Happy Pride Month! This June, I’d like to acknowledge and celebrate a book written by one of my favorite YA authors, Alice Oseman. Loveless is the story of Georgia, a relatable college student who is obsessed with the idea of romance and an avid fan of fictional relationships, yet she has never had a crush. She begins school seeking her own love story, only to discover that she may be aromantic and asexual, and that much love is present in her life in unexpected forms. It’s the first aro/ace coming out story I’ve read, and one of the first published. It’s also the well-deserved winner of the YA Book Prize.
I was anticipating this book before it came out (pun intended as it’s a coming out story. I know, I’m so funny. :P). I don’t identify as ace or aro. However, learning about asexuality was important for me as a way of recognizing and acknowledging instances where my culture expected attraction or interest and there was simply nothing there. Who and what we desire and say “yes” to is important knowledge about ourselves. The knowledge of our “nos” is equally important.
Last year for pride month, I wrote and shared with the Attic Owl Reading Series a poem about recognizing our “nos” in anticipation of Loveless’s publication. I’m delighted to say that the book surpassed my expectations. It’s a celebration of different forms of relationships, with characters that feel alive. It’s got great jokes, a Shakespeare society, and pool noodle fights. Check it out if you have the chance!
Thank you, Alice Oseman, for sharing this honest and affecting story with the world.
In 2019, I read a lot, partly thanks to gift cards that let me buy harder-to-access books I’d been wanting to read for years. I’d thought that in 2020 I’d spend less time reading and more time doing things. Then March happened.
The gist of it is, lockdown left me with a lot of reading time, and several authors generously offered their works for free. My TBR pile has only gotten longer. It’s been fascinating to get acquainted with authors I wasn’t familiar with and to read things I wouldn’t otherwise have accessed. Here are a few unexpected book finds of 2020. I hope you find them as comforting and fun as I did.
The Murmur of Bees by Sofía Segovia (trans. Simon Bruni): As COVID-19 made its presence known in Italy, I began a novel that turned out to chronicle the Spanish flu. A Mexican family takes in a disabled child who has a close relationship with a swarm of bees, and a compelling magical realist tale unfolds from there. The parallels between the pandemic I was reading about and the one whose impact I began to experience simultaneously were both unnerving and comforting.
Mr. Hotshot CEO by Jackie Lau: I’d heard good things about Jackie Lau’s Chinese-Canadian rom coms set in Toronto, and jumped at the chance to read one offered for free at the time. A young, workaholic CEO’s nosy family enforces a vacation, and he hires a woman he sees at a coffee shop to teach him how to enjoy himself. This is foodie fluff at its most enjoyable. I swear, you will want to eat (or bake) every meal and treat in the book. It also has excellent “own voices” depression representation.
The Perilous Life of Jade Yeo by Zen Cho: Zen Cho is an elegant writer, and her historical novella is still free, so read it if you can! In the 1920s, a Malaysian writer in London writes a scathing book review – and attracts the author’s attention. This slim read is packed with curiosity, romance, scandal, and a delightful epistolary voice.
Noodle Trails by Eileen Kay: A travel memoir about Thailand by a Scottish writer. Following a divorce, Eileen Kay retreats to Thailand, home of the suppliers of her now-faltering fair trade import business. This true story of a woman getting back on her feet in rough times is witty, joyful, and a lot of fun.
Three’s a Crowd and Other Family Stories by Kate Blackadder: Sweet and entertaining, these are traditional family stories with a twist. In this Scottish writer’s short fiction collection, you’ll meet funky grandparents, refurbished bikes, and Ceilidh bands. This was great for those days when I had a short attention span, as I could read one story at a time.
Winnie and Wilbur Stay at Home by Valerie Thomas and Korky Paul: A timely (at the time) free picture book, and part of a popular series about a witch and her cat. At first, neither are thrilled about having to self-isolate, but with a little magical help, they find things to do. At the end, there are links to resources, including yoga and recipes.
Shady Hollow by Juneau Black: Given the popularity of Animal Crossing, maybe you, like me, would be interested in reading a murder mystery set in a charming town of talking animals? Intrepid reporter Vera Vixen takes it upon herself to track down the murderer of the resident swamp toad. This cozy mystery is well executed and extremely fun.
What have you been reading for fun in 2020? Have your tastes changed? Have you read anything unexpected?
“Where do you get your ideas?” This question, commonly asked to writers, elicits many different responses. Inspiration can come from current events, life experiences, interests, the combination of different concepts, dreams, a character who pops into one’s head, or seemingly out of nowhere. There are probably more sources of inspiration out there than there are writers, with some claiming that getting an idea is the easy part and the challenge, and craft, lies in fleshing it out.
Ideas are the “head” aspect that impels us to write, but emotions are the “heart” side of this. Often writers are driven to the page or keyboard by some feeling, whether anger at injustice, grief over a loss, or wonder at something beautiful they’ve witnessed. To write powerfully, tapping into emotional truth helps a whole lot. This is done through connecting with your own emotions, and through applying tools of the craft to connect with your readers’.
Writing and your emotions
Writing has long been viewed as cathartic, and research now supports this view. Writing about difficult experiences, including trauma and grief, helps make meaning of these experiences and reclaim personal power. Writing from emotion is healing for the psyche and even the body, with potential immune benefits for those facing terminal or life-threatening illness. And writing from strong positive emotions might strengthen them as well, and shape them into something that will resonate powerfully with others. (Just think of your favorite love poem.)
Writing from emotion transcends the personal. You’re not the only one who feels the emotions you translate into words. Most of us have had the experience of opening a book and finding a passage that described a personal truth, touching us deeply and leaving us feeling understood, less alone, perhaps even more at peace. Natalie Goldberg claims, “When you heal yourself, you’re helping everyone. When you become clear, it helps everyone become clear.”
Aliette de Bodard wrote her Locus and Nebula award-winning science fiction short story, “Immersion”, fueled by “getting really angry.” It’s a compelling story of a technology that perpetuates colonialism by giving people avatars with knowledge and behaviours that can mirror the dominant culture’s, with characters who begin to find ways to break free. One of my favorite short stories, “Immersion” is beautifully written, and given its accolades, the emotional heart also struck a chord with readers – perhaps bringing some of the clarity Goldberg spoke of.
Writing and your readers’ emotions
De Bodard and Goldberg have plenty of company; most writing has an emotional core with impact beyond the words, which features strongly in the most beloved works. In his Master Class on storytelling, Neil Gaiman states that when you write a story, you must decide or discover what the story is about. This goes beyond the basic plotline and into the domain of meaning: what appears on the surface to be an adventure story can, on a deeper level, be about homelessness and invisibility. Gaiman emphasizes the importance of emotional truth, of being more vulnerable and honest in your writing than you’re comfortable with. Only then, he proposes, will readers see themselves in your story because it seems real.
Once you’ve brought your honesty to the page, you might, in a second draft, consider the effectiveness of your writing’s emotional communication with readers. If you’re writing fiction, consider whether your characters’ emotions and motivations are clear on the page (rather than just in your head). Think about their relationships and interpersonal dynamics: Who gets along? Who dislikes each other? Why? If you’re writing poetry, do the rhythm and images support the feeling you want to get across? If you’re writing nonfiction, does the voice? Having a friend read and give feedback can also help with making the emotional tone is strong and clear.
Emotions are powerful, and sometimes painful. If you write, they are among your most powerful tools for creating work that leaves a lingering impact on your well-being and others’ reading experience.
There are debates in the writing world about the value of studying creative writing, and whether it’s beneficial or detrimental for honing your writing skills. I spent two years in a graduate Creative Writing program. Having gone on to write and edit professionally, there are skills I’m glad to have learned in class and others I’ve learned out in the “real world.” While programs, classes, and teachers vary, here’s my breakdown of what I personally learned in school vs. the lessons that came later, some of which I wish had been covered in the curriculum.
How to experiment vs. how to connect with readers
Graduate school did a fantastic job of opening my eyes to the different types of writing out there. By meeting practicing writers, I saw just how many genres and styles one could pursue, how many niches a writer could find for their own style and interests to shine. In classes, we were encouraged to try out different styles and voices. Writing exercises pushed our boundaries and deepened our abilities. We also analyzed a wide range of books in class. In this experimental climate, I could see that many different kinds of writing had value.
One thing that wasn’t at all stressed, though, was writing commercially. We were seen as artists, developing our abilities in an art form. Any considerations of marketing were left out, and so, in large part, were considerations of the readers – ironic in that I was hoping first and foremost for my words to connect with them. The elements that make writing “click” with people are often the same ones that make it sell, and I’ve been doing my best to learn them since graduating. Emotional resonance, concept appeal, and getting readers to turn pages are skills that transcend writing style and experimentation. I wish school had talked about them more.
How to write deeply vs. prolifically
“Write every day,” one of my professors told me, “even if it’s just a line in a notebook. If you’re writing a novel, it should be the first thing you think about when you wake up and the last thing you think about before you go to sleep.” I followed her advice, keeping notepads handy at all times. I learned how to be absorbed in a project and open to inspiration.
While depth was part of my education, no one talked about how to write prolifically or how to keep producing. There was no education about word counts or incentive to keep going outside of the thesis and classes. I also didn’t learn about outlining methods, which would have been helpful for the fiction I was writing. My instructors, of course, were part-time rather than full-time writers. If we’d had guest speakers in to talk about the discipline of writing full time and offer tips, or activities to instill discipline and practice along the lines of NaNoWriMo, how much that could have helped us learn about being productive, working writers.
How to critique and edit vs. how to market
The workshop format of our creative writing classes was useful in teaching us how to give and take critique. We went over classmates’ writing with a fine-toothed comb, learning to identify what they had done well and where they could improve. When receiving feedback, we discovered through experience how to incorporate consensus about what wasn’t working into revisions. We learned which critiques to take into account and which were off the mark for what we were hoping to achieve. I learned a good number of editing skills both through self-editing based on these critiques and through working with literary magazines on editing and acquisition.
By the end of my studies, professors said my work was “publishable,” but how exactly would I accomplish that? I left the program with very little idea. I recommend that anyone teaching creative writing talk their students at least a little through the business side of things, demystifying the submission process, query letters, agents, publication, and what the market is like.
There’s a lot I learned from my time in grad school about pursuing writing as an art. Since then, I’ve discovered how much it’s also a business, and how much I still have to learn. While studying creative writing can be the right learning opportunity for some, it’s not for everyone, and a lot of the craft’s practical lessons aren’t necessarily covered in the course curriculum. I recommend that anyone who’s interested in a writing career self-educate about readership, productivity strategies, and marketing. This part might come after writing a draft, as it favors strategy over artistry, but it’s important to look into if you want your writing to reach people and make its mark on the world.
There are debates in the writing world about the value of studying creative writing, and whether it’s beneficial or detrimental for honing your writing skills. I spent two years in a graduate Creative Writing program. Having gone on to write and edit professionally, there are skills I’m glad to have learned in class and others I’ve learned out in the “real world.” While programs, classes, and teachers vary, here’s my breakdown of what I personally learned in school vs. the lessons that came later, some of which I wish had been covered in the curriculum.
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