May 1 newsletter

Stand up; 'telephone booth' prompt; re-cap of April Q&A...

Phish in concert, Seattle, April 14th

We finished off our road-trip with back-to-back Phish concerts. Two nights in a row, EVERYONE—from those on the floor, up to all who were in the rafters of Climate Pledge Arena—was standing. ALL NIGHT! Dancing. Yes.

I’m generally prepared for a bit of a battle when it comes to standing while listening to music. Even for bands for whom people rise to their feet for the opening song or two, usually by song three too many are back in their seat.

But those two evenings made me think about this: what is it that causes people to stand, to be with the musicians, throughout the evening? It wasn’t just that it’s music you can move to. Although it was and is. And that does make it easier to get up! But many bands play music-to-stand-to, and their audience remains unmoved.

When you stand while listening to live music, you experience it differently: you feel the music within your body—and not just the bass You hear and listen differently—though that might be the piece about not falling asleep in a chair at the end of another long day. And it’s pretty rare to see a musician sitting while working on stage—except for some physical need on their part. So there’s some solidarity in standing with them; maybe that’s a part of this, too. Whether or not it’s particularly “dance-able” is not all this is about. The move to stand is almost involuntary at the outset of a concert. In this case, observing, the audience seemed tireless. Noteworthy, too, their focus. They were with the performance, participating.

After an intermission, they returned, and this time the standing seemed involuntary.

I was left wondering about how this connects with writing and reading.

What would move and keep your reader emotionally and mentally “on their feet” while reading?

Do you feel “on your feet” while writing? The kind of energy we put into our work carries through to the reading experience. It might start with a mental note-take to begin—to pause and think about this: where am I at? I’m not suggesting you write standing up—though some do. (And if you do, I hope you comment and share on that!) But at the least, a mental “stand.”

That means not using lazy, sit-down words—the “go-to-s” that pop too easily into your head. It means hearing your characters speak in their own voices (and it takes effort and energy to allow others into your head, to get into theirs, to listen). It means trying to see from new points in the work, whether fiction or non, poetry or whatever.

Again, it’s that ‘paying attention’ I speak of at times. It means paying attention to whether the story and/or characters is pulling you in a direction you either don’t want to go, or haven’t noticed… until now.

It means heeding when you think you’re “done” with a project, and still some voice keeps niggling.

I’m at the point with a picturebook at which I leave it, in hard-copy form, nearby. It’s on the coffee table, and if I go out, I toss it in my pack with a pen. It’s 600 words long… and I keep thinking it’s finished. But then something else comes to mind. I need the actual paper and pen at this point; I need to see it taking shape.

It’s now filled with scribbles and needs a clean-up and a re-print. It’s been a couple months of work—with no change in word count. This is the nature of short pieces, that get reduced. And reduced again. But the hours go in as they need to. There’s a part of me that’s consistently working at this one… Stand up, and pay attention.

Dance a little, too.

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Thank you

To new readers and subscribers. With the advent of Substack “Notes,” we’ve had a few more readers for the Unschool. Welcome! Know that each first of the month post is a potpourri, followed by the posting of a prompt thread… watch for it, and post work, comments on others’, or enjoy the lurk, and return for next month’s.

And an extra ‘thank you!’ to those who’ve chosen to go paid. Without you, the Unschool doesn’t happen.

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Questions

It’s been so useful to hear your questions! Thank you to those who posted theirs. I’m still working my way through, and posting responses. Add your questions to this post, as I’m still following up, and will be for awhile.

When I wrote about the possibility of finding publishers or agents at conferences, someone asked for me to put together a list of good ones. This is a tough one for me, as I really do not want to recommend anything I’ve not experienced myself.

So I’m going to ask for your help with this.

If you’ve attended a GREAT conference—or know of one (the word of close friend, let’s say!)—please add the name and location in the comments, and a few words about what makes it solid. Here, close to Vancouver, we have the Surrey Writers’ Conference, many years running. I’ve taken part in it once, and attended a few times. Do read through the site carefully; in the post, I speak to how agents and editors will often have a window of time for contact post-conference. But ASK about this; conferences can change. (I’ve just looked through the site, for e.g., and see no notes about this.)

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Prompt for May

I spotted this on the very first walk of the road-trip.

Weeks later, flying along an Oregon rural highway, we spotted an abandoned phone booth with a mannequin taking a call! Of course, I wish we’d stopped, gone back, and taken that pic.

But let your imagination go with this. Tell us a phone booth story. Old, or back in the day, mannequin or not.

Interpret in any way that works for you.

Here’s something like a story:

My first writing instructor had a strongly held belief that it was just wrong to sell your work. In retrospect, I suspect that rejection had done her in. I get that.

But she did cause us—the class—to feel that there was something wrong with us if we wanted to publish. She used the word “prostitution.”

Her stance made me question my desire to publish, to share me work… even as I worked hard to correct typos with my 13.5 pound portable typewriter, and come up with clean copy to slip inside an envelope, with the old SASE. Those twice-over stamps cost me. And those moments, so many of them, of reaching into the mailbox, seeing my own name, written in my own hand, returning home—a prodigal you want to deliver a swift kick to…

One day someone asked me about the publishing thing, and I said that writing that isn’t shared feels too much like standing in a phone booth with no quarter to push into the slot.

An analogy that no longer carries, as we no longer have phone booths, and don’t generally need quarters… at least, not until you’re in a campervan, and on the road for almost six weeks, and need to do laundry!

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Poll - music or silence?

Let’s create a writing-song-and/or-tune-list. Include your favourites in the comments:

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Re-cap of April posts

I was three weeks into the road trip when I posted the April 1 potpourri newsletter, with its accompanying prompt for “travel tales.”

(If you care to see, I had to update the photos for these posts, using my own from the national/state park travel. It just seemed wrong to be using Unsplash pics for this!)

The monthly poetry discussion was opened to all subscribers, on the fourth chapter of Annie Finch’s A Poet’s Craft.

And the Q&A! Here are the answers to date, and I’m working on the others…

Thank you for posting and emailing. I hope they continue to come in. You can email me: alison@alisonacheson.com or leave in the comments here.

#1 Seeking “flow” in second draft

#2 Finding ideas for fiction

#3 Finding an editor to work with you on your manuscript

#4 Do you need an agent? An alternative…

#5 Being “all over the place” in genres/forms/subject matter

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From the archives:

Always useful, a primer on dialogue punctuation —

Use the indexes to find old posts. (If you click on the “Unschool for Writers” at top of page of any piece, you’ll be taken to the homepage; in the lower right hand corner, you’ll find the three indexes for ’21, ’22, and ’23.)

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A ‘market’ reminder

For short fiction, do check out Substack’s Short Story. The pay has grown, and is now at about $500 each month. Good to see what the editor is doing here. AND he’s opened up a Substack poetry journal—same deal, so lets see it grow, too.

No entry fee beyond a subscription. But once the subscription is paid, you’re able to sub work without a fee for the rest of the year. A year’s sub rate is$60 US/year or $5/month.

April Statistics

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Happy Spring Writing!

Peace—

Alison