The Art of….Well, Art.

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette published an article on July 30^th by Vivian Nereim entitled “Line from T.S. Eliot poem intrigues literature buffs: Graffiti writer paints poetic on Carnegie Library.” She talks about Oakland’s Carnegie Library, which was recently vandalized with three phrases: “I wish I were a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas,” “for freedom enter here” and, most hilariously, “This is not a good way to handle my problems.” While the last one may be a little off topic, the first tag – a bastardized quote from T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” – shows something different than what we normally think of when graffiti is involved. I’ve heard of “graffiti artists,” who pride themselves on making vandalism into an art form, but rarely do we hear of graffiti that quotes poetry, especially poets as renowned and complex as T.S. Eliot. The second line – despite how grammatically challenged it may be – refers to the liberty that education allows individuals, and also seems out of character for graffiti. So why then, are these lines seen? And why does the third line, a self-admonishment concerning the actions of the perpetrator, show such self-awareness and wit? None of these traits are what we usually connect with something deemed vandalism. So are we all wrong about mediums that are generally not even considered art?

The article made me think of the argument currently happening concerning graphic novels as an art form. Most people think that comic books and their big brother, the graphic novel, are reserved for superheroes, but books like Art Spiegelman’s Maus: A Survivor’s Tale and Ice Haven by Daniel Clowes, suggest that the majority may be wrong. Maus is widely known and even won a Pulitzer Prize, but Ice Haven is harder to find and argues the very issue at hand – can comic books be considered art? In my eyes, any person who seriously considers and tries to communicate the human condition – no matter the medium – is creating art. Isn’t the point of art to connect with human emotions and express the complex ideas and struggles that every human must have and face? I can remember being a teenager struggling with my sexuality and staying up until dawn reading the “X-Men” comic books because they made me feel normal – the characters in those books understood the struggle of wanting to fit in when everyone says you can’t. At that point in my life, no one else was telling me it was okay to be different and the only things I could connect with that told me I was just as human as everyone else were comic books. So if art’s purpose is to connect humans through their emotions, then “X-Men” has already proved itself (because I know I’ve never heard a number of people that must be touched for something to be considered art). So why are so many people reluctant to have this belief? The stigma that comic books and graphic novels have for being “kid stuff” is disproven time and time again (if you don’t believe me, go look up the two listed above and “Promethea,” written by Alan Moore and illustrated by J. H. Williams and Mick Gray, which follows a superhero as she explores the boundaries between the mind and body, reality and imagination – something no other comic that I know of has ever done – and has some of the most beautiful illustrations I’ve ever seen). Yet people are still stubborn as can be concerning a medium that really combines two different art forms (illustration and literature) and borrows heavily from another (film – comics are so driven by dialogue and visuals that they probably come closest to screenwriting). Is it because prose writers cannot bring themselves to accept that their own medium may be recognized alongside the comics their kids are reading (though, to be fair, most comics with merit should be read only by adults)? Or has it simply become a cultural tradition, akin to the way many literary writers scoff at pulp writing, which – if it’s good (a rather big factor) – takes just as much effort, creativity, time, craft and attention to detail as literary writing? Have we become ignorant art snobs without even realizing it? Or, perhaps more importantly, are we more like the graffiti artist who watches their hands do what their mind knows it should not?

Whether it’s a conscious decision or the effect of a widespread social stigma, the idea that comics cannot be art needs to be reconsidered. Of course, issues of selectivity must be a concern (you wouldn’t place da Vinci’s paintings alongside a three year-old’s scribbles and say they have the same artistic merit) and surely some comics are better than others, but to write off an entire medium without consideration is nothing more than ignorance (much like seeing that three year old’s scribble and deciding that all drawings are trash). Most artists would have serious problem with their medium being cast aside because some individuals lack the dedication that they do. So why are we so willing to do it to comics?

All I’m saying is, don’t be surprised if the next time you read the words “for freedom enter here,” they’re on the stoop of a comic store. But don’t come questioning me, either – I still stick to the paper and ink.

On Floating Downstream and Swimming Up.

I read an article that was posted on a blog the other day from guardian.co.uk titled “The Great Chick Lit Cover-Up.” The author is talking about how books by female writers are all beginning to be styled after chick lit covers because of how well they sell. Pink backgrounds with swirly text and women on beaches have become the new “in” covers, apparently, and publishers simply won’t stop trying to market female authors (or even male authors who write sympathetic female protagonists) in this way. This can be extremely inappropriate on a book about, say, spousal abuse – as one can imagine. So why is this happening? In the phone interview with Bob Gray of Northshire Books, we actually discussed book cover trends – how a few years ago, it was popular to have random female body parts adorning the cover, no matter the book’s subject matter; or how every cover went beige for a while. So why do publishers try to make every book look alike? Just because a cover sells well on one book doesn’t mean it will on another. Take the cover of Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, with the red curtain pulled aside to reveal blue sky. If any other book had tried to copy this aesthetic, I’m not sure it would have or could have worked (of course, Eggers’ title couldn’t have worked for another book either, but that has far more to do with his talent than any decision his publisher made). I certainly wouldn’t want my book to be marketed with a cover image similar to that one – partially because I see it as a cop-out and partially because I would rather not compare myself to Eggers – and I’m not sure I would even buy a book with a cover that I had seen before. The reader in me, I feel, would consider that book already read and shy away for something more attention-grabbing than a cover I had seen again and again. But publishers must be onto something – certainly they wouldn’t continue to create such trends year after year if there wasn’t some payoff. And similar covers can work to help readers find what they’re looking for – the “Fabio romance cover” is generally not given to another genre and allows readers to see exactly what they’re getting into before they even flip to a page. But do readers even want all their books to look the same? And I would think publishers would be getting nervous about trying to pin the same cover on books that are, in all reality, completely dissimilar. Surely it’s better marketing to use a striking image that no one has ever seen, something that makes the reader curious as to what could be inside the book and hopefully keeping their attention until the book is bought and read, rather than using an image that betrays what the book is about – or worse, lies about the content of the book. Perhaps, though, this is their whole strategy – true, all books by female authors or containing female protagonists will look the same, but does it also widen the market until fans of chick lit are buying three or four genres rather than their preferred one? Or will we simply see a higher rate of book returns and less interest in books in general as readers feel more and more betrayed? I suppose we can only wait until this trend is over to find out. But no matter the results, it’s still far better in my eyes to be recognized for moving against the current than be forgotten by moving with it.

An Assessment of Myself.

I think it’s healthy sometimes for artists to step away from their work so they can consider it from a distance rather than in the close proximity that creation places us. I think looking at one’s own work in this way allows the artist to have a more realistic approach to – for writers – the publishing side of writing, and allows us the ability to step back and market our own work with far more ease. When looking at my own work, I see that it targets adult audiences (especially due to language and some situations/ subject matter presented in my fiction) and that audience is further narrowed because of my penchant for writing gay characters. Also, the fact that some of my work experiments with style, structure and traditional narration reduces my market further, meaning that in all likelihood, I will have to pursue small, independent presses to get my work published and then I will have to market my own work tirelessly if I expect large groups of readers to see it (like Bob Gray said – experimental fiction readers are not many, but they are extremely loyal). I’m very okay with marketing my own work, and to tell the truth I’m kind of excited about it – anyone who’s a fan of experimental literature is a friend of mine and someone I’d like to know. They can suggest books I need to read which will in turn, influence my work and view of experimentation, and I can recommend books to them that I’ve read that experiment with the traditional elements of craft in ways my writing doesn’t. Any marketing or self-promotion I can do, I’m willing to – this is why I’m here. To not market and promote myself seems kind of silly to me, like tossing myself to the wolves, especially in an industry like this, with so many people who want to be recognized so badly. All writers must self-promote as it is simply the nature of what we do. This need for self-promotion appears especially in cases of fiction that bend the traditional rules of narrative. During this self-promotion, I also have to get several people to assess the quality of my writing so that I can sell my writing for the quality and not the experimentation – not only will more people buy it, more people will be willing to buy it and spread the word. Quality literature knows no bounds, so marketing myself with a focus on quality writing rather than a focus on the fact that I like to alter elements of craft will definitely attract more people and may introduce some people to literary experimentation who have never considered such writing. I can only hope I will be accepted well, especially because I don’t experiment to confuse people or “just to do it,” but rather because my experimentation helps me to understand the story better, and so is part of how I express it to other people. Even if I could disconnect from the experimentation, I wouldn’t – it is a part of how I understand stories and the world and the interactions of people – and it makes my voice on the page immediately recognizable while helping to express the way some people of my generation see this fragmented, quickly spinning place that we must call home. I know I can overcome the obstacles that will lead me to a life of letters – no matter what that life of letters is – and I am excited to do it because we as writers must do the same thing our work must if we expect anyone to hear our voices – above all, we must persevere.

Independent vs. Chain.

My new favorite spot in Appomattox is Baine’s Bookstore, a glorious little independent store. Baine’s is filled with books about the Civil War, a testament to the history of region and Appomattox’s main draw for tourism. The artsy-home appearance – wood walls, a fireplace in one corner, a piano in another – made me want to curl up on the couch and read a book immediately. Baine’s is a place where a reader feels like they are among friends – the intimate atmosphere and bare-wood shelves, the unmatched furniture. While the selection was a little lacking, just the feel of Baine’s made me want to come back again and again. While they carried no magazines beyond special interest, the large children’s section and the multitude of old books made the place priceless. And the gems that we did find – a guide to Southern women’s ways of getting what they want, a collection of church signs, a collection called Stories for Men (which I snatched up for a cool three dollars, along with a nice little book called Cult Fiction) – were awesome, true finds. The used book racks were filled, and we took plenty of time to look at the spinners and dumps, the different styles and colors used in the adult section as opposed to the kid’s section. The windows have small posters in them and lack huge window displays, making the atmosphere very relaxed. Baine’s also has specific areas for the required reading for the local middle and high schools, and the small café was the perfect place to grab a book and something to drink. After Baine’s we headed to the Barnes & Noble in Farmville, and I have to say it was kind of sad to leave the intimate setting that Baine’s provided for the bright fluorescent lights and white walls of a chain bookstore. The selection of books was better, but there were matching sets of Barnes & Noble published classics available everywhere – nice on a bookshelf, yes, but they lacked the character of the selection at Baine’s. There were far more marketing schemes seen in Barnes & Noble – multiple movie tie-ins, a section of journals and bookmarks, reading glasses for sale. The magazine section was large diverse and pretty extensive, and multiple advertising ploys could be seen in the section dedicated to school memorabilia – going green, the latest cuts of shirts emblazoned with “Longwood University,” even a suede jacket with the school name embroidered on the chest. The Barnes & Noble felt very commercial (and logically so), very slick and clean and capitalistic. Outside the large café, the Barnes & Noble was filled with various gums and candy, magnets and water bottles, items one might expect in a convenient store, but not in a bookstore. The window displays were large and a little awkward, and the matching furniture in the reading area seemed a little sterile to me. The extensive selection was nice and the large rack of bargain books was fun to look through, but there was nothing in the store that made me feel lucky to find, nothing that I couldn’t have gotten at any other chain bookstore in Virginia, and the feel of intimacy was something to be missed – an employee apparently likes listening to music more than reading, and after a rather loud comment on my part, the stereo was turned down. The café was filled with Tazo teas and Batman candy bars and vitamin waters of every flavor – again, something one might expect in a grocery or convenient store, but not what I think of when considering bookstores. The only items of true interest to me were the Moleskine notebooks, which are awesome, but are also a staple of chain bookstores. At the end of the day, I ended up wishing that we could’ve stayed at Baine’s, relaxing on the mismatched antique chairs and browsing through the unexpected books we found there – in my book, a victory for the independent bookstores.

Bob Gray: A New Favorite.

The other day, some other students in the Creative Writing department and I had the chance to conduct a phone interview with Bob Gray, master bookseller for Northshire Books in Vermont. He answered all of our questions with a firm sense of reality, which I definitely appreciated, and a great sense of humor (of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s also a fellow fan of David Markson – I nearly leapt out of the chair). We first discussed Northshire Books specifically, how he managed to bring a display of independent presses to Northshire (which I, as an experimental writer, loved) and how the younger booksellers that are just coming into the business are more willing to take the risks involved with defending the quality literature put out by small presses and literary journals (another sigh of relief). We also talked about how having a good book is what matters – not necessarily the publisher listed on the cover – and in the right hands, quality literature can go as far as any other book (he noted William Young’s The Shack, which was actually self-published and has sold almost a million copies because of the careful planning and marketing that went into the book’s distribution). Because of the pure volume of work a marketing person is expected to do, brilliant books can get the same marketing as bad books, so the idea of authors marketing themselves is one of the most important ideas we discussed. Promotion and marketing led us to Fresh Eyes Now, which is described as a bridge between the reader, author, bookseller and publisher, and how Mr. Gray has begun working to make authors more aware of the roles they can play in getting their book published, rather than relying on the system already in place. Since he created Fresh Eyes Now to “fill a void” in the publishing industry, we asked him what other voids there are and he responded that he is like “a tiny starship” on the edge of the universe of voids within the publishing industry. But he then went on to explain that some of those voids are what make the publishing industry so great – the endearing imperfection of the industry allows for so many different ways in. When asked to demystify the “heavy-hitters” of the writing world, Mr. Gray reminded us of the fact that all writers are just that – writers. I think we forget that sometimes, especially in the stages that my classmates and I are in – it’s easy for me, I know, to forget that even the most prolific writers are sometimes unsatisfied with their work and are just as much people as writing students are. When describing M.F.A. programs, Mr. Gray said that they are similar to a band – that some sections are stronger than others the way a writer is more talented at some aspects of writing than others and the programs work like recitals, to strengthen the weaker aspects and bring them up to par with the stronger aspects. This view of writing programs really brought them into perspective for me and now I’m even more excited about pursuing my writing on the next level. When my chance to speak to Mr. Gray occurred, I asked him about the markets for experimental writing and how he views them. While they’re not large, they are loyal, he said, and that can go a long way. Additionally, I got some excellent advice for marketing my own work: instead of trying to market it as experimental writing, focus on the writing’s quality – show readers that just because the format is played with, it doesn’t mean that they can’t read and enjoy it the same way they do traditional narratives and literary choices. Since I love experimental literature so much, I never thought of this approach – I already see it as quality writing and the experimentation becomes part of the quality of it – but I now know how to approach readers who may not hold that same view. And on top of that, Mr. Gray is a fan of David Markson, author of Wittgenstein’s Mistress (which I adore), so the conversation only went up from there. We discussed translations (and that they should be marketed much the same way as experimental writing – not as something you should read because “it’s good for you,” but as something you would enjoy reading because of the literature’s quality) and why everyone should read reviews but not trust them (which makes perfect sense – up your literary game by seeing what’s being read and then judge the work for yourself).

The whole interview was fantastic, very enlightening and inspiring – and of course the mention of Markson didn’t hurt that impression a bit.

E-Books: Not My Favorite.

I recently had my first run-in with the notorious new trend of e-books. Both Random House and Simon & Schuster have e-books available online for purchase online (at randomhouse.com, adult tiles run for $11.99 and kid’s books run for $4.99; at simonsays.com, the list price is generally $11.99 – they only have adult titles in e-book format – but the online price is $7.99), but I was searching for a free e-book. Some sites offer a limited selection of free e-books, and they do have them – once you pay the subscription fee – and other websites like free-ebooks.net do offer free e-books once you become a member. I, however, had a major problem with the downloads at free-ebooks.net. I downloaded the necessary reader program with ease, but when I tried downloading actual e-books, all of the files were corrupt and none of them would play (I tried 3 different titles). Many websites offer free e-books but only provide a small preview of the book for free, with full viewing available after payment. The website I ended up finding was sharewareebooks.com, site with a pretty good selection of e-books, especially in the children’s section, where I navigated through several classic titles until I found one that piqued my interest: The Story of the Pig by Ion Creanga. I can’t say the story was too interesting, but the process of getting and reading the e-book was fascinating. After downloading the DNL Reader (simple to install and use, which was nice, and on DSL, it only took a moment) I downloaded the actual book title to my computer (which also took only a minute or two). I clicked on the file and the e-book automatically came up, looking like a one-page spread with the cover displayed from the top of my screen to the bottom (it didn’t go wide-screen, but took up the proportionate amount of space on the screen). One thing I personally was perturbed with was that the program does not cover your desktop, so I had a picture of a Russian-ish royal court and a pig perched on a stair before a princess with all my icons and my buddy list behind (for me, it was distracting). The image was crisp and clear, as if I was looking at the physical book’s illustrations, and on the edge of the page I could see the shadow line from where the book was held open to be scanned (which I found nice as a fan of paper books – it made me feel more in my element to have that detail of the physicality books possess). After studying the image quality, it took me a few moments to realize that the only control is a forward page flip, activated by clicking on the book’s image (there are no directions or control panel, which I always find helpful when attempting a new media, as we can all agree e-books are). When the book is clicked on to advance a page, the image literally rolls over to the left (not expanding the program window, so I was still looking at a one-page spread, but one image rolled away as a book page does, a nice visual effect for those of us used to paper books) which I enjoyed and, since it is a children’s book, an effect I think children would like (like when you’re reading a book to a little kid and they seem more fascinated by the motion of the images and pages as they turn than the actual words of the book). One major problem I did have, considering the fact that it was a children’s book, is that the book’s online location was not accessible to children – the key words used to search for the book would be too complicated and the main site itself was full of text, while the search bar was relatively hard to locate. One of the glorious things about being a kid in a bookstore is the ability to look around and flip through each title to see the different pictures and characters in each book, before deciding which one you want your guardian to buy and read to you. In my opinion, an online “Kid’s Section” would be more appropriate, perhaps where previews of the children’s books are available for the kids to peruse, with downloads only accessible in the parent’s password-protected section (this seems the most logical set-up to me). This online format seems better suited to children’s learning books, which parents more often select without the children’s input. For an adult, however, it was pretty quick and easy to navigate and find a children’s book – so perhaps if parent and child work together in the selection, it does provide the quick convenience of not having to leave the computer chair to find a bedtime story.

I think I will stick to paper books, though. There’s still something about the smell of the pages and the mobility of a paperback I appreciate far more than a digital book collection (what happens if your computer crashes? You lose your whole library! And especially if the service is not free, this seems like a looming problem to me. Or what if you’re in the middle of a great read and your laptop dies?). So you can still find me curled up on the couch, not plugged into anything, immersed in the good old paper and ink.

Music: the Missing Link or Just Another Ape?

I read an article from The Los Angeles Times today about singer-songwriter James McMurtry (from July 21, 2008 by Geoffrey Himes). He says that his lyrics are character-driven and always have been, something that comes as somewhat of a surprise to anyone who listens to popular music nowadays. But when we look back at songs that have lasted — “Hurricane” having been performed by Bob Dylan, Ani DiFranco and the Milltown Brothers — many of them are character-driven. Even if you look back at popular music from the Jazz Age, many of them describe people to present social attitudes or situations (and further back than that — even Medieval music describes humans interacting with mystical things, not just the mystical things themselves). When people think of ancient myths, the Greek gods pop into mind, but it isn’t the gods we connect to — beings who play with us like pawns — it is the victims of the gods, because we all feel like we’re being toyed with at times (who hasn’t looked up at a time of tragedy and asked “why?”?). We cannot connect with something inhuman because of just that — it is inhuman. It would be akin to god trying to comprehend the mind of a mortal: He could never, in his wildest imaginings, hope to understand how it feels to be finite or scared or alone. Likewise, we cannot connect with anything that doesn’t feel these same things because we cannot imagine existence without them. Any lyrics that aren’t at least somewhat character-driven — a song about a teacup, for example — would likely not last a month in the minds of listeners, unless the teacup draws us into the aging woman drinking from her fine china at the mahogany table that never seats more than one. That song is likely to strike us twenty years from hearing it as we stir milk into chai, waiting for the phone to ring as we discover ourselves alone at the table. So why, then, as a writer, am I surprised that a musician would recognize this (and not just any musician, the son of novelist Larry McMurtry)? Perhaps I listen to too much pop, with the “I” and “you” always undefined, waiting for the listener to do the work.

Another part of the article that drew my attention was McMurtry’s act of discovery in writing the characters he sings. The act of discovery, to me, is one of the reasons story-telling is still around. Not only does the listener/reader learn about the characters (and hopefully themselves) from the story, but the story-teller learns to find something like meaning in the randomness around us. It is the purest part of story-telling, the truth at the core of all art. So why, if discovery helps all involved and characters are such a staple of our perception of the world, don’t we typically hear more music with a focus on the characters involved? Is it the massive amounts of vague nonsense being spewed through our radios? Is it a lack of attention spans long enough to allow for full character development? Whatever the reasoning is, I think we, especially in the art world, need to start working against this overflow of vague ideas and start working toward something definable, something tangible. I’m tired of songs that rely on music videos to provide meaning for abstract lyrics. If your song is about love, show me the lovers, why they argue, what they do when no one is around! I want you to tell me about myself through other people, not draw indiscernible figures in the air that melt as soon as the music fades! Specifics are the key to good art — we cannot connect to someone who is “Everyman” (thus, the reason why the Everyman plays died hundreds of years ago). So why are we still inundated with music that has the “I and you” format — this vague set of undefined people who apparently interact in everything from love-making to break-ups to drug trips? Why are we surrounded by art that doesn’t do the work, in fact depends on the listener to do the work for the artist? The intent of all art is to make the viewer/listener think (thereby working), but when I have to fill in the blank you didn’t even consider? No way. And pop artists wonder why people refuse to pay for a CD of tracks that mean nothing more than “I have a FABULOUS publicist.”

That James McMurtry, though? Expect to see that disc in my collection. Any artist who still does his share of the work is worth paying for in my book.

The Fight for Truth is the Artist’s Most Joyous Battle.

“Whosoever desires constant success must change his conduct with the times.” Niccolo Machiavelli

I saw this quote today and could not help but ponder how it applies to the arts (and, in turn, the artists). Must the artist truly be at the mercy of society’s ever-changing tastes? We have reached a time when to be politically incorrect is to be a terrorist, but the artist’s very job is to be politically incorrect, stimulating the masses into thinking for themselves and considering why things happen/people act the way they do. So then, should we censor ourselves before the critics can, making sure not to step on any toes if we expect recognition for our efforts? Why must we de-humanize our work in order for the contemporary world to accept it? It seems silly to me that artists, who turn reflectors on society (for whatever reason), must paint pretty pictures over the images in the mirror to keep the public from getting ruffled. We have become a society that cannot even look at itself without make-up and hair extensions (look at all the beauty ads out there and how well the fashion industry is doing and tell me I’m wrong). Instead of trying to envision a better future to work toward, we now tell ourselves we’re the best we could possibly be and punish anyone who challenges us. The beauty of humanity lies in the fact that we build and create to make the world as good as we think it can be — when did that change? When did everyone decide that to grow is to be corrupted? Still waters run deep, yes, but they also stagnate. And in the cultures we have molded, it is the artist’s job to ripple the surface, overflow the edges a little bit and create streams in new directions. So how can the arts survive in a world that challenges our most basic mission? Is it our job to wake everyone up, shake the sleep from their eyes and show them how still we have become? Or, if we expect recognition of any kind, must the artist now alter his conduct and become still himself, matching his tastes to those of society and the popular media? I agree with the quote only because of the words “constant success,” here meaning success in the eyes of one’s peers, but I disagree from a writer’s standpoint because my idea of success lies in honestly reporting the human condition. Personally, if I must find other ways to support myself and find “success,” so be it — I will. But bending to the will of popular tastes just to get a paycheck doesn’t make me an artist — it makes me a fraud. So I suppose the question becomes: How hard will you fight for your passion?

Welcome.

I am as new to blogging as you are to this page, so I hope we can enjoy this journey together. First of all, I am a master’s candidate at Longwood University, pursuing a degree in Fiction Writing. My creative work tends to lean toward experimental and gay fiction, though those are by no means limitations to my work. I also have done critical writing, book design, editing of a small university press (www.brierycreekpress.org) and am currently in the process of designing the book of the latest winner of the Liam Rector First Book Prize for Poetry, awarded by Longwood University in Farmville, Virginia. Now, onto something a bit more interesting:

Example of Creative Work:

Flash Fiction ( May, 2008 )

“Shore Leave”

Across the airstrip, the soldiers’ feet applaud against the pavement while Sari runs toward them, her children’s hands in hers, to welcome her husband back from the ruined land of her ancestors. She almost laughs, picturing Grandmother’s reaction to Emma in a skirt and cowboy boots at age 9, how Jack cackled for days. She hasn’t answered the phone or opened mail for weeks, too preoccupied with making sure that Jack’s arrival will be perfect. Her right knee aches each time her foot strikes the ground, but her legs will not slow and she doesn’t try to stop. The rock in Sari’s stomach tells her he’s there somewhere, and she pictures Jack’s grin so she can match it to his face, but features blur together among the camouflage and buzz-cuts. Adair runs ahead of Sari, his yells of “Papa” so excited and sharp that he sounds scared.

The men keep striding and Sari is the only woman – only civilian – as the stomping men surround her and move on. The first coffin is unloaded from the plane and Sari feels the blood leave her face and settle wetly in her gut. She tells herself that Jack is one of the men – same height, same build – carrying the plain wooden box, an American flag placed delicately overtop. Sari feels a tight pinch on her clammy palm and she jerks away from her daughter’s hand as if Emma’s tight grip carries the same penetrating burn as boiling water. Emma looks up, not smiling anymore, asks where Papa is and Sari says she doesn’t know; Sari scans the crowd for her son’s ever-present smile and finds Adair halted beside her, searching for a quick wink on the face of every passing man.

Example of Critical Writing:

Book Review ( July, 2008 )

Lewis Nordan. Sugar Among the Freaks. 1996. $10.95.

Lewis Nordan makes clear his ability to create striking images and startling characters in this collection. Centered around the town of Arrow Catcher, Mississippi, and its strange inhabitants, these stories explore the psychology of not fitting in. Each story is filled with people – indeed, they appear as real people, with flawed and self-questioning natures, like Sugar, Molly and Sally – who seem unhappy with who they are and their view of the world and town that they live in. We watch as the characters move closer to something like contentment, closer to an understanding of their inner selves that allows them to communicate to us the humanity that all misfits possess.

The conversational, decidedly Southern tone of the stories aids the reader in falling headfirst into the prose, and the uniqueness of each character makes them stark and endearing – like the ornery Golden Rondelle and her brother Arrow Catcher. Nordan writes about a large variety of subject matter, though it always comes back to a notion of coming-of-age, no matter the age of the characters. A subtle sense of intense emotion and humor makes this collection unique, and Nordan’s realistic portrayal of the fleeting nature of human notions solidifies each character. At times – though they are few and far between – the overlapping story lines prove to remind the reader of the writer at his desk rather than unify the collection, but the deft handling of characterization proves to immerse the reader again as soon as they have been removed from the story.

This collection shows Nordan’s ability to make a successful plot, as he steers us through characters’ lives until the moment of realization comes to the reader and the character. Nordan’s skill at breaking the traditional rules of grammar and punctuation only prove to help move the reader through the stories rather than distract from them, as we see in dialogue of “Wild Dog.” The setting, at times sparsely described and at others embellished, is always introduced with a sense of each individual character’s voice and the tone of the piece in mind. However it is being described, the setting is always clearly seen and works with the characters, as if they truly are a part of it and are used to moving through it.

Part Three of the collection centers around Sugar Mecklin and his experiences as he grows up in the small town of Arrow Catcher. In these last five stories, the reader comes to know what it is like to grow up as Sugar – a boy named after his grandmother who tries to catch chickens from his front porch with a fishing pole – always searching for a place to fit in. In “The All-Girl Football Team,” Sugar tries to figure out his own budding sexuality with the help of his father as he dresses in drag for a charity event and discovers that his father’s love of drag goes deeper than his own and is rooted in far different reasons. Sugar describes the feeling of essentially becoming a woman and the joy and terror of finally feeling beautiful, especially when in the guise of someone else. Sugar illustrates the despair of being forgotten by those closest to him in “The Talker at the Freak-Show,” when his father abandons him in front of the freak show to fulfill his own love of show business. Sugar is unique and playful and toys with the reader as he tells us his life in retrospect, admittedly exaggerating fine details while plotting out the emotional journeys of childhood. Part Three is organized so that it seems that the reader experiences Sugar’s emotional journeys consecutively as he ages, though “Sugar Among the Freaks” and “The All-Girl Football team” are the only two stories in Part Three that reveal the passing of time in relation to the other stories.

“John Thomas Bird,” one of the few stories in the collection that does not connect to other storylines, is about Molly, a young woman dissatisfied with her appearance – especially when she is around her Aunt Louise, a lithe woman who embodies everything that Molly is not. Molly goes on a date with John Thomas Bird, an Air Force pilot and baseball player that her aunt introduces her to, and one of the most physically perfect men that Molly has ever met. After their date, which goes rather smoothly considering the only words John seems to hear are his own, they go to a lake for a swim. After stripping nude to stretch, John dives in the water with Molly in tow and promptly passes out after being bitten by a lamprey. Molly rescues the boy with the skills she learned at life guarding classes and while he cries on the shore, broken despite his physical perfection, Molly reveals her body for the first time without any self-consciousness as her aunt looks on. There is a sense of inevitability at the end of the story that is heightened because the outcome is unpredictable before the conclusion – this speaks to Nordan’s talent as a storyteller, and his ability to communicate meaning through experiences that seem almost true-to-life.

In another story that does not connect to the others, “Wild Dog,” Sally and her husband – a failed farmer, but not for lack of trying – are leaving their farm for the city, but must continue the upkeep until they go, one part of which is killing the wild dogs that threaten the livestock. Sally and “the farmer” – a testament to Nordan’s writing ability that the reader does not question the man’s lack of a name – wrestle with the fact that they must execute these animals. The reader sees how it affects their intimacy with one another in sparse bedroom scenes, as they deliberately touch or don’t touch one another while they fall asleep. After a wild bitch has given birth beneath the house and the farmer has found himself unable to kill the dogs until the last moment, the farmer lies in bed holding his wife and wondering about the final two dogs – one puppy and the mother – as the bed beneath them feels “as cool as the moist earth.” Nordan’s skill at crafting emotional responses that cannot be put into words is felt in this story especially, though that vein also works to unify the collection.

Some of the stories do not impress the way “Wild Dog,” “John Thomas Bird” and “The All-Girl Football team” do, much of the time because of a lack (however purposeful) of balance between scene and summary, but the collection as a whole is an impressive illustration of life in a small Southern town. Peopled with personalities that the reader can easily see, relate to and come to know intimately, this collection both warms and breaks the readers heart as it moves through stories that we have all been a part of.

These are just two examples of the creative and critical work that I do on a regular basis in the master’s program at Longwood University. If you are interested in my writing, please leave a comment and I will be more than happy to provide more examples of either writing style. Thank you for visiting my blog and please come again!

Best,

Austin