Poetry & Pushpins

~ The Writings of S.L. Woodford

Poetry & Pushpins

Monthly Archives: March 2015

Process Learning and Pavement

25 Wednesday Mar 2015

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human nature, making mistakes, New Haven, running

The weather is finally showing semblances of spring here in New Haven, and for me, that means one thing: I can run outside again. Seriously, I’m like an excitable puppy about this–the hills, the fresh air, the trees make me stupidly happy and I never, ever, want to come back inside.

But there is one snag in this joyous transition. And it comes in the form of uneven pavement, located in the sidewalk outside of  the Yale Hockey rink. As usual, my foot caught this bit, and I went flying forward. It took me a second to regain my balance, but I did, and my run continued.

That spot always messes with me. It was the spot where I fell and skinned my knee the week my mother died, it was the spot where I fell and bruised my knee after an article I wrote was rejected. And this spring was no different: it caught my foot, and I went flying forward.

Yet, this time I didn’t fall.

Yes, I was caught off balance, but I didn’t fall. And I think there is a lesson in that.

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Saying Goodbye to Terry Pratchett

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, The Creative Life

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books, fiction, Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, the creative process, writing

Thursday, March 12, 2015, was a sad day for me. For it was the day that Sir Terry Pratchett, creator of Discworld, satirical-humanist extraordinaire, and recreational swordsmith, died.

Before leaving us at age 66, due to a rare form of Alzheimer’s Disease, Terry treated the world to more than 70 books, for young and old alike. After hearing the news, I wept, in sadness and in joy. For in losing Terry, I lost a beloved teacher. But in the wake of his loss, I also gained a sense of gratitude for exactly how much this white-bearded, epic-hat-wearing author influenced me as a human being and as a fledgling writer.

Terry was a gateway author for my 12 year-old soul, ushering me into a world where my small town life and my late middle school self were finally mirrored back to me. Through characters like Susan Sto Helit, Mort, Jeremy Clockson, The Abbot, Death, and The Sweeper, Terry gave me the courage to be weird. It was okay that I didn’t fit in with my peers, because there in Sir Pratchett’s novels were dreamers, philosophers, over-thinkers, humanists, people well-intentioned but socially awkward. You know, human beings that acted a lot like me. Through Good Omens, he introduced me to Neil Gaiman, whose work inspires me more than any other author. And it was the energy and crystalline precision of Terry’s sentences that first made me think: “Hm, maybe I’d like to spend more of my life writing. I’d love to create sentences like that.”

There is a question all this reflection brings up:  why haven’t I spoken about him more? When I was asked to name my major creative influences in a recent interview, Terry didn’t come up in my answer. Which was odd. I’m usually a person who is self-reflective and systematic about her writing. I can tell how and why a writer has had an impact of my craft and even show you examples. But why haven’t I ever mentioned Terry? I read him with just as much gusto and frequency as any of my other favorite authors. I think my previous silence about Terry was twofold—I was intimidated by him and I’m only now realizing the depth of his impact. This filters into one thing: his plot structure. God, the way he wrote plot intimidated me. It was full of scenes that popped and whizzed through your senses, making you laugh, cry, and ponder the mysteries of humanity. It felt frenzied, but the madness always breathlessly hung together with a careful precision.

No one plots novels like Terry. And to me, that’s what makes an artist—they create something that only they can create. His plots are so beautiful and personalized to him, that I don’t know if I could ever directly use his tactics in my work. Yet, thinking of writing scenes of varying length that carefully fit together instead of writing in well-measured chapters, is getting my first novel draft on the page. Who knows if this is how I will keep it. But Terry’s  writing style encourages me to think of the piece like a clock, to write it so that my character’s worlds and desires click and whirr together, freeing me from chapter quotas and keeping me ever mindful of how the larger project may end up fitting together.

Thank you Sir Terry for your wonderful stories. You truly were a writer uniquely your own. I shall deeply miss reading your new words and I am grateful for the continued guidance of your old ones.

The Frivolous Internet Post :)

11 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life)

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Jane Austen, technology

I couldn’t make up my mind about what to post this week. I was working on two different pieces: one about Daylight Savings Time and human mortality, the other about giving up the f-word for Lent (and failing horribly). But, I decided to take the advice of my homegirl Jane Austen and: “let other pens dwell on guilt and misery.” I’m not posting either. It’s been a long winter here in New England, and I need a proper giggle, heavily seasoned with joy and mirth. Perhaps you need that, too. And so, I humbly present you with a list of internet frivolity that never fails to make me laugh. Enjoy!

1. Jane Austen Fight Club

Things get real when teacups start to fly.

2. Your LL Bean Boyfriend

Okay, so this tumblr doesn’t make me laugh—but, handsome men, especially handsome men who are thoughtful and outdoorsy, always make me smile.

http://yourllbeanboyfriend.tumblr.com/

3. Tom Hiddleston Teaches Cookie Monster Delayed Gratification.

My favorite Sesame Street character and my favorite actor teach our young an important life skill.

P.S. Tom Hiddleston seems to win the internet. Especially if winning the internet involves being cheeky, kind, nerdy, and ridiculously adorable.

4. Last Week Tonight’s YouTube Channel

Oh, I am stupidly fond of John Oliver’s satirical, sensitive, silly masterpiece. I have a big literary crush on the show’s brilliant writing, so I couldn’t choose just one video! Enjoy this channel. Play it on loop. And definitely check out the clips on: FIFA, net neutrality, Warren Harding’s love letters, the Salmon Cannon, Conservatives reading Ayn Rand, Scotland, UK Labour Party’s Barbie bus, U.S. territories, Daylight Saving Time, and Totally Rad GOP Commercials.

https://www.youtube.com/user/LastWeekTonight/featured

Note: John is British and likes to use the f-word (a lot). I do not mind this because the f-word is a very versatile, fascinating word. But, your boss might. This is NSFW.

5. Neil Gaiman Supports the Onion for a Pulitzer Prize

Gaiman is fabulous. He is also British and enjoys using the f-word. This too, is NSFW.

Writer’s Block

04 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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human nature, the creative process, writing

“Well…balls. Really big, hairy balls.”

I say this as I stare at a blank portion of screen in Microsoft Word. The sentences of past writing sessions stream before and after this space, for pages and pages, but I cannot marvel at their existence now. I must write 300 words in that blank space: 300 words that will tell me what will happen next, 300 words that will bring the beginning and end of a novel draft closer to completion.

I wrinkle my brow. It’s only 300 words. That’s not a lot. Though today it feels like a lot. Today, the thought of writing even 50 words feels painful and anxiety inducing.

Thanks, writer’s block. I have no idea what to say. I don’t know what direction to take my characters in. I don’t know how to continue the plot.

And that’s when I stop, walk into my kitchen, and make a pot of tea.

And as I pack tea leaves into a tea ball, my mind begins to wander: Why? Why don’t I know my characters’ directions? Why don’t I know how to continue the plot?

Asking “Why?” always helps my writer’s block.

The answer starts to present itself as I lower the tea ball into an empty teapot. I don’t know my characters’ directions, because I’m jealous of them. In their fictional lives, love and intimacy are just next door for them. They find it happily in friends and significant others who live out daily nothing’s with them. The people who are dearest to me are peppered about the United States and the world—marvelous, if you like to write letters and travel (which I do), but not so marvelous when you need a shoulder to sob into or someone to tell you about the trivial details of their day. My lack of words was my petty attempt not to face my jealousy.

I don’t know where the plot is going because it’s moving in directions beyond my life experience. My lack of words in this case is a symptom of my insecurity that a reader, a editor, a publisher, will notice that I am out of my league and make fun of me for it.

I carefully pour hot water into the teapot with the packed tea ball. Into this hollow, ceramic vessel flows water, which soon will be tea. And I think of that blank space that waits for me in Microsoft Word. It may not contain 300 words, but it is flowing with existential questions. Questions I must notice and answer as I write on. I’ll need more than 300 words to do that.

Recent Posts

  • The Natural Sequel of an Unnatural Beginning
  • Late Summer Spiders
  • Hawks and Walks
  • Process Learning and Pavement
  • Saying Goodbye to Terry Pratchett

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