Remington Roundup: #Writing, #Revising, & #Poetry

1960's photo of woman at Remington typewriter

Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.                                                                          ~ Virginia Woolf

For this edition of the Remington Roundup, there are no priests (sorry), but there’s definitely poetry and places to hang with your writing and revising friends. 


#Writing

Hey Word Warriors, last call for anyone wanting to participate in the upcoming Study Hall: #AmWriting this Sunday, April 8th, 3-5pm (CST). You can join online via Zoom or show up in person at the Studio in West Allis. We’ll read from work by a few favorite authors and write on four different prompts.

Read more about the meet-up HERE, and register by Saturday the 7th!


#Revising

If you’re like me, you have several rough pieces in notebooks, stashed on your hard drive, previously printed and paper clipped for future edits. If you’re me, some of those pieces have been sitting in the queue for way too long. Revisions can be daunting.

There are plenty of books to turn to and articles to consider when diving back into a draft, but here’s one you might bookmark: “Re-envision Revision with Sandra Scofield” where novelist Sarah McCoy interviews Schofield on Writer Unboxed.

“You have to take a big step back and get perspective. What is this I’m telling? What’s it about? And then describe what you have produced. . . . I really do mean you should describe the manuscript, in detail. Know it. Then you can start evaluating it.” ~ Sandra Scofield

She’s also teaching at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival this July. Anyone up for a road trip?


#Poetry

April is National Poetry Month, and there are so many ways to celebrate:

“I then recognized…some true and awful thing about being a poet and a poet’s relationship, not to words or the beauties and meanings words offer, but to the blank space those words are written on, to the page: that one must learn to trust that its thin, near nothingness can bear the burden of a life.” ~ Dan Beachy-Quick on Poets & Writers

Revising Frank’s Story

IMG_0087I have a short story in my repertoire right now, which I call “Frank.” It’s been sent out several times and returned just as many. I like Frank. His story sticks with me. He’s a character who came out of the first novel I attempted, and though I didn’t like him much in the beginning (he was kind of a jerk, hard-headed and rude. Even scary), he softened up once I gave him his own story. I began to appreciate his flaws.

For a long time (and through several submissions), I thought his story was done. I was sure of it, figuring it just hadn’t hit the right editor’s eyes. On occasion I’d think, Okay, maybe tweak a word here or there just so it doesn’t grow stagnant. So I can send it out again right away. But the truth is, I was reluctant to look at it too deeply again.

Revisions are painful. Especially when it comes to a story I’ve worked on time and time (and time) again. Partly because I want the story to be done. Partly because I am  unsure of how to fix it. What’s worse, though, is letting a good story go simply because the work scares me.

It helps to read Jason Brown’s take on revisions:*

The long road from the first draft to the final draft is an epic journey through foreign lands with no Frodo to guide me. No, that’s not right. I can’t believe that line came out of my head. It did, though, and I just have to remember that more than 90 percent of what pops into my thoughts doesn’t belong on paper. So I try again: Revision is a month-long backpacking trip with a group of people I met in line at the DMV. No, no. Revision–it’s like driving cross-country in a Chevy Nova with my aunt and uncle and delinquent cousins from Buffalo. Everyone’s whining and my aunt yells, “What’s wrong with us?”

Brown is constantly revising through his whole essay on revision, and I love it. His humorous slant on the process pulls me out of what I sometimes see as the dire prospect of rewriting (oh, the agony). And, he offers several exercises at the end of his essay that are tailored to revision. Here’s one I intend to use:

When you reread your manuscript, start somewhere in the middle or near the end. Reread the story or chapter twice a day for six straight days, starting at a different point in the narrative each time. We all know the first paragraph and first page have to be great. Bring fresh scrutiny to all the subsequent paragraphs and pages.

Last time I opened Frank’s story, I got stuck on the first paragraph. The next time I open it, I’m going to start at the end.

Where do you begin when you revise?

IMG_0085* You can find Jason Brown’s essay in Naming the World (edited by Bret Anthony Johnston), an excellent resource for writers.

Maybe If I Had Those Boots: A List, Linda Carter, and Letting Go

I am a listmaker, a planner, and a victim of my own high expectations. I began the summer by designing a hefty writing goal: finish the current draft of my novel by the end of June. Even now, as I type those words, the task seems like it should have plausible. Easy. But, after only two weeks into my summer vacation, I realized I wouldn’t reach that goal.

Couldn’t reach it.

Headaches ensued, followed by a case of the “poor me’s,” and soon those clouds in the sky that lingered well past their welcome meant more than just rain.

“It’s summer, for crying out loud,” I complained to a friend. “Life is good. Why do I feel so bad?”

My friend suggested I write another list, a different one, a list of every expectation I set for myself. Later, when I read it back to her, she pointed out an interesting theme, so that I understood the skewed vision I had, of me:

Linda Carter could kick a novel into submission in no time, and have dinner on the table by six o’clock. She could swim the deep ocean to rescue a sinking sub and then surface, lipstick and mascara (and sanity) in tact. But I’m not Linda Carter. My hair gives way two minutes into a workout, and those bullet-deflecting bracelets are useless against the snide remarks of that committee in my head.

Making that list of expectations was quite a revelation, from a personal point of view and a writer’s perspective. I can’t do everything I set out to do, and that’s okay. So now, I have two new goals: relax and just be —

Present.

Amanda Hoving talks about similar revelations in a recent post on her blog. Yes, time is ticking away, but that I don’t need to drive myself crazy or beat myself up.

Wise words came from a few other folks, too, words that help keep me grounded, lately:

1) Comments on a recent post of my own, which reiterate I am not alone in my struggle to complete a novel, and that perhaps I could consider that story as a shorter work (there’s that perspective bit again).

2) Passages from Roz Morris’ Nail Your Novel, a great book for writers with just an idea or with an unfinished draft in hand. Early on in her book, she says something that speaks directly to me, in how I work my draft and (apparently) in how I plan my days:

Don’t make lists…lists tie you down to having events happen in a certain order, and this is not the time for you to be deciding that.

Lists do help me get organized. But, like every asset, making lists quickly swings to a defect when that particular action takes me down into a feeling of failure. Morris knows this, and she offers several tasks for writers that help move a novel forward, without obsessing over the mantra, “I should be doing this, or that, by now.”

3) Jan O’Hara’s recent post on Writer Unboxed, a poignant essay on letting go, relaxing, and embracing the kind of writing that feeds your spirit. She says:

I’ve noticed a tendency for writers to devalue their natural talents, perhaps because the writing can feel easier. (Not “easy”, because writing is seldom that.)  Sometimes I think we are so used to telling stories about struggle, we believe that’s the only way to exist. If it isn’t hard, it doesn’t count. If we aren’t wrung out by the process, it can’t contain much worth.

Go read Jan’s essay. Then, set out – or head back – to do what you love.

Speaking of, just for today, this is what I’m doing:

  • Using Morris’ book to push my story draft towards the finish (whether that be 80,000 words or 40,000), but not panicking if that happens at a much slower rate.
  • Writing and revising flash fiction (maybe even putting them into a collection), because that’s a genre I enjoy, and one in which I feel I can succeed.

Linda Carter can keep her boots.

What high expectations can you let go of today?