Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Writer’s Block? I’ve got “Writer’s Doubt”


By Kathy Dueck
Despite having written for years, it’s been tough for me to believe in my abilities as a writer, and send out my work.  I struggle with writer’s doubt.  Maybe you do, too.  Never mind the husband telling me over and over again that I’m a good writer; what I focus on instead is the negative voice inside my head that says “you’re not good enough”.  Despite getting straight A’s to date in the Professional Writing Certificate program I’m currently enrolled in, I remember what a hard slog my technical writing contract of last spring was.  At one point, I was completely demoralised when the lead technical writer changed almost every sentence of a document I’d edited.
I got to the point where I’d had enough of letting fear and self-doubt hold me back and decided to take a big gulp, put on my big girl panties and overcome this inertia.  I’ve become less bashful with my submitting my words, less intimidated by the process and less willing to have my prose sit on my external hard drive. 
My stories and articles and pitches are being sent out now. And not just to places that know me, like our church’s newsletter.
Lo and behold, I’ve had pieces accepted in the past year. By complete strangers no less who, one assumes, recognize good writing.  I’ve had a non-fiction article published in a Canadian magazine and a short story, Bullying: A Success Story, will be published shortly by short storiescafé.com who “feel it is a well-written, empowering story that would be great to include on Short Stories Cafe.”
And, with every acceptance, doubt and fear take a back seat. I’ve learned: nothing cramps creativity’s style like those two “devils on my shoulder”.  Hence, I’m inspired to write and look for places to send my writing to. Word by word, acceptance by acceptance, belief replaces fear and doubt and I dare to hope: maybe this here writing thing will work out after all. 
As for the colleague who changed all my sentences? I’ve given her control-freaky self the middle-finger salute.


Kathy Dueck is a married writer with two cats from Calgary, Alberta Canada. She's a non-conformist, a burgeoning activist, a recipe developer, a voracious reader, a patron of the arts [which is a fancy way of saying she watches way too many movies and TV shows], a blogger, and a volunteer. She believes that “going to church doesn’t make you a Christian anymore than standing in a garage makes you a car” and likes to think that “if church were a washing machine, I would be the agitator.”

Kathy has two blogs, one is a food and recipe blog www.chronicinthekitchen.com and the other  a "personal" blog  called FibroDAZE http://bignoises.wordpress.com/ where she blogs about life and sometimes about life with chronic illness. She also has a photography blog rkdphotocreations.wordpress.com in its' infancy.



Thursday, April 11, 2013

It's All in the Words - Short-Short Story Challenge


Words. Words spill onto the page to create stories for everyone. Young and old. Sad stories, scary stories, happy stories, funny stories, children’s stories, family stories… You never know what you’re going to get when you sit down, pen and paper in hand. You write madly, until finally a story takes shape. Then you edit. Until you have the words just right.
And then you share.

Here’s the challenge.
Write a story in 7 days. You will be given a list story prompts and then have 7 days to write, edit and submit your story. A jury will select a short-list then our judges will choose the winners. The winner will be announced the Writer in Residence Final Reading on June 27, 2013 at Owl’s Nest Books. All finalists will be invited to read their stories along with Lori Hahnel at the final reading closing her residency.

1st prize: A free course voucher from AWCS.
2nd prize: A free Saturday workshop voucher from AWCS.


Finalists stories will be published on the AWCS blog, Writer’s Corner beginning June 1, 2013.
Entry fee: $5
Open to all residents of Alberta.
Contest Judges: Lori Hahnel | J. Jill Robinson | Rona Altrows
How to Enter
Fill out online registration. Pay the $5 entry fee. (Pay online by PayPal, Visa/Mastercard, or send Cash or Cheque to AWCS, 922, 9th Ave SE, Calgary, AB T2G 0S4) All applicants must fill out online registration.

All registered participants will receive the story prompts on May 5, 2013 at 12:00am. Check your email inbox. Choose one and write your story. Stories can be any genre, any topic, as long as one of the story prompts appears in your story.

Maximum 500 words. Typed, double-spaced, in an easy to read font, numbered pages. Title must appear as a header at the top of the page, on every page.

Submit your completed stories by May 11, 2013 11:59pm by email to info@alexandrawriters.org in .doc or .docx format. Names must not appear anywhere on the stories.
In the body of the email please include your name, contact information, title of story and word count.
Have fun. Be creative.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

The Clothesline, by Jamal Ali



The gentle wind soothed the young widow’s loneliness on that bright summer’s day,
in June 2010, the day of her tenth wedding anniversary, in the backyard of her hilltop home. From her perch, while hanging her wash on the clothesline, Yolanta marvelled at the view of the Atlantic. She reminisced about her sailor husband, Alistair, who never returned from that fateful voyage. Alistair and his crew, on their
journey from the Halifax Harbour to San Juan, Puerto Rico, in that summer of yesteryear were never heard from or found, Lucifer in The Devil’s Triangle claimed them. Yolanta reflected on Alistair’s parting words on that morning while embracing and caressing him, “Our love, precious as the sun and moon will forever be in the music of memory, the living oceans and seas.”

The tender touch of her lacy bras and silky panties reminded Yolanta of the nights of lovemaking in these sexy underthings. She whispered, “I surely miss those carnal nights of splendour with my prince under satin sheets” and wondered, would it ever
happen again?

While looking at the celestial sphere and the ocean, Yolanta whispered with a tear, “Oh Aphrodite and Amphitrite, please, please, bring back my Alistair to me. Please, rescue him from Lucifer’s arms, ‘cause he’s my true love.” As she hummed the lyrics to Petula Clark’s song, “Sailor,” tears flowed down Yolanta’s cheeks; she planted her right hand firmly on her chest to the words:

                       To the harbour of my heart
                        I will send my love to guide you
                        As I call across the sea
                        Come home to me

She hummed favourite love tunes that the couple sang to each other, in their past lives of marital bliss. Yolanta’s secret admirer looks through his dining room window, focusing on the tall, slender brunette and the fluttering lingerie.

Jamal Ali








Wednesday, March 13, 2013

"Hmm, interesting reading." or "Why are you so weird?"

Whether the reading is formal or informal, I'm talking about that awkward moment when…

You share your work with a good friend, small group, or large audience, and at the end they just kinda stare.

Okay. No big deal. At least they aren't throwing hot pennies or calling for a pox on your house. What's in a blank gaze anyway?

EVERYTHING YOU FEAR.

That's what. The non-reaction is a Great White Wall upon which you are compelled to project your dreadfuls. The following are just a few examples of what can be read into that blank silence.

"Sorry, what? Were you making mouth sounds just now?"

"I don't get it."

"Is there any way I can get this out of my brain before it sets?"

"I'm embarrassed for you."

Maybe that's just my wall. I can't say what you'd project onto yours. I don't know why glassy-eyed stares can't ever be a positive thing in my mind, like…

"I am rendered expressionless in the presence of this living treasure."

Bwahahaha!

For me the scariest part about reading isn't the worry that I'll stumble over a word or my voice might shake. It's the Wall. That white expanse demanding the harsh pigments of my interpretation.

Perhaps I need to work on that. Rewriting the wall. Or maybe just leaving it blank.


Monday, February 11, 2013

Thar Be Monsters

My critique partner is an awful good sport. She's tough and patient and knows how to handle me when I'm nearly unhandleable. She also indulges my wackadoo ideas of writerly fun.

I suggested an evening where we take turns reading aloud from a piece of our early work. I mean early, early. Stuff we wrote when we were so green that if we were stuck in the ground we'd grow.

Remember that stage? When you just wrote and wrote and wrote, careening along with no thought to the danger skulking all around you. The jabberwock of telling, the screaming cliché banshee, the morlock holes of thin characterization, adverbs breeding like wererabbits, and the angry unicorn of author intrusion. 

I thought sharing our worst writing would be good for a giggle, and thanks to our good friend Twobottles O. Redwine, it was a scream.

My partner read first, an excerpt from a spooky short. I was dismayed to find that aside from an ambiguous point of view, and a moment of oddly placed hyperbole, her story wasn't awful. What the heck, man? This was not what I signed up for, but we had a deal. So I read an excerpt from a romantic comedy novel that I'd exhumed for the occasion.

I won't bore you with the specifics of how and why my story was so dreadful. I will say that if the occurrence of adverbs could be turned into a drinking game, I would have been hospitalized.

Overall there were laughs a plenty. Hysterics, even. I might have inhaled a morsel of brie. But in spite of the silliness, I'm going to level with y'all and admit it was genuinely embarrassing.

It's weird to be mortified by the quality of your first 'serious' writing project. After all, wouldn't it be more alarming to pick up something you wrote as a newb and be as proud of it now as you were then? Being semi-horrified is a sign you've embraced the learn and grow, which is good. I was still embarrassed though, and that's not all. Stay with me.

I'm having a feel...

The last thing I expected was to be jealous of my novice self. She was a terrible writer with delusions of Salinger. Yet I miss her fearlessness and excitement. I miss the wild creative lightning that inured her to the terror I experience now that I'm aware of what lurks in the literary shadows. Bitey jaws. Catchy claws.

Writing is dangerous, but it's also a thrilling adventure. I think I've lost sight of that a little bit.

I challenge you to go back and read those first stories/poems/plays. It's humbling and hilarious. It's a reminder that as you venture into the darkened wood, you don't necessarily have to slay the jabberwocky, sometimes you only need to believe you can outrun him. 

 

Monday, January 28, 2013

AWCS Open Mic Night, Jan. 30

Top ten reasons to attend the first open mic of 2013.

1. Hang out with the emcee, a delightful individual prone to verbal gaffes, furious blushing, and cosplay (most recently, a bumblebee).

2. Connect with other writers. We're not so odd once you get to know us - or maybe we are, but I think of it as part of our charm.

3. You don't have to read if you don't want to.

4. If you do want to read, it's a super-duper relaxed, super-duper supportive atmosphere.

5. Wednesdays are boring. Open Mic is fun.

6. Owl's are scary. Help me work through my (apparently ridiculous) phobia.

7. Regular reading is good for your writing.

8. We're open to all kinds of material. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, plays, songs, confessions, space operas, diary entries, noir, romance, satire, history, tentacles, paranoid cyberpunk etc. We'd love to hear it.

9. Owl's Nest is an outstanding bookstore that does a tremendous lot to support the writing community. They also have terrific people who can point you toward a great book.

10. GOODIES and WINE provided!


Everyone welcome! Hope to see you there!


When: Wednesday, January 30 @ 7pm
Where: Owl's Nest Books 815A - 49th Avenue SW, Calgary
Emcee: Sarah Johnson (that's me, the owl-fearing bumblebee)



Monday, January 21, 2013

They've acknowledged my existence!

I got a rejection today. Nothing special. Just one more to chuck on the mounting pile. I don't know how many rejections I've received. There's a spreadsheet keeping track of such things somewhere on my computer.  I estimate it's less than a squillion and a lot more than I could count with my socks off.

Suffice it to say, I've been rejected a lot. Enough that I don't get sulky about it anymore, unless it's a market I had particularly high hopes for. Then I allow myself an hour or two of sullen b*tch face. You gotta feel your feelings, yo.


This morning, however, I reacted to a rejection in a wholly unexpected way. I was happy. For real. It wasn't personalized. In fact it was the formiest of form rejections. You know the type,"Dear Author…". No, I was happy, because for the first time in months and months, I got a response from one of the markets I'd submitted to.

I know publishing is a game of hurry up and wait. I know mags are understaffed, with a budget of zero dollars and all the rest. I know that as a writer, all I can do is submit my best work and hope the right person reads it at the right time.

But dang if it isn't frustrating at times.

There, I said it.

It feels like the kind of thing we're not supposed to say. Our work languishes in the slush for months on end and we're supposed to accept that with serenity and grace and never ever get impatient. Well I admit that I do get impatient. I want what I want, and I want it right now. Maybe this extended period of radio silence is meant to teach me a lesson. Maybe it already has.

That rejection letter didn't even have my name on it, yet it made me smile. Written confirmation that I'm still here. I'm still trying. I'm still a writer.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Flabby Stories - My Word Loss Journey, Part 2

Welcome to part two, the Hydroxycut after-pic of my previously portly story. This picture actually has nothing to do with editing, or stories, or writing…in fact it's completely irrelevant. I just think it's funny, and representative of how I feel whenever I'm awake.

You may recall that I'd challenged myself with chopping a 4700-word story down to 3500. It wasn't easy, but thanks to the invaluable assistance of my critique partner whom I adore to the point of impropriety...

We are down to 3476 words. Oh yeah!

This morning, the story and I sat down and had a conversation. The transcript is as follows:

Me: So, Story? How do you feel now that we've surpassed our word-loss goal?

Story: HUNGRY. I HATE YOU.

Me: C'mon, baby. Don't be like that.

Story: *stony silence*

Me: Well I think you read great. Tighter. Improved pacing. More tension. That's gotta feel good, right?

Story: I WANT MY EXTRA 24 WORDS BACK.

Me: I don't think I like your attitude. I did this for you. Maybe a couple weeks in the drawer will help you understand that.

Story: DON'T YOU TOUCH ME.

Me: Look, I can see we're in a weird place right now. Maybe we should take some time and--

Story: I THINK YOU HAVE A SUBMISSION TO PREPARE.

Me: Are you sure you're ready?

Story: I GUESS…but if I'm rejected, can I come back home?

Me: "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." That's Robert Frost.

Story: YOU READ A POEM? I THINK I MIGHT FAINT.


There you have it folks. An untidy ending. I'd hoped my story would shower me with gratitude and we'd live happily ever after. Overall, I feel good about what I've done, but there's a part of me that wonders. Did I cut too deep, nick a vital organ, transect the aorta? I suppose time will tell.



Monday, January 7, 2013

Flabby Stories - My Word Loss Journey

I have a short story that after several drafts, weighs in at an obese 4700 words. I want to submit it to a mag that has a firm upper limit of 3500 words (fascists). This is a daunting challenge. We need to lose 1200 words. That's 25% of the story. That's not just putting your head on the chopping block, but your shoulders and arms too.

Except it's not the head, shoulders and arms that need to come off. Those are useful parts with a purpose. So are legs and torsos. Cutting them off isn't a healthy way to reach one's goal weight. With that in mind, I've decided to put my story on a strict cabbage-water diet and reduce at the cellular level.

Cue dramatic editing montage with black coffee, crumpled papers, feral children, overturned whiskey tumbler, 3am crying jag etc.


The results so far...

Fatty adverbs, incinerated
Bloated dialogue, deflated
Indulgent similes, jettisoned
Even the leanest adjectives have gone into hiding (I suspect the spleen is aiding these refugees)

In all, we've metabolized 850 words. My story is in ketosis, feeding off its own meat. We fit into our size 6 jeggings. But we're still overcount by 350 words. It's time to introduce exercise. Deep knee bends, sit ups, and running in a hefty bag at high noon. We're going to turn up the thermostat.

If the furnace is hot enough, anything will burn*. Even those last 350 words.

Stay-tuned for the 'after' photo.


*Please don't burn books. Book-burning bad.



Friday, November 30, 2012

Write what you know

Okay, so that's almost the worst advice ever. What does it mean?

Write a story about tying my shoes, making Kraft Dinner, drawing a blood sample from the femoral artery?

I know how to do that stuff. Am I therefore limited to writing only about those things?

What about fantasy and sci-fi? I'm certain Frank Herbert never drank bile from the sand worms of Arrakis. Yet when he describes a Bene Gesserit sister writhing in the throes of spice agony, we feel it, we believe it.



Write what you know is an oversimplification of a complex idea. I think it means write with resonance.

Stories that resonate strike universal chords within the most defamiliarized of experiences.

A story about learning to tie your shoes might be boring. However, that universal experience would resonate with me in a description of a feral child having his feet horned into shoes for the first time, and staring in apprehension at those straggling laces. It would throw me straight back to kindergarten. I'd recall my own childish uncertainty in the face of shoelaces and adult expectation.

The spice agony described in the Dune Saga might strike a chord of familiarity within those of us who've recreationally/medicinally consumed mind-altering substances (I'm not pointing fingers, you know who you are).

So that's what I'm thinking about these days.

Resonance, universality, and sand worms.

The little truths that bind us all.








Monday, November 26, 2012

Open Mic On Wednesday November 27th

Come on down to Owl's Nest books for the last AWCS Open Mic of 2012.

Bring 5min worth of reading or just come to listen and enjoy some wine and goodies in a beautiful bookstore.

Where: Owl's Nest Books 
815 - 49th Avenue SW (Britannia Shopping Centre)
www.owlsnestbooks.com

When: November 27th @7-8:30pm

Everyone welcome!

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Notebooks: where stories are born

This past Monday, in anticipation of the U.S. election media freakshow, I committed to a two day internet black out. I still had email, and maybe that's cheating, but the point is I didn't tweet, Facebook, wiki, tumblr, YouTube, CBC, Cracked, Onion for two whole days. Let me tell you what happens when you sever yourself from the massive decentralized information network that you've grafted your brain to.

1. You look outside to see what the weather is like.

2. You wonder if people you don't know will care or notice that you haven't tweeted what you ate for breakfast.

3. You decide to read, and become annoyed when your interest is piqued by the mention of a Russian tradition called 'Green Week' and you aren't allowed to wiki it. 

4. You watch TV and wonder if Stana Katic (Castle) is pregnant because she's wearing puffy shirts and you can't check to see if it's true. (FYI, she's not)

The other thing I did was dig out a tattered stack of coiled notebooks. I read through, oldest to most recent. There were notes for stories I've written and since published, stories half-finished and languishing in hard drive hell, ideas for stories I may never write at all, and   lots of bizarre, unclassifiable stuff.

One page is entirely blank, but for the following. "I don't smoke. Well, I do…but only when I binge drink." To my knowledge I've never used that line anywhere. But hey, I still might.

I've also got notes going back five years for a novel I'm working on now. Reading those early notes reconnected me with the germ of the story. The idea in situ. Sure, the writing is wretched and I appear to be using an alien style guide for comma usage, but there's a crackling energy embedded in that sloppy scrawl. I remember the words pouring out of my brain faster than my hand could take them down.

I didn't write at all during my internet blackout, but I learned something about my creative process. Coiled notebooks are where my ideas take their first gasp of outside air, where my characters take their first steps. There are all kinds of unrefined goodies that pour out when I put pen to paper. I think I'll unplug more often.


Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Halloween week events!

Cool things happening this week

October 31st

AWCS Open Mic

7pm@ Owl's Nest Books

Dress up if you like, and bring a couple pages to read. Everyone welcome!

http://www.facebook.com/events/485010938205240/

November 1st

Come on out to either Memorial Park Library, or Owl's Nest Books to hear some great readings and support local writers.

Literary Vaudeville: Loud in the LIbrary

7pm@ Memorial Park Library

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Literary-Vaudeville-Loud-in-the-Library/282383785194421?fref=ts

Writing in the Works

7pm@ Owl's Nest Books

http://www.facebook.com/events/403346169718993/