Is Publicity the End of the World?: A Guest Post by Don Rearden

Before I actually signed the publishing contract, before I found an agent, and before I finished my first novel I had come up with clever ways in which I would help sell my book. Okay, I'm lying. I'd never thought about that stuff -- didn't even consider it, in fact. Beyond a little concern about how terrible my handwriting is and how I would ruin the books people wanted me to sign, I hadn't really allowed myself to dream of what I would do when my first novel finally came out.

Then, after signing a contract with that same goofy signature, I discovered I actually had a ton of work to do before the novel came out. If I wanted people to read my book I would need to work on publicity, of all things! Develop a platform, a website, start a blog, Twitter, and even start a Facepage (which is my mom's endearing name for Facebook).

In the depths of writing my novel I spent an enormous amount of time pondering the apocalypse. To be honest, the self-promotion and salesmanship I would need to partake in sounded worse than the end.

Which brings me to the end of this posting --- as I flounder and bungle my way towards the next few months of publicity prior to my book coming out, I am realizing that this isn't the end of the world. A writer can actually have a little fun with this nightmarish idea of actually working to share one's writing with the world. One might even be surprised about how excited people are to help and share their knowledge and time, even in today's over-saturated media crazy market!

My book doesn't come out until January 25th, 2011 --- last week I spent three days in the Amazon Canada top 100 list. Surely this is a sign of the apocalypse, or I just have friends and family who really love me, or just maybe this publicity stuff won't kill me after all.

A Letter from Agapito: A Guest Post by Tanyo Ravicz

Our 49 Writers online book club selction, Tanyo Ravicz's A Man of His Village, "remains the most original and gripping work of fiction set in Alaska that I have ever read," says Mike Dunham of the Anchorage Daily News. Ravicz will stop by our Sept. 20-21 online discussion to answer reader questions, and he also sent us this guest post to follow Jennifer Walker's interview posted earlier this month.

In May 1993 when my father was dying of cancer, a letter arrived from a remote region of Oaxaca in southern Mexico. Agapito, a Mixtec Indian, had been my father’s good friend during his decades of working with the Mixtecs, but it had been years since the two had communicated and it seemed uncanny that now at the end of his life my father should get a letter from him.

“What a strange, special thing.” He was struck with wistful amazement. “My God, a letter from Agapito. Their life expectancy’s nothing like ours. I’m surprised he’s still going.”

He wasn’t superstitious, my father, but the timing of the letter seemed prophetic and he divined that Agapito was ailing too. He didn’t open the letter but left it sitting on the dining room table invested with a kind of mana. For weeks the blue aerogram leaned unopened against the pepper mill. We urged him to open it, he insisted each day that he would, but he didn’t.

The letter revived, to a mystical degree, the bond he had once had with Agapito. He described Agapito as bright and curious, androgynous and “extrasensory,” a respected man in the village and a weaver with feminine qualities. It was on Agapito’s dirt floor that my father had been allowed to sleep in those youthful days when he did his field work among the Mixtecs. His years in Mexico had been among the most fruitful and exciting of his life and the letter drew out his memories.

The day came in July when my father finally opened the letter, knowing it couldn’t be put off. To get a letter from Agapito was a joy because it added to his sense of the completeness of his life’s journey. The letter was badly typewritten in corrupt Spanish, not literally written by Agapito, but by a hired letter writer. In the letter Agapito inquires about my father and hints at the desperation that has prompted him to write. “I send you a warm greeting,” he says, “and let you know that my son and my grandson are going to work there [in California] but I don’t know in what place they are going to work.” He asks my father to keep an eye out for his son and grandson and he also wonders if my father is interested in buying any weavings.

Agapito’s letter is a piece of living history showing a family being directly impacted by contemporary events. For Agapito’s family, poverty and the migrations have become personal, separating loved ones from one another and from their homeland. Imagine the old Indian gazing northward: somewhere out there in the vast legendary farmlands of distant California his son and grandson are scrambling to help the family make ends meet.

As a youth Florentino Cruz, the “man of his village” of my novel A MAN OF HIS VILLAGE, has much in common with Agapito’s grandson. Florentino leaves home and heads north in 1986 at the age of 15. For a supplemental view of Florentino’s childhood world, the world he leaves behind on the journey that eventually lands him in Alaska, look into the Mixtec foto album at www.mixtecindian.com.

At the end of his letter Agapito asks my father if he isn’t coming back to the village again. Chemotherapy or not, my father enjoyed the idea of a return, and we discussed the logistics of a trip which we knew he would never make. At the end, his rambling colored by the morphine, he made a lot of references to caves, snakes, and rain, all powerful Mixtec symbols. Opposite my father’s deathbed, wedged behind the electric sconces, hung one of his prized possessions, a green, red-mouthed snake carved of cactus wood which Agapito had given him many years before.

Ela: 49 Writers Weekly Round-up

Welcome to the last August round-up! Fall is definitely approaching.

If you weren't one of the 30 people at the 49 Writers Joe McGinniss reading at Metro Music and Books last night (see our photo, above), you missed out some great dialogue with a nonfiction master:

• On Alaska: "I always wanted to come back."
• On the nonfiction process: “I can’t write while I’m out here talking to people, because writing is an all-encompassing activity.”
• On publishing: “Publishing is in desperate, desperate shape. It’s a terrible time to be a writer…Right now, it’s pretty grim.”
• On the subject of his next book: “Sarah Palin is probably the most atypical Alaskan in the state." Actually, he answered several questions on Sarah Palin's Year of Living Dangerously - he spoke about the attitude of his neighbors on one side and the friendliness of most folks in Wasilla in contrast and about the fear some of his interview subjects expressed. For details, you'll have to wait for the book.
• On the book David Vann reads from next week: : “That’s the best Alaskan book I’ve ever read, and one of the best novels I’ve ever read, period.”

Vann reads from his Legend of a Suicide on Thursday September 2nd, same place (Metro Books), same time (6:30 pm). Book signings will follow. It's not too early to start thinking of the holidays. Autographed books make great gifts!

49 Writers classes start soon: don't forget to check out the 49 Alaska Writing Center for detailed course offerings and to register. If you register by Aug. 31, you'll be entered in a drawing for our new raven tote bag. The odds are good for this giveaway; don't lose out.

And don't forget to pick up a copy of our next 49 Writers book club selection A Man of His Village by Tanyo Ravicz. We understand Metro Books has some on order, and of course you can also find it online.

Also coming soon: the deadline for nominations for the Governor's Award in the Arts and Humanities is September 1st 2010. In order to be considered, nominations (the form is available online) must be received by 5 pm on Wednesday September 1st. Awards will be presented at the Governor's Awards for the Arts and Humanities at the Princess Riverside Lodge in Fairbanks on October 21st, 2010. For reservation information, go to http://www.eed/state.gov.us/aksca. For more information, contact The Alaska State Council on the Arts at (907) 269-6610 or (1 800) 278-7424 or email christa.ray1@alaska.gov

Congratulations to 49 Writers member Stephanie Jaeger, whose first article, "My Free $10,000 Dog," appears in a recent issue of Alaska Dog News. She also has an article forthcoming in Senior Voice.

Fairbanks author Debbie Miller has published a new book for young readers about the winter adaptations of Arctic animals, titled Survival At 40 Below. This year, she traveled to Australia to research the companion book, Survival at 120 Above.

Andromeda: Writing as healing

Why do we write? Many answers to that question, but today's focus: healing.

I credit my writing group (hi Doug!) for sending this to my attention, and many newspaper readers will recognize it as well. This week, David Brooks wrote an NYT op-ed about Fanny Burney's ghastly account of her 1811 mastectomy without anesthesia. What interested Brooks most was how Fanny forced herself to confront and write about the experience, as painful as that was.

In Fanny's words: "Not for days, not for weeks, but for months I could not speak of this terrible business without nearly again going through it!" She finally spent three months recording a short account of the operation. Brooks calls that exercise "a sort of mental boot camp -- an arduous but necessary ordeal if she hoped to be a person of character and courage."

Yesterday, while doing research on a different topic -- memory -- I read about another (less famous) person who uses writing as a comfort. Jill Price is a California woman who seems to have a perfect or nearly perfect episodic memory, as confirmed by the scientists who have studied her for several years. Name a date from years ago, and she can tell you what the weather was, what she did that day, perhaps what she was wearing or something that upset her. The details -- including negative feelings -- never fade. Her life has become "an endless, chaotic film." (Sounds like a Jim Carrey film, doesn't it? Except without the humor.)

Price happens to be a dedicated journal-keeper -- which surprised me. You would think people keep journals to record all those details we know will fade, but for Price, nothing fades. So why does she journal? Perhaps to select and shape the details into meaning? But from the account I read in Spiegel Online, it doesn't sound like Price does any memoiristic shaping. Her journals of about 50,000 pages are filled with tiny writing, which she has kept since the age of 10, documenting everything. Somehow, even without selection or editing, "Writing things down helps Price organize the thoughts and images shimmering in her head."

I can hear the groans of the anti-journal crowd, and of writers who are sensibly wary of fellow writers who pen autobiographical works for self-indulgent, therapeutic purposes. And yet: I can't groan when I have these two actual "case studies" in mind: a woman feeling the rip and tear of her breast being removed without anesthesia; a woman whose brain has become an endless, exhausting, sometimes rage-filled film reel.

They're extreme cases of what the rest of us face throughout life: real pain, and also simple confusion. If writing helps us cope, then we should write. Does that kind of anguish-fed writing -- artfully shaped, of course -- produce great literature? A different question. You tell me.

Is Publicity the End of the World?: A Guest Post by Don Rearden

Before I actually signed the publishing contract, before I found an agent, and before I finished my first novel I had come up with clever ways in which I would help sell my book. Okay, I'm lying. I'd never thought about that stuff -- didn't even consider it, in fact. Beyond a little concern about how terrible my handwriting is and how I would ruin the books people wanted me to sign, I hadn't really allowed myself to dream of what I would do when my first novel finally came out.

Then, after signing a contract with that same goofy signature, I discovered I actually had a ton of work to do before the novel came out. If I wanted people to read my book I would need to work on publicity, of all things! Develop a platform, a website, start a blog, Twitter, and even start a Facepage (which is my mom's endearing name for Facebook).

In the depths of writing my novel I spent an enormous amount of time pondering the apocalypse. To be honest, the self-promotion and salesmanship I would need to partake in sounded worse than the end.

Which brings me to the end of this posting --- as I flounder and bungle my way towards the next few months of publicity prior to my book coming out, I am realizing that this isn't the end of the world. A writer can actually have a little fun with this nightmarish idea of actually working to share one's writing with the world. One might even be surprised about how excited people are to help and share their knowledge and time, even in today's over-saturated media crazy market!

My book doesn't come out until January 25th, 2011 --- last week I spent three days in the Amazon Canada top 100 list. Surely this is a sign of the apocalypse, or I just have friends and family who really love me, or just maybe this publicity stuff won't kill me after all.

Happy Second Blog Birthday

I started blogging in August of 2008, meaning that this blog -- or at least my involvement in this blog -- goes back two years. Deb wrote over 40 posts at her own startup blog beginning in 2007 and we merged on January 1, 2009, so there are multiple ways to count birthdays, but I must be in a cake mood today because I'm choosing to interpret August 2008 as a significant date.

I still remember waking in a sweat (literally) early on an August morning soon after I'd started my online experiment, thinking I'd made a big mistake. How would I fill the space? How would I find the time? Who would read it? Why was I doing this and would it interfere with my own writing?

I never would have guessed that this blog would last two years, with no sign of fading. Or that I'd meet so many people -- real people, not just thumbnails! -- because of it. I never would have guessed we'd have blog volunteers (thank you Ela and Lorena) and blog ads (thanks to our sponsors) and contests (thanks for running the Ode to a Dead Salmon contest, Deb!) and frequent commenters who often follow with private emails, usually just at that moment when I wonder whether blogs matter and whether any of these electronic methods are connecting Alaska writers in a meaningful way. (Yes, I believe they are.) Most of all, I hadn't pictured that the blog would one day give birth to writing workshops which in turn would give birth to an actual, physical writing center, itself made possible only because of our volunteers and donors, too numerous to list here, but deserving of thanks, and thanks, and more thanks again.

Because I couldn't picture any of this from day one, I am aware of my own limits as a visionary. But even with less-than-perfect vision, I remain a believer. If so much could happen between 2008 and 2010, surely a lot can happen in the next two years, or three, or five. That thought is worth a virtual serving of candles and cake. Cheers and best wishes to all of our readers and guest-bloggers and supporters.

Deb: And the winner is...Ode to a Dead Salmon 2010

But soft! What splash from yonder stream I hear? With a decidedly Shakespearean bent, our readers have chosen from three worthy finalists the tale of a fish-spurned lover in Jerry Juday's "Russian River Campground, 5:15 a.m." as their favorite bad writing in our annual 49 Writers Ode to a Dead Salmon contest. For his efforts, Juday will get his choice of autographed t-shirts from Alaskan artist (and author) Ray Troll.

Anchorage business and real estate lawyer Jerry Juday says he figures the legal profession’s long tradition of bad writing gave him an edge in our contest. An undergraduate major in English, Juday says, "The stain of those dotty old lit professors put on one’s being just does not wash off easily. I’m afraid it shows in my “Ode to a Dead Salmon” entry, as literate readers will recognize that I brazenly plagiarized both Shakespeare and Keats. I actually thought about doing the whole thing in perfect iambic pentameter, but I’m just not that talented."

While pondering the unwritten novel in the back of his head, Juday contributes to the blog his law firm maintains, www.alaskalawblog.com. For fun, he occasionally posts journals of bicycle tours he's taken on www.crazyguyonabike.com. Many of our readers will recognize him through his wife, Sara, in her years as Associate Publisher of Alaska Northwest Books.

As for our other esteemed finalists, Alexia Gordon ("Beauty") is a physician who has just (3 months ago) moved from Virginia to Alaska. She has been writing and doing other creative things like needlework, collage, and photography for years (minus several years of medical school/residency) but she says the Ode to a Dead Salmon contest is the first writing contest, bad or otherwise, she has entered. "Until I moved up here," Gordon says, "the only salmon I'd ever seen was on china or styrofoam, so I'm excited that my first salmon-themed literary efforts made it to the finalist round of the competition."

Likewise, J.J. Weicker ("On Finding My Dog Has Rolled at the River's Edge") says, "I'm honored to be one of the finalists in this year's contest--the competition was horrifically excellent." Weicker lives in Homer, but he says his rookie mistake of walking an unleashed dog by a spawned-out salmon stream happened long ago on Prince of Wales Island. "It was my first summer in Alaska," Weicker says, "and I remember the resulting stench well."

Weicker adds that he'd hoped writing his poem would cleanse him of bad literary impulses, freeing him to write The Great Alaskan Novel, but he fears he may have more clichés of the North to exorcise. "Perhaps I should compose an Ode to the Shed Moose Antler, Now Crusted with Lichen?" he says. "To the Half-cleaned Razor Clam, Still Wiggling in my Sink?"

Before we find ourselves too far adrift in the sea of bad Alaskan cliches, here again is our 2010 Ode to a Dead Salmon winning entry:

RUSSIAN RIVER CAMPGROUND, 5:15 A.M.
by Jerry Juday

John: But soft! What splash from yonder stream I hear?
Mary: I know not, my handsome young bushwacker.
John (peering out of tent door): Hark! In the fresh-washed light of morn I do spy the
flashing glint of moistened flanks. (Now pointing.) Yes, there! And there! And there again!
Mary (exasperated): O, foolish man, burdened with wrongheaded desires. Let the wiser head take control.
John (enthusiastically): Lo, how my bosom swells in anticipation of stealthily stalking the brushy banks, breathing deep the fecund air, then slipping softly on rubbered soles into the intoxicating channel.
Mary: Hush now, husband! Lie back down. My bosom swells for thee. Let us brew our own intoxication here on this airy love shingle -- my Thermarest. My loins warm it for thee.
John: Tis sockeye . . . sockeye! The great red swarm has returned to the natal waters to spawn. Yes, to spawn and to die. Generation after generation, they come to nuzzle the maternal gravel. Overcoming every obstacle, unrelenting, the throng pushes and thrusts its way home, and so forth and so on, etcetera.
Mary: Yi! The nuzzling sounds good just now.
(A noise is heard, stage left.)
John: What ho? Do I discern the heavy tread of the barbed biped? The anglers are bestirring; the game is afoot. I must make haste. (He exits the tent.)
Mary: No! Pray sir, I beseech you: do not wet your fly just yet. Leave the salmon in peace to do their spawning. That precious moment of piscine passion is so short, a mere gossamer speck in the ever flowing river of life. Tarry thou by my side just a few minutes more. Think on it, my love, do not the wriggling and the spilling of milt and egg put a notion in your head?
John: Fie, woman! Heed the words of the poet writ here upon my garb: “Ain't no nookie like Chinookie.” The salmon have arrived; the course of my destiny is laid. I am off now, with rod in hand. (He departs.)
Mary (sighing): Alas, the mute salmon speak to him more eloquently than I. Still, the fish remember what he forgets. True beauty is a mate, and a mate is true beauty -- that is all we doomed creatures really know on earth and all we need to know.

Deb: Going to Extremes, 30 years later

Joe McGinniss and I each came to Alaska in the late 1970s. Like many, I came on a bit of a lark, for a teaching adventure. Like many, I stayed. Alaska became my Alaska. In many ways, we grew up together.

McGinniss, who’d come to research a book, had even less intention of staying than I did. As he notes in the introduction to a new Epicenter edition of Going to Extremes, thirty years passed before McGinniss returned to Alaska, this time to research a magazine article on Alaska’s natural gas pipeline, the one Vice-Presidential candidate Sarah Palin had conjured as if from thin air.

What I remember most from when it first came out in 1980 is not so much the McGinness’s book but the Alaskan buzz about it. The gall of this young author from Outside. Never mind that at that time he was the youngest living author to have made the New York Times bestseller list. How dare he barge in uninvited. How dare he breeze through and act like he knew us. How dare he parade our dirty laundry in front of the world. The fact that the New York Times said McGinniss had succeeded in finding out what Alaska really was, and that the Christian Science Monitor called the book “first-person reporting at its finest” only intensified the outrage.

Thirty years after, Alaska’s Outsider-Insider debate rages on. Its roots reach deep into colonialism and the quick, fiery sense of independence that characterizes a lot of us who’ve appropriated Insider status. But I like to think, growing up, we’ve acquired distance and grace enough to acknowledge the wisdom of the psychological model of the Johari window. In one of its panes are those things others see but you don’t. Ignore that truth and you’re unlikely to ever fully self-actualize.

Thirty years after the initial release of Going to Extremes, I’ve come to know almost every town Joe McGinniss breezed through. I’ve even become friends with a few of the people he met. Even as an entrenched Insider, I found much to appreciate in the book when I re-read it last week. As an author, I’ve had enough experience with reviewers to know that it’s not the fault of McGinniss that the New York Times claimed he’d discovered the real Alaska when in fact it’s clear from his method that he set out to record first impressions, calculated for effect and in many instances, for shock value.

Non-fiction requires an angle, a theme. The one McGinness chased is clear from his title: extremes. He traipsed after outlandish characters and experiences. If you were in Alaska in the late 1970s, you have to admit neither was too tough to find. And McGinness pulled out all the stops to get the desired effect. For a three-day, fly-out wilderness experience at a Crescent Lake in Kenai, he purposely brought nothing to read. To get a sense of Yup’ik life in a remote village, he intruded in grand Ugly American-style, without a shred of cultural sensitivity.

True, McGinness’s fine first-person reporting doesn’t always embrace total accuracy. One example of many: tossing honey-bucket contents out the front door, which McGinniss reports in a couple of instances, wouldn’t happen in any of the twenty-plus Yup’ik villages I’ve been to. But it’s powerful first-person journalism that immerses the reader in true and searing impressions. At many points in the book, the effect is not just captivating but jaw-dropping.

And the book feels masterfully designed. In the first half, you feel yourself carried as if from one train-wreck to the next, horrified both at the content and yourself, the voyeur, eager for the next horrific experience he’ll share. Once he’s got you thoroughly hooked, McGinniss shifts his approach. Having baited his readers, he introduces them to thoughtful, balanced Alaskans. He even lets them tell their own stories, with depth. He takes readers on a life-altering journey through the Brooks Range.

McGinniss never pretends to be anything other than an Outsider, an interloper on the landscape. By the end of the book, he comes full circle to prove the truth of the Robert Marshall quote with which he opens the book: “Actually, only a small minority of the human race will ever consider primeval nature a basic source of happiness…Mankind as a whole is too numerous for its problem of happiness to be solved by the simple expedient of paradise.”

Thirty years ago, Going to Extremes was the fresh, shocking, “now” book that got Alaskans buzzing like a swarm of tundra mosquitoes. Today, it’s a slice of history, an Outsider’s well-wrought perspective that we’d have been hard pressed to have seen for ourselves. I’m glad Epicenter decided to re-release it, and glad McGinniss is applying his keen eye and talents to a new project: Sarah Palin’s Year of Living Dangerously, scheduled for release in 2011.

And I’m especially glad Joe McGinniss is helping to launch our 49 Writers fall literary season with a reading and book signing at Metro Books this Thursday, Aug. 26, at 6:30 p.m. Outsider, Insider – the distinctions don’t matter when we’ve got a chance to learn from a master of the non-fiction craft.

Ela: 49 Writers Weekly Round-up

One wrote a classic and controversial book on Alaska and has another, featuring former Governor Sarah Palin, in the works. The other’s Alaskan title is drawing huge interest and acclaim overseas. Sponsored by the 49 Alaska Writing Center, both authors are slated for readings at Metro Music and Books in Anchorage in the next two weeks.

Joe McGinniss, author of Going to Extremes, will read on Thursday, August 26; David Vann, author of Legend of a Suicide, will read on Thursday, September 2. Free and open to the public, both readings will start at 6:30 pm, with book signings to follow.

So much going on at 49 Writers! Remember also to vote for your favorite bad writing in our Ode to a Dead Salmon bad writing contest - voting ends Monday (see sidebar, to the right). And it's time to order your copy of Tanyo Ravicz's A Man of His Village, our next 49 Writers Online Book Club selection, scheduled for Sept. 20 and 21. And of course registration for our fall term is in full swing.

The Alaska Writers Guild September Conference is coming up soon now! Check their website for full details and to register. They are also sponsoring a free webinar next Tuesday, August 24th at 6pm, titled 'How to Sell Books to the Military, Government and Non-Profits'. Go to this link to sign up.

Also on August 24th from 6-7.30pm, Elizabeth Thompson will be hosting another 'Mountain Muses Poetry Open Mic,' at Terra Bella, 601 E. Dimond. You are invited to come and share either your own poetry or any other that stirs your soul, or the simple gift of your listening.

Join Anchorage nature writer and author Bill Sherwonit for a 12-week nature writing class, beginning September 23rd (Thursdays, 7-9pm) in the Sierra Club office downtown. In this workshop-style class, participants will explore and refine their own writing styles, with an emphasis on the personal essay form. Some of America's finest nature writers, past and present, will also be discussed. Cost is $200. More instructor information can be found here.

Sandy Kleven has been on the road setting up readings for Cirque - after the reading at MTS Gallery in July, it seemed right to bring Cirque live to other West Coast cities - contributors to this issue can be found in Canada, Seattle, Portland and beyond. She already has a tentative date of November 15th for Bellingham, Washington, where she has met with writers Tanya Perkins (fiction) and Lee Gulyas and Rachel Mehl (poetry). Readings will include a screening of Kleven's short film about Theodore Roethke, 'To the Moon!' to which her 'The Canny Invention,' published in Cirque's last issue, is a companion piece.

49 Writers reader and contributor Ann Chandonnet is publishing her second book this year - The Pioneer Village Cookbook, which recently received a 5-star review from Midwest Book Review. It is illustrated with period woodcuts and modern black-and-white photos, including several by her husband, Fernand Chandonnet.

Ann encourages us to let people know about the Romance Slam Jam contest - $30 entry fee; Genre: Black Romance/Women's Fiction. 1st Place: Manuscript reviewed by Editor Latoya Smith from Grand Central Publishing for possible publication. 2nd Place: Manuscript reviewed by Editor Selena James from Kensington Books for possible publication. 3rd Place: Manuscript reviewed by Editor Monique Patterson from St Martin's Press for possible publication. Deadline: February 28th 2011. Anyone who has not yet published a full-length novel with a traditional publisher is eligible to enter, so, if your publishing credits are short stories, novellas, poetry, non-fiction and/or self-published, that means you!

Ann also draws our attention to a new quarterly, Explosion-Proof Magazine, by Alex Ludlum, Marian Leitner, Nick Greene and Colin Doherty. This magazine is aimed at calling attention to the absurdity of the times and world in which we live. Fiction and non-fiction, cartoons, photography, monologues, poesy, translations, drawings, rants all accepted - pretty much anything that fits. There's no pay but it's a print magazine.

Check out Ann Dixon's new blog - http://kidlitnorth.blogspot.com/ - a blog about reading and writing children's books in/from/about the North.

Fun stuff:
This site is too much fun not to mention: http://betterbooktitles.com/there must be some Alaskans with covers to submit!

And Merit badges for writers - http://badger.dinorodeo.com/tag/writing/ - are we the last people to have heard of these?

Me and my novel, on a writing vacation: guest post by Cinthia Ritchie

Saturday

I run up Flattop with my dog, late in the evening when the sun is setting and the air is filled with that mystery that comes right before dusk. Running up the steep little incline to Blueberry Hill, around the bend and over to the trail leading up to the saddle. The wind so strong I can barely stay on the trail.

At the top the wind is so fierce and loud that I struggle to remain upright. Running back down in the near-darkness, I feel strong and rugged and completely invincible.

Two hours later I’m squatting in the dry bathtub sobbing over my novel. I can’t get the tone right, or the dialogue or the pacing, for that matter. Nothing works. The book is a mess. I am a complete and total failure.

Sunday

Early afternoon, I tie on my running shoes and hit the trails, running through woods path and over tree roots and through mud and finally, up the long and torturous hill, my body leaning forward, my breath gasping, my legs screaming. When I get back to the trailhead 10 miles later, I am sweaty and muddy. I can’t stop smiling.

“My life is perfect,” I sing out to the dog on the way home.

Two hours later, Chapter Three has me reduced to sputtering sissy girl. I eat chocolate and weep into a dirty dishtowel. I weep and write, weep and write until I settle into a rhythm: Type, type, type, wipe my nose. Type, type, type, wipe my nose. This continues until I collapse in exhausted heap in the middle of the living room floor right before daylight.

Monday

Today’s run doesn’t go well. I cover part of the upcoming half-marathon route. I hate running pavement, and my MP3 player shorts out from the rain and plays the same song, over and over. I slog through seven miles and call it a day.

Later, I breeze through the rest of Chapter Three’s edits and rewrite three scenes. My fingers fly, my mind soars. By 3 a.m., I’m dancing around the living room with the cat clawing my chest. I am gloriously and completely happy.

“I’m going to make it,” I sing as the cat scratches my face. “I’m truly and seriously going to make it.”

I fall asleep with my head plopped on my keyboard. During my sleep I somehow write: hhhhkkkoooooooooooounkhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I peer at this in the semi-light wondering what it means, this spontaneous message from my dream self.

Tuesday

Running rest day! I write all day, from morning through most of the night.

Yes, ALL DAY.

I weep. I dance. I curse. I write. I read in the bathtub. I take a short nap. I cry again. Laugh. Oh, I am so clever!

It is an almost perfect day.

Wednesday

I write all day and meet up with my running group late afternoon for seven slow miles. I’m stuck in my novel again and wear a shirt I particularly hate, an orange color that gives my skin the pallor of a prisoner. The pace is light and I let my head float and follow the legs of these women while the dogs charge the creek and the trees flash past and we stop to eat raspberries.

Home again, I sit down in my sweaty clothes and write for hours. By midnight, I’m almost finished with Chapter Four. I’m on a roll, I can’t stop. I fall asleep a few hours later in the bathtub, wake to tepid water and panic: What if I had drowned before my novel was published?”
I dry off, sink down between dirty sheets. Tomorrow I’ll do laundry. The dishes, the vacuuming, pay the bills. I’ll run five miles, maybe buy new shorts for the half-marathon. I close my eyes, imagining myself racing, almost two hours of pain but oh, so many words flying through my head to fill up the time.

Cinthia Ritchie, our August featured guest-blogger, is madly struggling to finish the rewrites on her first novel, "The Dirty Diaries," due out from Grand Central Books early next year. The worse she writes, the more she runs. She is presently training for a marathon.

Andromeda: First day of school and lessons from children

I just dropped off my two children, ages 15 and 12, for their very first day at school. This is something most parents start doing when their children reach the age of scissors and paste. Up until now, we homeschooled, so even though my son shaves and my daughter wears eyeliner, it's just like we're reenacting that kindergarden ritual. They were giddy this morning; my husband and I were happy for them, but also a little sad -- in that normal parents' way -- to turn the corner on a decade of family adventure, cooperative learning experiences with other homeschoolers, world travel, and a hundred strange little projects, like the year we all watched and reviewed as many famous American movies as we could, from the 1920s to the 1980s; or the Ancient Greek plays and mini-Olympics we staged with family friends; or the Novembers when my kids had the freedom to spend part of each morning working on their own novels for National Novel Writing Month.

But that's not really what I planned to write about this morning. I planned to write about what my children taught me when they were babies, and what I hope to remember now that they're out of the house most days: how to use my time better.

My son did his colicky best to train me. His naps were short, and he required lots of attention when he was awake, so for those 45 minute blocks of time when he slept, I learned to focus fast. If I was out driving and he fell asleep, I frequently turned around. Back home -- computer on -- get that essay started. If we were in a parking lot somewhere and he was nodding off, I'd stay put and write on the back of an envelope.

I wrote articles and nonfiction books -- guidebooks mostly -- with my kids awake and bouncing around me, on my lap, or "helping out" at the printer, or in a corner with a highlighter, or working on a project of their own next to me. Somehow, I worked through the noise and the interruptions.

With age, they stopped interrupting so much. (I should add also that I never did all the homeschooling -- my husband and I shared that responsibility, so once our youngest left babyhood, one parent could run the show with ease.) For the last few years, I distracted myself far, far more than anyone in my family ever distracted me. Home life started getting easy, and I started getting weak. I used to be able to plunge myself into that self-hypnotic spell required for fiction-making in mere minutes. Now, it can take an hour or more. Plus, I question everything now. Why spend time writing this new chapter opening for a novel I'm not yet committed to? Why turn that personal moment into an essay that I don't plan to publish? (Why not blog instead, as I'm doing now?) Tomorrow will be a less hectic day. Next month, even better. With that kind of thinking, a little freedom can lead to paralysis.

But today is a new day, and in some ways for our family, the start of a new life. It shouldn't take having a colicky baby around to re-master discipline. I do know how novels are written: an hour at a time. And I know why we write them: not because we know they'll be published, but because we have a story to tell.

Deb: Ode to a Dead Salmon finalists

Wow. What a catch of good bad writing (or is it bad good writing?) we've made. Our 2nd annual 49 Writers Ode to a Dead Salmon contest attracted a virtual freezer-full of fishy entries. Our esteemed panel of judges have laughed and groaned over haikued salmon, limericked salmon, politicized salmon, hard-boiled detective salmon, country-balladed salmon, and several more. It was no easy task, but they've come up with three finalists, and now we’re ready for our readers to weigh in on which one represents the best bad writing of 2010.

Here they are, for your reading pleasure, listed in the order received. Vote in the poll in the right sidebar (one vote per reader, please). Voting closes next Monday, August 23, at 7 p.m., and the winner gets an autographed Ray Troll t-shirt of his/her choice. Enjoy!

BEAUTY
by Alexia Gordon

There once was a salmon named Nod
Who had an incredible bod
Lean, swift, and scarlet
With butter and garlic
He tasted much better than cod

*******************************************************************************

ON FINDING MY DOG HAS ROLLED AT THE RIVER'S EDGE: A SALMONID SONNET
by J.J. Weicker

O Quasimodo of the silver waves,
In life’s renewal we are but brother slaves
From eternity’s pursuit to sandy shoal,
A slide from humpy love to husky’s roll.
O fishy Fate, undone desire writ large,
Your leaping skyward comes to nought but snarge;
Just like my PFD, too soon you’re spent
And form a fetid canine liniment.
In the pink of health and lust, who was the pinker?
We did not see our fall from stud to stinker
And perceived our path divine not biological,
Poor Icarus, now ick ichthyological!
Smeared on dog, your putrid truth will linger:
Time will come God bids me pull His finger.

*******************************************************************************

RUSSIAN RIVER CAMPGROUND, 5:15 A.M.
by Jerry Juday

John: But soft! What splash from yonder stream I hear?
Mary: I know not, my handsome young bushwacker.
John (peering out of tent door): Hark! In the fresh-washed light of morn I do spy the
flashing glint of moistened flanks. (Now pointing.) Yes, there! And there! And there again!
Mary (exasperated): O, foolish man, burdened with wrongheaded desires. Let the wiser head take control.
John (enthusiastically): Lo, how my bosom swells in anticipation of stealthily stalking the brushy banks, breathing deep the fecund air, then slipping softly on rubbered soles into the intoxicating channel.
Mary: Hush now, husband! Lie back down. My bosom swells for thee. Let us brew our own intoxication here on this airy love shingle -- my Thermarest. My loins warm it for thee.
John: Tis sockeye . . . sockeye! The great red swarm has returned to the natal waters to spawn. Yes, to spawn and to die. Generation after generation, they come to nuzzle the maternal gravel. Overcoming every obstacle, unrelenting, the throng pushes and thrusts its way home, and so forth and so on, etcetera.
Mary: Yi! The nuzzling sounds good just now.
(A noise is heard, stage left.)
John: What ho? Do I discern the heavy tread of the barbed biped? The anglers are bestirring; the game is afoot. I must make haste. (He exits the tent.)
Mary: No! Pray sir, I beseech you: do not wet your fly just yet. Leave the salmon in peace to do their spawning. That precious moment of piscine passion is so short, a mere gossamer speck in the ever flowing river of life. Tarry thou by my side just a few minutes more. Think on it, my love, do not the wriggling and the spilling of milt and egg put a notion in your head?
John: Fie, woman! Heed the words of the poet writ here upon my garb: “Ain't no nookie like Chinookie.” The salmon have arrived; the course of my destiny is laid. I am off now, with rod in hand. (He departs.)
Mary (sighing): Alas, the mute salmon speak to him more eloquently than I. Still, the fish remember what he forgets. True beauty is a mate, and a mate is true beauty -- that is all we doomed creatures really know on earth and all we need to know.

*******************************************************************************

Deb: Blame the Mountain

Astute early-birds might notice that I’m late with my usual 7 a.m. blogpost. I’m blaming that on the mountain, the Great One, which had the audacity to wake me yesterday looking as you see it above. With that view outside your tent, how’s a person supposed to get the sleep needed to be an active, productive, and marketable writer these days?

Blaming serves writers well. Soon after I started hanging around with people who wrote, I noticed they were good at spreading the blame when their books didn’t sell. The cover was bad. The marketing budget was low. The editor wasn’t behind it – or worse, had moved on to another company, leaving the book orphaned. The reviewers were cranky. The booksellers didn’t appreciate it. The public didn’t get it. After my first book hit the market, I got good at the blame game myself.

That was 13 years ago, and while the blaming goes on, technology has upended the targets. If your book isn’t getting the attention it deserves, fingers will likely point back at you, its humble author. Are you blogging? Tweeting? Facebooking? Using SEO (for the uninitiated:search engine optimization) to drive traffic to your flashy website? If the answer to any of these is no, the blame falls on you. Your crime: failure to adequately brand yourself in a highly competitive market.

I first learned about branding in the nine years I spent selling real estate (I doubt this makes for an adequate brand, but let’s say this writer’s income was nowhere close to sufficient for helping children through college). You’re not selling houses; you’re selling yourself. That’s the mantra for Realtors. It was easy enough to brand myself in that market. I picked three ways I figured I stood out from the crowd – honesty, integrity, service – and made that my slogan. I got lots of business. In one year, I made more money than a lot of us will in a lifetime of writing.

Exiting real estate for writing, I figured I’d seen the last of branding myself. I’d create. Discover. Seek truth. Sure, I’d have to help market my books. But I wouldn’t have to be branded.

Except that these days, it seems, everyone has to be branded. “The New Information Economy is upping the ante by supplanting the besieged private self with the market’s very soul,” writes Chris Lehmann (branded also as my brother) in “Rich People Things: I’m with the Brand.” There are plenty of reasons why publishing demands authors brand, and consumerism can’t be denied: what we all want is to sell books, right? Not to mention that the new information economy does have its merits: case in point, Chris’s next book, Rich People Things, is a spin-off of the column he’s done for The Awl, a website.  And look at me, driving traffic to his brand with my little blog post, with its nice hypertext links (Chris:  we're adding this to the tab that began with the little matter of my missing allowance).

Keeping up with the branding can be a tough thing. Get up early to see a mountain, and you’re late posting your blog. That’s without getting into how little time and creative energy you have left for real writing when you’re done promoting the real writer you’re supposed to be.

I’m consoling myself with the fact that even the mountain has problems with branding. We want to call it Denali. Politics has kept it McKinley. Except when you look like that first thing in the morning, who the heck cares?

For those who might not look great in the morning but who want to market their books without supplanting themselves or their souls, we offer Dana Stabenow's 3-hour clinic Promoting Your Book in Your Pajamas, November 17, 6-9 p.m.  Register online at http://www.49writingcenter.org/.

Ela: 49 Writers Weekly Round-up

The Fall Literary Season is launching -- grab a seat and get on board. (Yes, the type above is small, but just had to show off this fantastic flyer which you'll be seeing around town, designed for us by fantastic volunteer Mariah Oxford, just one of many 49ers we couldn't live without.)
First up: It's your turn to learn with a full roster of autumn writing courses -- from Flash Fiction to Revision Intensive -- at the 49 Alaska Writing Center. Classes begin in October; registration is open now and spaces are limited. Check out all the details at our new http://www.49writingcenter.org/ website, unveiled just this week -- the Writing Instruction page has everything you'll want to know about course descriptions, schedule, fees, and more. Instructors include David Marusek of Fairbanks, Dana Stabenow of Homer, plus Bill Sherwonit, Sandra Kleven, Deb Vanasse, and Andromeda Romano-Lax of Anchorage.

Please also note that we have some registration incentives: early birds who register and pay in August will be entered in a drawing for one of our new raven logo tote bags. Also, 49 Writers members can get a $10 tuition credit by referring non-member friends who have never taken one of our courses before. Referred friends will get a $10 credit, too. Make sure your friend claims the credit at the time of registration. You’ll each receive a tuition credit, good for one year, via email.

That's one part of the literary season launch. The other part is two back-to-back reading and signing events that we are presenting in cooperation with Metro Books and Music in Anchorage.

Up first is Joe McGinniss -- yes, Sarah Palin's current neighbor and a current favorite over at the Doonesbury strip. But long before he was ruffling feathers in Wasilla, McGinniss was writing some fantastic books, including the classic Going to Extremes. Epicenter Press, the Alaska/Northwest regional publisher based in the Seattle area, is bringing out a new fourth edition paperback of the nonfiction book/memoir first published in 1980 as a scrutiny of Alaska's boom culture in the pipeline era, and how it affected the pioneer spirit of the 'last frontier.' 49 Writers is thrilled to help celebrate this re-issue of a classic on Thursday, August 26 from 6:30 to 8 at Metro Books.

One week later, you'll want to stop by at Metro again for our Thursday, September 2 reading and event with Legend of a Suicide author David Vann from 6:30 to 8. We thank Metro Books for helping us present these two great events.

Oh, and with all that excitement, don't forget your entry for our annual 49 Writers Ode to a Dead Salmon contest. We've got a nice selection of entries, but there's always room for more - the deadline is midnight on August 15. At stake is an autographed fishyT-shirt of your choice by Ray Troll.

Likewise, be sure to vote in our poll (right sidebar) for the next title we'll read in our 49 Writers online book club discussion. The poll closes Aug. 17 at 7 a.m., and we'll host a drop-in online discussion on September 20 and 21.

This Saturday, August 14, you'll want to stop by Bosco's in Dimond Mall at 1 pm for the release of A Native Lad, a graphic novel by Sarah Hurst with art by a long list of talented Alaska illustrators. Get a signed copy for anyone interested in Alaska history or the graphic novel genre. Check out this guest post by Hurst to get the whole story on this fascinating project.

We've had a cancellation for September's First Friday author book-signing event at Raven Place, and are looking for an author to fill the gap! Please contact Paula at paulabryner@gci.net if interested.

At the Alaska Writers Guild's monthly meeting next Tuesday, August 17th at 7pm at Barnes and Noble, 200 E. Northern Lights, Anchorage, agent Marcy Gentemann will be speaking on 'How to Prepare your Manuscript for Publication.' Also at the meeting, the winner of the Guild's monthly writing contest will be announced.

Next Wednesday, August 18th at 7pm, Out North will be hosting its monthly Poetry Parley. The featured poet will be T. S. Eliot and the featured 'local' poet will be Sandra Kleven. See their website for full details.

Time to nominate AK's next State Writer Laureate: guest post by Charlotte Fox

Thanks to Charlotte at the Alaska State Council on the Arts for providing this interesting backstory as well as an opportunity to participate in nominating the state writer. And speaking of opportunity: the Council maintains an email list that it uses to inform writers of state arts news. If you have any doubt whether you're on that list, drop a note to christa.rayl@alaska.gov, as Charlotte explains below.

In the early 1960s, the Juneau Poetry Society created the Poet Laureate Program to honor an Alaska poet and the genre of poetry. Since then, the program has evolved into the Alaska State Writer Laureate program, the only program in the U.S. that honors all genres of writing. We’re pretty proud of that.

Every two years, the Alaska State Council on the Arts solicits nominations for this honorary, unpaid position. We appreciate the commitment and passion that the selected State Writers have brought to Alaska during their respective terms. As illustrated by the names of the people who have held this position in the past (a complete list is on our website) it is obvious that this title, while voluntary, is one that is critical not only to the citizens of Alaska, but also to the field of writers and readers who nominate and choose these individuals.

Every State Writer is required to have a project during his or her term to advance the literary arts. Fairbanks playwright Anne Hanley (2002-2004) wrote a regular poetry column in the Anchorage Daily News. Jerah Chadwick, a poet from Unalaska (2004-2006) put together a terrific poem-a-day calendar during National Poetry Month. Poet and novelist John Straley from Sitka (2006-2008) taught writing workshops to at-risk young people. Our current State Writer Laureate Nancy Lord visited numerous communities across the state conveying her passion for writing, books and libraries. In addition, John Straley and Nancy Lord managed to write and publish books during their tenure. So maybe being State Writer Laureate is inspirational, too?

This year, for the first time, the Alaska State Council on the Arts is posting the nomination form on our website and expanding the nomination process. But we are still depending on you – the writers and readers who recognize good work and want good writers to be recognized, to nominate individuals for this position.

Before nominating someone, be sure also to realize that while exemplary writing is probably the number one criteria, it isn’t the only criteria. The person needs to be someone comfortable with talking to groups, teaching workshops, extolling the virtues of the Alaska State Council on the Arts (I just interjected that one), and traveling around the state. It’s not a cushy position, but I think that past State Writers Laureate can tell you it’s a pretty wonderful one. And while our budget doesn’t allow a stipend, we do cover the travel costs.

So go to our website, and download the nomination form. Take the time to nominate a writer whom you believe is worthy of the title, fits the requirements of the position, and is worthy of adding his or her name to the distinguished writers who have come before. The deadline is September 24, and that’s an “In the In Box” deadline. If you have questions don’t hesitate to contact me.

While I’ve got your attention, don’t forget that it’s also the season for the Governor’s Awards for the Arts and Humanities. If you’re in a nominating mood, grab that application on our website. One final thing, if you’re not getting regular information from the Alaska State Council on the Arts and you would like to do so, send a note to christa.rayl@alaska.gov Be sure to include your name, snail mail address, etc.

In closing, I’d like to thank 49 Writers for their work toward building a community of individual writers. We are fortunate to have many strong writers in Alaska, each working in a solitary way. This blog brings us together on the same page at the same time to read, laugh, reflect and think. Which is precisely what good writing should do. Keep writing!

Andromeda: A new website to launch a new literary season of clinics, workshops, and classes!

The address is http://www.49writingcenter.org/ and we hope you'll visit it often, especially as you slide from busy summer into what we hope will be an inspirational and productive fall.

Rather than explain from scratch, I'll repeat here what the website explains in even more detail...

"We’ve had a lot of excitement since we launched the 49 Alaska Writing Center last spring, but this is truly the moment we’ve waited for: the unveiling of our first full autumn instructional term – on a new website no less. This is why we exist, this is why we’re here: to help Alaska writers at all stages of their development continue to grow, stretch, learn, meet each other, hone their craft, and try new forms and approaches.

Such as? How about FLASH FICTION, a 2-day intensive with Fairbanks author David Marusek, visiting Anchorage just to teach us that yes, it is possible to tell a story in 1,000 words. Not a fiction writer? Then we recommend ADVENTURES IN CREATIVE NONFICTION, an 8-week class with well-known essayist and author Bill Sherwonit.

Maybe you’re feeling stuck. Two recommendations: Sandra Kleven’s WORKING THE EDGE workshop, designed to inspire. Sandra is an artist as well as poet; she'll help you use both sides of your brain as you write. Or Deb Vanasse’s REVISION INTENSIVE – just the thing you need to kick that old manuscript into shape. We know Deb, and she’ll make you work, while helping you see new possibilities in what you’ve already written.

Perhaps you feel your craft toolbox is in decent shape, but you need to fill the well of creativity with new ideas and images. Andromeda Romano-Lax’s MEMORY AS MUSE is designed to give you new content to work into your nonfiction or fiction efforts. You’ll also read and discuss some short, classic works.

Maybe you’re excited to try a class, but you want to start on a modest scale. Deb Vanasse’s one-day clinic, CRASH COURSE: CHARACTERS, fits the bill. Already have your magnum opus written? Then you're more than ready for New York Times bestselling author Dana Stabenow's PROMOTING YOUR BOOK IN YOUR PAJAMAS.

Discover more course description details and schedule under the tab “Writing Instruction/Fall 2010,” where you can register and pay easily online. You’ll also find lots of information under “About Our Programs.”

Finally – are you the early bird that every organization loves? Then we’d like to reward you. All early registrants who pay for courses in the month of August will be entered in a drawing. The prize: our new, not-yet-unveiled Raven logo tote bag. Perfect for bringing to your first class this fall. "

Thanks to wonderful web designer Rich Gannon of Front Range Web. If you're looking for an author website, we wholeheartedly endorse him. You might notice that each time you refresh the site, the photo/quote changes. Most of those quotes were provided by blog readers, so thanks again!

We hope you'll share any feedback about both the site and the launching of our fall instructional offerings. Please help us spread the word by Facebook, Twitter, email, and word of mouth.

Erin Anais Hanson: 4.9 Things Writing Teaches

Erin Anais Hanson was born in Ketchikan and raised in Juneau. She is currently a second-year fiction student in UAA's low-residency MFA program.

1) Always allow your mind to follow a question-train as far as it will go. Questions help build empathy. Empathy is important for many reasons, but is especially essential in creating believable fiction. For example: The janitor has a limp. How did he get it? When did he get it? Did he get it on the job? Was it something that happened to him in childhood? Can he go up stairs? Does it make his job painful? Is it the reason that he is a janitor, or is it his excuse to be a janitor? Does he like his job? Does he hang out with other janitors? Where do janitors hang out? Do they have online forums to talk about janitor issues? Or is it a lonely job? Does he listen to music while he cleans? What kind of music? Or does he listen to books? Etc.

2) Sometimes ask these questions out loud. Asking questions like these out loud can be hard to do since we often associate a lack of knowledge with stupidity. Do it anyway. Questions and their answers result in stories.

3) Give yourself permission to be foolish. You can’t learn anything new unless you stick your neck out. Usually you’ll feel like a fool for longer than you would like, but in the end, whatever you earn will be worth it.

4) Write it down. Just write it down. Write a word on your hand. Write a sentence in that notebook you carry in your purse. Write a page or two in a journal or in your email drafts. Write a short story. Write the start of a novel. Write an epic. Write things everywhere to remind yourself that you need to be writing.

4.9) When people ask what you do for work, tell them you’re a writer first, and then tell them about whatever it is you do for money.

We welcome your posts on 4.9 Things Writing Teaches. Email your list, along with a short bio and (optional) photo to 49writers@gmail.com.

Surviving the MFA in Creative Writing: A guest post by Toni M. Todd

We stood at the edge of the dance floor, there in The Wolf Den, that last night of the MFA in Creative Writing residency at The University of Alaska-Anchorage. Program Director David Stevenson and I gazed upon the scene and marveled as students and faculty writhed, twisted and jumped in a frenzy of energetic release, an explosion of foolishness, so completely at ease with one another.

It’s become a ritual, this dance, our way of shaking off the intensity of nigh two weeks immersion into a viscous bowl of literary jello, where we tread to exhaustion, keeping our noses just high enough above the fruit cocktail to breathe. We are young, old and middled-aged, men and women, experienced writers and less-so. We come from all parts of the country, from disparate backgrounds. Dr. Stevenson smiled and said something like, “It’s such an accidental communion, so completely random.” Over the course of three summers, we’ve created a family of sorts, a nurturing cocoon, a place where each writer encourages and is encouraged, brought together by mutual adoration of the written word and a common, masochistic compulsion to put pen to paper. It’s a place we never want to leave.

That was July. This week, I spoke with a friend about the MFA experience and the community we’ve developed. He’s a successful author, this friend, one who’s been processed through the MFA mill and come out a fine writer on the other end. He’s a man whose opinion I respect and whose general good nature and wisdom I exploit often. (Like now, for instance.) Enjoy the support and camaraderie while you can, he urged. Wring it for every drop of motivation it will yield... Then came the blow. “Once you leave the program,” he said, “nobody will care whether or not you write one more word. Nobody.”

Ugh! I felt sucker punched. I stared at the screen. I conjured an image of those gleeful dancers. I’ve known all along that the writer’s life would be grueling and lonely. But these were my comrades in the literary trenches, my classmates and mentors; my people. They were writers, too. Surely they would care. I staggered around the house, rattled through a load of dishes in the sink, folded laundry from the dryer. He was right. Nobody who wasn’t getting paid, or for whom it was not a compulsory assignment to provide feedback, would care one wit whether I continued to write. Nobody.

That evening, still in a funk, I happened upon Anne Caston’s Savannah Blues blog entry, entitled Deep Thoughts in Dixie. Anne is a brilliant poet, teacher and friend. I always enjoy her blog, her poet’s lyrical sensibilities and that soft, subtle, southern style, seeping so beautifully into her prose. This entry, however, proved to be downright therapeutic.

Maybe I write, Anne says, because as the physical body fails and the soul’s dwelling-place washes down to almost-nothing-left now, it seems I still have words to serve as some little channel marker on the sea that indicates I was here, in this time, in this century, in this place or that. Here or there. Snooping around in the woods... Poking my nose into other people’s business... Every poem, every essay, every blog piece lets those who come after me know some things about who I was and the moment in history in which I lived my life...

See what I mean about lyrical sensibilities? It got me thinking about why I write, and again about my friend’s bold statement. Which of my classmates, I wondered, would never type another word after graduation, once there were no more mailings due, no looming creative thesis? I suspect some of the most gifted among us will toss their quills into the junk drawer. Others, the ones you might least expect, will persevere. They might even succeed. Maybe one or two will soar. Whether they become successful, best-selling authors or manage to finally publish a single piece in an obscure literary journal, the real writers among us, those with stories to tell and the tenacity to tell them, will do so, not for money or fame, not for approval of their peers, not because anyone cares whether they write or they don’t, but for the sake of the story itself, for posterity, for love of the written word.

If this essay seems a bit gloomy (and for those of you who know me, way out of character in that regard), let me clarify. I’m actually feeling pretty good now about my prospects for survival post MFA. In my decades on planet earth, I’ve learned that good friends don’t come along often in life, that people with whom we find a genuine affinity are few. This freak, dancing, literary-Alaskan family we’ve created at UAA is real, and the closest of friendships forged here will endure.

The writer’s life is disconsolate and arduous. Despite that, and upon a few moments’ self-reflection, I’m now confident, and just crazy enough to believe, that I will be one of those who writes on. I have stories to tell, stories I’ve found, and continue to find, like Anne, snooping and poking. I tell them for the sake of legacy, for the love of well-crafted sentences and interesting characters. It doesn’t matter that I’m not a genius, that I’m not the most talented wordsmith on the dance floor. It doesn’t matter that nobody cares whether I write a another word. I’ll write anyway, and hold tight to the belief that if I work hard and write well, maybe somebody, someday, will read them.

Toni Todd is a third-year fiction student at UAA’s MFA in Creative Writing program. She lives near Volcano, Hawaii with her husband and a menagerie of adopted cats and dogs.

Ela: 49 Writers Weekly Round-up

Wait -- it's Friday. Wait again -- it's FIRST Friday. That means gallery openings and free food in downtown Anchorage -- as well as our contributing literary event on the Raven Place porch, at 415 L St next to Snow City Cafe. Stop by from 6 to 8 p.m. to meet Sherry Eckrich of the Ten Poets and co-author of "50 Poems for Alaska."

Congratulations to Jeremy Pataky, Vice-President of the 49 Writers' board, for winning first place in the 'Open to the Public Poetry' Category in the UAA/Anchorage Daily News Creative Writing Contest with his poem 'Post-Fire Succession!' The list of all winners will be published in the Saturday, August 8th edition of the Anchorage Daily News, and on their website. Over the next few weeks, all winning entries will be posted on Litsite Alaska.

Jeremy had a lot of competition for that contest. Not so much for our -- so far -- only Ode to a Dead Salmon competitor. We've received one impressive ode, but we need more. Come on, pull on those waders and get writing. The deadline is August 15.

Maybe you just need more writing inspiration. If so, you've come to the right place. Early next week, we'll be unveiling our new website and our complete fall instructional lineup of clinics, workshops, and longer courses. Stay tuned. Also note that if you waited and missed signing up for the David Vann retreat, you can still hear him speak at Metro Books on September 2, 6:30 to 8.

Be aware that the submissions deadline for Cirque's Winter Solstice edition is coming up on September 21st. See the Submissions page on their website for full guidelines. Send inquiries and electronic submissions to cirquejournal@yahoo.com.

The Alaska Writers Conference, hosted by the Alaska Writers Guild, is coming closer, set to take place September 10th, 11th, 12th.

On this light news day, we'd like to make note of this recent post by blogger-friend Moonrat with an insider's look at the pros and cons of several kinds of publishing: big house, small/indie, and self-publishing. She makes good points about why you might not want the biggest pub house after all, and why self-publishing has a bad rep -- but doesn't have to. Always good to hear candid appraisals from someone who has worked in every sector. Have a good weekend!

A Native Lad -- Turning Words Into Pictures: Guest post by Sarah Hurst

From Andromeda: Though I haven't read as many as I'd like, I count myself a fan of graphic novels -- including Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis -- about the author's life in Iran and elsewhere. I'm especially impressed with graphic novels that venture into history and politics, so I was excited to discover that Sarah Hurst is unveiling a graphic novel about Alaska history, a great way to make that subject more accessible both to children (I know my kids will be reading it) and adults. Hurst and artists will be appearing at Bosco's in Dimond Mall for a release event and signing on Saturday August 14, and the International Gallery of Contemporary Art in downtown Anchorage will feature the graphic novel artwork throughout October. The story of how Hurst came up with this project is nearly as interesting as the book itself. In addition to this project, there is a lot happening on the Alaska comic and graphic novel scene. In preparation for this blogpost, I enjoyed visiting "Ink and Snow," a site by Fairbanks "serial art" aficionado and cartoonist Jamie Smith. Anchorage cartoonist actively Peter Dunlap-Shohl blogs at Frozen Grin. And there's a whole lot of wonderful, weird stuff penned by multiple artists at Alaska Robotics, where the focus also encompasses short film. Which just goes to show: when visual art (and film, and humor) are added to the mix, there are many ways to tell a story -- and many talented Alaskans crossing some interesting boundaries.

Thanks to Sarah Hurst for this guest post, which originally ran in the library newsletter, Newspoke.

When I asked my husband Jon if he would read the play about Alaska history I’d just finished writing, his reply was: “I’ll read it when it comes out as a comic book.” Instead of snarling at him for being so dismissive, I started thinking about his suggestion. Graphic novels – as the slightly longer and more serious comic books are usually called – are all the rage these days. I immediately stole Jon’s idea and started working on a grant application to turn my play into a graphic novel.

I had become immersed in Alaska history when I was hired in 2007 by Anchorage-based TV producer Larry Goldin to help him work on a two-hour documentary about Alaska statehood. That job involved frequent visits to the Alaska Collection at the Loussac Library and also enabled me to sit in on Larry’s lengthy interviews with Alaska icons like Ted Stevens, Wally Hickel, Mike Stepovich, Vic Fischer, Emil Notti and many others. I then had to spend hours transcribing the interviews from audio files, so I got to hear all their stories twice.

When I heard that the Alaska Humanities Forum was giving out $1 million in grants for creative projects associated with the 50th anniversary of statehood, I decided to apply for one, to write the play, which was mainly intended for schools. I was awarded the grant in 2008. The play is narrated by Benny Benson, who magically meets a modern-day high school student called Abigail and shows her scenes from Alaska history.

I originally intended to call the play “Eight Stars of Gold”, but then I found out that the Alaska Humanities Forum had funded another person to write a play with the same title, so I changed it to “A Native Lad”, taking the title from the first line of the unadopted second verse of the Alaska Flag Song. When I finished the play I made it available free to the public, sending a link to the script and accompanying teachers’ and students’ guide to principals and teachers at nearly every middle school and high school in the state.

The play.

The teachers’ and students’ guide.

A few weeks later, in November 2009, I was amazed to read a letter from Debbe Lancaster, a teacher at the school in the village of Tatitlek, between Valdez and Cordova on Prince William Sound. The village has a population of about 50, with 16 students of all ages at the school. Debbe said that the kids in her class had been reading the play for several weeks and had insisted on performing it, even though each of them would have to play about 10 different characters.

In January I flew to Tatitlek to help with the final preparations for the world premiere of the play. The village is only accessible by air and doesn’t even have its own store. The kids had worked incredibly hard learning their lines and making costumes, including a fat suit (for Constitutional Convention delegate Mildred Hermann) and all kinds of facial hair. A few of the adults who were also playing parts were desperately learning lines, hoping not to let the kids down. The whole village watched the performance, and I shot hours of film footage during my visit, which is being made into a mini-documentary by the Alaska Teen Media Institute.

The Alaska Humanities Forum gave me the grant I’d requested to hire artists to illustrate a graphic novel version of the play. I started by calling Peter Dunlap-Shohl, the former editorial cartoonist for the Anchorage Daily News, and he immediately agreed to participate and recommended some other artists: Lee Post, Duke Russell, Lance Lekander and Dimi Macheras. Dimi is an Alaska Native now living in Seattle, who has already produced graphic novel versions of Alaska Native stories.

I also asked an art professor at UAA if he could suggest anyone, and through him I added the talented students Sean Jones and Gideon Gerlt to the team. I asked Ray Troll if he would like to do a scene: he said he was too busy, but put me in touch with Evon Zerbetz, who lives in Ketchikan and whose style is somewhat similar to Ray’s.

My husband Jon made another important contribution when he was talking to a young woman in a bar about the graphic novel and she told him that she knew an artist who could “do anything”. She wrote his name and number down on a piece of paper and Jon passed it on to me. I was skeptical, but it turned out that the artist, Shanley McCauley, really could do anything, not only illustrating two scenes but also doing a fantastic cover with Benny Benson holding the state flag, standing next to his younger brother, looking at modern-day Anchorage and a group of Native dancers in the sky above him.

Several of the artists submitted their ideas for cover sketches and members of the public chose Shanley’s in a poll. Bosco’s Comics in Anchorage hosted the cover sketches on its website. Bosco’s has been very supportive throughout the process, with owner John Weddleton writing the foreword to the book.

Each artist was paid $500 per scene, with Peter and Dimi doing three scenes, Shanley, Sean and Gideon two, and the others one. The pay rate was really quite minimal, considering the amount of work they all put into it. Some were very experienced in this format and others not at all, and the challenge turned out to be rather daunting. A few other artists who had wanted to participate fell by the wayside. Those who survived truly were the fittest.

I approached various publishers, and found the perfect fit with Greatland Graphics, based in Anchorage. They publish beautifully-illustrated books for young children, including some by Shannon Cartwright, but they hadn’t published a graphic novel for older children and adults before. I think they gradually started to become more enthusiastic about the project as they saw how good the artwork was that was being produced.

The book is due to be published in August, and I hope that it can be read for enjoyment as well as used in the classroom to bring Alaska history to life. I am also looking forward to finally hearing Jon’s opinion on it...

Visit the project's Facebook page.

Andromeda: Cold night in Rejection City

I should really know better -- and part of me does. But part of me doesn't.

Just got back from a 14 minute run, the second half of it downhill. Not exactly a marathon. And yet I still wanted to quit halfway through and almost did. Followed that up with a 20-minute "game" of tennis with my daughter (if you can call it a game when you barely bother to chase the ball) and couldn't muster the energy to get the ball over the night. Young woman in the court next over was grunting and groaning and moaning with each serve, so much that I felt like my daughter and I were eavesdropping on an X-rated movie. Wanted to laugh, but couldn't.

Despair was creeping into my veins and deadening my muscles, my brain kept wandering off to obsessive worryland, inventing catastrophic life scenarios, and the only answer I could think of was slumping home and sending my family out on errands, trusting my 12-year-old daughter to run into the grocery store for slice-and-bake chocolate chip cookies. (Pretending it was all her idea, of course.) Milk might go along with those cookies, but wine or rum will, too.

Yes, I got a manuscript rejection today. Three, actually. So nice of my agent to package them for me in tidy bundles. ("Do you want to see them?" "Of course I want to see them -- what am I, a wuss? I love feedback!")

With family out of the house, I thought of calling a friend. But non-writing friends will react with too much alarm. They won't say it, but they might be thinking it: "Rejected again? My goodness -- maybe your career is over." Writing friends, on the other hand, have had the exact same kind of year (or two, or three) and either don't want to hear about it or shouldn't. We're all sick of it. We all know that rejection is the name of the game, more lately than ever.

Feeling despondency -- and amnesia -- lurking, it occurs to me that I need to write down some hard lessons and keep them visible, like on a notecard by my computer monitor. These are the things I know for sure but keep forgetting.

1. Don't even try to be rational for at least one week following a significant rejection. (Okay, I'm trying to be rational right now, but still -- it's good advice.) A small touch of misery is normal.

2. These rejections contaminate everything. My fear: How can I be an advocate or teacher of creative writing if I'm getting rejected. Reality: How could I be an advocate or teacher if I'm not being rejected? What kind of message would that send? What kind of lesson would that be -- for me or anyone else? To create is to be rejected -- by agents, editors, critics, readers. The only way to avoid rejection is to avoid writing new works and submitting them and ultimately publishing them.

3. My favorite writers and my favorite works were rejected. It took half a lifetime for Somerset Maugham to rewrite Of Human Bondage after an early version didn't fly; for years, he gave up on writing novels altogether. All kinds of agents rejected Lionel Shriver's We Need to Talk About Kevin before she submitted directly to an editor who loved it. Closer to home, it took years for David Vann to get Legend of a Suicide accepted. And on. And on. Being published already is not a cure-all. I have a separate mental list of favorite authors, some of them Alaskan, who got their first novel published but couldn't sell a second. Some are doing just fine now, having survived the drought. Some aren't.

4. Rejections always outnumber acceptances anyway. My first novel was rejected by about ten American publishers and accepted by two. That was one more American publisher than I needed, so I got to reject one of them. I don't think the editor at that publishing house went home crying.

5. The harder the publishing world gets, the more writers will drop out because they just can't endure, mentally and financially. Persistence is the key. Learning how to persist, how to endure, how to keep risking and growing is essential. And yet so hard. But the good news is: if you're particularly stubborn, your chances are better than other people's chances. And it's easier to cultivate stubbornness than genius.

Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.

By the way, as long as I'm indulging this topic: It occurs to me that I accept other people's rejections just fine.

The aspiring gourmet chef who goes looking for a bank loan for his restaurant and gets turned down by the first few banks -- normal enough.

The Broadway dancer who doesn't get every role -- well of course! It's Broadway! (When the rest of us couldn't even survive the audition or dare to be seen in a bodysuit.)

The screenwriter who doesn't get his first -- or fifth -- screenplay turned into a movie. (That's Hollywood.)

Rejection is good enough for all of them. Why isn't it good enough for me and my novelist and creative-nonfiction friends? The answer is: it is good enough. I know it is. I know better. But it still really, really sucks -- even with chocolate chip cookies and red wine on top.

Somerset Maugham may have said it more elegantly, but alas, I'm no Maugham. He suffered -- and wrote -- much longer, after all. That suffering does indeed flavor many of his books, including some of my favorites. There is no easy answer. There never was.


P.S. After seeing this post, a writer sent me this link to another post on Rejection.

A short sample here: "In New York everyone is smarter and more talented and younger and richer and better-looking than you. In New York you can spit and hit fifteen people who are doing the exact same thing you are doing, much better than you are doing it, and for a lot more money. So here is a lesson you learn fast in New York: you better f*ing love yourself, because ain't no one here going to do it for you."

Deb: It's back - the 49 Writers online book club discussion

While we're poking fun at ourselves with the Ode to a Dead Salmon bad writing contest (deadline August 15), we've got plenty of good writing to celebrate, too. Once each quarter, we pick a great Northern book to read and discuss in our 49 Writers online book club.

We begin the book selection process by taking nominations, followed by a poll to choose this quarter's book. Anyone can nominate a book for discussion, and anyone can join in. Readers can stop by any time to leave comments, and if possible, we'll get the author to join in as well. We've scheduled our two-day online discussion for September 20 and 21.

In the past, we've discussed John Straley's The Big Both Ways; Seth Kantner's Ordinary Wolves; Miranda Weiss's Tide, Feather, Snow; Cindy Dyson's And She Was; Nancy Lord's Rock, Water, Wild; and David Vann's Legend of a Suicide. Books nominated but not selected in the past can be nominated again. Nominated titles should either be written by Northern authors or set in the North.

To nominate a book for discussion, leave a comment below. You don't have to justify or explain a nomination unless you want to; just leave the title. You know the drill: click the button that says (number) comments below, write your comment in the box, type the silly-looking capcha letters, choose an identity (anonymous is fine), and wait for confirmation that your comment has been posted. Easy enough. We'll gather the nominations next Tuesday morning, August 10, and set up a poll so readers can choose their favorite from among the nominated titles.

49 Writers Interview: Tanyo Ravicz, A Man of His Village

"Tanyo Ravicz's A Man of His Village remains the most original and gripping work of fiction set in Alaska that I have ever read." Following this compelling endorsement by Mike Dunham of the Anchorage Daily News, we asked 49 Writers volunteer Jen Walker to read the book and interview the author for us.

Born in Mexico City, Ravicz grew up in Los Angeles. After working as an editorial assistant at The Paris Review and graduating from Harvard University, Ravicz made his way to Alaska, where he stayed fifteen years, working as a firefighter, a day laborer, a cannery hand and a schoolteacher. He homesteaded land on Kodiak Island, where he returns every summer from California.

As the title of your book implies, A Man of His Village is about the main character coming to understand and define his role in his childhood village in Mexico. In the modern US, the concept of "village" can seem outdated, yet in Alaska the term is very applicable (with the exception of a very few of our cities). How much did your time in Alaska influence the idea of "village,” which is so central to your book?

I was certainly conscious of the vitality of Alaskan village life as I described the life of a distant village in Mexico. For Mexican Indians the village is very important, as it is for many Alaska Natives. The village means relationships, identity, a home ground—these are points an Alaska Native might relate to.

There’s also the experience of leaving the shelter of the village and finding oneself not entirely prepared for the challenges of urban national life. This has been true for many Mixtec Indians as it is for Florentino and Feliciana in the novel. So yes, despite the quaint, nostalgic connotations the word “village” might have for urbanites, I was comfortable using the word realistically, and its currency in Alaska helped with that. A village isn’t one big cozy happy family where people always agree on things and mind their own business. Florentino loves his village, but he’s ambivalent. He finds a lot of pettiness and rivalry and squalor at home.

Old-style New England villages and pre-war Eastern European villages were probably the same in this regard. I think “village” is an archetype that we all intuitively “get,” so although I was aware of certain north-south echoes and indigenous parallels, I didn’t deliberately draw them out. I knew the “village” string might vibrate louder for Alaskan readers.

The main character, Florentino, is in search of something throughout the book. At times he thinks it's money, or an elusive fruit or fungus, but his search ultimately leads him to Alaska. What is it, do you think, that allowed Alaska to be such a perfect setting for a character to search for himself and be pushed to his extremes?

Alaska is the place where freedom and determinism meet head on. It seems to me that the poles of human nature, the animal pole and the existential pole, are especially apparent in Alaska, where the rules are few, but they’re fateful. There is freedom and there is danger. An individual is small and vulnerable, but also potentially heroic.

Alaska’s hugeness and the extremes of climate and geography, social relations and institutions appear more fragile if not more artificial. In A Man of His Village the social structures fall away, and Florentino is forced to wonder where his humanity lies. How did he get here beyond the reach of civilization? How is his present hell a result of his choices? Has he embraced responsibility as ardently as he embraced the opportunity that drew him to Alaska?

For a character lost in the wilderness, like Florentino, one of the traumatic tests—one of the most illuminating—is the failure of deeply held expectations. Alaska is proverbial in this regard, isn’t it, in puncturing our vanities? From boom to bust, Alaska lures and disappoints, builds up and destroys. Florentino has no early exposure to the romance of Alaska, but even for him the place resonates with promise—he recalls hearing about the high wages paid during the 1989 oil spill cleanup. Now he gets a chance to pursue this fantastic bonanza of wild mushrooms.

Ever since he crossed the border into the U.S., he’s been drawn north by such promises. Now he can’t go farther. In Alaska he is back at the threshold where the first migrants entered North America.

You write about your main character with unflinching honesty: you allow your readers to see into every nook and cranny, and we walk away intrigued and liking the man despite his faults. How are you able to create characters with such depth and true-to life human frailties?


I don’t have specific techniques for characterization. I try to stay alert for the dramatic opportunities in a story. There are a lot of forces impacting Florentino, going straight to his heart, and he has qualities that make him a force in his own right, so there will be collisions that reveal him to us.

Florentino fascinated me and I occasionally thought of myself as his psychobiographer. Not to reduce him to a set of explanations, but to suggest a totality. I’m interested to hear that you found him to have depth. One of the few things a literary agent said that actually bothered me was that Florentino is “too simple.” She didn’t explain, but she may have meant he doesn’t have sophisticated thoughts, that he’s not complex in the way of an educated character who has profound thoughts.

Florentino is not a postmodern devouring himself intellectually. He has something to do. Genuine action is demanded of him, action with fateful consequences. He battles enemies I can only respect him for battling—poverty, hunger, ignorance, prejudice. Although I don’t envy his life, I consider it heroic, and heroes, as we know, aren’t perfect.

This book gave me food for thought for many days after I read it. How do you go about creating such a rich, complex, and thought-provoking work? How did the story come to you, and how did you go about writing it?


A 1992 article in the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner gave me the idea for A Man of His Village. Some undocumented Guatemalans, hired to pick morel mushrooms at Hess Creek north of Fairbanks, were abandoned after the mushroom harvest failed. The Alaskan circumstances were remarkable enough, but to think these workers had journeyed all the way from Guatemala! How did they end up in Alaska? It had the makings of a good story touching on certain hard realities of our world.

Out of the mountains of Mexico comes this lovesick farm boy, Florentino, whose circumstances and ambitions drive him across the border into the U.S. and entangle him in a series of enormities . . . I first wrote it as a novella set in Alaska. Then it became a long novel as I developed incidents and characters from Florentino’s past as a villager and migrant farm worker. Finally I cut a lot of stuff out and wove the story as tight as I could.

A sense of responsibility motivated me to get the book out no matter what, even when it had become apparent I would have to print it myself. It helps to have a feeling that you’re the only one who can write it. For me, strands of personal knowledge and experience converged in it—a connection with Mexico and with the Mixtecs; roots in California, with its abundance of farms and its history of immigration and farm labor struggles; and my life in Alaska, where I had picked morel mushrooms in Tok and worked as a wildland firefighter.

You return to your homestead on Kodiak Island every year. What keeps you coming back, and how does your time there influence your writing?


I love Kodiak. Much of the long early version of A Man of His Village was written when I spent lots of solitary time there. Once the homestead cabin was built, I could run a laptop computer off a couple of golf cart batteries. But I have to say writing was never a priority in Kodiak and homesteading has not primarily been about writing.

Homesteading happened as a balance to my writing life, emotionally and philosophically, and I suppose going back to Kodiak renews the balance. I’ve spent time in Kodiak every year since 1996 and I’d like to spend more time there than I do. I know a small part of the island very well and am always joyful to be back. To live intimately with the land is one of the greatest joys I can name—on a par with the highest forms of love.

It’s still about the animals, the beauty, the silence, the sea, the bounty of the world, and the largesse of existence. It’s about enormous freedom. I suppose it’s also about the self that is alive to all of this.