Favorite Writers: James Baldwin

This is the first in a series of posts that I will write occasionally—when I can’t think of writing anything else—about some of my favorite writers, my literary influences I guess you could say. The first on this list—though by no means my ultimate favorite writer, as it seems impossible to me to have only one favorite writer—is James Baldwin, since I will be leading an online discussion of his first novel, Go Tell it on the Mountain, as part of a Goodreads group I started called Literary Fiction by People of Color.

Strangely enough, considering how many Ethnic Studies classes I took in college, I have just recently discovered James Baldwin as a writer. The first time I read his work was when I bought a copy of Notes from a Native Son many years ago. It’s Baldwin’s first collection of non-fiction essays, titled in response to Richard Wright’s novel, ‘Native Son’, one of the seminal texts of the Harlem Renaissance and of African-American literature overall. I have to say, I didn’t take to Baldwin’s non-fiction very readily. Perhaps it seemed too dated to me at the time, although now when I go back and read it I can see how we can still draw lessons from it even today.

So I left Baldwin alone for a long time after that, convinced that he was one of those ‘great writers’ that I just didn’t like. It wasn’t until Chris Abani recommended I read ‘Giovanni’s Room’, Baldwin’s second novel, while I was in workshop with him at VONA a few years ago that I gave Baldwin another try. I loved Giovanni’s Room, and learned a lot from it about writing. It’s a perfect gem of a book, and Baldwin was only 32 when it was published, and already a literary sensation.

I’ve always identified with writers who pushed the envelope of what was socially acceptable to write about at the time, and Baldwin is a shining example of a writer who challenged conventional values by writing gay or sexually ambivalent characters long before this was seen as socially acceptable, even in literary circles. (Some might say it’s still not very socially acceptable to do so, but all things are relative).

He also wrote about race and gender relations, with a stylistic subtlety and precision that I’d venture is yet to be matched. And not only did he write about controversial topics, but he did so with such elegance and technical control, with such compelling emotional weight that the controversial aspects of his work would, over time, seem to me almost background notes to his literary mastery. To narrowly categorize any writer as merely ‘Black’ or ‘Gay’ or ‘Female’ is often an act of ignorance, but to do so to a writer like Baldwin is almost a literary crime.

Feel free to join the Goodreads discussion if you’ve read the book before, or if you’re interested in reading more literary fiction by people of color. The group is 300+ members strong now, and reads a different book every month. Hope to see you there.

Shoulder to the Wheel

The health problems I mentioned earlier included anemia/low-iron, which made me unable to focus long enough to write more than a couple pages. It was super-frustrating, but now I’m back in the saddle and just in time, as I have two deadlines I need to write stuff for—actually make that three: my next SundayStories writing group submission in a few weeks, my application to VONA by the end of March, and a reading that I’m coordinating with folks from last year’s VONA fiction workshop with Junot Diaz, also in March.

I’ve learned that it always takes more time than I think it will to finish up anything, especially if it’s my fiction writing, so I’m giving myself plenty of lead-time to work on all three deadlines. I can’t crank out fiction the way I can memoir/creative non-fiction or the grant proposals that I’ve written so many of over the past fourteen years, at least not now, so I gotta give myself plenty of time. Not easy for someone who’s so used to multi-tasking, being efficient, and getting things done quickly. But then again, many worthwhile goals are not easy to achieve, right? Half the satisfaction is in the process, the other half in reaching your goal, knowing how hard you worked and how you overcame obstacles along the way.

So, my shoulder’s to the wheel now, and while I metaphorically begin to sweat and push and labor over my writing, I also feel very satisfied knowing that my muscles still work.

Getting Back on Track

I’ve not been 100% well this last week or so, which has made it challenging to stay on track with my writing. I took a break from blogging (which I’m glad I did), but am back to doing that, with posts on this and my other blog that both got a considerable number of hits thanks to (I think) catchy, intriguing titles that I post on both my Facebook page and Twitter.

But I haven’t really written anything in terms of my fiction or more creative work since last Thursday, when I was trying to get ready for the reading I was supposed to do with the rest of my writing group in San Francisco. Due to my health problems, I missed that, and have been in a bit of a writing funk ever since. This isn’t just about rest as part of my writing process, as I wrote about earlier, but I think it’s sort of like writer’s depression. I missed my writing date earlier this week, and have mostly been staying home resting and trying to get better, and feeling a bit crappy about myself for not being able to do more. Writing, of course, doesn’t take a ton of physical energy, and I’ve been able to blog so I should be able to do other kinds of writing, but I’m just feeling a block around it.

I haven’t been reading a lot either, despite my book-organizing round that I wrote about last post. I think I just need to plunk down today and tell myself to write anything for 15 minutes, and just stop guilt-tripping myself about it. Guilt doesn’t usually get me anywhere in terms of my writing—just saps the energy that I need to sit down with the page and start moving my hand, as Natalie Goldberg says.

And this really was one of the reasons I started this blog—to help me process through both the tough and the easy times in my writing life. To motivate me to get my hand moving by making me accountable to an audience—no matter how small at this point—who will be, in my mind, tracking what I do and asking me questions about it when I see them in person. So I guess I am making guilt my motivator again, and it does seem to work at times. I would like to find other, more positive emotions to help motivate me to write. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them!

Will post later on today about how many words I’ve written today that are not blog-related. Wish me luck!

Well-Loved and Falling Apart

Every once in a while, maybe a couple times a year, I get obsessed with organizing my books. Being a writer and a fairly avid reader, I of course have a lot of books, although I do a fair amount of purging when I organize them and, as I get older, find myself giving away or selling more books that I just know I’ll never read. Intellectual vanity becomes less and less important the older one gets, and there comes a point when one just has to admit to oneself that the fact that a book has sat on the shelf for a good five years without once being cracked open probably means it will never be read in that particular home, and should be passed on to someone else who might actually enjoy it. During today’s book-organizing round, the books I’ve decided to pass on include Isabel Allende’s Daughter of Fortune, two books on anarchism, and redundant copies of books by Audre Lorde and James Baldwin.

On the other hand, there are books that I’ve read so much, that are so well-loved that I kept them despite the fact that they were probably not in great shape when I first got them (or ‘liberated’ them from my school library, as it were), and that then deteriorated even more in the years since. I thought it would be interesting to pull these books out off of my shelves to see what they were, and also to remind me to replace them someday with more handle-able, less torn and thumbed-through versions. As I wrote about in an earlier, also provocatively-titled post, the condition of the books I read has been only a recent consideration for me. It’s partially because I’m getting older and having the means to consider buying newer, perhaps hardcover versions of books I love, and also that I have realized that I may actually want to leave these books for my future children or other loved ones (or just Posterity), but I’ve actually been wondering if I should replace these very well-loved, well-read and falling-apart books.

Now, there’s something to be said in my mind about keeping these books—torn and tattered and often coverless though they are—the way some people keep old teddy bears or other childhood toys even though they’re not so pretty anymore. The love shows on these shabby but sentimentally important objects, I guess you could say, and in a world where new seems to be better, this means something to me. So I haven’t decided whether to chuck / recycle these old books, or to keep them in some storage unit in my apartment, like a literary time capsule, so that I can pull them out someday and see just what were some of the books that had such a huge influence on me.

It’s interesting to see what these titles are, as well, for they do say something about my literary interests. The oldest raggedy book is a paperback copy of the first volume of the classic compendium The Greek Myths, by British poet, scholar and novelist Robert Graves. It was also likely the first book I ever stole from a library—specifically, when I was in fourth or fifth grade. Greek mythology, as anyone knows, is a veritable soap opera-like collection of stories filled with enough kinky sex, barbaric violence and political intrigue to make our modern-day television shows and so-called avant garde books look mild in comparison. I mean, the Greek goddess Athena was supposedly birthed, fully-armed, from her father Zeus’ head after he ATE her mother Metis because he wanted to literally swallow her intelligence! The little girl Rona thought this was all fascinating, and was thrilled to find that such scandalous literature was not only freely available but also encouraged. My grammar school teachers were equally thrilled that I was so interested in classical Greek mythology.

The second of my tattered texts is by another British writer, George Orwell, the dystopic classic 1984. This book blew my mind too, and I’m pretty sure I also stole this one from my school library, now that I look at it and see the ‘Good Shepherd School’ stamp on the inside cover. Orwell has influenced my writing in that I am often drawn to writing futuristic work that may not be dystopic all the time, but that definitely has dystopic elements.

Two of my other well-loved, well-worn books are by women, and will likely get replaced, although my current copy of The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley, which is a revisioning of the King Arthur legend, has a lot of sentimental value to me as it was a gift. And The Heart is the Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, was another library liberation. What a bad girl I was—geeky, but bad.

Do you have any books that you’ve loved and read so much that they are falling apart? What are they, and where / when did you get them?

Riding the Other Wave

As you might’ve noticed, I haven’t been blogging much these last few days, on this blog or on my other blog. I’ve been having some serious health issues—nothing life-threatening (or so I hope), but serious enough to warrant me scaling back on activities and just making me take it easy. It’s so crucial to take care of ourselves at times like these, even if it means missing out on things that we really wanted to participate in—I didn’t, for example, end up reading last night in the City, although I really wanted to be there. Our health needs to be the #1 priority for each of us, which would help us lead more balanced lives and ultimately just be more sane and happy as individuals, families, and communities.

I’m hoping to get back to blogging by early next week, but just wanted to let you know in the meantime that I hadn’t forgotten about my writing or this blog. I’ll be back after this other type of wave—the Life wave, I call it—has calmed down, and things are a little bit more back to normal again. And I hope you’ll still be here to read what I have to say.

Reading on Thursday in San Francisco

I posted this info about a reading I’m doing with my writing group—which calls itself ‘Sunday Stories’ since we get together and critique each other’s work on Sundays—this Thursday in the City.

I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to read exactly, but I spent a couple hours polishing up a couple of new pieces today (thanks to Claire for being my writing buddy) and, knowing how I operate, will probably bring both of them on Thursday and then decide at the last minute what I’m going to read. It’ll all depend on who shows up, if I think that any of my friends that come (besides my husband, who comes to all my readings, bless him!) might like one piece better than the other. It also depends on how the mood strikes me in those nerve-wracking moments before you get up in front of everyone and hope they don’t fall asleep or walk out when you start to read.

In any case, please come out if you’re local and you can and check it out.

Knowing When to Say No

One thing I’ve learned in my work as a fundraiser and consultant, and just personally in my life, is how to say ‘No’. No to more work, to projects that don’t really interest me, to allowing people and things into my life that would drain me more than nourish or enrich me, or that I’m just not ready for for whatever reason.

This week, I said ‘No’ to applying to another residency program, this time at the nearby Djerassi Resident Artists Program in Woodside, Calif. It looks like a great program and I could meet the deadline fairly easily, but after looking at the list of people they’ve accepted in the past, as well as their writing sample requirements for fiction/non-fiction writers (they request a chapter of a book), I realized I’m not ready yet. I’m just not at the stage in my writing career where I have enough material—namely, a real manuscript of a book that I’m working on—to make it into the program. But it’s all good, because I know now that Djerassi is one of the places I can apply to when I do have a manuscript that I’m trying to finish. Right now, I’m just trying to finish a series of short stories, which is plenty of work for the moment.

Saying ‘No’ can be very liberating—especially once I get over the guilt! It frees up my time to pursue things that do excite and nurture my creativity, helps me get clearer on what I want in my life, keeps me from being burnt-out which in turn keeps me healthier, and just makes me a happier person overall. And being happy is a very good thing.

Hard or Soft?

I was tempted to give this post the title ‘Book Porn: Hard or Soft?’ but realized it might invite some search engine hits I didn’t want. But that’s what this post is about—book porn. Not pornographic, XXX adult material in book form, but the obsession, at turns vulgar or ecstatic, with books. In my case, used fiction and non-fiction books written by some of my favorite writers. I buy used because it’s cheaper, it’s eco-friendly, and because it allows me to get cool old versions of classic books that may no longer be in print or only available new in janky paperback format.

Which brings me to the hard and soft dilemma—until recently, I was not someone that could justify the cost of a new (or even used, for that matter) hardcover book. I think when I bought Toni Morrison’s latest novel, A Mercy, last year that that was the first time I’d bought a new hardcover novel in years. My logic was that the words were the same, and I wasn’t starting a fancy temperature-controlled private library of rare first editions or anything, so what did it matter? Having access to as much literature as I could in and of itself was the reward.

So I find it ironic that lately as I’ve been combing used bookstore shelves for old (preferably early edition) printings of James Baldwin’s books, that I find myself only considering hardbacks. This is probably due to the fact that I had been reaading a very old, worn, handed-down-from-a-friend early printing of Baldwin’s Another Country, a paperback. And the thing was literally falling apart in my bag. It’s yellowed pages were breaking into tiny crumb-like pieces in my purse, littering the bottom of it like an ancient disintegrating document. So I decided to buy another copy. The only copies I could find at several bookstores, new or used, were paperbacks, with covers that weren’t that interesting (my husband being a graphic designer has definitely affected me), and I kept flashing back to the falling-apart old paperback. So I decided I’d only buy a copy if it was a hardcover. Unfortunately, the only hardcovers I can find are online, so have to wait awhile to get my copy.

But now I find that when I’m looking for other used books, I’ve been putting paperbacks back on the shelf, telling myself that I should wait for a hardcover version. What do you think? Does quality trump quantity when it comes to books? Is it worth it to shell out more for a used (and preferably early edition) hard cover? Or does it really matter? Hard or soft—what’s your call?

Rest

I’ve had lots of writing and editing to do these past few weeks, as I’ve detailed in earlier posts. In addition to my creative writing deadlines, I had seven (count ’em–seven!) documents to draft for my grant writing client. So needless to say, I’m a little tired of spending so many hours typing in front of the computer. But I’m happy to report that I’m not tired of writing—I wrote in my journal this morning and am now blogging away. But I am going to give myself a break and (besides writing this blog post) not ‘require’ myself to write today. If I feel like it, great, if the mood strikes me, awesome, but it’s not something I’m going to make myself do today. If I’ve learned one thing in my 38 years on this planet—and I learned this lesson relatively recently—it’s that the period of rest after a very busy and stressful period is extremely important. Not to just my overall health and well-being, but also to the creative fire within me, and my passion for writing. I need to rest, to ‘restock the well’, as Julia Cameron puts it. I need to frickin’ chill.

It’s not easy for me to do this—I am a Capricorn, Type-A overachiever who has defined myself very much by my accomplishments. I’ve had to learn the hard way—by working through chronic pain and the after-effects of a traumatic childhood—that rest and relaxation is crucial to being healthy and happy.

So for part of today and all of tomorrow, and maybe even part of Thursday, I will allow myself to take a break from writing. I trust I will get back on the ball when I need to. I do have another residency deadline in less than two weeks!