Category: Writing

On Writing Spaces & Writing Practices

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At some point in every creative writing (and composition) class, I address the topic of writing spaces and writing practices. I preface our discussion with a series of questions:

  • Where do you write?
  • Do you need complete silence? Some noise? A lot of noise?
  • When do you write?
  • Do you start right away on computer? Do you write with pen or pencil first?
  • Do you need to be by yourself?
  • Any certain beverages or foods you enjoy?
  • How long do you write before you take a break?
  • Do you share your drafts with anyone? If so, when in the process?

Once they’ve written their responses, students are generally quite willing to share their preferences, their struggles, their poor choices. (“I know it’s a bad habit, but I always have the TV on while I’m writing, and I am distracted.”) After most of the students have shared their responses, I offer some of my own practices, noting that they are practices I’ve developed over years and through trial and error.

The first point I offer is that I’ve learned to be flexible in the particulars. A writer needs to be adaptable. Surviving grad school has helped. Becoming a parent has really helped. I tell them that most days it’s challenging enough to schedule one hour, so I don’t have time to ponder and get distracted. (That’s why I run; that’s why I clean the house–two activities great for working through ideas, for pondering.)

Do I have preferences? Of course. The house to myself. Or one of my favorite coffeeshops. Instrumental music (sometimes). Complete silence (sometimes). Coffee. Cold Water. A candle burning. Reading a few pages of good writing first. But when it’s writing time, it’s “go” time. No excuses. I’m too busy to sit around waiting for so-called inspiration. Besides, through my own experience, I’ve learned to revise or draft “instantly” (little, if any, warm-up necessary).

Do I offer them advice? Of course. Don’t try to write a complete draft (of prose) in one sitting without taking a break. You can stop writing when you know what you’re going to write next. Don’t try to generate text while simultaneously trying to edit it. When you’re done writing, plan when and what you’ll write next. Reward yourself. All-nighters are a lie from the depths of hell. Proofread on a paper copy. Give yourself a night’s rest (if possible) between “finishing a paper” and proofreading it. Proofread it from end to beginning. Share it with a trusted reader (not just someone who will tell you what your itching ears want to hear). Take note of what’s happening when the writing is productive, and take note of what’s happening when the writing is, well, not as productive.

When I tell them that my threshold is 2 hours a day of drafting or revising, they often appear shocked. I’ve learned that consistency is more important that quantity. I completed my MFA and PhD by adhering to the principles in the previous paragraph. There were few times that I wrote more than 2 hours in a day. Yes, I’m in awe of writers who can write for 6 or 8 hours a day (wish I could do that), but I also know that’s not me. My head would explode. So, I’ll just keep plugging away, writing a “little” every day, not being in a hurry.

On Hemingway’s Short Stories

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One of my summer reads has been The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway, a 650-page gathering of 70 stories that I finished on Monday afternoon. Hemingway has long been one of my favorite writers. I’ve read four of his novels, along with the collection In Our Time. I’ve taught “Hills Like White Elephants” probably 2 dozen times. “Soldier’s Home” I’ve taught 3 times in my war-literature class.

When I read a collection and/or an anthology, I make two types of marks in the table of contents. A check mark indicates that I’ve read the piece, and a dot or a star means I like it a lot. Of these 70 stories, only 11 did not earn a “star.” It’s strange because I enjoyed the some of the “unfinished” and previously unpublished stories the most. Of course, there were stretches in the book were there was just one great story after another, and at different times I told my wife, “I can’t believe how good these are.”

Having spent weeks with these stories, I can say that my admiration of his craft has not diminished but has only increased. And the whole shtick about how he only writes simple and compound sentences is a crock. (I realize that not everyone critical of Hemingway makes this accusation, but I’ve heard or read it enough to know it exists.) There’s a sophistication to his style that I find commendable. I’m also drawn to the way he uses dialogue to advance the story, develop character, provide subtext (among other things the dialogue does). Both he and Carver have helped me sharpen my dialogue-writing skills.

Reading through these stories, I was struck by the way he kept using Nick Adams as a character. (I am aware that there’s a volume called The Nick Adams stories.) Readers glimpse Nick in various scenarios at different points in time, and because I have a recurring protagonist who appears in 12+ stories, I found it instructive how Hemingway “built” the character of Nick across these different stories.

In an earlier post, I talked about my reading of 200+ stories last summer, including collections by Ray Bradbury, Raymond Carver, Phil Klay, and Larry Woiwode. I’m not sure that I’ll reach that number this summer although I’m sure I’ll read at least 100. I can’t get through novels like I used to. There’s something I find so satisfying about reading well-written short stories, my favorite genre to teach, read, and to write.

On Editing

~ plainswriter ~ 1 Comment

Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to work in several editorial capacities, starting when I was a senior in college, editing the annual student literary journal. During my MFA, I worked on the graduate/undergraduate literary journal, Red Weather. During my PhD, I worked on South Dakota Review. For three years I edited The Blue Bear Review, an online literary quarterly. And since 2012, I have worked as editor of Windhover: A Journal of Christian Literature.

This April and May I had the opportunity to serve as a guest editor for Issue 2.3 of wonderful literary quarterly, Driftwood Press. They published my short story “On the Hi-Line” in issue 2.1, and a few months later, the staff asked if I was interested in reading submissions for an upcoming issue. Even though I have a significant workload with Windhover, I decided to pursue the opportunity.

Over six weeks, I read 50 short stories, giving each a “yes,” “no,” or “maybe.” Because of my editorial background, and because of my familiarity with the publication, I didn’t experience much difficulty with voting “no” on pieces. (I’m not trying to sound callous.) The challenge was limiting myself to no more than 5 in the “yes” category and no more than 10 in the “maybe.” As my reading of the submissions continued over the weeks, my “maybe” votes shifted. When I finally finished all 50 pieces, then I devoted time over a few days to “finalizing” my votes, including ranking my favorite 5 stories.

As a result of the process, some of the “maybe” pieces ended up being shifted to “no”s due to limitations, but those limitations forced me to consider why I was voting on pieces in a certain way. I agonized over some of my votes, but at the same time, I kept in mind why I like editorial work so much: discovering and supporting writers whose work I admire. It’s tiring work and time-consuming work, but it brings a level of satisfaction that I find in few other endeavors. You open a submission, begin reading, hoping to be surprised, hoping to be wowed. And sometimes you are. There were a handful of those stories in the batch, and I’m happy to say that my favorite piece of the 50 was eventually accepted for the 2.3 issue.

All of this discussion about editing brings to mind other types of editorial work I’ve done: copy editing and substantive editing. In the near future, I plan to write a post on these other kinds of editorial work I’ve done, work that is, of course, time-consuming but also very rewarding.