On Living With Regret

I’m going to be honest with you guys; I’ve never truly understood the whole “no regrets” life philosophy. I imagine it being spouted by the same people who say, “You only live once, right?” (a phrase so popular it’s been abbreviated for faster usage: YOLO).

In other words, you have some huge life decision to make and one of the choices is a little crazy. Maybe even a choice that will hurt someone you love, but it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so you say YOLO and go for it. And even if it doesn’t work out, you stand by your choice, because you want to live a life of no regrets.

That might not be what people actually mean when they say these things, but it’s certainly what I imagine. Doesn’t “you only live once” seem sort of like a free pass for being a jerk and/or making questionable decisions? That’s just not how I roll.

And it’s not even how I want to live. Judy Clement Wall blogged about that here, and she said it well. Long story short: if you care about your life and the people in it, and you’re human and therefore susceptible to making mistakes, how you could you possibly live a life with no regrets?

I have regrets.

Some of them are small but persistent, like using careless wording online or waiting too long to catch up with an old friend. Others are more substantial, like hurting someone I love — saying or doing things that I can’t take back.

In fact, for my own personal consumption, I just made a list of the biggest regrets that still haunt me. Almost every single one of them is a person’s name.

There are mistakes I’ve made that fill me with regret like cold rain that will never be warmed. I can’t un-make them, and that kills me. I hate knowing that someone I love carries around hurt because of me. I hate it.

They say we should forgive ourselves as readily as we forgive other people, and I guess I’m just not very good at that. A lot of (all of?) the people on my list have hurt me too, but I don’t carry that around nearly the way I do my own regret. Some of the people on my list have been apologized to, and others are long-gone. Strangely, I don’t feel much of a difference between those I’ve spoken to and those I haven’t.

So how do we live with the bad choices we’ve made?

Not thinking about them helps, but sometimes the ghosts start groaning and can’t be ignored. Asking for a person’s forgiveness sometimes helps, but often a regret is too old or too seemingly trivial to be dredged up. Time helps, but even the oldest regrets stick with me. I still feel bad for the one time I cheated on a test back in second grade, as silly as that may sound. As if me as an adult has any power over what second-grade me did. But still, I wish I wouldn’t have done it.

I don’t have the answer. Maybe some people are better at self-forgiveness than I am. Maybe it comes down to loving ourselves as much as we love others, and knowing that we, too, are human and liable to make mistakes. Maybe the wisest of us can massage regrets away.

Or maybe regret is something that we all need to keep. Maybe living with regret is our way of remembering the lessons we learned in making the wrong choices. The pain and sorrow we feel about one decision is there to remind us of the possible outcomes of the next decision. Maybe each mistake haunts us so we remember not to make it again.

What do you think? Do you live a life of no regrets? Do you think that’s something worth striving for?

And if not, how do you live with your regret?

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What Is Literary Fiction?

And why you should stop assuming you hate it.

Photo by shutterhacks.

  • Myth: Anything you read in school is literary fiction.
  • Myth: “Intellectual” works are automatically literary fiction.
  • Myth: Literary fiction is always boring/has no plot.
  • Myth: Literary fiction is always wordy.
  • Myth: Literary fiction is snobby.
  • Myth: Literary fiction is “better” than commercial fiction.

As you can see, there are a lot of misconceptions about literary fiction. And when you ask someone what literary fiction actually is–really try to pin down a definition–the answers get pretty vague. Even industry experts seem to disagree on what the requirements are for a piece of fiction to be called “literary.” What does it even mean? Isn’t all literature “literary”? Help!

I hear a lot of people slam literary fiction on a semi-regular basis, usually based on one of the myths above rather than a genuine knowledge of what it is. And as someone who is absolutely passionate about both reading and writing literary fiction, that makes me sad. Especially since, more often than not, there’s only one type of literary fiction that someone doesn’t enjoy.

*does Scooby Doo double-take grunt*

That’s right. I’m here with a theory.

Part of the reason there’s so much confusion and misunderstanding around literary fiction is that what we mean when we say “literary fiction” is actually three separate things: a style of writing, a genre of book, and a qualifier.

So I’m going to go through each type in hopes of clearing up some of the confusion and possibly nailing down exactly what you might not like about certain types of literary fiction.

1) Style

Sentence structure, vocabulary, metaphors, similes, and a generally “poetic” (or “stark”) quality.

Any genre in the world can be written in a literary style. There are two drastically opposite styles that most people identify as literary:

The Rambler– Those long, complex, lovely, and sometimes convoluted sentences that often seem to be more focused on the beauty of the language above the message they tell. If you can’t stand Herman Mellville’s Moby Dick or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, you probably dislike verbose prose (which usually also means you won’t enjoy many things written before 1900.)

The So Tight It’s Cryptic– When an author makes nouns and adjectives into verbs for the sake of compact sentences, things can get confusing. If reading Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes or Don DeLillo’s The Names felt more like work than pleasure to you, you might not like your prose packed so tightly.

2) Genre

Established plot and character expectations just like any other genre (romance, mystery, horror, etc.).

In romance, it’s expected that there will be two characters in conflict who eventually get together. In mystery, it’s expected that a main character will be faced with a mysterious event he or she then has to uncover the explanation for. And in horror, the reader knows that there will be some version of a “monster” that the main character will have to beat to survive. Literary fiction, as a genre, also has certain expectations it must fulfill.

The Nothing Happens Plot– With the popularity of thrillers, apocalypse stories, and action-packed adventures, small-scale stories can seem plotless. The truth is that every story has a plot, but what people mean when they say a book “has no plot” is that the plot is mundane. The characters live slow, ordinary lives, often stuck in a rut, and no global safety is at stake. Stories of broken relationships, general discontent, and “I’m at the end of my life” stories often seem light on plot. If you couldn’t have been more bored by F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby or John Knowles’s A Separate Peace, the genre type of literary fiction might not be for you.

The Intentionally Unlikable Characters– Most commercial genres strive to make at least their main characters likable, relatable, and memorable. But Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita turns that tradition on its head with an unabashed child molester. And the most important part of that? Nabokov never intended for the reader to fall in love with Humbert Humbert (or Lolita, for that matter). But if adoring your main character is a must–books like Lolita and Philip Roth’s Goodbye, Columbus are absolutely intolerable to you–you’re less likely to find something in the literary genre that suits your taste.

3) Qualifier

Poses a larger question and answers it using methods other than plot and character.

Now this is where things get prickly… and where people get snobby. “Qualifier” inherently implies quality. So does that mean that all quality books are literary fiction? No. It really doesn’t. You can absolutely have commercial fiction of extraordinary quality. So if you think of literary fiction as snobby, please reconsider. And if you’re perpetuating that myth, please stop.

So what do I mean by qualifier? Quite simply, this type of literary fiction aims to answer “large” questions (such as difficult issues about morality, life, death, love, human nature, etc.) through devices other than character and plot. In other words, a character waxing poetic about betrayal doesn’t make a work this type of literary. But a literary device that aims to force the reader to come to their own conclusions about betrayal is.

It is such literary devices (and admittedly “buried” messages) that most often frustrate readers. And let’s be honest here: it is this type of literary that most draws the hyper-intellectual snoots who tend to give literary fiction a bad name among commercial fiction fans. Some authors revel in reaching only a very select readership. If you’re not that readership… just ignore those authors.

So if you’re reading a book that has an unusual or strange literary device in it (such as an unreliable narrator, a story told out of order, switching points of view, story within a story, satire, metafiction, and epistolary novels), there’s a good chance that device was chosen to make you think. The author is trying to tell you something more about the story through this unusual device.

The Unchronological Story– If a novel is told infuriatingly out of order, such as Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights or Penelope Lively’s Moon Tiger, there’s a good chance that was done for a reason. Is the author asking you a deep question about time, for example? If you don’t much care for drawing your own conclusions, this type of literary fiction probably won’t be your cup of tea.

The Strange Point(s) of View– In The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, Death (as in the Grim Reaper) is the narrator. In good literary fiction, this type of strange point of view is only done for a reason. In Zusak’s case, he’s trying to tell you something about his world, characters, or message that a different narrator couldn’t have told you. Similarly, William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying switches point of view between most of the characters. If you don’t enjoy puzzling out why these types of devices are used, you might avoid “qualifier” literary fiction.

The Takeaway

As you can see, it’s easy to have a literary book that is just one or two of these things, which means that if you don’t like one aspect, you shouldn’t necessarily discount all literary fiction.

If you dislike literary genre plots, for example, you could try “upmarket” fiction, which generally means commercial plot written in a literary style and with deeper messages (i.e. A book with an easy plot and likable characters that you can delve into if you want–but don’t have to in order to understand what’s happening, like Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire). Or if you dislike literary style writing, you could try Jandy Nelson’s The Sky is Everywhere, which has a literary plot and deeper themes, but is relatively straight-forward in style. And PS- If you love all three, I recently enjoyed Matt Bondurant’s The Night Swimmer.

My point is: now that you are aware that people mean three different things when they call something “literary,” you can figure out which types you don’t care for and avoid those–without automatically discounting all literary fiction.


So how about you? Do you like literary fiction? Loath it? Which type is your favorite, and which makes you want to throw a book against the wall?

Like this post? Check out all posts in the What is Genre? series!

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Sonnet Building Step 5: “Final Dress”

[If sonnets just aren’t your cup of tea, check out the related prose discussion below.]

Critique

Sonneteers! At this point, you’ve done everything you can on your own to make your sonnet shine. The next step, if you’re up to it, is getting outside feedback. Now if you’re like me, you have a poetry critique group to turn to. But I’ve found that to be pretty rare. So… I’m offering to be your critique group.

IF you want feedback, I will give it to you. If you’re really brave, you can post your sonnet in the comments and see what all of the sonneteers have to offer. If you’re a little more hesitant than that, you can email me privately at annie_07@alumni.utexas.net.

Scared? Worried that I’ll tear you apart? Well, I’m not that type of critiquer. And the best way to assure that you get only what you need is to ask. When you email me your poem, preface it with what you want. “This is my first sonnet, and I’m not concerned about meter so much as the overall concept. Does the story come across to you?” Or “I want to submit this to a sonnet contest but my meter isn’t perfect. Can you help me smooth it out?” Etc. I’m not going to give you feedback that you aren’t ready for.

And if you want to share your poem with me without asking for critique, I’d love that! I absolutely want to read your sonnets, whenever you finish them, and I completely understand if you don’t want critique! I understand that everyone is at their own level, and I’m not going to judge you in a negative way. I promise. =)

If you didn’t finish your sonnet, I’d love to hear why. You can be completely honest with me. And if you have suggestions or things I might think about if I ever teach this material again, please let me know.

For those of you wondering what’s involved in poetry critique, here are some of the things I hear a lot:

  • word choice (if a word or phrase gives the wrong tone)
  • meter
  • rhyme
  • title choice
  • factual accuracy
  • clarity of meaning
  • overall flow and rhythm
  • message of poem

React

So what do you do once you’ve received your critique? You absorb, evaluate, and implement.

There’s no reason to be afraid of feedback. It’s just someone else’s opinion. You are still the writer. If they say “this sounds bad,” and you disagree, you don’t have to change it. It’s your creative project, remember? Consider, decide, and act. No good critiquer is going to be insulted if you don’t agree with what they say.

Share

Not everyone shares my goals of publication. That’s perfectly fine. But I will admit that if you’ve spent so much effort on a poem… I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want to share it with someone. Whether it be me, your spouse, your cat, or at a local open mic night, I encourage you to show it to someone you trust.

And if you’re really brave, submit it for publication! I have tips on how to get started with that both here and here. Also, mention this to me in your email and I might be able to recommend a venue to you.

Posts in the Sonnet Building series:

Step 1: “Gathering DNA”

Step 2: “Structuring a Skeleton”

Step 3: “Filling out the Flesh”

Step 4: “Muscle Sculpting”

Step 5: “Final Dress”

* * *

Prosers: How do you decide when to listen to critique feedback, and when to let it wash over you? Have you ever had an experience that made you question your own judgment?

Sonneteers: Thanks so much for joining me! Writing a sonnet is no easy feat, and I really admire your courage in giving it a try. Hopefully it was a positive experience for you, even if you didn’t come out with quite what you expected. I wish you the best of luck in your future poetry endeavors.

In case you’ve missed it, here’s the whole series:

Intro to Sonnet Building 101
Sonnet Building Step 1: “Gathering DNA”
Sonnet Building Step 2: “Structuring a Skeleton”
Sonnet Building Step 3: “Filling out the Flesh”
Sonnet Building Step 4: “Muscle Sculpting”
Sonnet Building Step 5: “Final Dress” (above)

I hope you’ve all had a great National Poetry Month!

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Sonnet Building Step 4: “Muscle Sculpting”

[Just here for the prose talk? Click here to skip down.]

Hello sonneteers!

How are you guys? Doing okay? Where is everybody in the process? Judging from both the crickets in the comments and a few of you that I’ve spoken to personally, I’m sensing some anxiety, hesitation, and general malaise. That’s no good!

I’d planned on today’s post being about editing and revising on your own, so I will hit on that below, but first I’d like to get a read on your individual processes and how I can help. If you’d like to contact me privately, you can email me at annie_07@alumni.utexas.net and I’ll do my best to help. Others likely have the same question, though, so feel free to ask in the comments. And on top of that, I thought I’d take a look at some of the various things that might be giving you trouble, and offer some possible solutions in advance. Here we go.

You’re afraid your sonnet will suck.

Okay, I get this. And here’s the truth: it might suck. (What? It’s true! There are a lot of really crappy sonnets out there.) But the answer to that is…. So what? Who gives a flip if it sucks? Not me. And you shouldn’t, either. No one has to read it if you aren’t happy in the end. And to very loosely paraphrase Alfred Lord Tennyson: It is better to have tried and failed than to never try at all.

In other words, take a risk. We can’t broaden ourselves or our abilities unless we’re willing to try new things and risk failure.

You’re afraid you’re doing it wrong.

But that’s an easy one because… there is no way to do it wrong! I once wrote a sonnet in trochaic tetrameter, and I absolutely love it! You can write sonnets in blank verse (meaning there is no rhyme), break meter, change the line lengths, and even change the rhyme scheme. And don’t count on getting one of these accepted to a traditional sonnet contest, but if you want to, you can even delete entire lines or stanzas!

My point here is that you don’t need to be aiming for a “perfect” sonnet. What you might aim for instead is a sonnet that you can make your own. Don’t like your opening stanza but can’t figure out how to fix it? Cut it. Need a triplet instead of a couplet at the end? Add it. Love your concept but hate your rhyme? Try turning it into blank verse, free verse, or even a prose poem. Always remember this: the form works for you; you don’t work for the form.

This isn’t fun anymore.

Okay, there are two likely sources for this problem. 1) You feel like you’re doing homework, and if you don’t have time that week, you feel like I’ll be mad at you. Solution: That’s just not true. Please don’t feel guilty or like you need to apologize if you get behind the weekly post. This is for you all, remember? Just do it when you can.

Or… 2) You chose subject matter about as interesting as Hugh Heffner’s insoles. (I don’t know.) Solution: Start over, using an idea that makes you excited.

You’re intimidated by other sonnets you’ve read.

This is just human nature. We naturally compare ourselves to others. But in this case, that does no good. Once you’ve written a dozen sonnets and gotten some published, etc., maybe then comparison can have value. But now? Knock it off. You don’t need to compete. This is just for you.

You’re embarrassed by what you have so far.

Again: no one has to read this but you.

You can’t come up with your ending.

The cause of this problem is likely rooted in your initial DNA. Remember? If you really can’t find a closing, try brainstorming new ideas. Alternatively, try a softer couplet. I know I stressed the punch-line, but there are subtle versions of that, too.

You can’t come up with your beginning.

So you came up with your ending first, like I suggested. The problem now is that you can’t figure out how to open it! Solution: ask yourself questions. Who? When? Where? Why? How? What? If you start answering these, you’ll find details to set up your close pretty quickly.

You’re getting all tripped up on meter.

This is where the fast draft comes in handy. Don’t worry about meter right now; just write the content. You can go back with your rhymer and thesaurus later to help smooth out the meter.

And for those of you who aren’t having those problems, let’s move right along with Step 4: Edit and Revise On Your Own (aka “Muscle Sculpting”). *This is a great time for you to catch up if you stalled at step 3!

You know how I was a meanie and wouldn’t let you edit as you drafted? Now’s your chance to address those parts that you knew were crap even as you wrote them.

The best way to self-edit is to release your natural defensiveness. Maybe a mantra will help, like, “The need to make a change doesn’t mean I’ve failed.” Now read your poem, and as you read, put a mark next to every word or phrase or line that feels off. Don’t overanalyze why just yet. Just allow yourself to read and be honest: what needs work?

Then you can go in try to polish things up. This is where your thesaurus and rhymer come in handy. Give yourself time, and try out different things. Think of it as a slow-motion puzzle. If you get frustrated, take a break.

And if you find yourself feeling a lot of anxiety about changing a line, try pasting it to the bottom of the page. That always helps me. That way if I can’t come up with something better, I always have the old version to fall back on. Experimenting is a lot easier if you have a safety net.

Posts in the Sonnet Building series:

Step 1: “Gathering DNA”

Step 2: “Structuring a Skeleton”

Step 3: “Filling out the Flesh”

Step 4: “Muscle Sculpting”

Step 5: “Final Dress”

* * *

Prosers: Today’s topic is short one: doing everything you can on your own before you ask for outside help. I think it’s a must. What do you think?

Sonneteers: This week’s task is to play with your poem. Revise, edit, tweak, and mess with it until you feel relatively satisfied that you’ve done all you can on your own.

And by all means, if you need help with any step in the process – ask!

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Fear, Pain, and Writing

I am so honored today to be hosted at Fear of Writing by the lovely Milli Thornton. The post, “Facing My Fear of Writing Through Pain,” is a follow-up to the post “Writing Through Pain” that I wrote last year for Beyond the Margins (another great honor). In it, I talk about what happened when I finally did sit down and write out that grief. It’s a very emotional and (hopefully) uplifting post. I hope you’ll visit me there.

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