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1. the first writer's workshop: words from a memoir in progress


In their faces I see the person I once was, though I was nearly twice their age, married, and a mother when I enrolled in my first writer’s workshop.  We’d flown to Spoleto, Italy, for a family vacation, and we’d climbed hills and slipped inside churches and sat beneath rooms where pianos were playing.  There were nuns on the hills, ropes at their waists.  There were market flowers wilted by sun.  We’d arrived late at night and settled into a stranger’s flat (the plates still draining by the kitchen sink, a cloud of smoky moon in the front window), and the next day I’d hauled myself up the stairs of a round-cornered building and sat in the back of the class. 
I’d brought a blank book with gray pages, its cover hieroglyphically embossed.  I’d read the works of our teachers, Reginald Gibbons and Rosellen Brown, and beyond the window, deep in the hills, was the Roman theater and the turreted castle, the Cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta, the shop of silver trinkets and cards from which my toddler son would soon (almost) catastrophically run as a Fiat hurtled by.  The poisonous wasp that would balloon my husband’s hand was out there.  The pizza shop with the festoon of paper flowers at the base of the hill.  The slinking arm of the aqueduct.  The basilica in pale light, its beauty explained by my husband with two words:  forced perspective.  The cemetery where soon the class would go to imagine the lives of those whose names we’d find scratched out of headstones and buffed by a woman bearing (in broad daylight) a candle flame and white handkerchief.
But at that moment there was only the classroom, the squeak-footed chairs, my blank book, the other students, Rosellen, and Reginald, and it was Reginald who began:  “Every difference makes a difference.”  Word for word, I transcribed him.  “The craft of writing is to describe something so that someone else can see it.”  Soon Reginald was quoting Henry James—“Be one of those upon whom nothing is lost”—and then Rosellen was speaking: “I like the sentence that begins romantically, then de-romanticizes itself.”
The sentence that de-romanticizes itself.
I had been a closet writer nearly all my life—my poems stuffed in boxes, my short stories boomeranged back to me via return-envelope mail.  I was taking my first lesson in craft, and what I learned in Spoleto, what I chose to value or come to believe about myself, would shape the way I thought about stories made and lived every thereafter day of my life.
2 Comments on the first writer's workshop: words from a memoir in progress, last added: 10/3/2011
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2. Writer's Workshops in America

If you're in the New York or San Diego areas, here a two amazing events well worth checking out.  I'd love to be attending, unfortunately a little too far for me to travel right now.  Let me know if you're attending, I'd love to hear all about it. 

Hay House, Inc.Hay House, Inc

Let me know of any other workshops you know about around the world.  I'm always happy to promote writing events, courses, etc. 

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3. What Saraclaradara's been reading

So many books. So little time. I'm sure you all know the feeling.

But I've been reading up a storm the last week or so. Here's my little list:

Twisted by Laurie Halse Anderson. Comment: Wow! What a voice. I hope someday I can write a book with such an authentic male protagonist.

Life as we knew it by Susan Beth Pfeffer. Comment: I hope this wins the Prinz. I couldn't put it down. I'm trying to get my son to read it so we can discuss it. Brilliant idea, cleverly executed and incredibly thought-provoking.

The Sunflower: On the possibilities and limits of forgiveness by Simon Wiesenthal. [info]the_webmeister's aunt Pauline was reading this for her book club when we were in Canada, and I was so intrigued I had to order it the minute I got home. Another thought-provoking read. [info]saramerica used it in a recent column which you can read
here.

Those who save us by Jenna Blum. My friend Malaine recommend this and as I was reading it I realized I'd already read it a while back, but it is so engrossing I didn't mind reading it again, especially given my recent visit to Germany and after reading The Sunflower and Life as we knew it. How would we react in a given life -threatening situation?
Would we be able to hold on to our deepest moral values? Or would the will to stay alive trump all?

Currently reading:

Impulse by Ellen Hopkins. I'm amazed at how much she is able to convey about the characters in verse in a short time (although I guess having read Sonya Sones' books, I shouldn't be) and how much I have come to care about these kids in a short period of time. I've got a sinking feeling that one of them isn't going to make it, and but I'm not sure which one - keep changing my mind about who is going to be the one whose demons get the better of them.
I was hoping to finish it last night but fell asleep. Note to self: go to bed to read earlier tonight!

The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick. This one's been sitting on my nightstand since my new editor extraordinaire, David Levithan, handed me a copy when I visited Scholastic HQ. I kept putting off reading it because there was so much hype and I wasn't sure what to make of it. But I picked it up this morning and Bam! I'm already engrossed. I was afraid the number of pictures would detract from my ability to get into the story, but not true. I'm already on part two and dying to know the mystery.


OK, back to the books. What are *YOU* reading these days?

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