Write About Now

"Did Love Hurt Heloise"

Comment has posted another Q & A mentor interview, this time with Calvin Seerveld, whose work in aesthetics is an inspiration to artists everywhere. His Rainbows for a Fallen World is an essential read.

In the interview, I was particularly charmed by his description of a class on writing pop songs he attended after "being emeritated from teaching philosophical aesthetics to graduate students." He turned the medieval story of Heloise and Abelard into a pop song called "Did Love Hurt Heloise," which the whole class later sung. "...It was entirely satisfying to bring the philosophical world of the 1200s (A.D.) together with a current-day sensibility and show that we humans of all ages are pitifully similar in la gloire et le misère de l'homme."

My own Comment Q & A appeared back in February. It's a pleasure to be in such august company.

Moral Fiction. Seriously.

I once considered titled my blog Snob Appeal, but in the end I worried the moniker didn't fit. Yes, I was a snob, but could I really claim to have an appeal? Probably not. But I'm particularly sensitive to snobbery. Not that I take umbrage; I'm more of a connoisseur. Mary Gordon's talk at the Calvin Festival was very fine in this regard, because she kept addressing her audience as "people who appreciate serious fiction," and contrasting our tastes with those of fundamentalists of every stripe.

The funny thing? This is the text of the article Gordon read, originally published in The Atlantic. I remember reading it -- and appreciating it. The second time around, I had my doubts -- not so much about the premise as the subtext.

The Calvin Haul

You can't attend the Calvin Festival without taking home some books. After declaring that I never stand in line for an autograph, I stood in line to have Michael Chabon sign my copy of The Yiddish Policeman's Union. Stacy Barton is an author I published in Relief #2, so it was a pleasure to pick up her excellent collection of short stories (which my friend Anthony bought at Calvin two years ago). I read Danny Gospel in manuscript and loved it all over again when I heard David read. Lisa Samson gave me a copy of Embrace Me after we had dinner together with Claudia Burney and Chip MacGregor -- she even wrote some nice things inside. After hearing Scott Cairns read, I went straight to the Eighth Day Books booth and bought all four of the books he'd read from: Short Trip to the Edge, Love's Immensity, Recovered Body, and Compass of Affection. I could have come home with many more, but a man has to know his limitations.

The Basement of Enjoyment

"Without a capacity for blaming the sterile, there can be no capacity for praising the vital. Those without a gift for criticism can't be appreciative beyond a certain point, and the point is set quite low, in the basement of enjoyment."

CLIVE JAMES
Cultural Amnesia, p. 127

One of the high points of last week's Calvin Festival of Faith and Writing for me was attending John Wilson's discussion of book reviewing. Wilson, amiable and erudite, is the editor of Books & Culture, making him both a reviewer and a master of reviewers. (His re-cap of the festival is now online.) In the session, he read an essay of Orwell's on book reviewers, then unloaded a stack of prospective volumes onto the table, explaining how he'd approach the problem of reviewing each one -- whether it should be noticed, and if so what kind of notice it should receive (and when), and to whom the review should be assigned. As an inveterate reader of reviews -- a fan of the genre, if you will -- I was in heaven. One thing was clear. In the house of reading enjoyment, Wilson is nowhere near the basement. The task of criticism is a labor of love.

This is sharply at odds with the idea of critics as a bitter lot, working out their spite at the expense of hapless authors whose only crime was to create. It also gives the lie to the notion that critics are, first and foremost, failed or frustrated artists, operating on a hatred for the success of other writers rather than a love for the written word. Wilson was quick to point out that there's little money to be made in book reviewing, especially at the entry level. The only reason to persevere is because you enjoy reading and writing about good books.

Authors, Published Authors, and Multi-Published Authors

Remember the Great Chain of Being? A similar hierarchy exists in the writing world, substituting for animal, man, and God the similarly stratified author, published author, and multi-published author. The terms aren't as self-explanatory as they seem. Authors are people who write. Published authors have a book out. Multi-published authors have several books out. But there is a mighty gulf fixed between author and published author -- and not just any publication will bridge it. For example, you could spend a lifetime publishing short stories in major journals and still not be considered by some a "published author." Sure, you've been published, but not in book form. By the same token, if you publish your own book, the odds are it won't count.

Legitimate publication gets you airborne, but you're still hugging the treeline. Up above the clouds are the multi-published authors. Technically, two books will get you there, but to maintain your altitude it's nice to have four or more, to be releasing new titles regularly.

I have one book out, two coming up in 2010, and two more after that. This means I'm currently a published author on track to become a multi-published author. So I'm not complaining about the hierarchy. I understand why the distinctions are helpful to think about, since most of us would like to make enough money at writing to keep doing it and end up with a shelf of good books at the end of our run. But there's one thing I object to: the terms themselves. They're not meant to sound arrogant, but I think they do. Plus, they are aggressively inelegant, which seems strange for a gaggle of wordsmiths.

Whenever I hear someone say "I'm a published author," it sounds like an expression of insecurity. I don't want you to confuse me with all these wannabes. I'm a published author. Fortunately, I've never heard anyone refer to herself as a "multi-published author" (someone else typically does that for you), but the phrase makes me cringe. It's sort of like the equally awkward "multi-Platinum artist," except that it refers not to awards but to the literary equivalent of albums. Imagine calling a band with two albums out a "multi-recorded artist."

I was explaining all this at the Calvin Festival, chatting with Michelle Pendergrass and Jennifer Tiszai, and one of them asked, "Then what are you going to call yourself when you have multiple books out?" An author, I said. That's hard enough, most days. If someone comes up with less artless terms, I'll consider them. In the meantime, if you ever hear me talking about being a published author or a multi-published author, you have my permission to shoot me.

What We Can Learn from Calvin

My agent is a great guy. One of the great things about him is that, after attending the Calvin Festival (and taking me to dinner with Lisa Samson and Claudia Burney, an unforgettable experience), he jotted down some notes about what other conferences could learn from Calvin. This saves me the trouble of doing it myself. And I quote:

Many of the writers' conferences may not be able to afford to bring in quite so many famous writers, but there are a couple things they could emulate: Have more public conversations with writers. Don't feel you've got to ask a novelist to give a workshop -- many of us would prefer the chance to just sit and listen to them talk, so ask a good interviewer to chat them up in front of an audience. Have more public readings. One of the time-tested events at writing conferences is to have an author show up and read passages from his or her novel or nonfiction book. Why so many contemporary conferences have moved away from this practice is a mystery. Ask academics to participate. There were a number of English professors at this conference, and it raises the level of discussion at a conference. I've been teaching a couple classes in the Professional Writing Program at Taylor University this year, and I've been reminded that profs love the chance to share their materials with someone besides colleagues and students. Use films and music to supplement the lectures. The Calvin conference filled their evenings with four films, three open-mike poetry gatherings, two concerts, a jazz verspers service, and a worship service led by a pastor/author. They also presented a play one afternoon. It wouldn't be too hard to schedule a variety of these types of things at a writing conference that takes place at a college or in a larger city.

This year, it seemed like one of the recurring conversations I had was: "Why is the Calvin Festival better than Conference X, Y, or Z?" The caliber of presenters was one thing, naturally, but Chip hits on the others. Although people often describe Calvin as a festival for readers, it's also a great venue for writers. It reflects the fact that writing is learned, not so much in the classroom, but from reading and thinking about what you've read. Calvin affords a better opportunity to do this than any event I've attended. It's not perfect, but it has plenty to teach.

Why Writers Need Websites

I should have mentioned this earlier, but I've contributed a piece to the Relief Journal blog called "Why Writers Need a Website." Here's a little taste:

It’s 2004. The Art & Soul Conference at Baylor University. I’m in the lobby between sessions, browsing at the Eighth Day Books table. Minding my own business, in other words, in sharp contrast to everyone else. They’re networking. All of them. Somehow they’ve managed to meet up over the course of the event, to learn each other’s names. Not me. I’ve kept to myself. I’m a social moth.

“Hey, aren’t you—”

I turn to find a smiling man at my elbow. People are always saying I remind them of someone. Usually a crazy brother-in-law. I start to say, No, I’m not.

“—Mark Bertrand?”

“No, I’m . . . Oh.” Yes, actually. I am.

“I thought so,” he says. “I read your blog.”

That explains it. At least half the people I know, I met through my blog. Only I don’t usually meet them. Not without planning it in advance. The crazy thing is, for a brief shining moment, I feel like a celebrity. Somebody knows me. Somebody’s familiar with my work.

And the thing is, he’s not the only one. I got an e-mail this week from someone who’d read my book and enjoyed it.

“I’ve been reading your blog for a year and half.”

And then you bought my book. That makes you think, doesn’t it?

For more ironic goodness, follow the link and enjoy.

Book News

The secret is out. I'll have more to say later on, once I've worked through my post-Calvin Festival backlog.

How Do The Heavens Declare God's Glory?

This was originally posted at The Master's Artist back in 2006, following the Calvin Fesitval of Faith and Writing. I've just gotten back from the 2008 Festival, so it seems apropos.

The heavens declare the glory of God. So begins the nineteenth Psalm. Since so many of us conceive of our life calling along similar lines -- bringing glory to God -- it seemed only natural for me at the time to say what I'm about to share. I was at Mick Silva's blog, reading his report on the Calvin Festival, and I came across this comment from Susan Meissner:

We've (myself included) allowed the message to mess with the mechanics 'cause we think it's "the message" that makes the book Christian. Why can't it be the other way around? Why can't it be astounding literary style that points to an astoundingly creative God?

To which I replied: "The heavens declare the glory of God, and if we aspire to something remotely similar for our work, we could learn something from how the heavens do this (and don't)." So far so good. When I went back later, though, I found that Kathleen Popa had left a message for me. "Yes, go on...."

So I'd been caught! I should have known better than to proof text.

Books First, Then Brand -- Not the Other Way Around

Branding. The latest concept to trickle down into the writing world. Every writer now, in addition to writing, must build a brand. Build it and never stray forever after beyond its narrow (though hopefully long) shadow. And how does one build one's brand? You need a motto. Preferably a sentence fragment. In italics.

Like most trickle-down concepts, branding is worth consideration. But when it comes to practical application, there's often something lost in the process. As a result, a lot of really laughable nonsense passes under the banner of branding (like the aforementioned catch-phrases). So what's my formula? It's simple.

Put yourself on the page. Consistently. Find a way to describe the result. Italics optional.

In other words, the brand should emerge from the writing, not the other way around. Write the best you can, and you'll please readers in a particular set of ways. That network of pleasure forms future expectations, and if you deliver on those hopes (that's where the consistency comes in), you get a reputation. Your brand distills that reputation and starts to influence your future choices. If you stop fulfilling on expectations, or fulfill a different set of them, you'll confront the question of whether this helps or hurts your brand.