Finding the Elusive: Inspiration

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Inspiration and a Gift  – Full Moon at Bent Creek by visual artist, Stanley B Watkins

Many of us are in new territory—a time of exile has begun. Swimming in the uncertain and strange, we wait and worry and wonder and shop. It’s even hard to know exactly what we need right now and how much. Perhaps, like me, you didn’t find what you were really looking for in the grocery store. No one shelved serenity in between the bags of coffee and tea, or comfort in the paper goods aisle. No guarantees that life will return to normal were stocked on the empty shelves where they used to keep bread. We may have to create what we really need right now—we may need to find serenity, comfort ourselves and each other, and stir up some hope.

In that spirit, a week ago I reached out to a handful of my creative, artist-friends with five questions—a survey of sorts about sources of inspiration and creative process. Individuals, participating in a wide variety of creative genres and ranging from 20-something to 80-something, responded with exquisite bits of wisdom and inspiration—more of it than I can share in one post, so stay tuned!

This feels like a good time to implement the “dessert first” strategy, so I’ll share some of the most hopeful parts now—answers to the questions below. I hope that you will find these thoughts as encouraging as I have during this chaotic, strange, and lonely time.

#1 Has anything inspired you lately?

# 2 If you could give the world a present…?

Joy, whose creative fields include music, design, and art, finds inspiration looking at houses—“I immediately start moving walls in my mind and imagining the full potential of the space”—and listening to music and sounds around her—“The hum of the vacuum cleaner once turned into a song.” 

Her gift:

 I would love to give the world the gift of safety and security, real and perceived.

Gareth Phillips (a.k.a. January Zero), a singer/songwriter, recording artist, and poet, shared this slow-motion video of a Chinese spouting bowl being played—“I like most about this video that, well beyond its eye-candy value, it reveals the relationship between sound/vibratory waves and visual patterns.” 

His gift:

I would like to give everyone an hour of perceiving the world from a completely different viewpoint. I’m not thinking of the perspective of a different subculture or religion or ethnicity or gender, although those would work well too. I’m actually imagining if everyone could see the world through the eyes of a bird or butterfly, which can see color in the ultraviolet spectrum, or from the angle of an animal (or person) who uses echolocation, like bats and dolphins. If we could smell fear or happiness, for example, as bees and dogs are said to be able to do, how might our experience of aggression and kindness shift?

JW Kennedy, who creates cartoons and music, shared this inspiration: “Red Letter Media does a YouTube series called “Best of the Worst” where they watch really bad movies and critique (but also enjoy) them”…reminding him that “a lot of earnest joy can result when someone has the nerve to put their creative project out there, even if it technically “isn’t any good.” It’s a great inspiration to GO FOR IT and be less critical of my own work.” 

His gift:

I’d love to make a video game based on ideas I’ve had for more than a decade .. and let everybody play it for free.

A music teacher wrote that she was inspired “when a student plays something really well and I see their little smile to themselves that they got it. That inspires me. C played a whole song by ear on mandolin by himself and looked up at me and smiled.” 

Her gift:

I would give the whole world a northern lights display or shut off cell service for 24 hours so people will look around.

Anne, a writer, musician, photographer, coach, and editor, lately has been reading numerous mystery novels—“the comparisons and contrasts are super inspiring.” She has also gotten “intuitive hits for details of a writing project I’m finishing, and I’m so grateful.” 

Her gift:

 I’d organize young girls to learn to write about what’s on their minds. If they learn to trust their own thoughts and ideas before they hit puberty, I feel there is hope for them to become independent women who make up their own minds.

A painter, teacher, musician recently watched the end of the movie Lucas, she saidIf this doesn’t move you, you need malox: The locusts won’t be coming back for 17 years, I wonder where we’ll be then.” 

Her gift:

 If I could give the world a present today, it would be a work of art on the magnitude of Norman Rockwell…..when you look at it, it will inspire peace within.

Gene Beverly, a writer, woodworker, and general creative, was inspired by this quote from Thomas Merton’s No Man is an Island:No matter how ruined man and his world may seem to be, and no matter how terrible man’s despair may become, as long as he continues to be a man his very humanity continues to tell him that life has a meaning.”

His gift:

Tolerance and love. I believe we are all connected with one another and whatever we do or say will in some way affect the rest of creation, be it ever so small.

Carolyn O’Neal, a fiction/nonfiction writer and beekeeper, was inspired by Elizabeth Warren at the debates—Brilliant, caring, and articulate, she captured everything I want to follow in a leader. Plus she loves dogs.” 

Her gift:

 I’d like to restore the oceans to their pre-industrial age health. Before whaling, before drilling, before plastics. I wouldn’t want to turn back the clock on anything else. Not on food or transportation or plumbing, and certainly not on health care. Just save the oceans.

Jeannie Beverly, whose creative fields include painting, photography, calligraphy, and writing, was inspired by the most recent film version of Little Women—“seeing the movie made me realize I have always identified with “Jo,” who is the writer. For the first time, I think that has always made me think I might write.” 

Her gift:

The will and the dedication to save our planet. A greater consciousness of the beauty and variety around us all the time and how terrible it is to destroy it.

Writer, Darrell Laurant, is inspired by the organization “Better Angels” that teaches people “to listen to and communicate with others with whom they disagree. This change in attitude is badly needed, and the existence of a group like this inspired me.” 

His gift:

The ability to see every other person on the planet as an individual, and communicate with him/her on that level without pre-conceptions or stereotypes.

David, a mixed media artist, writer, and idea generator, has been inspired by the return of the sun after rain, a recent excursion to natural settings on the outskirts of VCU in Richmond, and reading Howl’s Moving Castle“I recommend it for those looking to return to what it felt like having childlike fantasies.”

His gift:

Does it have to physical? If so, I’d say food. A different meal for each persons needs. I believe food is a powerful tool for just about every need. If I can get a bit more magical… I’d like to send out an aura of calm energy and let the whole world just breathe and be ok together for a little while.

Bonnie, whose creative genres include gardening, landscaping, music, and conversation, was inspired by a Kombucha workshop. She found it “fascinating and yucky at the same time! Who would’ve thought that this would’ve been a delicious drink?” 

Her gift:

 Unplug, go outside, enjoy the day and each other.

Steve, a brilliant, subtle thinker, who “composes (prose) for an audience of one,” has been intrigued by the activity of squirrels and crows he has observed on his bike commute to work—“All the squirrels look alike to me, but I don’t understand their furtive movements, I don’t know what they do when it snows, I don’t know where they live since I see so few nests in the trees. I don’t even remember what their nests are called.

And crows are more interesting than that. 

His gift:

Poverty relief is always a reasonable answer. Otherwise, an antidote.

If you’d like to participate, share your answers in the comments below.

Noelle Beverly writes poetry and prose, promotes local writers in the surrounding community, and is a member of the BACCA Literary group.

BACCA Guest Blog: Like Salami and Peanut Butter: Don’t mix AI and Editing by author Jeanne Grunert

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Photo by Douglas Bagg on Unsplash

 

When I was in first grade, I concocted a salami and peanut butter sandwich. My mother, frustrated by my uneaten bologna and cheese sandwiches and other brown bag lunchtime staples, flung a challenge at me.

Why don’t you come up with a sandwich you’ll eat?”

Now, to a first grader, that’s a big challenge indeed.

I asked my older sister, “How do you come up with a new idea for a sandwich?”

She loved making sandwiches. She thought to add onion salt to a turkey with mayo and lettuce on white bread, for example, and it was sublime.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the first person to come up with that combination. It was still delicious.

She shrugged. “I take my favorite things and combine them.”

So I did. I took peanut butter, a perennial favorite, and slapped it on white bread. Then I took slices of hard salami and layered it on top.

It was as disgusting as it sounds and I went hungry that day at school.

Why am I telling you this story? Because to me, combining AI with proofreading creative writing is like my childhood experiment with peanut butter and salami. It’s two good things — artificial intelligence and creative writing — and combining them into an unpalatable mess.

I experimented with combining the proofreading of my novel with an AI program and made the biggest mistake of my creative writing career.

Seriously Screwing Up My Novel Release — and a Lesson Learned

This year, I released my second novel, I See You. It takes me about three years and at least three drafts to get a novel shaped to the point where I feel it’s ready to debut, and I See You was no exception.

In years past, I hired an editor to proofread my novels and novellas. A few mistakes ended up in the final drafts; I’ve found it’s inevitable when asking someone to proofread almost 400 pages of text.

This year, however, I was strapped for cash. My biggest client had gone out of business leaving five-figures of unpaid invoices on my business’ books. A magazine client also went belly-up leaving a smaller, but no less important, unpaid bill. I’ve had clients go out of business with unpaid receivables before but never two in one year.

I had no money to pay a proofreader. I scrambled for a solution and came up with the obvious. I had a paid subscription to an AI-driven proofreading software that served me in good stead when I worked on blog posts and short articles. Why not use it for my novel?

I dutifully broke the novel up into 3,000 word chunks and fed it into the churning maw of the AI-powered site, trusting it to do its good work as it had done for my articles. I saw typos captured, grammar mistakes highlighted. I clicked “okay” and thought, Well, this is fine! I just saved money on a proofreader!

I scheduled my novel’s release to great fanfare on social media. My loyal fans queued up to purchase advance copies. They had waited three years to learn what happened to the Majek family; many had grown close to the main characters. They couldn’t wait for the novel to hit Amazon’s virtual shelves, and I couldn’t wait, either.

Until the day my friend Barb, a loyal reader and fan of my work and the editor of a national magazine, dropped me an email bombshell.

I think Amazon published a previous draft,” Barb wrote in a confidential text message. “I’ve just read the first chapter and found three typos in the first six pages alone. I can’t go on. When you correct the errors, let me know.”

What? How could three mistakes in the first six pages have escaped the magic AI machine’s all-knowing grammar and spelling check?

I pulled out my Kindle and scrolled through the manuscript. The mistakes leaped from the page. Broken sentences. Character names misspelled. Horrible comma usage.

What happened?

How did the AI-driven program, which was highly accurate with my blog posts about software and digital marketing, screw up my novel so badly?

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Photo by  Andras Vas on Unsplash

Creative Writing Defies Many Writing Conventions Upon Which AI Is Based

Good writing tends to be beyond the skills of predictive technology. Creative writing pushes the boundaries of acceptable grammatical conventions, often breaking rules in dialogue and descriptions.

I used the phrase “gunmetal sky” in my novel. The AI program flagged it as incorrect; it was certainly correct, as I meant to liken the color of the stormy sky to the color of a gun barrel, an ominous sign. To the AI program, ‘gunmetal’ doesn’t belong with the sky. The program wasn’t smart enough to figure out the phrase and it didn’t understand why it was there in the first place. The nuances of poetical description to set the mood and tone of a scene were beyond its capabilities.

I cleaned up my mess, had a friend who had worked with me as a proofreader in a past gig at a publishing house proof the novel, and re-released it. It’s getting great reviews, but I seriously screwed up my launch by releasing a subpar product. My hard work, three years of late nights and aching typing fingers, and the book pulled from the shelves for revision.

Lesson learned.

I could blame the AI program. I had tried to force it to work with text it wasn’t meant to work with in the first place. The company producing the AI program actually warns against using it for creative writing projects, suggesting instead that writers hire a human editor through their handy freelancer program.

It was my fault entirely that I’d tried to trust a job meant for a creative person to artificial intelligence. Peanut butter and salami. Two good things poorly paired leading to a stomach ache.

Nothing matches a skilled editor for catching mistakes and improving my writing. I started working with a new copy editor at a marketing agency gig this month and she’s not only caught my mistakes but her edits have improved my writing, making it stronger and teaching me in the process how to be a better writer.

That’s the best gift a skilled human editor brings to a project: they make a writer’s work better. No AI program has ever taught me to choose strong verbs or avoid unnecessary dialogue tags; my human editors, Donna, Marge, and Eleanor, have. The ensuing discussions about why I chose to write as I did and how it impacted them as readers also added nuances to my understanding that no artificial intelligence can match.

One day, AI programs may equal the abilities of seasoned editors. But today, I’ll trust Marge’s decades of newspaper reporting and editing, Donna’s novel writing skills, and Eleanor’s sharp-eyed proofreading when it comes to my novels. Gunmetal skies and sapphire eyes, dialogue written in English and American Sign Language, and other aspects of my novel flummoxed the AI checkers but excited and engaged the human editors.

And that’s how it should be.

Jeanne Grunert is an award-winning fiction writer and a freelance content marketing writer. She is the author of several paranormal mystery novels set on Long Island, New York’s famed Gold Coast area. When she’s not writing, you can find Jeanne hiking, gardening, or spending time with her German shepherd dog and many cats. Learn more about her fiction at jeannegrunert.com

Composting, Dating, and Becoming Unstuck

My compost bin is just a dirty plastic box without a bottom.  I set it up under a tree near the road a good ways away from my beehive so it wouldn’t attract bears or other critters to my bees.  I keep a bucket in my garage for scraps and carry them to the bin about once a week, more often in the summer during watermelon season.  More often if I’m composting something tasty that my dog likes to sneak into the garage to nibble on like sweet potato peels.  I compost egg shells, orange peels, and coffee grounds. I compost kale stems, pistachio shells, and leaves from my driveway.  How could this hodgepodge ever amount to anything worthwhile?  All I have to do is leave it be and let Mother Nature do her thing. She turns all those scraps turns into rich dirt.  Rich dirt to feed my trees and create flowerbeds.  Rich dirt to attract worms.  My yard is more productive because of those scraps.

Here’s the deal.  I’ve been researching a nonfiction project for a couple of years and let me tell you, a couple of years of research piles up.  I have scraps of newspaper articles, recordings of interviews, court records, books, pamphlets.  My poor little office has stacks of notebooks and ideas.  The problem is I don’t know how to tell this story.  The blind man and the elephant scenario.  The project is so big I don’t know where to start.

In other words, I’m stuck.

I need to become unstuck.  I flip through FLOAT, Becoming Unstuck for Writers by AM Carley.

FLOAT devotes a couple of pages on a topic called Compost. (pages 187-188) Not composting food scraps.  Composting writing scraps.

Sometimes the most clear-eyed, thoughtful, and beneficial decision we can make about a piece of writing is to put it away…. Put it in a drawer… Archive it on a hard drive…

And walk away.

Walk away!  What do I do then? Do I keep writing? Or not?  I flip through FLOAT and find a chapter entitled Date Yourself on page 57.

For this date with yourself, your only goal is to do something that interests or inspires you.… By getting out, you give yourself the chance to re-set your own approach. You take a complete break from your project and simply get out into the world with curiosity and a sense of adventure.… you don’t need an agenda…. be with yourself, open-minded, curious, free.

This was exactly what I needed. Permission to do something other than write and research. Permission to do something fun.  For me, that’s beekeeping. I have four hives and love to be out with them. I love to learn about bees and talk to other beekeepers.

Two of Carolyn’s Four honeybee hives. Photo taken Nov. 2019

 

So I decide to I attend the annual Virginia State Beekeepers Association meeting.   Most of the lectures are about how to maintain healthy hives.  The parallels between healthy beehives and healthy human societies are legendary.  The individual is moving ahead with her life in concert with thousands of other individuals moving ahead with their lives. And in the center of all this movement is the queen.

And then it happened.  As I listened to the lectures about the importance of a strong queen, stories began to swirl.  I went home that evening and wrote the first chapter about a fictional human family that behaves like a beehive. The family has workers, drones, babies, and a queen named Sabbath.

I’m not sure where this story is going but I’m having fun writing.  And now and then, an idea pops into my head about how to shape all that research into a readable, creative nonfiction.  I note of that idea and put it aside.  I’ll come back to it.  But for now, I’m having fun with my bees and my ideas.

The cover of FLOAT • Becoming Unstuck for Writers

A M Carley’s handbook for writers, available at Central Virginia booksellers and online.

 

 

Carolyn O’Neal is the author of KINGSLEY

AM Carley’s book FLOAT, Becoming Unstuck for Writers is available on Amazon

The Release of High Tide

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It’s here, now—the novel our friend worked on throughout her adult life. High Tide, by Andrea Fisher Rowland, is complete and beautiful. With her gone, High Tide is what we have left to hold in our hands—a little world of ideas, a collection of words born from her preoccupations and worries and loves and time. While she raised a son and taught school and graded papers and built a life, Andrea also wrote a novel and poetry around the edges of her life. In her last years, even in her last hours, she returned to these writings with hope.

Any writer knows that these are the moments to fantasize about: feeling the weight of your book in your hand, flipping through pages bound together in their final order, running a hand over a smooth, beautiful cover. From that first, hopeful, audacious moment that we set a pen to page, we dream of seeing copies of our book on a shelf in a real bookstore. Through the careful, devoted efforts and expertise of Dorene Fisher and Anne M Carley, Andrea’s dream of having High Tide published has been realized.

Members of BACCA and other writers that Andrea knew gave this novel their time too. Sharing work for critique a little at a time over months or years is an exercise in patience and mind-stretching understanding—for the writer and the reader. Scrutinizing parts of a larger work so closely, while trying to hold the whole of it in our minds over time is slippery business. I read High Tide both ways—piece by piece over months and months and all at once in a few days. After revisiting it, I found that as familiar as it felt, I had hardly known the novel at all. It was like trying to recognize something at a distance that I’d only been viewing under a magnifying glass. Before, I’d missed some of the novel’s dreamy energy, its pull, its soft momentum.

Experiencing it in its entirety, some of us have realized that High Tide isn’t so easy to categorize. Not just a drama or a thriller or a mystery, it borrows elements from these genres, while pressing questions about human impact on the natural world and the repercussions of our fraught relationship with the environment.

High Tide might be best described using words we know from other forms: art, music, and poetry. I think of a tapestry as I follow dynamics between characters, or sort out the interplay between the personal and universal. The voicing is fugal—as the point of view of one character rises and falls, the perspective of another character takes a turn, first doubling and amplifying themes, then diverting focus and introducing new ideas and emotions. In tone, the novel is often elegiac, as characters face moments of growth, love (in all forms), and death or loss. Whatever we name it, however we describe this book, it is best to be experienced—the fulfillment of Andrea’s dream and part of her legacy, a gift from her to us.

andrea (2)While it’s dangerous and lazy to assume that any poem or work of fiction is autobiographical, I can’t deny that writers leave a part of themselves in their work. Without assuming too much, we can still expect to meet Andrea here as we read, to find a trace of her wandering in these pages. For those of us who miss her, this is a comforting thought.

On Saturday, December 7th, we will celebrate the release of High Tide and the life of Andrea Fisher Rowland at Baine’s Books & Coffee, in Scottsville. Friends of Andrea, if you’d like to hold High Tide in your hands and meet the forces that made the publication of this novel possible (Dorene Fisher and Anne M Carley), join us in Scottsville between 10:00 am and noon.

(Baine’s Books & Coffee, 485 Valley St, Scottsville, VA 24590)

Noelle Beverly writes poetry and prose, promotes local writers in the surrounding community, and is a member of the BACCA Literary group. Photos by the author.

Fiction or Nonfiction? Dinner or Dessert?

Fiction is a roller coaster

Fiction is fun. Fiction is freedom. 

Fiction creates new worlds and fills these worlds with heroes, villains, comics, romantics. Fills them with humans or monsters or aliens from another dimension.  Fiction can be as wild and unbelievable as the author’s imagination.

Every paragraph is a roller coaster.

Everything is fair game.

Everything is up in the air.

Enjoy the ride and let your imagination soar!

 

Nonfiction has rules.

Nonfiction takes place in a location the author can and should visit

Creative Nonfiction takes place in a location the author can and should visit, whether it’s the graveyard down the road or a ship in the middle of the ocean. Not to say writing nonfiction can’t be fun, but the author doesn’t have the same freedom to make up worlds or characters. The people and places must be real.

Nonfiction isn’t a roller coaster.

It’s a maze and research is the author’s only map.

Newspaper articles, interviews, books, and (occasionally) Google.

This is how I contrast my experiences writing fiction versus writing nonfiction. First drafts of fiction dance off my keyboard.  Ideas pop into my head. My writing group asks “why did he do that?” about a character and in fiction, I can create the motivation. In nonfiction if I can’t find his motivation in my research, I can’t answer that question.  I can’t make up an actual  person’s motivations for his or her actions.

Most of my research comes from newspapers and interviews.

I have been researching a complex, creative nonfiction project for years. 

Set in the late 1960s and early 1970s, this creative nonfiction centers on the man who discovered an earthquake fault under the North Anna Nuclear Power Station in Virginia and ended up with a bullet in his head. 

It’s an exciting story with a thousand twists and turns, just like an intricate maze. 

Am I near the end of the maze or still in the center?  Only careful research will help me find my way.

 

Which is more satisfying as a writer? Fiction or nonfiction?

That’s like asking what is more satisfying to eat, dinner or dessert.

Why not try both?

 

Carolyn O’Neal is the author of:

KINGSLEY,

Honey I’m Yours,

Terry and the Monster-Beaters,

THAT WORD: Uterine Cancer from Diagnosis to Recovery.

 

Carolyn O’Neal was creative consultant for:

Boss of the Outer Banks

Ultimate Obsession

Why did God allow…Lesson from a Local Preacher

 

 

Required Reading, Part One

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I’ve started a list of books that I consider “required reading”—not books that were forced on me, or titles that I would force on anyone else, but books that made me, the stories out of which I seem to be built.

Like most human beings, I resist when I’m told to read something and I don’t linger long in the company of those who enjoy shaming others for what they haven’t read yet. Anyone who really loves reading knows that there are too many wonderful books to read in one lifetime—you have to choose. So, while I don’t like bossy imperatives, or veiled humiliation techniques, I do love to see lists of things that have inspired others. I’ve started my own list with one of the first books that really mattered to me: The Once and Future King, by T. H. White.

I’ve heard that if you want a clue for what to do with your life, a vocation to pursue, you should look back at the things you loved to do as a kid. Buried in the play of childhood you’ll find the rewarding work of adulthood. When I was young, I became fascinated with King Arthur, and I began reading versions of the Arthurian legends and comparing them—letting the versions sink into me, letting the differences and irreducible truths permeate. I took that story in from every angle—devoted myself to it.

I could have started with Tennyson or Malory, but I began with T. H. White. The Once and Future King became the standard bearer for me and one of the building blocks of my understanding, one of the contributing factors of my emotional range. For years, if asked, I called it my favorite book. After I had studied literature for awhile, I decided that I should read it again, to see if it still had something to give, somewhere else to take me. I found that it had weathered very well.

Beyond the legend, beyond the story itself, which manages to hold up under all this re-visitation, here are just a few reasons why I love this book:

The Once and Future King starts with a children’s book. The Sword in the Stone (Book I) is a lovely book about humility, deep friendship, loyalty, forgiveness, and learning to see the world from the perspectives of others. It introduces us to Arthur before he’s a king, when he is just “the Wart.” Growing up with the protagonist, as Harry Potter fans can attest, is a powerful way to get to know a character. For the curious, there are versions of The Sword in the Stone, too—subtle variations between the stand-alone title marketed separately for kids, and the one included in the complete novel, which some critics say is darker, influenced by the horrors of World War II.

Also, one of the characters moves backwards through time, growing younger while others age. This formal choice is how White gets away with his use of anachronisms, and the 20th century social and political commentary sprinkled throughout the book. Another tiny, perfect reward that this device offers is a moment that I didn’t catch my first time through. Near the beginning, two of the characters meet—for one character, it is an introduction, the origin of what will be an important relationship, for the other (who experiences time backwards), that meeting is the very last time he will lay eyes on a beloved friend. This little heartbreak, nestled into the opening pages, disappeared the first time I read it. I could only fully feel it—as devastating as a tragic ending—after I knew what the characters would mean to each other, on my second read through.

oafk2And, I have White to thank for manticore, bodkin, escutcheon, greaves, angelica, featherfew, varvels, jesses, guidons, vergescu, fewmets, menee, hurdy-gurdy, foin, gelid, limner, ricks, rusks, purlieus, slee, souterrain, and widgeon. This is just a sampling of the rich vocabulary from The Once and Future King, a brief catalog of terms you might learn from various categories, including falconry, jousting, armory, architecture, hunting, heraldry, and archery.

Finally, The Once and Future King is full of flawed characters and human truths. I consider it a brief, effective course in empathy. The pretty people in the story aren’t always good, and the “good” aren’t always very likable. Most Lancelots you will encounter are handsome, dashing, irresistible. White’s Lancelot, however, is homely, isolated, uncomfortably religious, and he feels bad about himself most of the time. The book also gives us despicable characters who get redeemed, and decent, well-meaning characters who land in terrible positions, often of their own making—sometimes through big, glaring mistakes, sometimes through a series of little, shuffling missteps that eventually lead nowhere good. Finding themselves in tragedy, or violence, or grief, they have to choose a best way forward, an honorable way to keep going and make things better.

Do you have a core of required texts? A list of books or stories or poems, without which you’d be someone else? Please share titles from your list in the comment section below.

Noelle Beverly writes poetry and prose, promotes local writers in the surrounding community, and is a member of the BACCA Literary group. Photos by the author.

 

Remembering Andrea

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Andrea Fisher Rowland (1957-2019)

Author, poet, playwright, and teacher

The BACCA writers mourn one of our own. Andrea died at Hospice of the Piedmont in Charlottesville, VA on 7 June.

Andrea Fisher Rowland spent her childhood years in New Zealand, and thereafter was a Virginia resident for most of her life. She graduated in English from James Madison University, where hers was the first student-written play – entitled “Fancies” – ever presented on the main stage of campus and for which she won the Norman Lear Award for Comedy Playwriting. She earned an MA from the University of Virginia with a concentration in Creative Writing, studying with John Casey and Greg Orr.

She went on to earn a PhD from the University as well, working with Karen Chase and Edgar Shannon. Her dissertation, The Supernatural Muse: Representations of the Creative Impulse in the Fiction of Emily Bronte, Charlotte Bronte, and Charles Dickens, examines the supernatural figures (ghosts, genii, etc.) appearing in those authors’ works.

She worked as an Assistant Dean and Director of Studies at the University of Virginia, taught composition and literature at Wake Forest University, and taught introduction to theater at James Madison University. She has directed readings and productions of Shakespeare and other early modern playwrights at Wake Forest and at the University of Virginia. Most recently she taught English at Renaissance School in Charlottesville.

Throughout the years, while raising her son Liam, she wrote poetry, plays, and fiction, notably her novel High Tide. In 2017, an excerpt from High Tide was a finalist in the Virginia Festival of the Book Fiction Contest, and her poem, “These Same Fields,” won the Writer House / Jefferson Madison Regional Library Poetry Competition. In 2018, her poem, “Waikato,” was published in Artemis Journal.

A poetry collection, Family Album, was recently published and her novel, High Tide, is forthcoming in 2019, both from Chenille Books.

 

Andrea and I were co-workers – even co-teachers, occasionally – as well as neighbors, and members of two writing groups together, and friends. We both liked gin & tonics, and we both had jukeboxes on in our heads all the time. We would sing and whistle out loud and give each other earworms. We had one fight that was dumb, and lots of raucous laughter. I liked goats and she liked poetry and we both liked New Zealand. I was organized and she was spontaneous.

I am grateful she is no longer in pain, but I don’t understand yet what it means that she is gone, and I already miss her terribly.

— Bethany Farris

photo of Andrea

I first met Andrea through her writing. I had moved to Buffalo and she joined BACCA (our writing group) in Charlottesville after I left. Writers know, sharing a draft is like sharing one’s secret self. To send a draft to a virtual stranger takes courage and trust. For my part, I was sharing professional non-fiction writing. It felt low stakes for me. But Andrea was sharing from her novel, High Tide. I was at once intrigued and soothed. I learned from her work that she loved nature, especially things to do with water. As a Pisces and a native Michigander, water connected me to the things she cared about. I also learned that she deeply empathized with our fellow humans, even the most flawed. To quote Anne of Green Gables, I realized Andrea was a kindred spirit before we ever met.

I’m grateful that in June 2017, I could attend a writing retreat, and spend 2 days getting to know Andrea the person as well as the writer. I wish it had been more. She was obviously full of love and rich perspective. She generously and thoughtfully helped me improve my own book, written for teachers. I’m grateful for the chance to know Andrea, and to reflect on knowing her. I look forward to reading her book, and learning more about a very special human being.

— Claire Elizabeth Cameron

photo of Andrea

Our writing group was looking to add a new member when Bethany introduced us to Andrea. That was a few years ago yet seems like yesterday. I appreciate Andrea’s love for nature and passion for the environment. Her words were always poetic. Her heart was always full. I mourn with her friends and family. She made a difference in the world.

— Carolyn O’Neal

photo of Andrea

Andrea had already made an impression on me before our writer group considered her as a new member. I met her the previous year at a party. I only knew a little bit about her – from her voice, her presence, and her spontaneous creativity that evening. But I knew I wanted to get to know her, and her words. I was delighted when she joined BACCA.

Meeting monthly, sharing our words and our voices, I grew to admire Andrea and her inventive, perceptive mind. When we became friends, I learned to admire more — like her love of family, her deep knowledge of English literature, her devastating low-key sense of humor, her dedication to her students, and her musicality. Knowing Andrea enriched my life. May her memory be a blessing to all of us who shared our lives with her.

— A M Carley

Photo of Andrea

Time worked its tricky magic on us. Taking something, giving something. Sleight of hand. When I joined BACCA as the sixth member, shortly after Andrea became the fifth, I walked to the table with velvet ropes erected around myself—hopeful that I would find and give help, insight, understanding—but cautious, too. I have found myself in prickly, stingy, even dangerous writing workshops before. In BACCA, I found a safe and generous community.

Andrea was a large part of the comfort I found. She and I were “new” together. We shared a love of poetry, Shakespeare, and music. For all of our shared loves, I knew I had a host to learn from Andrea too. She knew countries I’ve not yet seen. She spoke eloquently in public. She kept a luxurious pace that reminded me to slow down. Most of the time, she seemed composed. Zen-like. Steady. Even if she was remembering something important that she’d forgotten. I also admire the dreamy, lush language of her novel, High Tide, and the lovely way that poetry haunts her prose, evokes. Her characters, two of them in particular, feel real to me. I think about them, and worry about them still.

Time is tricky. Something happens when we meet, month after month, and share this much of ourselves. Somewhere—between seven months and ten—velvet ropes disappeared, caution dissolved, and (without even much fanfare) I realized we were friends. Just when things fall into place, sometimes, time moves again. And now we have to figure out how to do this without her.

— Noelle Beverly

 

Thanks to Gareth Phillips, Noelle Beverly, and Andrea’s family for the photos.

Of Bees and Books

Honeybees at River House Hives

I am a beekeeper. 

I began my first hive a few years ago and am happy to report that it is still going strong. Since then, I have acquired more. I’ve read countless articles about all the threats facing honeybees today.  From parasites to pesticides, from bears to beetles. According to one statistic, sixty-five percent of the honeybee hives in the state of Virginia died last winter. So my chances for honeybee success are pretty grim.  I can’t let the statistics discourage me.  I can’t let my passion for my honeybees end because of the naysayers. I enjoy working with honeybees regardless of the outcome.  I enjoy beekeeping.  Whether my bees thrive or perish.  Whether I harvest gallons of honey or none at all.  There is joy in the process. These industrious pollinators make our world a better place.

Carolyn O’Neal is the owner of River House Hives in Buckingham County

 

 

I am an author.

I self-published my first novel a few years ago and am happy to report that I have sales and positive reviews. Since then, I have self published more. I’ve read countless articles about the obstacles facing authors, especially self-published authors.  Endless marketing, low sales, no validation for the years of work.  So my chances for making a living as an author are pretty grim. I can’t let mere facts discourage me.  I can’t let my passion for writing end, even if no one outside friends and family read my books.  I enjoy writing.  I find it simultaneously relaxing and stimulating.  There is joy in the process. Books make our world a better place.

 

Carolyn O’Neal is the author of

KINGSLEY,

Honey I’m Yours,

Terry and the Monster-Beaters,

THAT WORD: Uterine Cancer from Diagnosis to Recovery.

Creative Stalking

shreds

It has taken months and pages and ink and hope, but I think I’m closing in on the story that will be my second novel.

Elizabeth Gilbert reported that Tom Waits, in an interview for GQ, said every song has a distinct way of entering into the world: “He said there are songs that you have to sneak up on like you’re hunting for a rare bird, and there are songs that come fully intact like a dream taken through a straw.” I think stories are the same. We can’t expect them all to arrive in the same way, with the same grace and ease. We can’t expect the story or the muse to do all the work.

I’d love to think I’m sneaking up on this new story, stealthy in a stylish trench coat, but I think I’m looking more like a clumsy stalker at this point. It started about a year ago. I’d been playing with a thread, batting it around, seeing where it might lead. But unlike the idea for my first novel, ROOK, this thread was quite thin. I had a character and a setting. No plot. Not yet. So, I gave myself the task of getting to know that character. I did this by writing one page (600 words) every day for a month. By the end of January, I had a lovely stack of paper. I also knew more about my protagonist and secondary characters, as well as some juicy details about setting, and a few plot lines and themes. Not a bad start.

Then I put it away. For months. When November, 2018 approached, I decided I’d try my own, unofficial novel writing month. One page a day had been easy to achieve. But the goal for NoNoWriMo (Noelle’s Novel Writing Month) would be 50,000 words. If I hand-wrote three of those unlined pages, front and back, every day, at 600 words per sheet, I’d have 1800 words, which after 30 days, would get me to 54,000—well over my goal.

Regarding my choice to hand-write and type later, I figured it would give me freedom. I wouldn’t be constantly checking my word count, interrupting the flow of writing. Besides, certain ideas never bloom for me without the time that writing by hand affords. (Although some ideas, I’m sure, which could have been captured in a typing context, might slip the slow net of writing by hand.) I also decided that I would not look back and revise, or try to keep up with typing pages. I would just focus on the writing, which meant I had a big job ahead of me after November.

I’d read advice from NaNoWriMo veterans, who suggested completing an outline first—brilliant guidance for writers who start with plot. That was not my situation, but I still needed a map of some kind, even if it didn’t take me on a straight line. So, I compiled a list. Instead of plot points, I made a list of possible scenes, situations, questions, happenings, and images that could lead me into new territory. I came up with 80 of these and they sustained me for the entire month. One of the hardest things about writing 1800 words a day is—obviously—time. I didn’t suspend my life during the month of November, so I had no time to waste. It was incredibly valuable to have an evocative list to lean on—80 ways back in to the story.

How did it all turn out? Well. There were moments of enchantment, disenchantment, and uncertainty. Since I’d done no re-reading or revision, I really didn’t know if the whole business had been a bust or a coup. I still don’t.shards

I achieved some clarity along the way, though, and learned some good lessons:

  • November is a crazy time to try to write 50,000 words. Thanksgiving. Cooking. Cleaning. Planning. Family time. Travel time. Mind-fuzzing pie. After an extremely faithful start, I let a whole week of writing slide in the middle of the month. (Thanksgiving came early last year, if you remember.) I didn’t even try to write again until the pecan pie was gone.
  • It’s true what they say: nature abhors a vacuum. For fourteen days or so, I had fiercely protected my writing time, but once my vigilance slackened, so many obligations and pressures crept in, eroding the time, luring me away.
  • Resources are important. I’d planned ahead on the paper I needed, but by day 12, I’d run out of ink in all of my good pens. I fell back on borrowed/purloined BICs, which I also demolished. After the luxury of my Navigator G7 Gel Pen Deluxe, this little downgrade made the process much less enjoyable. In Harry Potter speak, it’s like going back to the Cleansweep after you’ve busted up your Firebolt. At least I had something to put on my Christmas wish list: ink refills.
  • Finally, November taught me just exactly how little time I had been carving out in my life for an actual writing process. Nothing feels as good as writing every day. Even after I got exhausted with the project, the daily writing practice felt essential and necessary. Why is it so hard to make space for this?

I’m revisiting those pages now, hoping to find a shape to this thing, to discover the edges and center. After all the distractions, I managed a strong finish, but while I had intended to write 90 pages, I ended up with 52. Ouch. I guess it’s not all about the word count. On the other side of NoNoWriMo, I have a few things to celebrate. I have material to work with. I haven’t lost my will to write.  And, after typing a few of those November pages, I realized that on those crazy, unlined sheets of paper, I was averaging significantly more than 600 words per page…

Noelle Beverly writes poetry and prose, promotes local writers in the surrounding community, and is a member of the BACCA Literary group. Photos by the author.

Trickle of life

Recent health issues have had unexpected effects on my mental state. In particular, I have not been able to write or to actively read.  I reasoned that both my subconscious and conscious minds were working so hard on healing that my creativity and my discipline were being channeled, willy nilly, toward self-preservation and restoration.  Recently, I wrote a song about mourning the loss of my mother–another thing I had been able to do only a little, blinkered by the demands of my own cancer, its treatment, and its after-effects. I posted the poem and noticed how many of the responses to it came from people whom I knew were grieving a recent loss, and it occurred to me that others might be responding from losses I didn’t know about. The act of writing the song, the act of sharing my grief, and the feeling that I had touched other lives all combined to make me feel that something that had been frozen was beginning to thaw into a trickle of life. Shortly afterward, Mary Oliver died, causing me to consider how much of her poetry was an invitation to feel life as we live it. I don’t know when I will get back to writing in earnest, but I will not be the same writer I was, and I think that the experience of sharing “Song of Dawn” (my mother’s name was Dawn) and the poetry of Mary Oliver will be part of that difference.

I have felt the support of my fellow BACCA members throughout this time, and I am grateful for it.