Found Story: Always the Sun

This isn’t a post about writing, but it’s still about story.

On a road trip earlier this month, my daughter took my phone so she could (supposedly) listen to music. It was weeks later when I found the video she made. She filmed it in slow motion; all I did was add music. I love these kinds of tiny surprises. Maybe it’s just me, but seeing the world through her eyes produces a story all on its own, with or without words. Reminders to pay attention to the road between us, the outline of trees like animals along the horizon. A tiny town, a bridge, you and me and we. And the sun–white, bright. Always the sun.

The Art of a Rough Draft Leads to Lessons of the Day

10906529_10205987025983758_5218993930413556726_nI haven’t spoken much about it lately, but I still meet monthly with a group of senior citizens for a creative writing class. The size of the group ebbs and flows, but the energy remains constant (we have a third anthology in the works and another reading scheduled for January). I continue to be amazed not only with their stories but often with their methods.

IMG_2123One woman always types her pieces on thin paper in cursive script. Another brings essays revised using old-school tactics: sissor-cut passages scotch-taped over an earlier version of a draft. But last Saturday when I sat next to the oldest member of the group, I witnessed a new kind of “rough” draft (don’t think “tactile,” think abbreviated).

This writer is 95 years old. Her hands shake, but that doesn’t stop her from putting pencil to paper. She often comes with a handwritten draft, but this time I noticed something different about her copy: words in struggling script on the top half of the page followed by row after row of loops and curved lines, right angles and tiny circles. Like Arabic but not.

IMG_2403I worried at first, thinking she’d fallen into scribbling and had not noticed. But as she tapped her pencil along each symbol in quiet study, as if she were reading word by word, I realized she’d written her draft in shorthand. When I asked her about it, she said she can read her shorthand easier than her own writing these days. Determined to do the work, it didn’t matter how she got the story down on paper, just that she got it down.

Shorthand is a lost art, I am sure, and I wish I had taken a photo of this draft with its transformation from writing I recognized to short, succinct strokes that illustrated storytelling in a magical way. Still fascinated by the image the next day, I did what any writer would: research.

IMG_2406Here’s where I am ever grateful for libraries within walking distance and for compact shelving that houses old books. I found a shorthand dictionary with a list of 19,000 “most popular words” in 1930 correspondence, like festoon and quinquennial (!) and another book entitled Thomas Natural Shorthand.

I can’t imagine trying to learn shorthand, (though I wonder if that might up my word count in a single day of noveling). But after reading just a few pages of Natural Shorthand, it’s clear that Mr. Thomas understood the challenges of writing in general. His five “Suggestions for Mastering Shorthand” fit right in as good advice for writers today.

1. “Be systematic. A single week of planned, systematic study is worth a month of haphazard endeavor.” My flawed efforts revealed: some days “haphazard” is systematic.

2. “Select good equipment. Use the best writing materials available. A good fountain pen is preferred [and] good, quality standard notebooks.” So, I will always take a detour down the aisle of school supplies in the grocery store in the name of good study.

3. “Form correct writing habits. Sit erect, with your feet flat on the floor….” As slouching on a couch during mid-afternoon hours encourages…well, haphazard study.

4. “Develop reading ability. Practice reading…material until you acquire the skill that permits you to give your listeners the meaning intended. To be an expert shorthand writer, you must first be a good reader. This ability is important.” I repeat: to be a good writer, be a devoted reader.

5. “Decide now to be an expert. Your future lies in your own hands. If you want it, you have to work it.

Sometimes you show up at class as the teacher, but you leave as the student.

 

Wide-eyed & Wild-eyed in Writing & Submissions

MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERAIn one of the last days before the regular job really kicked into gear, I sat manic and crazed in front of my computer revising a short story and posting a fellowship application and slamming a 300-word essay together in 45 minutes flat.

Maybe it was an hour, and maybe this wasn’t my very best work, but it was definitely a wide-eyed, wild-eyed attack on writing and submitting.

These last-minute attempts at literary scholarship don’t always produce prize-winning material (…wait, do they ever?), but they do produce. In that strange and stubborn moment, when I can do anything but sit one more day on a story, I find a tiny bit of hope and possibility and a fire rekindled, which for me was relief after a very quiet summer.

Sure, I anticipate the usual No’s, No thank you’s, and “Really…No” to hit my inbox in the next several months. Still, I don’t regret hitting SEND. After all, as Sherman Alexie says in this podcast with Jess Walter, submitting, acceptances, and rejections are all part of the “entire process of becoming a writer.”

Mantras help me push that process, phrases like “Why not?” and “Fearless writing” and (more recently) “Do the foot work.”

IMG_0424What that means is that one day in doing the foot work to get your portfolio together for the submission to that literary journal so far out of your league it’s laughable, you will sift through all those old stories and rejections (because who are we kidding, you save every one), and you will discover that half of the stories you sent out, which bounced back time and again, eventually did find a home.

It took countless tries, but they made it to publication, all because you sat crazed at the computer that one Monday afternoon and hit SUBMIT again and again.

What are you waiting for?