Frances Ohanenye

October 30, 2012

“I’m Going Into the Deep End, Far Over My Head!”

I am going into the deep end of the writing journey on November 1. This year, I will commit to a soulful call, a yearn that has tugged at my heart for a few years now. I am going to join the thousands of NaNoWriMos in Atlanta to pen that novel. What genre? What characters? What inspiration? I admit that I have unfinished novels scattered like the leaves on my yard, but I want a fresh voice, a fresh idea, and a fresh challenge.

I am going to give in to that “Butt in the chair/seat” (B.I.T.C. or B.I.T.S.) philosophy, right-wing advocates, for the first time in my life. I guess you could call me a left-winger. A believer in when the juice flows, I have always written for creativity. When the honey well drips with more than enough of that nectar, I write joyfully, plentifully, creatively. (Don’t tell me not to use adverbs. I am a left-winging writer.) I have never wanted for words or inspiration. This NaNoWriMo is different!

Ha, ha! Let’s see how much honey will remain in that well when I keep going to fetch from it daily. Scary thoughts are made of these! Thirty days of writing continuously, pounding the keys, forcing them to obey me. To obey or not to obey, that is the question I will answer in 30 days. Will the honey well run dry after I milk it day in, day out? I fret!

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August 18, 2012 Gallery

Something About a River

I can’t pinpoint when or where the thought planted itself, germinated, and flowered; but somewhere in my literary life, water factors in a significant way.

My bones acknowledge it. I may not have been aware of it as a universal truth to my existence. Still, every fiber of my existence, every whiff of my breath from one black hair follicle to my toe’s cuticle must have known that I was born to write by a body of water.

Something about that magnetic liquid invigorates my gray cells, activates my creativity to a most forceful recognition, and transforms my visions into creations better than my wildest imagination.

I have watched Something’s Gotta Give numerous times to the point that I wore out my first DVD and bought a new one. The house in that movie hits me anew each time. I saw my life as it should be in that movie and salivate over it.

My recognition and acceptance of my brain’s obsession with a body of water stood front and center on the shore featured in SGG. I thought I was alone in my obsession of this house by the ocean until I performed a search and discovered that every man and woman with refined taste have drooled over the scenes involving the house located on Martha’s Vineyard.

Yahoo pulled up over four hundred, thirty-one million hits. The result shows I am not the only drooler of both the interior and the grounds. But since this post is about the backyard’s effect on me, I will focus on it and force myself to ignore that indescribable house as much as my heart bleeds for the neglect.

The fact that I grew up about thirty miles from the Atlantic Ocean on the south side of Nigeria does not factor much in this under-the-radar allegiance to a river. I drove over bridges from Aba to Port-Harcourt uncountable times, but I don’t recall setting foot on any of Atlantic Ocean’s inlets in Port-Harcourt. Such proximity guaranteed us fresh edibles from the ocean. That much I remember.

When I sit by a river, as happened recently by the Chattahoochee, my words take on an elevated form of profoundness with the gliding of each soft tide. My thoughts converge and diverge and achieve effortless uniformity with the river’s collective flow. Something about a river channels my thoughts, massages my scalp, and allows it to produce cerebrations that accentuate every feeling.

I dream without end about that house (or my own seaside abode) with me planted where Diane Keaton sat and with a perfect view of my muse: ocean or river. I need a house by a body of water because something about a river opens my brain to pour out some of the most iridescent pieces I have ever composed.

I need a house by the river whose graceful and gentle nature ebbs and flows with the lyrics in my outpouring. A lake will stifle that efflorescence like plants lacking water and sun. River courses through my veins causing the meshing and the blending of unique creations. I need a house by a river.

August 11, 2012

Is Atlanta Literary?

Providing Serenity

In search of a new writing group, I stumble upon unintentional access to the Chattahoochee River, an access that costs me nothing. Ordinarily, access to a body of water carries a stiff price.

In the backdrop of the establishment, I spy a body of water and realize that I am so blessed to live in a major metropolitan area that tucks the Chattahoochee into its waist, circular and all. As it goes about its business, I see people latching on for numerous reasons.

Fortunately, this end of the river boasts no crashing waves or unpredictable agitations to cause an unnecessary distraction. These sedate and subdued motions could have enervated my brain into introspection. Rather, I choose to allow it to energize my hand into literary scribbling of the most profound kind.

Sitting on the Chattahoochee

As I sit here on the bank, I realize that Atlanta can hold its own among cities calling themselves literary luminaries. I am truly blessed to live in a major metropolis boasting of an A-list of citadels of learning, a city that has been attracting intellects since Booker T. Washington, even if only to elevate the art of public speaking.

I am fortunate to live here where, when a shout for writing goes out, people take up pens (used loosely here) to answer with immediacy. I am discovering the depth of Atlanta’s literateness. I belong to several face-to-face literary groups, a good selection easily organized by like-minded individuals who could charge membership fees (like some of the online ones) but who do not. Their sole “ulterior” motive is to help each other grow in literation.

Sitting here today, I feel very well in my elements on this bank whose serene flow circles Atlanta’s waist and germinates creativity in me with gentleness. I realize that even though our patio doors do not open directly onto the Atlantic (although our distant neighbor, Savannah does), Atlanta has literary blessings in abundance: print media, online media, the film industry staking a firm claim, and printers and publishing outlets to give authors’ creations wings.

Atlanta not being a one-sector industry or a one-crop economy gives hope to writers and artists. It is not a mining town, a camera/photo city, a silicon-born city, one-university dominion, nor is it controlled by brewery, quarry, seafood, farming, or seaport. We certainly have access to all these varieties.

Even the railroad that gave it birth does not claim domination any more. Atlanta is truly blessed, and because I am like Atlanta in many ways, so am I. 

August 7, 2012

First Book to Be Published Next Month!

I am working with BookBaby to release my first book on a long list of my writing adventures. This one, The Waters Family Chronicle, combines a very unique approach to teaching bodies of water with narrating a story about naming “children.”

This book brings a fresh new look to storytelling with clues and hints that get the brain popping. Students and all teachers of social studies, get your computer and brain ready to outdo Sherlock Holmes.

The Waters Family Chronicle is going on sale on Amazon early next month (September). Reserve your Imagecopy today!

July 29, 2012

What Will You Do to Keep from Getting What You Want?

Since the Kennesaw Mountain Writing Project ended this summer, and I became a Fellow, I have been writing furiously in every quarter of my writing life. As furiously as I write, something or someone (me) is preventing me from getting the change I want: a situation I liken to someone shooting herself in the foot to prevent physical progress.

At the KMWP event, there sat a lonely book on a table begging for a good home. I, being a lover of all things book, picked it up and knew that I would give it a good home and a good read. I confess that, that book sat unopened for a few weeks while I wrote furiously in all quarters.

Something caused me to pick it up and flip to the introduction. I know as a teacher, a writer, and an avid reader that an introduction is the million-dollar Super Bowl advertisement for a non-fiction. If the introduction does not grab me, it will be a struggle to read the rest of it.

I opened up to the introduction and froze, forced to examine myself and the reason I have not been published, and forced to accept that I have prevented myself from being published. The question the authors ask (which they borrowed from the late William Perry of Harvard, a gifted trainer of therapists, counselors, and consultants): “What does this person really want—and what will they do to keep from getting it?”

I devoured the introduction, a ten-page volcano that shook me to my roots. The book itself is titled How the Way We Talk Can Change the Way We Work by Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey.

Put simply, I know what I really want, but I have done everything to keep from getting it until now. I’ve made every possible excuse in the world. There is no excuse anymore. I’ve done things that are not-for-profit. They made me incredibly happy, still make me incredibly happy, but they do not need to prevent me from accomplishing my for-profit goals. Getting published is for profit, little or big, and that is the ultimate goal of every writer who labors, moi meme included.

I’ve labored for far too long. I’ve been writing since I was ten years old. I’ve been published in magazines and online, but you would think that I should have had books out and been filthy rich and world-famous by now.

What will I do (have I done) to keep me from getting what I want? Everything, but no mas! I made resolutions this year, and I will not allow this year to end without accomplishing them or most of them. Change has come to stay.

July 2, 2012

KMWP Wraps It Up with Fanfare: I Am So Grown!

All Good Things Must End

Added by Frances Ohanenye on Jun 28, 2012 at 10:57am

Is this phrase the coinage of a realist or the clamoring doomsday chant of a party pooper? Regardless, and sadly, our workshop ends. It ends without my desire. It ends according to schedule. It ends because there is a calendar that dictates the order of things, the end of things, and the finality to life and events.

It is unbelievable how much growth is possible in three short weeks. My mind expanded, my appreciation ballooned, my writing jumped up and touched the sky, and my empathy broke like a dam and spilled over.

I have made many new friends. This is really the coming together of the most profound think tanks, so gifted, so profound in insights, and so grateful to be handed the hand we were given, and what an endowing hand. I am transformed for ever and for good.

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Missing Something Before You Miss It

Added by Frances Ohanenye on Jun 26, 2012 at 9:32am

The thought of missing something puts us in a very pensive, regretful, and avoidance mode and mood. We start dreading that reality and wishing we could stop it from coming to an end. Such is the feeling rampant among many KMWP fellows this week as we wind down. We voiced different aspects of our day we would miss.

Most of us agreed that we would miss our morning report. More than anything, it revealed to us the ingenuity in each fellow as we dug deep into our originality to produce a report worthy of keeping sleepy heads awake and alive enough to bring forth laughter.

We will miss (and that is the phrase that resonates frequently: “We will miss…”) our writing time that forces us to put down thoughts worthy of publication. According to Dr. Rob Montgomery, our gifted and fearless leader, a talented writer without the discipline to write every day will not be as successful as a disciplined writer with little or no talent. The latter will make a lot of money because time is money and showing up dutifully to work guarantees a paycheck.

If I take nothing away today, it will be that I need to adjust the lens through which I see this writing thing. I have loved showing up to work daily as a reader. I just have to make myself show up daily as a writer. My perception has been clouded by many misperceptions and misconceptions. I will write daily. I will write daily. I will write daily...

40 views           Add new comment                 1 comment: Posted by Patricia Valley

June 26, 2012 at 3:35pm

It’s validating to know I am not alone.  But missing something makes us appreciate it more too.  We have a funny expression in my family that is meant the be endearing.  How can I miss you if you won’t go away?  🙂

Exiting with a Mountain-High Bang!

Added by Frances Ohanenye on Jun 25, 2012 at 10:04am

Today marks the last week of our KMWP summer fellowship journey. I fight the feeling of sadness that threatens to envelope me. I can’t help but want this session to last the entire summer. Alas, it won’t or can’t grant my wish.

Just like the lightning that struck my house over the weekend and created a very loud bang as it fried several electronics, we are going out with a definite and resounding thump as I hear the activities lined up for our last days.

I love to see my name in print. We are publishing an anthology, presenting a skit or some similar act, having lunch at a restaurant, having lunch at a former KMWP fellow’s house, having lunch catered on the last day, receiving our KMWP T-shirts, presenting our demos, meeting in our reading groups, meeting in our writing groups to finalize our skit, and so many other activities. If these all do not make a mountain-high of a bang, I don’t know what does.

Wednesday is my demo. As the last demo presenter, you can imagine my position. I am the last person to demo! Do you feel my stress? I want to go out with a bang as well, louder than the one the lightning made in my house. I have learned to make a grand exit (and entrance). I hope I won’t disappoint myself this time.

Third Week Is International!

Added by Frances Ohanenye on Jun 22, 2012 at 9:40am

Born overseas, I gravitate to all things of a worldly nature. I have always been a child of the world first before identifying with my country, Nigeria. This week has been of immense interest. We have savored foods from France, Germany, Brazil, and Costa Rica. We have immersed ourselves deep in culture and have grown in leaps and bounds for our open-mindedness.

Our perspectives enlarge and reflect our acquisition and appreciation of the different.  I cannot convey with sufficient eloquence and conviction my gratitude for being allowed to take part in the National Writing Project. I have met colleagues who fill my intellect with food for thought and meditation.

This is the third week, and we show no signs of staleness or tiredness. We still perceive everything in new light and still anticipate our event-filled days with a child’s rightful impatience. I don’t want to look at the end of the tunnel. I am busy enjoying all the landscapes, unique explorations, and captivating events that pile my minutes and hours.

I am ecstatic to be here.

Half of My Fun Is Still Ahead (KMWP)

Added by Frances Ohanenye on Jun 21, 2012 at 9:31am

We arrive at this juncture in the workshop, and I can either bemoan the past days or look forward to the remaining days, the equivalent of the glass being half full or half empty. I choose the glass being half full because I have so much to look forward to. Even if KMWP wraps up today, I still have so much for which to look forward, especially our reunion in October.

With the glass half full, I am looking forward to my own Demo (demonstration) of a lesson that I will teach when school resumes. The initial cloud of anxiety has cleared, and I am pumped up. I have observed several amazing demos from every teacher in here, past and present fellows, ideas I intend to use, ideas to propel my teaching forward exponentially. (I know, another “-ly” word just crept in.)

With the glass half full, I am looking forward to my writing group’s presentation, which we have not decided what we will showcase. I cannot wait to get there, to arrive at next week. Excitement fills me at the numerous events we have waiting.

I look forward to each day as it unfolds with uncertainty because no two have been identical and no two days will. I am growing, still.

Poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Wherefore Art Thou, Poetry?

Added by Frances Ohanenye on Jun 20, 2012 at 9:39am

I am re-learning poetry, rediscovering its makeup, its characteristics, its facial features, grooming, and wherewithal. I write poetry, but I don’t write the regular poetry for the regular person. I write poetry filled with elevated vocabulary. There are those who write with simple vocabulary. There are those who write with mid-range words. I write with “big” words that may cause one of two people a headache. I apologize in advance.

How can I be true to me if I change who I am? I use “big” words naturally. They just come to me. I don’t know what that means for the general poetry public: that my poems will never be read? That people will get turned off by my poems because they do not want to crack open a dictionary in order to grow?

What do we tell our students, our children, ourselves? We say, “If you are reading a book, and you know all the words, that book is below your reading level.”

That makes my point. I want people to grow intellectually when they read my poem. I want them to acquire new words. I want them to read, re-read, and re-read my poems until the poem make sense, until those “big” words get cracked through any skills the reader has: context clues, word association, and so on.

So I write and will keep writing poetry in that hope that I will not compromise me in order to be and sound like all other poets out there. In order to stay true to me, I cannot be the other poets out there. Does that mean that no one will buy my poetry books when I publish them eventually? I guess so, and I am comfortable with that.

Not to say that I am Missy Elliot, Kanye West, Michael Jackson, or any other artist out there who dared to be different. I feel in my bones that I must be true to me and let the world accept my poems as they are. I am hoping that there are those who will. Get a taste at http://paperisnotsilent.blogspot.com. Thank you for visiting.

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1 comment: Posted by Fatima Abdulkazem, June 21, 2012 at 10:09am

I loved your poetry… It’s fancy…it’s tasty!

I also loved it because it teased my brain…and knocked on closed doors of knowledge to open!

i am just discovering an emerging poet in me…Your poems are inspiring

Thanks!

June 19, 2012

A Snapshot of My Days in the Ongoing KMWP

A Multi-talented Room Is KMWP (June 19, 2012)

It is a room where thoughts spread and sprinkle like a kaleidoscope of bubbles: rich, composed of many faces seemingly alike, but what comes out blows the mind.

It is a room filled with pervasive positive interactions.

It is a room of compassionate educators who carry their empathy for students in the words they put out without being aware of the depth of their compassion.

It is a room to which I race every morning filled with genuine and from-head-to-toe anticipation.

It is a room that gives me a 10x magnifying lens into many positive and progressive aspects of the humanity I love so much.

It is a room from where I know I will emerge a transcendental writer, so multi-layered, so grown, so wise, so much more compassionate, so much more grateful to be in this business of education that has been the center of my life’s force.

It is a room that I will carry with me in my emotions, as a reference material and as a guide book, as a memory that will cause my heart to skip in gratitude that I finally was chosen to be a part of concepts, processes, and topics that propel me to examine old topics in new lights and new topics in future lights.

It is a room of my dreams, making my imagination real.

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The Second Friday of KMWP Sizzles! (June 15, 2012)

Things that sizzle force me to response with many reactions, imagined or real: excitement, anticipation, nourishment, and the fulfillment of that noisy imagery that grabs my attention and refuses to allow me to take it for granted.

Today dawns with a higher level of awareness of promises of growth, a higher call to what must be achieved with joy.  I am pumped, ready, filled with all the  eagerness of a child watching chopped onions sizzle in a pan, forecasting the certainty of being fed.

Today shoots off like a meteor as fingers grip pens and dive nose down in a white-water-rafting plunge of adrenal activity, “The English Throw Down”. We threw down on demand with elaborate sentences, figures of speech interspersed like black pepper. We borrow words from any foreign language on demand and from someone’s quotation, famous or not. We throw down. Somehow our creative thoughts gel, thoughts that seemed written with randomness come together in a mind-blowing cohesion.  I am always ready, free and ready.

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 Writing from Without and on a Dare (KMWP) (6/14/2012)

I dabbled into a new area out of a self-inflicted dare: writing a young adult fiction. However, I wanted to write it as an out-of-body experience, not me writing as I would but writing as I imagined a young adult writer putting down thoughts and ideas. Let me tell you, the “process” challenged me.

Plot is evident in the story, and although it is necessary, it cannot move the story by itself. Dialogue is there. Unfortunately, I buried it/him/her several pages behind, which made it excruciating to read. Teenagers have no patience. We know that.

Yesterday’s adventure into memoir writing exposed me to the art of relocation: moving chunks around with these guidelines: nice but doesn’t fit, save it; not nice and doesn’t fit, cut it; eradicate chaff words such as “-ly”; compare and compress by removing the telling part of the story; and make ten specific changes.

Needless to say, I have work to do. I will not give up on the young.

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Posted by J. Stalnaker
June 14, 2012 at 11:43am

Frances-

I love reading YA fiction! Most likely because that is the age group I teach and I am always sneaking peeks at their titles to see what is going on in “their” world. Don’t give up…and let me know when you have something meaty to chew on!

Joy

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A Name That Failed to Float (KMWP) (6/13/2012)

We peeled the layers in our names yesterday. My parents baptized me with a beautiful name that floated with a life force; however, I blame it for turning me into an enigma: good-natured, a sympathetic friend, tough at times, blunt, and stealthily sarcastic. My name is music, a three-toned instrument, and I loved growing up in it. Family members dissected it, made pet names out of it, each to his or her idea of me. It responds quickly to kind words or any expression of appreciation.

As serendipitous as my name is, my high school English teacher brought me down to earth, causing unworthiness and fear to lurk around that name. He began each chastisement with, “Do you know what your name means?” if I punctuated incorrectly, mouthed a fragment, or failed to decipher the function of an adverb.

On the generous end, I insulted bullies in high school without them realizing I trounced them until months later when they heard the insulting word or words bandied about blatantly. Any follower of my name can attest that, if the wind blows, I become loquacious.

My birth name begins like the “Eu” in Europe, shifts in chord into “kay,” and finishes up with the last hard “ria;” and I am not Spanish nor fond of the rolled “r.” My name is Eucharia. All in all, I soaked in a very revealing part of me yesterday as I journey to the core of memoir writing. I am anxious to get started today.

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Posted by Megan Barker
June 13, 2012 at 10:53am

Pretty piece. I love your way with words.

The Journey of Self-discovery Begins with One-fourth of Me (6/12/2012)

Write a memoir? Who? Me? The thought scares me at first, but I am a free thinker who says yes to anything that involves writing. I dig in, searching through the walls of my well, as circular as it is, with a high-powered light, looking at my life in quarterly segments, trying to find the aspect of it deep enough for me to lower my literary pail and pull up enough water to write a memoir.

This is truly intoxicating! Looking at my life, I take my life story in snapshots. I realize now that I miss my life, that life, the one-quarter of it that I am examining now. Wow, and that is only 25%. I am looking forward so much to today’s events, and boy, am I ready!

The instructor, an associate dean here at my university, seems to know something that we (obvious ignorant lot) do not yet. She placed tissues in the middle of each group’s table. Are there going to be tears today? Who is going to cry? Hmmm.

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Comment Posted by Theresa Allen
June 12, 2012 at 1:32pm

it was very interesting to me to view my life in segments of time.

My Theme for the KMWP This Summer is Free (6/11/2012)

I am attempting to encapsulate that word, “free,” just for this summer’s (2012) KMWP outlook. Truth be known, “free” (not just the connotation in the suffix, “-dom,”) has always been the foundation of my perspective on education all my life. Why should I restrict myself or my students in my abilities or theirs? Even if we believe (and that is the crux because belief can be changed) that the person is incapable of achieving the feat, we cannot choke effort and energy out of their willingness because of our own short-sightedness. We must think freely, feel freely, and allow others to engage in intellectual development freely.

I spent Saturday here among my fellows soaking in all that glided my way, and every single event propelled me into more thirst for more knowledge. The exemplary demo we previewed was about art. The day only got better with us trying to see art in a different life: writing about it. We described different pieces of art, judged them, analyzed all the nuances, and interpreted them, allowing our minds to see familiar art in ways we never had the time or allowed ourselves profound introspection. The bar is raised.

We need to meet or exceed it, and those are the only two options. Pensive moments cause me to grow, not being pensive for looking thoughtful, but really digging deep into the crevices of every hidden corner of your intellect and pulling out what astounds you before it astonishes anyone else. Every inch of my fiber is free to re-view (see again), rethink, re-appreciate, re-visit, re-evaluate, and all the words that allow me to re-grow intellectually, spiritually, selflessly, and socially.

I look forward to each new day with a new bride’s potential familial growth and a lifetime of promised love and life.

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A Place for the Free-spirited (06/09/2012)

I am ecstatic to be involved in the Kennesaw Mountain Writing Project after many years of hoping and wishing. An ebullient feeling fills every nook and corner of my free-spirited, inquisitive, and absorbent intellect. I thought I was the Queen of WAC, but I am simmering in self-discovery of the rarest kind. Gurus jar my brain with unique writing-across-curriculum activities of the socio-scientific nature, “writing with brush strokes,” what I call contributive poetry, and so on. The summer is just beginning. I am gripping my seat for this roller coaster ride unlike any!Comment viewing options

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Posted by Theresa Allen
June 9, 2012 at 11:53am

I can’t even think of an adjective to completely describe my feelings about being involved with the Kennesaw Mountain Writing Project. Like you Frances, I am ecstatic. I know this is going to be a transformative experience and I look forward to applying my new insights and knowledge to my class in the fall.

Posted by Shirley Hanner
June 9, 2012 at 12:57pm

I think this will be a time of discovery for all of us! I am glad to share the exploration with you!

June 11, 2012

I HAVE BEEN CHOSEN!

I am one of very few fellows selected this year for the renowned Kennesaw Mountain Writing Project! After many years of hoping and wishing, I am strapped into my seat waiting for (not take off but) lift off. Ebullient feelings fill every nook and corner of my free-spirited, inquisitive, and absorbent intellect. I thought I was the Queen of WAC, but I am simmering in self-discovery of the rarest kind. Gurus jar my brain with unique writing-across-curriculum activities in the socio-scientific realm, “writing with brush strokes,” contributive poetry, and so on. The summer is just beginning. I am gripping my seat for this space shuttle ride unlike any!

April 27, 2012

The Progenies of Literature

“Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habit. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.” ― Lao Tzu

 

I attended a writers’ event last night, and I was encouraged by the promise in the room. The baton-passing is in strong hands, creative minds, and agile legs. What am I rambling about? The young!

I started writing when I was very small, and growing up in Nigeria, there were no outlets for me and my budding-writer kind to take our dreams to the outer realm of creative exposure. Except for my elementary, junior high, and high school teachers who recognized my talent, there did not seem anywhere else to go with all that talent.

When I taught English, I always tried to pay it forward by exposing my students to writing competitions and other outlets. More recently, when I heard of the Kennesaw Mountain Writing Project for the young, I immediately sent e-mails to all the parents of my previous middle school students encouraging them to align their budding writers with that literary outlet.

Granted, a lot of people give J. K. Rawlings credit for increasing the number of pre-teens and teens who started reading voraciously and devouring dictionary-volume books. There is another wave of pre-teens and teenagers who inspired me last night—the ones who can actually write from the wells of inner inspiration, not forced, coerced, or threatened.

These students won awards last night, and as the presenters read the excerpts from the pieces that won the awards, I rested assured that literature would be in excellent hands, that the baton has been passed on successfully, even as we older generation toil and pound words into obedience.

I heard flowery language enough to make me want to cry, something I seem to be doing a lot lately. As I listened to each piece, something moved in me; recognition dawned; smile spread broadly, and something within shifted as genuine respect, not grudgingly, but readily.

The little event last night mirrors a grander and more widespread one as writers, publishers, promoters, and those at the helm of literary and scholarly penmanship recognize that the young have a voice.

Every year, professional authors, hobbyists, writers, educators, creative leaders, and others (who have vested interest in the young) seek out budding and unheard voices. We recognize the names of these literary giants who won awards as young writers: Sylvia Plath, Joyce Carol Oates, Bernard Malamud, Carolyn Forché, Richard Avedon, Andy Warhol, and many, many more who won or did not win awards but who wrote from their hearts with technical skills, creative take on words, originality of thoughts, and personal voice.

Below are some online outlets for budding/emergent writers who wish to enter writing contests and competitions. Placing this list on my blog is not an act of endorsement or approval. When in doubt, parents and students, my advice is “caveat emptor.”

Home page

http://www.bennington.edu/NewsEvents/YoungWritersCompetition.aspx http://www.youngvoicesfoundation.org/writingcontests.html

http://www.rehobothbeachwritersguild.com/youngwriters.html 

http://amazing-kids.org/main/

http://blogs.walnuthillarts.org/thebluepencil/about-us

http://www.cricketmag.com/CIC-CICADA-Magazine-for-Teens-ages-14+-

http://www.newpages.com/npguides/young_authors_guide.htm

March 9, 2012

Sitting on Revision

When I taught reading to middle school students who groaned loudly every time I asked them to read anything, I gave them this mantra: “I do not like to read, but I have to read.” I gave reasons why they should read. Those who allowed the sprinkled dust of tacit persuasion to touch their intellect bought into it.

Today, I find myself at crossroads and have to adopt my mantra in order to get over a huge chasm the size of the Grand Canyon. I do not like to revise my work, but I have to revise it for several reasons.

When a writer submits a purported best-write, and the publisher comes back with the proverbial red ink suggestions for a rewrite, it takes a lot to pump up the shoulders, keep eyes on the prize, and buckle down to those suggestions. I repeat: It takes a lot!

That is where I am. I have stated numerous times that I do not have the old fanged and famous diagnosis of writer’s block as hashed out by Edmund Bergler, Purdue Online Writing Lab, Irene Clark, and many others.

Since I have a continuous influx of ideas, I refuse to subscribe to this school of thought. I write because ideas bombard my brain constantly. I choose not to write not due to any writer’s block.

What I have is the Kilimanjaro-reluctance to do what I must do. Some will classify it as procrastination; others will call it writer’s block. I just refused to revise my work. Simple, case closed. Or is it?

I have been sitting on my publisher’s recommendations for months now. I wanted to arrive at a place where I actually would allow myself to take that novel apart, perform the necessary surgery, and reattach the limbs (if possible). It is a tall order, this submission to dismantling a well-built house with a wrecking ball.

I admit, ego blocked my progress. That confounded chip is the undoing and the downfall of a writer who refuses to detach herself from that most magnificent creation and be humble. Today was such a thing for me. I went to bed at 1:50 this morning because transformation gripped me. I devoured books by people who know the business. They tolImaged me to get over my elitist self.

They informed me that I was misinformed. Because I taught English, writing, and literature for decades, and because some colleagues called me “word wizard,” I figured I was that. They said I needed to get real, take off that title, fling it into the bottom of the Pacific, and find a tattered cloak of humility to put on for the world to see that I have written diddly, nada, nothing.

Heather Sellers and The Portable MFA in Creative Writing were kinder in their phraseology, but Les Edgerton let me have it without mincing words. When I say, “me,” I am sure he has no idea who I am, but the “me” refers to any reader who picks up Hooked. Yes, the man knows how to title his book. I was hooked from Page 1 until I put the book down around 1 A.M. and picked up Page after Page by Sellers.

With my tail tucked between my legs, I am humbled and owe my publisher an apology for wasting valuable time on what I should have finished months ago. Then again, I am glad I waited for the tough love that came.

It arrived early this morning with waves of inspiration and resolution crashing down on me to get my lazy behind on the chair, what Sellers calls “Butt-in-the-chair” determination. Needless to say, I needed a figurative kick in the shin (which hurts more than a kick on the derrière).

As any writer worth her salt knows, a writer must be a reader first and must read and read. I feel better now that I have heard other voices to imbue me to do what I must do.

“Go crazy! Punch a higher floor!” sang Prince. I am not letting the elevator bring me down, not until I finish this most important necessity. I hear Prince’s instrumental as I jump into revision. “Oh, no, let’s go! …Let’s go nuts!” (With revision, that is.)