New Alaska Books for Kids

My kids grew up with a dog-eared copy of the Cartwright and Gill classic, Alaska ABCs. They were born and raised in Alaska, and the book taught them a lot about the place they called home. Back then, there weren't many titles with that kind of relevance for them.

Boy, has that changed. The shelves of our bookstores now overflow with Alaskan children's books. Among the winners are two new titles from Sasquatch Books: Cherie Stihler's Wiggle-Waggle Woof, and Andrea Helman's Caribou Crossing.

Wiggle-Waggle Woof, a sled dog counting book, is illustrated by Michael Bania of Homer. Stihler's language, as always, is animated and delightful. The excitement of preparing for a sled dog race spills over into the fun of counting up to fifteen and down for the start. A two-page supplement on mushing gives parents and teachers plenty to discuss with young readers.

Colorful photos by Art Wolfe accompany Helman's text in Caribou Crossing, featuring animals of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. The book is brimming with information about the refuge, where "the wild remains in wilderness." It's a timely offering that will help kids, their parents, and teachers understand all that makes ANWR special.

Confessing Geekdom

In her final post for June (loved them all!), featured author Dana Stabenow comes clean on a geeky little secret.

I love good science fiction with a consuming passion.

I loved Star Trek. TNG, I mean, not TOS. Kirk blows, Picard rocks, game over. I didn’t hate DS9 after the war with the Dominion started, Voyager worked after Seven came on board, and Q has all the best lines whatever quadrant he’s in.

I loved Babylon 5. G’kar and Londo’s relationship is one of the all-time best love stories ever written, I am still deeply in lust with Garibaldi, and the Shadow story arc that lasted the life of the show was genius. I actually wept when Sheridan went into the light, and I hatedhatedhated it when Boxleitner took over for O’Hare. If I ever meet J. Michael Straczynski in person, I will kiss him on the lips. There are also some very good B5 books by Peter David.

Now I’m wallowing in the slough of despond becauseBattlestar Galactica is over. BSG, one of the best shows in any genre ever on television. For one thing, my god, the cast! The gravitas Edward James Olmos, Mary McDonnell, Michael Hogan, Katee Sackoff and the rest bring to their roles is devastatingly convincing. For another thing, the writing! If I ever write a whole book as good as just one episode of this show (“Occupation” -- “Take your time,” Starbuck says, and cuts her steak with hands still wet from the blood of the Leoben she’s just slain. Shriek!) I will die a happy woman. I even listened to the Galactica Watercooler podcast.

I read sf, too. Over the years I’ve been slowly collecting all my favorite Heinleins in hardcover (not firsts, can’t afford ‘em, but the Scribner, Tor and Ace reprints), and lately I’ve been advocating the work of Steven Gould like it was my own. (Don’t let Jumper the movie turn you off to Jumper the book, which is superb. Gould has given a lot of thought to what it would be like to teleport.)

So that’s it, that’s my dirty little secret. I’m a geek.

Can I be a geek if I’m a girl?

Discussion: TIDE, FEATHER, SNOW

Enter your comments here about Miranda Weiss's TIDE, FEATHER, SNOW: A Life in Alaska. Note that to comment, you have the option (even if you don't have a Google account) of just entering your name as the third 'identity option' (any name you wish to use; pseudonyms are acceptable). If you have trouble, you may contact me at lax@alaska.net. Comments are encouraged through Sunday evening.

49 writers weekly roundup

First things first: our online discussion of Miranda Weiss's TIDE, FEATHER, SNOW will open today at about 4 p.m. I'll start a fresh thread, and all are invited to post comments there through the weekend, until Sunday evening. This is our third online book club, and the way it works as that the moderator (Andromeda, this time around) generally checks in regularly, adding a few more comments each time, to keep the conversation going. Visit once or visit many times -- we'd love to hear from all of you.

Lots of good news from Alaska writers this week.

Cinthia Ritchie, a regular guest-poster here, received the grand jury prize at Memoir (and) for an essay called “Pig Road,” the summary for which reads: 'When the brutal murder of a teenage girl occurs close to home, the narrator’s life begins to unravel.' The journal featuring the winning essay goes on sale Aug. 22.

Cinthia also has poems coming out in 42opus, Sugar Mule and Little White Poetry Journal. She has offered to write a post about how to get published in literary magazines and I sure hope she does; clearly, she's figured out some great strategies we'd all like to know.

Ken Waldman has self-published a children's book and CD set called D IS FOR DOG TEAM, a sequence of Alaska-set acrostic poems. He explains, "It's a dos-a-dos book, meaning if you go to the back cover, you have to flip it over, and there you'll find another "front," and another sequence of children's acrostic poems, this one titled D IS FOR DENALI.

Waldman has a long list of appearances coming up. The full schedule can be found at www.kenwaldman.com). Confirmed dates include:

Juneau, Monday, June 29: Rainy Retreat Books; KTOO radio interview; kids' show and then general show at Canvas Arts.

Haines, Thursday, July 2: Babbling Book Bookstore; Haines Public Library show.

Girdwood, Sunday, July 5: Girdwood Forest Fair set.

Anchorage, Tuesday, July 7-Thursday, July 9: Anchorage library--summer reading program shows at five branches.

Palmer, Friday, July 10: Bagels Alaska show.

Talkeetna, Saturday, July 11: Moose Drop Festival set.

Fairbanks, Sunday, July 12: Beluga Nights concert series.

Fairbanks, Tuesday, July 14: Museum of the North signing.

Denali Park, Tuesday, July 14: Denali Education Center show.

Denali Park, Wednesday, July 15: Denali Salmon Bake show.

Say Yes to All That: Guest post by Kathleen Tarr

I'm loving this! Another Kachemak Bay Writers' Conference post fresh from my email inbox, with some well-condensed writing and publishing advice that all of us should (must) heed. Thanks to Kathleen Tarr, who is the Program Coordinator for the Low-Residency MFA Program at UAA.

The first time I tried to write a book proposal for my narrative nonfiction project—a memoir—I agonized through the writing of it for five long months. I had just finished grad school and had my MFA manuscript in-hand, but no book proposal. This was the requisite next step. To draft a book proposal. To write the perfect Overview and Marketing Section, to really understand and be able to communicate why my book needed to be published, and what were its central, driving questions, and why I, the emerging, no-name writer from the hinterlands of moose country, was the absolutely right—no, the inevitable—person to write this book.

I knew I had to come up with the Synopsis of all Synopses, and several highly-compelling and polished sample chapters that would make any literary agent drop their grande mocha on their lap, or miss their subway stop to the Upper West Side, while their eyes stayed glued to its pages.

The proposal would have to be enthralling and engaging, so a publisher would immediately recognize the book’s significance, its commercial potential, and the fact that its famous-for-nothing memoirist had an identifiable platform.

That was back in summer of 2005 when I thought I knew what I was doing.

I’m thinking about all this now because I attended Sarah Jane Freymann’s publishing talk, “Say Yes,” at the June 2009 Kachemak Bay Writer’s Conference.

Freymann, a NYC literary agent since 1974, represents such authors as Linda Hogan, Dick Russell, and Sy Montgomery. She was delighted to be making her first trip to Alaska. And when she spoke to a jam-packed room of writers, she made a lot of sense. Especially to me.

As many agents often put it, Freymann wants to fall in love with a story. In addition, she’s looking for authenticity, “an authenticity that makes me feel as if a book had to be written, and not just because an author would love to be published.”

But don’t be “too cool for school,” Freymann advised. Don’t get lost in your own writing, your own desires to write like an angel, or to challenge the genre, to be experimental or convoluted. In short, don’t fall too much in love with the sound of your own voice.

Her voice, however, kept us all spellbound, replete as it was with all the British overtones, pitch-perfect in her enunciation, as when she said:

“Keep it simple. And then transcend the simplistic.”

The writing has to be good enough, not a Nobel Prize winning literary tour de force. “You need good enough writing with a great story. This is far better than exquisite writing which doesn’t go anywhere.” By way of a commercially successful example, she mentioned the un-literary, but gripping, Twilight series, of which I confess I have not read a twitter.

The tougher times get, the more we need stories which is one of the reasons this past Broadway season was such a smashing financial success.

Back to the idea of the world needing great stories. Don’t be threatened by the new media, she added. “Tell the story wonderfully, and the media format won’t matter.”

And Freymann cautioned us to remember: “The writer’s journal is not what people want to read and pay for. Your journal is grist for the mill, but it’s not the book. If your work is not fully coming together, and it’s not yet right, and some trusted readers have told you so, then believe it’s probably true. Remember the Buddhist saying, ‘If three people tell you you’re drunk, then sit down.’”

Which brings me back to the bloody hard work of writing the bloody challenging book proposal, the one I eventually threw out.

I struggled for five painful months not because book proposals are so damn hard to write, but because the books that go with them are. Why was I so frustrated? Because I didn’t really have The Book, though I suffered all the delusions and sincerely thought I did. And if you don’t really have The Book, how can you possibly put together an awe-inspiring book proposal? You can’t be in a hurry, and it will be too difficult of a process if you don’t have a clear enough vision of the book.

In early 2006, for the first and only time, I showed some of my work to a literary agent. Coincidentally, that person was Sarah Jane Freymann.

I found her through the recommendation of another writer. She responded positively to my query letter, and asked for more, but called to say she would have to pass in taking me on as a client, though she gave me some excellent advice and said she’d keep the door open. The problem wasn’t with the writing, but that the book lacked a larger and more focused story. “It’s a rich mix, but it never settled comfortably somewhere,” she said.

From that moment forward, I stopped worrying about agents and publishers and I remained immersed in the work. Strange things happened. The book and story morphed to something else. The Book is no longer The Book. The Focus is no longer The Focus.

The story grew to something bigger, with wider appeal, and resulted from nothing I deliberately plotted nor planned with my manuscript. It happened in mystery. I say “yes” to that.

Here's to You: Guest post by Kelly Thompson

I've been hearing from lots of writers who were inspired by this year's Kachemak Bay Writers' Conference, including Kelly, who provided us with this report. I'm so excited that Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours (great book) will be next year's keynote speaker. Lucky us!

Since attending my first Kachemak Bay Writers' Conference in 2005, I’ve only missed one, last year’s. With the news that Li-Young Lee was the 2009 featured writer and the conference focus would be on poetry, unlike the goose bumps that broke out all over my body over the 2007 announcement that Amy Tan was coming, or this year’s announcement that Michael Cunningham will be the 2010 keynote speaker, I sort of shrugged my shoulders. Who’s Li-Young Lee?

Now, I wonder why. Hello? Am I not a poet from way back? Do I not almost die with pleasure upon reading certain poets and poems? Should I not have purchased or borrowed from the library a book of Lee’s before the conference?

Why indeed did my ego tell me, “Oh. Poetry. Blah. No big deal.”

After this week’s introduction to Li-Young Lee, I suspect even more that my main genre as a writer is poetry (how can I be in my fifties and not yet know my own voice?) I’ve long resisted identifying myself as a poet. I figure it has to do with that scarcity versus abundance thing Lee talked about, that “only so much fame and money to go around” thing.

I decided to become an “author” at age six. I became a voracious reader by age four. Like a dandelion, my development as a writer has been random and subject to the direction of the wind. I suspect my admiration for what writers can do, for the worlds their work privileges, for the mystique their magic affords, has lent itself to that life long aspiration I’ve held, to join their ranks. Aren’t poets always the poorest? Don’t they always die young?

I remember the first story I wrote, while down with the measles, at six years old, a rip-off of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, entitled “Rosie and the Three Bears”. I remember the first poems I wrote, at eight years old, modeled on the verses in A Child’s Garden of Verses.

Imitation, they say, is the sincerest form of flattery.

If I lived in another age, they might have arrested me for stalking Maria Rainier Rilke. I might have thrown myself at his feet. I might have? I would have followed his every word, those he issued forth as deftly as Cezanne marked “apple” in paint. There was a point in my life when I read everything by Sylvia Plath I could get my hands on, and Anne Sexton too. I’ve even explicated Yeats The Second Coming.

So why the resistance to poetry? After sitting at Lee’s feet this past weekend, I am sure it has to do with that thing his, and other poet’s, work embodies. Getting beyond ego. Ironically, my poetry is probably my best writing because it is my stepchild. I write it almost as an aside. It has been with me since childhood. I never think much of it.

Having spent a meaningful four and a half days soaking up the rays of the accomplished and talented writer presenters at the conference, I have a list of poets to read, books to track down, I have an idea of the direction I might take my own writing next.

Having spent an hour with Todd Boss as his student (I decided, rather impetuously, to submit a few poems for a manuscript review since it was the conference’s focus), I am inspired to take my work a little more seriously. I am moved to think in terms of my own development as a writer. I am humbled to have my attempts affirmed. I feel a little less dandelion-like, a bit more cultivated.

Lee did direct we writers away from the scarcity principle and, for that, I am grateful. I often feel, though, that I am, as Nancy Lord alluded to in one panel, “writing into the dark”. I might add to that, as well, that I also feel that I am writing “in the dark”.

For each of my peers and betters that read at open mic Monday night, here’s to you. As I, again, return to the blank page before me, alone, I will think of you, writing out there somewhere too. I will think of your light and how it shone, briefly, with mine, together for once during our short Alaskan summer.

I might read a little Robert Frost, meditate on Li-Young Lee’s Virtues of the Boring Husband, send out applications, as Todd suggested, to attend a poetry seminar or workshop, even send out some poems for consideration. I will definitely think of the woman who told me my poem made her cry even though she “didn’t understand why”, of the fellow writer who shared with me her heart because I opened mine.

I will think of the abundance all of us share, how deep are our hearts, how much we care.

How, as Lee said, “There is no such thing as I without Thou.”

Make Room for Writing

School's out, giving poet Erin Hollowell, also a secondary teacher in Cordova, a chance to weigh in on the challenges of juggling writing with a busy day job.

When I called my father to tell him that I was switching my undergraduate major from Biomedical Engineering to English he remarked, “And how are you going to make a living?” If only I had known then about the myriad options for English majors, the unlimited prospects for those who have learned to craft language and extract meaning from text. But at the time, all I could do was stammer back that I guessed I’d be a teacher.

Twenty-two years later and I’m still teaching. In between, though, I’ve worked for slick multimedia firms in NYC and large software companies in San Francisco; for a while I wove rugs for a living, sold books, peddled them at the public library and was an event director for a small-town arts council. Throughout all of it, I’ve been a writer. When I told my father I wanted to change my major, it was because I wanted to learn to be a poet. I just wasn’t brave enough to say that I guessed I’d be a poet.

Teaching, especially in Alaska at the secondary level, is a particularly demanding task. To balance writing with teaching takes an iron will. None of the writers I know really think that you could do all of your writing on summer vacation when freed of the constraints of teaching. (I guess teachers shouldn’t admit to the amount of prep time they spend each summer on the upcoming school year). I suspect that many of the ways that I keep writing are the same as the writer/accountant or the writer/waitress.

A steadfast commitment. Having a strict dedication to your own writing is absolutely essential. Some folks have this inherently. For me, it took going back to school for my MFA before I could muster up the real commitment that writing takes. Before that, it was too easy to spend time correcting papers or creating spiffy lesson plans. If I wrote a poem, it was because I was inspired, not because I was really working on it. However, the Low-Residency MFA program that I attended made me prioritize my own writing. After all, I was spending good money on it, and folks were holding me to a deadline. Lots of them.

Let me be honest, teaching in small-town or bush Alaska is a time-consuming proposition. Currently, I teach eighth grade and tenth grade English Language Arts, AP Language and Composition (swapping on alternating years with World Literature), and Contemporary Literature. Oh, and the Yearbook/Journalism class. Yes, you read that correctly, five preps and a straight seven period day. I also am the Student Council adviser. I have roughly 130 students for whom I correct and grade, at the minimum, three assignments each week. Between creating lesson plans, grading papers and chaperoning after-school activities, there’s not a lot time left for writing. Hence, I am fiercely protective of the time that I commit each day. To be honest, it’s only an hour each evening, but it is always one hour. I read poetry and write something, even if it isn’t fabulous or finished or even recognizable as poetry.

In addition, I have changed the way that I think of myself. I used to think of myself as a teacher (or librarian or bookseller) who wrote poetry. Now I think of myself as a writer who is currently teaching. It may seem like semantics but the way we define ourselves in the world teaches people how to treat us. If I emphasize my writer self to the outside world, then I make room for writing in my inside world. Instead of spending every spare moment thinking about lesson plans, I am paying attention to what’s going on around me so that I have more fodder for poetry.

My writing life feeds my teaching. I write alongside my students and I let them watch me as I revise and edit my work. Instead of being the sage who imparts wisdom, I show them that a writer works hard at it. I demonstrate for them the techniques that I’m learning, and we all try to create a community of writers. Suddenly, I’m not the one who fixes up their writing, they are. I let them know that I don’t always know exactly what to write, or how to start, or even end for that matter. By emphasizing my life as a writer and all it entails, I give them permission to be writers as well. Writers don’t live in some magic world someplace else. They can look like a bedraggled English teacher on a Monday morning.

I had to give up the idea that I would publish a book and be on Oprah’s show. The writing life, it isn’t as glamorous as all that. But by acknowledging my writing as an essential part of my life, I’ve been able to make room for it along with my job as a teacher. Not easily, not without some sacrifices on all sides. But then again, does any writer have it easy? And if so, what on earth do they write about?

Writing History

Kate Shugak trouncing bad guys in the 14th century? Okay, not exactly, but featured author Dana Stabenow has a historical novel in the works. Is that cool or what?

I’m writing an historical novel set in the 14th century, and for a long time I obsessed over how to avoid anachronism, particularly in dialogue. [Example: Marco Polo’s granddaughter, Johanna, going to the stables to discover BFF Jaufre fighting off the advances of a pretty maid: “Dude! Totally awesome babe, man!”]

I’ve stopped worrying about it, though. I’ve read a lot of history, and somewhere along the line I came to believe that we just aren’t all that different from our ancestors.

Take Eratosthenes. He’s the guy who figured out in 300 BC not only that the earth was round, he also calculated its diameter. Yes, that would be 1,900 years before the Catholic Church put Galileo under house arrest for saying the same thing. All Eratosthenes had were his eyes, his feet and a stick, but he could still do the math.

How about the ancient Hawaiians? They navigated their way across two thousand miles of open ocean using star charts made of bamboo strips and cowrie shells. When they made landfall, they built the Place of Refuge on Hawaii, an enormous platform carved from pahoehoe, the ropey kind of lava, with walls perpendicular to right angles. Five hundred years ago Hawaiians were wearing loincloths and carrying spears and sacrificing slaves to their gods, but they could still do the math.

There’s a quote I like from Robert Heinlein’s Lazarus Long, as follows:

Anyone who cannot cope with mathematics
is not fully human. At best he is a tolerable subhuman
who has learned to wear shoes, bathe,
and not make messes in the house.

In my historical novel, my characters are going to spend some time working on a gothic cathedral. I’ve been to Chartres twice myself. Took ‘em 66 years to build it, starting in 1210, and it hasn’t fallen down yet. That was 800 years ago, centuries before rivet guns. But they could still do the math.

We’re not that different, Eratosthenes and Polynesia Guy and Bishop Fulbert and me. It’s just our technology that’s different. I’m thinking my characters can speak plain English, of course absent slang and colloquialism in either direction. There will be no forsoothing, that’s for sure.

But they will be fully human.

49 writers weekly roundup

The good news is, conference reports continue to roll in. We have one more about Kachemak Bay Writers' Conference, which I'll post Wednesday. If you have more to add, please do! I want to hear from as many Alaska writers and readers as possible.

The bads news is, I have very little for this roundup. (Again, this is Andromeda talking. Not Deb, our exemplary roundup queen, who is currently in Southeast Alaska, talking and selling books.)

Aw heck. Can can I squeeze in some personal non-book news? I'll be running my very first marathon tomorrow, the wonderful Mayor's Midnight Sun Marathon (a beautiful course, if you've ever wanted to run a marathon with 50 to 60 degree temps, in which you are fairly likely to cross paths with a bear or a moose somewhere along the way). This is the culmination (one hopes) of a lifelong dream, and I've been training (sloooowly but steadily) since December, telling my knees that if they'll just let me have this day of glory I promise to be extra nice to them in years to come. Running all these training hours has been very similar to writing a book. You do it, knowing no one else in the world may care, and you're not competing with anyone but yourself, but as long as you show up each day, something will happen. And it has. I did my last training run (of 23 miles) a few weeks ago and I survived. But tomorrow will be the big test.

A week from now, we will be discussing TIDE, FEATHER, SNOW by Miranda Weiss. please join of us if you've read it, started it, are thinking about reading it, or are bursting with opinions to share about memoirs, Homer, coastal life, and so on. All are welcome. Note: In linking this to amazon, I just noticed how many reader reviews Weiss has received (32!) and the sales rank is also looking good.

Juneau author Stuart Archer Cohen recently left us a comment on an old post about my "Fill-in-the-blanks 100 book reading list" (which includes books I plan to read over the next five years). The post is buried on older pages, so few readers may notice it. Cohen was so thorough and spirited in his reading recommendations that I feel the need to re-post his comment here, in case anyone else is looking for some light (that's a joke) beach reading:

Thanks for shoehorning The Army of the Republic onto your list! I was glad to see Dostoyevski's Crime and Punishment up there: one of my favorites, but I thought I'd add a few of REALLY old-timey classics to the list:The Iliad, by Homer. Brutal, depressing, thrilling and an incredibly effective essay on how the petty egos of powerful men result in devastation for the rest of us.

Xenophon's Anabasis. The account of Operation Desert Storm 1, as 10,000 Greek mercenaries get lured into what's now Iraq (then Persia) with a succession of idealistic lies and craven self-interest. Written in 400 BC, it's a true-life thriller whose essential elements still get replayed in the here and now, in all their pathos and random horror.

Virgil's Aeneid: After the fall of Troy, the Trojan survivors flee to found a new country. Unforgettable examples of Roman oratory and a riveting description of the Trojan horse and sack of Troy from the victims' point of view. One moral: don't spurn your lover and drive her to suicide, because you just might run into her in the Underworld.

Mencius: Collected sayings of the great Chinese philosopher, about 330 BC. Okay, this one's a stretch, but if you want to understand China, as well as read some great stories that resonate in any language, dive in and don't come up for air until you've finished. Better Confucian aphorisms than Confucius, and a heck of a lot better sense of humor. Read the Penguin D.C. Lau translation.

The Dream of the Red Chamber (The Story of the Stone) Strange and enchanting novel of 18th century China. The story of the decline of a wealthy Chinese family, their dependents and servants, and various animated pieces of stone and Taoist immortals that wander through from time to time. Yeah, I know it's weird, but it draws you in. Regarded as China's greatest novel, its author died broke and never saw his book in print.

Latin American Literature:Jorge Luis Borges: Ficciones, The Book of Sand, and any others. Borges never wrote a novel because he didn't see the point of using up so many words to get across an idea you could express in a paragraph. His short stories are mind-bending.

Juan Rulfo's Pedro Paramo. Breaks every narrative rule known to man in this story of an early 20th century Mexican village and the patron who controls it. You don't read this "novel" as much as tumble through it, it's mercifully short, so you'll finish before you feel too beat up. Then you'll want to read it again. (I'm generally with Dana Stabenow on writers who make me feel stupid.)

The Hebrew Scriptures, Genesis through Nehemiah. A highly underrated book these days, or one that's taken at face value. Reading the "historical" books takes you from the creation of the universe to the birth of morality, of law, and then the long, unsatisfying trudge across the Sinai and into a questionable future. A book that deals with humanity's continued moral failings and it's heartening desire to keep trying. Must be read in sequence to get the feel for repetition and cycles so dear to its authors. Get past the idea of neat little "Bible stories," the Bible doesn't so much provide the answers, as enshrine the questions we need to keep asking. For the readers digest version, just read the book of Judges. It will leave you saying: "Wow!"I could go on and on, but there it is. Thanks for listening. Stuart

Musings on Kachemak Bay and Li-Young Lee: a guest post by Bill Sherwonit

Heading down to Homer and the Kachemak Bay Writers’ Conference, I knew next to nothing about the “widely acclaimed poet” and keynote speaker Li-Young Lee. That largely has to do with my general ignorance about the world of poetry, beyond a few favorites (both local and nationally). Gary Snyder, Robert Bly, or Mary Oliver I would have looked forward to with great anticipation. But Li-Young Lee? I didn’t think much about his participation, one way or the other.

Li-Young’s keynote talk left me – and many others, I would discover – with mixed reactions. He seemed distracted and, at times, almost disinterested. His presentation wandered here and there with no apparent direction. Or planning. Frequently he lost his train of thought. “Where was I?” or “What was I saying?” he would mumble (or something to that effect). He truly seemed to forget, not once or twice but a few times. I wasn’t sure if he was being authentic or if this might be his routine, his shtick.

For all of that, I found bits of wisdom scattered throughout his talk and I came away from it certain that he’s a serious student of poetry and other practices, including spiritual disciplines. He talked about poetry as the highest form of martial art, poetry as yoga, poetry as a way of letting go of ego and touching upon – or seeking – a greater truth, a larger, transcendent reality. As I heard it, he experiences poetry as a spiritual practice. I wish I’d taken notes, but I didn’t, so many of these words are mine, but I think they reflect what he was saying. In the end, I felt confident he wasn’t “putting on an act. This was Li-Young Lee – or at least a side of him. The scatteredness, I think, can be attributed to the circumstances: his arrival in Alaska, his entry into the conference, the frenzy often associated with such beginnings, etc.

I saw another side of Lee the following evening, when he gave a public reading at Homer High School. Though I don’t regularly attend poetry readings, I’ve been to a fair number over the years. His kept my attention as only one other poet had previously done: Robert Bly. Their styles, voices, and stage presence are vastly different, and so were the settings and circumstances in which I listened to the poets’ voices and words. But both touched me in ways no other poets have in reading their work. Here, to me, was poetry and the spoken word at its most powerful, its most transcendent. I write these words knowing they can’t capture the moment and I feel I run the risk of somehow trivializing or romanticizing or otherwise not getting the experience “right.” But if Li-Young Lee seemed scattered and a bit off kilter that first night, on this second one he seemed firmly centered, grounded in something that for me approached sacred space. The entire reading – his presence and words and what lay behind the words and images and emotions he evoked, the energy in that darkened auditorium – all of it was profoundly stirring.

After that came a “Q & A” session with conference attendees and Lee seemed both completely engaged and relaxed and genuine in all of those exchanges. And finally, Lee read and discussed two poems, each by Robert Frost, that he found stirring and deeply meaningful, perhaps even transcendent (though he didn’t use the latter word, that I recall). His discussion of the poems (“West Running Brook” and “Directive”) and his enthusiasm for them were a delight, especially since I hadn’t known them and they didn’t particularly move me on this first reading.

To end, a few random thoughts: one of my middle-aged credos (if not before) has been: stay open to possibilities. I’m extremely happy and grateful that I remained open to the possibility of Li-Young Lee, though I hadn’t known his work and did not go to conference to learn more about poetry or seeking a greater understanding of its possible relevance to my life. In fact I gained more from poetry and two poets – Li-Young Lee, of course, and also Todd Boss, an enthusiastic, engaging and talented poet who in the mid-nineties (I think) got a degree from UAA and worked with Tom Sexton– than from anything else at Kachemak Bay.

Lee himself seems to be a “seeker” of wisdom or truth or spiritual understanding – again, my off-the-cuff interpretation, based on a few hours in his presence, so take it for what it is worth – and he actively pursues them in many disciplines beyond poetry: again, the martial arts and yoga, but also science and math and philosophy and psychology and religious traditions (and who knows what else). In the end, though, he muses, “I think it’s all poetry.” I’m taking him out of context, of course, but I think I’m capturing something he believes, or close to it.

More: Lee seems like a truly humble person and he constantly reminded us (sometimes playfully) he doesn’t have the answers. At various times he’d say something along the lines of, “I really don’t know what this means” or “I have no idea . . .“ In that regard he reminded me of a saying that Joseph Campbell shared during his Power of Myth interviews with Bill Moyers and which Campbell attributed to ancient texts written in Sanskrit and which is apparently also expressed in the Chinese Tao-te Ching (or Taoist Scriptures): “He who thinks he knows, doesn’t know. He who knows that he doesn’t know, knows.”

Finally, for all us writers struggling to get published here and there and perhaps gain some recognition along the way, Lee offered this (again, I paraphrase): The whole business of publication is built on a paradigm of scarcity. There is only a limited supply of riches and fame to go around. To get caught up in that paradigm – as we all do at times, I think – is to put yourself into a place of competition and the scarcity associated with it. The art of writing, on the other hand, is based on a paradigm of abundance, “the abundance of our minds.” Our art feeds and fills us. Even if you were to never publish any of your work, Lee told the gathering, there is still value in what you do. Amen to that.

Zander and possibility

Bill's comments at the end about scarcity versus abundance remind me of a video I stumbled upon just this week (thanks to Emily over at her Stark Raving Cello blog), in which orchestra conductor and inspirational speaker extraordinaire Benjamin Zander talks to an audience about living in a world of possibility instead of negative downward spirals and finite resources. His humor and bouncy spirit are entertaining; his actual teaching ability is extraordinary. Watch as he "unlocks the boundless potential" of a 15 year old cellist on stage, in mere minutes.

Zander was talking to scientists and businesspeople for an organization called Pop!Tech. I think this applies to writers -- and everyone else. If you're interested in attitude, teaching, public speaking, music and the arts, or anything else -- really -- and you have thirty minutes to spend well, check this out.

No time for a video? Here's Zander's opening joke:

Two salesman sent by a shoe company to Africa in the early 1900s. One telegraphs back:
"Situation hopeless, stop. They don't wear shoes. The other one writes back: Glorious opportunity, they don't have shoes here!"

In other words, it's all about attitude.

Imagine applying this to the changing world of writing and publishing. "Situation hopeless, publishers in disarray, electronic media stealing the spotlight from print books etc." VERSUS, "Glorious opportunity! People more in love with storytelling than ever, population growing as always, no end to the possibilities for reading and writing and connecting!"

"Warm and getting warmer": conference report from Nancy Lord, back from Victoria B.C.

Thanks to Nancy for this; continuing reports from all conferences still welcome!

Quite a number of Alaska writers address, in one way or another, the Alaskan environment. We’re not all conventional “nature writers”—whatever that label implies—but it’s hard to ignore the influence of big spaces and wildlife on our experiences and imaginations. A number of us have gravitated to an organization called the Association for the Study of Literature and the Environment, which publishes a journal (ISLE) and hosts a biennial conference.

I’ve just returned from the most recent ASLE conference, held in Victoria, B.C., with the theme “Island Time: The Fate of Place in a Wired, Warming World.” It’s an academic conference but, like the organization and the journal, includes creative writers as well as scholars. Four of us presented a panel called “Warm and Getting Warmer: Alaskan Writing on the 50th Anniversary of Statehood” and other Alaskans shared creative and scholarly work on other panels.

There were hundreds of people in attendance and 15 sessions going on concurrently for four days—lots of people to meet and choices to make. There was also a publishers’ exhibit and a session where writers could sell and sign their books. And plenary events with great speakers--including Karsten Heuer, who wrote Being Caribou, and Andrew Revkin, the environmental reporter for the New York Times. Plus receptions with free-flowing wine, outings (I went birding and saw a skylark), and a big final banquet. Did I mention that the campus at the University of Victoria was beautiful, with gorgeous flowering plants and rabbits running all around, and it was sunny and hot? I came away with a pile of books and lists of more books and writers I want to read and get to know.

So, here are a few of my “take-aways:”

If you’re going to get friendly with academics, it’s nice to find a group of smart people who also love to get out and hike and paddle and look at birds and lichens. ASLE is a fun group.

I never could have been a scholar. I admit, I just don’t get the value of analyzing texts for their tropes, homogeneity, the dystopian pastoral, and the commodification of nature, just to mention a few of the “ecocrit” words and phrases I heard, often repeatedly, at the conference—words that mean something to scholars and absolutely nothing to me.

It’s a bit unworldly to sit through, say, a panel about maritime literature and to understand little of what is being said while knowing, from the way those things are said, that the speakers don’t actually know anything about being on an ocean. Which is not to say that they don’t know how to read and analyze a text, which I imagine they might do very well.

These scholars are our friends—people we writers need. Whatever they think of our work and however they interpret it, they do think about it and they teach it to students. I was pretty pleased to find how many people knew my work and had even taught it. (Just don’t expect me to be able to answer any of their ecolit questions.)

And, lastly, what shone through for me, in the presence of my Alaska writer-friends, is what a wonderfully supportive community of writers we have in our state. As each of us on the “Warm and Getting Warmer” panel presented our 15 minutes of thought, the central theme was the same: we all mentioned writers who have come before us, from whom we learned so much, and other writers, our colleagues doing the important work every day, who we value and continue to learn from and share with. I gather that this valued connectedness is not the case everywhere, in competitive academic settings or simply where people are less connected and go their own ways. At the end of our session, after a good and substantive discussion with our audience, I was left with a nice warm feeling about both the state of our Alaskan literature and the people we are. Many thanks to Eric Heyne (who organized our panel), Peggy Shumaker, and Sherry Simpson (who, alas, couldn’t get there but whose paper was read by a newer Alaskan, Kevin Meier, of Juneau), and to Marybeth Holleman, Liz Bradfield, Gretchen Legler, Anne Mareck, Kathy Moore and other current, former, temporarily missing, and part-time Alaska writers who joined us in Victoria and who continue the conversations.

Maia Nolan at the Last Frontier Theater Conference

Blogger Maia Nolan is keeping us updated with links from her coverage of the Last Frontier Theater Conference in Valdez, Alaska. Among her posts is a piece about playwright Richard Dresser, whose plays include "Augusta" and "A View of the Harbor."

(Dresser) talked to the assembled playwrights about the writing process. The key, he said, is not to try to write well. Get the words on the page and don't worry about craft until you're done. Avoid "craft without creativity" — focusing on the way the play is written limits your creativity. Give yourself license, he said, to "go off the tracks.""I bet most of you would rather see a messy, sprawling play" than one that's well-crafted but "sends you out into the street with nothing," Dresser said. Trust your own point of view, he added, and "trust the other side of your brain." Read more from Maia's theater post at examiner.com.

She also posted about a conversation with playwright Arlitia Jones, director Bostin Christopher and dramaturg Jayne Wenger -- collaborators on Cyrano's "Make Good the Fires" production -- about playwright-dramaturg relationships. (What's a dramaturg? Here's your chance to find out!)

Alaska Book Festival Highlights

UAF's third annual Alaska Book Festival got off to a great start with an authors reception, complete with wine, tasty appetizers, and live music in a section of the Rasmuson Library. Plenty of authors, both local and festival invitees, were in attendance. I caught up with Jane Haigh, Elyse Guttenberg, Yelena Matusevich, and Nicole Stellon O'Donnell, plus had the pleasure of meeting David Marusek, Tricia Brown, and Linda Schandelmeier. Above, from left to right: Authors Yelena Matusevich, Elyse Guttenberg, and Jane Haigh. Kenai Peninsula, you're in luck - Jane just accept a position teaching history at KPC.) Of course, I handed out lots of 49 Writers pencils.


(Above, author Dermot Cole (left) talks with author/photographer James Barker (right) as author Tricia Brown looks on.)


From the reception we migrated to the Davis Concert Hall for the keynote address by Willie Hensley. "In my wildest imagination, I never thought I could write or be a writer," Hensley said. He also explained that because of the value placed on humility in Alaska native cultures, "A memoir is something of a tainted medium for us." And he admitted, "To me, even now, the word 'author' has an alien ring to it, as if it applies to someone else."

From the audience came a question I'd never heard asked of an author before: "There are rising hopes that we might have the chance to vote for you for governor. Is that a possibility?"

Answer: a polite no thanks.

But perhaps the best tidbit from Hensley's address was his recollection of attending the Centennial Ball while attending college in Fairbanks. His date? Lael Morgan. He claims she went costumed as a "goodtime girl."

After Hensley's address, several authors reconvened for a 49 writers gathering at the Pump House. It was great hearing about what everyone is working on. I promised not to discuss specific projects online, but do expect some exciting and innovative work to be coming from Alaskan authors over the next few years.

I had to leave after my second presentation to make the connection for my Guest Lecturer stint with Cruise West. I'll be back at the end of the month, checking in with 49 writers whenever I can enroute. In the meantime, be sure to email Andromeda (lax@alaska.net) with your own mid- and post-conference observations so she can post them on Wednesdays this month.

Loving Coasties

Great advice and encouragement on research, from this month's featured author Dana Stabenow:

The absolute best part of a writer’s life is the research. I’ve written two thrillers, Blindfold Game and Prepared for Rage. For both novels I went on patrol with the US Coast Guard, first on Alex Haley for 16 days in the Bering Sea in February 2004 and then on Munro for seven weeks off the coasts of Central and South America in March, April and May of 2007.

I grew up in a commercial fishing community in Alaska, which including all the squiggly bits has about 35,000 miles of coastline. Coasties were always around when I was a kid, and I’d always wanted to write them somewhere into my work. The original plan was to create a Coast Guard base in Newenham in the Liam Campbell novels, with recurring characters. Then, alas, Liam lost his publisher, so when my agent and editor ganged up on me to write a thriller I figured, Awwright, Coastie hero!

Of course all I really knew about Coasties was what I saw from the beach, so I got online, found the website for the Kodiak CG base, and there found a cutter named Alex Haley. Sorta seemed like it was meant to be, you know? I contacted the skipper, Captain Craig Barkley Lloyd, and he said “Come on down!” The rest is Stabenow history.

Coasties are the second most welcoming and hospitable people on earth (The Irish are first.) On both cutters the crews took some time getting used to me, but once they figured out I wasn’t a journalist writing a scandalous expose they threw open every hatch on every bulkhead. I was in the circle around the captain as they planned the midnight rescue of an injured fisherman offshore of the Pribilof Islands. They let me put actual hands on things, like very big guns, the cyclic of a helicopter in the air, a garden hose (to wash down the turbines). I got to jump off the side of the ship into the Pacific Ocean where it’s 8,000 meters deep, and I’m a shellback now (although they still haven’t sent me my card).

And I got a king’s ransom in the way of original source material. The crew even helped me with plot points.

If you’re a beginning author, remember this: Everybody loves to talk about what they do, and if they see that you’re really listening to them they will bend over backwards to help you get the details right. You get the details right, you’ve got yourself a credible and convincing setting, and you’ve got your foot in the door of the reader’s imagination.

And then you’re home.

49 writers weekly roundup

As we speak, the Kachemak Bay Writers conference, Alaska Book Festival in Fairbanks, and Valdez Theater Conference are all underway, so non-conference happenings are quiet out there. Or maybe I'm just not as talented as Deb at digging up end-of-the-week news for you.

Deb is the half of 49W who does this Friday feature week after week, without fail. When people ask me, "How is the blog going? Is it hard to do?" I invariably answer, "Not really -- I was fortunate enough (or smart enough) to collaborate with Deb Vanasse and she does a ton of work!" So let me take this day's post to say: thank you, thank you, thank you again, Deb. You're amazing.

Fascinating history plus free falafel? Is there a downside to this? There is one interesting lit event in Anchorage this weekend. Dr. Ann Kirschner, author of Sala's Gift: My Mother's Holocaust Story will talk about what happened when her mother gave up 50 years of silence and revealed the existence of hundreds of letters she received while in Nazi slave labor camps. The presentation includes a slideshow, plus falafel and Israeli buffet, 5:30 pm Sunday at the Alaska Jewish Historical Museum and Cultural Center, 3400 LaTouche St.

Kirschner is visiting Alaska to research the life of Josephine Marcus Earp, the third wife of Wyatt Earp. Josephine was Jewish, evidently, and lived with Wyatt in Nome for four years. Kirschner will be spending a week in Nome and invites any Alaskans with Earp information or artifacts to contact her through the museum at ajhmuseum@gci.net.

Photographer and Denali historian Tom Walker has a new book out: McKinley Station. It's a companion volume to his Kantishna: Mushers, Miners, and Mountaineers, and is available at Gulliver's Books or through Tom's website. The book profiles the "characters that figure in the early history of Mt. McKinley National Park, the forerunner of Denali National Park. ... Carving a national park out of the wilderness of Denali was a daunting task. People here lived life on the edge. Here are stories of sourdoughs, shoot-outs, and shady ladies. Stories of jousts with bitter cold and wild beasts; wilderness and wild fire. Battles with bureaucrats and bounders; poachers and prospectors." If you'd like an audio preview, I found this radio interview on a Talkeetna station, KTNA.

I just received an Association for the Study of Literature and the Environment conference report (nope, I'd never heard of that one) from Nancy Lord, which I am excited to share with you next Wednesday. That doesn't mean I'm overloaded with reports, though! Whether it's a short paragraph or a full post, please send away.

I know -- that wasn't as timely or as link-packed as Deb manages week after week, but all the better to remind me what a collaborative project this blog has become.

Another reason I love Alaska ...

...A new fish-fantastic public bus ready to hit the streets of Ketchikan on Monday, painted by Ray Troll and Memo Jauregui.

Your Turn

I know: the weather is gorgeous, and why should you be at your computer? But if you ARE, let me remind that we're going to continue to devote the next several Wednesdays to letting readers contribute your own thoughts and comments about writing conference wisdom and other bits of experience or inspiration you're gathering this summer. Get out there, learn a ton, and share it with us -- we're waiting!

And these two intriguing tidbits from an FSB Associates book marketing letter I occasionally read:

1. The Web has become an explosive medium for advertising and promoting many things, especially books. As a primary resource for information, "going online" is now second nature to most people, and everything can be found there. Social networks have helped this surge of popularity as "the percentage of adults who have profiles on at least one social networking site (in 2009) has skyrocketed to 35%, up from only 8 percent in 2005."* (Source: Pew Research Center)

2. Macmillan’s John Sargent says “viral marketing doesn’t sell a ton of books” ... Sargent spoke those words at the BEA CEO roundtable discussion on May 28th, citing "a video based on a Macmillan book spent time in the number one spot on YouTube in the UK-and wound up selling a whopping 200 extra copies".* Rarely has one "hit," no matter how big, sold many books. And especially on YouTube, a medium with little success selling any books at all. Expecting something to go "viral" won’t work. (Source: Publishers Weekly).

Wow. So online publicity is finally mainstream (as anyone who reads this blog realizes). But then again, no single effort -- not even a highly successful youtube video -- is guaranteed to sell books. Fascinating, isn't it?

Got advice?

Maybe it's getting an eensy-weensy bit better, but overall the economy sucks. Which means it's not such a great time to be shopping a book. Agent Nathan Bransford, one of the few bloggers I read regularly, recently put it like this:

". . .there are very few sure bets in this business. So editors have to be really really really really really really convinced that they want to invest in a project in order to take it on, particularly for debuts, and particularly particularly for previously published authors with a mixed track record.

This means that editors are looking closely at fewer projects. It means that books that editors may want to acquire may not be cleared for acquisition or it may mean that the editor wants a revision and a perfect manuscript before making an offer. It means that authors whose sales have been respectable but not eye-popping may not have their contracts renewed, or if they are renewed the bookstores may only order half as many copies as they ordered for their last book.

No. Don't... Don't jump off the ledge! Come back! YOU HAVE SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR!!"

Whew. Thank heavens he tossed in that last bit. Because I know there are a handful of authors with stellar sales records, but if we absolutely have to put it like that, I fear most of us plop squarely into the "mixed" bin.

I started this year looking the economic reality square in the face (I'd tried punching its nose a couple of times, but this a really a big bad boy) and telling myself I wasn't going to try to sell any manuscripts this year. I'd quit worrying about money, become better acquainted with Value Village, and devote the year to writing fiction I loved without caring whether it sold.

That lasted a few weeks. Then some freelance jobs rolled in, and who was I kidding, really, about turning those down? And I finished one of my fiction projects, a mystery novel for adults - new genre for me - and honest to Pete, I think it might be pretty saleable. Five years ago, anyhow.

So, dear readers, what next? Do I stick with my resolve, shelve my project, and move on to another till the economy and the publishing industry start showing real signs of life? Draft a query and shoot it out to all those new agents who used to be editors till they got downsized? Or follow the good example of writers I respect, like Nick Jans and Ned Rozell, and pub it myself?

I'm all ears.

Living Alaskan

You're from Alaska? There's an upside and a downside to the question, as anyone who has lived here for any length of time will attest. Here, featured author Dana Stabenow weighs in on both.


For years I tried to get an agent because “everybody” told me that the way the publishing game worked was you got an agent who then got you a publisher.

“Everybody” didn’t tell me that if you’re trying to get an agent from Alaska, the difficulty compounds geometrically, like interest owed to a loan shark. My manuscripts returned regularly like little homing pigeons accompanied by letters which read, “Alaska? Where is that?” and “Alaska? Is that, like, you know, a state?” My favorite letter came from an agent who said, “Your manuscript is wonderful and I would love to represent you. Unfortunately, I only represent American authors.”

It’s funny now. It wasn’t then. I wound up getting a publisher first and an agent after, but the, let’s say the distinction of coming from Alaska continues to present me with interesting experiences. Like on the book tour when I went into Oregon Public Radio and the host greeted me with a bellowed, “WELL I SEE SUSAN BUTCHER JUST KILLED ANOTHER DOG!” This guy, who I caught on right away was an animal rights activist, carried on and on about how HE owned dogs and HE didn’t kill any of them and how the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race was an ABOMINATION and a DISGRACE and anyone who condoned it was a MURDERER.

Of course, today I’m looking back on these episodes with a certain amount of nostalgia. After last year’s election, everybody knows we’re a state. I can’t fake being from Canada any more, which I used to do whenever I met someone overseas who was pissed off at the U.S. (when aren’t they). I confess their own ignorance helped. “Alaska,” they’d say, “isn’t that up next to Canada?” “You bet,” I’d say. “Canada,” they’d say, “you’re all right.” “You bet,” I’d say.

No longer an option. Governor Palin has a lot to answer for.

49 writers weekly round-up

As you head off to the Book Festival and the Kachemak Bay Writers Conference and the Last Frontier Theater Conference next week, remember that we're looking for reports from attendees to share with our readers - maybe a wrap-up from a great session, inspiration imparted, or just your thoughts and musings. Send your contribution to lax@alaska.net.

Congratulations to UAA MFA student Scott Burton of Juneau, who was awarded three first-place prizes by the Alaska Press Club this spring for his stories on the Alaska Public Radio Network’s highly acclaimed show, “A-K.” Likewise, congrats to 2006 UAA MFA grad Keith Liles, whose poetry collection Spring Hunger has been published by Plain View Press out of Austin, Texas. Of Spring Hunger, Linda McCarriston says, “…Liles’ unruly intelligence makes us laugh, look again, rethink, and finally remember why poetry has a long, loved populist history in the U.S.”

How about this for fun? Poet Sandra Kleven, a UAA MFA candidate, not only read a set of poems with live jazz backup at the recent Spenard Jazz Festival, she also hand-wrote poems for $1 on the spot, on any subject. The best of her spontaneous poems were then read on the closing night of the festival. Klevin says she got the idea from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones.

Speaking of the UAA MFA writing program, watch here for details on their free, open-to-the-public author readings during the Summer 2009 MFA writer’s residency July 11-23.

Also on July 11, Anchorage nature writer and author Bill Sherwonit will lead a writing workshop this summer, “Writing the Chugach.” Participants will join Bill on a day-long hike into the Chugach Mountains to learn more about both Anchorage’s “backyard wilderness” and the writing process, from observation to note-taking and journal keeping and finally to story. The cost is $100, which includes pre- and post-trip meetings, a day in the Chugach, and essay critique. To sign up for this workshop or for more information, contact Sherwonit at 245-0283 or akgriz@hotmail.com.

Fans of this month's featured writer Dana Stabenow have a chance to sound off about favorite character Kate Shugak by recording a one-minute video that might find its way into a professional YouTube production prior to the release of A Night Too Dark (February 2010). Stabenow techies should also note that all three Star Svensdotter novels and all four Liam Campbell novels are now available for download on iPhone and iTouch.

Alaska Dispatch announces a new design for their online magazine. They're still adding new features, but they'd love to get your feedback on how they can make the site even better. Alaska Dispatch has been around for about nine months now, experimenting with citizen journalism and the technical aspects of the site. They welcome contributions.

One of our favorite Alaskan librarians, Charlotte Glover of Ketchikan, reports that Sara Juday of Alaska Northwest Books recently sent a copy of Beyond Road's End: Living Free in Alaska by Janice Schofield Eaton, formerly of Alaska and now living in New Zealand. It's a narrative about Eaton's transition to Alaska from New Hampshire in the early 1980's with future husband Ed - homesteading, learning about local plants and, eventually, writing her now classic books "Discovering Wild Plants" and "Alaska's Wild Plants." Charlotte also reports that Nick Jans is self-publishing his latest book The Glacier Wolf: True Tales of Life in Southeast Alaska, coming out soon. Some of the essays are versions of ones he has published in Alaska magazine and some are new.

Looking for recognition? This year's Connie Boochever Fellowship, awarded to emerging Alaskan artists, will go to writers and performing artists. The deadline is September 1. For details, visit www.eed.state.ak.us/aksca.

Not to look too far past summer, but keep in mind that Publishers Weekly is inviting booksellers and publishers to participate in the first annual National Bookstore Day on Saturday, November 7, to stimulate in-person visits to retail bookstores. PW will provide marketing and publicity for the event, including promotional materials and online outreach.

John Keeble & Josip Novakovich visiting Anchorage this July

Short post today, as I'm trying to get some offline writing done (I know you forgive me).

But speaking -- yesterday -- of conferences, Kathy Tarr at the UAA CWLA low-res MFA program reminds me that among the many excellent writers converging in Anchorage this July will be John Keeble, one of several visitors who will provide talks open to the public. I missed last year's talks and plan to do better this time around, not only by attending, but by planning to read at least one novel by a visiting writer.

Keeble's Yellowfish -- set in the Pacific Northwest -- looks interesting. Here is the official description, care of amazon:

Wesley Erks, itinerant machinist and adventurer, takes a hefty fee for smuggling a group of illegal Chinese immigrants ("yellowfish") from Vancouver, B.C., to San Francisco in the 1970s. Three are teenaged "Hong Kong boys," one of whom is dying from an earlier stab wound; the fourth is the son of a rich Chinese casino owner who wants to settle some debts with The Triad, a secret Chinese society. The story of the perilous and suspenseful journey of these five men, filled with colorful fictional and historical characters, is as memorable as the story of the West itself.

Keeble's name rang a bell for me, but I couldn't remember why. Turns out he also wrote Out of the Channel: The Exxon Valdez Oil Spill in Prince William Sound.

Also visiting will be Josip Novakovich, author of Fiction Writer's Workshop, as well as a novel, several story and essay collections, and more. I'm looking forward to reading his work as well. (So much to do! So many great opportunities here in Anchorage!)

Lessons from Eugenides and a call for conference notes

It's summer conference time, and though I'm staying home this year, I'm counting on the rest of you to share what you're learning over the next month or so, so we can make our Wednesdays at 49W a little more interactive. I loved yesterday's post on the BEA by poet Ken Waldman -- and that's just the kind of personal, pass-it-on kind of detail I'd like to receive from other lit-minded Alaskans.

But maybe you don't have several observations to share. Maybe just one -- like a single tip you picked up on during a craft talk, or one bit of wisdom shared during an agent meeting, or some inspiration gathered around a conference bonfire. Send it to me, or post it as a comment to this or other upcoming Wednesday posts. That way, we can all benefit.

Along those lines, I tried to remember what I learned from my last visit to the Kachemak Bay Conference. I attended most recently in 2006, when Jeffrey Eugenides was the keynote speaker. Middlesex is a favorite book of mine, but Eugenides is somewhat publicity shy, and I hadn't read many interviews by him. At the conference though, he opened up. Here are a few of his keynote remarks (hazily remembered, no doubt) that stuck with me:

Eugenides used the term "reverse engineering" for reading other novels -- multiple times -- as models for your own work. I do that kind of analytical reading, but I hadn't thought of it using that phrase. And yet that's exactly what we're doing when we read as writers, taking a work apart to see how it was put together. I couldn't put a toaster or a car engine back together if my life depended on it. (Wait a minute -- I couldn't even take them apart!) But I'd love to be able to mentally dissemble and reassemble Madame Bovary or Atonement or Middlesex in my mind, aware of all the craft elements that make those great books work.

Eugenides revealed he is a perfectionist whose agent (or editor?) had to come to Berlin --where Eugenides lived for several years following his succcess with his first novel, Virgin Suicides -- to tear the Middlesex manuscript from his hands. Now, I'm not that kind of perfectionist, and no editor has ever shown up at my door, begging me to hand over what I've written. But I find the idea of that kind of perfectionism to be both an inspiration and a warning. Hearing Eugenides reveal how closely he guarded his manuscript made me think about where I fall on that continuum. If memory serves, he wasn't too fond of the idea of writers' group critiques, either. All food for thought, and every writer must decide for herself about when and how to seek feedback.

Middlesex is one of the best historically-grounded novels I've read, and yet Eugenides revealed himself as a fairly easygoing researcher. While staying at a writing colony (Yaddo, I believe) he found himself stuck writing a section of the book that describes the burning of Smyrna in 1922. He wanders around, and there on some table at Yaddo is a historical work called Smyrna 1922 that he reads and incorporates into his story. (He credited the inspiration, of course.) The lesson: be open to serendipity, and take what you're given. I'm sure Eugenides had to purposefully track down many kinds of information for his novel. (I don't think he just returned to Yaddo until books about hermaphroditism, the history of Detroit, and other elements of his wonderful novel fell into his lap). But when some things came easily, he let them stay easy. Sound obvious? I don't think it is. Sometimes we make research as difficult and exhaustive as possible. Sometimes we shortchange our imaginations or stall getting back to the actual writing.

Now -- and for several June and July Wednesdays to come -- it's your turn. Pass on something you've learned, or wondered, or wanted to learn at a summer writing conference.

BOOKEXPO 2009, NEW YORK CITY: An Alaskan Checks In

I read with some detachment the Publisher's Weekly updates from Book Expo 2009 that flooded my email box last week. BEA Sunday morning alert! BEA Sunday afternoon alert! I know it's a big event, but distance and the usual summer distractions kept me detached. Sure, it was great to learn that books sales were actually up last year (a whopping one percent) and that the total verified attendees (12,025) was up 30 percent, but none of it really hit home until Alaska's vagabond poet Ken Waldman checked in with this personal report.

Usually when I'm at an event out of state, I manage to find other Alaskans, or at least folks who have ties to Alaska, no matter how tenuous. I just finished three days at BookExpo, the big annual gathering of the book trade. And while I can't report I saw other Alaskans, I can at least pass along a few observations.

This year's conference was in New York City, and there were three floors of booths, tables, and meeting rooms--all sizes of presses, presses specializing in all manner of books. Thousands of attendees milled around the convention center. My tag read "published author," and there were plenty of authors in attendance, some signing books either in publisher's booths, or at more formal "signing" tables. In addition to publishers and writers, there were bookstore employees, librarians, literary agents, book reviewers, and every other category of book-business worker. Each day, Publisher's Weekly printed a paper that reported conference news.

The one time I stopped at the Graphic Arts Center Publishing Company booth, no one was there. That was the publisher with the most direct Alaska ties. But I did run into Richard Olafson, who for many years has run Ekstasis Editions, a small press on Vancouver Island. One of his new projects is The Pacific Rim Review of Books. He's not only interested in Alaska titles, but would be interested in hearing from Alaskans interested in writing for the publication.

I also saw Mark Cull and Kate Gale of Red Hen Press. One of their imprints is Boreal Books, which features Alaska books and is edited by Peggy Shumaker. I felt most at home in New York picking up the 2009 title, Double Moon, a collaboration between Fairbanks visual artist Margo Klass and Fairbanks writer Frank Soos.

But mainly I wandered, gathered information about children's books (after having worked with publishers on all my previous books, I'm about to self-publish a kids' book), ran into several acquaintances and friends of friends, and made a wide variety of new contacts.

Was it worth it?

I learned Mercer University Press has a series on Sports and Religion, and since they also do the occasional poetry collection, might well be interested in my collection of sports poems. I'm supposed to follow up with a formal query.

By spending time at the New Jersey library booth, I met several library directors. Maybe they'll order one or more of my books; maybe I'll someday do a program at one or more of the libraries. Again, I'll be following up.

Late in the afternoon on the first day of the conference, waiting to talk to a publisher, I glanced at the tag of a someone nearby, also waiting to talk with someone. As we waited, we introduced ourselves. She was curious about the Anchorage address on my tag, so asked what kind of writing I did. I briefly told her. I was curious about her NPR affiliation, so asked about it. Hearing she was involved with a radio show that was a mix of public interest, politics, and the arts, I asked if she might be interested in my recent book of prose, plus the new CD that goes along with it. She nodded yes, so I passed them along. I'll be following up there, too. If I someday end up on the program she helps produce, I'll let you know.

Moses and the Nile

Here's a final post from featured author Brett Dillingham, a touching tribute to poets, teachers, and one student who knows the power of dreams.

The Nile. Thousands of tons of water moving, flowing through reeds, keeping the leathery skins of giant crocodiles wet, huge hippos ripping plants from the river bottom with massive jaws and tusk-teeth, irrigating a million acres of desert to feed those who toil. Nile is also the name of a friend of mine, Nile Stanley.

Moses - thou prophet, herder, God speaking from a burning bush, parting the waters, leading his people to the "promised land" - is also the name of a student transformed by poetry and caring.

Nile is a reading professor, poet, storyteller and author from the University of North Florida in Jacksonville. I met him about ten years ago at an International Reading Association annual conference in Indianapolis. A big yellow taxi came driving up on the green grass of the yard while I sat on the veranda of my B & B drinking wine. The taxi doors popped open and out rolled two ladies wearing colorful boas along with Nile, a short man with a balding pate and southern accent. One of the ladies said, "You must be the storyteller- tell us a story!"

I said, "I don't work for free," whereupon she launched into a poem, then the other lady did too, then the short guy. I told a story and cemented a friendship.

Since then I have worked with Nile across the country at conferences and schools. He has come to Alaska five times to work with students and teachers. Nile is one of those rare academics- he walks the walk, working in a high poverty African American school in Jacksonville every week. That's where he met Moses.

And that's where he wrote this poem about one of his students eight years ago:

Moses Lee Jones
came to poetry club today
wearing a black tie and white shirt.

I say "Moses, what is it? A special occasion?"

"No sir,
las' night they took my Daddy away
And I don't want it to git in the way
Of the poetry."

With a smile a mile wide
And teeth gleaming
Moses recites from "Dreams" by Langston Hughes:

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Moses Lee Jones
Is holdin' fast.

He's holdin' fast
To dreams!

Last night I got a call from Nile. He read in the Jacksonville newspaper that Moses Lee Jones (Perkins) was graduating, and that he was a Marine. Moses' mother and grandmother had recently died, but Moses was moving on.

Nile is going to the graduation.

As we spoke about this, and what it meant to us as teachers of storytelling and poetry, the conversation went in stops and starts because our throats had a hard time working.

I think Nile was one of those who parted the waters so Moses could lead his people to safety. I'm proud to have him as a friend, honored as a colleague.

Hold fast to dreams.

(Nile Stanley is the co-author of Performance Literacy Through Storytelling by Nile Stanley and Brett Dillingham)