I am very late in announcing the book review I was asked to write for Wordgathering.com because I’ve been caught in the Christmas fog which immediately followed my November Novel Writing Haze.
My glowing review of John Lee Clark’s latest work, Where I Stand: On the Signing Community and my DeafBlind Experience was published last month on their site—link HERE—along with some other great stuff, like Raymond Luczak’s Interview with one of my favorite poets ever, Ilya Kaminsky, as well as his review of the all deaf cast Ukrainian movie, the tribe:
I don’t think I’ve ever been made to equally want to see a movie and not want to see a movie at the same time before reading Raymond’s review of this! Hearing people especially, please read Raymond’s review of this movie before watching it. It may ruin some of the plot, but really, there’s not much to ruin. I’m pretty outraged that this is one of the few movies where people use a local sign language throughout the movie. Though be warned, there are no subtitles and it is in Ukrainian Sign Language, so if you don’t know that, you won’t really know exactly what the people are saying. I just really hope people realize that this is not an accurate take on the “Deaf experience” by any means (see Raymond’s review for more details).
So check out Wordgathering, a journal of disability poetry and literature. And if you want to read some insanely amazing poems that open their doors and draw you inside their world, go out and find Ilya Kaminsky’s book Dancing in Odessa:
I’ve been busy this year. From our trip to Thailand and Bali in the winter/spring, to hopping from one place to another into the summer, to finally settling down again in the fall, I haven’t had the time to post very often. I am hoping to change that now.
As far as my writing goes, I’ve been hard at work with subsequent drafts of my YA Science Fiction novel. I started a new practice in July during a break from my writing that has been extremely helpful in tackling the usual problems of world building, plot continuity, and character development. I read other books in my genre, which is my usual break activity, but this time I also read Stephen King’s On Writing.
This book floored me.
I had no idea that Stephen King, like me, also has trouble with plot and feels that the books of his in which he did plot his way through are actually his worst books.
“Story is honorable and trustworthy; plot is shifty, and best kept under house arrest.”
I felt empowered by my own tendency towards character driven stories, because he writes them, too.
I enjoyed the first half of the book, which was a memoir of how he started out as a writer, but the second half was where his little bits of advice helped to illuminate many of the things I struggle with in revisions.
He advises writers to write a draft of their book with the door closed first – so that we aren’t influenced by the opinions of others. Our second major draft should be after a break of 6 weeks (or however long feels right to us) and written with the door open, so we can let the world outside mesh with our world and enrich it. Both concepts aren’t foreign to me, but King spells them out with brevity and articulation that begs for rereading when needed. He’s not just concise with his words, he’s actually funny, which makes this non-fiction book stand out from some of the more boring lecture-type books on craft that are out there:
“The road to hell is paved with adverbs.”
I’m on yet another shorter break from the revising and I’m planning to reread the second half of this book to uncover some of his jewels of advice I’ve forgotten. And I want to stress this practice for the writers out there that are feeling stumped during their revisions.
Craft is important. Craft is essential. Go out there and find books on craft and read them. Today. I guarantee that the more you read, the better your writing will be, and King does, too:
“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut.”
The whole point of writing in the first place, for me anyways, is to visit another place and time, to gain a fresh perspective on life and what it means to be human. Nothing does this as well as a book. To give you a final, wise quote from Stephen King:
“Books are a uniquely portable magic.”
Yes, I remember feeling as I read that line. They are magic. But there are tricks to harnessing that magic. It’s not all play. It’s work, but the results are dazzling when we do it right.
And we can read books within our genre critically, but sometimes it’s easy to forget some of the things we all learned in High School about writing clearly enough for our readers to not only be drawn into our stories, but to forget they are even reading something. Sometimes, it’s easier when a writer actually spells things out and reminds us of the tools that can make our jobs easier. And when we do mange to hone our craft, our writing has the potential to become a spaceship or a magic carpet to this other realm where our characters live and breathe, just like we do.
I am thrilled to announce two of my latest poems can be found in the White Space Poetry Anthology, which has a beautiful cover (inspired by my poem “Learning How to Go”).
Pick up your copy of the anthology HERE.
Beyond that, the short film they produced is incredible—a gorgeous, tender crossing of the bridge between deaf and hearing people through ASL poetry. Watch it HERE.
And a big thank you to Maya Washington for making it all happen!
I successfully made it through all of November without a single blog post!
Was I busy writing a novel in a month, like many other writer friends of mine?
No. I was actually taking a break from my usual writing-like-crazy to let other people do the writing-like-crazy. I submitted my latest book to a literary agency that prefers exclusive reading time and have been just—waiting.
The waiting has been good, though, as you saw in my last post about making blocks for my toddler. I made blocks, then I sewed the entire inside and outside of a handbag, painted stars on a new Ergo baby carrier, sewed a tank top for myself, sewed patches onto pants, sewed some other things. You get the picture. I’ve been crafty this November, and waiting ever patiently to hear from the agents (which is probably the only time I am able to be patient).
I am reaching that point where I feel like I’m sitting on my hands all the time to stop myself from writing, though,—because—the only thing I wish to write is the second installment of my YA science fiction trilogy. But I’ve learned my lesson from literary agents and the “Big 6” publishing houses already. Never write the second book in a trilogy unless you’re pretty confident the first is going to get published NOW.
Only last year at this time, I was in the throes of editing the first volume of a YA Urban Fantasy trilogy. I wrote the first draft of that book during Nanowrimo 2010, while sailing south from Block Island, Rhode Island, to Key West, Florida. It was a mess of a story about a wolf girl journeying from New Hampshire to New York and then passing in and out of stories. I put it down when I discovered I was pregnant in January of 2011, and didn’t start editing it until November of that year.
The single volume turned into a complex trilogy about fairy tales, myths, and the doors between reality and stories. Werewolves escape their stories and a wolf girl named Blue has to put them back. I sent the 6th draft of that book out and it wasn’t finished—I needed much more world building, I needed to know what all the action of this book was leading to, I needed to know my characters better. So I did 9 more drafts of it and resubmitted it in April of 2013.
By this time, however, the “Big 6” publishers (who I sometimes imagine as six mythological gods sitting around a round table discussing what would be popular next year and what would absolutely not) had decided that werewolves were out and so were shapeshifters that turned into wolves. I knew that my story was great, but if the “Big 6” said it wasn’t the right time for it, then I knew that only smaller presses would even consider publishing it. It made me sad to put that trilogy aside, but I feel pretty confident in the fact that wolves will resurface someday—and in 5 or 10 years, I would probably rip up that story and write something vastly different, but it’s okay. Sometimes that’s what happens. As writers, we can’t stop growing and changing and making decisions based on what is important to us.
I feel in my heart that my current project is going to get published. But I don’t have the heart to start writing the second book right now—not because I am uncertain the first will get published—but because I realize the whole agent and publishing process will change this first book into something else…which will change what happens in the second.
So—what do I do with my time now?
Lately, I’ve been devouring the brilliant science fiction Ender Series and reading some more contemporary paranormal YA like Everlost, the first book of the Skinjacker Trilogy.
I’ve been dreaming of the second book of my science fiction trilogy and adding little notes about it to my Index Cards iPad app that allows me to just throw a bunch of scenes and pieces of storyline together—so that I can sit like Dumbledore staring into the pensive as the details rearrange themselves into what they are supposed to become. I often feel like my characters are telling me their story, not the other way around.
Aside from the writing, I am going through some inner cultural conflicts.
I am back to thinking about not wanting to voice again.
I go through this every few months or so. I am Deaf, but I went deaf in my teens, and I still have enough hearing to hear some voices and sounds and to be able to speak clearer English than most hearing people (because I grew up with a deaf mother who lip reads, so I needed to annunciate my words very carefully from a young age). I love voicing, too, because I love using the English language, my first language.
My deafness, however, makes it so that any social interactions with other people are hard if they are not in ASL. When I voice, I am not just meeting hearing people half-way and asking them to meet me half-way in our communication. I am bending over backwards for them, making it so that it’s easy for them to know what I am saying.
The problem is—that doesn’t make it any easier for me to hear them. And it makes them want me to lip read, which is exhausting and it gives me headaches. But they hear me talking and they automatically want to talk back. It’s a natural response, so I don’t blame them for it.
But if I start the whole conversation with writing on a notepad, or typing on our cell phones, then we’re on the same page from the start. We’re BOTH typing to each other, we’re both communicating in written English. The communication is balanced—it is equal.
I know these things, but when I go home to my parent’s house and I see my family, I am pulled back into hearing culture and voicing. Most of the women in my family, even the other deaf ones, speak loudly and tell stories. Dramatic, repetitive storytelling is a huge part of American Italian culture and I’m not outside of its compelling influence. When I want to tell a story, even to my partner (who is hearing but knows ASL), my first instinct is to tell it the way my grandmother does—in English with wild gestures (though now, my hands move with ASL signs instead).
When I am especially excited, I probably sound like other bilinguals (who might yell something in English and then yell more in Spanish or Russian), but I’m even more confusing because sometimes I yell in English and ASL at the same time, ripping something away from each language by mashing them together, but illustrating how divided I am at the same time.
I can speak volumes faster than I can sign, which is what I am hoping to change as my toddlers becomes an older child. I want him to be as fluent in ASL and I wish I could be and I want to never feel like I need to voice with him.
And I want to remember to STOP VOICING with him NOW.
I am Deaf, but I used to be hearing. When I go to sleep, sometime I dream in ASL, and sometimes I can hear and I dream in spoken English.
I’m writing these struggles out there for all the other people who I am sure are also straddling cultures, whether it is French and American cultures, or Eastern and Western cultures, or hearing and Deaf cultures.
We’re all different. And we’re all beautiful and ugly in our own unique ways. I don’t think any of us should ever stop learning about other cultures, but sometimes it’s good to remember and honor (all) the cultures we belong to, however they may conflict inside of us.
This is me being honest: I have truly struggled with motherhood.
I love my 2-year-old son, but I don’t enjoy the immense responsibility that goes along with being a mother. I also feel overwhelmed most days with my schedule of part time working, writing novels and poetry, AND watching my son. But every day, I manage it somehow. Every day, I learn to keep up with the important things and let the less important things go.
Letting things go that I want to get done and just can’t is so hard for me. I grew up as an only child. I’m used to doing whatever I want, when I want. I’m used to traveling when I want to, writing for 13 hours straight when I want to, and focusing on myself.
All of that changes when you have a child. It’s frightening. I remember reading somewhere that having a child is like having a piece of yourself exist outside of your body, a very fragile piece, that’s new and vulnerable to the world. I get anxious all the time.
I’ve gone through plenty of times of self-doubt and self-criticism, but being a mother exacerbated all of that. I feel guilty all the time when I need to do some work and my son wants more attention. Or when I give him all my attention and don’t get the time to write.
It’s a constant battle, inside and out.
But It’s worth it. I know it is, and every time my son does something ridiculously cute or impressively smart for his age, I get excited and I forget to worry about the precarious balancing of work and childcare that I do.
Two nights ago, my partner went to sleep early. I wrote all day, so I was ready to take a break from writing and focus on my son for a few hours. I realized that maybe he is old enough for markers or crayons, and I realized that I still had 30-something wooden blocks cut for him, that I’ve been planning to paint for him for a year and a half. I took everything out and we had an amazing time drawing together and he drew on some blocks while I painted other blocks.
It reminded me of the time I spent teaching mural painting in an Irish primary school. I loved teaching art to kids. It was one language that I could speak with any child—from the Irish-speaking kids of Dun Chaoin to the Nepali and Indian kids of Kalimpong.
When I’ve taught art, the fact that I can’t hear kid’s voices or read their lips doesn’t matter. My son signs, of course. I don’t have a communication barrier with him, but I have a hard time playing with him in a way that excites me, too.
I am so relieved, and so thankful, to have found a new language and a new way to play with son that makes me forget my work, my writing, and even forget that I’m fully responsible for this tiny person, I’m a mother now, not just a daughter, or a wandering writer and occasional muralist, or a twenty-something-year-old with a passport filled with stamps, or a sailor living on her own boat.
I’ve resisted motherhood for a long time, but sharing art with my son helps me embrace it.
This is a blog post for new mothers—it’s hard as f**k, but if you can share things you love with your children, it makes everything better.
(I am sure this is old news for many people, but sometimes it’s easy to get sucked into our own needs and stressed over also meeting the needs of our family, and I think it can be easy to forget that when you share things you love with the people you love—older people included—life feels more free, happy, positive, and invigorating. And then when we go back to our work or our responsibilities, we realize they aren’t so overwhelming after all.)
I am so excited that two of my favorite poems have been published in Deaf Lit Extravaganza, another anthology put together by the wonderful John Lee Clark, author of Suddenly Slow and Deaf American Poetry: An Anthology.
If you are at all curious about the Deaf community, I urge you to pick this up. It had great range, from fiction to poetry to non-fiction, and features some very talented writers.
From the introduction by John Lee Clark:
“…this book represents the latest blow to the audist vision of deafness as a calamity, as something that must be fixed at all costs.”
The cover of the book, a dandelion, is a tribute to Clayton Valli, a ASL poet and linguist. His famous ASL poem “A Dandelion”, which is about the persistence of ASL despite oralists attempts to weed it out, is transcribed in the book, though I love the ASL version below:
[A note from Wikipedia:
“Audism is the notion that one is superior based upon one’s ability to hear, or that life without hearing is futile and miserable, or an attitude based on pathological thinking which results in a negative stigma toward anyone who does not hear.”]