Working with youth and middle school

Tomorrow morning, or more specifically on the 9th of February, I begin a new writing workshop with a new age group. Last week, I went into the library to “sell” the workshop and I got my first introduction to my potential writing group of 12 to 14 year olds. I think I sold the workshop pretty well, since they kept asking me so many questions. I have a good feeling about this group. All my groups have been great, but not since my elderly writing group have I worked with people who truly wanted to write and be writers, and I have a feeling these kids are all about it. Plus they are all cute as hell.

Anyway, as I had mentioned in the previous post I am posting a few of my exercises I used in my earlier workshop with homeless youth. As I had mentioned before this workshop was a bit different from other Write Around Portland workshops. Most workshops are 8 to 10 weeks, once a week for two hours, these workshops were for two and a half hours for three days. One of the three days we went to watch the Portland center stage’s production of Snow Falling On Cedars. I attempted to create the exercises around the themes in the play but this was not always easy as not every person in the workshop attended the play and vice versa.

One nice ice breaker is to do the storytelling or exquisite corpse exercise but these didn’t work well with these groups so I’ll skip the details, although I think I have written about the exquisite corpse in a earlier post and I will link that up if I find it.  By far what I find works the best with all groups (so far) is the photo exercise. You gather photos and place them on the table ask the students to pick a photo that attracts them and then ask them to write from the perspective of the person in the photo. Depending on what you want the group to get out of the workshop you can be more specific, like write from first person, or third person, or place yourself in the setting, et. Since write around portland is fairly loose of direction and more focused on allowing the writer to explore, I kept it open. I also tell the students that they are welcome to write whatever they want if the prompt or exercise doesn’t work for them, all that matters is that they write.

We also did an exercise called, Dear Pillow: This is where you have the student write to someone they may have never thought of writing too, like a celebrity, politician, family, people living or dead, strangers whomever. This was a very powerful writing for the homeless youth as you can imagine they have people they would like to reach. It was moving to listen to these kids write letters to Obama, Palin, a stranger, just honesty reaching out into the world as if those people could really hear what they had to say.

I have been chronically tired. It is getting aggravating. I have so many projects I want to work on and yet I can’t seem to physically motivate myself to work. It is work to get out of bed! The freaky thing is that I have been sleeping, but my energy level is incredibly low. I even exercise. All this dither means I can’t write on this post any longer tonight. It’s long enough as it is, right.

Just a blurbed update

Just a brief check in.

I had my final workshop with New Avenues for Youth, today. It was a really good workshop considering that I only had three youth this time and considering two of them didn’t seem like they wanted to be there. In fact there was some laughter involved. That was big. Anyway, I will share some of the exercises I came up with as I know every once in awhile I get someone traveling past my blog that has an interest in such things. And I have it logged- FOREVER or until I erase my entire blog. Next week I will work with middle school children which will be a huge shift from working with homeless youth. It should be educational for me since I have never worked with kids as young as twelve or thirteen before, and it will be two times a week versus once a week, for six weeks.

I’m a little tired this evening so I’m just going to post a couple of pulp fiction covers that I “borrowed?” from this site. I posted a couple of others on my other blog.

Covers like this make me happy

Love IT!

When my book is published I want this to be my book cover even though it is not about strippers. As long as it says, ” until the corpse chilled the show.” That would make me happy.

Egads- From the web to the workshops, I have no idea what I’m doing

You ever get the feeling you were born in the wrong era? I think I have that feeling on a near daily basis, that along with the feeling I am an alien deposited on this earth and left behind like E.T. only I look like everyone else, so, it’s just confusing.

I finally got my RSS feed set up. Not that I know why really. I had someone that read my poetry blog mention that he had wanted to subscribe. I watched a tutorial on how to do it and now, there it is, on the right, all orange, and with bent stripes. It totally freaks me out. First off, I don’t know why anyone in their right mind would subscribe to this or any of my blogs, and secondly, does this mean I need to keep up, you know stay on top of updating because I just don’t think I can handle that kind of pressure. I don’t mind the idea of people stumbling across my ramblings and then moving on, but subscribing, that’s different. For wanting to be a published writer I have some issues with publicly sharing my writing. I am torn between recluse and…uh… whatever the alternative is, not opposite, but alternative. So why set it up? I don’t know! But I did, the orange box is there, and I have more potential to be seen. Perhaps my alien parents will see the signal and come back for me. Man, what I wouldn’t do for some Rieces Pieces and a portable player- simple those 70’s and early 80’s.

Anyway…

I had my writing workshop these past two days. I ended up having about seven or eight youth come to the workshop and two staff members sat in, one from Outside In and the other from New Avenues for Youth. The staff were both interns, so its funny because they like to pick my brain, and ask me questions; like I know what I am doing. I don’t. Sure, I have volunteered for the writing workshops for about three years now, but I don’t have a degree so the interns most likely know far more than I ever will, but still, I can talk big. God, I think it has actually been almost four years. I have one more workshop with homeless youth and then in a couple of weeks I will be doing a 6 week workshop with middle school children. This age will be new for me. I have no idea what to expect. Adults are much more appreciative vocally than kids. With kids you never know if they like the experience, and let’s be honest, they take it a bit for granted. Where as adults, they are pretty grateful, especially if they come from or live in a marginalized environment. Kids, the only way to tell is if they come back, although homeless youth can be even more difficult to tell because they often leave half way through the workshops, but really that is just part of the demographic. I gave up trying to figure out if I was doing a good job or not. I come prepared do the best I can, and give all the energy I have, and then I just have to let go of it. If people ask how it went, I usually shrug, because that is all I know.

Today, in a meeting while getting prepped for my new group, I was introduced as the youth guru. This is mind-blowing for me. I mean seriously, youth guru? I just shake my head. I don’t get it. It had made me think of the first time I had worked with youth about four years ago. I had worked in a halfway or transitioning home for girls. I had really like them, and oddly enough one of them was on the bus with me today. I hadn’t seen her in four years. She’s probably 18 now but, I am not allowed to speak to her. At least I can not address her, you know say, “Hi I was your volunteer facilitator four years ago, how are you”. If she were to talk to me I could answer, but I am not permitted to go up to her. It was difficult. Inside I wanted to know how she was and what she was doing in her life, but I couldn’t. We had eye contact, and I worried and hoped that she’d recognize me. I smiled because I couldn’t help it, and she smiled back in that, “oh a stranger smiled at me” way, but then her face dropped, sort of like a perplexed shadow. She recognized me or something but couldn’t place me or wasn’t certain. Then I got off the bus. That’s they way it has to be. Still, it is weird. You have to remain disconnected. I don’t know, maybe that is why I always feel like I have no idea how a workshop goes because of the distance and the disconnect. Thing about my first group: those girls all chipped in together and got me a plant, an Anthurium. I still have it. I’m very proud of it, she has bloomed yet another year, and her leaves have grown to the size of my hand. I guess if I could have said anything to the girl it would have been to say that I still have the plant, and it still makes me proud.

Preparing a new workshop while dealing with submission rejection

Last night was another late night up writing. Next week I start volunteering again with Write around Portland. The organizations I am working with are New Avenues for Youth, Outside In, and Portland Center Stage. I just finished putting together the outline for the 3 day workshop and sent my curriculum out. This workshop we will watch and discuss the play Snow Falling on Cedars, playing here in Portland, Oregon. The format of the workshop is similar to the workshop I did back in the fall with the play Ragtime. I never know how many students I will have until the day arrives.

I was up late last night because I found out that Glimmertrain rejected my submission. I tried not to get discouraged or wallow in any of the negative feelings that come with getting rejected. I worked some more on the story, making more changes. Now after thinking about it a bit I feel like, there is still more work I need to do. I changed the ending and I will most likely change the title. Perhaps, it was a good thing I am not getting published because the story still needed some work. I also looked up other places where I can submit.

I am moving through the motions of “writer”. I shrug off the rejection and resubmit elsewhere, but really it is all a façade to how I feel. I have thought a lot about what it is to be a writer and why I do it; why I try to identify with the title and role of the writer, why I feel the need to be published or to have anyone read my work at all. In truth, I don’t believe I have what it takes to be a published writer. I don’t mean my  writing skills or talent, I mean the tenacity and the chops that you need to make it in this competitive world. I didn’t have the pertinacity or drive to sell myself as an actor as a writer I am no different. I don’t take criticism well from my friends, I can’t appease the intellectual and academic writers that I admire, and give far too much credit to, and I don’t believe I have much of a readers market. When I am writing, I don’t think of my audience in the sense of what market they are in. I don’t write to youth or to 30 somethings or to a genre. In earnest, I don’t care to write to appease a market. I do want people to be able to understand, I want to communicate and write clearly, but ultimately, I write they way I think the story wants to be told, I write how I feel, how I want to be spoken with and to. I hope that I can communicate with people of many different ages and backgrounds, I don’t try to target. I don’t want to target. I only share my stories with one person, and that person is someone I trust to be gentle, loving and genuine with my work, something I need far more than criticism, because no one can tear me apart as well as I can, and if you are particularly snide, I can top it 100% and the damage to myself is too severe. My one reader asks questions in a way that is so engaging and invested that I am open to see where changes need to take place to make my story better and stronger. With all this information I should probably give up completely on being a published writer. One thing I do know is that I should give up on ever being rewarded with an income as a writer. I need to find something that I love that can help me to survive and allow me the time I need to write, but It isn’t going to be writing. So why bother to try and publish, if I don’t want acceptance, can’t take criticism , don’t write for a market, and don’t expect to get published? This may sound strange, maybe a little sad even, but it is the real truth behind my desire to share my writing. When I create a character, when I finish a story, I feel kind of lonely. Like I just made this thing, this being, and now it is going to die alone in some trunk or in between the torn pages in a journal, wasting away in some computer file. It makes me sad, having this little piece of me just invisible and alone. I guess I just want to touch someone and share a story that I believe is a small part of the human condition that we all have in common. It is a separate thing from who I am in my daily life. My person is surrounded by people, but my characters and my stories are only loved by me and my one reader, but this is kind of like being loved by your parents, of course they love you they created you. But, the stories… they want to go out and touch the world they want to leave home. In that context it makes sense why I am so protective, my stories are my children, they are all I have to offer to the world, they are my contribution.

It’s a little much, and overly sensitive, I am aware of this, but I have to accept myself for who I am as I am in order to play in this competitive and often cynical world. I think knowing or accepting that there may never be a monetary reward or accolades, makes the publishing processes a little easier, but at least my stories are going out into the world, and that is going to have to be enough for me.

Sunday is Not My Day of Rest

For my writing job, I had to interview a woman who is a clothing designer. One of the questions I had asked was, what was her favorite part of designing? Was it conceptualizing a design the construction and so on. She had said, that she was a project starter but had a hard time doing the rest: meaning her favorite part is conceptualizing. I didn’t interrupt, but I wanted to say, “oh man me too!” The big difference between myself and the woman, who I had interviewed, is that I don’t just have a hard time with the follow through, I just don’t follow through. I have nothing to hold me accountable for my dreams so it is easy to let them slide and wallow in time passed and things left undone.

So, I’m back to conceptualizing and so far I have managed to do two days toward my many, oh so many, goals for my life. It all centers around the goal of being a full-time fiction writer and a part-time… uh… I’ll get back to you on that, but there are some ideas. Right now my driving force is money. Money rules the gaddamn world. It’s enough ta make ya puke. I make pretty low on the pay scale, but on the flexibility and great co-workers scale, you can rarely get higher. It is tough looking for work and I’m not interested in going back into an office so that means more hours at the retail job. I’ve upped my time to six days a week leaving Sunday as my only day of rest. Only, it is not my day of rest, it is my day of writing.

My daily goal is to rise at 8:30 ( I know it is not early, but if you knew me, really knew me, you would know 8:30 is my hell) get dressed and start writing for an hour than head to work. After work I return home and write for an hour. Then reading, I have to read everyday. That gives me two hours of writing a day, not much but not bad. So that leaves Sunday for the bulk of my writing, and everything else that I had not been able to take care of during the week. This of course is basic house stuff, laundry, going for my once a week run (I have to do something) and doing more writing. There are other things. I have the workshops coming up so I need to start prepping for those, and I have thought about grad school for some time now and it is about time I start looking into some places with serious conviction. And, I need to get another writing gig, something small and easy that can help with just a little more dough. I know this is boring to read about, but this happens to be where I am right now. My small social life is pretty much vanquished at this moment, but I’m okay with that, I have been social enough. It is time for conception to turn to construction.

Read no Write

I wonder, in how many of my post, I have started by saying, “I have not written in a while.” I’m getting a little sick of repeating myself. I mean, who the hell am I talking to anyway? Mainly, me right? I didn’t know I hadn’t written in a while? I have been so unaware of me not writing that I have to point it out to me? “Hey me, did you notice you haven’t written or even posted?” Do you understand the madness?

I’m sick of the dreary weather. I say this every year. Funny thing is the winter has been somewhat mild, but it doesn’t matter, I’m sick of it. I guess, it may be the fact that the summer I spent in Canada was mostly grey and wet. Not to mention, I feel the effect of cloud cover and grey. Instinctively, I believe I should be hibernating, not moping around the planet.

Anyway, my reading time has been up. I finished a Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Night and I’m starting a new book called Dawn (the second book in the trilogy by Elie w) I’ve done plenty of writing for the store blog. I had my first interview or I guess I should write, I interviewed someone. I have another one coming up in February. Things will soon get busy again since I will start working with the kids again. I’m booked doing the writing workshops from the end of January till the end of March.

I’ve been research geeking out (oh if only people would pay me for that!) A friend gave me a copy of Knowledge Magazine and I read an article about real-life stories of the Holocaust. I went to the Holocaust website project: Voices of the Holocaust, last night, and read a few of the transcripts. Since, I am reading Elie Wiesel, I am emersed in stories from the Jewish Holocaust, and no matter how many I read, I never stop being shocked at the level of cruelty and the level of human survival. It is a constant fluctuation between loving and being wondrously amazed by human kind and abhorring it.

Right now I can say, novel schpovel. I have no idea if I’ll finish that son of a bitch. I swear. I need my own planet so I can stop comparing myself to the wunderkind writers that pop up and exist, because until I do I don’t think I’ll finish anything. Except one short story.

Back to the Novel

All that huffing and puffing in procrastination has finally done its job, I fooled myself into working on my novel. YES my reverse psychology has paid off. Or maybe it was that plea I gave myself the other day,”come on Adrienna, just one hour you can at least give yourself one hour of work.” One hour turned into three. There was research involved, but I can honestly say, to myself, that it was all pertinent to the book. In fact, I ended up creating a fuller more descriptive view of a train station which also carries the first impressions of the place that Annabelle, the protagonist, gets of the new city. I’m also learning more of what the book is about. I still don’t really know, I mean, I know what happens, I already wrote the events, but there is more under all the words. So weird, you’d think I would know what I’m writing about wouldn’t you? I suppose all I would be able to say to someone at this point is that it is not formulaic, it isn’t a sub-genre of fiction, like fantasy or mystery, it’s just about real people, set in a real time, living with real challenges and fears. The challenges and fears may be a little odd or surreal even, but no vampires or suspense. It might be boring. I shrug.

The most important thing to say about it, at this point, is that I am working on it again. Five pages, three hours, wow, but whatever.

On a side not, the other day I used hurley burley correctly in a sentence, and I was about as proud of myself as when I used the term, unbearable lightness. It’s strange, but a rare sentence off the cuff can thrill me to no end. I think to myself, “holy shit, I wrote that! All that reading does come in handy!”

Thy Fruits of Procrastination

I haven’t been writing. What a shocker. Blah! I feel zapped. Not Scott Baio Zapped, the bad zapped. My ability to write, and create has just vanished. I’m complacent, the worst thing for a writer, I think. Or maybe just me. I wonder how many times I’ve blogged about not writing. Hmm, I should go back and count, that would be something I can add to the procrastination list. I should try some reverse psychology on myself. I should intend to procrastinate, and then, perhaps, I would accidently stumble across my novel, and procrastinate my procrastination. I don’t know what my problem is, lack of motivation I guess. Still, at least, I’m getting to that Smithsonian project I’ve been wanting to do for years.

I know, sounds tremendous. It isn’t. I have stacks, and stacks of Smithsonian magazines. I haven’t read through them all. I have too much stuff. Must eradicate. Anyway, I can’t just throw them away, there are articles I want for research, ideas, and just general knowledge. So, I’ve started pulling out the articles that appeal or interest me, and putting them into a writing folder. It is not necessarily the most interesting blog post to read, but hell, I did come across some fascinating information.

• The first copy machine was invented by Chester Carlson, in 1959. He came up with the idea in 1937. A copy machine maker may not seem like an interesting tale, especially for a machine that so many of us use, and don’t even think about until it doesn’t work, but Chester Carlson, who slept on dirt floors as a child in abject poverty, knew that his ticket to success was as an inventor. He became a very rich man, but he lived humbly, and gave away most of his money as a silent philanthropist. he supported organizations like the civil rights movements, giving millions to the United Negro foundation, Cal Tech, The Fellowship of Reconciliation, and so many more.

• In WWII the U.S. military made an aircraft that looked like a flying pancake.

• The ceremonious Olympic lighting of the torch began during the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, hosted by Hitler’s, Germany.

• William Tell (I felt a bit like an idiot and completely Americentric. I blame the U.S. media for my ignorance, and culturally centered views. It’s all about pointing fingers. I also blame Williams Burroughs for his tragic William Tell routine) I had no idea William Tell was not an American hero. Stupid I know. In fact, he belongs to the Swiss. His legend is central to the Swiss sense of national origin. All ignorance aside, the big secret is: shhh there is debate that the person known as William Tell, may never have existed at all, but don’t tell the Swiss.

• They are making a Dracula Theme Park in Romania.*

• An article on new technology, on the study of mummified remains, caught my eye. Not because of the amazing technological way they have of scanning the body for information, and therefore never causing damage by doing invasive autopsies, that is pretty cool, but more cool than that: they found a mummy from 18th century Philadelphia. Soon after the person was buried water had seeped into the casket, and through a natural process of what they called hydrolysis working on the body fat, the body turned to soap. Soap. You can still see his knee-high stockings.

Someday this will all pay off.

*Update- as far as I can tell the Dracula Theme park is on hold, perhaps even for good, but not completely dead. ( Like the legend)

Procrastination list

Suddenly feel the urge to clean my room (after all too much clutter is not conducive to writing).

Color code my closet.

Not clean my room just look at it, and think about how much it needs to be cleaned.

Go get some coffee.

Socialize in person.

Talk to everyone on the phone, even people I don’t want to talk to.

Research: When looking up info on the movie Boys Don’t Cry, (this was triggered by watching, This Film is Not Yet Rated, because the film received an NC-17 rating) through a series of links, I found that the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act, the HCPA, the act that amends the U.S. hate crime legislation to include crimes based on bias of sexual orientation and gender, along with amending the law that hate crimes are only protective when a person is voting, was finally signed into a law by President Barak Obama on October 28, 2009. This is the first law to extend legal protections to transgender persons. Important and good information although not applicable to my novel, still I am placated by the knowledge that this is necessary and positive to know about legislation in regard to civil liberties and protections.

Eat.

Rearrange my netflix que

Eat more.

Grooming- grooming takes ages- like brushing my teeth can turn into an hour process.

More research, but for my writing project of course: When researching a Norwegian born character for my book Zizkov, I found that Norway was once small petty kingdoms that had been united by Harald Fairhair in 872 CE after the Battle of Harsfjord. I don’t think my character, 24 year old Endres, raised in the 80’s and 90’s, would care to be knowledgable in his own history, yet, I felt compelled to keep reading. Writing- zero.

Alphabetizing books.

Looking up word definitions (I convince myself this is useful in my writing).

Talking about writing.

Reading about writing.

Reading blogs about writing.

Even more eating.

Research: An urge to know when and how John Lennon and Yoko Ono met, eventually lead to Paul McCartney, and then Heather Mills. Ew, I shiver, and not because she is attractive. Not important information just celebrity gossip that holds absolutely no worth in my writing, but what a great procrastination tool celebrity gossip is, my brain melts as does my vocabulary.

Doing work for my job that pays in an attempt to get ahead of the game so I can spend more time writing, but never getting around to writing.

My other two blogs

This blog

The Inviting Desire show has Ended, and this post actually has pictures.

Now that the show, Inviting Desire is over, I feel I can start to look back on it as the adventure it was. Not even a year ago, when I was so broke I was getting ready to move because I could no longer afford the rent, I thought to myself, “Can’t I just get a job in theatre doing what I went to school for?” Then right after I checked craigslist and found a job for a PA for a new theatre company. I didn’t get the job, but about two months later Eleanor contacted me, told me about a part that needed to be filled and I auditioned. Mind you, I had not acted in about eight years, and a play about female sexual fantasies was not exactly what I had imagined when I was studying Ibsen.

A month later we did a two week performance in Portland, Oregon, and then in July, we packed into an RV and toured the Canadian fringe. I blogged about most of the trip while on the road, but I had never mentioned the final show. We had been booked in what was called the Laugh shop. It was a stand-up comedy stage not good for an ensemble cast of four with movement. We got terrible reviews in Edmonton (the other city reviews loved us) yet we still packed the house every night selling out most of our shows. Our last night was on a Saturday at noon, and we had to break down, and head out of town; personally I was ready to be done.

Three months later, back in Portland, and doing our separate things, Eleanor asked the cast back one last time to really have a final show. Eleanor had an erotic open mic at the Portland shows, this could turn out interesting or… well, this one guy and his girl brought in fire and wanted to burn each other for pleasure in front of the audience. Eleanor jumped up yelling, “You can not bring fire into a theatre!” So the theatre, thankfully, did not burn down, even so I was near the exit doors. It was good to perform two last times, and I will say I had my best performances those final nights. In the acting world I would say, I nailed it, but I am pleased, overjoyed, and delighted to be able to say adieu.

We traveled in Betty, the RV, our home where we sometimes entertained guests. This is in Winnipeg with John and Nancy, two of the many actors we met while touring. Johnny’s show Grimmer than Grimm moved on to Edmonton where we met up with him later but Nancy’s show, No Exit Upstage,  that she wrote and acted in, ended in Winnipeg.

Winnipeg had an Awards show called the Jenny’s. That night Inviting Desire won for sexiest show at the fringe. I’m sitting with John Hefner another actor who wrote his own show called the Hefner Monologues.

I loved Winnipeg. The city is split in half by the Red river, similar to Portland actually, and on one side of the river people all speak English on the other French. This photo was taken in French town after finishing a plate of poutine: pomme frites drenched in gravy and goat cheese.

Calgary’s fringe was small, just thirty shows compared to Winnipeg’s 135, but we still had a great time meeting actors, performing, and watching shows. Here Mary and I are with Sean Bowie who wrote and acted in Drunken Fucker; a show that just came and performed here in Portland.

Tanya’s favorite haunt (Besides a Vietnamese restaurant) in Calgary was a little bar called Swans. They couldn’t make mixed drinks to save your life so if ever visiting Swans (and I’m talking coke and whiskey mixed) stick to beer.

We are saying good-bye to Calgary before heading to our final stop Edmonton.

In Edmonton I had more time to meet and interact with some of the outdoor performers. Here is a guy named Piper and yes he is balancing on a skate board, on a box on a table on a trunk while juggling knives. To get down he would first drop the knives then ease off jumping with the skate board, and landing perfectly on his board.

These gals are from the Ariel Angles and as you can guess from the name they did tricks high in the air.

There were 150 acts going on in Edmonton, and we had to hustle to get people to come see our show. One of our bits was to go into the beer tents to sing, Storm Large’s song, My Vagina is 8 miles wide. I am so thrilled beyond expression that I never in my life have to sing that song again.
I’m certain I wrote about it in an earlier post but I loved Steel Wheels, a pizza place owed by a Korean family. The food was a mix of every thing, but we loved the KimChee soup and the dumplings. One night while there a Korean film crew came in and bought us Korean pizza and shots of soju to drink and eat in front of the camera while yelling, “We love soju.” That footage is somewhere in the internet world.

Some Shots from the show:

And the final bow-