Willa Cather, Natalie Golberg and Carolyn Keene -Julie

Last night was writers' group. We all bring a few pages of something we're working on, with copies for all, and after the not-writing-related but oh so necessary venting, whining, and general getting-up-to-date-ing, we get down to it. Each person reads, then we give feedback.

I'm working on a little YA novel, centering around a co-housing community. I brought three pages I hated. Well, not hated exactly, but pages which made me question what the hell I think I'm doing, writing. It just seemed flat, forced, uninspired. I blame Willa Cather and Natalie Goldberg. There, I've said it. I was rereading Writing Down the Bones to possibly use in the creative writing class I teach at our high school (and I must stop here to recall the Fancy East Coast Editor I met at a conference who said never to mention in any submission that you are a Teacher and a Mom, like it not only reveals what a cliche you are as a writer, but also as a human being, but this may be another blog...). So I'm reading Natalie Goldberg who is all about filling up those notebooks -- one a month! -- and writing from your gut and cutting through the crap to get to what's true and real and in my twenties I was like yeah, exactly, that's so right on, but now I'm like, who has the time? And yet, my three pages? Flat, forced and uninspired.

Then I read a story by Willa Cather, "Paul's Case." And she writes sentences like this (many, in fact, in a row):

After each of these orgies of living, he experienced all the physical depression which follows a debauch; the loathing of respectable beds, of common food, of a house penetrated by kitchen odours; a shuddering repulsion for the flavorless, colourless mass of every-day existence; a morbid desire for cool things and soft lights and fresh flowers.

Sheesh. That was neither flat, forced OR uninspired. I could go my whole life and not write a sentence that cool.

Which brings me to Carolyn Keene, that nom de plume for all the capable writers churning out safe, predictable mysteries for young readers. I honestly like these books and went through a period in my thirties when I reread about 20 of them. But I also enjoying saying to myself, on my way to the coffeeshop to meet my friends, my writers, my three pages are definitely better than a Nancy Drew, right?

That's the real Secret of the Wooden Lady,

Julie