tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137818142024-03-07T02:33:45.479-05:00Carol's Blog<b>Join Carol Henderson to exchange ideas about writing.</b>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.comBlogger226125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-30516632120307600852011-09-05T15:58:00.002-04:002011-09-05T16:11:53.490-04:00My Blog Has a New HomeFrom now on I'll be posting on my new blog platform, which is part of my web domain, carolhenderson.com<br /><br />Within a week or so I will have set up a permanent relay so that readers will be transfered over automatically, but for now, I invite you to visit by clicking <a href="http://carolhenderson.com/blog">HERE. </a><br /><br />My first post on the new blog, "<a href="http://www.carolhenderson.com/blog/before-writing-pays-the-bills/">Before Writing Pays the Bills,</a>" is waiting for you there.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-81439710172497845962011-08-27T08:34:00.006-04:002011-08-27T08:58:59.553-04:00In Memoriam: from this morning's walk<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ntHxonFiNhiDKxrEuH1K8F_L-tG3ewJoybesZTFvAE2DcA7wsCsvIJhQ641yq7w9N3Tj-ojHVmgW5aIuB_ozTI2UeVBjcuxGo_gNXtD65v8knLqgqVLpss32IYyFlXfG5NjwSw/s1600/Moxie.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ntHxonFiNhiDKxrEuH1K8F_L-tG3ewJoybesZTFvAE2DcA7wsCsvIJhQ641yq7w9N3Tj-ojHVmgW5aIuB_ozTI2UeVBjcuxGo_gNXtD65v8knLqgqVLpss32IYyFlXfG5NjwSw/s320/Moxie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645514931663631426" /></a>I often walk through a park when I'm in Boston. As the sun was rising, I took off and found this portrait--along with a stray baseball cap, a notice about lost sunglasses, and other local info--tacked to the park's bulletin board.
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<br />Not sure if you can read the words. The bullets note how long the dog was a member of the park community and squirrel patrol. Moxie's political views favored off-leash legislation. Moxie was named for the drink, not for courage.
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<br />In just a few bullets we get to know Moxie and the humans with whom the dog shared a long, joyful life. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Last bullet: Best Friend</span>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-16146764105734338822011-08-06T13:56:00.012-04:002011-08-06T15:03:29.254-04:00Mother's Bad Advice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jpPVYQaThY8lw_v6I2EmHG2_Tp8t1J0q-5zqPQJrEraTt9xWS-xnuBvAJIMHWbn8yCJn4ANQFL1eJulVdvhU74sv4yiDQq83SK61udrDUUczjqyRjh0zqLpivAZkEsnpCnn9vg/s1600/typewriter.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jpPVYQaThY8lw_v6I2EmHG2_Tp8t1J0q-5zqPQJrEraTt9xWS-xnuBvAJIMHWbn8yCJn4ANQFL1eJulVdvhU74sv4yiDQq83SK61udrDUUczjqyRjh0zqLpivAZkEsnpCnn9vg/s320/typewriter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637804360906628242" /></a> When I was in high school, my mother told me: "Don't take typing. That way you won't end up being a secretary." <br /><br />This is probably the worst advice ever. I had to pay friends to type my long papers in college. Remember: back then white out ruled and carbon paper. Cut and paste? Didn't exist. One mistake and you had to retype the entire page, sometimes the entire manuscript.<br /><br />My husband says typing was the most useful course he took in high school. "No homework." He even enrolled in Typing II after a year of Typing I. <br /><br />One summer in my 20s, I finally taught myself on a machine like the one pictured here. My husband and I were working on an estate in northern Maine--a remote spot where I had afternoons off. We had no car, nowhere to go anyway, and I had a series of interviews to type up. So I found a touch typing book and got started.<br /><br />A traveling typewriter sales and repair man actually made house calls, bringing me new ribbons and taking machines away for repairs. Typing took a lot of finger strength.<br /><br />My daughters say: "Mom, you bang so hard on your poor Mac."<br /><br />And I say, "Yeah, and you girls learned how to type in high school."Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-77858544772623505632011-07-21T08:12:00.010-04:002011-07-21T08:53:44.416-04:00The Book in Hand and a Reading Tonight<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3dZhffgP7he7WfMd6M3B4w8IrloElyKcKYFiFirG0YTxM6IpxEkZk7DF_Z_Dj_slcVkKKYRvGH-ne7yClSfvCXxJGapeSm8Xwdlc6IpIWmI8nUrD795QkCE-ePnUwpqmEcGj4A/s1600/BQZ4_17009585_HS_Clergywomen_call_1clergywomen1-1.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3dZhffgP7he7WfMd6M3B4w8IrloElyKcKYFiFirG0YTxM6IpxEkZk7DF_Z_Dj_slcVkKKYRvGH-ne7yClSfvCXxJGapeSm8Xwdlc6IpIWmI8nUrD795QkCE-ePnUwpqmEcGj4A/s320/BQZ4_17009585_HS_Clergywomen_call_1clergywomen1-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631787805428494306" /></a> The journey started a few years back when I offered a reflective writing workshop for a group of burned out women ministers and Christian educators--they gathered each month for a restorative morning together. We met again, and again, and began to envision a book of their writings. And now, voila! <a href="http://www.heraldsun.com/view/full_story/14760368/article-Women-answering-the-call?instance=homesixthleft">The first group reading</a> from the book is tonight. <br /><br />None of us had any idea on that crisp fall day back in 2007 that in 2011 we would be offering readings, reflective writing time, and workshops based on a book of their writings.<br /><br />Writing begets writing. Meaning grows on the page. <br /><br />Keep going. Even when you have no idea where you're going. Even when pages--and the hair you're yanking out--litter the floor. <br /><br />Hang in there. Content yields to form, eventually. And the writing will take you places you never imagined.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-79307857705075425282011-07-15T14:12:00.012-04:002011-07-15T14:57:15.226-04:00I'd Rather Be Teaching<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmh0anl3VP7K2zWQgt0sYj8a3oMIcT_8JHgnvP3fYIUKBBkFYfY6oAvpcnJOr4jzts2aLDuXNfJ4n_TJmecPMfB4C-m0Ue3u9B7vUFKC4q5-y8zdjH1tzWOQ37wrl1cI35WThuw/s1600/Max.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmh0anl3VP7K2zWQgt0sYj8a3oMIcT_8JHgnvP3fYIUKBBkFYfY6oAvpcnJOr4jzts2aLDuXNfJ4n_TJmecPMfB4C-m0Ue3u9B7vUFKC4q5-y8zdjH1tzWOQ37wrl1cI35WThuw/s320/Max.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629651320169681746" /></a> “Devote myself to my students, my teaching," writes Joyce Carol Oates in her raw and oh-so-real memoir, <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=a+widow%27s+story+a+memoir&sprefix=a+widow%27s+story+a+memoir">A Widow’s Story: A Memoir</a></span>. "This is something that I can do, that is of value.”<br /><br />She writes these words in the desperate weeks after her husband's death, when she can barely leave her bed but can’t stand being in her house, or anywhere, alone. <br /><br />She continues: For writing—<span style="font-style:italic;">being a writer</span>—always seems to the writer to be of dubious value.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Being a writer</span> is in defiance of Darwin’s observation that the more highly specialized a species, the more likelihood of extinction.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Being a writer</span> is like being one of those riskily overbred pedigree dogs—a French bulldog, for instance—poorly suited for survival despite their very special attributes.</span><br /><br />Teaching—even the teaching of writing—is altogether different. Teaching is an act of communication, sympathy—a reaching out—a wish to share knowledge, skills; a rapport with others, who are students; a way of allowing others into the solitariness of one’s soul.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGtueJoFSl-WhGp3qrOhJC8eUWf0BsIyVlxsoq9bDcvEMTJ4jI5-9zT74F1pJq3XnHbm2dNTIJI0BVzPHUtbYdvgrkGuqf1TbbX88TMluxNeH3plNWxO1sa1aRM4U7pCe8kesqg/s1600/imgres.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGtueJoFSl-WhGp3qrOhJC8eUWf0BsIyVlxsoq9bDcvEMTJ4jI5-9zT74F1pJq3XnHbm2dNTIJI0BVzPHUtbYdvgrkGuqf1TbbX88TMluxNeH3plNWxO1sa1aRM4U7pCe8kesqg/s320/imgres.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629653097125067618" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche—so Chaucer says of his young scholar in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Canterbury_Tales">The Canterbury Tales</a>. When teachers feel good about teaching, this is how we feel.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-72900523845117052002011-06-16T15:29:00.010-04:002011-06-17T10:07:27.813-04:00Cats Get a Bad Rap<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMw9T5V-k8SH9dQWHNXQtE69d6fsO6RIGtbv-1E3o7xV67crraWh6q0vWvgoe39qoZlZwTB0Zu4q_eSAXl2qV3rb3BjmAWlC2MTbh_vnGCGfx5_rA8_1k9_mynVftlMNvuDMptwQ/s1600/photo-1.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMw9T5V-k8SH9dQWHNXQtE69d6fsO6RIGtbv-1E3o7xV67crraWh6q0vWvgoe39qoZlZwTB0Zu4q_eSAXl2qV3rb3BjmAWlC2MTbh_vnGCGfx5_rA8_1k9_mynVftlMNvuDMptwQ/s320/photo-1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618902182438188258" /></a> “<span style="font-style:italic;">Walter had never liked cats. They’d seemed to him the sociopath of the pet world, a species domesticated as an evil necessary for the control of rodents and subsequently fetishized the way unhappy countries fetishize their militaries, saluting the uniforms of killers as cat owners stroke their animals’ lovely fur and forgive their claws and fangs. He’d never seen anything in a cat’s face but simpering incuriosity and self-interest. . </span>." from <span style="font-style:italic;">Freedom</span> by Jonathan Franzen<br /><br />Excuse me, Jonathan Franzen. Cats <span style="font-style:italic;">are </span>curious. <br /><br />No sooner had I set those blue manuscript files on the couch and turned away to sharpen my edit pencil than Lucy curled up on them. <br /><br />Both of our cats make our business their business. Always. Get out a suitcase? Lucy is in it. Tune in to the French Open Tennis on TV? Lucy's got her eye on the ball. Meet with a client? Lucy is there. That's not curiosity?<br /><br />And as for self-interest: Well, living creatures no longer experience self-interest only when they're dead.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-65054659682660617232011-05-18T11:02:00.007-04:002011-05-18T11:34:41.524-04:00Forget what you learned in high school English<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwRtN3G2vgjXs6oD339iMWbnFH0PDSsbo5y8bug41aJWE8SH7wZ1z7SfQH1tQsEHpWYjiN0KgBB3hup8N9wGK8CYbihMzl2mPi76dP2d5JcEdGWXaTxflFldft_7BZU-R3yb3xdg/s1600/070530_boring_class_02.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwRtN3G2vgjXs6oD339iMWbnFH0PDSsbo5y8bug41aJWE8SH7wZ1z7SfQH1tQsEHpWYjiN0KgBB3hup8N9wGK8CYbihMzl2mPi76dP2d5JcEdGWXaTxflFldft_7BZU-R3yb3xdg/s320/070530_boring_class_02.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608074637122307858" /></a>Like everybody else, I had plenty of topic-sentence obsessed English teachers and I've had plenty of students who have trouble breaking out of dreary opening beats.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loxJ3FtCJJA">Listen here</a> to "This American Life" genius Ira Glass show how to drop that bad beginning and get to the guts of good story telling. <br /><br />I found this on Jane Friedman's newsletter. <a href="http://us2.campaign-archive2.com/?u=f8b16374ec668e8d6004fcc38&id=a775df5a2c">Check it out.</a>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-84215627092461631942011-05-07T08:36:00.005-04:002011-05-07T08:54:15.863-04:00Gotta Love Doing It .. . Writing that is<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMKh0bbu2q3LiC2iCdbbFv3L4Ga5nAm2tAsSgE2dgjqk4DA-gZcle5i5_SPv95rUtC50T_7QpbskZbu4T4-Fha8AQhauIYdM3cJm1Qf9X3pDupTWscKQnsRtEbsFPecMC80g9qtw/s1600/imgres.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 273px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMKh0bbu2q3LiC2iCdbbFv3L4Ga5nAm2tAsSgE2dgjqk4DA-gZcle5i5_SPv95rUtC50T_7QpbskZbu4T4-Fha8AQhauIYdM3cJm1Qf9X3pDupTWscKQnsRtEbsFPecMC80g9qtw/s320/imgres.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603956154681679234" /></a> In <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Escaping-Into-Open-Writing-True/dp/B003F76JE6/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1304772444&sr=1-1">Escaping Into the Open: The Art of Writing True,</a> Elizabeth Berg says, "What you have to be is in love. With writing. Not with ideas about what to write; not with daydreams about what you're going to do when you're successful. You have to be in love with writing itself, with the solitary and satisfying act of sitting down and watching something you hold in your head and your heart quietly transform itself into words on a page." <br />I saw this quote <a href="http://wwwpenandpalette-susancushman.blogspot.com/">here</a>.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-12481226085760808322011-05-01T12:14:00.021-04:002011-05-01T14:34:20.561-04:00Brand-Building? Just Do It.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x8zlTN5ZyUe6JxAIStiq1lVgz2B0rx0NnorndBIpokqSbf2CPiyntYkd7ll90BgUwI9kksYY6EMKswNSwOn0xIjxRnik3RjijgPGy32xDWrL1JvvI1Icokn-96mNA2d-jIrIgQ/s1600/Carol+rocks..jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x8zlTN5ZyUe6JxAIStiq1lVgz2B0rx0NnorndBIpokqSbf2CPiyntYkd7ll90BgUwI9kksYY6EMKswNSwOn0xIjxRnik3RjijgPGy32xDWrL1JvvI1Icokn-96mNA2d-jIrIgQ/s320/Carol+rocks..jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601814598247558674" /></a>In Sunday's Times Book Review, <a href="http://www.tonyperrottet.com/">Tony Perrottot </a>discusses all the ways authors have promoted<br />themselves, for millennia: <br /><br />In 440 B. C. author <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herodotus">Herodotus</a> funded his own Aegean book tour.<br /><br />In 1887, Guy de Maupassant launched a hot-air balloon with his latest <a href="http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/Horl.shtml">short story</a> title emblazoned on the side.<br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernest_Hemingway">Hemingway </a>made Ballantine Ale ads in 1951. <br /><br />And so on. Feel no shame. Just get out there, like my press agent--pictured here.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-35309683960385816902011-04-26T12:26:00.009-04:002011-04-27T23:02:28.186-04:00Whatever Helps . . . To Get the Writing Done<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOK40f93F-4EDJnEchOLnZHz6IspaxSqzhIt0zofsqNiYbOKdUt1GHOcai9XJNLvvRuw_EDnp98kMM7-clxnUnxCFtM5VS_LhepqgYwE0Y2qJRP0_cFCf5BJ3utn_06bxrnoCNw/s1600/ironing-board.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOK40f93F-4EDJnEchOLnZHz6IspaxSqzhIt0zofsqNiYbOKdUt1GHOcai9XJNLvvRuw_EDnp98kMM7-clxnUnxCFtM5VS_LhepqgYwE0Y2qJRP0_cFCf5BJ3utn_06bxrnoCNw/s320/ironing-board.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599933733947461362" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.beverlycleary.com/">Beverly Cleary</a>, 95, author of the Ramona books and many others, writes:<br /><br />"When I am writing a book I also enjoy ironing, an idiosyncrasy that probably makes me sound more domestic than I really am. Working with my hands frees my imagination."<br /><br />After three delete all sessions and staring at the blinking cursor, I got out the old metal ironing board, pushed it open, and locked it into place. My writing companion cats skidded for shelter, puffed and shedding. Not a good sign.<br /><br />I will take a short break, I told myself, and iron a blouse. <br /><br />Okay, done. No aha moments. No breakthroughs. Sigh.<br /><br />Hmm. Suddenly, I remember a rumpled shirt of my husband's. Opening his closet I am struck by the center-stage placement of the two suits he wears only to weddings and funerals--his everyday clothes jammed in the corner. No wonder he's a sartorial mess. <br /><br />Fast Forward: His closet looks like the OCD fairy waved her wand: short-sleeved shirts stand at attention--like marching soldiers--all facing the same direction, neatly pressed, top button buttoned. Open my closet: more of same.<br /><br />But the chapter I was writing? <br /><br />Blinking cursor.<br /><br />Fast Forward Again: I have put the ironing board away, especially since it quickly became home to piles of manilla files, bills, and magazines. <br /><br />At last, I have found a spark, an image. Yes. Back to the computer and the project, cats by my side. <br /><br />My mother and Ironing:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYNWmz5iMiLltBrJVCuL7WpYqMDm4HQC9uZoUFU9Uu2UwtUjXcn66nJ34G0CXU4wbYqDq47LSHr9ldrA0L51FHRZuSHiLgh7SJ0LUS4enXtNURwcyETUoI-Km1JX8mIdOhtS-uQ/s1600/ironing.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYNWmz5iMiLltBrJVCuL7WpYqMDm4HQC9uZoUFU9Uu2UwtUjXcn66nJ34G0CXU4wbYqDq47LSHr9ldrA0L51FHRZuSHiLgh7SJ0LUS4enXtNURwcyETUoI-Km1JX8mIdOhtS-uQ/s320/ironing.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599936103757659442" /></a>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-36038109822512493162011-04-07T08:44:00.008-04:002011-04-07T09:09:45.629-04:00Platform? What is it?Everyone in my classes is asking about the author "platform." <br /><br />A woman last night said, "I think it's getting out of control, all these blogs and websites and people putting so much time and effort into creating a presence on the Internet. Some day we'll all be laughing about this." <br /><br />Maybe.<br /><br />Some day, but not today. <br /><br />And that woman, by the way, is finishing a memoir--and starting a blog. <br /><br />For information and help, check out publishing pundit <a href="http://blog.writersdigest.com/norules/"> Jane Friedman's</a> latest.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-29964157607155093092011-03-04T09:46:00.005-05:002011-03-04T10:00:11.689-05:00Coming Soon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rWarRxDoUXl1L7tRGUgAMO68puoODN-YzL9CtZo9K34KeH0t-d7Mxtv-eseuaojKzFzF57lWEfWkE0xqnyNNeEAFzxPtt1sO8VZwOCpLgzDqj7E1lj2qA6WX40QKsCAKMNyRfg/s1600/path.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rWarRxDoUXl1L7tRGUgAMO68puoODN-YzL9CtZo9K34KeH0t-d7Mxtv-eseuaojKzFzF57lWEfWkE0xqnyNNeEAFzxPtt1sO8VZwOCpLgzDqj7E1lj2qA6WX40QKsCAKMNyRfg/s320/path.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580238366069901298" /></a><br /><br />Every week, I'm going to be posting a prompt, an excerpt with reflections about something I'm reading, and a quote or insight from a writer. The approaching spring is inspiring. <br /><br />Anaïs Nin said, "We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection."<br /><br />"No matter that we may mount on stilts, we still must walk on our own legs. And on the highest throne in the world, we still sit only on our own bottom." Michel MontaigneCarol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-77035044947402806372011-02-06T10:35:00.011-05:002011-02-10T00:11:08.801-05:00Good writing. Duh<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU4qpRf6oeBDHBMm-pPnzd4PuGGJcOH-6WZEFOFchqCAAwj6i8wZDqLlecTPHLbIfN0BILQ89gzOClamrtCfQuLgkNuaSQxnIaGyNzsdjrRabcbK2PeNPue74j13CA_rWZaOcrVQ/s1600/imgres-1.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 96px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU4qpRf6oeBDHBMm-pPnzd4PuGGJcOH-6WZEFOFchqCAAwj6i8wZDqLlecTPHLbIfN0BILQ89gzOClamrtCfQuLgkNuaSQxnIaGyNzsdjrRabcbK2PeNPue74j13CA_rWZaOcrVQ/s320/imgres-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570615711118707170" /></a><br />After reading a recent essay, I sent up a silent entreaty to the powers that be. Spare my writing students from coming across this. (I'm not linking to it yet, on purpose.) <br /><br />You see, they are working really really hard to make their memoirs powerful: to engage the reader with compelling scenes, a reliable (or intentionally not) narrator, seamless compression and expansion, well-placed flashbacks and backstory, resonant dialogue, dimensional characters, a strong story arc, and so much more. <br /><br />And this writer was knocking the memoir genre: "You think you have a story to tell? You're not special enough." That sort of thing. Sometimes I go into mother-hen mode. I didn't want folks to get discouraged. They shouldn't. Their writing is good and getting better. <br /><br />So, I didn't blog about the piece, didn't want to attract attention to it because writers are incredibly vulnerable. They (we) have to work hard not only at our writing but at silencing the gnarly little gremlins that sit on our shoulders and spit in our ears: "Who's gonna care about this memoir of yours? Why bother? You and your little story suck. Ha! Loser." <br /><br />The problems the essayist was lamenting were not, however, in the choice of subject matter. The problems were in the writing. <br /><br />Sill,l I hesitated. <br /><br />Then I found<a href="http://networkedblogs.com/dGAp6"> this succinct</a> rebuttal and said: Yes, yes, yes. <br /><br />Onward and upward everybody.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-23909283677588840342011-01-16T12:17:00.014-05:002011-01-16T13:25:45.204-05:00A New Imprint<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_L1IQaE9Kuh3QzMa_l9tJij05ewq_RCP5q7L0yWQ1OyLU5bfoMaE538ARQBgHcvtnqVTSRqheIUFlvduIxbXxYYXd7CQk6NxCEf2mj0HKiPIvxE93M5dO1RQfmzURPPmGwLWsg/s1600/chagall60.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_L1IQaE9Kuh3QzMa_l9tJij05ewq_RCP5q7L0yWQ1OyLU5bfoMaE538ARQBgHcvtnqVTSRqheIUFlvduIxbXxYYXd7CQk6NxCEf2mj0HKiPIvxE93M5dO1RQfmzURPPmGwLWsg/s320/chagall60.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562839794047856418" /></a><br />Clearly the book world is a bit topsy turvy these days, like a Chagall painting. <br /><br />Still, listen to this: The Pub Lab at the University of North Carolina in Wilmington, has a new imprint. <a href="http://books.blogs.starnewsonline.com/12782/look-out-for-lookout-books/?tc=ar">Lookout Books</a>. <br /><br />Under the direction of Emily L. Smith, the imprint has published its first book, a collection of short stories by Edith Pearlman. Never heard of her, right? A glowing review landed on the front page of the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/16/books/review/Robinson-t.html?nl=books&emc=booksupdateema1">Sunday Times Book Review</a>. <br /><br />This is rare, for an unknown spanking-new publishing venture to hit pay dirt with book number one.<br /><br />I remember the Pub Lab. I worked with it a few years back to publish a posthumous book of poems I co-edited by Sue Versenyi. A student helped with layout and production. We met in part of a prefab trailer-ish building. The lab's function was to teach students about publishing. I saw a bunch of Macs in a messy space and listened to the then-director complain about not having money for projects. <br /><br />Writers take note: Many of the authors Lookout Books plans to publish will have first appeared in the UNCW journal, <a href="http://www.ecotonejournal.com/">Ecotone</a>.<br />“We want to publish poetry, essays and debut novels,” Smith said.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-25496747353796097482011-01-06T15:49:00.006-05:002011-01-06T16:34:01.959-05:00A Thorny Undertaking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qWJW_j5dUsGjX7sT1M-xjl0tWLJk8GtMNMpfnp002RmZBr4aJKPJGTGvJY3oTXTbftkO2b13NlvhBjMcwL9VZodsfeykq6TyYDll06bAGXpRWGMg2CdhemQ9OYOgzN4BpgmvWw/s1600/Men+writing.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qWJW_j5dUsGjX7sT1M-xjl0tWLJk8GtMNMpfnp002RmZBr4aJKPJGTGvJY3oTXTbftkO2b13NlvhBjMcwL9VZodsfeykq6TyYDll06bAGXpRWGMg2CdhemQ9OYOgzN4BpgmvWw/s320/Men+writing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559185561430096546" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">"It is a thorny undertaking,</span> and more so than it seems, to follow a movement so wandering as that of our mind, to penetrate the opaque depths of the innermost folds, to pick out and immobilize the innumerable flutterings that agitate it."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I read this <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michel_de_Montaigne">Montaigne </a>quote </span>sitting in a pub at the airport yesterday waiting for my flight home from Philadelphia. I had traveled to the City of Brotherly Love because my mother was dying and indeed did die with me at her side. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Where to begin with the jumble of thoughts</span>, images, and feelings all vying for air time. Finally I had time to sit and reflect. But where to start amidst the flutterings? I knew it didn't matter where I began--I just had to begin. Something my father said burst into my kaleidoscopic mind and lingered long enough for me to tackle it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">When my sister told him</span> that her Episcopal priest was coming to deliver (or is it offer?) last rites and pleaded with him to be civli (my dad is a Quaker with little tolerance for religious traditions) he said: <br /><br />"Hell no. I'm gonna punch the guy in the nose."<br /><br />Aha. Go from there, I told myself. And I did. Sometimes a line of dialogue offers an excellent springboard into writing.Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-39045345322458812192010-12-16T08:01:00.002-05:002010-12-16T08:07:31.209-05:00Writing about Winter Walking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgi_k-xa1SUcNlUgiz0gT7-Qh8GBtija-c_y-MCGnWi3B0uqOcY0x8w7qZwN7EtXOEuO0g00XbyShWS3uwWwf78fdOItINOwgR3PKDXJvUCWDTTOlAoIXM0jBEH6kKTvmSQw0gg/s1600/Winter.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgi_k-xa1SUcNlUgiz0gT7-Qh8GBtija-c_y-MCGnWi3B0uqOcY0x8w7qZwN7EtXOEuO0g00XbyShWS3uwWwf78fdOItINOwgR3PKDXJvUCWDTTOlAoIXM0jBEH6kKTvmSQw0gg/s320/Winter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551265819124153266" /></a><br /><br />Walking Beside a Creek<br /><br />Walking beside a creek<br />in December, the black ice<br />windy with leaves,<br />you can feel the great joy<br />of the trees, their coats<br />thrown open like drunken men,<br />the lifeblood thudding<br />in their tight, wet boots.<br /><br /><br />by Ted Kooser<br />Flying at Night<br />The University of Pittsburgh Press, 1985Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-14405583691787773852010-12-02T13:53:00.004-05:002010-12-02T14:07:45.902-05:00Written from a newt's point of view<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyO1IjDet3rUL1NUKs9lc40KKJ1quOvk2F5lyn7Ev378mBFqjr6YWScvAZ15tBHN3oSOLe-8cZdDlqeMgf6RwMRvxNZdCwcF5loOP79A8xgJDPEsP0lwNc2As-eo6aVJ8F6eVjQ/s1600/fire_bellied_newt_Pic.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyO1IjDet3rUL1NUKs9lc40KKJ1quOvk2F5lyn7Ev378mBFqjr6YWScvAZ15tBHN3oSOLe-8cZdDlqeMgf6RwMRvxNZdCwcF5loOP79A8xgJDPEsP0lwNc2As-eo6aVJ8F6eVjQ/s320/fire_bellied_newt_Pic.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546163021817781506" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">My daughter Colette</span> just started teaching fourth grade this year. A friend gave her a fire-bellied newt for her classroom. Colette invited her students to write from the newt's point of view about his first week with the students. Colette has always inhabited other points of view in her own writing--since she was a little girl. She wrote novels by dogs and cultivated a family of feathers who spoke. <br /><br />Here's an excerpt from what she posted on her blog for her students and their parents.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Meet our new class member, Fig, a fire-bellied newt.</span><br />The children welcomed him this week by imagining Fig’s life and writing from his point of view. This is an excellent exercise for building empathy and for understanding people and things that are different from us. To write well, it’s important to learn how to inhabit other characters. From the children’s excerpts you will learn some things about Fig’s past and about how he feels in his new environment.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I had the students start by writing: “Hi. My name is Fig and today is my first day in Ms. Henderson’s class . . .”</span><br /><br />Here are excerpts from the children’s writings.<br /><br />From Fig’s Point of View:<br /><br />I’m excited for the adventures I’ll have here as long as there are no cats! I’m also a little scared. So far every kid is saying things to me like, “Cool!” “Weird!” I am also excited about learning math. I will finally be able to count my toes and multiply my rocks. I’m also pretty scared of falling out of my cage again and possibly dehydrating. I hope I can make some lizard friends and have a fig party! All we do is sit and stare at each other.<br />--Ryan<br /><br />Luckily I’m in the one and only Ms. Henderson’s classs! I am so excited. I’ve learned from Lauren that she’s nice, sweet, funny and super smart. That’s not the only good news. I haven’t seen a single cat here, not even a kitten! But it’s a little creepy with all the students staring at me. I am just a regular kid like everyone. I am just here to learn.<br />It’s also a much better view here on a desk than on the top of a toilet seat!<br />I also like the kids in this room. So far no one looked at me and screamed. They look at me and do the “aw ooaw cute!” so I show off my really cool really red belly. <br />--Lexie<br /><br />I am a fire-bellied newt. I have no idea who all these giants are that keep coming up to my tank to stare at me and tap on the glass. This is better than being stuck in a dark office. I am a little shy so I’m gonna curl up by the rocks and the plant to relax. But I am also excited so I am moving and swimming a lot. By the looks of this place, I don’t see any wild cats to grab me. I have gone through very crazy issues. I hope that the giants don’t think I am weird. When you are a newt life can be hard because you are so puny. The one thing I like today is I’m getting treated like a celebrity with giants looking at me. I think I’m gonna like life here!<br />--Yakta<br /><br />I am very excited to switch to all of the tables expecially table 3. I wonder if they are all nice. I hope I learn division and multiplication. I am very glad there aren’t any cats here or else I might get knocked out of the cage and get all dehydrated and risk dying. I live in a small clear tank. <br />--Will<br /><br />The first reason I’m excited to be here is that I can see out the windows. That might sound weird but you try being stuck in an office all day! The 2nd reason is I won’t get dehydrated I hope. If you want to look at me I’m stuck in that cage at table 5. I could at least tell you one billion things I don’t like but the most important rule is never chuck me at the ground. The worst thing about being a newt is that everyone is always starting at me and it’s seriously weird and freaky, all those giant eyes pointing at me. I’m 16. I can live up to my 60’s. I will have 50% good time and 50% bad time.<br />--Josef<br /><br />I was very nervous at first but when all the kds came in with their smiling faces I knew this would be a good day. I am wondering what we will do the rest of the day. By the way, this is how my day started off. Bump! “Sorry, Fig!” Ms Henderson was driving me to Mills Park Elementary. I had butterflies in my stomach. <br />The car stopped and parked. We were there.<br />When we walked in the room Ms Henderson plopped me down on a table. I waited for about an hour until this loud noise went off and Ms. Henderson put something up on the promethean board. Five more minutes passed and finally some kids started coming in. They all walked over to the table that I was at but none of them sat down by me. I was worried again but this time because I thought none of them liked me.<br />After what seemed like an hour she stopped talking and made people pull stuff out of a cup. One of the tables were all cheering. I sat at that table today and it turned out everybody liked me!<br />--Shannon<br /><br />I think that living here will be okay because I’m in my same box and all the same rocks are here. I also like that there is enough sunlight in here. But the best part of all is . . .NO CATS!<br />I don’t like that all these, what do you call them, kids staring at me all day. Well, yes, that means I’m really popular and all, but it’s starting to freak me out. <br />Overall, I think living here will be really fun.<br />--Matthew<br /><br />It is awesome here with the sunlight from the glass windows and half giants (the kids to you guys), but the way here was not that good. Here is how it went. We were driving to this awesome school when the full giant, Ms. Henderson, hit a very nasty speed bump. I was bouncing like a ball.<br />I’m now on table 5 so there are four half giants here.<br />I think I’m a lizard. Bye bye giants. See you table 4 giants tomorrow.<br />--Kehan<br /><br />I am looking forward to learning about what usually happens in room 3404 and doing what I usually do, like swim and eat. My cage is an okay place with rocks, water, and a fake plant. Being a fire-bellied newt can be fun and sometimes scary. The fun part is going new places and having new experiences (although not all experiences are fun!). The scary part is escaping from my cage and getting dehydrated and shriveling up. But other than my life-threatening situations, being a fire-bellied newt is fun.<br />--Josh<br /><br />I have been through many crazy adventures. You won’t believe how crazy my adventures were. Luckily humans aren’t afraid of cats. It’s really hard for a type of newt like me to survive in a little cage. I may not be big but I am 16 years old. My master, Laura, kind of does a good job protecting me. I don’t play video games or work! That’s the good part of being a newt. <br />In my life I don’t have any cell phones, cars, shops, or anything. At least I have food. I am so surprised to see so many new kids. It’s a good thing I’m not shy! Have a very happy day!<br />--Mark <br /><br />Right now I’m feeling really excited to be here. I can’t wait to meet all the boys and girls in room 3404. I have never been to a 4th grade class so I can’t wait to see what 4th graders do.<br />My cage is fun! I love relaxing in the water. I could use just a little more space and a buddy to hang out with! I love my big plant.<br />I think it is really fun being a fire-beelied newt. Outside of my cage, I can hear the boys and girls talking about my red belly. They are all saying how it’s so cool! I always smile when they say it.<br />When I grow up I want to be famous! I love hearing all the compliments I get from the boys and girls! I am also hoping to get some from my fans! I love little children. <br />I hope you’ve enjoyed my story.<br />--Gianna<br /><br />I am excited and scared at the same time. I am looking forward to switching tables but first I’m staying at table 5. The cage is too small but it’ll do for now. Everyone likes me. They all came up this morning to look at me. I think they like my red belly, especially Ms. Henderson. When we were riding to school she hit a bump and I almost did a flip. I’m pretty small but I’m cool. I hope I can control myself not to get out of the new small cage. I think I’ll like it here in room 3404.<br />--Izzy<br /><br />I’m feeling excited to be here in room 3404. My cage is a little small but it fits well. I’m looking forward to being at every table in the classroom. In my cage I love to climb up the walls to show off my belly. I’m a little scared of people picking me up and squeezing me or pulling my tail off, but Ms. Henderson told everybody the rules that Laura wants the children to obey. I love seeing all the kids in the classroom. I’ve been through some life and death situations but lucky for me, I survived. Thank you for inviting me here! Your class newt.<br />--Lauren<br /><br />I am feeling really excited to be in this classroom, though I’m not used to it. I am looking forward to seeing everyone who is taking care of me. I feel like I’m going to learn new things every day, like meeting everyone and seeing what they’re learning today. It is fun hanging out in my cage looking around in the classroom! I’ve heard that the first week I’m here I’m going to each table so we can meet each other. (Just to let you know, I love meeting people!) It feels cool being a fire-belly newt. I can always swim around and look around, being the best class pet I can ever be!<br />I am staying here for a long time, having fun! I can’t wait to see what my first week here is going to be like!<br />--Ashley<br /><br />I feel so excited to be in Ms. Henderson’s classroom. But I feel so small and shy compared to all the kids in the class.<br />I like to show off my stomach. It’s red—really, really red. I climb up the walls of my cage and show my stomach off for a little while. Then I climb down into the warm-cold water. It feels kind of relaxing.<br />I am also 16 years old and I can live up to 60, hopefully.<br />I know I should have mentioned this before, but I also feel really shy with all those people looking down on me, watching my every move. I hope it gets better. BYE!<br />--Sophia<br /><br />Fig is 16 years old and he’s short. Listen to Fig as he tells you what his name is. “Hi. My name is Fig and today is my first day at Mills Park Elementary School. I’m Fig and I am happy. I’m excited and I’m not scared. I like to learn to write stories on a piece of notebook paper. I am learning! Got to go!<br />--Subcara<br /><br />Hello parents and students! I am very happy here, but you know what? I would love a bigger house. I understand that this is a time of year when some people give gifts. Hmmm. Anybody want to chip in and get me a bigger cage? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with what I’ve got. But I could use some more space—for swimming and stretching and relaxing and watching all of you.<br />--Your class pet and good friend, Fig<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />has always inhabited other points of view in her writing--since she was a little girl. She wrote novels by dogs and cultivated a family of feathers who spoke. When our dog Rosie ate most of her collection, Colette said: "Feather's family is ruined."Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-25616652950549305942010-11-22T18:30:00.002-05:002010-11-22T18:33:32.778-05:00The Writing Journey: Where am I going?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zDNbavMDxLrVOKXk-vWEYwapnkYAoVK0RUm_oFWr_ZGOeiTCa9yWmkq7jJAAl35h5PWXzqGhI3bOYaOHBD-6G6ADZh5ZSsUYJL8xHIaUlovTXjak13faZQsLAIXVfZokC3BNnA/s1600/IMG_6460+2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zDNbavMDxLrVOKXk-vWEYwapnkYAoVK0RUm_oFWr_ZGOeiTCa9yWmkq7jJAAl35h5PWXzqGhI3bOYaOHBD-6G6ADZh5ZSsUYJL8xHIaUlovTXjak13faZQsLAIXVfZokC3BNnA/s320/IMG_6460+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542521210374943538" /></a><br />"To write is to embark on a journey of which we do not know the destination. Thus, writing requires a great act of trust. We have to say to ourselves: 'I do not yet know what I carry in my heart, but I trust it will emerge as I write.' Writing is like giving away the few loaves and fishes we have, trusting that they will multiply in the giving. Once we dare to 'give away' on paper the few thoughts that come to us, we start discovering how much is hidden underneath these thoughts and thus we gradually come in touch with our own riches and resources." Henri Nouwen in S<span style="font-style:italic;">piritual Direction: Wisdom for the Long Walk of Faith</span>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-92138411031409192072010-11-03T17:26:00.011-04:002010-11-03T17:53:13.487-04:00Why aren't I writing?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjn82s0CTdS9FMOoLu0f__whgH4Qd8q8oSfA7BQvx3yDdv3k94ZzOfHE30aJ5gbMJE7PK03OxyFgTdfz40xOEWjh1i1tVlv1a3y_S39lRtG0hyphenhyphenl1o_D_nuq8ZtgTt-qiPI6gYlew/s1600/path.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjn82s0CTdS9FMOoLu0f__whgH4Qd8q8oSfA7BQvx3yDdv3k94ZzOfHE30aJ5gbMJE7PK03OxyFgTdfz40xOEWjh1i1tVlv1a3y_S39lRtG0hyphenhyphenl1o_D_nuq8ZtgTt-qiPI6gYlew/s320/path.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535440251292855970" /></a>I met with a writing client today who is revising a terrific memoir but has trouble getting to her desk: <div>
<br /></div><div>"I'll do anything but write," she told me. "I'll clean the trim on the stove and scrub toilets before I'll sit down and get to work. But once I do, I feel great, whole, happy."<div>
<br /></div><div>Why don't we write when we know it's what brings us the most satisfaction? I, for one, tend to be a deadline-driven writer. On assignment, I get the job done and in a timely manner. As for my own work, well . . .<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.6px; ">I have been known to wander down many a tantalizing path before I get started in the morning.</span></div><meta charset="utf-8"><div>
<br /></div><div><a href="http://www.glimmertrain.com/ssaaug10.html">Here's an essay</a> on the subject from <a href="http://www.glimmertrain.com/ishig.html">Glimmertrain</a>.</div></div>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-77634680159868573302010-10-20T08:53:00.003-04:002010-10-20T09:10:17.222-04:00A memoir about writing"Above all, avoid melodrama. Understate the narrator's emotional reaction. What the author withholds, the reader supplies. Establish and maintain the story's cocreation; it's essential."<div><br /></div><div>The quote is from a memoir, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.6px; "><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mentor-Memoir-Tom-Grimes/dp/0982504896/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1287579903&sr=1-1">Mentor</a></span>, by Tom Grimes. Not only is this a compelling well-wrought story worth studying for its craft, it's also full of gems--even entire teaching scenes lifted from workshops--about writing.</div>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-56958114075652962722010-08-11T21:38:00.009-04:002010-08-11T22:39:03.886-04:00No Stories after Supper<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ocTYzjkkTkI0c7e4n181PL_fiX1mBUKHCbqNLDzNvoObXvtprGAOHUNn3jmiR7W9OJPFuMbbpNdnoisnQUCYYfJe06Ui4NqCxvK9sOQ69e-JmaIu4PEw-kM-l_s6U-H4dYbUtw/s1600/imgres.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ocTYzjkkTkI0c7e4n181PL_fiX1mBUKHCbqNLDzNvoObXvtprGAOHUNn3jmiR7W9OJPFuMbbpNdnoisnQUCYYfJe06Ui4NqCxvK9sOQ69e-JmaIu4PEw-kM-l_s6U-H4dYbUtw/s320/imgres.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504333652576973282" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 24px; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">On several of my grade school report cards, teachers cautioned my parents: Don't tell her stories or read to her after dinner. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Settle her down for bed. She gets riled up easily</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-size:medium;">I think of that advice sometimes now, as I try to calm down after listening to the powerful stories my students write and read in my classes, which, guess what, meet after dinner. Sometimes long after everybody's gone home, I pace and toss into the wee hours, my mind flooded with narratives.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'm on break for the month of August and am reading </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Moby-Dick-Bantam-Classics-Herman-Melville/dp/0553213113">Moby Dick</a> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Settle down? Tonight? After ingesting this robust passage? Note to self: Read only in the morning. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">". . . After a stiff pull, their harpooneer got fast, and, spear in hand, Radney sprang to the bow. He was always a furious man, it seems, in a boat. And now his bandaged cry was, to beach him on the whale's topmost back. Nothing loath, his bowsman hauled him up and up, through a blinding foam that blent two whitenesses together; till of a sudden the boat struck as against a sunken ledge, and keeling over, spilled out the standing mate. That instant, as he fell on the whale's slippery back, the boat righted, and was dashed aside by the swell, while Radney was tossed over into the sea, on the other flank of the whale.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div>"He struck out through the spray, and, for an instant, was dimly seen through that veil, wildly seeking to remove himself from the eye of Moby Dick. But the whale rushed round in a sudden maelstrom; seized the swimmer between his jaws; and rearing high up with him, plunged headlong again, and went down.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Meantime, at the first tap of the boat's bottom, the Lakeman had slackened the line, so as to drop astern from the whirlpool; calmly looking on, he thought his own thoughts. But a sudden, terrific, downward jerking of the boat, quickly brought his knife to the line. He cut it; and the whale was free. But, at some distance, Moby Dick rose again, with some tatters of Radney's red woollen shirt, caught in the teeth that had destroyed him. All four boats gave chase again; but the whale eluded them, and finally wholly disappeared."</div></span></span></span></div></span>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-17794665362299683822010-07-17T08:31:00.011-04:002010-07-18T09:57:16.819-04:005 Reasons Why I Don't Blog More Often<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMSqq8yTpE7-5OLZrji2li0bT1RzXDrXnHEuU0Coxo_Qp0H2LbqTvMB16XPia3wWJlUvZHAgJlxmRU5OFYKkWTgqSdeary6RZCL7NoAMRaOWG7yk9WLj4Bcqh_yt-LJ9nKiJKYA/s1600/IMG_6520.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMSqq8yTpE7-5OLZrji2li0bT1RzXDrXnHEuU0Coxo_Qp0H2LbqTvMB16XPia3wWJlUvZHAgJlxmRU5OFYKkWTgqSdeary6RZCL7NoAMRaOWG7yk9WLj4Bcqh_yt-LJ9nKiJKYA/s320/IMG_6520.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494862228133978178" /></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We've been making lists</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> in my journal writing workshop these last two weeks: </span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> 1) Lists of things that give us energy (+) and rob us of energy (- ) </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> 2) And lists of why</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:15.6px;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 3) Lists of beliefs and superstitions our families held when we were growing up--overt and covert </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 4) Lists of beliefs we hold now</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 5) Lists of what matters</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And I just read a <a href="http://www.problogger.net/archives/2010/07/17/7-links-for-bloggers/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+ProbloggerHelpingBloggersEarnMoney+(ProBlogger:+Helping+Bloggers+Earn+Money)">post</a></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, a list of 7 links for bloggers, which made me ask myself (again) why I don't blog more often.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Five Reasons I don't post more often:</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 1) </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I teach at least </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">4 workshops a week and feel talked out--about writing and everything else--at the end of the day. Write a post, now? Are you kidding?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 2) </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I spend a lot of time</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> each week editing and making post-like comments on writers' work. Go write a post? Busman's holiday.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 3) </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I enjoy being a voyeur,</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> anonymous, reading other people's blogs and not having to comment or post in response. I'm not responsible for or to these people in any way. And that's liberating.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 4) </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Hmmm . . . I'm breaking a sweat</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. See, I don't have staying power for posts. "Just take something you've discussed in class and turn it into a post," my blog-man <a href="http://writeabetternovel.net/">husband </a>says. "But, that's work," I say. "So?" he says. And we have a tiresome little spat over who works harder. And I don't get a post written.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> 5) </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Here it is, folks.</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I'm not really clear about my niche. I mean I could post a lot about my mother's face, or my theories on why my cat is acting out on rugs and in suitcases, or my client who can't find drafts on his desktop. But isn't a blogger supposed to know her niche?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:15.6px;"><br /></span></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-56443391897718119932010-06-13T10:39:00.004-04:002010-06-13T11:23:32.795-04:00Summer Writing Goals: Write Them Down!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEmtk77JbvucaDa9KMoxGtUyMNQpXjzUmnMsP2qM7lk8PMyqazJGPwFHCn32e9vKE4Sf_QbHIujucFNufEWr4tA5hyphenhyphenxtC8JqLBjZHNB0GLZgjHtWZgzbdTKU0oj04BLXcHL41Mw/s1600/footprints+in+sand.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEmtk77JbvucaDa9KMoxGtUyMNQpXjzUmnMsP2qM7lk8PMyqazJGPwFHCn32e9vKE4Sf_QbHIujucFNufEWr4tA5hyphenhyphenxtC8JqLBjZHNB0GLZgjHtWZgzbdTKU0oj04BLXcHL41Mw/s320/footprints+in+sand.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482277044383200466" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b>I make one final request </b>of all my students before we break for the summer: Write down your summer writing goals and send them to me. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b> When I have the entire workshops' goal</b>s, I email them to everyone in the group.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"<b>Print this out," </b>I suggest<b>, </b>"and post it by your computer."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b>And when we get together </b>for our monthly summer sessions, we devote part of every meeting to going over each person's goals.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b>The act of writing down</b>--and sharing--goals helps us achieve them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b>If you're not in a writing workshop</b>, find a writing friend to share goals with. Meet over the summer--online if not in person--and review your goals.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-7942854280240968422010-05-31T00:44:00.004-04:002010-05-31T01:04:44.106-04:00Questions Writers AskAs an editor and writing coach, I am often asked questions like: Am I a good writer? Do I have potential? Do you think I can sell this piece to <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/">The New Yorker</a>? <div><br /></div><div>This question will come up this week at <a href="http://www.bqfp.com.qa/events-en/event-articles-en/summerwritinginstitute">the writing workshop I'm teaching</a> in Doha, Qatar. Many of the fledgling writers here have had little opportunity to take workshops or discuss their literary dreams. I give them a lot of credit for signing up and showing up. I have some answers and suggestions for them but I can't tell them they'll be best-selling authors. I can't tell anyone this, of course.<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://writerunboxed.com/2010/05/28/the-only-way-to-know-if-youll-be-a-successful-writer/">In this post</a> Jane Friedman, of Writer's Digest, offers solid responses to those Can-I-do-this questions writers so often ask.<div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781814.post-41019020672346444732010-05-25T12:20:00.002-04:002010-05-25T12:22:55.089-04:00Pushing the Boundaries: Writing DeadlineNothing like a deadline to get us all in gear.<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.creativenonfiction.org/thejournal/submittocnf.htm#Pushing">Here</a> are some good summer dates that will keep us working and submitting--on our</div><div>nonfiction essays. Three thousand words or fewer and the truth. I think you can do it.</div>Carol Hendersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12595144684966143887noreply@blogger.com0