Volume VI, Issue 46 November 13, 2017 Word of the Week: sitzfleisch Dear ,
What? You've never heard of the word sitzfleisch? (And if you do I know
it, congratulations!) I'll get to where I came across it in a moment, but first, let me say that it's from the German sitzen ‘to sit’ + Fleisch ‘flesh’. I'll quote Elizabeth Gilbert here: The word is German (though widely appropriated in Yiddish) and it literally means "butt flesh".... But the figurative use of "sitzfleish" means: "The amount of endurance a person has for
sitting still on his/her butt for the hours and hours and hours of time that it takes to get important work done."
But before we dive into sitzfleisch in regard to our writing, it has a more widespread definition, too: "power to endure or to persevere in an activity; staying
power."
And this is exactly what our daughter Amanda exhibits in this photo Richard took of her just after she crossed the finish line of the Novant Health Half Marathon on Saturday morning, with the two of us, and her sons, Rhys (four-and-a-half) and Harry (one-and-a-half) all cheering her success. (Her husband
Ross was back in Reston, Virginia studying for a very important test.)
I'm so proud of her, sitzfleisch and all, especially since she scored a new "PR" and did most of her training pushes the
boys in a double stroller.
And now, let's move on to the first inspiration for today's word...
When Kazuo Ishiguro became
the 2017 Nobel laureate in Literature last month, Megan Garber, a staff writer at The Atlantic, wrote a great article about him called “Writing Advice From a (Newly Minted) Nobel
Winner”, with a header that reads: “Kazuo Ishiguro wrote the bulk of The Remains of the Day in four weeks. All it took was extreme dedication—and a willingness to be terrible.”
This is perfect for me to read right now, as I live out my “Now-vember” writing challenge. And even better, Garber mentions an article Ishiguro wrote himself that was published by The Guardian with the
headline “Kazuo Ishiguro: How I Wrote The Remains of the Day in Four Weeks” in 2014 about how he “overcame writer’s block—made worse by the banal demands of life itself—to summon the words that would become the novel that remains Ishiguro’s most famous contribution to the literary world.” (Ishiguro’s article is this week’s featured writing, so scroll on down for it!)
“The
priority was simply to get the ideas surfacing and growing,” Ishiguro says. “Awful sentences, hideous dialogue, scenes that went nowhere—I let them remain and ploughed on.” (As I said, perfect advice, and not just for me, but for you, too.) “The Crash,” as Ishiguro and his wife called his four weeks of intense writing, notes Garber, “came at a time when Ishiguro knew what he needed to know to write what he wanted to write. All that was required was to sit down and do the work. (There’s a German
word for that, and that word is Sitzfleisch.)
I’m not saying, , that you or I are going to win a Nobel Prize for our writing efforts. But I am saying that, if we muster a healthy dose of sitzfleisch, we’ll complete that poem, essay, story, book…
I had to practice sitzfleisch myself this past week to keep my NaNoWriMo commitment to write at least one sentence a day, each for a
different experience during my time in Texas with my husband. If you want to see what I've been up to, you can read my first 13 days of sentences here : www.facebook.com/wordplaynow. (And while you're there, it's not too late to start playing! Post some
sentences of your own!)
What will you accomplish by amping up your own sitzfleisch?
Upcoming WordPlay
THE FINE ART OF COOKING UP A POEM (Learning from Poems You Love)
Everything you need to know about writing outstanding poetry is embedded in the poems of the poets you
love—in the form of “poetic ingredients” that comprise their outstanding poems. Learn how to use any poem you love to inspire and instruct you in crafting your work in this hands-on workshop.
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(Writing as Renewal / Creating New Writing / Tools for a Writing Life)
Renew and delight yourself. The Winter Writing Retreat is an opportunity to create new pieces of writing and/or new possibilities for our lives. Enjoy various seasonal prompts; they elicit beautiful material that can be shaped into essays, poems, stories, or articles. After a communal lunch, you’ll have private time which can be used to collage, work with a piece of writing from the
morning, or play with a number of other writing prompts and methods. You’ll take home new ideas, new drafts, and new possibilities.
$97 includes lunch and
supplies.
WHERE: South Charlotte area. Details will be provided upon registration.
WHEN: Saturday, December 16th, 10:00 a.m. to 5:00
p.m.
More WordPlay opportunities here.
Featured
Writer
Kazuo Ishiguro Photo courtesy of https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/lost-toys-and-flying-machines-a-talk-with-kazuo-ishiguro
Featured
Writing
“Kazuo Ishiguro: How I Wrote by Kazou Ishiguro
(From The Guardian)
Many people have to work long hours. When it comes to the writing of novels, however, the consensus seems to be that after four hours or so of continuous writing, diminishing returns set in. I’d always more or less gone along with this view, but as the summer of 1987 approached I became convinced a drastic approach was needed. Lorna,
my wife, agreed.
Until that point, since giving up the day job five years earlier, I’d managed reasonably well to maintain a steady rhythm of work and productivity. But my first flurry of public success following my second novel had brought with it many distractions. Potentially career-enhancing proposals, dinner and party invitations, alluring
foreign trips and mountains of mail had all but put an end to my “proper” work. I’d written an opening chapter to a new novel the previous summer, but now, almost a year later, I was no further forward.
So Lorna and I came up with a plan. I would, for a four-week period, ruthlessly clear my diary and go on what we somewhat mysteriously called a
“Crash”. During the Crash, I would do nothing but write from 9am to 10.30pm, Monday through Saturday. I’d get one hour off for lunch and two for dinner. I’d not see, let alone answer, any mail, and would not go near the phone. No one would come to the house. Lorna, despite her own busy schedule, would for this period do my share of the cooking and housework. In this way, so we hoped, I’d not only complete more work quantitively, but reach a mental state in which my fictional world was more real
to me than the actual one.
I was then 32 years old, and we’d recently moved into a house in Sydenham, south London, where for the first time in my life I had a dedicated study. (I’d written my first two novels at the dining table.) It was actually a kind of large cupboard on the half-landing and lacked a door, but I was thrilled to have a space
where I could spread my papers around as I wished and not have to clear them away at the end of each day. I stuck up charts and notes all over the peeling walls and got down to writing.
This, fundamentally, was how The Remains of the Day was
written. Throughout the Crash, I wrote free-hand, not caring about the style or if something I wrote in the afternoon contradicted something I’d established in the story that morning. The priority was simply to get the ideas surfacing and growing. Awful sentences, hideous dialogue, scenes that went nowhere – I let them remain and ploughed on....
WordPlay Now! Writing
Prompt This is WordPlay—so why not revel in the power and potential of one good word after another? This week, it's
"sitzfleisch."
PROMPT: Read the excerpt above from “Kazuo Ishiguro: How I
Wrote The Remains of the Day in Four Weeks.” Your life
may not offer you the same opportunity. But what could you do to incorporate some sitzfleisch into your life? I started back in 1987 with one non-negotiable 15-minute writing appointment every day, and I owe everything I've accomplished in my writing life since to my unwavering commitment to that appointment over the course of many months.
Pick up your pen, and explore what you're willing to do to realize your writing dreams.
Then commit, and begin. One
word at time, one sentence after another. Even one sentence a day, over time, adds up over time.
MAUREEN RYAN GRIFFIN, an award-winning poetry and nonfiction writer, is the author of Spinning Words into Gold, a Hands-On Guide to the Craft of Writing, a grief workbook entitled I Will Never Forget You, and three collections of poetry, Ten Thousand Cicadas Can't Be Wrong, This Scatter of Blossoms and When the Leaves Are in the Water. One of her long-held dreams came true in July of 2015 when Garrison Keillor read one of her poems on The Writer's Almanac. She believes, as author Julia Cameron says, "We are meant to midwife dreams for one another."
Maureen also believes that serious "word work" requires serious WordPlay, as play is how we humans best learn—and perform. What she loves best is witnessing all the other dreams that come true for her clients along the way. Language, when used with
intentionality and focus, is, after all, serious fuel for joy. Here's to yours! |
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