So, first, Fishtrap. Got back from my 8-day writing retreat/gathering at Fishtrap in Northeast Oregon (Wallowa Lake, to be exact). Beautiful beautiful country — big blue Wallowa Lake, mountains with snow at the tips (still!), deer outside my window, writing on my laptop next to the river that rushed past my bedroom and back porch (talk about white-noise).

I had the most amazing writing workshop — not really a workshop, thankfully, but more a seminar — with Karen Fisher (I’m not worthy; I bow down to her), author of A Sudden Country. She was just incredible. Inspirational. There were no daily prompts. No sharing of work (except one-on-one with her). No BS. She talked about her process, about structure of the novel, notably “historical fiction.”  We talked about our own books, our own projects, asked how to get over our own specific hurdles. She talked about structure of scenes, momentum, pace. And most important (especially to me — or at least I really took it to heart) she emphasized COMPRESSION. Sometimes in this book i’m writing, because it’s historical fiction I want to put every bit of detail, fact, statistic, trivia, that I know into it. She told us, “Just because you love all those statistics and facts and lists doesn’t necessarily mean your reader will.” COMPRESSION. Pick what is really essential to the story, the characters. If what you know doesn’t fit into your story, it doesn’t belong. Don’t force it into your story. Get over the impulse to (over)inform! (That’s Karen in the red sweater in the middle.)

Can more be achieved in fewer pages?

Test every word or moment in your writing for the truth.

She talked about revision: Revision comes from the 1. head, 2. gut, 3. heart

The three truths to adhere to about Revision:

1. clarity

2. authenticity

3. the heart/credibility

Revision is increasing engagement with what you are doing. Increasing the reader’s engagement in your work.

She also suggests to create folders for each character — hard copy folders or electronic.

A week with Karen Fisher was worth the entire trip.

Other highlights included meeting Cosy Sheridan — folk-singer-story-teller-funny-bone-tickler-extraordinaire. She and I shared a rental car from the Boise airport through the 4.5 hour drive to Fishtrap. I don’t think we stopped talking once. She was funny, irreverent, political, compassionate, and we got along like wildfire. I just love her. And this was before I had even heard her sing (well, live anyway — I had heard her online). She is fricken awesome! A crystal voice and her songs are real stories. Her banter with an audience is nothing short of dazzling. She rocked the Fishtrap house!

Check out the video below of her singing “Do You Love the Life You Made?” last year.

And, meeting Jack Loeffler (with the beard) was a kick — he’s a much lauded aural historian who has spent countless hours taping Native Americans telling their stories and published many of them in a terrific book (that I bought) that comes with a great DVD called Healing the West.

Also, the four other fellows, Christine Colasurdo, (and, from left to right) Dave Jarecki, Chris Robertson, and Bill Wright — were lovely– super writers and fast good friends. Had many fun nights, slumber-party-style (a.k.a. long talks, red wine, chocolate, lots of laughs, impromptu poetry readings) with Dave and Chris and Bill, who were my cabin-mates. And what a cabin–huge!

Now… for the downside. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful to Fishtrap for bringing me out there. They paid for just about everything, including my travel. There were many nice people there. It was wonderful having the time away to think, write, learn. But truthfully, I felt there were kinks that needed to be worked out in their organization. First of all, there is a huge age gap, and very little effort is made to bridge that gap. The fellows were all mid thirties to mid-late forties, but the participants, for the most part, were 60s, 70s. No problem with that, but there seemed to be a big separation, a segregation, between ages. Where were the 20, 30, 40-somethings? Why haven’t they reached out to them? (There were a couple of women in their 20s who spent a week camping and then they came down the last few days.) And again, don’t get me wrong, all my life I’ve gotten along with people much older than me. When I was a kid I used to hang out in the living room with the grownups and my grandparents and their friends, emptying ashtrays, talking about movies and books, while the other kids were in the playroom. But at Fishtrap, there was a weird lack of young people. (However, there were very young kids there– a sort of writing camp for kids all week).

In addition, there were odd rules: no alcohol at dinner — or anywhere near the food (granted, maybe that was out of their control, the cabins and yurts–yes there were yurts!– were on a Methodist campground). We could not use ‘explicit language’ or ‘sex’ in our reading — and all of the fellows gave a reading — or if we did, we needed to give a disclaimer to the audience so they could leave, or take the kids out of the room. The fellows could only read for ten minutes and we were chastised, even harassed, for going slightly over. Seriously. I actually kept mine to about 8 minutes, but some of the other fellows, bless them, went over. Maybe 15 minutes total. They were pulled aside the next morning. And then at the reading the next night, we were all chastised in public. (“We are using a timer tonight because last night the readers couldn’t stick to the plan…” or something like that. And YES! they used a timer and even flashed a red light in people’s faces when they hit the time limit.) However, a couple days later, when a few of the instructors read — who were also told they had a specific time limit–most of them went way over — some even 35 minutes–without a word being said to them. It was all very strange and oppressive.

Finally, when I was introduced for my reading they made no mention of the book I edited with my husband, From Boys to Men: Gay Men Write About Growing Up – which is the first thing on my bio — a best-selling and award-nominated anthology of, omigosh, GAY nonfiction. Only two of the fellows, myself and Christine, had books out, and they mentioned Christine’s (Return to Spirit Lake — an excellent memoir of Mt. St. Helens). Not a mention of my book. Not a mention of me being gay. In fact, though at the opening ceremony and subsequent events, there were talks about the Environment, Native American Issues, Political Activism, there was no acknowledgment of GLBT anywhere, despite the fact that several of the women participants were clearly out lesbians AND one of the employees is an out lesbian. There’s no outreach to GLBT writers or any plans for GLBT workshops, etc. Kind of a shame, considering they could really pull in some great folks from Portland: Tom Spanbauer, Mark Acito, Chuck Palahniuk, Judith Barrington, Sage Ricci. I don’t know if it’s that they were worried that anything too ‘adult’ would offend board members, or, as one person there on staff put it– Fishtrap is made up of the old ‘boys club,’ but they are missing out on a vital part of the writing population– and, we have money (i.e. donors… though of course not me and Ted, we’re poor!). But anyway, it seemed a little ridiculous when, in the opening address, with all of the talk about spirituality, nature, environmentalism, activism, Native American life, there was nothing about this being GAY PRIDE MONTH throughout the U.S.  and no welcome to our GLBT brothers and sisters.

Am I just being sensitive? Maybe. But the fellows and I talked about it in my cabin and when, at the end of the week, they gave everyone evaluations to fill out I said as much as I could in the tiny space they allowed for comments. I’ve decided, though, that I’m going to send a letter to the new Executive Director, who starts in September.

Because really, the place, the scenery, are all incredible and so conducive to writing, sharing, thinking, reading, inspiration, discussion, dialogue, friendship, learning. This place should be huge. Fishtrap, though it’s been around for, I think, over 20 years, seems to still be figuring itself out– and I’d like to see them really do it, really become something great, something inclusive and welcoming to everyone.

There will also be readings, music, a film about poet Gary Snyder (who will also be there), book signings, and this amazing ‘gathering’ the last weekend where the whole town, community is invited. We’ll be at Camp Wallowa close to Enterprise, Ore. (pic of Snyder and Allen Ginsberg from Human Flower Project).

I don’t really know what to expect. I’ll be in a cabin, out in the middle of nearly nowhere, surrounded by nature. Oh, and there will not be any internet and very little cell phone service.

I’m hoping for a week of really getting back to the book, for introducing new characters, for discovering new plot twists and turns.

And here’s a poem from Gary Snyder:

How Poetry Comes to Me
by Gary Snyder

It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light

Tonight we’re heading out to NYC; two weddings in Brooklyn in one night (Saturday) and at the same time– it’s going to be like the Keystone Cops but I  can’t wait to see old friends and old neighborhoods.

There’s just no teaching. I applied for some part-time teaching at a couple of other schools but it looks pretty dismal.

Hopefully unemployment will kick in and they won’t screw me this time like they have in the past.

In other, happier news I went to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books last Saturday–took a bus up with Judy Reeves and other wonderful folk as part of San Diego Writers, Ink– and had a great, if overwhelming time. Overwhelming because there’s so much to do, see, so many books, panels, booths.

I did get to see panels featuring:

Colson Whitehead–looking awesome, handsome as usual and when he said, “I’m obsessed with outlining. I like to know what happens”– I wanted to go up and shake his hand, or kiss him. Probably kiss him. (ok, I admit to a guy-crush on Colson Whitehead. If that makes me gay, so be it. Oh, wait. I am gay).

Paul Harding—the guy that just won the Pulitzer and a Guggenheim (I bought and he signed his PP winning book: Tinkers, which looks beautiful and the reviews are staggeringly positive. He was also very sweet and gracious).

Rafael Yglesias–whose book, A Happy Marriage (a fictionalization of meeting his wife and then losing her to cancer), sounds heartbreaking and glorious and I think I’ll need to put it on my list. He also said, “Reading poetry helps bring emotional power to your own writing. You can’t make books or stories vivid without doing something to the language.”

Antonya Nelson–she was dead on when, speaking of the importance of reading (as learning tools, as inspiration, as teacher), she said: “A lot of what I’m writing is a response to what I’ve read.”

Marisa Silver–Love, love, love her story collection: Babe in Paradise who said “the story has to be an exploration for you.”

Ron Carlson– “I’m only interested in surviving the draft.” Love that line. I took a Creative Writing class from him at Arizona State in the mid-late 90s.

I also attended the “History Through the Lens of Fiction” panel featuring Tom Curwen, Gabrielle Burton, Thaisa Frank, and Indu Sundaresan. All very accomplished writers of historical fiction. One interesting thought I came away with is: “Finding parallels in your work (the historical fiction you are writing) and the world of today.”

Oh, and I came away with a new subscription to Tin House, too!

More on writing… later.

I’ve applied before and never gotten in, but this time I applied with an excerpt from the new book (ditto for Vermont). Maybe this is telling me something?

Also, revisited this article by Elizabeth Sims from February 2009 Writer’s Digest: Rough It Up–Get Messy with your First Draft to Get to the Good Stuff.

“Legibility is overrated. Remember that.”

Love it.

Been back from my residency in Vermont for two weeks now. Ooof, talk about withdrawal. Luckily, Ted made me dinners for the first two nights I was home (he was trying to ease me back into the real world; the world where three meals a day aren’t cooked for me and a world without continual access to a fully stocked salad bar).

It’s been a strange transition back. I had to jump into teaching again– though (sadly? happily?) only two classes. I guess sadly since It means less money. But I’ll be teaching a one night a week class for 5 weeks in March.

So I get back to teaching– two great classes, thank heavens. Get back to Ted. Get back to the kitties. Yes, Hermia is STILL alive–18 years 10 months, despite a few scares while I was gone and then one REALLY big scare last week involving too much insulin. Luckily she pulled through but not before I had said my teary goodbyes. A good dress rehearsal I suppose.

And now the writing. Getting back to it  has been tough. Mostly, I hope, because I’ve been so busy getting caught up with school. But there’s also just this whole transition back, out of that world where I had no responsibilities and could read for two hours and then write for two hours then read for two hours then write again.

Still, I came back with such incredible feedback and ideas about the book and more chapters. I’m ready to move forward with it. I also have decided i’m going to take a break every once in a while and write something short– a short story, an essay, a poem– in order to feel that sense of accomplishment more often. I miss that. I mean, I feel some sense of accomplishment when I finish a chapter or a really great scene or description or even line, but I miss the feeling of being done with something.

This week I revised a short story from several years ago; actually, I turned it into a short-short, in the hopes of sending it out to places. And i’ve got an idea for a short essay that I want to work on too– it involves this book, Shelley, Also Known As Shirley, a memoir by Shelley Winters (incidentally, it’s a book I first read when I was eleven. Do with that what you will…).

Is this procrastination? Is this going to keep me from my novel? Only time will tell, but I’m hoping not. I hope it will get me back into a regular routine of writing– like I had in Vermont. No make that a regular routine of CREATING.

I miss my Vermont friends. The snow. The fresh baked bread and chickpeas at the salad bar. But i’m glad to be home, too.

So much to say but my head is utterly pounding and the thoughts in my brain a-jumble — anxiety about travel tomorrow, the strange ritual of packing up after 5 weeks away, the  goodbyes to dozens of wonderful people. What is there to say? How to put it into words how important this residency was, how inspiring, how enlightening.

Some fragmented thoughts (Part 1):

I love snow (and it’s now snowing on our last night–yay!)

layering of clothes– forgot how fun it was to accessorize with a scarf–though I didn’t wear my hat as much as I should have (worried about bad hair)

learned so much about the characters in my book.

was inspired by the art and artists here: collage, painting, sculpture, jewelry, print making

decided I really want to buy a print-maker, print press (anybody have an old one they don’t want?)

felt pangs of jealousy that I wasn’t an artist making paintings or sculptures or other visual art

dance parties are fun again

in a pinch Jim Beam will do nicely

really worked on voice and language in my book

VSC has probably the nicest, funniest chef i’ve ever had the pleasure of working with (Go Mark!)–as well as everyone else in the kitchen.

Leni Zumas is my new favorite writer. If you haven’t read her, go out and get her book Farewell Navigator NOW.

People here were very interested in my book. WHEWWW!

I learned some new collage techniques, including ‘tearing.’

Learned the word Gesso. Also ‘underpainting.’

Ate a lot of salad while here.

Crashed into a ditch/snow bank but was rescued by friendly Vermonters.

Saw sled dogs up close and personal!

Twirled around in a black dress while having my picture taken.

Washed about 17, 294 dishes (ok, I just rinsed them).

Made photograms with Rachael!

Finally got good use of my duckboots!

Missed Ted.

Missed the kitties.

discovered Green Mountain organic distilled Vodka (awesome martinis)

the founders and employees of VSC are the greatest

**more about my work at VSC later…

So began Amy Bloom’s reading of her story “By and By” from her new book (out this month) of stories: Where the God of Love Hangs Out.

The story was dark, haunting. About a missing/murdered girl–and those she left behind. About the body and what happens to it in death, after death, because of death. Very graphic, disturbing, somber, but beautiful. We were all pretty speechless after. When she asked if there were any questions the room was pretty much silent (rare for an audience of writers and artists of all types); our mouths slightly open. The story still resonating (and still resonating longer… after I went back to my room and sat in bed; whereupon I read another story of Amy’s “A Blind Man Can See How Much I Love You” from the collection of the same name).

We (the writers here at VSC) had a round-table discussion with Amy where we asked her questions about writing– struggles, frustrations, ideas. She was direct, to the point, tough, funny, no bullshit.

I didn’t meet with Amy individually as some of the other writers did. I’m here for 3 more weeks and so I’ll be meeting with the next one in a couple of weeks. I’d like to give her, Leni Zumas, something new from my book that I’m working on now. We’ll see. I don’t know Leni, but from her website (and the praise from the Writing Director here) she sounds pretty cool; she’s working on a memoir incorporating experimental fiction… sort of what I’m doing with my book.

Well, about my writing here: it was slow going, I have to admit, the first couple of days. It still is, at times. I spent a lot of time the first day arranging my office, going through my books and research documents, going to the window in my writing studio, looking out at the snow, feeling a little strange, lost. Overwhelmed. Unsure. But I’ve seemed to settle in. And everyone here is so nice, smart, approachable. So interested and interesting. Thursday had a good long day of writing. Friday notsomuch. But today has been good, too. Even though the sun has finally come out and the sky is soft creamy blue like a 1950s cardigan.

Voice. It’s all about voice this week–specifically the voice of one of my main characters/narrators. I am moving closer to getting his voice down and getting inside his head and for that i’m really happy. It’s been a long time coming but I think spending time thinking about this character without any interruptions and trying out different words and phrasings on the page and in my mind and verbally has helped. I think about him–this character– all the time these days. Ideas come to me when I’m walking through the snow, across the bridge where the little river is slowly slowly closing up from the ice so that it looks kind of like a zipper–it’s teeth meshing, coming together, ideas come to me at night in my room, so much so that I jump out of bed to jot down notes on a little skinny pad, when i’m brushing my teeth in our cold bathroom. I want to be totally consumed with this character. I want to see everything through his eyes (as Amy told us)–so that every move, every gesture, every word of dialogue, every thought in his head is a true one.

Some photos of my writing studio.

And some new photos of VSC and Johnson VT– more are on my flickr page (the cemetary above is in Johnson VT too).

I think i’m ready. Today we went out and bought these slippers for me from L.L.Bean (great sale going on). They are really really comfortable. As well as a neon lime-green fleece blanket, another pair of thermal bottoms, winter gloves, toe warmers. I don’t know how i’m getting all of this up there. I’ve already sent a box of books from San Diego and I have two rolling suitcases. Yes, I AM that person with the two rolling suitcases. I just didn’t know what to bring. I’m from California! Yes, I lived in NYC for  years but it never got THAT cold. Well, one year we had a blizzard and a ton of snow but I had my duckboots.

So now i’ve got a bunch of mis-matched winter clothes: Ted’s blue down jacket that probably makes me look like a kid wearing his dad’s dinner jacket, my HUGE brown LL Bean duck boots that make me look like a  Transformer, black gloves (on sale), a bright orange knit hat, long blue striped scarf that I got when I was at Columbia; I’m going to be that ragamuffin–there’s always one in the group.
Might have to send a box back to San Diego with stuff I don’t need– or make Ted take it back for me. Ted, by the way, fixed my blog–apparently it was all messed up; of course I didn’t notice it, Ted being the techie in the family.

Lovely here– snow fell yesterday and we went to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I misread the website for the museum– thinking that the Costumes of Edith Head was an exhibit, when in fact it is a film series. So we walked around the museum and saw some Toulouse Lautrec and an exhibit about music, Seeing Songs which included this funny, endearing video installation featuring about thirty videos of people singing Madonna songs all at the same time.

I’ve been keeping warm, wearing Ted‘s silk long underwear and his puffy winter jacket. Also, this super warm (and, don’t you think, fashionable) Cowl’s Neck that I bought from Etsy seller Pip Robins. She makes them all herself and they are expertly tailored and chic. I’ve been getting lots of compliments. Well, ok, I’ve been complimenting myself but I did get one for my Sister-in-Law (Ted’s brother’s wife) who loved hers too. If you want to treat yourself to a New Year’s treat, I suggest checking out Pip Robins’ etsy store.

Ted and I walked around Cambridge. And, of course we stoppe in at the Harvard Book Store–where I could

spend hours, days. We then cut through Haah-vaad, Ted’s ole alma mater. It was just getting dark and the lights made the whole place glow like an old oil lamp.

Ted’s family is wonderful and we celebrated Christmas last night, whereupon I was given two lovely sweaters for Vermont. I think tomorrow, though I’ll need to go out and get one more pair of thermals and also some gloves and long wool socks, just in case.

Ted gave me Joyce Carol Oates’ book on writing: The Faith of a Writer–Life, Craft, Art, which I read a few of the essays last night.

One of the essays is called “The Writer’s Studio” where she muses on her writing space.

“The precious room-of-one’s-own. The private place, the sanctuary. to rephrase a famous remark of Robert Frost, our private places are those that, when we seek entry, we are never turned away.”

and also:

“Rarely do I invent at the typewriter (a Japanese-made Swintec 1000 with an approximate ten-page memory, printing capacity, storage for disks), and virtually never do I try to foce anything into prose in this way. I need to imagine first, purely without language; and then remember.”

I myself find it hard to invent at the typewriter, though I do it more now than I did in Grad School, during my MFA. I’ve always used notebooks to plan, sketch, and outline.

**I did a search for Swintec 1000– very cheap machine! I wonder how well or how it works