May 27th, 2008 bhenricksen
Henricksen’s first rule of writing a memoir is that you better have had interesting experiences, and the second is that you better have something interesting to say about them. You ought to be clear in your mind about why total strangers, not just Mom, should read your little book.
Too many people are writing memoirs. There’s memoir glut. If you haven’t invented the doomsday machine or a cure for death, write letters to your friends. Don’t write a memoir.
But there are exceptions. An old friend of mine from New Orleans, Judy Connor, wrote a wonderful memoir called Southern Fried Divorce. I knew Judy when she sported a different last name, and I picked up her book having heard only that people in Louisiana were enjoying it. Five pages in, I realized that I had known the eccentrics and zanies she was offering up. Read the rest of this entry »
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May 24th, 2008 bhenricksen
Charles Baxter’s The Feast of Love was a finalist for the National Book Award in 2000 and has been made into an excellent film with Morgan Freeman. I’ve just finished reading the novel, finding it charming and moving. Rather than focusing on a single protagonist, Baxter coaxes together a wonderful ensemble of characters, each recounting his or her own amorous tale.
The unifying device is the notion that each character is speaking to the author, Baxter himself, as he seeks out people to tell him about their encounters with Cupid. Baxter is deft in creating the unique voice of each character, and perhaps he’s at the top of his game with the character of Chloe, a latter-day flower child who broke my heart and then put it together again.
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May 19th, 2008 bhenricksen
Lost Hills Books became a reality last December, when the two titles featured on the website arrived from the printer. I promptly sent copies to a person living in my town who writes book news for a magazine. She and I are members of a large, regional writers’ group, and of course I thought I might receive a response. Nope. Recently, I emailed her to ask if the books had been received and if she might be able to mention them in print. She replied that she doesn’t read unsolicited books and that mine had been passed on to charity. Splat.
As a check on my perspective, I’ll tell a story I’ve told on myself before. I taught English at Loyola University New Orleans in the 1970’s, and somewhere around 1977 Walker Percy agreed to drive over the causeway from Covington a couple of times a week to teach a creative writing class in our department. His presence was a gift to the university and a definite feather in our cap. Department members promised to see that things went smoothly for him, which included insulating him from people who might show up seeking favors. Walker had been a bit of a recluse in Covington.
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May 8th, 2008 bhenricksen
A couple of weeks ago my wife and I drove to Crosby, a small city about 100 miles west of Duluth. This year is the 30th Anniversary for the Hallett Memorial Library, and Peggi, the lady who runs things with great energy, skill and good humor, had invited me as part of the celebration. On Thursday evening I spoke about James Wright, and on Friday I conducted a workshop on fiction for the Quill Masters.
The QMs are an enthusiastic group of local writers, and we had a lot of fun bouncing ideas around. I talked about how to tweak dialogue to suggest the things that characters won’t say outright, and how to shape plots so that what is unsaid at the outset rises to the surface as things heat up.
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