During the last week, I’ve had the pleasure of reading Richard Carr’s second book of poetry to be published this year, Honey. Unlike Mister Martini, this collection reads like a road trip with someone well versed in the psychedelic. The language and images are so rich and layered, I needed to parcel out the poems so I wouldn’t experience mental and sensory overload. And wow, what a collection. (Full disclosure: Richard lives in my neighborhood and is a friend.)
As I read, I had to remind myself that the “I” is not Richard, and it seems to change as a character from one poem to the next. Other characters that pop up and become comments on life and the world: the Poet, the Boy, the Bearded Lady, and the Hapax Legomenon. I thought of a road trip, also, because each poem of the one hundred is a location in and of itself, and yet it is part of the whole journey. The language is delicious, full of beautiful incongruities and startling images.
Some examples:
- “…the flash and tonnage/of the shrapnel cathedral –”
- “Her logic is washable in cold water only.”
- “The land is leaking away.”
- “His happiest thoughts stand in the rain/at a lawn party.”
- “…sleep,/the liquidation of all assets,”
- “An idea rattles in a jammed turnstile.”
Bees play a prominent role on this poetic journey, buzzing here and there, alighting on a pungent word or two. A reader might be tempted to sample the poems out of order, but I’d encourage a reading from the beginning through to the end, no skipping around. Each poem builds on the tone and language and emotion of the one before.
This collection is one I’ll be keeping, and I’ll return to it again. An enjoyable and provocative reading experience, and an excellent reason to read poetry every morning….
Categories: Writing · reading as a writer
Tagged: Poetry, Richard Carr
December 20, 2008 · 1 Comment
The weekend before Christmas, a blizzard outside, some fool runs a snowblower — a Sisyphean effort before the snow stops falling and drifting — and it reminds me of my efforts to write during the month of December. A poet friend commented that he’s so distracted and restless from the holidays that he can’t write. A reminder that writers need quiet time to think, to coax out their imagination’s voice, and to listen.
Another reminder of the need for time in the January 2009 issue of The Writer: an article in the front section about the pressure established writers feel to write a book a year. Most buck the pressure in deference to quality of ideas and writing. But the pressure still remains. Unless you’re James Patterson who has several co-authors with whom he works to produce one or more novels a year, undoubtedly making his publisher very happy. I’ve not read a Patterson novel, and I wonder how formulaic they are. As a reader, I’d rather wait for a favorite writer to take the time to write something with care and character development.
Also in the same issue of The Writer and the same section was a brief article about using “Second Life,” the online site where people have avatars and live a fantasy life, for book promotion and readings. It’s still in its infancy but I think this is an intriguing idea and could save thousands of dollars in travel costs. My avatar as me could give a reading of Perceval for other avatars whose “real people” might then decide they would like a copy of the book and click on the Amazon.com link to buy it. Brilliant.
The title Perceval has been nagging at me this week. I’m no longer completely happy with it, and have thought of a couple alternatives. One is Perceval’s Secret. This alternative came to me months ago and continues to ferment in my imagination. A more recent alternative is Perceval Before the War which I think may be a more intriguing title. It shows that Perceval is a person, and something happens with him before the war, and which war? The more questions a title raises in a potential reader’s mind, the more interested the reader is in the story. I’m still thinking about it….
Lots of thinking time this week as I’ve encountered long lines nearly everywhere I’ve gone, and spent an hour waiting for a city bus in a snow storm earlier in the week. My mind has gravitated to a memoir idea that I’ve been nurturing the last few months. The idea for the first chapter popped into my head this week and surprised me. Plus, the voice of the idea surprised me, too — wry. I liked it. And I liked the first chapter idea. I’ve already started writing notes for this book and I’m beginning to have the familiar feeling that I need to sketch a preliminary outline.
On a sad marketing note, I received a form rejection letter from the magazine I’d submitted “The Shadow” to earlier in the month. Ah, well. I’d begun a list of possible markets for the novel excerpt, so now all I need do is submit it to the next one on the list after New Year’s.
I am looking forward to an entire day devoted to reading a novel on Christmas….
Categories: Marketing · The Writing Life · Updates · Writing
Tagged: Writing, Titles, Perceval, "The Writer" magazine, memoir, "Second Life", book titles
While last week was a productive one, this week has been frustrating. Life stepped in to thwart my attempts to carve out time for fiction or even work on an essay. My journal writing suffered also, which triggered some reflection on the place journal writing has in my life as a writer.
Not all writers keep a journal. I know of some writers who keep a “notebook” in which they write notes, ideas, descriptions, insert photos, articles or stories or poems clipped from magazines, etc. It is a catch-all for prompts to creativity. Some writers follow the Anais Nin school of journal writing, i.e. record the activities of the day with in-depth descriptions of the people and places involved. This kind of journal writing reminds me more of an exercise book, using every opportunity to flex the writing muscles, while simultaneously recording the writer’s life. To me, this kind of journal writing takes an incredible amount of time and is an end in itself. Some writers refuse to keep a journal. They see it as a waste of time better spent working on their fiction or nonfiction writing, or poetry. They prefer to channel all their creative energy into something publishable rather than personal.
For a journal is a book of personal writing. My journal is a record of my days, issues I’m thinking about, current events, people I meet or observe, places I go, as well as a conversation with myself. When I first began keeping a journal at age eleven, after reading The Diary of Anne Frank, I followed Anne Frank’s lead and I named the journal so my writing in it always felt like I was talking with someone. After a couple of years, I tired of that and stopped naming it. I’ve gone through periods of time when I haven’t written in a journal at all, to my later regret. But now, I think of my journal as being a filter as well as an alter ego. And a repository for all the mental clutter that needs to be cleaned out so I can hear my imagination, a record of my actions and my feelings.
I try to write everyday in the journal. For quite some time now, I’ve written immediately after lunch, recording the previous 24 hours and how I felt about them, what I wrote that morning and what problems and challenges came out of it. Writing daily keeps my mind clear and my creative energy high. If I can’t write everyday, I begin to feel mentally sluggish. If too many days pass without a journal-writing session, my brain freezes up. I can’t concentrate. My mind mixes and tosses all the thoughts trapped there until I can begin writing.
My journal will not be published. I am not writing it for publication. For me, that’s the secret to productive and effective and liberating journal writing, the kind that is the most helpful for me.
Categories: The Writing Life · Writing
Tagged: journal writing, The Writing Life
