Short and Sweet or SEO?

We all know Seth Godin is a god (its even part of his name).  I’ve been reading his free e-books on blogging and making lenses on Squidoo. 

(Go here to find them.)

Seth talks about making blog entries short and sweet.  Good strategy.  What I find very interesting, though, is the contrast between the blog-writing manta of short and sweet and the craft of SEO web writing, which I’ve recently been doing a fair amount of. 

SEO writing is all about verbiage.  Lots and lots of it.  You’re writing to a word count, and writing original content about things you’ve probably not spent a lot of time pondering in the overall scheme of things.  So you end up writing 10 words when 5 would do and 3 would be even better.  Its all about reaching that word count–and using the key word as many times as possible.

Truth be told, its actually quite entertaining.  I find it a challenge to come up with new topics, pad the article with keywords, and still make it informative and sound natural. 

If nothing else, its great practice for overcoming writer’s block.

Novels of the Civil War

Is it just me, or do there seem to be a lot of novels coming out about the Civil War these days? 

There’s a story on yahoo today about Robert Olmstead’s latest novel, called Coal Black Horse. You can read it here. 

Maybe its just that I am now noticing them.  Until recently, they weren’t on my radar.  I kinda tend to shy away from mostly anything to do with war. But, last time I was in Nashville, my friend Linda Busby Parker, author of Seven Laurels, drove up from Mobile, Alabama to visit.  She and I spent morning writing and afternoons visiting Civil War sites.

Now usually this wouldn’t have been my thing at all, but Linda is halfway thinking about writing about the Civil War in a future novel.   We ended up at three sites: The Belle Meade Plantation, not so much known for its Civil War significance but cool just the same, the Carter House, site of the Battle of Franklin, and Carnton, which served as a field hospital for the Battle of Franklin.

The Battle of Franklin was quite the deal–something like 10,000 men died in the four hours of the battle.  At the Carter House, you can go into the basement of the home, where 27 people huddled while the battle raged in the yard.  The house above them was being used as a makeshift hospital, and as they cowered, the limbs of soldiers that had been amputated fell in piles around the windows.  When they finally opened the door to leave the basement, the stairs were piled so high with bodies they could barely get out.

Carnton was equally interesting.  The mistress of the house, Carrie McGavock, had been for all intents and purposes turned into a grieving zombie by the deaths of so many of her children (not that such was unusual back in the day).  But when her gracious home was overtaken by soldiers and pressed into service as a field hospital, the experience brought her back to life.  Literally. 

She spent the rest of her life dedicated to maintaining a sweet little cemetery for soldiers near her home.  For several years after the battle, the soldiers’ body’s lay where they had fallen in the trenches around the Carter Home, with only some dirt shoveled over them.  In winter, when the rains came, it would wash away some of the topsoil, uncovering the stray arm or leg.  Carrie McGavock was horrified by the cavalier  manner in which the war dead were treated and took it upon herself to get the bodies removed to a proper cemetery.  You can walk through the cemetery today and view the headstones, which are arranged by state.  Many of them are unmarked.  Its quite compelling.

Anyway, I’ve been on a bit of a Civil War reading kick.  The story of Carnton is told in the book, Widow of the South, by Robert Hicks.  Another good one to read is The Black Flower, Howard Bahr.  And the one I’m really looking forward to reading is On Agate Hill by Lee Smith (because, well, Lee Smith is a goddess.  Period.  I adore her writing.)

As a minor point of interest, the guide at the Carter House told us that in state budgets drawn up after the Civil War years, one of the biggest line items was for prosthetic devices for all the soldiers who had lost arms and legs.  You know the old saying, there’s nothing new under the sun.  Isn’t it fascinating to ponder that soldiers in Iraq are often losing limbs?  And God bless everyone of them, by the way.  I may not agree with the war but I am very grateful for the men and women who serve in it.

One of the things that interested me in the Olmstead article was this quote from novelist Jennifer Haigh, who studied with Olmstead:  "He approaches writing in a reverent way as really one of the most important things a person can do," she said.   As should we all.  As should we all.

Handling Rejection

Every writer gets used to dealing with rejection.  It gradually gets easier.  Sort of. Okay, I’m lying.  Here’s a handy dandy guide on handling that I’ve put together:

1.  First, you cry.  As the first tear leaks from your eye to roll down your cheek, you feel like a wimp.  And writers are not wimps.  So you wipe away the tears and tell yourself to buck up.

2.  Next you curse the stupidity of all editors, agents and anyone in the publishing world in general and the specific person who just rejected you, specifically.  Anger is much better than wimphood, you realize.

3.  Then you decide because everyone in the publishing world is blind to your brilliance and stupid not to publish your story (or essay, or poem, or novel) that you will show them.  You return to your computer to write more lucid, muscular prose.

4.  You sit at the computer and stare off into space.  Every time your fingers hit the keyboard, you hear that nagging voice that insists you’re the one with the problem, not them.  Your work isn’t brilliant, it’s awful.  You’re an idiot for thinking you could write. 

5.  A cup of coffee sounds good.  Maybe caffeine will silence the voices.  But then you realize if you go to the local coffee shop, you’ll have to face people.  And one of those people might ask you how your writing is going.  And even though you technically aren’t required to blurt out the details of your latest rejection, you’ll feel like a liar if you simply smile and nod and say that everything is going well.  Everyone knows you’re not supposed to lie.  That goes double for writers.

6.  You settle for a cup of coffee from your home pot, ducking your head so as not to have to meet the eyes of your spouse.  You don’t want to have to tell her/him the details of your failure, either.

7.  Skulk back to the computer.  Skulk is such a good writerly word that thinking of it cheers you.  It proves you are a writer.  Yes, you are.  You’re a writer, you’re a writer, you’re a writer.  Saying it makes it so.

8.  But writing is what really makes you a writer.  And the words still won’t come.

9. You sit at the computer, hands idle, eyes locked on some far distant point outside your window, until you feel the tears come.  And then you let it all out.  You cry, you scream, you holler, you pace, you yell, you wallow in your misery.  After a good long bout of this behavior, which you are so wrapped up in you don’t even care if its wimpy, you dry your tears and take a deep breath.

10.  And you begin again to write.  You realize that the only way out is through.

Burning Questions

Lost in Translation was on some random cable channel last night (its probably always on some random cable channel somewhere).  Love that movie.  Though I still want to know: What does Bill Murray whisper in Scarlett Johansen’s ear at the end?

The Strumpet Rediscovers An Author

Elizabeth Hand is a wonderful author, her prose other-worldly and lush.  Elizabeth Hand uses the word crepuscular.

I love the word crepuscular.

I actually associate the word with her, because I’m quite sure I first read it in one of her books.  It’s the kind of word she uses a lot, with great authority.  And great verve.

(For those of you, who, like me, were not intimately familiar with the word at first glance, here’s the definition: of, relating to, or resembling twilight.  Now isn’t crepuscular a much more interesting word than twilight?)

She also uses words like moleskin and knickers and peignoir.  And paroquet (which I have to go look up) and verdigrised, and even if I don’t know what they mean, I still love the look of them on the page, and the sound of them even better.

I was a huge Elizabeth Hand fan a few years ago, after reading Waking the Moon and Glimmering, but then I lost sight of her.  In truth, I forgot about her books, and I’m not sure why.  So I am very grateful to the cool site I found that reintroduced me to her.  Its called the Great American Book Giveaway and you can check it out here.

Every week you can enter to win one of five featured books.  Even if you don’t win, you get introduced to great titles you might not otherwise find.  Cool, huh?

This is where I was spied Hand’s latest title, Generation Loss, which is not quite released yet.  I have a hold on it at the library, and meanwhile I am reading her novel, Mortal Love.  It’s in this book that I read the following description of an American visiting London that blew me away:   

"The dandyish, souk-colored clothes suited him: not world-weary journalist but knight errant, wide-eyed, slightly stupefied in the dazzling sunlight of an older world."

Slightly stupefied in the dazzling sunlight of an older world.  Damn, I wish I’d written that. 

The Road

Oprah chose Cormac McCarthy’s novel, The Road, for her next book club selection.  And, she succeeded in convincing McCarthy to give her an interview–his second in 40 years.

I’m kinda a big fan of both–though I’m more a fan of McCarthy in theory than in reality because I can’t stand to read his books.  Lewis is a huge fan of McCarthy, no surprise, as Lewis is a guy stuff kinda guy and so is McCarthy.  To put it mildly.  I bought Lewis The Road for his birthday and he read it in one sitting and then thrust it at me and said I had to read it.  I tried.  Really, I did.  I’ve read one other McCarthy novel, at the behest of my first MFA mentor, Melissa Pritchard, which was All the Pretty Horses.  I am an admirer of McCarthy’s terse, smooth prose and he probably is one of the best, if not the best writer alive today.

But.

I can’t stand the violence in his novels.  The Road is a post-apocalyptic story of a father and his son traveling through a ruined landscape.  At the time I tried to read it, the US was having one of its periodic blustering showdowns with North Korea.  Couldn’t stomach the novel.  I can’t read McCarthy for the same reason I don’t watch war movies–I just choose not to take those kinds of imagery and ideas inside me.

I know that’s very woo-woo and New Agey, but there it is.   

Since I can’t write an honest review of The Road, not having read it all, I will instead share my Oprah theory with you.  I call it, originally enough, the Oprah Effect. 

Its like in the Langston Hughes poem, I, Too, Sing, America, when he says: They send me to eat in the kitchen/When company comes/But I laugh/And eat well/And grow strong.

People belittle Oprah’s minions, but we minions ignore the naysayers, and watch her show ,or in my case, since I always forget to watch TV, read her magazine.  And we grow strong. 

The Hughes poem continues: Tomorrow/I’ll be at the table/When company comes/Nobody’ll dare say to me/Eat in the kitchen/Then.

One day we minions (mostly women, I have to add) will quietly take over the world, just as we have quietly turned on her show every day or read her magazine every month.   We’ll be eating at the table when company comes.

The world will then be a place of peace and beauty, where everyone gets to shop at VERY expensive shops and everyone’s house is decorated by clones of Nate or whatever his name is, and everyone is fit, both mentally and physically.  Most important, everyone will understand that we make our own lives.  Period.

It’s gonna be awesome.  Trust me. 

Beginnings

My friend Sue (one of my Nashville peeps) and I have both recently started re-writing our novels.  Today she emailed me and asked what I knew about first chapters.   I told her one thing I know about first chapters is that they are hard–hard because a first chapter is the foundation for everything that is to follow.

First paragraphs in articles are hard, too.  Usually (okay, always) I must have my first paragraph set before the rest of an article will flow, and its for the same reason–all the words that follow depend on  the firm foundation of the first paragraph.

So, too, with first entries in a blog, like this one. It logically (though logic is not my strong suit, despite my love of Sudoku) follows that the premiere post should be a strong basis for all the missives to come.  It should delineate the themes of the blog, be witty and erudite, and make people want to keep coming back for more. Which makes it really hard, just like writing the first chapter of a novel.  The difference being that by the time a novel gets published, that first chapter will have been rewritten a gazillion times, and the essence of a blog is daily communication. So, to heck with it.  I’ll forget about strong foundations and all that and just dive right in.

After all, one of my fondly held beliefs is that process is more important than product, at least while one is the middle of the process of creating a product.  Its so easy to get caught up in thoughts of the product–does it sound right? will people like it? is it good?–that it can paralyze you while you are trying to be engrossed in the process.  And conversely, there’s nothing better in the whole world than those times when you are so caught up in the writing process that two hours pass like two minutes. 

This blog will focus on process, and words, and how to produce a lot of them, and a whole lot more.  After all, the word strumpet means prostitute and the word prostitute means, according to Webster’s, a woman who engages in promiscuous sexual intercourse, especially for money.  As a word strumpet, I engage in promiscuous writing activity, especially, but certainly not solely, for money. Strumpet that I am, I can’t get enough of words, can’t get enough of writing. 

Hence, the blog, which will not only serve as a forum to produce more words but hopefully provoke comment.  Because another one of my firmly held beliefs is that writing is communication, and communication is a loop.  If any part of the loop is broken, something is missing, which is why writers whine a lot about how hard it is to get published.    So I am casting my words into the circle and you can keep the circle unbroken by writing back with comments.

Until then, as always, I’ll just be here writing.