Tag Archives: appreciation
2 important reasons every writer should read Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947 – 1954 – #amwriting #fridayflash
If you’re a Kerouac fan, (or even if you’ve never heard of Kerouac), you’re going to want to have Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947 – 1954 on your bookshelf and refer to it often. I use large index cards for bookmarks so that I can jot down favorite lines as I read – I filled three large index cards (front and back) with quotes from Windblown World.
Part 1 of Windblown World is Jack’s journals during [a portion of] the time he wrote his first novel, The Town and The City, (the journals published in Windblown World being from 1947 – 1948). Part 2 is his journals as he wrote what is arguably his most famous novel, On the Road.
#1 important reason to read: Learn (and relate to) how a writer grows in his craft
The most fascinating aspect of these journals is that you can sense how Kerouac grows as a writer, from the time he started [the novel] to the time he finished it. He shares how he discovers the way characters interact with one another, why certain scenes that he’s spent days and days working on are going to have to be cut, why a particular scene will need to be moved, etc., etc.
I wish I could tell Jack how much I appreciate his taking the time to write down his process, and his feelings about it, as he wrote The Town and The City, and I know I’m not the first writer to have that very sentiment. You can feel the way Jack grows, not only as a writer, but also as a person, a man who insists upon self-examination, almost neurotically, which he admits to often. I’m sure many psychologists have thoroughly examined Windblown World, looking for “what made Kerouac tick”. [The book] would make a terrific study for psychology students, I believe, but I fear those who study his words with a clinical eye, rather than a sympathetic heart, would translate Jack’s words the direct opposite of the way he intended to come across. In other words, only an artist – or maybe those who’ve lived with an artist – can truly appreciate the meaning behind those words. That’s not to say the reader alone, (as opposed to the reader who is also a writer), won’t appreciate Windblown World. On the contrary, I’m sure they would cherish it just as deeply; they just may not read certain phrases as “profoundly” as a writer would.
For example, here’s one “writerly” quote that I, (and I’m sure all writers), can relate to:
“It’s a lot of bull about the artists – having all the leisure time in the world to ‘work’. Work is involved with time; you can’t waste time building a house at leisure or you’ll never move in.”
When I read that line, I wanted so badly to show it to my husband and say, “See! This is why I need time to write every day, there’s a reason I need a scheduled time to write.” But he would’ve only looked at me askance and said, “Who’s Jack Kerouac?” Yes, my husband is a John Grisham, Tom Clancy kind of man, (not that there’s anything wrong with Grisham or Clancy, I just mean that he occasionally reads today’s well-knowns, and never reads classics).
#2 important reason to read: Boost your self-confidence as a writer
I’ve loved Kerouac since I discovered him, (way too late in life) – he had such a vivid, emotional way with words. But to read his journey of writing, and the hope/anguish that surrounds that life, is a great comfort, and more. For anyone who is writing with the intention of being “recognized as ‘a writer’”, Part 1 of Windblown World is probably the most insightful and hopeful work you’ll ever read. For Kerouac not only tells us of his struggle to be published, but also, (and here’s where I believe this is one of the most important works a writer can read), also of the loneliness, the madness, the fear of going insane, the exuberant joy of surpassing a daily writing goal, etc., that gives us writers hope that there is light at the end of that kaleidoscopic tunnel, and that the light is bright and worth fighting for. It’s the RECOGNITION of like feelings that makes Windblown World more than worth the time devoted to reading it thoughtfully.
Some of my favorite quotes from Windblown World:
-
“Words, Words, Words – and what are blank pages for?” This one is going on my inspiration board.
-
“And this is the way a novel gets written, in ignorance, fear, sorrow, madness, and a kind of psychotic happiness that serves as an incubator for the wonders being born.”
-
“Writing is an explosion of interest, it is not something that gets done one by one gravely, and the explosions of interest arrest themselves with a crafty expectant grin.”
-
“…all deep novels could very well be entitled simply “people” – because that’s all they’re about. But an author chooses a theme, a title, and pretends knowingly, with the knowing understanding of his deep reaches, that the theme is really a theme apart from people.”
-
“It’s not the words that count, but the rush of what is said.”
Hear what I mean? Feel what I mean? Have you read Windblown World? What did you think of it? Do you like Kerouac’s work, or are you of the [boisterous] minority who believe he couldn’t write? I’m anxious to hear what you think.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note to FTC: No compensation was received for this review.
Read (short) reviews of every book I’ve read this year on my bookshelf at my nonfiction blog, The Life of a Working Writer Mommy. *Includes links to bookshelf for 2011 and 2010 as well.
Click here to read my #fridayflash for this week, a slice-of-life called Fudgesicles for Breakfast.
Click here to subscribe to The Other Side of Deanna.
Dear London, and Mr. Boyle – You Rule! #Olympics #London2012
If I were not happy living in southwest Virginia, US, last night’s opening ceremony of the London Summer Olympics would make me want to move to the UK. The British, and Danny Boyle, certainly know how to entertain! Not to mention educate – I am so happy with all my children learned from watching your fabulous show. Even I discovered things I didn’t know about your great land.
Mr. Boyle, that Industrial Revolution “reenactment” with the drums – oh my, the drums! – was truly one of the most spectacular sensory experiences I’ve ever enjoyed. I watched the show on TV, so I can only imagine the pure joy, and awe, the live audience felt. And thank you so much for including that moment of honor to our heroes with the poppies; that was so beautiful.
I’ve always said I will never travel outside the contiguous United States, simply because I can’t stand the thought of being “stuck” in a place I can’t just walk out of (the airplane) for such a long time, but after last night, I just may have changed my mind. Suddenly I want to visit London. Thank you so much for that.
Dear readers, if you missed it, go to NBC Olympics to watch clips of the ceremony. Although this video doesn’t come near to doing the live show justice, it’s a great sample of my favorite part of the show, where we learn about the Industrial Revolution – those drums, oh my those drums!
And to all my British writing friends – might you possibly have a couch I could crash on for a few days….weeks, while I explore your glorious land?
Ah, Ray, how I will miss your voice! A tribute to Ray Bradbury, not a #fridayflash
“Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t try to do things. You simply must do things.” Ray Bradbury
*****
The day begins as any other, nothing great to note, nothing unusual, nothing outstanding – and then something happens. Years later, I recall every minute detail of that day: every color of the earth and sky, every sound, every scent, every taste, every part of the world I lived in on that day. The something that happened was the pure joy I felt the first time I read Ray Bradbury, specifically, Fahrenheit 451.
Sitting on the steep, green bank behind the batter’s cage, the hot sun singeing a tattoo on my neck, I began reading Fahrenheit 451 as the Washington County Bulls played their first game of the season. After reading the first paragraph, the announcer’s voice dispersed to nothingness, the frolicking toddlers surrounding me became invisible, I no longer smelled the chili-smothered hot dogs; instead, the scent of burning paper filled my nose.
From somewhere in the near distance came my husband’s insistent voice: “Honey! Honey? Honey! Noah is up to bat, you’re going to miss him hitting the ball!”
“Hummmm?” I placed my finger on the words and looked up long enough to watch Noah walk to first base, loading them up with two outs on the board. The second his foot touched that base my eyes hit the book again. Nine innings of chaos ensued around me while I devoured one of the most well-told stories I’d ever read.
And I was hooked.
The next day, after kicking myself for having taken some thirty years to pick up a Bradbury book, I checked out every one of his works available at the library. After those two short weeks, with a hunger for words I’d never felt before, I sought out every other Bradbury masterpiece in existence. Soon I came upon what would become one of my all-time favorite stories: Dandelion Wine. And oh, how thrilled I was, years later, to discover the follow up story of Dandelion Wine’s main character, Douglas Spaulding, another treasure called Farewell Summer.
After greedily consuming several of Bradbury’s anthologies, I wrote like a madwoman. Though nothing I wrote then, or since, is anywhere near “Bradbury status”, it’s the inspiration that counts, for, along with the satisfaction that comes from reading a great story, that inspiration – to write without thought, with nothing more than feeling – is what I will forever treasure about the visionary legend, Ray Bradbury.
Ray, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and wish you much love and joy in the world you’ve moved on to.
*****
For readers and writers alike, here are but a few must read Bradbury stories:
- Dandelion Wine
- Farewell Summer
- Fahrenheit 451
- Something Wicked This Way Comes
- When the Bough Breaks
- Unpillow Talk
- A Medicine For Melancholy
- The Fruit At The Bottom of the Bowl
- Fever Dream (Text)
- Icarus Montgolfier Wright
- The Rocket
- And The Rock Cried Out
Yes, I could go on and on…..but I want to hear from you – what is your favorite Bradbury story?
Click here to subscribe to The Other Side of Deanna.
Click here to visit my nonfiction site, The Life of a Working Writer Mommy.
The Good Neighbor – #fridayflash
Thank you for stopping in to read my #fridayflash. Be sure to visit Mad Utopia or the Friday Flash Community for more great flash fiction by outstanding authors!
The Good Neighbor is rated G according to my standards.
The Good Neighbor, by Deanna Schrayer
The first year, it was strawberries. Bushels and bushels of vibrant red, sweet fruit bursting forth from the fertile soil as if trying to escape. The farmer yelled to his new neighbors across the road, a young family – father, mother, toddler son and baby son. “Hey!” he shouted, “Come on over, get some strawberries!”
The father and mother glanced at each other, eyebrows akimbo; they’d been living in the city for a while now, they’d not been in the country in so long! Was this a good neighbor offering them food?
Wonder how much he charges for the strawberries? They thought this as their boys crawled and bounced through the garden, squishing the biggest berries they’d ever seen between their toes, swiping them off the vine, cramming them into their mouths, smearing the sticky fruit all over their chubby bodies.
The young mother fretted, “Oh no honey, don’t squish the strawberries! Come ‘ere out of the garden sweetheart.”
“Ah, they’re all right,” the old farmer laughed, “We got too many as it is, take all you want.”
A smiling lady handed both the father and the mother a round straw basket, “Fill ‘em up!” she commanded. Then she handed each of the boys a basket and began to help them pile mounds and mounds of strawberries in them.
The young mother relaxed and bit into a huge berry – Yum, these were good! Strawberries, her very favorite food of all time, but not just any strawberries would do, they must be bright, vibrant red and juicy, sweet. These were the best she’d ever tasted!
That year, in only three short weeks, the young family gorged on strawberries till they thought surely they would burst, leaving happy red smiles everywhere. “Come over any time,” the good neighbor had said, “There’s always baskets right out here by the garden, take all you want.” But they were shy, didn’t want to intrude on this kind man and his wife, they had to be coaxed. Every time the young mother stepped outside, the old man, who would be on his tractor, mowing his vast lawn, or just riding around, (she could never tell which), would call, “Come on over! Get some more strawberries.” She did as she was told, heaved one child on her hip and held the other’s hand as they crossed the quiet country road to load up on more fruit. She was very happy to have such a kind-hearted neighbor.
Not three, maybe four months later, there was the neighbor in his garden, calling to the young mother who was outside digging in her flower garden, both boys merrily slinging dirt every which way, in preparation to help their mama plant tulip bulbs.
“Do y’all need some tomatoes?” the good neighbor asked and the mother said no, she didn’t think so, her mom had just given her a few last week and she hadn’t used them all yet, no, no thank you.
The man stared at the young mother, blinked. Too late she realized He’s hurt, I’ve hurt his feelings! Oh no! She couldn’t bear the thought of this! So good and kind this neighbor was and here she was making him feel bad, insulted. Quickly she took a basket from the man’s hands, “Yes, sure, we could use a few tomatoes.” He smiled as, together, they heaped two, three, four baskets with ripe, dark, homegrown tomatoes. She had to make three trips across the road to carry them all, and then collect her babies.
The next year it was cucumbers. By now the boys could both carry a basket, so the family gathered more and more vegetables, gigantic green cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes, you name it.
But what to do with all this fruit, these vegetables? For they were only a small family, both is size and quantity. But they wouldn’t tell the good neighbor no, no thank you, we don’t want any more food, so the father took some with him to work, the mother handed some over to her own mother, her two sisters, anyone who’d have it. Just don’t tell the old man no.
There was more and more each year – strawberries, tomatoes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, watermelon, bright fruit and veggies bursting with color and health. Sometimes the family would walk over to collect it; often they found it at their doorstep of an evening. Sometimes, feeling terrible guilt as if she’d just run over a stray animal with her car, she’d have to throw the extra tomatoes out – too many, can’t possibly eat any more! Make tomato sauce, her husband had said, but no, this sort of thing takes too much time with young children to take care of. She made sure, before tossing the tomatoes over the back fence, she no longer heard the engine of the tractor.
The years kept coming, the young family became older, but the good neighbor never changed. No matter his failing health, he just had to ride that tractor. No matter his bones becoming heavier and heavier, he planted, he tended, he produced those vegetables, still more fruit. No matter. The farmer continued to call on his neighbors, to provide them with nourishment, for their bodies, and especially for their souls.
When the family learned of the good neighbor’s passing the only thing they could recall was his kindness. The not-so-young-now mother closed her eyes and saw a boatload of strawberries, tomatoes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, all manner of fruit and vegetables. She heard the call, clear as if the good neighbor was standing in his garden, still, “Come on over!” and she saw the old man’s smile as she reached to take a basket from his generous hands and told him, “Sure, we can use all we can get.”
~~~~~~
In memory of our good neighbor, Thomas Whitaker, who passed over to The Other Side on Sunday, February 6, 2011.
Thanks to everyone who has voted for your favorite #fridayflash [to help me decide which one to submit for consideration for the second volume of The Best of Friday Flash]! The poll will be open through May 13th. I appreciate you stopping in to read and vote!
Click here to see a list of reader’s favorite stories.
Click here to subscribe to The Other Side of Deanna.
Click here to visit my nonfiction site, The Life of a Working Writer Mommy.
Time to celebrate the Creative Geniuses among us
Over at my nonfiction site, The Life of a Working Writer Mommy, we’re celebrating International Creativity Month! In honor of this wonderful “holiday”, and the incredibly gifted word-weavers among us, I’ve created a new award, the Creative Genius Blog Award.
