You Write What You Eat

Writing requires sustenance–sometimes weird sustenance. Check out Wendy MacNaughton’s illustrations of famous writers’ favorite snacks. I’m all in favor of Emily Dickinson’s homemade bread (we could swap recipes), but I’m not sure I can get behind Fitzgerald’s canned meat.

I try to limit the snacks during actual writing time. Otherwise it’s an excuse for me to not be working. But when I am munching, I tend to go for almonds or dried mango from Trader Joe’s, and a steady flow of water and coffee.

Do you have any favorite writing snacks?

(image: Wendy MacNaughton)(via the Kitchn)

 

Hear the Monster’s Call

When I did study abroad in England, I discovered Poems on the Underground, a project created to share poetry with Londoners on the Tube. One poem I came across was The Loch Ness Monster’s Song by Edwin Morgan. You can read and hear it here. Most poetry is meant to be heard, but The Loch Ness Monster’s Song practically demands it.

I think it would be a great poem to use in the classroom, since it shows how poetry doesn’t need to be stuffy and use impressive language. In fact, it doesn’t even need to use real language at all.

Also, it’s just the kind of poem I need on this gray, damp day.

(H/T bookshelves of doom)(image: Wikipedia)

The Art of Imaginary Friends

My friend Ron alerted me to an awesome upcoming exhibition at the William Baczek Fine Arts gallery. From May 2-June 2 they’ll be featuring Travis Louie and his series, The Secret Pet Society. An example is Julia & Her Swamp Friend, 2012, acrylic on board, 20 x 16″:

What dreamy, eerie, cool art. From the description for this piece: “Julia discovered him while she was collecting red-spotted salamanders in the swamp behind her parent’s farm house. She mistook the crown of branch-shaped tendrils on its head as a thicket of dead birch trees. The creature turned out to be quite harmless.”

Need to make a road trip to check out this exhibit.

(image: Travis Louie)

Star Light, Star Bright

Can you believe we’re almost at the end of National Poetry Month? Which means it’s time to share another poem. This one is by Tracy K. Smith, who recently won the Pulitzer Prize for her collection of poetry, Life on Mars. The poem “My God, It’s Full of Stars,” is from that collection. The poem is pretty long, so I’ll just quote a cool section here:

MY GOD, IT’S FULL OF STARS

1.

We like to think of it as parallel to what we know,
Only bigger. One man against the authorities.
Or one man against a city of zombies. One man

Who is not, in fact, a man, sent to understand
The caravan of men now chasing him like red ants
Let loose down the pants of America. Man on the run.

Man with a ship to catch, a payload to drop,
This message going out to all of space…. Though
Maybe it’s more like life below the sea: silent,

Buoyant, bizarrely benign. Relics
Of an outmoded design. Some like to imagine
A cosmic mother watching through a spray of stars,

Mouthing yes, yes as we toddle toward the light,
Biting her lip if we teeter at some ledge. Longing
To sweep us to her breast, she hopes for the best

While the father storms through adjacent rooms
Ranting with the force of Kingdom Come,
Not caring anymore what might snap us in its jaw.

Sometimes, what I see is a library in a rural community.
All the tall shelves in the big open room. And the pencils
In a cup at Circulation, gnawed on by the entire population.

The books have lived here all along, belonging
For weeks at a time to one or another in the brief sequence
Of family names, speaking (at night mostly) to a face,

A pair of eyes. The most remarkable lies.

Read on at the Awl. Frankly, I think it’s awesome to write a poem that includes zombies, Kubrick, and the infinity of the universe.

You can also here Smith talk about her poem and read a part of it here.

(image by NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory, via the Smithsonian Institution)

Writers Helping Writers

Love this post by Meg Whalen Turner about how Diana Wynne Jones helped get her published. When Meg was still writing and trying to figure out if she was any good (nice to know she had those thoughts, too!), her husband suggested she send her work to someone whose writing she admired. Diana Wynne Jones came to mind:

“So two of the stories were mailed out and we got distracted by the arrival of a new family member and then one day a blue airmail envelope arrived at the door. It was a lovely letter. It is almost twenty years later and in my mind’s eye, I can still picture the font from an old-school typewriter. Diana liked my stories. That was all that mattered to me and that’s really all I took in the first time I read it. Not until my husband read the whole thing out loud did I realize that Diana Wynne Jones had given me the name of her editor in the United States, Susan Hirschman at Greenwillow Books, and recommended I send my stories to her.”

So I’m sure Meg’s stories were very good and worthy of being passed along. But even so, I think it’s highly unusual and admirable for an established writer to help make that connection for an unpublished stranger. It shows that Diana Wynne Jones really cared about the next generation of MG/YA writers and wanted to open a door for someone with a lot of talent. This story just warmed my heart!

Read the whole post for more on this interaction and how much Diana Wynne Jones meant to Meg Whalen Turner.

More Loving

I stumbled across this poem by W.H Auden the other day and thought it would be a good one to share for National Poetry Month:

The More Loving One
by W. H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Inspiration for a YA novel, anyone? I feel like sections of this poem could be fantastic as a title or epigraph.