First, the good news! Apprentice Shop Books has released the latest book in the "America's Notable Women" series, this one written by The Write Sisters: Women of the Constitution State: 25 Connecticut Women You Should Know.
The variety of women found in this latest book of biographical profiles is amazing. There are nurses, dancers, astronomers, politicians, writers, judges, and more! You won't want to miss it!
Now, for the not-so-good news. After 712 posts, The Write Sisters have decided that we've reached the end of this great adventure known as blogging. We started fitfully back in 2007, hit our stride in 2008, and have had 5 strong years. Alas, life gets in the way. Interests and goals change. We get older. The continuation of our blog no longer fits for us.
We will keep the blog accessible, so that new writers can browse through our helpful "Mentor Monday" posts. If you're interested in strong women, there's our "Women of Wednesday" posts to mine. If you're a friend of poetry, "Poetry Friday" offerings will remain to delight you with words.
Looking for something particular? Simply use the search box at the top left of the screen, or the blog search box on the right-hand side.
It's been fun! We wish you all the best of luck in your writing, and lots of love in your life. But, for now...
Monday, February 11, 2013
Friday, February 8, 2013
Poetry Friday--"Snowflake"
It's nearly Valentine's Day, a supersnowstorm is heading our way, and I've found the perfect poem!
SnowflakeDidn't I tell you? It's a lesson in science, it's a lesson in love, it's a lesson in hope. It's happiness! How have I never read this before? If you've never come across it, I hope it delights you as much as it has me.
by William Baer
Timing's everything. The vapor rises
high in the sky, tossing to and fro,
then freezes, suddenly, and crystallizes
into a perfect flake of miraculous snow.
For countless miles, drifting east above
the world, whirling about in a swirling free-
for-all, appearing aimless, just like love,
but sensing, seeking out, its destiny.
Falling to where the two young skaters stand,
hand in hand, then flips and dips and whips
itself about to ever-so-gently land,
a miracle, across her unkissed lips:
as he blocks the wind raging from the south,
leaning forward to kiss her lovely mouth.
You'll find the Poetry Friday Round-Up taking place at A Teaching Life. Please stop by.
Photo by nutmeg66.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Re-imagining Revision
Maybe you have hit a wall. "Revision" in your
writing has turned into a series of minor word changes and sentence
alterations. You don't feel as if you are really
revising. You’re simply marking time, waiting for some new thought, some new
way to express your ideas. How to break
out of this funk?
One my go-to solutions at this point is an old book. Revision by Kit Reed was published in
1991 but I still find it useful. It was written for the fiction writer. I'm usually
stuck in a mess of non-fiction or creative non-fiction. Will any of Reed's
techniques be able to help the non-fiction writer, you ask? I do feel somewhat like a trespasser, a
person visiting a church I don't attend. If I sit in a foreign pew and stare at
someone else’s' altar, will God still hear me?
If I read a book about revising fiction,
will it help me out of my non-fiction slump?
I can say that it does.
Kit Reed is ready for doubters like me: "Even attitudes
need revision," she says almost immediately. (p. 4) I have been clinging to the idea that I lack
the ability to go any further with my stories. I read this sentence in Reed's
book and sheepishly recognize that part of my so-called slump concerning this
latest round of rewrites might be a result, not of ability, but the other "A" word: attitude.
Revision, Reed points out, ". . . closes the distance
between you and your audience." (p.10)
So, revision is not about what the writer wants to say as much as what
the writer wants the reader to know. Have I been going about this all
wrong? I was writing a series of
chapters relating the historic development of forensic science. The first story
tells of Paul Revere who identified the war-torn body of a friend from the
false teeth Revere had made for him. As I was writing my Paul Revere story,
members of my critique group kept saying: "We just want to know about the
teeth." I got so caught up in Paul
Revere the silversmith, Paul Revere the father of eight children, Paul Revere the
Revolutionary, that I included all of those things when I should have been
focusing on Paul Revere the maker of false teeth. Kit Reed encourages the
revising writer to stop thinking about the story at a certain point and
focus on the receiver of the story.
My critique group was giving me the same advice.
Reed divides revision into two basic types: 1) draft
writing, draft revision; and 2) block construction (or revising as you go).
(pp. 29 - 32) Draft revisers write the
complete story before beginning revisions. They may make large organizational
changes between one draft and the next.
Block constructionists work on one sentence until it is perfect then
move to the next. They work on one paragraph until it is perfect and so on.
I am a draft writer. I need a beginning, middle, and end
before I can make any changes. I admire people who can work from an outline or
write the last chapter before they write the first, but I'm not one of those
people. I start each story with a vague idea of what I hope to accomplish, who
my characters are and, if I'm lucky, something of a plot. Even a work of non-fiction needs this basic
plan.
After several revisions, however, when the story seems
"cooked,” Reed reminds us that there is still more to do:
“No matter which method
we choose, sooner or later we come up against that moment when we have written
"the end" and discover we still need to consider one more reading,
for that third major kind of revision: revision to strengthen structure and
story.
This relates to an important
point. There are things you have to do
even after you think you are finished." (p.38)
One of the great mysteries of my writing life is why, after
I've spent so much time researching, reading, thinking, and preparing to write
a story, I can't just skip all the junk and go immediately to a perfect
piece. Kit Reed tells me I'm not alone.
As frustrating as it sometimes becomes, revision is part of the package. She
suggests three ways to tell whether a piece is really done: 1) by reading the
works of others and comparing what you've written. 2) by putting the work aside
and giving yourself distance from it. 3) by allowing outside readers (critique
groups, friends, even editors) to judge whether the piece continues to need
work.
I have done all of these things with past work and the truth
is, they are all helpful. Unfortunately, the answer I really wish for (Someday you'll get it down perfectly in one
try!) doesn't exist.
Reed does provide me with an alternative: a series of
step-by-step questions to ask myself as I rework my latest story. The author
means her book to guide fiction writers. Will her suggestions help me over the
wall I've hit with my non-fiction pieces?
Some do:
Am I saying what I mean?
Are my word choices working for or against me? What about sentence variety? Do I sound like me or the last writer I read?
Is my opening interesting? Does my story
really begin here? Have I added enough
(or too much) detail?
I rethink the beginning to my piece on Zachary Taylor. I had
started with the day he became ill. Does my story really start there? My book is about forensic science. Why is
Zachary Taylor even interesting to a forensic scientist? This story must begin with his death and the
reasons it was considered mysterious enough to warrant forensic research. I
want to grab my audience, too. So I start on the day Taylor died:
"July 9, 1850. The news spread
quickly: the President of the United States was dead. Many, many people were
glad to hear it."
This opening feels better. I have set the time of the story,
the character, and a statement that just might make my reader want to know
more.
As I begin to write a piece on Jesse James, I keep Reed's
question in mind: Am I saying what I mean?
I mean to tell a story about
forensic science so how do I turn an outlaw's story into a story of
science? I must start this story not at
Jesse's death, but at the point his death becomes a forensic mystery. I begin
the story sixty-six years after Jesse's death, when an elderly man claims that
he really is Jesse James. I feel as if I'm beginning to get to the
"teeth" of all my stories.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Poetry Friday--Solitude
There's a short opening stanza of a poem by Galway Kinnell titled "There Are Things I Tell to No One," it goes:
Here are some other snippets from poets on the subject of solitude:
Patricia Neubauer:
Jack Myers:
Mary Oliver:
Walt Whitman:
--Diane
Photo by bendus.
1I find that stanza touching, and I can relate well. We all need solitude every once in a while.
There are things I tell to no one.
Those close to me might think
I was sad, and try to comfort me, or become sad themselves.
At such times I go off alone, in silence, as if listening for God.
In Galway Kinnell: Selected Poems (Houghton Mifflin, 1982)
Here are some other snippets from poets on the subject of solitude:
Patricia Neubauer:
down the hillpath
fallen leaves follow me
into the shadows
In Dreams Wander On, ed. by Robert Epstein (Modern English Tanka Press, 2011)
Jack Myers:
from "100%"
I'm great, 100%, when I'm left alone
and I don't have anything to do
or have to be anything for anyone,
and no one is measuring just how little
or maladjusted I've become.
In Blindsided (David R. Godine, 1993)
Mary Oliver:
from "One or Two Things"
3
The god of dirt
came up to me many times and said
so many wise and delectable things, I lay
on the grass listening
to his dog voice,
crow voice,
frog voice; now,
he said, and now,
and never once mentioned forever,
In Dream Work (Atlantic Monthly Press, 1986)
Walt Whitman:
"A Clear Midnight"Please visit Teaching Authors for today's Poetry Friday Round-Up.
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the
wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day
erased, the
lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing,
pondering the
themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
In Leaves of Grass
--Diane
Photo by bendus.
Monday, January 28, 2013
It's All About The Story
Have
you ever put down a book after reading it and asked yourself, “How did this
ever get published? And where was the
editor?” Have you ever said, “I write so
much better than this. My dog writes
better than this.” Have you ever
wondered how these books, and these authors get published, while you’re sitting
there with a technical masterpiece that no one shows the slightest interest in? If that’s the case, you may want to look over
your masterpiece one more time with an eye not
on the writing, but on the story.
Most readers,
adult or children, do not read books because they can’t get enough of wonderful
metaphors. Those who do are probably
picking up literary novels, not commercial best-sellers.
Most
people read for story. They want to be
able to fall into the life of someone doing something exciting, or different,
something they would probably love to do themselves, but never will. People who read romance are in it for the
romance. People who read historicals
want to be brought to another place and time.
People who read horror want to be scared. And people who read adventures want the
adventure. Your job as a writer is to give
them what they want, in whatever genre you choose to write in.
So what
is your story about? Is it something new
and exciting, or is it the same old stuff writers have been writing about for
ages? If it is the same old stuff, have you given it an original and exciting
twist, something that makes it stand out from the rest? Does it contain tension and suspense? Is there conflict, a reason to keep turning
the pages? Do you make your reader feel
what the main character feels?
Look at
the success of the Eragon and Twilight series.
Neither is particularly well written, but each writer told a story that
worked for millions of readers.
Millions, not thousands.
Eragon
was a hero’s story, a boy goes on a quest.
It’s been done a million times.
Why was Paolini’s such a big success?
Because everybody dreams of being a hero, everyone wants to win, and he
gave them that opportunity in the pages of his books. And there is something about dragons that
appeals to so many. But the biggie, I
think, is because he followed a formula that so many best sellers seem to have
- the chase, the escape, then rest, think, regroup. The chase, the escape, more rest, rethinking,
and regrouping.
Paolini’s
characters do this continuously throughout the story until the climax. It’s Tolkien’s formula in Lord of the Rings. It’s the formula used in so many suspense
thrillers. The tension and suspense
never let up, and the conflict continually grows bigger and bigger.
Was it
a conscious decision of Paolini’s, or had he simply learned it through osmosis
while reading others? I don’t know. But it’s there, and it works. For millions.
Constant action, constant movement, and always a new problem. The reader has to turn the page because
they’re involved in the story, and they don’t care if Paolini used lay instead
of lie, or if his infinitives are split.
Meyer
also used an old story that’s been done a million times – boy meets girl – a
typical romance. But she gave it a great
twist. The boy her heroine falls in love
with is a vampire. And she didn’t stop
there. She didn’t make her vampire a
typical vampire. She reinvented the
vampire to suit her story.
So, how
many teenage girls are there who don’t love a romance? And how many romance readers, teen and adult,
are there in this great big world of ours?
Enough to keep Harlequin in business for years and years and years. And how many of them are going – A romance
with a vampire? That’s different. I
gotta check that out.
Then
there are the horror readers. A vampire
falling in love with a human? And a love
triangle between a human, vampire and werewolf?
I gotta see what that’s all about.
And let’s
not forget the paranormal readers, who like to delve into the lives or vampires
and werewolves and anything else unexplainable.
Meyer gave readers something they hadn’t seen before, something that
appealed to a broad range of people - people who bought the book on just the promise of a story, and once they
started reading, they didn’t care about her overuse of adverbs and bad dialogue
tags.
Now
this isn’t to say you should just write your story and forget about the quality
of the writing. I believe Paolini and
Meyers were writing to the best of their abilities at the time they wrote their
books. It seems evident when reading the
sequels, where the writing gets progressively better. The point is it really is all about the story. If
no one is interested in what you have to say, the fact that you say it in a
lovely way doesn’t matter. Put a very
well-written, okay story on an editor’s desk, along with a badly written but
fantastic story, and I think an editor will choose the better story every time,
regardless of the writing, because the writing can always be made better, and
it can be done easily. It takes far more
work to make a dull story exciting.
So
what’s the lesson here? Well, there are
several.
Even if
you’re a beginning writer, if you have a great story to tell, you can get
published.
If
you’ve been writing for a number of years, and your writing skills are pretty
good, but you still can’t seem to sell anything, perhaps you should reconsider
what you’re writing about.
And when
you do write that great story that everyone wants to read, take the time to
rewrite it as well as you can because, if a great story, badly written, can
sell a million copies, imagine how many copies a great story, wonderfully
written, will sell.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Poetry Friday--"Days"
On a January Friday, I thought "Days" would be particularly appropriate.
Days
by Billy Collins
Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.
Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.
Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow
on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.
No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday
you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.
From The Art of Drowning.
It's always good, when you're balancing on a ladder, to have someone standing below to catch you!
Rung OutTabatha Yeatts: The Opposite of Indifference is where you'll find the Poetry Friday Round-Up for this week.
Teetering
on
tippy-toe
holding
on
with
one hand
s t r e t c h i n g
I
reach
the
fixture.
Got it!
I come down
gingerly placing
a spent bulb
in your open palm
while your other
hand, at last,
lets go.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
--Diane
Photo by elycefeliz.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Technology dependence
Confession and excuse time, and a recommendation.
It was my turn to blog this week, and I dropped the ball. And I'm not even going to try to pick it up now. But I am going to make of myself a cautionary tale for writers in the modern age.
Don't disrespect your computer.
I love my laptop. It's red and shiny and not too heavy and we've been through a lot together. But in computer years, it's old. It's official date of being placed in service is only March 31, 2009, but I'm hard on my electronics, stuffing them in bags and hauling them everywhere.
And it has been dying a slow, painful death for several months now, a cascading failure that was exacerbated when I spilled a glass of delicious hard cider in its vicinity, a fair amount of which apparently found its way in through the side ports. Now it runs painfully slowly (it has taken me 12 minutes to type this much of this post). A significant number of its keys don't work, so I keep the character map open for copy and pasting things like the dash, the underscore, and a few numbers. Every once in a while I'll discover another dead key. Sometimes the battery will charge, often it won't. You get the picture.
But I didn't want a new computer. I love my computer. I hated Vista when it came out, but I really don't want to be forced to go to Windows 8. I didn't want the hassle of transferring files. I didn't want to spend the money. And so I put it off. And when I did finally give in, I ordered a computer running Ubuntu. Thus condemning myself to a longer, slower learning curve. And then, the first day of the weekend that was to have been "move to the new computer time," its hard drive failed.
Grrr.
I do have Carbonite, of which I am very glad. (That's the recommendation. It doesn't need to be Carbonite, but have an automatic backup.) I will, eventually, get my new computer in service, and be able to work at a more normal pace. The nice young technogeek came Monday and reseated the hard drive. Maybe this weekend I'll try it again.
The moral of the story is, in this time, in this profession, your computer is not a luxury or a toy, it's an essential tool, like a truck is for a driver. Keep it tuned up, and know when it's time to retire it. This is no place for sentiment. It's not a child, or even a pet. It's a machine. . . even if we do name them!
Did Louisa May Alcott or Jane Austin mourn the wearing out of a pen, I wonder?
It was my turn to blog this week, and I dropped the ball. And I'm not even going to try to pick it up now. But I am going to make of myself a cautionary tale for writers in the modern age.
Don't disrespect your computer.
I love my laptop. It's red and shiny and not too heavy and we've been through a lot together. But in computer years, it's old. It's official date of being placed in service is only March 31, 2009, but I'm hard on my electronics, stuffing them in bags and hauling them everywhere.
And it has been dying a slow, painful death for several months now, a cascading failure that was exacerbated when I spilled a glass of delicious hard cider in its vicinity, a fair amount of which apparently found its way in through the side ports. Now it runs painfully slowly (it has taken me 12 minutes to type this much of this post). A significant number of its keys don't work, so I keep the character map open for copy and pasting things like the dash, the underscore, and a few numbers. Every once in a while I'll discover another dead key. Sometimes the battery will charge, often it won't. You get the picture.
But I didn't want a new computer. I love my computer. I hated Vista when it came out, but I really don't want to be forced to go to Windows 8. I didn't want the hassle of transferring files. I didn't want to spend the money. And so I put it off. And when I did finally give in, I ordered a computer running Ubuntu. Thus condemning myself to a longer, slower learning curve. And then, the first day of the weekend that was to have been "move to the new computer time," its hard drive failed.
Grrr.
I do have Carbonite, of which I am very glad. (That's the recommendation. It doesn't need to be Carbonite, but have an automatic backup.) I will, eventually, get my new computer in service, and be able to work at a more normal pace. The nice young technogeek came Monday and reseated the hard drive. Maybe this weekend I'll try it again.
The moral of the story is, in this time, in this profession, your computer is not a luxury or a toy, it's an essential tool, like a truck is for a driver. Keep it tuned up, and know when it's time to retire it. This is no place for sentiment. It's not a child, or even a pet. It's a machine. . . even if we do name them!
Did Louisa May Alcott or Jane Austin mourn the wearing out of a pen, I wonder?
Friday, January 18, 2013
Poetry Friday--"Soap Bubble"
If you're not familiar with the poems of Valerie Worth, then rush right down to your local public library and pick up one her volumes of poetry for kids. Worth has the power to give even the tiniest of things significance. Take for example, "Soap Bubble."
Drift on over to Violet Nesdoly/poems for this week's Round-Up.
The soap bubble'sHere's a talented bubble performer to show us all that art can be made from almost anything!
Great soft sphere
Bends out of shape
On the air,
Leans, rounds again,
Rises, shivering, heavy,
A planet revolving
Hollow and clear,
Mapped with
Rainbows, streaming,
Curled: seeming
A world too splendid
To snap, dribble,
And disappear.
from More Small Poems.
Drift on over to Violet Nesdoly/poems for this week's Round-Up.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Mentor Monday: Strengths and Weaknesses of the First Person Narrative
Over the years, it has become common
for YA authors to use the first person when writing young adult novels. Using
first person brings readers into the story in a “You are there” way. First
person can be limiting, however, and if you’re thinking of writing your story
in first person, read some novels that use this technique before you start. I’d
also like to recommend finding a copy of Sherry Garland's Writing for Young Adults. It’s a very good introduction to the YA
genre. Garland is well-read and uses many examples of fine YA literature to
illustrate points in each chapter:
"Some examples of
excellent first person YA novels are Jacob
Have I Loved by Katherine Paterson, Fallen
Angels by Walter Dean Myers and S.E. Hinton's books, The Outsiders and That Was
Then, This is Now."(p. 106)
Hinton sold The Outsiders, her first novel, when she was around sixteen years
of age. The book, Garland says, ushered in a new type of YA:
"Many authorities
believe that the YA literature revolution erupted in the late 1960's. In a
turbulent social and political climate young adults adopted the war cry
"tell it like it is," and authors like S. E. Hinton (a teenager
herself) emerged, creating fiction with realistic adolescent characters in
realistic situations." (p. 8)
The
Outsiders is the story of fourteen-year-old Ponyboy Curtis, his brothers
(Sodapop and Darry) and their gang. The Curtis brothers have been on their own
since the death of their parents.
"Since Mom and
Dad were killed in an auto wreck, the three of us get to stay together only as
long as we behave. So Soda and I stay out of trouble as much as we can, and
we're careful not to get caught when we can't." (p.11)
Garland suggests "part of the
process of developing characters is giving them appropriate names. . ."
(p.124) In an on-line interview S.E. Hinton said she felt the teen years are
". . .an age when you would like to have an unusual name. It helps
establish identity." (Barnes and
Noble Chat Transcripts, December 3, 1997)
I didn't feel Hinton's characters'
odd names added anything to our ability to understand who or what the
characters were. "Ponyboy" and "Sodapop" would have been
more believable as nicknames. But the author says these are the boys’ legal
names, given to them by their father:
"My dad was an
original person," I said. "I got a brother named Sodapop, and it says
so on his birth certificate." (p.30)
I found the idea, that an adult
would saddle children with such names, distracting when I first read the book.
Then Gwyneth Paltrow named her daughter Apple. But I digress…
Sometimes I got lost in Hinton's
novel and other times I was thrown so far out of it I wondered why she bothered
to use first person at all. Author intrusion is prevalent. I am amazed Hinton's
editor let so much of it pass:
"Soda is
handsomer than anyone else I know. . .He's not as tall as Darry, and he's a
little slimmer, but he has a finely
drawn, sensitive face that somehow manages to be reckless and thoughtful at the
same time." (p. 16, italics mine)
I could not imagine any
fourteen-year-old describing a sibling in that way. S. E. Hinton may have been
a well-read teen, but Hinton was not being true to Ponyboy's character with
such flowery language. I will even risk being politically incorrect when I say
that I was also not convinced this was language a boy would use—at least
not the boy she was trying to create.
Walter Dean Myers' Fallen Angels makes a useful
counterpoint. Compare Myers' protagonist, Richard Perry, describing a soldier
just arriving in Viet Nam:
"One of the
new guys who came in was from Fort Dix. He looked like one of the characters in
an Archie Andrews comic, but he was so scared it wasn't funny. He told us his
name was Jenkins." (p. 20 Fallen
Angels)
In Fallen Angels, Myers' character, Richard
Perry, tells about his tour of duty in Vietnam. Perry is educated, and, like Ponyboy Curtis, well-read, yet his
description of the new guy in the platoon, while sparse, accomplishes a great
deal. Reference to the Archie comic books not only brings readers into the 60's
with Perry but allows us to participate in the description of the character. We
add our own details to Jenkins with our own mental references to Archie, Reggie
and Jughead.
Sherry Garland suggests that
dialogue can be used to convey the setting of a novel:
". . .dialogue is a shortcut that eliminates the need
for long passages of description." (p. 133)
Both Hinton and Myers present their
novels' settings through the use of dialogue. Myers sets his novel's scene in
the first two pages, preparing the reader in a matter of three sentences:
"Somebody
must have told them suckers I was coming."
"Told
who?" I asked.
"The
Congs, man. Who you think I'm talking about?" (p.3)
I read thirty-one pages of The
Outsiders before I realized that the setting was not New York City:
"Didn't
he use to ride in rodeos? Saddle
bronc?"
"Yeah.
Dad made him quit after he tore a ligament, though. We still hang around rodeos
a lot. I've seen you two barrel race. You're good." (p.31)
Now I can't
say that Hinton misleads her audience with suggestions that the setting is
specifically New York, but neither does she indicate until the sentences above
where the story is set. Bits of description spread throughout the book hint at
least at a Big Apple-type setting until suddenly, rodeos are part of the
conversation. Once again, I'm catapulted right out of the story while I let my
brain process this new information. The knowledge essentially becomes a red
herring. Rodeos, horses, and riding are barely mentioned again and have no
place in the plot. In an interview, Hinton mentions that she is from Tulsa,
Oklahoma. "Write what you know?"
Maybe, but the section reads like an afterthought ("Oh! Maybe I ought to put something about the
setting here.")
Myers
writes what he knows, too. Richard Perry, like the young Walter Dean Myers, is
from Harlem and is in the Army. The difference is Myers doesn't ever pull me
out of Viet Nam when he is providing this background information.
Hinton's
novel was published in 1967 and is supposed to deal with contemporary themes.
Myers' Fallen Angels was published in
1988 but deals with the Vietnam War during 1967-1968. I would have been within
the same age-group as the protagonists in both novels, yet I could not relate
to the characters in The Outsiders.
It was not because I had never been a member of a "greaser" gang. I
never fought in Vietnam either. It shouldn't matter. Myers’ book does a better
job of "You are there."
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Women of Wednesday - Gerda Lerner
Gerda
Lerner died this past week on January 2.
She was 92 years old. If you’re
asking yourself ‘Who is Gerda Lerner?’ she was the person who brought Women’s
Studies (the history of women) to the world.
Gerda
was born Gerda Hedwig Kronstein in Vienna, Austria, on April 30, 1920. She grew up in a wealthy family and noticed
the inequities of life even as a child.
In a house full of servants, she watched her mother drop her books, newspapers,
and clothing where she pleased while the servants picked them up. She didn’t think it was very fair. And then there was the bat mitzvah
incident. As she prepared herself for
the ceremony, she realized Judaism did not allow girls and women to achieve the
same positions as men. She announced she
did not believe in God and refused to take part in the ceremony.
As
she grew into her teens, Adolph Hitler was growing his Nazi party and, by the
time she was 17, he had annexed her homeland.
Her father, a pharmacist with several drug stores, heard he was to be
arrested, and fled to Lichtenstein. The
Nazis arrested Gerda and her mother instead.
For six weeks she languished in jail while the Nazi’s hoped her father
would return and sign over all he owned to get them back.
Jail
wasn’t easy. Gerda believed she would
either be killed or sent to a concentration camp. Along with the mental stress, there was also
little to eat. Food for prisoners was
minimal, and Jews received even less than others. But Gerda was lucky. Two other prisoners - gentile women, arrested
for their underground work with the resistance - shared their food with her and
her mother. When Gerda asked them why,
they replied, “We’re Socialists.”
Eventually,
Gerda was released and joined the resistance.
In 1939, she and her boyfriend escaped Austria and immigrated to
America. They married but the
relationship didn’t last. Gerda was
alone in a New York. She took odd jobs
while she learned the language, and wrote stories about the Nazi takeover and
occupation. By 1940, she had met Carl
Lerner, a communist and theater director.
They married and moved to California.
Gerda
began working with CAW, the Congress of American Women, and by 1946, had helped
found the Los Angeles chapter.
“In Vienna, all the people I worked with
were women: the people in the jail, the people in the underground . . . I saw
women being active in every levelexcept the executive level.”
She continued to write, producing a novel and a musical, and co-authored the screenplay, Black Like Me, with her husband. She was active in the causes of trade unions, civil rights, anti-militarism, and McCarthyism and the Hollywood blacklist. She was also a founding member of NOW, the National Organization of Women.
In the late
1950’s, she decided to go back to school.
She attended the New School for Social Research and went on to get an
M.A. and Ph.D from Columbia University.
When she told her professors she wanted to study women’s history, they
laughed at her.
Gerda studied
women’s history anyway and wrote her dissertation, The Grimke Sisters from
South Carolina: Rebels Against Slavery (1967.) She found their story to be so fascinating
she decided to teach a course on them.
Once again, the men she had to deal with made that difficult.
In 1968, she
became a professor at Sarah Lawrence College and started the first program ever
to offer a Masters degree in women's history.
She also worked in the civil rights movement, which led her to write Black Women in America: A Documentary History.
“ . . . when I worked with black women, I was overwhelmed
by the talent and persistence of their effort—and their total
invisibility. I was told they left no record. I knew that to be a lie. My experience told me that. This was the first collection of primary
sources by black women at a time when everybody told me that it was impossible
to do that.”
In 1980, she
created the nation's first Ph.D. program in women's history at the University
of Wisconsin at Madison. From 1981 to
1982, she served as president of the Organization of American Historians and
helped make women's history accessible to leaders of women's organizations and
high school teachers. In 1993, she wrote
The Creation of Feminist Consciousness, which
deals with how exclusion from the historical record affects women. In 1997, she published two more books – Why History Matters: Life and Thought, and The Feminist Thought of Sarah Grimke. In 2002, she published Fireweed:
A Political Autobiography.
Gerda stayed
active and involved until the end. It’s
said she ‘even agitated at the Oakwood retirement center in Madison Wisconsin’
where she lived her last few years.
“It’s such a total
absurdity that one half of the human population had accrued to itself the
pretense that what it did was significant and what the other half did was
insignificant. The emancipation of women
is irreversible. You can’t wipe women out.”
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Mentor Monday on Tuesday - Conquering Writer's Block
Most
of us have probably experienced writer’s block at one time or another, that
frustrating inability to make the words come.
As a beginning writer, I faced it often, but as I learned more and more,
the problem arose less and less, and eventually disappeared altogether. And that has led me to the belief that
writer’s block is, perhaps, simply a state of unpreparedness.
As
a beginner, I was a panster. I made it
up as I went along. I got an idea,
played it out in my mind a bit, and started writing. There was no plotting for me, no outlines,
and while I finished several novels, they were long, hard hauls because, sooner
or later, I always hit the point where I didn’t know what came next. I would go for months unable to write a word. At the time, I didn’t know why. I knew where I wanted the story to go. Why couldn’t I make it go there?
Well,
now I know. I didn’t prepare. I didn’t make the map that would take me from
the beginning of my novel to the end, so I had to sit there for days, weeks,
months, until I figured out the next part of my story. Once I did that, the writing came easy again
until I got to the next part of my story that I hadn’t figured out. I wrote five novels that way, and they’re
decent, but they’re not good enough to sell.
I call them my learning novels.
Now,
I still don’t do outlines because it’s my nature to add way more than I really
need, and my outlines turn out almost as long as the novel, but I do plot. On paper.
It’s not one event after another.
It’s the opening, the inciting incident that gets the ball rolling, and
then the major events along the way, until I reach the climax and ending. Then I flip the paper over and do the same
thing for the internal plot. It’s
generally only 7-10 lines each, and when I’m done, I throw it away because it
stays in my head. It takes me from
beginning to end, and I have never had writer’s block since I started doing
that.
What
I’ve since learned is that it doesn’t have to be. It’s like driving from Boston to L.A. If you have a map, whether on paper or in
your head, and you’re aware of all the detours and construction along the way,
you’re going to get to your destination quicker and easier than someone who
doesn’t. They’ll eventually get there,
too, but it won’t be as easily or as fast.
So
take the time to make the map. It
doesn’t have to be my way or someone else’s way. Maybe a synopsis will work for you, or a
chapter by chapter outline. Whatever it
is that works best for you, do it. Yes,
it’s tedious, especially when you want to just dive into the writing, but in the
end, it pays off. You’ll always know
where you’re going, and you’ll eliminate all the logic problems and dead ends before
you start. And it’ll be a much smoother
ride.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Poetry Friday: Dark Birds
All the dark birds,
but one,
rush from the river
leaving only the stillness
of their language.
-- Anita Endrezze, Yaqui
You can check out more great poems at Matt Forrest's blog, Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Women of Wednesday: Lucretia Mott
Tomorrow (Jan. 3) is the birthday of Lucretia Mott, one of
the better-known heroes of the woman’s suffrage movement. Write Sister Janet
Buell profiled Lucretia in the Massachusetts volume of the America’s Notable
Women Series, Women of the Bay State. She was in many ways similar to many of
the other women suffragists, and yet, of course, unique. Two hundred and twenty
years after her birth, she continues to inspire those who seeing wrong, try to
correct it. We can best honor her, and the many others who worked with her, by
identifying the injustices in our own world, and working to eliminate them.
Born to Quaker parents in Philadelphia at the end of the
eighteenth century, Lucretia Coffin grew up on the island of Nantucket. At 13 she was
sent to boarding school off-island, to a Quaker school in the Hudson valley
region of New York. The school had been coeducational from its founding in
1797, and it was there that Lucretia met her future husband, James Mott. Her
family moved to Philadelphia while she was at Nine Partners, and when Lucretia
and James married, they settled in that city as well. Lucretia was very active
in the thriving Quaker community there, especially in the rapidly-developing
abolitionist movement. Even while her children were small she held leadership
positions in Philadelphia, as they became independent she traveled across the
northeast, organizing and speaking at anti-slavery events.
Many of the women who worked to outlaw slavery in the
mid-nineteenth century developed a parallel interest in woman’s rights. Their
experience in leadership among the abolitionists gave them the confidence to
turn their considerable expertise and passion to the cause of their sisters. Lucretia
met Elizabeth Cady Stanton at the World Anti-Slavery Convention in London in
1840, when the women attendees were forced to sit behind a screen! Eight years
later, of course, the seminal Women’s Rights Convention at Seneca Falls marked
the beginning of the struggle for suffrage for women in the United States
(although voting rights resolution was the only one of the original eleven that
the convention did not pass unanimously). Elizabeth Cady Stanton drafted the Declaration of Sentiments and Lucretia Mott was the first to sign it. Until the Civil
War, most of the women continued to divide their efforts between abolition and
women’s rights. In 1866, Lucretia was elected to be the first president of the
Equal Rights Association. For the remainder of her long and active life, she
campaigned for the rights of women, not only to vote but be educated, to own
and inherit property, to have custody of their children, and other basic rights
so fundamental that we sometimes forget they were once denied to us.
Only one of the signers of the 1848 Declaration (Charlotte Woodward) lived long
enough to vote in the federal election in 1920. The example of Lucretia Mott
and her sisters reminds us that “justice for all” is worth the struggle, even
if we personally will not reap the benefits.
Happy Birthday, Lucretia.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)