« December 2006 | Main | February 2007 »
Useful to remember for all endeavors, all creative work:
Seven blunders of the world that lead to violence: wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, commerce without morality, science without humanity, worship without sacrifice, politics without principle.
—Mahatma Gandhi
Well, it seems yet another attempt made to get a writing critique group up and running here in Corvallis is dead on the vine. Last fall, I was willing to go along with a handful of women who said this is what they wanted, a regular time and place to share their writing work. After one meeting, it became clear (to me) that it was the usual congregation of too-busy, overcommitted folks who fancy themselves as writers but, really and truly, aren't in it for the hard work of having their words read and critiqued. After a few more fits and starts about when to meet during the busy days of early December, the back-and-forth e-mail chatter stopped. Truth to tell, I'm relieved.
It's time for me to move on. There isn't going to be a miracle for me, finding a group in this town. Either they all know each other and have their regular gaggles or they don't want new members or they aren't approaching their writing with the same gusto? zeal? foolish dedication? as I want and need to do.
Maybe in Portland I can see out the remnants of Carolyn's old crew. Or find new like-minded souls through something like the Attic Workshop. Meanwhile, to keep doing the work.
We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
—E. M. Forster
A friend is working on a panel about “Late Bloomers” for the Associated Writing Program’s annual conference, this year in Atlanta. By this, I think she means folks who come to their writing careers and/or get published and recognized after forty. Our back-and-forth e-mails got me thinking about what such a term means, and whether or not it really is applicable to so many who truly embrace writing and the writing life—at young and older ages.
To me, late implies time passing—as does the word blooming—as if there is a before and after somehow, an inevitable progression. A flower follows a cycle, blooms, the blossom drops and dies. I wonder, instead, shouldn't we see creativity and art as part of the flow of our lives, something we inhabit and do, rather than arrive at as a destination?
For a host of reasons, many of us take longer to do what we want or feel we are meant to do in life. I returned to a focus on writing at in 1988 when I was in my early 30s; that seems young now, looking back. I moved on from extramural classes to the master’s program at SUNY/Binghamton, getting my degree in 1994. But only in my 40s, after other life priorities shifted or changed, was I able to make writing my daily focus. And still that journey has included more workshops, classes, and writing teachers and mentors. Surely, life intervenes time and again, even for writers who start out of the gate running showing promise when they are 25 years old.
Are the potholes any different for a late-blooming writer than a youngster? Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes I think there are more potholes the farther away you live from New York City or if you are outside the college/university writing scene, as I have chosen to be. Still, I think an increasing number of writers (not just later-in-life ones) are doing their work outside of academia. Many can't afford to plunk down the tuition money for MFA/MA programs. Or they aren't willing to go into debt for a degree that won't necessarily get them very much in the end. This may make it even harder to market oneself, or to break into the journals especially the ones associated with colleges and universities—we all know connections are the name of the game in that writing world.
I also wonder if publication a good way to measure who is and isn’t arriving to the writer’s life late? Publishing is a major crapshoot. I have had some success in my “late blooming period” (a fellowship, publications). Still, these successes, while encouraging, are a reminder that the competition to be "discovered" let alone successfully published—and read by more than your friends and relatives, books not immediately remaindered, etc.—is fierce. Some of this is a direct result of the industry the AWP itself has worked to create—so many writing programs which has led to many more writers at a time when fewer and fewer people are reading and buying books. The longer I work at this (and possibly the older I get) I find I am writing more for myself and less for any hope of recognition or the attentive eyes of the world. I know young writers who've come to this same conclusion. We do it for the love or because we can't not write. And hope to find a few readers along the way who like and appreciate our work. Anything beyond that is gravy.
I suspect blooming only happens when we stop talking about whether it's early or late and simply sit down and do the work. In the end, isn't that all that matters?
I believe this is a quote from a Charles Bukowski poem about writing. I ripped it from a New York Times Book Review but forgot to note the attribution:
...often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility
no drink
no woman's love
no wealth
can
match it.
Nothing can save you
except writing.
I can relate at times to the sentiment but, really, why is that a poem?
Arrived in today's mail from the newly-reincarnated, Poetry Northwest, based in Portland. Discouraging as they are looking for new work but my four pieces don't cut whatever new they want, I guess. I can't let this color my decision to try and reach out to these folks and their Attic Workshop when we move up to the city. Don't pass judgment on a community or a writing scene before you've experienced it firsthand, right? Still, a Friday evening sigh. Back to the drawing board, back to reading these mags and trying to figure out what they want, what they prefer. Maybe I'm too set in my ways, too idiosyncratic, too wanting to write the way I want to write to bend to au courant poetry whims. Or maybe I'm simply deluded about my ability and the quality of my work. The latter's more likely. Oh well, this too shall pass.
2007 seems like the year to take charge—of my writing, my publishing record, my whatever is next career. With that in mind, I have been toying with the idea of starting a press. On-line with possibly a limited number of print editions, perhaps maybe an annual anthology, hey why not even a contest? I know, I know. So many writers, so few readers, so little time. But that doesn't stop the others so why should it stop me? So why do this? What motivates me?
1. I'd like to work as an editor, a critic, a reviewer, a selector, and a publisher. I know I am good at this kind of work. But it seems like those jobs are impossible to compete for and get. Why not create my own opportunity with a press?
2. I am continually disgusted with the "it's who you know" aspect of literary publishing in the US of A. Create my own/yet another press to give the middle finger to that?
3. I am a good judge of quality so why not put that skill to use.
4. I have a decent design eye, too, and with the help of a web designer friend like C. we could create a beautiful web site and print product.
5. I need to be busier above and beyond simply sitting here, isolated and writing.
6. The web/internet is all about writing and publishing, is a good place to build and sustain a virtual reading and writing community.
7. It doesn't have to be only about the literary; we can showcase our other interests and obsessions as well.
8. And hey, I can publish my own work once it's (most likely) rejected from the dozen contests I entered the poetry in this past year.
