what makes writing good

I've got a Pinterest board called "Good Writing and Storytelling." 

 My description: "There's great storytelling and/or writing on this board, and there's some that borders on dreadful, but there's a reason to examine each of these. I found them interesting in the way they fulfilled their purpose... or didn't."

Here's my latest pin on that board: "'Atlanta's Turner Field is dying -- and American Sanity is Dying With It' by Will Bunch at philly.com. Good Storytelling. The writer's passion and indignation are front and center along with impressive statistics and a fresh way of showcasing them. The quality of the writing lags behind the impressive persuasion, but the persuasion trumps the writing here. Well done."

Here's a link to the story itself. 

I started this board on Pinterest as a way for me to examine what makes writing good -- it's what I teach, and it's what I'm always trying to learn. I'm very selective about the links I pin here, so the board has grown slowly. Looking at it now, though, I smile at my own remarks (click on the links below that will take you to each individual Pinterest pin, and then click on the image if you want to read the article that I -- ahem -- assess):

-- Overwriting at its finest. Superlative cliches. Still, I appreciate all the information about Osage Farms in Rabun County, Georgia, as I want to go there soon, and at least this writer's report is thorough.

--  I like this piece in The Atlantic by Michael Agresta, because it's enlightening and informative in its assessment of the failure of The Lone Ranger this summer as well as its tie-in to the Western genre, and the Western's place in American film, myth, dreams, nostalgia. Nicely done.

-- Washington Post to be sold to Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon - The Washington Post. Very well-written in that it gives the reader solid background about both Bezos and The Post, and puts the history of the Post and its sale into context. It also presents the facts of the sale in a cogent, readable fashion. Well done, even though I am bereft....

-- "You kids today have got it too easy. You’re spoiled rotten! You guys wouldn’t have lasted five minutes back in 1980!" hahahaha. 1980. sheesh. But I like the comparisons and the voice. It's not great writing, but the voice and energy carries this little piece about how good kids have it now, compared to the '80s, written by a thirty-something.

And on and on. I hadn't realized that I'd gathered such an eclectic mix on this board until I looked at it of-a-piece today. You can see them all, right here, along with each pin's description, from"Meeting Joan Didion" in The Paris Review to a review of the Opening Ceremonies of the 2012 Olympics in London, to a video clip of Petula Clark singing "Fill the World With Love" in Goodbye, Mr. Chips (and my assessment of how this is great storytelling).

I guess I'll keep it up. Every time I find one of these gems, I learn something. And that's the whole point. I am ever the student.

a flour sack quilt, and what january was for

January was for putting systems into place. I organized and tossed, in my pantry and fridge. I bought fresh and organic. I scoured vegetarian and vegan cookbooks. I tried so many new recipes I got cross-eyed, but found some keepers. Still want to write a book with lots of food in it. Made notes.

Routine has been my friend in January. Oh, how I have missed it. I decided very quickly that I still hate schedules, but I could embrace a routine. Just establishing these routines has taken most of my energy, it seems. But now I've got it down.

 I rise every weekday and head for the page while I'm fresh. I break at some point to begin(or join in making) the midday meal. I cook slowly and mindfully. We eat together. I go back to work. We walk the park. Evenings are for reading and knitting and being with friends and family. Who knew how soothing this could be?

I did. I've always known it. Lived it for a long time, then didn't for a long time, and now I have that chance again.

I've been thinking about how to measure success, or what that even means, when we look at our days and our work. How do YOU measure success? I would like to know.

I didn't make much headway on book two, if you measure success by numbers of new words or chapters or breakthroughs. If I measure by the yardstick of creating a safe, comfortable place to write, researching, going down blind alleys with a new chapter, and sticking with it no matter what... well, that's a big success. I think. My undermind is at work. I can't push the river. I can show up. Something like that.

Nevertheless, I feel vaguely like a failure. Maybe that's why I bought this old flour sack quilt from Kudzu this week. It has been my only indulgence this year, although the year is young. How lucky is it that Kudzu is practically next door to Your DeKalb Farmer's Market?

I found this quilt at the back of a booth at Kudzu, and I spent some time extracting it from its half-hidden corner. As soon as I touched it, I knew I had to have it. Its softness, suppleness, colors and patterns (do you see the cowboy fabric?), its hand-stitching. It was waiting there for me. So I took it home.

And now, on mornings when I rise before Jim, when the house is still cold and I have just turned on the heat, I crawl beneath this quilt with my tea or coffee and my story, which also waits for me so patiently.

I don't know just how to coax it along these days. Or maybe it's me that I need to cajole. Maybe I need to convince myself that I have all the systems I need in place right now, that I can let go of the need to organize everything else and turn my attentions to the task at hand: finishing book two.

I hope February is a month of pushing forward... whatever that means.

good storytelling

Hey there. I want to direct your attention today to the New York Times' annual feature "The Lives They Lived." Usually the Times profiles the famous who have passed away that year, but 2011's subhead is "These American Lives: Ordinary People, Extraordinary Lives."

Not famous, then, but even better, to my mind, the stories of ordinary people. And they are amazing. The one that had me in tears was "Uneasy Rider" by Mike DeStefano, an HIV-positive comedian who died last year. He tells a story about riding his girlfriend (who was in hospice care at the time) on the back of his motorcycle one last time, IV bottle held high, hospital gown flying. An excerpt:

I’ll never do anything that great again. Freakin’ HBO specials, whatever you want to give to me, nothing will be better than that because it was such a deep reckoning within myself that I am not a piece of crap, that I don’t deserve to stick needles in my arm. I am a good person, look what I’m capable of. I’m capable of deep love and commitment, you know? That was my whole life was taking care of her..

Start there, and you can make your way around, if you like. Good storytelling.