Category: MFA


Blog Challenge: Best Night Out

from Gwen Bell’s Best of 2009 Blog Challenge

The Question:  Did you have a night out with friends or a loved one that rocked your world? Who was there? What was the highlight of the night?

There were probably a few nights, now melded in memory, from my last residency at Pacific in June.  There was the uncontrollable laughter–the kind that you’re almost concerned about whether or not you’ll be able to take another breath, but the thought of losing consciousness owing to oxygen shortage makes everything even funnier… the kind that makes your obliques hurt more than they have from abdominal crunches.

When I laugh that hard tears stream down my cheeks.

There was that time when Aaron raised his hand, and we just lost it.  There were homemade brownies.  There was red wine in real wine glasses thanks to Eric.  There was that all night conversation…  To say that that night, or nights, rocked my world, would be vastly understated.

Pictured here with my fiction writing friends, Jason Sandefur and Alissa Nielsen.

MFA Notes: Barry Lopez

Barry Lopez spoke as a visiting writer at Pacific University’s MFA program winter residency.  I loved his introduction: “When you show up, you bring big trouble.”  This from the soft-spoken writer who documents the connection between land and people.  He answered the questions: Who are you?  Where are you from?  and Why are you here? in a sense, teaching us by example what we need to do in our writing as we claim the authoritative voice.  Barry pointed out though, that the reader is the one who grants the authority.

“To write,” he said, “is to enter into a moral relationship with oneself and with the community.”  Having the ability to write down what you mean, and a stranger being able to comprehend it, truly, “you are in the landscape of miracles.”

Barry shared a beautiful word, the Japanese kotodama, which means the soul or spirit of a word, the spiritual interior of a word itself.  He reminded us that we must write with a bow of respect to the material and to the reader.

MFA Notes: Kim Barnes

Kim Barnes, author of the new novel A Country Called Home (and my thesis advisor!) told us, “Even if it’s a personal story, it’s NOT ABOUT YOU.”  That statement will forever change the way I think about memoir.  There is always a much larger, more universal, story surrounding any of the events we write about.

She reminded us that our service must be to the story first, to the craft, not to our personal experience.  We are to “shine the light of why onto the what of the essay.”  The “what” in nonfiction is always false tension; the actual tension lies in the “why,” the emotional arc of the story.

MFA Notes: Kwame Dawes

I can still hear poet Kwame Dawes saying, “born at de right time,” in his smooth Jamaican accent.  He opened his craft talk with a brief biographical sketch: born in Ghana where he heard stories of glorious Jamaica from his father.  When he moved with his family to the island, he discovered a far different place and culture than he had imagined.  “I was trying to find home,” he said.  Was he a Jamaican living in Africa or an African living in Jamaica?

Questions surfaced regarding the search for self in art.  How do we fit into the works created by authors in other lands, other cultures?  How does their writing define our own culture?  Or how do we place ourselves in art that does not typically include people like us or cultures like ours?

I did not realize at the time that Kwame’s book on the lyrics of Bob Marley is the most authoritative text on the subject.  Kwame spoke of how Marley wrote the narrative of Jamaica and the culture through reggae.  It was a “present music” including both the collective history and the events of the day.  We were left with a reminder to “be engaged in what makes the times what they are.”

MFA Notes: Jack Driscoll

Jack Driscoll described what he attempts to do through writing, “To speak what it feels like to be human.”  As far as I’m concerned, he could have ended his craft talk there and left us with the inspiration and invitation to go forth and attempt it for ourselves.

He encouraged us to “undress” our characters, literally (if that happens to be part of the story) and metaphorically.  To allow the inner-workings of a character’s heart and psyche to be communicated to the reader.  We must know them that intimately.

Jack presented the 3 Ms as a way to avoid writing flat, insipid characters:
1.    Motivation
What compels them? Does the story make it clear why?
2.    Motion
The way the character takes aim at whatever stands in her way.
3.    E/motion
Desire/Trouble/Redemption

MFA Notes: Stephen Kuusisto

Who better to implore us to listen than Stephen Kuusisto, a writer who has experienced much of the world through four of the five senses?  Steve, though blind since birth, uses rich imagery and visionary similes in his poetry and memoirs.

Steve’s guide dog, Nira, is trained in “intelligent disobedience,” that is, if she receives a command from him that does not correlate with safe action (e.g. he says “forward” and intends to walk into a street with oncoming traffic) she is taught to disobey.  He mused how we, as writers, must practice a form of intelligent disobedience.

If we were to approach writing (and life!) with active ears and active listening, how much would we gain?  Even the old motto for writers, “Show, don’t tell,” implies the visual.  What about the scents, textures, tastes, and of course, the sounds?

I continue to recall his statement, “[I] stay still because I can hear…”  It reminds me again of the absolute patience necessary to tell any story.

Steve posted his entire talk on his blog, Planet of the Blind:  The Art of Listening.

MFA Notes: David Long

David Long suggested that there are always two strands to a story: 1) the story we’re telling and 2) the rendering or shaping of that story. “We don’t always give enough attention to the second half of that,” he said.  There is a difference between what happens and what it’s about.  “As storytellers we’re concerned with the conveying of meaning in a very specific sort of way.”

He reminded us to “Crank it another crank.”  Too often, we stop short (i.e. we must go deeper into the core of the story).

Each story has a beginning, middle and end.  David discussed the psychological states of each.  The beginning is associated with ignorance, skepticism, curiosity or seduction.  The middle has a deeper sense of bonding with the characters, a more educated sense of curiosity and deep absorption.  The ending has elements of amazement, fulfillment, relief and joy, or disengagement and melancholy.

As readers, David noted, we tend to race to the end of novels.  “What we’re racing towards is the end of our pleasure.”  Seems a good thing to keep in mind in the telling of our stories.

MFA Notes: Mark Spragg

Mark Spragg reminded us to take the time, in editing and revising, to ensure that our characters stay true to themselves.  Not to the action we, as writers, think they will take or want them to take, but to remain within the boundaries of who they really are.  “I already know how I hold them in my mind,” he said.  “I do not know how they will present themselves on the page.”

If the writer fails to do this and allows dialogue or action into the story that goes against a character’s nature, even if it decidedly moves the story forward, it jolts the reader out of the “dream” and they lose faith in both the character and the writer.

This is particularly important when pulling research into a work of fiction.  The characters “need to live it, not report it” as we writers would.

famous poets converge

so there I am in small town Oregon, heading west along highway 30 and I’m crazy-thirsty.  I stop at the next gas station to buy something, anything, to cease the parch.  the cashier is ringing up my purchase when Ellen Bass and Marvin Bell step inside from the rain. truth be told, this was easily explained by the fact that we were all on our way, by various means of transport, to Seaside, OR for Pacific University’s MFA residency…  but still, there was a moment of magic, as if they dragged their muse along and she had entered the store.

Claire Davis on The Habit of Art

There is a tingling sensation that runs up my cheeks when I encounter something extraordinary. This happens each time I read my notes on Claire’s craft talk. I doubt we could we have had a more thoughtful and inspiring lecture to begin the residency.

“You must develop the habit of art,” she told us, versus just “doing the work.” There is always a gap between what we desire to do, and what we actually do. By making creativity habitual, we can close in on that which we desire.

“The real business is to write,” she said. “Counting the pages is irrelevant. This sentence, this word is what matters.” I needed to hear this to counter the various authors that discuss writing as a task designated by the specific number of words or pages per day. It is this moment that counts, every moment of our work.

Claire described “those who stood on the brink of something exceptional,” but didn’t make time to explore. I think of how often I am in that situation, distracted by email or internet, a victim of what someone called a “continuous partial attention.” How might my writing be strengthened if I were more present with the words/worlds on the page?

“Imagine. Now imagine more deeply,” she said, trying to coax us into understanding that we cannot arrive at the real story by skimming the surface of life. We must experience each moment deeply, and when we do, we find in them the magic of the muse.