The Real Writer

Bread Loaf - Last Thoughts

So would I do it again? I might, but would need a few years to recover. It's that intense. One of my workshop friends there coined a term for it, 'overloaf.' (We actually helped her create a long list of 'neoloafisms' that is quite hilarious (or maybe it's funny just to us...), and got them published in The Crumb on the last day. A triumph!)

Bread Loaf is THE big deal conference in the country. It's best to go as a work study participant (waiter), tuition scholar, or fellow, if you're looking for something important to put on your CV. If you want more flexibility in your experience, go as a 'contributor' (nice way of saying you'll be considered of lesser stock than the three aforementioned groups :) ), and enjoy yourself. Because enjoy myself I did.

Regardless of how you attend, getting into Bread Loaf is a sign that you're doing something right. Even if you don't get the work study, tuition, or fellow gig, go anyway. It's like a year of grad school packed into 10 days. The lectures and craft classes and workshops are worth every penny, as are the opportunities to meet one on one with agents and editors (both agents I met with wanted my manuscripts; that, alone, was worth the price of admission!). You meet SO many people at meals, in the computer lab, at readings, sitting around in those Adirondack chairs, or getting tea and coffee in the barn - everyone I met was glad to be there, sharing information and tips, and friendly.

Only you can decide what kind of experience you want to have. There is still some hierarchical structure/thinking there - the fellows eat with the fellows, the scholars eat with the scholars, the faculty eat with the faculty, the waiters eat with each other, etc. Each group has its own incestuous set of interactions. People I know who were waiters worked anywhere from 5-8 hours a day and didn't have much time to attend any of the classes, etc., let alone eat. There were parties every night until 3-4 am, then the shifts began again at 6:30 am. They were being watched by the staff because those that do the best job are invited back the following year as social staff (another group that plans events but spend alot of time in the office, so they also miss some important activities).

As for the other options, if you go as a fellow (you have to have a book), you are assigned to one of the faculty in the form you both write, and you co-facilitate the workshops and give a reading. Scholars get tuition paid for and also give a reading.

This isn't intended to criticize the wait staff (I met most of them and they were lovely), or anyone else, it's to illustrate how attending as one type of participant can color your experience. I was very happy to go as a contributor, because I had the most freedom, I feel. I met so many different people, attended nearly all the readings, went to the lectures and the craft classes, had great agent meetings, had time to drive off campus for visits to local towns, and take hikes in the woods. I also had time to work on some poems. I went and soaked up wonderful information that will help me as a writer, which is what the purpose of going to these conferences should be.

I mentioned in an earlier post that Bread Loaf has been called 'Bed Loaf' in the past, but in the years that Michael Collier (U of M prof) has been Director, that nonsense is gone. I've heard stories about the years before Michael that were kind of gross - buckets of condoms in the laundry room for everyone's use (they were empty by the end of the conference...), no classes or lectures or agent meetings, just workshops and the rest of the time - drinking. Fellows and faculty that groped participants under the table in class and at readings. Yuk. It's nothing like that now, I'm happy to say! There was some, in my opinion, frat house/high school stuff going on, but if you didn't want to see it, you didn't.

Bread Loaf is worth going to at least once. The quality of the faculty, the guests, the agents, the editors, the writing, and even the food, is first rate. Make sure you're in good health before you go, take your vitamins, pack warm clothes (we had a week of really cold weather and rain), get your own room (a single at the Bread Loaf Inn or some other Inn nearby - the Waybury or Chipman are the nearest) unless you really love having a roommate, and be flexible. You're going to want to do everything. I very nearly did and I'm still standing (albeit sleep deprived and with a raging cold). What I learned will stay with me a very long time.

Strategies for Radical Revision and Last Day at Bread Loaf

The weather has perfectly expressed how we all feel about leaving: the heavens opened up and poured in a tremendous thunderstorm today, complete with pretty good sized balls of hail. I did get to sit in an Adirondack chair on the hill overlooking the field for three wonderful hours of sun and reading beforehand.

Today is light on events - only two talks and two readings. Fiction workshops met this morning, poetry and nonfiction ones ended yesterday. Michael Collier and Robert Cohen read after dinner, followed by the goodbye dance at the barn. Yes, there is a disco ball.

We are the walking dead. Many of us are sick because of the extreme weather shift from hot to very cold (for a week - you could see your breath at night) and now hot again. I personally heard some people tell stories of having coats and warm clothes Fed Exed to BL from home.

Last night we had the last reading in the barn, the theme of which was erotica. I will definitely arrange this at Creative Alliance or somewhere when I get home as it was absolutely killer - no holds barred. The last piece of the evening was called 'An Erotic History of Watergate.' As you can imagine, it was hilarious.

RADICAL REVISION

Now on to some tidbits from a craft class I took the other day from the poet, Catherine Barnett (I bought her book, by the way. For you poets out there - she is very good).

I'll just list ways you can accomplish this when you are working on a poem. Dig up some old ones and see what happens (it's best to use old ones to start, as you are no longer emotionally attached to them):

1) If someone tells you you have too much in your poem, add more.

2) If someone tells you you have too little in your poem, take out more.

3) Take the last line and make it the first. Rewrite from there, keeping whatever works in what's already there.

4) Expand your poem: add subordinate clauses using who, when, until, if, while, before, after, as, since, whenever, where, etc.

Also use coordinating conjunctions: and/and/and; or/or/or; but/but/but (think of it as a list that keeps going)

So, for example: "The man, who once loved me, who once told me___________, and __________, and ____________, and ______________..." so you're pushing the syntax and the comfort of the line/sentence.

Actual listing - must make a qualitative progression (light to dark, big to small, for example); can't be random. Push the list, see what you come up with.

Repetition - repeat what you just said. Maybe repeat it again.

Contradiction - say the opposite of what you just said.

5) Compress your poem:

Negation: use the word 'not.' When you do this you get both the thing named and its absence. You can also use other words that negate - 'un'; 'never'; 'less'; 'without.'

Neologisms: (what I like to refer to as kennings - used in Anglo Saxon poetry): put words together to create a heightened adjective, a metaphor: 'the shutmouth mother,' 'the sorrowfence.'

Possessives: use possessives: 'how the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation' (Plath) or 'the wind's rebuke' and 'the leaves' exhalation' (Brigit Pegeen Kelly).

Shift the parts of speech: Use a noun as a verb or vice versa. Use an adjective as a verg, etc.

Cut and paste: radically rearrange your poem. Find new combinations!

EXERCISE:

Go over your poem and underline any lines you feel jump out with lots of energy. Pick three of those lines. Make one the first line of a new poem, one a middle line, and one the last line. Now, using some of the above strategies (minimum 3), write a new poem.

Time for dinner. Another poet I want to mention before I forget, one of the fellows here, is Ilya Kaminsky. He is Russian, his book is Dancing in Odessa by Tupelo Press (which won a Whiting Award), and he is a wonder. Keep an eye on him. He will be big.

A&M, Natasha Trethewey, and the Lyric Narrative Poem

Yesterday some girls from my workshop and I went to A&M in Middlebury, where a roller skating waitress attached a tray with our order to the driver's side window just like they did in the fifties, and we gorged on hamburgers (veggie burger for me), onion rings, milkshakes, fries, and 'cheese curds.' The latter are like mozarella sticks served as appetizers in restaurants. One would think they'd change the name as cheese curds doesn't sound all that appetizing. It was a lovely, sinful lunch.

Today they are roasting a whole pig in the courtyard outside the kitchen for dinner tonight. That same group has decided that's a little too 'real' for us, so we're going into town for Chinese food. I am, personally, dying for broccoli in any form, as there has been nary a green vegetable since I got here. The only thing helping on that score is the salad bar.

Had my second agent meeting today and it went well. Kit Ward. She asked for both the first and third manuscripts and gave me a new genre name for the third one - autobiographical novel or personal narrative. So add those to your list.

Natasha Trethewey is teaching poetry here and gave her reading this afternoon, from Native Guard, her Pulitzer Prize (this year) winning book of poetry. I'm not well versed on her work, but I have to admit that she is a terrific reader and some of the poems were very beautiful and satisfying. One in particular, the name of which escapes me, was fascinating - she wrote it in about 10 or so lines, then repeated the lines backwards, one after the other, to exit the poem - so the last line is the same as the first. Try it! We are both Hollins Univ. grads (her father teacher's there), so we bonded later on the front porch over that. She is lovely and gracious.

Now on to lyric-narrative poetry. I took a great craft class on that this afternoon and want to share with you the elements of each one separately, and then the elements of the hybrid (which you can also use as a list of steps for a writing exercise if you like, using element number 1 as step 1 and on from there). Note that the elements are listed based on the idea of a spectrum, with lyric poetry at one end and narrative poetry at the other, so the elements are contrast/compare:

LYRIC POETRY:

less discursive
non-linear
circular (stops time)
affective
improvised moment
the here and now
guided by emotion
uses repetition
uses figurative language/comparisons
freedom

NARRATIVE POETRY

discursive
composed of observations
linear
moves forward in time
progressive
past-present-future
guided by action/scene

LYRIC-NARRATIVE POETRY

1) Contextualization - the who, what, when - context. Usually given in the title and/or first 5 lines of the poem)

2) Descriptive Language - figurative language takes a backseat here. This is where you can announce your originality as a writer. This is the description of the environment we're in, as observed by poet.

3) Lyric Departure - the poet mentally (maybe emotionally as well) leaves the context/environment of the poem. Something in the environment triggers a memory or feeling, etc. that leads the poet away from the environment and away from time. The poet now enters no-time, moving into the interior, lyric space of meditation.

4) Revelation/Epiphany - the meditation leads to an insight that (this is key) IS NOT STATED. The insight/revelation should be represented through an image, or put in the form of a question. Explicitly stating the epiphany makes the poetry therapy. (Blech.) The revelation is earned by what happens in the lyric space.

5) Return - the poet now returns to the environment of the beginning of the poem. Sometimes the epiphany happens at the same moment as the return.

6) Open Ending - the poem ends on an image that is open to interpretation.

Note: the leap into the lyric space from context, is where we show/announce our personality. We create an invisible bridge between where we are leaping from to where we want to land (inside the lyric space). You do not want to make an expected or cliched leap here.

"The secret wish of all poetry is to stop time." Charles Simic (U.S. Poet Laureate)

Bread Loaf - Mid Point and Holding Our Own

This is how The Crumb (BL's daily newsletter) put it:

"No workshops meet today. Rest and recover. There's more ahead, including: 10 more readings, five more lectures, three fiction workshops, two poetry/nonfiction workshops, six special talks, four sessions of craft classes, a program on William Meredith, a book signing, gala reception, a slideshow, and, believe it or not, another dance."

The first night, Michael Collier told a story about how, near the end of the conference one year, he fell asleep on a table in the back of the Little Theatre where the readings are held, intending just to nap a little. Someone woke him, hours later, long after the reading was over. We laughed thinking that would never happen to us. In a way, it's true; instead, we're falling asleep during the readings themselves.

Here's a typical day:

7:30 am - breakfast
9:00 am - lecture
10:10 - 12:10 - workshop alternating days
11:20 - 1:20 pm - outing for those not in workshop (Robert Frost cabin/trail, Texas Falls, Middlebury, etc.)
12:00 pm - lunch
1:30 pm - special talk - usually by agent, editor, or publisher (big houses and small presses and lit mags)
2:30 pm - craft classes (6-7 choices per day, more fiction, maybe 1-2 poetry or nonfiction choices)
4:15 pm - reading (fellows, tuition scholars, guests)
5:00 pm - another special talk or book signing or movie
6:30 pm - dinner
8:15 pm - faculty and fellow readings
9:30 pm - another reading - waiters, staff, or tuition scholars
10:30 pm - bonfire and two dances (staggered throughout)

Aren't you exhausted?

Two little tips if you come here - there's a place called 'telephone rock' out in the field across from the Inn where, if you stand on this large, gray rock, you can get decent cell phone reception. Also - the barn at the back of the campus has great treats between classes - cookies, bagels, and for the last two days, leftover blackberry pie from the Robert Frost picnic/talk (which was amazing).

Dara, one of my workshop-mates, and also a fellow guest at the Chipman Inn, where I'm staying, saw a moose last night on the way 'home.' He was crossing the street 1/2 mile from the Inn and she had to slam on her brakes so as not to hit him. I am so jealous. I have been absolutely dying to see a moose. We are now calling her the Moose Whisperer.

I have seen Nessie, the chipmunk who lives in the Inn - she ran between my feet when I was in the lobby reading, and I saw a hedgehog cross the road (why does a hedgehog cross...?), so the animals I'm spotting are getting bigger. Hopefully by Saturday there will be moose!

Book/Story/Poem Recs from Bread Loaf

Here are the books, essays, poems, and stories people are talking about at Bread Loaf (in class and out) that I've overheard:

Kierkegaard - On Repetition (essay)
Cormac McCarthy - The Road (novel)
Charles Baxter - Beast of Love (novel)
Anything by Grace Paley
Ditto for Philip Roth, but esp. his memoir - Patrimony
Richard Yates - Revolutionary Road (novel)
Denis Johson - Emergency (story)
Kevin Brockmeier - The Ceiling (story)
Tim O'Brien - How to Tell a True War Story (story)
Khaled Hosseini - The Kite Runner (novel)
Thomas Pynchon - Gravity's Rainbow (novel)
Raymond Carver - Cathedral (story)
Lorrie Moore - People Like That Are the Only People Here (story)

Poets:

Frank O'Hara - anything
Heather McHugh - Broken English
Eavan Boland and Mark Strand - The Making of a Poem
James Wright - Two Citizens
Elizabeth Bishop
Louise Gluck
James Merrill - The World and the Child (poem)
Kay Ryan
C.D. Wright

Agent Conferences and a River Runs Through It

Had my meeting with Julie Barer of Barer Literary Agency this morning and she was terrific. Lively, funny, interested in the books (I pitched Goodbye, Good Girl and the current novel, Inventory). Like telling a girlfriend a story. She had great advice - publish Inventory first, then GGG once I had a readership, as GGG sounded more complicated. I admitted that Leigh, the main character, is a little difficult, and she said she loves characters like that (they're more satisfying), but that they are usually better for a second book, not the first. I really thought that was stellar advice. And she asked me to send Inventory when it was ready, so that is a great end result.

Now on to the river portion of this post -

One comes to conferences like these and hears what other people are doing in their real lives, what they're writing about (I'm thinking of the nonfiction writers here), and you feel like you haven't suffered enough. Haven't been uncomfortable enough. Haven't written gritty enough. You start to feel a little competitive, even as you encourage one another. When that happens, in my experience, find some water - a pond, a lake, a stream, and spend some time with it until you're back to normal.

I took the Middlebury River Walk through a field and woods to the river itself, followed some of the rocks out into the water and found one wide enough to sit on, in the center of the stream. It was very shallow there - with little rushes of water and heaps of small stones nestled up against the bigger rocks and spread out across the bed. Took off my shoes and walked about a bit - very cold - the stones digging into the soles of my feet. I was far enough around the bend to ensure I didn't see anyone on the path, and with the sun falling through the trees, it was perfect. I chose some rocks to take back with me (I do this everywhere - have some from a writers conference in Abiquiu and from Walden Pond).

What I thought about as I sat there, and what I want to say to you, is that it's not about suffering. Suffering is a construct, a story we create about events, a perception that enters us and stays longer than it should. It's as if we believe that suffering makes an experience real; it makes us human. If you stripped yourself of the idea of suffering, stripped yourself of romanticism, nostalgia, fear, longing, and more, what would be left to write from? It's an interesting question. Something will always come in to analyze and organize the information into a message, into meaning. What would that something be? Who would you be?

In the middle of that river, I kept thinking of Theodore Roethke's poetic sequence, The Far Field, where he manages to separate enough from being human to be absorbed into the environment around him. He splits open and escapes the shell of intellect, emotion, and language.

"-- Or to lie naked in sand,
In the silted shallows of a slow river,
Fingering a shell,
Thinking:
Once I was something like this, mindless,
Or perhaps with another mind, less peculiar;
Or to sink down to the hips in a mossy quagmire;
Or, with skinny knees, to sit astride a wet log,
Believing:
I'll return again,
As a snake or a raucous bird,
Or, with luck, as a lion.

I learned not to fear infinity,
The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,
The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,
The wheel turning away from itself,
The sprawl of the wave,
The on-coming water."

Maybe if I sit there every day, this will happen to me. Maybe if we each find a place like this for ourselves, it will happen to us.

Workshop Challenges

Day two: having a hard time in Jim Longenbach's workshop. We just don't teach the same way. This wouldn't normally be a problem - I'm open to new ideas and new ways of looking at poetry and the workshop process - but his method runs so contrary to mine that it just feels viscerally wrong. Stifling. Inhibiting.

First off, though, let me say that I like Jim's poetry, and he has a brilliant vocabulary when it comes to describing what's going on in a poem. He really gets the poem in all its current and possible incarnations, and makes wonderful and insightful suggestions. It's just this thing about not discussing meaning that I completely disagree with!

Here's how he works:

We are to describe the poem meticulously in terms of craft. From the very simple: it has 18 lines and 4 stanzas, to the interplay of literal and figurative language. That is all. The details. And while this is a very useful way to examine a poem - it really gets you inside of it by peeling back the layers - but we don't then make what I think of as a natural progression to a discussion of meaning. There's no discussion of how the details of craft do or don't support or challenge the subject matter. No discussion of context. He says a poem is the disposition of language on the page, not the subject matter. It's the marks on the page, the look/shape of it, the sound. I would agree that subject matter doesn't make a poem, it's what you do with the subject matter that does - the two must marry (technique/craft and subject matter) into meaning. Jim says meaning isn't important in a poem. He doesn't wish to make any value judgments, nothing about whether a poem is working or not.

This is holding me back. A poem has meaning. Not at first, not as you write it, but the finished product does. And you must examine what you've written to determine what you are saying and if you are expressing it in the best way possible. Meaning is there, whether you like it or not, and it creates layered depths in a poem. It's simply irresponsible not to pay attention to it.

This is what is wrong with poetry today. If a poem looks good and sounds good, then it must be good. I am completely bemused by this kind of thinking. This kind of philosophy presupposes that all the poems are good and worthy. Not true. Some poems don't work. Some poems just don't have 'it.' Some are poems you write on the way to the better poem - they are learning experiences, practices, drafts.

I don't know about anyone else in the group because we haven't discussed this outside the workshop, but I don't need a laundry list of the elements I used in my poem. I know what I used. I want to know what you thought and felt and experienced when you read it. I want to know if it rose up, like a figure, or a movie, in your mind and inhabited you or you it. I want to know how deep was the dose of reality I gave you? Was it inside or outside of you? What other technical elements would work better, in your opinion?

It's good to hear different approaches, but the sessions are a struggle for me because of this clash in our thinking.

The agents are here and giving talks this afternoon. After that are fellows' readings. Agent meetings are tomorrow and next Saturday. Am meeting with Julie Barer (has her own agency) tomorrow to pitch.

We're all exhausted, but in a good way. It's somewhat like the start of a new romance. You just don't sleep and somehow you make it through!

Breadloaf - 1st day

Arrived at 7 pm last night, after a 10 hour drive. The backroads of Vermont seem to go on and on and on...But are beautiful, so who cares? Green to the 100th degree, water sounds, cool air (and cold cold cold at night - it's in the upper forties, low fifites at night here, what a change from humid, 95 degree Maryland!), charming little towns with charming little shops. One could hide out here for months and months, happily. There are also moose in this area. I'm so hoping to see one.

Registration was still going on when I arrived, thank goodness, so lots of things to pick up, then back to the Inn to check in. There are four Breadloafers staying there - two poets, two fiction writers. (Which is nice; we had our own little critique of the first night at breakfast this morning.) I saw the dorm rooms and they are small, but manageable, if you don't mind sharing a small space with someone. Twin beds, each person has closet space, shared bathrooms down the hall.

Dinner was just letting out when I returned - we all went to the barn for a welcome from Michael Collier, the Director (and one of my thesis advisors at U of M), and a reading by Eavan Boland (poet) and Joanna Scott (fiction writer). Eavan is, for me, the female version of Seamus Heaney, who I've also heard read - so much rich history and deep thought in her poems. I would have loved to be in her workshop, but am not (alas). I have figured out how the system works here: if you've been to BreadLoaf before, you will, most likely, get your first workshop choice. If you're a newcomer, probably your third or fourth. I will be in James Longenbach's class, which is this afternoon. I haven't any knowledge or experience of his poems or criticism, so we'll see!

The barn has apparently been remodeled, as everyone kept remarking on that. It's a huge room that seats several hundred people, with a stage area and podium. Stadium seating in the back. It isn't until everyone is together that you realize how many people are here! The community is also welcome at the readings.

Rita, my friend who is also attending, and I were overwhelmed. Not hard to feel when you've been in the car all day or in training to wait tables, then waiting tables at dinner, as she is. We're having two totally different experiences, which I'll pass on to you, in case you want to apply for work study. The waiters have to give a reading, put on a skit, and do a 'dance off' with the BL staff. Sounds fun in theory, and will be fun to watch, but a little too 'camp' for me. We've been cautioned to pace ourselves (there is a lot to do here - trips, picnics, dances, movies, lectures, readings, and classes, in addition to workshops - so it'll be easy to overload. I have a wonderful writing community at home, so do not need to throw myself into every activity here. I've done that at other conferences and have regretted not taking the time to go off by myself and work. So, this time, I'm here to work with new poets, be inspired, and hopefully generate the beginnings of some new work.

After the readings there is a social every night (tea, coffee, desserts), which is also another way to meet your fellow writers. Michael had a great suggestion: that you sit at a different table at meals, whenever possible, as a means of getting to know as many people as possible. Never know what important contacts await you...

One can get the key to Robert Frost's cabin, which is within walking distance down a nearby trail, and I plan on doing that during a lunch period some day. Word to the wise - when you're at a conference, skip a meal now and again and do something that you would be crowded out of at any other time - showering, sightseeing, computer lab (which is where I am now, writing while others are at a lecture). Pick the things you want to do ahead of time and make a schedule for yourself, because it's hard to keep track. But also be flexible. You may hear of other activities you'd rather do instead of what you've already chosen.

Some other details:

Meals at BL, if you are not staying on campus, are $5 - breakfast, $10 - lunch, and $15 - dinner.

Lectures are from 9-10 am

Workshops are 10:10 am - 12:10 pm every other day. (Everyone meets on the first full day.) About 10 people per workshop.

Classes vary - can be very early (7 am) or later in the day (2:30 pm). Sign up is two days before each class, some have handouts to read prior.

Readings by faculty every night, as well as the waiters (work study)

Off to prepare the workshop packet for class today. One of my poems is first on the roster for critique, which I'm glad of - better than waiting for Saturday's class to discover what kind of workshop leader James will be in relation to my poetry.

Going to Breadloaf

Great news! I've been accepted to Breadloaf, so this August I'll be reporting back each day (or as often as I can) about the experience, the people, the workshops, the agents, the editors, the food :), the scenery, so you can get a feel for the place - similar to what I did for the NYC pitchfest.

It's affectionately termed 'Bedloaf' because of the shenanigans that go on there (yes, I said 'shenanigans'), and there are also little groups that form based on who is a fellow, who is a tuition scholar, and who is doing work study (waiting tables during meals). The general applicant (moi) is considered to be the less appealing way to go, but I really could care less. Cliques are for high school. I'm not going for the wild time; I'm going to work with great poets, meet other writers, and pitch my work to agents and editors. And for the beautiful scenery and the quiet - whatever I can get!

Because of the cost ($1495 for the conference, $738 for room and board), and when the full amount must be paid to the conference people (end of June, early July), I won't be staying on campus, so I won't be reporting on the accommodations firsthand. I've found a very cheap, but lovely room in an inn in Ripton, where the conference is held (near Middlebury, VT) and where, apparently, one of the breakfast offerings is Big Bill's Eggs. Can't wait!

Will also post pics.

Little known news - there's a book prize associated with Breadloaf - the Bakeless Literary Prize, the submission period for which is August 1 - November 1.

If you're interested in Breadloaf for next year, applications are taken through March, but the financial aid deadline is March 1st. Here's the link:

Breadloaf Writers Conference