When I posted my thoughts yesterday about the twelve Raymond Carver stories I liked, I discussed, from a craft standpoint, what I believe makes those stories so good.
Someone pointed out to me that some of Carver’s stories were heavily edited by his editor Gordon Lish. I was aware of that, having read about it a handful of years ago. But I made a decision to keep the Carver-Lish editing relationship out of the blog because I wanted to focus on what worked in those stories for me. I wanted to write about what I took away from those stories as far as craft. Also, I have no idea which stories on my list were written by Carver when Lish was his editor, and which stories were written by Carver after he stopped working with Lish. Or which stories might be printed as Carver originally wrote them.
I didn’t want to get into the conversation about Carver and Lish because that wasn’t the focus of my blog. But after thinking about it for a day, I should have made mention of the writer-editor relationship between Carver and Lish, so my readers could decide if they still wanted to read the stories. Because I knew about Carver and Lish’s working relationship before I decided to read the stories, I should have let my blog readers know. However, either way, whether a story on my list is solely written by Carver or one written by Carver then heavily edited by Lish, making it more of a collaboration, I still love these stories and admire their craft. And the stories stick to my ribs.
A friend of mine gave me a used copy of Where I’m Calling From: New and Selected Stories by Raymond Carver. She had picked up the book from the free shelves at our library, which is a section of books that have been donated by people who need to make room in their homes for more books. Anyone can come in, peruse those shelves, take what they want, and leave — no library card needed. People can keep the books, pass them along to friends, or donate them back to the library. Note: I’m keeping the copy of Carver’s short stories. My heirs can argue over who gets to inherit it.
My paperback edition of Carver’s stories was published in 1989 by Vintage Books: A Division of Random House. My particular copy has an intense black-and-white photo of Carver staring at his readers. The whites of Carver’s eyes are abnormally bright, suggesting an effect created by the photographer. Carver is neither smiling nor frowning, but looks like he could have done either after the shutter clicked. Every time I look at his photo, I wonder what he is thinking. This book is still in print, but the updated cover art isn’t nearly as interesting as Marion Ettlinger’s photograph of Carver, with its Mona Lisa vibe.
After my friend finished reading Carver’s book, she thought I’d like to read it. Sure, why not. I hadn’t remembered reading any of Carver’s work before. (Probably not the only gaping hole in my literary education. I still haven’t read a single Colleen Hoover novel or War and Peace.)
There is no way I’m going to take on reviewing Carver’s short story collection. Literary critics have done that. But having read the book, cover to cover, I feel compelled to share some thoughts.
If you write short stories, you might want to read Raymond Carver, not because you need to write like him, but because you will learn about craft from him. So here, and in no particular order, are random thoughts about Carver’s stories:
He writes great dialogue, conversations filled with irony, skepticism, avoidance, misunderstandings, and sarcasm — the way angry, unhappy, disillusioned, conflicted people talk.
He writes great first-person point of view narration. It’s not easy to create a character’s narrative voice that can reflect, ponder, and think about the past and the present without becoming oppressive or irritating. It’s a skill that when done right looks so easy, but when done wrong sounds like fingernails scratching on a chalkboard.
He creates characters who come to life, stirring up emotions of dread, disgust, helplessness, loss, confusion, regret, grief, boredom, uselessness, and addiction. Carver has been called a postmodernist and a minimalist. He writes about real life in a stark manner with bruised and broken characters, leaving readers to fill in between the lines, and he doesn’t provide tidy endings. But you don’t need to go all postmodernist to admire and learn from Carver’s character development.
I read Carver’s stories before bed. Some of his characters drank so much alcohol, I worried I would be hungover in the morning. They lit up one cigarette after another, filling ashtrays to overflowing. Occasionally, a joint gets passed around. The dulling of the senses is a motif in many of Carver’s stories, but it’s usually not the story. It’s an atmosphere created, one that made me psychosomatically nauseous as I read through a powerfully told, unsettling story.
I didn’t like all of Carver’s stories. To me, some of them were little more than a short conversation, and I felt something was missing. This was especially true when the dialogue pulled me in, making me want more of a story. Most of the stories I didn’t like were in the first part of the book, but I kept reading because it was Raymond Carver, who is considered one of the finest short story writers in American literature.
But I loved a lot of his stories, usually the longer ones, which were in the second half of his book. My favorites from this collection: “The Third Thing That Killed My Father Off”, “So Much Water So Close to Home”, “Careful”, “Where I’m Calling From”, “Chef’s House”, “Fever”, “Feathers”, “Cathedral”, “A Small Good Thing”, “Boxes”, “Elephant”, and “Blackbird Pie.”
Carver’s story titles throw subtle, understated jabs at the situations in his stories. The title “A Small Good Thing” nods to a sad irony in a tragic story. The title “Where I’m Calling From” is layered with multiple meanings, including its play on the phrase, where I’m coming from. The one-word title “Boxes” is brilliant in its ability to cover the physical and the metaphorical dimensions of a dysfunctional family.
Carver sometimes weaves absurdly unexpected events into the mundane. And they’re believable because Carver believes them. For example, in the story “Feathers” a city couple goes to dinner at a country couple’s house. The country couple have an ornery peacock that likes to come into the house at night, a plaster-of-Paris cast of repulsive teeth that decorates the top of their TV, and the ugliest baby one can imagine. My take-away: Don’t be afraid to throw curveballs in your story.
Even though some of Carver’s characters believe they are happy, they actually live vapid lives, teetering in the balance. So, when a complication occurs, their lives become complete crap, miring them in muck that will stick to them, even should they pull themselves out of the cesspool. The stories I liked best reveal a before, followed by a pivotal change, which lets loose a wrecking ball headed toward at least one of the characters. We don’t get to see the impact; we are left to imagine it.
Less is more. Carver’s stories say so much by not saying all of it. Every word counts for something, and he never nags. I’m reminded of Grandma’s advice: Put your jewelry on, then take one piece off. Or Marilyn Monroe’s advice: Don’t make your hairdo too perfect, or no one will notice the rest of you. You know, just “kill your little darlings.”
Of course, I looked up Carver’s own story. He died of lung cancer. He was an alcoholic, but found sobriety. He had a failed marriage, but found a second love. He died young, at 50, but he achieved a literary immortality.
A shout-out to my kind friend who handed me a collection of Carver’s stories and said, “I thought you might like to read these.” She was right.
And I recently discovered I won’t have to read War & Peace because PBS is airing it as a miniseries, starring James Norton, a dreamy British actor, who I came to adore while watching Grantchester. That means I have time to re-read David Copperfield and Huckleberry Finn then read Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver and James by Percival Everett.
They are gathered on pages 44 and 45, enjoying a nice two-page spread in the beautiful Pink Panther Magazine, which describes itself as “a celebration of women’s art and writing.” So appropriate because it’s filled with exquisite artwork, fiction, and poetry.
I reviewed three wonderful books: The Net Beneath Us by Carol Dunbar, An Obesity of Grief by Lynn Haraldson, and Finding the Bones by Nikki Kallio. Another fun bonus — my writing friend Kim Suhr has a short story, “Pay Phone,” in the same issue. Suhr is one of my favorite writers, and so it’s a kick to be with her in the same publication.
For me it’s an honor to be part of Pink Panther Magazine with all of the talented women featured, especially on International Women’s Day.
I recently finished a short story, and for the past few weeks, I’ve been reading and rereading it and sending it to my favorite readers for feedback. After minor revisions and edits, I think it’s done. I’m happy with the story now. But I almost ditched it because I’d spent months (on and off) trying to figure out how to write this particular story. As proof, I have multiple handwritten versions in a journal and several other attempts saved on my computer. None of those drafts were salvageable.
I had decided to use present tense and third-person point of view. But I couldn’t find a way into the story — each draft lacked a beating heart. The real problem? My third-person narrator desperately needed a voice, and I couldn’t find one. I kept putting the story aside and working on other writing. And I kept reading: fiction, nonfiction, and short stories.
It would be a short story written by Raymond Carver that gave me an idea.
Although, if you read the Carver story, you might not see its connection to my story because our styles and voices are so different, plus his story uses past tense and first-person point of view. So, what was it about the Carver story that inspired me? Narrative distance. Carver’s first-person narrator tells his story from the distance of years gone by, even though there are some closeups. As I read Carver’s story, I became giddy. A hundred-watt light bulb lit up over my head. I’d found a way to tell my story. I needed to keep my narrator at a distance.
I began my short story anew — on a blank page, without even a glance at the other drafts. I did keep the present tense and third-person point of view, but I created narrative distance. It worked. That distance gave my narrator a voice, which in turn gave my story a heartbeat.
And I’m grateful because something about the story wouldn’t let me go. It kept pleading, “Just give me one more chance.”
Experienced writers tell beginning writers to write, write, write. They also tell beginners to read, read, read. I used to think if I read while I was writing, I would end up writing like the author I was reading. But that just doesn’t happen. Instead, I’m inspired. I pay attention to how an author crafts her story, from sentence to paragraph, from beginning to end. And sometimes (thank you, Raymond Carver), I come across a technique that I can apply to something I’m currently writing.
My essay “European Tour 101” appears in Tales of Travel, a Duluth Publishing Project. This collection of poems, creative nonfiction, and photographs center around the theme: Lessons Learned while Traveling.
The anthology was curated in early 2023 by talented University of Minnesota-Duluth students from a class taught by Professor David Beard, who gave his students the gift of a real-world project.
Participating in this project was fun right from the start. I discovered the call for submissions on a Facebook page. Right away I knew I would write about the month-long trip I took to Europe when I was seventeen years old. I had been itching to write about my European trip because I have fond memories of traveling through six cities, in five countries, in twenty-seven days. But I always wondered where I could submit the essays. My trip was too long ago to be relevant for travel articles. And my European tour wasn’t filled with angst or tragedy or mind-bending revelations that would be worthy of thought-provoking, rousing essays convincing editors to say, We’ve got to publish this!
But the theme: Lessons Learned while Traveling was perfect — proving if a writer is patient, sooner or later her submission mate will arrive. Some of my best memories from my European trip could easily be described as lessons learned.
Fortunately, memory didn’t prove to be a big problem because I have a scrapbook filled with postcards; pamphlets; ticket stubs from museums, trains, subways, and buses; my airline boarding pass; maps; menus; and receipts. Plus, I have lots of photos. I quickly came up with an idea for an essay, but I spent hours writing and revising. I wanted it to be perfect, so perfect that the editors would say, We’ve got to publish this!
I divided my essay into sections: Travel without a Hangover; Even Muscle-Bound Bulls Have Feelings; If You Don’t Know the Language, Don’t Insult Those Who Do; Patriotism is Fine, But Ditch It for the Ballet; Serenade Your Tour Guide; Be Alone with Yourself in a Place You’ve Never Been Before; and Freedom from the Threat of Violence.
I was thrilled when my essay was accepted. My fondest memories about one of the best times in my life would be in print. And out there in the world.
Making it even sweeter, Professor Beard and his students hosted a book lunch for the writers during the spring semester, even though the book wouldn’t be released until December 2023. But college classes change at the semester and the students who worked on Tales of Travel would be off to other classes or perhaps have graduated when the book came out.
Held in a university classroom, it was a wonderful book launch, and there were a couple of copies of the book that we could hold and thumb through. I’m sure each writer looked for their own piece of writing in the book. I know I did. We munched on cupcakes, cookies, and assorted chips, and sipped bottles of water.
Each writer was invited to read for about five minutes. Some of the students had pieces in the anthology, but I think only one or two of them read. When they were called upon, most turned a ghostly white, lowered their eyes, and shook their heads. They were too nervous to read in front of strangers, most of whom were old enough to be their parents or grandparents. But we older folks were nervous too. I could see it in our hesitant walks to the dais. I could hear it in our voices that trembled. I could feel it in our lungs as we reminded ourselves to just breathe. Because young or old, we shared a common wish — that someone would like what we had written.
After the reading, we all gave a collective sigh of relief. It was over, and no one had fainted. We mingled and thanked the professor and the students. When people started to leave, Professor Beard pleaded, “Please, have more food. Take some home with you.” He didn’t want to haul it back to his car.
I’d already had a cupcake, but I grabbed a bag of Fritos, my favorite salty treat. Something to savor on my ride home, along with the rest of the evening.
The editor of Perfect Duluth Day puts out a list every two years or so.
The “Guide to Duluth-related Blogs” was published in 2022 by Perfect Duluth Day, which is itself a blog, along with an events calendar and a section called “Saturday Essay,” where I’ve had three essays featured over the last couple years. But until yesterday, I hadn’t known that I’d been recognized as an active area blogger. This isn’t a prize or a big coup, but it made me smile like a red-carpet celebrity anyway.
In the photo to the right, I’m the blogger in the middle, standing in front of Lake Superior in Two Harbors, Minnesota, wearing my favorite raincoat, a raspberry red, flannel-lined Pendleton that I bought while shopping with my favorite aunt. My granddaughter took the photo.
I’ve been blogging since fall 2020. One Hundred and ninety-five people follow my blog. But out of those 195 followers, a certain percentage are hustling products. For example, I write about my dogs a lot, so occasionally companies who use blogs to market canine merchandise will “like” and “follow” my blog. Most likely an algorithm does this for them. And while I don’t write about makeup, skin care, or fashion, I have some followers who sell beauty products. Again, probably an algorithm, however misguided because I don’t wear makeup or use skincare products.
I don’t want to know how many of my 195 followers are companies trying to hawk products. Instead, I enjoy the people who interact with me via likes and comments. It’s heartwarming to know that something I wrote resonated with someone out there. So, thank you to all my readers. And thank you to Perfect Duluth Day for recognizing that I’m an active blogger in their area. As someone who knows she should get more exercise, it was nice to be labeled as active.
In an effort to hit 200 followers, I’m posting this picture of my standard poodle, Ziva. She had a bath and a haircut today at the doggie spa. She’s wearing a crystal and faux leather collar my mother bought for my first standard poodle, Bailey. As you can see Ziva is a reluctant, humble diva (but only when I take her picture). So, if there are any companies out there selling glamorous dog merch, turn on your algorithms. Ziva might be in the market for a glitzy coat, fur-lined booties, or specially formulated dog shampoo.
Writing Near the Lake 