On Reading and Writing: Quotable Posts

underlining while reading

A host of posts worth bookmarking.

On Reading

It’s Short Story Month at Fiction Writers Review. Here’s a bit of what you can look forward to if you stop by their blog:

There’s more to watch for at FWR during May, like interviews and short story collection giveaways. I’ll be running my own interview and giveaway in a few weeks, when Erika Dreifus stops by the blog to discuss her book of stories, Quiet Americans.

Siobhan Fallon reflects on author readings and the book tour, the thrill and the hardship:

…[T]ouring can be as difficult as it is wonderful. Wonderful, because, c’mon, the ‘book tour’ is every author’s dream…to have your book taken seriously enough that your publisher is actually sending you out in the world to talk about your written words. . . . Also difficult because writers are usually a shy bunch of people…. It is scary as all hell to get up in front of strangers and try to charm them for a half hour.

To authors who brave the mic, I say Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You pave the way for those writers who follow in your footsteps. you enrich the experience of readers as you give voice to the printed word, and you inspire those in the audience to run home and put pen to paper.

On Writing

Cathy Day shares an “end of the semester” lecture online, addressing the ever-present question in students’ minds: Am I a Writer?

You don’t “become” a writer because of a particular degree or a particular kind of job…. Nobody—no degree-granting institution, no teacher, no editor, no association—grants you the status of writer. You don’t need anyone’s permission to be a writer. You have to give yourself permission. It’s an almost completely internal “switch” that you have to turn on and (this is harder) keep on. . . .

Convincing yourself each day to keep going, this means that you are a writer.

There’s so much more in this post worth reading and considering, like what we mean – exactly – when we say we “just want to be published”.

Lisa Romeo talks about the Aha moment in writing and suggests that we stop waiting for it:

In my experience – and I’m talking here in broad terms that include motherhood, writing, marriage, career, relationships – the aha moments come in two general forms. Either they hit me like all at once at an unexpected and always later time: in the shower hours after the marathon work session, while awaking the morning after an argument, during the long drive home from the much-anticipated event… . . . . Or else they creep along, small and quiet at first, and then build speed and grow in size and shape until one day I realize (with very little fanfare) that some new angle, method, mindset, approach, skill or proficiency has worked its way into my usual routine. . . .

Corner-turning, breakthroughs, aha moments have their own agenda, and it’s not yours. Relax. Stop waiting. Your job now is to take it all in, to read, to study, to try, to experiment, to think.

This post hits the mark for me; I am always looking for the burning bush to urge me on, instead of (simply) relying on my own sheer will to write.

What posts would you quote this week?

Flash Fiction on Wednesday: Cold

There’s a new website in my Google Reader: Fiction Writers Review. Writers can find a plethora of information, stories, and great blog posts there. Plus, they have a blog series by Celeste Ng called “Get Writing,” where she posts an exercise to get your muse off the couch and back to some serious calisthenics. This week, Celeste suggests writers turn to the tabloids.

Looking through the tabloids is a lot like waiting for Wordsmith.org’s Word of the Day – you never know what you’ll get – and, seeing as it’s Wednesday, the timing was perfect to use the tabloids as a spark for a little flash fiction.

*****

Cold
(Based on this post, called “Magnetic Boy,” from Weekly World News)

Standing outside, Nicholas Baker – even at ten years old – could see that his mother had lost it. She used to get mad if he ran outside without a jacket, when the air was just a little bit cool. But now, she was insisting that he stand in the front yard, naked from the waist up, in the middle of winter.

“She’s looney,” his older sister, Emily, had said about their mother just a few days before. “Mental.”

“You are what you say!” Nicholas yelled back at first, because he didn’t want to hear her call his mother crazy. Though, he figured she might be right.

“Mom, Nicholas is shivering,” Emily said now. “He’s freezing.”

His mother adjusted his arms up and out to his sides and then stood back to look at him.

“Mom!” Emily shouted.

“Shhh,” she said. “Hold still, Nicky,” his mother told him. “I have to get this picture just right, otherwise we won’t win.” Then, she wiggled her hand toward, Emily. “Hand me some tablespoons,” she said.

Emily rolled her eyes and bent down to grab a handful from the silverware tray that sat on the ground. The wind kicked up. Nicholas’s teeth started to chatter.

“At least let me get him a coat, Mom.”

“No. If his skin is warm, the metal won’t stick. You know that. Now just be quiet and let me work.” His mother’s hands moved in swift diagonals across his chest. She shifted spoons around into various shapes. Her eyes flashed and she was breathing hard.

This wasn’t the first time he stood out in the cold while she lined him with kitchen utensils. Ever since they found out he was attracted to metal, or that metal was attracted to him, his mother had glued herself to the internet in search of contests on sites like Ripley’s Believe It or Not. She took picture after picture and drove to the post office every weekend. Nothing ever came of the pictures, so Nicholas started to wonder if it was really such a big deal that a set of keys sitting on a  table would jump into his palm if he held his hand over them.

“You’re like  Jedi Knight!” His mother had told him. “Like Luke Skywalker living in Cleveland, Ohio,” she’d grinned.

“Worth money,” he’d overheard her tell his Aunt Judy on the phone.

His stomach felt sick, and his head was frozen like a giant ice cube. He told his mother that his fingers were numb. She cupped each of his hands and blew on them, promising that in two more minutes she’d make him the biggest cup of hot chocolate he’d ever seen.

He didn’t like being a Jedi so much anymore, and he wondered if Luke Skywalker ever felt this bad. But, he did his best to smile for the camera, thinking maybe this would be the last time.