Category: WRITING WORKSHOP

Decluttering a Library: The 10 Question Could-Be-A-Flowchart

When is it a library and when is it hoarding? A personal library can easily mushroom (ay, and paperbacks do seem to multiply, in multitudinous multitudes) into a gnarly mess. And what good is a library where you can’t find the darned book you’re looking for?

When I was younger and did not have so many books, I loved them each and all, and never gave a one away (though I did, to my everlasting regret, sell my Nancy Drew mysteries collection to my sister). Then, ten years ago, we moved and I had to give away more boxes of books than I imagined possible. Funny, it got easier and easier… and what with all the extra shelf space, so did going to bookstores and amazon.com… and once again, I found my shelves piled with piles and in general chaos (no, Travels in the Yucatan does not belong with the Beatrix Potter bio, and yikes, did I really need 11 books on crop circles??)

In the process of decluttering anew, these ten questions, in the following order, let me decide quickly and easily what to do with each book. I’m filing this post under Future Reminders to Take My Own Advice; should this serve you also, gentle reader, that would be grand.

1. Am I reading it now?

If yes, goes to the READING NOW shelf. If no, on to question 2.

2. Am I planning to read it in the next [fill in the blank]?

For me I have enough shelf space right now to say, “the next couple of years.”

If you live in an empty movie theater you might be able to ask, “Am I planning to read it in the next century?” But if you live in a tiny house on wheels your time frame may shrink to, say, “the next five days.”

Do try to be realistic, if inevitably (sigh) optimistic.

If yes, goes to the READING SOON shelf. If no, on to question 3.

3. Is it part of a collection?

Collections have value on many levels, and the moreso when curated with thought and care. Mine include autographed first editions; Mexican art books; Baja Californiana, Maximiliana, and 19th and 20th century English language travel memoirs of Mexico.

If yes, goes to the appropriate shelf. If no, on to question 4.

4. Does it have serious sentimental value?

Because everything may have some sentimental value, this needs to be rated on a scale of, say, 1 – 10. I have enough shelf space right now that a minimum of 5 on a scale of 1 – 10 works for me.

If yes, it goes to appropriate shelf. If no, on to question 5.

5. Is it necessary for reference?

This also needs to be rated on a scale. I’m going for a 7.5 on a scale on 1 – 10. If you live in a mansion, maybe a 2 or 3 would do; if you live in Manhattan in 2 feet square, maybe you’d need it to be an absolute 10 +.

If yes, goes to REFERENCE shelf or appropriate shelf by subject. If no, on to question 6.

6. Would someone I know be happy to have it?

If yes, goes into an envelope / box and out the door! If no, on to question 7.

7. Can I sell it?

A lot of people don’t realize that some of their older books have value. (How about a 1st edition signed copy of James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake? You might buy a car with that.) And even if they’re crummy old paperbacks, if you have enough of them, I suppose you could squeegee together a little mountain of cash.

If yes, it goes onto the TO SELL shelf. And answer question 8. If no, skip directly to question 9.

8. Yeah, but honestly, am I really going to get around to selling it?

The transaction cost might not be worth it.

If yes, well, cool beans. Stop here, and proceed to next book. If no, on to question 9.

9. Can it be donated?

It’s a lovely idea to imagine that the donation of a book might help a library or other nonprofit, and ultimately, be read by others. Please do it! (Certainly a lot of organizations would be thrilled to have that signed first edition of Finnegan’s Wake.) And don’t overlook historical associations and university libraries. Grandpa’s self-published memoir of his time as a POW during WWII; great grandma’s xeroxed and saddle-stapled family history; a highschool year book from 1939 or, say, 1899, might be very welcome on certain shelves. That said, alas, some books are in such bad shape (coffee stains, cracked spines, yellowed, torn pages, etc) that no one wants them, and when you haul them over to, say, Goodwill or your local library, you’re not helping; you’re just giving someone else the unpleasant chore of throwing it in the dumpster.

If yes, goes into the DONATION BOX. (I keep mine in the hall closet. When it fills up, it goes to the basket in the basement, and when that fills up, it all goes into the back of the car, and from there to wherever it needs to go.) If no, on to question 10.

10. Can it be recycled into furniture, insulation, a jewelry box, or art?

If yes, goes to your WORKSHOP / STUDIO.

If the answer has been “no” to all ten questions, light a candle and give it a blessing if you must, but PUT IT IN THE PAPER RECYCLING BIN. This really is the last, the very last, very horrible, very sad, very karmically problematic resort. Oh well!

More anon.

UPDATE: A few more library management posts:

On Organizing (and Twice Moving) a Working Library: Lessons Learned with the Texas Bibliothek

A Working Library: Further Notes and Tips for Writers of Historical Fiction, History, Biography, and/or Travel Memoir, & Etc.

Meteor, Influences, Ambiance

Synge’s The Aran Islands and Kapuscinski’s Travels with Herodotus

Working with a Working Library: Kuddelmuddel

Find out more about C.M. Mayo’s books, shorter works, podcasts, and more at www.cmmayo.com.


Michael Talbot’s “The Holographic Universe”

One of the books that has most influenced my writing, and in particular, my ideas about narrative structure, is Michael Talbot’s The Holographic Universe. When I came upon it a few years ago, I was already a fan of the works of Canadian novelist Douglas Glover and his concept of the story as net. In other words, even without the scaffolding of a formal plot (ye olde Fichtean curve), a net of images can cohere and indeed so powerfully resonate in the reader’s mind that the net is the story. A satisfying story. It was directly— literally, less than an hour— after reading Glover’s essays on the story as net and the novel as poem (now collected in Notes Home from a Prodigal Son) that I sat down wrote the one that became the title story for my first collection, Sky Over El Nido. In this story the images, woven throughout, have to do with flight: birds, nests, eggs, airplanes. What’s the “plot”? A fistful of air.

Later, before beginning to write my novel, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire, I happened upon Talbot’s The Holographic Universe, an elegantly lucid and very accessible overview of some of the (then) most cutting-edge theories in quantum physics and in particular, those of David Bohm. If the universe itself is a hologram, or has holographic characteristics, then this could explain why nets of images— the suggestion of the whole in each of its parts— can resonate with such strange power in a reader’s mind.

Does my novel have that power? You decide. But one of the several paradigms I worked with while writing it was, again, the story as a net and, to borrow the title of one of Douglas Glover’s essays, “The Novel As Poem.” Yes, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire is a poem. And the main character is not a person but an idea— the prince as living symbol of the future of the empire. Where does such an idea live? In many minds— ergo, the novel has a crowd of characters, indeed, a net of characters, woven in among each other’s minds and actions. 

Just of few of the fleeting and repeating images: the Totonac bowl, Egypt, birds, sweets, twilights, composers, asparagus.

(Though indeed it does have a plot, and I worked with various paradigms— Fichtean curve, Syd Field’s three acts, and others— while constructing it.)

Last night, I happened upon a video of psychologist Jeffrey Mishlove’s interview with Talbot. It’s well worth watching in its entirety. Alas, Talbot died of leukemia in 1992.

From the Writer’s Carousel: Literary Travel Writing

A Visit to the Casa de la Primera Imprenta de América in Mexico City

Marfa Mondays’ Shiny New Website

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C.M. Mayo’s books, articles, podcasts, and more.

From the Writer’s Carousel: Literary Travel Writing

Apropos of my one day only workshop on Literary Travel Writing April 18, 2009 at the Writer’s Center in Bethesda MD:

FROM THE WORKSHOP:
Literary Travel Writing
by C.M. Mayo

“[Y]ou have to go out. You have to open space, and deepen place. Fill your eyes with the changing light.” — Kenneth White

“In the artist’s recreation of the world we are enabled to see the world.”
— John Gardner, The Art of Fiction

Literary travel writing is about first perceiving in wider and sharper focus than normal; then, in the act of composition, shaping and exploring these perceptions so that, as with fiction, it may evoke in a reader’s mind emotions, thoughts, and pictures. It’s not meant to be practical, to serve up, say, the top ten deals on rental cars, or a low-down on the newest “hot spas.” Literary travel writing, at its best, provides the reader the sense of actually traveling with the writer, so that she smells the tortillas heating on the comal, tastes the almond-laced hot chocolate, sees the lights in the distant houses brightening yellow in the twilight, and, after the put-put of a motorcycle, that sudden swirl of dust over the road.

Most beginning writers overemphasize the visual; because of our brains’ wiring, it’s a natural tendency. So we have to make a practiced effort to bring in the other senses— to note the slithery feel of the satin curtains, the round hum of a temple bell. Why is this so important? Think of a book you have already read that pulled you in so that nothing else mattered, not the laundry, not walking the dog, you only wanted to keep turning the pages. And it wasn’t just the cheap trick of suspense that enthralled you; it was the fullness of a whole world and the humanity, glorious and flawed, of the people in it. I promise you, if you were to pluck that book off your shelf and open it to any page, you would find that the writer makes ample use of specific sensory detail.

How to come up with that detail or, to put it another way, perceive with wider and sharper focus? In my one day workshop, we start with “right here, right now.” Yes, the classroom. (Last I checked, there is no White-Bearded Committee in the Sky that prescribes the distance one must travel for “travel” writing.) Indeed, as you’re reading this, mundane as your surroundings may seem to you, someone out there would consider them extraordinary. A kitchen counter in Rockville! A café off Dupont Circle! How to render them vividly? Well, what do you hear, right now? What do you smell? Where is the light coming from, and how would you characterize it? What’s on the floor by your left shoe? What is on the wall— or whatever— directly behind you? Look straight up, what do you see? Jot it all down. This exercise might seem trivial, even silly. But for literary writing— whether travel, fiction, or poetry— identifying specific detail that appeals to the senses is the first and most crucial skill to nurture.

We then delve deeper into detail, into the use of imagery, synesthesia, and a series of techniques for heightening vividness and showing movement through time and space. Then we consider the shaping and exploring— the act of composition. Is this bit about the visit to souk best dispatched in a few words or, slowed down, fleshed out into a full scene, with dialogue and lush description? How to identify clutter? How best to handle dialogue?

As for narrative structure, we begin with the beginning. What is the difference between an effective opening and a garden-variety dud? We look at pacing, turning points, climax and denouements, and explore different paradigms for thinking about structure. Finally, there are several crucial lessons from poetry. How to put energy and rhythm into the prose, so that the music reenforces meaning? How to slow it down, speed it up, make it jagged or slide-and-glide?

This is a lot to cover in a single afternoon, but we manage. Always with reference to examples from notable works of literary travel writing (as well as some fiction and poetry), there are several cycles of “mini-lecture” / questions and answers / and a brief writing exercise. In this way, these many techniques are illustrated and explored, and everyone has a chance to try them out in their own writing.

Whether your goal is write a memoir of your childhood in Pakistan or to keep a journal on your upcoming month on a trawler off Alaska, whether to write only for your grandchildren or to bring out a book with a major publisher, this workshop will not only give you an array of tools and an immediate improvement in the quality of your writing, but help you experience the world as more vivid and rich with complexity.

For more information about this workshop, click here.

Synge’s The Aran Islands and Kupuscinski’s Travels with Herodotus

Q & A: Sara Mansfield Taber on Chance Particulars: A Writer’s Field Notebook

C.M. Mayo’s Writing Workshop Page

Find out more about C.M. Mayo’s books, shorter works, podcasts, and more at www.cmmayo.com.


10 Tips for Getting the Most Out of Your Writing Workshop (What I Wish I Had Learned Sooner and What I Wish My Students Would Do)

Gentle Reader: I don’t know about you! Maybe you would be a better creative writer if you were to fling crumpled PostIts at the other students, set small fires in the parking lot or, say, stay home and do some inverted yoga poses. More seriously, much can be said for reading on craft (and I offer a frequently updated list of recommended titles here.) But I can say that in my own case, participating in writing workshops was foundational for my development as a creative writer; moreover, to the best of my knowledge this has been case for every one of my contemporaries whose work I admire and would recommend.

(1) Read your teacher’s work. (Analogy: would you let a carpenter whose work you’ve never seen remodel your kitchen?)

And if, having read your teacher’s work you are unimpressed and/or turned off by it, do yourself and everyone else in the workshop a favor and do not sign up for the workshop. Please.

(2) Ask him or her to autograph it. (An autographed first edition hardcover can be surprisingly valuable! And: flattery never hurts! Don’t be shy about asking for an autograph; authors love this, they really do.)

(3) Expect to learn. (Analogy: do carpenters learn their craft wholly on their own? Maybe what you’ll learn is that this is a writing teacher to avoid. Certainly, this is much cheaper experience than having a bad carpenter mess with your kitchen.)

(4) Realize that most people who come to a writing workshop have naive notions about the writing world (think money, celebrity, booze-crazed Bohemia), no clue from Adam how hard it is to write anything worth reading, how tough it is get published, and how consternating an experience it can be to be published (criminey, all these people taking your workshops who never even read your book!!). Realize, you are way ahead of the game by following steps 1-3, and that, therefore, though you might learn a lot about the craft, you do not need validation from this workshop, its leader and/or its participants, which is what you were secretly hoping for, no?

(5) Expect to give thoughtful critiques to others who (though their manuscripts are surprisingly bad, not to mention boring and often tasteless), are, strangely, resistant and argumentative. Expect also to receive rude and deeply stupid comments on your manuscript and know that this, actually, is a good thing because learning to take criticism with open-minded equanimity is part of learning to be a well-published and productive writer— unless, that is, you want to be a writer who cringes at every review, every blog mention, every amazon.com shark attack out of Nowheresville, and is, therefore, both miserable and miserable to be around. (You can win the Nobel Prize and someone, somewhere, will say something unkind about your writing. So, Buck up.)

(6) Nonetheless, take very seriously your critiquing of other participants’s manuscripts, for good karma and all that, but also because the fastest way to learn to recognize problems in your own manuscripts is by identifying the same in others’s manuscripts. I think it was Ann Lamott who said (more or less), “we point, but do not cut, with the sword of truth.” Read the pages carefully, and offer honest, thoughtful, and detailed critiques in a spirit of kindness. (Wouldn’t you want the same?)

(7) Remember the bicycle analogy. Like riding a bicycle, to take criticism productively, a writer needs to be able to balance between meekness (listening to everyone) and arrogance (listening to no one). Too much of either, your writing falls flat. (Too much of either and your whole life falls flat, now that I think about it.)

(8) Do the assigned reading. To learn the craft, workshops are not enough (see again Tip #4). If you do the assigned reading while in a workshop, rather than later (or never) you have the inestimable advantage of being able to ask questions and discuss it with the workshop leader and other participants.

If, half way through the workshop, you decide that the assigned reading and/or discussion are bunk, oh well! Sunk costs are sunk! Surely you have better things to do and places to be.

(9) Remember, what goes around comes around. If you come to the workshop with an attitude of respect and goodwill, you will attract the same. (Any exceptions you will, one day, consider hilarious. You can also put them in your novel, ha ha.)

That said, some people do not deserve respect or good will. If there are too many of them in a workshop, and/ or if the workshop leader is a disempowering nincompoop, I say, vamoose! As if the building is on fire!

(10) Before, during, and after the workshop, keep writing. In other words, don’t let the workshop deadlines become a crutch. Don’t give your power as an artist to anyone else; find your own motivation, develop your own habits. Play God. God riding a bicycle. Assuming that’s what you want to explore in this life.

>> Find more “Madam Mayo” blog posts for the workshop here; and many more resources at my homepage’s Workshop Page here.

C.M. Mayo’s Writing Workshop Page

Meteor, Influences, Ambiance

Deadly-Effective Ways to Free Up Bits, Drips & Gimungously Vast Swaths of Time for Writing: A Menu of Possibilities to Consider

Find out more about C.M. Mayo’s books, shorter works, podcasts, and more at www.cmmayo.com.