“My father used to move the snowman…when we were very little, he told us, and we believed that they moved on their own. He gave us the gifts of the adventures they had through the night before diligently trying to come to rest on the exact same spot of their creation… usually missing by a few inches.
As we grew older we realized that it was our father, under the winter moon, the snow quiet night, balancing all three orbs and scooting them…inch by inch, just enough before his own nose turned icy.
I don’t move the snowmen for my own kids….Parents feel guilty about many things, but I really feel bad about all of those missed adventures.”
I use writing as a tool to preserve memories for my children, but I realize it can be vital in honoring my parents as well. I’ve attempted to write who my parents “are”, trying to describe them in a way that captures them accurately. This ends in failure every time. It’s difficult for me to assume the insight needed to interpret a person’s actions, words, personality and motivations; especially when it concerns people I love so deeply. All I can do is record and preserve the memories that shaped who I am. When I take out the noise and am left with the most primary, primal memories, I see myself laying in the sunbeam on my parents’ bed. I’m looking through my mother’s jewelry box with her. I still smell the Avon scent she used. I wear that same rose scented lotion now on special occasions and I draw my children close to me so they can breathe it in.
I remember dancing with my dad on the hard wood floors of our dining room. “Don’t look down.” he would say. Back then, he meant “don’t look at your feet”. When he says that to me now, it means something entirely different and I need that reminder often.
I have many memories of both my parents in our tiny kitchen frying chicken and mashing potatoes on Sundays, bantering back and forth about how much milk to add to the gravy. Thirty years later- the kitchen is different and they still can’t agree how much milk to add. Every couple has their own conversations of closeness, and belonging. The kitchen conversations are their love language.
Back to the gold and olive kitchen. Supper dishes dried and put away and my mom and dad are standing in front of the window, quiet as a snapshot in a simple embrace. It’s not a trip to Cancun or an act for the benefit of reality TV cameras. This is the same honest, true, forged by fire love that has kept them embraced to each other for over 40 years.
We tell our children all the important things about how to choose a spouse. I hope I don’t forget to tell my daughters to find the man who, at the end of the day, is there to hug you in the kitchen.
As I move into my most challenging time of year, I have already turned to the powerful tools of writing to keep myself focused and moving forward. I serve as president and production manager for McPherson Community Theatre, and summer musical season can easily throw me into a blur of doubt and anxiety. I would drown in these feelings if I didn’t take writing breaks to help me identify the reasons, truths and passion that define theater for me. When I slow down and focus on the outcome, rather than the issues, I find myself back where I want to be; fully enamored with theater and the process that makes it happen.
The nature of theater is such that there is a deluge of confusion, business issues, problem-solving, and unavoidable hard work before any artistic reward is seen or felt. It can be difficult to keep chipping away at a mountainous to-do list, when progress is fleeting. No one is applauding in these early production stages and it can take hundreds of hours of work to achieve a barely acceptable level of preparedness. If I don’t focus on the end result, it would be hard to appreciate the small accomplishments that I see each day. So, I write and the focus returns:
Yes, theater is an emotion-heavy passion of mine, and I have to take the good with the difficult. So, I’ll reflect these truths and remember that every hard day is one that I have been through before and a necessary means to an end. But being a part of the secrets told over the headset is thrilling to me. This is how I know we will get through, as we will now- as long as we keep moving forward.
I recently spent time sitting in a Wichita Starbucks. The place was all abuzz with whirling espresso machines, yammering baristas, multi- language speaking coffee drinkers, and many studying students. In the midst of all the hub bub, I wondered how anyone could actually see the advantage of studying in a coffee shop! When I read, most any reading material, I find that any noise is a distraction causing me to do a lot of re-reading. Maybe that is a good study tool as the material will be read multiple times. Nonetheless, readers were reading with mobile phones attached to their ears, headphones blaring rhythm and beat, and wafts of brew filling nostrils one and all. It was almost as though the new societal norm had killed the beast in distraction, taming it to be a friend. To be distracted was to lose the smooth flow from eye to brain, to understanding, to eventual aha moments. Now it appears that a time without distractions for many in this individual yet public atmosphere is a total L stamped on one's forehead.
It seems that no two people can enjoy each others company alone these days. As long as mobile phones are in the room, the ghostly writers are invited to the party and rudely interrupt frequently. Distraction is now a plus and a bonus to a true socialite. I wonder if that is why when you get home with a to go order it's missing something, when you get a memo the information is wrong, or when you get a report from a co-worker, it is incomplete.
Interestingly, I wrote this in that Starbucks and had so many distractions that I realized I was acclimating to this new way, not so much by choice, but by necessity. Sitting in a public place where the action is is exciting, stimulating, and down right fun... but maybe that's just part of the problem with our society; Always looking for excitement, attachment to someone or something. A good time is not always a good recipe for success, especially when trying to concentrate. "Grande Decaf Skinny One Pump Mocha, No Whip." Oops that's for me, gotta go.
When I heard that April 26th was Poem in Your Pocket Day, I knew I had to participate in some way. I felt compelled to do the obvious, update my Facebook status so all would have the chance to pocket a poem or two. I knew in my poetic heart there was more I could do to celebrate this momentous day. I decided to call my granddaughter's third grade teacher to ask for a slot in their busy day to share some cute poems (none of my own). The teacher loved the idea. The students wondered what I was up to when I followed them in from lunch. I was pleasantly surprised to see many eyes and ears engaged and how much they appreciated the poems. A few weeks later during my weekly lunch date with my granddaughter, an adorable little girl told me that after I read for poem in your pocket day, she went home and wrote a poem! Oh joy!!! Another girl sitting across from me excitedly said she'd written a poem from 10:15 to 11:00 at night. I asked her the subject of her poem. "Purple" she said. "Oh, and what is about?" I asked. " You know, purple things, like K-State and flowers." Others at the table chimed in with all things purple, including my granddaughter with "Roses are red violets are purple, like that!"
When my college English professor, Dr. John Knight, used the phrase, “Clear writing leads to clear thinking, and clear thinking leads to clear writing,” he was referring to expostulatory writing. How can you get something across to others when you don’t really know what you mean? I’ve read enough student essays (and listened to enough people call in to talk radio programs) to know he’s right. People start out with an idea, then wander all around, dragging thoughts along like thin gold necklaces until finally the ideas are so jumbled and twisted that the meaning can never become unknotted. That’s okay when you’re having a heart-to-heart over coffee with a close friend, but not when you are attempting to make a point in a public forum.
It’s no coincidence that people who cannot make themselves understood on paper are often not successful in at least one key area of life. How can you get where you want to go if you don’t know your path? If we want to be understood, we must first understand ourselves. Simply having strong feelings about something is not enough. Dig deep: what triggers those feelings? Do the work. Write down your dreams, concerns, fears, irritations, and figure out their cause, their roots. Only then can you address them.
Words are power. The ability to speak convincingly is important, but passion alone is not enough. A well-crafted argument, an elegant thought, a succinct dissection can eviscerate an opponent. Generally, these types of tools must be packed in our kits prior to the time when they’re needed, so that they can be whipped out to quickly solve a problem before it gets out of hand. If you are not keeping up with my analogy, I mean we must write down our thoughts so that we are prepared for those occasions when we’ll need to use them.
In this age of cut and paste computer processing, there’s no excuse for jumbled thoughts. You type an idea, then another presents itself, and you think, oh, that’s actually more important, so you switch them. No wasted paper. Sounds simple enough, right? And yet I’ve read many a letter to the editor after which all I knew was that: A, this bozo is torked off about something, and B, this bozo does not practice the time-honored system of waiting twenty-four hours before sending a retort. What a waste: all that passion, only to look a fool in a public forum, not advancing his or her cause one iota, and certainly not promoting himself/herself. The stories we read daily about people who’ve been fired from jobs because of outbursts they’ve written on social media like Facebook is a prime example of this knee-jerk hoof-in-mouth disease.
Don’t be fooled. Self-editing on paper will do more for your life than produce a readable missive. It will help you to learn to step outside your own mind and consider the thoughts of others: how will people perceive this? Did I omit an important word, phrase, or thought that will ruin my intent? Is my message crystal clear? Once I step past my own thoughts and consider my audience, it’s time to edit again. Considering the audience and making at least minimal accommodation for them is a sure-fire way to win supporters - - or at least, a caution against making enemies.
In conjunction with my last blog, I'm listing writing possibilities in the hopes that you will be inspired to try something new. Some of these options will never get published, for obvious reasons. However, many of them present very real opportunities for exposure and pay. Many may not seem very appealing at first, but anything you write can lead to greater things.
Writing Genres
opinion articles/letters to the editor (small papers almost always publish your stuff)
news articles
film/music reviews
journaling
stage plays
business letters
personal letters
advertising copy
memoirs
poetry
instructional material
speeches
humorous essays
newsletters
web copy
short stories
novels
song lyrics
how-to material (cook books, craft books, instruction manuals)
historical articles/books
screenplays (film, TV, commercials)
Outlets for exposure and growth that you might not have considered
writer's groups (a great source for healthy and informed criticism)
church (skits, newsletters, Sunday School material, announcements)
conferences
open mic events
Wikipedia
blogs
local papers (not just in your own town)
local colleges (classes, clubs, events)
your day job (go ahead and mix business with pleasure)
writing magazines
culture magazines
self-publishing (print/e-pubs)
Don't be afraid, and don't hesitate to try new things. My friend James Burgess, who is a 30-year veteran in filmmaking, once told me that any exposure is good, whether you get paid for it or not. To this thought I add that any exposure is good, whether it's your dream come true or simply a stepping stone on the way.
When a great soccer player trains, does he just shoot the ball all day? No, he dribbles, he passes, he defends. He does all the things neccessary to be a great player, not just a great shooter.
When I ask, What is writing to you, you may think of crafting a novel or a poem. However, I challenge you to broaden your mind and discover the diverse possibilites of the written word. The world needs novelists, but it also needs journalists, poets, and screenwriters. If you write for your own pleasure, diversity will make you a better artist. If you want to be published, it may mean the difference between success and utter failure.
Don't get me wrong; go ahead and write your novel or memoir. But while you're waiting for it to be noticed, take the time to try the things you never thought possible. Write some opinion pieces, poems, or episodes for your favorite TV show. Diversify.
Allow me to use myself as an example. When I was first starting out, I was dead-set on writing novels. Nothing else would do. As of this publication, I have sold no novels; but I have found some success in other forms, including news articles, film scripts, and advertising material. These forms had never crossed my mind until they were practically forced upon me. You may call it luck (I call it Providence), but the fact of the matter is that by diversifying, I have a resume that gets me noticed more readily.
In the next post, I will outline some of the genres you may have never considered. I will also list some different outlets for your work that hopefully will challenge you. You have to practice all your skills if you want to win.
Contributed by Jeanne Jacoby Smith (member, MacWriters)
Reading through several entries of “The Writing Life,” a blog written by local writers, I find my mind meandering back to fifth grade where I first discovered my writing voice.
Our teacher gave an assignment, asking us to write original poems. Inspired by the challenge, I considered many subjects that intrigued me – favorite books, my family, my aunts, my newly budding faith, and the rumble seat that took me to Sunday School. Then I remembered a rainstorm … and its fluorescent rainbow.
Our teacher had the grumpiest disposition of any in my school. I’ll never know how she got into poetry, let alone a classroom. Still, her assignment inspired my first attempt at verse, “After the Rainbow.”
During recess several of us crowded around the teacher to look at classmates’ poems. We peered over her shoulder as she leafed through them. Suddenly, my poem appeared on the pile. Everyone read it silently.
One of the girls retorted. “Jeanne didn’t write that poem! I read it somewhere else in a book!” Then the bell rang. We returned to our seats.
I was hurt and humiliated. Why did my classmate think I plagiarized? The poem had seeped from my heart in my first attempt at authorship. The teacher never said anything but still gave me an ‘A.’ I suppose she knew my voice since she read my homework papers. Perhaps she was as stunned as I.
Fortunately, the incident didn’t curb my love of writing. English teachers in high school continued to inspire me. However, most of the time we read classic literature. We seldom tried writing our own.
Reading classics had its benefits. As early as eighth grade, we memorized and recited Marc Anthony’s “Friends, Romans, Countrymen,” from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Abraham Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address.” Voices of great authors echoed from the past, establishing standards for quality. Still, when it came to authorship, we wrote in stilted style. Our goal was not fluency. Those were Cold War years, and pressure was on academia to excel. Looking back, I don’t regret those exercises. My education was enriched because of them.
In spite of my first attempt at writing that almost deflated me, I managed to rise above it.
Eventually, my love of literature drove me to explore the historical rise of the individual voice in writing. My doctoral dissertation at Kansas State University explored 100 years of rhetorical history ferreting out this concept. I was fascinated with ‘words that sing from the page’ when readers ‘hear’ authorial voices, especially those of common people. The individual voice was extolled in America because of leveling effects of democracy.
My gratitude goes to those who encourage creative voices to bloom – and to writers who keep the individual voice alive. We are a privileged people.
Thanks, also, to MacWriters who provide a platform for aspiring writers. MacWriters meets at 7:00 p.m. the first Thursday of every month. In addition, the group sponsors “WordFest” writers’ workshop. WordFest 2012 will take place at McPherson College Library, Friday and Saturday, April 20-21.
For information, call Carla Barber at (620) 241-8464 or go to www.mcphersonmuseum.com.
Contributed by Daniel Schwindt
It is interesting to see how often the word “spirit”, even in not-so-spiritual contexts, is used as a means to kindle in readers that unmistakable but indescribable mode of being which is so meaningful to us that we only attach it to our most important ideas. For example: the Christmas spirit, the family spirit, and even, for sports fans out there, the team spirit. Thanks to an old writer (George MacDonald), and some even older writing (Revelation 2:17), I would like now also to attach this word to the art of authorship because, just as in the previously mentioned examples, there is simply no other word that will do.
The portion of scripture I have in mind says that “I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.” Now, myself being no theologian, and not wishing to be, I only want to acknowledge that whatever else the passage, or the entire letter for that matter, is saying, it is at least suggesting that there is a unique communication—a unique truth—that each of us has to receive. That idea is, for me, one of the great joys of writing and, even more so, of reading the creations of others.
It is the joy of writing because, as anyone who has ever tried to turn ideas into words can tell you, there is something incredibly meaningful and gratifying in finally translating that chaotic mass of half-finished intellectual notions into a coherent group of paragraphs on a piece of paper (even when that paper contains obnoxiously long sentences... like the one you just read).
It is the joy of reading because, whenever I come across a new author's idea or beautiful style that would never have occurred to me in isolation, I get the profound feeling that I have just gotten a glimpse of some other person's “white stone.”
And perhaps that is the reason we get these “white stones”. We get a unique and valuable name—or perhaps it could even broadly be called a “personality”--that allows something to be given to this world through us which would not have entered into it otherwise. This would certainly explain the irresistible compulsion we feel to convey the ideas that are most important to us to the people who are most important to us. It would also explain the impoverished and lonely feeling that comes from our being prevented from doing so.
The application of this passage to writing is not meant to narrow or limit the scope of its meaning. I admit that I've taken some artistic liberties in its elucidation. This concept of uniqueness could also be applied to any other form of personal interaction. Essentially, the goal of this piece is selfish. Reading is my most treasured hobby, and I need you people to keep doing what you do so that I don't have to broaden my horizons! So, go ahead and get into the “writer's spirit”, and share with us whatever it is that you have to share.
I see a free balloon from our bank, if it makes it home; paper mache is an unlikely possibility. You see a captured being, longing to escape, to be free. You plan its awaited release ceremony; its launch to begin the journey to be reunited with all its’ loves in the place where all of the free balloons go. Take me there.
I see a mountain, a barrier that will stop the forward motion of my life. Cold, hard. You see adventure, the opportunity to do what has not been done, and to see what has not been seen. The other side. Take me there……..Excerpt from “Take Me There.”
When we observe the world around us, we become aware of the multitude of ways that humans communicate their creativity. We see exceptional creativity in product design, from packaging to advertising. We hear genius in music and in scripts from live performance that moves us to tears and change and reflection. The reality of the world is defined, shaped and colored by the reflection of the humans who inhabit it. But, aside from the Holy God, there is no creative spark anywhere that can equal the pure white radiance of a child’s mind. What separates a child’s spark is the motivation behind it. They do not expose the contents of their mind by choice, but by necessity. They don’t exhibit the most inner secrets of their being so others can learn more about them, but as an attempt to self-discovery. They don’t devote hours working on a project that they know will either get demolished by a sibling or buried by puzzle pieces and Barbie clothes because they anticipate the result: but because they lose themselves in the comfort of the process. I have never seen creation without the expectation of return outside of childhood.
….And you know it’s Fire Prevention Week, Fireman Mark came and talked to our class again and we watched the firedog video again. So….all of the cups of water surrounding my bed and the big bucket of dirt in my closet are here for my safety….and yours, Mom…..Excerpt from “Clean My Room?”
I sometimes write in the voice of m y children in an attempt to stand in the warmth of that spark. I want my children to know that even though they have been told “You have such creative parents, it’s no wonder you are such creative children”…..I want them to know, it’s actually the other way around.
I used to think that all through the night, my dreams took me away from my room, and I was scared that I wouldn’t find my way back by morning….But mommy said, “Little one, I have laid by your side and watched you sleep all through the night, and you never, ever leave my arms.
I used to think that when I spilled my milk or cried and yelled because I broke my pet turtle, that mommy might not think I was the best anymore…..But mommy said, “Little one, I used to think that when I burnt your grilled cheese or got shampoo in your eyes, that you might not think that I was the best anymore either.” But neither of us think that anymore…..”Excerpt from “I Used To Think”
To continue upon the theme of previous blogs in which I established that I often write to cover my fears and inadequacies, I realize that fear itself is a significant motivation for my writing. Fear that the spoken word will fail. Fear that I will speak too much and the words will all fuse together. Fear that the words of necessity will fall through the cracks of the din of their day, the muddle of their minds. I am fearful that my children’s recall will remember the time we forgot to pick them up after swimming lessons, or didn’t buy them the American Girl doll with eyes that matched theirs, or the time we left an I.O.U note from the tooth Fairy—but they will forget the words that are meant to carve a place for them in that tiny niche of life known as “being OK”. It’s a desperate awareness parents get when we realize we are the ones who have to tell them everything about how to “be OK”. What if I forget to tell them to fail a little better each time? What if they don’t hear me say that home is wherever you are loved….and safe? When I write, it assures me that those “be OK” words are preserved and they will be able to read, years from now, in my voice, what they need to hear, when they need the nudge to slip them back into the hollow where things are worn smooth. I can’t create an absolutely harmonious, trouble-free life for my children. But, I’m reassured that my girls will be able to turn to my writing when they ache for things to simply “be OK”.
When I was in college, we read the poem Siren Song by Margaret Atwood and The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Our teacher was a retired English teacher who saw a parallel in these two great works; Daisy as a siren, misery loves company, and death and destruction comes at the hand of want and indulgence! I have to say, some of her ideas seemed kind of crazy at the time, but as I matured, and the more I studied these as well as other works, the more I began to see inside the writers' minds. It often takes life experience to help us appreciate meaning and what was or is being conveyed to, and about, the world in which we live. I think timing is everything.
When I write poetry, I am usually trying to convey something that is in my soul. I’m not often thinking of what others will perceive when they read it now or in the future. I’ve heard it said that poets are often troubled and that writing in poetic form is a kind of therapy. I cannot say that I am always troubled, but I have noticed over the years that the more something bothers me, the more apt I am to come up with a poem to express my inner most feelings. Years later, when I read my poetry, I am often clueless as to what I must have been thinking at the time, or am grateful that I no longer feel that way in my life. Life experience changes perceptions.
Poetry is a sing song look into a heart, a mind; someone’s emotions at the time of the writing. Poetry is the perfect vessel to pour the thoughts of others into some semblance of your own life. Maybe poetry makes us feel we are part of a much larger group of people who may just feel the same way, have the same emotional ups and downs, deal with life’s difficulties and joys in much the same manner as ourselves. I urge you to dive into this mystical form of writing and see how it makes you feel. “This is the song everyone would like to learn; the song that is irresistible” Siren Song; Margaret Atwood.
I believe that you can tell what someone is thinking just by looking at them. A raised eyebrow, a scowl, wide open eyes, they all say something without words. These forms of communication are very important to the receiver, as is hearing the inflections of the voice. So what do we do with this tweeting, blogging, texting, stuff? Can we tell what someone is thinking without even seeing or hearing them?
We all know that ALL CAPS in a message means, “I’m really mad or upset” and that lol means “I’m laughing out loud”, (although when I use lol I’m really not laughing out loud, are you?). Whether tweeting happy :o) or TEXTING MAD, figuring out the thought behind the words is really not that difficult … most of the time.
Communication really hasn’t changed that much over the years. Identifiable words, phrases, and expressions convey to the recipient ideas or messages whether through mouth, texts, emails, or letters. The sender sends, the recipient receives, a volleying of ideas and mental images. An open minded recipient takes words and phrases, even when they make no sense (in the case of many text messages); has a moment of thought to process; forms an opinion; and then maybe, just maybe, they LOL!
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I know I have writer’s block when I have gotten up to go to the bathroom more times than I have gotten up to get a drink.
I know I have writer’s block when I start cleaning my desk.
I know I have writer’s block when I seriously consider clicking on that video of the momma dog nursing kittens.
You guessed it. I had writer’s block today.
I often like to dance around tough subjects and use 10-cent words to make me sound smarter.
However, I was reminded by a co-worker today sometimes it is better to go with your gut, be honest and speak simply from the heart.
I was often known in college for saying, “You know what really makes me mad?”
Ok, I really didn’t use those exact words, but I assume I am writing for a G audience these days.
I had enough moral outrage for myself, my roommates and half of Kedzie Hall.
But a little righteous indignation gave me a starting point.
I hope as I have aged that passion and youthful exuberance has been tempered by some sense of practicality, but not extinguished by reality.
So the next time you have writer’s block as I had, ask your self, “What really makes me mad?”
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I thought I would be a poet when I was a child. I would sneak out and sit on the limestone blocks that rimmed our garden and scribble and scratch for hours.
Writing was my outlet and my escape. It could not be stolen or crushed. It was mine alone.
I journaled relentlessly, and as home computers were in their infancy, I was still using those old black and white composition notebooks. I loved having written. I loved to run my hands across the pages and let the ridges tickle my finger tips.
When I was 22, that all stopped. I sat down one day and put ink to page and nothing came out. I strained. I starred at the lines, but they mocked me.
I was going through a difficult time in my life. I was blocked. My mind was locked in sadness, and it would not release the words.
I put the journal down. I simply stopped writing. Although I tried to pick it up and begin again, it never has been like when was a child.
I never really stopped writing. I have a degree in journalism. Sometimes I think writing is all I know how to do.
People assume that because I write for a living it means I can write about anything. It is not true. Writing news give you a pretext and starting point. It is someone else’s sorrow or triumph or shame. I find it extremely difficult to write about myself or my own experiences.
That memory of my hand cramped in mid-sentence in mid-word is like a paper cage and all my dreams and fears and disappoints are like a lion snarling at me through the bars.
By Matthew T. Shaw
We have all been in situations where we say something—then immediately wish we hadn't. There
seems to be a disconnect between what sounds good in the brain and what sounds good in the ear.
This can happen in the art of writing, but the other way around: sometimes what sounds bad in the
brain can actually be really good on paper. Freewriting is a way of capturing those transitory ideas that
flit past like little indefinite moths. You've got to grab them with a net, take them in hand, and examine
them. Your net is freewriting.
Freewriting is the practice of writing whatever comes to mind as it comes. This exercise allows you
to express thoughts without restraint. It's a method of getting a record of your ideas so that you can
organize them, develop them, or discard them.
You can write on paper, on a computer, or on your iPhone. It doesn't matter as long as you write
quickly, leave your mistakes intact, and put down ANYTHING that comes to mind. Remember, no
one will ever read it. If you want, you can delete it as soon as it's written. Just skim through your
material, glean the good tidbits, and burn the rest. In all honesty, no one really wants to read you
stream-of-conscious anyway. So just relax.
Write whatever comes into your mind—whatever stupid, half-developed, insignificant little thought.
You may even start your freewrite with the phrase, “This is stupid. I dont know whar to wright.” Yes,
I left the errors in. It doesn't matter. Just spit it out. In time, those crazy thoughts will coalesce into
something meaningful.
Then you can pluck that moth out of the air and stick a pin in its thorax. Okay, so I admit it. The
metaphor has its limits. Sure sounded better in my head.
By Matthew T. Shaw
I have found that the only difference between being unemployed and being self-employed is that now I
have business cards.
When I first started as a writer, my goal was to get published—to just get my name in print. Once that
happened, with a surprising lack of fanfare, I wanted to get paid for my work. Now that I get paid, I'm
obsessed with commercial viability. In other words, I want more cash. It seems that there is no end to
the dreams one can conjure up, with a Disney soundtrack running in one's head.
Many people tell me that they are aspiring writers. I passionately dislike the term “aspiring writer.”
Why aspire when you can write? If you write, why call yourself “aspiring”? In the same way that I
foolishly gauge my success with money, aspirers gauge their success by the opinions of other people.
We must never do this.
We don't write to gain approval. We write because we love it. We want to create, to express, to
change. Ironically, many writers are poor communicators in other modes of conversation. We find it
easier to tell it to a piece of paper than to an open-eyed human being. So, the words create a pathway
from our hearts and minds into the atmosphere, preventing that idea from stagnating and growing sour.
I think Langston Hughs understood this when he said:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
(A Dream Deferred)
If we as writers, or filmmakers, or artists are to create works of beauty and truth, we must stop looking
to others for validation. We must apply ourselves to the work with honesty and integrity, without self-
consciousness or pride. Let us, like stones, cry out in joy, unbound by fear and unfettered by failure.
Annette Karr is a writing friend of mine with a fascinating family story. She shares her thoughts on writing in this blog:
Photos were scattered across the table in the music room of the nursing home, the place where my father had lived for the past three years. Each face represented a chunk of our family’s history.
There were several pictures of my mother’s first husband who was killed in World War II. The handsome face of the forever young man, who never got a chance to meet his son, had a great impact on all of our lives, even those without blood ties.
It was December 23rd. My parents, siblings, their spouses and I were gathering that evening to produce a video. We would record several of our favorite family stories and provide information about the lives of the various people in the montage of photos.
The video would be my Christmas gift to my nieces and nephews. Now in my mid fifties, I was hungry for a greater depth of understanding of the life stories of those who played a foundational role in my life. Most of those stories had either gone to the grave or were lost in the foggy memories of my parents and their remaining siblings. I wanted to give my nieces and nephews a sampling of our tales but also encourage them to ask us questions about our lives.
I spent time with my father that afternoon, helping to refresh his memory. While he had minimal short term memory, his account of decades past was trusty. My concern was Sundowner Syndrome which occurs quite often in early dementia. People exhibit mood swings and they are less alert after sunset.
We examined a photo taken in 1957 when his father and sisters visited us in Cleveland. He and his sister Ann wore a gentle smile, while the rest of the visitors held a stoic pose. With a bit of coaching, he was able to provide some details about their lives. “Let it stick,” I prayed.
My mother selected an old black and white picture taken in the mid twenties of her and her seven of her brothers and sisters. It was probably the last one taken of all of the Gallucci siblings for Carmie died around that time of a ruptured appendix.
The rest of us found two or three snapshots that represented key moments in our lives. I had made sure we included some pictures of my sisters-in-laws’ and brother-in-law’s past.
My brother Harry agreed to do the filming. Camera is ready.
Places everyone!
To be continued …
My friend and a brilliant writer, Mike Mitchell, wrote the blog below, and in my experience with writing characters in novels, I couldn’t agree more. – Carla Barber
Who Says I’m a Writer?
I recently retired and decided to write a novel. Just like that. Sure. Talk about surprises. Mostly, you just can’t trust the characters.
Sure, I had an idea, a story I wanted to tell. That, after all, is why I wanted to write a novel. I find I’m not completely in control, however. From opening assumptions, I insist the story follow ruthless logic. That’s harder than it seems. Sometimes the characters paint themselves into a corner and you can’t get them out of trouble without breaking your own logic. Not my style, thanks. Instead I have to back up and rewrite. Frequently. It’s the only way to keep those unruly characters in line.
I thought I knew them when I began. Ha! After getting well into the work, my characters pretty much write the story themselves. On a good day, I just pound the keys and clean up the grammar here and there – or not if they don’t talk like college professors. I find they don’t show all their cards at once. Getting to know them takes time and patience. Even when you think you’ve got them pegged, they grow and change.
My most recent experience is a case in point. I’m about two thirds of the way through my first book, looking toward the finale and dreaming a bit about the next one. My main character, Sam, is doing his stuff. His sidekick, Lee, is helping out. Pretty standard, right? Every hero needs a sidekick, if for no other reason than to talk and the reader can listen in. To my surprise, Lee has snuck around and become the main character! She has all the interesting history, ideas, and surging emotions that put her in focus. Sam is more than window dressing and still a hero, but he’s suddenly not as interesting as Lee. He’s been upstaged. At least for now.
Dr. John Knight was the professor who taught me that “Clear writing leads to clear thinking, and clear thinking leads to clear writing.” Students looked at him like he was crazy, but I knew exactly what he meant. Whenever I have a problem to solve, I find that if I write down all the issues involved, usually about midway through the process I begin to see my way through the conundrum. Sometimes it takes longer, but there’s never been a time when writing things down didn’t help.
Years ago I found myself in an untenable position. In desperation, I wrote down on a single sheet of paper everything that I perceived as wrong in my life. I allowed myself to be as dramatic, self-indulgent and childish as I wished. I recall I titled it “Everything That Is Ruining My Life (Not in any Particular Order)”. I numbered each problem. I re-read them. Just getting them out in the open seemed to soothe me somewhat. Then I went to bed.
In the morning I looked at the list more calmly. On a second sheet of paper, I addressed each numbered problem. I thought realistically about all of the various ways I could address that problem, and I wrote them down. Some circumstances were beyond my control. Just acknowledging that on paper seemed to help me address those issues. There was no immediate cure, but I did feel myself taking control of my life as I took stock of everything.
Six months later, I came across those two sheets of paper again. Nearly every issue had been resolved - - even some of those that had been beyond my control. Having that list to refer back to helped me to realize that no matter how bad things may seem, things almost always resolve themselves if I just give them time. How easy it would have been to ignore this lesson if I hadn’t written down my problems!
One example of writing that helps clear my thinking, but not usually with immediate results, is my dream journaling. When I remember dreams upon waking, I write them down quickly, even if they make no sense - - and usually they don’t. Later, I re-read them, when necessary with the help of a dream analysis encyclopedia. In most cases I begin to understand the message that I was trying to get across to myself.
Another situation where writing things down helps me, is when I’m angry or upset at someone. I write it all out just as if I plan to send the message. Then I read it over, make changes, satisfy myself that I have made my case brilliantly - - and then I file that letter. Usually I end up deleting it. After all, the process itself is therapeutic. Sometimes it really does need to be sent, but by then it’s considerably diluted. The sarcasm is gone, the words don’t appear angry, but the point is made in a clear way that usually makes a difference. I’m able to maintain my dignity and often retain or make a friend, or at least earn grudging respect.
Writing is therapy. The true point of any successful therapy is to know one’s self, to understand one’s motivations and issues. What triggers me? Why do I feel the way I do? Give me a pen or keyboard and a little time to myself, and I’ll soon ferret out the answers. Write clearly to think clearly - - and vice-versa.
