Feeling Tense

Most writing is in the simple past tense.  The past tense feels comfortable, and it is also the way most of us think.  Journalism uses the simple past tense, which is why all the quotations end with “said.”  It is the way we tell stories and share anecdotes with each other: I went to a farm-stand and bought fresh tomatoes.  I made caprese salad as an appetizer with my own basil.  Salmon was on sale, so I grilled it with a maple balsamic glaze.

Every once in a while, I will come across a book written in the present tense.  It can work in suspense, but it doesn’t feel natural in many ways as a mode of story-telling: I go to a farm-stand and buy the fresh tomatoes.  I make caprese salad as an appetizer with my own basil.  Salmon is on sale, so I grill it with a maple balsamic glaze.  The present tense can rapidly become grating if there doesn’t seem to be a purpose to it.

Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl is effective because it tells a parallel story in present and past tense, depending on the character who narrates.  It works because readers are with one character as he discovers what another character narrates in the past tense.  Beyond being a twisted, dark story, the use of different tenses adds to the intensity of each revelation as it occurrs.  It is complex and well-crafted, and the difference in tenses works in the context of the story.  Awareness of your purpose can help you choose which tense to use.  (This paragraph is in the present tense, by the way.)

An altogether different topic is the past perfect tense.  I feel so sad about this tense’s overuse.  I am not sure why people use it so frequently, but then again I can’t figure out why people use “I” when “me” is the correct personal pronoun, as in, “It was a great evening for Bob and I.”  Perhaps people think it makes them sound more sophisticated, perhaps they really don’t know better.  The past perfect is different in this way: people would never say out loud what they write in the past perfect.  Imagine having this conversation: I had gone to the farm-stand and had bought tomatoes.  I had made caprese salad as an appetizer with my own basil.  Salmon had been on sale, so I had grilled it with a maple balsamic glaze.  Phew!  I had a hard time keeping that up.

But I have read short stories written entirely in the past perfect.  It is painful.

Only once have I read a short story that used the past perfect well.  As with most stories, it was written in the past tense, but there was a flashback within the story.  The author included one sentence at the beginning of the flashback and one at the end in the past perfect to signify that a time shift had (this is effective usage of the past perfect) occurred.  The  author’s awareness of purpose and ability with language made the verb tense usage impeccable.

I recently read an article written about the causes and effects of World War I.  While it was generally well-researched, one error in historical background compounded with lapses into the past perfect made me question the whole piece.  If an author can allow this tense to readily slip into his work, how can I trust that the research is solid?  As a writer, the last thing you want is for readers to question your writing – or worse, that your use of verb tenses is so annoying or confusing that it forces a reader to stop reading.

In telling a story, there are numerous stylistic choices you need to make.  No matter how erudite you want to sound, though, please use the present tense and past perfect with caution.  The last thing you want is for your readers to feel tense about your tenses.

Now I have a caprese salad to eat.

F**k It?

There is one word that people who love language must grapple with at some point.  Its versatility is remarkable; it can be several parts of speech, even in the same sentence.  It is vulgar, and for that reason, it can have a powerful effect.  It can express awe, resignation, or surprise.  The word is elegant in a way other foul words cannot be.  It is both sexy and naughty.  It is forbidden.  It connotes power and submission at the same time.  The word itself is such a dichotomy because what it represents remains a taboo topic in most cultures.

As a language enthusiast, I love the word “fuck.”  It is true.  With that said, I rarely use it.  Even writing it just now was a bit of a struggle.

I have no moral qualms about the word, although I would prefer that foul language and coarse topics be left out of dining room conversation.  It has little appeal to me in everyday use.  In the eight years I taught English, I maybe said this word aloud in class ten times.  Most of those were in reference to its effectiveness (or lack thereof) in The Catcher in the Rye.  Its use in this venerable book, after all these years, remains controversial.  But why?  It is just a word.

Stylistically, the question of using vulgarities in writing is a challenge.  Will you choose to include them?  Can you accurately represent characters without them?  Will you use some and not others?  Which ones are simply too harsh or disruptive to the flow of your story?  These questions only you can answer.  But I do have some thoughts on this one word.

“Fuck” can be ugly and obstructive to your intent.  Mostly, just like the words “thing” and “stuff,” I find that using the word carelessly often reflects a lack of thought and a limited vocabulary.  There is a great deal of difference between purposefully using it and off-the-cuff saying to a friend, “I got a great fucking deal on that car.”  Really?  (Imagine this “really?” in a teacher voice, complete with a condescending head tilt and raised eyebrows.)  Why did you need to say it that way?  It does not illuminate.  It does not clarify.  It does not even bring greater impact to what you are saying.  It interferes and simply makes you sound ignorant.  But if you are writing character dialogue and wish to represent him in an unflattering light, this may be exactly how you want to use the word.

I love this word, but it is only useful if you do not let it dull through overuse.  As with any powerful tool, this glorious and multi-faceted word should be packed away in the toolbox and pulled out only when the situation requires it.  Sometimes it is the only appropriate word for the moment; sometimes it should just be left unsaid.  In the end, few words have the same power in speech or writing – when used sparingly.  Ultimately, regardless of your purpose, all words matter, even the ones you like the most.

To My Last Grads

My last group of high school students graduated today.  I attended their graduation both to celebrate their achievement and because the class of 2014 is one of the kindest and inspiring  I ever taught.  I did not leave teaching because of them; in fact, they were really the only reason I wanted to stay in the end.  Tonight, they proved that all my perceptions about them were true.

If I had them in my classroom one more time, here are some things I would like to say:

I was proud to teach journalism and help you gain a mastery of an entirely different style of writing.  I loved discussing how even current world events could affect a small suburban town that often feels insulated from the outside world.  Eliminating superfluous information and maintaining journalistic writing is difficult after many years of “elaborating” in literary essays.  Yet you met the challenge and earned silver medals two years running from the Columbia Student Press Association.  You should feel proud of your progress, and I look forward to seeing some of your names in bylines and, some day, as Pulitzer Prize winners.

I loved teaching you about literature.  I adored forming relationships with you and sharing my passion for words and reading.  When you said, “I don’t like poetry,” it became a challenge I could not resist; I think I helped a lot of you find meaning in how poetry can tell the truth of humanity in a few carefully crafted words.

Introducing books like The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird, Cry, the Beloved Country, and Lord of the Flies to you was a joy.  You surprised me with your insights and understanding of these texts.  More often than not, I heard you say, “This is the first book I have read in years, and I really liked it.”  I know that I needed to motivate you to read with frequent pop quizzes, but you did read, and that is what matters.  Trust that I did everything in my power to give you the cultural capital you will need to lead a full life, even if it felt punitive at the time.  I believe that you learned to love literature enough that you will return to some of the works you studied in high school and enjoy them even more or discover their beauty in a new way when you reread them in the future.

Your writing shows ingenuity, even in its infancy.  Even if your ideas are rough, or if you are mimicking authors you love, that you want to write is vital.  That is the development of literature.  I encourage you to write all the time.  Then revise, and share your writing with the world, whether through traditional or modern publishing means.

Beyond the subject matter, though, I hope I taught you about resiliency and integrity.  I have faith that you are capable of dealing with the challenges of the changing world, and that you do your best to make it better.  You are the promise of the future and the reason I began this outrageous pursuit as a teacher in the first place, and I hope so much that you can take what I offered and run with it.

I still find it remarkable the path that my life has taken, and I am confident that I have made changes that will carry me successfully into the future.  I hope that, along with all the other lessons I taught you, you will likewise have the adaptability and self-reflection to make changes when you need to and recognize when those changes are necessary for you to lead a full and happy life.

Finally, I want to say to the class of 2014 that you made my last year of teaching memorable and joyful.  Congratulations, and make the future what you want it to be.

Too Literary

I have been accused of being too literary.  When I recommend books to friends and family, someone will inevitably say, “Is that one of your books?” as an accusation. 

Well, literary books are appealing to me, but I can also enjoy what I like to call “popcorn” fiction.  “Popcorn” because you can consume a whole bunch of it quickly and mindlessly.  It’s that type of book you can sit down and read in one a rainy afternoon.  Give me a John Grisham or a John D. MacDonald and I can devour it in one sitting.  But I do enjoy prose that stirs me, and beautiful language can do that in a way that a popular book like Divergent cannot.  Don’t get me wrong; I had the latest book in Veronica Roth’s series pre-ordered and was excited to find out how the story ended, but it did not move me in the way Madame Bovary did. 

The world is filled with ugly stories, both real and fiction.  Poor writing is, unfortunately, far more common than good.  I did not participate in the craze that surrounded 50 Shades of Grey, so I cannot speak from experience, but I did hear from those who read it that the writing was terrible.  Why would I want to support that by buying a copy, much less spend precious time reading it? 

Some people are put off by literary writing; it is too much like work and they find it too challenging to understand.  But good literature is clear, even if it challenges you to go beyond the familiar.  I like writing that makes me think, even more so if it makes me sigh at the beauty of the language.  Readers should not disregard a work labeled as “literary.”  For instance, Martin Luther King, Junior’s remarkable “I Have a Dream” speech is loaded with metaphors, allusions, and difficult vocabulary.  The message would not be as powerful if MLK had shared his “goals” with his audience.  It is a memorable speech because it is literary.

The most difficult and literary book I have ever read was James Joyce’s Ulysses.  It took a couple of months and I read it with a separate book of explanatory notes and a dictionary by my side.  The complexity of Joyce’s writing made it even more enjoyable when I felt like I understood it, recognized what Joyce was doing, and reveled in the beauty of it.  It is a literary achievement, and people still respond to it as the annual Bloom’s Day celebration in Dublin demonstrates.  In one hundred years, I doubt anyone will recall the books that top best-sellers’ lists today.

I can wax poetic about F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zora Neale Hurston.  Their writing is lovely, yes, but it transcends beauty.  Their stories are engaging, their characters compelling – even when you hate them.  If your opinion of Tom Buchanan is that he is a privileged jerk, or you mourn Tea Cake as much as Janie does, that means the authors have done their jobs; they brought the characters to life through their literary prowess.  That The Great Gatsby and Their Eyes Were Watching God are considered “literature” does not detract from the stories.  Indeed, the precision and poetry of the language make the stories even more gratifying.

As I said, I am not averse to popular fiction, and I will certainly consume a lot of “summer reads” as I sit out enjoying the sun this season.  But I also will immerge myself in more literary books.  The richness of fine literature awakens a part of my spirit that popcorn books simply cannot touch.

L

Father’s Day: for My Dad

On this Father’s Day, I thought it would be appropriate to pay tribute my own father.  He passed away a little over a year ago, and I still feel his loss acutely every day.  Originally, I thought I was going to write about the books and authors he introduced me to (in keeping with the topic of my blog), but I found my thoughts went well beyond these boundaries. 

My father followed his passions, always.  And he was passionate about a great many things.  I learned so much from him, far more than I can elucidate in one short post, but here are some of the lessons that resonate.

Take time to look around to observe and appreciate nature.  Every day, the environment changes subtly.  Dad collected moths and butterflies; he managed a productive vegetable garden every year with my mother; and he grew grapes for wine in the difficult northern-Vermont climate.  Only through observing the daily shifts in temperature, climate, and what flowers are blooming can you understand, plan, and be successful at any of these.  

He taught me that the yellow swallowtails arrive when the lilacs bloom.  You need to know what plants are related and what needs each has to properly rotate your crops so that the same garden plot remains productive year after year.  For good wine, grapes must be picked at exactly the right time, and the difference of a day can make or break a harvest.  Careful attentiveness is the only way to achieve perfection.

Because of my father, I notice the moths and butterflies as the seasons change, even the little blue ones that sometimes appear only as a shadow at the corners of my vision.  The world is a beautiful place, and pausing to really see it will help you understand what a gift this earth is.

Explore the world.  My parents traveled together to more than 27 countries.  They avoided tourist traps and often rented cars to get to places that only the locals knew.  Dad tasted local foods and tried to recreate them in his own kitchen.  He revived his high school Spanish so he could get along in Puerto Rico and Spain.  He and my mother experienced the early days of the Egyptian Spring.  In all of his travels, he sought to understand the world on a more intimate level than even books can bring.

Know your history.  This relates to his travel, and he passed both passions on to all of his children.  When I travel, I go places to explore the culture, cuisine, and particularly the history of a place.  I have already talked about history in relation to my dad, but I think it bears repeating.  Dad loved studying history, and he had a wealth of knowledge in American, European, Asian, African…okay, world history.  We grew up in a house filled with books of all type, but history books in particular.  The mantra of “those who do not remember their past are doomed to relive it” was one my father instilled in us at an early age.

Try new things.  In just the last twenty years, my father took up all sorts of new hobbies.  When he inherited a couple of old cabinet doors from his family’s Swedish homestead, he decided to teach himself the art of rosemåling, the style traditional of Scandinavian decorative painting on furniture.  After an ice storm took down several trees in his woods, he decided to put the wood to use and took up traditional Swedish bowl carving.  When an enterprising group of people put in a wine vineyard down the road from his house, he decided to plant one of his own.  He was constantly challenging himself to learn and expand his skills.  Because it was hard only spurred him to pursue it with more zeal.

Take big bites.  My father threw his whole heart into all that he did.  One of the several authors he introduced to me was Robert A. Heinlein, who wrote,“Everything in excess!  To enjoy the flavor of life, take big bites.  Moderation is for monks.”  This is how my father lived, right up to the end.  I would like to think that I am, even in a small way, emulating his example. 

To my dad, I thank you for being a tremendous teacher, role model, and friend.  Happy Father’s Day.

 

 

 

Get Thee to an Editor

As a writer, I know that I want to hear that all of my ideas and words are genius; I want to have an affirmation that I have just completed the new Great American Novel, that I am worthy of the Nobel Prize in literature, that I will be able to stop working my day job because my future is set as an author, that my words are haunting and inspiring. 

Yet, no matter how good I think my writing is, even if my friends and family think it is the most remarkable story they have ever read, that it is perfect in every way, I must take one more step before I send it off to an agent, publisher, or hit “print” as a self-publisher. 

I need an editor.

I work professionally as an editor, but I still cannot trust myself to edit my own writing.  I am too close to it.  I know what I mean when I say it, even if it doesn’t make sense to my readers.  I don’t notice the spelling mistakes, the grammar issues, much less the lapses in logic.

As an editor, I need to be critical to make sure the writers I work with put their best work forward.  In this line of work, criticism is a kindness.  But being an editor requires nuance and judgment.  I must be critical but not patronizing.  The balance is the difference between publishing a mediocre piece of writing and a brilliant one.

Even before you submit your manuscript to an editor, remember your high school English teacher was right: revise, revise, revise.  Reread and revise until you believe the story has no merit, and then revise again until you bring its magic back.  A work rarely suffers from being rewritten, but it is a loss if you write it and then send it out without looking it over several times. 

Have friends and family read it through.  And, because the people closest to you will just want to tell you how great you know you are, send it to strangers.  There are communities on LinkedIn and Facebook with members eager to help; there is no excuse for not having your work read by many, many people before an editor ever sees it. 

Then listen to your editor – she really does have your interests in mind when she edits your work.  When I work as an editor, I know that I have to be aware of authors’ egos, but at the same time, your work is a representation of my work.  If you print something that is riddled with grammatical mistakes, it reflects poorly on me.  But you have to use an editor to cast the blame on someone besides yourself. 

I have read numerous reviews on Amazon of self-published books referring to spelling mistakes and poor grammar.  This is so easily avoided.  And once someone has read a work filled with these sorts of errors, he will never return to your writing.  He will tell friends not to read it.  It is disastrous – just for the sake of saving a little time, energy, and money.  Truly, in the long run, an editor can save your whole writing career. 

I had a very difficult conversation with a writer today.  She sent me two chapters of a delightful book, but it was filled with inconsistencies and errors.  I had to tell her to go back and revise the rest of her manuscript before sending it to me for proofreading.  In my business, most of my work comes from referrals, and I never know how people are going to respond to the type of criticism I gave this author.  For all I knew, she was going to blast my Facebook and LinkedIn pages with all sorts of jaundiced reviews.  But I had to be honest with her, so I told her that she needed to do more work before sending me the rest of her book and before publishing what I had corrected.  I am grateful that she was receptive to the type of criticism I gave her, but until we spoke I was worried.

Writers are a fickle crowd.  One day we just want to hear applause, the next we want to hear the truth.  To write unique stories is hard work, and it takes a reflective mentality to create something exceptional.  But we also need to look outside ourselves for assistance to turn that creativity into truly extraordinary writing.

 

 

Written by Hand

Before I learned to actually write, I would fill papers with handwritten loops, trying to mimic my grandmother’s beautiful cursive.  I brought these pages to my mother frequently, telling her that I had written something new; I was enamored with the idea that I could commit to paper – with my own hand – ideas that came from my head.

I used to be better about keeping a journal, writing letters and postcards, and brainstorming story concepts in a notebook.  I even wrote journals in cursive because I liked to practice my handwriting, although my natural tendency is to use print.

When I was in college, I filled notebooks with copious handwritten notes from classes – from lectures to small seminars – and rarely even revisited them to review for exams, yet I recalled most of what I had written.  As a teacher, I urged students to buy their own copies of books in order to annotate by hand, or at the least use Post-its to annotate their books for the same reason.

Gradually, though, I have gotten a little lackadaisical about putting pen to paper.  This clearly does not mean that I do not write, but the daily exercise of hand writing notes and ideas is a practice I have gotten away from.

Yet a recent New York Times article suggests that I should revisit my earlier predilections of writing down my thoughts.  Perhaps you should, too. Neuroscience (yes, here I go again) suggests that the act of writing stimulates parts of the brain that are not activated when a person types.  It helps to inspire planning, increases memory retention, and helps people create unique ideas. In consideration of creativity, we can look at some of the greatest authors throughout history.

Obviously, Shakespeare wrote all of his work by hand, as did Mark Twain, Charlotte Brontë, and Victor Hugo.  Even after the advent of typewriters, though, many of the most ingenious books were written by hand.  James Joyce penned ideas for his first draft of Ulysses on scraps of paper.   Zora Neale Hurston wrote Their Eyes Were Watching God in just seven weeks by hand while in Haiti.  The first draft of The Grapes of Wrath is in John Steinbeck’s tidy cursive handwriting.

What is lost when we stop hand writing letters and thank you notes is far more than basic civility.  We are losing ideas, creativity, and even brain function.  Perhaps it is the visualization of an idea linked with motor function but, as with reading literature, it appears that as we put more value on using technology to communicate, we are narrowing our abilities.

I am as guilty as most people on relying heavily on technology when it comes to writing.  At the same time, I am attempting to write more by hand.  Given this research, I hope that more people will put pen to paper and forgo the keyboard – and let the ideas and words flow.

A Thing of Beauty

Sometimes I find my skills and passions are anachronistic. Like a scribe in the advent of typewriters, I sense I am becoming obsolete. I still love literature, poetry, etymology, handwriting, hand-bound books, and proper grammar. In a time when ZOMG, #ohmygawdmycatjustthrewupahairballthesizeofasquirrel, and >:-/ make any sense at all, where can true beauty of words live, let alone thrive?

Yet I think it can, it should, and it must. Quality matters. That is not diminished by the presence of texting language, hashtag statements, and emoticons. In comparison, quality gains prestige in the presence of these barbarisms.

Craftsmanship still has a place in society. I believe that beauty is a necessity in life.

Before I became a teacher or editor, I worked in the arts. Specifically, I worked with fine craftspeople. Potters, glass blowers, woodworkers, jewelry-makers, artists of all types – they all make a living creating beautiful, functional objects, crafted by hand.

These artists create fine craft in a world that increasingly desires cheap, disposable objects – a world where walls are hung with art from Pier 1, dishes and glasses are purchased from Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and fine furniture means Crate and Barrel as opposed to Ikea. These intrepid artists maintain care of quality in the face of an increasingly mass-manufactured arena.

Much of what is published on the web is just as disposable and repetitive as the stuff you can pick up at the local chain store. It lacks quality and substance. “Trending” is another way of saying, “Here today, gone tomorrow.” For something to endure, it must also have a level of quality.

If you are a potter, you can create utilitarian stoneware or fine porcelain dishes. Both have their place, and both require a great deal of skill to produce. It doesn’t matter if it is used every day or displayed on a shelf; regardless of what is done with it after it is fired, if you work with clay, you still need to honor the basics of working with the medium in order for it to last.

Likewise, electronic communication must still honor the integrity of writing. Working with the medium of electronic communication is not necessarily informal – its use depends upon the audience. You might shoot off a quick note to a pal filled with emoticons and without salutation, but you need to pay attention to these formalities if you are writing to a potential client or boss.

When it comes to self-publishing, it is increasingly easy to get your work to the public, either through self-publishing companies that help authors bring their writing to print, or through e-books. But the basis of what is important – good story-telling, characters, clear, flawless writing – persists.

That is why I continue doing what I do: I help bring to fruition the craftsmanship of others. Quality remains imperative for a work to endure.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

– from John Keats’ “Endymion”

 

Fly, Caged Bird

There are some authors who touch their readers in profound ways. Maya Angelou was such an author.

When I heard the news of Angelou’s passing on Wednesday, I was struck by how it affected me. I felt like I had lost a friend. And in some way, perhaps I had.

When I was a freshman in high school, I read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings for the first time and was introduced to Maya Angelou. Her story should have felt distant to me; she was a black southern girl in living in a racist south, tossed around among family members, raped, pregnant at 16. I was a white New England girl with large and loving family. But her story was so intense, so compelling, and so transcendent that I got it.

The title, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, told fathoms about her tale. Especially as a teenager, filled with angst as any teenager is, I inherently understood this idea, even if I had not suffered the same injuries and injustices as Angelou. Her story was a story of triumph, above all else, and that spoke to even a white New England girl in the late 1980s.

Perhaps more than her story, Angelou’s writing style touched me. Hers was a poetic prose style – one I had never encountered before. At once, I wanted to emulate it. This is what makes Maya Angelou’s writing both raw and beautiful: it is the saddest song you have ever encountered, and still it is a song of beauty.

Maya Angelou brought poetry to not just a new generation; it also revealed through language a world that few Americans knew. She continued what Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston began. I loved teaching Angelou’s work, because I got to hear her voice, and her voice was like velvet. Every word she spoke sounded like poetry, and to listen to her was hearing a song of humanity.

Maya Angelou’s passing is a sad moment for the literary world. But we must also celebrate the woman, the writer, the poet, the idealist that she was. Maya Angelou, thank you. With my whole heart, I wish you peace. I will not fill this space with any more of my words, but instead give it over to her.

“Caged Bird” by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.