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Early correspondence between Gorey and Neumeyer centered on the children's book Donald and the..., which Neumeyer had originally written and illustrated in watercolor for his children. On the upper left corner of the letter accompanying this housefly illustration, Gorey taped the head of the "model." ("I add that it was a corpse before I began using it," Gorey wrote.)
Edward Gorey and Peter Neumeyer, both voracious readers, often exchanged insights discovered in books. Here, Gorey quotes Lady Murasaki, author of The Tale of the Genji; ancient philospher Gorgias; Jorge Luis Borges; and Ouida, pen name of novelist Maria Louise Ramé. (To read the quotations, click here.)
The next poet laureate, Philip Levine, who will succeed W. S. Merwin when he takes over the post in October, reads a selection of his poems, including "What Work Is."
Fiction writer and essayist Charles Baxter’s The Art of Subtext: Beyond Plot discusses and illustrates the hidden subtextual overtones and undertones in fictional works haunted by the unspoken, the suppressed, and the secreted. Using an array of examples from Melville and Dostoyevsky to contemporary writers Paula Fox, Edward P. Jones, and Lorrie Moore, Baxter explains how fiction writers create those visible and invisible details.
Go to a thrift store, explore an attic, or exchange with a friend three unfamiliar items: a piece of clothing, an object you can do something with—such as a coffee cup, a screw driver, or a letter opener, and a photograph or postcard. Wear the piece of clothing, use the object, and place the image in your work space where you can see it. Then write a scene about a character who is wearing the piece of clothing, while using the object, and has a memory filled with conflict conjured by the photograph or postcard.
The Library of Congress has named Philip Levine the next U.S. poet laureate; Kathryn Stockett, author of The Help, is being sued by her brother's maid; Wells Tower was a North Carolina garbage man; and other news.
I am a saxophone player and composer living in New York City with my husband and daughter. I had taken a few writer's workshops when I heard about low-residency programs. These seemed like the perfect fit for me, as I wanted something more intense than workshops could ever offer, and something flexible enough to fit around my life. What attracted me to Bennington, besides its amazing faculty, was its offer of a "third semester switch," during which time students may change genres. I had been deemed a better nonfiction writer, but didn't want to be condemned to nonfiction for two years.
Serendipity brought me to LIU’s MFA creative writing program. My husband worked at LIU and, after a thirty-year teaching career, I joined an inspiring poetry course; the professor invited me to apply to the program. I held my breath. Could I handle this? This program is terrific. And I’m fussy. Have had courses all over (State University of New York, New York University, Bank Street, and Project Zero at Harvard). And I’ve had brilliant teachers at LIU.
Paramount to me was to be in an academic environment to gain exposure to the classics of nonfiction, my genre. Secondly, I wanted to be among individuals who shared my passion for a good metaphor while also discussing the merits of memoirists such as M.F.K. Fisher and Mary Karr. Thirdly, I wanted to attend seminars conducted by agents and published writers. Lastly, it had to be a low-residency program due to family obligations. Fairfield University’s MFA program met all my requirements and expectations.
The main program criteria for me was class size: I really wanted workshops and craft seminars with a dozen students (or less). I hoped for a tight-knit community of writers, more supportive than competitive. Beyond the program itself, I only applied to schools in big cities outside the South. I figured literal distance from my roots would allow for some creative perspective. Not to mention a good reason to move to New York City or San Francisco.
