C.M. Mayo's Book Notes & Convos – Page 30 – Texas, Mexico, rare books, literary travel memoir

On Decluttering Your Writing or, Respecting the Integrity of Narrative Design: The Interior Decoration Analogy

Ideally a novel provides the experience of a vivid dream, so when I teach my writing workshops, I always begin with specificity: generating specific detail that is vivid, that is, it appeals to the senses: sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell.

Inevitably, a hand goes up.

But isn’t this creating clutter? How do you know when the detail is too much?

Anyone who has taken a writing workshop or three will have heard: cut the adjectives, cut the adverbs, if you need an adverb you probably have the wrong verb, etc. All of this is right and good, however, in my experience, most writing– and I include first drafts by accomplished writers– is scant on vivid detail that appeals to the senses. Not vivid? No reader.

So, how to distinguish needed detail from clutter?

I like to use the analogy of interior decorating. Let’s assume the purpose of the living room is to host a tea party. So you decorate it in order to make your guest feel welcome, to make her feel both charmed and comfortable to come in, sit down on the sofa, and enjoy a cup (or three) of tea. That will be challenging if the entrance is blocked by five beat-up sofas and, say, a washing machine. It will also be, shall we say, rather uninviting if you’ve left last night’s pizza cartons on the coffee table.

A book invites a reader in– so, don’t ask, am I expressing myself?; ask, will my reader feel welcome? Will she feel confident that I am in control of the narrative (in other words, that I know what I’m doing?) If not, she’ll put the book down– in the same way that she would not want to sit down and drink tea in a peculiar and cluttered house.

More questions from the workshop:

When can I use adjectives? Can I use adverbs? Can I this, that, or the other thing?

There are no rules in art, but I think we find our path toward writing a good book when we understand and respect the intregity of our design.

The interior decorating analogy again: Some living rooms might be beautifully designed and yet feature a lot of detail. For example, a Victorian-style living room might have lace curtains, a knicknack cabinet with dolls and teacups and porcelain pugs; cabbage-rose upholstery; numerous chairs (a straight-back and a rocking chair, ottomans, etc); three potted palms, a fern on a stand; portraits of some twenty-seven ancestors and horses and dogs; and outside the windows, a glimpse of gingerbread trim. Despite all that detail, it could nonetheless be considered uncluttered— a guest could walk in, sit comfortably, and enjoy her tea in what is a very properly fussy Victorian room.

At the other extreme, we might have a beautifully designed yet minimalist penthouse: black leather and chrome furniture; everything white; one giant painting of a red slash. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window: nothing but sky. Certainly, a Victorian rocking chair would look like out of place, as would the washing machine and those pizza cartons.

Similarly, in the Victorian room, that chrome-and-leather ottoman would look more than rather peculiar, no?

Does your reader feel welcome? Does your reader perceive that you are in control as a designer / host / artist? One of the best ways to get a feeling for that is to go back and read a novel you have already read and absolutely loved, from beginning to end, for that is, by definition, a successful novel. Do not read as a consumer, for entertainment; read as a writer– examining how your fellow writer (be he or she Austen, Tolstoy, O’Connor, Kingsolver) put in or left out specific detail. Where are the smells, sounds, tastes, textures? Underline them.

Had there been signficant clutter, you would have put the book down when you read it the first time.

The books you have already read and loved are your best teachers– there they are, waiting for you on your own bookshelf. But you have to read them as a fellow craftsperson, not passively, as a “consumer”: nor, for that matter, as a student of English literature. The latter is akin to a student who writes about the history or perhaps sociology of interior decoration. It is not the same as being an interior decorator– the one who chooses the sofa, hauls it in, and determines where to place it. And if you’re wrong about the sofa, no need to return it. Take out your mental zap gun and zap it into the infinite warehouse of your mind.

Meteor, Influences, Ambiance

Blast Past Easy: A Permutation Exercise with Clichés

Q & A with Poet Barbara Crooker

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

One Dozen Dialogue Exercises

One of the most powerfully vivid ways to show character, relationship, conflict and/or mood is through the use of dialogue. Herewith, one dozen five minute exercises. Use an egg-timer if you must.

#1. Sprinkle in ze French
An American who was resident in Paris for many years gives a tour of the local art museum to some friends who are mighty impressed (but do they admit it?). Write the scene with dialogue.

#2. Echoing in Dialogue
From Henry James’s novel The Portrait of a Lady, here’s an example of “echoing” in dialogue:

“She has offered to take her— she’s dying to have Isabel go. But what I want her to do when she gets her there is give her all the advantages. I’m sure all we’ve got to do,” said Mrs. Ludlow, “is to give her a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“A chance to develop.”
“Oh Moses!” Edmund Ludlow exclaimed. “I hope she isn’t going to develop any more!”

In this example, echoing works well to show the two characters’s easy going affection for one another. So, try writing a similar scene with echoing in the dialogue. If you need a prompt: a boss and his/ her ingratiating subordinate planning the new furniture arrangements for the office.

#3. Larry & Saul Bake a Cake
Larry and Saul are elderly brothers. Larry is jealous of Saul. Saul thinks Larry is full of himself. They are in Larry’s kitchen making a cake. Write the scene with dialogue.

#4. The Control Freak, the Liar & the Narcissist
Three characters, all members of the same family, sit down to dinner. Show by the things they say to one another that one is a control freak, one a liar, and one a narcissist.

#5. Good Cat, Bad Cat
In a pet store: he wants a cat; she does not. Write 5 lines he could say; then, write 5 lines she could say. Briefly describe the cat in question. If you have time, write the scene.

#6. So Terrible. So Awful.
I was in the women’s locker room in a health club when I happened to overhear this scrap of dialogue:

A: “Therapists, what they charge—”
B: “Horrible, that’s why I quit.”
A: “So terrible.”
B: “So awful.”

I love the shape of this, the way the women echo the sounds and rhythms of each other’s words. Notice the rhyme of “horrible” and then “terrible”; the repetition of “So” (“So terrible; “So awful.”)

Another interesting aspect is B’s interruption of A.

Here’s the exercise: take this dialogue; add some names, descriptions, gestures, etc., and flesh out the scene. You might change “therapists” to “dentists” or, say, “contractors” or “piano teachers”—what have you.

#7. Three Jackets, Three Men & a Joke
Describe three jackets. Describe the three men who are wearing them. One man tells a joke. How do the other two react?

#8. When in Rome
Do as the Romans do: speak Italian. Have your characters, who are arguing about something (whatever you like) use some or all of the following words and phrases:

Dove? (Where?) Buona notte (Good night) Ha un gelato? (Have you any ice-cream?) una crema de barba (shaving cream) E compreso il servizio? (Is service included?) E sulla strada sbagliata (You’re on the wrong road)

#9. Class Envy
Your character hates rich people. Give him 3-4 lines of really nasty dialogue. Then, in two sentences or less, identify the specific source of his feelings.

#10. ##&%#@*!!!
One of the fun things about writing fiction is that you can assume the voice of characters who would do and say all sorts of naughty, slobby things. Here’s the exercise: two characters (give them names and a little description) are sitting on a back porch drinking beer. They are arguing over which is the better sports team, and a good portion of their vocabulary consists of swear words. Write the scene with dialogue.

#11. Wedding Dress Dialogue
Mother and daughter are in a changing room, before a floor-length mirror, arguing over one more wedding dress. The mother is thrilled about this wedding; the daughter is tempted to call the wedding off— but show don’t tell. That is, do not have the characters state their feelings, but show them through tone, gesture and indirect comments. Write the scene with dialogue.

#12. Sorry
Cindy, a highly educated, experienced, and competent professional, peppers her conversations with, “I’m sorry” (and then she wonders why she’s not been promoted). Sketch a few scenes for Cindy with dialogue.

Using Rhythm and Sound to
Add Energy and Meaning to Your Prose

Consider the Typewriter
(Am I Kidding? No, I Am Not Kidding)

On the Trail of the Rock Art of the Lower Pecos

My new book is Meteor

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

Techniques of Fiction: The Number One Technique in the Supersonic Overview

I have been giving this “Techniques of Fiction” workshop for a few years now at the Writer’s Center, Dancing Chiva, the San Miguel Workshops and San Miguel Writers Conference, and again at the Writer’s Center (near Washington DC).

There are two versions: the Supersonic Overview, a three hour workshop (or a little longer, as for Dancing Chiva) and the Ridiculously Supersonic Overview (as for the writers conferences), which conclude in under an hour.

You can get a PhD in creative writing (some people actually do, shake my head at that as I may), and though I believe learning to write is a never-ending, ever-deepening process, I also believe that because of the way the human brain is wired, the same few but very powerful techniques have provided, provide, and– barring bizarre genetic mutations– will continue to provide the most effective instructions to the reader to form, in John Gardner’s words, “a vivid dream” in her mind.

That’s what a novel is: instructions for a vivid dream. Sometimes I get all Californian and call it a “mandala of consciousness.” But whatever you call it, a novel is about providing the experience of someone else’s experience: Anna Karenina’s, Madame Bovary’s, Scarlet O’Hara’s, Harry Potter’s, [insert name of your main character here].

How do we, whether as readers, or as any human being (say, folding laundry, or maybe digging for worms with a stick) experience anything? Well, last I checked we are not free-floating blobs of consciousness (except maybe when we have out-of-body experiences and/ or when dead); we are in bodies. We experience what we experience through our bodily senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch— and I would add a “gut” or intuitive sense as well. So any fiction that is going to be readable – a successfully vivid dream– needs to address the senses.

We experience what we experience through our bodily senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch

The reader responds to specific sensory detail such as:

the color of the sweater;

the whisper of the wind in the ficus;

the droplet of honey on her tongue;

the mustiness of the refrigerator that had been left unplugged in the basement;

the cottony bulk of an armload of unfolded towels;

the sudden twinge of tightness in his throat just before he picked up the telephone.

There are an infinite number of techniques, but this– giving the reader specific sensory detail – is paramount.

Compare:

He was sad.
vs
He sank his chin in his hand. With his other, he fumbled across the table for a Kleenex.

Poor people lived here.
vs
The hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and a bathroom that needed scubbing.

Rich people lived here.
vs
Everything gleamed and behind her, a pair of white gloves pulled the door shut with a gentle click.

She disliked him.
vs
The sight of him made her grit her teeth.

She ate too much.
vs
From the tine of her fork, she licked up the last crumb of that crumbcake.

The neighbors were obnoxious.
vs
Though the Hip-Hop came from three houses down the block, she could feel it in her breakfast table when she put her hand on it.

Here’s my favorite quote about detail, from a letter by Anton Chekhov:

“In descriptions of nature one should seize upon minutiae, grouping them so that when, having read the passage, you close your eyes, a picture is formed. For example, you will evoke a moonlit night by writing that on the mill dam the glass fragments of a broken bottle flashed like a bright little star, and that the black shadow of a dog or a wolf rolled along like a ball. . .”

More anon.

P.S. For some fun exercises to generate specific detail for fiction, check out “Giant Golden Buddha” and 364 More 5 Minute Writing Exercises.

And: many more resources for writers here.

Ten Tips for Getting the Most Out of Your Writing Workshop

Consider the Typewriting (Am I Kidding? No, I Am Not Kidding)

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

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

Thomas A. Settles’ “John Bankhead Magruder: A Military Reappraisal”

As the subtitle indicates, most of Thomas M. Settles’ splendid biography of John Bankhead Magruder (1807 – 1871) is dedicated to a detailed examination of his role in the U.S. Civil War, specifically, his audacious if nonetheless inevitably doomed defense of Richmond, and later, Galveston. Though this part of the narrative does not have direct bearing on Mexican history, it informs the portrait of an unusually flamboyant Confederate who, in defeat, looked south to a future in Maximilian’s Mexican Empire.

Based on three decades of archival research, this biography must have been a titanic task, for Magruder left no diary and many of his most important papers were lost in a San Francisco fire. Worse, he was much maligned during his lifetime, victim of both malicious gossip from his Confederate rivals and less than sympathetic Federals– just the sort of thing to send a biographer down blind alleys. In addition, there were misunderstandings, as when earlier historians, in recounting what appeared to be a less-than honorable leave-taking from Washington DC at the start of the Civil War, confounded Magruder with a relative.

General John Bankhead Magruder was, as Settles convincingly argues– backing every point with what sometimes seems a forest of footnotes– a Civil War general whose tactical ingenuity and tenacity are deserving of far greater respect than he has been accorded. Most of the book details his early military career, from West Point to a garrison duty and recruiting at various army posts from the Carolinas to Maine, until, with the invasion of Mexico in the late 1840s, his fortuntes took a radical turn. Along with many of the men who would later play major roles in the U.S. Civil War– Grant, Lee, and McClellan, among them– Magruder distinguished himself in several major battles against the Mexicans. (Magruder’s artillery was, in fact, the first to fire upon Chapultepec Castle.) Following the U.S.-Mexican War, Magruder served in California, where in Los Angeles, briefly, he ran a saloon.

He was on a visit to Europe when recalled to Washington DC in 1861, only a month before his native state of Virginia seceded. He had not wanted to leave the U.S. Army, but as “he could not fight against his own people,” he resigned, calling it “the most unhappy moment of my life.” He walked across the Potomac, offered his services to the Confederacy and, in short order, was reporting to Robert E. Lee.

Settle’s treatment of Magruder’s return to Mexico in 1865, in the final chapter, “Postwar Odyssey,” is a relatively brief one; nonetheless, it is an important contribution to understanding the nature and role of the ex-Confederates in Maximilian’s government.

At the end of the U.S. Civil War, General Magruder was one of several thousand ex-Confederates who pulled up stakes for Mexico. In 1865 the French Imperial Army, considered the greatest in the world, occupied most, if not all of Mexican territory, while the ex Archduke of Austria, Maximilian, a direct descendant of the King of Spain during the Conquest, reigned as Emperor. Though by the late summer and fall of 1865, when the ex-Confederates began arriving en masse, the French occupation was beginning to fray at the edges, Maximilian and his consort, Carlota, still presided over a court and elaborate palace balls and other festivities that were, to Americans at that time, considered the height of glamor. In the words of journalist William V. Wells, this was the “high noon” of the empire, when it was impossible for many to even imagine the catastrophe that would, in only a matter of months, befall the “cactus throne.”

Some ex-Confederates came to Mexico because they could not bear living in a defeated South, others, because they had expected to participate in a dynamic plantation economy under the French-backed Maximilian (who, to entice the ex-Confederate colonists, proclaimed slavery legal in Mexico). But others, such as General Magruder, simply felt pushed out. As Settles writes:

“It must have been extremely difficult for so proud a man as John Bankhead Magruder to have signed the articles surrendering the Trans-Mississippi Department. But when the Federals began arresting and imprisoning high Confederate officials, he resolutely refused to submit to such personal humiliation. He was not eligible for the amnesty proclaimed by President Lincoln on December 8, 1863, or that proclaimed by Andrew Johnson on May 29, 1865”

Although I had spent several years researching Mexico’s Second Empire under Maximilian for my novel, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire, until recently, I was flummoxed as to the background of the author of the exceedingly rare English language memoir, Sketches of the Last Year of the Empire, Henry R. Magruder. It turns out he was the son of General John Bankhead Magruder and I now know, from Settles’ biography, that father and son did not arrive in Mexico via the same route. General Magruder came down overland from Houston with General Shelby, while his wife, son Henry, and unmarried daughter, Kate Elizabeth, arrived via Veracruz, for they had come from Florence, Italy, where they had been residing for some years. As Settles explains,

“[B]ecause of the hardships of travel, uncomfortable living conditions, and extremes of climate found in the remote locales where magruder was stationed during his military career, [Mrs Magruder] found it more practical to live and raise her children in the comforts of Baltimore, where she could stay closer to family business interests. She remained there until 1850 when, as a consequence of [daughter] Isabella’s ill health, she took her children to Europe. Mrs Magruder had relatives in Germany, but she moved to Italy, living briefly in Rome, then in Florence.”

From Texas, not yet reunited with his family, Magruder headed straight down to Monterrey and then to Mexico City, arriving in the summer of 1865. Writes Settles:

“Magruder checked into a room on the first floor of the fashionable Iturbide Hotel, and there he received several distinguished visitors, including Matthew Fontaine Maury and his old friend Marshal Francois-Achille Bazaine, now in command of the imperial forces in Mexico. He also met with the British minister to Mexico, Sir Peter Campbell Scarlett, whose nephew, Lord Abinger, had married Magruder’s niece, Helen Magruder, in Montreal several years earlier.”

It appeared Magruder felt as at home as an American could be in Mexico City. He bought himself a new wardrobe, “‘a cut-a-way suit of salt and pepper color, with a tall dove-colored hat and patent leather boots,’ and then went to the palace of Montezuma [the Imperial Palace], which Scott’s army had victoriously occupied eighteen years earlier.”

Soon after a successful interview with Maximilian and Carlota, Magruder, now a naturalized Mexican citizen, was appointed head of Maximilian’s Land Office of Colonization. The idea was to establish colonies along the main route inland from Veracruz to Mexico City, on land Juarez (under the Republic) had expropriated from the Church.

Settles covers the rapid collapse of the scheme along with Maximilian’s government, and Magruder’s return to the U.S. In 1867– surprisingly, for memories of the Civil War remained fresh— he attempted to set up a law office in New York City. His family had returned to Italy, but he remained in the U.S. to work the lecture circuit with a crowd-pleasing talk on Maximilian and Carlota. He was on that tour when, in a Houston hotel in 1871 he died of a stroke.

In sum, this is an important addition to the bibliography on Confederates in Mexico, and crucial reading for anyone who studies the U.S. Civil War, the U.S.-Mexico War, and / or Mexico’s Second Empire. Highly recommended.

Notes on Stephen L. Talbott’s The Future Does Not Compute

A Review of Patrick Dearen’s
Bitter Waters: The Struggles of the Pecos River

A Visit to El Paso’s “The Equestrian”

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

Find out more about
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.