Real Writers
The flip side of my business card says INSPIRE. This morning I put on my business suit, feeling anything but.
For some unknown reason, my spirit was flat. I felt trepidation not about the performance I was about to give, but about my apparent lack of affect. A mysterious loss. My usual state is effervescent, passionate, inspiring. Gone, zero, zilch.
But by day's end, I would be more than restored, more than inspired. Enraptured, I would say, by the power of words.
Business suit skirt, sleeveless top with a dressy hoody, funky satin heels with a raggedy fringe, and toting two huge bags, plus my purse/backpack, I took off for the Willamette Writers Conference near the Portland International Airport. Thirty minutes later, I trudged into the Sheraton, locating my schedule for the writing critiques I would be sharing with three fledgling authors and pinpointing the location for my 10:30a seminar on "The Gentle Art of Interviewing."
The manuscript by the first writer opened brilliantly with the description of a Depression-era carnival. Later we learn she is from a family of carnies, and falls into manic-depression despair. I connect with her, understand what she wants to say, and guide her to using the natural metaphors she has missed, for example the roller coaster ride of the carnival the perfect picture for her confusing moods later in life. The teacher in me kicks in, and I am in a flow state, ideas popping up as soon as I deliver another.
As she thanks me, I dash off to set up for my seminar. The mic. Which I decide I won't need because my voice carries. The CD player and speakers. And I silently vow I will buy an iPod and that docking station. The sweater sleeves. Which I push up while closing the front door of the double-room. I face my students with a smile. I have a pile of notes, which I later am stunned to realize I rarely consulted. I am in flow, filled with passion for the stories to tell, and evocative audio quotations from Terry Gross, Tim Russert, Nicholas Sparks, Richard Carlson, and dozens of others. Their very comments reveal more than just how to answer interview questions, but about how to live more powerfully, and use your disadvantages. On a clip I captured from an interview with Terry Gross, she laughingly admits her disadvantage is being shy, but that apparent disadvantage gives her the opportunity to put the spotlight on the person she is interviewing. She says she is non-descript and "absolutely nothing stops" when she walks into a room. Laughter rings.
When the ninety-minutes is up, I enjoy a leisurely two-hour lunch with Jennie Shortridge, an author (RIDING WITH THE QUEEN, EATING HEAVEN) whom I'd interviewed over the years and has become my dear friend. That happens a lot. Authors become friends. I attribute that gift of friendship to the empathy I bring to every interview. I love these connections, I live for them. Jennie's next book will be a literary departure from her usual work. She's alive with excitement for this new project. Life forces you out of your comfort zone, or how you can head those rough changes off by graceful shifts of your own choice. She tells me about a former student who insisted that nothing changes in his story because people don't change. We are incredulous about the possibility of art without tension, without change, without new direction -- there can be no such thing. Change is implicit in art.
We part, and I do two more author critiques. In both cases, I tell the authors they must have more story, more description, more depth. Later, I am thanked for the "tough love." Yes, that must be it, because I love looking at the elegant core of a story, and seeing how it can bloom, fulfilling the original purpose the writer held in his or her heart.
By now my heart is singing.
It is time for the awards banquet, and I find a seat with Christina Katz, author of WRITER MAMA. We sit near the front, and watch as screenwriter Mike Rich is introduced, the winner of the Distinguished NW Writer Award. In his acceptance speech, Mike is reflecting back on his days in radio -- she pokes me in the ribs. Yes, I remember those days, some fifteen years ago. Mike and I were contemporaries in radio, and there was this buzz about him "trying" to write a screenplay and not much appreciation for his getting out of his comfort zone of just-radio. I adored that about Mike, that he dared dedicate two hours every day, when most of us morning radio people are long past exhaustion, to writing this screenplay. The one that would become FINDING FORRESTER. Which would lead to RADIO, MIRACLE, and now SECRETARIAT. Unmitigated success.
Mike talked about writing from the heart. And he reflected on the Portland Creative Conference some fifteen years ago when he attended a seminar about Failure. Not about failing to sell your book or your screenplay, but about failing to find your voice. Mike says that writing is not about testing the market, anticipating the next big trend and writing to that...but about writing from your heart, giving the story, the words, revealing the brilliance from your deepest passion. In Mike, and in every one of Mike's scripts, the focal point is not a star, but a courageous character who leads with his heart.
I recall nearly ten years ago, when I took a chance, leaving a steady Portland radio job to do a few months on the air in LA. It was risky, but I knew it was time for a change. That first day, I walked out of Los Angeles International Airport, and got onto a shuttle bus. I heard "hi, Diana."
I'm in LA for five minutes and I hear my name?
It was Mike Rich -- just happened to be on the same shuttle that picked me up. I marveled over the meaning this coincidence has. To hear Mike say my name at such an unusual time and place is inspiring, and underscores how right my choice to go to LA is.
Then, I reflect on the 180 in my day. The teaching and story-telling I have done have put me in a joyful state. And, this story about Mike comes back to me as he talks about true success -- using and finding your Voice -- and I am thoroughly, completely inspired.
For some unknown reason, my spirit was flat. I felt trepidation not about the performance I was about to give, but about my apparent lack of affect. A mysterious loss. My usual state is effervescent, passionate, inspiring. Gone, zero, zilch.
But by day's end, I would be more than restored, more than inspired. Enraptured, I would say, by the power of words.
Business suit skirt, sleeveless top with a dressy hoody, funky satin heels with a raggedy fringe, and toting two huge bags, plus my purse/backpack, I took off for the Willamette Writers Conference near the Portland International Airport. Thirty minutes later, I trudged into the Sheraton, locating my schedule for the writing critiques I would be sharing with three fledgling authors and pinpointing the location for my 10:30a seminar on "The Gentle Art of Interviewing."
The manuscript by the first writer opened brilliantly with the description of a Depression-era carnival. Later we learn she is from a family of carnies, and falls into manic-depression despair. I connect with her, understand what she wants to say, and guide her to using the natural metaphors she has missed, for example the roller coaster ride of the carnival the perfect picture for her confusing moods later in life. The teacher in me kicks in, and I am in a flow state, ideas popping up as soon as I deliver another.
As she thanks me, I dash off to set up for my seminar. The mic. Which I decide I won't need because my voice carries. The CD player and speakers. And I silently vow I will buy an iPod and that docking station. The sweater sleeves. Which I push up while closing the front door of the double-room. I face my students with a smile. I have a pile of notes, which I later am stunned to realize I rarely consulted. I am in flow, filled with passion for the stories to tell, and evocative audio quotations from Terry Gross, Tim Russert, Nicholas Sparks, Richard Carlson, and dozens of others. Their very comments reveal more than just how to answer interview questions, but about how to live more powerfully, and use your disadvantages. On a clip I captured from an interview with Terry Gross, she laughingly admits her disadvantage is being shy, but that apparent disadvantage gives her the opportunity to put the spotlight on the person she is interviewing. She says she is non-descript and "absolutely nothing stops" when she walks into a room. Laughter rings.
When the ninety-minutes is up, I enjoy a leisurely two-hour lunch with Jennie Shortridge, an author (RIDING WITH THE QUEEN, EATING HEAVEN) whom I'd interviewed over the years and has become my dear friend. That happens a lot. Authors become friends. I attribute that gift of friendship to the empathy I bring to every interview. I love these connections, I live for them. Jennie's next book will be a literary departure from her usual work. She's alive with excitement for this new project. Life forces you out of your comfort zone, or how you can head those rough changes off by graceful shifts of your own choice. She tells me about a former student who insisted that nothing changes in his story because people don't change. We are incredulous about the possibility of art without tension, without change, without new direction -- there can be no such thing. Change is implicit in art.
We part, and I do two more author critiques. In both cases, I tell the authors they must have more story, more description, more depth. Later, I am thanked for the "tough love." Yes, that must be it, because I love looking at the elegant core of a story, and seeing how it can bloom, fulfilling the original purpose the writer held in his or her heart.
By now my heart is singing.
It is time for the awards banquet, and I find a seat with Christina Katz, author of WRITER MAMA. We sit near the front, and watch as screenwriter Mike Rich is introduced, the winner of the Distinguished NW Writer Award. In his acceptance speech, Mike is reflecting back on his days in radio -- she pokes me in the ribs. Yes, I remember those days, some fifteen years ago. Mike and I were contemporaries in radio, and there was this buzz about him "trying" to write a screenplay and not much appreciation for his getting out of his comfort zone of just-radio. I adored that about Mike, that he dared dedicate two hours every day, when most of us morning radio people are long past exhaustion, to writing this screenplay. The one that would become FINDING FORRESTER. Which would lead to RADIO, MIRACLE, and now SECRETARIAT. Unmitigated success.
Mike talked about writing from the heart. And he reflected on the Portland Creative Conference some fifteen years ago when he attended a seminar about Failure. Not about failing to sell your book or your screenplay, but about failing to find your voice. Mike says that writing is not about testing the market, anticipating the next big trend and writing to that...but about writing from your heart, giving the story, the words, revealing the brilliance from your deepest passion. In Mike, and in every one of Mike's scripts, the focal point is not a star, but a courageous character who leads with his heart.
I recall nearly ten years ago, when I took a chance, leaving a steady Portland radio job to do a few months on the air in LA. It was risky, but I knew it was time for a change. That first day, I walked out of Los Angeles International Airport, and got onto a shuttle bus. I heard "hi, Diana."
I'm in LA for five minutes and I hear my name?
It was Mike Rich -- just happened to be on the same shuttle that picked me up. I marveled over the meaning this coincidence has. To hear Mike say my name at such an unusual time and place is inspiring, and underscores how right my choice to go to LA is.
Then, I reflect on the 180 in my day. The teaching and story-telling I have done have put me in a joyful state. And, this story about Mike comes back to me as he talks about true success -- using and finding your Voice -- and I am thoroughly, completely inspired.
Labels: authors, books, Christina Katz, Jennie Shortridge, Mike Rich, Willamette Writers, writing
