Dear Friend, I love our waters: lakes, rivers, wetlands, little sinking ponds, remote swamps. If it’s wet, I’ll probably like it. And of course, I’m worried about all of them, as I know many of you are. I often wonder what I can do. I’m not a scientist, politician, lawyer, not even a very good journalist. I often feel inadequate, a “fish out of water” when
Recently, a former student from the Solstice MFA program where I teach, Jenifer DeBellis, wrote me that her first book, Blood Sisters, had been accepted. She was excited but uncertain how to shepherd it into the future with that “human touch.” Then a similar question from T.J. Harrison on the acceptance of her book, The Fruit of Love and Grief. Both of these women had worked hard, weathered rejection, triumphed over
Here's the fun of being a Michigan Notable Book Author. Twice. The pictures speak in this case.
Recently my friend Kelli Fitzpatrick, writer of speculative fiction extraordinaire, emailed, paying an unexpected compliment. She’d won a literary prize and had been asked to do a big public reading, and like all of us in those situations, was feeling the nerves. She noted that she always loved the way I read (I always thought she read well!) and would I offer some suggestions for
Later Stage Revision? For some folks: bleh. For me, a continuously surprising set of interactions with a draft. It’s alive. Later stage revision is marked by confidence, terror, skills, commitment, uncertainty, practice, inspiration, boredom, feedback, deadlines, the state of the draft, sleep and coffee. Among other things. Sound familiar? I can only share my own experience; yours will be a different drama, but we writers
Let me proclaim it: I love the Lordy word. Not I love the Good Lord, an entirely different thing; I’ll discuss that shortly. Why do I love the word Lordy? First, it’s one of those exclamations I caught myself saying for the first time in a long time because, though I’d almost forgotten it, it was suddenly everywhere. I’d lost it in my willingness to
Exploding Moments—it looks like shattered glass but it’s not. I was on Aquinas College campus to speak for the Contemporary Writers Series Twentieth Anniversary. In addition, I had only one hour with forty students at Aquinas College for a mini lesson. That old challenge. One hour. Since teaching graduate school I no longer think in one hour segments, only in two-to- four hour teaching segments.
Dawn in Chicago. Warmer today. Snowing, but a little warmer—not that I’m going outside. I open the script. I stare at the page. I take some notes. I tinker with the preliminary information but I’m really thinking about the guy who will play the expert. Last night, Beth told me about him. Tucker. I looked him up. Creds. Just makes me more scared. I stare
Diary of a play, Day 2, still taking notes, asking myself and my artistic consultant ridiculous questions. How do I make art of an out-of-control metaphor.
A Diary of a New Play: writer and playwright Anne-Marie Oomen's experience of struggling with revision of a play that she wants to succeed but that she is afraid of.