Belated Musing

It’s been a couple of weeks but the effects of Grub Street’s annual The Muse and the Marketplace conference linger, and nag. If you’re an artist of any persuasion, you'll understand. Going to Muse means being with people who know. Who get the obsession. The giddy pleasure of finding the right adjective—lilac, yes, that’s it. It’s lilac, not lavender or purple or violet. And who get the anguish of not enough time, not enough inspiration, not enough fortitude, not enough ink in the inkjet.

This year I went just for the Sunday workshops. The recession and all that. I figured I’d catch Ann Patchett’s keynote talk and meet up with three women from my writing group. Camaraderie! Last year, I went alone for both days, didn’t know a soul but made good connections. I did all marketplace stuff like editors’ panels, Agent Idol (up close and very personal, but mercifully anonymous), Manuscript Mart, and behind the scenes with agents. So this year I wanted craft immersion therapy.

First on my itinerary was Joan Wickersham on “The Rules of Writing: How to Use Them and When to Break Them.” She divided her rules into craft and practice. For craft, she listed the familiar “Show don’t tell, write what you know, and maintain consistent voice and point of view,” then picked them apart, offering options such as “Show and tell. Show what needs to be shown but don’t neglect the possibility of narration.” Get grounded in the rules, like Picasso learning figure drawing, she advised, and then do your thing, make your writing your own. A wonderful passage from William Maxwell’s So Long, See You Tomorrow illustrated the effective use of multiple voices and POVs.

For the practice rules, Joan listed, “Write every day, write for the market, and read great books,” then proceeded to debunk those, or at least float alternatives. We’re all looking for rules and guidelines and the damn instruction manual. So then, when we don’t write every day, for instance, it’s a cue for self-flagellation. Joan’s softer approach is “Write even when you don’t feel like it,” which is fine by me. I’m too busy for self-flagellation.

Next, I went to Elinor Lipman's “Economy 101: Murdering Your Darlings.” One rule she stressed: “Always use a consistent voice and POV.” Ahh, writing conferences, a hotbed of multiple POVs (or would that be PsOV?). The juxtaposition of opinions forces me to examine my own values. What works for me, for my genre? For this piece? For this audience? Elinor reviewed some pet peeves and faves, including a quote from Elmore Leonard: “I try to leave out the parts that people skip.” Love it!

Another morsel popped out: “If it bothers you once, fix it immediately.” Busted! How often do I try to slide one through knowing it doesn’t work, that yucky damnit-I-can’t-deal-with-it-right-now-I’ll-come-back-to-it kind of knowing? What a concept: Fix it now. While I was drafting a recent essay, I got stuck. Nothing came. Now what? I knew the word was wrong, so I put XXX. Eeks. For a person who craves closure, it was tough. I usually try to muscle the word out of my brain or dig into my online thesaurus. Putting XXX kept me moving along, skirting the edges of my comfort zone.

Lunch was bliss. Yes, the food was good, and so was Ann Patchett’s impressively extemporaneous speech. But it was the energy. My God. OK, it was noisy, but so what? I sat at a table with a mix of folks, some women from my group, some newbies, and some faculty. This is the heart of the Muse for me. Feeling a sense of belonging, of homecoming. The relief at not having to explain about the day-job dilemma (that is, we’d all rather be writing). The flurry of exchanging business cards and blog URLS, discussing the macro and micro challenges of shaping words and ideas, and simply sharing our passion, no matter our stage of development.

But the homecoming feeling is also bittersweet: I love this. I want this. The energy here fuels me. I’m happy. Then I think, why can’t I feel this all the time? Why do I have to go grocery shopping? Why do I watch American Idol? What is money anyway and why do I have to earn a living when all I want to do, what I was meant to do, is write? Sigh.

After lunch, I attended Richard Hoffman’s “Starting from Solitude: Interiority and the First-Person Narrative.” He offered an interesting process exercise that called forth a special moment. Maybe it was the post-prandial sugar buzz, but instead of writing about a moment (which I usually love to do and which other people seemed to get into), I felt restless. I just wanted to dance and giggle and shout. But I know that’s part of attending a conference, too. Mood swings and indigestion. I’m glad Richard had handouts. Good stuff.

Lisa Genova’s Hour of Power about how her novel Still Alice came to be a NYT bestseller was riveting. So much of what she shared connected with my own goals—getting an online presence, doing readings, writing my own PR material, working with a designer on a cover concept for Where Is Luv?, my memoir-in-progress. I’m curious about self-publishing. I’m not there yet but I won't rule it out. Lisa had her vision, her goals, and her confidence. She networked and risked and asked for help and never wavered in her loyalty to her material. Hour of Power indeed. Come to think of it, the Muse was eight Hours of Power, and I’m still feeling the surge.