“The Inheritance of Tools” by Scott Russell Sanders pp. 93-99 “The tools in my workbench are a double inheritance, for each hammer and level and saw is wrapped up in a cloud of knowing” (98). This essay is so beautiful; the above line resonates with meaning and captures the essence of the purpose of this piece. Sanders goes into loving physical description of each of the tools that were passed down from his grandfather to his father and finally to him; very artful imagery is used in their descriptions, yet Sanders explains that it is not just the physical presence and usability of the tools that is meaningful to him. It is all that they stand for, including all of the cherished memories of he and his father attached to the tools as well as the development of his own skills and knowledge that he acquired through their use. Sanders inherits much when he receives these tools, which he makes clear in this personal account told in an intimate tone and with a sincere voice. Chapter Five “Story” pp. 163-172
“Awareness of these shapes can inform any genre of writing and help bridge the gap between mind and mind, helping to achieve the first desire of any writer: connection with that intimate stranger, the reader” (172). Burroway delivers a very clear discussion of the necessary elements of a story in this chapter, including the process of conflict-crisis-resolution and connection/disconnection. I think this discussion is crucial because these elements not only underlie written works but suffuse our everyday language, as well. We come into contact with them not only in myths and fairy tales gathered all over the world but also in our everyday conversations. In the above lines from Burroway, an interesting point is that these aspects of a story connect author to reader; the classic elements of a story are universal and are a part of the fabric of everyone’s lives, allowing connections to be woven on a number of levels.
“Such a primitive place. One expects to find drawings of buffalo on the walls. The sense of trespassing is keener now, heightened by the world’s light illuminating the organs, their secret colors revealed—maroon and salmon and yellow” (262).
This essay struck me on a number of levels; the stunning imagery and overall creativity is overwhelming and almost disturbing at times. Two recurrent themes that I am really interested in are present in the above lines—the idea of the inside of the human body being primitive and ancient as well as the idea of the surgeon intruding or trespassing in on that space. The latter theme tends to give this story a very creepy, voyeuristic tone as he rapturously observes the insides of the patient. The way the speaker portrays the inside of the body as a precious, private space invaded by the outside light is intriguing and unsettling.
Ch. 3 “Character” pp. 79-93
“Especially in fiction and memoir, when a character is first introduced, it’s important to let us experience that person through the senses (including sight), and it’s often effective to emphasize a particular physical characteristic that can later remind us of the character as a whole” (p. 82)
When I read this, I automatically thought of Harry Potter’s scar. This line and the entire section it is from concerning the character as image deals with crucial issues in character development. I like the idea of using all five senses as a means of expressing the internal, and the advice of giving the character one emphasized physical trait for readers to remember them by is really insightful. I began thinking back on some of my favorite literary characters and realized that I remember a lot of them by certain physical traits that I had blended with their personality characteristics. This entire chapter gives a lot of great advice concerning character development, and I find this line to be particularly useful.
Ch. 7 “Creative Nonfiction” pp. 237-244
“One part of the purpose of an essay will always be to inform or teach, either by presenting new knowledge or by combining old facts in a new way” (243).
I find the idea of an omniscient didactic component within the writings of all essays to be a complicated and intriguing idea. All writing certainly does not have some sort of overt agenda to teach readers something; in fact, I do not feel that there is always even a conscious effort when a didactic element is present. However, I feel that, particularly within the genre of creative nonfiction, there is a necessary drive on the authors’ part to connect with the readers and impart knowledge to them through their experiences. To “inform” and to “teach” could simply involve gaining the readers’ understanding of the meaning within the specific experiences depicted in the writing. Teaching could also involve imparting universal connections and invitations to reflect on larger life issues.
Ch. 6 “Development and Revision” pp. 207-235“You will already have a sense of which method is your natural tendency, and I’d urge you, whichever it is, to work in the opposite direction. The methods are not mutually exclusive, and each can benefit from the particular discipline of the other” (212).
I find Burroway’s advice of going against one’s natural inclinations in structuring one’s writing to be very interesting and clever. For a brief moment, I thought this advice to be a bit counterintuitive, but upon reflection I find it to be very creative and sensible. I tend to be all over the place when I am writing, which is odd because I am normally a very organized person. In the development of writing I am sporadic, but in the revision process, fortunately, I am very methodical and conscientious. I think that I could benefit from approaching the "outlining" method of structure and attempting to write something from beginning to end. I am not sure how long that would last, but in the process I could be inspired in a way I otherwise might not have been. Surely creativity and surprise can come from stepping out of one’s comfort zone and experiencing a new angle, particularly in the writing process.
Ch. 4 “Setting” pp. 131-144“The other is that in daily life we take our surroundings ninety percent for granted. The world you know is what you’re told to write about. What’s the big deal? Isn’t it everybody’s world? Well, no” (133).
The idea that people take so much of their environment for grant disturbed me when I read this passage; it certainly caused me to pause and reflect on the extent I might ignore what is going on around me. I know that I fail to observe a lot of things, many of which are probably saturated with great writing material. This chapter makes quite clear how imperative setting is to the life and breathe of one’s writing; a writer’s neglecting so much of their own surroundings could do a huge disservice to their own writing—a parallel could occur in their work in which the characters fail to identify with their own environment. These lines also make it clear that no voice is the same and every perception of one scene will be different; by writing what one knows and observes, a deeper individual resonance will bleed into the setting and give life to the writing.
Ch. 9 p. 326 “The Grammar Lesson” by Steve KowitI was struck by this poem, yet not for its immediate nature of having a practical pedagogical usage for children in a language arts classroom. I did not really think about that nifty element until after I had reflected on how this poem exemplifies to me the creative power and free reign of contemporary poetry. Kowit's dedicating an entire poem to discussing basic grammar, and doing so quite successfully with great rhythm and flow, is a refreshing demonstration of turning a subject that some may view as mundane or boring into a fun and catchy piece of writing. The emphasis on certain words, the repetition, and the rhythm makes this poem vibrant, interesting, and accessible on a number of levels.
Ch. 9 "Poetry" pp. 309-333
"A skilled and proficient poet, if in doubt, will count the syllables. She will wait for the gift of the right words, but might purposely seek a sibilant to suggest a slithering motion, or open vowels for the emotion of awe" (321).
I am a bit of a newcomer when it comes to the writing of poetry, so it is very interesting to me to read anything that has to do with the writing process and the ways of practiced poets. These lines suggest to me that a good poet will combine the abstract processes of quiet inspiration with practical and intentional usages of poetic elements, such as sibilants, to create a desired effect. In this way, the poet controls part of the poem consciously while waiting for the rest to flow at its own pace from the their unconscious. This kind of information, including the descriptions and examples of various poetic elements in this chapter, will be helpful to me when I am stuck mid-poem. I cannot try to force words onto the page, but playing with specific elements can be key while waiting for the “gift of right words.”
Ch.2 “Voice” pp. 37-50“Whereas in America, and especially from the latter half of the twentieth century, we have tended to equate eloquence with arrogance at best and dishonesty at worst, preferring people who, like, you know, well, kinda couldn’t exactly, like, say what they mean. Sort of” (49).
This is an issue that has bothered me greatly, not only due to other people’s lack of ability to communicate as fully and capably as I know many of them can, but also due to frustration with myself for sort of, like, well, you know, kinda perpetuating this problem. I have found myself in numerous situations in which I unconsciously and effortlessly alter the way I speak according to the party I am with, automatically reading into their expectations or preferences. I try not to do this as there is no rational reason for me to make what I say any less cogent or coherent for fear of portraying myself as stuck-up or nerdy. This really is a common trend in American society and in my experience particularly rampant in high school where every utterance that escapes your lips seems to be suspiciously judged.
Ch. 1 “Image” pp. 3-15
“If specificity as well as concreteness is crucial to vivid writing, so too is the significance carried in those concrete details; the ideas or qualities that they suggest; they way they reveal character, attract or warn us; the way they lead us to think and feel” (5).
When I read this line, I thought about what Anne Lamott said in Bird by Bird about her students unsuccessfully imitating the style of Ann Beattie who “[. . .] does surfaces beautifully, burnishing them, and bringing out the details” (197). In order to achieve an emotional reader response, there must be meaning and import inherent within the text; the materials being described must necessarily bring with them something transcendent, else you have only achieved a list of boringly temperate observations that will fail to resonate with readers.
Introduction pp. xxi-xxvii
“I’m going to suggest that for most of the time this book is being used, you avoid the phrases, I like, I don’t like, This works, this doesn’t work—and all their equivalents” (xxvii).
I really like the direction that Burroway is giving here for how to critique your peers’ work at the beginning of a writing workshop. I know that it would be more constructive for me if someone used descriptive language in studying what I have written, especially at the beginning of the workshop, by exploring its elements with me instead of saying flat out what works and what doesn’t. There is still too much to that needs shaping at the beginning of a critique to be too hasty in tossing parts of what has been written; looking curiously and intelligently into each element would be more beneficial and a lot less intimating, at least for me.
DAR WILLIAMS
After All
Go ahead, push your luck
Find out how much love the world can hold
Once upon a time I had control
And reigned my soul in tight
Well the whole truth
Is like the story of a wave unfurled
But I held the evil of the world
So I stopped the tide
Froze it up from inside
And it felt like a winter machine
That you go through and then
You catch your breath and winter starts again
And everyone else is spring bound
And when I chose to live
There was no joy - it's just a line I crossed
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost
So I was not lost or found
And if I was to sleep
I knew my family had more truth to tell
And so I traveled down a whispering well
To know myself through them
Growing up, my Mom had a room full of books
And hid away in there
Her father raging down a spiral stair
'Til he found someone
Most days his son
And sometimes I think
My father, too, was a refugee
I know they tried to keep their pain from me
They could not see what it was for
But now I'm sleeping fine
Sometimes the truth is like a second chance
I am the daughter of a great romance
And they are the children of the war
Well the sun rose with so many colors
It nearly broke my heart
And worked me over like a work of art
And I was a part of all that
So go ahead, push your luck
Say what it is you've got to say to me
We will push on into that mystery
And it'll push right back
And there are worse things than that
'Cause for every price
And every penance that I could think of
It's better to have fallen in love
Than never to have fallen at all
'Cause when you live in a world
Well it gets in to who you thought you'd be
And now I laugh at how the world changed me
I think life chose me after all
Williams' lyrics are beautiful and intriguing. The mystery and very intimate nature of Williams' words make this song larger than life, yet her painful and wise sentiments about growing up have a universal qualtity. These lyrics seem shadowy and almost mythic to me and make brilliant poetry.
“Plot” pp. 54-63
“Fix instead on who your people are and how they feel toward one another, what they say, how they smell, whom they fear. Let your human beings follow the music they hear, and let it take them where it will” (61-21).
I really like the advice Anne gives in this chapter of not putting the pressure on yourself as a writer of planning out the story’s climax. Instead, focus should be put on character development and allowing the plot to grow with the characters. It seems to me this process would result in much more sincere and believable writing. The psychologies of the characters should be developed and voice given to them so that they might tell the writer where the plot is going. The idea that the characters will lead the way is very interesting and would certainly add a whole other dimension to one’s writing.
“Someone to Read Your Drafts” pp. 162-171
“I don’t think you have time to waste not writing because you are afraid you won’t be good enough at it, and I don’t think you have time to waste on someone who does no respond to you with kindness and respect” (170).
I tell myself something similar to this when I find myself discouraged in my writing. I know that I do not have time to waste because everything I am experiencing now in life, including my insights, feelings, what I see every day, how I feel about myself, is all singular and resonates with meaning all its own that one day might be changed into something completely different. I know that it is crucial for me to catch in my writing what is going on today because that in part reflects my current self. Wasting time by not writing is only doing a disservice to myself by not recording and exploring the present day and my present self.
“Writing Groups” pp. 151-161
“Writers tend to be so paranoid about talking about their work because no one, including us, really understands how it works” (157).
I certainly get nervous when others read my writing, whether it is a work in progress or a supposedly finished product. The reading of my finished product probably makes me the most apprehensive and uncomfortable because I can feel myself already getting defensive and insecure at the same time. While I am thinking up a solid argument for some element or aspect I think the person might question, I also am thinking that I probably messed up and will have to reconstruct an entire part of the work. Writing is so personal, and explaining certain things might require divulging something right from your heart like a painful childhood memory connected to the writing. Since I am so sensitive about my writing, I have a very select few people who know me very well that critique my work.
“Calling Around” pp. 145-150
“There are an enormous number of people out there with invaluable information to share with you, and all you have to do is pick up the phone” (145).
Anne emphasizes in this chapter as she does in others the importance of connecting with others in the writing process. In the research component, talking with others who have particular knowledge that you do not concerning a subject you are writing about is absolutely crucial. In the process of communicating with others, not only can answers sought after be found, but other things might come up that never might have appeared without the catalyst of another person. Anne also makes the point that the nature of the writer’s career demands a lot of alone time and that this type of socializing can be a necessary and beneficial break.
“Index Cards pp. 133-144
“That is one of the worst feelings I can think of, to have had a wonderful moment or insight or vision or phrase, to know you had it, and then to lose it” (136).
I experience the frustration all the time of having a random cool thought, connection, or idea for a story that I completely lose when something else catches my attention, like some girl's shoes I really like. Back in high school I started the habit of writing down ideas in the margins of my paper when I was in class. Later on when I had some time I would go back and read them and write some of them down on one piece of paper. I try to write things down as quickly as I can when I have an idea, but it is inevitable that a lot of things are forgotten. If I happen to be with a friend and I am unable to scribble my thought down, I ask if they would help remind me of the idea later. Nothing is more frustrating than knowing you forgot something potentially interesting and worth writing about.
“Radio Station KFKD” pp. 116-121
“Rituals are a good signal to your unconscious that it is time to kick in” (117).
I am intrigued by the idea of consistency and ritual helping the writing process in a mental and even biological way. My mind is always racing around all over the place, and at times it is hard for me to sit still long enough to listen to myself think. Anne discusses later on how a writer has to get out of their own way before they can get anything done. The idea of sitting at a desk for a certain amount of time at the same time every day to write seems so simple and brilliant. I also like the breathing exercises Anne discusses. I think everyone has to come up with their own calming exercises to achieve the right mental state for writing, but sitting down at the desk and not getting up five minutes later is certainly a crucial component.
“Broccoli” pp. 110-115
“Some of us tend to think that what we do and say and decide and write are cosmically important things. But they’re not. If you don’t know which way to go, keep it simple. Listen to your broccoli” (115).
I really enjoyed this chapter and love the metaphor of broccoli for intuition. I have been trying to think of my own metaphor, but I haven’t decided on one yet. I like Anne’s sentiment here that in making choices, such as in our writing, we should listen to our intuition and not let universal pressures overwhelm us. At times I have trouble writing because I am afraid that it will turn out badly or I will make a fatal error in the plot that just makes the whole thing stupid; but as Anne says, what we do and say and write are not “cosmically important” and mistakes are going to me made. The best thing we can do is try to listen to the voice inside of us in order to limit the mistakes that we make due to external pressures and influences.
“Set Design” pp. 74-79
“And in the years since, I have asked all sorts of people to help me design sets” (79).
In this chapter, Anne discusses how she researches certain topics she wants to write that she is not personally familiar with, like skillful gardening and old gentry houses. It is really interesting to think about all of the different levels of research that are involved in creative writing that readers do not even realize. I really like Anne’s emphasis on getting up and going places to find out information and talking with total strangers in order to immerse herself in an unfamiliar topic and make it familiar, or at least enough to pass it off as convincing. This chapter connects well with Burroway’s chapter on development and revision in which she emphasizes the importance of immersing oneself into the research and experiencing it with open eyes and an open heart.
“Perfectionism” pp. 28-32
“What people somehow (inadvertently, I’m sure) forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here—and, by extension, what we’re supposed to be writing” (32).
My parents did not forget to mention to me that I didn’t have to be perfect—they stressed it to me because I have always been so anxious about making mistakes. My teachers even mentioned it to me. I have been encouraged all my life to make big, creative, carefree messes, and I have always wanted to, especially with art and creative writing. In order for me to have the most meaningful and cathartic experiences in these fields, I have to learn how to let myself make a mess because, just as Lamott says, “[…] messes are the artist’s true friend” (32). Also, as Lamott says, no one will see our first drafts. That certainly is a soothing reminder. However, I still have some trouble looking at the mess with my own eyes. I know that I just need to get over myself because if I ever want to write something that actually reflects my voice and heart, I am going to have to let everything out in order to pull something good out of the mess. This entire chapter about perfectionism was very helpful and caused me to reflect on a lot of personal issues with myself and my writing.
“Shitty First Drafts” pp. 21-27
“The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later” (22).
When I read this line, I picture a succession of dancing images streaming from Anne Lamott’s mind as she busily scribbles down unimpeded descriptions of whatever comes bopping out onto her paper. This idea really appeals to me because I am so frustrated with that ulcerous monster of perfectionism that so hinders my writing. Lamott says that “the first draft is the child’s draft.” I interpret this idea as meaning that we should allow our thoughts from way back in our subconscious to flow freely forth unto paper with no pretense or judgment and with the openness of mind and spirit that so often is abandoned in childhood. I love her imagery of the rough draft “romping” all over the place--it assures me that is okay to have big, fat, messy rough drafts with jam streaked across them (not raspberry, though—Lamott would freak) and that the prettier drafts with come later. That first draft will be wild and open and coming from a bunch of different worlds at once, which is how it is supposed to be.
“Short Assignments” pp.16-20
“It reminds me that all I have to do is to write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame” (17).
Anne Lamott gives quite helpful and practical advice in this chapter about relieving the pressure that comes with being a writer. She advises that in moments of frustration or of being overwhelmed, a writer should begin again with a more achievable, less intimidating task in mind. I really like how Lamott gives examples of monologue that goes through her own mind when she becomes frustrated with her writing and then how she soothes and coaches herself when she decides to write about one specific part or one particular person. I certainly have gotten anxious and even mad with my writing before, especially if I have a a myriad of ideas rushing through my head that I wish would just pop out of my head at once and arrange themselves merrily on my paper. A jumble of abstract ideas can really be daunting and blur your vision; this “one-inch frame” metaphor could have a magnifying glass--effect by quickly bringing something specific into focus that might otherwise have been trampled by other ideas. By zoning into a smaller, distinct area, organization and clarity would certainly result.
“Finding Your Voice” pp. 195-201
“When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in—then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment” (201).
I really appreciate Lamott’s sentiment here; I find it to be quite refreshing and beautiful. The idea really appeals to me of actually sitting down and openly reflecting on particular things while not necessarily having to zealously ruminate over them. I have had an aversion to pondering over certain subjects that are uncomfortable or irrationally forbidden in some way; in truth, they might be the essential components for creative inspiration and discovery. Not only could inspiration come out of this type of reflection, but also indispensable insights into one's self.
“Looking Around” pp.97-102
“This is our goal as writers, I think; to help others have this sense of—please forgive me—wonder, of seeing things anew, things that can catch us off guard, that can break in on our small, bordered worlds” (100).
I really like this line because the experience of being caught “off guard” with a sense of “wonder” is exactly what happens for me when I read my favorite types of literature, such as British children’s literature and Modern American poetry. By reading literature that interests me and resonates so profoundly with me, I have strong urges to write on my own in the hopes of having some similar effect on other people. Lamott explains very clearly that we must be fully in touch with this sense of awe of the world ourselves before anything else.
“Dialogue” pp. 64-73
“Each one must sound different from the others. And they should not all sound like you; each one must have a self” (66).
When reading Lamott’s descriptions of how characters should be borne from the writer’s imagination, I thought about Keats’s theory of negative capability in which "man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” Wrapped up in this theory is the ability of the writer to negate his own personality in his writing and totally take on the character, becoming sort of a channeler of emotions and thought, which is what Shakespeare was such a master of. Lamott does a wonderful job of explaining the creative processes of character development and dialogue in this chapter.
“Getting Started” pp. 3-15
“This is how you train your unconscious to kick in for you creatively" (6).
Lamott’s entire theory behind creative writing and its universal accessibility is shown in many lines such as this one. I really appreciate her optimism and confidence that anyone can write if they discipline themselves in such a way as to acquire inspiration. Some people may feel very discouraged if brilliant thoughts do not spontaneously materialize for them in the way they might imagine it occurs for their favorite writers. She makes it clear that if you want to write, you can. Lamott’s major theme of tapping into creativity through self-disciple and consistent effort is a very motivating one.
"School Lunches" pp. 33-38
“But in important ways they are different, too, and this is even more interesting, for the obvious reason that when we study the differences, we see in bolder relief what we have in common" (33-34).
This statement, in reference to the variances of school lunches across the U. S., is actually a profound message concerning the wealth we can learn about ourselves and humanity in the processes of observation and writing. I think that this sentence is reflective of an essential goal in all writing—to learn more about ourselves and our connections with others. Through observation of how we differ from one another, we can find in contrast to these dissimilarities common threads that unite us and make us who we are as people. This theme of hidden likenesses between people runs through some of her other chapters, and I find it to be quite an interesting and essential one.
Introduction pp. xi-xxxi
"Other days, though, my writing is like a person to me--the person who, after all these years, still makes sense to me" (xxvi).
This is one line from Anne Lamott's introduction to Bird by Bird that I find to be particularly powerful; it follows her discussion concerning the darker, painful side of writing. I think this comparison is simply beautiful. I immediately resonated with this sentiment as it reflects to me the sort of complicated yet intimate relationship I have with writing. Anne associates writing with a person as if it a living, breathing entity with emotion and needs of its own. I have always loved to write, yet hesitation and the fear of failing hold me back at times. That fear, however, does not silence the voice of communication between myself and my writing. Although I hate the risk and probablity of making mistakes and writing something horrible, I write anyway because I always end up finding comfort and familiarity in the words. I really appreciate Anne's emphasis on disregarding the fear of failure and pushing through because the experience of writing is worth all the anxiety and frustration in the end. Anne makes it clear that, like the communcation between two people, the connection between writer and their work will become stronger and more meaningful with constant effort and care.
