Who has time to write??? I’ve been blogging over at mom-blog just to share and unload, but other kinds of writing have drifted off.

I went to a Casting Crowns concert by FAT CHANCE last week, and have decided that some of the purpose of divinely ending up there was to convince me I need to start writing poetry again. Ya know, like divine worthy stuff. It’s on the mull-it-over machine in my brain right now.

I’m thinking of taking a class at writers.com this January or February. If you know a good class there to get your engine started, let me know. Or pick from the list I’ve narrowed down for myself:

• Write From Your Spirit: For Writing of Women (7 Jan)
• 40 Days & 40 Nights: Deepening Our Practice (14 Jan)
• Creative Non-fiction and the Personal Essay (21 Jan)

I look forward to some ideas or suggestions in your comments!

I’ve added a new category, mostly as a book mark to me: see it at left entitled “Book recommendation sites”.  Enjoy.

Not long ago, I was reading a book review over at my friend Katrina’s site and I realized that I think I need to study literature.  She was describing a recently written novel that pays homage to Victorian Literature and post modernism, which sounded JUST like my cup of tea. She remarked that the ending was not resolved and that a careful reader can posit one.  Careless readers will miss subtle clues throughout.

Well, I think that once upon a time, maybe 20 years ago, I was a careful reader.  Or maybe not.  I did a VERY brief stint in Columbia University once, and they forced me to retake College English II (maybe it’s now called College Comp II, it’s your intro to lit course).  I was fuming because I’d taken as many English courses at my technical college as I could and aced them all, and this one course…  Let’s just say my kept DROPPING every week.  I always have said that it felt like the entire class was taking another class together and knew things I didn’t.  (Perhaps their English I???? Hm, never occured to me.)  Anyhow, it put me off of lit courses for good - this from the girl who had taken Honors English for 4 years of high school and won an award -for studying classics like “Siddhartha”.

OK, so it may be that my ego wanted that memory.  But I have since that time become a careless reader.  The pleasure was SUCKED OUT of my favorite thing to do in life (reading) and  perhaps even a part of me skimmed over the concept that literature could have value.  I’ve even read my share of literature on my own but I sacrifice all deeper meaning to the pleasure of the story.

So now I have it in my head that perhaps I need to learn to study literature.  I also have it in my head that this will buoy up my writing.  I do not have time for careful reading, but returning to school - well, one of these days anyway - that will do the trick.

Maybe.

I’ve started reading How to Become a Famous Writer Before You’re Dead: Your Words in Print and Your Name in Lightsby Ariel Gore which I’m absolutely loving, and she exhorts us as writers to embrace our faults and go forth and celebrate them.

So I confess here and now I am officially a non-literary literary writer. I’m intelligent and can read anything, EXCEPT dull stories. This all began in high school. I was, as mentioned before, an avid reader, but something happened when I got into high school in the 9th grade (it was Catholic private school). The books they gave us to read were no longer interesting but important. And one day, I was forced to read “Ethan Frome”.

Don’t ask me why. This is one piece of classical literature I’ve never heard mentioned ever since the 10th grade. So there I was, 15 years old and shopping for cliff notes. I was a straight A, honor role, honor society, advanced class kid and I believed cliff notes to be cheating. (They didn’t even have the yellow Cliff version, only the cheezy red, 2nd class brand.)

The thing was, I read EF - or tried to. After 10 pages, I had no idea what I was reading and started again. And again. And then said, fuck it! and bought the cliffies.

Somehow I got a 90 on the test, because I gotta tell ya, even the damn cliff notes were boring.

Which is not to say that all literature is boring. I liked the Scarlet Letter (story about a hussy in a time when they were taboo), and I love Shakespeare (all that blood, and violence, and madness, and suicide!). Crucible was good too (evil children), and Jane Eyre was ok, but I do have passion for Jane Austen (early feminism). As an adult, I’ve tried to catch up. Les Miserables was miserable. Atlas Shrugged was great except for the 9000 pages of philosophy in the middle. Anna Karenina just made me want to drink, and don’t get me started on the 7?9? times I tried to get past page 100 in the Brothers Karamazov.

BUT I adore GOOD literary fiction. And I’ve found a truth: just because it’s old and studied in school doesn’t necessary make it relevant to my life. That list of books I have on this site? There all fairly lit. And yet, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that you can’t be a good writer without being well-read - meaning those ancient texts that have nothing to say or relate anymore - then I’d be quite wealthy.

So that’s one of my flaws. I’m sure there’s more…