Freak Thoughts

As I’m sure most are aware, Salinger has left us at the age of 91. I did not know this until this afternoon. So when I mentioned Salinger in class today, I was thinking he was still alive. How tragic to find out otherwise! And this, the very week I had decided that Salinger might be my favorite short story writer. I’ve been reading him for the past week straight, having no idea he was going to die anytime soon. How terrible. Just last night, I was printing out pages and pages of his uncollected stories (because you can’t BUY them). As the ink was bleeding out onto the page, Salinger very well might have been bleeding out into his bed. (I’m just being dramatic here, but you never know.)

I was just telling my friend this week that it’d be great to have all his uncollected stories published in one volume, so people can actually read them for the first time in 50 years. But I didn’t mean I wanted him to DIE! This is all so sad to me…

Anyway, the class will have the privilege to read his most famous short story, “A Perfect Day for Bananafish,” soon. However, he hasn’t really said anything about writing, as far as I can find.

It’s obvious that Salinger considered writing an extremely personal thing. He’s said to have kept writing regularly since 1965, but nobody has seen any of it. He writes for himself, and nobody else. I wouldn’t say this is a good thing, though; he was simply an eccentric and reclusive man. But I do agree that writing in a very personal manner could bring great benefits, although it isn’t required.

He does hate movies, though. Here’s what Holden Caulfield, from Catcher in the Rye, says about his brother, who moved to Hollywood:

“Now he’s out in Hollywood, D.B., being a prostitute. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s the movies. Don’t even mention them to me.”

Only one movie based on his work has ever been allowed to be made. And Salinger despised it.

So his views on writing aren’t very helpful to us. But one of the best ways for an aspiring writer to learn how to write is to READ Salinger. He had an endless imagination, unforgettable characters, some of the best dialog ever put to print, and the kind of high, dark comedy that makes you breathless with belly laughs and tears.

He will surely be missed. Goodbye, dear J.D.

Editor’s note:

Hello again. Reading Salinger’s Seymour – An Introduction, which is a novella about Buddy Glass’ (a fictional character) fictional brother Seymour. It’s written in a sort of free form diary manner, with hundreds of absolutely hilarious digressions and anecdotes. Much of the “story” talks about writing. Here are a few tidbits. One can assume that Salinger might agree with some or all of it.

“When was writing ever your profession? It’s never been anything but your religion. Do you know what you will be asked when you die? But let me tell you first what you won’t be asked. You won’t be asked if you were working on a wonderful, moving piece of writing when you died. You won’t be asked if it was long or short, sad or funny, published or unpublished. You won’t be asked if you were in good or bad form while you were working on it. You won’t even be asked if it was the one piece of writing you would have been working on if you had known your time would be up when it was finished. I’m so sure you’ll get asked only two questions. Were most of your stars out? Were you busy writing your heart out? [...] If only you’d remember before you ever sat down to write that you’ve been a reader long before you were ever a writer. You simply fix that fact in your mind, then sit very still and ask yourself, as a reader, what piece of writing in all the world (insert your name here) would most want to read if he had his heart’s choice. The next step is terrible, but so simple I can hardly believe it as I write it. You just sit down shamelessly and write the thing yourself. I won’t even underline that. It’s too important to be underlined. Oh, dare to do it, Buddy! Trust your heart. You’re a deserving craftsman. It would never betray you. I think I’d give almost anything on earth to see you writing a something, an anything, a story, a poem, a tree, that was really and truly after your own heart.”

“It’s a wonder we’re not worse cowards in print than we already are.”

“I believe I essentially remain what I’ve almost always been — a narrator, but one with extremely pressing personal needs. I want to introduce, I want to describe, I want to distribute mementos, amulets, I want to break out my wallet and pass around snapshots, I want to follow my nose. In this mood, I don’t dare go anywhere near the short-story form. It eats up fat little undetached writers like me whole.”

“You can’t imagine what big, hand-rubbing plans I had for this immediate space. They appear to have been designed, though, to look exquisite on the bottom of my wastebasket.”

“You can’t argue with someone who believes, or just passionately suspects, that the poet’s function is not to write what he must write, but, rather, to write what he would write if his life depended on his taking responsibility for writing what he must in a style designed to shut out as few of his old librarians as humanly possible.”

“Fundamentally, my mind has always balked at any kind of ending. How many stories have I torn up since I was a boy simply because they had a Beginning, a Middle, and an End? One of the thousand reasons I quit going to the theatre when I was twenty was that I resented like hell filing out of the theatre just because some playwright was forever slamming down his silly curtain.”

And one interview quote:

“There is a marvelous peace in not publishing … I like to write. I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own pleasure. [...] I see publication as a damned interruption.”

I ahve another idea for a story about a girl who loses her fiance in a freak accident, but their love is so deep that they are able to communicate through dreams and symbols. I have read a few Sylvia Browne books that discuss this phenomena. Also, the book which was later turned into a movie entitled “Of What Dreams May Come” (Great Movie !!!) also touches on this idea.

Renee Martin

http://www.ehow.com/how_2308648_talk-dead-people-dreams.html

http://dreamstudies.org/2009/10/29/visitation-dreams-when-the-veil-between-worlds-is-thin/

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/What-Dreams-May-Come/Richard-Matheson/e/9780765308702

Lately, one of the hardest things, for me, is coming up with character names. In some cases, the name just comes to me, but now I feel like I’ve just got no clue what to name my main characters!

Like other writers I know, I use babynames for a lot of my naming woes, but are there any others out there that you guys would recommend? I want to be able to come up with unique names, and not just reuse names I’ve used in other stories.

What do you guys suggest?

I’ve been looking at a lot of writing rules books. You know the type. 101 Rules to Writing and all that kind of stuff.

Prior to taking English classes, I used to read a lot of these as an amateur, inspired writer. I still have some of them and I was looking them over on the toilet to pass the time and I’ve noticed a trend within them. All of these “golden rules” are incredibly selective to a certain person’s criteria of “comfort” and “ability”. For instance, in Stephen King’s On Writing, he gives out a gem of advice that turns out to be nothing more than a cubic zirconia, no matter how much he polishes it to make it seem like a diamond. He says that the correct working environment for a writer is a sunny room with a wood writing desk with a rug underneath, and even goes over the proper schedule to do “your best” writing. Maybe I don’t like writing in the sun. Or, better yet!, maybe I don’t want to be maladapted and unable to write in any kind of environment. You don’t always get to choose your environment. Sometimes, where you live or where you write, there are car horns and motorcycles, airplanes, trains or screaming kids outside. What do you do when your precious sanctum has been compromised?

These rules do nothing but limit you. They connive you into thinking that the lucky sock actually exists and that will cripple your ability to work. There are no golden rules and there is no lucky sock. You cannot depend on a sunny day, you cannot depend on inspiration, and you cannot depend on every wind to blow in your direction. You need to be able to adapt and not depend on outside criteria to define when you can and cannot do something. Maybe someone doesn’t work well in total comfort. Maybe there’s a writer out there who sticks pin tacks in their scalp because the pain helps them focus. To them, should that be a golden rule? No.

There is no perfect song to swing you along. There is no specific wood grain that jives best with your creative juices. There isn’t a wallpaper that speaks to you and inspires you, and there is no lucky sock.

Personally, and I’ve said this before, my only golden rule is that when my final product is finished, it should contain two things: clarity and purity of purpose. But maybe that doesn’t work for you. That’s okay as long as you are able to adapt to things that do not work for you. That is all. Dismissed.

For me it is not about being inspired to write, but being compelled.  There are many things in life that inspire me.  I take mental note of them, but unfortunately am too busy in the process of existing to actually write about them.  I do not write unless I am compelled to and that is usually when something tragic happens or I am struggling with something.  This weekend I was compelled to write.  I received news that a friend had died.  A death of a friend is of course tragic, but unfortunately in the past few years it is something  I have had to deal with too often. Three years ago my parents died within six months of each other.  My friend dying, while making me sad would not normally me hit me as hard as this death did. What was so tragic about this situation is that she died slowly, painfully over twenty years, a  death by addiction. 

I became friends with Mary because our husbands were childhood friends.  I would see Mary at parties at her house, or class reunions or on occasion, at a social outing. Once we both started having kids we barely saw each other.  We were friends who just were on the fringes of each others lives.  Mary was outgoing, eloquent, the ultimate hostess, everything I considered myself not to be when I was younger.  She was also kind, intelligient, caring and a wonderful mother.  Mary was someone I really admired. 

It wasn’t until well into her addiction that I heard rumors about what was happening in Mary’s life. Through a mutual friend I followed Mary’s struggle, as slowly layer by layer she started to loose her self and her life to this addiction. She lost her husband, her children, her freedom for a while, her job, her dignity and ultimately her life. Her family and closest friends tried to help her.  They couldn’t save her.

Many people judged Mary.  Her husband  hated her.  Her children did not want to go near her. This was hard for me to understand. I still admire Mary, maybe even more than I did before.  I obviously do not admire her for being an addict. I understand that alcholism and drug addiction is a disease. If  Mary had known where getting high and drinking  in high school would take her, I am sure she would never have done it.  At the wake I saw pictures of Mary, some recent pictures.  In the pictures she still smiled,still laughed, still reached out in love. If I had lost as much as she had I don’t know if I would have the strength left to do this. Mary fought against this disease.  There were many times that she failed and hit rock bottom, but she got up and fought some more.  She died fighting .

After outlining and discarding several stories, I have finally settled on one I want to write that is about a rather complicated  ”April Fool’s” joke. 

Now I’m struggling with what perspective to tell the story from.  Vonnegut says we should give our readers as much information as possible as soon and possible.  “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” drew me in right away because I was looking for “The Misfit” from the beginning.  Both of these lead me toward a narative style.  But, I keep wondering if telling it from the perspective of the main character and having a suprise ending wouldn’t be more effective.

Yikes!  Any suggestions?

The following anecdote is almost too absurd and unbelievable to use in a story, but I find it darkly humorous, and could be influential when thinking of plot twists.

This is a 100% true tale just brought to me by my dad, who recently got back from visiting his mother in the desolate boonies of central Indiana. His brother Dan lives right across the street from her. He co-owns an antique shop with an old geezer named Jack. As old as Jack is, his dad died only a year ago – he was 95. He had been going senile for several years, and lived on his own. So he had his nephew Nathan (and his wife) move in to help take care of him. Over the years, Nathan got the old man, now off his rocker, to write him into the will, which previously hadn’t mentioned him. So when the dinosaur finally keeled over, Nathan was the new owner of the late man’s entire, large farm house and land.

Jack was scarcely able to see his dad during the time of Nathan’s “caretaking,” due to N’s general cruelty and unpleasantness. After his dad died, Jack wasn’t even allowed on the property, for some extraordinary reason. For the past year, Jack has been in the process of suing this monster, in order to get rid of him for good. They openly despise each other.

Last week Nathan was killed. He was working underneath his car, and his jack malfunctioned. He was crushed, and lay dead and bloody in the driveway all day before he was found.

Some town folk say the beast’s wife kicked the jack out from under the car.

Either way, Jack finally gave him what he deserved.

This tale is not funny. But why am I so smiley?

I am considering writing a story of an abused child through his or her eyes, then writing another piece through the eyes of the parent of that child. I have some personal experience with this issue and have found some interesting info on topic:

Upon further thought, it would probably be very interesting to write the same story from the molester’s perspective as well. I’m sure there are all kinds of struggles with religious affiliations, guilt, shame, etc. I bet the urge and the feelings of defeat are similar to that of a drug addict who relapses.

Thanks for your helpful suggestions

I’ve been looking for a way to post my work online in a safe way- I’ve heard way too much about plagiarism on sites like fictionpress. Someone recently showed me Google Sites and I set one up- the trouble is, I can only make it totally public or designate who can see my work by entering their email address. Here’s a link to it: I left it public for now so the class can see what it looks like. To set up your own, go to google and click on the “more” link on the top… “sites” should be in there, and you need a google account to sign up.

http://sites.google.com/site/kelseylynhoff/

Perhaps it is just me, though I have found that on numerous occasions writing something for the sake of writing never happens to work out exactly as I plan. Let me elaborate: My motivation for writing has always been high; I’d consider myself ambitious – perhaps even overly-ambitious – and for this reason, I always enjoy writing something, even if it is as simple as this little blog here. When it eventually comes down to reviewing my writing in these projects, I always come to the exact same conclusion:

I absolutely, positively loathe it.

Let me re-iterate: I hate reading it. The characters, the scene, the developing plot – everything about it just seems wrong, save for the actual technical aspects and style aspects; I have never had a problem reading the style of my writing. Now, this is not to say any of the writing or any of the details of the story are bad; based upon reviews and critiques from others, I would truthfully believe the contrary. For some time, I had continued to write the way I did, still pondering as to why I had such a problem with my work. After long conversations with friends and other writers, I finally came to my conclusion – every story lacked personal meaning or appeal to my own emotion.

I will begin by saying that I do not believe that this needs to be true in the case of every writer, but what really seems to set one story apart from the other is the emotion a writer puts into his or her work. Thus, the question I continue to ponder about still remains – do we find inspiration, or does inspiration come to us? Once again, I believe I should elaborate: Is a writer truly inspired to write something based on their personal emotion if they sit in a room, brainstorming for new ideas? Is searching for an inspiring moment or occasion the way to truly be inspired? Or is it the simply the reverse – that we are inspired the most to write when we encounter something without searching for it? I would truly believe the latter. In my experience, I find myself turning to and enjoying my writing from high school during times of personal struggle and confusion where my writing was overflowing with rich emotion rather than turning to things during my college career, which are great in their own respect, but lack any true emotion from me. I would further this by saying I’ve found much more enjoyment reading a struggling writer’s story based upon the passing of a family member, rather than reading an emotionless story by a writer whose style and technique are flawless.

However, as each individual has his or her own opinion, I would like to hear what others believe the role of “inspiration” plays in writing.