Alumni Voices with Georgia Beaverson: Butt in Chair

One of the most frequent (and let’s face it, pompous) comments I received from acquaintances when my first novel came out was, “I’ve got a book in me.”

My reaction to this comment varied from puzzlement (Why would this person say that to me at my book launch?) to feeling affronted (Seriously?! You’re an engineer, not a writer.) to boredom (Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard this before.). It was an irritant in all the excitement of getting published. But ultimately, I realized that none of these would-be authors’ declarations meant anything.

Why? Because their books all remained inside them.

To be a writer, you must write. Not just in your head (although that certainly happens, at least to me), but on a page or screen. And doing that involves sitting down at regular intervals to faithfully relate the story given to you. As prolific author Jane Yolen has famously directed, that means “butt in chair.”

Writing, as students of the Hamline writing programs know, is work. It’s a skill that you must practice to improve. For many of us, that means writing on a daily basis.

Why daily? Because the more you practice, the more familiar you become with your tools: words. You learn how they best fit into phrases, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, complete novels. Occasional writing too often results in flaccid, lazy prose. Daily writing results in prose that is strong, fluid, and graceful. Instead of stuttering across a page, words become elegant and storytelling vivid.

That’s when the magic happens (and we all believe in magic, don’t we?). When you write daily, no matter how short a time, the story rises to meet you the next time you sit down, waiting for you and eager to be told. Even when you’re not physically writing, the story bubbles on the back burner of your mind, becoming a delicious stew of character, plot, and pacing. The story becomes a part of your conscious and subconscious mind, ready to pour onto the page (or screen).

Writing is work, yes. Writing is practice, of course. Writing is not something everyone does or even can do. If you are a writer, you’ve given your mind, your hope, your schedule over to telling your stories. You’ve set aside time to get to know your characters just as you set aside time for friends and family.

Do you have a book in you? Prove yourself a writer. Set aside time daily or weekly. Let your story rise to meet you. Let it become a deep part of you. And then, let your story flow onto the page and from there, into the world.

But first, butt in chair.

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Georgia Beaverson is a July 2012 graduate of the MFAC program. She lives in southern Wisconsin.

Faculty Voices with Kelly Easton

Kelly Easton

The decision to become a writer was not an easy one. I had a core belief that the purpose of life was to contribute to others in a direct way. In spending my time writing, I couldn’t help the sniggling feeling that I was contributing, primarily, to myself—to my own pleasure principle.  

Since then, life experiences have changed my perspective. I’ve encountered adults who are learning to read for the first time, and have seen their pride and pleasure in entering the world of stories. I volunteered at an “inner city” school, reading picture books to Kindergarteners. Every morning, I had a line of little boys, each one holding his favorite book, learning to love language and pictures. At another school, I volunteered with “at risk” children in an early childhood intervention program, where I met a three year old boy who I will call Jay. I was told that Jay had an intellectual disability, and severe behavior problems. One day, I brought him over to the bookshelf and asked him to pick out a book. After careful deliberation, he picked out two: Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You! and How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight, by Jane Yolen.

Yolen’s book asks silly questions about how a dinosaur acts when Papa turns out the light: “Does a dinosaur slam his tail and pout?” The Seuss book, of course, discusses Mr. Brown’s ability to moo, buzz, plop, klop, and Cock a Doodle Do. When I finished, I picked up other books, but he would have none of it. He wanted the same books again. By the time I’d read the books four times, he knew to answer the questions in Yolen’s book: “Nooooo” (until the final “Yes!”). And he knew when to make the sounds with Mr. Brown, especially, “Cock a Doodle Do!”

Each day I volunteered thereafter, Jay ran up to me and said: “Cock a Doodle Do!” That meant it was time to read the books.  Soon, Jay knew every word as I pointed to it. He said them along with me. He did not have an intellectual disability. He was reading.

Last winter, I had a rare opportunity to tell an author how she had made a difference. Jane Yolen was our graduation speaker, and I told her the story of Jay, and how much delight he had gotten from her book. As writers, we rarely know the impact we make. Still, rest assured that we can change the world in our own way, especially when we write for children. One book at a time. One person at a time.

Faculty Voices: Marsha Qualey

The MFAC winter residency concluded this past Sunday with a post-ceremony reception, banquet, and entertainment. The high spirits of the final night are always welcome and serve as perfect digestif to the richness of workshops, lectures, intensives that filled the ten days.

Some highlights ...

Our Grads. They have been profiled in our Meet the Grad series, and here's a group shot:

Front row (l-r): Gina DeCiani, Megan Millar, Jeanne Anderson, Miriam Busch, Ashley Lorentz.
Back row (l-r) JJ Austrian, Ellen Kazimer, Shelley Jones, Gary Metivier, Daniel Holly.
Photo courtesy of JJ Austrian.

The announcement of scholarships. Three are awarded at each winter residency.

Randall Bonser was awarded the The Frances and Kermit Rudolf Nonfiction Scholarship,which is a $1,000 annual award given to current students in the program for the most promising manuscript (not already accepted by a publisher) in the field of nonfiction-picture book, easy reader, or a longer nonfiction book. It will be judged on the quality of writing, original research, and innovative format.

Maria Macioce was awarded the $1,000 Jane Resh Thomas Prize in Critical Writing, given to the fourth-semester student who has written the most outstanding critical essay in his/her third semester.

Cheryl Minnema was awarded the annual $5,000 Herman W. Block Memorial Scholarship, given by author Kate DiCamillo and offered to a new student who exhibits significant promise in writing for children and young adults.

And now I must confess a terrible thing: Jane Yolen was again our graduation speaker and again a musical performer at the final banquet, but this reporter has no photo to prove any of it. She even performed a song she adapted for the occasion. You'll have to take my word for it and believe me when I say that she was, in both roles, wonderful.

Being Awesome

One of our students, Dave Revere, gave his lecture on the willing hero. He called it "Being Awesome." That phrase seems to have defined the last couple of days of residency, where all we can do is bask in the awesomeness of our experience and our colleagues. We're way past exhaustion now, but what comes in this place is something oddly close to clarity.

I love it here. I love coming back every six months to this spiritual home. Our theme this residency was setting, and now I'm thinking about this great place, and how it is created by the people in it and the energy around it. Bad food and bad weather just add to the place-y-ness of it--for they just add the depth that make it whole. Besides, without some foibles, this place wouldn't be real, and then where would we be?

It turns out that some of our faculty have talents beyond writing, and while I think this is desperately unfair, it sure makes for a good closing night banquet. They gave us a rousing musical review and our amazing graduation speaker, Jane Yolen, joined in. I'm not sure I'll ever forget the sight of her sprawled on the grand piano, torch-singer style, serenading our graduates.

I leave for home--where apparently I have a husband and child-- feeling energized and inspired by my awesome colleagues--faculty, students, and staff alike. It's such a great privilege to call these people my friends.