The Sound at the End: Narrative and Music

Each night before bed, Cathy turns on the dishwasher and sets the security alarm. I listen to the  whir of water, the beeps of the alarm. As we drift off to sleep, there’s the hum of traffic from the nearby highway, or the sound of our cat, Stella, jumping onto the bed. At the end…

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Daylight Saving Time

The change to Daylight Saving Time has me in a pensive mood this Sunday. Last night, at a book club who’d read my novel, Late One Night, we talked about why people just can’t seem to get the fact that no matter how different we are, we’re all connected. We all share in the responsibility…

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Ask Me a Question, I’ll Tell You No Lies

Here’s the truth. Sometimes at the end of a story, either fiction or memoir, we lie. Without meaning to, we withhold the truth by turning away from the particulars of the worlds and the people we’ve put on the page. Which is to say we lie by being lazy; we lie by being abstract. We…

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Ten Things Writers Can Do This Summer

Spring has me thinking of summer—ah, glorious summer—a time that can seem like a call for renewal and fresh starts for the writer. Here are some things we can all do to get the most from that period of rejuvenation. 1.  Get out of our comfort zones. Do something we never thought we’d do. Skydiving?…

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Tips for Novelists

Spring is creeping in, and isn’t it about time? Here in the heartland, we earn our springs. Temperatures above fifty, the sight of green shoots coming up in flowerbeds, birdsong at dawn—it’s enough to give us hope. It takes a world of optimism to write a novel. We have to convince ourselves that such a…

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Straight Talk about MFA Programs

It’s recruitment season for MFA programs, and I’m thinking of all the folks who’ve committed, or soon will, to this degree despite the fact that a 2013 Poets & Writers index says that full-time teaching positions at the university level are available, on average, for well less than one percent of creative writing program graduates.…

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Keep Facing the Blank Page

These late winter mornings, I hear birdsong. I hear birdsong even though the temperatures have been in the single digits or below zero, even though a new snow storm sweeps through every few days. The birds don’t know how to doubt. The turning of the earth tells them that spring is closer each day. It…

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Oh, Those Pesky Facts: What’s a Memoir Writer to Do?

Let’s admit it: Anyone who writes memoir does a song and dance with the facts. Even if we’re determined to be completely faithful and only include the verifiable when it comes to event, chronology, and dialogue, our memories are fallible and sometimes they’re the only thing we can rely on to say “This is the…

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Memoir and the Work of Resurrection

I have a piece of wood, nearly six-feet in length, taken from the debris of a farmhouse fallen in on itself. The farmhouse that belonged to my family, the house in which my mother first read to me, the house where I listened to my father and my uncles swap stories, the house where I…

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A Detail and All It Can Do

I think often about the objects people handle and how they can pay off for us when we craft narratives. Today, I’m thinking about a story by David Leavitt, “Gravity,” the story of a young man, Theo, who has AIDS. He’s opted for a sight-saving drug over the medications that will prolong his life. He’s…

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