Word Mercenary Category
On my tax forms every year, I carefully enter “WRITER” as my occupation. Is it a sham? Do I actually write anything other than self-indulgent online musings? You be the judge. This is where I post links and thoughts on my writings that have been published elsewhere.
Is Dieting Anti-Feminist?
1
Nov
2006
In: Word Mercenary
My vapid-but-popular “Fat is a feminist issue” blog post was converted into an article for Sirens Magazine a while back. This morning I woke up to find that it’s been syndicated on Alternet, where it’s provoked some interesting dialog. Many of the comments are critical, and most are spot-on, pointing out that the article is shallow, simplistic, and doesn’t really have all that much to do with feminism. I agree, and would go a step farther to say that I’m not sure if a rambling superficial blog post makes my best contribution to Alternet, but hey! I’m all for playing the puerile provocateur if it gets smarties talking about their views on feminism and food.
PS to the folks coming from Alternet: if you’ve clicked through with a sense of morbid curiosity, you can find more of my writing here and here.
Easy writing
27
Oct
2006
In: Word Mercenary
I have to disagree with this quote, which I found on Alison’s blog.
Writing is rewarding but never easy. We resist starting and constantly fight the temptation to stop. Kurt Vonnegut talked of the difficulty. He said whenever he’s in a room with writers they’ll all be bitching about how hard the process is. All except one. He’ll say it’s a breeze. Every day it just flows. Invariably HE’S the worst writer in the room. – Ken Levine
Maybe this makes me the worst writer in the room, but almost without exception, the best writing I have done (as measured by response and popularity with readers/editor/etc) is the easiest writing. Maybe this has to do with my writing style which tends to be conversational, light, and casual, but for me, if I’m trying too hard my writing shows it, and it comes off as stilted and overwrought and contrived and clunky. And I love sitting down to write — but I know I’m a freak in that regard. Procrastination gives me hives.
Certainly the outlining process is never easy (my biggest weakness as a writer is developmental — I do great with assignments but have trouble coming up with my own ideas), but when it comes to actually writing, the easier it is to write then the better the result. I guess I’m a big proponent of flow — and my best writing tends to fall out of my fingers. The more I can get out of my own way when writing, the better. If it’s agonizing and hard, chances are I haven’t outlined well and I need to stop writing and go back a step.
Did you know that I still write my 8 Great column for Movies.com? I do! Here’s the latest: 8 Great Twist Endings.
Best ego-driven writer response ever
14
May
2006
In: Word Mercenary
I just found some notes I took about some feedback I received to some of my writing. In purple rollerball ink, I drew an arrow to the feedback and noted “Not sure I agree. Other people’s insecurities not my issue.”
HA!
(This may only be funny to me because I’ve been revising and editing my book off ‘n’ on for 12 hours now.)
This weekend I attended a writing workshop in Portland. I stuck out like a pink-tipped, sore thumb, but not really in a bad way. I was a little bit younger than the other writers (the bulk were in the 35-45 range), and since of course I look and act even younger than I am, I think I confused everyone a bit. At one point, the workshop leader (best-selling memoirist Jennifer Lauck) grouped me into her 7-year-old son’s generation, despite the fact that I’m in my early 30s.
Despite my alieness, I got a lot from the workshop. Friday night we each were assigned a topic to write two pages about for the next morning. I’m not completely sure how topics were chosen — some of them were based on readings we’d already done, some of them seemed random, and some of them (like mine) were oddly prescient. My assignment was to write two pages about my mother.
Gulp. Keep in mind that with my grandmother’s death last week, mother-daughter dynamics are in full effect.
As those of you who read this site know, my writing is mostly light and entertaining. And the first half of the piece was exactly that. The second half got into a small conflict my mother and I had over my being present at my grandmother’s deathbed, and then in the closing paragraphs I went for the emotional sucker-punches, aiming straight for the jugular and letting loose with such well-worn literary conceits as repeating the saddest parts for full effect.
I got mildly choked up while writing the piece, but steeled myself and vowed to keep my shit together when presenting during the workshop. I am not a weeper!
But of course, when my turn rolled around, there I was not just crying — but SOBBING. I was in good company (there was actually a box of tissues passed from reader to reader), but I was still somewhat mortified with myself. Me! Sobbing! Other people are allowed to sob during their readings but I am a pillar of emotional fortitude, and I am not accustomed to blubbering over my own writing. I laugh at myself a lot; but cry over myself almost never.
The piece was well-received and I decided that I would pass it on to my mom. It was an homage of sorts to her and my relationship, our shared quirks and communications styles. More than anything, it was about how much I loved her, and come on: what mother doesn’t want to be the star of the I Love You! show?
Perhaps my timing was off, what with my grandmother’s funeral and all, but my homage had exactly the opposite effect that I’d intended. My mother called me last night reporting that she’d read the piece and didn’t like the person it described (her!) and was sort of mortified and felt very hurt and cried a bunch. Gulp.
I guess it’s a little bit hard being turned into a character in someone else’s story, isn’t it?
I explained my intentions with the piece and she understood and it was all ok, but as I closed the conversation I reminded her, “You know, mom, that was just a two-page story. I’m writing a whole book right now …”
“But the book’s not about me,” she said. Erm, have you heard many wedding stories that don’t include the mother of the bride?
This brings up some interesting issues for me … not just with my mother, but with untold numbers of people. Andreas refuses to read any of my book drafts, arguing that he doesn’t want to impede my creative process — even when I beg him for feedback, he declines. He may regret this decision.
I use friends and family members to comedic effect through-out my book. Are these people going to hate me? Am I going to simultaneously celebrate the release of my first book while grieving over the fact that my friends have disowned me and that my in-laws won’t invite me home for Christmas? For godsake, what will Uncle Howie say? (That will make more sense after you read the book.)
I’m caught between refusal to change my writing out of fear and, well, wanting to avoid making my mother cry.
Also, for those who are curious, you can read the piece I wrote for my mother by clicking below.
I went to a private elementary school for a few years called “The Island School.” It was a small non-religious school started by some poets and hippies and teachers and other progressives. The curriculum emphasized storytelling above all else, and my classmates and I were writing rambling 10 page epic fantasy stories by the time we were in third grade. Math maybe not so good, but we were all hyper-active writers.
Part of this was because the Island School had a writing policy called “Guess & Go.” The teachers’ felt that the goal with teaching children to write should be expression and creativity — not meticulous spelling. With a 7-year-old’s attention span, by the time they stop and try to figure out how to spell “journey,” they’ve forgotten what the hell the journey was going to be. At the Island School we just scribbled “jurne” and kept writing.
It was an early-’80s education gamble that paid off, thanks to the miracle that is spell check. No one needs to know how to spell, now! But we do need to know how to think on our toes and keep the copy coming. [Side note: I'm reaching a pace with my writing these days where I almost wish I had a finger pedometer. How many words do I write each week? With work, book, blog, freelance ... maybe 6,000? With emails and IMs and texts? God only knows! 10,000? 15,000? I have no idea. Honestly. When am I ever not writing?]
All this is at least in part thanks to the Island School telling me to just Guess & Go at age 7. Legend had it that the teachers used to keep a collection of their favorite misspelled words by students. I have a keen memory of trying to sound out how to spell “drawer.” What I ultimately came up with was “jwuarre.” Because was how I said it, so that was how I spelled it. It was very wrong, but I got the idea out.
I’m still a Guess & Go writer. My vocabulary is huge, but I can’t always spell those big words. My new employer is learning very quickly that they may have hired a copywriter who’s also an editor, but they didn’t hire a copy editor. I can’t chart a sentence. Half the time I can’t spell at all. But I can write!
Tonight, as I stumble through another chapter of the book, I present to you the Guess & Go word of the evening: pharmeutucal. Good job, fingers!
Is Dieting Anti-Feminist?
1 Nov 2006 In: Word MercenaryMy vapid-but-popular “Fat is a feminist issue” blog post was converted into an article for Sirens Magazine a while back. This morning I woke up to find that it’s been syndicated on Alternet, where it’s provoked some interesting dialog. Many of the comments are critical, and most are spot-on, pointing out that the article is shallow, simplistic, and doesn’t really have all that much to do with feminism. I agree, and would go a step farther to say that I’m not sure if a rambling superficial blog post makes my best contribution to Alternet, but hey! I’m all for playing the puerile provocateur if it gets smarties talking about their views on feminism and food.
PS to the folks coming from Alternet: if you’ve clicked through with a sense of morbid curiosity, you can find more of my writing here and here.
Easy writing
27 Oct 2006 In: Word MercenaryI have to disagree with this quote, which I found on Alison’s blog.
Writing is rewarding but never easy. We resist starting and constantly fight the temptation to stop. Kurt Vonnegut talked of the difficulty. He said whenever he’s in a room with writers they’ll all be bitching about how hard the process is. All except one. He’ll say it’s a breeze. Every day it just flows. Invariably HE’S the worst writer in the room. – Ken Levine
Maybe this makes me the worst writer in the room, but almost without exception, the best writing I have done (as measured by response and popularity with readers/editor/etc) is the easiest writing. Maybe this has to do with my writing style which tends to be conversational, light, and casual, but for me, if I’m trying too hard my writing shows it, and it comes off as stilted and overwrought and contrived and clunky. And I love sitting down to write — but I know I’m a freak in that regard. Procrastination gives me hives.
Certainly the outlining process is never easy (my biggest weakness as a writer is developmental — I do great with assignments but have trouble coming up with my own ideas), but when it comes to actually writing, the easier it is to write then the better the result. I guess I’m a big proponent of flow — and my best writing tends to fall out of my fingers. The more I can get out of my own way when writing, the better. If it’s agonizing and hard, chances are I haven’t outlined well and I need to stop writing and go back a step.
Did you know that I still write my 8 Great column for Movies.com? I do! Here’s the latest: 8 Great Twist Endings.
Best ego-driven writer response ever
14 May 2006 In: Word MercenaryI just found some notes I took about some feedback I received to some of my writing. In purple rollerball ink, I drew an arrow to the feedback and noted “Not sure I agree. Other people’s insecurities not my issue.”
HA!
(This may only be funny to me because I’ve been revising and editing my book off ‘n’ on for 12 hours now.)
This weekend I attended a writing workshop in Portland. I stuck out like a pink-tipped, sore thumb, but not really in a bad way. I was a little bit younger than the other writers (the bulk were in the 35-45 range), and since of course I look and act even younger than I am, I think I confused everyone a bit. At one point, the workshop leader (best-selling memoirist Jennifer Lauck) grouped me into her 7-year-old son’s generation, despite the fact that I’m in my early 30s.
Despite my alieness, I got a lot from the workshop. Friday night we each were assigned a topic to write two pages about for the next morning. I’m not completely sure how topics were chosen — some of them were based on readings we’d already done, some of them seemed random, and some of them (like mine) were oddly prescient. My assignment was to write two pages about my mother.
Gulp. Keep in mind that with my grandmother’s death last week, mother-daughter dynamics are in full effect.
As those of you who read this site know, my writing is mostly light and entertaining. And the first half of the piece was exactly that. The second half got into a small conflict my mother and I had over my being present at my grandmother’s deathbed, and then in the closing paragraphs I went for the emotional sucker-punches, aiming straight for the jugular and letting loose with such well-worn literary conceits as repeating the saddest parts for full effect.
I got mildly choked up while writing the piece, but steeled myself and vowed to keep my shit together when presenting during the workshop. I am not a weeper!
But of course, when my turn rolled around, there I was not just crying — but SOBBING. I was in good company (there was actually a box of tissues passed from reader to reader), but I was still somewhat mortified with myself. Me! Sobbing! Other people are allowed to sob during their readings but I am a pillar of emotional fortitude, and I am not accustomed to blubbering over my own writing. I laugh at myself a lot; but cry over myself almost never.
The piece was well-received and I decided that I would pass it on to my mom. It was an homage of sorts to her and my relationship, our shared quirks and communications styles. More than anything, it was about how much I loved her, and come on: what mother doesn’t want to be the star of the I Love You! show?
Perhaps my timing was off, what with my grandmother’s funeral and all, but my homage had exactly the opposite effect that I’d intended. My mother called me last night reporting that she’d read the piece and didn’t like the person it described (her!) and was sort of mortified and felt very hurt and cried a bunch. Gulp.
I guess it’s a little bit hard being turned into a character in someone else’s story, isn’t it?
I explained my intentions with the piece and she understood and it was all ok, but as I closed the conversation I reminded her, “You know, mom, that was just a two-page story. I’m writing a whole book right now …”
“But the book’s not about me,” she said. Erm, have you heard many wedding stories that don’t include the mother of the bride?
This brings up some interesting issues for me … not just with my mother, but with untold numbers of people. Andreas refuses to read any of my book drafts, arguing that he doesn’t want to impede my creative process — even when I beg him for feedback, he declines. He may regret this decision.
I use friends and family members to comedic effect through-out my book. Are these people going to hate me? Am I going to simultaneously celebrate the release of my first book while grieving over the fact that my friends have disowned me and that my in-laws won’t invite me home for Christmas? For godsake, what will Uncle Howie say? (That will make more sense after you read the book.)
I’m caught between refusal to change my writing out of fear and, well, wanting to avoid making my mother cry.
Also, for those who are curious, you can read the piece I wrote for my mother by clicking below.
I went to a private elementary school for a few years called “The Island School.” It was a small non-religious school started by some poets and hippies and teachers and other progressives. The curriculum emphasized storytelling above all else, and my classmates and I were writing rambling 10 page epic fantasy stories by the time we were in third grade. Math maybe not so good, but we were all hyper-active writers.
Part of this was because the Island School had a writing policy called “Guess & Go.” The teachers’ felt that the goal with teaching children to write should be expression and creativity — not meticulous spelling. With a 7-year-old’s attention span, by the time they stop and try to figure out how to spell “journey,” they’ve forgotten what the hell the journey was going to be. At the Island School we just scribbled “jurne” and kept writing.
It was an early-’80s education gamble that paid off, thanks to the miracle that is spell check. No one needs to know how to spell, now! But we do need to know how to think on our toes and keep the copy coming. [Side note: I'm reaching a pace with my writing these days where I almost wish I had a finger pedometer. How many words do I write each week? With work, book, blog, freelance ... maybe 6,000? With emails and IMs and texts? God only knows! 10,000? 15,000? I have no idea. Honestly. When am I ever not writing?]
All this is at least in part thanks to the Island School telling me to just Guess & Go at age 7. Legend had it that the teachers used to keep a collection of their favorite misspelled words by students. I have a keen memory of trying to sound out how to spell “drawer.” What I ultimately came up with was “jwuarre.” Because was how I said it, so that was how I spelled it. It was very wrong, but I got the idea out.
I’m still a Guess & Go writer. My vocabulary is huge, but I can’t always spell those big words. My new employer is learning very quickly that they may have hired a copywriter who’s also an editor, but they didn’t hire a copy editor. I can’t chart a sentence. Half the time I can’t spell at all. But I can write!
Tonight, as I stumble through another chapter of the book, I present to you the Guess & Go word of the evening: pharmeutucal. Good job, fingers!
Hey there. I'm Ariel Meadow Stallings, a native Seattleite who's written my way up and down the Left Coast. Electrolicious is where I post daily randomata, but I also write for a living. My first book, Offbeat Bride, was published last year.
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