San Diego Writing Women

Losing Focus

2012-02-09T22:23:00.000-08:00

This week I've been having a hard time focusing, and I can't figure out why. My brain's felt foggy. It takes me until lunchtime to get going. All my little tricks haven't worked so well. Getting more sleep, exercising, being outside; nothing's been successful.

A couple of weeks ago, I had way too much stuff to do. My agent asked for some edits on my new work, suddenly I had interviews, a bunch of kid activities, lunch dates, blog posts, doctor appointments, insurance snafus, (and probably more I've forgotten), but somehow having a lot of stuff to do made me work harder and smarter. Laser-focus! I even made bread and cookies. I read a ton of books. It seems like the less I have to do, the lazier I get.

Because I haven't exactly worked, I did lots of important Internet-related activities, like listen to countless covers of Joy Division's LOVE WILL TEAR US APART (seriously, there are some great ones). I also retook the Meyer-Briggs personality test. I'm still an INTJ (Introverted Intuitive Thinking Judging), which a lot of writers are. No surprise. But then I took an ARE YOU A TYPE A OR TYPE B PERSONALITY? test and, much to my surprise, I'm a type A! Now, I thought I was too quiet (introvert, you know) to be a Type A, but when I thought about it, I realized I'm not internally quiet. Internally I'm extremely loud. If you were inside my brain with me, you'd be covering your ears and staring in wonder at the psychedelia erupting all around you. (Except for days like today, when it's slightly cloudy psychedelia).

And I hate being late and I hate it when people make mistakes and I really really hate it when I make a mistake. All Type A traits. But because I don't exactly go around yelling at everyone and being all Alpha about my Type A-ness, I never thought I was.

So perhaps, due to my newly discovered Type A personality, I just need to be slightly overburdened to feel at my best. I like a little bit of stress and juggling. I actually like human interaction, frankly, and when I have nothing scheduled (and somehow all my social and work stuff seems to happen at exactly the same time instead of being spread out), a piece of me fritzes out.

I wonder, dear readers, what you do when you find yourself in a dull lull. Do you give yourself a break? Beat yourself up? Introduce a new stressor into your life on purpose? Lie around and eat brownies while watching Judge Judy? Not that I've ever done that.

I guess I'll keep on fighting through, and hope this too shall pass.

-- Margaret Dilloway

2012-02-03T15:33:00.000-08:00

Life Stories
by Susan McBeth

Life stories – they are all around us. We read them in New York Times bestselling biographies like Stacy Schiff’s Cleopatra, Walter Isaacson’s Steve Jobs, Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, and Erik Larson’s In the Garden of Beasts. We relish the memoirs that reveal an intimate peek into lives of high-profile people like Tina Fey in Bossypants, or LIFE by Keith Richards, and even into the lives of not-so-high-profile people like Theresa Weir in The Orchard or Amy Finley’s How to Eat a Small Country.

We tell our own stories by writing memoirs and keeping journals and researching family genealogy. We keep scrapbooks and photo albums and Pinterest boards. WeTweet and post Facebook messages and send text messages that share a little piece of our story, minute-by-minute as it is occurring. We telephone and meet with our friends and family and colleagues to share an exciting or devastating or interesting event that happens in our life story.

We are even fascinated by the lives of people who we’ve never heard of before their stories were portrayed on television reality shows. Millions tune in every week to follow the life stories of the Kardashians, the Real Housewives, the Bachelors and Bachelorettes, and the Biggest Losers. While many may express disdain over the value of these shows, what the ratings show is that there clearly is fascination with these life stories.

I am a firm believer that every one of the approximately seven billion people on this planet has a life story to tell. Some are tragic, some remarkable, some sensationalized. Some stories are short, some long, some simple, some complex. While we will never know all these stories, that certainly does not diminish their worth. And what I do know is that with every life story I discover, I discern something of value and relevance to my own life. So if that is the case, then why wouldn’t I want to learn as many life stories as I can, in my continuing efforts to become a better person?

That is exactly why I decided to take on the “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” challenge. It’s not an official challenge, but one I am undertaking after being inspired by the film that gets
my Oscar vote for the best film of 2012. Young Oskar is convinced that his father, who was killed in one of the Twin Towers during 9/11, left him a secret final message, so the boy sets off on a mission throughout New York City to unearth this connect to his father. While he never finds any message from his father, what he does garner through his visits with dozens of complete
strangers is a bigger understanding of the world that allows him to put his own loss in perspective.

So how will I undertake my challenge? Quite honestly, I don’t have a game plan, but I know that if I keep myself open to opportunities, they will present themselves. Take Edna, a woman I met earlier this week while a friend and I were having dinner in a local restaurant. Edna was dining alone and I found myself wondering if she was lonely and would be grateful for an offer of friendship, or if she was reveling in sought-out solitude and would resent our intrusion. My friend and I discussed our options, and I was so proud of my shy friend for stepping outside her comfort zone and accepting the challenge.

Edna declined our offer but stopped by our table to thank us as she left, and we spent a few minutes chatting. And while we never learned Edna’s life story, I would bet that my friend and I will now be part of her life story, as she tells her friends about two strangers who invited her to dinner. While it was really my friend who stood up to the challenge, I felt as if I, too, had reaped the benefits of our offer. Whose life story will I learn next? I don’t have a clue, and that’s the exciting part!

Sanctuary

2012-01-29T08:30:00.000-08:00

By Marjorie Hart

Did you ever want your own sanctuary? One like Edna St. Vincent Millay’s Steepletop with her sparse writer’s cabin in the woods? Or Edvard Grieg’s Troldhaugen and his piano studio on the edge of the fjord?

When my husband and I decided to move, I thought -- or fantasized -- that we’d find an idyllic place next to the ocean with just the bare necessities. Time to lead the simple life.

I knew I’d miss the red-tailed hawk that whooshed by each morning, our neighbors, who shared luscious tomatoes, and the twinkling lights from the Coronado Bridge. We adored the spectacular sunsets and waited to see the Green Flash, though it never happened on our watch. We’d call each other on the phone, “are you upstairs or down?” for we had separate offices. What fun we had with the music parties--Beethoven quartets in one room, Schubert or Mozart in another and Bach Brandenburg’s for late arriving musicians. Whether it was the music, desserts, or reunion of old friends, I wanted them to last forever. But it was time to leave and our families pitched in to help. They knew, also, there would be no more birthdays around our dining table, watching fireworks from the patio or measuring grandchildren on the stairway wall.

Now we’re in a cottage and share our offices together. Far from simple and sparse, every inch is covered with electronic gear and cords to trip over. We don’t have to phone each other, but just ask, “What did you say?” for we’re hard of hearing. There’s a view with trees and succulents, though we couldn’t see the coast for a Green Flash if there was one.

Our families squeeze around the piano to sing (the piano takes half the room) and the kitchen counter is our table. No need to measure grandchildren anymore — they’re taller than we are. Sadly, those marks on the stairway wall are being painted over as I write.

It is not Steepletop or Troldhaugen, that’s for sure, but crowded, a bit messy and privacy is gone. (“You’re still playing Free Cell?”) But I must say, it’s fun and cozy, this sanctuary-for-two.

Who Knew?

2012-01-20T15:16:00.000-08:00

Zoe Ghahremani

The glass doors of animal hospital close behind me, and I’m conscious of having left one of the best segments of my life behind. There, on the cart they so carelessly transferred him to, lies the gentlest being I know, our loving golden retriever. Who knew he would leave his soul inside of me and take a good portion of mine with him? Who knew I would not be able to let go of a beast that I had feared as a child?

His name is Pelé, the god of fire, the best a soccer ball ever saw, and my loyal companion of four-and-a-half years. When he came into my life, he was a small fur ball that could easily fit into my big pocket. It’s as if it was only days ago when he could hide under the kitchen cabinet. When did he grow to a size that the four of us could not lift his blood-covered body from the middle of the road to put him in my car?

As I sped way beyond the road’s limit, I knew no police car could stop me. “If they don’t like the way I drive, they can just follow me to the emergency room,” I said to myself as I pressed harder on the gas pedal.

Three paramedics in print scrubs rushed out and I heard his head hit the metal cart as they transferred him. Before I regained enough presence of mind to ask if I could stay with him, the doors had closed.

“You’ll need to sign here if you want the doctor to resuscitate him,” the young receptionist said. “And it will cost anywhere between $350 and $700 for that alone.”

“If?!” I asked her and took the pen while fighting tears to see the dotted line. “Just out of curiosity,” I said bitterly. “Would they not resuscitate him if I didn’t sign?”

Hours later, I sit in the corner we call “Place” and stare at his empty food bowl, scattered toys, and torn-up blanket. Other owners would take their dog on vacation, enter competitions, and run with him along sandy beaches. But I was raised to consider a dog just a dog, a guard for our home, indeed a creature that best be kept at a distance. When friends visited, we tied him up for fear he might want to touch them. Over the years, he finally learned that this family did not wish to have their faces licked. No, at our house it was always, “Pelé, no! Sit, boy. Stay there!”

He obeyed, but through his silence dug a deep tunnel to the heart of each every one of us, and it is in that tunnel that I wait now and hope against hope.

Please dear God, if you let him live I promise to go on long walks with him every single day. Please, help him to survive this and he can shed all the hair he wants over the furniture, I’ll never allow the groomer to shave his beautiful coat again. I’ll take him to the dog beach in Del Mar, where he can swim as much as he wants to and meet other dogs to play with. Who cares? I’ll even give him a real bone once in a while!

I check the phone to make sure it’s not off the hook. They will call me any minute to let me know he’s okay. Earlier, I took his favorite blanket to him and put it by his face, where he could smell it. That familiar touch is bound to make him happy, and I know soon he will want to open his soulful brown eyes. He will stand and wag his longhaired tail and the nurses will admit he’s the handsomest dog they have ever seen. I bet in a day or two they will send him home with another one of their “excellent patient” diplomas!

Who knew that a part of me would die with a dog? I had all sorts of images about the way my life might end. What I never pictured was that someday, I would see myself

dying on a small table, among strangers, and at the animal hospital.

Two weeks have gone by and each one of us has learned to accept a life without Pelé. There’s a birdbath in a far corner of our yard under which his ashes lay to rest. Sometimes I hear him bark at night, see his wagging bushy tail in a dream, or just wait for him to knock on the kitchen’s glass door the way he used to. Other times, I feel his warmth in my heart and am filled with gratitude for our short time together. But more than anything, I am a better person for the invaluable lesson he taught me, one that annuls the learning of a lifetime.

A writer, it had had been too easy to give words more worth than they deserved, not to mention let them rule. It took a gentle dog to teach me that, when it comes to expressing genuine love, words are absolutely immaterial.

On the Road with Annie Nakamura

2012-01-13T22:48:00.000-08:00

Part II of a series

Noted in the last blog, Annie Nakamura’s last request was to be buried either on Hurricane Ridge, Olympic National Forest in Washington or at Anza Borrego Desert. Four intrepid road warriors took to the road on a crystal clear blue-sky Saturday morning, October 8, 2011, in our trusty Nissan Altima.

The plan: Drive north to the Olympic National Forest, swing back down to San Francisco, return to San Diego via the coast.
Time frame: Olympic National Forest by Tuesday, October 11th; Hurricane Ridge on Wednesday; head south to reach San Francisco by Friday, October 14th. Reason for the rush? We needed to be in San Francisco for a burial and ceremony on Saturday, October 15th.

Day 1, Saturday, October 8th: After a round of picture-taking, we headed north on Interstate 395; first stop: Temecula for lunch. Back on 395, we drove through a stunningly beautiful upper-desert day to Randsburg and stopped for a quick tour of Manzanar, (site of the former World War II Japanese Internment camp) leaving a small paper crane in each spot. Our first night is Bishop.

Day 2, Sunday, October 9th: We stop at the Mammoth Loop, and amid snow covered ground, we take Annie’s urn for a round of pictures and leave a commemorative crane. Our intended stop is Mono Lake to see “tufas”—limestone columns created by the precipitation of carbonate minerals from the lake. Kawa is delighted to use her “senior” national park membership, and we trek down the walkway to the lake. It is a magnificent shade of blue, and the tufas jutting out from the water creates an almost other-worldly scene.
Another scheduled stop is Reno. In 1980, Don and I eloped in Reno at the “Heart of Reno” Chapel. Years earlier, Annie tried to convince us to take a “wedding party” back to the Heart of Reno to “renew our vows.” We go searching to find the chapel only to learn that it now a parking lot. Kawa and Janet doubt the authenticity of our marriage. Not to be deterred, we stand in the location with Annie in hand and take pictures and leave a crane.

Day 3, Monday, October 10th: Having spent the night in Alturus, one of our goals is to travel to Crater Lake. Along the way, we stop at Tule Lake, the largest World War II Japanese Internment camp. Little did we imagine that this road trip would also be a Japanese Internment Camp tour.

It is another beautiful day, but as we near Crater Lake, Kawa mentions that on previous road trips, Annie was only able to see the lake once. As we wend our way to the top, the fog rolls in, the ambient temperature drops to 41 degrees, snow is on the ground, the wind howls, and the rain begins to pour down. At the visitor’s center, we brave the elements to find the spot where Annie, Kawa, and another friend, Julie, had taken pictures so that we, too, can commemorate “another typical Annie Nakamura Crater Lake moment.” The wind is so fierce that Janet’s flimsy olive drab poncho billows wildly with each gust so much so that Don has to virtually carry her back to the car. With teeth chattering, we begin the descent. At Discovery Point, there is a momentary clearing; we pull over, and we can actually see some waves on the lake. We scatter a few ashes—our first, say a few words, and leave a crane.

Day 4, Tuesday, October 11th: We spend the night in Salem, outside of Eugene, and continue the journey. We stop at the Chehalis Tribe casino in Rochester. There we find a perfect basket for Annie’s ashes. Made by Cindy Andy, a Chehalis tribe weaver, it is a basket woven out of sweet grass with a whale design. As we leave with the basket, it begins raining, and the sky is filled with a beautiful rainbow—we take it as a positive omen.

That evening, we arrive at the Olympic Lodge in Point Angeles, gateway to the Olympic National Forest. It is a beautiful, four-star hotel with magnificent views of the area. That evening, we prepare the burial basket.

Day 5, Wednesday, October 12th: The skies have clouds, but patches of clear blue are visible—NO rain! At 7:30 AM, we commence our tip to Hurricane Ridge. Along the way, we stop to take pictures of the breathtaking views of pine trees, water, and skies filled with clouds; mists float amongst the pines. As we ascend, more and more snow is evident so much so that by the time we reach Hurricane Ridge Visitor’s Center, visibility is virtually nil, temperatures are a chilly 32 degrees, and we wonder if we can make it to the parking loop. As we crawl up the road, we make it to the loop, although two cars are parked, no one is in sight. We wander into the center cluster of trees; Don makes one attempt at digging amongst the pines but soon encounters too many roots to continue. We wander off to the left to discover a small meadow that has a view of the trails, water, and mountains. Don digs; Kawa assists. I set up the altar. It is so cold that Janet’s teeth are literally chattering. We place Annie in the grave; each of us throws a bit of dirt; say a few words. A sense of satisfaction prevails.

We begin our journey south.

Day 6, Thursday, October 13th: After spending the night in Eugene, one of our designated stops is Bandon, Oregon where Annie raved about the cranberry candy she once had. We find the store, and our homage is to purchase the cranberry jells, leave a crane, and head for Port Orford and Redwood.

Day 7: Friday, October 14th: Driving through the Avenue of the Giants, we decide to leave some of Annie in the magnificent redwood forest. We find a hollowed out tree, set up an altar, scatter ashes, and revel in the beauty of the majestic trees.

On our way to Fort Bragg, we meet a fellow sojourner at a scenic view, who is also on a journey of memory. VR lost his wife and after scattering her ashes off Wind ‘N Sea in La Jolla, he decided to journey north to leave her wedding ring among the sequoias. We relate our tale of friendship and fulfilling final requests. A crane is left.

We arrive in San Francisco.

To be continued.

Judith Liu
January 13, 2012

2012-01-10T14:43:00.000-08:00

Revising. Again. And Then Again.

Kathleen B. Jones

A few months ago I spent some time in the archives of Elzbieta Ettinger, author of Hannah Arendt and Martin Heidegger, a book about the intimate relationship between Arendt, a Jewish woman who write about totalitarianism and the Holocaust, and Heidegger, who had once been her teacher and who later became a member of the Nazi party. When it was published, Ettinger’s book caused a scandal in the world of Arendt scholars and set off a debate almost as heated as the affair itself had created when it first became publicly known. How could Arendt have become involved with such a man? More to the point, how could she have rekindled a friendship with him long after the war had ended?

Since I have been working on a memoir (Diving for Pearls: A Thinking Journey with Hannah Arendt) that tracks Arendt’s influence in my own life and thinking, taking up, among other subjects, the meaning this affair had in Arendt’s life, and what it has made me think about my own life, I was familiar with, and critical of, Ettinger’s interpretation of the event. I also knew that Ettinger had intended to write a fuller biography of Arendt. But, for various reasons, she had separated out the Arendt/Heidegger story, publishing it in a short book. She never completed the longer biography. So when I learned of the availability of Ettinger’s archives I wondered whether anything else she might have discovered in her research would prove valuable for the book on which I was still working.

It turns out that the trip I made this past fall to the Schlesinger Library of Harvard University, where the Ettinger archives are housed, was both a boon and a burden. What I uncovered in the archives is invaluable to my work. Interviews, letters, and other materials Ettinger gathered from those who knew Arendt will help me craft a more fully realized portrait of the person Hannah Arendt, who assumes the role of interlocutor in my memoir. But such bounty also proves a burden.

A few months earlier, thinking I was near the end of the revision process, I had determined to pursue self-publishing the manuscript in its then current form. But the wealth of materials I have just added to my ever-expanding research files has forced me to confront the difficult question of how these new documents might reshape my manuscript.

Part of the joy of writing is what you discover about what you really want to say in the process of revision. Searching for exactly the right phrase and precisely the correct shape for a paragraph you begin to uncover what you have been trying to say all along. My immersion of the Ettinger archives has brought me face to face with this process in the work of another. Reading through several drafts of her unpublished work, and comparing these drafts with the research materials she used to create her work, I could literally see the author’s formation of her subject, watch her confront her resistance to an interpretation of her subject at odds with her own, and discover the places where she resolved to draw her own conclusions.

So, I am taking a deep breath and diving back into my manuscript again, convinced that the changes I will make will add depth to my story without fundamentally altering its shape. And since the story I am trying to tell is about the thinking relationship I have had for nearly thirty years now with Hannah Arendt, a woman long dead but one who has become even more alive to me now as a provocative, yet irksome, companion, whose life and work continue to make me think and rethink, write and revise my own, revising my manuscript one more time seems fitting. I do hope, though, it will be the last!

For more about my work visit my web site.

“We Live Therefore We Write.” Really?

2011-12-31T17:46:00.000-08:00

The Question

“How did you get started writing?”

Every professional writer fields this question with some regularity. Of course, fewer people ask “How did you get started in medicine?” Or “How did you begin as a software engineer?” They don’t ask because most people more or less know the answer. You go to school, you intern, you move into an entry level position, and you work up from there.

Writing for a living is a more mystifying process, it seems. It is somewhat akin to being an artist, an actor, a musician, or a filmmaker. People may take all the right steps but some find themselves working in a large public arena and some don’t. In fact, a high percentage don’t, far higher than software engineers that’s for sure.

I meandered down this path of thinking when I took a second look at San Diego Writing Women’s tagline: “We live therefore we write.”

We came up with this slogan at one of our earliest meetings. It sat well enough with the group that we stuck with it. For me, it perfectly summed up my feelings about my editorial career.

Writing always came naturally to me. As a child, I used it to re-envision my family into the parental unit of my dreams. In high school, I leapt at any writing assignment involving descriptions –of people on the street, how it felt to step inside a cave (even though I had never been in cave), the desk in front of me, the pen in my hand, whatever. It didn’t matter if I had only glimpsed the person or if the object was completely inanimate, I was more than happy to imbue them with all types of emotion, mystery and romance. All I needed was a starting point and my imagination took it from there.

In college, while studying mass media as mass culture, I composed critiques and analysis of photography, film, and finally, my greatest area of interest, music.

My Answer

My love for music and writing coalesced out of a combination of determination, desire, and the need to meet my rent. In the summer before my last year of graduate school, my funds were exhausted. I was living on a research and graduate assistant stipend. The student employment services offered me a three month “communications consultant” position for a social service agency that actually paid pretty well. But I shook my head no. I was going to work in media this summer–even if I had to starve to death.

I called the community weekly newspaper the first week in June. They put me on the political beat covering local candidates running for election. They paid $20 an article. That same week, one of my favorite musical artists, Roxy Music, was performing in town. No way could I afford to buy a ticket. So I suggested that I review the concert. The paper agreed and paid me $15 as well. In three weeks, I reviewed three concerts and covered three local candidates. Great for attending the concerts I wanted to see. Not so great for income.

July rent was looming.

Eager for more story opportunities, I decided to attend a free concert called Rock Against Racism in Chicago. I could combine political issues and music in this article, I thought. I hopped a ride with friends, reviewed the performances and interviewed people in the crowd. I had the story but no outlet.

It was now July 1.

I wracked my brain. Who might be interested in a story with this kind of scope? I picked up the phone and asked for the editor who oversaw the music coverage at The Milwaukee Journal, the major daily paper in Wisconsin. At the time, it ranked among the Top 10 newspapers in the U.S. I got the editor on the phone and pitched him hard on what I thought was this great story. I heard a sigh at the other end.

“We are not interested in a concert that happened in Chicago two days ago,” he said. “But look, we are always looking for a backburner reviewer. Do you review rock concerts?”

Yes! Yes, I do, I pronounced. The editor told me to send him three sample concert reviews. That was perfect because all I had written were the three concert reviews. I got a trial assignment and three weeks later the paper’s regular rock critic decided to leave. By the end of that summer, I was ensconced in a big time journalism career, which later included seven years at The San Diego Union. From there, I wrote full time for national magazines, then for major internet outlets, and now for books.

So, yes, I went to school, started at the entry level and worked my way up from there. Except for me, my career launch happened in a very condensed period of time. And all my efforts could have gone nowhere. The community newspaper may not have wanted rock concert reviews; The day I had the chutzpah/desperation to call the The Milwaukee Journal might have been the day the editor was on vacation. I could go on about all the opportunities that came my way that could have detoured.

I always said my career as a writer found me rather than vice versa. Something was magical in the circumstances around it: Something that said “Hey kid, this time around, you get to write.”

As the big 2012 new year debuts, I like recalling that destiny always meets us more than halfway.

I live, therefore I write? Really.

DIVINA INFUSINO is the author of Day Trips From Orange County, an often personalized account of Southern California’s iconic and idiosyncratic locales, natural and cultural sites, hotels, spas, shopping areas and restaurants. She is also a co-author of The Love Response and Rock Gods. She has developed and consulted on numerous books over the past eight years, including those by bestselling self-help author Debbie Ford and wellness author Dr. Ellen Cutler. Divina has worked as a staff entertainment writer for The Milwaukee Journal and The San Diego Union, was a cultural commentator for KPBS Radio, and has also been published inRolling Stone, The Economist, TV Guide, Entertainment Weekly, The Los Angeles Times, Reuters,The New York Times Syndicate, Harper’s Bazaar, Salon.com, and HuffingtonPost.com. Among her celebrity interview subjects are Madonna, Julia Roberts, Bono, Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Deepak Chopra, Robert Redford, Tom Hanks, Kate Bosworth, Stephen Covey, Norman Mailer, Bishop Desmond Tutu, and Keith Richards. She earned her bachelor’s in English and Communications from Marquette University and a master’s in mass media analysis from the University of Wisconsin.

Permission to Dream, a Day to Creatively Re-energize

2011-12-26T10:50:00.000-08:00

By Caitlin Rother

Today is a federal holiday, a day that if I were still at the newspaper, I’d probably spend cleaning my desk, writing emails to people who weren’t at work and could read upon their return, chatting with colleagues about their holiday, and playing around with Google to brainstorm new story ideas. A day, in other words, to catch up and yet be ready if anything big should break. Holiday staffs were small even in those days, so I might have been called in to help the cops reporter cover a murder, but chances were that I would end up with a nice relaxing day and still earn a paycheck.

But now that I’m out of the breaking news biz and I’m my own boss, it is now up to me to spend this day working (or not), without any promise of pay. As such, I have decided to use my Boxing Day “holiday” to come up with some concrete goals, but also to give myself a chance to dream, trying not to limit myself by saying, “No, that will never happen.” As I’m writing this, I feel in my gut that I didn’t go far enough in my journal this morning. I feel the need to go back in and dream even bigger.

For the inspiration to carry out this endeavor, which I do at least annually but always around this time, I want to thank my good friend Samuel Autman, who some years back sent me the book, “Write it Down, Make it Happen,” by Henriette Anne Klauser. Even if you don’t read the book, I encourage you to try this exercise. It’s fun and it works for me. Two hours ago I felt like I had an insurmountable stretch of endless tasks ahead of me, and I now feel a hope, an optimism, and a renewed sense of creative energy that will last me throughout the day and into this week if not longer. Last year or the year before, I can’t remember, I put down, “I want to make the New York Times bestseller list” and this year it happened.

Here’s how I do it: I start with a cappuccino and a list of small, do-able goals for the very near future. From there, I move on to the bigger goals, and then I hatch some dreams, both foreseeable and off the charts. I start each sentence with language such as “I would like…” or “I want” or “It would be nice if” or “I’d love to have the opportunity to.”

What I didn’t do today, but have done previously, is to actually visualize one of those dreams or goals into a scene with characters and dialogue and watch it come true as it happens in present tense and in real time (thank you Ms. Klauser for that one). I not only do this in my journal, but I also have used it in my creative writing classes. My students said they really enjoyed it, even writing to me months later with news of something that happened that they wouldn’t have noticed or appreciated if they hadn’t done this exercise.

Now that I’ve done all that (and written this blog post – i.e. share what you’ve learned to help others is also something I picked up along the way) I’ve given myself the rest of this day to spend on creative “work.” To re-energize the batteries and feel like my holiday isn’t over quite yet. First up will be to add some new details to my novel in progress, which were inspired by a couple of movies I watched this weekend. If I feel like it, perhaps then I’ll make some updates to my website that need to be done, but don’t have to be done today. And maybe, if I feel the urge, I’ll do some more dusting and organizing in my office so my body and my brain have the room to breathe and be more efficient in the coming year.

Today, I gave myself the permission to dream and to feel the joy that makes this writing life so full. I still have those many tasks ahead of me, but I have given myself permission to save the harder, more challenging work for later in the week, knowing that I will feel more willing and able to tackle the world and handle the challenges life throws at me.

Onward!

Caitlin Rother, a Pulitzer-nominee who worked as a investigativer reporter for nearly 20 years, is the author or co-author of seven books: Poisoned Love, Deadly Devotion/Where Hope Begins, My Life, Deleted, Body Pa rts, T wisted Triangle, Naked Addiction, and her latest book, Dead Reckoning. Coming next is Lost Girls, about the murder of innocents Chelsea King and Amber Dubois by sexual predator John Gardner. For more information, please check out her website, http://caitlinrother.com.

The Gift of Story: Priceless

2011-12-19T19:59:00.000-08:00

By Georgeanne Irvine

The greatest gift I’ve received in a long, long time is a story my older sister, Ginger Barnard, wrote about me when I was a 4-year-old wild child. She rediscovered it last month while we were cleaning out nearly 50 years of memories from the house of our 93-year-old mother, who recently moved into an assisted living home.

Ginger was so excited when she found her story that she called me to read it over the phone and then retyped it to send to my siblings and me by email with the following note:

“The attachment is my retyping of a story I wrote for Honors English in December 1959. It was in a notebook of work from my class that I found at Mom’s house last weekend. I was going to chuck it until I started reading the essays and stories that I had written. Some pretty interesting stuff. This piece made me laugh out loud. It is/was all true.”

Her story made me laugh, too, and whisked me back to my childhood, when life was as simple as making mudcakes and riding tricycles. I am sharing her “Just Like Daddy” in hopes that it will inspire you to keep track of your own precious memories. They will be an extraordinary gift of love for your family and friends many years from now. And by the way, my sister is right—everything she wrote about me is true!

Just Like Daddy

This has been retyped from a paper written on December 4, 1959, by Virginia Irvine, aged 16, for Honors English at Crawford High School, San Diego, California. An “A” grade was earned. This version includes the corrections made by Miss Florence Eaton, Honors English teacher. Ginger Irvine Barnard (aka Virginia), November 7, 2011.

It was a peaceful Saturday morning on a San Diego, California, street. The warmth of the sun was removing the last dew from the grass. There was no activity on this particular street until one front door opened at approximately 8:00. A relatively clean-faced, Dutch-bobbed four-year-old appeared on the threshold. Every Saturday morning this same front door opened at the same time and the same child emerged.

At first glance a passing stranger might question the sex of the child because other than the haircut there was no distinguishing identification. The child was dressed in a Grand Canyon T-shirt, boys’ blue jeans, ragged navy blue tennis shoes, and one red sock and one white sock. To further add to the confusion of “its” gender, a voice from inside shrieked, “Georgie, come and eat your eggs!” To this the child replied rather belligerently, “Don’t like dirty, dumb eggs.” The second shout from the house confirmed Georgie’s identity. “Georgeanne, if you don’t come and eat your eggs—NO CARTOONS today!”

With this threat hanging over her head, Georgeanne “Bratenella” Irvine skipped down the front steps singing “Popeye the Sailor Man.” “Bratenella” was a name added by her two older sisters, who consider her quite a nuisance.

Georgeanne walked into the garage and picked up her wheelbarrow and shovel that were “just like Daddy’s” and marched out of the garage “just like Daddy.” The neighbors call her “Big George’s sidekick.” Often Georgeanne can be heard cackling over the fact that even her name was “just like Daddy’s.”

With a passion Georgeanne hates dresses, dolls, and ruffles. Like everything else she doesn’t like, dresses, dolls, and ruffles are “dumb and dirty.” When her mother suggested hanging pictures of ballet dancers in Georgeanne’s purposefully feminine bedroom, Georgeanne had a fit and insisted that horses and dinosaurs would be much better.

Animals are her big love. She sleeps with seven of them. Horsie is the leader of the gang and takes the blame for any or all of Georgie’s numerous misdeeds. There are three “rabbies” of assorted sizes and colors, a large green dinosaur, a penguin, and finally Elli Phant. Another old standby is Pinky-by, a ragged remnant of a blanket, left over from babyhood. Pinky and all of the animals are gifted with the power of speech, which only Georgie can hear.

For a four-year-old, Georgeanne has a long attention span. She will work an entire day helping her father put in the new lawn. Coloring books and TV occupy hours of her playtime. Cartoons and cowboys are TV favorites. She has the commercials of all the cartoon shows memorized. Captain “Roo,” Annie “Oakless,” and Huckleberry Hound are her “berry favert shows.”

The threat of no cartoons was in the back of her mind at approximately 8:05 that same Saturday morning because she had just broken all her previous records for getting dirty. Five changes of clothes in one day are not unusual for Georgeanne.

By 8:10 a.m. the neighbors on that once quiet street were no longer sleeping. Georgeanne had dropped her shovel in her wheelbarrow twice, hit the car once, fallen flat on her face, and demonstrated her famous foghorn cry.

The rest of the day was smooth sailing, if you do not take in consideration the usual spilled milk, slammed doors, and spankings. At bedtime the ruckus began all over again. The first faux pas she made was to steal one of her big sister’s high heels and a stocking and hide them in a closet. Immediately the big sister began running down the hall after the culprit and shouting at the top of her voice, “Stop! Give me my shoe. I’m going to be late. You little brat, where did you put my shoe?” and finally, “MOTHER, will you do something with this little monster! It’s way past her bedtime.”

The fatal mistake had been made. Her presence had been noticed and the time had been noticed. Before going to bed she always takes a bath. Bath time means fun time for Georgeanne because sometimes she is forgotten and then she can flood the bathroom.

After a long struggle the little monster is put to bed with all her animals. Her mother tried to explain to her about saying her prayers. After a careful explanation that God was her Heavenly Father and watched over and took care of her all the time, Georgeanne popped up with the sixty-four-dollar question. “Then why do I have to have baby-sitters?”

With that closing remark, Georgeanne “Bratenella” Irvine drifted into nitey-nite land. Tomorrow was Sunday and that meant the funny papers came in the morning and that meant she’d have to get up at six to get the paper first. Of course she can’t read but the funnies are a good excuse to get up early. After all, you’re only young once.

San Diego native Georgeanne Irvine has devoted more than three decades of her career to raising awareness about animals and wildlife conservation. By day, she is associate director of development communications for the San Diego Zoo, where she has worked for 33 years. George is also the author of more than 20 children’s books, plus numerous magazine, newspaper, and Web articles. George’s most recent work is the coffee table book, The Katrina Dolphins: One-Way Ticket to Paradise, which is a true story about 8 dolphins from an oceanarium that were washed out to sea during Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and dramatically rescued a few weeks later.

Things That Go "Bump" in the Day

2011-12-09T06:14:00.001-08:00

by Laurel Corona

One time when I was growing up, my sister and I, newly old enough to stay home alone for a few hours, were “terrorized” after dark by a neighbor on the front porch dropping off something he had borrowed from my dad. We stayed huddled in the bathroom for what seemed like an eternity until our parents got home, arming ourselves only with a flashlight we planned by some childish logic to defend ourselves with if the intruder broke down the door.

At least there really was a presence outside--unlike later, when I would cower in bed after watching a scary movie, convinced that whatever had menaced the characters was about to get me. Why is it that the typical and familiar “things that go ‘bump’ in the night” are transformed into something diabolical just by the act of storytelling? Try as one might to rationalize that watching a movie does not compromise one’s safety in the real world, that a monster or psychopath isn’t lurking out there ready to pounce on the hapless soul with the misfortune to have just watched something scary, it just never seems to keep the fears at bay.

There’s something equally irrational about writing under the kind of personal stress I have been facing since my partner, Jim, was diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer. I was finishing the first draft of a new novel as the news was unfolding, and it has caused me to look at my work with some of the same fears--fears that try as I may, I cannot dispel with logic, or a heroically wielded flashlight.

I don’t know whether to trust my writing anymore. We’re talking about words written before I even knew Jim was ill, so it’s not like I could have been shellshocked as I typed. I remind myself that the manuscript hasn’t changed just because other things have, but somehow I feel more vulnerable and confused, more doubting of my ability to judge.

What’s weird is that I can’t figure out what I am worried about. There’s nothing about my writing future that is at stake here. I don’t have a deadline looming. I don’t depend on the income (thank goodness!) With three published novels, I don’t have any goal I haven’t already achieved. I think my anxiety isn’t about my writing at all, really. It’s about the great unspeakable behind all this. The D word. The one with five letters that rhymes with breath.

There’s another “D” word relevant here too: Displacement. Maybe that’s what’s going on--I am acting out in one sphere what is freaking me out in another.

I tell myself that it is my choice whether to let the future ruin today. Just live. Appreciate. Be thankful. I’m hearing myself pretty well most of the time. It’s the bogeyman of uncertainty that’s got me. What’s certain is that the man I love, with whom I have had one of the best chapters of my life, cannot be cured. What’s certain is that, unless something unexpected takes him from me even sooner, the expected will take him soon enough. What’s uncertain is all the details. Will he be strong and enjoying his life a year from today? Two years? How long until he wonders whether it’s worth it to soldier on? How long until I will be alone?

Yes, I know nothing is ever certain, and some kinds of uncertainty are good and even productive. Sometimes what we don’t know truly doesn’t hurt us. This is not one of those times. At least I don’t think it is, unless the future is uglier than I think, and I’m not, repeat NOT, thinking that.

So I’m taking it out on my manuscript, wondering whether words--or events--will ever be the way I want them again. Writing is something I can control, though, at least a little, and even as I type this, I long to escape into it. Time to put down the flashlight and come out of the bathroom armed with nothing but a story. No need to utter a frightened “who’s there?” It’s only me. And I don’t like any of this. Not one bit.

Poisoned Love, Updated

2011-12-01T19:35:00.000-08:00

By Caitlin Rother

Paramedics found the body of Greg de Villers on the bedroom floor, surrounded by red rose petals, with a wedding photo of him and his wife, Kristin Rossum, propped up near his head. Rossum, a beautiful blonde and a talented toxicologist, told police her adoring husband was so depressed she was leaving him that he’d overdosed on some old pills she’d once used to come down after smoking crystal meth.

But authorities concluded that Rossum was to blame after they discovered those same drugs – as well as the powerful painkiller, fentanyl -- were missing from her lab at the San Diego County Medical Examiner’s Office. Rossum, they said, was scared her husband would expose her meth addiction and her affair with her married boss, so she used the tools of her trade to poison de Villers with a lethal cocktail of narcotics. The case was dubbed the “American Beauty murder” after the red rose by that name and, of course, Rossum’s favorite movie, “American Beauty.”

Years after Rossum was sentenced to life in prison without parole, she got a new appellate defense attorney, who, in turn, found a medical expert to cast doubt not only on the cause of death in this case, but to raise fascinating forensic questions about the role of fentanyl and her conviction as well. The recent traction her appeal got from the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals gave me the impetus to add twenty pages about these and other new developments to my book on the case, POISONED LOVE. The updated and revised edition officially goes on sale nationwide on Tuesday, December 6.

The new expert, Dr. Steven Richeimer, claimed that Rossum’s trial attorneys did not put on a good case back in 2002, and that the defense’s argument that de Villers ingested the fentanyl to commit suicide made no sense in light of the inherently conflicting medical evidence: de Villers’s body contained enormous amounts of fentanyl – a fast-acting narcotic that is 100 times stronger than morphine – and yet he took six to twelve hours to die. More importantly, the doctor contended, the prosecution’s argument that the drug was given to de Villers through multiple administrations over a period of time didn’t make sense either.

Richeimer’s new theory: contamination of the autopsy samples, accidentally or on purpose. In 2010, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals granted the defense’s request to retest those samples for fentanyl metabolites, to see if the drug got into de Villers’s system before or after death.

The appeal is still pending before the Ninth Circuit. Although the Attorney General’s Office won the latest round to stop Rossum from retesting those autopsy samples, Rossum and her attorney haven’t given up yet. Perhaps they have taken a cue from the case of Cynthia Sommer, who was ultimately acquitted after her husband’s autopsy specimens were retested and found to contain no arsenic after all.

Kristin Rossum had everything going for her: Beauty, brains, and the start of a brilliant career in toxicology. But in November 2000, Rossum, the daughter of two accomplished academics from Claremont, Calif., was torn between three relationships: one with her husband, one with her boss, and one with crystal meth, a very close old friend with whom she’d become recently reacquainted.

The 24-year-old toxicologist had kicked meth a few years earlier with the help of her husband, the son of a French plastic surgeon. After reluctantly agreeing to wed de Villers, she was already regretting her decision six months later. He was clingy. She felt suffocated. He wanted to start a family; she wanted to pursue her career.

Then Rossum found a way out. She fell in love with Michael Robertson, her hunky Australian boss, who was also in an unfulfilling marriage. The lovers snuck away for sex at lunch and wrote each other sappy cards and e-mails, fantasizing about having children and spending the rest of their lives together. “You are my destiny,” they told each other.

Torn over what to do, Rossum started using meth again. She told de Villers she was going to move out. They argued, and he threatened to report her affair and drug use to her superiors.

On the night of November 6, 2000, she called 911 to report finding her husband in bed – cold, pale and not breathing. The dispatcher told her to pull him onto the floor and start CPR. Rossum later police that when she pulled back the covers, she saw red rose petals all over his chest and their wedding photo tucked under his pillow. Despondent she was leaving him, he must have committed suicide, she said.

The police initially believed her story until the incriminating evidence began to mount. First, they learned of her affair. Then, after toxicology tests were done by an outside lab, which found that de Villers had several drugs in his system, the cause of death was ruled as acute fentanyl intoxication.

Rossum was charged with murder after fentanyl, meth and other drugs found in de Villers’ body were discovered missing from her lab. Prosecutors described Robertson as her “unindicted co-conspirator,” and despite a police investigation into his involvement, he still has not been charged. A jury found Rossum guilty of murder, with the special circumstances of using poison, in November 2002, and she was sent to prison for the rest of her life.

POISONED LOVE explores the psychological aspects of this complex case, revealing details about the investigation and major players that had never been disclosed to the public. The book also includes excerpts of e-mails, diary entries, letters and other court evidence that lend insights into Rossum’s character, illustrating how an obsession for passion, a fatal attraction to crystal meth, and easy access to dangerous narcotics can lead to murder. This cautionary tale shows how a powerful drug addiction, coupled with such a crime, can destroy not just one life but many others in the process.

I hope you can join me at one of the talks and signings I’ll be doing about this book and my first thriller, NAKED ADDICTION, which is also set in La Jolla. I’ll be at Barnes & Noble in Oceanside (Dec. 13), Warwick’s in La Jolla (Dec. 18), Bookstar across from UTC (Jan. 6), Bay Books in Coronado (Jan. 13), and the La Jolla Riford public library (Feb. 1). Please visit my website for updates and more details: http://caitlinrother.com/events.html.

Happy Black Friday

2011-11-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

by Margaret Dilloway

The other day, I told my 6-year-old daughter that she had a playdate the day after Thanksgiving.

“On Black Friday?” she asked.

Doh. How did she know about Black Friday? How can she not? Even if she couldn’t read, there are Black Friday commercials on all the time. Spend, save, spend.

I have mixed feelings about Black Friday.

My father worked in retail. Christmas season made us or broke us as a family. If people were willing to spend money on jewelry, our Christmas and a part of the year would be comfortable. If the retail season tanked, so did we. So one part of me, remembering this, hopes that people will spend money on gifts to support all the people in retail.

But another part of me thinks Christmas is a black hole of consumerism. After all, I am now a (admittedly kind of sporadic) church-attending Catholic. Christmas is supposed to be a time to reflect on the birth of Christ and all that this means. To spend time with beloved family and friends. Not to run out and buy essentially useless consumer goods.

What good does stuff do you in the end? In the past ten years, we have helped move three elderly relatives out of their homes. This involved having estate sales and garage sales and getting rid of every accoutrement they have accumulated throughout their lives. Boxes of collectibles, years unseen in garages, now had to be disposed of. While I went through innumerable vases and tea cups and assigned price tags, I thought about how much time it had taken to accumulate these possessions, and how, near the end of their lives’ journeys, these objects that seemed so precious were just dust-collectors. How all those hours of collecting and purchasing didn’t matter now.

In 2009, my husband lost his job, due to the trickle-down effect of a mini-Madoff criminal. The only job he could find was in Honolulu. But the move required that we get rid of almost everything. All the possessions that we had acquired through more than a decade (and three children) together. The very idea almost crippled the plan. I considered not moving to Hawaii because it required so much sacrifice, but I felt it would be stupid to not move just because I was overly attached to material possessions. Plus, as anyone in this position can tell you, a job is a job, and you go where you have to.

One of the toys we got rid of was a pink wooden Costco play kitchen set we had bought for our youngest daughter for Christmas one year. My husband had driven to Indio, out in the desert, to get the very last set they had in stock. At the time, it seemed important that she get the kitchen set for Christmas. She did enjoy playing with it. But eventually she ignored it. And then, when we moved to Hawaii, we had to get rid of that kitchen set, and I wondered why I had been so worried about buying it in the first place.

What I’m trying to say is, all Christmas season long, we spin on this hamster wheel of consumerism. Driving like madmen from one place to another, searching for the gift that will make our kids immeasurably happy, save the relationship, show our love. Spending money that is often theoretical, put on credit cards. Does the end justify the means?

I am beginning to think it does not.

Whether we have to move into assisted living, have to move across an ocean, or have a house burn down, all those things we slaved to get become all they are meant to be: inanimate objects without meaning. Junk that needs to be given away.

Not that having material things is useless.. When we moved to Hawaii (and then back, eighteen months later) not having the basics of creature comforts sucked, to put it inelegantly. Sleeping on the floor, eating off paper plates, spending every bit of extra money to buy the essentials while forgoing grocery items like milk, wasn’t a fun time.

But now that this is more than a year in the past, I remember that discomfort less than the fact that we went through a bad time together, bereft of material possessions, and came through it okay. I like to think that this experience taught the kids we don’t need to have a lot of stuff, a lot of things, to be happy and creative.

You know that movie, A Christmas Story? It’s one of my favorites. In the film, young Ralphie wants a Red Rider BB gun. But the movie’s not just about the big moment on Christmas morning. It’s about all the other stuff that happens around Christmas. Visiting crazy Santa. Fighting a bully. Getting a Christmas tree. The leg lamp. The dogs eating the turkey. Eating out at a Chinese place.

It’s not about the stuff, it’s about all the other events. The people, the funny stories. The experiences.

It only took me about 35 years to learn this. As a kid, I don’t remember much about my family’s Christmases, beyond what I got. We didn’t go to church, or out to look at lights, have friends over, go to parties or play games. It was all about the gifts and the decorations. So when those material things didn’t happen, Christmas lost its luster.

But when I remember the Christmas we spent in Hawaii, I can’t tell you what the kids got. It was modest. What we all remember is going to the uber-crowded Honolulu lights parade, eating Christmas Eve dinner sandwiches on the beach, driving up a big hill to look at newspaper-advertised lights that turned out to be pitiful.

My intent isn’t to tell people not to go shopping on Black Friday (like I could change anyone’s mind anyway). It’s to say this: if you don’t go shopping, if you don’t stand in line for eight hours to get your child a reduced-price scooter or your husband a big-screen TV, it won’t matter. Build the memories more than the objects, and you’ll never have a bad holiday, no matter how much the economy collapses.

Words of Thanks

2011-11-18T08:18:00.001-08:00

by Susan McBeth

Onthe first day of Thanksgiving week, I give thanks to William Shakespeare forteaching me the beauty, complexity, humor, and expanse of the English language. As a writer, I can think of no greater gift.

Onthe second day of Thanksgiving week, I give thanks to W.G. Sebald, a brilliantGerman writer who tragically died before his time in an automobile accident,whose works have spoken to me in a way that have helped me better understandthe complex nature of survivors in history and , thus, my own roots.

Onthe third day of Thanksgiving week, I give thanks to Anne Morrow Lindbergh, whoreminds this writer daily that “Ibegan these pages for myself, in order to think out my own particular patternof living, my own individual balance of life, work and human relationships.” A copy of Giftfrom the Sea is a permanent fixture on my nightstand and offers a constantreminder to keep my shell simple and open at all times.

Onthe fourth day of Thanksgiving week, I give thanks to Harper Lee, for teachingme that every life is a story, and those stories are dictated by ourchoices. She reminds me daily to thinkthru the consequences of making the right, and wrong choices, in life.

Onthe fifth day of Thanksgiving week, I give thanks to Ayn Rand for teaching methe capability of the human mind and what we can all accomplish when wechallenge our potential and utilize our own unique gifts

Onthe sixth day of Thanksgiving week, I give thanks to John Steinbeck forreminding me that we must never forget our humanity. I can think of no other writer to date whosepoignant words touched me so deeply that I carry an ingrained image of them inmy brain on a daily basis.

OnThanksgiving Day, I close out the week and give thanks to Yann Martel foroffering the gift of hope, and the reminder that we must all co-exist, despiteour struggles. I hope for theday when we can, in fact, give thanks that we indeed have achieveda peaceful co-existence.

I wish to close by giving special thanks to myfellow San Diego Writing Women, who, thru their support, encouragement, andunique talents, have all offered me gifts of their own, and I thankfully acceptand gratefully acknowledge their value in my life.

Priority

2011-11-11T07:05:00.000-08:00

By Marjorie Hart

Do you have a problem with priorities? Years ago, there was no such thing as we know it today—priority was an unknown word. No lists, no two-year calendar, no cell phone and no one to remind you, “Are you finished yet?”

Now, having a priority is essential before a cup of coffee though I wonder at its usefulness. If I start the day with music, I know I should be writing, If I’m writing, I should be practicing. Let’s add an emotional element—guilt. Do we need more guilt? I looked back at my childhood for a clue.

When I grew up there was music every day: morning, noon and night. Even in those bitter Iowa mornings which were so cold the frost covered the wallpaper, I’d dash to the kitchen and huddle next to the black iron range where my sister was practicing her violin. Each morning, it was hot cocoa with Czerny violin exercises. In the afternoon, mother’s piano pupils would line up and I’d hear so many versions of Bach’s Well Tempered Clavichord, I could hum them in my sleep. At night, mother lulled us asleep playing the plaintive C Major Brahms Intermezzo. Its haunting melody and the memory can still bring me to tears.

My father had other interests—he loved books and poetry and could dramatically recite The Raven to visiting company, or show me the exotic countries in the National Geographic. My first encounter with Tiffany was their glittering ad on the first page. When we walked in the woods, he kept Audubon’s book of birds in his coat pocket to spot a new wood thrush. But my favorite was the mosquito-net tent he brought from Hawaii during WWI. He pitched it in the back yard, between a lilac bush and the purple-martin bird house. When I crawled in, it became a gauzy-white palace where I could see out, but no one could see in. There I would read or write by the hour, oblivious to the call for dinner.

Did my parents have priorities? They got up each day and did what they had to do as an integral part of their lives, without a list, a calendar, a car, or a complaint.

But I’m still looking for my priority. Shall I practice for a concert or finish my writing?

The Earth Is Round

2011-11-04T09:03:00.000-07:00

The Earth Is Round

Zohreh Ghahremani

We hear “It’s a small world” all the time, but I prefer my old Persian expression that says, “The Earth is round, we never know when we’ll meet again!” Maybe what I enjoy is its optimism, or the indication to an active world rather than one that’s shrinking in size. I recently came to experience this dynamic wave and realized how truly connected people are.

Years ago, I read Digging to America by Ann Tyler and wrote a review on it for The Iranian. Months later, I received a sweet letter from two ladies in New Jersey. Prior to conducting a book club session regarding the above book, they had decided that since parts of the novel involved Iranian characters and culture, they should look up a review by an Iranian writer and, as luck would have it, found my article. Their flattering remarks complimented me on my review and in the end they expressed interest to read more of my work and to be notified about my upcoming novel. We exchanged pleasantries and I promised to be in touch.

Four years went by and I became so absorbed in my work that I lost track. Two weeks into the launch of my novel, I received another e-mail from one of those ladies. I was deeply touched to learn that she had followed my articles and now wanted me to provide copies of my new novel for a NY bookstore, where she now worked. A year has gone by and I still can’t put a face to her name, but in my mind, she has earned an angelic image.

To date, The Blue Door Books in Cedarhurst NY has single handedly sold more copies of my Sky of Red Poppies than any other vendor - excluding Amazon, not to mention arranging several book club discussions by phone. I wouldn’t be surprised if by now the people in Cedarhurst know me better than San Diegans do! This is no longer just business because such connections convince me that I’m on the right path and generate the energy I need to go on.

So, if you happen to pass through Cedarhurst NY, stop by The Blue Door Books and visit the people who don’t just provide books, but deeply care about their clients. Good recommendations are why we all became readers and receiving such care is what makes independent bookstores irreplaceable.

On the road with Annie Nakamura

2011-10-30T14:07:00.000-07:00

On the road with Annie Nakamura
Part I of a series

“Can I ask you to do me a big favor,” Annie queried. It was a simple opening question. “Anything for you, Annie,” was my response. What followed was anything but an ordinary favor. Annie’s request: “To be taken on one more road trip” following her death. Annie had made the request years earlier when my husband, Don and I, were visiting her in Hilo, Hawaii. We, of course, consented on the spot. But when the second request came in January 2010, Annie was in the hospital and not expected to live beyond the week. Having been resuscitated, Annie was weak but in her usual remarkable good spirits.

Annie not only survived the week, but was also released. Upon her return home, she began the task of “sorting out” her life so that her family would be spared the responsibility for doing so following her death. And sort, Annie did. In typically Annie fashion, she went through all of the correspondence she had saved in the course of her life; plowed through her wardrobe to donate clothes; went through every nook and cranny to do a “clean sweep”; made funeral arrangements; and put everything in order. She wrote a postcard recalling many of places I had sent her postcards from, with the entreaty to “keep those postcards coming” so that she could be on a road trip vicariously.

Annie and I met when her first cousin, Yvonne, married my brother, Fred in 1982. Both of us were in the wedding party, and that began a life-long friendship based upon food, chocolate, travel, postcards, food, chocolate, fun, food, and chocolate. She and her best friend, Ann (aka Kawa), took “road trips,” and they began the tradition of sending postcards from the various places they visited. I joined the “postcard club.”

Annie and Ann roomed together in San Francisco, and whenever we visited, we would stay with the “Annies” and eat, eat, eat. Being “chocoholics,” we would always include some sort of chocolate venture during our eating fests; there were nightly dessert runs as well. Kawa was a wiz on public transportation, and our quest for food involved trips on trolleys, subways, buses, and lots of walking. Fun, food, and chocolate were plentiful.

From January to July 2010, whenever I called Annie, she was always upbeat and would reconfirm that Don and I were still on-board for the final road trip. She even managed to send a few postcards from her “cache” of left-over postcards from previous trips. I reassured her that we were not only willing to do the road trip but were also honored that she would make the request of us.

Kawa called us with the sad news that Annie died in July 2010, just weeks prior to her 60th birthday. Per her arrangements, she was cremated, and her remains stored in a “biodegradable urn” (so Annie!) At what was a moving final memorial services, the church Annie had attended and had been so active was packed with members saying their farewells. Kawa was in attendance.

Two weeks after Annie’s death, a priority mail package in Annie’s handwriting arrived at our door. Don and I were stunned to see the familiar handwriting but even more so to find a letter accompanying two Koa wooden boxes—one Don had made for Annie years following our visit; one was purchased by Annie to store her “Las Vegas” cash. Annie wanted to return the Koa jewelry box because it had meant so much to her, and she wanted to return it because, she “could not take it with her” and she wanted it to bring us “as much pleasure” as it had her. We still cannot read the letter without crying.

As we planned the trip, Kawa, Don, and I were taking and making some decisions as to the places we would scatter her ashes, Kawa sent us a letter that left us all stunned. Annie had taken a life insurance policy to “pay for the road trip.” True to end, Annie did not wish to be a burden on any of us; consequently, the insurance policy was to pay for expenses. She did not want us to have the “$1.99” as-you-go Nakamura tours she was known to have but, instead, to have one where we would stay at nice hotels and eat great meals in her honor. Annie loved eating so much so, that one of our favorite “Annie-ism” is “If I couldn’t eat, I would DIE!” We still laugh at that saying that rivals Yogi Berry.

The ashes were left with the family for a year; on the anniversary of her death, Kawa contacted me about planning the road trip. The plan was that Ann would come out in October for a 12-day journey. Joining us would be Janet, from Honolulu, who worked with Annie years ago and who had experienced a “Annie road trip” in the past. Yet another surprise was to come. While Annie’s brother was going through more papers, he came across a letter to Kawa about where Annie wished her ashes to be placed. Kawa, Don, and I had intended to scatter her in numerous places where Annie had visited and in a few places that Annie had told Kawa where she wanted to be buried and/or scattered. This letter was one that stated that she wanted to be buried on Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic National Forest, Washington OR in the Anza Borrego Desert (as a back-up). Once again, in death as in life, Annie did not want to inconvenience anyone. Since Don and I live in San Diego, the Anza Borrego location would have been easier if we were on any time constraint. Annie, Annie, Annie! Is there anything she did not think of?

Annie arrived priority mail on Monday, October 4, 2011. Nestled in the middle of the box was a beautiful red gourd wrapped in a brightly patterned cloth bag. Her “biodegradable” urn was the red colored gourd. Once again, Annie thought of everything.

On Thursday, October 7th, Ann arrived from Baltimore; Janet joined the group on Friday, October 8th; with Don at the helm, all took off bright and early on Saturday, October 9th in our rented Nissan Altima. After a round of picture-taking to document the journey, Annie was nestled comfortably in the console cupholders. The journey began.

-To be continued-
Judith Liu
October 30, 2011

Taking the Plunge: Self-Publishing

2011-10-23T07:43:00.000-07:00

By Kathleen B. Jones

Last week's story in the New York Times about Amazon's decision to enter the arena of publishing with a number of books in several genres sent the publishing field into a state of heightened anxiety. As for me, it had the opposite effect. I've been hovering on the edge of a decision to self-publish my latest book, and every time I thought about it I began to tremble. But when I read author Laurel Saville's story in the NYT article, my anxiety abated and I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders.

Like me, Laurel was an experienced writer with a memoir she'd been shopping around to agents and publishers with little luck. As the New York Times reported, with New York publishers as the gatekeepers, she'd been "locked out of the game." Not that they thought her book was unworthy. Quite the contrary. "I got lots of praise," she was quoted as saying, "but no takers." I've had exactly the same experience with this latest book, Diving for Pearls: A Thinking Journey with Hannah Arendt, also a memoir.

My book cuts across genres, blending scholarly commentary with personal narrative. It tells the story of how studying one woman's ideas (Hannah Arendt's) about what makes ordinary people behave badly unexpectedly launched me on a "thinking journey" past islands of uncertainty about decisions in my own life toward the shores of responsibility and forgiveness. I try to bring complicated concepts in political theory down to earth and make these ideas meaningful for thinking about difficult decisions we make every day in our lives.

I've sent the book around to loads of agents and gotten lots of praise for the concept and the writing. But no takers. What to do? I decided to write to Laurel Saville for advice.

She'd been lucky. She'd published her book with iUniverse and then spent a little money to be listed among self-published authors on Publisher's Weekly, a major source of information for authors and all those connected to the publishing industry. Then someone wrote a review of her book and it caught the attention of Amazon. The rest, as they say, is history. I didn't expect to have the same experience as she, but I wanted to hear more about her experience and see what she recommended. So I told her a little about my book and my experience. "I'm standing on the edge of the self-publishing pool," I wrote in an email, "about to plunge."

"Do it," she wrote back almost immediately. "Now there are many more avenues than when I came out with my book. There's CreateSpace and other modes that give you lots of distribution options. Just make sure you watch the whole process of production like a hawk. And hire a publicist. I found one who gave me great coverage for not a lot of money."

I thanked her for providing further support for my decision and started researching self-publishing options, along with publicists, including Laurel's own recommendation, Ann-Marie Nieves, who operates GetRed PR in New York.

So far, I'm leaning toward CreateSpace for production. And since I was heading to New York for a conference, I made an appointment with Ann-Marie Nieves of GetRed to begin to think forward toward marketing and publicizing my book.

I've mapped out a calendar for the upcoming months: finish final edits on the manuscript by January, find a cover designer--I have loads of graphic design contacts--upload my manuscript, and start the media and networking (including social media) blitz to get the word out about my new book.

Looks like I didn't have to wait for New Year's this year to be resolved!

The Topic Writers Love to Hate: The Latest Trends in Book Marketing

2011-10-17T14:26:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I spoke on the Writing Panel at the 21^st Century Book Marketing conference in San Diego.

The three day marathon hosted publishers, book marketing experts, and media mavens offering their best advice on how the 350 audience members—some new authors, some seasoned—could sell more books, raise their profiles as authors, and expand their speaking engagements and workshop opportunities.

Mind you, most writers, including moi, partially recoil from the subject of marketing. Writers want to write, not sell. That is, until their first book comes out. Then, authors realize that no one outside of their family and friends will know about their book unless they get out and promote it. (Publishers usually promote a book for the first three months after publication –maximum.)

Although this year marked my first time actually speaking at the conference, I have attended the event for three years in a row. With publishing changing wildly and the advent of social media, I have to say that each year I learn something.

Here are some of this year’s highlights:

*Your personal story can work magic in your marketing.

Whether you are writing about DNA or a murder mystery, your personal story around writing the book, getting interested in the topic, researching the book, what events in your past gave you insight into the topic, or even just how you gained the confidence to write the book, will help sell the book.

Readers want an emotional connection not only in the book itself but in your marketing around it. YOU are often your best emotional hook.

This may sound obvious but a lot of writers hide behind their words. Step forward. Describe how you started with the book (the incident that sparked your desire to write, the problem you wanted to solve, etc.), the obstacles you faced to get to a solution, and then, the outcome. It’s all about basic storytelling structure. It works in books and it works in marketing your books.

*Video blogs are increasingly important.

This is NOT music to most writers’ ears. Somehow we all think, at least secretly, that our words should stand on their own. But if your best marketing hook is you, then the best way for people to get to know more about you is through video. There, they can pick up verbal and visual information around your personality and why you care so deeply about your book’s subject.

Video blogs should be short. No more than three minutes, preferably shorter. Name them according to key words on which users are likely to search. Post them on YouTube as well as on your site.

*Associate Yourself and Your Book(s) with Non-Profits or Corporations.

This, of course, is a huge topic, with many facets, but also many opportunities. Brendan Burchard, #1 New York Times and #1 USA Today bestselling author of The Millionaire Messenger spoke about this. Obviously, some books and some authors are more adaptable to sponsorships than others. But it is worth a brainstorming session with yourself: How can you work with an organization or a non-profit that connects with the topic(s) of your books or your areas of expertise? Your association with an organization immediately taps you into a platform and database of people far bigger than you might ever create on your own.

The conference offered much more advice, including a live Skype interview with the producer at the new Anderson Cooper daytime television show which is booking a lot of authors.

I will report more next time.

DIVINA INFUSINO is the author of Day Trips From Orange County, an often personalized account of Southern California’s iconic and idiosyncratic locales, natural and cultural sites, hotels, day spas, shopping areas and restaurants. She is also a co-author of The Love Response and Rock Gods. She has developed and consulted on numerous books over the past eight years, including those by bestselling self-help author Debbie Ford and wellness author Dr. Ellen Cutler. Divina has worked as a staff entertainment writer for The Milwaukee Journal and The San Diego Union, was a cultural commentator for KPBS Radio, and has also been published in Rolling Stone, The Economist, TV Guide, Entertainment Weekly, The Los Angeles Times, Reuters,The New York Times Syndicate, Harper’s Bazaar, Salon.com, and HuffingtonPost.com. Among her celebrity interview subjects are Madonna, Julia Roberts, Bono, Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Deepak Chopra, Robert Redford, Tom Hanks, Kate Bosworth, Stephen Covey, Norman Mailer, Bishop Desmond Tutu, and Keith Richards. She earned her bachelor’s in English and Communications from Marquette University and a master’s in mass media analysis from the University of Wisconsin.

Snugglepot and Cuddlepie: Headliners of the Roaring 20s

2011-10-07T06:28:00.000-07:00

By Georgeanne Irvine

Research, research, and more research is fun, fun, and more fun for me whenever I’m writing an article or a book! Over the past month I’ve had an absolute blast researching the saga of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie—the San Diego Zoo’s first-ever koalas—who arrived from Australia in 1925. I'm including their tale in a colorful, high-end brochure that will help the Zoo raise money for a splendid new koala exhibit.

Snugglepot and Cuddlepie also have the distinction of being the first koalas to live in a zoo outside Australia, which was big news back in the 1920s. I was thrilled to discover that our Zoo library has newspaper clipping books dating back to 1916 when the Zoo was founded, and that they contain a wealth of stories about the expedition that brought these precious marsupial superstars to San Diego.

The adventure itself was filled with drama and intrigue. I can only imagine what it must have been like for Zoo director Tom Faulconer to travel across the Pacific Ocean by steamship in December 1924 with 200 North and Central American animals onboard. He was the sole Zoo employee on the trip, responsible for everything from travel logistics to feeding the animals and cleaning their crates! In January 1925, he returned to San Diego with 200 unusual Aussie critters in tow. All aspects of the tale mesmerized me: major storms, seasick animals, an alligator escapee on deck with the passengers, a king cobra in Faulconer’s stateroom, the koalas nearly missing the ship to the U.S., and many more escapades.

I was also fascinated by the writing style featured in the old newspaper clippings. The choice of words and phrases enchanted and sometimes amused me. By today’s standards some words have taken on different meanings, others might be considered old-fashioned, and a few would be deemed inappropriate. Below are some of my favorite headlines and passages, which include the original grammar and punctuation. Enjoy your journey back in literary time!

A KOALA IS…

Dec. 21, 1924 (The San Diego Union)

A droll little fellow, abnormal in many ways, he is the original Teddy Bear. His little, podgy, tailless body, short thickset head and round, tufted ears lead some countenance perhaps to the ursine analogy, but there the likeness ends. When irritated or disturbed they utter a cry described as a hoarse groan. Young Koalas make delightful household pets. They are naturally docile and quickly become attached to their owners, following them about the premises.

Feb. 6, 1925 (Philadelphia Inquirer, photo caption)

“Teddy Bear” Models: Two little Koala bears from Australia, which have been brought all the way from the Antipodes to the San Diego, Calif. Zoo, where they are the friendliest of all the inmates.

Sept. 29, 1925 (The San Diego Union)

He can climb anything, and when attacked, if unable to save himself by climbing he will lie on his back and swing his mean claws. But the koala is very affectionate and is fond of petting parties, never offering to attack a human being.

August 1943 (ZOONOOZ article about the 1925 expedition)

The little grey chap weighs only four or five pounds as a rule, and most of that is wool. He has a shoe-button black nose and glassy eyes that look like big marbles. Being nocturnal by nature, his daylight hours are spent in such moveless quiet that one might easily mistake him for a doll, and no child or woman can resist the temptation to cuddle him.

KOALAS IN THE NEWS

Dec. 21, 1924 (The San Diego Union)

Zoo To Have Koala Bears: Interesting Description of These Little Known Animals

Since the word got around the Director Tom Faulconer of the zoo had gone to Australia to bring back Koala bears among other specimans, and that the zoo was going to undertake the propagation of them, the telephone at the Zoological garden office has been ringing constantly. A surprisingly large number of people are interested in various ways regarding the proposed undertaking, and the situation has at times taken a humorous turn. This was especially true when a prudish little old soul, fearful of the savagery of the beast, insisted that the zoo abandon the idea before lives were lost.

Jan. 24, 1925 (Honolulu Star-Bulletin)

Steamer Carries Cargo of Queer Animal Life

…”Bill” King, a passenger specialist for the local offices of the Oceanic line, had an unexplained leeriness in his eye as he climbed up her Jacob’s ladder yesterday morning. He had had advance information about the queer passengers aboard her, but had taken no one into his confidence. He looked gingerly up and down the companion-ways before entering. He shied from coils of rope. When one considers that there was a 30-foot hamadryad cobra aboard and ten smaller ones of the same tribe, recently brought from India to Australia as particular pets for Faulconer, it is not to be wondered at.

Jan. 27, 1925 (San Diego Sun)

Weird Animals Due for San Diego Zoo: Tom Faulconer Returns From Australia With Queer Collection of Birds and Animals

With enough kangaroos to hold “kangaroo court” every day in the month and enough weird birds and snakes to furnish scenery for a Dantesque picture of Delirium Tremens, Tom Faulconer, director of San Diego’s famous zoo, is on his way from San Francisco to make the Balboa park institution rank second among the zoological gardens in the United States.

On his arrival in Australia, he made the old stories of horse traders pale into insignificance. Swapping a rattlesnake for a wombat, a wildcat for an egg-laying echidna, and so on down the line, would unfold a tale of barter that might have been entitled “What Made the Wildcat Wild.”

As a result, the San Diego zoo will be enriched by some 28 kangaroos, to say nothing of an assortment of bandicoots, dingoes, phalangers, wallabies and whatnot. What may all these things be? Search us!

Jan. 28 1925 (San Diego Sun)

Weird Guests of Local Zoo Arrive Today

If you heard loud, weird noises emanating from the foot of Broadway about 1 o’clock today, don’t be alarmed. It was neither some new murder being perpetrated, nor was it a band of Cocopah Indians on the war path—it was merely 100 birds, together with a miscellaneous assortment of animals and reptiles completing their long journey from Australia.

Jan. 28, 1925 (San Diego newspaper—clipping didn’t include publication name)

Zoo Folk Sick for Haunts in Australia

Waves of homesickness are passing over the San Diego zoo in Balboa park today where the new visitors brought here yesterday by T.N. Faulconer, director, from Australia, are striving to become acquainted with their new surroundings. On the other hand, many of San Diego’s wild animals are somewhere in Australia longing for their Cuyamaca mountain trails and their comfortable homes in Mission Valley.

San Diego native Georgeanne Irvine has devoted more than three decades of her career to raising awareness about animals and wildlife conservation. By day, she is associate director of development communications for the San Diego Zoo, where she has worked for 33 years. George is also the author of more than 20 children’s books plus numerous magazine, newspaper, and Web articles. George’s most recent work is the coffee table book, The Katrina Dolphins: One-Way Ticket to Paradise, which is a true story about 8 dolphins from an oceanarium that were washed out to sea during Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and dramatically rescued a few weeks later.

Write Your Own Obituary!

2011-09-30T16:46:00.000-07:00

by Kathi Diamant

Are you sensing a theme here? Several months ago I posted a blog, “How Not to Write an Obituary,” based on my experiences in writing my father’s obituary last November. Since then, I’ve written two more, one for my mother in March, and the latest, in August, for a dear friend, Glynn Bedington, who was, among other things, a wife and mother and a professional actor, director, producer…and writer. She died at age 61, of cancer. A few days after her death, I called Glynn’s husband, Paul, and asked him if he was getting any help in writing Glynn’s obit. Shyly, Paul responded that he had hoped I would write it. “After all,” he said,” after Glynn, you are the writer.”

I spent the next several days immersed in Glynn’s life, pouring over her family photographs, her 38-page Curriculum Vitae, her awards, letters and memorabilia that now represented for her six decades on earth. From a multitude of accomplishments and achievements, through conversations with her teenage daughters and husband, it was left to me to determine what was most important and meaningful, and I realized, again, that I was unequal to the task. The only person who could tell her story with ultimate clarity and truth was no longer with us.

As a biographer, I’ve encountered this problem before. A person’s life lays before you, in documents, files, and a mass of papers that provide the known facts. But the meaning of those facts is truly known only to the person who lived them.

Glynn was a good writer and author, with two published books and several professional articles, but not a single page, as far as I could tell, about her own life, in her own words.

When we think about our own death, which probably isn’t often for most of us, I imagine we all want to be remembered. In writing. We assume someone will write an obituary for us. But who? Will they know you, like you do? Does anyone? Of course not.

There's something else to think about. The exorbitant cost of placing an obit in a major daily newspaper has led to a new phenomenon: the lengthy online obituary. Once only the famous rated a 1,000 word piece (most newspaper obits run between 60-300 words) but now you, too, can have a mini-biography published, online. With so much more than the “who, what, where and when” possible, it’s more important than ever to think about this now, rather than when it too late. And we never know when that day will come.

My solution is that everyone writes their own obituary. No one else will do it like you can, especially if you are a writer. After all, this is your story. Who’s better than you?

Do it now. Open a notebook. Start with your name as you would like it to appear. Add in your parents’ names, and where you lived. Mention the important people and places, the accomplishments in each period of your life that meant the most to you, that molded and made you the person you have became. Have fun with it. Remember: you are alive, and your story isn’t over. Just write as much as you have lived so far. If you want to write an ending, imagine the most ideal circumstance. For example: “She died painlessly and at peace, surrounded by loving friends and family, after finally seeing the green flash at sunset on her 108th birthday” or whatever your best case scenario is.

Add to your notebook over the years, noting the lessons learned and the love engendered. And then, when your time comes, you can die at peace in the knowledge that your obituary will serve those who come after you, to know and appreciate the person you truly are.

Kathi Diamant is the award-winning author of “Kafka’s Last Love: The Mystery of Dora Diamant” (“Best of the Best Geisel Award, San Diego Book Awards) published by Basic Books in 2003. “Kafka’s Last Love” has been critically reviewed in more than 60 publications, and translated into French, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, and will soon appear in Germany and Brazil. As director of the Kafka Project at SDSU since 1998, she has led the international search for a lost literary treasure, and this summer will be leading a “Magical Mystery Literary History Tour" to Prague, Krakow and Berlin. For more information, visit www.kafkaproject.com

Unpacking

2011-09-27T08:03:00.000-07:00

by Laurel Corona

Since it is still my week to be the featured blogger, I am putting up a second post that is also on my website, about the cancellation of my appearance as the enrichment lecturer on the Silver Cloud.

My suitcase is inside the front door, my passport still sitting on top of it, just where I left it when I took my partner and sweetest love Jim to the emergency room just hours before we were due to leave for Lisbon.

I know I need to unpack, but there’s something about that hulking form containing the cocktail dresses I won’t be wearing, the bathing suit I won’t need--something as yet unresolved in my mind that demands that it stay there while I figure out what it all means.

As I sat in the hospital yesterday, I followed in my mind the itinerary that would get us to Lisbon. Right now we’d be flying over New Mexico, I thought. Right now we’d be waiting in Newark for our connection. Right now we’d be hearing our plane was starting its descent into Lisbon. And then the imaginings went dark.

Today as I sat by Jim’s bed in the hospital my only thoughts of the outside world were of my classes. Right now the sub was walking in, calling roll, and telling the students I wasn’t going to be gone after all, except this one day. I pictured each room, each set of faces and the range of reactions. It was far more real to me than a ship I had never been on, the smells, the sights, the sensations of a place I had never been.

I haven’t tried to figure out what time it is in Portugal. I haven’t looked once to see where the ship is, or whether at this moment I would be giving one of my lectures, or sitting by the pool, or visiting a foreign port. It isn’t real. It wasn’t meant to be.

My life here with Jim is real. My life as a professor is real. What could compare?

Talking with my sister last night, I told her I was mentally putting on my Buddhist robes and trying to process this whole disappointment--oh yes, it is certainly that!--in terms of suffering caused by desire. What were my desires for this trip, and what do I feel I have lost?

What I wanted, deep down, was more quality time with Jim. We’re both workaholics, me with my second full time job as a novelist, and he as a research scientist with a burning desire to understand how just one little piece of this marvelous bio-physico-chemical process called life actually works. What did I get? More quality time with Jim, just not of the sort I pictured. Today I kissed his forehead and smoothed his hair and told him I loved him. He told me the same, held my hand, and smiled.

“Be careful what you ask for,” my sister said. “Remember the old adage about getting it.”

The other thing I wanted is more frivolous but still real to me. I had really been looking forward to the opportunity to dress to the nines every night, and now I must plunge into a suitcase and confront the gorgeous clothes I have no use for. I had been joking with Jim about how he simply doesn’t know what a girly girl I can be, because that’s just not the way we live. The dresses go into the back of the closet now--for months I’d kept them in front where I could see them as my excitement grew. Now don’t want the reminder.

Western thinking might suggest that I plumb my psyche to root out every last emotion and expose it to the light of day, but I don’t need or want to. I have conquered most of the suffering by understanding what I desired from this trip and why, or at the very least knowing that I can understand it if I dig a little more, and that such knowledge will set me free, if that is what I desire.

I’m still learning, still changing, and so grateful for the little flashes of clarity life gives us from time to time if we are willing to step away from our grievances and disappointments and just take in a deep breath of good, fresh air.

Will Jim and I step aboard a cruise ship in the future? Maybe. Maybe not. Will the sea air smell sharper and the waves dance more brightly if we do? Undoubtedly.

2011-09-23T06:49:00.000-07:00

Hurry Up and Wait

Laurel Corona

Special Announcement: Laurel had been hoping to travel as the enrichment lecturer on Silversea Cruise Line’s “Silver Cloud,” from September 25 through October 14, traveling from Lisbon to Athens, but her trip has been delayed. Follow her daily blog at www.adventureswithdrcorona.blogspot.com.

Balancing writing with a full time job as a professor at San Diego City College can be a daunting task. I also have a life independent of both those things, which includes tennis and other forms of exercise, time with my wonderful partner, and many miscellaneous things that give me joy.

It’s no wonder then that something very often has to give. These days it has been my writing. I got within seventy-five pages of finishing novel number five, THE INTUITIVE, sometime in early August, and I have gone no further.

My semester at San Diego City College started a month ago, giving me five new classes and more than a hundred and fifty students to get to know by sight and name if nothing more (I’m getting close to recognizing them all!) This week I have dealt with the onslaught of first papers and exams. Of course teaching has to come first. It is my livelihood, above all, but I am one of the truly fortunate souls who can say loud and clear that I LOVE MY JOB!

As an author, though, being too busy to write is a problem. I think most, if not all, authors would agree that we need the continuity provided by regular time to write. A book is like a carnival ride or a speeding train--it is best to hang on and keep going, and very hard to jump back on.

But no one, not even a full time writer, has the luxury of writing without distractions and outside demands. Read Caitlin Rother’s blog from last week if you want to get an idea how crazy it can get.

I accept and live with the fact that there are going to be times that a month or two may pass without any progress on something I care very much about. What is harder to deal with is the reluctance that sets in when I begin to have a little time again. The book starts to scare me. I’m reluctant to go back because writing is an emotionally wrenching and physically exhausting form of work, and in some ways it’s been a relief not to be able to do it for a while.

But those feelings pass, and I always discover that I love being home again inside my manuscript. “Hello,” I say to my heroine and all the characters around her whom I have come to enjoy, appreciate, and love. “I’ve missed you.”

I can almost hear them saying that they’ve missed me too. After all, they need me to unlock the door so they can come out and meet the rest of you when the book is published.

So here’s some advice for writers and would-be writers with busy lives:

Take another look at manuscripts you have let gather dust. They may not be abandoned, just on hiatus. Maybe you’ll decide they’re worth no more than a good laugh, and maybe you’ll find you are ready to re-engage now that you’ve gotten some distance and are (you can always hope!) a bit wiser as well.

If you can’t go into a project for long spells of uninterrupted time, it may be more productive to stick to editing of things you’ve already drafted. First drafts take a special intensity of focus and can’t really be done in a spare hour. Editing, however, can benefit from not staying with it too long, because it you aren’t fresh you’ll probably have to repeat the effort. Heavy editing (i.e. substantial rewriting) is more akin to drafting than to lighter editing, but nevertheless, I’ve found that once a scene is written, even if I have only an hour I can get some very circumscribed heavy editing done.

And advice for every stage of the writing process and every writer out there: don’t beat yourself up about anything, ever. You are putting good into the world with every keystroke, and your work is a blessing.

Books on the Runway

2011-09-17T12:16:00.000-07:00

By Caitlin Rother

One of the most interesting – and challenging – aspects of being a full-time author is that I never get bored because I never have a shortage of things to do. I am a slave to the book of lists I take everywhere I go, trying not to forget anything that I have to do, and I enjoy checking off each task when I’m done. Often, though, I find myself doing things that are important but not on the list, just to get in a little me time, even though it’s essentially all me time. I’m the boss I rebel against and I’m also the worker who never seems to get everything done.

This year, I am in the fortuitous – and sometimes daunting – position of having four books coming out, with two more next year. That means there is much staging and coordinating to be arranged, in essence, to line them up on the runway like planes waiting to take off, as I help get them through production and hopefully into readers’ hands, whether it’s off the bookstore shelf or on Kindle and Nook. I must do this while researching and writing my current project, responding to co-author queries and attending trials for my next true crime book.

Five years ago when I was a newspaper reporter, I could go home within an hour (or hours) of sending a story to my editor. But with books, even if my editor doesn’t ask for revisions, I must read the entire manuscript at least two more times as it goes through production and legal review, looking for typos and ensuring that corrections were made properly.

Meanwhile, a job of infinite scope lurks in the shadows: promotions, which means I must line up as many web tours, reviews, news stories, speaking engagements, book signings, media interviews and other events as possible to get the word out. I may work with a publicist(s) I hire to help carry out my overall action plan (which includes coordinating this blog and organizing SDWW activities). I also coordinate efforts with the publisher’s publicist (if I’m lucky to get one, which is happening more these days now that I have eight books under my belt). I also send the manuscript to other authors seeking their endorsements, known as “blurbs,” to run on the front and back covers, in news releases and on my website.

Because the publishing-media world is a constantly shrinking and/or moving landscape, I’m faced with the inverse, which is the constantly mounting challenge of finding new ways to promote my books. If only books sold themselves (wouldn’t that be nice?). Promoting my books is an unpaid job that takes an enormous amount of time and planning, but if I don’t do it the books won’t sell, and then I will have no more book contracts. So, I must do it and do it well. Thankfully, some of it is fun, when after many months of toiling alone in my home office, I get to go out into the public and answer questions from those who have either read or want to read my new book(s). That kind of interaction and immediate feedback is something I often miss from my newspapers days when even a nastygram was an acknowledgment that someone read the story. The worst thing imaginable is for an author to work for months – or years – on a book only to have no one notice it exists. It’s heartbreaking, but it happens all the time.

Back to this year’s runway itinerary. The two books I wrote on my own are DEAD RECKONING, which came out in February, and POISONED LOVE, the story of the Kristin Rossum murder case, which comes out in December, an updated edition in the book’s eighth printing. This book, which gives you a detailed account of how Rossum murdered her husband, Greg de Villers, also includes 16 pages of new developments in the case since the San Diego County toxicologist was convicted of poisoning de Villers with a powerful narcotic she stole from the Medical Examiner’s Office, then staging a suicide scene by sprinkling red rose petals over his body. I’m very excited about this revised edition because I can’t tell you how many emails I’ve gotten from readers wanting updates on the case, especially since her appeal got some traction last year.

I co-authored the other two books out this year – DEADLY DEVOTION (originally published as WHERE HOPE BEGINS) and MY LIFE, DELETED, but my co-authors and our publishers are handling their promotion. Nonetheless, I am following their progress closely, hopeful that they will sell off the charts. I don’t write in a vacuum, I want people to read my books, and I hope readers will be moved and educated by the stories to which I have dedicated months or years of my life.

Then in January 2012, NAKED ADDICTION, a thriller about sex, drugs, and murder comes out as a trade paperback (and on Kindle). In my first novel, surfing detective Ken Goode explores the underbelly of the affluent community of La Jolla and its neighbor, Pacific Beach, where Goode clashes with twenty-something patrons of a seedy bar who have possible ties to an escort service, drug ring and upscale beauty school for entrepreneurs. The primary characters use substances or other people to try to fill the empty spaces within themselves, with addictions ranging from sex, alcohol, cocaine and cigarettes to Goode’s own, caffeine and damaged women. The untimely disappearance of his sister proves a worrisome distraction as he becomes obsessed with the first victim and is strangely drawn to a pretty, but troubled witness.

Finally, in July 2012, LOST GIRLS, the story of John Gardner’s rape and murder of San Diego County teenagers Chelsea King and Amber Dubois will be released.

After that, who knows what comes next. The book ideas are lining up on the runway as we speak, including another true crime, a thriller, and whatever else strikes my fancy.

Adventures by the Book

2011-09-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

By Susan McBeth

How often have you read a book that swept you away to exotic places and times of which you've only dared to dream? I like to think of these alternate realities as "heterocosms," a term coined by Harold Bloom perhaps when referring to brilliant poets like Shakespeare and Wordsworth, but which for me describes a world that otherwise would not have been accessible without the magic of a good book. And if the magic of language can figuratively transport a reader, what would happen if a literal transport were available? That's the concept I sought to explore when I recently founded Adventures by the Book.

After having been a bookstore author events coordinator for years, I was bursting at the seams to escape from the confines inherent in a retail environment, so that I could create the kind of experiential events that would seek to connect readers with authors and their books on a more intimate basis than through a traditional lecture format. I confess I had, and still have, visions of grandeur about what those events would entail - grand trips to Tuscany, weekend escapes to the magical world of Tiffany, and cultural luncheons in exotic venues, just to name a few. But what all those books taught me is that if I dare to dream, oh what magical worlds are open to me.

My Adventures by the Book world was created from a seed that was planted years ago when I first met the beloved New York Times bestselling author of Under the Tuscan Sun, Frances Mayes. How many thousands of readers were exposed to the magical world of Tuscany through her lyrical prose, and how many, like me, had never experienced an actual adventure under the Tuscan sun? When I mentioned this to Frances, she replied in her typical thoughtful fashion that I should come to visit her there. Perhaps if she would have known me better, she would have never extended that gracious offer, because I vowed then and there that someday I would make that happen.

So when the stars were perfectly aligned and I was ready to make the move, I left my bookstore job and set out to literally transport readers on a series of Adventures by the Book. It probably won't come as a surprise that the first author I contacted was Frances Mayes. If she had no recollection of our discussion years prior, she never let on, not did she display panic when I led with the dreaded "remember when you told me years ago..." conversation opener. Months of planning and research ensued, and I am honored to say that I have now experienced an Adventure Under the Tuscan Sun with Frances Mayes, both figuratively and literally. And I can honestly say that while there is no substitute for a good book when the figurative world is all that is available, if you want the whole enchilada, so to speak, there is nothing like an Adventure by the Book.

Writers Conference

2011-09-05T15:44:00.000-07:00

By Marjorie Hart

It was a rare opportunity for our writing group when the Del Mar Literary Writer's promised to critique our session one afternoon. At the appointed time, I eagerly handed my sample pages to the leader, who scanned them and sighed, "Two girls running off to the big city? Who the hell cares!"

I cared. I cared a lot.

For years, more than I like to admit, I had been writing one story, as boxes of rewrites accumulated, towering over my computer. My grandchildren in their compelling way had asked. How could I refuse? With my 80th birthday approaching, I engaged the writer, Beverly Trainer, who edited and encouraged me chapter by chapter. No matter what--I would finish.

Fortuitously while sorting and tossing Christmas mail, these words caught my eye: Writers Conference Editors Agents San Diego. Rescuing the brochure from the wastebasket my heartbeat raced when I found the deadline to submit ten pages and the choice of one of five New York editors. Whether it was fate, luck or divine intervention, Jennifer Pooley was my first choice, the editor who would change my life.

With permission, this is Jennifer Pooley's letter to booksellers:

Dear Bookseller,

On Friday January 27, 2006, I traveled to San Diego State University Writers Conference. Days before the conference began, I received sample pages from aspiring writers I would be meeting, and as my plane took off from New York, I dipped into one of the twenty-five manila folders, whose attached title was "Summer at Tiffany."

Reading the opening pages, I immediately felt that I was right there on the double-decker bus with Marjorie Hart and her best friend Marty: desperately hoping to get a job at Lord and Taylor; devastated when it looked like hope for a position as a shopgirl was lost; and nervously following Marty's charge through Tiffany's front door with my own timid steps. I wanted to be there. I wanted to be them. And I certainly wanted to know what happened next!

When we met at last, on Sunday morning, Marjorie shook her head in disbelief at my enthusiasm. She told me that she'd started writing her memoir in 1993, following her retirement, as her grandchildren kept asking to hear her Tiffany stories "just one more time." The promise of her true adventures in the big city working at one of the world's most iconic stores and interacting with individuals such as Old Man Tiffany and Judy Garland took my breath away.

Over the weeks that followed, Marjorie and I began speaking on the phone and by email daily; she shared her manuscript with me, chapter by chapter. No sooner would the next installment arrive than I would dash to the Xerox, preparing copies for my colleagues, who were as eager as I to read on.

The magical experience of working with Marjorie Hart on Summer at Tiffany is sure to be one of the most memorable of my career. Though the summer of 1945 is more than sixty years past, I hope that once you have finished Marjorie's story, regardless of your age, you too will feel as if you had come to New York City that fateful summer: breathlessly jitterbugging to the drumbeat of Gene Krupa; jubilantly celebrating VJ Day in Times Square; and unexpectedly making history-at Tiffany, no less!--with your best friend.

I am so grateful that Marjorie Hart came into my life, and without further ado, I am thrilled to be one to introduce you to her dazzling Summer at Tiffany.

Best wishes,

Jennifer Pooley
Editor
William Morrow/ Harper Collins Publishers

I treasure this extraordinary letter and mv never-ending friendship with Jennifer!

Implausible Dream

2011-08-26T15:28:00.001-07:00

Zohreh (Zoe) Ghahremani

Within each one of us, there's a story, screaming to come out. I wrote my first novel to unload what had weighed heavy on my mind for decades. Having three American born and raised children, ones who know little about their parents’ Iranian history, I thought the cultural nuances throughout the story and the descriptions of my homeland would be my legacy to them. However, proud as I am of my Persian heritage, the recent political conflicts between Iran and the U.S. limited my expectations. Still, deep down I continued to hope that my story would touch the hearts of a few.

Over the years of becoming a full-time writer, I published more than two hundred articles, vignettes, and short stories. But when it came to a novel, my rejection letters became such an impressive collection that it could have discouraged any writer. But each time my agent forwarded a new one, I did my best to get past the disappointment and find the good stuff in those letters, which in turn enabled me to once again see the full half of my glass.

A long time ago, I miraculously discovered the secret to happiness. As a young girl, I had envisioned my good fortune to arrive with a charming prince, be a gift even. I also thought such a gift was only given to select few. Somewhere along the way I realized that true happiness is in fact the sum of little joyful moments, that it’s up to us to learn the art of recognizing those tiny moments learning how to piece them together: a ray of bright sunshine, the chirp of a bird by the window, or a child coming home with a good report card. I also learned that life is a glass that will forever be only half full.

So instead of waiting for that moment of ecstasy when my agent would present me with a contract, or counting rejection letters and listening to her explanations on why my book had not found a “home” yet, I decided to take matters in my own hand. Now a year later, it is clear how those editors and I had both underestimated the power of readers.

In the absence of advertisement and without a publisher to support me, the best possible publicity came from readers, who felt a deep connection with my story and related to its characters. Each satisfied reader brought in ten more and soon my little novel had started a buzz. Invitations poured in from libraries, bookstores, major universities and before I knew it, my novel was introducing me to people and not the other way around.

I’d heard such expressions as, “only in America,” or “land of opportunity,” and dismissed them as words of the lucky few. The joy of this unsolicited success has proven that indeed only in this country would readers choose their writer from among the unknown – not to mention selecting one whose name is unpronounceable. As if an extended trip to Cloud Nine wasn’t enough, my novel is also in the “One Book, One San Diego” program for 2012.
In each public appearance, I make sure to carry my old typewriter with a bunch of lovely silk poppies bursting our of it. The audience may view this as a prop that ties into my novel, but to me there’s more to them. The ensemble is a reminder of my “Cinderella” days, of the nights I stayed up and worked, and the days of disappointment when I secretly chanted, “I think I can!”

My hard work continues with the rewrite of my next novel – The Moon Daughter. Short articles will be submitted as well and in fact, soon I will have my own column in a new women’s magazine from Texas called Zan. But regardless of what comes next, the poppies will forever have their special place. I hope to be an example, a positive messenger to younger and newer writers whose dreams may seem implausible. The clichés about not losing sight of your goal, that hard work pays off or that you should pursue your dreams are all true. As for fairy tales, they’re but an exaggerated version of true stories. Happiness is in loving what you do, and success will follow when others love it, too.

--------------
Zohreh ( Zoe) Ghahremani has written four books, of which two are published. The Commiserator is in her native language Persian, and her English novel Sky of Red Poppies was a finalist at the SDBAA and will be in OBOSD program for 2012. Her next novel, The Moon Daughter, is currently being polished for publication. When it comes to her finished satirical memoir of years of dentistry, titled Drill Fill & Bill, Zoe says, "That'll wait until readers know me enough to care! Sky of Red Poppies is available on Amazon, Turquoise Books, and most bookstores. Zoeg2010@gmail.com or visit www.zoeghahremani.com

On the Cost of Academic Books

2011-08-20T19:08:00.000-07:00

By Judith Liu
August 20, 2011

My book, Foreign Exchange: Counterculture behind the Walls of St. Hilda’s School for Girls, 1929-1937, was released in April 2011 by Lehigh University Press (distributed by Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group). When I first saw the price tag of $70.00 US, I was not surprised by the cost because it the book is being published by an “academic press” which means that the primary marketing audience for such a book would be to libraries and to the author who will purchase numerous copies for friends and family members. I am well aware that I will be the single largest purchaser of my own book.

As a member of the Yale Missions Listserve, a group of scholars and interested individuals who study missionary efforts around the world, a recent e-mail exchange amongst us was about the cost of academic books. One member was Daniel Bays, an prominent scholar , who lamented the fact that his book was going to cost $40. The cost prompted William R. Burrows, Research Professor of Missiology at New York Theological Seminary to write the following e-mail in response. It is so thoughtful and helpful that I am including it in this posting. Here is what he wrote
******

The discomfort that Dan Bays felt about the $40 price tag that Wiley put on his book made me wonder whether a post on realities of publishing economics might be welcome. This is it.

First, I’d not over alarmed about the $40. The reality is that the Amazon price of $32 is what most people will buy it for, and they won’t have to pay shipping and handling. Other dozens, maybe hundreds, of copies will be sold at venues like AHA and AAR at and other professional meetings for $20 or $24 (i.e., at 50% or 40% discount). Professors attend such meetings in no small measure because of the book fairs that attend them.

Another trend has also begun to have an impact on academic book sales. Whereas there was a certain kind of book that every serious college, university, or seminary library used to buy, the percentage that are in that category is dwindling, so much so that although a publisher as recently as fifteen years ago might have been able to price books with the sure knowledge that, say, 500 copies of a book on the Synoptics would be sold, experience now leads marketers to estimate, say, 250 or 100. Libraries now often consult with one another and only one library in a given network might buy that book. The rest rely on interlibrary loan, which has become super-efficient, especially in areas like Chicago, Boston, and New York to New Haven, where there are clusters of good libraries. Unless the author is an alumnus or on the faculty of a given institution, librarians wait to get a stipulated number of requests for a given book before ordering it. If they don’t, they let XYZ Library get it, since everyone in their circuit has agreed that they will specialize in NT studies, while LMN gets history, and ABC gets ethics, etc. Budgets allow nothing else.

What authors and book buyers also don’t quite understand is another family of reasons for the sharp escalation of prices. First and foremost, the higher prices are put on because publishers are no longer selling most books thru small book stores at a 40% discount. Instead, they sell through Amazon and Barnes & Noble, where discounts of 55% and more (plus free freight to the warehouse!) are demanded. On top of that, there’s the phenomenon of electronic book publishing. Prices there are unstable in e-publishing, though they will certainly settle down over time, but for our purposes it’s enough to realize that even academic books like Dan’s are increasingly ending up in Kindle, Nook, and E-book editions. Since academic publishers have not figured out what that’s going to mean in their battle to pay the rent and salaries, they’re mostly in a somewhat spooked and agitated state.

In addition, the used book business is professionalized to such an extent that many people are waiting six months to buy books from places like abebooks.com and alibris.com or through the Amazon network of used book shops. The prices are often 25% or less than list prices.

The publisher, accordingly, has a six-month to a year in which to pay his or her expenses. They used to be able to amortize them over a 12- to 18-month period ! This is a real publishing economics earthquake. More concretely (1) s/he actually nets about $18 per copy on a supposedly $40 book sold to Amazon.com; (2) s/he has to pay for freight to the Spring Arbor warehouse; and (3) on top of that then has to take back unsold inventory and refund the $18 in a year’s time. Those returned books are often shopworn and unsalable. As a result the publisher is having to make expenses on a $40 book which, when you average in freight costs and returns, may give them a real net of as little as $12 per copy of a book that is, in trade terminology, “sold through” to a customer.

The average author and book buyer, however, has little sense of the way in which these things have changed.

******

While I appreciate such an articulate explanation, my lament is that my book is so expensive that its cost alone would dissuade any number of readers from purchasing the book. Yet, when I take into account that it contains fifteen rare photographs, six maps, and thirty pages of endnotes, the price is explicable. In what will seem an act of self-promotion, it is a book that I am proud to have written, and my hope is that any reader who purchases the book will find it worth the price. One final note, authors of academic works such as mine rarely see anything beyond the “free copies” they receive from the publisher. The reward we receive is from the immense satisfaction of having completed the work. In my case, my mother is exceedingly happy and that is priceless.

Judith Liu

Reflections on Reading—Books and eBooks

2011-08-14T10:24:00.000-07:00

by Kathleen B. Jones

I returned in late June from a conference in Australia, where I taught a very successful writing workshop for women. Most in the group were working on essays or longer works of non-fiction; one was working on a script. But the experience of doing quick writes, editing and critique sessions, and sharing work with one another underscored the importance of finding a group of like-minded—and respectful—writers with whom to share works in progress, encouraging each other forward with helpful suggestions for carrying a piece of writing through to completion. And, perhaps, publication.

But only days after this experience I was on my way out east, heading to the Hudson Valley, NY and Bard College’s Hannah Arendt Center for Politics and the Humanities, where I was to direct a National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) summer seminar for schoolteachers on the political theory of Hannah Arendt. Heady stuff! Sixteen teachers and I spent six weeks together mulling over some pretty dense philosophy and social and political theory.

Mornings I spent rediscovering the pleasures of distance bike-riding, especially through the leafy, gently rolling hills surrounding Red Hook and Rhineback, NY, followed by breakfast and preparing for the day’s discussion. Evenings I spent reading novels, essays or short fiction--Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, which I found somewhat disappointing in comparison to expectations raised by the hype the novel had received, George Prochnik’s In Pursuit of Silence: Listening for Meaning in a World of Noise, a wonderful meditation on the importance of quiet, and several essays and stories in copies of The New Yorker (always behind in catching up on reading those!)

Not only were those books and stories a welcome relief from the heated discussions about the world-shattering events of the Holocaust and World War 2 occupying my days; they were themselves a reminder of the importance of reading to the occupation of a writer. Immersing myself in books, I was dazzled all over again by the power of words to transport one to worlds yet unimagined, or emotions not yet fully plumbed. In those weeks I fell in love with reading all over again.

I’ve always been a lover of books. I mean, the objects themselves, not just the stories they tell. So it was a great surprise to me when, at the end of my seminar, the scholars who had shared its six weeks thinking journey with me presented me with a Nook!

When the electronic book craze took off, I had positioned myself in the camp of the Luddites. I would not be among those who would add nails to the coffin of print media, I proclaimed. How odd, then, press the buttons on this device, “open” the pages of the first book I had downloaded onto it—Michael Holroyd’s A Book of Secrets: Illegitimate Daughters, Absent Fathers--and experience the pleasures of reading taken to a new register.

Is there a word or a place I don’t recognize—the Villa Cimbrone, perhaps? I can look it up in the glossary embedded in the book or make a note to myself to “look it up later” via the web features included with the device. (I knew I would want to be reading some books with photos and drawings included and so I upgraded to the Nook Color, which includes access to the web).

I won’t be doing most of my reading on the Nook; mainly, I’ll use it for travel, or for some of those illustrated books that I might want to consult for my writing. (I often use images to conjure ways to describe character or place in a story and being able to “carry” some of these resources with me as I travel for my research and writing will be invaluable).

I can see myself now on that next flight from Los Angeles to London, on my way to a November conference in Sweden, listening to Mozart and reading Nina Sankovitch’s Tolstoy and the Purple Chair: My Year of Magical Reading, anticipating how that book’s structure might help resolve some lingering problems with the manuscript I recently completed, but need to revise.

Kathleen B. Jones is the author of Living Between Danger and Love, Compassionate Authority: Democracy and the Representation of Women, The Political Interests of Gender and The Political Interests of Gender Revisited, both co-edited with Anna G. Jónasdóttir, and Women Transforming Politics co-edited with Cathy Cohen and Joan Tronto. Her new book, Diving for Pearls: A Thinking Journey with Hannah Arendt, is undergoing revision. Her short fiction and essays have appeared in Fiction International, Briar Cliff Review and Mr. Bellar’s Neighborhood. Her first play, Acts of Faith, written in collaboration with Sharyn C. Blumenthal, premiered in San Diego in 2009. Kathy taught women’s studies and political theory for twenty-four years at San Diego State University and currently directs summer humanities’ seminars for schoolteachers. Kathy has appeared frequently on radio and television in and beyond San Diego, and co-produced Profiles, a City of San Diego Television series on local authors. She has a B. A in political science from Brooklyn College, a Ph.D. in political science from the City University of New York, and is a certified yoga teacher (200 RYT) registered with the Yoga Alliance.

More at kathleenbjones.com

Original and Clever or Direct and Wise: Can the Two Literary Styles Live Together?

2011-08-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

By Divina Infusino

Lately, I have attended a lot of literary events consisting of young, published fiction writers reading from their latest works. One after another, they get up and demonstrate what appears to be one of the dominant, or at least one of the more trendy, forms of current fiction writing. I can only describe it as breathless, with long strings of vivid description.

Although it is punctuated with periods, commas and dashes, the prose gallops, almost without stop. It surveys its subject –whether that is a person, a scene, an object, or an event-- and captures its every nuance with intoxicating detail. I admire the work, envy it even.

And yet, while I objectively know that the writing is strong and creative, while I realize that the writer wrote and rewrote and evaluated or reevaluated every verb, image and twist of phrase, the prose rushes through my consciousness and leaves it just as quickly. The writing seems full of adrenaline, jammed with observation and empty of insight. I walk away wondering what I heard, what I learned, or even if I felt anything beyond the sheer visceral exhilaration of words beautifully, but preciously, put together.

I go home and unearth from the beneath the piles of papers on my desk Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge, which won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2009. It is one of the least self-conscious pieces of literature I have read in recent years.

I open the book to any page, read it, and breathe a sigh of relief. Compared to the clutter of cleverness and the overreach for originality that I have just experienced, the writing style in Olive Kitteridge is simple and direct until it injects a metaphor that literally leaves me gasping in its poignancy. Of course, the book’s literary style suits its subject. It is a collection of short stories around the very unglamorous life of an abrasive, retired junior high school teacher in Maine.

Yet, every time, the beauty of the text stuns me. This is prose powered by thoughtfulness, empathy and a combination of intimacy and perceptiveness with and of its subject. It knows what to tell and what to leave out and in the process says so much more than twice the verbiage could convey.

As a writer and reader, just as a person, I like living in both worlds at different times. I like the hip and ingenious as well as the discerning and intuitive. But the current literary style seems to operate under the assumption that if you describe the outward appearance of something in enough detail, with enough invention and imagination, its inner truth will emerge. Most often, the opposite is true. Honesty and depth are usually concise and ruthless, like Olive Kitteridge.

However, if you know of recent books that combine both, I’d love to hear about them. Any suggestions?

Divina Infusino is the author of Day Trips From Orange County, an often personalized account of Southern California’s iconic and idiosyncratic locales, natural and cultural sites, hotels, day spas, shopping areas and restaurants. She is also a co-author of The Love Response and Rock Gods. Divina has worked as a staff entertainment writer for The Milwaukee Journal and The San Diego Union. She was a cultural commentator for KPBS Radio and has been published in Rolling Stone, The Economist, TV Guide, Entertainment Weekly, The Los Angeles Times, Reuters, The New York Times Syndicate, Harper’s Bazaar, Salon.com, and HuffingtonPost.com. She can be reached at divina.infusino@gmail.com

Methods to Get My Writing Juices Flowing

2011-07-22T05:51:00.000-07:00

By Georgeanne Irvine

My absolute favorite aspect of writing is the research phase! Interviewing people, gathering and analyzing facts, searching for information, observing animals, visiting sites, studying archives, and shooting photos (an integral part of my research) are all very exciting and great fun—and I never begin writing until I feel my research is complete. Starting the writing phase of any project is almost always the most difficult part of the process for me. While all of that new information is swirling around in my head, I usually need to go through a series of “thinking phase” behaviors to jumpstart my internal writing battery and get into the “flow.” I know I’m not alone in this—all writers have quirky things they do to get started, don’t they? Here are some of the things I do, but I also hope some of you will share your methods to get your writing juices flowing in the comment section of this blog.

• Rummage through the kitchen cupboard to look for things to eat even though I’m not really hungry.

• Clean out my underwear drawer, wash windows, pull weeds, organize my closet, and sweep the patio. I’m actually working on the book in my head while I do all of those chores, even though it may look like I’m procrastinating. (OK, perhaps I am, just a little bit.)

• Immerse myself in an experience related to the storyline. For my Hurricane Katrina dolphin book, I shut myself up in my bedroom, closed the curtains, and watched hurricane videos in the dark.

• Take extra-long showers because the opening paragraphs for many of my books have been formulated under spray of the hot water.

• Long drives in the car are also helpful. I’ve learned to write notes while keeping my eye on the road.

• Dream about the book at night with a notepad by my bed. If I’m really stuck during the day, I lie down to take a nap but my mind still works on the book, of course.

• Sit on my bed with an old-fashioned pencil and notebook, handwriting notes and doodling. Often my first line comes to me during that process.

• Stare at my computer with a 20-stick pack of gum on my desk. Gum is a good thinking tool: I pop a piece in my mouth, chew it for 30 seconds to a minute until the flavor runs out, spit it out, and then replace it with a fresh stick. I repeat this process until the entire pack is chewed. Big Red cinnamon-flavored gum works best.

• Perform personal grooming tasks while staring at the computer and thinking about the book, such as filing nails and plucking eyebrows.

• Skim through other books I’ve written and remind myself that I really do know how to write and that sooner or later I’ll start this latest book, finish it, and possibly even like it!

San Diego native Georgeanne Irvine has devoted more than three decades of her career to raising awareness about animals and wildlife conservation. By day, she is associate director of development communications for the San Diego Zoo, where she has worked for 33 years. George is also the author of more than 20 children’s books plus numerous magazine, newspaper, and Web articles. George’s most recent work is the coffee table book, The Katrina Dolphins: One-Way Ticket to Paradise, which is a true story about 8 dolphins from an oceanarium that were washed out to sea during Hurricane Katrina and dramatically rescued a few weeks later.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

2011-07-15T17:03:00.000-07:00

by Kathi Diamant

Writing can be a lonely business, a solitary endeavor, requiring isolation and intense focus. It demands time and a quiet environment, with long periods of uninterrupted concentration. I find that if I so much as go out to lunch, my whole writing day is shot. To write well, I have to be alone.

My favorite writer, Franz Kafka once described his ideal writing situation as “an innermost room of a spacious locked cellar.” His food would be brought and left, far away from his room, outside the cellar’s outermost door. “The walk to my food, in my dressing gown, through the vaulted cellars would be my only exercise. I would then return to my desk, eat slowly and with deliberation, then start writing again at once. And how I would write! From what depths I would drag it up! Without effort! For extreme concentration knows no effort.”

Kafka also said that “the existence of the writer is truly dependent on his desk. If he wants to escape madness, he really should never leave his desk. He must cling to it with his teeth.” But even Kafka feared that the solitude he forced on himself in order to write was depressing him, driving him mad, while writing was his only weapon to fight it.

So what’s a writer to do? Join a writing group, or start your own writing community. You will discover you are not alone, others have walked this path before you, and have experienced loneliness and isolation, and found solutions. In a writing group, you will find encouragement, support and inspiration. A writing group can make all the difference between success and failure, between giving up in despair and holding the first copy of your new book in your hands.

I’m a firm believer. I have been a member of Writing Women since 1988, and credit WW for my book, Kafka’s Last Love, which would not have been possible without their sage advice and unqualified encouragement. San Diego Writing Women, who produces this blog, is an offshoot of that group. And I just joined She Writes (also open to men), the largest community of women writers online.

There are many ways to get started with a group. In San Diego, author and writing teacher Judy Reeves runs ongoing writing groups, and there are Meet Ups for writers all over the country. If you want more information on how to start your own group, drop me a line—I’ll be happy to share guidelines and SOP (Standard Operating Procedures) for writing groups large and small.

As Kafka also said, “You won’t do anything without others.”

The Writer's Art of Interviewing

2011-07-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

By Caitlin Rother

I’m just starting to teach an advanced feature writing course this summer at UCSD Extension (you can still join until next week), and will be teaching interviewing and an advanced narrative non-fiction course this fall, so I figured this would be a good opportunity to pass along some interviewing tips. You are all welcome to join my classes, and you might want to read this blog post to the end for some juicy stuff about my recent five-hour meeting with John Gardner at Corcoran State Prison.

So you have a true story to tell, and it isn’t about you. Where do you get the information you need? Well, you have to ask for it. The trick is knowing who and what to ask, how to get them to talk to you, and if you don’t know all that, how to figure it out. Then, of course, how to write it in a compelling way so people besides your mother will want to read it.

Depending on the subject, the type of story and where you want to publish it, basic questions – such as who, what, where and when – are important, but they don’t always suffice. Narrative non-fiction or literary journalism, where you write true stories using fiction techniques, also call for emotion, action and dialogue, descriptions of sights, sounds, textures and light. You must go deeper to build a plot and good characters.

Bottom line is that stories are about people – people acting, speaking, thinking and feeling.

For the more journalistic issue-oriented stories about politics, crime, the arts or your community, you want to find the key players and ask them what they think, go watch them in action and write down what they tell you. But interviewing isn’t all about the questions, it’s also about being an active listener. Sometimes, silence can make your subject open up. But you need to be well prepared to do the best interview, to ask probing, insightful and different questions than your competitors. If you impress your subject with your knowledge of him/her and the issue at hand, he or she will want to open up to you.

For profiles about interesting people, you want to look for what makes them tick, who they are, what they’ve done, what they’re passionate about, and what makes them unique. They might not even know these things – or want you to know – so it’s your job to help them tell you. To slowly peel away their layers and get to the truth.

If you do your homework and build trust with your subjects, you may be surprised at what intriguing tidbits and unexpected details you can pull out of them. I always like to hear that I’ve asked the right questions, because it tells me that I will be able to convey my subject's thoughts and feelings accurately, which in journalism and non-fiction, is very important.

Some authors of non-fiction put their opinions and beliefs into their books. In mine, I generally try to get out of the way of the story and tell it to the best of my ability, but as a neutral observer, a conduit of information. Obviously, I make choices about what to include and whose perspective I use to convey that information, (usually from a character’s point of view), but that doesn’t mean I believe what that person is saying. Most of the time I tell it straight because I think the reader will be able to tell when one of my characters, who are all real people, is lying. When they are lying, I often stick in a contrary point of view or fact from someone or somewhere else to show the opposing view, which helps the reader figure it out.

Interviewing a killer is tricky. I’ve done this a few times in my career, and twice recently for my books: Skylar Deleon, who is on death row for tying Tom and Jackie Hawks to the anchor of their yacht and throwing them overboard alive (DEAD RECKONING), and John Gardner, who admitted to raping and killing Chelsea King and Amber Dubois (THE MAKINGS OF A MONSTER).

I want to hear what they have to say, but I don’t want to confront them or make them angry because they will stop talking. The trick is to ask my questions in a way that makes them want to reveal telling statements to me, but also to let them talk about things they want to as I guide them toward subjects I want to hear.

In Gardner’s case, we had no glass wall between us, so I was more than a little conscious about my safety and also keeping him talking for the five hours we had until visiting hours were over – without seeing that same instant anger we all saw during his sentencing hearing. I knew I would only get one shot, so I waited until I had done all of my other interviews and all my research, and knew his life story backwards and forward. Sex offenders are manipulative, so I was ready for that. I also knew that he told different stories to different people, depending on the situation, so I was ready for that too.

I was surprised at how well the interview went. As I’d been told, he was very talkative and friendly and didn’t take much prodding to answer my questions. Now, the problem is an unusual one for me: I have to decide how much of what he told me to pass on to my readers, and how much, if anything, to leave out. It was all very compelling, but not for those with weak stomachs. I’d love to hear your thoughts how much you’d like to know.

Other than that, if I didn’t know what he’d done, I wouldn’t have guessed from his demeanor, the way he carried himself or the way he talked to me.

Lesson one: Killers often don’t look or sound like they do on TV.

Lesson two: Keep your eye on the ball and make sure you let them know, subtly, that you know who they really are, and when they're lying, so they don’t try to mess with you so much.

Lesson Three: Sometimes you get to know your subjects as well or better than they know themselves, and you can use that insight to help pull emotions and secrets out of them. To even help them discover something about themselves. Because that will be fresh and interesting for your readers.

Caitlin Rother, a Pulitzer-nominee who worked as a investigativer reporter for nearly 20 years, is the author or co-author of seven books: Body Pa rts, Twisted Triangle, Naked Addiction, Poisoned Love, Where Hope Begins, My Life, Deleted, and her latest book, Dead Reckoning, which is available in bookstores now. For more information, please check out her website, caitlinrother.com.

Writing Copioussssly

2011-07-01T12:40:00.000-07:00

by Laurel Corona

I have had three novels and one non-fiction book published in three years, and people often ask me how I have managed to be so prolific. Actually, if you count the YA (young adult) non-fiction I wrote between 1999 and 2004, I’ve published 23 books in 12 years, so I guess those are pretty good credentials to call myself an expert on keeping going as a writer.

I love words, of course, so I can’t help but notice that so many of the observations and advice I have on this subject can be summarized in words that start with the letter “S.” Here are sixteen of them:

Sitzfleisch—A Yiddish term for—well, you figure it out. It’s the ability to stay put in your chair for long periods of time without jumping up to see what’s in the fridge, or who’s sent you e-mail. I’m still working on this one!

Structure—A calendar with specific goals and deadlines (self-imposed are fine), and a work schedule (including quitting time) are really essential to keep from working too much. That’s a bigger problem for me than working too little, but I think it would work equally well in the opposite situation.

Stamina—Staying fit is crucial. I make time for exercise every day (well almost) since my overall health governs everything else.

Sanitation—Get out of the jammies and into the shower. Wash your hair, brush your teeth, and don’t forget to floss. Sssserioussssly!

Stretch–This is the opposite of sitzfleish but is also very important. Amazingly, even getting up and walking around for one minute to think through a phrasing or a plot detail can have amazing results.

Side interests—Sudoku? Step class? Shopping? Calling on different parts of your body and brain is restorative. I find I can’t read for pleasure when I’m working on a book--my brain and eyes are too tired--so I have come up with the solution of audiobooks, which I listen to while I’m out running. Very good motivation to exercise too!

Sunscreen—Take time out, even if it’s just for an hour or two. Find a pool to jump in or a patch of grass to sit on. Think “vacuoussssss.” Try not to think about what you’re writing, but even if you do, it will still feel like a change of pace.

Skin—As in “Superthick.” Learn to laugh at your reviews. Reading them aloud in a whiny voice helps.

Self-Confidence—writing well is never easy, but you can do it. Remember, it’s just a draft until it’s published.

Spellbound—This is something you have to be. You have to find your subject enthralling. Your curiosity needs to be boundlesssss.

Seniority—Writing is one of those things where it helps to have some years under your belt. Tell yourself that all that wisdom explains why you need a larger belt.

Say “When”—When you’re agonizing over commas, that’s a good clue you are really ready to launch your work into the world.

Supporters, Sidekicks, Soulmates—Self-explanatory! If you’re lucky, you have a supportive family and friends, like I do. Another source of support is a writing group. I don’t participate in these because I get too wrapped up in my own work to pay quality attention to anyone else’s, but many people find sharing works in progress essential to their productivity.

Sleep–I find that very often I wake up ready to rip with a new idea I must have been processing during the night.

Speak Aloud–-as a change of pace, especially late in the process, it works really well for me to read my work aloud, not to anyone else, but to myself.

And finally, perhaps my best piece of advice of all.

Shitty First Drafts!–Thanks to Anne Lamott for this one. Perfectionism is the biggest enemy of many writers. Give yourself permission to write badly when that’s the best you can do. I can always manage to write a preliminary version of something, because I know that the purpose of a first draft is just to get something on the page. You have to have something to work with. You will improve it again and again, but not today.

Fellow writerssss out there in the blogossssphere–got more?

In Memoriam - Debra A. Stephens

2011-06-21T12:04:00.000-07:00

In Memoriam

For Debra A. Stephens, 1956-2011

Debra Stephens, a rare and special woman, died in May 2011. She was a woman in a Sociology course that I team-taught with the director of the Center for Community Service-Learning, Chris Nayve,and a teacher from Montgomery Middle School, Emalyn Leppard, entitled Community, Consensus, and Commitment. This is a course on community organizing, and Debra was the type of student that all teachers dream about—dedicated, enthusiastic, and possessing a insatiable desire to learn.

While community organizing has historically been a successful method for bringing about social change, courses dealing with community organizing are not normally taught in the typical academic curriculum. Such courses are frequently regarded as “too political” or as “lacking academic rigor.” But this course is unique in that it is team-taught by a community member, a professional staff member from the Center for Community Service-Learning, and me. It has an expressed political purpose—to teach about the importance of civic and social engagement through the use of consensus organizing techniques. Furthermore, the class composition reflects the desire to more closely ally the university with the community. Thus the class includes USD undergraduate students and community members who would be known as “Community Scholars.” The course is free-of-charge for the Scholars, and with successful completion of the course requirements, continuing education credits can be earned. Inviting Community Scholars to the campus on a regular basis is a means of reversing the traditional university/community traffic flow. Moreover, such a traffic reversal helps break down the traditional town-gown divide by valuing the wealth of wisdom derived from the Scholars’ experiences and by recognizing that their active involvement in promoting the common good in their own community is a worthwhile and meaningful endeavor. In addition, these Scholars would be a rich resource for USD undergraduate students who were interested in community involvement to tap.

Debra was one of six Community Scholars this year. Her community project was “One Hundred Strong.” In her own words, Debra wrote about the origins of One Hundred Strong.

As described in both [Michael] Eichler [Consensus Organizing] and Obama’s [Dreams of My Father] book, grass roots organizations are usually the result of individuals and communities being “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” Those were the origins of 100 Strong, a community of individuals feeling they had the ability and desire to improve the quality of life for themselves and their neighbors. The community immediately surrounding the offices of 100 Strong included the small businesses owned by most of the founders of the organization. Their neighborhood of Southeastern San Diego is one of the lowest on the socio-economic ladder in San Diego County. It has the highest rate of unemployment and gang violence in the City of San Diego. It is in the Fourth Council District of the City and District 2 of the County. There is a shortage of grocery stores, banks, restaurants and other businesses that would typically serve a neighborhood. Many of the residents are first in line for social services, and at the bottom of the list when it comes to receiving quality services from government entities and corporations. The schools in the area have low test scores, high dropout rates and very low numbers of graduates attending post-secondary institutions. Given the less than stellar description of the community and challenges facing the people who live there, there are still many high performing individuals who have a great deal of pride in calling District 4 home, myself included. The success they have achieved is a great source of pride for the community and the type of imagery needed to shape the minds and actions of the young people watching them.

Her dedication and enthusiasm in the course was an inspiration to us all. The first to arrive, she would arrange the chairs in a circle (our preferred arrangement), and we would sit and chat before class. Debra was initially “intimidated” by the thought of taking a college-level course because she did not finish college herself. I had to laugh at the thought of anything intimidating such a force of nature. But despite her hesitation, she gave her “all” to every discussion.

The course ended with a community celebration on May 11, 2011 where the Community Scholar-led teams gave a presentation about their organizing efforts during the semester. In the audience were invited guests from the community who witnessed the dedication and passion of each group. Debra and her group of two USD students, Divina and Angie, were terrific.

Two days later, on Friday, May 13^th, Debra suffered a massive stroke following a keynote speech she gave at her beloved Lincoln High School. A devoted “Lincoln Hornet,” she was a natural to give another inspirational talk. Tragically, her death has left a vibrant African American community bereft of one of its leaders. We will all miss her.

Judith Liu

What I Learned by Not Attending This Year's Book Expo in New York

2011-06-11T13:12:00.000-07:00

By Divina Infusino

This week, I listened to a group of book publicists, agents and authors discuss the major trends, thoughts and gossip that emerged from the 2011 Book Expo America. I did not attend. So I was curious to hear the takeaways of those who did travel to the publishing world’s biggest annual sales event held this year in NYC at the end of May.

At first, the 30 people who gathered in a conference room stuck to the agenda. People discussed three major BEA themes:

* Within the next 12 months, nearly every major publisher will launch an e book-only imprint. At the 2010 BEA, e books were an afterthought. In 2011, with Barnes and Noble and Borders shuttering so many brick and mortar stores in the past few months, e books took center stage. However, it appears that New York publishers are thinking that e books will function rather like a farm team for the major leagues. That is, if any e book from these specialty imprints actually sells in significant numbers, maybe the parent publisher will release it in a bound form.

The implication from this line of thinking is that, in the near future, printed books may be reserved only for the best selling titles. Everything else will be available on Kindle, the Nook, iPad, Google books or some other yet-to-be-invented digital format. The publishing pros in the conference room shed a few tears for the near demise of the printed book. But fewer than they used to.

* Amazon.com is expanding from book distributor to book publisher. It recently hired the former CEO of the Time Warner Book Group, Larry Kirshbaum, to open its new NYC editorial offices.

* Successful tween authors rank as the current rock stars of the book world. The evidence? Tween publishers threw the most lavish BEA parties.

Soon after these observations on BEA, the conversation in the conference room turned to the two major questions that seem to eventually dominate any discussion on the publishing industry.

1. If books will be distributed mostly in digital form and authors must increasingly bear the responsibility for marketing their books themselves, what will be the role of book publishers?

2. Do Twitter and Facebook really promote and sell books?

On the first question, the jury is still way out. Before, publishers acted as the gatekeepers, the filter for the reading public. However, with publishers taking fewer risks and releasing fewer titles (and paying authors less for them), anything can happen at this point. Well-known authors may well decide to act as their own publishers. New or riskier authors who are comfortable with technology and self-marketing may opt for self-distribution.

On the second question, the comments were far more concrete. Here are the publishing pro’s tips for successful Facebook and Twitter efforts around a book:

Approximately 1/3 of your posts should be personal; About 1/3 of your posts should offer something of value—a link to a thought-provoking or informative article or video; The final 1/3 can focus on the content of your book. Regularly excerpt a few intriguing lines. Let people know where you are speaking, if you are appearing on a radio show, etc.
Try to make your tweets funny or controversial. They get retweeted the most.
Tweet the same message more than once a day-- as much as four times in a single day. People usually read only their most recent Twitter feeds. They could easily miss yours if you only give them one chance.
When you post on Facebook, start a conversation with your followers. Ask a question or make a statement that encourages others to comment.
Use your authentic voice in your social media postings. Be creative. Serve do not sell. And above all, be entertaining. However, no one had an answer for how you should be entertaining if you are not a comedian or entertainer by nature, or if being serious or reclusive is your “authentic” voice.

The meeting on BEA underscored for me that the old rules around publishing are evaporating and new possibilities but also new demands abound.

Only one criteria remains constant: Make sure you write a good book.

The stories around us

2011-06-04T14:29:00.001-07:00

My friend Milo Shapiro wrote a book called The Worst Days Make the Best Stories, a title I love for its honesty and inspiration. When we are in the midst of a tough situation, it’s hard to see if for the gift it truly is. Don’t get me wrong. Sucky days suck; there’s no getting around it. But in addition to sucking, tough situations also provide us with the core of a good story: a problem to solve.

As my daughter and I prepare to travel to Spain next week, I remind myself that the worst of times make the best of tales.

Think about the most entertaining stories you write or tell. The ones that really keep your audience engaged are the tales that make the audience wonder what the heck is going to happen next. They wonder how on earth you’re going to get yourself out of that pickle?

We’ve all been to dinner parties where someone tells a story that is…errr, less than gripping. They report that went to Aruba and it was sunny every day, so they went to the pool and drank tasty, blended drinks with pink umbrellas! Oh, and they met the nicest couple from Minneapolis. That Anne was such a doll. Her husband Hank, gosh, what a peach. And golly, there’s some terrific birdlife in Aruba.

Big freaking yawn.

Don’t get me wrong. I wish my friends smooth travels, but if they are going to turn it into a story, they better have faced some challenges.

The notion that the worst days make the best stories has saved my sanity on more than one occasion. Lying awake on a makeshift bed at the Shakespeare and Company in Paris, I realized it was an awful idea it was for Katie and I to sleepover at the bookstore. Staying overnight at the converted seventeenth century monastery is a wonderful adventure for a twentysomething with a pierced face, but not the best fit for us. It was tough to fall asleep with the putrid combination of hot garbage beneath our window, and cigarette smoke from fellow travelers permeating the building. When I woke up to the bells of Notre Dame the following morning, I saw three rodent turds beside me, and thought, This is going to make a hell of a story. It kept a smile on my face as Katie and I made our hasty escape.

In many films, the second act typically ends when all hope is lost for the protagonist. Everything has gone utterly and completely wrong. When Katie and I are in a predicament, she will often turn to me and ask, “Can we start act three now?” That final act is when we get the payoff of a satisfying resolution.

When we travel, Katie and I know we are starring in our own story and trust that act two will come to a conclusion and we will get our happy ending. (We live in a comedy; no dreary art flick endings for us.)

As Katie and I prepare for our big adventure to Spain next week, we will remind each other that perfect trips make boring tales, and the true test of our character is how we deal with the inevitable challenges that are put before us.

As writers we need to welcome crappy days as awesome material. Perfect days are to be enjoyed and appreciated – but never written about.

www.jennifercoburn.com

Moving Ahead: There is "Hope for Amizero"

2011-05-26T21:44:00.000-07:00

By Georgeanne Irvine

One of my mottoes in life is to always have hope, even in situations where hope is just about the only thing you can have! For me, hope is inspiring and motivational as well as a way to keep myself positive and my spirits high. In a blog I wrote in early January, I mentioned that I hoped at least one of my writing-related projects would come to fruition this year. I’m happy to report that one project—my children’s book, Hope for Amizero—is a step or two closer to being published!

This is a true story about an orphaned chimpanzee at the Jane Goodall Institute Chimpanzee Sanctuary in Burundi, Central Africa. I researched the book in the early 1990s when two of my friends managed the sanctuary, although the story is just as pertinent, if not more so, today as it was then. The chimp infant was initially captured by poachers, who most likely killed her family, and then rescued by my friends when she was near death. She was in such bad condition she wasn’t expected to survive, but when she amazingly recovered, my friends named her Amizero, which means “hope” in the local language. Amizero grew into the most mischievous, fun-loving chimp at the sanctuary in spite of her difficult start in life. The book focuses on Amizero’s antics and provides a glimpse of her comfortable life at the sanctuary until a tribal war between the Hutus and the Tutsis changes everything.

So here’s where the project was in early January: The first draft of my manuscript had been read by an editor at a publishing house on the East Coast. He liked the story and said they definitely wanted to publish it as a children’s book. However, he hadn’t sent me suggested edits and a year and a half had passed. In addition, my plan was to partner with a well-known children’s book illustrator, who introduced me as well as my story concept to the publisher in the first place. Hope for Amizero was to primarily feature beautiful colorful drawings, with an Amizero photo gallery in the back of the book.

Here’s the update: In late January, my illustrator friend met with the editor, who said he and his new senior editor boss were very excited about the story—BUT, they now wanted photographs to dominate the book (my initial book concept in the 1990s). My friend, who is already working with the publisher on other projects, is fine with that but I’m sure we’ll be able to include at least some of his exquisite art.

My assignment was to send an assortment of about a dozen images to the editor. Next, he asked me to send enough photos to illustrate every paragraph of the book! Having a plethora of photos wasn’t the issue for me: their format was the challenge. They were shot before the digital era, so I spent weeks sorting through transparencies and negatives, getting them scanned, color correcting the scans, organizing the digital images, and inserting them throughout the manuscript. In addition, I had a few “photo holes” in the story, especially when Amizero first arrived at the sanctuary, so I contacted a photographer friend who supplied many of those crucial images.

What’s the current status? The photo-illustrated manuscript is still making the rounds at the publishing house. The editor is sharing it with colleagues and will be back in touch with comments. Three weeks have passed—I’ll wait until early June before I check in with him again (if I haven’t heard back). I am hopeful that this will result in a book contract, but if it’s not quite right for this publisher, I hope—no, I know—it will be perfect for another!

San Diego native Georgeanne Irvine has devoted more than three decades of her career to raising awareness about animals and wildlife conservation. By day, she is associate director of development communications for the San Diego Zoo, where she has worked for 33 years. George is also the author of more than 20 children’s books plus numerous magazine, newspaper, and Web articles. George’s most recent work is the coffee table book, The Katrina Dolphins: One-Way Ticket to Paradise, which is a true story about 8 dolphins from an oceanarium who were washed out to sea during Hurricane Katrina and dramatically rescued.

My Favorite Writing Teacher

2011-05-20T15:37:00.000-07:00

My Favorite Writing Teacher
by Kathi Diamant

According to Franz Kafka, "If the writer is to escape madness he should never leave his desk; he must cling to it with his teeth." That bit of advice helped me finish a two-decades-long book project. But Kafka's wasn't the only advice I sought in the long road that led finally to publication. Brenda Ueland helped me with her classic guide to writing, first published in 1938, "If You Want To Write." She advised me to "write much much, in spite of imperfections."

Anne LaMott had a hand in my success, especially with "Bird By Bird," in which she encouraged me not to be afraid to write a sh***y first draft. That was actually the title of the chapter. Lately, I find that I cannot live without Roy Peter Clark's "Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer." His very first tool, "Begin sentences with subjects and verbs" was a revelation for me, even after a 20 year career as a professional writer.

Like other members of San Diego Writing Women, I now teach writing. I tell my students at San Diego State University's Osher Institute for Lifelong Learning that there is no other field of endeavor that has so much support, so many how-to books, courses, workshops, conferences all designed to help people become writers, who can tell their stories. Because if you don't tell your own stories, who will? To my memoir students I recommend Vivian Gornick and Anne LaMotte. To my travel writing writing students I recommend Pico Iyer and Bill Bryson. And to you, I recommend all the above named books and a visit to the book store.

I just spent several hours at a favorite local bookstore, examining the eight shelves filled with writing advice and guides. I was looking for familiar titles, as well as some new ones, and found them. Despite the fact that I have two long shelves at home filled with books on writing, I found I had to buy two more: "Telling True Stories: A non-fiction writers guide from the Nieman Foundation at Harvard University" and "The Making of a Story: A Norton Guide to Creative Writing" by Alice LaPlante. Every writing book I buy, every writing class I take, every conference I attend offers me wisdom, shared experience and inspiration.

As writers, we are blessed with many teachers in diffent formats. "When the student is ready, the teacher appears" is a trueism for anyone who genuinely wants to write. I found my best teachers in books. My all-time favorite remains "If You Want To Write: A Book About Art, Independence and Spirit." First published in 1938, it contains 12 points to keep in mind while writing. The poet Carl Sandberg called it "the best book ever written on how to write." It was republished in 1983 by Graywolf Press, for which it remains their bestselling title.

As Ueland said: “You may not have much ability, but what you have, get it all out, and be humble and simple and work even if you can think of no words with more than one syllable, and do the best you can and learn by doing much much, in spite of imperfections.”

That's the rule that still works for me, in all my writing. Even this blog!

Kathi Diamant is the director of the Kafka Project at San Diego State University and author of Kafka's Last Love: The Mystery of Dora Diamant" published by Basic Books in 2003. The biography won the Theodore Geisel Award for the "Best of the Best" at the San Diego Book Awards in 2004, and has been translated into Russian, Chinese, French, Spanish and Portuguese.

Writing Scared

2011-05-13T11:57:00.000-07:00

By Laurel Corona

“Writing scared” is a feeling any serious writer will understand perfectly. Writing IS scary, unless there’s no chance for growth in it, and in that case, why bother?
In the years I taught college composition, I used to tell my students that it was easy to think of a writing assignment, or indeed any challenge, in a way that would overwhelm them. The trick is to whittle down big problems to smaller ones that can be handled one at a time. Is a ten-page paper on the Russian Revolution too scary? Well, how about one paragraph on the lives of serfs? And then how about a paragraph on how the revolution was supposed to improve their lot? Can do! And then, how about…well, you get the picture. Lo and behold, eventually you hit page ten. Most of my students, to their surprise, did just that.
In the years I wrote Young Adult books for Lucent Books I didn’t think about the 120-page length. I thought about writing 6 consecutive 20-page papers about various subtopics. That length of paper wasn’t too scary for me–after all I’d gotten through grad school, hadn’t I? Within that 20-page chapter I asked myself, “Can you write a paragraph about Jomo Kenyatta? A page about colonialism?” Voila! A 120-page book took shape sentence by sentence because I was successful in never seeing it as a 120-page book.
A few years ago, the same thing got me through writing my first full-length book, UNTIL OUR LAST BREATH. An accurate and compelling portrait of the Jewish Partisan movement? Yikes! A contribution to the literature about the Holocaust? Double yikes! A page about the Nazi invasion of Lithuania? Yes. A paragraph about ghetto administrator Jacob Gens? Yes. A book? Eventually.
The fact that writing never stops being scary is tied to the fact that it never gets easy. The biggest difference between my attitude and theirs, I used to tell my students, is that experience has given me confidence that it will work out well. I know I can write what I put my mind to. I just have to figure out the baby steps every time.
I’m thinking about this a lot right now, as my fourth novel, THE SHAPE OF THE WORLD is finished and headed for market. Soon I’ll be starting on my fifth, based on an idea I’ve had for several years. The thought scares me as much as starting THE SHAPE OF THE WORLD did, or FINDING EMILIE, or PENELOPE’S DAUGHTER, or THE FOUR SEASONS. Some things never change. Can I write a novel about life in New York just before World War I? Wow, I don’t know about that. It’s pretty big. It’s awfully scary. Can I whittle it down into doable pieces? Awfully glad I think so.
So here’s some advice for anyone out there thinking about writing a book: try not to think about writing a book. Try to think only about writing what is happening at that moment in your narrative, whether fiction or non-fiction. For fiction, write dialogue, write sensory descriptions, write what people do, write what is transpiring right then. For non-fiction (assuming you have a pretty good working outline already) think only about the immediate matter at hand. Try not to focus on how much is left to do, or sections you might still be weeks or months off from writing.
Stay in the now. A very long but enjoyable process awaits, by which you discover to your amazement that it adds up to a book, one “now” at a time.

Fact or Fiction?

2011-05-06T09:26:00.000-07:00

By Caitlin Rother

As the author of both fiction and nonfiction books, I thought that readers might be interested to hear how the writing process differs between the two genres, at least for me, and how I go about choosing the cases I feature in my books.

My true crime titles are Dead Reckoning, which went to a second printing in just two months; Twisted Triangle, which was the #1 true crime book on Amazon shortly after it came out in 2008; Poisoned Love, now in its seventh printing; Where Hope Begins, which is coming out in paperback as Deadly Devotion in June; and Body Parts. Naked Addiction, a thriller, is my only work of fiction so far. I’m currently working on a book about the John Gardner-Chelsea King-Amber Dubois case, The Makings of a Monster, which will come out next year.

Commercial fiction and nonfiction may be geared more toward entertainment purposes than their literary counterparts, but I try to incorporate some deeper messages into the stories I choose to tell. I’ve heard the opinion (from an attempted murderer, mind you) that true crime writers are “predators,” preying on the tragedy of families or glorifying violence. But those are certainly not my intentions. I believe I have a higher calling.

I choose the true crime stories that let me explore the psychological aspects of the human condition and illustrate the extremely important issues of life and death that we all share as well as the struggle to survive and recover from tragedy. Violent crimes can cause feelings ranging from betrayal and loss to utter devastation, not just to the victim’s family but to the killer’s family as well. I try to touch on these same psychological issues in my fiction, too. To me, all of this is just as meaningful and relevant to society, if not more so, than other genres that tend to get more respect from reviewers and society at large.

Some folks, including my former newspaper colleagues, have told me they liked my books, as if it was a big surprise, because they don't usually read true crime (as if it wasn’t worth their time). As a highly acclaimed literary fiction writer was signing a copy of his book for me, he said, “I love true crime!” As if it was his dirty little secret. The irony is that these books do sell, so somebody must be reading them!

With both kinds of writing, I find myself in "the zone" if I'm having a good day. (It’s much harder to write fiction in spurts because I lose my train of thought and forget where I’m going with the plot or a character's motivation.) Both forms of writing require a lot of thinking before I can even sit down at the computer. Deciding how to tell a story – what parts in what order – is always challenging.

Nonfiction can be more challenging because it requires so much research before I can determine the best way to present the information. It helps that I know where the story ends. With fiction, however, I often seem to end up somewhere other than where I'd planned – regardless of any outline I might draft – because the characters take over and go in their own directions. Some of them can be pretty headstrong, but that's how I get my twists and turns. Most of the twists aren't planned; they’re as much a surprise to me as they are, hopefully, to the reader.

Although I have published far more true crime books than fiction, fiction was my first passion, and is how I got started writing books in the first place. (It took me 17 years to get Naked Addiction published.) Growing up as an only child, I told myself stories, talked to myself in the mirror as different characters, and read lots of fiction and comic books to keep myself amused. Later, I added movies into the mix. I have always loved stories and storytelling.

I started writing fiction before I became a journalist, but it became more important several years into my newspaper career because it provided a creative and therapeutic relief from the daily grind of analytical thinking and fact-finding. I thought that after writing as many as four stories in a day I wouldn't have the time or energy to write at night or on weekends, but I was wrong. Writing fiction energized me, kept me up late at night, as the plot for what ultimately became Naked Addiction unfolded on my notepad. It was like a drug. From there, I learned to write narrative nonfiction – true stories that read like fiction, which combines the best of both worlds. After writing lengthy narratives for the newspaper, books were the natural next step.

As a result, the two writing forms have become symbiotic for me, i.e. my fiction writing has helped improve my nonfiction storytelling and my knowledge about homicide investigations has helped inform my fiction.

I find it fulfilling to explore a true crime case in such depth, to really probe the players about their investigative processes and strategies for trial, to go deep into the family backgrounds of both the victims and the defendant, and best of all, to learn about the evidence in such depth – usually in more detail than the jury ever knew.

Working on a constant deadline requires me to be extremely organized, planning the sequence of my interviews based on who or who may not want to talk to me and what I need to know before I can interview the next person. Sometimes you only get one shot at someone, and even if they say they'll talk to you again, they often change their mind. That's why documents and investigative reports are so important. My home office, my dining room table, and other nooks and crannies throughout my house become the repository for boxes, files, and stacks of paper. Let's just say I'm very thorough.

When each new book arrives at my house, there is nothing quite like the pride and accomplishment I feel as I hold it in my hand. Hearing from readers who were touched, moved or inspired by my writing makes it even more worthwhile, and with this blog, (and by teaching narrative non-fiction, creative writing and journalism at the University of California San Diego Extension), I can pass on what I’ve learned to others.

Caitlin Rother, a Pulitzer-nominee who worked as a investigativer reporter for nearly 20 years, is the author or co-author of seven books: Body Pa rts, Twisted Triangle, Naked Addiction, Poisoned Love, Where Hope Begins, My Life, Deleted, and her latest book, Dead Reckoning, which is available in bookstores now. For more information, please check out her website, caitlinrother.com.