Life can be fabulously challenging and ridiculously fun all at once. Since the last entry, I’ve managed to have three notable writerly experiences and a string of personal battles that have resulted in me walking taller against the rain, as it were.
On March 16, I was a panelist in the “Day Job” slot of the annual Mills College professional development conference for writers and scholars titled “Cirque Du Work.” Our talk was mainly about how we, as working writers, balance creative time with the demands of a career. I was an audience member at Cirque Du Work (then known as Pitch Fest) as a Mills graduate student in 2009, in awe at the alums who had become published authors, so it was pleasantly surreal to sit behind a tableclothed desk on stage with my bottled water and wireless mic, speaking and answering questions about my writing process and career.
The discussion was lively and flowed smoothly due to an interesting crowd / panel dynamic, which I credit to the organizers and, perhaps, good fortune. I came away from the experience energized and happy to have been around such creative people.
The next week, I was asked to judge a fiction writing contest. I won’t say which one or comment on the stories on the off chance someone reading this post entered the contest, but I will say it was an honor to be considered a writing authority.
Judging fiction is odd because the question of “What is good or award-winning fiction?” never seems to be answered to satisfaction. So, to avoid further complicating the matter, my criteria was kept simple, balancing gut responses with technical aspects in relation to what I thought each writer tried to accomplish.
What has made my writing more compelling over the years is a focus on clean, true lines. My favorite writers are Anne Carson, Ernest Hemingway, Langston Hughes, N. Scott Momaday, E.B. White, Lorine Niedecker, and several others, because their works are often engaging and descriptive without the words being forced to do too much.
Last week, I finally wrote into the novel after what seemed like months of not having done so. No, the heavens didn’t move to shine down divine light on my manuscript, but I felt what I wrote was quite marvelous.