First Day With Joyce Carol Oates Workshop
Yesterday was that special night I had been counting for days, The first workshop eve with Joyce Carol Oates.
When the librarian, Kathi told me about this workshop and encouraged me to submit thirty pages of my unpublished book "Shadow Birds" I was quite skeptic. She told me "There is nothing to lose, Dita, it is free, and if you are one of the ten selected ones you get an enormous gift."
Yes. I submitted at the very last minute. And lo and behold - the next week got an email that my piece was selected!
This was an enormous gift to me and the nine other emerging Bay Area writers like me. We couldn't thank enough for the generosity.
When I reached the Lafayette library at our designated meeting room, it was not quite 6 pm. Three other ladies were standing in front of that room with folders in hands, a smile on their faces. As our eyes met one of them, an attractive lady with short dirty blond hair grinned.
“Is this the Joyce Carol…” I asked.
“Yes.” She replied. “I am Shanti.”
“Shanti! So nice to meet you. Your hippy parents gave you this Indian name! I am Dita. I really enjoyed reading your memoir piece.” I stretched my hand.
She simpered, “ Khukumoni?”
It felt interesting that we knew each other so well, especially in memoirs you really open up to your readers, yet we didn’t know who the creator is. Not yet.” In a short while, we introduced each other. More and more joined. The door opened.
A lady with a sweet smile waved her hand “Welcome! Have a wonderful evening with Joyce Carol Oates. “
Ms. Oates was sitting at one end of a long rectangular table in a burgundy color jacket and oxidized silver earring studs. She didn’t need an introduction. We all have seen her pictures many times. The gentleman with a broad smile sat next to her was Joseph Di Prisco- a renowned poet, memoirist and editor.
He is the chairman of the Simpson Family Literacy Project, a nonprofit organization that sponsors literacy outreach in the Bay Area and today’s workshop is part of that generosity.
He is very humorous and brought lots of laughter with each comment. For example, he said, “I wrote a book named ‘Subway to California’. One day a lady in one of my reading group got very annoyed. She stood up, a folder in hand, with brows crossed, asked ‘So it’s got nothing to do with your subway project proposal?’ Hey, no! It’s just a novel.” He chuckled.
Ms. Oates was calm with a charming way of talking with opening her palms and playing with her fingers. I was feeling funny sitting next to her as if I was not worth it.… but had I seek another chair farther, it may look impolite. So I plopped. But I must say sitting next to such a personality was giving me chills, some kind of shocks, now and then. Strange, but true.
When she looked at me and said “I am Joyce Carol Oates, and you? “I felt blood rushed to my cheeks.
“Anindita Basu. You may call me Dita” I blew.
“Dita…Dita… I thought you’d be much older living through the partition of India.” Holding my piece, the first three chapters of ‘Shadow Birds’ she smiled.
“Well, actually the seed of the story came from my mother. It is not really a memoir. I’d say, a young adult historical fiction. A story of a young girl during the partition of India.”
“Hmm. A young adult genre?” her brows knitted.
“Your language is beautiful. Lyrical. The starting is great and the title ‘Shadow Birds!… Stunning. Well, we’ll come back to the genre. Everything goes if you can do it right. We’ll come back to that.”
I could feel my heart pounding. Hopefully, my blood pressure is on the check. I sipped water to take a breath. I remember the other day telling my husband I can never find my pulses. They are so quiet. Checked my throat, checked my wrist..no ..I couldn’t hear a thing. He couldn’t either. We could find his, loud and clear. But today I could hear my heart beat going thump..thump.
“Tell me a little about your writing life. Since when are you writing? Did you publish anything so far?” Ms. Oates asked.
I meant to say, “Since when? All my life. Since the first time I received my first present from Santa Claus and wrote him a letter on a slate chalkboard…. the day ma was unfair and slapped me instead of my brother…the afternoon I learned that I am pretty from the side glance of a young man at the bus stand on my way to school…the day I found out that my love left without telling me….and and so many more..” But I couldn’t say a thing. Just smiled. She finished for me “Forever?” I nodded.
“Who is your favorite author?” I took a deep breath.” Where should I start?” If I say Rabindranath to start with, Bibhutibhusan, Tarasankar, Ashapurna Devi .would she get it? But they are my foundation, my mentors. I gulped.
“Hemmingway, Alcott, Mark Twain, even Betty Smith (A Tree Grows in Brooklyn- my favorite), and of course you, Joyce Carol Oates (Where are you going..where have you been, A Widow’s Story.)”
She pressed her lips. “Okay, okay.”
She looked at the next candidate and Shanti picked up the thread.
What was the take away from today’s workshop
* “Write every day.” She said. “Even when I was going through the trauma with the death of my husband, I kept a daily journal about what was happening. I was in no form writing cohesively then, but it helped later to sort out when I put together the memoir. “So that’s how that memoir “A Widow's Story “ was written.
“When you are much hurt or having a splendid time visiting awesome places, keep a daily journal…just what is happening. Later the memory will come. Draw past from the present.”
* Tie in a big (larger than life) event, experience or emotion to give your writing another dimension. For example, she asked Shanti if she knew anyone from her family who had survived the Holocaust or suffered directly. Shanti’s memoir was about an experience she had in an Israeli military camp. Her background is Jewish, and she talked about her faith and religion in that piece.
