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January 31, 2006
Inspiration, Typography, Creative Impulses, and my very own writing excercise for you to sample
I was flicking through the Computer Arts magazine that my son borrowed from my library stash and saw the following quote from Bruno Mag:
Legibility is dependent on what we're used to reading, so when you introduce something new, it will be less legible.
I began thinking about how this applies so well to my writing; the way I find I turn prose around so its theme can be 'legible'. And I am thinking of older pieces that did not receive such a treatment and whether I might one day pick them out and give them the finishing school attack.
Further to this passing reflection, I happened to look through Graphis--spurred on to do so by the fact that I had to return the magazine to the library because it could not be renewed again. Oh Lord, won't you give me a subscription! Anyway, I got to reading an interview with Me Company (Graphis 351) and to looking through a selection of images; taking special note of Cymbidium 2.1 2001 of which Paul White says:
It is one of a series of images that present our interpretation of orchids, 'the deceivers of the plant kingdom'. It's about seeing the plant as an insect would see it. Exploded microscopic xylem and phloem.
And about Bjork Alarm Call--doesn't this sound like what we are up to in microfiction:
The dots are representative of an electron-microscopic way of seeing the world... at this magnification her face is appearing in the shape of the atoms. It's like unwrapping something till you reach a point where you fear it will dissappear.
So here is my excercise which seemed to me an extension of the no, 49, Binary Oppositions, that I read in 3 am Epiphany.
Give yourself 5 random words and put them at the top of your document. Take an older piece writing (I took mine out of a folder named 'Discards') and paste below the words. Judiciously throwaway bits and pieces without worrying too much about keeping logical connections. Then add to the skeleton you have, bit by bit, stopping just this side of coherence. Take your 5 words and look for ways to incorporate them into the work.
A second part to this is to put it up, as I did, in an online workshop and keep fiddling till it's right. For me, posting something works like an extra creative spur. I find things to add and subtract that don't seem to come to me any other way. Perhaps it has to do with a feeling of being on stage.
Enjoy.
Posted by girija tropp at 02:34 PM | Permalink
January 29, 2006
Susan Henderson on Memoir; What I scanned in the news this morning
In a preamble to telling you about Susan's point of view: I've been following in the wake of the Frey bus, in Publisher's Marketplace and through links provided by writer friends, reading related material that reflects on the integrity of writers about Nasdijj actually being Scandinavian. ( Sherman Alexie whose wonderful story What you pawn I will redeem in Best American 2004 and O'Henry Prize Stories 2005 is reputedly had his doubts about this writer); plus the J T Leroy brouhaha already mentioned in another thread.
I also picked up on an entry in Ms Snark's blog called Wave of the Future--scroll down to find it, replying to a question on the future of memoirists, and adding her bit about Nan Talese, from Doubleday, being interviewed on Oprah.
My own stance doesn't count since Frey's or Nasdijj's books themselves aren't my cup of tea. I don't do memoir (but who knows--one day I might write about what it was like for a four-year-old on the Gold Coast when it was the first African country to become independant). However, I have been concerned for writer friends that do produce fabulous memoir. So here is a great and insightful comment from Susan Henderson on her blog.
Other things I have been reading this morning:
Rift looming over the fate of Papuan Refugees I read it and wondered, being a character that is awfully suspicious of this government's motives.
Do you take risks with your business. There are 3 questions in this article that I got 'wrong' so I asked my eighteen-year old son who is taking over the family business (so that his artist parents can retire!) and he got them right. Interesting reading. Perhaps he's in the right game, I said to myself.
Now it's time to close down the computer and go for my scheduled walk in Sherbrook forest while the climate outside is still reasonable.
Posted by girija tropp at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
January 22, 2006
Where I've been lately
So here the goss:
My Bollywood Times & Others up at Mad Hatter's Review.
Plus Romance is doing well at Pineldyboz
I'm supposed to be holiday reading all that stuff from Amazon and the books are laid out on the couch like dresses to try on. So far in Best American my vote goes to J. Robert Lennon's Eight Pieces for the Left Hand. I love what he's doing in that story and so I take a peek at the back and he says all the right things about what he's up to, and I get a warm chummy feeling like he's my best friend or something; He goes on to talk about how he's accumulating a hundred stories etc. He's written some cool novels. I did leave Postman unfinished but that was because of 'other' factors and I'll go back to it some time.
And Jeff's been at it again--introducing me to yet another writer I didn't know about: Nicola Mason. He showed me the way to her stories and they are pretty cool (have I been using that word a lot--must be the bucket of water I've got my feet in--the temperature in Melbourne is rattling the Richter scale).
I started on Kawabata's Thousand Cranes and then stopped. I could see that I was going to like it very very much and did not wish to be greedy--so I'm going to save and savor.
I wish I could read without recrafting endings and fixing up middles.Yesterday, the current issue of GlimmerTrain arrived. Great opening story. This is good. With the last issue, I didn't get past the first story. When that happens in a magazine, I find it difficult to return to the book. I am noticing this is particularly so with short fiction collections and literary magazines.
And I am reminded of a link provided by writer-friend, John Leary, who happened on a scathing opinion of McSweeney's, and a sweet note about Pia Ehrhardt's Driveway. It was a tough review... with a small grain of truth. I bought one of those McSweeneys issues with less stories but with interesting what-Mad-Hatter's-would-call WHATNOTS, and stopped buying the mag for a while. But truth be told, if I had endless cash, I wouldn't have stopped, I'd have kept buying on. So my reported result is skewed!
I do have coffee table design books in my bookcase. I don't buy them so much any more. So it is possible to see the direction of the McSweeney books as little steps in pushing the look-feel of the book package. I was attracted to ths difference when I first started. However, I do want my fair quota of fiction. And this is what makes a difference in whether I subscribe (when the previously mentined financials are looking good) to literary magazines. Those with a lot of essays (those of regional interest) don't really work so well for someone gazing in from the other side of the world. I do like the odd essay of this type but not enough to have them as a regular part of my book diet.
Posted by girija tropp at 12:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
January 14, 2006
My contents of my Amazon order, my fad (flash a day) routine, the scandal of James Frey and the lesser known J T Leroy
This week I got my order from Amazon. Then I went around in circles so I could know where to start. Most of the books I needed to get: the online Deluxe version of Writers Market 2006; two writing books by Josip Novakovich--one of my favorite stories of all time was helped along by staring at his chapter on plot, both books so similar I would have only got the one; Jeff Herman's guide to Agents--I want sit-down-on-the-couch-to-read info where I can tick off who I think might be a good fit for my novel--window shop while the going is good! And 3 books by Yasunari Kawabata--including the Palm of Hand stories. Kim Chinquee told me about Kawabata and I am reading him for the first time. He's awesome. But I agree with Kim about this--read him in little bits at a time. The other two books in my package are: Best American Short Stories edited by Michael Chabon and What You've Been Missing, SSC by Janet Desaulniers, 2004 Iowa Award winner. Jeff Landon told me about Desauliniers months ago. And talking about the Iowa Award, it's been won this year by Zoetrope member, Jim Tomlinson. Roy Kesey, another fine fine writer and Zoetrooper, was a semi-finalist. Soon we shall take over the world.
Oh where was I? Today I wrote two microfictions. You'd think they would only take minutes. I started being serious about these nugget-like stories after McSweeney's ran their 25 minute short stories competition.
My days are over before they start. I am working on a theory about how time is speeding up. I rarely end up doing what I plan to do. Usually, I have a list this long about what to do before I start writing in the morning. Then I opt for writing over the list. Just a little microfiction today. And then Kim Chinquee (check her out from her Bliggidy Blog--see the side bar) comes into the online room and leaves more word prompts and I think, just one more and then I'll do the tax return. I have put my GST (general good and tax) form on top of my back-up discs but that hasn't helped. I seem to do all right working with all that guilt in the background.
This brings me to the scandalous matter of James Frey, the author of the memoir A million little pieces. For those who don't have a clue what I'm talking about, check out the gos in Smoking Gun. I saw an article on Frey in Poets and Writers (July/Aug 2005) and enjoyed reading it--the drug-addict-turned-sucessful-writer because I think Cinderella was a nice bedtime story (if only I had not been born in a shabby hut on the side of a mountain, I could have been heard this one when I was still a child) Oh, I think I could get the hang of dramatizing myself. Spillover fiction!
Around the time I was reading this article, my husband heard an interview on the radio with a writer who had overcome a drug addiction. My husband said if he was ever going to write--the interview was penultimate inspiration. "You don't have a drug problem," I said to him, "and you have a middleclass Jewish background." He wasn't impressed with me that day.
This week I said to him, "You know that inspiring guy you heard, the drug-addict-cum-good, well he's a fake." Maybe I was upset that my husband had not been motivated by yours-truly who avoids doing the dishes and her tax forms in order to write.
Perhaps it's a shame that James Frey was found out, maybe that's the real moral--don't be found out--and where've I heard that before? I know I didn't pay much attention to him till the hoohah began. Then I began to click on articles written by people who seemed to know when the Emperor was not wearing clothes (see article in Exile, a Moscow based newspaper). James Frey might end up selling more books than ever but as I read a superb short story by Dennis Lehane in Best American, I had a monkey chattering in my head about first person narrators who were down and out.
Anyway onto the next scam of the week. And this time it's J T Leroy (and I have a link to an article by him in my sidebar). The first notice I ever took of Leroy was when I saw a posting about the Rockstar games competition. He was the judge. As I was trolling around the internet looking for clues to what kind of story to send, I saw the article in Poets and Writers, titled 'JT Leroy from the street to the red carpet'. I mentioned the article to a few other writers who were also interested in entering their work. One of them pointed out a story in Zoetrope Print and said it was not anything special. I went to find the story, thought it was okay, not a favorite, but a well-written first person pov story set against a degraded background and homosexuality. First person pov, I find, can tend to be a little self-conscious--I've tried to write it out of enough stories of my own--it's a voice that can get tired fast.
So when I get a chance, down comes that link on my sidebar. I'm still having problems working out how to link all my juicy stuff in an efficient fashion. My sidebar is quite slender, and there are all the other pages in the blog that require updating each time I change a sidebar item. So changes to the links are not a juicy favorite.
Posted by girija tropp at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
January 10, 2006
Super consciousness and other effects in writing
The other day, my friend Avital said that she had a dream about me. It has a beautiful woman and pearls in it. This is her story, a most interesting one:
Girija came to Brazil to take a test for her writing dgree. she and a friend of her came to my place, which was a tiny apartment in Tel Aviv (but in Brazil, of course...) Her friend, a beautiful, mignon woman had pearl necklaces around her neck and chest. I told her it was dangerous to use pears on the street in Brazil. Girija said, Really? It doesn't matter. The pearls transformed into small snowy crystals on the floor, and the girl into a thin old man with white hair and dressed in a toga. "Transformation is easy," Girija said.
I do some weird things for my art. Like go to sleep before 11.00 pm. Eat my greens and avoid the second helping of ice-cream, mostly. The other thing I do is examine the relationship between me, the writing, and the great out-there.
Is there anything I could ask of myself that would make a difference and allow me speak of things that lie below the surface? To this end, I meditate. I practise Tai Chi Chi Kung. I go to the gym so my brain might have some blood flowing through. I read books like Eckhart Tolle's The New Earth (Note that amazon links move)
I've been doing walking meditations (Tolle calls it-living in the now) and paying attention to my dreams. A lot of my writing... edit that to, all my writing comes from some subconscious space. I've tried to work with 'real' life material but that is not fruitful. I admire writers who can fictionalize their life. And yes, my life does creep in but with such twists and turns that it is hardly my own. For example, I can have something incredible happen or I could be a witness or be handed the anecdote complete with relevant detail. Yet, when I sit down to write, it turns to garbage. I delete and delete and delete and then I find a story about some strange characters. And when it all comes together, what I have managed to pull out of the ether, is the emotion/feeling of importance to me. I had this theory the other day that perhaps my 'perceived' reality might be so emeshed in habitual patterns of trigger/response, cultural values, or a desire to preserve my ego that it hasn't got enough oomph for me to translate to the page.
I was thinking of Avital's dream this morning when I woke up at five am and could not get back to sleep. The alarm had gone off--my husband rolled over and took off to get the supplies for the day. My eighteen year old son is the production manager of Vegie Curry Man and also the person who draws the line for all our spending (Mum, what's this $450 item, he says). Anyway, I digress.
To get myself out of my usual habit of making lists. I did a lying-down meditation. Then it came to me. I hadn't sent a non-corporeal version of myself to Brazil to deliver a message. It was her message to me... that she left in her online office at Zoetrope All-Story. I then 'saw' a new possibility for interpreting the dream.
Girija, I said to myself, it is safe to be seen. I had only weeks before had some insight into my fear of revealing myself, based on a childhood event. 'Avital' was telling me that it was safe for me to deepen my writing. I make the connection because this was the question that has been on my mind over the last few months. Not only that. in the dream movie, Girija said, "Transformation is easy!" Ha. What a cosmic prank to tell me in this fashion.
Posted by girija tropp at 07:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
January 09, 2006
Will sell books for money
This weekend, my friend Rita initiated me into the mysteries of having a market stall for the sole purpose of getting rid of some of my worldly possessions. She's a good woman, Rita. Without her, I wouldn't know what to wear so I can look decent.
I got up at 5 am after enrolling Hal, my partner, as a grumbling helper. I had been anxious all week about forty-degree heat waves. I might be originally from the Indian sub-continent but I don't like it hot. Have you got a spare hat, I whined to Rita. And an umbrella?
Tani who happens to be working for us today told me that it got up to fifty-two degrees at the Confest (hippie-like festival on the border of Victoria and NSW). Women were using spray bottles to cool their babies. People were standing in the lake and a hot wind was blow drying everyone.
But it was cool on my Sunday market morning. I came out of the house and then went back in to get my jacket. Watch out for dealers, Rita text'd me... after letting me know that she was running a half-hour late. They come with torches at 5.30 am and make you hand over the goods. Hal turned down into the exit lane because there was not many cars coming out. It was closer to our spot, he explained, and after putting my stuff out, went to park the car. We were under a tree and I worried about visibility. A couple of persons came over and tried to look inside the bottom-most box in the trolley. They asked, Have you got fiction? Maybe, I thought to myself, someone will buy the lot and I'll get to go home to bed. And I'll be able to do writing. And after I've done some of that, I'll feel better about myself.
I'd brought some magazines to read before they were sold. I was hoping for co-ordination. I did have a whole heap of computer books for older versions of graphics software but was sure they wouldn't sell. Rita turned up in her four-wheel drive and said, Is that all you got?
I went to get a rack from the hire place but this was a mistake because it was bigger than me. I returned for reinforcements and Hal was back so I pressed him into service. By eight o'clock, I was feeling good. It wasn't too hot yet and here I was chatting to Rita while people wandered in handling all the junk laid out for their benefit. It felt like I had gone out visiting friends and put out a collection hat. We were having cups of tea and I took out the brie from my esky. Hal was moaning about the lack of leaf tea. Then there was a run on my computer books. Someone told me off for selling them cheaply; said I'd get a packet for them on ebay. But I am not going down that track--don't have a minute to spare between my writing, my blog, my kids and being gopher for the family business.
That tree was a miracle. Each time I wentured out, I had to strip down--the sun was out in force. Hal sold more computer books while I was gone. My novels, out the front on trestle tables, started to wilt in the heat. One older lady asked me for the price on a recent issue of the Missouri review and I said $3.00. She put it down and walked off in a huff. Geez. My books had been immaculate when they arrived but now I could see thumb prints. Can you tell that I'm obsessive?
By closing time, it was hot everywhere but under my tree. I had money in my pocket from my computer books, Rita had cut her junk by half and Hal was surprised that it had been such a relaxed experience. Nothing like a food stall, he said, where you have to worry about running out of eating material, and having to heat stuff up and keep temperatures just so. I started thinking that I wouldn't mind doing this again, under this perfect tree, on another perfect day.
Posted by girija tropp at 08:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)