Blog #8- Kristi DeMeester

When I began my reflection, I thought back to a piece of advice an old teacher once gave me. I had asked her how I could improve my writing. She smiled before swiveling her chair to the large cherry bookcase behind her. She trailed her fingers over the middle row before pulling out a rather hefty volume and passing it to my waiting hands. “Read all you can get your hands on. Good or bad and then learn the difference between the two.”

The book she gave me was Orwell’s 1984, and instead of just reading it, I read it like a writer. Weighing what worked, what didn’t, and wondering how I could use it.

As I’ve progressed in the MAPW program, I’ve noticed that my writer brain is growing more keen, and I can largely attribute this development to the readings for this class. With every book, I found enviable elements and tucked them away for future use.

From Hemingway I take away, “Write the truest sentence you know.” Forcing myself to start somewhere and to let it be true is something with which I struggle. Hemingway taught me that it’s okay to hear the voice of the internal critic, but that it isn’t okay to let her run my writing and to keep me from writing those truths.

From Murden McClure I learned that if I announce I’m going to write in a particular genre, I should most certainly spend most of my time in that genre. Either that or detail why I’ve put a new, refreshing spin on the genre so that my reader doesn’t feel betrayed. Romance, my foot!

Oh, Olive Kitteridge. You taught me so many things. The art of layering multiple perspective around an epicenter so strong yet so fragile became a thing of magic and something I hope to gather the courage to try one day.

What I appreciated about Adiga was his ability to be honest about the reality of a world that many people consider unfathomable. To have the courage to present the reader with a protagonist that he or she will more than likely consider unlikeable demonstrates a bravery and confidence I’d love to have.

Smyth taught me about description. She taught me that flowery language full of verbosity isn’t necessary to create an image that lingers long after the final page is turned. Celia’s world is colored in so expertly, so brilliantly that at several points, Smyth literally took my breath away.

Burberry taught me of the balance between philosophic prose and plot, or at least, she taught me when to err on the side of plot to avoid losing readers within the first 100 pages.

And I come to Conroy at the end. I’m beginning to regret my initial ranking system. I think I was too fresh from reading Hedgehog to fully appreciate the entire scope of readings from the semester. I would put him first. From him I re-claim a fascination with the beauty of language and using it to craft setting and not shirking from violence because even violence has its purpose.

I thank all of you for your discussions, encouragements, and alternate viewpoints. I think I’ll spend the last three weeks of my summer being an absolute bump on a log and well…reading some more.