the old-fashion way. With the need for pencils comes the need for keeping them neatly together. My favourite stand-by, ETSY, has scads of pencil cases available. Many are hand-sewn fabric or leather; some are vintage. A quick search brings up 1,235 results.

My favourite of the current crop---which is apt to change daily--is a tin case dating back to 1970's Germany. The case--and the 5 white pencils that come with it--are by Eberhard Faber. At $39.50, it is a bit pricey but the case itself is a keeper. I love the the utilitarian appeal of the piece which, coming from Germany, is appropriate. It can be found at the Etsy shop of Spacejam.

Photo courtesy of Spacejam.

Shop: Spacejam

Where: etsy.com

What: Eberhard Faber pencils and case

Price: $39.50

Go HERE to find Spacejam's shop.

Love at First Site: The Selby

My introduction to The Selby came courtesy of the Asian Cajuns some nine months ago. With an 'aha!' born of discovering something fabulous, new, and unknown, I spent the majority of that afternoon meandering through the site's archives. The Selby--sumptuous, off-the-wall, and inspiring--is best enjoyed at a leisurely pace, with eyes practically glued to the screen. There is so much to take in; none of it should be missed.
Scrolling through The Selby is like flipping through a fabulous coffee-table book or being given a detailed, intimate tour of a home by its owner, followed by a wacky Q & A session and some finger-painting. Todd Selby--yes, he has a first name--takes stunning photographs of the abodes of creative-types: musicians, artists, designers, writers, etc.. Naturally, most of these people live in enviable locales: New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Milan and Sydney. Yet, it is no travel diary: the focus is always on the subject-at-hand and the nooks and crannies and knick-knacks of their most intimate surroundings.
I have always been fascinated by how other creative people live, or lived, from Colette to Amy Sedaris: our homes, to one extent or another, usually double as work-space, think tank, studio. Those lucky enough to be featured on The Selby are lucky for other reasons as well . They are always successful--or at least well-heeled--and dwell amidst above-average luxury. Yet, Todd Selby focuses his lens on the small details: books, ash-trays, framed art, shoes, figurines, plants. Because of this, it is not an endless, claustrophobic tour through a top-notch home magazine's features section. These artists are eclectic, unusual and genuinely inspirational--even the most cursory glance at the photographs reveals people living out their various and deeply artistic natures.
The Selby is not just straight-up photography. He paints each subject in a quirky, backwards-style and puts them through a hand-written Q & A so bizarre that Dali would be amused. It is a winning combination of whimsy, entertainment, visual delight and unconscious decorating advice.
Although I would love to take a peek into the places and spaces of artisans like myself--those who conjure creative surroundings (and artistic goods) with much less money at-hand--The Selby remains an interesting look at Bohemians of another sort.

The Selby-go Here.
The Selby's book-go Here.

BLAST YOU, HOLLYWOOD, YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT!!!

KM Scott

Hi.

Movies. They've inundated my life. No other form of media - no, not even cave paintings - have affected me the way the moving picture has. The culmination of this lifelong infatuation has given me an insight to movies like no other human can comprehend. As such, it is much my pleasure as my duty to break through the veil of chaos that surrounds the film industry at large and present to you, my hungry reader, the sliced and de-rinded fruit of my joy.

Arright, so to kick this thing off, I’m going to blahg about a phenomenon that Hackywood seems to have been obsessed about lately – remakes. This is the process, as you well know, of making a film based on a previously made film. This is not new. And, despite the horrifying ring of the collective moans that issue forth from the gab-o-sphere and associated forums whenever a remake is announced, it is not necessarily a bad idea. Some of the most famous and well-made films in history have been remakes, not the least of them The Magnificent Seven (based on Akira Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai), John Carpenter’s The Thing (a slant on Howard Hawks’ The Thing From Another World, with a healthy dose of the original novella Who Goes There by John W. Campbell, Jr., which inspired the Hawks version), and 12 Monkeys (inspired by La jetée, by Chris Marker).

Sometimes those which the filmmakers call homages (or, if one feels particularly honest, rip-offs) to previous material may as well be remakes. Take Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, for example, essentially a timeworn tale of the murderous Thugee cult of India, dressed up in the Lucaspielbergian visual fantasticana, fed a big hunk of rip-snorting action, and played to its dizzying climax with the music of John Williams. This doesn’t make the film any less a good movie (Willie Scott does that job, and all by herself), but simply acknowledges a great story when it hears one, even if it’s over a century old.

This has not been happening recently.

Obviously, the folks of the Magic-Plated City are in the business of filmmaking for the money. The stunning amount of remakes in the last decade alone are a testament to this; there is an obvious benefit to making a big commercial endeavor with built-in name recognition. It started in earnest with Batman years ago (not a remake, to be exact, but an adaptation of a world-renown character), and has never stopped.

The staggering goofiness of it all is the apparent speculation on the part of Hollywood execs that modern audiences are so blissfully stupid that we can’t see what they are blatantly up to. Starting with Gloria back in the 90’s, and more recently Friday the 13^th, the Dream Machine has been reaching all the way, way back, as far as twenty years ago, to remake films that everyone has seen repeatedly, knows how they end, and were quite content with just the first one. One would think that since these original flicks were new enough at one time to inspire remakes that perhaps Hollywood would invest in new ideas, new writers, new talent that would produce a whole new title to exploit.

But, no. We get remakes. Retreads. Malibu Stacie with a New Hat. We’ve got remakes of movies nobody gave a damn about when the source material was new (Flash Gordon, 1980, to be remade by Stephen Sommers), multiple remakes of films that were …. okay, I guess (Freaky Friday, no less than THREE versions), and remakes of films that were hardly vintage to begin with - and I don’t mean remaking something from other countries or cultures, like Samurai, but more like the above mentioned Gloria (1980, 1999), or The Getaway (1972, 1994).

But there is a worser, far worser creature that skulks in the darkened hallways and deep sub-basements of our local movie theaters and pirated movie torrent sites. Yes, folx, ya’ll know what I’m talking about – the remake of the classic movie. I don’t mean simply old flicks that are aired on TCM all the time, no no –

I’m talking about the movies that taught movies how to be movies: Psycho. The Day The Earth Stood Still. The War of the Worlds. To call these movies misguided attempts to rake in cash via familiarity is giving far too much credit to the filmmakers: remaking these movies were entirely unnecessary, and an insult to the original pioneering filmmakers and audiences alike. Its as if some GIT (Guy In Tie) execu-honch walked up to the Mona Lisa and said, “Hey, how did Rembrandt or whoever expect to reach 18 to 49 year olds with a goofy-looking sorta half smile? I wanna see teeth, dammit, TEETH!”

To ‘update’ these venerable pieces with modern sensibilities is to wreck ‘em. They were films of their times, to be sure, but many of them had timeless messages that are relevant to even today’s reckless generation of hoodlums, miscreants, deviants, and, of course, baby boomers. The lesson from War? Technology does not make you superior. The lesson from Day? Stupid ideological arguments will be the death of us all if taken to far. The lesson from Psycho? If your choice is between an isolated little motel a ways from the highway in the desolate wilds of the Southwest, watched over by the empty eyes of a horrifying old house, and a Motel 6, go for the Motel 6. Said chain is not paying me a dime for advertising, but they’ll leave a light on for ya.

It has been said repeatedly, and I add my voice to the chorus, that if you’re going to remake movies, don’t remake the classics. Remake really, really good versions of bad films. Wanna see a good zombie flick? Make a movie about an invading species of aliens who infect the recently deceased in an attempt to overrun the human race. Lot’s a blood and innards for the gorehounds out there to watch. The original masterwork was called Plan 9 From Outer Space.

Hankerin’ for a gritty martial arts movie where two dedicated brothers punch, kick and chop their way through a relentless gang of equally talented thugs in order to rescue a damsel in distress? With Tony Jaa and some popular MMA dude who can speak dialogue without moving his lips when his co-stars talk? I don’t see anybody else making a Double Dragon movie. Why don’t you?

One does not set out to make crap. One either intends to make art, or sell merchandise. Excellent movies have been made because of both, as have turkeys. At least the guy who tried to make art can say he cared about his project and the intelligence of his audience. When you screw up trying to take advantage of people … well, you’ve seen Batman and Robin.

KMS

More to Love

I am thrilled, pleased and proud to announce that ASPL is adding another regular writer to its roster, KM Scott. He is a man of many talents and counts the following among his titles: artist, editor, writer, and publisher. Mr. Scott will bring an entirely different tone and perspective to this space, showing that there are as many takes on the small press life as there are artists to live them. Please check back shortly to read his first piece.

Now on Thirty-Something Bloggers

In an effort to pick up my networking pace, I can now be found on 'Thirty-Something Bloggers'. You can look me up under my full-name, Alicia Austen. Since I am using it as more of a marketing forum, I will only be doing 1 or 2 posts a week; still, it will be well worth your time. If you fit the obvious criteria, I encourage you to join this site filled with a variety of work by your contemporaries. If not, you can still stop by to read the blogs!

Go here to find out what all of the hoopla is about!

INSPIRATION BOARD-2 August 2009

1. Gala Darling (ICING)-Gala Darling is a pink-haired darling from the Southern Hemisphere. ICING is her irreverent, infectious, savvy and stunning blog. She brings readers her own juicy brand of completely-off-the-wall inspiration: encouraging one and all to celebrate their own nonpareil loveliness. She definitely practices what she preaches. Click here to check out her site.
2. Amado Sur Wine-This Brazilian Malbec is my current every-day favourite. After a few hours spend concocting and spinning words, a single glass of wine is a great reward and rejuvenatory.
3. Re-Reading Old Books-This is one of my favourite pastimes (after reading new books, of course). I believe that this justifies my large personal collection. I eventually return to most books, even re-reading certain volumes yearly. It is with amazement that I never cease to dig up new bits of enlightenment, shards of wisdom and gems of inspiration with every new perusal.
4. Networking-This does not come easily to me. I am not a joiner, never have been. While the distance of Internet socializing puts many people off, it is a boon for mildly anti-social people like me. In real life, you cannot hide a bad mood or irritability. On-line, I can further my career while even in the vilest state-of-mind.
5. Vintage dresses on EBAY-While my greatest passion is language, I am also a very visual person. I worked in the world of art galleries for a decade: colour and texture is my aesthetic strength. I have always loved vintage apparel, with certain periods taking natural precedence over others. Until recently, I never particularly cared for the '70's or '80's (perhaps because I was born in one decade and came of age in the other). EBAY, of all places, has helped me get past that distaste to a place of appreciation. I am amazed by the play of colour with pattern, especially in some of the '70's designs. There is actually a surprising softness to palette and pattern that I am currently finding quite inspirational.
6. I found this one courtesy of Gala Darling. Check out 'Copy Blogger' for some practical, truly helpful writing tips. Go there now!
7. "Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self."-Cyril Connolly.

Routines

I am, by nature, extremely organized. I love making lists. I love slashing my way through item after item of to-do's and need-to-be-done's. I have left every business I have ever worked for a more streamlined and efficient place. This superb track record starts falling apart in one very important area: my hollow, sorry excuse of a writing routine. I have, at my handy disposal, a lame set of reasons why it is so erratic. Let's investigate these.

1. I am not a morning person. I do realize that there is no pesky by-law of the writing code that says one must practice their craft in the a.m. Yet, so many writers choose the early hours of the day for their writing time. Day in and day out, they rise at disturbingly wee hours of the clock. I am not certain that I would have a fully functioning brain at, say, 5. Methinks that I would probably be a nasty, flaming bitch-- especially pre-pot of tea. Wordsmiths who are up and stringing together brilliant phrases before dawn just seem so dedicated and professional. Meanwhile, back at the loft, all I am interested in doing is rolling over and catching more not-strictly-necessary sleep.
2. I currently work 9 hour days, 10 if you throw in the commute. By the time I hobble through the door, drop my purse, fling my keys, walk the dog and put the kettle on, it is early evening. If I connect to the drug known as the Internet and DO NOT IMMEDIATELY BEGIN WRITING, then I easily lose another hour. At this point, it is 7 p.m. I most likely have 'The Golden Girls' on in the background. Those witty old ladies have been known to suck me in to their hyper-social sun-baked lives for endless episodes. Hello, 8. It is so nice to see you. I am sure that you get the idea. On a good work night, I can write 3 blog posts, edit my upcoming 'zine, and write a paragraph or two of fiction. Then there are the other 4.
3. If The Chef has the night off, then forget about it. I try to make my time off coincide with his schedule as 1)he insists that I not write 12 hours a day, 7 days a week and 2) it is too damn difficult to write with him in the flat. He talks back to the television. He strikes up conversations with me even when I am in the writing zone. He insists that I get up and move around, that I eat dinner....nothing of value gets done on these nights, creatively-speaking. This kills up to 2 nights a week.
4. Ah, weekends! Bliss! Sleeping in! Laziness! Socializing! Practicality: laundry, sweeping, cleaning counter tops and sinks. I have way too much to cram into 2 days/nights. Sometimes, I am a writing dynamo on Saturday and Sunday. I accomplish insane amounts of work. I am proud of myself. Then, on Monday, it is back to the same grind.

What, then, is a writer to do if she is in an especially fertile period? Right now, I am doing more projects than ever. I have blogs, the 'zine, a fictional serial and a rocking short story. I also have to network myself and market my product--all while managing this thing called a life. Everything that I am doing at this time is too good to be sacrificed or sold short. The only viable solution is to impose some kind of order on those things that can benefit most from it, including my writing schedule. I plan on trying a few different routines until I find the one that best fits my needs. First up? I am about to become one of those early risers.

I am not looking forward to this. I will never greet the morning with anything but a series of yawns and a sour look on my face. I do not believe that being genuinely perky or even nice is ever fully possible before 10 a.m. (2 hours into my regular work day). I hate being the first one out of bed: jealousy will abound against the sleeping one. Yet, I am game because--if it works--my writing will benefit immensely. I am also not talking about falling out of bed 2 hours early. No, I am starting with a quite doable 45 minutes which, taking into account making tea and rousing my mind, should leave approximately 30 minutes to write. I have attempted this sort of thing on 3 previous occasions, but for different reasons. None were a resounding success.

The first two times involved "The Artists Way" by Julia Cameron. If you have ever followed that program, you already know what it is I am talking about. Essentially, you get up early and write your thoughts, stream-of-conscious-style, for 3 pages. My first attempt at this, some dozen years ago, lasted a few weeks. The second go-round, circa 2004, lasted approximately 5 minutes. The third time involved the lovely Gala Darling of 'ICING' which is a delectable, Technicolor dream of a blog. She ran a challenge group for the entire month of February. It was up to you to decide what you wanted to change/improve in your own life. She simply provided a forum and support. I decided to better my sloth-like sleeping habits and rise early, which I did for about 3 days. It was easier than I thought it would be! I was actually awake by the time that I arrived at work! Then, woe is me, I took a temporary second job. At night. End of story.

I have faith in myself and my considerable self-discipline abilities that I can make this work. The real question is....what type of writing do I devote this precious daily half-hour to? Should I blog or write fiction? Should I write or edit articles for the 'zine? I think that I am going to try a day or two of each, and see which fits.

The beauty and the bane of the writing life is that so much of it is for you to set, form and control. You have to determine your own parameters and crack your own whip. Ultimately, no one else really cares if you write or not. It is, then, a matter of self-respect: if you value your ability and voice, then you will give it the appropriate place in your life.

What is your routine? How closely do you follow it? Has your writing benefited from it?

Facing the Blank Page: Bravery of a Different Kind

There is one plaintive refrain common, with scant variation, to all writers, and it goes something like this: committing words to the blank page is painfully difficult, endless, and frustrating. No one is immune. It never gets easier. It never fades. It cannot, cannot be conquered--no matter how diligently or long you practice the craft. This is not that phantom known as "writer's block", which is usually ephemeral. This difficulty is just one of the many threads that are woven into the writing life, though it is particularly tensile. It is omnipresent , like breath: when you are most deeply involved in the life of your words, it fades into the background.

The blank page holds up terror and promise in equal portions. The mystery behind the process is opaque--no one ever really figures out its source, or unravels the magic of its drive. Words and ideas mix, we pick and choose which fit best, we invent our own rhythm. I am convinced that not knowing the root origin of our ability is where the terror comes from. Just because you have done something once, does not mean that you can expect to do it again. Yet, you always, always do. The gift is never sucked dry...though the very thought of that possibility can keep you up nights.

Facing a version of this every time that you sit down to write can, after awhile, be quite tiresome. Writing is a draining craft (fortunately it has an upside full of more intangible rewards than nearly anything else on earth). Sometimes, it is easier or more desirable to do anything other than put words to paper. Walk the dog? Drink a pot of coffee while doing a crossword puzzle (hey, you could learn a new word or fact that way)? Watch a marathon of Judge shows on television? Fold laundry? Daydream about how famous and esteemed you will be one day, after you have finished your next novel or short story collection?

This latter trap is ominous and gaping--to such a degree that, if you are not careful, can turn a temporary break from writing into a permanent one. Writers are, of course, an imaginary lot. We are dreamers. We are exceptionally gifted at crafting fictional worlds, alternate universes, and fantastical events. It can be all too easy to drift into these mind-places, these other states of being. Staying focused when there is no one standing over you demanding that things get done is immensely difficult, even if your level of self-discipline is higher than most. You are your own worst critic and come equipped with an instinct that only you possess. This is not enough: you must also be your own boss. You are the only one with the clout to lay down rules and goals, and make sure that they are followed.
A gift for imagination, words and plot is, of course, an essential part of any writer's tool-kit. However, you must also arm yourself with the grit and wherewithal to stick to it through everything that is thrown across your path: boredom, laziness, confusion and doubt. This is often the only difference between a successful writer and a floundering one.

"An artist's career always begins tomorrow."-James Whistler

Literary Oddments: Shopping for the Bookworm

There are readers, there are book-lovers and, then, there are book fanatics, for whom words and writers become a wondrous, enveloping way of life. The literary thrill does not end when the front cover falls shut. It can be chased, captured, enjoyed in any of the thousands of products directed toward the bookworm. This space will serve to cast a light onto some of the lit-based goods available.

As a child, I loved to lend books to my friends. I took great pride in allowing them to "check out" any volume that I was willing to briefly part with. Like any good librarian, I made sure to record the due date on the little card I attached to the inside back cover of every book. It is with some wonder that I record my failure to become a librarian when I grew up, though it seemed a natural fit at the time. I am too chained to the writing life to be a librarian. I would rather assemble words than record their migrations.

I recently came across some Vintage Library Book Pockets on Etsy. I just had to smile. They are self-adhesive and come in a pack of 50. At $8.00, they are nearly irresistible. I am still in the habit of gingerly, and with much instruction, lending books to friends. Perhaps I should once again indulge in the orderly joy of assigning due dates. Over the top? Only to those not in the know.

Please check THIS out.

Shop: ButlerandMaid

Where:Etsy.com

What:50 Library Book Pockets

Price:$8.00

Bookworm Rating: 4 out of 5

Image courtesy of: ButlerandMaid

INSPIRATION BOARD-19 July 2009

Creativity not only begets creativity, it inspires it in others. Right now, I am finding inspiration from some pretty impressive sources.

1. Colin Hay-I was a very lucky (belated) birthday girl last Wednesday, 15 July. The Chef surprised me with tickets to the Colin Hay show at the Southgate House across the river, in Newport, KY. I had no idea until we walked up to SH, where I had never been, and saw the sign announcing that evening's act. The intimacy of the venue was a perfect fit for his sort of artistry: it let his impeccable songwriting skills and subtle voice shine. Days later that voice--and those words--still echo in my mind. It is a 'Beautiful World', indeed. Click here.


2. "Write something to suit yourself and many people will like it; write something to suit everybody and scarcely anyone will care for it."-Jesse Stuart


3. It is probably small surprise that I am a passionate supporter of Etsy. It is my favourite on-line shopping destination. Right now, I am quite in love with Austin Modern. The shop features amazing Mid Century goods, as well as assorted awesome wares from the earlier Art Deco period. My two current favourite offerings? Art Deco letter press type face ( a full set) and a luscious chrome club chair from the same era. Click here to go there.


4. I am slightly stunned by the above image, and not just because I bear a strong resemblance to the woman at the center. The 1920's is a vast source of inspiration for me: from art to literature, film to fashion, politics to pop-culture I find it full of energy, complexity, and beauty. There is a freshness and vigor to the tableaux in the advertisement, as well as a sense of unreality, however understated (which is, perhaps, typical of most advertising). Playing a gramophone sea-side seems much more sophisticated than bopping along to an Ipod. Ah, well: life was not meant to be static.


5. It always comes back to Neruda, Pablo Neruda. "May whatever breaks/be reconstructed by the sea/with the long labor of its tides./So many useless things/which nobody broke/but which got broken anyway." (from ODE TO BROKEN THINGS)

USEFUL READS: The Glimmer Train Guide to Writing Fiction Inspiration and Discipline

For writers, there is no such thing as shop-talk. What we do cannot be separated from who we are, cannot be compartmentalized into its own box. It is as expansive and necessary as breathing or blinking. Therefore, we can be very wordy when the subject at hand turns to our words. Whether we are discussing the technical (the fundamental underpinnings of an article or story) the personal (plot, characterization, voice) or the idiosyncratic (writing patterns, philosophy), we can go on and on, until our passion invokes boredom or annoyance in any non-writer listeners. This is not something that can be easily turned off, or satisfied with a quick "this is how my day went" briefing. Yet, speaking to someone who is not engaged in the writing life can often result in feelings of impotence, frustration, and misunderstanding. Explaining why you write is either the easiest or toughest thing in the world, depending on who is at the other side of the conversation.
My significant other--The Chef--is smart, astute, and possesses a large vocabulary. He recognizes my talent but does not begin to know the need I have to write, what it is that compels me to maintain such loyalty and dedication to something that is so hard-to-focus or pin-down. There is nothing immediate to show for writing except words on a page: concrete gratification is often long-delayed and far-short of what, seemingly, such hard work deserves. This is why the writing life is one of such abiding, enveloping loneliness; for who, but another writer, can begin to approach any coherent, compassionate understanding of what it is we do?
The Glimmer Train Guide to Writing Fiction Inspiration and Discipline Edited by Susan Burmeister-Brown and Linda B. Swanson-Davies is a squat little window into the strange, amorous and often isolated world of the writer. To be a writer is always to be the oddest person in a room. You could be surrounded by a bearded lady, a fire-eater, a con artist and a hobo, and chances are that you will be the one to come off as a childish slacker. It goes, however unfairly, with the territory. You eventually become accustomed to being viewed as a dreamer with unrealistic expectations by your nearest and dearest: trying to explicate the inner drive to write is simply too difficult.
Reading The Glimmer Train--made up of interviews from Glimmer Train Stories--is like having fabulous, enlightening, and intimate chats with your peers. Although I leaned a few pointers, the book is, for me, not so much a how-to of the writing game but a how-to-survive-the-writing-life guide. It cuts a deep swathe through the layers of isolation and misunderstanding inherent in such a lifestyle. It is sated with words of wisdom, humour, hope and shared perspective.
The interviews are served up, bite-sized, covering all manner of subjects: technique, inspiration, family, art, lifestyle, support, to name a few. What becomes apparent after a few pages is how much in common they--and we--have, in spite of differences in gift, genre,voice, and approach. Almost everyone, it seems, writes because they have no choice, because they cannot imagine not writing, because they are compelled to from some deep and unknowable source. They would write even if no one ever read their words.
The instructional part, for me, was in seeing how different writers approach the immensely painful, lonely, yet joyous task at hand; to see how they discipline themselves to do what is just damn hard work, day in and day out. Aside from that, nearly every page contains multiple gems, presents alternate but easy-to-relate to ways of thinking.
Perhaps the most impactful bit of advice, for me personally, comes from Richard Bausch, of whom I had never before heard. Instead of thinking of writing as an uprooting --of digging things up from deep within--he envisions it as a winding path, endless, where anything can present itself to you. I find that to be beautiful, insightful, doable.
This is a must-have for any writer ever in need of inspiration, understanding, or a pep-talk. It is always within reach of wherever I happen to be writing; it is also often to be found on my bedside table. I know that you, too, will find it well-worth the small investment involved.
I plan on showing the book to The Chef, with the hope that it will help to explain where I am coming from, as reader-writer. I believe that seeing such strong, plain, passionate words out of the mouths of others who share my obsessive sentiments will serve the purpose far better than I could. If, however, that does not work, The Glimmer train will at least provide me with a happy haven.

INSPIRATION BOARD-14 July 2009

After a long-weekend off--my very own home-town-bound mini-holiday--I am struggling to get back into the swing of things. I have not hit the ground running. I have been standing idle, craning my neck, trying to find something,anything, to crank my motivation up a notch or three. My mind is teeming with a thousand big, a million little, ideas. Settling down long enough to commit more than an errant, squirming phrase or two to paper is proving immensely difficult. Spending uninterrupted, calming quality time with family has reminded me to look to the small things for succor and inspiration. I am going to try and apply that lesson to my creativity. Here are a few things that are currently making me think, smile, and give thanks.

1. A cuppa and a few McVitie's chocolate digestives make me feel not just like a writer, but an English one. I do not indulge in the latter very often but very few things beat their peculiar and scrumptious wheat-meets-sweet taste.
2. The ridiculously vibrant and exotic produce section at Jungle Jim's, a gourmet, international grocery emporium in Cincinnati. They stock an eye-opening variety of vegetables and fruits. I love the artistry of the display; it is a visual reminder that nature's bounty is varied and endless.
3. "We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to."-words of infinite wisdom from one of my favourite authors, W. Somerset Maugham.
4. Anticipating the August (Age) issue of 'Vogue'. All fashion magazines manage to simultaneously elate me and flat-out piss me off. This is cyclical; this is perpetual. My love of fashion-as-history runs deep. I also love pretty, pretty pictures (something that modern Vogue does not always deliver). I still adore the issue's cover girl, Christy Turlington, who remains as stylish, elegant and principled as ever. Plus, the 'Age' issue of the magazine always exists on the sharpest razor's edge, waffling between dishing out genuine inspiration and gutless irritation.
5. Discovering, after all of these years, that I have more in common with my Dad than just a high IQ and love of reading.
6. Writing that is utterly unlike my own. Whilst in the midst of much creative writing, I can only read non-fiction or fiction that has a voice and view-point far removed from mine. I am beyond excited that my friend Chrissy has finally started her own blog, A Steampunk Reverie.. Please check it out, you won't regret it: Click here to begin.
7. Baseball's All-Star Game. It is held the second Tuesday of July (tonight!), which is always around my birthday. In my mind, the two simply go together. I can scarcely recall a time that I was not a baseball fan. I owe this particular passion to my Grandfather. The game, held this year in St. Louis, is, for me , a hallmark of Summer, relaxed times, and family.

"A writer never has a vacation. For a writer life consists of either writing or thinking about writing."-Eugene Ionesco

Alicia's Adventures in 'Zining: Why oh why? or: Getting Started

Writers are actively connected to the past of their profession to an unusually high degree. Dead people are often the ones that put us on our career-path. You start with one and then a domino effect kicks in : we read dozens of such authors through our schooling years alone. Their successes, failures, and wisdom spurs us on to continue with what is, at the best of times, an intensely isolated and difficult journey. Depressed, frustrated, angry? Pick up a biography or read a quote; or, better yet, read a novel that has gained legendary status, is taught in schools, is part of our collective consciousness. Feel better, hopeful, encouraged? Almost always!

I walk through my writing life with an always-moving, jittery slide-show of mentor-muses rolling through my mind. There are those writers who have my respect or awe; those who I have learned from, positively and negatively; and those whose particular life vision or career pattern I admire and recognize as similar to my own desires and aspirations. The latter pass through the most frequently. I will never be Jane Austen or Anthony Trollope, nor would I wish to be. Yet, I can understand, use or emulate the smaller achievements of Kay Boyle or Robert McAlmon.

I have been the Literary Editor for a small arts/pop-culture magazine. This has, perhaps, fitted me out for my current 'zining endeavour: I probably would not have had the balls to do it otherwise. I am not even sure that the idea would have occurred to me in the first place, had it no been for 'The Atomic Tomorrow'. It is one of life's true mercies that accomplishments, however humble, feed off of each other. I decided to jump into this abyss a few months ago. It took me several days to get behind the notion, as something viable and worth the considerable time and effort I would have to invest. Thus far, the hardest part of the endeavour has been my natural perfectionism matched with a ravenous desire to make the end-product an exact copy of what is in my head. I expect to fall only subtly short of this inner vision. This means that I am deliberately taking my time to set everything into place, just-so.

The easiest part of developing the 'zine was coming up with all of the bells and whistles, the little extras I plan on adding to enhance the experience, to make it more interactive, tactile: photographs, fabric, bands, wrapping. Name? Check. Format? Check. I was also, early in the endeavour, able to hand over the very tricky layout into the capable hands of my good friend, and ex-Atomic Tomorrow publisher, KM Scott. Freeing up that aspect of the project has allowed me to devote much-needed time to the creative and intellectual parts that I enjoy most: writing, editing and rounding up outside contributions.

Deciding on content is proving to be the true challenge. Determining which ideas merit a death-knell and which ones deserve lasting life is difficult. I have had to lose some marvelous concepts due to time or space constrictions. I have the consolation of knowing that, if the first issue is a success, a second will follow. There is already a considerable queue of things waiting their turn for the next go-round.

Tracking down interview subjects, artists, photographers and fiction contributors is something that I have experience with. Before, I did it as the representative of an entity that belonged to another person: its ultimate success or failure did not hinge solely on my skills, tenacity, connections, and luck. This does. That leaves me breathless, a little excited: the litany of emotions is extensive.

While this whole project has been in process for several months, the next few weeks are sure to be the most interesting and intense. Everything is about to kick into ultra-high gear. The hands-on phase is about to begin. From here on out, I really do not know what to expect. It is all new. There is much that I will be learning as I go along. There are only 2 things that I know for certain: it is going to be an adventure and I plan on sharing all of it with you.

Next up: What's in a Name?

About the photo: I chose the above photograph of myself to represent this series because a) I am too lazy to find something new and b) if you squint your eyes just so there is kind of a 'twenties vibe about this image.

INSPIRATION BOARD-6th July 2009

This week's distractions.

1. "Fight Club" (1999)-I love Chuck Palahniuk's writing, probably because it is so different from mine. I finally got around to watching the film adaptation of his 1996 novel just last week. The experience was definitely helped along by a few glasses of wine. Talk about jumping on the bandwagon ridiculously late, but it is a a satisfying film that has done an admirable job of sticking with me.


2. Farmer's Markets. I wish that there was one in my neighborhood but, alas, I shall have to seek one out. Shopping the stalls is a sign that Summer is in its magnificent full-swing.


3. Marion Cotillard's look in "Public Enemy". The French actress has an almost non-pareil ability to fit seamlessly into period films. Not only does she wear the clothes superbly, but she looks as if she is comfortably of that time. This is the only film that I really want to see this Summer.


4. "Writing is its own reward."-Henry Miller. This is a simple, effective reminder about something that is so easy to forget.


5. The Greek Myths: 1 by Robert Graves. Greek Mythology is complex, potent, compelling and incredibly entertaining--everything that fiction should strive to be. Mythology is a complicated mixture of history, religion, fiction and sociology that we can learn much of the story-telling craft from. I also love Graves' approach. Reading about the Greeks always makes me excited about the possibilities of story and characterization.


6. The above photograph of Ohio-born writer Fannie Hurst is, for me, the epitome of the elegant, intelligent early-20th Century female writer. One could craft innumerable fictions around that image.

The Creative Effect

My newest obsession is making dough, of the pastry variety. I fully expect this to hang around long enough to become a genuine hobby, and not just a passionate passing fancy. I learned to bake things from scratch when I was 9. I made a cake under my aunt Lauree's supervision. It was a Cocoa cake from a Betty Crocker dessert cookbook. You finished it off by dusting it with confectioner's sugar. It turned out well. I was immensely delighted by my creation: I have been baking ever since.
I always shied away from pie crust. I considered that to be part of my Grandmother's realm. Like most Midwestern families, pie is integral to gatherings and celebrations. My grandmother--and her mother before her--is the queen of pastry. It honestly never occurred to me to bake a pie, until a few weeks ago. I was slightly bereft over my inability to attend an important family function: 6 hours was simply too great a distance to travel that day. Sitting at home, in my writing chair, sipping a cup of tea, I started musing on all of the delectables that I could possibly be missing. Pie came in at the top of the list. As it is summer, my dreaming naturally settled on a rhubarb pie, that creature of warm weather get-togethers. I could not shake this desire.
After several days, it slowly, and with some effort, dawned on me that I could, of course, as a grown woman, bake my own damn pie. Decision made. I baked two pies, home-made all of the way. They turned out better than I envisioned. The crust was flaky, the topping was crisp, the flavour was that special blend of sweet-sour unique to rhubarb pie. I also made a different crust for empanadas that night, as I have done several times since then.
There is a meditative quality to mixing pie crust with your fingers, a quality of serene precision in rolling it out. I was surprised to feel a pull of the artistic in the process. That thrill you get by making something with your hands was duly present. As a writer, I am constantly plying my craft, in as many forms and venues as my brain, creativity and schedule can allow. This is draining. It can easily suck away vitality from other parts of your life, until you are entirely enervated. This can result in all of my drive--including that which compels me to write--disappearing. In order to keep myself artistically in balance, I try to find hobbies to keep my muse agile. I believe that creativity (of any kind) begets further creativity; it all serves to pipe new blood into my writing. It keeps my mind elastic without actively taxing my literary nature. Creativity is to be found in so many places, most of them entirely unexpected.
I have done counted cross-stitch, on and off, since I was in elementary school. It taxes my bad eye-sight, so I have imposed a 30-minute limit on the endeavour. I have finished 2 pieces in the last 2 1/2 years, both given as gifts. I am about to embark on a new design in a few weeks, an ambitious Elizabethan pattern. It will take me months, if I dole out my time in dribs and drabs. It requires physical dexterity that is so different from writing. Following a pre-determined grid frees my mind to think about other things, or nothing at all. When I complete needlework, there is an immediate gratification that is not present when I finish a story or article. There is no more to do; it is done. I don't have to rethink anything or put myself through mental hoops, round after round after round. It is self-contained. There is no need to return to it weeks, months later to see if it needs to be reworked.
While having a consistent writing routine is integral to your art, it is important to have outside pursuits to occupy your mind. That kind of mental and imaginative curiosity ultimately benefits your words, your plots, your characterizations. I am entranced by so many things. I used to constantly engage in the "someday game". Someday I will learn how to speak Norwegian, someday I will start making collages, someday I will learn how to bake pies. I still fall into that trap all too frequently but now I make a genuine effort to cordon off time for those things that even remotely interest me. Not everything works out to the point of becoming a viable hobby, yet many do. I finally know what it feels like to be covered in flour from rolling out a pastry crust; and it feels like home. Next stop: learning more than 5 phrases in Norwegian. My words will thank me.

"The trade of authorship is a violent and indestructible obsession."-George Sand

Love at First Site: Amelia's Magazine

The bad news: the tactile version of Amelia's Magazine is no longer available. The good news: it has been restructured as a blog, and an illustration anthology is in the works. The brainchild of, yes, a woman named Amelia, it survived in its original form for 5 years. There were 10 amazing issues. Though we must now content ourselves with the on-line incarnation, it is more a sacrifice of spirit than content. This is , for me, the hidden thorn.
This luxurious, artistic gem of a magazine was founded on true small-press principles, with passionate intent to be old-school three-dimensional. In other words, paper. It featured art, fashion, the environment , photography, and music (the first issue had an interview with pre-train wreck Pete Dougherty). There was something to satisfy every art-conscious person, and it was beautifully presented. I realize that the founder's ideals have not altered. Amelia herself, on the blog, refers to is as "creativity in the climate of change": that is a heart-rending encapsulation of the world that artists ,and all of us, currently face.
It is true that Amelia's Magazine was home-grown but it was a glossy, potent and professional product. She invested real money into the endeavour and, where there is money to be gained, there is also money to be lost. In this sense, it was not really a kitchen-table affair (KTA) but the relatively expensive, sophisticated product of an artist with access to real resources, something that most of us lack. This at once elevated the publication into the realm of the big boys. An indie magazine playing on a real stage. This is impressive and is, perhaps, at the heart of what every creative renegade hopes to achieve: Independence, readership and respect. Another lesson to be learned here is how building a network of like-minded artists can pay off for all involved.
The blog is not to be trifled with or dismissed: it retains much of what made the hard copy so invigoratingly delicious. There is a core of savvy contributors, beautiful or eye-opening pieces (reviews, interviews) and an atmosphere electric with creativity and respect for all of the kaleidoscopic artistry to be found in our sometimes frustrating, ever-altering modern world. Amelia's Magazine's passionate, particularly English approach to the arts is still here, just in a different form. Knowing where the blog sprang from can give the briefest pause, as you stop to mourn ,with genuine grief, the old-school ideals that first gave it life. Meeting the demands of the economic and artistic moment means tangling with compromise. The end result is , perhaps, not all that one would hope for: yet, the willingness of Amelia and her staff to engage in some shape-shifting has ensured that it will remain with us for some time to come.

I am having some problems with linking things. Actually, the links work properly but, even though it is set up correctly, it is not highlighting the links. So, to go directly to the site, simply click on the first place that it says "Amelia's Magazine" at the top of the page. Thanks!

Useful Reads: The New York Public Library Desk Reference

I am a notorious slut-glutton for words. The favoured objects of my affection have always been, and remain, reference books. I devoured them from early childhood on, even reading dictionaries on car-trips. I cannot look up a word without reading several pages worth of entirely irrelevant definitions. As a writer, this obsession comes in handy: reference books are, or should be, our dearest associates. I own a slew of them: dictionaries, encyclopedias, volumes on style and grammar, miscellaneous fact-books, how-to's, market tomes. It is easy to be overwhelmed by the escalating mountain of reference-for-writers material.

The best way for someone like me to avoid the siren's song of reference books is to be exceedingly picky. If a volume is not enlightening, inspiring or practical with an interesting spin then I simply refuse to bring it home. I think that these guidelines are appropriate for any writer to follow. The "Useful Reads" column will spotlight books that have passed my stringent rules: as such, I am happy to recommend them for your use.
I am a savvy, technology-aware writer. I realize that the Internet exists. I realize that search engines are marvelous, time-saving niches: I use them frequently. They are, in their limited capacity, addicting. Nothing, however, beats the tactile pleasure of picking up a hefty book, balancing it on your knees, and idly or hurriedly flipping through its pages. You know that, eventually, you will find what you are looking for, and many other fantastical things besides.
The New York Public Library Desk Reference is the perfect volume for all of your fact-finding-or-affirming needs.It is laid out in neat, easy-to navigate chapters. It covers much of the same ground that you would find in an encyclopedia without the lengthy entries: it is precise, detailed, and to-the-point yet it is more all-encompassing than a regular almanac. It calls itself "The most valuable answer book you will ever own", which is certainly an accurate assessment. But be forewarned: it is definitely a traditional read . If you are looking for irreverent, dark or odd factoids, then you are better off picking up a copy of that wee gem, Schott's Original Miscellany.
With the famous stone lions decorating the outside, it touches upon everything from Frost Dates to Popes, Wine Selection to Royalty. As with any reference book worth its list price, it sucks me in every time that I open the covers. The New York Public Library is staffed with professionals who know there stuff better than anyone in the business. They have distilled that knowledge into roughly a thousand pages of practical information. Finding exactly the fact or figure that you need can be done with immense speed, and in less time than searching the Web would require. As long as you do not let yourself get carried away into mini-raptures of new-found but irrelevant wisdom, as I am apt to do ("What is this? A list of diacritical marks? Heaven!"), this can be a critical tool in allowing you to devote less time to research, and more for writing. Unless, of course, you are a word-fact geek like me, wherein meandering through the pages is half of the point, and all of the pleasure.

"The only reason for being a professional writer is that you just can't help it."-Leo Rosten

An Approach Both Local and Global

I am not a great writer of place. This is not laziness : it is a real necessity if I am to give birth to my particular vision. In order to make way for the intimately universal, I do not set my fiction in instantly recognizable locales, nor is any regional influence obvious. My characters do not speak in dialect, do not exhibit traits characterized by a specific city or state. They are merely, inescapably human: a condition experienced by every soul the world over. There is atmosphere and description to be found in my stories but they are peculiar to individuals and their personal surroundings: there is no wider, deeper imprint of place. I respect and enjoy many writers who are profoundly connected to their home turf, and carry it into their work: Austen, Joyce, Faulkner. The passion and intensity that they imbued their novels with remains a strong pull across the tumble of so many years. Yet, a lack of specificity can be an equal lure for readers, and this is what I attempt with my words, however humble. The drive behind what I do, and how I approach the career that presents my artistry to the light, is another matter: it is an unbreachable combination of the local and the universal, and always as grassroots as possible.
The Internet has opened up a heretofore unimaginable amount of venues for the selling, marketing and discourse of artistic product. What someone writes in Russia can be read in North Dakota as soon as a button is pressed. The possibility is breathtaking and would, likely, be unfathomable to the writers of even 50 years ago. This means that networking can be done on a scale as vast as the world itself. You can, with surprising ease, craft a sounding board or support group made up of individuals of many nations without ever going through the hoops of old-fashion and exhausting legwork. This may sound impersonal but it can be truly valuable, and genuine connections can be formed. Yet to use this as the sole means of contact ,and the only form of self-promotion, is sadly limiting. At the heart of it, nothing surpasses getting your hands dirty at a local level--the place where, perhaps, the most difference is to be made. This kind of approach is my life's passion, next to the actual act and offering of writing itself. I am enraptured with words, in love with history and dedicated to thanking those who came before me. I will briefly boil this amalgam down to the bone: Small press literary publications were the unheralded backbone of American and European literature in the earliest decades of the 20th-Century. They were a mouthpiece to some of the finest efforts of writers great and small; writers whose poetry, essays, critiques and stories would otherwise not have been published regularly or at all. These artist-helmed publications were their way to immortality, even if they did not know it at the time. Combining the above elements is where my devotion to the local becomes active.
While working for a Columbus-based art-and-culture start-up a few years back, my passions turned to convictions, and from there ideas sprang into being. One of the things that I set out to do as Literary Editor of The Atomic Tomorrow was to turn many of the pages over to the work of local writers, of all ages, genres, and voices. I was honoured to give others the same chance that I received, and continue to receive so generously from various sources. The literary section of that paper gave seed to what I am attempting to do with A Small Press Life and the 'zine that I have in production.
While I love blogging and lending my work to other on-line publications, where there is a true sense of community, I enjoy the change and challenge of crafting something from the ground up and then physically putting it together. In our techno-sated world, there is almost a sense of rebellion, even anarchy, in laying out, printing, and hand-assembling a magazine or book. The artistry seems to be of a higher order, and the satisfaction is beyond anything to be gained from hitting a "Publish Post" button. When done by professionals, especially, the end-product can be a masterly gem of vision, talent, and individuality. Zining is, for me, the perfect balance and blend of the modern and the classic.
There is something lovely and primal about creating a 'zine: the process, for me, is an organized yet organic exploration of what I am capable of. It stretches my talent in new directions. I do not indulge in the awkward, car-wreck known as the perzine, which is a glorified diary. I gather art and writing from my always-expanding circle of professional creative friends. My 'zines are a breathing, pulsing tribute to those little Literary Magazines mentioned-above, on a scale not significantly smaller than those put-out by my mentor-muses. The advantages of modern technology walk into the picture after an issue has been completed.
The wonders of Etsy and Papernstitch, coupled with electronic word-of-mouth, are the best free-marketing-and-selling venues available for hand-made goods. Your product reaches around-the-globe almost instantaneously. You can have fans in Australia or Iceland, without actively advertising there. I am an enthusiastic proponent of this concept: the local-gone-global. Still, nothing beats the giddy, visceral thrill of placing your work in your own city. Whether it be at a coffee shop or farmer's market, having something that I have worked so diligently at and for available in my own neighborhood is the biggest kick of all. These outlets will always be vital to my art: spreading it locally is always a heightened accomplishment.
I do not imagine, at this time, that I will drastically change course and become a writer of local colour and inflection. That is not a goal that I embrace: doing so would seem oddly foreign to my voice and viewpoint. I remain, however, a daughter-in-spirit to this place:I truly love Ohio's artistic urban vibrancy, and am proud to call the Buckeye state my home. We have both an outstanding artistic heritage and a lively, forward-thinking present. I choose to embody those ideas where the difference is greatest--through my actions, convictions, and life-style--rather than on the page. This way, my words and life are local-global, and remain my own.

INSPIRATION BOARD-27 June 2009

This is the first of many new elements that will be added over the next few weeks. Every weekend, I will be sharing with you some of the eclectic things that inspire me, both as a writer and person: after all, the two are completely fused. Artists of the visual variety are famously inspired by all manner of things. I believe that this holds true for every creative, including writers. While the words, deeds, and lives of other wordsmiths certainly help goad one on in the hope department, ideas often arise from the most random, unexpected sources. Some of these muses run a true and constant course, providing you with a steady stream of encouragement and fecundity. Others dash in front of you, inspiring a passionate moment or two before flitting out of your mind. Anything that encourages you to pick up the tools of your trade and get creating is valid and luminous. On this week's board:

"I love you without knowing how or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way."

from "SONNET XVII" by Pablo Neruda

I just re-discovered the novel "Depths of Glory" by Irving Stone, historical fiction about my favourite Impressionist, Camille Pissaro. I read it as a teen and plan on borrowing my mom's copy in order to dive back into the excellently re-created world of 19th-century French art.

"I can always be distracted by love, but eventually I get horny for my creativity."-Gilda Radner (1946-1989).

My newly realized passion for making dough.

The culinary chutzpah of every-man Andrew Zimmern. I am addicted to "Bizarre Foods."

The image at the top of the page: "Where there's smoke there's fire", a 1920's painting by Russell Patterson. I love how the colour of the sash is a near-perfect match to her hair. The cut and drape of the frock is still fashionable, and still contemporary. It is all-too-easy for me to create dreamy confectionery back-stories to art like this.

Voices

My fascination with words is no secret, even to the most casual ASPL reader. It is as readily apparent as my eye or hair colour, and even more essential to my sense of self.Although I would feel less fiery,I could pop in brown contacts and dye my hair blonde and still be at home.A life cut off from words is as unthinkable,scary and black as death:it would be no life at all.My strongest connection to anything this world has to offer,other than the hermetic bond that seals me to my mother,is an unbreakable tie to the English language.
Words are glorious;when the perfect one rolls off of the tongue it is,in a small way,an act of reverence,never more so than for writers. Any true wordsmith has their own voice,developed through a combination of nature and practice,that is as unique and resplendent as a snowflake or a soul.I have been writing since the age of seven.The journey from there to here has been full of much sweat,obsessiveness,passion and self-nurturing.At the end of the day, I am proud to state that my voice is recognizably my own, and cannot be mistaken for another's.If ,when time has ceased to shelter me and my journey is no more,this is the sum total of my artistic achievement I will be satisfied.
My creative voice is thorny.It is not for everyone,nor does it need to be.If my overriding desire was to place a number of books on the Best seller's lists,or to publish articles in the big glossies,this would certainly be an issue of gigantic proportions.I would probably have to dull my words to broaden my appeal.I admire anyone with the guts to go after the kind of career that they desire,for whatever reasons:I extend this respect to myself.I refuse to walk a path that I know would be littered with nothing but compromise and misery and recrimination.
Language is not merely a means to an end, the verbal equivalent of putting one foot in front of the other.At its best,its richest,it is hypnotic and commanding:it arrests you,distilling and then fragmenting your notion of what words can do.Moms are not always your best critic,as they want terribly for you to succeed.Mine is savvier and more realistic than most,nor am I a youth in need of coddling. She also has a preternatural understanding of what it is my voice is trying to say,why I arrange my words to suit a very specific rhythm.This comes as much from being a hard-core reader as from being my mom.
There are people who find my writing style exhausting (I say,"so be it"),not worth the effort to ponder,savour or turn around in their head or on their tongue.They want brevity,simplicity, writing un-enhanced, taken to the bone.They are entitled to that,but must go elsewhere for it. My mother has tried to explain to some of these people the nature and appeal of my style,what sets it apart,why it is worth the few seconds of extra effort . She says that I love words,revere words--that my writing is meant to be read slowly,with thought given to the flow and the meaning behind them. She is correct,at least, about the former:she has been witness to my life-long love affair with language,which gives full expression to my obsessive nature.
One of the main thrills that I find in reading is how happening across a stunning turn-of-phrase halts everything.Time stops,outside considerations cease to matter:the only focus is re-reading those words,pondering them,letting them fly or slink off of the tongue.Any writing worth a damn is enhanced,heightened,sharpened when read aloud.The words that I read two or three or four times in a row demand to be spoken.That is what I wish to accomplish with my writing:it is a tall order that I mercilessly task myself with filling.
Perhaps only James Joyce could get away unscathed with writing words for the sake of words,in homage to their sound,their meaning,their chameleon-like quality when grouped in unusual and unexpected combinations.The rest of us,even when equally in awe of language,must find a more solid ground to erect our combinations on.We must learn to do so--train ourselves to do so--without sacrificing our passion,our individuality,our peculiar patterns.In the end,if we fail--if I fail,for,in trying to speak for others like me,I must first learn to speak for myself--at least we do so knowing that we wrote with honesty and unfailing dedication to ourselves and our craft.
How did you develop your voice,your style,your own writer's vision of things?

A Balancing Act of Psychotic Proportions

I am a person of many talents,skills,interests and proclivities.Flat-cleaning,however,does not fit with ease into any of those categories.I am rather at odds with the concept of scrubbing and shining and dusting.It disturbs my mind to think that anyone could find true enjoyment and contentment in such a heinous necessity.Yet power and kudos to those fitting that description:you must have a mental component that I lack.If it was merely a matter of grudging the occasional upper-hand to a wily adversary,I would suck it up and cede the occasional victory when necessary.Round 1 goes to you, dirty dishes. Make the most of it.
However,it sinks deeper than that, as it must for many artists. This is not to say that to be creative is to be a slob. I am sure that there are those who take especial enjoyment from wielding a feather duster or cleaning toilets,their surroundings always meeting the highest requirements of cleanliness and order.I,for one, am engaged in a constant struggle with time and priority and disinterest.Trying to find a satisfying place for diverse and demanding writing projects,outside employment,and cleaning is like juggling a bowling ball,an orange and a monkey. They have absolutely no organic connection but,somehow,must be made into a cohesive whole.
The problem--and that is exactly what it is--becomes all the worse when the muse is on a sustained visit.I become feverish when full of creativity,and single-minded to a dangerous degree.If I lived alone,it would be easy enough to slack off indefinitely,doing only the bare-bones chores until the muse again took flight.(Even then, with time stretching before me like an endless ocean of calm,I am not exactly obsessively tidy.)I can sit,slump,and contort myself before the keyboard for hours at a time,barely aware of the outside world but for the dog at my feet and the cat by my side.I am in what I can only hope is the early stage of a long and brilliant bout with creativity.I have been so full of ideas,and have had the empowering luck and guts of follow-through,these last few months that I see no possibility but that of success and endurance,and continuing fecundity.This will only add to my usual troubling choices:sweep the floor or write an article,clean the bathtub or start a story?
I realize that this is an ages-old dilemma for artists,especially women.Trying to balance,however perilously,outside demands and the creative impulse is something with which we have all contended.As there is no easy answer,no blanket panacea, we will doubtless continue to deal with this for a long time.I am not singing a song that no one has heard before.A hundred years hence it will likely strike an all too familiar chord.The words may be altered to suit the singer,but the refrain is the same.From Elizabeth Gaskell to Virginia Woolf to Sylvia Plath,the path has been trod by women (and men) of brilliancy and capability,by turns armed with confidence and disarmed by doubt.
Unless you are hermit-ed away in a cave,writing with the ash from your fire,there are so many factors that go into making up a writing life.They are not all glamorous,enticing and invigorating.They are mundane.They are frustrating.They never cease to cloud your mind and cut into your creativity.Even with modern conveniences,they are here to stay.How we deal with them differs from person to person.Hell,how I handle it varies schizophrenically, depending on: the day,my mood,what there is to be conquered,how many ideas and words are floating around in my head,how tired or energized I am,whether or not I have social plans or if I have,at that given moment,any confidence in my ability as a writer or human being.
This balancing act is a topic that will recur time and again on ASPL, as it is an integral part of the complex existence of this writer,and so many others.Upon realizing the desire--the urge--to write,and pulling up the ability from deep within yourself that makes it all possible, all externals do not suddenly,gloriously fall away,leaving your time unfettered.The writing life does not open itself wide to you:it has to be grasped,subdued and continuously commanded.There are new battles every day, and they are not always won.The maw of the real world is always gaping,always reaching for you, wanting to steal back what precious little time that you managed to take from it. Yet I acknowledge that I would not want to live wholly in either place.I feel like Persephone,caught between two worlds that are,in this case,neither entirely darkness or light but a constantly altering,swirling mixture:and,instead of being allowed the reliability and slight repose of 6 months in one world,6 in the other I have the awkward,tiring challenge of rocking back and forth,with one foot perpetually in each place.
Lest it sound like all ache and doom,the payoff to the writing life is the best thing that I know of:it is a thing of thrilling,comforting beauty.Although someone I am very close to insists that to compromise is to lose the battle at hand as well as part of your soul,the subtle dance of compromise is the very thing that makes my artistic existence possible.To be all artist would give too much weight and power to an over-riding selfishness that would eat up everything of external importance,including my own complexity and the love of those that I love.To be all civilian would mean to deny the very things that set me apart as an individual,and would sap a large part of the strength that I have for living.My small contribution to the world and to those I care for is shaped from the best parts of both incarnations.The struggle to find balance is ultimately a sign that I am paying heed,albeit imperfectly, to all of my needs. It means that I am doing something right.