Kill Your Darlings

During my big college scholarship interview, I was asked what (who) I liked to read. My answer? An honest one: Stephen King. I had fallen for his short story and novella collections and moved on to The Stand (still my favorite Stephen King novel, tied with It) and the first book of the Gunslinger series. I credit my success (I won the scholarship) to my impassioned answer. So I trust the guy.

In his book, On Writing, King says to “kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings."

Designed by Chris Ritter

The phrase "kill your darlings" is generally attributed either to Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch or William Faulkner. It has been in the news recently, as it is the title of Harry Potter's next film. Erm, I mean Daniel Radcliffe's next film, based on the lives of the beat poets, due out in October.

In any case, it is good advice. Way back in 2007 or so, Sandra Scofield recommended the same drastic chopping to my summer writing class at the University of Iowa. What she said was, "Oh, you have a full manuscript? I suggest you throw it all away. Start over."

Harsh.

At the time, I did not have a manuscript to delete. But I scoffed at the idea that some day, when I did have words on paper, I would willingly hit the backspace key or send the file to the trash.

My mind has changed on this matter.

In the past three weeks, I have copy edited (again) and proofread volume 3 of Super Power of the Day (both print and digital versions), which means I've read it through several times, quickly. It turns out that when I "catch" on a line or phrase that I want to smooth over, it's usually in a sentence or section I've already revised and just can't get right. When this happens, I have found it most productive to simply cut the sentence. After all, my revising mantra is"simplify."

So the past few weeks have been replete with the killings of darlings. The voice at the back of my head saying "But I love that line!" has been comforted, and then hushed. The red pen has ruled the day.

Thanks, Uncle Steve.

Eating Words

I've been delving into a little detective fiction lately. Among others, I read my book club's August choice: Janet Evanovich's hilarious One for the Money.

One thing that struck me in a visceral way was all the coffee the characters drank. Perhaps I was fixated on coffee because I've recently given up caffeine, and a decent decaf is a bear to find. Reading as characters gleefully slurp away at their java? Distracting.

But the truth is, I am sensitive to food in novels. I find myself craving whatever it is they happen to be eating. This is probably why I cook a nice seven veg curry stew to feed to my students whenever I teach Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart.

Nearing the End

A few minutes ago, I stumbled upon this brilliant comic:

Check out Magical Game Time to see more.

Thank you, Zac Gorman. You have perfectly summed up the ending of Super Power of the Day. In fact, you've summed up the theme of the entire series.

And in a way, the process of writing the series.

In her book The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin discusses the connection between growth and happiness, arguing "it isn't goal attainment but the process of striving after goals–that is, growth–that brings happiness" (67).


My sister and I had a conversation about her contention last week.

I thought I agreed with Rubin. I usually prefer the striving part of a project. Planning a lesson. Building a house. Writing (editing) a book. Or three. It has truly felt like going on an adventure.

Cindy pointed out that it depends on the project. If the "work" part is unpleasant, the striving is NOT the happy part. Yeah, she's a runner.

In any case, I will finish my (hopefully final) copy edit of SPOTD: The Final Face-Off within hours of writing this blog.  It could have been done days ago, but I don't want it–the happiness of the striving–to end. I rather enjoy puzzling out the exact wording or design to tell my story in a simple, beautiful way.

My story about saying yes to adventure.

(The next part is marketing. I suspect that will feel more like a 10k.)

PIRATES!

My favorite books leave me shaking my head. In a good way. Mostly my head waggles when I am awed by talented authors' ability to arrange words and ideas in ways I couldn't conceive myself. Cinnamon and Gunpowder is one such book by one such author.

Here's what I liked about the novel:

1 An ingenious conceit: A pampered gourmet chef is kidnapped by a fearsome female pirate. WHAT?!? (Trust me, it works.)

2 A first person narrator who begins as a stereotypical person "of his age" but develops complexities as his worldview changes, all the while speaking clever, but always clear, 19th century English.

3 A classic quest -- with our hero finding not what he seeks (freedom), but knowledge of himself and his world (a different sort of freedom).

4 Attention to language. What I especially love is the way Wedge unerringly sees the world through his culinary eyes and nose. Each simile, metaphor, judgment, and proverbial summing up is based on shopping for, preparing, or enjoying foodstuffs. Here's a taste (pun intended):

"I had once seen a fox trot up to a picnic on the grounds of Asford Manner and, despite the crowd of revelers, make off, more or less unnoticed, with a string of sausage. Such are the rewards of brazenness. With the sentinals of the Royal Navy searching for the Flying Rose in the Indian Ocean, here she was, quietly anchored not a mile from English grass."

And another:

"I will spare myself the needles of remembrance. My survival depends on being present, focusing all of my energies on dodging the captain's threat. I must not linger on the sweet memories of my beloved Elizabeth, rest her, laughing with a jasmine candy in her cheek, nor of good men sharing a glass of port; not will I linger on the softness of my down pillow back in London, nor on clean undergarments, nor on the view of the orchard from my kitchen window, not on eggs--oh, eggs!"

When I began SPOTD, this was my goal as well. I wanted my narrator to see the world through a clever youngster's eyes. I consciously attempted to use analogies that a 12-year-old boy (not a 40-year-old woman) would use. Alas, these are sprinkled more sparsely than I intended. Perhaps as I continue to revise and edit this week I'll be able to add a flavorful phrase or two along these lines. So to speak.

But wait.

There's another fantastic feature of Cinnamon and Gunpowder.

5 PIRATES!

I think this will be the Summer of Pirates, in fact. I've already polished off Peter Pan and Wendy, in anticipation of a fall production.

While in Florida last week, I purchased a Jolly Roger flag and several pirate-y belts. And I intend to hit up as many garage sales as possible this summer looking for pirate-worthy striped clothes.

So...

I'm currently scrounging for great pirate reads to continue the Summer of Pirates, 2013. I've read the four book graphic series Hook. 

And I've checked out Michael Crichton's Pirate Latitudes.

Any more suggestions? They don't have to be particularly literary. It is summer, after all.

My Summer Reading

This morning I made a perusal of my “Media Doc” file, in which I keep a list of all the books I have read cover to cover, movies I have watched opening to credits, and plays I have attended curtain to curtain. I suspected that there would be a pattern to my summer reading. There is.

Summer is when I have time to read middle grade and young adult fare, both classic and new, most of which I check out from my local library. As I recalled each beloved story, visions of myself reading in the warmth of summer flooded my senses. I wonder: Do I love these wonderful novels more given the stress-free settings in which I read them? Probably. But they are, indeed, wonderful reads. I especially recommend the following, any of which I would reread in a heartbeat.

Even though it's a chore for me, I've peppered my summer reading with nonfiction. To be honest, no matter how interesting the nonfiction selection, the only way I make it to the end is if I listen to the audiobook. Each of these favorites was enjoyed via audiobook from the library.

Of course, summer is the time to feast on whatever is new and popular. I've read too many best-sellers over recent years to list even my favorites. This summer began with Robert Langdon running around Italy.

But I suspected, and it turns out to be true, that I’ve had themes running through my summer reading choices. This is fascinating to me.

In 2008, I tackled the entire Hornblower series by C. S. Forester. Hotspur ended up in SPOTD.

In 2009, the stacks next to my bed were full of Neil Gaiman. Sadly, a student borrowed my Sandman: Dream Country and swiftly thereafter quit school and moved away, taking it with her.

The summer of 2010 was the Summer of Thieves. (Note: I love Turner’s The Thief so much that I’ve read it more times than any other book, exclusive of the novels I teach. Whenever I finish a novel and head over to my unread books shelves to scope out my next read, I am invariable tempted to head back to Gen and his world.)

I read through Kinney’s Wimpy Kid series in 2011. I admit, I envy Kinney's success. But I began reading mainly to ensure that I hadn't accidentally copied his covers' color scheme order. I discovered too late that his first two are, in red and blue, the same colors as my first two covers. 

Volume 3 of SPOTD will not be green. 

It will be black. 

Last summer (2012) was devoted to George R. R. Martin. I’d started the Game of Thrones series earlier, but polished off books 3 to 5 before school started in the fall. Reading while in Ireland, Scotland, and England was a treat beyond measure.

I've also read piles and piles of prospective plays for fall play production, along with their original sources. Yes, CG, it's true. I have yet to stage a fall play that isn’t an adaptation of other source material. Which leads me to this year’s summer reading theme: PIRATES.

To be continued…

Hello summer! Hello Lenovo Yoga!

Spring snows, a cool spring, and too many cloudy days have combined to confuse all of us here in Minnesota into thinking that nice summer weather will neeeeeeeeever arrive. But no matter. It's not the weather, it's the day job hiatus that marks the beginning of summer for teachers.

And I'm officially done until August.

So how did I spend my first day of summer freedom? After a long morning (8:30 to 2:00) of yard work, a tick-drowning and muscle-soothing shower, eating an entire pizza and more ibuprofen than recommended for my inevitable sore back, and some random-style-wandery-shopping, I'm watching a little Table Top on geekandsundry while writing my first blog post in... too long.

I'm gearing up for intense editing, design work, and proofing of SPOTD Volume 3. To provide inspiration, I've added a toy, I mean tool, to my life: Lenovo Yoga 13.

Here's a l'il pic.

Hello, Windows 8.

It's a full laptop with touchscreen. The cool part is that the keyboard flips all the way around, effectively turning the device into a tablet. I like that this type machine is called a "convertible." That sounds apropos for summer (hiatus!). I'm waiting for the first time I reach for the screen on my Mac desktop to select a botton or close a window. Sort of like the left foot clutching in my Jeep (automatic transmission) after having driven my stick shift pickup to the compost site. It'll happen.

So far, I like the keyboard. It's more Mac than usual PC-like. For some reason the backspace key is one off from where my right hand ring finger reaches to hit it. I suppose I'll adjust in time. I appreciate the "end of line" key, which is a nice substitute for command+right arrow. 

As for software, I'm using Office 2013 Word, and tapping the screen in the middle of a text sometimes brings the cursor to that spot, sometimes not. I keep expecting it to work just like texting on my phone, which turns out to be more reliable/intuitive. Who would have guessed?

In any case, once I had my work PC all washed up, unplugged, and bagged on Thursday afternoon, I was able to use the Yoga to finish up stuff over at the day job. Which (have I mentioned?) is now on hiatus. 

Letting Her Go

I've been reading Will Schwalbe's The End of Your Life Book Club since January. It is taking me a long time to read.

Why?

Most profoundly, I've enjoyed reading this one in courses, taking the time to digest what I've read before tasting more. Schwalbe's sentiments on reading and being someone's child are especially thought provoking. For example, from pages 31-2:

"These two books showed us that no matter where Mom and I were on our individual journeys, we could still share books, and while reading those books, we wouldn't be the sick person and the well person; we would simply be a mother and a son entering new worlds together."

I love to enter new worlds together with others. George R. R. Martin with my brothers. John Sandford with my dad. Classic novels and Shakespeare plays with my students. Current hot writing, old favorites, and global/historical novels with my book club. Nonfiction with my own mother. It's my favorite part of reading, entering a new world. And to do so with others is icing on the cake.

But, of course, I always feel guilty reading-for-pleasure when there is reading-for-work (editing, scoring) to be done. And as soon as the pile of student essays and such becomes manageable, it grows again like mold. Noxious, stifling mold. This is not only why the Schwalbe has been slow going, but to a great degree the reason SPOTD volume 3 is on the back burner despite my hopes that I'd be able to finish it by January 1, 2013.

Finally, and perhaps most subtly, there is the book itself. I'm not willing to let Mrs. Schwalbe go. I'm pretty sure that hospice is a few turns of the page away for the fierce mother, grandmother, activist, and all-around amazing lady. If I stop now, she can continue her fight against pancreatic cancer and never succumb.

This is not my first time hesitating to approach a climax. While I'm perfectly happy to continue reading Romeo and Juliet beyond 3.4's morning of nightingales and larks, letting them stumble their way toward their dooms, I remember a book (though not the title) where the romantic couple were blissfully happy, and I left them honeymooning in Italy for almost a year because I knew the sweetness would be short lived without my intervention.

Sigh.