Jewish writing

Finding Inspirational Words from Sarah Shapiro–Defining Jewish Writing, Part 2

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A couple of weeks ago, some of the comments on a post I wrote about defining Jewish writing revolved around the introduction to Sarah Shapiro’s All of Our Lives. I took a workshop with Sarah–who writes, edits, and teaches amazing writing workshops that have inspired many fledgling Jewish writers–and have a lot of respect for her opinions, so I borrowed the book from a friend (thanks Miriam!) in order to more accurately represent Sarah’s opinions here.

Sarah’s essay “The Writer’s I” reflects several of the issues I discussed in my original post. Jewish Writing can be defined by the author’s identity, by its subject matter, or can be considered a completely arbitrary label. She personally feels that “all three are right,” but admits the difficulty in establishing a single definition.

Sarah goes on to say that attempts to identify or define specifically Orthodox Jewish writing are even more complicated. Continue reading →

What is Jewish writing? Defining Jewish Writing, Part 1

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What do you think?

Tablet Magazine asks this week, “What is Jewish fiction? What makes a Jewish writer?”

This isn’t a new question. A year or so ago, there was this outstanding post on Jeremy Rosen’s blog, considering the same questions, and there are other essays on the subject published elsewhere.

Recently, the online magazine, Tablet, began to publish short fiction. The second story it selected, by young author Justin Taylor, begged the question. The characters weren’t Jewish, but more importantly, there were no allusions to Jewish literature, issues, history or culture in the story. Rabbi Rosen’s argument  would disqualify Taylor’s story as an example of Jewish writing by that token. On the other hand, the editors at Tablet certainly felt that since Taylor is Jewish, his story is Jewish.

So I ask: Is Jewish writing by a Jewish author, or must it contain Jewish content?

I’d LOVE input about this issue. Please state your ideas below. If you want to read Taylor’s story, I want to caution you, it contains coarse language.

Silence is golden: how to be a writer without harming others

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Shimon, the son of Rabban Gamliel, said:

“I was brought up all my life among the Sages,

and I have found nothing as good for the body as silence…”

                                                                                                   (Pirkei Avot/The Sayings of our Fathers)

Sometimes a punch is less painful than a verbal blow.

Usually, when we hear about the value of silence, we think about what literally comes out of our mouths. According to Jewish law, before speaking, we’re supposed to chose our words carefully, and use them to teach, to learn, to express love and gratitude, to connect with people and with G-d.

However, as we become more conscious of our speech, we discover how often we use our words to accomplish the opposite. How many people have we offended because we mouthed off with the first thing that came to our heads? How often many times have we said something hasty and then wished we could take it back? Are there people who don’t trust us because we let slip their secrets?

If we’re lucky, we learn–like Rabbi Shimon, above–to value the word that is withheld as much or more than the one that is expressed.

Recently, I’ve noticed that sometimes silence can be golden when it comes to writing, too. It’s striking that many writers out there will justify misusing words for “art” or for profit. In the news lately, we’ve seen writers paid to produce reviews of books and others who write college and graduate school essays for a fee. Both are misleading their intended audiences.

I once read a novel that portrayed a beloved historical figure as a murderer. I guess the author thought it was was okay because it was just “fiction,” but the personage has living relatives. If she were living, she could sue, but because she’s dead, there’s nothing to protect her reputation.

And think about all the memoirists who paint vengeful, unflattering one-sided pictures of their nearest and dearest “because it’s the truth.” It might feel great to tell everyone you were mistreated by your drunken father, but how does your sister feel? And what if dad decides to become sober and you patch things up…how will you be able to retract the words you published for all the world to see?

It’s interesting, but in Jewish law, you can say something that could be harmful to a person’s reputation if it is for a constructive purpose–but ONLY if it is for a constructive purpose. If you have even the slightest thought of vengeance when you write a review, or you take the smallest grain of pleasure in describing your neighbor’s foibles, you are not allowed to share them. Imagine if everyone held themselves to that standard.

With the new year approaching (at Rosh HaShanah), I’ve been considering how much a writer has to say…and what shouldn’t be written. Even the non-professional writer has moments wishing they could push “unsend” after sending an email or drop a fishing line into the mailbox in order to retract the angry letter they’d just posted. Let’s hope we all channel beauty and purity into the world through our pens and our keyboards in the coming year.

More crazy ideas from yours truly

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I’m sorta infamous among my friends for having lots of whacked-out, creative-but-slightly-off-kilter, usually (but not always) impractical ideas. Here’s my latest:

Rabbi Aryeh Leib Nivin–a motivational speaker/life coach/teacher/rabbi–speaks of everyone having a yeod, a unique life mission with which they are supposed to serve G-d (and people), and a tikkun, a soul correction they have to make in order to maximize their potential (by fulfilling their yeod). Also, a person has short-term lessons that must be learned as stepping stones to reach their yeod and tikkun. This self-development paradigm is very useful for those of us who want to build ourselves (especially now that we’re in Elul, the introspective month that leads up to Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur).

“That wacky Mrs. Klempner has some weird idea again!”

As I mentioned in a post last week, I’m going to be rewriting (yes, again!) the novel I wrote last year. One of the areas I want to focus on is character, really fleshing each one out better and more coherently. Many expert authors suggest strategies about developing character such as:

1) Learn about Myers-Briggs personality types and assign one to each of your characters.

2) Consider what each character most wants, most fears, their biggest secret, and what they have to learn.

3) Use drawing, cut-and-paste, or the like to assign an appearance for your character. Brainstorm their likes, dislikes, etc. Paste such items on your character chart.

4) Pretend to interview your character for a magazine.

All these strategies make sense, but they didn’t appeal so much to me. Then I thought, “Hey! Why don’t I apply Rav Nivin’s rules to fictional characters?” Assign a tafkid, a yeod, to each one, and a tikkun, as well?

So that’s what I think I’m going to be doing. Maybe not exclusively, but I think it will bring a Jewish approach to my mostly Jewish characters and subject matter.

Has anyone else out there tried “unorthodox” (pun definitely intended) ways of developing characters or doing other work that usually isn’t done in a “spiritual” or “religious” way?

Avoiding the dreaded DEAD END

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Dead End, Black and White

As mentioned in a couple previous posts, I’m wrapping up my Novel-In-Progress. This has been a long, somewhat traumatic process, but it’s getting done. About two weeks ago, I realized that I had to scrap the ending entirely. Why? Because my ending wasn’t The Ending.

Confused? Let me clarify.

To be a good ending to a novel: 1) there has to some resolution to the major problems faced by the central character/s (this doesn’t mean there is a happy ending, just that you see things are settled); 2) the conclusion should share the themes addressed at the beginning of the book (even if it’s to turn the initial beliefs of the characters on their heads); 3) the end should be consistent with the details and personality brought up earlier in the novel; and 4) the reader should feel satisfied that they didn’t waste their time.

While some books have many possible “Endings” that flow logically from what precedes, there are also many “endings”–dead ends that leave the reader disappointed. You can’t expect a reader to be satisfied by the last minute introduction of a character (never before seen in your novel) to save everyone from destruction. Unless you’re trying to be funny, it probably won’t work for a character to act like their personality has been switched with the hero of a different story entirely. Consistency helps your world become believable to the reader.

The ending I wrote in my outline was replaced long ago with another. However well this ending resolved the characters’ dilemmas, it didn’t really address the same themes as the initial chapters of the book, nor did it satisfy the readers. Everyone who read my first complete draft seemed to sense that I was holding back certain details of how the book should finish. The truth was, I was afraid to write the Ending the way it should be written, because I was afraid it would become unpublishable.

What do I mean by “unpublishable?” All publishing houses use a style guide. Normally, this governs mechanics like punctuation, capitalization, use of American English vs. British English, and the like. However, Orthodox Jewish publishing houses have an additional level of what words, topics, and the like that they think are appropriate to include in their books. Truly, other kinds of publishers have similar guidelines, just must less stringent ones. Then magnificent Ending I have just written has just crossed a few too many of those guidelines most likely to be found at an Orthodox press. However, the book is VERY, VERY Jewish. Like probably wouldn’t make sense if you didn’t have a sound foundation in Yiddishkeit.

I think I have now written the Ending the way it should be, but it’s just as unpublishable as I feared. Seeking sympathy and advice, I spoke to the ladies from my writing group. They think I should keep the new conclusion, since it is after all the Ending.

And so now, I will have to revise yet again, to see if I can make this book into something someone (other than myself) would publish.

Picture courtesy of http://etc.usf.edu/clipart/68000/68050/68050_123_W14-1_b.htm

Identifying Your Life’s Mission

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Identifying Your Life’s Mission

The above article (by Sara Yocheved Rigler and appearing this week on Aish.com) explains how to find your “tafkid,” that little sliver of the world that constitutes your mission in life. I encourage you to read it before Rosh HaShanah. I found it very inspirational and the perfect complement to a shiur I attended over the weekend.
Rabbi Simcha Weinberg was visiting our shul over this Shabbos. At seudat shlisheet, he explained that the Yomim Noraim (the Days of Awe) are the when we should not only think about what we’ve done wrong in the past year, but what would it look like if we did it right in the year ahead. He suggested that we should not imagine what we want, but what HaShem’s dream is for us. What does He want from us? Then we can establish some steps to take to get us there.
Of course, He wants us to make peace with other Jews (including family members!). Of course, He wants us to improve in how we follow his mitzvot.
 
But He also wants us to be the best people we can be, using our talents and skills. The article by Sara Yocheved Rigler will inspire you to do just that. What gets you excited about life? How can you use that talent and passion to improve your family, your community, your world?