The Last 2014 Writing Class at MWWC

November 5th, 2014 by Ann Morrissey

Maine Women Writers Collection just finished its last writing class for the calendar year of 2014.  David Kuchta taught a full class of 16 registered students in his Gathering of Writers.  That is the maximum number of students that we can handle in the May Sarton Room of the Portland campus where the classes are held.

David is an old hand at this and has taught many a class for MWWC.  His classes are so popular that fully half of this class was students who have attended a prior class.  His repeat students are always glad to see familiar faces and to catch up on each others’ writing.  David is wonderfully flexible about whatever his students want to write about and his only class rule is that what you read must have been written in that night’s class.  A typical class has a topic, he brings examples, and then has some prompts for our writing.

People write about the darndest things, — a detective story in progress, a memoir, young adult novels about teenage worlds of terror, sexual passages in the straight and gay worlds.  And of course, some students follow the weekly prompts.  I’ll tell you honestly that the writing is wonderful.  We are very forgiving because we know that each work read is a first draft.  As writers we know that the major element of a first daft is to catch the ideas that will remain in the story.  And what ideas people have!  Sometimes the class erupts in laughter, or simply smiles in appreciation — or very often — thinks how they could use a similar method in their own work.  My own opinion is that David doesn’t push people into the pond but makes it safe for them to jump in!

David’s students are quite appreciative of A Gathering of Writers:

  • Molly Elmali: “I like it very much.  My writing got better, and I liked his prompts.”
  • Laurie Hause: “It was a great experience, an excellent value, and a surprising source of strong new friendships.”
  • Unnamed Student: “We feel like a community that creates a safe place in which we share new work.”

David has only one rule for writing.  “Don’t lose the reader.”  So every week we try our best to not lose the reader no matter what our topic.

We are sorry that class has ended.  “Can you believe it has been 8 weeks?   It has gone so fast.”  One student wondered “But what do we do in November and December?”  David will organize a new Gathering of Writers right after the new year.  Please join us!  Whether or not you have taken the class before, you will learn and be supported.

What is the saying–You never step in the same river twice?  A Gathering of Writers will bring you David Kuchta — as good as ever!  And you will bring a different you to the class, a self even more capable of doing your best work in the community of writers that MWWC has developed.

 

 

Portland Food: The Culinary Capital of Maine

October 16th, 2014 by Laura Taylor

I’m excited to share with you that Kate McCarty will be at the Maine Women Writers Collection on Tuesday, October 21 at noon to talk to us about her new book Portland Food: The Culinary Capital of Maine. I love reading about food, whether it’s a new cookbook we’ve acquired or a book more like this one that talks about food – the restaurants, farms and chefs behind it all.

I think we can all agree that Portland has a tremendously popular food scene. It’s been mentioned everywhere from The New York Times to The Boston Globe. This brief, yet comprehensive, book discusses the history behind it and the current players, leaving me wishing I had more time and money to explore all the delicious dining options in our fair city.

McCarty’s book starts out with a quick overview of the Portland food scene, before moving on to talk about local chefs, farming, cheesemaking, and seafood. A recurring theme is the ever-changing issue of sustainable local food, which is something food producers and consumers think a lot about here. And with good reason – you don’t produce 90% of the world’s lobster supply by practicing unsustainable fishing!

McCarty then goes on to discuss our fantastic local farmers’ markets, food trucks, pop up dining events and co-ops. There are so many ways to acquire food in the Portland area, whether you’re in the market for raw ingredients to cook at home, need a quick bite while out on the town, or want to eat at one of Portland’s fantastic and varied restaurants. There’s even a chapter on food insecurity and the work that local organizations are doing to try to get food to our fellow Mainers in need.

Finally, the book finishes up, as all good meals do, with sweets and coffee. Portland has some delicious options for baked treats and chocolates and amazing, locally roasted coffee. Perhaps read this book while lounging in a coffee shop and snacking on a sweet treat?

I would.

Or come by the Maine Women Writers Collection next Tuesday, the 21st, at noon and meet the author!

Susan Conley returns with her novel Paris Was the Place

June 18th, 2014 by Catherine Fisher

On a very lovely day in May author Susan Conley stopped on her way to the Black Fly Writing Retreat in Grand Lake Stream to read from and discuss her new novel, Paris Was the Place. As author of both a novel and a memoir, the latter being the award-winning The Foremost Good Fortune (2011), Conley had some engaging things to say to our group about place, about belonging, and about the “middle ground” (as she calls it) created when elements from real life are woven into a work of fiction.

The bulk of Paris Was the Place takes place in a Paris that is “more of a real Paris than a romanticized Paris. It’s not meant to be a postcard of Paris that perpetuates the myth. Still, there is a lot of enjoyment of Paris and a lot of savoring of it,” Conley said. “The characters also go to India for a brief stint,” she added.

The narrator, a 30 year-old American woman named Willow, called Willie, has moved to Paris to be with her brother and volunteer teach at a refugee center for immigrant girls seeking French asylum. She also teaches poetry full-time at the American exchange college there. From the author we learned that there is a rich middle ground between the fictional story and Conley’s own life experience. “This is not an autobiographical novel at all, really, but there are a lot of things in here that did happen to me. I have taught refugees – I do that in Portland through the Telling Room, an organization I’m very involved with. I have lived in France, and I have taught poetry, but I have never taught refugee girls in France. The refugee center is based on a lot of research but it is entirely fictive.”

Conley is a skilled and experienced teacher, and we were in such good hands as she took us on an illuminating journey through three incarnations of the book, showing us the progression of one particular passage through two drafts and on to the third and final version. She hand wrote the entire first draft in a collection of notebooks, and it was enlightening for her, too, to revisit that early prose as she read it, remarking on the multiple chapter drafts and the notes to herself, one of which said, “I feel like I’m finished with the first draft.” That was in 2010.

She then read the same passage from the second, printed out and copyedited version, dated 2011, with thoughtful comments from her editor at Knopf, with whom she also worked on The Foremost Good Fortune.

Before moving on to the published version, Conley explained her motivation for walking us through these drafts. “I thought this might be interesting because a couple of things happened structurally with this novel. The first is that it moved from a whole draft in third person to the final version in first person. A writer friend in Portland, Lewis Robinson, inspired me to make that shift. When he asked me if I was going to change it to first person, I said no, but it stuck in my head.”

Cally Gurley, Director of Special Collections at UNE, wanted to hear the first version again for comparison, wondering which parts of the final book had come out early on.

“I think for me, writing any kind of book–forgive the rather obvious analogy–is like building a house,” Conley said. “You put up your outside walls first and the structure is very rough. That’s sort of what the first draft was, sort of a sketch. And then you’ll notice that in the second draft, I focused on place and gave it a really specific location.” She really wants us to be in that little alley with the narrator as she makes her way through in the first chapter, before she knows what she’ll find at its end. From the published form:

“A high cement wall runs along the start of Rue de Metz—a one-way alley off Boulevard de Strasbourg. Four blue suns have been painted on the wall and the bodice of a woman’s lime green dress. The end of the wall is a deeper cerulean, and the graffiti here looks done with chalk—spaceships and loopy sea creatures and messy stars.”
– Paris Was the Place

All the way along, Conley knew that she really needed to capture place, even before she knew the title of the book, and she sees the first two drafts as writing she needed to do in order to start to understand it.

“I named the novel after a line from a Gertrude Stein essay,” Conley shared, “a line I only discovered when I was furiously writing the final draft in a cabin near Southwest Harbor. ‘And so when hats in Paris are lovely and french and / everywhere then France is alright. So Paris was the place.’ I thought, oh, that’s it, I finally have my title. But when I landed on that title it called for a whole reexamining of the book, to really map place in the book. I got a little crazy and created multiple maps in my little writing studio and made sure I knew every street corner and every metro stop. I felt like I had to live up to the title. But I’m always interested in place as character. [In The Foremost Good Fortune] I made China come alive as a character in that memoir. I wanted to bring the reader to China and then here I wanted to bring the reader to Paris.”

It’s in the final version that, while still focusing on the setting, Conley introduces the characters more quickly than she had in the previous drafts. “Conflict is the engine of fiction. There’s only so long you can wait before you start to introduce conflict. I felt like the guard [in the first chapter] was sort of hinting at that, and then Sophie, who runs the detention center, starts to lay out some of the dilemmas, and that had to happen pretty fast.”

Beth Dyer, Reference & Instruction Librarian here at UNE, asked Conley if she also had been to India. “I would imagine it would be hard to write about a place that you’ve never been. That would be a real leap,” Beth said.

“Yes, I had been to India for only about six weeks in the early ‘90s, but it’s one of those places that stayed with me really vividly and I really wanted to write about it. When I think of the kernel for the novel, it was actually a woman on a train in India…I had really wanted India to be a dominant setting in the book but it didn’t work to have both Paris and India be so big. How much can I ask of you as the reader? I ask a lot of you in this book, because I have three fairly distinct plot lines. So I thought, ok, this has to be a true research junket. She goes to learn what she needs to learn about this poet that she’s researching and she gets out and she still has her mind blown.”

Beth then asked, “In India, a sort of goal of Willie’s was to deliver the letter to the grandmother, and I couldn’t help wondering if the woman she gave it to might not really have been the grandmother. It seemed she kind of stopped at the first old lady she saw. But she felt good about it.

“That’s really cool to hear,” Susan said. “I like that ambiguity, actually. That character was inspired by a granny I met in a remote parish in India where I stayed for a week or so. She had a long white braid and she would come and sit by us at the little tiny store, almost like a canteen, and in one of the pictures she had taken my sunglasses and put them on, and she thought was a hysterical thing. That’s in the book, actually. Gita’s grandmother is wearing those sunglasses.”

Another group member said, “I’m curious about Willow. How would you describe her? What were you hoping to achieve with her? There were times when she didn’t behave like I thought she would.

Conley agreed. “No, she doesn’t behave like I thought she would, either. She screws up and you could almost lose your patience with her. I was interested that people could really screw up and that they could also be forgiven. Another inspiration for this was work I used to do for the Maine Humanities Council at the Long Creek youth prison. I had a grant to teach poetry to the male youth there. We’d meet in a library and everything was locked and all of the furniture was bolted to the floor. There were several times when the kids would be let out on work duty and they would just disappear. A volunteer/guard would take them out to do litter pickup or something and the kids would just disappear so easily. I was fascinated by that. What do you mean, you lost him? What do you mean, John is gone? And I thought, who is culpable? Did the guard help? It’s so easy for people to just disappear for a while, so that’s why I let Willie do that…I think Willie was naïve and she thought she was highly principled.

MWWC curator Cathleen Miller asked Conley why she chose Paris in the first place. What was compelling about telling the story in Paris?

“That’s such a good question. Aside from the obvious conceit that I lived there,” she began, “I wanted to do two things. I wanted to talk about the wave of anti-immigrant sentiment that was growing in France in the late 1980s. It’s gotten so much worse, so I thought it would be interesting to go back to the beginning of that. Similarly, there is the specter of AIDS in this book. I wanted to capture that at that time, it actually was possible to fool yourself about whether AIDS was happening. If there was someone in your life who had AIDS, you could really allow yourself to think that they were just sick. That happened to me. There have been a few reviewers who have thought that wasn’t possible–how could she not know? But we don’t know what we choose not to know. Particularly I thought, get them to France, keep them out of the mainstream, keep them out of what might be happening in the States. I’m really interested in what happens when we move around, when we get dislocated. I think we change. I think we might be more open, we might be more associative.”

Conley closed by saying what a great thing it is to be a writer in this state. She has a work of nonfiction in progress and a novel set in China on the horizon, and she added, “I grew up in Maine in Woolwich on the river, and I feel like I have a Maine story in me, too. I just haven’t gotten there yet.”

To learn more about Susan Conley and her work, visit susanconley.com.

“To see where I came from, I’m looking at stones”: Poet Betsy Sholl visits with her new collection

April 30th, 2014 by Catherine Fisher

 

“What if ruin is a good thing? What if each day is built on the ruin of the one before? What if all our attempts to avoid ruin only make us bitter or closed off from what’s around us? What if only by exploring our ruins do we become human?”

The back cover of Betsy Sholl’s new collections of poems, Otherwise Unseeable, begins with this hefty handful of questions. The poems inside show that Sholl, in mining the gritty aspects of life from many angles and perspectives, is not afraid to get in the rubble and get dirty, perhaps in an effort to come clean. She recently visited us to read from and discuss her book, and I was left wading through words like “grit,” “muck,” “rough” and “wound” for days afterward. It’s been somehow a freeing sort of mire.

Sholl began her reading by explaining that even though poetry uses the same words as the newspaper, it’s not the same language. “The language of poetry is the language of metaphor, of association.” It is intended to slow us down, to be more meditative. “It’s a language that is set up with all the speed bumps that Stevens Avenue has,” she joked.

She began by reading “Genealogy,” the first poem in the collection, and prefaced it by explaining that some of her poems are more realistic and some are more metaphorical. Some she can remember the process of writing and some just come to her.

“’Genealogy’ just came to me. If you asked me what it’s about, I don’t know if I could say.” The poem mines two aspects of Sholl’s life ruins, two essential rocks of her own personal rubble. Her father died when she was two, and she says of that, “In a way there is this whole side to who I am that was absent. My mother tried to make him present — I know his favorite foods, I know things he didn’t like — but I don’t know a lot.” The second element that appears in this and other poems is that Sholl is a stutterer.

From “Genealogy”:

One of her parents was a star already gone out,
the other a cup that she carried into the night,
convinced it was fragile.

One of her parents she drank, the other she dreamed.

In the revolving door of her becoming,
one pushed from inside, one from without.
Thus, her troubled birth, her endless stammer.

Class is also a theme in her work. “I grew up in a widow’s household, a family that had been well-to-do and fell on hard times, and I think that must be connected to this next poem, called ‘Alms.’” She described it as realistic, a true vignette about being asked for money by a woman on the street in Portland. In the poem she characterizes the woman’s meek call to her (“Miss, Miss…”) as “voice of pocket lint, frayed button hole,” and later, reflecting that she hadn’t been compelled to give the woman the totality of the seven dollars in her wallet, she reckons with her unconscious withholding. “…so clearly that voice / wasn’t small enough, still someone / else’s sorrow, easy to brush off,” and in her regret she sees it as “a failure, a lack, a lost chance.” Sholl is troubled by the panhandlers so numerous on the streets of Portland these days, saying, “There is no way not to feel indicted, in a way.”

Sholl says that many of the poems in this collection could be characterized as arguments, and the one entitled “The Argument” plays around with those debates she has with herself, when she thinks one thing and then immediately counters with the opposite. The verbal joust between her and a crow centers around her urge to celebrate the beauty of an early autumn day, and the crow’s reminder that it’s the 70th anniversary of the German invasion of Poland. The crow voice wants to bring her down, to solemn her heart “for the sake of the murdered, for the sake of the dead / for all that hasn’t happened yet…”, to quandary her in ruins that are not her own, yet perhaps might be.

“Every book of mine has to have a poem with a crow in it,” Sholl remarked, “and every book has to have at least one poem addressed to my sister. She is a musician, and growing up in a sort of grieving widow’s household, my sister would sob as she played the piano, and I thought then, ‘what a dork’. Only as an adult do I realize that all of her grief was going into that.” Sholl read “Tidal,” in which the wailing piano scales played by her sister’s fingers over and over and the wind rattling the roof of a house in a kind of emotional lock-down “…make us / unlatch our wounds, and love our ruins.

During the reading Sholl reflected on what poetry does for her, and mused about how her poems might impact the reader, whether or not what she feels in the poem comes across. “I go to poetry to be expanded in some ways…my thought, my emotions, my view of the world. It’s really hard to tell if your poems do that. Your own poems are in your face. You have no idea if they’re expansive.”

Before turning to discussion, she went on to read a poem for her mother (“Elegy with Morning Glories”); another about the primal tug to trace one’s roots (her to horse thieving Nearys in County Mayo, in “Belmullet”); two poems about sounds and music and musicians (“Wood Shedding” and “Rahsaan”); and one exploring love in the face of inevitable death (“Vanishing Act”), among others.

Once the discussion began, Sholl was asked how she got started writing poetry. “Well, it really is connected to being a stutterer,” she said. “I was the youngest of sisters, and it was hard to get my word in edgewise, and we had rules about what we could talk about; those three things sent me to words, and putting words on paper.” After college Sholl left a Ph.D. program, saying it was because she wanted to be a poet. “So then I really had to get serious,” she said. Sholl met with a friend to write late into the night, and it was then she began to try to write every day. It wasn’t until the late ‘80s, after she had married and had children and was teaching full time, that she went back for her MFA. “I’d published a couple of books and I felt like I had just come to the end of what I could teach myself. I felt like I had hit a brick wall, and either I had to quit, and just say I failed, or put myself in a position to grow. So I went to Vermont College and that was a great experience for me.”

Later in the discussion Sholl addressed the accusation that some make against MFA programs, that they churn out academic poets who all sound the same. “Before they had MFA programs poets had to write in the style of whomever they read and copy and copy and copy until they found their own style. You started as a backup singer. And if you keep at it you might get to the mic. To me it’s the same thing, going to an MFA or staying in a third floor room all the time by yourself with your books. It’s the same thing, and the work is to move beyond that.”

“Do you work at the internal rhymes in your poems? Or do they just come to you?” one guest wanted to know.

“Mostly those just come,” Sholl answered. “I do have to work at structure. When I was in a poetry workshop in Cambridge when I first began to write, most of the poets were 10 or 15 years older than I was. I was like their charity case and they were tough on me. They’d say, “Stop that chiming!” I felt like I had to. And then I began to read Seamus Heaney and I thought, ‘Well, damn, I’m Irish!’ So I began to let that come in again.”

“Do you ever work with fixed forms?” another member of the group asked.

“Well, I do write villanelles from time to time. There’s one in this book. There’s one in my last book. I write a sestina every year and pretty much erase it from my hard drive. I have a sestina and a villanelle that are both about teaching in prison. Isn’t that interesting? The form is sort of a jail…In general, I think it’s connected to class for me. Formal verse, for me, was what all those old guys did who lived in a building on the top of a mountain with a sign outside that said, “No, not you.” Free verse was what an upstart chick with no money could do…And when I try to write in form it just dies on the page.”

“What do you think the work of poetry in the world is? Why the hell write a poem?” MWWC curator and poet Cathleen Miller was curious to hear.

“I was talking about this stuff and a teacher of mine said, “Betsy, we just do what we can do.” I used to live in Roxbury, MA. My husband was a community organizer and he worked with tough kids. And I would think, why am I sitting here at my desk, doing this little stuff, when I could be out saving the world? And what I said to myself was, it’s no worse than working in a shoe factory, you know? You make a pair of shoes and people get to wear those shoes for a little while and then they wear out and they get a new pair. And doing a poem, a few people might wear your poem for a day or two and then look for another one. What more can you say?”

“On the other hand, I think the arts in general speak to our deepest soul and our deepest human roots, and they offer something different from moneymaking, and different from violence. Different from all the forces that tend to dehumanize us. We go to the arts for that expansive experience. To be bigger, deeper or more real than we feel in our day-to-day lives…Poetry is a one-on-one thing. A dialogue between souls. And we need that.”

To learn more about Betsy Sholl and her work, visit www.betsysholl.com.

(Blog post title quote is from the poem “Belmullet”)

 

 

A poem a day

April 16th, 2014 by Cathleen Miller

When April comes around, two things are for sure: poetry and taxes (I’m advocating for this order of the universe).  We find ourselves inundated with poets we’ve never heard of, poems we might or might not like, and more readings than we can manage to attend in one day.  Just last week, here at the Collection, we hosted two talks on the same day!  We had a noon reading by Betsy Sholl from her wonderful new book Otherwise Unseeable followed by a generous discussion of poetry and Betsy’s poetic practice.  At 6pm, we hosted Dr. Alexandra Socarides, who wrote a book on Emily Dickinson’s poetic process entitled Dickinson Unbound.  If you know much about Dickinson, you will appreciate how hard it is to write something fresh–that’s just how smart a scholar Alexandra Socarides is.  Her talk on the research she conducted here in the summer of 2012 blew us away.  She discussed 19th century American women’s poetry and poetic conventions and how her work in our small archives led her to explore larger hypotheses about women’s poetry of that time.  Her newest book is one I will be very excited to read when it comes out.

Of course, swimming in poetic language these last few weeks has me thinking about the poets in our collection.  I have been tweeting lines from poems every day I can (follow me on twitter for a sampler of poems: @MEWomenWriters), which has had me dipping into books I have never before read.  Our book collection contains a wide range of poetic voices from the ordinary to the downright stunning, and represents the many types of writing that women have done over the past several centuries in Maine.  I started to wonder about common threads in Maine women’s writing and considered the question of place.  While no convention is applicable across the board, it does feel like place gets into our bodies and weaves itself into images and sounds in the poems we make.  I spent some time examining poems that speak from this place and capture a specific moment in time, and I thought I would share a sampling with you.

from Riverstones by Patricia White
(Seemed fitting for today, when we woke up to find snow on the ground after a lovely weekend.)
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from Prayers, Poems, and Pathways by Ssipsis
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from Where the Deer Were  by Kate Barnes
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from Hibernaculum & other North-Natured Poems by Patricia Smith Ranzoni
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from Four Corners of the Circle by Jean Webster
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from Corn Dance by Jeri Theriault
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