Archive - June, 2010

Relief News Tuesday 6.29.2010

4.1 Shipping!

Just yesterday we received the printed copies of issue 4.1!  They will be shipping from ccPublishing’s president’s office sometime in the next two days, so they will be on their way to you by the weekend! So exciting!

This does man that the pre-sales will be removed from our side bar, but we will still be selling the .pdf file from our store at a price that is much less expensive than a printed copy.

Some personal rearranging

This week, our Editor-in-Chief, Christopher Fisher, moved to Virginia.  We are very thankful that he and his family made the trip safely, and we hope his family settles in soon.

Our Web Editor, Ian Philpot, also started a job with Willow Creek Community Church this week as their Web Content Developer.  This is great news as Ian just graduated with an English degree in May and already has a full-time job working in his field of study.  He is very thankful and feels extremely blessed by his new job.

Photo Haiku Wednesday 6.23.10

Photo courtesy of Elaina Avalos.

Directions:

1. Write a haiku inspired by the photo and post it in the comments.

For extra chances to win:

2. Follow @reliefjournal on Twitter

3. Follow @Quo Vadis on Twitter

4. Twitter @reliefjournal with your haiku and #PHW (Photo Haiku Wednesday)

* * *

The good people over at Quo Vadis have generously donated some prizes!!

The weekly winner will receive a Quo Vadis Habana Journal and a bottle of J. Herbin ink!!

Every week Relief will choose a random winner! So play along and tell your friends. See the information below for extra chances to win.

* * *

Winner will be announced via Twitter Thursday afternoons.

We can only ship to U.S. addresses right now.

You may only win once every three months, but you may play along every week for Twitter Super Bonus Points.

* * *

Would you like to have your photo featured on Photo Haiku Wednesday?

Email your photos to Michelle: photohaiku@reliefjournal.com

You’ll get a photo credit link here on the main blog and you’ll also be entered in the drawing for the Quo Vadis Habana journal and bottle of J. Herbin ink the week your photo appears on the blog!

Interview: Through the Ohlen Harris Veil

In a cross-blog post, Deanna Hershiser interviews Relief’s creative nonfiction editor, Lisa Ohlen Harris.

Although my editor friend Lisa is a few years younger than I, she’s wiser regarding all things literary and nonfiction. She can tell you, after reading an essay, what sort of writing this is and what one might do to make it better. I love people like her.

Sometimes editors edit because writing just hasn’t worked well for them. Not so with Lisa. Her first book, Through the Veil, will soon be released by Canon Press. Its offerings include an essay which was listed under “Notable Essays of 2008″ in Best American Essays 2009, along with two others that have made the Notable lists in volumes of Best American Spiritual Writing. Another of the book’s essays was shortlisted for a Pushcart Prize and received special mention in Pushcart XXXIII.

Below are Lisa’s answers to my questions about her adventures as a literary character and writerly person.

DH: First, tell us the scope of your journeying. Where all have you been? Who are your fellow life voyagers?

LOH: I met my husband-to-be on a study tour in Damascus, Syria, which is also where Through the Veil begins. We married a year and a half later in Oregon and immediately after our honeymoon we moved to Philadelphia, where Todd went to grad school at Westminster Theological Seminary. We returned to the Middle East in 1996 with our one-year-old daughter. Two more daughters were born during our years in Jordan. Since returning to the States, we’ve lived in Delaware/Maryland, Pennsylvania (where our fourth daughter was born), Texas, and finally back to Oregon, where we intend to stay. I’m grateful for the breadth of experience and culture I’ve had over the past twenty years—which gives me plenty to write about—but I’m so glad to be back home in Oregon.

DH:When did you decide you would be a writer?

I wrote my first creative essay in 2004, when we lived in Texas, and I immediately became enchanted with the idea of creating literature from life. At that point I had no idea whether I would write magazine articles or a newspaper column or what. I joined a couple of online critique groups and started to see that my writing tended toward the kind of stuff published in literary journals. It wasn’t until my work started being accepted for publication that I knew writing would be more than a hobby for me.

DH: What led you to the MFA program you’re completing? How did your education enhance your essay writing?

LOH: Having an MFA enables me to teach writing at the college and graduate levels. I entered the program with a firm belief that no one needs an MFA to write well. While I still basically believe that, I’ve found that my writing has grown leaps and bounds in the past two years. For years now I’ve received helpful critique from fellow writers who are about at my same stage in the journey, but the MFA has given me the opportunity to also receive critique and direction from established writers and editors. Having these friendships is a benefit I hadn’t anticipated when I started the program .

The hurdle for me was how to make graduate school fit into my existing life. I’m in my forties and married, with four school-age children. At the time I applied for MFA programs I was also the primary caregiver for my elderly mother-in-law, who lived with us. The low-residency programs—and the Rainier Writing Workshop in particular—are designed for those who cannot relocate to a graduate school community for two or three years.

The Rainier Writing Workshop (RWW) was my first choice for several reasons. First of all, I recognized nearly every name on the nonfiction faculty listing, writers like Brenda Miller, Robin Hemley , Lia Purpura, and others. RWW’s program takes three years rather than two (with the three-year program costing about the same as a two-year program elsewhere), so MFA candidates are writing an estimated 15 hours per week rather than the 20-25 estimated for a two-year program. RWW also holds only one on-campus residency per year—in August—whereas nearly every other program has two residencies per year.

DH: You’ve stated that writing fiction is not for you. What is most appealing for you about creative nonfiction?

LOH: I am completely enchanted with the process of seeing life through a literary lens and uncovering the metaphors and portents and deep connective threads running through the stories that make up my life. This is a matter of aptitude as well as preference. I can see story structure in life, in thought, in rambling reflection, in imagery, and I can’t imagine ever tiring of this adventure—both the living and the writing. It’s magic to me, making life into literature, complete with the limitations granted by believability, truthfulness, and honoring those I write about.

DH: Which came first, your essays or the idea for your book?

LOH: I had written only a handful of essays when I began to mine my memories of living in Damascus. The memory of a slightly alarming interaction with some Bedouin women in Damascus combined with some research about the Crusades and became my first Middle East essay, completed in December, 2005. I realized right away that this concept could become my first book. I pulled out my journals and research notes from Damascus, and for more than two years I just kept writing essays about living in Syria and Jordan, submitting finished work to literary journals all along the way. In the “Acknowledgements” page for Through the Veil I say that I learned to write by writing this book.

DH: Lately you’ve been teaching and editing. How do those occupations fit with your writing career?

LOH: It’s hard for me to say which I love more—writing my own essays or coaching other writers. I’m glad I don’t have to choose between the two. Both fit together in this writing life.

DH: How would someone interested in receiving one of your coaching sessions go about contacting you?

LOH: I give a brief description of my critique and editing service on my website. To talk more about writing and editing or about a specific project, interested readers should email me. Although I have worked with local clients, most of my coaching takes place via email and telephone calls.

DH: What plans are in the works for Through the Veil’s unveiling?

LOH: I only have two definite events scheduled—a book release in the Dallas, Texas, area in early July and a private book launch with friends here in my hometown in mid-July. I have felt bizarrely shy about promoting my book, and I’ve decided that’s okay. If Through the Veil is worthwhile, readers will recommend the book to their friends and the news will spread.

My book has been picked up by several book clubs for next fall, and at least one of these groups has invited me to come speak to them. I’m hoping for more invitations to meet with writers and readers to talk culture and craft.

DH: Thank you, Lisa, for taking time to visit. I’m excited to read your finished book and to imagine the richness of your prose giving more readers windows into worlds unknown. I’ve learned much from you about the art and craft of writing, and I’m looking forward to seeing others benefit from all you have to offer.

Deanna Hershiser also published this interview at her blog, Capturing a Story’s Glimmer. Her recent essays have appeared in BackHome Magazine and Prick of the Spindle.

Peak(ed)

 

Michael Dean Clark

(The first in a series on my attempt to hike to the top of the tallest peak in the continental United States.)

On top of Mt. Whitney is a stone hut erected in 1909 to protect hikers from the elements should they be stranded on the peak. This is the highest building in America, something I only know because I’ve seen pictures of it. But that was supposed to change when I joined six friends with the express purpose of hiking to the top of Whitney, striking a pose next to the hut, and fulfilling a life-long goal.

I failed. It sucks.

I’m tempted to justify that statement, maybe deflect a bit. I did make it to 12,100 feet above sea level, which is 700 feet higher than I’ve ever hiked. I wasn’t quite in the shape I wanted to be for very legit reasons. I came down with a decent case of altitude sickness. The night before we hit the trail, snow dumped on what was already the most difficult and dangerous section of the hike. I am extremely afraid of heights and falling from them. I’m getting older.

All of these factors were in play and impacted my trip. But it’s simply more accurate to say I failed.

I think right now I’m supposed to add, “but it was a good failure.” I’m not going to. This isn’t one of those lessons learned deals, unless that lesson is that failure blows and disappointment lingers. I assume most of us don’t need to be reminded of that, let alone think about it while they watch three guys from their group reach the summit without them.

I should note that I am really happy my friends made it, and not in that Miss America Runner-up way. In fact, I think I’m happier for them than I would have been had I made it myself. The sting of imagining how great it was up there – something my fiction-generating mind does quite vividly – makes me appreciate their accomplishment even more.

It’s lame but true. It’s also true that my trip to the foot of Whitney was an amazingly good time. I spent time with two of my closest friends, guys I definitely don’t see often enough. We talked deeply and joked shallowly and hiked the hill together. And when the thin air made my head hurt so bad I thought I was going to vomit every time I moved, they skipped the summit and hiked down with me to make sure I didn’t fall off the mountain.

I guess this is the spot where I should write “so, without my failure I wouldn’t have…” fill in the appropriate friendship platitude. But I won’t do that either.

It sucks that, in a way, my failure cost them the chance to finish what they started. But my guilt is what allows me to feel the grace they extended me on the mountain. It’s what enables me to hear and believe them when they say the time spent with me was worth their own disappointment in not summiting.

Maybe I can trust them because we all share the same failure together.

I find it no coincidence that while I sat reading in the airport on the way home, Flannery O’Connor’s words spoke directly to my failure and its necessity.

“(The writer) begins to see in the depths of himself, and it seems to me that his position there rests on what must certainly be the bedrock of all human experience – the experience of limitation or, if you will, poverty.”

And, in case I started feeling the urge to make a moral out of the mountain, she said this.

“The writer’s business is to contemplate experience, not to be merged in it….you can’t make an inadequate dramatic action complete by putting a statement of meaning on the end of it…”

Michael Dean Clark holds a PhD in English from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and is an assistant professor of writing at Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego, California. His latest authorial activity is going through his pile of rejection letters and rating them on a scale of painfulness and sarcasm.

Writing “Transistor Radio: A Story of Love and Technology”

Thomas Allbaugh

Thomas Allbaugh joins the blog to discuss how he crafted his story “Transistor Radio: A Story of Love and Technology.”  After, you can read a snippet from his story that will be appearing in Relief 4.1.

I think there’s a story in how I wrote this story.

First, for about four months, I had only this phrase:

“I discovered the unconditional love of the transistor radio.”

Then came the approach of our university sponsored “Writers Read,” a fall semester reading of faculty and student writing. As the “read” usually works well in showcasing poetry and short prose, I think of it as an opportunity to test and play with ideas in short forms before an appreciative, critical audience. This time, I decided to explore the phrase above. As I did so, I began to detail a “top forty” world I had known as an eighth grader. Out of this exploration of a time when I owned a transistor radio, an account of first love emerged, and I wrote the story in one sitting. Though the love story seemed telescoped in the first draft, I read it for the reading, and hearing it and seeing audience responses to it, I was encouraged to expand on the characters and a few of the episodes. I often find that hearing a story helps me to see what is wrong with it, what is working. I was encouraged even more when Relief accepted it for publication.

Though editor Chris Fisher rightly wanted the narrative to move more quickly to the love interest than it did at first—and he is right that the love story is the real core of this one—I also was grateful that he chose to retain the details of the narrator’s growing sense of his family’s sinking economic status in comparison with the continuing prosperity of his peers around him. So this story really benefited from his editorial insights.

Here is a small piece from “Transistor Radio: A Story of Love and Technology”:

“Thanks.”  She slouched on her right leg, her left foot in pointed black shoes aimed at me, her left knee bent.  Though she had not developed breasts yet, her legs were wonderfully curved and slender from playing in sports.
“I mean it.  That was great.”
She just nodded.
Standing next to her for the first time, seeing the deep brown strands of her hair parted across her olive forehead and her retainer against her close, full front teeth, I wanted to tell her how great her band was.  I wanted to lie, to tell her that I played something cool like the guitar.  ”Mike plays violin,” Nick said.  He was across the room, unplugging the PA system.
Carmina looked up then, as if noticing me for the first time, “Really?”
I wanted to deny this.  I wanted to run.  As always, my failures to meet the criteria set by my peer group were made crystal clear.
“Well,” I said.  ”I sorta used to.”  This was as true as I could make it.
Nick looped a microphone cord nearly around his hand and elbow.  ”We should have him helps us with some Emerson Lake & Palmer.  Or the Moody Blues.  You know them, right Mike?”
I smiled.  ”Yes.”  I had never heard of Emerson Lake & Palmer.  Or the Moody Blues.  Neither had been on late-night transistor radio.

***

Thomas Allbaugh has published both fiction and nonfiction in Blue Moon Review,Mars Hill ReviewPerspectives, and Writing on the Edge. He teaches writing at Azusa Pacific University, where he also coordinates the first year writing program. His first year composition textbook Pretexts for Writing was published by Kendall/Hunt in 2009. He lives in Southern California with his wife of almost 21 years and their four children.

Page 1 of 3123»