Hearty congratulations to all, especially Heather Goodman, Kelly Flanigan, Kim Teeple, and W. Michael Garner for their inclusion on this list–The Loft announces the winners of the 2006 Loft Mentor Series Competition. Well done, you fiction writers, you!

Of the many compelling readings at Tin House workshop this past July, Charles D’Ambrosio’s was among the most compelling. He read an excerpt from his short story, Screenwriter, which was originally published in The New Yorker and now can also be found in his brilliant short story collection, The Dead Fish Museum.

In reading this collection, you get the impression that this is a writer who understands pain–not just his own, but also that of those around him and that of our culture as a whole. The Dead Fish Museum is another name for a refrigerator that holds the bodies of fish pulled from a filthy river. Fish that will never be eaten, for they are too plentiful, too damaged, rotting.

The characters in these eight stories are those fish, and so are we.

Because instead of being a culture who hangs onto rites of passage, rituals, ways in which we scar our body that show we have come through childhood–that we have made it into adulthood and are reborn–we are a culture which scars itself in private, which hides in closets and nicks its skin with razor blades, which takes burning matches to its flesh:

When I returned to the bedroom the ballerina hadn’t moved. She’d sleep in these ashes, like some black-feathered bird. Her back was to me, and I went to her, but the burns covering her body—how would you even hold such a woman? Where exactly do you put your hands on somebody who hurts everywhere? I stopped short. I’d never seen her back before, and it was pristine. The skin was flawless, a cold hibernal blue where her blood flowed beneath. I blew on my fingers, warming them, and then laid my hand between her shoulder blades, lightly, as though to press too hard would leave a print.

In short, we are a culture who holds onto our pain so tightly–indeed, is shackled to it–that the only way to express it is through violence: directed at others, directed at ourselves. And why? Because we don’t know what else to do. We have lost our survival skills and escape is no longer an option–fight or flight means nothing:

“The fires are going out, it’s true.” She sank down in the tub and submerged so that only her knees, her small dancer’s breasts, her big nose, her lovely mouth and blue eyes, these isolated islands of herself, rose above the darkening water. Flecks of ash floated over the surface. “Here’s my idea for your next screenplay,” she said. “Sirens are going everywhere. People are weeping. It doesn’t really matter where you are, it’s all black. You can’t open your eyes anyway.”

“What are you saying?”

“And there’s a donkey marooned on an island in the middle of the ocean. A volcano is erupting on the island and rivers of hot lava are flowing toward the donkey. In addition, all around the small island is a ring of fire. What would you do?”

I considered the possibilities. “I don’t know.”

Smiling, she said, “The donkey doesn’t know, either.”

It’s a beautiful and, I think, important book and I hope you will read it and then take a good hard look at the world around you.

Here’re some links for more stories and information:

Interview with Charles D’Ambrosio
TRAIN IN VAIN, by Charles D’Ambrosio
HER REAL NAME, by Charles D’Ambrosio
The Lighted Window, by Charles D’Ambrosio

Had something of a breakthrough day yesterday on my revision when the mists cleared and things started to fall into place. Every morning before I work, I’m continuing to read from Ursula K. Le Guin’s Steering the Craft. I can’t say enough good things about this book, as Le Guin is not the sort of instructor who tells you what you HAVE to do, rather she offers her opinions and suggests what you might do.

In the introduction she discusses something near and dear to my heart at present:

That “cooling off” period is essential to revision. If there’s one thing almost all writers agree on, it’s that we can’t trust our judgment on our own freshly written work. To see its faults and virtues we need to look at it after a real interval.

Taking time away and coming back to a piece was one of the hardest lessons I learned when I was a younger writer, but I’m glad I did as it helped me to love and appreciate revision as opposed to seeing it as a chore. The lens of time is also the lens of clarity and the lens through which you can see what parts of your story truly suck.

Now, I truly love revision–especially after I have some time away. I do revise as I go and I do revise right after I’m finished, but I also like to take time away and come back because that is when the real work begins. That is when I cut everything that makes me cringe.

My dear friend, the brilliant Randall Brown is instructing a course you will want to sign up for (if you know what’s good for you) so that you can learn everything you ever wanted to know about flash but were too afraid to ask. The course is called Micro. Sudden. Flash. Fiction. and here is a blurb for it:

Flash is for the fearless. No wishy-washiness here. This course discusses the essentials of writing flash fiction: ideas, narrative structures, voice, image patterns, twists, revision, and submission strategies that should help you get your work published. Hear that POP! That’s the sizzle of your prose, your veins like wires. That’s the world where every word matters, the world of infinite yearning, where everything and everyone—writers, texts, characters, readers—lose their quiet everyday world and enter a state of intense arousal and desire. Oh Baby. Micro. Sudden. Flash. Fiction. Awww!

Hope you all have ordered your copy of this Kirkus star reviewed book already. I have and I cannot wait until it gets here.

Extremely happy for Jim–a deserving writer and a fine human being!

We watched the final DVD for the first season of Weeds last night. HOT damn is that a great show! If anyone is watching the second season right now, DO NOT tell me what is going on. I’m determined to wait until it comes out on DVD.

But anyway, we were talking about the show on our walk this morning and Allen was cracking up remembering when someone said to the main character, Nancy, “You are skinny-fat.”

For some reason this struck both of us as hilarious–as is the whole damn show. Watch it if you can.

Dorothy Allison recommended a book on writing by Ursula K. Le Guin in workshop last month. She didn’t have the title on the tip of her tongue, but I think it is this excellent one I have purchased–Steering the Craft.

I’m reading it at this time because I am in revision mode and need a push, some guidance, the voice of a mentor. Now, I’m not going to say this book is teaching me anything new, rather it is reinforcing things I already knew and reminding me others I should pay attention to.

If I were a writing teacher, I would add this book to my shelves for sure as it has not only many words of wisdom, but also suggestions for exercises.

And for today, I offer you these words from the introduction:

Ultimately you write alone. And ultimately you and you alone can judge your work. The judgment that a work is complete–this is what I meant to do, and I stand by it–can come only from the writer, and it can be made rightly only by a writer who’s learned to read her own work.

F. Scott Fitzgerald: Okay, I’ve always loved him. I was an English major in undergrad and grad school, so I’ve read Gatsby about one million times–but still I love it. Just recently, I read Tender is the Night for the first time and was awestruck from the first page. So I bought the Library of America edition of Fitzgerald’s work and am now reading This Side of Paradise and am equally moved.

Weeds: Have you seen this show yet? I don’t have Showtime but I rented the DVD from netflix and am totally in love. Holy crap, is that some good stuff.

And, today I am sending special love to Robin Slick because it is her birthday! Happy Birthday, Robin! Hope you have a great one.

What you notice first and foremost about Ellen Meister’s debut novel, Secret Confessions of the Applewood PTA, is how humane she is as a writer. The women she writes about are real—they are not caricatures, they are not stereotypes. Instead they fall down, they embarrass themselves, they lose control. They lust, they fight, they envy, they are jealous. They are passionate, they are smart, they love. Basically, they are human.

And in that, we love them and we root for them. And when the book is at its end, we have a hard time letting them go.

Hard for me to say which of the three main characters is my favorite: is it the brilliant Maddie, who loses some of her self-esteem over the years when she believes that her marriage is broken beyond repair? Or is it quiet and unassuming Lisa, who seethes beneath the surface after a lifetime of taking care of her selfish mother? Or is it Ruth, who lost not only her husband but also the better part of herself after his stroke?

The truth is, they are all my favorites.

I cheered when Maddie realized that her marriage was only wounded from a bit of overuse, and when Lisa realized that she is her own best mother, and when Ruth regained the love of herself and all of the glories she has to offer the world. I cheered because I felt genuine affection for all of these women. I cherished their success and felt comforted by their friendship.

But don’t let the serious tone of this reader fool you. What you should know is that this book is also funny. Indeed, there are times when you will laugh out loud and shake your head in wonder at Meister’s impeccable sense of timing (not to mention her eye for physical humor).

In short, the book’s a gem. And no less a gem is the audio companion—Lisa Kudrow reads with an exceptional ear for character, comedy, and good storytelling. In fact, I can’t think of a better reader for the book. My favorite characterization of hers would have to be when she took on Ruth. The voice was exactly as I had heard Ruth in my head.

And so the bringing together of Meister’s words and Kudrow’s reading means some classic entertainment. You won’t want to miss out.

Buy the book, buy the audio. Let yourself be wooed and wowed.

I’m behind on my reading and finally caught up with these gems, all from the latest Mississippi Review:

When I Lived There, by Pia Z. Ehrhardt

Farmer, by Kim Chinquee

Slip, by Claudia Smith

And then this excellent review in SmokeLong Quarterly:

Visit Home: March 2006 by Kevin Walters, reviewed by Thomas White

And, great stuff over at Storyglossia,

You Go, by Alicia Gifford

A Burial, by Jai Clare

I so wish I was at the Fringe right now! My best friend, her husband, and brother are there putting on their show Knight Time. Here’s the blurb:

Ever wondered what it would be like to be a Knight? Join Jack as he enters the Knight Trials and finds that being a Knight is not all it’s cracked up to be. We’ll even show you how to make your own puppet too!

Caroline’s brother Nick wrote and acts in the show and her husband Geoff designed and built all of the puppets.

I got to read the script and see the sketches and some photos of preliminary puppets, and MAN is it ever cool.

If you are there, please do go and tell them I sent you. Even though it’s in the children’s section, it will please all ages. I can assure you of that.

1) Have been thinking a lot about fright lately–mostly mine. It seems in the past five years I’ve acquired stage fright. I never had it before–was always comfortable, even excited, to be up on stage in front of people. I’m a shy person, but I’m also a bit of a clown and love nothing more than to make people laugh.

I knew that the stage fright came on shortly after my mother’s death but I couldn’t quite figure out why until BINGO! it hit me: the last time I was able to stand up in front of people without feeling like I was going to implode was when I read the eulogy at my mother’s memorial service.

Ever since then, when I’m on stage I’ve had the sweating palms, the shaky voice, the trembling heart, the feeling like I will stop breathing right then and there.

It bothers me terribly but now that I know when the break down point occurred, I wonder if I can overcome it? If not, I’ve heard that Xanax or beta blockers can help (is Xanax a beta blocker? I can’t find this out anywhere).

2) Never a happy flier before, it took an awful lot to get me on a plane after 9/11. The first trip I took was to go visit my sister and her family and if I didn’t love them so much, I’m not sure I’d have gotten on that plane.

Unfortunately, I have to travel quite often and while I believed I’d gotten over the worst of my fright, there were some lingering tendrils. Still, I thought I was okay.

Last Friday when I was coming home from Colorado, however, I was not so okay. On my first flight I was sitting next to a woman and her daughter. I was in the window seat.

I hate the window seat. I don’t want to look out. I don’t want to think about being up in the air. I want to pretend I’m on a train.

They were happy with their aisle seat and so I was trapped (People, don’t you realize that I have to go pee about one million times when I’m flying? It’s in your best interest to give me that aisle seat, damnit!). I should note that I was on the verge of exhaustion at this point as well and had a long travel day ahead of me (indeed, I’d already traveled two hours to the airport and had to hang around there for several hours before my flight).

Anyway, before the plane even began to taxi, I could feel the hysteria coming on. It was not unlike the stage fright. It was anxiety and what my old therapist taught me to say to myself is that anxiety is fear. What are you afraid of?

I don’t really need to answer that.

I tried every trick I could think of to calm myself but nothing worked, by the time the plane was taking off, I was wiping tears away and checking out the woman next to me in my peripheral vision (I always look for someone’s hand to hold). She was patting her daugther’s leg to calm her. I so wanted her to do the same for me because in that moment of abysmal dread, there is nothing I crave more than human touch.

I opened my mouth several times but words would not come out. What I wanted to do was ask her if we were going to be okay. I felt she would know. I felt she would tell me the truth.

The plane lurched a few times and I had that feeling of shin shiveriness you get when you have a near miss in the car. I stifled the urge to scream.

Then finally we levelled off and were flying. That is when the comfort of a book is most appreciated. By the time I was on my connecting flight, I was okay.

Hearing the news today about the foiled terror plot has left me shaken and wondering if I will be able to get on a plane again. But then I realize this is partly how I am supposed to feel. This is when terrorism is at its most effective: when people live in fear.

So, yeah, I’ll get on a plane again for sure, but you had better believe I’ll be sitting in the aisle and holding the hand of whoever sits near me.

3) In May I had my annual mammogram. I was called back the next day to get more screens because something was suspicious. This struck fear in my heart because I am nearing the age my mother was when she had breast cancer. I got a call from them later on saying everything was okay. They even followed up with a letter. End of story, right?

While I was on vacation and out of cellphone range, I got a call from my doctor’s office saying I need to go back and get more screens. I had a slight tinge of fear but thought that it was a clerical error.

When I got home, I sent them an email and called them–asking about the mammogram. Someone got back to me quickly and said, yes, I was right. Clerical error. End of story, right?

Yesterday, I got a call from the woman who first called me saying she was following up on those screens and did I get them.

Dread. Sinking. Plane falling out of the sky.

If you know anyone who has had any sort of cancer (and I’m sure you do. Who doesn’t?), what you know is that time is of the essence–even days, weeks. Early detection is key. If there’s even a hint that there might be something wrong, you move on it. You don’t sit around and wait. The people who wait are the ones who die quickly without a chance. That’s pretty much what you know.

Anyway, I went through the whole thing with her and she said, “I guess we’re all set then.”

And I said, “Are we? I want to make sure we are. Let’s go through the paperwork you have on this because you are making me scared and I don’t want to end up with an untreated tumor because of this.”

And so I made her spend the extra five minutes going through it all with me and, yeah, it was her own fucking clerical error.

What bullshit.

Listen, you do NOT strike fear into people’s hearts regarding their breasts and cancer and then act lackidasical about it.

I know you’re a medical professional and over the whole human being aspect of your profession but fuck you if you think you’re going to terrify me and then just blow it off with an “we’re all set.”

I am NOT part of your to do list. I’m a human being.

I sweat. I shake. I cry. I fear.

And that’s part of being alive. Fright of flight. Fight or flight. Keep moving or stand still.

It’s mostly about choice, but it’s those moments out of our control we fear the most. At least I do.