Odds + Ends
Friday Write #164
Hello and welcome to Good Ideas, which today takes the form of a few semi-related, semi-literary thoughts slopped into the container of a newsletter, aka a dog’s breakfast as served by a person on deadline. (April 1!)
As always, you’ll find writing prompts at the end of this, one of which you should definitely do this afternoon when everyone else at the office is also not working.
—I just joined my alma mater’s Portland book club because they were reading an author I was embarrassed not to have read before and because I wanted to see how old we all looked. The book was The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula LeGuin, a literary giant and PNW hero. Come for the “human diplomat on a frozen planet inhabited by rival nations of ambisexuals” storyline; stay for the fascinating look at unfamiliar social codes and complicated rules of engagement. In a way, aren’t we all aliens to each other?
—“A novel is a medicine bundle, holding things in particular, powerful resolution to one another and to us.” You can read LeGuin’s great essay, “The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction,” here.
—Whoops, did last week’s post suggest that my parents shouldn’t have married each other? I talked about my childhood and then I excerpted a Sharon Olds poem about a dreadful marriage that did “bad things to children.” This was an unfortunate coincidence! Too much of my attention was occupied by my boyfriend, the Renpho foot massager. My childhood was happy, my dad and brother are awesome, and my mom would also be awesome if she were still alive, the end.
—Speaking of ends: I told myself the other day that when James Patterson and I finish our current book project, I’m going to spend a month going on a hike in the Gorge every single day. That I will report to the forest as if it were my job. I already know this won’t actually happen, but I’m hoping I can do it for, I don’t know, a week.
—I used to be a high school teacher and sometimes when I write prompts I feel like I’m 24 and about to stand up in front of classroom of sleepy teenagers. Today’s prompts feel especially scholastic in format but I bet spending twenty minutes writing as fast as you can in answer to the question ‘what will you miss’ is going to kick up some good shit. Also, it’s never a bad idea to read a poem. Or memorize one.
“I want to be famous to shuffling men…” Read this poem. What do you want to be famous for, and why? (If you’re writing fiction: What would your character like to be famous for? Use this as an exercise in understanding them more deeply.)
“It is not the earth I will miss…” Read this poem. What will you (or your character) miss?
“Crow school/is basic...” Read this poem. Who (or what) do you like every time you meet?
Happy reading and writing—
Emily
P.S. Replies to this newsletter often end up in spam. I love hearing from you, but until gmail straightens up its act, comments are the best way to reach me.
My character would like to be famous for her warmth and hospitality, symbolized by the homemade pie with the messy crust.
Maybe I’ll try to memorize more of George Oppen’s Of Being Numerous- a poem I’ve been revisiting consistently since 1994
Miss you.
Thanks for these prompts :-) 1. One of the characters in the novel I’m writing is a 12-year-old boy named Leon Daniels, he’s the remaining son of a family of pig farmer bow hunters. The family moved away from their home in Boone County, West Virginia, where many of his generations “survived” as coal miners. What Leon doesn’t want to be remembered for is the still in the shack out back with its white lightening moonshine, its murderous madness and mayhem. What he would love to be remembered as is a tap dancer more famous than his dead uncle, Jesco White, who died in his beat up old white pick up doing 360’s on the muddy slopes of Pilot Knob.
2. My character Esperanza Bastante will miss my father. He spoke Spanish with her; he made her feel more beautiful than any other woman on the whole base. He made her feel it was worth holding her head high. His blond hair and blue eyes and that smile that said, “all that matters is this moment together.” Though short lived, their secret rendezvouses, all those many years ago linger like chilies and oils rising from the warm earth.
3. Every time I met Lucky, Leon’s golden retriever, I felt safe and eager for play and adventure. He’d lick my hand, and after running the woods and fields of Battle Hill, with its rusted musket balls, belt buckles and arrow heads, Lucky let me wrap my arms around him while we lay in the grass watching the clouds rearrange themselves in the sky until our pounding ribs slowed to a single breath.