Now that's a mission statement

There's a new Center for Future Storytelling at MIT.  Their mission?  To "keep meaning alive."

I'm not kidding.

For the record, I don't think traditional storytelling is on its last breath. Not in the slightest. 

 I think this because my son sprawled on the couch reading 1984 last night. "This book is awesome," he said, and then we got into a discussion about Oceania and who and what it controls. The other week, I heard belly-laughs emanating from the basement. The culprit? Slaughterhouse Five.  Yes, he plays Guitar Hero and other video games. He reads mostly for AP English, not for fun. He's a typical technology-laden boy. But when he does read, he responds to literature with a keenness that tells me story RULES.

There's also today's post at GuysLitWire about a thirteen-year-old's lasting impression of reading Philip K. Dick on a camping trip.  My favorite line? "The whole of Dick's work wobbles between modern day prophet and bat-**** crazy.

I'm all for new ways to tell stories. I just don't think that means that the old ways are dead.

Retreat Musings: Alone Time

One of the hard facts about writing is that you do it alone. You can have a fabulous critique group, an understanding family, maybe even an astute agent and/or a kind editor. None of that helps when it's just you and the blank page.

On the retreat, many of us craved alone time. Little kids, day jobs, distractions...we were leaving them behind, temporarily. We were holing up in those lovely cabins and a-write, write, writing, bay-beee!

Only, that didn't quite happen. Turns out there's only so much alone time a person can stand. And that writing, while solitary, demands engagement with the world. How to find the balance?

I did spend a lot of time alone on the retreat. I kept the shades to my cabin windows pulled. I drafted new material for my manuscript under revision, which made me happy, but dang it, that manuscript didn't say thank you or even good job, sweetie. It looked at me greedily like I was a fading light source and it was a pulsating black hole.

That's when I crept out, in search of company. I joined the afternoon critique sessions, which turned out to be the ultimate motivator. Wow! My fellow retreaters were kind listeners. They were funny. They were lyrical. They were brave. They were wild (yee haw!)

I learned so much from hearing them read their work aloud. About rhythm, and structure and voice. I dared read a piece of my novel-in-verse-in-progress. They demanded that I write more of it---the next day! (So yeah, they were more powerful than that black hole.) But I did. I wrote more, for them. And it woke me up to the simple power of what happens next? in story-telling. We write alone, but we create story to be shared.

Thanks, Cassandra and Anne Marie and Alma and De and Loree and Katy and Kristy and Linda and Kathy and Tanya!

(More photos and words from De here)