2011

How was your year? Any resolutions for the New Year? If I may: Finish your book! Or start writing the one you’ve been meaning to. Or write another. Get it done.

What was 2011 like for me and where do I want to go in 2012? Still pondering. Here’s my year in review:

Wrote 2 screenplays, housesat for 2 friends, went to JPW in the spring and a Navy-ND game in the fall, plus London, Kenya, long hours of volunteer work, pitched my novel in NYC, put out another on Smashwords. Thought I had ADD but when I went primal and off grains most of the time, didn’t need drugs, just fish oil and better vitamins. Queried agents and publishers, submitted and entered contests, applied for residencies and very little of it came to anything. Still, I believe in this novel and the screenplays and am not giving up. Was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Started dating, started the Steve Jobs bio, starting realizing I need to spend more time reading and dating. But not at the same time. Stopped going to the gym and got a pullup bar. Helped a friend after her knee surgery then up to see my brother after his liver cancer diagnosis. Had met some of the celebrities who passed, but… no one close to me died this year…. Went to the theater, went to concerts, went to church, heard words of wisdom from one of the wisest, smartest men I’ve ever met in a tiny one near Kibera. Heard nuns at dawn singing like angels. Had lunch with women with profound neurological disorders, fed one named Joy, heard a briefing by human rights attorneys, met an economic anthropologist, walked the slums of Dandora and Kibera, sang and danced and rejoiced with Kenyans and the Masai. For the first – and last – time drank cow blood, tried goat intestine soup and ate brains (not at the same meal because that would be gross! heh) Learned a little Swahili and a few words of Maa. Became an honorary Masai, which was a lot more appealing before they put on the full court press of haggling. Loved the majesty of the Masai Mara in sun and rain. Saw the Big 5 plus endless herds of wildebeests, a shy hyena, ostrich, zebra and giraffe strolling red oat plains, lion cubs playing, a lone vulture above scattered fields of white bones. Had a drink at the Hippo Bar on the Mara and the Library Bar in Hollywood. Finally made it to the top of the Empire State Bldg. Watched revolutions and news of bin Laden’s death and Downton Abby and lots of movies and of course ND football; went to gamewatches & drank a Nutty Irishman while the Irish threw away another game and had a Bloody Mary while the 49ers won. Ignored the Chargers. Made new friends, saw the end of one friend’s marriage and the beginning of another’s. Tailgated for the first time & learned I might have a talent for Flip Cup, but not Beer Pong. Attended my first doctoral dissertation defense and celebrated a wonderful young friend getting his PhD. As usual, it was the best year for some I know and the worst for others. It was, on the whole, one of my better, yet bittersweet years. I was blindsided and disappointed and amazed and complimented and ignored and celebrated. I saw more poverty, more suffering, than I have in a long time, but also more joy and hope right in the middle of it all. Laughed more than perhaps any other year. Went to more parties. Me and mine are healthy and happy.

That is a blessed year.

 

on North Korea

The news of Kim Jong-Il’s death reminded me of an article I read about six or seven years ago, about a man who escaped North Korea, aided by Christians. I wish I still had the article. It struck me not only because it was a powerful story, but also because there was a local family at my kids’ school who had escaped North Korea. The man in the article was imprisoned for trying to provide humanitarian aid (for details from a rare Westerner allowed into N Korea, there’s an article at Mother Jones). For obvious reasons, the article did not provide his name or some key details, but it prompted me to write a rare poem, Can one man make a difference, which I read at Beyond Baroque.

Can one man make a difference?

I cannot tell you his name, only that he went into North Korea in winter

He cried at the bitter cold conditions and gave them clothing

I cannot tell you his name when they began the interrogation

but the name of his savior is Jesus

Can one man make a difference?

His crime against the People’s Republic of North Korea

Was to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ

The hopeless and starving saw a ray of hope

The sick and the dying saw the face of God

He told them the names of the great I AM:

Jehovah-jireh (the Lord will provide)

Jehovah-rapha (the Lord who heals)

Jehovah-ra-ah (the Lord my shepherd)

He cannot tell you the name of the man arrested for stealing

beaten until he begged for death

Released.  And then arrested again

Rationed to morning beatings with thick bats

Rationed until his diarrhea became uncontrollable

Rationed to eating dirty rags used to clean toilets until he died.

Can one man make a difference?

I cannot tell you his name

When they arrested him again.

Only that he had hope, he had the Word

He had been to the mountain of spices

54 more days knowing kicks and blows of judo experts

54 more days knowing the living corpses around him

54 more days knowing the young woman sentenced

to 3 years for 1 Bible.

I cannot tell you the name of the man

Beaten and twisted and starved in the bitter cold

Until he could not stand

I can tell you he did not renounce his God

Do not throw the word torture around like a beach ball

Do not use the word torture when you mean interrogation

When you mean inconvenient

When you mean incivility

When you mean insensitive

Can one man make a difference?

He will tell you Jesus did and the Christians who paid his debt

But he cannot tell you their names

He will tell you they bought his freedom

He will tell you he would have died to save their money

I cannot tell you his name

Only of his apology for using that money to return alive

Only of his gratitude to be alive to share the love of Christ

As an enemy of the state of North Korea.

 

and then we came to the end

heh

…but not of the blog! No, the end of your novel. How do you know when you’re finished? Last night, I had dinner with a group of writers and one reminded me I’d said I knew I’d finished my novel when I was so sick of the thing, I couldn’t go over it one more time. Well, there is that. But there’s also experience and feedback from your readers.

If you’ve gone over your manuscript 10-20 times, corrected the grammar, polished on multiple levels (sentences, paragraphs, chapters, sections, plus imagery and sensory details) checked for your personal writing tics (phrases, adverbs or adjectives that you lean on too heavily – do a word check for “just,” “really,” “suddenly” and so on; as my friend said, those are the “ums” of the literary world) and read the entire manuscript out loud, you might be finished or close to it. If your readers light up, saying you have something, that you’re close, and you trust them to tell you the truth and not what you want to hear, you can send excerpts to literary journals and see what kind of response you get. If you can afford it, hire a professional editor, preferably someone who’s taught literature and composition. Do your best to assemble a team who will inspire you to bring your A game, who will push you to do better and do it with kindness and generosity. Do the same for them if you’re exchanging writing/reading favors.

The final test comes from Rob Roberge – does your story reach a point where it could open up in a new way? That is where you want to stop. That will protect you from the “tie it all up with a bow” pat ending. You certainly don’t want a sentence – much less a paragraph – that sums up the book or the plot or the theme. Trust your reader.

By the way, the novel, And Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris is a fun read.