To all you writers out there, Merry Christmas!
Remember always the story of all stories about the King of all kings. Praise Him!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Blind Side and Fiction
My husband and I went to see The Blind Side Saturday afternoon. In case you haven't seen it but plan to, I promise I won't give the story away here. I just wanted to comment on something that applies to writing fiction--which The Blind Side isn't.
The movie begins with a janitor trying to convince the athletic coach at a private, Christian school to enroll the janitor's son and, most important to the story, the son's friend, at the all-white school. Once the movie is underway, we never see the janitor or his son again.
In fiction, this would never work, and no fiction writer worth his ink would dream of doing it. One of the first rules of good fiction is that everything in the opening scene is of prime importance. Not just the characters, but the seemingly insignificant details as well. They need to have a bearing on the rest of the story. They need to subtly foreshadow coming events, so that the reader (or viewer) at some point recalls the beginning and says to himself, "Aha!"
You've probably read the writer's advice (I don't remember who wrote it) that if the opening scene of your whodunnit shows a shotgun over the mantel, you mislead your reader if your murderer uses a lead pipe instead.
If The Blind Side were fictional, the author would not have begun the story the way this one begins. Or, alternatively, he would have found a way to weave those introductory characters into the action of the story and wrapped the ending back to the beginning.
I'm not criticizing the movie, of course. (I loved it. Sandra Bullock is wonderful!) And I haven't read the book. I'm merely pointing out what anyone would notice if, like me, they're trying to write fiction.
The movie begins with a janitor trying to convince the athletic coach at a private, Christian school to enroll the janitor's son and, most important to the story, the son's friend, at the all-white school. Once the movie is underway, we never see the janitor or his son again.
In fiction, this would never work, and no fiction writer worth his ink would dream of doing it. One of the first rules of good fiction is that everything in the opening scene is of prime importance. Not just the characters, but the seemingly insignificant details as well. They need to have a bearing on the rest of the story. They need to subtly foreshadow coming events, so that the reader (or viewer) at some point recalls the beginning and says to himself, "Aha!"
You've probably read the writer's advice (I don't remember who wrote it) that if the opening scene of your whodunnit shows a shotgun over the mantel, you mislead your reader if your murderer uses a lead pipe instead.
If The Blind Side were fictional, the author would not have begun the story the way this one begins. Or, alternatively, he would have found a way to weave those introductory characters into the action of the story and wrapped the ending back to the beginning.
I'm not criticizing the movie, of course. (I loved it. Sandra Bullock is wonderful!) And I haven't read the book. I'm merely pointing out what anyone would notice if, like me, they're trying to write fiction.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Praise & Thanksgiving
In October a friend of our family was diagnosed with brain cancer and given a very bleak outlook. Steve (not his real name) is the same age as my husband and has been married to the same woman for 35 years, just like my husband & me. Instead of the usual route of chemotherapy and radiation, Steve & his family chose a 20-day, alternative cancer treatment at a clinic in Tulsa, 10 hours from home. Steve can't have a PET scan to determine if the tumor is smaller--or, God willing, gone--until January. But we all trust that the treatments have worked. Unlike traditional cancer patients enduring radiation & chemo, he feels and looks great.
Now, you may be asking yourself why I've entitled this post "Praise & Thanksgiving" after hearing about Steve. But here are a couple of reasons:
1) Steve and his family have submitted themselves to the hand of God. They live each day in praise and thanksgiving that He alone controls their destiny. They are comforted knowing that the universe does not run around like a crazy-clock to no purpose.
As in-control as they (and we) would like to be, they (and we) just aren't. Nor do we have what it takes to run even the tiniest corner of the universe, much less a destiny that, God be praised, is interwoven with the destiny of so many others.
2) Which leads me to the second reason for praise and thanksgiving: our inter-connectedness. My middle daughter has a friend whose mother was just days ago diagnosed with brain cancer. I e-mailed them the information on the clinic that Steve attended. Six weeks ago I would not have had that information. I have no idea what this woman ultimately will do to deal with her cancer, but knowing that I, a total stranger, may have figured into her decision is pretty awe-inspiring--and humbling.
In my experience, times of trial are always filled with great blessings, to which our proper response is always praise and thanksgiving.
The would-be writer should pay attention to the wealth of lessons here. The best fiction must always mirror the purposive, interwoven, nature of the universe and of each life within it. The quickest way to get a reader to lay down your story is to write a plot with random, unrelated action that leads nowhere.
Likewise, the best protagonists display the same traits through trial that Steve and his family display. No reader will stand for a protagonist who whines about his troubles--unless he gets what's coming to him, learns his lesson, and changes his ways.
Which leads me to endings. Fiction is most loved, most cried over, most uplifting, most moving, if it mirrors life itself. Life-death is bitter-sweet.
If you can write like that, you've got yourself a bestseller.
Now, you may be asking yourself why I've entitled this post "Praise & Thanksgiving" after hearing about Steve. But here are a couple of reasons:
1) Steve and his family have submitted themselves to the hand of God. They live each day in praise and thanksgiving that He alone controls their destiny. They are comforted knowing that the universe does not run around like a crazy-clock to no purpose.
As in-control as they (and we) would like to be, they (and we) just aren't. Nor do we have what it takes to run even the tiniest corner of the universe, much less a destiny that, God be praised, is interwoven with the destiny of so many others.
2) Which leads me to the second reason for praise and thanksgiving: our inter-connectedness. My middle daughter has a friend whose mother was just days ago diagnosed with brain cancer. I e-mailed them the information on the clinic that Steve attended. Six weeks ago I would not have had that information. I have no idea what this woman ultimately will do to deal with her cancer, but knowing that I, a total stranger, may have figured into her decision is pretty awe-inspiring--and humbling.
In my experience, times of trial are always filled with great blessings, to which our proper response is always praise and thanksgiving.
The would-be writer should pay attention to the wealth of lessons here. The best fiction must always mirror the purposive, interwoven, nature of the universe and of each life within it. The quickest way to get a reader to lay down your story is to write a plot with random, unrelated action that leads nowhere.
Likewise, the best protagonists display the same traits through trial that Steve and his family display. No reader will stand for a protagonist who whines about his troubles--unless he gets what's coming to him, learns his lesson, and changes his ways.
Which leads me to endings. Fiction is most loved, most cried over, most uplifting, most moving, if it mirrors life itself. Life-death is bitter-sweet.
If you can write like that, you've got yourself a bestseller.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Yeah, well . . .
Yesterday, I said I was going fishing and wasn't going to write.
Yeah, well . . . I didn't go fishing. And I wrote a grand total of 382 words, not counting this post.
What I did was, I went to NaNoWriMo and started an account.
NaNoWriMo. You know.
National Novel Writing Month. Like November, dude!
You join and you try to write a novel of 50,000 words in a month. I can't do math but I know that's a lot of words every day. Even more if you don't begin on the 1st of November.
And I didn't join until the 6th, so I'm already a word or two behind. But hey, I'll consider myself a success if I write 15,000 words in November! Or even 7,500. I think my borderline is somewhere around 5,000 though. If I can't do 5,000, I give myself a D minus.
The whole point is to write a bunch of crap really fast. Now that I can do!
No, seriously. The point is to write really fast so you don't have time to edit, procrastinate, overthink, or otherwise obsess so much that your brain freezes up and your plot won't move. Sound familiar?
If so, do yourself a favor and check it out. Here's the link again. NaNoWriMo.
Yeah, well . . . I didn't go fishing. And I wrote a grand total of 382 words, not counting this post.
What I did was, I went to NaNoWriMo and started an account.
NaNoWriMo. You know.
National Novel Writing Month. Like November, dude!
You join and you try to write a novel of 50,000 words in a month. I can't do math but I know that's a lot of words every day. Even more if you don't begin on the 1st of November.
And I didn't join until the 6th, so I'm already a word or two behind. But hey, I'll consider myself a success if I write 15,000 words in November! Or even 7,500. I think my borderline is somewhere around 5,000 though. If I can't do 5,000, I give myself a D minus.
The whole point is to write a bunch of crap really fast. Now that I can do!
No, seriously. The point is to write really fast so you don't have time to edit, procrastinate, overthink, or otherwise obsess so much that your brain freezes up and your plot won't move. Sound familiar?
If so, do yourself a favor and check it out. Here's the link again. NaNoWriMo.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
A Time to Cast Away Stones
Everything, as Ecclesiastes 3 says, has its season, and writing is no exception. There's a time to write and--I believe--a time to keep from writing. Maybe there's even a time to throw away something you've written, as if it were a moldy old stone weighing you down! That's where I am.
I'm at the end of something, but I haven't figured out where or how to begin again.
Years ago, when my husband was frantically working toward his doctorate, he said there was a point at which it became counterproductive to pursue work that he had no taste for. Better to go fishing! Why wrestle with a task that, at a better time and in the right frame of mind, you might accomplish with ease?
But sometimes I don't take my own advice. This is the third time I have worked on a blog post. The first two I deleted because I just couldn't say anything meaningful. So I'm going fishing!
I'm as confident that my reservoir will fill again as I am that winter will follow fall. And when it does, my pen will be in my hand.
I'm at the end of something, but I haven't figured out where or how to begin again.
Years ago, when my husband was frantically working toward his doctorate, he said there was a point at which it became counterproductive to pursue work that he had no taste for. Better to go fishing! Why wrestle with a task that, at a better time and in the right frame of mind, you might accomplish with ease?
But sometimes I don't take my own advice. This is the third time I have worked on a blog post. The first two I deleted because I just couldn't say anything meaningful. So I'm going fishing!
I'm as confident that my reservoir will fill again as I am that winter will follow fall. And when it does, my pen will be in my hand.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Autumn Pause
I apologize to "all two" of my followers for the long delay between posts lately, and I 'm glad you're still with me. I haven't any excuses to make about it except to say that life happens. I intend to try and post here more frequently soon, but I have a big event to negotiate in the next few days. Until then I won't have the time to devote to it.
Like the seasons, my writing life is somewhat cyclical. I have these great bursts of creative summer energy in which I get a lot accomplished easily. Then I have these pauses, like autumn, where I have to pull back and ponder things before I can write easily again.
People come along and challenge me about things I thought I knew, make me shed my dried-up leaves. Sometimes life just gets too fast and frantic, or I just move too old and slow, to keep up. Sometimes all of these happen at once.
Anyway, when I do get going again, I expect my writing to be better than it was before I got sidetracked.
Like the seasons, my writing life is somewhat cyclical. I have these great bursts of creative summer energy in which I get a lot accomplished easily. Then I have these pauses, like autumn, where I have to pull back and ponder things before I can write easily again.
People come along and challenge me about things I thought I knew, make me shed my dried-up leaves. Sometimes life just gets too fast and frantic, or I just move too old and slow, to keep up. Sometimes all of these happen at once.
Anyway, when I do get going again, I expect my writing to be better than it was before I got sidetracked.
Friday, October 16, 2009
When to Quit
Years ago, in yet another life, working as an appliance "salesperson," I knew I needed to quit my job. I hated it, and I had two pre-teen daughters who just nearly hated me. I was so stressed out that I couldn't do my MAIN job, which was motherhood. My whole family was unhappy because of me.
I thought about this today because I looked at a picture on the wall. It is something my father gave to me before he died. It's a matted and framed photograph of Paul "Bear" Bryant in a crimson jacket and tie, with a quote from the Birmingham Post Herald of December 15, 1982:
"There comes a time when you need to hang it up, and that time has come for me as head football coach at the University of Alabama."
Well, hey. If Bear Bryant had to hang it up, surely there would be no shame in me doing the same, would there? And so I quit the most lucrative job I could ever have hoped to land. For my children. For my husband. For my sanity. I went from having plenty of money and no time to having plenty of time but no money.
And I can testify that time is NOT money. Benjamin Franklin was mistaken. Anyone who tries to tell you it is, is either a knave or a fool. Time is worth infinitely more than money! In today's economy, it's about the only thing besides love itself that is truly priceless.
I thought about this today because I looked at a picture on the wall. It is something my father gave to me before he died. It's a matted and framed photograph of Paul "Bear" Bryant in a crimson jacket and tie, with a quote from the Birmingham Post Herald of December 15, 1982:
"There comes a time when you need to hang it up, and that time has come for me as head football coach at the University of Alabama."
Well, hey. If Bear Bryant had to hang it up, surely there would be no shame in me doing the same, would there? And so I quit the most lucrative job I could ever have hoped to land. For my children. For my husband. For my sanity. I went from having plenty of money and no time to having plenty of time but no money.
And I can testify that time is NOT money. Benjamin Franklin was mistaken. Anyone who tries to tell you it is, is either a knave or a fool. Time is worth infinitely more than money! In today's economy, it's about the only thing besides love itself that is truly priceless.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
As Old as Methusaleh, As Wise as Solomon
At one time in the history of the West, virtually everybody knew the Bible. The similes in the title of this post were so widely used and understood that they have come down to us as cliches.
Similes and metaphors are vital to humans. We understand a new thing only by comparing or contrasting it to some already known thing. Yet we come into the world from darkness, with vague sensations of a world wider than the womb. That there is light must be the original knowledge. Even this, we could not grasp unless we had known the gestational darkness.
Before creating the sun in Genesis 1, God spoke light into existence. It is the light of wisdom by which we see everything else.
Be sure the similes and metaphors in your writing are as crisp as an October morning. Give your reader just enough sun in the beginning to keep him reading even after the sun sets.
Similes and metaphors are vital to humans. We understand a new thing only by comparing or contrasting it to some already known thing. Yet we come into the world from darkness, with vague sensations of a world wider than the womb. That there is light must be the original knowledge. Even this, we could not grasp unless we had known the gestational darkness.
Before creating the sun in Genesis 1, God spoke light into existence. It is the light of wisdom by which we see everything else.
Be sure the similes and metaphors in your writing are as crisp as an October morning. Give your reader just enough sun in the beginning to keep him reading even after the sun sets.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Love at First Sight
My middle daughter’s ultrasound and the first images of my new granddaughter brought me to my knees and tears to my eyes. How remarkable, marvelous, miraculous it is--to go from loving the idea of a child forming in the womb to true and actual love for this baby girl whose features aren’t fully formed and who doesn’t yet have a name.
It truly was love at first sight; now I know what that means.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
One on Voice Mail & One on Hold
With his mother's help, my two-and-a-half-year-old grandson called me the other day on my cell phone. I had just parked in the garage and opened my car door when I got his voice mail, "Hi, Mimi." It was the first time he'd ever left me a voice mail and the first time he'd called me by my "name." I was so surprised I nearly fell out of the car.
Now that he's broken the ice, he calls me a lot. Before he hangs up he says, "I love you, Mimi. Bye-bye."
Having children in your life--your own, your friend's, or your grandchildren--is a big plus in many ways. If you intend to write fiction and/or nonfiction for children, they can help you create believable characters or inform you as to what subjects interest children of a certain age. Some published authors say that you can get by on your own childhood memories, but I'm not so sure.
Btw, my middle daughter finds out in three days whether she's having a girl or a boy!
Now that he's broken the ice, he calls me a lot. Before he hangs up he says, "I love you, Mimi. Bye-bye."
Having children in your life--your own, your friend's, or your grandchildren--is a big plus in many ways. If you intend to write fiction and/or nonfiction for children, they can help you create believable characters or inform you as to what subjects interest children of a certain age. Some published authors say that you can get by on your own childhood memories, but I'm not so sure.
Btw, my middle daughter finds out in three days whether she's having a girl or a boy!
Blog Hijacked By Alien Clone?
Okay, okay. I know that last post wasn't anything like what I normally write. I took a walk yesterday and the endorphins kicked in, and afterward that's what bubbled up to the surface when I sat down to write. I thought it sounded poetic and decided to post it. Prose doesn't have to be prosaic.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Lost & Searching
How many ways to be lost?
It's that tug of longing after the rain, and the inhalation of tall trees. They draw you into the secret recesses of childhood, the shadows of hedges, the mazes between the negative spaces of things. They call to you as they did in childhood: "Look here, in the shadow realm, because the things you seek aren't out in the clear light."
Immersed in childhood's idyllic light-womb, we all are lost. We wait for the change to come, anxious for things to change--as if all change is progress and nothing present, no present reality, has any value whatsoever. Precisely because the present reality is so good, so comfortable, so unchangeable, it gives rise to that future-longing.
The light is so bright we long for the relief of shadow, of relaxed dimness, and a motion toward sleep.
We lose ourselves eating. Eat rather to stay alive. Eat consciously. Use writing as your spice. Use adjectives as condiment, specific verbs as sauce. Slim down on your diet. Eat voraciously in your writing life.
Walk heady into the horizon, as if you weren't lost. The "eureka" moment is illusive because momentary. The search is the thing. Paradoxically, in searching you are found, located as surely as if tracked by GPS. The plumb line of heaven drops when men stop seeking staircases to God and learn about the divine that inheres in what fascinates them.
The fountain recirculates, the artesian well brings back to the surface the hidden secrets of the deep. The standing rain carries our prayers with it, seeping slowly into the water table, mingling in the moist eye of God. He weeps for our frailties, our blindness, and sends a spring up through the parched ground. The mountain receives the blessing coming up from below and coming down from above. Men, therefore, climb and don't know why.
They think they have met God on the mountain as Moses did. They are most gravely lost, even as God leads them gently, like lambs, down the rocky path to pasture.
He can be known, but in this life, He has so many impostors.
It's that tug of longing after the rain, and the inhalation of tall trees. They draw you into the secret recesses of childhood, the shadows of hedges, the mazes between the negative spaces of things. They call to you as they did in childhood: "Look here, in the shadow realm, because the things you seek aren't out in the clear light."
Immersed in childhood's idyllic light-womb, we all are lost. We wait for the change to come, anxious for things to change--as if all change is progress and nothing present, no present reality, has any value whatsoever. Precisely because the present reality is so good, so comfortable, so unchangeable, it gives rise to that future-longing.
The light is so bright we long for the relief of shadow, of relaxed dimness, and a motion toward sleep.
We lose ourselves eating. Eat rather to stay alive. Eat consciously. Use writing as your spice. Use adjectives as condiment, specific verbs as sauce. Slim down on your diet. Eat voraciously in your writing life.
Walk heady into the horizon, as if you weren't lost. The "eureka" moment is illusive because momentary. The search is the thing. Paradoxically, in searching you are found, located as surely as if tracked by GPS. The plumb line of heaven drops when men stop seeking staircases to God and learn about the divine that inheres in what fascinates them.
The fountain recirculates, the artesian well brings back to the surface the hidden secrets of the deep. The standing rain carries our prayers with it, seeping slowly into the water table, mingling in the moist eye of God. He weeps for our frailties, our blindness, and sends a spring up through the parched ground. The mountain receives the blessing coming up from below and coming down from above. Men, therefore, climb and don't know why.
They think they have met God on the mountain as Moses did. They are most gravely lost, even as God leads them gently, like lambs, down the rocky path to pasture.
He can be known, but in this life, He has so many impostors.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Shadow Feet
Walking west this morning, my real foot came down upon my shadow foot. That got me thinking: we're all stepping into the future all the time, every moment converting shadow into reality and potential into actual. If we could stay conscious of this--and we can't--it would greatly improve our chances for accomplishing something meaningful.
I want to walk, maybe even run, to meet the future, not let it sneak up on me like a dogging shadow.
And this is the attitude I take toward writing. I could go about my routine, have snatches of ideas that never make it to the page, and merely wish to be a writer. I've tried that.
Or I can sit down--every single day, or as close to every day as possible--and write. No matter what. Since I can't stay conscious of time passing, I must discipline my passage through it. Of course, there aren't any guarantees that I'll ever publish a word. But the journey counts for something. Maybe everything.
Writing every day is like putting your real foot down on that shadow foot. It's not always glamorous. But when your writing is good, it's like running to meet a future that's running to meet you.
I want to walk, maybe even run, to meet the future, not let it sneak up on me like a dogging shadow.
And this is the attitude I take toward writing. I could go about my routine, have snatches of ideas that never make it to the page, and merely wish to be a writer. I've tried that.
Or I can sit down--every single day, or as close to every day as possible--and write. No matter what. Since I can't stay conscious of time passing, I must discipline my passage through it. Of course, there aren't any guarantees that I'll ever publish a word. But the journey counts for something. Maybe everything.
Writing every day is like putting your real foot down on that shadow foot. It's not always glamorous. But when your writing is good, it's like running to meet a future that's running to meet you.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Art & Life?
Amazing, how life and art intersect, right? Or how "coupon-ing" and writing do. A coupon taught me how to spell "Reddi-wip," which I misspelled "Redi-Whip" in a previous post, Blue Jello & Redi-Whip.
Important Note: The product itself says "Reddi wip, without the hyphen, but the website says www.reddi-wip.com, with the hyphen. Who knew?
The Truth About Nonfiction
I'm finally back. Better that life sometimes rules out blogging, and not the other way around.
My next writing assignment is to write a nonfiction article for children. This one can require research, but doesn't necessarily. For instance, it can be a how-to article on a subject I already know something about. How to make a sailboat cake, for instance, from two round layers. I did this for my daughter's baby shower, and I still have the pattern I drew for it. (My daughter kept the little baby doll that lay on the deck.) But I probably won't write that article because I have something more fun in mind that will require a little research.
The next several assignments are for nonfiction. I look forward to them because I know there's a lot to learn about the resources available to writers. And I'm told that, even in better economic times than these, it's much easier to sell nonfiction than fiction. And that's the truth.
My next writing assignment is to write a nonfiction article for children. This one can require research, but doesn't necessarily. For instance, it can be a how-to article on a subject I already know something about. How to make a sailboat cake, for instance, from two round layers. I did this for my daughter's baby shower, and I still have the pattern I drew for it. (My daughter kept the little baby doll that lay on the deck.) But I probably won't write that article because I have something more fun in mind that will require a little research.
The next several assignments are for nonfiction. I look forward to them because I know there's a lot to learn about the resources available to writers. And I'm told that, even in better economic times than these, it's much easier to sell nonfiction than fiction. And that's the truth.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Potters and Clay
Earlier this week I got Assignment #3 back from my instructor. She called it a "resounding success." And I agree, not so much for the piece itself--although it's my best so far-- as for the lessons I learned from it. The assignment was to use all of the senses to describe a scene remembered from childhood in a way that would interest a child--without going "over the top." (I wrote an earlier post about this assignment, "A Suitcase & a Change of Clothes," here.)
For those of you struggling, as I am, to deal with the huge and numerous demands a story makes on you, this exercise should teach you lots. Not merely that focusing on sensory detail will create a proto-plot, but also that paper-doll characters come to life in the midst of realistic detail. That's just short of miraculous!
In my completed assignment, six characters walk on the beach, including a child as the point-of-view character, her father, stepmother, and three siblings. None are named or physically described, and the only dialogue is a brother yelling, "Sand crab!"
Nevertheless, the people in this vignette seem real by virtue of being plunked down in a real, sensory setting, where the moonlight scribbles its reflection over the water, sparks fly off a cigarette, and the smells of burnt paper and menthol are in the wind.
Your nouns must be specific and carefully chosen, and your verbs active and specific. (Example: not the general noun, "road," but the specific, "Alabama highway 159;" not the general verb, "walked," but the specific, "slogged.") If you get the nouns and verbs right, you won't need many adjectives and adverbs. That is, you won't go "over the top."
I'm really amazed: (1) that anyone (even I) who can conjure up the sensory details of a remembered scene can actually create and evoke an alternate universe by making specific, black marks on a white page; (2) that anyone who can read (that is, decode the specific, black marks on a white page) can enter that reality; and (3) what remarkable creatures we are--"clay that can throw its own pots!"
For those of you struggling, as I am, to deal with the huge and numerous demands a story makes on you, this exercise should teach you lots. Not merely that focusing on sensory detail will create a proto-plot, but also that paper-doll characters come to life in the midst of realistic detail. That's just short of miraculous!
In my completed assignment, six characters walk on the beach, including a child as the point-of-view character, her father, stepmother, and three siblings. None are named or physically described, and the only dialogue is a brother yelling, "Sand crab!"
Nevertheless, the people in this vignette seem real by virtue of being plunked down in a real, sensory setting, where the moonlight scribbles its reflection over the water, sparks fly off a cigarette, and the smells of burnt paper and menthol are in the wind.
Your nouns must be specific and carefully chosen, and your verbs active and specific. (Example: not the general noun, "road," but the specific, "Alabama highway 159;" not the general verb, "walked," but the specific, "slogged.") If you get the nouns and verbs right, you won't need many adjectives and adverbs. That is, you won't go "over the top."
I'm really amazed: (1) that anyone (even I) who can conjure up the sensory details of a remembered scene can actually create and evoke an alternate universe by making specific, black marks on a white page; (2) that anyone who can read (that is, decode the specific, black marks on a white page) can enter that reality; and (3) what remarkable creatures we are--"clay that can throw its own pots!"
Monday, September 14, 2009
Story Time Picture Books
It's my turn this week to read to preschoolers during Story Time at my local public library. See what happened my first day here.
I recently solicited picture book recommendations from professional writers and illustrators in Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia--either their own work or their favorites, which sometimes happen to coincide. :-) Thanks to all of the members of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), Southern Breeze Region, who responded. I haven't made a decision about what to read yet, but the list, below and in no particular order, is well worth keeping. It should be a great study resource for the pre-published writer (yours truly) as well as for moms with preschoolers.
And by the way, you can find ALL of these books on Amazon.
I recently solicited picture book recommendations from professional writers and illustrators in Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia--either their own work or their favorites, which sometimes happen to coincide. :-) Thanks to all of the members of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), Southern Breeze Region, who responded. I haven't made a decision about what to read yet, but the list, below and in no particular order, is well worth keeping. It should be a great study resource for the pre-published writer (yours truly) as well as for moms with preschoolers.
And by the way, you can find ALL of these books on Amazon.
- All of the Dr. Seuss books
- Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? by Bill Martin, Jr. & Eric Carle
- What Makes You Giggle? by P. J. Shaw and Tom Brannon
- Abby Cadabby's Rhyme Time by P. J. Shaw and Tom Leigh
- Spooky Sleepout! by Eric Suben, P. J. Shaw, and Joe Ewers
- Look Both Ways: A Cautionary Tale by Diane Z. Shore, Jessica Alexander, and Teri Weidner
- Bark, George by Jules Feiffer (2 votes)
- The Wide Mouth Frog by Keith Faulkner and Jonathan Lambert
- If You’re Happy and You Know It by Jan Ormerod and Lindsey Gardiner
- Almost all books by Eric Carle
- Leonardo the Terrible Monster by Mo Willems
- Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus by Mo Willems
- Little Penguin’s Tale by Audrey Wood
- The Napping House by Audrey Wood and Don Wood
- Shaping Up the Year, Tracey M. Cox and Samantha Bell
- If You Give (a Moose, a Mouse).... series, by Laura Joffe Numeroffand Felicia Bond
- If You Give a Mouse A Cookie by Laura Joffe Numeroff and Felicia Bond<
- The Three Pigs by David Wiesner
- A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
- Agatha's Feather Bed by Carmen Agra Deedyand Laura L. Seeley
- A Fly Went By by Mike McClintock
- Traction Man Meets Turbo Dog by Mini Grey
- The Stray Dog by Marc Simont
- The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats
- Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin (2 votes)
- Olivia by Ian Falconer
- The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle
- Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad, No Good Day by Judith Viorst and Ray Cruz
- Trosclair & the Alligator by Peter Huggins and Lindsey Gardiner
Sunday, September 13, 2009
It Impends
I don't know why, but I've always liked the sound of the word, "impend." Derived from a Latin word meaning " to hang over" or "to suspend over," it's almost onomatopoeic, for one thing. A bit like "dum-da-dum-dum DUM!" "ImPEND!" See? :-)
An impending event, despite possible danger, always seems weirdly romantic somehow. Like a tornado headed in your direction, it has a push/pull effect. Curiosity makes you want to sneak a look at the twisted thing, but another part of you just wants to dive for cover.
"Depend" is much less interesting, its derivation coming from a word meaning to "hang from." Pendants depend from chandeliers. That could be a big deal, depending upon whether or not you are standing beneath one when a tornado impends.
An impending event, despite possible danger, always seems weirdly romantic somehow. Like a tornado headed in your direction, it has a push/pull effect. Curiosity makes you want to sneak a look at the twisted thing, but another part of you just wants to dive for cover.
"Depend" is much less interesting, its derivation coming from a word meaning to "hang from." Pendants depend from chandeliers. That could be a big deal, depending upon whether or not you are standing beneath one when a tornado impends.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Writing Music
A snobby co-worker once relayed to me the essential fact that a hemidemisemiquaver is a sixty-fourth note. So if you ever get stuck on an 18-letter word in a crossword puzzle, that's probably the answer.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Blue Jello and Redi-Whip
I began my 10-lesson writing course (the subject of this blog) with the intention of maintaining the discipline that learning requires, but without sacrificing the fun of the journey. I wasn't sure that was possible, but now I know it is. I'm having lots of fun.
The leader of my new writer's group handed me a book by Julia Cameron, The Vein of Gold: A Journey to Your Creative Heart. This is not a book for everyone; in fact, all of it is probably not for any one. It's less like a how-to book and more like a cafeteria: take what you like and pass the rest on by. Two topics that I grabbed eagerly for, the way my children used to grab for the blue Jello and Redi-Whip, were walking and morning writing.
I've been a fan of walking since childhood. I've also always been a morning person. When I've had my choice, I've written in the morning. All the same, I never would have thought to put these two things together, and in this order: walking in the morning, and then writing--until I read a section of The Vein of Gold. The book doesn't actually say to put them together. This is my discovery and, I think, an improvement on the book.
After you walk or run for 20 minutes, you trigger the release of endorphins, the proverbial "runner's high" that happens to walkers too. You can actually feel it when it happens: a funny sensation at the base of your skull, behind your ears. Walk as long after this as you like, but then go home, get out your pen, and write away. I think you'll be amazed. Sometimes writing in the morning can be like skimming scum off a pond, but this should feel more like riding a jet-ski or diving for pearls in the deep. Try it.
The leader of my new writer's group handed me a book by Julia Cameron, The Vein of Gold: A Journey to Your Creative Heart. This is not a book for everyone; in fact, all of it is probably not for any one. It's less like a how-to book and more like a cafeteria: take what you like and pass the rest on by. Two topics that I grabbed eagerly for, the way my children used to grab for the blue Jello and Redi-Whip, were walking and morning writing.
I've been a fan of walking since childhood. I've also always been a morning person. When I've had my choice, I've written in the morning. All the same, I never would have thought to put these two things together, and in this order: walking in the morning, and then writing--until I read a section of The Vein of Gold. The book doesn't actually say to put them together. This is my discovery and, I think, an improvement on the book.
After you walk or run for 20 minutes, you trigger the release of endorphins, the proverbial "runner's high" that happens to walkers too. You can actually feel it when it happens: a funny sensation at the base of your skull, behind your ears. Walk as long after this as you like, but then go home, get out your pen, and write away. I think you'll be amazed. Sometimes writing in the morning can be like skimming scum off a pond, but this should feel more like riding a jet-ski or diving for pearls in the deep. Try it.
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