A little more about Elizabeth Stark's Interview with Lucy Jane

This was an absolutely spellbinding intervew for me, as an author almost through with my third novel. I learned so much I thought I already knew. There is nothing like hearing about another writer’s process: a list of linking scenes, for example. By the end I was drooling to hear more about this actual novel, and when she said penguins, and the father-daughter, science-musical hints, and the effect the scenery can have on people’s characters, I was hooked. I look forward to reading this amazing book, The Big-Bang Symphony.

I liked the interplay of the interviewer, Elizabeth Stark, with the interviewee, Lucy Jane Bledsoe. Great interview!

Elizabeth Stark's Interview at BWW of Lucy Jane Bledsoe

I just checked out this spell-binding interview by Elizabeth Stark of author, Lucy Jane Bledsoe. It is long, but I was glued to the screen from beginning to end. What a treasure!


http://bookwritingworld.com/blog/2010/06/24/interview-with-author-lucy-jane-bledsoe/comment-page-1/#comment-264

That Song: like pulling teeth

You must have heard the story of a famous writer who is at a party and is talking with a dentist who is about to retire. He says, "You're a novelist? I am going to write a novel when I retire."

"Oh," says our famous novelist, "I am going to pull teeth when I retire."

Surely novelists put in millions more hours in their work than any dentist ever did. Novelists sweat hard behind the scenes to make a novel seem easy. Like dancers and musicians. Again and again and again. Back to the keyboard. Delete, delete, delete. Read back, listen. Read aloud. Bug your friends. Pay for readers, editors. Re-write.

Naw, I think I will go out and pull some teeth!

Guilt! I didn't make it to the CA writers club today!

You know, I guess the sunshine prompted me to stay away and play the guitar and learn new chords so I can make up a great song one day. That's my excuse and I am sticking to it. Also, I was really bad: I didn't type in my writing today. I usually write on Friday and type it in on Sunday. It's the weather: what else can it be? But, hey, at least I did the writing. Pulling that novel together now. Like teeth.

Denmark, 1963 a poem by me, Wendy Bartlett

Denmark 1963

A quite simple matter
At twenty or so
A train ride to Denmark
Just backpack and go
From there on the ferry
To Tom’s Oslo town
I wasn’t afraid
Of the people around
The train in the station
Breathed one last sigh
The giant clock signaled
It was midnight, goodnight
The morning train slumbered
While I stood alone
The giant train station
Would now be my home
My eyelids they fluttered
My mouth made a yawn
The men in there shuddered
Nobody was warm
My knees wobbled slightly
The quietness came
Six hours to kill
Outside there was rain
My backpack was heavy
Put it down on the floor
Then lowered my body
Could not stand anymore
Sleep entered my body
Could not hold it back
I dreamed of my train
Asleep on its track
Six hours I huddled
And kept out the cold
Not one person touched me
Or talked to me, bold
So in Denmark a woman
Is left on her own
It isn’t an invite
If she crashes alone
It was freedom to be there
A new taste to me
A glorious feeling
Of how one can be free

San Francisco Free Folk Festival

Inspiration, folks! There stood Faith Petric, 94, singing and playing her guitar, and standing so very straight! I liked all her songs about sitting around singing together (and not checking email, etc.). She sang Malvina Reynolds, too. Hold it tight, and you won't have any. (a penny) I thought about writing my one last great song. I know so much more about story now that I have written a number of books. You would think I could get a song down well by now. But for some reason just setting myself up for a "great" song gives me writer's block on the subject. I know a woman who writes a song a day! I could do that! What an exercise to not have to write a great song! Just like this blog: it isn't great. It just is. And so it gets written, somehow. I think about songs: political songs, love songs, poetic songs, sad songs, funny songs. Perhaps one per day? No, all that is scary. I like the way we do it in writers' group: dig up four words and go on writing from there. Now, let me see, la, la, la.....

Manuscripts in Progress: born in a hollar

Well, this man calls his wife and himself, Bonnie and Clyde. He is a neighbor in Dutch Flat and he told me he just finished his memoirs. He was born in hmmm was it West Virginia? Where, he said, the Carter family lived. I supposed he meant the banjo types, not the nut types. He was orphaned, he said, at eight. He just doesn't know where to put the commas, as he only had a fifth grade education. So, of course, I said I would edit it for him. Only two hundred pages including photos. It intrigued me. We shall see. So many manuscripts in progress around this world!

Every Man Dies Alone by Hans Fallada

A friend emailed me about this novel, written just after WWII. It is now translated into English and has made a huge come-back. I will start it tonight. It is based on a true story about a working class couple in Berlin who decided to take a stand against the Nazis. It is a deeply moving story of two people who stand up for what's right, and for each other. I know I will love this book. I ordered it from Mrs. Dalloway's, and not Amazon. What is more exciting than bringing a book home that you know you will really want to settle down with and read until it is very late and you ought to be in bed!