One Significant Value of Fiction

The last several days in my immediate family have been challenging ones, characterized by a frightening accident, a call to 911, and too much time spent in a hospital. While I will not go into the details of the accident, the hospitalization, etc., in this post, I want to, rather, reflect on the value of fiction writing in our lives.

When unexpected, or surprising events occur, we are often confronted with fundamental questions about how we are living our lives, what really matters, and so on. Earlier this evening, I began reading Anne Lamott’s 2010 novel, Imperfect Birds, and although I’m only 62 pages into it at this point, it is proving to me one of the most important reasons that fiction matters in our hyper social-network driven world.

Fiction, good fiction, reminds us that we all live complicated and mixed-bag lives. We all struggle with questions of identity, of our places in the world, of whether or not we are doing what we should do, or were meant to do, and the like. Good fiction – and, Imperfect Birds is absolutely in that category – reminds us of our shared imperfections, our shared continual quest to figure out how best to navigate this gift (that sometimes feels like a curse) we’ve been given called life. By recognizing the humanity and the faults and the glories and the foibles in fictional characters, we are (if we are lucky) able to take a step back to reexamine our own lives and ask: Well, maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world that I did x, y, or z? Perhaps I can forgive myself – perhaps I can forgive my mother, father, brother, sister, lover, spouse – for doing something that was hurtful, childish, annoying, or, rude?

Early in this novel a character suggests that perhaps we are living in “the sixth day,” evoking the creation story. In other words, perhaps God is not quite done. We are here already… we are living in this environment that He (or She) created, but it is not yet time for God to rest. Because the work is not yet done. I like this idea. I like it a lot. It almost provides an answer to those questions many of us so often ask: “How could a loving and caring God allow (fill-in-the-blank) to happen?” Well, maybe it’s because the job’s not quite done yet. Maybe we are all living in the sixth day.

Each of us will encounter unexpected challenges throughout our lives, and each of us will have a moment (or more) of feeling shell-shocked that whatever happened just happened. A close friend dies or is seriously injured or is diagnosed with cancer; a simple misstep leads to days in the hospital and weeks of recovery and pain; the dog you are walking lunges after a rat and pulls you down to a painful fall in the process. These things happen. They do.

Good fiction reminds us that we are not alone in this fate. We are all susceptible to the whims and fancies of… whatever one might wish to call it. Fate? God’s will? Bad luck? Good luck? The point is, stuff happens. Our job is to learn from it when it does. Our job is to recognize the humanity in one another. Our job is to empathize and listen and learn and take heed. Because tomorrow, it may well be me or you or the other person reading these scribblings who is caught by surprise and suddenly learns that stuff happens. Whenever, wherever.

We persevere. We go on, as Beckett notably observed. We adjust, learn, recalibrate.

Fiction helps remind us that we are not alone in the doing. Fiction creates a safe space in which we can face the scary realities we may well have to face in our own lives when we are least prepared for it, because, let’s face it – that’s when they come.

So, cheers and thank you to the great fiction writers of the world. And, while I’m at it, cheers and thank you to the great nonfiction writers of the world, because they often can (and do) achieve the same purpose. (I almost wrote porpoise, by the way… just a side note.)

Cheers, writers! You tell stories that remind us of our shared humanity; of our strengths, our weaknesses, our vulnerabilities, and our charms. You remind us that we are all on this crazy trek together – like it or not.

This evening, as bedtime nears, I look forward to reading a few more pages of Imperfect Birds, and then climbing into bed with my lovely wife and thanking whomever for all the blessings of our lives. Hardships happen – of course – but they are not the whole of existence. They are bumps in the road. We move on, persevere, keep writing our own stories, and, embrace what is, and what’s next.

Namaste.

On Not Blogging Much Recently…

It’s been more than two months since my last post and much has occurred in that time – I’ve been blessedly busy with work for the past two months (needed the money big-time after months of underemployment); a chapter of my chapbook Meeting Dad: A Memoir was nominated for a Pushcart Prize (thank you Accents Publishing and Katerina Stoykova-Klemer!); and, I’ve been cooking… a lot!

Recent dishes include: Linguini with White Clam Sauce, Filet Mignon and Fettucine Alfredo for Christmas Eve (2nd annual meal for that night); Sloppy Joe’s from scratch; tacos from scratch; various and sundry one-pan-wonders with meat (pork or beef) and an assortment of vegetables; Spaghetti and Meatballs (veal and pork); and, on New Year’s Eve, authentic Buffalo Chicken Wings. Perhaps I’ve been putting more creative energy into cooking than I have into writing? Perhaps. Perhaps I also simply needed to take a break, to take some stock, to recharge my batteries, as it were.

On New Year’s Day, I spent some time with some friends (old and new) and was fascinated to discover that there were several of us who either hold (or are close to earning) an MFA in Writing. It felt good to connect with the writing vibe again and I realized that it is time for me to get my butt back into the chair and to finish my memoir-in-progress. I’ve been stymied for several weeks because of my old demons “self-doubt” and “second guessing.” That, I suppose, and simply being exhausted from the pace of work and other vicissitudes with which we all deal, pretty much every day.

There’s been another thing at work however. I think I’ve grown weary of the din, of the constant noise with which we are so often bombarded – pundits and prognosticators making their oh-so-self-important proclamations about Obama and the tea party and Congress and Palin among many other subjects. I suppose I’ve been less eager than other times to add my voice to the din, at least not unless I thought I had something interesting to say, and, frankly I don’t think I’ve had anything too terribly interesting to say about recent political developments. Honestly, I think we all need to take a collective breath and calm down. So maybe that’s it? Maybe I needed to give myself a timeout? Perhaps. Maybe I simply needed to spend some more time in the kitchen – mixing, stirring, inventing, interpreting, exploring.

Now, it’s a New Year. 2011 has arrived. The economy is showing slow signs of recovery, the 112th Congress is convening, next month Chicago will elect a new Mayor, Jerry Brown is once again governor of California and Ahh-nold is likely headed back to Hollywood, given that he can’t run for president.

Here we go, then. A new year, a new decade, and – I hope – a new chance to embrace the work of our lives.

Namaste.

On Writing, July 8, 2009

In his terrific memoir, The Tender Bar, J.R. Moehringer writes, “Above all I suffered from a naïve view that writing should be easy. I thought words were supposed to come unbidden. The idea that errors were stepping-stones to truth never once occurred to me…” Ah yes, there is that.

Guess what? It’s hard!

I’ve had a difficult and productive and frustrating and joyful day of revising my extended critical essay on how yearning induces empathy and compels action in memoir. My brain is a little tired, a little “tweaky” as my wife Gloria might say. But, I have produced words – some of them good, I think!

What makes them good? They are clear, specific, and absolutely the right word to express the precise idea(s) I am trying to convey. It’s hard, that. Finding the right word. Le mot juste, as Flaubert famously put it. It is also exhilarating when you succeed.

It’s been a rather gloomy day here in Chicago, with the skies looking more like October or even November than the second week of July. But the light rain and cool winds matter not when the words are flowing. The dogs have been mostly well-behaved today with a bare minimum of barking inside the house, and I rewarded them with some extra walks, during which I turned word over word in my head – do I want “consistently” or “systematically” to modify the phrase “thwarted wanting?” Perhaps both? They are different, after all. Do I go so far as to employ the word “perniciously?” Maybe so. Setting aside the near-constant injunction many writers hear to “never use adverbs,” sometimes they are precisely what are required. And, the New American Oxford Dictionary defines “pernicious” as: having a harmful effect, esp. in a gradual or subtle way. That might just be right. I’ll think on it some more, I suppose, but at least I have choices.

I’ve put in a solid day’s work and will shortly meet up with a friend and colleague for an adult beverage before returning home to share dinner with my wife. Things could be much worse.

Namaste.

Reclaiming the House

So yesterday was the last of the workmen… for a while. And what a day it was. Not only did we have four guys here replacing half of our windows but we also had two guys by in the middle of the day to install our custom glass shower door. Now the bathrooms are officially done. And we have replaced all of the windows in our home – half were done 2 years ago, the other half were done yesterday.

Gloria (my wife) put it very well yesterday evening: She said, “I feel like we’ve been given two big presents and we aren’t allowed to open them for two or three days.” The reason? The shower door has to sit there – don’t even look at it, let alone touch it – for 48 hours, and the new windows must remain locked and closed for 72 hours. Given the weather today here in Chicago it was no big thing not to open the windows. Brrrr… Are we going to get summer soon? I sure hope so!

But what’s important it this: We’ve had terrific contractors/workmen in our lives recently and we are deeply grateful. They’ve done their work beautifully and (for the most part) have also cleaned up behind themselves thoroughly. We are blessed people living in a beautiful land (to paraphrase my friend Aaron Freeman).

Went back on Facebook today; connected with a bunch of folks, which is good. But if any of you Facebook amigos are reading this, no pokes, no mob wars, no vampire bites please – I’m there to connect and network only. No Scrabulous or anything else. It’s too distracting.

Gloria and I are reclaiming the house. Moving furniture back, or in some cases, to new positions; doing some post-renovation painting and the like, getting it to the new Almada/Russell household, which is a good thing. I’m trying to write and making some slow progress. Home renovations do take a toll after all. But life is good. In a very real way.

Namaste.

MFA Residency – Day 2

It is now Saturday night, May 23rd, nearly 9:00 pm and the end of the first full day of residency here at Spalding University’s brief-residency MFA in Writing Program. The day was, well, in a word: long. And, this is not just according to me. I heard it time and again from students and faculty members alike. It was also: terrific, exciting, exhilarating, and inspirational.

That’s kind of what residency is all about. We are thrust into the company of a number of writers in all sorts of genres with varied interests, lives, talents, and ways of looking at the world. Today was the first day of workshop and the first full day of lectures and readings and sharing meals together. Some are down in the lobby of the Brown Hotel right this moment sharing a beer or a glass of wine or – given that we are in Kentucky, after all – a glass of fine bourbon. (I will join them there soon!)

The final event of this day was the first installment of Spalding’s Festival of Contemporary Writing, featuring six faculty members reading from new and/or recent work. Dianne Aprile, Greg Pape, Jody Lisberger, Ellie Bryant, Philip Deaver, and Mary Waters each read this evening and each was positively delightful in their own particular ways. What a pleasure (and inspiration) to hear such magnificent work from these faculty mentors (many of whom I’ve worked with and/or come to know over the past year).

Tomorrow we’re at it again and I, for one, can hardly wait.

Namaste.

The Soul of Creative Writing

A couple of hours ago I finished rereading Richard Goodman’s terrific, charming, engaging, and insightful book, The Soul of Creative Writing. [Full disclosure: Richard was my mentor for my first term in Spalding University’s Brief Residency MFA in Writing program.] I first read the book just as my six months of working with Richard as a mentor was commencing. I’ve spent nearly six months with a different mentor – working in a different genre as well, fiction rather than creative nonfiction – but, as I’m returning to creative nonfiction for my final two semesters at Spalding, I was required to read Richard’s book again, as it is the Faculty Book in Common for my upcoming May residency.

I am so grateful that I “had” to read this book again. Richard’s breezy and confident narrative voice – dare I say avuncular? – is pitch perfect in each of these ten essays that he likes to describe as “a love letter to the English language.” Indeed, it is. If you care a whit about the English language, about words, then you simply must read this book!!!!!!!!!!!! (Those who have read the book already will carefully note how many exclamation points I used at the end of the last sentence. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.)

Richard’s writing is, quite simply, inspirational. His command of the language is impressive and his respect for it is readily apparent on every delicious page. (I know writers are counseled to avoid adjectives whenever possible, but sometimes they are required.)

The Soul of Creative Writing has recently been released in paperback, so do yourself a favor and surf on over to Amazon or walk down the street to your savvy independent bookseller and get yourself a copy right away. It’s that good.

Ever wonder how to approach finding the “exact right word” or “le mote juste,” as Richard’s hero Flaubert is said to have written of? Read this book. Want to know how strong and resilient punctuation is and what wonders a writer can accomplish through the creative use of punctuation? Read this book. Care about rubbing shoulders against some of the greatest literary figures in Western literature? Read this book. Now. Go on. Do it.

You’ll thank me.

Namaste.

Embracing Ambiguity

A friend of mine has a new blog called Lost Glove Found. Another couple of friends - Katerina and Andrew most especially - have been encouraging me to start a blog.

So here I am. At the beginning of a journey of unknown duration, no destination in mind.

Would somebody please tell Roland Burris that the time for him to go has come? I know, The Chicago Tribune called on him to resign today. Good for them. I also sent an email to Senator (barely) Burris's office today asking him to resign.

I'm tired of Chicago and Illinois politics making us look like jerks to the rest of the world. Sure, some of us are jerks in this town, but not everyone.

Anyone who has met my wife can tell you without fear of exaggeration that she is not even remotely jerk-like. Don't take my word for it. Ask anyone who's met her. It's true.

It's snowing again this afternoon but at least the weather folks are saying there is little chance of significant accumulation today. We've had far too much snow in Chicago already this winter. But, enough about that - I certainly have no wish to make this blog simply a vessel for my whining or complaining about the snow. (What some don't know is that the spring, summer, and autumn seasons here in Chicago are so glorious that living through winter makes it all worth it. That is, the year's that we have an autumn this is the case. Last year, we went from 70 degrees on the glorious Election Day to minus fifteen a few days later.)

Some Things I'll Share Before I Close:

1. There's a very nifty online literary magazine called Public-Republic (http://www.public-republic.net/) I encourage you to visit. They've published some of my recent writing.
2. I am relieved beyond my ability to express in words that the long eight years of "W" have come to an end.
   
3. I am thrilled that Barack Obama and his family are in the white house!
   
4. I am currently pursuing (that's precisely the right word - it feels, at times, like I'm chasing it down, running at top speed, lungs aching, breath short, feet beating on the pavement, wind rushing by my face) an MFA in Writing with Spalding University's Brief-Residency Program. I recommend it highly for anyone considering an MFA in Writing.
   
5. I am grateful beyond measure for the writing community into which I've become immersed through Spalding.
6. I don't see the dentist as frequently as I should, but have begun to work on rectifying that. Next visit, next Wednesday. Honest. Made the appointment earlier today.
   
7. I am mistrustful of organized religion, but deeply respectful of spiritual people.
8. I distrust anyone who says they know the one, best, most surefire way to accomplish something. (See above.)
9. I embrace ambiguity even as it causes me no end of grief. Sometimes.
10. I'm learning not to title work until it's already been written. And read aloud. At least once.
11. Let me be clear: Ambiguity in writing is not something I embrace. I think writing should be as specific, detailed, nuanced, subtle, thriving, moving, and alive. Ambiguity in life, it seems to me, is unavoidable.
    

If you are still here, thanks so much for reading.