49 Writers weekly round-up

Wow. What a week. Dana Stabenow inks a deal with Evergreen Films toward a TV series featuring her Aleut PI, and Joan Kane earns a hugely prestigious Whiting Award. Front page of the Anchorage Daily News, two days running. Of course we covered the big news for Dana and Joan, too. Well done, Alaskan authors.

So let's ride the wave, starting with submissions for ICE FLOE, the celebrated and award-winning journal of circumpolar poetry, which will return in the fall of 2010 as an annual book series published by the University of Alaska Press. Subsequent volumes will be forthcoming in 2011, 2012, and 2013. ICE FLOE founders and Alaskans Shannon Gramse and Sarah Kirk will edit these anthologies in collaboration with an international editorial board of scholars, translators, and poets representing the world’s northern nations.

The University of Alaska Press is currently seeking poetry to be considered for inclusion in ICE FLOE 2010. Poets residing in Alaska, Northern Canada, Greenland, Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Northern Russia are encouraged to submit new, original work. Poetry will be printed in its original language and in English translation. The only criterion is excellence; any language, style, or subject matter is welcome. Please submit no more than five poems. Simultaneous submissions will be considered, as will previously published work if accompanied by appropriate permissions. If possible, please provide English translations when appropriate and a brief paragraph of biographic information, also in English. Contributors will receive two copies of ICE FLOE. Electronic submissions (either in the body of an email message or as an attached MSWord .doc or .rtf file) are preferred and may be sent to icefloe@uaa.alaska.edu. The submission deadline for ICE FLOE 2010 is January 1, 2010.

Of interest to Anchorage booklovers and writers: Special Collections Librarian Michael Catoggio is hosting an insider's tour of the treasures of the Alaska historical collection in the Loussac Library. Meet at the Main Reference Desk, level 3, on Wednesday, Nov. 18, 3 p.m. Having made good use of this collection while researching Picture This, Alaska, I can attest that it's a real treasure trove.

Looking for a Halloween splurge? Alaska Sisters in Crime members Kimberley Gray and Elisa Hitchcock of OutCast! Productions are among the sponsors of an overnight adventure of Mystery, Fun and Suspense on October 30 at the Historic Anchorage Hotel. The History: On February 20, 1921, at 9:15 pm, Anchorage’s first Police Chief John J. “Black Jack” Sturgus was found shot in the back with a bullet from his own gun, steps away from the Historic Anchorage Hotel. It is rumored that his ghost returns to the scene of the crime each year, haunting the location of his untimely death, seeking justice for a crime still unsolved to this day. For $239 per couple, (includes room for two, evening appetizers/light meal, cash bar, and breakfast the following morning), you can become part of this meticulously researched mystery, wining and dining with the famous and infamous characters of a much younger Alaska. For details, call 272-4553 or 800- 544-0988.

With November closing in fast, it's time to say thanks to poet John Morgan for his guest posts as October's featured writer and to welcome another poet, Ken Waldman, as featured author for November. Looking ahead, watch for guest posts by Marilyn Sigman and Nancy Lord as well as an interview with Joan Kane. And remember to check the blogroll and author sites in our sidebar for all of the best in Alaskan (and Northern) authors and books

what the web is saying about award winner Joan Kane

We're eagerly awaiting our own upcoming interview with Alaska poet Joan Kane, but we can understand why she's a little busy today, as the secrecy veil lifts over receipt last night of a coveted $50,000 Whiting Writers Award.

New York magazine had this to say about the prize, which was awarded to ten writers and playwrights.

"...the Whitings are a ticket out of water-treading obscurity. Not everyone who wins follows the path of Whiting alumni Denis Johnson, August Wilson, Jonathan Franzen, Lydia Davis, and Jeffrey Eugenides. But even a book advance would be a quantum leap for another 2009 winner, Joan Kane, a (very pregnant) Native Alaskan writer whose new book of poetry, The Cormorant Hunter's Wife, had a print run of 500 copies with NorthShore Press, which runs off a solar cell. (She bought 400 of them so she could sell them herself.) "No royalties, nothing," says Kane, who has four subsidized months to get some writing done before her second child is due. "This comes at a really fortunate time."

The Anchorage Daily News shares this about Kane's background: a 32-year-old Inupiaq mom from Anchorage with a second son due in February, Kane was accepted into Harvard University at the age of 17, and received an MFA at Columbia in 2006. She works as a financial consultant for Native corporations but looks forward to concentrating on a second book of poems, among other things. Her play, "The Golden Tusk," premiered at the Anchorage Museum this summer.

The two other Alaskans who received past Whitings were Seth Kantner and Natalie Kusz.

The award ceremony was keynoted by Margaret Atwood, who had this great advice for the recipients: "'Doubt not, go forward. If thou doubt, the beasts will tear thee piecemeal.'"

Kate Shugak, P.I. one step closer to the TV screen

Congratulations to Dana Stabenow, who made a big splash this week with the announcement that film producer Mike Devlin has purchased rights to her Kate Shugak series -- just one step in a very long process of getting the successful mystery series made for TV.

The news popped up first in Dana's Roadhouse Report, where she explained:
As you have all heard me say too many times to count, I was determined to sell the screen rights only to someone who would shoot the series in Alaska. Specifically, to someone who would put Alaska, not British Columbia or central Washington state, right up there next to Kate and Mutt.

Well, that someone found me. Mike Devlin made his bones in Silicon Valley software, came north and fell in love with Alaska, and is now pursuing a second life in film production. I don't know him that well yet, but my gut says he's got a good heart and a hard head, along with the muscle and the determination to make this happen. He says, and I'm quoting verbatim, "There's no reason we can't film the whole series in Alaska."


I'm not a regular listener of radio guy Dan Fagan, but I tuned in yesterday to hear Stabenow and Devlin talk about the announcement and take calls from listeners, who wanted to know who would play Kate (an Alaska native actress, Dana hopes -- but this decision, like many others, will be hammered out with whatever network purchases the series) and whether Alaskans should keep their ears open for acting and production jobs (definitely). The Daily News followed up with a story today.

On the personal side, I'll add that I worked with Mike Devlin earlier this year, writing a script for a nature documentary still in development. My first impressions of him mirror Dana's: that he is smart, competent, and rarest of all in the movie business, a straight shooter. There's a long road ahead, but we all have our fingers crossed.

Got any thoughts about Alaska movie/TV adaptations? Kate Shugak? The Alaska economy and how books and film can help give it a boost? Check out our old 'Movie Week' posts about local filmmakers, and/or speak up here...

P.S. Mudflats provided an enthusiastic run-down of the offical announcement -- and best of all, photos of the Evergreen Films production facility hidden away on the Anchorage Hillside. Visiting the screening room, by invite only, is a bit like getting to see the inside of the BatCave. Fun stuff. When I worked there this spring, I often had to get a Hummer ride up the last icy stretch because even my Subaru couldn't make the final climb.

Denali Park Journal, Part Two: A guest post by John Morgan

"As the road crested over its top everything shimmered, the whole landscape gold and scintillating . . .Physical and temporal boundaries dissolved, and it felt like I’d reached a culmination, as if some crucial gap in my life had been filled." So writes our featured author, John Morgan, of a culminating moment as the first writer in residence at Denali National Park. (For Part One, see yesterday's post.)

Day 6. Nancy and Ben [our son] visiting. We woke up to heavy rain, low clouds and not much prospect for a change in the weather, but hey—this is the park—so we drove west, hoping for something different, and we got it—snow. Heading over Polychrome, rain turned to sleet and we could see the snow-level on the mountains dropping. The road wasn’t bad, though, and we continued out to Eielson, seeing along the way a mother grizzly playing in the snow with her single cub. They wrestled and rolled around in the frosty white stuff, delighted with each other and turned on by the snow.

At Eielson we walked into a snowball fight involving some visiting kids and the bus dispatcher. On the way back, we hiked near Stony Creek and came on a fresh-looking pile of bear scat and, nearby, a stretch of ripped up ground where the bear went after a ground squirrel. Seeing a few square yards of earth gouged and torn apart, big rocks tossed aside like tennis balls—a thorough thrashing of the region—gives a new and different perspective (different from the playful wrestling of a mother and cub) on the wild power and ferocity of a bear.

Day 7. We hiked to Tattler Creek, noting wildflowers and ringing bear-bells for bears—not to attract them, of course. In a rugged side-canyon, I scouted for dinosaur footprints (which have been found here) and saw many possible maybes, but no definite prints.

We crossed the stream and climbed to an open spot where we ate lunch overseen by a dozen Dall sheep. On the way back, we had to make another crossing of Tattler Creek. Following Nancy, I noticed that one of the rocks she stepped on had shifted slightly, so I was careful in placing a foot on it, but it shifted again and threw me off balance. When I asked her if I could write that “I fell gracefully into the stream,” she replied, “You can say that if you like, but it would be a lie!”

On my hands and knees in four inches of icy water, I took stock. A few minor scrapes, I thought. But something was wrong with my left pinky. It looked like a miniature hacksaw, with the middle section out of line with the rest. But as we were hiking out, figuring I would have to visit the clinic in Healy, I fiddled with the joint and it snapped into place.

Driving back to the cabin, Mt. McKinley was beautifully out at the far end of Sable Pass. It towered over the nearby hills, at a spot I’d never seen it before, brilliantly white, both summits sharp and clear for the first time on this trip

Day 8. Nancy and Ben packed up to leave and we drove to Teklanika and hiked through the woods and along the gravel bars of the river, seeing moose sign and the tracks of (possibly) a wolf. We ate our lunch out on a bar and then, driving to the park entrance, saw a couple of large-shouldered moose crossing the road just in front of us. I dropped Nancy and Ben at their car, gassed up and drove back to the cabin.

Day 9. As I headed out to North Face Lodge to give a reading, a fox preceded me up the Polychrome switchbacks. Red, smudged with black along its sides and rather scrawny—not the handsomest of foxes—it rubbed its muzzle along a scrap of something (a former meal perhaps) at the side of the road, not paying much attention to the poet following impatiently on its tail.

Then approaching the overlook, something amazing! Sun shearing through low clouds transformed the view to glitter. As the road crested over its top everything shimmered, the whole landscape gold and scintillating. I checked my shaky hands on the steering wheel, not wanting to swerve over the edge, but feeling in my crazy euphoria that if I did, nothing very bad would happen. Physical and temporal boundaries dissolved, and it felt like I’d reached a culmination, as if some crucial gap in my life had been filled. The unreal dazzling vision lasted for ten minutes or so, but it reverberated throughout the day and remains unforgettable.

At Thoroughfare Pass, where I’d seen the grizzly family (brown cubs, blond mother) on several earlier drives, and expected to see them again, instead a herd of caribou, more than 100 of them, grazed and moved gradually west toward Eielson. Lots of young ones, four of them lines up in a game of “follow the leader,” their herd instinct already kicking in.

The reading at North Face went very well, with a relaxed atmosphere and a large receptive audience. And afterwards, driving back to the cabin late, I shouted with surprise at the sight of a double rainbow shooting up from the base of Denali—brilliant colors, with the muscular shoulders of the mountain behind it.

Day 10. At an early hour, before I was properly into the day, I heard a car door slam. Some people were talking in what sounded like a foreign language. I unlatched the door and there stood two men in slacks and crewneck sweaters.

When I said, “Hello?” they glanced at each other, apparently unsure how to respond. One of them grinned sheepishly and the other muttered, “Murie…Murie…”

Finally, a third person, white bearded and wearing wire-rimmed glasses, stepped forward and explained, “These are two wolf specialists from Spain. I thought they should see the cabin.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, and at that the two Spaniards rushed past me and scurried about, excitedly taking in the bunk-bed, fridge and stove and noting my papers, books, and clothing scattered about, exclaiming, “Murie! Murie!” And when they departed, I felt I had served the cause of international wolf studies, though, sad to say, I haven’t seen a single wolf during this particular visit to the park.

Day 11. My last morning in the cabin, I went down to the river to have a look around and while I was casually staring at the fast-flowing silty channel, a head poked up mid-stream. What kind of head? I couldn’t tell. It was gone too quickly. Had it been a fish, trying to get its bearings? A river otter? Maybe it was just a trick of light on the riffles. Had I really seen anything at all?

But then in almost the exact same place, the head poked up again, this time followed by the long neck and mottled body of a duck—and instantly it was paddling and flapping desperately toward the bank, and was almost about to make it, when it disappeared again under the thick gray current.

Denali Park Journal, Part One: A guest post by John Morgan

For ten marvelous days this past June, I was writer-in-residence at Denali National Park. Here are some excerpts from the journal I kept.

Day 1. Driving to the cabin, I saw a group of fourteen caribou being pestered by a pair of long-tailed jaegers—move along! move along!—they swooped and shouted, protecting their territory. Focusing my binocs, my elbow hit the car horn and the caribou stopped dead, looking around for the source of the noise. I thought: “Strike one for me.”

After moving my stuff into the 14’x16’ cabin, equipped with a double bunk bed, a propane refrigerator and stove, I heard some loud talk and laughter coming from the river. Two naturalist filmmakers, Kennan and Karen Ward, were watching four or five fox kits poke their heads out of the den holes and peak down from over the top of the hill. The human noises we made seemed to intrigue and puzzle them—what strange two-legged creatures!?

Day 2. Scanning with binocs at the river, I noticed an odd boulder on the ridge-line across the way, past the East Fork bridge. It turned out to be a golden eagle, in profile against the sky. After about ten minutes, two more eagles circled in, looking through the blue haze of distance like shadowy ghost-birds.




Day 3. This morning, driving back from a hike at Tatler Creek, I saw a mother ptarmigan and two tiny chicks crossing the road. When I stopped I could hear her motherly peepings to hurry them along. On this stay in the park, I find my interest in bears and moose is somewhat less, while my attention to smaller creatures grows.

I also have more time to sit and take in the landscape. The hills I can see from the cabin window at the east end of Polychrome Pass, for instance—looping green and brown with dots and streaks of snow, rising up to snow-splashed peaks, with shifting clouds and cloud-shadows, and flitting and foraging in the foreground magpies, ground squirrels and rabbits.



Day 4. After showering at the staff washhouse at Toklat, I continued out to the Eielson Visitor’s Center and hiked up toward the ridge. The wildflowers were amazing—such varieties of color and shape, the alpine forget-me-nots an almost neon blue. On the drive back I saw the Wards' camper pulled over, with their camera set up. A sow grizzly and two first-year cubs—tiny by comparison—foraged in the middle-distance. She was blond and they were both brown and when she lay back for them to nurse I snapped a picture, though it was probably too far for me to get a decent shot.

While in the park, I’m reading Robert Richardson’s fine book on Thoreau (Henry Thoreau: A Life of the Mind). It turns out that Thoreau experienced true wilderness not at Walden Pond—a short stroll from his home in Concord—but rather on Mt. Katahdin in northern Maine, where, alone in howling wind, surrounded by barren rock, feeling sick and worn-out, he encountered a nature that was in no way hospitable to our species. He realized that nature has a range of experiences to offer and concluded that in essence there isn’t just one nature, but two. The familiar one, almost domestic, offers a healing relief from the petty distractions and restrictions of human communities, but, at the other end of its range, lies a hostile, barren world, which he called “Demonic Nature.” Thoreau felt that this harsh and alien environment was also important to humans, because, as he wrote, “We need to witness our own limits transgressed.”

And reading this, I realized that at the present time, while I’m relaxing in the cabin or cruising up and down the park road picking from a menu of easy to moderate hikes, there are climbers taking on Mt. McKinley itself, voluntarily putting their lives at risk, testing their limits and in some cases having their limits transgressed.

Day 5. A little after one a.m. the excited barking of a young fox got me out of bed. I saw it dash toward the den, pause and bark as if calling for a parent or sib, then turn and race back into the brush, where it continues to bark as I write this. A first kill perhaps? The look on its face—a mixture of terror and pride—as if its young life had stumbled on something utterly new and amazing!

The barking isn’t like a dog’s and could easily be mistaken for a crow cawing—which I did at first. But the barks are longer than caws and the silence between more spread out. Foxes are usually thought of as quiet and stealthy, but clearly this one feels it has something to crow about.

(To Be Continued)

49 Writers weekly round-up

How far can writers ride the coattails of our illustrious former governor? Perhaps quite a ways, which is some small justice in the face of Palin's gigantic advance. First, Going Rouge: An American Nightmare, launching the same day as Palin's Going Rogue. Edited by two Nation staffers, Going Rouge is a collection of 23 essays addressing Palin's catapult to fame and the "nightmarish" prospect of her continuing presence in the national arena. Included are Alaska's own Mudflats and Shannyn Moore. Copies may be pre-ordered at OR Books.

Then there's Frank Bailey, the former Alaska Airlines employee turned Palin staffer who took a tumble in Wootengate. According to the Anchorage Daily News, Bailey is working with a publicist from LA and her daughter to pen a memoir entitled Renegade: Sarah Palin's Hatchet Man. It's due out in three months, with one little hitch: there's no publisher yet. Imagine if we all pre-promoted like that.

If all that sounds like too much to read, don't despair: there's a Palin-spoofed coloring and activity book, written by a couple of cartoonists. Follow a maze to get Palin to the White House, or find where in the world our Alaskan oil ends up.



On a more serious note, Alaska Geographic announces an addition to its National Park Series, Lake Clark National Park and Preserve by Steve Kahn and Anne Coray. According to the publisher, "This beautifully designed, full-color book features captivating prose, stunning photography from Fred Hirschmann, and insights into the fascinating natural and cultural history that defines this majestic wildland."

And in more book news, Bradford Matsen's new book, Jacques Cousteau: The Sea King, the first complete biography of the legendary ocean explorer, inventor, and environmental sage, was released this week by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House. We'll feature an interview with Madsen in the weeks ahead.

Bill Streever, author of Cold, will be speaking and signing books at Barnes and Noble (Anchorage) on November 13 from 6 to 8 p.m., the Anchorage Museum on November 15 at 7 p.m., Title Wave midtown on November 28 at 1 p.m., and the Eagle River Nature Center on November 29 at 2 p.m. He'll also be at Borders (Anchorage)on December 20 at 2 p.m.

Another busy author is Debbie Miller of Fairbanks, who last weekend added the Forget-Me-Not award from the Alaska State Literacy Association to her growing list of accomplishments. Debbie's next book, Survival at 40 Below, comes out in February. And speaking of Fairbanks, we had a great time at the Red Lantern last Saturday night, meeting new writers and catching up on projects.

If you're looking to get a jump on holiday book-shopping, note that ReadAlaska 2010, the 17th annual Alaska publisher's book fair, will be held Thanksgiving weekend (Friday, Saturday and Sunday Nov. 27-29)at the Anchorage Museum. Alaska's largest book fair is held in conjunction with Crafts Weekend and will feature Alaska publishers and authors selling their latest books direct to the public. Admission is free and there will be music, food and access to all museum displays. It's a great opportunity to see the new museum expansion as well as network with Alaska publishers and authors. A number of companies that package books for authors will be there, including Greatland Graphics, Northbooks and Publication Consultants.

In the spirit of gift-giving, Operation eBook Drop provides a way for ebook authors to get their work to U.S. troops. Author Arne Bue forwards this link plus another for authors interested in participating.

A new exhibit in Spokane has resurrected a 240-line poem written by Ann Chandonnet about the Exxon Valdez oil spill. The poem (and an exhibit of bronzes by sculptor Peter Bevis that included casts made from semi-intact sea otter heads collected from the spill) debuted in 1993 in Anchorage. At that time, the words and music played in a continuous loop in the gallery. Ann says they didn’t know how the public would react, but some of them sat on the floor and listened to the whole thing. The composer, Phil Munger, made recordings of his soundscape and Ann's poem, which can be accessed at www.progressivealaska.blogspot.com

The Alaska Writers Guild is offering a series of seminars on writing and the writing process. Blending craft-talk, workshop and theory, the seminars will feature Lee Goodman, an MFA grad from Bennington College who also studied fiction in the graduate program at Boston University. His work has appeared in The Iowa Review and Orion Magazine, and his novel Cliff Nesting debuts next year. Goodman has taught at the University of Alaska Anchorage, University of Alaska Fairbanks, and Alaska Pacific University. Seminars will be in two three-hour segments, with the cost for each class at $75 for Alaska Writers Guild members and $90 for non-members. The first, The Pesky Details: Dialogue, Voice and POV, will be November 11 from 7 to 10 p.m., with the second session a week later. For details, contact David Brown at dbeci@myexcel.com.

As if writers weren't already undercut in the market, now we've got book price wars. In a recent post, agent Nathan Bransford assesses the potential damage.

No Exit: Guest post by Leslie Leyland Fields

I push through the doors of the Ted Stevens airport, the last door on the strip. I am late, of course, but I am not worried. This is ERA I am flying, after all. I’m just going home to Kodiak. No airport security, just fly through the check-in 20 minutes before the flight, show a boarding pass and ID and walk the tarmac out to the prop-winged bird. But it is Frontier Air now, I remember, yet another airline re-shuffle in these unstable times. I check in and find out that the Frontier departure gate for Kodiak has been moved and is now at the other end of the terminal. I buy some crackers for dinner and roll my carry-on down the new hallway.

The tunnel is distant, twisting and empty; it is Kafka-esque, I decide, and I wonder, as I’m eating my crackers and rolling my suitcase, if some grotesque metamorphosis is even now rearranging my cells. But when I reach the end, I change my mind. A sudden city of people has appeared, crammed and clustered in a narrow cell of a waiting room. They all look strangely settled, as though they’ve been here for an age. I decide Kafka is out---and Sartre is in, in this chillingly accurate replica of “No Exit.”

I find out the weather in Kodiak is bad. That the last two planes, the Frontier dash-8 and the Alaska jet both flew gallantly all the way to Kodiak, looped successive ellipticals, in hopes of a fissure in the impenetrable fog and clouds, then defeated, circled back. This city in the cell, then, is populated with returnees, Loopers, fatigued but dogged people, trying again.

I know that feeling. I’ve done the Kodiak Loop too many times myself in my 32 years here. (My husband may hold the record, though---five loops, five tries to Kodiak before he finally touched ground.) Tonight, I just want to get home, rest my swollen cheek and throbbing jaw, from root canal surgery done the day before, on my own feather pillow.

I sit next to two women I know. We compare weather reports from our families back home. All reports agree---the weather’s getting worse. Heavy rain, heavy clouds, heavy fog, and winds coming up. A voice from the ceiling speaks, “We’re waiting on the weather to board, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll see what the weather wants to do. We’ll let you know as soon as we know if we’re going.”

Debbie and Christy and I decide they should just cancel. We should all go back to our hotels, go out to a really nice dinner (Orso’s, say Debbie and I ) and return to Kodiak tomorrow---well-fed, rested, swooping home in a single declarative flight, no questions (will we board? Will we land?) hanging. Fifteen minutes later the voice announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the weather has improved enough to launch. If it doesn’t get better while we’re flying, we’ll land in Homer to refuel, and then take another look at it from there. We’ll be boarding in just a few moments.”

We roll our eyes at each other. It’s good enough to launch, but not likely good enough to land. Neither place, Anchorage or Homer is home, but getting stuck in Homer is worse than getting stuck in Anchorage. We slowly reconstitute ourselves, get up and dumbly, reluctantly stand in line. We all know we’re players in Sartre’s theatre after all, but we have to follow the script. We have to try, at least.

On board, the seats are full. No one bothers to look out the cloud-blinded windows. My seatmate mutters to herself, “This is why I don’t live in Kodiak anymore.” I entertain Debbie across the aisle with another flight story, this one of a three hour flight delayed in Seattle, then an unexpected midnight landing and refueling in Yakutat, in case we had to circle extra long before landing. We don’t talk about the planes that have crashed.

Fifty minutes pass. We’re past Homer now, surely. We’re going all the way, then. We feel the plane descend, hear the engine straining at another pitch. The landing gear drops mechanically; my seatmate and I exchange hopeful, nervous smiles. All eyes strain at the windows, trying to pierce the curtains of fog. We lean forward in our seats, pressing toward home, but still no sign of earth below. Someone behind me, across the aisle says “Look! I see some cliffs!” Hope stirs , the plane buzzes louder, our stomachs drop, a runway appears and we fall onto it gracelessly but beautifully.

A few months earlier, while traveling home to Kodiak from somewhere far away, I limped up to the ERA counter at the Anchorage airport. Almost home. One leg remaining. I was tired. I handed my commuter coupon to the woman behind the counter. There was a problem. She studied my coupon, reads my itinerary aloud to herself, “Okay, let’s see, Anchorage to Yuck, Yuck to Anchorage”.

I looked at her through night-flight eyes, blinked slowly, incredulously, then asked. “What did you say? Did you just call Kodiak, yuck??”

She laughed unselfconsciously. “Oh yeah. We all call it that. It’s the worse place we fly. That and Dutch Harbor. It’s always causing problems—wind, rain, fog, so hard to get in and out of. What a pain.”

She did not consider the fact that I might live there. She wanted me to feel sorry for her.

I have ten trips to make Outside these next few months, for speaking and teaching. I try to show up on stage at conferences and colleges and perform as though whisked in by my own Lear jet. As though I did not miss my other connections because I couldn’t get out of Kodiak, as though I had not flown all night and the next day to get there. As though the passage from this island to the rest of the world were not exhausting and harrowing every time. I try not to talk about it, this endless subject. And I try not to feel like a martyr for living in a place nicknamed “yuck.”

I’m not always successful. I don’t want to play the martyr---or the fool. Kodiak Island is not a stage, but I’m acting out what is most of all, true in this world--- we only imagine that we direct our lives. Our comings and goings, our entrances and exits are fragile, our intentions and desires controlled by winds and clouds and waters whose own travels are measured and announced, but largely unknown. I yield to this, in my own stubborn way, relieved to know the out-there world is so beyond my one self. I am glad to be here at all, to have any part to play in this stunning, wind-and fog wrought theatre.

I say that in my best moments. In my deepest heart, I want my planes to take off and land by my own perfect script. When they don’t, I know nothing else to do but this: to sit by the window, rehearsing my lines---again.


Leslie Leyland Fields is the author of Surviving the Island of Grace and Out on the Deep Blue. Her essays have appeared in "The Atlantic," "Best Essays Northwest," More Magazine, and many others. She teaches in Seattle Pacific University's (low-residency) MFA program and speaks often at other colleges, requiring nail-biting flights off stormy Kodiak Island.

Your turn: Great editors, teachers, and other nice people

I was so looking forward to writing this post today, and then hit one of those morning glitches -- a vandal broke into my p.o. box, the post office wants me to report what was stolen but besides a mystery package (from who? from where?) I can't know what's missing because I don't know what was there in the first place!

(Pant, pant; recover.)

But the world is still a nice place with good people, as these recent articles attest.

How about an editor who flies to where you live and hangs out for days, helping you edit? OK, the story comes from a few years ago, when publishing operated a little differently, but it's still amazing. The current Poets & Writers interview with Jonathan Karp (publisher and editor-in-chief of Twelve) includes a great anecdote about editing Mario Puzo. Karp and two other editors flew to Las Vegas, where Puzo preferred to work, and spent days working with the novelist, and nights gambling with him. Karp felt bad about losing some money Puzo had loaned him, but he later earned it back -- and cemented a relationship with Puzo, who believed the young editor was "lucky." Those were the days...

Also in the "nice people file," novelist Alexander Chee remembers in tender detail about being taught by Annie Dillard at Wesleyan. The essay is worth reading for the many fine pieces of writing advice Dillard imparted to her fortunate students. Kudos also to Chee for remembering and capturing that long-ago experience (1989) so well. And thanks to Moonrat -- nice person #4 -- for mentioning this great essay on her blog, editorial ass.

Did an agent, editor, fellow writer, or someone else, do something nice/helpful/extraordinary for you, lately or long ago? Help me forget about my stolen mail. Share the good stories here.

Postcard from Rome: The Discus Thrower

It’s disappointing – even a little chilling -- to realize that a passion for literature and art does not guarantee the creation of a healthy intellect or the blossoming of a gentle spirit.

Consider Hitler. An avid reader, he had 16,000 titles in his private library. Even at the end, when Soviet soldiers invaded his Berlin bunker, they found it stocked with several dozen books, according to author Timothy Ryback, author of Hitler’s Private Library (nicely summarized in this January New York Times article).

Hitler loved music, too, as I discovered in depth during the writing of my first novel, The Spanish Bow, in which a Spanish cellist contends with a request to perform for the dictator.

My latest adventures have taken me into the world of another of Hitler’s obsessions: the world of classical art.

With visions of Nazi Germany as the heir of all things classical, Hitler became entranced with a statue called The Discus Thrower, which is a Roman copy of an earlier, lost bronze by an artist named Myron. The statue was created at a cultural high point when Greek sculpture was becoming more realistic and naturalistic; the fact that it is dynamic, and captures an athletic moment no less, fit in perfectly with Hitler’s recent propaganda triumph as host of the 1936 Berlin Olympics as well as his desire to motivate a generation into becoming the physically fit “master race.”

In 1938, probably during his May visit to Italy, he managed to talk Mussolini’s government into releasing this privately owned masterpiece, despite the difficulties of certain export laws and the objections of some. (Later, the Nazis would have the opportunity to loot freely, but this was before the war; delicacy still mattered.)The price was set at 5 million lire.

Here, my newest novel-in-progress begins. “The Discus Thrower” takes place in summer 1938, over three intense days. It tells the story of a young, reserved, poitically naive art curator from Bavaria who is given the privileged duty of transporting the ancient statue north from Rome to Munich, a trip that quickly goes awry. Many disasters befall my art-loving protagonist, and Italy – in its dusty, confusing splendor -- lulls him into tricky situations, and into considering aspects of his past he has tried to forget. Body image, genetics, brotherly and passionate love all find their way into the story.

But this has been a formal post – and I meant it to be a postcard! Greetings to all my friends, colleagues and readers who kept this blog hopping while I was away. Until last week, I was enjoying a very fruitful research trip to Italy and Germany, the first highlight of which was seeing the real Discus Thrower itself -- by which I mean the Lancellotti Discobolus, for anyone interested in the particulars. The photo at top shows my two children sketching the statue in the National Museum of Rome, Palazzo Massimo facility.

Seeing the statue in person was a pleasure, and seeing it in relation to many lesser artworks from the same period, and a few more impressive ones, was essential to my understanding. Note, however, how empty this room is on the day we visited, as compared to the many other Rome/Florence museums (Uffizi, Borghese Villa) that were so crowded we could barely move through each room.

An ancient statue that once excited and inspired a frightening dictator poses in silence again.

Revision 101

As I mentioned last week, I’m in the midst of a self-directed revision workshop, working on two manuscripts at once. That might not be the best approach for some writers, but because I want to experiment with strategies I haven’t used before, I like repeating them in different contexts, feeling out what works and what doesn’t. I tackle a chapter a day in each manuscript. Warning: you may become as weary as I of revision before it’s all through.

I taught writing for twenty years, so I’ve walked plenty of emerging writers through the revision process. But almost all of it was in nonfiction. Stories offer their own set of challenges. Every writer and task is different, but in general, much of the process of discovery in nonfiction can be tackled in the prewriting stages. With fiction, I mostly just have to start writing, discovering voice and character and even themes and plot as the story unfolds. I stop here and there, tapping prewriting tricks like mapping to sort through the rough patches. Sometimes I get to the end before I start to revise. Sometimes I screech to a halt in the middle.

The manuscripts I’m revising in my self-imposed workshop are both finished. For all the revisions I’ve got under my belt, I’m still learning new ways of seeing my work. For instance, I’ve always made sure my chapter endings packed a punch. But opening lines for my chapters – those I’d never given much thought. Thanks, Donald Maass (The Fire in Fiction) for pointing out that the first line of a chapter is as important as the last. Duh. It makes a big difference. I’d also never reflected much on how chapters should begin (subtly, yes) with a character’s goal, or how each scene should have inner and outer turning points.

Reflecting on these revision strategies, maybe the nonfiction/fiction dichotomy is false. In the most engaging nonfiction, chapter opening and closings are vibrant. Goals are pondered; turning point tug readers along. More precisely, it's that classic rhetorical tools shouldn't be the only ones in the box when we revisit our writing.

Tools? Tricks? Formulae? To me, these are simply new ways of seeing. Because no matter how much literature you’ve read, analyzed, or taught, if it’s well done there’s a whole lot you can’t see - subtle shifts, ways you’re drawn to a character, the tug of the narrative. Robert Boswell (The Half-Known World) says it well: “Like sex, reading is both a simple delight and a complex one, a nearly effortless pleasure that nonetheless rewards study and labor.” Writing creates the effortless pleasure the way an accomplished host creates a memorable event, through a masterful blend of intuition, instinct, and a whole lot of effort.

49 Writers weekly round-up

Whether you're a Fairbanks author or visiting Fairbanks for the ASLA conference, we'd love to have you join us for another 49 Writers no-host face-to-face this Saturday, October 17 at 9 p.m. at the Westmark's Red Lantern lounge. An RSVP would be great (debv@gci.net), but if you don't get around to it, feel free to stop by anyhow. We'll only keep you out for an hour or so, and we promise a great (off the record) writerly exchange. For those I've not met before, here's a recent photo so you can find me...



...although I'll be minus the dog, the shades, and the mountains.

I'm also happy to report that we've acquired critical mass for the "already-pubbed" Anchorage writer's group mentioned in the last couple of round-ups. Our first meeting will be Monday, November 9, and we're still open for qualified member or two. If interested, email me at debv@gci.net.

A big congrats to Alaskan authors recently selected by The Alaska State Council on the Arts and the Alaska Arts and Culture Foundation for this year's Connie Boochever Fellowships in the literary and performing arts. The $2,500 fellowship is for emerging artists, and each year the disciplines alternate between performing, literary and visual arts. Three of this year's four awards went to writers: Anne Coray, poet, Port Alsworth; Joan Kane, writer, Anchorage; and Schatzie Schaefers, playwright, Anchorage.

Joan Kane is also curating the literary art portion of the "Virtual Subsistence" exhibition featuring Alaska Native artists. With catering by Tap Root Cafe and music by Reverse Retro, Virtual Subsistence opens with a reception tonight, October 16 from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. at the MTS Gallery at 3142 Mt. View Drive in Anchorage. Gallery Hours are Saturdays and Sundays, noon – 4 p.m. Participating writers include Donna Elliott Bach, Diane Benson,Rainey Higbee,Torin Jacobs/River Flowz,Joan Kane,Trina Landlord,Princess Lucaj,Rita Marshall,Buffy McKay,dg okpik,Ryan Olson,Cathy Rexford, and Susie Silook.

Big congrats also go out to Barrow author Debby Dahl Edwardson for the Booklist starred review of her first middle grade novel, Blessing's Bead, which comes out next month. From the review: "Edwardson, who married into Iñupiaq culture, envelops readers in both the stark Arctic settings and the warm communities, past and present. Concrete and symbolic references to the transforming power of language, names, and stories link the two narratives, but it’s the Nutaaqs’ rhythmic, indelible voices—both as steady and elemental as the beat of a drum or a heart—that will move readers most. A unique, powerful debut." Thanks to librarian and author Ann Dixon for bringing this to our attention.

Alaska Center for the Book is seeking nominations for its annual Contributions to Literacy in Alaska (CLIA) Awards, recognizing people and institutions who have made a significant contribution in literacy, the literary arts, or the preservation of the written or spoken word in Alaska. Previous CLIA award winners include librarians, teachers, writers, tutors, historians, booksellers, reading programs, web sites and others dedicated to making the world a better place through the gift of language. From Sisters in Crime to Babies & Books, more than 50 people and organizations have been honored over the past 17 years.

Alaska Center for the Book is the state's affiliate with the Center for the Book in the U.S. Library of Congress. Founded in 1991, ACB is a non-profit, all-volunteer organization aimed at stimulating public interest in literacy throughout Alaska through the spoken and written word. Aalska Center for the Book participates in Reading Rendezvous, Letters About Literature, LitSite Alaska, the National Book Festival, and other events and programs.

This year's CLIA Award nominations are due Nov. 6, 2009. The nomination form and information on past winners is available at www.alaskacenterforthebook.org. For more information, or to request a faxed nomination form, call (907) 764-1604 or e-mail carolben@gci.net

Kenai writers, here's you chance to tackle that novel: Amy Murrell, Municipal Liaison for the Kenai Peninsula NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) effort announces an informational meeting about NaNoWriMo on Thursday, October 22 at 6:30 at the Kenai Community Library. The library will host weekly write-ins during November for both the adult challenge and for the Young Writers Program that runs at the same time. Those who can't make the meeting can read all about it at the NaNoWriMo web site and are welcome to sign up and write even if they can't make it to the write-ins. For more information on the Kenai event, contact Amy at kenaiqueen2007@yahoo.com.

Alaska at 50, new from University of Alaska Press, commemorates Alaska's statehood anniversary with essays from some of today’s most noteworthy writers and researchers. Contributors include Susan A. Anderson, Carrie Irwin Brown, George Cannelos, Jocelyn Clark, Nora Marks Dauenhauer, Ann Dixon, Danna Fabe, Phyllis Fast, Vic Fischer, Sven Haakanson Jr., Veldee Hall, Mark Hamilton, Eric Heyne, Gary Holthaus, G. W. (Greg) Kimura, Nancy Lord, Dennis Metrokin, Jason Metrokin, Ken Ostercamp, Tadd Owens, James Ruppert, John Shively, Peggy Shumaker, Ronald Spatz, John Straley, Raymond Voley, and Charles Wohlforth.

The editor and a number of contributors will appear at the following events:
- UAA Campus Bookstore - October 20, 2009, 5:00-7:00 p.m.
- Barnes & Noble Anchorage - October 21, 2009, 6:00 p.m.
- Title Wave Books - October 23, 2009, 6:00-8:00 p.m.

Now distributed by the University of Alaska Press is Skijor With Your Dog by Mari Høe‐Raitto and Carol Kaynor, just been released in an updated 4th printing. As noted in the publisher's press release, "The foreword by four-time Iditarod Champion Susan Butcher is a powerful endorsement of how much emphasis the authors have placed on dog care and speaks to the powerful bond that develops between dog and owner." This latest edition includes updated resources and bibliography.

Thanks to Arne Bue for forwarding a post by author Jakon Roth that was also on my radar. Roth, a thriller writer, offers up numbers from his royalty statement, comparing ebook sales through his traditional publishers with ebooks he has published himself on Kindle. His numbers confirm what Ned Rozell suggested here a few months back: some authors, at least, can make more money for their work (and possibly have a much more positive experience) via Amazon or other high-powered self-pubbing platforms. The caveat: it helps to have built a readership through traditional outlets, as Roth has, and you'd better be ready to devote substantial effort to marketing. Roth's analysis also points out a win-win for authors and their readers: low-priced ebooks outperform higher priced ebooks, hands down. Among other factors controlled by self-pubbed authors is price. So - no more crying in your beer because your book is out of print. If you can get the results Roth did, you're better off getting your rights back and emarketing your own work.

From the announcement of this year's National Book Award Finalists come two items noteworthy here. First, Marcel Theroux's apocalyptic novel set in the north, aptly titled Far North, is among the finalists. And if you've been paying attention to our posts, you've noticed a lot of folks speculating that the future of publishing is in small, independent presses. I expect the good folks at UA Press have taken note: another finalist is Bonnie Jo Campbell's American Salvage, pubbed by none other than Wayne State University Press.

The Cheater's Sonnet: A Guest Post by John Morgan

This month's 49 Writers featured author John Morgan admits to being "seduced by iambics" while exploring the "cheater sonnet." Maybe we should coin a phrase: Alaskan sonnet?

Last month around the equinox, Anchorage poet Tom Sexton drove up to Fairbanks for a reading. His latest book For the Sake of the Light: New and Selected Poems was recently published by the University of Alaska Press. He spoke informally to students in the afternoon and gave a terrific reading in the evening.

Between these two events, at dinner, we remembered that the last time we’d met was 15 years ago at a party in NYC — typical of how distances in Alaska enforce separation. The party was given by the Paris Review and took place at George Plimpton’s apartment, but George just said hello and waved goodbye - on his way to some more pressing event in Pittsburgh.

In his talk to students, Tom said he’d recently written a collection of 48 eight-line poems, formal poems that actually rhyme. He noted that form and rhyme were not the way we were taught to write poetry back in the Sixties, when the big influences were William Carlos Williams and Ezra Pound. This struck a chord because I’ve recently been working in form myself. Eight lines is a bit too minimalist for me so I’ve been writing sonnets. I just shipped off four of them to an annual contest given by a journal called The Formalist, but I have to say that mine probably don’t measure up to their rigorous standards. I call the form I use “the cheater’s sonnet.”

What most people know about sonnets is that they have 14 lines and a strict rhyme scheme, either Shakespearean or Petrarchan, the rules for which you can look up if you want. For me, a sonnet has 14 lines, and rhymes whenever I can manage it. This is a big help in letting me say what I want to say, rather than being dictated to by the form. Also, most sonnets are in iambic pentameter—da-dah, da-dah, da-dah, da-dah, da-dah. This can get pretty monotonous. (If you check out past contest winners at The Formalist website, you’ll see what I mean.)

So in addition to cheating on rhyme, I cheat on meter. Instead of using iambic pentameter, I use syllabics. A normal i-p line has 10 or 11 syllables (allowing for feminine endings), but I even fudge on that. Nine syllables are fine with me. And occasionally I’ll throw in a line with 8 or 12. And as for rhyming, I use slant rhyme freely. As William Stafford used to say, sound connections can happen in many different ways. All words sound more like other words than they do like silence and sometimes a word that doesn’t actually rhyme can sound just right in context —s ee Emily Dickinson for numerous examples.

What I most want to avoid is messing up the natural order of the sentence to work in a rhyme — e.g., writing “the sky blue” when I need a rhyme for “true.” Nothing sounds more stilted in a contemporary poem than this kind of forced rhyming.

Once you get clued into the cheater’s sonnet, you start to notice that this sort of slacker behavior has its own tradition. Lots of past poets mixed their forms, using a Shakespearean octave with a Petrarchan sestet, for example, or going even further afield, as Keats does in his rebellious poem “On the Sonnet,” which attacks the traditional forms ast oo restrictive and acts up by rhyming in a very haphazard fashion. It was, not surprisingly, the last sonnet that Keats ever wrote.

So what does a cheater’s sonnet look like? I have to admit that, unless I’m paying close attention, it looks very much like a conventional sonnet. Here’s a recent example:

TWO VIEWS OF THE WRECKAGE
for the artist, Kes Woodward

[Note: Climate change models show interior Alaska
becoming dryer while coastal areas flood worldwide]

Kibitzing over your shoulder as you
sketch those billowing clouds above the
staved-in houseboat in its dried up slough,
I sense the berrying bear that ambled by a
day or two ago leaving this gritty substance,
fear, like a pheromone, hanging there
and there—and because we codgers share
a wish to buck the laws of change and chance

you cache the present scene while I flash on
distant glittering Venice seen back when
the band played gaudy Liszt and Beethoven
and Sputnik shimmered over St Mark’s Square
where now high waters climb the palace stair
as ice-sheets thaw and toxic tides roll in.

Reading it over, I see that this poem, loose and prosy to start with, becomes more formal as it progresses, as if the cheater in me is being seduced by iambics in the process of writing the poem. I feel a little guilty about this, but not too guilty. In a cheater’s sonnet, anything goes, even traditional meter.

Over the past year I’ve written about a dozen such sonnets — which the folks in my writers’ group tell me is probably enough. But I reserve the right to keep on trying. Maybe one day I’ll get it right.

Alaska Quarterly Review: Welcoming the Season

I've heard that more books are sold in the last quarter of the year than in the other three quarters combined, and while the holidays must certainly play a part, I think there's also something about fall and the prospect of winter that makes us want to hunker down an abudance of good reading material. We've said it before, but let's say it again now that the Fall/Winter edition is on the stands: Alaska Quarterly Review (AQR)is an affordable way to do exactly that.

With a cover price of $6.95, you don't have to feel guilty if you don't read it cover to cover. It's all good stuff - AQR has a well-earned reputation for quality - and you'll find a huge variety in content and style. My favorites say plenty about me as a reader and writer - I'm more Ann Patchett than Kurt Vonnegut, more Willa Cather than James Joyce.

This issue opens with some remarkable nonfiction, including Dennis Lang's "Tim," the story of a wounded Iraqi war veteran told from multiple points of view, including his mother, his girlfriend, and his social worker. In a narrative that manages to be at once poignant and matter-of-fact, it's easy to forget that you're not reading fiction: "When Tim woke up he had no idea half his head was missing. Everybody said don't touch your head or your left eye. So he looked in a mirror and went and got his left eye taken out." I was also quite taken by Margaret MacInnis's "The Last Time." Told in sixteen vignettes with titles like "The Last Time My Father Left My Mother" and "The Last Time I Rocked My Father in My Arms," it left me with the odd sensation that I'd suspended belief - that this couldn't be true, though it was.

Of special interest to Alaskans and fans of Alaska is Marilyn Sigman's "Class Notes: A Short History of Permanence." Juxtaposing a reunion of her idealistic Stanford classmates with the new reality of global warming, the Alaskan author writes, "I am hurtling downward like everyone else in a material way, my mind stuffed with the artistic and technological creations of my culture that hide my dependence on the strands of a web of relations. What is truly global is that we are all going down together - the Native Alaskan elders in their shape-shifting Arctic coastal villages, the Buddhists, the New Age Posessors of esoteric secrets, the clueless."

Among the short stories in this issue of AQR, I especially enjoyed Karen Heuler's "Joey, the Upstairs Boy," in which an elderly, self-proclaimed "harsh realist" approaches a relationship with the troubled young man who lives upstairs. Another favorite is Scott Nadelson's "If You Needed Me," showing with remarkable development of character in the consequences of a grandfather's near-disaster on each member of the family. I also liked Sallie Bingham's "Heaven," in which an aging woman frets over an unlikely vision. I'm not sure how this thread of aging characters plays into my choices, but rest assured: in the AQR, there's something for everyone.

Make your own rules

Andromeda mentioned last month that for much of grade school she felt like a prisoner. I, on the other hand, loved grade school. It was more than the books and the library and the special programs some teachers way back then managed to cobble together even in the absence of federal mandates and guidelines. I hate to admit it, because it sounds so un-writerly and un-Alaskan, but looking back I think I also liked the rules and the structure - the same aspects of school that make it feel like jail.

Not very auspicious beginnings for someone who now (more or less) makes a living being creative. Yes, I grew up and found more excitement in ambiguity and big ideas and discovery than in rules. A good creative day of drafting fiction beats anything else I'd want to do for a living. But I still admit a sick little fondness for the rules of grammar, the way it all makes sense when you take the time to understand.

When I first started publishing, I'd say with only a touch of smugness that I enjoyed revision. Only after my editor got the boot and I skidded off with an agent who was, at the time, nearly as clueless as I did I discover that my love of revision had a lot to do with having a good editor who offered - you guessed it - guidelines, which are the next best thing to rules. She rarely suggested how to fix problems, but she pointed out all the parts that needed attention, and I got to wrestle around with ways to make them shine.

Those days are gone, not just for me but for a lot of writers, especially those breaking in. With editors and agents stretched to their limits, revision is much more a do-it-yourself proposition. If you want someone to take a serious look at your manuscript, it had better be in darned good - make that great - shape. After the initial draft, structure-lovers like me have to make their own rules for revision, setting the highest standards for every aspect of their novels, then rising to meet them.

Good readers help. As happens in Alaska, mine left the state. No matter, I thought, with a couple of New York novels under my belt. I've got my agent, my editor, myself. That was a decade ago. I've since wised up, which is why I've put out a call for other published writers looking for a writing group. (We could still use a couple more; email me at debv@gci.net if you're interested).

What about those who aren't published yet - where do they get their readers? Beyond groups that have no pub-credit criteria, there are conferences and workshops where experienced writers, editors, and agents offer short critiques. Besides the guidance, there's great networking to be done at these events. For us in Alaska, this often means traveling Outside. We've tossed around the idea of occasional 49 Writer workshops in Anchorage, maybe with a manuscript critique option, using local talent and with a small cost to make it worth the writer's time - say $30 for a two-hour session, with a minimum of 10 participants or something to that effect. I have no idea whether we'd find enough writers to run the workshops or enough writers to attend; I'm interested in what you think.

49 Writers Interview: Phyllis Movius

It was mostly a man's world - Alaska early in the twentieth century. But the women who came have fascinated readers since. A welcome new addition to books about Alaskan women is A Place of Belonging: Five Founding Women of Fairbanks, Alaska, by Phyllis Demuth Movius, fifteen years in the making. Movius talks here about how she transformed the project from a graduate thesis into a full-fledged book and what she discovered about pioneer women in contrast with Alaskans today.

So many fascinating women played significant roles in Alaska’s history. What spurred your interest in women of the northern frontier, and how did you decide to focus specifically on the founding women of Fairbanks?

My husband and I spend time at our recreational cabin on the Good[aster River near Delta Junction, in the Interior. When I manually pump water, haul firewood, and stoke the wood stove it gets me thinking about what life was like a hundred years ago when this was a standard day-to-day life style for many women in this country. In particular, I started questioning how women lived their lives in the north. Simultaneously, I began a graduate program in Northern Studies at the University of Alaska Fairbanks which allowed me to develop some of these thoughts. My thesis was about women in early Fairbanks and how they lived, and what role they played in the development of this community.

What factors helped you choose the five women featured in your book?

Anyone who does historical research knows that it takes a lot of raw material to produce a polished paper. So, to a degree, the amount of available archival material influenced specifically which women I chose to feature in the book. But, further than that, I wanted to present women who represented different levels of education, different backgrounds and socio economic levels, and various vocations. Thus, I chose a professional writer, a doctor turned lawyer, a homemaker and mother, an educator and social advocate, and a dreamer whose business plans were thwarted by an early death.

How long was the process of bringing this book from the initial concept into print? In what ways was the process different from that of your previous books?

This book began as my graduate thesis. After completion of my master’s degree the project stalled even though I had the idea in the back of my head that I would like to expand it somewhat and seek publication. Ultimately I got back into the research and submitted the manuscript to the University of Alaska Press which had published a previous book of mine. Due to some staff changes, the manuscript languished until Elisabeth Dabney came along with a flicker of excitement in her eyes at the idea of seeing this material in print. From beginning to end it was over fifteen years in the making! My previous publications were much more deliberate and required far less time to reach completion.

The book includes many fascinating archival photos, but the cover is particularly striking. Tell us about how it came to be, and how it reflects the content of the book.

The book cover was designed by Dixon Jones, a graphic designer at the Elmer E. Rasmuson Library at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. Dixon created the composition using a photograph of each of the five women whose biographical portraits appear in the book. The photos were black and white, but Dixon gave them color with a computer program which brought them to life. Dixon is obviously very talented, and I feel fortunate he was able to work on this project.

In the book’s conclusion, you note that your current life in a rural cabin is in some ways more taxing than that of pioneer women who embraced rather than shunned modern conveniences. To what extent do you think these early women would understand the notion of living purposefully “off-grid” and “away from it all”?

Fir of all, I must clarify that I live in a very modern house on the edge of Fairbanks. The rural cabin is strictly a recreational get-away.
I believe all of the women I present in this book would understand perfectly the necessary chores required to live comfortably such as stoking a wood stove and getting water from other than a faucet. However, for the same reason that I do not care to live full time at our rural cabin, the women of early Fairbanks did not enjoy the idea of living in isolation. From the beginning Fairbanks had a sophisticated infrastructure that included electricity, telephones, and maybe most important, a very active social structure. A look through copies of old Fairbanks newspapers indicates that the arts were prevalent in the form of theatre and concerts. Local government interested many who helped develop the mining camp into a permanent community, and there was no lack for parties of all kinds. And, almost any occasion such as the Fourth of July, or summer solstice warranted celebration. I am not sure that the women I present in this book could be considered to have lived purposefully “away from it all”... they were in the thick of things and were part of what made Fairbanks home to so many.

49 Writers weekly round-up

Fairbanks-area writers and writers who'll be in Fairbanks for the ASLA conference are invited to join us for another 49 Writers no-host gathering at the Red Lantern in the Westmark Hotel on Saturday, October 17 at 9 p.m. The event follows the ASLA poetry slam, starting at 7 p.m. in the Westmark's Northern Latitudes Restaurant.

A few of us writing in Anchorage are looking to start an occasional (maybe every other month?) writers' critique group. Criteria: you've funneled successfully at least once through selective publishing channels (i.e. journals, traditional publishing houses, periodicals) and are currently working on either non-fiction or fiction projects for adult or young adult readers. If interested, email me at debv@gci.net with a link to your published work. So far I've got four potential participants; another four would be great. And if others are interested in organizing groups for writers in different genres, progress points, and/or locations, we'll be happy to post similar invitations to participate.

Another Alaskan title made its way to President Obama's library when Alaska Senator Mark Begich presented the president with a copy of Timothy Kennedy's Where the Rivers Meet the Sky: A Collaborative Approach to Participatory Development , distributed by the University of Alaska Press. The book details Kennedy’s work as a VISTA volunteer in the arctic village of Noorvik in the mid-1960s. Ultimately, Kennedy spent eleven years in Alaska developing communication between remote Eskimo villages and the government using videography. The Sky River Project, as the program was known, proved to be very successful and has been adapted around the world in countries like India and South Africa. In a letter dated May 4, 2009, the president wrote: “I greatly appreciate … Professor Kennedy’s background and work. I noted Professor Kennedy’s assessment of the importance of human factors in effective social mobilization drawn from his field experience in Native Alaskan villages.”

Of special note to writers in rainy Southeast: Ann Chandonnet passes along notice of the "Rain Stories" short story contest on BookRix. Prizes include $1800 prize money for writers, along with Amazon vouchers (each worth $20) for voting readers.

The Alaska Sisters in Crime (AKSinC) will meet at Barnes and Noble Bookstore in Anchorage by the fireside on Wed., Oct. 21, from 7 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. for Alaska Sisters in Crime's October meeting. A guest author who's been enjoying excellent reviews of his newest thriller will speak. AKSinC is also in discussions with author Nevada Barr about an upcoming trip to Alaska. In addition, the group is recruiting presenters/workshop coordinators to help with a program at the March 4-7 Alaska Library Association 50th anniversary convention in Anchorage. Finally, the group's Whitehorse, Yukon, member Jessica Simon's new Yukon thriller From Ice to Ashes will be out on October 15. They hope to have her videoconferencing at the October 21.

If you're a fan of New York literary agent Donald Maass (I am), note that he'll be conducting his intensive Fire in Fiction workshop at the Sheraton Bellevue (WA) Hotel on November 6-7. Through lively discussions and structured writing exercises on their work-in-progress, writers will learn to identify and harness their passions and tap into emotions and personal experiences, all while best serving the story and its readers. Based on Mr. Maass’s new book from Writers Digest Press, The Fire in Fiction: Passion, Purpose and Techniques to Make Your Novel Great, this workshop is ideal for beginning, intermediate, and advanced writers who are looking to deepen their understanding of craft; learn to find inspiration, always; and build long-lasting careers in a changing industry. The stand-alone course is $399, includeing lunch both days, workshop materials, and more. In addition, Maass will co-teach two master classes with bestselling authors Nancy Pickard (Suspense) and Susan Wiggs (Romance). Go to www.free-expressions.com for more information.

Closer to home, on Thursday, October 8 from 5:00pm-7:00pm at the University of Alaska Anchorage Bookstore, Toby Sullivan, writer and commercial fisherman from Kodiak presents "To the War: An Embedded Journalist in Iraq." Embedded with U.S. Marine and Army units in Baghdad and Al Anbar Province, Iraq between December 2004 and April 2006, Sullivan is currently at work on a book about his experiences there. His stories and essays about the Iraq war and the lives of commercial fishermen have appeared in numerous publications and anthologies including the Anchorage Press.

Also at the UA Bookstore, Kaylene Johnson presents A Tender Distance: Adventures Raising My Sons in Alaska Wednesday October 14 from 5:00-7:00pm. Of Johnson's book, poet and creative nonfiction writer Molly Peacock writes, "With a journalist's quick eye and a spiritual observer's shining soul, the remarkable Kaylene Johnson measures the growth of her two boys as they come of age in Alaska's wilderness in her new book...Johnson's fierce balancing makes these amazing adventures a mother's coming of age, too."

On Monday, October 19 from 5:00pm-7:00pm, also at the bookstore, curator Sven Haakanson will discuss Giinaquq--Like a Face: Suqpiaq Masks of the Kodiak Archipelago, an extraordinary mask exhibit and the accompanying book, now available in paperback. On the following evening, Tuesday October 20 from 5:00pm-7:00pm, Alaska at 50 contributors Greg Kimura, Sven Hakaanson Jr, Ronald Spatz, Victor Fischer and Phyllis Fast will speak. Free parking is available at all UA Bookstore events.

Dana Stabenow is getting ready to launch her (amazing!) 17th Kate Shugak mystery, A Night Too Dark on February 16, 2010, at the Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Scottsdale, Arizona. Danamaniacs from across the country are expected to descend on Scottsdale for the launch party. For a chance to win an advance reading copy, sign up for Dana's newsletter The Roadhouse Report.

Wondering how to publicize your book? In addition to all you can learn from Dana, check out this press release by Alaskan author Arne Bue.

49 Writers Interview: Mattox Roesch

We caught up with Alaskan author Mattox Roesch just as he returned to Unalakleet after touring with his first novel, Sometimes We’re Always Real Same-Same. Here he talks about sincere irony, safe vacuums, the value of rejections, moving out of the "dark shadows of unconsciousness," and a publisher that feels like the real deal.

I love your title, capturing some of the wonderful ironies of what we used to call (and maybe this is no longer politically correct) “village English.” In what ways does it represent the essence of your book?

Thank you! I still love the title, which is a good thing, and not always the case with titles. Although, the funny thing about going with a slightly nonsensical title is that I’ve worked all these years to finally answer the what do you do for a living question, and now, when I say I’ve written a book and tell them the title, I sometimes get a blank stare. It’s a similar to the blank stare I would get when I used to say, “I’m writing a book.”

Anyway, I fell in love with the regional slang through my wife and her friends. Slang is one of those things that can conjure up community and keep people connected. I think there is a reason that ‘language’ is used as a euphemism for ‘understanding’ — language is way more than communication.

Specifically, the irony of pairing ‘sometimes’ with ‘always’ (and even ‘never’) is beautiful. I’m a big fan of embracing paradox, and lexical paradoxes are as dangerous and humorous as a person’s intellectual and spiritual paradoxes. The reason I feel the irony within the title represents the irony in the novel is because they are both meant to be sincere. I tried to stay away from cynical irony because the characters don’t jive with that aesthetic. A real world example of this might be when a kid comes up to me on the street and says, “Man, Matt, you always never play games anymore.” The use of ‘always never’ is sincere. The irony arises from the intended meaning (you really don’t do this) clashing with the literal meaning (frequently rarely?). I hoped, throughout the novel, to reflect this sincere irony. And I think this is especially important with first person narration. If the narrator’s intended meaning of what he says is exactly the same as the literal meaning of what he says, the character is flat and unreal, and the author is insulting the reader’s intelligence. Nobody is perfectly articulate and self-aware (especially my narrator), and irony is one place where this dichotomy is revealed.

Tell us about your Alaska experience. What brought you to Unalakleet? How long have you been there? What were your initial impressions and how have they changed?

In 2005 I married into a huge Unalakleet family. I had only been coming out to western Alaska for three years before then (and hadn’t spent any time anywhere else in Alaska). But since my wife had grown up in Unk — and because she loved it — I had a unique relationship to her village. Dating/engaged/married couples have to assimilate into each other’s lives, and her home is an enormous part of who she is, especially while we were living in Minneapolis. So that was how I started moving to Unalakleet, years before we actually moved.

And even back when I first visited, I didn’t exactly get treated like a tourist. Sure, I got the tour of town and the names of the hills and rivers, but I also was handed an ulu and an axe and a shovel and expected to join in on whatever work was being done.

My initial impression was that summer in Unalakleet lasted forever. And it does, while it’s summer, but during the other nine months it feels fleeting and distant. Summer feels like the weekend, and the rest of the year is what we have to put up with in order to be blessed with that weekend.

I was also drawn to the village’s tight-knit sense of community, raised as I was in a tight family. But my appreciation for community deepened after living here for a couple years. In Minneapolis I had a tendency to only socialize with like-minded people, and in a way, live in safe vacuum. But in a relatively isolated community of 750, one can’t afford to only interact with like-minded people, because there might only be one, or two, or no one who shares our ideas. And when we commune with folks who don’t see the world exactly the same way as we do, I think we become better people. If we had every type of human being as a close friend or neighbor that we depended on and shared life with, then bigotry would disappear.

Did you struggle at all with setting your story in a culture that’s not your own? Do you have a sense of how it will be locally received?

There has been so much wonderful support from the community. I can only speak for Unalakleet (and even then, there are certainly differing opinions within town), but my experience has been that as long I am here and helping to make our home a better place, then I am welcomed as a part of that place.

I was certainly worried that the content of novel would be upsetting to some folks. And I’m sure it is (or would be) to some. Go-boy has an arsenal of theologies that go against mainstream Christianity, and the narrator — an ex-gangbanger — is still living with one foot in his L.A. world. But no mobs brandishing torches have knocked on my door. I think I was being a little overly anxious (rookie novelist mistake, no doubt!). Readers are savvy, especially those who live in Unalakleet.

In terms of me — a white guy from the outside — telling a story set in a predominately Native Alaskan village, I really stressed about it, ethically. I kept following the characters and the story as I drafted — because I couldn’t stop writing it — but I wasn’t sure if the whole writer/story situation was okay. And I’m sure there are some people who don’t think it’s okay. But my wife encouraged me to stop worrying. She pointed out that it was a story about an outsider moving to Unalakleet. And, in many ways, it is simply a story that takes place in rural Alaska. Yet that excuse only went so far, because the novel is full of modern-day Unalakleet culture, which, like most cultures, is wholly linked to its past culture. The thing that eventually made me confident was something the author Sigrid Nunez told me: ‘just get it right.’ Get the story/village/culture right.

And the truth about Unalakleet is that it’s a community full different people with a huge range of experiences. The whole concept of ‘same-same’ aside, there is no singular Unalakleet awareness. Everyone is different. And that’s why it’s so frustrating when the general public only pays attention to statistical information — like the high rates of alcoholism and suicide in rural Alaska — because there are hundreds of people in each little village who aren’t drinking and who aren’t suicidal. My wife discovered a study that reported that Native Americans/Alaskans have the highest rate of alcohol abstinence of any race within the United States. That’s an exceptionally relevant fact. And even though the realities of alcohol and suicide are present in my novel, I believe there are a plethora of other experiences brought to life.

Now that the book is published, I feel my confidence in telling this story was well-founded. Just an hour ago, as I was walking down Main Road with my wife and daughter, a prominent member of the community stopped alongside us and told me how much he and his three kids appreciated the novel. All the good reviews aside, it’s his opinion — and the other local opinions — that personally matter to me, because we all go on living our daily lives together.

How did your book find its home with Unbridled Books? What do you like about their vision and philosophy?

I published the chapter “Go at Shaktoolik” as a story in The Missouri Review a couple years ago. One of Unbridled’s editors contacted me and asked if that was part of a larger work. It was, but it wasn’t yet complete, so almost two years later my agent sent him the final manuscript, and it was a good fit.

Unbridled is the real deal, plain and simple. They only publish fiction that they truly believe in, and I can attest to that. I’ve felt completely supported in my rookie journey through the publishing experience. All their publicists get their hands dirty and make things happen. I often get the indie publisher vs. major publisher compare/contrast question, and all I can say is that indie is the new major. I’ve heard versions of this same sentiment everywhere. Unbridled is stable, and because they take the time to nurture their titles/authors, they have a viability that seems rare in the modern publishing world.

Portions of the book grew from short stories. At what point did you realize that there was a novel looming, and how did you go about bringing it together?

I started with stories because, at the time, that was the only way I knew how to tell a story. As I wrote one story, another began knocking on the door, then nagging from another room, until it was right there with me, and I was putting it into words.

The initial process of writing stories became a way for me to introduce this voice and these characters to the literary community, submitting to journals and magazines (with roughly 70 rejections before “Humpies” found a home with AGNI). That conversation was invaluable. There are so many great editors/readers out there. Getting stories ready for that world taught me how to turn the internal self-editor on and off. It’s important to shut that nagging editor off while drafting. But it’s also important to turn it on and ask that left-brained version of myself what do you think of this? Usually that self laughed. But that was also the self who told the weepy, rejected artist buck up, make some changes, it’s not that important.
This process also taught me what I don’t want to do the next time around. But that’s a whole other question.

You’ve embarked on your first book tour. How have you found that experience?

Many people warned me against doing a book tour. I’ve heard that a lot of authors refuse to tour. But, man, it was wonderful. Of course, I spent a good part of my twenties touring with a DIY rock band — sleeping in a van and on moldy floors and playing shows for three people — so I’ve been thoroughly trained in expecting the worst from tours. But the thing about it that I loved — the thing that can’t be done in the virtual world — is meeting booksellers and booklovers in person. Because the question who are you writing for? was able to move out of the dark basement and into the bright airy world of independent bookstores full of well-groomed and well-read people. This was both my process and the manuscript’s process. The story started in the dark shadows of unconsciousness, and slowly, through edits and rewrites, through second and third and fourteenth readers, through finding a publisher and working with an editor and getting that first round of reviews, it finally and officially became alive in the world.

Most Solitary Art: Guest Post by John Morgan

Is poetry un-Alaskan? Featured author John Morgan ponders the value and risks associated with this most solitary art. (Above, Jim Orvik's painting, which will be on the cover of Morgan's forthcoming collection, "Spear-Fishing on the Chatanika: New and Selected Poems."

When Nancy Lord pointed out in an earlier blog that unlike almost every other state, Alaska has a state writer rather than a state poet, I confess I was miffed. I have nothing against prose. I occasionally write it myself. But still. Doesn’t this imply that our state values poetry less than the rest of the country?

After all, poetry is for sensitive people and we Alaskans are tough.
Sure there are your Robert Service-types who can blast out rhymes that make people laugh and (if they’re suitably tipsy) cry, but the thought-rich, introspective poetry of a Wallace Stevens, for instance, is definitely not for us.

Of course the devaluation of poetry isn’t just (or even mainly) an Alaskan problem. It’s ingrained in the culture. Most people only encounter poetry in school, under conditions that push its “message,” or (somewhat better) stress analysis and the defining of terms. Too little is said about how poetry, like the other arts, can reach into and stir our deeper selves.

But during my recent stay in Denali National Park, I had a couple of experiences that gave me hope. On the second day of my ten day residency, I took a bus ride over Polychrome Pass, heading out to the Eielson Visitor Center, and a guy sitting across the aisle from me struck up a conversation. He was from Fairbanks but reminded me of my East-Coast father-in-law - something about the sharp angles of his face, thinning gray hair and assertive way of talking. But when I mentioned that I’m a poet, he brightened up: “Oh, I love poetry!” And he named a poet he’s been reading lately, a Midwestern woman who writes religious verse. I was almost sorry I’d brought the subject up, but he went on to explain that what he likes about her poetry is the way she can express fresh ideas — things you’d never think of yourself — in clear and memorable language. Not a bad tribute.

Poetry is more than ideas, however. It’s the art of language. As painters use pigments or musicians tones, poets use words and the natural sounds of the language. But it’s not just language in isolation. It’s language that touches us at an emotional and spiritual level. In some sense, any language that moves us is poetry whether it’s written out in lines or not — so perhaps there is some justification for having a state writer after all.

Of course writing poetry has its risks. Maybe you begin with an idea about what you want to say—but watch out. The sounds of the words and your free floating imagination can wrench it out of your hands. And, in fact, for the poem to have real power, at some point they’ll have to take over. “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader,” said Robert Frost. To move the reader the poet must be moved — moved and in some sense altered.

Toward the end of in my stay in the park, I gave a reading at North Face Lodge out past Wonder Lake. A fellow in the audience, who’d brought his family up from Texas to experience our larger state, told me that when he was growing up, he’d attended an East Coast prep school and one day they’d had a poet come in to meet with classes and give a reading. This Texan said he’s always regretted that at the time he’d been so scornful of poetry that he’d skipped the reading. The poet he’d bugged out on was Robert Frost. The hopeful part is that over time he’s come to value Frost’s poetry and realizes what he missed.

If poetry seems peripheral in our culture, in part it’s because we’ve been distracted by all the trivia around us. But underneath, I sense that something is going on. I feel a rumble. Maybe in the not too distant future poetry will make a comeback. Poetry is the most solitary of the arts but already—as my two park encounters suggest—it plays a part in many people’s lives, a part that isn’t fully recognized by the mass media.

And I draw further hope from the fact that the earliest published works of our current president were a couple of poems. He wrote them as an undergraduate at Occidental College and they appeared in the school’s literary magazine. They’re not bad.

49 Writers Publisher Interview: Boreal Books

Continuing our series on small and regional presses with an interest in Northern titles, Peggy Schumaker discusses her Red Hen imprint, Boreal Books.

Tell us about your company. Who started it? Why? Which books were among the first you published? What niche do you hold in the marketplace?

Boreal Books is an imprint of Red Hen Press. That means that Boreal titles are featured in Red Hen's catalog and on its website, and we share in their distribution network. At the suggestion of Kate Gale, Managing Editor for Red Hen, I began this effort.

Our first title is Leaving Resurrection, a visionary collection of nonfiction by Eva Saulitis. Eva lives in Homer, studies killer whales in Prince William Sound, and writes exquisite essays and poems. She's the child of Latvian immigrants, a runner, a beekeeper, an oboe player. Her book explores several questions that science doesn't allow her to ask. Artist Karl Becker carved woodcuts in response to her essays.

The second Boreal book is Double Moon, a full-color collaboration between visual artist Margo Klass and prose writer Frank Soos. Margo builds exquisite box constructions filled with found objects. Frank responds to them in brief and meaty prose pieces. The book showcases two mature artists engaged in artwork's serious play. Wanda Chin's elegant book design allows three-dimensional objects to come alive on the page.

Boreal Books focuses on literature and fine art from Alaska.

How many books do you typically publish each year? In which genres? Over the years, what kinds of changes have you made to your list?

We're new. Boreal Books publishes one title per year. I'm interested in poetry, literary nonfiction, and literary fiction.

Red Hen has one other imprint--Arktoi Books. It publishes one book per year by a lesbian writer. Their first title was by an Alaskan poet--Elizabeth Bradfield's Interpretive Work.

Describe your ideal author. In other words, if one of us wanted to wow you with a proposed project, how would we do it?

The ideal author for Boreal Books would be someone who writes exceptionally well, who is motivated to be an active participant in all stages of production, and who enjoys promoting the book. The ideal author would be mature, imaginative, and patient. The ideal author would understand that in the world of small press publishing, financial rewards are rare.

The economy has hit publishing hard. Are you seeing any encouraging signs? What is the future for small and regional publishers?

The economy for commercial literary work is dismal, with a few players controlling what the chain stores buy. The economy for small press and university press publishing is extremely lively. This is where most literature finds a home in this country.

What do you most want to communicate to readers about your books and to writers about submissions?

I'd be interested in seeing one-page queries from people who have high-quality book-length manuscripts. Visit www.borealbooks.org for a glimpse of what I've chosen so far. Please visit my website at www.peggyshumaker.com. Then if this looks like a good fit, please send a brief email to peggyzoe@gmail.com.