Ron Carlson Writes a Story

Barbara DeMarco-Barrett, host of Writers on Writing, welcomed writer Ron Carlson to her podcast this morning. Ron is the director of the MFA/Fiction Program at the University of California, Irvine, and was one of our workshop leaders at the Squaw Valley Writers’ Workshops this summer. Barbara and Ron discussed his new book, RON CARLSON WRITES A STORY.

During the interview, Ron said stories are created in the dark, and that we as writers must tolerate their ambiguity and trust our instincts when putting words to paper. He also said it’s important that writers stay with the writing, even when it feels substandard – a challenge he too finds daunting. He illustrated this point by stating when he gets stuck, he sometimes gets up from his chair and leaves the room, then wanders into another room – invariably the kitchen – to pour a cup of coffee and pray a sentence will emerge. Better to sit tight and work it out, he maintains -- dance with the desk what brung ya.

Tomales Bay Writers' Workshops

I returned last night from the Tomales Bay Writers’ Workshops, held at the Marconi Center in Marshall, California. The workshops entailed five days of intensive work with writers of fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Howard Norman, author of THE BIRD ARTIST, led our group of twelve. He’s not only an accomplished writer, but a great reader too, and he’s got a terrific sense of humor.

The days were full and the work strenuous, but tasty meals offset the rigors. And the setting was surreal – pebbled paths and Monterey pines, lace-lichen flowing from their branches.

Tomales Bay is a nature-lover’s Neverland. I spotted a buck and four does, one jackrabbit, two red-shouldered hawks, five California quail, five turkeys, a handful of downy woodpeckers and scrub jays, and several dozen hummingbirds, which I took for resident Annas. One evening a strange bird called from outside my window, and moments later a great horned owl replied. The next morning Howard said he’d heard it too, that the unfamiliar bird was a saw-whet owl. One afternoon, while hiking a trail beneath a dense canopy of bay laurels, some sixth sense kicked in, prompting me to halt and immediately turn around. The habitat had the feel of mountain lion country, and though a cat never appeared, I would not have been surprised to see one – or find my head lodged inside its mouth!

I'm home now, eager to tackle the work. Howard and my workshop-mates have inspired me to keep writing and keep striving, and above all, keep the faith.

Bird Artists and Book Towns

Off to the Tomales Bay Workshops tomorrow, where I (and 11 other workshop-mates) will receive tutelage from Howard Norman, author of THE BIRD ARTIST, a novel featuring an artist who murders the village lighthouse keeper in 1911’s Newfoundland. Michiko Kakutani, of The New York Times, calls the book “Bewitching…glows like a night light in the reader’s mind.” Mr. Norman asked that we bring along a favorite work (written in first person), and I have chosen Paul Collins’ SIXPENCE HOUSE, which Publishers Weekly calls “Witty and droll.” The book jacket states: “Paul Collins and his family abandoned the hills of San Francisco to move to the Welsh countryside – to move, in fact, to the village of Hay-on-Wye, the ‘town of books’ that boasts fifteen hundred inhabitants and forty bookstores. Inviting readers into a sanctuary for book lovers, SIXPENCE HOUSE is a heartfelt and often hilarious meditation on what books mean to us.”

Here is a taste:

I have never noticed the view from the Flatiron Building before. Manhattan, if you tilt your head just right, is a strangely compelling piece of sculpture.

“It’s a good thing,” my editor says, “that your book isn’t being published just now.”

“Oh?”

“Because” – he leans forward – “Harry Potter used up all our paper.”

“You’re joking.”

“Seriously.”

“No.”

He looks at me, a little crestfallen. “I’m telling you the truth. There’s two major paper producers for New York publishers, and with a five-million print run of an eight-hundred-page book, well…everybody else has to wait in line.”

I’ll report back next week on the Tomales experience – rumor has it the food is as good as the teaching.

Cattail Fluff is Flying

Northern California is at its best during the month of October. Leaves cartwheel down the street in the clean autumn breeze, and the air smells of earth and eucalyptus. Summer, at last, is closing. Cottonwoods and birch trees lose their leaves; the sweet gums quickly follow. And then a cattail bends and spreads its arms, welcoming the change of seasons.

Red on Yellow, Kill a Fellow

Red on yellow, kill a fellow; red on black, okay Jack. This is a primitive but effective method of determining whether the snake slithering across your path is a coral snake (potentially dangerous) or a Louisiana milk snake (harmless to humans). The coral snake has bright red, black and yellow bands encircling its body, whereas the milk snake has red bands bordered by black bands; hence, the significance of the rhyme. (If a red band touches a yellow band, the snake is likely venomous, but if a red band touches a black band, it’s probably not.)

When we lived on a wildlife refuge in South Texas, we encountered coral snakes regularly (coral snakes don't live in California), and were careful to watch out for them. It’s been 12 years since then, and at least that long since I’ve thought about coral snakes. But the other day, while walking the trails near my home, I encountered a yellow- and black-banded snake, which got my blood going. The snake was thin and small – maybe 14 inches long – and was heading across the trail toward a small pond adjacent to a soccer field. It paused as I approached, so I got a good look at it. As it turned out, I was inspecting a California kingsnake, which, according to californiaherps.com, is usually found in or around water – marshes, ponds, and even brushy suburban areas. It’s harmless to humans, and eats small mammals, frogs, birds, chicks, and even rattlesnakes.

And then yesterday I happened upon a common gartersnake. It too had paused in the middle of the trail, and I thought for a moment it was dead. I had planned to gently nudge it with a stick to see for sure, but before I got the chance it swung in the opposite direction and quickly scurried toward me, prompting heart palpitations and a screech (from me, not the snake).

When I got home, I looked it up, and learned that when handled, gartersnakes often release a “foul-smelling fluid” from the vent near the end of the tail, and that they have a reputation for striking at their handlers. They aren’t dangerous, but their saliva contains toxins which can cause redness and swelling at the site of the bite. This was surprising, as I’d always believed gartersnakes were creatures a kid could catch and play with. Not so. They’re feisty, and not interested in a kid’s interest or affection. Or, apparently, a nosy walker’s.

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