Archive by Author

CNF in the Making

November 29, 2010 in General with 3 Comments

Deanna Hershiser

Relief reader Deanna Hershiser talks about the creative nonfiction coming in issue 4.2.

One of my favorite parts of reading submissions is being swept along. Writing that lifts me is writing with a view to a room of my heart’s experience, even when (as is usually the case) I haven’t been through what the author is describing. I’m drawn to reading and writing essays for the joy of absorbing works made by wordy tools and lyrical recipes.

I was pleased this go-round that Relief’s editors chose pieces I really like. They’re stories of building boats and baking bread and attempting rehab. Seemingly insignificant facets of days — a morning walk, an evening on the beach — carry me into meaning, because they were recorded with patience and skill. Repeated returns to the work must have happened for each essay to become finished, ready. Such is the nature of our task. The same is true in “The Art of Work,” where A. S. Peterson’s craft-ful description reminds me that early in a process “it is easy to think the work nearly done. This is a deception.”

As with the best writing anywhere, “finished” doesn’t mean everything’s tied up with a bow by the end. These essays retain questions. Their problems are ancient ones: What is art? Why strive in light of painful separations? What does perfection taste like? They give fodder for our processes, for the spiritual work each of us does to find meaning in our own little spaces and times.

I’ll finish this post with a Cyber Monday notice, fitting because Leslie Leyland Field’s essay for 4.2, “Making the Perfect Loaf of Bread,” is already available in the artful anthology, The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting Toward God. Leslie is the book’s editor, as well, and she has gathered delectables (each essay includes a recipe) from the likes of Wendell Berry, Luci Shaw, and Nancy J. Nordenson.

Here’s to making our way through Monday and into a month of attempts at meaning.

Deanna Hershiser’s essays have appeared in Runner’s World, BackHome Magazine, Relief , and other places. She lives with her husband in Oregon and blogs at deannahershiser.com/stories-glimmer.

Interview: Through the Ohlen Harris Veil

June 22, 2010 in General with 1 Comment

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.

Care for a Sprout?

April 29, 2010 in Uncategorized with 6 Comments

Deanna Hershiser

A while ago I read a post by David Pierce featuring the latest writerly technologies. Pierce implied we can’t go back now to pen and paper, not when smartphone applications and so on exist. What kind of dufuses stick with old school?

This year began for me with a fresh Moleskine and gel pen. I’m halfway through the little notebook now, jotting random ideas when they surge onto my brain’s shore. I did this when my kids were little, capturing gems that I can always find preserved in my file drawer when I want them. Things like my daughter, at four, telling me we should really say “last day” and “last night,” or else go with “yesterday” and “yesternight.” Shakespeare would have been proud, I thought.

I’m sure the savvy Pierce would point out we now have mommy blogs for that. You can record your child’s wisdom plus pictures and music — all kinds of media, in fact, to make the best memories of moments.

This is true. I follow several amazing blogs by creative young women, most with kids. But the one or two or three I like best contain an interesting element that goes against the exhortation to leave old ways behind. They’re by women who make use of technology while learning to sprout quinoa and ferment kombucha and cook and preserve and create and savor life by methods older school than I had imagined.

Then there’s my son and survival info. He has found some good sites, like Survival Blog. Great for if you ever want to live off the grid. Or if we someday have to.

This is what gets me: middle of the night, waking to those lurking what-ifs, I drift into wondering. We never know where the country and economy are heading. We live on a planet brightening its orbit with electricity, but after a hundred years plus, we’re tethered to that power source, albeit wirelessly. In the blink of a sunspot, everything could switch off, and we would really have to learn a few 19th-century survival methods. (Which reminds me, I need to jot down addresses of my blogging-mama friends whose homes are closest to mine. I’m glad they’re learning what my grandma knew.)

Never happen, you say. And on spring afternoons, sunshiny with exercise after I get myself off the computer, I’m with you. I haven’t sprouted any quinoa yet. But I’m still writing in spare moments on paper with pen and resting easier about retaining my little words and insights.

Deanna Hershiser enjoys tweaking technology and pondering theology at her blog. Her latest memory-musing about simpler stuff is forthcoming at The Shine Journal.

All That Glitters

February 11, 2010 in Writing and Publishing with 6 Comments

Deanna Hershiser

Deanna Hershiser recalls the “joy” of being humbled.

Even melancholy writers like me can have a positive morning. At such times everything shines like my golden ideas.

But I’ve learned to feel suspicious of their glow. I guess we all have to do that. Bask for the moment, sure, but later test new paragraphs, stanzas, or stories for actual quality. Why is it, the more fantastic they seem when they arrive, the clunkier they can rattle out of my brain? I don’t often comprehend this until I receive negative feedback or continued rejection, or both.

An essay I once started had all the markings of a hit. My daughter and I ran through the neighborhood for the first time at her request. Who could fail to tug heartstrings, I thought, describing their child’s interest in exercise? I read a rough draft sometime later to my critique group, and one lady asked what I was trying to say.

An innocent question, and a good one. But I felt derailed. I talked back (something our rules said not to do), defensive. Maybe it was the way she framed her question. Maybe I had eaten too much chocolate after lunch. Anyway, I returned to my essay, and what once had been golden felt like lead. I slogged through editing the piece and sent it out to face the inevitable—it was never published.

My next attempt grew from scraps jotted in my journal about running with my little dog. I tried writing it different ways, wary of sharing it anywhere. If no one appreciated my mother-daughter bonding tale, who would like this motley adventure?

In my humbled state I found some encouragement. While I considered doggy jogging mundane, I saw I was writing a more genuine anecdote. I liked running. So did my dog. My daughter hadn’t wanted to do it again after her first try. She had been the one to suggest I run with our pooch to start with, and so I mentioned my gratefulness to her in the essay. Finally, I arrived at an opening image for the story, based on what I had learned about myself. If only my dog and I could voice our imaginings, we would rather be an Amazon-type athlete racing her Malamute in the Iditarod, than a 30-something woman out circling the sewage treatment plant with her raccoon-sized dog.

This lowly image sold my essay. I had discovered how to smile at my own shabby efforts and see beauty in ordinary moments. Readers related to this story and contacted me to share some of theirs. It was an honor to have struck a nerve.

Since then I try to remember, when writing, running, or falling down, there’s no shame in not shining all the time.

***

These days Deanna Hershiser jogs on her treadmill when not out fishing with her dad. She has had work published in Runner’s World, Relief, and Long Story Short. She blogs here.

Hitting the Mixes

January 14, 2010 in Writing and Publishing with 1 Comment

Deanna Hershiser

Deanna Hershiser ponders failure and success in writing.

I’ve been looking back and thinking I would describe a few of my writing hits and misses. But then I thought, what do those terms mean?

Hit

–n.: 1. a blow; stroke. 2. a getting to what is aimed at.

As in baseball, so with the pen. I wanted to get hits, to see my name in print, to hear that people were reading me. After each of those gifts arrived, I hoped I would receive more — wider recognition, contest wins, and let’s not forget lump sums.

In daydream scenarios, I imagined the greater good my words might accomplish, the lasting effect of my ministry on the world.

Many times, though, I received good news from an editor or contest when some aspect of my life was in a low state, or when the news was more like a blow. For example, the first check I received for an article, back in 1996, brought with it amazing feelings — most of them good. But I couldn’t help tracing over again the sorrowful subject of my story. Was God pleased that I got paid for this? Or had I taken advantage of a sad situation to boost my ego?

While a therapist might have labeled my guilt feelings neurotic, I’m not sorry for the inner wrestling I did. Further thought and prayer helped me write more on the subject and find richer insight.

Miss

–n.1. a failure to hit, attain, etc. 2. (obsolete) loss; lack.

I almost quit writing after my first rejection. Thanks to encouraging friends and growing up some more, I tried new things. One evening I found myself at a writers’ conference banquet, knowing I had won a prize for a short story but waiting to hear whether I had received first, second, or third.

Though happy to be in my seat at all, I really wanted first prize. Who would ever care about the other two? To come all this way and not get first, I knew, would feel like a loss.

Then a fresh thought hit me. I might be able to handle loss right now better than someone else sitting in the full dining room. Forget how good anybody’s writing is for a minute, my mind said. Someone else might truly need first prize. Strange to say, I relaxed. And yep, someone else won. I still have the certificate for my second prize in a file somewhere, all but forgotten. Yet, again, I’m glad I went through those weird thoughts and emotions in my writing process.

I may post more in coming weeks about my successes, failures, and the mixture of lessons that have ministered through them to me. Feel free to share any of your own in the comments section.

***

In 2010 Deanna Hershiser plans to take breaks from toil over essays and memoirs to fish with her father on the McKenzie River near Eugene, Oregon.  Her latest publications have included fiction in joyful! and nonfiction in Camroc Press Review. She blogs here

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