Short stories and short poems are the two things that I don't spend nearly as much time on as I should. They are just as important to my studies as the bigger works, since I study literature and want to know about all literatures. A big aspect of reading that I enjoy is the satisfaction of having read something big, which is probably why I don't read shorter works much.
But because one needs to read what one writes, I need to read short stories more. I often find answers to problems I have with my writing in reading short stories; a good story often contains examples of all the things you need when you have writer's blocks. It is also stimulating to read a brief, self-contained piece of work that is truly brilliant. Great short stories writer can make the characters so interesting you remember them the way you remember characters in novels. I had a discussion in a writing class a while back, in which we discovered that most of the stories we had read for the class focused on the characters than the plots. This, of course, isn't true to all short stories, but I have discovered that this proves to be true in most of the stories that I have read. And I enjoy these stories tremendously.
Reading short stories can help you to discover authors with whom you are not familiar. It is a quick way to get to know their writing styles. There are many authors whose names I recognize but whose works I have never read. Reading their stories help me to decide whether or not I want to read their works.
Last week I went and bought a new short story anthology--it was published in 2008, so not that new, but new to me. It is titled "The Ecco Anthology of Contemporary American Short Fiction" selected by Joyce Carol Oates and Christopher R. Beha. So far I have read two great stories, one of which is "The Love of My Life" by T.C. Boyle, which I highly recommend. I might write a more in depth discussion on it later.
Showing posts with label books about writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books about writing. Show all posts
Friday, April 9, 2010
Monday, December 21, 2009
Essays!
I read some really interesting essays this month. There isn't much to say about them except that they are brilliant.
1. "The Essay on Criticism" by Alexander Pope, written in verse. Pope discusses different kinds of critics and criticism with a lot of humor. It is funny and insightful, and the message still current despite the age of the work. As always I have a harder time reading poetry than prose, but it didn't take long to get used to. The work itself is also not very long. Trust me it is a joy to read.
2. "The Uncanny" by Sigmund Freud. After reading the introductory guide to Freud a while back, I planned to start reading his works and came across this one. It discusses what it is about works of art that we find uncanny, combining literary studies with psychology. Parts of it are thoughtful and intriguing, parts of it redundant. But it is also a lot of fun to read.
3. "The Philosophy of Composition" by Edgar Allan Poe. This is an essay about writing which is included in a book called "Great Writers on the Art of Fiction" (James Daley, ed.). Poe talks about the importance of structures in writing, and how he puts together his famous poem, "The Raven." I recommend reading the essay, read the poem, then reread the essay.
4. Numerous essays from "Shakespeare After All." This is my new favorite book, written by Majorie Garber, who is an English professor and a Queer theorist. This book is a collection of essays based on every single one of Shakespeare canonized plays. I have read a few of these essays and they really are wonderful. Highly recommended.
1. "The Essay on Criticism" by Alexander Pope, written in verse. Pope discusses different kinds of critics and criticism with a lot of humor. It is funny and insightful, and the message still current despite the age of the work. As always I have a harder time reading poetry than prose, but it didn't take long to get used to. The work itself is also not very long. Trust me it is a joy to read.
2. "The Uncanny" by Sigmund Freud. After reading the introductory guide to Freud a while back, I planned to start reading his works and came across this one. It discusses what it is about works of art that we find uncanny, combining literary studies with psychology. Parts of it are thoughtful and intriguing, parts of it redundant. But it is also a lot of fun to read.
3. "The Philosophy of Composition" by Edgar Allan Poe. This is an essay about writing which is included in a book called "Great Writers on the Art of Fiction" (James Daley, ed.). Poe talks about the importance of structures in writing, and how he puts together his famous poem, "The Raven." I recommend reading the essay, read the poem, then reread the essay.
4. Numerous essays from "Shakespeare After All." This is my new favorite book, written by Majorie Garber, who is an English professor and a Queer theorist. This book is a collection of essays based on every single one of Shakespeare canonized plays. I have read a few of these essays and they really are wonderful. Highly recommended.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
This and That
I recently finished reading, along with listening to the cast recording, "Assassins" by Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman. It is a musical about assassins of American presidents--some of them are based on historical figures, and some are fictional. I find it very interesting to read the books of Sondheim's musicals. He chooses such great materials to work with, and he too is a great writer. The way he uses the words to tell the story in songs is simply intelligent.
I find that going to the theater isn't just an absolutely entertaining experience, but also very inspiring. When I see a good show it makes me want to come home and write my own work. (I'm working on a play now that I'm really enjoying. It may not turn out to be a masterpiece, but I'm sure it is at least a bridge to something good.) Reading plays at home is great, but there is nothing like seeing things performed. Plays are meant to be seen and heard, not read.
This is the back patio of the lovely coffee shop wherein I spend most of my daysI've also been enjoying "The Peanuts!" I got a copy of a collection from '67-'68 and it's absolutely fantastic. I wish I had read it as a child, but reading it as an adult is good also. Other things I've been reading are "The Blue Room," a play by David Hare, and "Suly," a novel by Toni Morrison. Both are great; I will probably write about them later.
Friday, June 19, 2009
French Literature (continued)
I'm not going to lie, Proust is taking a long time to read. I was supposed to have finished "Swann's Way" a few days ago but I've been slacking off. I have also been occupied myself with my writing and other reading, as well as French lessons. Hopefully I will get it done by Wednesday, since I plan to return it to the library on Thursday along with the other books.
Meanwhile I've been enjoying E.M. Forster's book about writing called "Aspects of the Novel." It is absolutely delightful. I will write more about it once I'm done. I'm also planning to read one of his novel once I'm done with the whole French literature program that I created for myself.
Meanwhile I've been enjoying E.M. Forster's book about writing called "Aspects of the Novel." It is absolutely delightful. I will write more about it once I'm done. I'm also planning to read one of his novel once I'm done with the whole French literature program that I created for myself.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Writing and Sex
(The following is a paper I wrote for a class in response to Barbara Kingsolver's essay about writing.)
In high school I was introduced to many authors, some of whom became my favorites, and some found their way on my blacklist. Among the second category was Barbara Kingsolver, whose collection of short stories entitled Homeland is one of those books my colleagues and I still refer to from time to time as one of the most miserable material we had had to deal with in our high school years. This was why I was so surprised that Kingsolver’s article about writing entitled “A Forbidden Territory Familiar to All” turned out to be my most favorite piece in Writers on Writing.
What disappoint me about most of the articles featured in this book is that they are hardly about writing at all. Some of my favorite writers, like William Saroyan and Annie Proulx, go on and on about things I find insubstantial. When I got around to read Kingsolver’s article, I felt that I had finally found what I was hoping for. Not only is the article about writing, it is also about writing about sex, which is something with which I constantly struggle. In it Kingsolver talks about the embarrassment she feels as she tries to write about sex, thinking about her mother and friends who will be reading the work. This is something that often crosses my mind as I write my raunchy, steamy, slightly if not totally pornographic stories featuring daring themes as infidelity and promiscuity. Having been studying queer theory for several years, my limitation as far as sex (the writing of it) goes is hardly inexistent. However far I go, somebody else probably has gone much further. But what about my readers? One of these days if I could publish some of these stories I have been slaving myself over, it would be an occasion to celebrate. But what would I say when my parents ask to read the work? And what about my friends and future lovers? Will they be reading my stories and think that these all come from my experience? Will my work be taken as serious work of literature or as oversexed gay-lit targeted toward closeted teenagers looking for horny figures to identify with? Some of these questions occupy Kingsolver’s mind. The only thing that stops them from bothering me is the thought that the possibility of getting published is still very far from me, and there is no guarantee that any of my work will ever see the light of any printing press. Kingsolver’s situation, however, is different; as a famous writer, whatever she is working on is on its way to the public, and that raises the stake even higher.
Kingsolver writes the essay with a lot of humor. She describes her struggle with using thesauruses to find a way to write a good sex scene. This I find to be honorable of her; I am certain that most writers use thesauruses but only few would admit to it. Describing action is probably more difficult than mentality, and to describe something that is so ridden with cultural shame as sex is even harder. It seems that the difficulty with writing about sex lies in the way society perceive it. As Kingsolver says, “sex takes place in private, and that’s surely part of the problem” (133). That explains the embarrassing part of it. But Kingsolver’s other challenge is making it beautiful. She says, “Making it beautiful is no small trick. The language of coition has been stolen, or rather, I think, it has been divvied up like chips in a poker game among pornography, consumerism, and the medical profession” (133). But why does it have to be beautiful? The fact that there is pressure to make it beautiful shows Kingsolver’s belief that sex is more than just another daily activity like brushing one’s teeth or tying one’s shoes, when in real life sex can really be unglamorous, boring and routine. The emphasis on the grandness of sex is put on us by society, and, being products of society ourselves, writers like Kingsolver and I simply cannot help it. We want to write a beautiful sex scene that describes good sex, but doing so is difficult, not to mention the embarrassment we set ourselves up to face.
Kingsolver’s conclusion is that we—writers—have to face the beast and “find a way to tell of its terror and beauty” (135). The conditions are that we “accept an uncomfortable intimacy with our readers in the admission that, yes, we’ve both done this. We must warn our mothers before the book comes out. We must accept the economic reality that this one won’t make the core English Lit Curriculum” (135). Having had Kingsolver’s work in my curriculum, it makes me wish that this ambitiously sexy work she is writing had ended up in my curriculum. In high school Comp Lit class many of the materials dealt with rape. I recall how uncomfortable we all felt with the rapes in Michael Dorris’s Yellow Raft in Blue Water, Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and Isabel Allende’s House of the Spirits. Looking back, it seems that our curriculum served to make us even more ashamed and scared of sex instead of see it as a beautiful thing. The act of writing about beautiful sex itself, then, is in some way revolutionary. Many queer theorists deal with the issue of un-shaming sex, but what if sex is never seen as shameful? If our high school curriculum did not manipulate us into being ashamed of our sexuality, writers like Kingsolver and I would probably not have such a hard time writing about it. We, writers and readers, would all be able to deal with sexuality maturely at the age of eighteen or younger. Instead we live in a world full of sexual shame where writers come up with hundreds of other questions while trying to figure out one: how to write about sex?
(Kingsolver, Barbara. “A Forbidden Territory Familiar to All.” Writers on Writing: Collected Essays from The New York Times. Ed. John Darnton. New York: Times Books, 2001. 130-135.)
In high school I was introduced to many authors, some of whom became my favorites, and some found their way on my blacklist. Among the second category was Barbara Kingsolver, whose collection of short stories entitled Homeland is one of those books my colleagues and I still refer to from time to time as one of the most miserable material we had had to deal with in our high school years. This was why I was so surprised that Kingsolver’s article about writing entitled “A Forbidden Territory Familiar to All” turned out to be my most favorite piece in Writers on Writing.
What disappoint me about most of the articles featured in this book is that they are hardly about writing at all. Some of my favorite writers, like William Saroyan and Annie Proulx, go on and on about things I find insubstantial. When I got around to read Kingsolver’s article, I felt that I had finally found what I was hoping for. Not only is the article about writing, it is also about writing about sex, which is something with which I constantly struggle. In it Kingsolver talks about the embarrassment she feels as she tries to write about sex, thinking about her mother and friends who will be reading the work. This is something that often crosses my mind as I write my raunchy, steamy, slightly if not totally pornographic stories featuring daring themes as infidelity and promiscuity. Having been studying queer theory for several years, my limitation as far as sex (the writing of it) goes is hardly inexistent. However far I go, somebody else probably has gone much further. But what about my readers? One of these days if I could publish some of these stories I have been slaving myself over, it would be an occasion to celebrate. But what would I say when my parents ask to read the work? And what about my friends and future lovers? Will they be reading my stories and think that these all come from my experience? Will my work be taken as serious work of literature or as oversexed gay-lit targeted toward closeted teenagers looking for horny figures to identify with? Some of these questions occupy Kingsolver’s mind. The only thing that stops them from bothering me is the thought that the possibility of getting published is still very far from me, and there is no guarantee that any of my work will ever see the light of any printing press. Kingsolver’s situation, however, is different; as a famous writer, whatever she is working on is on its way to the public, and that raises the stake even higher.
Kingsolver writes the essay with a lot of humor. She describes her struggle with using thesauruses to find a way to write a good sex scene. This I find to be honorable of her; I am certain that most writers use thesauruses but only few would admit to it. Describing action is probably more difficult than mentality, and to describe something that is so ridden with cultural shame as sex is even harder. It seems that the difficulty with writing about sex lies in the way society perceive it. As Kingsolver says, “sex takes place in private, and that’s surely part of the problem” (133). That explains the embarrassing part of it. But Kingsolver’s other challenge is making it beautiful. She says, “Making it beautiful is no small trick. The language of coition has been stolen, or rather, I think, it has been divvied up like chips in a poker game among pornography, consumerism, and the medical profession” (133). But why does it have to be beautiful? The fact that there is pressure to make it beautiful shows Kingsolver’s belief that sex is more than just another daily activity like brushing one’s teeth or tying one’s shoes, when in real life sex can really be unglamorous, boring and routine. The emphasis on the grandness of sex is put on us by society, and, being products of society ourselves, writers like Kingsolver and I simply cannot help it. We want to write a beautiful sex scene that describes good sex, but doing so is difficult, not to mention the embarrassment we set ourselves up to face.
Kingsolver’s conclusion is that we—writers—have to face the beast and “find a way to tell of its terror and beauty” (135). The conditions are that we “accept an uncomfortable intimacy with our readers in the admission that, yes, we’ve both done this. We must warn our mothers before the book comes out. We must accept the economic reality that this one won’t make the core English Lit Curriculum” (135). Having had Kingsolver’s work in my curriculum, it makes me wish that this ambitiously sexy work she is writing had ended up in my curriculum. In high school Comp Lit class many of the materials dealt with rape. I recall how uncomfortable we all felt with the rapes in Michael Dorris’s Yellow Raft in Blue Water, Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and Isabel Allende’s House of the Spirits. Looking back, it seems that our curriculum served to make us even more ashamed and scared of sex instead of see it as a beautiful thing. The act of writing about beautiful sex itself, then, is in some way revolutionary. Many queer theorists deal with the issue of un-shaming sex, but what if sex is never seen as shameful? If our high school curriculum did not manipulate us into being ashamed of our sexuality, writers like Kingsolver and I would probably not have such a hard time writing about it. We, writers and readers, would all be able to deal with sexuality maturely at the age of eighteen or younger. Instead we live in a world full of sexual shame where writers come up with hundreds of other questions while trying to figure out one: how to write about sex?
(Kingsolver, Barbara. “A Forbidden Territory Familiar to All.” Writers on Writing: Collected Essays from The New York Times. Ed. John Darnton. New York: Times Books, 2001. 130-135.)
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